#lemme know and ill consider it!

[popfizzles]

me lately

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

I wish there were more weird-ass Yuusonas out there. Like DnD-esque type ones

Like my Yuusona is 9 cats standing on top of each other in a very ridiculously sized, enchanted overcoat with many stupid hats they change out of all the time along with glasses and goes by the name Schrödinger. Each cat has their own style and stupid cat-pun themed name.

Everyone thinks that they are a normal human being that just speaks a foreign language (hence why they can't talk) because their magic coat disguises them and the only ones that know better are Malleus, Ortho, Lilia, and Floyd.

The later three don't tell their secret cause it's amusing and respect them. Floyd only knew their secret cause of his unique magic and blurted it out just for people to call him crazy and now he's always trying to find ways to expose Schrödinger to prove he's not insane.

Where's my representation??

[bugdogg]

Max, do you have a ko fi or take nsfw matsu commissions? Obviously like s/i or oc inserts to speak.

i only use cash app cause anything w/ paypal i tend to avoid.

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[httpsserene]

𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 “𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤”𝐞𝐝 - 𝐨𝐩. 𝟖𝟏

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: oscar’s girlfriend is feral on main. 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: crack. this is a shitpost, you have been warned. uh this is completely unrealistic, it’s pure vibes okay. this is not an accurate representation of those mentioned. 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!black!reader 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: smau.

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: i wouldn’t consider myself an oscar girlie but then,,, i opened tumblr and saw the photos of oscar from when he went karting and um…now have another op 81 mess of a smau! this is completely unserious and it’s inspired by the nefarious actions i would do to oscar’s biceps. inspired by @dwarvenchords and @hookhausenschips ‘s reblog lol. it’s short but, enjoy, loves xxx.

insp. 1 | insp. 2 | taglist | feedback & requests | table of contents ↻

instagram

yninstagram • february 28th

view replies

oscarpiastri: love…you couldn’t even save this for the close friends stories? you had to post it on main yninstagram: did you like my joke? oscar “jack”ed piastri LOL im so clever oscarpiastri: ijbol 😐 yninstagram: i’d be pressed but ur muscles are distracting me oscarpiastri: u should cmere and give them a kiss :)

lilymhe: he let u tie a bow around his bicep?!!! omfg i have to do this with alex yninstagram: i don’t think alex has enough muscles to meet the requirement for the bow :/

landonorris: he’s such a simp landonorris: i would never let my girlfriend tie a bow on me 🥱 yninstagram: step 1: have a girlfriend

logansargeant: your freak out on twitter had a slight mentally-ill aura yninstagram: shut the fuck up and get on a podium before you talk to me yninstagram: gangly bitch + not funny didn’t laugh + L

instagram

yninstagram • february 28th • in between my boyfriends tiddies ⚑

liked by, oscarpiastri, mclaren, logansargeant, markwebber, and 1,223,458 others

yninstagram: things to do with your boyfriends muscles; listed in the comments below (a huge thanks to the toto user on twt for FINALLY sending me the photo)

tagged oscarpiastri

view comments

yninstagram 1. tie a bow around them (completed)

➥ user thx for sharing the photo

➥ user FUCK! I CAN’T FIND A PIECE OF PAPER TO WRITE THIS ON

yninstagram 2. kiss them (completed)

➥ user awh how cute! going to nap on the interstate rq

➥ user wait for me!

➥ user omg slumberpartyyyyy

yninstagram 3. touch them (completed)

➥ markwebber there’s a time i thought you were a normal girl

➥ yninstagram who told you to think that??

user i know those arms are rock solid 🥴🤤

user i’m the toto user on twitter !!! she did not kill me y’all !!!

➥ user u were flirting with death babes

➥ user i would not have admitted to this under her post

➥ user you should seek witness protection 🙏🏾

yninstagram 4. have him suffocate you with them (he said no)

➥ oscarpiastri WHY DID YOU INCLUDE THIS ONE

➥ logansargeant i think you’re proving the mentally-ill part y/n

➥ yninstagram u sound jealous logan

➥ user personally, i think if you didn’t want her to say that, you shouldn’t have muscles @/oscarpiastri

➥ oscarpiastri oh! yeah! why didn’t i think of that—lemme just take them off rq 😐 WTH

yninstagram 5. wall sex (?)

➥ oscarpiastri i specifically said not to say #4 and #5 in public

➥ user the question mark is SENDING MEEEEE

➥ yninstagram i mean, i can tell you that he didn’t say no to this one 😈 @/user

➥ landonorris i did not want to see this when i opened ig

➥ yninstagram do us all a favor then and delete ur account x

➥ oscarpiastri what she said^

➥ landonorris :o -> :(

yninstagram 6. draw on them (in progress)

➥ user wait this one is actually cute 🤭

➥ oscarpiastri watching the pure concentration on her face is adorable

➥ user omg she’s so 👉🏼👈🏼 coded

➥ oscarpiastri it tickles lol

➥ yninstagram ur moving around too much

➥ yninstagram might have to tie you to the headboard 😏

➥ user and she’s back on her bs

yninstagram 7. watch him flex for you (ongoing indefinitely)

➥ mclaren do we have your permission to post oscar thirst traps now?

➥ yninstagram i’m sure we could work out something mutually beneficial

oscarpiastri • february 28th • my girl’s basement ⚑

liked by yninstagram, danielricciardo, logansargeant, landonorris, and 1,478,539 others

oscarpiastri she knocked out on my chest halfway through drawing on me. didn’t know this was part of the boyfriend job description, felt like there was some false adverting. overall: 12/10 experience, will be doing this again.

view comments

danielricciardo didn’t know where this was going for a sec but fuck you guys are so cute ����

➥ oscarpiastri thank you? i guess

➥ user oh to have my relationship praised by danny ric

➥ user girl ur man responds to your texts two days late

➥ user DAMN u didn’t have to air out my business like thatttt

user WHAT DID SHE USE TO DRAW ON YOU OSCAR??? HELP A GIRL OUT

➥ oscarpiastri its liquid eyeliner 🫡

➥ oscarpiastri she used an eyeshadow palette when she wanted to add colors

➥ user why did i never think of that, she’s so smarttttt

user oscar piastri the MAN that u AREEEE

logansargeant so,,,,are we still getting dinner later orrrrr

➥ user LOL

➥ user omg y/n was right logan IS jealous

➥ logansargeant im not jealous !!!!

➥ user 💀

➥ user okayyyy….we believe you LMAOOOOO

➥ oscarpiastri ijbol 😂

➥ logansargeant stop using ijbol it’s not funny

➥ user this will be the only time that i say i agree with logan on something

➥ logansargeant ur literally a fan account FOR ME?? @/user

➥ user yeah man u didn’t have to bring that up 😒

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorarri @inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz @vetteltea @tallrock35 @iloveyou3000morgan @smartstupyd @spideybv28 @loomiscorpse @hiireadstuff

© httpsserene2023

[dilf-docs]

Strobbing Lights, Circled Calendars

harry castillo x younger fem!reader

summary: of course you're bound to see him here -- harry castillo, one of your dad's bestfriends and main sponsors of this gala. you'll need a mountain of champagne to make it through the night without losing your temper, but harry has never made it easy.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, (eventual) smut, foes to hoes, (one sided) enemies to lovers, angst, rich ppl (yes that's a warning), slowburn, reader may be a bit of a cunt (sorry if this x reader fic is mischaracterizing u), ft. dbf!harry (love this trope so much and had to squeeze it in, my bad)

word count: 3,898 words

side note: I KNOW the movie isn't out yet but the mental illness and hypefixiation combo is killing my ass lately. besides, i alr posted this in wattpad (oc version tho), and thought why shouldn't i post it here too; we all deserve rich sugar daddy gentleman pedro AMIRITE ++pls i wanna see ur comments and reblogs, lemme know what u think!!! :,) we're still far far away from that type of interaction wINk WoNK so for now, enjoy(??) their annoying banter and try to get my vision okBYE

part: prev | masterlist | next

Your parents divorced when you were a kid.

Your birthday had been a day before, the sun casting it's rays as your feet walked barefoot through the marble frigid floors; it could've been an omen about the cold to come. Around you, staff scrubbed floors with remanents of confetti. Some balloons were still standing in the garden. There was some leftover cake in the fridge.

"Y/n. You're awake"

Your father's gaze was one of pity. You were too young to understand that.

"Where's mommy?"

You hadn't even opened the mountain of presents awaiting in the living room and Sofía Reyes was gone.

She never came back.

Maybe that's why you hate your birthday. Maybe that's why you hate marriages. Love. It was a cruel lie sold to you and then taken away, to be locked behind a part of you that died the day you turned eight. You were forced to grow up, devoid of the loving touch of a mother who didn't hesitate to leave you behind like the discarded dolls you tore that day, futile attempts of replicating her touch with the maids, a sea of faces who failed to last long, characters broken by your desperate wails and short temper.

All you had was the rage of an unloved child. Hate.

Hate turned into resent, then barely a quiet rage, enough to carry you through cold interactions and your father's second, third, fourth, now fifth marriage. Enough to fuel the determination that had driven you to excel in your classes. Conquer. Crush. No one dared to mess with you. And that's what made you raise to the top: the best of the very best. Paired with your father's money and contacts, a few years later and you were New York's most sought after divorce lawyer.

It filled you with a wicked pride. A cruel sense of satisfaction of some sorts. May be the power of ending what once was love, and now had dwindled into apathy, bitterness or just the cold silence of a foretold death, ending with just the twisted knife of your signature. In a way, it made you feel like a god: capable of doing and undoing what people considered sacred. You laughed about that. Forever was, indeed, the sweetest con.

You didn't believe in love.

And you were final about it, just like with everything else.

"Mrs. Wallace is outside" your secretary's voice chimes in. You told her to stop using the phone and instead come to your door directly: you never know when you could answer and it'd be your dad, the last person you want to hear ask you about anything going on in your life. "Should I tell her to come in?"

Your latest client. About to end a marriage of almost two decades because her husband cheated. The goal? Keep her lavish lifestyle, which meant winning a part of his money.

Of course, she had come to your office for help.

"Yes. Thank you"

You search for her file in your computer, feeling disoriented all of a sudden.

"Um, I'm sorry, Caro" she stops on her tracks at your office's door. "What day is today?"

"June 17th"

It's today.

Carolina quirks an eyebrow, and you hate the way she squints her eyes, as if to decipher you.

"Should I clear your schedule for the rest of the day?"

A beat goes by.

"No" you resume your typing, probably to avoid her gaze or to busy yourself. Maybe both. "As a matter of fact, pack it up as much as you can"

She sighs, turning her heels, not before looking at you one last time.

"Happy birthday, Ms. Beaumont"

She leaves you alone, closing the door softly after her. The Reyes is silent, as the room. You shake your head, typing your thoughts away.

There is nothing to celebrate.

The door flings open, the loud click of heels against your office floors. You just hope Mrs. Wallace doesn't ruin your handmade carpet from Morocco with her shoes.

"Hello, Y/n!" her voice may be annoying, but at least she took the weight of your last name off. "Ugh, I've been dying to see you"

"It's good to see you too, Mrs. Wallace"

"Drop that. Just Mia" winking while placing her Hermès on the chair to her side. "And it's all thanks to you"

Mia isn't an awful person, just annoying. Annoyingly rich.

You pull out a stack of documents neatly organized inside a carpet.

"Okay, so I just need you to check this documents-"

"No need" she's quick to dissmiss coolly, in that elegant yet frigid way of her kind. Then, her red lips (try to) form a smile through her botox injections. "Do me a favor and entertain this soon to be divorcee, dear. Show me your client list, maybe set me up with another hot-"

You let out your first real laugh in a while.

"Oh, you're funny Mia! But I'm not a matchmaker" you lean back in your chair, giving you a perfect peek of your degree, diploma and doctorate. You smile, satisfied. "See those behind you? I don't bring couples together. I tear them apart"

She stares at you, dumbfounded.

"That was cold" Mia deadpans.

Bit ironic, innit?

You shrug, unbothered. "It's my job and I'm the best. Which is why you came to me, right?"

She nods, slowly.

"Well then!" you clasp your hands together, startling the blonde woman. "Let's get back to what matters, shall we? I promise you that pathetic excuse of a husband you have named Mark will pay"

There's only two things you know: money and heartbreak. Born into New York's posh society, all your life you've been surrounded by the lavish of the elite world: a world that smells like unaffordable cologne, brands, burnt cigars, exclusivity and superciliousity.

You're as familiar with extravangance and parties as you are with big lonely houses and no one to call when you're down. It is all a blur of strenuous music of bars and drinks down, but when it's quiet, it's all about the silence like someone has died.

It's the price to pay, you think as you look down, to the tiny passerby walking on the bustling streets. You like to wonder about their lives and if they're happier than you, a secret torture kept hidden between you and the glass walls of your office at the firm.

You're already thinking what movie you'll choose for tonight as Joaquín, your personal chauffeur, drives up to your apartment.

He opens the door for you, lending a hand.

"Have a good night, Ms. Y/n"

For some reason, be it his respect for your chosen aphony or the familiarity not to be confused with warmth, you let him address you by your name, unlike the rest of your staff.

"Thank you" a word so small and repetitive yet foreign in your lips.

No congratulations, but his last look over the shoulder and nod may be. He probably is the only one who has seen the faces of distate as you answered your phone through his rearview mirror, displeased at the words of supposed affection of your acquaintances.

As you step inside, the bright lights and minimalist decoration wash over your tired form.

"Ms. Beaumont" it's your concierge. Your feet are killing you, and all you want is to take a bath and order some sushi. Not more human interactions for the day. "There's someone waiting for you"

Just what you needed.

"It's nine, Clark" you seethe his name, rolling your eyes. "Who could possibly need me?"

"Hey, little one"

Never have those words felt more out of place. He has never felt more out of place.

"Dad" you force a smile. He takes some strides across the lobby until he's stading in front of you, close as to see the new spots on his skin but not enough to be at hug's length. It's not like you ever did. "You could've called, you know?"

To say those two words I could care less about.

"It's important" he makes a gesture of remembering. "Oh! Happy birthday, by the way" you didn't expect less, "how much is it?"

Of course he didn't cross half Manhattan to congratulate you.

"Twenty-six" you reply, nonchalant.

"Time flies by, does it?" he tries to sound nostalgic, but it falls flat and artificial, as a rehearsed speech. It all felt like that, anyways.

"It does" you cut his bullshit off. "What do you want?"

He laughs, loudly. "Ah, that's my girl! Look at you" he points your suit, making your cheeks flare up between anger and embarrassement. "In this tight attire, talking like a bussiness woman!"

Your father looked as if you had slapped him in his face when you told him you wanted to be a lawyer. He could've cut you off, but you were his only family. I will make you proud, you assured him. At the end of the day, above all, you were still a daughter. So you used his money and your skills to build where you stand today. Despite it all, he still found ways to put you down and make you feel eighteen again, as the weak little girl who quietly cried herself to sleep, Yale acceptance letter tucked harshly in the trash.

But he started this.

Your father would never understand this choice was his fault.

"Now, let's talk, then" you snicker a small finally in there. "Impatient one, as always. Aren't you? Here, take a look for yourself"

He hands you an envelope. It doesn't take you two to put the pieces together.

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Annabelle is sick" he's quick to explain. "I want you to come with me"

Sick could mean many things: the flu, sick of me... Maybe he'll show up in a few months at your office to end his fifth.

You quirk an eyebrow, annoyed. "Do you want me or need me to?"

"Whatever suits you" he adopts that posture of his, as to indicate the conversation is over. "I just need you to be there"

Not an option. You eye the envelope again, tearing it open. The first words you see, big in bold are Open Bar. You place the invitation inside again, not bothering to read the rest. That's enough for now.

"I will be"

If you knew all that was to come, you would've declined.

The image of your father on the lobby of your apartment, one he just hadn't bothered to visit since you moved in two years ago, has been in your mind since last night.

Why was he there? It must've been important.

"What do you mean you were busy?" your friend, Rachel, huffs. You roll your eyes at her over the top voice for a simple conversation at brunch. Your head pounds, probably for tonight's event or the guilty bottle of wine emptied alone now turned hangover.

"I was working" you reply, stuffing a bit of salad on your mouth to avoid a gag.

"You're always working" she's quick to counter. "You're supposed to have fun in your birthday! And, you know, reply to your friend's texts"

You look at a spot on the white tablecloth.

"You know I'm not one to celebrate my birthday. We can go out any other day you'd like"

Rachel twirls a loose strand of her curly ginger hair, absentminded.

"You still ignored me"

You stiffle a laugh. "Should I apologize?"

"You never do" she leans back on her seat. "By the way, what's that?"

Your phone chimes in again, as on cue.

"Ugh, it's Nessa. No idea? My personal stylist, Rach" you turn off your phone, annoyed. "I don't get the point of validating my appointment. If I booked it last minute, urgently, why would I cancel?"

Rachel wiggles her brows, teasingly.

"Is it for a date? Please tell me it's for a date"

Last time you went on one, it was last year; you just didn't want to go to Rachel's New Year's Eve party alone. You haven't spoken to Barret (or was it Baxter?) ever since.

"It's a gala" you sigh.

"That's pretty much the same to me" she raises her glass. "Any cute boys going?"

"I didn't check the invitation. My dad forced me to go" you yawn. "Is it important, anyway? It's for amFAR. Won't be the first nor the last of the year"

"Figures. My dad is going" she casually mentions, diving back to her forgotten croissant.

"Wait" a beat. "If my dad and your dad are going, then-"

"Harry Castillo" you seethe.

He's in the back, surrounded by a crowd, wrapped around his finger. He may be aware, by his charming smile. All the world, licking at his hand for scraps of his precious attention, hovering around as dirty flies over the most exquisite banquet. Harry is like the sun: everyone can't help but orbit around him, drawn by his light.

But he was never like the others.

Which is why you despised him.

Him, who is now walking towards you with purposeful strides and a polite smile.

"Ah, David!" his voice utters in a deep tone. It's cheerful, too cheerful for a gala full of the cold echo of cutlery and rehearsed smiles. "How's Annabelle?"

"Sick" he smiles, but it sounds scornful. "Do you remember my daughter, Y/n? She's here on behalf of her"

Your father offers the same tight smile your way. Behave, as if you were the same little kid who cried to be taken home.

He lets out a boisterous laugh. "Of course I do"

Him, who knew exactly how to get under your skin: could be the way his brown orbs shine with sincere warmth as he leans forward, or his tone, charged with an autority that demanded respect. Like the world owed him a favor just for existing. But it is too the way he takes in your hand, chapped lips pressing against the soft of your skin, the sound of a kiss as he whispers your name like he owns it: as if Harry Castillo was the only man capable of saying it.

You can feel his moustache scratch your palm. Can feel his cologne start to invade your nostrils. Your mind. Your common sense. Your head spins, but you haven't even had a drink yet.

What is happening and why does he look at you like he knows?

"Always a gentleman, my friend" your father bursts your train of thoughts.

"Someone has to" he replies, velvet voice laced with something you can't quite place.

Why does he affect you so much, down to the marrow of your silver bones?

"Don't you think so, Y/n?"

"What?"

"The world needs more people" your father speaks, "like Harry"

More people with gelled curls pulled backwards. With expensive cologne that enters the room before they did, as intoxicating as their presence. With more new spots on their skin, blooming as the grays that have started to sprout between the chocolate of their hair.

More people who preferred a dinner and conversation over a club and a drink. Who took their time to search all of Manhattan for the perfect bouquet. That kissed with a force so inebriating, your cheeks turned vinious and body went limp.

More people who still believed in love. Good old-fashioned lover boys.

You purse your lips. "Sure thing. Would be wonderful"

Harry Castillo gives you his best smile. "I'm glad you agree"

You so desperately need a drink.

Outside, the world seems quiet.

Just at your feet, cars zoom and people walk, sounds beating raw with the hearbeat of a city that never sleeps.

But up here, you like the con of a lull night.

For a moment, it's like the world let's you breath, and no matter how much you love the club's strobbing lights and loud beat, or the sharp edge of words thrown in the court's enclosed space, you would still choose this fleeting moment of calm.

Your heart has never felt at peace.

"You have a bit of a habit of running away, don't you?"

Your breath steadies a bit. Like you expected this to happen.

"And you have one of prying into other people's bussiness"

Just like that, your wall is up again, long gone the sense of silent ease.

He chuckles, lightly so. "It's kind of what I do for a living. Guess old habits die hard"

Speaking of which, he pulls out a cigarette from his pocket.

"Do you mind?"

You look at him, puzzled. He pats his pristine suit, then shoots you an apologetic smile.

"I seem to have forgotten my lighter"

"I quit"

He raises an eyebrow. "Good for you" but his tone is full of mockery.

Like he doesn't believe you to be capable of holding to your promises.

Surrendering to Harry felt easy, not humiliating. It's not like you would be the first, nor last to do so.

"I still carry some for emergencies"

It's the same lighter he's seen all this years, accompanying you on lonely balconies and packed rooms, yet looking as new as the day you were given so, because you had a knack for caring too much.

It had an S, a B and an R, but even as he heard some things, he never dared to ask why you treasured it so much.

"Is this an emergency enough?"

The corner of his lips curve upwards at the same time he leans closer. You recognize the Myrrhe Mystère he's bathed his honeyed skin in.

You flicker the light once.

"Come closer and find out"

You flick it again, and it's just him and you, in that terrace, the wind blowing hard but not enough to kill the flame: for a moment, barely seconds, the blaze bathes his auburn eyes in a warm glow, as if they were the very same fire in your hand.

"There you go" voice impossibly soft.

This is hate: the way your breaths seems to mingle with your pulse, paused. Afraid to reveal more than meets the eye. The way your voice reduces to a whisper, as if speaking loudly would give your thoughts away.

This is the real reason you hate him: because no matter how many roads you take, the world is a sphere, and at the end of the day, it all leads to Harry Castillo's irritating, irksome and exasperating way of haunting your mind when you give him just a small space.

But that was him. Demanding. It was never enough. He needed more: even in the scope of your thoughts. Consuming. As the cigarette that hangs from his lips.

"Thanks" he pulls back, taking a drag. "Aren't you a doll?"

You remain emotionless. You try. Try, try, try.

"Dolls don't speak. They just look pretty"

Another drag. Slow. Your eyes drift to the shape of his mouth.

His eyes find yours, smirking. "Then you're already halfway there"

You give him your back, already done with this conversation. But he isn't: something about rich people and not knowing how to lose. You know it all too well, carry the disease yourself.

Harry Castillo always needs to have the last word. Like the last bullet of a gun.

It's got to land.

"You know, you're just like your dad"

The bitter aftertaste of champagne bubbles up your throat. You turn around, with pounding head and heart.

"I'm his daughter" you reply.

"I mean you're shit at pretending"

You laugh, incredulously. "Oh, aren't you a know it all? What, is that your job too?"

"Sometimes, we enjoy doing things that aren't our duty. Nonetheless, they capture our interest"

You feel a myriad of things: angry, humiliated, brave, stupid. Briefly reminds you of Rufus, your dad's old hunting dog. When he got sick, he got mean and angry. Bit the hand of his owner and licked it after.

"And what could I possibly offer to capture yours?"

He smiles. You feel him walk closer, cut the distance between your cold bodies, until the green of his ring becomes clear in your visual field.

"Your inability to keep your lies alive"

You forget how to breath until his arm brushes past yours. He kills the cigarette with a learnt casualty, the flame going out with a hss. His body remains rooted in place, caging you against the cold metal until it presses on the bare back your dress shows.

"Fuck you, Harry" you seethe.

How he always managed to ruin your day was a mystery, but it's always been like this: the push and pull, until someone gives in.

Small cuts until the wound is too big to ignore.

Dards thrown against the biggest of dartboards to exist, where every hit hurts.

"S' not the first time I've been told so" he chuckles. "Not by you, either. Looking forward to that"

The bewilderment in your face must be obvious by the way he smiles, sadly so. He starts to walk away, back to the on-going party.

"Hey! Where are you going?" you shout, "this isn't over yet"

You think he mumbles a You can't have it all.

"I can" you feel your body shake with vitriol. "Don't you know who I am?"

Why do you keep letting him get away with it?

You tell yourself each time that this is it, but it's impossible to ignore how he always makes you lose the mask you have carefully crafted.

He's like a mirror, but where light meets his reflection, you meet the darks of his shadow. It's like his sole purpose it's to remind you of the filth within you and the heavy weight of the crown with your father's last name. The more you stare at his eyes, the easier is to pick apart the flaws you know but don't feel in yourself to change.

It's like he knows you. Like Harry truly sees you for who you are: past your silver spoon, your spiteful remarks meant to wound, night life, expensive brands and opulence.

Worst part? He doesn't seem to mind the crisp of your rotten skin. You don't, either: a burnt child loves the fire.

"I do" he replies, his soft remark washing over your ember flaming anger. "But do you?"

You let him walk away. It's too much. You look at the the expanse of water surrounding the island, all to not drown on his eyes and the thoughts in your head he always makes you second-guess.

Pathetic.

Then, one final time, he turns around, glancing at you deeply, as if remembering something.

"I know it was yesterday but, happy birthday, Y/n" whispered in a fragile breath that gets lost in the sea of buildings and smog of Manhattan.

It lingers. Like his perfume over your clothes and the smell of the smashed cigarrette against the railing. It too lingers like the weight that's pressed over your chest and you can't name.

He doesn't wait for an answer. You don't have one.

And then he leaves.

You look to the skycrapers, coldly trying to replicate the beauty of the stars above, trying to reach the sky but falling short.

Trying, trying, trying.

You close your eyes and breath.

Falling, falling, falling.

Two words. Almost two decades of hating it. All it took was Harry Castillo's mouth to utter them as if it was important.

You shake your head in disbelief.

Because, for the first time in a lifetime, your birthday feels like it matters.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas / 🏷: @io12n @dowscal @oscar-isaac @joelscowgirl @jxvipike @klarkapascal @lostinmyownmaze @folklore-barnes @alinacecee @sukitruqui (comment if u wanna be tagged!)

[propertyofwicked]

YOUR NECKLACE - LN

no warnings just fluff + some SMAU <3 (one mention of sick, no specific detail)

-> lemme know ur thoughts! my inbox is open!! <3

masterlist the playlist

after successfully keeping their relationship secret for 9 months, lando truly believed it was time for him to properly introduce his girlfriend to the world of motorsport. she’d attended races before but always under general admission, usually alone, but sometimes accompanied by the likes of max and p. and it wasn’t as if the fans didn’t know who she was, they just knew her as ‘y/n who works with quadrant’, ‘y/n that reset the cones in the driving video’, ‘y/n that keeps her social media private’ - never once being considered lando’s girlfriend, which worked well for the two.

the panic had set in that morning as she dressed for the day, her hands constantly running over her outfit, checking the way she looked in the mirror from every angle - she wanted to believe that no one would care, or even notice that she was there, but deep down she knew that making the jump from general admission to paddock would gain some chatter on twitter.

“you look perfect,” lando had whispered in her ear from behind her, his hands wrapping around her waist as he tugged her away from the mirror.

“maybe they’ll just think im helping with a quadrant project,” she said absentmindedly, more trying to convince herself than actually respond to him.

“maybe,” he nodded along with her, mulling over his next words, “we can walk in separately if you want? they might not assume anything if they don’t see us together?”

“it’s not that i dont want us to be seen together,” she told him as she moved to the floor, tying her shoelaces up, “i just hate to think what’ll be said about me if they do.”

“i know, angel,” he reassured her, offering out a hand to pull her up, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead when she returned to his level.

the journey to the track was a quiet one, the two of them engaging in light conversation, eventually deciding they’d just walk in together, keep PDA to the minimum and ‘run and hide at the first sign of trouble’ y/n had joked.

lando paced up and down his drivers room, the sleeves of his racing overalls swinging with every step, from where they sat around his hips. he was getting into the right mindset, music playing, and yet his mind raced with every fear of the looming race.

“sit in the garage,” he asked her, halting his pacing to turn and face her.

“what?” she replied, half unsure she’d misheard him.

“watch from the garage - please,” he repeated moving to take steps towards her, noticing the way her fingers twisted at the rings that adorned them.

“are you sure?” she checked, as he grabbed her wrists to stop her anxious fiddling.

“never been more sure in my life,” he told her, using her arms to pull himself closer, joining the two of them in a sweet kiss.

“ok, ill be there,” y/n responded against him, parting only for a moment before connecting their lips again. the kiss was short and sweet, cut off by oscar knocking telling him it was time to go.

she stood in the garage, smiling at a few engineers she recognised before finding herself a seat. the nerves were washing over her again, but now they were for lando. y/n always worried during races, scared on his crashing, worried he wouldn’t perform as well as everyone knew he could. her hand reached up to her chest, instinctively searching for her necklace - lando had bought it for her before they were even together, knowing from the moment she smiled at it and looked up to thank him that this was it for him, she was his future. but the necklace wasn’t there, the girl panicked slightly, fearing she had lost it or it had fallen off before concluding that in her distraction this morning she had simply forgotten to put it on.

that’s ok, you’re a grown woman who can control her nerves. you don’t need a necklace to calm yourself down - you’re not even the one racing she told herself, letting out a deep sigh as she tried to believe herself. no one else in the garage seemed to notice her, a fact she was fairly happy about, hoping that the same would be said for the hundreds of news and tv stations priming their cameras for the race.

but someone had noticed her, recognising the look on her face as the same one she had been wearing all morning. only lando could decipher what her expression meant - she was nervous, of course, scared for him, but also filled with a small buzz of excitement - he couldn’t quite understand how one person could feel so much all at the same time, and not combust on the spot. nevertheless he jogged over to her.

“lando? aren’t you supposed to be like, getting your helmet on?” she asked him, shocked slightly at his sudden appearance. he looked at her, his hand tugging at the top of his fireproofs and pulling his own necklace from where it was trapped behind the fabric.

“forgot to take this off,” he told her, hands moving behind his neck to unclasp the metal, “will you look after it for me?”

she nodded up at him, her outstretched hands halted as he stood close, hands moving the metal around her own neck and clasping it. the metal dropped against her skin, the warmth from him wearing it transferring to her.

“thanks, love you,” he told her, a rushed kiss planted on her lips before he jogged away from her again.

his face carried a smirk as he left her, knowing he hadn’t truly forgotten to take the piece of jewellery off. in actual fact, he’d noticed her missing necklace the moment they’d arrived at the track and made it his mission to have his own hung around her neck, almost as a badge of honour. the two had agreed to keep their relationship private from the public, somewhat of a secret - but now she sat in his garage, wearing his necklace. it was the bare minimum display of the love they shared, but it was enough for him, and it was enough for her.

oscar quirked his eyebrow at his teammates smirk, receiving a quick tell you later before the two pulled their balaclavas down.

the gesture was so simply and so subtle and the girl was oblivious to the moment being caught on camera. the moment a yellow flag was called, the sky tv cameras filled the wait time by zooming in on the faces of loved ones sitting in each drivers garage. however, y/n remained oblivious to the lens focusing closely on her, the camera closely capturing the way she fiddled at the necklace before dropping it as normal lap conditions resumed.

"good day then?" y/n asked him softly, her head resting on his bare chest as she listened to his heart beat - lando felt the way her cool fingers fiddled with the necklace around his neck. that godforsaken necklace, quite frankly the only necklace to ever cause so much uproar online.

"soft launched on live tv and p3? i wouldn't have it any other way," lando replied softly, chucking lightly as his hand brushed through her hair.

“that checks out, mr nowins,” she teased, tilting her head to grin at him.

"being with you is a win in itself," he replied, taking the nickname in his stride.

"gross," the girl responded, pretending to vomit at his attempt at being cute.

“i am sorry though - i should’ve known that would happen, i should’ve checked with you before hanging the “lando’s girlfriend” sign around your neck,” he replied with a sigh, his head dropping to press a kiss to her forehead, his cheek resting on her head as they spoke.

“it’s ok lan, i knew there was a possibility of something like this happening,” she replied.

“and it was fairly subtle - we could probably play it off for a little longer,” lando suggested, knowing that neither of them were quite ready to expose the extent of their relationship just yet. at least this had given them the opportunity to be a little more careless with their efforts to hide from the public. they were private, not secret, and lando couldn’t be happier to preserve this part of his personal life for a little longer.

“im just glad we no longer have the responsibility of a big announcement,” she laughed, “god knows we’re both too lazy for that.”

“who’s we?” he grumbled jokingly, “im the one with the public account. besides, im more than hard launched on your page.”

“ah the joys of an ordinary life,” y/n joked, her arms stretching out in feigned bliss, “however i feel like i should steer clear of twitter for a while.”

“that’s probably for the best,” he agreed, his tone saddening slightly at the memory of things he’d seen posted about not only his ex girlfriend, but some of the claims people had already began making about the girl lying below him.

“hey!” she started noticing his change in mood, and pushing her body weight back to look at him, “none of that. today is a good day. trust me, ill take any excuse to get my screentime down.”

“i love you,” he told her, grabbing at her body to pull her back into his embrace, “more than you could imagine.”

liked by maxfewtrell, team_quadrant and 111,230 others

landonorris soft launching on live tv wasn't enough, time to promote her to the gram

comments on this post have been limited.

maxfewtrell so glad i dont have to worry about slipping up on stream anymore

-> maxfewtrell chat aren't ready for what i have to say.

maxfewtrell 2nd photo is a violationnn - ynpng, pietra.pilao u gonna let this slide?

-> ynpng am i fuck. pietra.pilao we ride at dawn.

-> pietra.pilao omw queen.

-> maxfewtrell run landonorris whilst u still can

-> pietra.pilao you told me you deleted that photo maxfewtrell - sleep with one eye open xx

ynpng hate u with every fibre of my being rn <3

-> landonorris nuh uh

-> ynpng gonna unprivate my acc and let the world see the video of you falling down the stairs

-> landonorris might accidentally leak the video of you and the shoe incident

-> ynpng you wouldn't dare.

-> landonorris you wanna bet?

[whorelaud]

OFF LIMITS – rafe cameron ¡ (extra)

pairing brother's best friend!rafe cameron x brat!reader summary you slide into a random boy's dms on instagram, anything but expecting him to end up being your brother's best friend, let alone the person you'll be spending your summer vacation with. while resisting Rafe and his lingering gazes was an option, you found yourself in the constant loop of crossing the line; said line being your brother. ch content smut, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f recieving), fingering, dirty talk, praise, slight overstimulation (?), pussy whipped rafe mhmm!!! disclaimer this is pure smut continuing ch 8! nothing too intense, js a small piece following the events. this can be read separately, it doesn't add nor change the plot, so feel free to skip over if you're uncomfortable!! not my best work but not my worst considering im in a big writing slump rn sighh >:( thank you for your patience, ill get started on ch 9 soon i pormise <3

NAVIGATION. series masterlist | 08

“Let me take care of you.” 

Flusteredness underestimates your emotions, insides stirring with giddiness you couldn’t comprehend into words. You wanted this, more than everything; it felt so right, there was no reason for you to risk it and decline such a tempting offer. 

You shyly nodded your head, suppressing the sheepish smile dancing on your lips, suddenly feeling exposed under Rafe’s gaze. His hands freely roamed around your body, landing wherever his eyes desired, places he dreamed of touching. 

“Lord, you’re beautiful.” He muffled out, littering feather-like kisses to your throat, then burying his nose in the crook of your neck as he took a whiff of your intoxicating scent. His teeth lightly grazed the sensitive skin, causing you to yelp, and accidentally brush over the hardon in his pants. “Fuckk– ‘need to be inside you.” 

“Please.” You shuddered through a gasp, grinding down to chase after the pleasure, merely to be stopped by Rafe’s hold as he halted you in your spot. 

His hands found the curve of your ass, squeezing the plush flesh hidden underneath the thin material of your shorts, using the gasp he earned out of you for granted to slip his hands beneath the fabric. He toyed with the lacey strings, digits practically shuddering over your skin, like an addict getting his hands on drugs for the first time.

“Such a pretty ass,” He grunted, scoffing as a moan escapes your parted lips. “Mhm, yeah baby, keep makin’ those pretty noises, lemme hear you.” 

Your head landed in the crook of his neck, forehead resting against his shoulder when your hips stuttered in the process of rolling down, dying for Rafe to do something. Your vision grew blurry, mouth seeking the skin hidden beneath Rafe’s shirt, wanting nothing more than to appreciate him as much as he was, mark him for everyone to see, and know he’s yours. 

Rafe eventually took action, tightening his hold around your ass as he stood to his feet, keeping you steady and in place. You gasped with disbelief, taken aback by the sudden movement, even more as he sweeps you around and softly throws you on the bed, causing you to land with a thud. 

You positioned your elbows up, letting them support your body as Rafe used his index to spread your legs apart, creating enough space for him to squeeze through. He positioned his knee in between your thighs, hands caressing the delicate skin leading to your heat. 

His fingers moved with a motive, driving you crazy with each time his cold digits brushed over your sensitive flesh, causing you to shudder from the touch. He lowered his head, just enough for you to catch glimpse of him from in between your legs. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, toying with the waistband of your shorts. “Need to taste you.” 

Rafe tugged the material down a bit, just enough for the chilly air to hit your skin, smothering goosebumps across your sides. He leisurely pulled down your shorts, torturing you with the gesture, though that’s what he was aiming for. 

With a game of tug and pull, he managed to get your shorts off, letting them slide down your knees, and bunch around your ankles. His gaze fixed on your panties, mouth salivating at the sight, as his head wandered with pure filth. He pressed his fingers to your heat through the thin cloth, causing you to jolt as he applied pressure, admiring the wet patch forming in your underwear. 

Your face practically burst from heat, avoiding the latter’s gaze as his finger lapped at your folds, tracing them up and down your core with a purpose. Your mewls were silent, heaving the atmosphere, the sound like music to Rafe’s ears. 

Rafe leaned forward, until his face levelled with the low of your stomach. He grasped the soft flesh in his hold, trailing wet kisses just beneath your belly button, leading all the way to your clothed folds, aching to have his mouth on you, feel his tongue swirl around your sensitive nub till you no longer could bear it. 

He planted a kiss to your clit through the fabric, causing you to shudder in his arms when he repeated the action, your whines encouraging him to continue, pressing further until you were overwhelmed with pleasure. 

“Rafe!” You arched into the touch, hips stuttering as Rafe pins you down to the bed. “Fuck, right there.” 

“Yeah?” He angled his head down, nose brushing over your heat in the process, the sensation making your knees buckle as you strived to close your legs around his head. Rafe, sensing your next move, halted you before you could further continue, forcing your thighs back in place. “Keep your legs open, hmm? Sit back and be a good girl for me, doll.” 

You desperately nodded your head, prying for Rafe to get the pink, lace panties off of you. And he did, detaching them off your hips, and letting them slide right off, revealing your achy cunt, wet and needy for him. 

“Oh my fuck,” he hissed, taking a whiff of your alluring scent, suddenly feeling drunk on your pussy, even if he didn’t get a taste of you yet. “Could you get any more perfect?” 

He fingered at your hole, collecting the sticky substance off, until it was coating two of his digits. He dragged his long fingers through your folds, gliding them up and down, till your whole pussy was coated with your juices. 

“So wet for me,” Rafe muttered, bringing his fingers to his parted lips. He inserted them inside, instantly savoring the taste of your pussy on his tongue, as his mouth pooled with spit. “You taste so fuckin’ good, baby.” 

You whined at that, nearly screaming when he brought his fingers back to your sensitive nub, rolling it in between his fingers as he bent down again, this time to mouth at your heat. He licked a stripe of your cunt, dragging his tongue up your hole, all the way to your clit, yet overwhelmed with the pleasure of his fingers. 

Rafe flicked his tongue over your clit, pressing your hips down with the hand to your stomach, amused by how overstimulated you grew, unable to comprehend normal words out. You’ve done this before, a few times to be exact, however, Rafe knew how to make you crumble, seeking your sensitive spot with his mouth, using every ounce of energy in his body to pleasure you. 

And fuck, did it feel good. It made up for all the longing and lust you’ve been pushing down, finally able to do something about it; and screwing all your problems. 

Your body jolted with pleasure, hands digging to the skin around your shoulders as he mouthed at your heat, sucking and nibbling on your nub, long fingers gliding up and down your folds, just where you needed them. 

Without a warning, he slid one of his fingers inside your hole, easily entering with how wet you were, pussy drenched with your juices. He pumped it in and out of your entrance, lining the second one before he leisurely increased the pace, fingers coating with your arousal. 

Your stomach twisted into a knot, lips gaping in pornographic moans that you failed to suppress from exiting your throat. That only inspired Rafe to fasten the movement of his tongue, swirling from your clit down to your entrance. He fucked your hole with his tongue, nose lightly digging to your core as he bobbed his head up and down, while still pumping his fingers in and out. 

Words couldn’t describe the emotions you were experiencing. It almost felt euphoric, you never wanted it to stop, climax building as Rafe continues lapping at your cunt with his mouth. Rafe oughted to make you feel good, chasing after your pleasure, not a thought behind his eyes as he ate you out like a man starved.

“Come for me, pretty girl.” He cooed, not stopping what he was up to. The words practically flew past your ears, mind going blank as your legs trembled, announcing your orgasm. 

Rafe’s tongue was yet to stop, walking you through your climax, until you grew sensitive to the fraction of his tongue constantly flicking at your clit. Your eyes forced shut, sweat forming around your body, coating your skin with a layer of afterglow. Rafe moved away from your heat, falling mesmerized the moment his gaze landed on you. 

His cock twitched in his pants, vision fogging with haze. You looked surreal, out of the world, like an angel who spawned on earth. He almost felt bad for breathing the same air as you, being in your presence and ever getting a chance to do this, please you till you’re cumming on his tongue. 

You shied away from the touch, fluttering your eyes up at the latter, whose lips tugging into a coy smile at your action. “Why are you staring?” 

“No reason,” he snorted, bringing his face close to yours. His nose brushed over yours, not giving you a chance to speak before he captured your lips in an eager kiss, the taste of your arousal on his tongue invading your mouth. He smiled into the kiss, pulling away when you shoved his shoulder. “Was that good?” 

“Hmm…” you trailed off, pretending to think. “Could be better.” 

Lie. 

“You think so?” His eyebrows cocked in a teasing manner, lips tugging into a smile. “Should we go for another round?” 

“One’s enough!” You stopped him before he could bend down, your statement earning a chuckle out of him. “Stop messin’ around!” 

“Sorry,” he snickered, voice barely above a whisper. The smile on his face quickly faded, gaze travelling down to your hand, as it slowly caressed up his thigh, halting just over his crotch. He hushed out your name, breath shuddering as you palmed his hardon through his pants, grasping his length in your hold. “Such a brat, can’t wait to have my dick inside you, huh?” 

“Take it off,” you whined in response to the snarky comment, striving to unbuckle his belt, then unbutton his pants, inching back just enough for him to get them off, leaving him in his boxers. You gulped at the sight of his underwear, aching to take it off, as well as his shirt. “The shirt too.” 

Rafe stifled out a teasing laugh, sliding the shirt off his head, and over his arms, letting it fall to the floor. Your gaze immediately landed on his torso, a breath knocking out of your chest at the scene. His broad chest was on full display, just for you to stare, without having to look away, afraid others might catch you practically undressing him with your eyes.

The boy pushed you back on the bed, letting your back collide with the mattress in a soft thud. He removed the lock of hair blocking your vision, leaning down to plant a kiss to your lips. It was soft, deliberate, lasted a few seconds before the latter moved away. You cupped his calloused jaw, almost choking on air while he balanced himself on his knees, not breaking eye contact as he freed himself from his boxers, not long before he tossed them to the floor. 

Your breath hitched, gaze leisurely trailing down to his cock, as pre-cum glistened at the slit, coating it with a glossy layer that had you salivating at the mouth. Rafe scooted himself closer to you, lining the tip of his cock with your entrance, groaning as it got buried in your folds. 

Pleasure underestimates what you were feeling. Hell, you were a wreck of emotions, far too gone to comprehend your surroundings, nor did you care for such facts.  

He works his way in smoothly but deliberately, thrusts gentle, afraid he’d hurt you if he was rough. That, of course, had you testing your patience, as you wiggled down on his cock, urging him to push his throbbing length inside you. 

And he did, muffling out a whimper as he slams his hips into your soaked cunt, making you arch your back at the gesture. His cock filled your hole, coating every corner of your walls, leaving no space for you to think. 

“Look at you,” he whispered, grinding his hips down, as his fingers ghosted the curve of your waist, face mere inches away. “Taking me so well, such a good girl f’me, hmm, y’like that I’m filling your pathetic, needy hole?” 

“Rafeee,” you mewled out, throwing your bad back as he continued thrusting his cock inside you, the collision creating a squelching sound. “Please, please, yes!” 

“Mhm, you like that?” He muffled in between kisses, hand cupping your tits. He rolled your nipple in between his fingers, causing it to harden in his hold, goosebumps immediately breaking out across your chest. “Wanna fuck you stupid, you don’t understand how long I’ve been waiting for this, the amount of times I held back each time you’d walk around in those sleeping shorts.” 

Your moans lulled pathetic, speaking louder than you can put into words. Rafe's cock felt amazing inside you, thrusting in and out with need and despair, that it didn’t take long for your arousal to build up yet again, though mere minutes passed regarding your previous orgasm. 

Rafe littered soft kisses to your lips, thrusts growing fast and sloppy as he buried himself inside you, drunk on your pussy, and the sensation of your hole clenching around his cock. His breaths fell heavy, filling the air as well as your whines, unable to contain them any longer. 

“So close,” he grunted, announcing his climax. “Come for me, sweet doll.” 

Your nails dug to his shoulders, moans increasing in volume as your orgasm made its approach, as Rafe continued pumping his cock inside your sloppy cunt, giving him easy access to your hole, and the ability to pleasure you.  

The nickname drove you over the edge, coming undone with a rough, wet thrust, relaxing in the latter’s arms as he continued fucking you, pace fastening with each time he grinded his hips down. 

It wasn’t long before Rafe was coming, loading your cunt as his cock kissed your cervix with one last slam to his hips, painting your walls white with his sperm, as the warmness of the sticky substance filled your insides, causing a ragged sigh of relief to escape your throat. 

Rafe nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning over the flesh, as he proceeded to come down from his high. A chuckle forced its way out your parted lips, earning the boy’s attention as he perked up, gaze locking with yours. 

“What?” He asked, addressing you with the question. “Why are you laughing?” 

“I don’t know,” you continued chuckling, “This is jus’ silly.” 

“That’s the first thing you say after we just had sex?” He mumbled in disbelief, head cocking to the side.

“What do you want me to say?!” You argued, wrapping your arms around his neck, and using the pressure of the touch to force him down, till your lips connected with his in a soft kiss, one different from your previous ones today. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, heat flushing your face. “You don’t understand how much everything you do means to me.”

The corner of Rafe’s lips twitched into a smile, heart melting to pieces. 

Yeah, this was more than worth getting beaten to a pulp by Ryan. 

[filiazpink]

🩷"OH PRIMUS,,,"🩷

orion pax x femme + superior! reader x d-16 warnings: suggestive language (like- once but still), darkwing being darkwing, i’m a sucker for cheesy stuff, really minor transformers one spoilers (?)

summary: orion finds himself completely enamored with one of his superiors and d-16 doesn’t really mind it, until one day, you show up at the mines.

a/n: my very first tumblr fic!! i might post this on my AO3 account as well! hope this reached your expectations considering more than 200 people voted for this prompt on my poll  =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇) ill get to some of the other prompts shortly after, i just wanted to know which one would be best to start with (and to properly introduce my writing to tumblr teehee) !! comments and reblogs are highly appreciated !! ENJOY!! 💞💞💞

word count: 1139

proofread: minimal (lemme know if there's any errors!!)

read part 2 here: 💞💞

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

orion simply couldn't stop thinking about you.

your shiny and colorful armor, your beautiful optics, your height and strength. that voice. the power and authority you had over him. that power rivaled sentinel prime’s in his eyes. everything.

you were simply breathtaking. 

…

“earth to orionnnn, come on, rust bucket!!” pink servos waving at him frantically snapped the red and blue mech out of his trance. focusing his glance, orion watched as elita-1 gave him one of the scariest faces he’s seen yet, followed by d-16 behind her with his arms crossed, looking at his friend with a disappointed expression.

“what’s wrong with you?! you broke protocol, AGAIN!” elita pulled the miner to his feet, groaning in annoyance. orion’s dumb dopey smile quickly turned into a shocked frown and he was about to ask what he did now, but thankfully, his friend answered for him.

“orion, buddy, i know,,, i know you just wanted to save jazz from that explosion but you almost got killed doing that, man.” d-16 looked to the side, avoiding his friend’s gaze.

“you can’t keep doing this, pax. ONE more stunt like this and I’LL be the one to get-”

“what happened here??” elita snapped her head towards the newcomer’s voice, expecting maybe another miner, but her angry scowl quickly faded away once she saw who it was.

it was elita’s superior. 

it was you. 

oh primus, beautiful, amazing, spectacular you. orion felt a rush of warmth cover his face as you walked in along with,,,

oh- with darkwing. of course he was there with you.

STILL- you just showed up with no prompting, and two days in advance no less?? clearly, this was important.

orion fixed his posture and tried to dust off any grime he had on him. d-16 chuckled quietly at his best friend’s excitement, before turning his attention to you.

“(y-y/n)! i thought you were coming to check on our sector in t-two days! i’m so sorry you have to see my team like this i swear it was an accident-” the poor pink bot stammered, much to darkwing’s amusement and to your confusion.

“what accident? the cave collapsing? that’s normal, elita-1. don’t worry about it. you’re telling me it was a complete accident so i will take your word for it.” hearing those words coming from you made elita feel like she was just told that sentinel finally found the matrix of leadership.

“oh, thank you, thank you,,,” orion and d-16 watched as elita continuously thanked her superior, chuckling. 

“well, that means we don’t get our butts kicked too, thank primus (y/n) was here.” the red and blue miner said, walking away from the scene with his pal.

“yea and now we can just finish this shift and relax-”

“d-16?” the two stopped in their tracks, slowly turning around in an almost comical way to face the much taller femme. 

orion’s servos trembled. he felt embarrassed, he was over here making a fool of himself with how obvious his crush on you was. literally everyone who steps foot in the mines knew about it, aside from, clearly, you. heck, even darkwing seemed to know, considering that despite his optics not being visible, he clearly was glaring at the cog-less bot whenever he tried speaking to you during past visits.

or maybe it was just his usual routine of hating cogless bots.

d-16, however, gulped and let out the tiniest of “yes?”. ohhh boy, what now?? did you assume that the cave collapsing was his doing?? did darkwing tell you that-

“you’re at the top of your ranks here, correct?” his train of thought was interrupted by your soft voice, watching as you knelt down to his height, placing a hand on his shoulder, which shocked him a bit. orion stared at the polished hand on his best friend’s rusted shoulder with envy, his optics narrowing just a smidge.

“i already spoke to elita about this, but i also want you to hear it. i’ve heard some great things about you, and how you excel amongst your ranks. so i just wanted you to hear this.” d-16 felt frozen.

‘what is this,,, feeling? my face is burning,,’ oh indeed it was. his face flushed in a deep blue as he anxiously waited for your next words. just your soothing voice got him like this and he simply couldn’t understand why.

“,,, i need you.”

,,,

WHAT???

the first to react was darkwing, who let out a very outraged grunt of confusion, as if you just cheated on him with a MINER of all bots in his face, followed by elita, the other miners and orion gasping, everyone turning their heads towards the two.

“,,,w-what?” the gray miner’s voice box barely even processed his astonished question. he felt as if his circuits were frying up by how hot he felt. 

orion’s expression showed bewilderment and a hint of betrayal. this,,, wasn’t fair?? well- he knew it wasn’t d-16 who said that to you, but he still couldn’t help but feel jealous.

he wished it could have been him.

but then finally, you realized what you just said and removed your hand from the shorter bot’s shoulder, standing up straight and bumping into darkwing’s chest armor. “oh- p-please excuse me. i- uh, i chose my words wrong.” 

the onlookers decided to stop eavesdropping, realizing it was a simple mistake on your part. that made orion sigh in relief, which didn’t go unnoticed by d-16. but his attention was quickly brought back to you.

“my apologies, i- i would never say such things- not during work hours, i’m sorry- what i meant to say, i need you- as in i need you to help keep up the good work to motivate the other miners to do the same. it helps your ranks as it helps mine if we all put our parts to make a difference. s-so, yea.” you looked around, avoiding eye contact, a small blush remaining on your face. both miners nearly swooned at such a cute expression on your face.

“i just needed to do an early check up according to sentinel, that’s all. thought i’d try and give some pep talk and you can see i have to work on that,,” you giggled before clearing your throat and staring down at the mesmerized bots.

,,,

“goodbye.” and with that being said, you quickly marched back to the main exit with a very, VERY jealous darkwing in tow. 

orion turned his gaze to his best friend, who watched you depart with a dreamy look on his face. the red and blue bot sighed and gently shook his shoulder.

“d?,,,” oh he knew. 

he recognized that stare. the same stare he gave when he saw anything megatronus prime related, that same glimmer in his optics. it was that same spark that orion had when he first saw you.

oh primus.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

🩷send me a burger !! : ko-fi💗 🩷visit my other socials !! : socials list💗 🩷writing requests rules !! : info list💗

[marypsue]

Look, the reason why people get pissed off when you say shit like '"mental illness" doesn't exist, it's all a product of the capitalist social structures we're forced to live under' is because we have to live inside our fucking brains, and lemme tell you, no amount of the natural world not being destroyed and me not having to work for a living is going to make me magically be able to choose what I want to do and just do it without any pre-planning or effort, and I'm pretty sure it's not going to magically make anyone no longer experience paranoia or delusions, or make the sucking existential despair that needs no actual justification for itself vanish, or or or or or.

'well but in a better political system those would be considered neutral or even positive traits/you'd be cared for by a community that -' bro I literally do not know how to tell you that you are completely disregarding the experiences of people with mental illnesses and considering them only based on how their mental illness affects the people around them, which is the exact same capitalistic model that you're blaming for 'causing' mental illnesses in the first place.

[Obligatory disclaimer because how dare you say we piss on the poor: of course there are social determinants of what gets categorised as a 'mental illness', it's not neat, it's not simple. Which is part of why it's so fucking frustrating when people go all the way in the other direction and say that it's entirely socially determined and doesn't exist inside your brain at all.]

[natalicss]

Glitter & Crimson

kwon ji-yong x american pop star!reader

summary: you and ji-yong live busy lives. as both of you start preparing for new albums and tours, as well as manage long distance during the holiday of love, the pressure of it all seems to get to you. set in the same universe as like we were in paris

warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, reader is working herself too hard, mentions of not eating, not proofread, implied age gap (reader is mid twenties), reader crashes out a lil bit, if i missed any lemme know and ill add it (i still don’t know how to use tumblr)

word count: 4.2K

nat’s notes: hey y’all!! in honor of valentine’s day i wanted to write SOMETHING, and this is what came out. i don’t actually know how romantic this is but…it’s more of american pop star & jiyong sooo im not gonna complain. i also didn’t tag anyone cause…for some reason that scares me so whoops. OH the little divider thing below is by strangergraphics btw

Valentine’s day, a cliche holiday that people often either love or despise. You usually felt pessimistic, for years. For years, you spent the holiday with your friends, going out and drinking nights away, dancing in clubs and wearing flattering outfits. If you weren’t doing that, you were curled up at home surrounded by your favorite snacks as you binged watched your favorite show. You didn’t like Valentine’s day, but you took the day to take care of yourself.

And then you met Ji-yong.

It was almost embarrassing, how easily that man swept you off your feet. A whimsical fairytale of unexpected friends to lovers. He made every day an adventure, one way or another. Never a second did you doubt your love for him. Not even when the two of you went months without seeing each other, swept up in busy schedules. Not even when the two of you kept your relationship a secret from fans and the industry for years. That didn’t go well, considering you two leaked it yourselves by locking lips at a Chanel fashion show…oops.

You grew to love Valentine’s day, the both of you using it as an excuse to share how much you adored and cared about each other even more than you already did. Flowers, chocolates, romantic dates, you two had done it all at this point. So, you couldn’t help but feel a little ache in your heart as you walked into your LA dance studio, getting ready for tour rehearsals. 

While Ji-yong was busy himself with rehearsals, preparing for his new album, his new show, and everything else that comes with G-Dragon’s comeback, you were worrying about your own. Your fifth album was released a couple months ago, and the pending start of your tour was coming quicker than you anticipated. After the fashion show, and a few remaining days with your boyfriend, you had no choice but to return back to America and continue getting ready. You two barely had time to bask in the reality that everybody knew about your relationship, now separated by the ocean.

Your days were filled with chaos. From the Grammys, to meeting with stylists and trying different pieces, to rehearsals for choreography, to overlooking the stage setup and the designs, to picking out your microphones, meeting with various crew members, you barely had a moment to breathe. With the time difference adding on to that, you and Ji-yong found keeping in contact a bit harder than usual. For years, it didn’t matter. If one of you was busy, the other wasn’t, and the two of you could compromise schedules, take phone calls at random times, and find more free time to travel back and forth. But this? This was different. 

You were standing in a large studio with your backup dancers and your choreographer, all of you covered in sweat, your body's aching, and your hearts pounding against your chests. Valentine’s day was this week, and you tried hard not to focus on it. It was your first Valentine’s day that you wouldn’t be with your boyfriend. And while in reality, that wasn’t that big of a deal, it hurt knowing that you weren’t even certain when you’d see him next.

Trying not to dwell on it, you focused on your work. Pushing yourself farther than usual. You moved with precision and acted as if the studio was your stage. Your choreographer, who you’d been working with for years, watched you intently as you and your dancers swung your hips to the beat. You held a microphone to your lips, singing along to your latest single. You strut, looking at the mirror and the would-be crowd. You felt every movement. It burned. It ached. It stung. Your lungs felt like they were going to collapse. You hadn’t worked this hard, this long, since your first world tour. Back then, you felt like you had something to prove. New to the industry, blowing up alongside some of the best artists. You wanted to show that you were meant to be there. 

In a way, you felt like that now. Five albums later, your fourth world tour, and you felt that need to prove that you still were that American pop-princess they crowned you to be. Maybe it was the press finally getting to you. Comments on how your last tour wasn’t as extravagant, how you haven’t been in the media as much the last few years, resulting in a potential downfall in your career. Maybe it was the need to please the fans, knowing they’ve been waiting for almost two years for this tour. Knowing they were going to want it to be good, better than before. Maybe it was your team, who constantly had their own thoughts and opinions on what your setlist should be, what outfits you should wear, where your tour dates should be. It was normal, expected when you’ve been in the industry. Knowing that still didn’t diminish the weight on your shoulders as you moved your legs with an articulate move.

One of your dancers, Raphael, was trying to hide the concern on his face as the two of you continued your dance for another song. He had been one of your dancers since your second tour, and a good friend along the way. He knew you better than most people here, other than maybe your best friend who was quietly watching from the sidelines. He’d seen you working hard like this for weeks. Even before you left for Paris, he had started to get worried as he watched you push and push and push. You could take a lot, you were strong and ambitious, things he admired. But everybody had a limit. 

He thought you would have gotten some rest after your performance in Paris, taking a few days off to spend with Ji-yong before coming back to LA. That had given him some temporary relief. But when you got back, his concern was back more than ever. He noticed how little you did anything else. You were hardly eating, coming into your work days with circles under your eyes, you had started to become more agitated when anyone made mistakes, especially yourself. You barely took breaks. When the other dancers were sitting down, drinking water, eating their lunches, you were still on the floor, practicing harder moves and trying to perfect them.

Raphael was staring at you now, watching as your body faced him, your head still angled towards the mirror as you sang. Your hand pressed into his chest, pushing him slightly as the two of you moved in sync. He walked backwards, watching you closely. Your eyes were glossed over with exhaustion, red from lack of sleep, and your skin was sticky with sweat. His eyes danced over you, watching the way your hand shook holding the microphone. The way your legs started to move with less precision. You missed a note. Other dancers noticed, keeping up with their own routine but sending looks at Raphael and each other. 

You slowly blinked as you moved with them, seemingly out of it. As you spun, everything around you seemed to, too. Your vision blurred, the room rotating in odd angles as you started to stumble in your steps. Part of you knew something was wrong, but another part of you refused to accept it, pushing. You kept the microphone up by your lips, continuing to sing despite the way your lungs were burning for more oxygen. Your choreographer stood up straight, her eyebrows furrowing. You pulled the microphone away to continue a dance break, but as you started the first difficult move, the room began to spin in a nauseating way. 

Your brain couldn't catch up as you started to fall forward. Raphael wrapped an arm around you, yelling your name in panic as the two of you collided with the floor. The choreographer quickly stopped the music, everyone in the room starting to crowd around you. Your friend came over, bottled water in hand, and their phone as they looked you over. In a few moments, your eyes fluttered open, and in the one moment your body stopped overworking you could feel the way every part of you was hurting. 

“Y/N, are you alright?” Your choreographer asked, looking you over. “Give them some room,” Dancers started to step back, their eyes never leaving you. You groaned, sitting up slowly as Raphael kept a hand on your shoulder. “What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine,” You answered shortly, reaching for the water in your friends hand. “I just haven’t drank enough water today. I’m good.”

Raphael and your friend shared knowing looks. “Y/N, maybe you should take a minute. You just passed out, again-” “I’m fine!” The two of them watched as you pushed off the floor harshly. You still swayed in your steps, but you remained upwards. You started chugging the water, crushing the plastic before throwing it towards the trashcan. You shook your limbs, as if that would erase the exhaustion. “Again!” 

Raphael clenched his jaw, knowing that you couldn’t go on like this. If you did, tour wasn’t going to last more than a couple shows. You had passed out at a practice a couple weeks ago, too. When you and your crew were getting ready for the Gala Des Pièces Jaunes event, you had over-exerted yourself and collapsed. That time, Raphael hadn’t been able to catch you, and you had landed harshly on the floor. And though he had been there to catch you this time, you might not be so lucky if you were on stage. He looked in the direction of your friend, who was back on the side lines. They were thinking the same thing.

But you weren’t listening. At every concerned comment your friend made, you brushed it off with a dismissive huff, and any time Raphael suggested to you to rest, or eat, or take a day off, you shot back with a snarky remark. You were too busy to take a break. You had too much counting on this tour. You had to be perfect.

So, they had to reach out to the one person you would listen to.

Ji-yong was entirely unaware of exactly how much work you were putting yourself through. He knew you were busy, as he was doing many of the same things you were. And sure, he noticed some tension in your voice when he asked you about your days, but he thought it was just anxiety. You’d always been so nervous when big projects were coming up. It was what made your shows so amazing, the way you cared about your work, your fans. The message was clear in every lyric, every dance, and more. 

So, when he got a phone call mid-afternoon from Raphael, he was a little confused. The two of them were friends, of course, but they hardly talked one-on one. Still, he answered it, bringing his phone to his ear as he excused himself from the room filled with management. “Hello?”

“Hi, sorry to bother you man,” Raphael says. In his voice, Ji-yong can here something that he couldn’t exactly place. Like something was lurking behind his tone.

“No, it’s fine,” Ji-yong says kindly. “Is everything okay?”

There’s a lingering silence, some shuffling on the other end. Raphael sighs as he takes a moment to find the right words. “No, uh, not really. It’s Y/N.”

Ji-yong tenses, his thumb playing with the rings on his fingers. “What’s going on?” He asks warily.

“Has she told you about the tour?”

“Parts.” Ji-yong says, trying hard to keep his tone light and unnerved. “She’s been busy, so we haven’t talked about it in detail.”

Raphael scoffs slightly, “She’s been busy, alright.” Ji-yong hears Raphael shuffle more, “We’re worried about her, man. She’s been working herself to the bone.”

Ji-yong blinks. “Is she stressed?” He thinks about all the things the two of you did to cope with anxiety. Whether it was breathing exercises, meditation, listening to music, he thinks about mentioning it to him-

“She’s more than that. She’s barely sleeping, eating, she passed out at practice again–”

“What do you mean again?”

Raphael exhales loudly, “She didn’t tell you about that either?” He is chuckling lowly. Ji-yong is looking at the floor, his mind all over the place. “For that gala, she was working so much, she fainted at practice a couple days before the show.”

Ji-yong is pacing, unable to stop himself. How had you not told him? How had he not noticed? He always asked you if you ate that day, he always texted you little reminders to eat breakfast, drink water. You had always done the same for him, too, knowing his own struggles with his mental health and working himself too hard. A guilty ache in his gut made him suddenly feel uncomfortable in his skin.

“She’s not listening to anybody. We’ve all tried telling her to take a break, to eat, to take a fucking nap. She just gets mad.” Raphael’s words make Ji-yong wince, painfully understanding what that was like. “Which is why I called you.”

Ji-yong is looking around the building he’s in, looking out the window. Seoul moved around him like it always had. His team was in a room just a few feet away, working away at his album, his tour, his press tours. And yet, all of that felt silly now as he thought about you. His partner who he truly cared about more than himself. He clenched his jaw, scratching at his hair as he tries to think clearly. He could call you, scold you for your carelessness for yourself and try to knock some sense into you. But he knew you better than that, just like you did. You knew how upset he’d be at you for working too hard, so you hadn’t mentioned it, leaving out key points in conversation. And he knew you wouldn’t listen, not to a phone call. 

So, desperate times call for desperate measures.

As the week of Valentines continued, so did you. You continued working hard, refusing to acknowledge worried comments from your co-workers. Even your manager had tried to say something, only to get snapped at (which didn’t happen often). If your choreographer conveniently got sick, like today, that didn’t stop you from going to the studio and continuing practice alone. 

The music blared from the speakers, but your own heavy breathing and the squeaking of tennis shoes was louder in your ears. You chose not to sing today, the only leniency you’d give your body. Instead, you focused on the set, practicing a new song that was going to be released with the deluxe version of your album. You moved your arms with the music, tilting your body in various directions, imagining your dancers were there to help create the perfect image. You swing your body in a sensual motion, sinking lower to the ground. Your body was screaming at you, almost begging you to stop as you stood back up. You glared at your own reflection. You could see it. The exhaustion. The stress. You could feel the pressure scratching into your muscles like claws.

Tears pricked your eyes as you stared at yourself. You had lost weight, probably from the lack of meals and the extreme amounts of exercise. Your eyes red with bags under them. You looked almost sick, from how tired you were. You could feel it. And yet you didn’t let your body stop. As a particularly intense part came up, tears streamed down your pale cheeks as you pushed. Every move was hit exactly as it should be. Extreme, fast, smooth, and a hint of flirtation as you beamed at the mirror like your fans were watching from the other side. You ignored the way your throat burned at the sobs threatening to escape you. You ignored the way your arms were aching every time you moved. You ignored how your feet suddenly felt to heavy to move.

Until you hit the floor.

Your legs had given out on you, letting you land in a heap of limbs. You scrunch your face up in pain, tears falling more rapidly. You pushed yourself up slowly, staring down at the floor like it had pulled you down. It wasn’t good enough. You weren’t good enough. This tour was going to fall apart, and it’d be entirely your fault. Your fans would be disappointed, your dancers and your crew would lose their jobs, your team would be mad at you, and you would have to face it all alone-

You let out a scream of frustration, slamming your hands against the floor repeatedly. The scream eventually contorted into a strangled sob. Your body shook, no longer having the energy to get up. You leaned back down, your forehead resting against the floor a you heaved. All of the stress, the overbearing pressure, the weeks of working hours and hours a day. It all washes over you like a bone crushing tsunami. 

You didn’t notice the door opening, something dropping to the floor, and running footsteps until someone grabs you.

Initially, you flinch at the touch. Expecting it to be Raphael or your friend, you shoot up from the floor, trying to scoot away from them. But instead, you’re facing a wide-eyed mint-haired Ji-yong. Your boyfriend. Who was, last you checked, supposed to be in Seoul, not LA. 

You blink. Were you hallucinating? For a moment, he just stared at you. He’d never seen you like this. Stressed? Tired? Absolutely. But this was different. Oddly reminiscent of his own past. The thought shook him to his core. His expression softened as he reached for you, his hand falling on your shoulder. You looked back at him, his touch bringing you back to reality. This was real, he was in front of you, and he’d just walked into your studio to see you in a pile of tears. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice hoarse. You look him over, he looked in much better condition than you. Except for the worry in his eyes that made you shrink back into your guilt.

“Your friends called me.” Ji-yong explains, reaching up and pushing your hair out of your face. You felt warm to the touch, too warm. “They’re worried about you, and so am I,” You looked away from him. You didn’t want to face the guilt, the anxiety, the feelings bubbling up in you the last few weeks. “Talk to me,”

You could only shrug, meek. You looked around the studio. “It’s not going to work.” You whisper. He frowns. “The tour. It’s going to fail. I’m going to mess up, or it’s not going to be good enough, and everyone is going to hate it, and I can’t risk that. I can’t mess this up-”

“Jagiya,” Ji-yong’s voice cuts through the air with an unexpected warmth. You look at him. “All of this will be perfect, but none of this is worth basically killing yourself for.” He slides closer to you, “You can’t give it your all if you’re like this. You of all people know that.” He was right. His clear calm words sinking into you. “You’re not going to mess this up. You’re not going to disappoint anyone. You’re not going to fail.” You feel tears roll down your face, and then you feel his touch. As he wipes them away, you lean into his palm for comfort. 

“I missed you,” You whimper.

“I missed you, beautiful,” He whispered back. Slowly, you came forward. You let his arms wrap around you as you curled into his chest, letting out a slow sigh as you finally let your body relax. He ran his fingers through your hair, holding you close. He rested his chin on top of your head, sitting in silence for a moment. His heart hurt with you, for you. You had always been your own biggest critic, he shared a similar testament for himself. But seeing you like this, something so unlike you, made his chest ache. “For the rest of the week, you’re relaxing.”

You sit up again, wide, fearful eyes looking at his calm ones. “I can’t! We have dress rehearsal-”

“You’re not arguing with me on this. Your choreographer already agreed.” His tone was slightly more stern, remaining soft whilst still showing how serious he was. You pressed your lips into a line. “I’m here all week, and you and I are both going to rest.” 

“But you have so much to do. The album-”

“Can wait a few days. I promise.” He lifts your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Let’s get home. I’ll run you a bath and we can watch your favorite show.”

You stare at him, pondering the offer. But he can see as your expression softens, the dark cloud looming over your features fading away. “Can we make hot cocoa?” You ask quietly. 

He can only smile. “Of course.” He tells you. You crack a smile, then. He slowly starts to stand up, pulling you with him. As he turns to grab your bags, you tug at his wrist. He spins back to face you, gasping as you kiss him harshly. His hands find their home on your waist, pulling you into him. It had been a few weeks since the two of you saw each other, and neither of you expected your reunion to go like this. You poured out every feeling into the kiss, letting him know just how much you missed him, how much you loved him, how truly excited you were to see him underneath your layers of exhaustion. 

He never let go of your hand, managing to carry both your dance bag and the bag he’d haphazardly packed before basically running to the airport in one hand. The two of you looked at each other, the conversation slowly flowing into non-work related things. It was like he could see the weight lifting off your shoulders. His presence alone bringing some sort of peace to you. He knew you needed this, and in a way he needed it too.

And when Valentine’s day finally rolled around, he’d made sure to pull out the stops. You’d woken up to breakfast in bed, a ribbon-wrapped box with an expensive necklace, flowers, flowers, and more flowers. You’d done what you could for him, too. Getting him some new rings and scarves, a sentimental handwritten note filled with words of adoration and love. For part of the day, the two of you stayed in your tangled sheets. Fingers tracing bare skin and soft kisses. Whispers of love and arms wrapped around bodies. 

When the evening came, Ji-yong had told you to dress nice. The two of you ended up at your favorite restaurant, the first nice place you took him to when he came to visit you for the first time. Of course he’d been in LA plenty of times before, but the time with you was different. It was more special than all the rest. And now, he remembered that fondly as he watches you sit at the same table (merely a coincidence, or fate he thinks), your eyes finally filled with that familiar love and light. You looked at him, smiling wide. He could die happy knowing he was ever the cause of that smile. 

“I love you, you know.” You said casually, admiring him. He blinks, his cheeks flushing a soft pink that was still noticeable in the warm light. You tilted your head, smiling even more. This is it, you think. This is what you wanted life to be like. You and Ji-yong. You realize that everything else could disappear, fall apart, slip from your grasp, but as long as you had him you’d be okay. This wasn’t the first time marriage crossed your mind, but it was the first time you ever imagined your wedding and confidently believed it would eventually become reality. The idea of walking down the aisle to your Ji-yong. Picturing him looking at you dressed in white. Spending the rest of your life with him. It all seemed like a dream, but it felt like it was all exactly what you wanted.

Ji-yong reaches for your hand over the table. He’s sure he’d never let you go if he had the choice. He looks at you, watching the way you’re glowing even in the dim lights. The way you looked at him enough to make him melt. He knew that you were it for him. You were the person he wanted to come home to every night. The person he wanted to kiss every day before he walked out the door. The person he would hold when he was upset. The person he’d bicker with until you were grey and old. The person he’d have a family with. It wasn’t a question, and there wasn’t another possibility to him. It was all a matter of time. Whether it was tomorrow, next week, next year, whenever. He didn’t know where his life was taking him, but he knew it was all going to be with you.

“I love you, too.”

[n0tamused]

HSR characters as dragons

A/N: Hellloo, it is I once more with my dragon rambles. This time we're moving onto HSR a bit more. I do hope you all like how these turned out, and if you'd like any specific character turned into a dragon, please do lemme know in the comments or reblogs. Idk when I'll do the next part, but I do plan to continue this little series.

Content: Dr. Ratio, Luocha and Blade as dragons, x reader, gn reader, fluff, angst(Blade's part)

Dr Ratio:

-A lot don’t consider him a dragon, and they’d have a point since visually Dr. Ratio does lack in the stereotypical dragon aspects, and he himself would classify himself as a “gryphon” much more than a dragon. 

-Nonetheless, he makes the list of many dragon related magazines and novels and research papers

-Dr. Ratio is huge (doctor- you’re huge!)(not sorry) in this dragon form, he certainly does not lack in mass either, hiding quite the muscular form under all the feathers and fluff which he pays a lot of attention to

-One of the life goals he has set is that search for knowledge and more knowledge and to cure the illness called ignorance and stupidity. This life-long dedication has brought him to a lot of places, and a lot of forgotten where he truly hails from.

-Due to his size, he usually cannot fit in many places, and since he frequents cities, schools and so on, he is more often seen in his human form, handling his business accordingly and swiftly. He is calculated, and sometimes considers his beastly form something that represents 2 things. 2-The future version of what he wants to achieve; dragons and gryphons are often classified as hoarders of knowledge, being one of the wisest species that there is, and if he could achieve that peak form, he might have a better time fulfilling his goal. And 2-A representation of a more negative side of himself, driven more by beastly instincts. Quite the contradiction to the first point, which led Ratio to some insecurities about his form. He doesn’t want to risk being impulsive or acting on animalistic impulse, so he doesn’t take on the form that often at all.

-He doesn’t flaunt it either, but that doesn’t make it any less impressive of gorgeous to look at when he does take on the form of the giant bird-dragon

-Due to his build, he is quite well prepared should a fight arise - but as per his morals and protocol, he would much rather take the diplomatic route. Although if the intimidation factor would have any good use, he may arrive at the negotiation site in his dragon form, showing off his size and big claws before reverting to his human form when he lands.

-Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise, but his fur and fluff is so soft and he also smells really nice. (I could fall asleep in his fluff and never wake up)

-He is really cautious in his dragon form, stepping lightly and gingerly around anything that could be damaged or broken easily, specifically you. Speaking of that - for a dragon his size he really does step lightly. His footsteps don’t echo or tremble the ground like you may expect, and also similarly - he flies very silently. You don’t hear him approaching at all.

-He would let you pet him only after a lot of nagging, feeling a bit embarrassed mentally about the situation as he just sits there and then there’s you, a tiny human hopping around him all giddy and with stars in your eyes as you pet him and maybe even try to climb him. He’s grumpy, but he is flattered- especially since it is you bringing forth all this mirth and compliments for this beastly form, and also him as a human too

-He’s also ambidextrous, both in human and dragon form. 

-.... I'm tempted to say that in dragon form he can also use his hind legs as hands too due to this... like bro is skilled okay, knowledge gave him writing buffs lmao

Luocha:

-(pretty dragon pretty dragon-)

-A very kind looking dragon, gentle and smelling of spring and reminiscent of a bountiful harvest with his pale gold scales and flowing golden mane.

-It is unknown where exactly he came from, as he sort of just appeared one day and came to exist within the people’s memories

-Some of the jewelry decorating his mane and body were gifts from some youngsters he came across. He accepted these gifts and polished them before putting them on himself, wearing the gifts with pride, earning the trust of the locals smoothly and swiftly with his humble demeanor

-He is well versed in medicinal herbs and has offered his aid to many individuals, even fellow dragons. While he does frequent his dragon form a lot, as it also makes carrying wares easier, he is still human and both dragon and human need to eat. While he has offered free services to those in dire need, he does charge others, and although his prices are not high, the price is still there.

-Some claim he uses magic to grow his herbs, since everyone that got their wares of herbs from him claim that they instantly felt better, after a sniff or a first sip. 

-His front legs are a bit shorter, making his hips stand a bit higher when he is walking on all fours, but he is also able to walk on his hind legs, and his front legs are very flexible. He can harvest and plant his own herbs just fine in his dragon form. His heavy tail gives him a great balance and if need be he can run very fast. He is quite agile, whether it be on 2 or 4 feet and, despite the gentle nature, can fight.

-You can often catch him laying down in some sun-kissed spot near the city, surrounded by kids after his business hours, all kids admiring his form; playing with his mane or claws or scarves on his body, one kid is braiding little braids on one side, and there’s a kid that somehow  climbed their way up onto his forehead, holding onto his bangs for dear life. Luocha lays his head down, huffing as the kids exhaust themselves jumping and playing. Although if the sun is setting he doesn’t hold back on telling them to go home or telling them some ghost tale to scare them back into their parent’s arms. 

-He does love picking you up too if he is feeling cheeky, setting you on his back or his head as he walks back to your shared residence in that place.

A:n: Luocha is one of my favorite designs that I’ve done so far, look at him auhfoisfahofsg

Blade:

-Once a young, moon-kissed and pale dragon was now a shell of his former self, with only small patches of pale fluff standing out as a faint reminder of what he once was.

-His illness made spiky protrusions grow from his underbelly and it ruined his maw as well. However formidable it all made him, dark and scary, he was in constant pain.

-He is rarely ever seen, and ever since the ‘incident’ he has become a ghost tale to scare the kids with, a warning to any other long-life species as to what may happen if they follow down his route and what can happen if they're struck with the same illness as him

-Blade avoids any reflective surfaces in which he may look at himself, as that can sometimes make his mara flare up. He often spends his time in solitude, be it doing missions or spending his time in forgetfulness. Forgetting has become a hobby now, staring at the dark walls of some cave he found as he slowly realizes his memories are shrinking. It's as if all his puzzle pieces are being taken away from him, thrown away or hidden from his clutches.

-Blade frequently takes the form of the dragon, the pain seems more manageable when he is huge and terrifying. A lot of people that catch a glimpse of him also stay far far away, and unless they're the object of his mission - he won't go after them either. The sight of him alone is terrifying. 

-Big curled horns that are dark gray like the dark side of the moon, and if you look close enough there's small shimmers in the shadow clad corners of his scales and horns. Up close he is…pretty in his own right, his subconscious struggling to keep the remaining pieces of his past intact through physical attributes.

-His long flowing mane is soft and well kept, even if Blade doesn't particularly pay much attention to it, or the other fluff spots on his body. 

-He doesn't know where the jewelry in his hair came from, but there's something about it that forbids him from removing it. 

-The red sash around him was put there by Kafka and you, and if often maintained by you two. And there's something intimate about tying the bow at his back or putting the big golden clips into his fur. It's the trust he puts into you, and while it may seem like such a mundane action like helping someone button up their shirt, it means a lot more when Blade is in question, someone who doesn't let anyone else touch him or go near him.

-I think it is safe to say that this bad boy can fight. And fight he does. His mara has hardened his teeth further, and if any fall out during a scuffle, another one will take its place soon after. Although he is a bit long, he is quite strong. The only disadvantage he has is the fact that he is flightless. His species might as well fall into some branch of a drake. He can breathe fire though, and that ability has served him before in making weapons - these days though he doesn't use it much. He has teeth and claws, and that's enough. 

-During more easy days, he does like having you around, when his mara is silent and not dragging him under, your presence is comforting. He'll just lay down near you and soak in your presence. He will scoff or huff if you decide to shuffle closer, but he will most likely give in in times like these. Touch him, run your fingers through his fur, the fluff and the mane, he'll close his eyes and sigh. 

Size chart:

-Listen, I had a hard time trying to figure out sizes for them since they'd almost the same, but in the end I settled with this.

-Dr Ratio > Luocha > Blade

-Blade is huge but he is more long lol, and if it came to a hypothetical fight with either of the other two, Blade is winning no argument there, unless they yank him into the skies and slam him down idk

-There is a little difference in size between them tbh

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[carmenized-onions]

Pretty. | Bolting Down Booths

logline; locking down chairs and a sweaty sleep deprived man (for now) (for the night) (platonically) (for now) (what?) (I didn't say anything).

series history, this is the third; First, Second

portion; 4.5k+

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (baby, Tony's mentally ill, get WITH it). We are once again, eatin' meat (beef!). Did I give the reader a curly girl routine? ....Perhaps...

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'girl' is thrown around quite a bit.)

is this entire series just a love letter to me wanting to take care of this guy? maybe so. maybe so.

Lifesaver. Lifesaver. Lifesaver.

Alright, fuck, you need to put on something to listen to because the thought isn’t leaving and the cherry lifesaver swirling in your mouth is so ironic that it’s leaving a bitter taste.

It’s after hours at The Bear, just after midnight, and you’ve returned to a clinically cleaned restaurant, ‘Ah… Syd keeps it locked in.’ and you’re thankful that you’re alone because it means everyone’s getting their proper rest. However, it also means your intrusive thoughts are really drilling in tonight.

You drop your phone on one of the booth tables, blasting music at full volume. That’s better. Little more static to work with now. You measure each booth and table for the third time tonight, rechecking that the angles are exactly as Syd had asked. They’re still perfect. Alright, get a move on, it’s not gonna somehow get more correct than correct…

You slip yourself under the table, verifying that the bolts are the proper fit— Also for the third time today. Hey, what if Home Depot fucked you earlier?! It’s important to check! You’re definitely not unreasonably anxious right now! But your power drill is practically screaming to be used at this point, so you acquiesce.

You’re on the last bolt when you hear a click of the front door opening.

“Fuck!” It scares you so shitless you jump and knock the top of your head on the table. You lay down quickly, back pressed to the floor to get a look at the perp. You point your power drill menacingly toward the front door.

Oh.

“Fuck are you doing here?” You and Carmen manage to speak in perfect unison.

There’s a beat before you opt to go first.

“Bolting.” Still lying under the table. You raise your drill upward, revving it a few times.

He swallows, sniffs, and scratches his nose. “Thought you were doing that tomorrow?”

“Technically it is tomorrow.” He scoffs, so you continue. “No, uh, Nat asked if I could come in after hours so I’m not as much of an active tripping hazard.” You gesture to yourself on the floor.

“Smart.” He rubs his eyes. He looks red and pink all over.

“…Thought you were getting off early today?”

“I did.” He clears his throat when you make a face about it. “I—I uh, did leave early, I just, just thought I’d come in and uh… Do some work.”

He rubs the back of his neck, continuing after a beat. “I’m, I’m uh, I’m good— In, in the kitchen.”

You chew at your inner cheek, staring at a very clearly distressed Carmy. His eyes are lined red, hair is in disarray.

“…Did you do it?” Did you break up with your girlfriend?

“…Yeah. I-I did.”

You just nod, thoughtful, before slipping back under the table, finishing drilling in the last bolt. “If you need a palate tester, lemme know.”

“Heard.”

The moment is soft but then cut short by you scrambling to quiet your phone atop your table when a perfectly unfitting upbeat song starts to sing out at max volume. He hides his smile poorly as he heads into the kitchen.

It’s a nice hour or so, in the front of house. You drill each bolt efficiently, grounding each booth and table in their place permanently. Your tunes play at a much lower volume now, careful to not alert the lone chef in the back. The intrusive thoughts have vanished with Carmen around, even if distant. He might not consider himself a brightening presence, but to you, he certainly is a nice lamp.

You stand up finally, finished, doing a big stretch of your arms and a crack of your back. You notice Carmen looking at you through the glass. He looks away, then back again, raising a hand, motioning for you to come in. Looks like you finished right on time.

It smells fucking incredible in here. You’re once again trying to temper your reaction as you pass through the door, not wanting to stroke his ego, but he’s already clocked it. It’s okay, you clock his boyish smirk of pride before he hides it with his hand, so you’re even.

On the steel table, plated— On their one black plate, because he’s not over having to settle for less— Are three perfectly cubed and seared pieces of marbled meat, glazed mushrooms, and some round breaded things that you’re not quite sure about. All perfectly plated and decorated with greens, parsley, specifically.

You step next to him, staring at the plate intently, taking it in visually. “Well?”

He hums in a way that sounds like a laugh, arms crossed. He stares at his own plate just as intently. “Pan-seared Wagyu— Sirloin. Wild mushrooms, basted in the same fat. Hazelnut-potato croquettes—”

“What the fuck is that?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, he just smiles— In a way that looks actually kind of genuine. He likes to teach. “Seasoned mashed potatoes, basically. Breaded with bread crumbs and hazelnut, in this case, and fried. There’s a gruyere center, to this one.”

You don’t miss the fact that he’s not stuttering anymore. He’s right. He’s good in the kitchen. In all the ways that entails.

“Test?” He lifts a fork to you. You take it.

You lean forward, elbow on the table. You take polite, small cuts of each part of the meal initially, it feels bad to destroy what is an art piece.

But then he leans forward, head meeting your level, amusement lilting his voice. “You know it’s a compliment to eat?”

You huff, taking a larger piece of everything to get it all in one bite. Everything is so soft and lush that you don’t need a knife. Goddamn. You take your bite. Son of a bitch.

You thought fucking brisket was good?

“Oh my god.” You put your hand in front of your mouth as you chew, switching your gaze to him. “Carmen, oh my fucking god!”

“Yeah?” His glow is slowly coming back to him, like a flickering halo. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Fuckin’— So good! What is it, fire? Excellent? What’s the top one? I’m angry that it’s this good.”

“Angry is a new one.”

“I’m furious!” You laugh, “I always thought luxury dining was fuckin’ scam, I’m not gonna lie to you. But I— I took one bite and I’m incredibly full and— And, it’s just— It’s really really good, Carm—Chef. Gotta show it to Syd for the menu.”

He nods, smiling, finally, unhidden. “Thank you, Chef.”

He grabs the fork from you to try for himself, but before he can get to his own plate, you press the back of your hand to his chest, holding him back. “Uh, ah, can I do a thing, for you?”

He squints, curiously, putting his fork down. “…Yes?”

You grin, walking around the kitchen the second he affirms it. “Where’s your wine box?”

“Ah… By expo, over…” He points to it.

You pop it open, hand waving over each bottle for the right one you’re searching for. “I’ll pay for it.”

“S’fine.”

A young Pinot Grigio, you go with. Ripe, sweet, airy. You walk by him again, grazing your hand on the small of his back and placing the bottle in front of him. “Open, don’t pour.”

“Heard.” He roots away for the bottle opener.

“And get me a clean knife and cutting board!”

“Fuck are you doin?” He doesn’t complain, getting what you ask for, but he is quite curious.

You sort through the fruit pantry in Marcus’ section, grabbing the most perfect white peach you can— It wouldn’t be perfect by morning, he won’t mind. “I am an occasional bartender and poor man’s sommelier…”

You meet him back at his station, slicing the peach thinly with the knife he’s left for you. “So, when I’m given the chance to pair a meal, I try to.”

You halve the thin slices, then place a few in each glass Carmen’s so kindly set out for you— Tulip bowled cups. You whistle, “You know your shit…”

His eyes light up, just a bit. He shrugs, handing you the uncorked bottle when you reach for it. “My job.”

“You’re good at it.” You pour the wine, proper— No stops missed for Carmen. “Okay, okay, okay…”

You hand him his glass— The one you think you did a slightly better peach placement on. “Alright, now you can have the dish you worked hard on.”

With a small smile, he takes a generous bite of his dish, takes his time digesting it, then sips your wine. He tilts his head, surprised by how much of a liking he’s taking to it. “S’fire. Well worth it.”

You sip your own glass, smiling, you explain before he can ask you to. “Yeah? Good. Citrusy white to cut the fat of wagyu. Or something. Poor man’s sommelier, y’know.”

“Hm.” He sniffs, and you try not to light up when he writes down the wine pairing at the bottom of his drafted recipe card. “Better than me.”

There’s a comfortable silence before he speaks up again. “You gonna head out?”

You squint at him, head tilted. “Are you?”

Once you know one Berzatto, you’ve known them all. Their tells included.

“…Eventually, yeah.”

“You drive?”

“I take the L.”

“Are you on the red or blue line?”

He doesn’t answer. So, that tells you he’s not on the only two 24-hour lines.

“…I’ll take a transfer—”

“When were you planning on going?” You cross your arms; he can tell where this is going and he hates it. You’re foiling his plan.

“When I’m done.”

“Done what?”

“…Cleaning.”

“I’ll help you,” You pick up the cutting board and knife swiftly. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“I need to get work done—Too.” He takes a while to reply, but when he does, he speaks with haste.

You pause, putting the cutting board down. Let’s do the math here.

He said he came in ‘early’ this morning, but ‘early’ probably meant overnight because of the Fridge Guy. He left early, sure, before the dinner rush— But only to experience his first breakup—If you can call it that. Then he’s come back at midnight again, after everyone else has left. The likelihood he’s slept since the night before his opening isn’t impossible, but if he did sleep, he slept here. And he definitely hasn’t showered. He’s likely been awake 40 hours.

You nod, picking up the board again, walking it to the sink. You stand over it in thought.

“What’s wrong with home, Carm?”

“It’s gonna hit, if I go home.”

He swallows, “Everything’s gonna hit, when I go home.”

Now that you can understand. You nod, scrubbing the cutting board clean. “When your brother died, I holed up at my parents’ for two weeks.”

You don’t turn off the sink, even after you're done cleaning, because if you do, you fear he will hear your tell-tale heartbeat. “When I came back, my plants were half dead and my fridge was a biohazard.”

He sniffs, he’s waiting for the shoe to drop, for you to tell him he has to go home, that it only gets worse if you wait it out, that he needs to find a better way to deal with this—

“You can hole up at mine.”

When he doesn’t reply, you turn your head to look at him. He’s very hard to read but it looks like he’s entertaining the idea. You add, for the sake of levity, “You need a fuckin’ shower, man.”

He smirks, though the amusement doesn’t meet his eyes. “When I shower all my fuckin’ hairs gonna fall out.” He piles his dirtied utensils and boards, sidling up to the sink next to you.

“You need rosemary water.” You grab a dish rag, switching over to dry for him.

“Does that shit actually work?” You both quickly ebb into the domestic flow of handing off dishes. He mumbles ‘left-most drawer’, ‘top-shelf, right side’, and so on whenever you’re confused about where they go once they’re dry.

“It does. I have also had the ‘am I balding?’ crisis. Believe it or not.”

He stares at your hairline so intently you put your hand in front of it, flustered. He finally flicks his gaze back to yours. “If you’re really worried, you can make it pretty easy—”

“I’ll stay over.”

You take a second to register, then nod happily.

“Good. Where’s the black plate go?”

Your apartment is surprising because it’s built on top of an H&R Block, the concrete stairs leading up to it are chipped to hell, and the front door has clearly been graffitied then painted over then graffitied then painted over then graf—

And yet, it is almost certainly one of the best-looking apartments he’s seen in Chicago— On the inside at least.

None of the furniture matches, but it’s nice, it’s eclectic. It’s heavily thrifted and upcycled from furniture you found on the side of the road. That’s the nice thing, about being a fixer—Nothing’s trash if you believe in yourself. You drop your keys in a handmade clay tray— That’s the other thing Carm notices, so much of this is you alone.

The place is a mess, there’s half-finished projects in the corner of every room, tools strewn in odd places. And it’s perfectly welcoming. Warm. In a literal sense, too, because there’s a humidifier going off on a timer in the living room to make what Carmen estimates are your forty thousand plants and cuttings happy.

This is a perfect apartment because you live in it.

Nothing can hit, in here.

He comes back to reality when you reach your hand out to him, there’s a coat hanger in your other hand. Oh. Jacket.

“Oh, fuck.” He peels off his jacket, handing it to you. “I uh, I left your Carhartt at work.”

“S’fine, if I was in a rush for it back, I would’ve asked.” You brush off easily, hanging up the jean jacket in your small coat closet. “Ah…”

Your apartment has a pretty open layout, but you point at everything regardless.

“There’s the kitchen…” It’s on the right at the entry, with an open archway— Which you’re in the middle of rounding the corners on with plywood.

“The living room…” Straight ahead, he can see the half of it that isn’t blocked by the kitchen. You’ve got big windows, with a fire escape. Suncatchers and more plants are hanging from the ceiling by it.

“To the left, down the hall— The only hall, bathrooms on the right and straight ahead is the bedroom, you can put your shit there.”

His brows furrow, you say the last part quickly, and he’s going to say something but you grab the black plate he’s brought and brush past him to the kitchen.

So, he just shrugs off his backpack, “Heard.” And heads down the hall. For now.

It feels odd to put this very fancy, very expensive one black plate on top of the rest of your own cheap dishware— But he insisted you take it, so, here it is.

You march down the hall, going to grab towels for him from your room, but stop short when you hear him in the bathroom, mumbling, “Fuck is this?”

You peek in, “Fuck is what?” You come in when he turns the bottle in his hand for you to look at. You stare at it for a solid few seconds, genuinely alarmed, you look at Carmen with wide eyes.

“Carmy, look me in my eyes and tell me you know what conditioner is.”

“I—I know what conditioner is, but what are all the words for?”

“All the words?”

“Like, strengthening, bonding, texture—”

“Carmen?!”

“Don’t say my name like that…”

“You have wavy hair, too, Bear!” You stare wide-eyed, mouth in an open-mouth smile because if you don’t laugh you’ll start screaming. You swipe away the hair in front of his face, holding the tress between your fingers to get an idea of texture. You’re too focused to clock the way he flinches— At the nickname and the touch.

“We’ve got like, the same hair texture! What the fuck are you using?”

He doesn’t answer, he opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“Carmen…” You can make a pretty good guess. He bristles again. He has discovered does not like it when you say his name with any sort of animosity or disappointment.

“Carmen no… Two in One?”

“…Five in One.”

“Five in One?!” You clutch the sides of your head. “What are the Five?!”

He waves his hands in defense, “It’s—”

“Y’know what, don’t fuckin’ tell me, I don’t wanna know, I don’t need to know.” You cover your face and shake your head. “Just— I will get you clothes and a towel, wash—” You reach into your shower, grabbing your fruity body wash. “—Wash yourself with this, like a civilized person— And just don’t— Don’t touch your hair, I’ll take care of your hair after you shower.”

“You’ll take care—”

“You’ve lost your hair privileges; I will be taking up the arms.”  You pinch the bridge of your nose, “I just—You need a tutorial, please.”

He holds the body wash in his hand, debating this fight or not, “I think five is—”

“Just fuckin’ say heard.”

“Heard.”

Despite everything, you both laugh. You tap the doorway on your way out, yelling to no one as you turn back down the hall. “Corner!” It’s worth it when he laughs again.

Ironically, the one shirt you know will fit him that you have is ‘The Berf’, so you grab that. Pants are a bit tougher, but with enough scrounging through your closet you find a long-forgotten pair of sweatpants your brother left here ages ago.

You approach the bathroom door, it’s still ajar, so you invite yourself in. He’s staring at your skincare products with a clinical fascination, stopping only to acknowledge your presence.

“Alright, alright.” You pop your pile of things down on the sink counter, handing each thing to him individually.

“New toothbrush.” Still packaged. It’s got your dentist’s address on the clear plastic. “Pyjamas. Towel, wash cloth— I think you’re good.”

When you turn your head to look at him, you catch the tail end of him staring— Again, his eye contact is so soft and also scary. And now that the sleep is catching up to him, he’s half-lidded and— Goddamn it he is very pretty, sonofabitch.

He straightens up, sniffing, nodding as a form of thanks, the likelihood he’s registered anything you’ve said isn’t likely— Which is fine, you are now too flustered to care. There’s a boy in your house and you’ve just discovered he’s pretty.

“I’m just gonna wash my face n’ grab a few things and I’ll be out of your way.”

You wash your hands; he unwraps his toothbrush. And without verbally checking in, you once again flow into a silent rhythm. You grab your toothbrush, dole out toothpaste on both of your brushes, and stare at yourselves and each other in the mirror, side by side as you brush.

You make a face, and while he doesn’t fuckin’ guffaw, he does smile, foam peeking through the corners of his mouth, and that’s enough for you.

You rinse— You try to be dainty about it but it’s not, because when has brushing your teeth ever been dignified?

You pump face cleanser into your palm, then nod to him to do the same. Good Carm, he listens. Like a mime tutorial, he follows your actions of foaming it in the hands and properly washing his face. There’s hope for this five in one boy yet.

You pile together your skincare and leave him to shower in peace. More importantly, leave to let yourself lose it in peace.

Oh my god there’s a pretty boy in your bathroom and it’s two in the morning. What the fuck were you thinking? You just invited him over without hesitation? You met him like barely two days ago! Oh my god! There’s a pretty boy in your bathroom! And it’s two! In the morning!

You need to kill the teenage girl in your head because she’s freaking you the fuck out. You were literally being so calm and chill and cool and cool and chill and calm— Oh my god you’re doing it again—

Everything is fine. He’s literally here because he’s experiencing a torrential downpour of awful. You invited him over because you’d invite anyone like that over. Pretty or not. Get your head in order.

You take a deep, mindful breath and exhale, returning to neutral as you meditatively go through your skincare routine and change into your nice pajamas— Y’know, the one modest matching set for when you have guests or go somewhere. Instead of the one usual incredibly stained oversized t-shirt.

You set up a chair by your kitchen sink, towel on the back for comfort. You were serious about the hair thing. Your scalp and his are curly girl sisters, you cannot leave them to die like this.

When he comes out, knots in his back undone, steam wafting, grime finally removed, he approaches you with much more energy, and leans against the doorway. You both speak at once.

“Weird to see you out of uniform.”

You snort; he flattens his mouth into a line to keep from smiling too hard (which, for Carmen, would really just mean smiling with his teeth). But really, it is weird. You’re both suddenly… People. You can see all his tattoos and his stupid gold chain...And he can see you.

You kick the chair with your foot, gesturing to it. “Sit, I’m washing your hair.”

You’re walking past him before he’s got the chance to deny, collecting proper products from the bathroom to use. Y’know. Not fucking five in one.

Once again, good Carm listens, sitting in the chair. Not without complaints, though. “Big fan of babying people?”

You wrap the towel behind his neck, tilting his head back into the sink. If you pretend, it’s like a salon. You hum in reply, blunt, “Yeah, I am.”

“I like to take care of people. In a way, it’s kind of my job.” You re-rinse his hair once the water is warm— Thank God your kitchen faucet is a sprayer.

“You’re good at it.” He’s too comfortable and lethargic to be aggro about this, so he’s just sweet and honest. It’s hard not to beam.

“I try.” You massage shampoo through his scalp, “I know I’m pushy about it, sometimes.”

He sighs, a breath of relief. When’s the last time someone else washed his hair? He’s been cutting his own for years, he cannot remember the last time. Had to have been before New York.

“Were you pushy with Mikey?” He’s not fully sure why he said that, and he’s waiting for you to make him regret asking it.

You just hum, nostalgically amused, “I think I got pushy because of Mikey.”

“Stopped hoping my friends would take care of themselves with the right tools and decided to just take care of them myself.” You rinse the bubbles from his hair. You’re happy to see his wavy pattern returning.

“A lot of work.”

“Not to me.”

You pump conditioner into your hand— And while he’d probably love for you to elaborate on that point, you have to pivot, “Alright, this part you actually should pay attention to— When you condition— Because you will be conditioning, from this point on.”

He just grunts in reply, but it sounds like enough of a yes to you.

“—When you do it, you’ll hang your head upside down and apply conditioner from the bottom— You gotta like, squeeze your hair in it—” You do the proper routine, squelching his hair, does he laugh at the sound? Yes. Yes, he does. “It’ll sound like that. And then rinse.”

You look at his peaceful, amused expression. His eyes closed. “Heard.”

“Are you retaining any of this?”

“I said heard, didn’t I?”

You just scoff, rinsing his hair. You teach him how to scrunch with the towel, but his eyes are so dazed during it you give the poor boy a break and don’t explain that what you’re putting in his hair is mousse. He might have an aneurysm if you use a ‘food word’ in relation to hair right now.

“Alright, alright, the exhaustion is setting in, let’s get you to bed before you start seeing spiders.” You take his arm and hoist him up. Everything is fine until this bozo tries walking to the living room while you’re trying to pull him down the hall. You once again, speak in sync.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m taking the couch.”

He now realizes why you spoke so quickly about him putting his things away in your room instead of the living room. It’s like you just awoke every Italian ancestor in his bones because he is immediately alert.

“No, you’re not.”

That’s fine because he’s in your household, motherfucker. Your family tree is in the furniture.

“You’re the guest. You take the bed.”

“You’re the host. You take the bed.”

“I’m the one that invited you.”

“And what? You’re the girl.”

At a point, you are both speaking with your hands, words tumbling on top of each other's.

“Bitch—” “It’s just not right—” “I literally made you come over specifically to get proper rest—” “I will be haunted all night by my Nonna if you sleep on the couch—” “The couch is a pull-out, it’s comfortable!” “Then let me use it!” “No!”

This is going nowhere fast.

“My own grandmother takes the couch when I visit. She would throw me off my own balcony if I made a guest take the couch.” Is your hard stance.

And his, “My Nonno would stab me if I let a pretty girl sleep on a couch.”

Now this does immediately shut you the fuck up.

That doesn’t mean he’s won; he’s also shut the fuck up. A slip-up of mutually assured destruction.

You bite back your wheeze of shocked laughter, and you’re very thankful it’s two in the morning now because the moonlight through the window doesn’t entirely catch your reaction of being embarrassingly bashful in this moment. How did the teen girl in you survive? You were so sure you got her…

Your hands hang in the air for a moment, before you finally manage to say, “Either I take the couch—”

“No—”

“Or, it’s a double, so we share it.” You shrug, wringing your hands, “So whichever one you find the least sacrilege.”

God, there’s no simple way to make that not sound like you’re coming onto him, is there? You’re not, for the record. It’s just the fastest solution. You’ve shared beds before, it’s not a big deal— It’s actually only a big deal if you make it one, it’s actually very normal—Get this fucking teen out of here—!

“Fuckin’— Alright!” He huffs after thinking on it for some time, rubbing his forehead in some sort of anguish before marching down the hall.

When you don’t follow, he clicks his teeth. “C’mon, Tony.” His tone is languid and aggravated.

Ah, the sweet sound of a man who has had to compromise— But will be damned if he doesn’t get his part of said compromise. Also the sound of a man who really wishes he hadn't just said pretty girl.

You follow him to your room. Fuck it. Say the thing. You've been trying to keep a level social playing field with him anyway.

“Heard, pretty boy!"

two idiots realize the other one is pretty and nice and try to not acknowledge it (DIFFICULTY LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

Would you believe me if I said I was trying to not do the 'one bed' trope? I really was! I'm not a huge trope guy! But writing it down I was like 'neither of these people would fucking fold'. The only other option would be for both of them to stare at each other in the hallway for 8 hours and come to no agreement. Did not plan Pretty Girl but thank god because it was the only thing that would get them out of that time loop.

It's always my favourite thing when a person who's been cavalier when it comes to boundaries suddenly finds their line (he's pretty) and is now immediately so hyphy. I hope you also messed with this.

Tell me your thoughts!! Favourite bits, lines, etc!! Feeds me!! (Oh, speaking of fed, shout out to Daniel NYC, I did steal their menu for this. I'll probably do it again because I am not a Michelin Star Chef.)

Next Part

[luna-the-moth]

i am begging for riddle with reader who makes audio porn 🙇🙇 does he accidentally stumbles by it? did cater introduced the concept to him? would his treatment of reader change after he sees them the next day? does he avoids them? he definitely can't listen to the entire recording no matter who is it for the first time LMAO he needs a 5 minute break

asidfsdf ask and ye shall receive, anon <3 riddle has so much potential on this subject tbh im <3

18+ / gn! reader / sub! riddle implied / reader does audio porn/asmr!

genuinely i think cater would consider showing it to him as a joke to see his reaction. on the other hand . he knows trey will kill him . BUT. i do think he toes the line by making enough subtle jokes about boyfriend/girlfriend/partner asmr that ace (disgusted, cringed out like the loser his is) asks him why he's talking about "lame shit like that," leading riddle to ask what it is...(he googles it later because no one will tell him, mostly out of fear, mischief, protectiveness, or some mixture of the sort).

Riddle stumbles upon one of your tamer audios at first: it's nothing saucy, just an audio where you're soothing your "partner" post-exam season. (he looked up "asmr, soothing" since that's one of the benefits to asmr trey had listed). nevertheless, his face burns red enough to rival trey's freshest strawberry tart once he realizes who the voice belongs to.

He doesn't allow himself to listen any further- how could he? to allow himself to fantasize about you so openly , , , yes you were kind, intelligent, and enjoyable to be around, but it's not as if he's harboring any romantic intent towards you!

and you...why would you post this publicly? do you not know how much power your words hold? how the timbre of your voice could send a man to his knees? to upload such intimate moments of yourself, scripted they may be...

Riddle's chest heaves as the realization of the situation fully sinks in, but he can't restrain himself from clicking the hyperlink promising "an exclusive sneak peek into [your] heart <3." yet unlike the romantic ideas riddle had come up with, the titles that appeared made him nearly faint.

"Teaching You How to Properly Obey My Orders."

"Caught You Slacking Off."

"A Reward <3"

All of them were so...intense.

Eyes razing through the posts upon posts of similarly titled audios, Riddle feels a shudder go through his body. He's never even heard of most of the acts you placed in the tags under each post but...the thought of you leaning forward into a microphone, murmuring all of your wishes to your paying listeners...he can't help but wish to know the experience, too.

His sleep that night is fitful. He cannot sleep properly . Cannot think properly . Cannot allow peace to overtake him for a moment lest his thoughts stray back to what he had found-

He's in a huffy mood the next day; far more likely to scold a slacking student or mischievous cat. But you...he doesn't approach you at all, avoiding your gaze with every accidental meeting. You wonder if perhaps this is part of him trying to spare you from his ill temper; the adeuce duo had told you of his moodiness from that morning.

But as time drags on, Riddle still can't quite look at you the same way as he once did. He's more passionate. Earnest in wanting to spend time with you, and perhaps a tad possessive as well...You sum it up as him making up for his previous mood, but any explanation you come up with never seems quite right...

<3 lemme know if you'd like to hear more thoughts about the twst charas, nonnie! im also down to talk about sub! twst boys outside of audio porn lol

[genderisareligion]

The elusive "TERF" is actually just a mirror

All its devotees know is projection. When I started this blog in late 2020 I more frequently used the tag #DARVO in action to start keeping track of the blatant lies TRAs spew that are really just a tell about their crowd (DARVO = Deny Attack Reverse Victim Offend, a strategy used often by DV abusers) and I just have to start making this cumulative post because:

They're now saying John Money was a radical feminist. Lmfao 💀 The male cracker extraordinaire (we don't even think males can be feminists let alone human most of the time) most responsible for the word gender's mistranslation as something that describes human behavior rather than the behavior of languages (most of which aren't even English), the idiot torturer who's a major reason the intersex community has to guard itself so fiercely against "normative" surgeries, who once claimed that anyone skeptical of his "girl = pink, boy = blue, I must fix anyone else" theories actually just believed that "masculinity and femininity are baked into the genes and women should get back to the kitchen" (sound familiar? What are "TERFs" always being accused of?) Like bro that's you

"TERFs are fascists who need everyone to fit into the male or the female box" actually gender abolition would mean no more boxes besides the purely categorical chromosomal ones we can't help from birth, and actually trying to force everyone to fall somewhere on a scale of femininity and masculinity and positing intersex conditions as the "middle" creates an unnecessary dichotomy amongst particularly females, where a woman born with PCOS is considered "less female" than one without regardless of how she "identifies," and the more "masculine" you are (whatever that even means) the more your body requires meds and surgery.

"TERFs align with fascists" but y'all are the ones with the Big Pharma billions paving your way so lol sorry not sorry but as a Negro it's giving the way they used to experiment on us for profit, refine their methods for research and leave us for dead or permanently disabled. And y'all think it's empowering? You think they actually care that you're personally fulfilled? You think they won't pull another Henrietta Lacks? You think all these detrans people are just flukes? They'll take your thousands of dollars until you're in debt and pump you full of more dubious "treatment" as long as it means they get to keep quietly going home to their white picket fences where all their loved ones are fine pretending they're heroes rather than profiting off others' pain. What is fascism if not allowing the medical establishment to "correct undesirables"?

"TERFs are Nazis" but the "first ever transgender surgery" on "trans woman" Lillie Ebe was performed by literal fucking Nazi Erwin Gohrbrandt who believed "mentally ill people were considered 'feeble-minded' (this was an actual, formal term) and homosexuals were considered to also be 'feeble-minded' and have inferior genes." Fun fact, Lillie was also a fucking Nazi.

"TERFs are all white supremacists" but everyone I just mentioned up there is a fucking white supremacist and not even Google agrees with you there, searches for the word TERF are done almost entirely in Western nations like the US and UK, whereas searches for radfem are balanced worldwide and in fact an African country is #1 on one of those lists, and you can't argue that those searches are by TERFs themselves because "try Googling TERF right now and seeing how many if any positive references show up"

I have more after 4 years lol but lemme cook

[pinkteethmarks]

GOOD AND PLENTY: K.B

witchy tip

➤ eating pomegranate with strong magical intentions in mind can help manifest what you want

18. difficile ad amorem

m.list

breakfast has been set and katsuki did not come to play. your dad assumed by his rush to do the breakfast that he was definitely good - but as soon as he took the first bite, he rushed to finish it.

hell, katsuki surely was husband material, he might keep this love spell just to allow himself to get some good food.

you yourself was no better, the sounds of you gobbling up the food was the only thing heard from you. your eyes had a narrow focus, which was the breakfast in front of you and only that.

“katsuki bakugou, please marry my daughter if you would like!” your dad’s muffled voice was barely registrable.

“what?! don’t go making statements like that!” you exclaimed, your voice equally as muffled as you both stuffed your mouthy to the fullest capacity.

“that’s the plan, sir” katsuki smirked, outting his hand in his sweatpant pockets.

you instantly looked at him shocked. with how awkward the morning was, you assumed that he wouldn’t even look at you as your dad made that comment. clearly, the love spell is still at work.

“anyways, let me get started on your situationship, then i can continue to eat well!” your dad chuckled as you groaned in embarrassment, your dad and you only met yet he was already as cringe as a dad could be.

“alright, sit down in front of my katsuki.” your dad asked softly, to which katsuki confusingly followed.

your dad looked into his eyes, it was a whirlpool between pink and red. his eyes flickered, would then return to normal, only to flicker again in a quick repetition.

“right, i’m going to do something first to check what the hells going on with his eyes.” your dad muttered, to which you nodded vigorously.

your dad put his hands on katsuki’s head, muttering things in latin and before you knew it, katsuki passed out with a projection of his soul coming out of his body, his resting face was a scowl so you knew this was the orginal katsuki.

“y/n l/n, i am going to fucking murder you when i get back. i swear, ill make you suffer.” katsuki’s soul seethed as he turned to face you.

“shit, katsuki, im so sorry! i really-“

“you fucking embarrassed me for weeks! everyone sees me as this stupid lover boy that’s obsessed over you.” katsuki’s seethed yelled back, his voice having a slight echo.

“oh get over yourself katsuki’s, is being seen in love with me that torturous for you?” you rolled your eyes.

“that’s not the fucking issue and you know it.” katsuki’s angrily replied.

you looked at him skeptically, was that a confession? or did he simply mean he doesn’t care that much about what other people think about you two? either way sounds to have romantic connotations.

“then what is?” you asked.

“the fact- you know what, fuck this. get me out and lemme talk to her fact to face, old man.” katsuki looked at your dad as he responded.

“old man is crazy considering im your crushes father but whatever.” you father muttered immaturely.

katsuki looked slightly flustered as he said that, turning to face you and see your reaction only to still look skeptical.

your father then sent his soul into his body and started the ritual through putting a glass charm of a heart onto katsuki’s chest and hovering his hands while a soft glow emmitted from it.

“this doesn’t usually happen you know, once you do a love spell, that’s it, it cannot be broken unless powerful mages or the person itself have the power to stop it.” your dad explained.

“then why does-“

“because, for some reason, his soul and body rejected it. i don’t know how it worked, he clearly already had feelings for you, otherwise the spell wouldn’t have worked so quickly and so powerfully, but his soul was constantly fighting the spell. his spirit was simply too strong compared to the dosage you gave him, and trust me, i can sense that it was a lot.” you dad further explained.

you looked at him and started to understand. katsuki has always been a fighter, it makes sense that his spirit too also wanted to fight.

but, this whole thing about feelings. you knew he had them for you beforehand. you’re just so confused why he never told you? why he flirted with that second year that practically started it all? why he always seemed to make you a second choice?

the sound of a crack broke you out of your thoughts, you looked and saw that heart chart was broken - indicating that the love spell was broken.

katsuki’s eyes fluttered awake, he started to wake up as small groans escaped his lips. with his true soul being dormant for a while, it felt weird finally seeing things with his own eyes rather than was felt like to be a glass mirror.

“katsuki..” you said softly, getting up to walk up to him.

“fuck, i- i need to go for a drive.” katsuki suddenly spoke, his nerves for some reason shot through the roof, and so he sped to the hallway, grabbed his keys and immediately left.

you called out for him, but he has no response, marching his way to his car and driving off quickly.

“leave him, he will come back, don’t worry.” you father advised you.

you sighed, you knew he would, katsuki never left forever. but it sucked that the first time in a while you were seeing him again, he did what he always did and ran from his emotions.

you just hoped that when he came back, a different song would play for you two.