#working for my career is literally the worst :(

[pinacoladamatata]

feeling kind of stressed like i'm running out of time to draw solas

[iftitah]

she's talking on a call with her parents about how it was her luck and gods will what got her into this college who's gonna tell her of course no one because you know 🤡🤡

[hybridkilljoys]

I know people say youre never too old to improve your art but hoh boy does it suck when burnout has made it impossible to improve as an artist as much as you wanted to in the past ten years and now im slowly accepting im going to feel like a mediocre artist forever :')

[napsaps-archive]

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[dobaara]

hi hi hi hiiiii

[motheyes]

alright so that was fine

[brandybradyrandyandyndy]

WHAT. ARE. YOU. WEARING. I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE. THEY GOTTA BE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE.

[pearwolf]

just found out a little shit coworker at my old job just got fired we are so back

[quietblissxx]

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[deafsignifcantother]

the v's reaction to someone taking your hearing aid

♥ summary: "what the Vees would do if they noticed their partially deaf s/o being picked on - like the other people would tear out their hearing aid(s) and break them and stuff" @aceduchessdragoness ♥ characters: velvette, vox, valentino ♥ notes: screaming and crying okay so i did val's spanish as spain spanish bc i think spain sign language would be better than narrowing his signs down to a specific latin american country but if the translation is cringe then tell me bc i'm literally using an lse dictionary

Vox

♥ word count: 1.9k ♥ notes: i use [Y/N] for the first time in my career ong, she/her pronouns used in third person, reader doesn't speak and only signs, protective but violent vox, vox in a healthy relationship, reader gets harassed in public

It was never a mystery to you how Vox always knew where you were. Even without the watch on your wrist, you felt his eyes on you, the looming knowledge of persistent monitoring.

Not that it bothered you, of course. If anything, you were worried that he wanted to spend his time watching you instead of running his business. But whatever, it was flattering.

Whenever you went on your routine errands, you would smile at every television or security camera you encountered. On the big screens in Vox's room, he feels like the common softening of his heart. Your smile always seems so genuine. How can somebody like you adore him so much?

.

Blue light illuminates your living room. From the kitchen, you groan as you make your way to the television. Can he stop bothering you at this hour? All you wanted to do was get some damn water, but of course, as always, he's monitoring you.

Words pop up on the screen as you approach it. You rub your eyes, the brightness overwhelming. You reach for your coffee table.

GO TO SLEEP

With the sudden click of the remote, you smile as the screen goes black. One, two, three... it lights up again.

DON'T TRY

Again, the screen goes black. One... again, a bright blue illuminates you.

[Y/N]. The television shakes.

You snicker at him, finally sitting on the floor and putting the remote down. On the other side of that screen, Vox sits on his swivel chair, gazing up at you, your frame taking up multiple monitors. Your eyes look below where his point of view is.

"It's late," you sign, and the light makes your hands shine in the darkness. "Dim it a little."

He listens; his small act of consideration makes you melt. Your eyes soften immensely. Internally, he begs you to stop looking at him like that; it's embarrassing how good it makes him feel.

The television is still a blinding blue as you go from the living room to the bedroom; he follows you per any screen by your side. Worst of all, a flat-screen faces your bed, which was mandatory.

"Goodnight, Vox." You sign while putting your face up to the screen.

You turn this TV off, and to your delight, it stays off.

.

With a yawn, you stretch your morning aches away and lean your head against the table of your vanity. You get a few seconds of shut-eye before popping back up. Vox is watching; if he notices you're tired, he will try to be domestic and nap with you regardless of how much work you must do today. So you rub away your sleepy eyes and massage the tension in your jaw. Putting on your hearing aid is first on your daily to-do list; you'd like to hear if he pops up on your television and decides to update you on his morning. Sometimes, he gets so impatient. Next, while picking up your moisturizer, you try not to shiver at the coldness once it touches your fingers.

You wish yourself a good morning before rubbing it in.

At the same time of day, Vox was already up and doing his rounds, making sure his employees were getting work done. He gets antsy between when you wake up, and you get to the tower. Every morning once he sees you entering the elevator, he'll wait on the other side to welcome you in with a kiss to the forehead.

Vox checks his watch. It shows his favorite things: your vitals, location, and pretty little face whenever you dial him.

You've finally left your place, thank goodness. Pacing aimlessly has never looked good on him.

.

He stands by his window, looking down at the streets below, watching you approach. You're wearing your usual uniform, one that he picked out just for you; it consists of the same red and blue stripes he has on his everyday suit. It makes you an eyesore in the everyday crowd.

If you didn't know any better, you'd lift your head to see if you could spot him among the many stories. The building is beautiful, overpowering. The V tower's magnificent brightness outshines the rest of the V district. The constant noise of people always has you walking with your hearing aid turned as low as it can go without turning off.

With the pink light reflecting off your face, you look both ways before crossing the street, a bright smile on your face, stepping onto the asphalt before a hand grabs your wrist.

Vox furrows his brow at the sight.

You turn your head and see a friendly reporter and a cameraman, the camera not yet rolling. Your pupils flicker between them.

"Hello!" She smiles, removing her hand. With caution, you fully face her, stepping back onto the sidewalk. The 'professional' persona you've been forced to practice is finally coming to fruition.

"Hello! I'm Deaf; I don't think I'd be able to do an interview."

She flicks her hand and rolls her eyes in the most friendly way possible. "Not a problem," she signs, moving the microphone vibrantly, "I can work this out, no problem!"

You widen your eyes in a wowwwww, oh my god, that's perfect... "Oh, what a kind woman you are!"

Vox? You beg internally. Baby? Save me.

Up high, he doesn't remove his eyes from you. With the use of sign language, he can't listen in, and he can't tell whether he needs to intervene or not. There's nothing wrong with going to check, right? Or will he seem possessive, or scared? He doesn't want people to think he doesn't want you to talk to anyone. It's good that you get to sign to someone other than him and Velvette, right?

The camera starts rolling, and you square your shoulders, adjusting your sleeves for more mobility. The news reporter throws the microphone at the cameraman, who does not catch it but ignores it as she shows off her brightest smile.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen, I have the sweetest person in hell with me, [y/n]! Tell me, how long have you two been together?"

Of course, the news has been recognizing you recently. You've been seen countless times adjusting Vox's tie (he purposely fucks it up so that you'll step close to him) as well as wrapping your arm around his and pinching the corner of his screen endearingly before you give him a babying compliment. Many people have taken pictures and edited hearts around you two. People are obsessed with how "heavenly" your relationship is.

"Oh, many months now!" You nod to yourself, trying to stop your eyes from shining with admiration. You always get so soft when you think about him; it's one of the things people notice. She looks at him as if he's her entire world.

"Beautiful!" The reporter puffs out her bottom lip innocently. "I'm sure you make that man very happy."

What do you even say to that? I hope so.

"The happiest."

"Now," she doesn't hesitate to change the topic. "Are there any challenges you two face about your... differences?"

Your eyebrows raise before furrowing in confusion. Differences? At first, you think she means his television head, but when she notices you pause, she rudely clarifies. "I mean, with your lack of hearing, you know? Don't you find it a little embarrassing?"

You lean your body away from her. "What are you saying?"

The shock of the tonal shift has you freezing in place. The reporter looks at the camera, her eyes squinting with sadistic amusement. Her fingers twitch as she lifts her arm, not even looking at you before plucking the hearing aid from your ears. She crushes it in her hand.

At first, you grab your ear, pressing your hand to it in disbelief. Your face contorts, your shoulders dropping as you try to step away. Why couldn't you see this coming? And on television—is that where this is airing? The air around you goes quiet, the sensation of spatial awareness fading a bit as you stumble back, your hand still grasping your ear. The watch on your wrist hits your cheek, and without a second thought, you tap on the screen repeatedly. The next thing that popped into your head: her bravery is the most surprising.

With a brief fall of light, Vox stands where the lady once was. You eye him with uncertainty, a look you have never given him. He faces the cameraman, not looking your way. Your eyes go up and down his body; his stance is tense, his arms are folded behind his back, and his fingers sparking with small glimmers of electricity.

You see that lying behind him is the woman, body entirely limp, smoke coming from her mouth, and her eyes looking stuck open.

He speaks to the camera, pointing his finger at it, staring intensely into the shaking, blinking red light. Your hands link around his bicep. Composure, you remind yourself. You turn to the camera with a weary smile and lean your head against him.

.

"That'll never happen again." He stares at himself in the mirror. His dressers and tables are filled with claw marks from his previous meltdowns.

You just sit on his bed, crossing your legs uncomfortably, watching him as he goes back and forth between signing to you and mumbling to himself. You haven't said a word. You just keep your eyes on him.

He protected you in the way he knew best. He wanted nothing more than to put his hands on the sides of her head and crush her skull. It would stain his suit, awful. Even worse, your suit would have been ruined, too.

Should he force you to move into the tower? He's always wanted to. The commute would be no more, and you'd be safe from the outside.

Should he prevent you from leaving at all without him? No, that might be too much, but his entire body craves to keep you secure and protected.

He won't ask you what you want. He knows there's a chance you would just coddle him and tell him it's okay. There's no reality where he will do nothing; he must devise his own plan. But first (actually, secondly, after getting his anger out on his furniture), he wants to make sure his sweetheart is okay.

Once he calmed down and sat next to you, rubbing your thigh, he watched as you scrolled through social media, looking at the hundreds of people laughing and reposting the event. He shuts off your phone, grabs it, and tosses it across the room. You roll your eyes helplessly before he lifts his hands and signs to you.

"I will track everyone down and punish them severely, baby. No one will ever touch you again, or else they will the next flashing headline."

"I know, baby," you wrap your arms around his chest and lean into him, rubbing your cheek against the smoothness of his overcoat.

You hum against him, finding it in yourself to smile softly. Protector, protector, protector. You run those words through your head; they're comforting to their own extent. Suppose he ends up locking you inside the tower. In that case, it's better than him leaving you entirely over this (which, obviously, he'd never actually do). Spending every morning and night with him wouldn't be wrong. Everything happens for a reason.

He leans back onto the bed, his feet dangling off as you curl into his side.

Before resting completely, you use a hand to sign into his chest. "Everything will be fine."

Your coddling, though annoying, provides the most relaxing warmth to his body. He groans, wrapping an arm lazily around you, feeling the usual butterflies in his stomach as you press a small kiss to his collarbone.

.

.

.

Velvette

♥ word count: 1.6k ♥ warnings: reader speaks, party scene, getting harassed by a man, vox is in this too ♥ a/n: i completely headcanon that velvette took an asl class in highschool when she was alive, i have no idea how velvette usually acts in fanfiction so this is MY velvette now

Velvette found you, such a pretty thing, in your little corner of the internet, making content for your little community. That little corner of yours is where you told the news and interpreted a lot of banter from the overlords. Your channel was the perfect mix of education and drama, all for the Deaf community in Hell.

You were, as Velvette described, a tea channel.

She invited you to the V tower to show you around. The three V's introduced themselves to you in their own way, offering you a job. The bossman, ever so gentlemanly and charming, didn't let Valentino try and make sex motions to you for longer than necessary. And before Velvette forced Vox to scurry off, she forced him to snap a few pics of you posing with her as a faux collab.

You weren't stupid. You knew Velvette only wanted your attention to spread whatever brand she endeavored to popularize. But this might be a golden opportunity. You'd learn the behind-the-scenes from three different overlords, and the content you can produce will gather insane traction.

.

Velvette is just so sweet; the way she showed her care for you was just through gift-giving.

She loved putting together gift boxes for you, similar to the sorority kind. The boxes went from cute little baskets to a cardboard box resembling a PR send. These would always be set on your desk with a bit of note from her, each time she'd signed off her name with a heart.

Jackets, shoes, candies, jewelry, pens, everything. The gifts are versatile with familiar themes of hearts. Every day was like Valentine's Day when she was 'courting' you (did she even realize she was?).

She made you bags: totes, crossbody bags, clutches, phone pouches, coin purses, anything she thought you would need with an array of colors to match any outfit. She put in hair clips and pocket mirrors, cozy slippers and fancy journals.

She even got you two matching bracelets.

You love the smirk she wears whenever she notices you adorning anything she's given to you. Damn right, she thinks, I knew it would look good.

The most enormous box she'd ever given you was the day before one of her fashion shows. Inside were glorious clothes from her collection, all for you to pick out and wear. She really loved her stripes.

You put your hearing aid on, smiling at yourself in the mirror as you watch the charm she made you glisten in the light. With your bracelet ornamenting your wrist, you pat down your stripped outfit before taking a deep breath.

.

Your entrance reeks of reluctance. The temptation to retreat back to your room is unbearable. Seeing Velvette will definitely lift your mood; where is she? Surely, she'd be the highlight of the room, but amongst all the women with their eccentric colors and clothing shapes, you can't find your eye drawing to her anywhere.

The sounds of the party blend together in a nasty concoction; you can't help but turn your hearing aids off. The sound is similar to what it's like being outside in a heavy storm; the wind, the pouring rain, the blur and whine of the hearing aids. And instead of lingering by the double doors, you push into the crowd. You're the least recognizable in the crowd of celebrities, but it doesn't stop people from moving out of the way when you try to wiggle through. You're wearing stripes, her stripes. You're either bold or very special to her; they don't want to intervene.

But your stripes also get some people to stare at you longer than they would have otherwise. Across the room, in front of you, you notice a tall, almost shirtless model coming your way, directly staring at you. You break the quick eye contact before squeezing through a cluster of girls taking selfies. They won't let you through, grimacing but not laying any hands on you. When you turn to go the other way, the man is behind you, holding out his hand, waiting for you to put your hand in his.

You click on your hearing aid and scroll up. "What did you say?" You ask verbally, clearing your throat a bit.

His eyes bounce from yours to your hand, looking at what you're touching. His head tilts in interest. You don't like the sight of his smile.

"Oh wow." He says.

Immediately, "Yeah, no," Velvette puts her hands on your shoulders and tries to push you away. "I swear, don't even look at him, he's fucking insane."

He speaks over her, but you can't process his words over how close Velvette's lips are to your ear. Her warm breath sends goosebumps down your arms, and your spine straightens. This only makes her hum in amusement.

After turning and growling at him, she effortlessly maneuvers you away. Eyes watch you even closer now as she touches you. You let her guide you throughout the room with not a clue as to where she's leading you, if anywhere. But eventually, you two end up in front of a mirror the size of a wall.

She stares at you through the mirror. "Look at you," she signs, "extravagant as ever, darling."

"Thanks to you."

"Obviously." And she bumps her hip into yours. You laugh, mimicking the motion back.

You had ditched your initial motive of getting close to the V's to gain more information about them. They were fine people to hang out with, making you laugh and feel involved. Velvette gave you special attention that nobody in your afterlife has ever given. Her lipstick left stains on your cheek whenever she kissed you, and she made an 'appointment' in her schedule once a week to paint your nails the same black color as hers.

The afternoon went by quickly; you spent time clapping and watching models show off their garb. Velvette is a true talent.

But something ruined your evening. The air hummed with laughter and the rhythmic beat of music. Velvette had been whisked away by the other V's to overlook the crowd and count the people who had attended. Among the colorful crowd stood a familiar figure whose eyes sparkled with mischief. Different from last time, you don't notice when he starts to approach again.

"You," he coos, placing his hand under your chin. You must stare at his lips to comprehend his words over the music, an awful innuendo you wish you could have avoided. He leaned in closer to you, and in return, you leaned back. Valentino had told you a bunch of times to not worry if someone puts their hands on you, that it's a typical formality in Hell. You would always roll your eyes at him, never expecting a stranger to grab you like this.

You were mentally preparing yourself to dodge a kiss. But then, daringly, he leaned in and gently plucked the hearing aid from behind your ear, holding it aloft like a trophy. Fear flickered across your face, your hand instinctively reaching for it, but he pulled it away. The charm Velvette gave you dangles like a jewel.

"Don't," you say with desperation. He puts a finger in front of your face and waves it back and forth. He coos, using that hand to grab your face as if you were the most adorable thing he's ever seen.

Your eyes are locked on the charm, and it's brash jolts. You almost beg for him to just give you the charm back.

In the middle of a conversation with Vox, Velvette raises an eyebrow; shocked and pissed, she glared at whoever had torn off your hearing aid. She mumbles, "I'd tear their hearing aid off and break it."

Before she can move closer to you, Vox puts his hand in front of her while watching the interaction. "Think before acting, Velvette."

Her frustration turns into anger as she pushes his hand away. He lets her run off; he holds a hard stare as her pink hair bobs through the crowd.

Your eyes are stuck wide with shock, and a million things run through your head, all relating to the appropriate situational response.

True to your casual self, you were having a hard time not just jamming your hand in his eyes and kicking his shins. Would you make Velvette mad? Vox?--Would that result in you being removed from the V Tower? It's all so complicated. Though you were panicking over a 'quick' decision, you and the man stayed in that position for a few seconds. He stayed laughing, dropping the hearing aid and stomping on it.

At almost the same time, Velvette threw a glass from someone's hand at the man, perfectly aimed, hitting him in the face. She lets out a small "nice!" before rushing to you.

Her hand runs down your face, and she holds you tenderly, not turning to face Vox as he puts himself between her and the man. Your eyes bounce around the entire room. Will you ever get a break from being at the center of attention?

"We're leaving. Now." she signs in a single motion so quick that it makes you smile, relieving some of the stress that's been making your head pound. She's able to sign so naturally now.

The crowd splits into two.

Behind the both of you, Vox is declaring an end to the event, apologizing to the people for the inconvenience. Velvette keeps muttering about him under her breath; you can see her lips moving and her face grimacing.

.

She has beads in front of her, a bunch of small charms with string. She signs, looking up at you. "I should have killed him."

You just watch her craft another charm, laying on her bed and kicking your feet. "That would have been funny."

She scoffs and smiles, her painted lips turning upwards. Her fingers trace over the beads, deciding which one to pick up. She wants to make it different than the last one, but what should it look like? She picks up a pink heart with a slight hum before sliding it down onto the string. She whispers to herself, perfect.

.

.

.

Valentino

♥ word count: 1.7k ♥ note: reader is a vodka drinker, i'm obsessed with writing a loving valentino, reader doesn't talk very much and prefers sign, sexually suggestive things happening but it's not nsfw, kinda written like ass, drugs mentioned but no named just symptoms, takes place on porn set, valentino kills someone, blood description

Every time you step into the studio, you're hit by the smell of sex, mostly the sweetened stench of that strawberry lube he loves so much. Visiting his work is not usually something you do often, but he's seem to be so busy lately that you can't help but bring him a drink, the most beautiful drink in hell: vanilla vodka. You can already see him licking him lips.

Strawberry lube, so prominent in your nose.

His legs are crossed and he stares at the scene in front of him, his sunglasses hiding whatever his emotions are, but his lips are still in a prominent scowl.

Though, when he sees you, his expression changes drastically. He stands with so much excitement that the actors stop to see what he's reacting to. All eyes are on you, you shy away from the attention a bit but Val doesn't seem to notice, else care.

"Amor mío!" One of his hands signs, running down his cheek while his bottom two motions for a hug.

Before you can initiate a hug, he wraps his arms around you and brings you into his chest, trapping your arms in. He's warm, vibrantly so, it's hard not to melt against him. You couldn't be surprised if you let out a small moan at the contact. Oh, how I've missed you so much.

He pulls away quicker than you'd like and takes the bottle from your hand, holding it up close to his face so he can examine it. "Burnett's, oh you shouldn't have!"

He hesitates, torn between his responsibilities and the irresistible allure of having a drink with the person he was enamored with. He's not so easy to whisk away from work, therefore (of course), you seem to be the only person who he is at every beck and call.

You smile softly, "I knew you'd like it."

With a laugh, he takes your hand and spins you, his free hands popping open the bottle, ready to embark on whatever journey you had in store.

He turns and addresses his employees, granting them a small break before turning to you with his sharp smile.

And together, you slip away from the set, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of the studio for a simple moment of peace and luxury. Walls blazed with hues of pink and blue, you both find yourselves nestled on the fluffy couch in a lounge, a wineglass in your hand while he chugs from the bottle.

"You've been so busy." You sign. You switch the wineglass into your non dominant hand to avoid spilling any of the contents. Val holds the bottle with his bottom set of hands while signing with his top ones (he was originally going to do it the other way around).

“I know, princesa,” one of his hands comes up and squeezes your cheek. “Business calls, I cannot help myself.”

“Which is why I came to visit.” 

The two of you clink glass upon glass before taking a drink. He’s trying not to finish the drink before you, he’s making sure to take his time. He doesn’t want you to leave as much as he doesn’t want to rush the break. His eyes go over your entire form and take you in, there feels like an eternity since he saw you last. Why do you have so much patience for someone like him? It’s astonishing. Surely someone as beautiful as you could find someone sweeter than her. But he’s grateful to have you, he’s mildly addicted to that internal battle of whether he wants to cherish you or own you (perhaps he can do both? Something he’s never done before). 

“What?” You ask.

“Hm?” His fingers pinch together in the casual way of signing.

“You’re staring at me.”

“I can’t resist.”

“What were you thinking about?” You sign and lean forward, giving him bright eyes. Your gaze swallows him, moth to a flame. 

He matches your body language, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, amor mío.”

When he tries to grab your hand, you pull away. “You're acting as if you're wine drunk.” You sign. You have a sappy smile as you put your glass to your lips. 

“Never,” he wiggles his fingers as he signs. You eye him carefully, debating asking if he's kept his favorite gun on him. There's nothing worse than a drunk Valentino.

After the wine break, he has to go back to work. He feels himself getting irritated as he walks back, why can't he just continue spending the day with you? Is it worth sending everybody home? No, he has a job to do, and he needs to complete it before relaxation. But maybe he'll consider taking breaks (his least favorite word) to spend time with you.

You follow, both of your hands holding his, clinging onto him like a child.

Everybody was still in the studio, waiting for his return, not daring to leave in fear of him coming back. Actors were talking to each other casually, away from the camera, it built a strange sense of community for you. They're so nice to each other off-camera.

He drags you to his chair still holding your hand as he sits in it.

Drinking with you had been a much-needed respite from these people. He made a mental note to gift you more wine.

You remove your hands from his and smile. “Get back to work, baby.” 

Pearly white, sharp teeth show through his large smile. He presses his lips against each of your knuckles while his eyes skin over all of his actors, counting them. He makes eye contact with one particular one, a woman. They stare at each other for more than a second. She's scowling at him and he squints his eyes at her. The fuck is your problem?

She usually looks at him with sultry looks, but now there's a sharpness to them.

But his eyes peel away from her and go back to you, he leans forward and presses a slow kiss to your forehead. He signs low, almost as if he's whispering a secret. "I'll come see you after."

You smile and start turning away. "Good."

Upon noticing your departure, the actors and crew start returning to their places, keeping an eye on Valentino and any commands he might make. Their eyes are always on him, worried to test his anger. But not all the actors were worried about testing his anger.

"Hey," an actress grabs your hand before you could reach the door and you turn to her. She talks, her voice making your hearing aids buzz, "Are you guys like, dating? Are you dating the Valentino? Like, literally one of the V's."

Her words all bunch into one. You blink, taking time to think about both what she could be asking and the connotation behind it. "Yes?" It sounds more like a question than an answer. Is that the correct response?

She hums and nods, her eyes wide in amazement. Her pupils are large. Her cheeks are hollow and she has strong eyebags. With a distant sound from Val, him talking to the crew, she looks back at him before turning to you. "I mean like, why? Why would he want you?"

Oh no. You try to move away but she just follows you, stepping in front of you closer. It's like being cornered, being trapped in an almost unavoidable situation.

"Why wouldn't he?" You test with a squint of your eyes.

She just smiles at you. "Uhm," and her arm reaches over, grabbing the hearing aid from your ear, pinching it between her claws, "Obviously this."

You reach for it but she pulls it away from you, trying not to laugh.

So you do what you know is the best solution, you call his name, practically screaming it. "Val!"

At the sound of you using your voice he whips his head around. The air goes still, you can tell from the way she pauses. Her pause is only for a second, she reeks of hesitance and sudden worry. She looks at the hearing aid in her hand as if she's finally realizing what she had done and what was about to happen.

Before she can say another word, her entire body stiffs, her eyes widen before her pupils roll back. And then she's on the floor, almost falling onto you.

You wipe blood from your cheek and groan.

Val stares at you, his expression unreadable. In his hand is his jeweled gun. He pauses for a moment to take a long drag of his cigarette, letting out a cloud of red smoke before he looks at his gun with a toothy smile until he tucks it back into his belt.

He starts to approach you and for a second you're scared, it was a primal feeling. He walked like a king.

All you can do is watch him, frozen in place.

The first thing he does when he reaches you is bend in front of her body, plucking the hearing aid from her hand. It's bloody, the liquid drips from it as he lifts it up. He wipes some of it off on his shirt before handing it to you. He drops it into your open hands.

He speaks, knowing you'd have a hard time understanding. "Laying her slutty hands on my angel..."

You lean into his touch when he caresses your face. His eyes gaze at you, softening, his smile widening at how soft your eyes look. You're his greatest treasure. He gets off immensely from protecting you, he would ravish you to death in this moment if he could. Valentinos eyes drift down at the body and his pupils narrows as he glares at the dead woman. He's going to have to clean this up. Her blood is getting every where.

One of his thumbs rub against your cheek, touching the bloody smear. It stains your skin in a delectable way. So perfect.

He melts when he sees your soft eyes slowly start to match the mischievous smile growing on your face. He protected you and he was open about being dithered over her behavior, he didn't laugh at it or tease you about it. You don't doubt for an instant that he's the man of your dreams. He killed someone for you in an instant.

When you take his thumb into your mouth, sucking the blood, his spine straightens. He pulls away immediately and turns around, yelling at the his workers that filming will be cut short today.

He just can't wait any longer to spend some lovely time with you.

[p0orbaby]

Do Not Disturb (Unless You're Drunk and Nosy)

summary: privacy? you wish

warnings: suggestive, alcohol, literally everyone being a little shit, angry ale (hot)

a/n: may or may not be inspired by real events…

word count: 1.6k

-

You always thought getting walked in on would be, you know, mortifying. Like, your face turns tomato red, you start stammering, and then you spend the rest of your life avoiding the person who caught you with your pants down—literally. But it turns out that, in reality, it’s way worse than that.

Here’s the thing: Alexia Putellas is perfect. You know this, because you’ve spent an unhealthy amount of time cataloging her perfections. Her perfectly toned legs that could crush a coconut. Her perfectly sharp jawline that could carve Mount Rushmore. Her perfectly soft lips that could silence an entire stadium with a single kiss. And when you’re drunk at a friends house party, it’s easy to forget that this perfection isn’t something you should casually indulge in right now, in a random upstairs bedroom, while everyone else is downstairs playing beer pong and comparing their World Cup tattoos.

But when Alexia grabs your hand and drags you away from the chaos, her eyes all dark and dangerous, any rational thought you have dribbles out of your ears like last week’s gossip. So here you are, in this bed—well, on this bed, because you didn’t even make it all the way under the covers—desperately trying to remember how to breathe while Alexia’s tongue is doing things that would make a priest reconsider his career choices.

You’re about to reach the kind of nirvana people write songs about when the door slams open. Not opens—slams. As if someone was just waiting for the right moment to ruin your life.

“Oh my God,” someone says in a tone that suggests they’ve just witnessed a murder, except, of course, that would be preferable.

Alexia’s head snaps up so fast you’re surprised she doesn’t get whiplash, and you have about two seconds to see the wild panic in her eyes before her entire body goes rigid like a cat that’s just been sprayed with water. She’s still on top of you, which would be hot if you weren’t currently wondering whether you’re legally obligated to register as a sex offender for being caught like this.

And who’s standing there in the doorway? None other than Jenni, who you’re pretty sure was voted “Most Likely to Show Up Uninvited” in high school. She’s holding a half-empty bottle of tequila in one hand and a phone in the other, like she’s been documenting the worst possible moments of the night, and this one’s going to top the list.

“Holy shit,” Jenni says, blinking as if she’s trying to reboot her brain. It doesn’t work, because the next thing out of her mouth is, “Is this a private party, or can anyone join?”

That’s it. You’re going to die. This is how you die. Not from the embarrassment but because Alexia is going to murder you both. You can see it in her eyes. She’s doing some very fast maths in her head, and it ends with Jenni’s body floating down a river somewhere.

“Close the door,” Alexia snaps, and it’s the first thing she’s said in what feels like hours. Her voice is sharp enough to cut glass. Jenni just stares at her for a moment, then at you—still half-naked, because of course you are—and then at Alexia again, like she’s debating whether the smart move is to leave or to stay and further ruin your life.

But of course, Jenni’s never been one for smart moves.

“Oh, no, no, no,” she says, waving her tequila bottle around like it’s a magic wand that’s going to make this situation less awkward. “This is gold. I’ve got to tell the others.” She turns around and yells down the stairs, “Hey, guys! Get up here, quick!”

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to crawl under the bed and maybe live there forever with the dust bunnies and whatever sock the last person to use this room lost. But you don’t get the chance to do any of that, because Alexia has now flipped the fuck out, and she’s off the bed and across the room in a flash, slamming the door shut with enough force to rattle the windows.

“Are you insane?” Alexia hisses at Jenni, who looks like she’s genuinely surprised that Alexia isn’t finding this whole situation hilarious. “Do you have a death wish?”

Jenni, who’s clearly never learned to read the room, just grins, leaning against the doorframe like she’s auditioning for the role of “World’s Biggest Pain in the Ass.” “Hey, don’t get mad at me. You’re the one who decided to get frisky in someone else’s house”

You’re still lying there, half-dressed, your shirt tangled up with some lacy thing that definitely belongs to Alexia, watching the two of them bicker like you’re not even here. You could say something, of course. You could try to diffuse the situation, maybe crack a joke or two, but that would require actual brain function, and right now, all you’ve got is the mental equivalent of elevator music.

Alexia’s about to bite Jenni’s head off—probably literally—when, as if the universe wasn’t satisfied with your current level of humiliation, there’s a knock on the door.

“Jenni? What’s going on?” You recognise that voice. It’s Mapi, followed by a snicker from Patri and what sounds like Ingrid trying and failing to shush them. Great. Just great. Now you’ve got an audience.

Before anyone can react, Jenni swings the door open with the enthusiasm of someone who’s about to introduce a sold-out concert, and your teammates spill into the room like they’ve been rehearsing this all night.

“What the—” Mapi starts, then stops dead when she sees you, then Alexia, and then your clothes all over the floor like some kind of chaotic breadcrumb trail. Her eyebrows shoot up so high they practically disappear into her hairline. “Oh, wow”

There’s a moment of silence that’s so uncomfortable you could bottle it and sell it to masochists. You’re pretty sure you’re about to melt into the bed and become one with the mattress. Meanwhile, Patri has the audacity to wolf whistle, which earns her a glare from Alexia that could stop a freight train.

“So,” Ingrid says, doing a terrible job at hiding her amusement. “This is…unexpected”

“Unexpected?” Mapi echoes, looking at Ingrid like she’s just suggested that the earth is flat. “This is fucking hilarious”

Jenni’s practically doubled over with laughter now, leaning on Mapi for support, which only sets her off too. Pretty soon, all three of them are giggling like schoolgirls who’ve just found out their teacher’s dating the P.E. teacher.

Alexia is standing there, jaw clenched, probably wondering if anyone would notice if she threw them all out the window. You, meanwhile, have reached a state of embarrassment that transcends space and time. You’re floating above the situation, looking down at your life and wondering where it all went so horribly, horribly wrong.

“Can we not make a big deal out of this?” you ask, even though you know it’s hopeless. “It’s not like we were…” You trail off, realizing that there’s no good way to end that sentence. Not like you were what? Sorting laundry? Rearranging the furniture?

“Having sex?” Patri supplies helpfully, still grinning like she’s just won the lottery. “You totally were. We walked in at the good part, didn’t we?”

Alexia makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat, which is probably the only thing that stops her from committing actual homicide. “Out. All of you. Now”

But no one moves. Because why would they? They’re having the time of their lives. Jenni’s already pulling out her phone, probably to tweet something like “Just walked in on the most awkward team bonding experience ever #FML”

“We’re not going to let you live this down, you know,” Mapi says, her smirk so wide it’s a wonder her face doesn’t split in half. “This is going to be the story we tell at every team event from now until the end of time”

“Your kids are going to hear about this,” Patri adds, not even bothering to hide her amusement. “Hell, your grandkids. This is legendary”

You’re going to need therapy after this. Maybe a lot of therapy. But, honestly, that’s future you’s problem. Right now, you just want them to leave so you can salvage whatever dignity you have left and maybe finish what you started with Alexia—assuming, of course, that this hasn’t killed the mood entirely.

Finally, because even she knows when enough is enough, Jenni straightens up and nods toward the door. “Alright, alright. We’ll give you two lovebirds some privacy.” She winks at Alexia, who looks like she might actually be considering taking up a new sport just to avoid ever having to see Jenni again. “But don’t take too long. We’re going to need the play-by-play downstairs”

With that, they finally—finally—file out of the room, still snickering and whispering like they’ve just uncovered the juiciest gossip of the century. As the door closes behind them, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Well,” you say, turning to look at Alexia, who’s now standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. “That went as good as expected”

She gives you a look that could freeze hell, but then, after a moment, she sighs and shakes her head, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “We are never doing this again”

“Sex?” you ask, and the horrified expression that crosses her face makes you burst out laughing. “In someone else’s house,” you clarify, still giggling. “I think that’s a solid rule”

She rolls her eyes but then moves back toward the bed, a mischievous glint in her eyes that tells you maybe the night isn’t entirely ruined after all. “Well, we’re here now,” she says, climbing onto the mattress and pulling you toward her. “Might as well make the most of it”

[evansbby]

an update from me :)

hey everyone, i know i haven’t been very active on here lately. and the reason is because a lot of things in my life have changed. i’ve been debating even sharing this but i feel like i’m in a good enough position to be okay with sharing it.

so these past two years, i had been super active on here (late 2022- early 24) and that was because, well, I didn’t really have anything else. that’s because I had graduated in 2022 and then i just couldn’t find a job in my field. like so many other recent graduates, it was just so hard and tough and it really made me lose all faith in myself.

i found myself to be in the worst mental state i had ever been. I cut myself off from my friends, felt like a burden towards my family, was having meltdowns and panic attacks almost daily, even started eating unhealthily and was just overall in a very bad place.

HOWEVER, i always felt like I could come on tumblr and that’s why i was so active and writing all these stories because honestly, they were almost like a crutch to me. like the ONE thing i had to look forward to in life during those times was the feedback I’d get when i posted a fic, and honestly it’s what kept me going. like i swear to god, on some days this blog and community was the only thing that i had to look forward to and keep me going, and writing felt like such a huge escape.

because i felt so USELESS. like i was wasting my life and not making any money or being able to kickstart my career after uni, and that it would be like this forever, so when I was writing it actually felt like I was doing something with a purpose. honestly on some days I would literally wake up early and go sit in Starbucks all day just writing my fics like i was cosplaying working or something just so I’d have a purpose. (I don’t go to Starbucks anymore lol boycott)

anyways, i never shared this on tumblr these past few years bc you guys don’t understand what a failure i felt like. i would sometimes get asks on here asking what i did for a job and I’d feel so embarrassed of my current state of being unable to find a job when it felt like everyone else who had graduated with me had one and obtained one so easily. like i felt ASHAMED.

i remember once i got an ask asking what my job was and I just said “fashion marketing” bc that was one of the things i wanted to do and id done an internship in that field so i just put that but it was a LIE i was unemployed and the most depressed ive been in my whole life but I thought maybe i could manifest it.

ANYWAYS, and you’ve probably already guessed it, but the reason I’m not so active anymore is because I did eventually find a job. a really good one that I’m enjoying so much and I’m so happy at. Finally, I’m feeling like myself again, like I’m living that life in London as a twenty something that I’d see everyone on tiktok living!! Like I’m finally just having fun, going out with friends, being active, having money to spend on fun things etc.

and it feels so surreal and crazy because when i was depressed and jobless, it made me doubt myself so much. Like the constant rejections and failed interviews made me doubt myself and lowered my self esteem so much and I thought I’d NEVER achieve this life that i have now! And I don’t want to jinx it but I literally thank God every day for finally granting me this because I really feel like I would’ve gotten worse and worse and IDEK.

But back to the main point, and so because of my new job I just don’t have that much time for tumblr anymore. But this isn’t a goodbye post… not at all! I find that when I’m super busy in life is also when I get the most motivated to write! Like for example in summer 2022 I was on here so much and that was the summer I had the most fun, was the most busy. I think when I’m busy in life, I get motivated to write.

Which I believe is the case right now, because I’m SO motivated to complete all my stories, I keep thinking about them and writing them slowly, so please don’t think anything is abandoned! I just wanted to make this post to be more transparent about what’s been going on in my life and what had been going on these past two years. That maybe someone else going through something similar can see that eventually, everything does work out.

Anddd I don’t really know how to end this. I just want to say, yall don’t understand just how thankful I am for having this blog, this platform, to write my stories. For having you guys. Because who knows how much worse my mental state would’ve been these past two years when I didn’t have ANYTHING else going for me, if I hadn’t had this blog it would’ve been so much worse.

Thank you so much for believing in me and enjoying my stories and always always letting me know how much you enjoy them. And I’ll say the truth; I know everyone says that engagement on tumblr has been bad lately but I can say that bc of you guys I have literally never EVER had this issue. And that’s not me being big headed, that’s just the truth and it makes me so happy and grateful. Yall always came through for me and still do now! Every time I think my fic is going to flop, you guys come through for me. I appreciate it so much. You guys have no idea how much you helped me when I was at my lowest. And continue to.

Many thanks

Me 🩷🩷🫶🏼🫶🏼

[theabigailthorn]

Do you think you’ll ever write a book, either philosophy related or maybe memoirs? I really love your content and your ideas and would love to know more about how you organize your worldview.

FUNNILY ENOUGH

I've been seriously considering writing a book about the way the NHS treats trans people, and more broadly about institutional pathologisation in the current global moment we're having. I've had meetings with some big publishers, even drafted an introduction and proposal, and gotten offers back!

BUT

I don't think I'm going to do it, for a few reasons. In no particular order:

Writing a book about that subject might raise the consciousness of a few folks, but does it help build material power for trans people against my country's healthcare system, and the other systems that subjectify trans people globally? Not really, no. In fact it would legitimise the elite media consensus that engaging with elite media is the path to achieving change. Books aren't just books, they're "media events," and accordingly they increase the power and prestige of the media they happen in. If I wrote this book, newspapers would review it, chart it, I'd be invited onto Radio 4 and shit to "debate" and "discuss" it... Does doing that actually help get medicine into trans people's hands? Not really! Writing books and "getting ideas out there" is pretty busted as a theory of change unless it builds power. The fantasy of writing a really good speech or article or book and suddenly the scales fall from cis people's eyes is just that - a fantasy. No minority group has ever gotten change or justice that way. All that would happen is I'd "enhance my brand" - which means that I, with my private education and privilege and opportunities, would make money and get clout whilst contributing to the elite capture of trans rights as a political struggle. I'd become "a leader in the community" and get invited to some dinners and media events and blah blah blah - meanwhile the violence continues. That media event would also enhance the brands of those cis-dominated media outlets and the "having conversations" industrial complex, who are part of the fucking problem! The struggle should be led by the poorest and most vulnerable among us and link up with other material struggles like resisting immigration raids, prison abolition, decriminalisation of drugs and sex work, etc. So I could likely do more good for my community by donating my time and money to good causes and also by some uhhhh... other stuff - let's call it 'direct assistance' - which I already do and find fulfilling.

The offers aren't that big! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Writing that book might do harm if it's co-opted into ongoing right wing attempts to dismantle the NHS and all trans care. It'd be intellectually satisfying but not creatively satisfying or fun. I'd have to immerse myself in a very bleak world for a long time: I would enjoy having done it but not the doing.

It'd ruin my career. Right now I actually fly pretty under the radar of a lot of my country's nastiest transphobes. That would end if I wrote a book about the NHS. Newspapers, editors, publishers, journalists, and probably some MPs and Lords would become very invested in tearing me down. I've seen it happen to queer writers and journalists before. Remember, Britain is a small country and our media is run out of one city by a very small group of people who all know each other and who also know all our politicians, in some cases because they're literally the same people! That book would be like kicking a hornets' nest. Maybe they'd come after me publicly, or maybe it would be more British: somebody would make a quiet phone call and I'd suddenly be radioactive. Bye-bye acting career, bye-bye any public career.

For related reasons, writing that book and doing the necessary media campaign would expose me to a WORLD of harassment and shit from some of the worst people in the universe, which I frankly don't want. That might include lawsuits.

My dream job is to play [REDACTED] in [REDACTED]. Writing a book wouldn't take me closer to that. It would cement my brand as 'trans educational writer' instead of 'actress and writer,' which is what I am.

So yeah, all in all, I don't think I'm going to do it. Not right now anyway. I reserve the right to change my mind. Think I'll write a screenplay instead!

[aangelkeii]

❝𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 𝐊𝐎𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐄❞ | Oops - Tweet, Missy Elliot ❦ ❀

Kinktober Day 3: Cock Warming (k.tober 2024)

A/N: GOD DAMNIT. okay so i rushed this im sorry it's not my fav but it's what you're gonna get. i'm so tired rn i should've listened to my girlfriend bro oh my gawd. also the photo of him on the ground is really tasty ngl

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

wc: 1.7k (hmm..) | warnings: fem! reader, singular use of the word 'cunt' (sorry, couldn't be helped), cock warming obvi, uhh li'l praise? literally the tiniest bit, this goes on during a stream so like.. voyeurism? viewers are adults dw, pornstar! kuroo is mentioned cuz i think that's so funny, kenma whines. o.0.

Wake up, eat a protein bar, turn on the computer, stream for however many hours, sleep for 3, repeat. 

That’s been Kenma’s routine for the past few weeks. He’s been doing charity with Kuroo, ‘Kodzuken: After Dark’, a cheesy title for a program where he does what he regularly does, just for an all-adult audience. He’s dealt with the guy for this long, and he’d do this stupid thing for him. It’s not good for him, though. It’s absolutely terrible, visible in the dark circles under his eyes and the extreme exhaustion written across his face, but he’s been doing this kind of thing for so long that he doesn’t see anything wrong with it.

You beg to differ.

Of course, you support him through his career because it’s what makes him happy (and what makes the money), but it’s gotten to a point that you’re living with a walking zombie instead of your sweet, loving boyfriend. You don’t want to be annoying and pester him about his unhealthy habits, but sometimes you just have to be stern with him. 

Sending him a quick text while he was streaming, asking if he could come to bed soon, proved to work somewhat. He did curl in next to you earlier than he usually did, but it was still considerably late at night. The worst thing about his habits is the fact that even with a total of 21 hours of sleep a week, he still manages to look so good, and feel mostly unaffected by it. Most of his exhaustion comes from the drop of adrenaline after a good stream.

You decided to do something about him. Not in a regular way, but in a way that would make him understand.

In the middle of a stream, you opened the door to the office and peeked your head in. Kenma heard the door creak a bit and muted his mic, turning in his gaming chair and pulling one side of his headphones off of his ear. 

“What’s up?” He muttered, half of his face illuminated by the harsh light of the computer. His hair was tied back into a ponytail, stray pieces tickling his cheeks every time he moved his head. 

“How’s the stream?” You made sure that your face isn’t visible to the webcam. Kenma didn’t want you to show your face to his fans just yet. You understood, flattered that he cared so much early on in your relationship. Even if it’s been 3 years since then, he still stood by his words. “Jus’ wanted to check in.”

He looks back at the screen, reading the chat as they greet you with ‘Lady Kodzuken’, a title that started off as a little joke. It’s the only thing they call you now, not knowing anything about you. “It’s good.”

He looks back at you, giving you a look over while his eyes are away from his nosy viewers. “You going to bed soon?”

You shrug and step into the room, softly closing the door behind you. Kenma’s hand hovers over this stream deck in case he needs to change the screen, but you walk to the side of his desk where the webcam can’t reach. Your hip leans against the desk, his eyes following your every move.

“You gonna come with me?” Your tone is a bit snarky, but mostly teasing. 

He looks back at the screen, the look on his face answering your question. You figured he wasn’t, but you’re still slightly annoyed. “There’s a few more levels, then I’ll join you.”

Nodding slowly, you peek around the screen to read the chat. They’re asking where you went and what you were doing.

You step into frame, and Kenma barely reacts in time to switch the screen, going to ask you what you were doing when you took his face in your hand. Your warm palm pressed gently into his cold cheek makes his eyelids falter just a bit as he relaxes. You soothe his cheekbone with your thumb, looking down at his golden eyes. He has a small look of confusion, brows upturned in question.

“Can I stay here with you?” Your soft voice has him nodding before you even finish your sentence. He doesn’t question you when your free hand goes to the drawstring of your pajama pants, undoing the tie and shimmying them down your legs. It’s only when you step out of them and reach for the waistband of his sweatpants that he snaps out of the trance you put him in.

“Wait–” your hands freeze at his hip bones. He has an internal battle with himself, debating on whether or not he should just end the stream and take you to bed like you wanted or let you sit on his lap with barely anything separating the two of you, but your thumbs delicately brush over his lower stomach.

He gulps and releases a shaky breath, reading the look in your eyes. You don’t plan on just sitting here with him. You’re planning something more.

He nods and you resume your actions, tugging the waistband down, and he lifts his hips for you to pull them off entirely. His hand rests on your hip as you settle on top of his lap, arms wrapping around his neck. He knows immediately that this was a mistake.

He can feel how warm you are, seeping through his bones and warming him from the outside-in. Your knees settle on either side of his hips, digging into the back of the gaming chair, and lean down to kiss his neck.

He feels you shift on his lap, seemingly accidental, but the purposeful roll of your hips down on him tells a different story. The seemingly innocent kisses and tender touches was just a ruse for you to fuck him.

“Babe, I’m streaming,” his voice strains when your fingers creep underneath the band of his boxers, peeling them down enough for his hardening cock to spring up. Your hand palms him, pressing the head against his sweater and leaving a small wet spot on the fabric. It’s embarrassing to him.

“I won’t be bothering you,” you spread the pre cum down his cock, taking your hand away to pull your underwear to the side, sitting against him and rolling your hips. He slips between your lips, knocking against your clit over and over, the stimulation enough to make you clench around nothing. When you raise on your knees and press his tip to your slit, his hands shoot up to the sides of your thighs in warning. 

Sliding down on him slowly, giving yourself enough time to stretch out around him without hurting yourself, Kenma’s already a panting mess beneath you. When the back of your thighs meet the top of his, a pitchy noise leaves his lips and his head falls back in an attempt to control himself.

“Go back to your stream, baby.”

His eyes dart to yours alarmingly, looking at you as if you were crazy. You expect him to continue on like he’s not buried to the hilt inside of you? How can he act like everything’s normal?

You lay your head back into the crook of his neck, taking in a deep breath of his hoodie, tightening your arms around him as you settle down. A slight shift of his hips has you clenching around him and his head feels like it’s going to roll off of his shoulders. But, he does as you say, unmuting himself with a quiet apology as he switches the screen. Now, he wishes he had set up that screen for when he’s not using his webcam.

The rest of his stream goes by agonizingly slow, periodic twitches of your cunt around his dick that makes him buck his hips involuntarily. You have an impressive talent of keeping yourself dead quiet at times, and he’s entirely grateful for that at this moment. The chat questions every time his face burns a darker red and his bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, but he brushes them off with some lame excuse. Either his chat is clueless or stupid, because it should be entirely obvious that he’s stuffed inside of you while you cockwarm him with no care in the world. 

His tip keeps nudging against your sweet spot, and after a torturous hour of small, faltering movements, your hips start to pick up in speed. Kenma slams his hand down on his stream deck, switching to some random idle inimation and muting his stream before his hands grip onto your hips, head falling back with a moan. He hasn’t gotten softer with little to no stimulation, only growing painfully more hard. He can feel how wet his boxers have become from how you’re dripping around him, and it’s overstimulating when you increase your speed even more.

“Oh, oh fuck, mmmhn, s’good,” he babbles on, mouthing near your temple, head foggy and determined to come. The slight praise sends a bolt of electricity between your legs, clit pressing harshly into his pelvic bone, stimulating a fire inside of you. It’s a sudden rush of want and need that forces Kenma to reach up to the back of your neck, dragging you away from his neck to slam his lips against yours in an effort to muffle the pathetic whines that pour from his lips. The warmth of his cum inside of you is enough to make you come, too, huffing out your own noises of pleasure as you ride it out on top of him.  

It feels like forever until the heat finally subsides and you lie limp on his lap, arms circled around his torso as you catch your breath. Kenma ends the stream quickly afterwards and plans to tweet out an apology or something, saying it was a technical difficulty, hoping to god that no one points out the obvious signs of his bliss with you. He knows that it’ll spread like wildfire if even a single person mentions it, but he’ll worry about that later.

“I didn’t like that,” his breathless voice speaks into the quiet air.

“Oh?” Your head lifts, slightly worried. Did you cross a line? 

He looks at your face, pupils dilated and face warm from the rush of blood throughout your body. “An hour was too long. We could’ve been in bed by now.”

Your worries are forgotten. You smile and lean closer to kiss him, cradling his face in your hands.

© aangelkeii - do not repost, translate, plagarize, or claim any of my works as your own.

taglist: @ggriwm @ppsucker3000 @cstandsforchaos @jakeyjakies @cphlo @dumbwaystolive

[lost-romantique]

The Needs of Both these Messy Gays~

I just want to make a point and state that I'm not attacking or pitting both these guys against each other. They're dumbasses, the both of them.

Blitz is someone that is going to need constant reassurance when he's in a relationship.

Being told the words "I love you" scares the fuck out of him because he doesn't trust those words of love.

At the same time, romantic gestures don't work on him because he's always going to assume the worst.

"And then, he'll call me to see how my day was! And he'll pretend to care about me, and comment on my photos, and LAUGH AT MY JOKES—"

Blitz is someone that has used his body and sex as a way to get what he wants. But his relationship to sex is one of the reasons why he's unable to trust those romantic gestures.

Blitz constantly seeks reassurance, and he asks Stolas for that reassurance a LOT throughout Full Moon and Apology Tour...

"Am I not, like, fucking you good enough? Because I-I can always- I can always do better--"

Blitz immediately asks Stolas for reassurance that he's good enough, and that if he isn't good enough, he makes it a point to tell Stolas that he can do better.

Stolas responds to Blitz saying he cares very deeply for him, but being told he's cared about doesn't give him the reassurance he needs.

Blitz asks for reassurance twice from Stolas in Apology Tour...

"This whole thing we had going... I'm- I mean you're a fucking prince. How could you ever actually care for an imp... Me? How could anybody?"

"Stolas, you are better off without me. 'Kay? You deserve so much... I don't even know why you would want to be with me."

Stolas never says anything really wrong in his responses to Blitz, and I think Blitz himself needed to here that. BUT if Stolas were to make one mistake, it would be that he states that he wants somebody / anybody.

Blitz doesn't reach out to Stolas because of his issues in intimacy, and because Blitz himself hasn’t been given the reassurance that he's the one Stolas wants.

Do you know who does give Blitz the reassurance that he's needed? Millie.

Millie is able to give concrete examples to Blitz on how he made an impact on her life.

In fact, Millie states that Blitz is the reason that everything she has in her life is thanks to him being unapologetically himself.

"He gave me so much: a career, a husband, a future, and now... he's my best friend."

The moment Millie gives Blitz the example of how much she values him as a person and as a friend, Blitz immediately asks for reassurance...

"You... you don’t hate me?"

And Millie automatically says, "Nah, never."

The moment Blitz is given the reassurance that he isn't hated by Millie, he opens up, he becomes vulnerable.

Blitz allows Millie to comfort him, and Blitz initiates that intimacy with Millie to which she obliges.

What's beautiful about this exchange is that there isn't anything remotely sexual about it. This is just one friend comforting another friend in need.

Blitz asks for reassurance again in the form of a question...

And the moment Millie reaffirms that sentiment, Blitz opens up and shows Millie the real him.

Not the fuckboy facade, not the mask he wears... this is the REAL Blitz...

Blitz also shows incredible growth by not deflecting to jokes like he usually does, but instead by being honest with Millie...

Blitz promises to Millie that he'll stop impeding on her marriage

Blitz states in the most subtle way that he has feelings for Stolas

Stolas needs to be told that he's cared for and that he's loved by someone.

He's also someone that seeks romantic affection in the form of compliments, and big and small romantic gestures mean the world to him as well.

Blitz unknowingly makes Stolas’s romantic fantasies come true...

A rogue assassin comes into his bedroom to "scale the walls" and he acts like he wants Stolas a lot.

This man is attractive, he is literally the protagonist of a romance novel. His boldness and confidence is alluring. He is a dream come true and he's here to take what's his.

This man just literally sweeps Stolas off his feet, and he still does this while giving you the most smug grin.

Blitz throws Stolas to the bed, and gives him ultimate rizz in the form of this shit eating grin.

And the moment Blitz bites his neck, Stolas is so fucking into it he creams himself.

Blitz is so good actually, extremely good in being bold, confident, and sexy. He knows how to unravel Stolas. *cough*

In fact, the moment Blitz catches him, Stolas is smitten and he is down bad.

To Stolas, this is a big romantic gesture. This is a motherfucking dream come true for Stolas because, "OMG THIS HOT ASS MAN JUST FUCKING SAVED ME!"

But Blitz isn't a romantic, he's not good at showing romantic affection in small ways, and that's what screws him over.

Stolas wants and actively seeks the smallest bit of reassurance and comfort that Blitz can provide, whether it be through text and or in other small ways.

This motherfucking birb, this dumbass Prince, even when he has every right to be angry at Blitz for the shit he said to him, still wants Blitz to hold him. In fact, he makes him hold him.

Stolas is so fucking cute, being all like, "I'm mad at you, but I still demand you hold me."

"You wanna know what I want? I want to know what it's like, to not be alone. I want to be someone's someone. I want to feel wanted. But like, in a romantic way, like I'm standing out in the rain at a train station and someone is shouting: “Harriet! Don’t get on that train, it’s going to London and I cannot be without you!”

Harriet the Train is a big romantic gesture. Stolas likes big romantic gestures, and Blitz is really good at doing actions that are big and bold.

Blitz has made Stolas feel wanted in The Circus and he makes him feel protected in Seeing Stars. Blitz knows how to be big.

Stolas doesn't need Blitz to perform Harriet the Train, but can he? Oh fuck yes he can.

"The point is, I just... want someone to care if I stay or go. I want someone to want... me! To want to see me. To hold me. To look at me and think "You're the only one I want!" [sheds tears] "I desire to hold you and talk to you, and never let you feel so..."

This is what Stolas wants from someone right now. He wants to feel wanted in the small ways, he wants to be held, he wants someone to talk to him, to make him feel not so alone.

Right now, at this very moment, Stolas needs the small stuff. He needs the small bits of intimacy that Blitz is not in the right headspace to provide in Apology Tour.

Do you know who gives Stolas what he needs at the moment? Better than Blitzo guy.

He's smooth and charming in a different way from Blitz. He doesn't even look at Blitz, actually, his eyes are only on Stolas.

"Great song earlier. You have great pipes."

He compliments Stolas on his singing, and Stolas is happy to be given a compliment.

BTB than asks Stolas to dance, and Stolas is both surprised and in disbelief.

Stolas is so happy and genuinely has an amazing time dancing with BTB, he even goes out of his way to use his wings to give Stolas a spin.

BTB even performs a big romantic gesture of pulling Stolas into a sloppy wet kiss, to which Stolas happily reciprocates.

I think both these idiots have the potential to be what the other really needs, and I honestly think with proper communication they can have the most beautiful relationship.

[loonylupinblack3]

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Warnings: angst, swearing

Summary: could charles still love you, even after everything?

Word count: 2.6k

part 1

“Y/n calm down-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” you snapped. “My whole career is hanging by a thread. I can’t calm down.”

Lando sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t the right thing to say. But you need to breathe, because you’re turning blue.”

You reluctantly did as he said, because your chest was starting to hurt and you’d probably collapse if you didn’t. But as soon as you did you wished you hadn’t, because accompanying the breath was the sharp stab of grief.

What was happening? Two days ago, your world had shattered, every newspaper and website claiming the same thing; you and Charles had dated. It didn’t matter that it was past tense- people were still hurling insults your way, discrediting all your work just because you dated a boy.

Except he wasn’t just a boy. He was Charles Leclerc, driver for Scuderia Ferrari, and you were Y/n L/n, driver for Aston Martin. 

And now you were facing a possible investigation, because you’d kept your relationship a secret and both teams were worrying you’d passed information onto each other, so here you were.

Suspended.

“Can they even do this?” Yuki’s voice sounded enraged, and if you weren't as tired as you were you’d probably have felt warmed that you had people who cared about this as much as you.

Oscar looked up. “Is Charles suspended too?” 

You flinched slightly at the mention of your ex, but everyone either didn’t notice it or purposefully ignored it, which you were grateful for.

George had already started whipping out his phone. “I’ll ask Pierre.”

You stared at your four friends, all here to support you during this time, and felt a surprising amount of love towards them. If you had any energy you’d probably shower them all in your affection, even Yuki who would bat you away with a stick if you tried.

You laid your head in Lando’s lap, the boy immediately playing with your hair, an almost subconscious instinct by now. It was embarrassing how much time you’d spent in Lando’s lap over the past two days.

“Y/n,” Oscar said, passing you your now ringing phone. “It’s your mum.”

You groaned but rolled off of Lando’s lap, sitting up on your bed and grabbing your phone, taking a deep breath to calm yourself before answering.

“Hey Mum-”

“Stupid idiots! When I come down there- I mean, who do they think they are?! Ridiculous boys parading around as men. As soon as I get my hands on them-.but how are you doing Sweetheart? I know this must be hard.”

You let out a small laugh at your mum’s rant, one that threatened to turn into a sob so you silenced it. “I’m… I don’t know, really. Just trying to get through it.”

“Suspended! For what?! For fucking another driver? If anything he should be suspended, since it was his dick in you.”

You choked on a gasp. “Mum.”

“What? I’m just saying.”

You shook your head, shocked but also feeling slightly better. Your mum always managed to take your mind off things, even if it was by saying out of pocket things that, if you’d had your phone on speaker, would have made your friends gobsmacked. 

“Has he even talked to you about it?” Your mother prodded.

You sighed, feeling the insecurities that had been sticking to you like parasites, infecting you, come to the surface. “No, he hasn’t talked to me.”

Why hasn’t he? This was literally the worst case scenario for you, and he knew that. It was why you broke up in the first place. So now that your deepest fears have happened, the dread turned into something real, he was gone? Just like that? What happened to all the promises that he’d be there for you, that you’d get through this together? You knew you weren’t together anymore but shouldn’t they still mean something? 

Your mother continued her rant at your words, babbling on about incompetent people in power, stupid idiots, etcetera etcetera. You had to hang up on her when you saw Geroge’s less than pleased expression though, because obviously something had happened during the phone call to put him in this mood, because he was always annoyingly optimistic, even during this mess.

As soon as you put your phone down you demanded to know what happened, what George found out. He sighed, looking forlorn that he had to be the one to give you the news, but pressed forward anyway.

“Charles hasn’t been suspended.”

Silence followed his words. You didn’t even know what to say, your jaw working but no sound coming out. Charles wasn’t suspended? You were suspended but Charles wasn’t, for doing the same fucking thing?

“What the fuck?” Yuki burst out, standing up. “They can’t do this!”

“They can, mate,” Oscar said tiredly, rubbing his face. “They’re from different teams, and it was up to those teams to make the decision, not the FIA.”

Yuki kicked the side table, looking for all the world like he was going to storm the Aston Martin headquarters and demand they un-suspend you. You all knew why Charles wasn’t suspended and you were. It was the same reason it took you so long to get into F1, why you still got daily death threats and had to undergo a different training to everyone else. 

Because you were a woman.

Suddenly you were so tired. You’d been tired for a while, but now it was exhaustion weighing you down, a draining, crippling exhaustion you wanted nothing to do with. You were tired of worrying, tired of constantly scouring the internet, soaking up every insult directed your way. You were tired of missing Charles, a constant in your life now. Waking up and having your hand search for his body, only to find the sheets cold. Thinking about him every spare moment of the day, your mind straying to him against your will.

You missed him, and you wished he’d call. You regretted your decision, didn’t you? Since the secret came out anyway, except now you didn’t even have Charles to be there for you through it. It really was all for nothing, and here you were, stuck with the decisions you made.

Lando’s head resting on your shoulder snapped you out of your sulking. You looked down at your hands, letting out a sigh. None of the others were talking, waiting for you to speak, to see what sort of reaction you had before they did anything.

“I think I’m going to take a walk,” you said quietly. 

Yuki’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth, about to say something, when George elbowed him in the side, sending him a pointed look. Yuki scowled, rubbing his stomach but stayed silent, letting you leave with no complaint.

You were too tired to question their strange behaviour and left the hotel room, walking along the halls. You weren’t sure where you were going; you just needed to get out of that room, away from your friends’ pitying stares.

You eventually entered the elevator, deciding to visit the bar in the lobby where you’d drown your feelings in alcohol and hopefully receive a respite from this horrible nightmare you were living.

Except as soon as you exited the elevator, heading towards the bar, you realised you’d made a terrible mistake. Because there Charles stood, speaking in hushed tones with Pierre Gasly and making big gestures with his hands.

And fuck, his hands. It was probably a strange thing to focus on considering the circumstances, but it was the only thing keeping you from freaking out so you welcomed the distraction eagerly, eyes tracing each vein on his hand, remembering how gentle they could be when he wanted them to.

But then he looked away from Pierre, a frustrated expression on his face, and his gaze landed directly on you, and his eyes widened, mouth parting slightly as he stared at your figure. You panicked yet couldn’t move, swallowing thickly but unable to tear your gaze away from him as he continued to stare, looking dumbfounded.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

As soon as you regained control of your body you turned around, walking swiftly back into the elevator. You couldn’t do this today; not when you’d just discovered your career was at risk and his wasn’t, for the exact same thing.

Charles didn’t seem to be thinking the same thing as you though, because just as you pressed the button to your floor, the doors starting to close, his hand was there stopping the doors from closing, and then he was inside the elevator with you as the doors did finally shut, except now they felt like a death sentence, trapping you in there Charles.

“Y/n,” he said quietly, and oh.

Oh how his voice comforted you. Everything was shit, your whole career crashing down before your eyes, the thing you worked so hard for in the midst of being destroyed, but with one word from his mouth Charles somehow made everything seem slightly better. It warmed you, and you cursed yourself for it.

“Charles,” you replied just as softly, unable to help yourself. You longed for him like the sun longed for the moon, like the stars longed for the clouds. Polar opposites, unable to be together but fuck if you didn’t try as desperately as you could to make it work. To be with them even against all odds.

And then suddenly you were being wrapped up in Charles’ arms, apologies spilling from his mouth as he pressed you against him, grip tightening with every passing second. And you were just as hopeless, returning the embrace with a desperation you didn’t even realise you had, hiding your face into his chest, escaping from the world, feeling nothing but him.

He rested his chin on your head, eyes fluttering shut, hugging you tighter against him. It took everything in you not to start sobbing, to beg him for forgiveness then and there. Everything felt so fucking hard, and if you had to leave without Charles you weren’t sure how you’d cope with it. You never imagined having to do this without him.

“I’m so sorry Y/n,” Charles choked out, words muffled from where he pressed his face into your hair. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You pulled back, quickly wiping away a stray tear before he could see. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because this is your worst fucking nightmare.”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that. It was your worst nightmare, except it was double the horror because you didn’t even have Charles by your side to help you through it.

“Why didn’t you call?” you asked instead. “Or even text me?”

Charles looked away guiltily, but he didn’t take a step back. If anything he held you tighter, like he thought you were going to try to escape him any minute. Little did he know you didn’t want to be anywhere but his arms right now.

“I didn’t think you wanted to see me,” he admitted quietly. “It’s my fault this is happening. We were too careless. I was too careless, and encouraged you to be as well, even though I knew what was on the line for you. This happened because of me.”

You were shaking your head before he even finished speaking. “Charles none of this is your fault. I knew what I was doing getting involved with you. Both of us are responsible.”

Yet only one is suspended, a vicious voice hissed in your mind.

You tried pushing it away, not wanting any bitter feelings to ruin the moment. Unfortunately Charles knew you, and he noticed the sudden shift, eyebrows furrowing.

“What is it?”

You swallowed, unsure if you should tell him or not. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t suspended, he shouldn’t be blamed for it, but you couldn’t help resenting him a little bit for it. It was wrong, you knew that, but it was how you felt.

“I was suspended.”

Charles opened his mouth and closed it again, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I know,” was his eventual answer.

“And you weren’t.”

Pain briefly flashed across Charles’ voice, his voice strained as he spoke. “I know. I’m sorry. I tried to talk them out of it but they said because we weren’t together anymore the risk of secrets spilling was higher and-”

“You talked to them?” you asked, surprised.

Charles looked almost hurt at the shock on your face. “Of course I did, Y/n. This isn’t fucking fair. If I can help you I’ll do it, even if we’re no longer together.”

You kissed him then. You weren’t sure how it happened. You just felt this overwhelming warmth at his words, this feeling of love filling you to the brim, begging to be released but you didn’t know how to except with this. With a kiss worth a thousand words, telling him everything you couldn’t say in person, all your doubts and insecurities and love love love.

Charles kissed you back just as deeply, hands cradling your face like you were something fragile. Like you were precious, something he wanted to keep forever in his arms, never let go of. Like he loved you just as much as you loved him, even now. Even after everything. 

When you both pulled back there was a hesitant hope in your eyes. You’d understand if Charles didn’t want you again, if he just kissed you back in the heat of the moment. You’d hurt him, and now you wanted him back. It was understandable if he wanted nothing to do with you. It would break your heart, of course, but you’d understand and you wouldn’t fight it.

Except Charles was smiling, which wasn’t something someone would do if they were about to break up with you. Even though you weren’t even together.

“I love you, Y/n,” Charles breathed, cupping your face. “I understand if you don’t want to, but please, let me be with you again.”

Your heart gave a little squeeze. “You still want to? Even after all I did, after everything, you still want to be with me?”

Charles smiled, pressing his forehead against yours. “Of course.”

You opened the door to your hotel, hand in hand with Charles.

“Y/n, you’re back, we were starting to worry-”

Lando stopped speaking, jaw hanging open as he stared at Charles, distrust and confusion clear on his face. As if his silence was some indicator of danger, the three other men bounded into the living room, expressing similar shock to Lando at the sigh of Charles next to you.

“You bastard,” Yuki muttered, lunging forward to- well, you weren’t even sure what he was intending to do; tackle him maybe?- but Oscar grabbed the hem of his shirt, keeping him away.

Charles looked at them sheepishly, giving a little wave. “Hey guys.”

George looked at you. “So are you two dating again?”

You nodded silently, but couldn’t stop the smile forcing its way onto your face.

George sighed. “Fucking finally. Pierre had been harassing me constantly about it.”

“He was what?!” Charles squawked incredulously.

George, sensing he had made a mistake, kept his mouth shut. 

You didn’t care though. All you could care about was that you had Charles with you, by your side, and he’d be with you while you sorted this mess out, got your career back on track and made sure no team or media would fuck with you again. You had him for every moment in the future, every night as you went to sleep and every morning as you woke up. You had him for every race, every dinner, every anniversary.

That was all for the future though. Right now you just wanted to hang out with your friends, and your boyfriend, who regardless of everything that had happened was here with you. Who cared for you, loved you, wanted to be with you, even after everything.