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monzabee · 12 hours ago

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Ok so this is my first time requesting so sorry if it’s not like to detailed but I’d say like a story where you and Lando live together and you eventually start liking each other but he doesn’t know you like him and like you see him and a girl and immediately like “omg he does NOT like me😔” so you go with your friend like to a bar or club not sure and meet someone(could be Charles or Carlos)

And the you end up liking him and then he takes you to your house and Lando is waiting for you and then sees (one of them) and then gets upset and starts asking like were have you been blah blah .Then you eventually say you liked him but you know it didn’t if he had liked someone else and then he’s like no I liked you and then it comes to a fluff or angst ending.(again I’m sorry first time requesting 😭❗️

the roommate experiment – ln4

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where Lando doesn’t like his roommate, not one bit—this is a complete lie.

Pairing: lando norris x reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: fluff, arguing (a lot), feeelings, jealous, i can’t remember but maybe cursing?

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! let me tell you one thing—this fic is VINTAGE at this point, and i'm not even kidding😭 this took me a very long time to finish, and it was a journey, and i do apologise for that, but hey—at least it’s here!!! let's all celebrate some good vibes for lando norris who is leading the championship, and hopefully i can get through rest of the requests on my list. i hope you guys enjoy and feedback is always appreciated. also, my requests are open! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

One second Lando is on the podium in Miami, getting his first win, being absolutely on top of the world and partying until he doesn’t remember his name. Then, suddenly, he is back in his apartment in Monte Carlo, his mother sitting on the couch beside him as she explains how the daughter of a close family friend will be staying him for the foreseeable future. He thinks, for a moment, whether he is still hungover or not, or maybe he’s dreaming, because there is absolutely no way he’s going to be sharing his apartment with you.

“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head, hands cutting through the air to emphasise his point. “Why am I the one stuck with her? She’s not a child.”

“I’m not saying she’s a child,” his mother points out, “I’m saying that she needs a place to stay during her internship, and you have an extra room. She’s your friend, Lando, stop acting like you don’t like her.”

With a finger pointed at his mother, “I’m not saying I don’t like her,” Lando explains, “all I’m saying is that I don’t think either of us could be fine with living each other. You saw the last time we had an argument; do you want it to be like that every single day?”

No, she thinks, I absolutely do not, as his mother thinks of the thrashed-up villa that your families had rented out for a holiday and shakes her head to get rid of the imagine. “Well, she’s coming, so be nice to her and try not to obliterate your apartment, darling.”

“Mum, I just won my first race, is this how you want me the remember the best day of my life ending its high?” Lando tilts his head, giving his mom the best puppy eyes he can.

He thinks for a second that he manages to get through her, but then, she straightens up, gives him a small kiss on the forehead and starts walking through the door as she yells, “Don’t forget to bring out the guest towels!”

And as he slumps down onto the couch, his mind goes back to the fact that just over twenty-four hours ago, he was back in Miami, partying after his first win.

Staying at Lando’s apartment in Monte Carlo wasn’t your first, second or last choice for an accommodation if you’re being a hundred percent honest. Alas, you find yourself at his apartment, bags in hand, busy returning the look of disdain behind his mother’s back to match the look he gives you himself. She has somehow convinced your mother, who practically forced you to take her gracious offer, that this is a good idea. “You’ll get along splendidly,” she assures you all, including herself, “you are not little kids who fight because of everything anymore.”

Oh, little did she know.

The first hour you’re there, Lando makes a point of complaining of how many boxes you have, as if you were not in the process of moving your entire life to another country, and that you are to, under any circumstances, display any of your ‘girly’ things out in his ‘bachelor pad’. You decide to take the high road with that second one and opt for an eyeroll as you drag your suitcase into your room to unpack. The look he gives you behind your back? Priceless. And you only know how he looks because of the strategically placed mirrors he has on the corridor.

After a couple of hours, he throws a fuss because you’ve decided to order food. “I’m an athlete,” he points out. “You can’t just order food whenever you want around here.”

You try taking the high road, you really do, but how can you not egg him on when he is acting like such a petulant child?

The second argument occurs when Lando has a few friends over a couple of days later, and you wander into the kitchen in your loungewear—which doesn’t make any sense, because you can’t see what’s so scandalous about a pair of shorts and a tank top, but he insists that you cannot be hanging around his friend wearing ‘almost nothing’. You point out that his complaining within itself contradictory because if you are wearing something, then you cannot be wearing almost nothing. He leaves the living room, stomping on his way back to his room, you count it as another argument won. Your mother loses it when you tell her that you’re going to start looking for a place to move out, also reminding her of the fact that living with Lando was supposed to be temporary anyway, but she’s having none of it.

“Temporary or not, you promised to stick it out until your internship ends,” your mother reminds you sternly over the phone. “And besides, you’ve known Lando your whole life. Surely you can survive a few months without tearing each other apart.”

“Define ‘tearing each other apart,’” you mutter, earning a long sigh on the other end.

“Stop being dramatic,” she replies. “Lando isn’t the problem. You both just need to grow up and learn how to live together.”

You don’t have the energy to argue further, so you reluctantly let the conversation end with a grumbled, “Fine, but if one of us ends up in the hospital, it’s on you.”

When you think about it, living with Lando is as much as living without Lando. So that’s how your days pass by for a while, at least until Lando has to leave to go racing or back to the UK to go to the Mclaren factory. You fight over everything like cats and dogs, and you are mature enough to admit that coexisting with Lando is not an option. The apartment is eerily quiet when Lando is not there, you realise. That makes sense, since he is not there to bicker with you about anything and everything you do, from the way you breathe to the way you walk. At first, you relish the silence. The absence of Lando’s constant complaints feels like a vacation. No sarcastic quips about your ‘obnoxious’ alarm clock. No eye rolls when you leave your shoes by the door instead of neatly tucking them away.

No Lando, period.

But then, as the days stretch on, the quiet begins to weigh on you. Without the petty arguments, the apartment feels almost... lifeless. You catch yourself lingering in the kitchen, half expecting him to appear and critique your choice of breakfast. Or walking past the couch, where you can usually find him lounging with a smug grin, daring you to say something about his feet on the coffee table. It’s unsettling how quickly you’ve grown used to his presence, how much his absence leaves a void.

You would never admit out loud that there is a teeny tiny chance of you possibly miss having him around, because admitting that would be like handing him a victory he absolutely doesn’t deserve. Lando is already insufferable enough—imagine the endless teasing if he found out you missed him. No, you tell yourself firmly, this is just about the sudden peace and quiet that you are not used to. It has nothing to do with him. But the longer Lando stays away, the harder it becomes to ignore the empty space. You find yourself pacing the apartment, glancing at your phone, half-expecting to see a message from him. Maybe just to poke fun at something you did or complain about something you didn’t even know was an issue. But there’s nothing. Not even a text.

It’s strange. The whole atmosphere of the apartment is different without his presence. The silence isn’t comforting anymore—it’s just oppressive. It makes you feel a little bit lost, a little bit too aware of the fact that the person who used to drive you crazy is the same person you now seem to miss, even if you won’t admit it.

You’re standing in the kitchen one afternoon, absentmindedly washing dishes, when the door slams open when Lando is back. He’s dragging his luggage behind him, looking dishevelled but somehow still effortlessly cool. As soon as he steps in, he scans the apartment with that familiar smug grin. “You miss me?” he asks, voice light and teasing, though his eyes are just a little too knowing.

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly turn away, trying to hide the fact that you’re actually relieved to see him. “I wouldn’t go that far,” you mutter, scrubbing the plate a little too vigorously.

Lando laughs, clearly enjoying this. “Sure, sure. You don’t have to admit it. I can tell.” He tosses his keys on the counter and walks into the living room, looking around like he’s just returned to the battlefield.

“Only in your dreams, Lando.” You can’t stop the eye roll that follows, but you bite back the smile threatening to break through.

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your deflection. “Trust me, darling, you’re doing something very different in my dreams.”

You freeze for a second, a blush creeping up your neck despite your best efforts to stay unaffected.

Did he really just say that?

You turn your back to him, scrubbing the dish a little harder, trying to mask the sudden nervous energy that’s bubbled up in your chest. “Keep dreaming, Lando. I’m not that easy.”

His laugh follows you, light and teasing. “Oh, I know. But trust me, it’s a pretty good dream.” He drops onto the couch with the same lazy, confident air that he always has, kicking his shoes off and stretching out like he owns the place. You roll your eyes, not wanting to give him any satisfaction, but you can’t help but feel a shift between you two. “I’m going to be a good roommate for a second,” he announces.

“Oh, yeah?” You scoff, placing down the plate you were scrubbing on the drying rack. “I find that kind of hard to believe, but go on, I guess.”

Lando smirks, clearly enjoying your scepticism. “No, really. I’m going to invite you out to a party tonight,” he says, leaning back on the couch with that trademark smugness. “My friends are throwing something to celebrate the win. You might as well come with me. You’re already here, and it’ll be good for you to get out of the apartment. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “A party? With your friends?” The idea of spending time with Lando and his crew seems like asking for more arguments, but something in his casual offer piques your interest.

“Yeah, with my friends,” he confirms, totally unbothered by your hesitation. “It’ll be fun. No arguing, no complaints. Just a good time. You’ll need a little distraction, considering how quiet you’ve been without me.”

“You’re a saint, Lando,” you laugh softly, drying your hands on the towel next to you, “but I’ll have to pass.”

Lando’s smirk falters, but only for a moment, before he stands up from the couch, stretching lazily. “Come on,” he says, his tone shifting to a mix of coaxing and playful challenge. “You’re going to pass on the chance to have some fun?”

You regret your decision to prove Lando wrong, as soon as you step into the club. The bass thrums through the floor, shaking your ribs as lights flicker across the packed club. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something vaguely expensive—probably Lando’s choice of venue. You’re still not sure why you let him talk you into this. Lando disappears almost immediately, swallowed by a sea of familiar faces, leaving you with a drink in hand and a mild sense of regret. You shouldn’t have come. This was his world, not yours.

You take a sip of your drink, scanning the room for any excuse to leave early, when a smooth voice pulls your attention. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

You turn, and your stomach flips slightly. Oh.

Charles Leclerc, dressed effortlessly in a fitted black shirt, his green eyes glinting under the dim lights, is watching you with an amused expression.

You laugh, shifting on your feet. “Is it that obvious?”

“Painfully,” he grins, sipping his drink. “Not a fan of the club scene?”

You shrug. “More like not a fan of being dragged here by a certain someone who insists I need to ‘loosen up.’”

Charles chuckles knowingly. “Let me guess—Lando?”

“Bingo.”

Charles shakes his head, smiling. “Classic.” He leans against the bar, his gaze settling on you like he’s studying you, intrigued. “So, what do you actually like to do for fun?”

You end up talking to him longer than you expected. He’s easy to talk to, charming in a way that doesn’t feel forced. And when he suggests getting some air outside, you don’t hesitate.

Lando doesn’t notice you leaving. Or so you think.

When Charles walks you up to your apartment later that night, you don’t expect to see Lando leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a frown etched onto his face. His eyes flick from you to Charles, jaw clenching. “Where the hell have you been?” His voice is sharp, accusing.

You blink, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“It’s two in the morning.” He points out, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes narrow down.

You scoff, crossing your arms. “And? You go out all the time and come back whenever you want.”

Lando ignores that. His gaze snaps to Charles. “And what are you doing here?”

Charles raises his hands, staying neutral. “Just making sure she got home safe.” He then turns to you, “And I will be leaving, because I really don’t want my head chopped off, I’ll see you two later.”

Lando lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, how chivalrous of you.” Lando calls after Charles, scofffing as he turns back to you.

You glare at him. “Lando, what is your problem?”

Lando's jaw tightens, his arms still crossed over his chest as he glares at you like you’ve personally offended him.

“My problem?” he scoffs. “My problem is that you just disappeared without saying anything. I turned around and you were gone.”

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I didn’t realize I needed to check in with you like a child.”

“You don’t,” he shoots back. “But maybe let someone know before you run off with Charles fucking Leclerc. Because I don’t know what to tell your mother.”

“My mother?” You let out a sharp laugh, crossing your arms. “Oh, so that’s what this is about? You have a problem with Charles now? Isn’t he your friend?”

Lando shifts on his feet, jaw clenching. “I don’t have a problem with him. I have a problem with you sneaking off in the middle of the night.”

“Sneaking off?” you repeat, incredulous. “I told you I wasn’t going to stay long. You were too busy chatting up multiple girls to notice.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head like he’s trying to hold something back. “You shouldn’t have left with him.” He takes a step towards you, which would usually cause you to take a step back, but you don’t step down.

“Oh my God, Lando.” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “I wasn’t kidnapped. Charles walked me home. That’s it.”

Lando lets out a bitter laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sure. Just being a gentleman, right?”

You narrow your eyes. “Yes, actually. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“It is my business,” he snaps, taking a step closer. “You live here. With me. And if something happened—”

“Nothing happened,” you cut him off. “And even if it did, you don’t get to act like this.”

Lando shakes his head, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “Like what?”

“Like you own me,” you challenge, voice steady. His mouth opens slightly, like he wants to argue, but no words come out. For the first time in the entire conversation, he looks caught off guard. You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.” You push past him, reaching for the door handle.

But before you can step inside, Lando’s hand catches your wrist. It’s not rough—just enough to make you pause. You look up at him, and for the first time all night, there’s something in his expression that isn’t just frustration or irritation. He hesitates, then his voice drops, quieter this time. “I didn’t—” He exhales sharply, like the words physically hurt to get out. “I didn’t like seeing you with him.”

Your breath catches for a second, because there it is. The truth that’s been simmering under the surface for weeks, finally cracking through. You hold his gaze, your heart hammering in your chest. “And why is that, Lando?”

Lando’s grip on your wrist loosens slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped spinning. He looks at you, eyes darkened, as if he’s struggling with the words, unsure whether to let them slip. “Because…” He trails off, voice barely a whisper, a complete opposite of himself mere moments ago when he was yelling. “Because I care. And I didn’t want you running off with someone else.” His eyes flick to the ground before meeting yours again, this time with something softer, vulnerable. "I didn’t want to admit it... but I think I’ve been a total idiot."

You blink, heart pounding in your chest as the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You stare at him for a moment, completely dumbfounded, unsure if you heard him right. “You…” you start, but he interrupts you, his voice urgent.

“I know I’ve been a prick. I know we fight constantly, but I—” He pauses, his hands fidgeting at his sides, clearly nervous for the first time in a long while. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care about you. I just… I didn’t know how else to handle it. And when I saw you with him tonight, I…” He swallows hard, looking almost embarrassed. “I hated it. I didn’t want to feel like I was losing you.”

Your head spins, trying to process what he’s saying. You blink a few times, trying to find the right words. “Lando… I thought you didn’t like me. I mean, the way you’ve acted, always arguing with me, always finding something to complain about—” Your voice falters, and you shake your head in disbelief. “I didn’t think you cared at all.”

Lando’s eyes widen, a flash of guilt crossing his face. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, as if struggling to form the words. Finally, he steps forward, closing the space between you, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I was just being an idiot. I never wanted to make you feel like that.”

A silence falls over you both, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. You take a deep breath, your hand still resting where his had been moments before, and for the first time, you meet his gaze without the usual annoyance or defensiveness. “You’re such an idiot,” you mutter softly, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays the words.

Lando lets out a small laugh, a genuine, relieved sound that makes your heart skip a beat. “I know. But I’m an idiot who cares about you.”

He leans in to kiss you, but you put your finger on his lips, stopping him in his tracks as you chuckle softly. “Hold your horses, you better take me out first before kissing me, champ,” you say, your voice playful but with a hint of disbelief.

Lando’s eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and amusement as he pulls back slightly, the tension between you two lifting. He raises an eyebrow, that familiar mischievous glint returning to his gaze. “Take you out, huh? Guess I’m gonna have to step up my game then.”

You nod, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “I’m not that easy, Lando. You’ve got a lot of work to do after all the stupid things you said tonight.”

Lando chuckles, shaking his head. “Fair enough, I deserve that.” He steps back and scratches the back of his head, looking a bit sheepish but still confident. “How about tomorrow? I’ll take you to dinner. No more arguments, I promise.”

Your heart does a little flip at the thought of a calmer, less complicated night out with him. You try to play it cool, rolling your eyes. “I guess I could let you—hey!” You shriek as he throws you over his shoulder, already walking towards the door.

You barely have time to protest before Lando's laughing voice rings through the apartment, his grip secure as he makes his way toward the door. “I’m serious. Dinner tomorrow, no complaints, no arguments. If you want your ‘I’m-not-that-easy’ dinner, you’re gonna have to accept the offer.”

“Lando!” you cry, thumping his back in a half-hearted attempt to get free. “Put me down!”

“I’m doing you a favour. You’re always so serious. It’s about time someone lightens things up!” He chuckles, effortlessly carrying you toward the door, his steps unwavering.

You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. For someone who spent weeks driving you crazy, he was somehow making this moment feel lighter, better, despite your feigned indignation. When he finally sets you down in front of the door, you catch your breath, trying to keep your composure. “Don’t make me regret this,” you warn him, giving him a look that betrays the smile creeping onto your lips. “I’m not going easy on you, Lando Norris.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grins, all charm and confidence, a lopsided smile on his face.

“Fine,” you say, nudging him playfully. “But you are definitely apologising to Charles later.”

“Oh, come on,” he protests with mock offense. “We can’t have a perfect night without a little argument, can we?” Lando watches you, his grin never fading, his eyes full of that familiar glint.

You shake your head at him one last time, unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, but your heart’s not in it anymore.

He steps closer, that cocky grin still in place, and leans down, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. “You love it,” he murmurs softly, his voice teasing but sincere.

You pause, staring at him for a moment, as if weighing the truth of his words. And then, with a small sigh, you nod, the heat rising in your cheeks. “Maybe I do,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #lando norris fluff

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psychoticallykind · 2 days ago

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Hypocrisy

'dramatic' - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 342 words

James walked into the library to see Remus sitting with his head down while Regulus read in his seat across the table.

"Hello, love," James said, kissing the top of Regulus's head. "What's wrong, Moony?"

Regulus looked up. "He's being dramatic."

Remus's head lifted just enough for them to see his scowl. "I am not."

"Sirius is helping Marlene with her makeup, so he isn't here to lie all over Remus. Cue the dramatic pouting." Regulus waved a hand at Remus, who was now sitting up as he glared.

"You, especially," Remus replied sharply. "Do not get to call me dramatic. It's practically half of your personality."

"That's ridiculous," Regulus said, rolling his eyes. "I'm perfectly sensible. It's not my fault you can't function without my brother here to bother you."

Remus snorted. "I can function just as well as you can after a day without James, hypocrite."

"I don't need James," Regulus shot back, and then twisted to glance anxiously at James's expression.

James just kissed his forehead. "Of course not, love. You're very capable of doing things on your own."

"He has to say that," Remus interjected. "Or you'll pout and throw a little hissy fit."

"I will not!" Regulus looked deeply offended. "I don't throw 'hissy fits'."

Remus raised a brow. "Would you prefer the term 'temper tantrum'?"

Regulus looked back at James. "Tell him he's being an idiot."

James took a deep breath. "Remus, please stop insulting my boyfriend."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "That was too nice."

"How about you come with me, and I'll be nice to you instead?" James offered, hoping this wouldn't escalate.

Regulus's eyes narrowed for a moment as he considered it. Then, to James's immense relief, he nodded. "That would be acceptable."

"Wonderful," James replied. He waved goodbye to Remus. "Moony, Sirius was almost done with Marlene when I left. I'm sure he'll be here any minute now."

He wisely didn't comment on the way Remus visibly brightened at the information.

Regulus, however - well.

James could only do so much in a day.

#jegulus #regulus black #james potter #jegulus microfic #jeggyverse microfic #marauders

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cursedpdf · 3 days ago

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I would like to talk about the white woman tradwife thing bc I feel like I have a pretty close perspective on it

I grew up Mormon. In the Mormon church it is ingrained into you that a woman’s place is in the home and having Mormon babies with their Mormon husband and they do not try to beat around the bush about it. There’s a whole article called Family: A Proclamation to The World published by the church and viewed as scripture by the members of the church that goes over all the details. (I’m sure you can find it on their website, I will not be linking it).

Growing up, I watched how these teachings affected my mother. I watched a woman with undiagnosed Bipolar 2 attempt to manage a household and raise 4 children while my father was away at work all day. When he came home, he’d change the TV to whatever he wanted to watch, sit down, eat dinner, eventually fall asleep in his chair because he was “tired from work”. He couldn’t possibly do any household tasks or care for his children. I don’t think I ever saw that man wash the dishes in the full 19 years I lived at home. At around middle school/high school, I realized how this was not fair to my mom or to us children (the Mormon church views them as extensions of the parents). We were also laborers of the home because my mom was and that’s who we were home with.

I started speaking up. I was very vocal about how I thought this was not a fair trade off for my mom and I think this is also about the time my dad stopped liking me so much, pretty sure it’s related.

By the time I moved out my mother was incredibly burnt out and is to this day - she still does not understand why (or says she doesn’t understand why she’s so tired and lacking motivation).

Fast forward to 2019

I married my high school sweetheart. Our relationship had always been rocky but I married him anyway, because I loved him.

I knew I had always wanted children and so did my husband so we decided to add to our family (on top of other deciding factors ofc). Then in 2022 I got pregnant and had my kid and watched my husband turn into my dad, his dad, every white southern cis dad before him. And I had become my mom - alone in the house with no one but a baby to talk to until he came home from work.

Remember when I said I wanted this? I did. I wanted a family and a husband but what I didn’t realize was that I actually did not want to sacrifice everything about who I am as a person to become an in-home slave. The church I grew up in and left at 17 had promised me that I’d still feel fulfilled. Tradwives across the internet promised me I’d still feel fulfilled. And here’s where I should’ve seen the problem because the people who were telling me I’d feel fulfilled the loudest? The men in the Mormon church.

So why didn’t I see this coming? I could say it’s not what my husband was before we had our kid but that wouldnt be true. During my time alone, I had a lot of time to reflect and realized, my husband had never shown initiative for any household management tasks in our relationship. He’d say things like “ugh the kitchen is disgusting” and not wash the dishes. Or “oh my god the laundry has gotten insane” and not start a load. I didn’t see this coming because despite me leaving the church as a teenager, I had been going since birth. This is messaging that I heard on a weekly basis for 17 years of my life. I could smoke and drink and get as many tattoos and piercings as I wanted but that doesn’t force the religious indoctrination to be exercised from by mind, unfortunately. And I didn’t catch it soon enough.

Now, we are separated and soon to be divorced. I’m still alone in the house with my baby but at least I don’t have a man coming home, turning on the tv to one of his shows, and sitting on the couch for the rest of the night because he’s “tired from work”.

All of that being said, I was then in a position of trying to find a job with a 2 year gap in my resume, only able to work part time, and while it is illegal to not hire someone because of their parental status Texas does it anyway.

I also had zero dollars to my name and still had to rely on my ex financially.

This is why the MAGA women don’t leave. Y’all are forgetting the religious indoctrination of the husband being the head of the household. What he says, goes. And if you go against it after YEARS of being married (decades in some cases) and he decides to leave, you have quite literally nothing. No employment experience, no money, and no sense of self. They are scared and rightfully so.

i think the hill i'm going to die on here is that lasting anti-fascist activism begins and ends with unrestricted social services.

protests are great. kind of indispensable right now. but in times when we can be less reactive, you want to know what you're protesting *for*, not just against.

today i saw a post elseweb saying "why aren't white women fleeing maga? they have to know by now that tradwife means sex slave". and like... it's very simple. they can't leave because they would end up like me.

they're, we're, deliberately made unemployable so that we'll have to marry whatever mediocre white man picks us out. as it happened, i was unappealingly intersex, fat, butch, and autistic, so none of the mediocre white boys of my generation ever took a second look at me, but that didn't give me job skills or career connections.

i knew multiple women whose husbands divorced them and took the house as part of their midlife crises. they had to send the kids to live with relatives and take dead-end jobs like bagging groceries because they were in their forties with zero job experience. if they'd rejected the worldview, if they'd alienated their families and what few friends didn't victim-blame them for the divorces, they'd have had nowhere to turn.

it's been over twelve years since i got out. psychologically, medically, i'm healthier. but i've chased a fresh start through half a dozen states. i spent my inheritance getting a degree. none of it helped. there are no supports for abandoning (or being abandoned by) your support network.

you won't defeat fascism until my people are free to leave the cult if they realize they want out. until we can access free housing to get away from financial abuse, free comprehensive job training and placement services to help us start careers, national healthcare so we can flee across state lines if necessary without losing any medical care we're lucky enough to have access to, protections for children and teens so they can flee without needing a parent's help... universal basic income would be really good but there are smaller steps that could help with financial independence.

and it all has to be available to everybody, including people you think are "unworthy". people who hold the wrong opinions. drug addicts. people whose husbands or parents make too much money. people who aren't from around here. unrepentant bigots. if they want out, you have to give them a path out. minds can change later, once people are less scared and less pressured.

(i'm ex-catholic. do you want to hear about what happens when you force people to profess certain beliefs in order to access basic assistance? i have two thousand years of examples.)

"but if they really wanted out they'd do the Right Thing and leave without support!" Better to be one man's sex slave than turning tricks on the street. "staying just proves they're actually evil and there for the bigotry!" Live in your car for six months in 100°F heat, twice, and then talk to me again. There's no virtue in cutting yourself off from society just to prove some kind of moral point. All that does is get you dead or worse.

("JT, you're not dead" I'm a fucking cockroach. Most people would be dead by now. Survival bias goes both ways; we're not all the same model of airplane.)

#religious trauma #lore dump

7K notes · View notes

michaelbluthsdeadwife · 2 days ago

Text

Modern romance (pt.1)

————————————————————————————————————

Summary: Hamzah x reader through instagram posts and stories! Not sure what these are called but I love them

Warnings: fem!reader, use of (y/n), the pictures I used for reader have brown hair so im sorry, a lot of slang i guess

Genre: fluff, friends to lovers

A/n: literally no one asked for this but let me know if you guys like this type of stuff! I decided to make it two parts since it’s already so much

————————————————————————————————————

Posted by yn_yln

Liked by hamzahthefantastic, wes10, and 1,392,028 others.

“life recently (i dont like these guys)”

Comments

User82: since when is she friends with slushynoobz???

User92: I dont know but im jumping with joy rn

Hamzahthefantastic: that’s rude of you…

Yn_yln: you weren’t supposed to see this.. awkward

Thatmartinkid: i guess she actually IS like the other girls :/

User58: LMAO

Thatmartinkid: why did you post a stalker photo of us?

Yn_yln: bro i was behind you.. i still am! Mwahahah

Hamzahthefantastic: wtf?!??? Where??

Yn_yln: you wont find me.

User59: im scared

Mandys_iphone: hes been paranoid all day since you posted

Yn_yln: good.

User69: Are they dating?

User56: girl people can be friends

User583: I think so actually

Posted by thatmartinkid

Liked by yn_yln, mandys_iphone, and 1,483,953 others.

“We made friends with a homeless woman!”

Comments

Yn_yln: um???

Thatmartinkid: what?

Yn_yln: homeless???

Thatmartinkid: are you not?

Hamzahthefantastic: no she is dw

Yn_yln: hamzah this is an a b conversation so please c yourself out

Hamzahthefantastic: please never say shit like that around me ever again

Hamzahthefantastic: friend is a strong word

Yn_yln: sooo what are we?

Thatmartinkid: good luck dude…

User582: LMAO MARTIN

Clairedrakee: homeless? Girl have you seen this woman? Shes etheral

Yn_yln: AWW

Clairedrakee: its true and i know his stanky ass is not talking

Mandys_iphone: he does smell actually

Thatmartinkid: do I actually?

Yn_yln: the silence speaks volumes…

User484: is anyone else kinda annoyed that they’re hanging out with ppl like her?

User272: Ik :( i feel like they’re too mainstream now

User53: sybau.

Posted by mandys_iphone

Liked by thatmartinkid, clairedrakee, and 492,673 others.

“We took our kids on vacation”

Comments

Yn_yln: ily mommy

Hamzahthefantastic: bro what

Mandys_iphone: love you too ❤️

Thatmartinkid: this is making me uncomfortable..

User592: MOMMY IS CRAZY

Hamzahthefantastic: what is she even writing

Yn_yln: Some of us are in college…

Hamzahthefantastic: yet your still dumb

Yn_yln: *you’re…

Thatmartinkid: oh she clocked

User79: zest fest

Chase_rutherford: martin is so chopped in that!

Hamzahthefantastic: true

Thatmartinkid: oh who is you, chopped chin

Yn_yln: you got him there

Hamzahthefantastic: but that is not a crime

Yn_yln: how did you know what I was quoting?

Hamzahthefantastic: because you wont stop saying it

Yn_yln: and THAT is not a crime❤️

User16: why are they SO close in that pick?

User629: obv dating or something

User49: I will be so mad if they are

Posted by yn_yln

Liked by tarayummyy, hamzahthefantastic, and 1,693,572 others.

“Island living sims 4 expansion pack”

Comments

Mandys_iphone: caption is so us

Yn_yln: Right???

Hamzahthefantastic: you did not.

Yn_yln: what?

Hamzahthefantastic: the SLEEPING PHOTO?

Yn_yln: i will not apologize for disillusioning the people to your true form.

Hamzahthefantastic: dude youre such a dork 😭

User692: and that is not a crime

Yn_yln: @user692 YES 🙌🏻

Thatmartinkid: You caught me! Yes, i love to read 😂🤪

Yn_yln: I will genuinely block you

Hamzahthefantastic: our side quest for coffee

Yn_yln: then we literally got lost

Hamzahthefantastic: because of you..

Yn_yln: dont sass me boy

Mandys_iphone: whos mommy now?

Clairedrakee: yess girl walk him like a dog!

User04: there is no way they arent tg atp

User73: idk i still don’t believe it, they could just be a close group?

Kalynnkoury: I like your shell

Yn_yln: I like your face

Posted by thatmartinkid

Liked by yn_yln, chase_rutherford, and 1,685,373 others.

“Sorry pets, vacation mode activated!”

Comments

Yn_yln: you’re so millennial mom coded

Thatmartinkid: thanks!

Chase_rutherford: not a compliment

Mandys_iphone: what is hamzah looking off into the distance mysteriously at?

Hamzahthefantastic: y/n did a backflip

Yn_yln: no i didnt???

Hamzahthefantastic: yes you did

Yn_yln: why are you gaslighting me?

Thatmartinkid: men…😒

Yn_yln: i fear the call is coming from inside the house

Hamzahthefantastic: had the worst time thanks

Yn_yln: aren’t you just a bundle of joy?!

Thatmartinkid: okay next time we won’t take you guys then

Yn_yln: WHAT DID I DO?

Posted by yn_yln

Liked by hamzahthefantastic, clairedrakee, and 1,474,443 others.

“Finally home ❤️ (wifed mandy up bc martin wont)”

Comments

Clairedrakee: me and my man!

Yn_yln: You can do better babe

Clairedrakee: are you flirting with me?

Hamzahthefantastic: no

User538: HAMZAH?

User58: suspicious..

Hamzahthefantastic: whos the cutie in the second slide?

Yn_yln: there isn’t one

Thatmartinkid: OOO…

Hamzahthefantastic: you hate me

Yn_yln: NO IM SORRY LMAO

Mandys_iphone: save the date!

Thatmartinkid: is this true..?

Yn_yln: sorry you took too long

Thatmartinkid: hamzah lets get out of here…

Yn_yln: you moved on quickly

User529: who is the man in all of these?

User3: I think maybe hamzah?

User5: Are they dating?

User82: yeah they are

User5: source?

User82: I dont have one

User538: they are laying awfully close😭

User219: so unfair

Posted by Clairedrakee

Liked by thatmartinkid, yn_yln, and 1,583,492 others.

“Girls night ayyye!”

Comments

Mandys_iphone: we all kissed

Yn_yln: this is true

Hamzahthefantastic: you guys are weird

Clairedrakee: someone’s jealous!

Thatmartinkid: mandy i dont like you hanging around with bad influences..

Yn_yln: I love you both ❤️❤️❤️

Clairedrakee: love you too!!

Mandys_iphone: aww I love you too

Hamzahthefantastic: do you guys remember texting me?

Clairedrakee: no?

Yn_yln: what did we say😭

Hamzahthefantastic: nothing 😉

Thatmartinkid: I don’t like that wink it did something to me

User264: I wanna be friends with them

Posted by hamzahthefantastic

Liked by yn_yln, thatmartinkid, and 1,375,685 others.

Comments

Thatmartinkid: woahh who sent you that text? 😳

Hamzahthefantastic: 🤷🏽‍♂️

Clairedrakee: i have a hypothesis

Yn_yln: HAMZAH OMG.

Hamzahthefantastic: what

Yn_yln: die.

User4655: oh hes in the doghouse

User633: this is undeniable proof bro

User364: i think they did it but i just cant prove it 🧐

#fanfiction #hamzah x reader #hamzahthefantastic #martin and hamzah #hamzah imagines #hamzah fic #hamzah x y/n #hamzah fluff #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #slushy noobz #slushy virus #thatmartinkid #mandysiphone #claire drake #chase rutherford #tara yummy #kalynn koury #weston koury #slushynoobz x reader

180 notes · View notes

16wolke11 · 2 days ago

Text

CAR SEX - Franco Colapinto

A/N Well, I am sure many of you have seen the video of Franco telling us the fact that he had sex in a car. Enjoy?

WORDS: 3548

WARNINGS: NSFW (Oral (male receiving) / fingering / unprotected sex / tying hands / public sex (car + on top of it) / Franco is rather dominant)

__________

"You good?" Franco asks me, fingers tapping on the steering, eyes flickering over to me, before being back on the street, like the traffic is going to disappear as soon as he closes his eyes.

"Hm..." I just hum, eyes wandering over his body. When exactly did he decide to ditch his shirt again? It is hot, probably the right decision, but now in the dark, the only light is reflected by his slightly sweaty skin, fuelling my thoughts in my head.

"I know this is tiring, but I promise it will be worth it." Franco refers to the traffic, but my mind is in a completely different state and when he places his hand on my thigh to squeeze it reassuringly, I can't stop the whimper from leaving my lips.

Franco is silent for a moment before a chuckle leaves his lips. "You are horny." I can hear the grin on his lips and when he tries to draw a pattern with his fingers on my thigh, I swat his fingers away.

"Well, you look hot, okay?" I hiss at him and can see how he tilts his head to the side, something he usually does when he is confused.

"It's dark outside." He informs me, gesturing around and even though outside it might be dark, it isn't exactly pitch black with so many cars around us.

"And still, I can see those fucking abs." I grumble, refusing to look at him and his damn muscles.

"Sorry?" Franco asks and then there is silence for a moment, when a thought forms in my head. He is right, it is rather dark outside. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, before deciding to be bold.

"How about a little entertainment?" I ask him, pulling my knees up to kneel on my seat, body turned in Franco's direction. He waits for me to say more, but I just kiss him, once, twice and for good luck a third time.

"What are you up to?" Franco asks with a soft chuckle, and I grin.

"Just a little fun." I peck his cheek before I let my hand wander. Down his chest, fingers trailing along his muscles, feeling how they twitch under my touch and how Franco tenses under them.

"Mi Vida, we are still in the car." Franco mutters when my fingers dip under the waistband of his shorts, but he doesn't protest and helps me to pull them down slightly by lifting his hips like he accepted his fate.

"And? You are the one who told me it is dark outside." I giggle and Franco groans. He doesn't say anything when my mouth follows the path my fingers did a few moments ago. I place open-mouth kisses on his skin, nip on it with my teeth from time to time, making him hiss under my touch, but he still does nothing to stop me.

When I reach his length, it has fully hardened. I wrap my fingers around the base, holding it upright, before lowering my mouth. Lips wrapping around his tip, for a soft suck brings the first reaction out of Franco.

"Fuck! You are going to be the death of me." He groans and I need to hold back the smile when I take more of him. Lips protectively over my teeth to not scrape his sensitive skin with them, fingers carefully playing with his balls, while I try to pick up a rhythm. The position I am in isn't exactly comfortable, but for now, it will do.

"Just like that love." Franco mumbles, fingers brushing over the back of my head while I keep up the rhythm of lifting and lowering my head. My fingers dig softly into the flesh of his thigh, making Franco groan and before I can realise, he pushes my head down, making me gag slightly. Immediately the pressure from my neck disappears and Franco lets me lift my head.

"Sorry." Franco apologizes, searching in my eyes if I am okay and I don't say anything, just softly gnaw on my lower lip. He tips his head slightly to the side before a mischievous grin spreads on his lips.

"You liked it?"

"Don't kink shame me." I slap my hand against his chest, making him giggle softly. "You know I like being handled by you." I add with a softer voice now, reminding him of the fact that we discovered before. That I like being adjusted to his liking by him, all with consent, but still being controlled by him. The smile doesn't leave Franco's lips when his hand wanders to the back of my neck, carefully leading my head closer to his.

"Then finish what you started." He whispers, lips brushing over my cheek and before I can even try to go back down Franco pushes me. I need to stabilize myself with my hands on his thighs, quickly opening my mouth when I can feel the pressure of his thumb digging into my neck.

I want to start slow again, making my way from the tip to the base, but Franco takes my words seriously. His hand is hard on my neck while he is pushing me down. He is still careful, but usually, I would go slower. I remember the tips I used as a teenager during the first blowjobs. How breathing and other things can help with relaxing the throat, suppressing the gag reflex and I do them to help me to get used to the feeling.

I lap Franco's length with my tongue, tracing the prominent vein, following it all up to the tip, where I swirl my tongue around. Franco groans softly and pushes my head back down, hand wrapping around my hair to keep my movements to his liking. Tears swell up in my eyes, but I can still take it. He is setting the pace and the depth of my movements now. Deciding how deep I have to take him and how quickly need to adjust to the different amounts of his length in my mouth.

My fingers are pressed in his thigh, probably leaving crescent-shaped marks, but he doesn't say anything. Pushing me deeper, keeping me there for a moment, before letting me go up again. Franco continues this pattern, before he keeps me up, letting me just keep his tip between my lips. I can taste the saltiness of his precum leaking out of his tip and I focus on licking it up.

"I am going to come down your throat." Franco announces voice strained like he has to hold himself back from just fucking my mouth. I appreciate his warning, hum softly around him and get another groan in response, before he pushes my head down again. Deeply buried in my mouth Franco carefully moves his hips, hesitating, but the want is there. My fingers dig deeper into his skin and with gripping my hair harder, keeping me way down on his length Franco orgasms. His cum is hot in my mouth, barely being in there before it just shoots down my throat. I feel like choking for a second, but then Franco lets me pull back, finally letting me take a deep breath.

"Are you okay." Franco asks me, genuinely concerned when he sees my tear-stained eyes, but I can just nod at his question. It might have been a lot, but it was what I wanted to try. He leans his forehead against mine, a gesture of being there, before whispering a soft praise.

"You did great."

A shiver runs down my spine and I sigh softly. My skin feels hot, shirt clamping to it and I need a moment to calm my body down again. Franco waits until I open my eyes, and look at him again, before muttering another command.

"And now lean back and open your legs for me." I do as he says, spreading my legs on the seat, while leaning back, trying to ignore the thrill of being in the car, even though I was the one sucking off Franco just a few minutes ago. Franco turns his body a bit, making it look like to anyone who might try to spot us in the car like we are having a conversation, while his fingers wander up the inside of my leg.

Trailing over the skin, leaving a hot pattern on it and I almost whine impatiently, even though I know he wouldn't get quicker if I did. Luckily Franco doesn't let me wait long, fingers reaching the hem of my skirt and simply wandering under it until he reaches my middle. Fingertips hooking into the side of my panties, before skilfully dipping under them.

"You are dripping." Franco groans and shifts in his seat, while I lift my hips, trying to create some of the desired friction. His fingers dig into my thigh, like he is indicating me to hold still and when I follow his wordless command his fingers are back under my panties. Coating his fingers with my slick by brushing them through my folds a couple of times. He ignores my clit, and I would like to whine, tell him to finally pleasure me, but I am sure he wouldn't have any of it, loving to take his time with me.

"Oh, yes." I moan when Franco suddenly pushes two fingers into me. It's not hurting, but being stretched around his fingers is something I always need to get used to, especially when he just starts with not one but two. I would like to close my legs, lift my hips and push against his touch, getting the most out of it, but at the same time I know we are still in public, that anyone could look inside right now and that I need to try to act normal, so I just bite down on the inside of my cheek, clenching down on Franco's fingers, while he patiently waits.

Slowly he turns his hand, adjusting the angle of his fingers, before slowly picking up a rhythm, pulling his fingers almost out completely, before pushing them back in knuckles deep. I curl my fingers into the fabric of my skirt, eyes switching between how his hand disappears under my skirt and his eyes being focused on me. His thumb brushing over my clit from time to time, while he still moves his hand slowly gets me closer and closer to an orgasm, something I crave for so long now.

Just when Franco slips a third finger in, the driver behind us honks and Franco freezes. I blink a couple of times, realising that the traffic is finally going forward again. Franco sighs softly and even though I know what is happening now, I still try to stop him.

"Fran, please...don't." I whimper, but he pulls his hand out, getting back into the right position to drive. He starts the car, giving the person behind us an apologetic wave, before driving off.

"Sorry mi vida, have to keep driving." Franco mutters, but I just cross my arms in front of my chest. Stupid manual car. If we were in an automatic Franco could just keep going, but like this, it isn't possible.

"I hate you right now." I grumble and for a second Franco's hand is softly placed on my thigh. I know he tries to comfort me, but his touch is anything but that right now, so I just shove it away. Crossing my legs, I try to savour the last bits of pleasure, but the orgasm is way too far away again.

"I know, give me a moment to think." Franco reassures me and I squint my eyes at him. Is he going to summon another traffic or what is in his head? Before I can think further, Franco takes the next exit, leading to one of the parking lots for truck drivers and people needing a break. One of those dark ones I usually wouldn't step on, especially not in the dark.

"What are you doing?" I ask Franco "We should have stayed on this road for at least another hour."

"Shh," Franco grins, putting a finger in front of his mouth. "Fixing your needs comes first." He tells me and my eyes widen. Is he serious right now?

"Really?" I ask him, looking around the area he decided to stop in. It is almost pitch black here, the trucks around us are all parked at least five spots away, all of them dark, the only light coming from the passing cars on the motorway we just left. Not enough light to show us to others, just enough for us to see the silhouettes of each other.

"You are the one who started this." Franco says which is the truth I can't argue with. He pushes back his seat all the way, creating some space between himself and the steering.

"Come sit on my lap." Franco pats on his lap and I don't even hesitate. I straddle him, knees placed beneath his thighs and for a moment we just look at each other. Noses brushing against each other before we kiss softly. Calm even though the moment is full of heat, kissing is always something we like to earth each other. Franco wraps his arm around my waist, before detaching our lips.

"And now relax." He instructs me and I close my eyes to concentrate fully on him. Franco's fingers brush over my thigh again, but he doesn't stay there for long. He pushes aside my panties and because I am still wet, he can just slip two of his fingers back inside where he stops.

"Oh god Franco." I whimper, hands holding onto his shoulders while I grind my hips into his hand. He lets me move but adds his own. Creating harder and softer thrusts of his fingers, twisting them slightly to reach a certain spot, making me whimper in his arms, clenching around his fingers, and just desperate for the orgasm.

"Hm, love hearing your moans." Franco whispers and finally, he lets a third finger slip in, the point where we were stopped before, but now he just keeps going. Thumb finding my clit and with the combination of his fingers inside of me and the one teasing my clit I orgasm around his fingers. Carefully Franco helps me through the waves and pulls away when a soft whimper leaves my lips.

"Thank you, I really needed that." I sigh and lean my forehead against his, grateful that he did that short stop just for me.

"We are not finished." Franco tells me and I lift my head in confusion. He opens the door, and I just look at him. What does he mean and why the hell do we have to leave the car?

"Franco?" I ask him, but he just points outside.

"Outside." He tells me and before I can even react, he lifts me off his lap, letting my feet hit the ground, knees almost buckling because of the position I was in before and the orgasm still slightly spasming through my muscles.

"What are you doing?" I ask him another question while Franco jumps out of the car and brings me to the backside of the truck. He opens the small door to the truck's loading area where we have our suitcases and other stuff for the trip.

"Up." He tells me and again, just manhandles me, lifting me up before following me and closing the door behind us. The edges of the truck might not be high enough to cover us when we are sitting, but they would hide us when we lay down and slowly, I get what Franco is up to.

"We can't..." I mutter, but he stops me.

"We can."

He shuffles our stuff to the sides, creating a barrier with a space in the middle for us, before carefully pushing me onto my back.

"I created a monster." I sigh with a soft laugh, and I can faintly see Franco grinning at me.

"Well, it gives you something to think about before you try something like this again." He tells me while rummaging for something.

"You loved it." I remind him and he doesn't say anything to confirm it, but I know him. Finally, Franco turns to me, holding something in his hand I can't identify.

"And since you loved being used by me so much." Franco trails off and just when I want to ask him what this is about, he grabs my hands, wraps a rope around them and fixates them above my head. My heartbeat is quickening. As exciting as this is, this isn't exactly how I imagined the first time being tied up. I gently tug at the rope, but it doesn't let me lower my arms at all.

"Where did you get those?" I ask Franco curiously because they feel way too soft for a regular rope. Just like he planned on using them in the bedroom in the future anyway.

"Secret." Franco laughs before he leans down and presses a kiss onto my cheek. I just roll my eyes but decide this is something we still can talk about later.

"Can you feel how much I want you?" Franco mumbles opens my legs and slots himself between them, lowering his body enough to make me feel everything. His hot skin touching me, his erection only being restrained by some fabric. Since I can't do anything with my hands I lift my hips, rubbing them against him. Franco nuzzles his nose against mine, before there is some shuffling again, him getting rid of his trousers before he props up my legs. Hands wandering under my skirt to grab my panties and just pull them down.

"I love it when you wear skirts." Franco sighs and I blush at the thought of how often he used this, how he calls it, easy access. Over the kitchen counter before we have to leave, in his driver's room in between sessions or appointments or even me sitting on his lap to warm his cock.

Franco aligns himself with my entrance, before pushing in with one smooth thrust. "Oh, yes." I whimper softly at the stretch and lift my hips slightly to adjust to his length. Franco stays still for a moment until I stop the shuffling then he moves his hips. Creating slow and deep thrusts, making my fingers curl around the rope while I bury my teeth in my cheek. The movement of his hips makes the truck shake slightly and in the light, everyone would be able to tell what we are doing, but the dark hides us away. I meet Franco's thrusts, frustrated that I can't touch him, but at least he allows me to move my hips. Moans and whimpers slip over my lips, and I know I should be quiet, but I just can't.

"Your moans will wake everyone up." Franco groans close by my ear and just when another moan is slipping over my lips Franco pushes his thumb between them, muffling the sound. My eyes widen at first before I slowly start to swirl my tongue around his finger.

"Fuck!" Now Franco is the one moaning, but he is better at keeping it quiet than me. His hips snap into mine with more force now, causing me to moan around his finger, softly biting down on it, to draw groans out of Franco's throat. His free hand digs into my hip, before he grabs the backside of my thigh, adjusting the angle of his thrust. I arch my back, trying to get closer to him, suck on his thumb and feel myself clench around him.

Then, suddenly Franco is pretty visible because of an approaching car. "Psst." He whispers, dipping his body low to hide in the shadows, his hips only grinding into mine and he pulls his thumb back. The soft movements almost push me over instantly, but something is missing.

"Fran, I..." I whimper into his ear, would like to clench my fingers into his back, but I can't do anything but take what Franco gives me.

"I know." He mutters, keeps going with the soft rocking of his hips while the engine of the passing car is turned off. "Just let go." Franco whispers into my ear and I try to listen to my body, giving it what it craves. I wrap my legs around Franco's waist, letting him slide just a bit deeper which is all I need to tumble over the edge.

I lock my feet behind his back, holding him in place while I convulse around him, feeling him coming inside of me. My teeth pinch a hole in my lower lip when I suppress the scream that wants to leave them, and I can taste the blood while slowly coming back to reality.

Franco's body is planted on top of mine and his breathing is as heavy as mine. His fingers fiddle with the rope and finally, I can lower my arms again, loosely placing them around his torso while we both try to catch our breath.

"This was so hot." Franco laughs softly and I can't do anything but laugh with him about what we just did.

#f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #one-shot #f1 fanfic #f1 one shot #f1 smut #franco colapinto fic #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto oneshot #franco colapinto smut #franco colapinto #franco corelli #fc43 x reader #fc43 imagine

214 notes · View notes

renae-nicole-lynn · 1 day ago

Text

Invincible x Frankenstein’s Monster!Reader

(GIFS are not mine)

So 'Why Him?' did pretty well, and it turns out I missed writing fanfiction so I decided to try my hand at some other Mark x Reader stuff. Holy fuck this is so bad I am so sorry 🫠.

Originally I thought of idea as an OC but I can’t draw for shit so Reader it is!

Why Frankenstein's Creature/The Bride? Best explanation I can come up with is watching Creature Commandos and Invincible in a short timespan 🤷‍♀️. I took inspiration from a couple of different Frankenstein's Monster/The Bride tropes from different sources and squished them all together; so that means white streaks in your hair and scars/stitches hold your limbs together and your powers are super strength, enhanced intelligence, and the ability to detach your limbs from your body and retain sentience over them.

The first time you saw him, you were perched on top of a building picking off the flaxan invaders with a rifle as they streamed through the portal and you see him through your scope. He's familiar to you, but in the moment the 'why and where' wasn't important as Atom Eve yelled at him to take the civilian in his arms to the hospital. It's not until three days later when he approaches Eve at school does it click. You've seen him around school for years, and only now does he have super powers; Mark Grayson is [title card].

Things are a little… rocky at first. You think he’s too easily influenced by his father and he thinks you’re out of your mind for that. Poor Eve is forced to play referee as arguments start spilling into the hero side of things, but even your best friend couldn’t get through you, or him for that matter.

“Why don’t hate me so much!?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t hate you!”

You’d be a hypocrite if you did.

Mark crossed his arms. “Bullshit!”

“I don’t… you piss me off because I know you have the potential to be so good, probably one of the best! But you’re too caught up in being just like daddy dearest!”

He started floating. “My dad is one of the best.”

…you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t attack you here in a high school lab, but that doesn’t stop your fists from clenching. “So that means what? You’re content on being a copy of your father instead of your own person?”

“I am my own person!”

“Bullshit!”

“Who’s going to teach me then, you?”

“You bet your ass I will! 5:00pm at Teen Team headquarters!”

“Fine!”

You didn’t really mean to offer to teach him, but your offer stayed in the front of your mind as you punched away at one of the punching bags engineered for your strength. It's not like he's going to show up. Except he did, and you were surprised he even showed up around the time you gave... granted, ten minutes late.

Mark doesn't know why he showed up. Maybe it was a pride thing, maybe it was because of what you said. He came in almost shyly, asking if you really think he could be one of the best. You surprise both him and yourself with how quickly you reaffirm what you said before.

"Just because I do though, doesn't mean I'm going take it easy on you."

He kind of scoffed when you said this. "No offence, but I have super strength."

"Oh no way." You crack your knuckles with a grin. "So do I. Keep fighting until tap out?"

"You're on!"

You won, mostly because you managed to outmaneuver him.

Mark stayed on the ground when you realeased him from the hold you had him in. "So did you do all this to kick my ass?"

You scoff and drag a hand through your hair. "No, just seeing what I have to work with... I'm not saying learning from your dad is a bad thing." Oh how wrong you were. "But knowing different disciplines is going to help you in the long run."

He... didn't quite know what to say to that. In a way, what you were saying was similar to what his mother has been telling him and his father for years. "Same time next week?"

From there the two of you come to an agreement; the two of you spar together and you stay off each other's cases in civilian life. Plain and simple right? Wrong.

In civilian life, the two of you end up gravitating towards each other. Turns out you can find that you have a lot in common with someone when you're not constantly at each other's throats (comic books of all things, ya freakin' nerds). Before you know it, you can comfortably call him a friend, much to Eve's delight.

It's not long before the two of you hang out together outside of the supersuits, whether you're just walking around town or going to the comic book stores for the latest issues of your respective favorites. You tease him for Seance Dog and he teases you for your favorite.

You roll your eyes as you (carefully) snatch the issue back from him. "Don't knock it 'til you try it."

"Only if you read at least one issue of Seance Dog."

"...Fine."

He grinned brightly cutely as the two of you traded comic books “Fine!”

At some point, you do show him the rest of your abilities. He’s amazed by your intelligence, but lowkey freaks out when you casually pop your hand off your wrist and subtly let it drop to the floor. He can only watch in horrified amazement as your hand uses your fingers to scuttle along the ground and up your leg so you can reattach it. The look on his face when you yanked your head clean off your shoulders was absolutely priceless and you may or may not have a picture of it.

The two of you begin confiding in each other. He tells you about Viltrum and how he doesn't know how to live up to the legacy, to which you reiterated that just being himself should be enough and if his father or other viltrumites thought otherwise they can fuck right off. Oh the way he looked at you when you said that…

You tell him how you were created, your subsequent abandonment, and how you had to learn everything from scratch. Mark tries to ignore the white hot anger because who the fuck would just abandon you like that?! The person he's gotten to know over the last few months, as hidden as your kind heart is, you didn't deserve that. When he tells you as much, something in your eyes shifts and (surprising you both) you shyly squeeze his hand in thanks but say nothing else. Neither of you pull away for a very long time .

Realization hits for the both of you when you’re running along rooftops for patrol and swan dive off a skyscraper. You never like talking about your past, it always put you in a bad headspace. So maybe you let yourself get a little too close to the ground, not that it would have killed you you’ve tried that and other ways with obvious results. You had your grappling line ready, but before you could fire it at the next building, Mark appears out of nowhere and all but plucks you out of the air before flying to the top of the closest building.

You blink in shock at your friend as he sets you on your feet but doesn’t take his hands off your hips. “Hi?”

Even with the goggles you knew his eyes were staring deep into yours. “You’re not disposable.”

“What are you-”

His grip ever-so-slightly tightened. “You mean a lot to people; Eve, the Guardians-”

You grimaced at that. “I’m pretty sure the Guardians old or new couldn’t give-"

“Will you please let me finish?!” Something in the way his voice cracked kept you from saying anything else, and he paused before continuing on. “You mean a lot to me… If you ever feel like this again, you call me. Call me and I’ll be there.”

Your heart started doing a weird dance in your chest, and you tried to bring yourself back to reality. “You mean a lot to me too. But we’re heroes, Mark. You can’t just promise that.”

Something clicked for Mark then. Getting to know you, speed running to a level of trust and vulnerability that usually took years to get to within the span of a few months, what else was there to say? “Fine, then we’ll just have to stick together.”

Oh.

It clicked for you then. This boy trusts and cares about you. He cares about your physical and emotional wellbeing and whether or not you were safe, and seems hellbent on ensuring it.

You hug him close, burying your face in his shoulder when he hugs you back.

“Okay.”

Everything and nothing changed. Despite the words and actions shared on the rooftop that evening, you both carried on as usual… save for now always being together for hero work and the emotional tension in the air.

True to the nature of your relationship leading up to this point, both of you were waiting for the other to crack. Remember the flirty sparring matches comment I made on 'Why Him'? As Mark gets better with hand-to-hand and the two of you find a flow when sparring together, a few teasing comments from the both of you are thrown here and there until eventually the two of you are point blank flirting.

Later, you'll insist he was the one who said it first and he'll argue right back that you were the one to say it.

"Loser kisses the winner?"

"You're on.”

#invincible #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x general neutral reader #mark grayson x male reader #mark grayson x female reader #invincible x reader #i actually hate this

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mariasont · 2 days ago

Text

We Reap What I Sow - S.R

you fight, you burn, you break apart, and then you pull him back in — again and again, as if love is something that can't exist without wreckage

pairings: s6!spencer reid x reader warnings: reader is a villain (sorry yall), toxic relationship, emotional manipulation & gaslighting, obsession, codependency, unreliable (heavy on this) narrator, angst, toxic sexual dynamics mentioned?, sex and violence closely linked, mentions of rough handlings? (nothing crazy), alcohol use, no clear resolution wc: 2.3k request: here

Your fingers move faster than your conscience, like an invocation. You text without thinking, apologize without meaning it. You're sure if you type hard enough, fast enough, maybe you can summon him from the ether, resurrect him from silence. Silence is worse than anger.

Spencer, please. Send.

Spence, I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t mean it. Send.

Are you seriously ignoring me right now? Send.

Don’t be an asshole. Send

Your drink is half-melted and too sweet now, but you drink it anyway. The bar lights bleed across the counter, flickering in and out like dying fireflies. Your friend is saying something – was saying something — but you weren’t listening. Work gossip, maybe. A guy. You nod when it feels right, laugh when you think you should.

Your phone vibrates — Spencer. No. Just your banking app reminding you how much you’ve spent tonight.

You down the rest of your drink, tongue flicking out to catch the last traces of whatever the hell this was supposed to taste like before firing off another text.

I know you’re mad. I just need to talk to you. Please. Send.

“Hello? Earth to psycho girlfriend?”

The bar sways, or that might just be your stomach catching up to the alcohol. Okay. Maybe you’re drunker than you thought. You close your phone, pushing it under your clutch as if that’ll erase the texts you’ve already sent.

“I’m fine.”

Your friend snorts, swirling what’s left of her own drink. “You’re, like, four seconds away from showing up at his apartment.”

“I am not. God. I’m not that desperate.”

“Babe.”

“I’m not,” you insist, crossing your arms. “I’m just… considering all my options.”

“Right. And one of those options isn’t showing up at his apartment?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Okay, but why is it always on me? Like, why do I have to be the mature one and not do the thing I want to do?”

“Because you’ll regret it?”

You scoff. “Yeah, well. I’ll also regret not doing it.”

“So I think what I’ve gathered is you both enable each other’s worst behaviors?”

You blink at her for a second before smiling. “I mean, we have fun though.”

That's a lie by omission. It’s not fun by normal standards. Not in the way people mean when they say it. It’s just… habitual self-destruction. The way you press your palm against a hot stove, just to see how long you can hold it there. The way you drink on an empty stomach, knowing you’ll feel it sooner, harder, faster.

It’s last summer, a nameless hotel hallway that smelled like bleach, his hand bruising your wrist, voice a slow-burn — you want me to lose my temper? And something inside you thrilled at threat because yes, yes, let’s stop pretending, let’s make this hurt, make me matter enough to break you.

It’s that fight in the car, rain slashing sideways, nails biting into your palms as you threw the words like glass — why don’t you just leave me, then? And his hands slammed the wheel, voice breaking apart when he begged you to shut up.

It’s the night you deleted his number, not because you were done, but because you wanted to see if he’d crawl for you. If he’d go mad wondering where you were, what you were doing, who you were with.

And he did.

It’s tonight, when you let another man lean in too close, let his lips brush your ear, let him say something forgettable, disposable, background noise. You didn’t hear him. You didn’t care. Because it wasn’t about him. It was about Spencer. It’s always about Spencer. About pressing on the bruise until he flinches, making sure he sees.

And Spencer did.

Right before he turned, before he walked away, before you could decide if you wanted to chase after him or let the wound fester.

You’re good at this. You’re an artist. A sculptor of narratives. A surgeon of half-truths.

You don’t lie — not really. You just bend the story with careful hands, carve the angles sharp enough to dismantle, tilt the light until Spencer’s face is shadowed as the villain. Until he is the one who obsesses, who picks and picks until he draws blood. Until he is the one who turns love into madness.

And sometimes, sure. That’s true of him.

But what you never say — what you never let yourself say — is that you planted the seeds yourself. That you fed them. Watered them. Built a trellis for them to climb. You created the house, laid the foundation, furnished every corner with suspicion and longing, and then stood outside and called it a prison.

And now, tonight, you’re rolling your eyes, laughing too loud, shaking your head as you tell your friend he always does this. You make him sound crazy, childish. Like his anger isn’t justified. Like his absence wasn’t the only thing that ever made sense.

But deep down, beyond the haze of liquor and the comfortable show of self-righteousness, you know the truth.

Spencer didn’t lose his mind on his own. You put it in his hands and asked him to break it.

You don’t remember making the choice to leave. Not really. One second, you’re laughing at something dumb, and then, your lips graze your friend’s cheek, a murmured get home safe, and you’re already moving, barely hearing her say your name, barely acknowledging the question in her voice.

Then it’s Spencer’s address, burned into your brain. The driver nods. The city twists and sways outside the window — yellow blurs, red smears, streetlights flickering across your hands. Your eyes close, and for just a second —

Then, oh. You’re there.

You barely hear the door slam behind you. You barely thank the driver. You don’t even think before your feet hit the pavement, before you’re walking up the steps.

And then there’s the door. His door. The one that’s been thrown open with a scowl, slammed shut mid-sentence, locked just long enough to make a point. The one that never stays closed for long. Not when it’s you on the other side.

You knock, giggling as you wobble, nearly toppling over while yanking off your heels. They hit the ground haphazardly somewhere behind you, forgotten the second they leave your hands.

The knocking turns into pounding, palm smacking against the door between raps of your knuckles. It’s almost funny, the way impatience surges through you like a second heartbeat, the way you know he’s there — standing just beyond the wood, watching, hesitating, chewing over whether to let you in.

The door swings open and you’re already falling. Already tipping forward like your body knew he’d be there to catch you. Your limbs have learned that Spencer Reid is your safety net, your buffer, your inevitable landing.

“Whoops,” you murmur, the alcohol humming pleasantly beneath your tongue, making everything feel slower. “My bad.”

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t roll his eyes. Doesn’t sigh, doesn’t scold, doesn’t react at all. He just steadies you, brief and impersonal, fingers curling at your waist for less than a second before he looks away.

He bends, picks up your heels from where you left them, places them neatly on the entryway table. Cold air fills the space where his hands were. He shuts the door.

“Did you not see my texts?”

Nothing.

“I said sorry.” Sharper now, words clipped, fingers drumming against your arms where they’re folded tight across your chest. “Jesus, Spencer, you’re being —”

Ridiculous.

You almost say it, the word a loaded bullet in the chamber. But then his jaw tightens, his throat works through a swallow and you bite down, tasting blood instead.

“You said sorry?” He spits it back like it burns, like he wants it out of his mouth as fast as possible. “You said sorry, and that’s supposed to mean what, exactly? That I don’t get to be mad? That I don’t get to be upset when you spent the whole night deliberately pissing me off?”

You sway slightly. “Oh, right,” you say, words dripping bitter sarcasm. “Because you never do anything to piss me off, right? You’re so fucking perfect. You don’t overthink, you don’t obsess, you never turn nothing —”

“Tell you what,” he cuts in, voice flat and final. “You’re right. I do overthink. And apparently, I was stupid enough to think you gave a shit about what that does to me.” His gaze sears into you. “But tell me,” he continues, “when have I ever overthought something you did and reached the wrong conclusion?”

God, you know he gets off on this. On delivering those carefully crafted sentences, watching you flinch without raising a finger, precise enough that he never appears anything but calm and rational.

And he knows you have nowhere to go. Silence damns you just as much as fighting back. He knows you’ll open your mouth anyway. You don’t have any other options.

“Maybe if you didn’t dig into every goddamn thing I do, I wouldn’t have to keep explaining myself.”

Spencer barks out a laugh, the kind that sounds more like an exhale than anything amused. He looks like he might punch the wall. Like he might slam his fist straight through the drywall, let his frustration exist somewhere outside his body. But he doesn’t, just shakes his head, jaw screwed so tight you can practically hear his teeth grind.

“Oh, that’s good,” he mutters, thick with disbelief, bordering on disgust. “That’s actually — wow.” He looks at you then, really looks at you, like he’s seeing you for the first time. Or maybe the last. “You really just said that with a straight face, huh?”

It wasn’t always like this. You used to be good. Really good. The kind of good that made people jealous, the kind where he’d brush a hand over your back in a crowded room, where he’d wait up for you even if it was stupid late because he wanted to hear about your day.

Then there was that party. The one you dragged him to, the one he didn’t want to go to because he hated loud music and small talk and watching you drink yourself into bad decisions.

You’d rolled your eyes at him, called him uptight, and he’d muttered something about how you were just looking for an excuse to start a fight. And maybe you were.

It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. It started over something small — maybe the way you kept refilling your drink, maybe the way he kept checking his watch like he was timing how long he had to tolerate you.

You’d scoffed, rolled your eyes. “Jesus, Spencer, if you don’t want to be here, just go.”

And he’d shrugged. “Maybe I will.”

And that had pissed you off. More than it should have. Because you wanted him to fight you on it. You wanted him to care, to stay because of you, not out of obligation.

So you pushed a little harder. Tipped your drink back, let the alcohol scrape down your throat, and smirked when you said it. “God, you are so boring sometimes.”

That had done it. Spencer, who usually let things slide, who usually held his temper like a clenched fist, finally let something slip through his teeth.

“Yeah?” he had said, just this side of cruel. “At least I don’t get drunk and make an idiot of myself for attention.”

The words hit like a slap, sharper than the sting of vodka on your tongue. You should’ve been mad, should’ve stormed off, should’ve let the hurt take over. But instead, you smiled. Because there it was, finally, a reaction. The thing you’d been pulling at all night was finally splintered at your feet.

And it didn’t stop there. It followed you home, back at your apartment, where the anger snapped into something hotter. The fight spilled into the walls, into hands grabbing too tight, into gasps swallowed by teeth and tongue. You remember the way he shoved you onto the bed, the way you laughed through it, drunk on the fight and feeling, gasping when he pinned you down, when his hands pushed your wrists into the mattress. You don’t remember what you said, only how it ended — with your back arching, his name breaking off in your throat, pleasure slamming into you so hard you thought you almost mistook it for pain.

“Fuck off, Spencer."

You need him to press you into the doorframe until it bites. To swallow the venom straight from your tongue. To lace your skin with fingerprints, because nothing else sinks deep enough to matter. That’s how this works. That’s how you two translate love.

But he doesn’t move.

Just stands there, chest rising fast like he’s been winded, fingers curled, crushing the impulse in his palm, the impulse to fix this the only way you both know how.

“Jesus. You really think this ends your way?”

He’s bluffing. That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you have to tell yourself.

“You can stand there and act all righteous, but we both know you like it,” you sneer, chin tilting up. “You like chasing me. You like losing your fucking mind over me.”

He stares.

“Get out.”

No shouting. No shoving. No hands in your hair. No bruising grip on your wrist to make you stay — just two flat, empty words and a door that suddenly feels like a death sentence.

Your fingers close around your shoes and you barely notice how steady they are. How clear everything feels. No alcohol to blame it on now. Just you.

You don’t look at him. Not when you knock your shoulder against his, not when you open the door like you don’t actually care if he stops you.

You’re halfway down the hallway when you hear him move.

You turn. He looks at you like he’s already buried you. And you stand there waiting to be exhumed.

The door doesn’t slam. It just closes. Not locked. Not deadbolted.

You walk away.

A week. Two. Three, if you’re feeling patient.

Then you’ll send the first text. You’ll plant the next seed.

And he’ll let it grow.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

#spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid toxic relationship #spencer reid situationship #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds angst

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confusedftnb · 2 days ago

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Detrans Me Notes Game Challenge

17/03/2025 - 17/03/2026

So. I decided to join in on the Notes Games I've been seeing around the place. 😳

I've been thinking I'd like to test expecting people to try more interesting ways of upping the note count though, hopefully turning the post itself into something fun for everyone else to be engaging with itself, not just the knowledge I'll be doing everything the hit Note Goals say. [Thereby upping the note count as more people engage with it...]

PLEASE READ EVERYTHING BELOW BEFORE ENTERING THE COMMENT SECTION

(I will be honest about this and stick to my promises here because the point of this game is me enjoying being ‘forced’ into accepting these consequences. I myself chose to put them on here. Nothing I've included has been coerced in any way. I'm a consenting adult who has decided to do this challenge specifically because I've found I really enjoy degradation and handing over control in certain ways. Forced Feminisation - especially through brainwashing - is apparently a big one, so feel free to go as hard as you like on anything listed here which gives you any level of control over how feminine things I get end up being or how much I'm being hypnotised into behavioural and mental modification. And obviously do try to get these notes up; I'm excited to have no choice but to do these things, even the big, riskier goals at the end. I know I firmly say 'this is just a kink' all the time, but engaging with this post specifically hoping it changes me is fine. I really want to test the line/experiment a little and see if my brain can resist that much conditioning and still feel masc-leaning nonbinary at the end, or if that identity is shaky and easily remoulded into a more feminine form. 😳 The risk of actually being pushed over the line is part of the kink here this time. The only exception is that I will NOT be stopping my Testosterone until I have the voice I want. I may play with people encouraging me to go off it, but going off it suddenly without consulting a doctor is dangerous and I'm not doing that for kink. And if my mental health starts to take a real life hit, I will be either pausing the game on my end or closing it entirely. My safety comes first.

Transfemmes please DO feel welcome to comment NSFW directly toward me on this post. [See my Pinned for why this is relevant. My personal limits are complex for trauma reasons, but I've decided to try opening up a little with this game as part of getting the fuck over it because most transfemmes are wonderful people and my fear is disproportionate and ridiculous. Help me relax and enjoy it again if you feel comfortable doing so. If you always follow boundaries, you are a safe person. It's as simple as that.]

Please only post sexual comments directed straight at me like the type I've suggested below if you are 25+. I've explained this in my Pinned. You can like and reblog if you're 18-24, and please do if you want to, but please also stay out of the comments section itself unless you're directing your comments at someone else other than me, it's a not-direct-kink suggestion for the Notes Goals like ‘what if you do this thing for longer to make the stakes higher’ or something, or it's SFW in nature. Interactive goals I want only 25+ year olds to interact with will be marked as [25+ Only] at the beginning. Please feel free to interact with/follow any that don't say that.

ALL ages above 25 are welcome to directly engage me in kink. Yes, that includes dirty old people. I'm almost 30; I've pretty much reached the most sexually mature I'm going to get as far as I can tell. You're doing nothing wrong interacting with me sexually. I know what I'm doing and I doubt even more age can take that any further now, but feel free to talk to me in DMs first if you want to test how mature I am to feel sure I know what I'm doing with myself.)

MINORS DNI ENTIRELY OBVIOUSLY - LEAVE THIS POST ALONE AND GO BACK TO YOUR OWN SPACES

SPAMMING IS ALLOWED, HOWEVER, THIS GAME HAS RULES TO HOPEFULLY MAKE IT A LITTLE MORE ENGAGING:

1. NO Daddy/Mommykink, Ageplay, Inc*st, Scat/Piss/etc, Rimming mentions, or any type of Anus/Urinary Tract To Mouth, thank you. I reserve the right to those hard limit boundaries still. Ykinmkato of course. I'm not saying this to shame you. I just need it kept off my post. [If you manage to come up with something else I didn't know existed and it turns out to be a hard limit for me, I'll just add it on here/my Pinned limits list and your comment will be deleted but still counted with a ‘Good for one note’ comment from me in its place.]

2. No single numbered comments or the same comment over and over again or single word comments, or anything else you think of to make this too easy and quick or it won't be fun for anyone. Every sentence must be complete. You can send one sentence per comment if you want to be facetious, but they must be complete sentences; no breaking them up to double your note count. And it's a limit of 4 individual sentences per day otherwise you need to get creative and write paragraphs. Key word here is CREATIVE. Everyone does lazy spamming. I want to make something new with this. 🧐 If you can come up with multiple comments with each containing 2-4 sentence things to say to me - taunting me with how you'll go about making this get lots of notes quickly, your usual repertoire of kinky detrans ideas, etc - go for it. :D [25+ only] You can degrade and belittle and misgender and demoralise me to your heart's content in there, just write lots of it in multiple paragraph comments. Have fun. Don't you want to keep me in suspense, always nervously checking the notes to see if they've gone up again? Half the fun is making the game last and steadily making me do more and more... keyword 'steadily'....

3. Each comment must be original, at least in the sense that you as an individual haven't said it in the comments yet; other people having said it is fine and your version still counts.

4. Each comment will be counted as a note even if it's in a reply tree, so feel free to talk to each other as well, just stay relatively on topic even if you’re not talking about me specifically.

5. [25+ only] Surprise me. Amuse me. Delight me. DEGRADE ME. Talk about how these things will turn me into a girl no matter how much of a game I'm treating it or other things along those lines or whatever else you can think of to really drive home the forced feminisation theme of this game. Go about your day, think of something else, and come back into the comments to share it. Attack my psyche and question why I'm doing this. Am I doing it for fun as a sure-fire nonbinary with a kink or do I just secretly want permission to be a girl? Try to convince me of it. This is consensual kink. Go for your life. [If it accidentally crosses a boundary I forgot to lay or didn't clearly communicate then I'll just delete it and write a comment in its place saying ‘Good for one note’ since that was still a note and should count toward the game. This will only be done if the comment definitely doesn't violate already existing limits listed here.] DO feel free to talk about me like I'm not even there reading all of these. [Just remember boundaries because I will in fact be reading them.] DO misgender me in the third person. Speculate on what my deadreal name might be and why you think it suits me. Talk about what you want to do to me/how you would forcibly detransition me if you had more control than I've already given you here and compare notes with others [25+ only] etc. Just because I won't do something irl doesn't mean you can't taunt me with the idea of it, like making me go without my IUD to an orgy and get men to creampie me and don't take a plan B. Talk about what a coward I am for not going off T and how much better I'd feel if I just stopped taking it, etc. Whatever you like. Just have fun with it. :D This is about all of us enjoying degrading me through forcing feminisation onto me/talking about most things to do with that even if it's not a goal on here, and me having fun being ‘forced’ to do these things. I want to come into the comments both horrified by the note count and actively intrigued by what people are saying to me/about me to others. 🫣

Don't just spam random sentences/focus solely on increasing the note count. Enjoy yourselves. Get creative with it. The note count will go up just fine. :D

6. [25+ only] DO actively try to bait me into replying to you. Every Note counts, including my own. 😥😳

7. OH AND REMEMBER TO REBLOG FOR REACH. Also, there's a very special goal set for 500 notes involving reblogs, and if you get REBLOG note count up high enough I'll have to say a LOT of extremely feminising lines including calling myself my deadname. Just think, if you get me hundreds reblogs I'll be saying "My name is ...." so much I might accidentally deadname myself when someone asks my name...😰

NOTE GOALS:

Every 10 Notes - I listen to one round of Mistress Lillith’s Passive Feminisation track with a vibrator on my clit, edging myself while touching both of my nipples. [Countering with Passive Masculinisation is allowed. For now...]

Every 25 Notes = People get to pick their favourite/whichever tracks they like of detrans/feminisation/bimbofication hypnosis from anywhere and I have to listen to them all the way through, with people submitting them specifying if they want me to close my eyes for it or watch a spiral. [I'll pick and listen to one for each 25 notes. So if, for example, I get 10 sent to me in the next day or so after this reaches the first 25 notes, I'll be listening to them over the course of 250 notes. Up to you if you want to send those to the comments to be counted for further notes or send me an ask if you want to include a specific spiral you want me to watch while listening etc]

Every 50 Notes = I shave and keep my leg hair to feminine smoothness for another week.

75 Notes = I listen to a Mistress Lillith feminisation or bimbofication file every night before bed for a week. [Safety File allowed. This time…]

100 Notes - I listen to every single one of @confusedcunny 's detransition audio files [excepting Detrans December as I want to do that in December if I do it at all] in one night, edging the whole time. I'm not allowed to cum until the end. When I am close to cumming I have to say “My name is …. “ and then my deadname as I climax. The files will have already made me say it repeatedly too.

200 Notes - [25+ only] I will put a handful of lingerie pictures up as potential purchase options in a poll and people can vote on what I get. I'll send a picture of the lingerie as proof I got it when it arrives.

300 Notes - I have to wear feminine clothes all day. I'm allowed to avoid contact with anyone in my general life while I do this and just stay home, but I'm not allowed to take any of it off until bed time.

400 Notes - [25+ only] I have to look at a spiral with my vibrator on my clit and state any mantras you guys give me (be mindful of listed boundaries!!!!), allowing a minute for each mantra. One mantra per person. Maximum of 15 because my attention span can probably only last that long with too much repetition. [You can send me spiral gifs too if you put it in an ask. If you decide to post the mantra you want me to say in the comments, please put it in "" and maybe even say 'Mantra:' before it if you like. You absolutely can send me your mantra BEFORE I hit 400 notes and yes those count as notes.😳]

500 Notes - I edge myself with my vibrator and have to say “I am female. I am a girl. I am a woman. My name is…” and then my deadname, while looking at a spiral. I have to say this once for every reblog note I get. I'm not too worried though because so few people reblog nowadays… 😅

750 Notes - I play Mistress Lillith’s Passive Feminisation over my earphones, listening to it constantly in my ears on loop for an hour a day for a week regardless of what I'm doing, giving it plenty of chances to creep into my mind and make me more receptive to feminisation. [Countering with Passive Masculinisation is no longer allowed. 😥]

1,000 Notes - I'll get my ears pierced and pick the girliest piercing option to have to wear constantly for 6 weeks while the holes heal.

1,250 Notes - I learn how to do makeup and doll myself up. I can’t send any pictures of my face so I'll try sending a chin and lips shot only if anyone wants to see.

1,500 Notes - [25+ only] The first 5 people to notice I hit this mark and want to DM me to participate get to go on Temu and pick any feminine thing they want me to buy and use. Only rules are that we discuss my price range at the time (remembering that 4 others will be doing the same thing) and I get to ask for another choice if I know it won't fit me or will be a sensory issue etc. But I do have to let you pick something else and keep letting you until you find something that will work. I'm not allowed to reject it for any reason except for price, incompatible sizing options or likely sensory issues. [Edit: I'm thinking of saving $200 over the time it takes to get to this goal, and then splitting it up on a first come - 😜 - first serve basis. 1st person to DM gets $80, 2nd gets $60, 3rd gets $40, 4th gets $12, and the 5th gets $8. I suggest the last two look at jewelery as even the cheaper clothes tend to cost at least $13 from what I've seen. It's 100% up to you of course, that's just a suggestion in case you're wondering if you can even pick anything with that. Temu has some lovely jewelery options for often between $2-$10. Remember also I'll still be the one buying it. You're not paying or being given money; you just get to do all the fun parts. 😉]

1,750 Notes - I'll get a more feminine haircut like a pixie or something and I have to keep it like that for a minimum of 3 months. Who knows, maybe I'll like it and permanently keep it that way. 😳

2,000 Notes - I have to wear all feminine clothing and makeup while at home in private, no exceptions. Heels (unless I start experiencing health risks from them in my body), lingerie, skirt&blouse/dresses, jewellery and makeup. All day (other than when I have to interact with people but don't worry I'm still home every day for at least 8 hours of a nighttime even if I have a busy interactive day), every day, until the end of the year. If you want me dressing like this for something like 12hours a day for the next however many months there ends up being between time you get this post to 2,000 notes and the end of the year [17/03/2026], making me behave like the girliest girl I can possibly manage for over half my year, then you know what to do. 😥

3,000 Notes - I listen to Mistress Lillith’s Feminine Patterns - her most dangerously effective feminisation hypnosis file - all the way through 3x a day for a week. If you guys manage to get me to this goal by the end of May, I’m not allowed to listen to the Safety File either, exposing me to deep behavioural and mental changes which will last a while even once the conditioning and reinforcement have stopped, potentially turning me behaviourally and mentally into a girl for real until it wears off. 😰

4,000 Notes - I put together a few outfits and put them up in a poll, and people here can vote which one I wear. Then I'll wear that outfit out to a pub and sit there for an entire hour minimum while everyone there assumes I'm a girl and I'm not allowed to correct them about it if they talk about me with feminine markers. If you guys get me here by July and I can use my name non-legally while there, I’m only allowed to give my deadname.

5000 Notes - I listen to every one of Mistress Lillith’s most dangerously effective feminisation hypnosis files - including Feminine Patterns - all the way through every day for 2 weeks, without listening to the Safety File… This has an extremely high and demonstrable risk of changing me into an actual girl behaviourally and mentally until it wears off. With this level of conditioning it will probably stick around for months. 😰

Every Note Over 5,000 - is one day I have to listen to one of MistressLillith's feminisation and/or bimbofication hypnosis files all the way through without listening to the Safety File. With this level of conditioning the behavioural and mental changes will stick around for ages. 😰 This is your chance to keep my brain constantly marinating in conditioned feminine behaviours and mentality for much of a year. If anything is going to convert me back into and keep me a girl, it's this.

This Game ends a year from now. Let's see if I'm still masc-leaning non-binary by the end of it.

🧑🙏😰😖😣😵😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵🤤👧♀️

See link below to where I'm attempting to keep track of what I owe and will be crossing things off as I do them:

And track the overall results of your participation in this detransition training here:

If I hit Stage 7 my identity is probably lost forever...

🧑🙏😰😖😣😵😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵🤤👧♀️

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galaxyedging · 9 hours ago

Text

Harry (Materialists) x f!reader.

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, p in v sex, reader is a sex worker (sex work is real work)

Written for @iamasaddie

Not proof read and no title because I need to sleep.

Nerves rolling in your stomach on the way to see a client was a usual occurrence. Even with your extensive vetting process, there was still a possibility that a weirdo or the wrong type of freak could slip through. It happened a time or two. That's what the taser in your purse is for. The lavender roll on clacking against it is for the nerves, and for him. The client who shook your nerves the most. Not because he was weird or new. Quite the opposite. Harry was a long term client, and as charming as they come.

The door to his apartment opens as soon as you step off the elevator.

“Hi, Lavender.” Harry beams as he opens the door wider.

His wide smile filled with perfect teeth turns to a pout to kiss you on the cheek. Unlike some clients, you don't mind Harry's affections. Leaning into the kiss you pause to see what time of night this is going to be. Harry helping you take off your coat and putting away your purse doesn't tell you much, he is ever the gentleman. When he returns to wrap an arm tightly around your waist and pull you flush to him, that tells you a lot. It's Harry's turn to be in control tonight. If his actions didn't tip you off, the bulge in his expensive jeans radiating heat against you as he began to kiss your neck, definitely would.

“I'll be honest. I wasn't expecting you to call. I heard you were dating.” It’s not a button you should press. Harry isn't yours but you have to know.

“I am. Nothing serious. She's hanging around with her ex.” he sounds nonchalant but you don't miss how his fingers grip your hips.

They dig into you with the same ferocity they had the night he asked you to marry him while splitting you in two on his bespoke marble counter. Promise after promise, to keep you safe, to keep you cared for, tumbled from his lips as he chased his high with you still trembling against him. Once you were both cleaned up, he never mentioned it so you put it down to him being pussy drunk on top of champagne drunk from the charity gala he attended earlier that night.

Often, your thoughts drift back to his proposal. Like now, with his broad body pressed against you as he pulls the dress from your shoulder and lets it fall. His well manicured hands trace its path down your body. Stopping at the waistband of the ninety dollar thong he had bought you. The delicate lace wrapped around his fingers as he pulled up slightly. The line of pearls that made up the rest of the thong pulled taut against your clit.

“I bet I can make you come like this. Just a little friction and I could have that pussy weeping for me.” To drive his point home he tugged hard, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

When a gasp leaves your lips, Harry doesn't miss a beat. He grips your cheeks in his free hand, his thumb and forefinger keeping your mouth open. He spits in your mouth before following it with his tongue to make sure it’s deep in there before he demands that you swallow.

He is delighted when you do. “There she is, my dirty girl.”

Harry always likes to mix things up. Sub, dom, role play, slow, deep missionary with his doe eyes glued to yours, rutting into you like a rag doll until you couldn't see straight. Sex was never the same from week to week with Harry. The only consistency was how he treated you before and after the sex. Always with respect and care. Maybe even something more, if you could bring yourself to look closer.

Harry drags you by your underwear, further into the apartment. The pearls bite, sting and thrill you as he does. The pressure of them only lets up when he takes a seat on his sofa. The cushions are so deep and plush, he’s practically reclining.

“Sit.” Harry has you sit facing away from him, just on his knee at first until his fly is open wide and his cock strains against the Egyptian cotton of his underwear.

It seems to take him no effort at all to pull you back onto him. The pearls between your lips now pinned between you and his cock.

“Grind. Slowly.” His hands come to rest under the band of your equally expensive bra as you begin to do as he asks.

He barely has the garment off and your breast in his hands before you come. It's embarrassing how quickly he can pull an orgasm from you.

As if he can sense your embarrassment, he lets out a short laugh. “See. You can't help but cream yourself all over me. Is this why I've gone from your favourite client to your only client?” Before you can ask how he knows that, you are up-ended and your face pressed into the sofa cushion. The thong is dragged from your folds and down your legs before being looped over your face as a gag. The pearls taste of you release, something Harry indulges in as he kisses you open mouthed, his tongue rolling against yours with the string in the middle. The lace of the thong becomes almost like reigns as Harry holds it in one hand while he slides into you from behind. He lets out a long sigh as he pushes inch after inch in without any resistance. Not for the first time, he thinks you are made for him. You take him so perfectly each and every time. You meet every one of his thrusts just like you challenge him when you discuss world events. Your tight cunt yields for him just as you soften when he needs someone to talk to at 4am. You welcome his slow rhythm just like you welcome the slower moments between the two of you, when he convinces you to stay the night in his arms and you talk about your hopes and dreams. Harry takes you slow and deep, his stamina is like nothing you've ever experienced before. He can fuck you until you have trouble walking and still call you the next night. He keeps going until he feels you near the edge, your muscles tensing around him. In a flash they are tensing around nothing as he pulls out and lands a heavy hand to your full backside.

“No. You don't get to come again that easily.” He kneels behind you silently for a few moments before repeating the process.

He fucks you slow and deep, gets you close then denies you.

He does it again and again until you can't help but beg around your gag. “Please, I need it.”

A triumphant huff of laughter leaves Harry as he scopes you up to spread you out on his counter. The cold marble makes your back arch into his warm tongue as he runs it over your breast before taking the peak in his mouth. His full lips suckle at your nipple while his fingers slip between your legs. With no trouble he buried three fingers to the knuckle. The sound is filthy as it echoes around his open plan apartment. A resounding squelch is heard as his fingers pick up their pace and he pumps them roughly in and out of you. He thinks he might lose one when he lets you finally come. Your whole body ripples with pleasure as you writhe beneath his tongue.

“Mmmm. Are you all done, dirty girl? Or do you have one more in you to milk my cock with?” He doesn't even wait for an answer before sinking into you.

With his hands cupping your ass, he angles your hips so he hits that spot straight away. The sound you make is like a red rag to a bull. He wants more. He fucks up into that spot over and over. At one point he worries that he might somehow meld the two of you together. Then it becomes less of a worry and more of a mission. Trust him to fall for the one woman he can't have. A woman whose company he can buy but not her heart and it makes him love her even more. He feels like his own heart will burst from either emotion or the effort of railing the beauty, pliant body beneath him. He's thankful when he feels you begin to come for him for a third time. He gives himself permission to fill you.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” His orgasm lights up his spine and he emptied his load in one long shot.

Harry keeps thrusting until he's soft. He wants to delay the inevitable. The time when he has to pull out and pretend that he is just another client to you. When he does pull out he watches as his spend drips from you. He feels it's much too late for him to start a family but for you he would. He'd stuff his cum back in there every time until it took.

All too soon for Harry's liking, you are dressed and at his door.

“Why am I your only client now?” It's not a button he should press. You aren't his, but he has to know.

“You aren't my own client. You are my last client. I've finished with this life…I've met someone.” Even the scent of lavender can calm you nerves as you close the door behind you and leave Harry behind.

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #harry castillo #materialists #pedro pascal

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siri-ike · 2 days ago

Text

I couldn't stop thinking about this so here's more.

"Here, I'll take that for you."

Gar hissed and held the baby away from The Flashes reach.

"Why? So you can have all the credit?" Dick accused. "We rescued them, not you."

"Them?" Batmans expression never changed, but Dick could tell he was in trouble.

"There was a girl, too. But she and Nadia disappeared after the skeleton room."

"What do you mean "Skelton room"?" Why is Flash even here? This isn't his city. And he's not Dicks dad.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Dick pointed at the door in the stairs. "There's a huge dungeon in there. Bunch'a dead people, and a giant room full of skeletons in robes. That's where we found the girl and the baby. She and Nadia should still be in there unless they found some other way out."

Batman and Flash exchanged a look. Well, Flash had a look, Batman barely made eyecontact.

"If there are two girls still down there, that takes presidence."

"I'll take these three home."

Dick and Gar followed Batman to his car. So did a snitch who does not deserve to get mentioned by name.

"I'm sorry." Wally someone whimpered.

"What's that? Garfield, did you say something? It couldn't have been anyone else." Dick bitched.

Not once did Batman try to stop his son from mean girls-ing another child all the way to the hotel his uncle Barry was staying at. Whenever he looked in the backseat, his eyes were on the newborn, and the 7 year old holding it.

Dick noticed ofcorse. Batman doesn't drive this slowly or carefully. What happened to "That's what belts are for."? All because there's a stupid baby in the car? Wait, Dick, stop. What are you thinking? That's completely reasonable. Dick breathed in and out. It's Wally who betrayed you, not the baby.

"Alfred, prepare a spare bedroom." Batman said to the car radio.

"Uhm, hey, Batman. We need to go to Wayne Manor." Dick tried to save the seacret ID.

"They're both coming with us."

WHAT? Does he just give out his real name to any child he comes across!? You can't just go from having no kids to having two and a baby in two weeks. That's ridiculous. And Gars, just some random kid from a Gala, there's no way you could send him into battle. Baby's no Robin, either.

Not that it mattered, Gar didn't react in the slightest. He just stared at that baby, like he was obsessed with it.

"Careful, he's possessive." Batman addressed Alfred.

"Wow, I Can Not beliEve I am in the BatCAve, a place I have never been befOre." Dick lied.

"Robin, with me."

Dick turned to Gar. "That's just a nickname. Plenty of people call me that. It's unrelated to anything else." He chased Batman to a different part of the cave.

Meanwhile, Alfred tended their guests. He crouched down to Gars level. "Son, I'm sure you're tired. I've a room ready for you upstairs. A spotless one, I might add." Alfred gave a sassy half-smile. "And I happen to be a physician as well. I assure you I can take excellent care of a baby." Alfred reach for Gars hand who almost bit him in return. "Perhaps not." Alfred stepped back and gar sat down on the floor. He was clearly tired, but for some reason, he wouldn't let go of the baby. It slept so peacefully. It probably wouldn't even notice. Alfred straitened up. "I expect you to use your words Master Logan."

There was a sudden shift in Gars' eyes. In an instant, hostility and fear were replaced with confusion and softness. It was like he he finally caught his breath. He looked around like he had no clue how he got there.

"Master Logan?"

Gar looked at Alfred like he could start weeping at any moment.

"Stay here." Alfred stepped away for no more than tree minutes, but when he returned, his guests weren't there. Alfred and Bruce searched the batcave for hours while Dick put himself to bed for once.

That night sparked two changes for the family. Batman installed security cameras everywhere in the cave and the house. And a new no sleeping in your suit rule was implemented.

Why would Clockwork de-age Danny and then just leave him in Gotham for Batman to steal? No, he'd raise that boy himself. Fuck letting others get their grubby mitts on his new son. He wants to make sure he doesn't turn evil like Dan and this is the only way he knows it will work 100%.

That is until someone summons the ancient of time and gets a baby because the portal was a little to the left.

Now Clockwork is sending ghosts to go retrieve the boy since he can't leave the realms.

#dick in his mean girl era #gars animal instincts going crazy. cuz tini baby alone helpless must protect but also this thing does not feel like its alive #the red-> god of animals. danny-> ?????#im trying to chanel the shityness of 2004s the Batman's Dick Grayson. where hes deffinetly a brat but only to a degree #dick lies the way box ghost speaks

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erinwantstowrite · 2 days ago

Note

do you have any advice how to get over the fear of posting fanfiction?

idk if you would relate to that but for some reason I just can't publish anything online that isn't my original work, idk if I'm scared that fandoms are going to bully me or that nobody will read it or something else

I know these fears are irrational, but I would love to hear if you had any advice for me

you gotta jump headfirst into it. like this:

when i was 13 years old i wrote a mary sue oc for a marauders fanfiction, named Lana Portland, who could see the future and fell in love with Sirius Black. her one goal was stopping the prophecy and saving everyone, but she died, came back to life at her own funeral, and then disappeared off the face of the earth because she lost her mind. what happened to her? she could only have a sane mind while she was an owl, her animagus form, but no one knew she was an animagus. you'll never believe what owl she was: Hedwig.

if the Erin writing to you right now was the Erin from about six years ago, they would NEVER have admitted that. however, the Erin I am now can. why? because the embarrassment i felt when i turned 15 and hated looking at it has worn off.

Now Erin has finally come to terms with the fact that being "cringe" is a hell of our making. 15 year old Erin was absolutely sure they'd get bullied to hell and back if anyone knew what they had written at 13. they were much more mature than 13 year old Erin, because they wrote Voltron fanfic, not Harry Potter

being scared of what people thought of my writing was a huge obstacle to overcome, and that's because writing is intensely personal

at first, i wrote my Voltron fics with the fandom in mind. i really wanted some validation, but i was miserable and hated writing. eventually, i went back to my roots of just... writing with only myself in mind. and i was happy again, posting with barely any thought to if someone would like the fic. so sure, reading any of my old works would make me want to throw myself into a pit of fire, but there's something freeing about knowing i had posted them. i am where i am now because i hadn't worried about what people thought of it when i was writing it.

over the years, i've found that fics i wrote that were intended to make absolutely everyone happy with me were my worst fics. i didn't enjoy making them, and people still found a way to be dissatisfied with something i've done. the fics where i do absolutely anything i want, even if it ends up making no sense, were the fics i had the most fun writing. and i didn't regret making them

all this to say: treat your fanfic like it's your own original work, have your fun! don't worry about if people tell you "Character would never do that, you are awful." because 1) who cares, and 2) you can block them, and they can block you

now let's say you're no longer scared of getting dunked on for your writing, so you posted it. good job! now you're wanting people to read your work, but you're scared they won't.

this part is complicated because you could do all the "right" things and still get nothing. that can be making sure you're tagging your fic correctly, or making a bunch of posts about your fic and asking people to read, etc. so, before you focus on getting more people to read, you should remind yourself that even if absolutely no one reads your fic, that doesn't mean you should be ashamed of your work. this also ties back into being content with your writing and doing it for yourself first and foremost.

my favorite fic i've written is "Coffee Jelly Disaster." it's only 900 words, it's not nearly my best writing technically, and barely anyone has read it. that last part ate at me when i first posted it because i thought more people would read it. but i still love it! it's so simple and i had fun

when i started writing LoF it was just for me and my friend, and then it got popular because i made a couple of silly tiktoks, which were also for me and my friend. i hadn't expected so many people to tune in when i started, because i had a couple of well read fics before, but nothing like this.

you don't have control over that kind of stuff because there's a lot of different favtors. and it really depends on what fandom you're writing for, too. Saiki K is not nearly as big as Spider-Man and Batman.

so the way i see it, if you post and get two hits and one like, that's still somebody out there who saw your work and wanted you to see they liked it. if you never post it at all, no one will. you gotta take the first step forward to get somewhere, and eventually you'll be running. we end up regretting our inactions the most

#thank you for the ask!#writing #fanfic #writing advice #sorry if this makes no sense i haven't been feeling well lately lol

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lsunstreakerl · 1 day ago

Text

1k of au'd fopa, where I tried to gender beam them and missed by accident. mostly oscar and logan focused, with an arthur feature. fred is the last piece lol. oscar/olivia POV, logan POV

Olivia is sitting in the airport terminal, leg jittering with her fingers wrapped tight around her racket duffel. She's stopping over in Sydney before she leaves for her first major competition, and she's trying to be as calm and collected as she's rumored to be.

Everyone else must see a different Olivia than she does in the mirror.

There's a pair of shoes entering her field of view, scuffed white Nikes attached to a mortifyingly attractive boy.

She hopes her hair isn't messy.

"Ah, hello, sorry- is someone sitting here?"

Olivia clears her throat. He's French. This is terrible for her.

"Just me, but like- one second."

She shoves her duffel and within it several hundred dollars worth of rackets to the floor, clearing up the seat next to her. It's been hours since she got ready, she's in her airport outfit, why doesn't she ever put in more effort in the mornings, why do boys only approach her when she isn't trying? It's like they have a sixth sense for bad timing.

He smiles, dimples at his cheeks.

"Merci...?"

"Sorry! Olivia. My name is Olivia."

He settles next to her. He's wearing some kind of heavy knit shirt, artfully distressed jeans and fucking designer bracelets on.

"Merci, Olivia. I am Arthur."

Cool, hot French boy's name is Arthur. She's planning their wedding in her head already.

He extends a hand, long tanned fingers and manicured nails, eyes warm.

"I am flying to Sydney to audition, for the university."

Ah, a student. She shakes his hand, mentally counting the seconds, trying to figure out at what point it's weird or not to still be holding on. She stops at four.

"I'm going for-"

She nudges her duffel with her foot.

"-I'm actually stopping back at a friend's flat before I fly out again for a tennis competition. Are you arts, or...?"

He looks like an art student. Or a student who deserves art about him. Whatever, no difference to her.

His eyes light up, impressed.

"Tennis, very impressive. Are you a pro? And ah, music, hopefully."

That'll be tough. She's not sure if the university adds points for being hot or not, but surely there's some kind of modeling scholarship they can give him.

She can feel her cheeks heating up, which is as embarrassing as always.

"Pro, if I do well. Hopefully."

Arthur tilts his head, smile curling at his mouth.

"Well, future pro tennis player Olivia, I would love to get your number."

She's going to die. Play it cool, play it cool-

"Future professional musician Arthur, I would love to give it to you."

Thank god. When she gets to the flat she's going to curl in a ball and scream.

------

"So like-"

Logan is tossing the tennis ball in her hand, sitting on the court floor leaning against the wall. She doesn't get much about tennis, but she can serve well enough, and she doesn't know the rules, which is an exercise in creative thinking for Olivia.

"-he's hot,"

She's ticking off on her fingers.

"-French, dimples, a humanities student- he is one hundred percent your type, Liv."

Olivia scowls, pacing the court.

"Well, he hasn't text me, so the wedding is off."

Logan grins, lobbing the ball in her direction.

"Platonic marriage when we're forty is back on! Hell yeah."

Olivia swings, sending it flying back across the court.

"What happened to Kyle?"

Logan makes a face, reaching up to readjust her braid.

"We have 'different long term goals'. Douche speak for 'I want to party and sleep with other girls'."

Olivia winces, leaning down to snag a wayward ball.

"Sorry, Loges. You deserved better than him anyways."

Logan shrugs, tying the end of her braid off and tossing it over her shoulder as she stands, grabbing a racket and winking.

"It's whatever. Not all of us have French boys serenading us at public airports."

"That is not what happened-"

------

Logan is stretching down into a lunge, trying not to laugh as Liv attempts the same, struggling to keep her bangs out of her face.

"Should've brought a hair clip."

Liv scowls, eyes narrowed.

"It's this fucking cowlick, seriously."

"It's cute, don't hate it."

The comment earns her an annoyed side eye as they both stand, checking to make sure they have everything. Liv is wincing already, and she can tell that she's winding up the preemptive complaining.

"Tell me why I'm going running with you again?"

Every time.

Logan flashes her prettiest smile, the one that gets her assignment extensions, extra credit, and invited into frat parties when she's in the wrong sorority.

"Because I throw your fuzzy little balls for you, and you love me."

"Right."

The answer is dry and flat in a way that's very Liv, and Logan tries to ignore the way it makes her heart flip.

She keeps their pace easy, because she's technically on a rest day, and Liv doesn't run track, so Logan isn't going to put her through her normal run- mostly because she doesn't want her dead or hating her.

It's mile three when the question crawls out of her chest, finally bursting free from its ugly little cage it's been sitting in since Kyle dumped her.

"So like- Melbourne. What's that like?"

"Huh?"

Liv is out of breath, slowing her pace slightly to look sideways at Logan. She tries not to feel judged, even if she wishes she could take the question and shove it back in, ignore it the way she has been the last few weeks.

"Just wondering."

They're slowing to a walk, and she tries not to groan, because Olivia has her talking face on, and Logan doesn't really want to talk about it.

"Why, you thinking of moving?"

She's joking, but Logan flinches anyways, rapidly trying to backtrack when Liv's eyes blow wide.

"Not like- not permanently or whatever, I'm just. A semester or two? Like a change of scenery."

"Loges, that would be- I would be so excited if you did that, honestly. I would love to see you more often."

Ah, there goes Logan's heart again. She should get that checked out.

"I'm just thinking about it, Liv. Don't go crazy."

Liv beams at her, bunny teeth on display, and her cowlick has her bangs particularly bouncy on one side, and Logan needs to stop thinking about one of her best friends like that.

"Sure, yes, I promise to be completely normal about it. Totally."

Logan arches an eyebrow, and Liv flushes slightly, cringing.

"I promise to give it a few weeks before I start sending you all the restaurants we need to try together?"

That sounds more like her.

#fopa #ficlet #no one drives #somehow they find each other anyways #something something in every universe #this is definitely different from my other stuff #really testing how much you all trust my writing to hold your hand into the unknown

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caramelarrowswife · 12 hours ago

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I was reading Burden and I really want a PT.2 where Pure Vanilla comes to the Dark Cacao kingdom because once again Dark Cacao is being as stubborn as a mule-

Burden PT.2

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Dark Cacao Cookie wasn’t afraid of many things. Dragons could be domesticated, armies could be defeated, kingdoms could be conquered…

The only thing that truly brought shivers to his spine was Pure Vanilla Cookie, who was known to be extremely calm - until he wasn’t.

A/N: I am SO sorry for my inconsistent posting. I'm currently doing an internship for school and I'm trying to force my way through Dante's Inferno in my free time so I can upgrade my writing skills. Do not read Inferno. It is absolutely not worth it.

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

“Father!” Dark Choco Cookie exclaimed desperately, chasing after the stubborn old man for the umpteenth time that night. “For Heaven’s sake, stay in bed!”

Dark Cacao Cookie (aforementioned stubborn old man) did not acknowledge his son in any form of the word. As stubborn as he was, he was also old, which unfortunately meant his (much younger) son was just a little faster than him.

Very soon, Dark Cacao was struggling in a full Nelson, shouting bloody murder as he was forcibly dragged back to his bedroom. Dark Choco shot an apologetic look at the perplexed guards who had just been told they would get executed if they did not help their king right this instant.

“Please, for the love of God, don’t sneak away again, you need rest if you want to heal,” Dark Choco said. He was just short of getting on his knees and begging for his father to stay put for the rest of the night - the prince needed his beauty sleep, too.

"Why put a border between healing and duties, when both drink greedily from my undrainable glass of concentration?" Dark Cacao asked wisely.

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Dark Choco deadpanned. “It does, however, convince me of the fact you need to fall asleep now.”

“Are you telling me I’m acting delirious, boy?” Dark Cacao said angrily.

“I said no such thing.”

“You implied it, a crime far worse than telling me outright.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dark Choco sighed. “Father, Pure Vanilla Cookie would not approve of your escaping sleep.”

“Aha, but Pure Vanilla Cookie is not here, now, is he?” Dark Cacao asked with a slight tilt of his head.

“Who is to say he isn’t?” Dark Choco said, raising his eyebrows right back at him.”

“Do not tell lies, boy-”

“DARK CALLEBAUT CHOCOLATE CACAO COOKIE!”

When Dark Choco looked back at his father after twisting his head in the direction of the angry shout, he saw Dark Cacao making a run for the window.

“Hey!” The prince yelped, jumping up to tackle the other to the floor.

They rolled over the floor in a childish wrestling match that involved a lot of hair-pulling and pushing faces away. They came to a stop at the feet of an extremely unimpressed Pure Vanilla Cookie.

“Vanilla, my love!” Dark Cacao exclaimed. “You must come to my aid, our rebellious son has finally decided to overthrow his poor father-”

“What?! That is absolutely not true-!” Dark Choco said indignantly, before he was cut off by a sigh from Pure Vanilla.

“You may drop the theatrics, Dark Cacao Cookie, I have received Dark Choco’s letter, who told me all about your little adventures out of the Citadel despite my explicitly telling you not to.”

Dark Cacao narrowed his eyes at his son. “Traitor.”

“Dark Choco, my dear, would you please retreat to your room for the night? I imagine it has been tiring to take care of this old rascal on your own,” Pure Vanilla said, stepping back to let both men up.

“I am not old,” Dark Cacao said offendedly, before pausing and adding; “Nor am I a rascal. I am not twelve, Pure Vanilla.”

“Get in bed.”

“I have work to do, surely you understand-” Dark Cacao protested.

“Get in bed.”

“Yes, darling..” Dark Cacao said with a sigh, lying down with lowered shoulders.

All his hopes of escaping later throughout the night were destroyed as Pure Vanilla crawled under the covers with him.

“Close your eyes, Cacao,” Pure Vanilla murmured, wrapping his arms around Dark Cacao’s torso.

“I cannot,” Dark Cacao muttered back.

Pure Vanilla opened his own eyes, his staff resting uselessly against the wall, to meet the other’s gaze. He failed, as Dark Cacao was staring strictly at the ceiling.

“Why?”

“I.. am afraid. Of the nightmares.” Dark Cacao admitted. Why was he admitting this? He felt like a child.

A silence fell over the two rulers, and Dark Cacao looked down without moving his head to see if Pure Vanilla was still with him. He was, of course - but he was also doing the thing with his eyes, the thing Dark Cacao hated so much because it made him feel all sappy inside.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dark Cacao snarled, but it came out less commanding and more pleading than he would’ve liked.

Pure Vanilla raised an eyebrow. “With love and compassion?”

“With false hope.”

“It’s not always futile to hold hope in your heart, my dear,” Pure Vanilla said kindly. “I would never give you hope for something I cannot give you. But my heart? That, I can.”

“So senile,” Dark Cacao growled, turning his head to the other side. Pure Vanilla smiled - the king seemed to have forgotten his neck and ears went just as red as his face whenever he blushed.

“I will be with you, Cacao, every step of the way,” Pure Vanilla said softly. “I will help you heal, physically and mentally, and so will your friends. So will Dark Choco. The nightmares don’t have to haunt you forever.”

Dark Cacao was silent for a second, trying to find the courage to speak without his voice acting up.

“Do you promise?” His voice cracked anyway, like a child’s-

“I promise,” Pure Vanilla murmured, pressing a kiss to Dark Cacao’s jaw. “I will be by your side forever, my love, even if you don’t always realise it. I will be here for you, just like you’re always here for me, for your citizens.”

Dark Cacao let out a hoarse chuckle that sounded more like a sob than anything. “You always did have such a way with words..”

Pure Vanilla chuckled quietly, before he closed his eyes to slip into the sweet world Moonlight Cookie had prepared for them. Dark Cacao followed his example.

That night, Dark Cacao slept better than he had in months.

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sokkawordbender · 13 hours ago

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Oh dear, where do I begin? Only thing I can say is the "strict" country you are talking about from your perspective and randomly dictating that the women there are oppressed, let me make this clear, that women mostly(not all) are by choice not doing these stuff in these countries because mostly men by their religion and law are enforced to earn for their household. A woman can work if she wants to, nobody is stopping het, but its a man's duty to provide and is answerable if he is unable to do so. I'm not saying all, because truth be told, there still exist some trad men who oppress women and make fun of them, but you can't just go to a certain place and be offended by their prayers and their system when you know nothing about and have just seen the surface of it or believed what media has fed us.

The fact that Muslim women cover themselves is mostly by their choice and not a sign of oppression. It is almost as if saying that the more women takes off her clothes, the more liberated/free she will be. To me it sounds like master manipulation from men to achieve their thrill of seeing naked women without them making the effort. This is basically us offering ourselves to them without even knowing.

All I can say is, if you go to a place and it has values and norms that you don't agree with, don't stay there. Its not for you, don't speak for others as if you know what is better for their religion and their culture. This is pretentious. At least respect their choice if wearing the veil and staying in house(yes because they want to) and not shove it down the rabbit hole of feminism and make a point about it.

I'm getting tired of every religious aspect to be biased and conditioned against "feminism" based on mere superficial observations. Like dude , study more.

And yes I am a woman. "Gender identity" is such a western/first world country problem. There are more things for people in other countries to worry about to find time for "gender identity crisis". When they are free from struggle of making ends meet, I'm sure they will find time to ponder about it. The fact western people have time to dedicate media on this topic just shows privilege. I used to be from a low income family. When you are starving, gender identity can go to hell, I don't have time to think about these roles. All work together to make things work, no one has time to think about it. And yes I'm from one of these "strict countries". An I am happy to say that no men in my house was like that, my father is a strict religious person but he never stooped us from doing any job. Neither do men in the area I live in. And there are many religious people there.

The fact that they try to prove that this and this is liberation, taking of your veil and clothes is modern woman style, working in a firm is liberation. Gurl, its not. We are doing exactly what they are saying. We are literally serving them by doing what they say and they don't even pay the same scale of Labor.

"Let women do what they want" is so hypocritical because, in its core its just a matter of achieving thrill for men. Letting women walk around naked if they want to, letting women do sex work if they want to, letting them hook up the want to, is just a way for them to show that they LETTING us do it. And second, it gets them free access to the service women provide.

Nothing confirms more the absurdity of the concept of “gender identities” than going to a country ruled by strict religion principles. Everyday at multiple hours and beginning at around 5 am you could hear the loud speakers echoing the voices of men chanting glory to “God” (“Allah”), imposing a rhythm and way of thinking to all. Imagine if we women were doing this, chanting every day glory to the “Goddess” and imposing it at five different hours, for everyone to hear … sounds like a joke, right ? In seven days I saw maybe 20 women (non-tourists) in total who had no veil on their heads, no woman who worked as drivers, guides, police officers or even waiters. The huge majority of merchants were men. Men everywhere. On their scouters, together, screaming or running or working or having fun (boys playing football, laughing together, etc) and just living like normal human beings.

The women and girls were less visible. Not invisible, but often close to it. Figures in the kitchen of restaurants, working as cooks and cleaners, accompanying their children to school or walking in the Medina to buy food for the day. Men full of confidence, women more reserved. This was so blatantly obvious. When the world is unfair and so deeply patriarchal, how can you expect a woman to like being a woman ? How much do you think she likes and feels in “alignment” with her condition and what gender activists incorrectly call “assigned gender at birth” ? A concept that breaks so easily when confronted to reality isn’t valuable in the first place. If nothing had peaked me yet this would have been it.

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