#but I'm glad it works so we can all play with it when we can

[munsonsmixtapes]

Heelllooooooo!!!

It's been a while since I've requested.. life got busy, and I am glad to be bavk on here..

Catching up on my favorite writers stories!!!

I seen your post about wanting steddie requestsssss

So I had a steddiexreader request...

So I'm a bigger girl, and my bestie just showed me that I CAN wear fish nets.. (we did a spooky ghost photo shoot)

And I instantly thought of reader showing Steddie or surprising them with a COMPLETE wardrobe change, going from sweat pants/baggy shirts to short dresses, fish nets, heels, or rocker themed outfits, leather skirts, cropped(?) band tees (because I love seeing it on other bigger girls but I can't get myself to wear it)

Just a complete change in attitude and self love even though she is still slightly self conscious on how she looks.. and they both lose their mindssss

Smut welcomed because obviously

🫡

First off, I just wanna say fuck yes!! As a chubby girl myself, I also love seeing women who look like me wearing whatever the fuck they want! I love writing about women who look more like me and the characters I love loving on them because they deserve it! I’ve been so excited to write this request so thank you so much for sending it in!

cw: MDNI (18+) oral (f receiving) nipple play, body worship, body insecurity

You sit on the bed in your robe, hoping that it covers your outfit well. You’re planning on surprising your boyfriends when they come home from work. It was as if a switch had flipped and you had taken a few days while they were at work to completely change your wardrobe. And you hadn’t done it for them, it was purely for you as you had suddenly gotten a boost of confidence. Gone were the baggy clothes as they were replaced with cropped band tees, leather skirts, and tight dresses like the one you’re wearing that was accompanied by a pair of fishnet tights that Robin had convinced you to buy. 

And while you weren’t doing it for the boys, you were still intending on surprising them with the intention of getting them to show you just how hot they thought you were. Even if they did that all the time. They are both very aware of your insecurity and try their best to make it known just how much they love you for who you are.

You hear the front door unlock and put yourself in what you think is a sexy position, waiting for them to come into the room. The door opens and both Eddie and Steve stare at you as you lay on your side, your hand slowly trailing to where the robe was tied. 

“What is going on here?” Steve asks as steps closer, taking your hands in his hand, helping you to your feet. 

“Yeah, sweetheart, what are you hiding under that robe?” Eddie asks, moving to the other side of you. You open the robe quickly and both men gasp as they take in the skin tight black number you’ve got on. It’s lacy, so much so that they can see through every inch. The bra that you’re wearing and that little black thong that’s doing things to them. 

“Jesus,” is all Steve is able to say as a gasp leaves his lips. 

“Fuck,” Eddie adds. “Sweetheart, you look-” he cuts himself off and you’re quick to close the robe back as you throw yourself onto the bed, wanting it to swallow you up. You can’t believe you actually thought it would work. 

“I feel so fucking stupid,” you say into the pillow loud enough for both of the to hear and they’re quick to sit on either side of you, Eddie rubbing your back while Steve strokes your hair, moving it away from your face. 

“Honey, you’re not stupid,” he says softly and you turn your head to his side so he can see you. 

“So you don’t think I look ridiculous?” You ask, your voice small. 

“Not at all,” he shakes his head. “You look fucking hot. I mean, you always do, but this little thing? Wow.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “Fuck, doll,” he groans and you turn onto your back as Eddie leans over, his lips right by your ear. “The thing we’d do to you.” 

Your cheeks flush at his comment and you lie flat, deciding to take him up off his offer. You look up at both of them as they stare down at you, wondering how you’ve gotten so lucky as to have both of them as your boyfriends. They love you for who you are and you don’t know why you get so insecure around them sometimes. They have proved their love to you time and time again and you don’t know why it’s so hard to believe them when it’s clear that they’re telling the truth.

Steve is the first to lean in, pressing a kiss to your lips and you’re quick to respond, your hand moving to the back of his head. It slips into his hair and you’re pulling at it as his tongue slides into your mouth, causing you to moan. Eddie is on your left, his mouth pressing to your neck, giving it a rough suck that causes you to gasp and he just chuckles. And once you’re moaning, the two of them move lower to your chest, trying to remove your dress and you have to talk them through it because of how complicated it is. 

Steve and Eddie manage to get the dress off of you and Eddie tosses it to the side before the two of them bring their mouths to your tits, one for each of them. Their tongues are swirling around your nipples and you swear you’re going to have an orgasm right there. 

“So pretty, baby,” Steve murmurs against your skin. He’s always so complimentary and it never fails to make you feel better about yourself. His tone is gentle and you know he means what he’s saying every time. You can see it in his honey eyes.

“Prettiest fucking tits I’ve ever seen,” Eddie adds. His compliments are more forward, more dirty than Steve’s, but you love how different they are from each other. They’re your boys and they never back down from an opportunity to tell you or show you just how much they love you. 

They each take one of your hands as they work, licking and sucking roughly as kind words fall  from their lips every so often. They’ve gotten so good at giving you exactly what you need when you need it and it always surprises you how they always seem to be able to read your mind. 

They’ve done this exact thing more times than you can count, but you can’t help but notice how different this one is. How you’ve managed to let your thoughts float out of your brain and just focus on what’s happening. In the past, you would just think about how exposed you feel, but right now, all you can think about is how good it all feels.

You’re about to respond when Steve sucks on your nipple he’s got in his mouth and Eddie brings the other one between his teeth, biting down gently. Steve eventually catches on and does the same thing, biting down on your nipple and you’re holding onto the sheets underneath for dear life as a loud moan falls from your lips, an orgasm already rolling through you. 

Your back arches as you reach completion and suddenly, you feel the insecurity lessen, especially when they’re coaching you through the orgasm, using every nickname they have for you with the most gentle tones. 

“That’s it, hon,” Steve encourages as the two of them pull away just in time to watch you. 

“Just like that, sweetheart,” Eddie nods. They think you’re satisfied with what they’ve just done, but you’re still begging for more, needing something else. And they’re more than happy to oblige. Anything to keep their girl happy. 

They’re kissing down your body, murmured compliments falling from their lips and you feel nothing but love radiating from the two of them. This is honestly the best you’ve ever felt, especially during sex with your boyfriends. You feel like a new woman, no longer shy about responding positively to their touches. 

“I love these,” Eddie says as he lets his fingers run along your hip bone where you’ve got a cluster of stretch marks. 

“You do?” You ask in shock. That seemed to be the one thing that always turned people off so you had gotten into the habit of covering them up. 

“Mhm,” he nods. “So pretty,” he compliments before bringing his lips to the skin, pressing soft kisses to it. And Steve follows, doing the same thing on your other hip, his lips ghosting over your skin, being so gentle with you. 

Steve and Eddie then get on the floor in front of you, each pulling on a leg to pull you closer to them and before you can ask what they’re doing, they’re grabbing hold of your legs and lowering their heads down to your inner thighs, pulling at the fishnets with their teeth and all you can hear is a loud ripping sound as holes are being torn in your tights. 

And you don’t even mind. In fact, you think it’s really hot, how they’re both so desperate to get to your cunt. After a few minutes, they manage to rip from your thighs to your crotch and together, they pull your thong down before each of them rest a hand on your knees as they spread your legs to see what they’re working with. 

“Is all of this for us?” Eddie asks as he stares down at your sopping wet cunt. “Shit, sweetheart, you shouldn’t have. Good thing we brought our appetite, huh, Stevie?” He nudges his boyfriend and they then each drape one of your legs over one of their shoulders. 

And in the blink of an eye, they dive straight into your cunt, Eddie going for your cunt while Steve goes for your slit, they’re both working their magic with their mouths and you’re embarrassed at how you feel like you’re already going to orgasm again. 

“You taste even better than the other night,” Eddie says. “God, could eat you for hours, doll.”

“I agree. You taste absolutely divine,” Steve agrees and then they’re at it again, licking and sucking on your cunt roughly and you’re grasping onto the sheets so hard that you’re practically white-knuckling it. What they’re doing feels so good that you feel your eyes rolling back into your head, your hands moving to their hair, giving it a rough tug in response to the pleasure that’s rolling through you. And just when you think they’re close, Steve’s tongue enters you and your thighs push their heads together as his tongue hits just the right spot, causing you to reach your climax yet again. And since he doesn’t want to take all the fun, Eddie takes over soon after, taking turns making you orgasm until you’re going absolutely stupid, almost seeming drunk. 

And then together, they clean you up, making sure to tell you just how good you did while they got you dressed. And once you’re in one of Eddie’s t-shirt, they climb into the bed with you on either side as the three of you cuddle, the two of them stroking your hair and rubbing your back until you’ve fallen asleep in their arms, waking up in the morning fully ready for round two.

[justin-chapmanswers]

Justin! How hard was it to fully commit to The Reveal™️? Did you and the team ever go back and forth about if MePhone creating the contestants was a good idea or not and was there ever a point where you thought about not including it?

Just clarifying that I LOVE the reveal so much and it's changed my thoughts on the show in a very positive way, but I'm just really curious especially because so many things in the stories I've made have gone through changes

Honestly- no! I don't exactly remember the call in which I pitched it to Adam but I generally recall a vibe of "okay, yeah, interesting, let's play with this and see where it goes." And some immediate enthusiasm from Brian, as well. I think once the can of worms was opened and we realized where we could take the story from there, there wasn't any interest in taking that off of the table and limiting ourselves. Perhaps if we had any contradicting ideas that we felt passionate about, but that didn't come up. We were so interested in exploring how the reality show could affect these characters, and then to have the reality show TRULY not be reality? Or, at least, their perception of what reality is? We had to push that forward. It also put MePhone and Cobs in much more interconnected roles with the contestants which helped tie the story together more cleanly. It gave us something more tangible to work through emotionally in the finale. I think we were all very jazzed about the possibilities.

On the flip-side, committing to how the finale plays out outside of the twist was always way up in the air, constantly changing. Early-on plans of an ending that was fairlyyy similar to how episode 17 ended, a short-lived version with a final three, a finale that started with a winner reveal, long-time concepts of the finale being presented more like a contestants vs Meeple war on a battlefield around Hotel OJ, a version that was contestants vs Meeple vs Shimmers/Phenomse (way earlier on when our alien pals were more like a third-party antagonistic threat) in space, etc etc etc. And I'm so very glad that we landed where we did. And I'm excited for y'all to see how things come together.

[mewkwota]

[ Full Synchro Achieved ]

I don't often share my VRChat goof-offs here, but this was such a wild moment. My brothers got me a VR headset for my birthday, and I wasn't sure if Tsux was going to fit the limited specifications. But once we got things linked together she was working perfectly.

This is like all I ever wanted to do here, I couldn't have been happier.

[icewindandboringhorror]

"We can get through this by working together, reach out to your friends, community is all we have, a social network will be your security in the world, now is the time to lean on others!"

I do agree, and it's scientifically sound (pretty sure there is data about how people with better social networks live longer and etc) but also....augh..... what about the severe social issues, difficulty to leave the house, physical issues which lead to like zero socialization energy a majority of the time, etc. etc. Social support can be a replacement for structural support, but.. I guess I just wish it didn't have to be. Community is extremely difficult to build, even moreso if you're someone who has issues with social cues or group conversations or even just being around others in the first place. And blah, nuance, of course I'm just complaining or maybe being too negative or maybe misunderstanding, but, I hardly have the energy to brush my hair once every 2 months.. how am I supposed to maintain a wide social network and be active in a Community and Join Groups lol... sometimes it kind of feels like "er.. well if thats my only option then...... ruh roh". It's overwhelming

[leafy-m]

So I hit my 700th edit for the WHA wiki today, because I am a totally normal person

[unproduciblesmackdown]

fascinating lens on taylor's goings on in s6 there re: Romance. epic win that they have rian turn them down but i'm also really not sure why they did. oh you know, rian who's always defined by being so prudent [montage of actually pretty much everything seemingly defining rian has been pretty anti prudent] like ok w/e

but we start out with taylor Particularly Unmotivated By Work and instead watching a The Bachelor beach proposal which involves extasis through this Reality(tm) pastiche of romance. i am assuming. wherein the journey Ends with this transcendent all-consuming joy upon the realization of said Romance for one contestant. then when their somehow still bestie mafee (relevant tangents about how all taylor's relationships seem to involve their having an approach where they have low standards like "well but i guess this is all i can get / expect" including that they can't even necessarily expect shit they like/enjoy/are at all supported by, while readily accepting whatever blame/reproach from others) is like "gee but are you really happy" they're apparently inspired to pursue happiness by pursuing romance. which they seem to consider is possible only through rian, intriguing here when the entire basis of their dynamic seems to be [trapped in work hell together] like boy we have nothing outside our jobs? i sure hope we can be Everything to each other then :) and how it's even more baffling that rian is completely unbaffled by this development when you might operate on some assumptions like "you should have ever seemed to enjoy any interactions you've ever had" to consider choosing more vulnerability and more time / effort spent on this relationship, and "you also don't need to have Found Fault with someone / otherwise have some grievances or dislike of them to not want to date them" especially if rian's apparent sense of responsibility for taylor's theoretical negative feelings about rejection supposedly doesn't involve thinking about any power dynamics, she just feels the need to repeatedly reassure them she'd actually Love to date or have sex but she's just so set on not dating through work, b/c of the complications, that she's never considered not having casual sex with bosses and also never mentioned this stance to turn down winston nor done anything but revel in how he might feel about even being rejected as a conversational partner. too prudent to mention it. certainly also a relevant matter that it Need Not Be Explained to anyone that winston for one is excluded as a potential Romantic partner for pretty much everyone i guess. whilest as this potential mirror to taylor, he's not only considering specifically rian w/"we're similar; let's hang out; i'd like to have sex maybe even" (though winston's sexuality, like his communicative capacities, is also simply Not Allowed) but also seems to be like "i guess this is all i can get / expect" or hanging on for a long time to the possibility of Otherwise at his own expense or taking blame / whatever pretty egregious treatment like. taylor being willing to talk to wendy still is akin to winston still being willing to talk to rian. though maybe that's changed by the end of s6; it'd be very warranted after the pretty make or break [rian & winston Share An Interest; hang out outside work about it] moment there and also after Everything Else on its own, just like how it'd be very warranted if taylor expecting Nothing Better from wendy could turn into their hardly being willing to interact

anyways, sure is fortunate for taylor (or is it???) that Work becomes more enriching for them suddenly, and through someone with whom they have this promising personal dynamic with, a Peer with whom, in fact, they do both seem to find reward in interacting with each other / want and choose to do so, imagine, while [reiterating for emphasis]: they are both finding reward in interacting and feeling Complementary rather than only seeing exactly themself in each other, while having this respect for each other and flexibility and knowing they don't Have to work together, and may not always be doing so.

but most to the point it sure is something that the season starts off with taylor being dissatisfied with their work situation and responding by not being at work and instead watching people be overjoyed about their (also, relevantly, Peak Normal Correct Cishet) romance, though they don't outright claim to straightforwardly enjoy this. then they Do outright claim to us repeatedly, if ever begrudgingly, that everything rian does is worthy &/or sympathetic (and totally comprehensible and consistent so as to believably retain any sense of Character....) while every time they interact, it's a business meeting and one or both of them is unhappy about some part of it. but then once taylor's asked to think about their happiness Beyond Work they apparently are simply motivated to go ask someone out, and it may as well be rian For Lack Of A Better Option really, but then there's the wrench of "for some reason rian is unsurprised and not at all put off by this, or even just somewhat confused" and "for some reason rian's like 'sorry but no. fr im soooo sorry'" with these perspectives of [happiness Outside Work = romance] and [someone deemed Objectively Worthy = you'd of course at least consider romance, or else you must think actually they're Unworthy in some way, or have some more general Reason you'd reject others categorically in just the same way] (rian rejecting winston for unworthiness so much that she doesn't even need to bother actually telling him as much; rejecting taylor for [i don't date through work] with followups to reassure them it's Not the unworthiness) (that on and off paper winston & taylor have no reason to not be kissing but i think we can assume that won't happen, b/c billions itself may also assume we understand that [winston is unworthy] is just true. &/or that anyone Worthy understands as much)

so hoping that taylor has Some kind of enriching lasting relationship with philip, truly, which was the hopes for winston and rian but the updated hope is his enriching lasting disengagement with rian, f

[everythingsbetterunderthestars]

Please please please I know we all love Friends and Chandler was our favourite character and Matthew always put a smile on our faces and that’s all amazing but can we please please please talk about this:

“I've had a lot of ups and downs in my life. I'm still working through it personally, but the best thing about me is that if an alcoholic or drug addict comes up to me and says, 'Will you help me?' I will always say, 'Yes, I know how to do that. I will do that for you, even if I can't always do it for myself! So I do that, whenever I can. In groups, or one on one.

And I created the Perry House in Malibu, a sober-living facility for men. I also wrote my play The End of Longing, which is a personal message to the world, an exaggerated form of me as a drunk. I had something important to say to people like me, and to people who love people like me.

When I die, I know people will talk about Friends, Friends, Friends. And I'm glad of that, happy l've done some solid work as an actor, as well as given people multiple chances to make fun of my struggles on the world wide web...

but when I die, as far as my so-called accomplishments go, it would be nice if Friends were listed far behind the things I did to try to help other people.

I know it won't happen, but it would be nice.”

- Matthew Langford Perry

(August 19, 1969 - October 28, 2023)

[metranart]

— HAWKS + DABI + BAKUGO + SHIGARAKI || THINGS THIS LOVESICK BOYS SAY WHEN IN BED WITH YOU

-----------HEADCANONS-----------

HAWKS

“Oh, my darling...fuck, keep doing that.” 

“You're so beautiful, I'm so glad we found each other.”

“I know I’m a mess-… what else was I supposed to do while waiting to make you mine?” 

“Lay back and let me do all the work. I’ve dreamed of eating your pretty pussy all week.”

“Hey, don’t shy away from me. C’mere-”

“You’re so fuckin’ soft. Shiiit…”

“Hey—no teasing the feathers.”

“I n-need to-... I just-…-I’m going to start moving now.”

“Arms around my neck and legs around my hips— ngh! Gravity is a bitch, I don’t want you falling on me, at least, not literally.”

“What a good mate, you respond to me so well."

“I’m so fuckin’ deep, my pretty girl-”

“Fuck—I can’t... I’m not gonna last-”

“Don’t be embarrassed. I love when you squirt on my face.”

“God I’ve wanted this for so long. I’m going to breed your pussy every day, all day long, even after I’ve knocked you up.”

“We're both getting older, babe, and if we want to have more chicks than stars in the sky, then we need to get started.”

“Tell me you love me-… tell me again.”

“I do get ahead of myself often, but I can’t help it. I just know we belong together-” 

“What do you say we try for a baby this time?”

"You’d be adorable, so swollen and full that you can't walk, that you'd have to rely on me for everything...”

“Touch yourself, c’mon. Let me see how you play the right notes.”

“You're going to be a wonderful mother for my chicks.”

“Let me help you move pretty, put your hands on mine.”

“No one’s gonna hear if I put my hand here… no biting, hun.”

“I’ll make it quick, darling... just—let me… let me go again.”

“Need a hand or a finger?”

“Just wait, baby... Fuuuuck—give me a damn minute.”

“Keep your eyes on me.”

“Arch your back, there you go, such a good girl.”

“Fuck, even after cumming you aren’t ready to accommodate my size. Don’t worry, baby,” he kisses your creased forehead, “—then just the tip this time.”

“Shit, I can’t help it—” you can feel him twitching excitedly inside you. “I just like you so damn much!” He grunts and snaps his hips again, diving deeper. 

“Just bear with me, I swear I’ll eat you for hours after…. Please, pretty, pleaseeeee…” He kept his pace, practically purring with his throaty groans. 

“No matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, I know how to fuck you well, ain’t I, beautiful?” 

“C’mon let me hear you, I can feel you getting tighter… my cock’s rubbing those hard-to-reach places…. Fuck! I- slid in so easily.”

“I’m painfully close-…. Fuck, I don’t want to cum yet…”

 “Is this your sweet spot I’m bullying?” 

“Each thrust is inching you closer… should I slow down or go faster?”

“Deeper? Okey-… just try to keep it together, I have neighbors.” 

“Give me one more. please, just one more baby.”

“Try to keep your eyes open, I know it’s hard…b-but try for me beautiful.”

“Go ahead and sleep, honey, I’m not going anywhere.”

NSFW ART OF THIS HEADCANONS IN MY PATREON

DABI

“What’d I did to deserve such a pretty thing like ya?”

“I’ve barely touch you. You really that hot for me, sweetheart?”

“Open your legs, not gonna say it again.”

“Doesn’t hurt, its already scarred skin.”

“If I have to kiss your tears away again, you are gonna get it— I’ve already told ya, it doesn’t hurt anymore-”

“Bury your hands in my hair, yes... Just like that.”

“Stop pushing me away. You’re gonna take it all, don’t make me shove it down your throat.”

“You love to play the feeble act, but your moans give you away, princess.”

“Nuh-uh, you haven’t cum yet.”

“I said ass up.”

“You want it so bad? beg.”

“Take them off before I rip them off of you, doll. Don’t try me.”

“Harder,” he mutters, not a minute after you started. “Harder,” he demands again.

“Could you go any slower? Ride me like you mean it, princess. I know you can.”

“Can barely feel that shit. You gotta do better than that, princess. You know I like it rough.”

“Fuck,” he bit out. “Yes, fuck…. Just like that.”

“Come on pretty girl. Ride me till you’re numb, yeah? Want you to fuck yourself stupid on my cock today.”

“Move my hands again and see what happens-”

“Fuck—” 

“Sorry, baby-… I just had to jump at the opportunity to sink my cock deeper.”

“Sit on it.”

“Worried it won’t fit? We always make it work just fine—”

“I don’t have condoms, they’re annoying.” He grunts the reply, inwardly absorbed with impatience. 

“Don’t move—Just gimme a minute… F-Fuck…”

“You fuckin’ genius, dammit, I love you so damn much! Not even I knew that spot— …” He shakes his head, in disbelief of the pleasure, even more so that you been the one to give it to him.

“Did you do that on purpose, princess? ‘cause now we are doing it every time.” 

“Fuck that. Don’t know if you heard sweetheart, but you were made for me to fuck and breed.”

“Stop it, no more whining—I’ll do my best to be…. gentler.” 

“Really? resist me all you want. I know you love being treated like this.”

“Ridiculous, I could stare at your pretty cunt all day long.” 

“Fuck Yeah! I adore the way your thighs tremble like jelly after you cum.”

“Should I pull out? Nah, better give me a daughter to spoil.”

“Unless you were playing with yourself before I got here, I’m guessing this is because of my pretty face?”

“Over my knee, now.”

“Sure, I love ya— but you are not in charge here, princess. Fuckin’ spread them for me.”

“Want me to spank that pussy? lay on my lap then-”

“One’s never enough, I know my princess’s pussy and its begging for another.”

NSFW ART OF THIS HEADCANONS IN MY PATREON

BAKUGO (NSFW art teaser here!)

“Do you want me to fuck you harder, cutie?”

“You can be loud, I love to hear you, (Y/N).”

“I’ve waited so long for this...”

“That’s it... slow and easy—” 

“How much longer you gonna make me wait, baby?”

“You ever take it raw? Get a big load of cum in your pussy? —don’t shy on me, I know you love when I talk dirty to you.”

“Take it off before I tear it off.”

“Baby... please...I hate to beg-”

“Make me wait much longer and I’ll have to fuck you in an alley somewhere.”

“What a naughty little girl I have just to myself.”

“Ugh, so hot and wet.” 

“I said I wanted to eat your pussy, didn’t I? Just sit back and enjoy it, baby girl.”

“I’d hate to stop teasing you right before the fun part.”

“It’s so warm...”

“Who do you belong to?” 

 “Whose pussy is this? Say who you belong to.”

“God, what a good fucking cunt. It keeps clenching on my cock like it’s hungry for more milk. You want that? You want me to fill you up?”

“As you wish, princess.”

“You gonna cum?” 

“Go on, gorgeous. Cum on Daddy’s cock.”

“Fucking take it... take every drop...” 

“Nice and stuffed... all mine... my little slutty girl...”

“I said spread those fuckin’ folds.”

“So wet and tight, but my cock just slides right in. It’s like you were born to take me inside of your cunt.”

“Aren’t you a sight. All blissed out when we aren’t even done.”

“That’s right, darlin’. You didn’t think you could tease me for so long and get away with just one little fuck, did you?”

“Oh, did you think we were finished?”

“Did I stutter or somethin’?”

“Alright, baby girl, you asked for it. Just don’t come crying to me if you can’t move after I’m done with you.”

“Don’t move—Just a sec… F-Fuck…”

“No, this is-this is fine. This is beyond fine. Keep doing it, please.”

“Shit, darling, don’t-” 

“God, you make me so needy. Please.... fuck, please...”

“You feel so wonderful, I might go crazy—"

“More... please, more...”

“Fuck, I’m stretching you so good.”

“God, the thought of you ever doing something like this to anyone else... I can’t stand it.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. You’re my precious BABY, now and forever."

NSFW ART OF THIS HEADCANONS IN MY PATREON

SHIGARAKI

“It isn’t even a ‘might’. I can tell you right now with the utmost certainty that you are MINE.”

“Keep looking into my eyes, don’t you fuckin’ look away…”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” He coos in a demeaning tone. “I’ll be your first and your last. Not any of these other NPCs.”

“I can hardly keep my hands to myself, your room or mine.”

“I can do whatever I want to you, I’m player one!”

“I know, I’m keeping track of my digits, don’t worry your pretty head.”

“You are too precious to me to turn to dust, my love.”

“I can’t- I’m dying to breed you, to bury my cock in your wet pussy. Don’t move, I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

“My pants are uncomfortably tight, the fabric’s straining against my throbbing dick, I told you not to put on that dress, dammit” Shigaraki’s practically scratching at the wooden table, surges of arousal shaking him to his core. “Can we go now? Like right NOW?!”

“MY girl, so pretty and needy for my cock.”

“You want him dead. You got it.” Ruby eyes stare through his bangs up at your face in some sort of silent promise. “—Of course, I will. You are my everything.”

“It hurts. I need you to- FUCK, just like that.”

“Fuck, how-how are you this fucking wet and warm inside, fuck, fuck…!”

“Please fuck me.”

“H-hey, I know a fun game we can play together… It’s called ‘how many times can I make you cum all over my cock?’” 

“One point, five points, ten points—Cumming again? Are you shooting for a new high-score, sweetheart?”

“Now... care if I use my mouth on you?”

“Just be good for me, and I’ll take very, very good care of you.”

"Look at you, so worked up over a few couple of fingers, did you miss me that much, sweetheart?" 

“Just looking at you is enough to, oh fuck, drive me wild.”

"So desperate for my cock to stuff you-say it, say you want my cock—ngh!”

"S-Shit,"

"Needy girl, I'll let you have it, be fucking grateful." 

"What? Fainting on me already?"

"Don't let me see you doing this again, or else."

“Just fuck me. I need you, (Y/N), please. Please just fuck bury on me already...! I want it...! I want YOU..!”

“Have it your way then.”

"Keep licking my balls, oh fuck! I’m gonna die—"

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-!"

“You look so pretty choking on my cock.”

“Where do you want it, baby? Mouth, breast, face, pussy… take your pick-”

"Are you close, sweetie?" 

“My feisty little girl. Aren’t you just adorable?”

"Good girl. Give me a minute and I’ll clean up that mess you made." 

“Cum for me. Cum on my cock and show me that you’re mine.”

“I just... wanted to cuddle a little more, is all. Didn’t want to... you know, waste the moment.”

“Don’t you worry, my love. I’ll be sure to give you anything you could ever want and more.” 

“You don’t have to take me all the way into your esophagus, but I expect you to make me cum, and yes, I do want you to swallow.”

“Go on, get on your knees.”

“Ngh, that’s it, keep going...”

“You look so wonderful like this, with your lips wrapped around my cock. I wish I could take a pic for Dabi to swallow his words.” 

“I want you all to myself.”

“H-here it comes...Be sure... to drink... every.. last... drop...YOU ARE FUCKIN’ MINE!!”

I MADE SOME SICK NSFW ART FOR THIS HEADCANONS, YOU CAN CHECK THEM OUT IN MY PATREON. (Along with more MHA nsfw artwork)

[yazmarina]

walk me through it

for the love circuit series

—you're used to being flirted with in front of the camera. but something about franco is really doing you in.

franco colapinto (f1) x fem!reporter reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex (no condom, yes birth control), guided masturbation, lewd photography, lots of flirting, franco is shameless (naturally), some Spanish sentences and phrases

a/n: will resume hit play for a bit after this one! enjoy franco girlies mwa

Your job was simple enough. Well, for today, at least.

Stand in the media pen, gather statements, and piece together a couple of stories later that evening for publishing first thing tomorrow morning. All in a day's work, like all the other days before.

You've grown immune to the charms of rich, adrenaline-seeking men. Didn't take you too long, the illusion breaking as soon as any one of them opened their mouths. Some you tolerate more than others, but some you'd rather steer clear of completely.

This isn't to say that you've brushed all of them off. You might have agreed to a date here and there but nothing ever stuck, the nature of your jobs a bit too similar and all too different at the same time. You've given up on the prospect that you'll somehow end up with one of the many Formula 1 drivers you've interviewed and spoken to. And you've spoken to a lot. You've had this gig since you were shipped off fresh from uni and one too many 'What happened there?'s and 'Tell me about qualifying's can put a damper on the romantic side of things.

But someone new's in town. Well, er, new in the paddock. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't even a little bit excited.

He's charming, that much you can already tell. He walks into the media pen like he's done it thousands of times before and you have to actively suppress a smile as he walks over. Confidence is always a plus. For the interview, of course.

"Hola, Franco. Antes que nada, enhorabuena," you greet warmly, extending your arm over the barrier to place the microphone nearer to him. Hi, Franco. First of all, congratulations.

Franc's eyebrows shoot up, a wolfish grin settling on his face. "Oh. I thought this was an English interview?"

You smile back. "It is, but I know my way around Spanish, as well."

"Ah," Franco nods. "Gracias, _______."

"You know my name?" You ask, momentarily forgetting that you're being taped and recorded. You clear your throat, ignoring the quiet snicker from your cameraman.

"Yeah, I've seen you around and watched some of your other interviews," Franco confirms, a hand settling on his hip as he leans against the barrier, closer to you.

You can smell his perfume from where you stand.

"Thank you, I've heard and seen a lot about you as well," you respond, trying to return to your original train of thought.

"Which is why I want to ask you how it feels on your first day as a Formula 1 driver," you quickly follow. "Have you done anything special to prepare for this weekend? Other than the obvious, of course."

Another easy smile spreads across Franco's lips. "I've definitely added to my training and done some new things to prepare. I haven't done a full F1 weekend before so everything will be new."

"We definitely don't have reporters like you in the lower Formulas," he adds.

You feel a violent blush rip up through your neck all the way to your cheeks. As if the Monza heat wasn't enough.

"Well, I'm glad you could meet me here," you manage to get out.

The thing is, Franco isn't even the most attractive driver you've met. He's definitely up there, but not the most.

That's a discussion you have with yourself semi-weekly: ranking the drivers in terms of attractiveness, factoring in personalities and general attitudes towards the people around them, specifically the media.

Look, people love to shit on the media and press, calling journalism all sorts of derogatory words, but you're just here to do your job, like anyone else. And it gets pretty fucking hard when your boss is ringing your phone every five minutes demanding four stories by tomorrow and drivers are sassing you out as if you asked them if they've murdered their whole family.

So, naturally, the way they treat you determines a big chunk of how you think your day is going to pan out.

And right now, Franco seems to be lifting your spirits just fine.

"What are your goals for this weekend? Are points on the horizon for you at your first F1 race?" You continue, trying not to stare at the way Franco starts to rub at the back of his neck, bashful all of a sudden.

"We'll try," Franco begins. He plants both his hands on the barrier and leans even closer. You have to physically take a step back.

You gulp. Franco smiles.

"Anything is possible this weekend."

-

"You broke the internet last night."

You scoff, sending your cameraman a vicious side-eye. It's crowded in the paddock today, everyone wanting to get a glimpse of the new rookie, it seems. Such is the eagerness for this young driver that even that 30-second clip of your interview with him blew right up in your face. Your inboxes at capacity, your own voice speaking back to you with every other swipe on your TikTok.

It's not all bad, though. A tweet with one of your Instagram photos attached to it captioned 'TE ENTIENDO MUCHO FRANCO ES MUY LINDA PERIODISTA' did weasel out a chuckle from you.

Your cameraman shrugs, gesturing with a jerk of his head in front of you.

"There he is. I'm sure he knows all about it."

You look over to where he's pointing and lo and behold, Franco is right there, chatting with a few Williams team members, his race suit hanging undone around his waist. He turns to you even before you can fully register that it's him you're looking at.

But your training kicks in even faster. A megawatt smile appears on your lips and you wave enthusiastically at Franco.

"Hi."

"_______," Franco says, face lighting up at the sight of you. Your name seems to fall even more effortlessly off his lips.

You reach over and pull him into a half-hug with one arm, but both his arms wind around you and you have no choice but to squeeze back.

"You saw?" Franco asks, a gleam in his eye as he pulls away. His hand remains casually on the small of your back.

"Saw what?" You know what it is he's asking but you'd like to hear it from him.

"We went viral, no?" Franco says with a laugh, reaching further around you and squeezing your waist. You lean into his touch, heart jumping as his fingers graze just underneath your cropped top.

"That's all because of you," you reason, pointing an accusatory finger at Franco. "I bet you say that to all the other reporters."

The Williams team members standing nearby burst out laughing and even your cameraman affords a snicker. A deep blush spreads across Franco's face as he rubs your side reassuringly.

"No, no, I don't. Just you," Franco admits with another lighthearted laugh.

"Sure," you say with exaggerated skepticism. You pull away from his touch, catching his hand before he slips it fully off of you.

"I'll talk to you later," you say. And it's fully intentional, the words you choose to say. I'll talk to you later. Not 'I'll catch you later' or 'I'll see you later'.

I will talk to you later.

Franco understands, giving your hand a squeeze.

-

Later that day, you pray that no one catches you grinning behind your hand as Franco takes the chequered flag at qualifying.

P11.

Almost there.

-

"Hi. Come in."

Franco beams at you from across the threshold, stepping into your room with slow, measured steps.

"Great qualifying," you compliment, eyes traveling down Franco's body, noting the way his team kit hugs his frame just right, his hands shoved into his pockets, exposing just his arms, veins and all.

Your eyes snap back up to his face when you hear the door shut in place.

"Q2 on your debut. Not bad," you go on, taking a step back. Franco takes one toward you.

"You're just repeating what you said at the media pen earlier," Franco points out. He reaches out and gently circles an arm around your waist.

Always straight to the point.

Like this morning.

You tried not to make it so obvious when you ran into Franco earlier, but all you could think about was The Message.

You were doing your cursory social media checks a few minutes after you had woken up, still snug in your bed and unwilling to get up just yet. A message in your Instagram inbox caught your attention, sitting at the very top of your 'verified followers' tab.

Franco Colapinto: hola, hermosa 😉

It took a minute for your motor functions to return, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you pored over what to reply. You settled on a nonchalant greeting, asking if Franco needed anything.

You realized rather belatedly that this was looking a little familiar. You wished he wouldn't say the dreaded answer, the more-than-predictable response that every man liked to use.

Franco Colapinto: you, maybe?

You groaned into your pillow, not because you were repulsed by his answer, but because you liked it. If you were easy, then so was he.

You: i finish work at 9 pm tonight...? 👀

It's 9 PM now. Franco's in the room and your hand is running up his chest.

Easy.

"It's such an honor," Franco teases, backing you up further into the room. His hands feel heavy on your waist and your heart hammers against your chest.

"I get to work with people like you now," Franco continues, stopping right in front of the bed.

The kiss comes as a shock more so because of how good Franco kisses. One of his hands is now cradling the back of your head, keeping you in place while he licks into your mouth, groaning with every pucker of your lips.

You pull away for barely a second to get both of your tops off before you dive back in, seemingly too desperate and too starved for each other's mouths. Franco's hands are everywhere; they run down your arms, paw at your waist, tugging at the belt loops of your jeans.

You giggle as he pulls you even closer, your bare chests pressed against each other. Franco pulls back and peers down at you, reaching behind to unclasp your bra. You let it fall, already guiding one of his hands to your tits.

"Couldn't stop staring at them?" You ask, your voice rising with an innocent lilt.

Franco kneads at the mound beneath his hand, eliciting a moan from you. He grins.

"I wanted you to notice," Franco admits simply, kissing you again.

"Perv," you mumble against his lips. Franco laughs, already undoing his trousers.

You wiggle your own way out of your jeans, letting Franco get the shortest of glimpses at your baby pink underwear before you discard them off to the side.

"Mierda, you're so sexy," Franco compliments as you crawl backward onto the bed, laying back and letting your hair splay out beneath you.

Franco pounces on you like a man starved, bare atop your own naked body, his arms caging you in.

"Big moves from somebody so new," you whisper, carding your fingers through Franco's soft locks.

"I like to make a statement," Franco says with a shrug. He glances up momentarily, something piquing his interest off to the side.

"Is that your camera?"

You crane your neck to see where he's looking and sure enough, your personal DSLR is right there on the bedside drawer. You look back at Franco, an eyebrow raised.

"You wanna use it?" You ask, not expecting him to actually say yes. But a mischievous grin settles on Franco's face and you feel your heart skip several beats.

"Knock yourself out," you say.

Franco reaches for the camera and fiddles with it for a few seconds. His eyes scan over your body and you suddenly feel the urge to hide away with how hard he's looking.

"May I?" Franco asks, brandishing the camera. Your mouth falls open as you realize what he's asking.

"You can keep them for yourself. For your eyes only," Franco hurriedly adds, planting his knees firmly on either side of you.

You stare up at him, a million thoughts running through your mind.

"Just...touch yourself."

You gasp, stunned at his proposal. Franco watches through the LCD monitor, glancing up at you through his lashes. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth, and as if on instinct, your hand inches down slowly between your legs.

"You're in front of cameras all the time," Franco reminds with a smirk. "This should be easy for you."

You suppress a whimper at his words, your fingertips swiping through your slick folds. You're already soaked and you start to wonder if it started even before Franco got here.

The shutter clicks and the lens whirs, sharp against the soft breaths you're letting out. Franco is concentrated, snapping photo after photo as you rub yourself closer to release. But it's not enough. You need more.

"Franco...," you implore, peering up with bright, begging eyes.

"Slowly, mi amor," Franco coos. "Just where you like it. Right there."

Click.

"Harder now, but still slow. Yes? Feels good?"

You whine, eyes fluttering shut as your pleasure picks up again. Several clicks. You're panting now, the tendrils of release wrapping themselves around you.

"Faster, yes, like that," Franco eggs on. Your fingers speed up against your sensitive clit and a litany of Franco's name spills from your lips. Before you know it, he's putting the camera away. You reach for him, gripping the back of his neck as he smashes his lips into yours.

Franco bites down on your lip and you cry out, your orgasm washing over you like a tide. You arch against Franco, feeling his own stiffness heavy on your thigh.

You blink, Franco's face coming into focus, barely an inch from yours. He watches you closely, pupils blown wide and plump lips even redder. You hook your legs around his waist, letting him know that you're not done yet.

Franco is quick to pick up, smiling as lines himself up with you. The groan that escapes him is nothing short of delicious as he pushes himself in. You gasp along, the stretch a welcome sensation.

Franco wastes no time and pounds right into you, catching you by surprise. You let your head fall back against the mattress, a long, drawn-out whine erupting from deep within your chest as Franco licks a stripe up your neck.

Your whole body quakes with how hard he's thrusting into you but you're clearly enjoying it if your wanton moans are anything to go by. Franco meets your eyes and you pull him down, wanting nothing more than to drown in those lips of his.

It's feral and it's unrestrained, spurred on by the knowledge that this is more than unprofessional in your line of work. Not illegal by any means, but risky enough to warrant warnings from your coworkers. Never sleep with a driver unless you're committed.

Oh, well.

Franco groans loudly in your ear, movements losing their rhythm as he speeds up. You're clinging to him as if he'd disappear if you let go, your own belly tightening once more with that familiar feeling.

Franco. Franco. Franco.

He kisses you just as he finishes. Passionate, eager, heady. You feel him inside you, a different kind of elation filling you as you release all over him.

Franco pulls away to allow yourselves to breathe. He pulls out, rolling over to your side. You hug your folded knees to your chest, too lazy to get up and find something to deal with the mess.

"No hagas eso. Eso es demasiado doméstico," Franco jokes, moving closer and planting a kiss to your shoulder. Don't do that. That's too domestic.

"Relájate, estoy usando anticonceptiva," you reassure with a lighthearted roll of your eyes. Relax, I'm on birth control.

Franco hums, laying an arm over you. He pulls you close and you face him, reaching up to brush away some of his unruly hair.

He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Happy that you're a Formula 1 driver?" You ask, grinning.

Franco chuckles. "Very."

[a-b-riddle]

Part Five

Can't stop thinking about the attempt of reconciliation and reader ain't having it. Our girl is going to be wilddddd y'all. Also goodnight. See y'all tomorrow (maybe)

You call Meredith when you get home.

You. Are. Fuming. She's not sure she can ever remember a time you using so many swear words at one time.

How fucking dare them? Immature? You're the immature one? You were the one trying your best to salvage four failing relationship meanwhile none of those assholes could be bothered to try and keep one. They had one person to manage: you.

"I wanna go out this weekend." "Wear something tight and borderline risk indecent exposure."

"You know what I always say," Meredith begins. "The best way to get over someone-"

"is to get under someone else." You finish. You weren't exactly keen on the idea of bringing someone to your bed just yet, but a little attention would do you some good. "I don't want to fuck someone just yet." You admitted. "I'm more on the getting drunk and making out."

"I didn't know we resorted back secondary school heavy petting?" She teased.

"University, Dear." You corrected. "I didn't peak until after I graduated."

"No." She argued. "You didn't put your books down long enough to realize that boys actually wanted to fuck you." You were glad she couldn't see you roll your eyes. "Saturday work for you? I have a late night Friday and won't be up for it."

"That works."

"Sorry." She apologized. "I plan on getting you absolutely smashed so I need to be ready to play the nanny. I know how you love to get drunk and run off."

It was true. You had always found it hilarious when you were drunk to just run. Quite literally run away. It got to a point during university where Meredith would handcuff you to her so you didn't stray.

"I won't run." Your sober mind promised.

"Uh huh." Meredith's tone told you that she knew that was a load of shit. "I'll text Tabs. Let her know the plan."

The next day at the shop was pretty uneventful. No more unexpected visitors. You still had them all blocked. Not caring if now they decided to offer up some bullshit apology.

Months. This had been a steady decline for six months. A text or a simply sorry won't fix this. You weren't sure anything could.

But it didn't matter. You were done and they obviously were too.

You had picked up enough take out to feed a family, but you didn't plan on making your lunch before work or cooking when you got home. The rest of the week you planned on just going through the motions until you could go out Saturday and hopefully get everything out.

You weren't paying attention as you walked down the hallway to your flat. Fishing in your purse for keys. You were at almost at your door when you saw him.

Sitting next to your door was a familiar face. A face you felt you haven't seen in forever.

“What are you doing here, Kyle?" Your voice was flat as you continued to blindly try and find your keys with one hand. Fuck. You really need to clean out your purse...

“My key wouldn’t work.” He explained. "So I’m out here.”

"I'm aware why you're not in my apartment since I changed the locks," you said, trying to keep your irritation at bay. "What I am asking is why did you come here?"

"You won't return any of our messages."

"You're all blocked, so technically I didn't really get any messages." "Besides, you don't get to complain to me about not responding to texts, Kyle Garrick." Your fingers finally wraps around them. God bless. "If you're here for your things, it'll have to wait. I have to sort through everyone's shit and I don't know whose is whose."

"We need to talk." He explains as you put the key into the lock, opening the door.

"Nah," you say scrunching your nose in that way he used to adore. "I'm good. But you can swing by tomorrow and pick up your things if you'd like." You say before trying to shut the door on him. You were stupid in thinking you could be faster than him.

Dammit.

"I know things haven't been good and I've definitely could have been better,'' he admits. "But can you at least try and let us apologize? Let us try and work it out."

"No." You answered, trying to close the door. Not caring if you had to resort to kicking his shins to get him out.

"Why not?" He countered.

“Maybe because I've already tried, Kyle?” You gave up on trying to shut him out. You were strong, but he didn't have any issues in besting you. “Because I actually tried with you. With all of you. You didn’t need to come here giving me excuses about your life being hectic because I’ve made the excuses for you.” You didn't miss how he practically flinched. He had always blamed his busy life. Family. Work. You stopped caring about whatever excuse he gave you and realized it was just that. An excuse. “I’ve been telling myself for months that everything you guys didn’t do for me wasn’t because you didn’t care about me. It was because of the stress of your deployments is the reason none of you tell me when you get back from until it’s time to fuck. I tell myself it’s because of the fucked up situation of me being with all of you that makes it awkward to meet your families. Families you all have that I now know I’m not worthy of meeting.” He wanted to correct you. You were. You were worthy. He was an idiot. “It’s not that I need your excuses to make me feel like what you did was justified. No matter what it was, it was apparently to you because you did it.”

He took a step back, processing everything you had said. He had been selfish. You were the reliable constant in his life. Someone he believed he never disappointed. Someone he couldn't disappoint no matter how many times he fucked up.

You took the opportunity to slam the door. Quickly turning the lock before he had a chance to open it back up.

God...

That felt good.

You had spent that evening collecting their thing in case Kyle did show back up tomorrow. You wouldn't make their lives easier by sorting all their shit and organizing it. Everything. One box. Let them figure it out. You almost had a mind to add a shirt that you knew didn't belong to any of them just to have them argue over it. Or least make them think there was someone else...

You were almost tempted if not for the premise that you wanted them to realize this was their fault. Their fuck up. But now that you were officially all broken up, you were free game.

[fangirl-dot-com]

🎮 Go Outside and Touch Some Grass

*part of the best of both worlds series*

Driver: Max Verstappen Genre: SMAU/Fluff Occupation: Streamer

☆ TAG LIST IS CLOSED ☆ *if you were not tagged I could not find you*

f1wags has posted

liked by y/nsworld, streamermax, and 3,204 others

f1wags in honor of max reaching 1 million subscribers on twitch, here is a little biography for the new fans

max emilian verstappen is a dutch streamer most known for his hilarious sim racing and trying to play call of duty. max has been dating red bull's number 1 driver, y/n l/n, since late 2021. he is 26 years old, only 3 years older than y/n. as of right now, he lives in Monaco with l/n in their shared apartment, but does have another house in the Netherlands close to his mom (y/n and he go there often).

the pair has two bengal cats, jimmy and sassy, that they both love.

max was most known for dating model kelly piquet from 2019 to early 2021, but the couple had a mutual breakup. max first met y/n at a fan event after max placed first in one of the first Red Bull F1 challenges. everyone says they hit it off during summer break.

a little hidden fact is that max used to kart with Ferrari's Charles Leclerc when they were younger. an interview video resurfaced and many fans now love to tease the two whenever they're seen together. click here for the link!

max is very well loved in the f1 community since he is l/n's second public boyfriend. they couple are very private but not hidden, just the way they like it. please treat our cat loving wag well!

see all comments

y/nl/n1 has posted

liked by maxverstappen, y/nsworld, and 2,304,930 others

y/nl/n1 and that's number 9! simply lovely to have equaled my record once again this year! hoping I can hit 10 and 11 during this triple header!

thank you to all who came out today. you mean the world to me 🧡

see all comments

maxverstappen I love you schatje! keep up the good work 🧡

y/nl/n1 🧡😘

y/n.nation every time I try to beat max to the likes but he's always there first

maxs_keyboard I was once just a fan of max, but I'm glad I'm an f1 fan now!

simracersunite anyone else here from that tweet this past weekend? didn't even know this sport existed

cashmoney meeeee! but now that I've seen this queen dominate a lot of men, I'm here for her now

charles_leclerc maybe let us make some new records?

y/nl/n1 how about you just start winning more? 🧐

maxverstappen what she said Charles ☺️

charles_leclerc I will cause another incident max 😒

redbullracing that's our girl 🧡💙

maxverstappen no. mine.

y/nsworld congrats queen 👑

maxverstappen has posted

liked by y/nl/n1, maxverSTOPen, and 23,209 others

maxverstappen glad to be back in the paddock to cheer on my lovely girlfriend! thank you redbullracing for the invite :D

see all comments

maxverSTOPen EVERY TIME I TRY TO BEAT Y/N AND SHE'S ALREADY HERE???

streammv was glad to see you on the big screen max!

maximillianver GUYS WHAT ARE ALL THESE F1 FANS DOING IN THE LIKES

maxsworld 🤺 stay back we had him first

y/nl/n1 my lucky charm 🥰

maxverstappen I think you can win without me but thank you 🥺

twitchoverall what's next, someone is going to tell me that Lando Norris is also an f1 driver and not just a streamer??

ln4fan uh mate, I think you need to sit down for this one

maxskeyboard HAPPY 1 MILLION SUBS MAX

y/nl/n1 has posted

liked by y/nschild, maxverstappen, dior, and 3,203,847 others

y/nl/n1 quick back home before Silverstone!

max wouldn't get off his stream tho, so I had to kidnap him (sorry twitch)

see all comments

y/nschild LET IT BE KNOWN I WAS HERE BEFORE MAX

charles_leclerc let me know if jimmy and sassy want to have a play date with Leo 😊

y/nl/n1 definitely soon Charlie! maybe summer break?

maxverstappen our children are not going to play with that dog

y/nl/n1 but maaxxx, they can be besties 🥺

charles_lerclerc 🥺

maxverstappen fine. one playdate is all you get leclerc.

maxsworld I guess we can't gatekeep max anymore 😭

max&kelly I still think max could do better 🙄

biggestkellyhater please rethink your statement. kelly was borderline a pedophile and max was so depressed he didn't stream for months. we should be thanking y/n for making max the happiest he has ever been

y/nxmax and that's on PERIOD 💅

verstappencats awwww jimmy and sassy update 🥺

streamonmax sooooo when is the next stream king?

TAG LIST: @scuderiadevils @marauderssworld @mehrmonga @glitterquadricorn @sinofwriting @splaterparty0-0 @ayohockeycheck @evalynkillgrave @bookishnerd1132 @vellicora @misty-inferno @minkyungseokie @khaylin27 @how-what-why-huh @theblueblub @zacian117 @fly-me-away @blueblink @ilove-tswizzle @sinnerpalace @thatgirlmj @spilled-coffee-cup @iangelofmusic @suns3treading @roszszs @2pagenumb @ietss @morgan-getty @younxii @phantomxoxo @pastryboyyy @lolzzzzzzzzzz @halleest @ggaslyp1 @skepvids @mil0sworld @u5dthsduttd @silkenthusiasts @coldcola @annispamz @fionaschicken @littlegrapejuice @boiohboii @crashingwavesofeuphoria @lancestrollsgf @tribbisweetdear @graciewrote @lozzamez3 @residentdegenerate @e-nonsense

[english-history-trip]

Ever see a depiction of St. George and the Dragon? It's pretty fair to say if you've seen one, you've seen them all: Georgie on a horse stabbing a flailing dragon creature, princess piously kneeling in the background, vague landscape alluding to the homeland of the artist's patron.

The most varied part is the dragons. No one had a real definition for the thing, it seemed. For your pleasure and entertainment, I have ranked some medieval depictions based on how impressive George's feat seems once you see the dragon.

Paolo Uccello, 1456

This is a terrifying beast. The hell is that. Uccello was one of the first experimenters with perspective, so the thing also looks surreal, like it's taking place on Mars, or a Windows 95 screensaver. I would not want to fight that, I would not want to be tied to that. (Sometimes the princess is tied to the dragon for some reason.) 10/10

Horse thoughts: Maybe if I look at the ground it will be gone when I look up

Unknown artist, c. 1505

This is a rare change of form for the dragon; it's the only one I've seen actually flying (or at least falling with style). It doesn't look particularly deterred by the spear through its throat, either. Also, George looks appropriately nervous. On the other hand, it hasn't got teeth, it seems to be fuzzy rather than having scaly armor, and George is bolstered by his army of Henry VII and his children, most of whom definitely didn't actually die in infancy. Still, wouldn't want to fight it, wouldn't want my pet sheep near it. (Sometimes the princess has a pet sheep for some reason.) 9/10

Horse thoughts: I am so glad I wore my mightiest feather helmet for this

Raphael, 1505

We are coming to Dragons With Problems. This guy looks about comparable in size to George, and does have wings, but doesn't seem to be using these things to his advantage (and has he only got one wing?) And how does he deal with the neck? He does have a comically small head, but holding it up with such a twisty neck seems complicated at best. But most egregiously, he is doing the shitty superheroine pose where he is somehow simultaneously showcasing his chest and his butt, with its unnecessarily defined butthole (more on this later) (regrettably). 8/10 bc it's Raphael

Horse thoughts: AM I THE BESTEST BOI? AM I DOING SUCH A GOOD JOB? WE R DRAGON SLAYING BUDDIEZ

The Beauchamp Hours, c. 1401

We had a spirited debate about this one at work. Again, the dragon has gotten smaller, and this one hasn't got even one wing. He's basically a crocodile. So the debate became: would you want to fight a crocodile if you had a horse and a pointy stick? Would the horse trample the animal, who can't get on its hind legs, or freak out and throw its rider? Would the pointy stick be enough to pierce the croc's thick hide? In this case, George seems to be controlling his horse and putting his pointy stick in the dragon's weak spot, so we can be impressed by his skill and strategy. However, his hat is dumb. 7/10

Horse thoughts: Dehhhh

Book of Hours, c. 1480

Here we have the same kind of croco-dragon, but George's focus on his strategy has gone out the window. He's flailing around, not even looking at his target, he's about to lose his pointy stick, he hasn't got a hand on the reins, and his sword seems to only be poking the invisible dragon over his shoulder. All he's got going for him is that his hat is slightly less dumb. 6/10

Horse thoughts: Yay, new friend! Come play with me, new fr- what is happening

Final dragons put behind this Read More for your safety:

Rogier van der Weyden, c. 1432

I'm thinking this guy is at least semi-aquatic. Webbed feet, wings that seem more like fins, bipedal but top-heavy, jaws that seem more for scooping than biting. Maybe she's crawled up here from the nearby body of water to lay her eggs, and this is all a big misunderstanding. Moreover, George's dagged sleeves seem entirely impractical for the situation. 5/10

Horse thoughts: i got my hed stuk in a jar and now it is this way forever

Unknown artist, c. 15th century

I hate this. I hate everything about it. Why has it got human eyes and teeth. Why is its nose melting. Why has it got a dick on its face and balls under its chin. The fin/wings are back but they look even more useless. Also, George is shifty as hell, schlumped over in his saddle with his bowler hat thing over his eyes. The baby dragon at the bottom eating some hapless would-be rescuer is kind of metal. 4/10 at least the thing is gonna die

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Crack

Book of Hours, c. 1450

Remember what I said about the buttholes? First, sorry. Second, yeah, we're back to that. I'll admit this one is less about the danger from the dragon itself than the very specific choices the artist has made. They didn't need to do that. It's a lizard. They don't even have. And it's like they had an orifice budget and they skipped an exit wound for the spear to focus. Elsewhere. It's so detailed. And George had an even dumber hat. 2/10 take it away

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Weed

Book of Hours, c. 1415

This is just bullying. There isn't even a princess. That is clearly an infant. Look at that smug look on George's face as he swings his sword that's bigger than the whole little guy. This is the equivalent of when DJT Jr. hunted those sleeping endangered sheep. 1/10

Horse thoughts: ....yikes

And this is the previous one, but now the baby dragon is cute. He's chubby. He's got toe beans. He's Puff the Magic Dragon. His eyes have already gone white, implying that George is just kicking its corpse around for funsies. What's the difference between the dragon and the lamb in the background? That the dragon is dead, like our innocence. This George is truly deserving of the dumbest hat of all. 0/10 plus one more butthole for the road

Horse thoughts: Perhaps it is we who are the buttholes.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch4. in a mother’s eyes

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 4/x

ᰔ words. 10k (omg a whole number...very sexy)

a/n. hellooo my ihm friends! hope you're all doing well. ahh i'm glad to finally be posting this chapter lolol. it's a littleee off tangent from what happens in ch3, but still has some important plot developments. it does dive into feelings of depression & anxiety, so just wanted to give a warning on that! but yea other than that i hope you enjoy and see you at the bottom!! :) also so sorry if there are errors i only had time to skim through it once :((

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 (pending)

“Just go ahead and sign right here for me.”

You take the pen from the hospice nurse’s hand. It’s cheap black plastic with a pink fuzzy pom pom attached to the end of it with peeling glue. 

Your eyes briefly flit across the paragraphs detailed in printed ink until your gaze lands on the highlighted lines at the bottom of the page. Your signature. Spouse’s signature.

“We’ll need to have your husband come here to sign the paperwork as well, since he’ll have to add your mother on his list of dependents, but we can certainly get started on expediting this process for you since the insurance has already been pre-approved,” the nurse tells you as she accepts your signed paperwork and then neatly tucks it into one of the compartment holders. 

The afternoon goes by smoothly, with your mother surprisingly patient as she sits in the waiting room while you wait for the nurses to formally show you to her new room.

You thought that you could put off putting her in hospice for a little longer, because in all honesty, you weren’t prepared to let her go just yet. You weren’t prepared to not have her in the house anymore. But lately, she’s been putting herself in lots of danger, like attempting to take her own medications when she does not know the correct dosing, and forgetting things on the stove when she attempts to cook.

But the last straw was when you came home from a very brief run to the grocery store at night a couple days ago to see a handful of your neighbors out on the front lawn with your mother at their side. She had apparently gotten out of the house and walked down the neighborhood, then fallen on the sidewalk but was unable to get up. When your neighbors had found her, a miracle as they were just coming home from dinner and caught sight of her in the illumination of their headlights, they tried to help her get up but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even tell the firefighters that came by to help her what her name was, or what year it was, or where she lived.

It was when you realized you couldn’t even keep her safe anymore that you had to let go.

“Is that a wedding ring?” your mother asks, pointing a trembling finger to it as she lays tucked inside her new hospice bed, “are you married?”

You glance down at the ring Gojo gave you in the courthouse, almost surprised to find that you were still wearing it in good faith. “Yes, mom. I am.”

“Why am I here?” she asks you, “I don’t want to be here.”

You stiffen a little. Although you were mentally preparing yourself to answer these questions, the preparation didn’t make it any easier. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just for a little short while, okay? The doctors want to run some tests on you.”

“Who are you married to?” she asks.

“To Satoru,” you tell her, “our neighbor.”

She lets out a small gasp. “The sweet boy who fixed our A/C?”

You roll your eyes. not sure why your mother has hyper fixated on that memory with Gojo when most days she’ll look at you like you’re a stranger. “Yes mom.”

“Oh, I like him,” she tells you with an affectionate nod. She hesitates slightly, wearisome of some other thought that flashes through her mind. “How long have you been married?”

You let out a small sigh. This is already a conversation you had with her a couple days ago, and it doesn’t feel good to lie to her. It was hard enough to do once, but to have to constantly lie to her over and over again over all the smallest things just so that she stays calm and safe and happy seems to drain you of all your energy and happiness you had left in your bones.

Little white lies, that’s what they are. Harmless ones. That’s what you tell yourself to absolve yourself of the guilt.

“I’ll come back soon, okay? I’ll tell you more about him some other day,” you say to her, speaking gently in the way an adult would speak to a child. The way she used to speak to you. You could never exactly pinpoint when those roles became reversed.

You finish discussing some more insurance matters with the front-desk nurse as she puts together a small folder of documents for you. While she works, you glance at the little counter shelf that includes a plethora of pamphlets on how to deal with the complicated feelings that arise from putting a loved one in hospice care, and dealing with the emotions of having a relative with advanced stage dementia. They are pretty brochures, lovingly creased at the folds as if looked through multiple times by people who walk in and out of this facility, but seemingly only few take them home. You slip one of each into your folder when the nurse hands it to you, manage the best smile possible, and then turn on your heel to head out the hospice doors.

The sun is setting outside as you take the walk back to your car, which was purposefully parked a half mile away to afford you the luxury of a melancholic stroll. Somehow, you feel like you’ve left a piece of yourself back at the hospice. A feeling you can’t quite shake from your bones.

Your feet stop walking somewhere along the sidewalk on their own, the street lights above you flickering brighter into life as the sky is now a dusty gray with only streaks of purple. There’s a liquor store you spot across a small parking lot to your right, and you’re guided towards it, but not without a sickening feeling in your chest.

When you open the door, the bell at the top jingles, and you glance to the right where you see a lanky young man playing some sort of shooter game on his phone by the cash register. You grab a bottle of vodka, a bottle of white wine, some packs of skittles, one of the mini pizza boxes at the hot food station, and then dump it all onto the counter.

The young man scans all your items without even so much as sparing you a glance, but does take a look at your ID, then says, “Total’s $68.65, cash or card?”

“Card.”

Just before you tap your card, something displayed behind the cashier counter catches your eye. Something familiar, something tempting, something you weigh in your head about twenty times within one millisecond all due to the cortisol coursing through your veins and you eventually say, “Uh, and could I get one of those, too?”

The cashier looks behind himself to what you’re pointing at before turning around. “Sure.”

The same jingle is heard on top of your head as you leave the store, now with a burning hot mini pizza box in your hand as well as a plastic bag that carries your candy and the two clinking bottles of alcohol.

“Oh!! omg, y/n,” you hear a feminine voice call out and you’re instantly wincing. The last thing you wanted was to be bothered right now. You just wanted to go home and get drunk and then pass out on the floor of your living room. But alas, the world is small.

You turn around to see Hana come running across the sidewalk lot towards you, and when she’s about a few feet away, she glances down at your hands and all the things you were carrying. You quickly shove your last-minute purchase into your jacket pocket with a shameful conscience, and try to hide the plastic bag of liquor behind your calves. There was no hiding the pizza box, but at least that was the least incriminating.

“Oh, Hana, wow! What a coincidence seeing you here,” you say to her, pressing your lips into a small smile.

“Yeah, I um,” she points over her shoulder towards the hospice that’s standing tall in the darkness of night, cells with windows illuminated with light. If you didn’t know any better, you would think it was a prison. “Remember I told you my friend’s mom is sick and she’s at this hospice?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“I was just visiting her mom with her,” she tells you.

“Aw,” you comment, “I see, I see.”

You adore Hana, you really do. She was there for you when the whole Yuna and Choso thing went down, picking your shifts up for a good week when you couldn’t stomach going into work when your ex-best friend’s stupid face was gloating in the halls over how she stole your boyfriend. Hana was there for you when you were a new hire and all the doctors were being bitchy about a “newbie in the ED”, but she stood up for you, even cussed the fuck out of one of attendings for the whole hall to hear when you were being disrespected by one of them. She’s someone you can beam about how hot the EMT and Firefighter men that stroll into the ED are, too. A priceless companion.

And even though you two have hung out after hours sometimes, it was still always a little awkward to see a coworker outside of work.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I actually, um, was going to tell you at our shift tomorrow, but I just admitted my mom to the hospice too,” you say, “and…thanks a lot for telling me about it. I really appreciate it. It seems like a wonderful facility.”

Her eyes briefly widen with surprise before they soften once again. “Oh, that’s wonderful, love. I hope all goes well. And your little insurance scam worked! Good for you!”

“Shhh,” you hiss at her, looking around yourself with paranoia, “the feds are everywhere.”

She laughs, sweet in the air, before the sound settles and she looks at you with something reminiscent of well-intentioned concern. Her eyes flit to the plastic bag you were still holding behind your legs. “Hey…um, if…if you ever want some company when you come to visit your mom, just let me know. I hope you know you don’t have to do everything alone.”

You blink at her, sucking in a short breath to respond, but it only leaves you as a slight puff of air. There’s a silent gratitude that you give her, because it’s hard for you to express any feelings with words, but you’ve found that the people in your life who know you best can always read you without them. 

“Thank you, Hana,” you manage to say with a slight croak to your voice because you were fighting back tears.

She smiles at you. “Take care, okay? And see ya tomorroooowwwwww,” she coos at you, coming up to you to give you a small hug, a squeeze of your upper arm, and then she heads back towards the direction of the hospice.

You watch her walk away until you can’t see her anymore. And then you head towards your car.

When you arrive at your neighborhood, you park in front of Gojo’s house. You have a feeling that you won’t be able to bear the vast emptiness of your home now that your mother is elsewhere, and so you drag your feet up the stone stairs of his house with a heavy heart instead.

The spare key that he gave you weakly pushes into the keyhole with about as much force as your fingers can manage, and you realize they almost feel atrophied. 

The house is dark when you step inside, spare for the ambient street lights shining through cracked open blinds on the windows, and the curtains rustle gently from the draft of the AC, a chill that reaches you too by the time you make it to the staircase.

It doesn’t seem like Gojo’s home. A glance at the clock tells you it’s close to 8pm. You briefly consider texting him to ask where he’s at, why he’s out so late, when he’ll be home, and what’s for dinner, but you can’t even bring yourself to pull your phone out of your coat pocket.

Weak legs manage to take you upstairs and you’re about to pass through to your room when the slightly open door to the master bedroom taunts you, like a peephole into some other wordly dimension. Like the wardrobe in the chronicles of Narnia. A portal into your fake husband’s life.

With a palm pushing on the door, you slowly crack it open, and you know the anxious voices in your head are getting worse by the day when the creaking of the door hinges sounds like a lullaby to you. 

Was this an invasion of privacy? And did you really care if it was?

The room is big, with a king sized bed off to the left, sheets neatly made and duvet primly tucked under, like the way hotel beds are set up. You feel a slight flush of embarrassment when you remember you haven’t been making your bed in the mornings for the past couple days you’ve been living here so far, and you wonder if Gojo would judge you for something like that. If he’d think you were a messy or undisciplined person. If he would think less of you.

Truthfully, in a lot of ways, you still felt like a child. You barely weathered a lot of your formative adolescent years when dealing with your parents’ divorce, and you’ve had to put so much of your life on pause to take care of your mom ever since she got diagnosed. So here you were, in the body of a 29-year-old woman, yet still feeling so painfully juvenile. One that forgets to make her bed in the mornings, and on most nights can’t seem to stomach anything other than cereal for dinner. It was like you were still at a party that everyone else had left, except all it ever was is hell. Your life was such a stark contrast to the lives of other adults you’ve come across. The ones that wake up at six to go on runs, the ones that have paid off mortgages with five figures in their retirement accounts, oh god, the ones that meal prep, and the ones that, all things considered, have their lives together. The ones that don’t spend at least an hour of every day, in fetal position on their bed, sobbing until tears soak through the sheets of the pillow down to the feathers like bone, because you’re so overwhelmed with stress and preparing yourself for the grief of losing your mother which you know that, no matter how hard you try to save her from, will inevitably one day come. 

You used to cook dinner every night, make your bed every morning, and go to pilates on the weekends. Back when you were a little younger and healed and excited to live life. But now, you barely get by. Your priorities are with your mother. You can’t remember the last time you did anything nice for yourself, including something as simple as the luxury of getting to come home to a clean house because you hardly ever had time to clean it, not with all the doctor’s appointments you were driving your mother to, not with all the extra shifts you were picking up at the hospital to pay off your debt, not with all the times you felt too depressed to even get out of bed. 

But your mother is in hospice now, so you’ve made time, right? You’ve made the decision that everyone in your life has been begging you to finally do. So why do you still feel so empty inside?

By a quick survey of the room, you notice Gojo doesn’t really have many framed photos hung up on the walls or perched up on surfaces. None, actually. Only a contemporary painting above his bed frame and then a faded vintage horror movie poster plastered up near his desk. Not terribly odd, since in your experience most men don’t really do the whole “cluttering the house with millions of photos of their family” thing until they at least have a couple of kids and some purebred dog. The thought of Gojo someday setting up a little portrait photo at his desk with his wife’s—his eventual real forever wife’s, pretty face in it, posing with their two beautiful kids, makes an oddly melancholic feeling waft through you. You wonder if he would keep a two-by-two in his wallet, too.

Your feet move one in front of the other as your finger traces the surface wood of a dresser cabinet, something that looks a little vintage and oaky, in stark contrast to the modern minimalist vibe Gojo has set up in the rest of the room. A family heirloom, maybe? There’s no dust that coats your finger, which surprises you. If you were to run your finger across your dresser at home you’d have collected enough dust to snort down your windpipes like a recreational drug. But Gojo’s a real estate agent, making a living off of dressing houses up in perfect cosplay so that monetarily stable middle class families feel inclined to buy them. So you’re not exactly surprised he’s invested in keeping his own house in pristine condition too. 

There is a little bit of chaos, though. Like the shirt he has haphazardly hung over his chair at his office space over to the right. There’s a coffee mug sitting there too, porcelain and reflecting the moon light off, but upon peering inside you see that it’s half empty with stale coffee. He’s got pens sprawled across the desk, in a fashion that suggests he accidentally knocked them over in a rush, and slowly, like some grounding exercise, you place them one by one back into the paper mache pencil holder. It briefly occurs to you that he has a lot of paper mache containers of sorts around the house. You lift up the pencil cup, turning it in your hand until your eyes catch something written on it with glittery pink gel pen.

i luv u unkle toru! -yur BEST FREND 4EVUR juno!!! :D

A small smile makes it onto your face. The handwriting was messy, more like scratches than smooth lines, and nothing less than what you would expect of a child. You remember making paper mache and clay trinkets at preschool for your mom and dad when you were younger. And you’re sure if you were brave enough to open the box of memorabilia that sits in your attic some day, you’d see your own scratchy scribbled handwriting on them. An innocence that is long gone and buried, never again to be delicately placed on desks or counters for all the living.

The draft from the AC reaches you once again, brushing over your skin and causing a chill to shiver down your spine. It kicks at the curtains as well, causing them to ruffle up towards you, baring the dark outside world into the streets. And you notice in that momentary glance that there’s a roof just outside the window that overlooks the backyard. A roof? Spotted by a depressed woman going through a quarter life crisis? There was nothing more tempting than that. 

The window was easy to open, which only caused unease over the revelation of how easy it would be for someone to rob this house. You make a mental note to tell Gojo to get a ring camera or security system of some sort since he doesn’t seem to have one, but you can already picture him telling you something about how statistically low the crime rates are in this neighborhood compared to all the other neighborhoods, and then you’d tell him that it’s just for your peace of mind. But whether he’d compromise or not after that, you’re really not sure.

You take a seat on the roof, a little scared as you sit because of the slight slope, but it’s comfortable once you’re settled. You sit criss-cross-apple-sauce, staring out into the neighborhood of perfectly lined up suburban houses. You’ve got a better view into some neighbors' backyards, noticing that a couple of them had pools while some of them have big gardens. There's a cat resting up on a fence in the distance. A car drives by with headlights illuminating everything in its proximity briefly before zooming off. You glance up at the sky, and notice the full moon, but it’s too cloudy to see any stars. Or perhaps it was just the light pollution from the lamps making it difficult to see.

On instinct, your hand reaches inside your coat pocket for your phone, but your knuckles hit something else instead. A moment of brief confusion flickers through your head, but then you immediately recall the last-minute purchase you made at the gas station.

Your hand pulls out the object, and then you stare down at it. Squinting your eyes a little, because it’s a sight that feels familiar but also one you haven’t seen in so long: a pack of twenty Marlboro red cigarettes. 

You’ve tried a lot of things to manage your stress over the years. Excessively working out, eating a lot of sugar, going on six hour hikes to touch grass, flirting with random men at bars, fucking Choso until he was rendered speechless, multiple types of antidepressants, you almost tried smoking weed once with your roommate in college but you wimped out last second. But the habit that had gotten you through the years of 21 to 24 is held loosely in your hand right now. It’s been five years since you quit, but resolve was often a fickle thing. As the saying goes, once an addict, always an addict. 

There’s a brief moment of hesitation as you slowly peel the plastic off of the back, but then it all comes back to you like a reflex you’ll never forget up to where you slide a cigar up out and then pinch it between your two fingers. Forgetting to buy a lighter with the cigarettes is definitely something you would do, but because you remembered it was something that you would do, you remembered not to do it. The flick of the flame coming to life is ASMR you didn’t know you were painfully nostalgic for, and you balance the cigarette between your lips in that sort of movie-star way people used to obsess over back in the day. But just as you bring the lighter up to the end of the cigarette, and just before you can light it—

A hand shoots out in your periphery, grabbing your wrist and entirely stalling the movement.

You gasp, lips parting enough for the cigarette to fall from them and into your lap. The hand wrapped around your wrist is large and masculine, and you briefly consider screaming, but when you snap your neck to look at the perpetrator, you see Gojo crouched down next to you on this roof. You notice he’s wearing a black suit, a tie that was loosely secure hanging from his neck into the space between his spread thighs as he’s crouched, and whatever gel he had in his hair from earlier only barely remains as strands fall over his forehead haphazardly. He looks like he’s on the other end of a long work day. 

You blink at him, expression plastered with surprise, but his is only earnest. With breathtaking blue eyes that you realize he could easily use to surrender a person just by looking at them, like the way he’s looking at you right now. His lips are pressed together into a firm line, as if to suppress some emotion, but the slight crease to his brow makes you feel like you’re in trouble somehow. Like he was silently scolding you for something.

“I—” you stutter.

He lets go of your wrist and discreetly pulls the lighter out of your hand. And then his hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes you were balancing on your knee, but on some reflex that you don’t even think about, you try to snatch them away from him, and now you’re both tugging at the same pack of cigarettes.

“y/n,” he says, “let go.”

“No,” you say stubbornly.

He sighs and tugs a little harder. “Give them to me.”

“But—” you stammer, voice becoming softer to see if that’d work on him, “I’m…” Your grip on them tightens. “I’m stressed.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, then finally loses his patience and snatches them right out of your hand. He stands up from his crouched down position to toss the pack off to the side onto the roof somewhere. You’re surprised when he lets out a sigh and sits down next to you on the roof, as if he felt the obligation to. His legs stretch out in front of him, but still bent slightly at the knees, and he leans backwards with his body weight braced on his palms laid flat on wood paneling behind him. “There are better ways to relieve stress,” he tells you candidly. 

“Like what?” you ask, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you clarify, “and don’t say sex.”

He shuts his mouth and his eyes flit up to the sky for a brief second. “Damn. I didn’t have a back-up answer.” 

You roll your eyes, releasing a deep breath, then draw your knees to your chest before resting your chin on top of them. 

“I didn’t know you smoke,” he says after a century-long minute. 

You wince a little, because you were half hoping he was going to just drop the subject all together. 

You bite your lip nervously and hug your knees to your chest tighter as if to hide yourself from him. “I don’t. Well, I haven’t. Um, not for a while.”

“Huh. I see,” he says.

Another silence passes, and as he shuffles next to you, the fabric of his suit brushes against the fabric of your coat, and you’ve become entirely too aware of the feeling.

“So,” he says, breaking the awkward silence, “your mom’s in hospice now?”

You nod, enthusiastic enough to where you won’t look like you’re entirely depressed about it.

“That’s good,” he says, “no issues with the insurance?”

You shake your head. “They need you to sign some papers by the end of the week though,” you tell him. “We’ll have to go in person.”

He nods slowly to affirm he’ll make time for it. “I really hope things get better for your mom,” he says, voice soft as he stares off into neighbors homes like you had been doing ten minutes ago. You see the cat that was resting on the fence get up, do a big stretch, and start walking along the length of the fence. Your eyes briefly glance at Gojo, and you notice his gaze is tracing the cat’s path. 

“My—” you start, hesitant all of a sudden by the vulnerability you already feel swelling within you, most definitely due to sitting with someone on a rooftop late at night, but you decide that you’ll be nice to him for once, “…my mom seems to remember you a lot. More than she remembers me.” You let out a small humoring laugh, as if that fact doesn’t completely destroy you. “She was blabbering to me again for the seventh time about how you apparently fixed our AC.” You try to bite your tongue, but can’t help it when you say, “although I’m pretty sure you just pressed a bunch of buttons until it started working again.”

“Yup. That’s exactly what I did.”

You roll your eyes and sigh.

Another awkward silence.

“Can I ask you a question?” you say.

“Sure.” His voice sounds deeper, like he’s sleepy. 

“Why did you agree to marry me? That’s not something people just do out of nowhere.”

He glances over at you, and you flicker your eyes to him. “Why? Having regrets?” he teases, with a slight nudge of his elbow to your side. 

“Just answer me.”

He lifts his palms up from behind him and leans forward, placing his hands on his knees instead. “I don’t know. If something I could do would help someone out that much, I wasn’t going to say no.”

You hum quietly, still confused by his intentions. But you’re too jaded to question them.

“It costs nothing to be nice,” he adds. 

You run soothing circles over your thigh through the fabric of your jeans. For some reason, your mind wanders to Choso. Thinking of all the years you wasted staying with him even though you knew his affections were long gone, just because you didn’t want to break his heart. Only to realize that you never had that privilege in the first place. 

“I think,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you draw your knees closer to your chest, “that sometimes it does.”

A gust of autumn wind breezes by, ruffling the trees that the two of you are at eye-level with at the moment. You're pretty sure you’ve completely lost Gojo’s interest at this point, where he’s finally too tired to deal with your oddly cryptic attitudes and overall generally displeasing vibe, assuming this based solely on his prolonged silence beside you. You’re ready for him to get up and abandon you here on this roof, left to ponder every single thing you’ve done wrong in your life. It was any second now.

“Sometimes,” he instead speaks up, and it’s so surprising to you that you jolt a little bit, “you can do everything right, and people will still find a way to fuck you over. But I don’t think that’s any reason to stop being nice to others.”

You glance over at him, your eyes widening slightly, but he just continues to peer off straight into the night. His blinks are slow, lingering on being closed for a moment before he opens them again, and you’re mesmerized by the sight. The skin under his eyes is slightly dark from exhaustion, heavy with character that makes you aware that he’s just a person too. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, you realize that he’s—…handsome. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, your heart flutters in your chest.

He scoffs suddenly and dusts his hands off. “I sound like a fucking youth pastor.” He lets out an exhale before suddenly standing up onto his feet before you can think more on it. He looks off into the night again and lets out another exhale that sounds more like a sigh this time. “God, it’s getting a lot colder these days. Might have to start running the heater.”

You blink up at him with no commentary to add. 

He looks down at you. His face is relaxed, but you can tell those eyes are distracted. A shimmering blue ocean in its own world while he attempts to stay present in this one. 

He holds his hand out to you, and you stare at it blankly like you’ve got no clue what he intends for you to do with it. But you finally take the hint and curl your hand around his palm so that he can pull you up onto your feet too.

You stumble a little, falling forward from the sudden blood flow to your brain, but he holds you steady by the strong grip of his hands on your elbows. He’s close to you, close enough to where you can smell the faint lingering scent of his cologne. Something different than that expensive one he wore to the courthouse, but it’s comforting somehow. A fragrance that’s more him. And you feel nervous as you look up at him underneath pale moonlight. 

He lets go of your elbows. You feel cold from the loss of his touch. But his right hand moves to gently hold your left hand in his palm, holding it curled as his thumb barely grazes the stone you wear on your ring finger; the one he gave you.

The way his thumb prods at the silver band is like he’s inspecting its quality, as if it has to pass some test to be worthy of sitting on your finger. Or maybe just any finger, if you were to quell the delusion. You’re not sure if he’s satisfied with his inspection.

“Where did you get it—” you blurt out.

His gaze flickers up to your face briefly before he’s back to examining the ring. “It was my mom’s.”

Your mouth gapes slightly in shock, heart dropping a little in your chest, and all of a sudden you feel guilty. Guilty that he put his mother’s ring on your finger for something that was fake, something that was essentially a business deal, something exchanged to you out of fraud when it was a precious family heirloom that should be exchanged with love. And maybe he didn’t care about it much, some people don’t care about the sentiments of objects. But your mind thinks of the oaky vintage dresser in his room, so out of place in the aesthetic of its surroundings, a decision you can only imagine him of all people, mr. “everything in this house has to look like an IKEA catalog”, would do if the dresser held some importance to him that was more than meets the eye. And so you’re compelled to think that maybe this ring did, too. 

“Why would you give me this?! You could’ve just gotten a cheap fake diamond ring from a pawn shop and called it a day,” you ask him, suddenly feeling burdened by it.

“Well I wasn’t exactly given much time to think of other options.”

“But—” you start, only to realize you have no counter arguments for that.

He lets out a huh noise, like the sound someone makes when they’re pleasantly surprised by something, as he looks down at your hand that he still held in his. “It’s kinda crazy that it fits you perfectly. I wasn’t sure.”

Your mind wanders to when he slipped the ring onto your finger in the courtroom, followed by the kiss. Soft, sweet, the lingering warm sensation of his palm on your cheek as he cupped your face, the same way those heartthrob actors do in all those romance movies and kdramas that you watch on Friday nights while snuggled up in a blanket, wondering when anyone will ever kiss you like that. You remember the ghost sensation of his hand hovering over the small of your back, fingers lightly grazing the nape of your neck, his frame blocking out everything around you as he kissed you, just to pull away and for the two of you to then pretend like it never happened, as if it wasn’t one of the sweetest kisses you’ve ever known.

You slowly pull your hand out of his, the moment feeling too tender for your liking, and you clear your throat before flitting your eyes up to his. 

“Rule #1,” you remind him with a soft whisper, “no touching.”

You purse your lips, watching his round eyes blink once, then twice, before he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. He rocks back and forth on his heels for a few seconds, nodding slowly in submission, and then he turns on them to head back to the house. You’re standing a little stunned from the abrupt ending to this trance of a moment on the roof, and you’re also a little surprised with how your chest is heaving a little bit with fast breaths, but you eventually snap out of it to follow him inside too. 

You two make it back inside the house, with little words exchanged. You pretend to not notice the way Gojo tilts his head at his desk, like he’s confused about why it looks tidier than when he left it. You’re prepared to feign innocence or ignorance, but he doesn’t press you about it. 

“Y’know,” he says from behind you, his chest briefly brushing against the back of your head as he pushes the bedroom door in front of you open so that you can head out into the loft, “those oversized 1800s-esque nightgowns you’ve been wearing around the house kinda make you look like a less-hot version of Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sign right here for me, sir.”

You watch as the nurse slides the papers across the high-raised counter of the hospice nursing desk towards Gojo, his eyebrows narrowing as his eyes skim the words on the paper and land at the highlighted lines where he’s been intended to sign. You feel nervous for some reason, as if he’d suddenly find something disagreeable and refuse to sign, then take you to the courthouse first thing to finalize a divorce and send you off to prison while claiming he was blackmailed into the whole marriage in the first place.

Instead, he pulls a pen from the chest pocket of his suit jacket, clicking the end of it and scribbling his signature onto the paper with some jet black ink that looks like it takes a second to dry. How pretentious of him. The pink pom-pom pen was right there.

The nurse behind the counter continues to chat with him about something, blah blah dependents, blah blah tax claims, blah blah you’ll receive an itemized bill in the mail. You’re trying your best to eavesdrop in on the conversation, but most of your senses are being occupied by examining all your surroundings. When you dropped your mother off at the hospice, your feelings were at the forefront of conscience, but now that you’ve had a couple days to come down from that overwhelming emotional high, you’re here to scope out the quality of this place you’ve just dumped your mom at.

The facility is clean and sleek, with a color theme of red and an ocean blue across the signs, the furniture, even with the paperwork they hand out. All the workers had color-coded scrubs based on their occupation or specialty, and none of them had stains on the fabric. You take a glance down at the modest leather pumps you were wearing past the creases of the long skirt, and notice that the floor was shimmering off their reflection in a perfect polish. It wasn’t bad, this place.

“Thanks, you too,” you hear Gojo say to the nurse behind the counter. He has a professional smile on his face, but still kind and genuine, which makes the woman at the computer something bashful and unable to make eye contact. He folds something that looks like a receipt into his chest pocket before tucking his pen back in there too and then turns to face you. You make a mental note to pay him back for whatever he just paid for, at least once you move some money around. 

Your eyebrows lift, feeling a little dazed as you blink at him blankly.

“Alright,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, the sound of his shoes on the polished hospital floors satisfactorily tapping in your ears as he took a couple steps towards you, “where’s your mom’s room?”

“Huh?”

“What’s her room number?” he asks you.

“Y-You wanna go see her??”

“Of course I want to,” he says, “she’s my mother-in-law.”

You roll your eyes and pet the fabric of your skirt to smooth the wrinkles out. “You’re getting a little too invested in this role of fake husband.”

“I get to annoy you all day and ride the adrenaline rush of committing a federal crime,” he says, “of fucking course I’d get invested.”

You sigh, tossing some of your hair to behind your shoulder before glancing up at the signs, squinting slightly to locate the ward where your mother’s room is, before you hear an extremely high-pitched and somewhat catty feminine voice call out from behind you. You glance at Gojo’s face as he peers off to whoever’s behind you, and you see him visibly stiffen a little.

“Is that Dayton county’s sexiest realtooorrr???” the voice purrs, and you turn on your heel to see a blonde bombshell of a woman clacking her kitten heels down the glistening floors of the hospice, with another brunette bombshell just a few paces behind her. Bombshell #2 sighs something like “it issss” before they walk right up to your fake husband and take turns at giving him a playful squeeze of his bicep. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping at the sight. 

“Wow! Ladies, so–...so great to see you two,” he says out of polite obligation, and you immediately clock the fact that he doesn’t address them by name.

Bombshell #1 turns to look at you, all of her hair moving as one solid entity with the motion from all the hair spray that’s probably holding it up, and she points at you with a long slender finger that narrows into a french-tip. “Oh who’s this?? Another one of your clients??”

“Oh, no, she’s my–”

“I’m his wife,” you interrupt him, irritated for some reason. 

Both the women chirp something out like oh! before their faces twist with confusion. 

“I didn’t know you were married,” Bombshell #2 says in a thick New Jersey accent.

Gojo lifts his left hand up, the silver band on his hand glimmering under fluorescent hospice lighting. “Very happily,” he says, as if someone was holding a gun to his head.

Bombshell #1 crosses her arms, and you try not to stare at how nice her boobs look in the low scoop-neck jaguar print top she was wearing. You were no better than a man. And now you’re pissed off at the idea of Gojo glancing down too, but a flick of your gaze up to his face tells you he’s safe. For now. 

“You weren’t married when I asked you if you were a month ago,” Bombshell #1 sneers at him. It’s true, the math wouldn’t make sense, but in his defense, this marriage was a fraud.

“Or when you took me out for dinner last week after I bought my house,” Bombshell #2 snarls with an undertone of hurt. 

Gojo clears his throat beside you before pointing at Bombshell #2. “How is that, by the way?” he asks in an attempt to change the subject, “the half acre down on Maple Ave, right? You, uh, enjoying the pool?”

The woman let out an offended scoff and–were her eyes sheening with tears?? She puts her hands on her hips. “No. Mine is the three bedroom house with the cedar gazebo on 14th street.”

Her friend next to her rolls her eyes and smacks her gum between her cheek. “I’m the one that bought the half acre down on Maple Ave, jerk. Ugh!” She grabs her friend’s arm with a high-pitched hmph noise leaving her throat, and you can hear the other one sniffling subtly as she wobbles on her heels with her friend’s pull of her arm. 

Right before leaving the two of you alone, Bombshell #1 turns to you and says, “I hope you find someone who treats you better,” and then they storm off together down the hallway, their perfectly blow-dried hair bouncing in sync with each stomp.

You blink at the sight, a little flabbergasted from the interaction, and then flit your faze up to Gojo. You see him awkwardly scratching at the back of his head with a grimace on his stupidly handsome face. 

“That’s what you get for being a manwhore,” you tell him.

“I’m not a manwhor–”

“You went on a date with another woman while you were maaaaarrrieeeddd?!” you coo as you let out a fake gasp and slap your cheeks with your hands, “despicable, really.”

He lets out some disgruntled noise, the source coming from deep within his throat. “No. We weren’t fake-married yet,” he vindicates himself, “and it wasn’t a date. I just bought her dinner as a congrats for buying a house. Not a big deal. I do it for all my clients.”

“Satoru. You do realize you’re leading these women on, right? I mean, I’ve seen the way you talk to them. Even if you think you’re just being friendly, please know that your definition of friendly is most people’s definition of flirting.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s true.”

He raises an eyebrow as he glances down at you. “Alright, how come this flirting in disguise of friendliness hasn’t worked on you then?”

You scoff in disbelief before crossing your arms. Maybe you did deserve a better fake husband. “You’re never friendly with me. You’re always rude to me.”

“What? I’m not always rude to you.”

“Well, you’re certainly much more rude to me than you are to other women,” you say, tapping the tip of your shoe with irritation.

“Can we not do this right now? We’re in the middle of a hospice.” 

“God, you’re such a cop-out,” you mumble as you forcefully push past him towards the hallway that’ll lead you to your mother. You can hear that Gojo’s on your tail, following you down one of the more dimly lit hallways, and you can tell he needs to stall the strides of his Daddy Longlegs to not overtake your pace.

“What the fuck is a cop-out?” he asks you from behind.

“Look it up on urban dictionary, Grandpa. Unless you don’t know what the Internet is, either,” you spat. 

You waltz right up to your mother’s room just in time to see a nurse making her way out with a clipboard in her hands. She glances over to you when she sees you approaching in her periphery.

“Hi! How can I help you?” she asks.

“Is it alright if we visit my mother?” you ask her.

“Oh! Sure, let me just clean her bed pan really quick.”

Your brow furrows. “B-Bedpan?? Why is she using a bedpan??”

The nurse stops in her movements. “Well, yesterday and today, that’s just what she has decided to use.”

You immediately become hostile. “That’s not right. She never needed to use one at home. Why is she suddenly using one here? Is that not a clear sign of deterioration? The restrooms must not be kept well enough here if she doesn’t want to use them.”

The nurse becomes something meek, her eyes widening as her mouth gapes slightly. “Ma’am,” she squeaks out, “we see this commonly with patients as they begin to adjust to hospice life. We’ll urge her to use the restroom, but as of right now, we need to prioritize what she finds most comfortable.”

Your expression softens, your shoulders relaxing from their tense position, and you duck your head a little with guilt. “Right…I’m sorry.”

The nurse presses her lips together with a well-meaning smile before shuffling into the room and closing the door behind her. You sigh and lean your back against the wall next to the number plate, cheeks flushing slightly from the confrontation. You have no idea how loud your voice was or who heard you. But you try to convince yourself that you’re just stressed and trying to look out for your mother, although the guilt still sits.

You glance up to see Gojo staring at you with slightly wide eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets, and he tilts his head to study your expression.

“What?” you snap at him.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Satoru,” you cut his questioning off by raising a palm into the air, “just—…just stop.”

His brow furrows together slightly, but before he can show any further concern, the nurse exits the room and holds the door open for the two of you. 

“All set!” she chirps, and Gojo moves to hold the door open in her stead, and then the nurse bolts down to disappear somewhere down the hallway.

You hear Gojo let out a small huff of a scoff as he stares down in the direction the nurse ran off in. “Glad to know I’m not the only one that’s scared of you.”

You roll your eyes and walk into the room through the open door.

Your mother lays in her bed, looking out the window with her hands resting on top of layers of white linen sheets, her skin looking slightly paler than usual. You approach her bedside slowly and she finally turns her head to look at you.

“Hi mom,” you gently greet her, sitting down on the stool beside her bed, “how are you doing?”

Her eyes dart across the features of your face, and you briefly glance towards the wall to the right where you see Gojo standing from a slight distance.

“Oh, hi dear,” she says with a smile, and relief washes over you.

You match her smile with your own. “Mom, I brought someone here to see you.” You glance over at Gojo, who starts to close distance now as he approaches the foot of the bed, “this is Satoru, my husband.”

Your mother’s eyes widen, “Oh! I know him,” she scoldingly swats a hand at you, like you’ve embarrassed her somehow by assuming that she doesn’t know who he is, “he’s my neighbor!”

You sigh, “yes mom, the one that fixed the A/C?” You attempt to finish her sentence for her.

She looks confused for a moment, but slightly nods as if to avoid any further confusion for herself. “But—…but, why…” she trails off and then looks at you, “I’m sorry, are you my nurse?”

Your shoulders drop slightly. “No, mom, it’s me. Your daughter. Do you remember?”

Her face scrunches before it entirely relaxes to keep some image of composure despite the haze you know she feels in her head. “Oh…yes, yes…my little girl. I remember you, of course!”

Your eyes become layered with a slight sheen of tears, “I’m glad.”

“Where’s your father?” she asks, “he said he’d bring me some…oh dear, what—…he said he’d bring me tea. I’ve been waiting.”

“Mom, dad is—” you pause for a moment to think on your feet. You could either tell the truth, or a little white lie. You never know what to do. And either one comes with either guilt or sorrow. “Well, he’ll be here soon, I just wanted to come see you.”

“Oh okay…” she trails off, her eyes squinting at you once more with that same look of confusion on it, but then they drift towards Gojo. “Oh you’re a very handsome young man! You look just like my neighbor.”

Your eyes flicker up to Gojo, and he walks up to your side by your mom’s bed. “Yes, Mrs. l/n, I am your neighbor.”

“With the lemon tree!”

“The avocado tree,” you correct her with a small sigh. “And he’s my husband mom. And also our neighbor.”

“Oh I see I see…” she says, looking up at him, and in a moment that shocks you, she holds her hand up for him to take.

There’s a slight moment of surprise on his face too, but he accepts her frail hand in his, and you glance over to your mom to see her look at him with some look of peace on her face.

“Oh, sit down here, won’t you?” she tells him, and you both blink at her in a moment of hesitation.

He pulls a stool up to the side of the bed right next to you and takes a seat down onto it. Your mother holds his hand with both of hers now, soothing her palm over the back of it before she taps on it lightly.

“Oh, my little girl is very sweet. She would bring me flowers from the garden when she was,” she glances at you, confused once more, “well I remember her when she was so little but she looks…a little older now. Ah, but she would bring me such pretty flowers.”

Your heart aches in your chest. You never knew what version of you your mother would remember. Some days, you’re still supposed to be an angsty teenager that shuts doors in her face, some days you were just as you are right now, and other days, you were just her little girl. And it confused her, the image of not seeing you in the way that she remembers. In the only way she knew how.

“You’ll take good care of my sweet girl, won’t you?” she asks him.

And it knocks the wind out of you.

It drops your heart to the center of the earth.

The thought that, after so many moments where she doesn’t remember you, she still knows that you’re someone she wants to keep safe.

Your mouth gapes slightly, tears welling in your eyes and you try your best to blink them away, but you see Gojo’s hand slip out from being held by your mother’s hands, to instead use both of his to hold hers. Your eyes snap to his face, and you see that same earnest expression you’ve been growing used to seeing these days. 

“Yes,” he responds, eye contact level with hers, “I will.”

A small puff of air leaves your lips, a single tear streaming down your cheek and you quickly swipe your trembling fingers to remove any evidence of it before you huff out a shaky, “excuse me.” And then you’re standing up off the stool, and in a few hurried steps across the room as more tears continue to stream down your face, you make it to the door to push out into the suffocating air of the hallway.

It’s hard to breathe, huffs and puffs barely leaving your lips as you struggle to pull air into your lungs while you storm down the hallway at a fast pace, your heels clicking underneath you in a way that only sets you off further. Suddenly, all the sounds around you make you sick to your stomach, a wave of nausea washing over you, and your nose burns with the intensity of the tears that continue to stream down your face. A few hospice staff look at you with concerned expressions, and you eventually reach a heavy-duty door that leads you out into a secluded staircase hallway where the dim lighting serves to relax at least some of your senses, but you still feel like you’re about to pass out.

Even in the haze of your emotions, there’s this glimmer of a memory that comes to mind. One from when you were younger and you were pushed on the playground at school. You cried and cried and cried in your mother’s arms, but even then, you didn’t want her to baby you. You would say to her, I’m a big girl now! in that same way a child knows nothing of what it truly means to brave the world. 

That little girl had no idea that one day, there would be moments where she wouldn’t be remembered as her mother’s little girl anymore. 

No matter how old you grow, you will always be my little girl, your mother’s voice echoes to you, the feeling of her squeezing you in her arms as she holds your sobbing little form in hers casting a ghost sensation across your skin.

In a mother’s eyes, you’ll always be her baby.

And that’s why it hurts.

Because it’s all fake.

It’s phony.

It’s not real.

This arrangement you have with Gojo.

And if your mother were to die tomorrow, there would be no one to take care of her little girl anymore.

Not in the way she believes there will be.

Of all the white lies, this one pierces you straight through your heart in a way that leaves you gasping for air.

Amidst your whirlwind of thoughts, you hear the door push open harshly, and when you glance over, you see Gojo standing in this dimly lit hallway as he turns his head quickly to the left and sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, catching his breath as he lightly jogs up to you, “hey, hey, hey,” he repeats with more concern now when he sees the state you’re in, and he seamlessly pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing against his chest that feels warm even through the fabric of his suit jacket and shirt, and that familiar scent of him completely engulfs you.

You sob quietly, wiping your snot on his tie and your tears on the felt fabric beside it, your hands balled into tiny fists at your chest, squeezed between the two of you. You feel him tuck your head under his chin and his arms wrap around you tighter. You don’t even realize it at first, but suddenly, it has become easier to breathe.

Then, you wail, and you cry, and you sob, because you don’t have the words to even explain how you feel, about not just this, but with everything, a buildup of everything that has been suffocating you in your life that just comes crashing down on you all at once.

“I know,” he says, his palm resting on the back of your head as he holds your face to his chest, his voice soothing in your ears while you sob until there’s nothing left to cry. “I know.”

You two stay like this for another minute or so as you come down from the cries, your remnant sniffling echoing in the hallway while you wipe more of your snot on his jacket. You make the first move to pull your face away from his chest, but he still keeps his arms wrapped around you when you look up at him.

With your gaze darting across his face, you take in the blue in his eyes. Eyes that are looking at you so softly it’s suddenly hard to breathe once more. And when those eyes flit to your lips, your mouth parts slightly as you two breathe in unison.

It’s possible that you could have dreamed the moment you saw him lean down slightly towards you, his eyes still set on your lips, but it didn’t matter because you’re pushing him away with strong fists before you can even register the thought in your head.

He lets go of you entirely, his eyes wide once more, and you glance down at your feet. 

A tender moment, just like on the roof, broken just because you can’t handle that—…that way, that intense way that he looks at you. New rule, no looking at me longingly like you want to kiss me. I won’t allow it.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, still examining your shoes. And you suddenly feel embarrassed that he had to see you this way. He’s supposed to be scared and intimidated by you, not holding you in his arms while you cry. 

He’s silent for a moment, but you can tell he’s searching for things to say. “You don’t want to say bye to your mom before we go?”

You swipe your palm against the wetness on your cheek. “No. I just want to go home.”

“y/n,” he tried to convince you.

You finally look up at him. “Please.”

He breathes in a few breaths as he studies the features of your face in a way that makes you feel so seen that it’s frightening. But he slowly nods, then says,

“Okay.”

.

.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 4]

a/n. hi friendsss i hope you enjoyed :'') yea like i said at the a/n in the beginning, this chapter is a slight off-tangent from last chapter, but ch5 will continue with a lot of the stuffs that were brought up in ch3. but yea i wanted to explore the whole process of emotions reader would go through putting her mom in hospice, since it kinda felt like a big thing, hence why it got its own chapter. aaa i hope to see you in the next one!! much love from me :''0

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[yeahxsurexokay13]

ideal weekend, lando norris

summary: while fans stress about the fact that, following their breakup, the actress won't be there to witness the driver's first ever f1 win, y/n gets asked about her ideal weekend off in an interview and accidentally manifests it [actress!reader]

warnings: i think only very bad editing (i tried) and me bringing up yet another footballer i feel affection for for literally no reason

fc: madelyn cline

started this as something completely different from what it ended up being but i think i like it. i'd love it if you let me know what you think tho (((:

y/n.y/l

📍miami

Liked by rudeth and 1.059.326 others

y/n.y/l yet another victim of a @/maxverstappen1 win. had so much fun but i think i'll just stick to acting 🙃🙃🫠 thank you @/redbullracing for having me!!! <333

view all 2.071 comments

username at a red bull event? what happened to once a mclaren girl always a mclaren girl????

username this event was basically work for her ?? you ppl need to stop taking everything so personally omg

username professional SUPER FAST driver, part time actress ❤️ by author

username you're in miami the same week of the miami gp. coincidence? i think not 😌😌

username GORGEOUS GORGEOUS GIRL

redbullracing Glad you had fun Y/n! Maybe we should start considering you for a guest appearance in our garage 😉

mclaren Thanks for the offer, Red Bull! But we've already got dibs on her 😉

username UM I HOPE THIS ISN'T A JOKE ??

username don't play with me like this admin!!

mclaren Don't worry. We won't hold this against you 🧡

y/n.y/l ily guys 🧡🧡🧡

username Ok cool now go finish season 4

username Why are u in Miami shouldn’t u be filming obx 4 😪

y/n.y/l side quest

username not the Y/n x F1 content I was hoping for but at this point I'll take what I can get

maxverstappen1 Next time I'll give you a head start. Enjoyed having you with us, Y/n 🫶

y/n.y/l there will definitely not be a next time but thanks tho!!!👍🏼 always a pleasure seeing you ❤️

username pretty 🩷

username Why is Max literally this🧍🏼‍♂️❤️ by author

landonorris Um what's this?

y/n.y/l 😶 not what it looks like

username seeing you two banter like this makes my heart ache 💔

username i'm never moving on from y/nlando sigh

username OBX S4 WHEN QUEEN

29 April 2024

mclaren added to their story

y/n.y/l

Liked by maxfewtrell and 1.890.345 others

y/n.y/l me and FORMULA 1 RACE WINNER lando norris

view all 3.830 comments

username JUST WHEN I THOUGHT TODAY COULDN'T GET ANY BETTER OMFG

username formula 1 race winner lando norris has a nice ring to it 😉 ❤️ by author

username What a race, and what a win for Lando!!!

username IM LOSING IT YALL I JUST CHECKED OUT OF CURIOSITY AND BRIGHTON ALSO WON TODAY Y/N MANIFESTED HER IDEAL SUNDAY

username minus the relaxing part lol i know for a fact bestie was stressing in that garage

carlossainz55 It's great to see you back at a race! Missed having you around! ❤️

y/n.y/l thank you carlitos ❤️ wish i could've got to see you up there with lando

charles_leclerc ouch ? 🫤

y/n.y/l noooo, i didn't mean you!!! x

maxverstappen1 ouch?

y/n.y/l i did mean you. sorry /:

username are we back in 2022 and i didn't realise?????? not complaining at all tho

mclaren You and FORMULA 1 RACE WINNER Lando Norris look amazing! 🧡 ❤️ by author

username admin definitely ships

username children of divorce rise !!!!!!! ❤️ by author

username u think u're so funny liking this @.y/n.y/n but we're actually hurting we want our mum back!!!

username seeing you celebrate with lando was everything 🥹🥹🥹

username when i tell you i sCREAMED !!!!!!

username Everything in the world has been healed due to this post

oscarpiastri Awesome that you could come watch. Missed you ❤️

y/n.y/l missed you more pastry boy ❤️❤️

username we were robbed from this friendship !!!😪

username can't believe how emotional I am seeing you two together at his big win

francisca.cgomes ❤️❤️❤️ ❤️ by author

username just realised i am not as over y/nlando as i thought i was. in fact i am not over y/nlando at all.

username well seeing you with FORMULA 1 RACE WINNER Lando Norris just hit me right in the feels💔

landonorris Thanks for being there to share the moment with us ❤️ ❤️ by author

landonorris Also I think after this you might now have to come to every race ever

y/n.y/l clearing my schedule as we speak 🫡

username i am so ready to be delusional

05 May 2024

[maiko-san]

Catnap + Dogday x Reader ( Part 2 )

<<< Part 1 , Part 3 >>>

Relationship: Fluff

Character focused: Dogday, Fem! Reader

Plot : You're giving Dogday a groom after he got himself covered in mud.

A/n : I will try to include the other Smiling Critters in here, they deserve love too.

A month has passed and things went on normally with your life. All the Smiling Critters get a minor check up everyday either by you or other coworkers.

These mascots work with children 24/7, they often are climbed on, tugged around or have paints/food stuck on their fur.

"I guess that's all of it"

"Oooh! My mane looks even prettier and shiny than before!"

You just finished cleaning up Craftycorn from all the glitters and paint off her white coat and cyan hair. Which took you half an hour to clean.

You put on a pink bow on her braided mane so she looks cuter.

"I really love how you do my mane! You know, we should do this more often! You're so creative, just like ME!"

" *chuckles* I'm glad that you like it, Craftycorn but I am NOT that creative as you are"

You dismiss the unicorn and give a handful of candy for her to enjoy. You call in the other mascot and Dogday pops his head in.

The dog is covered in mud from head to toe.

"Now, what did you get yourself into this time, Dogday?"

It was the third time this week.

Dogday only looks away, both hands on his back as he kicks his feet.

"KickinChicken and I got carried away while playing football, sorry..." /he lied.

You quirk an eyebrow, you know Dogday is really bad at lying. There are no muds at the football field since the field has fake grass carpet.

You wonder where he got all the mud from....oh well.

To Dogday, he likes being around you and wants to see you everyday but the other staff members didn't let him. Not even for a bit.

So the only way for the smiling critters to see you was to getting themselves dirty, either by accident or on purpose.

For Dogday, he did it on purpose so he could see you.

You usher the mascot on to the large bathtub so you could wash him up. You run the warm water over his body and rinsing the mud from his fur.

You know that they can clean themselves up but they seem to prefer having you to clean them.

It's a lot of work to clean a two story high mascot but it's fun.

You and the smiling critters would have a conversation, sometimes the smiling critters would tell them about their days.

Like a child telling their parents what they do at school.

"How's your day at the play care today?"

"It's really fun! We do a lot of things!"

"Oh, really? Tell me all about it. I'm curious"

"We play tag, we play hide n seek, we play red light green light with everyone! It was fun!"

"Did you have fun playing football with KickinChicken?"

"Oh, yes I did! The football was fun but what's even more fun is when you play in the mud!"

"Oh, really? KickinChicken just came a few hours ago and he told me he had fun playing skateboard"

"I—"

"Ha! Gotcha!"

You smirk as Dogday hangs his head down slightly. You scrub off the dirt from his ear and tell him that it's fine if he wants to see you.

Just don't get himself dirty all the time.

"The other staffs doesn't let me see you..."

"And why is that?"

"They said you stole their work...."

"....."

Recently your coworker has been glaring behind your back, gossiping and telling you to quit your job. Saying you were proud of your work which you never at all.

It is not entirely your fault that the mascots prefer you over them.

You knew how these mascots were treated before. It was during your interview at the playcare and your manager gave you a tour around the place.

You witnessed how the maintenance workers strapped these mascots in a tiny space and treated them like a wild animal.

"It is our fault wasn't it?"

"No, it's not. I'll deal with that matter myself and it is not yours to worry, alright"

You gave the canine mascot an assuring pat on the head which he leans into and his tail wagging behind him. You continue with your work and dry him in the blower machine and then you begin to groom his fur.

You notice that his fur had gotten longer by the day, so you decide to give him a little trim.

You hold his large paw, combing out the matted fur and snip some of them so it looks neat.

You did the same thing with his ears and chests.

Dogday watches you do you work, out of all staffs in this place. You are the nicest and the most gentle out of all staffs. You never strap them down or keep them in a small cage.

You treat them like a real person.

Like they used to be.

Dogday wants more from you, he wants to feel loved by someone. Someone that cares for him and everyone's well being unlike those scientists....

You care for him, so he will do the same to you.

You are his angel, after all....

"Alright, everything's done!"

You fix his collar and give his pendant a little shine. You decide to wrap a red scarf around his neck to compliment his orange colour.

"Is this for me, angel?"

"Yeah, it suits you well"

Dogday brings you into a tight hug, with his tail wagging aggressively behind his back. It seems the canine couldn't contain his excitement.

I mean, who doesn't like gifts? Especially from someone you like!

"Thank you! I will cherish it, always!"

"You're welcome, bud"

A/n : Since the first chapter received a good amount of views, here is the second chapter for all of you, sweeties!

I will assume that Dogday is the oldest out of all Smiling Critters, maybe around 13-15. We don't have a clue who Dogday really is but I decided to make him one of the older orphans.

Also, all the Smiling Critters in my stories share sibling relationships! and the reader is their oldest sibling or maybe parent figure! ☺️

[bunnys-kisses]

ugly guys

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, teammates au, driver!reader, doggy style, (non-con) filming/recording, jealousy, (semi)dark fic, mad!max, long fic,

a/n: happy, happy, happy birthday to yooooou!!

max could usually keep his expressions to himself. he knew how to play a good poker face for the media, but when he saw your ugly boyfriend on the track, he could barely keep it to himself.

you were the first female formula one driver in decades and you picked the ugliest guy to date. not that max was the image of a greek god, but you could do better. it didn't help that when he went to shake max's hand, his palms were painfully sweaty and the guy looked like he was going to have a panic attack when he saw max.

"to each their own." max tried to say to himself. as if he hadn't been harbouring feelings for you for what felt like a lifetime.

so imagine max's complete shock when he found out this ugly guy fumbled you so badly that you ended up in max's hotel room the next night with tears in your eyes.

max handed you another tissue as he sat on the other end of the couch. he then rested against the arm of the couch and asked, "so what exactly happened? all i heard was that you two weren't together anymore and you didn't want to be alone."

you sniffed, "i didn't know who else to call. all my friends are back home or in monaco." you wiped your eyes, earlier you took all your make-up off by evidence of the wipes all over the bathroom counter.

max shrugged, "well, glad i could help." in all fairness, he was glad that your boyfriend (not ex-boyfriend) was out of the picture. hated the guy and not because he looked like the personification of a dumpster. he was getting in max's way.

you leaned against the couch and pouted at him, your arms crossed. you ordered pizza for the both of you, not caring about the diet you were both on. you wanted something greasy and filling and a salad wasn't going to cut that. you explained a little calmer, "he... he called me annoying, he said that when we talked i changed the subject too many times. he said the 'vibes' were off." you gave air quotations, "i tried to forgive him last month when my friend found him on tinder." you sighed, "but... i guess i wasn't good enough. feels like i'm never good enough."

max replied, "i think it's because you give these guys a false sense of confidence. you give these greasy losers an ego boost because they gets to be with you and they go off and think that they're all that. what did this guy do for a living anyway."

"he worked at the gift shop at the circuits of america..." you looked away.

he knew you refused to go on apps like raya, even if it would be easier for you. max thought you liked scrapping the bottom of the barrel and expecting gold.

he pinched the bridge of his nose, "you were flying out and fucking a guy who worked at a gift shop!" he sighed, "i know you want a real, nice guy. but, you're inflating their egos!"

you looked down, "he seemed nice at first."

max couldn't be mad at you. he really couldn't. it wasn't your fault. these guys always put on a show for you, and then when you got too close, the trap came down and you always limped back to max with tears in your eyes. he reached over and sighed as he wiped your tears with his thumbs, "you need standards."

you slumped your shoulders, "i have standards."

"what are they?"

you made a face, "nice. considerate."

"you know you can train a dog to be nice. it's not a very high bar. you are the third ranked driver in the world and all you want is nice. considerate." without thinking he added, "maybe i should date you and show you how to be properly treated."

you stilled for a moment, your eyes wide at max. you said, "don't say things you don't mean." from your expression he could tell you were getting heated in the face.

oh... oh.

he let go of you to move the pizza box out of the way, he was soon crowded in your space with your back against the arm of the couch. "does someone like me?" he watched you swallowed. you had been max's teammate for two years now, after perez retired.

"i never said that." you looked away, but max took you by the face to look at him. something in his blue eyes should've alarmed you, but instead you melted a little into his touch.

"you didn't need to say anything. i could see it in your face." he smiled, "did you date all those greasy-haired, directionless losers to make me jealous?" if he were a worse man, that would've been an ego boost.

"i did like them."

"but you liked me more."

there was a beat of silence between you two before you sighed. you admitted, "yes... i tried to date guys who weren't you, so i'd forget about my... feelings for you." you swallowed.

max found it endearing. if he had known sooner, he would've easily swept you off your feet and made sure no other man got in his way. so without much of a second thought, he kissed you. it was passionate and the result of over two years of wanting you. needing you. the kisses continued until the pizza was long forgotten and you were on max's hotel bed.

you bounced a little when he pushed you onto it. some of your belongings were in his room as you were going to stay the night. his hands under your shirt.

"i've thought about this often." he said, "i wonder if any of those guys ever made you feel good. or were you wishing it was me." he whispered in your ear, "did you think about me when they failed to make you cum?"

you swallowed, "the last guy..." you admitted, "his cock was really small and he didn't know where the clit was." and blushed more when max looked at you in shock.

he laughed, "and he's going on tinder and acting like a prick! cheating on you and calling you annoying! he broke things off with you and you were suffering with piss-poor sex. c'mon. you need standards." he pushed your shirt off of you, "you need me."

call max verstappen a possessive man. he'd chalk it up to his childhood and the constant feeling of inadequacy. being knocked around a few times in the head probably scarred him. but, he was happy that he could finally lay claim on you.

he got you undressed and did the same to himself. you both had seen each other naked a few times. it was the price of being in close proximity for most of the year. walking into driver's rooms without knocking, that time you asked him if this bra looked alright, the other time you had to hold his hand while he got that small tattoo on his hip (that not even the other drivers knew about). you two knew each other more intimately than most, if not everyone.

so it only made sense that max felt you up while you laid under him. with promises on his tongue as he kissed your collarbones, "i'm gonna make you feel good. i promise." he his cock was sticky and heavy. he needed you asap.

you got on your hands and knees with your hips arched to the perfect angle for him. in the bright lights of the bedroom, he could see your wetness cling to your pussy lips. this was what your ex-boyfriend left? this! max assumed the man needed his head checked, but now he was certain he needed to be locked up somewhere.

only an idiot would mess up their chances with you.

he rubbed his hard cock against your click cunt. he said, "might be a bit of a stretch. i'm guessing i'm about double the size of him."

"he was three inches." you replied, "i measured after he lied to me and said he was five." you felt embarrassed, "i can't believe i gave this guy a chance! more than one chance!"

max tried not to laugh, he didn't want you thinking he was insulting you. but max was close to seven inches, well beyond double what your ex-boyfriend was packing. and maybe it was rude of him to think so, but it made his confidence a little higher.

when he sank his cock into you, you buried your face into the pillows and arched your back. your nails dug into the fabric. the whole floor didn't need to know you two were fucking.

not that max cared, let them hear. let them know.

the idea only came to him when he started to thrust up against you. he watched your ass shake with every hard thrust of his hips. he soon had you bouncing on his length. his size buried in your just right, at least he knew where your clit was. and the thought of it against his tongue later left him more excited.

there was so much for him to try on you. missionary would be rarely on the table. max wanted to devour you like a fine meal. but you'd always get your fair share of orgasms. can't have his girl go without.

however the thought crossed his mind and as he thrusted into you. he grabbed his phone and started to record. he changed his pace a little, harder thrusts that were a little slower. really get his cock comfortable inside of you.

he pressed against areas that had you moaning louder. all picked up on the camera. he asked, "do you like that, baby? do you like how it all feels?"

you whimpered. you weren't aware he was filming, instead just doing dirty talk to make you pant and whine. you replied, "it feels good, max. ah!"

max smiled, as the camera caught the sight of his cock going in and out of you. his cock sticky with your wetness. even a ring of milky white around the base from how good he made you feel. he wanted to speak directly to your asshole of an ex-boyfriend. he wanted to know that he'd always be less than. less than max verstappen.

"better than with anyone else." he couldn't give away that he was filming you. even with the camera directed at your pussy taking all of him so nicely.

you nodded.

"use your words, i want to hear you." he said with a bit of cockiness in his tone, "i want to know how to make you feel." c'mon, tell your dickhead of an ex how good your own teammate made you feel. tell max everything.

"shit, max. please. no one has ever fucked me like this before." you held onto the pillow a little tighter. the rush was to your head, you couldn't believe it. it was even a little better than when you pleasured yourself.

"a girl like you deserves a good fuck. how big was he again?" now max was just taunting the man. maybe it was a step beyond, but the greasy-haired prick should've known better than to get in max's way.

"three."

"yeah, yeah. didn't know how to use it either. but that's alright, schat. i'll make sure to give you all the orgasms he failed to give you. right?"

you nodded, "right, max, right." you arched your back a little more. the pleasure was flooding your brain. almost overwhelming as he fucked you with such force that it moved the bed up against the wall. the expensive headboard knocked against the wall a little harder.

no more worrying about idiot men for you, not while max was still upright and breathing. you were his. even if max had to raise your standards himself in any capacity. he would make you see that the two of you were a better fit. and to not give these low-lifes any chances. you were above them.

far too beautiful, far too funny, far too charming. if they couldn't handle a woman who liked to ramble then they were weak. max had already been listening to your rambling and ranting for years. the only difference was now he could keep you quiet with about seven inches in your mouth.

"who's going to make you cum?"

"you are!" you said a little louder. your voice a little tighter.

"who?"

"you are!" you yelped as your back arched further and eventually you came around max's cock. the noises you made were angel choirs in max's perverted mind. there, that should get the message across to this other dickhead.

he ended the video and tossed the phone on the bed before he gripped you by the middle and pressed his chest against your back. he fucked you with a heavy pace. it made you see stars and feel the throb of need in your core.

already overstimulated, your body craved for more. now you certainty weren't going to find another man. with a few ore heavy thrusts, you came once more and almost punched the pillow from the intensity. it was soon followed by max who pushed himself all the way inside of you and finished.

"shit." he croaked.

you laid under him as he slowed to a stop and dropped your hips when he pulled out. you laid there, finding comfort in the pillow under your head as you felt on cloud nine.

while max would've loved to eat you out right after. he could tell that you had already had enough for tonight. he laid down next to you and you rolled to your side to face him. your expression was blissed out and sleepy.

so, like any good boyfriend. he held you. and soon you drifted off to sleep. the rush of chemicals to your brain made you sleepy. and soon you were curled up under the covers with max.

"good girl." he said softly as you laid on his chest in a post-orgasm bliss. it wasn't until you were fully asleep that max got to work.

as you laid asleep beside him, he had your phone in his hand. he knew your pass code because it was the same as his. his number (33) and your number. it was a cute thing you wanted to do as teammates. so it wasn't easy to send the video and photos of him fucking you to your ex-boyfriend.

you shifted a little in your sleep from the feeling of the bright light of a phone nearby. you made a noise and almost woke up.

"shh, shh." he said as he kissed the top of your head, "just checking emails, go back to sleep." he was quick to send the video from his phone to your phone then to your ex-boyfriend. you simply snuggled closer and relaxed more. unaware.

max attached a message to the video, the one of him completely taking your pussy, "thought you were dumb, now i think you're completely stupid. don't text or call this number. congratulations of fumbling someone way out of your league. but don't worry, she's better off with me now.- mv." then blocked the number before he put the phone down.

it was his loss honestly, not that max cared. the guy could live forever or die tomorrow. forever irrelevant because now max had you. and as you snuggled up closer to him, a sleepy smile across your face.

you could've gone through a hundred guys, but that didn't matter. because you'd always find your way back to max. <3