#tabloid exaggeration

[sohannabarberaesque]

Meanwhile ...

Imagine back in Jellystone Park the prospect of Yogi Bear, with his faithful Boo-Boo in tow, stumbling upon a discarded bottle of the old cherry brandy, and "smarter-than-the-average" "himself" takes a sample swig out of curiosity ... only to have Boo-Boo stunned at the effect such is having upon Yogi, including light-headedness (not to mention the usual desire to plunder tourist picnic baskets).

Rat pack proves no match for the Rac-Pack! Biker gang ripped to shreds by band of drunken raccoons!

Raccons turn into party animals and attack members of the Red Street Rogues motorcycle club, above, after drinking beer from half-empty cans left by the bikers.

[cobra-salt]

It's all goodness gracious that technology like TikTok and the wider internet were not around in 1989.

I'm sure because Ralph Macchio was a guy it wouldn't be as EXACTLY personally vile as the fatphobic shit you see about the later seasons of Cobra Kai wrt Mary and YET...

Precisely because he wasn't some masculine man and was "too skinny" then "too fat" to be a realistic karate boy and some laughingstock to all the critics and those so disenchanted by the movies, there could've definitely been some unholy bullshit like there already was going on (and for so long). It's a good thing he wasn't so engaged with the "celebrity" thing and culture and just did what he pleased with his life, though I'm sure some stuff didn't go amiss especially since tabloids back in the late '80s reportedly had some salacious and rude rumors related to his weight and former manager that some dudebro types vaguely parroted on IMDB.

Still, the fact that a lot of these bros even know Mary Mouser has type 1 diabetes and still shout that shit or say she should have never been cast because diabetics can't be physically active and healthy is just stank...

[bluelockmaniac]

𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐙𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒

୨ৎ ft. itoshi sae x actress!reader (fem)

synopsis. when football star itoshi sae randomly names you as his celebrity crush, the internet goes wild with rumours. what happens when you decide to make a surprise appearance during his next interview?

notes. thanks anon for the suggestion ! the editing process took quite a while bc i had to search for so many synonyms and celebrity-dazzling-type of vocabulary, and just a bit of research & idioms, lol (like tell me why i didn't know what filmography was??).

word count. 1.7k

𝐓𝐇𝐄 first thing that grated on sae’s nerves was the endless string of interviews he had to endure after every victory. the second were the interviewers, who seemed to lack any sense of boundaries or respect of privacy all together. but the third and perhaps most exasperating thing sae loathed were the questions– particularly those who left him completely clueless.

how on earth was he supposed to provide this nosy interviewer with the name of his celebrity crush when he didn't even have one?

besides, sae’s social awareness was practically nonexistent. his mind was consumed by football– matches, practice sessions, training drills, and occasionally, thoughts of his brother. naming a celebrity was as foreign to him as the idea of reconciling with rin.

he had tried to dodge the infuriating question, really. but his attempt was thwarted by the exaggerated glare of his manager, whose expression screamed ‘make. up. any. name’.

the older itoshi sighed, eyeing the lady who had posed the stupid, intrusive question from the side. to the untrained eye, it might have appeared that he was merely stalling, which, in truth, he sort of was. but on the inside, he was actually scrambling to conjure up any random name.

then, as if the goddess of luck intervened, a blurry image of you materialized in his mind. he recalled catching a glimpse of you while riding in his personal chauffeur-driven car.

your recognizable face had adorned a massive, wide billboard advertisement. you looked too striking– too gorgeous– to forget. you were holding a rose perfume bottle next to your shoulder, smiling with such infectious brightness. luckily, his eyes had happened to drift to the bottom left corner, where your name was elegantly inscribed in cursive.

y/n l/n.

anyone familiar with the entertainment industry would no doubt recognize your name immediately. you were a standout actress in hollywood, notably known for your phenomenal acting skills and breathtaking beauty. your filmography– the number of movies you've starred in– was extensive, and your trophy shelf in your large mansion was filled to the brim with numerous awards.

“itoshi-san?” the interviewer prompted again, her pesky voice cutting through his trance as she set her coffee mug on the table. she repeated her question, “there's nothing to be embarrassed about, haha– we’ve all had celebrity crushes at some point. who’s yours?”

sae scoffed lightly, leaning back onto the couch and propping his elbow on the armrest. he hid his face behind his hand, attempting to mask his discomfort.

“y/n.” he muttered, his voice laced with forced nonchalance.

the words slipped from his lips with shame. he knew this embarrassing revelation would literally dominate the headlines by nightfall, and he could hardly brace himself. he actually felt a teeny bit of guilt for dragging you into the main focus of the public’s attention alongside him. by tomorrow morning, his phone would be buzzing with notifications about this becoming the top trending topic on social media.

heck, he could already envision the misleading headlines in the tabloids:

alleged hidden affair: football prodigy itoshi sae and actress y/n l/n rumored to be in secret relationship– what’s really going on?

the interviewer let out an exaggerated gasp, her hands flying to her mouth as she exchanged a gleeful look with the cameraman.

“d-did you get that on tape? this will certainly make the headlines!”

she turned back to sae, who was still averting his gaze awkwardly. “j-just to be sure, itoshi-san… you’re talking about y/n l/n, correct?”

sae mumbled something inaudible under his breath before finally meeting her eyes, realizing it’s better to save face than to prolong his embarrassment live on camera.

“yes, her,” he replied with a shrug, rolling his eyes. he seriously had no idea who you were, what you did, or why you were famous. “she's cute, i guess.”

the interviewer beamed, leaning in enthusiastically. “—absolutely, her beauty is nothing short of enchanting! which of her shows or movies did you enjoy the most?”

so you were an actress, he thought, narrowing his eyes at the woman. he had absolutely no clue about any of your work. resorting to his typical bluntness, he retorted,

“none of your business. shut up.” he turned his head towards his manager, who looked as if he was about to cry literal tears of joy. “this interview is over. let's go.”

a few weeks had passed, and just as sae had predicted, rumours of a secret affair between him and you had exploded across the internet. yet, they remained just that– rumours. neither of you had addressed them… perhaps because there was no need to.

sae had just secured another effortless victory and was now being chauffeured to the interview venue. as he passed the familiar billboard, his eyes wandered, searching for your eyes, only to find that your advertisement had been replaced by some no-name, cheap milk brand’s.

—

as usual, he handled the post-match questions with ease. they were always the same, tedious inquiries: “how do you feel about your performance today?”, “could you describe the pivotal moments in today's match?”, “how did teamwork play a role in the game?”, “one fan asked…”, and so on.

however, this time, the midfielder felt slightly uneasy— the camera crew seemed larger, with cameras on every angle of the room. the interviewer, the same lady from before, appeared unusually excited. her voice was squeaker and she fiddled faintly as she spoke.

finally, she asked the final question regarding the opposition team’s strategies and approaches.

“hmph. we barely broke a sweat today; their game plan was so weak and predictable it was almost laughable. we could have won with our eyes closed.”

she nodded, almost dismissively, as if she couldn’t wait to wrap up the interview and get to the next part of the show.

“incredible, exactly what we’d expect from japan’s prodigious player! now, for all our online viewers, get ready to tune into GoalTalk’s special event! tonight, we're thrilled to welcome a very special guest who will be joining us…”

sae quirked an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued as he watched the crew reposition the numerous cameras to focus on the entrance door, though a few lenses remained trained on him.

“... y/n l/n!”

you stepped onto the platform as soon as your name was announced, waving to the countless cameras flashing blinding lights in your direction. you were dressed in a long, flowing burgundy gown that accentuated your curves perfectly. you exuded elegance; the very epitome of grace.

sae's eyes widened in surprise, tracking your movements as you made your way to the seat beside him.

“fucking bullshit, you’ve got to be kidding me…” he groaned, throwing his head back against the couch’s backrest, his adam’s apple bobbing. 

you let out a soft giggle, settling beside him so that your thighs brushed against his. with a gentle tap on his shoulder, you flashed a practiced smile as he turned to look at you. 

“it’s such an honour to finally meet you, itoshi! i’m actually a huge fan, so you could imagine my excitement when you mentioned i was your celebrity crush in your recent interview.”

he cringed inwardly, having heard similar compliments from noisy fangirls countless times before. besides, you were a renowned actress; for all he knew, your cheerful expressions and excitement could be part of a well-rehearsed facade.

“ah. thanks, i guess,” he shrugged, clicking his tongue before adding nonchalantly, “...you’re a good actress.”

“oh, thank you! i appreciate it.” you leaned in slightly, your smile widening, “hey, you know, i wouldn't mind giving you my number. we could maybe… figure things out?~”

“what–” his leg began to bounce subtly. perhaps it was the effect of being an actress who had participated in a multitude of romance movies and shows– such flirtatious comments tend to slip naturally from your lips.

“you wouldn’t mind, would you? you’re single, right?” you pressed, propping your chin on his shoulder. 

fuck. your face was so close– so close he could understand why people called you stunning. you were infinitely more beautiful than the artificial, edited image on the billboard. your sweet scent of exotic fruit, reminiscent of a hot summer day on the beach, wafted to his nose. his eyes wandered to your cherry-stained, glossed lips, feeling a strange, inexplicable magnetic pull.

but he sighed defeatedly, feeling his manager’s intense yet pleased gaze boring into him. “i guess. don’t expect anything, though,” he dismissed, reaching up to ruffle his reddish hair. everything was alright. he just needed to get through this interview.

little did either of you know– or perhaps you had a vague idea– that social media was already ablaze with an endless amount of comments from hundreds of thousands of fans from both sides, shipping you two together.

you nudged him playfully with your elbow and turned your head, winking at the cameras as you slyly slipped your hand into his. “i’m getting his number, sorry girls.”

he felt his breath catch in his throat, his fingers remaining numb in your grasp. but suddenly, a strange surge of boldness overwhelmed his usually rational senses– he was already doomed, anyway, so why seem like a lame pushover? his hand reciprocated your grip, intertwining his fingers with yours as he leaned in slightly. his lips brushed over your ear as he whispered a few, short words, eyeing one camera directly with a subtle smirk.

you felt your cheeks bloom with warmth at his words. all the cameras in the venue captured the sight of your eyes widening in surprise and the visceral nodding of your head to whatever he had just said.

his words would remain a secret to the public however, even as the internet flooded with speculations and questions, triggered by a sensational headline featuring a photo of the two of you together:

𝑯𝑶𝑻 𝑵𝑬𝑾 𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹? 𝑱𝑨𝑷𝑨𝑵’𝑺 𝑭𝑶𝑶𝑻𝑩𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹 𝑰𝑻𝑶𝑺𝑯𝑰 𝑺𝑨𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑨��𝑻𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝒀/𝑵 𝑳/𝑵 𝑺𝑷𝑶𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑯𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑳 𝑻𝑶𝑮𝑬𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹, 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑰𝑵 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫!

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform !

[zaczenemiji]

Curtain Calls and Curveballs III

Kenji Sato x Actress!Reader

Synopsis: Your long-standing feud transformed into a legendary public dynamic where you navigate your high-profile careers, and confront your true feelings.

Word Count: 1,629

Genre/Warning: Confessions, Enemies to Lover, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn

Author’s Note: The last part aaaaaa im gonna miss this 🤧

PART ONE | PART TWO

MASTERLIST

With every passing year, you were getting a step closer to your dream. The stage became a set and curtain calls became wrap parties. You no longer had rehearsals, you had takes.

There’s no audience, there’s cameras instead. Your live performances were now edited ones, and changing costumes didn’t have to be done so quickly anymore.

Projected voices and exaggerated gestures were no longer your thing. You were now more subtle—nuanced. Micro-expressions and quieter dialogues became your new thing.

These are the many changes you went through to become who you are today, the It Girl of Hollywood. You were known for your sharp wit and an even sharper tongue; thanks to the thorn on your side since high school.

Your rivalry with Kenji became the stuff of tabloid legend. Your public feud became a part of your brands. This time around, though, it was you who had the unerring knack for getting under his skin.

How the tables have turned, indeed. And Kenji looked forward to your verbal sparring matches even more so than before.

Whenever Kenji had a big game, you would inevitably tweet something snarky. And whenever you had a new movie release, he would make a point to mock you in interviews.

It was a dance you two perfected through the years; one that hid the truth neither was willing to admit. The world knows, oh they do. “The more you hate, the more you love,” as they said.

Your one-of-a-kind relationship with Kenji is all over social media, with fans and fellow celebrities alike piqued by your long-standing rivalry of sorts.

“Okay, (y/n),” your manager said. "I need to brief you on something before we get to the studio."

The two of you are headed to an interview with your one and only enemy, Kenji Sato. The limo you were on glided smoothly through the bustling streets of LA.

"What is it this time?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “Another last-minute change?"

"Not exactly," she answered. "There's been a lot of buzz on social media about you and Kenji."

“Buzz?” your eyes widened. "What kind of buzz?”

"Well, let's just say the world is very interested in your... dynamic," she replied, smirking.

You took your phone out and started scrolling through tweets, heart racing as you read the comments from various celebrities.

You couldn't help but smile at the comments, a mix of embarrassment and amusement swirling inside you. "Wow, they really think we're... in love?"

It seems like the world ships you two. You can’t blame them. Sometimes you wonder if you’re giving too much away that they’re starting to notice.

But everyone knew already. They have done so since high school. The only ones who didn’t know, or rather, didn’t admit, were you and Kenji.

You were a study-first type of girl when you were a student. And now, you’re a career woman who loves her job. Somehow, there is currently no spot in your life for dating.

Your agency tried, they really did. They tried putting you in a love team with other actors but for every interaction with Kenji, the fans seemed to love it more.

But no matter how you deny it—to others and to yourself—there is something that you refuse to face, a repressed admiration blanketed by faux hate.

Meanwhile, in the studio, bright lights were beaming down on Kenji as he adjusted his jacket. He’s tossing a baseball form hand-to-hand as he waits for you.

In a short while, the door swung open. You walked in with the grace of a seasoned actress, smile dazzling and eyes sharp. You made your way to the stage, commanding attention.

Kenji’s smirk widened as you approached. You looked elegant and sophisticated in the chic dress that you wore. You always did. You were always so beautiful and smart, and all so dense.

“Kenji!” you said with a mock sweetness. “I didn’t know they let amateurs in the show.” You sat down on the couch next to him.

Kenji leaned back in his chair, still tossing the ball. “Well, they needed someone to balance out your overacting,” he replied.

The host, catching the vibe, jumped in with a chuckle, "Welcome, both of you. The dynamic duo, or should I say the dynamic rivals. How are you feeling today?"

Kenji shrugged, his eyes never leaving you. "Feeling great,” he answered. “Especially now that I know (y/n) here is going to try and one-up me."

You crossed your legs and leaned back, matching his intensity. "Oh, Kenji, it's not about one-upping,” you said. “It's about showing the world who truly deserves the spotlight."

The host laughed, clearly enjoying the energy between them, "Well, let's dive right into it. You two have a practically legendary history. Care to share how it all started?"

Kenji glanced at you, his expression playful. "It's simple,” he answered. “(Y/n) has always had a talent for annoying me."

You rolled her eyes, "And Kenji has always had a talent for being easily annoyed."

The host leaned forward, sensing an opportunity. "But there's got to be more to it than that,” he said. “You both always seem to have this... chemistry."

Kenji smirked, leaning closer to you, "Chemistry that explodes, you mean."

You shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Yeah, the kind that blows up in your face."

The host laughed, clapping his hands together. "So, Kenji," the host said. "You’ve got a big game coming up. How do you feel about (y/n) always commenting on your games?"

Kenji chuckled, glancing at you. “Honestly?” He replied. “ I look forward to it. Keeps me on my toes."

You smiled, a genuine one this time. "And I watch every game,” you said. “Gotta make sure l have enough material to roast you."

The host raised an eyebrow, "Sounds like you two are more invested in each other than you let on."

He then turned to you. "What about you?” He asked. “How do you feel about Kenji's constant critiques of your acting?"

"I think he's secretly a fan,” you laughed. “Why else would he watch all my movies?"

Kenji leaned closer, his voice low, "Maybe I am. Or maybe I just like seeing you try so hard."

“You wish,” you met his gaze, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Please, Kenji, you couldn't handle me if you tried."

Kenji leaned ever closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Is that a challenge, (l/n)?"

“Maybe it is,” you met his gaze, heart skipping a beat. "Do you think I do not know about the flowers being delivered to my set—where they come from?”

Kenji was silenced, blush creeping on his cheeks. “Like, come on, Kenji,” you continued. “Flowers, seriously? For who knows since when—just ask me out already!”

The people in the studio gasped at the revelation. Everyone else was on the edge of their seats.

You weren’t dumb to not know where those flowers came from. It started with the very first movie you filmed and it continues until now with the latest one that has just been released.

“If you knew, then why didn’t you say anyt—“ Kenji was cut off by you, “Because I was waiting for you!”

The tension in the air seemed palpable. No one said anything, no one made a move.

“You were too busy chasing a ball! And you were so happy with it, I didn’t want to interfere!” you continued.

“Yeah, well!” Kenji said, thinking of a good comeback. “You were always paired up with another man, I didn’t wanna ruin your love team!”

“Then I’m glad none of them ever worked!”

“Thank heavens! Dinner, later at 7PM, Michelin-starred restaurant, your pick!”

“Fine!”

At that moment, everyone in the room burst into squeals. The floor beneath you shook with the intensity of people jumping up and down at the same time. Even the host stood and did a victory dance in front of the camera.

It felt as if the world rejoiced in unity. This was a memorable day for all the fans that were watching live.

The celebration of each person in the room had blurred as you and Kenji stared at each other. “Took you long enough,” you said softly. Kenji chuckled, “You weren’t so dense, after all.”

Without hesitation, you leaned close and threw your arms over his shoulder, hugging him. He hugged back, tighter, for he was also waiting for this moment for what felt like an eternity.

The screaming in the background loudened at your interaction but none of you paid mind. To you, Kenji’s hug felt warm and comfy and oh-so lovely.

The years, no matter how long it has been, were all worth it for this moment. If there was anyone who knew you best, it was Kenji. The same goes for him.

Your phone, in your manager’s care, beeped with so many notifications. Checking your account on her tablet, she was greeted by over a hundred thousand tweets in just a few minutes.

That night, the two of you didn’t go out for dinner as said on TV. Instead, you treated your team to the dinner at the Michelin-starred restaurant you picked while you, with Kenji, stayed at home.

You found yourselves dancing together in the comfort of your living room. The air was filled with a soft melody, and as you swayed to the music. Kenji realized how natural it felt to have you in his arms.

"You know," he murmured, "I never imagined we'd be here." You remembered high school, the graduation ball, your first dance with each other.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” you said, head on his chest.

“Wow you’re even dense with yourself,” he chuckled.

“Shut up,” you replied. “And you’ve always been a dork.”

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@hismistresss @sweetangle8 @aerivina

@eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan @reggies-eyeliner @buggs-1 @miffysoo @spencerrxids @stupidbutsmart @marimargirlies @mixvchelle @lannnu @lailuv21 @christiinee @abracarabbit @youngbananamilkshake @flutterfly365 @o-schist @brazilsho @arrozyfrijoles23 @finestflora @mmeerraa @mianbaobaoo @themourningfox

[b00tyliciousbabe]

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

barbie tingz

marcus scribner x THICC male reader

summary: just marcus loving you like with his heart, soul, and FAT SCHLONG. slight feminisation - don’t kill me.

notes: LOVELIES! hope everyone is having a beautiful day. i wanted to let y’all know that i will be taking a lil break because it’s exam season. don’t be sad…because this means i have an entire summer of smutty content to write and catch up on! ps. each word in this fic is me being another squat closer to the fattest ass in the world. ENJOY!

ALSO! the met gala is tonight! my favourite event of the year, i might make a short rec…how do we feel about that?

song rec: ‘freak’ - victoria monét

marcus was well on his way to establishing a name for himself in hollywood. booking new roles, alongside his debut as a director, he was on track for a career that would rival his mentors. but if you were to ask him what his biggest achievement was, he would say being with you. the corny mf has actually reiterated his adoration multiple times during interviews, and the world is obsessed with how lovestruck he was. aside from being social media’s favourite young couple, you, yourself, had a blossoming career in fashion that meant you were styling your man to make sure he looked good for his press tours.

notoriously, you garnered a reputation for EATING UP on the carpet - zendaya being your only competition. this ain’t no exaggeration, but every time you’d step out, those fits would break the internet. thus, when the news dropped that you’d be attending the premiere with your boyfriend, all eyes would be on you - yet again. having you on his arm, instantly elevated his aesthetic. not that he ever saw you as some pawn too boost his career, you meant the world to him, but your beauty as his trophy wife made him even more palatable. usually, you’d have an entire glam team by your side cultivating your iconic, polished look. but, you and marcus had both been working so hard, to the detriment of your relationship, and so you decided to spend the night at his, agreeing to do all the glam yourself.

‘Y/N,’ Marcus bellowed from downstairs, putting on his rings, and spraying cologne onto his clothes. ‘baby, we gotta go.’

‘Y/N! over here! to the left! Y/N!’ a flurry of paparazzi screamed. ‘the body is TEA!’ one reporter exclaimed, making you laugh.

you graciously blushed. they weren’t wrong, your pear-shaped figure, defined abs, and toned arms were nothing short of a sculpted masterpiece. amidst the bbl allegations on twitter, and every tabloid claiming to have the secret to getting an ass as perfect as yours, YOU were the standard. a beautiful, androgynous mix of allure and charm. not even chris evans, america’s ass, said that you had the best glutes in the industry. it was a thing of wonder; something so many lusted for, and even more desired to have a piece of whilst having you in backshots. there were an array of wolf whistles from the public whenever you walked, swiftly followed by a gaggle of photographers snapping shots of your post-gym bawd.

marcus soon joined you on the carpet after finishing up on his interview. if the sensory overstimulation of flashes and cheers wasn’t enough, this was heightened when marcus snaked his arm around your lower back. whispering sweet nothings into your ear, spectators were foaming at the mouth by his public proclamations of love, hiding your blush from the world.

‘don’t be shy,’ he said lifting your chin to his face. ‘there’s that smile I love.’ the whole crowd was gushing, you could’ve cringed at how clingy he was being in public, but found his confidence to do so, all the more endearing.

one thing that you sly liked about marcus, was how he jealous he could get, so many of his friends and industry buffs would come up to talk to you during the interviews, coming up for hugs, and even though he trusted you, his need to protect had him riled. marcus had a great relationship with all of his co-stars and they all became such a family over the filming process. you being there made the family even stronger, embodying the role of MOTHERRR in more ways than one, and they all appreciated your kindness. always there to soften the stressful tones of your bf’s criticism.

you were particularly close with his friend from another project, and due to mutual management you spent a lot of time in the same spaces. he came up and hugged you from behind, before being whisked away to speak with another reporter. all but a few seconds, lasted an eternity, the worst kind, burned into the possessive psyche of your man.

moments passed and it was time for group pictures on the carpet. you and marc were dead center, with his large hands gripping you tighter than usual. you looked up to see he was scowling, ‘lighten up bubs.’ you giggled, to which your bf fixed his face - he could never stay mad when you were always there to calm his demons. not long after, the same face screw, that made his nose look so cute came back, as he remembered the voices of the media resounding in his head.

‘damn I’d hit that.’

‘Marcus is one lucky mf to be all up in dat pussy’

‘I bet the recoil on that thing is insane.’

it infuriated him to hear how the public spoke about you, as if you were some object, and not the kind person he grew so enamoured with. ‘I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you gon’ beg me for mercy.’ he whispered , breaking that veneer of respectability for a brief moment, squeezing your butt, then turning back to smile at the cameras. you’d never seen that side to him, it’d be a lie to say it didn’t turn you on.

throughout the screening, he made sure to let you know that all your teasing would soon be dealt with. the vulgar remarks were still plaguing him, and you knew you were about to be on the receiving end of it. literally.

‘upstairs.’ he said sternly,

the two of you started kissing, unbuttoning his shirt as he unbuckled your pants to free the globes of juicy flesh he loved so much. strewn across the floor, all fear of creasing the custom couture outfit you were wearing had disappeared - the overwhelming desire to make love to your boyfriend clouded your judgement.

you get down to business, kneeling to align your lips with his cock head. ‘don’t take this the wrong way.’ marcus sighed, urging you to stand up, so frail against how tall your man stood.

‘Y/N, i just wanna fuck right now.’

you knew how badly he needed this, and a part of you liked how desperate he was to be inside you. but it was bizarre, marcus loved watching you suck him off, getting him all lubed to plough your hole, almost as much as you loved gagging on his meat. nonetheless, you obliged, bending over as you had your knees on the edge of the bed, hole puckering at the chill of the air. marcus grabbed your left cheek, caressing and massaging your upper hip.

‘so fucking soft.’ he whispers against your skin, kissing at your taint. it was as if he snapped out of his love drunk trance, and was left a primal shell of himself. he practically ripped off your underwear, leaving your naked bodies to rub up on each other as he scrambled to find lube.

‘fuuuuuuuk’ he groaned.

his thick schlong fit like a glove in your inviting hole, slick from your desire and his precum.

‘damn i missed that boy pussy’ - LIES. that man combusts if he isn’t inside of you at least 4 times a week - wtf was there to miss? this sentiment made you smile at how whipped he was for you though.

his pace quickened. pulling his entire length out of you, except his bulbous tip, and spitting directly on your pussy to get you even more slick. ‘hear that baby,’ he praised the ‘mac n cheese’ sloppiness of your hole. ‘your pussy was made for me.’ he was right; most guys love skinny twinks because their petite butts made their tops’ look hung. despite the voluptuous curves you had, you were ample in both chest and derrière making average look like a micro penis inside you. all but marcus. he overpowered you in ways no other man could, his thick, girthy cock stretched you out in a way that blurred the lines between pain and pleasure. not to mention his length, during your first time he could barely fit half in without it feeling like he was stabbing your insides. but after some practice, you started taking him - ALL of him.

his grunts deepened. ‘practically begging me to cum inside that hole.’ gripping your hair up fucking you in doggy. style. marcus began leaving love bites on your neck, marking you for all to see. his big hand crossed to caress your childbearing hips. whoever said men can’t get pregnant must’ve never accounted for marcus’ determination. his dick wanted to make you a mother so badly, and nothing was going to stop him trying.

‘you can take it.’ he praises. ‘all. of. it.’ slamming into you with a bold rhythm on his final three words. and that you could. your hole was heaven for him. every time he would enter, your thick meaty globes would bounce like jelly on his lower abdomen, making marcus even more inclined to give you your reward. you moaned out in ecstasy, your bodies were made for one another.

‘who’s pussy is this?’ his grip on your neck became tighter, still allowing you to moan out in response, ‘it’s yours marky, all yours.’ fuck. you were whipped, almost as much as he was. ‘that’s right baby, moan for me.’

‘scream like the little bitch you are.’ you and marcus both enjoyed the passion of rough sex, but this was something you hadn’t ever seen in him before. he was a beast and you loved it, way more than you could ever admit. there was something sweet about the high you were on as you were being impaled by his dick.

particularly, he relished in hearing your slutty cries, ‘music to my fucking ears.’ praising you ‘my pretty little slut, fuck yeah, you want my load.’

‘fuck yeah marc, give it to me please.’ you screeched, loving how hard he was clapping your cheeks.

‘shiiiiiiit, baby, fuuuuuck.’ he spouted, spilling his pearliness into your pussy. he used his thumbs to kneed the dough around your hips, losing himself in the bakery he so enjoyed visiting every morning for breakfast.

gently, he collapsed on top of you, still inside the warmth of your flesh. after a gentle make out sesh, cockwarming your boyfriend until he was soft, your bf brushed up against you. massaging your thick thighs, marcus tended to the bruises he gave, kissing them reassuringly. you ushered him to lay his head between your pecs, as he put his entire body weight onto you. he sighed deeply, feeling safe in your warm embrace. ‘marc, is everything okay?’ you stroke his face, as your fingers laced into his curls. he snickered groggily, ‘shouldn’t i be asking you the same thing?’ - a fair question because he litch just wrecked your shit. ‘real, but we both know that in a couple hours i’ll be fine.’ a silence filled the room, concern brewing in your heart. you played with his ear, knowing how he becomes putty in your hands. ‘fuuuuuck, you ain’t gon’ stop unless i talk, right?’ you kept quiet, trailing the tips of your fingers on his lobe. he sighed deeply, ‘i just get so possessive over you.’ his last words muffled by your ample bosom as he came to the realisation that the press’ words got to him more than he thought.

sitting up, marcus exhaled deeply. ‘i can’t even blame them for ogling, you’re so beautiful.’ ‘but u ain’t an object, and i hate that people treat you like that.’ you caressed his cheek with a loving care. ‘call it jealousy, possession, toxic - I don’t care. you’re all mine.’ marcus always felt the need to take care of what was his, doing better than what he had seen throughout his childhood.

you had an idea, trailing your fingers down his torso, circling his belly button, ‘why don’t you show me again?’ whispering into his ear as he breathed out in pleasure.

you kissed his cheek, before slowly massaging his dick tip, ‘how much do you love me.’

marcus turned you over. stroking and licking his ear, y’all were so intimate. he held onto the grooves of your waist, fucking into you slowly, marking your neck with his saliva.

‘you’re such a dream to me Y/N,’ he always had a way with words that made you smile like a school girl. ‘I was so selfish before, you didn’t even come.’ you always placed marcus’ pleasure above your own, but he was never satisfied with just brutalising your hole. he needed you to enjoy taking his dick, just as much as he enjoyed gaping your hole.

‘guess I’ll have to fuck another load in, to get one out of you.’ he joked, sucking on the sweet skin of your plump ass.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

tag list:

@gayaristocrat

@ghostking4m

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Love strategy p.3

Hey guyss, I hope you enjoy part 3, here's part 2 if you've missed it :)

The next morning arrives quicker than you expected, and before you know it, you're rolling your suitcase through the hotel lobby, your mind racing with the events from the day before. It all feels surreal—the kiss, the plan, Carlos’ indifference. It’s a lot to process.

As you step outside, the cool morning air hits your face. You spot Lando leaning casually against the side of a black car, phone in hand, his luggage already stowed away in the trunk. He looks up as you approach, his expression softening into a playful smile.

"Ready for our grand escape?" he teases.

You chuckle, though there’s a hint of nervousness in your laugh. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

Lando straightens up, grabbing your suitcase and lifting it into the car with ease. "Don’t worry," he says, glancing over at you as he closes the trunk, "this will all be worth it once people start talking."

"I hope so," you murmur, climbing into the passenger seat.

Lando slides into the driver’s side, adjusting his sunglasses before starting the car. He turns to you with a grin. "I mean, we’re going to make headlines. I can already see the gossip: ‘Are Lando Norris and his mystery girl getting serious?’"

You roll your eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips. "Just remember, no over-the-top dramatics. We’re aiming for ‘believable,’ not a full-blown tabloid scandal."

"Right, right," Lando says with mock seriousness, then smirks. "Though I wouldn’t mind a little drama."

When you reach the airport, Lando parks the car, turning to you with a relaxed smile. "I’ll see you on the plane," he says, his voice soft but carrying a hint of excitement.

You nod, feeling a flutter in your chest that you try to ignore. "See you on the plane."

As you both step out, you give each other a brief nod before heading in separate directions—Lando through the VIP entrance and you through the main one.

You board the plane, still carrying a sense of unease from Carlos’ indifference. Normally, when you flew with him, he’d sit with his friends, leaving you on your own for most of the flight. It had become the norm, so you weren’t expecting much different this time, even with Lando.

But as you step onto the plane, Lando catches your eye from a few rows ahead. He’s already sitting down, an easy grin spreading across his face when he spots you. To your surprise, instead of sitting with the other drivers or disappearing into his usual crowd, he gestures toward the empty seat beside him. You hesitate for a second, not used to this sort of attention mid-flight, but his encouraging smile leaves you with little choice.

Taking your seat next to him, you give him a playful glance. "What, no VIP treatment for you? Sitting with the common folk?"

Lando chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. "Thought I’d mix things up a bit. Besides," he leans in a little, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we’ve got a plan to discuss, don’t we?"

You smirk, nodding. "Right, the plan."

At first, the conversation sticks to the details—how you’ll post the photo, what you’ll do when people start to speculate. But soon enough, the playful side of Lando starts to slip through.

"Okay, so picture this," Lando begins, his eyes lighting up with mischief. "We post the picture, right? And immediately, people start speculating. They’ll probably think I’m whipped. And you? You’re obviously the mastermind behind all of it."

You raise an eyebrow. "Obviously?"

"Of course," he teases. "I mean, you’re the one calling the shots here. I’m just the poor, innocent driver who got swept off his feet."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Right, poor you. Must be terrible having to pretend you’re dating me."

Lando grins, leaning back in his seat with an exaggerated sigh. "The things I do for a good story."

Before you know it, the conversation flows into something more natural, the plan slowly fading into the background. Lando starts sharing random anecdotes about his life on the road—racing stories, inside jokes with the other drivers, and moments of chaos that only someone in his position could relate to.

"Okay, so get this," Lando says, his eyes sparkling with laughter as he recounts a story from a past race weekend. "Carlos and I were in this tiny restaurant in Italy, right? And somehow, I managed to order enough food for, like, a family of eight. Carlos, of course, being Carlos, dared me to eat it all. Let’s just say I’ve never been more full in my life, and I had to race the next day!"

You laugh, picturing the scene. "Let me guess—you won the race with a food coma?"

"Surprisingly, no," he chuckles, shaking his head. "But I didn’t throw up either, so I consider that a win."

The conversation keeps rolling, each story sparking a new one, and before you realize it, you’re telling Lando your own anecdotes—random moments from your childhood, funny travel mishaps, and awkward encounters. He listens intently, laughing at all the right moments, and it feels surprisingly… easy. Relaxed, even.

It’s different from flying with Carlos, who usually busies himself with his friends, leaving you to your thoughts. With Lando, there’s none of that distance. He’s fully present, engaging in the conversation with his usual charm and quick wit. He makes you feel seen.

At one point, mid-laugh, you realize how much fun you’re having. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Lando to be this comfortable to be around. You glance out of the window, noticing how far into the flight you are, time having flown by without you even noticing.

"You know," you say, turning to Lando with a small smile, "I’m kind of surprised. You’re a good travel companion."

He looks at you with mock offense. "Surprised? What, did you think I’d be boring?"

You shake your head, laughing softly. "No, just… I guess I’m used to Carlos doing his own thing."

Lando’s smile softens, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than usual. "Well, I’m glad I could change that."

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, there’s a quiet understanding between the two of you. This whole thing might have started as a plan, a façade, but right now, sitting beside him, it feels a lot less like pretending.

The plane touches down smoothly, and you feel a strange mix of relief and apprehension as you start gathering your things. You and Lando have spent the entire flight talking, joking, and trading stories, and for a few hours, the world outside of the plane seemed to blur away. But as you prepare to step back into reality, the weight of the plan settles back in.

Lando stretches beside you, yawning slightly before turning to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?"

You chuckle, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "Not bad at all. Maybe I should fly with you more often."

His grin widens, but there’s something else in his expression—like he’s holding back a secret. As the two of you make your way off the plane and through the terminal, you notice Lando constantly glancing at his phone, his smile growing with each tap of the screen.

"You know," he begins casually, as you step out into the cool air outside the airport, "you don’t need to worry about how we’re going to announce this whole thing anymore."

You stop in your tracks, turning to look at him with a mix of confusion and curiosity. "What do you mean?"

Lando bites his lip, holding up his phone to show you the screen. Your eyes widen as you take in the image—an article, complete with a photo of the two of you entering the airport together just hours ago. The headline blares in bold letters:

"Lando Norris’s Newest Catch? F1 Star Spotted With Mystery Girl at Airport!"

Your stomach drops, the air suddenly feeling heavier around you. "What? How did they…?"

Lando’s grin only grows as he scrolls through the article. "Looks like the paparazzi beat us to it. We didn’t even have to make an announcement. They did it for us."

You can’t help but laugh in disbelief. "We didn’t even post the café photo yet!"

He shrugs, clearly amused by the whole situation. "Guess we’re more convincing than we thought."

As you stare at the headline, a strange mix of nerves and excitement washes over you. This was all part of the plan, of course—but seeing it in print makes it feel so much more real. You glance up at Lando, who’s watching you with that same easy smile, clearly unfazed by the attention.

"Guess it’s official now," he says, tucking his phone back into his pocket. "No going back."

You smirk, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. "I guess not."

With a final grin, Lando steps closer, his voice low and teasing. "Welcome to the spotlight."

Here's part 4

Tag list: @abq654 , @spaceflowergal, @mads94sworld, @anewpersonthatexists, @qlovalova, @itsskavya, anaferreira-4, @willowsnook, @larastark3107, @blueberry648579, @luckyangelballoon, @runs-with-sciss0rs

[alicentflorent]

Condal, Hess and Co really missed the point of the books misogynistic fatphobic comments on Rhaenyra’s weight. The problem is historians compare Alicent and Rhaenyra’s body types as if it is at all relevant to them as people or relevant to their rivalry. The problem is they sexualise young Rhaenyra and her teenage body more than her adult body which naturally changed as she grew into womanhood and had six children. Her not losing the baby weight shouldn’t matter but much like tabloids in our culture, the historians felt the need to point out her weight gain and body changes while simultaneously pointing out that Alicent remained slim and had the same body type that she did at 18 even after giving birth to four children.

Rhaenyra being curvy or fat is not a moral failing, it didn’t make her less desirable to her lovers nor did it make her bitter or envious both Rhaenyra and Helaena seemed happy and content with with their larger body types. The point isn’t that her gaining weight was an exaggeration or a lie made up by the anti Rhaenyra sources like condal and Hess have suggested, it’s not her mentioned boy type that’s the problem here, it’s the way she and other bigger women throughout history are talked about by these male sources that is both misogynistic and fatphobic. Quite frankly, erasing her natural weight gain and body changes after she grows older and has six babies is fatphobic and misogynistic in itself.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ʀᴇᴘᴇᴀᴛ.ᐟ ᵖʳᵒˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ/ᵗᵉᵃˢᵉʳ

"Everything happens for a reason," they say. Which sounds all wise and comforting—until you realize the reason is that you’re stupid and make bad choices.

The bad choice in question? Falling for your best friend and PR manager Lily’s honeyed words and agreeing to let The Marauders, the biggest boyband on the planet, open for you on your world tour.

You had questioned the logic. Repeatedly. Why would you, an established artist with a loyal fanbase, need them? But Lily had dismissed your concerns with a grin so radiant you’d have thought she was discussing her wedding plans, not your career.

“It’s all about PR!” she’d said, practically bouncing. “You’re unstoppable alone, but with them? The buzz will be next level!”

Buzz. Right. The only buzzing now was the ringing in your ears as you sat stiffly in a glossy conference room, waiting to meet the so-called biggest boyband ever. The air was thick with tension—and regret.

The first impressions hadn’t been awful. Their drummer, Peter, seemed endearingly awkward. Their songwriter and bassist, Remus, was quiet but polite. And their frontman, James Potter? Sure, he was a little much with his golden-retriever energy, but at least he was charming in a harmless sort of way.

Then there was him.

Sirius Black, the band’s lead guitarist, resident heartbreaker, tabloid darling, and a walking cautionary tale wrapped in leather and bad decisions.

You’d heard about him long before today, of course. Everyone had. He was the one with the womanizing reputation, the rebellious attitude, and the kind of tragic backstory that made the press salivate.

What worried you most, though, was that your tour manager—Regulus—was his brother. Regulus had already muttered enough unflattering anecdotes about Sirius to make your skin crawl. And if Regulus, who was calm and composed to the point of saintliness, couldn’t stand him? What chance did you have?

You’d never heard Regulus rant about anyone before, but when Sirius came up? Oh, he let loose. Words like self-centered, arrogant, and man-child had been thrown around liberally.

The door slammed open, breaking your spiraling thoughts, and there he was: Sirius Black, 30 minutes late, looking like he’d rolled straight out of someone else’s bed.

To your immense irritation, his face was as devastatingly attractive as the rumors said. Sharp cheekbones, full lips, and eyes like molten steel that practically dared you to look away. His dark hair was messy in that perfectly careless way that took effort.

But then he smirked. And all that potential evaporated.

You glared at Lily, silently screaming, PR?! Really?! She avoided your eyes, suddenly fascinated by her notebook.

“Well, well,” Sirius drawled as he strolled in like he owned the room. “Looks like I’m fashionably late.”

“Just late,” you corrected, your voice cold enough to freeze fire.

He turned to you, smirk deepening. His gaze raked over you—not subtle, not respectful, and definitely not apologetic. “And you must be the boss.”

The way he said it, like it was both a compliment and a challenge, made your teeth clench.

You extended a hand. “Nice to meet you,” you said flatly, forcing yourself to stay professional.

For a moment, it seemed like he might take it. Instead, he leaned back, hands shoved into his pockets.

“You’re not my type,” he said, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.

The audacity.

It took every ounce of self-control not to let your jaw drop. Instead, you plastered on a bright, brittle smile. “Oh no. How ever will I survive now that Sirius Black doesn’t consider me his type?”

His smirk widened, clearly enjoying your irritation. “Guess we’ll find out.”

You were this close to throwing professionalism out the window and throttling him when Lily nudged you sharply.

“Play nice,” she hissed under her breath.

With an exaggerated sigh, you stepped aside, letting Sirius pass. He sauntered to the table, but instead of sitting, he stopped behind Lily’s chair.

“You’re in my seat,” he said smoothly.

Lily blinked up at him, startled. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t realize—”

“No, Lily,” you cut in, already exhausted. “Stay where you are. If Black has an issue, he can go complain to the teacher.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his stormy eyes. “Cute. But that’s my seat.”

“This isn’t kindergarten, Black,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sit somewhere else.”

Lily started to stand anyway, but you put a hand on her arm, stopping her. “Seriously, stay. If he’s that attached to this chair, maybe he can write it a love song later.”

Remus snorted from across the table, clearly trying to hold back laughter. “Sirius, mate, just sit next to Pete.”

But Sirius didn’t move. He was staring at you now, his smirk gone, replaced by something sharper, something that made your skin prickle.

You raised an eyebrow, refusing to back down. “Still standing there? Don’t tell me you’re waiting for me to roll out a red carpet.”

His lips twitched like he was fighting a grin. “No need, sweetheart.”

You gritted your teeth. “Not your sweetheart.”

“Not yet,” he shot back smoothly.

The audacity.

Lily elbowed you under the table, her look screaming be nice.

You exhaled sharply, turning back to the table as Sirius finally—finally—took a seat. But the smirk on his face told you one thing loud and clear:

This tour was going to be hell.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ.ᐟ

Fueled by caffeine, sleep deprivation, and the questionable life choice of writing instead of resting, this story is here to (hopefully) make you laugh, swoon, and maybe yell a bit. Sirius is impossible, the MC takes no nonsense, and I’ve probably had too much coffee to be trusted with this much drama.

Enjoy, and thanks for reading—you’re the real MVP for putting up with me. ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ

[seramilla]

So how would Vaggie react to learning she’s now wrapped up in an arranged marriage? And since this is before she falls…does that mean Charlie is in her emo phase still??

Vaggie is really intimidated at being betrothed to the literal princess of Hell. Of course, she knows who Charlie is -- there isn't a person in Heaven or Hell who doesn't. Some years past, however, in her late teens, Charlotte Morningstar had gained somewhat of a reputation for being a rebel. Before she graduated from Hell High School, the Heaven tabloids used to publish stories of Charlie with a lot of unflattering photos of the young demon, wearing her hair and wardrobe black, reporting that she'd been running around with some wild characters, going to raves and parties, getting in trouble, and generally causing a lot of debauchery, even by Hell's standards.

Charlie has managed to stay out of the public eye for the last few years since she's come of age. Honestly, it's anyone's guess what the princess is really like these days. Only Sera, the High Seraphim of Heaven, and the one primarily responsible for finding Charlie's betrothed, assures Vaggie that the princess is nothing like what the media says. She doesn't do anything so rebellious now, and a lot of those tales were highly exaggerated anyway. Charlie is a perfectly delightful, upstanding citizen, and she assures Vaggie she will love her to pieces!

They ultimately meet at a party. One of those swanky, posh soirées that the nobility of both realms like to hold at the Heaven embassy in Hell. Sera is in attendance with her own wife, Carmilla, and they are off doing their own thing. Vaggie stands there in her white gown and fancy shoes that Sera bought her for the occasion, with her hair tied up in an elaborate bun. She stands next to some other highbrow angels, feeling completely awkward and out of her element. No one is talking to her.

She stays near the punch bowl and snack table, nibbling on things throughout the night to curb her own anxiety. She feels so out of place. She hasn't even been introduced to anyone, let alone Charlie! She's starting to wonder why she's even here at all.

It's not until a very beautiful, very coquettish woman in a red gown comes up to stand beside her, holding out her hand to be shaken. Vaggie looks down at her hand, and then up at her. She's tall. Very tall. Maybe around Carmilla's height, or a little less. The woman looks nervous, and she's blushing slightly, unable to meet Vaggie's gaze directly. Her other hand moves up to push stray locks of hair from falling in her face.

"H-hi!" the woman says, with a genuine smile. "I'm Charlie! You must be Vaggie! Carmilla has told me so much about you. I wanted to come say hello earlier, but I don't get to meet many angels. And you're just so... so pretty. Oh, shit, did I say that out loud? Forgive me! I admit, I was a little intimidated at meeting you. But I didn't want to be rude."

Vaggie looks at Charlie again. The princess is still holding out her hand, now biting her bottom lip in anticipation of Vaggie shaking it. Vaggie does. Charlie's fingers grip hers tightly, manicured red nails grazing lightly against Vaggie's hand. Vaggie maybe shakes Charlie's hand a little too hard, and takes a little too long to pull away.

"Va-vaggie. Yes, my name is Vaggie. Please! The pleasure is all mine, princess, I assure you."

That gets a laugh out of Charlie. She's beaming brightly now, like a light illuminating the otherwise dull illumination of the room. Like a morning star. Now Vaggie is the one blushing, as she listens to her talk about nothing in particular.

Oh, this! This...Vaggie thinks she could get used to this. She could get used to this very well!

[spidybaby]

Stressed

Summary: When he's stressed and worried about work, that's the only thing on his mind.

Warnings: angst because I'm a sucker for it 😤

A/N: So I'm inspired, and you already know I love angst, I breathe angst, I eat angst. (Okay, I'm done exaggerating), but lemme know how you are? Are you drinking water? Hope you're fine 💐❤️

Since Kylian sent that letter to the higher-ups of PSG about not wanting to stay until 2025, everything is drama.

The french tabloids, for some reason, want him to look bad, want him to look like this ungrateful man.

He's experiencing too much pressure, Sergio leaving, Lionel leaving, possibly Verrati leaving. It was a mess. The whole teams is.

Especially now that this dumb reporter, her name is Sam, she's all over him about the whole side of him about the leaving, the selling, the quitting of Galtier. He's done with her, with the other reporters, with the ultras hating him for even breathing.

"Don't worry, Kyky, everything's going to be fine." Sergio pat his back, Kylian was one of the first ones to know about his retirement of the club. "Don't let that chick got to you."

"I just want her away from me." He drinks too fast for what he's used to. "Can't she cover something else?"

"Look, hermano." Ney says, he had to deal with the same reporter a few months before. "Just tell her something completely different from what she's asking, and she'll leave."

He knows she just wants to write something before anyone else, something that comes from his own, not for speculation. "Lie to her."

He scuff, it's not that easy to be away from her when she's also part of the PSG press people. She has access to everywhere. That makes him uncomfortable.

"Mira Kylian." Leo says. He's not new to this whole press drama. "Just don't mind her, ignore her, saying you have to be somewhere." He smiles, nodding to his advice.

Leo and Sergio are the ones he trusts with this media hate. They're goats, and they come from a long road. He can't deny that even Neymar is an expert. But he's been there for his own stupid mind, even tho he denied it.

He followed the advice Leo gave him, always ignoring her, saying the usual bonjour or a revoir. Nothing else.

That made her mad. She even asked Galtier for his number, not caring about writing him. That took him to the limit. He couldn't escape her. She was everywhere and anywhere at the same time.

"Don't stress, mon amour." You say kissing his cheek. You're massaging him, wanting to help him relax. "I know it's hard, but I'm here for you. It's only you and me."

You tried everything for him to relax, you didn't know the whole story. He never told you about this reporter. So you only think it's because of the whole letter drama.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

"Bonjour, Kylian." Sam says, looking at him. She's blocking the door of the lockers. "Can we talk." She raised her eyebrows.

"I'm busy." He tries to pass her, but she's not moving, and the last thing he wants is touching her or making any type of contact. "Please move."

"Just five minutes." She says, begging him. "And I'll leave you alone forever."

"I prefer you to leave me alone now." His voice is this deep tone. He's done with her games. "Get out of the way." He ask nicely.

"Four minutes." She begged again.

"Sam, out of the way."

"Three."

He breathes deeply, and he's losing his temper. "I'll say it only one more time, and believe me, that I hate repeating myself." He grabs her arm, not hard but the right amount of pressure to move her gently. "I'm busy." He's mad. His whole day is ruined, thanks to her.

He enters his car, asking the driver to take him home. He's supposed to go to his mother's house, but he's too mad for that.

He arrived home funding. His train bag is now on the floor, you're home early, and you notice the noise, thinking maybe he fell.

"Are you okay?" You ask from your bedroom. Maybe he's hurt. "Ky? Amour?" You talk louder this time.

After a few minutes, you hear the footsteps on the stairs. A very agitated Kylian enters the room. "Hi, handsome." You say, opening your arms to him.

"Remember how you said you can take the stress out of me?" He sais breathless, you nod smiling. "Do it."

You throw the covers away from you. Ready to attack your boyfriend with kisses and attention. Your lips feel heavy on his own. He's tense. You can feel him.

There was no other reason for his mind to be elsewhere, hes uncomfortable by the fact that he has Sam on the back of his head, tunning after him, basically harrassi him.

There's no other reason for him to focus on anything other than you. The way your lips feel on his neck, the way your hands are touching the right places, the way you're making him feel good.

His hips are moving to a very fast pace. He's not one to take his frustration on you, but the way you're moaning his name and how your nails are scratching his back is making him lose control.

He doesn't know how, but it happens. He can't take her name out of his mind, now even when you're taking him so well.

When he dips his hips at a certain angle, the back of your head digs further into the pillow, and he attacks the exposed side of your neck. He's leaving red marks, marking you as his. The groan that's escaping his lips are pornographyc.

You could feel nothing but him, the weight of his body over yours, the thin layer of sweat on his back under your fingertips and on his forehead, making the hair close to your neck to stick to it.

What's making the entire situation so much worse is the fact that no matter how much he tries, he can't stop thinking about her. Not in a sexual way, but angrily wanting her to go away, to leave his mind alone.

His hand is griping your waist so hard. He knows he'll leave a mark. Moans coming out of his mouth. “Fuck, you feel so good.” he goes faster, knowing by the sounds you're making that you're close.

"Sam-" that's when he stops. His whole body stop. He doesn't know why he's saying her name. His eyes are open in a panic.

"Get off," you say out of breath. Your heart is beating as fast as if it's going off your body. "Get off of me."

You push his shoulders for him to get off of you. He pulled out and tried to explain. "Y/n, please, I didn't mean to do that."

Your mind is lost, one moment you're under him, holding him closer, kissing him and enjoying him.

And now you're pushing him away, not wanting him to touch you. You grab the covers of the bed. You wrap it around your body before running to the bathroom.

"Amour, please." He tries to grab your arms. "Amour." He almost catch you, but he's not fast enough.

The next thing he knows is you slamming the door in his face. He can hear the way you're breathing and how you sob. The sound is making his heart hurt.

"I promise I wasn't-" he can't even think of an excuse. He's fucked up, he's hearing the way you're crying and can't think of how to solve it. "Listen, she's a reporter that has been harassing me. She's always on me, and I".

You open the door, interrupting his explanation. You're standing there, tears running down your face, blanket around your body, eyes sad.

"Mon amour." He doesn't know if he can touch you. He doesn't want to make you more uncomfortable than what you already are. "I promise it's not what you think."

You pass him, walking to the room to get your clothes, dressing yourself again, hurried to get away from him.

"Please don't go." He says, hand grabbing your arm. "Please, let me explain." He feels like crying, not wanting to let go.

"Not now." You get off his hold. "I can't do this. Please get away from me." You push him lightly.

"Don't go, I'll go, but you don't have to go." He dresses himself, not wanting you to leave. "I'm fucking sorry." Your back is facing him. You can't look at him in the eyes.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

The past week, you were running away from Kylian, leaving extra early for work and returning while he was still training.

For him, it was hard not being able to speak with you. But you needed time, and he's willing to let you have it. Even if that hurt him in the process.

For you, it's been weird. You can't wrap your mind around the fact of what's going on. For you, it hurts that he didn't trust you enough to talk to you about what's happening, and the other part of you is your ego being hurt by him naming another girls name.

You were sure with a talk and being honest, you both can make up. You trusted him when he says he has never been with her, but you also needed to know the whole story.

The sound of keys jiggling is the way you know he's home. When he walks he sees you sitting on the couch.

He's tired, everyone is hating on him for the stupid tabloids, and he can't even find comfort in your arms because he hurt you without intended to.

"Can we talk?" He swears the sound of your voice is magical. He missed it. He missed you. He nods and takes a seat next to you. "Who's Sam?"

He didn't hesitate to detail the whole thing. The things his playmates advised him. "Kylian, why didn't you report her to the management?" You're mad, not with him but with her for being such a bitch and harass him about a stupid football news.

"Because I thought she was going to leave me alone." He yells, frustrated. "I can't do this anymore."

You hug him, caressing his back and him cry his frustration. His not crying about her. He's crying about the news, about the hate, about the media not leaving him alone.

"I'm here, don't cry." You kiss the top of his head. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you before."

"It's not you, I'm the one who made the mistake of letting her abuse her power." He let you dry his tears. "I'm so done."

"It's not your fault. Don't say that." You kiss his cheeks. "You're fine now, I'm not letting her or anyone hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable." You hugged him. Promising you'll never let him feel that way again.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Unless I missed something, it seems you don't have anything about Rita Skeeter in your HP masterposts (other than "what if JKR was Rita").

I'm wondering what you think of her? I feel like I barely even remember her in canon, but fanfic uses her for everything under the sun.

You know, I think you're right anon.

Generally, she's unscrupulous as hell and will do nearly anything to chase down a story regardless of the devastation it may cause an individual (see her roasting a 14-year-old girl in a national paper to people who otherwise would never have heard of Hermione Granger but then only knew her as WHORE, including Mrs. Weasley who for a year thought Hermione was a gold digger), incredibly hard working and ambitious, very thorough with her sources, and has an unfortunate tendency to be... not wrong a lot of the time.

Say what?

Yes, I know, I know, she uses the quotes quill which is clearly intended to exaggerate a person's reactions to whatever she's saying (and infuriate them so they'll say more things to her face while they're flustered) but the woman is meticulous with her sources.

The Dumbledore book was extensively researched, with letter evidence, interviews with everyone Dumbledore had pretty much ever known in his life, and it turns out it's... pretty much... entirely... correct...

We learn that the reason Rita knows all this information she shouldn't is that she's been wiretapping (well, being a bug in a room). And that's the thing, she doesn't make things up, she does put them in the worst/most scandalous way possible (e.g. misconstruing Hermione and Harry's friendship into being romantic and theorizing what Hermione gets out of this relationship) but it's not wholesale made up.

So, I actually like Rita as a character. The woman will ruin you for a story, and is absolutely vicious and manipulative as hell, but she's just so interesting.

(And JKR clearly despises her, to a hilarious degree, Rita represents all of JKR's hatred of the British tabloids in one human form that she calls ugly.)

[queenie-official]

Chapter Twelve: ‘A Royal Scandal’ Bridgerton Au!Anakin

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

a/n: angst 😀 seatbelts on 🗣️

News travels fast everywhere, that was a fact. everybody loves a good piece of gossip. Now royal gossip- that was like a rare jewel that everyone wanted to buy. if you could take that rare jewel, copy it and give one to anyone willing to buy it you would be rich. so when a new tabloid came out just to write about what went down at parliament it truly didn’t come as a surprise.

Lady whistledown was the name of the anonymous writer who stepped up to the plate. you’d never heard of her. no one had, but her paper spread everywhere very quickly. Padme had been the one to bring the paper to you, it was exaggerated for sure but none of it was necessarily a lie either.

you could feel her eyes on you as you read over the paper clearly trying to figure out wether she would have to comfort you in anyway. but for some reason you found yourself calm? maybe numb was the better word. Lady whistledown’s paper did a good job at laying everything out in a way to keep people hooked, you could admit that as an avid reader. she also brought up some good questions that you had a feeling the rest of the Ton where definitely asking.

as a royal you have to learn to exist under the microscope of your people, that came with the job. but this felt different. this was more than just your people, this was all the neighboring kingdoms as well. ‘how could the murder of a king go unnoticed?’ ‘would there be a more severe punishment for something so large?’ ‘how can we ensure this won’t happen again?’ ‘if there was already a attempt on the new kings life can we really say any of the royals are safe?’

this was more than just a scandal it was a political nightmare. how do you even begin to address these issues? and even if you did how to you prove what you say to be true? you couldn’t say it won’t happen again because it very well could. endless streams of these thoughts swirled in your head as you finally looked up to meet Padme’s gaze. there was nothing but pure concern on your best friends face as she looked over you, searching for anything. sadness, fear, anger but there was nothing. you just sat there and did nothing, which to her was more concerning then if you did freak out.

“y/n?” she reached over and took your hand into hers as she spoke. it was all too much, you felt like you could snap under the pressure at any moment. the current numbness the only thing protecting your sanity. you don’t say anything in return, afraid that if you speak you’ll break.

overnight this was printed, overnight it seemed the entire world new what took place yesterday. Padme continued to stare at you sympathetically, silently debating whether to speak again. though in all honesty there wasn’t much else to say, there wasn’t anything she could say.

you stand up from your seat and she quickly follows suit, pulling you into a hug before you could get away. you stay like that for just a moment before pulling away and walking silently out of the room.

you knew it was wrong. you knew of all times to have people at your side, now would be the best time to do so. but you couldn’t help it, isolating yourself the same way you felt emotionally. it was like you where punishing yourself further for something that wasn’t even your fault, it was easier then facing reality.

to let yourself scream and cry felt to hard, if you let yourself feel that way- let yourself fall. you weren’t sure you’d be able to stand again, or breathe properly. Not on your own anyway, and that was even scarier, letting people in to help build you back up. What if you lost them? those support beams taken from you, you’d hit the ground hard. truly unable to get back up. no you couldn’t let them in, it was easier this way. so that’s what you did.

pushed them away, it was difficult not just because it was hard for you to shut them out but also because Padme and Anakin in particular where very stubborn individuals. honestly you where pretty sure they were working together, you’d tell the guards not to let her in the castle only for her to visit you in your study as if the order hadn’t been given at all. not even Braeden stopped her, and when you’d asked he’d simply reply he was given an order to allow her to visit at all times. there was only one other person who could give an order of such authority to him so you knew exactly who to blame.

Padme’s persistence was futile, it become a routine at this point she’d visit against your wishes and join you in your daily tasks. speak to you even though you refused to speak back, she acted as if everything was normal even though it wasn’t. it was infuriating but if you reacted you knew it would be the final push that broke you. Anakin was just as bad if not worse, he lived with you after all.

no matter how big the castle was it never seemed big enough with how easily he’d find you. try to get you to talk, to look at him. but you couldn’t if you looked at him you knew you’d cave. so you did your best to make sure he was almost never in the same room as you. but Anakin was a relentless person, if the stories he’d told you about him and Obi-Wan where anything to go off of you shouldn’t be surprised.

there was something else as well. he was growing just about as frustrated as you.

you where standing in your undergarments, Eleanora placing on your petticoats in silence. she wanted to say something but if padme couldn’t even get a word out of you she doubted she’d be any different.

to occupy yourself- more like torment, you reread Lady whistledowns tabloid as well as the new articles that had come out. questions of when the situation would be addressed publicly as well as who’d be replacing the council members began to rise more and more you’d noticed. “Get Out” your head snapped up to the person who’d let themselves in your room before quickly looking back down.

Anakin had let himself in and was staring directly at Eleanora when he spoke, you where silently grateful he hadn’t been looking at you because you weren’t sure what you’d of done if eye contact was made. you watched through your peripheral vision as she bowed to him and then exited the room closing the door behind her. now it was just you two, and you still hadn’t even finished getting dressed. but there he stood, arms crossed and staring directly at you.

“you cannot ignore me forever” he’s met with silence, you can feel the Tension in the air begin to grow stronger. “at least look at me” he steps into your field of vision but you quickly advert your eyes. “y/n” he reaches out for you and you step back, you hear him sigh frustratedly. “i am not leaving until you speak to me, and it’s not like you can exit the room dressed as you are so there’s no where to run” you huff but do not speak.

if only ignoring him was that easy, but you are very quickly reminded as to why you’d refused to be in the same room as him. for some reason you found it much harder to ignore his pleas than Padme’s, perhaps it was something about his voice that just tugged at your heart as if he himself controlled wether or not it truly broke. “why are you doing this?” the question was so simple and you knew he knew why just as much as anyone did. shockingly however no one had bothered asking, and the way he asked. the pure desperation in his voice, like it physically hurt him to see you like this. it was all too much and he’d barely done anything at all- that angered you.

you felt it boil up, everything you’d been feeling and pushing down swirling together to make a crimson red. “just leave!” you shout, it came out broken and raspy not haven spoken in so long. “leave me alone.” you added your voice deepening in a attempt to come off more commanding then you where. “no.” you take a sharp breath in at his calm answer biting your tongue so you wouldn’t shout again. “i said to leave.” you state trying to stay as levelheaded as you could.

“you can’t even look at me as you say that” he scoffed, why was he making this so difficult. “Anaki-” you’re cut off by him, a sudden bout of anger and frustration of his own taking over. “i will not leave you! i cannot leave you! not like this, while you’re so broken. those shattered parts of you trying to cut whatever they can.” his voice grows louder with each sentence, hoping that if he screams loud enough you may actually hear what he was trying to say to you.

“you may not love me y/n but i love you.” you feel the air knocked out of your lungs, snapping your head up to meet his face as you try to process if you’ve heard him correctly. “i’ve fallen in love with you.” his voice cracks, tears welling in his tired eyes. he looked like he had been getting about as much sleep as you. you felt your heart break and swell. “i’m in love with the lonely girl who cries out for company, a warmth shrouded in a cloudy mist calling for help.” why had you been pushing him away, your own vision began to blur as tears burned the back of your eyes.

warmth engulfed you, and you fell completely into his hold. “i love you, let me help you… please.. let me love you.” you sobbed at his words. the dam finally breaking, you let yourself feel not just for your own sake but for his, for Padme, for Eleanora. he pulls you in tighter, afraid to let you go in fear you’ll push him away again. you cling on just as tightly, shaking from each cry. everything was shit but it would be okay. you would be okay. he was there for you and he wasn’t going anywhere, not without a fight. you had a support system and it was time to let them do just that, support you.

“I love you too.”

part 13

Tag List: @luvvfromme @gatekeepingirlboss @bimbo-baggins86 @iluvanakinskywalker @bby-imasociopath @curlycarley @burnthecheshirewitch @misscaller06 @sweetcheesecakesblog

LOVE CONFESSIOOOONN🗣️🗣️🗣️ I REPEAT NOT A DRILL WE GOT A BRIDGERTON LOVE CONFESSION FROM ANI 🎉🎉 (don’t know who noticed and who didn’t but the way Anakin shouts his confession after telling reader to shout it to him so he can hear her and know she means it in chapter 7👀 just a fun little detail i wanted to point out 🥰 and don’t think reader forgot about that either🌝) chapter 13 i will hopefully have out tmr🧍‍♀️don’t @ me on that tho 👩‍🦯👩‍🦯anyways i hope you huns enjoyed Xx<3💋💋

[thus-spoke-lo]

cw: 18+, minors dni. a little crack-ish. suggestive content. weed usage.

“You ever tried this?”

Toshinori stares at the small, pungent-smelling cookie held in your outstretched hand. “Tried what, marijuana?”

‘“Marijuana,’” you taunt, snickering as you reach to tap him lightly on the ass before hastily retreating to the edge of the kitchen, attempting to avoid retaliation. “I swear to god you say it like a fuckin’ cop. Although, I mean, you kinda were, sorta like, the world’s premiere cop. So I guess that tracks.”

“Honeybear, I wasn’t a cop, you’re being absurd.”

You throw your head back and let out a groan. “I know you weren’t a cop, love. I’m just exaggerating. Anyway, you do say it like a cop, I’m telling you.”

“What do you want me to call it, then?” He furrows his brow, still exaggeratedly rubbing his backside where you’d swiped at him.

“I dunno.” You sink down to the floor, sitting cross-legged against the counter. “Pot? Weed? Literally anything else, you square.”

“Square?” He places a hand on his hip, long wooden spoon still clutched in his fist, and scowls. “I’m not square.”

“Well you never answered my question.” You flop sideways on the wooden floor, tapping your fingers on the faux-wood panels.

His brilliant eyes darken slightly, his lips just barely parted as if to speak. A deep flush spreads across his face, and he quickly turns away from you, suddenly intensely interested in his pasta sauce while he grumbles under his breath.

“Toshi? Toshi.” You slowly rise up from the floor like a freshly-resurrected ghoul and pad across the kitchen to stand in front of him, poking your finger lazily at his cheek. “You have, haven’t you?”

“I’m not answering that,” he mumbles into the steaming pot of sauce, gently batting your hand away.

“Why, in case the apartment is bugged?” you cackle.

“No, of course not.” He glances at you out of the corner of his eyes, sets his wide hands on the counter. “That’s not it.”

You cock your head and smile softly, running your hand up and down his sinewy forearm. “Toshi. I’d hope you’d know you can trust me by now. I’m not gonna go to the tabloids and blab about every little secret you tell me, I’m not a fuckin’ snitch. Besides”—you lightly trace your fingers over the veins on the top of his hand—“if I was gonna do that, don’t you think I’d tell them about something more interesting first, like how big your dick is or something?”

He chokes on a mouthful of spit and turns to glare at you and your damned shit-eating grin. He shakes his head and sighs, smiling at you resignedly. “Of course I’ve tried it.”

Your eyes widen and your loud gasp fills the room. “Seriously? When?”

“When I was in America.” He rolls his eyes and shrugs. “I did manage to have a little fun while I was over there, you know.”

“You mean to tell me… All Might was a pothead?” you cackled, the cookie you nibbled at earlier starting to make this whole situation even more comical than it already was.

“Keep your voice down!” He places a long finger on your lips to shush you. “I wasn’t a—a pothead. I just enjoyed myself a bit. It was a different time then for me. For everyone I guess.” His eyes stare off past you somewhere as he pauses for a moment, his finger dragging down your lips. “It that really so hard to believe of me?”

“I dunno, a little.” You kiss the tip of his finger. “You just seem so, you know.”

“No, I don’t think I do know,” he says, his voice low, as he settles his hands on your waist and pulls you a little closer into him, your body just barely brushing against his cooking apron. “Why don’t you enlighten me, hm?”

“Well,” you start, your hands settling on his chest, “you seem a little… straight-laced sometimes.”

He leans down, kisses you softly along your jaw, down your neck. “Straight-laced, huh?”

“Okay, maybe—ah—maybe that’s not the word I’m looking for.”

He laughs, whispering hotly in your ear, “Do you mean ‘old,’ sugarpop?”

“No! God, no.” You exhale heavily, thoughts of Toshi—his past, his life before you—running through your mind like a melancholy newsreel, while his large hand caresses your forearm. “I just mean, like. You had the world resting on your shoulders. Didn’t seem like you had a lot of time to enjoy yourself, you know?”

“No, I suppose I didn’t,” he breathes into your neck before snatching the rest of the cookie out of your hand and holding it to his lips, grinning at you. “Good thing I have all the time in the world now, wouldn’t you agree?”

[wallacewestwyld]

I've recently stumbled upon some kind of... fan literature...?

It was some horribly vulgar and exaggerated things about Derek. Disgusting.

Thought I should show you children what REAL writing looks like.

Besides, it's a pity no one has written anything about myself.

Without further ado, I present my work:

(18+ advisory warning)

Wallace was working hard in his office to keep America from falling into complete chaos when he heard the phone ring. Not his work phone, but his Apple iPhone 16+ pro edition cell phone. (Because as the head of the CIA he was allowed access to all of the latest and greatest technology before any of the commoners.)

"Hello? Mr. Westwyld speaking." "Wallace? Oh thank GOD you answered. I need you." "Jessica? Is that you? I told you, I can't talk at work-" "Yes, yes. Work. I know. Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you for keeping America safe from terrorists all day? I should give you some kind of medal of honor." "Madame president. I appreciate it, really, but I don't need thanks. Keeping you safe is all that matters to me." "Oh Wallace, that makes me so wet. I need you. Immediately. That's a presidential ORDER." "Well, I can't ignore an official order from the president herself..."

Wallace quickly and neatly packed his things and made his way to the white house, arriving in an extravagant and flashy limousine guarded by secret service agents. (Because he was so important to the safety of America.)

As soon as he stepped foot into the oval office, Jessica Danforth threw herself at him, half-clothed and already trembling with desire.

"Oh, Wallace, take me." She cried as he tried to straighten her, not able to go another second without his PERFECTLY FUNCTIONAL cock.

"What? Here? With the windows wide open?"

"I don't care. Let them see. I want everyone to know you're the man I love."

"Alright, dear, as you wish..."

Wallace fucked her brains out on her own desk, uncaring of who heard or saw. The news had a field day with the scandal, but neither him nor the president cared.

Tabloids published whole articles dedicated to the sheer overwhelming size of Wallace's cock, and guinness world records wouldn't get off his tail after the fact, telegraphing him multiple times a day.

After that night, this became Wallace's new routine. American hero by day, hot fucktoy for the beautiful soon-to-be Mrs. Westwyld by night.

Oh, and Derek learned to stop whining so goddamn much or something.

His life was fucking splendid. The end.

[tanadrin]

Is the media asymmetry, the inability of liberal media to rally people the way conservative media does, just another indicator that liberal democracy in the US is over? Like what other mechanism can stop the right wing at this point? Not national legislatures, not the courts, not the states, not the media ...

no, i don't think so. i think the role of the media in upholding liberal democracy has always been kind of exaggerated? like free speech is important to liberal democracy, but the history of journalism is not a history of woodward and bernstein types heroically serving the public interest. for the most part it's the tabloids and yellow press and fueling moral panics.

[nhaneh]

Anyway it really cannot be exaggerated how much the current situation with the shortage of certain types of diabetes medications is very directly the fault of fatphobia and the weight loss industry.

There are doctors out there - particularly in the US is my understanding - actively prescribing those very same medicines purely for weight loss, while plenty of us actual diabetics who kind of need those medicines to actually, you know, physically function and possibly not die, end up unable to get them because of the subsequent shortage.

This situation also, more than anything, clearly demonstrates how the claim that "concerns" about overweight are not and never were about health - that when it comes down to it, those concerns run contrary to health, if not life.

Fatphobia kills people. The weight loss industry, the tabloids, the beauty magazines, the TV celebrities - they all have blood on their hands. I need you to understand that.