#THESE TWO *thunderous applause*

[alluraaaa]

hunk was absolutely an unplanned pregnancy given the age gap between him and his older sister (10 years) and he doesn’t mind? no one in the family does. but he absolutely says shit like “i wasn’t an accident i was more a miracle baby because i’m a goddamn blessing to this family” and he’s right, as always

[irenespring]

Today I would like to shout out that one random Twitter person who made up that JD Vance bragged about fucking a couch.

Imagine making a random shitpost and less than two months later your joke is being used by a major party nominee for Vice President on live television at his introduction rally, earning him thunderous applause.

That poster must be having quite the experience.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Would you write a part 2 of the aftermath of this ending https://www.tumblr.com/sourcherryandsprinkles/754130135676076032/sending-aemond-dirty-letters-by-raven-while-you

Request: Aemond ask for Velaryon!reader’s favor at the king’s tourney to piss off her betrothed who is also competing as knight from another house

I was secretly planning this 🤭 It's shorter than I wanted...

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You should have seen Aemond’s move coming. 

He had a smug smile on his face when he met you in secret and stole a good fortune kiss after breaking fast. He told you he would ask for your favor if he won — and not only the flowers kind. 

Seated alongside your brothers, you watched from the royal box as Aemond entered the tournament ground with the other knights of House Targaryen. He sat tall and strong on his black horse, his long silver hair peeking from beneath the helmet. There was something about him in full armor that made you clench your legs, feeling your core ache. You didn’t know if you wanted to tear it off him or keep it on and ride him with it on. 

The other knights parted to the other side of the court, but Aemond stayed. He looked up and spotted you amongst the crowd, his intense gaze fixed on you.

‘’Prince Aemond of House Targaryen will now choose his first opponent,’’ the tourney announcer said.

Knights from other houses were lined up and Aemond trotted before them. He eyes them all, making it seem like he didn’t already know who he was going to pick. The prince smirked behind the protection of his helmet before stopping and pointing his lance at Lord Tully’s son — your betrothed. 

You tensed on your seat, knowing this duel was not going to end well and would stir drama. Aemond wanted to take him down. This was revenge for taking you from him. 

In the court, the two knights positioned themselves. Aemond was calm and collected, but you knew he was relishing every moment of this. His horse was stomping impatiently.

When he signed up for the tourney, Alicent disapproved immediately. But Aemond was determined to participate. He knew it would be more challenging for him since he only had one good eye, but he was confident in his skills. He’s been training for years with only one eye, and learning tactics to work around his blind side. If he could send Ser Criston on the ground, he could manage participating in the tourney. 

‘’Begin!’’ the announcer shouted, and the riders charged towards each other at top speed. 

Horses' hooves thundered, and a part of you wanted to close your eyes, scared of how this duel was going to end. Bloody, that was for sure. Another wanted to watch Aemond tear Lord Tully's son down.

Aemond's horse surged forward, his lance gripped tightly as he aimed true, striking the Tully knight squarely in the chest. A smirk curled on the prince’s lips as the impact sent the knight reeling, his armor screeching against the tilting barrier as his horse galloped on. 

Lord Tully's son regained his balance, then turned around, ready to go again.

You watched nervously, scared for the second round. 

The next clash was fierce, both lances aiming at the same time and splintering with a resounding crack. New ones were swiftly provided by their helpers, and they went again.

‘’Who do you think is going to win?’’ Jacaerys asked, seated on your right. ‘’I think Aemond should get his pride hurt and fall from his horse. He is too arrogant. Did you see the force he struck at the Tully knight?’’

You kept your gaze on the court, the air tense with anticipation. As they charged once more, hooves pounding like thunder, Aemond struck first, sending his opponent crashing to the ground in a clatter of armor. 

‘’That’s my son!’’ the King cheered from his chair, seated right beside Otto Hightower. 

The crowd erupted in applause, Aemond basking in his victory. He approached the royal box with his horse, the sunlight glinting off his armor. You stood to greet him, much to your mother’s irritation, a smile playing on your lips. irritation. She wasn’t happy about his antics, but she couldn't say anything to stop him. Not with so many eyes on you, watching.

‘’Nicely done, Uncle,’’ you congratulated as he removed his helm, revealing his features, his long hair cascading down his armored shoulders. 

‘’Thank you, Princess,’’ Aemond replied, smug satisfaction emanating from him. ‘’I’m certain I can win more duels, but I would like to ask the favor of the fairest lady of the Realm.’’ 

Daemon, who was sitting next to your mother, was watching the interaction, fuming. He knew Aemond was asking your favor on purpose. It was a subtle act of defiance, one that he knew would rile up your betrothed…who he just unhorsed.

You smiled and fetched your prettiest flower crown, the one your mother thought you made for your betrothed, sliding it down Aemond’s lance. ‘’Good fortune to you, Prince Aemond.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden @memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron   @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit @blublock404 @Icefyre19 @paulilvsremus @mfedits @aemondwhoresworld @angrybirdxx @YarianyIrizarry

All and more taglist:  @kenqki  @hawkegfs  @gillybear17   @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade   @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  @Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21 @Spacexdrago

[gogogodzilla]

peeta mellark being you to let him eat your 🐱

Just a Taste || Peeta Mellark

peeta mellark x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, cunnilingus, porn with plot, panty sniffing, reader is wearing a dress, panty stealing masterlist ✩ read on ao3 ✩

The stage of the training center under your heels was a familiar feeling. The stage lights shone brightly, and you squinted slightly as you walked out with Peeta hand in hand. The air practically crackled with energy as the booming applause from the audience of Capitol citizens nearly deafened you. 

Caesar Flickerman warmly welcomed both of you. He gave you a good-natured kiss on the cheek and shook Peeta’s hand. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to how touchy the Capitol people were. 

Once the crowd settled down, Caesar gave the two of you a beaming smile. “It’s an absolute delight to have the two of you here once again,” he exclaimed and you wondered how he got his teeth to be so white. “The Victory Tour has been a success, wouldn’t you say? What has been the most memorable moment for you both?” 

Peeta squeezed your hand before answering, “As much as I’ve loved spending some time in all of the districts, the most unforgettable part was spending time with the person I love and sharing our love with the districts.” 

You feigned embarrassment at his words and looked away. You couldn’t avoid the heat that flooded your cheeks, which brought a boisterous laugh from Caesar. “You two are adorable. I love it!” he gushed. 

The audience cheered in response, and Peeta kissed your knuckles. After a few moments, Caesar settled the audience down and turned back to the two of you. “I’m sure you both know that we have immensely enjoyed seeing your love blossom in front of us. It’s truly a marvelous sight.” 

“Thank you, Caesar. We’re extremely grateful for the opportunity to be here with you and the rest of the Capitol citizens,” you give him a dazzling smile before turning to Peeta. “I am also incredibly grateful to be here with the love of my life. I couldn’t ask for anything better,” your gaze softens as you look at Peeta. The audience ‘awws’ and cooed at the two of you while Caesar pressed a hand to his heart. 

“Ugh, we can’t get enough of you two. What does the future look like for the two of you? I’m sure we’re all eager to see more of your love blossoming,” Caesar questioned and the audience buzzed with excitement. 

You shared a glance with Peeta. You gave his hand a comforting squeeze, and he turned to Caesar. 

“The future looks bright as long as I have my love by my side,” he answered, allowing a hush to fall over the crowd. Damn, he was good at this. “And I would like to have my love by my side for as long as we both shall live,” his voice trembled slightly as he pulled out a small velvet box. He got on one knee and looked up at you. Your hand covered your mouth in feigned shock. “My love, you have been my light in the darkest times, and I can’t imagine a future where you’re with me. Will you make me the happiest man in Panem and marry me?” 

Emotions swelled within you. Peeta was laying it on a bit thick, but you didn’t care. You nodded your head, forgetting to speak for a moment. He slightly raised his brow, and you forced yourself to speak. 

“Yes,” you whispered, nodding rapidly. Your voice returned and you spoke louder, “Of course I’ll marry you.” 

Applause and cheers thundered throughout the room as Peeta got to his feet and slid the ring onto your finger. Peeta’s smile was radiant as he pulled you into a kiss which caused the audience to roar even louder. You grinned as you kissed him back. You truly did care for him, and didn’t mind being stuck with him forever. You would’ve been dead without him. 

As you pulled away, Caesar dabbed his eyes theatrically and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. Peeta kept his hand around your waist as you curled up against his side.  

“Ladies and gentlemen, a proposal during the Victory Tour! This is certainly a night to remember, wouldn’t you say?” Caesar beamed as he swept an arm out toward the crowd which roared in response. 

Peeta held you close as the interview wrapped up. The crowd buzzed with excitement, and you couldn’t fight the grin that graced your features. Eventually, your time with Caesar was over and you were ushered off the stage. 

Effie met you as you exited and she clapped her hands in excitement. “Wonderful work you two. Now, time to get ready for the reception President Snow offered to throw to celebrate the two of you. It’ll be a party of the ages,” she declared, walking quickly as you returned to your quarters. 

Cinna intercepted you as you stepped off the elevator. You clung onto Peeta’s hand until the last possible second. 

Cinna grinned as he led you away, “Don’t worry, you’ll have some time to catch up before we leave.” 

“Can’t I just wear what  I have on?” you thumbed the fabric of your dress as you walked, frowning slightly. 

He chuckled, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

He led you to your room and helped you onto your podium in front of the mirror. Cinna got to work almost immediately, fluttering around you with practiced movements. The soft rustle of fabric accompanied his steps as he brought the dress over to you. He quickly got you changed, his gentle hands working wonders as the fabric draped over your body. Cinna’s hands danced delicately over your hair, weaving it into an elegant style perfect for the celebration tonight. 

“You look radiant,” Cinna complimented as he stepped back to admire his work in the mirror. 

You met his gaze in the mirror, a grateful smile on your lips, “It’s all because of you.” 

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and a knock sounded at your door. You both turned and Peeta poked his head in.  A soft smile made its way onto your features as he stepped into the room and finally got a good look at you. His eyes widened as they raked over your form, and your cheeks flushed. 

“You look…” Peeta’s words faltered as his gaze remained on you. “Wow,” was all he managed to come up with as he took a few steps toward you. 

Cinna chuckled, “I’ll let you two have a moment. You have 15 minutes before Effie’s going to come knocking.” 

He gave you a suggestive look as he left, and the flush of your cheeks spread. Peeta held out his hand so he could help you down, and you graciously took it. 

You ran your fingers over his chest, feeling the smooth fabric of his suit. “Portia outdid herself… You look amazing,” you grinned, tugging him closer. 

His hands wrapped around your waist, enveloping you like they had done so many times before. This time it was different though. The soft scent of his cologne engulfed you as he leaned in. His lips met yours in a soft kiss, but there was something more to it. Something hungry. 

“Is it bad that I’m glad we’re stuck together forever?” you whispered as you pulled away to catch your breath. 

He grinned, “You make marriage sound so pleasant.” 

You chuckled in response and pulled him into another, deeper kiss. You tugged him by the lapels toward your bed, acutely aware of the seconds ticking by before Effie would be knocking. 

His hands wandered across your hips as the backs of your thighs hit the edge of your bed and you slowly fell back. You parted for long enough to scoot back and Peeta eagerly followed you. His lips were back to devouring you within moments. You let out a small noise as he slotted his knee between your legs, the smooth fabric of his slacks brushing against your inner thighs. 

 You pulled away, attempting to catch your breath. Something shifted between you, and your entire body seemed to hum with need. Peeta caged your head between his forearms and his nose bumped against yours. 

“We don’t have a lot of time,” you trailed off as Peeta scattered kisses across your neck. 

He grinned against your collarbone, “I’m sure they’ll understand if I want to take a few minutes to ravish my fiancée.” 

Your cheeks flared at his words. There had been rumors going around all tour that Peeta’s nightly visits to your room were far from innocent cuddling. You did little to dispel them, though. You couldn’t deny that this was the first time you’d felt this hunger for Peeta. 

He ran his hands up the bare skin of your thighs, and your heart fluttered. 

“Just a taste,” he murmured as he scattered kisses across your covered breasts and moved down your body. “Please, my love. I just need a taste.” 

He ran his fingertips over your thighs as he situated himself between them. You craned your head to look down at him, and the sight of him had heat pooling between your legs. He looked up at you with those big brown eyes you couldn’t resist, begging for permission to ruin you. With the slight inclination of your head, he was sliding the fabric of your skirt to the side, letting his hands wander across your hips and thighs. 

He pressed featherlight kisses across your inner thighs, nipping at the sensitive skin there. He wrapped his arms around your legs, keeping them in place. His breath fanned over the thin fabric of your panties, and you instinctively clenched them together. His grip held you in place as you squirmed, aching for more. 

He hooked his fingers in the sides of your under and tugged them down and off your body. Your eyes widened as he brought your panties to his nose and inhaled your scent. He let out a noise that was something like a whimper combined with a groan, and you flushed. 

He set your panties to the side and settled between your thighs. A gasp escaped you as he swiped his tongue through your folds. His grip tightened on your thighs as he desperately pulled you closer to his eager mouth. His tongue worked relentlessly against your sopping core, circling your clit before dipping down to tease your entrance. 

You wanted desperately to tangle your fingers in his blonde locks, but you settled for the blanket below you. You were sure that Peeta’s prep team might have your head if you messed up his hair. 

You slapped one hand over your mouth, muffling the desperate pleas and whines that escaped your lipstick-covered lips. Peeta eagerly lapped up everything you were giving him, and his nose bounced against your clit as he dipped his tongue into your entrance. Peeta reached up to intertwine his fingers with yours, grounding you.

Peeta whined against you, sending vibrations coursing through you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your hips jutted against him, grinding against his tongue. Every fiber of your being was tensed and ready to snap. 

Peeta’s tongue circled your clit once more, and your release had you arching against the mattress, pushing you closer to his mouth. Your thighs attempted to clamp around Peeta’s head as you spasmed against him. He helped you to ride out your high, and his fingertips dug into the plush of your thighs. 

After a few moments you stilled, and Peeta pressed comforting kisses against your inner thighs. You lifted your head to look at him, and your cheeks flushed at the sight. Your arousal had covered the bottom half of his face, and a satisfied grin covered his features. 

“You did so good,” he praised as he crawled forward to kiss you. You tasted yourself on his lips, and a groan left you. 

You were able to sneak in a few more lingering kisses before Effie’s knock sounded at your door. Peeta crawled off of you and helped you to the edge of your bed, your skirts only slightly getting in the way. 

He grabbed your panties before you could and shoved them in the front pocket of his suit. 

“For safekeeping,” he murmured with a grin plastered across his face as he leaned down to kiss you. You scowled at him in response but kissed him nonetheless. 

He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the rest of your arousal off his face before neatly tucking it back in its rightful place. You shuffled to the bathroom to clean yourself up, returning moments later looking slightly more put together. 

Effie knocked once again, more insistently this time. You cringed, sensing the inevitable lecture you’d receive later. 

Peeta held his arm out for you to take, and you gladly clung to him. 

“Shall we?”

You rolled your eyes, “Let’s get this over with.”

[formulawolff]

xvi. interwoven - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 3.2k

warnings: smut, heavy smut, absolute filthy fucking on a yacht, penetration (i mean, must i say more?), slight daddy kink, some dominance on toto's end, cursing, oral (m! receiving!), poorly translated german, lots of soft moments, marijuana use, two idiots in love (and i mean down bad for one another), some loving n tender shit afterwards, yadayadayada

prev. | next.

“i love you.”

you blink, registering that he was hovering above you, gazing down at you. in that moment, you swear there are stars glimmering in those mocha depths, enticing you to fall even further. 

no, this wasn’t a dream. 

he was really here.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“you love me?”

“baby,” the word is shaky as he sucks in a breath, “you have no idea how much i fucking adore you. i need you in my life. i need your light in my life. you’re my sun. my moon. my stars. my everything.”

in the dim light, you catch the glitter of a tear as it streams down his cheek. reaching up, the pad of your thumb brushes it away, “toto, can i tell you something?”

“anything, my love.”

“i love you, torger christian wolff.”

in that moment, the world stood still.

the way his name dripped from your lips was oh so angelic. nothing would ever compare to that sound. no thunderous applause. no shouts of celebration from his crew. no roar of an engine. none of those could ever compare to that rich, smooth sound of your voice. 

and the best part was, it was yours and only yours. 

nothing would even come close to it, as it was one-of-one.

in his short, his cock throbs. 

fuck, just the sound of your voice was enough to send him spiraling, the blood coursing through his veins. 

he needed you. and fuck, did he need you now. 

he needed to prove to you how much he loved you. how he longed to worship every inch of your gorgeous figure. how he yearned to devour every part of you until there was nothing left. nothing but the sound of your heavenly moans ringing through the night, your back arched ever so slightly, begging for more and more until you reached your climax.

yet, he couldn’t give that to you. 

at least, not yet. 

he needed to ensure that he kept you on that precipice, hanging by a thread as he just fucked you senseless. 

“come here,” the words are nearly a growl as his hand palms the back of your skull, fingers coiling into your hair, pulling you in. 

his lips mold with yours, an open-mouthed, starving kiss. it’s fueled by pure lust, greedy and merciless as his tongue slips into your mouth, entwining with yours. he tilts your head back, cushioning it with his hand as he brings you to the rigid surface of the deck. 

there were no inhibitions left as your hips buck forward, brushing against the hardened outline of his cock through the thin fabric of his shorts. his mouth pulls away from yours, a strand of saliva following in suit. there was no time wasted, his lips reconnecting with your jawline, making their way down your neck. 

you squirm beneath him, wriggling your hips in attempts to soothe the throbbing sensation between your thighs. 

“not yet,” he pants, “you can’t have me yet, schatzi. you have to be a good girl and wait.”

“toto,” you exhale, “someone could see us.”

“and?” a hand delves underneath your crewneck, squeezing your breast, “i don’t give a fuck. if they happen to see us, then they can watch me make you cum over and over. the world deserves to know how good i make you feel.”

“can’t you get arrested for that sort of–”

“shut up,” a hand covers your mouth, swiftly cutting you off, “just let me make you feel good, schatzi. let me prove to you how good you deserve to feel.”

he rolls your nipple between nimble fingers, a moan escaping from your lips. 

“good girl. be as loud as you want. let everyone know how fucking good this feels.”

all around, the air is electric, buzzing with tension as he motions for you to sit up. carefully, his fingers hook the hem of your crewneck, tossing it to the side. the moment the mediterranean breeze hits your skin, your nipples harden, goosebumps littering your skin. his lips curl into a dazed grin, as if he was under some sort of trance. 

yet, he was under your spell, completely and utterly allured by your beauty.

“you’re stunning,” he shakes his head, bewildered by the sight of you under him, “i can’t keep it together when i’m around you.”

“well you’re really good at hiding it.”

“i have to be,” he leans in once again, “one of us has to keep it together. you’re a mess when you’re around me, you know that? you’re not very good at maintaining your composure either.”

heat flourishes into your cheeks, your hands instinctively shielding your face, “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“you can’t hide from the man you love,” he coos, the warmth of his hands a relief from the cooler air as they glide along your torso, “it’s cute, really. i think it’s adorable that you melt into a little puddle whenever we’re together.”

“i can’t help it,” you protest, the words a whine.

“like i told you schatzi,” his hands are tugging at the waistband of your sweatpants, “you’re absolutely adorable. is this okay? can i finish undressing you and have my way with you?”

oh fuck. oh fuck. oh fuck. 

that question alone was enough to send the air around you spiking, the temperature elevated by a few degrees. fuck, did he leave you hot and bothered. a flustered, blubbering mess beneath him. 

“yes,” you nod, a little too enthusiastically, “please. have your way with me, toto wolff.”

although his composure was gone merely minutes ago, any last shred of sensibility was now completely lost, torn to shreds. 

he was going to fuck you. 

and he was going to fuck you right here, right now. 

where anyone and everyone could watch. 

quickly, he discards his own clothing, throwing it in the haphazard pile forming only a few feet away. he needed to feel your skin against his. more importantly, he needed to feel your walls squeeze around him, taking in every single inch. 

however, he was curious. 

how did that pretty little mouth feel?

“baby,” his pupils are dilated, glazed over from not only the weed, but from lust, “can you–”

he could barely finish before your lips were wrapped around his length, tongue swirling around the tip. 

oh jesus. 

oh fuck.

“fuck,” his jaw clenches as take in more of him, spit dribbling from your mouth as your eyes close, lashes fluttering. 

you were so fucking pretty like this, your head beginning to bob as your cheeks pucker, filthy noises filling the night air. 

a hand grips the crown of your skull, applying pressure. at first, he’s unsure of the action, unaware if this was something you enjoyed. 

after all, this wasn’t just about him. 

this was about you too. 

you deserved to enjoy this. to feel good. 

to catch a glimpse of heaven. 

yet, the groan that vibrates in the back of your throat lets him know that you were satisfied, the pace quickening. toto’s head almost rolls back, the muscles in his arm spasming as he props himself up, ensuring to memorize every detail of this moment. 

“take it baby,” he praises, the notes in his tone thready with need, “keep taking it like the good girl i know you are. you’re doing such a good fucking job.”

at the praise, you feel a pulse between your thighs, your hand wrapping around the base, starting a twisting motion as you continue sucking. 

he almost came right then and there, at the sight of you between his thighs, sucking him off like your life depended on it, fulfilling every aspect of his lewd and sinful fantasies. pressure was beginning to accumulate in his abdomen, the pleasure washing over like a tidal wave. 

he was going to cum.

and fuck, was he going to absolutely fill that little mouth of yours up. 

“y-you’re going to make me cum,” the words barely escape through his gritted teeth, “fuck baby.”

the tip of this throat reaches the base of your throat, the entire length of his cock in your mouth. your cheeks are hollow, and you manage to look up, batting your lashes ever so slightly. 

fuck, fuck, fuck. 

that sent him over the edge, threads of cum coating your throat as he released, the moans shaky, his voice brimmed with pure euphoria. 

“fuck baby, fuck,” he breathes, his chest heaving, “holy shit. holy fuck. holy fucking shit.”

two hands cup your cheeks, bringing you up. his mouth finds yours, his lips oh so plush and soft. the kisses are tender, arms wrapping around your frame. 

“come here.”

you nuzzle into his collarbone, catching your breath, “did i do good?”

“good?” he echoes, “baby, that was – wow. holy shit.”

“flabbergasted?” you stifle a giggle. 

“absolutely,” his chest vibrates against your face, “but i’m not finished with you.”

“oh?” you press, “is that so?”

his body shifts, pinning you down to the deck once again, “you deserve to cum too.”

“then make me cum.”

toto cocks his head, “is that how we’re feeling? has the weed helped us find our voice?”

from his taunt, you feel heat billow into your cheeks, “maybe.”

he hums, a hand spreading your thighs apart, “hmm, i like it. but you have to remember one thing.”

“and that is?”

“you’re not the one in control,” he slams into you without warning, your weeping cunt stretching at the sheer size, “i am. i’m the one in control.”

you mewl as his hips roll, absolutely pounding into you now, “holy fuck, toto–”

“say it baby,” fingers grasp your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, “say that i’m in control. that i own your pussy. be a good girl and tell daddy how i own this pussy of yours.” 

“y-you own this p-pussy,” you can barely form the words, let alone any coherent thought as waves of euphoria ripple throughout your being, “you own this pussy, toto wolff. it’s yours. it’s yours forever.”

“forever?” for just a second, he’s thrown off his game. 

“forever,” you affirm, nodding fervently, “i’m yours forever, toto wolff. i love you, and i’m not going anywhere.”

“oh baby,” he melts, collapsing against you, “fuck, i love you. i love you. i love you. you’re so fucking perfect. i’m yours forever. if you’ll have me.”

“of course i will,” your forehead presses against his, lips centimeters apart, “i want you forever.”

“you’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me,” he murmurs, nothing but sincerity lacing his tone, “i mean that.”

“will you really make me a world champion?” the words tumble out, and shame burns throughout, completely taking a hold.

“i will,” toto nods. his hand finds your yours, intertwining your pinkies together, “i pinky promise i will. if it’s not next year, it will be the one after that. i will do everything in my power to help you succeed. like the little star you are, you deserve to shine so fucking brightly. i will make you a world champion, my love.”

there was nothing more that toto wolff wanted in this world.

and that was for this moment to last forever. 

“i love you, toto,” you whisper, “can we just say fuck it and get married?”

“don’t tempt me,” his cock twitches, reminding him that the two of you were still interwoven, “i would marry you in a heartbeat, my love. but there are some things we need to do first.”

“and that is?” your lower lip juts out, forming a pout.

there it was, that damn pout. 

the pout that got him every single fucking time. 

and if you happened to bat your lashes?

oh, toto wolff would be a dead man.

“well for one,” his hips thrust into you, picking up the pace, “i have to help you win a world championship. and two, i need to make you cum.”

“and after that?”

“we’ll figure that out when we get there,” his lips meet with yours, “i promise.”

your back arches, your walls tightening as he begins to fuck you senseless, hips slapping against yours. if it weren’t for the blanket he brought, you were sure there would be bruises by the afternoon. his brows furrow, knit together in concentration as one hand grips your pelvis, holding you in place while the other drifts downward, making its way between your thighs. 

“toto,” you whimper, “please.”

“i’ll make you cum princess, i promise.”

licking the pad of his thumb, it connects with your clit, going in slow, circular motions. your body tenses, your walls squeezing so tightly around him, coaxing him in even further. his tip rams into your g-spot, sending waves of pleasure coursing through. 

“that’s it,” he murmurs, guiding you to that edge, “cum for me baby. be a good girl and cum for me.”

“i-i,” you stammer, eyes tightening shut, “i’m going to cum!”

crying out, your muscles spasm as euphoria grips you, inner thighs trembling as he remains inside, in complete awe of the sight of you coming undone. 

“good girl,” light kisses pepper all over your face, “you’re such a good girl, you know that?”

you try to speak, but the words can’t come out. his arms envelop your frame, bringing you in close as he lies beside you, “cat got your tongue?”

“maybe,” you fight a yawn, drowsiness beginning to settle in, “we need to do this more often.”

“i’m not so sure about the smoking part,” he chuckles, “but the other part? yes. we should do that all of the time, actually.”

“we should probably put on clothes on, huh?” you exhale, snuggling in closer as a breeze rolls through, “i wonder if anyone saw us.”

“more than likely,” he shrugs, “if they did, oh well.”

“could you imagine? minding your own business, probably cracking open a beer to watching the sunrise. and next thing you know, you see two people fucking on the sun deck of their yacht.”

“their yacht?” he teases, tilting your head towards him, “who said it was yours?”

you wriggle, squirming slightly as the embarrassment settles in, panicking just a little, “i-i – you know what i meant.”

“did i?” he prompts, arching a brow, “would you like to watch the sunrise? i think it’s due anytime now.”

“did we stay up all night?” although your body is wracked with exhaustion, you can’t help but fight it, keeping those lids open. 

“we did,” he responds, rising to his feet. he winces, wrinkling his nose, “fuck, i’m a little sore.”

“could we maybe light another one of those joints?”

“were you a little stoner back in the day?” rather than tossing your clothes at you, he crosses over, placing them in your hands. 

“not really,” you shrug, slipping your crewneck over your head, “i smoked every now and then. i couldn’t really, because of how strict arizona laws used to be. now, it’s legal there. i tend to hit the dispensary whenever i’m home, just for the fun of it.”

“i’ve noticed you don’t really drink either,” he slides his leg through his shorts, “well, except after your win in miami.”

a shudder courses through you at the mention of that night in miami, your stomach churning, “i would rather forget about that night.”

“oh yeah?” an airy chuckle floats through the dawn, “do you remember anything about that night?”

the truth was, you did not recall a single moment of that night. from what you could remember, it was fuzzy, with no clear distinction of time or place. 

however, there was one aspect you could remember clearly.

toto carrying you to your bed, laying you down oh so carefully. helping you take off your makeup, wiping your face tenderly with cotton pads and your trusty micellar water. tugging at your clothes, cursing under his breath because you weren’t cooperating. speaking to you oh so sweetly in german, brushing those unkempt strands of hair behind your ear. staying at your place when he knew he didn’t have to, simply because he wanted to ensure that you were feeling okay in the morning.

god, you really were so lucky.

the luckiest girl on earth. 

after dealing with boys all of your life, you were finally blessed with a man. a real man, who made it clear to you that you were the one thing he prioritized the most. a man who held your delicate heart in his strong hands, guarding it oh so fiercely these last few months. a man who loved you unconditionally, no matter your state or the turmoil thrown your way. 

and you didn’t even have to second guess that. gone were the days of overthinking, begging for even an ounce of reassurance. fuck, you didn’t even have to ask him if he loved you. 

just by the way he looked at you, you knew. 

“baby,” a voice, his voice snaps you out of your trance, “geht es dir gut?” 

blinking, you realize that tears were streaming down your cheeks, absolutely soaking them. you sniffle, pulling down your sleeves to wipe them away. yet, his hand darts out, his thumb stroking along your skin. 

“mir geht es gut,” your voice trembles, “i’m okay.” 

“are you sure?” his mouth presses against your temple, an arm wrapping around your shoulder, “i was worried for a second. i thought i hurt you or something.”

“no,” you shake your head, “it’s nothing you did.”

“do you want to talk about it? i have the other joint. we can light it, and watch the sunrise. and if you want, we can talk about it.”

there’s that lump in your throat again, “o-okay.”

“baby,” his hand drifts towards your back, kneading as you bury your head in his shoulder, sobs beginning to erupt from your lips, “was ist los mit dir? you can tell me.”

“i-i just love you so much. you take such good care of me and i just–”

“oh baby,” he can’t help but laugh, placing delicate kisses along the crown of your head, “i love you, more than you could probably imagine. i’m not sure when or how it happened, but i promise you that i do. you will never have to doubt or fret over that.”

“i don’t want to leave you,” your hands cling on to the fabric of his shirt, “i hate leaving you.”

“you don’t have to,” his voice is merely a whisper, “you don’t have to leave yet, schatzi. you can stay here for a few more days, then we’ll have to fly to canada.”

“can we fly in together?”

“you want to fly with me?” his heart swells at your request, lips curving into a broad grin, “i can make that happen, my love.”

“will you, please?”

“of course,” when it came to you, he was going to make damn sure all of your needs and wants were fulfilled, no matter the cost, “i’ll make it happen. i promise. now, let’s light this, and watch the beautiful sunrise. from the looks of it, it’s going to be absolutely breathtaking.”

as toto reached for the lighter, the sun peaking through the mountains, there was only one thing on his mind, nearly consuming him whole.

you wanted him, forever. 

and by god, he was more than determined to make that wish of yours come true. 

no matter what it took. 

now, the two of you were interwoven, your souls bound together by the promise of forever. 

he didn’t have that on paper.

your pinky interlocked with his was enough.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

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as always, thank you for all the continuous support! if i forgot to add you to the taglist, or if you would like to be added, please let me know! i love you all so much! <3

[beomcoups]

here's to forever (the athlete)

summary: today is the day you finally marry your best friend

genre: fluff, suggestive, 18+ warnings: mentions of sex (hoshi wants to pump some babies into you), mentions of pregnancy words: 0.9k AN: Thank you, @horanghater, for looking over this for me. Every year on the anniversary of the OG fic, I always end up writing another part about their lives since they met. I'm becoming a real yearner. Anyhoo, I decided to go ahead and make a series master list because I am sure more will come, lol. -series masterlist

“I love you.” You rub Soonyoung’s hand with your thumb as he holds back tears, standing before the officiant, his football coach. You just married the love of your life and best friend in front of your family and friends on a large farm in the country. You exchanged heartfelt vows in front of one hundred people on the estate, with the birds singing in the sky and the geese swimming happily in the lake. So far, this day has been nothing short of magical, with those six little words sealing the deal. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Soonyoung pulls the veil over your face and kisses you with a fervent need that sets your nerves on fire. Everyone and everything disappears for a second, but it doesn’t matter; you got your dream guy. Your fingers intertwine with his as you finally break apart, met by the thunderous applause of your guests who watched you become one with your now husband, their approval and joy palpable in the atmosphere. Soonyoung waves your hands triumphantly in the air as you walk down the aisle, flashing your wedding rings with pride for everyone to see. You haven’t seen him this proud since he won his first Super Bowl. Two and a half years later, with two more championship rings added to his collection, his eyes have never shined brighter. Soonyoung leads you away from your guests, taking you down a short path to the lake's edge. When you looked at venues, you found this place while looking through Pinterest, falling in love with the green pastures of the farm and the shining crystal-like waters. Soonyoung didn’t care where you married as long as you were his wife by the end of it. But when you took a trip out here and looked at the place in person, you both knew this was where it was meant to be. With the sun shining through the ivory clouds, it was almost as if your dads were looking down and giving their blessing.  

“We did it, babe,” you revel at the scene. “It’s you and me officially.” 

“Darlin’, you and I were official from the day we met. You just didn’t know it yet.” 

You chuckle and lean into him because, honestly, he is right. You were interested in him the first time you met; you were in denial then. You always swore you wouldn’t be one of those journalists who mixes business with pleasure, yet here you are, marrying the said pleasure. Life works out funny that way. 

“You look so pretty, baby,” he murmurs as he pulls you close. “I can’t wait to get out of here and pump some babies into you.”

“Same here, baby,” you kiss his lips. “We might be a little late on the baby part, though.”

Soonyoung looks at you curiously as you reach into the secret pocket of your wedding dress. You had it sown in secret when it was tailored initially to keep your lipstick in if you needed to freshen up or had anything else in mind. But a couple of weeks ago, when you went for your routine check-up, you found out you were ten weeks pregnant. You and Soonyoung talked about kids, and you both want them; this will be earlier than you both planned. It explained why you felt lethargic lately and the smell of anything nauseated you. You weren’t sure how to tell him, so you carried it around just in case the opportunity arose. Now is the time. 

Holding up the ultrasound, you hand him the black-and-white photo of the baby growing inside of you. He studies the picture, then looks at you and your stomach, the dots connecting in his brain. You nod, confirming what he is thinking: you will be having his first child. 

“Aww baby,” he whispers. “You’re pregnant.” 

“Mmhmm,” you nod as you wipe his tears away. 

He kisses you again, this time sweeter, more tenderer, and full of emotion that he can’t convey in words. You naturally melt into him, feeling safe and secure that the future you two have will be bright. Soonyoung has always said he loved you more than anything, but that’s not true. You love him more. He made you believe in love again, protected you when you needed it, and showed up when you needed him the most. You never felt scared to share your thoughts with him, and even if he didn’t understand, he listened and tried anyway. He never tried to take your spotlight. He respected you and made sure others did, too. Soonyoung brings an array of colors to your mundane world that you hope never goes away. God, you love him so much that it hurts.  

“Well, it makes sense why you weren’t drinking the champagne last night,” he muses. “You love champagne.”

“Y-yeah,” you sniffle. 

A comfortable silence falls between you two, taking in the moment as you watch two geese embrace one another. If someone had told you over three years ago that you would be marrying thee Kwon Soonyoung and having his child, you would have laughed in their face. But clearly, the universe has a sense of humor. 

“I want to keep this between us,” you say suddenly. “It’s our first child, and I want to hold on to this a little bit longer before family, friends, and the media get a hold of it. You already know how it goes.”

“Of course, baby,” he readily agrees. “Whatever you want.”

He kisses your forehead, leading you back to the photographers so you can start taking pictures. Your makeup artist brushes up your makeup, and unbeknownst to you, Soonyoung gazes at you from afar, watching you with so much pride and love in his heart. The sun shines brighter as if it’s reflecting the future you will have with each other. 

Here is to forever.

[arkhammaid]

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ THE LIGHTNING ON TRACK | THE LIVERY LAUNCH

fandom. formula one & mcu

about. the stark racing f1 team launches their livery

content warnings. written in 3rd person/lowercase, written + smau, not edited/proofread

word count. 0.8k + smau parts

notes. the main arc begins!!

y/n doesn't do nervous. not as l/n, not as stark- it's simply not in her nature. yet when the lights dimm and the audience starts to grow silent, her heart was up hear throat and she tried to dry her sweaty palms on her race suit.

"there is no need for that", muttered her teammate right behind her and she almost jumped. she glared at him, but he just grinned and gave her two thumbs up.

"don't do that, it makes you look old." he immediately put them down and she snorted.

"alright, you two, are you ready?" a stark employee, more specifically a stark racing employee, ushered them across the backstage all the way beneath it, ready to push them to the big event.

the car launch. the livery reveal. the introduction of stark to formula one, probably the most anticipated event of the year. unlike the other teams, they've been teasing the public for several weeks now, nothing concrete. speculations were all over social media, no one was even sure what main color stark racing would have, something the marketing team was very proud of.

now they would not only reveal the car, which would dominate the season (because- who are they kidding? they definitely will) but also the branding and race suits, and officially appear as drivers in one place.

the music started to play, the room darkened and the lightshow started. but y/n couldn't see anything of it happen. instead she was guided to the platform, which would bring her on stage, and put her helmet on.

a whole minute they would have to wait, a pre-recorded speech entertaining the guests and viewers all around the world, until she and kevin would appear in total darkness.

and they did. the platform brought them up silently, the room blacked out completely, until the lights behind them flashed on, shining on their backs.

the whole thing could be described as dramatic, over the top, but it fit. it fit the name, her father, herself. to show up with a bang.

"introducing... our drivers. y/n l/n-stark, number 95 and kevin magnussen, number 20! a round of applause everyone!" thunderous applause filled the giant room, people started to shout, when they finally took of their helmets.

with a grin, y/n spread her arms, raising her head and then her helmet over it. she stood proud and tall, all stark.

an assistant rushed to the stage, taking their helmets, to allow them complete freedom during their part of the reveal. y/n immediately took over, as it had been planned.

"welcome everyone, to the official launch of stark racing formula one team! i'm honored to introduce to you not only the car itself, but also the team." with a wide grin, she turned to kevin, who nodded to her.

"i'm sure you've all waited for him, our team principal, four-times worldchampion... sebastian vettel!" the room thundered again, cameras flashed, when seb walked on stage to stand between the two drivers. he waved to the crowd and bowed with a laugh, when they wouldn't stop cheering.

"thank you, thank you. wow, what a welcome! i'm very happy to be here, it has been a few years... but now we're back- and i'm thankful for the oppurtunity i've received. y/n, kevin... to a good season. to our fans, we all thank you for your support you've already showed, it's been incredible so far!"

"it's a special occasion, for all of us. and we have something very special for you", y/n winked, while slowly walking backwards, until she stood right in front of the gigantic screen, lightly knocking with her knuckle on it. a ripple animation waved across the screen and the room dimmed again. hushes were heard, when the sound of whirring filled the room, carried by the speakers.

another platform was brought up, the car. hidden by dark, silky fabric, it stood in the middle of the stage, ready to be revealed.

"ladies and gentlemen... the first car completely engineered by stark, for the stark racing formula one team... welcoming to the world, the SR-1!"

with that, kevin and y/n slowly began to lift the fabrig from the car, revealing a blinding white livery. lines of chrome streamlined it, the name stark proudly stood on the sides of it.

"it's mine, by the way", y/n joked and pointed on the number 95, after the crowd calmed.

"har, har", kevin drily replied, but he couldn't hide his grin.

"welcome, everyone... to the future!"

YNSTARK

liked by tonystark, charles_leclerc, mickschumacher and 7'973'331 others

ynstark happy valentine in white ;)

user what a perfect way to end valentine

user MOMMY, SORRY, MOMMY-

lancestroll The launch was incredible 👏

tonystark This is my daugher!

⤷ ynstark this is my dad <3

peterstark ew, your face on my dash....

⤷ ynstark i will block you

⤷ peterstark i will tell pepper

⤷ ynstark *blocked*

user white is such a good color on her??

user i just fell on my knees in the middle of the street

sebastianvettel You're incredible, I'm excited for our future!

⤷ ynstark STOP you're making me cry 😭

⤷ ynstark @/charles_leclerc look at this, your grid father loves me more than you

⤷ charles_leclerc That's not true! You better take it back!!

zendaya what a beauty 🤩

⤷ ynstark no, you!!

user we got the arm spread and the wink, now i'm waiting for the iconic peace sign

user white stark era, white stark era, WHITE STARK ERA!!!

user the bitchfighting with her actual brother and her grid brother is EVERYTHING to me

⤷ user oh my god you're right, charles and y/n are grid!siblings...

⤷ user IM WAITING FOR DAD SEB, YOU HEAR ME I'M WAITING

starkracing Our future champion!

⤷ ynstark hehehe

user red bull has been oddly silent

⤷ user they're all trying to stop christian from committing a crime

⤷ user or drying his never ending tears

⤷ user LMAO I CAN NOT

user half of the grid in the likes... i fear y/n is becoming the it girl fr

user these comments are a goldmine

taglist. @lilypadlover , @adorablezhui , @peqch-pie , @keyz-writes , @obsidianjewel , @aimixx , @themercyverse , @lem-hhn , @akiraquote , @kiiyoooo , @nichmeddar , @nothingfuninthislife , @minkyungseokie , @fionaschicken , @lyrasconstellation , @spideybv28 , @keii134 , @starssfall , @tpwkstiles, @fangirl-dot-com , @nichmeddar , @lady-laura-speaks , @nikfigueiredo , @hinamesgigantica , @brakingboundaries , @almostjollypizza , @yoremins , @raizelchrysanderoctavius , @celesteblack08 , @watermelon-sugars-things , @lighttsoutlewis , @radiantdanvers , @vellicora, @sterredem , @hiireadstuff , @jolixtreesunn , @mypage-myfandoms , @nelly187 @greeneyesandsunshine , @fulla02 , @welovediaaxx , @whyamireadingthis , @67-angelofthelordme-67 , @blueberry64857959 , @winchesterwife27 , @six-call , @skywalker1dream , @mellowarcadefun , @cherry-piee , @peterholland04 , @motorsportloverf1 , @renarots , @msbyjackal , @woozarts , @leclucklerc , @yl90

crossed off tags mean i can't tag you!

DO YOU WANT TO JOIN THE SERIES TAGLIST? please leave a comment on this post or send a non anonymous ask!

ARKHAM MAID 2024

[kotias]

Ineffable Rockstars

Time to properly become creatively feral about the Ineffable Rockstars project with @vavoom-sorted-art, @searchingforakeythatdoesntexist , @daneecastle, @moonyinpisces and Stitcherydoo!

Summary of the story: human!AU, Crowley and Aziraphale are rockstars in their respective groups, Celestial Harmonies and Hell's Rebuke. Word is out that those two groups have bad history together, and therefore the two of them, while shamelessly talking to each other any festival they get to meet at, do have to be careful about being seen together by their own bands.

Summary of this excerpt: Aziraphale explains the story of the two bands to Crowley, who has arrived after everything went down and was kept in the dark by his mates.

Lyrics: written for the purpose of this fic.

Word count of the excerpt: 872 words

Excerpt:

Crowley sat down next to Aziraphale, whose eyes laid probably a second too long on those long fingers, on this chest showing so proudly from behind his open shirt- He coughed and drank a large gulp from the flute, clutching at the glass like a lifeline.

“It’s- it’s alright. Are you feeling comfortable? How was the concert?”

“Hah, acting like I didn’t see you in the audience, are ya?” Crowley asked with a smirk, and Aziraphale looked away, feeling the heat building up on his face.

“Well, we do need to keep it silent, don’t we?” he answered nonetheless with a coy smile, sipping on his drink.

“Why, though? It’s completely beyond me; Bee recruited me right after the split between Celestial Harmonies and Hell’s Rebuke, but there’s always been… you know, a feeling that it didn’t happen for no reason.”

“They haven’t explained it to you?” Crowley shook his head, and Aziraphale sighed. “No wonder you’re lost. Well, to put it simply… Hell’s Rebuke’s members were part of Celestial Harmonies, a few years ago.”

“Yes, I know that-”

“Let me talk, please; I would like to make sure we work with the same information.”

As he began explaining the official history of the two bands, he was cut by a thunder of clapping as the concert was coming to an end, and he and his counterpart felt compelled to stand up and join the applause.

When you reached Summer,

You lost sight of the star lights,

Questions died in your throat,

Cursing a future that is naught

And the night falling upon you

Left you laying awake with open eyes.

After two encore songs and enough clapping to make their hands and wrists sore, Crowley and Aziraphale walked towards another scene and stayed in relative distance, ensuring that they would hear each other. “So, you were saying, Hell’s Rebuke and Celestial Harmonies.”

“Ah! Yes; so, this is fairly public knowledge.” Crowley nodded impatiently. “At least, it is not something that we are actively hiding, neither of the two groups; somebody who knows how to Google us would be able to find this information.” Aziraphale frowned, crossing his arms. “Honestly, that is why it concerns me a little that you have not been informed of this; it is a fairly common question that people are trying out on us, asking about the other group to see how we react. Anyways-”

The vendors just a few metres from them had started cooking a few crepes, and Crowley did not miss the eyes darting towards them. “Want some? C’me on, it’s my treat,” he insisted as Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised -and it was obvious that he wasn’t going to refuse such an offer.

“Well, if you insist,” he answered, the corners of his lips curling up and his eyelashes fluttering; Crowley’s heart missed a beat, his fingers pressed against his flute, and he barely managed to keep a groan from reaching out of his mouth.

“You do have to tell me more, though; ‘specially if you think my ignorance could bite me in the ass.”

“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale’s voice dropped as they reached the line, keeping it to the level of a private conversation. “Bee and Gabriel were… an item.”

“Oh, excellent start. If that’s only the beginning, I might have to stock up on popcorn with that crepe of yours.”

“Heh, well, it might be one of the more interesting aspects of this entire story, so do not keep your expectations too high.”

“No, no, don't kill my hopes, now. Go on, tell me everything, I’m sure it will be full of riveting details, Bee’s never been good at keeping things tidy anyways.”

Aziraphale groaned. “Oh, you should see Gabriel when he gets involved… Ah- one crepe with sugar, thank you,” he said with a bright smile to the vendor. “Alright, so- long story short, the band was originally founded by the two of them; excellent musicians those two are, and the band did have quite the promising future before it. We started having a fairly good reputation.”

“Black coffee and a serving of fries. The name’s been around for a while now, that’s right- I remember seeing it ten years ago on some festival announcements in my city. Cash, thanks.”

“We have, yes. We were very local for a long while, but…”

“What changed?”

“Gabriel and the others were wishing to go professional; Bee and who are now Hell’s Rebuke were not willing to do that.”

“Ah, I see. Well, they didn't change much in that aspect,” Crowley mumbled sourly, extending his arms to grab the crepe and coffee. He gave the dessert over, then took his serving of fries, and they left the vendor’s stand. “Wait, where did you stand? You stayed with Celestial Harmonies, after all.”

“Hm, well…”

That did not sound like somebody who was fully happy to have stayed, Crowley thought, and he crept closer to Aziraphale, nudging him with his elbow. “Come on, spill the beans! Honestly, I’m looking to go in that direction, if there’s anything I should be aware of…”

“Being professional was, and still is, something that I hold dear,” Aziraphale explained, his slow speech feeling heavy, like he was choosing every word carefully.

[tsumuus]

Katsuki Bakugou had always been terrible with words. They always seemed to explode out of his mouth, harsh and unrefined, never quite capturing the depth of what he felt inside. So, when he realized in first year that his feelings for you were more than just friendship, he couldn't bring himself to say it.

He tried to show you in other ways- the lingering touches, the way he would always look out for you during training, and the way he would make sure you always had an extra water bottle. But those actions never seemed to be enough, not to you, and certainly not to him.

Now, as he stood at the altar, the best man at the wedding of his best friend and the woman he loved, his heart ached with a pain that felt like an old, familiar friend.

You looked stunning in your wedding dress, your smile bright and genuine as you gazed at Eijiro Kirishima, the groom. Kirishima, with his broad grin and eyes full of love, was everything Bakugou couldn't be- open, warm, and kind. He was happy for you, truly, but the bitterness of unspoken words and missed chances lingered.

Bakugou stood stiffly, hands clenched at his sides as he watched the ceremony unfold. Every vow exchanged felt like a blow, each promise a reminder of what he couldn't give you. His eyes never left your face, memorizing every detail, every emotion that flickered across your features.

Kirishima and you exchanged rings, and Bakugou felt a sharp pang in his chest. He forced himself to keep his expression neutral, swallowing the lump in his throat. He should be happy for you both- his best friends, the two people who meant the world to him.

As the officiant pronounced you husband and wife, the crowd erupted into applause. Bakugou managed a tight smile, clapping along, though his heart felt heavy. Kirishima pulled you into a passionate kiss, and Bakugou looked away, unable to bear the sight.

The reception was a blur of congratulations and laughter. Bakugou moved through the crowd, his facade firmly in place. He caught glimpses of you and Kirishima, the two of you glowing with happiness, and he forced himself to stay composed.

When it was time for his speech, Bakugou took a deep breath and stepped forward. He had written and rewritten his words countless times, trying to find the right balance between sincerity and restraint.

"Congratulations, you idiots," he began, earning a laugh from the guests. "I've known you both since we were kids. Kirishima, you've always been the best friend anyone could ask for. And you," he paused, looking directly at you, "you've always been amazing."

He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. "I'm glad you found each other. I know you'll make each other happy. So, here's to a lifetime of love and happiness."

The applause was thunderous, and Bakugou quickly returned to his seat, his emotions swirling. He watched as you and Kirishima shared a dance, the love between you evident in every movement.

As the night wore on, Bakugou found himself standing alone on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief. He stared out into the darkness, his mind filled with memories and what-ifs.

He had always been terrible with words, but in that moment, he wished he had found the courage to speak up, to tell you how he truly felt. But now, it was too late. You were married, starting a new life with Kirishima, and all Bakugou could do was wish you well from the sidelines.

He took a deep breath and turned back to the celebration, determined to be the friend you needed, even if it meant hiding his own feelings. Because despite everything, he loved you too much to let his own pain overshadow your happiness.

masterlist

[heartfullofleeches]

I love that idea for the 4th franken hound!

Also just read ff reader with shorts lore have mercy plEase MORE FAST FOOD READER THIGHS

(FF Reader crushing things with their thighs? FF Reader crushing things with their thighs)

"Go! Go! Go! Go!"

Everytime they show up late- The janitor tracks the roar of cheers and hollers to the play area doors. A sticky substance bolts their feet to the floor as they enter - bitterness punching them in the gut knowing they'll have to be the one to clean the mess up. The janitor surveys the filthy covered floor to see the extent of the damaged, grimacing at each new sight they see. Some produce that looked liked it been pressed with a rolling pin, a flattened kid's meal box, a crushed soda can? What the hell happened while they were fixing their tires?

...

"...Holy shit..."

Sitting at one of the tables, your fellow crew mates surround you. The bathroom succubus cheers you on from over your shoulder, phone camera pointed at your lap. Lambchop towers over you, enjoying the flesh of your previous victims - the juices of raw tomatoes and apples staining the mascots white fur. Their eyes too focus on the item between your thighs, more hunger present in them than usual. Even the ice cream machine ghost was apart of the crowd - his eternal prison wheeled into the venue so he wouldn't miss out. None of you would hear the end of it if you did. He points out a hairline fracture splitting through the middle section of the fruit held between your thighs.

"I see a line! It's breaking! Keep going!"

Sure enough, the split widens as you squeeze harder - the red innards of the melon spilling from within and down your sticky legs. Gripping the undersides of your seat, you lift yourself off from the table as beads of sweat pour down your face - flexing your muscles as the strain increases around the melon's thick skin. You shovel two fingers between the gap, holding it in place as you plop back down on the bench. You throw one leg over the other and with one final compression the watermelon breaks in two - lower half falling into the waiting hands of Lambchop as you hold up the rest to show to everyone.

"Who wants watermelon?!"

Thunderous applause rumbles from the ball pit as the hands clap in celebration of your victory. The bathroom succubus replays the exact moment the watermelon splits exchanging words of disbelief with the ice cream machine ghost.

"They fucking did it- They actually did it-"

"I know- Dude, I totally didn't think they were gonna get pass that coconut either, but they did."

The Janitor picks their jaw off the floor as you notice them at last, waving them over. "...was did all this stuff go back or something?"

You place your half of the watermelon on the table. "Probably not. We've been cleaning out the ball pit since you hate to do it and somewhere along the line Lye dared me to crush a soda cup between my legs which lead to this."

"Cool....cool..... Can...can someone send me that video?"

[peachsayshi]

Hey Peach! How are you?

I want to request number 64 (Unexpected kisses that get all hot and heavy) with geto suguru please and thank you 🌸💓

➳  minors / ageless / blank blogs dni

⥽ notes: hello, sweets! thank you so much for sending over this request. I'm sorry it took me some time to write out but I do hope you enjoy this little scenario between geto x reader! I hope you are doing well! tags: non-curse au; geto x reader are "rivals". a little angsty and steamy.

"why do you hate me?" suguru asks, but he's standing far too close to your liking. his pretty boy smile a glow in the shadows, his body closing in as he takes another step forward.

you stutter when you breathe, your chest rising and falling. you place one hand against his heart, feeling it beat as you halt his movements. your eyes shift to the window behind you, watching the rain shower underneath the thunderous applause from clouds above.

there is truly no escaping. a part of you wishing you had left with your group in the morning as intended. but now you're stuck here all by yourself with suguru. with no place to go, and no light to guide you out.

"I don't hate you," you say through gritted teeth, irritation igniting in the depths of your core. you swallow the uncomfortable knot in your throat.

it's a shame that you can't get along with suguru. it's not like you haven't tried, but for whatever reason that man manages to get under your skin in ways you can't even explain. you don't know if it's his infuriating attention to detail, or the fact that he knows what is the right thing to say to send you over the edge.

"you do," he replies, making you catch your breath because he actually sounds disappointed.

two hands come to both sides of your face, his palms pressing against the wall as he looks down at you. a crackle of lighting shatters the sky, illuminating the serious expression on his infuriatingly handsome features.

how did you both end up here after being in a heated argument only a few minutes ago?

"well, you don't like me either," you insist, lifting your head high and turning your chin up proudly.

he taps his thumb against the wall, contemplative. a twitch in his jaw as he takes in your words.

"I never said I didn't like you-"

"of course you did," you bite back, stubborn to believe that these words are true because why else do you both keep getting off on the wrong foot.

"when?"

your brain filters through every memory, every conversation, every exchange to recall any ounce of evidence to validate your statement.

suguru dips his head down, your hand squeezing the fabric of his shirt. so tight your knuckles turn white, and you're ready to push him away. but your spine tingles when you feel him lightly graze his lips over yours, his breath fanning your skin.

"when?" he repeats.

your mind spins, your heart races. you find yourself easing your grip, while Suguru's hand meets your waist.

he must be teasing you, you think. playing a dirty joke. but before you can fight back, he leans in for a kiss, pressing his mouth firmly against yours.

the gesture is soft and kind. so sweet it's like you're eating a spoonful of sugar. he pecks your mouth once, pulls away to give you a second, before returning for another kiss.

waiting, hoping, you'll invite him for more.

and when you do he slides his tongue hungrily, one hand dropping to the curve of your shoulder while the other reaches for your thigh to hook your leg over his hip, keeping you pinned up against the wall.

you rock your hips against him, desperate for friction. and when he returns the gesture it only makes you moan. an explosion erupts from within - engulfing you with a desire that's foreign to your being. there's a clash of lips, teeth and tongue - nips and kisses that make the space between your legs pulse. your hand grips onto his hair, the other curling around his neck.

you don't even want to breathe. you want to keep fighting. keep arguing. and this new form of communication works out nicely for you, you think.

but there's a flicker above, warm light colliding against the cool bolts from the lightning outside. the power returns abruptly, shocking you and suguru when you both stop kissing to stare up at the ceiling.

you're both panting, limbs linked as you remain intertwined in complications that you don't have the time to sift through at the moment.

suguru returns to look at you, licking his lips to taste you once more. he eases his hold, helps readjust your posture as he takes a small step back. his gaze never leaves yours, confusion boiling in his irises. you part your lips to say his name, but instead he cups your cheeks with both palms and leaves one more innocent kiss in his wake.

you are stunned when he drops his hands, a tiny grin a sign of relief.

he hums, "maybe, you don't hate me either..."

your heart is feverish watching him walk away, and for the first time in your life, he manages to leave you speechless.

requests for these prompts are closed.

[grandline-fics]

hello…may i request mihawk, law, and sanji with a reader thats a famous pianist? please and thank you! hope you have a good day :)

DESCRIPTION: You’re a famous pianist

WARNINGS:  none

CHARACTERS: Mihawk, Sanji

WORDS: 1,197

A/N: Thank you for the request! Sadly I couldn't think of a good scenario for Law so hopefully you're happy with what I managed to come up with for the other two.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

MIHAWK

Mihawk found himself standing in a lavish banquet hall, his expression impassive but his eyes remained sharp as he observed the whole ridiculous scenes of disguised conversations, ass-kissing, and not-so secret dealings. Just a typical function though none of it held his interest he was only here for you. Your name was considered one of if not the greatest pianist in the world. He’d heard your music in his travels but it was only ever through speakers and projected on screens. To see you perform in person was one of his greatest ambitions. 

Yet somehow you were annoyingly evasive regardless of how vast your fame reached. In one regard he could applaud your need for privacy and being reclusive but when it messed with his own selfishness his feelings became conflicted. So when he finally heard you’d be preforming at a royal gala he made it his mission to be there. Even if it meant he was currently having to endure the current tedium, the reward made it all worthwhile so now he just had to wait. 

Finally the doors opened and the obnoxiously loud chatter abruptly ended as you entered the room and sat at the gleaming piano. You’d paid no mind to the crowd already enchanted by your presence with practiced poise and when your fingers defy began to play Mihawk felt everyone take a collected breath, himself included. As much as Mihawk had found enjoyment in the projections and records of your playing in the past he found that by comparison to the real thing they all but spat in the face of your talent. 

At the end of the performance and the thunderous applause sounded you began to detach yourself from the situation, having no ties to the king of the island or his guests but paused when you met the intense golden stare of someone you truly hadn’t expected to be in attendance. Instead of making your usual quick exit you found yourself walking towards the swordsman. “Well I wasn’t expecting to see you here. If you’re here to kill someone for a bounty could you wait until I’m paid first?” you asked playfully. 

Mihawk smirked, pleasantly surprised that you seemed calm in his presence when most tended to shy away from him which was how he preferred it most of the time. It seemed your ability to charm people wasn’t confined to just when you were sat at the piano, even speaking to you had him captivated. “I promise my being here is for anything but business. I had an opportunity to finally see you perform and only a fool would pass up a chance.”

Surprise lit your eyes at the revelation and a smile graced your lips, genuinely touched that someone like the notorious marine hunter and warlord of the sea would be a fan of your music. “I hope I didn’t disappoint your expectations.”

“My dear, the only disappointment I felt was that I couldn’t hear more.” He told you smoothly before offering to get you a drink. If he had to cut talking to you short, it would be a second disappointment of the evening. Thankfully you didn’t seem to be in any rush to leave just yet.

SANJI

The first time Sanji met you was the day before the opening of the Baratie. After spending so much time with Zeff in making this restaurant a reality he was a bundle of nerves and excitement to see it all finally complete. The older chef however was calm and collected which only annoyed Sanji further. As the two were about to launch into an argument a small knock sounded and Zeff immediately grinned, the final piece to make the opening one to remember had arrived just in time. The door opened and Sanji frowned to see two unknown adults enter, not getting why they would make Zeff’s demeanour change to become pleasant for once. Then he saw you poke your head out from behind the legs of one of the adults. You were around his age, maybe a little shorter but you looked around the restaurant with silent appreciation. Then you spotted the piano and your shyness immediately disappeared and you hurried over to inspect it. 

While the adults talked, Sanji followed you and watched carefully; he was protective of everything in the restaurant, even if it was over the stupid piano that Zeff insisted was a necessary purchase. The last thing he wanted was some kid wrecking it before the opening. His eyes narrowed when you climbed onto the seat and reached forward to touch the shining keys and he caught your hand to stop you. “It’s not a toy.” He warned. The two of you glared at each other and you sharply pulled your hand out of his grip. Swiftly you began to play, effectively shutting Sanji up with the skill coming from your small fingers and the tune it created was one he’d never forget. 

After that rocky start you and Sanji slowly began to warm to each other. Over the years as your reputation grew as a world class pianist and his grew as a world class chef you still found time to stop by the Baratie to visit, never forgetting where your big break came from. You still stopped by your favourite restaurant when Sanji joined the Strawhat crew and your visits seemed to stop. At that same time your fame skyrocketed too, taking you further into the New World with many concerts and performances to keep you occupied.

One day while Sanji walked through a new town to stock up on supplies for the ship he came to an abrupt halt to see your face and name on a poster. Excitement flooded him to see you were here on the island at the same time as him and you were due to play at a local theatre that evening. Knowing you, you’d already be there and practicing. Not wanting to risk missing the chance at a reunion after so many years he set off for the theatre, his task of food shopping forgotten.  

His skills as a pirate allowed him to sneak into the theatre from one of the side entrances and he smiled in satisfaction to hear the faint sound of music drifting down the empty hallways, glad that his hunch was right. As quietly as he could, Sanji made it to the wings of the stage and watched you with a growing smile. You’d truly honed your skills as finely as he’d refined his abilities as a chef until the most complicated task-performing or cooking- appeared effortless. When you finished the song, Sanji applauded you, grinning to see you look up at him in surprise and joy. Quickly you got up and hurried over. “About time you showed up, I’m starving.”

“Oh really? In that case, come back to the ship with me and I’ll make you the best meal of your life. Least I could do since after getting to hear you play again.”

“Well how could I say no to that?” You grinned while hooking your arm through his and let him lead the way.

[mitskicain]

navi | m.list

. ⁺ . ✦ the doghouse — ken sato x reader

© mitskicain all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

synopsis: all good things must come to an end

content warning: angst, hurt/some comfort (?)

word count: 1.8k

· · ─────── ·{ ✐ᝰ.ᐟ}· ─────── · ·

epilogue: in the doghouse

There is a saying that the universe gives and takes. That, it writes people into your lives—your paths crossing—and you will start to see them everywhere. The things that they mention will appear in front of you, their body standing out from a crowd, their voice singular in a wave of shouting. But when it is time for the two of you to separate, the universe will write them out completely. Despite living in the same city, you will never see them picking out oranges and apples in the grocery store, never see them in their favorite restaurant, never have them pull up next to you during a red light. They say that when it’s really over, you will never see them again, no matter how intertwined the two of you were before.

Ever since that last argument in your place, you and Ken had only crossed paths another couple handful of times.

There was once in the convenience store near the stadium late at night—you grabbing some cup noodles, him with his energy drink. You saw him from the corner of your eye, hair doused in sweat and matted down from the helmet, his gloved hands reaching for the chiller. He might not have seen you. You were in your hoodie, hunched down, devouring your late night meal. There was something about writing fervors that always made you so hungry. You resisted the urge to ask him where he had gotten the butter chicken he brought over the first time he came around; resisted the urge to ask him anything really—because it wouldn’t be for the sake of curiosity, or your cravings—just the chance to talk to him again, but you were too proud to ever want to admit it first. So you let him slip by, gaze lingering on his back as he disappeared down the road to continue practice. When you walked home, you could still hear the distant roars of wooden bat meeting baseball, and the echo of its fwoosh across the stadium.

It was hard avoiding Ken. His physical self was limited to mainly the stadium and the streets to and from his house. The bars on the road across from the venue would be hotspots after practices, so much so that you changed your schedule to only cover nights when he wasn’t on practice. But that was the easy part. In the daylight, he was omnipresent—advertisements and banners and posters of him decorated nearly every inch of the city. Whenever the Giants won a game, there would be the valiant cheer of the crowd, and his face plastered on newspapers. When his birthday rolled around, they decorated the subway to the stadium that you took to work with him. It was a pain. You had to keep your gaze down or your eyes shut just to avoid looking at him. One time, you thought that you had bumped into him on the subway but then realized it was just a mural of him—height accurate and all.

The ample time had you working on your writing: shitty poetry drafts turning into something worth reading. The first time you had gone to a bar that allowed you to showcase your work, you felt your heart thunder against your ribs, an unswallowable lump formed in your throat, and though you stuttered through the first few lines you were met with smiles and applause when you finished. And you did it again, and again, and again—until you no longer stuttered and the applause turned thunderous—until the manager of the bar asked you to come in regularly, offering you a platform and all. You didn’t think you could have actually made it, the whirlwind of fame sucking you in, allowing you little time to focus on anything that wasn’t your craft. Soon enough, you were able to quit your job altogether and focus on writing full-time.

You didn’t expect it: after months passing and nothing from the other, for him to be merely 50 meters away from you, in the next conference room. You could recognize his voice anywhere—recognized the sound of his laugh from all the clamor of the reporters. You looked straight ahead as you tried your best to answer the questions from the critics and some of your readers, trying to drown out the noise booming from just across the hall. So close and yet so far. When the event concluded you rushed outside, hoping to catch a glimpse, only to find that he had been dismissed just five minutes before you. Emotions bubbled up in you—disappointment, rage, shame—leading to you eventually publishing a short novel that included graphic details of your relationship together. The release took Japan by storm; tabloids and headlines both banging on your doors for a statement.

The last time you saw Ken was in court.

A private settlement between the two of you. A gag order, your lawyer had said—you fought back the urge to laugh. Isn’t that what I used to put in his mouth? You joked, he didn’t find it funny.

While your lawyers discussed, you passed lingering stares at each other from across the room. You had never seen Ken so dressed up before: white button up, trousers, and dress shoes. His hair was gelled back, so different from how it usually looked—messy from having your hands in them. He fiddled with his cufflinks, keeping his gaze low, but there were moments, brief moments, where he looked at you and it felt as if nothing had changed. As if the two of you were back at your place, splayed out on the couch, lying opposite from each other, stealing glances as the movie rolled on. A place in your chest hurt at the memory, so you stepped outside and made a beeline for the vending machine, trying to find something to sink your teeth into to distract you from the hurt.

“I guess the truth was bound to come up one way or another,” his voice rang. You turned around, Ken trailing behind you. “Cat’s out the bag.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, shrugging.

“I guess so.”

Silence between the two of you. It had been too long since either of you said a word to each other.

“Now what?” He asks, voice soft but expectant. Something inside of you squeezes. You trail your fingertips on the surface of the soda can, feeling the moisture collect onto your skin.

“Now I stop writing fanfiction of you,” you say, a teasing smile playing on your lips. He returns the expression, amused. “We move on, I guess.”

“Oh,” he sounds, a hint of disappointment. His fists hung idly by his sides. The urge to reach out to him and hold his hand and tell him that the two of you could start over was great, but you knew better than to do anything of the sort. So you just stood there, taking all of it in—the tension, the awkwardness.

“Was this how you imagined it?” You asked, trying to sound cold but your voice cracks with emotion the moment you see him turn to meet your gaze. “When you lead me on, did you think it would come to this?”

He looks down in shame, lips curling downwards. You want to reach out to touch him but you stay in place, feet glued to the ground. Your free hand is squeezed into a fist, white knuckled and all.

“I always knew you were going to make it,” he says, smiling softly, “but no, I didn’t think of-” he gestures to the room, “this.”

Fair enough, you thought.

Another painful bout of silence.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, you know,” he confesses, your jaw ticks at the mention of this. “I didn’t mean for things to end the way they did.”

You nod your head in acknowledgement.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” you say. “You tried to keep me from it but I figured you out—maybe try harder next time.”

The two of you know there won’t be a next time.

After this, it’s over. You won’t see him again. Ever. Still, the two of you laugh—maybe as an attempt to soothe the sting of loss—you hear his laugh and you are struck for the millionth time by just how beautiful it is.

Have you ever felt it? The moment before the feeling catches the memory? For a second, your mind pulls you to the surface and, like a snapped rubber band—whiplash. The echo of his laugh brings that all too familiar ache that rippled through you like waves, something that you know will haunt you for the next few years as you tried to erase whatever memory of him you had left. But before the pain was that haven of neutrality, the millisecond of peace where, instead of feeling the pang of loss, you felt nothing—and before nothing, the slightest memory of happiness.

For a moment, before the goodbye, the sound of his laugh transported you back to a time where all the two of you looked forward to was the sight of each other. You laughed over scenes together, discussing movie theories and playing make believe. You dreamed of a future where things had been better, nicer, where the world had been gentler with the two of you—a future where the two of you had been allowed to stay together, for a little bit longer at least. You were reminded of the time, cuddled up in bed, you heard him slip a little confession of an ‘I love you’ in the midst of his exhausted haze. Did he mean it? You wouldn’t know. And he hadn’t known it then but you said those words back, kissing the top of his forehead affectionately before joining him in sleep.

After this the two of you will never meet again.

The mention of the other during an interview will be quickly brushed off, only answered with a tight smile and a shake of the head. You will move back to the countryside in pursuit of a more peaceful environment for you to write your days away in, Ken will stay in the city and win game after game. The tabloids will cease the stories of you, and the news that the both of you had once been a thing will fizzle out—the public will forget of the fervor and the two of you gone back to strangers that will never cross paths again.

But sometimes, sometimes, you would wake up from such vivid dreams that you are drenched in tears and sweat, your cheeks flushed against the cool summer air. In your dreams you are back in your tiny apartment, chasing after Lassie and Strauber, singing in the shower while Ken brushes his teeth—a life so domestic and sweet that if a stranger were to peer in they would have said that the two of you were a happily married couple. Of course, this was before the world knew, before disaster struck—back when you lied your head against his chest and neither of you had ever said a word about leaving.

prev

· · ─────── ·{ ✐ᝰ.ᐟ}· ─────── · ·

author’s note: ITS THE END OF THE DOGHOUSE AAAAA💥💥💥 I’ll be honest this one was hard to go through (as evident by my burnout 💀💀) because it reminded me too much of my past (failed) relationship(s) 😭😭😭 but as always we thank our exes and we move on and write successful story about them for hundreds to enjoy 🥰🥰🥰 thank you everyone who has been so sweet and so supportive throughout it all 🫵‼️ I never would have imagined that so many of you guys would actually like this weird story I wrote 😭😭😭 and as mentioned previously the doghouse will be my last kenji fic and I will be moving on to writing for other fandoms :”))) it’s been an honor and I am so happy that you guys enjoy what I put out there, I hope to continue being able to put out things you guys enjoy 🙏🙏 until then—thank you as always and—MITSKICAIN OUT‼️‼️🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🫳🎤 💥💥

taglist: @luneariaa @moonjellyfishie @sweetcheeksbby-deactivated20240 @shittingonyourgrave @shauu @witcwitchy @fcklxnaa @despacito-uwu16 @mqshido @miffysoo @ybbayk @hore4ken @mochminnie @femmefqtqle @miratastic @lovingyeet @mythicalmo @yourfellowmarzipan @softdumplingposts @strayy-kidz @floppy-aura-koi

[insanityclause]

Over the past 13 years, Tom Hiddleston has died more times than he can recall. “Let me think about this,” the actor tells us, pausing to count in his head. “I think, officially, there were two big ones.” 

He’s referring to his many exits from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the blockbuster franchise in which he’s played shape-shifting Norse god Loki Laufeyson since Kenneth Branagh’s 2011 film “Thor”—the son of Asgardians Odin (Anthony Hopkins) and Frigga (Rene Russo), and the half-sibling of Thor (Chris Hemsworth), the god of thunder. 

The character has since bounced between villain and reluctant antihero across five films, a handful of post-credits scenes, and Michael Waldron’s Disney+ spinoff series “Loki,” which Hiddleston also executive produces. The show wrapped its second—and supposedly final—season last November. The finale presents an end for the character, but not one of the aforementioned “big ones.” 

Hiddleston’s first “official” farewell came in Alan Taylor’s 2013 sequel “Thor: The Dark World,” which saw the god of mischief take a sword to the chest to save his beefy brother. “As written in the first script, it was a true sacrifice,” Hiddleston says. Unfortunately for Marvel’s long-term plans, the actor had done too good a job playing the trickster.

“When Marvel [executives] were testing the movie, they’d given [viewers] questionnaires that said, ‘Is there anything you didn’t understand?’ ” he remembers. “Literally every single audience member said, ‘Well, obviously, Loki’s not really dead.’ ” 

In classic comic-book fashion, the character did return, gallivanting alongside his brother in Taika Waititi’s 2017 follow-up “Thor: Ragnarok.” He died again one year later (“big one” number two) in the Russo brothers’  “Avengers: Infinity War.” There were no smokescreens or questionnaires this time; audiences watched as Loki’s neck was crushed by the purple fist of intergalactic warlord Thanos (Josh Brolin). 

Hiddleston remembers arriving in Atlanta to shoot his final scene and immediately bumping into Brolin. “He came up to me, gave me this huge hug, and said, ‘I’m so sorry, man.’ ” 

He meant it, too; everyone meant it. The sun, it seemed, had actually set on Hiddleston’s MCU journey. “At the end of that scene, I got a big round of applause, and everybody was so sweet and kind and gracious,” he says. “I got notes and emails saying, ‘Tom, you’ve done so much for us—what a journey. Come and see us anytime.’ I really thought that was the end.” 

And it was, for real, right up until it wasn’t—when the time-traveling shenanigans of 2019’s “Avengers: Endgame” blasted a younger version of Loki out of the established canon and into his own series. Over two seasons, the multiversal storyline envisions the title character as a figure who exists outside time and space. Across all there is, was, and may come to pass, there will always be a Loki, in some form, wreaking havoc. 

Hiddleston has long since accepted what this means for him as an actor. Maybe “Loki” Season 2 really was his last time in the role; or maybe he’ll play him until the sun burns out. “I’ve realized that, in human consciousness, that’s who Loki is,” he says. “Loki is this ancient, mythic character, who, in our collective mythology, represents the trickster, the transgressor, the boundary-crosser, the shape-shifter—somebody who’s mercurial and spontaneous and unpredictable who will always confound your expectations and wriggle out from underneath your certainties and convictions. Someone who we need and [who] is necessary.”

Hiddleston pauses, getting emotional. “Maybe Loki escaping death a couple of times is sort of an emblem of who he is in our culture,” he says, grinning at his own gusto. The actor has a habit of being self-deprecating about the depth of the character’s lore. “I spend a lot of time thinking about Loki. You can probably tell.”

You can tell, and it’s incredibly endearing. Talking to Hiddleston about Loki feels like discussing Shakespeare’s Richard III with Laurence Olivier or Tennessee Williams’ Blanche DuBois with Jessica Lange. They were actors who put their definitive stamps on those roles by returning to the well and constantly digging deeper. 

In conversation, Hiddleston is equally as likely to reference comic-book arcs as he is the ancient, anonymous Old Norse scribes of the “Poetic Edda” or Richard Wagner’s epic four-cycle opera “Der Ring des Nibelungen.” He speaks reverently of actors who embodied the trickster god before him, like Jim Carrey in Chuck Russell’s 1994 comedy “The Mask” and Alan Cumming in Lawrence Guterman’s 2005 sequel, “Son of the Mask.” He also heaps praise on those who played the part after him, such as his “Loki” costars Sophia Di Martino, Richard E. Grant, Deobia Oparei, and—in one very surreal Season 1 moment—“some alligator they found somewhere.” He cites legendary Marvel creators Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, and Walter Simonson alongside the likes of English essayist Walter Pater and Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw, who once wrote of life as a “splendid torch” to keep burning for those who follow.

“Loki is ‘a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment,’ ” Hiddleston quotes, “and I want to make it burn as brightly as I can before passing it on to future generations.” 

This level of study started before he even landed the role. He recalls the 24 hours leading up to his “Thor” audition, when he was 28 years old. After graduating from the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in 2005, he quickly earned small-screen and stage acclaim—but he hadn’t yet achieved a major breakthrough. When he received the script for “Thor,” it felt familiar. “I remember thinking, This is almost Shakespearean, this language,” Hiddleston says. “What’s the best example I can [look to] of an actor who managed to humanize and make real this elevated world of myth?” 

He found the answer in Christopher Reeve, who played the title role in Richard Donner’s 1978 blockbuster “Superman.” “He’s masterful in that film,” Hiddleston says. “In a way, it’s a similar premise: He’s a god or he’s a being from a different realm, and it’s not naturalistic in the way that we might expect. He does it so truthfully, and it’s so clear and clean and open and honest. I thought, If I can even approximate or get close to the kind of clarity that Christopher Reeve had in those films, I’ll be lucky.” 

And then, the morning of his “Thor” audition, Hiddleston went for a run, “which is my habit before doing anything unusual,” he explains. 

Running has remained a constant throughout the actor’s MCU tenure. At any given moment over the last decade, the god of mischief was likely doing laps around Marvel’s go-to shooting location, Pinewood Studios (now Trilith Studios) in Atlanta. “Life is movement; I really believe that,” Hiddleston says. 

“I find when I’m running or walking, the repetitive nature of it relaxes the mind and allows ideas and inspiration to come from a deeper place. I see my work as an actor—especially in preparation for a project or a scene—as almost preparing myself to be open and ready to receive ideas, to receive energy from other actors, to receive energy from my imagination.”

Hiddleston found the technique particularly helpful when he was filming a scene for the “Loki” series premiere that he calls “one of the most thrilling challenges I’ve ever had as an actor.” In it, Loki has been poached from the flow of time itself by the temporality-policing Time Variance Authority and forced to watch what is, essentially, a highlight reel of his entire MCU arc. It’s one of the most deeply existential moments you’ll ever find streaming alongside the likes of “Bluey” and the “Cars” movies. Here is a man watching the sum total of his life—his hopes, his dreams, his failures, his own death—play out in a 30-second clip that ends with the cold, clinical words: “End of file.”

“I just kept imagining: If you were afforded the opportunity or forced to watch your own death as a bystander, it would bring about an existential shock and crisis unlike any other,” Hiddleston explains. “It was a scene where I thought, I don’t have a reference for how to play this. I just have to allow shock, disgust, disgrace, shame, disbelief, acceptance, incredulity, and sorrow to exist in the center of me.” 

As an executive producer on the series, Hiddleston had a say as to which of Loki’s many misdeeds would play in the sequence. He chose clips like Frigga’s death in “Thor: The Dark World” and his father’s final words in “Thor: Ragnarok”—moments Hiddleston knew would most fill the character with regret. As production was preparing to shoot the scene, he asked first assistant director Richard Graves for a 20-minute warning.

 “I decided to jog around the stage and internalize as many of those memories of those people, those characters, those actors [as possible]—to try and find the center of my own vulnerability,” Hiddleston says. “Part of the joy of it was just going back to basics, trying to simplify this very complex thing…. Go for a jog, get into your body, allow yourself to be open, and just be there; just feel it.”

One “Loki”-like time jump later, Hiddleston found himself in a similar situation as he was preparing to shoot his final moment of Season 2—a scene that effectively caps Loki’s 13-year arc. Across 12 episodes, the show guided its title character toward a truly heroic end: With all of existence on the verge of collapse, he steps out of time to tie the strands of every reality together. As the credits roll, Loki sits at the center of time, holding in place all that is—alone. 

It’s a lot for any actor to internalize, especially one who’s performing solo in front of a blue screen. With 45 minutes to cameras rolling, episode co-director Aaron Moorhead made a suggestion. “He said to me, ‘Why don’t you go back, if you can bear it, and watch some of your work [over] the last 15 years?’ ” Hiddleston remembers. “ ‘Take it in, see what it means to you, and then carry it when you step out onto the stage.’ ” 

The actor took Moorhead’s advice to heart. And suddenly, without meaning to, he was mirroring the moment that started the series: absorbing the sum total of Loki’s MCU run. But this time, his regret had been replaced with gratitude. Hiddleston watched clips from “Thor,” remembering a time when he and Hemsworth had yet to ascend to the A-list. He recalled working with powerhouses like Hopkins and Russo, and the bonds he forged with the “original six Avengers” in 2011. He thought about how fun it was to film “Thor: Ragnarok” with Tessa Thompson and Jeff Goldblum, and of the more recent friendships he found with his “Loki” castmates Di Martino and Owen Wilson. 

“I thought, What Loki is doing, he is doing for his friends. And so, Tom, why don’t you do it for your friends?” Hiddleston says. “That’s where the two of us met in that moment. And then I was so grateful I had this most amazing crew, and we did it together.”

The actor is, of course, noncommittal as to whether this is actually the end of his MCU run. The franchise is scheduled out until at least 2027, and Hemsworth has mentioned his desire to make another “Thor” film. And if Loki’s past has proven anything, even the most official endings can be undone. 

Either way, it seems to Hiddleston that something significant has ended, even if it’s just Loki’s full-circle arc. “I hope it feels redemptive because his broken soul is partially healed; and you see that this character, who is capable of love, has made a decision from and for love,” he says. The actor cites the “beautiful prologue” of the first “Thor” film, in which Hopkins’ Odin tells his two sons: “Only one of you can ascend to the throne, but both of you were born to be kings.”

“At the end of Season 2, Loki is sitting on a kind of throne; but it’s not arrived in the shape he expected, and there’s no glory in it,” Hiddleston explains. “There’s a kind of burden, and he’s alone. He’s doing it for his friends, but he has to stay there without them. There’s a poetic melancholy there which I found very moving.”

For now, Hiddleston “can’t even conceive” of his life without Loki. He only hopes that he’s lived up to his guiding ethos as an actor, which he sums up with a plea from E.M. Forster’s 1910 novel “Howards End”: “Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height.”

“The feedback loop for actors is that we get to inhabit a fiction,” Hiddleston says. “But hopefully, that fiction bears the shape of a truth that we recognize about life—that what we do reflects the ups and downs, the peaks and troughs, and the breadth and profundity of all of our lives.”

Hiddleston exists in that space between fiction and reality, the work and the resulting art, the prose and the passion. Long after we’ve moved on from our interview and started casually discussing the cherry blossoms blooming in New York, his eyes light up. He’s made another connection, remembered one more thing—just one last thing he’d like to impart about Loki. 

He spends a lot of time thinking about Loki. You can probably tell.

“I’m so aware that the reason I’ve been able to play him for so long is because of the audience’s curiosity and passion,” Hiddleston says. “I’ve been delighted to find that for a character of such stature, he’s remarkably human. Many of the characteristics that people connect to in Loki are deeply human feelings. That’s been the pleasure, is infusing this elevated character with humanity.”

Even then, honestly, it feels as if Hiddleston, like Loki, could go on forever. Unfortunately, outside of the MCU, time moves in only one direction. Once again, he has to run.

This story originally appeared in the June 6 issue of Backstage Magazine. Subscribe to In the Envelope: The Actor's Podcast to hear our full conversation with Hiddleston (out 6/6). 

[shitsndgiggs]

hey this is a request for Arda Güler!

Well, we all say that goal against Georgia right? It was absolutely spectacular.

I’m thinking about reader who sees the goal and is so happy for him. And they enjoy quality time together. When they get back to the hotel it’s just fluff and reader telling guler how proud of him she is.

You can change it as much as you want. I hope this request is understandable. I have an idea of it but can’t seem to write it down 😭🤭

Thanks

MOMENTS OF GLORY- ARDA GÜLER

Arda scoring a spectacular goal in his Euro debut match

Arda Güler x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

I sat nervously in the stands, surrounded by Arda’s family, as Turkey's first Euro match against Georgia began. The air was electric, and Arda's family buzzed with excitement and anticipation.

The game kicked off, and Turkey immediately took control. In the 25th minute, Mert Müldür scored with a powerful header from a well-placed corner.

The stadium exploded with cheers, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me as Turkey took the lead.

Just two minutes later, Kenan made a brilliant solo run and slotted the ball into the net. We erupted again, only for our cheers to turn into groans of disappointment as the goal was ruled offside.

In the 32nd minute, Georgia capitalized on a momentary lapse in Turkey's defense. Georges Mikautadze slipped the ball past our goalkeeper, leveling the score at 1-1.

The turkish crowd fell silent for a moment, but quickly regained their spirit, chanting and cheering for the team to push forward.

As the first half ended, tension hung in the air. "He's doing so well," Arda's mother said, gripping my hand.

"I can't believe how far he's come," I replied, feeling a surge of pride.

The second half started with both teams playing with renewed energy.

Then, in the 65th minute, the moment everyone was waiting for arrived.

Arda picked up the ball on the right side of the pitch. He picked up the ball and cut inside onto his left foot, and unleashed a stunning strike into the top corner.

The stadium erupted in ecstasy, fans screaming and jumping in the pouring Dortmund rain.

Arda's mother clutched my hand, tears of joy streaming down her face. "Did you see that? He's amazing!" she exclaimed.

I nodded, overwhelmed with emotion. "He's worked so hard for this moment," I replied, my voice choked with pride.

"He broke Cristiano Ronaldo's record." Arda's father added, his voice filled with pride.

In the 74th minute, Georgia made two substitutions, desperately trying to change the momentum of the game.

Turkey responded with their own substitutions in the 79th minute, ending with Arda being substituted for Yusuf Yazici.

As Arda walked off the pitch, the crowd rose to their feet. A thunderous applause echoed through the stadium, with fans clapping and cheering for the young star.

His family and I stood up, clapping and cheering with all our might. The ovation was deafening, and I could see the pride and joy in Arda's eyes as he acknowledged the fans, waving and smiling.

"He deserves this moment," Arda's mother said, tears still glistening in her eyes.

The final minutes of the match were nail-bitingly intense. Both teams fought fiercely, but Turkey's defense stood strong. In the 90+7th minute, Kerem Akturkoglu sealed the victory with a brilliant counter-attack goal, making it 3-1.

As the final whistle blew, the stadium erupted once more.

We headed down to the pitch, still buzzing from the victory. Arda walking over to us, his face radiant with happiness.

"You were incredible out there," I told him, wrapping my arms around him. He smiled, "I couldn't have done it without all of your support."

Arda's mother chimed in, "We are so proud of you, Arda. That goal was something special."

We spent a few more moments on the pitch, congratulating him and taking pictures.

Eventually, his family decided to head back to the hotel to rest.

"We'll see you later, sweetheart," Arda's mother said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Don't be too late."

"I won't, mom," Arda replied with a smile. His family waved goodbye and headed off.

I stayed behind, waiting for Arda to finish celebrating with his teammates and go through the post-match routines. I watched as he interacted with fans, gave interviews, and finally headed to the locker room to shower and change.

The stadium slowly emptied, but I remained, leaning against the railing, feeling a mix of pride and joy.

After what felt like an eternity, Arda emerged from the locker room, freshly showered and dressed. His face lit up when he saw me waiting. "Hey, you," he said, wrapping me in a warm hug. "Thanks for waiting."

"Of course," I replied, holding him close.

We walked to the car together, the night air cool and refreshing after the intensity of the match. On the drive to my hotel, we talked about the game, replaying every moment.

"That goal," I said, shaking my head in awe. "I knew you had it in you, but seeing it happen was something else."

Arda smiled, glancing over at me. "I've been dreaming about that moment for so long. I couldn't believe it when the ball actually went in."

"You deserve it," I said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "You've worked so hard, and it's all paying off."

When we arrived at the hotel, we headed up to my room. Arda flopped onto the bed with a contented sigh, and I sat beside him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

"I'm so proud of you, Arda," I said softly. "Not just for the goal, but for everything. The dedication, the effort, the way you carry yourself. You're incredible."

He looked up at me, his eyes shining. "I couldn't have done any of this without you," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "You've been my rock, my biggest supporter."

"I'll always be here for you," I replied, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "No matter what."

We lay there for a moment, enjoying the quiet and the closeness. Then I asked, "Why didn't you want to celebrate with the team for the rest of the night?"

Arda sighed contentedly, intertwining his fingers with mine. "I wanted to spend this moment with you. Celebrating with the team is great, but you've been there for me through everything. I wanted to share this with you."

My heart swelled with emotion. "That means so much to me, Arda. Thank you."

We lay there for a while longer, just talking and basking in the joy of the night. Eventually, our stomachs growled in unison, making us laugh.

"How about we order room service?" I suggested.

Arda grinned. "That sounds perfect."

We browsed the menu together, picking out our favorite comfort foods. When the food arrived, we sat on the bed, eating and talking, reliving every glorious moment of the match.

It was a perfect, intimate celebration, just the two of us.

[verstappensrealwife]

Race to remember - Lance Stroll x Reader

fluff, smut

approx. 1300 words

warnings: p in v, fem!receiving oral, smooching, lance P1 🤯🤯

based on this request!

lance stroll masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

It had been a long time coming. Lance was finally leading the race. With just three laps left, the Aston Martin roared around the track at an immense speed, and you were on the edge of your seat. Metaphorically, that is, because you were actually standing, mere inches from the screen in the garage—a definite strain on your retinas, but you didn’t care.

Two laps left. You hadn't moved an inch. The tension in the air was palpable, every fiber of your being focused on the car darting across the asphalt.

One lap left. You watched him intently, noting the six-second lead over second place. Your heart was pounding, probably double its normal rate. Your palms were clammy, your skin too hot, sweat trickling down your back. Anxiety gnawed at you, a wild mix of hope and dread.

On the final turn, he could see the checkered flag waving. The moment seemed to stretch endlessly, every second a universe of possibility and fear.

All the Aston Martin mechanics had rushed to the metal fencing beside the track, cheering and shouting his name. The air vibrated with their excitement.

Your body felt numb.

You didn't initially realize you were moving, guided by Lawrence Stroll towards the parc fermé barriers. Before you knew it, you were at the front, watching as Lance's car pulled into the first-place spot. He jumped out, stood atop the car, basking in the thunderous applause. Not only was this his first win, but it was also a home win. The crowd's roar was a symphony of triumph.

He hopped off the green machine and quickly went to get weighed before spotting you.

As soon as the scales flashed his weight, he dashed toward you, ripping off his helmet and dropping it to the ground without a second thought. He leaped at you, the metal fencing separating your bodies. Tears streamed down his face—you were almost certain—even though you couldn't see his expression clearly. The intensity of the moment, the culmination of all his efforts and dreams, overwhelmed you both.

"You won!" you cheered as he pulled away from the hug. He could only smile and gently pull your face towards his for a kiss.

It wasn't a long kiss, but it was deeply romantic. His lips were a bit dry, and his facial hair scratched your skin, but it was loving and tender. In that moment, it was just the two of you, lost in the joy and intimacy of his incredible victory.

Post-Race Interview

“So Lance, congratulations on your first win, and a home win!” the reporter began. Lance smiled broadly. “Do you have anything you’d like to say to the people to celebrate or to thank?”

He cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “Erm, yeah, I’d like to thank my the fans, and the team, obviously. Without them, I wouldn’t be in a winning car…” He paused for a moment, glancing down at his feet, then back up. “And my girlfriend, Y/N, for actually believing in me and supporting me… uh, yeah.”

He wasn't used to this much attention. Sure, he got a lot, but never quite like this.

—

“Hello, race winner,” you purred as he walked into the room. He had insisted you go home after the podium ceremony, knowing he’d be a while.

You were wearing thin, lacy lingerie in his favorite color.

He immediately dropped his bag with his race suit and helmet on the floor. “Fucking Christ…” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

He crossed the room in a heartbeat, his hands finding your hips and gently squeezing. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine. He was already uncomfortably hard, his desire palpable.

His hands moved slowly, almost reverently, up and down the sides of your body. He carefully unhooked the band of your bra, letting the straps slide down your arms, the delicate fabric cascading to the floor. His eyes never left yours, filled with a mix of love and longing. Every touch was tender, every movement deliberate, as if he was savoring this intimate moment with you, the culmination of a day filled with triumph and joy.

You took off his shirt, your fingers trailing softly along his skin and faint outline of abs, then unbuckled his belt, his shorts falling to the floor. The moment was quiet, yet sensual. No words needed to be said. You both knew exactly what the other wanted and needed. He undressed completely before guiding you to the bed.

He lay you down on the mattress and settled between your legs, gently pushing the lace aside. His tongue traced a slow, deliberate path up your pussy, drawing a soft sigh of relief from your lips. For nearly ten minutes, his tongue worked magic, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through your body until you finally pushed his head away, overwhelmed.

Crawling up your body, he placed tender kisses along the way—your thighs, stomach, chest, neck, and jaw. Each kiss was a promise, a declaration of his love.

“Ready?” he whispered, his voice husky with desire. You hummed with a small nod, and he gently pushed inside you. A moan erupted from both of you—his low and gruff, yours high and breathless.

“I love you,” you confessed, your voice filled with emotion as he moved his hips slowly, rhythmically.

“I love you so much,” he replied, his voice muffled as he buried his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder. His small groans were like sweet nothings whispered into your ears, each movement slow and gentle, savoring the closeness and intimacy of the moment. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a testament to your love, making this moment incredibly sensual, romantic, and deeply personal.

His movements were slow, deliberate, and filled with a tenderness that made your heart swell. Each thrust was a reminder of his love and devotion, a silent communication of the depth of his feelings for you. His hands roamed your body, caressing your skin with a gentle reverence, as if you were the most precious thing in the world. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of physical pleasure and emotional connection.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he kissed your neck and whispered sweet nothings against your skin. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine, and you arched into him, seeking even more of his touch. The world outside ceased to exist; it was just the two of you, lost in the euphoria of each other. His lips found yours again, and the kiss was slow, passionate, a melding of souls as much as bodies.

He held you close, his body pressed intimately against yours. His pace remained steady, unhurried, allowing you both to savor every second of the moment. The sounds of your mingled breaths and whispered endearments filled the room, a symphony of love and desire.

As you approached the peak of your pleasure, your grip on him tightened, your nails dragging down his back, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. The intensity of your connection grew, and you felt the world around you blur, your senses overwhelmed by the love and passion you shared. His whispered "I love you" echoed in your mind, grounding you even as you felt yourself soaring. The crescendo built, each wave of pleasure bringing you closer to the edge.

When you finally reached your climax, it was like an explosion of light and warmth, filling you with an indescribable sense of bliss. He followed moments later, his groan a deep, satisfying sound that sent aftershocks of pleasure through your body. He held you close, his movements slowing as you both came down from the heights of your shared ecstasy. In the aftermath, he continued to shower you with gentle kisses, whispering his love as you lay entwined, your hearts beating in perfect synchrony.

--

felt cute x