#will i ever write this fic ???
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I just found the funniest font ever
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/6b74b6b45832518c7bd9443118a2c322/c52ab6c7dec65f52-83/s640x960/801280cb6f636f9aaf263406783c2eaaefb3976d.jpg)
Like. What is this. Why is this. Who is the target audience of this?
#I was playing around with ellipsus when I saw this#It's so funny#writing#writeblr#writers on tumblr#ellipsus#Ellipsus writing#sillyposting#Someone saw cursive and thought “nah that's too readable.”#Confession now that this is my most popular post ever. I have completely forgotten what fic I was writing when I made this#I'm 90% sure it's a scarian fic#fanfiction#ao3
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left on read.
--
last year i finally read "all that's said in the low light" by headlocket which i feel like has developed its own reputation by now, but just in case you don't know - it's kind of known in the fandom as a massive tearjerker. As promised, I cried buckets over it and it left an enormous impact on me.
I drew this comic (after getting permission from headlocket) as a what if on a situation in chapter 12, where Simon goes through a period of radio silence from Johnny after essentially giving him his blessing to date other people, the utter clown. We only see it from Johnny's side, who is really going through it, but the mental image of Simon staring at a slew of his own unread messages really stuck with me...did he think this was it? That that shitshow of a conversation he had with Johnny might've been the last they ever had? What if Johnny just never responded to him again? Did he regret giving him permission?
bonus - simon's forlorn and temporarily one-sided conversation:
#thank you again to headlocket for a) letting me draw a fancomic for a very personal piece of writing and b) writing the damn masterpiece#i read it on a day where i really needed the cry and god the catharsis...#you ever read a fic that genuinely rewires your brain a bit?#sometimes i boggle at this fandom and the soaring tales people manage to spin out of such...specific source material#youre all miracle workers <3#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#ghostsoap#cod mw2#giragi art#fic art
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you make him lose his cool
word count: 900-1k per lead synopsis: in which you provoke them, and they love it. (inspired by kiss of life's igloo) contains: fem!reader x lads men (separate, non!mc), established relationship, downbad men, NSFW CONTENT MDNI (i'm talking grinding, oral sex implications, etc), song lyrics, and cursing. a/n: UPDATED WITH CALEB AS OF 2/1/25 i feel hot whenever i listen to this song. i hope you do too while reading. enjoy! do not plagiarize or translate. lads men do NOT endorse plagiarism. reblogs & comments appreciated. lads masterlist | tagged: @vvintqz (ik this is technically the reader teasing xavier but u said to tag u when i write xavier so i hope u enjoy)
caleb
What you heard? (What you heard?) But it's never what you think, trust
it's impossible to surprise caleb.
he always knows what you're up to.
whether you're just waking up from a heavenly two-hour nap or going out to get your hands on the latest edition of your favorite blind box series, he's always there.
last time you tried to cook yourself a meal (ever since you started dating, he hasn't let you lift a finger), he came home early and snatched the spatula away from you, insisting that you sit down and look pretty for him while he makes his signature braised wings.
you're not sure how he does it. maybe he has a secret camera or a tracker installed (ha). though, you don't have any complaints. you think it's fucking hot how he's never away from you.
even so, you've been wanting to surprise him for a while now. blame it on your desire to fluster him as much as he flusters you. you're going to surprise him AT LEAST once in your lifetime.
which explains why you're in an apron right now, with absolutely nothing underneath.
to be honest, you were hoping to surprise him with homemade apple pie since he's always cooking for you. but again, you want to fluster him. thus the apron, a long piece of denim fabric wrapped tightly around your waist and hung dangerously low at your chest. you can't deny how delectable you appeared when you looked in the mirror, admiring your exposed arms, legs, back, and neck—anything that would drive the esteemed colonel insane. you felt jittery just thinking about the look he would have on his face when he walked in through the door of your shared home.
however, your joy is short-lived when your phone rings while you slice up some apples in the kitchen.
"what's with the apron, pipsqueak?"
you put the knife down with a sigh. "do you have a camera installed in here or what?"
caleb chuckles into the phone. "wouldn't you like to know?"
"i would like to know so i can turn the damn thing off and actually surprise you for once, dipshit," you retort playfully as you adjust your phone between your ear and shoulder, picking up the knife to continue chopping. you suppose you should still make the pie since you already got the ingredients out.
"aw," he mocks, his voice dripping with arousal. "did my little pipsqueak dress up just for me?"
"yes," you snap, rolling your eyes. "but this little pipsqueak is about to change since you ruined her surprise."
your threat does little to faze caleb, as evidenced by his endearing laughter.
"don't be upset, pips," he teases into the phone. before you can scoff at his audacity to tell you not to be upset, your ears catch the hurried footsteps in the background of the call. it doesn't take long for you to hope your boyfriend is on his way home—on his way to you. sure enough, his next words cause heat to pool between your bare legs.
"keep the apron on. i'll be home soon."
after he hangs up, you put your phone down with a giggle, eager for what's to unfold once he arrives. however, you still can't help but wonder if he actually has a camera installed because how the fuck does he always know what you're up to? you frown as you turn your head left and right. you don't see any red flashing lights in places that could provide him an optimal view. nope. nothing in the corners of the ceilings and nothing in the walls either. before you can convince yourself your boyfriend is somehow omniscient, you notice something out of the corner of your eye.
his dog tag. seems like he forgot to put it on after putting on his uniform. you pocket it, hoping to give it to him when he gets home.
but your mind is truly one of a kind. as caleb likes to put it, resourceful during the most critical moments.
because when he's balls deep inside of you, coaxing your second orgasm out of you, you get the bright idea to fish your shaky fingers into the pocket of your bunched-up apron and put. it. on.
caleb's eyes widen upon seeing his dog tag on you. there it was, the important item he forgot this morning, resting between the delicious valley of your breasts, bouncing up and down while jingling an enticing melody.
"fuck—pipsqueak, you—" he thrusts harshly, pistoning into your sopping heat. you throw your head back at the sensation, allowing him an even better view of his chain, mingling with the beads of sweat on your collarbone. shit, he's so turned on right now. not only were your swollen, sweet lips adorning his name, but so was your pretty little neck. it filled the young colonel with pride. and enough vigor to bring you to your third release, as evidenced by the endless slamming of his hips and the clenching of your thighs.
"good girl," he helps you through your high before letting go of your waist, hoping to give you a break. "i'll go get a towel. stay here."
but when your pilot of a lover goes to leave, you wrap your legs around him and pull him to you, causing him to collide with you. caleb hisses at the contact, sensitive more than ever.
"don't push it, pipsqueak," he warns as he plants both of his arms on the kitchen counter, caging you in. "you need to rest."
"i don't think so, colonel," you prop yourself on your elbows, meeting his eyes boldly. "i don't think so at all."
caleb swears he feels his mechanical arm short-circuit because what you do next is just fucking tantalizing.
you pinch his dog tag and bring it to your mouth.
his breathing quickens substantially when your teeth take the shiny piece of metal as their prisoner. it's not long before his dog tag is trapped between your seductive canines and your thighs are tightened around his waist.
with a shameless smile, you jut your chin towards the man, signaling to him to make his move.
caleb growls, seizing the chain with both hands and bringing you to his face.
"i warned you, pips."
extra (in honor of his official installment)
as you munch on some apple pie in caleb's embrace on the couch, you can't help but ask.
"how did you know about the apron but not the dog tag?"
your boyfriend sniffs before answering, a little bit of pie still in his mouth.
"i couldn't check the cameras on the way home."
"oh that makes sense."
"…"
"wait, what?!"
sylus
Glass room, perfume, Kodak on that lilac (alright) Slipping on my short dress, know he like that (like that)
there's nothing like getting ready in sylus' bathroom. not because of the sheer size of it (it takes at least a day to explore his residence), but because of how good you look in the mirror right now. you can't help but smile as you step back to get a full look at yourself.
sylus went all out for tonight's auction.
he gifted you a tight-fitting ebony dress, its gorgeous silk straps accentuating your shoulders perfectly. he also gifted you a pair of evening gloves, its velvet fabric wrapping around your arms flawlessly. of course, the dress came with priceless jewels and heels. as you twirl in front of the mirror, the scarlet gems on your ears glimmer, and the cherry kitten heels on your feet click. oh, you look so good, you can kill.
but what seals the deal is the neck accessory he got you.
an intricate, black choker made out of lace. fucking lace. a scoff leaves your mouth when you notice the ruby medallion hanging at the center. his taste is as clear as day.
as you reach behind your neck to clip the choker, the man of the hour walks in. you meet his eyes through the mirror, your hands still at the back of your neck. "sylus."
"miss," he acknowledges in return, an unmistakable smirk appearing on his lips. his eyes trail down your figure. "you look stunning."
"thanks," you giggle as you hook the choker clasp. "you don't look bad yourself."
and you're absolutely right. although he has his usual dress shirt on, his outerwear is completely new. a gorgeous red blazer, adorned with inky brush strokes, sits proudly on his shoulders. moreover, his accessories are new (he's never worn any before). cuffed around his right hand is a sleek platinum watch, spotlighting his forearm deliciously. hanging from his left ear are silver chains, shining unashamedly. you can't help but bite your lips as you admire your lover in the mirror.
yeah, sylus went all out tonight.
catching the hazy look in your glittered eyes, he tilts his head before grinning, "like what you see, sweetie?"
you roll your eyes playfully before returning to the sink. "yes, actually. didn't know you were capable of wearing something other than black."
sylus chuckles as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. "i've worn colors other than black before."
"if you're talking about the two outfits that have the belt around the sleeve," you list nonchalantly as you pick up your lip gloss. "they don't count. they have black on them."
"i'm talking about the red cardigan, sweetie," he counters smoothly, eyeing the lip gloss in your hand.
"ah." you run the wand over your parted lips, enjoying the feeling of gloss on them. "touche," you say, bending over the sink to see if you missed a spot. you do, however, miss the way sylus' fingers tighten around his arms when your dress hikes up. smacking your lips together, you lift the wand to reapply. "but you barely even wear that. so that doesn't count either."
sylus hums, barely paying attention to what you just said. his eyes are transfixed on the wand. he's mesmerized by how it travels across your lips, slathering them with sticky, shimmery syrup, leaving him thirsty for a taste. not to mention the sounds leaving your lips whenever you press them together. sweet, squelching sounds that have him pressing against you in mere seconds, his hands gripping the edge of the sink.
at first, you were taken aback by his sudden proximity. but after feeling something prod at your back, you smile amusingly before placing the wand down. "i'm assuming," you swiftly turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, his eyes widening as you pull him closer. "there's been a change of plans." you slowly lick your lips, collecting some excess gloss. as it drips from the tip of your tongue, you ask with a tilt of your head, "how late are we going to be?"
that's it.
sylus crashes into you, his tongue desperately trying to lap up the excess gloss. his hands haphazardly roam all over your body before lifting you onto the sink, pinning you down as his lips smear your lip gloss everywhere. you moan, trying to match his fervor. the sinful mixing of breaths, saliva, and gloss floods your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around him and bring him closer to you. he welcomes the action, gasping and grinding into you.
by the time he pulls away for air, both of you are left panting like dogs, mouths and chins smothered in sheen.
your eyes never leave sylus' as you wipe your chin, a string of gloss and saliva hanging prettily from your gloved palm. with a groan, he dives into your neck and sinks his teeth into your collarbone. you throw your head back at the pain, whimpering when he soothes the spot with his tongue.
but when sylus traces a finger up your back, you freeze immediately.
why?
oh, because he's unzipping your dress.
"sorry, sweetie," he chuckles into your perfumed skin, savoring your surprised reaction when he drags the zipper all the way down. "we won't be late."
you look at him in confusion, barely processing the silk straps falling off your shoulders.
he leans in and whispers into your ear.
"we won't be going at all."
xavier
Heart attack, IV when I walk the street Vitamins that D, I'm good, I'm healthy
your starlight of a boyfriend collapses onto the bed, his legs hanging off the edge and his pants dangling pathetically from his ankles.
you giggle at the sight, wiping your lips clean of his release. as you rub a drop between your index finger and thumb, you notice the texture's a bit thick, almost like jelly.
"xavier," you call lovingly, rising from your knees and crawling on top of him. he barely responds; his eyes are screwed shut with beads of sweat trailing down his face, neck, chest, legs, everywhere. shit, what did you do to him? he can't get his chest to stop heaving, his mouth to stop watering, and his ears to stop ringing. he can't do anything. not with the way you looked so pretty on top of him, especially after making him release so intensely in your mouth.
"xavier," you repeat as you cradle his face, making his dazed eyes meet yours. "when was the last time you drank water?"
"water?" he pants. "i'm not sure. why do you ask?"
"well," you show him your fingers. he gulps, flushing a deeper shade of red. "this tells me you haven't been drinking enough water."
you get up to retrieve some water from the kitchen. xavier whines at the loss of contact. although he tries to stop you from leaving, you easily slip out of his weak embrace (he literally got his life sucked out of him; cut him some slack). after you reassure him with a kiss on his forehead, you open the door. "i'll be back soon."
he responds with a whimper before closing his eyes. before he knows it, he falls asleep.
not even five minutes have passed when you return to the room, a glass of water in your hand and a packet of vitamins in the other.
"xavier?" after placing the items down on the nightstand, you sit on the bed to admire the view. there he is, sleeping soundly with his shirt unbuttoned and pants unbuckled, his chest slowly rising up and down and his cute nose scrunching every so often. you almost feel bad when you wake him up. almost. as much as you like watching your boyfriend sleep, he needs his water and vitamins, considering how much energy he uses to fight wanderers.
"wake up, xavier," you coo. "you need your vitamins."
he stirs, peeking one eye open to look at you. cute, you think. "i'm too tired, angel." he whines before closing his eye again. "i'll have some later."
"come on," you chuckle. "at least drink some water. you're dehydrated."
hoping to keep him awake, you litter his face with kisses, repeatedly pecking his adorable features. his droopy eyelids, his button nose, his fluffy cheeks, his moist forehead, his small chin—not a single spot is missed.
his little laughs repay your efforts. before you can continue your bombardment of kisses, his arms wrap around your shoulders, successfully pinning you down to him. you're surprised by how quickly he replenished his strength.
"you're trapped," he points out cheekily. "now we can both sleep."
"xavier," it's your turn to whine. "you need to drink some water. besides," you try to get up but fail miserably due to his tight embrace. "you need to scoot up, and i need to lay down properly if we both want to sleep." still no signs of letting you go.
you sigh before poking at your boyfriend's waist, causing him to yelp.
he immediately lets go of you, rubbing the spot you just touched. taking the chance to escape, you stand up and reach for the glass and vitamins.
"meanie," he pouts. "i thought we agreed to not tickle each other for today."
"that's because you try to tickle me all the time," you retort playfully, opening the packet of vitamins. "besides, i only tickle you as a last resort. unlike you, i'm nice." you pop the vitamin in your mouth and bring the glass to your lips.
"as if." he yanks up his pants and crosses his arms. "last time i checked, being nice means letting your boyfriend sleep peacefully," he quips as he turns away from you, hoping his grumpy little act will coax more kisses from you.
instead, a hand comes into his view and grasps the sheets. furrowing his brows, he shifts back to ask what's wrong but is startled to find your face hovering above his.
"angel, what—"
you press your lips into his, your free hand gripping his chin. on instinct, xavier opens his mouth, expecting your tongue to greet his. however, his eyes widen when he feels something pour in. oh. he greedily swallows the water and vitamin, his fingers weaving into your hair.
you pull away abruptly, a drop of water trickling down the corner of your lips. before he can say anything, you grab the glass of water and drink from it again, your hooded eyes never leaving his. xavier groans at the sight, his chest heaving for the third time today. and it's barely afternoon. oh, you're going to be the death of him.
he's sure of it when you return to his lips, water flowing into his mouth so sensually as his tongue reaches out for more. this time, you rest your entire body on top of him, allowing him to grab at your hips and thrust upward, desperately rubbing against your clothed core and seeking any type of friction that could relieve him of this growing desire you satiated with your mouth less than ten minutes ago. he never wants to drink water alone ever again.
“a-angel,” he moans when you pull away again. “why?”
“you need more water, xavier.” you tease with a lick of your lips. “gotta make sure my boyfriend is hydrated, ya know?”
with that, you go to stand up and reach for the glass. however, the room spins as xavier pins you down, your positions switched and your wrists restrained above your head. your eyes widen, realizing you might've pushed your boyfriend too far.
"angel," dark, cerulean eyes burn into you before glancing at the glass. “that's not enough water.”
rafayel
Yeah, white tippy-toe summer, I make him go dumb, duh He doubled down on that text, says that I'm the only one
(heads up, reader doesn't have to be mc but they know about rafayel's identity as the sea god and he calls you his beloved bride)
rafayel isn't sure how he got here.
you, on top of his bare chest, nibbling at his neck and dragging a finger down his clenched abdomen.
"c-cutie," he stammers. "someone might see."
he's not wrong. you're at the beach after all. but it's a private beach, one the artist rented for a date. so really, what's the harm in pinning your boyfriend down in the sand and showing him how much you appreciate him?
"you're the one who said this place was private, raf." you giggle before sinking your teeth into him, eliciting a moan. "besides, we both know why you suggested a date at the beach. don't tell me you forgot." you trail your finger along the waistband of his swim trunks. he jolts, his half-lidded eyes meeting your misty ones.
of course, he didn't forget. but considering the current, scandalous situation he's in right now, his memory is a bit hazy. as you twirl the drawstring with your index finger, rafayel bites his lip and tries to remember how exactly he got here.
last thing he remembers is you excitedly texting him about your package coming in.
a package, pft. no big deal, right?
wrong.
he almost dropped his phone when you sent him a picture of the package, more specifically, you wearing its contents.
a gorgeous two-piece swimsuit in the color of his hair. fuck, lavender has never looked so good on you. the way the tight, skimpy fabric hugged all the right places, making you seem so so malleable. the way you posed in front of the mirror, your face bridling with innocent excitement but your body positioned so so temptingly. shit, he hopes this exhibition ends soon because his slacks feel suffocating all of a sudden.
it wasn't long before he spammed you with a hurricane of texts consisting of flattering emojis and praises about how you're the only one he'll ever love (dramatic but heartwarming) and how he would love to take you on a date at the beach as soon as this stupid exhibition is over so you can swim in your new set to your heart's content (totally not because he wants to see the real thing).
yeah, now he remembers. he got himself into this situation. you even tried to stop him.
"uh," he recalls you hesitating through the call. "aren't you tired from your exhibit?"
"nope," he immediately answers, causing you to raise a brow. "not at all, cutie. i'm in tip-top shape. what better place for us to test your swimsuit than the beach?"
"us?" you repeat amusingly. "since when was testing a swimsuit a two-person thing?"
shit, he got caught.
"raf," you giggle at his silence. "if you want to see me wear this in person, you can always just ask, you know?"
"w-what?! no!" he acts as if you insulted his artwork. "i just thought it'd be a good opportunity for us to go on a date and to test the quality of your swimsuit! what if one day you go into the water and it gets untied or something? what if i'm not there to protect you from prying eyes? you can never be careful enough with swimsuits, especially shipped ones!"
"uh-huh," you drawl skeptically. "i'm sure a triple-knotted bikini will SOMEHOW get untied by the waves."
"come on, cutie," rafayel whines. "i know a perfect, private place! i'll even bring the food, the blankets, everything! please?" (he purposely emphasized "private" because no way in the seven seas is he going to let anyone look at you in a bikini)
you sigh before observing yourself in the mirror once more. the bikini DID look good, and you DID buy it for future swimming dates with rafayel. might as well, right? besides, you can't say no to him, especially when he begs so cutely like that.
"fine, raf," he remembers you giving in with an endearing sigh. "send me the address of the beach once you're done. i'll stop by your place to pack your swimming trunks."
and here you are, resting on top of him and drawing figure eights with your fingertips IN his swimming trunks.
he would laugh at the irony if it weren't for your provocative actions. you were the one who brought him his swimming trunks, and now, you were the one making him wish you didn't bring them so he could see how pretty your fingers looked right next to his—
yeah, he definitely got himself into this situation. he has no one to blame but himself for his predicament. it's his fault he's currently twitching and throbbing underneath you as you breathe into his neck and tease doodles into his thighs.
"oh fuck, cutie—" rafayel jerks his head back when you suck on his adam's apple. your mouth felt so good. you felt so good.
after pulling back with a 'pop,' you trace the red mark with your free hand, admiring your artwork on your artist of a lover. unfortunately for him (fortunately, really), this causes him to squirm uncontrollably. the simultaneous stimulation from your right hand on his thigh and your left hand on his neck was just too much for the lemurian. he swears he's this close to bursting all over the sand like a messy, wet bubble.
suddenly, you stop, withdrawing both of your hands from his body.
"c-cutie?" he lifts his neck to look at you but finds himself confused as to why you're sitting up. though, his confusion is quelled when you reach behind your neck.
oh.
your hands come into view, each one tugging on the strings of your top.
oh fuck.
he doesn't even see your top fall. no. he's completely frozen (and hard) when you lay back down on him, smushing your now-exposed chest into his abdomen, allowing him a view that brings roses to his cheeks. (he can feel your nipples rubbing against him).
"oh, god of the tides," you purr with a smirk as you press your ear into his chest, relishing in his rapid heartbeats. "you promised you would test this swimsuit with me." before he can deny your reminder of his mistake from the earlier call, you grab his hand and bring it to rest against your swimsuit bottoms, causing his breath to hitch. "won't you make good on your promise?"
rafayel swallows shakily before nodding.
"anything for my beloved bride."
zayne
Mm, yeah, I make him lose his cool Yeah, I make him go mmmmmm ah! ah!
doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, reduced to this.
a red-faced mess, losing his cool in a rocking chair, thanks to his lover shaving his chin on his lap.
his lover, who just so happens to be wearing a nightgown, a silk, sapphire nightgown with lace ruffles and ribbons that drove the man insane.
to make matters worse (better), your bare thighs were on either side of his hips, caressing and stroking him whenever you would move to shave his chin.
don't even get him started on the fact that you're sitting right on top of his crotch. he prays to any merciful soul out there that you don't feel him growing down there-
he inhales sharply when you reach behind him for a towel, your chest mere millimeters from his face.
"you okay, zayne?" you ask with faux concern.
"yes," he clenches his jaw. it's taking him everything to not dive in and lick, suck, bite—anything to relieve him of this torment. "please hurry."
"hurry?" you pout with a tilt of your head. "but why?" you lift his chin to wipe some excess shaving cream. "do you not want me to shave you?"
"no, darling. it's just—" his hands fly to your waist for stability when you place the towel back in its place. shit, every time you lift yourself onto your knees to reach behind him, the chair moves more and more, resulting in a pattern where when he leans back, you press into him, and when you lean back, he presses into you. it's not helping that this pattern deliciously resembles a certain rhythm in bed.
"it's just?" you repeat to him, stroking his jaw to inspect for stray hairs.
he doesn't say anything. how can he? he can't just spill about how badly he wants to kiss your sweet lips, squeeze at your delectable chest, rip your enticing nightgown apart, and take everything you have to offer. no, he can't. not when you approached him so innocently with a cute smile on your face after he came home, asking if you could shave him. (he almost fell to his knees when he saw what you were wearing). not when you look so beautiful gazing at him from above, handling his skin with addictive yet gentle touches, and glowing underneath the moonlight from the open windows. shaking his head, he grips your waist with renewed resolve.
"it's nothing," he closes his eyes. "please continue." he would rather drink alcohol than misinterpret your innocent intentions.
except there was nothing innocent about your intentions at all. you admit, it's fun to tease zayne like this. the way his lips would chase after your fingers whenever you traced them, the way his eyes would falter whenever you leaned in, the way his breath would hitch whenever you moved your hips, oh it all made you feel wanted. and who could want more than a gorgeous, capable doctor who looks at you as if he's going to die if he can't have you?
you. you want more. you WANT him to have you, take you, right here on this rocking chair. you thought teasing him with a few shifts of your hips and some purposeful closings of distances between his face and yours would relay the message. but no. he's either completely oblivious or has the will of a steel that's been fortified ten times over. because even though he's made it incredibly clear that he wants what you want (his blushing cheeks and shortage of breaths are hard to miss), all he's done is sit there and take your teasing.
you frown, retracting your hand. what's it going to take for doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, to give in?
a lightbulb flashes in your head.
"hang on, i missed a spot," you lie, lifting yourself up once more to reach for the shaving cream next to you. "i'll make this quick."
and with that, you slam your hips down.
he groans out loud, eyebrows furrowing and fingers tightening around your hips. he still hasn't opened his eyes though.
"are you sure you're okay, zayne?" you ask innocently, twisting left and right. "i'm worried about you."
"w-why," he starts hoarsely, his fingers gripping for dear life, trying to stop you from moving so damn much. "why would you be worried?"
"oh, i don't know," you smear shaving cream all over his jaw before trailing your fingers down to his neck. "you just seem so…" you slowly trace a heart on his collarbone, eliciting a pretty gasp from him. "out of it."
zayne's eyes jerk open, glaring at you with unprecedented focus. you smile cheekily before pressing yourself deeper into him, eager to bear witness to what he'll do and say since he finally opened his eyes.
though, your smile doesn't last long. in an instant, his hands pin yours behind your back, causing your back to arch and your lips to part.
"i'm starting to think," he secures your wrists in his right hand and brings his left to his face, wiping away the mess you made. "you're doing this on purpose."
you grin. finally. he finally got the message. unable to hide your excitement, you lean in next to his ear and whisper, "what are you going to do about it, doc-tor?"
he inhales sharply, yanking your wrists.
"perhaps," he growls. "it's time you get a taste of your own medicine. prescribed by yours truly."
#i'll write fluff next i promise#the nightly rendezvous cards did something to me#i don't know when i'll ever recover from lads brainrot#love and deepspace#love and deepspace fic#love and deepspace x reader#sylus x reader#xavier x reader#rafayel x reader#zayne x reader#lads sylus#lnds sylus#lads xavier#lnds xavier#lads rafayel#lnds rafayel#lads zayne#lnds zayne#lads fic#lnds fic#lads x reader#lnds x reader
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aHhh okay so the discussions of Titan!Megatron on @callsign-relic's blog have fully. FULLY taken over my brain and ive been drawing stuff for it for like the last few days nonstop
the tl;dr of this is AU is pretty much "what if Megatron got turned into a titan/cityformer as a form of penance/imprisonment and now roams the empty wasteland of Cybertron forever" plus "IDW Megatron has really fucked up internals so... what if that, but as a City?"
and of course since he's a Titan, that also means he has a cityspeaker... or three. One per sub-AU thing. Theres 3 options. 3 flavours of AU.
i have so much art to make. but in the meantime, for more info! check out the #titan au tag on Relic's blog :]!! (also uhh potential ns//fw warning for the link shfjbdkd)
Hi. My battery is running out once again so design and art notes get chucked here instead of an image.
The cuffs and collar are hardwired into Megatron, so I made the lights the same colour as his biolights!
I imagine that on the tops of his shoulders there are solar panels, even if you can't see them here lol.
I really wanted to keep the swirly bits on Megatron's chest from IDW
Other art notes:
The second picture with the seekers is (loosely) inspired by a discussion about whether or not Megatron gets visitors or not. I thought about who would visit him and well... I think this is as close as Starscream realistically gets to visiting him.
Extra detail about that piece is that Thundercracker and Skywarp are keeping watch from above! Also drawing Megatron took me like 8 hours because I was struggling with his legs really badly kshffkbfkdsbdk,, the background went much faster, funnily enough.
Optimus specifically isn't wearing his Autobot badge any more.
This isn't relevant in this series of images, but Ultra Magnus's eye markings are only on the Magnus armour. His other two forms do not have them :] (... until he begins to discard the armour, that is.)
Megatron is roughly 3200m/2 miles tall. Technically he could have clouds around his knees, but I thought this looked a little bit cooler lol.
Also, height chart! Him big. I didn't even attempt to put a human for scale because that'd be. near impossible with this scale.
#velwy.png#my art#titan au#maccaddam#megatron#transformers#transformers au#minimus ambus#ultra magnus#rodimus#optimus prime#this has involved so much fucking googling.#also learning how to draw Literally All these characters#anyway. i have more Really Clear images in my head so more stuff coming later#i have a short one page comic but uh. i dont know where to put it here so ill add it to a buncha doodles i have planned#in another post 👍#later.#im doing a spectacularly bad job of being on anon. fbfkbgkenfkdnfk#i keep oscillating between 'i should just write this' and 'i gotta draw this' so. im doing both essentially.#if i ever finish the fic/s ill post it but until then this au continues to haunt my every waking moment
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i finally finished reading I see you, Sundrop! by @shirajellyfish and IT'S SO GOOD I CAN'T BELIEVE IT TOOK ME THIS LONG TO FINISH IT RAAAAAAA
i will be gushing about it in the tags but here's a lil animation i made based on the below paragraph in chapter 6 that gave me such a strong mental image that i had to make it real :)
#fnaf#fnaf sb#fnaf dca#dca fandom#fnaf sun#i see you sundrop#doodle dump#dynamic dump#IT’S SOO GOOD Y’ALL IT’S AWESOME IT MAKES ME AHDKLSLLLFJSL#one of my favorite fics for sure. it ticks off all the boxes of things i like in a story it’s crazy#the way the animatronics are described… their funky ways of thinking…. the sheer amount of detail is just *explosion sounds*#riley leaning hard on ‘how does a good friend act?’ and growing as a person because of it IS EVERYTHING AUUUGH#I LOVE EVERY PART OF IT i will be rereading it so many times forever and ever it’s so GOOOOD!!!#thank you shira for writing and sharing such an awesome creation <3 <3 <3
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So you know when you're writing a scene where the hero is carrying an injured person and you realize you've never been in this situation and have no idea how accurate the method of transportation actually is?
Oh boy, do I have a valuable resource for you!
Here is a PDF of the best ways to carry people depending on the situation and how conscious the injured person needs to be for the carrying position.
Literally a life saver.
(No pun intended.)
#writing tips#writing resources#writing reference#writing research#idk i thought it was cool#superhero#dc fanfic#batman fanfic#bkdk fanfic#fanfic#fan fiction#bakudeku#bkdk#jaytim#this was all for a jaytim fic im writing#it's my first a/b/o smut fic ever#yeehaw#i had to google if there was any way to carry an unconscious person up a ladder alone#i don't think you can#mha fanfic#bnha fanfic#coldflash#jaydick#idk any superhero ship works#im done tagging shit
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To illustrate this post by @mayahawkse I would like to visualize to you the difference:
A post in 2023:
A post in 2014:
A zoom out of the same post:
This is what a community looks like.
See how in 2023 almost all of the reblogs come from the OP, from their few hours/days in the tag search. Meanwhile in 2014 the % of reblogs from OP is insignificant, because most of the reblogs come from the reblogs within the fandom, within the micro-communities formed there. You didn't need to rely on tags, or search, or being featured. Because the community took care of you, made sure to pass the work between themselves and onto their blog and exposed their followers to it. It kept works alive for years.
It's not JUST the reblog/like ratio that causing this issue, it's the type of interaction people have. They're content with scrolling and liking the search engine, instead of actually having a reblogging relationship with other blogs in their community.
Anyways, if you want to see more content you like, the only true way to make it happen is to reblog it. Likes do not forward content in no way but making OP feel nice. Reblogs on the other hand make content eternal. They make it relevant, they make it exist outside of a fickle tumblr search that hardly works on the best of days.
If you want more of something, reblog it.
#i said i wont ever rant about this bc it's unseemly but HONESTLY.#you simply cannot complain about not having enough of A or B or C and then never reblog / interact with the content you love.#If you LOVE something you cannot just leave a like and silently wait for more to happen#I know countless of content creators that simply stopped doing art/writing fic/making edits#You need to understand that fandom content is made FOR the fandom FOR the engagement FOR the entertainment and fun it makes.#If a content creator does not have fun IN the fandom-- why would they spend the scares free time they have on making this content?#And we're not talking about things that you don't like-- no one expects you to reblog things you don't like.#However I think it's safe to say that when a post has more than 5k it's not some random shitpost with no value.#tumblr issues#tumblr#content creators#buns.txt#something something please don't starve your local clowns
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If you're stressing out about a part of the writing process for fanfic to the point where it's not fun anymore, just don't do that part
Post that fanfic with 1000 grammar and spelling errors. Make your characters OOC and give it a Mary Sue. It is a hobby you're sharing not a literature assignment you have to turn in by midnight
#sara shush#sorry to all the people who ask me if ill ever uber correct all the errors in my fics but i dont care enough for it#i like the fun parts of writing#like getting the story across and exploring the characters and ideas and relationships#idc if its not perfect its a fanfic#like dont get me wrong i wanna bookbind again one day so ill get around to it eventually#but if you stop having fun doing the writing then what are you writing for
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you're the only one for me, baby
1.7k, steddie, one of them getting so drunk that they don't recognise the other and telling them back off i've already got a boyfriend, it's all sweetness <3 likely a modern!au and actually just goobers in love
Eddie doesn't really drink. He's not against partying but he's much more attuned to smoking a little weed to take the edge off, sometimes a spliff if he wants to mix a little business and pleasure.
Eddie doesn't really drink—so when he does, it goes about as well as expected.
From zero to a hundred.
Steve had lost track of him after directing his stumbling feet towards the bathroom to take a leak. But apparently, as he's now found out, this bathroom has two doors.
What the fuck kind of bathroom has two doors, like some weird thoroughfare?
Regardless, it took all of five minutes with no noises coming from the inside before Steve had loudly announced he was coming in, no matter what, getting quite worried for his boyfriend.
He trusted Eddie to not be too sloshed to handle a piss, even if he was on the wilder side tonight, but still leaned up against the door to chase off anyone else looking to knock—because Eddie hilariously gets pee-shy.
The door had opened easily, apparently unlocked, and Steve had stepped into the empty bathroom. The other door across the room, the one he hadn't noticed until now, was wide open to the party.
So, now he's on the hunt for Eddie.
Which is a task that feels a little bit like herding cats because drunk Eddie isn't something Steve has a lot of experience with. But what he does know, is this: it's the opposite of high Eddie.
Stoned, Eddie likes to find the comfiest place he can (usually Steve's lap, or so he proclaims) and sink into it, like melting wax. Then, given he has access to adequate snacks, he doesn't move for quite some time.
Drunken Eddie cannot even fathom the concept of sitting still.
Either way, looking where there's food is a good as a place to start as any.
Steve ambles out the strange two-doored bathroom and flips his head back and forth, trying to remember the direction of the kitchen. He hasn't been here before—one of Eddie's band connections—and Steve's still had a couple beers himself.
He shakes his head and takes a left, relieved when it leads to the stairs. Okay, he sort of knows where he's going now. They had only come upstairs to find the quieter bathroom for Eddie.
As Steve reaches the bottom of the stairs, a faint stir of irritation flashes through him. Eddie just left him behind? That wasn't that nice, even if he was incredibly drunk.
He can hear the din of people chattering just above the music and he follows it, leading him into the half-full kitchen, people dotted around. There's a few pizza boxes scattered around and Steve eyes each of them specifically, looking for the tell-tale wipe of Eddie's greasy fingers. No dice.
Steve wrinkles his nose, spinning around and double checking before he moves on.
If not by the food, then... where?
Steve takes a few steps forward into the living room, his heart beginning to sink and shrivel all at once. There was a miserable feeling attached to looking for his partners at a party, a wallowing and awful memory tied to the feeling.
Steve pushes a hand across his chest roughly, as if trying to shove the feeling away.
Eddie wasn't... her. Eddie wouldn't do that.
But the moment he's thought it, it's stuck in his head. Steve's feet begin to speed up, checking a little more carelessly as he starts to stick his head in different rooms, his hazel eyes jumping around. Not Eddie, not Eddie, not Eddie—so many people and none of them are Eddie.
Until—there. Steve spots a very familiar looking behind as it leans over the back of the couch, the owner of said-behind talking to someone sitting on the couch.
He blinks, just to be sure, but the details come into better focus. There's chains on his belt loops and when he shakes his head, Steve can see the curls he loves to bury his hands into.
Eddie.
Steve's relief pulls him forward, his feet almost stumbling, his mouth pulling into a relieved smile. He puts a hand out, fingers spread, across the leather-clad back.
"Eds," Steve says, relief colouring his voice.
Eddie swings up abruptly, pushing himself off the couch. When he turns, a bit of liquid sloshes out of the beer bottle he's holding.
"Heyyy," The words come out a bit slurred and when he finally stands straight, he doesn't look right at Steve. "Handsssss off the merchandise, buddy."
Steve chuckles, reaching out and plucking the bottle from his boyfriend's grasp. Eddie gawps, an adorable little hiccup interrupting his shocked expression.
"Hey," He says loudly, reaching forward for it fruitlessly as Steve pulls it out reach. "That's mine." Eddie whines.
"You've had more than enough, I think." Steve says. He steals just one gulp of it before he turns at puts it on a nearby table. When he turns back, Eddie is frowning at him, brows pulled together tightly and bottom lip jutting out.
"Listen—" Eddie leans forward, jabbing a finger into Steve's chest. "I dunnowhoyouthinkyouare," The words come out in a one big jumble and Steve frowns.
What? Something sour claws into Steve's chest at the frosty greeting.
"Eddie," Steve says, his hazel eyes wide and worried as his gaze darts between Eddie's squinted face and swaying form.
Steve reaches out to put a hand on his waist, aiming to steady him, but Eddie sees it coming and widens his eyes comically. He swerves back to avoid it, his boots tilting dangerously on the wooden floors. If he was still holding his beer, Steve bets half of it would be on the floor by now.
"Wo-oah," Eddie exaggerates, waving a hand out and batting Steve's outstretched arm away. The rottenness in Steve's chest blooms, rancid and freezing. He sucks in a sharp breath.
"Ed—"
"I—" Eddie says, holding up his hand and waggling one finger at Steve, like he's a naughty schoolboy. His words still have that drunken slur to them.
"—already have a boyfriend, thank you very much. He's much too pretty to be throwing it away for the likes of you, you weasel of a man..." His ludicrous and nonsensical insult trails off under his breath as Eddie's attention is drawn away by a shout across the room.
As he watches Eddie drape himself back over the couch, the sourness between Steve's ribs shifts, transforming into something infinitely sweeter. He lets out a dazed laugh, a wild smile spreading on his face before he can smother it beneath his hand.
I'm dating a lunatic, Steve thinks happily.
He reaches out and steals Eddie's beer once more, taking another large swig before giving it another go.
This time, he sidles up beside Eddie who's engaged back in conversation with one of the guys on the couch, and just waits. It only takes a minute before the dude on the couch seems to realise who Steve's waiting for and he nudges Eddie, gesturing behind him.
Eddie, still bent over the back of the couch, twists only his head to look. This time, the recognition is immediate.
He springs up, pushing the couch forward an inch in his excitement and leaps forward, his hands clawing into Steve's shoulder with a fierce delight.
"Steeeeve," Eddie croons, crowding in close. His hands start moving, fingers searching like curious spiders, fingertips dancing along the sensitive skin of Steve's neck til he's squirming back, laughter betraying him.
"Stop it." He laughs. Steve arrests Eddie's wrists in his hand and Eddie cackles, using the pause to surge forward, kissing him square on the mouth.
Eddie tastes like the beer he's been drinking and Steve barely gets a moment to enjoy it before Eddie's pulling back, leaning forward so they're forehead to forehead.
"I was looking for you." Eddie says, his doe eyes wide. His pupils grow larger the longer he stares at Steve.
Steve grins. "Uh huh. Looking for me between the couch cushions, were you?"
Eddie rears back, his head flipping as he stares back at the couch and then back at Steve. "Nuh uh. I came out the bathroom and you were goooone."
That explains it. Eddie must have left out the other door — and then thought Steve had left him behind and gone hunting for him. Something else settles in Steve's chest, relieved.
"And—" Eddie hiccups. "—and some guy tried to- to freakin' flirt with me. Can you believeee?"
Steve's grin widens by a mile. "Is that so? What you'd tell him?"
"No, of course!" Eddie says, head pulled back as if he's appalled Steve would think otherwise. He shakes his hands out of Steve's grip and drops them, fumbling for a moment to get his fingers into Steve's belt loops.
When he does, he yanks Steve forward a tad too forcefully, their bodies colliding in a way that's more sore than sexy. Eddie continues on as if he doesn't notice. "Even if he was particularly tasty," He murmurs, his lips tracing the column of Steve's throat.
"I let him know, baby." Eddie all but purrs.
And perhaps if the competition Eddie was beating off was literally anyone other than himself, Steve would be right there with him.
Instead, he can't contain his snort of laughter. Eddie was perfect; he was a possessive and drunken dog, barking up the wrong damn tree. Steve loves him.
"You're laughing," Eddie states plainly, even as his doe eyes manage to grow even more round. Steve can't help it, it just makes him laugh more.
"Treason." Eddie declares. Then using the belt loops to keep Steve captive, he leans in and blows a raspberry on his neck.
Steve lets out an unattractive squawk, his laughter melting into Eddie's as he pushes his boyfriend's face away — to which Eddie simply lets himself go limp, his face cradled and held up solely by Steve's hands.
"Christ," Steve says between his laughs, shifting his hand to hold him more tenderly. Eddie smiles dopely, then puckers his lips and closes his eyes.
Steve rolls his eyes, entirely too endeared. "Alright, c'mere," He gives in, leaning and kissing Eddie, short and sweet. When he pulls back, Eddie's eyes are open, starry and gazing up at him. He gives a dreamy sounding sigh. Steve's heart fizzles, like it's full of pop-rocks.
"Ready to go?"
"As long as it's with you, baby." Eddie says, sounding every bit like he means it.
#steve asks him if he can remember the other dude in the morning#eddie: i do recall him being distinctly super hot..... [his ass still has no clue]#steve never tells him for the fact that eddie is so chuffed to 1) get hit on and 2) get to defend his relationship#its steve lil secret :-) he does tell robin tho and she laughs so hard soda comes out her nose#i love this silly trope !#even better if they’ve only been together a short -ish time#does eddie ever find out you may ask? why yes he does. at their wedding 😇#if you take anything from this its my headcanon that eddie is pee-shy#it's gooberish but after months and months of 'you're not from around here' i'm okayyyy with that#its nice to have simply written and finished something sillay#steddie#ruby writes steddie#steve x eddie#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#steddie fanfiction#steddie fluff#established relationship#steve harrington#eddie munson#if u have more of this trope SENDDDD PLEEEK#eddie rlly is the most in love in this
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c/w: bf!rafe being very persuasive, heavily suggestive, fluff, 18+ mdni!
wc: 710
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“Don’t know what I’d do without you,” Rafe mumbles next to her ear with his head tucked into the crook of her neck, soothing breaths and pillowy lips tickling the sensitive skin there.
He's lying on top of her on their bed, his body pressing her into the soft mattress like a weighted blanket; warm and heavy, making her feel so safe while his fingers mindlessly play with her hair, tangling into the strands and twirling one around his index finger.
“I love you,” he hums contently before he’s pasting sloppy kisses all over her face, forcing her to let out a squeaky giggle along with a breathy ‘I love you’ when he begins to trail lower, smearing his mouth on the expanse of her neck; the flat of his tongue laving over her throat.
“Rafe…” she whimpers when she can feel him poking against her lower belly.
“Missed you,” he groans when her nails scratch over his buzzed head as he gives a lazy rut of his hips against her.
“Missed you more,” she murmurs back.
“I don’t think that’s true,” he scrunches his nose, feigning offense.
“Yes, it is!” She huffs playfully, fingers slipping under his shirt, the thermal skin of his abdomen greeting her.
“Yeah? How much?” He lifts his head up slightly, blue moonstones locking with her eyes in a challenge.
“This much,” she gives him a giddy smile, hands leaving their home from resting on his stomach and drawing apart as far as they go.
“Uh huh? Well, I missed you this much,” he momentarily gets up to sit back and widen his own arms; much bigger than hers, therefore making the distance between them far longer as well.
“That’s not fair!” Her brows crease.
“No? Neither is you leaving me for the whole day,” he grumbles, slumping down on top of her smaller frame once more.
“I can’t just drop out of uni for you, can I? And you have your business as well,” she tries to reason, but her arguments seem to fall on deaf ears.
“I know, Baby. What if you stay home tomorrow, hm? I could take the day off and we could just stay home all day, yeah?” The way he’s beginning to mouth at her left nipple through the flimsy material of her (his) worn out t-shirt is making it entirely too difficult for her to deny him of anything at the moment.
“Rafe…I have an important lecture tomorrow,” she lets out a sigh that turns into a whine when his big palm squeezes at her other tit, thumb idly rubbing against the puffy bud.
“I don’t care, you’re already so smart, don’t even need to go,” his heady tone is muffled by the shirt-covered nipple between his lips, teeth teasingly nipping at it.
“Rafe, you’re not making any sense,” she lets out a giggle, followed by a moan when she can now feel his cock nudging against her clit through the layers of fabric and all of a sudden, his jumbled words have turned crystal clear.
“Need you to just say yes, Baby,” he rasps out, coaxing her to give in with another lazy thrust of his hips.
And that’s all it takes for her resolve to crumble.
“Okay,” she's nodding, not missing the way a smug grin hangs on his face in victory.
It’s just one day, right? Unless he decides to keep her from leaving the house for 'just a few more days', (as he’s done in the past); coming up with excuses as to why she can’t go to class and then before she realizes it, she’s stayed home for the rest of the week.
However, she doesn’t mind all that much. After all, she prefers to spend time with the love of her life over anything else. In some twisted way, she gets all dizzy inside whenever Rafe turns into something so clingy to this extent.
The following morning, she wakes up with his cum leaking out of her; making her sore inner thighs sticky when she shifts into a different position. And when she turns her head to the side she's met with his serene form, deep asleep; one hand holding onto her left tit possessively and his steady breaths fanning the back of her neck.
Her foggy mind thinks she must still be dreaming.
#another self-indulgent bf!rafe drabble#this is peak escapism#had the longest week ever im so tired#why can't I just stay home and write stuff?#I need him#bf!rafe#rafe x reader#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron#rafe smut#rafe obx#outerbanks rafe#rafe imagine#rafe fic#rafe fanfiction#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron obx#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron imagine#obx smut#obx fic#obx fanfiction#obx#outer banks#outer banks fanfiction
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wanna be yours 2.0 // ln4 social media au // part one
part two | part three
pairing: lando norris X american!reader / mclaren photographer!reader and slight pato o'ward X reader
warnings: swearing
summary: a remix of my fic wanna be yours in social media au form. or basically lando and the reader both being in love with each other but being too stubborn and scared to say anything so they suffer in silence until one finally crumbles.
contains: best friends to slight strangers to lovers, pining, angst, jealous!lando, asshole!lando, clueless!lando, and perhaps a little lando or pato? situation.
masterlist
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
may 5th, 2024
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liked by landonorris, y/bsf, oscarpiastri and 100,000 others
y/n.jpg: miami baby! i think the guy in the second pic won some kind of race involving super fast cars but i could be wrong.
landonorris: who is that guy???? he's really good looking...
↳ y/n.jpg: i think his name is lando onewin.
↳ landonorris: bye. that doesn't even work.
user1: you always take such good pics of lando.. thank u queen
user2: lando always being the first to comment. dude's down bad lol
y/bsf: the kids miss you. please come home.
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may 6th, 2024
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may 8th, 2024
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may 9th, 2024
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liked by landonorris, mclaren, patricooward and 200,000 others
y/n.jpg: back at the mtc today for a very special reason! everyone was there to celebrate my amazing photography skills and editing on all the pictures from the season so far! lando was even kind enough to show up with a trophy to give to me! i love my job <3
in all seriousness. could not be more proud of you lando!!! it's been a long time coming, but we both know it's only the beginning!
landonorris: that awkward moment when you tried to take the trophy from me....
↳ y/n.jpg: DON'T SAY THAT PEOPLE ARE GONNA THINK IT'S TRUE.
↳ landonorris: i'll make sure they engrave the next one with your name too.
↳ y/n.jpg: ok but as long as my name is listed first.
mclaren: our favorite photographer ❤️ -liked by author
user1: ok but where is y/n's trophy fr??? she's hands down one of the best photographers in the game rn.
user2: y/n and lando you are so dear to me
user3: pato in the likes??
↳ user4: y/n used to work for arrow mclaren before working for mclaren f1. also pato is literally the reserve driver for f1 this season... honestly the web that is y/n, lando, and pato intertwines so much it's kinda crazy...
may 11th, 2024
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may 14th, 2024
y/n.jpg added to their story
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landonorris replied to your story
↳ WHY WOULD YOU POST THAT??? IT'S MORE THAN A JUMPSCARE!
oscarpiastri replied to your story
↳ why do you always catching me folding in front of lando like that :/
may 15th, 2024
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may 19th, 2024
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y/n.jpg: imola 2024.
y/bsf: best photographer in the world. i love you!!! -liked by author
user1: not even a pic of lando's car.... oh no :/
user2: no funny caption... no lando like or comment... guys we are in the trenches
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landonorris replied to your story
↳ what the hell?
#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris fic#lando norris imagine#lando norris smau#pato o'ward#f1 x reader#f1 smau#f1 fic#mine#writing#this is my first time ever doing one of these#please don't flop#i hope it isnt complete dog shit
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slippery when wet!
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pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader
summary: “so who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank. a shocked laugh bursts from your lips. “what?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “me or art? don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than i do.”
—or: patrick puts you in your place three months later.
word count: 4.3k
contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, p in v, fighting as foreplay, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), rough sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (m!receiving), fingering...kinda (fem!receiving), very light spanking, choking, degradation, creampie, throat fucking, mean!reader my beloved, art donaldson is there in spirit, patrick is gay for art, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.
author’s note: no one can stop me from writing rough sex patrick fics. it's all i think about 24/7, and you guys are no help but like i love it so it's fine. i'm here to serve you and this is clearly what you want so who am i to deny you that? thank you to the beautiful anon who requested this, i hope you don't mind that i changed it from a locker room scene to a bathroom scene but that was just calling to me hehe. okay bye! hope you love it! xoxo mwah.
psst! tftw series masterlist!
You’ve been on the court for at least an hour and a half, running drills and trying to sweat out all of your stress. You were the only one in the building, but it was always less busy during finals week. Most people were camped out in their dorms cramming for fifty question tests or four part lab practicals.
Art politely declined your invite, too busy studying for his business final on Monday. So you rented a tennis machine and worked on your backhand that way. It was a nice distraction, emptying your head enough that all the anxiety of finals started to melt away as you slid into a steady rhythm with the machine.
The door bangs open with a loud creak behind you, bursting the little bubble of tranquility surrounding you. The back of your head burns with the unmistakable feeling of someone glaring at you.
You hear him before you see him, a loud call of your name followed by heavy footsteps quickly coming towards you. The sound of his voice immediately grates on your nerves, all angry and shouty. You choose to ignore it, focusing on hitting each new ball the machine spits out.
It may have been a couple months since you’ve seen Patrick, but you’d always recognize the familiar way his voice wraps around each syllable in your name.
Three months, to be exact. It’s been three months since your big fight over the phone with Patrick. You blocked his number right after you hung up, so you haven’t spoken to him in just as long. He never tried to reach out, never messaged you on AOL or Facebook. The petty fuck actually went out of his way to unfriend you on both, so you knew he wasn’t exactly torn up about your abrupt split.
“Hey! I’m talking to you,” Patrick shouts over the loud humming, sounding closer to you than he was before. You pointedly keep ignoring him, eyes fixed stubbornly on the machine. “You deaf or something?” he mocks, stepping up so you can see him in your peripheral vision. You say nothing, swinging your racket harder with each hit.
Patrick scoffs, stomping over to the machine and slamming his hand over the stop button. It makes a loud beeping sound, before shutting off completely. “Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking baby.” you groan, throwing your head back in annoyance. When you finally turn to glare at him, you’re shocked at the state he’s in.
Patrick’s dressed in a tank and the almost too short shorts he’d usually wear to a match, and he’s dripping sweat. Curly black hair plastered to his forehead with it, his cheeks red and blotchy like he’d been in the sun. You raise your brow, looking at him with a confused expression on your face. “Where the hell did you even come from? How did you know I was here?”
He walks back over to you, hands balled into fists by his side. “I was at a tournament in Mountain View,” he explains, jerking his head in the vague direction he came from, ”it was so close I thought it’d be wrong of me to not stop by and check up on you.”
You laugh, nodding your head lightly. “Okay, so you flunked out of another tournament and hunted me down like a creepy stalker to what? Yell at me some more? Call me a cunt again?” you step closer, lightly swishing your racket through the air dismissively. “I’m not fucking interested in whatever it is you have to say Patrick, we’re over.”
He smirks but you can see the way his jaw clenches, ticking in anger. “But you’re interested in what Art has to say?”
There it is. You really should have known it would all come back to this eventually.
You sigh, casting your eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “What’s your point?”
Patrick takes a step closer. “My point is that you’re not fucking stupid, and Art can’t lie to save his goddamn life. You knew exactly what he was doing.” His tone is accusatory, his brows pinched together hard enough to crease his skin.
Your heart beat picks up in your chest, anger beginning to bubble up inside you. “I didn’t need Art’s help to realize that you’re an arrogant piece of shit and a gigantic waste of my time, you made it easy enough to pick up on all by yourself.”
Patrick laughs, loud and abrasive. “No, you just didn’t care.” he states darkly, shaking his head back and forth a few times. You can feel a few drops of sweat fling from his hair to land on the bare skin of your shoulders as he does. “You’re so easy that you’d spread your legs from him to stroke your own ego. You’re only playing into his whole kicked puppy charade to justify acting like a fucking whore, ‘Poor Art, he’s so sad and pathetic, I’ll let him fuck my slutty pussy to help his raise his self esteem!’.” He mocks, voice pitched up in an exaggerated impression of you.
Your grip tightens on the handle of your racket, knuckles turning white with it. You feel hot all over, anger simmering under your sweaty skin. “You’re seriously trying to lecture me about egos? This has nothing to do with Art! This is about you being a bratty little rich boy who’s never been told ‘no’ before so you can’t handle rejection. It’s fucking embarrassing.”
Patrick nostrils flare, brows pinching together in anger. “Art has nothing to do with this, really? You’re delusional if you actually think that he’s just this saint among men or some shit. He’s not, he’s a fucking snake.”
“Trust me, Art doesn’t have to be a saint to be better than you.” you sneer, voice sharp and unwavering. Your hands are shaking, blind rage racking through your body like thunder. “The only redeeming quality you’ll ever have is dangling between your legs so you better get used to this, because sooner or later everyone will leave you once they see past all your bullshit and realize that you’re nothing more than a worthless loser.”
Patrick’s jaw works furiously, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. You think something like hurt flashes through his eyes, but only for a second. It's gone just as fast, replaced by a mocking smirk that stretches over his lips slowly. He crosses his arms in front of him, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.
“So who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank.
A shocked laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. “What?” you ask, arms dropping to your sides limply. The completely one-eighty of his mood sends your head reeling.
Patrick takes another step closer, invading your personal space. “Who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “Me or Art? Don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than I do.”
You laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “God, everything is always a dick measuring contest with you. It’s so pathetic like, seriously–”
“Answer the question.” Patrick demands, cutting you off sharply. He’s practically looming over you now, so close that you can smell him. That natural, manly, musky scent he always has after a game that drives you fucking crazy.
It reminds you of when he’d come back to your dorm fresh off a match, still in the same clothes and not showered. Pumped full of adrenaline and so pent up, needing something to take his energy out on. You were always that something. He’d fuck your mouth like he’d fuck your pussy, like it was just another hole for him drain his balls into. You’d be face down in his crotch for what seemed like hours, right where his smell was the strongest. Forced to breathe it in so deeply you’d feel high off it, your brain turned to mush every time.
Heat swirls deep in your stomach, you haven’t been this close to Patrick in what seems like forever. You kind of forgot how much he affects you, especially like this. The sex was always better when you’d fight before.
“You’re a child.”
“You still haven’t answered the question.”
You huff, narrowing your eyes at him. There’s a sort of crazed look on his face, his pupils blown out and dark. It makes you pause, it’s the look you’d get right before he’d pounce on you. You’ve seen it enough times to know that something is different about it. He looks needier, more hungry.
It has some of your anger subsiding, twisted amusement swiftly taking its place. If Patrick wants to ambush you like this, after weeks of radio silence, you might as well use it as a chance to fuck with him.
You smirk, cocking your head to the side slightly. “Art,” you say slowly, taking a small step towards Patrick, “is a better fuck than you ever were.”
Patrick pouts like an honest to God child, sticking out his bottom lip in indignation. “I told you not to lie–”
“I’m not lying,” you say innocently, voice dropping down to a whisper as you lean in even closer. You can see the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, darker than usual thanks to all the sun he’s been getting. “Last night he ate me out for hours, made me squirt all over his fucking tongue.”
For the first time since you’ve met him, Patrick Zweig is shocked into silence. His eyes darken, you can’t even see the green anymore, the solid black of his pupils swallowing it entirely. “Bullshit,” he says quietly, clipped and skeptical. His breath fans hotly over your lips, it makes your spine start to tingle.
You smile sweetly, giving a small shrug of your shoulders. “I’ll send you the video.”
Patrick physically reels back, blinking slowly with the realization of what you just said. His lips barely part in surprise, pink and enticing. You revel in it, smirking at him smugly. His eyes flit across your face like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying or not. You stare back at him unrelenting, all the proof you need is sitting in the video gallery of your pink motorola razr.
Patrick swallows hard, you watch the way his adam’s apple bobs with it. He shifts his lower body subtly, but you’re too close to not notice it. Your eyes immediately dart down, and you’re almost giddy at what you find.
He’s hard, the fabric of his shorts stretched over the length of his dick obscenely. You can see the faint outline of the tip pressing against the seam, a wet patch seeping through the gray material around it.
“Oh my god, you’re actually getting off on this!” you laugh wickedly, eyes glued to the lewd tent of his dick. “You’re calling me a whore when you’re the one getting wet just thinking about your best friend's mouth on my pussy. That’s fucking pathetic even for you, Ricky.”
Patrick is silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he stares you down so intensely you can almost feel the heavy weight of his eyes as they bore into you.
It happens in less than a second, Patrick closing the distance between you and taking your arm in his strong hand so he can force you in the direction of the showers. His grip is tight on your bicep, fingers meanly digging into your skin and forcing you to walk with him. You put up a fight, kicking and scratching but he’s stronger than you. Not letting your slaps to his chest or nails sinking into his arm deter him from dragging you across the court.
“Let me go asshole!” you snap, trying in vain to yank your arm out of his grip while you stumble over your own feet. “You’re such a fucking psycho!” Patrick ignores you, bursting into the men's showers and marching you into the first stall. He drags you inside, whirling you around to shove your back against the door of it roughly. It knocks the wind out of you for a second, the lock digs into your back hard enough to hurt.
“Art doesn’t have any fucking idea how to deal with a bitch like you.” he grates, fisting a handful of your harshly. “He’s too soft. Too busy letting you lead him around by his dick to try putting you in your fucking place.”
The sting of your scalp only adds to the warmth pulsing in your pussy, sticky arousal dripping wet in your panties. You meet his eyes, all the fire and want swirling in them mirror your own. “Art has a bigger dick than you bitch.” You spit, standing on your tiptoes to lessen the distance of him tugging on your hair. It’s a low blow, immature and basic but you don’t care.
Patrick just hum noncommittally, roughly hooking his fingers into your cheeks and dragging you forward until the tip of your nose is touching his. “Then your throat is still nice and stretched out for me.”
He drops his hands to your shoulders, forcing you onto your knees. You hit the ground with a heavy thud, a dull ache blooms in your knees at the force of it. “Fuck,” you hiss, pulling back instinctively but the hard plastic of the shower door pressing onto the back of your head keeps you pinned in place. Your hands fly up to his legs to try and push him away.
Patrick grips your hair tight, tipping your face up to look at him. You have a perfect view of him pushing his shorts down, letting his hard dick slip out as the fabric stretches taught across his thick thighs. “Open your mouth,” he demands, yanking your head to the side meanly.
“Fuck you,” you snarl, teeth bared in anger as you fight to stand up. Patrick’s strong hand on your shoulder keeps you down while the other starts to idly stroke his dick. He’s just as big as you remember, thick and hard only a few inches away from your face.
The tip all red and weepy when he pulls his foreskin back on each tug, a thick vein running up the side that you want to trace with your tongue.
“Don’t be like that, baby,” he coos softly, rubbing his leaking tip across your bottom lip a couple times, smearing his pre-come around your mouth like lip gloss. “We both know you love it.”
He’s so cocky, so sure of himself that you want to keep denying him. But he’s also right, you can feel your resolve slowly start to crack when he pushes the head between your parted lips. The familiar heady taste of him oozing onto your tongue has you sighing contently, jaw relaxing the tiniest bit almost like a reflex.
The second you give Patrick an inch and he’ll take a mile.
“There we go,” he mutters sweetly, pulling back slightly and then thrusting forward until your nose is buried in the short curls at the base.
Your whole body tenses, throat constricting over the length of his dick as your fist his shorts in your hands. As quickly as he thrust in, he pulls out, letting you sharply gasp for air before it’s back and pressing insistently on your tongue. You let him in, forcing your throat to relax as he slides forward to press his hips into your face.
“You’re such a fucking brat,” he bites out, thrusting down your throat roughly. “Pussy’s so greedy it jumped on the next dick that perked up around it.”
You could only whine around Patrick’s dick, mouth too full to do anything but try and work your tongue over the throbbing length of him.
Your throat burns, spit flowing down your chin messily along with his pre-come still steadily leaking from the hot tip of his dick.
His big hands have an iron grip on either side of your head, his balls slap against your chin as he thrusts over and over and over. The back of your skull throbs, knocking into the stall with each pump of his hips.
“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead down to the stall with a small thunk. “You look so good like this,” he breathes, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes, “so fucking pretty with my dick down your throat to shut you up.”
Your pussy aches, so empty that you want to shove your hand down your shorts and stuff yourself full of your own fingers to dull the need. Your thighs glide together slickly, the wetness of your arousal soaking through your clothes.
It gets harder to breathe. Your choked off, spluttering gags start loudly echoing off the tile walls. Your hand slaps Patrick’s thigh a few times, he thrusts hard once more before he finally pulls back, smearing spit all over your tongue and out of your mouth.
“God, that was good baby.” he praises, slapping his dick against your right cheek lewdly. “As much as I want to pump this load down your throat,” he says casually, stroking his spit slick dick lazily, ”I want it in your pussy more.”
“I fucking hate you,” you growl weakly, voice absolutley wrecked. The tears sitting in your waterline blur your vision, you blink them away to see Patrick’s smug smile beaming down at you.
“Then tell me to stop,” he shrugs, tilting his head to the side condescendingly. You glare up at him, but you don’t say anything. He snorts, brow raising in amusement. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He shoves his shorts the rest of the way down, stepping out of them and hauling you up to your feet. You’re still desperately trying to catch your breath, chest heaving as you cough and gasp.
Patrick rips your shirt over your head, flinging it over the stall along with his own. He turns you by your shoulder, pushing you against the wall as he yanks the shower handle to start the stream.
Water rains down around you, shockingly cold for a few seconds before it finally starts to warm up. Patrick makes quick work of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs and off your feet, tossing them in the corner of the stall with a wet thwack.
He kicks your feet further apart, one hand on your shoulder and the other lining his hard dick up with your tight hole, letting the leaking tip press into you with the smallest amount of pressure.
“I know you missed my dick, slut,” he says, bringing his hand down on your ass quickly, kneading the stinging skin roughly. “Art could be the best fuck in the world, he still can’t give it to you like I can.” He pops the head in, groaning quietly before he bullies his thick dick the rest of the way into you.
Your hole shakes around him. Patick is right. Patrick is always right, but you’d never tell him that. You wanted this. You missed this. The burn of Patrick’s dick forcing you open, stretching you so wide your toes curl. Him not giving you even a second to react before he’s pulling back and pounding into you brutally.
You cry out, eyes screwing shut at the sharp sting. You can tell through the haze of you brain that this won’t take long at all, the both of you already so worked up from Patrick fucking your throat. His right hand drops from your shoulder to your hip while his left slides up your torso, sliding along your skin to wrap around the column of your throat firmly. You keen loudly, throwing your head back to give him more room.
“I taught him how to use that fucking dick,” he goads into your ear, grip tightening on your throat. “Did he tell you about that? Huh?” He takes your earlobe between your teeth, biting hard enough to make you squeal into the wall.
The tile digs into your cheek, roughly scraping against your skin every time Patrick fucks back into you.
You’re hovering over the edge, pussy throbbing with the burning need to come. Your clit pulses, swollen and sensitive but you can’t find the strength to drop your down hand between your thighs.
They’re too busy scrambling for any kind of purchase on the slippery wall of the shower, manicured nails scratching against the tile uselessly.
You gasp for air, fighting to speak up under the intense pressure of his hand, “I could tell,” you choke out, barely audible, “you both fuck like you have something to prove.”
“You think?” he sneers, thrusting harder, your ass stinging each time he slams his hips into you. “Maybe that’s because we do. Maybe that’s because we both like seeing you fucking fall apart like this, seeing you beg for it after you finally stop being a little pissy bitch.”
Your breath hitches as his other hand drops from your hip, delving between your thighs to slide the calloused pads of his fingertips over your swollen clit.
You moan, thighs clenching together as he rubs fast circles over you. “You like that, don’t you? Being used like a fucking toy.” His hand squeezes just a bit tighter. “Say it. Tell me you love being our little slut.”
The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them, a mix of desperation and raw honesty, “I love it,” you cry out as loud as you can, “I love being your slut.”
“God, you sound just like him,” Patrick chuckles into your ear, low and sinister. His hold on your throat tightens, cutting off your air entirely. You sputter, hand coming up to clutch his wrist like a vice. Your pulse thunders, hard enough that he can probably feel it against his palm. “Who do you think made him come harder?”
The image alone of Patrick and Art like that sends you flying to the edge. “Ah— Patrick! ” you moan, voice hoarse and strained, “Pat, I’m gonna— fuck—“
“Do it,” he goads, sliding his hand from your clit down to where your pussy is spread open on him. He pushes his thick index finger right up next to his pulsing dick, hooking it inside or you and stretching you that much wider. “Come on my fucking dick like the greedy whore you are.”
You let out a sharp cry as your forehead hits the wall, thighs shaking violently as Patrick’s hips become relentless. Your whole body tensing up as you come so hard your vision blacks out.
You think you’re screaming, but it’s hard to hear anything over the white noise buzzing in your ears. Patrick’s hips don’t stop, fucking your abused pussy into overstimulation as he chases his own orgasm.
His hand drops from your throat to dig into your hip to put more power behind his thrusts. You’re immediately gasping for air, taking in greedy lungfuls of it.
Patrick’s chest is plastered to your back, face buried in your neck as he rambles out more nonsensical obscenities. His dick pulses and twitches in your pussy, so close to filling you up.
An idea pierces through the fog of your brain, an idea so fucking filthy it has your pussy clenching weakly.
You think back to the first night Art fucked you, how he almost came all over Patrick’s pants just because they were his, just because you said his name. How worked up and hard Patrick got when you started talking about Art.
“When he fucked me for the first time, I was wearing your sweats, the green ones,” your voice is scratchy and quiet, barely audible over the shower’s spray, “he noticed.”
“Fuck– fuck you,” he grates out, hips faltering ever so slightly. “God, gonna come,” his hold on your hip tightens, strong enough that it’ll be sure to bruise.
You keep talking, spurred on by his reaction. “He almost came right there, he wasn’t even inside me yet, just rubbed his dick all over them like he could fucking feel you.”
Patrick gives one final slam of his hips, burying himself as deep as he can in your pussy. His low groans and curses fill the room as he unloads into you, pumping you so full of his come that you can feel each hot splash of it painting the walls of your pussy.
He slumps down against you, hips twitching as he works through the aftershocks. You can feel his breath puff over the shell of your ear.
You and Patrick say nothing for a long few minutes, running water the only thing to keep the room from being completely silent. Patrick is still pressed to your back, his chest heaves against your shoulders. You think you’d collapse if his hands weren’t still on your hips, practically holding you up.
You’re the one to break the silence, voice low and wrecked, “Art lasts so much longer than that…”
Patrick snorts against your back. “Fuck you.” he says, biting your shoulder hard and pulling his dick out of you in one swift move. You gasp sharply as his come floods from your puffy, wrecked hole. Thick streams of it dripping down your thighs until the water washes it away to swirl down the drain.
You turn on unsteady legs, hair plastered to your face with water. Patrick is right there, knees knocking against yours as he shifts the two of you closer to the spray. He looks like a marble statue, water dripping down the tip of his nose and between the hard planes of his abs.
He grins smugly down at you, “I’m staying at a hotel close to campus, unblock my number and I’ll send you my room number,” he wagers, hands sliding up and down the wet skin of your back. “I think you, Art, and I have something we need to work out.”
“Yeah,” you agree, nodding your head with a small grin. “I think we do”
tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!
#— 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ♡#natalia cant write anything under 1.000 words#okay this might actually be the filthiest thing i've ever written#i really went for it#and i had so much fun#i literally cannot believe this is my third fic posted this week#that is so crazy to me#and i actually posted this at a reasonable hour!#not at seven in the morning after staying away all night!#i'm like a professional now#okay bye!#love you!#challengers x reader#challengers x you#challengers smut#challengers imagine#challengers fanfic#patrick zweig x reader#patrick zweig x you#patrick zweig smut#patrick zweig imagine#patrick zweig fanfic
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If you haven't played DAO, now would be the perfect time. It stands so beautifully on its own. The character origins are incredibly well-crafted. The worldbuilding feels vibrant and genuine. It was intended as a spiritual successor to Baldur's Gate. It has incredible DLC, including a companion-centric AU where your Warden died at the start of the game. You can release demons, kill people, and dump corpses into Chantry wells.
#i may be biased since i have 10-years-writing-dao-fic disease... but pls... i want to see your wardens...#people aren't annoyed by the series' change in tone and quality without reason... it is genuinely one of the best rpgs ever...#and sten is there...
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God, I want Childhood Friend!Tim Drake
childhood friend!Tim whom your family trusts with your life for some twisted reason despite your protests about how he's more reckless than you
childhood friend!Tim who your friends all pester you about — well aware of the silly crush you've had on him since childhood
childhood friend!Tim who scared your family shitless when he revealed he dropped out of high school to search for his adoptive father
childhood friend!Tim who despite his status as drop out, your family still asks to have him over for dinner
childhood friend! Tim who has been at every single major event in your life whether in or out of his Robin mantle, flowers always in his arms as he greets you
childhood friend! Tim who has a file of photos of just you
childhood friend! Tim who happens to be... adding to that file at the moment
"Stop covering your face." He mumbles, fingers reaching to clasp around your wrist as you crane your neck to hide from his camera. "Please? Come on. You always look so pretty like this."
You only squirm in response.
"Come on." He whispers, pulling your wrist from your face as he's breathless from the way you look. "There you go. You're so pretty like this, birdie."
You try focusing on the way his camera clicks, but your eyes roll further back as he gives you a particularly harsh thrust — making you see stars. You trust that he wouldn't share the photos even if he was at death's door. You trust him with your life, but it doesn't mean you aren't embarrassed that he wants a photo of you like this so bad.
"Ah, Tim." You try, voice coming out in a whimper.
"Yes, birdie?"
"Close."
"That's right, birdie." A hand moves down to hold you down by the hip, speeding up. "Let me see that gorgeous look on your face when you cum."
You make him swear on his hard drive to never let the photo that he gets of you fucked out see the light of day. (not that he would've either way. only he gets to see you so vulnerable.)
#ever since I saw that leon post by secretlocket this format of tumblr fic writing has NOT left my head (neither has the fic)#i quite fortunately would not fuck my bbsf so instead of bestie like her post I am doing childhood friend#this is like. late night study thirst bc i have a final in 4 hours and im fucking manic rn#☾.nsfw#tim drake x reader#tim drake smut#☾.blend
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Making fanart for my own espilver fanfic? Couldn’t be me :/
Next to you, I laid softly on this hard ground on Ao3
#8 of 10 fics I write are gut punch whump fics and now it’s all I know how to write#and only like 2 of 10 ever see the light of day#but this fic was sitting half formed in my notes app for like a year before I unearthed her#Espilver#silver x espio#silver the hedgehog#espio the chameleon#vector the crocodile#charmy bee#team chaotix#hurt/comfort#angst#tw blood#sonic the hedgehog#sth#fanart#my art
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MC has so much game it's unreal. I'm turning red
Also this is the second time MC brought up the fact that they found Mammon's eyes beautiful. They're just completely enormoured with this man and that's very valid of them
#happy birthday to the best boy ever <3#1st tims i couldn't write a fic or update for his birthday in all 5? years i've been here. but i've got a long weekend so hopefully then...#obey me devilgram#obey me spoilers#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me!#shall we date? obey me!#swd obey me#swd obey me!#shall we date obey me#obey me mammon#om! mammon#obey me! mammon#om mammon#mammon obey me#swd mammon#shall we date mammon#obey me main character#om mc#obey me! mc#obey me! swd#om! mc#obey me mc#mc x mammon#mammon x mc#obey me! shall we date?#shall we date? obey me#omswd mc#omswd mammon
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