#he fought tooth and nail every single day

[cutielando]

dating headcannons | r.c.

synopsis: in which you and Rafe are couple goals

my masterlist

you and rafe would meet at a party

you had just moved to the island with your parents and happened to go to the same party as him

as soon as he had laid his eyes on you, you were done

rafe was determined to have you, and nobody could stand in his way

when he approached you and began a conversation, he noticed how shy you were around him

seeing you so innocent only spurred him on to continue courting you

you would accept to be his girlfriend after a couple of dates, even though a lot of people kept warning you that Rafe was bad news

he would be the biggest gentleman ever

he would take you out whenever you wanted, buy you everything that you would lay your eyes on

you would often feel guilty that he was spending so much money on you, but he reassured you that it was something he loved doing

when you found out about his drug abuse, you decided to make it your mission to help him overcome his problems

it was a very tough period in your relationship

rafe didn’t want to admit his problem for a long time, which caused a strain to form between the two of you

however, you didn’t give up that easily

you fought tooth and nail to get Rafe the help he needed, to make sure that he would see his potential and turn his life around

once Rafe realized just how much you cared about him and his health, he vowed to himself that he wouldn’t touch another drug for the rest of his life

he slowly but surely got better, giving up drugs and smoking altogether

you two started spending more and more time together, you practically living with him at Tannyhill

his family loved you, especially Wheezie and Sarah

Ward thanked the God that Rafe had found you, someone who was willing to help him get rid of his addiction

Wheezie would always want to hang out with you whenever you were free, much to Rafe’s dismay

he would love you and show you how much he cared about you with every fibre of his being, needing you to know just how much you meant to him

whenever you guys would go to a party, he would never leave your side

Topper would always complain that you were attached to the hip, but Rafe didn’t care at all

at first, it bothered you, but you got used to it after a while

even as you would be chatting the night away with your friends, one of your hands would always be holding Rafe’s, or his hand would be holding your waist and you wouldn’t even be able to tell

he just felt the need to protect you from the creeps that he knew were at every party you guys would attend

he’s VERY jealous

you were very beautiful and attractive, which prompted the Kooks to try and hit on you. poor guys

even though you tried to let them down easily and make known the fact that you were with Rafe, you would never get to that point because of Rafe

he would come up behind you and glare a hole into the guy’s soul, making him scramble and leave as quickly as he possibly could

his shirts would become part of your everyday wardrobe

anytime he would have trouble finding a particular shirt or hoodie, he would immediately come to you, knowing that they were most probably in your dresser or on your body

he would find it hot, thought, seeing you in only his shirts because they were so large and long on your body

when it came to the bedroom, it was another story

he was a very passionate lover, he couldn’t get enough of you

would have sex with you every single day, literally anywhere

his bedroom, Ward’s office, the pool, Topper’s house, the beach, Kelce’s car, his family’s boat. you name it, he’s done it

he was a very gentle lover, despite his tough exterior

he could be gentle with you if that's what you wanted, he could be rough if that suited your boat more

he would be anything that you needed him to be

you guys would be endgame, 100%

he would never picture himself with anyone after being with you ever again

you were it for him, and he was it for you

a twisted match made in heaven

or hell, who even knows

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[ronearoundblindly]

I am sorry but I'm going to need a Ransom story with this prompt. It can be RoaR or a one-off, he can love it or hate it in this space, he can see it over Reader's shoulder on the computer screen, your choice!

o.0 oh boi oh boi oh boi! Fall Vibes but it's gonna be my summer challenge submission to @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar, featuring the flavors Cookies and Cream (soulmates) and Rocky Road (rags to riches) with the topping Oreos (marriage of convenience (reluctantly)). Also my second entry for @stargazingfangirl18's Birthday Bonenanza, featuring a babe in love and cranky about it + "can you just...hold me please?"

For Show Ransom Drysdale x poor!soulmate!reader

Summary: Ransom hates that you--his soulmate and wife--are nothing like him.

Warnings for smut and Ran's a**hole brain (rude, nasty thoughts that he barely even believes). Classic Lexi--this is cheeky, y'all, but you know it's because I can't help myself... MINORS DNI. Find all-age friendly fic on my Light Masterlist. WC 2.1k

Ran didn’t believe in love to start, but this is fucking ridiculous. Opposites attract? Get wrecked, asshole. He’s keeping opposites on the other side of the house. It’s not far enough.

It’s standard practice for the confirmation of matching soulmarks to act as a de facto marriage contract—common law, if you like,—and Ransom Drysdale fought tooth and nail to make you prove you had his name on you. He needed to see it with his own eyes or fuck that shit.

His is obvious; he can show it off. In fact, Ran is surprised by how long it took you to come forward, considering his family and status, considering his lifestyle of being very visible.

But no, he had to wait for a fucking database to pop out record of his match from your healthcare provider, and he had wait for that because the government knew about your health…because they know such things…about people who need their fucking money. The registration of soulmarks puts the financial responsibility on the soulmate if they end up having the means.

Now Ran is responsible for you, a woman he made lower the front of her panties in open court to reveal his goddamn name in his own goddamn handwriting imprinted right above her goddamn cunt, and suddenly it became his cunt, his problem, his responsibility.

You’re not even fun. You had no money and didn’t care to have any, so you moved your few, ratty belongings into his home, replacing nothing, offering nothing in return for his—well, in return for every fucking thing he has now being yours, too. It’s so fucked.

You don’t want to show off, and he has no intention of showing you off. He can’t be seen with you, not without the proper clothes or jewelry, and you refused to get them. Instead, Ransom leaves you alone in the house, doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants, as always. He won’t talk to you because he just gets furious every time. He’s not going to have deep conversations about the state of the world, though he might have one social justice issue he can fight for: the mother-fucking law that made you his wife without question.

Ran slams the kitchen cabinet storing all-white, matching stoneware mugs when he notices what’s missing: your single, sad, flea market mug. It’s clay so it always looks dirty, and he hates it.

He lightly punches his own neck in irritation.

He didn’t stand a chance fighting the marriage, not with your name in deep, port red letters creeping up his throat, higher than any turtleneck he’s ever owned. Coupled with his legal name resting snuggly beneath your pubes, it was obviously, technically accurate that you’re soulmates. When was the last time someone challenged that system, he thinks. That might be a better use of his money than—

Where are you anyway?

For all his annoyance, he hasn’t set eyes on you for days.

His house is large enough (and he spends so much time anywhere else) that you have your own room, which you didn’t question, and the kitchen is easy enough to share when one of you eats out with other people (as he does two to three times a day). You get the slightly bigger and more formal living room while Ran gets the den with the big TV. Really it’s been the perfect system for almost forgetting you exist.

He pours tea into his clean, white mug and leaves said big TV fairly loud on some program he wasn’t paying attention to, leaning over the granite countertop to see if he can spot you from this angle.

No luck.

He steps closer, sipping.

A little closer, more sipping, a purposeful smack of his lips to grab your attention if you are just around the corner.

There are two openings, both far larger than doorways, to the living room, each through the central hall. When he doesn’t immediately see you, he steps to the farther opening. What the���

What’d you do to his couch?

Is that every single pillow and blanket from your side of the house?

Did Yankee Candle Company throw up in here?

What, the fucking fireplace wasn’t enough ambiance for you? You had to make some sort of nest with his stuff? And there’s that ugly-ass mug, no coaster, on his super-expensive, reclaimed hardwood coffee table.

A pillow shifts.

No, not a pillow; it’s your back, and when you shift again, Ran sees one of the plush throw blankets slink farther down your bare skin. It’s the largest swath of your body he’s ever seen.

You lay with your arms folded, peering out the windows behind the couch, and you still haven’t fucking noticed him.

He huffs before realizing he isn’t listening to the faint TV anymore, but when he ticks his head, he sees your TV isn’t on either.

“”I think of nothing but you as I fall asleep at night”—” Ran hears a woman’s voice fake a deeper tone before switching to normal “—Javier says, pulling her soft curves into his hard body—”

You sigh dreamily and wiggle on the cushions. The blanket slides over the swell of your ass.

Ran stops moving mid-sip of tea.

“”Please, my darling, let me have you—“ this is fucking terrible, he thinks “—as only a lover can.””

Alright, now Ransom is just sad. You’re naked in his living room, rubbing your thighs together and listening to an erotic novel on your phone.

“Chloe felt his digits dance across her clavicle, his eyes enchanted by her heaving bosom…”

Go out to a club or restaurant with him? No. Wear nice clothes he could buy you? Nope.

“”Javi,” she gasps, distracted by his rough palm groping her breast hungrily, “I can’t believe you want me.””

Ran is going to fucking gag at the whining appall in the narrator’s voice.

Why listen to this awful shit instead of show off him as your husband? From the quick shiver racing down your spine and the curl of your toes where they hang over the cushion’s edge, it’s because you’re fucking horny for it.

Good god, how low are your standards?

He stalks forward, feet hitting the floor hard until he reaches the plush rug.

Startled, you peer over your shoulder at him, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights, and you begin scrambling to recover yourself.

Ran puts his cup down by yours. “Don’t move,” he orders, and to his surprise, you obey, keeping you head turned his direction and sinking back into the pillows.

“”How could you doubt? From the moment I met you, I adored you.””

He swivels to face the same direction as you, reaches out his hand and mime the stroke he’s contemplating tracing over your curves.

“”I’m yours,” Chloe breathes, Javier’s growing member signaling his desire against her silk-covered core.”

Ran finally bends until the tip of his middle finger grazes the inside of your thigh.

As he drags it over one cheek and down the other, you whine and push your ass toward his hand.

That’s…not bad, all things considered. You are his wife, after all, and you clearly want to be fucked. He won’t argue that having some other woman’s name scrawled on him hasn’t limited his game for quite a while. Financially independent or not, when a pussy is presented to him, Ransom will say ‘yes.’

He stops noticing the audio from your phone and just dives in, no sentiments or kind words of his own. He simply unbuckles his belt, pops the button of this jeans, and rips that zipper down before teasing your folds to find enough slick at your entrance to swirl around. He spreads you and your wetness with purpose. Each second that passes drives Ransom a little bit more insane.

Impatient, strung out like a virgin on prom night, he rushes to shove his pants out of the way and kicks one knee up between your legs, his other foot still on the floor. He pumps his fingers inside you until he’s knuckle-deep and nearly dripping, manhandling your hips to the right height to sink his tip into you.

Ran groans at how fucking good you feel. He’s probably just desperate. He’d be excited about any ol’ means to come right now.

He snaps his hips in small thrusts until his whole length glides in and out in seamless stimulation. You’ve buried your face in the pillow, so he can’t hear if you make any noise. He can, however, see your hands scratch at the upholstery and clench into fists. He can see you deepen the arch of your back, angling his dick to fuck just slightly down through your channel. The pressure squeezes the spongy head of his cock like a vice. He’ll never say it out loud, but your pussy is fucking perfect. God fucking dammit.

Ransom relentlessly drives into you, catching the sideview of your breasts bouncing each time his thighs slap yours. He smacks your ass once just to see if it jiggles for him, and that’s when your hand snakes to disappear between your legs. He expects you’re going for your clit which is good because he’s about to get off and get lost, but instead, he feels your soft fingers cup his balls.

He’s so enamored by the sensation that he switches to tiny pulses deep in your cunt while your hand wraps and rolls his sac gently. Twitching and tensing, Ran unabashedly moans until your walls constrict around his length.

He’s got to make you do that again.

Ransom collapses forward to lean over you, his own hand diving to find your clit, resting his palm right over your mound and soulmark. Every inch of his body burns hot with need. He humps wildly, resting his chin over your shoulder.

“”I don’t care how, Javi, just stick it in there. I need you. I need you so badly…””

“Jesus Christ,” Ran growls, “are they still not fucking?”

A giggle bursts from your lips, a sweet, happy sound he’s never heard from you before, and you reach for him. Your palm lands on his soulmark, your fingers curling to scratch the hairs at the nape of his neck, and there’s…there’s…

He can’t comprehend how your body fits his so well. He can’t reconcile this sudden swell of obsession in his gut for you. He’s enveloped in a binary system of souls, gravity tugging at that connection between you.

Ran doesn’t believe in love or destiny. He refuses. He believes in pleasure and perception, in accumulation and ownership.

The only thought left in his static-filled head is mine, mine, mine, mine.

He falls over the edge first, a satisfied shout punctuating each spurt he plants within you, furiously working your messy clit and kneading one breast in his free hand until he feels that squeeze again, and again, and again, dying to a flutter just as your shared cum leaks out around his cock.

By this time, Ran is panting and resting a sizable portion of his weight on you, knees knocked loose in his onslaught, pushing you both flat to the chaise cushion, feet dangling off the end.

You still hold each other’s mark in a comforting palm.

He’s speechless as the room fills with heated love declarations amidst passionate sex and bad dialogue. Ran tries to catch his fucking breath. He’s glad you don’t speak either.

Everything about his life—his past, his present, his future—sits utterly raw in front of him, and he can’t cope.

He makes the mistake of peeling his body off yours, releasing you and dislodging your hand. The cold emptiness which immediately sweeps over him is sickening, and Ran barely waits for you to roll onto your back before he wedges himself between your legs again, instinctually laying on his side, pressing his sweater-clad shoulder against your sopping folds just so he can rest his soulmark right on top of yours.

Euphoria returns to his body and mind, thick like honey and all-consuming.

He doesn’t want to admit it. He doesn’t want to talk about. He doesn’t want to live a moment without you.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Mercifully, the audio speaks for him.

“”Can you just…hold me please? That was…that was…””

“”So intense,” Javier rumbles, “so beautiful.””

Ransom, the preening trust fund baby, has finally found something all his own, something he doesn’t want to share, something shown only for him.

He refuses, however, to call it ‘love’…

…yet.

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

A/N: I'm fine.

[willowsnook]

Cocky (LS) 18+

lance stroll x driver!reader

word count: 4k

look i'm as iffy on lance as the next person but i had a vision. this is a longer one so buckle up

Lance's POV

"Good shot man," Lando told Lance after he hit on to the green. The two had been golfing all day, blowing off steam before racing took back over their lives in the coming weeks. They picked up their bags and started down towards where they hit.

"So what's y/n's deal?" Lance asked Lando causally, trying to be nonchalant. Lando tossed him a look of surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"Is she single or...?"

Lando smirked. Y/n was one of his best friends on the grid. The American woman had raced with him since they were 12 and now drove for Haas. She was a ruthless competitor and even scared Lando a bit sometimes. Lando had always admired how she didn't pay the media any mind with her easy "i don't give any fucks" attitude. She had already been called the next Kimi Räikkönen. Off the track, she gave off cool girl energy vs. the sweet kind. Everyone on the grid wanted to be friends with her even if he didn't have a really good reason as to why.

"Yeah, she's single," he said. "Why? Trying to hit?"

"Dude, I know she's your friend but we both know she's hot as fuck," Lance said looking over. Lando shrugged.

"Of course I know that, but I didn't really think she was your type."

"How so?"

"Every girl I have ever seen you with looks at you like you created life itself," Lando said. "Y/n will not play the submissive little role you want."

"I like a challenge," Lance said cockily and Lando laughed.

Y/n's POV

Lando had called you immediately after he got done golfing to inform you that somehow you were now in Lance's sights. You didn't really pay any attention to that. You did not like Lance. It wasn't really fair, as you actually didn't know him that well but he represented a lot of what you were not. You'd grown up with a single dad after your mom had passed away when you were a child. Your dad started working 12 hours a day once he realized that this racing hobby wasn't going to go away.

Not being able to afford moving overseas, you had lived with a host family in the UK so that you were able to travel to more karting races in a budget friendly way. You had fought tooth and nail to get your F1 seat and you couldn't really say the same about Lance. He was attractive though, you could admit that. He had some kind of cocky, brooding vibe going that you were definitely into. And him being one of the few drivers that were 6 foot was a plus.

After that golfing day you had noticed his presence way more than usual. You'd seen him around Monaco at the club, hanging out with Lando more, and at PR events. He had been noticeably closer to you, always almost hovering. The amusing thing though was that you still hadn't really talked to him. It was like the two of you were doing a silent dance.

Tonight you were way out of your comfort zone, and actually happy to find a familiar face in Lance. You'd been invited to a charity gala that Haas was involved with. Your teammate, Ollie, couldn't make it so you were unfortunately on your own. Lance was there of course, as his father was a top donor, and you spied him sipping a drink by the bar, dressed in a nice fitted suit. His eyes drank you in as he watched you make your way towards him.

"Y/n," he drawled. "What a pleasant surprise."

"I would say the same, but it's a party for the rich to remind everyone how rich they are so it wouldn't be real if you weren't here," you shot back and he smirked.

"Can I get you a drink?" You nodded and watched him carelessly lift his finger up to the bartender, gaining his attention immediately to order you a glass of wine. There was something so attractive to you about how he fit so perfectly in a moment like this.

"Enjoying the night?" He asked and you shrugged. This was not your kind of thing. Old rich men, blatantly hitting on you in front of their wives was also not your thing.

"Well only one comment from someone about how "they don't know what they'd do if they had a daughter that looked like me," so I would say it's going alright," you joked but watched Lance's eyes darken.

"Who?" He said and you sipped your wine, watching him curiously.

"It doesn't matter," you said and he leaned in closer to you.

"Tell me who."

Sighing, you turned your head scanning the room. You found the guy who had said it with his hand on a waitress's arm, clearly continuing a conversation she did not want. You wordlessly pointed him out and Lance leaned back motioning over a guy who was sporting an ear piece. He whispered something to the guy before turning back to you.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't worry about it sweetheart," he said smirking and you rolled your eyes at the term of endearment. You turned to people watch for a bit, enjoying getting to watch people make fools of themselves. A commotion caught your attention and you watched as the gross guy from earlier was arguing with what looked like to be security as they were escorting him out. You looked back at Lance who didn't say anything, just kept casually watching the scene.

Turning back, your back was hovering dangerously close to the Lance's chest and as someone brushed past you to get to the bar, you felt his arm come around you waist, pulling you into him. He didn't say anything and neither did you, so you kept on enjoying observing the party.

After a bit, people were taking to the dance floor to dance and you turned, pulling Lance's drink from his hand and setting it down. He looked at you curiously as you slid your hand into is dragging him to the floor. Settling one hand around his neck you pressed into him, breathing in his expensive cologne.

"What game are you playing at?" He whispered into your ear causing you to smirk.

"No game," you said, looking up at him. "Just bored."

Rolling his eyes, he moved his hand lower, pinching your ass which caused you to gasp. Amusement danced in his eyes as you gave him a look.

As the night came to a close, you followed him outside to the valet to get your car.

"Come home with me?" He asked and you brought your lips up to kiss his cheek.

"I'm not that easy sweetheart," you replied before turning to thank the guy for bringing your car around. Giving Lance one final look, you winked before dipping down into your seat.

One week later

The Friday before race week you found yourself enjoying the weird remixes Lando comes up with as they blasted through his apartment. It was supposed to be a casual thing but as more and more people poured through the door you regretted not wearing something nicer.

You were sitting on top of the kitchen island, chatting with Ollie and actively ignoring Lance who had been burning a hole in the side of your head for the last half hour.

"I'm kind of scared he's going to kill me," Ollie said nervously and you tilted your head in question. "Lance. You know the guy who looks like he's trying to figure out how much it would cost an assassin to kill me?"

You laughed loudly, sparing a look over at Lance who had his arms crossed and was frowning.

"Are you two seeing each other or something?" He said panicking. "Oh my god am I the other woman?"

"No we aren't seeing each other and I would protect you with my life," you said making the boy relax. That didn't last long as he bolted away the second he saw Lance making his way towards you. Resting hands on either side of you, you rolled your eyes.

"You scared him away," you pouted.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said simply.

"You could have just came over here like a normal person."

"I'm tired of playing cat and mouse," he said. "Let me fuck you."

Your eyes widened at his crude words as he left you genuinely speechless. You let him pull you off the counter and lead you out of Lando's apartment.

"You live here right?" He asked and you nodded, moving towards the elevator with him close behind. The ride was silent as you avoided meeting his eye in the reflection. Your eyes settled instead on the way his tshirt was tight around his chest and the gray sweatpants that just really do the thing ya know? You bit your lip, feeling yourself growing warm at what was about to go down.

Walking into your apartment you watched as Lance took it in. You'd lived here for the last two years and had tried to make it as cozy as possible with pictures of back home littered along the walls. Your favorite part though, was the wall behind your couch. It was floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with your very large collection of books.

Lance smiled at the books before looking back at you. You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer to you. His hands found your waist as he dipped his head to meet your lips in a bruising kiss. You tugged at his hair causing him to groan into you which made you smirk. His hand slapped your ass hard in retaliation and he took advantage of your open gasp to shove his tongue in your mouth.

"Bedroom," you said panting as you came up for air and he leaned down to pick you up. You met his lips again as he carried you to your bedroom, laying you gently on the bed. Resting on your elbows, you watched as he pulled off his shirt. His time playing tennis on the side really had paid off. Next went his sweats so that all he was left in were his boxers.

"Your turn sweetheart," he said and you moved up to your knees. You pulled off the top you were wearing, revealing that you weren't wearing a bra. Lance was in a trance watching you, which made you smirk.

"Can you help me?" You asked innocently and he nodded quickly moving towards you. You laid back on the bed as he pulled your sweats off, taking in the lace thong that was in underneath.

"Wear this for me?" He teased and you leaned up.

"Maybe," you replied biting your lip. That sent him over the edge and he literally ripped them off of you.

"Lance what the fuck," you complained. "I liked those."

"I'll buy you the whole fucking store as long as you only wear them for me," he said and you felt your core throb at his words.

"You'd bett-" His tongue on your clit stopped you mid thought as you moaned out. He took his time, lazily dragging it up and down. You pushed your hips against his face in desperation and his arms came around you holding your hips in place.

"Patience," he tsked and you whined in protest. Taking pity on you, he entered a finger, curling it up against your g-spot causing your mind to go numb. Keeping the one finger in, he massaged your g-spot as his tongue assaulted your clit while you became a whimpering mess. You didn't even have energy to tell him you were cumming, clenching around his finger, your back arching off the bed.

Lance kept going, his mouth latched around you until you pushed him off.

"Too sensitive," you whimpered and he gave you a huge grin. He got off the floor and moved up to you giving you a short kiss. Surprising him, you pulled him down and maneuvered your way on top.

Pulling his boxers down, his dick slapped up against his skin and you took a sharp breath as you took in the size. Lance started to say something but you had started grinding your pussy along the length of him, and his breath hitched. He brought his hand up to one of your breasts, circling his thumb around your nipple.

Eventually you gripped him up and slowly slid down causing him to throw his head back against the wall. Moving your hands on his chest to support you, you started moving up and down. Rolling your hips into him made Lance groan out and dig his fingers harshly into your waist.

As you felt yourself getting closer you started moving faster against him.

"Come on sweetheart, use me," he rasped out and you leaned forward wrapping your hands around his throat as you rutted against him, chasing your high. "Fuck baby."

"Yeah you like that? You like me choking you," you said breathlessly. His hand hit your ass hard and that finally sent you over the edge, crying out as your orgasm crashed against you. Before you even had time to think, he flipped you over shoving your head into the pillows before slipping back in.

He gripped your hips hard and started pounding into you. Lance yanked your head up by your hair holding you into his chest as he spilled into you.

Pulling out, he set you down gently and you tried to come back to life. You heard him go to the bathroom and rolled over looking at your phone to see a text asking where you went from Lando. You replied quickly before seeing Lance come back with a wet towel in his hands. You winced as it touched your inner thighs and Lance looked up at you.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked and you shook your head silently. You weren't used to this gentle side of him. He put the towel away before putting his sweats back on and sliding in next to you. You turned over, laying your head on his chest and felt his arm wrap around you. Snuggling into him, you drifted off.

Leaving Lance in bed the next morning you were deep in thought while making pancakes. This was unknown territory. First of all, you never let one-night stands sleep over. But this was Lance and you knew him. You were sure it was definitely a one-night stand but then you weren't sure. You admittedly had enjoyed spending time with him the past month but your mind went back to what Lando had said. He just wanted to hook up. Maybe it was better to just move on like it hadn't happened.

"Hey," his voice said, pulling you out of your thoughts. You turned to see him staring at you, running a hand through his hair.

"Hey," you said nonchalantly. "Are you staying for breakfast or no?"

"I should probably head out," he said. This was what he had decided would be his test to see what you were thinking about last night. Would you want him to stay or not?

"Cool, I'll see you in Zandvort then," you said casually and turned back to your food. He didn't want to stay you thought to yourself.

She doesn't want me to stay, Lance thought and pulled his shirt over his head before heading out.

Wednesday night before the Dutch GP

Lando had been pestering you about Lance nonstop on the flight to Zandvort.

"I just don't believe that this is just another one night stand," he said eyeing you suspiciously.

"I don't know what to tell you Lando," you replied not looking up from your phone. "We were two consenting adults looking to blow off steam."

"Yeah but the pictures from the gala, come on, there is at least something there," he said.

"First of all, stop looking at gossip pages and second of all, he didn't want to stay and that's okay," you said. "Could there have been potentially something more? Maybe, but he left."

"Well did you ask him to stay?"

"I didn't tell him to leave."

Lando threw up his hands in defeat. "You are impossible."

You spent the hour after landing in an all drivers meeting where you had seen Lance for the first time since that night. He nodded towards you but made no move forward. You were petty back, choosing to sit on the far end of the table away from him at the dinner after the meeting. Some of the WAGs were there so you spent a lot of time talking to Alex Albon's gf Lily and subtly glancing at Lance every so often. Lando caught you once smirking which resulted in you kicking his shins causing him to yell out.

Towards the end of the night you were contemplating going over there but the next time you looked up, he was talking to a random blonde who was clearly flirting with him. You watched him flirt back and an unknown feeling washed over your body. You were upset? Something about him flirting with someone else was hurting you and you were shocked to feel yourself getting teary eyed.

Abruptly, you stood up, mumbling something about being tired and avoiding Lando's concerned glance. Lance's attention was now on you and he caught your eyes, his own widening when he noticed but you quickly vanished. He shot a confused look at Lando who looked from Lance to the blonde before getting up to catch up to you.

"Y/n," Lando called out and you slowed allowing him to catch up to you. You had called an Uber already and were just waiting for it to arrive.

"What's wrong with me?" You said, turning to Lando, a few tears falling down your face. He pulled you into his arms, rubbing your back.

"It's okay," he murmured as more tears leaked out of your face.

"I don't even like him like that," you said pulling back and Lando gave you a sympathetic look. "Fuck."

The Uber pulled up and you both climbed into it and headed back to the hotel.

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

Lance's POV

Being race day, most of the drivers were in the zone even early in the morning but Lance didn't care anymore as he hunted Lando down, finally cornering him at McLaren.

"What did I do wrong?" He begged Lando. "She won't look at me, she basically bolts from every room I enter, she won't answer my texts."

Lando shifted from one foot to another, not knowing what to say. Lance went on.

"I thought she just wanted it to be one night. She didn't ask me to stay and never texted me after. But then what happened Wednesday? She looked at me, clearly upset and left. And now this."

"I think she's just confused," Lando finally says. "I think initially she thought it would be a one-time thing, but seeing you flirt with that girl made it real."

"Fucking hell," Lance said, running a hand through his hair. "She didn't ask me to stay!"

"Well, she didn't ask you to leave?" Lando said hesitantly and Lance glared at him.

Y/n's POV

Your team did its final checks before giving you a thumbs up and running off the track. You locked in, ready to race and took off into lap one. Your first ten laps were great. Starting in P12, you had already passed two others and were looking for a third overtake.

One second, everything was fine. The next second you felt someone clip your back wheel causing you to spin out into the car in front of you and flip. The world went black.

Then you were back. Someone was yelling your name. Lance? You looked up to see him prying your helmet off, eyes wild with panic. Trying to move your legs, you started to freak out when you couldn't get your right one to budge.

"I can't move my leg," you said panicking. "I can't move my leg!"

Two arms wrapped under your arms and pulled you out of the car. The sudden movement triggered a wave of dizziness and you stumbled a little. Lance picked you up bridal style and behind the loud ringing in your ears you could hear him screaming at someone.

"Where is the fucking medical team?" He screamed. You were going in and out of consciousness. The next moment of clarity came being loaded in the ambulance. You saw Lance being held back by stewards and you mumbled his name reaching out. They finally let go, allowing him in the ambulance and then the world went black again.

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

Waking up you were confused. You knew you were in a hospital room but this one was so nice it felt like it wasn't real. Your bed was bigger, there was a nice couch next to the bed, a massive flat screen tv, and what looked to be like a fully stocked fridge.

Your head throbbed and you looked down to see that you were not in a hospital gown but an Aston Martin tshirt. Your right leg was propped up, knee wrapped with ice.

"Hey sleepy head," Lando called out as he walked in, relieved to see you awake.

"Why am I in the fanciest hospital room ever?" You questioned and he snorted.

"That would be because Lance had the most Karen-like meltdown I have ever seen when they put you in a normal room. His dad had to pay someone off who had recorded it."

You soaked in that information. Where was he then? Lando saw your puzzled expression.

"Currently he is forcing your doctor here to consult with his family doctor back home about what appears to be a concussion and a torn ACL oddly enough."

"I remember him pulling me out, did he crash too?"

"Yeah, when Esteban hit you, you flipped into Lance. I'm sure you remember some of it after but the videos are crazy. He was a madman holding you."

You heard voices from the hallway and sucked in a breath as the man himself walked into the room. He stopped when he saw that you were awake and just stared.

"I'll show myself out then, I'll see you at home," Lando said, leaning in to kiss your forehead before leaving. Lance nodded to him as he left before slowly making his way to your side, pulling up a chair to sit in.

"I'm guessing this shirt is courtesy of you," you said, breaking the ice. He nodded, taking your hand into his caressing your skin softly. "So what's the verdict, when can I go home?"

"Later today, I have the jet already to go for us when we are ready," he said and you nodded.

"Lando is heading back now, and he's getting stuff from your apartment to drop off at my place," he said nonchalantly and your head snapped up to him.

"What are you talking about?"

"You are staying with me for the time being."

He noticed your anger rising and kept going.

"Look I'm done doing this whole do you like me or not thing. The answer was clear when you stormed out of that restaurant. I live in a million-dollar condo with a full staff which will be a lot more comfortable for you. You can stay in whatever room you want, though I would prefer you stayed in mine."

You crossed your arms glaring at him.

"You are insufferable." He leaned closer to you holding your face in both of his hands.

"I don't care," he said. "When you passed out in my arms I was scared out of my mind that I would lose you. Life is short and I'm not wasting more time not being with you."

Your heart swelled at his words, breaking your resolve about the temporary move thing. You leaned forward, kissing him softly.

"Now let's see that video of you having a karen meltdown," you said with a wicked grin.

[intrepidacious]

❤️ a good time!

tat!bucky’s favorite (or least favorite) thing about twelve

… why not both?

cause and effect

chapter summary: How Bucky fell in love with Twelve: Slowly, and then all at once.

pairing: bucky barnes x time witch!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: light angst and negative self talk (this is bucky y'all); some light pining 🤭please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i've literally had this one in my drafts for about two years and i hadn't actually planned on posting it for a while yet but i did promise distractions. and i missed him. i always do.

this is part of the time after time universe but can be read as a teaser and/or a standalone 💚

Bucky’s relationship with time has been fractured ever since a cold day in January that stole away the life he was headed towards and turned him into the monster underneath a child’s bed.

It’s hard to feel good about the concept of time travel once a lot of your own time has been taken away from you. Even now, there’s only so many things in his life he has control over; like the fact that he’s actively choosing to go back to therapy now, or that he’s able to keep a pet for the first time since he was thirteen years old. Stupid little things, like what kind of food he wants for lunch or whether he should take the stairs or the elevator.

Every single one of these things he’s fought for tooth and nail, clawing his way out of the past and carving out his own space in reality again, struggling, trying, hanging on like he wasn’t able to all those decades ago.

He’s probably still failing.

Some days, clinging to the present is tense and brings him nothing but grief. Sometimes, it feels like he’s going to have to mourn the past forever, whatever might have been; and maybe that’s his sentence.

He wouldn’t have wished it on anyone. He deserves worse.

And then there’s you.

Flickering in and out of time, constantly moving, changing in the time it takes him to blink.

It’s infuriating to him, the way you get to use your powers. The way you don’t need to think about consequences, because they don’t have to be permanent, don’t have to be something you need to live with for the rest of your life. To you, time has always been something that can be changed with a single snap of your fingers. Whatever you do can just as easily be undone.

Once you decide you’ve seen enough, you can just take the scene from the top.

And you’re so stubborn.

You’ve already seen how this goes on if you let it, and so you’re always right, end of story. There’s an ease to your steps because of it, a nonchalance in every movement, and it makes Bucky’s blood boil to see it so plainly.

With all the good that you could do, you choose to do nothing instead; to stay out of the picture entirely and burn through your powers just because you can, wasting them all on things that don’t mean anything.

How many lives could you potentially save?

Instead, you consume disturbing amounts of caffeine and then continue to provide running commentary to the world around you based on things that, to him, never happen at all. "Do this", "don’t do that", "take the other one", or, his absolute favorite, "don’t make me fix that".

Why not? he wants to ask, say, demand. Why not fix all of it?

It takes a while for him to realize that all of your fire means you’re burning from both ends. In fact, it takes Becca.

"You should bring her by sometime," she tells him on a rainy afternoon. "While I’m still alive and kicking."

His little sister just turned ninety-eight. Her kitchen sideboard is filled with black-and-white pictures reminding him of all the things in her life that he missed, arranged in perfect little wooden frames.

"And why would I do that?" Bucky asks, scowling at his cards.

"Because you keep mentioning her," Rebecca says dryly and whisks the cards onto her pile with quick fingers.

"You gotta be kidding me," he groans, noting down her points. "And I don’t."

"Do, too. I don’t remember you being this terrible at this game."

"Because I haven’t caught you when you’re cheating."

"Exactly. It’s embarrassing." She wins the next trick, too. "How’s Tuesday?"

"Am I clairvoyant now?"

"I was thinking lunch."

"No." Finally, he gets a couple of points down. When he glances up at his sister again, she’s looking at him expectantly and he sighs. "What?"

"You can’t fault me for being curious," she says. She has just as many opinions as she did when she was sixteen. Her eyes are still the same, too, the same shade of blue as his and the same glimmer of archness as their mother.

"Don’t you think it’s weird?" Bucky says, finally giving in. "The whole … time thing?"

"I think it’s very weird, but so’s you returning from the dead and kvetching about it." Her eyes narrow when he starts to protest. His mouth closes again. "Besides," she continues, shuffling her hand around, "it doesn’t sound all that fun."

"To have the power to never make mistakes?"

"To have to live through every mistake twice without anyone knowing."

Something about her words strikes him like a match, and so he tilts his head and squints at her and thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s got it wrong.

That you carry not only your past, but all the futures you’ve seen that never came to be; all the what ifs having turned into answers.

And he thinks, how nice. And then he thinks, how horrifying.

It’s a thought that follows him over the next couple of weeks, and it starts reframing your interactions for him, in a way.

"Will you stop staring at me," you say without looking up from your book.

Honestly, he can’t. He’s still trying to pick up on it, the split second between before and after, that little change of your posture, your hair, your face, that tells him more time has passed for you than it has for him.

It’s more of a feeling than anything else, something right at the back of his mind telling him that something is different if he concentrates on it enough, but he’s never sure what it is. And he doesn’t like that; not one bit.

So Bucky crosses his arms and leans back. "Why?"

A flash of irritation makes your nose twitch, even though you still refuse to meet his eye.

"It’s rude, for one."

"Noted." He waits for the two that never comes. "Anything else?"

And there it is. A blink-and-you-miss-it kind of moment, like the air shifting around you ever so slightly, a certain knowing glint in your eyes when you roll them and get up.

"Annoying!"

He can’t help it. He wonders what your original answer was.

***

Bucky’s relationship with time changes slowly, the deepest cuts carefully mending themselves until looking back doesn’t feel like getting his bones ripped apart anymore, until he looks at you on a cold day in January and realizes he’s fucked.

At first, he hopes that it might be a fluke. A trick of the light, maybe, or seasonal allergies. That’s the reason why his eyes are drawn to your face as soon as he enters a room; the closest source of discomfort always the thing he seeks out first. That’s the reason why his chest constricts like that.

But the truth is, he knows this feeling has been building slowly; he’s just been unwilling to admit it.

Something soft and delicate has started to nestle in that gaping hole inside his chest, unbothered by the walls he’s so carefully built up.

He’d never planned on you.

Fuck, if he’d known in the beginning, he might’ve …

No, he thinks. He wouldn’t have changed anything.

Because you’re too good for him, anyway, and he knows it. Smart and strong and funny and gorgeous and capable of things he’s not sure he’ll ever fully comprehend; and it’s worse than that, because he knows you now.

You’re grouchy in the mornings and you make terrible jokes when you’re nervous and you have a strange feud with his cat and your smile makes him want to put his fist through the wall because what is he supposed to do with any of this?

He’s not made for this dance anymore. That part was taken from him so long ago, and he’s delusional to think that anything or anyone could return it to him after all the bridges he’d been made to cross and burn. Why would someone like him deserve to be given tenderness anymore in this life? Why would anyone want to try?

But that foolish thing blooming inside him feels a lot like hope, despite of what he keeps telling himself.

There’s just something about you that keeps pulling him in, and honestly, he’s tired of fighting it. Then again, the thought of you feeling the same is nothing short of ridiculous.

He’s not the same guy as he used to be. Hell, sometimes he’ll look at old photographs and barely recognize himself.

He remembers life before, and maybe that’s what makes this so hard. He remembers talking to pretty girls, their bright smiles, their soft skin underneath his hands. Good times were easy to come by, even though life was hard in a different way, then. But he was good at it; acting on his feelings alone used to be simple, fun, second-nature almost.

It’s different now.

It used to be different only once before, and look where that’s gotten him.

No, he can’t say anything. Not ever; or not yet, at any rate.

Sometimes, though, Bucky lies awake at night and listens to the rain knocking against his window, and he remembers how much easier falling asleep used to be when he had someone next to him and his mattress didn’t swallow him alive.

He’ll remember the dark circles under your eyes and wish it could be as easy as asking, too. He wonders if there’s a universe you remember where he tries, but he doubts it.

These days, he knows his mind again. And it’s not a burden he wants to share.

You have enough to carry on your own.

Maybe, he thinks as he stares up at the ceiling at three in the morning, maybe there’s still a certain comfort in your powers, in knowing all the possibilities, but it also means constantly losing something that’s real; always mourning the life that isn’t.

He can relate to that.

And maybe that means you can relate to him, too, at least a little bit.

It’s odd, how comforting that last little thought is to him.

When he does eventually fall asleep, you make your way into his dreams, too, sometimes. Those times are the worst.

You’re you, and he’s him, and there’s a sort of "us" in the both of you that doesn’t exist in real life. So when you let him lace his fingers with yours and press your lips to his forehead and it feels easy, that’s usually the point when he wakes up, heart tumbling over itself, right hand tracing the ghost of your touch, always too much, never enough.

He knows it’s not real.

He knows it’s just an indulgence; selfish, really.

The problem is that whatever small hope has decided to settle in his very core is impossible to kill, no matter how much he pushes it down; and he’s not sure he wants to lose it again.

Secretly, silently, serendipitously, you make him have faith in the future again.

But it’s not time for it yet.

if you want to read more about these two (plus a lot of time related shenanigans), read the main series here. or check out the rest of my bucky fics, that's also an option 💚 i don't do tag lists but you can follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications

[shouyuus]

caleidoscope tears with someone from bnha?

kaleidoscope tears

todoroki touya; 537 words; fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, villain!reader, vague allusions to blood/death but not even rly, mostly just kissing, but sad!kissing lmfao

summary: there's nothing more lovely than watching a monster become undone with wanting.

a/n: idk man, kinda angsty, kinda unexplained, mostly just here for the kissing!dabi vibes.

─── 燈矢 THERE’S NOTHING MORE LOVELY than watching a monster become undone with wanting. and what are men if not monsters, deep inside. every single one of them — you think, as touya sinks to his knees, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his chin pillowed on the soft of your lower belly, his eyes up-cast at you, filled with so much light, so much dull, pulsing desire, so much the wish of salvation, however tainted and skewed it might be.

“please,” he says, his voice cracked, his skin hot to the touch. you lick our lips and trace delicate thumbs along the stitches that run up the sides of his face, bisecting his cheeks. and you think to yourself that dr. frankenstein himself couldn’t have imagined a more pitiable monster if he tried.

“let me kiss you,” he says, and you sigh, letting him drag you down. he kisses you like drowning, like a man searching for meaning in a vast, careless universe, cast out to sea by a family he’d fought tooth and nail to call his own, but at the end of the day, couldn’t find the words to call them his. he kisses you like you are the ocean, and him ship full of lost treasure, as if he might be able to pour everything worthwhile into you, bury it in your chest for safe-keeping if he just kissed you hard enough —

“touya — wait —” you say, but he shakes his head, sinks his fingers into your hair and drags you back towards him. you can’t breathe, but you let him kiss you anyway.

once, someone had told you might one day let a man reach for you when he might be trying to reach for something else instead — only mistaking you for whatever it might be in the wane, dying light — like a drink, or a lifeboat, or a medal, or a snack. once, someone had told you that you are all, and none of those things. but when touya pulls back, you try to search his eyes for the reflection of you, and you find it — there, just there, hidden amidst all the smoke, the images of your own face, reflected back at you, looking every bit as broken as he felt.

“we’re — we’re the same, aren’t we?” he asks, his voice cracking over the syllables. you swallow, feeling the saltwater prickle at the back of your throat, familiar pinch at the corners of your eyes. you lick your lips and taste the sharp tang of blood on your tongue.

he laughs as he drags a thumb along the corner of your mouth; his finger comes away red.

“god, you’re so beautiful like this.”

you lean forward to press your forehead to his, feel the scalding heat of his skin, the way his rough skin drags against yours like a reminder, or a warning.

his breath smells like smoke.

“kiss me,” you say, you beg, letting your fingers dig into the scarred skin of his neck.

he shrugs, licking his own lips as he watches you.

“might hurt.”

you let out a soft, watery laugh.

“yeah, well. kiss me anyway.”

TAGLIST: @simplyshelbyrae @raven-nevra @dira333 @stunies @fennecnco @encrytpta @simpingdailyforthem — join the taglist

[mins-fins]

PAREIDOLIA (D.SC)

SUMMARY . . . history just simply always manages to repeat itself, the artist and their tired university student roommate who just can't help but admire them in ways friends don't look at each other..

PAIRING . . . dong sicheng x male!reader

GENRE . . . insanely fluffy

WARNINGS . . . none!

WORD COUNT . . . 1.8k

NOTES . . . why is winwin so majestic tf 🙁 my wayv bias is yangyang i have NO IDEA what you're talking about, im so mortifyingly in love with winwin but not in a "i want to kiss him" way in a "i wanna bake him cookies and run my fingers through his hair" way and that's basically the same thing

sicheng has become long used to coming home and seeing y/n in the middle of another artistic project. it's usually a painting, because that's the easiest thing to do in their small apartment, one the two of them fought tooth and nail to be able to afford. on some days he'll be creating costumes out of construction paper, or he'll be sewing, or he'll just be sketching on the couch. 

it's become somewhat of a staple of comfort to him, maybe it's because of how recognizable it is to come home and see y/n, eyebrows furrowed, head tilted, the slightest smudge of paint on his face as his eyes are completely focused on the canvas before him. there's always a small smile that comes to his face whenever he hears the door open, sicheng only catches it on the most certain of days, though.

and maybe it's weird that sicheng remembers every single detail of what happens after he comes home from exhausting classes where all his professor does is talk about is nonsense, this is kind of like the only silver lining to his day after hours of just nothing but life draining lectures.

and no it's definitely not because y/n is just the best serotonin every single feeling sicheng has for him is completely platonic and platonic only!

it's as he's untying his shoes, that he realizes today something is different. y/n is humming, to a song the two of them hear their neighbors blast through the walls every now and then, he assumes the tune got stuck in his head, and he just can't help but now him it to himself.

sicheng puts his shoes away, he glances up for a moment, and pauses, waiting. he then smiles to himself as he watches y/n smile himself, finally acknowledging his presence. "i didn't even hear you, the door closed so quietly".

y/n's comment makes him snicker, but his eyes still don't leave the canvas, so focused on what he's painting in fact that he doesn't register the paint on his cheek. sicheng, like he does on most days, walks up towards y/n and quickly wipes off the paint with his thumb.

y/n makes a small noise, but he ultimately doesn't shy away from sicheng's hand, almost leaning into the touch if sicheng thinks about it. "how do you never notice when you have paint on your face?" sicheng asks, going over to the sink to wash the paint off his thumb.

"an artist never strays away from their artistic craft" y/n comments mindlessly, and sicheng's eyebrows furrow just for a mere moment before he looks back to his roommate, still focused on the random color he's spreading across the canvas.

"did you just make that up, or..?" at the question, y/n finally turns around after what seemed like hours of standing in the same spot, and he snickers at the way sicheng asks it.

"yep, made it up just now".

the response makes sicheng snort, because he knows that's absolutely true considering the kind of person y/n is. "you.. your something alright" sicheng doesn't know why those words are the ones that come out of his mouth, but they make y/n laugh.

"ah thanks, you make me feel so smart, chengie" y/n looks back to the painting, stepping back just a little bit to admire it. he removes his gloves and tosses them away, yawning lightly. "does it look nice?"

sicheng blinks, glancing over at y/n, who is patiently waiting for his answer. he mindlessly stares at the painting of a snowy mountaintop as he tries to think of a compliment he hasn't said thousands of times already. "it's marvelous" y/n gives him a look of confusion, and sicheng just snickers as he does those jazz hands.

"you couldn't at least be a little bit more creative with your compliment?" y/n's face scrunches a little bet, and sicheng just shrugs, rubbing his eyes.

"i'm tired i don't have time for creativity" sicheng yawns, and y/n gives him another judgmental look. "ask me when i'm more awake" he shouts as he walks towards his room, leaving y/n to admire his painting all alone.

y/n snickers, shaking his head.

what a character you are, dong sicheng..

"do you assume van gogh was a weird guy?"

sicheng barely registers the question, because the only sound he's heard for the past twenty minutes is the horribly loud clicking of y/n's pen as he brainstorms ideas for upcoming projects, assignments, and all that other stuff. he narrows his eyes at his laptop screen before looking up at y/n, who was finally done clicking his pen and began sketching.

"what?" is his immediate response, probably because he didn't have enough time to properly assess or process that question. the other thing that being y/n's roommate comes with is having to hear the most random and weird questions. "i'm sorry?"

"van gogh" y/n says again, smiling innocently. "you know, the painter gu—"

"i know who van gogh is y/n" sicheng clarifies, sighing. "i just— what do you think i know about the personality of a famous artist who died over a hundred years ago?" he raises an eyebrow, momentarily glancing back down at his computer screen as he hears y/n's loud sigh.

"i'm researching about him for this project i'm doing".

"you did a project about van gogh already.." sicheng mutters in confusion, and he hears y/n's pen click once again, then the slam of his sketchbook. "didn't you?"

"oh this isn't for school!" y/n exclaims. "i'm just doing it for fun!"

"what kind of psycho does a project for fun?" at the words, y/n snorts, and sicheng can't help but gaze at him. yeah, it's stupid, but he's just so cute, and sicheng has no idea why he's staring this long at him.

fuck, i probably look crazy. i'm literally zoning out on his face, what kind of moron does that?

at least he's self aware.

"nothing?"

"what?"

"on van gogh?" y/n clarifies, and sicheng blinks like an idiot, because what else would y/n be talking about? he shakes his head, and y/n pouts in an unserious manner.

"at least your here to humor me" y/n says, picking his sketchbook back up as he begins flipping through it, he pauses at a certain page and smiles brightly at what's sketched on it.

sicheng doesn't really know what y/n draws in his sketchbook. y/n is pretty big on privacy, so sicheng never made it his thing to figure out what's in y/n's sketchbook because he doesn't want him to.

though, the way y/n's smiling at his sketchbook gets him curious.

"are the sketches causing you that much joy?"

y/n snaps up, his face going embarrassingly red as he closes his sketchbook once again. he smiles, then awkwardly laughs as he looks away, lightly scratching his arm. "yeah, um.. i just really like the sketches i made".

sicheng laughs, glancing back at his computer screen. it's so hard not to constantly stare at you when your.. well— you.

but they're just friends, nothing more.

"when i was younger i always wanted a garden of strawberries" y/n states as he paints said garden of strawberries on the canvas in front of him.

y/n is always the most busy on weekends with his artistic projects. he'll legitimately spend half of his day painting, another half making a halloween costume even though halloween won't come for the next seven months, and the other half sewing a sweater he's going to wear once every few months. sicheng has seen it all, and he's gotten used to the normalization of y/n just doing another artistic craft everyday, still being able to rest a whole eight hours.

he admires his way of just being such.. what is the phrase, a hard worker, he could say. y/n was just always up, doing something, he was never bored or not doing something, he was very much just an always working person.

"strawberries? out of everything?" sicheng asks, stirring the spoon in his cup of coffee mindlessly, he's too busy staring at y/n to pay attention to his now cooling cup of coffee. y/n gives him one of the most judgmental looks ever.

"what do you mean? out of everything? strawberries are amazing!" y/n counters, and sicheng laughs at his tone of voice. "they're one of the best things mankind has ever actually made".

"okay but why a garden of them?"

"so i can make strawberry flavored things everyday, duh" y/n dismisses the amount of red coloring on his apron, and his gloves, too busy trying to figure out how to finish his painting of his dream garden of strawberries.

y/n narrows his eyes at the painting, studying it for a moment, like he was trying to figure out if the painting was talking to him or not. "is this ugly?"

"what?"

"the painting? is it ugly?"

sicheng furrows his eyebrows, staring at y/n like he just asked the stupidest question in the world. y/n usually doesn't care about his opinion when it comes to paintings, because sicheng isn't an artist like he is, so sicheng has no idea why he would suddenly ask him about what he thought about his painting so suddenly.

"no? your paintings are never ugly.. why would you ask that?"

sicheng's question-answer makes y/n narrow his eyes at him. sicheng assumes he wasn't expecting that answer that then turned into a question, with the way he goes silent, and with the way his face flushes so much more obviously than it usually does.

sicheng doesn't get why he notices that the most, y/n is pretty unpredictable, he gets flustered at some of the most random times, and it's only at certain moments that sicheng notices how red his face is.

it's hot in the room, that's it, that's why, there is absolutely no other reason his face is so red right now.

he's just thinking of excuses.

"thank you" he whispers, turning back to his painting as he removes his paint splattered gloves. "it's a new day, i just wanted your opinion".

"that's strange".

"well if i'm not strange then i'm not interesting" y/n hums as he puts the finishing touches on his painting, and with his back turned, sicheng can admire him fully, without worrying about him getting caught and then having to explain why he was staring for so long.

sicheng is so busy admiring him, he doesn't even notice that he hasn't taken a sip of his coffee yet.

[koishua]

not—𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐔𝐕 [ 𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 ]

what they would never, ever tell you!!

fluff. gn!reader. no warnings. like, reblog, feedback!

✧ heeseung has never told you this, but he'd actually tried sixteen times to muster up the courage to ask for your number and a date. it had taken him an entire year, sixteen tries, and five meltdowns to finally approach you and not instantly turn back around in a moment of weakness. he would never tell you that, however, because he thinks that you believe him to be a suave man. what you don't have the heart to tell heeseung is that jay had snitched on him and his various failures. you think it's adorable, so when you first teased him with this information, he'd gone pink as the cotton candies in your hands.

✧ jay will take this secret to his grave and not for reasons you may think. it had been two years into your relationship with him preparing sweet little lunch boxes for you to enjoy during your days of working and it had just occurred to you that he must have payed an honestly concerning amount of money on your groceries. when you had asked him about it, he'd laughed, shaken his head and brushed it off. this was the one thing in life he would want to do without a single payment back. he simply loves you to the moon and back, unconditionally. let him keep at least this to himself.

✧ jake was the person who'd bring stacks of well-taken and organized copies of his notes and put it under your desk back when you were at school. the mysterious, generous note giver had never revealed themselves to you for years. the writings on the papers were the biggest reason why you were so successful those years and it had crushed you not being able to thank the person properly other than stick-it notes you'd past under your desk for them to see whenever they came by. four years later when you'd reunited with jake and started a relationship with him, you realize how awfully familiar the handwriting looks.

✧ sunghoon would rather dive off a cliff than to explain what the clanging sounds in the kitchen for the past two weeks has been all about. you weren't allowed to enter it to help him with whatever he was doing, too. it would be your birthday soon and he'd fought tooth and nail to get every ingredient he'd ever need in order to make you the world's best birthday cake yet. the issue was the fact that he didn't know how to bake— not a single clue under the roof. so, he's taken it upon himself to practice making cakes every day until he could get it right. so far, every attempt has been a total failure. he still has a few days, so until then, he swears you off the kitchen.

✧ sunoo had written a few lengthy love letters to you as a child, not that he would ever tell you. he was eight years old and a hopeless romantic. he would spend hours coming up with rhymes for his poems about you and include them in the letters confessing his love for you. he was utterly smitten and charmed by your cute littles smiles (still is now). he'd never sent them to you, though, in fear of rejection, so he'd hid the notes in a box under his bedroom. ten years later, you were hanging out in the very same childhood bedroom and your feet hit a plastic box in the corner of his room. once sunoo sees the box and remembers about the contents in it, he feels absolutely mortified.

✧ jungwon was popular all throughout his childhood and teen years with many admirers, boys and girls alike. he was, however, thought to be uninterested in any romance, because he would instantly reject anyone that approached him. the small detail that no one knows about is how he'd walk the same route home a few times a day in hopes of one day catching your eyes from behind window as he'd pass by. no matter which clothes he wore or how he'd styled his hair, his subtle attempts would never work. months of hard work and the only thing that had worked was just going up to the counter with a box of juice and a small paper with a series of digits written on it.

✧ riki is a prideful boy and it would destroy his fragile ego if you knew how he'd stayed up a few nights and searched for tips on how to make someone like you on google's incognito mode. he was clueless and desperate to get you to like him as much as he liked you, so he'd scrolled through many wiki hows and blog articles. he even took a compatibility test to see how you matched and he prayed that you wouldn't ask why he was asking for your time of birth and star sign. you didn't ask, thankfully, and you did end up reciprocating his feelings in the end, but only because he'd charmed his way to your heart on his own— not because of wikihow's tips.

[agendabymooner]

mamma mia (again) ! daniel r. x ofc (måneskin member! ofc)

“they ask me why i’m so hot, ‘cause i’m italiano.”

summary: a series of video clips, but it’s only just danny ric being in love with a certain lester alessandro.

content warning: hint or two of suggestive comments (nothing detailed or graphic), use of explicit language, filler blurb or something, danny being a simp for few videos straight (“have my kids” type beat), lester being an etsy and pinterest enthusiast, literally posted this blurb from my phone so they’re crazy about their image limits 😩

note: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE 105 FOLLOWERS?! UHM? seriously, i’ve never been so happy. i honestly only started posting these because i have them ingrained in my brain and won’t let go until i write or make something. just indulging my imagination you know? enjoy xx

masterlist

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐁𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐌��

【VIDEO ONE — daniel ricciardo is a gatekeeper】

[1st image: yeah, i dunno. everyone just found out that i made it official with my girlfriend and i’m pretty sure i just saw lando weeping in his room. max was the second to react to it and i’m so sure he recoiled. he did say that he didn't want to know what happened in imola few months ago.]

[2nd: interviewer: what happened in imola few months ago? daniel: *chuckles* wouldn’t you like to know - nah, i’m messing about. nothing happened in imola besides from me retiring to my bed early. i think we were both drunk when i posted that photo and i know it looks lewd but there's no way we could've done anything questionable.]

[3rd: d: but yeah. we didn't really want to catch that much attention until maybe i don't know... when we're married or something *chuckles* i: keep it a secret until the wedding? d: yeah. but charles, the absolute fool, posted videos during the concert with me in the background. It would've been real nice if no one caught onto it until we had a mini ric running and racing, you know? just to wreak havoc.]

【VIDEO TWO — daniel ricciardo talks about lester’s love language in his gq video】

[1st: i got this journal from lori. it has my initials "DR" on it for daniel ricciardo*laughs* it's one of those many first gifts that i’ve gotten from her throughout our first few months of dating. her love language isn't just shitting on my life -she has every single aspect of love language within her and this is one of them.]

[2nd: when she gave this to me, all she said was "you can write out your thoughts if you can't let them out through your mouth. *giggles* "she clearly had her thoughts sorted out that time especially when she showed me a page with an embossed phrase or nickname, "tasso di miele" - it means honey badger. she apparently bought the custom embosser from etsy and almost fought tooth and nail just to get it in time. *laughs even more* i love her so much, i honestly wanted to cry that day.]

[3rd: lori actually has a laptop with *laughs* itunes on it and she still got some playlists from 2010-2014? yeah. she’s put a lot of old taylor swift songs in my ipod during the christmas break. my favourite album right now is speak now. she loves red.]

【VIDEO THREE — lester hates ashy hands confirmed】

[1st: daniel: i think i should just cover my hands with gloves all the time. lando: that literally has nothing to do with anything that we're about to do. d: lori tells me that my hands are rough whenever she holds them.]

[2nd: l: or you know... you can just use a hand lotion all the time because your hands dry up real fast? d: ah that's true. i wonder if that's why lori just casually put a bottle of hand cream on my travel bag. the thing smells nice though. it’s chamomile.]

【VIDEO FOUR — it’s okay to spoil your partner; even if it’s an accent chair from her pinterest board】

[1st: d: lori just sent me a picture of an armchair from ikea. l: why was she randomly in ikea, by the way? I saw the text. d: window shopping. but anyway, she saw this armchair that she had on her pinterest board. she asked "pretty or no?" with the green velvet chair. l: what did you tell her?]

[2nd: word to word? I texted her "LOL you should see the accent chair I've gotten you for our flat in monaco." l: are you serious? *laughs* d: she wouldn't tell me what she wanted for her birthday. I only got a brief idea when she left her phone in my pocket once and gave me a free access to her pinterest boards.]

[searchingforatrail]

Drift, Rodimus, Ratchet & Religious Trauma and Healing allegories:

TW: Discussions of religious trauma. This is just another perspective I wanted to bring to the situation with Drift and Rodimus (and Ratchet) as someone who's experienced a lot of pain with religion and can see myself in Drift.

I've been fixating on how Drift was handled when Rodimus kicked him off of the Lost Light, and how often the severity of what Drift went through was downplayed often to prop up Rodimus.

As if Rodimus could do no wrong, and that Drift's suffering was somehow okay because Drift never raised hell and accepted Rodimus's apology.

I also thought about how with Drift's adherence to religion and tendency to follow Rodimus, even to suffering, was very catholic, and very religious trauma.

Rodimus, a Prime, caused Drift to suffer for something Rodimus did. Drift who worshiped the ground Rodimus walked on, was made to suffer for his mistakes. Drift was almost Rodimus's martyr.

And Drift accepted it.

And it's not just that he accepted it, it's that he took on the psychological and physical torment that followed. The social isolation, the physical harm, the lack of resources. The regression back to a side of himself that he fought tooth and nail not to be. It removed him from his safe space and forced him to fight to live every single day.

And this just reminded me so much of how religious trauma actually works in real life. How you are often made to suffer, by your congregation (especially in Christianity) for something you didn't do. How you're expected to suffer because your "God" makes it so, or you suffer so that your religious figure doesn't have to.

And when you are "shunned" or "excommunicated", you lose everything. The very thing that saved you (because religion did save Drift) is used against you.

And even after all of that, they still refuse to take actual accountability. And you are still expected to forgive them.

Their relationship is so complex because Drift has a heart of gold to have forgiven that. He worships the ground Rodimus walks on, but Rodimus was wrong and Drift deserved better.

And then we have Ratchet, the atheist, who respects Gods but understands that they don't have the right to control your life like that, and that you still ultimately have control of everything, save Drift. Save Drift from his own God, and that's so powerful.

And that's why they actually last.

Their story is very much an allegory to religious trauma to me. It took Ratchet, an atheist, to make him realize that what happened to him was not okay and that he was not deserving of what Rodimus did to him.

Drift's "God" didn't safe him. The one Drift suffered for, nearly died for, didn't save him. A non-believer who laughed in "God's" face did.

Drift and Rodimus are religious trauma. Drift and Rachet are religious freedom and religious healing.

[inflatuati0ons]

Can you please write NSFW headcanons for Seo Moonjo for a female reader? Reader used to be a tenant in his building, and he became obsessed with her. So he stopped others from killing her and made sure she was unaware of their killings. But when Jongwoo came, they became close friends because they were the only sane people. That made Moonjo jealous. 

-> Pairing: Seo Moonjo x Sub!bot female reader

-> Content(Warnings): Can be read as GN, Dubious-consent(?), Attempted-murder, mild Descriptions of violence, Oral fixation(?), stalking, Blood kink, Sadomasicism, Exhibitionism -implied, corruption kink(?), spit as lube, penetration, bondage, Sensory deprivation, Orgasm denial, Overstimulation, Sex under the influence of, free use kink, thigh-fucking, Cum eating, Cum play -implied, 3rd POV.

-> Author's Note: Sorry this took me so long to post. I had alot of fun writing it. Sorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted, I got carried away just a bit...

---

• He wanted to shove the limits of your sanity. He does everything in his power to make your life completely miserable, playing with you and your mind before he even considers killing you. Only to fall victim to you and your silly emotions when you become too friendly with Jong Woo instead of him. Watching from a hole in the wall as you spent time with the boy he grew resentful, almost spiteful. Laughing at his jokes, smiling at every little kind act, all the kind, sappy things you can think of. He hated the weak human empathy and the need to flock towards the weak, the longer he watched the more he wanted to see you crumbling into his embrace. He wanted to see you at your most animalistic, to see the bloodlust leak from every pore as you fought tooth and nail for your life, only for it to turn into unchanneled fear as he ripped your flesh off the bone.

He almost craved it, seeing you fight through the crack in the door wasn't enough. He wanted to hear your anger, feel your rage, taste your despair on his tongue. Watch as the life drained from your once vibrant eyes as he devoured every single part of you.

• But at the same time he wanted to feel the same kindness that radiated from your human soul, he wanted to be the cause of your laughter, the reason for your smile. He wanted to feel the warmth of your skin against his. Your lips pressed down firm on his, your tongue invading his hot mouth as the addictive taste of you plated on his tongue. Your warm hands ran through his dirtied hair, caressing his heated skin. Just like you did with him, he wanted to have you all to himself. Just one more night.

• The thoughts that plagued his mind at every hour of the day, wrapping around his head. You captivated him, hypnotized him, wiggling your way into his mind like a fucking worm.

• Every hour that should have been spent sleeping was used to watch you, watch the rise and fall of your breasts as you slept, the peace that adored your face, the drool that seeped from the corners of your lips, your soft human body covered by the stained white sheets. You were right there so exposed, so vulnerable. Oblivious to the danger that lingers before you. How easy it would be to wrap his, hands around your tender neck as he wrung the life from your body, your warm skin contrasts his cold hands, tightening around the curve of your neck. Grip faltering when you groaned, slowly stirring from your peaceful slumber. Watching as your breathing slowed uncertain emotions consuming him, fear, regret? What would he have to fear? He killed many in his life, humans and animals alike so why did he release you? Why did he spare your life? Why did he stop the others from killing you? Why was he so afraid of your death?

• He observed, watched, stalked, and got to know you without you ever getting closer to him. When the long-awaited opportunity sprung out and you eventually had to go to the dentist there was no way he would pass you up. And when you were finally between his teeth, he wouldn’t let you go.

• He spent unnecessary minutes just exploring the moist cavern, uncaring of your heavy pants and deep squirming. You gag on thick fingers that prod and glide around your mouth and press down on your tongue, doing so without the uncertaintyof your feelings. Simply enjoying the wet sensation of your tongue, the smooth nature of your teeth and the constant tightness of your throat he wished were wrapped around another part of him.

• He likes being in your mouth, whether it's your tongue wetting your fingers or your lips sealed to his cock, he simply can't get enough of the feeling.

His face remained professional under your flustered gaze but the hot boner he sported was anything but work friendly and he made sure you knew that, letting you get a peek of the bulge as he rose off the stool.

• But he didn’t let himself indulge too much in you, he wants you to come to him, to beg him, want him. He wanted the moments shared between you to haunt you, your emotions subconsciously drawing you to him. You just have to let them.

• He hates how close you become with his little project. He loathes how you long for another when he is the one who will give you everything. And he likes to remind you of that.

He grinds against your slick flesh, watching as he disappears through the tightly drawn meat, leaky tip peeking at the other side as you whined, groaned, and moaned on his cock. Unable to control when the little movements and sounds. He watched as you squirm desperate to feel it somewhere else, hole pulsing -begging to be filled with his sticky semen. Rough fingers pet at your damp hair, stalking down your painted neck and flicking swollen nipples. Spreading his filth across your scolding, bare body

"M-moonjo..."

He heard your pleas and sobs choosing not to listen to your squeaks and wheezes, your body told him all he needed to know. He forced his cum covered fingers down your throat without resistance, tasting yourself on him and savouring the flavour of both of you.

• He knows what you feel and he wants you to choke on it. Shame stitched into your memory of this day. The day you let yourself go.

He hovers, peering upon you. Humming with content, taking pleasure in your bare form and the distress that leaked from every pore. The position brought you nausea. Your moans taunting you, your mind spun, cunt twitching. Pleasure washed away any embarrassment, you were too desperate for a release, pride long discarded you. All you were made to do was beg.

• He would refuse any penetration, only allowing himself to revel in you when you find it in yourself to drown in him. He wants you begging for something you're not even sure you want. He likes you confused and wanting.

• and when he finally has you where he wants you, You don't even have to ask and he won't say no; He loves the thought of you coming to him for another way to calm down your discomforted heart. It doesn't matter what he's doing, make a statement(a claim), spit on his cock, and force your way down.

He adores feeling his heartbeat try to match the speed of your hips ramming against the hardness of his pelvis, moans vibrating deep in your throat as your musk fills his lungs. It's tight and dry, painful but pleasurable. It's raw and real.

• He likes to have sex with you under the influence of alcohol but not drunk enough where you can't remember anything. The alcohol both dulls your senses and enhances them. He loves to watch you function with a half-drunken mind, admiring you and the strong shape of your body as urges and impulsive consume you. Burning the images of blood sliding down your contorted face into his mind and the sweat that glides down your body creating such an arousing shine that he adores so much he tries to mimic it with his cum.

• As much as he adores taking control of the situation, forcing you through painful and forced orgasms and even taking them away. He worshiped the way you finally go out of a zone of comfort to assert dominance, fed up with his attitude and possession.

• Please, Tie him up, blindfold him, gag him. Even if he is unaware and vulnerable not able to do anything but can still feel everything. Draw lines of red across his skin, and let him feel the warm sticky fluid peel down his skin and burn.

He needs to feel you, he needs to know its you touching his everything, you who's bringing him to his peak. Even if it isn't...

• He dirted you, forced his filth onto your clean skin, and turned you into one of him. He relishes in the way you would learn the truth and accept that animalistic part of you, preening at the bloodshed and the life you take with your bare nails and the growth you cause him under your excruciating touch. He wants you to remember the pieces and work to put the entire puzzle together to reveal what you have done and why you want to do it again. Together again.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Thoughts on yan!assassin with unbothered reader(g/n or fem idc). Where reader accidentally discovers his identity and he's like "you better read your prayers because you gonna die now" and reader is looking him right in the eyes with a bored/unfazed gaze which baffles him for a moment but then reader says something like "you doing it or nah? I'm getting late for work". Then poof he interested now!

Yandere! Boyfriend! Assassin! x gn! Nonchalant! Conglomerate Heir! Reader

I raise you this plot anon! Established relationship but yandere is of course, an assassin to kill you~!

Yan Assassin name: Azrael

TW: Child abuse, Religious misusage

He who is raised in a convent, with a father who despises his presence as he reminds him of a sin he can't go back, which is having an intimate relationship with a prostitute, creating Azrael.

His father, the head priest, hates his existense.

He will always repeat that again and again, while punishing him.

This let Azrael's mind get so twisted.

Why does a man who preach about love, prosperity, and peace, was relishing in whipping his own son?

Hypocrites. That's what they are.

Then and there, Azrael knew he had to stand on his own two feet. He fought tooth and nail in that damn convent that resembled hell more than the safe haven his father and his parish claims.

Then one day, in a particular bad stormy night, his father was doing his usual sermons to Azrael. Verse upon verse, he misused the quotes and used them to inflict punishment on Azrael, saying he's a child of sin, and should be eradicated.

It was going smoothly, until the words came out of his father's mouth.

"Tell your prayers, for you will be lifted up to heaven afterwards."

Azrael looked up, and saw the head priest holding a candelabra up his head and about to strike down. His face resembling the demons in his nightmare.

Azrael shook, and knew he had to stop this.

That night, Azrael took off, the rain washing away his blood and sins. The headpriest's corpse displayed in front of the altar, the candlabra shoved down his throat.

Azrael had his first kill that night, but it won't be the last.

Azrael forgot how he got into the organization, all he remembered was the brutal regime of being trained like bloodless robots. It was a dog eats dog world.

With the proper nurturing, he became the top assassin the organization has to offer.

The success ratio of his missions is at almost one to zero, saying that he always succeeds.

So the organization gave him a task. To gather information about the Billionaire, Mammon, and kill his child, his heir, Y/N, to trigger a full on hysteria.

Azrael agreed, and sought you.

At first, he only approached you for the mission, flirting and scheming, making you fall for him, "loving" you, confessing to you, becoming your boyfriend. It was going smoothly.

You let him in your heart and your circle. Freely asking him to come home to your mansion.

Azrael smirked. You were too trusting.

He snooped around the mansion, finding useful information that the organization can use or sell, finding every single dirt on Mammon, and of course, Y/N.

And, with his mission done, he grabbed his weapon, and went to your bedroom.

Azrael creeped in, slowly walking to your bed as you slept. You were only wearing a lace robe that draped over your body carelessly. Showing off skin that even made the cold blooded assassin blush.

Azrael cleared his throat quietly and climbed on top of you, his eyes darting at the humidifier with an essential oil that will induce deep sleep that he gave to you as a gift.

So that you won't wake up when he kills you.

Yet, when he raised his arm to stab, your eyes dart open and blinked.

Azrael froze.

You both stared at each other for a while before he laughed. A deep rumble on his chest.

"Unbelievable." *He muttered.* "The oil didn't work?!"

You only stared at him with curiosity. Not even a sliver of hostility there.

"I can't let my pristine record die." Azrael glowered before pressing the knife cold against your neck.

You asked him what he's doing. And Azrael laughed.

"I'm an assassin sent by an organization you don't need to know about. I have gathered useful data, and now, for my final mission, I will kill you silently." *Azrael ranted.* "And yet, you woke up... I'm sorry, angel. But you got to go."

"Say your prayers before I send you to... God..."

Azrael blinked.

Why do you look... Deadpan? Bored? Nonchalant?

He trembled.

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you done? Make it quick. I still have my recital first thing in the morning."

Silence was all he gave out before his whole body shook with laughter.

Interesting.

"Alright, you win, angel. I'll see you tomorrow at your recital." With that, Azrael left your room in a blink, making you question if that really happened or not.

But all Azrael could feel was his fast beating heart and your bored, clear, and serene eyes boring into him.

He wanted more of it.

He needed more of it.

Desperately.

Muffled screams of pain and agony echoed through the tiny balcony in the church as you played your piano, playing Vingt Regards sur l'Enfant Jesus by Messiaen, hauntingly difficult to play and dissonant to hear. But to Azrael, it was the perfect piece to eliminate someone.

But that person wasn't just someone.

It was your father, Mammon, whom he talked to earlier, discussing on how Azrael should break up with you.

"Here's a million dollars. Break up with my child!"

"... Why would I?"

"You... You have this sinister look in your eyes! Your stare is making me shiver!"

"But i'm not directing it at you, am I?"

"Y-yes, but as a father, I can't let y--"

"Silence. You're just a pervert who preys on young women. Do not be a saint."

"What?! How did you--" "N-no! Spare my life! I'll give you everything! Money, mansions, even my child's hand in marriage! Yes! You'll have them all by yourself!"

"Tempting offer. I'll take it, especially your child. But, you preaching your fatherly love on your child, yet easily giving them away once your life is in danger is fucking disgusting."

"You know what I hate most of all? Hypocrites."

And he plunged the knife deep to Mammon's hands, with his mouth covered with a handkerchief to muffle the screams. Your father tried his hardest to scream loudly, but your performance with the piano on the altar was mesmerizing, distracting the audiences with your pristine playing.

With one last plunge, blood dripped down Azrael's knife as he raised it, done killing your father.

"Making Y/N break up with me is not the smartest move you had, Mr. Mammon." Azrael's stare bore holes on your father's corpse. "But i'll give it to ya. Making Y/N break up with me to marry her off to a rich conglomerate is a solid plan to fill up more of your coffers. Your greed knows no bounds, even family."

Azrael leaned on the railings, watching your divine figure play Regard de l'eglise d'amour, the last piece of the day.

And when the sunset rays hit the stained glass window above you, it shined, giving you an organic spotlight that took away Azrael's breath.

Your eyes found his, and saw the blood on his body. Azrael smiled and waved your father's glasses around.

And as expected, your eyes didn't have any reaction, just a blank stare and a nonchalant attitude as your fingers fly across the keys.

It made Azrael tremble in excitement.

Oh, he's going to have fun with you, trying to get a reaction out of your body.

Should he kill your mother next?

With one final stroke of the key, he whispered under his breath.

"My angel."

And just like angels, he will test your limit on how partial and nonchalant can you be with his sins until you break.

[maraudersmary]

sometimes i’m going about my day and then i remember james potter. james potter who was raised as an only child. james potter who craved siblings. james potter who met a spunky young girl one day in town and they were best friends ever since. james potter who then met a mischievous boy who’s eyes shone with sadness, a quiet but rebellious boy who carried his fathers guilt and mothers regret on his shoulders, and a meek but wickedly funny boy who had never been anyone’s first choice before on the train platform on september the 1st. james potter who fell in love with the fiery ginger girl on day one and never once did that love fade.

james potter who fought tooth and nail for his friends when no one else would. james potter who put the needs of every single person he loves before his own. james potter who neglects himself so he can be there for others. james potter who saw the good in those he loved when they didn’t, but could not see the good in himself. james potter who wouldn’t eat for days because he thought he didn’t deserve it. james potter who controlled every aspect of his routine as he felt no power over the stopping the pain his friends faced. James potter who lost control of this routine and suffered greatly himself. james potter who had his friends support even though he thought he didn’t deserve it.

james potter who finally got the love he deserved with lily evans. james potter who got to see some of his best friends fall in love. james potter who gave dorcas his blessing to wed marlene. james potter who grieved for his childhood best friend before she got to walk down the isle. james potter who saw the love of her life and one of his best friend go crazy with grief and take on voldemort themself, almost taking him down. james potter who welcomed a baby he always wanted into this war torn world. james potter who named his brother a god father. james potter who never once suspected any of his friends, no his family, to betray him. james potter who died on the stairs of his family home, knowing he had died saving his beloved wife and son. james potter who would never know the true outcome of that fateful halloween night. it was better that way.

[anthropologyruinseverything]

Summerslam venting - my opinions are based on personal experiences and feelings.

I’m a Roman fan but honestly this is getting old and stale and I’ll completely lose interest if he isn’t at Summerslam. (And listen, for a dude with his health issues I’d be happy to hear he was gonna mostly retire and make movies. Get your paper while you can babe!) I agree with a number of folks here that they’ve missed so much in regard to tension building between Roman and Solo. I just don’t care. And of course he’s gonna cheat against Cody. It’s a classic bad guy vs. the hero set up.

At least they gave Damian something to fight for. I am loving the new angle. But if he loses to a N@z* who called him street trash I’m gonna throw up because you’re just not hiding it at this point. Fair warning, you will not find any love for Gunther on my page. Yes, he’s great at what he does but until his character changes I’m not cheering. (Stood across the protest line from too many of the real-deal bad guys who sing his praises online at this point.)

Rhea’s gonna have to face the monster she herself created in Liv. I’m interested in the long term implications for Judgement Day and her relationship with Dominik. But it’s Mami’s fault so it’ll be satisfying to see what happens and I have faith in these performers to put on an amazing show.

Bayley and Nia lacks the same level of emotion but I also think it will be a great match. Nia is better than a lot of people give her credit for and with this last title run Bayley has won me over. Normally I leave the room when Tiffany Stratton is on the television so hopefully her fake ass won’t be too involved.

Drew, Punk and Seth will be fun to watch but they’ve screwed with other storylines so many times I’m just ready for it to be over. I think the highlight will be Seth’s outfit.

I want Sami to beat Bron. I’m a sucker for heart and hard work paying off. Bron is Goldberg 2.0 and I find him just as interesting as his predecessor, meaning I’d rather watch paint dry. He’s got potential so I hope they don’t stick with the angry meathead persona for long. I figure they’re setting Sami up to lose, probably due to being drawn back into Bloodline mess with Jey. It would be almost okay if he and Jey got a nice run as a tag team together.

Side note if you made it this far:

I was so excited for Jey’s single run. It’s personal and I know that’s silly but I FOUGHT TOOTH AND NAIL to escape an abusive family and make a life for myself. It really spoke to me to see him do the same sort of thing. And now, it’s all been wasted because he’s almost assuredly been nuked at every turn so he can go back to the Bloodline drama. He deserves better, deserves a better singles story and a title. It’s sad he probably won’t ever get it at this point. Like I said before, I will watch a different promotion if he goes to it.

Anyway, thanks for listening. My couple of 7 day, 18hr a day work weeks are coming to a close so I’ll have way more time to work on my fanfics and novels. I’m considering entry to a competition for some of my original stories so I may post a few blurbs for feedback. If you’re waiting for a request or just a story update, that’s what I’ll be working on! Some very much needed stress relief.

Thanks for giving me some space to share my thoughts and my work!

[holylulusworld]

The story

Summary: She's not going to let him down.

Pairing: TFATW!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, self-loathing, Bucky feels not worth being loved, written in Bucky’s PoV, fluff

A/N: Inspired by the song “The Story” by Brandi Carlile. Lyrics are taken from the song.

Sequel to: Ruined

No one wants to hear my story. I get it. I’m a relic from the past most people want to forget about.

Why think about dark times and the monsters I worked for? Or what I had to endure.

Even my best friend, the man I considered my brother, left me to go back to better times.

Steve wanted to live the dream he believed he wanted. He didn’t care that I had to hold his hand when he died. 

I’m stuck in this world, with my past hanging over me like a dark cloud. There is nothing I can do about it. 

The only light in my life is her. She makes the world brighter, and my life bearable.

Sometimes I believe I’m not attractive enough for her. I have lines across my face, and scars litter my body and mind. 

She’s perfect, looking like an angel. Every man turns their head when she enters a room. I always wonder why she chose me.

My girl left this perfect guy. He had it all. The looks, a shit-ton of money, and a good reputation. I can’t even hate him. It’s not his fault that my life got fucked up so bad that I can’t even sleep.

No wonder he fought tooth and nail and even played dirty to get her back. He spread rumors and lies about me, and Sam. Telling everyone we turned dark and tried to extort him. 

Y/N refused to go back to him. She even sent the huge diamond ring I’ll never be able to afford back to him. My girl told him to fuck off and grow up.

Still, I hate the man I see in the mirror. He’s not the cocky man going to war, or dancing with the ladies.

I feel like my body and soul are scared so badly that I’m not going to heal. And I don’t mean my missing arm, and the pain I feel most days.

“Baby,” her soft voice brings me out of my thoughts. She breaks the endless circle of self-loathing once again. “Stop it right now.”

Y/N wraps her arms around my waistline from behind. She dips her head to look at me in the mirror. “I love you the way you are,” Y/N says and kisses the scar tissue around my metal arm. “There is not a single thing I’d change about you, baby.”

“Y/N,” I stare at the man in the mirror as she steps next to me to take my hand. “I—”

“Look again, B,“ she says. “For me. I want you to see the man I see.”

I exhale sharply and drop my gaze. It’s so hard to look at myself and like what I see. 

“What do you see in me? I’m…no good.”

“Bucky, look again,” she squeezes my hand, holding it tightly. “Please…”

I lift my gaze, and oddly I see a different man. 

All of these lines across my face Tell you the story of who I am So many stories of where I've been And how I got to where I am

The longer I stare at myself, the more I see.

I see the young man, full of dreams, who tries to lift his small and weak friend up. 

I see the soldier, becoming a man during endless nights spent in fear of getting killed.

I see the prisoner, praying that the monsters capturing him end his life.

I see the man, freed of his shackles as his best friend became a hero.

I see the man fighting alongside Captain America. Brave and fierce.

I see the wounded man, torn apart and put back together by the enemy.

I see the Winter Soldier.

I see the man buying plums first thing after he escaped his handlers.

I see the man fighting alongside his best friend.

I see the man losing it all again.

I see the man finding love when he is about to give up.

“I’m nothing without you, doll. You helped me become this man too,” I dip my head to glance at my girl. “I want you to look at yourself too and see the woman I see.”

She smiles, and we look at the mirror again. Together.

But these stories don't mean anything When you've got no one to tell them to It's true, I was made for you

“You came a long way, Bucky,” she says. “I know that there are still things you don’t want to talk about. But if you are ready, I’ll be here to hold your hand. Always.”

“Always.”

Tags in reblog.

[arthurmargon]

watching biden’s state of the union address is so comical, he can barely speak without his dentures falling out and he’s stuttering so much. kamala keeps popping up every 30 seconds behind him like a pez dispenser and republican hecklers keep yelling whenever he brings up trump which is also every 30 seconds.

congressmen are clapping like seals as if their applause can drown out the sound of the genocides they’re funding. bragging about the hundreds of billions in tech development built on the blood of congolese ppl dying in mines and fields. bragging about being the arbitre of freedom and democracy in defending ukraine from occupation while sending bombs to kill 35 000 palestinians and to maintain the bloodiest apartheid system since south africa’s which america coincidentally fought tooth and nail to maintain too.

it’s truly mortifying to witness the spectacle of american politics. every single person in that room watching him and having watched every president before him deserve the hottest spots in hell. it feels beyond dystopian to see all these old fuckers cheering on the supposed bright future they’re building for americans while damn near everyone is living paycheck to paycheck, working multiple jobs, can’t access medical care, can’t afford basic prescription drugs, can’t pay rent, don’t have bodily autonomy, are drowning in debt. while they’re killing thousands upon thousands of black and brown people every day.

“4 more years! 4 more years!” whoever fucking gets the job in the fall won’t give the ppl 4 more years of anything but misery, poverty, and military oppression. that is if either one of these fucking demonic fossils last 4 more years. cop cities are being built all over the country so that the american military complex can kill as many ppl nationally as it does internationally! i love america!

[imavikingo]

Steve Rogers was a lot of things, but a two faced son-of-a-bitch he was not, have some respect for his mother Sarah. Thank you very much.

What he was though, is a liar.

He has lied plenty, more times than he can even remember.

Every time he arrived home with a new bruise before his mom, and stayed in his room until she was gone again he said he was A-ok, only tired.

All the times Bucky asked if he was fine after a fight, and if he was having fun after another rejection by a pretty dame. He said he was just peachy.

When he was on death’s door he said it was nothing.

He lied more than what he was willing to admit (Steve from New Jersey ring a bell?)

Every time people expected him to be the ideal man with a plan, THE Captain America, he just faked a smile and performed how they wanted him to.

Lie, after lie, fake smile after fake smile.

He was so tired of pretending. At least he used to lie for better reasons before, and for himself.

He was what they needed him to be now, and more times than not people didn’t need Steve.

No one seemed to see HIM after being defrosted either: Steven Grant Rogers, the person behind Captain America. They only saw what they wanted to see and expected to hear.

Thats why he didn’t try and be friends with his teammates after the New York incident. Thats why he let them do those shitty “educational videos” for high schoolers.

Thats why he stayed alone for the most part.

(Nick Fury didn’t let him be either, what an asshole).

They needed him, they wanted him. But not really, right? Because Captain America is an ideal, a superhero. It isn’t HIM really.

Steve Rogers is only a man after all, tired, lonely, a sad man out of time.

Who would need HIM?

Thats why he tried to contact Peggy and have a somewhat relationship with her again. He didn’t care if it was based on “what ifs” at this point and that she was old. He needed something, someone from his past, anything at this point that made him feel like Steven Grant Rogers, human again. Maybe she would need him in some way?

Once he knew she couldn’t even remember him for the most part, he went back to square one.

He missed her, the old her. The strong independent woman that she was, and sometimes he lamented the fact he didn’t give her the coordinates in time. Maybe he would have had a good life with her by his side. If he only loved her so…

Maybe he wouldn’t feel like dying in this new scary and terrifying world every single day.

Thats why he came back alive when he saw Bucky again.

Bucky was his home, his everything, always was, always will be. He never thought he would have another chance to be near him again.

So he once again became Steve Rogers. Sure before Buck he was friendly with Sam and he had a cordial relationship with Nat. But after knowing of Bucky’s existence in the present (he’s alive, he’s here) did he became friends with them.

He fought with tooth and nails for Bucky, because he wouldn’t let anyone tear them apart again. Not even the man himself (not matter what Sam said about co-dependency. What did he knew anyways?)

When Buck wanted to stay in cryo Steve wanted to scream and cry in his face. But didn’t, because he knew Bucky needed it, needed to have his own choices and for them to be respected.

So once again he started to lie. He didn’t want to make his friends worry about him after all, he was fine. Bucky was the one that needed all the attention, not him.

Then… The battle of Wakanda happened and…

Never in a million years Steve would have thought he would lie to himself without knowing.But he did, and for literal years until present.

See? Steve didn’t know he was in love with his best friend until he lost him for the sixth fucking time. He knew he loved him, but not that he was in love with him. He didn’t realize, but even then he couldn’t admit it. He was terrified, so he replaced his name with Peggys, even on his mind.

That was safer, more “normal”. He knew people weren’t that homophobic anymore but… he wasn’t a regular Joe, right? No. That would be a disaster.

Even if he didn’t have the mantle of Captain America anymore, he was horrified. He didn’t even want to think about Bucky that way. So he started to lie to himself.

He has lied to everyone else for literal decades, what was lying to himself now?

And well… talking about deluding himself and lying… he couldn’t let himself think that Bucky and Sam were… they weren’t! They could change things, they needed to bring them back. Bring him back.

So they planned and they succeeded, for the most part (Only at the cost of one of his best friends and people he cared about).

Steve was so happy once he knew he had Bucky with him again (he’s fine, he’s alive). But he couldn’t forget about what he now knew about himself. And couldn’t let himself be distracted by any of that, after all there was also a hole Nat and Tony left on his heart, on everyone's hearts and lives (And Wanda wasn't stable anymore, he needed to fix that too).

He wanted to lie again, be comforting to Bucky, treasure him, but he only seemed awkward and cold. He was uncomfortable with his own feelings and on his own skin, and didn’t know what to do to fix things with Buck. (I love you, I'm in love with you please forgive me, I’m sorry).

So he once again fucked things up and tried to bring back Nat, Tony and Vision with him. Only… he didn’t discuss this with anyone else so he had no back up, nor help. No one knew of this plan of his after all.

He was on his own. On a prison cell for what it seems. (For the crimes of creating new alternatives timelines apparently, huh. Who would have thought that fighting and talking with himself from 2012 would lead him here. Trying to bring back the others didn’t help either).

This place was bare of anything recognizable, it was ugly and cold.

He was a man out of time once again.

Bucky probably hated him now, Sam too.

What a joke.

Everything was fucked up

For what they told him a “Skrull” (what is even that?) replaced him and everyone bought it, even Bucky. (And no, no no no... Bucky would notice, he would know!).

And would you believe it, he wasn’t the only fucker that was here too, huh. What a weird place.

So yes, Steve Rogers is a liar and a disaster…

and what a good companion that would be for Loki, the God of mischief, no?

So both tried their best to escape that fucked up prison.

Together.