#i used to but then i got bleach on it at work so it has yellow spots now lol

[porcelaininkpot]

Surfer Asher.

Surfer Asher, whose favourite thing in the whole entire world is swimming out to shore after a long week of work and feeling seaspray against his skin as the sea roars beneath his feet, who feels like he can let go of the world's troubles so long as he has the ocean beneath him and his Babe by his side.

Surfer Asher, that feels most loved in the buzzy afterglow of a pack run at the beach, when him and his wolves can dogpile onto each other and see the bloom and blossom of a deep, rosy sunset in each other's wild, wolven eyes.

Surfer Asher, whose hair is naturally brunette but sun bleached beyond repair, so much so that's it's impossible to believe his hair's naturally bleached and not chemically treated. It carries over into his wolf form, making him one of the palest wolves in the pack despite being rather tanned as a human.

Once he taught Babe how to surf, and their hair became sun bleached, the two made a tradition of taking turns using chalk to smear coloured streaks into the other's hair.

Surfer Asher with deep crows feet and smile lines on his freckled, sunspotted face. They deepen whenever he laughs, and almost seem to glow whenever it's Babe making him laugh.

Surfer Asher that collects seashells from far out into the shore when he wipes out on a wave, and taught himself how to weave them into anklets, waistbeads and necklaces for Babe to wear.

David that buys Asher the highest of high end sunscreens, only for him to never remember to apply it before he dives in.

Asher that suddenly became extremely diligent about sunscreen when he started dating Babe, realllyyy wanting to apply sun screen but its just so hard and an extra pair of hands just makes everything so much more easier and 'Baaabe can you help me out? I think I missed a spot here, and here, and here, and-' and is shut up with a kiss.

Surfer Asher that was once challenged to a competition by Christian to see who the better surfer was, but three hours into the surf-off both of them forgot about the challenge because they were just having so much god damn fun with each other, laughing and teasing instead of sniping for the first time in their lives.

They gained a new respect for each other after that day, but of course that hasn't changed the fact that they still enjoy the occasional snipe shall the opportunity present itself.

Surfer Asher that takes Babe on constant beach dates, and once tried to impress them by doing a trick, but got so distracted by the way they looked in a swimsuit he lost focus and went flying instead, later begging Babe with puppy dog eyes to kiss him better wherever it hurt, which was everywhere.

Surfer Asher that's used the same surfboard since he was a teen, it was one gifted to him by Gabriel that matches with ones bought for David and Milo. Gabe claimed he just wanted to treat his pack pups, but Asher knows deep down that it was because he knew his family was too broke to ever be able to buy one, and was the kind of person to refuse to let his passion for the waves die.

Surfer Asher that never ever dewaxes his surfboard, which disgusts Milo to no end. One day Milo stole and dewaxed his board for him and Asher acted like he had sacrificed his firstborn child, and didn't forgive him until he made him a full course dinner as an apology.

Asher that after the inversion didn't allow himself near the seashore for months, feeling too guilty to let himself enjoy the waves like he used to. Asher that survived the shades, but was still drained of all life the longer he abstained from the ocean.

It was Babe that took his hands and drove him down to the seashore, that held him as he took quivering steps onto sand so soft it was as if the beach was caressing his wounds and scars, coaxing him back into it's cool embrace. It was Babe that swam out to sea with him and led him into his first barrel in what seemed like years, Babe that 'slipped' right after the lost his balance from sheer giddiness and Babe that swam up to him and tangled their fingers into his sea salted hair as they kissed him hard amidst the waves.

Asher Talbot who has devoted his life to the ocean, whose heart is abeat amidst tides and seafoam, but would give up surfing and ever touching the ocean again in a heartbeat if it was for his lover and for his pack.

[ivorysodapop]

Fucked up Taichi Amagi AU you are so important to me

[random-fun-polls]

Do you have shirt that is solely green? (Tshirt, button up, blouse, tank top, etc)

Yes, multiple

Yes, one

No, but I have a shirt that is partially green

No

I don’t know

[forcebookish]

i am currently in the precarious situation where everything that i want to work on requires me researching in some way before i can do it and it's making my brain throw a tantrum because i just want to write but i know it will be no good and i'll have to rewrite it once i gather the information i need to actually work on it grrrrrrrrrrrrr

[mortalityplays]

talking about impenetrable accents/dialect just reminded me. when I was in Milan a couple of years back I was staying in this little rathole hotel and I had the biggest fucking migraine, so I was like non c'è problema I'll just go buy painkillers. of course every pharmacy on the map in a three block radius was closed, so my stupid ass just starts wandering around trying to figure out on the fly if you can get OTC from supermarkets in italy.

I walk into this little everything store (to my foreign eyes the kind of place that back home could sell you a bunch of carrots, a 6-pack of beer, pantyhose, bleach and a screwdriver set) and I see some household basics in the back but not what I need. with the confidence of a person who is only in the city for 3 days because he got bored and packed a bag and booked the cheapest flight available the week before (<= MENTAL ILLNESS), I was like no worries I know some italian, I can just ask.

I grab a bottle of water, walk up to the counter, and I'm like Ciao, hai il paracetamolo? And the guy is like che, and I'm like paracetamolo. Per la mia testa. And he's like che?

This is where I would have said 'aspirina' except I can't take aspirin for medical reasons, or 'antidolorifico' except I don't know that word and I've got no phone data for google translate and also I'm stupid. So in my fucked up leith-glasgow-italian accent I'm like paaa-ra-cetta-mollll-ooo. He's like ohhh bene, bene, and he calls another guy out of the back and asks him to go get something. Other guy then walks out of the store into the street, and before I can be like hey, che la fuck, he comes back and hands me a huge bundle of herbs.

At this point I'm like okay this entire interaction has been a bust, but these guys have been very nice and patient and they're both smiling happily at me because they've been of service, so I'm like ahh perfetto, grazie, pay them a couple of euros and leave.

EVENTUALLY I find a pharmacy that's open, and my head is fucking killing me, and my phone still isn't connecting, and now I have this small shrubbery poking out of my coat pocket, so I don't even bother looking around the shelves. I just walk straight to the counter and I'm like uhh ciao, scusi. And hearing my nightmare of an accent the guy answers in english and I'm like thank christ, do you please have paracetamol. Not aspirin, I can't take aspirin. And he's like yeah yeah hold on, goes into the back, comes out with what I need.

Only when he comes out he gives me this look, and then he starts laughing. And then he pretends he's not laughing and rings me up and I pay, and as I'm leaving I can see him losing it. But I don't care, my head is going to explode, I'm going back to the rathole to close the blinds and fall comatose for four hours.

When I get back to my hotel room I take off my coat and remember the huge bouquet of herbs in my pocket. They smell amazing, and I'm like I'm pretty sure this is parsley in which case I can just get some tomatoes and mozzarella later and make it work. but since I have no idea what that interaction was, I want to make sure. I bring out my phone to get a visual reference of what parsley leaves look like, and because I was using it for google translate earlier I put 'parsley' in the wrong box like a dope and translate it to italian.

prezzemolo

I wish I could have been the pharmacist in the moment he looked at my tired pissed off anglophone ass, heard me say 'paracetamol' in my fucked up accent, and turned around saw what was in my pocket. I'd have lost my shit too.

[seiwas]

you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened. 

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares. 

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower. 

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least. 

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking. 

“Atsumu,” your voice rings. 

Who the hell is “Atsumu”? 

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor. 

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do. 

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team. 

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you. 

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too? 

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling  or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving. 

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line. 

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?” 

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now. 

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.” 

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?” 

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company. 

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you. 

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.” 

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side. 

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?” 

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.” 

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike. 

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.” 

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug. 

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—” 

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him. 

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea. 

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court. 

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds). 

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to. 

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space. 

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out. 

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse. 

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body. 

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to. 

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty. 

He doesn’t want to be away from you. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you. 

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss. 

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter. 

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around. 

.

.

.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home. 

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too. 

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it. 

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you? 

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it. 

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door. 

. 

.

.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there. 

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits. 

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not. 

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance. 

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink. 

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table. 

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody. 

It makes his chest hurt. 

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?” 

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed. 

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.) 

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady. 

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―” 

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not. 

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.) 

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―” 

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up. 

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.” 

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—” 

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.” 

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest. 

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly. 

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.” 

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.” 

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you. 

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink. 

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.” 

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car. 

. 

.

.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.) 

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

I miss my friends!!

[coco-loco-nut]

Father’s Day

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: max is dating an international star

a/n: i literally had this idea last night and had to write a short blurb, i promise i am writing other stuff tho 🫶

masterlist

————————

y/username happy father’s day, daddy. i love you and your big…

maxverstappen1 anything to share with me?

y/username not pregnant, just letting everyone know how turned on you get me

maxverstappen1 love you too, schat

user12 anyone else not getting it, like she is so hot and he is 😬

y/username you know that one barbie scene with the rock? that’s my maxie. also if you think he’s ugly, that’s fine, more of him for me 😍

user98 Y/N BARBIE FAN CONFIRMED

y/username priority 1: old barbie movies priority 2: max

user3 ON THE MAIN?

user33 PR monster got her, I really wanna know what she was about to say

recordlabel we don’t… we actually want bleach for our eyes

redbullracing we will share our bleach if you send us demos of her next album 👀

charlesleclerc Go on, finish the sentence, I dare you.

y/username his big heart, ego, ass, trophy case, therapy bill from childhood trauma, i could keep going on but i don’t want to make you feel emasculated

user62 okay, but like how did he bag her?

y/username he has incredible rizz, and look at him🤤

“Happy Father’s Day, Maxie,” you grin as Max lays on you lap, looking up at you with his beautiful blue eyes.

“You aren’t pregnant, Schat,” he laughs, your fingertips gently scratching his scalp.

“We could change that, get some practice in for after the wedding?” you watch his eyes widen as he quickly sits up.

“Practice makes perfect, why don’t we practice now?” Max suggests, picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom.

Your wedding is small, only some close friends and family in attendance. The ceremony takes place in your backyard, no reception beyond a dinner afterwards.

Despite both your respective fame levels, you didn’t want anyone knowing of the marriage. Fans still thought you were dating, so when you got a positive pregnancy test, you were extra careful.

Max was grateful that you had a private recording studio in the house, for when you needed to drop the album. You didn’t mean to choose the surprise drop date to be at the end of your pregnancy, nor Father’s Day, but life worked in funny ways.

“Happy Father’s Day, Maxie,” you softly say, handing the little bundle off to Max.

“This is the best present, he’s beautiful,” Max hold back tears as he holds his son close to his chest.

“I’m not sure if I will be able to top this next year,” you laugh a little, your tiredness making an apparent after a long labor.

“You should take a nap, I’ll be okay with him,” Max runs a hand though your sweaty hair. To him, you’ve never looked more perfect.

“I have one thing to do first,” you yawn, pulling out your phone. Max slides into the hospital bed beside you, you immediately nestle into him, his warmth enveloping you.

instagram

y/username SURPRISE! midnight rain is out now! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it for the past four years. There is so much in my life that happened, so enjoy my journey through heartbreak, love, and growth. I want to quickly thank Max and my team for making this possible 💙

user1 AHHH this is so good, but didn’t she and Max break up? Why is she thanking him?

user3 dude, i think they are married, did you listen to everything else

user4 yeah, she had some songs about marriage, but she hasn’t been at any races since last year

user10 did y’all see the statement saying there won’t be a tour for the album?? crying in the club

user11 Okay, but Robin?? secret child??

maxverstappen1 endlessly proud of you, schatje

user5 we get it bro, she wrote Dress and The Alchemy about you

maxverstappen1 our little robin decided to hatch 💙

danielricciardo So happy for you and Y/n, mate. Big day for the Verstappen family, can’t wait to hold the little guy!

y/username he will love his Uncle Danny

y/username he’s perfect, just like his daddy

redbullracing what a gift for father’s day! sending our gift to you 💙

user42 guys, y/n’s song credits changed…

user21 OMG MAX AND Y/N ARE MARRIED AND THEY HAVE A KID???

[wileys-russo]

are requests open? if so could you do a comfort blurb the prompt “i could really use a hug right now” with alessia? thanks!

need a hug II a.russo

"oh for fuck sakes!" you swore as you knocked over a pot plant, dirt and rocks spilling out everywhere, groaning as you flicked off the vacuum.

the house falling you silent you gingerly moved the vacuum out of the way, sighing as you hunted around in the cupboard beneath the sink to try and find the dustpan and broom.

"where has she put it?" you huffed, your girlfriend having an infuriating habit of using something and never placing it back where she found it, eventually fishing it out from the bottom of the pantry.

squatting down you began to sweep up the mess, only you'd barely begun before the brush promply snapped in half. "are you joking?" you had to laugh in disbelief, now only holding the handle.

"how does that even happen?" you grunted, grabbing the jagged brush and trying to sweep up as best you could, dropping it into the garbage and vacuuming up the rest before trying to repot the poor plant as best you could and setting it aside.

you were interrupted by a few short sharp knocks at the door, grateful you hadn't started the vacuum yet and hurrying over, well aware you currently looked an absolute state.

thankfully it was only the post man and with a smile you collected the few packages addressed to your girlfriend, closing the front door and leaving them on the corner of the bed for her to deal with once she got home.

you knew alessia had been stressed lately, she was so close to finally finishing her studies but juggling that, the podcast, brand deals, appearances and football, she did well to hide it but you knew her well enough to see how thin she was wearing.

the blonde was already gone before you'd woke up, having a photo shoot and interview before training and you knew she had a rather large assignment looming over her which she'd spend hours doing once she got home.

so you'd elected to work from home today which consisted of two meetings you'd moved to the morning and an hour of admin, and freed up your entire afternoon to try and make the house as lovely and tidy as possible.

your girlfriend proudly half italian had taught you how to make pasta many times only you'd never attempted it by yourself, but you'd ducked out to the grocery store to make some for the pair of you for dinner, determined for her not to lift a single finger tonight.

only your grand plan of this large self care evening in which you'd oh so keenly do whatever your girlfriend needed to unwind was being apprehended by one thing, the fact that someone, somewhere, with some unknown grudge against you seemed to have cursed you the most rotten luck in which nothing was going to plan at all.

the tipped over plant wasn't even the start of it, accidentally near blinding yourself with a bottle of toilet bleach as you'd wrestled to get the cap off and slipped on your freshly mopped floor, almost tipping it all over your face as you'd just capped it.

then there was your coffee, a slight lapse in your concentration meaning you'd burnt your milk and then had no more left to remake it, struggling through a very unwelcome long black instead.

thankfully the next hour passed incident free, a satsified click of your tongue as you arranged the lilies you'd gotten for your favourite blonde in the crystal vase which was a present from her mum on your first christmas with the russo's.

but now perhaps the biggest mission of all, dinner.

a brief glance at your phone and you smiled seeing a few messages from your girlfriend, fingers flying as you shot back a reply and tucked your phone into your pocket.

for some extra support you'd found a video online to run you through making the dough, which you knew would be the hardest part of it all as you'd watched even your semi pro pasta making girlfriend mess it up before.

your first attempt, was an absolute dud and the only thing it would be feeding was the garbage bin.

you were beginning to get the hang of kneading while also being acutely aware that any minute now alessia would be home, and you wanted as much of this done as possible because you knew your girlfriend well enough that her first instinct would be to takeover.

sure enough not even a moment later you heard the keys in the door, almost done with putting the dough through the pasta roller and withholding a laugh as you heard a thump and a curse ring out.

"welcome home clumsy!" you called out, the blonde appearing with a playful glare and blowing you a kiss, holding up her gym bag which you knew no doubt was full of dirty laundry she'd want to put on soon as possible.

it all seemed to be going well, dough rolled and ready to be shaped, but alas, your rotten luck struck again.

you rounded the counter to grab something, but having just washed your hands and not drying them they'd clearly dripped onto the floor and before you could even blink you'd slipped and your back hit the floor.

but no, of course that wasn't it, your hand collecting the half full bag of flour and sending it toppling down on top of you, a squeal leaving your lips and footsteps thundering toward you as your girlfriend skidded into the kitchen, concern clearly plastered all over her face.

"what happened?" alessia breathed out, eyes wide at the sight before her and you buried beneath a small mountain of flour, hand smacking over her mouth as you exhaled sending a puff of white up into the air.

"i could really use a hug right now." you mumbled, grateful somewhat for the flour smeared across your cheeks covering how red they'd flushed with embarassment.

"oh baby." alessia bit her lip clearly trying to conceal a grin, gingerly treading her way across the kitchen toward you. "c'mere." the striker stood over you and offered her hands, taking yours within them and very carefully pulling you up to your feet.

you exhaled tiredly into her chest as without a second thought the taller girl wrapped you in a hug, holding tightly as her hand rubbed up and down your back soothingly.

"i was just about to say everything is so clean." the blondes body vibrated with laughter against yours as you let out a pitiful whine. "i was trying to give you a lovely clean home and hot dinner to come home to." you sighed, words a little muffled against her jumper which was now covered in flour. "hey." you looked up as hands cupped your cheeks.

"i'm coming home to you, and that's always more than enough." your girlfriend spoke firmly, bright blue eyes locked with your own as you could only nod. "i love you." you leaned up to kiss her, frowning when the blonde craned her chin away.

"hey! kiss me." you scowled, a grin curling into her lips which again dodged yours. "you are covered in flour." alessia laughed as you rolled your eyes. "so you don't love me, noted." you sighed dramatically, pulling away from her.

"oh no no no, don't you be like that." your girlfriend was quick to capture you back in her arms, spinning you around so your back was pressed against the counter.

"kiss me then." you challenged with a sly smile, the footballer sighing dramatically as if you'd just asked her to build you a house, a scoff leaving your lips before they were promptly pressed against her own.

"i love you too pretty girl."

[heich0e]

keishin finally (finally) gets you into bed with him—well, onto couch with him, in his little one-room apartment in the back of sakanoshita mart—and he thinks all his prayers have finally been answered. thinks he's found some sort of cosmic apology for every misfortune he's ever suffered in how soft your lips are against his and how sweet you taste.

he knows he doesn't deserve this; that he hasn't done anything in his unremarkable life to merit how good you feel underneath his hands, or how dizzying those little noises you're making when he touches you are. but, against all odds, you're really here, you really want him, and he's determined not to fuck this up.

"keishin."

every time you say his name he feels like he's hearing it for the first time. like he's being blessed by it. it takes him a moment to process the way you've called for his attention as he suckles a little bruise against your throat, using every modicum of will he has left in him to pull away and meet your gaze.

you look so good underneath him on his ugly, ancient couch that it makes him ache. your lips glossy and swollen, your eyes heavy-lidded and yearning. you reach up and touch his cheek, and he can't tell if your hand is cool or his face is burning.

"do you have a condom?"

and all at once keishin comes crashing—violently, disastrously, crushingly—back to earth.

he blinks at you, wide-eyed, in the wake of your question. you seem to understand his answer even though he can't bring himself to say it.

"are there any in the shop?" you ask him, optimistic and gentle, with an encouraging smile.

keishin perks up—visibly brightening at your moment of genius—but as quickly as the hope uplifts him, he's deflating again. he pinches his bottom lip between his teeth.

"we're out right now," he murmurs sheepishly, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

he only keeps a couple of boxes of condoms behind the counter at a time, since so few people ever come in asking for them. last week takinoue had showed up half-hammered two hours after closing, and banged on the shop door until keishin grumpily answered it. his drunk friend went on to explain that he'd gone out drinking with his colleague from work and she'd invited him home with her, but he desperately needed condoms. keishin chucked the last box at his stupid face, and yusuke swore up and down their next night out drinking would be his treat before skittering off into the night again with a grin from ear to ear.

he was going to kill yusuke with his bare hands the next time he saw him.

"keishin, it's okay," you say with a light laugh at the positively crestfallen look on his face. "we don't have to—"

"no!" keishin interrupts you before you can say the words he just cant bear to hear. not right now. not from you.

even if you promise him that this could happen again another time—that you don't have to go all the way tonight, that there will be other opportunities—he has no way of knowing if that's true. no way of guaranteeing it.

he's got a taste for you now. he knows what you sound like. he knows how you feel.

and he refuses to let this opportunity pass him by.

keishin pulls himself upright so quickly from where he'd been hovering overtop of you on his lumpy sofa that he almost gives himself whiplash. he stumbles up to his feet, brushing his bleached hair back from his eyes—he's not sure where or when he'd lost his hairband, but the strands are hanging freely now and falling into his gaze. he grabs his jacket from the floor where he'd hastily shucked it when the two of you stumbled through the door in the throes of passion.

"I'm just gonna run to shimada mart!" he says to you as he stuffs his arms ungracefully into the sleeves of his jacket, his words so frantic they're almost bleeding together. "it's only about 10 minutes away, if you just wait right here—"

"keishin."

"shouldn't be longer than 25 minutes! 20, even! i might even be able to get macchan to drive me back if—"

"keishin, wait."

your laughter makes him stop dead in his tracks, halfway to the door. he's only got one slide on his foot, the other still sock-clad, and in his haste he realizes he'd grabbed his television remote instead of his cellphone to shove into his coat pocket.

you've caught him by the sleeve of his jacket, holding the material pinched between your thumb and forefinger as you stare up at him from the sofa with the sweetest smile on your face. he's frozen as he peers down at you, his lips parted, his dick still half-hard in his jeans.

"don't go," you say to him, tugging him back towards you by your grip on his cuff. he moves easily, gravitating back into your orbit in spite of how gentle the actual pull had been.

"b-but,"—keishin casts a forlorn glance back in the direction of his apartment door—"what about the condoms?"

his voice cracks a little on the question and he has genuinely never wished so ardently for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

you release his sleeve in favour of twining your fingers with his now that he's near to you again, your soft hand slipping easily into his own. that same dull ache in the pit of his core (and between his legs) throbs again as you blink up at him.

"i've been trying to tell you," you begin, a bit exasperated but not without its own fondness. you hesitate a little, looking away shyly before adding, "we don't... need one."

keishin thinks he might die.

really, genuinely die.

he wonders if maybe this is what the old man felt like when he almost keeled over from that heart attack last year, because keishin's pulse is pounding so violently in his head he feels like his vision is going a bit spotty around the edges—like when you stand up too fast after a night of drinking.

he's brought back to the moment as your hand squeezes his own—a gentle, questioning gesture.

your lashes flutter as you blink up at him, your head tilting slightly to the side. you smile a little at the dumbfounded look on his face.

"...if that's okay with you?"

(keishin pays for takinoue's drinks for the next six months, but never explains why.)

[realprissygirl]

❥ — maramaxxing:

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ becoming prissier and sexier 🥂👛🐈‍⬛˖ ࣪

❤︎ ྀི˖𓍢 my personal pinkprint to aligning with my princess agenda—style, mindset, and routines to embody my future self. as I pivot in life, this will be one of my final blog posts like this. i’m transitioning it off blogging and will now document everything in my video diary… 𐙚

🎀 self prioritization, boundaries, and independence - i come before anyone else. i have no children and my only commitment is to make myself happy.

🍨 shadow work - to reveal what has made me how i am (strengths, traumas, interests, fears), i’ve done so much reflecting on my triggers and responses to specific stimuli. it feels good to know that i’m getting to know myself. that says growth to me.

🎀 studying my birth chart - finding out hope my placements, and which houses they’re in has really made my day to day interactions and experiences very insightful and fun to dissect.

🎀 so fab so glam lately - my vibe lately has been just g-l-a-m, glamorous. just oozing sex appeal and hyper femininity with a sophisticated twist. i can’t wait to document this on youtube.

🍨 bougie and sexy - black and satin have been a common theme for me. my aesthetic is naturally going in a very sultry direction along with animal prints, lace and diamanté detailing.

🎀 body mods - back dermal piercings, more ear piercings and super pretty tattoos, nothing too much just small and pretty embellishmentz!

🍨 fab color palette - brown, cream, soft pink, metallic accents (champagne gold, white gold), and leopard print. my everything.

🎀 gold n pink jewelry - this combo is so pretty on everything else so why wouldn’t be just as pretty on my personal adornments? ordered three gold and pink belly rings and i can’t want to mix the metals once my piercings heal.

🍨keeping a physical lookbook in my fashion diary - this year i’m not holding back. the looks are coming. the photos are coming. i want to document my fav looks, accessories, and details in real time. almost like personal portfolio.

🎀 sexy and grownifying my closet - investing in a luxurious, cohesive closet that says grown. gonna be using high heels and casual glamour to achieve this. the fabrics and cuts are extremely crucial too.

🍨 staple designer bags - if you know me you know i love designer purses. especially if they’re neutral colored and essential. i definitely plan on expanding my repertoire of bags.

🎀 customizing my wardrobe - i’m getting a sewing machine and i’m learning how to hotfix rhinestones to personalize and bedazzle anything i want to. i’m so so excited!

🍨 making my own jewelry - i’m so excited to talk about this! i’m making a kit of chains and threads along with beads and charms all in my color palette and i’m going to start popping out with so much custom made shit! body chains, waist beads, charm bracelets, just so exclusive + #prissy.

🎀 new makeup styles - been loving smoky eyes and black waterlines, overlining with a muted brown, lash clusters, rhinestones, and more sultry details.

🍨 interior lingerie - the goal is to have a boudoir that is just a sexy and alluring as my lingerie closet! sweet n sexy kitten! ❤︎︎

🎀 currently healing my gut - psyllium husk supplements, fiber, kombucha/prebiotic soda, chia seeds and an adequate amount of water have all become a part of my routine over the last month or so and i definitely feel different.

🍨 #prettiedup - bleach my hair, signature makeup routines, regular nail appointments (found a tech that i can rely on 🎀), korean skincare + african black soap, and anything else to boost my beauty.

🎀 got a personal trainer to maintain my “skinny bbl” look - i’m a tall girl with long legs and that with a tiny waist and round butt is so my look. currently training for it and i’m pretty happy so far. at this rate, by the end of march i’ll be at my goals.

🍨 building my vitamin and supplement routine - collagen, probiotics + prebiotics, maca, berberine, + some hum essentials.

🎀 my love of teas - cannot live without tea. it’s my favorite form of caffeine. and herbal teas always help me feel as if i’ve boosted my health. my favorite teas right now are green tea, matcha, and double spice chai. also love black, spearmint, and raspberry teas.

🍨 weekly digital detox - one day a week i go out of my way to avoid my phone. i simply rely on other things for entertainment, radio for music and try to interact with those around me.

🎀 hair extension wardrobe - tape ins in natural black and honey blonde, vixen sew ins with 30” bundles (i’m a tall girl so long hair to me is at least 26”)

🍨 cycle syncing - i’ve changed the way i eat depending on where i am in my menstrual cycle. i find my gut responds to the things i eat better. even with the time of day, being intentional with the way i live my life is so important to me now.

🎀 new personalized diet - high protein and low artificial sugar is pretty much what i’ve been following. what i typically eat in a day is berries, rice, oranges, lots of water, almond and peanut butter, etc. my fav sources of protein are grilled chicken, sushi, steak, salmon and eggs. of course i still like sweets they’re for sure few and far between.

🎀 trust in my intuition - it’s taken a while but i’m finally learning to trust myself. if my body is telling me to do something i do it, i don’t try to force what isn’t there, and i respect my mind by honoring the discerning abilities i was blessed with.

🍨 gratitude and thought reframing - so many things in my life changed for the better when i learned to flip my thoughts. in a glass half full fashion. it’s literally the law of assumption. i’m forever grateful for everyone and everything i have. and miss universe has only blessed me with more because i’m now so much more receptive.

🎀 no bull shit + not easily impressed - i literally have the shortest tolerance. i expect a certain standard of behavior from those that wish to be in my presence and this is because i give a certain level of care, consideration, authenticity and respect.

🍨 manifestation journal - my literal best friend. everything i write in my LOA journal comes true. i’m not exaggerating. i read it in the morning and tend to write in it before bed. i keep it right next to my bed along with some stickers and gel pens.

🎀 semipermanent beauty treatments - making appointments for lash lifts and brow microblading as we speak. also super interested in finding a great medspa in my area.

🍨 youtube #vloggingbabe🎀 - i finally made my long awaited comeback and i’ll actually be recording some of the things in this post on video. i love recording and editing. it feels like the best form of self expression to me right now! subscribe!

🎀 glam squad (esthetics, hair, nails) - i’m so anal about things being seamless and easy to remember. i like to go the same place for particular services and i’m determined to find a reliable hairstylist and esthetician that i can stay loyal to (i already have a bomb ass nail tech)

[itneverendshere]

Just saw the new popular movie ’’This ends with us’’ and I beg of you to draw from the actual beautiful love story, so pure! So same concept of the love story: Pouge!Rafe has been kicked out by his mom and her abusive boyfriend, Kook!Reader sees him homeless & hiding. Reader does small acts of kindness, which builds up to a romance but they separate for whatever reason (could be because they get discovered, he joins the military, like the movie, or something different). It could also be reversed with Pouge!Reader instead being homeless, you pick! Years go by, Reader meets an abusive partner, she bumps into a now grown up Rafe. Lots of angst, lingering feelings and longing, he sees the signs of abusive and gets protective. But without the movie plots of reader getting pregnant and married) I adore and worship your writing skills, truly have a gift to make you feel all the emotions!! <3333333

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (one)

i loooove this request because pogue!rafe so i decided to turn into a mini series (two or three parts). im personally not a fan of it ends with us, but i love your requests bc it's still very different from the original plot.

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: domestic violence; absent parents; angst; fluff.

Rafe was born rough around the edges.

There was never any sugar-coating about it; with his hair always messy, sun-bleached and salty, and his hands perpetually stained with the grime of whatever job he'd taken up that week, Rafe Cameron had never known peace. He moved like a stray dog that had learned to fend for itself, his eyes always scanning for trouble. 

Most people kept their distance, and he liked it that way.

There wasn’t much softness in his life. His mom tried her best, he supposed, but that wasn’t saying much. She had a new boyfriend every few months, and they were all the same — mean, drunk, and looking for a fight. Rafe learned early on that if you couldn’t fight back, you were nothing. So he fought. A lot.

He fought the men who walked into their house at night, stinking of cheap whiskey and cigarettes. He fought the kids at school who called him trash, who mocked the way his clothes never quite fit or how he always seemed a little too hungry. But mostly, he fought himself — every time he looked in the mirror and saw his father’s eyes staring back at him. The man who left and never looked back. 

Another piece of shit. 

He kept his head down, kept his hands busy, and kept his mouth shut unless he had something to say. He wasn’t nice. Nice got you nowhere; nice got you used, broken, and left behind. He had seen it too many times to believe otherwise. The world wasn’t a kind place, and he wasn’t a kind guy. 

Most days, he’d finish work covered in sweat and salt, with just enough money in his pocket to get by. He'd dropped out of school years ago and head to the docks, sit on the edge, and smoke a cigarette while the sun dipped below the horizon.

The only real moment of peace he had.

Rafe took what work he could find — fixing up old fishing boats for the few Kooks who’d dare come down his side of the Cut, pulling shrimp nets in the dead hours of the morning, his back aching and his muscles screaming at such a young age, but at least it was better than being home. If he could call it that.

Home, where his mom was probably passed out again, where the latest loser she'd dragged in might be passed out on the couch or looking for a fight.

He could hear them shouting before he even got to the door. His mom’s voice screaming her throat out, and he could hear something crashing inside — a glass, maybe, or a plate. Then came the matching scream of the new boyfriend, Tony or Tommy or something — they all blurred together after a while. Rafe paused on the porch, his hand hovering over the door handle, debating whether it was worth going in at all.

Inside, she was standing in the middle of the living room, her face flushed, her blonde hair a mess. Tony stood over her, fists clenched, his face red and veins bulging in his neck. 

Rafe knew that look. 

He’d seen it before — seen it in a dozen men who thought they could push their weight around, thought they could break whatever they wanted.

“What the hell’s going on?” 

Tony turned, eyes narrowing. “None of your damn business, boy.”

Rafe took a step forward, his fists balling up instinctively. “If it’s in my house, it’s my business.”

His mom spun around to face him, her eyes wild and desperate. “Just stay out of it, Rafe. You always have to make things worse!”

He felt the sting of her words. He should be used to it by now. “I’m not the one who brought this piece of shit in here.”

That was all it took. Tony lunged at him, shoving him hard against the wall. Rafe felt the air rush out of his lungs as pain flared in his back. “You watch your mouth, punk,” Tony hissed, his face inches from his, his breath a disgusting mix of beer and god knows what.

“Or what?” Rafe shot back. If there was one thing he’d learned, it was how to keep his anger in check — at least most of the time.

Tony’s eyes flicked to his mom, like he was making a point, and she just stood there, watching. He’d lost his faith in her a long time ago but it still blew him away how she never lifted a finger to help him. 

“Get out,” she said finally, hand moving to point towards the bust-up wooden door.

“What?” Rafe blinked, caught off guard. He must’ve heard her wrong.

“You heard me. Get out!” She was shouting now, her voice high-pitched and desperate. “I can’t have you here, always stirring things up! You make everything worse!”

It had to be a fucking joke. He was the only one bringing in money to pay the rent, the only one who kept the house clean enough so it wouldn’t look or smell like someone died in there. Paid the hospital bills when they hit her too hard. He did everything, always. 

Tony shoved him again, harder this time, toward the open door. “You heard her. Get the hell out.”

Rafe stumbled backward, catching himself before he fell. He looked at his mom, his chest tightening in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a kid. “You’re really gonna choose him over your own son?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just go, Rafe. I can’t do this anymore.”

He forced himself to nod. He almost wanted to laugh. “Fine,” he muttered, pushing past Tony and heading for the door. “Don’t call me when he sends you to the hospital again.”

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The moment he stepped outside, the wind hit his face like a slap, the kind that made his eyes sting and his heart pound. Things had never gotten to this point before. He would’ve rather taken a beating then get kicked out. 

He walked, hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he couldn’t go back. Not now. Not ever. He’d die before he begged his mother or Tony to let him in that shithole again. His feet took him along the edge of town, past the marina and the fishing docks, and eventually, he found himself in the wealthy part of town, near Figure 8.

It was ironic, almost funny.

The Kooks lived here, the ones who wouldn’t give him the time of day if they saw him on their streets. And here he was, a beat-up pogue, walking right through their territory, angry and suddenly so damn tired.

He spotted an old, abandoned house, sitting at the end of a street where the mansions stood tall and proud. He had walked by it a few times before and noticed it had been empty for years, the paint peeling off in strips, the windows boarded up, and the grass overgrown. He crossed the street, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, and pushed the broken gate open. The hinges squeaked loudly, proving just how long it had been since someone had been there.

The front door was unlocked; it opened with the slightest push. Inside, it smelled of dust and mold, but it was dry, and it was quiet. It was enough. He made his way to a small room in the back, what must have once been a kitchen. There was an old sofa left behind, covered in a dirty sheet. He pulled the sheet off, threw it in a corner, and sank onto the sofá, finally breathing properly. 

He stayed there, staring at the cracked ceiling and the empty walls, wondering how the fuck he was going to get himself out of this one. 

For the two next days, he moved carefully, quietly, in and out of the house. He didn’t want anyone to know he was staying there. He wasn’t getting his ass thrown into jail again. He found a way in through the back window, kept to the dimly lighted areas, and avoided the main roads. He didn't have much — a few changes of clothes, some cash from odd jobs, and his dad’s old pocketknife, the only thing he had left of the bastard.

It was on the third day that he saw you.

He was sitting on the front steps, having a cigarette, when he heard the sound of a bike chain clicking. He glanced up, and there you were — riding a yellow bike, hair pulled back, and eyes glued to him as you pedaled down the street.

He stiffened, quickly stubbing out the cigarette, his heart rate picking up. You were one of them, a Kook, from one of the mansions just a block away. He’d seen you before, always biking around town, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone.

He didn’t know you, didn’t even know your name, but he knew the type.

You saw him, too, and slowed your bike. His first thought was to get up and disappear back into the house, but he knew that would look suspicious. So he stayed put, trying to look casual, as if he belonged there.

You stopped a few feet away, still on your stupid bike, one foot on the ground to steady yourself.

“You live here?” You asked, not in a mean way, just curious.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he lied, “Why?”

You shrugged, “Just… didn’t think anyone did. Looks pretty empty.”

He tensed, waiting for you to say something like, “I’m going to tell someone,” or worse, to start asking more questions. But instead, you just gave him another curious look, nodded, and biked away.

Weird girl.

The next day, you were back. This time, you had a bag with you. He watched you approach, wary. You stopped in front of the house and took something out of the bag — a sandwich, wrapped in paper, and a bottle of water.

You held them out to him, a gentle smile on your face, “Figured you might be hungry.”

He thought maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel better, some Kook guilt thing, like feeding the stray cat in the alley so you could pat yourself on the back for being such a nice person.

And he hated that. Hated you for even thinking he needed your stupid charity. So he gave you every reason to leave him alone.

When you handed him that sandwich, he barely even looked at you.

He just grabbed it and then turned his back, heading into the house without another word. But the next day, you were there again. And the next.

He started making it obvious he didn’t want you around. He’d grunt when you said hello, roll his eyes when you tried to make small talk.

One time, you offered him an apple, and he snatched it out of your hand without a word, just to see if you’d get annoyed enough to leave. You didn’t. Like some fucking saint.

Instead, you kept coming back, like some sort of annoying, persistent fly he couldn’t swat away. Every time, your smile was a little nicer, your eyes a little more curious.

He didn't get it. Why the hell were you still trying? Didn’t you get it? He didn’t want you here. Didn’t want to talk to you. Didn’t need shit from a Kook.

“What’s your problem?” he muttered one day when you showed up with a bag of groceries.

You blinked, “What do you mean?”

“You keep coming back here like I asked you to. I didn’t. I don’t need your charity.”

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, still not leaving. “I’m not doing charity. I jut figured you could use a little help.”

He scoffed, turning his back on you again. “I don’t need anything from you, princess.”

You hesitated, then placed the bag on the steps anyway. “Well, it’s here if you do.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes again. “Great. Another pity gift from the rich kid. Thank you so much,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You clenched your jaw, but still didn’t leave. He expected you to finally get the hint, but you just shook your head and walked away.

The next day, you there you were. And the day after that. Always bringing something, always with that same annoying, stubborn smile.

By the end of the week, he was done. You rolled up with another bag, and before you could even open your mouth, he let out a loud groan, throwing his head back. 

"For fuck’s sake, don’t you have anything better to do than bother me every damn day?”

That was it — you snapped.

Your eyes flared, and you stepped in closer, voice getting louder. "Will you just eat the damn food before I throw it in your face?" You shouted, cheeks going red with frustration.

He blinked, caught off guard. He didn’t expect you to clap back.

You’d been silent and too sweet for his liking. Most Kooks would’ve run back to their fancy houses by now, but you were still standing your ground, fists clenched, breathing heavy. Cute.

He almost laughed. Almost. “What’s your deal? You think you’re some kind of hero bringing food to the poor pogue? You think you're gon' save me or something?”

You glared at him “I’m not trying to save you, jerk! I’m just trying to be a decent human! Maybe you should try it sometime!”

He stared at you, face set in a deadpan, but he felt something— something he hadn’t felt in a while. Respect, maybe? But for some reason, he didn’t tell you to get lost.

Instead, he snatched the bag out of your dainty small hand. “Fine. I’ll eat your stupid food. But don’t think this changes anything,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Oh, trust me, I don’t.”

You both stood there in this weird silence for a minute, glaring at each other. Then you shook your head, and smiled like you hadn’t read him to filth ten seconds ago. “See you tomorrow, Rafe.”

What? You knew his name?

He watched as you rode away and he realized he was grinning, just a bit. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel completely alone.

And somehow, that pissed him off even more.

Days turned into weeks, and you kept showing up, like a plague.

No matter how much Rafe grumbled, no matter how many times he rolled his eyes or muttered under his breath, you just kept coming back. It was always something small — fruit, a bottle of water, a warm meal in a container. Every time you showed up, you had that same stubborn look in your eyes, like you weren’t going to back down no matter how much he pushed you away.

He hated to admit it, but he started to look forward to your little visits. He hated even more that he noticed things about you. Like how your hair fell in your face when you leaned over to hand him something or how your laugh sounded when he said something sarcastic. He noticed the way you seemed to care, even when he made it clear he didn’t want you to.

One day, you showed up with a duffel bag. Rafe looked at you suspiciously as you parked your bike and slung the bag over your shoulder.

“What now?” he grunted, eyeing the bag like it might bite him.

He could tell you were nervous and that weirded him out even more. Since when could he read your mind? 

“I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come to my house. Just to shower and get some real rest. My parents are out of town, and y’know, you could use it.”

He stared at you like you’d grown another head. “You want me to come to your house?”

You nodded, looking a little unsure now, hands tightening around the bag’s strap, “Yeah. Just for a bit. I thought you might like a break from this place.”

He scoffed. “And why the hell would I want to do that? You think I’m gonna be some charity case you can parade around to make yourself feel good?”

You sighed, clearly getting frustrated. “No, Rafe. I just thought… I just thought you might want a hot shower. But if you don’t, that’s fine.”

He usually cleaned himself up near the docks, but the water was freezing during this time of the year. Every time it felt like his balls were going to drop to the floor. So yeah, a hot shower in a big mansion sounded tempting.

Even if he didn’t want to give you that satisfaction.

A hot shower… a real bed, even for a little while. He hadn’t had that in what felt like forever. He looked at you again, trying to figure out if this was some kind of sick twisted plan, but all he saw were those stupid glowing eyes staring him down like he’d be dumb to refuse you. 

“Fine,” he muttered, standing up. “But just for a shower. And if you try anything weird, ’m outta there.”

Your nose scrunched up, “As if.”

Your house was everything he expected from a Kook — big, clean, and way too fancy. He felt out of place the moment he stepped through the gigantic door, like he was tracking mud on a white carpet. You led him upstairs, pointing out the bathroom.

“You can use this one. Towels are in the cabinet, and I’ll leave some clothes outside if you want them.”

Rafe grunted in response, still unsure why he was even there. He went into the bathroom and locked the door, leaning against it for a moment. The place smelled like lavender or some other fancy soap he couldn’t name. He turned on the shower, and the hot water poured out instantly, filling the room with steam.

He stripped off his dirty clothes and stepped under the water, hissing as the heat hit his skin. But then he relaxed, letting the water wash away the grime, the salt, the exhaustion he’d been carrying for so long. He stayed under the spray longer than he should have, almost losing track of time.

When he finally got out, he saw the clothes you’d left outside the door — a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, nothing flashy, but clean. He put them on and headed back downstairs, finding you in the kitchen, making coffee.

You looked up when he entered, “Feel better?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

You handed him a cup of coffee, and he took it reluctantly, still waiting for the catch. But you just sat across from him at the kitchen island, sipping your own cup, not saying anything.

He found himself watching you, noticing the little things again.

The way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the way your fingers tapped against the mug when you were thinking. He hated that he was noticing, hated that he found any of it interesting. He took a sip of the coffee and scowled when it tasted good, because of course it did.

“You do this shit for everyone?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You looked at him, “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured around. “Invite random guys to your house, make them coffee, act like you care.”

You laughed, a light sound that made his chest feel weird. “No. Just you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just looked away, taking another sip of coffee. He didn’t do nice. He wasn’t used to nice. This was weird.

You kept doing these little things for him — small acts of kindness he didn’t ask for and definitely didn’t deserve. You’d leave extra food by the house when you knew he’d be there, sometimes even a blanket or a pillow you said you didn’t need. You’d offer to let him use the house again, and every once in a while, he’d accept, hating how much he craved the simple comfort of a shower or a bed.

And all the while, he stayed the same — gruff, sarcastic, always trying to push you away with his attitude. But you didn’t go. You took his crap and came back.

One night, after a particularly rough day where everything seemed to go wrong, he found himself standing outside your house again. Your parents were out of town again, and he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He hated that he was here, hated that he needed this, but he knocked anyway.

You opened the door, your face lit up with that familiar smile. “Rafe,” you said, voice warm. “Come in.”

He liked the way his name sounded on your lips.

He hesitated, but he did. You led him to the living room, and he noticed a few things this time — the family photos on the walls, a vase of flowers on the table, the soft throw blanket on the couch.

Your home was nothing like his, but it felt… safe.

They sat in silence for a while, and he noticed how you didn’t bother him with questions, didn’t try to fix anything. You just sat there, close but not too close, letting him breathe. He found himself looking at you more, catching the way your lips curled up at the corners, how your eyes seemed to soften whenever they landed on him. He felt something strange, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He sat on that big couch, staring at his busted-up hands, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest. You were just a few feet away, eyes flicking over to him now and then, like you were waiting for him to speak. But he didn’t know what to say.

He felt… uncomfortable. Not because of the place, or you. No, never because of you. But because of this strange feeling that kept crawling up his spine, making him feel restless.

You were sitting on the arm of the chair, legs tucked under you, looking at him with that familiar, gentle expression that made him feel like maybe he wasn’t such a screw-up. He didn’t know what to do with that. You were the kind of girl who should have nothing to do with him. Yet here you were, again and again, showing up, like you didn’t know any better.

He cleared his throat, trying to push back whatever weird tension was building between you. “So… your parents,” he muttered. “They’re out of town a lot?”

You nodded, sighing, “Yeah. They travel for work. I’m used to it.”

“Must be nice,” he said, but his voice came out rougher than what he was going for. He didn’t know how to do gentle and he was still half-convinced you were going to kick him out or tell him you had enough of his crap.

“Sometimes,” you replied, “But it gets lonely, too.”

He wasn’t expecting that. He glanced at you trying to read you. He knew you weren’t looking for sympathy; you were just stating a fact.

He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but he did anyway. “Why do you keep helping me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I— I don’t know. I guess… I just see something in you. Something good.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “There’s nothin' good in me.”

“There is,” you insisted. “I see it. Even if you don’t.”

He felt his chest tighten, and he had to look away. “You’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” you said quietly, “but I don’t think so.”

He feel your eyes on him, could feel the way his pulse was racing under his skin. He hated it. Hated that he wanted to believe you, wanted to feel whatever it was you seemed to see in him.

“You’re too good,” he muttered. “Too good for someone like me.”

You laughed softly. “You don’t know me as well as you think, Rafe.”

He glanced up, surprised by the boldness in you. You were so soft most days it always threw him off when you took the reins. You were closer now, leaning forward just slightly, eyes fixed on his. He felt that breathtaking tension tightening again.

Before he could think better of it, he spoke, voice coming out meeker than what he was going for, “You really think there’s somethin' good in me?”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off of him for a second, “Yeah, I do.”

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what possessed him, but before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand finding yours. You didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch in fear or scrunched up your nose in disgust.

Instead, your fingers tightened around his, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Why?” he asked again, desperate.

 “Because I just do.”

Something snapped in him then, something he’d been holding back for too long. He moved closer, his other hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your delicate skin. You didn’t pull away again, only leaning into his touch. 

He hesitated, just for a moment. “I’m not— I-I’m not a good guy,” he murmured.

You smiled again, softer this time, the way he hoped you only did for him, “I don’t need you to be.”

He didn’t get it, but he didn’t have time to figure it out.

He leaned in and kissed you. It was clumsy at first — just a touch of lips, a bit hesitant. But then you kissed him back and suddenly he understood those stupid cliché novels his mom used to read when he was younger. He’d never kissed anyone before. 

He was too aware of how inexperienced they both were, of the way his lips barely brushed against yours. He felt stiff and unsure, like he didn’t know if he was doing it right. But it felt right. It wasn’t smooth or perfect — there was hesitancy and uncertainty, but it was real. He felt your hand touch his cheek, your fingers warm and trembling just a little.

His hand slid from your cheek down to your neck, pulling you closer, fingers curling into your hair. He couldn’t get enough. It was messy, frantic, his heart racing like it was trying to break out of his chest, and for once, he didn’t care. He felt your breath hitch against his lips, the warmth of you pressing into him, and all the walls he’d built up, all the reasons he’d given himself to push you away, disappeared. 

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his old shirt like you didn’t want to let go, and that did something to him. Made him feel more alive than he had in a long time. Every time he kissed you, it was like he was drowning in you, like nothing else mattered except for this — your lips, your skin, the way your body pressed against his.

He pulled away, just for a second, eyes wide and breathing heavy, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

He looked at you, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and wet from the kiss, and damn, you looked beautiful. More beautiful than he ever let himself admit before.

But then you smiled, that same heart-shattering smile, and it was like you were pulling him back in, “You don’t have to be afraid,” you whispered.

“I’m not…” he started, but even he didn’t believe it. Because he was. He was terrified as hell of this, of you, of the way you made him feel like he wasn’t a complete mess. But before he could say more, you kissed him again, and this time, he didn’t hold back.

He didn’t think about what he should or shouldn’t be doing, didn’t overanalyze the way his hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t any space left between you. You melted into him, your body warm and soft, like you belonged there and he felt like he was burning up from the inside out.

His hands roamed, exploring, memorizing the curve of your waist, the way your body fit so perfectly against his. Every little sound you made, every breathless gasp, made him feel like he was on fire.

You broke apart again, both of you panting, and he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.

“This is crazy,” he muttered, his voice all shaky.

You giggled, the sound making his chest tighten in the best way.

“Maybe. But I don’t care.”

He opened his eyes, staring into yours, and he knew you meant it.

You didn’t care about the Kook vs. Pogue thing, about the stupid rules that had been drilled into them from birth. You just cared about him. He didn’t know how to let himself want something good, something real. But he wanted you. God, did he want you.

From that night on, everything changed. 

You started seeing each other in secret, meeting up when your parents were out of town or sneaking off to some hidden spot by the beach at night where no one would find you. Every time he saw you, it was like a high he couldn’t get enough of. You’d kiss, talk, hold each other like you were the only two people in the world, and he’d forget about all the shit in his life. Forget about the fact that he was supposed to be a screw-up who didn’t deserve someone like you.

You sat side by side at the dock, feet dangling just above the water, the tips of your shoes barely touching the surface. Something was calming about the sound of the gentle waves lapping against the dock, the world feeling small and distant for once, like it was just the two of you.

He leaned back on his hands, staring out at the horizon, not saying much. He’d been quiet today, more so than usual. You nudged him lightly with your shoulder.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He snorted, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t want ‘em. They’re not worth much.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him again. “C’mon. You’ve been quiet all day. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the water, his fingers curling into the wood of the dock. He was biting back whatever was eating at him. He wasn’t the type to open up easily, you knew that, but he wanted to, for you. You wanted to know him, all of him, not just the fake exterior he put up for everyone else to see.

“You ever think about… like, how different your life would be if shit didn’t go so sideways?” he asked, his voice low, almost like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it out loud.

You frowned, turning to face him, “What do you mean?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

“My mom, she… she used to date these losers. Real pieces of shit, y’know? Guys who’d roll through, thinking they owned the place, treating me like I was some kind of burden just because I was around.”

It wasn’t easy for him to say it, but he was doing it anyway, like the words had been stuck inside him for years.

“She didn’t really care what they did. As long as they paid for her booze, she was cool with whatever. They’d knock me around sometimes, tell me I wasn’t worth shit. But she never did anything about it.” He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze fixed on the water because he couldn’t look at you. “One of ‘em got real bad. Fucker hit me so hard one night, I thought I was gonna pass out. And when I told her… she didn’t care. Told me I was a liar. Said I probably deserved it.”

“Rafe…” you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t pull away this time, just let you hold it, his fingers squeezing yours a little too tightly.

“I tried to stick it out,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Tried to stay for as long as I could. But one day, she kicked me out. Told me I was too much trouble, and she didn’t need me around anymore.” He laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “I guess I wasn’t worth the space I took up.”

You were quiet. He liked that about you, that you didn’t try and get his thoughts out of his head, just let him do his thing, on his own time. There was nothing that could make up for the kind of pain he’d been through. You just squeezed his hand tighter, and he just knew you wished you could take some weight off his shoulders.

“That’s why you were in that house?” You brushed your lips against his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

It was hard for him to talk about this stuff. Hell, it was hard for him to talk at all when it came to anything real. You just sat there, holding his hand, being there. That was what made you different. Most people didn’t wait for him. They’d get frustrated, give up, move on.

You just... stayed. And that scared him almost as much as it comforted him.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Deserve’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

You shifted closer, your knees touching his now. “It matters to me.”

He didn’t understand how you could look at him like that, like he was worth something.

“You knew my name.”

You nodded, “You delivered fresh seafood to the house once.”

His eyes nearly popped out from their sockets, “I was fourteen.”

“Yeah?”

“And you remembered that?”

Your brows shot up like he’d said the dumbest thing ever. “Obviously.”

His breath caught, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, pulling you into his lap. His hands found your waist, desperate, almost frantic, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"You shouldn’t—" he started, but the words died on his lips because you were already kissing him, and it was like everything stopped. The world, his thoughts, all the shit that weighed him down. It was just you, your lips, the way your hands tangled in his hair, and the soft sounds you made against his mouth.

He kissed you harder, more urgently, like he was trying to prove something to himself — that he could have this, that he could deserve this. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His lips moved against yours and he felt like he was falling apart and putting himself back together all at once.

When he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his chest was heaving, and you were looking at him with that same softness that made his stomach twist.

"How—How the hell did I get this lucky?" His voice cracked, just a little. He hadn’t meant to say it, but the words spilled out anyway. 

You smiled, brushing your thumb across his cheek, and he realized then that his face was wet. He hadn’t even noticed the tears slipping down, hadn’t noticed the way he was trembling.

"You deserve this" you whispered. 

That was it.

That was the breaking point. A choked sob escaped him, and before he could stop himself, he crashed his lips against yours again, kissing you so hard it hurt, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t hold back the way he felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. For you.

His hands cupped your face, fingers trembling as he kissed you again and again, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he stopped. 

And as his tears mixed with your kiss, he realized that for the first time in his life, he wasn’t running.

He wasn’t pushing you away. He was falling, hard and fast, and he didn’t care. Because for once, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

[itsgivingmami]

Rhea who’s been pining after reader ever since they met in NXT, reader was Damian’s best friend and gear maker.

Reader decided one day that she wanted to try making women’s gear and who’s a better subject than Rhea Bloody Ripley?

They get up close and personal in their first fitting and the champion gets flustered…

-Told you long requests were a bad habit, Maggie

A Measure of Love- Rhea Ripley

Enjoy!! Comments. Likes and reblogs always appreciated

Rhea picked up her pump cover from the bench and wiped her face, sweat running from her dark tresses down her temples. The air is cranked in her garage but it does barely anything to cool her flushed skin. The music is loud as she turns to face Damian, finishing his last rep of presses.

“You wanna grab lunch?” Rhea shouts and Damian slides his body out from the bar and sits up. He takes a moment to catch his breath and take a sip of water.

“I can’t I’ve got a fitting for war games,” Damian explains and Rhea feels her heart leap at the mention of her favourite person. “Speaking of which I don’t wanna go all smelly can I grab a shower?”

“You know where it is,” she teases in fake annoyance and he claps her on the shoulder and heads into her home towards the guest room. Once he’s gone Rhea deflates she leans against the bar with her hands clasped together holding her forehead up.

How many years, how many mentions, how many times had she thought of you and still, heart racing and if she wasn’t already worked up from the exercise she was sure she’d be blushing too. There was the assumption that she’d be used to it by now with all the time you spent in her head and not to mention all the time she’d spent scrolling your social media. For fucks sake you’d been to her house at least a couple times during parties, she could probably find you at Damian’s more often than not and you were constantly backstage during raw. That’s how you had met, and since that day not a single on had past that Rhea hadn’t thought about you in some capacity.

~

“Fuck,” Rhea arms were twisted behind her neck trying to get the buckle on her top closed but every-time she got the fascinator in place it snapped open. “Fuck!”

She’s rushing from the locker room towards catering, she’ll have to sprint to make it to gorilla before her fight but she can’t exactly go out topless either. Her bleach blond hair tickles the top of her hands as she holds her top, she’s relieved having it so short finally but it’s the perfect length to get stuck in the abysmal clasp.

“Priest!” Damian’s turns from the group he’s talking with to spot his friend yelling for him, he excuses himself quickly seeing the worry on her face and for a second he think she’s got some sort of neck injury.

“What’s wrong?” He asks trying to pull her arm from her neck, and she nudges him off. He stares confused,

“Stupid thing won’t stay closed can you try I’ve gotta be at gorilla,” she turns and he takes a moment to look before admitting defeat.

“Stay here,” he says before quickly running down the hall and out of view. Rhea bobbles impatiently as she feels time passing, maybe she should’ve just tried to find a merchandised shirt.

Damian’s boots are loud as he hauls back around towards her, there’s a quick glance thrown over his shoulder as a shorter woman’s comes trailing behind him. Her hair swings behind her in a ponytail, her large white button up, open on her shoulders acts like a cape as she and Damian run towards Rhea.

“Who’s this?” Rhea asks as they meet her in the hall, her eyes don’t leave the woman infront of her, staring up through round wire frame glasses.

“She does all my gear she’ll fix that,” Rhea squints for a minute before snapping back to reality, right her top, her match. She continues to stare at the woman as her brain catches up,

“I’ve got it I promise,” you tell her but her hesitancy has nothing to do with your skill and everything to do with the fact that she doesn’t want to stop looking at you. With a thick swallow Rhea nods and spins around, gently lowering to her knees and allows you to work.

She makes it out in time, the golden lights of nxt greeting her for the evening. Her tops holds strongly as she pins her opponent.

Damian congratulates her as she gets back to the gorilla but her eyes scan the room for you. As she makes her way back to the locker room she checks every hallway for the sight of you but nothing. She rips her gear off the first chance she gets and packs up quickly, throwing items into her bag before heading back out into the busy hallways.

~

She never did find you that night, but as a thank you she had sent you flowers a few days later come to find out you weren’t actually in town and they had died at your doorstep. That was the first on only time Rhea had decided to shoot her shot with you and years later you were still completely ignorant to the roses your building had removed from the hall.

From then she’d found every excuse to be close to you, came to Damian’s fittings when she could, offered to wait with you backstage at events. Everything but actually make a move on you or tell you how she felt.

“I’m headed out,” Damian leaned in the doorway with his gym bag in hand, she waves him off with a tired smile. She loves her closest friend but she can’t help the jealousy that creeps in. She finally leaves the garage to get a glass of water before heading off to a shower of her own.

She’s in her bedroom pulling out sweats and hour later with a table when her phone lights up with Damian’s contact photo. Probably wants to show off his new gear. She tosses the clothes on the bed and sits down, sliding to accept his FaceTime. Her phone nearly flys across the room when she sees your face light up her screen and she looks down at the towel covering her body.

“Hey gorgeous!!” You greet happily unaware the fluster you’ve put her in. “Do you have a second for me?”

She could laugh if she wasn’t caught so off guard. A second? She had years to give to you, years she’s waited stuffed under her belt. She runs a hand through her wet hair in attempt to look more presentable and nods swallowing thickly.

“Yeah always,” she tells you honestly, her mind tones brings a smile to your face.

“Are you loyal to somebody for your gear?” You ask quickly, Rhea furrows her brows and shakes her head.

“Not particularly I tend to shop around,” Rhea answers and you light up, Rhea hears Damian pipe in with a teasing ‘I told you so,” before you swatted at him. Rhea took your distraction as an opportunity to admire you.

Contrary to popular belief she was not all skulls, goth and black. She did occasionally enjoy the light and airy things in life, some might even call cute and one of those things, was you. The way your hair falls around your face and when you smile one side raises a little higher than the other. Your face had changed over the last couple years as did your habit for choosing contacts over your frames but to her you still looked as tempting as your first meeting.

“I don’t know how you deal with him,” your voice snaps Rhea back to reality as her phone comes back into focus. You’re rolling your eyes at Damian and smiling at her. “You’re never going to get married at this rate stupido!”

“Says the single woman,” Damian retorts and Rhea places her phone to view the ceiling. She hears you scoff as she pulls on a pair of sweat pants and a tee.

“I know how to treat a woman better than you!” And it was true, you did. You had more long term relationships than Rhea or Damian in the last few years and it gutted her every time. It both relieved and filled her with anxiety when you clarified that you were gay for the first time. Rhea had gone from worrying about you and Damian together to worrying about every other woman on the planet. “Where’d you go?”

Rhea tosses the towel into the hamper and grabs her phone and as she reappears you smile.

“Sorry you caught me out the shower,” You watch Rhea shuffle back and lean against the head board,

“I’m sorry I just really wanted to talk to you!” You explain and she feels her heart jump. She’s torn between watching you and watching herself ok her phone to make sure her face doesn’t betray her.

“I’m all yours,” Rhea admits, it feels nice to say aloud even though she really does mean it and you chuckle in response to what you assume is a joke.

“I’ve been thinking about moving into doing women’s ring gear,” you speak quickly a feeling of nerves flowing over you, “and since you and your terror twins are officially teaming up I was thinking that maybe I could do your gear too, could make them match and everything,”

Listen, Rhea knows she should be paying attention to your offer, and she hears you but the way you’re blushing and refusing to really look at her is something she hasn’t seen and it’s pulling the dominant side of her out of the hole she pushed it down into a long time ago in regards to you.

“You wanna make gear for me?” Rhea questions and you nod enthusiastically,

“Yes! Please what do ya say?”

~

“Hello?” Rhea shouts into the quiet room, her voice echoing back at her. She moves inside and closes the door behind her, the lights above her hum dully, a good sign that you’re here somewhere. She’s only been here a few times when tagging along with Damian but the studio is familiar enough, your loft hanging above the space.

“Hi!” She hears followed by the clanking of metal, she watches you descend the spiral staircase quickly and speed walk towards her. Your arms wrap around her neck, pulling her down your height. “Thank you for this,”

“Anytime,” she replies because any chance to spend time with you is a win in her book, getting new custom ring gear was an added bonus. “So what do you need from me?”

“I need your measurements and then we can look at some sketches,” Rhea freezes in place, measurements, her measurements. She wasn’t sure how that fact hadn’t crossed her mind, of course you were going to have to touch her at some point during fittings but measuring her? You were too busy floating around collecting your measuring tape and notepad to notice the (gay) panic happening. “Cool?”

“Oh? Um-“ Rhea forces a smile and nods as you look at her innocently, “cool,”

Half an hour later Rheas standing on a pedestal in her bike shorts and sports bra, her mind a mental minefield of trying not to think about you and simultaneously prepare herself for you to be so close.

“Okay so hold your arm out a little for me,” Rhea takes a sharp breath in as you gently touch her right arm, moving it to where you want it. “Perfect,” your hands are gentle as you measure the length of her arm and she can feel your eyes move along her skin.

“How come you decided to do women’s gear?” Something, anything, a distraction of any kind was better than the silence. You look up from the tape to her, her gaze remains stuck in front of her, stoic like a statue. “You’re pretty established with the work you do now,”

“I got inspired,” you answer vaguely and pull your tape along her arm back to your waiting hand, “there’s a woman I want to see in my clothes,”

“Gotcha,” she tries to say casually, throwing a quick answer out before her voice breaks. “So I get to be the guinea pig?”

“Hmmm,” you hum as you make your way around her, your finger tips are cold on the back of Rheas neck as you hold the tape and run it down the length of her back. You watch the muscle is her back tense and move and quickly advert your eyes back to the task at hand. “I wouldn’t send you out in anything I wasn’t confident in,”

“No I didn’t mean-“ your soft giggles cut her off as your forehead hits her back.

“I was kidding,” you rub her back gently to let her know she’s okay before moving to measure her waist.

“So who’s this dream muse of yours?” She can’t help but ask. Rhea tries to keep her tone playful but the way her tones drops towards the end of her sentence gives her away more than she’d like. Your eyes seemed focused on your tape and she hopes you weren’t plying close enough attention. “I’m sure Damian could put in a good word with pretty much anyone,” You avoid making eye contact with her as you return to your notepad to jot down her waist number and shrug.

“I’m sure he could knowing him,” you tease but say nothing else about it and it sends the gears in Rheas head turning full force. “Arms up,”

“If it’s someone in my division I could talk to them for you?” Rhea offers and she doesn’t know why, she doesn’t exactly want to share you but the way you’re measuring across her chest prompts her to start rambling.

“I don’t think so,” you giggle and smile at her. Now she was starting to feel antsy, all the past times a girl had shown up in your life she was blind sided, at least this time she had the opportunity to prepare herself for seeing you with someone else.

“Cmon just tell me who she is,” Rhea tries again ignoring your hands on her hips, “I know I could convince her,” why can’t she stop talking?

“I really doubt it Rhea,” you tell her, you lowering onto a knee in-front of her getting ready to measure her legs. You keep your eyes on her thighs as you measure them, refusing to look up. You write down your number before looking up. “Plus no need,”

“Why not?” Rhea asks, your vagueness is starting to irritate her, despite how cute you are how nice your touch feels.

“Because I’m already measuring her,”

To be continued…

[sinning-23]

SIT, LIKE A CHAIR

Opla face sitting/p*ssy eating headcanons

Warnings: dude the title is warming enough lol. ITS 18+ BRO

Zoro

-Fuck around and hover if you want to. He’s already got his arms around your thighs, forcing you to sit.

-He’s got some kind of sorcery or some shit with his tongue cause what the fuck.

-oh you thought he was stopping after you came once? Hahahaha that’s so funny.

-makes sure you are shaking and fucking shivering when he’s done with you

-Will make sure you know how much he loves the way you taste.

-“That’s it honey, cum on my face.”

Usopp

-unfortunately doesn’t know what the FUCK he’s doing when he eats but is very very fucking skilled with his fingers.

-we all know this man’s nose is 5 mf stars and would be nice to sit on and he knows this fact.

-on the occasion that he asks you to sit on his face he’s putting everything to work, using one hand to simultaneously spread your cheeks and keep your things flush against him.

-the other is already coaxing another orgasm out of you while his tongue circle slow around your clit.

-doesn’t talk when his mouth is full, he’s got manners lol

On the rare occasion he does speak it’s often after all is said and done

-“now you can brag about being eaten out by a legendary captain”

Sanji

-oh he eats religiously. Like is that even a question?

-he gets really fucking sloppy too. He’s got your juices and his saliva down his chin and all over your thighs.

-sometimes it feels like the eating is more for him than you (sometimes it is lol)

-expect lots of worship when he’s positioned under you. He prefers to eat when you’re sitting on the edge of the counter or table and he’s kneeling down in front with your legs over his shoulders.

-“I’ve never tasted anything as divine as you. Tout va bien pour moi”

-Has definitely cum from eating you out alone

Nami

-Oh she’s fucking ruthless. I mean just so mean when she eats.

-She likes to draw loving circles on your thighs and then offset that sweetness with a pinch.

-She’ll make it seem like she’ll be nice and let you cum, only to stop completely, eyes laser focused on that adorable little frustrated knot between your brows.

-Is a bit of a shit talker honestly and between how well she works her fingers inside you, how good her tongue feels on your clit, and each teasing comment she throws your way, you’re left spiraling.

-“Ohhh how cute. You gonna cum on my face just like that? You can hold on a little longer can’t you honey?”

Shanks

-If you look closely you can see that his facial hair is slightly bleached.

-We know the fuck why.

-He makes sure you know just how much he loves your pussy when he eats. I mean yes he’s slow and damn near torturous with how he asked you be patient and wait but it’s so worth it.

-He kisses up your thigh, then over the top of your panties. Then will suck and lick over the fabric until it’s soaked.

-Once that’s done, he takes em off with his teeth and licks one long, slow stripe up before deciding to suck on your clit for just a second. Soon after he’s pulling your closer by your thighs and eating you for all your worth.

-He will not talk, well…only if it’s to get you to sit still, his eyes peering dangerously into yours.

- “Don’t. Move.” (its pretty mf hot)

-holds your hand when you finally cum on his tongue.

Buggy

-He the best eater I know- he gets down. He don’t play

-if eating was a sport he’d be the champion.

-Teats your pussy like a meal(because it is in his eyes) and makes sure nothing is left behind besides your own slick, his saliva, and your trembling thighs.

He really gets into it too. I mean he’s moaning against your folds, slurping and drooling.

-This mf is a multitasker. His hands are definitely detached and holding the back of your knees to keep you from closing your legs. and he is working yet another orgasm out of you.

-He's a talker btw so expect lots of witty and raunchy comments while you're practically convulsing from overstimulation.

-"No one makes you feel like how I do huh princess?"

-"That's it honey scream my name."

-“I could eat you forever.” He whines with his mouth full of you

Mihawk

-He's not likely to eat as much. He doesn't dislike it but would rather give to you in other ways. However, despite this little thing about himself, he makes sure it's for a reason when he eats.

-For example, had a bad day? There's a remedy for that, come sit.

-Feeling a bit insecure and self-conscious? Let him show just how amazing you really are.

-Expect to feel a lot of vibrations with how much he growls and moans into your cunt.

-Not too much of a talker but when he does it makes not only your pussy throb but your heart melt.

-"Look at yourself. So beautiful my love." (there's a mirror on the ceiling)

-He isn't afraid to kiss you when he's done either. Wants you to know just how good you taste and that every time he has the privilege of having you sit on his face its like heaven (his words more or less).

[rogueddie]

It takes Steve an embarassingly long moment to realise that the spray isn't doing anything. He tries shaking it… nothing. He even checks by spraying it on his hand, shaking it again. Nothing.

He tries listening as he shakes it again and, though he's sure there's some product still left inside, nothing will come out.

He reluctantly throws it in the little trash can, just next to the toilet door. He doesn't bother rooting through the draws or cabinets either; he'd used the last of his emergency powder kit yesterday. There's nothing left.

He huffs, folding his arms, glaring at his reflection. Specifically at the very overgrown, bright blond roots of his hair.

It brings up the same anxiety he's been having for the past month. It's taken him a long time to save up for his usual hairdressers. He hadn't thought it would take so long but, with the kids and now Robin and Eddie, it shouldn't be that surprising.

Robin often pays a good chunk for things too, often paying him gas money, but it's usually him paying for everything. And now that he's paying rent in his own little appartment? He's not often left with that much at the end of the month.

He's starting to think it's not worth the trip. But he isn't going to start using box dye or anything cheap. He's spent a long time taking care of his hair, spent just as long struggling to find the right products too.

He doesn't even care that the kids and Robin mock him for it, he has great hair and, screw it, he's proud. He's not going to damage it by getting bad hair dye.

He's already booked his next hairdresser appointment for the next day, already saved up gas money too. He might as well ask for bleach instead, go back to his natural color and save himself from anymore days with overgrown roots.

He almost regrets the idea when he gets to work.

"Holy shit, you're a natural blond?" Robins grin looks almost painful with how wide it is. She's a little too excited for his comfort. "I don't know how I didn't guess before. This explains so much. How have you kept this hidden for so long? It's so light!"

"Don't you have work to do?" He bats her hand away when she, again, reaches for his hair.

"Not anymore. Why do you dye it? How did it grow out so much? When did you start hiding it? Did someone pressure you into it? They didn't make fun of you, did they? Because I will hunt them down and-"

"No one made me dye it or bullied me into it," he huffs. He can feel his attempt at a cool demeaner soften with how quickly she jumps to his defense. "I just... I never liked it. I don't think it suits me. Brunettes are cute."

"Are you dyeing it again?"

"Probably not. The hairdresser I go to isn't exactly cheap."

"You can get box dye at-"

"I'm not using box dye."

"It's not that bad, and if you really hate the blond-"

Steve swats at her when she reaches for his hair again. With a heavy sigh, he braces himself for the shift full of questions and jokes of 'betrayal'.

Like he suspected, they don't get much work done.

When Eddie comes in, towards the end of their shift, Steve is almost relieved.

"Stop bullying him without me," Eddie complains.

"Thank you," Steve says, whilst Robin boos. "What is it tonight? Movie night with Wayne or some of the kids?"

But Eddie is frozen, staring at his hair.

"I think he's broken," Robin says after a pause.

"You're blond?" Eddie blinks. "When did you go blond?"

"Always have been," Steve shrugs. "Just... not dyeing it anymore."

"Oh."

Steve and Robin stare at him. They share a glance after a moment.

"You here for a movie?" Steve asks.

"What? Me? No, I- just stopping by. And you're... yeah. I'm gonna- I've got to go. Wayne is waiting and... you know. Bye."

He turns around and practically runs out the store. His wheels squeal a little as he drives out, most likely breaking the speed limit.

"Did he just..." Robin starts, trailing off with a frown.

"Unbelievable," Steve shakes his head. "Just when I give up, he realizes that he likes me too! What the hell, Bob. Is he only into blonds or something?"

[new-revenant]

Danny has to use an emergency go bag he put together, not because of his parents though, his parents are actually very accepting of his half ghost status and revised all their research on ghosts. The reason he has to run are the GIW. They stormed Fentonworks, they shot and hospitalized Jazz, arrested Jack and Maddie on account of their portal, and then in an attempt to destroy the ghost zone blew up the portal and Fentonworks. Danny managed to escape the containment unit he was in by literally blowing it apart. He ended up running to Gotham, he kept his face covered and bought hair bleach, hair dye, and colored contacts, all paid for with cash, he arrived at his safe house which was a crappy apartment in Crime Alley and proceeded to bleach and then dye his hair red. He puts in brown contacts and lives under the alias Eli Walker. He's in Gotham for a couple months and was slowly regaining energy from the ectoplasm in Gotham, it was slow going though. He's managed to keep under the radar while working at a little convenience store to keep his cover, plus they don’t care that he wears a mask to hide his face or long compression gloves to help with some hand tremors from some kind of accident. It was a slow night for Danny, he was working alone when a man in a ski mask shows up brandishing a gun and trying to rob the store. Danny decided getting shot wasn't worth minimum wage so he ends up trying to disarm the guy while waiting for the bats. They show up eventually to see this red haired kid in a mask crack the would be robber over the head with a fire extinguisher in self denfense, along with the messed up store, while his nose bleeds Lazarus green through his mask. Danny looks at them and immediately drops the fire extinguisher in a slight panic as he tries to hide the nose bleed. "I can explain." Was all Danny could say and do to keep from vanishing on the spot

They immediately think he’s a meta, as per it usually goes with these stories. First things first, they try to find him. Danny only got a couple feet away before his intangibility wore off, because of his low ectoplasm levels. He was still invisible, but that didn’t make it too much harder for the Bats to find him. Danny keeps saying that he just wants to have normal life and not be experimented on by the government, and the Bats keep saying that he’s fine and they won’t let that happen. So now Danny is under constant surveillance by the Bats for his own mental health’s sake, all the while the Bats try to figure out who Danny really is and how to take down the GIW.