#all of my readers are plus size

[captainsaveawoah]

So you see the vision? Do you all see it? Simon a weird little freak showing up at your doorstep looking at that scar with a scowl. Then just make himself at home in your world. Do y’all hear me???

Idk if this would be a thing. Probably is and has already been done.

But, Johnny who is an organ donor.

Reader who’s had a shit heart since they were born.

Johnnys heart after being killed, going to you, a pretty little thing he would have tried to pick up in a bar.

Ghost (who’s just crazy enough to) tracks down the receipt. Unassuming and despite being a man in a mask, feels like they’ve met him before.

[eowynstwin]

imprimatura / muses

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish shows up one day to model for your studio class. He's flirtatious, too attractive for his own good, and more interested in you than you'd ever expect him to be. And his boyfriend Ghost is interested too. - ao3

He arrives early as you’re setting up for your students, in jeans and a tight t-shirt, and the first thing that crosses your mind when you lay eyes on him is Jesus, he’s fit. 

You are no stranger to bodies. Hundreds of them have cycled through your studio, all shapes and sizes and colors; you think you may know every dip, every roll, every hard angle and soft curve that a human body is capable of holding. The mystique of defined muscle has long lost its novelty. Bodies are bodies, and each holds the same value as the next when subject to brush and canvas. It never matters, you teach your students, what a body looks like in the modeling chair. It only matters if they can reproduce it accurately.

Even so, when a body like this walks in, you really can’t help but take notice.

Decadent muscle, fed and worked well, round and full with hydration. It’s impossible to miss, even through his clothes; each group delineated clearly, gracefully, as if sculpted rather than built, and alive with soft, subcutaneous movement. It’s indulgent to look at, the comfortable breadth of his shoulders and chest down to that slight taper of his waist and bulk of his thick thighs. It’s a physique no hard-bodied gym rat could hope to achieve merely with extra time at the racks—a physique that is easily, harmoniously attractive in its makeup of muscle and healthy fat.

The man is also mohawked and suntanned, and his mouth rests at an angle that suggests he often smiles—as if he knows that Michelangelo would have swooned at the sight of him. He comes into your classroom, saunters over to you, and stops precisely two paces away from you.

“Sergeant John MacTavish,” he says, offering his hand. “I understand you’re the instructor?”

He has gorgeous, vivid blue eyes (pthalo and cremnitz, with a touch of hamsa). You blink several times. Fit is still rattling around your skull, and begins knocking against sergeant at the same rolling frequency as his warm Scottish brogue. You realize his hand is still outstretched and quickly take it to shake.

“Yes!” you say. His palm is tough, callused, and not soft in the slightest, but very warm. “Nice to meet you, sergeant.”

He gives a grimace. “John’s fine. Or Soap.”

“Soap?”

“Nickname, y’know.”

Neither of you have released from the handshake. Soap’s grip is firm, the kind of firm that suggests he can squeeze much, much tighter if he needs to. And if the grip isn’t any indication, the broad forearms, dusted soft with dark brown hair, certainly are.

Black lines, a sword and helmet framed in laurels, catch your notice. The ink has the soft edges of having lain in the skin for a few years. You turn his arm to see it more fully. “Oh. Nice tattoo.”

He looks at the ink as if it is entirely new to him, and then gives an easy grin. “Thanks. I’ve got a few more too. Hope they aren’t hard to draw.”

When you loosen your grip on his hand, he releases you immediately. You still feel the squeeze in your bones even as you drop your hand to your side.

“So, then, Soap,” you say, “have you ever modeled before?”

He shakes his head, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his low-slung jeans. It tugs the waistband just a bit, revealing a sliver of warm, tan skin (raw sienna, flesh ochre, naples yellow). “Should have, honestly, with how much it pays.”

“It gets very boring, very fast,” you say. “What do you plan to wear for the breaks?”

“Was I supposed to bring that m’self?”

You are unable to suppress a laugh. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and going a little sheepish—as if expecting a reprimand. You suppose it’s a valid expectation to have, in his world. You aren’t terribly familiar with the military, but you do know it’s one hell of a stickler for rules.

You also can’t help but admire the appealing pull and stretch of his bicep and deltoid, the flex of his pectoral as he lowers his arm. 

“Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll go see if I can find something for you?” you suggest kindly, letting him off the hook.

“Sorry,” he says, pretty blue eyes filled with genuine apology. “I’ll remember nex’ time. Thanks.”

The expression is so hangdog that you almost want to pat his head and noise at him reassuringly, like an actual dog. You press your lips together to hide a smile, and leave the studio.

When you get back from the models’ changing room, you find Soap with one hip against the counter where you’d been organizing your supplies, one knee loose and shoulders set at a relaxed angle. You want to laugh at his easy contrapposto. He’s going to be an excellent model. You can feel it. 

It looks as if he’s moving around the sticks of vine charcoal with one outstretched finger; he pulls his hand guiltily away when you reenter the studio, crossing his arms over his chest as if to hide the evidence of his snooping. It makes his pectorals bunch and round out, gathers the thickness of his biceps up into chiseled, full definition.

You lift one brow at him as you walk over.

“Never could keep my hands to m’self,” he admits, still sheepish.

“It’s alright,” you allow, smiling back. “Do you draw?”

“Used to,” he says. He looks back at the charcoal. “No time, now.”

“Are you deployed often?” you ask, taking the opportunity to look at his face. 

Beauty is cheap in art, but you notice it all the same—appreciate the strong brows, the hard angle of his jaw, the dark stubble of a beard you suspect he can’t keep shaved down, and the long scar that cuts through it across his chin. The light brown of his complexion is speckled with sun exposure, and there are the faintest of creases at the corners of his eyes, which you expect will deepen into genuine, gorgeous crow’s feet as he ages.

He’s not all rugged, though. There is a soft, thick curl to his lashes, which are as dark as strong coffee or expensive chocolate, and an equal decadence to the pink, plush little swell of his bottom lip—which, in the very middle, has the smallest of divots, as if he regularly spends time biting it. 

They’re traits that are far too sweet to belong on an otherwise masculine face, and their effect is such that they turn an objectively average set of features into a shockingly attractive portrait—that suddenly has something fluttering, just a bit, in the roof of your stomach.

He looks at you, and catches your survey. You can see him realize you’d been watching, the knowledge of it blooming in ocean blue eyes like ink dropped onto linen.

“More often than no’,” he answers, showing teeth in a crooked, interested grin. And now he’s looking at you—attention flitting across your face, dropping down your body and jumping back up to meet your gaze. The creases deepen at the corners of his eyes.

The fluttering intensifies. The sudden role reversal has you feeling at once flustered and unmoored. You are never the subject of any perusal—always comfortably the observer.

“Well—” you try, and you’re embarrassed at the low tone of your voice. You clear your throat. “Well, let’s make use of the time we have you, then.”

His smile remains, cocksure and easy. “Let’s.” 

He knows the effect he’s had.

“Anyway,” you say, blinking several times and proffering the sheet you’d retrieved, “none of the other models are your size, so I’m afraid this will have to do.”

He takes it in his hands, which are sun-dark and striking against the clean white linen. “So it’s a toga, then?” he asks.

“Whatever you like. Let’s go over the basics, and then you can undress.”

“Oh, already, aye? Y’move fast, hen,” he drawls, still grinning. “I like it.”

Heat rushes to your face, but you don’t feel embarrassed enough not to laugh. You busy yourself with tapping your charcoal sticks back in place, putting them back in an even row ascending in order of length, and saving yourself from having to look him in the eye. “Ha! We don’t do a lot of foreplay in this studio, I’m afraid.”

“No?” Soap hums, and he steps closer. He’s very warm, enough that you can feel it even with the space between you. You do have to look at him then. His eyes are half-lidded, lashes casting pretty shadows on his cheekbones as he gazes down at you. “That’s a shame. I’m right partial to it.”

Your brows lift, and you will your pulse to remain steady even as you inhale, catching a thread of���cologne? Aftershave? Just plain deodorant?—coming off of him. The scent caresses you, almost beckoning you to lean forward. You swear you can see the thrum of his heartbeat, there in the soft hollows by his Adam’s apple.

You blink. He is your model. “Well—I’ll try to set you up as best I can, anyway. Follow me, please.”

And you turn your back on him, because this is your workplace, and you are at work, and if you don’t get on with things you might do something stupid like actually flirt back.

Soap hadn’t been sure what to expect when he arrived at the art studio. He’s never been to one before, much less one housed in a university—which he has also never been to—and hell, he only ever took one art class in high school.

If pressed, he’d have imagined old brick walls covered in diagram posters, shelves of supplies in all colors, the smell of paint hanging permanently in the air. What he finds instead is modern, clean, and impersonal. Stage lights hang from fixtures in the ceiling, pointing at a platform in the back center of the room. A tight line of easels, all folded up, stand pressed into a far corner, next to a tower of stacked chairs, and waist-high cabinets line half the room against the bare, painted cinder block wall. The linoleum floor looks new.

None of this, however,  has any opportunity to disappoint him. His final unmet expectation, standing across the room and organizing a tray of art supplies, is a very welcome surprise.

You’re bonnie. Like, every point on his wishlist bonnie. Christ, he must’ve done something really good lately, because he can’t imagine just lucking into this. There’s not a hard angle to you, all sweet and soft, but when you meet his gaze during introductions there’s a sharpness to you that skewers him through the chest. You are much smarter than him, he can tell immediately. 

He’s always had a thing for smart women. Soft ones, too.  And if that weren’t enough, you let him flirt shamelessly with you, while checking him out the whole time.

Steaming Jesus.

You direct him to get onto the platform and sit down, still clothed, in an armchair draped in another pristine white sheet. The stage lights are bright overhead, and they highlight free-floating wisps of your hair in gold. 

“You want to ensure that you don’t rest your weight on only one or two points,” you explain. You have a nice voice. Steady, confident—this is your territory, your studio, and in it you are clearly the master. “The main danger is that your arms or legs might fall asleep, and you won’t realize it until you get up, in which case you’ll fall. We can’t touch you, so we can’t save you from that.”

“Y’canna touch me?” Soap repeats.

“Not without your explicit consent,” you say.

He smiles at you, the kind of smile he saves for bright nights at the pub over platoons of shot glasses. “I explicitly consent to you touching me.”

The corners of your mouth tug upward, just a bit, and you look away, clearly bashful. Something in Soap’s chest starts beating a drum. He knows already he’ll ask you to drinks after the class ends tonight.

“I doubt I’d be able to do much,” you say, “you’re a bit more substantial than the usual models.” Your eyes flick down his torso and back up.

“Guess I’ll have to follow your advice, then,” he says.

“You should,” you say, and he looks at your thigh shamelessly as you pat it—even beneath your jeans, he can see the ripple of the impact. “One of the worst-case scenarios is nerve damage.”

“So you have done this before!”

He can’t help it—Soap’s imagination runs wild. Titanic, draw-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls wild. It’s not exactly polite to imagine a teacher naked while she’s in the middle of giving him directions (and Jesus, what a concept, he might be half-mast already), but Soap has always found that people like it when he’s a little rude.

You drum your fingers. “I have.”

He finally hears the nerve damage part of your instruction. “How, uh—how bad can it get?”

The drumming stops. “For me? It just starts to twinge a bit if I sit on this side very long. So don’t rest your weight all on one hip, yeah?”

Concern assuaged that he had not ignored your genuine pain in order to objectify you, Soap grins. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you say. “Also—even if it doesn’t hurt, Soap, you can stop at any time, okay?”

That has him blinking. “Kinda defeats the purpose, doesnae?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. This is your first time modeling. You don’t know how you’ll feel, sitting here with your clothes off and everyone looking at you. If you need to stop, I want you to stop. I’ll make sure you’re paid anyway, so don’t worry about that.”

You are…so serious about this. The line of your brows is furrowed, imploring, like a little discomfort on his part is a violation of the highest order.

“Sure,” he says, a little dumbstruck and mostly lying. He’d be a rubbish soldier if he tapped out of a little thing like sitting down, but it’s nice that you care.

You purse your lips, nod, and then move onto the task at hand, stepping back and then down off the platform. When you begin to survey him—gaze flitting up and down his body, more pensive than appreciative—he has to resist the urge to flex.

Instead he watches you as you look at him. He especially likes, he decides, the slope of your nose and the smart, serious press of your mouth. You could get him all turned around, he thinks, if you gave it half a try.

Your tits are also great, but that’s by the by.

“Try resting your elbow up a little higher, and twist at the hips a bit,” you instruct, and Soap obeys. “Hm. How would you feel about crossing your ankles?”

You continue like this—nudging him in directions he doesn’t think make all that much of a difference, standing in different positions around the room to check the angles. He half-wishes he could step out of his body and join you, curious as he is about what you’re seeing, what your students will see. He’s not sure he has any clear expectations for how the class will go, but if you’re any indication, it’ll be more fun than he expects.

“Not sure if I’ll remember how to get back into this,” he says, partly to be helpful and partly to get you to talk to him again.

“I’ll help you, don’t worry,” you say. “Okay, I think that’s a good one, you can move now—I’m going to start setting up, the students should be here any minute.”

He stands, and you turn away to collect your supplies, so Soap figures this means it’s time for him to strip. He pulls off his shirt and drapes it over the chair’s arm, unbuttons his pants and shoves them down to his knees.

“Soap!”

He freezes. Then he looks at you. You’re blushing again, deep and saturated, mouth parted in surprise and hand pressed to your chest. He does not miss the quick flick of your gaze down his body; he’s probably violated some rule or another of the studio, but he can’t help but grin.

You’re adorable.

“Gotta happen eventually, right?” he says.

You cover your face with your palm. “I was going to leave the room first!”

“First time someone’s wanted to run away when I’m takin’ my clothes off, I won’t lie—”

“You just come get me when you’re done!” you say hastily as you beeline for the door. “I’ll be right outside!”

Soap chuckles a little when you’re gone, the door slamming mortified behind you, and folds his clothes up behind the armchair he’ll be sitting in. You’re so cute. He can’t wait to sit naked for you for the next three hours.

And he’s definitely asking you out for drinks.

next

[96kurtswrld]

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚🦋˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

guys tmi i'm ovulating i'm so sorry i gotta share my thoughts nsfw 18+ minors shoo, fem reader, thigh riding, regular riding, creampie (whoops), wrap it before you tap it guys pls, a little nipple play. steve is so handsy and so mouthy i'm sorry. fem nicknames like honey, pretty girl, good girl, baby ect. flustered fem reader (is that a warning? idk but i'll include it anyways), really just pure freaking filth tbh and it's probably a little inaccurate i am not a smut writer at all but i had to share okay enjoy pls

thinking about riding steve....it started as an innocent afternoon on the couch together. a rare day off of work for steve. there's a movie playing on the tv but you've since long forgotten about it, too focused on steve's hand that rests on your thigh. and then his hand had inched higher. and then before you knew it he had you in his lap, straddling one of his thighs as you ground against it. your head resting on his chest as you moved, his hands on your hips helping to guide you as he pressed soft kisses to your jaw. eventually the tent in his jeans is too much to ignore, and your undoing his button and pawing off his pants before he can even register it. he's slide his hands around to grab the front of your shirt, lifting it up and tossing it on the other end of the couch. his hands softly trace up the curve of your tummy until he's cupping a boob in each hand, kneading them. your head tilts back in a moan, steve taking advantage to lean forward and kiss your throat, his lips moving down your chest.

his hand cups your left breast while he kisses the right one, his lips closing around your nipple as he takes it between his teeth, gently biting on the hardened bud. a gasp leaves you, causing steve to smirk as he pulls off and does the same to the other side. his hands eventually fall to your hips, glancing down at the space between your laps. "gonna ride me, pretty girl?" he asks, his voice a low hum as he speaks to you. you nod your head at him, reaching down between your bodies to grab his hard, leaking cock. he shakes his head at you. "words, honey."

"yes, stevie. wanna ride you, please?" you beg softly, your hand still wrapped around his cock. he smirks at you again, the tease that he is, and gives you a nod of approval. "there's my good girl. go ahead, honey. make yourself feel good" he tells you, his eyes lidded as he licks his lips and leans his head back against the couch, eyes staring down at you carefully. he watches as you hover above him, lining yourself up before you oh so slowly slide down on his cock. you both let out small breaths of relief, giggling at each other as steve leans forward to press a kiss to your lips. he hums contentedly as he rests his hands on your hips, his grip gentle for now.

you start slow, rocking your hips back and forth on his cock as you lean forward to wrap your arms around his neck, bringing you closer to him. you press some light kisses to his jaw and neck, pulling more low moans out of him. eventually you move start to move faster, lifting yourself up and down. your walls feel delicious around his cock, warm and tight, gripping him the way you both enjoy. small pants escape youu as you work yourself up more and more. the wet sound of his cock slipping in and out of you filling the room. steve buries his face in your neck, small moans leaving him as you bounce on his cock. he pulls back slightly to look at you, captivated by your tits bouncing as you move.

steve leans forward again to bury his face in your neck, a low guttural groan leaving him as you work yourself closer and closer towards orgasm. he grips the fat of your hips roughly. "slow baby, slow...y'gonna kill me" he slurs against your neck. you whine at his words but do as he says, slowing your movements down to a soft roll of your hips again. "i was s'close" you pout, pulling yourself back until you can see his face again. he's got a lopsided smile on his face as he looks you up and down. "i know honey, i know" he sooths, his thumbs rubbing your hip. he leans forward again to press kisses to your chest, biting and kissing the skin until it turns that light purple color he loves to see. you moan out a whisper of his name, his cock twitching inside of you as he roughly kneads your hips. "don't wanna cum just yet" he mumbles against your chest, continuing to kiss across your chest, around your boobs, up to your shoulder, down your arm. you sigh and moan as he goes, it's music to steve's ears really. he loves pulling all those pretty little sounds out of you, making you feel good. he kisses his way back to the juncture of your neck, breathing in deeply before he starts rutting his hips upwards, a gasp turned moan falling from your lips. you grip his shoulders tightly, as he quickly picks up the pace, rutting up into you rough and fast. "steve....oh my god" you whine into his ear, he grips your hips hard. he lifts you up and down in time with his thrusts, making sure his cock is buried inside you deep before pulling out and slamming back in. his tip hits your cervix he's so deep.

"come on, honey. cum for me, yeah?" he begs right in your ear, his teeth gently nipping the lobe as he thrusts. "feel so good baby, christ" he whines, his pace frantic as he gets close himself, but he wants you to cum first. you pant and whine against his chest, feeling the coil in your lower stomach tightening. what throws you over the edge is one of steve's hands sliding down towards your cunt, the rough pads of his fingers finding your clit. your so sensitive and on the edge that it only takes another second after that for you to cum. steve slows as you cum, you can feel his smile against your neck as he helps you ride out your high. you involuntarily squeeze around him as you come down, the feeling surprising steve. he cums inside of you with a gasp of your name, his entire body going rigid as he softly ruts up into you to ride out his own high now. he presses kisses on your chest, kissing up your neck until he gets to your face. he presses three quick kisses to your lips, a fourth lingering kiss follows. he smiles against your lips and runs his hands up your sides, his touch featherlight and a complete contrast from the rough grip he had on your hips. "my beautiful girl, did so good for me" he praises quietly.

the rest of the night consists of actual cuddling and movie watching, snuggled up together on the couch under the same blanket, soft touches and shy smiles shared between the two of you until it's time to get ready for bed. of course, not without a second, proper round where steve can do all the work, letting his girl simply lay there and feel good.

[effwon]

'cause i don't think that they'd understand || ln4 x reader (Part 1)

Summary: Lando just wants to walk down to the garage before the Miami race with you by his side. George and Carmen walked in together, Alex and Lily walked in together, so why can't you, as well? Despite your self-consciousness, you agree to walk hand-in-hand with him down to the garage right before the big race, but it's a much harder ask for you than anyone could ever realize.

Plus-size (she/her) Reader x Lando Norris

Warnings: Brief mentions of nausea/being sick, panic, reader is plus-sized and very down on herself about it, weight mentions, ect.

Characters: Lando Norris (your boyfriend) and feat Oscar Piastri as a last minute saving grace for you.

Rating: G, for now.

“I want you to walk down to the garage with me.”

You blink in surprise, Lando’s words are so sudden and so firm that it makes goosebumps raise on your skin. Walk to the garage with him? But that would mean…

“What? Why?” you ask, folding down the page in the book you’re reading, before placing it down softly on the table beside you. A slugging, churning feeling arises in your gut as you realize exactly what it is he’s asking of you. 

“What do you mean ‘why’? You’re my girlfriend, I want you to walk with me into the garage.” He says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And, perhaps, for any other woman in this world it might just be.

But it isn’t for you. This is quite possibly one of the most difficult things he could ever ask you to do, and that alone makes you feel horrible. Lando deserves a normal girlfriend, who can react normally to very normal situations. Not someone who makes his life even more difficult than it already is.

You sigh heavily, knowing if you refuse you will just upset him. “I - are you sure you want to be seen with me? People will talk and they won’t be nice…” “Babe, we’ve had this conversation before. Just one walk down to the garage with me, that’s all I’m asking.”

You frown again, daring to look up and meet his gaze. He doesn’t seem angry, but there’s a desperation in his eyes, something that tugs at your heartstrings. What Lando doesn’t realize is that the backlash won’t fall too heavily on him - but on you…?

Oh, the fans and the media will eat you up. Lando is dating a fat girl? That will decorate the tabloid headlines for days, perhaps even weeks or months. The thought alone makes you sick. But how can you say no to him when he’s so earnest, when he wants to show you off, regardless if you deserve it or not?

“Yeah, okay.” You finally reply, looking away from Lando and down to the floor. He notices this, however, and kneels down in front of you, grabbing one of your hands in both of his own. His hands are so warm and so immediately comforting, working to ease the rapid beat of your heart in your chest.

“It’ll be okay. I promise. And just think, you’ll finally be able to come see the garage and paddock!” His voice is so cheerful, so genuinely happy and excited for you to be there with him. It’s touching, to say the least, but you are loath to admit that your excitement level is not nearly on par with his. Not even slightly.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve wanted to see them for so long.” The lack of enthusiasm in your voice does dull the excitement in his eyes, but he holds steady. Admirable, really. A trait you wish you could share with him.

“It’s almost time. Why don’t you go ahead and get ready, and we can walk down in about an hour?”

An hour? Well - here’s hoping you can actually make yourself look even somewhat presentable in such a short amount of time.

“You’ll help me pick out my dress, right?” you ask.

The light immediately comes back to his eyes, and he beams at you with the very same smile that won your heart the night you met him.

“Of course! Fashion show time!”

~~

Lando ends up picking the teal colored sundress, something that suits your taste and simultaneously compliments some of your key features. It fits well, with no need for you to suck in your stomach to make it look nicer or more appealing, and hides some of your less than desirable attributes (the rolls, god, the rolls) with ease. 

You feel comfortable enough, with only a light amount of makeup on your face, and your feet are settled into white flats instead of the heels you had originally picked out. Lando liked them as well, but urged you to go for something more comfortable and carefree.

You genuinely do feel okay, but the bitter taste of anxiety still stirs the acid of your stomach as you think about the amount of eyes that will be on you and Lando in a few moments.

“Hey beautiful,” Lando says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. On instinct, you suck in your stomach to try and lessen the circumference of your belly. Lando tenses, but he doesn’t push the issue, keeping you nestled safely in his arms as he presses a kiss to the back of your neck. “You just about ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” you reply softly, leaning only a portion of your weight back against him. He doesn’t let go for a few moments, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against the shell of your ear. 

“I’m proud of you. I know you’re scared, and I know you’re only doing this for me, but I hope you can manage to enjoy it as well. You may not want the world to know you’re mine, but I do.” Lando explains, nipping at your ear with gentle teeth. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you cannot help but smile at his antics.

“Well, we’ll see what all the news sources are saying in the morning. You know for a fact my issue isn’t being seen with you, it’s you being seen with me.”

“Who cares what they say? How I feel about you is what matters, not what the public thinks about a relationship they know nothing about.” Lando’s voice is firm and leaves no room for argument - likely because this IS an argument the two of you have had time and time again. 

You open your mouth to respond, but Lando’s PR Agent gestures a bit frantically at you both and all of a sudden, Lando is no longer behind you but at your side, lacing your fingers together. 

“Deep breath, babe. It’s go time.”

Oh.

You take a deep breath and hold it in your lungs, fearful that if you breathe at all, you might mess this up entirely. Lando’s hand is warm and firm in your own, steady while your mentality feels anything but. There’s no time to prepare yourself for the walk - Lando is moving and on instinct, you move fluidly alongside him. Your heart is racing impossibly hard in your chest and somehow only gets faster as you step out onto the grass and the sun shines down upon you and Lando like a blinding spotlight.

You hear the clicking of cameras before you see the media snapping shots of you and Lando as you walk hand-in-hand towards the McLaren garage. You can already hear the shouts of fans at home, screaming about how Lando could possibly be dating someone so fat and unattractive when he’s literally a celebrity and could have anyone he wanted. You can see the offensive articles, wondering what’s gone wrong in Lando’s head to be dating someone so average and so unathletic when all of the other drivers are dating what could be (and in some cases ARE) models. 

So many eyes are on you both, and you still haven’t been able to take a breath just yet. You feel Lando’s hand squeeze yours, but you are unable to squeeze back. You just want to be at the garage and tucked back away from the eyes of the media so you can regain your bearings.

And then finally, after what feels like a marathon of a walk, you feel the grass turn to solid ground beneath your feet and the smells of the garage hit your senses like a brick wall. Everything slowly comes back into focus and you realize you’ve finally made it to the other side. Your gut is churning, but you let out the breath you have been holding since you took your first step out and it eases some of the bubbling tension in your chest.

Lando’s hand leaves yours fairly suddenly, but he immediately pops up in your line of sight, beaming at you like you’ve just handed him the sun, the moon, and all the stars. You swallow thickly, hoping to keep down the nausea that threatens you, and offer up a tight smile of your own.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks, pulling you in by your waist and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You are still within sight of the media cameras and you hear a few clicking somewhere off to your right, which does little to help quell the nausea. 

“It was fine, yeah.” You say, and it’s incredible just how weak your own voice sounds. “Can we, uh - can we go someplace in the back for a minute? Away from the cameras?”

“Of course,” Lando says, and concern begins to blossom on his features. His eyebrows furrow, gaze focused solely on you as you still try your best to smile at him. “I have to get changed into my kit anyway.”

Lando’s hand is back in yours instantly, and he gently guides you through crew members and winding hallways until you’re far enough away from all of the commotion that you can barely hear it anymore. Your breath is shaky as you inhale, but the relief is almost immediate now that you are out of the public eye.

“Are you okay?” Lando asks after a few seconds of studying your face. “I’m sorry, that was too much, wasn’t it?”

“No, no, no.” you interrupt him, taking another deep breath and letting it out slowly. “It’s just a lot. I’m not used to these kinds of things, not like you are. And there were so many cameras…”

“You learn to ignore the cameras.” He says, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Try not to worry about them, they’re just an annoyance anyway. You’re here to watch me race, and I promise you the McLaren crew will take great care of you while you do.”

Your smile feels a bit more genuine now as the nerves begin to drift off. You know you’ll have cameras in your face likely the entire time Lando is racing, but knowing that you have the support of McLaren while you’re here helps a bit. Lando has been with these people for years now, you can only imagine they’ve grown quite close in that time. 

“I’m sure they will. I - uh - is there a bathroom back here somewhere?” You look around a bit frantically, overcome by the sudden intense nausea that hits you now that the worst of the nerves have tapered off. Sweat builds on your forehead and you begin to feel a bit clammy and lightheaded, but Lando either doesn’t notice, or you’ve managed to keep yourself steady enough as to not rouse suspicion. 

“Oh, yeah, I’ll take you there,” he says, looking around to gain his bearings. He circles his fingers around your wrist and leads you back towards the heart of the garage, but stops before you get to the more heavily trafficked areas. It’s a small, unassuming restroom meant for one person at a time, but it will do. “Here you are. I actually need to change, so I’ll come back for you once I’m set up, okay?”

“Sounds good.” You confirm, leaning in to kiss him when you see him do the same. He offers you a comforting smile and then takes off into the clamor of the garage to get himself ready for the race. You watch him weave through crowds of crew and media personnel, and once he’s no longer within your sight, you turn around and rush into the bathroom without a moment to spare.

The nausea is almost overpowering, and you can’t even make it to the toilet before you feel your stomach rolling. You grasp desperately at the vanity, emptying your nerves into the sink with a violent heave and a shudder. Panic is starting to claw its way up your throat now that you’ve been sick, and you grip the sides of the vanity so tightly that your knuckles turn white. The nausea, thankfully, goes away now that you’ve emptied your stomach into the sink, but a much worse feeling creeps up to take its place.

You reach forward with trembling hands and turn on the sink, cleaning out the mess you’ve just made. Thankfully, a few splashes of water around the sink (and a few swishes in your mouth) manage to clean out everything so there’s no evidence left of your struggle.

You back yourself against the wall now, feeling your heart beating faster all over again, and the sweat begins to feel cold on your forehead. Panic is no new sensation, but you can’t help but curse the timing of this attack. It makes sense - given the overstimulation and the nervousness you just fought your way through, but you had hoped deep in your heart that you would be able to handle this without a breakdown.

You could not have been more wrong.

You begin to take deep, shuddering breaths at far too rapid a pace. You know you have to get your breathing under control, or this will spiral until you’re pathetically hyperventilating alone in a McLaren bathroom. You rush forward to turn the water back on, hoping that splashing some on your face might help snap you out of it, when you hear the handle of the restroom door jiggle.

Your stomach lurches again when you realize in your haste, you forgot to lock the door.

“Yeah, mate. I’ll be back in a few.” You hear a familiar voice say, muffled slightly by the noise buzzing around the garage.

As soon as the person steps inside the restroom and your eyes meet, you feel like you could be sick again. It’s none other than Oscar Piastri, Lando’s teammate and friend at McLaren, and he’s staring at you with wide, concerned eyes.

“Hey,” he greets, and it’s so incredibly soft - as if he might be speaking to a cornered, wounded animal. “Hey, are you alright?”

You can’t reply to him just yet - your breathing is out of control and nausea is hitting you again from the depths of absolute hell. As if this day couldn’t have possibly gotten any worse, you WOULD have a mental breakdown in front of Lando’s teammate.

You simply stare back at him in shock, like he’s the most terrifying thing you could possibly see, and you finally manage to choke out a weak and pitiful, “No.”

You watch as Oscar gently locks the door behind you both - a blessing, really, to keep anyone else from walking in on you in such an embarrassing state. He keeps his expression neutral, only taking one step into the bathroom with his hands palm-up to show he means no harm.

“You need to breathe, okay? Think you can breathe with me?” Oscar asks, his voice echoing in the small space. He swallows thickly, another sound that’s easy to pick up in the confined space, but he patiently waits for you to respond.

“I don’t - I don’t know -” you reply, hands slapping against the wall as you try to find something to grip onto for balance. “I don’t know.”

“Why don’t we give it a try, at least?” Oscar tries again, looking far more concerned than you think he has any right to be. He hardly knows you, after all.

“I - I can -” but the words die on your lips as your legs give out beneath you. You fall to your knees on the tile floor and that’s when Oscar jumps quickly into action. You feel unfamiliar arms wrap around your shoulders, a cushion to keep your head from smashing against the floor, and the last thing you see are Oscar’s frightened eyes above you, the echo of your name frantically erupting from the back of his throat as your vision fades out.

[moonstruckme]

hi! i have a request, but not for a specific character, you can pick who you want to write about i just ask that it’s not about any of the stranger things characters😅 but could you write something just pure and fluffy and sweet with a plus size!reader please? there is a serious lack of just pure plus size!reader fanfics, almost all of the ones i find are smut and it makes me quite sad because i’m currently not able to read smut because of mental health reasons🥹 i just want to read something so sweet and pure and loving with a plus size!reader and her man just loving her softness and curves.

Hi sweetheart! I hope this is alright <3

Sirius Black x plus size!reader ♡ 822 words

You’re innocently reading when cold fingers try to jimmy into the crease between your thighs. You squeal. “Sirius, don’t! Shit, your fingers are freezing.” 

He pouts. Even with his pretty lips and freakishly long lashes, the expression doesn’t work on you like it used to. Sirius has worn it out. “Exactly,” he whines. “They’re cold, and you’re so warm. Quit being selfish.” 

“So get a blanket like a normal person,” you chide. “Don’t make your cold fingers my problem.” 

Sirius scowls. “I thought my problems were your problems. Isn’t that, like, the point of a relationship?” 

You lower your book to give him a look. “That’s an awfully self-serving idea of what a relationship is supposed to be, Siri.” 

He huffs, reaching the whole two feet to grab the blanket you’ve strewn over the armchair. “Fine. You must have me in your thrall or something, you know that? I used to get whatever I wanted. Where did it all go so wrong?” 

“Not sure.” You flip your page idly, though you’re not really reading anymore. Just baiting your boyfriend, as you are wont to do. “Maybe when you stopped trying to woo me.” 

Sirius gasps, and your book is torn from your hands. He sets it on the table, and you both pretend he hasn’t done it with care, saving your page. “How dare you! I woo you every day of the week.” 

“Mmm.” You try to look unimpressed, but you know he can see the smile you’re fighting. “I don’t feel very wooed when you try to use me as a human heating pad.” 

SIrius’ grin comes out to play. You take that as permission to release your own. “Aw, m’sorry, lovely girl,” he croons, bending to brush his lips over the place on your thigh where his fingers had clawed for entry a minute before. “Have I not been telling you how wonderful you are often enough?” 

You bite your lip against the giggle bubbling up your throat. “You could stand to do it more.” 

“My pretty baby.” Sirius grips the fat of your hips, pulling himself upward to kiss you on the lips. “My sweet, darling angel, do you know how much I love you?” He moves to the corner of your mouth, your cheek, just under your eye, kiss-kiss-kissing all up and down your face. 

Your giggles escape, and you break, hands touching his waist to keep him close. “I do,” you admit happily. “I love you too.” 

“No, but not nearly as much as I love you.” His voice wilts with a dejection that’s entirely for show, leaning back to bat his too-long eyelashes at you pitifully. “You really have no idea, do you? You silly thing. I think I need to show you more often.” 

You’re quiet, shaking with silent laughter Sirius pretends not to notice. 

“I love you here,” he says, palms rubbing soothingly up and down your thighs, “but for more than just because they’re so warm. And I love you here” —his hands slide over the material of your shirt, up your waist, dipping lovingly into each rolling curve— “and here” —he follows the path to your broad shoulders, squeezing lightly before continuing upwards to cup your face— “and I love—baby, are you paying attention? This is important—I love you here.” He pecks you on the lips. “Love love love you, gorgeous. I love you here, too.” He kisses your nose, then presses his lips to your forehead. “I love you here most of all,” he says, words all mushed up against your skin. “Do you believe me now?” 

“Sirius,” you say softly, face now infinitely warmer than it had been a minute ago, back when you’d been under the impression that you were the one teasing him. “Of course I believe you.” 

“Good.” He gives your head one more firm kiss before backing off, giving you one of those sweetheart, earnest smiles he keeps locked away for special occasions. “It’s important that you know, you know?”

“Mhm,” you say, and his grin widens at your shyness. It takes a lot for him to make you this bashful these days, so your flush is a victory for him. “This was all a part of your grand scheme, wasn’t it?” 

Sirius blinks at you. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” 

You stare him down for a few seconds before sighing. “Fine, you can use my legs to warm your hands.” 

“Yes!” He wastes no time, worming his fingers into the soft inner part of your thighs. You tense at the cold. “I prefer not to think of it as using you. More like affection that also happens to have utility, yeah?” 

“Sure.” You roll your eyes, fighting a shiver as you pick your book up from the coffee table. “It’s like you said, you get whatever you want.” 

Sirius leans forward, pecking you sweetly on the lips. “You know it, babe.”

[ginevrapng]

content warnings: non explicit drunken sex between james and lily, dubcon/noncon? (idk it's fucked up the drunk sex went wrong), emotional cheating(?), (i really don't know how to tag this one guys- if i've missed something lmk)

// (1.5k words) // best friend!james potter lives in my head rent free, reader not specified which house they're from but has access to the gryffindor common room, chubby reader

best friend!james is completely in denial of his feelings towards you so he spends his days chasing after lily evans. days become months and then become years, flirting with her daily and chasing her. he is a chaser it's what he does.

you constantly scowled him as it seemed like lily had no interest in him. you didn't want him harassing her. when he started showing interest in her it hurt, you knew why of course, it's hard not to fancy the great james potter but you quickly got over your feelings when you realised you had no chance with him, he was your best friend and nothing was going to spoil that.

what surprised everyone was when lily started to treat james nicer, when she started to smile at him in class. no one could have guessed this complete 360 of her feelings. the next time james came up to her in the great hall bugging her he asked her to be his girlfriend and she actually said yes, causing james to pause in shock for a moment and then start grinning. "knew you'd say yes eventually evans."

lily just rolled her eyes and told him to shut up.

you heard about what happened later on in the day and were shocked yourself. you never thought they would actually start dating, she never seemed like she was interested in james before and previously you spent so long trying to tell him to let it go and find someone else but you're happy that he's happy. he's finally got the girl.

so why does he feel so empty?

their relationship was good, they went on dates and lily always laughed at his jokes, he started to pay attention more in classes they were both in together to impress her and it seemed like lily became less stressed and uptight. they're both happy yet james feels something is wrong. even through he still grins from ear to ear, still has that mischievous attitude you love and his pranking nature, even though he's acting the same, he knows being with lily is wrong, he doesn't even know why but being with lily doesn't feel right.

lily and james have been dating for months now and james has been able to ignore that nagging feeling. one gryffindor party changed everything though.

gryffindor beat hufflepuff in a quidditch match and the house was celebrating, even people from other houses came to support gryffindor's win, however they may have came for the drinks because the gryffindor house always throw the best parties. either way everyone was wasted by the end of the night, some more than others. james being one of those, lily being someone who is nearly equally as drunk, even though she swore she wouldn't drink much as to try and keep an eye on everyone however that plan was shattered when sirius and marlene kept passing her drinks every ten minutes.

lily and james later made their way upstairs to be in private as the night started coming to and end and as soon as the door was shut they started making out and clumsily taking off each others clothes before falling onto the bed together. james placed a kiss on her neck, making her moan and breathily say, "jamie, come on, no playing around."

the only person who ever calls him jamie is you, every single person teases you about it but you never relent. in james' drunken brain his conclusion is that he's kissing you.

james could never ignore your requests and gives 'you' what you want, he tried his best to be slow but he couldn't, he thrusted into 'you', who he thought was you and started babbling. "god, i love you so much." lily wraps her legs around him causing him to groan. he says your name. your name. he says he loves you. lily realises what is happening and thinks maybe she misheard there is no way that james doesn't love her, not after how long he's been trying to woo and pursue her. that is until she heard him say your name again.

lily pushes him off her and she stares at him, james cocks his head in confusion. she's drunk and angry and so very confused so she storms out the room and slams the door loudly before going into her room, flinging herself on the bed and crying until she falls asleep. the morning after is confusing for james, he's hungover and doesn't remember anything from last night but he knows that lily is ignoring him.

he finally is able to get her alone after some help from sirius, by saying that he needed her for something before leaving them alone, and james asks her why she's so upset and mad. she scoffs. "leave me alone potter." james winces at her tone, now they're dating she always calls him james and only calls him potter when she's teasing him. she turns around to leave and james chases after her. "we're done james! don't talk to me! don't even look at me!" she spits out venomously. his blood runs cold as he just nods, he's never heard her speak like that before, he thought that maybe if he gives her some time she might tell him whats wrong and he can fix it.

she swivels round and marches back over to him, james thinking that she may have already calmed down before he saw her face. she points her finger to his chest, "another thing potter, were you ever going to tell me?" she hissed.

"tell you what?" james asks softly, trying not to anger her anymore but that doesn't work, if anything it just made her more pissed off.

"that you love her!" she throws her hands up exasperated and full of negative emotions towards him and towards you too, despite this is not your fault. james furrows his eyebrows, unaware of what she was talking about or who's she referring too.

"you're in love your best friend! when was you going to tell me james, huh? a year from now, ten years from now? on our wedding day?" she screams at him, not caring if anyone heard.

"oh," james replies quietly, his body posture relaxing.

"oh? is that all you've got to say to me?" she shouts at him.

"yeah. basically. i'll- i'll see you around evans. i really am sorry." james tells her, not really knowing what to say to her before he walks off.

lily's blood boils as he reacts so calmly and doesn't try to defend himself in the slightest. he doesn't try to fight for her. he has the gall to walk away from her.

he spends the majority of his day holed up in his room. he wasn't sure what happened last night but he knows it must have been serious. he's now single. even though she never said the words "we're breaking up" or "i'm dumping you" it was worse. lily hates him and he's now confronted with his feelings. can he really stay in denial and pretend he's not in love with you if lily knows, what if she's told the others. what if she's told you?

he rushes down into the common room, nearly tripping and falling on his way down. he has no idea where you'll be and sirius has the marauders map, maybe you'll be in the gryffindor common room hanging with everyone but you also like the library but you also like- "been look for you everywhere, where've you been all day?" he's interrupted by his train of thoughts by you. he lets out a sigh of relief, you're right here and even if lily has told you you're still cheerfully smiling at him. "jamie, you alright?" you looked concerned after noticing he's just staying silent and not moving.

suddenly he pulls you to him and hugs you tightly, making you giggle. "jamie, this is great and all but you're crushing me." he reluctantly lets go of you and takes you in. your comfy warm clothes you're wearing due to the weather that james finds highly annoying because your clothes are so baggy that he can hardly see your body, he wishes he could see your round frame and your cute soft tummy and plush thighs but you always complain about it being too cold. he looks softly at you, your hair is all messy and windswept, chipped nails from when you've been biting them and picking them because of exams coming up and chubby cheeks prominent as you smile, you look beautiful, perfect.

you put your hands on your hips and look cross at him, playfully, not like lily, but like you're not actually cross, it's not in your nature to stay seriously mad at him. "i've got a bone to pick with you." james freezes up, worried that lily's told you. "why the hell is lily ignoring me? sometimes it's like she's shooting daggers at the back of my head."

james chuckles, "ignore her. we broke up earlier on today." you thought he'd be more torn up about it but he's beaming at you.

"i'm so sorry jamie," you tell him earnestly, grabbing his hands in yours and holding them to your chest.

his heart jumps at how much you care for him. "i promise it's fine. i've realised she was never the one for me." you were about to question what he means by that and to ask him to elaborate and if that means he broke up with her but before you can do that you hear the laughs and chatter of the other marauders come in, they heard that lily and james broke up and came to console him, thinking that he'll be away from everyone in his room only to find him in the common room grinning and laughing, when they saw he was with you it made sense.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Smutty Shorts- Christmas Edition

Curtis Everett x Plus Size Reader (Life Is Short So Make It Sweet)

18+ Only Blog

Happy Holidays everyone

You never would have guessed that Curtis had this skill. 

But it didn’t surprise you, because Curtis was meticulous whenever he wanted something. 

And now strands of red velvet ribbon criss crossed across your sensitive body while you felt all that stress start to meld away. 

The days of long classes, that feeling of never doing enough for the kids, the parents who constantly were making demands, then there were regular holiday obligations. The guilt of not being able to go home to New York for Christmas this year, did you remember all your friends, make this holiday special enough with your boyfriend, were you doing enough, were you even enough? 

It absolutely was ruining you, leaving you near tears earlier that night when you were trying to frost holiday cookies when Curtis found you, cussing out your imperfect gingerbread men. 

Curtis immediately pulled you with him out of the kitchen and into the livingroom to help you calm down. 

And it was his suggestion tonight to use the ribbon. The ribbon when he ran it across your tired body felt so good that it was easy for him to remove your clothes in between reassuring murmurs that you were so damn strong but let him take over for a while. 

And when he stretched that ribbon across your breasts, your nipples so sensitive against the ribbon and he deftly tied it into place, he hummed in a satisfied way. 

“Mmmh, good girl, perfect for me.” Curtis stopped in front of you where you were kneeling in front of the Christmas Tree, the only source of lights in the living room was painting your naked body in a multitude of colors while shimmers of the shiny ornaments bounced prisms around, you took a deep breath, feeling the ribbon stretch around you securely, because Curtis was always through and always took care of you when you were feeling out of control.

You lifted your head to look up at him with a dreamy gaze, a soft satisfied smile pulling on the corners of your lips. He told you that you were perfect and right now that was what you needed to hear. 

He moved to kneel in front of you, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs pulling your bottom lip down slowly. “You wanna be my good girl, right?” Your eyes must have lit up because he gave a pleased smile. “I thought so… That's why you're going to suck my cock, make me come in this sweet mouth.” His thumb dragged against your bottom lip one more time till you sucked him into your mouth, your lips wrapping around the first knuckle and looking up at him with a pleading look. 

“Fuck Honey.” He groaned as he pulled his finger free and grabbed your chin to press his forehead against yours with a ragged breath. “Your so fucking perfect.”

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

I just got this message on one of my Tumblr fics. Yeah, I write about plus-sized women & I’ll continue to do so because I love doing it and they do as well.

If you’re someone that doesn’t like that I write smut for ALL women, including BW and big girls, kindly fuck off my page. Don’t EVER type me something like this Emma bitch did.

[achilles-rage]

Okay but picture this: Buck and Christmas time 😭❤️ Ugly Christmas sweaters, decorating the tree together, making cookies and watching cheesy Christmas movies god I want an Evan Buckley 😩

HOW DID YOU CRAWL INTO MY BRAIN AND KNOW I WAS THINKING ABOUT CHRISTMAS WHEN I ANSWERED THE HALLOWEEN ASK???

i was gonna add it to the other ask but since it’s about halloween i thought it was perhaps not the space but NOW it is, so i thank you<3

he would be so fucking annoying (affectionate) about finding the perfect tree, and he’d make sure he looked at every single one before y’all decide. and then he’d probably drag you to a little workshop where you make your own ornaments to commemorate your first christmas together and he’d be SO proud of it too (it goes front and centre on the tree, obviously)

he would be the kind of person that would have every kitchen counter covered in baked goods, and he’d bring little boxes of them to anyone you guys visit/visit you guys.

HE WOULD LOVEEEE WATCHING OLD CHRISTMAS MOVIES!! i just rewatched season 1 where he has no idea about anything from before he was born, so you take it upon yourself to make him watch all the old classics he’s never seen, and he ends up loving then ofc.

whenever he’d come home to you watching those silly hallmark movies he’d huff and whine but then sit beside you, and he’s lowkey be so invested by the end of the movie. like god awful acting aside, he’d be crying and whisper something like “and that’s the true meaning of christmas” (about something like spending time with family, or giving to others, or whatever), and you’d just laugh and pull him in for a kiss

[killerpancakeburger]

Been srlsy into the idea of writing more, explicitely fat Reader. Not sure how to tags it thought.

[thornsnvultures]

eddie munson x plus size!fem!reader

cw: smut, slight sub!eddie, gagging with fingers, slight spit kink (mentioned but not done), p in v, unprotected sex/creampie

18+, filth directly under the cut

Something about having Eddie under you is intoxicating. The way he lets you take control, take everything he's got to give.

Right now you have the overwhelming urge to spit in his mouth, slide your fingers down his throat, or you tongue. Anything. Anything to claim him as he writhes under you, gasping for breath. His brow knits together, eyes closed and lost in sensation. Eddie's hips snap up under you desperately trying to match your brutal pace. You watch his tongue twist around broken moans until your resolve breaks.

Eddie's eyes flutter open, his lips surround the two fingers you slide into the wet heat of his mouth and down his tongue. Immediately he's sucking on them like he's starved and moaning around your digits. The wanton sound shoots straight to your core and you throw your head back with a groan. The schlick, schlick, schlick of your cunt around his thick cock are almost obscene.

Eddie swirls his tongue around your fingers and you look down at his flushed face. Pink spreads across his cheeks and the hazy look in his eye drives you to push your fingers deeper until he's gagging around them. You push down on the back of his tongue until his eyes roll back. His hands on your hips shake slightly and you can feel his cock twitch in time with the press of your fingers. He looks sloppy and so fucking pretty, leaking drool down his chin, blissed out of his mind.

You're right at the edge but you want him there with you, so you tell him. Tell him that you need him to be good for you, to give you watch you need and stuff you full of his cum. He whines around your fingers as they slide across his tongue and grips your hips tighter. You're frozen in his hold as he slams into you from below, thrusting into your tight heat.

You scream. Digging your hand onto his tattooed pec as you let go, gushing around his thick length at the same time he floods your cunt, fucking his cum deep. You collapse on Eddie's chest and he holds you there, stroking your back as he takes a shuddering breath. His heart thrums below your ear, matching the beat of yours.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

It's my 2 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

AHHHHH I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY ACCOUNT AND TO MY FOLLOWERS!!

i really couldn't have done any of this without you guys and your unending support. you don't understand how much you and this blog means to me. it has seen so much of my life without knowing it and i hope you all know how much i appreciate you.

this milestone is as much as mine as it is yours, and i know next year will be filled with even more gratitude 🤍🤍 I LOVE YOU!!

[wordynerdygurl]

Someone to Watch Over Me

Part 7 - "There's a Somebody I'm Longing to See"

It’s love at first sound, pitch perfect and fated, everything in harmony. If only life were a love song.

Corroded Coffin is on the West Coast but Eddie's heart is back at home and Amanda's is broken. A party for their friends could be a great spot to reconnect, all these years later, but is it too late to forgive and forget?

Part 7 - "There's a Somebody I'm Longing to See"

[ms-nesbit]

textbook trope

a dick grayson x reader tale

warnings: big sex, sex scene, we're talking p in v type sex, also swearing, some rough(ish) kinks (it's not the worst, just some minor smacking of one's ass, since i know how raunchy y'all can get), awkward post-sex confrontation with alfred

*18+ only. minors don't look at this

On AO3

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Hey i was wondering if you could do buck x plus!size reader and she feels insecure about her plush, + him reassuring her (Do with that what u will, smut,fluff) i hope this is okay !! No worries if not love your stuff :)

Uh yes this is way okay catch me writing this right NEYOW

[ghostfacd]

Hey! Just wanted to say thank from a plus size girlie in love with your writing (I love Ethan Landry) Thanks for not putting random weird body specifics in the stories❤️

yesyes ofc! i didn’t even realize that i didn’t put body specifics 😭 i rarely do in my writing