#but im literally a year away from thirty???

[haljordns]

dad!wing headcanons tw: cursing

🏙️ . . dick quite literally never expected to have a child — he’s the guy in his thirties who reacts to friends pregnancy announcements like ‘omg what are you gonna tell your parents!?’ so when you come into his life there’s a solid period of time where the two of you are just staring at each other like o.o and neither of you know what to do

🏙️ . . dick kinda sorta gets his shit together with the help of a village. alfred insists on babysitting even if it routinely means the commute from gotham to bludhaven. tim who is surprisingly good with kids drops by unannounced when he knows dick is struggling just to entertain you for a while. steph has already accepted you as partially her baby as well and so you probably spend a lot of time with her as well.

🏙️ . . jason keeps his distance for a while unsure if dick would even want him around his kid but they meet once when jason is in blud for case advice and you just latch onto him … you’re absolutely clinging and crawling all over him, you’re enamored by literally every part of him and probably throw a fit when he has to leave.

🏙️ . . anyway! dick loves you more than anything in the world but as previously stated: this man never expected to be a dad… or at least not so young he’s in his thirties and at a perfectly reasonable age to have kids but whatever

🏙️ . . he probably misses school stuff on occasion and you get left home alone or tossed between different sitters because he’s out late getting his butt kicked across bludhaven

🏙️ . . he comes home limping and all beat up cursing and swearing because he’s pretty sure he fucked up his ankle something fierce and he didn’t expect you to still be up but you’re sitting on the couch looking unimpressed

🏙️ . . you point to the swear jar and dick just groans because ‘this time doesn’t count, you extortionist!’

🏙️ . . dick tries to kiss you on the forehead and send you off to bed but you’re a worrier — as a result of your whole family being weirdo vigilantes — and you hover while your dad peels off his suit and starts inspecting the damage

🏙️ . . it’s all fairly superficial except the ankle injury which is gonna be an annoying recovery period but he promises you that he’s okay and sends you off the bed for real this time when he gets in the shower.

🏙️ . . he comes into your room when he’s done because he’s worried about you, he knows him being nightwing can be kinda scary for you.

🏙️ . . you’ve got your head shoved under a pillow and he starts poking at your side and you’re whining and trying to squirm away, ‘dad im sleeping’

🏙️ . . and he’s like ‘no you’re not, you’ve probably got your switch under your pillow with you, twerp’

🏙️ . . and so you reluctantly come out from under your little cocoon you leave your switch though because you did have it and dick has got a little smile on his face and he asks if you wanna sleep in his bed tonight and at first you’re like ‘im too old for that dad 🙄’ but he says he’d feel lonely and so you suppose if it would make him feel better you might as well

🏙️ . . you end up clinging to him because you absolutely were terrified when he came home all beat up and even though you’d never admit it you’d planned to sneak into his room later anyway

🏙️ . . your favorite pastime with your dad is gymnastics at his gym, he’s taught you the basics of how to spar and self defense but your favorite is always up on the bars

🏙️ . . every halloween he tries to convince you to be nightwing but just to be a little shit you’ve been like every member of the family except nightwing — including one year you went as richie wayne ward of bruce wayne just to be extra annoying

🏙️ . . that said you kinda live in nightwing merch because dick has an embarrassing amount of his own memorabilia and you like to steal his shirts

🏙️ . . dick is not good with discipline.. like at all. he never got the hang of it with damian and he absolutely hadn’t perfected it by the time you came around so he usually needs a pep talk before he punishes you or he’ll just back out and probably offer to go get ice cream.

🏙️ . . ‘what you did was very um—‘ *trying to remember what bruce told him to say* ‘it was very impetuous!’

🏙️ . . damian scoffs because he’s heard this from bruce more than once

🏙️ . . when you get into trouble damian is almost always there, he’s taken on the role of honorary big brother and dick swears the two of you are going to give him grey hair (he says this and damian says he already has grey hair which starts another round of back and forth)

🏙️ . . dick and you cook together a lot even if neither of you are particularly good at it, if you’re lucky jason offers to come over and you can rope him into cooking but still. when jasons not there you guys can cobble together something half edible and even though the kitchen always ends up a mess you enjoy the time together.

🏙️ . . you eat at the table cause dick read something once about not eating in front of the tv

🏙️ . . dick asks you about your day and school and friends and everything because he loves hearing you talk about your ‘normal life’ and knowing you’re safe and happy most of the time. he’s the dad that gets overly invested in his kids like… middle school drama.

🏙️ . . he’s absolutely taking sides and has one sided beef with anyone who’s given his kid a hard time even if they’re like 12

🏙️ . . basically he’s your best friend :)

[stardust-kitten]

i can’t believe i turn 29 today lol

[crossthread]

No jokes here. The Navy’s best pilot and the Navy’s best admiral. Between them, eight air-to-air combat kills and five stars. These were men who commanded respect with or without your approval. This was the picture of ruthless competence.

Debriefing (& Other Stories) • part 2 of Easier Done Than Said by @compacflt

[dbphantom]

Thinking very hard about a ffxv version of the xam'd lost memories opening and crying because i will never have the skills to make it reality

[leclsrc]

you know it ✴︎ cl16

genre: porn WITH plot (for once?! everyone cheered), humor, bit of fluff... oh inaccurate depictions of the 2022 season sorry

word count: 7k

Charles is a bit disappointed the pretty girl he harbors a crush on doesn’t have him listed as a Formula 1 crush. He is a lot disappointed that you two can’t fuck.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... degradation, praise, charles is a bit switchy here lol, penetrative sex, a bit of ass play sorry...., oral (m receiving), semi public sex, yeah

title from this. i love u guys im so sleepy

Joris insists there’s some big present waiting for Charles in his car, to celebrate the middle of the season that has, and will no doubt continue to stretch into a period of conflict and strategy woes. He yanks off the beanie sitting on his head, listens to small talk drifting between Joris and Carlos as they all walk toward their cars to alleviate the bubble of nerves in the low of his stomach. 

Sure enough, there’s an unassuming box lying on the driver’s seat. Joris slides into the passenger seat after Carlos drives away with his girlfriend, his grin shit-eating and mischievous. The door is half open when Charles takes the box to inspect it. White, with the Ferrari logo printed neatly on the centre (very classy touch), the sides are signed by different members of his team. He scratches through the seal and pulls the flap open.

He’s been given a quasi-official Ferrari box of condoms.

Thirty-six condoms, at that, small squares neatly lined up next to each other. Talk about a welcoming present. Not a camera, not racing memorabilia, not a new pair of shoes. Just condoms. Thirty-six of them.

“A mid-season pick-me-up,” presses his friend, giddily. The shorter male lounges comfortably on the seat, a blissful look of pride on his face. Laughing with exasperation, Charles wedges the box shut and tosses it carelessly into the backseat, preparing to drive. This isn’t his first rodeo with weird gifts—he’s half-sure he got adoption papers from an especially excited fan once before.

“You are such an asshole.”

“It’s also a congratulations on winning literally every race so far present,” Joris adds. It’s hyperbole but has a ring of truth to it. As the season closes, Charles’ chances of holding up the trophy this year increase. 

Despite himself, Charles has a better outlook on his chances for the remainder of the season, driving-wise. He’s given it his all so far, and the rest looks promising enough. He only hopes he’s right. Netflix also increased the amount of people getting into the sport, so he’s dealing with tons more fans and nosey DMs, but it’s not too much of an impediment to a hopefully stellar season.

Charles makes a right. “Do you plan to use them?” Joris asks then, a teasing tone taking on his voice as he scrolls through his phone.

“No, not really,” Charles says, lying straight through his teeth.

“You’re a fucking liar, you are.” He whips his head toward Charles, observing his stoic side profile. “You’re single, haven’t gotten laid in months—”

“—weeks.” Corrects Charles with a cough, the defense coming at an embarrassing speed.

“…Case in point. And sports gets everyone horny. And if you didn’t know, Mattia actually OK-ed the condoms, so you’ve basically been greenlit by your boss to fuck half the world. Thank me later. I’m proud of myself.”

“Sports gets everyone competitive. Because it’s sports. Which, you’re conveniently forgetting, is my life profession.”

“Loosen up,” Joris whistles lowly. “You think Lewis got seven titles by being a closed-off celibate? It’s practically tradition to fuck around if you’re single in sports. And, for others, being in a relationship is barely an obstacle, anyway.”

Charles hates to admit that Joris is right—because he is. Racing isn’t racing without the extravagant parties that follow, and the girls and guys brought back to hotels for reasons known to everyone. People from everywhere come to the paddock and the clubs—models, influencers, actors. The pent-up energy has to go somewhere, he supposes.

But even if the little shit is right, Charles still maintains a level of dignity. Ergo, he’s steadfast in his belief that he will not be sleeping around or putting this godforsaken box of condoms to any semblance of use while the rest of the season progresses. He just hopes he won’t eat his words.

—

Monza kicks off with a 1-2 and secures Charles with a comfortable lead ahead Max.

He is high on adrenaline all night, toasting and chugging to the win, snapping pictures with Carlos, proud out of his mind. It’s everything he’s wanted and more, a quench to the thirst he’d developed over the season, a slap in the face to his doubters, a kiss on his. He texts his family, friends who aren’t present, some other people who he feels are deserving of a personal announcement, and pockets his phone.

“Now would be a great time to put that gift to use,” Carlos says at some point, when everyone in the garage is kicking back alcohol and slowly preparing to move the celebrations someplace else.

Charles cringes visibly, having almost forgotten about the dreaded gift, and totally forgotten Carlos’ knowledge of it. Even with the recent win, he’s already thinking of the next, the promise of a two-peat, another podium, hell, another 1-2. The condoms were honest to God the last thing on his mind.

They break apart an hour later, when Charles is heading to the hotel and Carlos is headed somewhere else. He’s almost to the exit when someone calls his attention in a curt English voice.He turns and finds Lewis jogging toward him, outside of his race suit and back in the fashionable apparel Charles merely wishes he could pull off.

“Lewis,” he waves, pacing toward him to save the extra few seconds of waiting. 

“Amazing, amazing race, man,” the elder compliments. “You’ve got the best chance at the title here.”

Warmth melts into Charles’ body and he offers praise back, which—praising Lewis is just about the easiest thing in the world. Nerves bleed out of him as the conversation continues, the atmosphere of a finished race a welcome accompaniment to their strategic talk. 

“Headed to a party, yeah?” Lewis asks when they’ve both exhausted the topic. Charles gives a half-hearted shrug, already energized enough from such a momentous win, and he nods in response. “Nah, I get it. Sometimes you just gotta sleep. But hey, if you’re ever free, we should go get dinner sometime.”

—

The “dinner sometime” happens in Singapore. Having gotten P1 beside Lewis and therefore once again high off the adrenaline, Charles claps Andrea on the back and retrieves his phone to view two texts. One reads Put the condoms to use yet, champ? from Joris, and the other Can I take you up on the dinner? from Lewis. One goes answered and the other goes muted on his iMessage.

A little something he failed to remember was Lewis’ plant-based diet, a fact that hurtles back toward him when he can’t find steak on the menu of this classy, hole-in-the-wall type of restaurant. Of course Lewis would know these types of places, he thinks. He’s a millennial semi-hipster with a separate Instagram account for his dog.

Charles ends up ordering pasta, and Lewis beside him orders a cacophony of very vegan, hippy sounding meals, the quantity of which could feed the two of them. “I hope you don’t mind,” Lewis says when the waiter departs, “but a friend is actually joining us tonight.”

“Sure,” Charles says honestly. As long as it’s not some deranged hyperfan, he does well in social situations. Right then, Lewis calls someone over. Charles looks up, squints through the dim mood lighting to try and make out the nearing figure. And then you’re sitting down across them, smiling softly, exchanging hellos with Lewis.

A little something Lewis fails to remember is his “friends” can just as well be called “celebrities,” because he is, after all, a sporting legend. So if Lewis says “friend,” Charles will assume it’s a “friend,” and not a world-famous model whose face is plastered everywhere on and offline.

“Charles Leclerc,” he says blankly.

You introduce yourself, sliding easily into a bout of questions, apologies for missing the race, you’re impossibly jetlagged, it’s crazy. Lewis chips in with something about how he’s already ordered food for the both of you, and this and that, and Charles is hopeless, staring at your face the entire time. He hopes he looks more sexy than aloof or, worse, starstruck, because it’s turning out to be the kind of situation where he looks like the deranged hyperfan, and not the other way around for once.

To be clear, Charles isn’t a fan of you. He just knows of you, because honestly, who doesn’t at this point? You’re talking on and on about how your latest shoot with Jacquemus was a pain because you shot in a tank top in sub-zero weather, but you express it like it’s the most profound topic on Earth.

Lewis turns to him and, in an (eventually successful) effort to include more of Charles in the conversation, goes, “She’s a big Formula One fan, Charles.”

Okay. Common ground. Charles lifts both brows smugly, his eyes flickering back over to you. “Really?”

You meet his eyes and smile, looking downward and blinking owlishly. You’re so pretty, long lashes fluttering as you blink and try to find an answer. Christ, you’re so painfully his type.

Lewis chimes in again—“Really. And not just because she and I are friends. I mean she was into racing before we got acquainted. Honestly. Quiz her and everything”—then excuses himself to “take a call.” (His phone wasn’t even ringing—total bullshit—but Charles is ultimately grateful for it.)

You make a face of shut up toward the departing Lewis, and Charles exhales a quiet laugh at your defiance. You clear your throat and come up with an answer.

“I’m not a big fan,” you say. “I’m more of a casual, ‘every once in a while’ type of fan.”

“That’s what every big fan of sports says,” Charles says smoothly. 

“Is it?” You ask, cocking your head to the side, making a tch noise. You chuckle before going, “Well, if you insist, I’ll be honest. I didn’t want it to come to this, but okay. I am a fan… of Red Bull.”

Charles fakes extreme offense, his jaw dropping as if totally scandalized. You laugh, throwing two hands up in faux surrender. “Not Red Bull,” he says, his tone making him sound even more devastated. “You’re telling me you—don’t tell me you think Max Verstappen is attractive.”

“I mean, a bit!”

Charles makes sarcastic sounds of disapproval, and you laugh. Charles leans forward, and you do, too, both of you smiling. “So you’re into the angry drivers?”

“I’m not into a specific kind of driver,” you say casually, your tongue peeking out to lick over your bottom lip. Your voice is as soft as it is firm, slow and demure, matching the way your eyes glint. You’re impossibly pretty. He almost can’t handle it.

“So who’s making the cut?” He prompts, interested.

“Well, for starters, drivers who are my age,” you say slowly. “I turned twenty-four this year, so anyone within that bracket.”

“Oh?” Charles pretends to delve into deep thought, teasing. “Maybe Stroll? He’s very funny, speaks good English. You can never really say no to a Canadian.”

Your face warms, and you hope your flustered state isn’t too obvious as you shake your head. “He seems fun, but I prefer somebody a bit… a bit older.”

“Older…” he hums. “Pierre, perhaps? Tad bit older, real charming, great driver. I can introduce you. We’re good friends, you know.”

You click your tongue, smiling shyly. You bite your lip and it takes everything in Charles to not turn on his horny gears when he sees you, big eyes and lip bite, look so pretty. “You tease me,” you say meekly. Charles covers a cough with a chuckle and adjusts his position on the seat.

Later, after Lewis comes back in (“Long call, eh? It was about Roscoe.” Bullshit again) and you all get to order drinks, and you’ve departed in your private car, pressing an air kiss to Lewis and waving goodbye to Charles, he turns to the Mercedes driver and hums.

“Next time you have one of these”—he points to the restaurant, gestures to the front door—“dinners, let me know, okay?”

“Ah.” Lewis winks, smirking. “I’ll be sure to.”

—

Understandably, your schedules never seem to mesh well together. Lewis ends up giving Charles your number as compensation.

He stares at the contact longer than he’d like to admit, when he’s marinating in the sweltering heat of Austin. He’s finished much of his work for this half of the day so he’s mostly watching the engineers work on the last bits of modification for Sunday; he cherishest the free time and drafts, reads, and rereads texts, scours Google and Instagram for pictures of, and anything related to, you.

There’s a few new articles about buying a new car (a Benz, much to Charles’ chagrin) and new photoshoots intermittently scattered across Europe, with all sorts of brands. He sees a picture you’ve posted of yourself smiling at the camera and thinks of how pretty it would look as his lockscreen. 

Am I seeing you soon? He texts finally. He hopes it’s enough to let you know who he is.

Hopefully is the reply. He smiles the whole day.

—

You’ve been texting and calling almost everyday, conversations stretching continents. He only sees you next in Mexico, Friday night, at a club Lewis has rented out for a crazy price that will no doubt be replenished in days anyway. He’s dropped to second here, but the thrill riding in him makes up for his disappointment. The place is so crowded—everyone and their mums seem to have been invited here—room blinking purple and blue, each step vibrating with the heavy bass of EDM. He catches you right as you exit the washroom area, and you look pleasantly surprised to see him.

He saw you earlier, when you were doing shots of tequila and chatting with with Bella and Lewis, but just as quickly as he spotted you, you’d dipped back into the sea of people. Now is better, he thinks. You two are alone.

“Charles, hi,” you say casually. You’re wearing a tight top and a short skirt that, despite Charles’ best efforts, always cast his gaze downward. He wonders what’s underneath, hungers to get his hands there. But he’s nothing if he’s not patient, willing to play the long game.

He takes a step forward, his gaze steady on you. Charles isn’t the tallest driver, but he’s got a big presence. You swallow, taking a step back to accommodate him. He smirks. “You look pretty.” 

“You flatter me,” you say thickly, smiling, inviting him closer. The air is hot around the both of you—when your eyes flit around, they see nobody. You’re alone together. His eyes pierce into yours so deep you feel like breaking eye contact, exhaling as you take another step back—evidently, you’re distracted, because you stumble.

His arm circles around your waist, and once you steady, the hand moves down to your hip. It stays, a reminder of what you might be getting soon. You smile curtly, wondering what this might look like to a bystander, a stranger. Somebody might want to piss and walk in to see the strongest world champion contender’s hand on Chanel’s poster girl’s waist.

“Is this okay?” He asks softly against your ear.

“More than.” You say, breath shaky. “It’s more than okay.”

He chuckles. “Good. I’d hate if we couldn’t fuck before Abu Dhabi.”

Your finger traces down and wraps around the belt loop of his jeans. “Who said anything about fucking?”

Charles exhales a laugh, his lips curling upward into an amused smile. “Ah? I can’t fuck you, then?”

“I’ll let you fuck me when you’re holding up the world champion trophy,” you say sweetly, tugging him closer. “That’s okay, right?” You stare up at him, blinking, pouty. He wonders, is this how you might look with your lips wrapped around his—

“That’s about a month away.” His composure barely wavers, his hand traveling lower, blunt nails digging into your ass. Your breath hitches. 

“I’m aware,” you say lowly. So be it, Charles thinks—he’s got thirty-six condoms for a reason.

“Define fuck,” he says, voice rough.

“Penetration.” You’re quick with it, cocking your head to the side. You lean back confidently, testin him, eyes batting flirtatiously. 

It’s time he get a little creative.

—

Daytime weather is hot and the paddock is swarming with people, but Charles has his sights set on somebody sitting in the Mercedes hospitality. He manages to get out of morning meetings earlier, wedging himself out of the room and passing by a mirror to fix his hair with admirable concentration. He’s in the middle of combing through it when a force tugs at the hem of his polo, causing him to stumble backwards.

“Uh—Carlos? What the hell?” He asks, brow raised defensively. Facing him are Carlos, Joris, and Pierre, arms crossed over their torsos and amused expressions on their faces.

“What are you doing?” Asks Pierre, cocking his head to the side.

“Fixing my hair.” 

“Pussy appointment?” Joris interjects; the vulgarity of his statement earns him a poke on the side from Carlos, who clicks his tongue.

“Wh—I don’t—”

“You are shit at lying, mate,” says Pierre, his lips curled into a devious smile. “Who is it?”

“It’s nobody,” he lies.

“Charles,” says Lewis suddenly from behind them, waving his arms to get the former’s attention, “are you going to go over and say hi?”

Hook, line, and sinker. He’s been caught. “Well, well, well,” Carlos starts, mischievous.

“Guys—” Charles says, attempting to make an excuse.

“Looks like your vow of celibacy isn’t so far off after all,” Pierre adds. “That one over at Mercedes is going to break it, eh?”

“Yeah.” Joris says, smirking.  “Lucky George, huh.”

The three face him, incredulous. “I was kidding,” he fibs, once he realizes his epiphany is wrong. “Kidding.”

Charles walks off, and ends up seeing you right where he expected you, sitting beside Lewis in a tiny dress with your hair pinned up into a bun. Almost naturally, your words fall into the flirtatious back-and-forth you’d started at the dinner, hyperaware of the cameras snapping your pictures. At some point, the Brit excuses himself to “take a call” (again, bullshit) and leaves the two of you alone.

“See anything nice on the paddock?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with a teasing smile, head cocking to the side to gauge his reaction. He chuckles.

“Did you get a picture with Max?”

“Only a ton.” You pause. “And Daniel, too.”

“Ah, you’re just crushing on the whole paddock, now are you?” He pokes his tongue into his cheek, leans forward.” Uh, Checo?”

“Pass,” you say with a nose scrunch. You’re so fucking pretty.

“Lewis.”

“God, pass. He’s not ugly, but he’s my brother at this point.”

“Pierre.”

“Horribly French, but… smash.”

“Are you not into the French?” He smiles. “Good to know. Hmm—Carlos.”

“I’d be stupid to say anything other than smash.” You narrow your eyes, licking over your lips. “I’m into the Ferrari guys, is the thing.” His gaze travels to your crossed legs, long and disappearing into the hem of your dress.

He smirks. “Are you?”

“I really am,” you hum.

“Are you staying long? All weekend?”

“Yeah, I’m free from work for now,” you say casually. “Any recommendations on what fun things I can do here?”

“I can think of…” he says, smirking a little. “A few.”

—

Stupid places to have sex, number one: a motorhome.

Still, Charles is crowding you up against the wall of the room, swallowing the whimper that leaves your mouth with his own. And still, this isn’t sex. At least not the kind he wants the most. He mentally praises Carlos for being able to decipher the typo-laden text he’d sent out on the way here, one hand around your waist, the other barely capable of typing with how fast his brain ran. Clesr the fuckng room npw now npw it read. Thank God.

Your mouth tastes like champagne, and everywhere else smells divine. Your hands roam impatiently over his shoulders and you make muted noises of frustration at your inability to pull his shirt off. You settle for letting your hands crawl underneath it, stroking over his abs.

“D’you remember what I told you,” you pant, his lips insistent on your neck, “at the club?”

“Yeah,” he says, grunting at the memory.

“Okay.” You breathe. “Let me suck you off.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “Jesus. Okay. Fuck.”

You giggle, and he watches intently as you drop onto your knees, looking up at him through thick lashes. You’re insistent, pulling the zip of his jeans down and tugging his cock out. It’s pretty, thick like the rest of him, already hard. 

He’s at his limit, having you here like this, on you knees and stretching your lips around the tip of his dick. Your eyes barely leave his, fluttering as they tear up when you take him in your throat.

He throws his head back, squeezes his eyes shut, lets a hand unpin your bun and thread itself into the untangled hair. If he looks at you, he’ll see your head bobbing up and down on his cock, and he genuinely needs to hold off the orgasm first.

He rocks forward into your mouth and feels your throat close up around him. That’s enough to weaken his resolve, send grunts out of his throat that he can’t keep quiet.

“Oh, shit,” he says, feeling every part of your mouth and throat around him, warm and tense. He can’t help but thrust harder, steady but not too rough, growing more aroused with every sound of you choking on him.

His gaze flickers toward you. You’re teary-eyed, lips dotted with spit, choking yourself on his cock. Just for him, here in public. You pull off, blinking tears away from your face and looking up at him smilingly.

He laughs, guiding his cock back into your mouth, watching the way your brows knit together, pleading, almost. You're at his mercy, he thinks, thrusting harder, listening to your coughs. He loves seeing you like this, innocent face messy and slick with spit and precum, eyes big and needy.

“You like that?” He grunts. “Look at me.”

You nod the best you can. Yes, you want to say. Give me more, I love it.

“Yeaaah, fuck. I know you do,” he says through his teeth, staving off his orgasm the best he can before he releases all over you. The image alone of streaking you with his cum, claiming you all over-eyelashes, tits, cheeks splashed with cum-is enough to send him closer to the edge. “Gonna cum,” he grunts.

You moan around him, the vibrations causing his eyelids to flutter. You shake your head, pulling off and wrapping your hand around his dick, stroking slower. “Not yet,” you say sweetly, watching him throw his head back in pleasure and frustration. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, exhales shakily.

“Shit.” He whines. “Come on, baby. Make me cum.” He cups your jaw, stares down at you.

You stroke him faster, lip between your teeth. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “Cum for me, Charles.”

He stops staving himself off, falls into the pleasure and relief of your hand around his cock until he’s tense all over, knitting his hand into your hair and pushing you backwards so he can press his tip on the flat expanse of your tongue and let his cum shoot there. It drips from your tongue and lips onto your chin and you giggle, swallowing it, scooping up the rest to push into your mouth.

You stand, licking your lips slowly. “I owe you,” he pants, zipping himself up. Already he’s thinking about what he can do to you in return. Tease you, like you did him, bend you over his lap or sit you on it and make you whine and writhe and wait and cum. 

“I’ll hold you to that, champion,” you murmur, kissing his cheek and slipping back outside.

—

Ferrari’s advice is shit and despite his good mood and quick-witted driving, Charles finishes in fifth—not too shabby, but disastrous for his overall standings.

He suffers through a horrible debrief where attempts to defend his honor go unheard, his mood wilting and wilting until he’s at the media pen and ushered in front of some network he hasn’t heard of. They’ve probably paid to get a good seat here.

He’s in a shit mood, he hasn’t seen Joris or Pierre or you in hours, and has only faced red-faced frustrated superiors and now, wide-eyed journalists with loose mouths. The media’s done the mandatory speculation between the two of you, so he already expects questions of that variety, but it’s still hot and angry when he does.

Are you banging the Marc Jacobs model? The Irish reporter asks with a wink, so very unprofessional and not at all belonging to reputable media. The hot leggy one who has fuck me eyes?

Charles clenches his jaw, rolls his eyes, says fuck off mate and shoves him backward a little, then walks away and readjusts his cap. The clip makes Twitter and he feels even worse with the amount of troll accounts telling him to Jeez, take a joke.

After the ordeal, in your hotel room, you sigh softly and run your hands through his still shampoo-smelling hair. “You didn’t need to do that,” you say, a bit strictly. He knows you’re grateful, though, and a bit proud.

“I wanted to,” he insists softly. He forgets to leave before morning; when he does, he forgets his official Ferrari shirt hanging on the seat, leaving in a spare one instead. It’s got his number across the back. You don’t tell him.

—

In between Mexico and Sao Paulo, he manages to catch a flight to New York to peek into one of your photoshoots. It’s for Chanel and he’s half-sure he’s taken more pictures of you than the official photographer did. At this point your vague relationship status has caught onto headlines everywhere, and he doesn’t miss the curious murmurs from paparazzo that follow him as he enters your apartment later to greet you.

You’re in a pair of shorts and a tank top when you open the door, greeting him with a tight hug and leading him inside with a loose grip.

��Wine?”

“Please.” He eyes the wide area, the big floor-to-ceiling windows and the art on the walls. “Hungry?”

“Mmm.” You hum, sliding a glass toward him. “Starving.”

“Pizza?”

“Something else.” You smile. He tears his eyes away from your tits, poking out of the thin cotton, and coughs.

The both of you end up on the couch, your legs draped over his as you talk about racing.

He’s ranting about how he’s neck to neck with Max now, and the final verdict will likely be decided at Abu Dhabi, a fact that sends nerves all through him. You’re listening, you really are, but it’s difficult to keep listening because his hand, big and rough, is stroking your bare calf as he talks absentmindedly. 

You offer the occasional mmm-hmm and uh-huh and even the oh really to sell it, but he doesn’t seem to be conscious of how many sparks are coursing through you because of his hand on your leg. He just talks and talks, accent curving into curse words elicited by the competition.

And his voice, rough and deeper when he slides into Italian phrases, gets in your head, reminds you of the way he’d moaned when you had his dick in your mouth. You like that? he’d said, panting, heavy, hot. His hand remained in your hair, controlling you the same way you did him. Fuck.

When you blink, he’s stopped talking, and has likely noticed your wandering imagination if his teasing smile is anything to go by. You cough, clear your throat, adjust your thighs. You’re thinking—you can’t stop thinking—about what happened in Mexico, not just in the motorhome but in the club where he’d let his hand sprawl over your ass and stay there, possessive.

The tension rises. I owe you. He really does. You reach over and grab your phone from the coffee table, snap a few pictures of him. “—Hey!” He protests, scrabbling to grab it from you while balancing his half-full glass. “I look god awful.”

You stand up, review the picture. He looks so impossibly handsome. “You’re right, you do,” you say, pouting. 

He reaches over again, chuckling, and you avoid him. “Foul play!”

“Tch. At least show it to me,” he says defeatedly, so you do: presenting your screen to him.

Quickly, he makes a grab for it, but you just escape his grip, ending up right in front of him and leaning over. You’re losing your balance, digging your toes into your carpet to maintain stance. He spares a glance at your shorts, riding low on your hips, showing a bit of thin lace.

Charles tugs you forward by the hem of your top and then takes your wrist into his grip—the force of his grab makes your tits shake underneath your flimsy tank top. It’s dragged down so far your tits are spilling out. His eyes flicker down to them, dark, and a pretty smile spreads across his face.

“Come on, give it,” he challenges, eyes narrowing a little. You bite your lip, inwardly liking this a little too much—being at his mercy, trapped in his strong grip. You’re flustered and it shows.

He wrestles you onto his lap with ease, his arms steady around you. You stare downwards, dark eyes meeting his, hand on his broad shoulder for leverage. He’s so pretty, you think, so hot and handsome and you need him right now. Through his jeans you can feel how thick he is, his dick growing, getting hard and huge under you. It feels big even through a few layers—you can’t help but imagine how it might feel inside you.

Your phone clatters to the carpet behind the couch. “I win,” you say breathlessly.

He grabs your hips and jerks his upward, letting his stiff dick press up even more against your shorts.

“I think I’m the winner here,” he says gruffly, hands feeling you up all over. He thumbs at your chest, rubbing over your tits. You shiver—it feels good having him on you like this, your mind turning to mush.

“Shut up,” you laugh, shakily. A hand wanders in between your thighs, another coming to squeeze your barely-covered ass. You can’t focus on much, just his hands roaming everywhere and his hard dick pressing against your core. He shoves your hips downward again, his cock hard and perfectly against your pussy.

“You feel that?” He asks; it leaves him in one low breath.  

“Yeah,” you say, whimpering. “I want it.”

He grinds up against you again, his thumb teasing the hem of your shorts. Closer to where you want it. “Don’t think you could even take it, baby.”

“I hate you,” you say. “You know I can.”

He laughs. “We’ll see, yeah?” You find a rhythm of grinding down against his cock, nestled right against your ass. He’s everywhere and you can’t handle it anymore, finding yourself craving him more and more.

You moan against his neck—and then come to your senses. “No.”

He smirks when you pull away. “Tempted, were you?”

“Not…” You pause. You’re sweaty, flushed all over, and your panties are sticking to you from how wet you’ve grown. “Not very.”

—

Abu Dhabi is a son of a bitch.

It comes with meetings, meetings, debriefs, calls, meetings. Everything is riding on the night’s race, the flurry of social media a welcome source of anxiety for him as he watches the hours whiz by. You’d missed seeing him, understood he was busy; you send a selfie to compensate and it gets him calm enough to last the pre-race buzz.

Time speeds by with lunch, coaching, drills, talks with Carlos and Mattia and even Max, who displays support as strongly as competitiveness. Before he even realizes it, he blinks and he’s in his suit, adjusting his balaclava, inhaling, exhaling. Everything is just the way he likes—needs—it to be.

He drives himself to P2 behind Max, eyes shut.

All else seeps into him, natural method, natural routine. He flexes his thumbs. Through the team radio his engineer goes good luck, and Charles’ practice bleeds into his subconscious. The air is heavy, with tension and excitement, the division of blue and red. Everyone’s eager to see who claims the title. 

The lights go off and everything is left to skill, blurring into noise and turns and expletives yelled into the team radio. He can’t even feel himself think, turning with dexterity and overtaking with the kind of vengeance he hasn’t let out in a while. 

For all his trying, Max keeps up just the same, keeping a neck and neck level for the relative entirety of the race. They’re milking out the last few laps together, and Charles feels every fibre of his being work toward this, just this, nothing but this right now. Nothing but the finish line.

You got this, Charles, says the engineer, voice heightening. Maiden world championship.

He nods to himself, trusts his instincts and when he catches sight of the finish line, he thinks: he’s the best driver on the grid.

So he revs faster, and the rest descends into—

Absolute fucking chaos.

—

He’s smiling when he approaches the reporter, who’s already holding the mic with wonder. He asks for a message in Italian, then reminds him—and the crowd—that, in case he forgot, he’s world champion. Charles thinks he genuinely can’t ever.

“What are you doing to celebrate?” He asks then, smiling.

Sweaty, with damp hair and shiny skin, he smirks and leans closer. “Someone, I hope.”

—

“Hey there, champ.”

You’re already leaning against his hotel room door when he gets there, after the chore of wrestling himself free from the rest of the team pressuring him to get drinks. Carlos helps out, babbles something or other about Charles being “busy with something else”—which isn't wrong, not at all. He offers a smooth wink, bending down to kiss you.

Your mouths meet, softly first then increasingly messy as he pins you against the door. You push away, breathing heavy. “I don’t know what you’re into, but I don't want the top floor of this hotel seeing us fucking.”

“I wasn’t into that, but now that you brought it up…” You swat his arm and he laughs, unlocking the door and pulling you inside. You’re clinging onto him—his arms, his chest, anything, kissing up his neck and jaw. He groans at how needy you are. All for him, he thinks. Probably soaked through your panties and it’s all because of him.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he says gently, voice low as he leads you to the bed. He catches sight of your shirt and a brow raises. “Did you buy that?”

“Hmm?” You look down, following his gaze and blinking. The shirt you’re wearing is loose, hanging off your shoulders and hastily tucked into your miniskirt so it looks like you actually have trousers on. “Oh. No, this is yours.”

“Mine.” He smiles a little. “You look so good in it, princess.” His hands mindlessly grope at you, hungry, sneaking underneath your skirt to feel at the lace there. 

In retaliation, you lean forward, unbutton his jeans and tug at it.

“You left it at one of my”—you gasp, feeling his finger sneak its way beneath your panties—“my hotel rooms.”

“Pretty girl, pretty shirt, pretty lace, yeah?” He tugs, lets the garter of the skirt loosen and fall off your hips on its own. “Red.”

“You take too long,” you groan.

“You’re just eager,” he laughs, thumbing at your clothed cunt.

You’re so wet, evident even in the lazy circles he rubs over your entrance. You’re aching, desperate, begging almost. So he gives you what you want, maneuvers you onto his lap and pushes your (his) shirt up to stuff your mouth with it.

It won’t work for long, but it’s enough. He pushes your panties to the side and pulls his hard dick out. You’re sitting against it now, leaking slick onto it, at his mercy, branding his name and his number across your back. It’s hot. 

He stares at the way you rock softly against him, hungry eyes meeting yours. “You’re so pretty, baby. Ruined.”

“Fuck me already,” you say, voice throaty, innocent.

“Can you take it?” He asks, teasing you, slapping his dick against your clit softly. You whine.

“Please,” you insist. “I want it. Make it fit.”

He’s a massive tease with it, his breath fanning against your skin, hands sticky on where they’ve hiked your shirt up. He lowers you, slower, against the tip of his dick and he watches your eyes flutter when you sink onto it. After ages of waiting. Your grip’s like iron on his shoulders, moans leaving you in quiet bursts of pleasure. 

You’re far away, dumb from the feeling, you barely register the way he shoves the shirt back into your mouth to keep you quiet. “So fucking tight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. It’s muffled, barely intelligible. “For you.”

You’re only able to take it because you’re so wet, so turned on, face and brain filled with nothing but pleasure. He can’t take it.

“Mmmfh,” you say, muffled by the bite of cotton in your mouth. You’re sweaty, flushed, overstimulated—you don’t know where to focus. On his lips against your jaw, his hand on your neck, the way your pussy swallows his aching dick. “It’s so big, I—”

“You okay?” He asks, breathily. Smiling. He’s in control, but still he sounds whiny—almost, if not as desperate as you. “You’ll take it all for me, won’t you?” 

“Oh god,” is all you muster, letting him stretch you out even more, gushing all over his cock. “I, I—”

He moans, his grip tight against your waist, watching his dick bury itself in you. “You’re getting me so full,” you whine. “So deep, I feel it—” you taper off into a moan again when he presses hs thumb to your clit, distracting you from the stretch as he finally, finally bottoms out.

“Good?”

You nod. So good, give me more.

You grind against him, let the shirt fall out of your mouth. “You’re getting my dick so wet,” he comments, breathless. “So pretty for me, too.”

Growing antsy, he attempts to move, but you whine. Your turn to tease, you think, after he was a dick to you just now. “Not yet,” you say, lip caught between your teeth. His hands are tight around your waist. Desperate.

You squeeze around him, watch his brows knit together, a grunt leave him in a frustrated exhale. “You wanna fuck me?” You tease against his neck, blinking innocently.

“Yes,” he replies, not missing a beat. You pout, like you’re empathizing with the problem you’re causing; you grind slowly against him and he lets out a guttural fuuuuck. He’s so big, so hard—you can feel every inch of him inside you.

“Tell me again, Charles,” you say with a giggle. You’re so hot like this, face flushed and timid, hips moving slowly. He could cum just from the way you bite your lip, the way a whimper slips out of you when he hits the right spot.

“—Yeah,” he says, sweetly. “I want to—please, let me fuck you. C’mon, baby, can I?”

“Aww,” you tease. 

“Can I?” He asks again, voice deep and thin with the need to fuck you, thrust up into you and make you the dumb one. His face is flushed and desperate. “Can I move, baby? Let me, please.”

You’re not stupid. You know—if his flushed, pleading face and big green puppy eyes are anything to go by—that he’s going crazy, growing antsy. But you’re not complaining.

“Hmm,” you say, feigning genuine thought. “I don’t know, Charles. Feels good just like this. And you want to make me feel good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Yeah.” You repeat, staring into his dark eyes. He’s frustrated, desperate, flushed all over and sweaty. His fingers dig into your hips. “I’ll make you feel really good, baby, if you let me.”

“Go ahead,” you say softly, “fuck me, please.” And he’s thrusting upwards to meet you halfway. It’s knocking you out, almost, the pleasure of it, the dizzy onslaught of euphoria. He’s stretching you out so well, whining softly into your neck and yeah, you two have waited far too long to have this. You 

“Fuck,” he grunts, lids squeezed shut and head rolled onto your shoulder. “Go on, baby, ride it, make me cum.” He cups your jaw, reaches his thumb into your mouth. It’s too much, all of it. He makes you suck on it while thrusting up, dizzying you with his cock.

He grabs handfuls of your ass, teases his thumb at your tighter asshole just to watch your eyes flutter, feel your cunt grow wetter. “I’ll fuck you even fuller next time,” he says; the implication gets you hot.

You bounce harder, chasing release as his thumb teases over your ass, the tip of it just thrusting in enough to elicit strings of moans out of you. “Come on, ride me,” he goads. “So good for me.”

“Fuck,” you pant, “cum in me, please.”

You cum first, writhing around him and riding your orgasm out in lazy grinds over his hard cock. You want to see him cum, see his eyebrows knit and his mouth release pretty whines, feel him claim you inside, hands hot and heavy on your ass. He does, with a guttural fuuuuck, shoving his dick up in you to the base and spurting all his cum in you.

He thrusts, watches his cum leak out of you, fucks it back in, in a vicious cycle. You shiver, blinking coquettishly and watching along—and then you’re both crumpling over each other on the bed behind you. You pant heavily against his chest.

“Hey.” He muses out loud, drumming against your skin.

“Yeah?”

“I have thirty-six condoms we need to go through. Wanna go on a date?”

[verysium]

PLEASE DO BLUE LOCK ICKS IM BEGGING🙏😭🌹

😏 coming right up anon. gonna channel my inner critic and not hold back on any of these.

RIN

brother complex. not much else to say except that he needs to get a life. not everything is about metaphorically crushing your older brother's dreams and brooding in the dark hate of retribution.

competitive but only because he is a desperate whore for external validation. ignores everyone but craves the attention of a sole person named sae itoshi. was defeated by isagi once and has never let go of it since. has a one-track mind that is impossible to derail. stubborn when he wants to be.

probably a virgin and will continue to be one until his late 30s.

has not known a single day of peace ever since sae ditched him for the popular girlies. as a result, he has developed a very concerning case of social awkwardness. his idea of a conversation involves a brick wall and thirty minutes of you staring at his resting bitch face. constantly looks like that one grumpy cat meme. judges you for your poor decisions but then gets aggressively defensive when you point out his own mistakes.

reeks of so much teen angst that even metallica can't save him. the problem is that he has nothing to back up his emo persona. his insults lack creativity and, unfortunately for him, phrases like "lukewarm" and "half-baked" and "hell" do not make his words carry more weight. uses the f-word but in the most embarrassing context that it makes you facepalm and internally cringe.

SAE

zero social awareness. this boy's head is empty. the lights are not on up there. there are no picture frames or furniture. the curtains are drawn, and there is not a sliver of clouds or sunshine. cannot read body language and does not know what a filter is.

the source of all of rin's stress. he is the original trauma projector, creator of generational cycles. not even subtle about it. "turns out i was wrong. i thought japan was incapable of ever giving birth to decent forwards." sir....with the way you worded that, you knew exactly what you were doing when you gave rin false hope.

swears but it's even worse than his brother. literally called his elders a "fatso and bob cut duo" and "insect turd." i mean....there is a line between what is considered a legitimate burn and what is a first grader making up insults in his coloring book.

has a horrible haircut and no fashion taste. i already talked about this previously, but it was so bad it deserved a second mention.

a freak but tries to justify it rationally. like what do you mean you can tell a person's athletic ability from their buttock size? just admit you have a kinky fetish already.

somewhat of a coward but i'm gonna give him some leniency due to his tragic child genius backstory. tbh he's just an eighteen-year-old boy who needs a goddamn break.

KAISER

alexa please play clown music. this man sets himself for failure and then wallows in self-pity when he actually fails. like what did you expect? you knew what was going to happen the moment you challenged isagi like that. it was most definitely your fault you got violently humbled.

has a borderline god complex (currently calls himself an emperor but has not evolved into a deity yet.) unfortunately, he does not stand on business. cue the dramatic meltdowns when he realizes there is an actual gap between his ability and his reputation. if you're going to lie, at least make it believable.

insecure and mentally unstable. he probably cuts and re-dyes his hair every single time shit happens. no wonder his locks get shorter every time.

lazy when it comes to anything that is not football and expects others to do it for him. demands princess treatment wherever he goes. unfortunately, not all of us have servants with no self-respect like ness.

"it is not enough that i should succeed, others should fail" type of person.

does not wear shoes and even if he does, it's sandals. put them grippers away.

NAGI

a literal sloth who has so much potential but uses none of it. has no intrinsic motivation of his own, so if he's going to do anything, it has to be you behind the wheel, making sure he gets put to work.

does not have a close relationship with his parents, and so he has no sense of community, holidays, or traditions. no fun at all if you want him to do things like christmas shopping or birthday celebrations.

rots in bed all day and then has to nerve to ask you to carry him around. your back better be strong because his 190 cm body is not going to be light.

not loyal (need i say more.)

REO

second male lead syndrome. also known as that one popular guy who's always picked last.

acts like a victim but then when you realistically tell him to how to change his situation he refuses to do so. you cannot ask for advice and then take none of it to heart. no wonder you're still not over your ex.

"i can fix him" mentality. no, you can't. you are a seventeen-year-old child, not a licensed therapist and nagi isn't even all that.

NESS

touch-starved to the point he will stay in a toxic and abusive relationship in order to gain some scrap of affection. just because you were the black sheep of your family does not mean you can lose all sense of personal dignity.

probably stalks all the people he hates. has a burn book like regina george from mean girls. cuts out and glues little pictures of kaiser all over his bedroom. doodles hearts all over it with glittery gel pen. isagi's face and name are scratched out of every team photo.

delusional and prone to mood swings. medicated but at this point, he is beyond saving.

ISAGI

a home wrecker. has ruined more relationships than he can count on ten fingers yet still manages to smile like he's some angelic saint.

solves jigsaw puzzles for a living (not very cool if you ask me.)

has some unresolved anger management issues. probably repressed all his negative feelings when he was younger, so it all comes out when he's on the field. unfortunately, his twilight-sparkle-friendship-is-magic agenda is not going to work if he keeps cussing out his teammates like that. but then again, he is the main character, so i guess his plot armor makes up for his pitfalls.

says that he's a good guy but then holds personal vendettas against rivals he doesn't like. boy was so ready to throw hands when #kaisagi was trending on the internet. but when you actually think about, he's similar to kaiser in more ways than he'd like to admit.

BAROU

has the worst case of high and mighty "holier-than-thou" attitude. isagi put his ego in check, but it still peeks out from time to time.

he was the ugliest baby when he was born. i am not going to hold back on the child barou slander because it is true. no, he was not a cute and lovable bundle of joy. he looked like a demonic gremlin.

he needs to take more risks in life and try cross-dressing. simply imagining him in a maid uniform will not suffice. it needs to be made into a reality.

with how nit-picky he is, i doubt people can realistically stay within a 1-meter radius around him. unless you are a clean freak yourself, his constant complaints will start to get annoying after a time. even if he does have good intentions, he needs to let people have a little breathing room sometimes. a messy room is not going to kill you.

BACHIRA

this boy's brain is smooth. no folds. no gray matter. no intelligence either. his pencil and eraser have been left untouched since day one. if he wasn't crazily good at football, he would be unemployed and homeless in the future. not even a mcdonald's wants him.

one of those people who will do the literal opposite of whatever you say. you want him to stop talking? well, now he's never going to shut up. you tell him not to step on a pile of dog shit? well, now he's going to walk right into it. you want him to quit running around and act normal? well, now it's his life's mission to make you as annoyed as possible. please pray for your hair follicles because at the end of the day, you're not going to have many left with how much he makes you want to tear your hair out.

has the cerebral capacity of a toddler. if he thinks monsters are real, he's going to think anything is real. super gullible when it comes to any form of scam, ploy, or trickery. the only way he would not be fooled is if he's also played the same prank before.

SHIDOU

a brazen pervert. says the most out-of-pocket things and refuses to apologize for them. sometimes it comes out a little too sleazy for your liking.

"to me a goal is fertilization! a shot is the seed and the goal is the egg!! and the birth of that joy i call an explosion!! my genes are gonna knock you up!" let us give ourselves a moment of silence to digest this quote. only shidou ryusei would come up with a sperm and egg metaphor to describe football. (i guess protection means nothing to him.)

has no empathy. if you dislike him or cannot keep up with him, you're a literal nobody in his books. no sportsmanship. no compassion. no self-awareness.

you cannot say "balls" to him in a serious tone without him misinterpreting it as something dirty. that alone should tell you enough. stay the hell away from him.

where do men get the audacity? right here. from this little bastard. he invented the term "shameless slut." boy was getting off during the u-20 arc and on live TV too. no wonder sae said he was disgusting.

and finally, he comes from a long line of cockroaches. he's even got the antennae to prove it.

i think this might have been a little excessive, but i have no regrets about it. you're welcome anon ♡

[n3xii]

Today's reading will focus on:

-your greatest strengths and abilties

-your "weaknesses" and how they can be leveraged to be skills. you have three pokemon cards to choose from.

CARD ONE

strengths and skills:

when I look at your cards I feel like im looking at someone who has been at rock bottom and knows how to talk themselves (and others) out of a low point. You know how to extract lessons from situations others would see as a ''failure." in your world giving up doesn't exist, any "failure" is just a bigger, overarching lesson that helps you get closer to success. I feel like one of your strengths is being able to see things from both a higher perspective, and as the perspective of someone who has been at rock bottom. Its like you have both a helicopter view of a situation, and a on the ground view as well. This dual understanding allows you to help other people on a deeper level where no one else has been able to reach them. you help others understand their situation from a higher perspective but also from the perspective of someone whos ''been there.'' this skill reminds me of a Lenord cohen lyric where he describes Jesus, "and ..he realized only drowning men could see him." You can connect with people who have never had anyone meet them where they are, because you know how to guide them out of the waters. you have birds eye view which provides a greater understanding of a turbulent situation and its purpose without loosing sight of how it feels to be at ''rock bottom" on a personal, intimate level.

weakness and how it can be a strength:

Your weakness has to do with maintaining objectivity and balance. because you know so intimately how others may feel when they are at rock bottom, maintaining the boundary of not accidently going back down can be something that hinders you. But at the same time, this can be a strength in the sense that you feel very strongly for them, you want to stand up for them and find a fair conclusion. Your sense of justice may make your biased at times, but it also makes you motivated

CARD TWO

your strengths and skills

you can see beyond LIES and MISTRUTHS, you're someone who sees through anything thats unclear and confusing. you know when someone is trying to misdirect you and to confuse you, you have an uncanny sense of when something isnt adding up. i also feel that you can cut through extra details and bluff to get to the point of something, you dont mince words and you communicate very well regardless of the medium you choose.

weaknesses and how it can be your strength

you may not come from money, or you may not come from a background that gives you a soft cushion for you to fall back on. lacking a solid foundation may be something you consider a weakness about yourself, but this is actually something that can be your biggest strength- i know many people who come from BIG money. im talking Mercedes car before they even got an official license. Their privilege does help them in life. HOWEVER, they have no work experience, no applicable skills, no understanding of what its like to work 8-12 hours a day. they have never made a resume as they have literally never worked a job. I used to think this was something to envy but then I realized something pivotal: when their main providers die and that foundation goes away, they will have to learn skills many of us learned at 15-16 years old in their twenties or even thirties. that sounds like my worst nightmare.

when you dont come from that type of comfort, you have to learn to rely on yourself. this is a strength that makes you more powerful than alot of people in this world because you know how to build your own stability instead of having it provided for you. you will create your own legacy.

CARD THREE

strengths and skills

im getting the sense that you're very good at entertaining yourself, you have a magnetic sense to you that could attract others to you but its like you prefer your own company. Your passions, creativity and humor are enough to supply you with enough entertainment for a lifetime. you dont rely on other people to do this for you, you know how to make yourself laugh, how indulge in your passions, how to make yourself smile. You are your own sun, literally, my intution compared you to the sun lol

your weakness and how it can be a strength

you're very analytical, alert and aware of your surroundings. this may make you overly cautious, anxious but at the same time, its a strength to have the awareness that you possess. You're quick and on your feet, its difficult to catch you off guard. your focus may be pulled in several directions at once, but still, you have keen senses. I feel like you process stimuli very quickly, its may be a weakness in the sense that its hard to process it all at once, but it also makes you very difficult to catch off guard. You notice details others wouldnt, you hear things others cant.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

here’s my submission for the fall coffee house put together by @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno - im not gonna lie i have no idea where this came from but its the longest thing ive written in literal months so enjoy!

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: none :) except that i didn’t proofread lmao

You’ve always been a planner, always had goals for your future, dream boards and five year plans and a list of things to accomplish before you turned thirty. None of those ever included feeling so claustrophobic in what was supposed to be your dream job that you packed everything up and moved away and got a job at a coffee shop. Your life is far from terrible, and you’re quite happy with your choices, but you know if you were somehow able to tell past you where you would end up at twenty seven, she would have spit in your face.

The coffee shop you work at is wonderful, especially now that autumn is in full swing, because it’s almost absurdly cozy and warm. You’re able to wear whatever you want, craft playlists, design menu boards, and spend all day talking with regulars and newcomers alike. Even if it wasn’t where you imagined you would end up, you couldn’t be happier. Especially when an incredibly attractive single father starts to frequent during your shifts.

Isabel and Frankie Morales are nothing short of delightful. The pair of them are absurdly polite, which is especially adorable on the kindergartner, and Frankie is a generous tipper. Before, they had come in every Friday when he picked Isabel up from school for a cookie to split, but now that the weather has turned, they come in most days around two for hot chocolates. Most of the time they retreat to a booth, but on busy days, Frankie helps his daughter onto one of the high top stools along the counter before sitting down next to her, giving you the perfect opportunity to watch and listen to their conversations, still a little scared to actually speak to him beyond the small talk when you take their order.

Today, it’s raining, pouring really, and the shop is mostly empty, the students who normally hunker down for study marathons nowhere to be seen and even most of your regulars hadn’t bothered to show up, choosing to stay dry at home rather than brave the elements for their coffee fix. Your boredom grows with each hour that passes, but then the bell above the door rings to life, and Frankie and Isabel hurry inside, an umbrella trailing behind.

“It’s raining really hard,” Isabel says, trudging up to the counter and leaving her father behind to deal with shaking out the umbrella to keep it from dripping. Normally, she’s glued to her father’s side, but maybe she feels safer with the emptiness of the shop.

“Yeah it is,” you agree with the girl, trying not to laugh as she attempts to stretch herself tall enough to see you over the counter, and you compensate by leaning forward on your elbows, “I didn’t think you guys were going to show up.”

“We were already wet, what’s the worst that could happen,” Frankie says as he approaches the counter himself, umbrella sufficiently dry.

“And I really needed a treat,” Isabel adds, sounding so much like an adult trapped in a toddler’s body you can’t help the giggle that escapes you.

“Oh, yeah? What happened?”

“Don’t get her started,” Frankie mutters, and you laugh again, calming your giggles as Isabel clears her throat.

She launches into a story about recess and reading spots and lunch tables, and it’s hard to keep it all straight, but you nod along all the same, sympathizing with the exhaustion of being a little girl.

“That sounds rough,” you say when she finally finishes her story, and she nods sagely, causing you to fight against your giggles again, “how about I make you an extra special hot chocolate, hm? Would that help?”

“Yes please!” Isabel’s eyes light up, her little frown replaced with a gap-toothed grin.

“Same for you?” You ask Frankie, even though you know he’ll refuse.

“Just a black coffee for me, please.”

You ring them up for a small black coffee and a small regular hot chocolate, even though you give them both larges and you add flavoring and toppings to Isabel’s drink. Instead of slipping into one of the many open booths, they take a spot at the counter, and your heart expands to an impossibly large size. Handing over their drinks, you place a plate of cookies in front of them too. They’re all Halloween and fall themed, and you’d spent the better part of the afternoon decorating them with more care than necessary, simply because you had the time. Frankie starts to shake his head, but you’re one step ahead of him.

“Please, just take them. They’ll all go to waste otherwise, no one else is gonna come in.”

“You should take them, then,” he counters, not giving in.

“C’mon, I’ve eaten about ten of these bad boys today already, and I’ve got a box full of pastries set aside for when I leave. Take the damn cookies,” you’d normally never use that language with a customer, but it’s dead besides the two of them and you’re grinning so you don’t think he’ll take offense.

A smile blooms on his face even as he shakes his head at you, and he takes two cookies from the plate, one for himself and one for Isabel, who looks like the happiest girl in the world now that she has cookies to add to her ginormous hot chocolate.

It’s dark by the time they get ready to leave, and you feel a little awful, like you’ve kept them trapped with you when they could have a million things they needed to do all because you were a little bored.

“Thanks for keeping me company,” you say, a little sheepish as Frankie helps Isabel back into her raincoat, which is difficult because she refuses to part with the cookies you’d boxed up for them to take home.

“We should be thanking you, for the cookies and the company,” he counters, pausing in his struggle to smile at you. You smile back, but then Isabel is tugging on his sleeve and pulling him down to her level. She whispers at him, and they’re a little too far for you to hear, so you just busy yourself with wiping down the already spotless counter until Isabel clears her throat rather dramatically and you turn your attention back to the pair with a gentle smile.

“You know, these are a lot of cookies for only two people,” Frankie starts, and you’re getting ready to argue with him, thinking he’s trying to get out of taking them again when he continues, “maybe we should split them three ways? And we can make you hot chocolate for a change?”

It takes you a second to figure out what he means, but when he does, there’s no stopping the smile that overtakes you, and you’re so beyond happy you can’t even speak for a minute.

“I’ll be done here around six,” you reply once you can form words again, and Frankie’s smile is so gorgeous it threatens to eliminate that ability all over again, “if you’re not already sick of me.”

“I could never get sick of you,” he responds, and if you weren’t already a complete goner, you definitely are now.

[pokechbi]

I love your writing so much!! I was wondering if you could write about könig and ghost finding out that y/n is a couple years older than them! How would they react? If you’re not taking requests feel free to ignore this!!! Thank you!!

Hi ♡ Anon ♡ !!! Tysm !!! I'm so glad you love my writing. Thank you for the very unique idea !! I was so lost at how to even go about this at first but once i started i literally could not stop! So ty! Ya'll are bringing me out of my writers funk fr im so so grateful 💗

JSYK: I know zilch about military stuff so forgive me for any inaccuracies!

WC: 1.1K ♡

Enjoy 🎀

♡Konig & Ghost find out you're a few years older than them...♡

König

During the time that the KorTacs and T141 had joined forces, you had gotten pretty comfortable around the newcomers. Specifically one big, mountain of a man named König. He was a no-nonsense man when it came to his work, but aside from his duties he fared to be a pretty decent friend that you often hung around in your free time. You often asked him about his life in the military, learning many skills of the trade since he was a Colonel, and you had only managed to grow yourself to second lieutenant, the lowest commissioned officer rank.

While you were on the topic of years spent in the army, somehow your ages came into play and while he was still protective of revealing his exact age to anyone, he lead you on with the fact that he was in his mid-thirties. You were no priss, so talking about your age was something you didn't mind. When you revealed to him that you were a few years older than him over lunch, he paused, taking in your new revelation.

"You're older than me? How can that be? You look so...young" He trails off, stabbing at his lunch with his fork. You glanced at him, a surprised look on your face as you chuckled. He wasn't the kind of man to give out compliments very often, so it scratched a new itch hearing him use them on you. "Well thank you, that's very kind of you, König" She replied, her eyes darting from his eyes to the table.

"You carry yourself very well. Physically and emotionally, so I guess it's no surprise that you're older than some of us." He continues, his German accent thick on some words more than others. You smile at him as you blush slightly, waiting for him to finish chewing so he can continue speaking. "There's a quote, by the German novelist Franz Kafka. Youth is happy because it has the capacity to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old." He clears his throat. "So...never stop seeing your beauty, I guess." He pauses after speaking, standing suddenly as he walks away from the table, striding towards the door before you could begin to reply.

You knew his social anxiety had caused him to distance himself from people sometimes, but you had no idea why he was still anxious near you after all the time you'd spent together. You were only just friends, right?...Right?

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost was fond of you, unlike some of his other unit members of T141. He admired the way you carried yourself on the field, possessing a natural leadership instinct that he had worked endlessly, for years to attain. He envied you at times. He envied your ability to take risks without much thoughts of consequences, and you always trusted your gut. Which 100% of the time proved to be right. He knew it was some weird woman's instinct that always overpowered him. It sometimes embarrassed him when you outdid him mentally, standing your ground and showing him who's boss in front of his soldiers. While you were still under his command, he saw you as his right hand woman, always by his side to have his back when he needed you.

The team had just finished a debriefing for the new upcoming mission that you all were set to leave for in a few days time. You reeled at the information that was revealed, running your hands over your face in frustration. He sat by your side, trying to cheer you up with his sarcastic jokes and self-deprecative witticisms. Ignoring him, you shook your head as you flipped through the classified files once more.

"In all of my 37 years of living, I haven't come across a terrorist quite like him. Jesus." You sigh, standing to your feet as you begin to pace the room.

"Excuse me?" He stood suddenly, pacing over to you slowly. Your neck cranes as he approaches you, towering over you like a building. You hated when he did this. You placed a hand on his chest, trying to push him backwards. "Come on, Simon. Back up. You know I hate when you do that." You say frustrated, your hand meeting his hard chest as you swallow hard. He doesn't budge, staring down into your eyes as he bores a hole into your very soul.

"Never mind that." He disregards her demand, stepping closer to her. "You're...older than me? Since when?" He asks in disbelief.

You chuckle at him, the smile falling from your face as you realized that he wasn't making one of his stupid jokes. "Yeah... so? What's wrong with that?" You say, crossing your arms over your chest, causing your breasts to perk up the slightest bit. His eyes slyly graze over your covered cleavage under your tight black turtleneck, so quickly you wouldn't have caught it if you blinked. Realizing what he was staring at caused your stomach to flutter, your gaze shying away from his as you drop your arms to your sides. You were alone in the room now, the silence thickening the air between the two of you and making it hard to breathe.

"Uhh... No. Nothing's wrong with that, it's just..." He trails off, ending his sentence with a chuckle. "It's just that what, Simon?!" You press, raising your voice at him the slightest bit. Your blossoming friendship with him was on the line, and you gave him a stare that read: choose your next words carefully, boy.

"It's just that...It explains a lot. How you've always been so... confident. So right about everything. I get where that's all coming from now." He chuckles softly, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, scratching under the hem of his balaclava. "Trust me, I like it more than you know." He finishes.

You smile at him slightly and nod your head, suddenly understanding why Simon had favored you all this time, the puzzle pieces all fitting together now. You realized that he liked the fact that you acted older than him. Your usual feminine maturity making him feel secured in his team. You made him feel confident in his actions, as long as he was by your side. There also might have been another reason he wasn't upset at all at this news, and that was because Simon "Ghost" Riley, had a thing for being controlled by a woman in power.

There was now a clear cut reason he'd tag along next to you in his free time more than usual, asking for your advice on career-altering and mission-making decisions. He trusted you, more than a friend, more than his soldier. He trusted you as his woman, even if you didn't know you were his yet.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[lonigiri]

Brother’s best friend hao and you secretly going at it 😣😣

warnings: brothers bestfriend!zhanghao x fem!reader, non idol au, small age gap (literally a year), reader is a virgin, breeding mentioned, brother matthew, aftercare cutie, fingering, slight body worship, prolly more but im high so leave me alone

notes: WOOT WOOT

——————

you sat in the living room of your parents house. just scrolling through instagram. there was a knock on the door and you werent expecting anyone and it was just you and your brother home as your parents were on a work trip. "CHU!" you yelled out. "DOOR!" you groaned as matthew didnt come down the stairs, or even yell back to you. you got up from your comfortable place on the couch and opened the door. you just groaned as you saw your brothers best friend, zhanghao, he just smiled "what are you doing here?" you rolled your eyes. "okay no, hi? how are you?, i see how it is." "matthew is upstairs, probably playing valorant or something as that he didnt hear me." "yeah i could hear you outside the house, he must have it blasting in his ears." you just glared at him as he walked past you and up the stairs. "whatever." you grumbled and closed the door.

you and hao never got along. ever since your brother met him in grade school. hao was a year older then you and he always made it known and used it against you. he would go on trips with you and your family and he would always get the better bed then you because he would use his age against you. it always pissed you off.

"can you order pizza, i dont have any money" matthew ran down the stairs and hung over the couch. "pleeeeassssee for your amazing favorite older brother." "i only have one older brother." "exactly!" you just groaned. "what makes you think i have money." "because i know mom and dad left you with the money for food, so technically its our money, soooo buy us pizza!" "god, fine. but you have to go get it." "why cant we get delivery?" "because its like 10 bucks more, just go get it i'll give you the cash." he rolled his eyes and stuck his hand out for the money. you grabbed your wallet and pulled out thirty dollars and placed it in his hand. he stuffed the money into his pocket and grabbed his keys and left. "i'll be back in like an hour or something."

——————

about 10 minutes later zhang hao came down stairs and jumped onto the couch next to you. he peered over your phone. "what are you watching?" "god, personal space is a thing your parents ever taught you?" you pushed him away from you. "yeah they did. just when i see you, i cant help myself." your eyes widened at his words. "what did you just say?" "what im trying to say is, can i kiss you?" you just blinked, and without thinking you nodded. his hand placed onto your cheek and he leaned in his lips pressing against yours. your lips moving in sync with each other. his tongue brushing against your lip and you opened your mouth to let him in. your tongues fighting for dominance. at the end you let him win. your make out ended with him being on top of you as you were layed down on the couch.

he detached his lips from yours and made his way down. lips trailing kisses down your neck. your hand making its way to his hair, "hao, i, i've never," "its okay, we can take it slow." he kissed your cheek. you nodded and he pushed your shirt up and kissed down your abdomen. "can i take these off." he tugged at the waistband of your sweats. you nodded and he pulled them down and dropped them to the side. he went down between your thighs and kissed the insides of them. nipping at the soft skin between them. leaving wet kisses. the pad of his thumb pressed against your clit through your panties. your hips rolled against his hand. he smiled up at you, "you eager?" you just whimpered at his words. you felt so embarrassed being this open and vulnerable with your brothers best friend, but god did it feel good. he dragged your panties down your legs, stuffing them into his jeans pocket. his middle and ring finger sliding through your slick coated folds. "so wet for me? wonder if you get wet like this everytime you see me huh?" he stuffed his middle finger into your pussy, your cunt swallowing it. "fuck, so warm in ere' wonder how my cock would feel in this tight cunny huh?" hao was so good at manipulating his words just right to get you squeezing around his finger. he soon pushed in a second finger scissoring them to stretch you out a tiny bit before unbuckling his belt.

he pushed his jeans down and along with them his boxers. his swollen cock slapping against his abdomen. "we gotta be fast, matthew could be back anytime." hao sputtered, it honestly sounded like he was talking to himself. he rubbed his slick covered fingers all over his cock before spitting onto his hand and fisting his cock for a second, covering himself in saliva. his cock head leaking as he rubbed himself through your folds before centering himself with your hole. "you ready princess?" he looked at you with half lidded eyes and you just nodded, the petname hitting you in your core. he pushed the tip of his cock into your cunt, your pussy clenching around the barely inch that was inside of you. the stretch of his thick tip was already so much. you slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to keep your noises in. hao looked at you disappointed "dont cover your pretty sounds, wanna hear em'" he smiled at you half lidded, pushing inch and inch into you. your back arching at the fullness you were feeling. "feel, feels s' haaaah~ good hao." you said in broken speach. your eyes closing not being able to look at zhanghao in the eyes any longer. your cunt squeezing the hell out of hao's cock, he could not feel any better, your pretty cunt was absolutely perfect for him. the feeling in your stomach only grew as he thrusted shallowy into you, your slick coating hao's cock every time he pulled out. "don' stop hao, s' close" your words slurred out of your mouth. strings of moans and whimpers got released as he thrusted deeper into you.

his cock hit your cervix, almost immediately after you released. sucking his cock in so tight, "fuck~ pretty, keep sucking me in like this i might have to breed this tiny hole." whines dropped from your mouth as he fucked you into overstimulation. you going officially cock dumb. letting out meaningless babbles. he just laughed at you, not believing that he was fucking his best friends sister absolutely dumb. his hips stuttered before pulling out and rubbing himself, cum splattering all over your stomach and abdomen. he let out the most pretty grunts and groans before sighing and resting his head in your neck.

he sat back up, grabbing tissues from the side table wiping up his cum, cleaning you up. your chest stuttering from his touches still being sensitive. he threw out the tissues and dressed you picking you up bridal style taking you up to your room and puting you in your brain so matthew wouldnt see you shortcircuited. hao left a kiss on your forehead before leaving your room.

[thesuperiorrobin]

I literally love the “crazy idea, let’s make out” it it very good!!! It is supper good!! Can I request the bat boys type? Thank you for your time! Please take care!

IM SO GLAD YOU LIKED IT. I had to read other peoples make out scene bc I honestly did not know how to write one. I think I did an okay job tho😭

Writing for Dick is so effing hard for some reason

Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson

I whole heartily believe he likes taller women. No doubt about it

But if you’re bit on the shorter side that’s fine too.

I feel like he wants someone who’s independent and doesn’t rely on others

Someone who wouldn’t mind him being away from days to months at a time because of work and all .

Wants someone who matches his energy.

For like a thirty something year old he does have a lot of energy.

He wants someone who can take a joke and doesn’t take it the wrong way. He wants someone to laugh with him and not get mad.

Definitely wants someone who’s laid back but not to laid back where it becomes a problem.

100% wants someone to cry with him when he watches a very sad drama.

I think it’s cannon that he’s on the more talkative side?

Idk but if he is he wants someone can he can talk with—hours on end and the conversation never get boring.

Would 100% date a superhero

Jason todd

Jason like chubby girls. 100% you can’t change my mind about it

I also feel like he has a thing for strong women too.

When It comes to Jason I think he has two types.

The first time is obviously the strong type

Someone he doesn’t take shit from know one

Is really just a badass person In general

Or type 2

Someone who’s really soft spoken

Someone who’s quiet but not to quiet where they don’t even bother to communicate. Like a shy person.

Said person who’s also very caring and kind.

Jason definitely wants someone who shares the same interests. Not all of them but the small ones like reading.

Headcannon: Jason prefers the book copies instead of the online ones. He likes the smell of new books fight me.

Jason also wants someone who deals with his shit better then he does honestly

This man has been through a lot no doubt about.

And he’s not great when he has to deal with his problems that are emotionally and mentally.

So someone who can help him and guide him (even if he does deny it at first) trust he will be grateful for it

He would not date someone who’s a hero or vigilante.

He tried but failed

Tim Drake

Definitely likes shorter women

I mean mans only like 5’4? “5’4?

So technically he’s tall but not that tall like the others 💀

He’s good at technology and really wants someone who’s interested in his hobbies. Most people don’t find them interesting. (But I mean cmon if he was able to tell the world he hacks things to get information on them for Batman—then that has them sold, but he can’t)

He gives me bad girl x Nerd boy vibe 😔

I’m kidding no I’m not

I feel like he would want someone who’s more on the quiet side and someone who’s willing able to lay down next to him for a long periods of time bc we all know this man can sleep anywhere at anytime if he felt like it.

So having someone who can just lay there while he sleeps are pointers.

This isn’t a preference but he 100% needs someone who can take care of him.

Because him not sleeping for long periods of time results in him not eating and only serving off coffee. Not good for him.

Tim seems like the kind to date someone who’s a superhero or whatever.

That way they can be closer.

Damian Wayne

Damian doesn’t have a preference.

I Don’t think he would care if your short, tall, Skinny or chubby.

Like Jason I also think he has two types.

The first type would someone who’s very mysterious. He likes that.

Someone who’s mature and calm during rough times or situations.

Like Dick, someone who is very independent.

Second type is quiet literately the opposite of what his personality is

Someone who’s kind and warm to others.

Bubbly kind of personality.

He doesn’t want someone who talks to much.

Like at all.

he wants someone who shares the same interest as him—Y’know fighting for animal right and what not.

Not a preference but I think Damian needs someone who can help him with the reality of the world and stuff

Because I believe Damian does not know how to act like a kid his age until he meets his partner who show him.

Would not date anyone who’s in the superhero gig.

Like at all. He hates the idea

He would rather date a civilian. They are less likely to get killed during a mission.

Writing for them is so much fun I might do more headcannons about them 😭🤚

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

sorry for being super late to the zhuge liang time-loop party but image we're several iterations in and our boy kongming is sitting in his little mountain hut waiting for liu bei to show up like he always does but this time sun zhou yu turns up instead

oh ho this is a hilarious concept! this is the enemies to enemies timeline we all need. i think it would make more sense for lu su and zhou yu to turn up, because of the simple reason that sun quan is a duke at this point and can't leave the palace for such an extended period of time vs liu bei the one-horse warlord.

ok, the timeline needs to be super fucked up at this stage in order to bring these two togather, because in the alpha timeline even though kongming was fairly well known as a genius hermit, he hasn't done anything so extraordinary at this stage that it warrents a personal visit from the two most powerful people in the southland.

i think we can do this by making him kinda new to the whole timeloop thing, and he accidentally/on purpose reveals some future events in order to get liu bei to find him faster, and it ends up backfiring.

picture this: kongming is sitting in his thatched hut, tears in his eyes, heart all a-flutter, waiting for his beloved leige lord to turn up, and the servant is like "master, there's three important men at the door" (idk who the third guy should be but it's a nice round number. maybe huang gai?) kongming: !!!! "ok, I will play some music to set the mood. i was rude last time by falling asleep and i want to make a good impression."

not even 3 bars in and a VERY familiar voice calls out "you're flat."

kongming is so fucking outraged that for a second he forgets to be surprised because that was ONE HALF-STEP DOWN, ASSHOLE!!!! YOU trying getting reincarnated and deincarnated several times over and then meet your soulmate (he called liu bei that irl, look it up) and see how steady your hands are, asshole!!! god, this is just like wei wuxian from my danmeis...

then it dawns on him that none of the peach garden trio have musical literacy. he runs outside, takes one look at the three men in his courtyard and is like "well, this timeline is a wash. aight im gonna go out back and bash my head in. on second thought, i should do it here and freak zhou yu out. suicidal existential despair is no excuse not to troll zhou yu."

but the afformentioned takes this opportunity to stroll into kongming's bedroom, and starts tuning his qin (not a euphamism) without permission. kong ming says passive-agressively, "i see you're quite adept at tightening another man's strings" (not a euphamism), zhou yu replies "a neglected instrument is like a neglected soul" (not a euphamism), "are you offering to duet?" says kongming through gritted teeth to which zhou yu replies "oh don't worry, i can see you're out of practise so i'll be gentle and take it slow," (not a--) and it's at this point lu su grabs huang gai by the elbow and goes "wow, what a nice bamboo grove! the two of us are going for a walk! a nice LONG walk FAR AWAY in the BAMBOO GROVE for THIRTY TO FORTY MINUTES! see you in THIRTY TO FORTY MINUTES!"

huang gai: i literally spent 30 years in the army you don't need all these euphamisms.

lu su: LALALALA I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE SCENIC RUSTLING OF THE BAMBOO!

*insert that scene from Flirting Scholar where zhou yu and kongming start fighting, they roll under a table, there is a brief skirmish, and they come out with their clothes swaped. they are playing doubles on a single qin the entire time.*

[sideblogdotjpeg]

fucking hate them ..... fucking god ...... sick to my stomache .......... fucking hate .... what theyve done to meee ........ literally its sickening. he was doomed from the start and he couldnt escape. the discarded remains of the thing that destroyed his life, and scarred him, and put him like a cog in an endless machine of tragedy with no way out..... the clone who carried with him always the name plate from the place that tortured and ultimately killed him. gave him a way out. *kept* giving him a way out, even when there was no possible way but through. and he kept trying ..... and he wanted swag to live so so badly ... and the thing that swag spent thirty years running away from, now has him in a vial of spores around his neck and is taking him to see the world he couldnt when he was alive. im going to combust. why would caldwell and murph do that to me

[forthechubbies]

Dirty Hands// Cho Gue Sung Imagine 🔞 Ex! Chubby Reader ♡

How did you get here? You hate sports...You hate exercise in general-you, like your thickness, and that's that's. Moving away from your self-love for a second, If memory serves me right, You were dragged here by you're fit friend, Sumi.

Speaking of, she's looking at you in disappointment right now. Time to tune back in-

Sumi clicked her tongue, obviously annoyed by your space-out expression. "Are you high or something? Why are you not cheering or at least stand up when I do." One might say you're being selfish, but you refused to take fake interest in this stupid sport (no offense just for the story).

Your silent protest stuck out like a sore thumb...and your well hot in his eyes.

He admired your boredom and actually found it rather amusing. You could sit still if your life depended on it; He watches you bunch up your dress just to ensure you didn't step in anything.

Possibly food or not...You never know with hundred year old bleachers.

She's so snobby. He thought with a slightly playful grin. I guess that is my fault.

Sumi noticed the flower player ogling her friend; she gasped, alerting you in the process. " Shit, Do you think he likes you? Soccer player, sugar daddy?"

"As if, " You scoffed. " I can smell him from here."

Sumi beamed. " If you don't want him. Can I have him, please?"

.....

Your plans for today didn't involve waiting thirty minutes for Sumi, who decided to run to the bathroom at the last second, leaving you alone to stay put in the entrance tunnel-

"This tunnel is disgusting.." You cleared your throat in an attempt not the dry heave at the used condom flung aside like a snot rag. "I'm gonna died here."

" You're so dramatic." A man's voice nagged behind your head.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. " And you're so domestic, Watching me like a little puppy." You turned towards your ex-husband.

Gurl, Did I forget to tell you he was your hot ex-husband who blew his chances with you after a sexual/emotionally draining physical altercation between the two of you took place in public?! Oops! The tea is hot today.

What a mighty mouse you are, mouthing off to a man who has you, trump, in literally everything strength, speed, you name it.

You step back, not favoriting his sweaty smell. "You kinda smell like a wet dog -" You fanned yourself. " It suits you."

"If I'm a dog then you must be a bitch in heat for coming to my game-"Gue Sung exclaimed, nudging her forehead back with his finger.

She retaliated by smacking his heavy hand out of her face. " If you ever put your filthy fingers near me again-And, for your information, You pompous little-your not the only player on your team!" She roared in his face, stretching her heels to their maximum limit due to the size difference.

The cheeky bastard met your face halfway, tapping the tip of her nose with his; his hazel eyes gazed into hers. "Why else would you be watching for? " He was even daring enough to take two steps forward to feel you on him. "You hate sports, and you think men are stupid-"

"Not all of them, but I'm truly doubtful when it comes to you-." Yn rudely interrupted, sassing him with her eyes.

The joke was harmless, to say the least, yet a large hand shot up to her neck, gripping it into a tight squeeze between his large fingers.

She gasped but wasn't surprised; this wasn't the first time Gue Sung had let his temper control his actions.

Gue Sung clicks his tongue. "Wah unbelievable, that mouth of yours." He stared at your beautifully painted lips, weighing his next decision; he said, "Ah, Fuck it." before completely dominating your lips.

"Mmm!" You yanked at his hair; pulling away from his lips just to be brought back in. "Mmph! Im gon-mm gonna kill you."

You fought well, but god, he's ripped-Honesty, you didn't stand a chance in the first place.

Gue sung kept you flushed against his chest so tight your plump breasts pushed up to escape his squeeze.

[lovethatmakingcoffee]

im going to write the same thing I did for the ko-fi page so followers, please bare with me.

I'm sorry to be suddenly springing this on everyone but for those who know, I got deported from Germany at the end of last October 2023. I had some help from a relative to get me out of that situation but she won't help me with anything financial ever again. Why I was in Germany was because a relative convinced me and my dad that there was work for us there and we should move in with them. That we would get the documents all squared away and immigration would be a snap. My dad got the job as working for her handy man to fix up her estate, and I… Didn't have a opportunity like that. There were a lot of details, but the end of it was that there really wasn't any job, she lied, she didn't help me get citizenship and I was basically deported after spending 8 months there. I was thankfully saved by my mom so I wouldn't become homeless, but my dad is still there. Still with that psychopath. He had no way to leave, cause he no relative to swoop in and help, so he had to stay and work for this freak until he could financially leave. I was trying to make as much money as I could from my end, but my job is mininum wage and I had other expenses but we both thought that he would have time (a years worth) cause she would renew his work visa cause she wants him to work for her. But lo and behold, she remains true to her selfishness and craziness, cause she said she won't renew it because he isnt doing this project for her anymore, but for himself. Which, what? No, he is doing the project so you will pay him and he can escape, but whatever. She had one of us deported, it seems that she wouldn't mind having both of us deported. And that is why I ask for help. I didnt press for financial assistance with my deportation, but I plead with his. He has no one to help him and I'm not enough. Please help him, he gave up so much to help her cause he trusted and loved her (his cousin). But she wouldn't return the favor. So now she is throwing him away cause she's done with him, so I beg anyone to help. He will need at least 10k to get a semi fresh start. 20k would be a comfortable one even though that is asking for so god damn much. But to explain, the finances would be for the plane ticket so he won't be thrown on a thirty hour flight which is possible and I wouldn't wish that on anyone. A $200 ride to the airport cause thats how much it was for me and my luggage and she didn't help with any of that. He had several luggage items so that combined with the plane ticket. Then he will need money for a place to stay until he can get back on his feet and the state he will be moving to is a pricier one but it will have my sisters who will be there for him. They can't help much either cause they are also poor. I intend to ask, and I'm sure they will hand over some but it won't be enough. And then he needs a car since he got rid of his moving to Germany and just general expenses like credit cards and we have a storage space filled with stuff we were going to bring with us but that's not happening. So I ask this much, because it's what he needs but I don't know if it's what he's going to get. I'm sorry for springing this one everyone, but I am literally not enough and won't get any outside help. So please, if you can, please help my dad.

I will make art if requested or short stories if asked for. I won't have too much time balancing out my job and things, but I will commit. Just send a request and I'll type that shit like there is no tomorrow. Just please, help us. I am actually begging and losing my mind over it. Please.

I'm sorry to be suddenly springing this on everyone but for those who know, I got deported from Germany at the end of last October 2023. I had some help from a relative to get me out of that situation but she won't help me with anything financial ever again. Why I was in Germany was because a relative convinced me and my dad that there was work for us there and we should move in with them. That we would get the documents all squared away and immigration would be a snap. My dad got the job as working for her handy man to fix up her estate, and I… Didn't have a opportunity like that. There were a lot of details, but the end of it was that there really wasn't any job, she lied, she didn't help me get citizenship and I was basically deported after spending 8 months there. I was thankfully saved by my mom so I wouldn't become homeless, but my dad is still there. Still with that psychopath. He had no way to leave, cause he no relative to swoop in and help, so he had to stay and work for this freak until he could financially leave. I was trying to make as much money as I could from my end, but my job is mininum wage and I had other expenses but we both thought that he would have time (a years worth) cause she would renew his work visa cause she wants him to work for her. But lo and behold, she remains true to her selfishness and craziness, cause she said she won't renew it because he isnt doing this project for her anymore, but for himself. Which, what? No, he is doing the project so you will pay him and he can escape, but whatever. She had one of us deported, it seems that she wouldn't mind having both of us deported. And that is why I ask for help. I didnt press for financial assistance with my deportation, but I plead with his. He has no one to help him and I'm not enough. Please help him, he gave up so much to help her cause he trusted and loved her (his cousin). But she wouldn't return the favor. So now she is throwing him away cause she's done with him, so I beg anyone to help. He will need at least 10k to get a semi fresh start. 20k would be a comfortable one even though that is asking for so god damn much. But to explain, the finances would be for the plane ticket so he won't be thrown on a thirty hour flight which is possible and I wouldn't wish that on anyone. A $200 ride to the airport cause thats how much it was for me and my luggage and she didn't help with any of that. He had several luggage items so that combined with the plane ticket. Then he will need money for a place to stay until he can get back on his feet and the state he will be moving to is a pricier one but it will have my sisters who will be there for him. They can't help much either cause they are also poor. I intend to ask, and I'm sure they will hand over some but it won't be enough. And then he needs a car since he got rid of his moving to Germany and just general expenses like credit cards and we have a storage space filled with stuff we were going to bring with us but that's not happening. So I ask this much, because it's what he needs but I don't know if it's what he's going to get. I'm sorry for springing this one everyone, but I am literally not enough and won't get any outside help. So please, if you can, please help my dad.

I will make art if requested or short stories if asked for. I won't have too much time balancing out my job and things, but I will commit. Just send a request and I'll type that shit like there is no tomorrow. Just please, help us. I am actually begging and losing my mind over it. Please.

If I reach 20k on both goals combined, I will freeze them so no one adds anymore, thanks you.

[moonysfavoritetoast]

soz

my sister literally doesn’t care about theatre she just wanted to fucking take it away from me. its all about her.

she’s cast??? oh my god she’s cast!! i can’t believe it!! so proud of her!!

THEY FONT FUCJING REJECT ANYONE? SHES ENSAMBLE. NOT SAYING THATS NOT A GOOD THING BIT FOR FUCKS SAKE. NOBODY CARES ABOUT THE SHIT I DO EXCEPT MY DAD AND GRANDFATHER. HES NEVER EVEN BEEN TO OKE OF MY SHOWS.

my dad fucking sacrificed his sleep to come and see the shows i wasn’t even on stage for. i was crew. he could barely see me moving the furniture but he didn’t sleep for 3 days to come and see me. my mom couldn’t do that.

i wish. i really fucking wish that she never joined. i wish she thought it was cringe. because now it’s going to be all about her. again. the moment i find something i’m good at and i enjoy she HAD to come and take over.

she’s always been better than me. she’s not a fucking tranny she’s good at math she doesn’t complain about anything athletic she’s quiet she’s fucking PERFECT.

and for me its always do better.

my mom didn’t even want to come to see radium girls. or my concerts last year. i don’t even think she wanted to see moana jr.

why is my fucking dad the one who makes sure im not upset that nobody came. maybe i wanted my mother to not leave the moment the show was over because she was hungry and didn’t eat breakfast. i told her to wait THIRTY MINUTES anf i’d ask to leave strike early. no. they went to a restaurant immediately. my dad had to come pick me up mid strike because i was bawling my eyes out.

i mean holy shit. your child is good at something. your child wanted to eat lunch with you on mother’s day. i’m never fucking good enough. my sister is always and will always be better than me.