#just to buy fucking toiletries

[carriesthewind]

I just had to purchase several products from Amazon, because even though I went to multiple physical stores that had the items, they were locked behind glass and I had no way to actually purchase them. Great job guys, ensuring that no one could walk out with $10 worth of deodorant.

Like, when even Forbes realizes this is a problem....

[durindaina]

the fact that overbooking flights is legal and airlines don’t have to go above and beyond to find you either the earliest flight possible or the most convenient stay possible is going to make me a t3rr0r1st. what the fuck do you mean you can only give me a flight three days from now and i have to find my own accommodation, unless i pay for an earlier flight and also have to find my own accommodation. how the fact is it legal to sell something you don’t have

[olessan]

I love the fact that I can work as hard as I can manage with a broken tooth and a dying tooth (one on each side, I've been chewing on the cavity for a year) and I still cannot save even $10 towards getting dental treatment (2 impacted wisdom teeth, + tooth broken off under the gum, + bad cavity) because I barely make enough to cover my food and board and the insane energy bill

[moinsbienquekaworu]

We're leaving Saturday morning, I just took basically all of my clothes out of my closet and piled them near my suitcase so we know what I'm taking, and seeing my closet all empty (except for all the stuff I never wear I'm not taking with me) is like. Oh my god I'm leaving and I'm not coming back for months. Every time I leave for holidays I think "oh I should take this and this and this and this juust in case, yeah it's just a week but what if I really need my thick socks in the middle of summer?" before I restrain myself and just take three t-shirts, but now that I have the opportunity to pack literally everything in there, it feels wrong. I should not actually be packing up every piece of clothing I still wear. The clothes that stay at home are proof that I'm coming back, if I take them with me too there's no reason for me to go back!

[hallohartje]

spending a little bit of time each week to go through and sort things out for keeping and throwing away has been actually so useful like holy hell i did not realize how much stuff i had in my bathroom until i found a set of moisturizers that expired 10 years ago

throughout this whole process i realized i have a bit of guilt over not using a product enough / fully... which is why throwing things away for me feels a little freeing. like i'm saying yes, this once was useful to me but now it's time to let it go and the whole monologue is weirdly helpful, like i'm putting away the past and giving myself space to do new things again

not to say that i will but i suppose it's nice to give myself the opportunity to do so!

[neverendingford]

.

[biteyoubiteme]

Can I get Felix nsfw fic about breeding kink👀

lost luggage

felix x fem!reader

synopsis: the one where you lost your birth control pills.

warnings: 🔞!!! hand job mention, fingering mention, breeding kink, talk of birth control, creampie, no protection, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 1.6k

an: this is not the best im so sorry but I love this pic of felix so so much and I hope you like it <33 thank you so much for requesting! not proofread sorry :p

[m.list] [1kevent m.list]

You had lost your suitcase. Or the airline had misplaced the luggage and claimed to get it to you in the next forty-eight hours. Apologizing for the inconvenience and sending you on your way. It hadn't been too big a deal, Felix talking you down from the anger bubbling up inside you, not necessarily at the airline but at yourself for thinking this would never happen to you. And then yes at the airline and their stupid bad timing and even worse customer service. 

But Felix was there, hand on your shoulder, heady voice in your ear, whispering about taking you out to grab the essentials, to not worry about this one setback. He didn't even care about showing up late to the party you two had been flown out for in the first place. “We will be here all week, being an hour or two late won’t hurt anyone,” 

He was right, everyone had been sympathetic to your situation, cursing the baggage claim gods just as passionately as you had. But it wasn't until the third day of your trip that you remembered one of the key things left in your toiletries bag. The little foil and plastic case of your birth control pills, hastily added into the bag because it was always right there on the edge of the sink next to your toothbrush, taken in the morning consistently enough that you never really forget about it. Not until it was one of the last things on your mind when trying to remember exactly what you needed to buy to replace the lost items for the time being. 

You would have forgotten entirely if it hadn't been for your reflex to reach out for the pill case the second you have finished washing your face. “Shit,” you scrambled to think up the last time you had sex, save the lazy hand jobs the two of you had exchanged in bed that first night. Felix's fingers buried deep inside you as the two of you made out, his soft moans trapped against your lips with each drag of your hand on him. 

Felix hummed a question from the hotel's bed, still lying back against the headboard scrolling on his phone. “What is it?” 

“My birth control was in the checked bag,” you sighed, over the whole thing, if you thought about the bag too much it would just put you right back to the mindset you had right at that airport help desk. “It's fine, calm, cool, collected thoughts just like you said,” you tried to mimic his sweet soothing voice, letting the syllables relax in your mouth to make them true. “If we have sex we will just be careful and when I get the bag back I will make sure to always listen to my gut and put essentials into the carry on,” 

The conversation had been over and done with, forgotten by you as you got ready to go out but not forgotten by Felix. The first thing that came to his mind was the same thought as you, when was the last time you had sex, did you two happen to slip up? Then his mind tripped down a road of questions he never found himself exploring; would it be so bad if you two had slipped up? What if neither of you cared? What if he did get you pregnant? 

Never had his body reacted so fast to an idea, blood rushing down to his cock until it was aching and dripping precum at a rate he hadn't ever experienced. It wasn't as if he had never thought about having kids with you, no this was different, the risk of it right now. Just thinking about how close the two of you had been without realizing it, how only the night before if he had pushed into you, fucked you until you were dumb on his cock, spilling inside you only to do it all over again, you'd be claimed in a way he never would have thought about until this very second. 

He wanted that; to watch you dripping with his cum, claimed as his in a way no other man had ever had you, ready to do it over and over again until you were stuffed so full you couldn't even think about anything else but him and him alone. He was shifting in his seat, trying and failing to adjust himself in his sweatpants, his bulge slung across his thigh, noticeable enough for when you came out of the bathroom again needing the zipper of your dress done up. You chuckled,“Just hearing me say sex gets you hard now?” 

Your hands were on the front of your dress, holding it up and in place, pushing up your boobs just the right amount to draw his eyes in. If you got pregnant they would get bigger, maybe even double in size, and it's all that he can see as he pulls you down on the bed. 

The breath is knocked out of you, his hips fitting right between yours pressing his clothed cock right against you, grinding as he kisses down your neck, leaving a sloppy trail of them right down to your cleavage. Pulling down your dress just enough to free your tits from the fabric, his moan deep in the back of his throat as he takes in your peaked nipples. “Look at how pretty,” he always lets his voice drag out, running low enough to get your panties soaked. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?” 

He's looking at you from under his lashes, drawing you in with every little word. You would be anything he wanted you to be if it got him to look at you like that, every little freckle on display under his heated lazy gaze. Your chin barely moves to nod yes and he's got his hands under your dress, tearing your panties away. He wanted you in a way he's never felt before, the walls of his reserve packed up tight now crumbling down at the sight of your glistening cunt. 

Felix doesn’t falter in his movements tugging himself free from his sweatpants, jerking his wrist over his veiny shaft, circling his fingers over his tip collecting all his precum. You're spilled out on the sheets, dress pushed into a belt around your center, your knees falling open for him just enough so that when he pulls you to the edge of the bed you can wrap them around him. Your hips jerk at the sensation of him dragging his cock through your folds, getting himself as lubed up on your wetness as he can before he pushes in. 

The sound of his moan rumbled through his body, no time to let you adjust to the size of him before he's plumbing into you. Your hands shoot out for his wrists, his fingers denting into your hips to keep you in place. “Oh fuck- you always take my cock so well baby-” Every drag of his cock against your gummy walls is pure bliss, your mind fogging up with each sweet word he shares. “Sucking me in and begging me to fill you,” 

It's then that you realize you forgot a condom, not that either of you had one handy, not when you relied so heavily on your pills. “You have to- you'll have to-” but as much as you want to say the words they get stuck right on the edge of a whimper, pull out, right on the edge of your tongue. But its all tamped down when he adds, “ill have to fill you up, pump you full of my cum- fuck- push it back in and do it again,” 

Felix had never brought this up before, not even when he was desperately begging you to finish with him, buried deep in you needing to hear you cry for him. This was different, panting as he went on and on, “Everyone will know you're mine, all plump and perfect with my baby,” he lets one of his hands press down into your pelvis, slapping skin sticky in the air, knees weak from the feeling. “I'm going to cum right here, you feel that?” he digs the heel of his palm in, the tip of his cock pressed right where he wants it, tucked against your cervix hitting it until you're a shaking mess below him. “You'regoing to be so full of me, don't you want that? Tell me you want my baby,” 

“Felix,” you're gasping, scratching at the sheets trying and failing to find purchase on something to keep you grounded because, with each snap of his hips against yours, you're losing it, scrambling to find sanity. 

“Tell me, fuck- oh fuck- please, tell me,” he's begging thumb moving down to press on your swollen clit, circling the bud until your back is lifting off the mattress. He has a direct pull on your body, tugging your orgasm out of you. 

“I want it- please I want your baby,” you're almost in tears before the tidal wave crashes over you, your whole body tensing up before collapsing into bliss. Felix's hot cum spurts out in thick streams coating your walls and pushing out with each continuous stroke of his cock inside you. He slows just enough to let you keep squeezing him, his hands sliding up your thighs to keep them in place around him. 

Leaning down to pepper you with kisses he inadvertently pushes into you deeper, your whimper so sweet neck to his ear,“we can stay like this for a while before we go another round,” 

“A-another?” 

He drags his hips, grinding down against your sensitive clit, “I want to make sure I fill you enough to have that baby,” 

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire @chasingthatjjunie @possum-playground @ch4nn13luv want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After Bradley finally breaks things off with his girlfriend just days before the start of a deployment, he expects a few lonely months of nobody writing to him or waiting for his return. But the fateful arrival of a package from a class of fourth graders learning about aviation changes everything.

Warnings: Fluff, language, breakup angst

Length: 2200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Bradley had his duffle bag open on his bed, tidy stacks of his uniform components, flight suits, and underwear lined up next to it. He had his checklist in front of him. He liked to be as organized as possible.

"Are you even listening to me? I thought we were going out to dinner."

He looked up from his partially packed toiletry bag into the annoyed eyes of Vanessa where she stood on the other side of the bed. He was seven months into this relationship, and sometimes he wondered why either of them still bothered. She knew his routine by now. She knew what his deployments were like, but she had absolutely no patience for any of it.

"Ness, I'm leaving in four days. I just need to focus on this for a few minutes so I know what I need to buy before Wednesday, and then we can go out and eat."

"It's already seven o'clock. I thought you'd have finished packing by now," she replied with a pout and a glare. "Every nice restaurant is going to have a long wait now, because I'm just going to go ahead and assume that you didn't make a reservation anywhere."

He took a deep breath and let it out before pressing his lips together. What he really wanted was to order something for delivery, cuddle on the couch, watch a movie and have the first round of hot, goodbye sex. But she'd never go for it now. Apparently he'd already fucked up for the night. 

"No, I didn't make a reservation," he said calmly, and she rolled her eyes and reached for her phone. "I really don't even feel like going out. I'll be gone for months, stuck in a tiny bunk or a loud mess hall. I'd like to stay in tonight where it's quiet. Just me and you."

But she wasn't listening at all. "Let me see if Woodmere has any tables left," she muttered. "If not there, then I can try The Landmark." She looked as beautiful as she always did, but he couldn't even stand the sight of her right now.

"Ness. I want to stay in."

She groaned and looked him in the eye. "Of course you do. You always want to stay in. You always want to decompress or read a book. That's not healthy, you know that, right? I shouldn't have to force you out of your comfort zone all the time."

"Fuck," he grunted, running his fingers through his hair. His job was demanding, both mentally and physically. He usually preferred quiet over loud, because his own thoughts started to buzz when she dragged him out all over the place. And now she was glaring at him again. "Are you even going to miss me?" he asked softly, afraid of the answer. "You haven't said so one time since I told you about this deployment."

She heaved a deep and annoyed sigh. "You're deployed so frequently, Bradley, it's like you're the government's bitch. And if the Navy is going to insist upon eating up taxpayer money, the least they could do is pay you more."

His skin started to crawl as she went off about his career like always, but he'd honestly had enough. He raised his voice louder and asked once again, "Are you even going to miss me?"

Vanessa scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Of course I'm going to miss you. What kind of question is that? I'll be bored every weekend, waiting for you to get back, like usual. I almost never go out when you're deployed."

Bradley's heart started to pound in a way that made his palms sweat and his stomach turn. "Jesus, Vanessa. I asked if you're going to miss me. Not miss going out every weekend."

When she hesitated for a beat, he reached out to brace his hand on his headboard. "Yes, Bradley. I am going to miss you. Okay? Happy?"

"Fuck, no. I'm not happy Vanessa." And that was the bottom line right there. The absolute truth. And it didn't hurt to say it, rather he immediately felt better. He knew he would miss the sporadic emails and the phone calls and the dirty pictures and the reunion sex. The upcoming weeks would be harder without those things to look forward to, but at least he'd come home to his own place where he could do what he wanted instead of what he was told. He wouldn't have to listen to her negativity. "I think we need to break up."

Her eyes went wide with shock. "Excuse me?"

Bradley let go of the bed and ran his hand over his face. "You heard me, Ness. This isn't working. For either of us."

"Don't call me Ness," she snapped, immediately turning toward his bedroom door. "You're not my boyfriend anymore." She paused briefly, just long enough to say, "Fuck you," and then she was gone. 

He sat on the edge of his bed for a couple minutes, but it didn't take long to sort through his feelings. The immediate sense of calm that he felt had him convinced he'd done the right thing. There was no shared living space. There was no ring. There was no real commitment. Maybe he'd always known why that was the case. 

So he packed up his bag and made a shopping list, and when his stomach started to growl, he ordered dinner for himself from his favorite restaurant. He didn't cry, and he didn't worry about having to do anything he didn't want to do.

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

The first few weeks of his deployment were great. He spent a lot of time in the air, and he flirted a bit with some of the women who approached him in the gym on the aircraft carrier. He jerked off while he thought about whomever he fucking wanted to. He didn't spend very much time reflecting on his relationship with Vanessa other than to acknowledge that it wasn't much of a relationship at all. In the moments where he thought maybe he missed her, he realized he just missed the idea of having someone who cared about him.

He was about a month in when he realized the attractive woman who always touched his arm in the gym was actually married, and he was not all about that. He was also maybe kind of getting tired of masturbating which was a depressing thought. He was bored, and he was lonely, and other than randomly hooking up with someone, he figured his best bet was finding a book or something to read. 

When he made his way to dinner, he heard everyone talking about the helicopter that had landed on deck less than an hour ago stacked full of containers of mail. There was a line of officers trailing down the hallway adjacent to the mess hall, everyone waiting patiently to pick up parcels from their loved ones. Since Bradley had basically nobody who would think to write to him, he made his way toward the food instead. 

His tray was piled high with everything he could get his hands on, and when he looked for somewhere to sit, he had to deftly avoid that stacked lieutenant who had a husband at home. He found a table off in the corner and devoured his dinner alone. When he stood to drop off his empty dishes and tray, some petty officers entered the cavernous room to drop off unclaimed mail. 

"Harper, Jonathan! Pauley, Vincent! Dixon, Jennifer! Sutter, Wesley! Bradshaw, Bradley!"

He was more than a little intrigued as he made his way up along with a handful of others, and then a white envelope and a small cardboard box were thrust into his hands. The envelope was addressed to him by name in familiar chicken scratch that made him smile. He shouldn't have counted Natasha out, especially when his birthday was in a few days. 

He tore into the envelope as he made his way back to his bunk. It contained a very short letter along with a coupon for buy one get one free steak dinners at her favorite restaurant with a post-it stuck to the back. 

This is your birthday present. Now when you take me out for my birthday when you get home, you only have to pay half as much. You're welcome.

He snorted as he unlocked his bunk door and tossed everything from Nat onto the small nightstand. And then he examined the box. It wasn't addressed to him. Not really. It was addressed to 'A Deployed US Naval Aviator' in tidy handwriting. Then he noticed the return address was from an elementary school in Mira Mesa, and his curiosity got the best of him.

Bradley sat on the edge of his bed and tore gently into the packaging to find the box was jam packed with items and overflowing with envelopes. He tipped the box, and everything went cascading out onto his narrow bed. There were a lot of snacks, and a pack of trail mix caught his eye, making his stomach growl.

"I just fed you," he muttered but ripped into the snack anyway, dumping half of it into his mouth in one go. He was eyeing the envelopes carefully, each one distinctly unique. Some had names written on them, and some had little doodles or pictures, but they definitely seemed to be from a class of kids who went to the school. He sifted through them until he found a slightly larger, more official looking envelope which once again said To: A Deployed US Naval Aviator.

He finished his snack, silently thanking the class of kids and their teacher, and then he opened the big envelope. He pulled out a typed up letter which was folded around a few photos that slid onto his lap. Then he started to read.

Dear United States Naval Aviator,

First of all, thank you for your service. Second, let us introduce ourselves. We are one of the fourth grade classes from Mira Mesa Elementary School, and we have been learning all about aviation for the last month or so. We have combined our science, math and social studies classes into one unit all about flying, and we have learned so much. We really wanted to share some of what we learned with you in the hopes that you might be able to help us learn even more!

Each student in the class has included a letter filled with information and some questions. If you have some free time and are inclined to do so, we would love to hear back from you. (No pressure!) There are plenty of thoughtful questions that my students would appreciate more information about. (Once again, only if you want to!) And I for one would love to give them the chance to show off what they learned to a professional. (I'm just a proud teacher!)

Thank you very much for indulging our curiosity thus far, and we hope to hear back from you. I'll include my email address just in case you have any questions or would prefer to reply that way. Otherwise you can send mail directly to the address for the school along with my name, and it will get to us. We hope we are about to dazzle you with our letters, and we wish you well on your deployment.

Sincerely,

The best fourth graders you will ever meet along with their teacher

Bradley was chuckling as he finished reading. Of course he would take the time to look at all of the notes from the kids and send back a response. It wasn't like he'd be tied up talking to Vanessa. This little project would keep him busy when he had nothing else to do, and besides, this was the kind of shit he would have thought was outlandishly cool when he was a fourth grader himself. 

He read and reread the name and accompanying email address at the bottom of the page. This teacher sounded charming, and he'd only read three paragraphs from her. He flipped the page over to double check that she hadn't written anything more, already wishing she had. Then he picked up the photos that had landed on his thigh and started to flip through them.

First he saw a group of kids outside in the bright San Diego sunlight, lined up and throwing paper airplanes. Then he flipped to one where some of the kids were sitting at their desks building more elaborate planes out of pieces of foam. There was another photo of the class on some sort of field trip, but it was the last photo in the stack that had him sitting up a little taller and taking a closer look.

"Damn."

The kids were all lined up once again, wearing a rainbow of colors, some making silly faces. But his eyes caught on their teacher. On you. Smiling back at him from the photo like you had an amusing secret. Like you wanted to share it with him.

"Fucking gorgeous."

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

And, we're off. Oh, he thinks we are cute. Oh, he is about to be charmed even more. Thanks for pushing me out of my comfort zone a little bit with this one, and thank you @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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[jamminvroomvroom]

congrats on 5k queen! you’re writing is so brilliant beyond belief and you deserve all the love and support this site has to offer. can i request lando+angsty smut (the best combo)…prompts along the lines of “i don’t think im ever going to love anyone the way i love you”//“i don’t think i want to love anyone else”

how did it end?

ln x famous fem!reader

in which it ends, until…

i love this fic with my whole heart. thank u sm for this request, anon, and for being so absolutely for gorgeous and kind <3 kicking off the 5k celebration with a big, sad, sexy bang! lemme know what you think, hugs n kisses

songs to set the mood: how did it end? by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst angst angst, fluff, happy ending! exes to lovers, just. a lot going on. sad!lando, sad!everyone, so many feels, r is a big deal model, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

4.1k words

one gasp, and then…

“how did it end?” the woman strokes your arm, soothing, tentative.

you don’t know her all that well, she’s signed to the same agency as you, you see her in the halls sometimes and sit next to her in makeup chairs.

you stare blankly at her, registering. news travels fast apparently.

you smile, small, fake, tilting your head to the side. you mumble something about different schedules, timezones, right person, wrong time. she watches your face intently, with sympathy. you want to throttle her. she’s being kind and you despise her for it right now.

“i won’t tell anyone.” she affirms, her fingers still smoothing over the skin of your arm.

yes you will, you think. all of her friends, the rest of the building will know exactly what you’ve told her by the time you get to your meeting. you don’t begrudge her, though, that’s the nature of the industry.

“well, it was good to see you.” you nod, even go in for a quick hug, and then you speed away, beelining for the elevator. the ride is short, your managers office somewhere on the third floor and you shuffle down the corridor, ready to be informed of what your life will look like for the next three months.

fittings, shoots, paris trip.

mhm.

swimwear season, charlotte tilbury, meeting with the vogue journalist.

cool.

week off, few days in london, monaco grand prix.

no.

“what? no.” you splutter. out of habit, you reach for a necklace, frown when you realise it’s no longer there.

“what do you mean, no?” she narrows her eyes at you.

“i can’t go to the race. no.”

“girl, i love you, but did i ask?”

“you know i can’t-“

“you won’t have to see him.” she reasons.

“but what if i do? he’s obviously gonna be there, and the events before and after- no. no.”

“lando norris is not gonna be the end of you.”

you stifle a laugh, one that sounds more like a strangled cry.

what if he already was?

-

look who we ran into at the shops,

walking in circles like he was lost

lando stares at the shampoo.

specifically, the one you use. used. he can’t be too sure anymore, he supposes.

he’d popped out for a loaf of bread, about an hour ago. he didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been staring at the women’s toiletries section.

you seemed to live on, everywhere. lando could see you in his apartment, the passenger seat of his car, the back of the garage. even the fucking supermarket wasn’t safe. you were very much alive, moving on with life, and yet you haunted him like he’d killed you himself.

perhaps he had, in a way.

the basket grazes the outside of his leg.

that’s the shower gel he’d buy for you, the one you only used when you stayed with him in monaco.

there’s the tampons you asked him to buy, crying back at home on your- his bed.

oh, and there’s the shampoo that you made him buy, the one that you told him made his curls feel extra fluffy when he was between your legs-

“lando?” a voice calls, drawing lando out of the mist.

“oh, alex. hey.” lando croaks. he hasn’t noticed the lump in his throat until now. he clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“what you doing, mate?” alex asks, eyebrows furrowed. he scans lando’s face, puffy eyes, watery.

“shopping.”

“for women’s shampoo?”

“no, no, just… looking.” lando stutters.

“when was the last time you slept?” alex’s voice is laced with concern, apprehensive. he doesn’t know what to say to his heartbroken friend.

lando smiles weakly.

“i’ve been sleeping.”

alex sighs.

“okay, when was the last time you slept properly, then?”

lando’s shoulders visibly sag.

“about a month ago.”

-

we hereby conduct this post-mortem

“we can’t do this anymore.”

the words fall from your lips in a whisper, but they reach him like you’ve screamed them at him. he sits opposite you, in the arm chair, so far away, only a metre or so.

“i know.” lando breathes shakily.

“i don’t want this but…”

“yeah.”

it’s been such a good year. you’re in love. it’s not enough. there’s too much distance, too many outsider opinions, too much longing for someone who’s on the other side of the world.

he’ll be in london. you’ll be in brazil.

he’ll be in australia. you’ll be in amsterdam.

it’s too much.

“i love you, though.” you remind him meekly.

“don’t know how to not love you.” he sniffles.

your heart shatters, the pieces flying over the room, spilling across the floor. they mix with the splinters of his, painting the room red. all you feel is blue.

you cry in his arms when he takes you to bed, his own tears spilling over your collar bone when he buries his head in your neck, licks over the marks he’s left there. to remember me by, he’d muttered dryly.

when you’re both finished, he lays there for a moment, still on top of you. damp with sweat and tears, the taste of one another still lingering on your tongues.

“how is it possible that i miss you already?” he pants, lips grazing just below your ear.

“i get it, lan. i’ve been missing you for a while.”

you’re gone when he wakes up.

and so, a touch that was my birthright became foreign

-

come one, come all

it’s happening again

the empathetic hunger descends

there are about six cameras pointed at you when he asks the dreaded question.

you’re in new york, sat on a talk show hosts sofa, lit by stage lights and his inquisitive eyes. two hundred people sit in the audience, on the edge of their seats waiting for you to spill your secrets.

“so, what happened there, with lando?”

you plaster on the fakest smile to date, crossing your legs anxiously.

“we’re both just so busy, you know? he’s doing amazing things in f1 and i’m all over the place with work.”

“we love both of you over here, it was sad to hear.” he sympathises, adjusting his tie and leaning back in his chair. his fingers drum over the wood of his desk, waiting for more.

vultures. everyone is a vulture.

“and we still have a lot of love for each other. he’s a wonderful person.”

there are tears in your eyes and bile rising rapidly in your throat when you shake hands with the crew, the host, and retreat to your dressing room. you stumble into the en-suite and throw up. then, you fall onto the sofa and cry. you fix your makeup at godspeed and reply to the text from your team, inviting you to drinks at some rooftop bar, promising to meet them there. you punctuate the text with one too many exclamation marks, feigning excitement.

“we still have a lot of love for each other.”

translation: i can’t understand: how did it end?

-

lando watches your interview. of course he does. he watches everything that you do, watches the way you set the world on fire.

he can’t help himself where you’re concerned, like an addict craving the next hit. you look so pretty on tv, glowing. you look fine.

god, why do you look fine?

he hates himself for hating just how fine you look. he is not fine.

“he’s a wonderful person.”

your words ring in his ears. they anger him, because if he’s oh-so-wonderful, why aren’t you here? why isn’t he there with you, waiting backstage? why can’t you just hate him? why can’t he just hate you? maybe you will, if he shows you just how not wonderful he can be.

he gets drunk that night. forces max to hit the clubs with him. sticks his tongue down a pliant woman’s throat. doesn’t ask her name. let’s her invite him back to her place. it has to be her place, he can’t fuck someone else in your bed, the one you used to share. he leaves minutes after he’s pulled out. he’s sure she’s lovely, too good for him and his bitter fucking heart. he feels utterly disgusting.

lando goes home, scrubs his skin red, and then does it again. he doesn’t go to sleep, watches from his balcony as the sun begins to rise over the sea. he hikes to the highest point he can reach in monaco, where it’s quiet and there’s no one to judge him, or worse, sympathise with him.

he stands at the edge of the cliff. screams once, twice. he sits on a rock, and lets himself cry.

the deflation of our dreaming

leaving me bereft and reeling

my beloved ghost and me

sitting in a tree

d-y-i-n-g

-

your stylist is plying you with options.

you can wear the denim with the cream OR you could do the red and white? or we can go full glam! or! or! or! we could-

you drown her out. you don’t give a fuck. not a single one.

what you wear to the monaco grand prix is quite literally the least of the your problems. your biggest problem, of course, is that you have to go to the fucking thing.

visibility is important, get people talking! the words of your manager ring in your ears until you have a dull migraine brewing behind your ears.

you leave the fitting not entirely sure what you’re wearing, but your stylist will be sending the clothes over so you can pack.

when you land in all too familiar nice, there are cameras. when you get to the hotel in monaco, you and lando are already trending on twitter. well, at least he knows you’re coming. when you’re getting your makeup done before your first event, you get a text.

i’ll try and keep my distance.

try.

try is such an interesting word. the fact that he has to try to stay away makes your belly flutter with embarrassing, self loathing butterflies. don’t try too hard, you want to respond. you don’t.

should’ve told you i’d be here you shoot back.

you think i didn’t already know?

of course he knew. he’d probably asked god knows how many brands to invite you. you try and feign an illness but your team drag you kicking and screaming to the event.

-

there are no two ways about it: you’re drunk, on a tuesday night, somewhere in the principality. a few cocktails with a jewellery brand turned into a night on the town, bar hopping with people you hardly knew and barely recognised.

you’re shaking your ass in jimmy’z, pretending to have fun when you see him.

lando stands at the bar, watching you, jaw tensed, eyes solemn. you exit the club faster that his car down a back straight, stumbling into the smoking area. you bum a cigarette from a guy who tries really hard to convince you that he’s the son of a british lord, and sink into the corner, ignoring the people recording you.

depressed model shame smokes outside monaco club because she is fucking pathetic, the headlines will read.

“thought you quit that shit.” his voice washes over your body like you’ve been set on fire, smooth tone, ambiguous accent making you ache.

“i did but then i got forced to come to monaco, so.” you shrug.

“forced?”

“‘m here for work.” you sigh.

“i guess i am too.” he mumbles. you raise an eyebrow.

“you live here, lan.” you tease. lan rolls off of your tongue too sweetly.

“doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

how can it, without you? he wants to scream at you. he can’t, you don’t deserve it.

“how are you?”

you want to touch him.

“shit.”

he needs a taste.

“yeah.”

you put your cigarette out. it tastes like shit, half smoked.

you stand there, stare at each other.

take me home, you want to beg.

come home, he clenches his fists, trying not to grab you and remind you how you’ll always be his, right here, up against the side of the club.

“good luck, if i don’t see you.” you whisper. you linger, praying that he’ll beg you to stay so that you can crumble into his arms, without having to make the first move.

lando ponders his options. his head and his heart wage a war.

logic wins, unfortunately.

“thank you.”

you take that as your queue to get the fuck out of there, and disappear into the night.

-

it’s raining on sunday. the dreary weather seems to perfectly sum up what has been the worst week of your life.

you’ve seen your ex boyfriend more times than you can count, ended up with about four hangovers as a result, and with a pounding head, you have to sit in the paddock club and wait for the sound of engines to split your head in half. it was your own doing, so you’d suck it up, recognising that you were a disgustingly privileged bitch, and there are people who would sell their kidneys to do what you’re complaining about.

you never complain, not usually. but your heart hurts and your body hearts and your mind hurts and it’s just not fair. lando is gorgeous, and you miss him so badly, and your shoes are digging in. who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to wear heels to an f1 race?

you see him before the race, mouth good luck from afar. he winks. it’s something you used to do before every race. old habits die screaming.

the rain falls harder, the track slick. you say a prayer and take your seat.

“norris has this in the bag, he’s bloody good in the wet.” you hear some old guy say behind you. you are cursed with the knowledge of just how good in the wet he is, and you end up flushed.

he wins. his second one in three races. you pray that no one notices the way you weep. everyone notices.

you make a mistake and rush for the podium, your pass giving you access. he graces the top step and you sob, grinning like a fool, soaked through with rain. the anthem plays, the champagne pops. he finds your eyes in the crowd. your hair falls, stringy and curled, mascara smudged. you are the most breathtaking sight. he stands still, washed with an onslaught of champagne, watching you like he’s scared to take his eyes off of you. his boyish grin and hopeful eyes render you weak - you’re there for him, after all - and he can’t help but bask in that little fact.

dangerous territory. you break, and disappear.

-

say it once again with feeling…

the photographers barely get a second to snap a picture of the top three, because lando is gone. he takes the stairs two at a time, descending from the podium and throwing his pirelli cap and a shaky apology at his pr rep. the adrenaline spike makes his blood rush; he needs to find you and stop you and tell you that he will never be able to stop loving you.

the exit is the natural assumption, and he nearly slips a thousand times as he sprints through the paddock. the ground is wet, but he figures that if his car made it, so can he. the gates are in sight, and so are you, your clothes sticking to your shivering frame.

he calls your name, thunderously travelling towards you, his voice hitting your ears like a sonic boom. you freeze, turn slowly until your facing him. the rain splashes around you, not letting up.

you’re within his reach, and he pulls you in, hugging you tight. you melt into him, clinging like he’s a life force. he inhales you, your scent that he’s missed so horrifically. you crumble, and so does he, pieced back together as one.

“i can’t do this, i can’t.” he kisses the words into the cold skin of your neck.

“no, neither can i.” you choke wetly with emotion.

“miss you too much. it’s too hard, it’s stupid, it’s-“

“wrong. it’s wrong. ‘m sorry.” your breath fans his face, breathing life into him, life that he’d lost four months ago.

he grabs your shoulders, lowering so that his eyes are level with yours. his curls fall over his eyes, sodden from the rain.

“i don’t think, no, i know: i’m never gonna love anyone the way i love you.” lando speaks slow, convincing. your chest is tight.

“i don’t want to love anyone else.” you croak, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

“come back to me.” he mutters, pleading.

“don’t think i ever left.” you breathe, hushed.

your lips slot over his easily, it’s like breathing. the kiss is messy, helpless, and he engulfs you whole, his body wrapping around yours like a blanket. you latch onto his race-suit, drawing him in, and then you both seem to remember where you are.

lando norris caught kissing ex like horny teenager in monaco paddock!

you pull away with breathless chuckle. the air is fresh, and you feel alive. he steals another peck.

“wait for me at home. i’ll be quick.” his hand finds you ass, just for a second and you scold him playfully.

home.

yeah, home.

“don’t make me wait.” you grin.

his brain short circuits.

“do you still have your key?” he splutters, refocusing.

you scoff. “never took it off the chain.”

-

you pace the apartment, taking in the space. it hasn’t changed, but it’s messier, a visual representation of lando since you left. the pit of your belly swirls with anxiety, anticipation. he’ll be back soon, and he’ll kiss you, make love to you, remind you that you’re home and that it’d be stupid to leave again.

you’re still damp from the rain, shedding layers until you’re left in your vest and jeans, ridiculous heels kicked off by the door, your jacket airing over the back of a chair.

he hasn’t taken down the pictures of you together. he hasn’t moved your ugly collection of magnets from the fridge. he hasn’t changed the blinds that you chose, but he didn’t really like. your candles sit on the bookshelf half burned, the teddy he’d won you at a fair sits neatly on the sofa. the L pendant and it’s chain is strewn over the coffee table, right where you left it the morning after it ended. your breathing is heavy.

the front door opens behind you.

you don’t move, your eyes still fixed on the silver chain, overwhelmed by how empty your neck feels all of the sudden. he comes up behind you, his head resting on your shoulder, arms finding home around your waist. you often used to find yourselves in this exact position; while you brushed your teeth, made coffee. the room is deathly silent, breathing and the distant buzz of post race festivities the only thing you can hear. lando follows your gaze.

“kept it. knew that one day, you’d come back for it.”

“i came back for you.”

“and that necklace will stay with you when i can’t be there.”

you nod. he kisses your neck.

“missed you so bad.” you gasp. he licks your skin, bites down softly.

you spin in his arms, his hands pawing at your hips and everything blurs when he kisses you.

-

shaky fingers work over zippers, buttons, clasps, and then you’re both bare. you sink into the mattress that you missed so much, his body moulded with yours when you both tumble into the sheets. this is messy and frantic, utterly lovestruck. the lightning strike of his touch has you keening, sweating beneath him already.

“missed you. missed this.”

“do something, lan.” you cry, quiet against his shoulder.

“missed my perfect girl.” he grunts, lips working your chest while his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your inner thigh.

“please.” you sigh when his fingers dip between your folds, sliding over your wet flesh. his lip catches between his teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of you.

he thumbs at your clit, stroking over you in slow, firm swipes, and then he’s sinking a digit into you, slow and steady. your toes curl, tears pricking your eyes at the intrusion, but you don’t have much of a chance to adjust, a second finger joining the first. he fucks you full, the stretch of just two fingers making you whine, one hand threading into the sheets while the other slams over your mouth. you want to hide, the pleasure rendering you a mess across the pale grey linen.

“no, let me look at you.” lando rasps, spare hand tugging at your wrist. you whine, writhing when he curls his fingers. “why are you hiding?”

you can’t hold back the choked cry that sounds from the back of your throat, his palm bumping your clit as he grinds his fingers deep.

“gone shy on me, baby? where’s my good girl gone?” lando coos, moving so that he’s leaning over you. the angle change sends your legs flying, kicking out at the sweet torture. “‘s because you haven’t been fucked right in so long, hm? can’t remember how to behave?” he’s smirking down at you, scanning the changing lines of your face.

“need it, need-“ you stutter, the words dying on your tongue.

“words, pretty girl, words.” lando encourages, false sympathy dripping from his tongue.

“need to cum, want you to make me…” you trail off.

“was that so hard?” he tuts, and everything speeds up.

the sound of him working you so sweetly makes you shake, your thighs clenching tight around his hand. the wet squelch hits your ears and you blush, cheeks coloured deep with embarrassment, awe, desperation.

your mouth drops open, screaming silently when it hits, your thighs slick. you drip down his wrist, his hand covered in your release.

“there’s my girl.” lando sighs, diving down to kiss you hard.

you can feel the damp press of his fingers as they dig into your thighs and you squirm beneath him, finding your way into his mouth.

“fuck me.” you slur, teeth knocking with his. he swallows you whole, groaning into your mouth.

“not so shy now, hm? been dreaming of hearing you beg for it.” lando shudders, shifting between your legs.

you can feel the press of him, thick against your cunt and you wiggle your hips, pushing to meet him halfway. the stretch burns deliciously, and you grab at his shoulders, dragging him in.

“fuck, baby.” he breathes, sinking into you slowly. “feel like heaven.” disbelief coats his voice, like he can’t reconcile that this is real; you’re back here, his, in the bed you were always supposed to share.

“it’s so good. feel so good for me, lan.” you whisper, lacing your fingers through his hair.

“love you so much.” he kisses you like he means it, rocking into you with purpose.

“can’t believe i lived without this.”

“can’t believe you’re all mine.”

the release builds, every thrust reminding you of what you could have lost for good. there was no lack of love, in fact you were starting to wonder if you had loved each other too much before.

“never losing you again. can’t live without you. my beautiful girl.”

your tummy grows tight, and he finds your clit when he feels you clamp down on him. he pulls you through the pleasure, guides you to your orgasm and you blindly follow him. you’d follow him anywhere, you decide.

you tell him you love him when you let go, spilling all around him, warm. he’s panting, kisses your forehead gently. he rolls off of you, and you feel the slow drip instantly, but you curl into his side and he wraps around you.

home.

“promise me something.” he whispers. you feel the way he shakily inhales.

“hm?”

“don’t leave again. you belong here, too. with me.”

your eyes are watery.

“i’m staying. ‘m yours.”

“about that…”

lando springs from the bed, naked, disappearing from the room. you watch, confused, cold all of the sudden.

you can hear his footsteps padding through the hallway, and then he’s back, his figure in the hallway. he runs, jumps, lands gracelessly next to you. endeared, you laugh softly.

“sit up.”

you do, leaning up to sit next to him. his fingers skim your shoulder, pushing your hair out of the way. cool metal dances over your skin.

“back where it belongs.” lando smiles at you, eyes wide and stunning.

you toy with the L. something heals in your chest, right around where your heart is.

“the sweetest boy.” you shake your head in disbelief, grin up at him like a fool.

“bath?”

“you know me so well, noz.”

come one, come all

it’s happening again

-

oh, my heart. there is something deeply wrong with me

-

taglist

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[thornypucks]

peppermint mocha | lena oberdorf

synopsis any excuse to get your girlfriend to kiss you was a good one

warnings literally just fluffy fluff

words 1737

notes this was supposed to go up on christmas but then i got sick so you get it on new years instead :) also shoutout to @alphaniner1415 - this is kind of part two <3

It was cold. Way too fucking cold. The hand you had wrapped around your paper coffee cup was at least a little warm from the contents inside, but the one holding onto the mistletoe felt like it was about to fall off at any second. On top of that it had started drizzling a couple of minutes ago, because it was cold but apparently not cold enough for snow, the wind was blowing your hair in every direction and your jacket felt too tight with the big sweater you were wearing underneath. So shortly- you were overstimulated, tired from a long day of work and just really fucking cold.

But in that second you rounded the corner and Lenas apartment came into view, the sight so familiar it made you ache. The past year had been good. Incredible even. Getting to really know Lena, not only as a friend but as a girlfriend had been the best journey you've ever got on. You loved going to her games and hearing her rant about plays and games for hours. You hated when she had to leave for games and tournaments or when she came home, defeated in every sense of the word. You enjoyed the quiet nights in her apartment and the loud ones when her teammates and friends joined. You despised the first argument you had that simply boiled down to you being scared of being too much and Lena wanting as much of you as she could get. You took pleasure in her showing up at the cafe just to spend time with you and have a cappuccino and you almost lost your mind when Lena crumbled on the field after literally budding heads with another player. You were delighted to meet her family and getting to know her parents, sibling, aunts, uncles and most importantly her dog. And above everything else you were so comfortable in this little bubble that Lena had wrapped around the both of you. You had never been so in love nor felt so loved by somebody. Lena wasn't shy of straight up telling you how she felt. Never. But she also showed you. When she took off her scarf to wrap it around you, when she planned a picnic on her balcony because she thought you would like it, when she brought you flowers and when she mapped out your whole body with her hands and her mouth, determined to touch every inch of you.

You felt yourself heat up at the thought as you finally reached the front door. You fumbled with the pocket of your jacket, not wanting to put down the cup, nor the branch in order to get your key out. Lena had given it to you only two months after the first night spent together. It had been quiet but bold, like everything she did. She had just slipped the lonely key over the table during breakfast, a big smile spreading across her face. Your reaction had been a lot less quiet and had included a lot more body contact. You had not officially moved in, but measured by the time you spend in her apartment, you might as well have. But that was a conversation for a different day. You finally managed to get your key out and unlocked the door. You quickly made your way up the stairs - rushed by your plans for tonight and the cold that was still creeping up your fingers. You finally unlocked the second door, moaning at the warm air of the apartment. Around six months of dating you realized that Lena's place had really started to feel like home. More and more of your things had slowly made their way into the apartment. It started mostly with clothes and toiletries, quickly moving to mugs, books, games and literally anything else. Then you started buying stuff for her place. Decor and pans and what else you could think of. Your apartment had turned into more of an office space and you were silently waiting for Lena to ask you to move in. You put down your cup on the shoe cupboard and carefully laid the mistletoe branch on the ground. You could now finally get rid of the too tight jacket, your hat and scarf and finally your shoes, putting everything where it belonged before picking up your cup and the branch again.

The plan had come to you kind of randomly. A week ago you had walked past a little Christmas market booth that was selling mistletoe. The tradition of having to kiss underneath one had always been a little weird to you, but any excuse to get your girlfriend to kiss you and to be a little cheesy was a good one. You'd also purchased some fairy lights, candles and you've brought home some of Lena's favorite foods from the cafe and the Munich Christmas market. So you got to work.

You spread out all the food on the couch table, putting candles in between the plates and in various other places in the apartment. You wrapped fairy lights around one of your windows and the doorway leading into the open living space. That's also where you hang the mistletoe. Your phone chimed just as you were done hanging the branch, lighting up with a message from Lena.

"Just finished training. Gonna be home soon. Love u."

Your face spread into a smile. You finished the rest of your coffee that had gone cold by now and slowly started lighting all the candles. Once you were done with that you plugged in the fairy lights and turned off the rest of the normal lights. The room looked like Christmas had just thrown up in it. It was perfect. But now you didn't really know what to do with yourself. You were too excited to just sit down and wait so you made your way over to the kitchen to clean some pans and other stuff lying around. You tried hard to occupy yourself until you finally heard the key turn in the lock. You very quickly made your way to the doorway, positioning yourself right underneath the mistletoe.

The door opened and Lena stopped in the doorway looking at you surprised and slightly confused. She was cuddled up in her big winter jacket, beanie on her head, big workout bag in her hand and her comfy joggers on. Her mouth was slightly agape, her eyes tracing your body before finally moving up to the mistletoe above you. The confused look on her face quickly changed into a still surprised but happier smirk. "Hello to you too." She smiled and finally stepped in, closing the door behind her. "Hi my love." You just grinned back waiting more or less patiently for her to take off her jacket and put down her bag. You were rocking back and forth on your feet, watching her every move.

She had finally put her shoes away and took a couple of steps towards you before stopping right in front of you, her face spreading in fake surprise. "Oh would you look at that." Her right pointer finger came up to your chin, gently pushing it upwards so you could look at the mistletoe. "A mistletoe, what a lovely coincidence." Your own smile spread as well and you moved your eyes from the greenery back to her. Her brown eyes twinkled with mischief and you soaked up every second of it. So far you had loved all the versions you had seen of Lena. But her silly and teasing side was definitely in your top five. "Oh no." She now almost whispered dramatically, her face coming even closer to yours until she could gently nudge your nose with hers. "Guess I have to kiss you now." You couldn't help the giggle that escaped you before she pressed her mouth onto yours. You hummed, satisfied, into the kiss, enjoying the warm press of her lips on yours. She licked your lips, gently coaxing you to open your mouth. You buried your hands in her sweater around her hips while hers went up to cradle your chin, her thumb drawing small circles into your jaw.

She gently broke the kiss, still holding you close. "We should leave the mistletoe here I think." You said after you managed to catch your breath. "Lena just smiled and nodded before she started smacking her lips. "You taste good. What is that?" You giggled and pressed another short peck onto her lips. "Peppermint mocha. I ordered some new syrups and they came in the mail today." You barely had time to catch the mischievous glint in Lena's eyes before she suddenly tipped you back, making you squeak and clawing your hands deeper into her sweater. She had moved one hand to your back and the other to the back of your head holding you almost horizontal. She pressed her mouth back onto yours, her tongue finding yours immediately. You couldn't help but giggle into her mouth as she slowly pulled you back up again. You separated, just smiling at each other for a minute. Lena removed the hand from the back of your head and gently pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "Thank you for the surprise babe." She smiled. "Mhm well that's not all of it." You smiled back, taking a couple of steps back and taking her with you. You watched Lena's face as she took in the room. Her eyes wandered from the candles to the fairy lights and then to the food before making their way back to you. "Oh baby that's beautiful." Her arms now wrapped around your waist, pulling your body flush to hers before burying her head in the crook of your neck pressing a kiss into the soft skin. "Thank you my love." You just hummed in acknowledgement while also wrapping your arms tighter around her waist. You stayed like this for a while before Lena raised her head again and captured your lips in another slow but intense kiss. The world tuned out around you and the only thing left was Lena.

"You really do taste good." Lena pressed yet another kiss onto your lips, stealing your breath. "You're gonna have to make me one of those peppermint mochas soon my love."

[shotmrmiller]

OF! reader does a QnA , gets a bunch of asks (a lot from Ghost) about what's her favorite position, favorite toy - even what she uses for like body wasy/perfume so the viewers get an idea of what she smells like

Cue Ghost buying out all her favorite things so that he's prepared when they meet

(And if he sprays her perfume on a pillow and humps it like he would the real thing, that's his buisness)

You'd never. You value your privacy, take getting doxxed very seriously. Ghost knows this. So he offers to pay a hefty sum to send over a word document of questions. Whatever you're comfortable with answering, of course.

Rent is due in a week and you've got a few hundred dollars in your bank account.

The price to pay for splurging on good food and another one of those Ghost toys because the other one is officially out of commission.

(rest in peace, old reliable.)

So you agree, begrudgingly, expecting the worst.

But they're not. It's just about your toiletries, what you like to do for fun apart from work and--

What do you think about as you fuck yourself with your toys? Whose fingers do you wish for when you stuff your own into your dripping cunt?

He also begs for a video of you saying his name as you cum. Just a small clip, he'll send anything you ask.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 35

Part 1 Part 34

The shower Eddie finally takes, after over a week of rotting in Steve’s clothes, should be a relief. His head is no longer itchy. He washes the ash out of his eyes, and Steve’s blood out from beneath his nails. Replaces grime with the smell of the clinical nothingness that is the toiletries the hospital provided.

His breath no longer feels like it’s wilting the air around him after he brushes his teeth. The scrubs he changes into are stiff, but clean and dry.

It should be a relief. But, Steve is out of his sight, quiet and small in his hospital bed.

Wayne will keep him safe, he knows. But who will hold his hand if he wakes up again, delirious? Who will sooth him back to sleep?

He hurries the whole process, bangs plastered to his forehead, hair dripping down the back of his borrowed scrub top.

When he rushes out of the bathroom and into Steve’s hospital room, Wayne’s closer to Steve’s bed then he was when he left him, hand clasping Steve’s own, and staring down at him with a look on his face that Eddie’s only ever seen directed at him before. 

It’s just like when Eddie’d kicked the hole in the plaster of the trailer. Or when Wayne had been called in by Hopper after one infraction or another. Or when he comes home after a session of Hellfire, and regales his uncle with the beat-by-beat replay of the action. 

Like fondness and exasperation are warring for space in the purse of his mouth.

“What happened?” Eddie asks. The linolium is cold on his bare feet as he walks over to retake his own seat at Wayne’s side. 

“Your boy woke up just long enough to ask how you were and then pass back out,” he says, glancing at Eddie, eyes twinkling.

“Did he seem–” Eddie starts, looking down at Steve’s relaxed face. “Is he okay?”

The doctors won’t tell them anything. They’re not his emergency contacts, not family. No one seems to care that no one’s been able to contact the Harrington’s for the two days Steve’s been rotting away in the hospital, alone, save for them. Eddie’s mind drifts back to the way Steve had hid so instinctually in his closet, like he needed a safe place in what should have already been safe, and wants to wring their skinny necks. 

Wayne gently maneuvers his hand out from beneath Steve’s own. Steve’s fingers curl into a loose fist, grasping at air, like he’s seeking the warmth of Wayne’s skin even in his sleep. Wayne sits back in his seat, crossing his ankles as he settles with a sigh.

“He’ll be just fine,” Wayne says, turning in his chair to try to catch Eddie’s eyes. “That boy cares about you.”

He says it like it’s a revelation, but Eddie’s not surprised. He can feel it in the tug at his sternum. The way Steve’s eyes had looked through Eddie’s tears as he’d pressed his forehead to his. Like recognizes like.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “He does.”

The Eddie of two weeks ago would’ve been standing on a table top about it. Saying jocks are a monolith, and Steve is the most jock of them all. He would’ve rioted about King Steve Harrington and his corrupt court of lackeys trying to buy his way into Eddie’s good books. For drugs. Or clout. Or something fucking stupid. Eddie would’ve raged against the machine, a riot in the making.��

But that’s not his Steve. Maybe it was never Steve at all. Things look different from up close, and their lunch tables were always so far away. 

Will Steve sit with him at lunch? He doesn’t look much like Steve the Hair Harrington anymore. His hairs been shaved down to the quick. They’d had to, just to get to the wound trailing up Steve’s forehead and into his hair. He can’t imagine this Steve, hurt and small, sitting with the jocks, throwing fries at Tommy Hagan. 

The thought of school after all of this is like hives crawling up his spine. They’d died, risen back up again to end up back at fucking high school. 

“I want to go home,” Eddie says. But he means his trailer a week and a half ago, before he was split into thirds. Before Steve Harrington and Will Byers. Before.

“You can,” Wayne says, scooting over in his chair so he can wrap his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, dragging him uncomfortably over the arm rest for a pseudo hug.

Eddie looks down at Steve’s sleeping face, wonders when home stopped just being a trailer and Uncle Wayne. Things change so fast when you’re running.

It’s a long night.

Eddie sleeps uncomfortably, propped up in his chair. Wayne drapes a scratchy blanket over him on his way out the door, off to work. 

His dreams are full of shadows spilling out of the ground. Chasing him, and he’s always running but never getting anywhere. Of Steve’s back and Steve’s blood and Steve’s vacant eyes. 

He wakes up to fingers combing through his hair, head pillowed on Steve’s hospital bed, blanket slipped off and onto the floor. It’s dark. One of the nurses must have turned off the lights.

The first day Eddie’d refused to leave, they’d given him his own oxygen mask and deluge of tests, propped up in his seat with Will similarly chained to his side. The second day, they’d tried to get him to go home, get out of the way. 

They’d stopped trying to kick him out the day before. 

The fingers move through his hair, pulling at the knots Eddie hadn’t bothered to comb out. Uncle Wayne must be back from his shift. Or maybe, it’s Mama Byers again, checking up on him again, as if she owes him anything at all.

“Hey.”

His heart ba-thump, ba-thump, tugs. He turns his head, smooshing it into the rough sheets to look up at the head of the bed. Steve’s eyes are open. He smiles hazily down at Eddie, uncoordinatedly petting at his head.

Eddie’s lungs heave, trying to vacate his body all together with the pressure of their seizing. He sobs, raising his hand to trail up across Steve’s cheek, impossibly soft after everything. “You’re such a fucking prick,” he says, heat lost in the way he’s blubbering into the sheets.

Steve smiles, like he’s never seen anything as great as Eddie Munson making a mess of himself at his bedside. It’s probably the morphine. “I know.”

“I dared you to stay alive,” Eddie says. “And then you just–”

He’s choking, too much to finish, like Steve’s not breathing in front of him again, or bleeding out in front of him. Steve’s always dying, and Eddie’s always crying about it. 

“I did,” Steve says, still petting his head. It hurts a little. Eddie’s hair’s a mess of tangled curls atop his head. He never wants Steve to stop touching him. “I said I’d come home.”

Eddie cries. He’s not a cryer, but something’s flipped in him, making him weepy. Like the expectation of grief unrealized keeps bubbling up his throat and bleeding out his eyes. Steve Harrington, his own living ghost, smiles down at him. 

“I’m so tired,” Eddie says. It’s a whine, the consonants drawn out and wet at the edges. 

Steve’s still smiling, dopey and tired and perfect. He pats the spot next to him. “Come here.”

It’s a bad idea. Steve’s hurt. But Eddie’s so weak. The thing in his ribs tugs. Eddie follows it.

He crawls under Steve’s shitty hospital bedding, tucking his wet face into Steve’s neck, arm slung carefully over his chest. “You’ll still be alive when I wake up?” Eddie asks, trying to make it a joke. As if Steve’s lifeless eyes aren’t still looking at him from dreamland.

“Promise,” Steve says.

It feels like Steve’s lips on his forehead, quick and fleeting. In the wee hours of the morning, Eddie and Steve fall asleep.

Part 36

[foreingersgod]

Can I request a Caitlin Clark x taller Fem Hockey Player Reader who dresses masculine (Reader is extremely clumsy/looks like she has fawn legs when Reader is on normal ground, but when the reader is on the ice she is a force to be reckoned with)

(And the reader has a short and curly ‘burly touching her shoulders’ artist bob hairstyle)

Plot:

-Reader clumsily ran into Caitlin and managed to spill Caitlin’s coffee/hot tea drink on the reader

Reader is embarrassed and just sorta starts rambling out apologizes (I imagine Robin Buckley style rambling) completely ignoring the hot drink that was spilled on her (the readers used to getting injured by her own fawn legs at this point so it doesn’t even faze her)

Reader offers to buy Caitlin a new drink and Caitlin offers to get the taller girl a new shirt

(After that they began dating)

The reader is extremely vocal in her support of Caitlin and the Basketball team when it’s basketball season

So when it’s time for the readers hockey season to begin Caitlin and the team surprise the reader at game in support of reader — but the team is so used to the readers clumsiness that they are shock at how amazing the reader plays on the ice almost like reader is Jack Frost

Maybe at the end Caitlin tells the reader she loves the taller readers clumsiness and finds It endearing how reader is hard core hockey player on the ice and a clumsy goofball on regular ground but no matter either or the reader is always the softness person for her/caitlin

(Sorry This is long I’m kinda sleepy and I can’t find the energy to simplify this 🫤🫠😭😞🥱🥱😪)

— LadyBatSuperKing 🏳���‍🌈🦇🦸‍♂️👑

She’s a force to be reckoned with . CC

pairing: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: *refer to request

NOT PROOF READ !!

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

the alarm clock on your bedside table wailed throughout your bedroom. waking up for practice at 5:30 in the morning should be a crime. you were in no mood to lace up your skates and throw on your gear at all today, especially this early. despite your body pleading to stay in bed for 5 more minutes, you forced yourself to get up and get ready for the day.

you fumbled around your bathroom, trying to quickly tame your hair and brush your teeth, knocking down numerous toiletries in the process. you whispered a few curses under your breathe as you knocked over your bottle of hair product, half of its contents emptying into the sink.

eventually, and certainly not without clumsily cluttering half of your apartment, you managed to make your way out of the door and on your way to practice.

you tried to enjoy the early hours of the morning as you meandered down the street, dipping into your favorite coffee shop to wash away the 6:00 am drowsiness. it wasn’t busy like it normally was. only a few business men with their eyes glued to their phones and a completely exhausted college student stood around the shop.

glancing at your phone, you realized that you were going to be late if you didn’t hurry up and order so you made haste to order your drink and leave. grabbing your cup from the barista, you swiftly turned around and headed for the door. before you could even wrap your fingers around the handle, a woman, surprisingly just as tall as you were, pushed the door open. the door pushed right into you, the girl running straight into your chest and spilling your coffee all over the front of your clothes.

“fuck” you cursed, feeling the steaming drink seep through your shirt and onto your skin.

“holy shit, i’m so sorry! i didn’t see you there at all i swear to god!” the girl said, cheeks burning up in embarrassment. she ran over to the counter and returned with several napkins, trying to dab up the coffee that was still dripping onto the floor.

“no no you’re…you’re fine it’s not a biggie” you tried to say, not wanting to make a big deal of it all. you could tell she felt horrible about it and you didn’t want to make her feel any worse, even if she did just destroy one of the only shirts that actually fit your tall figure. “this happens all the time! like don’t even-don’t even worry about it it’s totally cool! i should be sorry, i was totally in your way, completely my fault really!”

“what? no! of course it’s a big deal, i just destroyed your shirt dude” completely unfazed by your rambling. her gaze finally met yours and you could now get a clear look of her face. and damn was she smoking hot. not to mention she was tall enough that she didn’t have to strain her neck to see you like everyone else did. “is there…is there anything i can do? i feel like shit, i shouldn’t have rushed through the door like that without paying attention.”

“you’re really fine, don’t worry about it” you gave her a genuine smile.

“can i at least buy you a new shirt? a new drink?” it came out more like a beg than an offer.

“well,” you shrugged “since this was one of my only shirts that fit, i think a replacement would be very generous, thank you”

“definitely, yea no problem” she stuttered out “um, i’m caitlin, sorry we had to meet in such a shitty situation”

you both laughed “i’m YN, nice to meet you caitlin”

and the rest was history, she bought you a new shirt, you bought you both two cups of coffee, and she offered to walk with you the rest of the way to your practice. before parting ways, you exchanged contacts and made plans to hangout later that night. scorching hot coffee spilling on your shirt was probably the best thing that had happened to you in a long time.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

it had been several months since you met cait at the coffee shop, and now you both were happily dating. you originally thought she wanted to be just friends, aware that your clumsiness and tall figure wasn’t typically something that someone looked for in a woman. but she was very adamant that she loved you for you, finding the beauty and originality in your clumsy nature and being incredibly grateful to have a girlfriend that understands what it’s like to have to duck to fit through some doors. to her, you were funny and original and you both had so much in common, she couldn’t fathom a world in which you stayed friends.

your relationship so far has been absolute bliss. hockey season eventually ended as you started getting to know each other, so there was a lot of night spent watching her practice and even more evenings watching her play. you’ll admit, basketball was never your thing, the rink was the only place you were comfortable, but falling in love with caitlin really made you fall in love with the sport too. you were like her ‘personal cheerleader’ she told you, always shouting her name and repping a #22 jersey. the team became your family at this point and you loved nothing more than supporting them from the stadium seats.

the basketball season eventually came to an end and it was truly a privilege to watch your girlfriend blow everyone away. watching her and her team win, take home titles and awards made you explode with joy. but you were even more excited to share the coming hockey season for the first time with caitlin and the rest of the team.

they all knew you to be the klutz in your relationship, so you were anticipating the looks on their faces when they saw you on the ice.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

“alright, baby, we’ll be watching” caitlin said, rubbing your arm through your jersey and padding. she had met you in the hallway, outside the locker room, to wish you luck one more time before your game started.

“i love so much, thanks for being here” you pulled her in for a kiss.

“i wouldn’t miss it for the world”

she made her way back out to where the team was sitting, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before she left. you could see them laugh and smile with each other and it made you so happy that they were all here to support you.

your coach hollered for you from inside the locker room not long after and you quickly hustled back to lace up. after you were completely geared up, stretched, and given a sturdy team pep talk by coach, you were ready to head out onto the rink.

the announcers called out everyone’s names, including yours, and you could practically feel caitlin’s smile from down there. then before you knew it, the whistle was blown and the game started.

it was going incredibly well. you had your stick poised and ready to to move effortlessly across the ice. every one of your movements was deliberate and precise, you felt as though you were gliding on air. when the puck was hurtled toward you, you reacted with lightning reflexes, intercepting it with a graceful flick of your stick.

this was your moment, you thought, time for everyone to see that you weren’t as clumsy on the ice.

you skated down the rink, charging forward to drive the puck into the opponents goal. you were up against girls almost twice your size. and yet, when everyone was sure that you would slip up when the girls came at you, you slid around them with unwavering speed and focus. you were past them in mere seconds, shocking the crowd. finally, you reached the goal and you took your shot, sending it flying right into the net of the goal.

the crowd erupted with applause, hollering your number and screaming for your team. but you were only focused on finding caitlin and the girls. you spotted her almost immediately, locking eyes, and laughing under your breathe when you saw the looks on all of their faces. their eyes were wide and their mouths hanging open with shock, totally dumbfounded by your change in coordination.

after your astounding goal that put your team ahead of your opponents, the game felt like it was over in seconds. your team was incredibly happy that you had won your first game of the season. you all made your way off the rink and into the locker room again, signing posters and shirts as you walked down the tunnel. everyone was changing into their post-game clothes, congratulating one another, and hugging everyone goodbye until tomorrow’s practice.

you hurriedly pulled your gear off and put on your team hoodie and watching sweats, trying to make it out to see caitlin and girls as fast as you could. sure enough, the second you stepped out those doors, they all stood with posters and flowers, excited to shower you and praise and congratulate you on the game.

“you guys are so sweet, thanks for coming!” you beamed, hugging everyone one by one.

“oh of course!” kate smiled at you.

“wouldn’t miss it,” hannah followed “we wouldn’t want to miss those killer moves! who knew you could move like that you klutz” she nudged your shoulder, playfully.

you all laughed with her, making jokes about how your long legs made you almost invincible out on the rink and how they were all worried you’d slip and fall. but you loved that they all cared about you and were proud of what you accomplished tonight.

after the team was finished catching up with you, they retired for the night and headed their separate ways. of course caitlin stayed behind, ready to walk you to her car and head back to her place to further “celebrate”

“you know i love you, and i think you were fantastic tonight, right?” she said from the drivers side of her car.

“of course, why? is everything ok?”

“yea no, no, everything’s fine” she smiled, glancing between you and the road. “i know me and you and the team…we’ll all joke about your clumsiness sometimes, but…i don’t know i just wanted to make sure you knew that i genuinely love that about you”

“cait” you blushed

“seriously, i love everything about you, from your clumsiness and your rambling, to your precision in your games…i love that you’re just as tall as me, if not more, even if you feel insecure about it. i love that your goofy when it’s just me and you. i’m seriously so in love with everything about you, it’s crazy”

“you’re so sweet to me, caitlin, i love you so much” you reached over the console to hold her hand “more than you know” all she did was smile back at you, rubbing her thumb over yours as you sped down the road to her apartment.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

A/N: again, i’m sorry if there are an inaccuracies with the hockey terminology, but i hope you love it nonetheless! i loved this request, thanks so much anon, enjoy! <3

[munsoninthedark86]

Sleepover With Eddie Munson

warnings: smuttiness, fluffiness, mentions of sex toys, mentions of taking drugs, period mention. pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader(might be more fem POV but I kept them neutral)

He panics the first time you come over to spend the night. Eddie decides to clean his room, but it’s too much work that he just decides to change his sheets and take out the trash. Hell, he might even take the dirty dishes out of his room too.

Eddie is a big sweetheart about it. He’ll do anything to make sure you have a good time with him. You can expect this man to literally make the night all about you.

He goes out of his way to buy some toiletries for you and even gets you a new towel, in case you need to shower. Eddie even bought some stuff in case you were to get your period.

If you don’t have any pajamas to wear(or you so conveniently forgot some), Eddie will lend you something to wear. If you suggest wearing his Hellfire shirt, he’ll just about die. Just that and some underwear, and you’ll have him on his knees for you.

Eddie doesn’t really know how to cook well, but he’ll try his best to do so just for you. If you would prefer, he’ll order a pizza. Or he will take you out for dinner.

Any way you look at it, Eddie is going to absolutely spoil you. He’ll light up some incense, put on your favorite album, even let you play his guitar or he’ll play it for you. Eddie wants the whole night to go perfectly well.

Eddie will pull out his favorite and best stash just for you. You’ll be smoking Eddie’s best stuff he can get his hands on. If you want something a little stronger, Eddie will get it for you. You’ll have a great time tripping together, if that’s what you want to do.

If it’s a school night, Eddie will still want you to come over. In the morning, if you were to wake him up with coffee and breakfast, he’d probably want to marry you.

If it’s not a school night, Eddie will stay up late with you and he’ll sleep in the next morning. You can expect to be part of his snuggle pile when you wake up in the morning. And he’s not letting you go.

Eddie gets the best sleep for the first time in a long time. He doesn’t sleep a lot, and he blames most of it on the trauma lived in his life. But with you there, he sleeps like a log.

NSFW

Of course, if you’re spending the night, Eddie wants to fuck. Even when you don’t stay the night, Eddie loves to fuck. He’s got a pretty high sex drive, but he likes to keep things monogamous when it comes to you.

Eddie stocks up on condoms and lube for whenever you come over. He likes to make sure you know you’ve got lots of options when it comes to having sex with him.

Also, he’s got a nice little trunk with all kinds of goodies. Handcuffs, riding crops, leather restraints, a vibrator…Eddie knows what you like, but the man also has specific tastes as well.

Despite that, Eddie is a big fan of slow and lazy fucking. He’ll throw on a movie and he’ll pump into you lazily from behind while you’re on the couch. Good luck trying to pay attention to the plot.

Once you’re all stoned and feeling giggly and bubbly, Eddie brings you to his bed and he pulls down your pants and underwear. He’ll look at you softly through his big doe eyes, and he kisses a trail down your body.

Be prepared for hours of oral. Eddie loves going down on you and turning you into a complete moaning mess. Tug on his hair, make him grunt and groan against you. He’ll be rutting into the mattress as he brings you to a messy, wet orgasm.

He loves putting on loud music and fucking you so hard that you scream louder than the album he’s got playing. It just makes him feel so proud that he can make you feel this good.

The aftercare is top notch. Eddie will do everything to make sure you feel comfortable and loved afterwards. You wanted to spend the night with him after all, so he wants to make sure you like spending the night.

If you want to have a shower, Eddie might suggest some heated shower sex. This becomes a bit more awkward in terms of position, but he’ll make it happen.

You’ll leave his place with some fresh lovebites and marks all over your neck, chest and anywhere he thought was a good place to leave them. Nobody will ever think that you are available. Only Eddie fuckin’ Munson can touch you.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Seven Deadly Sins pop-up event.

Some Real Good

Prompt: Gluttony | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: T | CW: Alcohol Consumption | POV: Gareth | Relationship(s): Gareth & Eddie BFFs, Background Steddie | Tags: Corroded Coffin on Tour, Bus Travel, Road Manager Steve Harrington, Eddie: The Magpie, Gareth & Steve: Who Love Him Anyway

"What do you have in here, bricks?" Gareth asks, picking up one of Eddie's duffle bags, trying to wrangle it up into the open storage bin under the bus. It's not easy. For some reason Eddie's stuffed the fucker completely full today, and it's unwieldy.

"Yep. And sex toys," Eddie quips, and Gareth rolls his eyes. Unfortunately, Gareth knows that's not where Eddie keeps all the dirty shit he travels with. Because Gareth's seen it all, even if he wishes otherwise.

Eddie finally gets it wedged underneath, and they can roll out.

Meaning, Gareth forgets about the overfilled luggage, until the same thing happens at the next stop. It's definitely not going under there this time, because Gareth swears it's getting bulkier by the stop. 

Eddie's trying to re-zip the damn thing after rearranging, and it's clearly not going well. 

Gareth moves to squeeze both sides together so Eddie can zip it easier, when he catches sight of what's inside. 

"What the fuck?" Gareth says, letting go and picking up a travel size bar of soap, surely from one of the many hotel rooms they've stayed in. He digs his hand in, combing through the mess of small, plastic bottles. It's filled to the absolute brim with travel toiletries, and a variety of shit from green rooms. Mini liquor bottles from airplanes.

Eddie snatches the bag back from Gareth's hands, "They're free. We're supposed to take them." 

"No, we're supposed to use them if we need them. Which I know you don't. I've seen your bathroom bag."

It's definitely fully stocked.

"Well, someday I might need them," Eddie argues.

"Jesus Christ, Eddie. No you won't. This is insane, even for you."

Eddie's part magpie, they all know that, but this is a bridge too far.

"You never know," Eddie says, like he's being sane and rational. He's being neither.

"How is this - you - hoarding them under the bus any better than just leaving them behind? They still aren't being used, Eddie. And now we're just the ones lugging them around."

"I want them," Eddie argues and Gareth's hands find his own hair, pulling. Eddie can rarely be rationalized with on a good day, but this is beyond. 

"You will never need these. We can buy shampoo and soap. We do buy shampoo and soap. In appropriate quantities and in brands we actually like. You damn well know Steve has never once let any of us run out. The minute I toss an empty, a new one magically appears. Which, awesome. But also scary, because that means your boyfriend knows far too much about what I do in the bathroom."

Eddie smiles, but then is clearly headed back towards making excuses for his insane life decisions. His gluttony. His hoarding. 

"But-" 

Gareth pivots. He might not be able to reason with a crazy Eddie, but he knows someone who can, does, "Does Steve know about this? Because he's gonna shit."

And he will. Steve doesn't stand for superfluous anything on the road. He has everything down to a science. Last week he even made Gareth get rid of one of his jackets, because he'd apparently crossed the threshold of the acceptable amount of luggage, at least as far as Steve was concerned. 

Gareth liked that jacket.

So, Eddie squirreling away all the soap he can carry for no damn good reason? Not efficient in the slightest. Steve can't know about this, and he's gonna be pissed when he finds out. For sure.

"Just help me unload it," Eddie demands, and before he can ask what he means by that, Eddie slides forward the sticker-laden dead with the warped lid. Instead of tossing it, Goodie wants it fixed, so it's been taking up space, but when Eddie flips it open, it's absolutely jam-packed with more of his secret stash. 

"Oh my god. Wait, is this a growing up poor thing?" Gareth asks, and Eddie pauses. Gareth never wanted for anything. It may have just been the two of them, but Mama Jones had it under control.

If this is that, well, maybe Gareth could understand. Could give him a pass.

Eddie gives him a withering look, saying, "No. Wayne would hate this, too."

"Then why are you doing it? Damn," Gareth asks, laughing.

"Because we paid for it. And they just throw them away if we don't take them."

"That's crazy talk," Gareth answers.

"They do! And it's built into the price. Of the hotel rooms. The flights. The gig contracts."

"Eddie," Gareth says, then changes tactics. "Fine. I'm sure that's true. But, just. Move. Let me," Gareth says, nudging Eddie off to the side. "Get on the bus."

And somehow, Eddie listens, and does.

When Steve sidles up to him, and sees the red milk crates surrounding Gareth's feet in the hotel parking lot, Gareth sorting the loot, he's instantly irritated, "What're you doing? What's all this doing here?" Steve asks, arms waving. "For fuck's sake, Gareth, what have you been taking all this shit for? Do you know how much this extra weight affects gas mileage?"

And Steve seems to be doing that math in his head.

Gareth grinds his teeth together, "This was not me. This was Eddie."

"Oh," Steve says. Immediately changing his tune, softening, which is fucking annoying. Eddie would never have to get rid of a jacket.

Steve then asks, "What's the plan?"

Gareth nudges the crate full of liquor bottles, and they all clink together, "Day drinking?"

Steve puts his hands on his hips. 

Gareth picks up the one full of shampoo, "I was thinking about donating them to a homeless shelter or something. My mom volunteers at one back home. Says they always needed stuff like this. Eddie hoarding them isn't helping anyone, it's just as wasteful as leaving them to be tossed, right?"

And Steve pauses. Thinking.

"You can't donate liquor to the homeless," Steve says.

And Gareth laughs, "Well, I didn't mean the liquor. That we'll keep. Have some fun. I'm gonna deserve a drink or ten after sorting out this mess your boyfriend has made."

"Oh, he's my boyfriend when you don't like whatever he's doing, but your best friend any other time?"

Gareth laughs, and nudges against Steve's shoulder, "Exactly."

"Alright," Steve concedes.

Great. Awesome. Gareth had the idea, the plan, but he definitely needs Steve to be the one to figure out how to implement it.

And Steve does.

From then on, the sorted milk crates live in the under bus storage compartment. And now it's not just Eddie, no, now all of them save and throw their unused freebies into the correct ones after each stop. Soap. Shampoo. Conditioner. Lotion. And if they ask the front desk for toothbrushes or razors that they've forgotten from time to time, well, then that's their own business. 

And yeah, the liquor they keep for themselves. But they don't let it languish, hidden away. Instead they drink it, doing shots, playing cards as they rumble down the highway, getting tipsy as they cheat more and more blatantly at cards the drunker they get. It's fun. 

When a crate of toiletries gets full, Steve has a plan, a connection, of where they can donate it, wherever they currently are in the country.

It really doesn't take long for word to spread, and then there's a charitable foundation with a damn good purpose bearing Corroded Coffin's name, and several other touring bands helping. Reaching out to Steve. Their reputation precedes them: they're the heavy metal band that gives back. That they don't destroy hotel rooms, just rescue the toiletries from them that were destined for a landfill anyway.

Before long, many hotel managers start meeting them at check-in, handing over boxes of toiletries they want to donate to the cause.

Eddie's hoarding, his gluttony, turned on its head, and instead is being used for some real good.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[jiraisupportgroup]

why do you get to sit in your heated home with daddy’s money and tell everyone who can and can’t wear jirai kei?

I don’t usually respond to stuff like this, especially because I’m fairly certain this was just ripped from a popular j-fashion creators video, but:

I feel like I make it quite clear that when I talk about jirai kei it’s just my opinions. I openly state that I’m likely a dumbass and you should take my word with a grain of salt considering I’m not a spokesperson for the Jirai Kei community, I’m not an expert on Jirai Kei, I also don’t speak Japanese so I can’t rly access a lot of “OG” jirai kei content that launched the community.

Additionally: I’ve never stated that anyone can’t wear anything. The closest I’ve gotten to that is when I state that I don’t generally believe “jirai kei” is the appropriate term for the fashion (therefore you can’t rly “wear it” if we want to be super technical) or when I said that “fashion jirais” who complain about the community can fuck off.

Never at any point in that did I say that anyone can’t wear anything. If you want to wear girly kei or dark girly or larme or ryousangata or whatever the fuck you want to wear - by all means please do. My main point is if you don’t like the jirai kei community, don’t interact with it. You can post coords and find friends and have a lot of fun with the clothing if that’s want you want to do. You can buy Liz Lisa & MCM bags and generally live your best ryousangata life. You don’t have to interact with the jirai kei community to do that. Block the people you find annoying. Block tags, block accounts, block whatever you don’t want to see. No one is going to be mad at you for not wanting to interact with the “dark side” of jirai kei (as people love to call it for some reason) UNLESS you’re adamantly saying “the dark side is wrong” and then using a shitload of jirai-related tags. Other tags for these clothes exist. Separate the two if you want, I don’t give a fuck; jirai kei doesn’t own the clothing.

I’m not going to sit here and outright defend people in the jirai kei community posting people’s coords and bullying them, I’m not gunna sit here and defend the fatphobic or racist things that have been said on jirai kei twt. I will point out that those posts are not actually super common in the jirai kei community, and the people that post them generally aren’t very well liked by other landmines either, they also tend to be very young. It’s a really big community. There are going to be “bad apples” especially because it’s a community based around mental health issues. You can’t look at that handful of posts and say “the entire community is toxic and awful”. Venting & the like are very common, but it’s pretty rare that I see people actively posting hate like that, and there is a huge difference between the two. Most of the landmines I see are too scared to even make vague callout posts. Maybe that’s just Tumblr, idk, but honestly the amount of hate I see in this community is rather small.

Secondarily to your point; my house is not fucking heated. I can barely afford to run the AC in the summer or the heat in the winter - typically I turn it on when my BF is here and turn it off when he leaves to save money. I have my own apartment. I work for my own apartment. I can barely fucking afford it. I make about $2700 a month and my bills add up to be about $2400 a month (and it’s not like an expensive or nice apartment it’s literally full of roaches and my oven doesn’t work). I usually end up spending about $100 of the leftover on cat food, and then have $200 left over for gas to get to work AND food AND toiletries for the MONTH.

I don’t have “daddy’s money”. I live by myself about 8 hours away from my family; they don’t have shit to send me. My dad died 3 years ago and left us with 50k in debt because he decided paying taxes was optional. When that happened - I was making 17.50 an hour and I had the HIGHEST WAGE out of anyone in my family. I was trying to finish college which I was attending on a scholarship bc I couldn’t fucking afford it, I was working overtime, trying to organize my dad’s funeral bc no one else in my family could do it, and paying tax payments. “Daddy’s money” was a negative sum. I frequently send leftover cash to my family if there is any just to help them in any way I can.

The cute and nice things I can afford are typically bought either because I pick up overnight shifts at my secondary serving job or from sugar daddies. Although I stopped sugaring about 3 years ago.

I started working when I was 15. I started SW when I was 17 to help my family pay rent. I did SW from about 17 years old to 21 and stopped shortly after my father died because I didn’t have the time anymore. And I fucking hated it but it made money.

Don’t fucking come at me saying I’ve got a nice house and daddy’s money when I’m sitting in a roach-infested apartment that I work myself to the fucking bone for & I spent multiple years trying to pay off my dad’s debt.

Fuck right off with that dude.