#youre strong and no one else can say otherwise

[2truehearts]

i may be a coward but i'm fucking strong as hell!!!

[nedlittle]

4&20 for the book asks

[through tears] haha that's the weed number

4. Did you discover any new authors that you love this year?

hmm. i didn't necessarily discover any authors whose entire oeuvre i felt the need to read immediately which is how i would define "author i love". i've been enjoying mimi matthews' belles of london series (the third book is the weakest least of all bc anne is a lesbian and the plot is ass. will read the fourth & final book before the year is out). i think darcy liao had a great debut with make room for love (BUTCH LOVE INTEREST. UNION ORGANIZATION SUBPLOT. RUN DON'T WALK). i need to hold a seance so i can make karleen winsor do the autism test after her research process for forever amber drove me to madness (complimentary). overall i discovered a lot of authors whose work i found very interesting and for whom i will be on the lookout for in the future

20. What was your most anticipated release? Did it meet your expectations?

my most anticipated release was the ministry of time by kaliene bradley which i learned about like. a month before its release and was mildly wary of bc i've found that a lot of franklin expedition-adjacent fiction is Bad. and then it ended up being one of my fave books of the year!!!!!!! i rarely buy new releases bc in this economy a single hardcover costs anywhere from 35-40 canadian dollars (tmot was $34 before tax) and they are heavy but i have no regrets here :)

end of year book asks

[trianglegoddess]

I'm Still Standing

The League felt like they had a strong sense of Phantom’s power. After all, they wouldn’t have asked him to join the team, otherwise. He’s strong, he can fly, and due to his supernatural nature, he’s amazing on recon and stealth missions. He’s also incredibly reliable, and smarter than most people give him credit for. He’s a natural hero, a more snarky Captain Marvel, some news outlets have been saying. Always saving people with just the right words to say, with a humble smile on his face. 

Phantom, with all of his power, seemed untouchable in every definition of the word. 

And then they got invaded by Darkseid. 

It wasn’t the first time Darkseid had invaded Earth, but it was the first time bringing armies so large, the first time he’s attacked all over the world to spread the League thin. It is single handedly the worst alien invasion Earth has ever had. 

Batman, bleeding out on the sidewalk, Wonder Woman knocked unconscious and restrained by a nearly egregious amount of henchmen, Superman, weak from the kryptonite Darkseid had shot him with. Thankfully it had missed all the important bits, but with that bullet inside of him, Superman was also down for the count, as well as dozens of other League members. 

If it hadn’t been for Phantom, they would have lost. 

Phantom, who’s never been seen without a smile on his face until now. Phantom, who’s never had so much as a scratch on him, until now. Phantom, who has only ever been known to be kind and compassionate, even to his villains, until now. 

Usually there’s this sort of warm, comforting feeling that radiates from Phantom. It feels like a nice breeze on a warm summer’s day, a nice cup of hot cocoa, your favorite song. It’s a feeling of safety, as if everything will be alright just because he’s there. 

Here, though, something else, something much stronger, is radiating from him. It practically rolls off of him in huge waves, making those conscious around him more aggravated, more on edge.

Phantom pulls himself off of the ground. His suit is torn, and his green blood splattered on himself and the ground. He spits a glob of it out, along with a tooth. 

“Still, you stand,” Darkseid says, as if tired. “Do you not tire in the face of your own demise?”

“As long as I’m still standing, you won’t ever win,” Phantom says. His voice is low and threatening, reverberating eerily off of the broken infrastructure that surrounds them. It sends a chill down everybody’s spines, though if Darkseid is affected, he doesn’t show it. 

“Your comrades have fallen, your militaries have failed, and you have no other help arriving. Pray tell how one singular human will be able to take me down!” 

Phantom doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he walks forward so that his friends are behind him, and braces himself. Darkseid, unable to contain his own hubris, lets Phantom come closer. 

Phantom takes in a deep breath, as if he’s about to speak.  

Instead he wails. 

Any remaining glass shatters, raining down upon them as green sound waves push back the offending forces. 

And it’s loud, of course. The ears of Darkseid’s minions are bleeding, and many of them are either dying because it’s too much for them to bear, or they’re killing themselves to give themselves some modicum of relief. But it’s also more than that, more than noise. 

It’s mourning. 

The first feeling that overwhelms everyone is anger. Phantom’s anger at Darkseid, at the destruction, at the fact that he just can’t catch a fucking break and it’s not fair. The second, is the sadness. It weighs down upon their shoulders, suffocating them like smog. It invades every part of their being-their lungs, their joints, their very hearts-and it presses and presses and presses until there’s very nearly nothing left. 

Phantom still pushes on. He is nothing if not persistent, driven to fight, driven to protect his people, his team, his friends, his family. No mortal being could ever hope to have a lung capacity like this, but Phantom is no normal mortal, and Darkseid is finally starting to come to terms with that. 

The last wave of overwhelming emotion is more of an idea than it is an actual feeling. It’s not a threat, per se, but a promise. A promise to do everything in his power to destroy Darkseid and his forces permanently and with prejudice. A promise that no matter how hard Darkseid fights, he will not win. 

A promise that, if knocked down, Phantom will stand back up, and he will not lose. 

Eventually, after what feels like eternity, the wail dies down. There isn’t a single member of Darkseid’s army that’s still on their feet or in the air. Phantom collapses down to one knee, and bright, white rings flicker around his person for just a moment, before he wills them away and stands back up. 

It’s less walking towards Darkseid, and more stalking. They are not on equal footing. Phantom is the predator in every sense of the word, his anger and grief still radiating off of his body in ways that Darkseid is unable to comprehend. 

“Do you yield?” Phantom asks. His eyes are blazing green, burning into Darkseid’s very soul. It is a sort of animalistic, primal instinct deep within him that tells him, run, run as fast as you can. Darkseid’s hubris, however, remains unmatched. 

Even as he stares Death in the eye. 

“I do not,” Darkseid says. He tries to get to his feet, but his body won’t listen, still weighed down by the effects of Phantom’s wail. 

“Then as Phantom, King of the Dead, I hereby condemn you for the rest of your afterlife.”

“Don’t count your eggs yet, boy,” Darkseid spits. “I’m still alive.”

“No,” Phantom says, in a tone adjacent to someone who’s giving their condolences, “You’re not.”

Phantom gestures beside them, and Darkseid spares a glance and sees…Himself. 

His corpse is splayed on the ground, blood spurting out of his ears, nose, and eyes. He stares lifelessly up at the sky. The blood is still leaking down the sides of his face. 

“You’re dead now, Darkseid, and therefore under my jurisdiction. Due to your extensive list of crimes you will not receive a hearing, just your eternal damnation for the sins you’ve committed.”

Phantom waves his hand, and green chains and manacles appear on Darkseid’s wrists and ankles before he’s dusted out of existence, sent to his eternal punishment in another dimension. 

As soon as he’s gone, Phantom collapses to his knees. 

He’s not sure how long he’s there, sitting in the blood of those he’s killed, before Wonder Woman comes over. She’s covered in gashes and bruises and blood that isn’t hers, but she still stands tall and proud. A battle won is a reason for celebration, after all. 

He glances behind her, sees Superman taking Batman into his arms and flying off. 

Diana doesn’t ask him questions about how he’s feeling. A victory is a victory, sure, but not without its price. 

Instead, she holds out her hand. Danny grasps it, and allows her to help him to his feet. 

“As long as you can stand, you can win,” Diana says. “I think I’ll have to use that for my next big speech.”

“By all means,” Phantom tells her. “Just be sure to credit me.”

“Deal.”

[mumms-the-word]

I think about this a lot. I normally play elves first but this time opted for a human Rook, and now my second Rook is a dwarf. While I won’t say either of them aren’t sympathetic to Solas’s plans (my human Rook was a veil jumper mage, she would have been interested in what a Veil-less world would have looked like were it possible to do so without chaos), neither of them are on Solas’s short list of lives worth saving if/when he sunders the Veil.

Solas says he has spirits ready on the other side of the Veil who are going to help him minimize the damage. But I’m pretty sure if he had succeeded, those spirits would have only sought out elves to protect, or at least prioritized them over everyone else. His letter to a romanced Lavellan makes it sound like she’ll survive the fall of the Veil, no matter where she is—“when you read this the world will be as it once was, and you will see why all I did was necessary.” Not “if,” but “when.” Why? Because he is sending spirits to protect her directly? Or because all his spirit allies are prepared with orders to protect certain kinds of people?

I don’t think he means for everyone to be wiped out in the sudden rush of magic and demons. The strong and the capable will surely survive, no matter their race. But there aren’t enough spirits in the Fade to save every single life in Thedas, and Solas has made it clear ever since Trespasser that his goal is to restore Elvhenan, to restore immortality to the elves, to fix what he broke in elven culture, life, and longevity. In that final mural with Mythal, he literally says, “Why should I not tear down the Veil and bring back immortality to all the elven people? They deserve it!” Human, dwarf, and qunari life? Not exactly high on his priority list.

Solas was going to minimize the damage, yes. And on some level I do think that he spared a thought or two to the damage he’d do to humans, dwarves, and qunari. But they were never going to be his first priority. Just as an Inquisitor can develop a friendship with Solas and get him to see the world around him as real and valuable, if Rook develops a relatively positive working relationship with Solas they have a chance to convince him that his plan to tear down the Veil isn’t going to be worth the cost to anyone other than the elves. Sure, the elves may get immortality back, and the world will get magic back, but at the expense of who? Who is actually paying the cost here?

Solas wants to restore the world of Mythal. Mythal, the Protector of the People. Mythal, the All-Mother. Mythal, the goddess-queen of the elven people, her children, her subjects. There are no dwarves, humans, or qunari in her kingdom. So why should he bother to save them when he restores her world?

I think this is also partly why in the last mural with Mythal, specifically Flemythal, we hear her defend the modern world against Solas’s schemes. “The elven people of today do not deserve to see the world they love be torn apart to salve your conscience.” That’s not just Mythal speaking as a protector of the elves. That’s Flemeth, too. Flemythal, with the weight of living several hundred years as a human. Flemythal gets it. She shapes the world as it exists now. She doesn’t try to restore what was.

And that’s why Solas had to kill her. She wasn’t his Mythal. And like the Inquisitor, like Rook, she could be too persuasive. He would be willing to listen. But he can’t. He thinks of himself as oath-bound to restore the world of the elves, the one he broke when he was seeking vengeance for Mythal. And if no one is there to stop him or convince him otherwise, he will honestly and truly believe that the deaths of countless humans, dwarves, and qunari are a sacrifice worth making. There will be survivors, and that’s good. But many won’t make it.

So, yeah, why wouldn’t a human, dwarf, or qunari Rook want to stop Solas?

It seems like people on my dashboard only have elven Inquisitors and elven Rooks, because I haven't seen anyone saying that Solas' plan at the end of Trespasser would only benefit elves. My protagonists, both humans, want to stop Solas, because he plans to destroy their world and wipe out all humans. That's exactly what he tells the Inquisitor at the end of Trespasser. All this "I want to create a new prison for my fellow gods" appears already in the Veilguard.

Dwarves and qunari? Solas doesn't bother thinking about them. Genocide for all except elves. And spirits. Which are basically the same.

"I would have entered the Fade, using the mark you now bear. Then I would have torn down the Veil. As this world burned in the raw chaos, I would have restored the world of my time… the world of the elves."

Exact quote from the game (thanks @daitranscripts)

That's why I don't have any "regrets" for stopping Solas' ritual. It would have been worse. Yes, even with the gods out of their prison.

[maskedbyghost]

lets continue our talk about situationship!Simon, where this bitch grovels for monthssss

_______________________________________________

situationship!simon starts sending you text messages. before you could expect something like "you up?" or "come to my office.", but after you broke things off with him, simon started sending you heartfelt text messages, apologizing for his past behavior. “i’ve been thinking a lot about what happened between us,” he texted one night. “i realize now how much i hurt you, and i’m truly sorry, love. i understand if you need space, but i wanted you to know how much i regret everything.”

along with his messages, simon started sending you small but meaningful gifts. he remembered how you’d joked about his tea obsession once and that you’d mentioned you only liked chamomile. to your surprise, he found the best brand of chamomile tea and even packed it in a nice box before delivering it to your room.

he even started to open up more. during a late-night phone call, where you could clearly hear that he was drunk, simon said that he started seeing a therapist. “i’m workin on understandin my issues and changin for the better. i want to be better, not just for you love, but for myself. i hope you can see that i’m tryin to change.”

when you asked him to stop calling you love, he refused. “i can’t help it. you’re mine in a way no one else could be, and i don’t want to pretend otherwise.”

as simon keeps showing up with gifts and heartfelt messages, you can’t help but wonder if he’s being real or if he’s just trying to win you back before breaking your heart again.

you still go on dates with other people, and simon is tormented every time he sees you leaving the base in those pretty dresses—dresses he wishes were just for him. he follows you, quietly lurking in the corners of the restaurants or bars where you’re out with your dates. oddly enough, most of the guys you go out with either get transferred to another base or stop calling you after just one date, and you’re doing your best not to blame simon for it. but you know it's him. and he is not sorry at all.

almost every day, simon texts you, asking you out on dates and planning special things for the who of you. all you have to do is say yes, but each time, you refuse. it breaks his heart every time, but it also makes him more determined to try even harder. he knows he deserves this treatment from you.

back when you and simon used to train together on base, it was a special routine you both enjoyed. now, you’ve started asking other guys to help you with exercises, and it drives him wild with jealousy. watching their hands on you makes him see red. after your training sessions with them, simon invites these guys to spar with him. it quickly becomes clear that he’s using these sparring matches as a chance to take out his frustration and anger, landing a few extra hits just to make his point.

despite everything, you still won’t budge, and it’s only making simon more frustrated. the truth is, it’s becoming harder and harder for you to resist him. his persistence is wearing you down, and the more he pushes, the more you find yourself struggling to stay strong.

simon invites you to one of his therapy sessions, saying his therapist thinks it would be helpful for him and his progress. during the session, he opens up about his struggles and insecurities, laying everything bare. as he talks, you start to feel sympathy for him. it’s clear he’s determined to change and work on himself, and you see how genuine his efforts are.

one night, you were preparing tea in the kitchen when a girl you know from the base asked for simon’s number. she mentioned she was interested in him, which made you jealous. you snapped at her, making it clear that he would never be interested in a girl like her. simon overheard the whole thing and couldn’t help but smirk to himself. it was clear you still had feelings for him, and he took a bit of satisfaction in that.

later that night he sent one simple message to you: "that's my girl. i belong to you, and you only."

after that message, simon stepped up his game. he started sending you lots of sweet texts and little gifts, and even took care of some of your paperwork. it was hard to ignore how much he was trying, and you found it tougher to resist him as he kept showing you how much he cared.

a few months after managing to ignore simon as best as you could, you caught a nasty cold and were stuck in your room. you only texted price to let him know you needed a few days off because you were sick, and got back in your bed trying to sleep that cold off. a few hours later, as you were still trying to fall asleep, you heard your door open. simon walked in, carrying a bunch of bags, a worried look on his face.

“i came as soon as I could,” simon said, worry in his voice. “i brought you soup and medicine.”

simon didn’t leave your side for days. he only went back to his room to grab more clothes and shower. he was insistent on helping you with everything, even assisting you with your showers in the most respectful way possible of course. he’d sit in a chair next to your bed, and you felt a pang of guilt seeing how much he was giving up for you. you even tried to convince him to go get some rest, but despite your protests, he somehow ended up in your bed, gently spooning you as you slept.

simon would whisper sweet things in your hair, thinking you were asleep. you heard every word as he softly talked about how much he missed you, how sorry he was for everything, and how he wanted to make things right. even though you were sick and exhausted, his words touched you deeply.

once you were feeling better, you found simon sitting alone in a common room, lost in thought. you approached him quietly and gently kissed the side of his face. with a soft smile, you whispered, “take me on that date you promised.”

_______________________________________________

@daydreamerwoah

[crushmeeren]

ᝰ KATSUKI’S NSFW ALPHABET .ᐟ

̽ ⋆ ﹒♡﹒ GOD…. The epilogue is KILLIN ME!!!!! I had to write the brain rot out of my brain.

‣ ‣ cw ; spanking, choking, lil’ bit of degradation — vanilla otherwise.

master list ‣ ‣ @i-the-fluffo

ᝰ A ‣ ‣ AFTERCARE { ༝༝ what’s katsuki like after sex? ༝༝ }

Often, sex ends with you becoming dead to the world, falling asleep in record time because Katsuki’s fucked out all your stress. Fortunately, or somewhat unfortunately for you, Katsuki is unable to leave things unclean. He downright refuses to relax.

So even when you’ve started to doze off, harsh panting turning steady and mellow, Katsuki runs his fingers through your hair, presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, and demands you “get the hell up pillow princess, we aren’t sleepin’ in this fuckin’ mess.”

On the rare occasion he’s able to convince you to join him in the shower, he’ll ask if you want him to wash your hair. Sometimes, if you aren’t itching to be back in bed, you’ll say yes.

Katsuki also has a habit of positioning you so the spray of hot water will hit your back. Strong arms will wind around your shoulders, hugging you close to his chest, and every inch of you will keep warm.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ B ‣ ‣ BODY PART { ༝༝ katsuki’s favorite ༝༝ }

I can’t seem to shake the idea that Katsuki is an ass man.

He finds reasons for his hands to be on your ass no matter what. Cooking? He’s behind you, grabbing a handful and squeezing. At the gym? He’s spotting you while you do squats, smacking you every time you finish a set. When you have to get up from the couch after the fourth episode you’ve binged because you need to pee? Yeah, he’s there too. “Helping” you by shoving a hand up the back of your shorts to palm the curve of your ass and lever you up.

Don’t even get me started about the hand prints he leaves during sex.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ C ‣ ‣ CUM { ༝༝ where katsuki likes to cum ༝༝ }

Katsuki loves when the tight heat of your pussy locks onto his cock and refuses to free him, sucking him in like it’s begging to be stuffed full. It destroys his determination to pull out every time.

If he’s not burying himself inside you, he’s keeping a steady pace until his balls draw up tight, until his stomach clenches in warning, before he slips free, pumping his cock and covering your ass with glossy threads.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ E ‣ ‣ EXPERIENCE { ༝༝ how much does katsuki have? ༝༝ }

Katsuki’s dipped his toe into the water a few times, so to speak. No, he’s not one to sleep around, but you met him in his mid to late twenties. He’s had time to venture out and explore, as most people in that phase of their life do.

How else do you think he got toe curling pussy eating skills?

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ F ‣ ‣ FAVORITE POSITION { ༝༝ katsuki’s favorite ༝༝ }

Katsuki’s under a spell fucking you from behind. The first snap of his hips jiggles your ass and it leaves him slackjawed, fingers digging into your squishy hips to use as leverage while he yanks you back to meet each heavy thrust thereafter.

The curve of your spine, the clench of the muscles in your upper back, and the fact that the side profile of your fucked out expression is on display when it’s not shoved into the sheets all fill him with pride. It soothes the hidden primal urge in his brain.

To Katsuki, it’s a victory high when he pushes all the right buttons to shred your voice and shake your thighs while your ass is in the air.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ H ‣ ‣ HAIR { ༝༝ does katsuki shave or care? ༝༝ }

Katsuki does shave. Not bald, because it’s odd to him when there’s no hair. A small nestle of blonde curls is all that remains above the base of his cock. Sometimes, when you sneak your hand past the waistband of his briefs, and your fingers tease through the coarse hair, his brain starts to buzz.

In the case of whether or not he cares if you shave, his opinion can be summarized down to this — he does not give a single shit. He cares more that you do what’s comfortable for you rather than what you think he wants.

Whether your pussy looks like a hairless cat or a lions mane, you’ll scream his name.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ I ‣ ‣ INTIMACY { ༝༝ is katsuki romantic? ༝༝ }

Sometimes.

There are times when you need Katsuki to fuck you silly. To push into you so hard it bruises your hips, hands braced on the wall above your head to keep yourself from a concussion.

Other times, his fingers will search for yours and tangle together, ending with them pinned to the mattress. Katsuki’s face will bury itself into your throat, warm breath fanning your neck until it’s damp as his hips flex with the effort of making love to you. The tip of his cock slides across your g-spot and your back arches, tits pressing into his chest. Katsuki’s moan splinters, and he’ll chant “I love you, love you so fuckin’ much,” until your knuckles turn white.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ J ‣ ‣ JERKING OFF { ༝༝ does katsuki jerk off? ༝༝ }

Once, maybe twice a week, in the shower, he’ll curl his fingers around his cock. You’re the star of his show, whether you’re there in reality or not.

Eyes closed, Katsuki will brace a hand on the wall and remember the time you jerked him off in the shower. The memory of hot water on his chest, your soapy tits pressed against his back, and how he met each drag of your hand with a roll of his hips. It’s one of his favorites.

Usually he tries to avoid a mess, so he doesn’t touch himself in bed often. But when he does, he stares at the collection of filthy pictures you’ve sent him. Maybe a video of you sucking his cock, if you felt generous enough to allow him to record one.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ K ‣ ‣ KINK { ༝༝ katsuki’s kinks ༝༝ }

Spanking you, admiring your skin as it swells and burns hot to the touch, always sends heat sinking through Katsuki’s belly and straight to his cock. He wouldn’t do it if you didn’t squirm and cry out, pressing your ass into him to silently ask for more.

Along with spanking, Katsuki will flatten you to the mattress, haul a leg over his shoulder, and latch his fingers around your throat. The feel of your pussy fluttering, reacting as soon as he restricts your air flow, shoots adrenaline down his spine.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ L ‣ ‣ LOCATION { ༝༝ where katsuki likes to fuck ༝༝ }

Your bed is preferred. It’s big, comfortable, affording you the privacy Katsuki demands. He’d chew off his own arm before another person witnesses you unravel for him.

Other than that, he leaves the decision to you. As long as there’s some sort of solitude, and it’s not icky, Katsuki’s more or less fine with it.

You’ll get an earful if he isn’t.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ O ‣ ‣ ORAL { ༝༝ katsuki’s thoughts on oral ༝༝ }

Straddling his face, so slick that he laps at your pussy like an ice cream cone, tongue sliding over your tender clit again and again — that’s what curls pleasure low in Katsuki’s pelvis. Giving him the surreal sensation that he could cum from the slightest brush of his fingers.

When it’s reversed, and you’re the one with the aching jaw and swollen lips, Katsuki’s calloused palm will cup your jaw, thumb running along the bone underneath your eye, and his hips will thrust slowly to meet the fluid motion of your bobbing head. Eventually, Katsuki’s patience will run out, and you’ll be in his lap before he cums.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ Q ‣ ‣ QUICKIES { ༝༝ katsuki and quickies ༝༝ }

Katsuki prefers savoring the moment, so quickies aren’t his favorite. He will though, if you’re both pent up and it’s all the time you have.

It’s not a quickie by definition, but Katsuki enjoys waking you up in the middle of the night, squeezing between your legs and slipping his dick into your sleep soft body to seal you as one. Clinging to him with heavy limbs, moaning in his ear about how good he feels, he brings you both over the edge in no time.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ S ‣ ‣ STAMINA { ༝༝ what’s katsuki’s stamina like? ༝༝ }

Katsuki’s ego would bruise if his stamina was anything less than stellar. To be fair, he’s trained long days and even longer nights to achieve it. Repeatedly working himself to the bone for even an ounce of progress.

But, you make him weak. Katsuki’s man enough to admit there are times when his pleasure wells up so hot, so fast, that the iron grip on his control slips. He can’t help but suck in a sharp breath between his teeth, snap his hips forward and finish inside you.

The saving grace is that he can go multiple rounds without begging for too much of his stamina.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ T ‣ ‣ TEASE { ༝༝ does katsuki like to tease you? ༝༝ }

Teasing you until you’re flustered, until your expression is cracked with pleasure, it’s an achievement in Katsuki’s mind. In between the slick rejoining of your hips, when he can catch his breath, he’ll open his mouth and mutter with a rich, low tone “So fuckin’ needy for my cock, yeah? Can’t even go a day without it, you spoiled rotten princess.”

You love to hear Katsuki belongs to you, only you, and he uses that to his advantage to turn you to mush. When he eats you out, he moans, pulling back to stare at you with heavy lidded eyes, teasing you with “You love that I’m a fuckin’ slut for your pussy, don’t you?” The words sink into your skin, a flash of heat slicing through your belly, and the nod of your head is jerky. A few more swipes of his tongue and you’re cumming.

[txjis]

thinking abt toji with a crybaby gf a little extra rn

no one can tell me this man isn’t into the ‘soft’ type. i’m not even trying to project. but i full heartedly believe that he likes the soft girls that have some attitude to them.

cw: MDNI , fem!reader , toji kinda toxic n icky , mention of periods , fake crying , that’s abt it i think.

imagine he’s just spoiled you absolutely rotten, you can count on one hand the amount of times he’s told you “no.” and actually stood his ground on the statement. how could he not give into you? your his sweet little baby, he can’t stand the pout on your face.

but god, when you break out the waterworks?? you could probably have this man doing whatever the fuck you wanted. you knew this too, and you didn’t want him to get used to seeing you cry and whine. so you saved this little trick you’ve learned until there’s something you reaallyyy want, and IF he says no. you know it won’t stay a no.

“c’mon baby, you know i’m saying no because it’s gonna make your stomach hurt.” toji looked over at you, bottom lip jutting out after he just rudely told you no to going back through the drive through to get another ice cream cone after you just practically inhaled yours. and sure, maybe it was immature to cry over ice cream, but you could tell your period was close, you needed that fucking ice cream before you ripped his head off.

“so mean toji.” your lip wobbling a bit while you willed your eyes to start misting over with water. you slammed both of your legs against the passenger side door, shrinking away from him while you sniffled and crossed your arms over your chest. it was dramatic, and you were fully aware of that. but who cares you were his special girl, no one else mattered.

“don’t be like that-“ toji reached out towards your legs, originally trying to place a strong hand on your thigh. he had to lean over the center console the way you tucked yourself against the door so tight. but just before he made contact, you slapped his hand away, turning to glare at him with crocodile tears streaming down your cheeks. “..fuckin’ fine. same flavor?”

you nod as he pulls around to go back through the drive through, he grunts and hands you the cone full of the sweet treat you had just cried over. you take it from him, continuing the pouty act for a few moments until you genuinely start to miss his touch. riding in his car doesn’t feel normal when his hand isn’t in your lap.

toji smirks to himself watching your legs shift closer to him once again through the peaks he was stealing of you occasionally. he places his hand on your thigh and gives it a small squeeze, mumbling a ‘love ya.’

god, he can’t wait until the day he actually wants to tell you no. he can’t wait until he can tell you that he knows what your little ‘trick’ is and how it’s never really worked on him. he can see right through your little head. he wants to watch you stumble over your words and try to explain yourself to him, break you down until you’re begging for his forgiveness. that’s when the real tears come out.

I SAID TOJI LIKES SOFT CRYBABY GIRLS BUT I DIDNT SAY IT WAS FOR A HEALTHY REASON :3 he likes to break them u can’t tell me otherwise

i’d still fuck him icl.

[rainrot4me]

Ticci Toby General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Toby as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw!

Words: 1.6k

A/N: NSFW is reader with female anatomy.

Basic:

- Even though he is socially awkward and tense, he’s a master at people watching. Can read a room and know more details about a person within seconds of watching them interact.

- Likes his alone time.

- He would probably say Tim and Brian are his closest friends, the same can’t be said about Masky and Hoodie, however.

- A pro at zoning out. Takes you waving your hand in his face before he snaps back.

- Bipolar? More-so emotional switch. Tends to be soft-spoken and awkward, trying his best to keep conversation while fidgeting his hands, looking anywhere but at your face. Otherwise, he’s an in-your-face, aggressive, no emotional resistance when that flip is switched. Lots of teeth gritting and yelling, swings his ax around like it’s a toy to intimidate. It takes a lot for him to get to that point, but it takes double the time for him to come back down from it.

- Not easily scared. Will throw himself into a fight and come out victorious somehow.

- Sleeper build. Wears lots of baggy clothing and layers so you can’t tell, but secretly he’s jacked. He may look scrawny, but don’t be fooled. Really strong shoulder and chest muscles from dually swinging his ax and dragging bodies around. He doesn’t think it’s all that impressive. Wishes he was bigger.

- The worst posture you’ve ever seen.

- Let his facial hair grow out from time to time. Thinks it makes him look too mature, but appreciates the compliments he gets.

- Has a secret hobby of playing a guitar he found on a mission. His tics mess him up a lot, but it’s worth the trip out deeper into the woods where no one can hear to practice a little.

- A little shit.

- Hates the heat. Would rather freeze to death than spend one moment in the too hot sun. Favorite season is late fall, around the first snowfall time.

- Big on territory. Never had privacy or respect as a kid so he values having his own things and belongs that nobody else can touch.

- Definitely shy, but not in the “UwU” way, in the “Can you get this from the gas station for me? The girl in there looks mean.”

- Bites his nails, the skin around his nails, and his cuticles LIKE A MF.

- Very light sleeper. Unless he’s absolutely dead beat exhausted, he’ll wake up from just the floorboards creaking. Has to be physically exhausted to actually rest.

- When listening to music, he needs it as loud and close as possible. Headphones are a must and they must be at max. He wants to feel that bass.

- A stray animal lover, feels similar to them in a way.

- Breaks down a lot. Hard to console or even talk to in those moments but some time alone in his room will do the trick.

- Has the education level of a middle schooler.

- Enjoys Gorillaz, Rainbow Kitten Surprise, and surprisingly, older country artists like Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson. “Outlaw shit.”

Dating Him/SFW:

- “Love” “Y/N…” “Baby”

- Loves when he touches you and you don’t pull away. Like when his knee accidentally rests against yours or his elbow bumps your arm while sitting on the couch and you don’t tug away, just sitting there letting him rest. He gets all giddy.

- Playing with your hair. Currently trying to learn how to braid.

- “Wait. O- Okay, so, right th- then left? No? F- Fuck, okay…”

- Favorite sleeping position is with you wrapping around each other, legs and arms tangled together as he hooks his chin onto the top of your head, rubbing your back. Even though you both get extremely hot and sweaty after a while, Toby enjoys the moment before you eventually shove him off.

- Likes to feel your body weight on him, whether it’s laying or sitting, he just likes the pressure and warmth you give.

- Big on physical touch, could really care less if he’s mad or not, just needs to have some part of his body touching yours.

- You could wear or look like absolutely anything and he’d still think you’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

- Loves how you smell after getting out of the shower, can’t get enough of it while he kisses your warm, damp skin.

- Loves the way it feels when you comb through his hair with your fingers, practically purrs as he melts into your warmth, angling his head so you have better access.

- An admirer for sure, stares even when you catch on, studying every freckle or sunspot on your cheek.

- Self conscious about being your boyfriend. In reality, he’s an amazing lover, but he’s been conditioned his whole life that he’s not good enough and that ideal carries over.

- Tried to lick you through the hole in his cheek once, you both freaked out.

- Sensitive to high stress situations or loud noises so constantly reaches for your hand or crams himself into your side to block out the panic he can feel oncoming. You really help.

- Slasher movie date nights are always a bust because he’ll describe just how inaccurate that blood splatter was, followed by what would actually happen in detail.

- “If he c- cut the arm like that, it wou- wouldn’t spray out that far. This g- guy doesn’t even l- look like he’s ever even he- held an ax before.”

- Didn’t have a favorite color until you told him yours. Says his is the same, just cause it’s your favorite.

- Very immature in the sense of relationship problems. He thinks everything can be solved if he just avoids it, and that includes you. It takes a lot of bickering and patience, but he’ll eventually get over himself and force a solution.

- Doesn’t open up about anything ever. You’ve gotta fight tooth and nail for him to even mention his mother’s name. Will tell you all about his latest mission, however, whether you want to hear or not.

- Throws things or hits you playfully just to turn around and go “Who did that??”

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Boobs. Tits. Breasts. He needs them in his palms immediately.

- A big biter. Will never bite hard enough to draw blood but gets so turned on at seeing his teeth marks in your skin. Big territory thing.

- “Mine. See, I m- marked ‘ya. You’re mine.”

- His dream is to fuck your tits, too shy to ask though.

- Always been a “jerk off as fast as you can” kind of guy, fisting his cock fast to just get off. So when you slowly slide down his cock for the first time, taking your time to adjust and grind your hips at a steady pace, he nearly cums on the spot from how overwhelming it is.

- Bisexual, definitely.

- Starts at a fast pace at first, thrusting and grinding until both of your hips hurt, but then slowly his pace changes, more intentional movements and sinking deeper, more focused on stretching you out then getting deep. Just wants to get you dizzy before he gives you the good stuff lol.

- “Th- That feel good? You’re sq- squeezin’ so tight, ah-”

- His fingernail imprints all over your skin from how hard he holds you.

- Pervert but not in a creepy way. Pervert as in gets a boner from just watching your ass as you walk across the room. Has to clench his fists every time you bend over or raise your shirt up. Can barely breathe if you’re showing too much skin.

- Not big on degradation, but is very big on affirmation, loves to be told he’s doing good.

- Secretly, sooooo secretly loves the idea of anal. For both you and him. He wants to be buried in your ass, your back laid into his chest as he shoves his fingers into your cunt, panting into your neck. But at the same time, wishes you would just read his mind and push your fingers into his, fisting his cock as you stretched him so well.

- Surprisingly, very flexible. Whatever position you’re in he can easily contort to get the best angle to sink his cock in.

- Jealousy sex. Another resident of the mansion catches your glance for too long and suddenly you’re shoved into the bathroom, pants at your ankles as the brunette swipes the pads of his fingers against your clit, biting against your shoulder as he ruts into your ass.

- “Mine, mine, m- mine, nobody els- else makes you feel this good. Right? R- Right? Yeah?”

- A WHINER. Grade A pro at burying his face into your neck/pillow/chest and just sobbing his pleasure through tears and moans. He’s so loud, obnoxiously groaning and huffing as you slap your hand over his mouth. It doesn’t help though, as soon as your hand pushes down his tongue is already out and licking your palms.

- You in his hoodie? Yeah, it’s the only thing you’re wearing while he snaps his hips, pushing your knees back as far as they’ll go to get even deeper, mewling about how good you look.

- Loves to sit back and watch you suck his cock, his fingers pushing strands of hair out of your face as you try to take it all in, eyes twitching the further down you get. He’s not insanely big, just lengthy enough to make you choke and reach all the best parts. Likes to put his goggles on your forehead and watch them dangle as you bob up and down.

- Cumming in you? No. Cumming on you? Every single time. Goes absolutely crazy when he sees his seed shot across your stomach or thighs, your flushed skin and post-orgasm twitches getting him so turned on he can’t focus.

- “You ju- just look so good… Couldn’t he- help myself, okay? Sorry… Can we, u- uh… Can we go ag- again?”

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[purinfelix]

hiii, i love your writing so freaking much, can i please ask for a Franco fic inspired on Gold rush by taylor swift? he just literally gave me that vibe and I NEED to read something like that, please and thank you <3

everybody wants you ‧₊˚✩ - franco colapinto

summary: when your best friend since birth finally joins you in formula one, it's safe to say that you're excited - though when it becomes apparent that he's the more favoured one, you start to doubt things, including your feelings w/c: 2.8k

a/n: oh anon i love this idea but also this was my first time listening to this song so i hope i interpreted it the way you hoped and did it service !!! <333

You hated how cliche it was. 

The two of you were childhood best friends, together for as long as you could remember. You always credited yourself for getting into karting first and Franco, always eager to stay by your side, followed suit. The track only gave the two of you another domain to be inseparable in, with every race ending with both of you on the podium - and it never mattered who was first, only that you were both there, together. 

There was an unspoken understanding in your hometown that the two of you were never to be separated, which you initially revelled in, but the older you got the more you felt yourself developing a feeling towards your friend you couldn’t quite explain. Somewhere in the realm of jealousy, just beyond admiration and reaching just short of a childhood crush.

It came in waves, flowing whenever you were reminded of just how different the two of you were, and how inadequate you felt next to him - with his charismatic personality and curly brown hair that always fell perfectly into place, always drawing more and more people towards him. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself wondering why he had chosen you of all people to stick so close by, even if he never gave you a reason to doubt it. 

And so when you decided to move away to pursue racing, it wasn’t shocking that Franco would too. The two of you set off, after many tearful goodbyes to your friends and family back home, to brace the world, hand in hand. 

You stayed racing for the same teams, always getting promoted or signed at the exact same time - almost as if the universe had heard the same unspoken understanding of your town, and knew that you worked best together. And whilst it helped to see each other during practices, debriefs, and even wearing the same uniforms, it was far from the only thing that kept your friendship strong. 

Away from almost everything else the two of you knew, you clung to each other tightly and came to know absolutely everything about each other through it. Hushed midnight conversations, early morning snack runs, and even visiting landmarks as you grew and travelled countries - all the while with Franco by your side. 

Strangely enough, it never did occur to you to see the boy beside you as more than just a friend - no matter how much the other girls you befriended seemed to think otherwise. Whenever they would sneakily whisper to you, asking whether you were sure the two of you were just friends you would always roll your eyes shooting back something along the lines of Ew? Franco? No, we’ve known each other forever - which typically made them happy to pursue him themselves, even if they strangely never succeeded. 

All this came to a screeching halt in the summer of your second year in Formula Two, however, when you were met with a contract deal from Alpine Racing. A racing seat for one. 

“You’re taking it right?” his voice is excited as the two of you sit in the stuffy hostel room you’re sharing with about eight other strangers, all too broke or cheap to pay for anything better. Franco was the first you had told, before your coach, before your family, before anyone. 

“I don’t know Franco, I mean-“ 

“What? Why wouldn’t you?” 

You chew your bottom lip as you fiddle with the bedsheet below you, not able to look him in the eye. “It means we won’t get to race together you know,” you sigh. 

“Well you don’t know that, maybe you race alone for a year but once I make it into F1 we’ll be side by side again! Plus you’re stupid if you think I won’t be visiting every one of your races anyway.” 

You watch his green eyes scan your expression, searching for a clue to how you’re feeling. 

“It’s just a big step, I don’t know if I’m ready for it.” 

“I think you’re more than ready,” he insists, though you don’t feel convinced. 

When you finally speak again your voice is tiny, “I’m scared, Franco.” 

In that moment, he gives you a sympathetic look before pulling you into a tight hug and even though neither of you spoke about it again that night, you knew exactly what it meant - I know you’re scared, but I’m here for you. 

And you aren’t ashamed of the fact that it was his reaction alone that pushed you to make the decision to take up the deal, and you couldn’t have been happier that you did. At least, that’s how you felt for the initial months of your contract which was filled with cocktail parties, race suit fittings and media interviews. And despite what you had expected, and as selfish as it might’ve been, having Franco not by your side for once felt like a breath of fresh air you hadn’t known you needed - it filled you with a lone sense of pride, having ‘made it’ without someone being right there for you to be compared to. 

It was perhaps this sense of pride that helped you manage to score points on your debut. You still remember running up to where Franco was waiting for you in the garage, the biggest smile on both of your faces as you jumped into his arms - and it felt, just for a moment, like this euphoria might’ve been what you had spent your whole life waiting for. 

But perhaps you had spoken too soon, since your progress saw a steep decline causing you to lose not only the chances to score points and impress your team, but also the confidence you had spent so long working on. 

And one night, just when it seemed like you were at your lowest, after a weekend full of DNFs and near-crashes - the most unexpected thing happened. A singular text from Franco, halfway across the world, excitedly explaining how he was going to be filling a position in Formula One, in a different team to you. 

There wasn’t a single word to describe the millions of emotions you felt rushing through you in that moment. For one, surprise at the mid-season switch as well as a certain sort of selfish disappointment that you would no longer be the only one in the highest form of the sport you both loved. But above all else, a thrumming excitement about being with your best friend once more - to see him at the paddock, catch up with him during sessions and not have to trek all the way into grandstands just to see his face. 

It didn’t take you long to realise though, that you were far from the only one who felt this way. It was almost like the moment Franco stepped foot on the paddock, donning the blue of Williams for his first race weekend, the world fell in love with him. Online, conversations about him blew up to the point where you couldn’t go moments without being bombarded by clips of his interviews or edits of him. It was strange, one part of you felt proud that the world was finally waking up to the treasure that was your best friend, but another felt the strong urge to hide him away, for him to be all yours. 

A small part of you had expected this, having known Franco and his personality since before you could put it into words - but what you hadn't expected was for him to also back it up with amazing performances. Now, it was him who was scoring points and impressing everyone - and you who was left to do little more other than celebrate with him, for your own results paled in comparison. And once news got out about you being childhood friends, through a couple of grainy leaked photos of the two of you smiling proudly in your tiny karts, the comparisons started up again. 

It was like salt in the wound, agonisingly so - seeing your best friend adored him doing well in the sport you got into first, while you were left to, weekend after weekend, fail to make it into points range. And to make matters worse, the media frenzy that cropped up around Franco did little other than make you come to a realisation you might've spent your whole life running from - that you were jealous, not of Franco, but of those who loved him. That maybe your desire to constantly stick by his side was more than just a childish habit, and that your jealousy of his achievements was just a reminder that you’d never be more than just a friend, one that was always a little behind, a little worse. 

Despite your best efforts, the two of you began to drift apart, each achievement he got driving a deeper and deeper wedge between you. It hurt a lot, race weekends beginning to bleed into each other - a plain blur of failed races, celebrations from other teams, and Franco's adoring fans.

It all seemed to come to a head one weekend, a minor crash in an earlier lap winding you up in the Alpine garage - sweaty, irritated and extremely exhausted. Yet you continued to watch the race, not so much for anyone else, but more so that you could keep a close eye on the blurry blue car, and its driver.

And before you knew it you were watching it cross the finish line in third, Franco’s first podium - right in front of your eyes. 

You weren’t sure why, but your first instinct was to hastily get up from the fold-out chair you were sitting on and rush away to your driver's room, like a child throwing an immature tantrum. You knew Franco well enough to know he’d come looking for you but knew yourself enough just as well to know you couldn’t face him right now. With everything that had been going on, with the constant stream of less-than-kind comments you were getting online and the extreme dip in your performance, the last thing you wanted was to be reminded of your inadequacy. It was extremely selfish, sure, but you convinced yourself that you were actually doing Franco a favour since you knew your acting skills were too poor to convincingly put on a show as he celebrated right in front of you. You always had been a faster runner than him, at least, that’s what years of playground tag had told you. 

But it had been a while since then and before you could make it to your room you heard an all-too-familiar voice call from behind you. 

“Hey!” 

“Not now Franco,” you huff, so close to the door of your room that you’ve got one hand on its handle already. 

“What? C’mon, I just got a podium and that’s all you have to say?” You pause at the handle, the hurt tone in his voice pulling at your heartstrings. 

“Yeah, I saw, good job but I just can’t right now.” 

“Can’t what? You’re joking, right?” His voice rises in volume a little, and he sounds in disbelief - you’re glad the garages are mostly empty so that no one can see the scene he’s making. 

“No, I’m not,” you shoot back firmly. You’re still facing away from him, arm hanging limp from the door handle - you can’t remember the last time you felt this defeated, this tired. 

“Seriously, what is going on with you lately? It’s like, you were so excited for us to race together but now we barely talk even though we see each other every day.” 

“Franco,” you say, quietly. 

“We’ve known each other forever but this feels like the first time where I truly have no clue what is going on in your head, why don’t you ever talk to me anymore? You don’t think I don’t notice you avoiding me?” 

“Franco, please.” You feel tears pricking up at the corners of your eyes, and it doesn’t help how accusatory he sounds. 

“Please, what?” 

“Please, just go celebrate.” 

“No! If you think I’m just going to leave now without you, you’re seriously ridiculous. I mean, this is what we always dreamed of, isn’t it?” 

At that, you turn around to face him - looking him in the eyes for the first time in what feels like months. You watch his brows unfurrow immediately as his expression softens at the sight of you, tears welling up in your eyes which are surrounded by dark circles, marks left from your many sleepless nights. It’s clear that he notices how small you look as well as you hunch into yourself, barely having the energy to stand up straight. 

“Woah, hey,” he says, his tone gentle now. 

“Don’t do this Franco, don’t talk to me like we’re still children,” you say, instinctively defensive. 

“Aren’t we?” 

You let out a laugh, soft yet cruel as you struggle to hold in your tears, “Everything’s different now, isn’t it? When was the last time we were on a podium together or even spoke face to face like this.” 

“What are you even saying?” You feel a pang of pain in your heart at the look in his eyes, a little anger mixed with disbelief. 

“I’m saying, that maybe being friends isn’t going to work if we’re racing against each other anymore. Have you seen the way I get compared to you relentlessly? Everyone loves you, everyone wants you, and I’m just, there! Do you have any idea what that’s like? To have no one backing you?”  

“You’re my best friend, I’m right here, backing you!” 

“Franco,” you say, just above a whisper. 

There’s a moment of silence, and you can see Franco working up the courage to say something, his hands fiddling with the fireproof mask he’s been holding this whole time. You feel a couple of tears finally make their way down your cheeks and you do your best to wipe them away, eager to not embarrass yourself in front of him anymore. 

“I love you.” He finally says. 

“Don’t say that, please, don’t say that.” You’re about to turn away, ready to just shut yourself in your room. 

“No, like, I love you.” You hear him take a couple steps closer to you, to the point where he’s right behind you. 

“You don’t mean that,” you sigh. 

“I do,” he says, barely above a whisper, “I have, for years.” 

You pause, silently turning around to face him, and it feels like the breath has been knocked out of you. He looks at you, nervously waiting for a response though trying to put on a face that tells you how serious he is about what he’s just said. 

“And I know that you probably don’t feel the same but I need you to know this because I can’t keep going on like this, barely seeing or talking to you and-” he begins to ramble, and all you do is let out a relieved sigh as you lean forward to rest your head on his chest in silence. However, it’s clear this confuses him as he stops talking immediately. 

“I love you too, Franco.” 

“Wh- really?” 

“Yes,” you say, the smile audible in your voice. 

“Like, seriously?” 

“As serious as a heart attack.” You lean back against the door with a smile of relief, or as much a smile as you can muster up figuring that you feel like you’re about to collapse right there and then. 

“I’d kiss you but,” he gestures to his face and hair which is drenched in sweat. 

“Oh shut up and come here,” you say quietly, looping your arms around his neck as you pull him close to you. When your lips meet his arms wrap around your waist as he pushes you up against the door of your room, and even though you couldn’t care less, you’re once again glad there’s no one here to see the two of you. No cameras, no fans, no other drivers - just the two of you, and the years of history between you. 

When you part, his face is flushed as he offers you a shy smile, his arms still around your waist. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.” 

“I could say the same for you.” 

“So, what now?” he asks. 

“You go celebrate your first podium,” you reply excitedly. 

“We,” he corrects, finally unlooping his arms to take you by the hand and lead you out of the garage - and whilst your beaming smiles might’ve seemed to many the results of his podium, the two of you knew they were part of something much, much bigger. 

taglist: @spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk @presleycaudle

[solarmorrigan]

The Witch and The Carpenter

For the @steddie-spooktober day 23 prompt: Witch Rated: T | Words: 2862 | CW: None | Tags: fantasy AU, witch!Eddie Munson, carpenter!Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington gets migraines, Eddie Munson needs a hug, Steve Harrington needs a hug, they're perfect for each other hugs all around Divider credit: @saradika

Eddie hears about the new carpenter within hours of his rolling into town – of course he does; any witch worth their salt knows exactly what’s going on in their town at all times (it’s hard not to, when you’re the one providing the potions and charms that help everyone else keep their secrets).

His name is Steve, and he’s come with hopes of filling the hole left when Benny, the previous town carpenter, had died without an heir to his business. People say that he seems hardworking and capable, that he’s strong and handsome, that he’s friendly enough, but that there’s something a little distant about him – a little lonely (though the older ladies who give Eddie gossip do tend to romanticize at times).

Eddie doesn’t expect to meet him as soon as he does, but before even his first week in town is out, Steve turns up on Eddie’s doorstep, looking at once earnest and wary, and just as handsome as the gossip had said.

(Not that that last bit has any bearing on anything.)

“People in town say you’re the one to see for remedies,” Steve says when Eddie gets the door open.

“People in town say a lot of things,” Eddie replies. “But in this case, they’re right. Come on in.”

Inside, Eddie finds out that Steve is seeking a remedy for headaches. But not just any headaches; these seem to be full-body affairs that can keep Steve down for days at a time. He gets dizzy, nauseous, is bothered by any noise, and even candlelight can be too bright for his eyes.

Eddie mixes him up something strong, gives him strict instructions on how it’s to be taken, and then moves on to the matter of payment.

At that, Steve begins to look sheepish.

“I’ve only just set up my business. I… don’t have much money yet,” he admits. “I was hoping you might be willing to do a trade.”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “And what do you have to trade that you think might interest me?”

“Your door?” Steve offers.

“…what about my door?” Eddie asks after a long moment of confused silence.

“It sticks. You were having trouble getting it closed earlier. I could fix that,” Steve says.

And it’s true – Eddie’s front door does stick. So does the back door. The shutters often refuse to open or shut properly, and the porch sags a little, and there’s a leak in the roof when it rains hard enough. While Eddie is the best in the business when it comes to working magic, he’s not so handy with home repairs.

(It doesn’t particularly help that witches exist in an odd sort of social limbo. Every town needs one—this is generally acknowledged as truth—but no one particularly wants them around. Eddie lives a little ways away from town, up against the forest line, where it’s easy to ignore him and his shabby house unless someone needs something from him. No one has ever exactly been chomping at the bit to come help him fix the place up.)

Eddie shouldn’t say yes. He often trades goods and services, but he doesn’t know this man. He doesn’t know if he’s reliable, doesn’t even know if his work is any good – but something in him wants to agree, anyway.

Maybe it’s the earnestness of his offer, or the hope in his expression that he’s clearly trying to quash, or maybe Eddie’s just a sucker for a pretty face, but eventually he finds he can’t say anything but, “Okay, sure.”

“Thank you,” Steve sighs as he accepts the potion. “How would tomorrow work for you?”

Still not entirely sure he expects Steve to show up, Eddie says that tomorrow is fine. If he doesn’t show, if he thinks he can fleece a witch and continue living peacefully in town, he’ll quickly find out otherwise. And if he does come back – well, it would be nice to have a door that doesn’t stick anymore.

“What’s your favorite color?” Steve asks before he leaves.

“Red,” Eddie answers, one brow raised in a question that Steve doesn’t answer.

“Red.” Steve nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next day, Steve is back bright and early with a bag of tools and a pot of paint. He tells Eddie not to mind him, he’ll just get to work and try to stay out of Eddie’s way, but Eddie can’t help but watch as Steve inspects the door hinges, the frame, and then not only trims the door down, but sands and paints it, too.

Red: Eddie’s favorite color.

Anyway, it isn’t Eddie’s fault for getting distracted. There’s an unfairly attractive man doing manual labor in front of his house, what’s he supposed to do?

Eventually, though, Eddie does force himself to look away. He shouldn’t get attached to things he knows he can’t have. He’s the witch; he’s in the background of everyone else’s story, he doesn’t get to have one of his own – especially not with someone like Steve.

And that’s fine, Eddie had accepted that long ago. He likes being able to help people, and it’s sort of the only thing he’s any good at. He won’t deny that it stings sometimes, the way people talk about witches—about him—but what should he care about what other people think?

In any case, it doesn’t matter, because once Steve finishes with the door, it’s unlikely the two of them will cross paths again any time soon.

Steve finishes the door (it now opens and closes smooth as butter) and goes home.

And comes back the next week.

“Finished what I gave you already?” Eddie asks.

Steve shrugs. “Stress always makes the headaches worse, and with travelling and setting up shop…”

Eddie nods, pursing his lips in thought. “I could make you a bigger batch, but it would cost you more.”

“I can fix those shutters.” Steve nods towards the windows. “And you mentioned something about the back door?”

“You’re going to neglect your real customers, spending all your time fixing up my house,” Eddie teases.

“I can make the time,” Steve says, smiling at Eddie. “I think it’s worth it.”

Eddie has to turn away again, reminding himself that Steve is talking about the medicine, not him.

He fixes up a bigger batch of that same strong potion he’d made the previous week (“I’ve never had anything work so well,” Steve had practically gushed. “It was more than worth my work.”) and Steve comes back the next afternoon to start work on the back door.

They talk more this time, when Steve takes breaks, when Eddie is between tasks and brings him cool water to drink, and Eddie finds that Steve is funny and sweet, and catty and sharp, and a bigger gossip than even Eddie himself. And he reminds himself, again and again, that Steve is not for him. This isn’t how the story goes.

Witches don’t get nice things.

(And that’s fine. Eddie is fine with it. He’s fine.)

They do, however, get increasingly nice houses, apparently. Or at least Eddie does. Steve paints the back door red, too, and then gets to work fixing the shutters. Those, to Eddie’s bemusement, he paints a buttery, golden yellow.

“They don’t exactly scream ‘witch’s cottage’,” Eddie points out.

Steve only shrugs. “It’s my favorite color,” he says, flashing a grin at Eddie. “Besides, I think they go with the doors.”

Eddie doesn’t argue.

It goes on like this. Eddie brews medicine for Steve’s headaches, and Steve finds things around the house to work on. He fixes the leak in the roof, the creaky porch steps, the drawer in the kitchen that will never stay closed; his business picks up in town, but he always makes time for Eddie.

As much as he can, at least.

“I’ve got a few big orders built up,” he says apologetically one afternoon as he collects his medicine from Eddie. “I’m not sure when I’ll have time to get to the cabinets like I said I would, but I can pay you–”

“Nah.” Eddie waves Steve’s offer away before he can pull out any coins. “I’ll just put it on your tab.”

Eddie doesn’t do tabs.

Steve looks skeptical. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course I am. And if, for some reason, you welch on our deal,” Eddie gives Steve a sharp grin, “I do know where you live.”

“You should come visit, then,” Steve says.

Eddie falters. “What?”

“If you want to, I mean.” Steve shrugs, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “Just– if I can’t make it out here, maybe you could come see me, instead.”

And again, he’s so earnest, trying so hard not to look too hopeful, that Eddie can’t say anything but, “Alright, I will.”

The way Steve lights up at that is worth just about anything he could have Eddie do.

Eddie tries to remind himself of this as he ventures into town the next week.

He doesn’t go into the town proper very often; he grows a lot of what he needs and trades for a lot of the rest of it with customers; he’s a rare enough sight that some people stare, and whisper, and Eddie does his best to hold his head up high and walk without a care.

And if he pulls faces at some of the more egregious offenders, causing them to gasp and scurry away, scandalized, well – Eddie is allowed his simple pleasures.

Anyway, Steve is all smiles when he finds Eddie at his door, and that’s the most important thing. He ushers him through the shop (a large, warm space that smells of wood shavings and sweet smoke, just as Eddie’s come to associate with Steve) and into the living space above. He serves Eddie tea and cake with a studied nonchalance that says he doesn’t want Eddie to realize how excited he is.

How excited he is to see Eddie.

Eddie searches for anything else to focus on before he does something ridiculous, like act on the rising warm feeling in his chest. He finds it, oddly, in Steve’s eyes.

“Have you been sleeping?” Eddie asks him; the shadows beneath his eyes look almost like bruises.

Steve shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”

His hands are shaking, Eddie realizes, as he pours the tea for the both of them. Steve must notice Eddie noticing, because he folds his hands back into his lap with a little huff.

“Happens sometimes,” he says brusquely. “More annoying than anything. Carpenters are supposed to have steady hands.”

(Eddie wonders sometimes what must have happened to Steve, but he’s seen some of the scars that adorn his body, has seen the faraway look that gets into his eyes from time to time, and he thinks he knows. Steve has the bearing of a soldier, and the eyes of a man too kind to have ever been made to fight for a king who doesn’t give a damn about him.)

Taking the hint, Eddie changes the subject, but the thought of Steve’s shaking hands follows him home. All those tools, all those sharp things he works with – maybe Steve isn’t his, not his to worry over or to care of, but Eddie decides he’s damn well going to do it anyway.

The next time Steve comes by, Eddie slips him an extra packet along with his usual potion.

“You brew it like tea,” Eddie says to Steve’s confused glance. “Should help steady your hands, when you need it.”

Steve stares down at the packet for several silent seconds. “You didn’t have to–”

“But I wanted to.”

Shaking his head, Steve looks back up at Eddie. “How can I–”

Eddie waves him off before the question is fully formed. “Let’s say it’s on the house, for my best customer.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Steve says, not without amusement.

“Then how about my favorite customer?” Eddie offers.

Steve is smiling now. “Are you allowed to have favorites?”

“I’m the witch,” Eddie reminds him with a smirk. “I can do whatever I want.”

And so it goes.

And so it might have continued going, if it hadn’t been for the night Steve turns up at Eddie’s door well after dark, looking grey and haggard and haunted.

Eddie ushers him in, sits him down, makes him some tea, and tries to get some words out of him.

“Do you make anything to help people sleep?” is what Steve finally asks.

“I can,” Eddie says slowly, watching Steve carefully.

Steve drops his face into his hands, rubbing harshly at his eyes. “I just– I just want to sleep. I don’t want to dream, just for one night,” he says, so low that Eddie has to strain to catch all the words. “Just once.”

Eddie weighs his options. He knows how to make an elixir for a deep, dreamless sleep; he won’t deny that he’s used it himself, when certain memories had become too much, but that’s exactly how he knows that it hits hard and fast. It can be disorienting – maybe even a little dangerous, if you don’t know what you’re doing.

“I can make something for you,” Eddie says, “but only if you stay here tonight. I don’t want you walking back home in the dark, it isn’t safe.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to impose,” Steve says, as if he could ever be an imposition to Eddie.

“I’d feel better knowing you’re here,” Eddie says, and that seems to break Steve’s resolve.

By the time Eddie finishes the elixir, Steve is barely awake in his seat. He doesn’t even argue when Eddie leads him to his own bed, lays him down, and tells him to drink.

He’s out like a light in minutes.

Eddie closes the bedroom door and sets himself up in a chair by the fire, but he doesn’t sleep for a long time.

He wakes in the morning to the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. He follows the smell and coffee and sizzling bacon to find Steve there, flitting around the room, cooking.

“Hey.” Steve smiles, broad and true, when he sees Eddie in the doorway. “I was going to come wake you soon, breakfast is almost ready.”

Eddie blinks at him, wondering if maybe he’s the one who took the sleeping elixir, because he can’t quite fathom what he’s seeing: Steve, happy and sleep-rumpled, using his kitchen to cook breakfast like it’s familiar to him, like it’s something he does every day, smiling at Eddie like he’s the final piece missing from the morning.

“I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for what you did last night,” Steve says, determinedly poking at the bacon in the pan. “I can’t– I can’t tell you how much I needed that. How much it helped. But I figured I could at least start by making you breakfast.”

Eddie watches him cook, and feels like his heart is about to crack, because for some reason he’s getting this taste of what life could be like, but he doesn’t get to keep it.

This isn’t for him.

(And Eddie wants to be fine, but he isn’t. He isn’t.)

Something must show on his face, because when Steve looks up at him, his own expression falls into a concerned frown. He forgets all about the bacon and moves over to Eddie, arms outstretched to place his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, so invested, so concerned, that Eddie feels like he might lose his mind.

“This isn’t right,” Eddie manages, and Steve only looks more upset.

“Should I– should I not have done this? Did you want me to go, or–”

“I never want you to go!” Eddie blurts. “I always want you here, but this—this morning, breakfast, you—I don’t get to have this. It’s – it’s not right.”

Steve’s expression softens, eyes warming with understanding. “You can have it, if you want,” he says softly. “You can have me. You always could have. Since the beginning.”

Eddie shakes his head. “This isn’t… this isn’t how the story goes.”

“Then let’s write a new one,” Steve says.

There isn’t anything Eddie can think to say to that, but that’s alright, because that means his mouth is unoccupied when Steve leans in to kiss him.

Steve never has to trade anything for his medicine ever again, after that, nor does he have to come over to fetch it – he’s already there. Eddie’s house becomes the nicest in town, what with his live-in carpenter, and all. It’s painted in bright colors, and it draws people in, and makes them want to stay just a little longer, exchange pleasantries just a little more, and get to know Eddie just a little bit better.

Steve keeps his workshop in town, goes there every morning, and returns to Eddie at night. They start their days with breakfast together, and they end them in bed, pressed together like spoons in a drawer, and with every day that passes by, Eddie believes, more and more, that maybe this is something he gets to have.

Maybe this is something he gets to keep.

[p3achfilm]

brat. vi.

ᡣ𐭩 sumarryyyyyyyyyy. nsfw. fwb w viii, she’s sexy jealous and mean! but in bed she’s a sweetheart…well when she isnt knuckles deep inside you. drabble! let’s pretend this wasn’t originally ellie

jealousy. she knew it wasn’t a good look on her. she wore it like an old jacket, too familiar but ill-fitted. it hung off her shoulders, drooping low in the front and sagging in the back, like a garment that had seen better days. the faded fabric clung awkwardly, a constant reminder of something that used to fit but no longer did. she didn't realize it, of course.

admitting that would have been admitting weakness, and violet wasn't weak. no, she was strong and stubborn, with a habit of ignoring her problems until they blew up in her face, like a ticking time bomb she refused to defuse. which was exactly what was happening now.

she’d watched from the bleachers, perched uncomfortably on the hard, cold metal, as you smacked the volleyball around in those shorts that left little to the imagination. the air was thick with the scent of sweat and sunscreen, the sounds of sneakers squeaking on the polished floor echoing around the gym.

but no, she wasn’t jealous of your skimpy college uniform; she was jealous of the blonde who was so blatantly into you. always finding a way to touch you, always finding a way to be around you—it irritated her to no end.

the blonde's laughter was like nails on a chalkboard to her, each giggle a reminder of her own insecurities. violet wasn’t typically a violent person, but she wouldn’t mind punching the girl square in the nose, just to see the smug look wiped off her face.

whenever she tried to tell you, you’d laugh it off, saying she was just a friend. and even then, you and her weren’t really together, so she couldn't say too much without sounding like a jealous girlfriend.

it was mostly a friends-with-benefits deal. but god, how badly she wanted you to herself. no one could ever fuck you like she did. she knew every inch of you, every secret spot that made you shiver, every whispered word that would make you melt.

“you’re pretty when you pout.”

the familiar soft tone snaps vi from her thoughts, grey blue eyes sauntering over to you. a suspicious eyebrow raises on your forehead, wondering what had the multicolored haired girl so deep in thought. violet had been too busy daydreaming to notice practice was over, too busy daydreaming about fucking your pretty pussy with her fingers, too busy to notice you standing in front of her with your pink nike backpack slung across your shoulder. you’re now dressed in what you’d arrived in, one of her black hoodies and a pair of grey sweats. average on anyone else, but to her, you made it look so damn good.

“wasn’t poutin’,” violet huffs, grabbing her motorcycle helmet and standing to her feet. she tries to shake off the lingering thoughts, her mind still clouded with the image of you beneath her, your body arching in pleasure. she can almost feel the heat of your skin, the way your breath hitches when she touches you just right. every detail of your face, the way your lips part, the soft moans escaping them, it's all etched into her mind, making it hard to focus on anything else.

“right, let’s go vivi. i’m starving.” you’re the one that’s pouting this time, your lips forming an adorable little frown that violet finds hard to resist. she chuckles softly, nodding and beginning to make her way towards the exit. this was usually how your evenings went, vi would pick you up from volleyball practice and then you two would gorge on the greasiest of burgers. the routine had become a comforting ritual, a slice of normalcy in your otherwise hectic lives.

the walk to her motorcycle is spent in comfortable silence, the cool air a welcome relief against your flushed cheeks. “so, you gonna tell me what was on your mind?” you press as you grab the spare helmet from under the seat. the girl raises her shoulders in a shrug. “nothing.” she’s short with you, irritatingly so.

“bullshit, violet. what’s on that pretty little mind of yours?” you tease, jabbing at her side. you know she’s ticklish there, the ends of her lips curling at the sensation.

“god you’re so persistent i hate it,” she pauses for a second. “you really wanna know what i was thinking about?” she quips, watching you nod eagerly like a child. she steps a bit closer to you, her cologne flooding your senses. you ignore the way your stomach flips as her eyes flicker to your lips then back to your eyes, one arm snaking around your waist.

“was thinkin’ about how damn sexy you look when you’re all fucked out, thinkin’ about how pretty you look when you’re taking my strap.” she coos, her index finger and thumb digging into your chin. she likes the way you squirm under her touch. she doesn’t have to touch you to know you’re fucking wet. how could you not be? the way her leather jacket grips her lean arms, the way her messy hair falls, framing her soft-shaped face.

"v—" you swallow your words as she leans down to kiss you, her lips soft and gentle. you can taste the cigarette smoke on her tongue; it should bother you, but it doesn't. the thought of her lips touching yours sends a rush down your spine. the need to be touched, to be fucked, is too overwhelming. she pulls away, much to your disappointment.

"now who's the one pouting?" she teases, sucking her teeth at your sulky face. you roll your eyes, playfully punching her shoulder.

"such a tease, i hate you." you puff, throwing a leg over the motorcycle as violet starts it up.

“hate me, huh?” a smirk pulls across her full lips, revving the engine. “we’ll see about that.” the roar of the motorcycle drowns out your retort, but the playful glint in her eyes is unmistakable. you wrap your arms around her waist, feeling the taut muscles under her jacket, the heat of her body seeping into yours.

you always loved riding with violet, the roar of the engine and the wind against your face made you feel free and alive. it felt like every sense was heightened, and for those moments, you were completely in the present, unburdened by anything else.as she navigates the streets, you can’t help but cling to her, inhaling her scent mixed with leather and smoke.

the town soon becomes a blur of colors. the cityscape transforming into a vibrant streak of neon signs, street lamps, and headlights. the cool night air rushing against your face. as you navigate through the bustling streets, heads turn at the sight of the pristine, roaring motorcycle.

people pause in their tracks, their eyes following your swift movement with a mix of admiration and envy. the sound of the engine echoes off the buildings, a powerful symphony that commands attention. shop owners glance up from their counters, and pedestrians step aside.

violet always attracted eyes wherever she went, whether it was her bike or her looks. she was a fucking catch, with her confident demeanor and that mischievous glint in her eye. it felt like just yesterday you were the new college transfer. she had seen you wandering around with a puzzled expression on your face, crinkled paper in your hand.

the first thing you’d thought when the pink haired girl approached you was how pretty she was, with bright eyes that reminded you of a forest after the rain and light freckles spotted over her soft face. there was a scar on her lip, and you remembered eyeing it, wondering how she’d gotten it.

“need help?” she’d asked, and after that, you two had been practically glued at the hip ever since. it was only fate that the two of you had ended up as partners for your project. you’d invited her over, one thing led to another, and by the end of the night, violet was finger fucking you against the wall. her breath hot against your ear as she whispered things that made your knees weak. since then, it been practically impossible to keep your hands off each other. in the car, on her bike, in the kitchen—it didn’t matter. the lust for each other was insatiable. every stolen glance, every accidental brush of skin, only fueled the fire between you two. she wasn’t looking for a relationship, and you were okay with that. the two of you deciding on being friends with benefits.

towards the end of the year, your roommate had moved out, and vi in. you loved having her around, loved her company, and of course, the sex. mornings were filled with lazy kisses and tangled sheets, nights with whispered secrets and passionate embraces. you’d cook together, laugh together, and sometimes, just sit in comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s presence. having vi around felt natural, like she was always meant to be there, filling your days with excitement and your nights with desire.

"mgm, stop being a fuckin' crybaby," violet sneers, her voice dripping with disdain. one inked hand sinks into your quivering doughy thigh, pulling your legs apart with a rough, practiced motion. the other hand pushes into your laced underwear, fingers deftly exploring with a mix of dominance and familiarity. the room feels charged, every touch sending electric shocks through your body, making it hard to focus on anything but the intensity of her.

the two of you are alone in her room, sitting on the edge of her bed with your legs spread, back pressed against her chest. you’re trembling and you know she can feel it as she pushes her fingers into your soppy folds and rubs her calloused fingers along your throbbing clit. “v-vi!” a guttural squeal, attempting to pull away. “hm, it’s cute when you run.” she tightens her grip around you, keeping you still. low-lidded grey blue eyes sauntering to the mirror hung on the wall and your eyes lock, hers blown out with lust and a mix of something you can’t quite grasp, yours teary and afraid. her hand is rough and her fingers are strong, and you know better than to think that you could fight her off. not when she has you like this, pinned against her and under her control.

the free hand that has been resting on your thigh reaches up, grabbing the fabric of your shirt and yanking it down. your bra goes with it, and you cry out at your newly exposed breasts, nipples stiffening. you are so much more plush than her, softer, and she loves it. “fuck. . . “ soft whine fumbling from full lips as she cups you, squeezing your tender flesh.

you feel hot all over, a familiar warmth growing inside you as violet roughly pushes her fingers against your entrance, thumb padding along the side of your clit. your breath hitches in your throat and you feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes once again as you realize there’s a harshness to vi’s touch tonight.

you’re enjoying this. your legs shake, attempting to clamp together. “don’t make me open your legs again.” swiftly she’s pushing you back open, rough fingers sliding into your soppy pussy. pushing, rubbing, flicking, coaxing a series of animalistic noises from you. your back arches and you sob, violet chuckling darkly.

“i-i-“ you drool, struggling to articulate your foggy thoughts.

“you, you.” vi mocks.

"can she fuck you like this, hm?” her tone is heavy, your eyes slightly widen. she's fucking jealous. you shake your head, tears running down your cheeks. violet scoffs, fingering grazing your cervix. a loud whine escapes your mouth, and you bite your bottom lip to keep it from happening again. the last thing you need is to make any more noise and get violet even more upset with you. she growls at the muffled sound, biting down on your earlobe. her fingers are slick with your juices, and you can smell your own scent filling the room. the scent makes you flush, and violet snorts. she loves the wet sounds each time she pushes into you, a testament to how good she’s making you feel as your cream builds on her fingers.

“gonna make you cry all night long.”

shes so hot.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Hi.. don't know if you do part 2 but if you do.. can you like write a sequel to curling iron where fans are really eager to know why the girls call him "curling iron" so they lando during signing and meet and greet but he just shakes his head and diverts the topic till during one of quadrant video, max f asks lando what's the curling iron as everyone is asking so lando tells him (while they were recording) and when interview is released media goes crazy.. maybe little SMAU too.. thankyou and sorry if this is too complex.. xoxo

Curling Iron pt. 2 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

⌗ ln x reader 🦋⃟

⌗ fluff + humour (?) 🦋⃟

masterlist ☾☼

curling iron pt.1

lily and carmen's comment on her last instagram post blew up. while everyone in the inner circle only referred to lando as curling iron, none of the fans had any idea what it meant.

some speculated that lando doesn't actually have curly hair, and used a curling iron everyday. that became a joke amongst all of lando and y/n's friends. some speculated that lando just did something stupid, and it was a running joke between the 2019 rookies and their friends.

y/n did kind of agree with that, since she was the something stupid he did. when she'd said that out loud, not meaning for anyone else to hear her, lando had laughed and then pulled her to the bedroom to do her again.

the las vegas grad prix had organised a little meet and greet, where fans could come and meet the drivers, take pictures, just chat for a minute or two. lando loved doing such things. it always made him feel a lot closer to his fans, and he got to meet genuine people.

it was inevitable really that the question would come up. lando should have expected it, but he hadn't been prepared.

a group of girls were at his table, where he was seated, and signing all the things they gave him. one of them had the courage and finally asked him, "can we ask you something?"

"of course," lando was more than happy to answer any question.

"um, why is your nickname 'curling iron'? george and alex mentioned it in the compliments video too,"

george sitting at the next table burst out laughing, and lando muttered a small, "shut the fuck up," as he smiled and tried to answer.

"i just did some...thing. it was just like, a little joke between us." lando stammered.

"say it, say it, say it!" george was chanting from the table beside him.

lando threw a pen at his friend, "shut up!"

turning back to the girls, he quoted his girlfriend, "i just did something stupid, and that became a nickname. it's not anything important, really,"

he diverted the topic quickly, talking about the mini helmet that the girl had given him to sign.

the teasing hadn't stopped, on social media and otherwise. george, alex, lily, carmen, and his own girlfriend had officially renamed him as 'curling iron'.

during one of the williams video that alex participated in, the question of how close the 2019 rookies were, and how their relationship had changed over the years.

alex, the ever smiling man, said, "no no, i think we're all going really strong. like, we're amazing friends off track. we're hanging out all the time, and just sending each other memes and stuff. and, like, our girlfriends also get along really well."

"we take it george has a group chat for that as well?" the interviewer asked.

alex laughed, "we actually do! it's us three and our girlfriends. and, in the beginning, the girls sent in a lot of links to edits of like george and me, george and lando, or lando and me. i mean, they still do, but like, because of that, the group chat is called, um, 'curling iron's harem,"

the interviewer begged him to explain further, but alex laughed and diverted the topic, like they were all trained to do.

the fans went wild after williams posted that video on instagram. new edits of george, alex, and lando began trending, everyone leaning into the 'curling iron's harem' thing.

y/n, carmen, and lily had a field day with it, and sent in edits constantly. the boys had decided to then rate each edits that were sent in, because what else could they do.

the truth was revealed after the season got over though, when max and lando were streaming.

the chat was filled with people asking what 'curling iron' meant, and every time max read out the question, the two men couldn't stop laughing. they couldn't stop giggling.

"alright, alright. it was after one of the races, i made out with my girlfriend, left a hickey on her neck. carmen and lily noticed it, my girl said it was because of a curling iron-"

"very obvious lie, by the way,"

"yeah, and then i walked in after the interviews or something, and lily and carmen just started calling me 'curling iron' ever since,"

max was laughing, unable to stop.

"shut up, it's not that funny!" lando said, laughing as well.

"yeah, it is!" a distant voice was heard from lando.

"baby, you have to be on my side!" he whined to his girlfriend.

"aw, my poor curling iron," she cooed mockingly.

max only laughed harder.

"fuck off, all of you."

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

hi! sorry, this was kinda short. i never really planned to make a part 2 for this. but, i hope you enjoyed this! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou; @anamiad00msday

[kinichval]

cw: drinking

"let's go home now."

kinich stands up and holds your wrist as an encouragement to follow his lead. you've had quite a few more drinks than intended resulting to your sleepy and no-filter state of being. mualani and kinich are among the familiar faces of the gathering, both keeping an eye at your habits and progression of tipsy-ness to outright wasted—thank archons, you listened and stopped when they said you should.

"aww, why?"

although ceasing the incoming chugs of liquor does not mean diminishing the effects of its content to one's body, and it's quite clear to kinich that this will be a long night trying to bring you back to sobriety.

"you're drunk. please, let's go home."

kinich tries his best to convince you while you still have the slight bit of conscious to share your own weight instead of relying mobility on kinich. sure, he's strong enough to hold you with one arm around your waist, but it would also be convenient to have you walking on your own pair of feet.

your incessant declines only receive a groan from the suarian hunter, he did have the option to not join in the celebration, but he also couldn't allow you and liquor to be in one room. god knows what you're capable of, and his intuition is once again correct when you're out there fulfilling your cravings with the bitter shots down your throat.

"yn, please, i'll make your favorite tomorrow morning if you listen to me right now."

in case that this session stirs a hangover the next morning, kinich is ready to cook up a bowl of your favorite soup to soothe the foreseeable headache.

regardless of the other members also convincing kinich to let you stay a little longer, he knows that he can't stand to see this scene worsen that it already is. you're on the edge of a regretful moment, a throbbing headache and possibly spilling secrets that should only be kept inside locket.

just like saying "i like you." to 'malipo' kinich.

"what?"

what do you mean you like him? naturally, you'd be drawn to his presence as you two were acquainted, friends even, just like mualani's connection to him. but why does every beat of his heart want to believe otherwise as it pounds against his ribcage a little bit stronger?

maybe you're just mixing random thoughts with one another, maybe you mean someone else and said his name because he's the one assisting you right now.

maybe—

"i said i like you, kinich. i could say i love you but i don't really know what you're like romantically, but i wanna get to know you in that sense... do you get what i mean?"

this is where kinich halts his steps, eyes widening and heart beating harder. you sound sober and drunk at the same time, it's like you mean it but your eloquence is hindered by the alcohol sloshing in your stomach.

"i get what you mean."

he assures, your little smile doesn't go unnoticed by his keen sight, it tugs a grin on his face as well. he doesn't know how to bring it up the next morning if you happen to have no recollection of this occurence, but kinich hopes he'll be able to relay that he, too, wants to know you more than anyone else.

he wants you in a way that only he can.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒

Satoru Gojo

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Summary: You call your ex-boyfriend whenever you need help at night.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, ex-boyfriend!Gojo, vaginal fingering, praising, vaginal sex, creampie, spitting

10k Event Masterlist

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Hey baby…” Satoru hears as he picks up the phone, and it takes everything in him not to laugh. He has a satisfied smirk on his lips when he hears your voice so soft and sweet when talking to him because you claim you hate his guts. You’ve been broken up for over a year, and whenever you see each other in person you treat him like a pest; it’s a whole different story when you need his touch, and he finds it amusing. 

“Whatever happened to ‘never talk to me again, you asshole’.” You hear the amusement in his voice, and you roll your eyes at it. You do hate his guts but Satoru treats your body like a temple, something that no other man is capable of doing. Perhaps you’re weak for calling him only for him to use your body, but you’ve never deemed yourself as a very strong woman either way. “It’s late, what do you need?”

“You know what I want, Satoru. Do you want to drag this out with fake apologies?” Your voice changes, more firm than before. You hear him hum as he thinks. You know him, he’ll drag it out simply to annoy you, but he’ll accept nonetheless. You can’t keep yourself off him but he can’t reject you. The only reason he’s not the one to ask is because he knows it’s on your time and whenever you want, otherwise, he’d get told to go to hell.

“I’d like to hear it, honestly.” Satoru says, and he bites down on his lip when he doesn’t hear anything back from you. Before you can hang up, he clears his throat, “Want me to come over?”

“It’s the only reason why I’m calling. You better get here in ten minutes, or else I’m not opening the door.” You tell him, and Satoru takes it very seriously. He knows that he can come thirty minutes late and you would open the door for him. Regardless, he doesn’t want to risk pissing you off. 

It’s nearly impossible for Satoru to get to your place in ten minutes, but he makes it happen, knocking on your door within the ten minutes. You open the door, and Satoru is panting, completely out of breath after running up the stairs to your apartment. He’s looking you up and down as he catches his breath, realizing that rushing was definitely worth it when you look so alluring in a short black silk robe that barely reaches your thighs.

“I got here as fast as I could.” He says which makes you chuckle. Like you didn’t already know. He might try to look like he isn’t, but he’s an absolute fool for you. Your relationship has long ended and so should his feelings, but they haven’t, and he doubts that they will any time soon.

“Yeah… I can tell.” You laugh, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside. You close the door before leading Satoru to your bedroom. There’s no point in small talk since you don’t really want to catch up, you only contact him for one reason and one reason only. 

You get on the bed, pulling Satoru down by his collar before your lips meet his. Your tongue enters his mouth, pressing against his. You feel his soft touch go up from your thighs and under your robe, and you feel your body get hotter and hotter by the second. It’s no surprise to him when he doesn’t feel panties on you.

“You’re already so wet for me.” Satoru pulls away from the kiss, running his fingers through your folds. He kisses your jaw before his lips go down to your neck. His free hand undoes the knot that keeps your robe together, and he pulls away to admire your body. You were crafted by the gods themselves. You’re a sight for sore eyes, and maybe he would get to see you like this more often if it weren’t for the fact that he… Isn’t the best boyfriend. It’s fine though, Satoru thinks that he’d get tired of the same sight every night, at least that’s what he says to reassure himself. He really can’t get tired to your body, but he likes to think that he would, to compensate for the fact that he’s fucked up.

“Oh– Fuck…” A breathy moan leaves your lips as Satoru pushes two fingers into your tight cunt. They’re so thick and long, hardly comparing to your own– And anyone else’s. That’s your main problem with him, no one can compare to him which is both a good thing and a bad thing.

Satoru slowly moves his fingers in and out of you while his thumb begins to play with your clit. His lips land on yours again, and he feels the vibrations of your moans on his tongue.

You hate how good he makes your body feel, it makes it too hard for you to move on. Your body yearns for his touch and you hate it, but you completely understand the sentiment when he’s on top of you. He curves his fingers so they hit your sweet spot, and he feels the increase of vibrations, which makes him pull away. There’s no sound more pleasant than your moans. The first loud moan that leaves your lips makes him go down to your ear, whispering, “Oh you sound so pretty. You’re such a pretty girl.”

“Shut up.” You respond as you shut your eyes. You hear him chuckle, and it pisses you off, but your mind is too consumed with how good his fingers are making you feel to care about it. 

“I love when you talk back to me, baby. Especially when I know that you’ll be begging for more soon.” Satoru kisses your ear, smirking as he feels your walls clench around his fingers as your high approaches. Your arms wrap around him, your nails gripping the fabric of his shirt as you feel your climax approach. “Is that good, baby? You like that?”

“Oh, fuck– Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your legs quiver as you reach your high, and you mutter his name which feeds his ego more than it should. And as you regulate your breath, he stands up to get undressed. Your arousal grows even more as he gets undressed, and you think about how this is one of the reasons you can’t let him go… He just looks so fucking good. You bite down your lip as you watch him take off his briefs– That’s one of the other reasons.

“Will you suck me off, baby?” He asks, and you roll your eyes at him before shaking your head. Your mouth waters at the thought, but you’re not doing that for him. The most you do is sit up, your hand wrapping around the base of his cock before you spit on it a couple of times. 

You stroke his cock before getting on your hands and knees on the bed, making sure to arch your back. Satoru isn’t exactly fond of the position since he’s the man that admires to watch your face contort with pleasure, but he’ll take what he can get which isn’t exactly a lot.

He spits on your cunt before he runs the tip through your folds. He slowly pushes himself in, hissing as you wrap around his cock. When he’s completely inside, he gives you a moment to adjust. You need it, his fingers might help but they don’t really prepare you for the real thing. Satoru’s cock is definitely larger in every sense.

“Fuck, you’re so tight– You feel so good wrapped around me, baby.” Satoru’s hands go to your hips, his nails digging into your soft flesh. He begins to move slowly, and your eyes are already rolling to the back of your head. You press your head against the mattress, suppressing any noise that leaves your mouth.

He misses the feeling of your skin, and he makes sure to take advantage of it whenever you call him for his help. One of his hands begins to play with your clit, and it nearly drives you crazy. It’s almost too much for your sensitive body to take. He gives you so much pleasure that no one else can compare. 

“It’s so good, Satoru!” Your words come out muffled, euphoric with each and every one of his thrusts. He loves hearing his name from you because it doesn’t roll off so perfectly on anyone else’s tongue. You’re gripping the bed sheets as Satoru’s thrusts pick up more and more speed.

“I fucking love your little pussy.” He smacks your ass, earning a loud moan from you. You’re squeezing around him as your second orgasm approaches. “Fuck, you feel so good. Shit, I miss you so much.”

Your body shakes, reaching your second orgasm of the night, and it nearly drives Satoru to the edge. He tries to enjoy every moment, and tries to make it last longer because he doesn’t know the next time it’ll happen. Your calls are a rare occurrence nowadays.

“Fuck–” His thrusts get sloppy. He throws his head back, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth because he doesn’t want to be too loud. Satoru comes to a stop, filling you up with his cum. He gives a couple soft thrusts before pulling out.

You lay back down on the bed with a satisfied smile on your lips, while Satoru exhales, laying down beside you. You lay in complete and utter silence before he clears his throat, “Do you want to go out tomorrow?”

“Not with you. Not in a million years.”

[sfznyxio]

-ˋˏ FLOW ˎˊ

SYNOPSIS. with your auto workshop at risk of closing down, your best friend kira ryosuke offers to introduce you to people who are definitely in need of your high quality services: underground street racers of blue lock, whose obsessions are winning the races. however, your arrival at the track makes them think otherwise. 

CHARACTERS. isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, kunigami rensuke, barou shouei, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, yukimiya kenyu, otoya eita, karasu tabito, shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, itoshi sae

CONTENT. f!reader. street racer au. fluff. 1.3k wc. rewrite of flow at my old main blog @/verxsyon. reader is labeled as “kira (ryosuke’s) girl” because they are always seen together. possessive behavior (barou). mentions of violence (shidou & rin).

VERA. what’s better than egoist soccer players? egoist street racers. you know what could be better than egoist street racers? the reonagi divorce arc in hd— oops, lmao. you know what could be better than the reonagi divorce arc in hd? season 2 premiere this week and sae has more screen time! i also bought a reo figure in his high school soccer uniform to celebrate, and it was the last one too. lucky!

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ISAGI YOICHI

the heart. quickly becomes popular for his freshness to the arena. isagi is a good friend of kira, so there’s one more person you can trust. while in his care as kira meets up with his team, he gives you a tour of blue lock to keep you entertained. sweet and kind, he fetches you water and asks if you feel alright because the racers have been ogling at you since you arrived. interrupted by an uproar caused by a racer who is standing on his car with paint all over his body, isagi is beyond irritated.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. BACHIRA MEGURU

the monster. obsessed with spray paint and loves decorating his car with it. bachira is terrible at being an artist. playful and cheerful outside, he holds amateur art performances for the crowd before races to get them pumped up. his gaze makes isagi flinch when he is told by the latter to quiet down. you can still hear the warning of staying close to someone you trust. he emits a dangerous aura, a strong first impression. bachira feels the same when he’s up at your face, studying you intensely.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. CHIGIRI HYOMA

the surge. the fastest racer in blue lock, securing victories at the speed of light. as chigiri approaches bachira to scold him for scaring newcomers, his beauty is so unreal that you don’t even realize you’ve been staring at him. he apologizes for his friend’s antics, justifying that he acts like this before a highly anticipated race. unfortunately, chigiri is not in this one due to a leg injury but luckily has someone helping him to stay in shape: an orange-haired racer waiting at the garage in his car.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KUNIGAMI RENSUKE

the hero. kunigami has the highest endurance in blue lock, outlasting all racers in long-distance races. he acts like an older brother as he is very protective and solves issues in a civil manner, balancing out his friends’ hot-blooded personalities. kira trusts him enough to take you home as your best friend has matters to take care of. you thank kunigami for the ride and being nice to you. embarrassed, he says he’ll see you at the race and nothing else before zooming away.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. BAROU SHOUEI

the king. barou is the racer that kira complains about for as long as you can remember. he’s selfish and arrogant based on what you gathered so far from kira, claiming that the venue is his throne and the next race is his for the taking. his attitude fits your expectations; you already dislike him upon the first encounter. barou has the audacity to “claim” you as his prize when he wins this race. you’ll definitely follow kira’s advice to avoid him for sure when you see this guy again.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. MIKAGE REO

the heir. reo considers kira to be one of the best in the arena, besides his best friend, nagi, of course. a master of negotiations due to his status as the future chairman of a corporation, he hopes you will find his terms reasonable and collaborate with him as a business partner. but what he doesn’t expect is you playing hard to get. a pretty rich boy does deserve wild goose chase, making his pursuit exhilarating just like races at blue lock. nagi thinks that what he is doing is a waste of time.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. NAGI SEISHIRO

the genius. most people are happy with their achievements, but nagi does not care less as they’re essentially reo’s efforts. all he cares about are his video games and his cactus until you arrive to the arena with kira. all of a sudden, he attempts to impress you; “attempts” being the keyword. yet reo does the work once again by introducing him to you as his precious treasure and brags that you will see nagi’s full potential at the upcoming race. nagi doesn’t find you to be a bother, so he hopes to see you again. 

𝄞༉‧₊˚. YUKIMIYA KENYU

the model. his charm is the focal point of his character, which drives the audience nuts. curious by nature, yukimiya wonders about the qualities you possess other than being “kira ryosuke’s girl” and how you manage to get the likes of barou, who treats everyone like trash, and nagi, who thinks of only going home, at your whim. seeing you teach nagi about car anatomy allows him to introduce himself. he believes that there is something special about you, but a friend of his thinks so otherwise.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. OTOYA EITA

the ninja. otoya claims to be not like his fellow racers and prefers to stay in the shadows. he doesn’t see you as an angel sent by god in the form of a mechanic to fix their cars, not understanding why everyone is smitten by you. he isn’t interested in interacting with you at first, however, that is proven wrong when yukimiya makes you laugh at a silly joke. it’s rude to make you feel unwelcome, so he decides to give you a chance. a crow- like racer mocks him for thinking he doesn’t find you attractive one bit.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KARASU TABITO

the assassin. all about good vibes and good times, karasu does not want anyone to act “mediocre” around you. many newcomers are notorious for never setting foot in this place after their first round. he is relieved to hear that you came at your own volition thanks to kira. majority of racers you met so far are nice to you, so he doesn’t need to worry about making an impromptu spiel of why blue lock is great. if you think he’s too friendly for your taste, what about the guy stalking you right now.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. SHIDOU RYUSEI

the joker. unrestrained both in words and action, shidou goes about his day and does everything as he pleases. judging by how yukimiya, otoya, and karasu are quick to shield you, he’s bad news. the altercation grabs kunigami’s attention, who he has massive beef with. being “kira’s girl” doesn’t phase him, nor your best friend going after his head for being near you. one of his rivals isn’t amused by the ongoing circus act, as if he didn’t break his nose in the previous race.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ITOSHI RIN

the puppeteer. rin has a score to settle with his older brother, sae, who is betting on shidou for the next race. physical violence is a usual solution to settle arguments, and it’s worse for rin to be involved in another fight with shidou, especially before a race that determines his fate and prove to his brother that he’s the best of the best. he doesn’t spare a glance at you or ask if you’re alright, as sae walks into the garage to check out the commotion.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ITOSHI SAE

the prodigy. sae is one of the top eleven racers at the underground. you now know that he is betting on shidou for the upcoming race. rin does not seem pleased. even if it’s not obvious at face value, everyone can tell that there’s bad blood between the brothers by the intense atmosphere created from their staring contest. sae looks at you then at his brother, who he scoffs at for his lack of concern for you. for a girl to experience this in the first week, he’ll stop by your shop as reparation after the race.

[starlightervarda]

I can't sleep so Star Trek TOS/SNW dashboard simulator

🪆 chekovsgunman Follow

to this day I can't understand why they're called the Three Musketeers if there's FOUR of them? Did Dumas just forget his own main character???

🪴 plantdad Follow

You've got to be kidding me

🪆 chekovsgunman Follow

I know right? A mistake like this would never happen in Russian literature!

5,324 notes

🩺 therealmccoy Follow

After months of taking care of everyone else on this giant tin can I really earned this shore leave. Now I get to drink, relax, flirt with some lovely ladies and sleep until noon 😎 Just what the the doctor ordered!

🩺 therealmccoy Follow

Update: A fucking purple tree ate five crewmen. Again.

955 notes

🖖 iamspock Follow

Despite being among humans for close to a decade, I still find their tendency to overcomplicate and avoid aspects of social situations to be confusing at best and infuriating at worst. So much time is wasted on tedious matters such as who gets to 'make the first move' or 'not come off too strong'.

For example, everyone aboard my vessel is keenly aware of Lt. Uhura and Engineer Scott's 'budding romance'. But their need to extend their oddly avoidant courtship ritual, rather than outright state their interest in one another, is pointless, as well as frustrating to witness.

Why do they do this? Why not 'get it over with', as they say?

I encourage answers from all cultures, human or otherwise.

💅 janicethemenace Follow

I'm sorry Scotty and Nyota are WHAT

💉 xtinechapel Follow

DELETE THIS

💖 ofmanytongues Follow

SPOCK NOOO HE DOESN'T THINK OF ME LIKE THAT 😭

🔧 scott-free Follow

But I do! I thought you knew and were just being nice about it!

💖 ofmanytongues Follow

DMing you rn 😳

🖖 iamspock Follow

You're welcome.

24,103 notes

🌟 j_tiberius_k Follow

PSA: If you visit Antares VII, stay clear of any yellow plants, their pollen can have some...inconvenient effects on the biology of humanoid peoples.

My XO and I suffered through troubling symptoms until it was almost too late. Thankfully, we figured out a cure in time.

🪴 plantdad Follow

I can only find info on the symptoms. What was the cure? 👀

🌟 j_tiberius_k Follow

Do I really have to say it?

6,322 notes

💊 mmmbenga Follow

The galaxy if Klingons didn't exist

⚔️ glorytotheempire Follow

Wow. Humans are openly advocating for our disappearance yet Klingons are the bad guys? I thought your federation stood for peace.

💊 mmmbenga Follow

Cry harder you genocidal wrinkly-faced bitch I hope your planet gets sucked into a black hole

#If you think a joke is on par with what they do then book an MRI because you might have brain damage #fuck Klingons and anyone that sympathizes with them

35,007 notes

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

So I can either skim through this asteroid belt on Warp 2 for 3 hrs or on Warp 5 for 15 mins

🚀 mitchiemitch Follow

Erica no! That's not how navigation works!

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

FLOOR IT???

🚀 mitchiemitch Follow

ERICA NO

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

HOW ABOUT WARP 7 FOR 15 SECONDS?

💖 ofmanytongues Follow

ERICA YOU'RE GOING TO CRASH THE SHIP

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

I AM GOING TO HARNESS LIGHT-SPEED TO ZIGZAG THROUGH THE VOID

🚀 mitchiemitch

ERICA P L E A S E

112,517 notes

🐴 sirsilverfox Follow

I know some species are very private, but you'd think they'd share the important stuff, esp when we should trust each other by now.

How are we supposed to enjoy my weekly dinners if you all don't tell me what to watch out for :/ This is the third time this happens to the same person and I had to get the answer why from our CMO

💫 numerouna Follow

Wait what did I miss while I was gone

🐴 sirsilverfox Follow

Spock got wasted on my chocolate fudge cake and hit his head on the counter ://///

2,904 notes