#excuse me for this ty

[hoppingonjim]

Venturing- Holland March

summary: with a suddenly boring sex life, holland decides to spice it up with anal!

cw: i forgot about the cast first of all. other than that there's anal, lube, afab!reader, cum kink (?) , mocking/degrading it's very soft, teasing, spanking, praising and implied that holland eats the reader out after. (not the ass!!!)

all of it had begun with a quick tap to your ass. the newspaper consumed you that morning and the detective could feel jealousy writhe within him. a heart pierced and a cock needy. o forgetting the suppleness of your curves and flesh. all of it had begun when he slammed himself with the realization he couldn’t withdraw from the sweet saccharine of your pleasure.

boredom had seeped through the gates of your relationship. the moat once shielding you two from sighs and wandering eyes suddenly blunt. level to the ground. making love to you, although ravishing, had become routine. holland was never a man for routines and he expected you to be educated on that matter.

experimental. the word thrilled him as his eyes ventured towards the curvature of your clothed ass. hips protected by cheaply sewn denim with embroidered silver pockets. the swirls stamped his mind and served his cock with ideas. the routine of slamming himself into you, reeling in your mewls and screams, all of it remained exciting. your tightness never faltered for his cock. the warmth and compactness of your pussy satisfying as ever to the detective. change was needed to keep staleness only something out of an imagination.

magazines fell into his possession. hot pink words plastered on creamy paper, educating him on expeditions to embark on in the seclusion of his bedroom. your bedroom. ideas sprung into his mind, a hand falling to relieve the sudden spring in his crotch. was this it? had he finally found the cure to boredom?

the bedroom that night became a jungle. the adventure he’d partake in new territory for you and him. again, he’d be stealing your virginity for his own possession. the way he liked it.

all these ideas came into conversation when you were lulled by humming in his arms. the melancholic tattoo adorning his hand becoming a tracer for the daintiness of your fingertip. the voice speaking was one that climbed towards persuasive, falling into its clutz shape. with a politician's lip he articulated his desires. the blandness of your intimacy was dulling him. there needed to be a liveliness again, he recommended. for him the apex of the discussion drew when you could nod your head, eyes directing him to the nightstand. carefully placing you aside, he'd reach for the silver curved handle, pulling it out softly. the contents inside were enough to satisfy him, a hand proudly obtaining the lube. the pop of the cap rang throughout the room and a cheeky grin was thrown your way. you could've swooned.

crawling towards him from your once fetal position, your fingers curled over the hem of his sweatpants. only a tug would suffice to bring the thick cloth to the root of his leg. which, he'd kick away to the floor below. it the span of seconds you were able to note how the topic of anal aroused him already- you two had barely even begun. the only starting point was him holding the lube mischievously in his fingers.

the world seemed to halt when he witnessed you slide down your thick white gown. the milky fabric slinking off to collet in the swamp of clothing beneath. the breath he needed was lodged in his throat, his hardness speaking speeches for him. upon seeing him desperate your tongue would swipe over your bottom lip. wetting the once dry surface, eyes stayed pasted to him.

the squirting of the bottle lingered in the room. the nodding of his head escorting you to arrange on all fours. there was no thong blocking his view nor a bra to hold your breasts, it was a sight he knew would play in his mind for ages. you, so obedient, patiently exposing yourself to him. waiting. surely in agony- at least he hoped so. his hand adorned his cock in strokes, applying the slick substance. the leftover liquid on his fingertips was used for another purpose, you. his index finger, oiled in lube, traced your puckered asshole. the timid hole he was so excited to ruin.

“can you handle it, princess? me inside your ass?”

you can only answer with a nod.

the position you're in remains too upright for his liking. a hand swoops down, slamming your back flat (as flat as it could go), relishing in new arch your stature provides, with your pussy glistening in need, he can only put those thoughts on the backburner in his mind, “looks like you like the idea a lot, huh baby?”

with a grip jailing your hips, he works to prevent tiring squirming. your wiggling, although arousing, would chip away his concentration. indentations of fingernails were already littered deep into your gentle skin as his free hand circled his tip over your asshole. it's annoying, the tedium lurking in his actions. the all knowing grin you can hear through his little tsks.

but your jaw drops when you finally can feel his tip inside of you. a groan erupts from his lips within seconds. you're tight, clenching around his hard cock, “how's it feel, princess? can i keep going?”

“y-yeah.” your words are chopped and thrown out. loops swarm your head as you already feel dazed with the new sensation. a quarter filled with cock, and half full of lube, you're already aching for more. the assurance you gift is brought with a seemingly pauperized nod.

more of him is slid inside of you. his thrusts are choppy, the groans mirroring the ruggedness. your tightness isn't comparable to your pussy, it's beyond that. the sensations already begin to seclude him. losing himself in your clenched ass, his thrusts grow harder. pleasure conceives restless strings of rubble groans. savagely he makes sure you feel all of him. the pain transcends into something enjoyable, at least for you. the adventure of a puckered entrance seeps into your own conscience. finally you can understand the craze. the mad man behind you bottoms himself out, heavy balls slapping your weeping slit below. each time moans slide from your lips. whines follow when he pulls himself out- he teases you, “you need it baby? beg for it sweetie, c'mon.” and like the good girl you are, you oblige. obliging means he slams himself into you again. ramming his cock as far as he can in pure desperation. sweat drips from his dusted gold tresses that grow tousled with every energized plunge. his words harmonize a sweet melody for you, having your edge creep closer and closer. in the frenzy, the hand keeping your back down migrates to land a coarse blow onto your ass.

a squeal rips from your mouth. the smirk tugging his lips only stretches, “yeah? does my dirty girl like that? fuckin nasty, say it. you love me spanking you.” his demands reign true.

“fuck yeah, holland, keep spanking me- please . need it, need you so bad-” you're cut off by another smack. the print plastered on your ass screams in rouge while the abdomen of his fingers scream in slight pain. your words only egg him on further. the animalistic thrusts only grow increasingly coarse, you feel his fat cock twitch in your ass. it's too much, for both of you. another thrust, your eyes squeeze shut. your pussy welcomes another wreck of his balls, hitting your sopping hole hard.

it's only a few more seconds until you can feel his hot load shoot into you. just not the familiar way. your own release follows suit and of course holland notices. the cracked moans you mewl, the way your body flinches and almost falls limp. yet once he pulls out, you finally give in to complete limpness. he's slow in his movements, eyes glued to the way his cum leaks from the security of your forbidden hole. proudly, he still watches. his chest puffed outwards in complete confidence. the mattress sucks him in once he decides to fall beside you, tapping your ass for good measure. except the tap is soft and gentle.

“how was that baby, i can clean you up, if you want.” the scorching thought of his mouth lapping up your own cum, swallowing it all, is one that pleases you.

again, you give him a nod. the words are too late to arrive.

“i'll go gentle sweetheart, i promise.”

[mothssoup]

shhhh theyr eepy…

[retquits]

a quick post-timeskip sylvain for a friend 💕

[rebisrot]

maybe Hoody/Brian reading a book?

I go back to school tomorrow morning and I'm losing my mind

my hot take of the day is that brian would like the catcher in the rye

[reegis]

whod you kill died and made you king

commission for @bird-brainz

[artaintfart]

The last of those ship requests (or most of them) from b4 my arm temporarily died LOL!!

Whitestorm/tigerstar I for @violentshine

Whitestorm/lionheart for anon

Nightheart/blazefire for @rollysoly

Sunbeam/bayshine for @quiverpaw

Reedwhisker/brambleclaw for @justweirdassfan

[wikitpowers]

the idea that ty might give kit the blackthorn necklace while he keeps the herondale one makes me so giddy,,, like imagine they get tangled up while kit and ty are kissing my GOD

[batsplat]

hello i saw in your tags that you don't think people on here get casey stoner and as someone relatively new into the sport i would love to hear your thoughts <3

(context here) okay first of all, this post will be framed as ‘things I wish people talked about more with regards to casey stoner’, rather than arguing against what I think people think

I've tried to come up with a concise response to this ask but kept heading into thesis-length territory. so I decided to write a bullet point list and it’s still… yeah… but well it could be worse. if you, dear anon, wish to read thousands of words of casey stoner lore then please let me know. otherwise, here are just a few things I find interesting about this bloke:

casey has a very complex relationship with the concept of confidence, both in other riders and himself, in the sense that he KNOWS how important it is but also believes/wishes that he specifically is kinda above all that

this feeds into how he wishes that racing were Just Racing and not all this other stuff… not his brain not his body not other racers being assholes on/off track not talking to journalists or doing photoshoots not having to deal with politics etc etc - central underlying tension of his career

he has openly spoken about not ever really enjoying race day, saying the only thing he's missed after retiring is qualifying. very perfectionist, the anxiety, the over-thinking, craving control… all key casey traits

(which also ties in with the valentino rivalry, because valentino obviously adores racing (in particular wheel-to-wheel battle) but he’s also great at all that other off-track stuff)

some very rigid ideas of How The Sport Should Look, which you can see in everything from how he talks about racing standards to the introduction of CRT riders (he had it OUT for them, head hot every time aleix espargaro shows up in parc fermé) to valentino’s influence on ducati and the importance of the colour red

let him have his mean streak! the grim satisfaction in discussing jorge’s 2008 injuries after his early-season arrogance towards casey, the dismissiveness towards dani, some of the wilder valentino remarks (this isn’t a criticism to be clear, alien-on-alien violence is part of the natural order of things)

casey is a classic case of ‘just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they aren’t after you’. definitely a suspicious guy and perpetual underdog 'me against the world' mindset. not to get too psychoanalytic-y, but I reckon this was partly born out of how he had to leave australia as a teenager (with his family completely dependent on him succeeding) because of how the racing establishment down under fucked him over

they definitely were out to get him a lot of the time, cf yamaha and then ducati drama plus the slander from some of the greats of the sport, fellow riders, the media etc etc (particularly egregious in 2009 when he was dealing with his mystery illness and a lot of people said some pretty unpleasant stuff in his absence - here is just one example)

his struggles were constantly downplayed. the chronic fatigue misdiagnosed as lactose intolerance led to people calling him weak-minded, broken, running away from the sport (part of why he was so allergic to the idea his results might in any way be connected to what was going on in his head). add in the undiagnosed anxiety and you have all this invisible strife people wouldn't even take seriously

that being said, he definitely did have a propensity for jumping to the worst possible conclusions

two specific examples: firstly from his autobiography, where he makes the claim that valentino may have been sabotaged in the 2006 title decider and was deliberately given a rubbish tyre to make him lose the championship - to which casey’s response was: “welcome to my world, mate”. he does have a tendency to believe he’s being sabotaged, and is constantly on the look out for conspiracies even when they are… unlikely

the other example is mat oxley talking about his issues with casey in his stint working for ducati, partly based on a misunderstanding:

something allegedly written about him in 2001!

let’s just say he can definitely hold a grudge

the moaner stoner stuff was definitely nasty, calling him mopey and whiny and all of that, but he also has never shied away from some good old-fashioned complaining (some of this was a bit of a spiral - complaining for good reason worsening public perception of him leading to more reasons to complain)

see also the lingering marc grudge, who probably did play a significant part in getting casey kicked out of honda (as casey has accused him of). whether marquez prevented stoner from racing in 2015 is more of an open question. casey still speaks about how honda made a mistake by only listening to marc (which, again, does have some truth to it)

casey was always very quick to shut down the idea that momentum, motivation, confidence etc could affect his results (unlike that of his competitors) because he argues he was always very rational & clear-sighted about when things were his fault & when things could be blamed on the bike + extraneous factors. he really goes into detail about this when discussing 2008 laguna seca in his autobiography, which he argues had no effect on him psychologically (but was followed by him crashing out of the lead of the next two races)

has definitely spoken more about his rivalry with valentino than valentino has, which probably has also helped shape perception of it over time

on ‘ambition outweighed talent’ - I feel like people almost understate just what a (hilariously) out of pocket remark it was in context. it was rossi’s second ever race at ducati (and the start of his season was impacted by his shoulder issues) - and the rain meant he had a ~win it or bin it~ approach because he knew it was as good a chance as he might get for some time (despite starting from 12th). the move on stoner for second place was at best optimistic, most definitely impatient and at worst foolish - but sort of understandable in that situation, rossi was definitely rapid, and this stuff can happen in the wet. in that sense, it was obviously more a reaction to the manner of the apology (and his frustration with the stewards) than to what casey himself described as a racing incident

stoner made a remark in his autobiography about how rossi had stolen 25 points in a title battle he was never going to be a part of (oof). whether you're obligated to race title contenders differently is already a bit sketch but certainly should not be a consideration for anybody in round TWO

he was forced to publicly retract the remarks, though he doubled down on them to a deeply funny extent in his autobiography by suggesting they were true of valentino’s entire career and that he’d just benefited from a weak era. rossi mostly took it on the chin especially when interviewed about it for documentaries, probably because with something like that you do just need to take the L

it's understandable how it’s become such a defining image of their rivalry (along with laguna seca), not least because of how evocative the whole thing is - rossi showing up still wearing his helmet, trying to make a PR apology stick while he’s been eating nauseating amounts of humble pie at ducati; stoner casual as you like, pissed off about the points loss while still indulging in schadenfreude about how the Great Big Ducati Adventure is working out for rossi

but again, I think it’s funnier because of just HOW over the top an insult it was in that situation (and more broadly how it does have a different vibe to their interactions when they were meaningfully competing, aka 2007-2008)

in conclusion: casey has his doubts and his insecurities and his obsessions and his foibles… a complicated guy in his own right

and a big thing I’d like to stress here is that the rivalry with valentino does benefit from treating them both as somewhat unreliable narrators

I just think he's neat

[hungryhungry-himbo]

Does Vince know he’s caked tf up??

Now that you mention it…

[m-kyunie]

Summerboy [Lady Gaga]

[comradekatara]

zuko oedpius complex azula electra complex sokka martyr complex (cassandra) yue martyr complex (ophelia) katara savior complex aang jonah complex toph napoleon complex mai medusa complex jet phaeton complex iroh icarus complex ozai god complex. and there you go. proof that i’ve never needed to take a single psych class ever

[hoppingonjim]

ACTION ! - holland march + jackson healy x reader

summary: holland cannot resist but record you getting eaten out by mr healy.

cw: oral (f receiving), afab!reader, mention of thickness around thighs, recording, cuck?? idk holland likes watching you be a mess, 3some somewhat, aspects of dom&sub. dom!jackson healy. dom!holland march. sub!reader. mocking/degrading kink.

༺♡︎༻

his recording is driving you mad.

ever since his partner had been finding his way around your body with his tongue, he couldn't hit the stop button. for some reason, a reason he couldn't quite explain, it was incredibly sexy to watch you lose all control under someone else. especially jackson.

the brunette is forcing stars upon you with the way he thrusts his tongue in and out of your weeping pussy. with heavy eyelids you attempt to keep your gaze on the enforcer but it proves to be too difficult. lacking will-power, you allow your head to fall back. letting him have total control of over you. until soft fingers gripped your cheeks, imprinting on them before tugging your head to view jackson once again, “c'mon baby, don't you wanna watch what he's doing to you?”

aged fingers explore the gentleness of your thighs. clawing the supple skin and tugging, kneading the dough coarsely. the way you're rutting your hips like an animal in heat so desperately against his gaping mouth is enough for his cock to bulge against his jeans. aching to be touched.

keeping your eyes open for the working man is tough, but your real man eyes you as prey, ensuring your eyes don't close unless you're blinking. the sensations being thrown upon you are too much. with quivering legs and a weeping clit, you can feel your high wave close. the camera lingers in front of your face and hypnotizes you. the consistent flash kissing your irises only adds to the sudden sensations. jackson isn't letting up, his tongue reaching desperately for whatever he can. hopefully your g-spot. the thrusts he blows inside of your sopping slit are enough to already make you cum. but holland's above you, tauntingly peering down and devouring the helpless sight below him. licking his lips he encourages you to hold out longer. let jackson work some more of his magic.

except jackson's hands grow savage. nails dig into your hips and mark his terriorty on the thickness of your thighs. crescents littering your once chaste skin. the way his tongue abuses your clit suddenly is too much. it's all an overkill. your legs quiver as you let go, cumming hard and heavy for the muscle man beneath you.

“fuck, fuck yeah.. damn baby, keep fucking moaning oh fuck yeah, fuck you sound so pretty..” complementing his words is the slender movements of his fingers caressing your cheeks. his thumb moves to swipe the deserted strands of hair away from your dazzling eyes. like a hawk observing prey, narrowed eyes never fall from your sight. to him the melodic sounds pouring through your lips in the form of helpless cries. the mascara once twirling your lashes is suddenly clumping around the thin hairs. collecting around the waterline and smudging towards your undereye. there's no prettier sight in holland's eyes and he feels a need to point the camera obnoxiously into your face. your messy face.

lapping up all of your sweet cum, jackson pulls away with a hefty sigh, a curiosity twinkles in his eye as he stares at his associate, “so.. do i get to feel her for real now? i think she wants that, huh princess? you want that?” so badly you do. the man is strong, similar to your holland, but this one is rough. he's not suave. leather and brass share his stature, fighting over their own sections.

it's not completely your decision though. and that's the way you like it.

holland is only able to shake his head. within seconds he's ushering his, friend, out the door. towards the door. then out the door.

“think i want my girl to myself now jackson, uh buh bye .”

suddenly, hands fall down to his belt buckle. game on.

[princesseevee06]

hii eeveee this is unrelated to anything ever but the other day got me curious on who Your favourite character in pmmm was? 👁️ for funsies‼️

these two creatures

[red-flagging]

💛 seb/lewis :-)

(kiss fic prompts!)

a little epilogue to rabbits are chasing :)

Lewis's flight lands at 8:02PM, which means that by 7:31PM, Seb is parked outside the airport arrivals door, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel and scanning the sky for approaching planes.

It's quite silly, getting here so early, but it's not as if there's much left to do at home. There's roast vegetables waiting in the oven, the cauliflower steaks that he started marinating earlier this morning chilling in the fridge. Mina and Ellie are safely ensconced in their duck coop with the heater turned on for the night. The sheets on the guest bed are freshly washed.

The car parked behind him starts up. Its headlights illuminate Seb's cabin. For a moment, he catches a glimpse of himself, harried and too-bright, in the rearview mirror. He scrubs his hands down his face. Christ. Get it together, Sebastian. He is a full 39 years old. Far too old to be getting the same jitters that he did the first time he invited a girl over at age 17, agonizing about what album to have playing when they came back to his room. Lewis is far too old for Seb to be doing all this. Lewis might not even be gay.

His phone buzzes. Seb nearly jumps out of his seat.

Lewis

just landed

getting my luggage now

hows it so freaking cold here

The inside of the car is already fogging up. When he'd asked Lewis to send dates he could come visit and Lewis had said just so you know the next few months are kind of crazy for me, Seb had expected late fall, maybe the holidays. Not the middle of slush season, when all the roads up the mountain have a 50/50 chance of being so muddy that they're undriveable.

Sebastian

I'm outside, in the blue Infiniti :)

He glances back up at himself in the mirror. The scab from where a wood chip caught the corner of his eyebrow while he was sanding the new planter box is almost healed over. His hair looks as good as it's ever going to. If Lewis asks whether he's been using conditioner, he's fucked.

It shouldn't feel like this. Seb beat Lewis to Senna's record, and Lewis still laughed at all his jokes the next season. Lewis watched Seb DNF twice in five races and still said in the media pen that he was waiting for the day Seb would be back up on the podium with him. When they inevitably auction off Lewis's Le Mans racesuit, it'll have to be with Seb's snot all over the front of it, because Lewis let Seb sob all over him and then laughed as he wiped sweat off of Seb's cheek with the sleeve. After all that – the fact that he's about to be in Seb's house for the next week shouldn't make Seb feel like he's standing in front of Lewis naked, without even the promise of a fast car or a good competition to distract Lewis from looking right at him.

His phone buzzes again.

Lewis

outside i think

Seb peers through the windscreen. Lewis – or rather, the blurry figure lugging a giant suitcase behind him that he assumes is Lewis – waves at him from the sidewalk. Seb flashes his lights at him twice.

The back door opens and Lewis's head, along with a burst of cold night air, pops in. "Hey," he says, a little breathlessly. "I don't think this is going to fit in the back."

It does, eventually, but not without a fight that involves Seb having to climb into the trunk alongside Lewis's suitcase and physically wrestle it into place while Lewis shoves from behind. They're both out of breath by the time they finally climb back in the front and slam the doors shut.

"You know, there are beds at the farm," Seb points out. "You didn't have to pack your own."

Lewis shakes his head, tugging off his gloves. His coat collar is turned up around his neck. He's wearing an an ear warmer headband, held in place by two butterfly pins. Every other bit of uncovered skin is pink, even with the heat in the car up at full blast. Lewis shoves his fingers in front of the vents and sighs with relief, closing his eyes. "Ugh, thank God," he says. He sounds exhausted. "Listen, you're lucky I fit everything into one." It sounds far less like a joke than Seb would hope. The fact that the fondness in Seb's chest still manages to outweigh the exasperation is probably a sign that Seb's beyond salvation.

"Next time I'll bring a trailer so you can fit your bathtub and toilet, too," he says, reaching for the keys. The engine purrs to life as he flicks the lights back on, then leans forward to scrub the worst of the fog off the windscreen. The thermometer on the dash says it's still 3 degrees outside. They might still be able to make it back before the slush freezes over. "Okay," he says, sitting back down and twisting around to reach for his seatbelt. "Ready to go?"

Lewis doesn't say anything. When Seb looks over, he's staring out the front window, playing with one of his rings.

"Lewis?" Seb asks.

Lewis's head jerks around. "Hm?" he says. "Oh. Yeah." He doesn't move to put on his seatbelt.

Seb frowns. Kills the engine so he can properly turn in his seat. "Lewis," he says. "Is everything –"

Lewis leans across the console and kisses him.

It's barely half a second. Seb still hasn't moved by the time Lewis sits back down on his side of the car.

"Uh," Lewis says, after a second. He clears his throat. "Sorry. I just – Shit. Sorry. The whole way over, all I could think about was – I had to get it over with before I chickened out."

He's fiddling with his rings again, but his eyes stay fixed on Seb's. His jaw is set. He still looks half-ready to bolt through the door behind him, out into the night.

"Well, you don't have to make it sound like taking your medicine, Christ," Seb says hoarsely, and drags Lewis back across the console to kiss him properly.

Lewis's lips are still cold. When Seb opens his mouth, Lewis sighs, pressing in closer with a soft sound that makes Seb want to go twenty years back in time and kick himself for not figuring out how to make Lewis make that noise sooner. His hands settle on Seb's wrists, holding him in place. Seb slides his own hands up, cradling the back of Lewis's head, to return the favor.

When he finally pulls away just far enough to catch his breath, Lewis follows him, close enough that their noses bump. His eyes are wide. This close up, Seb can see the dark circles under them more clearly.

He closes his eyes. Lewis is still there when he opens them.

"How long have you been awake?" he asks.

Lewis blinks. "What," he says. "Are you talking about."

"Sleep deprivation," Seb says. His heart is pounding hard enough that he feels it in his throat. "People start to get delirious when they're tired enough –"

"I was awake for 24 hours and I didn't kiss you at the end," Lewis interrupts, his eyes sharp and bright. "I'm not making the same mistake twice."

Seb opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He tries again. Still nothing.

"Fuck," he says, closing his eyes. "Okay. Okay." He drags himself back upright and reaches for the keys. "We can – tomorrow. But we should – you need to shower. And sleep." Lewis's hand settles on his leg. Seb rests his own on top of it; after a second, he squeezes Lewis's fingers gently. Lewis flips his hand over and laces their fingers together.

"Yeah," Lewis says. His thumb traces over Seb's knuckles. "That – tomorrow sounds good."

The slush crackles under the tires when Seb starts to move. Ahead of them, the headlights carve a path through the darkness. Lewis's hand is a solid, steady weight against his leg. "Okay," Seb says, to himself, to both of them, to no one. Lewis hums softly from his side of the car. He squeezes Seb's knee gently.

Seb closes his eyes for a second. "Okay," he says quietly. "Yeah. Let's go home."

[rose-madder-gaze]

Ravus for @deducitetemporacarmen!

[reegis]

Can you draw Regis and Raphaella doing some chemistry shit? Or lyf and Marcus? I love your art!

teaching her how to make his famous mandrake booze