#THIS WAS A FUN RIDE

[honeyvettel]

17+24 PeccoVale

17. tending to an injury/wound/illness + 24. showing up injured at their friend/mentor’s house | pecco/vale, set after jerez 2025, slight daddy kink. cw: mention of blood, wounds, self-harm. [1.1k]

(from this prompt list here)

pecco never thought of himself as a violent guy. not even when he was younger, when boys his age would spend afternoons smashing broken things in the empty lots outside turin, or picking pointless fights in school courtyards just to feel the weight of their own fists. he never joined them. he stayed in his lane, quiet, unbothered, keeping his distance; and maybe that’s what made them hate him most of all— the way he seemed not to care, the way he never flinched. they must have thought he believed he was better than them. and he did, sometimes. now, pecco is not so sure anymore. not when he’s been lying crumpled in the corner of his motorhome for the past half hour, watching blood bubble out from his knuckles and pool on the floor in slow, sticky drops. drip.drip.drip. he isn’t a violent guy. it’s just that sometimes the ringing in his head gets too loud, and the air presses down so heavy it feels like it might choke him. and when it gets like that, he needs to let it out— something not as final as jumping off a rooftop, but close enough to scrape against the same kind of hurt. so he punched the wall. big deal. people do worse these days, he tells himself— shoot their families, set their lives on fire for no reason at all. a few cracked knuckles hardly makes him a monster. still, it’s not the same when you spend years polishing this image of yourself, parading around your gentlemanly qualities, the kind of man who gets to wear a clean badge around and stand among the good guys. pecco wonders if they should take that badge away now, after this— inconvenience. he scoffs under his breath, staring down at the blood drying slowly across his knuckles, flaking at the edges. it had felt good at first—the first punch, and then the second—the sharp, jarring shock of it collapsing the noise inside his head into a perfect, blissful silence. now, all that he feels it’s just guilt. tomorrow there’s testing; tomorrow he’ll have to show up into the garage and explain the torn skin to his mechanics, find some half-truth that doesn’t make him sound as fucked up as he feels. he doesn’t even have a first aid kit lying around to try and save the situation— just his hands, split open and empty. he presses a fingertip to the worst of the scabs, feels the pain spark outwards like fireworks, a reminder to himself of what he’s capable of doing to his own body. he sits up, before he can start slipping into that dark place again. and he walks, to the only person he knows can make everything right again.

“pecco.”

when he opens the door, valentino’s voice cuts through andalusia's heavy, humid air—sharp, and surprised. he fixes his gaze to the way pecco is curling his hand to his chest, trying to hide it with the trembling shelter of the other. but the blood is too visible not to notice. "come, come," valentino says quickly, already turning back inside. "sorry," pecco mutters, stepping in. "i—i don’t have a kit in my motorhome."  he feels like he should offer an excuse—a slip in the shower, knocking something over in the garage. but he knows valentino is smarter than that; he has always been able to see through their clumsy lies. “sit on the couch,” the other instructs. valentino disappears into the bathroom, and comes back holding a small plastic box. when he finally gets a good look at pecco’s knuckles he hisses under his breath. “ah, that looks–” but doesn’t finish the sentence. he gathers pecco’s hand between his own, and starts dabbing antiseptic into the worst parts, brows pinched. pecco knows how squeamish valentino is with blood and injuries; he is too, more often than not. sometimes he wonders if he’s inherited it from him — the way every kid from the academy carries some piece of vale without even noticing. he looks down at the split skin and feels his stomach turn. “don’t look,” valentino shushes, as if he can read pecco’s thoughts. the cotton ball soaks through fast, and valentino swaps it for another with quick, steady hands. “sorry, i don’t— i can’t—” pecco stammers, the words crumbling as his throat tightens. the shame coils like a cord around his heart; he feels like a child, disobeying his father’s warnings. but vale only flicks his wrist, a light, dismissive gesture. “you should ask luca about the time i tried to put a dent in the garage door,” he says, voice easy, almost laughing. “pathetic, really. barely scuffed my knuckles, but the pain—god, it was something else.” he peels open a sterile bandage and begins wrapping it around pecco’s bruised hand, the touch gentle. “bad times, those,” valentino murmurs, half to himself. pecco guesses it must’ve been those grim years at ducati, when the bike was a wild, stubborn thing refusing to bend. the thought twists inside his gut; he’s got the best machine on the grid and here he is, punching walls like a messy teenager. “there we go,” valentino says cheerfully, tucking the last strand of gauze neatly under the strip of tape. pecco stares down at the bright white of the bandage, how the blood is already seeping through. a wave of humiliation crashes over him before he can do something about it, hot and stinging. his hand looks small, ridiculous; useless. “pecco,” valentino says, when he notices the tears that has gathered around the corner of his eyes, a note of sorrow stitched into his voice. he rises just to fold back down beside him, knees brushing. valentino's arms open, and pecco goes without thinking, curling small and tight. “it’s nothing,” valentino breathes against his temple, pressing a kiss there, light as a benediction. his hand moves along his back —up and down, up and down— a slow, unhurried rhythm meant to soothe. “daddy’s here,” he says around a chuckle, the same teasing lilt from the other day in the garage, where they had hugged and vale told him about his nonna. he had gathered him in his arms, shaking him gently, laughing. ma che bravo che sei, ma che bravo. she’d just shake me, and shower me with praise, vale had said. pecco doesn’t know what to do with any of this, now. he just buries his face tighter into valentino’s shoulder, heart hammering hard and uneven. “you’ll figure it out,” vale says, voice lower, pitched soft against the shell of his ear. “i know you will.”  pecco, selfishly, tries to believe him.

[respectthepetty]

IT ENDED WITH A SNEEZE!

"brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender, shit on it, vomit on it, eat it, give birth to it"

I loved it.

[coryothesub]

Young President Snow being a sub literally kills me

I think I saw this somewhere else, but I'll ask it anyway (I love how you write): maybe President Snow is being threatened by his secretary or maid, perhaps, because of a video where he fucks his ass with a dildo (sorry for the obsession), forcing him to... No idea, my imagination ran out... Maybe being forced to ask the reader out on a date or something, the point is that will end in something else...

OMG ANON THANK YOU FOR COMPLIMENTING MY WRITING IT LITERALLY MEANS EVERYTHING TO ME!! Also this was so fun to write

nsfw / mdni / president!sub!coryo / secretary!dom!reader

“You called for me Sir?” You were standing before your boss aka the young President of Panem holding your tablet and ready to write down his orders.

“Yes,” he got up from his work desk and looked at you, smirking and curling up the corner of his mouth.

“I think it's time we get to know each other better… Come closer, doll!”

You weren't exactly thrilled about him calling you a doll, but you were curious about what he had in mind so you made a few steps closer.

“You look delicious in that silly little work attire of yours, I bet you would look even better without it,” he made a move on you without hesitation accompanying his lewd words by grabbing your derriere and squeezing your butt cheek.

To his great surprise the next thing he felt was a hard slap across his cheek, causing him to step back astounded by your unprecedented impudence.

“How dare you?” He muttered under his breath.

“Sit!” You grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him down on his chair. You sat comfortably on the side of his desk, enjoying his anger and confusion.

“Do you even know that attacking the President is considered a high treason? I'm gonna make sure you face the consequences!” Coriolanus spoke through gritted teeth, his face burning with anger.

“No, I won't… Unless you want that little tape from the bottom drawer of your desk to go public,” you gave him a cocky smirk. “You're so old fashioned Mr. President, still using a video camera to capture your little shenanigans…”

Coriolanus's mouth flew open at your statement. He felt a deep shade of red filling his cheeks.

“That's… That's impossible, I know for sure that it's still there.”

“Oh Coryo,” you gave him a pitying look. 

“I had so much fun watching it. Your slender fingers pushing a dildo up your tight, little hole like the pathetic little slut you are. All those lovely moans and whimpers coming from your mouth. I couldn't resist and made a copy. I know, I know, a little invasive, but since you were moaning my name the whole time…”

Coryo's eyes widened. He was now fighting for his life like a trapped animal.

“I will make you disappear before you even manage to leave this building!”

“Oh, don't worry, I figured that much. So I made a few more and gave them to people that are true patriots and trust their President. Unless I disappear. That might undermine their patriotism and who knows, your little video might go live before you even blink, Mr. President.”

Coryo looked so shook that you almost felt sorry for him. Maybe he deserved a little treat. You spread your legs just enough for him to see that you had no panties on.

Coryo's pupils dilated. You could see a wild mix of anger, humiliation and pure lust in his eyes.

“You're a terrible person,” he muttered, not being able to take his eyes off your delicious pussy.

“I guess we could say I’m learning from the best,” you chuckled and jumped off the table.

“We can still settle this like adults. But you'll have to behave.”

“I will,” Coryo nodded frantically. “What do you want? Money? A higher position?”

“I want you to take me out on a date.”

“W-what?” Coryo's face radiated pure despair.

“Are you out of your mind? I'm a married man AND the President of Panem! It would be a scandal!”

“A bigger scandal than your little tape going public? Imagine the unsuspecting citizens of Panem seeing their ruthless President bouncing up and down on a pink dildo whining and panting like a little whore…”

Coryo flinched at the thought. That sounded like his worst nightmare. He took a deep breath and swallowed thickly.

“Alright, we can have a date in my mansion. I will send a limo to pick you up tomorrow night.”

“Good boy!” You caressed his flushed cheek. Coryo leaned into your touch, feeling himself getting hard at your little praise. He crossed his legs instinctively making you giggle at his struggles. Who knew the President of Panem would find so much joy in getting humiliated by his own secretary.

***

The limo arrived to pick you up as promised. You were wearing a little black dress and high heels for your President. You had to look good while turning him into your personal sex doll.

Poor first lady had been sent away for a picturesque weekend in the countryside, Coryo had only his most trusted servants at the mansion. He couldn't let any rumors start.

You entered his lavish dining room, the lights were dimmed and the table was set. Coryo got up from the table to offer you a chair.

“You look gorgeous,” he tried to be as smooth as possible knowing full well his reputation was hanging by a thread and you keeping your mouth shut was the only way to save it.

You didn't reply. Just sat down at the table and started your meal. Coryo tried to keep it cool, yet he looked anxious and impatient.

He wondered if this would be enough for you to stop blackmailing him. But most of all he wanted to know if he's gonna get that sweet taste of humiliation again. But you were just keeping a casual conversation and that slowly drove him mad.

Finally you got up and walked around the table noticing a prominent bulge in Coryo's pants. You smirked and tilted up his chin.

“Now show me your cock, I wanna hear those pathetic little moans of yours.”

Coryo rushed to follow your command, pulling out his dick and starting to jerk off frantically. You bit your lip at the sight, his cock was long and handsome, it looked even better than you remembered from the video.

“Fuck, you're so beautiful!” he let out a series of desperate moans, watching you through half closed eyelids.

“I-I want to fuck you so badly.”

You let out a little laugh, enjoying his despair.

“You’ll have to do better than that, baby. Now stop!”

Coryo made a few more strokes before letting his cock out of his hand after you gave him a stern look. He had no choice but to obey. You both loved that.

He watched you as you pulled up your dress, revealing your bare cunt. You were not wearing any panties again, just a pair black stockings and matching garter belt. Coryo let out a soft whine at the sight, he needed to touch you so badly.

“Such a needy boy, huh,” you teased him, slowly straddling his thighs. Your dripping wet pussy was just mere centimeters from the leaking tip of his achingly hard cock.

“Beg for it!” You instructed.

“P-please I need…” he begged, his voice shaking and pleading.

“Need what? Use your words, doll,” you smirked at the thought that you were the one calling him doll now.

“I need to fuck you, please!”

“You need it because,” you said slowly.

“Because you are…”

“Because I'm a slut,” he whispered. “I'm a pathetic slut and I need you.”

You gave Coryo a flirty smile and slowly lowered yourself, sinking his hard cock inside your warm, wet pussy, causing him to let out a deep groan of relief.

You started fucking yourself on his cock relentlessly, realizing you both were already so close from the teasing alone.

He was filling you up so nicely as you kept riding him, clutching at the lapel of his jacket and enjoying the way he was looking up at you, his baby blue eyes full of adoration. He looked so pretty and pliant.

You grabbed a fistful of his platinum blonde hair and pulled his head against your chest, feeling his hot breath on your hard nipples as they were poking through the thin fabric of your black dress.

“Fuck, this feels good, your cunt feels like heaven,” Coryo whispered blissfully, caressing your thighs as you kept riding him.

“You have a nice dick, Mr. President,” you murmured as you kept bouncing up and down enjoying the feeling of his rock hard member stretching out your walls.

Coryo smiled at your praise, feeling his climax approaching as his cock twitched inside your tight cunt, causing you to let out a soft moan.

“Fuck, Coryo!” You smashed your lips against his in a wild kiss as you came hard on his cock, your pussy clenching around it in a tight grip.

The feeling of your tightness brought Coryo over the edge and you felt a hot, thick load of cum shooting up against your velvety walls, Coryo moaning and panting against your lips.

“You did pretty good, Mr. President!” You winked at him, climbing off his lap. You could see his nostrils flare as he noticed a small stream of cum dripping down your inner thigh.

“W-what about the tape?” He shouted after you as you were walking towards the door.

You let out a small laugh and glanced at him over your shoulder.

“Oh, the tape. I never copied it.”

[silverdragonreads]

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: James Bond (Craig Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: James Bond/Q Characters: James Bond, Q (James Bond), Female M (James Bond), Bill Tanner, Eve Moneypenny, Raoul Silva Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Demons, Not everyone is a demon but everyone knows they exist, demon!Q, flagrant misuse of curses plagues and other demonic capacities, Blood, Danger Kink, Rough Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, slightly offensive religious jokes, Canon-Typical Violence, BAMF Q, BAMF M, Slightly canon compliant if canon had a demon tossed into it, During Skyfall, 00Q Festival 2017, Complete Summary:

In the wake of the attack on MI6, M is ordered to clean house and strengthen her organization - so she goes and hires a demon. Demons are territorial, possessive, and this one also has some impressive technological skills. Many people in MI6 are against it. A demon for a Quartermaster?? Those opposed have one hope: James Bond. 007 has killed demons before - even a Duke of Hell. And now he's coming home...

No one is sure what will happen, but one thing is for sure: MI6 is about to become a hellishly interesting place...

[goldensunset]

if you’ve never played a pokémon game you’re missing out on the insane things npcs will say to you unprompted. like you’ll be walking down a path and a total stranger will see you and immediately run up to you and trap you in place and say something like ‘the divorce is getting rough but me and my pokémon are getting tough!’ and then start a battle and after you beat their single rat they’ll be like ‘i wasn’t worthy of her…’ or something

[tio-trile]

Finally did the WrightWorth sketch session with Zeet Studio! (Just in time for Valentine's Day!) This was so fun, I had a huge grin on my face the entire time

[rca-ryzies-ralley]

I think everyone should take note of the storytelling in the Ithaca premiere during luck runs out

[aizenat]

I’m all caught up and wow. I can’t wait for the next chapter! Just a few more weeks until day 0: the day Ritsu says I love you!

[newttxt]

my may fanart for fanfic is from

morning dew by zhelaniye

i loved the writing style from the very first paragraph, and the balance of hope and melancholy that they give law is perfect to me!! plus its cute to see the crew watch law fall hard

[cryptixotic]

𝙶𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚜 🐎🐎🐎

Fully illustrated board and rule book for a board game, directly inspired by Wrong Organ's Mouthwashing !

• Want to print your own ? Follow the link in the comments, and get all the files on my Kofi for the unbeatable price of (at least) 3 bucks !

This game can and will break friendships and i will not take any accountability for it - if you love your friends play the ludo variant.

[four-fucking-pixels]

Work in Progress Part III

After getting the object in mind, I tried thinking on how to implement people in. Many of my friends and family were not too keen to showing their faces, so we settled on showing anything from under the neck. The main subjects were always going to be what was in front of them and I wanted to try and have people assume what kind of person these people are based on what hobbies they had in their hands rather than by their faces.

ISO 200 || f/4.8 || 1/250

ISO 100 || f/4.5 || 1/200

ISO 100 || f/5.6 || 1/100

[elodieunderglass]

And one amang, an Iyrysch man,

Uppone his hoby swyftly ran…

WAIT HANG ON - slamming the brakes on drawing this stupid picture - do you nerds even KNOW the etymology of the word “hobby”? The thing you do for pleasure? The thing you have too many of? The thing you spend too much money on and share with your friends? The thing tumblr probably is to you? Those hobbies?

It comes from a now-kind-of-extinct breed of Irish pony-horse. It was called the Irish Hobby. Supposedly the hobby got its name from the Gaelic word obann, or swift. They definitely were. They’d obann your pants clean off.

Fast tough little bastards, built for rough terrain and renowned for their speed and stamina, hobby horses belonged to the Celts, and their highly annoying style of mounted warfare. but their conquerors liked hobby horses a lot, kept them, used them for themselves, and found them useful enough, despite the fact that they also had famously useful things like mounted knights or horse archers. A lightweight Irish warrior, mounted on a hobby horse, was called a hobelar.

Reportedly and in depictions, hobelars rode without stirrups. Or saddles. Or bridles. Or - well - this is all sounding very improbable, because the hobelars COULDNT have just been charging around basically bare-assed on naked ponies, screaming, and somehow in the process undoing the composure of actual mounted armoured knights. Knights who, I remind you, had stirrups. Stirrups are useful! It’s quite likely the hobelars had some gear. And clothes. and weapons. And the ponies probably had some tack - I am picturing a bellyband that you could at least hang a saddlebag on, and a neck rope for catching the bloody thing, even if not a saddle. But the overall impression, somehow created by people on darling little ponies, was apparently quite striking and fearful.

I mean. God Forbid People Have Hobbies.

Anyway after a while, whatever people became the British had eventually conquered all of the rough terrain that hobbies were best at, and horse archers just got sexier, and mounted knights became aristos, and all the bog and forest people had been subdued, so it was time to sunset the hobelars. but WAIT! Hobby horses are still tremendously fun and appealing! They’re so fast! and you can ride them without a saddle! Sure, they’re not up to the weight of a mounted knight, or indeed a lot of guys… but surely we can still find a use for a hobby or two? In the back garden? Somewhere?

At which point an English king decided to keep hobby horses just for fun. No military application. No further development of the technology. Not for fun. Just as expensive, pleasurable, pets. Just for the joy of the thing.

And that is how hobby (activity done purely for pleasure) comes from hobby horse (small horse) possibly from obann (swift.) they’re very interesting and you should look all this up for yourself! because it sure sounds like Elodie doing a bit, doesn’t it?

Today, Irish Hobbies are functionally nonexistent. References for drawing include the Kerry Bog Pony, the Connemara, and (I personally think) Dartmoors and Exmoors. They’re said to have lent their speed to the Irish Hunter/Sport Horse and from there to the Thoroughbred, but every damn horse in the world claims relation to the Thoroughbred, and they can’t be THAT thoroughly bred.

At any rate - you can never have enough hobbies. Just be glad that yours aren’t expensive beasts with minds of their own, eating their heads off in the pasture! …Unless they are. In which case, you’re part of a proud tradition.

[keferon]

Random thought

Prowl: Aaand this is where I usually live

Jazz: Oooaah cool cool coo…….

Prowl: Is something wrong?

Jazz: IS THAT A PTERODACTYL???

Prowl: Her name is Green. She’s a good girl and well behaved don’t worry

Jazz, being actually smaller than Green: I fucking hope she is……….

[wrydd]

i finally started rewatching black sails and when captain hume said "tell me something, mr. guthrie. do you have gossip here? ... i've often wondered if it can survive in so remote a location. you see, gossip is what holds civilization together. it reinforces shame. and without shame, well, the world is a very dangerous place." with flint in the room, i lost it a little.

[scrunggly]

One of you reblogged this post and, man—preach. So, at the risk of more greyscale throes of passion redundancy, here we go. To be honest, greyscale throes of passion is becoming my modus operandi atp.. I hope to finish a WIP or make a new rendered piece soon here. Been a bit busy lately. Stick around.

[vitikka]

New Arthur Lester outfit just dropped and a new friend

Close ups under the cut