#yes we still watch documentaries

[spoofyleaf]

Mom was right, we will find people who get us.

[everythingsbetterunderthestars]

Help for some reason my brain decided to have tons of fanfiction ideas except I literally DO NOT HAVE THE TIME to write them at this point in my life so for now I’m just playing them out in my head 24/7 waiting for the holidays to come so I can start up on at least ONE project because I quite frankly CANNOT LIVE LIKE THIS ANYMORE

[piecanl]

I have a fun qTubbo backstory idea but idk how well it would tie into pre-existing lore so bare with me.

So you guys know how the French arrived by a plane (crash)? And how Tubbo has a Special Interest in aviation? And how he's good with the create mode + has asked for the create extension which adds planes?

What if he was hired as a plane engineer for the company that had the French's plane as a part of their fleet (example: if the plane belonged to AirFrance, he'd be an AirFrance engineer).

He was a one of a kind, akin to a child prodigy, a miracle for his age (at the time maybe around 17-18), a genius. However he was the one responsible for the quality checks of the navigation tools on that specific flight. Unfortunately for him, he had missed something.

As the chicken appeared on the navigation screen, there were no verbal call outs by the system, leading to the pilot's writing it off as a stray cloud instead of an object creating a collision coarse.

This lead to one of the engines, the left engine, to collide with the chicken and cause a rapid descent. The pilots, suffering from fatigue, could not react fast enough. They made many wrong inputs, and in the end when they tried to land on a flat field, they crashed with the wall of Quesadilla island. All but 5 passengers perished in the crash.

Tubbo, after being discovered as the engineer behind the system's quality check-up, was arrested and thrown into prison, as we know it: the Ice bunker. It was a very shady prison, more akin to a testing ground/a laboratory full of lab rats than an actual prison.

The treatment of the inmates was brutal and inhumane, until they all for unknown reasons were frozen over, either as a cover-up or because they had served their purpose, it was unknown.

And with that, there lied the story of Tubbo. A previous child prodigy with a bright future to a prison inmate in a questionable prison.

(I want to mention, I know at one point the Qsmp members took on an expedition to retrieve the black box of the plane, however I cannot find a clip of that so I do not know what exactly happened in the planes cockpit. If someone has a clip or can recall what it said that would be appreciated, thank you!)

[rederiswrites]

Sometimes I'm on here and y'all make posts that just make me go, "you are very young and would benefit from learning something about our culture in the last hundred years".

Yes, people are upset by trans and enby people, because their lives are entirely structured around the different roles of men and women, and the idea that men and women are fundamentally different and inherently suited to their traditional roles. Like, that shouldn't be a big realization. That was a major part of western culture until quite recently, and still is for a great many people. We attack their basic worldview by existing as ourselves. Obviously they're wrong, but that doesn't change the emotion of the situation.

Yes, conservative cis people act like marriage is a chore. For most of history, and certainly US colonial history, marriage was a social and economic necessity that created a working partnership. Attraction was certainly a hoped-for element but not strictly required, and love was a bonus, possibly even a bit suspect as a motivation. It was still like this when my grandparents married. I know couples today who are separated but married for financial reasons. We're not talking about the distant past. Marriage has been many things through the years, and "an equal partnership based on love" is a very recent iteration. Of course our culture is littered with artifacts of the older way. The older way was like...yesterday. Today.

Yes, Grandma has trouble at the grocery store checkout. When she was a kid they had rotary phones and radios, and you paid for everything with cash. She grew up in a culture that taught that childhood was for learning and adulthood was for doing, and now the world is asking her to learn a bunch of new things that basically sound like magic, and she's not even sure she can, and she's not at all sure it's an improvement (and she's got a point, though she might not know it).

There's just....a real lack of perspective. I dunno, watch some documentaries about the fifties. Read some historical novels. Go to the local Victorian house tour.

[moonlightspencie]

don't want you like a best friend

Description: James is nervous about his inexperience with girls. Luckily he has a best friend who's more than willing to help. (based on an idea formed in part by @amiableness. check out the post)

Pairing: best friend!James Potter x fem!Reader

Warnings: DESPERATE!james, inexperienced!james, blowjob (m receiving), porn with barely any plot

Word Count: 2.5k

a/n: kind of muggle!au? doesn't really matter in the context of this though lmao

You walked into James's flat, quite pleased he'd given you a key. It was much easier to bother him whenever you pleased when you could just waltz in any time.

"James!" you called out, toeing off your shoes.

"In here!" he shouted back.

You followed his voice to his room, seeing him laying on his tummy watching tv. You ran up to his bed and flopping down on it next to him. He laughed in that squeaky, joyful way he only ever seemed to do around you.

"Hi," he greeted with a cheeky smile.

"Hi," you replied with an equal grin, then glanced at the television. "What are you watching?"

"Nature documentary about penguins," he responded simply.

You glanced up at him with a quirked brow. "Why?"

"Cause I like penguins," he shrugged.

"...we need to get you a girlfriend."

He went a little quiet, prompting you to look at him again. You tilted your head.

"James?"

He chewed his lip. "I– I do kind of have a date. Tomorrow."

"What?" you exclaimed, suddenly sitting up straight. "Who? Since when?"

His cheeks went a little pink. "Sirius set it up for me."

"Oh my god! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I'm nervous!"

You chuckled softly, still in a bit of disbelief. The boy had been single for far too long in your opinion, especially considering how much girls threw themselves at him in school. He always said that it was just because he had high standards, but part of you was half-convinced he must be terrified of girls. Or commitment. Maybe both.

"I just... I can't believe it. Is she cute?"

He almost grimaced. Not a great sign.

"Uh oh," you snorted a laugh.

"It's not that she's ugly! She's... she is pretty, its just," he sighed, shrugging a little, "she's not really my type, I guess."

"At this point, I'm beginning to believe you don't have a type."

He frowned. "Hey."

"Just saying, James. You never date, and it's not for lack of girls who like you."

"I kind of have to like them back for that to work."

"You sure you're not scared of girls?" you asked with a laugh.

He chuckled a little, shaking his head. "No."

"Commitment?"

"No."

"...Sex?"

"Ugh, don't say that," he groaned, dropping his face against the mattress.

You laughed again. "Sounds like a yes. It's really not that scary."

"It's kinda scary," he mumbled against his comforter.

"James," you called quietly, resting your cheek on the mattress to look at him.

He turned his face towards you, his cheeks pink and his hair even messier than usual. His lips were slightly pouty. Frankly, it was absolutely adorable.

"Everyone but me has done it at this point. The furthest I ever got was touching a boob over clothes in fifth year."

You couldn't help but to laugh at that, causing him to whine your name in protest.

"Sorry..." you said, not all that apologetic. "It's just... cute. You get so flustered. It's really not a big deal."

"It is a big deal to me."

"Aw. I'm sorry, Jamie. I just mean that nobody's going to fault you for being inexperienced."

"They might!"

"No they won't."

"You don't know that."

"At any rate, I think it's sweet."

"But I'm not having sex with you," he argued, then snapped his mouth shut, his cheeks going even darker. "That sounds... I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," you ran a hand through his hair, and he leaned into the touch. "I just mean to say that I'm sure if I think it's sweet, other girls would also probably think it's cute."

"I'm a man. I shouldn't be cute, I should be... strong and masculine. Hot."

"You're very hot, James."

He sighed, still pouting a little.

"Put that lip away," you muttered, tapping his bottom lip.

"You're being mean."

"No, I'm not."

"You're teasing me," he pouted again.

"What? How?"

"You're very hot, James," he mocked in an overly-high-pitched voice.

You snorted a laugh. "Heaven forbid I tell my hot best friend that he is, in fact, hot."

He fell quiet for a moment. "You really think so?"

"Of course I do."

"Mm," he hummed softly, then sighed. "Why can't there be more girls like you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, smiling curiously.

"You're always so sweet to me. I just wish there were more girls who act like you, cause then I could just... do it with them and not be so worried about it."

You raised your brows, trying to hold back another laugh. "Oh, really?"

"Don't tease me."

"I'm not. Just, why don't–" you stopped abruptly.

He looked at you with wide eyes. "What?"

"If you're so worried about getting your first time over with, then why don't you just do it with me?"

He looked like he got the wind knocked out of him in that moment, blinking a few times as if he was trying to wake up from a dream. He opened his mouth a few times, though no sound came out.

"I just mean that... you said you'd do it with a girl like me, so why not me? You trust me, I know what I'm doing, you know I won't judge," you listed off some reasons. "It could work, you know?"

"Cause you're... you're my best friend."

"And?"

"And friends don't do that."

"Friends do that all the time," you replied with a shrug.

"What?" he asked, looking totally mortified.

"Friends have sex all the time."

"Since when?"

"Since forever," you chuckled a little. "I'm not saying we have to. Just putting it out there, since you're so nervous about it and all."

"I–I don't..."

"You don't have to say yes."

"I know," he nodded, looking a little uncomfortable. "It's just... I don't think I'm ready to do all of that right now."

You smile a little. "I'm not saying I'd take you to pound town right now..."

"Ugh," he groaned.

"Sorry. I just mean to say that, if you wanted to, we could start slow. Work you up to the main event."

He chewed his lip, looking away from you. You sighed softly, then stood from the bed.

"Alright. Let's go and grab a snack or something and take your mind off all this. Stop stressing so much," you said, trying to grab his arm to pull him up.

He shook his head. "Can't."

"What? Yes, you can."

"No, I can't," he emphasized, his cheeks still dark.

"Why not."

He stared at you for a moment, then whined, dropping his head into the comforter again. He mumbled something into the fabric, causing you to groan in annoyance.

"What are you saying? I can't hear you when you mumble."

"You don't understand," he said, looking at you again with a pouty face. "You're not a guy."

"What the hell is that supposed to... Oh," your eyes widened. You let out a disbelieving, delighted little giggle. "Are you–"

"Please don't talk about it. It'll make it worse," he said quickly in his whiny little voice.

"Aww. Poor baby."

"Stop it."

"Let me see."

His eyes widened comically. "What?"

"Let me see. Come on, turn over," you giggle, trying to turn him.

"Lovie, no, I..."

"Please?" you pouted, knowing he could never resist it.

He whined. "Please don't. It's embarrassing."

"It's hot."

He gulped. "...It is?"

You nodded. "Yeah. It's kind of flattering, too. The fact that I barely suggested it and you got all excited."

"It's not my fault. I just... my brain started thinking..."

"Yeah, brains tend to do that," you joked, relishing in him being all flustered. It was so unlike his usual demeanor. "Come on, Jamie. I just want to see."

He swallowed, nodding a little awkwardly before he turned onto his back. You smirked a little to yourself at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants. You sat back on the bed right next to him, glancing back at his nervous face.

"Can I touch?"

"I... I don't know."

"Just over the pants right now."

He considered it for a few moments, before taking a deep breath, nodding.

"Okay," he said quietly, his hands balling into fists.

You smiled. "Relax."

You let your hand rest on his thigh first, watching him as his eyes trailed your every move. You slowly slid up his leg, teasingly, just so you could see him sweat a little at the thought of being touched for the first time. He was generally quite confident, but somehow missed out on anything and everything intimate outside of kissing.

He sucked in a breath as you reached his hip, looking as if he could pass out.

"Hey," you said gently, trying to catch his eye. "Take a deep breath. Relax. It's supposed to feel good."

He sniffed, nodding shakily. "Y-yeah. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, Jamie. Just... relax. Okay?"

"Okay."

You let your hand move again, barely ghosting over his bulge, the tips of your fingers touching the fabric of his sweatpants. You looked up at his face. His cheeks were red, and his eyes were wide and almost glossy. His pretty, pouty lips were just barely parted as he waited in anticipation for your next move.

You lowered your hand, gripping him gently through his pants, forcing a shaky gasp through his lips. You smirked to yourself a little, stroking him through his pants.

"Feels good, huh?" you asked in a quiet voice.

He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a pathetic little moan. You chuckled at the sound, stroking him again. He was bigger than you expected him to be, but not terribly massive. His hips bucked into your hand, another soft whine coming from him.

"Aww. You like it, huh?"

He nodded, breath coming in short.

"Can I do a little more?"

"Uh..."

"I think you'll like it."

"M-maybe," he gasped out, looking utterly wrecked already.

"Can I take off your pants?"

He looked at your face again. "Huh?"

"Can I take them off? I wanna touch you," you stated simply.

He whimpered. "Um... For... for what?"

You furrowed your brow. "So I can feel you. I just want to touch your skin. It'll feel better for you, too. You touch yourself, right?"

"I... Y-yeah. Yeah, sometimes."

"And I assume you don't do it through your pants, right?" you laugh a little.

He merely swallows, nodding dumbly. "Right."

"So... Can I touch you like that? I won't do it unless you say yes."

"Oh..." he sucked in a shaky breath. "O-okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes."

You smiled, hooking your fingers in his sweatpants and underwear. "Hips up, please."

He followed your instructions easily, lifting his hips for you. You tugged everything down in one go, leaving it all pooled at his ankles on the bed. You nearly moaned yourself when you saw him, hard and leaky and ready. You traced his dick softly with your fingertips, impressed with him, and drawing another moan from his lips.

"So pretty, Jamie. Look at you."

"Don't... fuck," he gasped. "Don't say that."

"I mean it. Your cock is perfect."

He whimpered again, sounding like he could cry. You wrapped a hand around him, stroking him softly as hips bucked into your hand, soft moans and squeaks leaving him in utter desperation.

"P-please," he begged, staring at you as if you hung the stars.

"Please?"

"I... I don't know," he shook his head, his lip quivering.

"You need more?"

He sniffled, nodding quickly. "So bad. Please."

"Can I suck your cock, love?"

The sound that left his lips was utterly pornographic, his chest heaving like he'd run a marathon.

"God..."

"That's not my name, baby," you stroke him again. "I need you to say yes if this is what you want."

"Y-yes. Fuck yes," he said, his hips still shifting under you, trying to get more friction from your hand.

"So needy," you chide jokingly, moving to settle between his legs.

He whined watching you climb between his legs, nearly hyperventilating at the sight and feeling of you kissing along his stomach with your hand pushing his shirt up.

"So pretty," he groaned, stroking your hair.

You smiled against his stomach, licking nearly up to his chest just to hear him make that sound again. You kissed back down his stomach, barely ghosting over the tip of his cock at you looked back up at him.

"Ready?"

He nodded, in a trance as he watched you. You kept his eye contact as you darted your tongue out, tasting him for the first time. He practically sobbed in pleasure, pulling on your hair slightly.

"Told you it would feel good, baby," you mutter, licking from base to tip as he squirmed under your touch. "Isn't this nice?"

"Mmmm..." he nodded, chest heaving.

"Good boy," you kissed his tip.

You stared up at him, smiling to yourself at his sweet little reactions as you started stroking him. He looked so adorable totally wrecked. Like he could pass out at any moment. You couldn't help but to want more.

You wet your lips, figuring you could probably fit most of him into your mouth in one go: so you decided to give it a go. You licked him once more, then shoved his cock down your throat, letting it hit far enough to make you gag.

He shouted, gasping for air before he fell into a puddle of moans and desperate praises of your name. You pulled off of him, but only for a second before you went back down, sucking on him as if your life depended on it. It felt like it did.

He gripped the fabric of his comforter, sobbing in pleasure as his hips jutted up into your mouth. You were about to pull off to make some sly remark, when he whimpered loudly, shooting his cum down your throat. You hummed around him, swallowing everything you could despite your utter surprise that he had finished so quickly. He whined and kept his grip tight in your hair until he was done, his seed dribbling past your lips as you couldn't quite swallow everything. You weren't sure if you'd ever witnessed someone cumming so much before.

You did your best to clean him off without making him overly-sensitive, and finally pulled off.

"Mm... Holy fuck, Jamie. You cum that much every time?” You ask, chuckling a little despite being wildly aroused.

He shook his head, sweaty and still whimpering.

"Awww," you cooed softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "You okay?"

"That... that felt..."

"What?"

"Best thing ever," he managed breathily.

You laughed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he uttered, a small smile on his face as he opened his eyes. "I... you're really good at that."

"Apparently too good," you snorted.

"Maybe," he nodded, then hummed softly in pleasure. "Sorry for cumming so fast."

"It was sweet."

"It's not sweet," he shook his head.

"I think so. You're so sensitive," you kissed his cheek.

He hummed again, then sighed softly. You watched him as he took a few steadying breaths before he moved his eyes back to you. He let his eyes linger on your form for several moments, then chewed his lip. He looked up at you, clearly debating something in his mind.

Then he smiled a little.

"Can I return the favor next time?"

[rafecameronssl4t]

(for DCC!reader) Can you do something inspired by that moment in the last chapter of the documentary, where someone inappropriately touches a cheerleader? If the same thing had happened to reader, how would Rafe act? 💌

In the spotlight || nfl player!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reaader

A/n: that ep made me so sad for Sophy :( she deserved so so much better

Warnings: mentions of SA, swearing if theres anything else lmk

Word count: 1,408

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“And my phone—” Kelli starts, but Judy interrupts her, her tone urgent and filled with concern. “Somebody’s inappropriately touched Y/N, and she’s in the hallway talking to a policeman.”

Kelli freezes, absorbing the shocking news, her mind racing with a hundred thoughts. “They told me to let you know. She’s right here in the hallway,” Judy continues, her voice steady but insistent.

“Who?” Kelli asks, her heart pounding. “Y/n—” “No, who?” Kelli interrupts, her voice sharper now. “A cameraman inappropriately touched her. She’s identifying him and giving a statement to the police right here in the hallway,” Judy explains, her words rapid but clear.

Kelli immediately gets up from her seat, her legs moving before her mind fully registers the action. “Does Coach know?” she asks as they walk swiftly toward the hallway.

“Yes, he does,” Judy assures her. Kelli exhales deeply, trying to steady her nerves. As they reach the hallway, another woman approaches Kelli. “Y/n just went back out to dance,” she informs, her eyes darting toward the policeman escorting a cameraman. Kelli’s eyes narrow as she immediately assumes it was him.

“She said that while they were walking back out to start the third quarter, he touched her inappropriately. She gave her statement to the police,” the woman continues. Kelli nods, her concern for Y/N’s well-being etched on her face.

“So they’re talking to him. She asked to press charges.” “They’re what?” Kelli asks loudly, straining to hear over the loudness of the stadium. “Y/n asked the police that she wants to press charges,” the woman repeats firmly.

“She does?” “She does, so she’s back out doing her dance for the third quarter,” the woman confirms as Kelli turns to Judy, her expression troubled. “She probably shouldn’t be dancing if she’s really upset.” A policeman approaches them, looking serious. “Are we 100% sure that was him?” he asks. The woman nods. “She pointed to him and said that was him.”

“Then we need to pull her. She doesn’t need to be dancing. I’ll grab her,” Kelli says firmly, She strides out onto the field, her eyes scanning for you among the cheerleaders.

Kelli walks along the sidelines, her eyes scanning the cheerleaders until she spots you dancing. She can immediately tell from your expression that you’re visibly uncomfortable, even though you’re trying to mask it with a practiced smile. Kelli’s heart aches for you, the worry gnawing at her insides.

Kelli has always taken pride in ensuring the girls’ safety on the team, and when things like this happen, she feels as though she has failed you. Her protective instincts kick into high gear as she moves closer, watching you intently.

As the dance finishes, Kelli is quick to walk up to you, wrapping a secure arm around your shoulder. She pulls you slightly away from the other girls, her presence a comforting shield. You lean down to hear what she is saying. “I’m gonna take you inside, sweetheart. The police wanna talk to you,” Kelli’s voice is calm and steady, trying to soothe you. You nod, grateful for her support.

“Are you okay?” Kelli asks as the two of you make it inside the hallways where it is quieter. “Yeah, I’m fine. It was more that I was taken off guard, and I’m still kinda shaking from it,” you reply, a tear sliding down your cheek. Kelli wipes it away gently, her touch reassuring.

“Okay, well, I’ll grab you a jacket—” Kelli’s cut off by the sound of Coach Johnson’s voice. “Y/N!” he calls out as you turn your head to see your dad moving past people to get to you.

“Dad—” your voice is cut off as he engulfs you in a tight hug. And that was when all the tears finally came out. The overwhelming emotions you had been holding back burst forth. It was all such a blur when it happened. You were just doing what you always did, walking into formation when you felt a pair of hands wrap around your waist.

You were very shaken up; you didn’t know how you managed to continue performing without breaking down. “I heard what happened, are you okay?” your dad asks in concern as he strokes your hair, kissing the crown of your head as you let the tears roll down your face.

“Yeah, no, I’m okay, I think. I’m just so shaken up still,” you manage to say, squeezing your dad tighter as he sighs. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there—”“Don’t apologize, you’re here now,” you say, pulling back as he kisses your forehead.

“Here, here’s some water,” Kelli comes up with a water bottle as you gratefully take it from her. “The police are in there waiting for you,” she gently says as you nod, taking a deep breath as your dad tucks stray pieces of hair behind your ears before you walk back into the room.

“Coach!” Both Kelli and your dad turn their heads to see Rafe running down the hallway.

~

“Yo, what the fuck’s going on over there?” Chris taps Rafe on the shoulder, pointing towards you, engaged in a tense conversation with a policeman The grand arena is buzzing with game day excitement, but you look visibly shaken, your usual confident demeanor replaced by an unmistakable distress.

Rafe furrows his eyebrows, confusion and concern etched onto his face as he scans the scene. “I don’t know,” he mutters, distracted by the sound of the whistle signaling the continuation of the game.

But Rafe’s mind is not on the game at all. His eyes constantly dart towards where you stand, the unease growing within him. He watches intently as Kelli approaches you, leading you back inside the stadium corridors.

Rafe’s worry intensifies, his need to know what the fuck is going on becoming unbearable. A few minutes later, he notices Coach Johnson, your dad, rushing off the field with an urgency that confirms Rafe’s worst fears.

Determined to find out what’s happening, Rafe breaks numerous rules by swapping places with his teammate, assuring him he’ll take the blame for the unauthorized switch. Without a second thought, Rafe sprints off the field, heading towards the hallways in search of you.

~

“Rafe, what are you doing here?” your dad asks, his voice tinged with both surprise and concern as he sees Rafe enter the inner corridors of the stadium.

“I swapped with Justin. Where’s Y/n? Is she okay?” Rafe’s voice is laced with anxiety. Coach Johnson, momentarily overlooking the rule-breaking, focuses on the more pressing issue at hand. “She’s talking with the police right now, Rafe.” He sighs deeply as Rafe’s face falls. “What happened?”

“A cameraman touched her inappropriately out there—” “What?” Rafe’s voice rises, anger surging through him at the thought of anyone laying a hand on you. “Are you fucking serious?” He moves to charge past Coach Johnson, but is quickly restrained by both him and Kelli.

“Whoa, whoa, Rafe. Let’s think before we do anything stupid, yeah?” your dad says, his tone calm but firm, attempting to ground Rafe’s escalating fury. Rafe is breathing heavily, his eyes locked on the door to the room where you are.

“Listen, why don’t you wait here until Y/n gets out. I’m sure she’ll appreciate you being out here for her,” Kelli suggests, placing a reassuring hand on Rafe’s shoulder. He looks at her, his anger slowly giving way to concern.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll do that,” Rafe says, swallowing hard as Coach Johnson pats his back in approval. “Good man,” your dad says, his voice filled with gratitude for Rafe’s loyalty and concern. As Rafe waits anxiously, the bustling sounds of the stadium seem to fade away, his entire focus on making sure you’re okay.

As Rafe waits anxiously, the bustling sounds of the stadium seem to fade away, his entire focus on making sure you’re okay. Moments later, the door to the room where you had been giving your statement to the police opens. You step out, your eyes red and teary, your face etched with the strain of holding back emotions.

Rafe doesn’t hesitate. He strides forward and immediately engulfs you in a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around you as if to shield you from any more harm. He couldn’t care less if anyone saw the two of you and took pictures of it. You collapse into his embrace, the tears you’ve been holding back now freely flowing.

[loaksky]

I don't know if you've done this yet but can we have mean ellie is FWB with the reader but she's jealous when the reader is into someone else 👀

i have not + you know what anon i could kiss your brain rn ! i definitely view this pairing as separate from this fwb!ellie x reader, but this could also technically fit in their early timeline since nothing else has really been established about them...

content warnings: language, ellie being an asshole (very on brand for me to write ig lmao), reader actually sticks up for herself in this one, but eventually folds (i would too for ellie ngl) 18+ content that includes; brief mentions of strap-on sex, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving).

author’s note: i’ve been so unmotivated to write, but this request awoke something in me idk...also, if you’ve sent in a tlou request (yes even from june), i’m still cooking i promise! (and not in the way that ellie keeps promises in this fic lmfaoo).

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

You didn’t want to say anything at first, couldn’t be too sure under the lowlights of the party with bass-y music that makes both the house and your chest throb with every beat, but you see it clear as day on the drive home and a passing streetpost illuminates the purpling flesh on Ellie’s carotid.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when your fingertips brush over the blooming bruise, obviously fresh and warm to the touch.

“What the fuck?” she huffs, pulling the drawstrings on her hoodie to scrunch to fabric around her neck.

“Who gave you that?” you ask softly, expression on your face enough to devastate, but Ellie’s always been different, an anomaly of sorts when it came to the matters of her stony heart.

“Why does it matter?” she scoffs.

“Ellie,” you sigh. “You know why it matters.”

She’s swinging a right at the intersection, nearing the residential you live in.

“It doesn’t,” she grunts. “Because at the end of the night, it’s you I’m fucking, isn’t it?”

And you don’t know why the way she puts it stings so much this time around when she frequently reminds you both directly and indirectly that while you may be her most recurrent hookup, you’re definitely not her only one, but it does. Does so much that you’re turning your face towards the window to hide the tears that are pooling.

Because all you wanted was Ellie. Wanted her in ways she wasn’t willing to give you. Wanted to learn and grow with her, but she wasn’t budging and lately, you’ve been feeling stupid.

When she turns into your neighborhood, you speak.

“Just drop me off, please.”

Ellie’s slowing down, palm finding purchase on your thigh.

“Babe, c’mon,” she practically whines, kneading the skin there. “Don’t be like that.”

You shift away from her, gather your purse from your feet as she continues through the different apartment buildings.

“Babe,” she calls again when you barely wait for her to stop and you’re pushing the car door open.

And maybe it’s childish, but you’re wounded and quite frankly done with the back and forth.

“She’s probably waiting for you,” you add petulantly.

“Babe, seriously. You’re being annoying,” she warns.

“And you’re being a dick,” you bite back. “First, you drag me out to a shitty party where I don’t know a single soul even though you promised we could just chill and smoke while watching that stupid fucking space exploration documentary, then when we get there, you’re leaving me with a bunch of sleazy assholes while you do god knows what with the same girl you’ve been telling me not to worry about for the last five weeks.”

And of things Ellie’s looks horrified at, it’s the fact that you’d been observant enough to recognize the girl she’d thought she whisked away before your prying eyes could catch on.

“I’m not fucking stupid, Ellie,” you say with resignation. “I tried to turn the other cheek because I really fucking like you, but you treat me like shit and I deserve better than that.”

Of course you don’t know it, but those fucking words bite. They’re an automatic trigger because unbeknownst to you, both of your friend groups think the same thing. Aren’t afraid to let her know otherwise. And she’s obviously well aware that, Christ, yes, you absolutely deserve better. Is actually really insecure on the low because she doesn’t know why you stick around with a piece of shit like her when you could have so much better.

So she does what she does best when she feels like a kicked puppy and lashes out.

“Of course Little Miss Princess deserves better,” she mocks. “What fucking ever. I don’t know why I flaked on a ten for such a stuck up bitch.”

And you see right through her, know that she’s all bark and no bite, but it hurts regardless, when you step off to the side and she’s leaning over the center console to shut the passenger side door herself.

She’s revving off without another word, and to add insult to injury, your phone’s pinging obnoxiously once you get out of your well-needed shower.

els <3 sent a video.

It’s the blonde from the party. Of course those dumb LEDs pulse red in the background, making Ellie and her flavor of the night look a thousand times more seductive. Ellie’s kissing her sloppily, whispering things against her mouth that you can’t quite pick out.

els <3 sent a video.

The next video’s grainy, but you can hear the tell-tale squelch, the girl’s shaky moans and Ellie egging her on. Your cheeks are on fire and you feel like you’re about to throw up.

els <3 sent a photo.

You wonder if the girl knows, that Ellie’s sending you the most compromising footage of her. If she knows how grimy the green-eyed girl truly is, sending someone else pictures of her stuffed hilt-deep with the same strap Ellie’d used on you.

els <3: still think u deserve better ?

You delete the thread and her phone number.

Ellie expects you to crack first, you always do. Because even if she isn’t shit, she’s your biggest weakness and she knows it. Can say so with confidence, because maybe the same can be said about her.

She hasn’t fucked you in nearly two weeks and not a single body she touches can elicit the same feeling that you do. And in the back of her brain, she knows why, but Ellie’s prideful. Won’t dare admit it out loud.

So she cracks first. Texts you between classes.

me: i have a few joints + a coupon to tino’s if you’ll let me come over… :(

my #1 girl: Who’s this?

Ellie throws her head back and groans.

me: cmon baby, dont b like that. im srry i was mean, ill make it up to u

my #1 girl: I think you have the wrong number…

me: babe stopppp

Her text bubbles turn green after that message.

You forget that Ellie has a copy of your key because she’s never used it in the five months that the two of you have been in this precarious situation, and your heart falls square to your ass when you emerge from the shower to find her setting up a box of pizza on your coffee table.

“Ellie, what in the fuck?”

She feigns nonchalance, pulls a few joints from her jacket pocket. But the aroma of weed or the grease of the pizza isn’t what makes you wrinkle your nose.

It’s the smell of flowers that waft from a pretty vase sitting on the cut away of the kitchen counter.

Your gaze fixes on the girl who settles on your couch.

“You need to leave,” you say stonily.

“But I just got here,” Ellie says. “And I brought you pizza…and flowers.”

“I’m sorry, did you think that a five dollar pizza and a bouquet of flowers from Saver’s was going to fix the fact that you’ve been so fucking awful to me for the past half year?”

Ellie shrinks.

“Well, no…but—”

“You practically sent me a homemade porno of you and some other girl you fucked to get back at me for setting a boundary, Ellie,” you say sharply. “What, did it not work out? Did you—”

“I’m trying to be the bigger person here,” Ellie sighs. “I am sorry. I just—”

“You what?”

“I don’t fucking know, okay?” Ellie snips. “God, you’re talking down to me like you’re a fucking therapist or my fucking mom and—”

You’re shaking your head, crossing the room and picking up the pizza from the coffee table to shove in her arms.

“I don’t have time for this,” you mutter. “Kenzie’s going to be here any minute now—”

“Who the fuck is Kenzie?” Ellie balks, caught like a deer in the headlights.

“Ellie, don’t,” you warn.

“Don’t what?” she practically seethes. “You think I’m just gonna be okay that you’re spending time with some other stupid bitch? Maybe you’ve forgotten, but you’re mine.”

And she shouldn’t have glanced down at your cleavage as you cross your arms over your chest, but Ellie’s weak and you look too fucking pretty for your own good.

“Yours?” you ask incredulously. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Yes, mine,” Ellie affirms. “All fucking mine and no one else’s.”

“God, you’re so full of shit, Ellie,” you scoff. “I’m supposed to be loyal to you and be okay with you having a roster, but I can’t go on a date with someone I genuinely like because it fucks with your brain to have a legitimate interest in somebody?”

“You like her?” Ellie asks in disbelief. “Like, like her, like her?”

“Yes,” you reply without hesitation.

And that makes Ellie’s jaw set, makes her narrow her eyes at you.

“You like her more than me?” she taunts.

And maybe she has you there, but you refuse to give her the upper hand.

“I could learn to,” you answer honestly. “Because Kenzie is kind to me. She doesn’t treat me like an option, doesn’t act like she’s God’s gift to the fucking world and that I should kiss her feet for giving me the time of day. And I get it, you don’t like me the way I like you—”

“You think I don’t like you?” Ellie asks like the thought is unfathomable.

“I don’t think, Ellie, I know. We went into this without any strings attached, we established that it’d just be fucking, but I was honest in telling you that I caught feelings and you used that to your advantage. You lied to me on multiple occasions, you make me look stupid, like I’m fucking crazy.”

And you wish you’d gotten through your spiel without choking up, but Ellie’s the first girl you’d liked in a while even if she was bad news. And when you thought that maybe you could shake her, she’d come barreling back.

“Baby,” she murmurs, face softening as she’s crossing the space between you two to cup your face in her hands.

“Don’t call me that,” you hiccup, trying to push her touch away.

“Babe, stop,” she says firmly. “I’m serious. You think I don’t like you?”

“Well, you don’t fucking act like it,” you mutter. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyways because whatever this was is done. You’re free to do what you want, who you want, whether you like me or not.”

God, do you unwittingly light a fire under Ellie’s ass when she thinks of what this Kenzie girl could do to you if she lets you walk out the door. Absolutely loathes the thought of anyone else knowing what you look like in any state of indecency, that you fucking cry watching children’s movies, that you snore like a freight train if you’re tired enough and have a weird ass penchant for pickle chips when you’re high.

“You’re not going on that fucking date,” Ellie says with finality, palms sliding from your shoulders to skim down the length of your arms and situate over the swell of your hips.

“Who says?”

“Me,” she huffs. “Because I’m going to make it up to you and we’re going to smoke these blunts and eat this fucking pizza and I’m going to make you cum so fucking hard, you won’t even remember that you were thinking of leaving me for someone else.”

“You’re not my girlfriend, Ellie,” you reiterate. “You can’t just–”

“Maybe not then, and maybe not in this moment, but I will be,” she says, and the words catch you completely off guard.

She’s catching your bottom lip between hers to further disorient you, kissing you like this could very well be her last.

“Just give me some time,” she whispers, walking you back towards your bedroom. “I’ll get my shit together for you. Promise.”

And you know deep down that you shouldn’t believe her. She’s just feeling territorial and grasping at straws to keep you leashed, but Ellie’s always been such a good kisser and she’s devouring you like she really is sorry.

She’s tossing your against your unmade bed, caging you between lithe limbs as she leans back on her haunches to take you in. Your blouse rides up to reveal the flimsy bands of your lacy little thong and Ellie’s lacking decency as she flips your skirt up to reveal a growing patch of wetness.

“Were you planning on getting fucked or do you always go out like this?” Ellie ponders, fingers rough as she pulls the tiny scrap of fabric down your legs and nearly salivates when a string of your arousal leaves with it.

Your lips part to answer, but her thumb’s dipping between your folds, pad collecting some of your slick from your drooling slit to smear over your achey little bud.

“I asked you a question,” Ellie says gently. “You just gotta be honest with me, baby.”

“S’hot out,” you whimper, fingers closing around her wrist when your body jerks against a particularly delicious stroke of her thumb.

“Yeah?” she clarifies. “You wouldn’t let any else touch you, would you? Not when I take good care of you like this?”

Her other hand comes to toy with your entrance, doesn’t give you any warning before her middle and ring finger are sinking inside slowly.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine.

“You’re my girl, you hear me?” Ellie murmurs, leaning down to catch your clit between her lips. “You’ll be my number one, always.”

She’s teasing at first, tongue languid against your fluttering pussy, but you’re quiet, back of your wrist caught between your teeth to muffle your moans.

One of her hands reach up to yank it away.

“Say it,” she barks, pulling away from your needy heat.

“Ellie,” you whimper.

“Say it,” she repeats firmly.

“M’your girl,” you moan shakily, thighs quivering as she smoothes her palms over the underside of your thighs to push them up to your chest.

“Yeah, you are,” she whispers, spitting harshly on your heat. “My favorite fucking pussy.”

She’s eating you out like she’s missed you, like she’ll only be satisfied when you finally cum. And maybe it’s true.

Maybe not.

Especially when she draws nearly three orgasms from you and practically knocks you out.

You don’t know how long you doze off for, but when you finally wake up, the sun has almost completely set, bathing your room in a burnt orange glow that leaves your dewy skin warm and sticky. And perhaps it’s wishful thinking when you call Ellie’s name, met only with the echo of your raspy voice. After all, you’re tucked on the wrong side of bed, elusive girl nowhere to be found.

As you dress and search for your phone, you can’t even find it in yourself to be surprised.

neng ©️2023

[oofthwoods]

DEBUTANTE! ── ˙ ̟ the echo !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: derived from the french language, meaning “a first performance or showing.” the original word debutante referred to a new actress making her first appearance on the stage. or, the one where dreams come true in bahrain.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: just a little bonus, but i picture jasper as kingsley ben-adir (secret invasion, barbie). if this is the first work of mine you're checking, reader is a driver for porsche and the daughter of rubens barrichello!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 5.5k

NO ONE ASKED HER A QUESTION IN FORTY-FIVE MINUTES.

Naturally, there were many questions about her. How did the drivers feel about a woman joining their ranks on the track? What were their thoughts on the growing number of female fans who were tuning in to watch Formula One, possibly due to the popularity of the documentary Drive to Survive or the historic moment of having the first female driver in decades?

She wasn't sure if this was better or worse than she anticipated. She vividly recalled her first press conference last year when she was still driving for ART Grand Prix. They asked her ridiculous questions like whether it was professional to wear skirts in the paddock (yes), who the most attractive driver was (herself, obviously), and even if her father was disappointed that she reached a milestone in motorsport before her older brother (Dudu, who raced with their father in Brazilian Stock Series. And no, he had already made it clear he was proud of both of them).

In the first few minutes, she assumed it was because she was a rookie. But then Oscar Piastri answered a fair share of questions while looking at her as if he didn't understand why people were treating her like an invisible presence. She would shrug her shoulders and the australian reluctantly answered reporters' inquiries.

She was sandwiched between Lewis, who seemed impatient as time dragged on without any questions directed towards her, and Max Verstappen, who quickly responded to his own questions and showed his eagerness to leave. Two rookies, two world champions, but only three drivers deemed important enough for interviews.

The world-renowned champion's frustration peaked when asked about his recent vacation activities.

"Is this a joke?" he asked. "Do you really want to know what I did on my vacation more than asking her interesting questions?" He gestured towards the girl beside him.

"It's alright, Lewis-"

"With all due respect, Hamilton," one of the reporters interjected with a sarcastic smirk on his face. "I can't imagine what kind of questions we could ask Miss Barrichello besides her makeup preferences or favorite clothing brands."

"How about the fact that I won four championships in a row as a rookie?" She responded with a fake sweet smile plastered on her face. She could accept to be ignored, but she refused to be underestimated. "Or maybe any questions about Porsche joining the grid this year?"

"I don't think winning a championship by such a small margin of points is anything to be praised." The reporter retorted. His expression implied that he wasn't expecting the young girl to comfort him, but he couldn't hold back.

"Really? So we should just say that the battle between Max and Lewis in 2021-" she indicated towards them "-was nothing worth celebrating? Such an uneventful year for this sport."

Verstappen leaned forward, observing the interaction between the girl and the reporter. This press conference just became much more interesting.

"Strong words from someone who has never stepped foot in a race car." He chimed in, agreeing with the youngest person in the room.

"That's not what I meant." The reporter stuttered, noticing the security chief slowly approaching him. The middle-aged man was one of many security guards in the paddock that had known the driver since she was a child, and she knew that one look in his direction and the man would be escorted out.

"Of course, of course," she replied sarcastically. "You mean it's not worth celebrating because a woman won, right? Please, if you're going to insult me, at least try to make it believable. Or better yet, don't speak if you have no idea what you're talking about"

The tension in the room was palpable as another reporter spoke up, "But Y/n, let's be real here. The races were mostly dominated by your teammate, Frederik Vesti or runner-up Felipe Drugovich. Your victories were purely tactical."

She leaned back in her chair with a smug smile playing on her lips. "Is that so? Yet somehow I managed to come out on top every time."

Verstappen nodded in agreement, "She's definitely got a point there."

The press room fell into an intense quiet, causing y/n to regret her decision to do this interview. She knew that this type of situation would become more common as her fame grew in the coming year. She also understood that Lewis would be praised for defending her while she would face criticism for simply standing up for herself against a man who was only doing his job.

The silence was broken by a female journalist in the back, hidden behind the larger, more muscular bodies of her male counterparts. But y/n could never mistake that blonde hair for anyone else. Mariana Becker was a veteran sports reporter, an icon in Brazilian journalism, and a role model for any woman breaking into a male-dominated field.

“I wish I had raised my hand earlier; I didn't realize it would take so long for someone to ask you a question,” she chuckled. "I don't think anyone will object to two questions, right?" The woman looked around the room, and the other interviewers avoided making eye contact with the veteran.

"So, y/n, you've been asked countless times about being a woman in a male-dominated world and the difficulties you face because of it. However, with such a successful junior career full of records, I honestly don't see the need to ask that question again. Instead, I'd like to focus on the positive aspects. What does it mean to you knowing that a new generation of girls can look up to you as an inspiration and be motivated to pursue their dreams?"

The girl's face lit up with gratefulness for the refreshing question and relief that she wouldn't have to answer the same question she had already answered countless times before.

"It's incredibly inspiring for me as well. Growing up in this environment, surrounded by racing cars, I was also discouraged from pursuing this career. But I can only imagine how much more difficult it must have been for young girls who were ridiculed just for dreaming of driving a go-kart. To know that I can play a role in encouraging them to follow their dreams without fear of judgment is truly exciting."

Lewis subtly raised his thumb in a gesture of approval while she chuckled.

"Excellent," said the reporter with a smile. "One more question, how did your father react when you told him you were entering the world of Formula 1?"

"He cried," y/n answered quickly, eliciting laughter from those in the room. "He's quite the crybaby, so I waited until we were together to share the news of my contract with Porsche. At first, he cried tears of joy, then fear, and eventually a mixture of both. That's when he realized that all three of his children were following in his footsteps as race car drivers and that he'd have to pay for everything he put his own father through."

The reporter chuckled along with y/n. Mari had interviewed Rubens back when he was in Formula 1, and remembers clearly how emotional the man always was. The conference went on like this for another half an hour, with y/n answering everything from her expectations for the upcoming season to her favorite tracks and how she dealt with pressure.

The balaclava, damp with sweat, clung tightly to her face as she stood at attention. Her race engineer, a tall black man with a buzzcut and a calm expression, waited patiently beside her. She smoothed down the folds of her crisp, red-and-black uniform, adorned with her country's flag on the sleeve.

"How was the conference?" Jasper asked.

The girl muttered something that Jasper couldn't make out. "That bad? Did they bring up the issue with wearing skirts in the paddock again?"

"They didn't ask anything at first, but then one guy made a comment about me winning the championship by a narrow margin of points not being worthy of praise. Except it wasn't even a narrow margin; Felipe finished about sixty points behind me., and Fred was more than a hundred points behind, despite driving the same car as me" She complained.

Jasper winced. The relationship between the engineer and the driver had been amazing during pre-season tests with the man acting like a friend and a mentor, and they had found a groove to envy.

"You'll need to come up with a strategy for dealing with these reporters," Jasper advised.

"I already have one."

"Really?" He glanced at the clock on the track and realized that time was running out. He handed her the helmet with both hands. She grinned and smoothly put it on. The colors of her country's flag stood out against the black and red of the car, making it impossible to miss.

"Yes. WWJD."

"What does that stand for?"

"What Would Jenson Do. Originally, it was "What Would Kimi Do," but I quickly realized that Kimi would just tell everyone to go fuck themselves, and I can't exactly do that yet."

The garage was a whirlwind of activity, with mechanics frantically making last-minute adjustments and drivers strapping into their cars. The scent of gasoline and burning rubber wafted through the air, adding to the excitement and tension that crackled in the atmosphere.

Everywhere she looked, there were people moving with purpose, each one focused on their individual tasks to ensure a successful first qualifying session of the season. The roar of engines being revved and tools clanging against metal filled her ears, drowning out any other sound. It was a chaotic but exhilarating scene as the countdown to the race began.

"Why not "What Would Rubens Do"?" He asked.

She chuckled. "My dad is too nice. In his only fight in his entire Formula 1 career, he told the mechanic who wanted to fight him to get someone else because he was too small."

Jasper's phone buzzed insistently, jolting him out of his thoughts and reminding him that only five minutes remained until the start of Q1. After the last few adjustments from the mechanics, y/n managed to squeeze into her car and secure her seatbelt. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might leap out of her chest, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through her body as she prepared for the intense competition ahead.

Jasper rested his arms on the halo. "Don't forget what we discussed earlier," he reminded her. "In Q1, six cars will be eliminated, followed by six more in Q2. This means that the top ten fastest cars will battle for pole position. Based on our data, we are definitely faster than Alpha Tauri, Alfa Romeo, Haas, and Williams - a total of eight cars."

The girl nodded eagerly, her eyes glued to the man as he continued. "At the very least, you and Mick should be able to make it into Q2. We're not sure how Alpine and McLaren are doing, but they don't seem to be as quick as us." He gestured towards the track outside where the other teams were busy with their own preparations. "But we can't let our guard down. Anything can happen during quali." The tension was palpable as they both waited for their turn on the track.

"So, we're trying for Q3 then?" She inquired, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and determination.

"Officially, I was instructed to tell you that Q2 is sufficient, but we can't know our full potential until we're on the track."

A sly grin appeared on her face, hidden behind her helmet. She pushed down her visor, ready to give it her all. "Well, I say let's aim for Q3 then. I want to see what this car can really do."

A gentle laugh escaped Jasper's lips, his eyes shining with admiration. "That's the spirit, echo. Show them what you're made of."

With one final nod, y/n shifted her focus, tuning out the noise and commotion of the pit lane. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, using all her senses to ground herself in the present moment. The smell of burning rubber and gasoline filled her nostrils as she visualized the track ahead. The deafening roar of the engine drowned out all other sounds, sending shivers down her spine.

Jasper's voice crackled through the radio in her ear, sounding like a distant robot. "Radio check," he said, his tone serious and business-like.

She adjusted gloves as she responded, "I hear you loud and clear." Her hands were tightly gripped on the steering wheel as she followed Logan Sargeant's Williams out of the pit lane. It was a tight squeeze with the Porsche garage being the newest addition to the grid. She bit her lip, hoping that their placement in the pit lane wouldn't cause any trouble in the future.

"Great. Warm up your tires and then do a flying lap. We want to get a better idea of our potential and avoid any possible disruptions from a Red Flag," Jasper instructed.

"Roger that," she replied, trying to keep her breathing steady as cars started to move around her. She prayed that the onboard camera wouldn't catch her trembling hands as she prepared for her first real lap on the track.

The engine roared to life as she pressed down on the accelerator, gripping the steering wheel with determination. The car surged forward, its tires screeching against the asphalt, leaving a trail of smoke behind. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, heightening her senses as she focused on the task at hand.

The wind whipped through, carrying with it a symphony of sounds—engines revving, tires squealing, and the distant cheers of the crowd. Her heart pounded in sync with the rhythm of the track, each beat pulsating through her chest.

As the cars whizzed by, she made a conscious effort to stay out of their way while completing her out lap. It was her first Grand Prix, and she wasn't about to receive an impeding penalty. She could feel the engine roaring to life and her car responding with precision, its tires getting ready to set a time that would hopefully secure her from elimination in the initial round.

Jasper's voice crackled through the radio once again. "Alright, you're good to go. Try your best," he encouraged, his voice filled with unwavering support.

"Copy." She smirked.

The pre-tests and free practice had prepared her for what was to come, but nothing could have truly prepared her for the exhilaration of sitting behind the wheel of a Formula 1 car. The engine purred like a fierce beast, ready to unleash its power at any moment. The sleek body of the car hugged the track, cutting through the air with precision and grace.

As she approached the first turn, she braked hard, shifting her weight to navigate the corner with precision. The G-forces pressed against her body, threatening to tear her away from reality. But she held firm, refusing to let anything distract her from the objective ahead.

She feathered the throttle, feeling the car respond to her slightest movements. The tires gripped the track, providing a sense of stability as she accelerated out of the turn, leaving her the other car trailing behind. Y/n's focus was unwavering, her eyes fixated on the next set of corners, mentally calculating her approach.

The flying lap was over in an instant, and the sound of the cheering crowd filled her ears as she crossed the finish line and set her initial time.

"Way to go, girl!" Jasper's voice crackled through the radio. "You've got P8, I repeat, P8. We're safely into Q2, but stay on track just in case. Prepare for another quick lap."

"How did Mick do?" she asked eagerly.

"P10, 0.78 seconds behind you," Jasper's voice was filled with pride as he responded. Despite his efforts to maintain professionalism, they were both rookies in the Formula 1 world, even if in different roles. "I got a great feeling about us, Barrichello. This could be the beginning of something legendary."

The minutes seemed to stretch into hours as she waited for the race to begin and she started to feel claustrophobic inside her cramped driver's room.

Finally, unable to bear the suffocating atmosphere any longer, she stepped outside into the bustling garage. The sight of her team, clad in matching uniforms and working tirelessly on their cars, brought a small smile to her face. As she made her way through the maze of mechanics and equipment, she was greeted with reassuring smiles and words of encouragement.

This was not just her first race, but also the team's inaugural race. In a way, they were all rookies, feeling the pressure and nerves just as she was.

Standing outside, it was clear that several eyes were on her. Some, like the veteran Ferrari mechanics who had known her since she was a little girl, flashed comforting smiles and gave her thumbs up, wishing her the best of luck. Others raised their eyebrows with skepticism, as if they believed her presence on the grid was some sort of elaborate prank that hadn't been revealed yet.

Amidst a sea of red and black uniforms, the bright green outfit of the two-time world champion stood out prominently. Fernando paid no mind to the curious glances from his mechanics as he made his way confidently towards the girl.

"You're not allowed in here, Alonso." She teased, playfully crossing her arms in a gesture that made her seem much older than she was.

"Is that how it is now? You qualify in the Top 10 in your first race and all of a sudden I'm just Alonso, not Nando?" He responded with a chuckle. Clutching his heart dramatically, he leaned back as if struck by sudden agony. "What happened to all our pizza days? They meant nothing to you?"

The character she was playing no longer felt right to her, and the words she spoke didn't align with the expression on her face. She fought to suppress a smile as she continued, "That person you knew, Alonso? She is gone now."

As the man approached, she couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity wash over her. His dark hair and intense brown eyes were etched into her memory, but it was his infectious smile that brought back a flood of childhood memories.

Fernando rested his hands on her shoulders and held onto his helmet, which puzzled her. With only a few minutes left before the race began, he could have easily stored it in his own garage rather than carrying it around. But she pushed those thoughts aside as his gaze softened and he spoke.

"You were the size of a flea when I met you," he said with a chuckle. She smiled at the memory of their first encounter. She had been just six years old at the time, tagging along with her father to one of his races. She remembered being mesmerized by the speed and energy of the cars on the track, but also feeling a little intimidated by the loud noises and bustling crowds.

But then she saw him – Alonso – standing tall and proud in his racesuit. He had noticed her watching him from behind the fence and had flashed her a tight smile. Somehow, from that one interaction, she had become a fan. From then on, whenever she visited the track with her father, she would always seek out Fernando.

Initially, the Spaniard couldn't comprehend why the young girl found him so intriguing. He knew he was talented and quick on the race track, but children were not his forte. Alonso would often try to distance himself from the girl, offering only friendly waves and smiles. However, when she presented him with a drawing of himself on the podium with a trophy (which he still keeps today), everything changed.

"You used to avoid me like the plague," she recalled.

"That's not entirely true," Fernando denied, but quickly changed his tune when the girl raised an eyebrow. "Okay, maybe I wasn't too fond of being followed around by a little girl. Can you blame me? If anything happened to you, I would have to deal with your father, Michael, Kimi, and all the mechanics that you had wrapped around your finger."

He became somewhat of figure between an older brother and a father figure to her, always ready with words of encouragement and advice.

Now here they were, both grown up and about to race against each other for the very first time.

"I can't believe we're finally racing against each other," she said with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

"It's about time," Fernando replied with a smirk. "I've been waiting for this moment since you beat me in go-karts."

A smile tugged at her lips as she recalled the moment. During one of his trips with her family to cheer her on during her junior career, they decided to have some fun and race go-karts. She had managed to beat him by mere thousandths of a second, and she made sure to remind him of it constantly afterwards.

"What's on the agenda for today, Mija?" He asked, looking around at the girl's garage.

"Hah, like I would share that with you. I love you, Nando, but now we're competitors." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "You're just trying to take advantage because we're close."

"You got me." He chuckled, knowing it wasn't entirely true.

She sighed and crossed her arms with a hesitant expression. "Rule number one is to not crash into Mick. Number two is to avoid crashing into anyone else. Our team isn't expecting a stellar performance, so if we can maintain our starting positions, both cars will score points. That's our main goal."

"Oh, come on. Don't you want to try overtaking someone?" he prodded.

Y/N laughed. "Why? You want to see me in your rearview mirror?"

"Of course I do," he admitted. "Competing for a win with you would be incredible."

He pushed his helmet towards the girl, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Confused, she tilted her head in question. “I appreciate the gift, but I think you’ll need it today.”

Fernando laughed, memories flooding back to him. “Remember when your dad retired and you started coming to races with me?”

The memories flooded back, of her father's days in the high-stakes world of Formula 1. Though he had since retired, Fernando still managed to convince Rubens to allow her to travel with him to races closer to her home, and sometimes even to the grand prix in his homeland.

She quickly caught on to his request and playfully darted away from him before snagging the helmet. It had become a tradition since she was ten years old, and Fernando had unofficially taken on the role of her godfather. She used to do this same routine with her own father, so it felt natural to continue with the spaniard. He stood there, slightly perplexed, wondering if he had said or done something wrong. But just moments later, the young girl returned with her own helmet in hand.

"Wouldn't it be fair for you to do the same for me this time?" she asked playfully.

The two exchanged helmets and planted a kiss on the part of the helmet that would soon cover each other's foreheads.

"Stay safe, Nando"

"You too. Give us hell"

"It's an easy overtake for Barrichello in the Porsche, and she takes the position from Lance Stroll in the Aston Martin!" David Croft's voice rings across the circuit, and the crowd roars, the flags from her country and Germany flying around.

"Great job!" The voice of her race engineer appears in her ear, breaking through her intense concentration. "Russell is 1.2 ahead, close the gap to be able to use DRS when it is enabled."

"Copy" she nods, instinctively, her eyes never leaving the track ahead. She knows what she needs to do, and she pushes her car to its limits, weaving through the curves and straights with precision and skill.

As she closes the gap between her and the british driver, she can feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She's in her element, in the midst of the intense competition that she lives for.

"0.7. Go for it, elbows out" Jasper said again.

The cheers of the pit crew resounded in her ears as she used the extra boost to overtake the Mercedes. It was a challenge to defend against George's attempts at whiplash and reclaim her position, but once they were off the main straight, she managed to create a considerable gap between them.

The rest of the race flew by in a blur. The girl lost track of her position, constantly overtaking some cars only to be overtaken shortly after. However, Jasper's encouraging words kept her going.

Jasper's voice crackled through the radio as she approached the final stretch of the race. "Virtual safety car, slow down," he instructed.

She quickly checked her rearview mirror, looking for her teammate. "Is it ours?" she asked.

"No, it's Leclerc in the Ferrari," Jasper replied, "which puts us in fifth place."

She could see Hamilton was more than five seconds behind, and the yellow flag meant that Alonso was slowing down ahead of her.

"As soon as the VSC is lifted, you'll have a clear shot to overtake," Jasper added.

Who would have thought that she would be right on Fernando's heels after all?

After a few laps of caution due to the previous incident, the green flags were waved and she wasted no time in accelerating towards the Aston Martin driven by the Spaniard. She steadily closed the gap between them until she was right behind him. However, just as she was about to make a move to pass him, he outmaneuvered Carlos Sainz's Ferrari.

In a swift and calculated maneuver, she positioned her car on the inside of Sainz, who seemed too focused on reclaiming his position to check his mirrors. Taking advantage of his momentary lapse of attention, she quickly overtook him.

Jasper's voice was filled with excitement as he shouted, "That's it, echo! What a fantastic move!" She could almost hear the smile in his tone. "Alonso is already ten seconds ahead, so concentrate on defending now."

The final laps seemed like a blur, the girl steadily increasing the gap between her and the Ferrari with each lap.

"It's a flawless performance from Porsche, with both cars scoring points on this historic day. Mick Schumacher equals his best career finish with an incredible P6, and Y/N Barrichello takes fourth place, becoming the first woman to score in a Formula 1 race since Lella Lombardi and achieving the highest position for a woman in history!"

The sound of the bustling cheers from the Porsche garage fills her ears as she struggled to park the car with trembling hands. “Unbelievable! P4, y/n, P4! We scored 21 points and Mick got the fastest lap. What a start,” Jasper exclaims over the radio.

She stepped out of the car on shaky legs and is immediately greeted by Carlos, who had parked his car behind hers. “Where did you come from?” he asked with a chuckle. “I was trying to overtake Fernando, and suddenly you were right beside me.”

She took off her helmet and balaclava, her hair damp with sweat and sticking to her forehead and neck. She culdn't help but laugh. "Next time, check your mirrors," She teases her good-naturedly.

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she was suddenly enveloped in a warm embrace. The sweat that coated both of them didn't matter, nor did the fact that she still needed to weigh herself. She squeezed Mick even tighter and they both seemed too overjoyed to let go.

He took a step back but kept his arms around her. "Fourth place in your first race! I told you not to worry," the German exclaimed proudly.

"And look who's talking with the fastest lap!" She laughed in agreement. "We did it, Mick. We fucking did it."

A bottle of water suddenly appeared in her line of sight, and she turned to thank the person who handed it to her. To her surprise, it was Lewis with a smile on his face.

"If you had just overtaken one more person, you would have joined the club," he joked, pointing to Kevin Magnussem, who appeared to be deep in conversation with his teammate. "It was quite a race for the two of you."

"Honestly, I wasn't expecting to end up anywhere higher than where I started, so P4 is already a great achievement," she replied with a laugh as she took the cold bottle from him. The girl then turned to Lewis again and asked about his own race.

"P7. Mick managed to pass me on the last lap," he responded, glancing over at the young driver who chuckled in response.

The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins as y/n made her way to the weighing machines. She couldn't believe it, a P4 finish on her debut race. It seemed like a dream come true.

She stepped onto the scales, trying to calm her racing heart. The number flashed on the screen, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Phew, just made it," she muttered to herself.

Grabbing a towel to wipe off the sweat from her face, she quickly discarded her race suit at her hips, and made her way to her garage in her white fireproofs.

To an outsider, it might have seemed like the team had just won a world championship, not a P6 and P4. People were clapping her on the back and embracing Mick, and she struggled to decipher the various voices exclaiming with joy.

Jasper appeared in front of her with a bottle of champagne in hand. "Congratulations y/n, you did amazing out there!" he exclaimed before popping open the bottle and spraying champagne everywhere.

She laughed as some of the bubbly liquid hit her skin. "Thanks Jasper! I couldn't have done it without your perfect strategy. Great call with the tyres"

He grinned at her before turning serious. "But seriously y/n, you did a great job out there. We're all so proud of you." The rest of the team joined them in cheers and congratulations.

Before they could continue their conversation, Adrian, the team principle, arrived at their garage looking ecstatic. "Great job everyone! A double-points finish for our debut race, this is just the beginning." He raised his glass of champagne before taking a sip.

Y/n looked around and couldn't help but feel proud of her team. They had come a long way since their first tests together. And now here they were, competing in one of the most prestigious racing championships in the world.

Adrian turned to her with a smile. "Y/n, I must say you exceeded all expectations today. You have proven yourself as a valuable addition to our team." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Keep up the good work."

She couldn't help but blush at his words and nod gratefully. This was everything she had ever dreamed of - to be part of a successful racing team and make her mark in the sport.

As the celebrations continued, y/n couldn't help but think about how far she had come. From fighting for sponsorships to competing against some of the best drivers in the world, it felt like a dream come true.

But amidst all the excitement and joy, there was still one thing weighing on her mind - her family. She missed them terribly and wished they could be here to witness her success.

Just then, her phone buzzed.

"Muito orgulhoso de você filhota. Eu sabia que você ia arrasar! Me liga quando acabar tudo aí" — PAPAI. (so so proud of you, baby. i knew you would rock it! call me once you're done with everything there.)

Soon after, her older brother's name appeard on her phone as well. A quick congrats was followed by a video. Tapping on it, she couldn't contain the tears as she watched her father by the TV, holding tightly their flag and exploding in joy as the checkered flag was waved and his daughter finished in fourth.

He erupted with happiness, leaping and embracing her siblings and close friends who had gathered to witness her debut. He would excitedly point towards the television, shouting with pride, "There she is! My little girl!"

A big smile crept onto her face as she quickly replied back with an update on how things were, and a promise to video call her family as soon as she was cleared from the media.

"Time for the boring stuff now. Ready for the interviews?" Mick pulled her out of her thoughts. He had his phone on his hand, and she imagined he was also communicating with his family. "I can go first, if you want."

She took a deep breath, and smiled. "It's okay, i'll go. There's nothing they can say that could ruin my day. Not anymore."

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3) :: @studioreader, @fanficweasley, @stinkyjax, @namgification, @judespoision, @cha-hot, @disneyprincemuke, @itsjustkhaos, @trouble-sistar, @ihateyougunthersteiner, @treehouse-mouse, @cherry-piee, @fangirl125reader, @cassie0sstuff

[timetravellingkitty]

KASHMIR MASTERLIST

Background

History of Kashmir from 250 BC to 1947 [to understand Kashmir's multi religious history and how we got to 1947]

Broad timeline of events from 1947 to the abrogation of Article 370 of the Indian Constitution in 2019 (BBC) [yes, BBC. hang on just this once]

Human Rights Watch report based on a visit to Indian controlled Kashmir in 1998 [has a summary, background, human rights abuses and recommendations]

Another concise summary of the issue

Sites to check out

Kashmir Action - news and readings

The Kashmiriyat - independent news site about ongoings in Kashmir

FreePressKashmir - same thing as previous

Kashmir Law and Justice Project - analysis of international law as it applies to Kashmir

Stand with Kashmir - awareness, run by diaspora Kashmiris (both Pandit and Muslim)

These two for more readings and resources on Kashmir: note that the petitions and donation links are from 2019 and also has explainers on the background (x) (x)

To read

Do You Remember Kunan Poshpora? - about women in the Kashmiri resistance movement and the 1991 mass rape of Kashmiri women in the twin villages of Kunan and Poshpora by Indian armed forces

Until My Freedom Has Come: The New Intifada in Kashmir - a compliation of writings about the lives of Kashmiris under Indian domination

Colonizing Kashmir: State Building under Indian Occupation - how Kashmir was made "integral" to the Indian state and examines state-building policies (excerpt)

Resisting Occupation in Kashmir - about the social and legal dimensions of India's occupation

On India's scapegoating of Kashmiri Pandits, both by Kashmiri Pandits (x) (x)

Of Gardens and Graves - translations of Kashmiri poems

Social media

kashiirkoor

museumofkashmir

kashmirpopart

posh_baahar

readingkashmir

standwithkashmir and their backup account standwithkashmir2 (main account is banned in India wonder why)

kashmirlawjustice

kashmirawareness

jammugenocide (awareness about the 1947 genocide abetted by Maharaja Hari Singh and the RSS)

To watch

Jashn-e-Azadi: How We Celebrate Freedom parts 1 and 2 - a documentary about the Kashmiri freedom struggle (filmed by a Kashmiri Pandit)

Paradise Lost - BBC documentary about how India and Pakistan's dispute over the valley has affected the people

Kashmir - Valley of Tears - the exhaustion with the conflict in the post nineties

In the Shade of Fallen Chinar - art as a form of Kashmiri resistance

Human rights violations (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

Land theft and dispossession (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

A note: I know annoying Desis are going to see this and go "Oh but Kashmir is Pakistan's because-" and "Kashmir is an integral part of India because-". I must make my stance clear: Kashmir belongs to the Kashmiris, the natives, no matter what religion they belong to. Neither Pakistan nor India get to decide the matter of Kashmiri sovereignty. The reasons given by both parties as to why Kashmir should be a part of either nation are bullshit. The United Nations itself recognises Kashmir as a disputed region, so I will not entertain dumbfuckery. I highly encourage fellow Indians especially to take the time to go through and properly understand the violence the government enacts on Kashmiris. I've also included links to learn more about Kashmiri culture because really, what do the rest of us know about it? Culturally and linguistically Kashmir differs so much from the rest of India and Pakistan (also the amount of fetishization of Kashmiri women...yikes). This is not just a bilateral issue between these two nations over land, this actually affects the people of Kashmir. And if you're still here, thank you for reading

[punkpandapatrixk]

🏖Your Own Standards of Beauty ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

I’ve seen one too many times East Asian YouTubers, when talking about EA’s ‘rigid standards of beauty’ giving this sense of defensiveness or helplessness—because it’s culture, right? With every fibre of my mixed ancestry I loathed that particular brand of apologist behaviour.

‘Nature is busy creating absolutely unique individuals, whereas culture has invented a single mold to which all must conform. It is grotesque.’ – U.G. Krishnamurti

Up until fairly recently, I was still struggling with comprehending the thought process behind this ‘invention’ of a grotesquely small and narrow mould of beauty and conduct to which ALL East Asians must abide lest you’re a total disharmonious failure. After some long and hard rumination, frustration, accompanied by occasional bouts of repugnance, I think I finally get ‘why’.

Almost ALL people in East Asia ALL LOOK THE SAME!!! By nature!!! LMAO LMAO People can ONLY have black hair and black eyes LMAO Ahahahohohhahah I think these Asians were never ‘socialised’ to appreciate variety. Hahhh that’s so pathetic. If this really is the reason, man, it’s pathetic as fuck. Ionno tho. You think I’ve figured it out.

All I know is that East Asians must repent for all the sins they’ve committed against childhood, individuality, creativity, aaand society and Humanity itself. Yes, Humanity. Standing on the side of all genetically diverse peoples of Asia, such as the Ainus, Mongols, Uyghurs, to some extent the Zainichis, and sooo many other ‘anomalies’ who, in recent history, have been cast aside and treated poorly only because they don’t ‘fit in’ to the ideals and cultures of the main races of some purebred fucks.

For all I care, the part of East Asian culture that has birthed this infamous ‘rigid standards of beauty, and, conduct’ can go to fucking hell. If you’re the type of person who’s even the slightest bit proud—or defensive—of this you can go and fuck yourself. No one should be proud of that kind of a racist, fascist, repulsive, little bitch mindset. Are you a little bitch? I ain’t one.

I am a Supreme Bitch! Imma be myself and do whatever the fuck I want and look however I want. And if my society can’t take that? Those types of people—Asian or no Asian—can die on the wrong side of history! I. AM. MY OWN. PROTOTYPE.

perspective: Why BUSHIDO Is The Root of All Social Problems in Japan by Let’s ask Shogo

documentary: WE ARE X on YouTube (watch before it’s taken down LOL)

‘X challenged a conservative Japanese society and showed us a new way to be. They started a revolution, honestly.’

‘Be proud!! Be proud of yourself! We are!! X!!!’

deck-bottom: X(!?!) The Wheel of Fortune, Priestess of Ambition, Gold Magus (Johannes Faustus)

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – A Light of Innocence in this Insanely Debased World

playlist: silly playlist for silly people with rare songs!! by Rita wild

the TYPA beauty you are – Page of Cups

You are someone who’s known for being quite childlike. It could be that you do look young, but it’s mostly your mannerism. Technically speaking, it’s just YOU being the happy pill that you are. Listen, some of you tuning into this Pile could be dark and sombre on the inside—especially if you have a significant Scorpio/Pluto about you or if you’ve had a very unhappy childhood—but the way you’re perceived on the outside is totally bright, beautifully soft and pleasant, and dang, people really be liking your aenergy when you’re in a room.

You’re the type of beauty that exudes ‘purity’ in the most innocent way, no matter how you look or dress. You could be perceived as ethereal or unreal. otherworldly in a sense that you don’t seem to fit in this dimension. Are you an alien? Are you a goddess? Are you a fairy, elf, or an anime character? People may not have the exact words to describe you but you’re INTERDIMENSIONAL is what’s going on.

It isn’t just your physical beauty or the attractive way that you smile. People may not realise this themselves either but what’s truly beautiful about you is this VIBE or AURA that you generate from having a vastly pure heart. No, no, not pure in the sense that you never think sexy thoughts, what? Pure in the sense that you really operate from your Higher Heart and has very little ego driving your ambitions in Life~^_☆-v

effects on the world around you – Ace of Cups Rx

Basically, you just love beautiful things. You always look for beautiful things. And you make an effort to surround yourself with things you find beautiful in your own standards. And in a way, you’re also the kind of person who sees beauty in everything and everybody. You’re the type of person who sees Light even in a narc’s darkest corners of their blackened heart (if they had one), which is really such a beautiful thing but could also prove DANGEROUS!

It’s wonderful to have childlike wonder but it ain’t cool whatsoever to be childish enough not to acknowledge the presence of evil fucks. Bad people exist, OK? Very predatory and murderous people exist, OK? And it’s a spectrum. And you’ve been such an easy target for those on the milder spectrum of psychopathy! Babe! OMG You’re often drained of good aenergy after catering to the stupid whims of very narcissistic, histrionic, pathetic, selfish and whiney fucks.

STOP THAT. Of all the Piles, you’re the type of soft beauty who’s often underestimated and taken for granted just because you’re always so positive. If not ‘positive’ per se, you’re perceived as ‘strong’, so those types of people don’t even feel shame for constantly taking and demanding your aenergy. Keep allowing that long enough and your physical beauty could be drained out of you by the time your First Saturn Return jaywalks along and smacks you in the head.

keep being you, Glorious One – 6 of Swords Rx

Truly, you’re a silly angel who holds the power to absorb other people’s pain and gloomy feelings. But if this is your main pile, thing is, you might not have learnt how to release or transmute the negativity you’ve absorbed from your surroundings. It is paramount that you learn to call upon divine protection so that you’re shielded from the Evil Eye of those who are envious of your beauty and feel silly in your purity. Your Spirit Guides aren’t saying that you should stop being innocent, right?

A Soul like you is very rare in this perverted world. Some people might say, ‘They don’t make people like you anymore…’ WRONG. You’re the catalyst, if anything. By your example, there’s gonna be MORE people who are gonna be comfortable in their purity. Knowing that there’s nothing wrong with them for being this way. Fully comprehending that it is this world that’s gone too insane, and DEBASED. And this world has been this way for far longer than people realise. I mean, I’m sure you’re aware of how inhumane most people were in the medieval times LOL

Keep being the innocent and pure you, Glorious One. What you’re being advised to do is learn to set healthy boundaries from which you can still shine your Light safely. I’m being told that many of you choosing this Pile, due to your heightened sense of aesthetic, might want to have a social media presence or any kind of public platform where you’re free to share bits and pieces of your beautiful Life as a form of your Lightwork. Some kind of a lifestyle influencer?

I’m thinking of channels and blogs that typically share aesthetic daily vlogs and stuff like that—like nemui atelier on YouTube. You know what I mean; I don’t know what I mean XD

YOUR BEAUTY KILLS🔻💙

story of your evolution – Priestess of Prosperity

a legacy of authenticity – Red Astronomer (Johannes Kepler)

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – An Unexpectedly Romantic Dreamer of Luxury

playlist: songs like 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 (MITSKI) by song with love

the TYPA beauty you are – 2 of Cups

Ah~! You are such a dreamy and romantic beauty! You’re soft, elegant, sweet and lovely, with a kicking spice for those who would get on your bad side LMAO You’re actually a lot tougher than appearances give but most people don’t always get this until they’ve gotten to know you. For the most part, at first glance, at first encounter, you’re a sweet goddess, who probably gets projected on a lot.

You really have an unassuming quality about you. So then, people think there’s not much going on within and think it’s easy to typecast you into something, with some simplistic label. People think it’s easy to figure you out and classify you into some kind of a dream girl who’s always going to be nice, warm and friendly with everybody. You’re not. You’re a totally self-respecting babe. Actually, you really hate it when people act like they know you.

When people act like they’re close, buddy-buddy with you, it’s super annoying and depending on your mood that day, you could sometimes feel this urge to break people’s faces. But you don’t do that; you’re too nice. And you’ve got a plethora of coping mechanisms to deal with how annoyed you are with your surrounding XD Good for you!

effects on the world around you – 5 of Swords Rx

First of all, I think many of you tapping into this Pile love shopping. Retail is definitely your therapy. Is this good? Is this bad? Depends, I guess. You tend to spend money gregariously or consume a lot of food, or buy a lot of aesthetic knickknacks, or buy a lot of arts and craft as a means of therapy. Deep down, you’re somebody who has a lot of anger or a general sense of dissatisfaction with the world you’re a part of and this rage, almost, needs to be channelled creatively.

There’s a perpetual sense of disgust inside of you. You’re keen to observe and notice how much Humanity is failing. Everything that is ugly about society and people in general disgusts you. That’s why it’s important for you to live in beauty or indulge in creativity. That’s why it is paramount that your immediate surrounding, that your own Life, within what you’re able to control, is beautified to the max. You could be quite desperate in this pursuit because this is some kind of an overcompensation for the beauty and creativity that you feel is lacking in the world.

Your aenergy is kinda reminding me of this quote by the iconic Edie Sedgwick when describing why she dressed up the way she did:

‘When I was girl of the year and superstar and all that crap, everything I did was really…motivated by psychological disturbance. But I’d make a mask out of my face because I didn’t realize I was quite beautiful…I had to wear heavy black eyelashes like bat wings and dark lines under my eyes. Cut all of my hair off and strip it silver and blond. All these little manoeuvres I did out of things that were happening in my life that upset me. I’d freak out in a very physical way, and…it was all taken in a fashion trend.’

In fact, I think all of her famous words here could resonate with you. You are what trend-setters and superstars are made of, that much of your effect on the world is certain~

keep being you, Glorious One – Queen of Pentacles

Really, that’s all dandy as long as you can make a living out of your pursuit of beauty and creativity. This about you is really something that you can utilise as a means of therapy, self-care and self-improvement because you really are an artist, one way or another. It would be wonderful if you could monetise your beauty and creativity in some trendy way.

If you feel that you’re not particularly good at any kind of ‘real’ art, then you can ‘serve face’ to help other people sell their shit. You don’t think this is smart enough? Muses are often people who don’t do art—rather they inspire Art in the minds and hearts of other artists. Truly, you are an artist; but those of you tuning into this Pile who feel like you’re not one…you are potentially someone’s Muse.

Luxury is yours for the taking. But a lot of people in this world pursue luxury and some form of fame for vapid reasons and that often makes people very unhappy. Your Spirit Guides are saying that you do have a talent for balancing modern money-making and self-care. I think what they mean to say is that, you can be the prototype for how people can be completely and uniquely offbeat whilst still maintaining a good work-life balance.

After all, you do remember how much people like to project on you, right? Well, use them to make Life a lot easier! XD After all, it’s not like their projection and labelling would be useful any other way LOL🐙

YOUR BEAUTY KILLS🔻💜

story of your evolution – Priestess of Luxury

a legacy of authenticity – Green Historian (Herodotus)

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – A Ghostly Bitch Witch Who’s Quite Literally a Fucken Sigma

playlist: Everything Is Still Under Control by Mabisyo

the TYPA beauty you are – Queen of Wands Rx

You, are, by nature, magical. You’re incredibly magnetic and this ain’t even something you’ve needed to work on; it all comes naturally. If anything, it seems you’ve needed to learn the very hard way how to shield yourself from aenergy vampires. You’ve needed to work on your boundary. This is because it took you such a long time to realise most everybody around you was nothing but anklebiters. These were people who just wanted to be seen orbiting you because doing so would elevate their status or image.

Whether or not you’re aware of it, you’re quite literally thee IT girl. You’re also THAT girl, because a lot of what you do and just who you are is very aspirational. Well of course aspirational to the motivated ones; to the weak, lame-ass ones? Almost everything about you is irritating. And most people are really lame, don’t we all agree on this? So you may have felt like you’re really quite an unlikeable character. WRONG. Dead wrong. It’s not you; it’s your lame-ass environment.

You’re a Queen of Passion who’s been living in peasant quarters, figuratively speaking. You’ve been surrounded by misers who don’t even understand why it’s deeply important for them to raise their own standards of authenticity. Thing is, they can’t afford to be authentic. It’s probably not entirely their fault—after all, peasants are highly dependent on thee System. Not you. You’re the menacingly magnetic bitch witch of a system buster!

effects on the world around you – 8 of Cups

As much as you make an effort to be left alone, you magnetise admirers to no end. This is reminiscent of Greta Garbo’s famous quote, ‘I never said, "I want to be alone". I only said, "I want to be left alone". There is a whole world of difference.’ It’s true with you as well. You’re not necessarily an antisocial bitch who hates people; you just want to be left alone by gluttonous gossipers and silly simpers. You find it hard to grasp why people behave unreasonably in society, all, the, time.

You yearn for a more intellectual world where people behave honourably, which is quite paradoxical considering you’re often perceived as quite scandalous in your behaviour and lifestyle choices as well. For example, you could be gay or queer? You could desire to defy social norms such as ‘having to marry by a certain age’? You either reject social norms or you live completely opposite to what’s expected of your gender, nationality or age. You don’t like being told how to live your Life as if you couldn’t work it out yourself. It's YOUR Life, right?

It’s MY Life! My Story! Is what you say.

You’re the kind of super bad bitch that gives no one permission to decide how you should sail your ship. You’re at the wheel so you’re gonna sail the world however best you know. You’re gonna learn a ton because you’re not afraid of detours or delays or whatever—you could meet accidents, hopefully not fatal ones, but you’re going to learn. That’s what growing up well is all about for you. And if you meet the right kind of audience, your whole AURA is going to empower them to do just the same for themselves~

keep being you, Glorious One – 4 of Cups Rx

You are destined for an exciting Life. In fact, you’re meant to have an audience, have some kind of impact on the world, you’re meant to become some kind of a famous person. Could be a celeb, yeah, but in this social media era, literally everybody can have their own unique kind of celebrity, right? You’re meant to be seen, heard, listened to, watched, analysed (LOL), and learn from.

You’re somebody who’s rare and your perspectives are deeply needed by this world. This world that’s often blindsided by optical illusions. Of all people, you’re the only one who’s not getting sucked into the mirage of mass media and deceitful politicians. You’re the one who’s noticing where the lies are all at. And you need to point that shit out, spell it out for other people to see what’s truly going on in this world.

You could gain enemies, lots of them, in fact; but you are definitely gaining a massive following far greater than that if you remain authentic and courageous. Stay spooky. Stay scandalous. Stay gloriously YOU~ You’ve no idea just how much that Light of yours is needed in this world of long shadows. Keep your Third Eye open and keep your divine protection. Most people have yet to catch on to the one thing that makes YOU superfluously attractive: a courageous Heart that seeks to liberate others from the chains of their own cowardice.

YOUR BEAUTY KILLS🔻🧡

story of your evolution – Priestess of Luck

a legacy of authenticity – Green Magus (John Dee)

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

[woso-dreamzzz]

Surgery IX

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: Ingrid does your hair

The first time Ingrid meets you, the only thing she can look at is your hair.

You're absolutely tiny, dressed comfortably in a pair of overalls and fancy Adidas shoes. You actually look pretty cool for such a little kid but it's the hair that has Ingrid wincing.

It's wild.

It poofs out a lion's mane and Ingrid can just spy the singular hairband desperately trying to keep it all at bay.

You have a lot of curls and a lot of frizz. It's a wonder that Mapi's even managed to scrape it all back into a ponytail.

Ingrid's hair isn't like yours. In fact, Ingrid hasn't really met anyone with hair like yours before.

Your nickname is well suited to you as you bound over to Mapi to talk, hair bouncing with every little step.

You truly have a mane of your own.

Ingrid finds herself staring at it many times over the next few weeks. She just can't help it.

There's just something about your hair that Ingrid can't just get out of her head.

She works out what exactly it is the first time she sleeps the night at Mapi's place.

It's a day off when she wakes up again so the plan is the three of you are all going out shopping together.

It's a normal day even if she's slept over at her girlfriend's so Ingrid dresses quickly and steps out into the living room.

She can hear the crying before she even walks out.

Mapi's sitting on the sofa with you on the floor in front of her.

You're in tears, howling and sobbing as Mapi runs a brush through your hair.

She looks to be nearly in tears too.

"I know," She says," I know. I'm sorry, Cub. I'm so sorry but you know you need your hair brushed."

"Ma-Mami! Mami, no!" You sob as Mapi attempts to force the brush through your curls.

Ingrid's eyes widen in shock.

She hadn't ever considered Mapi brushed your hair dry.

It doesn't look to be working well either, not with how distressed both you and Mapi appear to be.

Your hair has always been dry for as long as Ingrid's known you but now she wonders if it's like that naturally or something else.

It's a bit bad to be snooping but Ingrid can't help herself as she slips into the bathroom to have a look.

You're still sobbing by the time she comes back and Mapi's broken down in tears too.

Ingrid sits, gently stopping Mapi's brushing with a soft hand.

You wiggle away quickly, shuffling all the way to the other side of the room by your toys.

"Mapi?"

"It's fine." Mapi furiously swipes the tears from her eyes. "We're fine. Just having a bit of trouble with her hair."

"Is it usually like this?"

"We get through it."

Mapi's putting on a brave face but Ingrid can tell it's all fake. She's in tears. You're in tears.

You're both treating this like it's normal.

"New plan," She says," Leave her hair as it is. We're going to get her some things."

"For her hair? Ingrid, I have-"

"Mapi, I can tell you're trying hard but none of that stuff in your bathroom is suited to her hair."

"My Mama said-"

"Does your mum have straight hair?"

"Yes."

"Trust me, Mapi. Curly hair needs more looking after. Come on. Get her dressed and I'll show you."

Mapi wasn't quite convinced at first but upon seeing just how large the range of curly haired products was, she firmly shut up unless it was to translate Ingrid's words to the store attendant.

Together, they manage to fill the basket with things Mapi's never even seen before and suddenly she's sitting in her own living room again watching Ingrid wrangle you back into position on the floor.

Hair brushing is your least favourite time of the day combined with saying goodbye to Bagheera and being put down for bed.

Eventually though, with the promise of baking later on in the day, you sit nicely for Ingrid with some documentary about cats playing on the tv.

"Okay."

Ingrid pulls out a bottle of spray.

"Don't brush her hair if it's dry." Ingrid sprays liberally until your hair is suitably wet and is no longer big and bushy. "So we've got a wide-toothed comb which I think we should use for more everyday kind of brushing but we're going to use this-" She holds up the new detangling brush "-To get all the knots out."

Mapi watches attentively as Ingrid separates a chunk of your hair and starts at the bottom rather than the top.

It's a bit weird to you as Ingrid glides the brush through your hair. She doesn't tug or pull like usually happens so it's a bit strange for you.

Hair brushing has always been a very bad experience for you and Mami. There's usually a lot of tears and screaming and crying but it's still a lot better than when Abuela did your hair once.

She complained a lot when it happened and said mean things like your hair was 'untameable' and 'horrible to brush'. You think she meant it in a joking way because she and Abuelo were laughing and teasing each other but you can still remember the way she said that she might tell your Mami to 'cut it all off and start again'.

You know she was joking around and she wasn't actually going to tell Mami that but she still said it and you still remembered it.

She said that if you were any older than she would sit you in front of her and just straighten it all.

You love your mane though, even though it hurts to brush and it's bushy and big.

Mami loves your mane too, she's told you so lots of times. She says it's very beautiful and makes you look fierce like a real life lion.

You think Ingrid must love your hair too because she's being so gentle and so nice with it. Her hands are soft and the brush doesn't pull or snag much.

You like the feeling of her brushing your hair and your eyes droop a little.

It's almost as nice as getting back scratches.

Mapi sits in awe behind you as Ingrid massages some moisturising product into your now tamed hair.

"We could probably just put her hair up in braids to help protect it when she's going about her day," Ingrid says," It'll keep it nice and neat and no knots until we get home."

"You're good at this," Mapi says. She's still slightly in shock at how well Ingrid's doing with this all.

"I..." Ingrid's face turns red. "I did a lot of research. Her hair is so nice. I want her to love it."

Mapi laughs a little, looking down at where you're fast asleep, leaning back against Ingrid's legs.

"If you keep sending her to sleep every time you brush it then I'm sure she will."

[canobugs]

imagine like a true crime documentary on percy jackson like

"so this kid and his mom just disappeared one night, car crashed, blood on the scene no bodies"

"oh my god"

"his stepfather believed he was responsible for the whole thing. mind you this kid was TWELEVE"

"that sounds nuts honestly"

"right? so this kid and his mom go missing, step-dad blames him. kid turns up near New Jersey and a bus explodes."

"shut the fuck up? do they have photos of it?"

"yeah, so a tourist snapped his photo because he recognized him from the missing person's report. by the way, this kid's rap sheet is... it's insane. six schools six years. he was expelled the day of the disappearance."

"seriously?!"

"Yeah, I reached out to the school, but they had no further comment. so 5 shows up AGAIN, saint Louis Arch, another explosion. he FELL from the top of the arch."

"how the fuck did he survive that, what the hell?"

"I have no idea, but a family of three saw him jump from the top into the Mississippi."

"That’s insane."

"It gets more insane; so he shows up on a beach near Los Angeles, right after those major earthquakes? He and the two kids he was traveling with, I forgot to mention there are two other children in this story, but their identities have never been revealed."

"That is wild."

"Yeah! The Coast Guard drops them off because they were just... in the ocean."

"How on earth would three kids get there?"

"Some theories are they got swept out when the earthquake hit, they managed to cling to a buoy and wait for rescue."

"They were that far out?"

"Apperently!! So anyway, they get onto the beach. This dude in a trench coat starts blasting at them with a shotgun."

"Jesus Christ."

"And this kid somehow gets another gun, and they just have a shoot out on the beach."

"holy shit."

"Holy shit is right. The big guy manages to hit an exposed gas line from the earthquake, explodes like three cop cars, and by some miracle, no casualties."

"That is so lucky."

"YEAh! So it was determined that this dude orchestrated the whole thing! He was seen by waitresses in Denver outside of a diner, THREATENING all three kids."

"Really? fuck this guy that kid is a hero."

"He really is."

"So did they ever arrest him?"

"That’s what's so fucked up. They never found him."

"Are you effing kidding me?"

"Thatwhat I said when I read that like? Hello? big dude with a gun kidnapped 4 people. but that isn't the most confusing part of the story."

"Really?"

"So far, I haven't mentioned his mother and Step-father again. She turns up in their apartment."

"Just turns up?"

"She just turns up. but you know what? the step-father is reported missing."

"no fucking way dude"

"yes! and we still don't know what happened to him to this day."

【This podcast is sponsored by Monster Donut online delivery! watch to the end to get our discount code for 40% off of any monster donut purchase!】

honestly I would listen to it.

[hgfictionwriter]

Self Control: Part Six - Friends

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie wants to give you the world. And when she's away from you, you miss each other terribly. And how will Janine and Sinc react when they find out the good news?

Warnings: G!P smut. Phone sex. Masturbation (and getting caught). Language.

A/N: Mostly fluff, but a sprinkle of smut in there as well ;) I’m also not promoting one birth plan over another - that’s totally personal to each person/couple and this is just a story! Rest of the series can be found here.

You were curled up against Jessie on the couch, your knees tucked in and leaning against her leg. You were on your phone and she idly caressed your thigh as she only half-intently watched a documentary on TV. Her mind was preoccupied with various thoughts when you piped up.

"We're all set for the midwife's visit tomorrow, right?" You asked.

"Hm?" Jessie asked idly before giving her head a subtle shake and coming to. "Yeah, we're set."

Jessie watched you as you nodded and returned to your phone. You floated the idea out there early on to do a home birth and, although you were both tentative - safety and concern top of mind - Jessie loved the idea of you two bringing your little one into the world in the comfort of your own home instead of a cold, impersonal hospital room.

You'd both done research into risks, what was involved, and talked with Dr. Mal about options. She connected you with a midwifery practice that offered collaborative care with her clinic. They'd still go for major appointments at Dr. Mal's, but all information would be available to both and Jessie and you would get more personal, flexible care through the midwife. Between that continuity of care and upon meeting the team, Jessie relaxed.

Tomorrow your midwife would stop by your apartment for a home visit to explore if it was an option and to further talk through birth plans.

In fact, that's kind of what was on Jessie's mind. She chewed the inside of her lip and toyed with the hem of your shorts.

"What's wrong?" You asked, interrupting her thoughts and causing her to look at you in surprise once more. You smirked at her. "You're fidgeting."

"Just thinking," Jessie said slowly, almost pouting though she finished with a short laugh.

"Yeah? What about?" You asked as you gently played with her hair and awaited an answer.

Jessie pulled you onto her lap, you releasing a laugh as she maneuvered you. Your fingers automatically laced around the back of her neck and her hands rested on your waist as she looked up at you.

"I'm just wondering if this visit tomorrow might be a bit moot. At least part of it." She held back a smile at how you screwed up your face at her. Her gaze flit away and she shrugged. "I just don't know if we'll be giving birth here."

"What do you mean?" You asked. "I thought we both wanted that. I mean, yes, we need a hospital transfer plan, but I thought the goal was to have the baby here," you went on, concern creeping onto your features.

"But what if I want to buy us a house?" Jessie asked nonchalantly, allowing a hint of a smile to cross her lips.

You shook your head out. "I'm sorry - what?" Jessie laughed, rubbing her hands up your sides.

"A house," she repeated as if it was simple and obvious. Now she smiled fully at you. "We could use more space. You have to admit - it's going to be a bit tight in here as our kid gets older. And, you know, we talked about the possibility of a second," she finished, her smile turning shy. She watched as you seemed to ready a rebuttal, but ultimately relented.

"I suppose. But we can make it work for a while," you compromised. Jessie gave you a look.

"Why though?" She asked. "We have the money. It would be nice to get settled into a new home before the baby arrives, not fighting for every foot of space for items. Plus the noise," Jessie went on as she gestured down the hall.

"I see you've put some thought into this," you said with a smirk as you tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Maybe." She grinned, before growing earnest. "I want us to have a home together. I know this is our home, but...I want a house for us. I want a yard where the little one and I, "she rest her hand on your still-flat stomach, "can kick the ball around. Run around the backyard. Water fights in summer. And if there's ever snow - build a snowman together. Maybe I can build them a little treehouse, too. Buy a dog!"

A smile had crept onto your face as she spoke with increasing enthusiasm. She waited quietly as you contemplated. It only took you a few seconds before gave an affectionate roll of your eyes.

"Domestication is hitting you hard, Fleming," you teased before you leaned in to kiss her.

"This is what I've always wanted," Jessie said quietly before cracking a faint smirk. "I can't help it if it took so long to meet you." You rolled your eyes good-naturedly at her once more, spurring a wave of affection in her.

"Charmer," you deadpanned as you kissed her again; slowly this time. "Fine. A house it is. But none of this ‘I’m buying a house for us’ business. We will buy a house together.”

“Deal.”

-------

"Hey, baby," you greeted, your voice feeding through Jessie's airpods as she sat on her bed, knees up with her arms resting on them as she held up her phone in front of her as she Facetimed you. "I didn't expect a call from you."

"I know," Jessie said, smiling quietly at you through the screen. "Janine and a few others are checking out some shops in town here. Figured I'd take it an opportunity to get some solitude."

"So you called me," you teased.

"Of course," she replied easily, tilting her chin up rather pleased with herself. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," you told her, holding up crossed fingers so she could see. "I don't want to jinx anything, but...maybe this second trimester, no morning sickness thing may be true."

"I really hope so," Jessie told you earnestly. "I know how hard it's been for you." You raised your eyebrows in agreement, but smirked at her.

"Thankfully, I have a very thoughtful, doting girlfriend who took great care of me throughout."

"Least I could do," she laughed and you arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah, actually. I guess that's true," you agreed before laughing furthermore. "Still. I appreciate you." You went on. "So, enough about me. How's Orlando? How was practice today?"

Jessie relayed how the day went and any little quirks that had come up.

"I saw the videos your team put up today of training," you relayed. "You looked amazing."

"Oh." Jessie laughed, somehow still blushing after all this time. "Well, thank you."

You whined. "I wish that sexy body of yours was over here instead."

"Oh," Jessie said again, further caught off guard though a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You really are feeling better."

"Yeah," you said, nodding earnestly. "And I'm fucking horny. It's worse than before, Jess. I swear."

Jessie averted her gaze, suddenly extra alert and nervous about her whereabouts. Sure, she was in her room, but still. She looked back to you and gave you a coy smile.

"Well. I wish I was there to help you," she said simply. You groaned and rolled your eyes and entirely not in the way she was accustomed to.

"Babe," you whined. "You have to do better than that."

"I can't right now," Jessie whispered unnecessarily as she peered around. You pouted.

"I thought you said Janine went out."

"She did," Jessie said with a small sigh of exasperation. It's true - she should be gone for a while. She was paranoid still, but logically speaking, she did have a window of opportunity.

"Fine," you said, relenting with a mild eye roll. You took a breath to reset and started anew. "So what's tomorrow looking like for you guys?"

"Well, hold on," Jessie interjected, not happy with how things ended. Her gaze darted left to right in the empty room until she settled on you again with a small gesturing nod. "If you're so worked up," she paused momentarily, a smirk forming, "why don't you tell me how worked up you are."

You gave her a scrutinizing, lingering look before you set your shoulders back and gave a faint smile of victory.

"Not sure you deserve to know," you taunted with a glint in your eye. Jessie's jaw fell agape, affronted by your accusation.

"Baby," she implored. "I want to know more than anything." Her breathing deepened subconsciously. She whispered. "Now, be a good girl, slip your fingers inside your underwear and tell me how wet you are for me."

You groaned again, this time exactly in the way she wanted you to. She watched intently as you bit your lip and she could see your shoulder moving and flexing as you began to touch yourself.

"Oh fuck, Jess." Your eyes drifted shut as you made contact and all she could do was sit there as your shoulders rose and fell, your head tossed back. You opened your eyes to look at her. "I'm absolutely dripping for you." You moaned softly, eyes falling shut once more. "I need you so bad."

Jessie exhaled steadily, needing to avert her gaze, but that doing nothing to limit the effect your husky voice and needy moans were having on her. She bit her lips together, eyes trained on the wall as she tried to will away the sensation of her cock starting to swell with arousal. You really were a siren call to her and no matter how many times she had you, she was still powerless under your influence.

"God, I wish I was riding your cock right now," you breathed. Jessie's eyes screwed shut at the vision of it and she cleared her throat. Despite her intentions, she opened her eyes once more to look at you and was met with video of your body writhing as you continued to pleasure yourself.

"Babe, you gotta cool it," Jessie urged you as she glanced down to see her shorts tenting. You opened your eyes, hooded with lust, to look at her with a cocky smirk.

"Why? Is my baby getting worked up?" You asked knowing damn well what the answer was. "Do you need my mouth on your cock? I love when you gently nudge the back of my throat, your hips softly bucking, when I know full well you want to fuck my throat."

"Jesus," Jessie hissed, eyes averting once more as her cheeks began to flash crimson.

"Or should we just cut straight to it. Me bouncing up and down on your thick cock. It feels so incredible when you fill me up." You moaned. "I love when you take it slow, taking such good care of me, so attentive. But nothing beats when you lose control and you fuck me like your life depends on it. Like there's nothing else in this world."

"Oh God," Jessie groaned through grit teeth as she looked up at the ceiling. She didn't need to check to know that her shorts were fully tented now.

"Shit," she mumbled as she reached under her waistband and into her shorts. Her eyes shut as soon as she wrapped her hand around her hard on. "God, what you do to me," Jessie said.

She blew out a steady breath as she circled her sensitive head with her thumb.

“Mm, fuck, I’m so hard for you, babe. I just want to be inside of that hot, tight pussy of yours,” she said. You moaned in her ear and she reciprocated. "I wish-"

A cold wave of panic went over her as her moment of relief was cutoff by the sound of the hotel door unlocking and swinging open.

"Jess, have you seen my wallet?"

"Fuck," Jessie hissed under her breath as she retracted her hand from her shorts as fast as possible. She turned away from the entryway where Janine and who knows else would be appearing any moment now. Her hands shook she frantically snatched up a pillow and clutched it to her as she laid on her side and tried to look like she was casually Facetiming you. She couldn't mask the glare she shot you as you stifled laughter.

"Oh hey," Jessie feigned faint surprise as Janine, Kelli and Sam appeared.

"Hi," Janine said absently as she began tossing clothes around as she looked for her wallet. "So have you seen my wallet?"

"No," Jessie said curtly, eyes on the blonde and then the others briefly before facing you once more.

"Can they hear me?" You asked quietly and Jessie narrowed her eyes at you in another glare as she did her best to ignore the incessant throbbing between her legs. "No," she nearly grumbled.

Kelli leaned over Jessie's laying form and waved at you. "Hi wifey!" You waved back entirely casually as though you weren't just fingering yourself 10 seconds ago.

"Jess can you get up and help me look," Janine complained as she continued to tear the room apart.

"Find it yourself," Jessie refuted with a frown. Janine grumbled and stomped over to the brunette, snatching her phone and one of her airpods out of her ear to wear it. Jessie leaned up slightly to try to grab it, but couldn't fully without risking losing her cover.

"Hi, love," Janine greeted sweetly before her face fell. "Can you tell Jessie to get up and help me?"

"Uh, I can try," you said slowly, holding back a laugh. Jessie could still hear you in the remaining earpiece. "But she's tired from practice. I bet Kelli's great at scavenger hunts."

Janine rolled her eyes at you and huffed. "Should've known you'd side with her." She sighed once more and grabbed the pillow, giving it a tug. Jessie held onto it tightly. At this, Janine frowned.

"What the- come on, Jess," she implored as she tugged harder on the pillow, Jessie reciprocating the same.

"Just take my wallet," Jessie complained. "I'm trying to rest and talk to my girlfriend. Leave me alone."

In a flash, all three of her teammates reamed on the pillow and left Jessie still fully tented shorts exposed. Janine literally screamed and covered her eyes, while the others gasped and started laughing riotously.

"Fuck off," Jessie yelled as she grabbed the other pillow and sat up laying it on her. Her face burned immensely hot as she swatted at her friends to get out.

"Oh my God, babe," she heard you say through conflicted laughter. "I'm so sorry." Janine yelled again and tossed the phone onto the bed like it scalded her and she gave Jessie back her airpod.

"You can have her back," she yelled for you to hear. "And yeah. I'm taking your wallet. Oh my gosh, you two. It's only been a day. Get it together."

-------

It was no surprise when Jessie received relentless teasing from the entire team the following day. She pouted and grumbled, trying now and then to deflect with bravado, but for the most part she spent the better half of the day with her hood up, blushing and dodging jokes. Thankfully, by the time the ride to the stadium came around people had mostly moved on.

She'd texted with you throughout the day, you commiserating and apologizing for yesterday's event. She wasn't actually mad; it was fun while it lasted and she just didn't like attention at the best of times, never mind for something like this.

The game went well, Jessie played the full 90 and though she didn't log an assist or a goal, her stats were still solid and she felt good about things.

That evening, back at the hotel she sat around with Janine and Sinc. She was grateful that even after retiring from club play, Sinc came on staff as an offensive coach for forward and attacking midfielders.

They were all chatting when Jessie's phone buzzed. She looked to see a message from you. It was a listing for a house along with a message:

A south facing yard just for you and our little one. So you can play football together until the late hours of the night.

"I'd ask, "What's got you smiling like that?" but honestly, I'm afraid to," Janine quipped. “And I don’t need to ask ‘Who’.”

Jessie lifted her head in delayed recognition of Janine's question, only afterward realizing she was still smiling.

With you now officially just entering your second trimester, you were at a stage where you could share the news. She wanted to tell her friends before a more formal announcement went out to acquaintances and others. You told her to do it whenever and however felt right. She didn't know how that looked, but, sitting here with two of her oldest friends, it seemed clear.

"Um," she started, putting her phone away and taking a breath, she ignored how they both frowned at her. "I was smiling because Y/N and I are looking at buying a house."

Janine's jaw dropped in surprise and Christine nodded in approval. Janine started asking a million questions and Jessie calmly cut her off.

"There are lots of reasons we'd want a house, but, the biggest is," she paused, shrugging lightly, "we need the space. Because, our family is growing." She could see the wheels turning inside their heads and she smiled as she went on. "Y/N's pregnant. We're having a baby."

If Janine was surprised before, she was absolutely beyond now. Even Sinclair's jaw hit the floor.

Before Jessie knew it, Janine flung herself across the space between them and threw herself onto Jessie in a bear hug.

"Oh my God!" She exclaimed. "That is so exciting! I'm so happy for you!" When she pulled back, tears were in her eyes, immediately causing tears to spring to Jessie's. Something seemed to spark in Janine’s mind as she paused, all excitement on hold as she eyed the brunette. "Wait - you're excited, right? It's a good thing?"

"Oh my God," Jessie frowned as she gave Janine a light shove. "Of course it's a good thing. This was planned," she said in exaggeration. "Geez." She rolled her eyes. "I'm very excited."

"Okay, great," Janine said, all of her previous enthusiasm coming right back. "Oh my gosh! I want to plan the baby shower. Wait - will she let me? Probably not. Well, I can throw one for you! Why not!"

"Okay, okay," Sinc said as she put a hand on Janine's shoulder and got her sit back down. "Give the woman some space to breathe. There's still lots of time for you to insert yourself into this whole journey," she joked, side-eying the girl.

Janine now settled, Sinclair got up and Jessie rose to be pulled into a hug.

"Congrats, kid," Christine said before chuckling. "Guess I can't call you that anymore."

She pulled back, holding Jessie by the shoulders as she smiled at her, giving a small shake of her head. "Crazy to think. I met you when you were just a kid. And since then you've built this incredible career - top teams, Olympic medals, National team captain," she said with a wink, "and you've never let any of it go to your head. Still just as humble and sweet today as you were back then. You met this awesome woman who makes you happier than I've ever seen you, and now you two are having a kid of your own. It's amazing. I'm proud of you and I'm so happy for you."

By now, Jessie was, rather unsuccessfully, blinking back tears. Sinclair chuckled, tousling Jessie's hair.

"But you're still a bit of a crier," she teased. "That's okay. That kid is going to be so lucky to have you as a parent. Couldn't ask for better."

[eoieopda]

tidal.

but vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “i don’t need a sales pitch. you will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.” 

pairing: vernon x afab!reader type: one-shot (fluff n’ smut) au: est. relationship wc: 4.8k rating: 18+ a/n: i didn’t plan this whatsoever, but i felt so weirdly compelled to write it that i avoided eye-contact with all of my wips, and now… here we are, lol. cw: pov switch, reader is afab + on their period, gender identity + pronouns aren’t designated, blood mention (obvi), unprotected p in v penetration (ill-advised!!), wee bit of dry-humping (ig?), a lil massage, pet names (baby, sweetheart), self-indulgent ref to a favorite docu of mine, and lastly — vernon (yes, this is a warning 🧍🏻) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Vernon isn’t blind. 

He can see you out of the corner of his eye, laying flat on your back, several unexplained centimeters away from his side. With the duvet clenched in your fists, you stare intently up at the ceiling, like you’re waiting for it to move — or trying to move it yourself, telekinetically. You keep your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, as if you expect it to make a run for it.

So, yes, Vernon can see you. 

He just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.

For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright. 

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response. 

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you. 

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you. 

You don’t reciprocate. 

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope. 

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk. 

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so. 

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever —  have to convince me to fuck you.” 

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple. 

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw. 

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access. 

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?” 

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat. 

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…” 

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it. 

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound. 

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life. 

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic. 

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.” 

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,” you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you. 

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed. 

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist. 

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him. 

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you. 

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before. 

Christ. 

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you. 

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you. 

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

“Okay, but, like…. who’s carrying who?”

[hanihazeljade]

Disgustingly Green

Tim got de-aged at the age of 8. The age where he is the exact carbon copy of his parents ruthlessness. Can Batman, Nightwing and Robin can handle him?

(CW: verbal abuse, wrong parenting)

Part 2: Skill Issue

Part 3: Forced Playdate

Timothy doesn't know where he is. He knows that he fall asleep on his bed and not on some clinics. He slowly rise up to look around his surroundings.

His vision is still hazy and he rubbed his eyes with his fist as he yawns. He heard someone cooed before him. It is a grown up man that he doesn't know.

With that in his mind, he shook away all of his sleepiness. Was he kidnapped? Again? Oh no, his parents wouldn't like it.

"Hi Little Timmy, how you feeling?" The man asked him but he just looked at the man. He has blue eyes and black hair and also really really handsome. Maybe he wasn't kidnap?

"I am fine, thank you for asking." he politely replied, on reflex.

"Do you know who I am?" the man smiled at him and he just shook his head. "I'm Dick, your brother." the man, Dick, introduced himself. His face must be formed some confusion when the man chuckled, "My parents doesn't know that there is a double meaning with that, if that really bothers you, you can call me Richard."

"How about we go up? the man—Richard, said. He nodded, he doesn't always like hospital beds.

He was about to jumped out of the bed when Richard just grabbed him and carry him. He let it be, after all he likes it, noone touched him for weeks now and he missed having skin contact.

Going up the stairs and coming out of a grandfather's clock, weird, he look out of the window and he knows where he is. There is only one place like this that he could possibly be. He is still in Gotham, in Bristol still but he doesn't know which house.

The man— Richard— carry him till they end up in a long table, probably the dining room. In there, they're some people seating and he knows the man who is seating on the head seat, it's Bruce Wayne. He knows his face because his mother always pointed out his stupid behaviour but good thing is that he has some good looks.

"Is that Tim?" Bruce Wayne knows his name, holy cupcakes.

"Yep. As cute and light as ever." Richard said as he keep on cooing to him and Timothy doesn't appreciate that.

Richard put him down in a chair and a butler comes and bring him some cookies. "He wants to eat because it seems like he didn't eat for so long. "Go on, dig in Master Tim."

"Is there walnuts here?" he asked and the butler agreed.

"Yes there is a walnuts in there."

Tim pouted, he is allergic to walnuts. "I am sorry, Mister Butler, but I am allergic to walnuts."

The butler seems shocked at his claimed but quickly dissolved his shocked and gave him a chocolate chip cookie. "I hope this one is not something you are allergic with."

"Thank you, Mister Butler." he said as he take a bite. The cookie is delicious.

After the snack, Richard bring him to the room that he apparently has been using here. But he doesn't remember that. But hey, his parents won't be back till Thanksgiving and they have cookies here, he will escaped the week before Thanksgiving.

++++++++

Tim was watching a documentary about the alps and different flora that has been keeping up with the extreme weather of it, when a kid, definitely more older than he is starts bothering him.

"Tt. Of course Drake will be incompetent enough to be a hindrance in his night life." the kid said, behind him is Richard and Mister Wayne.

Timothy Jackson Drake knows that is a jab to him, and all he could remember is that his father kept on saying, "If they hit you as Drake, you hit them back twice." and her mother added, "Not physically, Timothy but rather used highly intelligent words that may hurt them. Unless they do it first." and those words were imprinted on him.

Timothy paused the documentary, and then walked closer to the boy that was insulting him, and when they are foot apart he stopped.

"Mister, you have such a vibrant green eyes." he said, "But my mother said to me that green is the colour of disgust, that's why she gave birth to a blue eyed kid. Is your mother disgusted of you?" he asked. The room was silent, no one decided to say anything after that, the kid who insulted him has a hurt in his face, but Timothy is not done yet.

"But green is also a colour of evil in Disney, like when Ursula is trying to steal Ariel's voice or when Scar pushed Mufasa in the cliff and also the green poison apple in Snow White, so is that why your Mother left you because you are evil and disgusting like them, or you are evil and mean like them because you are disgusting and left by your Mother?" he said. He strike back twice and that is his goal. His mother would be so proud.

"Tim!" a voice behind him yelled, it was Mister Wayne.

"Yes, Mister Wayne?" he smiled at the man.

"We don't insult people here, okay? Apologise to Damian, now." Mister Wayne demanded, making Tim to frowned. He is not in the wrong though?

"I am not insulting anyone, Mister Wayne. I am merely saying my observations of him." he said while looking at the adult that is so much larger than him, but Mister Wayne is a dumb man, he always broke his bones and spills wine to other people so maybe he wouldn't get it.

"However, if it really bothers you..." Tim said and he looked at Damian, "I am sorry that your mother hates you because you are disgusting and mean and evil." he added as he looked back to the stunned Bruce Wayne.

"If you excuse me, I am exhausted to talk to anyone here. You should know better Mister Wayne, you are an adult." he said and then he walked towards to his room, leaving the three stunned. Well at least he made his point.

[kai-anderson-whore]

The summoning (jmp x tate Langdon x reader smut)

Summary: you had always been fascinated with serial killers and true crime, one day you decided to try and summon your two favourite killers

Warnings: smut, three way, oral (tate receiving), p in v sex, doggy style 😏, summoning a ghost, ouija board,

Word count: 1,3k (another short one it was supposed to be longer)

A/n: this is a request by @villains-are-hot, thank you for the request and once again I apologise that it was very rushed at the end and I took ages to post this 😊

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For as long as you could remember you had a unhealthy obsession with true crime/ serial killers. Some may say it's far from normal, it was frightening. You knew stories of cases watched all the documentaries and more.

Some people say it's the type of obsession you hear killers having before they kill. You didn't care it was a interest that you were so passionate about. You preferred learning about serial killers, how their mind works, what drove them to do it. The ones you liked learning about the most was Tate Langdon who got shot dead in his bedroom after shooting up his school one day in 1994. And the other was James Patrick march a well known serial killer from the 1920s to the early 1930s. Legend has it they both still reside in their place of death.

You didn't know if that was true or not, you visited the hotel that James Patrick march resides in but nothing, you couldn't exactly go to the murder house since people live there. It intrigued you deeply, the thought it could be true or not.

You didn't know what you were doing when the idea popped into your head, you thought it won't work but it was worth a go. Now researching things to do, how to summon ghosts, some where a bit far fetched others seemed fake but you were willing nonetheless. Finding a method writing down everything that had to be done.

You sat in front of the oujia board your fingers delicately on the triangle piece. You took deep breaths trying to stay calm circling the board three times before saying "James Patrick march and Tate Langdon I invite you to this space" waiting a few seconds you felt eerily quiet and cold.

"Is there anyone here?" You asked the board, you felt something pushing the triangle to yes, you gasped in shock now feeling nervous but your fingers still remain on the piece. "How many sprits are here?" You then asked feeling uneasy slightly regretting your decision. The piece moved to the number 2 you didn't know if it was you or if it was actually two spirits here but you slowly asked your next question "w-who are you?".

The board moved to around spelling out two initials JMP and TL you gasped removing your hands from the board standing up. Completely forgetting to say goodbye. You immediately grabbed the board putting it away "what the fuck, it's probably me doing it it's got to be" you whispered to yourself.

"Not quite dear" a voice chimed making you yelp in fright. "What the fuck!?" You turned around seeing two guys there awfully familiar to you, they looked identical like discrete descent, "w-who are you?" You asked in fear.

"I'm James Patrick march and this is-" "Tate Langdon" they said, you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion "you're both dead no this can't be true." You couldn't believe what you were seeing they looked exactly like the killers you knew so much about. "How are you here?" You asked a thousand questions running around your head.

"Well you summoned us" Tate chuckled pointing to the ouija board. That's when you realised "shit I forgot to say goodbye" mentally cursing yourself, "it's quite alright dear, but I must ask how did you manage to get us free?" James asked.

"Dude she used the ouaji board to get us out" Tate said like James was dumb. "That's fascinating" James eyes light up "I don't know how we could ever thank you" James added. Tate's eyes on you like you’re his prey, swallowing a lump in your throat as his steps grew closer to you from behind. "I've got an idea" Tate's breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine. "Y-you don't need to thank me" your voice was above whisper unsure what they mean.

"Well boy enlighten us with your idea" James's velvety voice made you shiver more. You couldn't deny they were both very attractive despite their tendency to killing. "Well she's pretty isn't she? Don't you agree?" Tate smirked his hands running down the soft skin of your arms. "I do agree with you she is quite remarkable" James agreed beckoning his steps closer to you.

You didn't know if your body was filled with fear or anticipation maybe both. Closing your eyes feeling their breaths breeze across your features. James colds fingertips grazing gracefully along your bare arms bringing goosebumps to their wake. "I think we shall reward her for setting us free from our eternal resistances" James smirked his pencil moustache raising up.

"I was thinking the same" Tate chuckled with a devilish smirk, you didn't know what to feel scared? Or turned on? Maybe both. Feeling their cold hands on you but you didn't protest instead you let out a small sigh tugging on your shirt removing it from your body your head felt like it was spinning feeling their lips on your neck. You felt yourself being guided to your bed. Seeing Tate now above you with a mischievous smirk on his face.

You didn't know where James was until Tate pull away from you, seeing James now in his briefs flipping you over on your hands and knee. You whimpered in anticipation for what's to come feeling James's cold fingers hooking into your underwear peeling the fabric of your underwear off you and into the floor. Tate in front of you his impressive length in-front of you, holding yourself on one hand stroking him, earning a low groan erupted from his mouth. You felt cold fingertips teasing your folds collecting your arousal bringing it to your clit circling it in slow torturous motions.

A small gasp left your lips, your body automatically responding to James's touch "that's it dear" he says huskily, Tate still knelt infront of you his eager length desperate for attention. You took Tate's cock in your hand stroking him kitten licking the tip making him buck his hips into your touch more. You took Tate in your mouth swirling your tongue along the tip, gasping as you felt James enter your heat.

James thrusted into you slowly you moaned against Tate's length. A low groan rumbled from his throat his hips bucked further in your throat. James thrusts grew more faster and harder, tears forming in your eyes. "Fuck" Tate hissed his hips essentially fucking your throat.

"You feel wonderful darling" James hissed his grip on your hips tight, nails digging into your skin only adding to your pleasure. "Fuck" you moaned feeling Tate twitch in your mouth signalling you that he was close. You kept your movements along Tate's cock till he releases into the back of your throat, swallowing every drop. James kept his movements thrusting harshly into you you felt close to the edge "I'm so close" you moaned. Tate was watching you and James with a smirk, his skin flustered. James didn’t stop his movements hitting that spot guaranteed to make you see stars.

With a few more harsh deep thrusts, your body trembles, back arching releasing over James’s length trigging his own release deep inside you. His thrusts became sloppy till they came to a halt. Trying to catch your breath “that was something else” you chuckled. James and tate shared a wicked smile between them, “oh we’re don’t done, we’re only getting started” Tate’s voice make a shiver run down your spine waiting on what’s to come.