#anix fics

[formula-ghost]

Supermodel (FC43 x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: Franco can’t understand how you, the love of his life, could ever feel insecure—so he goes above and beyond to show you (and the world) how beautiful he thinks his girlfriend is. This can be read within the RYD universe or as a stand alone one shot!

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI. Teasing, light dom reader/ sub Franco at the beginning dom Franco at the end, body dysmorphia/reader insecurity, worship, mirror sex, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk/mentions of AFAB anatomy (reader has a vagina), use of the word whore, protected sex. Use of YN. Also the song doesn’t match the vibe of the story but I wanted to stick with the Måneskin theme lol.  

A/N: Some more Franco content! I need some more time with the Oscar fic, plus I’ll be returning to regular life since the holidays are over soon, so I figured I’d tide you over with a spicy Franco one shot. Since (in my head at least) this is set in the RYD universe, I’ve included the same tag list, and I hope you all enjoy it!

TAGLIST:  @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse  @uncreativetm  @ncrsbrg  @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle

Yeah, she’s a master, my compliments

If you wanna love her, just deal with that

She’ll never love you more than money and cigarettes

Every night’s a heartbreak

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Franco panted, his eyes trailing your curves up and down just as his fist squeezed tightly over the growing bulge in his pants. 

Your cheeks were flushed red, almost as dark as the wine-colored matching lingerie set you now wore before him, leaving little to the imagination. You couldn’t help it—no matter how long you’d been with the Argentine, you still got bashful when he complimented you. 

“I hope you know I mean it,” he began, leaving his spot on the bed to advance toward you. He gently brushed your hair away and kissed the top of your shoulder, looking up at you with his deceptively innocent doe eyes. “You’re the most perfect thing in the world to me.”

You smiled, blissful at the feeling of his touch. “It’s easy to say that when I’m standing in front of you in my new set.”

“I love you,” he said, as if it was as simple as telling the time. “So much. More than words can say. And I want you to remember that when you’re mad at me after I rip this off of you.”

He grabbed the strap of your bra, and you giggled, “You better not!” You playfully pushed him back on the bed. “No touching, not yet. Be good.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, obedient to only you. The grip you had on him was intoxicating. 

You climbed up on the bed, straddling him, running your featherlight fingertips up and down his arms and chest. 

“Mi amor,” he exhaled, “you are cruel to me.” 

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, sarcastic yet seductive.

“Don’t you dare.”

You laughed. If he thought a bit of teasing was cruel, he would not be having fun for the rest of the night.

But, of course, he loved nothing more than ravishing your body, evident by his labored breath, laying next to you when the deed was finished. He stared at you with awe, your eyes still closed. He listened as you tried to catch your breath, placing gentle kisses on the top of your arm and into your shoulder.

You just let out a little noise in response, feeling safe and comforted by his touch. When you two were alone, he always needed to touch you in some way, much to your dismay during the sweltering hot months of summer. 

His kisses traced their way up to your neck, chin, and finally to your cheek, where he gently moved your hair out of your face to gaze on the gorgeous image of your face. 

“I wish there were better words in English to explain how I feel about you,” he said, his voice low and genuine. “Something stronger than I love you. Something more than just beautiful.” 

“You know I love it when you speak to me in Spanish,” you said, letting your eyelids flutter open to meet his gaze, only inches from your own.

“Yes, but I want you to understand what I mean.” He smiled softly. 

“My Spanish is getting better.”

“It is, you’re doing great,” he joked, nuzzling his nose into your neck, leaving you in a fit of giggles. “You’ll be talking circles around me in no time.”

“I wish. You’re fluent in yapenese,” you joked. You playfully mocked his voice, “Mi amor, you are so beautiful, the light of my life—” 

“Oh hush,” he said, smiling ear to ear. “You love it.”

“I do.”

“And it’s true.” He cupped your face, bringing you into a sweet embrace with a gentle kiss. “Join me in the shower?” 

“In a minute,” you answered, as he got up from the bed and started the warm water. After a few more moments of rest, you got up, picking up the discarded items of clothing that now dotted the floor, thrown aside in the heat of the passionate moment. 

You crossed the room to open the bureau and grab a fresh set of pajamas, before you caught sight of your reflection in the floor-length mirror. 

You had gained a little weight. It was normal, you supposed; a natural result of your many nights out with your lover. 

But you felt stuck in front of the mirror, your eyes rolling over the curves at the bottom of your stomach, what once was somewhat flat. Little thunderbolt-shaped lines now decorated the dimpled skin. And as you brought your arm up to grip the loose fat, you saw the extra flesh there too. 

“Mi amor, you coming?” Franco called from inside the bathroom. You hummed in response. 

You turned, noticing how the light caught every imperfection. The puffiness in your face, the roundness of your jaw, the lines and bumps and discoloration. You sucked in your stomach, seeing the surface flatten, then exhaled, watching with disgust how your body shifted.

“Amor?” Franco said, poking his head outside of the bathroom. Seeing you in front of the mirror, he crossed the room, finding his way behind you. He was covered only with a towel, wrapping his arms around your naked form and kissing your neck. But the sight of his flawless, athletic body behind yours did nothing to dismiss your insecurities. 

“What are you doing, pretty girl, hm?” he asked, resting his head on your shoulder. 

“I’ve gained weight.”

“Did you? I didn’t notice.” His voice was tinged with a genuine confusion. 

“I look like I’m pregnant,” you said, gesturing to your bloated stomach.

“No it doesn’t,” he assured. “But if you want to be pregnant, we can arrange that.”

You ignored his attempts at banter. “I look gross.”

“Mi amor,” Franco began, his voice more serious. “Do I need to fuck you again to show you how beautiful you are?”

“Franco—”

“YN.”

You looked away.  “You could be with a model.”

“I’m with you. And you’re perfect, and I love you with my entire heart.” You bit the inside of your cheek. He continued, “Look at me.”

You brought your gaze back to his. “Your body has changed a little bit, so what?”

“It’s easy for you to say. You’re an athlete.”

“That doesn’t matter. No more of this talk. You’re beautiful. End of discussion. Now, let’s stop wasting water and get in the shower.”

You weren’t really feeling any better. If anything, you felt worse, now self conscious of your nakedness as Franco ran his hands up and down the soapy surface of your skin. You wanted nothing more than to get out of the shower, put on your clothes, and bury yourself so deep under the covers that you’d forget that you ever even possessed a physical form. 

And, much to Franco’s dismay, that’s what you did, turning away from him as you laid your head down to sleep. He pushed himself up next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. He tapped his foot on your leg, initiating you to throw it over his is like you usually did every night. 

“You know,” he whispered, “this is when you’re supposed to pretend like you like me.”

“It’s not you, Franco,” you whispered back. “I love you. But it’s not something you can fix.”

“I know.” He sighed. “But that won't stop me from trying.” He placed a gentle kiss on the back of your neck, and you fell into a tense sleep.

Although Franco hadn’t initially noticed your physical changes, he now noticed your emotional ones. You wore loose clothing more often, as if to hide your body not only from the outside world, but from yourself. You skipped breakfast occasionally when you were having a really bad day. And now, when you made love, you wanted the lights out, preventing him from seeing the shapes of your body.  

He knew that what you had said was true—he couldn’t fix this. No matter the amount of love he showered you in, he couldn’t change the way your mind thought when you looked at yourself in the mirror. And it broke his heart knowing that you couldn’t see the same version of yourself that he saw, the perfect girl who he loved so dearly.

Your pain was beyond his fixing, but not beyond his helping. If he had showered you in love before, it was monsoon season now. Flowers every week. More lingerie to model for him.  Touching you nearly every second of the day. More sex than your body could handle. 

Of course, you welcomed his affection. But none of it helped that wound deep inside of you. 

It was at work, of all places, that he got the idea. 

“We’ve got a meeting with the new sponsors today,” his manager explained as they quickly trotted down the long hallway to the conference room. “That luxury brand I was telling you about? I’ve sealed the contract, they’re just here to plan the promo materials.”

Now, sitting in the conference room, the brand representative explained it to him. “The idea for the campaign is risque luxury. We want something… elegant, yet dangerous. Formula 1 fans are the perfect audience. Most of the shots for the initial campaign would just be in-studio, and then, we’d need you to wear some pieces we provide at official Formula 1 events.”

“That all sounds fine,” he said. 

“Great! We’re still looking for some more representatives for the women’s line, but when we find them, we can set up a date for the shoot.”

“Wait, like a female model? I’d need to pose with her?”

“For the first shoot, yes. And if we can get some shots of you and whoever we choose at official events, that’d be perfect.”

“Uh, well, I have a girlfriend. I can't just…be taking random women to events.”

The rep laughed. “Oh, it’s not like that. The models are all professionals. I assure you that no one would be trying to take you away from your partner.”

“If you all need a female model, why not just use her? We’ll be seen together a lot more than anyone else, no?”

His manager shot him a death glare. Was it highly unprofessional to be suggesting his own girlfriend for a job like this? Absolutely. Did he care at all? Absolutely not. 

The rep asked, “Oh, does she model?” 

“Eh… no, not professionally. But this could be her big break, no?” Franco laughed, and the rep did too, for obviously different reasons. But Franco was, unfortunately, serious. 

“Does she have social media?” the rep asked, and Franco pulled up your instagram as the rep scrolled through. 

“Well, first of all, she’s beautiful,” the rep said, clearly trying to be polite. “But, modeling is not just about being pretty.”

“Then why am I here?” The room erupted in laughter, but Franco hadn’t intended the statement to come out like a joke. “No, I’m serious. I drive Formula 1 cars. What are my modeling qualifications?”

“Well,” the rep began, carefully choosing his words, “you have the Latin American market in a chokehold—”

Franco cut him off. “My fans love her, too.”

The rep pursed his lips. “I’m sure they do.” 

“Look, I’m not trying to be difficult—”

“Not at all,” the rep said, cutting Franco off as well. “Let me ask, though… is this a deal breaker for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if we get a real model, are you saying you wont pose or be seen with her?” 

Franco looked at his manager across the table, who was nothing short of fuming. He began, “You said the theme was ‘risque luxury.’ I’m not going to pose for risque photos with another woman, no.”

The rep sighed. Franco continued, “And honestly, I still don’t even understand why you all even want me to model for you. Nobody in Argentina can even afford these outrageous prices—”

“Okay Franco, that’s enough!” his manager said, a false happiness in her tone. She turned to walk the rep outside, saying, “This has been a wonderful meeting, we can’t wait to hear from you…”

Once he had exited the building, she returned, looked at Franco, and said, “I hope you know you just lost us that contract.”

“Did you sign me up to do a photoshoot with a random woman?”

His manager paused. “...It’s business, Franco.”

“C’mon,” he said, “you knew about this, and you didn’t say anything?”

“I thought you’d understand. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do.”

“You knew that was too much.”

She sighed. “Yeah, okay, I took a gamble hoping you wouldn’t care and I lost. But that sponsorship money is coming out of your bonus.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to promote this overpriced shit anyway.”

“You’re the bane of my existence, kid,” his manager said, patting him on the back as she walked out of the room.

At the end of the day, all Franco could think about was coming home and collapsing in your arms. When his manager was mad at him—which was often, given his refusal to be media trained—it was his favorite way to destress. 

So when he arrived home and collapsed on top of you, interrupting whatever mindless show you had been watching, you just smiled to yourself. As he exhaled, you placed one hand through his soft curls, and threaded the other under the collar of his shirt to scratch his back. He melted into your touch.

“Hello,” you said, placing a kiss on his head. “Long day?”

“She’s mad at me again,” he murmured, closing his eyes. 

“What’d you do this time?”

“Why do you assume I did something?”

You softly chuckled, “Because I know you.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” he pouted.

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

He sighed. “I fucked up a sponsor contract. But really, it wasn’t my fault! They wanted me to pose with a bunch of models to sell their overpriced jewelry.”

You hummed. “I thought you liked doing photoshoots?”

“They’re fun, yeah, when they don’t want me to touch random women,” he frowned. You could hear the genuine disgust in his voice.

“I think you’re the only man in the world who would turn down the opportunity to be surrounded by models,” you laughed. 

He lifted his head up to look at you. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“Why would I want a bunch of random women touching on me when I have a girlfriend?”

You laughed again. “Because they’re models.” 

He gave you a look of confused disgust and said, “Oh, hush, YN. You’re the only woman I want within a hundred feet of me at any given time.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that other women are beautiful.”

He looked at you sternly. “Um, no. This is when you tell me I’m not allowed to look at, let alone touch, anyone other than you.”

“Franco, you know I’m not like that.”

“You are, though! What has gotten into you, lately?”

“I don’t know what you mean, I’m fine.”

Franco sighed. “No, you’re clearly not. What do I have to do for you to understand that you are the only woman in this world that matters to me? I don’t care what you say, you are the only one I want, the most beautiful girl in the world—”

He leaned up to kiss you, but you dodged his affection.

“Hey!” he protested. You got up from the couch, feeling overwhelmed by the whole interaction. 

“YN, come back—” you just ignored him as you went back to your shared bedroom, barricading yourself in the attached bathroom and exhaling. 

Franco was right. The insecurity had been eating at you for weeks, and somehow, Franco’s commitment to trying to make you feel better had made it worse. Most girls would be happy that their boyfriend (especially their young, famous, athlete boyfriend) wanted nothing to do with other women. But somehow, it just made you fear the worst—when Franco finally saw you as you saw yourself, and you became nothing more than just another one of the many women he ignored.

“YN, come out and talk to me,” you heard him softly plead from outside the door.

“I’m sorry, I just need a minute,” you said through the tears that welled up in your eyes.

“No need to apologize, take all the time you need,” he said. “But when you’re done, promise you’ll come talk to me about it?”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah,” you answered weakly.

“Okay,” he said. You could hear how he pressed his forehead to the door. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Your voice was shaking.

You just needed 5 minutes to breathe and calm down alone. That’s what you told yourself as you took another deep breath and wiped away the tears that now spilled over the corners of your eyes. 

“I’m okay,” you whispered to yourself. “I’m okay, it’s okay. It’s okay.” You’d say it until it was true. 

When you'd finally calmed down somewhat, you still waited in the bathroom, not wanting Franco to see your puffy, bloodshot eyes, the evidence of your tears. But he knew you were crying. And he knew you’d keep your word and talk to him when you were ready.

He knew you inside and out. So when you silently emerged from the bathroom and found him in the kitchen washing dishes, he knew no words were needed. You slipped your arms around his waist and rested your head against his back as he turned the water off and dried his hands.

He turned around and met your embrace, holding your head beneath his chin and enveloping you in his strong arms. His tender touch brought the tears back.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.”

“No,” you corrected. “You’re so good to me. I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“It breaks my heart to see you hurting like this. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

“Just hold me,” you said, burying your head deeper into his chest, smelling the familiar scent of his cologne and the warm comfort of his breath rising and falling. 

The next day, Franco woke before you, spending a moment staring at your sleeping form before he had to get up and leave for the day. 

He knew you had been struggling, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand how your mind saw something so much more different than his saw. It broke him to know you thought of yourself so negatively.

But he’d hold you all day everyday if it meant it helped even a little bit. He would do anything.

So, when your alarm began screeching and you lazily turned it off, he let you sleep in, simply pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he went into yet another one of endless meetings with his manager before the season started.

She walked in and slammed a stack of papers on the desk. “I don’t know how you keep getting away with this shit every fucking time,” she said.

Franco raised a brow. Her tone wasn’t angry, as he expected, but rather…frustrated?

“The contract,” she continued. “The rep called me last night. They want you to do the campaign no matter what. They’ll let you do it with YN.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yes. We’ll have to get her in here to sign the contract, then we’ve got fittings and we still need to set the date for the actual shoot…”

His manager’s voice faded into the background as Franco remembered the previous night. The idea of you, dolled up in designer clothes posing next to him, had excited him at first. Now, he was unsure if that would just make things worse.

He had to be…deliberate in bringing it up. At home that night, as you two ate dinner, he decided to choose his words very, very carefully. 

“So, you remember that contract I said I lost?”

“The designer stuff?” you asked. He nodded. 

“Yeah. Well, I…actually didn’t fuck it up as bad as I thought I did. They still want us to do the campaign.”

“That’s good. It’ll get your manager off your case.” Your gaze drifted to the plate of food in front of you. The unspoken question lingered in the air. 

“Please don’t be mad at me—” he began, but you cut him off. 

“Franco, you’re a professional. I trust you.”

“Well, um… they want you to model.”

You looked up at him, perplexed. “Me?”

“I showed them your social media.”

“And they want…me. To model for them.”

“Well, they want you to do the campaign with me, yes. And wear a dress of theirs to a fancy event or two.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a model. And all my followers are just your fans, anyway.”

“Other driver’s girlfriends have done it, why can’t you?” He put down his fork and looked you in the eye. “YN, I think this would be a great thing. I can show you off to the world, and they’ll dress you up and make you feel beautiful. You’re beautiful without it, of course, but you know what I mean. I can’t make you say yes, but I’d love to do this with you.”

You took a beat to think. You couldn’t deny that you wanted the experience of going to lavish galas in designer gowns and seeing Franco grace the covers of magazine and social media home pages. Besides, you thought, if you truly looked bad they could just photoshop you to hell and back.

“Okay,” you answered, “let’s do it.”

So, a few weeks later, you found yourself in one of those cloth chairs that you had only seen in movies, having powder liberally applied to your face by a makeup artist. 

“The heavy makeup is just for the lights. They’re warm and harsh, so it’ll drown you out and make you look greasy if we don’t apply this much.”

You hummed in response, afraid to move your face. “I can tell this is your first time,” the artist said. “Just relax and let us work our magic, yeah? When they all say celebrities are fake, this is what they mean.”

You would have chuckled if you weren’t already sweating with nervousness. “Close your eyes,” she said, and you obeyed, only flinching as she generously sprayed setting spray over your makeup. 

“Alrighty, off to hair for you.”

Hair was the same—a nervousness that clearly identified you as an outsider to this world of glitz and glamor. You coughed when she nearly drowned you in hairspray. 

Then it was time for the final touches, the dress and jewelry. 

You gasped as they brought it out. A long silver satin gown, custom measured to hug your curves perfectly. Your neck was adorned with diamonds, your lips blood red, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulders. 

When you finally made it into the studio, Franco was already there, clad in a simple yet elegant black suit to contrast against the shiny fabric of your dress. He wasn’t facing you when you first entered, but hearing the click of your heels against the wooden floors, he turned and stopped in his tracks. 

“Oh my God,” he exhaled. “You look…” He was, quite literally, speechless.

You let out an awkward laugh, unused to having so much attention on you. 

“Amazing!” the brand rep said. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

And that, you did. The first shots were simple: you resting your arms on a chair while Franco sat, looking off into the distance, his perfect side profile on display. Both of you staring down the camera, arms placed in dynamic positions. 

Then you switched to the more sensual shots. Franco kneeled before you, kissing your hand, allowing you to show off the ring they had placed to contrast your black gloves. Another one, a shot of you holding his cheek as he gazed up at you in admiration. 

Then you switched, with him taking the more dominant role in the poses. His hand around your neck, showing off his own ridiculously expensive rings, as you tilted your head upwards towards him and he glared at the camera. A shot of Franco holding you up against a wall; his arm was draped above you to show off a watch, but his other hand found your waist and his head was turned as if to kiss you while you stared at the camera.

“Okay, play with the pose a bit,” the photographer instructed. “Let’s get some candids.”

You turned away from the camera, trying to ignore the incessant clicking and flashing in the background.

He smiled. “Hi, pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you replied, smiling as well. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Franco leaned closer to your ear to whisper, “I really want to rip this dress off you.”

“Franco!”

“Oh, that was good!” the photographer yelled. “Whatever you said, do it again, her expression was golden.”

You laughed as you both repositioned, standing in front of the dark backdrop. 

“How much will it cost if I damage this dress?” Franco asked, looking at the photographer.

“Probably more than quadruple my salary,” the photographer laughed. “So please don’t.”

“But I have an idea. Just hear me out.”

Franco leaned down and gripped the strap of your dress in his mouth, eliciting a gasp from you and a thousand clicks of the camera. 

His most bold suggestion, though, was the shot from the floor; he laid down and had you crawl on his chest and kneel above his head, draping his shoulders in the luxurious fabric and showing off your bedazzled garter beneath a silt in the dress. Though the photo would only expose a little bit of thigh, you couldn’t deny the rush of adrenaline that the position gave you. 

When the shoot was over, it hurt your heart a bit to have to take off the dress and jewelry. Franco could tell. A sad smile painted your face as they carefully removed the diamonds from your neck and ears. But the one that hurt most was the gorgeous diamond ring, which you gently slipped off your gloved finger with a pang of sadness.

Franco was right; it had been fun to dress up and show off, but it was over now. So you said a silent goodbye to this false world of luxury as you walked off to the dressing room, and Franco went over to the brand rep who was packing up your jewelry. 

“A lovely job, both of you!” he said. “I’ll admit, I was hesitant at first, but you all definitely proved me wrong. These photos will come out amazingly.”

“How much is the ring?” Franco asked, gesturing to the lockbox that it was now hidden away in. 

“Ah, I could tell she liked it. Are you thinking of popping the question soon?”

“Ah, well…” Franco said, nervous now. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was an engagement ring. 

The rep laughed. “Well, this one’s from the new collection, expertly crafted. Usually goes for around $130,000, but that’s just with the base without any modifications.”

Franco choked on his own saliva. He certainly wasn’t making that much money yet, and besides, he didn’t know if his little working-class heart could ever justify spending that much money on a shiny rock. 

But for you? Anything. 

The rep could sense his hesitation. “Well, if you decide to go for it, here’s my card. Maybe we can work something out.” Franco nodded and accepted the card, stowing it away in his wallet after he changed out of his suit. 

Once you arrived home, the mountain of makeup and hairspray that you were both still covered in acted as the perfect excuse for a shower together.

As Franco lathered shampoo into your hair, he whispered, “You looked beautiful today.”

You smiled. “I felt beautiful.”

The photos were released a few weeks later, sending the internet into chaos. 

YN!?!?!?! CAN FRANCO FIGHT?

Does YN know that we’d all kill to be her right now

The hand placement!! The look in his eyes!!! That man is IN LOVE!!!!!

You chuckled to yourself as you read through the comments on your Instagram post. 

You saw the most important comment: the one from Franco. 

Eres el amor de mi vida <3 

You felt butterflies rise up in your stomach as you tapped the little heart to like the comment, as if that same man wasn’t taking you to the F1 Grand Prix Gala in Monaco tonight. 

You wanted nothing more than to walk in on his arm, basking in the glow of the photoshoot. It wasn’t just the glamor of the shots or the makeup that made you feel better; it was Franco. The way he looked at you like you were a goddess—you finally understood what he meant when he said he wanted you to see yourself as he saw you. 

As you donned the loaned dress from the same brand—less extravagant than the gown from the shoot, but still gorgeous—you were so thankful you had let Franco talk you into this. 

Everyone was abuzz at the event, and you were getting kudos left and right from strangers, which was slightly embarrassing, but you soaked in the attention anyway. But the best feeling was your lover’s hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowded ballroom.

You stepped out onto an empty balcony, drinking in the clear night air, now alone from the crowd. Of course, he followed like a lost puppy. 

“Mi amor,” he said as you leaned against the ledge, “I don’t know what’s more beautiful, you or the night sky.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “That’s too much, even for you.” 

“Maybe,” he joked. “And, maybe, we should get out of here. I’m tired of pretending to like all these old rich people.”

“That sounds lovely.”

You two sped home, where Franco wasted no time taking off your dress and decorating the floor with it.

“Let me worship you,” he said, grazing his lips over the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Don’t you already?” you joked, evidence of your returned confidence.

“I do,” he said, “because you’re divine. I want to taste you.” He grabbed your panties with his teeth, pulling them down slowly, enjoying the burning desire you both felt as his skin grazed against yours. 

But even now that he had you fully undressed, he still teased you, gently kissing your thighs, looking up into your eyes with every kiss. You pushed his hair back, softly inhaling with every inch of skin that his mouth touched. 

“Franco…”

“Mi ángel,” he exhaled. “Mi reina, mi cielo, mi vida.”

With a featherlight touch, he brought his mouth to your wetness, kissing your clit before rolling his tongue around the soaked bundle of nerves. Your breath hitched.

He brought two fingers to your entrance, teasing you until you were dripping with want for him. “You’re perfect. So perfect for me.”

His praise felt like your native tongue, the way your bodies and words naturally curved to each other, fitting together like you were made for this. 

He echoed your thoughts, continuing, “You take me so well.” He curled his fingers to hit that sensitive spot inside of you that made you see stars, eliciting a moan. 

“I live to pleasure you, mi amor.” He brought his mouth back to your clit, pointing his tongue and swirling circles around it as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. 

You squirmed under him, overcome by the pleasure of both his hands and his words. As he continued his movements, he never shifted his gaze from you.

But you looked away, to the mirror in the corner that had been moved as you got ready. You had a perfect view of Franco pleasuring you, and God, was the sight beautiful. 

Franco saw you looking and stopped, eliciting a frustrated whine from you. 

“Come here,” he said, climbing on the bed. “Keep facing the mirror.” He positioned himself behind you, grabbing your chin to keep your face straight as you both gazed at your reflections. “I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see how perfect you look when I take you.”

You wordlessly nodded, loving the vulnerability of being at the mercy of the man who worshipped you. 

As Franco unwrapped and put on a condom behind you, you studied the patches of red that colored your cheeks, flushed from your lover having nearly brought you to the brink of orgasm only moments before. 

He spanked you and you playfully yelped. “Don’t you dare take your eyes off this mirror.”

“What if I do?” you asked. “Will you punish me?”

He spanked you again, the other side this time. “Don’t even think about it.” 

Then, slowly, he placed his hands on your hips and found his way to your entrance, filling you with a swift but gentle motion. You both let out a low moan. 

“Even your pussy is perfect,” he said as he began to move. “Taking every inch of me.”

“Yes,” you moaned. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, increasing his pace and intensity, making you scream. “I want to fuck this pussy every day for the rest of my life.”

His words went through one ear and out the other; you couldn’t focus with his fucking you into the mattress with every thrust.

You cried and closed your eyes, hanging your head as you tried to hold back the waves of pleasure that were building in your core. But Franco roughly grabbed your hair and yanked your head back up.

“What did I tell you? Look at yourself, getting fucked like the perfect little whore you are.” You loved it when Franco was a little rough with you, but combined with the praise, it nearly sent you over the edge.

“Now,” he said, slowing down his pace, “since you didn’t do what I told you, you don’t get to cum.”

You whined in protest as Franco pulled out, leaving you feeling cold and empty. “Please,” you begged. 

He laid down on the bed. “If you want it, do it yourself,” he teased. “Ride me. If you want to cum, you have to watch as you make yourself cum on my cock.” 

You didn't argue, instead just obeying and sinking yourself down on him. You watched in the mirror as he disappeared in you, mesmerized by the way your bodies connected. 

His hands found your waist again as you began to bounce on him, chasing your release with an relentless pace. 

“Fuck, Franco, I’m close—” you moaned, and you felt his hand come down hard on your ass again. 

“Are you watching?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell me how beautiful you look.” If he had said this at any time other than in the heat of your passion, you would have cringed. But now, moments away from an orgasm, you obeyed.

“I fit perfectly on top of you,” you began with a shaky voice. “And I look…I look perfect riding your cock.”

“What else?”

“I look beautiful covered in your love bites.”

“Good girl,” he growled, matching your pace, fucking up into you. “My perfect, beautiful girl.”

With his final statement of praise, you shook, letting yourself drown in waves of pleasure as he continued fucking you through it. 

He had switched back to Spanish now, babbling away what you assumed to be your praises as he chased his own orgasm, quickly finishing from the heavenly feeling of your walls gripping around him. 

When you all collapsed in a pile next to each other, he threw an arm around you, wordlessly holding you in his embrace. His words could never truly make it better, he knew that.

But thankfully, his words weren't needed anymore. Now, you believed him. 

[thepaladinstrait]

hi finn! it's been so long! how are you? i wanted to ask what's your fav fanfic you've written and one you've read

ANIX HIIII!!!!!!!!!!!! i missed you!!!!!!!!!!

i’m good!! how are you?

ooooh okay okay i’m gonna choose one from both tøp and hamilton

my favourite hamilton fic i’ve written is definitely ‘you can hear it in the silence’

hmmm okay favourite top i’ve written is probably ‘why no one ever comes back with details from beyond’ or ‘disassociate (i’m navigating my head)’

aaaand favourite fic i’ve ever read

i’m gonna list top 3

FOREVER IN MY NUMBER ONE SPOT- the price of his war series by @jittyjames. nothing can ever top it for me

second is ‘a bit too old to feel this way’. tøp fic i absolutely fell in love with immediately after reading the first chapter

third is either ‘inside the glass’ or ‘first light’!!!!!!

links aren’t working rn so i’m gonna put all these under the cut :)

[nihilistikal]

𝟗 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐠

⸻ Three ships: Chrisker [ Chris Redfield x Albert Wesker ] Almahart [ Seifer Almasy x Squall Leonhart ] Speyerfield [ Forest Speyer x Chris Redfield ]

⸻ First ship: I'm honestly not sure anymore but I would think it was probably a ship from Angel Sanctuary... Kira x Setsuna or Kira x Kato.

⸻ Last song: The Anix - My Eyes (as I am listening to my fic playlist to get back into the writing spirit)

⸻ Last movie: Aside from my evening Studio Ghibli binge lately, I watched Infinity Pool the other day. Lots of great inspo for art and fanfic content.

⸻ Currently reading: I don't have much time to read currently due to still being occupied with getting settled in the new apartment and renovating the old one before inspection, but I still have Dune on my bedside table, along with my re-read of The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo. Also I am listening to Stephen King's You Want It Darker before bed.

⸻ Currently watching: House of the Dragon, and true crime stuff

⸻ Currently eating: Had oatmeal with chocolate crunch for breakfast.

⸻ Currently craving: Sleep. Rest. Relaxation. Time for my hobbies T_T For the whole old apartment bs I have to still get done to be over with.

tagged by: @judasiskariot (thanks!) tagging: @briarwick-cache | @sauron-kraut | @blauerregen | @numenhore

(( no obligation to do this ofc! ))

[4th-make-quail]

[fic] Still Standing

Title: Still Standing Fandom: Resident Evil Pairing: Jack Krauser/Leon Kennedy Summary: The last thing Jack Krauser expected, after their fight in the ruins, was to wake up again. Let alone in a shitty civvy outfit that could hardly be called a hospital - and yet, here he is. Whether it's a good thing? Well, that's yet to be seen... a/n: when I saw the "injury" prompt for metaltango week, I knew what I had to do - I've always wanted to do an in-depth exploration of what would happen if Krauser survived the ruins, so ta da! here it is! or the first, oh, 11 pages, lol

chapter 2 is forthcoming, but alas time and tide wait for no exchange schedule of a busy summer quail so please look forward to it!

as ever, you can find my song inspiration here: The Anix - Still Standing. there are a vast amount of Anix songs that fit them so well, auuughhhh i am CLUTCHING MY FACE!!!!

[halftheway]

generally when making a decision for open arms whether thats plot or characterization or even just a fun lil tidbit i run it by some combination of luna anix and/or ari so pls believe me when i say this series would Not be what it is without their input and support

[angeloncewas]

Hello ! So Ranboo's team just opened voting for the short story contest run in his discord and there's a ton of entries to choose from. Many talented writers entered, but I'm here to promote the work of @/fensandmarshes !!

His work is beautiful and in my opinion very worthy of winning - I don't think it's gonna get the recognition it deserves since voting is up to the fanbase and other people have more followers. It's on page 207 of document 4 (but you can read it on ao3) and if you enjoy it, please do vote for him <3 Thank you :)

[rightpastnowhere]

for time and time and time again

peace in all seasons

moss stained with blood

(Pick which you like, or do multiple!)

i’m doin’ all of them!!!! what do you expect at this point lol

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you the fic i’d write to go with it

1. for time and time and time again

not to be basic, but the first thing i thought of was a time loop fic, and i’m a sucker for time loop fics, so. time loop fic! au where wanda and pietro’s powers were unlocked (created or amplified, depending on how heavily you subscribe to MCU canon) by the time stone, not the mind stone. i’m hand-waiving canon to make this possible, just let me do what i want. anyway, their abilities stay mostly the same - pietro’s speed and wanda’s red wiggly woos - except pietro’s speed is him manipulating time (either his body’s time or time around him, idk time physics), and wanda doesn’t have telepathy. she has little manipulations of time that she just assumes are power boosts (like “oh, i’m just moving a little faster because i have powers now, maybe pietro is rubbing off on me” or “oh, i just used magic to decay this thing, that makes sense i guess”) because she doesn’t fully understand what’s going on, and neither does pietro. 

they don’t find out the extent of her powers until pietro dies - which means pietro never realizes, really - and she has the whole power-explosion thing. also, on that note, they still have their twinnie bond, but it’s more of the stone connecting its hosts, and it’s not actual telepathy, just feelings. it’s how wanda knows pietro is dead. ANYWAY when the whole magic burst happens, it sends wanda back in time to before pietro died. cue time loop fic of wanda trying to save her brother through countless iterations of the same day. 

2. peace in all seasons

a little fic that follows percy and vex throughout the first year after the campaign ends, split into four sections with one for each season. the drastic dichotomy of the external feeling of peace now that the world is saved and they can finally stop and breathe, and then the lack of internal peace after the death of vax sent vox machina into a spiral of turmoil, with vex obviously being the most affected. it’s also their first time spending a full year together with literal peace in every season - the year break doesn’t really count, because they didn’t spend all of it together, and they were tense because of all of the loose threads they still had left. and also, there’s vesper, who represents the peace they are trying to live in, but is also anything BUT peaceful because pregnancy is seventeen different kinds of chaotic and difficult. but, hey. there’s peace in the world, and they take a moment to breathe that in. 

3. moss stained with blood

i love the aesthetic of this, but i struggled the most with coming up with a fic for it lol. i eventually settled on a keyleth character study, one that follows her from the anxious, unsure girl that left zephrah, to the keyleth who wanted vengeance after the death of the fire ashari, to the voice at the tempest at the end. she’s still keyleth - still awkward and anixous, a little less unsure but she still watches where she steps - but she’s been undeniably changed by her time with vox machina. she’s still moss, but moss stained with blood. 

[with-love-from-hell]

Music Accompaniment for Vermillion Skies (parts 1 & 2)

First off, thank you all for the interactions and love thus far for the Vermillion Skies fic! It was very relieving to write the first two parts as a survivor- and again, something that I do quite enjoy is when Abusers get served their comeuppance after the trauma they inflict on someone else- but unfortunately it doesn’t happen all that often. 

In regards to my writings, my motivations can sometimes vary. However, I took a really interesting quiz once that was titled “What emotion do you write from?” or something of the like. For the life of me, I cannot find the post where I took the quiz (if anyone has it, let me know!). But I ended up getting the result of “Pain,” which was surprising to me at first- but then I looked through my original draft of Vermillion Skies and thought...yeeaaah accurate lol 

However, I do think that while I tend to utilize pain a lot in my writing, something that glares behind it is the idea of hope and comfort. I like instilling that in my audience, because I think it is necessary for us to endure the pain of just....living in general. 

I have gotten a lot of asks on where the inspirations come from- and in a broader sense, my own experience, desire to see abusers suffer, and need for a good depiction of a masculine person's response is pretty much it. But I also use Music as a way to inspire my writings. When I think of a scenario/subject, I will often play music that may match the vibe of the situation, and run with it. So for those who want to know in a more detailed way where my inspiration comes from- or for those who have similar inclinations and would like an official soundtrack to Vermillion Skies, here is what I listened to while writing it! I broke it down between parts and scenes (scenes are within the breaks in the writing, parts are the separate posts). If there was a particular part of a scene the music relates to more, I will specify that! Hope this gives clarity to those asks- I figured I’d make one large master post of it rather than answering individually!

Part One

Scene 1

Sunflower - Swae Lee ft. Post Malone (Introduction)

Bury a Friend - Billie Eilish (Something Isn't Right)

Save Me - Globus (Assault - Her Perspective)

The Handler - Muse (Assault - Her Perspective)

Emperors New Clothes - Panic! At the Disco (Assault - His Perspective)

Magnum Bullets - Night Runner ft. Dan Avidan (Discovered Body)

Scene 2

Running Up That Hill - Placebo (Initial Fear/Running Home)

Warning Signs - The Anix (We Need To Find Her) 

Magnum Bullets - Night Runner ft. Dan Avidan (Discovered Body)

Hit and Run - Abused Romance (Waiting for Simeon)

Waking the Demon - Bullet For My Valentine (Realization/Other Matters)

Scene 3

And the Snakes Start to Sing - Bring Me the Horizon (Stalking)

The Wolf - SIAMÉS (Stalking)

Wolf Totem - The Hu ft. Jacoby Shaddix (The Scent is Stronger)

You’re Going Down - Sick Puppies (Finding the Attacker)

Take Back The Fear - Hail the Villain (Taking His Tongue)

Baptize - Atreyu (The Whole Beating)

Out for Blood - Sum 41 (The Whole Beating)

Rise - A Skylit Drive (The Whole Beating)

Blood on My Hands - The Used (The Whole Beating)

Face Down - The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus (Begging for Mercy/Mutilation)

Grave Mistake - Ice Nine Kills (Begging for Mercy/Mutilation)

Throne - Bring Me the Horizon (Taking to the Sky)

I Hope You Suffer - AFI (The Fall)

Part Two

Scene 1

Warrior - Atreyu (Back Home)

Failure - Breaking Benjamin (Back Home)

Wreckage - Ben Jelen (Entering His Room)

Valentines Day - Linkin Park (She’s Resting)

Hurt (Cover) - Johnny Cash (She's Resting/Trying to Touch Her)

All Fall Down - OneRepublic (Rest)

Scene 2

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex (The Dream)

Everything Stays (Cover) - Amanda Pedersen (The Dream)

Shadow of the Day - Linkin Park (You’ll Never Laugh Again)

Scars - I Prevail (Lucifer's Woe)

Pale & Naked Name - The Pusher (Lucifer’s Woe)

Just Stay - A Skylit Drive (I Don’t Blame You)

Sleepwalker - The Anix (The Dream is Now a Nightmare)

My Demons - Starset (The Dream is Now a Nightmare)

Last to Fall - Starset (Come Back to Him)

Without You - Breaking Benjamin (Come Back to Him)

Scene 3

Talk - Coldplay (Conversing with Mammon)

Comes and Goes in Waves - Greg Laswell (Mammon’s Break Down)

Foreigner’s God - Hozier (Mammon’s Break Down)

Brother - NeedtoBreathe ft. Gavin DeGraw (Comforting Mammon)

Coming Home - BUNT. ft. Sons of the East (Will Things Be Different?)

Through Glass - Stone Sour (Everyone is Resting)

Kristy, Are you Doing Okay? - The Offspring (Watching Over You)

Scene 4

Nothing to Lose But You - Three Days Grace (Whole Scene)

Unwell - Matchbox 20 (Barbatos is Suspicious)

How it Feels to Be Lost - Sleeping with Sirens (Diavolo's Joke/How Does He Explain?)

Falling Apart in a Crowded Room - A Skylit Drive (Trying to Keep Composure)

Pity Party (Cover) - Vigils (Lucifer’s Break Down) {{I absolutely abhor Melanie Martinez, but this cover is good and a better take of the original}}

Without You - Breaking Benjamin (Lucifer's Break Down)

Grave Mistake - Ice Nine Kills (Lucifer’s Break Down)

Heavy - Linkin Park ft. Kiiara (Comforting Lucifer)

Read Vermillion Skies here

[lokisasylum]

Tag thing

Name: LoKi

Sign: Aries

Height: 5’2 (short bitches supremacy)

Time: 11:11 PM

Birthday: was like 5 months ago

Favorite band/artist: The Anix, Chase Atlantic, BTS, Palisades, Bad Omens, Indila, I Prevail, Teflon Sega, Halsey.

Last movie: PREY (Predator Prequel)!!! It was BADASS!

Last show: Our Blues & KinnPorsche

When I created this blog: I only remember that it was back in 2010 or something (back when tumblr was still hardcore lol)

What I post: most BTS (or Jimin), music recommendation, slice of life bs, rants lol, my fics, art ect

Last thing I googled: "abandoned supermarkets” (reference for a post-apocalypse yoonmin fic 🥲)

Tagging: @utopiajeon , @skyandpeople , @ttauries , @atxn8

[thran-duils]

Thran-duils’ heavily encouraged dark!character writing challenge

I’ve wanted to host a writing/prompt challenge for a long time but I’ve always been too nervous (it’s a perpetual thing lmao). Well, I am taking the dive! Rules and all the information below the cut!

Credit to @santacarlahorrorshow for the lovely header! <3

RULES

1. This challenge is 18+. Seriously, don’t be a dick and ignore this rule.

2. Following that, all characters and reader insert are to be 18+

3. I really, really, really encourage dark!characters or dark!reader or both (soft!dark, dark, heavy!dark) for this but they do not have to be if that makes you uncomfortable. A lot of these prompts are going to be leaning towards dark but there are ways to not utilize them that way I’m sure!

4. These fics are to be reader insert.

5. Fandoms accepted are: Supernatural, Marvel, The Walking Dead, and Lord of the Rings verse (I’m begging for some Thranduil here lmao no shame).

6. All characters welcome! But please do not use real life actors for this!

7. Please do not write beastiality. That’s really the only thing I’m gonna be like “plz don’t” kink about.

8. The fics for this must be new, not adding to an already existing story. They can be drabbles, one shots, or a starting chapter for a new series.

9. I went back and forth about this but I think I am not going to put a limit on how many people can choose a prompt. This may come back to backfire on me but one prompt just might be popular and it would be fun to see what variations can come from it!

10. Send me an ask with your prompt you would like and character/s. I will tag you next to the prompt.

11. If you need to back out of the challenge, send me a DM and I will remove you. Things happen!

12. Make sure to tag your fics appropriately if they are dark! Not only does this help people avoid triggers but also you’ve done your due diligence to tell people to gtfo and if they don’t, well, then that’s on them.

13. You do not need to be following me to participate!

14. Please tag the fics as #thranduilswritingchallenge and also tag me to make sure I see it!

15. For lyrics and quotes, please use them in the fic! If there’s breaks in the lyric, feel free to break it up in the fic though. Situations are for encouragement. I did edit one lyric, Olivia O’Brien. I put the songs next to the lyrics in case you want to listen to the song.

16. The deadline for this challenge is September 4, 2021. I will make a masterpost and I will post it either 9/5 or 9/6!

Lyric Prompts

01. “You right, I got my guy. But I, I can’t help it, I want you” (You Right by Doja Cat)

02. “Good girls don’t cry and good girls don’t lie” (Good Girls by CHVRCHES)

03. “But you keep breaking me apart” (Fabric by Half Waif)

04. “Dance like you’re not a liar” (Last Night of an Empire by Imogen Heap) 05. “Two nights in a row, now I know that it’s broken” (Two Nights by Lykke Li) 06. “I want my ring back, baby, that’s a diamond” (Violent by carolesdaughter) 07. “I’ll show you how revenge can taste so sweet” (King by Lilith Czar) 08. “It’s certified, I’m not the nice one” (The Devil by Banks) 09. “Learn to take a hint. I thought I fucking told [you]” (No More Friends by Olivia O’Brien) 10. “What have you been doing? Don’t forget I am your home” (Purge the Poison by MARINA) --> @phantomwarrior12 (Dark!Gabriel) 11. “If I ever gave you a good reason to say goodbye I would regret it” (Getaway by VINCINT) 12. “Find your way back to my bed again” (Tulsa Jesus Freak by Lana Del Rey)

13. “Stop defending me, we’ll go down together” (Night Sway by Dance Gavin Dance)

14. “Don’t apologize for things you really felt” (Love Somebody Else by lovelytheband)

15. “Feeling stuck is fucking up my sanity” (All Your Love by Sir Sly)

16. “You’re so perfect from the outside. I stalked and studied away” (Who I Am by Code Orange)

17. “I used to know you. I never got you back” (Sideways by The Anix)

18. “You show up when I’m all alone” (Numb by Kiiara)

19. “Look out the window, see what you could’ve had” (Weird Leisure by Biffy Clyro)

20. “I hope that I mean it. Doubt it, right? Yeah, so do I” (AWOL by Every Time I Die)

Quote Prompts

01. “Hold out your tongue.”

02. “Can you keep a secret?”

03. “Temper, temper…”

04. “I don’t really feel like fighting.”

05. “Loving you was the most exquisite form of self destruction.” – David Jones

06. “Why are there weapons in my bathroom?”

07. “Go to hell!” “And leave you here all alone?”

08. “I love you.” “Don’t do that to yourself.”

09. “Here. Hold my morals.” --> @shadowshamrock (Dark!Sam Winchester)

10. “Hungry dogs are never loyal.” --> @mdemontespan1667​ (Dark!Jake Jensen)

11. “The girl I’ve heard so much about.”

12. “I was protecting you!”

13. “Just because you’re speaking in a different language doesn’t mean I don’t know you’re cursing me out.”

14. “Oh, don’t blame them. They did their best to try to kill me.”

15. “I don’t know how I would survive without you.”

16. “The whole world thinks you’re dead.”

17. “I wanted to see how you are doing.”

18. “How do we keep getting into these situations?”

19. “You stay awake, do you hear me?”

20. “I’ll hunt you down if I have to.”

21. “Do we have to do this game all over again?”

22. “I said I would be here when you need it.” ( @dollslayer​ -- Dark!Steve Rogers)

23. “You’re quite possibly the worst liar on Earth.”

25. “What is so urgent that you had to wake me up at 2:30am?”

26. “You know if you had just listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

27.  “Could you stop being an asshole for just a moment?”

Situation prompts

01. Reader accidentally stumbles upon character burying body and is kidnapped to keep them from talking.

02. Dom!Reader denies character multiple orgasms

03. Reader is a hired assassin and does not expect their target to thwart them with their own skills.

04. Reader and character stranded on the side of the road, night is coming.

05. Reader is ignoring character’s advances and character decides to break into their home to set up a romantic dinner.

06. Winter vacation with reader and character.

07. Mutual masturbation

08. Stormy night and the power goes out. Reader and character find a way to entertain themselves.

09. Reader keeps finding things missing from their apartment and eventually finds out who is taking them.

10. Reader and/or character are in an established relationship with someone else. Unfortunately for them, sex pollen gets in the mix. And oops, one of them let it out on purpose!

11. Reader is a in a dom/sub relationship with character. Ignores dom’s orders to not go out for the night and faces the punishment when they come home.

12. Uniform change turns into something naughty.

13. Reader runs into character, who happens to be their ex that they ghosted.

14. College AU where Reader is an RA and one of their residents is hell bent on getting them to break the rules.

15. Reader goes to the cops with evidence that character is stalking them.

16. Reader being hunted by character (or even more fun, characters!).

17. Pregnant sex

Remember to have fun!!!

Tagging some people who may be interested in participating (please do not feel obligated!!): @sherrybaby14 @shadowshamrock @greenappleeyes @mcudarklibrary @mcnegan @afanofmanystuffs

[riftimagines]

Hello!! I absolutely love your fics/hcs, and they always brighten up my day!! I was wondering if you could do headcannons for a depressed/anxious reader with Yone, Yasuo, Ezreal and Sett if that's okay? I've been super stressed/burnt out with online classes lately and I would love to read something like that from you! If not that's okay, and thanks for taking the time to read this and I hope you have a great day!!

It’s been a while since I’ve posted XD I don’t really have much to say. I guess I just haven’t felt inspired much but I did manage to finish this XD I hope you enjoy!

Anixous! Depressed! Reader

Yone

-Knows anxiety like the back of his hand. All his life he was a worrier. Worried about his family, his training and of course his brother. Every day he worried and it achieved nothing in the end. In death he knows these feelings at a call for Azakna. They are feelings of pain and darkness. A dinner bell to those demons.

-He’ll know when your hiding your feelings He wears a mask and knows when others wear a mask too. Don’t hide yourself from him. Good or bad he loves you for you not the mask. Just take of the mask and let all your troubles come out so he can help you and make your true face brighter.

-He’ll try his very best to try to get those demons way. He won’t let you fall to them if he can help it. Trying to help you meditate, drink tea or just relax peace together are a few things he’ll try to do with you to try and help you.

-Never fear your feelings. He’ll be there to help you fight your demons may they be Azakana or your personal demons. He won’t let you down and slip away into the dark to be consumed.

Yasuo

-Is all too familiar with both of these feelings. These are the the feelings that plague him the most and it hurts him to see you feel pain like he does. He’d never wish this agony on anyone let alone his love.

-He handles his problems with drinking. Admittedly he knows it’s a bad habit and would actually prefer if you didn’t follow his lead. Gods know how much trouble he’s gotten into and how many random places he’s wound up in because of it.

-He’d like it if you’d just talk to him about it. He knows what it’s like not to have an outlet for those feelings so he’s all too willing to listen to you talk. Just sit next to him and rest your head on his shoulder or sit in his lap and tell him how you feel.

-He’ll be the first to say he isn’t the best with words of wisdom but he is actually better then most people give him credit for. He has experience with this and will say some whimsical analogy with the wind. It sounds like soothing poetry and yet makes so much sense.

Sett

-Sett is a little dense when it comes to negative feelings that can’t be solved with violence. He may not even notice you’re sad until you don’t smile at him or laugh at a joke he said. He’ll be concerned in an instant then and start asking if someone upset you. Just tell him who and they won’t have a jaw to speak with anymore.

-He isn’t familiar with handling depression but anxiety he’s a bit familiar with. He does get nervous that his momma will find out what he really does. He’s kinda figured that deep breathing kinda helps to relax when that happens and tries to guide you to do the same.

-You’re gonna have to be blunt about your feelings with this one. Like I said he’s a little dense with depression. He is not a guy of words and figures if you feel bad nothing a little violence can’t solve. Most likely you’ll end up in front of a punching bag and he’ll tell you to take your feelings out on it.

-If that really isn’t helping he’ll go to his last resort, hugs, big warm hugs like how his momma would give him when he felt down or upset. It would always ease his heart and make him happy so obviously he should do the same to make you happy too. He’ll spend all day hugging you if he has too. He just wants to see you smile so the world will be right again.

Ezreal

-Despite his cocky, show offish attitude, he is actually a bit familiar with both of those feelings. He feels it whenever he thinks of his parents. He misses them so much and worries that he’s not doing enough to find them.

-The only problem is he is terrible at consoling others. He’s not quite used to having to comfort others and is a bit awkward at receiving comfort himself. He mostly tries humor, telling one of his stories or try to get you to go out and do something fun with him to try to get your mind off of whatever’s bothering you.

-If that’s not helping too much he’ll try to dig deep and be as earnest as he can. He’s very used to hiding behind his bravado so bare with him as he stumbles out some real feelings and perhaps poor but heart filled attempts at advice. He does mean well even if it sounds a bit insensitive or arrogant.

-In the end he tends to be a guy of action and might just hug you and give you physical comfort. He’s not the best with comforting but he’ll always be there for you when you need him most.

[formula-ghost]

Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 1: Honey, Are U Coming?

SERIES SUMMARY: You’re Franco Colapinto’s best friend in the entire world, and you’ve agreed to accompany him along for the ride in his races with Williams. He finds it endearing how, per your therapist’s recommendation, you’ve started always bringing your diary everywhere you go, even the paddock. But when he crosses the line and turns the page, he never expected what’s inside… (Based on the song Read Your Diary by Måneskin).

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

WARNINGS: therapy heavily mentioned, reader is emotionally constipated, use of YN, reader is a lil FREAK in later chapters (affectionate because we don’t kink shame here), eventual angst and smut

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Meet me there where it never closes

Meet me there where it’s never hopeless

All is fair in love, oh

Honey, are you coming?

If you had to blame anyone for this whole ordeal, it would be your therapist. After all, she was the one who had given you the idea to start journaling in the first place.

The session had, frustratingly, gone like all of the others; you’d tell her about something you thought was innocuous and she’d ask you how that made you feel, and you wouldn’t be able to answer. You could feel your feelings all day long, but when asked to explain them, the words never came out.

Maybe it was a fear of being misunderstood or judged for your feelings. Maybe it was the fact that no one had ever taught you what to do with that bundle of emotions that rested in your stomach like a ball of yarn to be unraveled, except to avoid it altogether and stuff it down. Or maybe you just know how you actually felt, deep down, and this was your mind’s way of making it known.

Whatever the case was, your therapist suggested, in addition to your usual sessions, of course, that you start a journal. “It’ll be for your eyes only,” she assured, “you don’t have to tell me a single word of what’s in it. Just write whatever comes to mind, no matter what that is, as long as you get it out.”

So you took her advice. Worst case scenario, you thought, you’d just stop after a week or two if it didn’t make it better. But you couldn’t help feeling a little immature, like a little girl hiding a diary, when you went to the airport shop and bought a small, unassuming leather journal at a heavily marked up price and stuffed it into the bottom of your carry on.

Your therapist had suggested customizing the journal as you write your way through it—making it a safe place for your feelings and words. But for now, this would have to do. Traveling this much recently had been difficult, and you didn’t want to add the journal into the mix of your already chaotic life for the past few weeks.

Of course, you wouldn’t have had it any other way. The recent chaos and jet setting around the world was all due to the hard work and incredible luck of your best friend, Franco. He had finally made it to Formula 1, even if just for the remainder of the season, and when he had excitedly run over to your apartment to tell you the news, you had practically crushed him to death with the enormous hug you gave him. Despite his rookie status, he had somehow managed to get you paddock passes, flights, and accommodations all arranged for each of the races so you could spend your next few months flying around the world and waltzing around the Williams paddock with your best friend in the entire world.

You and Franco had met when you were younger and he had just moved to Italy to pursue his racing career. He had moved in right next to your family, and it felt like you were instantly connected. You introduced him to the country and he introduced you to the world of racing, and your friendship was a match made in Heaven. When he went to Spain, you followed, and now with his entry into Formula 1, you were still tagging along for the ride.

Of course, Franco wanted you there just as much as you wanted to be there. At first you had been hesitant to do it. You didn’t want to impose, and to this day Franco refused to tell you what strings he had to pull to get you access to the paddock, let alone flights and accommodations. “Cmon, come with me,” he had pleaded. “Think of the stories we’ll be able to tell one day! Besides, I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else by my side.”

“Franco, you sound like the protagonist of a cheesy rom com,” you laughed. “Don’t you think this is all… too much?”

“The tickets or my audition for the next Hallmark movie?” he teased, eliciting a small laugh from you. “No, I’m serious, YN. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I want you there with me, for every part of it.” He paused and looked down at his shoes, as if choosing his next words carefully. It was unusual of him, to be so worried about saying the right thing instead of just saying something. The grid had caught on soon that Franco was a talker. He continued, “I understand if you can’t come to all of them. But at least come to a few. It won’t be the same without you.”

There was a heaviness to his words that made you the slightest bit uncomfortable. Like his request was something deeper than just wanting the support of a friend. “Since when have you gotten so sentimental?” you teased, cracking a smile to lighting the tension.

He smiled back, “Since I achieved my dreams.”

Your slight smile stretched ear to ear at the reminder of how monumental a moment this was for him, and you enveloped him in another hug. “Oh Franco, I’m so happy for you!” you exclaimed.

“Happy enough to come with me?” He asked as you all broke the hug.

You lightheartedly exhaled at his instance. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The smile on his face was electric. You just couldn’t say no to him, so that’s how you ended up here, unable to say no to the steep markup on your airport shop journal, waiting for your unfortunately delayed flight from Azerbaijan to Singapore.

Even at only 4 races in, you had gotten used to doing your remote work in airports, but trying to open this journal and pour your heart out onto the pages right next to traveling strangers was… difficult, to say the least. It couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes that you stared at the blank page, but it felt like an eternity. You didn’t know what to write.

So you just began by writing how you felt physically. Tired. Nervous. Excited for Franco. Very excited for Franco.

This was supposed to be your journal, but as you got into the rhythm of filling page after page, the words were all about your best friend, the newest Formula 1 driver. You used to think that words couldn’t even describe how proud you were of him. You’d seen his hard work pay off with just a little bit of luck, and your heart seemed to swell into your chest when you thought of him in his Williams race suit ready to show the world what he could do. He’d gotten points in Baku, and you remembered your frantic heartbeat as you watched from the Williams garage and cheered in excitement at his performance. After the race he ran to you and you all practically crashed into each other going for a bear hug.

You had squeezed him with all your strength. “Franco, I’m so proud of you!”

He released you and smiled. It was a rare moment, seeing you this vulnerable. You were so happy that tears had formed at the edges of your eyes, and for a split second he looked at you and knew the true depth of those words. “So proud that you’re crying tears of joy?” he joked.

He had ruined the moment. You were so caught up in your raw emotion that you didn’t even notice the tears until he pointed them out, and your defenses kicked it as you replied, “I wasn’t crying.” Franco saw your walls go up again and cursed himself internally for talking without thinking, as he almost always did.

As you penned this memory, you felt all the emotions rushing back to you. That feeling of pride in your chest, the chaos of the garage, and Franco’s hands wrapped around you in a celebratory embrace—no, that made it sound weird. You looked down at the page. Why did that sound so… weird?

Once again, the moment had been ruined. Your flight was about to board anyway, so you exhaled and put the journal back in your bag, telling yourself you’d deal with that later. For now, you had a race to get to.

Singapore was humid and buzzing with life. Practices had gone well. On Saturday, you  hoped that the usual chaos of the paddock would distract you from your thoughts, but it was the opposite. The drone of noise—reporters talking, mechanics laughing, the purr of the car—all faded away, just background noise to your painful confusion.

Something was just…off. Before your flight you had written about your best friend and his first few races in F1. That was it. Then why did you feel like your skin was crawling every time you glanced at him on the other side of the garage? He had his headset on, talking to some race engineer about something you couldn’t even begin to understand. His gaze was so focused, his attention fully captured by the screen in front of him. He raised his hand to his mouth, thinking, before turning to the engineer and saying something.

You were enraptured by him. His passion was infectious, his determination admirable. Clad in his white race suit, he looked like he belonged here, like he had always belonged here. His hair gently curled over the top bar of his headset. His race engineer said something and Franco laughed, and again you noticed those little details that had become so usual to you; the way his eyes crinkled when he truly smiled, the scrunch of his nose, the blush that danced across his cheeks—whether from the warmth of the garage or the words of his engineer, you couldn’t tell.

Your observation (or, rather, staring) was interrupted by Franco’s gaze shifting from his engineer to you. He sent you a soft smile, and you gave him a weak one in return. You felt sick to your stomach as he politely excused himself from the conversation and made his way over to you.

“Hey YN, you good? You’ve been staring off into space for, like, five whole minutes.”

You brought your hands to rub your face, trying to bring some life into you. “Have I?”

“Yeah, thought you were checking me out or something.”

“Huh?” You felt a pang of anxiety at his insinuation.

“Well, I can’t help it that I’m so irresistible,” he replied with a smirk.

“Oh, Lord,” you laughed, exhaling in relief at his usual banter. “I just feel weird, but I’ll be okay.” You weren’t exactly lying.

The brow furrowed with concern. “You’re not feeling well? You want to go lay down for a bit?”

As much as you wanted to protest that you really were fine, the opportunity to get away for a few minutes felt like a godsend. You answered, “That’s sounds nice, actually.”

“Here, come with me,” he said as he gestured for you to follow him through the back of the garage and into the Williams motorhome.

You ended up in his driver’s room, a quiet haven away from the overwhelming chaos of the paddock. As you stepped inside it hit you just how awful you truly felt: your head was pounding, your stomach turning in flips, and your heart beating outside your chest. You practically slumped down onto the small couch, hunched over, covering your eyes with your arm to shield away the harsh fluorescent light.

You felt Franco settle beside you, breaking the silence with a soft, “You alright?” You just hummed in response, until you felt his hand meet your upper back, gently rubbing your shoulder blades as if his touch could smooth away your discomfort. But all it did was make it worse; you didn’t think your heart could beat any faster, and the turning of your stomach threatened to bring up your breakfast.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment. “Franco, need you at the media tent in five!”

Franco grumbled a reply that he’d be right there. Then he turned back to you, “You want to go back to the hotel? I can have someone take you.”

“No, I’ll be okay. I don’t want to miss qualifying.”

“YN, you look horrible.”

You laughed. “Thanks for the confidence boost.”

“No, I just… you don’t have to be there if you’re not feeling well, it’s okay.” Franco knew how stubborn you were. Never the type to admit any weakness, you could be on your death bed and still make it to the paddock to watch him race.

“No, really, I’m fine. Just give me a few minutes…”

He huffed, knowing it was no use arguing with you. He kneeled down to where you head was laid against the small table next to the couch, looking in your eyes. “Shit, YN, you’re

shivering—I’ve got a hoodie around here somewhere…” he began rummaging through his locker when another knock came at the door.

“Franco, media tent, NOW,” said the clearly agitated voice behind the door.

“Yeah, coming!” he replied.

He looked back nervous scratched the back of his neck, unsure of how far to push.

“I’ve got to go. Grab a hoodie and warm up, and if you feel any worse you come straight back here or I’ll end you,” he said, in an attempt to lighten the concern he felt for his best friend who sat before him, looking like a zombie.

“Understood,” you said, giving him a weak thumbs up.

He left the room and you sat there alone, taking deep breaths in an attempt to bring yourself back down to earth. You had truly believed it when you told Franco that you thought a few minutes in the quiet would fix you up, but your thoughts just kept racing, and your body reacted with it. The gentle comforting touch of his hand on your back left you spinning. It didn’t make sense—you two had been friends so long, the touch was nothing unusual. Just a friendly gesture. Then why did it feel like your skin was on fire?

Franco had been right, you were shivering, and to distract yourself from your thoughts you heeded his advice to find a hoodie to wear. You stepped over to the locker and found the one he brought—one purchased for him by one of his ex girlfriends, some blonde model who was nice enough but clearly wanted nothing to do with you. You didn’t blame her; you were nothing special, and your company paled in comparison to the excitements of dating a race car driver. Or at least, you assumed. It’s not like you’d ever date Franco.

Wait, what were you thinking? Dating Franco. The thought should bring disgust to your mouth. It did. Sort of. You weren’t shivering any more.

You put the hoodie back in the closet and took a deep breath. You decided to take the time between now and qualifying to see if writing in the journal could make you feel a little better. But when you opened the pages again, you just found what you had written last time and your feelings stuck.

You remembered a tactic your therapist taught you: sometimes your feelings can manifest physically. To calm down, ground yourself in your surroundings. Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, one thing you can taste. You brought your pen to paper.

I can see: The hoodie that Franco’s ex gave him. It’s crumpled in the corner of his locker. He wears it a lot, and it makes me wonder if he misses her. I don’t ask him stuff like that. That would be weird.

I can touch: The smooth plastic of the VIP pass around my neck. Franco refuses to tell me how he got it. I can’t believe he’d go through all this for me.

I can hear: The quiet silence of the room. Feet shuffling outside the door. Does anyone know I’m in here, hidden away like a secret? Did Franco tell anyone about me—about us? What even is us—why would he tell the paddock about a friend?

I can smell: Franco’s cologne, everywhere. It smells familiar, like home and a warm hug.

I can taste: the bitter taste of the maté I had this morning. Franco put me on to it when we were younger.

You went back and read through everything you’d written, seeing how many times his name came up—Franco, Franco, Franco.

And so you wrote it again. Franco, Franco, Franco. God, I feel like a little girl having a crush on the boy who sits next to her in class.

Wait. A crush? No, you were too old for that. That’s ridiculous. But reading the words you had written over and over and over again—what else could it be?

Of course I love Franco. He’s my best friend.

Reading and writing seemed to blur. Yes, you loved Franco. So you wrote it again.

I love Franco Colapinto.

Finally, you stopped. Your headache, stomach pain, and that stubborn heartbeat had all faded to calmness. You read it, no, wrote it, no—did it even matter anymore?

I love Franco Colapinto.

No. You scribbled it out and closed the diary. No, no, no no no no no.

You checked your phone. It was almost time for quali. You threw the journal to the bottom of your bag, took a deep breath, and made your way back out to the Williams garage.

On the way there you ran into a familiar face—Franco’s mother. You had heard she would be here for the weekend, but you hadn’t run into her yet, with everything going on. Upon seeing you her face lit up in a smile. “YN! Franquito just sent me to check on you, said you were feeling well?”

You cringed a bit internally at her knowing your situation, but smiled anyway. “Oh, I was, but I’m doing okay now. Ready for quali.”

So the two of you made your way back to the garage, making idle chat about your lives back at your respective homes outside of Franco. The more you all talked, though, the more it became apparent that both of your lives seemed to revolve around him; but it made sense for his mother, of course, even if he didn’t live in Argentina anymore. But you? You couldn’t shake the feeling that your connection to Franco was deeper and more problematic than ever now. His mother’s voice faded into the background sounds of the garage as your mind returned again to again to the words you had written: I love Franco Colapinto. It felt so childish, like it belonged in a pink diary, written in a glittering gel pen, surrounded by little hearts. It made you sick to your stomach.

“You know, YN,” his mother said, breaking you from your spiraling thoughts, “I’m so glad he has you. I was so worried when he left home, but when you all met it helped me sleep better at night knowing someone was looking out for him. And look where we are now! Oh, I’m so proud of him.”

“I am too,” you smiled, somewhat pained but still genuine.

She laughed, “Now I just keep telling him he needs to find a girl like you! Stay away from all those actresses and models, they’re always trouble.”

You laughed in response, though your heart skipped a beat. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll find a good one. But I think he’s more focused on the racing.”

“Well, I hope so,” she replied, a hint of lighthearted criticism in her voice.

The conversation came to a natural end with qualifying about to start any second. Franco, suited up and putting on his helmet, glanced to you and his mother behind the barriers, throwing you a wink before stepping in the car. You rolled your eyes. Everyone who had ever met Franco knew how much of a flirt he was, it was just part of his personality. It had never bothered you before. But to be the girl he was flirting with? To have it mean something? That was something else entirely, something you’d stuffed deep down. You told yourself it meant nothing, because it didn’t. Franco was just…like that. He was just your friend. Nothing more.

Franco had a respectable qualifying—P12—and the rest of the day went by as usual before your dinner plans with him, his mother, and the rest of the Williams team. It was awkward at first. You were sat by Franco and his mother on one side, who were talking to each other in Spanish, far away mentally from the dinner; and on the other was Alex Albon's girlfriend, Lily. Thankfully, Lily seemed very kind and made conversation.

“Oh hi, YN isn’t it? I’ve been meaning to say hello! I’m Lily, it’s nice to meet you, welcome to the wag club,” she joked.

“The wag club?” You were confused, was this some motorsports term you’d never heard of?

“Oh, you know, wives and girlfriends. The fans just call us wags,” she smiled. You were grateful that at least one person's girlfriend was kind to you. But her assumption brought a blush to your cheeks.

“Oh, I’m not—“

Lily wasn’t quite paying attention, or maybe you were too quiet compared to the busy atmosphere of the restaurant. “You know, it’s really great to have you here, you and Franco are so cute! It’s a shame what happened with Logan, but on the bright side so get to make new friends. I can introduce you to the rest of the girls too, it’s hard being in a garage full of guys so we have to stick together, you know.”

You cut her off, unable to handle her mistake any longer. “Oh, uh, I’m not… Franco’s girlfriend. We’re just friends.” 

Lily paused for a moment. “Oh! Um… sorry about that.” She nervously laughed. “I just thought, you know, since you’ve been at all his races so far…”

“Oh yeah, I’m not sure how, but he got me paddock passes for the rest of the season. I mean, once in a lifetime opportunity, right?”

“Yeah, that’s… I mean, wow. Alex can’t even get me that many passes.” Lily left the implication of her comment unsaid. Franco had gone above and beyond—he wanted you here more than anything. “Well, anyway, I’m sure the girls would still love to meet you!” she smiled. 

It was nice to have a friend other than Franco in the paddock. You passed the dinner telling funny stories back and forth about Franco and Alex’s embarrassing karting moments. The Williams team was beginning to feel like family.

Back in your hotel room, the chaos of the day faded away into a calm silence. You opened your journal and wrote about everything that had happened since you had left his drivers room. Again and again you returned to that sentence, now scratched out, but finally, you had to accept what you had so long avoided, what everyone around you could see plainly.

So you took your pen and wrote one last sentence of the night:

I am in love with my best friend, Franco Colapinto. 

[jayviked]

thank you for tagging me @soundfanatic 💚💚 here goes

name:  Lie

gender: nonbinary

star sign: sagittarius... don’t @ me i don’t even know what moon and rising means

height: 165cm/ 5′4″ 😩 im short

time: like right now? exactly midnight EET 

birthday: nov 25

favorite bands: they change all the time but my current favs from the top of my head are Voices from the Fuselage, Ocean Jet, HEALTH, Dzivia, MXMS, Dagamba, Future Palace, Gunship, Wardruna

favorite solo artists: same as before - they change but currently can think of Allie X, Kerli, Essenger, The Anix, Kim Petras

song stuck in my head: coward by velvetears

last movie: gonna say The Grand Budapest Hotel but in reality it’s 2nd Hobbit movie cause im in the middle of rewatching both that and Lotr, and it doesn’t count cause i rewatch them every two months

last show: the expanse season 5 im cri im lov

when did i create this blog: December 2010 somebody come let me out

what i post: mostly videogames and shitposts, some animals and landscapes, art, shows, movies i like

last thing googled: cm to feet calculator lol. before that i was trying to. write. a fic. which means my knowledge of english language drastically decreases in quality so i had to google a bunch of random words for spelling cause they *look weird*

other blogs: no. we cram all our interests in one main blog and die like men

do i get asks: occasionally. i tend to answer them privately. if it’s on anon i either post or keep it in my messages forever (if it’s something nice). i mostly communicate with all my mutuals thru tags or one sided telepathy 😂😂

why i chose my url: no particular reason, it’s a reference to skyrim werewolves and i just liked how it sounded

following: 198  

followers: 1k... talk about a ratio (but im sure two thirds of those are inactive)

average hours of sleep: 10-12 😩 i can’t function on less lol

lucky number: if asked i will say 3, but i don’t believe, care or really even get the lucky number thing

instruments: i was poor so i wasn’t sent to music school or owned any instruments. i do have an old mandolin i got few years back but i don’t think disharmonious strumming counts lmao

what am i wearing: black leggings and a very long black sweater with a stylized print of 3 witches, 2 black wolves and a snake

dream trip: oddly enough it’s not really something i dream about. i used to. A LOT. but not anymore

favorite food: wok noodles with chicken and chili sauce 🤤 anyone remember the time when restaurants and food places were open?

nationality: latvian ✌️

favorite song: “the fact that this isn’t with the other music questions is bothering me lmfao” same lol, but @soundfanatic youre being very evasive with your music taste! at least name a few!!!! 😅 as for mine... yeah again, they change but currently Vault of Heaven by Voices from the Fuselage

last book read: minor mage by t kingfisher (oooof that was a long while ago i need to get on my 2021 book challenge)

top three fictional universes i’d like to live in: ho boi middle earth ; D that’s it, i can’t think of anything else. i will probably remember like 3 hundred universes i wanna live in later but right now there’s just blank. edit: oh oh oh mass effect! wanna live in a future where space travel and exploration is normal 😔😔😔

favorite color: forest green and pastel pinks!

ok you gave me courage to bother ppl so im gonna bother.. just a few ppl too @erlkonigstochter @tooprettytodie @all-ringils-blazing @angyem please feel free to ignore this if you don’t wanna do it 😘

[geraniumsforinej]

Yess Zidian!!! LOVE that weapon, it seems so different from the original description iirc but I really loved its design. And the symbolism of Song Lan taking XXC's sword and carrying both... that hurts so so much. Also I'm really curious what that looks like in the donghua now... But next one! I'm sending two today! I really liked this one from the net's question bank: do you have a favourite fanfic?

ooooh i don’t read a lot of fic tbh (i don’t have the attention span to read anything longer than like 5k) BUT one of my absolute favorites is anix’s sangcheng superheroes series!! i didn’t use to ship sangcheng but i absolutely love how anix writes them

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825789

[4th-make-quail]

I was tagged by @knifefightandchill, thank youuu!!

rules: shuffle your repeat playlist and post the first ten tracks, then tag ten ppl!

It's a miracle that this got so varied actually! More than half of these are from my Leon/Krauser playlist lol, anyone wanna play spot the song lyric fic titles 😂

I'm not sure if anyone wants to be tagged, so pls do this if u want to!

[halftheway]

the open arms color palette is so pleasing 2 me