#just torment crew things

[justtormentcrewthings]

finality

there is this heavy feeling

in my chest

a finality,

like Friday afternoon pancakes

or the sign pole that she once walked into,

her glasses cracked from the sudden impact,

her laugh still frozen on her face,

or the way her legs once brushed against mine,

the way she hesitated,

questioned,

a word slipping over her lips that felt foreign and dirty and confusing

the way I said, "so what?"

the way we never said that word again

because we didn't need one

"give me one memory," you say,

and for just a second my mind is blank,

because all I can hear

is a jumbled chorus of half-forgotten nostalgia

and a face I can't visualize because my brain won't let me

(on some days, all of my memories have been replaced by the withering wood of that cross

and a date that gets more and more absurd with each passing day)

I pull one from my mind,

a gentle, half-forgotten string made from nostalgia

(fictional this time, but just real enough)

and then another

and I stop myself before another one can stumble over my lips

there is this heavy feeling

in my chest

a finality,

because all stories end

and all dreams make room for dawn

and dusk only lasts so long

there is always a later, and it's never over, it's never over

and sometimes there isn't a later, and it's over, it's been over for so long already

there is a grysk in a sarcophagus

and a dead soldier not too far away from it

and my best friend never got a grave stone

and there is no world where everyone lives

and there is no teacher without a student,

and no student without a teacher

[revoleotion]

Can you tell me more about Dawn?

I CAN ALWAYS TELL YOU MORE ABOUT DAWN

(vibrating intensely) pls send more asks if there's anything specific you want to know but...

some basics? Did I ever do this on this blog?

first off, there are two "versions" of Dawn, the original way I wrote him and am playing him in the Pen and Paper... and the version I did for playing him in bg3, lovingly dubbed DNDawn by my DM.

A few facts about OG!Dawn:

he's a Chiss sky-walker who retired (read: lost his connection to the Force) at 17, which is pretty late for a Chiss but still pretty traumatizing. He spent the months leading up to retirement trying to stop the loss of his Sight or at least trying to find a way to be useful in other ways, but he still had to leave eventually

right before that, he met the human sent to the chiss ascendancy (Eli Vanto), which inspired a conversation about a life outside of the ascendancy. Vibes wise, I was going for a parallel of that conversation between Thrawn and Thalias in Chaos Rising!

anyway, Dawn didn't leave immediately after retiring, though. He went to an academy for a few years, where he had a roommate that he suspects might have been a sky-walker too but they never actually talked about it. Her fate is uncertain too but she probably died shortly before graduation. Dawn actually got a degree from that academy, which he never mentions and does not care about in the slightest

once he had his degree, he got a tattoo done (on his back, a star constellation only seen from Csilla), chose the new name Dawn so that lesser space inhabitants can properly address him, and fucked off to meet an Imperial contact Eli gave him

it turned out pretty quickly that Dawn was not Empire material, and he didn't care for it either, but this information is important because it shows that his first contact with the Empire was neutral (+ knowing that Thrawn ended up working with them also helped shape Dawn's opinion of that regime). This opinion changed later, of course, but it's important that he didn't immediately hate the Empire or distrust its members

and this is how he eventually ended up with the torment crew! yey! and that's when the campaign started and....... well. shit happened.

he's also trans (most, if not all, sky-walkers are girls, but he never really vibed with that) and very, very gay.

dawn gets to use a mechanic that i lovingly refer to as the "autism dice" where sometimes my DM makes me roll in conversations with other crew members to see if dawn notices the deeper meaning/sarcasm in other character's words (most of the time I didn't notice it either, and if I fail, he's not explaining it to me either, Dawn & I just have to live with it. rude (jk jk, I agreed to this))

my favorite thing about Dawn is how he views himself as a tool but sometimes (very, VERY rarely, and ESPECIALLY when he's tired/not thinking straight) slips into this mindset of "excuse me, do you know who you are talking to??". no matter how alienated he feels from other chiss, he is one, and maybe those legends about chiss not reacting well to being betrayed are true after all.

since sky-walkers get their memory purged to avoid any unnecessary feelings/homesickness, Dawn does not remember his childhood or family. It also means he has no idea of his original family name. He has a twin sister but will very likely never learn that or meet her. After his service as a sky-walker, he got adopted into the Irizi family, hence his name.

Dawn has very strong feelings about being compared to Thrawn, mostly about the fact that he's a Mitth and how dare people compare him to a Mitth??

the thing I struggled with the most when creating him and playing him in early sessions was his moral alignment. He was pretty much a blank slate, due to the memory purging and being used as a military child weapon most of his life... so this didn't make it any easier. By now, I have his alignment and loyals figured out though! It's more complex than I first expected, and the fun bit is that he is now very torn between wanting to do what's best for the crew and the connection he's feeling towards the guy speaking to him through the sith holocron, mostly because he is grysk (and therefore, from the same region as Dawn AND his mortal enemy but you know what, we can excuse that as long as we get homoeroticism and narrative foils)

dawnkallig. my beloved. i should write another essay on my pnp side blog

ANYWAY this got long. Tell me if I should talk more about the DNDawn version (who shows up in my bg3 fanfics)...... or if you have any more random questions about my boy!

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

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

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[dykedvonte]

I like to think in the P.E au that Anya and Curly specifically get haunted hard by Jimmy's weird reality crossing guilt manifested.

It's targeting them because Jimmy's guilt grows more around them. The idea of him acting and playing nice despite what he did. It's like a buffet that allows it to pick from their plates.

Anya sees this stagnant version of her, blood from her mouth, clutching her stomach with a bottle of pills in her other hand. She's talking about not being heard, a pixel, relief from a burden. She tries to ask a question and it's never the right one. She's not understanding but in a way, she's getting that this version of her is in pain. She tries to help, extends a hand and asks how she can help, stop it. She stares and there's utter despair and disappointment in her eyes.

What did you do?

Curly sees this burnt mangled thing. But he can't call it that. Even with no skin and chipping teeth, covered in sullied bandages and smelling of death overdue, he can see his face. He can recognized that eye, he stares at it a lot in the mirror, usually a second one is attached but he digresses. They are just watching, staring and unmoving. He asks himself what happened, how can he help and his own retched mangled voice comes out from a empty maw.

I told you.

They have no idea what it really means. They don't know who to tell. Flashes of a life they don't know or maybe a future they haven't lived yet. Perhaps they treat it as their own minds trying to tell them something. They bare that burden themselves and that alone makes it heavier. Plumper. More appetizing to the guilt causing it.

Tragically that guilt is not their own.

[br1ghtestlight]

the ii neg tumblr blog is like my actual personal #1 enemy i cant BELIEVE they followed me over a joke ask i responded to over a year ago (i blocked them and have blocked every account they've remade lmao) just such hateful bullshit looking for ANY excuse to attack this random youtube webseries and the ppl who work on it including MANY STATEMENTS that are just straight up not true. someone could send them an ask like "hey justin is actually homophobic and called me slurs irl i hope they all die in a car crash <3" and they will post it without any questions. no further research cuz it isnt about what's true or actually offering constructive criticism on the writing of the show it's about being hateful and cruel and spreading lies & death threats. some actual famous people dont have accounts as dedicated to attacking them and every aspect of their identity and career as these random ass guys who make a YOUTUBE WEBSERIES do like why are you actively wishing death upon them?? are you insane?

IF YOU DONT LIKE THE SHOW THEN STOP WATCHING IT. DONT ENGAGE? like do you seriously have fucking nothing better to do than spread lies online about literal nobodies with the smallest amount of online influence. for reasons i cannot even fathom. be so fucking serious

[aemiron-main]

Currently going insane over the fact that a.) Victor is labelled as “Corporal” in the ST playbook, despite introducing himself to Mr. Newby as “Sergeant”-

-and b.) the fact that Adams and Hicks from the Eldridge crew were both listed as “corporal” by the actors despite Adams’ actor previously having listed him as “sargent”:

Which is especially interesting considering this bit from the ST4 Papa script re: “Sergeant Hicks”:

(and of course, Sgt. Hicks is involved in raiding the NINA bunker, hellooo TFS NINA weirdness!!!! also staring at this vs TFS Brenner Jr yelling at Henry about “any hick with a buck knife,” plus “Hickman Hill,” in the Elvis Cloned by Aliens Weekly Watcher article, PLUS the article from the end of ST1 talking about State Attorney Thomas E. Hickman (hello “E” as in (Edward”…) )

And I’m also staring at all of that/all of the weird Hicks vs Hickman vs Hickman Hill and the Hickman Hill alien ship stuff vs a.) the way that both Victor and Hicks get their officer title changed vs how Victor’s uses alien movie-esque language in the foyer (talking about how “they’re here,” and he’s NOT referring to Henry and Patty, instead, the identity of the “they” that Victor is referring to is unclear, and gets wrapped into his WW2 flashbacks/he then talks about being able to smell the smoke from “their” bodies, so weirdly enough, the victims of Victor’s WW2 bombing misfire are getting paralleled to aliens)

(especially with the fact that in-show Victor’s casting auditions were done by having the actors read from the script for the movie “Signs,” which is an alien movie)

b.) the way that Brenner Jr talks about making a connecting/making the connection & how that also has very similar alien movie-esque vibes re: “making contact”/“making a connection” with aliens

And c.) the Eldridge being a ship vs the spaceship supposedly seen above Hickman Hill vs Hicks being a sailor on the Eldridge.

But anyway, what the hell is going on with the weird mismatched WW2 officer titles??? Especially considering what I talked about wayyyy back re: Victor in Normandy on D-Day versus D-Day’s huge communication & chain of command problems & how that resulted in soldiers doing the duties of ranks they werent supposed to be doing/basically accidentally rising in the ranks… Versus TFS Victor introducing himself as being a rank above his “actual” (according to the play book, at least) rank, as Sergeants are ranked above Corporals.

And all of this gets extra interesting with the fact that there’s a direct reference to Welcome to Marwen (the movie from the ST4 board where a guy pretends to be a WW2 captain to cope with trauma & creates a whole fake little town as part of it hellloo hawkins esp with ‘welcome to marwen’ vs ‘welcome to hawkins’) during the scene where Mr. Newby and Victor meet for the first time… hahaha what the hell is going on???

Especially re: the parallel between Victor’s “corporal vs sergeant” stuff vs the Eldridge crew’s “corporal vs sergeant” stuff versus the Eldridge crew & Captain Brenner also having references to Welcome to Marwen…

[cutter-kirby]

i'm surprised i haven't seen anyone point this out yet, but.... belos isn't dead. like. sure he got stomped on. but also a few months earlier he crashed into a wall with more than enough force to crack it, shattering his entire physical form, and came back from a few drops that hit hunter's shoulder. he possessed the titan with the smallest sliver of slime that escaped raine's magic. that fucker's not dead. and before you say he got melted... the rain stopped. king said some was on his claw. we've seen belos regenerate from less. he's not dead. and i don't think he'll be dying anytime soon. not if he has anything to say about it. just a thought.

[tetzoro]

˖˙ ꔫ — TETHERED TOGETHER ˚

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : finally having a moment alone, the surgeon of death shows you how much you bring him back to life.

꒰ contents ꒱ : MDNI. trafalgar law x reader ; lots of praise, law talks you through it, brief mutual masturbation, unprotected sex, slight overstimulation, creampie. not beta’d sorry. — WC : 2.1k

behind closed doors, the captain of the heart pirates bares all to you. in the room he feels safest in, he all but takes the beating muscle out of his chest and delivers it to the palm of your hands. never in his life had he trusted someone so much, so thoroughly. loving you was the thing he treasured most in the world, but worshiping you was a close second.

how could he not when you’re his biggest supporter, the one that gives him motivation to keep going. he has his hopes and dreams, yes, but they would all be worthless if you weren’t by his side to celebrate the wins together.

alone time is always rare for you guys, especially with law constantly tending to the crew and mapping out plans for future endeavors. but when he finally gets you all to himself, he absolutely fucking savors it.

one inked hand loosely wraps around your neck, just enough to pull you in closer as his mouth smothers yours. pouring all of his emotion into the kiss, law leaves you breathless and starry eyed.

teasingly, his fingers run along the cloth of your bra, moving up to the straps but making no move to remove it. slightly annoyed, you pull back, chest heaving from the passionate kiss.

“take it off.” you mewl, squirming to try and get him to hurry up. his fingers ghost along the bands of your bra, gently snapping it back against your skin before retreating.

“take it off yourself.” his steely eyes light up in amusement as he watches you writhe beneath him. without hesitation, you reach behind you and unsnap the pesky undergarment, haphazardly tossing it to the side where it hits the ground with a soft thud. “there you are.”

slowly, his hands cup your breasts, thumb brushing along your pert bud. law leans in, taking one in his mouth, nearly suckling as his tongue caresses the sensitive flesh. twisting, pinching at your poor nipples in a way that’s almost tormenting — for him. the inexplicable ache to be with you shoots down his spine, filling him with a sense of longing that won’t be satiated until he’s inside of you.

ignoring your pleas for more, he kisses down along your stomach, eager fingers moving to the hem of your lacy underwear — the kind that always caused his brain to fly into a frenzy. running his knuckle along your covered entrance, he can feel your damp desire before he hooks his fingers in the fabric and drags it off, tossing it somewhere near the rest of your shared clothes.

sitting back on his haunches, law’s hands pry your legs open, tattooed fingers digging into the plush of your thigh. the intensity of his gaze only makes you shrink deeper into the mattress. 

“touch yourself.” his voice was stern but soft, a command birthed from pure curiosity. he’s seen you do it before, has made you fuck yourself on your fingers for him more times than you can count — but only when the two of you had time to take it slow. and it had been awhile.

so you listen, your finger teases your glistening slit, feeling the essence pool around it before slipping the digit into the silken walls of your cunt. a small whine escapes you as you keep pushing as far as you can go.

“that’s it.” his hand goes around the base of his cock, giving it a squeeze before his closed palm travels up his length, thumb smoothing over its head and spreading the pretty pearl of precum along his tip. “keep going, doing so well for me already.”

a small whine curdles in your throat, the praise only electrifying the pleasure. but it wasn’t enough, your fingers couldn’t compare anymore ever since they had a taste of his. the soft spot inside of you was just out of touch and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t reach it.

law ceases his own ministrations and creeps closer, hovering over you to get a better look at the frustrated tears welling in your doe eyes. how could someone just look so cute?

“i want you.” you pitifully confess, slipping your drenched fingers out of your cunt, reaching out for his hip. “need you.”

“you’ve got me.” law’s voice was low, gravely, as he rolled his hips into your core. his everhardening desire evident as it presses down against your warmth. “you’ve got all of me.”

“law, come on —“ you can hardly move from where he has you pinned, no longer able to seek out friction until he deems you ready to find it.

“you going to take it all?” his tip catches against your entrance, your body desperately trying to suck him in, prove that you can handle it. “take every little thing i give you?”

there was nothing little about him, but you bite the comment back as the tip barely pushes into you before retracting. the subtle tease leaves your body yearning for more, a blazing heat licking at your abdomen as you clench around nothing.

“yes, please.” the last half of your plea was nothing but a breath of air as his cock finally started to sink into you, the sizable girth stretching you out inch by inch.

“that’s it, baby.” law coos, eyes trained on your face as he slides into you. “just like that.”

everything law ever does is precise, calculating. that’s no different now as he starts to rock into you, watching you struggle to take his length. after a few measured strokes, he bottoms out, the two of you gasping out for each other.

“s’full.” your words slur together as your brain is too busy processing the intense, burning pressure between your legs. the kind that you’ve been wanting for days, only getting a taste of it here and there when the timing was right. but it had been so long since you guys could melt into each other and take your time.

law was almost tempted not to move at all, the sensation of your warm walls enveloping him, fluttering around his thick cock felt too hard to pull out of — even for a moment. 

but the way you were looking at him, eyes blown wide with lust, had him slowly rearing his hips back. his eyes flit down to where the two of you connected, your essence coating his cock in a light sheen of arousal.

“ready for me?” as soon as you give the nod, he’s plunging back into you, hands moving to grip your hips. the deep and steady pace he starts to set has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, back arching up into him. you hear him lightly tsk. “eyes on me.”

the command he issues out pulls on a thread, leaving you no choice but to follow it. getting lost in his irises, his unwavering devotion is so intense you can hardly look away from him now, transfixed on the ravenous hunger that swims in the obsidian depths. 

law lets out a soft coo at your obedience, rewarding you with the quickening of his pace. with each powerfully strong, tenderly harsh stroke, he’s diving deeper into you. hips snapping against your skin as he carves his length into you, molding it to fit him and him alone.

“wrap your leg around me, fuck, there we go.” you didn’t have to do anything, law’s inked hand slides from your hip to the side of your thigh, hoisting your leg around him until your ankles are digging into the slender curve of his lower back. the new angle shifts and you swear you can feel him everywhere, rewiring the synapses of your brain to only communicate his name. “god, you feel so fucking good, squeezin’ me so tight.” 

“touch me —” you manage to choke out, the air from your lungs being punched out with the force of his thrusts. like a good boy, he does as he’s told. his fingers dance along your clit, thumbing it in tune to the steady pace he set.

the reaction was instantaneous, your body molding towards his, hips practically raised up from the mattress as you preen with pleasure. the melody of whines and moans that flow past your lips play over and over again in his mind.

“keep making those sounds for me.” his voice was dangerously low, words blending together and forming a growl. “love it when you sing for me, pretty.”

the precipice of your release was on the horizon, barely out of reach but steadily hurtling towards the end. your thighs shake, trembling under him as he keeps you pinned down on the mattress, watching your body lose control as it becomes oversaturated with pleasure.

law lets it overcome you, weave into your nerves and set them alight, eyes trained on your face as it washes over you in pure bliss. your lips form into the shape of his name as it rolls off your sweet tongue, a cry wringing out from deep within.

and he’s never been so entranced.

“now, that’s a pretty sight.” he murmurs, hips stuttering for a moment as he loses his rhythm, adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to contain himself. “do it again for me, yeah?”

law kisses you once more as he fucks into you, but it’s different than before. the emotion he ever so carefully poured into you morphs into a carnal hunger to devour you, chasing his release. your nails dig crescent moons into his shoulders and he lets out a guttural groan in your eagerly awaiting, hot mouth. 

but then you try to pull away, hands quickly sliding down his body, pushing against his abdomen and whining the words, “s’much, too much”. 

“nuh uh, don’t go running off. you said you’d take it for me. don’t tell me you were lying?” his hand grabs a hold of your wrists, pinning them over your head.

“‘m not! i wasn’t.” you gasp, ceasing your movements and letting him have his way with you. he’d always take care of you, never truly pushing you past your limits. law knew you could take it so you will. “i-i can take it.”

the last of his restraint snaps. the once cool and calculating man turns into a mindless mush, his brain growing hazier as he descends into the madness of his purest desires. 

dropping your wrists and sliding your legs over his shoulders, he enters a state of delirium. all he can feel is the way you greedily suck him in, whines and whimpers filling his ears as he repeatedly pounds into you.

“can’t!” you cry out, head tossed back into the cloudlike pillows. 

“yes, you can.” law rasps out, barely having enough strength to speak. but he knows just what to give you to drive you over that edge again. “come on, let’s do it together.”

his fingers grip your thighs, fully fusing your body with his. changing the angle so one hand can slide between your legs, thumbing at your overstimulated clit. innate arousal pools in his abdomen, his balls screaming for relief as you let out the final sign of your impending climax — a single tear flowing down your cheek.

“i’m—!” the rest of your sentence gives out as your body thrums with a fervent euphoria, your skin buzzing as your climax washes over you and turning your vision white.

with one last, sharp buck of his hips, law buries himself to the hilt, lightly kissing your cervix as the winded coil deep in his gut explodes. his body shakes as he spills his seed, filling you up with everything he has to give you. momentarily lost in a haze of ecstasy as he shallowly humps against you, groaning your name as you clench around him and squeeze him for all he’s worth. 

the world slowly comes back into focus and for a few seconds, no one moves; no one speaks. the sounds of law broken panting curls around your ear, no doubt mixing with your own. his sticky chest presses against yours, two hearts tethered together by the act of unyielding love, beating in a perfect harmony.

“you’re incredible.” the words softly flow out in a single breath as he presses his lips against the side of your head. law carefully shifts his jittery body to the side so it’s not weighing on you fully, but just enough to still feel connected — comfortable. “absolutely made for me.”

the moans and groans of the polar tangs infrastructure melt into the background as you focus on his breathing. the steady rise and fall of his chest soothes you like no other, your finger lazily tracing over the ink covered skin, idly mapping it out for the thousandth time. 

no words needed to be said, at least for now as the look he gives you says it all. 

i love you.

thank you for reading ! reblogs + comments are much appreciated ෆ

[mykaelaaa]

quit it

✰se-mi x fem!reader / ~3k

✰deciding to pair up with se-mi unaware what you're getting into

✰warnings: blood, suggestive, +18

"do you trust that guy?"

leaning on the comically big bunk bed far enough from the loud crowd, you stared at the plastic pig hanging in the air. filled with money, presumably real money.

maybe if you get everybody to climb on each other and take that thing down you could get out of this shithole you regret agreeing to.

some guy went on rambling about how he's been here before and you're too caught up in your thoughts to hear what he has to say.

what's his number? 456?

maybe you should spare him a chance. judging by the way he helped out. but maybe he's also full of shit, just like the rest of people here. you saw the field full of bodies and blood. if anything, he's a good entertainer judging by the green and greedy crowd he gathered around for the second time.

too lost to hear, but not to feel someone giving you a punch in the shoulder. quite a strong one. here we go, you thought. bribes, violence, torment, bed and food exchange just like in those world ending movies. 

not having any partners in crime or knowing what any of these people are like you have to be wary. it's all about the money as the end goal for over 300 people here, which is a scary thought. 

with annoyance and half-baked comeback, you turned your attention to whatever smartass that spawned next to you.

let's just say they sure did not disappoint. looks wise, of course.

but it's not time or place for that right now. right? besides, you saw a couple of sparks early on between players but surely surfaced level ones. the type formed in the span of one day of being here is not that romantic. more like a good distraction. but you can't blame them, maybe the next game is their last one so why not go out with a good makeout or something?

"what?"

"i asked you something." the girl spoke confidently, holding a strong gaze over you for some reason. she had her arms crossed, mimicking your pose on the opposite frame while you were gripped by uncertainty, she seemed more carefree and unbothered. it was almost reassuring, somehow. 

you felt exposed and this time not by the debts unpaid and calls from the bank but whoever was in front of you.

with hard to miss piercings, silver rings that slipped passed the guards somehow and a discreet grin escaping her collected persona left the reply hanging in the air and led you to stare for longer than you should have.

you don't even know her but a recent memory surfaced. that thanos guy being rejected by her and making a fuss about it in front of everybody. you never even heard of him before. one hit wonder probably.

"oh, yeah. sorry, i was just thinking i guess," you muttered, rubbing your temple with a sigh.

"about?"

"nothing important," you replied flatly, regretting how it came off as.

"right, right. no biggie, thinking about if you'll be alive in the next 2 hours. a daily routine," she said in a sarcastic tone, causing you to roll your eyes. 

the presence next to you made you somehow feel smaller than the weight of bunk beds and entire room already did.

"do you need something?" you dragged the question out, looking down at the wrinkled fabric of the number trapped between her folded arms, "380?"

"se-mi," she tucked her head to the side and half smiled, still done in nonchalant manner. "and yeah, actually. wanna pair up?" 

you stared at her. if whatever this is goes right, and you're not being manipulated by a pretty figure facing you, although you don't mind at all, you must track down where this cocky confidence comes from. if it's normal and "i used to be in the army" story and not "i was a hitman" you will keep her close.

"aren't you with those guys?" you nodded your head towards the obvious purple hair guy and his crew amongst the mass. 

"that self proclaimed rapper? nah, i don't really swing that way," she played with her lip piercing before shifting her attention towards you once again.

"oh, you don't really swing that way? or did i get that wrong?"    she chuckled at your teasing tone and raised brows, "well, what can i say. it's kinda obvious. at least i hope so."

you squinted, amused and engaged. everything about her look screams the already mentioned but why not toy around more when there's nothing to lose. "obvious, huh? sure, whatever helps you sleep at night se-mi."

se-mi shrugged, took a quick glance as if someone's around. "i think i'm pretty clear about it. but since you're not convinced…" she leaned in slightly, dropping her voice just enough for only you to hear. 

"stick around and i'll prove it."

your stomach did the weird thing, the one you wouldn't let her—or anyone know about.

fixing your weight against the metal bed frame, you scoffed. "right. because this place is swarming with opportunities to show off."

grinning, she pushed off the frame and cut the distance between you to down to a cruel and agonizing one. strands of her hair naturally fell over her eyes but it did not do a good a job hiding the intimidating gaze. crowd blended into silence and you could not pick whether to blame yourself for being so weak in the matter of seconds or her for playing dumb games.

you're were not that easy to impress just a week ago.

so she spoke, lip ring somehow reflecting off the dim lighting this chamber has.

"i'm pretty good at getting what i want."

you bit back a nervous laugh, trying not to let her and this proximity overcome you. "and what is it that you want?"

your desperate attempt to sound civilized and composed was shitty, and se-mi read easily through it.

"say yes and you'll see."

her eyes flicked to yours, lingering just long enough to make you feel like you lost the high ground. then swiftly she stepped back, taking all the tension with her. finally you could let out a breath you held unaware.

but before you could respond, a voice tear through the room.

"players, prepare for the next game. you have 30 minutes."

the announcement sent a wave through the busy crowd. voices hushed, movements quickened and panic was apparent. your chest tightened, probably the worst thing about this is not knowing what's next. if you ever get out, announcement lady is on the top of the list.

se-mi looked at the speaker in the corner. you wanted to ask her what's on her mind but devil works faster.

"time's running out, sweetheart. hope you're skilled with decision making."

"and if i say no?" you knew damn well that's not an option.

se-mi slipped her hands into her pockets, cocked her head to the side with that damn grin. slow on her feet she walked backwards, leaving you more and more with each step and it stinged.

"loss for both of us. and my bed is that way, by the way."

you watched her disappear in the crowd that rushed on the steps and just as quickly you were surrounded too. maybe, just maybe this is more challenging than the money winning itself.

✰

the game already morphed into a hazy fever dream of adrenaline and blood. it was oddly silent, compared to just a few hours ago when the main floor was brimming with "life". or better, those alive. now everyone that came back scattered around the room.

you weren't sure who's blood was blending with your shoes or who's splatter stained your jacket.

and neither was se-mi. however, she didn't seem shaken up, as per usual.

she followed you close behind, making a beeline towards the bathroom. the air inside felt much colder than the outside and the contact with the freezing sink proved it. in the mirror you caught a sight of se-mi leaning against the tiles, bloodied but stoic.

top to bottom, covered in blood with a cut on her face that she smudged further. she ran her hand through the hair in attempt to fix it, stretching her neck in the process.

quiet whimpers escaped past her lips. she unzipped her jacket, looked at the mess made. floor. room. and back at you again. 

you admit you did look at her like a man starved. just blame it on the adrenaline. it's easier that way.

she clicked her tongue in fake disapproval, "no manners."

what a jerk.

"you're all bloody." you stated, hands working faster than your mind, already reaching for the paper.

"really?" she pretended to be puzzled. it made you sigh. "let's go in the stall."

"you don't—i can do it too, you know," now she felt slightly bad for making you more worried than you already are.  

she sat down on the toilet with a loud thump, no protests or fight. her muscles aching but you were no better. you closed the door behind you, this place making you more paranoid than ever. borrowing a second of your shared free time to look at the piece of work across you.

with each second passing you realized this silence, comfort and unspoken longing became a luxury here. se-mi took a note of it too.

deep inside she blames the gods for meeting a pretty girl in a state like this, desperate for money, careless about debts, bloody and tired in this awful bathroom. you're no better though. and it made her feel a bit better.    "what? do i look that bad?"

you snorted, shook your head no. slightly kneeled, you took the wet paper you gathered in one hand while holding the back of hear head with another. leaning in, you observed the cut on her face. a knife? no, unless someone smuggled it. you didn't see her in fight either.

a lack of self control let loose and your finger delicately ran across her cheek. blame it on just wanting to see how bad it hurts but she was no fool.

entire time she maintained eye contact. this is the closest she ever was. it's a funny thing to notice, she's not that hopeless. not in a outside world. actually, she doesn't wanna remember. 

your hand was cold but it felt right. the stall seemed to shrink with you in front of her. 

se-mi swore she could smell your perfume that still withstand these conditions. must be an expensive one. that's fine, 45.6 billion will cover it.

"you're shaking," her voice dropped and she teased. turning her head to the side, bemused.

"oh," you backed away lightly. "apologies. wasn't aware you graduated in body language." se-mi enjoyed this too much.

you took a deep breath and continued clearing her face. terrible at avoiding her gaze. "are you a hitman or something?" you started, truly curious.

"guessed it on the first try."    "sooo you're not? good."

"i'd definitely make everybody pay me big if i was and wouldn't end up here. why?" 

of course the smartass answer. 

"just wondering how the hell nothing about this seems to bother you. people dying, not knowing who's next, guards just headshoting everybody…" you carefully moved her face to the side, causing her to shudder shyly. 

"it was at first but there's a prize at the end. i think it's worth it. at least to get to the half of it. that was before i—whatever."

"yeah?" she watched you change positions and kneel down, all done with an innocent look boring through her. she doesn't know if it's on purpose or you're tired.

someone entered the bathroom and se-mi cursed them internally for distracting you but it also gave her spare time to stare. 

swallowing harshly, se-mi did not let her mind flatter now.

doors closed. losing the advantage she convinced herself she has, with a heavy sigh and a fuck it, she looked away and closed her eyes. "we're paired up now. so…yeah. i guess i kinda have things to lose."

feeling your movements halt, se-mi opened her eyes. maybe that was too far. 

"yeah, i-uh. same here." 

you felt her eyes boring holes as you sloppily cleaned up the papers and threw them away, feeling your body burning. 

everything about this was shitty. games, people, loneliness, food, voting. everything except this. yeah, she might look a little beat up with tired bags under her eyes but it was hopeful.

your shadow fell over her. the height difference meant nothing right now. neither of you moved. things unspoken seemed so, so obvious to both of you it was suffocating. she just hopes you don't treat this as a distraction.

"i—" se-mi did not let you finish. instead she got up with a newfound boldness, licked her lips and pondered. making you wonder what else is playing in her mind.

"thank you." it was sincere, raw. she took barely half a step closer in this cramped stall with dozen of obstacles around. you could feel the heat rising and hell if you weren't red yourself. 

"you know, you also got blood on your face." 

"do i?" not really, you checked yourself in the mirror. no?

"mhm," she confirmed and you almost missed it. again, se-mi closed the distance further. raised her hand to wipe the "blood" suspiciously close to your lips.

no, you definitely didn't have it.

"there." she barely smiled and your breath hitched. she picked up on it.

you felt drunk looking down at her lips. and you know what? you might die tomorrow for all you know.

"oh fuck you." 

it sounded and felt desperate, muffled by the four walls; the way you pulled her by the jacket and kissed her. metallic taste absorbing you whole and the chapped lips mixed with her metallic piercing. you're done for. 

se-mi smirked proudly against your lips, like her plan finally worked. too busy for good to answer her antics but enough to crush one of her plans which was her hungry grip around your waist. so she caged you with her arms around between the door and her body as you kept pulling her back in. no need because she already made up her mind she's not leaving anytime soon.

you traced your hands under her unzipped jacket that made her gasp. still feeling like she keeps her cool persona intact even now.

you took it as a chance to put your tongue to use. you weren't so experienced per se but it's natural talent. her on the other hand…

both of breaths blended into one and it felt hot, almost wrong. making you weak in your legs, forcing you to find a support behind her head. intertwining your fingers together, drawing her even further if possible clearly left no more gap present.

your bodies connected fully, se-mi was so lost yet too aware of everything you did. your touch was setting her on fire everywhere at once, teeth bumping in rush, small noises you made and she doesn't recall last time she took a full breath.

out of nowhere you felt a knee pressing between your legs, making you to throw your head back harshly and let out a moan that se-mi had to cut short. unfortunately.

there was too much going for the door to handle and keep it low-key.

"come here, you're too loud." se-mi whispered, catching up her breath as she sat back down again. 

"and that's my fault?" you regret saying that because you weren't sure if she even understood you.

gasping and impatient was the sight of se-mi, lazily sprawled and hair messy. a genuine thought of staying here until guards have to break down the doors sounded pleasing.

each leg on her side, her hands instantly wrapped around you and lips chased for more. she's just as hopeless as you in the end. your body flinched upon feeling her hands sneak under your shirt. making a tour, stopping at your waistband. it was attentive, studying your reactions carefully, less in rush now. she was in control.

se-mi left your lips for a while, kissing path down your jaw to focus on your neck. she's glad you can't read minds.

your hand found hers buried under your shirt, hinting at whatever she has in mind to make it true. "we might be in a bathroom stall but i'm still a gentleman." you felt her hot whisper hit your ear.

"w-what?"

"can i?" she looked at you with a darkened gaze, twisting a knot in your stomach. at this point you had no energy but to groan and nod yes, letting your head fall on her shoulder if it wasn't for her grabbing your jaw and making you lock eyes. 

what you said about her demeanor, you take it back.

"no, no. speak." briskly she nestled in the crook of your neck and licked a stripe there. 

"i…you're a tease." the answer was transparent.

chatter from the outside made you freeze vaguely, se-mi kept her pace on. "you gotta be quiet now."

her fingers slipped past the tight band, further and further. cold metal of her rings added to the feeling. you whined but se-mi shut you up with a kiss. she leaned her forehead against yours, a smug look on her face since she's leading the game.

her fingers made contact with your core, maybe if you just let out a scream right now you'd scare those women away.

"it's okay, you can do it." it did not help.

"please se-mi, i can't—" 

the second doors closed, she wasted no time slipping her fingers into you. you held onto her collar like a lifeline, head thrown back and air knocked out.

se-mi was mesmerized. wished it was a club rather than a place you have to get knocked out and drugged to be taken to. she will get you two outta here any means.

hitting all the right spots, distracting you with kisses and wandering hand you're about to collapse. "i'm-i'm close—"

"i know, i know," so she sped up, watching you fall apart, hitched breath in her ear so addicting, soft pleas she can't answer and oblige right now, hands gripping her hair. she'd take her time if she had one, hoping these cameras have decency so she can save you only for herself.

the least she can do in this short time is fix your shirt and jacket and pray you're coherent. "no worries, i don't leave a lady just like that but we gotta get out."

"hmm? sure, just give me a moment."

she chuckled, "not in that way. i'll tell you when we get back."

[justtormentcrewthings]

i am having a lot of "dawn and kallig are narrative foils" thoughts lately and because I always feel so awkward bringing it up with my actual pnp group, I will scream it into the void here

I think what fascinates me the most about those two is that they both deny themselves personhood but on opposite extremes.

Dawn tells people to use him, he refuses to be treated with the same standards, he would do anything to get his power back, not because he's power-hungry but because he wants to be useful again. He's nothing but a tool.

But sometimes... not often enough for anyone to notice, least of all Dawn himself, he's not. Sometimes he digs his claws into the holocron and hisses, mine. Sometimes, he looks at what others ask of him and asks, Why? Sometimes.

And 'sometimes' is enough for Kallig to notice.

Kallig acts like he's a god. He takes away people's memories of any moment that made him vulnerable, of the time he acted as a captain and not a formless sith. He wants people to bend to his will, not the way another person would ask a request of you but the way a god demands your obedience.

But sometimes... he's not. Because he's left traces of himself scattered across lesser space. He's left pieces of himself in the minds of those he worked with, and even though they're buried deep, they are floating to the surface now. It's a blurred image that doesn't quite make sense yet.

But Dawn has always been good at finding things.

[revoleotion]

I feel like there is this big difference in our pnp group regarding the implications of playing aliens/non-humans. I WANT there to be a difference. I want Chiss to be creepy and off-putting and feral at times. I want Dawn's eyes to glow and I need his teeth to be just a little bit too long. I need him to snarl and hiss because he isn't just a human but blue.

But the others are now making jokes about him being weird and a furry and I'm like?? First off, that's not a bad thing to be but also

Embrace the uncanny valley

Embrace playing something non-human

It's FUN

[innerfare]

Playing With Your Nipples - Part 2 

Summary: how they play with your nipples

Characters: Shanks, Beckman, Mihawk, Crocodile, Doflamingo, Corazon

Genre: pure smut

CW: NSFW // the obvious + toys (whips and clamps), Shanks is devious, Crocodile is mean with his hook

——— 

Shanks: 

Genuinely doesn’t understand why it’s not acceptable to play with your nipples through your shirt in public. Men grab their girl’s ass all the time in public. Sometimes, they’ll even spank them. And while you protest to him grabbing or swatting your ass in front of the crew, it’s always a halfhearted complaint. But when he starts squeezing your tits and feeling for your nipples… well, suddenly that’s a problem, one he thinks is asinine. If you don’t wear a bra around this man, he will be pinching your nipples, and if he does that, it’s only a matter of time before his mouth is on them, so you really ought to wear a bra. He’s definitely guilty of unclasping your bra in public (magician’s fingers). 

Beckman: 

He’s not sure what he likes more: you sitting in his lap and feeling him up, or you sitting in his lap and letting him feel you up. But he knows his favorite thing in the world is you sitting in his lap, usually at night or in the early hours of the morning when the rest of the crew is passed out, your shirt on the floor. If your back is pressed into his chest, it’ll be mere seconds before his hands are beneath your shirt and he’s tugging on your nipples, and it won’t be long after that that he’s laying you down on his desk to suck on them. Some of the most desperate moans you’ve pulled out of this man have been as you were grinding into his massive bulge while he sucked on your nipples.   

Mihawk: 

He enjoys using a whip on your ass every now and then, enjoys the way you squeal when it makes contact with your sensitive skin, and especially enjoys how much harder you seem to cum around his cock when he fucks you afterwards. But it wasn’t until you used it on his chest that it occurred to him to use it on yours, and now he can’t stop spanking your tits, leaning in to kiss your poor nipples between every two or three strikes. He’s merciless in his back and forth, tormenting you then comforting you, over and over again. 

Crocodile: 

Perhaps his favorite arrangement in the world is you naked and him fully clothed, not so much as a button undone on his shirt. He likes to bark orders at you, telling you which items of clothing to take off when, which now-naked body parts to caress and squeeze and pinch. Then he likes to drag his hook across your naked breasts, watching closely in hopes he can see your heart jump in your chest. And when he fucks you, without exception, his fingers are twisting one of your nipples, and if he can get his mouth around the other, he will, always biting down almost too hard when he cums.  

Doflamingo: 

He buys all sorts of pretty things to decorate your tits, a menagerie of expensive bras and pieces of body jewelry- silk, lace, velvet, pearls, and gold. He normally destroys these things, if not with his hands than with his mouth, often using shredded scraps of silk or broken strands of pearls as an excuse to punish you, even if he’s the one responsible. And punish you he does, at that point pulling out heavy clamps to torture you, some with little bells, others attached to collars. He also has a stack of close up photographs of your nipples stuck in these little traps, your skin littered with hickies. He's definitely a biter, not a sucker.

Corazon: 

So many sweet, gentle kisses it’s unreal. He’s so excited to kiss your lips, never mind your jaw and then the column of your neck. He normally starts out kissing your tits over your shirt because he just needs to get used to it, and then he’s pulling your shirt down and even tugging at your bra, gently kissing your tits and inching toward one of your nipples. His big, warm lips press into it, and you gasp, encouraging him to take it into his mouth. He’s much more of a sucker than a biter, though he might tug on them a bit with his teeth, if only because he’s over excited. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[pucksandpower]

Crazy Cravings

Max Verstappen x wife!Reader

Summary: pregnancy cravings can make you (and your husband) do crazy things … neither of you particularly minds

Warnings: 18+ content and pregnancy

You sit in the Red Bull Racing garage, feeling the warm Spanish sun on your face through the open door. The roar of engines and whirring of power tools surrounds you as the mechanics prepare for the race.

Your eyes are drawn to the iconic blue and silver cans scattered around the garage. Those tantalizing cans of Red Bull that everyone else seems to be drinking so casually.

Everyone except you and Max, that is.

You rub your rounded belly, feeling your precious cargo kick and squirm inside you. At six months pregnant, your cravings have been … intense, to say the least. But none more powerful than your longing for the crisp, fizzy taste of Red Bull.

The caffeine is off limits, of course. You would never dream of jeopardizing your baby’s health. But oh, how you crave that sweet, energizing flavor that used to be such a routine part of your life.

Max emerges from the back room, his bright grey eyes instantly finding you. He strides over, that effortless confidence and raw athleticism making your heart flutter, even after all these years. His gaze drifts to the Red Bull can in a mechanic’s hand and a grimace crosses his face.

“Liefje, are you alright?” He murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “I know how much those are torturing you lately.”

You force a smile, not wanting him to worry. “I’m fine, Maxie. Just … ignoring the siren call of carbonated temptation.”

His thumb strokes your cheek as he studies you, clearly not convinced. Max has been so incredibly supportive during this pregnancy, abstaining from Red Bull himself in solidarity. Cutting out his biggest vice, just so you don’t have to be tormented by the sight and scent of it everywhere.

“We should get you out of here,” he says, looping an arm around your waist to help leverage your bulk out of the chair. “The smells can’t be helping those crazy cravings.”

You open your mouth to protest, not wanting to pull him away from his work, but a fresh wave of dizzying desire hits you as a mechanic cracks open another can. The fizzing hiss and unmistakable scent make your mouth water uncontrollably.

“Max ...” you whisper, feeling your throat tighten with barely restrained craving and hormonal tears prickling your eyes.

He follows your yearning gaze to the Red Bull can and understanding dawns. “Oh, liefje ...” Scooping you into his arms, he strides from the garage, shooting an apologetic look at his crew.

Once outside in the fresh air, you bury your face against Max’s shoulder, inhaling his familiar, comforting cologne as he carries you to the motorhome. He eases you onto the couch, brushing kisses along your forehead and temple.

“I’m so sorry, schatje,” he murmurs, anguish lining his handsome features. “I hate seeing you suffer like this. If there was any way I could make the cravings stop ...”

You catch his hand, lacing your fingers through his calloused ones. “Max, you know I would never actually ask you to give up Red Bull, right?”

He shakes his head fiercely. “Not being able to have it for nine months is nothing compared to your sacrifice, carrying our baby. I don’t deserve you.”

Pulling him down beside you, you cup the chiseled line of his jaw, making him meet your gaze. “I happen to think you deserve the very best, Mr. Verstappen. And right now, the very best for both of us would be ...” Your voice cracks with fresh longing. “A damn Red Bull.”

Max’s eyes blaze with sudden determination, that iron willpower that has made him a champion coming to life. “Then that’s what I’ll get you. If those tossers at Red Bull Company won’t make a safe, caffeine-free version for pregnant women, I’ll personally make them regret it.”

You laugh shakily. “Max, you can’t just bully a corporation into creating a new product line for one person’s weird craving!”

“You’re not just one person,” he growls, tangling his fingers in your hair and bringing his forehead to rest against yours. “You’re my everything. And our baby deserves for its mother to be happy and have her cravings satisfied.”

Pressing a fierce kiss to your lips, he adds, “I’m calling them right now. And then straight to the CEO, if I have to. I’ll get you that Red Bull if it’s the last thing I do.”

True to his word, the indomitable Max Verstappen spends the next several days working every possible connection and calling in every favor. You catch bits of conversations, his clipped tones making it clear just how serious he is about this bizarre quest.

“No, I don’t care if it’s not ‘cost-effective’. This is for my very pregnant wife ...”

“She’s risking her health to grow an entire person! The least your company can do is make a freaking caffeine-free energy drink ...”

The crew quickly learns not to open any Red Bull around you, lest they face the wrath of an overprotective Max. Which is slightly embarrassing … but also incredibly sweet.

Your hormones most definitely approve.

Finally, there’s a break in the stalemate. Helmut Marko himself shows up at the motor home, those bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows furrowed.

“Max, this is ridiculous. They will not reconfigure an entire product line just because Y/N is having a little … craving.”

You brace yourself for the explosion, but Max just levels Helmut with that intense stare. “If you could experience these cravings yourself, you would be singing a different tune. Y/N is sacrificing everything to have our baby. The least Red Bull can do is give her a safe option to have the flavor she misses so much.”

Helmut’s expression softens slightly at the obvious devotion in Max’s voice. “You know that corporate will never go for it. Not for just one person ...”

“Then make it for all the other pregnant women dealing with the same issues,” Max returns, unruffled. “Or is a company that plasters ‘Gives You Wings’ on every can really too cowardly to follow through on empowering people?”

You suck in a shocked breath at his daring play. But the flicker of anger and resigned capitulation in Helmut’s eyes shows that it worked.

“Fine, you little shit,” the older man growls. “I’ll talk to product development. But I’m not making any promises!”

Except somehow … Max’s sheer bullheaded tenacity eventually batters through all the corporate resistance and red tape. Three weeks later, an unmistakable bright blue can appears on the counter, the iconic Red Bull logo stamped across it.

“What’s this?” You ask in confusion.

Max slides an arm around your waist, beaming proudly. “Open it and see.”

You crack the seal, sniffing cautiously … and almost melt at the nostalgic, beloved scent of Red Bull. But just as you start to panic about caffeine, you notice the slightly different flavor.

“Max, is this ...”

He nods, grinning. “Zero caffeine but all the taste you’ve been craving. No more tears over those damn energy drink cans, okay?”

Throwing your arms around him, you yank his head down to capture his mouth in a grateful kiss. “Have I mentioned lately how incredible you are?”

“Once or twice,” he jokes, then sobers, cupping your belly. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you and our baby happy.”

“You’re giving me everything I ever wanted and more.” You take a long pull of the perfectly flavored liquid, sighing in blissful satisfaction. “We hit the jackpot with you, Max Verstappen.”

He kisses you again, reveling in your obvious enjoyment. “The only jackpot I need is right here.”

***

Your baby bump has popped out to truly impressive proportions now at eight months along. What started as an innocent craving for Red Bull has escalated into an all-out physiological war.

Nothing seems to satisfy you for long — you’re a walking bundle of hormones and insatiable desires.

From the plush solitude of the Red Bull hospitality suite, you try not to gaze wistfully toward the Ferrari encampment. But you can’t resist fixating on the tantalizing cones of rich gelato constantly streaming from their hospitality tent.

Watching a couple of Ferrari mechanics stroll by, licking at scoops of pistachio and stracciatella, is enough to kickstart a powerful new yearning. Your mouth waters shamelessly as they pass, the creamy dessert leaving you weak in the knees. Before you can overthink it, you’re shuffling toward the entrance, one hand cradling your belly.

“Scusi,” you call out hesitantly as you peek inside. “Mi dispiace … is it possible to get some gelato?”

You half expect to be waved away — it’s well known that the Ferrari team is notoriously insular and protective of their spoils. But the cheerful greeting you receive is instantaneous and overwhelming.

“Madonna mia! Look at this beautiful piccina!”

Suddenly you’re engulfed by a whirlwind of chattering Italian voices, greeted by smiling faces from the team of elderly signoras who comprise the Ferrari hospitality staff. Weathered hands pat your belly and cheeks, clucking sympathetically at your swollen state.

“You poor bambina, absolutely enorme! Of course we’ll get you some gelato to refresh you. And biscotti too! You need to keep up your energy, si?”

You’re ushered toward a plush sofa, various grandmotherly types fussing over you like you’re the most delicate, precious thing. It’s … surprisingly wonderful. They clearly adore babies and pregnant women. You get the sense that indulging a mother-to-be is hardwired into their very beings.

A tray of gelato cups appears, the rainbow of flavors almost dazzling in their variety — chocolate, pistachio, prickly pear, lemon, stracciatella. Before you can reach for one, it’s plucked from your grasp.

“No no no! Leave it to Nonna Maria.” A stout signora with a green paisley dress and frosted silver curls shakes her head sternly. “I’ll start you with the lemon to whet your appetite. Then a nice creamy stracciatella as a proper treat for the bambino.”

The tangy flavor of the lemon gelato hits your craving exquisitely. As soon as you’ve polished off that cup, Nonna Maria presents another brimming with the creamy chocolate chip perfection of stracciatella. You moan in appreciation, unbothered by the chorus of approving noises from your doting new entourage.

Before you know it, you’ve been plied with cups of hazelnut, strawberry, and caramel flavors as well. These hospitable Italian ladies simply won’t be deterred from pampering a future mamma. As you scrape the last smears of gelato from a ramekin, a new grandmother settles on the sofa beside you.

“Now ... tell Nonna Gina what this little maschietto or bambina has been craving, eh?” She pats your belly affectionately. “We have chefs who can whip up anything your heart desires!”

Is it a pregnancy thing, this sudden wave of tears that blurs your vision? Or just being so insanely touched by the kindness and maternal care of these lovely strangers? You blink rapidly, swallowing hard.

“Honestly … gelato has been my biggest craving these past couple days. I don’t know if I can eat another bite.”

A chorus of disapproving gasps and tuts rises from the assembled grandmothers. “Bah! This pregnancy has ruined your appetite, piccina,” one crows, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ll soon get it back to rights, don’t you worry.”

For the next hour, you’re lavished with attention, fussed over and coddled like the most precious jewel. Cold drinks and chilled towels appear to keep you comfortable as the nonnas take turns sitting with you, petting your belly and swapping outrageous birth stories.

Their colorful Italian voices swell and ebb as they bicker over whose recipe for pasta al ragu is most authentic, who has the most grandchildren, and whose first-born grandson is most handsome.

It’s chaos and noise and overwhelming affection … and you’ve never felt so utterly content.

As the afternoon light slants golden through the awning, a familiar figure appears in the entrance, haloed by the fiery rays.

“Liefje? I’ve been looking everywhere ...” Max’s disbelieving gaze sweeps over the scene in front of him — you, surrounded by a veritable coven of grandmotherly Italians who seem entirely absorbed with you. “What in the world ...”

A chubby signora with a bright orange shawl wrapped around her ample form hops up, beaming widely. “Ahh! We have been absolutely spoiling your beautiful wife, of course. Did you know she had a craving for gelato? Well, no problem for us — we have taken her like one of our own bambinas!”

The others cluck and murmur in outraged agreement at his shocked expression.

“We absolutely will not let a piccina in such a state go hungry or uncomfortable! Now you sit down so we can get you a plate of some proper food too!”

Max gapes at you, utterly nonplussed as you grin back at him with unabashed glee, utterly stuffed with Italian desserts and reveling in the indulgent babying. You pat the space beside you invitingly.

“You’ve got to try Nonna Gina’s tiramisu, Maxie. It’ll knock your socks off.”

He settles beside you, slinging an arm around your shoulders and still looking rather dazed. But the instant the first warm smile and pat lands on his arm or knee, Max’s expression melts. This team of fussing Italian grandmothers has clearly adopted you both as their own.

Nonna Maria reappears, shoving a plate stacked with crispy arancini, indulgent risotto alla Milanese, and a creamy slice of tiramisu into your husband’s hands. “Eat up! You need to keep your strength up too, caring for this sweet cosa bella.” She plants bristly kisses on both your cheeks before scurrying off again.

Max watches her go, then turns to you with a bemused chuckle, squeezing you close. “Well, schatje. I have to hand it to you — at least your pregnancy cravings bring you to some … interesting places.”

You hum in agreement, perfectly content as you snuggle against his side. “Can you really think of a better place for me to nest?” You grin as another nonna appears to pat his cheek, welcoming him into the chaotic fold. “I think I may have just found my second family.”

He tilts your chin up, eyes sparkling with warmth. “Anything that makes you happy and keeps our baby healthy.”

As he kisses you tenderly, surrounded by clucking encouragement and rapturous croons of “bello, bellisimo” from your new Italian grandmothers, you know you’ve never felt so blissfully cherished.

You and Max make your way slowly back to the Red Bull motorhome, stuffed to the gills with gelato and trailed by a gaggle of besotted well-wishers calling out farewells and advice.

“I still can’t believe you managed to befriend the entirety of Ferrari hospitality,” Max laughs, helping ease you onto the couch in his driver’s room. He nudges your belly playfully. “This little one is shaping up to be quite the international charmer!”

“Says the man who single-handedly compelled Red Bull to create an entirely new product line,” you point out, patting your swollen middle contentedly. “I have a feeling this baby is going to be the most spoiled child on earth.”

Max settled beside you, gathering you close with a tender smile. “Can you blame all our people for wanting to give the world to you two?” His thumb traced your jawline reverently. “You’re carrying a little miracle, liefje.”

Your breath catches, as it so often did when he looks at you like that. Like you’re his entire universe. With so much pure adoration and love shining in those grey eyes.

“Our miracle,” you correct softly, cradling his calloused hand over your belly. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Not just supporting me … but giving me everything I could ever dream of.”

He opens his mouth like he wanted to protest, but you press on, needing him to understand how treasured he makes you feel.

“You don’t stop until I’m happy. Even when I get these raging, random cravings that probably seem crazy, you move heaven and earth to give me whatever I need. Most people would never ...”

“Neither of us is most people,” Max interrupts fiercely. He presses a searing kiss to your lips, then the swell of your abdomen. “You and our little one are my entire world. I’ll spend every day showing you how much I love you both, how grateful I am to have you in my life.”

Hormones raging, you pull his mouth back to yours, savoring the taste and feel of him surrounding you. When you finally part, you rest your forehead against his.

“In that case, you better rest up for tonight,” you tease. “I have a feeling that someone’s going to get a craving for sardines and waffles right around midnight.”

***

At nine months pregnant, you feel like a blissfully beached whale.

Your belly protrudes so massively that you can barely see your feet anymore. Simple tasks like tying your shoes or rolling over in bed have become awkward geometric obstacles. Max has to help you up from every chair or couch, his strong arms levering your frame into a vertical position.

Lingering in the paddock is no longer an option either. You’ve been gently but firmly ordered back home to Monaco to prepare for the baby’s arrival.

Thank goodness your nesting instincts are going full tilt — otherwise you might go stir crazy waiting for this little one to make their grand debut. You’ve rearranged and re-organized the nursery a dozen times, washed and rewashed all the tiny onesies and miniature accessories, and baked enough lactation cookies to feed an army of nursing mothers.

Really, there’s only one craving occupying your mind now …

The thump of shoes in the hall makes you look up eagerly. Max appears in the doorway of the sunlit nursery, loose waves of brown hair framing his face. The plain white tee stretches enticingly across his chest and shoulders, making your mouth water for an entirely different reason than food.

“Hey schatje,” he greets, eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes in your flushed cheeks. A knowing smirk tugs at one side of his mouth. “Were you just ... thinking about me?”

You shake your head adamantly, wincing as the motion makes your whole body ache in protest. “Maybe just a little. This particular craving is getting out of control.”

Crossing to you in two strides, Max cups your jaw and brings your lips crashing together in a searing kiss. His tongue sweeps demanding and possessive into your mouth, making you whimper faintly. That intoxicating masculine scent of fresh sweat, motor oil, and sandalwood surrounds you in an alluring cloud.

After all these years, just the taste and smell of your husband is enough to drench you in molten wanting. Baby or no baby, Max Verstappen is still the sexiest goddamn thing on two legs.

“Mmm, I know exactly what you need,” he rumbles against your neck, nipping a tingling path along your sensitive skin. “Luckily for you, I’ve got a free schedule all afternoon to help take care of this craving ...”

He scoops you into his arms effortlessly, cradling your heavy weight against his chest to carry you to the bedroom. You twine your arms shamelessly around his neck, luxuriating in the hard strength of his body against yours.

“Aren’t you worried about ... squashing the baby?”

“Not at all,” he deposits you carefully on the bed. Those bright grey eyes darken with blazing lust. “I’m going to take such good care of you and our little one.”

His hands and mouth seem to be everywhere at once — caressing, nibbling, and stroking every sensitive inch he can lavish adoring attention on. You keen softly when he dips his tongue into your navel, rubbing reverent circles over the tight swell of your belly.

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” Max murmurs, lips brushing the crease where your torso and bump meet. “So ripe and round and radiant with our child. My beautiful, strong girl ...”

All you can do is lie there gasping, overwhelmed in the best possible way. He strips you methodically, leaving a trail of scorching, openmouthed kisses over every newly exposed inch.

“My sexy little pregnant wife,” he husks, tongue dragging up the slick crease at the apex of your thighs. “Can’t resist this craving can you, liefje?”

His fingers plunge inside you, curling expertly as his mouth closes over your throbbing bud. You throw your head back shamelessly, mindless with pleasure as Max devours you.

So good, so unbearably good …

He ravishes you thoroughly, sending gushing waves of release crashing through your body over and over again until you’re gasping and quivering. Atoms of blissful satisfaction hum in your bloodstream as you float back into sweet oblivion.

An insistent nudge against your belly slowly rouses you. Max looms over you, hair deliciously rumpled and eyes glittering wickedly. “Did I satisfy that craving sufficiently? Or should I keep going?”

Your mouth curves in a greedy smile, hands gliding over his flexing shoulders and chest. “Again, please ...”

It had long since become a running gag around the paddock and team — before you were advised to stop flying. When you couldn’t be located, someone would joke that you must be off ravaging your utterly besotten husband yet again.

Max took the ribbing with surprising grace, grinning unrepentantly whenever his shirt collar revealed another blossom of lovebites discoloring the skin of his throat.

You really didn’t care about the teasing. You’re indulging an entirely healthy and normal craving — just a wife thoroughly appreciating her man.

“Can you believe people used to call this a punishment?” You giggle breathlessly one afternoon.

Max nips a stinging path along the soft skin of your inner thighs, tracing tantalizingly close to your heated center. He laves his tongue soothingly over the reddened marks, leering up at you from between your parted legs.

“Let them call it whatever they want. I’m just taking advantage of your hormones making you insatiable for me.”

“Mmm, well I can’t seem to resist your obscenely perfect body either,” you admit with a lazy stretch. “Maybe we really are being punished.”

One dark brow wings up eloquently as Max drags his eyes over you in a deliberately insolent perusal. Taking your leg in hand, he licks an achingly slow, filthy stripe up the crease where thigh meets hip.

You choke on a whimper, whole body jolting as he sucks a blossom of wet kisses into the satiny expanse of your inner thigh. Those bright grey eyes hold yours in wicked challenge as his clever tongue massages and swirls over your sensitized flesh.

“This certainly doesn’t seem like punishment to me,” he husks darkly. “Does it feel like punishment when I do this ...” His mouth moves higher. “Or this ...”

By the time he finishes torturing you into a quivering, needy wreck, you’re more than ready to beg.

“Please, Max!” You sob, bucking helplessly against the maddening sensations. “I need you, oh god I need you so bad ...”

He settles heavily over you, nuzzling your hair aside to trail searing kisses along your damp throat. “Then you shall have me. My needy wife can have whatever she craves ...”

It’s midway through one such shattering round of lovemaking that Max’s phone begins to ring shrilly. You try to disentangle, burning embarrassment tinting your cheeks, but he simply growls and clutches you tighter.

“Leave it!” He bites out, surging forward to recapture your mouth in a bruising clash of teeth and tongue between thrusts. “I’m busy ... satisfying … my wife ...”

After, as you lie tangled in a sweaty heap of satiation, you can’t resist asking with a wry smile, “Was that another craving I just demanded you satisfy?”

Max props himself up on one elbow, thumb stroking idly along your abdomen as his piercing gaze roams over your flushed, disheveled form.

“Whatever my wife needs,” he responds huskily. Those burning eyes promise infinite carnal delights to come as they caress your body. “I’ll always crave giving her everything she desires.”

He stretches beside you, a blissful smile curving his lips as you snuggle up against his side to exchange lazy kisses.

You’ve got a sneaking suspicion this is one craving that might outlast the pregnancy ...

[lucy-lockwood]

I wonder... If someone physically dies and then is resuscitated, do they leave a death glow?

Anyways one day Lucy is severely injured on a job and Lockwood sees the faint beginnings of a death glow start to form around her and even though she’s revived he can’t shake the image from his mind

[ashkabbom]

Storm - Mouthwashing

A/n: It's 1am, but nothing will stop me muahahahah! Give my writing a chance and correct me if anything, English is not my first language and I had a LOT of help from the translator 🫶🏽

Versión en español en Wattpad: Libro de One Shots - Mouthwashing (Cuenta: ashkabbom)

Versão em português no wattpad: Livro de One Shots - Mouthwashing (Conta: ashkabbom)

•Pre-Crash!Captain Curly x Reader

synopsis/summary: You and Captain Curly talk a little during the night

Notes: I didn't specify the gender and I didn't talk about the relationship, it's up to you to see how you interpret it.

Drops of rain hit your window hard, thunder and lightning tormented you and took away your peace.

It was night and you were in the ship's kitchen, you couldn't sleep for some reason, but the silence and the moonlight projected on the huge screen were comforting.

Thinking of anything to occupy your mind, from how long a squirrel lives to worries about your current job, although you tried to push some of those worries out of your mind.

Somehow you got a job, only you didn't expect it to be here and like this, but it's good that you don't do much, it's good that no one got hurt and you need to take care of.

Due to sheer pressure, you ended up entering some area of medicine, although it wasn't exactly what your parents wanted, it's still something, but you would be anywhere else if you could choose for yourself.

You didn't want your parents to look at you like you had failed and disappointed them, it was horrible to feel like you were a failure, something they weren't proud of.

Do you sometimes wonder if a hospital would even accept you, would you want that? Maybe you would even do well? It's not what you want but-

"Awake at this hour?" A voice echoes lightly and a tired-looking captain is leaning against the door. You didn't even hear the door slam, you were so immersed in thought.

Captain Curly was one of the most easygoing guys you'll ever meet working at the Pony Express, and that's not to be rude, but there are very few people at that company who are easygoing with other people.

"Night snack break." You say with a shy smile, not expecting anyone to be awake at this hour either. "But someone emptied all the coffee."

He chuckles lightly before sighing, "I can't imagine who would be responsible behind such a crime." Curly rolls his eyes with a smirk on his face, then looks at you. "But something tells me that late night snack isn't what got you so focused that you didn't hear the door."

"Hmmm a captain really knows his crew apparently" You laugh a little and nod. "I was just thinking a little bit about... Everything, you know? There's a few more months to go, I think about 7 months or something and it's just as weird as it was in the beginning"

Curly listened carefully to what you said, as a captain he understood exactly what you meant.

Being in the middle of space for so long, with a group of people you're not used to, is quite something, especially for someone unfamiliar with being so far away from where they used to be.

Even he wasn't sure if this was what he wanted for himself, if this was the pinnacle of his life or if he should try something more and go beyond his comfort zone.

"So you feel like the things around you are devouring you little by little, you sink so deep into it that it's hard for you to get out. It's not bad, but you feel like it's not good." He tries to complete what was on your mind.

"You gave yourself away that you are or have been in the same boat captain" You look at him with a cheeky smile and start walking towards the couch. "or on different boats, but with the same destination"

Curly follows you right behind and also sits on the couch. You both stay in silence for a while, just looking at the moon.

"It's not the same as looking at the sky at night, but it's better than nothing I guess." You say without thinking much. It would be a lie if you said you don't miss being on earth, in your home and in the comfort of your room in your house.

"I think this when I look at the stars, it's even different when I remember that I'm in space with them, being able to see several everywhere.. Without light pollution" He says and another silence falls.

It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, quite the opposite, it was the most peaceful silence you'd had in nights. Just you, the captain and the stars, enjoying the company that each one could offer.

You look at the captain, wondering if there was anything he regretted doing in his life that brought him here.

It was no surprise that he knew what was bothering you in your thoughts, after all he is a grown man with experience in life, everyone goes through this questioning one day.

Uncertainty is what moves us sometimes.

You wonder if Jimmy is like that too, if there is anything he would do differently to be somewhere else or if he wouldn't change anything even though he might regret something...

He didn't seem much for talking about that sort of thing. Jimmy was always a mystery in his mind.

Him and Swansea. You knew very little about the two of them, but it's not like you knew much about the others anyway.

You knew that Jimmy and the captain were friends so he must not be as bitter as he seems, after all he wouldn't be where he is if he wasn't someone he could trust.

"So this is what they mean by staring into your soul" He laughs as he says this and you come out of your trance. You hadn't noticed that you weren't just looking at him out of the corner of your eye, but that you had turned your face to look at him.

You laugh at his comment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude on the entrance to a man's soul." Sighing lightly you smile "Daisuke showed me a drawing of him yesterday, the boy is talented and expresses well how he sees places and people"

"Is that what you two were doing in the infirmary during lunch?" He asks curiously. "But I didn't realize you liked rock and metal, but the metalhead you drew looks nice."

"It's not a metalhead, it's Anya." You look at him like it's the most obvious thing and he's so dumb.

"Was that supposed to be Anya?!" Curly asked in disbelief.

You and he talked for a few more minutes, even though it was so late at night, maybe it would be morning in a few hours, but clearing your head at least a little was the best thing.

You yawned and realized that you were actually sleepy now. Curly yawns soon after and you both laugh lightly, agreeing that you would go to sleep now, wishing each other goodnight.

So the raindrops hit the window weaker, until they stopped completely, without thunder or lightning.

The next day you wake up dead tired, woken up by Daisuke questioning if you were still alive.

Soon you go to the kitchen together, talking a little about what you had dreamed about during the night. Anya was already there and so you and Daisuke join her, soon Jimmy and captain, arrives and-

"Whose metalhead drawing is this? It was lying on the floor" Swansea asks with the paper in his hand

"It's not a metalhead!" You hear Daisuke chuckle and you swear you heard a chuckle coming from Curly.

A/n: I had another creative peak this morning and here it is, straight from the oven. I wish I had written something with Curly before writing something with Daisuke.🫶🏽🎀

[mixterglacia]

As a massive I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream fan, the most recent episode of The Amazing Digital Circus NAILED the spirit of its inspiration.

Most people picked up on the "he's only safe as long as he likes us" bit. But another moment that I clocked was the time blindness. In IHNMAIMS, there's a strong implication that the only reason the humans know how long they've been there is AM reminding them constantly.

He could be lying. Both Caine and AM. The fear is what this omnipotent being is TRULY capable of. What happens when the AI himself breaks? How thin is the veil here?

What happens when Caine Abstracts.

That is the unspoken question I think the crew is trying to get us thinking about. If this is what happens when he's being 'good', what happens when he goes feral?

This episode is going to hit very different for those who've had to work retail, or any customer facing job before. I knew it was going to dig into my soul from the moment I saw how lovingly rendered the workspace was.

Taking a moment to visually wax poetic about something seen as so mundane. That was glorious. That was art. I already knew this show was special, but this episode highlighted that.

I understand that some wanted another high energy episode, but this just stuck a dagger between my ribs and twisted it periodically. EVERYONE is suffering in this place.

Ragatha. Pomni. Gangle. Zoobles. Kinger. Jax. Caine.

EVERYONE SUFFERS WITHIN THE MACHINE.

It doesn't matter if you're nice. It doesn't matter if you're mean.

It Doesn't Matter If You're Numb.

It's survival. It's stubbornness. It's the truest essence of humanity.

Hope.

Even when faced with the most unrelenting torment, they still display hope. While it looks very different for all of them, hope is a huge through line.

Abstraction happens when hope is lost.

This is such a phenomenal interpretation of the spirit of IHNMAIMS. Gods I love this show.

(Also, you're allowed to have differing opinions y'all. This is just how I view the show. You're allowed to not like it, you're allowed to think it means something else. This is just how I see things.)