#stamp with business name

[businessstamp]

Benefits of using personalized rubber stamps at work

A rubber stamp is a tool which includes an imprint of text or design which can be user-friendly as a company logo or phrase. It creates beautiful and legible graphics with its easy to use technology. The stamps are made from superior quality rubber which ensures clear impressions and longer lasting prints. With the Personalized Rubber Stamp, you can customize your company logo, add in details like address and contact numbers so that it’s easier for your customers to identify you. Features: -premium rubber construction -customized designs available -easy to use technology Benefits: -the customized designs help make printed items look more professional and official -creates neat, clear lines for documents and forms -rubber material allows for long lasting life of the stamp

[darabeatha]

ANYWAYS, HAVE U GUYS SEEN THIS????

[mushpotaeto]

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ୨୧  Sticker stamps preview  ୨୧

Order form • 🗓️ JUNE 4 - 25 Preorder ⟡

↳ https://forms.gle/dgXRR22izW7svnTP7  🪷🌿

WE SHIP WORLDWIDE 🌏

Currency in Philippine peso 🇵🇭

[allstickerprinting]

Gold Foil Stamp Business Card

[fazcinatingblog]

Oh it's 10pm I should get some sleep so that my boss doesn't yell "did you have a late night last night?????" at me tomorrow

[avocado-writing]

hi!! I read your fics and I love your writing style! I was wondering if you could do something with a human reader, maybe she works in a bookshop or she’s a teacher? And it’s all cute because he finds her genuine??? Maybe some angst because she finds herself in danger? Idk sorry I’m rambling I just wanted something with a human reader 🧍🏻‍♀️💐

the place where the pages meet

logan howlett x bookseller!reader

4k words, rated explicit.

cocky!logan; awkward!reader; excessive book references; threat of physical violence (quickly averted); anti-mutant language & sentiments; smut (oral - reader receiving, penetrative sex). minors dni. thank you @saradika-graphics for dividers!

The sky is heavy with the promise of rain, and you suck your breath in through your teeth. It’s fifty-fifty on days like these: either people will seek shelter in your little store, or they’ll scurry away with the fear any purchases they make will get soaked and ruined.

God damn it, what kind of fool opens an independent book shop in New York?

You’re the kind of fool, apparently. Still, it’s your home, both figuratively between all the old paperbacks and literally with your tiny apartment on the top floor. Barely more than a studio, but enough for you. A piece for yourself carved out of this world. 

Outside it starts to pour. You sigh. Well, at least you know you’ll get one visitor today.

Charles, your dear friend and long-time financial supporter of your store, had called earlier to let you know that the usual face wouldn’t be coming to grab his order. It’s a shame, you like Ororo, enjoy sitting and sharing a pot of oolong with her on quiet days. Also she could have chased away this terrible weather for you. Ah well. 

“Who can I expect?” you’d asked. 

Charles had laughed, a warm and friendly sound. 

“Ahh, you’ll know Logan when you see him.”

You don’t know what you’d do without Charles. Between orders of rare books for his personal collections and en-masse copies of classics for the kids, he pretty much keeps this place running for you. Bless that man, honestly, because you’re not sure where you’d be without him. 

The sound of someone pulling up outside has you putting down your book and turning towards the shop window. 

A pickup truck parks up by the kerbside and you watch the man in the driver’s seat emerge into the rain. He cuts a fine figure, tall and strong, but you don’t get a good look at him until he walks through the front door. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome. 

Leather jacket now pocked with raindrops, very obvious white vest beneath it showing off his broad chest. He shakes like a dog to get the moisture out of his hair as he stamps his boots on the doormat, pausing only briefly to scrutinise its no admittance expect on party business slogan. 

“Logan?” you ask. He looks up and when his eyes first meet yours? Oh, a fire is sent down your spine. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, looking around to take in the place. You can’t tell if he’s impressed or not. He has a remarkably neutral face, careful, the sort of man who doesn’t want to give anything away about himself. 

“You’re… here for Charles’ books?”

He’s sauntering over to the counter now. Cocks an eyebrow. It goes right through you. Fuck. 

“That’d be me.” There’s a beat. “Why, you think someone’d try and steal them?”

“People can steal books!” you say, defensively. 

“People named Logan who you’re clearly expecting?”

You bristle, because he’s got you. Something flickers over his face for a second: a smile. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome and he’s an asshole.

Huffing, you fish the box out from under the desk and groan with effort as you lift it up. Logan takes it from your grasp as if it weighs nothing at all. Your fingers touch as you do. You try to ignore it.

“Thanks,” he says, easily.

“Mm. Mind the rain. It’d be a shame if you slipped.”

A proper smile crosses his face then, but he turns away too quickly for you to let it sink in. The bell on the door chimes as he heads back out into the rain.

Well, you hope you never see him again.

By the same time next week, you’re really hoping you see him again.

You’ve sort of not been able to get him out of your mind. He was kinda prickly, sure, but a welcome break from the mundanity of your life, and pretty good looking to boot. It’s probably just a pipe dream. You’re sure it’ll be Ororo again, and you can go back to the easy pattern of seeing your dear friend. That’s okay. You’re fine with it. Who needs a handsome man? You have your books, you have your store, you’re happy.

Yeah. You’re happy. 

Imagine your surprise, then, when you hear a motorbike outside your shop.

You must be blessed with street parking, because Logan pulls up right outside again. Same jacket, same well-worn jeans. He catches your eye through the window and you’re sure they glisten. You pretend to be engrossed in your book but it’s not fooling anyone, the words swim into soup on the page as you see him approach.

The door goes; he approaches the counter. Closer this time, you can smell him. Tobacco and leather. Fuck it’s good.

“You should wear a helmet,” you say, trying to be flippant. Logan lets out a single, solitary note of a chuckle from deep in his chest.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern, though.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and try to hide it by looking for Charles’ order again. It’s a single book, a first edition you had to go through the backwater book depositories to hunt down. You’re the best at what you do, though, so it was no real problem. It’s why he always comes to you.

“Here you go. Let him know I’ll try and find the sequel if he’s interested, too.”

“Sure.”

Once again your fingers touch as you hand the book to Logan. No. No, this is too quick! You want to keep him here for a little while longer. He looks so out of place between the wonky shelves and hanging plants, it’s just perfect.

Your mouth tries to say two things at once: can you tell Charles I’ll have his other order ready same time next week, and, do you like to read often? 

Instead what comes out is, “can you read?”

You must wince when you ask the question, because Logan stands there transfixed. Baffled, just for a second.

“Can I… read?” he repeats slowly. 

I’ve failed you, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t stop your mouth in time, says your brain.

“I didn’t mean… of course you read… I just… I didn’t want to assume… maybe you didn’t like books… erm…”

“Yeah, I read,” he says softly, as if you are an old dog and he is putting you out of your misery. You fucking wish he would. Jesus Christ, it’s like you’ve never spoken to another person before.

You can’t find a way to recover this. Your cheeks are on fire. You’re going to explode and burn down your store. Oh authors, you are so sorry for using all these works as kindling.

You expect Logan to turn on his heel and walk out but he… doesn’t. Instead he takes a step back so that he can look at the shelf nearest to the desk. Runs his fingers across the spines before picking one. It’s slim, no more than the width of his finger; he puts it on the counter and fishes his wallet out of his pocket.

In the Miso Soup by Ryū Murakami. You ring him up, punching the price into your old cash register, give him his change. His palm is soft as you drop coins into it. 

“See you next week,” he says, stashing both his book and Charles’ inside his jacket. 

“Okay,” you say, amazed you’re able to get any words out, and watch him walk away again.

He does see you next week.

The sun’s out, so he’s sans jacket, and oh fuck you can see how his arms are like treetrunks. The way this man has you reacting is unhealthy. You try and focus on the hardback in your hands but all you can picture is those veins which are bulging on his biceps, begging you to come and get to know them better.

“You’re always reading huh?” 

His voice makes you jump a little, you’re not expecting him to be so close. You look up. He slides his sunglasses up into his hair. Fuck it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Would you trust a bookstore owner who didn’t read?” you ask, bristling with the need to defend this little shop and your place in it. He holds his hands up in the universal sign of peace.

“Not an insult, just an observation.”

You sink back from attack mode, walls still a little high, but definitely coming down.

“How did you get on with the Murakami last week?”

Logan takes a moment to consider this, trying to piece his answer together in a way which won’t offend you.

“I liked it until the last chapter.”

You sit up in your chair. 

“Yes! A lot of people say that. It feels like it ends sort of abruptly, but if you just appreciate it for what it is, it’s a good book.”

He smiles a little as you speak. You fucking love talking about books, to a degree some people find absurd. You don’t want to babble though, so you force yourself to end your observations there.

Logan nods at the book in your hands.

“What are you reading now?”

You lift up your book so he can see the cover: A. S. Byatt’s The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye. 

“It’s very good! Byatt has such a wonderful way of writing. I love fairy tales and there’s such a wonderful voice in this one. They made the titular story into a movie a couple of years back, it’s quite good actually, it has Tilda Swinton in it.” You’re floundering. Don’t stray too far from the normal lines of conversation. Mouth, for fuck’s sake stay on course, begs your brain. It doesn’t. Instead you ask, “do you… like Tilda Swinton?”

Logan raises an eyebrow and you know this is a man who has never once had to consider the question of whether or not he likes the actress Tilda Swinton. 

Mouth still talking. MOUTH STILL TALKING, your brain screams. It’s true. It is. You were too busy being horrified to notice.

What your mouth says while being unchaperoned is, “There’s a little single-screen theatre nearby doing a showing of it this week, actually, do you wanna come with?”

DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT. DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT?!

Logan doesn’t seem to know what to make of that. He seems just as shocked that you’ve asked as you are. But then, just as you want to cast yourself into the street so that a passing garbage truck might take pity on you and sweep you away, he smiles. It’s slow, but it makes him look so much hotter.

“Sure, why not.”

Oh mouth you genius. I shall never doubt you again.

“Oh, okay, great! Uhh, are you free Friday?”

“I can be. What time’s the screening?”

“Seven. Meet me here at six-thirty?”

“It’s a date.”

Fuck, it is a date, isn’t it. It’s a date!

Logan stands there, awaiting something. You’re confused for a beat, then go up on your tiptoes, aiming your mouth towards his.

“As much as I appreciate the gesture… Charles’ book, honey.”

Hmmm, okay. Still time for the earth to just swallow you whole then, actually.

You sort of don’t expect him to turn up. You wouldn’t go on a date with you, all awkward edges and uncomfortable words. And he’s… the coolest fucking guy you’ve ever seen. 

Of course he won’t turn up. Of course he won’t. 

He turns up. 

He’s waiting for you outside the store, leaning against a lamppost, dressed in flannel and smelling like subtle cologne. You can’t help lighting up when you see him and hope you’re dressed suitably - your nicest pair of dungarees and a tight-fitting jumper. 

“Hey! You made it,” you say. 

“‘Course I did,” he replies with a little smile. Oh, you’re giddy. 

“C’mon, it’s not a long walk. It’s a nice night too.”

He lets you chatter as the two of you make the brief journey, content to have you talk his ear off about business and books. He’s happy to answer any questions you ask him about himself: what he does for a living, how he knows Charles, if he’s got anything else on his to-read list. The two of you skirt around the most obvious thing: if he lives at the mansion, he’s definitely a mutant. You can’t quite get the courage to ask him about it. Seems easier to just let it lie, so you do. It’s not that important anyway, you think, you like Logan, with or without any extra bits. 

When you arrive at the little hole-in-the-wall cinema, he gets the tickets and the popcorn and the drinks. You do your best not to feel absolutely pathetic by his side. Surely everyone here knows you’re punching above your weight with this absolute grade A specimen of a man? You’re so busy looking around the foyer to make sure nobody is staring that you almost don’t realise when he takes your hand in his.

“You with me, honey?” he asks, soft, low. You swallow thickly and nod because for once, you can’t find the words.

It’s not a very full screening, which is just fine, because you’re happy to be alone with Logan in the dark. You share a bucket of popcorn and a secret little thrill runs up your spine every time your fingers brush together. When that’s finished, he puts his arm around the back of your chair and you snuggle up against his side, cursing the damn plastic cupholder in the middle forcing you to keep a distance. 

One hundred and eight minutes. They’re not enough. You want to be here forever. But eventually the credits roll, the lights come up, and Logan has to pull his arm back; you hope the reluctance in the withdrawal of the gesture isn’t just your imagination. 

“What did you think?” you ask, standing up and stretching. Logan follows suit, mulling over the question. 

“It was… cute,” he decides. “I can see why you like it.” 

You beam. 

“I can lend you the book if you want. It goes into way more detail about the main character’s life at the start, it’s very stream-of-consciousness but I really enjoy it? It’s different to the other stories before it but definitely worth reading. I think that…”

You’re outside now, under the streetlights, fingers tangled easily with his, and when he stills you’re pulled to a stop too. 

“Hmm?”

He drops his grip on your hand so that he can put one under your jaw, tilting your head to get a better look at you. Your heart beats violently. He can definitely feel it. He knows. You don’t care. Fuck, he’s so near. 

“You talk a lot, huh?” he asks. It’s not unkind, the smile on his face is one of fondness, and all of your skeleton turns to jelly as you fucking melt under the affection in his gaze. 

“Please shut me up,” your beg comes out as a whisper, and he does. 

His lips are rough against yours, guiding, but sweet. The hair on his face tickles your cheeks. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down to kiss him with more enthusiasm. This is not a public-appropriate display of affection, and someone honks their car horn at you both, but it just serves to make you laugh against his mouth and keep going. His hands slide onto your hips and hold you tight against him. Possessive. Wanting. Covetous. 

“You know,” he says when he pulls back for air, still running his lips along the line of your jaw to the hinge beneath your ear, “when Charles told me I should go and get those books, he said I’d like the person who runs the store. Didn’t expect you to be such a gorgeous little thing, though.”

You, gorgeous! Logan thinks you’re gorgeous! You could do a fucking cartwheel in celebration. You don’t though, you’d probably give yourself a concussion. 

His hand goes to his pocket and his brow furrows and, for a second, you panic. Has he started regretting kissing you already? Another quick kiss calms that down though, settling the simmer of worry in your stomach. 

“I think I left my wallet in the theatre. Hold on, I’ll grab it, then I’ll walk you home?”

“Only if you come in with me,” you breathe, and once again your mouth has taken the reins on that one. Logan huffs a laugh, a little incredulous, but mostly pleased at your gumption. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay.”

He leaves you standing there, feeling all tingly. This is happening. It’s fucking happening! Sometimes the stars align for a book nerd and a handsome guy wants to come up to their studio apartment. You thank Jesus, Buddha, Arthur C. Clarke - whoever is listening, they fucking deserve it. 

“You gonna fuck that mutant?”

The voice sends a chill down your throat. 

The trio of guys standing behind you do not look friendly. The biggest one, the one standing in the middle, sneers at your panic, crossing thick arms over a broad chest.

“Well? I asked you a question.”

You screw your courage to the sticking place, puffing up a little. 

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you spit back, hoping that vitriol will deter them. It does not. Instead, they close in, hyenas around a cadaver. 

“Never had a human dick you down good enough, huh? Need a little help? C’mon baby, we’ll show you.”

He reaches out to grab your arm. You let out a noise of panic. 

At the same time, Logan’s fist collides with his face. 

The guy is sent stumbling back, spitting out a globule of blood. His friends step away with panic in their eyes. Logan moves in front of you, his bulk your shield, three metal claws extending from between his knuckles. 

Yeah. Mutant, huh?

“I think you were just leaving, pal,” says Logan in a voice which doesn’t bear messing with. The man bares his reddened teeth. 

“The fuck do you think you are, mutant scum--?!”

He lunges for Logan and the breath is sucked from your lungs when you see he’s pulling out a fucking knife, but another punch sends him flat on his ass. The blade clatters across the street and into the gutter. His friends grab either one of his arms and half stand him up, half drag him away.

“Shit, it’s not worth it—!” is their conclusion as they disappear into the night, shouting back expletives, blood trailing from their leader. Logan shakes out his fist, flexes his fingers; claws retract. He turns to you, slowly. 

“You okay?” he asks, hurriedly checking you over. You nod. 

“Y…yeah. Shaken.” you confess. 

“C'mon. Let’s get you home,” he sighs, and from the cadence of his voice you can tell he’s worried the night has been ruined. You place your hand on his bicep. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you still… will you still come up?”

He softens. 

“If it’ll make you feel safer, sweetheart.”

It does. 

And that’s how you find him sitting on your well-loved couch in between your needlepoint pillows, looking around your tiny home as you make a pot of coffee to share. 

“Jesus, you’ve got more books in here than in the store,” he mutters. 

“Well, some of them I couldn’t part with. I like them too much. And, as you pointed out, I am always reading.”

You look around at the shelves stuffed into your flat, the dozens of them holding hundreds of novels, plays, poems. You love them all dearly. They all hold a special piece of your heart, you can remember where you were when you read most of them. (Downstairs while manning the desk is often the answer). 

“Oh, even this?”

You can hear the smile in Logan’s voice. He’s holding up a copy of Fifty Shades. You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

“Christ, I read that as a professional courtesy to the art of bookselling. Got it for fifty cents at a thrift store. It’s crap. If you want some good erotica I can recommend…”

The sentence lingers unfinished. Logan raises his eyebrows. 

“You can recommend what, huh?”

The coffee is ready. You can smell its rich scent enveloping your little apartment. An idea forms. Creates a heavy anticipation on your tongue. Your brain screams at you. 

Locked. Loaded. Fire, mouth, fire!

“… then I’d recommend you take me to bed,” you say.

Logan stares, eyes wide. You’ve had an immediate effect on him. His pupils dilate. 

“I… honey, after earlier, I’m not sure if you should…”

You cross the room and sit on his lap, an easy feat when his legs are so thick and inviting. His sentence stops as you press your mouth to the pulse in his neck. Kiss. 

“I’m a consenting adult,” a kiss on his cheek, “who’s invited you into their home,” a kiss on his brow, “and is asking you to take them across their painfully tiny apartment and fuck them. If you don’t want to, that’s okay, but Logan? I’ve been game ever since you first walked in from the rain.”

He looks up at you to double check that you’re telling the truth, then kisses you with such ferocity that you squeak. 

You do not make it to the bed. 

He undresses you there on the sofa in the middle of your bookshelves, between Brontë and Austen, beside Carter and Rushdie. Your clothes end up in a messy little pile on the coffee table. It gets kicked and the pile of literary magazines slide to the floor as Logan moves to take off his shoes, letting you drag his jeans down and off of him, cupping his cock in his boxers.

Fuck. Thick, heavy, large, you want all of it. All of him. 

He leans you back against your kitschy little pillows with book quotes on them and pulls your dungarees off, an act both ridiculous and endearing. He catches your knee in his hand and begins to kiss up your thigh towards your underwear.

“Fuck,” you whisper as he presses a kiss to your sex over the fabric. He grins up at you from between your legs. 

“That was the plan.”

He fucks you with his mouth like a man starved, luxuriating in the little sounds you make for him, pressing fingers inside you without any effort at all. You cum all over his knuckles embarrassingly quickly. He looks sorta smug. 

“Baby, when was the last time someone took care of you…?” he asks, licking a stripe along your sex to taste what he’s done. You huff. 

“Too long. You gonna fix that?”

It’s a challenge and he takes it as one. You strip off his shirt, making sure to get a good feel of his muscles as you go, kissing his pectorals and abs just because you can. He slides inside you with one thrust, one of your legs in a crook at his hip; the other with its ankle resting on his shoulder. He starts moving and the couch shakes but all you can do is cling on for dear life to the crocheted blanket. 

“Holy shit… so fuckin’ tight… aren’t you just the most gorgeous thing…” he hisses. You reach up enough to tangle your fingers in his hair and drag him down for a kiss, sloppy and charged with heat. His hand moves in between your legs and you cum for the second time that night, hissing with satisfaction as he spills inside you. 

You collapse onto the sofa together, your heavy breaths harmonising. When he pulls back to kiss you this time it’s softer. With intention. With reference. 

“Uh, you know, they’re showing To Kill a Mockingbird next week. Maybe dinner beforehand, if you’re interested?”

He laughs affectionately and you can feel the rumble in his chest.

“Sounds good. You’ll have to lend me the book first.”

Fuck yeah. You’re never doubting your mouth again. 

Taglist: @falsewordz@malfoys-demigod@belilwen@mildly-salted@tvwebs@childeslegstrap@getmeoutofhell@s1eep-o@just-a-beatlemaniac69@yrthr@momopad@sugarplumz100@captainjinkx@madspads@acrosstheunivcrse@yeethaw13@na-is-salty@florduarte@hunterispunk@starfleetteddybear

[bunnys-kisses]

ash

torger "toto" wolff

cw: smut/pwp, daddydom!toto, degradation, age gap (20s/50s), smoking, drinking, oh to be young, dumb and full of cum, sugar baby au, references to recreational drug use, exhibitionism, public sex, fingering,

bunny says: be responsible, folks!

toto leaned forward and snapped his fingers, "schatzi!" then crooked a finger to make you come towards him.

while being called to like a dog was a little embarrassing to most, instead it made you wet. you came over to him and he put a hand on your ass before he shifted his leg for you to perch yourself on it.

toto took another drag of his cigarette and looked up to you, "schatzi, i need you to tell my good friend something." his hand on your back for support, "tell him my abilities haven't... degraded with age." he smelt like the lingerings of a cigarette and strong cologne.

you wrapped an arm around his shoulder and curved into him. you looked at the man he was talking to. you didn't recognize him, but then again so many faces in mercedes passed in a blur at times.

you giggled, "slow start, quick finisher."

toto looked at you and you looked at him before you grabbed him by the cheeks and moved his head around. the entire time you were giggling, it was probably all the party "favours" in your system.

"funny, girl." the other man said, his eyes lingered on you for a moment. you could tell his gaze was hungry.

you turned your attention to him, your head on top of toto's and his face in your exposed cleavage. a band-aid to the wound on his ego. you said to the other man, "i'm a bit of a comedian." you flashed him a smile, "but don't worry, sir. my toto is a real stallion."

toto pulled away from you and put the cigarette back in his mouth, "thank you, schatzi." and leaned into you when you kissed him on the forehead. he looked away from you a moment after to exhale smoke.

it felt good to curled up next to you man, the age gap was to raise an eyebrow at. but, toto silenced any concerns you had with kisses, orgasms and gifts. you were his special princess, the pretty thing in the short dress that was prancing around the party.

the man toto was speaking to asked another question, "so, schatzi." he didn't know your name, in all fairness you didn't know his. the business affairs of your toto were honestly none of your business.

you frowned and pulled yourself closer to toto, tucked under his chin as he rubbed your back lovingly.

toto noticed your frown and responded for you, "only i can call her that. she gets quite... fickle when others do it." he finished the cigarette and stamped it out in the glass ashtray.

he kept you in his lap, now more settled up against him. he kept an arm around you for support as he rambled to the other man he was speaking to. you didn't really mind too much, instead you stayed at his side like a pretty prize.

toto's hand however, did get a little sneaky as he pulled at the bottom of your already too short dress (you had argued earlier about you wearing it). he exposed more of your bare thigh to the man seated across for him.

in the low light of the party, you could see the tips of the other man's ears go red. toto spoke in an even tone, as if he wasn't about to expose your pussy to the man seated across from him. it was a weird power game that toto liked to play.

snap his jaws until the other person showed submission. also he liked showing off what was his, and you were another trophy in a large collection. but he found your sweet wet pussy nicer than any luxury car. which was why he was so close to show it to the man across from him.

his prize. his schatzi.

you tilted your head up to kiss at toto's jaw. your hands were in the fabric of his button up and you squirmed against his lap. toto's expression didn't flinch as he sank his fingers into your sweet cunt.

his talk of business was just noise to you as you felt the older man's fingers quickly pump in and out of you. you swallowed and felt your heart leap. you couldn't make too much noise or else eventually the whole party would know that you were getting finger fucked by the head principal of mercedes.

in the grand scheme of things, you probably weren't the first person to get finger fucked at a formula one after-party. probably wouldn't be the last either, not if toto had his way.

his thumb grazed your clit, thankful that he managed to "compromise" on the outfit. you could wear the short little number, but no panties. so you better be a good girl and not show off to any men that weren't toto! but he on the other hand could expose that sweet cunt of yours to whoever he pleased.

after all, he paid for every stitch on your clothes. along with the multitude of other things toto bought you. once again, another pretty thing for his collection.

you kept your face up against the older man as he played with your clit. his voice didn't waiver as he sank his ring finger into your aching pussy. his thumb still on your clit.

you wanted to bite into something to keep quiet, your stomach was in knots and your core throbbed. you felt like a toy to be shown off, an object for toto to wave in others' faces. it was wrong but it made you soaked.

the thump of the music throbbed in your skull as he continued to get his entire hand wet with your pussy slick. he could hear your pitiful moans and heavy panting. he knew his erection was becoming a problem in his slacks, but he wasn't someone to let his whiny little schatzi get in the way of talking business.

his fingers were thick in your pussy, his hands were always so big compared to you with long fingers that just sank into you. you looked so pretty perched on his lap.

he tucked some hair behind your ear and whispered to you. his voice hot in your ear, "he's asking you a question?"

you peeked your head away from toto's chest, you knew you must look like a common whore. letting yourself be put in this situation, letting a man finger fuck you and watch you fall apart piece by piece.

your panted heavily and looked at the other man across from you. if you focused your hearing enough you could hear the wet sounds of toto fingering you.

the man across from you two chuckled and had another sip of his drink. he obviously liked what he was seeing. maybe it was a little bit of overkill, but he would never say no to a pretty girl getting absolutely ruined.

"be nice to our guest, schatzi." toto whispered in your ear, "maybe when i'm done you can get him another drink."

there was an inferno in your gut that radiated through your entire body. toto's fingers still moved in and out of you, you fought the urge to pant and moan. you weren't so bitch in heat.

"she's very pretty, where did you get her?" the man across from toto was tempted to touch, but he knew better.

toto grabbed you by the jaw and made you face the other man. the head principal chuckled, "can you believe this little thing was studying at cambridge? scooped her right up after her third year ended and she's been my... helper.. these last few months." he laughed as he kissed you jaw once more.

the man across the table laughed, "well, i guess things have gone down recently. i wonder if they let her in because she was a good fuck."

toto laughed, "she was a virgin when i met her. isn't that right, schatzi?"

you swallowed, "yes, daddy."

toto groaned into your skin, his erection was hard against your behind. he knew you were close, he could feel your tension. his pretty little princess was going to cum all over her daddy's fingers in the middle of a crowded party with the undivided attention of some associate.

or whoever the hell he was!

you clung to toto tightly, your breathing was in heavy pants. you could feel their burning gazes and the sweat down your back. you panted and clutched onto toto's shirt. with another few pumps of his fingers, your face was in his shoulder.

you came around his fingers and almost bit at the collar of his button up to keep yourself from being too loud. for a moment your mind went blank and your core throbbed.

heat stuck to you like glue and you were putty in toto's hands.

the man across from toto asked, "do you want another drink, torger."

toto's fingers played with your clit for a moment long before he said, "i think i am finished for the night."

both men looked at you and you sat there acting so agreeable, like a passive little kitten. toto took his fingers away from your clit and sank them into your mouth for a moment, letting you taste yourself.

the other man looked at you two with a slack jaw.

"and next time, christian." toto said, looking at the man, "don't doubt what i can do." then then turned to you, a flustered, sweaty mess in his lap, "right, schatzi?"

you swallowed and nodded, "yes, daddy." you tried to pull your dress back down to keep some kind of modesty. but you knew the cheap garment was going to be in a pile of scrap fabrics by the time you got back to the hotel room. <3

[bi-writes]

bestfriend!rooommate!simon finds out you've been lying.

more bff!roommate!simon (part 8/?)

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, mean!simon (verbally), size kink (simon can move the reader easily, described as much bigger), praise kink, the mask doesn't come off, oral (m!receiving), fem!receiving touching, cumplay, soft!dom!simon, reader uses simon to get herself off (because there is no universe in which simon doesn't return his girl's favor), pet names (including pet and kitty)

you lied.

if simon had his gloves off, his knuckles would be stark white from how hard he was gripping the mail in his hands.

neither of you had checked your mailbox in a while--simon had only returned a few days ago from the harsh winter of northern russia after weeks away, and you seemingly had been busy with work. so busy, simon noticed very quickly, that you spent morning to late at night in your red and white uniform, coming home in the dead of night just to crash and do it all again the next morning.

now he held all the letters in his hand. stacks of them, with angry red stamps bleeding into the white of the envelopes.

NOTICE

WARNING

PAST DUE

LAST NOTICE

he stopped breathing for a moment. he spread the letters out on the table, flipping through each of them. he didn't open them, of course but these were all your bills. cell phone, last month's half of the rent, credit cards, your name written on the back and ugly red warnings pasted over it.

simon had spoken to you while he was gone. he had called you once, twice at least, and all he remembered was your soft voice telling him you missed him, to be careful, that you screwed up a new cookie recipe that you promised you would perfect before he got home.

you hadn't said a thing. your voice had been even and gentle as always. your voice had been comforting, saying only encouraging words. if simon was honest, your voice put him at ease; you always told him something to calm him, something to uplift him.

"i'm so proud of you, simon."

"i hate that you're gone, but there's no one else that could do what you do."

"um...hah...love you. be careful."

you hadn't said a word. your voice didn't reveal an ounce of the stress and the weight that must've been hanging over your head. there was no falter in your words, no strain as you spoke. just pretty, perfect, beautiful you, easing simon's demons while you battled some of your own.

simon crumpled one of the envelopes in his hands. it was thick with papers, but he still forced it into a ball, tossing it back onto the table angrily. he gripped the edge of the table, white knuckling it until he heard the key in the lock.

it was quiet as you came inside. you shut the door and locked it behind you, setting down your bag and taking off your jacket. it was morning; you had worked the night shift. your eyes were drawn low, tired and a dull. you said nothing as you toed off your shoes, letting your sneakers settle under the table. it was then that you noticed simon just sitting there, still, with his hands folded in front of him.

and all of your bills scattered around him.

you sucked in a shaky breath, looking up into his eyes. they were trained low, on the letters surrounding him, but he glared, boring a whole through them. he didn't know where to focus his anger; you were precious, you could do no wrong, you were soft and warm and his, and it wasn't your fault that everything was so expensive, that you were struggling.

but it was your fault that you hadn't said a thing--that you hadn't asked for help.

"simon, i...i-i can explain."

"no. y'r not gonna talk, luv." you had never heard his voice this way. so low and gravelly, an eerie lilt to it that reeked of disappointment and somehow betrayal. "y'r gonna sit down. now."

simon roughly pulled the chair from beside him out, an unspoken command for you to take a seat. your bottom lip trembled as you slumped into the chair, watery eyes avoiding his.

"how long?"

"simon--"

you jumped as he slammed a hand down on the table. the entirety of it shook, the papers ruffling and the dishes clattering loudly.

"a few months! a-a few months, just--"

"no!" simon snapped. "y'lied to me. y'lied to me! i asked! how many times have i asked?! how many times have i looked you in the fuckin' eye and asked you if everythin' was in order, how many fuckin' times?!"

you couldn't keep it in. the tears were hot, running down your cheeks and putting salt on your lips and a dryness in your throat. you were embarrassed. embarrassed that you needed help, ashamed that you were being scolded like a child, afraid of his loud voice and his terrible anger and the way he looked at you. when you decided to live together, you weren't meant to be his burden. you didn't intend to be his problem.

"i-i'm sorry, simon--i'm sorry..." you met his eyes. "i'm taking extra shifts. i-i'm gonna pay the bills, i-i'm gonna make it right, i-i swear--"

"is that what you think this is?"

he narrowed his eyes at you, two dark slits, and then as if a switch flipped, it was gone. his face softened, his eyes widening, and the tension seemed to dissipate just enough to let you breathe a little easier. you couldn't decipher this change, and you couldn't read what was in his eyes, not this time. all you could was sit there and try not to let your cries make any sound.

"do y'think i'm angry because y'didn't pay? is that what y'think?"

you shook your head, shrugging, not understanding his question.

"what...what other reason is there, s-simon?" you hiccuped. "i screwed..." more tears, they wouldn't stop falling, "i-i screwed up, simon, i-i'm so sorry, i-i--"

you jumped when his chair screeched against the floor. he stood up fast, taking a step to round the table to crouch beside your chair. he looked up at you, making himself smaller, and you looked down.

"simon, i'm sorry--"

"stop! stop fuckin' apologizing, fuck," simon interrupted you. his voice was gentle, trying not to scare you, and you closed your mouth, taking in deep, shaking breaths to try and center yourself. "'m angry because you didn't talk to me, luv--" your face fell when he reached up, two gloved hands cupping your puffy cheeks, "--why didn't you say anything? why didn't you tell me? why didn't you ask me for help?"

you sniffled, reaching up and caressing his wrists gently. you played with the edges of his gloves, your fingers skimming the hem of his sleeves and just barely teasing the bare skin under it.

"simon...how could i?" you asked, as if it was obvious. "after everything that's happened...after everything we've been through...h-how could i ask that of you?" "how could you not?" simon spit back, and when you tried to pull away, he tightened his grip on your cheeks. "no, no--look at me--" he rose up on his knees, pressing your forehead to his, "look at me."

your expression was pained, struggling to do as he asked, but eventually your eyes fluttered, meeting his own, and he grunted as he gripped the back of your neck and held you there.

nowhere to go. nowhere to run. no one else.

"y'r not my problem. not my burden," he muttered. "y'r m'responsibility. mine to take care of."

"i-i don't want you to have to do that--"

"what the fuck do y'think this is?" he breathed. "what we have, what this is, this is forever, has that not gotten through y'r bloody head?" you whimpered when he shook you a little, his hand in your hair as he pulled it tight. "y'r as good as mine. not up for discussion."

you swallowed hard as his hands came down, wiping the tears off your face. he brushed your hair back and away, so he could see you, and you smiled at him sadly, eyes glossy and bright.

"'m gonna take care of the flat from now on, yeah?" simon murmured. "'m gonna take care of everything."

your body visibly relaxed. your shoulders fell, your body sinking a little more into the chair, and there was something sweet in your eyes--something hopeful. simon's tone was definite, and there was no room for arguing. you nodded finally, leaning in slowly, pressing a delicate kiss to where his lips would be under the mask. his thumb swiped over your cheek, falling to trace the line of your jaw, and then you both closed your eyes at the same time.

there was an understanding here. it was as if simon was washing you clean--something refreshing and warm and gentle running down the length of you, rinsing whatever was hurting you right down some sort of sickening void that had gripped you so tightly. and he did it so easily--he did it without even blinking.

and it was easy. simon never hesitated with you. his money rotted in an account anyways--it sat and stared at him, reminding him of the kind of hell he had gone through just to get it. it reminded him of the half of him that was someone, the half of him that he hated, the half of his being that came from a wretched, horrid, terrifying thing that manifested itself somewhere in his blood.

simon was half of something foul, and maybe he couldn't make up for the part of him that he didn't think was human, but he could make up for this, make up for you, make up for whatever half of you had left you here. because that was what you deserved--you deserved to be taken care of, you deserved not to worry, you deserved to sleep in soft sheets and eat until your belly was full and smile so much that your cheeks ached, and if simon had to become someone else just to give it to you, if simon had to die and come back again, then that was exactly what he would do.

simon had died once already. simon had seen it--seen how empty and unfulfilling and quiet it had been. simon had seen another side, and you didn't belong there. you belonged somewhere warm. somewhere a little noisy, a little bright, familiar.

it hadn't always been this way. when simon first met you, it hadn't been a good day--simon wore bruises, and you wore blood, and it was in that instant moment of understanding that made it clear you would be bound forever.

something invisible threaded you together. and simon had pulled himself out of his early grave, and after he had done it, you were the only thing that remained. and he hated himself--he hated himself for thanking some unspoken thing, because his entire family was gone, but you weren't gone, you were still here, there was still sunlight in your eyes and laughter in your voice and you were still warm.

it should've tasted sour to be grateful for it. he wanted to hate himself for this feeling. he deserved to die again and not return, but then he wouldn't get to see you anymore, and the selfish part of him, the other half of him, would never give you up willingly.

this love was visceral. this love was going to kill him. he was going to die with you on his mind, but maybe that would be the only thing worth really dying for.

because there you are. big, pretty eyes gazing up at him--fuck, why does she look at me like that?

why does she look at me like i mean something?

why isn't she afraid?

why can't i push her away?

what the fuck is wrong with me?

his beautiful girl. his pretty little roommate. the woman with flowers for eyes and silk as skin and a mind filled with starlight. the sweetheart pushing him to sit, forcing him backwards, getting on her knees in between his legs. and then her hands were on his thighs, sliding up against the rough denim as she laid one side of her face against it, those petals in her eyes trained on the way that his pants seemed to get tighter with every drag of her delicate fingers up his thighs.

and then she was pushing up his hoodie, exposing the relaxed muscle of his stomach, and then she was kissing it. soft lips warming the solid middle of him, a knowing smile growing on her face as she felt him twitch and jump and grunt. and then those beautiful eyes were looking back up at him, her neck tilted back as she undid his jeans and nestled the hem of them just low enough for her to reach in and fuck--

you knew simon was beautiful everywhere. you knew that there was no part of him that wasn't perfect. you couldn't remember being particularly religious, but kneeling in front of him felt like devotion--and you had much to confess.

he was thick, heavy, a weight in your hand that had you drooling without so much as seeing him. you were looking at the red tip of him with eyes half-lidded, and it took everything in you not to take him all at once. but this was simon, this was your version of perfect, and you needed to show simon how much you felt because words were not enough.

words would never be enough.

you started slow. you dipped your head, your eyes flicking up to watch him as you caressed the base of him with a wet kiss. you squeezed your legs together when you noticed his dark eyes roll back into his head for a second, a pained, pleasured reaction, and then you did it again.

a soft lick, the edge of your tongue sliding over a protruding vein on the underside of his length, and you closed your own eyes for a moment to revel in the deep groan that simon uttered. you sighed deeply, keeping your thighs squeezed together to relieve the sudden ache between them, before flattening your tongue and guiding it up his length. simon cursed under his breath, his hands gripping his thighs tight--but one of his hands flew to the back of your head when your greedy little mouth sucked the tip of him into your mouth.

you moaned softly, tasting the edge of him, something so simon and pleasant. a little precum, warm, flowing onto your tongue. you whimpered when you felt his fingers tangle into your hair, gripping you for stability as you sucked him in.

"christ, luv--" just the sound of him so pleased was enough to have you dripping, "fuck--'s so good, 's perfect--"

she was so beautiful. she was perfect. of course she would be good at sucking him off, of course she would have the prettiest tongue and the warmest mouth, and of course she would have one hand wrapping around the base of him as the other slipped between her legs--

"fuck--y'r gettin' off on this, yeah?" he grunted, his eyes flashing with something dark. "'f course you are, such a good girl--"

good girl, good girl, i'm a good girl--

just as slow as it began, as quick as you became. one moment you were cool, composed, watching simon's eyes and listening to his voice as you tried to memorize what pleasure sounded like when it came from him, and the next moment you were sliding him further into your mouth, drool dripping down your jaw as precum spread across your teeth. he was so big--so much to take, but the strain in your jaw tomorrow would have to be a welcome side effect to making lieutenant simon riley cum down your throat.

so sloppy, what a mess you were making. simon's hand now cupped the side of your head, your hair in some makeshift updo as he guided you along his length. the sounds were filthy--soft, slobbering noises as you took simon just a little further down your throat, your tongue being careful to tease the slit of him, slipping between the fold of it to illicit the most gorgeous of moans out of him.

"fuckin' hell--the mouth of a fuckin' angel--"

"such a pretty girl...such a pretty sight...makin' such a mess, sweetheart..."

"y'like it, yeah? y'like it...y'r so pretty...s'pretty, luv, nnngh--th's it, just like that--"

and now you were bouncing pathetically onto your hand. you pressed your hand into the floor, trapping your thighs over it as you tried desperately to grind down on something as you sucked warmly on simon's length. just as you let out a frustrated whine, simon's boot knocked your hand out of the way, slipping the steel toe of it right there, right--oh!

you cried out as the tip of his boot pushed right up against your cunt. the perfect spot, right against your aching clit, because simon never missed--simon always hit his target, whether it was between the eyes of some muppet who had his gun aimed at johnny or exactly where to touch his girl to make her drool. and drool she did--with her mouth stuffed full of him, with her slick wetting her thighs, with that look in her eyes that could make any man lose his fucking mind.

and simon was losing it, he was crazy. he soothed the back of your neck, grunting and hissing and wetting the fabric of his mask with the way he spat and cursed for you. but how could he help himself? the most beautiful girl in the world was on her knees, looking at him like she was at the alter. confessing her sins, receiving her absolution, taking every bit of it like the good girl she was, is.

he was so pretty. he tasted so good. you could only see his eyes, but it was more than enough, you didn't need anything more. the way he scrunched them open and shut, the low drawl of his voice as he said your name--he was perfect. his cock filled your mouth so nicely; he was using you, but you didn't feel used.

you wanted this. you wanted him. you wanted him to put you between his legs, wanted him to finally feel something other than that sick, twisted ache in his bones.

you lifted your hand, the one that had been buried between your thighs, and you cupped the underside of him with them. the wet, sticky warmth of your fingers had simon choking on a breath, hissing when you began to work the length of him that you couldn't fit in your mouth.

"jesus fuckin' christ--!"

his chest was heaving, rising up and down as he scratched at your scalp and cupped the underside of your jaw. then he bent low, smoothing a gloved hand down your throat, needing to feel the way it constricted, the way you swallowed, the feel of your skin and the vibrations as you whimpered and moaned around the thick of him.

you were suckling so sweetly, letting pools of drool and precum slip past your lips and drip along your chin, your hands, against his boot. simon was getting close--you could tell by the way he tugged on your hair and the faltering of his breaths. and he was talking--talking so much, blubbering.

"aye, sweetheart--th's it..."

"fuckin' hell...nnnghh...feel like bloody heaven..."

"...see you in m'dreams, luv...aghh! fuck--fuck, fuck, fuck--"

you didn't think there was anything more attractive than watching simon lose control. but you weren't doing much better. as you sucked the salt from his cock, you slid your hips over his boot to relieve the ache between your thighs even just a little. you thought maybe it was a pathetic sight, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. you fit your cunt right up against him, nestling the tip of his toes against your clit so you could rock back and forth, soaking the leather with you.

simon grunted, chuckling a bit to himself as you watched you suck a little harder, a little sloppier, move your hips a little messier. you were like a sweet, doe-eyed puppy--all big eyes and soft mewls and nothing inside your head except suck, suck, suck--

you whined when he came into your mouth. you held out your tongue, massaging the middle of his cock as he dripped along your mouth, your lips, under your tongue, against your chin. and like the messy little girl you were, you kept suckling on the tip until simon gripped you by the back of the head and lifted you up off the ground, grunting as he roughly manhandled you into his lap.

"little kitty can't help herself...what a fuckin' mouth on ya..."

and then his fingers were gathering the cum on your face and slipping it back into your mouth--just as the fingers on his other hand plunged inside of you.

he was deep, thick gloved fingers taking up even more space, stretching your pulsing, gummy cunt as you gripped his shoulders and cried. little tears coming down your face as you chased that blissful high, begging simon to give it, give it, you need it.

it didn't take much. just a few rough touches of your puffy clit, and you were soaking his gloves, whining as you pressed your cheek to his and mumbled how good he felt, how everything hurt so nice.

a pounding, aching thing that was gone in a matter of seconds, throwing you in a pleasure-drunk mood, with your head rest against his shoulder and your breaths coming out heavy and languid.

your eyes fluttered, but your vision was just clear enough that you could see simon lift the front of his mask. you caught the line of deep scar, something a healed and vicious against his pretty face. then it was gone, replaced by the sight of him slipping his gloved fingers into his mouth and sucking on them, pink tongue coming out to taste them as he slurped at the gooey mess you made on them.

you saw the slightest hint of a smirk before the fabric came back down again.

"'s alright, pet--" simon's voice was low, a drawl to it that made his accent a bit more pronounced. and just as your eyes fluttered shut completely--

"'m right here, kitty."

[omgeto]

an: so I decided to do a bunch of one shots with the lovely tattoo artist boyfriend!geto. these can be read as a stand alone but I guess to get the full vision you should read them all. these will all have smut so mdni

☆ COVER UP

summary: all you wanted was a cover up tattoo to replace the name your ex left on you. you didn't think you'd be leaving the tattoo shop with a replacement for your ex's tattoo and a replacement for him as well.

☆ TRAMP!…stamp

summary: you’ve always known your boyfriend to be blunt, rude and not really a people person. so when you come to visit him at work to see him giggling with a pretty female client — you can’t help to feel a little bit.. jealous.

☆ BRANDED

summary: geto hires a new person in the shop, someone he actually starts to get along with. but surprise surprise, who would’ve thought that would be your ex — the same ex that was the reason for you meeting geto in the first place.

☆ BLACKOUT

summary: running a business can be tough, too tough. and the toil of managing one can get to anyone — especially someone like geto. he doesn’t always have a way with words so instead of talking to you, he shuts you out. leaving the status of your relationship up in the air.

[rolanpilled]

BG3 Patch 5 Spoilers

WARNING: BG3 SPOILERS AHEAD!

New content from the ending scene of BG3. This is all from the perspective of a redeemed Dark Urge who romanced Shadowheart and Halsin, and recruited every "good" ally possible.

people at the party: all your companions, scratch, owlbear, volo, and a bard in the middle playing a song (his name is milil)

lae'zel is the only one who isn't here physically, she sent an astral projection instead because she's been busy fighting vlaakith

astarion explains why he ran away (ashamed) when the sunlight hit him, he's become a "hero" who adventures and has accepted himself

(romanced halsin) you can hug halsin, he's missed his friends and you. you can do both the hug and the kiss, it's really sweet. he's turned the shadowlands into a community, repursing reithwin and moonrise towers into homes for people

jaheira's daughter rejoined the flaming fist, she's been working on rebuilding the harper network. the upper city was entirely destroyed by the battle but has been mostly rebuilt. she jokes that you might be a parent soon

wyll gives you a choice between three stories, a stegosaur/dinosaur battle, an impossible lich, or a young dragon. he lost his warlock powers but has been managing the best he can, and has become a RANGER ("a true hunter of monsters"). duke ravengard is commanding the flaming fist and help rebuilding the city, and he's very proud of his son

minsc and boo guard the streets while jaheira is "occupied with harperish manners". they "went to give a tickle" to the zhentarim, then got locked up in a zhentish cell, awaiting execution? idk if i'm reading incorrectly but he seems to be implying that he actually GOT executed but withers brought him back just in time lmfao

gale has become "professor gale dekarios of blackstaff academy, educator of the esteemed school of illusion". tara is with him. he surrended the crown of karsus to mystra, who cured him of the orb in exchange (his tattoo is gone), though his students still think he's explosive (he implies that he uses it as a threat to keep his class under control). he tells his students about your adventures together. he also implies you're welcome to visit his tower

shadowheart (main romance) - the game told me that we settled down together to live a happy, peaceful life on a farm in the countryside. shar still hurts her (if parents are saved), especially when she can sense that SH is enjoying herself, but it's been getting less frequent because she's been "losing interest". there's a new hug and kiss scene for her too, so i'm assuming this is for ALL companions and not just halsin/SH/whoever

withers will speak to you about karlach, explaining that she won't be able to come back. he jokes about her, which is rare for him, and you're given to opportunity to grieve her loss. in "a dozen tendays" (assumedly how long bg3 is), "an entire life was lived, she lived several centuries" (not exact quote).

milil, the bard playing in the center, does NOT want to be there. he's pissed that no one recognizes him (he's pissed specifically that i'm a bard and don't recognize him), i had to pass a deception check to recognize him and he cheered up and offered to change the song he's playing

there's a chest called "Chest of Grateful Words" filled with letters from your allies!

"Official Guild Letter"

"Letter from Barcus"

"Letter from Art"

"Letter from Valeria"

"Letter from Ravengard"

"Letter from Sebastian"

"Letter from Florrick"

"Letter from the Gur" (unascended Astarion)

"Letter from Alfira" (durge, killed quil grootslang)

"Letter from Dammon"

"Letter from Elminster"

"Letter from Nocturne"

"Letter from Voss"

"Letter from Hope"

"Letter from Mayrina"

"Letter from Nine-Fingers"

"Letter from Zevlor"

"Harp-stamped Letter"

Baldur's Mouth Gazette

If you find anything interesting I missed, please let me know.

[mysunshinetemptress]

I Hate Her part two

Part one

Leah Williamson x enemy reader

Warning: Feeling like and outsider, self doubt, Leah being an asshole

A/n: I’m taking a break for the weekend, I’m just to busy to post anything so I’ll see you all Monday

You don’t make the roaster for Tokyo 2020, You wait patiently anxiously by the phone, you haven’t left your house scared that the phone will ring and you’ll either miss it or make a show of yourself in public and when the phone call comes your so happy you decide to stay at home, your told that maybe next you’ll get the chance but for now it’s a no, they just don’t think you're fully ready. You, you who have been on the senior squad since you were twenty, how are you not ready to be a part of team GB? 

How is she, how is Leah good enough to be a part of the Olympic squad and you're not, you got the call-up first to the Lionesses, you have the most clean tackles of the last two seasons of the WSL, you have the most goal scored by a defender of last season, how is she the better choice. 

You’re gutted, gutted as it’s officially announced and you watch the congratulations roll in for your teammates and you can’t help but feel like you're supposed to be there too, to be getting a congratulations instead of “Oh darling I’m so sorry, you’ll get it next time.” 

So when the phone call comes in a month before the team is set to leave for camp and start getting ready for the Olympics you can’t help but feel like a fraud in a sense, this is what you wanted, but not like this, not as a second choice, not when one of your teammates, friends has to pull out due to injury. 

You let out a half-hearted smile under the mask as you greet the social media team “Excited?” You nod “Excited.” You head in getting a COVID test done before moving to get your room allocation. 

You feel lost in camp these girls have known they were going to be a part of this squad for months now but you, you’re the last one in, the final pick, the second choice, and Leah has no problem showing it. 

Leah was the first to make you feel like an intruder. Her eyes once filled with camaraderie, now held a cold indifference. Her snide remarks, subtle digs and subtle exclusion, were like tiny daggers, aimed with precision to erode your confidence. You were a constant reminder of her misfortune, a living, breathing symbol of her failure.

The weight of expectation was suffocating. Every mistake, every missed pass, was magnified under the unforgiving spotlight of the Olympic stage. You were haunted by the fear of letting everyone down, of proving your doubters right. The girl who once thrived under pressure was now paralysed by it.

Nights were the worst. As your teammates shared laughter and inside jokes, you retreated into the solitude of your room. But your room only offered up that solitude during the day, when your eyes closed the same recurring nightmares plagued your mind and fed into the doubt, The medal ceremony played on repeat in your mind, their faces beaming with pride, stood on the podium as you tried to reach it, tried to climb on but a boot always connected with your hand stamping on it again and again forcing you to let go, before laughter erupted from the team, all looking down on you laughing at your inability to make it up, to be good enough to stand on the podium alongside them, the scene changes their names etched in history. And you? You a footnote, “Y/n Y/L/N the one who nearly ruined it for us all.” 

No one understands it, they haven’t tried to push you out, to exclude you (Leah has, her friends have been unexpectedly roped into it). The older girls are worried, your Captains Kim Little, Sophie Ingle and Ellen White can see it, you’re young, far too young to put so much pressure on yourself that you slip away from the group, and so they decide tonight is a team night, a mandatory team night. 

 You’re late, late for the team night and you feel nauseous as you open the door to the common room and everyone turns to look at you, you freeze until a hand grabs yours and you look up to see Ella, Ella, funny, loud Ella, she pulls you along to sit with her and Niamh and you do so quickly. Millie looks at you concerned raising a thumb up to make sure you’re ok, all you can do is nod. 

“Right ladies, shall we play a game.” Everyone lets out a cheer as they discuss what game to play Niamh tries to make conversation “So what’s the plans for summer break.” You shrug “I want to go to  Spain but I don’t know if that’s going to happen.” Ella shakes her head “We are all heading to Ibiza, you should come.” You nod slightly “Who is going.” Ella rattles off the names as the group seems to quieten down. 

Paranoia, is the game you used to play in secondary school, when you were an immature teenager, why this game, who chose this game. You felt your anxiety rise as flashes from your time sitting around the canteen table playing the game passed through your mind. 

You're safe for the start, no one mentions you, although there are slight digs here and there each girl seems to take it with a laugh, there’s nice ones too but still the bad ones always slip through. You don’t get a mention from anyone else but Leah’s best friends.

“Weakest pass” 

“Y/n”

“*****”

“Y/n” 

“*********”

“Y/n”

It was constant,  you laughed it off (forced laugh) when you found out, it was fine you could deal with it until you couldn’t. 

Leah thinks for a minute, it’s her turn again and everything she has said about you so far is only scratching the surface of how much she seems to hate you, she knows what to say she just hopes Keira takes the bait. She leans overhand covering her mouth and Keira's ear, she should know it’s a bad one from Keira's reaction, Kiera knows what Leah wants her to say but this ones mean, really mean, she can’t, not about you, you don’t fit this description, your miles ahead of the younger girls, but she doesn’t know what else to do. “Y/n.”

You sigh, you’re tired, bored even, bored of them choosing you, there are 21 other girls here, why do they keep picking on you? 

You flip the coin and watch as it lands on heads, Keira looks mortified while Leah wears a half smile, she looks proud of the fact you get to find out the question so she doesn’t even give Kiera the chance to “Who’s the worst player on the squad.” 

Your heart plummets, and you look between Leah and Keira, Keira’s eyes flick around the room trying to look anywhere but you, Leah, Leah looks guilty, no her expression changes so quick but she settles with a half smile again. 

You force out another laugh only this one is ten times more broken than the last, Ella grabs your hand trying to comfort you, comfort you about what, Leah’s right, you’re the worst player on the squad. You look around at the rest of your team’s concerned faces and panic you have to say something, otherwise, you’ll come off weak.

“Well obviously, I-I mean I was a second choice.” 

The words don’t have the effect you want and the girls look at you worriedly eyes soft “I think we better call it a night.” 

You play every game Team GB is part of in the Olympics, you help get them to the quarter-finals, you, the second choice, the worst player on the squad, play every game. 

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

imagine like reader being a detective or something, being on the case to catch Red Hood (while he’s still a crime boss)/ the Arkham Knight, but being in a relationship with Jason, unaware of his nightly business. And then boom, they find out one day and it’s all angsty 🤞🤞 love ur work btw hihi

Betrayal

Hi, nonnie! I thought I had this done earlier, but then I had to keep world building. Stuck with Red Hood on this one. Hurt/No comfort warning. Non-graphic, very minor character death. ~1.8k words

Gotham is cursed. That's what they told you when you transfered to the GCPD. Yeah, you've heard the stories, but they're just messing with you, right? Trying to scare the newest rookie cop.

Except they were telling the truth. A few years later, more cases than you can keep track of, enough masked rouges to fill arkham three times over, and a promotion to detective, you tell the rookies the same thing they told you. Gotham is cursed.

"Alright, Detective, this one is yours." You make a face at the case file the Commissioner drops on your desk.

"Sir, I took care of The Penguin robbery last week, isn't it someone elses turn to deal with the high profile cases?" You gingerly pick up the file, reading over the name Red Hood stamped on the front.

Gordan sighs at you, already turning away to move onto the next poor detective. "We cycled through everyone else after the Black Gate breakout. Anyone who didn't work on it has active cases. That makes this one yours."

You grumble reluctantly, cases like this lead to more press coverage than you want to deal with, but start flipping through the file, mentally noting down the sparse facts and theories about the up and coming crime lord.

That was four months ago. In such a short amount of time, Red Hood has taken over more territory in Gotham than any other crime lord and completely changed the game. No dealing to children, no human trafficking. You hate to acknowledge it, but crime technically has dropped since he took over the majority of gangs in Gotham under an iron fist.

The work is exhausting, he's always one– no, five steps ahead of you and your growing team of detectives and beat cops. You don't think you've even gotten a real glimpse at him that he didn't mean to let you have.

The closest you've gotten to Red Hood was out of uniform, weeks after you got the case, when he was still a new name on the streets.

It was a robbery, some desperate punk in a mask that didn't conceal anything, was dragging a little girl out of the store as a hostage.

"Take me instead, she's just a kid." You had protested, heart sinking at the terror in the little girls face.

"Not a chance." He barked back at you.

"Look, she's scared, she'll only slow you down."

The gunman stares at you, you see his fingers twitch. "Fuck it. Fine. Both of you are coming with me." That's how you ended up in some alley, familiar sirens wailing in the distance and your hand curled protectively with the child's.

"Shit. Man. Shit. The cops weren't supposed to be here. What am I gonna do? I can't go to jail." He's snapping. Rambling and desperate. Your eyes dart for some kind of plan, a way to help the little girl stay safe. But the alley is empty, not even a dumpster to seek shelter behind. "I just gotta get rid of the witnesses. Yeah. The witnesses."

Your eyes dart to him, he's lifting the gun. You don't hesitate to grab the little girl, wrapping your arms around her and turning your back to the man, tucking her to your chest to provide as much cover as you can provide.

A gun fires.

There's a thud.

You look over your shoulder, the girls face still hidden against you. He's not moving, gun unshot and laying next to him on the ground. There's a pool of dark liquid forming around him. You look up.

You manage to see a red glint, the shine of a gun, the eerie glow of a luminescent eyes. Red Hood.

That's all you manage to see before you're swarmed by cops, guiding you and the girl to safety.

It's a memory that plays in your mind sometimes, when you hear testimonies of how Red Hood saves people in crime alley, despite his crime lord status. It's confusing, exhausting even, to try and sort between the good and the bad, the duality of one man. At least you have your loving boyfriend to come home to.

Jason. He makes you feel like Gotham might not be so cursed. It's great, he gives you butterflies. He makes you happy. You cook meals together, and you both work the weird twilight/night shift hours. He holds you like you're precious under your shared comforter. You think you might love him. He whispers sweet nothings into your hair when he thinks you're sleeping. You kiss his palms when his eyes get that far away, haunted look he can’t seem to explain.

He's insisted on cooking dinner tonight as you watch him, a little starry eyed. You can't really blame yourself when he's shirtless and working over your favorite meal.

"Oh, Jason, I need to wash my clothes. Do you need anything done?" You ask, finally remembering that you do actually have a job and responsibilities and you can't stare at your handsome boyfriend all day.

"No, I'm good, baby. Go ahead and do your thing. Dinner's almost done." He answers idly, shooting you a lazy grin as you stand.

You smile back before leaving the kitchen to gather your clothes. As you dump the dirty laundry in the washer, you realize you never refilled the detergent. Mumbling an annoyed curse, you head to the spare bedroom you rarely use. There should be some extra necessities stock piled in there. You know, for the next time a criminal messes with Gothams chain supply.

You're more focused on the delicious smells floating through the apartment as you open the closet door, idly looking around for the detergent. That's why it doesn't really click in your mind what you're looking at. Guns. Armor. Your thoughts freeze to a stop. Are you dating some kind of henchman? A bright red helmet takes up your vision. Nope. You're dating a crime boss.

The helmet is in your hands and you're fumbling your way to the kitchen before you even have your thoughts sorted. Should you call for back up? Shouldn't you try to catch him by surprise? Sure. But, you need answers. You want this to be a misunderstanding. You want Jason to be your partner– not– not what the evidence that's heavy in your hand says he is.

Statistics run through your mind. Stories of Red Hood saving working girls. Stories of him leaving bodies of dealers that sold to kids. Then, memories of your boyfriend. How he leans down to kiss your forehead. How runs his hand up and down your arm while you watch movies together. If there was a sign. If you were too blind and in love to realize.

He turns to look at you when you stalk in. You throw the helmet at him. The helmet you'd recognize anywhere, even if you've never gotten close enough to touch it before. He catches it with the grace of a predator. "The hell is this, Jason?"

"It's a helmet." He says evenly, turning off the stove and placing the helmet down on the counter.

"No, duh, it's a helmet, Jason. Don't patronize me. Is it yours?" You nearly hiss, hands curling in anger and frustration and heart break you're not ready to admit you're feeling.

He studies you, eyes dark and calculating. It makes you bite the inside of you cheek. His eyes never looked at you like that before. "It is."

You laugh out of disbelief, stepping back. "So you've been using me? Is that what all this was? Just a way to get information about the GCPD and what we had on you?"

"What? No." He says your name a little pleading, "it's not like that. Not anymore."

"But it was." You bite out, cursing yourself for the sting of tears in your eyes.

He steps closer, you step back, trying to keep your hands from shaking. He whispers your name, and you think you see hurt flash in his eyes before it disappears. His voice goes steady, even. "It was. But I haven't tried to get anything like that since–"

"Since when, Jason?" You cut off, anger and hurt clear in your voice, in your face. "Was it before we raided the warehouse at the docks? Is my computer bugged? Did you hack my phone?"

He winces. You don't need to be a detective to know he has. "I haven't used them since we started getting serious."

"And when was that, Jason?" You ask, voice breaking at his name. "Because it's been serious this entire time for me."

He doesn't answer at first, gaze leaving you to stare at his helmet. "Since I– I saw you save that kid. Instead of going after that shooter. When I realized you weren't just another one of the corrupted cops. That you care about this city. And the people. I realized I couldn't keep doing that to you."

You go quiet. What can you say to that? "Were you ever going to tell me?" You settle on.

"I don't know." He shrugs helplessly, eyes leaving the helmet to meet your teary gaze. "I didn't know how. I don't– think I wanted you to know. " He stutters over his last sentence, and then says your name, pleading coming back to his tone. "I can't lose you over this."

"You never had me!" Your voice raises, a shout in anger before you can bury it down. You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively and lowering your voice. "You never had me if everything this was was built on a lie."

"It's not a lie." He says firmly, snapping to attention and stepping towards you. He gestures between the two of you, says your name like he demands your attention. "This is not a lie."

"It is, Jason! You're only here to gain something from me! From my job!" You push back, throat tight and head spinning. Maybe you shouldn't be yelling at Gothams most dangerous and deadliest crime boss, but your heart is too broken for your head to think straight.

"No, pretty." You think he's pleading. You think his mouth might even be trembling as he speaks, but you can't make it out through the tears in your eyes. "No. It was like that at first. I know. I know that hurts you, but, it's not like that now. It's nowhere near that now."

"I don't care." You choke out.

"You don't mean that." Jason protests, but he doesn't sound certain.

"I don't want to see you anymore." You say the words before you're even sure you want that.

His face drops. "You don't mean that either."

"I do." It tastes like a lie. It sounds like the truth. You're turning and leaving before he can speak again, before you can unpack what you really want, locking yourself in the bathroom.

You fall asleep to the sound of your own tears, curled on the cold tile floor. You wake to silence. His helmet is gone from your counter when you enter the kitchen.

Your favorite dinner is wrapped in plastic when you open the fridge.

It makes the truth of it all worse. Gotham really is cursed.

Part Two

[saltstarzz]

“𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮,”

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: clingy!gojo x AFAB reader, SFW + NSFW. SFW: cuddling + kissing + silliness + touching + close proximity NSFW: pussy eating + rough pace + creampie + breeding kink + brief pregnancy mention + whining + pleading + aftercare

𝐚/𝐧: hello, this is technically my first post here and my first fic. had Gojo brainrot and needed to write it.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐒𝐅𝐖

clingy!gojo never once saw himself being a clingy lover by any means. He was a busy man, and never tended to stay in one place for too long, and never stayed with one person for too long either. Until you came crashing into his life.

suddenly, clingy!gojo is practically begging the higher-ups to let him stay just a little longer in japan so he can stay with you for just an extra day or so.

If clingy!Gojo had problems with personal space before, it absolutely skyrockets when you two begin dating. he's always so close to you. a couple inches to your hip, or behind you. trails alongside you when you two go out, always in your personal space by barely inches.

always has to be touching you. it's practically habit now for clingy!gojo to slip an arm around your waist to hug you closer to him or intertwine your fingers, or even sling his arm around your shoulder. he does it so much that even his students grow used to it, expecting their teacher to always be attached to your hip whenever you're around.

clingy!gojo takes initiative with every date he plans. it's always extravagant or extremely childish like a trip to an amusement park on a summer afternoon or a fancy restaurant out on a boardwalk, there's no middle ground. he's giddy and on the day of the outing, he's up under you, constantly prattling on about his plans for day while practically hip to hip.

clingy!gojo was frivolous before you started dating, and it's absolutely ramped up now that you're together. oftentimes, your shopping trips come out to thousands of yen, and clingy!gojo doesn't even bat an eye. get that cute bag you've been looking at, or those pairs of shoes you saw online, he'll cover it. sometimes, when he's away on missions overseas, he comes back with piles of souvenirs for you, all nonsensical little trinkets that reminded him of you like stickers of the American flag or pins from Spain.

and finally, when clingy!gojo is forced on a mission that takes him away from you, even for a week, he blows up your phone with nonsensical messages about his day and calls you any chance he gets. quick short sentences telling you about a bird he saw or that he stubbed his toe, and long calls where sometimes you two aren't even talking. you'll be cooking with the TV in the back and he's riding public transport, but it's the fact you two are somewhat connected, even miles away that puts clingy!gojo at ease.

“Satoru, we talked about this,” you chuckle softly, looking down at the piles and piles of trinkets and souvenirs piled up on the dining table. Keychains, and pins, and even bottle openers and handfuls of stamps, all from Brazil. “We don't have any room for more souvenirs,” you remind him gently.

And unsurprisingly, Satoru is pouting. His back straight as he stares down at the piles of souvenirs on the dining table like he's mourning the fact he can't take a stray pet home. His lips juts out and his hip is practically touching yours.

“Honey...” you gently begin but Satoru cuts you off by gently sliding out a long keychain beneath the pile.

“We can't even keep this one?” he asks, his free hand sliding into yours.

It's a keychain with your name emblazoned onto it in white text with a cheap background of a Brazilian beach. The plastic is scratched up, but there's clearly thought taken to it.

You sigh. You've never been good at telling Satoru no, especially not now with his lip jutted out and his blue eyes shimmering at you behind his blue glasses.

“Fine...”

NSFW below this cut: Minors, please DNI

: ̗̀➛ 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖

clingy!gojo is on an absolute mission when you two have sex. it's never routine and clingy!gojo is absolutely happy to do it. falls to his knees at the edge of the bed with your legs loosely over his shoulders and he sucks and licks and eats at your pussy like it's all he knows how to do. (bonus points if it's just after a mission)

clingy!gojo adores everything about your pussy. thinks about it constantly and when he's got it, he focuses on nothing but it. drives two of his long fingers deep into you, one at a time while he works you up to it with his tongue and slow, deep plunges. absolutely talks you through it too, nonsensical rambling consisting of a lot of L-bombs and praises, while he licks and toys with your clit.

clingy!gojo fucking loves foreplay. adores touching you and kissing over your breasts or along your tummy or running his hands up and down your sides to send goosebumps on your skin. it's his favorite thing in the entire world.

when you and clingy!gojo do end up fucking though, clingy!gojo is an absolute puddle. the moment the tip is in, clingy!gojo practically melts. his shoulders relax and his long white lashes flutter and he's groaning. thrusts all the way in the moment he feels your pussy flutter around his tip.

clingy!gojo buries his face into your shoulder while you two have sex, or into the crook of your neck. his hips are driving his cock into you over and over again at a quick and hard pace that's so mind numbingly good, you two are both basically brainless.

clingy!gojo 1 billion percent holds your hands while you fuck. intertwines your fingers with his and even kisses your knuckles or your fingers. such a big hand holder.

clingy!gojo is extremely vocal during sex too. whining about how tight you are, and how much he loves your pussy. his voice rarely cracks, but he's an absolute mess and he can't help it. pleads with you to let him go a little deeper or to let him cum inside, with the latter being on days when it's been too long since you two have had sex.

and clingy!gojo isn't even super kinky, but the days that you're safe and he can cum inside, clingy!gojo takes full advantage of it. mumbles and pleads with you to let him put a baby in you. not to give his clan an heir, but just to let him. he wants to see your tummy round and growing bigger with each passing month and that's enough to get his cock twitching. he knows you can't, given birth control or simple safe days, but he loves the idea, melts when he thinks about it.

when clingy!gojo does finally cum, he cums for a long ass time. cock nestled deep into your pussy, as rope after rope of cum flows freely into you. he's shaking through it all and sucking in breaths through his teeth, until he can finally relax.

clingy!gojo, no matter how vanilla or rough your night can be, always includes aftercare. though he doesn't specifically call it aftercare, clingy!gojo does it every night. gets you all cleaned up, rubs out any tension in your hibs or if you've had a particularly rough night, he rubs his hands soothingly over your ass. prepares a bath for you if it's harder to stand, or a shower for you both. changes out the sheets, and cuddles you throughout the night, practically crushing you under his weight.

“Satoru-- Nnh, shit!”

Deep plunge after deep plunge, you can feel the head of his cock pressing just right on a little spot inside of you. It hits its mark right every single time, and has your vision going fuzzy. You're sopping wet, soaking little rings into his cock and wetting his white hairs with every deep thrust that brings you two hip to hip.

“Satoru!”

Your boyfriend has his head nestled into the crook of your neck, his fingers intertwined with yours, pressing them down into the satin sheets. He's panting and groaning into your skin, sweat rolling down in gentle droplets over his skin.

“Baby, please... Please, let me cum inside. Please, please, please. I can't pull out. I don't want to pull out...” he whines, his voice uncharacteristically high, full of whining and pleasing.

You're not surprised he'd ask you that. Satoru loved to cum inside and watch his seed flow out from your pussy before he licked you clean. But Satoru doesn't simply stop there tonight.

“I need to put a baby in you...”

Probably a slip of the tongue, but if Satoru meant to correct himself he never does. He lifts his head as his thrusts become even faster, feverish and needy. “I need you to have my kids, baby, I need every fucking drop inside you.”

[featguler]

can u do a cute jude smau pls

better half ────── life is hard when your girlfriend is forever away.

♡ ────── pairing : jude bellingham x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader is female, and her faceclaim is established. pre-established relationship with jude. reader lives in england. jude is down bad his love language is being annoying to all of reader's friends ♡ ────── notes : jude smau debut!! he is actually so embarrassing here i love him. thanks for the request!! this took wayyyyy longer than i had initially anticipated, the word "jude bellingham" doesn't even look real to me now. pls tell me what u think!! ♡ masterlist.

FACECLAIM 𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ naura ayu ( instagram )

DISCLAIMER 𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ 𐙚 i am not affiliated with naura ayu, jude, or anyone mentioned in this fic 𐙚 any similarities in name, time, and place is purely coincidental 𐙚 do not mind the time stamps 𐙚 click on the pictures if it seems blurry

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ynusername

liked by judebellingham, jobebellingham, and others

ynusername dinner with my favourite people 💕 photos by @.jobebellingham <3 tagged jobebellingham view all comments

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ynusername

liked by judebellingham, yourbestfriend, and others

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ynusername

liked by judebellingham, yourbestfriend, jobebellingham and others

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[jrreigns]

Letters from the Other Side

The sea washes over the sides of the steamship, taking with it the algae stuck to it. You almost hope the waves can take you with it, the nerves getting the better of you as you leant over the rail. Come see me, you read the letter over and over again, your stomach fluttering, I want to see you.

CW: Post-war Levi x fem!reader, civilian!reader

A/N: Some post-war Levi goodness after the angst I’ve posted this past month. ~2.5k words of fluff and romance. If this does well, I’ll probably write the super romantic smut next.

Credit to @cafekitsune for the dividers!

Three years after the Rumbling and things were starting to return to a sense of normalcy in the Stohess district. At least as normal as things can get when the twisted mentality of the Yeagerists and their seizing control of the military dominated the news. Your mother and father tell you not to worry, but you’ve been worried ever since the walls disappeared and the Survey Corps regiment disbanded.

Or rather, you have only really been worried over a single person, the man with the raven locks and the dull gray eyes, dull eyes that glittered when you spoke to him. You were still a woman, and a woman has intuition for those sorts of things like attraction, and Captain Levi couldn’t help how flustered he got whenever he saw you. Your father was the owner of a blacksmith company, and you often bumped into Levi along with Commander Smith several times a month.

Humanity’s strongest, you’d think in awe, where you had imagined a big brute, now you saw the man for what he was.

Why’d he come along was always unknown to you, but as your father and the commander spoke privately in another room, you offered small conversation and tea while he waited. Where small talk began, somehow a deep appreciation for the other bloomed, and the visits began to feel like the visits of the suitors that bombarded your home on occasion. He’d gift you single flowers, it’s all I can afford, he’d say meagerly. You’d thank him with a kiss on the cheek each and every time. And each and every time a ferocious tinge of red would adorn his face.

The timing never seemed to be right with either of you, it always seemed like when one was ready to take the leap, the other had other obligations waiting. Wait for me, were his selfish last words to you and you nodded your head as you gave him a final good-bye.

It had already been three years. You were already on the cusp of giving up.

It had been a nice breezy morning when you received his first letter. The unfamiliar stamps had caught both you and your parents off-guard, but nonetheless they gave you the privacy to open it. There, in the small garden of your home, tears welled up in your eyes as you skimmed through it.

It was a letter from Captain Levi.

Or rather Levi, just Levi, as the letter so said. I have told them to stop calling me captain, but these brats never learn. You giggled inwardly at his words, tears welling up in your eyes. You read it one more time, much slower this time, familiarizing yourself with his handwriting, the slant in his letters, his signature, everything. You familiarized yourself with the names Gabi and Falco, children you did not know but instantly loved with the way they cared for Levi.

At the very bottom, a hopeful wish that you will respond, signed next to his name.

Of course you will.

Your father stood confused as you gathered parchment and a pen to write, finding it odd that his moody daughter was suddenly so lively. Perhaps it’s the engagement, he thought, and let you be.

Your ring twinkled under the summer sun, and yet nothing has caused more glee than the very letter you were responding to. You wrote about the situation in Paradis, you wrote about the kindness of the queen, and you wrote about how business was booming for your father, despite the war having been over. The thought saddened you, but you quickly sign the letter and add a note that you excitedly await his next letter.

It’s not that you fail to mention your engagement, rather some deep part of you didn’t want to mention it. Your betrothed was a good man, hand picked by your father, you had accepted to keep his worries at bay that you wouldn’t end up husbandless and with no children.

How quickly Levi’s letters can have you questioning your familiar duties.

We restored some of the land ruined by the war, Levi writes, many foreigners are starting to settle here again.

You can’t help the sense of admiration that fills you up. It filled you up when he’d visit with the commander, and it still filled you up now. A military man, you wonder if he’s still as strong as when you met him. Humanity’s strongest, you wondered if he still thought about you and the flowers he’d gift you.

I’d like to visit it one day, you write, perhaps a change of scenery would be nice. All this yeagerist talk has me going mad.

I’d like to visit you one day, you will yourself to write, but you don’t. You had been lovestruck years ago, perhaps the captain no longer harbored the same feelings. Perhaps the captain has found someone new, perhaps the captain has married.

Sadness consumes you. After all, you were just friends back then, right?

You trash your letter and write a plainer one instead. It hadn’t even reached half a page when you sealed it, wrote his address on the front of it and set it aside for the postman to pickup tomorrow.

“Honey,” you can hear your mother call, “James is here to see you.” You force your best smile to greet your husband-to-be.

It’s weeks before the next letter arrives. The pretty orange and red tree leaves were beginning to fall, a cozy chill running through the district. Your wedding preparations were already underway when the postman calls out to you, a single letter in his hands, the stamps it bore already familiar to you.

More talk of restoration, recovery, Gabi and Falco’s shenanigans, when finally you reach the last bit of the letter. I don’t mean to bother you, Levi writes, your last letter felt abrasive. I understand if things have changed. Everything has changed.

You wonder what goes through Levi’s mind when he writes to you.

No, things have not changed. Things still felt the same, at least they did to you. Still, you couldn’t ignore your engagement anymore as you saw your mother debate through wedding ribbons in the distance and you finally will yourself to write and tell him the news.

I’m engaged, it feels awful to write it, my engagement is a long one, though, and so I’m sorry if the letter was short. I must’ve been busy.

You write of other things, of the rising tension amongst good folks like your family who didn’t want to fuel another war, and the yeagerists. You write of how the talks of peace by the ambassadors (who you found out were actually part of the same regiment as him) were falling on deaf ears.

I’d like to see you, you finally write, I’d like to see what the other side looks like.

You add the last bit in a final moment of hesitation, sign your name and set it aside, a deep breath falling from your lips.

“You’re changing the wedding date again, and to a later date might I add,” your father bellows out to you.

“Father, please,” you reply, exasperated, trying to escape the dining room and into your own, a new letter in hand, “I will get married in time, what’s the rush?”

“The rush is that you’re not young anymore, I beg you to reconsider.”

You shut the door behind you, shaky fingers coming to pry the letter open. You force yourself to read slowly, absorbing every single inked word coming from Levi’s fingertips.

You skip his polished words of annoying governmental policies being implemented on his side and go straight to the heart of the letter, his real response to you.

Congratulations on your engagement, he begins, I’m surprised you haven’t even married yet.

That? That is what he has to say? You scoff, a slight irritation blooming.

I don’t look like before—I’ve lost an eye and my right hand is destroyed, his letter continues, I look awful.

I’m not humanity’s strongest anymore.

You don’t know why these words strike you deeply. Years and a great distance separate you from what Levi is or was for that matter, yet it isn’t Levi’s exterior that ever affected you in the first place. It was the small talks and the small gifts, it was his tinged cheeks and his intrepid way of speaking around your people who have only seen the refined things in life.

You could never look awful to me, you write in your response, a wave of heat flaring up on your cheeks, you’re just trying to get me not to go.

Levi’s letters continue well into the deeper part of winter, the leaves have long since fallen, snow beginning to gather amongst the branches. The winters where he lived were harsh, and he writes of how they were causing the ache in his knee to worsen. You spend some of your money to send him some ointment you purchased from a local medic.

He writes to you of how the snow reminds him of when the Survey Corps would serve hot chocolate on the off chance. You send him chocolate you bargain off a local vendor.

The signs of Levi’s homesickness don’t escape you, even if he doesn’t admit it.

I could send you Stohess’s entire stock of goods if I can, you respond to his letters of thanks.

What would I do with all that, he responds to yours, breaking you into a fit of silent laughter.

I’ve missed your awful humor, you write casually. You wonder if you should trash this letter and begin a new one, but you don’t. I’ve missed you, you finish writing.

The budding roses in your garden remind you of your predicament.

“As much as I respect you,” James begins, “I won’t accept any other change to the wedding. If you won’t marry me then I’ll find someone who will.”

You comprehend his irritation, even if you don’t fully understand it.

He leaves you on your garden bench, exiting through the gate, just in time for the postman to arrive. Your feelings don’t subside, in fact they linger as you read Levi’s next letter.

Upon opening it, nervousness hits you as you see just how short the letter is. Policy change, annoying policy change.

The ambassadors have told me that postage to Paradis will be barred soon. Your eyes widen. Despite the nice spring breeze, your body suddenly feels so cold.

If I don’t hear from you again, I wanted to wish you a happy marriage. Your eyes well with tears, but it’s his next words that move you.

Unless you change your mind. Come see me. I want to see you. Just as you’re about to trash the envelope, a small flower catches your eye. It was dried up and rather lonely, but you hold it close to you as small tears slip down your cheeks.

The next morning, you try to give the postman your next letter but he just shakes his head in response.

“Apologies ma’am, the military has ordered a full stop for all international mail.” You thank him anyway, despite how distraught you feel.

Your wedding is within two weeks. The white dress in the corner of your room haunts you. Although lace with spring flowers were added to match the season, it only made it look like the kind of dress you wore on your deathbed.

There was no more rescheduling your wedding date, there were no more letters to look forward to, you could only look over the last letter, his final request.

You longed for Levi. Did he long for you?

Come see me, I want to see you.

Despite the spring air, a heat that resembled summer humidity burned through you.

“It’s a one way trip if you decide to head to the other side,” the hefty man tells you, “military has barred all incoming and outgoing mail, I wouldn’t be surprised if they bar incoming ships soon.”

This was it, the point of no return. You had written your last letter addressed to your parents—an apology for doing what you are doing. No, your heart hasn’t seized its rampant beating since Levi’s last letter. You need to see him.

You board without much of a glance back.

For days, sea sickness threaten to put a damper on your good (albeit nervous) mood, your only fuel the letters stored in your small suitcase, rereading them every night as the darkness of the ocean tormented you.

Finally, the crewmen announce that you will be arriving in the morning. The sun was setting off in the horizon—you clutched his last letter as you take a brief moment to absorb this feeling of resilience that surged through you. You’d get to see Levi soon, you’ve waited enough. Here, near the rails of the ship, you long for him, nerves filling your stomach.

The sea washes over the sides of the steamship, taking with it the algae stuck to it. You almost hope the waves can take you with it, the nerves getting the better of you as leant over the rail. Come see me, you read the letter over and over again, your stomach fluttering. I want to see you.

Past the plethora of persons disembarking, past the many political volunteers ushering about far-off dreams of peace that were unachievable, you navigate through unknown territory in an effort to find him. Fingers pointed, people spoke foreign directions as they glanced at the address on your envelope. It has all brought you here.

Face to face with a young girl, too young to be married.

“Ah—sorry,” you begin, “I was told Levi Ackerman lived here.”

“Yeah he does,” she begins suspiciously, “I’ll get him.” The door closes again and already you feel out of your element. Perhaps this was a mistake, you wish the ground can swallow you whole. Peering eyes look at you through a nearby window, ones that belonged to the young girl who just spoke to you, and another who you haven’t met.

“That’s her? No way,” you can hear them say. Suddenly the door opens, and dull gray eyes that bore a hint of annoyance soften and make way for a familiar glitter that reminded you of simpler times.

“Levi.”

He whispers your name, suddenly hiding his maimed hand, trying to get you to see his good side, the side with his working eye. But you don’t see that. You see the man who gifted you flowers, you see the man whose cheeks you once kissed.

You will yourself to move and you do, grabbing the hand behind him and crashing into him in an embrace. Levi’s face is red, and he glances at the window to see Gabi and Falco gawking at them. He waves them off annoyingly and they give him a thumbs-up as they pull away.

Hands come to wrap around you, lips kissing your forehead.

“You came,” he whispers into your hair.

“Of course.”

[81folklore]

i can do it with a broken heart - f1 grid

parings: gn!driver!reader x platonic!f1!grid x ex!jacob elordi

summary: after yn and their ex break up, they carry on as best they can and no one had any idea how bad they were struggling

type: social media au (smau)

notes: george is in this but he does not drive for mercedes, yn does. i also used a mixture of fem and masc pictures because i couldnt decide and thought you could just imagine whatever you wish!!

notes 2: probably the longest fic ive done so far but im pretty proud of it. the time stamps above each section are semi important so i would keep an eye on them!! also i know ive been gone for so long but i do not promise ill be back. alsoooo i know i only included a bit of the grid but i kept getting distracted and then couldn’t figure out how to include everyone!!

masterlist

march 2024

twitter

charles oh my god i cant believe my cat is finally the pfp

i have been waiting for YEARS

max yes well you better enjoy it because it’ll change soon and you’ll be back to waiting again.

lando jesus max do you have to use punctuation???

alex be glad he doesnt use captials

oscar one thing at a time lando, we dont want to scare him

max ???

lando anyway

yn mate you ok?

yourname im fine? ur scaring me you never ask how i am

lando yeah but usually your not single

lewis oh no! you and jacob split?

yourname yeah, wasnt working anymore

charles ah im sorry, that must suck😣

yourname i mean it does but its been coming for a long time so its not surprising

fernando hello! yn what is wrong? you always use emotes!

yourname theyre emojis nando, and im fine just a bit lost

fernando do not worry, i will come and find you!

yourname no, i dont mean literally just..we were together for so long i dont really know what to do now you know?

lando i get it, you wanna play tarkov with me???

yourname cheers ill get on now

george let us know if you need anything!

may 2024

yourusername

liked by mercedesamgf1, lewishamilton and 814,583 others

p✌️ was just what we needed this weekend!

thank you to everyone who came out and supported myself and the team and huge thank you to the team for working so hard all weekend⭐️

view comments

mercedesamgf1 mega job this weekend yn👊 *liked by author*

landonorris nice to share the podium with you mate

yourusername same time next race?

user33 loved seeing you back on the podium

user2 absolutely smashing it this season

user21 more podiums please🤲 *liked by author*

user3 fourth podium of the year first p✌️*liked by author*

twitter

*pretend it says after march i changed dates around last min*

august 2024

yourusername

liked by lukehemmings, charles_leclerc and 1,124,642 others

did some reading, painting and writing

baked some good food and spent time with some good people, also got a cat…not bad for summer break☀️

view comments

user66 AHHHHHH

yourusername ahhhhhhh

user26 cats name plsplspls

yourusername norman🐱

lukehemmings nice music👍

yourusername woah arent you the guy who wrote mum?!

mercedesamgf1 ready to see you back on the podium

yourusername always!!!!

user74 have you had funnnn??

yourusername yesss!! ive been doing lots of things i enjoy, basically treating every day as my birthday😋

twitter

*was supposed to write them instead of her sorry!! was doing two stories at once and kept getting mixed up😅*

october 2024

yourusername

liked by mercedesamgf1, gracieabrams and 1,291,638 others

p☝️ for the 3rd time this season, very very pleased

huuuuuge thank you to the team, every single one of you who worked tirelessly over the summer break and every moment since then, these have been for you⭐️

view comments

user55 what a good season to be a yn fan *liked by author*

user6 these races have been incredible to watch, so proud

yourusername ⭐️⭐️

gracieabrams woop woop!!!!

yourusername 😝😝

user2 gracie??

user41 why have we not had any personal photo dumps yet😕😕

user88 right we miss seeing you yn!!

yourusername sorry guys😣ive been suuuper busy working on something i just honestly forgot

user41 NEW PROJECT?? WHEN?? (also pls dont feel bad we love u)

yourusername soon!! (and i love u guys too)

twitter

november 2024

yourusername

liked by taylorswift, lewishamilton and 3,689,921 others

tagged: taylorswift

i cannot believe i get to say this, but my new friend taylor just released a new album and i was able to write a song on the album

im honestly not sure how this came about but i had so much fun writing this and expressing all my thoughts and feelings in a way ive never done before

i poured my life and soul into this song and im so glad taylor is the one who is singing it and really bought it to life

send some love to my friend and go and stream THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT (most importantly i can do it with a broken heart😉)

comments have been limited

taylorswift thank you for trusting me with this song, so much love🤍

yourusername NO THANK YOU!!! i will be forever grateful⭐️⭐️

twitter

yourusername added to their story

seen by taylorswift, lewishamilton and 729,282 others

charles i feel completely betrayed yn

fernando oh no😟! what did yn do?

charles THEY DIDNT TELL ME THEY WERE WRITING A SONG??

AND WITH TAYLOR SWIFT HOW COULD YOU☹️☹️

yourname sorry charles, surprise?!

charles ill forgive you because its a good song

yourname thank you my life just got infinitely better!

yuki very good song yn! has been on repeat☺️

yourname thanks yuki, glad you like it!!

lando I LOVE IT TOO

but seriously are you ok?!

yourname yeahhh im better now

was just a lot to navigate

lewis glad you found an outlet! but remember you can always talk to any of us

yourname i know and i appreciate it, i really do

alex yn was that twitter thread right?

yourname mate youre going to have to elaborate

alex user56tweetlink

yourname oh pretty much yeah

some things were changed with taylor but not much

fernando just listened to the song yn! very nice👍well done!

yourname thank uu

max good song yn!

now

lando can you please tell me what you meant on your twitch stream!

oscar max is kind of scary

max dont make me talk about that interview next oscar!