#WHAT WOULD JE LABEL IT

[spideyhexx]

HOWLING THINKKNG ABOUT HIM PENNING IN A DAY TO GET OFF

I think that is what he does😭

[gothic-thoughts]

Keep Our Mouths Busy

Sanji Vinsmoke x Black Fem Reader Angst

DomesticAU, ModernAU, Drunk Sanji

CW: Sanji yelling and breaking a bottle, reader has oral fixation, banging on doors, anxiety/stress reliving tactics

TW: drunken anger

Word Count: 1196 (give or take)

Any French translated via DeepL

Sanji came back late at night, slamming the front door closed, startling you out of your sleep. You roll over in your shared bed and go to walk downstairs. You step off the last step into the living room to see his tie and blazer discarded on the floor near the front door and upon hearing soft cursing followed by the sound of glass hitting the marble countertop, you slowly walk to the kitchen.

"Il ne m'écoute jamais, putain(Never fucking listens to me).” He mutters, messily filling a shot glass with whiskey, “Jamais (Never does)." 

The slight sway of his body showed that this wasn’t his first drink of the night. He downs the glass in one gulp before slamming it down next to the bottle of whiskey before he picks it up, looking at the label and scoffing with a sarcastic smirk.

“Great... maintenant, je suis un putain d'ivrogne comme lui (now I’m a fucking drunk just like him)!”

He throws the bottle to the floor, making it shatter against the tile, shocking you out of your drowsiness with a loud yelp from where you stood in the doorway. Sanji turned to face you, leaning back against the counter.

“Have your lost your mind!?” You yelled, staying in the doorway to keep your bare feet from the sharp shards and alcohol littering the floor, “The hell is your problem?!”

“Qu'est ce que tu fais ici (What are you doing here?)”

“Why are you drunk, you were at work!”

He kept staring at you wordlessly, you don’t even think your words were getting through to him in this state. Sanji picked up the shot glass again, taking another sip as if it was still full before slamming it back on the counter. He clearly wasn’t in his right mind so you backed up a little, but he took a step forward, glass crunching under his dress shoes with his eyes still intensely locked on you. He clearly had no idea how scary he looked right now.

"Qu'est que tu veux(What do you want)?”

You back up again, stepping out of the kitchen, “In English, I can’t--”

"I said what do you want?" He snapped, slurring, “Why you down here so early?”

"First of all, Vin, it's 12 am," Your eyebrows raise, “Second who the fuck are you getting loud with?"

He stepped forward again, eyebrows furrowing. "Vin...? What are you talking about? My name is Sanji."

“Not when you're being a dick and breaking shit.”

He squints then struts towards you making you immediately keep your distance with tears burning your eyes, preparing to fall and your heart racing unsure of what he was going to do but he didn’t seem to care if he even noticed. He just followed you backwards, strides longer than yours as you hoped he wouldn’t have to hurt him.

“Tch, you think I’m being a dick?” 

“Yes, you are and I'm calling you your first name until you remember how to act right.”

He stops walking when he notices tears of frustration brimming your eyes, right before you jog upstairs, leaving nothing but the sound of your bedroom door slamming before locking it. He stumbles upstairs, gripping the banister tightly until he reaches the top floor then staggers and throws himself at the door, banging his fists against the door several times.

"Baby, open the door." His voice contrasts with his actions heavily, “C’mon, you can’t just lock yourself in there, open--”

“Stop banging on the fuckin' door before the neighbors call!”

"How was I being a dick, I barely said anything to you!”

"You actin' like you ain't break a whole bottle in my vicinity then walked up on me like we was bouta fight."

“I didn’t, I was just-- I just..."

"Ion even wanna hear what you think you did cuz why else would I be in here?"

"I'm... I’m not...” He stops banging, finally gaining some self awareness as he leans against the door, “I'm... merde, I'm scaring you--"

"No shit, so calm the fuck down."

"You know I’m not mad at you, cheri, right?”

"I'm not asking you what you're mad at, I'm telling you that you need to relax."

You could hear his quiet, shallow breaths almost like he was panting just to calm down. Part of you wanted to help and hold him but you thought it was best to keep your distance until you were sure he was calm. Your heart pounded in chest with each of his breaths until they became deeper and more focused. After a few seconds, he knocks softly with one knuckle like he always did, making you let out an audible sigh of relief.

"Mon chéri... I'm okay, now. You can come on, okay...? Please, I'm calm now."

“You sure?” You ask, despite already being at the door, ready to see a non-threatening expression.

"Yes baby, I promise..." He sighed. "Just come to me, please? I'm sorry."

“When I open the door, I’m finna slap you.”

"You can slap me all you want, chéri, I earned it. Just open the door for me...?"

You unlock and open the door, revealing your tear-streaked cheeks and bloodshot eyes to him as you anxiously chewed on the gold chain hanging loosely around your neck. His eyebrows rise with more worry but as soon as he opened his mouth, you slapped him across the face, turning his head and making his hair flip to the side. He slowly reached up to touch his face, feeling the spot that you had slapped while the necklace fell from your mouth when you opened your mouth.

“I....” You sniffle, “I thought you were going to hit me.”

"No, no! I would never hit you... I would never; why would you ever think that?"

“I-I don't know, you're drunk.” You fumble with the chain again, placing it back in your mouth, “And you smashed a fuckin’ bottle and you were yelling a-and banging on shit so I thought you were mad enough to--”

"To hit you, no. Never. I'm sorry, I was upset and I wasn’t thinking about my movements or tone."

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face a few times. He stepped closer, slowly reaching to cup your face in his shaking hands, looking down at you with sad, apologetic eyes.

"But I would never hit you. Never... Never, baby.”

“I didn't know, you're usually flirty when you're drunk and I just assumed the worst when walked up on me like that.”

"Yeah, I know, but tonight I drank because I was angry, I didn't become it.”

You sniffle a little, trying to get over it but your heart is still racing and he could tell by the way you were still gnawing on your strings so he steps closer and gently pulls your necklace out before replacing it with his middle and ring fingers into your mouth and watching you nibble lightly.

“Don’t like when you chew on your chain, charmant(lovely). Don’t want you breaking it.”

He pulled you into his chest, hugging you while the thumb of his free hand effortlessly caressed up and down the back of your bonnet as he held your head. He kisses your forehead, breath still reeking of whiskey.

"I’d never hurt you." He said quietly against your head, “I’d never, please forgive me, baby.”

You nod against his chest, snuggling closer. After several silent seconds of lightly grazing your teeth just about his knuckles for comfort, you grab his wrist and pull his hand away.

“What even happened?” You ask

“The old man benched me again, this time for the whole shift and we had fight in front of the restaurant. Shouldn’t have taken it out on you though."

[sayhoneysiren]

WHAT'S UR SEDUCTIVE CHARM

I II III

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xx HoneySiren xx 🍒

I ~ Your charm is your Elusiveness. You prefer to keep your circle small and don't open up to others easily. It takes effort to get your attention and tie you down, since you have high standards. Many of you may attract athletes or be athletic yourself. People seem to be in awe with your physique. You could enjoy dressing in leather and velvet fabrics.

Underneath your cool exterior you are a very compassionate, sensitive and spiritual person who can be shy at times or have anxiety about being seen. People view your shyness as 'cute' and instantly become somewhat protective over you. In a social setting, you are probably stationed in the corner of the room waiting for others to approach you or surrounded by close people you know.

Your eyes are alluring and can be felt across the room. People yearn to know more about you and what lies behind your enchanting gaze. They question why you're so quiet and to yourself.

When getting to know you, people notice that you are blunt and honest, preferring to cut straight to the point. You can clearly see through players, fakeness and egos and you're not here to entertain the bs. It also surprises people that you are so intelligent, headstrong and charming. But you only open to who you deem worthy.

II ~ Your charm is JE NE SAIS QUOI, Unfamiliar, profound and spellbinding, You are a person of potent power and you know it. Your essence oozes a calm confidence that fascinates and touches everyone around you.

Many may view you as a lone wolf or distinct in the way you present yourself. No one can check you off into any box. Some of you are of a different descent than those around you,

making you seem exotic. People could be enthralled by your accent, voice, unique fashion sense or your culture. You don't care about appearing weird to others. Staying authentic to yourself is most important and by doing this you give others hope, expand their minds and show them that they too can express their truest selves. You take them to another world where they can see themselves with loving eyes.

A glo' up' has been real for some of you and your looks have evolved tremendously. People describe you as a baddie or an it girl. You just have a captivating quality. On top of that, you KNOW how to seduce and don't care about being labeled 'bad'. Some of you embrace the label of the 'bad girl'.

People love taking time to get to know you and you enjoy talking about your big dreams. You don't stay still, always seeking to grow. Therefore always evolving.

III ~ Your charm is the Finesser.

From first glance no one would expect you are a powerful witch. The spell work and affirmations you do helps you manifest things excellently. You are able to see situations for what they are and manipulate it into what you want them to be. You may also be connected to nature and have some unique spiritual tattoos.

You are the undercover player moving in very strategic ways. You’re the type to meet your crush and reverse them to like you. You charm them by playing coquette and get them on your side to do whatever you want. You may use the affirmation "Everything I want wants me more."

You have many different sides to show, but you never reveal your full hand all at once. One day you're innocent then the next day naughty, happy then sad. You always have a one up one people, so things never get dull with you. You may also love to shock and surprise people. 

You're not boastful or afraid of showing vulnerability. You know this works in your benefit and no one suspects you until it's too late. Until they're too far gone under your charm.

People think you're losing but you’re actually winning.

[hitlikehammers]

the rhythm and the music

rating: t ♥️ cw: emotional hurt/comfort, criminal-levels of softness, rockstar!eddie having a sad for missing his husband (on the road), deep undying love ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, rockstar husbands, emotional hurt/comfort, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day ten: Love is missing each other (@lihhelsing)

this is 100% the first attempt to separate the rockstar!husbands in je ne regrette rien for the sake of a show ♥️ (with the title being a callback to this instalment)

The facts are these:

They’ve just played their first show not-in-driving-distance of where they live. They have a label, and management, and publicists, and they made sure their shit was all paid for. They’d been asked if they wanted to get a tour bus together, or if they’d wanted someone to book them plane tickets—Eddie’d never even been on a plane before. They’d opened for fucking Slayer, and how, and during their set they’d hyped the album they were releasing later in the year—and how—it was just…it was amazing. It was everything Eddie’d dreamed of since he picked up a guitar and strummed so hard it stung his fingers.

Eddie’s walked ten paces from the stage, and it’s not for the joy of it, or even the overwhelm, that he thinks he’s gonna fucking cry.

Because the rest of the facts, are these:

Eddie hasn’t slept on his own in literal fucking years. Meaning he hadn’t slept without Steve—as his friend, as his lover, as his boyfriend, as his fiancé, as his husband, as his life-mate, as the love of his life and the mate of his soul, as his whole goddamn heart and then some—he hasn’t slept without Steve since—

Since the fucking Upside Down.

And yeah, he’d hugged him for probably ten whole minutes before they’d climbed out to make security at O’Hare, they’d been close to missing the flight altogether and there’d been a part of Eddie that wouldn’t have cared in the slightest if they had, would have called Steve back and greeted him as if they’d been separated a month and not less than an hour. And yeah, he’d called Steve’s when they’d landed at the first payphone he could find, breathless and clinching it fit to snap the receiver in two, its outline bright red against his hand for most of the afternoon. And yeah, he’d called again in someone’s office he probably shouldn’t have been in, on a separate floor of the venue, where he’d sneaked in and dialed and just asked if Steve would talk to him, not because he was nervous, but because…

Because he fucking missed him. Like, like his bones, or his veins knew on some cosmic level they’d been separated from the best part of any of them, the only reason for any of them to hold up his body at all: he could feel the distance between him and the heart he called home so clearly, this bodily loss in him, he feels a lot like how he felt when he realized there were goddamn holes in his ripped by those fucking bat, but this is bigger, because there’s a whole of him missing and people have always made comments, how they’re attached at the hip, codependent lobbed around by their brainier friends in varying tones that honestly, Eddie couldn’t give a fuck less to read into because yes, he depends on Steve, Steve is tied into the fucking cells of him, he makes up more of Eddie than probably Eddie makes up of himself, at this point, and Eddie would not have it differently for a second, doesn’t know if he remembers how to breathe in a version of his body that’s not this comprised of Steve-Steve-Steve: and doesn’t fucking want to. Remember.

What it’s like without.

And this, right here: this moment, a thousand miles away from the whole of him, when he should be on top of the world by rights?

Eddie’s having trouble with that breathing thing. These lungs don’t know what to make of air that’s not…that’s not made up of Steve, even just a little.

He waves off his bandmates, says he just needs some water, knows they’re planning to go out for the night and celebrate and honestly, all he wants it to give them the slip, feign an ache pounding in his head instead of the very real one throbbing like an open wound inside his chest. He thinks he almost manages until:

“Eddie!”

Their manager’s a petite woman, always in high-tops, wears lipstick but bites it off too often for it to stick for long, and Eddie adores her to pieces. His steps falter as soon as he hears her call out for him, and shit: betrayers, his own fucking feet. He has to turn now.

She’s smiling so goddamn bright that Eddie almost feels bad that the best he can fake for her right now is a grimace, his heart too sour as it struggles with the remembering, too—how is it supposed to beat, anyway, there are chambers in it, right, so is it one at a time, the top and the bottom together, one top one bottom, none, all, it’s so confusing, where’s his Steve—but he meets her grin and weirdly enough it doesn’t dim in the face of his expression, however pathetic it has to look.

“There’s someone who wants to see you,” she says, doesn’t wait for his response as she taps his shoulder as indication to follow when she leads the way.

“Morgan,” Eddie tries to halt her momentum because he can’t, he really just, he can’t right now, okay? He’s so grateful for the fans, and he’s sograteful for the band and the higher-ups that got them here and inviting them on this tour specifically but Eddie kinda things he’s about to collapse, or that some seams in him that he doesn’t know the exactly location of are going to pop and he’s going to spill out all blood and viscera right here on the floor and he just, he—

“Waiting for you in there, pet,” Morgan knocks on the door to one of the prep rooms that Eddie wasn’t entirely sure was made to be used how they’d used it, but it’d hadn’t mattered, they’d played their damnedest and it had been a fantastic show, if they were going to make their mark and draw in their base this was how they were gonna do it, but Eddie…

Eddie’s never played to a crowd, be it ten or ten-thousand, without Steve. Not…not since Steve.

He doesn’t think he can do this. He just wants to go home, and if he can’t go home, then he just wants to find the hotel they’re springing for and call his husband and fall asleep to the sound of his voice, his breathing, until he has to get up and start this all over again. He—

“Just a couple minutes, Eddie,” Morgan’s voice is pitched lower, and her expression is softer now, prodding but almost lulling, like she sees just a hint of his inner torment. “Then you’re free to go wherever you need, okay?”

Eddie nods, and she lays a land on his shoulder as she leaves him be; doesn’t stay to watch if he’ll turn the handle or bail. Trust him enough.

Goddamnit.

He swallows, pulse heavy and off-rhythm in his throat as he grabs the knob and pushes in.

Just a couple minutes.

He braces himself, tries to school his expression into something better than the grimacing, just a couple minutes—

It’s useless, though.

Because as soon as the door opens, his face fucking, just, falls.

Hell: the whole of him falls, the coming-apart-at-the-seams he was fighting, fearing, his goddamn knees give out on him—

But he doesn’t hit the floor.

No: strong arms wrap around him, an equally-strong and solid chest cushions him and he clings, he clings because the whole of him is coming back together, the missing pieces slotting instantly back into their proper places, he breathes in, and it works this time, because:

“Stevie,” he moans, and fuck yeah he’s kinda sobbing, because his Steve.

Is here.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Steve’s stroking his curls still damp from the sweat, for all the run and jumping under the stage lights; “it’s all okay.”

“Baby,” Eddie keeps his chest to Steve’s chest almost compulsive; almost magnetic, but he tips is head back to see him, just to drink him in.

“Oh my god,” he marvels; “babydoll,” and he traces Steve’s cheek, his lips, disbelieving save that everything feels lighter, and he doesn’t disappear for the touch, and that means he’s real; he’s here.

“When—“ he starts, a little lost and still awe-struck, breathless in a new and much sweeter way.

“The whole time, love,” Steve brushes a curl back behind Eddie ear, so delicate: “the flight was delayed.”

Eddie tips his head; it doesn’t make sense.

“Delayed?”

And Steve just smooths both those warm palms, so broad and sure, down either side of Eddie’s neck to hold to him as he smiles so soft:

“I booked it at the counter as soon as I dropped you off,” Steve tells him simply, then the softness veers a little pained:

“I saw the look in your eyes,” and he leans to kiss Eddie gentle, and Eddie fucking soaks in the sensation full-on and unabashed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner, you were already through security, and then I ran to your gate before mine and you were gone there already, too,” he tries to apologize for…what, knowing Eddie too well, for seeing the hurt in his heart and making a U-turn immediately to fix it, damn the consequences: and how. Why?

There’s nothing here but being grateful, and thankful, and undeservedly lucky, that the partner of his whole goddamn life would do that. There’s no…no apology, there, it’s—

“We can’t do this,” Steve says softly, and maybe there’s something in Eddie’s expression, or the way that he’s quiet, or the way that he’s shaking a little, or that he tears are silent but still streaming: maybe all of the above and more, but: Steve sees.

Steve knows.

So does Eddie.

“I know,” Eddie nods; inhales deep: “I know, I thought this was for me,” he bites his lip and shakes his head, now: “I thought I could—“

“It is for you, are you kidding?” Steve cuts him off, leaning in and framing his face now, baffled and adoring all at once. Eddie stills for it, confused but loved so quick and sure and strong in just those words, in just that touch.

“You were made for this,” and it’s so fucking strange, the way those words warm him and fall sour all at once, but it’s not on bit strange that he feels beloved, treasured for all of it, no questions, no exceptions: no contest.

But…Eddie could give this up: the touring. Even the music, at least like this. He could; he would.

He can’t, and won’t, give up Steve for another goddamn night. And fuck: he didn’t even last the whole night.

He doesn’t understand what Steve means—

“The thing where we’re apart,” Steve says clear but still so gentle, still cradling Eddie into him: “that’s what we can’t do.”

Right. Right, exactly, but then—

“So I come with you,” Steve answers the question unasked, and does it like it’s simple, like there’s no question: “we budget differently at home, we—“

“No, we write this into the label’s budget,” Eddie surges into the exchange vehement, relentless suddenly and he…he’ll leave this, he knows it in his bones; if he has to there is only one thing he cannot be without: “if the band wants me, and if the label wants the band,” he shakes his head, defiant; “one more ticket can’t be what makes or breaks them.”

And fuck them, if it is.

And god: the way Steve captures his lips is like a bolt of lightening, it jolts through his veins: it’s revitalizing, it’s resuscitating, it’s life itself, it’s everything.

“Maybe I could be like,” Steve speaks breathy between their lips; “some kinda of manager, or security, like on paper?” then they’re lost to kissing, licking, biting a little and he only adds on when they part for breath:

“Personal assistant, I don’t give a flying fuck, Eds,” Steve gasps, then dives in, frames his face and pulls him in and then rests their foreheads close as he breathes:

“I need you,” and he kisses it into Eddie in a way Eddie’s never felt before, so much weight: “I need you.”

“You’re the air,” Eddie breathes back, bowled over by Steve’s ferocity and the rise of fervent need, undying love in him to match.

“It felt like I was,” he licks his lips, doesn’t want to go back to feeling so lost and pained as he walked off the stage; “I,” he gnaws a little on his bottom lip then, until Steve swipes a thumb over it, soothing him away with such gentle care as it gives him courage to put words to what he knows so deep:

“I don’t remember how to be without you.”

And it’s in the quiet between them just so that Eddie clocks his pulse against Steve’s hold, evident for the pressure of Steve’s touch and he chuckles, watery; Steve’s eyes slant in askance. He grins a little, just shy of sheepish, but brings Steve’s hand to his chest without a thought, the whole of him given to this man without question; always.

“It’s right again,” he breathes out, and yeah, yeah; “it was like it forgot how,” and he presses Steve closer as he squeezes Steve’s fingers in the cadence of his own blood, for the words he can’t quite get out.

“But that’s how it felt, like it forgot so it was just,” Eddie shakes his head, then brings Steve’s fingers up to his mouth to kiss as he whispers: “a mess.”

And he bows his head close, and misses seeing Steve’s eyes for it, but Steve is everywhere, Steve is here, Eddie can hear him breathe, the world’s at rights, and before, it was—

“I was a mess,” Eddie chokes out, leaning more into Steve’s touch than kissing on his hand but it’s okay, it’s all okay because Steve’s there, and he knows, and he’s reaching and cradling and bringing Eddie to his shoulder, wrapping around him and—

Eddie doesn’t have to be a mess anymore.

“I love you so goddamn much,” Steve breathes, and just holds him tight, safe, and it’s everything he needs. It’s perfect. Steve’s perfect.

They’re perfect.

“You saw the show?” he asks, voice a little tinier than usual when he finally stills, sniffles, leans back just the slightest bit.

Steve nods, kisses the tip of his nose. “You were incredible,” he tells him honest, shining so bright with it: the joy and the pride, in Eddie; “just like always.”

And Eddie bites his lip and hides back in Steve’s embrace again, but this time he’s smiling so fucking hard.

“The boys going out?” Steve asks after a couple beats, into the curtain of Eddie hair.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to go with?”

It’s an answer with no expectation, only curiosity. Which might make it…harder.

But so much better.

“I,” Eddie starts, makes himself straighten a little, bear some of his own weight. “I wasn’t gonna,” he swallows hard before admitting:

“Was gonna just go back and call you.”

Steve doesn’t apologize, or pity him. Steve doesn’t do anything but run hands up and down his arms, his neck, his back: present. Support. Love, always. For all of it.

No matter what.

“This is big, baby,” he finally breaks the still, but never stops the soothing motions of his hands: “I will do whatever you want to, whatever you want me to,” he tells Eddie, clear and devoted and once more time: no wrong answers. “I can come with you, I can go back to the hotel with you,” his voice dips a little lower and his smile turns a little sly; “I can wait in the hotel,” and for the first time Eddie laughs, just the littlest bit, heart leaping the tiniest little jump: “for you,” and it doesn’t have to be sad again, or really ever, for Eddie to know without a shred of doubt.

There’s no wrong answer.

“I don’t want to be without you,” is the surest, purest thing he knows, so he starts there. “Not right now, not,” he swallows hard and meets Steve’s gaze, no matter how watery his own starts to get, yet again: “not ever.”“Okay,” Steve answers with a nod: whatever Eddie wants.

Jesus H. Christ: but beyond this man, what more could he ever want?

“I should celebrate with them,” Eddie settles on as an answer finally, whenSteve doesn’t move, when his strength and his steady presence bolsters him without end, here: “this was a big deal,” and it was. Before the loss and the wishing and the missing consumed him, Eddie was very much aware of that. He knows, now, they never should have tried to be apart like this. It wasn’t worth it.

He knows, now, that they’ll never try again: and that’s what counts. “You okay with that?” Steve prompts, so clearly in Eddie’s corner, so ready to support whatever’s best for him, and fuck anyone else.

Eddie loves him so goddamn much.

“Yeah,” Eddie’s able to answer with a level of certainty that would maybe surprise him, if Steve weren’t here like this at his side:

“Yeah, I am,” and Steve smiles at him like the goddamn sun coming out from the clouds, like he always does, the body Eddie charts his orbit around by rote:

“Sounds like you’ve got a plan, then,” and Eddie can’t help it, he cannot possibly help but to lean in and capture those grinning lips, to devour some of that endless light.

“I love you with everything, Steve Harrington,” Eddie breathes, wondering again; “whatever comes of any of this,” he drags his lip against Steve’s with every syllable: “you know that you’re my one and only, my first and foremost,” and he draws back just enough to lock eyes, and make sure: “yeah?”

And Steve holds his gaze for a moment, another, before he smiles a different smile; his own kind of wonder. “Never thought I’d be able to say it,” he shakes his head with that warm, that grin; “but yeah,” and it’s honest, and Eddie’s chest swells for it: “I do know.”

That….that right there is worth more than any tour, or headline, any album or award. Steve is worth more; but Steve knowing he’s loved?

Eddie could never do a goddamn thing in this world more worthwhile.

“You’re my heart and soul,” Eddie breathes into him: “the rhythm and the music,” he reminds him, as he often does, because it’s always true.

“That and more, baby,” Steve answers, because he always does just the same: “all that and more.”

And he means it. They both do. They have always meant it.

“Let’s not keep the guys waiting,” Steve grabs Eddies hand, gives him time to change course if he needs to as he laces them together one by one.

But Eddie’s not changing any course. He’s just grateful to be tethered to Steve so tight, for whatever comes next.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch

♥️

divider credit here

[silverstonesainz-archive]

just a little bit of your heart

─── i heard a little love is better than none

pairing: pierre gasly x fem!reader warnings: google translate french; profanity

There is a bit of comfortability in the love you share with Pierre. It’s simple, it’s cohesive, it just works. Though it does beg the question of how? How does it work so well? Better yet: why does it work so well? He spends most of his days strapped in his car or up in the air moving from city to city, continent to continent, while you stay just outside of Paris wrapped up in your own work. How can you love a man who spends more time away from you than in your arms?

You don’t have an answer, just that it does.

It works because he calls you every night to hear about your day. He sends selfies and photos of the world he sees, and buys you snowglobes because he knows how much you love to collect them. He calls you beautiful, tells the world he’s the luckiest guy in the world to be loved by an ‘ange comme toi’. Tu es mon ange, he says. Always calling you angel, his angel. He had his way of making you feel so wanted and loved, even from a thousand miles away. 

In the quiet time between race weekends, Pierre always finds his way back to you. It was always on a Tuesday when he’d let himself in with his spare key, dropping his bags in the hallway by the door. He would call out for you and you’d come running. His smile was always wide, crinkled by his eyes as he held his arms out ready to catch you. And when you’re finally in them, god did it feel like home.  

He’d hold your hand when he drives you into Paris, taking you to your favorite restaurant. He orders for you because he knows what you like. He lets you drink as much white wine as you’d like, even if he knows he’d have to carry you up the stairs when you get home. But he doesn’t mind, because when he’s holding you up you like to touch his face. You pepper wet kisses along his jaw and make him laugh when you give him grief for not growing out his mustache. You make his heart warm when you touch him sweetly. 

Pierre knows your nighttime routine like the back of his hand. He sits you by the sink, hand securely resting on your hip to steady you. He knows to use the cleansing balm first, and then after taking off all your makeup, he picks the serums in the order you usually use them in. He knows nothing of the names, but the different sizes and colored labels are enough to help him figure it out. You’ll have your arms slung over his shoulders lazily as he gently rubs your moisturizer into your skin. You smile lazily, eyes hooded with alcohol as you hum softly.

"Tu m'aimes?" You slur. You love me?

He smiles, nodding. "Bien sûr que je t'aime." Of course I love you.

"Dis-le." Say it. 

"Je t'aime, mon ange." I love you angel. 

He loves you. He loves you. He does. Right?

Tuesdays grow to be your favorite day, because that means he comes home. It means that sometime in the afternoon, there would be an echo of him throughout your home. The familiar smell of his Valiant cologne would fill the air, it will wrap you up, and once again you’ll feel complete. 

You sit on the couch and you wait. The hours tick by, the afternoon comes and goes, and soon the sun is setting and the sky shifts to pitch black. 

Pierre arrives at eleven that night, bag dropping onto the floor and far too preoccupied on his phone to announce that he’s home. You hear his steps, heart anticipating his voice calling out for you. But instead you watch him walk into the room, eyes glued to his screen, stopping by you on the other side of the couch. He types and types and types, while you patiently wait for his attention. You can’t deny the way your heart aches, this overwhelming feeling of self-pity that takes over you as you keep your eyes on the man you love with every part of you. You’ve never felt more pathetic. 

But he finally looks back at you, and those blue eyes convince you to forget that he was late, convince you not to ask him where he’d been, and to be happy he showed up at all.

The past Sunday doesn’t end how either of you would hope, with Pierre having to retire with only five laps to go. You were sitting at home the whole time, throw pillow clutched to your chest as you watched your boyfriend climb from P13 to P5, only to have all that hard work shattered by a collision with a Williams. You send him a text, reminding him how much you love him and how sorry you are that the race turned out the way it did. He doesn’t respond, but you chuck it to media duties and post-race meetings. You expect a response before you to go to bed, maybe even in the form of a phone call. But it was radio silent. Not a peep, not an update. One second he was in the car and just over forty-eight hours later, he’s standing before you. 

At least he’s here, right? 

“Pourquoi n'as-tu pas appelé?” Why didn’t you call?

He sighs softly, taking the hand that was just reaching out to you to rub his face– clearly frustrated. 

“J'étais occupé mon amour.” I was busy, love.

Mon amour rolls off his tongue like it tasted bitter. It hurt. 

His phone pings and Pierre is quick to unlock and read whatever it is that is on his screen. You watch the way his face breaks out into a grin, the way his fingers are quick to type a response, lip tucked between his teeth. You wonder if he ever looks at his phone like when you text him. 

“Qu'est-ce?” Who is it?

“Personne. Qu'y a-t-il pour le dîner?” No one. What’s for dinner?

You sit with him at the dinner table while he eats, and he pays no mind to you. He stares at his phone, taking call after call from his team, and answering texts close to his chest. You watch Pierre like a movie, one you seemed to not be a part of. Insecurity is a weed, flourishes without needing to be nurtured and can only be rid of with proper care. But no one seems to care, not even you. You sit patiently, letting vines of self-doubt bury you while you hope the man before you would notice.

But he doesn’t. He never seems to notice you these days, too occupied with his phone and the car. He’d leave with a chaste kiss to your cheek and then he’s rushing out the door. No more invites to see him drive, no more plans of grandeur spent together. More Tuesdays are spent alone in your apartment, while you hold yourself and believe the lies that he’d be coming soon. You watch Pierre’s life unfold through a screen, no longer a part of his story even if you considered yourself to be. 

You grow to hate Tuesdays. It means he’s home, that there would be an echo of him moving about your space. Tuesday means it’s the restart of a game you play with yourself. The one where you swear you’re done, that you’ll leave, that you deserve better. And when you think you find the courage to do so, he’s waltzing through the door and planting a kiss on your forehead. Nevermind the lack of twinkle and adoration in his ocean blue eyes when he sees you, nevermind that he kisses you and retreats to the bedroom. The smell of his Valiant cologne suffocates you, drowns in you in a false sense of hope that at least he came home to you. 

This Tuesday comes like it does, with your chest puffed out and chin tilted to the sky until you see him and he gives you a passive smile you mistaken for affection. You let him hold your face as he presses a brief kiss against your lips before walking into the bedroom. You follow in his footsteps, leaning against the doorframe and watch as Pierre sets his phone down next to him– screen down. He looks up at you with a questioning stare. 

“Allons dîner. Nous n'avons pas été à notre place depuis un moment.” Let's go to dinner. We haven't been to our spot in a while.

“Je ne sais pas... Je me sens fatigué.” I don’t know… I’m feeling tired.

You frown, a lump in your throat suddenly growing as you find it in you to beg him for just a piece of his time– time that seemed too precious to share with you.

“S'il te plaît? Tu me manques.” Please? I miss you.

He sighs, like he’d been burdened with something. Tears begin to gloss over your eyes, shaking your head. 

“Pas grave. C'est stupide.” Nevermind. It’s stupid.

You walk away, shielding yourself and frailty, hiding your tears as you scurry down the hall to the bathroom. You splash cold water on your face, a poor attempt at distracting yourself from the ache in your chest. You try to forget that look on your boyfriend’s face, the rejection given in the form of a frustrated stare. Running water hides his footsteps to you, you don’t hear him shuffling behind you. You don’t even realize he’s in the room until you look up from the sink and see him behind you in the mirror. 

“Ne sois pas en colère contre moi mon ange. Je suis vraiment fatigué.” Don't be upset with me angel. I’m just really tired.

No words, just a slow nod. 

“Je t'emmènerai demain. Nous irons à Paris. D'accord?” I'll take you tomorrow. We'll drive into Paris. Okay?

You nod again, this time hard enough for a tear to fall onto your cheek. Pierre’s expression falls, a sad exhale coming from him as he takes a step closer to you, wrapping his arms around your frame as he leans down to press a kiss against your cheek. He whispers in your ear, asking you not to cry. Repeats his promise of taking you into the city and to your favorite spot. You want to ask him if he still loves you, asking him to say it to you over and over again ‘til you believe it. 

But you were afraid of the answer.

So you take his affections for love. You allow it to mend the ache in your heart even if you know deep down it’s temporary. 

He keeps his promise, he drives you into Paris. He takes you to his favorite restaurant, and you’re seated in the same spot you sit at since you both started coming here. He orders for you, because he knows what you like. But you eat in silence. He taps away on his phone while you nurse glass after glass, until the white wine has your head swirling. Your cheeks feel hot, and the room seems to tip left to right ever so slightly. 

“​​Ralentir.” Slow down.

Pierre’s request makes you feel guilty. It makes you put the nearly empty glass down and eat your dinner quietly. You watch as he smiles at his screen, twirling pasta in his fork with no intention of eating it. It’s busy work, doing what he can to pass the time. 

You’ve developed a sort of jealousy to the world around you, most especially to the phone in his hand. You envy the smile it gets, one you hadn’t seen directed to you in god only knows how long. You wonder who is so lucky to see it, to receive its warmth. 

He doesn’t hold your hand on the ride back, doesn’t carry you up the stairs like he used to. He walks several steps ahead of you, only gracious enough to hold the door open for you. You flop onto the bed, undoing your jewelry and slipping off your shoes. You watch Pierre do the same, trading the dressier ensemble for jeans and a t-shirt.

“Où vas-tu?” Where are you going?

“Je vais rencontrer des amis. N'attendez pas, d'accord?” Going to meet some friends. Don't wait up, okay?

You nod wordlessly, watching as he slips his shoes back on before he walks back over to you and presses a kiss on your forehead. It lacks a spark, a warmth that you used to feel. 

"Tu m'aimes?"  You love me?

He stops in the doorway of the room, looking back at you with a soft sigh.

"Bien sur que oui." Of course I do.

"Dis-le." Say it. 

The air is thick. You wait for him to say it, for sweet words to reassure you the way they used to. 

“Tu sais que je fais. Pourquoi dois-je le dire?” You know I do. Why do I have to say it?

You nod, gaze moving down to your lap. He loves you. He loves you. He does. Right?

“D'accord. Fais attention. Je te verrai plus tard.” Okay. Be safe. I'll see you later.

You watch him walk out, listen to his footsteps move further and further away from you until they disappear behind the front door shutting. When you’re sure he’s gone, you pull yourself off the bed and stumble into the kitchen to grab a half empty bottle of wine. You don’t bother with a glass, making your way back to bed as you turn on the TV and drink straight from the bottle.

Some time in the night, the wine lulls you to sleep. It’s dreamless. Your body feels heavy, sinking into the mattress. The alcohol numbs you, helps you forget the impending despair and self-loathing waiting to settle in your bones when Pierre comes home– if he comes home. 

He does, the door slamming shut, pulling you from your sleep. You take a quick peek at the time. 3:08am. You squeeze your eyes shut when his footsteps come closer, and the door to the bedroom squeaks open. Your heart beats quickly, listening to Pierre attempt to move quietly around the small room. Rustling, padded footsteps, fabric falling to the floor. It isn’t long until the bed is dipping behind you, and you can feel his body heat against you. But you don’t feel his arms, no kiss, no form of affection. It’s cold as he slips into bed with you, facing the wall instead of you. His soft snores fill the space in no time, and you allow yourself to open your eyes. You quietly slip out of bed, eyes scanning the now messy bedroom. Clothes are strewn across the floor, shoes kicked against the wall. You shuffle quietly, cleaning up after him as he sleeps in your bed.

It’s when you pick up his shirt do you catch a whiff of a sweet rose scent that’s not yours. You hate the smell of roses. 

You spend the rest of the night on the floor of your bathroom, his shirt balled in your fist as you cry angrily but quietly.

There’s a bit of fear in leaving the only love you truly ever known. A fear in confronting the fact he was no longer yours alone, and that he had likely found someone else. How do you choose to tiptoe around him, to allow yourself to fall into a false sense of security time and time again? How can you love a man who has fallen for another? How does loving him work? 

He spends most of his days strapped in his car or up in the air moving from city to city anyway. He was never truly there to begin with, even on your best day. Maybe your love never truly worked to begin with.

But you both stay, even if you know how much it breaks you. 

It’s complicated. An age-old term to describe the limbo between friends and something more, between I love you and I’m sorry, between love and its end. It’s used to describe two stubborn people unwilling to let go of the other out of their own selfishness. Because that’s the truth. You stay, selfishly taking what he has to offer as enough, lie to yourself and say the very little he gives is enough to sustain your heart even as it cracks under your chest. You both lie through your teeth when you say you’re happy together, when you face friends and family who see the loveless stares you exchange at the dinner table. But no one has the heart to call you on it. They take a page from your book, and stand idly by. They watch quietly as you lose pieces of yourself everytime Pierre walks out the door without you. 

The fact of the matter is that neither of you wanted to be alone. You’d rather sit in a room with ‘complicated’ than to be alone. But you love him, you really do. And you think that maybe he does too, because why else would he stay… right? There was at least a bit of comfort in the fact that a bit of love exists in the space. And sometimes a little love is better than none. 

NOTE: i kinda fast tracked this one bc i got a surge of inspiration. so sorry if it doesn't make any sense. i tried to proof read it but im a dud when it comes to my own work. yes, sorta almost based off 'just a little bit of your heart' by ariana grande. hope u like this one & as always, feedback is always greatly appreciated.

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[clone-whore-99]

Would it be completely out of line to request a Rex fic? You can say no if it is--it's fine. It's probably not everybody's cup of tea to tackle.

The idea is Rex and fem!reader have been in a relationship for a decent chunk of time (six months min?) and reader has definitely fallen in love with Rex . (Because why wouldn't she--he's REX.) He's her first real relationship and she's had all of her firsts with him except her first sexual experiences (beyond some groping) and now finally feels ready to take that step. Except she's nervous and a little self-conscious because, while she has no experience, Rex does and she's afraid to be a disappointment to him. How he handles that information and what he does to soothe her worries, I'll leave to your discretion.

TL;DR: Can I get some slow, hot, romantic, sweet, sexy first-time smut with Rex, please?

BTW, love your writing. Your Mayday fic was literally the first one I found after I searched him on a whim (curious to see how fast the stuff would be coming out for him). Very nice. Way to get out in front of it all!

Hiiii! No of course it will not be out of line to ask for a Rex fic! I am CLONE-whore-99 after all, not just Bad-Batch-whore-99. Sorry it took me so long to respond btw, life's a bitch but just know I've been working on this since I got the ask

Firsts

Rex x f!Reader

18+ minors will get yeeted

Warnings: so much fluff with a little smut to flavor it, lot of firsts, inexperienced reader, established relationships, fingering/handjob, safe unprotected piv, both reader and Rex are such sweethearts, reader is in a bit of a dangerous situation in the beginning

LMK if I missed anything (❁´◡`❁)

Word count: about 4k

Beta read by: @nunanuggets

Please like, reblog and comment if you like my work, it means more than you know ❤

If you want to, you can also help by buying me a coffee ❤

Rex. The love of your life, Rex. The man you could see yourself spend the rest of your life with.  The man you had all of your firsts with - well, almost all.

The way the two of you met, was a classic rom-com meet cute. Something you’d never thought actually happened in real life.

But it did.

To you of all people.

You had just moved to Coruscant for University, first time being on your own in the big, scary galaxy. You had never really thought of yourself as sheltered or naive, but the other students had apparently labeled you as “gullible” and thought you an easy target for pranks.

Most of these pranks were thankfully harmless, but one did seem to take things a tad too far. They had sent you on a monkey-lizard chase on the lower levels, something you quickly realized after being laughed out of a bar, but not before you had managed to get completely lost. 

As time passed on, more and more… Questionable characters came out, and you felt way less secure and a lot more desperate.

Some of them must’ve picked up on your nervous behavior, as they began to circle you, tease you and comment on how you must be from the topside, that you had no place being down there, ect.

You were sure this was it. This was how you were going to die, within your very first week of being on your own. You were terrified, alone and couldn’t help the tears beginning to stream down your cheeks.

That’s when he entered your life. Your savior. Your hero. Your king. Rex.

With a few stern words, one warning shot purposely missing a perpetrators head by only a hair strand and a few punches for good measure, he had saved you.

He had stayed with you until you calmed down enough to actually talk, made sure you actually got back home to your student apartment and stayed the night on the couch, like the gentleman he was.

The next day was apparently one of his rare days off duty, which he decided to spend with you.

Pretty soon he would spend all of his off time in your apartment, whenever he was planetside. 

He taught you self defense and how not to be so “gullible” when it came to others. He told you about his crazy adventures, about the jedi and the things he faced in the heat of the battle.

In return, you taught him how to relax, to let himself mourn his losses and his brothers and about regular, civilian life. Though, he never really seemed to quite get the grasp of it.

It didn’t take long for you to fall in love with this wonderful man and it appeared the feeling was mutual. When exactly the relationship started, you weren’t sure. It just kinda happened.

Maybe it began when Rex for the first time brought home a souvenir from one of his missions. Nothing illegal or grand really, just a pretty rock he had found while resting, which made him think of you. He was so shy when he presented it to you, rubbing the back of his and stumbling over his words explaining the reason behind it.

Or maybe it was the first time the two of you cuddled together, warming up and drying off after having gone on an emergency grocery run in the pouring rain. Or the first time Rex let you see the emotional scars the war had caused him. Or the first time he had slept in the same bed as you, after you had had a nightmare.

No. It was without a doubt, the first time you kissed. You wanted to make a traditional meal from your home planet, only to accidentally burn it. You were so distressed, wanting nothing more than for this man to experience a part of your home. Rex had calmed you down with a kiss and the two of you ended up going on your first official date, at Dex’ Diner.

Everything about this man seemed perfect. He made you feel like the most important person in the whole galaxy, like you deserved everything good and then some. And you truly felt the same for him.

Which gave you an inkling of guilt. Rex was a rather… experienced man, when it came to bedroom stuff. Obviously. He wasn’t only extremely handsome and sexy, he was calm, intelligent and had an energy about him which made you feel safe. He was ideal in every way possible.

And you… Were you. You hadn’t even as much as kissed a man before Rex, let alone done anything sexual with anyone. You wanted your first time to be with Rex, but you were scared he would be bored or dissatisfied with you.

Why wouldn’t he? There was no way you could give him anything special. Anything he hadn’t tried yet.

You still wanted to try, though. Rex was bound to come planetside within a few hours and you did everything to give him a warm welcome.

You showered, cleaned the apartment, showered again, dressed your bed with new comfortable sheets, made a delicious meal that just needed quick heating once you got hungry, showered one more time just to be sure and went out to get some fancy drinks and sexy lingerie.

Upon returning to the apartment, you heard the shower running. Thinking that you might’ve forgotten to turn it off during the chaos of preparations, you ran to the refresher to fix your mistake. 

How you missed the perfectly stacked, dirty armor next to the bathroom door will forever be a mystery. 

The very next thing you knew, however, was that you had just run in on a butt naked Rex in the shower. And you suddenly felt a whole lot of things at once.

Rex didn’t seem too bothered to cover himself, though he did stand in a way so his more private parts were hidden from you. More for your comfort than his own.

“Y/N, you’re home. I hope it’s okay I let myself in to get clean, our last mission was on this dustball of a planet,” he explained, as if he ever needed a reason to let himself in. You had given him the keycard and code to your door for a reason.

Despite your best efforts, no sound managed to escape your lips. You were kinda just stuck there, staring dumbfoundedly at Rex, feeling your cheeks get hotter and knees get weaker by the second.

After getting a towel to cover himself with, Rex exited the shower and closed the space between the two of you. “Aaaare you okay, Y/N? I really didn’t mean to scare you, if that’s what happened.”

You were somehow unable to move, just staring ahead like a kybuck caught in headlights. Rex placed a hand on your cheek and lightly tilted your head up to meet his gaze. The look on his face was a mixture of worry from your odd behaviour and loving to finally see you again.

“I was gonna surprise you, but I guess you beat me to it.” You finally managed to get out, though your voice was still careful and low for some reason.

“Is that so? What was the surprise?”

Your heart was beating so fast and loud, you nearly feared it might break free from your chest. Your whole body felt like it was burning hot and melting away, with the way Rex was looking at you, with how close he was, nothing but a singular towel to cover himself.

“I was going to make this night special for you,” you admitted, without fully revealing the truth.

“Mesh’la, every night spent with you is special.”

Though his statement was sweet, it was far from what you meant. It felt weird admitting the truth, nerves wrenching your gut. Although you were certain you wanted this that night, with this man, it was still a huge step for you.

Hiding your face in your hands, you pressed yourself against Rex’ bare chest - which did not help with your rapid heartbeat. “I want to have sex with you. I was gonna surprise you with sex,” you admitted, voice muffled from your hiding.

With both hands coming to rest on your shoulders, Rex gave you the smallest shove so you wouldn’t be hiding against him or behind your hands. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I heard you correctly,” He said, looking confused though you could swear there was something else hiding behind his eyes. “Did… Did you say you wanted to… Have sex with me?”

You nodded slowly.

Rex’ hand moved up to your cheek to cup it, as his lips made contact with yours. It was long and soft, melting away all of the tension you had built up with anxiety.

“Mesh’la,” Rex began, his voice deep and raspy. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Confusion written all over your face, your eyes searched his face for any sign of sarcasm or joking. “What do you mean?”

A smirk crossed Rex’ soft lips, as if you had just asked him why the sky was blue. “Just that you seem a bit nervous, that’s all. I like this thing we’ve got going and I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Rex’ features had a tendency to become soft in your presence. When you first met him and often when he returned from battle, his features were harsh and rough from the stress of the war. But whenever he was around you, they softened a whole lot, as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

It was incredible to get to witness him relaxing and being himself around you. It made you feel more relaxed too.

“I want to,” You replied, upon realizing you had spent way too long studying his features, rather than answering his question. “I really do want to. Why else would I have spent all day preparing for this? It’s just…” Suddenly feeling shy, your gaze averted downwards and to the side. You leant in closer to Rex, resting against his chest, though this time without it obstructing your voice while talking. “It’s gonna be my first time and… You’re, well, you. And I’m scared I’m not gonna live up to your expertise or it won’t be any good for you or… I don’t know! My mind starts running and running so fast I can’t keep up and all these scenarios start playing out and most are good but those that aren’t just -”

With a swoop of his hand, Rex had tilted your face upwards again and pressed a kiss against your lips to shut you up. Your own hands rested against his abs, just around the start of his happy trail.

Breaking the kiss far too soon, Rex’ forehead came to rest against yours. His eyes were half lidded and so easy to get lost in. “How about we just take it slow and see where it ends?” He suggested, before planting another kiss on your lips. Straightening back up to stand tall, an adoring smile crossed his lips. “And I promise, there’s no way anything you do won’t feel good for me.”

With that, the two of you suddenly ended up in your bed together. But unlike all the other times before, this wasn’t for sleeping or a cuddle session.

All of your plans had been thrown out the window. Rex suggested you waited with the food till after, same with the wine as he wanted you to be clear headed for this.

You were still fully dressed, while Rex’ towel was hanging on to dear life. Rex was leaning over you, sloppily making out while one hand kept exploring your body. So far, not much out of the ordinary.

Well, other than only a piece of cloth separating you from his member and your exploring hands constantly inching closer to it.

Rex only broke the kiss for a second, so he could take off your top and quickly went back to kissing you.

His calloused, yet surprisingly soft hands began fondling with your breast for a spell, expertly massaging and pinching them, causing you to be the one to break the kiss this time, with a gasp.

Rex used this opportunity to move his sloppy kisses down your neck, as one of his hands simultaneously traveled down towards the apex of your legs.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, or if it becomes too much.” He murmured against your skin, the vibrations traveling through your body and forced a pathetic whine out of you, as a response.

Upon making contact with your most private area, Rex found that much to his surprise, you were soaked. Beyond sloppy-makeout-session soaked. And as his finger made contact with your throbbing, sensitive clit, your hips instantly buckled against his hand, while your head threw back in a moan.

Rex broke the attack on your neck, so he could look you in the eyes, as he asked: “How long have you been turned on?” His eyes were dark with lust, his tone bordering between being genuine and being playful.

You gave up your attempt to explore his body, in order to hide the shame on your face. Not accepting this, Rex quickly brushed your hands away and pressed his forehead against yours, forcing you to look at him. All the while, his finger did not stop its teasing of your clit, causing pathetically low moans to escape your lips.

“Answer me, mesh’la.” Rex ordered, his voice commanding yet endearing.

“I, ah… I don’t know? Been thinking ‘bout this all dayhhh… But seeing you, in the shower, def - kark - definitely did something to me.”

“You’ve been thinking about me all day? Tell me about them,” Rex egged you on, one of his digits now teasing your entrance while his thumb continued its ruthless pace on your clit.

Speaking was getting harder, while your vision was starting to blur and this knot began tightening in your solar plexus. One hand grabbed tightly onto Rex’ bicep, while the other found its way past the very loose hanging towel and down to hold his cock. You weren’t sure where this new confidence came from, as you had never had contact with another person's genitals.

The throbbing would probably have freak you out, if it wasn’t for Rex’ finger curling into you, while he moaned - the sexiest thing you’ve ever had the pleasure to hear. The thing that was going to tip you over the edge.

Your grip on Rex’ bicep tightened, nails digging into his tan skin, while your other hand began pumping his cock, moving completely on its own accord. “Ka-ark, Rex….” You moaned, your hips thrusting into his palm, as the knot in your stomach snapped and a huge wave of indescribable pleasure washed over you.

Rex moaned praises into your ear, as his hips began thrusting into your hand. He was struggling himself, the feeling of your hand around his cock, while you were moaning his name, made it hard for him not to just cum right then and there.

But he wouldn’t be a very good soldier - much less captain - if he broke that easy. So when you came down from your high, Rex pulled away.

Confused, you pushed yourself up on your elbows, so you could look at the soldier who had by now moved on to pull your pants and underwear off.

“Did… Did I do something wrong?” you asked, slight panic filling you at the sudden retrieval on his part.

Chuckling, Rex replied: “No, not at all, mesh’la. On the contrary, your hand felt so good, I needed to know what the real deal feels like. That is, if you’re alright with it?” He tested, fingers already gripping the band of your pants and ready to pull.

How could you say no? The way he was looking up at you, all hopeful and loving, like you were a goddess and he was awaiting your blessing. Besides, if he could make you feel this good with just his fingers, you could barely imagine how the real deal would feel.

You nodded at him, the grip he already had on your heart tightening furthermore. “Yes, I’m alright with it.” You said out loud, knowing he wouldn’t accept just a nod for a reply.

In a swift motion, the soldier had completely undressed you. His gaze wandered over your nude form, admiration mixed with lust all in one look.

“Beautiful,” he said breathlessly.

Feeling rather shy under his adoring gaze, you tried to somewhat cover your body with your arms, only to have Rex instantly pushing them away again.

“Don’t,” he encouraged, looking lovingly into your eyes. “You’re more beautiful than I ever dreamt about.”

“You dream of me?” You asked, surprised at this new insight.

“All the time, mesh’la.” Rex replied, leaning back over you to bruise your lips with a few more kisses. “You have become a permanent occupant in my thoughts, giving me something other than the Republic and my brothers to fight for.” Rex continued the kisses down your neck, marking you as his with a small bite.

You weren’t sure if the noise you made was a moan or a sob, but it was something in between. How could he say such wonderful, loving things to you, all the while attacking your neck and grinding against your sex.

At last, Rex sat up again, using both his hand and cock to gather as much of your slick as possible. Then, he paused for a moment. “Are you…?” He began, unsure how to properly ask.

“I am,” you replied as if you had read his thoughts - or maybe just his face. “And are you…?”

“Had my checkups before coming planetside, perfect health all around.” Rex replied, reading your mind on the subject.

The fact that neither of you even had to finish your sentences, that the other part just instantly knew what you meant, furthered your belief that this was the right man for you.

“Then let’s do this.”

Rex did not need to be told twice. He lined himself up with your entrance, the tip barely pushing in. 

“Just relax mesh’la and tell me if it becomes too painful, okay?” Rex’ eyes found yours and the lust was temporarily swapped with worry. This wasn’t his first time being someone's first, and he knew the more nervous they were, the more uncomfortable it would be for both parts. And that was the last thing he wanted for you.

It felt like you were about to cry from happiness. He was so considerate, so amazing. You couldn’t find a better man. “I promise.”

Even though you tried your best to just relax, the intrusion of the head and the sudden stretch was a lot. Rex seemingly quickly picked up on this, as he closed the space between your bodies without pushing any further in. 

His hand began stroking your cheek, as he placed small kisses on your lips, your nose, your forehead and eyelids. It worked, as you melted into his touch and began relaxing again. This gave him room to continue.

“You’re doing great, you feel so good, you’re so amazing, I love you,” these and many other things were whispered into your ear, praising you as you took more and more of him. 

You wrapped your arms around his back, needing to somehow feel even closer to him. One hand found home on the nape of his neck, while the other held onto his shoulder. Tears pricked your eyes at the stretch, but it wasn’t unbearable. It was a pleasant burn and Rex made sure to take it slow, so you could adjust.

It felt like he was deeper in than possible, when he suddenly stopped. You moved your hands, so you could look him in the eyes. “Is it all the way in? It feels so big.”

Rex gave you an adoring smile, then adjusted himself so you could look down at where your bodies connected. “It’s a bit more than half. I’ll let you get used to it, then slowly start thrusting. It’s gonna make it easier to go deeper and feel better for the both of us. Is that okay?”

“Is it okay with you?”

The answer was within the question and Rex knew it. You were okay with it as long as he was. Just the same for him. So instead of giving a verbal response, he began kissing you. No matter how many times you had felt those soft lips on your own, you would never tire of the feeling. 

He slowly began thrusting and the feeling was beyond anything you had ever experienced. The stories you’ve heard of others, the feeling of fingers and all that was nothing compared to the real deal. You felt so full, so complete in the most incredible way.

Your nails dug into his scarred back, you had to break the kiss in order to moan, your hips began meeting his half way through on their own accord. And when he started going faster, his name left your lips with each exhale.

Something about the way his balls were hitting your ass with each thrust filled you with pride. He was all the way in. And the fact that he also had to stop his kisses in order to moan - to grunt! Oh it was the most amazing sound you had ever heard. It made your body swell with pride.

No, not the pride. Something else. Something better.

It was like every nerve in your body had become ignited with pleasure. Like all of the force, the stars, everything good had connected inside your body and was begging to be released. 

All of your muscles tightened, your vision blurred as your mouth was stuck in this ‘O’ shape. Wave after wave washed over you, cleansing you from your anxieties and troubles. Never had you ever imagined a feeling this good. Never had you thought it was possible.

Rex seemed to be just as lost in pleasure, as he kept muttering something under his breath, something you couldn’t understand, while his thrust became faster and more shallow.

Just as you were at your peak, at the moment you thought it was impossible to feel even better, you were proven wrong. Ribbons of seed spilled into you, painting your insides white and it made you reach a new high, a new sensation of indescribable pleasure.

Rex collapsed onto you, all of his energy sucked out with his cum. He was sweating, panting, and completely exhausted. This soldier who could run for miles, climb impossible mountains and fight for his life without losing his breath. But this… You. You managed to exhaust him. 

Not that you were in a much better state, but you at least had the excuse of being a civilian.

After catching your breath, you finally regained control over your own limbs. Weakly, you slapped the soldier on the side of his arm.

“Ow, what was that for?” 

“Why have you never told sex feels this good?”

Chuckling, Rex replied: “I’ll let you know next time.”

Dividers by: Unknown, @lornaka @freesia-writes and @djarrex

Taglist: @zoeykallus @rain-on-kamino @ashotofspotchka @chxpsi @maulsrightleg @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @wildmoonflower @nunanuggets @lokigirlszendaya @wholesuhmsstuff @pb-jellybeans @dangraccoon

LMK if you want to be added to the taglist (✿◡‿◡)

[juggalogojackerbox]

If I told you I couldn't decide on a pride month drawing idea just because of Onycraft would you beleive me guys

Shenanigans aside, happy pride month everybody %) Normally I'd do something bigger but worsening health issues + a wicked bad heat wave ran through the past few days so I settled on something smaller, by the way consider this too a shoutout to all my fellow queers with 5 million labels I love u guys god bless (Hell, I could've added many more flags here honestly but re: health issues, as I always say: ç'est la vie, je suppose)

[Onycraft and Lommus go by he/him, Munchy goes by she/her] [also seperates are under the read more]

Earlier this month I had a friend tell me that Onycraft is Pride Month and y'know what yeah she's kinda right

Also sidenote, please pretend like I'm able to draw orchids, twas my first time <3

[phenomenalgirl9]

Seungkwan x Reader: Winter Falls

Summary: Just 2 idiots who could have ended their suffering just by talking but they refused and suffered for ages, until the Maknae and a certain leader decided to interfere.

W/c: 1.9K

Rating: For all (?)

Genre: fluff.

A/n: Merry Christmas! This is for the Carat Library Secret Santa and my member was Rania @wheeboo . It was rushed cause I barely had time, I'm so sorry! 😩 Happy Winters!

----------------------------------------------------

You watched as he laughed with this person that you met as you and Seungkwan were leaving the party. You knew he was a social butterfly, lived like one, and as much as you loved him, it didn't mean you didn't want to strangle him. You watched him as he smiled and shook hands with someone who seemed like Jessi. Of course, it's important for his career and stuff, so you pouted and waited. He side-glaced a few times, and finally he said his byes and left. Yes, Jay Park's Christmas party was a huge event that every idol or personnel connected to the K-pop industry wanted to be in on Christmas Eve. The whole of seventeen were actually invited, and Seungkwan, Chan, and Jihoon had volunteered to go. Jihoon had left; you lost Chan while you were busy talking to Yeji and Lia, whom you've met before, at previous parties and events that you've been to with Seungkwan. So you decided to leave too. 

Sigh. 

“Are you tired?” Seungkwan asked. And you shook your head. “I wasn't the one dancing, hijacking the party like it's my concert,” you said, and bumped his shoulder. 

“He played Fighting” Seungkwan said, shrugging. “So to answer your question, I'm not tired, just drained,” you said.

“Aw, it was too much socialisation for you? Wasn't it?” He cooed, and you hit him as he ran away towards the car in a laughing fit. 

“Hey” you suddenly heard, and you turned around to see none other than the Bangchan walking towards the two of you. You assumed he was there for Seungkwan, but the thought changed when he simply nodded at Seungkwan and walked straight towards you, standing in front of you.

“Hey. Um, okay this is awkward,” he said and giggled adorably. “Hi” you said on instinct. 

“Hey, again, Y/n” he said, and rubbed the back of his neck. What you didn't notice was Seungkwan literally shooting daggers through his eyes. “It's gonna sound dumb but can I have your number?” He asked, “sure but, you could have asked me when we were talking back then” you asked curiously. 

“Actually, I was under the impression that You and um..” he giggled again, making you blush “that Seungkwan and you were together or something. But later on Chan as in Dino told me you weren't so I thought um.. cause I enjoyed talking to you” he said. “Sure!” You said “I enjoyed talking to you too” you smiled and exchanged numbers. 

“Look at you, Ms. Popular” Seungkwan teased as you started the car to drive him back to the dorm and then drive home yourself. 

So yeah Boo Seungkwan is your childhood best friend, you've spend the majority of your life together apart from the time he joined Pledis and you interned and worked for various music labels as producer and finally joined Hybe. You and him are mostly a combo pack, sadly, of best friends. 

Were you dumbly in love with your best friend? Yes.

Did you ever do anything about it? No.

Would you? Very good question, but also No.

In your defence, even Seungkwan never showed any sign of progression.

“So you gave him your number in front of Kwannie?” Joshua asked for the third time and started giggling just as Jeonghan had been the next morning of the party. “I swear to God, I came to you two for advice as to where to go for the team Christmas dinner. Why is this even relevant?” You asked them. 

“It's not, Y/n. It's just funny” Jeonghan said. You shook your head and walked out of the room. As you texted back Bangchan for the…12th? Time that day. Well, you weren't counting, but you've been talking to him since the morning. Je said he did that the first thing after he woke up. 

It was nice talking to him, he just gave off this vibe. And you spent most of that day, of not working, then texting him. 

“Are you free tomorrow?” Bumzu asked you as you were about to leave for the team dinner and you shook your head and said, “I have plans”

----------------------------------------------------

Hence, here you were in this cosy, almost empty cafe with one of the most charming men that the industry has seen. 

He did have a different charm that made you want to trust him. And the conversation flowed like a river between you two. It started with music to different artists you like. Bands, you like, laughing at each other's teenage choices and stories. It didn't feel like you just met him 2 days ago. The woman in the cafe smiled warmly as she found the two of you laughing at some joke he cracked when she was placing your orders on the table. 

And he asked, "So, how long have you been in love with Seungkwan?” and you were shocked. “Is it that obvious?” You ended up asking, and he shrugged his shoulders. “By the way you two look at each other? Of course.” He said it and smiled. “What do you mean by each other?” You said that, and Bangchan just shook his head.

And you told him more about you and Seungkwan. How you had met him on your first day of middle school and he was the popular kid, and you were new. How he immediately adopted you as his introvert, like any other introvert and extrovert duo. 

The two of you laughed at your memories, and he kept making comments here and there. You told him how Seungkwan dissed anyone who tried to bully you and how you supported him in his singing gigs. And how you realise during his basketball tryouts in high school that you were hopelessly in love with him. You also told him about all the times you mustered up the courage to tell him, which was really twice, but backed up the moment you saw him, You could take the fact that he didn't like you, but you couldn't take it if you lost him on whole or made things awkward, that would affect everything and everyone. So each time, you backed away. 

“Oh my god, look at the snow” the woman suddenly said, and the two of you did. You and Chan both took a sharp breath in and looked at the outdoors in awe. The whole horizon was covered with a thin blanket of white as the snow had just started to fall. 

The Christmas atmosphere felt more magical. Strangely, your heart started yearning for someone. Not just someone, because if it would have been that, then you'd be glad Bangchan was here. But no, your heart yearned and craved for that one man. The one you were in love with, Boo Seungkwan, who would probably never be yours. 

Your trance was broken by the sound of your phone. Bumzu was calling, “Yeah?” You picked up and answered. “What?” You exclaimed, "Okay. Okay” Bangchan heard you say. He knew your tone, he's been at a similar spot several times. So he nodded his head when you hung up and looked at him. “Problem in the studio?” He asked, and you smiled once again. “Yes, but let's do this again, that is, if you want. I mean, I had fun, and-” you were mumbling, and he stopped you. “Y/n, I had fun too, let's hang out again” he said and you picked up your bag. "Hey, is this cardigan all you're wearing?” Bangchan asked, and you nodded. “You're gonna catch a cold” he said, as he started taking off his jacket. “No! Chan, dont” you told him but he only smiled and offered his jacket to you. “Take it, I don't feel cold, this one I'm wearing will do”

And he didn't take no for an answer.

----------------------------------------------------

“I came as fast as I could” You said and Bumzu started to explain to you what the issue was. “How were your plans? Sorry if I messed it up” he said with a smirk and you shook your head, not reading into it much. 

You met Seungkwan on your way out “Is that a new jacket?” he asked. “No it’s Chan’s” you cleared. 

“Chan’s?” Seungkwan said and looked at Dino with a quizzical look, who was standing at a distance. “No not this, I mean Bangchan” you said. 

“Oh, Ohh” Seungkwan said, “It went well then” he said. You shrugged "Well, kinda b-” you were interrupted. “Oh, we've gotta get back to practice, see you later at Mingyu's party, later” He had hardly gotten the words out of his mouth when he turned and left. So you didn't see the light that his eyes had lost. The way his eyebrows knitted as he lost whatever hope he had.

----------------------------------------------------

You were sitting at home infront of the mirror, thinking back to the times you thought of just telling Seungkwan how you felt. It was different back when he was a student or trainee, he's an Idol now, (world high top class idol) it's more difficult now. You sighed, like he'd like you anyway. 

“Hey!” Mingyu greeted you and placed a cup in your hand. “Hoshi made that” he said with a side hug and walked away almost as soon as you entered the party. Now you've had enough experience to know that when Soonyoung dabbles with alcohol, drinking it is a bad idea and you confirm it by taking a sip and walking towards the kitchen to replace it with something actually drinkable. 

“Y/n!” You heard Joshua call you, who was sitting beside Seungkwan. “Ohho! Girl you look gorgeous” he said with a warm smile. You thanked him and said “Hey Kwana” you said, but no response except a nod of acknowledgement. You all chatted merrily, the whole circle being of people you knew. Seungkwan barely contributed. At some point you heard cheers, only to find Mingyu holding a bouquet of-

“Why is Mingyu holding flowers over Yohan and his girlfriend’s heads as they kiss?” Someone asked. “Those are mistletoes,” you said and they shook their heads in realization.

Everyone cheered as Mingyu now held the bouquet over a very drunk Hoshi and Dokyeom. Well,  Hoshi is trying to kiss Dokyeom at this point anyway, and everybody laughed. 

You felt anticipated as Mingyu looked around the room for his next target. Your heart slowed down when his eyes locked on you, it skipped a beat when he started walking towards you and pouty Seungkwan.

“Yes! Finally!” Joshua cheered from across the room. 

“We can't” Seungkwan said, and your heart dropped, so he really doesn't like you like that. So you were right. “We can't put Y/n through this” he added. “Excuse me?” You said immediately. “You wouldn't wanna kiss me right? Besides, aren't you seeing, you even had his jacket” you interrupted him. “Can you stop assuming for me instead of asking” you said standing up and walking away.

“Y/n! Y/n, wait” you heard Seungkwan's voice in the hallway behind you, his steps seem a bit disoriented. 

“What did you mean?” He asked when he reached you. “What?” You said.

“What did you mean back then?” He asked cluelessly.

“I'm not seeing anyone! Who does that just after one date anyway? I don't see Bangchan like that, or anyone like that in fact. Because I'm hopelessly in love with YOU!” you blurted out. 

“What? It's not hopeless” he said and before you could react, Seungkwan held your face in his hands and slammed his lips onto yours. 

“It's not hopeless” Seungkwan said again when he pulled away, with a dumb smile on his face.

----------------------------------------------------

Other Works

My networks: @sandsofire @k-vanity @caratlibrary

[hey-kae]

hmmm, how about pierre x reader x charles love triangle where pierre gets super jealous of Charles for messing around with reader. just wanna see some angry pierre

a/n: so i kept this one clean cause it wasn’t requested as smut so i hope that’s what you meant (there’s sexual implications tho)

It was too complicated even for your liking. One day, you’d wake up in Pierre’s arms than the next, Charles would be guiding you back to his room. At this point,even you were confused.

There was always this fear in the back of your mind too, that this situation would mess with the friendship between Pierre and Charles, and you didn’t want that to happen.

With Charles, it was simple. You slept together constantly, recently more than usual due to the bad races he’s been having, but it’s always been just that. Purely physical.

Sure, you cared deeply for him, but if you had to put a name to what was going on between you two, it would surely be friends with benefits, and he would agree to that label.

With Pierre, there was always more. There was nights spend just talking, gentle touches in stressful situations, understanding looks from across even the most crowded of rooms. There was lingering touches and kisses and feelings, really.

So naturally, he was really close to having had enough of this ‘in between’ state with you.

He absolutely snapped when he saw you leave Charles’ room one night, your hair messy and with a very obvious purplish on your neck, your hands still buttoning up your shirt.

Pierre pulled you into his room.

“You’re not sick of this yet, bébé?” He angrily asked, his hands on his waist, his tone mocking.

“What do you mean?”

“The Charles situation.” He pulled you to him.

His hands on your waist kept you close to him, his eyes locked with yours like he was searching for answers.

“You knew about Charles from the start. Now you’re bothered by it? I was doing this with him before we even met, Pierre.” You squeezed out of his grip and sat on a couch.

“I don’t give a fuck!” His frustration was rising, “You never even stay the night with him. Do you fucking know how many times i was sleepless ‘cause i knew you had to take the road back from his in the middle of the fucking night?” Pierre’s voice rose, his eyebrows furrowed.

“That’s none of your business. No one asked you to worry for me!”

“Then what’s the difference between me and him? Dis-moi!” Tell me! He stood in front of you, “You cling to me like there’s no tomorrow all through the night. Never once did you say you wanna leave and i know Charles would never just kick you out after sleeping with you. Alors, c’est quoi la différence?!” So, what’s the difference? He shouted.

“Oh, fuck off.” You got up and pushed past him, heading for the door, but his arms were soon to stop you.

“Tell me you won’t let him fuck you anymore.”

“Why?!” You were yelling too.

“I have to fucking spell it out for you, don’t i?” He pulled your body against his, “I want you all to myself and i don’t know how you don’t see it. This isn’t just sex for me.”

You blinked up at him. You couldn’t even comprehend what you were doing but you crashed your lips against his. It was a different type of kiss this time. It had way more to it than just desperation and need.

“Tu crois que je suis une clair-voyante ou quelque chose?” Do you think I'm a clairvoyant or something? You said after pulling away, “I was supposed to guess this or what?”

“You’re bad at catching hints, clearly.” He smiled, “Now, tell me you’ll stop sleeping with him.”

You nodded, “I will stop sleeping with Charles.”

“Good. Parfait.” Perfect. Pierre’s hand was under your chin, getting you to look at him as he spoke.

“And now, kiss me like that again…” He smirked and wrapped his arms around you as your lips met again and again.

a/n: thanks for requesting 🤍

[destinyc1020]

hot take: maybe im just a hater but i do not find je the slightest bit attractive, i just find him repulsive? and maybe that's his attitude and behavior speaking to me. but even so i can't even say he's objectively attractive, his best qualities are being 6'5 and wearing handbags. no one and i mean no one would look his way if he weren't towering over the nation. i just don't get why his team is pushing him like he's the hottest guy on the planet, like his whole snl stint just seemed conceited? but hey maybe his appeal is not for me to get LOL.

Wow Anon.... The shaaaaade lol....

😅

Idk if this was supposed to be a "confession", but since it didn't specify, I'll assume this is a "normal" ask lol. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with having your opinions Anon. Not everyone is going to find EVERYBODY attractive. 🤷🏾‍♀️ Everyone has their own personal tastes and preferences.

There are even some people who are NOT even objectively handsome, downright ugly even lol, but you STILL find them attractive, or you're still attracted to them. Sometimes, attraction doesn't even make sense lol. 😅

For me personally?? I recognize that JE is objectively handsome imo. Like, if he were to walk into a room, although his chin area is a bit much for me, I think I would definitely find him to be a tall and handsome man? I think people forget that a LOT of these celebrities (yes, even the so-called "average" ones), are actually WAY better-looking in person lol. Let's just say, when you see them up close in person, you realize why they are in front of a camera lol 😂

For me though, what turns me off about JE is his personality. His personality/vibe and how he comes across is just so off-putting to me for some reason. 🥴

I agree w/you about SNL also. The skits got a bit redundant talking about how "handsome" he is. Like, okaaaay...we get it?? They should have actually made him do a skit where he was playing someone ugly or nerdy tbh. THAT would have been way more interesting to me tbh.

But maybe he was leaning into the silly "he's so hot" label and heartthrob status?? LOL

Idk ...All I can say is JE's team works from sun up to sun down girl! One thing they're gonna do is PROMOTE the hayell out of that man lol!! 🤣

[fluffypotatey]

In response to the replies but yeah true Macky is still slapped with that coward who keeps running label and we saw him want to book it when things got bad over the Samadhi Fire like if someone is TICKED at him he goes OnO oh nuuu oh shoot oh fiddlesticks and scurries off like a spooked rat. He could justify it to himself saying he never wanted to do this, that Wukong dragged him into it bc “you mean WE’RE really going through with this”’ and technically, that’s true. He was spineless and charmed by Wukong’s promises and sunshine aura enough to not argue further. And Wukong wasn’t really hearing his concerns either. Unless if he did but had more faith in himself to not awknowledge them except say how it’ll all be okay bc they’ll be doing it together. Wukong drags Macky into his schemes bc he wants him to be there. Like when someone could google an answer but they ask their friend bc they like talking to them and want them to explain it. So Macky not upholding the same amount of loyalty that SWK has for him, who WOULD rush to Macky’s rescue if he needed it, not doing the same for him? I also wonder looking at current SWK if he was more or less likely to make it visibly obvious that ~ The Great Sage ~ needed or wanted help. So in short: I can’t blame Macky for feeling how he did, or for not resisting more bc that’s hard for anyone. And yeah fighting the JE was a bad idea, but I also think SWK’s case is more of a “it wasn’t about the potatoes” as well, that being trapped down in the mountain gave him enough time to think and build up on previous experiences of feeling like he gave more than Macky in this friendship and the JE was the last straw, so it’s no wonder he felt betrayed. They were supposed to be together. You were supposed to help. What happened to monkey bros? Did I mean anything to you, so what if it was a mistake, did I mean so little you would run without a second thought to see me suffer than even trying to show you cared about what happened to me? And it’s HARD okay. Because I both understand the betrayal yet I also can’t say I don’t get not wanting to get screwed up bc of something your friend did. Like the FEELINGS are there and real for them but the situation is so flub. Does this make any sense?

this actually makes perfect sense, anon <3 also thank you because this is literally my exact thoughts about this too but putting it into words has been a struggle

[chussyracing]

F1 teams as social media

(by popular demand*)

FERRARI as Tumblr. Has been there since the beginning. Cool brand that isn't for everyone and only the bravest soldiers survive here. People keep trying to copy its je ne sais quoi and keep failing. We're called clowns by others. Usually willingly. Got worse with porn ban (red nomex covering tiddies) but slightly better with community labels (tiktok thirst traps). We all fear one thing and that's twitter users (leastappies) flocking here after the app dies. It would be much better if we got rid of the terfs.

RED BULL as TikTok. Can never be the former and should just give up. Trying to copy success of others. Might and will call u slurs. Causes addiction in youngsters. Horrible working conditions (team orders) but catering might be spectacular. The longest tiktoks last 10 minutes (Checo after Monaco).

ASTON MARTIN as Pinterest. Aesthetical livery u wanna crop out and add to the pretty collage on ur wall. Good team (app)...... in theory. If u wanna look for something specific u still choose Google images over it so what's the purpose? It's just for girlies (gn) unbothered by the real word (Lance never using his mirrors to see what's happening around him).

MERCEDES as Instagram. Everyone knows who they are, she's that bitch. The new logo (w13) can never give us what the previous (rainbow logo) gave us. Bring back the black livery and make her fast again u cowards, Lew's back is hurting this year.

MCLAREN as Snapchat. It was funny once - for making the dog filter (gulf liverly). Trying to be sooo cool and failing miserably to bring back what once was. The bright yellow icon (only orange car on the grid) hurts to see. Real safety concern for it's users nowadays (daniel).

ALPINE as BeReal. I don't know what their aim is but I know they're not getting there. I understand nothing about them nor am I interested in learning it. Whatever the concept is, it's only fitting for the french freaks.

WILLIAMS as Twitter. The blue icon (livery) is kinda nice. And that's it. It used to be hugely popular and successfull, then a man with too much money to care came in and it went to shit (sorry Nicky rip). Everyone's just waiting for the moment it falls apart. The come back of the unpopular american (Trump for Twitter AND Trump supporter for Williams) might finally do it.

HAAS as Facebook. If it still exists nowadays. Nobody in their right mind will support them but somehow they're still there. Dangerous place for rookies, meant for more experienced people. U will laugh at the grandmas there but wonder.... what are they doing there in the first place (Guenther).

ALPHA TAURI as YouTube. Some content is nice but it's not what it used to be in 2010 (Torro Rosso). Will try to get money from u somehow (YouTube premium) because the nasty app (Red Bull) is taking their viewers (using their budget money).

ALFA ROMEO as WhatsApp. The alfa definitely doesn't mean they will be first. But look. It's there. And functional and sfw. We all have a family groupchat that makes us a bit embarrassed (Val and his coffee) but also groupchat with friends that makes us feel cool (Guanyu wearing Prada).

*@balaclavacharles asked for it 🤭

[empyrevl]

࣪𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ;         nicola coughlan,  thirty5,  ciswoman,  she/her.    announcing  the  arrival  of  JESMYN  of  house  MARBRAND NEE HARLAW,  the  RULING LADY  of  ASHEMARK.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  AFFFIRMABLE  and  DESTAIN  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  needlework.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  walks along trails of trees in the midst of fall, a darkness and pain hiding behind blue sparkling eyes, and hard exterior that carefully cracks like the finest marble.  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as  she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  loyalties  truly  lie  with  THE  TARGARYENS .     

 statistics… 

# basic information.

official  name:  jesmyn erynn marbrand nee harlaw.  nicknames:  jes, myn.  noble  title:  ruling lady of ashemark.  date  of  birth:  november 14th.  age:  thirty5.  birthplace:  castle of harlaw hall on the isle of harlaw.  home:  ashemark.  nationality:  westerosi.  gender:  ciswoman.  pronouns:  she/her.  orientation:  heterosexual/heteromantic.  monikers:  the fiery leader.  languages:  the common tongue.  accent:  high pitched sing-song voice.

# physical information.

faceclaim:  nicola coughlan.  ethnicity:  andal & first men.  hair:  she was born with the nrightest red hair as dark as the leaves during fall.  eyes:  blue as the brightest aquamarine stone.  height:  five foot one or one hundred and fifty four centimeters.  build:  curvier than most other westerosi women, but it helps with her short stature.  scent:  cinnamon and the smell of the fresh ocean air.  dominant  hand:  right.  allergies:  none.  scars:  none.  distinguishing  features: if it's not her striking red hair, its the blue of her eyes.  clothing  style:  stays within the normal westerosi style, but is seen wearing hose harlaw and house marbrand colors at events and functions.

# personality.

label:   the aesthete, the voice behind the power.   mbti:   istp, the artist.   enneagram:   2; the helper.   element:   water.   star   sign:   scorpio.   temperament:   phlegmatic.   character   inspirations:   anna (frozen), human caroline forbes (tvd), megara (hercules).   deadly   sin:  envy.   heavenly   virtue:   kindness.   godly   parent:   demeter.

# drives.

hobbies:  needlepoint, long walks in the gardens, gardening, reading, letter writing.  religion:  faith of the seven.  alliance:  targaryen, greyjoy.  personal goals:  wants to have a family of her own, be a dutiful wife, and help others any way she can.  would they choose family or power?  family.

# familial ties.

parent one:  lady gwin harlaw.  relationship:  mother.  parent two:  tbd. relationship:  father.  spouse:  tbd. relationship:  tba.  sibling:  tbd. relationship:  tba.  other:  tbd. relationship:  tba. 

  narrative...

you breathe where the flowers grow , you find yourself finding more solace with them then others . your family miles away on the isle , the only around being your husband and his kin . your kind to them but it isn't the same , not having your siblings nearby to talk to or discuss life's happenings .

you are the voice of reason to those around you . they seek your advice on matters that faulter their minds . you are a kind soul , one untarnished by this harsh world . you feel for those who hurt , you are like your true mother in that sense .

# wanted  connections.

connection  name:  confidant / got a secret , can you keep it ?

this is someone who jesmyn can confide in when times get tough. she needs friends that she can talk to.

connection  name:  a former flame / a heart wants what it wants.

this is someone that jesmyn loved when she was younger, someone she wanted to marry before her mother paired her with the marbrands. maybe there could be lingering feelings?

[heartsburst]

misc camp damascus thoughts from while i was on the bus:

thinking about how insidious it is that lisa asks rose that hypothetical about how to "punish the sinner" when they're someone who's committed suicide when rose's friend was literally just killed in what has been publicly labelled a suicide. what the fuck lisa "secular television" -> lesbian movies "picture a hot guy" rose, a lesbian: "uhhhhhh..... je..sus????" camp damascus- im gay and these are taking it very personally rose, committing pre-plan b&e: i don't want b&e on my record me: girl i don't think you know the definition of b&e... you don't need force to b&e EYYYY SHE IS AUTISTIC I FUCKING KNEW ITTTTT

rose's internal monologue literally "why would i go to camp damascus? because you're gay." lmao

[jamietukpahwriting]

Elsie returned to the cart, circled it, pounced, and eventually produced the big ones. At which moment the door of the shop was thrown violently open, a peremptory voice said: “Stop! Stop that at once!”—and a man, apparently in the last stages of lunacy, took two strides across the room and jerked Rene’s arm away, sending the scissors clattering on to the floor. Rene stopped. It had taken him some moments to recognize in the wild-eyed, breathless and clearly insane young man, the handsome Earl of Westerholme back from the war. Having done so, he had no desire to cross him and retreated to the far side of the shop, his sharp nose twitching with curiosity and the hope of scandal. “I told Proom—I made it absolutely clear—that I will not allow you to cut your hair.” Anna, sitting captive and encircled by her tresses, had turned to see whether the crazed image in the mirror could be real. Now, her tobacco-colored eyes wide with amazement, she addressed her employer. “Oh? Really? You forbid it?” The last lingering traces of Selina Strickland vanished. Her face had grown pale with what Pinny would unhesitatingly have labeled as temper. “It will no doubt amuse you to tell me why?” “You are in my employ,” said Rupert, who was aware that he had taken leave of his senses and did not, at that moment, greatly care. “None of the servants at Mersham are permitted to have short hair. It is against the regulations.” “What regulations?” said Anna sweetly. “The regulations I have drawn up. They will be issued tomorrow.” “Very well,” said Anna. “I resign. I will forfeit a week’s wages and leave tomorrow.” “Oh, God.” The madness began to drain from Rupert. He suddenly looked like a man at the end of his endurance; the skin tight over his cheekbones, the eyes shadowed. When he spoke again it was in a voice so low that Anna thought she had misheard him.  “I must have something, Anna,” said the Earl of Westerholme. She felt the ground open beneath her feet. Desperately she groped for her former rage, trying to claw her way back to normality. “Short hair is very modern. One must move with the times.” The banal sentences lay where they had fallen. “I wish to be attractive for your wedding,” she went on pleadingly, lifting her face to his. “Is that a crime?” “Ah, yes; my wedding.” The word reared up to meet him, banishing the last traces of lunacy. He became aware of Rene staring at him salaciously, of Elsie, with her mouth open, clutching a towel… “You will be very attractive for my wedding,” he said lightly. “For my funeral also, je vous assure.” He lifted a hand, laid it for a moment on the rich, dark tresses where they mantled her shoulders, then turned it, letting the backs of his fingers run upward against the shining waves. For an instant she felt his touch on her cheek; then he stepped back. “There, that was my ration for all eternity. People have died for less, I dare say.” He turned and walked over to Rene. “I must apologize for having interrupted you,” he said, taking out a sovereign. “Perhaps you will be kind enough to accept this as compensation for any inconvenience I have caused you.” “Thank you, your lordship. Thank you very much.” Rene, greatly pleased, was all bows and obsequiousness. “You will now cut mademoiselle’s hair exactly as she instructs,” said the Earl of Westerholme—and was gone. Anna, left alone, sat mute and trembling, staring into the mirror at a girl she did not know, while Rene picked up the scissors, flourished them, advanced…

—A Countess Below Stairs by Eva Ibbotson

[arch-godenvy]

AGENT JESTER , LEVEL III

name  genevieve castillo nicknames  jester, jes, jessie age  thirty-nine date of birth  august 13, 1984 zodiac  leo place of birth  new brunswick, new jersey current residence  brooklyn gender  genderfluid pronouns  she/he/they sexuality  bisexual, women preference occupation  artist / level iii cerberus agent

faceclaim  aubrey plaza height  5'6 tattoos  many... secret :) piercings  lip, healed. both ears. distinguishing features  big eyes, knowing smile positive traits  creative, relaxed, imaginative, expressive negative traits  foolish, immature, tactless, unserious labels / tropes  class clown, beware the silly ones, blatant lies, hidden depths, lonely rich kid likes  pulling pranks, art, people watching, baked goods dislikes  meetings, serious missions, level i agents fears  death hobbies  painting, sketching habits  clicking tongue, rolling eyes, tapping foot

002.  EXTRA ORDINARY

near death experience… 

jester was having a normal day. the most normal a day can get for her. her roommate left. her boyfriend broke up with her. her favorite bakery didn't have her favorite little treat. that's fine! she goes to the met because that's where she's able to think and relax. jester had no idea that this would be the location for a cerberus corp mission. between one step and the next, jester is dead on the steps of the met, the extra ordinary that practically ran through her in pursuit of a villain not even turning back to check what happened. very sad very terrible. she's revived by a do-gooder that saw the entire thing happen, shocked back to life. when asked about her experience, she details that it felt like she was in a prism, her reflection everywhere she looked, though each was a little different, showing jester on a separate path that she could have taken at any time in her life.

power… 

self-replication / duplication. jester can duplicate herself into tangible perfect replicates. the limit she's found is 10 replicants. each is able of individual thought and action, though she had to have given them the initial thought as she created the duplicate. it is impossible to tell which jester is the real one, and it makes her pranks nearly deadly. she discovered her power when she was wishing she could bake, paint, and relax / watch tv at the same time and she immediately split into three.

drawbacks / vulnerabilities… 

as of right now, the duplicates need to be within 100 ft & she needs to have them in her line of sight. the more she has up, the closer they have to stay. as soon as a duplicate is attacked, it disappears as if it was an illusion. a hit against a duplicate does not effect her, but a hit against her may cause her to lose concentration and therefore all duplicates will disappear as well. ever since her death a few months back, her thoughts have been racing and more scrambled, and being split into duplicates helps her manage things.

(if applicable)  cerberus corp… 

jester auditioned for cerberus on a whim when her friend said that her power could probably be used to do some good. she has no desire to 'do good' but at least working at cerberus gives her something to occupy her time. no one thinks that she'll be able to make it past level iii considering her lack of motivation, but if she puts in the work, it's certainly possible. jester's recent mission was successful, just barely, and is under investigation because she ran off from the higher level agents that were on the mission with her. she's here for a good time not a long time tbh.

codename… 

jester is a childhood nickname that she chose as her codename on the basis that 1) its cute and 2) fits her ability & personality. cerberus does not give a damn...

003.  HEADCANONS

will recruit people into a prank war without warning

(un)intentionally sabotages missions

dad is a politician and mom is a famous actress. neither have had contact with her since her birth as she was raised by a rotating team of nannies. her mom and dad's relationship was an affair on both sides and it would be a scandal if it were to come out, even forty years later.

a very good liar

does have depth despite the front she puts on!

her art is reflective of people she meets, though it has become increasingly more abstract and chaotic since her death and resurrection.

always smiling in a sort of sinister way like she knows too much

does not train. will duplicate herself and have the duplicate train in her place.

004. CONNECTIONS

(on main wc page) a housemate that doesnt have to pay rent but she asks them to pay anyway just to see if they will. she goes through roommates like theyre nothing, usually because they end up leaving her, fed up with her antics.

(on main wc page) the eo that was responsible for her death

ex-relationships.. yes plural. she falls in love easily but people seem to fall out of it much faster

muse / inspiration for her art

a level i or ii agent that is assigned to help her train and hates every second of it

???? idk. profit.

let her get into prank wars with your muse thanks.