#i think i know how to do most of this. i think. probably

[yellbug]

i went in to get a bra fitting today and I had a big conversation with the woman who runs the boutique i go to about her advice for trans women re:underwire bras and fittings, so I'm gonna pass that along!

she said that underwire bras aren't typically made with trans women's' ribcages in mind, but that if you have smaller boobs a soft bralette or sports bra is totally fine. it's also possible that bras made for drag will fit, but she wasn't sure how helpful that would be and neither was I, since we're not talking about a boob plate here. i was asking on behalf of some of my friends who have naturally big boobs after horomones though, and she told me that if your breast tissue feels unsupported or you're getting new back pain that you think is coming from there, your best bet is to get fitted at a small boutique, and that there are higher band sizes that you can try.

I told her some of the girls I know are scared to do this and she reccomended to have someone call the place for you and ask outright, being upfront that you're nervous about it, and then base your decision on how they react. but also that most independent bra stores are probably friendly because they're being run by hippies. At a chain like victoria's secret or something they're not going to carry higher band sizes at all, plus you're never gonna be able to tell who you'll get at a chain, so she recommends calling a smaller place where you can really get a read on the people there from talking on the phone.

I hope somebody finds that helpful!

[madamechrissy]

Mobster Toji headcanons

Pairings- Mafia Toji x shot girl reader

mdni- explicit- oral (f recieving) drug use, dirty talk, choking, fingering, angsty and smutty- part of my Mafia AU- Toji is from Pour it Up (Mob Kuna) and Losing Control Now (Mob Toru) gonna be a fic soonnn, here is some of the vibes/points of ittt

comment to get tagged <3

Mobster Toji who runs the most elite club with Sukuna, and runs the Gojo mafia, has it all in spades, and he knows it's the good life, two strippers on his lap, kissing and giggling as he inhales his blunt. Deep in his lungs, smoking it and then turning to kiss each girl. How could he really complain about a life like this?

Mobster Toji had it rough before, he had a gambling addiction, he got into some debt, he lost his love... it wasn't an easy life, but he got here, and now, he runs this city with the men there, going against the Zenin mob just really made Toji's fucking day. He's got either side of his neck getting kissed on by pretty girls as they pass the blunt around, the club music reverberating off the walls, making everything so heady.

Mobster Toji pauses then, as he sees you, you're a nervous little wreck, nibbling on your lips as you talk to the girls there, you're in some slinky little dress that shows off all of those thighs, and hugs your body just so, glinting silver. He can't take his eyes off you, when they hand you the shot tray, explaining this and that to you, while you clearly look out of place. He leans forward to get a better look, earning the pouts of the girls on his lap. 'sorry, give me a minute hmm?' they giggle when he pinches their asses, running off while he gets a look at you.

Mobster Toji watches you bend forward, smile on your pretty face while you serve up shots, getting tips slipped in your pretty lace garter, running back to the bar for more before the song was up. Sukuna comes out then, looking at Toji who's so clearly enamored, and chuckles at him. 'Like the new shot girl?' Toji damn near blushes, Toji Fushiguro, he's probably blushed once in his life, but he does, only earning Sukuna's throaty laughter, and Toji's scowl. 'I actually was thinking of having her dance, our main girl is late'

Mobster Toji can't take the thought of your pretty body naked, he should make some perverted comment, but he just stands there, as Sukuna pats his shoulder, walking over to you. He watches you giggle a bit, shifting your hips, but he doesn't know your heart is racing, as the tall, handsome owner of this club asks you to dance. 'Oh, Mr. Sukuna... I don't know...' you murmur, observing the empty pole, and then he catches your eye, the other owner you've heard about, Toji Fushiguro. 'You don't have to get undressed, just give em a show, my girl doesn't get naked anymore either' you smile as you think of just how smitten he seems. You can't imagine feeling like that, not after the number your ex did on you.

Mobster Toji gets to watch as you do just that, clueless about a pole, he walks up to the stage then. 'Never seen Toji so quiet, he good?' Satoru asks, waltzing in now, wearing shades in the dark club for truly no reason Toji thinks, other than to be a little shit. 'I'm fine' Toji huffs, but then your eyes catch his, while a man is slipping a tip to you under the strap of your dress, and he pauses once more. 'He's got the hots for the shot girl' Sukuna says with a smirk. 'oh, that's it, shit go on up there, tip her' Toji scowls now 'tip her!?' the two men shrug, giving Toji a shove, and then he's there

Mobster Toji enamors you, with his huge shoulders, this broad handsome face, but he's different than anyone you've seen, he's intense, his forest green eyes glinting, plush lips in a terse line, like he's angry. You flush a bit under the obvious stare, coming over to him then, on your hands and knees, making Toji think of insane things, like your mouth wrapping around his cock, him choking your delicate throat, stretching it out with his thickness. 'can I tell you a secret?' you asks him then, when he sits down, spreading his thighs wide, elbows on the stage. 'go ahead, doll' you giggle a bit then, leaning forward, hand brushing up his suit jacket. 'I have no clue what I'm doing'

Mobster Toji can't stop the grin on his face, when he starts to take out stacks of bills that are wrapped with a rubber band, enjoying the little flush you get as you let your straps drop, baring your shoulders. 'Fuck...' he mutters under his breath, planting the smallest kiss on your collarbone, the action shooting desire hot straight through you, your eyes meet then, when his phone rings, and he sighs. 'my kid... sorry doll, I'll see you later?' you nod curiously, smiling up at him, you've heard of him - big, domineering, crime lord Toji- but he actually seems rather sweet, tipping you far too much, brushing a thumb over your lower lip before he leaves.

Mobster Toji doesn't see Megumi as often as he should, he wants him far away from the Zenin, and he needs him hidden from this dark world, the Zenin want Toji back and they want his kid, the heir to the family, but Toji won't let it happen. You're on his mind even as he drives home, Megumi's calmly blinking up at him as he pats his head, and the nanny apologizes 'so sorry, Mr. Fushiguro, but I do need to head home for an emergency' he shakes his head then. 'No worries, go on... hey kid'

Mobster Toji tries to balance it all, being a single dad, running this club, running the Gojo mob, drowning his sorrows in the finest whiskey, weed, cocaine and of course women. But even the next day when he sees you, his heart falters again, when you shoot him this little smile. He figures it's gotta be how beautiful you are, right? He's been around a while, but you're something else- until you run right into him, eyes wide as you slam into his chest, and he pauses, his hands on your waist. 'What's wrong, doll?' you sigh, looking around then. 'my ex is here, and he... well he was a dick, I was trying to hide' Toji hums then, pulling you even closer. 'where is he?'

Mobster Toji smirks, his scar stretching at the corner of his lip when he spots your ex. 'He's staring at us, wanna give him a show?' you giggle breathless then, nodding, your ex had left you after fucking your 'best friend' and you can't help but feel the pettiness rise. 'How do we do that, Mr. Fushiguro?' he grips your ass then, making you gasp, thigh between yours, pressing you on it, bending so low, you inhale his cologne, taste the liquor on his breath - 'like this' he whispers, before his lips are on yours. Your ex watches with fury, everyone else with curiosity, but it's just the two of you then, as everything starts fading aside from his lips on yours, his big hands on your body.

Mobster Toji can't get enough of your kisses, of your little teases, the next few days he keeps stealing them, like some dumb high school boy, he turns down this woman and that woman, because all he can think about is you. You don't go further, though you're aching for him, this cute little sweet game between the two of you, but you soon find yourself sitting on his lap, right in the VIP room. This was a 'special request' from Mr. Fushiguro himself. Powder is sprinkled against your neck, as he laps up residue from your collarbone, moaning softly in your ear, making your mind run wild in a room full of powerful mobsters and beautiful women, but all you can think of is him, how he's not like anyone you've known.

Mobster Toji slips rough fingers under your skirt, pressing your already damp fabric against your engorged clit as he holds an entire conversation, with Gojo, Sukuna, Choso and Suguru and plenty of women all in that room, effortless, like he's not finger your slick pussy, slipping under your panties and watching you bite that lower lip. He leans up, whispering in your ear 'keep quiet, hmm? slutty pussy is loud isn't she?' you can't formulate a thought as he fingers your slick walls, his cock aching to break your sweet pussy as he feels it pulsing around him, barely holding back his moans.

Mobster Toji has your back against the door of his office that night, in his knees in front of you, before you can think his tongue is lapping a stripe up your slit hungrily, and your hands are in his inky black locks, crying out softly while he drinks your sweet pussy up. 'Mr. Fushi-' he laughs against your cunt, making your thighs tremble 'nah, doll, it's just Toji, when your pussy is on my face, fuck it's so yummy too' he drags your ass to his face, devouring your cunt like a starved man then, your head slams the door, while he laps up all your juices, taste buds rolling on your walls, pushing you over the edge until you're blinded, drooling from your mouth and your cunt he's working.

Mobster Toji damn near cums when you squirt for him, he's drinking up as much as he can, staring at your slick cunt in wonder, so pretty as you squeak nervously, he chuckles at just how cute you are. 'fuck that's sexy, you squirt?' you're blushing, stammering then, as a mobster, a criminal, Toji himself is coated in your glistening cum. 'I've never done it... n-never came except on my own' Toji blinks in confusion, laughing then, but you'r'e serious he realizes, quickly too, and he sighs, pressing a kiss on the hood of your clit, an arm around your hips. 'That ex so shitty?' you nod then, weakly, unable to function or think as he stands, lifting you up on his desk. 'time to change all of that, gonna have you squirting all over this fucking desk huh?'

Mobster Toji is irritated as he's interrupted, of course it's a dire issue, when wasn't it? He leaves you with a nasty, filthy open mouthed kiss, wishing he didn't have all these duties as it was, and now it's just growing a longer list. In the limo with Sukuna he can taste you on his tongue, and when he finally sees you next, so much changed, you're excited but you say his dark expression, his face so tense. How could he bring a sweet girl into his world?

Mobster Toji ignores you, like it never fucking happened, and you see him, girls on his lap in that damn room, so you make sure to 'accidentally' spill shots all down his Armani slacks, earning him standing and scowling at you. when he finally corners you later, a hand on your throat, he's squeezing your windpipe, leaning low. 'what's with that show, huh brat?' you glare up at him, even as his hand squeezes. 'what's with ignoring me after... that!?' Toji's jaw clenches. 'I don't want ya in this fuckin' life, doll, that's what.' Your hand slips down his shirt, his hard muscled body, while he still squeezes, only serving to make you wetter. 'you don't even know me Toji' he scoffs. 'and you don't wanna know me'

Mobster Toji releases your throat, watching you walk away, what do you know about his life - nothing. He can't drag you down, you're different, even as he turns girls down, as he strokes his cock thinking of you, and you give him that pretty little scowl. He knows you're mad, he sees you flirting, he sees you watching him, he hopes you hate him, it's easier that way, a mobster with a fucking kid and a million issues. But suddenly you are just gone for a week, then another, Toji begins to ask, and Sukuna frowns, shaking his head. 'she just never came back, even to get her check, I'm not sure... I figured you two had problems and-"

Mobster Toji feels his stomach turn, panicking now, looking your name up on socials, seeing no updates since the last day he saw you, and his eyes dart to Sukuna's. 'what's wrong, mad she left your dumbass?' Toji shakes his head, gulping now. 'something is wrong... no I need to fucking find her. Now.' You're not at the apartment that was on your employment, you're nowhere, even your landlord says they haven't seen you, when Toji breaks into your abandoned apartment, even your phone is right there, he sees it's long dead, but next to it is a note, that simply reads 'find me'.

Mobster Toji will find you, if it's the last thing he fucking does.

THIS took an ANGSTY turn my goodness- it will be a fic if you wanna get tagged drop a comment <3

perm tagss- @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji  @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @naomi-main @fairygardenprincesss @estrellaexists @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff

more tags- @devastyle @chososblackprincess @missoceann @maddyhehehehhe @getoisinnocent @makingtimemine @aldebrana

[checkeredflagggs]

Secret Sweethearts

Pairing: pierre gasly x leclerc!reader

summary: las vegas was a lot more exciting then people think

a/n: my first pierre piece! This was requested so I hope you guys like it!!

a/n2: I love Kika but she had to go 😭😭

a/n3: Vegas is the race that keeps on giving

Masterlist | Taglist

Bluesky

user1: no no no you’re on to something

user2: thank god someone else noticed this! I thought for sure after he and Kika split he’d have a couple more months of wild parties…

↳user3: same! Instead he had like a month of pr problems then it went all silent…

↳user2: I don’t know what I miss most — Kika’s Pierre or Party Pierre…

↳user3: hmmm I’m gonna go party pierre cause he lost his T-shirt consistently

↳user2: good point good point

user4: is this a safe place? Can I say something?

↳user5: nope!

↳user6: do it anyway!

↳user4: ummm fuck you both??

↳user6: what did I do!?

user7: user4 was your thought the fact that the after party of George’s race win and Max’s WDC win in Vegas was the last of Pierre’s wild days?

↳user4: it absolutely was

↳user8: ok grandmas. Let’s get you back to your beds

↳user9: no no no let them cook

user10: ok but let’s say user4 and user7 are right?? Bets on the reason why?

↳user11: I’m guessing that he got his socials taken away — can’t have too bad of an image…

↳user12: I mean it’s Vegas…I’m guessing he got married

↳user13: A VEGAS WEDDING?

↳user14: not who I thought would have a Vegas wedding…

↳user13: right?? I always had money on Lando or Charles…

↳user14: same!

↳user11: ok but we don’t know that’s the reason why he changed!

↳user13: let’s be real this makes more sense…

↳user12: it does! If he had his socials taken away for pr, we probably would have seen him on other drivers posts but it’s been a near complete blackout since Vegas!

Private Messages, the Gasly’s and their mothers

Private Messages, y/n and Pascale

y/n_leclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, and 193,102 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, pascale.leclerc

y/n_leclerc: Christmas time! Featuring the best ugly Christmas sweaters you’ve ever seen! Mine won — both the worst sweater and the itchiest!

view all comments

user15: ugly sweater or not, you’re still the prettiest!

user16: oh to be y/n leclerc…

maxverstappen1: so how many of those presents are yours?

↳y/n_leclerc: I don’t know what you mean…

↳charles_leclerc: I don’t like your tone…

↳arthur_leclerc: nearly all of them…

↳charles_leclerc: arthur!

↳y/n_leclerc: 🥺

↳arthur_leclerc: as it should be! liked by charles_leclerc, lorenzotl, pascale.leclerc, pierregasly

pierregasly: Joyeux Noel!

↳y/n_leclerc: Merci Pierre!

carlossainz55: Feliz Navidad!

↳y/n_leclerc: Merci!

oscarpiastri: Merry Christmas

↳y/n_leclerc: thank you nephew!

↳oscarpiastri: I am 3 years older than you…

↳y/n_leclerc: and yet…

Private Messages, Pascale and y/n

y/n_leclerc

liked by user, pierregasly, maxverstappen1, and 824,294 others

y/n_leclerc: just some quiet days spent with you, my love 🩷

view all comments

charles_leclerc: What is this?

charles_leclerc: Who is this?

charles_leclerc: What is happening?

charles_leclerc: Answer your phone y/n!

↳user17: oh you know it’s a serious thing when he comments multiple times AND uses correct punctuation and capitalization…

user18: is this y/n leclerc…soft launching…a boyfriend??

↳charles_leclerc: Non!

↳arthur_leclerc: she hasn’t introduced him to us yet so he doesn’t exist and isn’t dating our baby sister!

↳user18: that is absolutely not how it works btw

↳charles_leclerc: yes it is

↳charles_leclerc: Also y/n_leclerc answer your phone!

user19: ok I know what everyone is gonna think but if I may…

↳user20: no. I refuse to believe you again!

↳charles_leclerc: What?

↳user20: don’t listen to her she’s a conspiracy theorist

↳user19: who has frequently been right!

↳charles_leclerc: What do you know?

↳user19: know? Nothing actually liked by y/n_leclerc

arthur_leclerc: Belle petit sœur, qui est cet homme et pourquoi vous impose-t-il les mains? Beautiful little sister, who is that man and why is he laying hands on you?

↳y/n_leclerc: ☺️☺️

↳arthur_leclerc: THATS NOT GONNA WORK THIS TIME!! WHO IS HE??

↳y/n_leclerc: 🥺🥺 why are you yelling at me?

↳charles_leclerc: Arthur stop yelling at y/n! And y/n, ma belle petit sœur, please answer me — who is that man?

pierregasly: little Leclerc has a man now?

↳charles_leclerc: No!

↳y/n_leclerc: yes 🥰🥰

↳pierregasly: he treat you well?

↳charles_leclerc: He doesn’t exist!

↳y/n_leclerc: Pierre, he does…

↳charles_leclerc: …Not! Exist!

user21: I did not have baby Leclerc giving her brothers heart attacks on my bingo card for this year?

↳user22: right? I thought it was going to be the car…

↳user21: oh big same

oscarpiastri: congratulations y/n!

↳charles_leclerc: NON!

↳y/n_leclerc: thanks nephew

↳charles_leclerc: Answer you’re phone please y/n!

user23: ok but does the pink heart mean anything?

↳user24: it absolutely has too… she’s a Ferrari girl to her core, it’s been red her entire life. To switch now?

Bluesky

user25: I’d say you’re crazy and to tell me more!

↳user26: well we know that the Las Vegas GP after party was Pierre’s last public party

↳user27: he has been suspiciously quiet lately

↳user26: right?

user28: wait was y/n in Vegas? I didn’t think she traveled too much for the races?

↳user29: she was! Charles mentioned it during one of the interviews — she just turned 21 and wanted to celebrate in Vegas

↳user30: ok that’s so girlboss slay of her?

↳user29: I guess?? I’m too old to know what those words mean

user31: so we know that Pierre and y/n were in the same city (known for its drunk marriages), Pierre dnfed pretty early on in the race…

↳user32: what are we thinking? That she slipped away from Ferrari to alpine?

↳user31: I mean I would? Better to hang out with someone I know to finish watching the race…

user33: I think it was Alex or Lando? Who posted that there was going to be a big after party — to celebrate both George’s race win and Max’s WDC win

↳user34: it was Alex! And he was also the one that had photos of Pierre cuddling up with some girl

↳user35: Charles posted a picture of the view from his hotel room very early in the night — everyone kinda took it to mean he left the party early cause he was mad at the race

user36: so we have them in the same location, more than likely at the same party, almost certainly with Charles leaving early…

↳user37: in a city known for drunken decisions?

secretly/n: wow you guys are through

user38: ok but what’s the evidence after Vegas? Like divorce exists…

↳user39: vibes mostly…

↳user40: and the pink heart!

↳user38: vibes and a pink heart??

↳user39: the pink heart! She’s always used a red heart (Ferrari forever!!) but when she finally soft launches a man it’s with a pink heart?? Pink like alpine??

f1gossip

liked by user, user, secretly/n and 824,193 others

tagged: y/n_leclerc, pierregasly

f1gossip: with the increased interest in Pierre’s newly quiet public life and the subject of y/n’s soft launch, here comes another twist! Recent pictures from Pierre’s social show the newest Gasly, Simba — while y/n’s latest story has an identical pup getting cozy with her! Could this be the confirmation we’ve all been waiting for?

view all comments

user41: awwwweeee 🥹🥹🥹 shared custody

↳user42: ok but Pierre got simba right after Vegas right?

↳user41: …oh my god you’re right!! They got a dog together!!!

↳user42: they got a dog together 🤗🤗

user43: I’m going to laugh when it’s revealed that they aren’t together…

↳user44: I’m gonna laugh when you release you’re wrong!

user49: ok but simba and the helmets is so adorable ☺️

↳user50: yes!

user51: I don’t know who I’m more jealous of…Pierre, y/n, or simba…

↳user52: it’s a big choice…

secretly/n: damn you guys are fast to put the pieces together…

pierregasly has posted a story, y/n_leclerc has posted a story

[dinner date][my valentine 🩷]

user54 replied proof of relationship!

user55 replied exactly what we’ve been waiting for!

user56 replied are you with y/n right now??

y/n_leclerc replied looking good…and the pizza looks delicious too

↳pierregasly 😆

↳pierregasly right back at you, jolie fille

↳y/n_leclerc 😘💋🩷🩷

charles_leclerc replied ohh? A new love?

↳pierregasly something like that yes…

↳charles_leclerc and you haven’t said a word *smh*

↳pierregasly not yet

user57 replied IS THAT PIERRE

user58 replied omg its happening!!

user59 replied YOURE MATCHING WITH PIERRE YES!!

charles_leclerc replied what’s happening right now? Are you at Pierre’s??

↳y/n_leclerc oh my god leave me alone!

↳y/n_leclerc I’m with my MAN

↳charles_leclerc who doesn’t exist!!

↳y/n_leclerc that’s what you think!

Private Messages, Charles and y/n

Private Messages, Pierre and y/n

y/n_leclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, pierregasly, and 2,183,193 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, pierregasly, jackdoohan, maxverstappen1, alex_albon, liamlawson30, yukitsunoda0511, isackhadjar

y/n_leclerc: got to go to this cool event, met some weird people, and crashed a redbull family reunion

view all comments

user60: oh god that is pretty much the redbull family isn’t it??

↳user61: so much trauma all in one photo…

pierregasly: weird people??

↳y/n_leclerc: yes! where did all your hair go???

↳user62: she’s speaking for all of us!

oscarpiastri: I see how it is…you spend a couple of hours with your aunt and she doesn’t even acknowledge you…

↳y/n_leclerc: I’m so sorry dearest nephew. How ever could you forgive me?

↳oscarpiastri: I could do with some dog cuddles?

↳y/n_leclerc: sure!

↳charles_leclerc: stop giving away leo!

↳y/n_leclerc: leo?

↳y/n_leclerc: no! I’ll not be doing that

↳user62: she forgot about her nephew Leo and was offering time with simba… liked by secretly/n

alex_albon: A redbull family photo and yet Charles is right in the middle…

↳y/n_leclerc: come on we all know he and max are attached at the hip

↳alex_albon: true true

↳maxverstappen1: what are you talking about?

↳y/n_leclerc: don’t worry about it Yapstappen liked by alex_albon, charles_leclerc

user63: ok girl we see you posting the brother and the boyfriend

↳charles_leclerc: Wait what?? What are you talking about? Who???

↳y/n_leclerc: apparently no one because “he doesn’t exist”

↳charles_leclerc: good you’re learning

↳y/n_leclerc: how do I dislike a post

user64: ok but did anyone else catch the looks those 2 were sharing??

↳user65: no! They were legit gazing into each others eyes the entire night

↳user66: are we talking y/n and her man or Charles and his?

↳user65: yes

y/n_leclerc

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 829,103 others

tagged: pierregasly

y/n_leclerc: posting my man while Charles is still busy

view all comments

user67: A HARD LAUNCH?? IN THE MIDDLE OF MY DAY??

user68: good lord what is happening right??

pierregasly: Je t'aime aussi, belle fille. I love you too, beautiful girl

↳y/n_leclerc: Vous êtes de loin la meilleure décision que j'aie jamais prise. You are by far the best decision I ever made

maxverstappen1: he’s gonna go ballistic

↳y/n_leclerc: haha yeah

↳maxverstappen1: you’re a chaotic little thing aren’t you…

↳y/n_leclerc: 🤣🤣

oscarpiastri: Hello. What is this?

↳y/n_leclerc: I believe the youths call it a hard launch?

↳user69: girl you are one of the youths

charles_leclerc: WHAT KS THIS?!?

charles_leclerc: ABSOLUTELY NOT

f1gossip

liked by user1, user2 and 790,469 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, pierregasly

f1gossip: Charles before he saw his sisters post and Charles after her saw his sister post during pre-season testing here in Bahrain

view all comments

user70: you could see the rage grow on his face…

↳user71: oh man could you…I could feel it from here and I’m not even in the same hemisphere

user72: he went through all 5 stages of grief, invented a view new ones, then settled on pure rage

user73: I’m so glad Pierre wasn’t on the track at the same time as Charles…

↳user74: right?

↳user75: I’m sure Pierre is feeling the same

Private Messages, the Leclerc Siblings

Private Messages, Pierre and Charles

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 2,824,348 others

tagged: pierregasly, y/n_gasly

f1gossip: things got heated today during the Australian press conference where Pierre defended his WIFE??

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user76: I’m so…WHAT

↳user77: speaking for all of us right now…

user78: that interviewer was out of line

↳user79: he’s so lucky that Charles wasn’t there…

↳user80: ok but did you see Max and Oscar? Cause they looked like they wanted to hunt him for sport too

user81: that type of language has no use in today’s questions

↳user82: I’m with the drivers — how fucking dare that sexist piece of shit ask Pierre those questions???

↳user83: if anyone of them had kept at the man I wouldn’t have said anything

↳user84: he had it coming

user85: ok but are we all skipping over the fact THAT PIERRE AND Y/N GOT MARRIED???

↳y/n_gasly: that’s old news I’m afraid

↳user86: Wait? What? Why? When?

↳y/n_gasly: Marriage. Because I love him. Las Vegas!

↳user86: you changed your handle!

user87: this gonna go down in the history books — where were you when you found out that y/n is now a gasly…

↳charles_leclerc: SHES A WHAT NOW??

↳user87: you didn’t know yet?

↳charles_leclerc: KNOW WHAT??

↳user87: man I hate to burst your bubble…

↳charles_leclerc: 😤🤬

Private Messages, the Leclercs and the Gaslys

f1 posted a story, y/n_gasly posted a story

[All’s well now!][My husband and I 🩷]

user88 replied awww the in-laws getting along…

user89 replied my pookies

y/n_gasly replied I better not have to fight my brother for my husband now…

↳f1 we can make no promises…

user90 replied we love to see this!

charles_leclerc replied only temporarily…

pierregasly replied I love you, Lumière de ma vie

↳y/n_gasly I love you too, mon œuf

↳pierregasly 🙄🙄

charles_leclerc replied ABSOLUTELY NOT

arthur_leclerc replied TELL HIM TO GET HIS HANDS OFF YOU

lorenzotl replied how much are they yelling at you?

↳y/n_gasly ehhh I’m mostly ignoring my phone right now 😂😂

↳y/n_gasly they’ll get over it…eventually

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @imlonelydontsendhelp @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @elliegray2803 @anunstablefangirl

[new-undergrowth]

Would like to point out, its entirely possible this is already the case- most food in the united states either isn't tested or has severely low quality standards, and corporations have gotten *very* good at toeing the line of health problems just enough that the populace doesn't notice the cause. I mean, hell, every living thing on the planet has microplastics in them now, and likely at least half the beings who have long covid insist they don't, nor protect from it.

So uh, at the very least, i think it'd need to be "immediately deadly food allergy".. unfortunately.

On the plus side, we've certainly discovered how durable life is, so when things get better they'll probably get much faster than might appear on the surface

..note; we do not have any food allergy that we know of (though are physically disabled); please do correct us if we're speaking incorrectly on this in some way!

Disability is not a punishment, but I think the world would be genuinely improved if every person involved in writing or regulating ingredient labels was mysteriously inflicted with at least one food allergy falling under each of the following categories: "natural flavors," "modified food starch," "artificial flavors," "spices," and "color." Down with ingredient labels so vague that they defeat the entire fucking point.

[ladyfocalors]

Trappola's Guide To Winning (Your Heart)

summary: Ace overhears that you have a crush on someone, and for whatever reason, it bothers him. His solution? Offering to "help" you impress your crush, all while acting like he doesn’t care. His advice is half-serious and half-sabotage, but as time goes on, you notice his mood shifting.

pairing: ace trappola x gn!reader

warnings: miscommunication(?).

word count: 2.3k

ace trappola time! he is such a lying liar and a big denier. writing him was a bit tricky so i went a bit with my gut here. i will just have keep writing/reading about him until i get it! also thank you so much for the love on the riddle fic. i promise i read all your replies and reblogs! they make my day <3

Ace Trappola wasn’t the type to get so hung up on things (that was debatable). So when he overheard you telling Deuce and Grim that you had a crush on someone, he should’ve just let it go.

But he didn't.

"You have a crush?" he had repeated, standing behind you with his arms crossed.

"Were you eavesdropping?" You had turned around, startled.

"Not my fault you were talking so loud," he had shot back, avoiding the question. "Who is it?"

You had pressed your lips together, glancing at Deuce and Grim for help. Grim just cackled and said, "Why do you care? You jealous or somethin', Ace?"

Great question. Why does he care? And no, he was not jealous. Imagine being jealous of an idiot you liked! (He actually didn't know why he cared. Maybe because he was curious. Yeah. That was it.)

"I don't," Ace lied immediately. "I'm just shocked, that's all. I mean, really, Prefect? I thought you had better taste."

You narrowed your eyes. "You don't even know who it is."

"Exactly!" Ace threw up his hands. "I'm already questioning your judgment. What’s so great about this mystery person anyway?"

A small smile tugged at your lips. "I don't know. They’re just… fun to be around, I guess. They always know how to make me laugh."

"Sounds like an idiot." Ace scoffed.

"I like idiots."

Ace scoffed but found himself momentarily stunned into silence. That was the kind of thing people said when they were absolutely down bad, wasn’t it? His stomach twisted uncomfortably. Gross.

"Prefect, you should just ignore him," Deuce advised, probably sensing trouble. "He's just messing with you."

Ace was messing with you, sure. But also, not really. Kind of. His stomach was twisting in an unfamiliar way, a strange discomfort settling into his chest. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit.

Why did you have to go have a crush? Most importantly, why did he feel like he was losing to someone?

But he was Ace Trappola, and Ace Trappola didn’t lose. Not even to some mystery crush of yours. So he grinned, masking whatever this weird feeling he didn't want to feel was, and said, "Well, whoever it is, you’re in luck. Because, out of the kindness of my heart, I’m willing to help you win them over."

You gave him a questioning look. "Kindness? You sound like the Headmage with that talk."

"That hurts, Prefect. Comparing me to Crowley of all people?" Ace looked very offended.

"Well, forgive me for not trusting your kindness."

"Wow. No faith in me at all, huh?"

"Yeah, ‘cause you're totally not up to something shady." Grim snickered.

Ace shot Grim a withering look before turning to you. "Listen, I'm a romantic genius. Who better to help than me?"

You gave him a flat look. "I can think of a hundred people off the top of my head."

"Wrong," Ace said, leaning in with a grin. "You won't find better advice anywhere else."

"Okay, fine. I will take your so-called advice." You said with a defeated sigh.

Ace had won. Well, sort of.

Winning would be getting you to drop this whole crush thing entirely—something he was starting to want more and more as each minute passed. But for now, he’d settle for the next best thing: being the one you turned to for help.

That meant he had the advantage. That meant he could steer this however he wanted.

(And definitely not in the direction of some other loser getting your attention.)

"Alright, first things first: you gotta get their attention." Ace said, laying on your couch as you busied yourself with assignments, while Deuce peeked at your notes and Grim laid flat on the bed. "Make them notice you. You know, stand out."

You frowned at his words. "I feel like I already stand out. I'm the only magicless student in the whole school."

Ace waved that off. "Yeah, but that’s not the right kind of standing out. Make them curious about you. And you make them jealous."

"What?"

"You heard me." Ace said, tilting his head smugly. "Nothing gets people to realize their feelings faster than a little jealousy. Trust me, works every time."

Deuce looked dubious. "That sounds kind of–"

"–like bad advice?" you finished.

Ace scoffed, sitting up on the couch now. "C’mon, it’s basic psychology. If they see you getting cosy with someone else, they’ll start thinking, ‘Oh no, I’m gonna lose them!’ and boom, feelings unlocked."

"And how’s the Prefect s’posed to do that, huh?" Grim asked.

Ace shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe flirt with someone cool and charming." His grin widened. "Like me, for example."

You felt uneasy. It was stupid. You knew it was stupid. Ace didn’t know he was your crush, which meant you had no right to be upset. Still, hearing him offer you advice even if it sounded terrible and also offer himself so casually made your stomach sink.

You forced a laugh. "How noble of you to volunteer."

"What can I say?" Ace grinned. "I’m a giver."

Deuce frowned. "I don’t think lying is the best way to-"

"Okay, okay, plan B then," Ace cut in. "You should act a little harder to get."

"Harder to get?" you repeated.

"Yeah. Make them work for it." Ace leaned forward with an amused glint in his eye. "I mean, you’re not easy, right?"

Grim made a noise of disgust, and Deuce turned pink. "Ace, that sounds–!"

"I mean personality-wise, you weirdos," Ace huffed, cutting Deuce off for the umpteenth time. "Jeez, get your mind out of the gutter."

Ace ignored him and then turned to you. "But yeah, you should be a little distant. Y’know, act like you don’t care too much."

Act like you don't care too much. The words echoed in your mind. If he liked you, he would be jealous and wouldn't try to help you. Right?

It was fine. You would just take his advice and use it on him. After all, he was your crush. And if he really didn’t feel the same way, then at least you’d have your answer.

For the next few days, you followed Ace’s advice to the dot.

And Ace didn’t catch on. At first.

You made sure to get his attention, like he had said. Not in an over-the-top way, which would be very weird for you, but just enough to throw him off. Like sitting next to Deuce more often during lunch. Smiling a little too enthusiastically at other people. Being just out of reach whenever Ace tried to tug you into whatever ridiculous scheme he had cooking up that day. When he complained, you shrugged and told him, "I’m busy, Ace."

"Oh, busy now, huh?" Ace had scoffed, but he didn’t seem too bothered. Not yet.

The jealousy part took a little more effort, mostly because you weren’t great at flirting and Grim had outright refused to help you with any ideas, calling the whole thing "a pathetic excuse for a love scheme." But you had to be committed to the bit, so you pushed on, casually dropping compliments around Ace—never to him but always near him.

"Deuce, your hair looks nice."

"Jack is really strong, don't you think?"

"Isn't Silver so pretty? He looks like a prince."

Ace didn’t think much of it at first.

Well, he thought about it, but not in the way that meant anything. It was just weird, that’s all. A little annoying. Maybe a tiny bit irritating. But not because it bothered him. No, he wasn’t one of those weirdos who got all jealous just because their best friend was paying attention to other people. That would be ridiculous.

It was just that… who even complimented Deuce’s hair? Deuce had the most normal hair. And Jack? Sure, the guy was strong, but you sounded way too impressed about it. And Silver? Pretty? Like a prince? Okay, maybe, but why did you have to say it out loud?

And why were you so out of reach?

It wasn’t a huge difference, not really. Just enough that made him confused. He’d reach for your sleeve to drag you somewhere, and you’d slip away with some excuse. He’d call your name, and sometimes you’d brush him off.

It didn't matter, he told himself. (He told himself a lot of things lately.)

Things didn't change until Deuce had to smack him (not physically) out of the denial phase.

"You’re so obvious."

Ace blinked out of his daydreams. "What?"

Deuce stared at him like he was the dumbest person alive, which Ace took immediate offense to. He was not dumb. He just… hadn’t figured out whatever Deuce was talking about yet. Which wasn’t his fault, obviously.

"You like them," Deuce said, as if that explained anything.

Ace scoffed. "Duh, I like them. The Prefect is my friend."

"How do you know I was talking about the Prefect?"

Oh… crap. When did Deuce get so smart?

"Because who else would you be talking about?" He tried to play it off, but the heat rising to his face betrayed him. "You’re making weird assumptions, Deuce."

"You like them," Deuce repeated.

Ace let out a sharp laugh, crossing his arms. "You're insane. I don't, I helped them. With their crush. You think I'd do that if I actually liked them?"

Deuce gave him a long, exasperated look, then exhaled through his nose. "Okay. Let’s say you don't like them. Then explain why you have been sulking so much and acting so bothered?"

"I am not!"

"You nearly bit my head off when they complimented my hair."

"Well, maybe I don’t like lying," Ace shot back. "Your hair is just hair, Deuce."

Deuce’s eye twitched.

"And anyway," Ace went on, louder, "you’re ignoring the important part here. The Prefect has a crush. Not on me. So whatever you’re implying is wrong."

"No."

"What do you mean no?" Ace burst out. "What happened to backing up your friends?"

"You’ve been helping them impress their crush, right?" Deuce asked. "Then why does all your advice sound like sabotage?"

"That’s not–" Ace began, then stopped. The words stuck to the roof of his mouth, unwilling to come out, because… well.

He liked you.

Ace felt the world shift uncomfortably. That gross twisting in his stomach he had been ignoring for days? The irrational irritation every time you looked at someone else for too long? The fact that he had been so convinced that you having a crush was some sort of personal loss?

Everything made sense now.

"This is bad." he stuffed his hand into his pocket, turned on his heel and left his dorm, setting off on a long, aimless walk. Maybe fresh air would clear his head. Maybe it would make this realization feel less like a punch.

You didn't like him. You never told him who you liked and he was so caught up in denial that he didn't even bothered you to ask.

No, no. That wasn't fair. He liked you and made you follow his terrible advice (you didn't have to but you did). He already came so far and he didn't want to pretend he didn't like you.

The least he could do was be honest with you.

And, Ace Trappola wasn't a coward.

(Okay, maybe he was. A little. But not about this. Not about you.)

So after what was possibly the longest walk of his life, he turned back toward Ramshackle, his heart thudding against his ribs.

Ace had already spent enough time being an idiot. He wasn’t going to waste another second.

You had just finished dealing with Grim’s latest round of whining about dinner when a knock at the door made you pause.

You weren’t expecting anyone. Grim was still sulking about his empty stomach, so with a sigh, you moved to open the door, only to be met with the last person you expected.

"Uh," you started. "Are you in trouble with Riddle–"

"I like you." The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He looked vaguely horrified, like he hadn’t planned on saying it so fast. But now that it was out there, he couldn’t take it back. "Like, really like you."

You froze at the admission.

Ace sighed but continued. "Look, I get it, okay? You like someone else, and I already dug my own grave, but I had to tell you. Because, because if I didn’t, I’d be lying, and it sucks, and–"

"Ace–"

"–I mean, I probably made things worse by trying to help you and made you follow bad advice, which is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, and–"

"ACE!"

He finally shut up.

You exhaled, heartbeat loud in your ears. "You are my crush. I used your advice on you, idiot."

He stared at you, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"Huh?" he said, very eloquently.

You rolled your eyes but smiled. You moved ahead to pull him in a hug. He immediately froze, standing stiff as a board. It took a few seconds for his brain to finally catch up to him and he returned your hug with a laugh.

"So all of that–"

"–was me following your advice." you finished his sentence, pulling back enough to look at his face. "You sabotaged yourself without realising it."

Ace groaned dramatically, letting his hands drop to his sides. "I played myself. I actually played myself!"

You laughed, shaking your head. "But at least now you know I like you back?"

Ace looked at you, then his usual cocky grin came back to his face. His hands settled awkwardly on your arms. "Yeah… yeah! Of course you like me. Who wouldn't fall me?"

You smacked his arms away. "Don't get too smug about it. Just be grateful I like idiots."

He could only smile at you, happy to have you back again.

He felt lighter, his heart fluttering with joy.

© ladyfocalors

[100vern]

begging for the next | hjs

we could be lovers in the night // we could be strangers in the light.

✦ pairing: joshua x f. reader ✦ genre: strangers to fwb, secret lovers au; smut, fluff ✦ summary: no one needs to know what you and joshua get up to except the two of you. ✦ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ✦ warnings: joshua is some degree of famous but not explicitly stated to be an idol (choose your own adventure), he is also down very very horrendous, use of pet names for reader (beautiful, baby, angel, etc.), reader wears a dress, one brief mention of hair, swearing, other things i have probably forgotten. i am incapable of writing pure pwp so this got a lot softer than i intended but they're in love so fuck it we ball. ✦ smut warnings: gendered terms for genitalia, a lot of kissing, a handjob, fingers in mouths bc it's me and somehow they always end up there, car sex, unprotected vaginal sex, a lot of cum play idk how that happened sorry, hair pulling, fingering, grinding, mentions of facesitting, oral sex in general, joshua spits in reader's mouth, begging and dirty talk, public sex (in a car), exhibitionism, masturbation, very slight edging, shua gets called a good boy one time, reader on top, joshua carries her and fucks her against a wall, they both get a lil possessive in the heat of the moment but nothing toxic. ✦ wordcount: 5.8k ✦ author's note: idk where this came from. i was listening to "english love affair" by 5sos months ago and was like hm yeah joshua. title is from that song; other lyrics are from "lovers in the night" by seori. thank you to bee (@imnotshua) and jess (@starlightkyeom) for looking this over for me along the way. thank u, love u both. i am far too embarrassed to read my own smut so this is unedited and any mistakes are my own.

Joshua is used to having eyes on him.

Fans, paparazzi, strangers—after a while, it all starts to blend together. Always starts feeling hazy around the edges, like there’s something there, just beyond the fog, just out of his reach.

He doesn’t remember whose idea it was to come to this club. Probably just one of those things: owned by a friend of a friend, discretion implied and assured, top-shelf shit handed out without needing to ask. He’s sequestered behind a velvet rope, feels like a king lording over his subjects, has a hawk-eye view of everything.

Everyone.

Joshua is used to having eyes on him, and he felt yours as soon as he walked in.

Cute, he thinks. He hadn’t been looking to pull, hadn’t wanted to deal with all the conversations and all the aftermath, but sometimes he’s easily persuaded. Intrigued, more like. Most people watch him like they’ve got their eyes closed—shy, hiding away, unsure of what they could possibly offer him that he can’t find in anyone else. But you watch him with eyes wide open. Confident, self-assured, know exactly what you’ve got to offer. All but daring him to find something better.

It’s raining when you drag him outside. When you smirk crooked out of the corner of your mouth, plant your hands in the center of his chest and press him to the building’s exterior, drag a groan out of him when the brick bites into his skin. Joshua kisses you like he’s a little desperate for it. Licks into your mouth and swallows all the sounds you make. Hikes your leg around his waist, digs his thumbs into your hips, presses in close enough to have you rolling your hips against his cock.

Imagines the scandal if he got caught fucking you in public—

He asks, between nips at your neck: “Where do you live, beautiful?”

You answer, with your hand halfway down the front of his jeans: “Not far.”

—and lets the thought of it wash over him, make him a little frenzied and wanting. He moans as he grows harder. Thinks about what you’re gonna feel like around his cock, all hot and tight, dripping wet. Thinks about how breathless and fucked-out you’ll sound when you pant his name into the space between your mouth and his own. Thinks about how hot you’re gonna look when you’re falling apart on his cock, when he’s pumping you full of cum.

“Shit,” he whines, “let’s go, then.”

Halfway to your car he decides he can’t wait. Doesn’t want to. Could barely stumble the couple hundred feet to the parking lot with how hard he is, how overwhelming he finds you. Finds himself making any excuse he can to press in close and inhale your perfume. Finds himself thinking that doing anything that isn’t burying himself inside of you seems absolutely pointless.

And you aren’t helping. Can’t seem to keep your hands off of him—lips on his throat, words in his ear, nails digging into his back, pulling at his belt, untucking his shirt, yanking on his hair. You smile when he hisses at the sting and the only thought that registers is he’s never wanted to ruin anyone so badly.

So he says, “Get in the backseat. I’m fucking you right here, baby,” and follows right behind you, desire licking at his heels.

He laughs low and heated as you push him into the seat, your legs spread wide as you straddle him. He pulls his jeans down just enough for you to fish out his cock and spit on it, hips thrusting when you pump him once, twice, pulling small, breathy whines from him each time you twist your wrist, thumb over the head. Embarrassing, he thinks, how close he is to cumming in his pants like a fucking teenager, so he grabs at one of your hands, stills your motions. Moves it to your mouth, tells you to taste the pre-cum coating your fingers just to buy himself a minute, he just needs a minute, and he decides time is meaningless when he sees your tongue move between your pointer and middle, when you moan at the taste of him.

Nearly loses it entirely when you press those same fingers to his own lips, press them against his own tongue.

“Tastes so good, doesn’t it?” you murmur, and he’s struck, not for the first time tonight, by how beautiful you are. Mesmerized by the rain that still clings to your eyelashes, the droplets that run down your temple. Feels dizzy when his brain finally comes back online and he reaches for the hem of your dress, pushes it up and over your hips.

His hand moves to the space between your thighs, rubs over the thin fabric of your panties. He grins wide and sleazy at the wetness he finds there; pushes his tongue into the fat of his cheek as he slides them to the side and touches you properly. Thumbs small circles over your clit just to hear the way your breath hitches, feel the way your hips cant towards his fingers. Any other time he’d take it slow, drag it out, tell you to beg in his soft, pretty voice,, but he doesn’t have the benefit of time when he’s crammed into the backseat of your car.

Doesn’t have the benefit of much of anything when you lower your bare pussy to his cock. Already overwhelmed by your heat, he doesn’t think he can be held responsible for the guttural, instinctual sound that escapes him, the way his hands move to your hips to keep you in place. The that’s it, that’s it, baby, just like that, could fucking come from this that tumble from his lips as you start moving along his length.

Your scoff is aborted halfway as Joshua lifts his hips to meet yours. “Abso—fuck—absolutely not,” you breathe, kissing along his jawline. “Need you to fuck me.”

He groans at the thought of it. Curses the seat belt digging into his back as he readjusts to move you where he wants you, where he can bury two fingers deep in your cunt and watch, entranced, as your eyes roll back. “Mm, wa-want you to come like this first.”

“Later,” you bargain. “Gotta be quick, don’t want you to get caught.”

Joshua knows you’re right. Knows he’d thought about it earlier, let the fantasy of it dance at the edges of his vision, knows in the realm of fantasy is where that particular thought needs to stay, but he can’t say he isn’t tempted to put on a show for the entire world. Wants everyone to see both of you sweat-slick, panting hard into the thick air of your car, windows fogged. Wants everyone to hear the sounds he’s pulling from you: the breathy whimpers, your pussy squelching around his fingers, skin on skin as he can’t keep his hips against the seat.

He can tell you’re close. Knows if he angled his fingers just a little more you’d be clenching around them, and he wants to see it—god he wants to see it so bad—but he knows you’re right, knows there’ll be plenty of time to have you come undone in every way possible later, later, later, so he reluctantly removes his fingers. Doesn’t have time to consider what to do with them before you’re sucking them into your mouth and all he can do is watch, slack-jawed. Doesn’t have time to think about how it’d feel if it was his cock instead before you’re grabbing it, lining him up, almost crazed at the way your fingers don’t meet around his girth—and then you’re sinking down on him.

Good thing the two of you don’t have time to drag this out, because he’s on the precipice of a truly pathetic performance.

“God, you’re fucking tight, baby, can barely move—”

Your smile is predatory when you throw your head back. “Don’t need you to,” you say, moving your hands to his knees. “I can get myself off just fine.”

You can—that much is obvious. The way you’re rolling your hips is sinful at best and the absolute end of Joshua at worst, but he’ll accept his fate if this is how he’s destined to go out. Would consider it an honor to die like this between your legs, chasing oblivion. Can’t imagine a life where he isn’t buried to the hilt inside your tight heat every single day for the rest of his life. Feels delirious with the need for it, has to reign himself in when he either starts crying or asks for your hand in marriage, and you must see it, must be able to tell how fucked up you’ve got him, because you seem to delight in it, start moving at a pace that has him gripping white-knuckled at the seat, at the fabric of your dress, at your hips, your chest.

“You gonna cum like this?” you say, breath fanning against his skin. He nods, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. Embarrassment has his cheeks burning, skin hot to the touch, but shit, it feels good, the way you’re digging at him. Pulling him up on how far gone he is for you.

He needs you to meet him at the edge. Needs more, needs it messier, faster, harder than what you’re able to do in the confines of the car, so he plants his feet, grabs so roughly at your ass he’s sure it’ll bruise. Tries desperately to thrust through the mess between your legs, but you’re so wet he nearly slips out each time, and it drives him insane. Has him nearly feral, mindlessly chasing both his orgasm and your own, and he knows it’s close, feels the lightning beneath his skin.

You’re falling apart on his cock as soon as he circles your clit. Shaking, clenching so hard your pussy feels like a vice, grabbing blindly for anything you can to anchor yourself. You find his hands and twine your fingers together—and he’ll never be able to explain it, that that’s what has him gasping, stilling as he spills inside you, but even as he cums so hard it nearly whites out his vision, he can still feel you there.

Anchoring him.

Something stupid is about to tumble out of his mouth, so he quickly presses it to yours to try and stem the bleeding.

Joshua is used to people wanting things from him.

Autographs. Selfies. His undivided attention, his time, a pull quote for an article. Someone always wants something, and it’s exhausting, you know, having to anticipate that kind of thing—having to determine what someone wants before they pluck up the courage to ask for it, having to decide if he’s in a position to give it to them, having to decide, decide, decide, always a fucking decision to be made.

So it’s no surprise he’s here, barely back in the country an hour before he’s stumbling across the threshold of your front door, hat pulled low, not for anyone else to see. Because here, he’s safe; here, all those pretenses come crashing down around him. Here, he knows what’s expected of him, doesn’t have to guess—only has to take the hand you offer him and follow you up the stairs.

But it’s just… a lot, finally being here. All he could think about while he was gone was you. Kept replaying each memory over and over: the first time he’d come here, after the scene in your car—the way you’d smiled at him, hung up his jacket by the door, asked if he wanted anything to eat or drink, maybe a hot shower. And it had felt so sleazy, the way he’d smiled and said, ‘what, all by myself?’ but it’d worked, and then that was something else to replay. That was something else to remember: the smell of you all over him. Your soap on his skin; your shampoo in his hair.

Thinks he’s replayed that—the softness of it, the care, how nice it’d felt to just exist alongside somebody—more than the rest.

Not that the rest wasn’t worth thinking about. He’d nearly cum in his pants remembering the way you’d pinned his arms above his head and sat on his face—the visual of you from below, hips rolling; the taste of you on his tongue; the way you said his name when you came, breathless and fractured. The way he’d slid into you from behind, nearly mindless from the way your pussy gripped him. The way he’d pressed you flat to the mattress and kissed all the knots in your spine. The way your skin looked after he’d pulled out and came all over the small of your back.

He’s got a similar view now. It hadn’t really been planned, his coming here—he’d been worked up on the flight, sent a Hail Mary text asking if he could come by instead of going home, and it had taken you a bit to respond, to say sure, missed you, so it was understandable that you’d greeted him at the door in a pair of flimsy sleep shorts and a cropped tank. He expected it, but it undoes him nonetheless.

You’re better than this, he chides himself. Has a tremendous amount of guilt sitting in the pit of his stomach because he can’t stop staring, takes that gentlemanly reputation he’s got and sets it ablaze, but he thinks anyone who’d dare to criticize him for it would understand.

On autopilot, he follows you up the stairs to your bedroom. Tries to look at anything other than your ass and fails in milliseconds. Swallows down another serving of guilt and cannot, for the life of him, recall another time he ever felt like this—the foothold you’ve got on him, the way you have him believing he’s capable of being a real person, but so untethered at the same time, like any second now he’ll drift away. Tempted. Desperate. Joshua cannot make a life for himself here, both in your home and within your body, but—

“Sometimes I look at you and I understand why Eve ate that apple.”

You pause, three steps from the landing, and your eyes are soft when you turn to look at him. You’ve never looked at him any other way, with any less tenderness and care. “And how am I meant to take that?” Joshua flusters, misses the next step, and when you reach out a hand to steady him, Joshua laces your fingers together. “Smooth.”

“You know me,” he says, laughing like it’s a joke, when what he really means is, not around you, not within these four walls. “I just meant—”

You grip his hand tighter, pull him closer, dizzy him when you lean in close and murmur, “I know. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

This time is different.

All that typical raw, frenzied need gives way to tenderness. Right there on the landing of your staircase, unable to go another step without you, Joshua lays you down, cradles your head in his hands, and drapes his body over yours. Cages you in like he’s trying to keep you forever, like he has any right to, and he kisses you much the same. Wants your breath to be his. Wants to find any opening you’re willing to give him and crawl inside of it. Wants to make a home out of your body more than he already has.

Presses his lips to your neck. Drags his teeth along the curve of your jaw, rolls his hips against you when your head tilts back and you sigh soft and stuttered. Nips at your skin all the way to the lobe of your ear, where he presses in close, thumbs at the exposed skin covering your hip bones. Whispers, “Is it okay right here, like this?” Skims his hands down, down, down—pulls your skimpy little shorts to the side and finds you bare and waiting. “Oh, you wanted this, didn’t you?”

You squirm. Try to get his fingers where you want them. Huff when he teases and refuses even though the need is just as apparent in him. “Shua,” you whimper.

He clicks his tongue. Feigns disappointment. “Angel.” Speaks every word into your heated skin. “You know you only have to tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

You pout. “You’re being so mean to me,” you try. Joshua chuckles, pulls back so he can cock an eyebrow and say oh, really? I’m being mean to you? You nod, sink your bottom teeth into your bottom lip. Dip your hands beneath the fabric of Joshua’s t-shirt and drag your nails down his chest until he whimpers. “You were gone so long. Didn’t you miss me?”

“You know I—you know I did.”

“You did?” Your brows furrow in faux-disbelief, your pout deepens; your hands follow the same path Joshua’s had only moments earlier. You toy with the waistband of his pants and tease your fingertips underneath. “You missed me so much but you won’t even touch me?”

With his free hand, he grabs your chin, forces the pout off your face. Doesn’t miss the way your pupils blow wide before he’s kissing you hard and messy, so intense it feels like the air has been stolen from his lungs. “No,” he says, finally giving you what you want. Circles his thumb over your clit and wants to drown in all the sounds you make—the way you mewl, how you say his name on an exhale, all the words given up on halfway. “I miss you so much I thought about you every second I was gone. Thought I was going crazy with it.” Sinks two fingers into your slick heat. “Thought about the way you felt around me.” You gasp at his words and your pussy clenches, and Joshua hums. Says, “Exactly, baby, just like that.”

He can feel that you’re already close. Has a split-second to decide if he wants to let you come like this before you take the decision away from him. Your deft fingers play at the button of his pants, drag the zipper over the bulge there as he hisses, and then you tilt your head back. Something wicked gleams in your eye. “Spit in my mouth.”

Joshua falters, fucks up his rhythm, but he can’t deny you of anything, so he slips his thumb in your mouth and forces it open. Collects whatever spit he has and watches, enraptured and so close to being out of his mind, as he lets it go, as it pools on your tongue. “Fuck—”

Your smile is dazed, both of you on the verge of delirious, and then it’s gone, replaced by the visual of you licking the length of your palm. Making a show of it. You press two fingers against your tongue and Joshua watches as your eyes glass over. “Tell me what else you thought about,” are the last words you say before you wrap your slick hand around his cock.

“Shit—god, baby, you always make me feel so fucking good.” And you do—you work him over slow just to watch the way his eyes roll back, how his entire body shudders; thumb at his cockhead when he gets carried away and starts thrusting into your tight fist, brainless in the face of what you’re providing and unable to do anything except chase more of it. His hips roll again—one, two more times—and then he’s babbling, nonsense spilling out of his mouth.

Tells you that he thought about your touch and the way you taste. Tells you how he let it consume him and all the nights he spent touching himself to the thought of you. How he’d bring himself to the edge and force himself to stop just before he came and how he’d do it all over again, over and over, until he was breathless and sweat-slick—that when he was in the midst of it, so incoherent and numb from pleasure… that sometimes he’d open his eyes and swear it was you. Swear he could feel your lips ghosting across his skin, your sweet words in his ear, praising him as he came all over his own stomach and trembled with the aftershocks.

With each confession he gets more carried away. Circles his thumb faster on your clit. Slips another finger into you and presses insistently against your g-spot until you’re writhing and frenetic with need, his name sounding like a prayer as it spills from your lips repeatedly, each one blending into the next, a continuous mantra designed to drag him down with you. Joshua has never felt you this wet, soaking his hand, and he knows he isn’t faring any better. Feels how each slide of your fist along his length is easier than the last.

“Fuck, Shua, I’m gonna—”

He presses his lips to your forehead. “Yeah, beautiful, give it to me. Wanna see my angel cum all over me. Fuck, just like that—so fucking beautiful, I missed you so goddamn much. Mm, shit, you’re gonna make me cum too. God, I—”

“On me,” you beg. “Please, wan’ it on me. Please, please, want it so bad—”

He swears as his hips stutter. Feels like his fucking balls are in his stomach as he takes over, uses everything he’d earned from you to jerk himself. Stops you when you move to pull your tank over your tits. “No,” he slurs. He’s so fucking close. “Wanna cum all over your clothes and fucking ruin ‘em. Wanna see you covered in it, in me.”

He sits back on his haunches. Uses his free hand to grab at the meat of your thigh as the force of his orgasm hits and he gives you exactly what you’d asked for. Forces himself to keep his eyes open and watch as his release spills across your pussy, your stomach; as it seeps through the thin fabric of your top. But it’s not—Joshua has never considered himself a greedy man, but it’s not enough, so he keeps fisting his cock. Keeps going until he’s oversensitive and spent and he’s milked himself dry. Until your top is wet and sticky with his release, your nipples just barely visible through the translucent fabric.

He’s breathing hard. Stares down at the mess he’s made of you and tells you you’re a work of art. Drags his fingers through it and can’t decide if he wants to massage it into your skin or press it into your mouth, so he does both. Groans softly when you wrap your swollen lips around his fingers and swallow down the taste of him.

Moves them back to your clit and smirks at the breath you suck in through your teeth—that you’re still so sensitive but don’t dare tell him to stop. “I’m not done with you yet,” he confesses, kissing down the length of your body until he’s eye-level with your cunt. “Is that okay?”

You nod.

His phone sits abandoned on the nightstand.

The text thread is still open and awaiting his reply, but Joshua has long since abandoned it to focus his attention on you. From where he’s parallel on the bed, he can see you in the bathroom: watches as you step out of the shower, no towel, droplets of water running down the length of your body; watches as you only grab one to wrap it around your hair, as you stand naked in front of the mirror and do your skincare. Watches as you slip all of your jewelry back on and the gold glints against your skin.

Watches as your reflection meets his eye.

He feels it immediately, the goosebumps, the way his hair stands on end. Predator watching prey, caught in your web ever since that night at the club, so he sits up straighter, anticipates your next move with bated breath—knows what it does to you to be watched. How powerful you become when you’re no longer weighed down by your inhibitions. How you smirk dirty out of the corner of your mouth and thread your fingers through his hair, pull hard enough to capture his attention. Eyes on me, you purr, but he can never look anywhere else. Wouldn’t want to even if he could. Wants you to always be the last thing he sees.

There’s that same smirk on your face now: provocative and a little roguish, like you know something he doesn’t. All he can do is hold your gaze and wait to be devoured.

“They’re starting to talk, aren’t they?”

Joshua looks for a tell, something that belies your anxiety at finally getting caught out, but if it exists you’ve got it behind lock and key. Instead, you roll your head to the side, run your fingers over the marks he’d left on your neck just this morning, the sun barely above the horizon. He feels his skin grow warm, almost embarrassed as the bright lights of the bathroom highlight all the places he’d sunk his teeth into you, but something furls in his belly that you’d let him do it. That you’d let him possess you.

Feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest as he watches you bend at the waist, as it affords him a glimpse of your pussy; as you lean down and trail your fingers from ankle to thigh, as the expanse of soft, smooth skin pebbles beneath your touch. Watches as you straighten and meet his eye in the mirror again before you raise one leg onto the counter; as you lean forward to grab your lotion and the glimpse of you he’d gotten before returns tenfold. Even from here, he can tell you’re dripping wet; can tell the insides of your thighs are glistening with it.

“That’s who you were texting, right? Your manager?”

He sucks in a harsh breath through clenched teeth. Enraptured once again, unable to look away. Watches as you massage the lotion into your skin—the one he likes the most, the one that always stains his bedsheets the longest. Musk and vanilla. Feels himself growing hard and palms at his cock, unabashed, wanting you to see what you do to him.

Swallows all the whiny little sounds he wants to make and manages to ask, “Does it bother you if they are?”

Whether it’s his question or his tone that piques your attention, you pause, turning to look at him over your shoulder, eyes darkening as you take in the sight of him touching himself. He knows how he looks. Head thrown back, eyes half-lidded, bare chest heaving. How his thick cock looks as it strains against the expensive silk of his shorts. Thinks about all the praise you’ve lavished upon him and knows he’s earned every word of it.

So he gives in. Lets the pleasure wash over him and make him bold as he touches himself with more intention, as he runs two fingers over the seam of his balls, as he tightens his grip and moans, uncaring of who might hear. He registers the dip in the mattress at the same time that familiar lightning starts making its way up his spine. He’s senseless as he chases after it, always a step behind despite wanting more, more, always more; loses himself in the gluttony of his intemperance.

It’s only when he’s on the verge of something truly mind-numbing do you lose your patience—when you straddle his waist and pin his hands at his side. A sob escapes him as his hips thrust uselessly, searching hysterically for friction. Tears prick pathetically at the corner of his eyes, and he knows he needs to look at you, knows you’re expecting it, but every inch of his skin burns with the force and the violence of the orgasm you’d denied him.

You tsk. All condescension as you say, “My poor baby.” All sharp edges when you ask, “Will you be a good boy and keep your hands where they are?”

Despite both of you knowing he’d promise you anything right now, Joshua nods, nearly feverish and rabid with the need to cum. Wants to fill you up until it’s leaking down his shaft. Wants to fuck it back into you with his fingers. Wants you on all fours, back arched so only your hips and ass are in the air, while he eats his load out of you from behind.

Of course, you have ideas of your own.

You trace over the wet spot of his shorts just to watch his cheeks ruddy. Leave bruises on his hips before your fingers move to the waistband, toying with him as you snap the elastic against his skin and relish in the way he whines, how he grasps at the sheets to keep his hands still. Pleas fill his mouth and never make it past his lips, and he’ll beg if he has to, if you make him, but you don’t. Slowly and deliberately, you work his shorts down and off; don’t waste a second before you’re sinking down onto his cock.

Every inch is agonizing, blinding heat. Joshua cries out, both unable and unwilling to censor himself. Doesn’t see the need for it when it feels like every atom in his body is being rearranged, like you’re collecting pieces of him to replace with you, embedding yourself beneath his skin. And he’ll let you—fuck, will he let you; wants to carve out a home for you within his body, wants you ingrained in him forever. Doesn’t ever want to be buried this deeply inside anyone else.

When you kiss him it tastes like devotion. He seals his mouth over yours so it can’t escape, so it has nowhere to go but down into your chest to fill the spaces between each of your ribs. And to hell with listening, he thinks, because he can’t go another second without touching you. One hand curls around the back of your neck, pulling you closer, closer, impossibly closer, keeping you where you are, with your lips on his and your tongue in his mouth; the other digs into the meat of your ass, dimples the skin there, helps guide your cunt along the length of his cock, so soaked every thrust nearly has him slipping out.

He knows every time he hits the spot that makes your vision white out, feels how you clench around him despite the sopping mess between your legs. Slows his pace. Pulls back only far enough to say, “Back and forth, angel. That’s it. Grind that pretty pussy against me and get yourself off—fuck, you feel so good.”

He groans. Feels his grip on reality begin to falter with the noises falling from your lips; all your breathy, fractured whines. “That’s it, that’s it—god, you’re close, aren’t you? Yeah, shit, I can feel it. So fucking dirty, baby, love it when you fuck me like this—”

You come with a sob, body pulling taut, panting his name into what little space exists between you. Joshua swears, tries to fuck you through the aftershocks, but you’re wrapped around him like a vice, cunt so tight he can barely move.

He’s delirious. Always gets lightheaded watching you fall apart: the way your eyes squeeze shut, how dazed they look right after you open them again—how Joshua is always, always the first thing you make sense of when everything comes back into focus. And he’s going to say something stupid, something he can’t take back even if he means it, so he situates the two of you, uses all the strength he can muster to carry you across the room.

In the midst of his self-indulgence he forgot he’d left the door to the balcony open, wanted the sticky July breeze to blow in from the lake, and the wall next to that open door is where he places you. The backs of your knees in the crooks of his elbows; his lips on your neck, tongue tracing over the bruises he’d left. You’ve barely come down from your high before he’s fucking back into you, and he can tell it’s almost too much, that he’s towing a very fine line, so he eases his pace and rolls his hips slow.

Tells you, against the space just beneath your ear, how beautiful you look, how well you take him. “I should fuck you out on that balcony. They should see this,” he murmurs, voice deceivingly soft, all those possessive tendencies flaring in his gut. “All those people out there, they should see how well I fuck you, how you only come for me, only come around this cock.” His words are accentuated with a harsh snap of his hips that has you crying out—a rasping, guttural sound that douses the last threads of his discretion in kerosine and sets them on fire. “Let them hear you,” he urges, words slurring together, “let them know who I belong to.”

It’s faint, but he hears it anyway: “Me. Me, you belong to—shit, to me.”

“That’s fucking right.”

You clench around him again, eyes rolling back, and Joshua knows he’s approaching his own end as his thrusts grow uncoordinated and sloppy. He asks if you can come again and tells you to touch yourself when you nod. Wishes he could see it, but he feels each swipe of your fingers against your clit as your walls flutter around him, and it’s enough to drag you both over the edge.

Once he catches his breath, he drops to his knees in front of you. Places one of your legs over his shoulder and kisses every inch of skin he can reach until he’s once again eye-level with your pussy, each one of his senses overwhelmed—the way your skin feels, the way you smell, the sound of your breath hitching when he flattens his tongue against your cunt and tastes himself, the disbelief and adoration in your eyes as you gaze down at him.

You finally answer the question he forgot he’d asked: “No,” you say, the word coming at the trail end of a blissful sigh, “it doesn’t bother me. Let them—let them talk. I’m not going anywhere.”

Joshua smiles. Bites at the juncture of your thigh just to watch you squirm. “Good, because I wasn’t planning on letting you leave this room.”

If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

[littelovelunette]

Ok PLEASE hear me out but Sevika x reader where Sevika does something really fucked up but she doesn't realize how bad it was and thinks reader is just ignoring her because she's being dramatic and bcs they're both stubborn they don't talk for weeks until Sevika is sick of it and rants to Ran probably and she tells sev like "dude.. you fucked up bad bro" and since Sevika is just so desperate for r's attention she does the most dramatic apology every with flowers, all of r's fav stuff, probably even a hose Ran insisted on holding to make it look like she's in the rain (r notices and says hi to Ran) but um yk if you'd like ofc

Messy But She Tries

Contains angst

Toxic!Sevika x Fem!Reader

The night Sevika betrayed you was the night she proved she didn’t trust you.

It had started with an accusation—one she hadn’t even given you the dignity of hearing first.

Instead, you had walked into The Last Drop to find her sitting at a corner table, drink in hand, watching you like a predator waiting for you to step into the trap.

Her grey eyes had that cold, assessing gleam, the one she used when she was deciding whether or not to throw a punch.

“You got something you want to tell me?” she asked, low and even, but something in her tone made the hair on your arms rise.

“What?” you frowned, stepping closer.

She exhaled, shaking her head like she was disappointed.

“Word is, you’ve been talking to the wrong people. Piltover types. Enforcers.”

You froze. “What?”

Sevika leaned forward, flexing the fingers of her mechanical arm. “Funny, right? ‘Cause I could’ve sworn you weren’t that fucking stupid. But here we are.”

Your stomach turned. “You think I’d—”

“I think you’re gonna tell me the truth before I have to make you.”

And that was the moment. The moment you realized she had already made up her mind.

She wasn’t asking. She wasn’t looking for clarity. She had set a test, and in her mind, you had already failed.

It didn’t matter that you had never even looked at an Enforcer, let alone spoken to one. It didn’t matter that you had stayed at her side, through every close call, every late night, every fucking wound you’d patched up after her fights.

None of it mattered.

“Wow,” you laughed, but it wasn’t funny. It was hollow. Bitter. “So this is what you think of me?”

Sevika didn’t flinch. “I think I need to be careful about who I trust.”

You clenched your jaw. You could see it in her face—the way she was already shutting down, closing herself off like this was just another job.

Another problem she had to eliminate.

“Then don’t,” you said, your voice quiet. “If you think so little of me, don’t trust me. But just so you know, you can take all those allegations of me, stick them up where the sun don't shine. I am done.”

For a second, just a second, you thought she might say something else. That she might take it back. But instead, she picked up her drink and took another slow sip, watching you over the rim.

Cold. Detached. Like she didn’t care.

Like you didn’t matter.

You walked out.

And she let you.

The first few days were the worst.

You kept expecting her to show up. To stop by your place, lean in the doorway with that cocky smirk, and say something half-assed that wasn’t quite an apology but was close enough to mean she wanted things to be okay.

But she never came.

You used to complain about how she smelled like cigar smoke and metal, how her body heat was too much sometimes—but now?

Now the bed felt too big. Too empty.

And she?

She was fine.

“Shit,” Sevika muttered under her breath, slamming her glass onto the bar.

“You’re in a mood tonight,” Ran drawled from her spot beside her. She leaned back, arms crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Let me guess. This have anything to do with that poor girl you ran off a few weeks ago?”

Sevika exhaled sharply through her nose. “Not talking about it.”

“Uh-huh.” Ran took a slow sip of her drink. “Funny, ‘cause you sure as hell won’t shut up about not talking about it.”

Sevika shot her a glare, but Ran just grinned.

"Look, I'm sick of ignoring her," Sevika finally admitted, rolling her drink between her fingers. “But I’m not crawling back, either.”

Ran snorted. “Dumbass, that’s exactly what you need to do.”

Sevika scowled.

“You accused her of snitching,” Ran reminded her, as if she needed the fucking recap.

“Your GIRLFRIEND! The one who’s had your back since day one. And then, instead of fixing it, you let her walk away. So yeah, sweetheart, if you want her back, you ARE crawling. And you’re gonna do it big.”

Sevika groaned, rubbing her face. “I don’t do ‘big gestures.’”

Ran leaned in, smirking. “Then I guess you won't get her back.”

“…What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Ran grinned. “Oh, I’ve got a few ideas.”

When you heard the doorbell ring, you hadn't expected to see Sevika standing on the other side of the door. But you didn't open the door. Instead, you asked from the other side.

“What do you want?” You asked, arms crossing over your chest.

“Open the door,” Sevika said, voice calculated and calm.

“Can you just fuck off already?” you hissed venomously.

“Not unless you hear me out,” Sevika said, her voice now had an undertone of plea, you could hear that she was genuine so you reluctantly opened the door.

You froze when you saw Sevika holding a fat bouquet of your favourite flowers, they looked so fresh and almost heavenly.

“I'm sorry?” Sevika held up the bouquet alongside a huge box of your favourite chocolates, a few shopping bags were dangling from her wrist.

The biggest grin broke on your lips, you giggled, “This is all for me?”

“Mhm,” Sevika gave you the bouquet which you took a whiff of.

“Fresh,” you smiled up at her, “Thank you,” you said shyly before you frowned a little seeing the sprinkles of water as if it was raining.

You squinted over Sevika's shoulder seeing Ran standing in a distance, she was holding a hose of water towards the sky. Ran waved.

You laughed softly, waving back.

“Does that mean I'm forgiven?” Sevika grumbled.

“Of course,” you hugged her which she gladly returned.

[some-stars]

a whole lot of people in the comments seem to think that there's an impermeable forcefield around their home, and will be very upset to learn just how much fecal bacteria there is on every surface in their living space at all times no matter what they do. sorry to be the one to break this to y'all but the barrier between "inside" and "outside" is more psychological than material!

obviously it's good to wash your hands more often than the average person probably does. i wash mine more frequently since 2020 than i did before--previously it was before cooking/eating and post-bathroom plus anytime something got on them; now it's also when coming home from anywhere medical or crowded high-touch settings like public transit or concerts or handling cash (interestingly this has had zero impact on how often i get sick, which was and remains "virtually never"). however, it is literally impossible to shame people into adopting a new behavior, because that's not how the human/ape brain works. you can shame someone out of doing something bad, but not into doing something good. sorry! you just can't! i know it feels so nice to yell and throw things but it accomplishes the opposite of what you want!

also, here is a sampling of tags on this post that are not thought patterns anyone should be encouraging, and if you find yourself thinking/feeling this way (when you aren't actually medically immunocompromised or living with someone who is, in which case these thoughts still aren't great for you emotionally but at least serve a real function) then you should be concerned:

#i feel so unclean if i don't do it immediately

#does no one else feel like u physically have germs on u when u touch stuff out in public#i come home from shopping and im like ewww eww eww my hands

#any time i leave the house it feels like theres an invisible layer of filth that covers me and gets worse the longer im out

#everything is dirty

#it's like I can feel how my hands are unclean when coming back from outside

#sanitize my hands everytime i'm outside because the world is FILTHY goddamn it

#like you really don’t feel nasty covered in all those outside germs??

further points:

"you all deserve to get covid and die/this is why covid is so bad” COVID is, quite famously, airborne! this reaction tells me that y'all are not logically assessing risks but instead are reacting to the vague horrifying concept of "the Bad Outside World is unbearably filthy and i must preserve my safe clean sanctum", which is not a great starting point for making public policy.

if someone washes their hands before eating, after using the bathroom, when showering, and any time they actually feel or look dirty, we're already at 8-10+ times a day. reacting with violent performative disgust to "i don't wash my hands whenever i return home from outside" as though it was "i never wash my hands ever" is another sign of where these reactions are coming from (not the thinking brain), because that is not what anyone actually voted for!

baffling to me how many people are assuming that everyone is taught as a child to wash their hands every time they come in from outside, because i wasn't and most people i know don't do that (or didn't pre-pandemic). as usual, Your Experiences Are Not Universal.

COVID trauma is very real and understandable, but this level of utter vitriol and loathing for people who don't feel viscerally contaminated when they step outside is just not reflective of reality, and it's certainly not useful for you or anyone else.

We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

[marknee]

bts fanfics i think shakespeare would enlist himself into the military just to show the boys.

chapter iv. ✷ chapter vi.

KEYS ON SEVERITY OF SHAKESPEARE’S STATE:

( ✮ ) — he’s not really thinking about enlisting, is he?

( ♬ ) — what do you mean shakespeare shaved his head?.. oh no.

( ✎ ) — don’t military bases have security? how the hell did that man get inside?

( ♛ ) — he’s proper pulling a cross country right now. the boys look confused. and horrified.

THE SHAKESPEARE SERIES.

WARNING: keep in mind, some of these authors are very strict on the rule that no minors should read their work if they’re underage, and i will honour that. but, at the end of the day, i am not your parent. so, there’s that. but heed my warning wisely. any smut or 18+ content is highlighted in bold.

NOTE: dear readers, did you miss me? it’s been a while since i’ve shared my secret recommendations with you. but, since the two year anniversary of this special series has recently passed, i thought it was about time i spoiled you again. i’ve had quite a while to think about this one. so, i hope you’re ready. let’s give shakespeare something to enlist for.

( ♛ ) AMALTHEA — by @daechwitatamic

!! seokjin x reader | 40k !!

best friend’s older brother!au, smut (18+), fluff, angst.

bfb! bfb! my best friend’s brother, my friend’s brother! bfb! bfb! my best friend’s brother, my best friend’s brother!

this is one of the BEST seokjin fics i’ve ever read. straight to the point but there is no other way to put it. got to the point i would wake up earlier just to read another chapter before work. i was always present, bitch.

alike most of you, as someone who reads A LOT (re: i have no credentials for this, just my mum), i can tell when someone pours their every blood, sweat and tears (ha.) into writing. and for me, this is one of those writers.

this writer really shocked me at how much i connected to this story whilst reading n how attached i felt after finishing. caught me off guard, but so did death to shakespeare… sooo, what can i say.

“it’s been over a decade since that night, and you still don't know if he meant his family, or you.” dude i wish you could’ve seen my face. lmfao.

let’s just say there’s a reason this one’s first. amazed. truly.

( ♛ ) MOON MAGIC — by @jincherie

!! hoseok x reader | 33.8k !!

mermaid!au, pirate!au, fluff (like.. teeth rotting).

“and he calls me mooonlight toooooo,” she sings into the empty crowd with tears in her eyes. she meaning me.

now i know i’m known for having a sweet tooth, but damn! youse are gonna eventually turn me into an elizabethan england commoner. y’know, the crap dental hygiene n all. (re: shakespeare’s teeth.)

but, you know me. i looooove a good ‘ol fantasy inspired fic, so i guess i’m willing to risk a little here. and this one was worth risking for.

slams hand onto the table. the world building! this writer was not playing around when it came to painting us a picture of the world they wanted to create. i wanna live in this fic i’m not joking. get me in touch with namjoon asap for some of that moon magic shit. ok, rolls credits.

perfect in every single way. this is my first run-in with this writer, but am i swimming (sorry.) my way over to their masterlist? yeeees.

“he laughs and tells you that, actually, it's probably the youngest three princes that are most beloved by all.”

yea girl. not on my watch. enjoy!

( ✎ ) ALL GROWN UP — by @btsgotjams27

!! jungkook x reader | 64k !!

friends to lovers, older woman/younger man, smut (18+).

the fact this fic was loosely inspired by one of my all-time comfort kdramas… i didn’t even have to question adding it to my list. it felt like i was watching it for the first time again… deeply sighs. ahhh the nostalgia…

i had this fic bookmarked on my ao3 for the looongest time, but it was only recently that i got round to actually reading it. and i’m so glad i did. bless her, she was waiting for her moment to shine. and it’s now.

youngest kids in the family please raise your hands! all in attendance! you are welcome and appreciated here. the feeling of desperation, trying to get people to see you as your current age rather than the little kid they’ll forever remember. i think that’s why i loved this fic so much: i could relate to it.

alike this story, most fics on here are on the older side of things. but honestly, if it’s good and genuine, it’ll last forever. no matter how much time has gone by. feelings stay - perhaps even grow?

the same for our adorable pair over here. could time play in their favour?

you let me know when you finish it.

( ✮ ) ALIVE AHA FXCK — by @softyoongiionly

!! vampire!yoongi x human!reader | 42k !!

vampire!au, smut (18+), soulmate!au (you know i had to), please read the trigger warnings.

devoured. no pun intended. though other vampire synonyms include but are not limited to: consumed, ate, guzzled, feasted etc… thank you google, after a few questionable internet searches.

i cannot tell you how glad i am that shakespeare never wrote about vampires. cuz he would’ve written my ass into that damn thing and killed me off from the things i’ve said about that guy. and the things i will continue to say…

i love this fic on a personal level. it reminds me of being fourteen again, curled up in my sheets as the sun reaches the tip of my windowsill and the morning chill settles in after a night of fighting sleep to finish a fanfic. it’s safe - i’m safe.

i genuinely had so much fun reading this story. the characterisation of both the reader and yoongi is so unhinged and playful and i’m obsessed. if i could recommend it to anyone, it would be my younger self cuz i know she’d love it :,). n she did!

y’know, sometimes you just gotta read a silly - infused with twilight puns - vampire-themed yoongi fic for the world to feel alright again.

and it did - for me. n now - for you.

( ♛ ) OLDER — by @lovieku

!! dilf!jk x inexperienced!reader | 18.2k !!

smut (18+), dilf!au, best friend’s father, age gap.

pure, undeniable and utter filth. in the best fuckin’ way possible. yea, if you could crawl into my mind, plunge into the inky depths of whatever lurks there.. this is what you’d find lying on the sand floor. unadulterated sin.

i am so disgustingly obsessed with this fic i can’t explain it, hence why it’s ended up on my shelf of recommendations. it scratches and pleases a deep, desperate itch in my brain. maybe it’s the age gap, who knows?

this writer has a talent for making us - or, me. - claw at something forbidden in an almost hungry advance. the sinner doing the sinning. and goddamn, i’m impressed. n i bet shakespeare is too. well, he fuckin’ better be.

the characters are imperfect and selfish and lustful, but oh my god i love them. add on dilf!jk with his slutty, unbuttoned shirts and you have me sold.

@lovieku you are such an amazing writer. you have such a way with how you express. do not underestimate that. i am beyond excited to see your future works :)

masterpiece. but what the fuck was that ending.

( ♛ ) HABITS OF A CLANDESTINE NATURE — by @alphabetboyluvr

!! college!jk x female!oc | 16k !!

rich!jk, waitress!oc, enemies to lovers, smut (18+).

he got, he got away! he got away! he got away! he’s got a way, he’s got a way! awayyyyheyeyyyyheyyy! yea, but didn’t manage to escape a 460-year-old poet, nor me.. so..

clementines, fruit trees, the sound of innocent laughter, wind chimes, a sheer blur of colour, soft hands. things that come to mind whenever i am reminded of this fic. a solid and beautiful depiction of hurt and love and everything in between.

this writer knew straight off the bat how to sell this pair to the audience. how to capture us and string us along for the journey of two hurting, longing and hurting all over again. shakespeare bought the hanging fruit that’s for damn sure… me too then, perhaps.

the vision for this story is perfect to me. i almost want to give the writer a kiss on the forehead.

i did write down one quote; used from the story. a way to sum it all up. “the perfect place to get lost. the perfect place to get found, too.”

if you’re looking for somewhere to get lost, i hope this satisfies that need. i also hope i come back to read this every once in a while. for old times sake. to get found again.

( ♬ ) GUILTY AS SIN — by @gldrushh

!! brother in law!jungkook x widow!reader | 32k !!

forbidden love!au, smut (18+), angst.

“it began to lose its meaning. healing. as if it were something—a destination you could stumble upon.” oh, don’t even talk to me. people died. shakepeare died. april 23rd 1616.

god, this story is just so raw in and of itself - perfectly depicting the human experience of love and loss. inevitable and sometimes unexpected. i was - n still remain - in awe.

i crossed by this fic unexpectedly and i’m so glad that whatever butterfly effect led me to finding this succeeded, but damn that action also had consequences… like real bad… haha….

i want to cry every time this fic crosses my mind. dramatic? lil bit. but when you read it, holy shit - this will make sense to you young’uns. in due time.

well, to be even more dramatic as such… my wounds from reading this are still fresh (i will sob don’t test me), so i hand the torch over to you to make of this story what you will.

please go into this fic with no expectations. go in willingly and just… fall into it. i will be on the other side when you resurface and i will definitely say something ironic.

like i told you so. xx.

( ♛ ) CALLING PRODUCER MIN YOONGI — by @bangtan-dreamland

!! yoongi x reader | 4.6k !!

strangers to lovers, just fluff all around.

now this is the bitch i aspire to be. dials random ass numbers of random ass strangers just to yap. oh yea, that’s my kinda girl. i just hope she knows she’s the coolest person ever to exist to me. i want to buy a star for her. a big, bright one.

i think i have said this before, but never ever underestimate the power of a drabble. a short fic of little can hold the weight of ten times that amount. especially this one (which i read that long ago but has ultimately ended up here - says it all tbh).

this fic is everything and more to me. i miss it when i’m not reading it, and i miss it when it’s right in front of me. it has me wanting to ring up random people in hopes of meeting my true love - which i won’t, but who knows what might happen?

also, to point out - the immense chemistry between these characters is off the charts. felt like i was intruding on my own phone call.

good dialogue? tick. amazing characterisation? tick. interesting plot? tick. has shakespeare wanting to never learn how to use a phone in case he puts this fic to shame? tick.

lol.

( ✎ ) THE LOVE PROGNOSIS — by @awrkive

!! surgeon!jk x surgeon!reader | 90.9k !!

roommates!au, medical!au, smut (18+), fluff.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh. aaaand scene!

can i be honest? y’all stress me the fuck out! and you know who you are! starts with ‘j’ ends with ‘k’. the other one being ‘s’ ends with ‘e’. but one of you i like more and it’s not you, shakespeare.

the time it took me to finish this insanely crafted three-parter was embarrassingly short. (i think i formed a dent in my bed). so when i finished i was - obviously - heartbroken, so i did what every sane person does. i read all the drabbles. aaaand the tlp social media extras. and listened to the playlist. and cried. duh.

whilst all the fics on here deserve their own kdrama, i feel this one would ruin me completely. it’s weightlifting fairy kim bok joo all over again. it’s potential is there. like, c’mon screenwriters. i know you want to. or just pay me to do it.

the characters, the yearning, the friendship - immediately gets flashbacks… - ten’s across the board!

@awrkive is one to look out for. for real. i - along with everyone else here - will be tuning in. full volume.

oh yea, whilst we’re all still here. fuck that other guy. you know who you are! (no spoilers here).

( ♛ ) LET’S GET QUIZZICAL — by @taleasnewastime

!! jimin x f!reader | 28.6k !!

friends to lovers, angst, smut (18+).

sooooo… what i’m hearing is.. we all weren’t aware flo rida’s stage name is just florida with a space..? right? right.? cuz when you say it like that..

having been a victim of multiple pub quizzes in my past (haven’t won - yet!) the dialogue in this story was fucking perfect and scary real, depicting the anxiety, thrill and pure adrenaline running through your body as you rack your brain of every dumb fact you’ve ever read and hope it’s made a home somewhere up there.

not to mention you gotta trust your teammates like your life depends on it - cuz it fuckin’ does. n park jimin being one of them? the rest of the teams… y’all better not even bother showing up atp.

i thought the manor of the story being told through its settings was.. a slice of genius. so so cool and helped set the tone too. every time we transported back to the quiz i clutched my pearls in sheer relief.

also, i wish i could’ve highlighted angst in bold cause damn! you really hit us round the head with that one. and ofc i loved it, but damn. take notes, shakespeare. we don’t have to be killing characters off to ruin mk’s life. hm?

nothing less than spectacular from our @taleasnewastime.

( ♬ ) TRICKS OF THE TRADE — by @stutterfly

!! yoongi x reader | 24.1k !!

body swap!au, soulmates!au (you know me), smut (18+), humour.

peers down through speckled glasses, what’s next..? …oh god. sighs heavily and licks pen.

so i knew from the moment i read ‘body swap’ within the tags that this concept was gonna be so fuckin’ weird but so damn good. and low n behold, it didn’t disappoint. luckily i am a lover of fuckin’ weird.

this concept is so difficult to write. the foreign sensation of a different body and trying to channel each thought n emotions involved is complicated to convey, but this author did it so incredibly well.

also, not to be that person… but that smut… i’m gon’ be sleeping soooo well tonight let’s just say that lmfao. 100/10. might go back n read it when i’m done with this.

blushing… X

shakespeare couldn’t even fathom a story such as this - and we’re talking about the guy who once wrote about an incestuous relationship between a king and his daughter.

crazy work. you are so cool @stutterfly.

( ✎ ) TRIVIA LOVE — by @luxekook

!! namjoon x reader | 5.4k !!

non idol!au, smut (18+).

to quote myself from my reblog on feb 26 2020, “why was i smiling the whole way throughout this??” n you know what? hell yea i still stand by that!

this is the second pub quiz fic i have within this chapter (surprisingly, but not disappointing), but the circumstances cannot be more different.

the first group i would join, perhaps even rally with a little. but if i’m ever attending a pub night and these mother fuckers are in tow, best believe i’m leaving. they’re not ones to fuck with yo. they have $20 to win. they mean war.

since we’re at the end, and i’m 100% convinced nobody is still reading these, soooo… i can speak my truth. someone get me on joon’s lap. you gon’ be calling me cinderella cuz it’s gonna fit perfectly by midnight bro. on the dot.

this is - n will always be - a classic to me. one that i will always return to eventually. i can dress up all i want with these big fics, but these smaller ones are always a guilty pleasure.

like cinderella returning to her mice friends (or whatever), i will always come back to @luxekook and their stories.

forever xoxo.

MARKNEE’S SPECIAL MENTIONS:

caught my attention, and deserve their flowers.

( ♬ ) THE DEVIL SKATES ON THIN ICE — by @vankoya

!! yoongi x reader | 60.5k !!

winter sports!au, fluff, angst, humour.

my love life also skates on thin ice. lmfao. especially after this.

( ✎ ) KNOCKED — by @sailoryooons

!! streamer!seokjin x f!reader | 10.6k !!

roommates to lovers, smut (18+), humour.

more like she’s about to knock him out.

( ♬ ) NEFARIOUS — by @yoonia

!! jimin x f!reader | 39.2k !!

sex club!au, gentlemen club!au, smut (18+).

lets out a long sigh. won’t be in a rush to forget this one.

( ✎ ) THINGS WE DON’T SAY — by @wintaerbaer

!! taehyung x reader | 54.5k !!

best friends to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut.

the found family trope is strooong.

© marknee, 2025. all rights reserved.

[mariasont]

Strictly Medical Reasons - S.R

it started as concern. a few check-ins, a handful of visits, just to make sure you were healing. but somewhere along the way, the line between duty and something deeper blurred, and spencer wasn't sure he wanted to redraw it.

pairings: spencer reid x reader warnings: gn!reader, flirting, mention of some undescribed rescue (imagining it wasn't too much trauma because there is too much flirting going on lol), reader has stitches, pre-relationship pining, definitely blurring some unhealthy attachments, mild codependency?, injury/wound care, but this is all fluffity fluff wc: 1.9k request: here

It was supposed to be procedural.

Another life salvaged, another story neatly archived. He had done this before, so many times, in so many places, that the specifics bled together, watercolors smudged by the passage of time. Their faces softened into abstraction, names reduced to reference, tucked away for when necessity dictated. That was the nature of it — the job. He helps, he leaves. They move on, and so does he.

Except this time, he hadn’t.

It didn’t hit him in the moment. Not when the case wrapped up, not when he boarded the jet, not even when he returned to his apartment. It wasn’t until much later — until he was supposed to be focused on a book he had read three times before, until he was staring blankly at his own notes without processing a single word — that he realized he hadn’t moved on. 

He could still remember the exact shade of your shirt, the way the material had wrinkled when you crossed your arms, the way you had cracked a joke — not forced, not out of shock, but because humor was your instinct, the same way facts were his.

The logical part of him knew this was excessive. Maybe even bordering on inappropriate. Checking in once? Reasonable. Twice? Understandable. But five times? Six? He wasn’t even sure anymore. Somewhere between the habitual morning texts and the I was just in the area visits that were only technically lies, he had lost count.

Somewhere along the way, it had stopped being just about your well-being and started becoming something else entirely, something he didn’t want to analyze too closely. Because even if he did, the compulsion remained the same — his fingers hovering over his phone, rereading messages for subtext that probably wasn’t there, scanning your voice for micro-inflections, subtle hesitations, anything.

It was crazy. For someone who spent his life dissecting human behavior down to its most fundamental parts, Spencer found himself struggling with the most basic equation of all: what was it about you that had rewired every rational impulse he had?

“Dr. Reid?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think I can take these stitches out myself?”

Spencer’s response time dragged as he attempted to process whether or not you were joking. There was no sound reason for you to even consider that — removing sutures too early could lead to dehiscence, increased risk of infection, and possible hypertrophic scarring. He ran through a dozen potential responses, none of which adequately conveyed the "are you out of your mind" sentiment currently flooding his system.

“What?”

“My stitches. They itch like crazy,” you complain. There’s a rustling sound, a shuffle of movement, then a sharp inhale, like you’ve pressed too hard. He stiffens. “I know they said to wait, but it’s been — what? A week? That’s long enough, right?”

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, it’s not long enough. And unless you’ve recently acquired a medical degree I don’t know about, you should absolutely not remove them yourself.”

A small, defeated sigh. He didn’t have to be there to know what you were doing, absently picking the edges of the injury, mind already debating whether to listen to him or your own impatience. He knew exactly how your brain worked. Possibly too well. 

“Okay, okay, doctor.” Your voice now had a teasing lilt, dissolving his irritation like sugar in tea. “I’ll keep them in. For now.”

He should have told you to go to urgent care. It was exactly the kind of advice he would give to anyone else. He even opened his mouth to say it.

But urgent care meant you’d be sitting in a cold, sterile room, and Spencer already had all the proof he needed that you did not handle pain well, so he could only imagine the absolute scene you would cause the second the doctor so much as touched you.

You had made it through an entire armed standoff without a scratch. You had been fine. Perfectly fine. And then, the second you were safe, you tripped over your own feet on the gravel, went down hard, and immediately announced, “I think I’m dying.”

(You weren’t. It was a two-stitch injury. He knew that. You knew that. But that hadn’t stopped you from squeezing his arm like you were bracing for war.)

So yeah, he wasn’t about to subject an innocent nurse to that level of unnecessary suffering.

“...I can come by and take a look.”

He hadn’t told anyone he was leaving and hadn’t bothered with excuses of half-hearted justifications. You had agreed without hesitation, voice light, pleased, and before he could even process what that meant — what it meant that you wanted him there — the call had ended and his coat was already on, his body moving as if his mind had no say in the matter at all.

Which was how he ended up here.

At your door, eyes drawn, as always, to the welcome mat. Stay Awhile. Too sentimental. A little too on-the-nose. The kind of thing he would generally dismiss with a passing thought, another surface-level attempt at warmth, mass-produced and impersonal. Except lately, it was starting to feel like a directive. 

Before he even knocked, the door swung open. He froze, fingers still half-curled into a fist, blinking as if he had somehow miscalculated the timing of reality itself.

“Hi.” You stepped back without hesitation, the invitation clear.  “Come in.”

Spencer hesitated for a fraction of a second, thrown by the fluidity of it all.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess,” you added, pushing the door behind him. “I had to work online today, and, uh, turns out, when you don’t have to leave the house, basic organization becomes more of a suggestion than a rule.”

His eyes skimmed the room, cataloging the so-called mess. A blanket, half-draped over the couch, slumped like a figure in mid-collapse. The pillows sat uneven, as if they had been rearranged in restless indecision. A coffee mug, streaked with the last remnants of caffeine, stood beside an open laptop. A pair of socks had been cast aside in the corner.

Mess, you had called it. He fought the urge to tell you that, statistically, people who lived in slightly cluttered spaces tended to be more creative. Somehow, he figured you already knew that.

His gaze tracked downward, instinct eclipsing intention.

The stitches were still in place, neatly spaced, and there were no signs of infection. So far, so good. But the skin surrounding them was angry, irritation blooming in uneven splotches where your fingers had worried the flesh.

“You’ve been scratching them.”

Your eyes flickered toward your arm, then back at him, guilt tucked behind a small, lopsided smile. “Not badly.”

Spencer sighed as he set his bag down with a thump. “Sit on the counter.”

“What?”

“The lighting’s better,” he muttered, already making his way toward the kitchen. “And I’d rather not crouch on your floor to assess how much damage you’ve done.”

You hopped up without argument, legs swinging as you grinned at him. “Do I get a lollipop after this check-up?”

Spencer stepped between your legs, hands settling lightly on your knee for balance. He hadn’t really thought this through — how close he’d have to be, how your leg would brush his hip, how he would be able to smell faint traces of your shampoo. 

He exhaled a dry laugh. “I don’t know. Do you think you deserve a reward for actively making my life harder?”

“Sounds like a you problem, Dr. Reid. If you weren’t so obsessed with checking up on me, you wouldn’t even know I was doing anything questionable.”

Spencer sighed, tugging on his gloves, the latex snapping against his wrist like punctuation.

“You make an excellent point.” He pulled out the disinfectant next, carefully flipping the cap open. “An annoying one, but an excellent point nonetheless.”

Because if he didn’t check up on you, he wouldn’t even know about the irritated stitches. He also wouldn’t know that you never make it through a full cup of coffee before it gets cold, or that you always read the last page of a book first, just in case, or that you leave the bathroom light on when you get up in the middle of the night because you hate walking through the dark.

He wouldn’t know you, not in all these strange, fascinating, tangled ways. And for some reason, that thought startled him more than it should.

When you started, Spencer barely had the cotton pad against your skin, “So I was reading this article about how — ow!” You flinched, shooting him a glare. “That stings!”

Spencer pressed his lips together, barely suppressing a laugh. “I did bring a numbing agent, but I figured you’d want to tough it out. For, you know, bragging rights.”

You huffed, lips turning into a tiny, reluctant pout. “Yeah, okay, I’m fine.”

Spencer’s grip on the cotton pad faltered just slightly before he recovered. He shouldn’t find that cute. He shouldn’t. But he absolutely did.

He continued cleaning, carefully blotting at the wound. Another wince. Another barely-contained reaction.

“Tell me about the article.”

“So, I read this study about how humans actually need physical touch to regulate their nervous systems.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgement. “I’ve read about that. Social bonding releases oxytocin.”

“Right!” you winced, inhaling sharply through your teeth before continuing. “And it’s not just romantic, like, even casual touch can lower stress levels. They did a study with people holding hands and — ow — measuring their cortisol levels. Turns out, human contact makes everything more tolerable.”

Spencer’s brain decided right then to process every point of contact between you. 

Statistically, you weren’t wrong. Scientifically, it was a well-documented phenomenon.

“Interesting,” he said, clearing his throat. “Sounds useful.”

He could cite three separate studies off the top of his head, break down the neurochemical pathways, and explain in excruciating detail why humans physically needed each other. But he liked the way you described it better.

“You saying you wanna hold my hand, Spencer?”

The antiseptic pad definitely didn’t need as much pressure as he just applied. “You’re very chatty for someone in pain.”

“You act all put out, but you keep showing up. What does that say, Dr. Reid?”

“That I’m too intelligent to believe in lost causes, but not intelligent enough to avoid them” Spencer rolled his eyes as he pulled off his glove. He patted your thigh lightly before stepping back. “Alright, all done. Try to behave so I don’t have to do this again.”

You clutched your chest theatrically. “Are you saying you don’t enjoy our little quality time sessions? That hurts, Spencer.”

He busied himself with picking up his bag. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

You hopped down from the counter, and Spencer instinctively reached out — like he thought you might be unsteady, like it was his job to ensure you didn't wobble. His hand brushed your arm for a half a second before he caught himself and pulled away.

“Text me if anything looks worse.”

“What, so you can rush over again?”

His ears tinged slightly pink. “Just… let me know if you need anything.

You softened, nodding. “I will.”

As he stepped outside, Spencer pulled his phone from his pocket, half-expecting — half hoping — to see a message from you before he even made it to his car. He shook his head at the thought, at himself. This was becoming a problem. A habit. An inevitability.

And despite knowing this, here he was, already running through excuses in his head for why it would be perfectly reasonable to check in again tomorrow. Strictly for medical reasons, of course.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[moonstruckme]

MAE! I have a request… <3 reader finds out Steve keeps Polaroids of her around different spots, like tucked in his wallet or the sun visor of his car or in his bathroom mirror

Thanks for requesting!

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 728 words

“You look like you just came from the movies,” you say. 

Steve turns his head to look at you over the top of his sunglasses. You grin. “I’ll have you know, these are Ray-Bans.” 

“Are you sure? Because they’re just like the ones they gave out for Jaws 3D.” 

Even with the dark lenses, you can sense your boyfriend rolling his eyes as he turns back to the road. “You’re just jealous because you didn’t bring any.” 

Caught. “If you were a gentleman, you’d give me yours.” 

“Sorry, baby. Driver needs to see the most.” 

“Fine,” you sigh, putting a bit of theatrics into it. You reach for the sun visor. “Don’t think I won’t remember this the next time you want a blanket at my place.” 

You flip the visor down, and a little plastic square flutters into your lap. You pick it up. 

“Hey,” says Steve, “that’s totally different. If you ran your heat, neither of us would need blankets. But if you want me to start bringing my own—” 

“Stevie.” 

“Oh, it’s Stevie now,” he mutters. 

You turn to him, holding up the picture. “When did you take this?” 

Steve glances away from the road for a second. “Oh. Don’t you remember? That was at the lake last summer.” 

You do remember, now. Steve’s no master photographer—the light refracts off the water, fuzzing the picture and obscuring parts of your face—but it’s clearly you. You’re standing waist-deep in the lake, clearly trying to splash Steve while cheesing into the camera. You remember the day, but not the moment. 

Steve brings that polaroid camera everywhere. You know where it is now, stowed in the glove box right against your knees. He takes pictures with it sometimes, but always stows them away immediately so they can develop somewhere dark. You haven’t ever thought to ask about them. Haven't seen one until now. 

“Why do you have this here?” you ask. 

“I just like to keep them where I can find them,” Steve says. “Hey, put that back when you’re done, will you?” 

You blink at him. “You mean there are more?” 

“Yeah, of course.” He looks at you again, eyebrows flicking up at the open curiosity in your expression. “You wanna see some?” 

“Yes, please.” 

“Alright. Put that one back.” He shifts in his seat, reaching into his back pocket. “I don’t need any getting lost.” 

You feel your lips tilt bemusedly. “You keep them in random places, but you don’t want them to get lost?” 

Steve digs out his wallet. “Nothing random about it. There’s a system, okay?” You reach for the wallet, but he holds it away. “Put it back.” 

“Okay, okay.” You grin, stowing the polaroid back where you found it before grabbing for Steve’s wallet. The worn leather parts for you easily. “Oh.” 

There are a few pictures in here. You holding flowers at the farmer’s market, you decorating cupcakes, you on your bed at home. Some have you looking into the camera, others not. In all of them you look happy. You think that’s probably how you look most of the time when Steve’s with you. 

“Steve.” Affection aches in the back of your throat. “This is so sweet.”

“It’s nothing,” he says. When you look at your boyfriend, you can see the faint tinge of a blush beneath the frames of his sunglasses. 

You gather the pictures carefully in one hand, using the other to link your fingers through his. “Why did you keep all of these?” 

Steve makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “What, I’m not allowed to want to look at you? Why would I take them just to get rid of them?” 

“I don’t know.” Your voice softens. “I just didn’t know you had all these. It’s cute.” 

Steve grins. He glances over at you once, then again, leaning over for a quick kiss. 

“Hey!” you laugh. “Eyes on the road.” 

“You’re cute,” he says.

“Yeah, you must think so.” 

“Don’t go getting a big head.” Steve uses your joined hands to tug on your arm teasingly. You let it draw you closer to him, smitten.

“Too late for that. You’re like my own personal paparazzi. You know I’m gonna have to start taking a bunch of pictures of you too, now, right?” 

“I don’t think you have to.” 

“Oh, I definitely have to.”

[roxannepolice]

Woah, OK, this is even more complicated. Sienkiewicz's "Trilogy" is... risking my lit teacher mother's curse, historical RPF. Like, not like "The Three Musketeers" where there are historical figures but the main characters are fictional, only literally every major character (barring Zagłoba) can be found in some historical records as being involved in the events presented. How much the characters going by those names have to do with their historical counterparts? Probably little, considering there are letters where Sienkiewicz is like, I already came up with my Arya-esque wife for Wołodyjowski, except his actual wife was more like Sansa and I don't LIKE Sansa, what should I do??? 😭😭

Same goes for Podbipięta. But before we conclude, well, that just means they wanted to order a mass some two centuries late, I think it's even more complicated. Again, the main characters were real, but they weren't like, people you learn about in school, more middle nobility that you know existed as a group but don't know each family, unless you have a degree in history or a hyperfixation like Henryś.

Sooo, we have a situation of a historical character, who was depicted in a work of fiction but hell knows how much the character and the figure had in common other than name and the way he died, that most people reading wouldn't KNOW was real, except there's evidence people BELIEVED the things depicted by Sienkiewicz were 100% true, which let me repeat they weren't-

Look, it's people ringing up God about a fictional derivative of a real person that they believe is real, and aren't wrong, but not exactly right either.

Deaths recording Angel probably needed therapy.

everyone’s talking about how unhinged fans are nowadays about their blorbos. well let me tell you that when the polish writer henryk sienkiewicz first published his novel ‘with fire and sword’ in parts between 1883 and 1884, and killed off the beloved character longinus podbipięta, people nationwide were so upset they’d go to church and ask for requiem masses to be held in his memory. match THAT freak

[cookies-after-dark]

hopefully i’m not yapping too much because this is my second ask in the same day but the matters are urgent (i got inspired by your teacher!sage of truth x student!reader post)… now i must step off of my black sapphire soapbox to yap about the blue man himself

imagine what you think being an unrequited teacher crush towards sage of truth not being as nonmutual as you thought. how could you help yourself when you spent so much time out of your day being taught by someone so handsome? plus, it’s not like he would notice; all you did was just steal some small glances when was lecturing the class or explaining a concept to someone else. you would get slightly flustered whenever his attention was on you, and your breath would hitch if he leaned in closer to the point you could feel his breath caressing your neck, but that was the most it got. and you were content with that. you wouldn’t risk damaging your terms with him by overtly flirting, no matter how much your body ached for him during a few sleepless nights.

one day in class, you were so captivated by him that you completely forgot about the test that day. you silently begged for some stroke of luck, but it never came, and your heart sunk at the disappointment on his face as he passed back your grade. on the top of the paper of course featured your subpar grade, but also a note from him: ‘come by my office after class today.’ ah, of course; he probably thought you just couldn’t understand the material, even though the true reason was far from that.

so you did as he requested, but cue your surprise as instead of seeing his disappointed face again, his expression held amusement and some other type of emotion you couldn’t put your finger on. the second chair was usually right across from him on the other side of his desk, but now it was right beside him, almost too close. it must’ve just been like that from some other meeting and he forgot to put it back. still, he gestured at it expectantly, and you took your seat, muttering an apology as your leg accidentally brushed against his.

throughout the entire tutoring session, he seemed to be less coherent than usual. not that you were doubting his knowledge or anything, but he was just going through the problems without elaborating or going off on analogy-filled tangents like his normal style. not only that, but his hand always seemed to find yours, grazing your unusually warm skin for a few seconds too long to be considered an accident. you knew you could just mention it and he would stop, but you never did. …you didn’t want to.

the end of the session arrived unsurprisingly quickly with the way he was speeding through the material. did he have somewhere he needed to be? hopefully you weren’t intruding on his time. however, when you began to stand up, you found that his arm was preventing you. he turned to you, gaze meeting yours for the first time since the beginning of all of this. his expression read, ‘what’s got you in a hurry?’

a few seconds of awkward silence passed by before he finally spoke. “is there anything else you’d like to let me know about?” he asked, sounding less like a question and more like a prompt with only one right answer. you shook your head and tried to stand up again, only to be pushed down back into the chair with more force this time.

“there’s no use lying to me. why do you try so hard to hide yourself?” he softly chided. the weight of it hit you like a thousand textbooks. he knew. he always did. he knew about your…

“gave up already?” he teased, as if you weren’t about to die from embarrassment right where you sat. “i’m not going to… punish you for your little secret. actually, i wanted to help make your fantasies a reality.”

…what?

before you could even respond, your thoughts might as well have been about trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, as you were immediately rendered speechless when you felt his hand quite intentionally circle the waistband of your uniform pants. “it’s alright,” he reassured. “there’s no need to be embarrassed. this all part of the learning process. now, should we stop here or keep going?”

a pause. he was waiting for you to answer. he knew that you wanted this, and yet he still wanted to hear it leave your lips. “yes, sir… keep going.”

then, he smiled. “that’s what i like to hear.” his hand then dipped inside and continued its venture south at an excruciatingly slow pace.

“and i must admit,” he murmured, his voice lower than you’ve ever heard it and heavy with desire, “i’ve had my own fantasies about you, too.”

another pause. his hand was so close to the place you needed it most, and the impatient part of you was growing restless.

“about bending you over my desk and fucking you until you scream... until you forget your own name and only remember mine.”

his touch was teasing your inner thigh now. your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest. you didn’t know when you started to become wet, but you were sure you had drenched both of your layers. all you could think of, all you could care about was him.

“now, answer this: are you ready for your lesson to begin?”

—🎭

I'm saving this ask in like 8 different places and I'm like, red in the face or whatever. Whatever. Whateverp (defaces public property)

[pineconepie]

More Vincent!! >:)

TW: Kidnapping, injured reader, parental yandere, infantilization, murder (not major characters), developing Stockholm syndrome(?)

...

Its been a few weeks ever since Vincent kidnapped you (or "adopted you" as he likes to put it). For the first few days, it was hell trying to get comfortable around your new "dad". It took even longer to feel safe at the Cryo estate, and get adjusted to the people there.

Most of them were surprisingly not that scary once you got to know them.

For the first time in a while, you felt happy, once you adjusted. Sure, being forced to act like a baby against your will was humiliating and embarrassing. But, at least Vincent could be a lot worse.

"Comfy, pumpkin?" he chuckles, ruffling your hair.

You're nestled against him, watching some kid's movie on TV while nestled up against his side.

He seems so much happier now, too. Well, at least now that you've finally come to terms with your fate and given in to him. There weren't a lot of options in this scenario. If you tried to run away or tell anyone outside the Cryo organization, Vincent would have probably killed them.

That thought scares you as well as makes you sick to your stomach, but there isn't much you can do.

"Yeah," you mutter, eyes slipping shut. "'m tired."

Vincent shifts slightly. You feel a light kiss being pressed into the top of your head. "Then I guess it's nap-time, huh? I..." He's interrupted by his phone ringing. His expression quickly turns into a scowl as he checks the caller ID, and answers it after sending you an apologetic look. "Phoenix, this better be urgent."

"Heeey, Boss, Scarlet Syndicate is kinda screwing us over right now." There's sounds of yelling in the background. "They wanna speak to you."

Your eyes widen. Scarlet Syndicate, the same group that forced you into working for them.

Vincent rubs the bridge of his nose. "Then they're idiots. Fine. Tell them they're gonna get what they wished for. Send me the location and I'll be there soon." He hangs up before Phoenix has a chance to reply back. Sighing, he turns to you with a sad smile. "Looks like we'll have to cut cuddle time short. Dad's so sorry."

"They're the ones who held debt over my head. What if they want me back?" you question, dread making your chest tighten. "What if they want me dead? They're probably so angry at me.." Your lip trembles, remembering how cruel they were to you.

He pulls you into a firm hug, rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Oh, kiddo... don't worry about that, alright? If those bastards so much as come near you, they will meet a very bloody fate," he growls, squeezing you even tighter. He buries his face in your hair. "Dad's gotcha. As long as you stay under my protection, they won't lay a finger on you. Hell will freeze over before I let anyone take you away from me."

You nod anxiously. "I trust you."

He kisses your forehead again before slowly pulling away and standing up from the couch. "I'm gonna put you in the safe room while I'm gone, alright?" He doesn't wait for your response, dragging you to the safe room.

Despite trying to seem calm, you can tell he's angry. Extremely angry. Vincent is gripping you tightly, but not hard enough to cause pain.

Once you're in the safe room, he makes sure it's fully locked up.

"I should be home before dinner," he assures you.

"Wait," you rasp. "What if something happens to you?"

Vincent places his hand on the side of your head, stroking his thumb over your cheek. His smile seems a lot warmer when you're the one receiving it.

"You really think I would leave you alone after all the trouble I've went through to have you with me?" he teases, letting out a quiet chuckle. "No worries, sweetie. I'm always gonna find a way to make it home. Even if I have to dig myself out of a shallow grave."

With one last kiss pressed into your forehead, Vincent turns around and walks away, leaving you locked inside the safe room.

...

Vincent arrives at the warehouse where the meeting is taking place, being escorted inside by Phoenix. Inside the main room, he sees the Scarlet Syndicate goons waiting for him and Vincent wastes no time getting to the point.

"What the fuck do you bastards want?" he spits.

Flint, the boss of Scarlet Syndicate, puffs his cigar. "You know exactly what I'm here to ask," he sneers. "Did you not bring the kid with you?"

"Kid? I don't know what you're talking about," Vincent replies nonchalantly, smiling menacingly. "But if I did, what is it to you?"

"Their debt is far from paid off, Bauer," Flint grumbles. "As long as they breathe, we own them. So I was thinking, either you give them to us, or you can pay off the debt yourself." He blows out some smoke. "For a millionaire such as yourself, it doesn't seem like it'd be an issue for you, especially seeing as you've gone soft over them. I've heard the rumors."

Vincent glares darkly at him. "First of all, you're gonna need more than your cronies to keep you protected when I lose my patience." He smiles threateningly. "And second of all, I think I've got a counter-proposal. How about I just shoot you in your face instead?"

In a flash, everyone pulls their weapons on each other.

"Enough!" Flint huffs. "I gave you an option to do it willingly. Now we have no choice but to use brute force."

Vincent is prepared to have bullets flying his way, but instead a smoke bomb is dropped at his feet.

As soon as Vincent realizes this, he covers his mouth and nose, eyes searching wildly to see the culprit, but to no avail. Then he notices Flint is gone along with his cronies.

Once the room clears, the Cryo members notice their boss is seething.

"Go find them!" he barks, scowling furiously. "I want every single one of those bastards dead by sunset." He notices Quinn on her phone. "Quinn! What the hell are you doing?!"

"Your place was broken into," she hisses back.

That gets Vincent's attention. The blood drains from his face as realization dawns on him. They just wanted to draw him out so they could get their hands on his baby.

Never in the past couple of years has he ever been so frantic, scrambling to his car and flooring it back home.

...

As soon as he makes it back to his penthouse, his worst fears are confirmed. There's signs of struggle in the hallway, as well as bloodstains on the carpet.

The safe room door has been busted open somehow. Vincent's stomach churns and he feels rage beginning to bubble up. Not only had someone dared to trespass on his property, they also had the audacity to steal you.

His kid. His everything.

He screams your name while searching for you, even though he already knows it's useless.

After tearing apart the penthouse and finding no trace of you, that's when his panic begins to set in.

"No, no, no..." he rasps, fingers tangling in his hair. He punches the wall and kicks down the nearby table in rage. Vincent stands there staring down at the mess he made.

He feels his chest constricting and tears beginning to flow. He grabs one of the fallen chairs and smashes it against the wall.

Then his phone rings.

Fumbling to grab it out of his pocket, he answers it, wiping his tears away in anger.

"What?!" he barks, voice cracking.

Instead of Phoenix, Quinn, or Trenton, he hears...

"Hello again, Vincent."

It's Flint.

Vincent feels like he's about to snap right then and there. He grips the phone so tight he almost breaks it. "What did you do?" he asks with grit teeth, fighting back the urge to sob. He hasn't felt this way in a long time, and he despises that.

But it hurts. You're gone again... It makes his heart ache knowing you're back in that organization's grasp, likely terrified.

Flint cackles. "I'm sure your kid wants to know the same thing. I told them how your greed was too strong to save them. So! I have a new set of options. Either you can come here and give me the money, or... well, I think you can imagine what'll happen next."

Vincent squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling. "Just tell me where you want me to bring the cash," he whispers, rubbing his hand over his face.

...

You try to ignore the cuts and bruises marring your skin. It's hard to, given your only distraction is the brick wall in front of you. You would cry, but after crying the whole ride here, you feel numb.

There's only fear and dread in you.

You're tied to a chair, arms bound behind your back and legs attached to the front legs of the chair, ankles secured to them.

They've taken you away from Vincent and brought you back here.

Back to the Scarlet Syndicate headquarters, which is really just some rundown warehouse.

Just when you're beginning to wonder if you had been abandoned to starve and die down in this dingy basement, the door opens.

To your surprise and relief, Vincent descends down the stairs with two suitcases.

"Dad!" you exclaim, hope blossoming.

He ignores your cry, approaching the table Flint sits at. With an angry scowl on his face, he sets both suitcases down, opening them up so the man can see.

You peer over as well, shocked to see that there's millions worth of dollars in each suitcase. Probably even more than the debt.

"There, I've met your demands," Vincent hisses. "Now let them go."

Flint cackles, standing up. "My, my. I'm surprised you actually showed up. Thought for sure I would be seeing them dead. Seeing as you don't hold much care for anyone besides yourself."

"Save the monologue," Vincent snaps. "And give them back before I put a bullet through your brain."

Flint nods, untying you from the chair.

Once you're untied, you rub your wrists, wincing at the soreness. Immediately, you rush over to Vincent, wrapping your arms around his midsection and hiding your face against his coat.

He holds you tight. "It's alright. Dad's here."

Flint pouts, taking another drag of his cigar. "So let's let bygones be bygones?"

Vincent forces a smile. "Sure thing." He rushes you out of the warehouse, keeping you cradled in his arms until you reach the car, which is farther away than you had anticipated. You're just grateful he has so much upper body strength. After buckling you in the backseat, he checks your pulse and presses kisses all over your face. "My poor baby," he whispers tearfully. "Did they hurt you bad?"

"My head hurts. And my entire body feels like its on fire."

Vincent pulls you into another firm hug before letting go. He wipes his eyes furiously. "Oh. That reminds me." He pulls out a walkie-talkie and holds it to his face. "Trent. Now."

You hear a loud explosion coming from somewhere nearby, looking out the window to see the warehouse in flames.

You jump a little.

Vincent chuckles weakly, placing his hand on your head. He reaches into the glove compartment and produces a juice box. You hadn't even noticed he carried them around in his vehicles.

He pushes the straw through the tiny hole and hands it to you.

"I think some ice cream is in order once we get back home," he whispers, leaning forward and pressing another kiss onto your forehead.

"But didn't you give them money?" you question, furrowing your brows in confusion as you take small sips of the juice. "You just blew up a bunch of it..."

He laughs. "Don't you worry about that. It wasn't real money," he snickers, patting your head one last time. "But you don't need to think about any of that adult stuff anymore." His smile falters for a split second, examining your injuries once again. "I'll also need to call a doctor once we're home. And then maybe put you in a tower like Rapunzel."

You manage a small laugh. "You're silly."

His smile returns as he shuts the door and settles himself into the driver's seat. "Don't tell anyone else, you're the only one who knows that." He grins at you through the rearview mirror.

Never did you think you'd be okay driving away with your captor from a burning building with possible casualties inside, but... after what you've been through, it's kind of difficult to care anymore.

[covenofagatha]

Have you ever thought about ghost!Agatha x reader? Like reader has a guest, or even someone to make Agatha jealous, over, and Agatha is feeling possessive so she teases reader through her clothes, and reader has to act completely normal or even has to excuse herself from the conversation at some point. The guest has no idea because they don't know Agatha haunts the house so they go check on reader to see if she's okay, and finds her in a compromising position..

Honestly I've recently been obsessed with this idea and need to share it. But like the idea is kinda hot, and please do feel pressure to do this.

Yessss I've been thinking about ghost!agatha quite a bit recently and I'd like to write a full fic at some point when I get time but I thought I'd leave everyone with some thoughts about it in the meantime (this basically became a fic in bullet points whoops)

The house is very below market value, even compared to the neighboring homes, and you ask your realtor what that's about. She replies that people think it's haunted and there's been several ghost sightings there over the years, but it's cheap and when you walk through, it doesn't seem haunted so you put in an offer. Even though it's under the asking price, the couple selling it immediately accepts and you move in a week later

Everything is fine for the most part for the first two weeks. There's sometimes the sensation that you're being watched and you swear that things end up in places they shouldn't be, but you just chalk it up as paranoia and superstition. You've been really lonely since moving into this big house all by yourself in a new city for work, so you're probably imagining company

Until you really can't ignore it any more—you hear creaking on the stairs and on the second floor that sounds exactly like footsteps, your keys end up in the bathtub, cups are knocked onto the floor that weren't anywhere near the edge of the counter

So on a drunken whim, you decide to hold a séance, mostly out of mere curiosity. You don't think it'll actually work, maybe you're actually just going crazy, but it seems like a good idea at the time

Turns out, you're not going crazy because the second you begin to chant the incantation you found on the WikiHow page for séances, you hear someone say "Boo." You open your eyes, scared out of your mind, to find a ghost sitting criss-cross on the other side of the candles, watching you amusedly. She has long silvery hair, a wide grin, and a long dress with an outer coat. Although she's transparent, she is distinctly purple. You hate that your first thought is can ghosts be attractive?

You and the ghost end up talking a lot that night. She tells you that her name is Agatha Harkness and she became trapped in this house after she was killed by a jilted lover. You figure there's more to the story because of the guarded look on her face, but you don't press. In turn, you tell her about moving to the new city all by yourself for a new job and how your girlfriend didn't want to come with you so you decided to break it off. It's so nice to have someone to actually talk to that you don't even care if she's a ghost

Agatha shows you that she can touch things in the physical world if she tries really hard (hence why she kept knocking all your things over to get your attention) and she can turn invisible. You can't help but wondering if she's been watching you shower or when you masturbate and it makes your cheeks heat up. She gives you a knowing smirk and you hope she can't read your mind as well

She makes her presence known to you all the time, to the point where it's much more startling if you can't see her and she also confides that it's been awhile since she's had someone to talk to as well. The previous owners were boring, the ones before them had too many kids running around, but you—she says there's something about you that's different. You both become points of comfort to each other and you sometimes think that it's a bit concerning that your main source of contact with another person is a ghost, but then Agatha tosses her head back with a laugh at something you say and reaches over to pat your hand, the feeling cold but comforting, and you couldn't care less

Things start to develop into something a bit more when you're getting out of the shower one day and you realize that you forgot to bring a towel. You had done laundry and left them all on your bed so you hesitantly called out for Agatha and asked for her to bring you one. She did, but not before raking her eyes over your naked, wet body and then winking at you. You had to dry off more than just the water from the shower

That night, you decide to do some research on whether or not humans can have sex with ghosts. It's so fucking stupid and you're embarrassed to have typed those words into Google, but you're reading up on spectrophilia when Agatha pops up behind you, causing you to slam your laptop closed and jump practically a foot in the air. She smirks as she opens it and hums as she reads the page before she turns to you. You're about to die of humiliation when you see a glint of heat in her silvery-blue eyes.

You find out that night that humans can have sex with ghosts. It's a weird feeling at first to have her touching your clit with cold fingers that feel almost like jell-o but she makes you come nonetheless, mostly with her cooing mixture of praises and degradation. There isn't really a way for you to return the favor, but she hikes up her dress and touches herself, prompting you to masturbate along with her, and you both fall apart

When you're working at home on the weekends, she'll play with you while she's invisible. It's really hard to focus when you can feel her fingers teasing your clit and then sliding into your cunt (it always seems to be wet these days). Because she's a ghost, she can fuck you through your clothes with ease and not being able to see her almost adds to the pleasure. It heightens the sensations and you come moaning her name every time while you hear her chuckling in your ear

You finally make a few friends at your job and have them over to your house one night for dinner and you plead with Agatha to behave. The last thing you need is for your coworkers to think you're insane. You're all sitting at the table, joking and laughing, when your friend touches your wrist and smiles at you nicely before thanking you for the food. The hair on the back of your neck stands up and you can feel Agatha glaring at you and her

It's not even really a surprise then, when you feel a touch on your nipple. You have to bite back a moan when Agatha begins rolling it through your shirt and bra and with her other hand, draws her name over and over on your stomach until your cunt is dripping and you're trying not to squirm in your chair

Your friends are talking about your boss when Agatha finally teases your clit and you squeak and both of them look at you like you volunteered to say something. You splutter a few thoughts out, hoping Agatha will tone it down, but she presses harder and rubs fast and you have to start coughing to hide your moans

She finally slides two fingers into your wet and waiting cunt, making you choke on the sip of wine you took, and she curls them hard. Pleasure tingles through your pussy and up your spine and you're struggling not to rut against the chair but you can't help your hips from lightly rolling against her fingers and you just pray your friends don't notice

"Have you heard the rumors that this place is haunted?" one of your friends asks just as Agatha's thumb rubs at your clit and thrusts roughly inside you

You shaking your head, cheeks burning. "I think that's just a myth. Ghosts aren't real." You swear you can feel Agatha smirking and she fucks you even harder, like she's determined to get you to admit that ghosts are very much real, and in fact, you're being fucked by one right now

Just as you're about to come, Agatha stops and you bite your lip to keep from groaning in frustration. She waits a minute until you stop convulsing around her fingers to begin again, and she pinches your nipple with her other hand when she presses on your clit, but she keeps bringing you to the edge and not giving you any relief

So the second everyone finishes their food, you say, "Well, it's getting pretty late," in an attempt to get your friends to leave. They share a confused look but don't question it. You walk them to the door with shaky legs and slick on your upper thighs, and the second the door is closed behind them, you whirl around to find Agatha simpering like a kid in the candy store.

You're going to do research first thing in the morning to find out if it's possible for humans to touch ghosts. But in the meantime, you follow Agatha straight to your bedroom and she finally gives you the relief you need, and so much more

[jamiebluewind]

My favorite part is that there are like 12 different sub categories of executive disfunction (my therapist uses response inhibition, working memory, emotional control, task iniation, sustained attention, planning/prioritizing, organization, time management, flexibility and task switching, goal directed persistence, and stress tolerance), AND EACH OF US ARE GOOD AT SOME OF THEM! So you end up running into the problem of not thinking you have executive disfunction because some of them work and you also found work arounds, hating on yourself because another neurodivergent excels at a skill you struggle in, or completely missing a struggle somebody else has because it's not one of yours. So we all out here smacking into glass, BUT ITS NOT THE SAME GLASS!

My random bullshit yall can skip!

My roommates and I took a test with a therapist last year and it helped us a LOT with how we got along (me examples)

I have the metacognition of a god while Win's is weak, so I give her prompting questions that help her figure out homework and similies to understand new concepts. Meanwhile, I state out loud when my brain is in a metacognition anxiety spiral (thinking about what my thoughts and actions mean/what are all possiblies for others thoughts with probability) which they respond to (at most 2 sentences but usually just "No." XD) which has both decreased my anxiety attacks and increased how much we can all go out together (done it enough that my brain will automatically tell me what they'd say which usually takes care of it).

I'm bad at emotional control so I've been learning coping techniques.

Win used to get frustrated with Sarah about getting stuff done, but while Win is strong at task iniation, Sarah is bad and I'm in the middle, so now we use different systems for each of us. Also, my flexibility is BAD and working memory is meh so my responsibilities each get a specific time slot and day (on top of them letting me finish a task or keeping track for me instead of giving me multiple things to focus on/switch between at once).

I CAN make a really good thorough list, but doing it usually takes an hour or two (plus I'm bad with how long things take), so Win will spend a few minutes knocking out clear REASONABLE lists for us instead.

Meanwhile, my goal direction and sustained attention can keep chugging on things like it's nothing WAY past the point of hair pulling for them, so I stopped listening to my body about breaks for group stuff and let them set the pace and max time a day. I only take a break for every 2-4 of theirs, but it works! They also have my permission to stop me if I've been working an unreasonable amount of time (like spending over 9 hours straight without food researching quality paint brands with asthma safety) which is better on my health.

Side note, my roommate's neurotypical mom took the test with us. Her results showed she was just normal with no weaknesses. Despite KNOWING she's neurotypical beforehand, all three of us were like

followed by overlapping loud questions and noises.

I love talking with neurotypical people about my executive dysfunction because I'm like "yeah there's this invisible wall in my head that I'm incapable of getting past no matter what I do and it stops me from doing things" and they're like what the actual fuck

Meanwhile other neurodivergents are like