#that's....probably all I need for now right

[dollivication]

ᥫ᭡. IF THEY GOT A HOLD OF YOUR PANTIES ᥫ᭡.

ᢉ𐭩 ft. hwang in-ho/player 001/the frontman, seong gi-hun/player 456, thanos/choi su-bong/player 230 , kang dae-ho/player 388, nam-gyu/player 124

ᢉ𐭩 cw: nsfw, perviness, panty-sniffing, masturbation, nam-gyu cussing you out/insulting you LOL??, fairly icky stuff, dirty fantasies, fem!reader. gooner activities. mdni

ᢉ𐭩 a/n: doesn’t take place in the games but… if you want to interpret this that way you can LOLS. sorry if it seems rushed i was very eager to take this out...

HWANG IN-HO/PLAYER 001/FRONTMAN

-honestly? he’d probably find it very endearing how you still maintain your style underneath all your clothes.

-he uses this as a better insight to your tastes. mentally noting down your preferences as he properly looks at the pair in his hands, turning the article of clothing around with a watchful gaze and rubbing it between his fingertips to feel the texture.

-lacy or simple? noted. silky or cotton? he’ll keep it in mind. dark or pastel? he’ll make sure to keep an eye out for something similar. he wants to know every aspect of your character, and this serves as the perfect chance. “How cute..” he’d muse.

-doesn’t judge whatsoever. after all, they belong to you, that by itself is a blessing. that being said, he doesn’t exactly have a need for them as he much prefers the thing that wears them. he prides himself on his self-control. you could not catch him acting like a hormonal teen.

-at the most, he’ll give them a tiny sniff, brushing his lips against them and flick the tip of his tongue out just to give himself the daily dose of your smell and taste, smiling to himself as he intakes the scent and flavor. but don’t worry, he puts them right back where he found them without ever telling a soul. <3

SEONG GI-HUN/PLAYER 456 (S1)

-his mind goes blank. does this make him a perv? well, probably. does he really care? somewhat. he wouldn’t have much of an explanation if someone walked in on him at that moment.

-just stares as he ponders what to do with them. he could put them down, pretend it never happened—it’s not like he had any bad intentions.. but an opportunity like this doesn’t come around often. and it’s been years since he had anything to properly give him a release.

-kind of has an inner battle over whether or not it’s worth actually being a dirty old man for relief or being a respectable one and giving up on this opening. yet of course.. he’s only human. and he just wants you so much :( !!

-pretty much uses your panties to muffle himself, sniffing at it like a dog whilst rutting slowly into a pillow. of course, the thin undergarments could only do so much in the face of his needy little sounds <3

-panting heavily, letting out grunts as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Please.. Please..” his face almost looks pained with a slack jaw and furrowed brow, hands grasping at the pillow beneath him to try and ground himself. (it doesn’t work, because he quickly begins to pick up the pace.)

-gasps when he finally climaxes, burying his face even deeper into your underwear to the point he might suffocate himself all while shooting out his seed over his pillow. feels pretty disgusted in himself and guilty after he comes down from his high, pouting a little at the mess he made. still, he can’t deny how blissful it felt. it was almost like you were right there with him…. </3

-keeps your panties. yeah, hopefully those weren’t your favorite pair—because they’re his now. he’ll return them at some point, but until then, if you ever exasperatedly tell him about the loss, gi-hun will keep his mouth shut and play the oblivious. >.<

THANOS/CHOI SU-BONG/PLAYER 230

-he looks like an immature highschool boy with the way he marvels at your panties, as if he hasn’t been in previous sexual flings and one-night stands where he has most likely witnessed all kinds of undergarments. and yanked them off…

-i guess the only reason why he’s so fascinated is because they’re yours. no way in hell you’d ever willingly give a pair to him—did you really think he wasn’t going to savor every moment of this? this is heaven served on a silver platter.

-it starts off as a joke for thanos, stretching the elastic waistband in various degrees and angles while giggling. maybe even uses them as a slingshot. he never imagined that he’d find himself in a position like this, you know? this is the type of shit you’d see in crappy rom-coms.

-all that runs through his head is something along the lines of “Hell yeah.. Nice.” UNTIL it finally occurs to him that, holy shit. he’s actually got your panties in his possession. the way he looks around to see if anyone’s by (despite obviously being alone) is damn well near cartoonish.

-wastes no time in lowering his pants to his knees, biting his bottom lip as he wraps a hand around his cock. he’s hard almost instantly, the thrill of doing something so filthy behind your back making his dick twitch and expel tiny drops of pre-cum.

-“Oh, fuuuck.. Mhm..” his words are shaky and border on a breathy chuckle, pumping his dick while raising his other hand to his face. takes sporadic sniffs of your panties, bunching them up in his palm whenever a particular stroke really made his hips buck.

-His head will roll back, his motions lazy and unhurried while he kicks and spreads his legs out. his voice is husky as he grunts out incoherent curses, gradually speeding his hand up before he eventually shoots out warm ropes of cum, letting the strands coat his fingers in short spurts.

-“Mannn...” he’d grumble, quite miffed by the fact that he was gonna have to clean up when the flow stopped. but he immediately cheers up, seeing that your panties were free from the spill. that meant he wasn’t gonna have to discard them just yet!!

-also keeps your panties and acts like he doesn’t know anything if they’re ever brought up in a conversation. he thinks of them as his personal lucky charm, which of course he won’t give up until he actually has to. but at that point, he’ll just try to get his hands on another pair and so on.. silly little addict :3c

KANG DAE-HO/PLAYER 388

-having been the youngest brother of 4 sisters, its safe to assume that he’s probably had similar occasions whilst doing laundry. bras, panties, he’s most likely handled them at least once throughout his life while being surrounded by women.

-thats not to say he doesn’t still get a little bit shy, even as an adult. its mostly out of respect more than it is embarrassment. he understands that underwear is meant to cover women’s privates, he’s been taught not to view them in a sexual light. but that’s because it came to family. there, underwear was just that—articles of clothing to literally wear under.

-this is a much different situation: being accidentally exposed to the type of undergarments his crush puts on. with the way he fumbles with your panties, you’d think they were sizzling hot and causing burns. poor dae-ho doesn’t know what to do !!

-especially not when his pants feel a little tighter than usual. his free hand will shoot down, try to adjust the tent forming with a tiny frown on his face. “Don’t be gross, Dae-ho. Cmon..” he’ll scold himself in a hushed whisper, but his body clearly having other plans.

-he’ll start to panic, desperately trying to make his boner die down. he swears he isn’t a perv, honest! he just can’t help but think about how good you’d look teasing him in them, rubbing your clothed pussy against his dick…!

-yeah, he’s got it bad. the imagery would make his dick stir that much more, practically throbbing as he hesitantly sneaks a hand beneath the waistband of his pants. “Shit, I’m so sorry—” he’d gasp out an apology followed by your name, his warm palm finally coming in contact with his aching cock, wrapping his fingers around the base.

-dae-ho’s eyes would flutter, his adam’s apple bobbing as he’d begin to jerk off at a moderate pace to the thought of you, wanton moans falling from his parted lips. he would swipe the pad of his thumb over his leaking tip, the motion causing a high pitched mixture of a whine and grunt. “Oh, god..”

-can’t help but to give your panties little licks, the taste of your cunt making his hips buck into his hand. the overwhelming feeling of his orgasm creeping up accompanied by a tugging guilt began to form tears in his eyes, nothing ever actually escaping yet threatening to.

-his back arches when he cums, thighs trembling as his digits tighten around your underwear, holding the pair close to his chest as he groans. “Yes! Oh, please, I love you—” his voice would tremble, practically breaking off into a small cry. his warm cum coats his hand, the latter continuing to give weak strokes until he’s unable to produce anymore.

-the moment he regains his composure and he realizes what he just did, he’ll be so disappointed in himself :( washes his hands with soap like 4 times, as if it’ll get rid of his dirty little misdeed. gosh he feels so pathetic…

-tells NO ONE about the endeavor, and leaves your panties where he found them. he’s going to have a lot to think about. (◞‸◟)

NAM-GYU/PLAYER 124

-one word: shameless.

-for some reason, nam-gyu just won’t fess up to the fact that he probably does genuinely have a crush on you. that’s absurd, he doesn’t do that kiddie shit! so, instead he’s making it his duty to find every possible way of throwing you off. because it’s funny. and what better chance does he have than right now?

-so what if this makes him a creep? hopefully you’ll take it as a sign to stay the hell away from him after this. (he says, anyway. a part of him actually hopes you’ll enjoy what he’s about to do and come back for more… he’s just,, strange like that.) he doesn’t think twice about taking his cock out from his boxers.

-the only one to actually USE your panties to jerk himself off. he tells himself he’s doing it out of spite, furiously pumping his veiny dick as he bites into the hem of his shirt, exposing his stomach that jumped with the contrasting nip of the cool air on his warm skin.

-“Stupid bitch. See how you fucking like it,” he’d growl, pausing a few times to frustratedly tuck strands of hair behind his ear whenever they’d get in his face. has no problem being loud, letting out groan after groan with every intention of getting caught. walk in on him, why don’t you? see how pissed off you make him feel. how fucking pent up he is for you.

-“Gonna cum all over your face,” nam-gyu’s threats would flow with no particular party on the receiving end. only the thought of you on your knees tending to him. doesn’t care that he probably looks like a lunatic while guiltlessly talking dirty, his balls drawing up at his own filthy-natured words.

-saliva would begin to seep into his shirt’s hem, his pace unrelenting as he fists his cock into your underwear, his other hand curling and uncurling whenever his pleasure spiked. he’ll swallow thickly as the knot in his lower stomach begins to form, squirming slightly in his spot in a visible attempt to chase his climax.

-he’ll align the inner crotch area perfectly along his length, his head tossing back as he finally lets go, your panties easily catching the globs of semen that shot out. “Fuck yeah.. Take it, take my cum.” he’d grunt, eyebrows furrowing while sinking his teeth deeper into his top.

-breathes heavily upon seeing the stick and foggy white liquid cause an evident dark patch on your panties. with a self-accomplished smirk, he’ll tuck himself back into his pants, releasing his shirt from his mouth as he pinches the waistband of your cum-soaked panties with the tip of his index and thumb, keeping it a distance away from him. he has just the thing for you.

-nam-gyu will actively seek you out, bringing along the end result of his.. work. once he finds you, he’ll toss it right at you, not caring if you were in catching-range or not.

-“Just a little something from me to you. Enjoy the gift, yeah?” he’d give you one of his sly smiles, eyes twinkling with the typical hint of mischief before walking off without even waiting for a reply or reaction.

-well, at least you got your panties back, right? <3

[morganbritton132]

Fic where the Corroded Coffin boys need money for The Battle of the Bands in Chicago.

They’re getting high and thinking of ways to come up with the money - selling their shit, donating blood, ect - when one of them suggest they do a ransom.

Dick Harrington is the richest guy in town. Surely, he’d pay big bucks for his only son, right? They could get enough cash to get to the Battle of the Bands and also buy new amps. They should do this, right?

It’ll be easy.

Turns out, it’s not easy to kidnap someone because Steve fights back surprisingly hard. Gareth is limping. Jeff has a broken nose. Grant has an asthma attack chasing Steve when he runs.

The only reason they get him is because Eddie hit him with his van and now they’re all panicking about how he’s probably slowly dying from a head bleed. This what they’re doing when Steve slowly regains consciousness, tied up in Gareth’s mom’s basement.

They don’t stop panicking until he’s like, “Um, can I get a cigarette?”

Steve is both the best and worst hostage they’ve ever had (also the only hostage they’ve ever had). He doesn’t scream or cry like they thought he would, but he’s really bitchy and kinda mean, and he does try to escape when Eddie unties him so he can use the bathroom.

It’s like three hours later when Steve tells them that his dad is not going to pay a ransom because like, “He doesn’t even like me.”

“He’ll pay,” Eddie says, breaking his hour long streak of ignoring Steve. “Anybody would pay to get their kid back.”

“He didn’t last time.”

Freeze. Record scratch. “What?”

“What do you need the money for anyways?” Steve asks. Grant tells him and a Steve nods like, “Oh. Yeah, I can get you the money. Easy peasy.”

Cut to a genre change. This is a heist now and the Corroded Coffin boys quickly learn that Steve is fucking insane and also, maybe their manager now?

[wonderjanga]

Was thinking of the terrible dad captain marvel post when my brain went

What if they (incorrectly) believe that the kid’s other parents are gods? (Or possibly Black Adam)

Flash: “Look, I’m just saying that the little purple one is probably Hermes and his kid.”

Marvel: *walks in the room* “Hey guys! What are you talking about?”

GL: “About how you have like five baby daddies.”

*silence*

Marvel: *looks scandalized* “…What?”

Flash: “About how you have five baby daddies.”

Marvel: *speechless for a solid minute* “Where did you hear that from???”

GL: “No one, but you kinda implied it, man-”

Marvel: “When did I do that?!?”

Flash: “Look, just- You’re not slick. Anyways, right now we’re just trying to figure out who exactly are the five. I’m guessing Hermes is a little purple one’s dad.”

Mercury: *doesn’t know whether to laugh or be offended*

GL: “And I’m guessing that the little gray ones dad is Zeus because he always messes around with lightning and technology.”

Meanwhile in Olympus…

Hera: *suspicious* “Something just happened…”

Back at the Watchtower…

Zeus: *retching sounds*

GL: “I have no idea about the other three though. Like who’s the green one?”

Mercury: Billy, say Huītzilōpōchtli. I want a shoutout for my boy.

Marvel: *appalled* “I AM NOT SAYING THAT.” *is talking to Mercury*

Flash: *thinks he’s talking to them* “Okay, okay, damn. No need to get so worked up.”

Marvel: “I wasn’t- never mind. What made you think? I have five different baby daddies??”

GL: “Dude all your kids look different, all you really need is a pair of eyes to see that.”

Marvel: *confused as to why he said “your kids”* “Wha?”

Flash: “By the way, who are Junior and Mary’s too? Mary looks a lot like you, so did you do that weird thing where gods that are siblings get together and have kids?”

Marvel: *somehow even more appalled* “Oh my Gods, no??? That’s fucking disgusting!”

Flash and GL: *share a look because Marvel rarely curses*

GL: “Well, that’s good then but still, who are all their parents??”

Marvel: *scrambling to pull something out of his ass so he can end this conversation* “I- uh- they don’t have parents!”

Flash and GL: *confusion*

Marvel: “Yeah! They spawned a little bit after me from the Rock!”

GL: “How long was a “little bit after?” You look old enough to be their dad.”

Solomon: ‘The ability for champions to share their powers with others came into existence around 120 thousand years ago. Just say that, Billy.’

Marvel: “Well, i’m like 200,000 years old and they came to existence like 120,000 years ago.”

GL: “Jesus, I forgot how old you guys are.”

Flash: “Dang, so you’re not their dad.”

Marvel: “No! If anything, we’re siblings!”

Flash: “I guess I could see that making more sense.”

[kiragecko]

I recognize that I'm probably not the target of this post. Or, at least, the reblog. But, this IS on topic, even if it has a different energy!

-

It can be challenging to renavigate a relationship with a subject when your previous relationship was HEAVILY effected by a cultural context that is no longer there.

I used to dip my toes into the Harry Potter fandom despite not being able to read the books. (I read for writing style, and hers didn't work for me.) This was back in the mid-2000s, and a huge number of my peers had grown up transformed by this series. They were now adults who considered it an important childhood touchstone. Saying that I hadn't liked the writing style, but thought the ideas were cool, could offend people who thought it was EXTREMELY well written.

So I learned to enjoy the fandom from the sidelines, accepting that I was a bit of a curmudgeonly fun-killer. Keeping the grumpy bits quiet.

And then public opinion shifted, and shifted HARD.

And suddenly the carefully mapped ground was unknown again. People wanted to rant about how the writing sucked. How terrible the ideas were. Positivity got attacked. Quiet enjoyment of fan creations was seen as public support of Rowling's beliefs. Mild comments about the writing being only okay gained "agreement" that it sucked and had never been worth enjoying. There wasn't ROOM to process my opinions about her beliefs for quite a while, because I was too busy trying to figure out how to reconcile with a completely new environment, which was equally dissonant with my opinions of the book, but in very different directions and with a LOT more aggression!

The urge to talk about not liking the books was STRONG. Because I HADN'T been able too before! People got mad if I tried! But I was used to a context of people assuming the book was great, and needing to contrast what I was saying with that assumption. In this new context, where the books were stupid and full of hate and poorly written, my statements sounded REALLY different. They echoed with all sorts of other voices that I wasn't expecting to be there.

-

I rarely make absolute statements, so I didn't come off as delighting in people's suffering if it gave me a chance to be right. There are some benefits to anxiously stuffing every sentence with context and exceptions! But I have a lot of empathy for some of the people saying tone-deaf things now. Because not everyone is able to master new tones at the same speed.

Sometimes people are still processing the fact that they might not get argued with if they state that the Anansi Boys wasn't that good, and they've been wanting to complain about Anansi Boys for YEARS without having to acknowledge that they HAD enjoyed Neverwhere and Sandman. And that gets in the way of the fact that something terrible has come to light.

Or they they try to talk about how Mr. Gaiman selling Good Omens 2 always felt disingenuous. Him telling people that Terry Pratchett would have wanted him to make it. They've never said it before, because fandom should be FUN, and it was just a little thing. But they care about Mr. Pratchett's memory a lot, and it had BOTHERED them. But bringing it up now gets them accused of 'boasting', and 'pretending that they knew all along'.

And sometimes, they're trying to work through a hard topic by finding its limits. They need to be able to explore 'everything he ever did sucked' before they can accept the nuance that 'he made beautiful works and also hurt people badly'.

-

There are a lot of people who jump to easy absolutes, rather than grapple with complexity. That's who this post seems to be about, and they aren't who I'm talking about.

But, conversely, It's easy to say the 'right' things when you were never invested in a topic. And you have the social skills to pick up what the 'right' thing is.

If you already HAD complex feelings about a topic, it can be harder to throw them aside and only focus on the 'right' thing. If you WEREN'T 100% buying into someone's public image, there's a period of working through your shit that kind of needs to happen.

-

Anyways, I've always been a bit uncomfortable about Neil Gaiman. I didn't think Anansi Boys was that good, and gave up after a few chapters. I wasn't surprised when people started coming forward, because there's been a little 'be careful here' tag attached to him ever since I read about the Good Omens photo shoot where he wore black and Terry Pratchett wore white and they joked about it. Something about how Mr. Gaiman told the story.

All of that is a bit tone-deaf to bring in now, even though they're things I've had to process over the last few months. They're part of my relationship with Gaiman's works that I had pushed to the side, and now need to recontextualize, but they aren't directly about the people who have been hurt.

I didn't predict that Gaiman was a sexual predator. I've recommended Gaiman's books in the past, and think his writing is some of the most gorgeous, poetic stuff I've ever read. Neverwhere is amazing. Sandman is also amazing, even if it, too, added some warning tags to Mr. Gaiman's file in my head. I don't think I'm vindicated in any way by what happened, or that talking about my previous reservations is a sign that I was oh so enlightened.

But I'm also 40-ish? I have enough experience to recognize that the world has endless 'clues', and they should be noted down, but not trusted. Maybe the first time something like this happened, I WOULD have excitedly talked about all the puzzle pieces I had gathered, which now fit into place. (But I was offline back then, so we'll never know.)

Gaiman seems to have hurt a lot of people, and lied a lot, and broken people's trust. All of which is more important than my feelings about a disappointing book that everyone kept bafflingly hyping. But in this sudden space for processing what he's done, the pressurized stuff inside of me needs to be processed before I can focus on that new content.

So the disappointing book gets priority.

[lechrts]

Tramp Stamp. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Intern!reader

Summary: When he catches sight of something that he wasn’t supposed to see. Something “so out of character” of you.

Word Count: 1.2k

Disclaimer/s: banter blah blah blah black cat x golden retriever tbh, Idk, flirty lando, Mean!reader because that’s all i know

Vera's Voice! a recycled prompt i had been wanting to use for an original story but i have no time since i cant be free of the shackles i call school and work so i just made it a lando imagine. YUHHHH. + sorry for my hiatus. Wassup. i hope u enjoy ^_^

The McLaren paddock was always buzzing with energy on a race weekend, but you barely noticed anymore. You were too focused on your job—an internship that demanded perfection, efficiency, and an unwavering dedication to details.

Unfortunately, no one seemed to have passed that memo to Lando Norris.

"You’re stalking me," You muttered, flipping through your clipboard as you strode through the garage, dodging mechanics and engineers.

"Following," Lando corrected, strolling beside you with way too much ease. "Completely different."

You stopped abruptly. He stopped too. You shot him a flat look. "You don’t even need to be here right now."

Lando smirked. “Aw come on, not enjoying our quality time?”

"Waste of time, actually." You scoffed, adjusting the clipboard in your arms. Lando gasped, pressing a hand to his chest like you’d just gravely offended him. "Wow. Harsh. I thought we were bonding."

You exhaled sharply, turning back to continue walking, attempting to wave him off. "Leave me alone, I’ve got work to do."

"And I have free time," He pointed out, easily keeping pace with you. "Which means I can spend it however I want."

"You want to spend it being an ass?"

"Of course." His grin was all mischief. "It’s my favorite pastime."

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t slow down, weaving through the garage with practiced efficiency.

Lando, despite having no real reason to be there, stuck to your side like an overgrown puppy, dodging cables and stepping around mechanics with the kind of casual ease that made your irritation flare.

He lived to get under your skin.

"Hmm," He mused, leaning in just slightly, "You should try smiling more. I think it’d be good for you."

You didn’t even glance up. "You should try shutting up more. I think it’d be good for everyone."

Lando let out a bark of laughter. "So mean."

“Well, I’m certainly not trying to be nice.” You glance up, sending him a fake and sarcastic smile before your face deadpanned with cold eyes.

Lando clutched his chest dramatically. “You truly wound me.”

“God, save me.” You muttered, flipping a page on your clipboard.

Lando, of course, was unfazed and continued pressing. “To be honest, I think you secretly like this,” He mused.

You gave him a look. “Like what exactly?” Furrowing your eyebrows, not following where he was going with this.

“This.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Our little game.”

You stopped so abruptly that he almost walked into you. “What game? You mean me trying to do my job while you act like an overgrown toddler with too much money and free time?”

Lando grinned, rocking back on his heels. “So do you like it or no?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, turning sharply on your heel, and in your haste, your pen slipped from your grip.

It clattered to the floor and rolled just slightly out of reach.

Without thinking, you bent down to grab it.

But. There was a shift in the air. A second of silence too long.

Then—

“Oh.”

The single syllable carried so much smug amusement that your stomach dropped before you even straightened.

You turned slowly, and Lando was standing there, arms crossed, lips curled into a knowing smirk.

His eyes flickered downward—just briefly—before meeting yours again.

"Oh, correct me if I’m wrong," He drawled, "But was that a lower back tattoo?"

Your entire body stiffened.

You knew right then and there that your McLaren issued shirt had betrayed you. Probably riding up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the delicate little ribbon bow and butterfly inked on your lower back you had gotten back in high school.

Your fingers curled tightly around the pen, knuckles white as if you wanted to shove it into his throat. You fought to keep your face neutral, but the heat creeping up your neck was traitorous.

Lando’s smirk deepened.

You knew you should just ignore him. Keep walking. Act like you didn’t hear. But his tone—so goddamn amused and intrigued—was already sinking its hooks into you.

You straightened fully, lifted your chin, and shot back smoothly, “Maybe don’t stare at my ass?”

Lando’s grin was instant. “Not my fault it was right there.”

"You could’ve looked away."

"But then I would’ve missed the best part of my day," He quipped, eyes glinting with unfiltered delight. "Because never in a million years would I have guessed you had a tramp stamp."

You exhaled sharply, flipping back to your clipboard with forced nonchalance. "You saw nothing."

"I feel like there's a story behind it." He leaned in slightly, eyes practically gleaming. "And now I have to know."

"You have to shut up."

"Make me."

You inhaled slowly, forcing yourself to stay composed. You refused to let him win.

Lando’s smirk widened like he could feel you getting flustered.

"Was it a dare?" He mused.

You ignored him, flipping a page.

"Drunken impulse?"

Silence.

"Rebellious phase?"

You turned sharply. "Lando."

"Hm?"

You briefly smiled, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Shut up."

"Can’t. I’m way too entertained at the moment."

"Oh, of course you would find this entertaining."

Lando grinned. "Come on, just tell me! I’ll drop it after."

"You never drop anything."

He sighed dramatically. "You know me too well."

“Unfortunately."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

"You know," He mused, rocking back on his heels, "It’s actually kind of hot."

Your brain short-circuited.

You nearly dropped your pen again.

"What?" You croaked.

Lando shrugged, far too nonchalant. "The tattoo. Didn’t expect it, but… yeah." He smirked. "Bit of a plot twist."

Your mouth opened—then closed. Then opened again. "You—I—what.”

He chuckled, watching your reaction unfold like it was the highlight of his day.

You refused to give him the satisfaction.

So, instead of responding, you lifted your clipboard and smacked him lightly on the arm.

Lando burst out laughing, clutching the spot like you’d actually hurt him.

"You’re an idiot," You muttered, turning away before he could see the hint of a smile threatening to break through.

Lando grinned after you, calling out, "I will get that story one day!”

And maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as annoyed as you pretended to be.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ and pls Lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list

tags! @pedriache @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Plus One

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: panic attacks

Paring: Paige Bueckers x fem actress reader

Fandom: UConn's Women's basketball

Summary: it's was a joke til it wasn’t

It all started as a joke. I had no idea who to take as my plus one, so I did what any rational person would do—I tweeted.

"So... I need a date for my first movie premiere. @paigebueckers, what's good? 👀"

Then I posted the same thing on Instagram with a picture of me fake-proposing to an Oscar statue from set. It was meant to be lighthearted, a little funny. I had been a fan of Paige for years, and UConn fans were relentless. I figured a few of my new followers from the movie might hype it up for fun.

What I didn’t expect was for it to blow up overnight.

My notifications were chaos. UConn fans, my own fans, random sports pages—everyone was tagging Paige. Memes. Edits. The whole internet was basically playing matchmaker. It was both hilarious and terrifying.

Then, the next morning, I saw the notification.

paigebueckers: "👀 Sounds fun. You still need a date?"

I had to reread it like five times.

She DMed me. Paige Bueckers actually DMed me.

It felt surreal having Paige Bueckers, actual basketball star, knocking on my hotel room door. She looked casual but effortlessly cool in a tailored lavender suit, her blonde hair pinned up in a way that made my brain short-circuit.

"Ready, superstar?" she grinned, offering me her arm.

Somehow, I managed to function enough to get into the car with her. We chatted on the way, and I tried to act like I wasn’t internally freaking out. But the moment we pulled up and the cameras started flashing, my body locked up.

Paige got out first, then circled around to open the door for me. I wanted to move. I really did. But my chest tightened, my hands shook, and suddenly it felt like I couldn’t breathe.

"Hey," Paige’s voice was soft but firm as she crouched down, reaching for me leaning into the SUV. Her hands gently cradled my face, thumbs brushing over my cheeks. "Look at me, okay?"

I barely managed to lift my eyes, but hers were steady, grounding.

"Breathe in," she instructed. I did. "Now out."

I followed her lead, mirroring her slow, measured breaths.

"You’re good," she reassured me. "You belong here. And I got you, alright?"

I nodded, and she gave me one of those easy, Paige Bueckers smiles that could probably end wars.

"That’s my girl."

Somehow, I managed to get out of the car and onto the red carpet, Paige right beside me. The rest of the night was a blur of flashing cameras, interviews, and surreal moments, but Paige was the one thing that kept me grounded.

After the premiere, we ended up at an In-N-Out in full glam, eating burgers in the parking lot and laughing like we’d known each other forever.

That night, we exchanged numbers.

We kept in touch. At first, it was casual—texts, FaceTime calls, inside jokes. But then it became something. Paige was the person I called when I was stressed, when I had good news, when I just wanted to talk.

So when my second premiere came around, I didn’t post a joke about needing a date. I didn’t have to.

Paige texted me two days before:

Paige: "I’m free that night. Wanna go together?"

Me: "Like… as my date?"

Paige: "Well, duh. I thought we established that at In-N-Out."

I didn’t even know how to respond, but I smiled at my phone for an embarrassing amount of time.

Somehow, Paige and I had gone from a joke tweet to walking the Met Gala red carpet together—as wives.

She looked effortlessly stunning in a soft bule, black, purpleish,pink, grey suit, her marble-finished wedding band catching the light. I had a sterling silver set with an emerald-cut chocolate diamond that Paige had picked out herself.

As we walked down the carpet, photographers caught the moment we intertwined our fingers, flashing our matching rings. The buzz around us was deafening.

Then came the Glambot.

Paige pulled me close, her hand resting at the small of my back. The camera glided toward us in slow motion, and just as it reached the perfect angle—she kissed me.

Soft, warm, perfect.

I could already see the internet losing its mind again.

But at that moment, I didn’t care about the cameras, the fame, or the flashing lights.

All that mattered was Paige. And the fact that somehow, a joke tweet had led me to the love of my life.

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[leidensygdom]

Okay, we all know about the usual warlock-patron dynamics. Creature with god-like powers tries to do their bidding or further their plans through a mortal, who is often going to be troubled by the pact. But, I'm here to propose some alternatives, specially for warlock deals that aren't inherently very harmful to the warlock themself:

This one is pretty typical, but the patron is a family member. If sorcerers can get cool powers from having a dragon grandpa, your fire genasi can have an auntie who is a big fire elemental who is trying VERY hard to connect with her family now, so she gives her nephew an allowance in the form of a Genie Pact

Your patron is undead (and your pact is Undying), but this person is not some power-hungry lich. This is someone you knew in life: A friend, or perhaps a partner. You had fought for a common cause, and they met their death trying to see the end of it, but they refused to leave you alone. Now, within you, their stubbornness has kept them from moving on, and they lend their newfound powers to help you in your common cause.

It's an eldritch entity, a creature beyond your comprehension. Your pact is that of a Great Old One. However, this creature doesn't quite have very concise plans to bring the end of the world- You're actually pretty sure it isn't even from your world. As time goes on, and as you realize their whims seem erratic, you realize that this thing you get powers from is... Probably the cosmic equivalent of a child. Maybe it's still cocooning in the depths of a distant dying planet. And it's incredibly bored. Someday, maybe, they'll terrorize the universe, but right now, they just really want you to be their eyes on another world. Call it enrichment.

Okay, this one is a fiend. Unequivocally so. But truthfully, they couldn't care less about your world, and you're not particularly concerned about what is going down in theirs. They kinda need few things done in your plane, few resources gathered, some people talked to, and between the lines, you realize that your newfound... ally is actually trying to oppose their boss or whatever. This one is a deeply legal-minded fiend, as far as you know: The hellish equivalent to a bureaucrat, after really digging around. Your party is convinced they will turn on you sometime, but eventually you realize you're just helping something that, for a lack of a better word, has to be an infernal-equivalent of an union effort.

That sword you picked was definitely cursed, and the voice within it has been calling to you. Eventually, you lend them your ear, and now you have an Hexblade pact. But this creature isn't bloodthirsty, nor talking to you about soaking their blade with your foes' guts. Truthfully, they hate being a sword. Trapped there as part of a vengeance, perhaps, this thing longs for freedom. And it has been used for evil in the past- Maybe the overabundance of skull motifs in their physical vessel didn't help. But this creature just wants to be able to experience a life that has been robbed from them. Your party may raise an eyebrow at you getting friendly with the possibly-malignant sword, but y'all are just making plans to get them to your favourite restaurant once they're freed.

This Archfey is the descendant of a powerful entity in Feywild side of things. The heir of some great lineage, or whatever is going on within their realm. You frankly don't know, because they're a bit of a... brat. One that kinda longs to escape their situation and get to live something more normal. You only find out this over time, when you realize you're kinda that friend their parents frown about. This entity, powerful beyond comprehension, just really wants to hang out with you and have a board game night with you. They'd love to meet your besties-- I mean, your world-saving allies. And you'd love to give them the opportunity someday, truth be told, but pissing off a fey court seems to be a high price.

You got stranded far into the ocean as a kid, and the rest of the people involved in the shipwreck did not make it out. But you attracted the attention of a group of merfolk, who had barely ever had the chance to meet someone like you. People had told you tales of how they'd drown and eat anyone coming into their territory, but these creatures were instead cooing about you. You're now grown up, and you can call them for power. Your party frowns at the idea of "I kinda got adopted by a sea polycule and I got a cantrip and few other boons about it", but you know they'll have to eat their words when you bring them for dinner- If you can find a way to table them in the middle of the ocean, that is.

the celestial patron is still a dick tho

Feel free to add onto these if you'd like, I'd love to hear concepts >:3

[theminecraftbee]

Pearl stops and stares once she gets to the front of the line at the Hermitopia Permit Office. She’s here to renew her ID, since she’s required to have a valid driver’s license for her mail carrier job she’s only recently moved here. Normal stuff, really. If it weren’t for the secret of why she’d actually moved to town, she’d have probably taken the license photo, filled out the paperwork, and left.

She is not here for a mail carrier job, and she can see things no one else in line can.

“I know, I know, I have a very beautiful face,” says the demon at the counter in the flattest affect Pearl has heard in her life. “Look, lady, there’s a line and I want to be on break, so if you’re going to sexually harass me or something can you hurry up and speedrun through doing it?“

She also doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“What?” she says.

“I mean, you’re staring at me awfully closely,” the demon says. “What am I supposed to assume? Surely you know that’s rude.”

“I’m not into men,” Pearl instantly lies for absolutely no reason.

“Okay? I don’t need to know that for your driver’s license?” the demon says.

“Right. Um,” Pearl says. She’s a little reluctant to hand the plastic sandwich bag she’d put her proof of address in over to a demon. If she’d just been a mail carrier and couldn’t See, it would be one thing, but she simply hadn’t been expected to come across the consequences of Hermitopia’s rumored hellmouth so immediately.

Or so…

The demon sighs again with an impressive amount of passive-aggression.

Pearl slides the documents to him. She watches as the demon gives everything several once-overs. He’s neither seemed to have noticed that she’s a psychic or that she’s a hunter. If anything, he seems to be trying his level best to avoid doing anything other than playing with several small desk nicknacks he has. One appears to be a magic eight ball shaped like a robot. Another appears to be a miniature game of Hungry Hungry Hippos. Yet another appears to be some kind of controller for the painfully inoffensive music the permit office plays.

Frankly, they’re all almost as distracting as the eyes that cover every inch of the demon’s body that isn’t wearing the permit office uniform. The eyes glow, faint and unsettling. They move as though on a higher framerate than the universe, giving a strange, out-of-sync effect with the way the demon otherwise moves. They make Pearl’s heart pound.

Hermitopia Hellmouth. It’s real. It’s real.

The demon gives her paperwork back. “You’ll be mailed a new license at some point. Here’s the temp. Have a day or whatever.”

“Thanks, er…” She squints at his name tag. It’s in deliberately small font. “Grian?”

Grian waves her off. “If my boss gets mad I’ll tell him it’s your fault I’m not meeting KPIs. Go away.”

“Your boss must be tough,” Pearl says.

There is a long, eerie silence.

“Cub would have Stared back. I’m not paid to bother. Learn to shield better. Next.”

Pearl stands still for a beat too long before stepping out of line, clutching her temporary license in hand. The worst part is that she has to wait for the permanent one, and they’ll only mail it to the physical address she gave them. That’s the thing about government-issued IDs; they care where you physically are.

She breathes. The world’s been overwhelming since she’s learned to See, but her new organization has helped a lot. Now, she has an opportunity to help back, here in Hermitopia.

Pearl owes nothing less than her best, presuming the demons don’t come to the address they apparently have in the night, now that they know she’s here, and she knows they are. She shudders, deeply unsettled. She knows she will not sleep tonight.

(After all, for a moment—a single, horrifying, terrible moment—those hundreds of demonic eyes had seemed kind.)

[fanzou]

✗ Genre: Smut

“What, best friends don’t fuck?” He poses the questions so innocently, like it’s nothing. He’s kneeling between your legs and his very prominent bulge is inches close to you.

“S-Sanji…” You’re blushing like a damn virgin, “If someone finds us out—”

“—But they won’t, we’ll be quiet, princess. Trust me.” He’s rubbing his broad hand across your lap and your skirt is threatening to expose so much more than you wanted it to, and you’d venture to think that’s exactly what he was trying to make happen.

You’re nervous, only because anyone could walk right through that wooden door into the dark room you both were in. Sanji doesn’t give a shit, and it’s written all over his face and body.

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay, fine… but make it quick alright?”

His breath hitches, and you can see his muscles relax a little bit over your demand. He’s waited so long for this and tonight was the perfect night to finally make a move. Everyone was drunk out their mind anyways, so it didn’t matter. You were the only two fully conscious on board, though the concept seems surprising.

He’s removing his belt, and his long fingers moving so skillfully makes the heat in between your legs so much more noticeable. It’s practically radiating off of you and Sanji digs his thigh closer between your legs.

You didn’t wanna seem eager but the image in front of you was nothing short of exciting and it’s getting you to almost hypnotically move your hands to take off your panties while the man across from you already had his cock sprung and ready to put inside of you. What can he say? You told him to make it quick.

With your bare cunt facing him and your legs spread wide, you’re practically begging him to start his attack. Even though this was something that he wanted to make special, thoughtful and something never to forget, he guessed this could suffice.

Sanji lines himself up, and presses his cock against you. The intrusion was so much more than you thought it’d be. And it feels amazing. Amazing in the worst and best ways, the way it fully splits you and stuffs you all the same. It’s pleasurable and painful at the same time.

But you can’t let anyone sniff you both out. You’ll just have to get your quick orgasm in before anyone starts to suspect where you both have run off to. “Fuuuuuck… g-go… faster.”

And so he obeys, so much for truly being able to relish it.

He’s hardly a man who liked to be rushed during sex, his curved cock is grazing your insides just a little rougher than when he started and the whimper you let out proves it. “D-Don’t worry my love… next time… it’ll be so much more better. But I couldn’t stand it anymore. ‘Really fuckin’ needed you… oh shit.”

Your pleasure subsides for a second trying to puzzle together his insinuation, but then you hear something; footsteps.

Your eyes widen and dart at the door, then to Sanji, but he doesn’t care, he just comes closer to you and puts hand over your mouth. His grin gets wider and wider.

And he’s fucking you so much more quieter but there’s so much power in his thrusts, he tries not to push against your thighs too much because he knows the slapping will probably alert whoever was walking towards your room. He sloppily tries covering your sides with a blanket, this’ll work, he says, and he’s back to fucking you just a little harder than he did before.

You make it known to him, vocally, that you really appreciated the gesture.

The footsteps get louder and closer to where you can almost feel the vibrations off the floor. Sanji’s hand is like tape around your mouth, he wants you quiet but he fucks you like he’s daring you. He looks at you, then he looks to the door.

The steps are right by the door now, and they stop. Your heart drops.

“Where do you think shitty cook’s gone? Need him to get me some more booze.”

Sanji’s ecstatic. Like he wants Zoro to walk in, walk in on you getting fucked like your life depended on it. And you could sit here and pretend that you were absolutely in great terror of being found out by someone about the predicament you were in, but your pussy told the truth.

Much to Sanji’s disappointment, his sloppy and drunk footsteps walk the other direction. He removes his hand and watches your frustrated expression manifest.

You were clenching around him tighter and tighter and he knew exactly what that meant for you, the closer proximity between his cock in your tightened cunt made him feel like reeling into his own orgasm.

“You wanted him to walk in. Didn’t y-you? Yeah. You’re so d-dirty… ‘Wanted this more than me, huh princess?”

You could only take so much dirty talk. “Saaaaaaanji… stop talking… oh—” he pushes impossibly deep inside of you, and that’s when you let go. It was too much.

You squirted everywhere. And that was an understatement. It was bad. Like a lot of it went onto the floor and you’d have to clean it immediately after. But for now, Sanji’s chasing his own high. “You’re so… perfect. Fuck you’re amazing. Where do you want me, beautiful?” His thrusts get messy and the blanket is long gone, his skin on yours.

Not wanting anymore mess and a more obvious crime scene, “Just c-cum on my—fuck—stom-ach.

He obeys, and pulls out, he strokes himself on your stomach, with some of it pulling into your belly button. “Yeeees princeeeeess, oh shit…”

His chest is moving up and down and he stares at you lovingly before he smiles, it’s a genuine one, not laced with anything impure or malicious this time, fortunately for you. He’s back to normal Sanji.

“So… what would you have done if he walked in?” You ask him, genuinely curious.

“He’s plastered so, would’ve just made him watch us fuck. He probably wouldn’t have remembered it anyway.” He lays down next to you. “And if he did? ‘Nother thing to hold over his head.” You nuzzle into his chest for the short duration of time you had.

✗ A/N: Was drunk writing this. Do not mind the grammatical errors if there is any.

[jeanmoreautemple]

I’m sorry but I think some of y’all don’t take male SA seriously enough. Cause I just saw a Thea and Jean post defending Thea’s comment and in the opening paragraph you get the wonderful line of “there’s no crime unless jean speaks up” . You know right well that a 16 year old being passed around for five days straight by college juniors and seniors even in 2004 was a recognizable abuse. NO MATTER WHAT THE KID HAD TO SAY ABOUT IT.

You can’t use this as a defense argument: it’s not important that jeremy believes it was statutory rape, because that accusation leads to jeans revelation that he never consented. This feels like you all just want to forget about the statutory rape part of the whole situation, because you know damn well that THAT did happen textually in front of Thea.

And this jewel:

1. The nerve to compare a 16 year old passed around by college students for consecutive days to high school girls having college boyfriends.

2. Once again I’m gonna be hypersensitive about some yall saying stuff that is not correct to defend Thea. “All the backliners were like 19/20” . AFTG fandom do math right callenge:

If by Jean’s junior year at EAU (2006) most of those backliners had already graduated, and it had been 2 years since Jean’s “initiation” then that makes the backliners juniors and fourth and fifth year seniors. Meaning the youngest was probably Grayson, a 20-21 year old junior at the time and Jean was abused possibly by 23 year olds. Saying that it’s like a HS girl dating a college boy… Jesus. It’s “naive”. I think you are being naive assuming at most a four year difference between Jena and the backliners.

My point is. You all should stick to defending Thea with the very valid argument that she was brainwashed into a r*pist cult for five years and that she’s grown complacent it, and hasn’t thought to challenge their values in the years she’s been out. You don’t need to:

1. Say that she didn’t know Jean’s age.

2. That the Kevthea age gap is the same / similar as Jerejean’s (not even close).

And now with these last posts:

3. That the backliners were 19 /20

4. That statutory rape doesn’t matter! (In comparison to the oh so much real r*pe that Jean didn’t tell her about.)

5. That “Thea believed what Jean wanted her to believe”. Now y’all are leaning too much into this particular argument it’s getting on my nerves. You are all acting like Jean’s lies did all the hard work and made Thea say that comment, but in reality it was 90% the fact that she is a “loyal raven till the end”. Jean lying just gave her the green light.

[infamousbrad]

Captain America 2 is my favorite movie in the whole messy MCU and it is entirely because of this scene and the next few scenes, because we keep cutting to ordinary SHIELD employees who just found out that any minute now HYDRA is in all probability conquer the world, and they will win by killing millions of innocent people, and that nothing the loyal SHIELD employees can do has the slightest chance of stopping that.

And what those dozens of ordinary people do is die trying, unhesitatingly and unafraid and unashamed.

None of those deaths make the slightest amount of difference.

Most of them, unlike the one in this gifset, don't even slow HYDRA down by a second. But here's why it mattered to them: it had to be tried. There was nothing to gain by living, if HYDRA won. And even if you did comply, step aside, and somehow "live to fight another day," you would spend the rest of your lifetime, however long or short, not knowing if it would have mattered. That guilt would follow you into eternity.

I've thought long and hard, for most of a lifetime, about courage and this is what I believe true courage is. True courage is doing what you know is right, saying what needs to be said, even if there's no hope of reward, even if there's no hope of surviving it, even if there's no hope of success, just because you know it has to be tried.

And this movie gets that.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

"Buck's still baking."

There's a long pause following these words, though they've been uttered in such an alarming way. Apart from that, Tommy can't make sense of it.

"He's ... baking?"

"Yeah, well, you know," Howie stretches each word, he's chewing on them.

"I sure don't," says Tommy.

"Wait, has nobody told you?"

Disbelief is dripping from Howie's voice now, and Tommy can only bite his lips to not remind him of the obvious: no, nobody has told Tommy anything about Buck in the past months, and he's not dared to ask. That's the uncomfortable truth, and since he doesn't really know where his and Howie's friendship is to place right now, he doesn't say it. He doesn't need to, because Howie is quick to talk on.

"He's been baking since you two broke up," he explains, as if that would explain anything. "Breads and cakes and pies and whatever, he's just not stopping. At first, he said it distracted him from calling you, but now I'm not so sure."

Oh, thinks Tommy. His mind doesn't stop there, he did want to call me? Why didn't he? Why did he need distraction? What does it all mean? It's an endless cycle of why's, and his stomach kind of hurts about all the missed opportunities. His own fingers have typed messages, almost on their own, so many times. He's deleted them all.

"And now," Howie continues, "now Eddie's gone, and he said Buck came by to say goodbye and he brought him some cookies. He's made cookies for Eddie, so he's still baking, and Tommy, we can't take it anymore."

"You can't take it anymore?"

He's thinking about the constant ache, that Evan-shaped gap in his heart and mind and how it never went away, never got any smaller. Weeks turned into months, but the pain persisted, like caries eating away at teeth, gnawing away more and more of the enamel because it wants to get to the core. And the core, well. The core is his feelings, Tommy knows that. He's just not sure what Howie understands of all this. Why he would care.

"No. Our fridge is packed, the cupboards are loaded, Tommy, he doesn't stop baking, and we're paying for it! He's at our door all the time, not only at ours, he's been baking for Hen and Bobby and the whole dispatch and ... everybody, really. But it still doesn't stop. There's tons of baked goods!"

"You... you called me because you're sick of cake?" Tommy asks, he can't believe it.

"The cake is a lie!" Howie almost screams now, close to hysterical. "Why are you two not talking? You need to talk."

He calms down a bit, takes a deep breath before adding, "It's not the cake, Tommy. It's ... he's sad. He's unhappy. He's not well."

"I can't fix him," Tommy snaps.

"You're sure about that?"

Yeah, Tommy, are you?

"Look, Howie, I don't really know what you expect me to do."

"Talk to him," he replies, as if it were really that simple.

But isn't it?

"You're guilt-tripping me because I'm the one who left," Tommy says.

What he thinks, however, is that it's been months, how can Evan still be unhappy? How can he still be sad? The answer is obvious.

"Yeah, does it work?" Howie replies. "Because we don't know what else to do, Tommy. At least talk to him. I know you want to."

That's bold.

"Why would you say that?"

There's a typical Howie-laughter, a low chuckle close to a crack.

"I got friends at your station," he claims, which is probably not true, but Howie is a prankster. Howie knows how to pry into secrets. "So I know," he continues, "that you pounce on every hour of overtime. You've slept in the hangar. You're not dating anyone. You're on some strange diet that is apparently so time-consuming that you haven't had an after-work beer since you broke up. Shall I go on?"

Tommy curses at the satisfaction in Howie's voice, but what can he say? All of that is true (and some is a lie, and Howie knows it).

"All of this means ..."

Don't say it, thinks Tommy.

"... Buck's still got a chance."

That's not quite the right conclusion, because he never not had a chance. This is Tommy thinking he didn't have another, that he didn't deserve it.

"Please," Howie pleads, "we don't need more breads and cakes. And Buck deserves to be happy again. You know he was happy with you, right?"

This is not Tommy's fault. And it is Tommy's fault. And maybe, maybe it's just a big misunderstanding. Something adults can work on, even if they - he - said some hurtful things.

"You think he would bake me some cookies?" he asks, and he's not even joking.

[sugarwarachan]

roll the dice - ft. sero hanta

pairing: sero hanta x roommate!reader

summary: It's Valentine's Day and Sero does his best to keep his horny thoughts to himself. He doesn't succeed.

cws: smut mdni, face sitting, sero hanta is a pussy-eating KING, dirty talk

based on this prompt list

"Wow," Sero whistles, while you teeter on one heel and hop into the other. That dress hugs every inch of you. "Someone’s lookin’ good. Hot date?"

You laugh, and fuck, he’s such an idiot, because the sound travels straight to his dick. He adjusts himself as subtly as he can and goes back to cooking dinner.

"Something like that.” You swipe on lip gloss in the hallway mirror. "He’s a coworker. I might have mentioned him?"

You’ve mentioned him 17 times. Not like Sero’s counting.

"Make sure he treats you right," is all he says instead, doing his best to ignore the cute little blush tearing across your face as you duck out the door.

Alone on Valentine’s Day, he thinks ruefully, settling his long frame on the couch. Alone on Valentine’s Day with a raging hot case of let-me-fuck-you-right-now for his roommate.

He should have turned down being your roommate the minute he saw you on Denki’s phone. If he had, he wouldn’t be this jealous of some random shithead taking you out for Valentine’s Day.

He considers texting Denki just to have someone to commiserate with, but the guy is probably doing his best to woo Jiro and doesn’t need the distraction.

He sparks up a joint and turns on 13 Going on 30 (so he’s a rom-com guy, sue him), trying not to think about how much better this night would be if you were here.

The door clicks a half hour later, followed by the rap of your heels on the ground. You trudge into the room and slump on the couch right next to him.

“He didn’t even show up,” you whisper into the side of his neck, wrapping your arms around him. He feels a few tears hit his collarbone.

Sero Hanta considers himself a pretty even-keeled type of guy, but wanting to punch this dick’s lights' outs shoots to the top of his to-do list.

“Oh honey, what a fuckin’ dickhole.” His hands tighten on your waist. “Doesn’t deserve someone like you, anyway.”

He probably shouldn’t say that, not when he’s rubbing circles on your hip through the material of your dress, the scorching heat of your body against his impossible to ignore. But he's been thinking it for months now, all of his own attempts at dating tossed to the wayside when he realized he just preferred coming home to you.

“No?” You pull away and delicately wipe away unshed tears. He doesn't know why he finds it so cute, this innate desire to preserve what's left of your mascara. “Who does deserve me, Hanta?”

You grab the joint and drag and his mind goes fuzzy. You’ve never outright called him on it like this before.

“Maybe I do angel, ya ever think of that?”

“Yeah?” There’s that megawatt smile of yours, kicking him in the teeth. “You think of me like that, too?”

It’s new territory for the both of you, admitting to the attraction that Sero realizes has been simmering for weeks.

“Yeah. I think of you all the time.” He cups your face and cocks his head. "We doin' this? You gonna let me show you how I'd treat ya on Valentine's Day?"

You roll your eyes at him affectionately. "Cheesy bastard."

He cuts off your laugh with the press of his mouth.

Sero's not normally one to wax poetic, but something about the way your body instantly sinks into his makes his heart lurch. You kiss him like you've been spending your whole life studying how to do it, and it drives him absolutely insane.

"Knew we'd be good together," he says, grinding the curve of his cock into the cleft between your thighs. "Feel how hard I already am, baby? Just from one little kiss."

You groan into his mouth and start pawing at his clothes.

"I know, I know, want you naked too. Don't fuckin' pout, I think you'll like the idea." He repositions the two of you with him lying down on the couch, you straddling his hips. "Remember when you said you've never sat on a guy's face?"

Your eyes darken with excitement. "I remember."

"What if we change that?" He strokes his thumb under the band of your dress, shimmying it over your hips. The pretty red lace covering your pussy makes his breath catch. "Because you know what's gonna happen if we don't?"

He traces the folds of your pussy through your underwear with the pads of his fingers.

"I'm gonna get inside this perfect fuckin' pussy and embarrass myself. Probably come after two pumps like an idiot because she's just so fucking sweet." He pulls your panties down and drags you up to his face. He catches the little whine of insecurity in your throat at the position.

Your pussy is swollen and begging for attention, arousal clinging to your lips like dew.

"Take a fuckin’ seat, baby, ya think I’ve never done this before?"

He molds his hands around the meat of your hips and thighs, and then Sero feasts, sucking and grinding his chin and nose and tongue up into your cunt. You wail and fall forward, holding yourself steady on the arm of the couch. He doesn't care if he has to hold you up himself; he's in heaven between your thighs, the taste and scent of you all he can fucking think about.

You cum quickly, gasping and shuddering above him as he drinks down your orgasm like fucking water.

"Felt good, didn't it?" he prods, biting your inner thigh and soothing it with a kiss. Your shaky nod makes him grin.

Sero sits backs up with you in his lap, wiping the back of his mouth with a forearm and licking at his lips like a dog. He hopes he smells like you for hours.

Black streaks of mascara run under your lashes. He swipes them away with the back of his thumb. "Sorry honey. You worked hard on this makeup, huh? And I'm just making you cry it off."

It's your turn to cut him off with a kiss.

ahhhhh i've written for him ONCE i hope i did him justice

[maryellencarter]

There's this little cottage industry of far-right Christian films that are mostly direct to video -- commonly cheap animation for kids, like VeggieTales (one of the least right-wing of the bunch, which probably contributed to its wider popularity), but there's a subset that are live action for adult audiences.

That subset are pretty much always made by frustrated auteurs who would have flunked out of film school if they hadn't been prevented from going by fears of the woke left, and they're... bad. Very bad. Heavy-handed message writing, incomprehensibly artsy cutting and pacing, absolutely no humor to distract from the self-importance -- and occasionally one manages to wrangle a limited theater release, and people of the correct religio-political stripe parrot the advertising about how *this* one will Reach The Unchurched (okay, we were Catholic, we didn't actually say "unchurched", but the attitude was exactly that) and drag their large bundles of kids to sit through the show in a form of activism that's supposed to Show Support and win the film a legitimate wide release.

(I have no idea if you can actually get an art film to wide release by having enough ticket sales. Obviously none of these would have gotten there even if that's how it works. I am... dubious though.)

Anyway! Point is! There was this Catholic-specific one, a life of St Thérèse of Lisieux, and it turned out that its particular auteur was a frustrated *horror* director. It would have been fairly meh direct-to-video horror in a tame way -- ominous, creepy, vignette lighting on the flashbacks. Thérèse was a sickly child and the only interesting thing to do with her childhood is lean on the fever hallucinations. (Even written lives of St Thérèse go heavy on the fever hallucinations.) Which would have been just another crappy movie to sit through and I wouldn't remember it so vividly, but then at the end when she's dying of the tuberculosis -- you're supposed to go a bit inspiration-porn, right? The audience knows she's going to heaven, get some nobility of suffering in there, get the swelling string instruments, a couple of dainty coughs and let her "pass away in the odor of sanctity".

(Look, I didn't make up the phrase. She's legitimately supposed to have been surrounded by the miraculous and unexplained smell of roses when she died. It's a saint thing.)

Noooooope. Time for a graphic scene of coughing herself to death as her lungs fill with blood, like a *real* tuberculosis patient. No string instruments, just uncomfortably extended suffering for suffering's sake.

So the reason it stands out as the worst movie I've ever seen is that it actually changed my stance on assisted suicide. Previously, I was opposed to it in all circumstances, like a good little Catholic. But -- we know she's going to heaven, *God* knows she's going to heaven, her soul doesn't need further purification from getting the absolute last dribs and drabs of suffering available, just let her fucking die already!

Which is not at all what the movie actually wanted people to come away thinking. So it was the worst movie I've seen in the sense of the most abject failure to do anything it was aiming to do.

(A movie that did religious torture-porn on purpose and did it extremely well was "The Passion of the Christ", the movie associated with Mel Gibson in some way I don't remember now. When you actually have professionals, funding, and skilled editors working on a religious piece, it can be well made. Would I call it "good"? You'd need a clear definition of good. I wouldn't call it a movie most people should *watch*. But by god, it did what it was trying to do.)

What would you guys consider the worst movie you've ever seen? Not something that's fun to make fun of, nothing you ironically enjoyed, I mean just an absolutely miserable moviegoing experience that you paid for, hated every second, and wish you had walked out of and asked for a refund.

For me, no joke, Madagascar 3: Europe's Most Wanted. It did not even feel like a real movie to me. It made me see red! I was SEETHING with anger and annoyance throughout the entire thing, and I cannot for the life of me articulate why. I saw it once in 2012 when I was 15, I remember almost nothing about it now, but it struck a nerve with me like no other movie ever has before or since.

Tell me in the tags, which movie makes you disproportionately angry just thinking about it?

[loafysainz]

The Royal Game | LN 4

lando norris!polo athlete x princess!reader

warn: mdni, lil bit smut, obsession

minor do not read it!

Royal Windsor Cup Final – one of the most prestigious polo tournaments in England, attended by royals and high society.

Y/N knew she shouldn’t have come. She had every excuse in the world to skip, but skipping wasn’t an option when you were literally required to show up. Royals didn’t do last-minute cancellations unless they wanted to end up on some scandalous newspaper cover.

Y/N hated this event. Well, not the event itself, but the fact that he was there.

But, here she was. Sitting front row, watching Lando Norris—golden boy of polo, the center of attention, and the one person she had been desperately avoiding for the past three months.

She hated him. Well—not hate-hate, but hate in the way where she couldn’t stand the way he looked at her. Like he owned her. Like he had every right to.

All because of that one night. One reckless night, a night she should’ve never let happen, he had become... obsessed. Not in the cute, romantic way.

He wasn’t obsessed-obsessed—okay, maybe he was. Threatening her every time she ignored him, showing up where she least expected, sending flowers, notes, even slipping past security once.

And now, here she was, sitting in the royal box, pretending to be invested in the match while Y/N sucked in a breath, keeping her focus locked on the field. Lando was good. Annoyingly good. He rode like he was born in the saddle, his mallet connecting with the ball effortlessly, scoring point after point while the crowd roared. His confidence was unbearable.

And he knew she was watching.

Because every time he scored, he’d look up—straight at her.

Fuck.

When the match ended, Y/N wasted no time. Get up, smile, clap, and leave. That was the plan. Except—Lando had other ideas.

Avoid. Avoid. Avoid. She repeated in her head, dodging past the after-party crowd, sliding into the powder room like her life depended on it.

She took a deep breath, staring at her reflection. Five minutes. Just five minutes and he’ll be gone.

The door creaked open.

She stiffened. Another guest, probably.

Except—wrong.

Because when she turned around, Lando fucking Norris was standing there, blocking the door, his face completely unreadable.

“Lando—”

He stepped forward. She stepped back.

“This is the ladies’ room,” she said, voice smaller than she wanted it to be.

Lando tilted his head. “And you think I give a fuck?”

Shit. His voice was low. Dangerous.

She swallowed. “You can’t be in here—”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He took another step, eyes dark. Not playful. Not teasing. Just pissed. “Ignoring me like that? Pretending I don’t exist?”

Y/N’s heart dropped.

“You’re insane,” she whispered.

Lando chuckled, dark and humorless. “And you’re fucking delusional if you think I’ll let you keep running from me.”

He was in front of her now, hands braced on either side of her against the sink, caging her in.

Too close. Too much.

Y/N exhaled sharply. “You need to back off.”

Lando smirked. “Make me.”

Her fingers curled into fists. “I mean it, Lando. Whatever this is—it’s not happening.”

Silence.

And then, he laughed.

A slow, amused chuckle, like she’d just told him the funniest joke in the world.

Y/N’s breath hitched when his fingers suddenly tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

“I told you,” he murmured, way too close. “I don’t like to be ignored.”

Then he kissed her.

No warning. No hesitation. Just his lips crashing against hers like he had every fucking right to.

And maybe—just maybe—she let him. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel it.

The desperation. The frustration. The fucking obsession.

His hands were gripping her waist now, tighter than they should. The heat between them was suffocating, electric.

She gasped against his lips, and he took advantage of it, deepening the kiss, like he needed to prove something. Like he needed to remind her exactly who she was dealing with.

Y/N pushed at his chest. He didn’t move.

“Lando—”

“I don’t care,” he growled. “I don’t care how long you avoid me. You’re mine.”

I will add the explicit scene later, and the warning will also be updated. Happy reading hope u like it!! 🤍

[malum-forev]

What's Past is Past

Summary: After months of not seeing Bucky, you're sent on a mission together, faking your way through a marriage. But it doesn't seem either of you are ready for it.

Ex-Bucky-Barnes x Spy-Reader

The bustling city and towering skyscrapers fade into an endless stretch of flat road faster than you expected. You never thought your job would take you beyond New York-then again, you never thought you’d be fighting alongside Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. 

For someone who consistently complains about subway delays and long for the fresh air your friends back home rave about, you’re surprisingly emotional about leaving. Even if it’s just for a month. 

Maybe it’s because you always imagined that when you finally left the city, it would be with the man of your dreams behind the wheel. 

But this? This is nothing like what you imagined. 

Sure, you have a diamond ring on your finger and a good man by your side but it’s all fake.

You pass through the only street in town, where time seems to have stopped. Everything looks as if it’s been suspended in the 1960’s.

“It says the house is just up the road.” 

It’s the first time in four hours that Bucky has spoken. He mumbled a broken hey when you got in the car, but after that, the only sound between you was the low rumble of the engine.

You hum in agreement. 

The house is nice-it’s not what you would’ve choose for yourself, but it’s nice. 

“I’m gonna get set up,” You don’t turn around as you step out of the car, heading to the trunk. 

“Let me help you with your stuff,” Bucky opens it before you can stop him.

You grab your suitcase before he can touch it. “I don’t need your help.”

“I was just trying to be nice,” he mutters as you walk past him. 

Inside, you set up your equipment, all facing south, toward your target: an ex-HYDRA assassin who’s been causing trouble.  

In any other situation, Bucky would be the worst person for this mission. But your new neighbor has had his mind wiped so many times he probably can’t tell his left hand from his right. He’s trained to kill. And you can’t have that.

A few hours later, there’s a knock at your door. 

“I was thinking of ordering a pizza. You want any?” Bucky asks, rolling his neck. 

“No, thank you.” You keep your eyes on the screen. The faster this mission ends, the faster you can leave all this behind. 

“C’mon, you need to eat.” He sighs, leaning on the doorframe. “You want your usual?”

You freeze. 

“Don’t do that.” You try to sound firm, but your voice barely comes out as a whisper.

“Do what?”

Finally, you look at him-for the first time all day. His steel-blue eyes meet yours. 

You’ve thought of this moment for months, ever since  everything between you imploded. But not even your wildest scenarios compare to the real thing. 

You thought you were completely over him, but the ache in your chest calls you a liar. 

“Don’t bring up our past,” you rip your gaze away. 

He throws his head back with a dry laugh. “Am I supposed to just forget that you like your pizza extra toasted? That your favorite color is navy? That you smile when the clouds turn darker?”

“Yes.” You snap. “You’re supposed to forget everything, that’s what you wanted-“

You stop yourself. “I can’t go down this road, Bucky.”

“Bucky?” He echoes with a scoff. “We’re back to regular names?”

That does it. 

You let out an incredulous laugh. “Yes! We’re back to our regular names, because that’s what you wanted! Did you expect me to still call you Jamie when you dumped without so much as a goodbye?”

“You’re acting like you wanted me to stay?” Bucky crosses his arms. “Like I was the perfect boyfriend?”

You shake your head. 

An amused look flashes through his face. “Are you saying I was better than the guy you’re with right now?”

“Bucky, stop,” you warn. 

“C’mon,” he raises his eyebrows. “Tell me, who’s better.”

“Oh, you want a final review? Is that why you’ve been trying to contact me? So I can give you a letter of recommendation?” You roll your eyes. “Fine, here it is. You were a great boyfriend. Attentive, loving, gentle. Until you let your own insecurities eat you alive. I tried to help you, Bucky. But you wouldn’t let me.”

Your voice cracks. 

“Then, you packed your shit and signed up for the longest mission you could find,” Your eyes prickle. “You left me. And I had to hear from someone at the compound that you’d already moved on.”

Bucky swallows hard, his eyes searching yours.

“So,” you clear your throat. “Overall, I’d give it a 6/10.”

Bucky opens his mouth to say something but you stop him. 

“Let’s just get this mission over with,” you twist the fake ring on your finger. “I have someone to get home to.”

Authors Note: tbh idk what this is, I was just dyyyyinggg to write over here again! I've been MIA becauseeeee I wrote a book LOL. Nothing to do with marvel, sadly but I would love to know if anyone here would be interested in reading it. If so, please let me know in the comments so I can tag you when I upload the first couple of chapters on here!

Anywayyyssss thanks for the love and support! Don't forget to like, reblog, and comment. It helps out a lot! Remember: my asks are always open!