#nothing i ever achieve will be as good as what hes done

[bpdame]

mom telling me about how she essentially bragged to a job interviewer about how my brother "set the path" for me and how i learned to do things so quickly because of him:

me wanting to have my own fucking accomplishments for once and wanting to have some aspect of my life not be tied to him:

#i cant even really deny it like yeah its probably true that i wouldnt have been such a smart kid without him #and even now i tend to follow his example but #everything is about him. everything #i cant just be a smart kid. im specifically smart because of him. #every aspect of my life revolves around my brother #im never gonna fucking be better than him #never #nothing i ever achieve will be as good as what hes done #i was so excited. honestly. when i got accepted to my 4year #the same day i told my parents i got accepted #to minor fanfare #my brother came over and talked about a promotion he got #which they were distinctly more excited about #i was so worried about my 4year if i didnt get accepted i didnt know what i was gonna do so #seeing them be so flippant about it was so upsetting #and then for them to start congratulating him and acting like its the best thing to ever happen #it sucked #theres a million examples #im never gonna be good enough #im never gonna be better than him #i am always going to exist in his shadow #i dont even blame him for it. hes just doing his thing living his life #he has achieved a lot and im happy for him #its our parents really #i mean hes not innocent either he has the same anger issues that everyone in our family does #i dont think he really respects me or sees my concerns with the weight i see them with #sometimes i wonder if he even likes me #he never wanted a sister #♡ . ameposting #♡ . vents

[bisaster-energy]

literally don't listen to the oh hellos valley album if thinking about sam winchester makes u feel anything because those songs are so fucking samcoded it'll tear ur heart out

#listening to second child restless child like 😐😶 #IN MEMORIAM BUT INSTEAD OF A SON RETURNING TO A FATHER. #it's well. you know. #I actually related some of them to cas but those two are like 🤞 #WISHING WELL??? OUGHHHH #i made mistakes do i even need to delve #that entire album can go into a Sam playlist unedited #if u can't tell I'm currently crying listening to this album ATM #i don't talk about sam enough but if i cared about him less i could talk about him more #but srsly the thing about sam and cas is that they do both want salvation. some forgiveness. #assurance that they're not some broken evil thing meant for nothing more than proving time and time again that that's all they'll ever be #and that assurance hinges on dean wayyyyy too much but that's another conversation #monstrous. other. that's THEM and they ache with want to repent but. how can u repent unless u change? #so sam attempts to mold himself into a normal shape stuff his self into a cardboard cutout of what he THINKS is correct #and we know cas is like is a drawing is done and then someone hit the erase all button over and over #but once he escapes the lobotomies he is still trying to be something else to some extent. he couldn't be a good angel #so he tries to be a good human but he can't even achieve that much so he's left looking in from the outside and #tells himself it's not that cold out anyway that this suits him better #does dean know why cas lingers at the doorway. does he know that sam is scraping at his walls fit to burst. #anyway the whole world would benefit from a more fleshed out sastiel relationship regardless of what kind #im in my feelings rn sorry for spn posting do u still think im hot :/ #cee's bullshit

[aficionadoenthusiast]

yes yes annabeth has abandonment issues and she loves percy because he's the only one who stayed, but have you considered: she loves him because he has no ambition

(i'm tempted to just leave it at that, but i'm guessing most people will not get what i mean, and i like doing this stuff so let's go)

think about it. for her dad, it was the dream of having a normal family and a nice normal job where he could work on his projects without distractions. it was the desire to make helen happy because she could give him that life even if it hurt his daughter.

for thalia, it was the dream of not being the child of the prophecy. it was finding a family with the hunters, no strings attached. it was maybe even the desire of keeping annabeth and luke alive by sacrificing herself, at least a little bit.

for luke, it was the dream of being a hero. it was the dream of saving the demigods. it was the utter belief that he knew what was best and could achieve that goal, damn the consequences. it wasn't even pride. it was just good intentions marred by ambition and bad influences.

for grover, it was the dream finding pan.

the one thing all of these dreams have in common: they took annabeth's family away from her.

that's not to say percy didn't have desires or dreams or goals or anything, but the difference is that everything he wanted had her in it, and none of it was particularly ambitious.

he didn't want to be a hero. he just did what he had to do til his job was done. even his ambitions now have annabeth written all over them: going to college with her in new rome, trying to live as normal a life as possible, growing old with her, etc. there's nothing he wants that doesn't involve her, and you know what? they deserve that so much, that open-hearted devotion.

which introduces some fun irony: where percy's fatal flaw is loyalty, annabeth's fatal flaw is hubris, and one of the first real things she ever said about herself is that she wants to build something permanent. that is hardcore ambition right there, but it ties right back into her abandonment issues. she wants to build something that won't leave and disappoint her.

in that regard, percy's lack of ambition fulfills her excess ambition because his loyalty gave her something permanent. they love each other so much that they fill in the gaps of each other's fatal flaws, and their ambitions fit like puzzle pieces. they never have to doubt each other because there is nothing to doubt.

she loves him because he has no ambition.

#percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percy and annabeth #annabeth and percy #annabeth pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo hoo toa #pjo fandom #pjo analysis #luke castellan #thalia grace #grover underwood #annabeth percy jackson #annabeth x percy #percy x annabeth

[merchelsea]

took care of your girl - max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen + fem! driver!(charles' gf) reader

summary: charles is too busy celebrating his P2 to care about your home dnf, but max is not.

author's note: this is my first time writing for tumblr and im so excited!! i cant believe i actually came up with is.

word count: 4k+

PART TWO

"ugh, you're so boring." charles sighed.

he had been trying to convince you to go celebrate his p2 with him for the last five minutes, but you were just not in the mood for a party.

i mean, this was monza. ferrari's and alfa romeo's home race, but your home race too. you had big expectations for this one.

of course you didn't mind ending up 6th, like you thought you would 4 laps before the end. you just wanted to cross the line. but you didn't.

at lap 50, you collided with sargeant, who was trying to overtake. the williams got to the end, and you didn't. you thought it was so unfair, but there was nothing you could do.

you had done an amazing race, managing to go from 15th to 6th. it was more than enough after a terrible qualifying, and you couldn't understand how someone took that from you in a heartbeat.

you were so angry. all you wanted to do was cry. but you still got out there with your best smile and watched the drivers getting to the podium.

first one to get up there was lando, who once again did a great race for mclaren, ending up 3rd after an 8th in qualifying. he was a great driver and everyone could see it.

then they called charles. the man in ferrari red stepped into the 2nd place with the brightest smile. he was really happy, and so were you. you were happy for him, genuinely.

you smiled and applauded just like everyone. you were so proud of your boyfriend. of how he managed to get that thing they call a car from 13th to 2nd.

the tifosi were out of their minds proud, and so were you.

in that moment, just for that one tiny amount of time, all you felt was happiness.

and then they called max verstappen. you sighed and applauded when the men got to his place. your smile never fading, but growing wider. you were beyond proud, more than what words could ever achieve to show. so you just stood there applauding.

you knew it was boring to see the same person win race after race, always getting to step on that ridiculous number one. but he deserved it, and you were delighted to be able to see his dreams coming true. because he was talented, that’s something no one could deny, but he worked his ass off.

you didn't get to watch them celebrate tho. because, unfortunately, someone called you in the garage.

lewis was already there when you arrived, and he was the first to talk to you.

"hey listen, i'm sorry for what happened. you deseved that 6th." he pat on your shoulder and you smiled, thankful.

"it was a great race, just a bad outcome." you sighed after hugging him casually like you always did after a race. "you nailed it today, congrats!" he thanked you and toto arrived, wanting to talk to both his drivers.

"you were absolutely amazing out there today. every person in this team is very proud." he smiled. "of both of you." his eyes fell on you when he said that. he knew you well, and he could tell you blamed yourself for what happened, even if you didn't show. "the incident with the williams was a shame, but you two fought like hell. i am proud of you."

you faked a smile and thanked toto. his words were comforting but they didn't do much. you were still upset.

that's why the first thing you did when you were free was lock yourself in your driver room. letting your body fall into the couch you reached for your phone to focus your mind on something that was not the race.

but after a little, you heard someone knocking in your door.

"mon amour? it's me. can i come in?" you got up and unlocked the door, facing your smiley boyfriend. he greeted you with a wholehearted kiss, showing you how happy he was for his race.

"hey baby." you smiled to him. "you did so good today, i am the proudest girlfriend in the world." you whispered into the tight hug you pulled him to.

"thank you!" he said simply, not even acknowledging your race. you weren't surprised because he never did, but it was your home race. and somehow you thought that changed something. "so, does the proudest girlfriend in the world want to come and celebrate with her man?"

and that is just how you got into this 'fight'.

"i'm not boring. you know that i would go any other day." you tried to explain yourself. it was kind of embarrassing, having to explain that to the person who's supposed to love you and understand you. "i just dnf'ed, charles. in my home country. after a freaking perfect race. that´s not easy."

"aren´t you happy for me?" he asked, looking at you with a fake sad expression.

"of course i am. you know i am." how could you not be? the monegasque deserved this more than anything.

"then come. why don't you make an effort for me? you know how important this is. and i want you to be by my side." he begged.

he didn't understand you. god, he didn't even try to. he was the one who wasn't making an effort here. he never made, and that's what you've been realizing for quite sometime.

"i'm sorry charles. but not today. you go and enjoy for me." his fake expression suddenly faded to give room to a frown.

"fine." he sighed and left, slamming the door on his way out.

you stood in the drivers room, this time not trying to avoid any thoughts. in fact, you were analyzing the race. from the start to the moment you went out.

all of your overtakes were perfect, not once colliding with other cars. you knew that because you were in the car, but you were looking for something to blame, some other touch that could've damaged the car slightly. but you never found it.

so you cried. you cried looking at the roof of the room. you cried your heart out because you were this close to proving people wrong, you were this close to making your people proud.

you cried until you heard another knock on the door, this time around being the last mechanics in the garage, telling you they would go for dinner and would come back later, leaving you alone for sometime.

when they left, you went to take a look at the car. and observing it, you realized what went wrong. but instead of putting your mind to rest, you started to think about what you could've done to prevent it.

"what are you doing here?" you heard a familiar voice, and turned to face its owner. the dutch was looking down at you, who cried with her head between her knees, in front of her racing car.

max had changed into his normal people clothes, whilst you still wore your racing suit.

"it's my team's garage. what are you doing here?" you asked, highlighting the 'you'.

"i was on my way and saw you here. what happened? why are you here on your own?" he asked. genuine preoccupation in his eyes. you could recognize any expression of his. any and every.

"nothing happened. i just wanted to be alone." you lied. straight up lied into his eyes. that was not something you were used to nor something you liked to do. but you did. and you knew he didn't buy it for a second.

"oh yeah. you decided you wanted to be alone, sitting against a wall, crying, for three hours after the race without showering and changing, just for fun? sounds like something i would do." max ironically said.

"look verstappen, i just wanted to be alone. and i still do, so if you could go away i would appreciate it." you said, getting up to walk to your room.

"don't call me verstappen." he says seriously. you never call him verstappen. "and i'm not leaving you alone after today. i know better than to do that." he follows you, leaning in the door frame when you are about to close the door in his face. "where is your so called boyfriend?"

your left eyebrow shot up as your head turned to look at him. his face remained serious, waiting for an answer.

"celebrating his podium. aren't you supposed to be celebrating your win?" you asked carefully, trying to get him to leave.

"maybe." he crosses his arms in his chest as you turn off your laptop and put it in your bag.

"then go." you said simply, collecting your stuff to go home. you wanted to stay there, but alone.

"not unless you're coming with me." he changes his position again to be more comfortable as you sighed, making him know you were getting tired. but that didn't change anything for him.

"leave, max." you said firmly, looking at him. he mimicked a 'no' with his mouth. "why?" you tried to get out of the room, but just as you passed through the door, the dutch caught your arm, making you look up to face him. your height difference was not too big, but it was still noticeable.

"because i know you, and leaving you alone after a dnf here, is a mistake i don't want to make." he let go of your arm, but you didn't move. "a mistake i'm not going to make." you stepped back, and proceeded to pick up your stuff. "go shower and get dressed, i'll get your stuff. if you are going home, i'm going with you."

"no. i don't want you to come." he laughed.

"care to guess who doesn't give a fuck, darling?"

"do not call me darling. and you are not coming, i wont let you in." you threatened, knowing you would never do such thing.

"then i hope you have money for a new door." he was determined, and you knew he was damn serious about not leaving you alone.

"i hate you." you laughed and as soon as the sound got to his ears his mouth formed a big bright smile. oh, what that laugh did to him. it was even better than winning races.

"if that means i get to come, i'm more than happy. now go shower." you did as he said, going straight to the bathroom.

once inside, you never thought about stuff like not giving the interviews you were supposed to, or how charles never once said he was proud of you.

the only thing you thought about was max, in your room, picking up your stuff so that you could go home with him. and the fact that it wasn't strange nor weird, it was fine.

from the beginning, you two had a special connection with each other. that's why you became best friends so easily, and also why you fell in love with him.

but he never showed reciprocity, so you thought it was a one way thing. god knows that if he had gave you one minimal sign, you would've never ended up with charles. the thing his, he didn't.

since your red bull day's, in his eyes you were just friends. or at least that's what you thought.

cause it turns out that the world champion is a way better liar than you could imagine. or you are just blind. because the signs were always there, you just doubted yourself enough to be oblivious to them.

it was the little things. like you being the first person he talked to after every freaking race. or how he was always in his best mood for you, but only for you. how he always said he was proud of you after a race, it didn't matter if you ended up first or last. he always came to you, hugged you tight and whispered "you were amazing, i'm so proud of you".

that's the kind of thing you noticed but never payed attention to. and that's exactly why you are with charles now. because he, on the other hand, was direct and shoot his shot.

he didn't love you and you didn't love him, but you felt good with each other, and it was nice having someone. you both knew it from the start, even if you denied with every thing in yourselves. it was just so obvious now.

you got out of the bathroom with hair still wet, but already dressed in your black sweat pants and your light pink top. max had picked every single thing, leaving your room exactly how you found him.

"let's go?" he asked, after a couple of seconds observing and admiring you.

you nodded in response and tossed your car keys to him.

"you drive, i sing." he picked them and laughed.

"deal." you made your way to your, brand new, white mercedes in a comfortable silence. but when you closed the doors, he broke it. "i don't want you blaming yourself, williams got a 10 second penalty for a reason. you were amazing, i'm so proud of you."

"you always say that." you smiled, looking at him.

"because it's true. i am proud of you."

"i know, and i am proud of you too. it's just that you always say the exact same thing." you noticed. max was sure you never took note of his words, but he didn't know how much they meant to you.

"i guess it became kind of our thing now." with now, he meant the past 3 years. you just nodded and smiled, searching through your phone for a good song.

"hey max?" you called, still unsure if you should mention it. he muttered something you didn't understand due to being focused on your words. "you know you don't have to do this, right?"

"do what, y/n?" he asked, fully focused on the car as he started driving.

"care because he didn't." straight to the point, we can see some improvements.

"omg, you can be so dumb sometimes." he talked, out loud, to himself. you didn't understand, so he might just be right. which is something you'll never say.

"huh?" you muttered, confused. he was indeed right.

"i care. i always do. i would have cared even if he had some decency in that shitty brain of his and had, at least, taken you home. do you actually believed i would have to go through the mercedes garage to get to my car?" he laughed, your face full of confusion, reflecting what was happening inside of your mind. "i was looking for you. i thought charles had took you home, or out, but i had this little thing inside of me telling me to check."

"oh yeah, that was me sending you telepathic messages." you joked. "thank you for coming, max. this is just a very important day for charles."

"whatever helps you sleep at night, y/n. and i would always come, any day and anytime." max took his eyes off the road to face you.

"are you saying racing is not important for him?" you focused on the first sentence.

"i'm saying he would do this on a regular tuesday. and i'm saying i would come after winning at zandvoort if you were needed me." he sighed. "you should stop lying to yourself." now was your turn to sigh. just as he layed his eyes on the road, your right hand went through your hair.

frustration, anger, sadness, loneliness.

"i'm not lying to myself, you don't know him like i do."

"i may not, but i know you. better than he ever will. you don't love him, and i bet my career you never even managed to lie to him about it." ding ding ding, max verstappen, the mr. knows it all was right once again. you are mad at him for knowing you so damn well.

"if i didn't, then why would i be with him?" you tried again. fooling max was getting more difficult by the day.

"we both know why." he said to your eyes, turning his head when he was done talking. damn, max.

the rest of the ride was completely silent, you wanted to say something but you couldn't. you simply could not. you couldn't even put on some music to relieve the tension.

all those questions coming to your head like gun shots "does he really know?" "why didn't he say something?" "does he see me the way i saw him? the way i still see him." every single one of them wounding you, creating a whole you couldn't close.

he was silent as well, his mind a little quieter than yours. that had been stressing his mind ever since you told him about charles, and now he couldn't keep it in.

not when the girl he loved was left alone by her boyfriend for a fucking party. he would've never do such thing, max would've been by her side, letting her know how proud he was, how loved she was.

the dutch was so angry, it took him everything to stay silent in that ride. but he did it, because it wasn't your fault. he was mad at charles, for not being a good enough boyfriend. he was infuriated because the monegasque couldn't make you happy. he was out of his mind because the greened eye ferrari driver took the place in your life that he wanted. that, in his head and heart, was supposed to be his.

the first glimpse of voice came from his mouth, when you were already in your apartment. monza was the only racing place you had somewhere to call home.

"come here." he opened his arms, when you looked at him. you expected him to talk, you wanted him to talk, but that was the only thing max said. the only thing he wanted in that moment was to feel you close, feel like he was protecting you from every bad thing.

of course you went, you would always go. his armes embraced you almost immediately and you closed your eyes, trying desperately to feel him closer. you could try to deny it but you missed him more than anything.

"i'm sorry." you apologized. none of you knew what you were talking about, yet at the same time, you both knew exactly what you meant.

max didn't respond, not with an "it's okay" nor a "not your fault". he simply kissed the top of your head while stroking your hair, and you knew it was okay. everything was fine between you two.

maybe not fine, but they were okay for now.

"break up with him." he half advised you half asked you. everyone knew that was the right thing to do, but he wanted you to do it for other reasons too, not just because it was right.

you chuckled into his chest, causing him to push a little just to face you.

"you talk like it's easy." he stepped back, separating the two bodies completely.

"breakups aren't easy, but yours, particularly, is. it's as simple as it sounds." he went back to the serious features.

"it's still a break-up."

"breakups only hurt when you love each other. do you love him?" you stood silent as he stepped closer. you watched as he brought his hand to your chin, caressing him once there's contact. "tell me. do you love him?"

"i don't." you let out as a sigh. instead of smiling, like you expected, max's face did the exact opposite.

"then why are you with him?" he asked in a low, tired voice. he was trying to find an explanation where he was not in the middle. he wanted to know that he was not involved in the why you weren't happy.

max knew, deep down, that you felt something for him. he always had that feeling. but, in his defense, you didn't make it easy for him. hiding it, locking the feelings in a deep part of your yourself, where no one could find them. bringing up some made-up-boy whenever you felt like you where being to obvious, constantly telling him he was like a big brother you could talk about that sort of thing. you had covered up the truth pretty damn well.

but even with all of that, he knew. something in him just knew. and all he could think about now was how he could've changed something, how you wouldn't be with someone who didn't deserve you if he had just done something.

he had tons of opportunities to ask you out on a date, or tell you how he really felt. it was just hard to believe you would feel something for him sometimes, so he waited for you. he waited until it was too late.

"i like him." you lied again. it was the second time you lied straight into his eyes in such a little time. that pissed him off. you should never feel the need to lie to him.

"bullshit. we both know that you're with him because i never risked losing you for how i felt. i never got to shoot my shot, and he did. that's why you are with him."

you lowered your head, both hands going to your face immediately. you felt like crap.

"what do you expect me to say?" you asked, raising your voice. your eyes finally fell on his.

"i don't expect you to say anything. i just want you to cut this thing you two have going on." his gaze never left your face, not even when you weren't looking at him. "you don't deserve this. you deserve to be happy. to be treated right. you deserve to be loved right."

another sight and then silence filled the room. no one could say anything.

"just..." he started, leading your eyes to look for his. "do you still..?"

"yes, max" you shot automatically, your voice sounded like a cry, but that didn't matter.

he sighed, relieved. and then stepped closer again, pulling your body to his, in a hug. he let you cry against his shoulder, while he cried silently against yours.

you pulled away to look into his eyes, smiling silently. even being like this, you had just found out that this was no 'one way thing', he felt the same.

"stop smiling. i'm fighting over here not to kiss you." you laughed, that was the best thing you could've heard that day.

"don't." you searched for his hand, taking it into yours once you've found it.

"i would love to, believe me. but as much as i want this, you have to be fully single first." his eyes were so bright that you were sure they could glow in the dark. you always loved his eyes.

"i love you, max." you whispered with the biggest smile on your face.

"i love you too." he whispered back. your smile growing impossibly wider.

max kissed the top of your head before leaving your room. it was a bit past 4a.m. and you had just finished watching a rom-com movie you liked.

it's fascinating how you two fit so perfectly. it's like you've been handmade for each other.

of course that, on his way out, max had to find charles coming. because that's just your life.

the dutch and the monegasque spent a little of time just staring at each other.

"what are you... what did you do in there?" charles asked breaking the awful silence that had been installed. you could hear everything from the inside of the room due to the paper thin walls.

"i took care of your girl." you would pay to see charles’ face that moment. "not so yours anymore, i guess." max said with his most serious face. he definitely won the idgaf war.

"not so mine anymore? mate, what are you talking about?" his confusion was deeply amplified by the alcohol in his system.

"i don't know man, figure it out." the world champion responded and walked out.

he knew that the moment he walked out charles would enter that room and lay in the same bed you were. but he didn't mind, he trusted you fully. and on top of everything, he knew that no matter what, he was the one you loved.

so when he closed that door, he had a smile on his face, knowing damn well he would open her soon.

#max verstappen #max #verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #charles lecrelc #f1 x reader #formula 1 #mercedes driver #driver reader

[beesarekindaswag]

Prompt : The Mean Girls of Wayne Enterprises

Hear me out…. Mean Girls but make it DCxDP.

The public personas that the bats present, modeled after “Brucie” Wayne are the perfect templates for Mean Girls shenanigans.

Imagine : Our favourite ghost boy has decided to venture out into the world after making sure that Amity would be safe and secure (perks of being the recently crowned King). Danny knows he’d never pass the physical tests to be an astronaut but that doesn’t mean he can’t at least achieve part of his space dream. He’d done his research, very thoroughly at that, and overall it was Wayne Enterprises that came out on top. Their aerospace department was miles ahead of the competition - presumably something to do with Bruce Wayne literally being the one funding the Justice League (and if rumour is to be believed, the OG sugar daddy for a certain Bat).

Disregarding Danny’s personal feelings about the JL, the chance to create technology that will be used in SPACE, for space exploration and understanding was too good to pass up.

Just the thought alone filled him with a sense of contentment. Thankyou space obsession.

Which is what had lead to the current situation - an internship at Wayne Enterprises itself. How he landed it, he has no clue - sure, he’s got some smarts (much more than he’ll give himself credit for) but his grades had suffered from his years of literally saving the city (and by extension, the world). Perhaps it was fate? Or more likely, a meddling time god…

Danny wasn’t complaining though.

Only three hours in to the position and he was barely containing his excitement - literally, the fulfillment of his secondary obsession, regardless of how second hand it might be, created such a buzz in his core. He was having to consciously stop his more ghostly attributes from shining through - not even metaphorically shining, damn you LED freckles (yes we’re using the concept of Danny’s ghost from reflecting his love of space - constellation freckles and all)

Now though, he had been released to break in the cafeteria. There was a panicked moment of ‘oh shit, where do I sit?’ But thankfully, his (half) life was saved by one of his new coworkers calling him over with a friendly wave.

“Hey, Daniel, right?”

“I go by Danny but yeah, thanks for the save there” a awkward laugh at his own words, “didn’t expect it to feel like high school all over again”

There’s polite laughter amongst the table and the conversation flows over to casual small talk. At least, it does until out of nowhere, all eyes jump to the doors.

Enter : The Plastics.

Richard Grayson - the dumbest guy you’ll ever meet.

“Once, he asked me why aster isn’t the opposite of disaster”

Timothy Drake - knows everything about everyone.

“That’s why his eyebags are so big - they’re full of secrets”

And the queen bee, Damian Wayne.

“Once he called me an uncultured swine… it was awesome”

(I don’t know what’s better - Damian aged up to match Danny or tiny Damian being Regina)

What follows is a comedic story: Danny meeting the three, them assuming he’s going to be out of touch being from the Midwest (he is but only in the sense that his version of normal is Fenton dumbfuckery) , him eventually getting past their public personas by just not giving a shit for their drama - he grew up with the QUEEN of mean girls, the Wayne boys have nothing on Paulina Sanchez.

Just, Mean girls Waynes… that’s it - that’s the post.

#dpxdc #funny #dc x dp #dcxdp #dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #space core danny #batpham #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #mean girls #danny is just happy to work with space tech #he doesn’t care for the drama #let the boy do his space stuff

[loveinhawkins]

Sprawled across Steve’s couch, apropos of nothing, Robin says, “They’d be good Halloween costumes. Like, there’s three of us.”

Eddie blinks at her.

Robin blinks back, as if she’s being perfectly reasonable, as if she’s just continuing an ongoing conversation—when in reality, she’s been silently staring into space for the past minute.

“Buckley. Y’know I can’t actually read your mind, right?”

“Uh, no excuse,” Robin says disapprovingly. “Steve can do it just fine.”

“That’s a completely different—you do see how that’s—”

“It’s ‘cause Molly Pritchard,” Steve begins, in his honestly, catch up, Munson tone, “kept annoying the shit out of Robin—”

“Excuse me, that’s a blatant mischaracterisation and you know—”

“Annoying the shit out of you,” Steve repeats, undeterred.

Robin scoffs. “She kept going on, like, okay, we get it, you saw a Broadway show, whoop-de-doo—”

“Do I detect a note of jealousy, Buckley?” Eddie says, and hurriedly avoids Robin kicking him in the shin.

“No, she’s just completely detached from real life! Like, yeah, I’m sure Singin’ in the Rain was just wonderful, and oh, at the Gershwin, you say? Lucky you. Not all of us were having a positively darling Spring Break in New York, some of us were—” Robin breaks off, gesturing uncertainly before settling on, “Busy.”

“That’s one word for it,” Eddie says.

“Anyway, that wasn’t the—Molly Pritchard rambling on was just the, like, catalyst for—she wasn’t the point. The point is—” Robin stops again, flounders, then whacks Steve on the shoulder. “Steve, I had a point, where is it?”

“Halloween costumes,” Steve says patiently.

“Right! She reminded me, there’s, like, three leads right there. Sort of. We should do it, I’ve never really done group costumes before—”

“For the hypothetical Halloween party we haven’t been invited to,” Eddie points out.

“Shh, details. And they’re not, like, ridiculously complicated—Steve, you’ve definitely got a couple suits just lying around—”

“Why does that feel like an insult?” Steve asks the ceiling.

“But uh, Robin,” Eddie says, “I thought you hated wearing heels?”

A deafening silence.

“Well,” Robin replies eventually. “I don’t know what bright idea you’ve got going on in your head, Eddie Munson, but I’m gonna be Gene Kelly.”

Steve chuckles. “Attagirl,” he says, raising his drink in approval.

He’s drinking coke out of a wine glass—according to Steve, it suits him. Eddie half-hates the fact that he’s right.

“And then the only thing we’d have to really look out for would be tap shoes, and we could—”

“Woah, hold your horses,” Steve says. “We’re definitely getting kicked outta the hypothetical party.”

“Why?” Eddie says. “Does Hawkins hate musicals now, too?”

“Tap shoes,” Steve says, as if Eddie’s being particularly dense. “Dude, we’re gonna, like, immediately scratch up the floor. We could only walk on carpet, and then what’s the point of wearing tap shoes in the first—”

“That’s… a very specific problem,” Eddie says.

“Yeah,” Robin says with narrowed eyes. “Very specific.”

Steve shifts in his seat. “No, it’s not. I just—I just know things, sometimes. Sue me.”

“Yeah, you do,” Robin says. Her eyes are still narrowed. “You know many things, Steve. But why do you know this particular—”

“I just do! There’s no—”

“I think,” Robin declares, “we should all put on our deerstalkers—”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, I regret ever introducing you to Dustin.”

“—to figure out exactly why you know that.”

Robin looks at Eddie pointedly.

Eddie assesses Steve, then shrugs. “Uh, he’s really protective over floorboards?”

Steve’s veneer of exasperation completely melts away; he snorts, and Eddie pretends he doesn’t feel the achievement flutter in his chest.

“Hopeless,” Robin says, stretching out languidly. “Completely and utterly—”

She sprints out of the room.

“Wha—Robin,” Steve says indignantly, but he’s laughing, jumps up from the couch and grins at Eddie as if to say come on, then. “Get back here!”

Eddie laughs too, following Steve up the stairs, into his bedroom, where Robin’s pulling things out of the closet with gleeful abandon.

“if my theory is correct…” she says, head barely visible.

“You really have been spending too much time with Dustin,” Steve mutters.

“Aha!”

And Robin emerges with a shoebox in her hands, and she’s opening it up, tossing out tissue paper, and then—

Steve groans.

Eddie’s lips twitch. “Oh.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve says entirely without heat.

“I was right,” Robin crows. She holds the little pair of tap shoes as if they’re made of glass. “Steve. Steve.”

“Oh, you can shut up, too.”

“They’re precious.”

“No, they’re not—”

“Eddie’ll back me up, won’t you, Eddie?” Robin says sweetly.

Steve gives him a faux warning look. “Don’t encourage her, man.”

And Eddie has a joke right on the tip of his tongue, he swears he does, but his eyes are fixed on the goddamn shoes, and he can’t stop his fond smile from showing; his heart does a weird but not unpleasant skip in his chest, and what comes out is—

“You were tiny.”

Steve flushes. “What, did you think I just popped into existence at school?”

“Sometimes,” Eddie says, tongue-in-cheek.

Steve chuckles, face still red; Eddie’s heart sings.

Robin’s placing the tap shoes back into their box, oh so carefully. “Steve, please tell me there’re photos of—oh, there are,” she says triumphantly, as Steve groans again. “You gonna show us? Please?” “Uh, no,” Steve says firmly—and oh, Eddie thinks, that absolutely means he’s gonna cave by the time dawn peeks through the curtains and show them a whole damn album.

Robin seems to know this too, because she beams before setting off again, this time beckoning them, “Come on, come on! We can practice in our socks so we won’t scratch the precious floor, Steve.”

“Uh, practice?” Eddie asks.

“The choreography, duh.”

“Wait,” Steve says, “how do you even remember the—”

“The Hawk showed it once. They did a whole classic movies theme sometimes.”

Eddie vaguely remembers that: the theme ended with a showing of It’s A Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve.

And they give a hilariously bad attempt at the choreography, laughing at their socks muffling the sound of their heavy footsteps.

They wobble precariously on the top of the couch, spill coke all down the back of it. Every so often, Eddie notices that Steve’s hand is holding onto his shoulder for balance, for a little longer than is strictly necessary.

And he feels…

Light. Giddy.

God, it’s the most fun he’s had in years.

#i just think they should get to be so silly #steve and robin and eddie fic #eddie and robin #steve and robin #steve and robin and eddie ficlet #pre steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #robin buckley #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

[marvelsmylife]

Arranged marriage

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x reader

Plot: Eris (the new high lord of the autumn court) strikes a deal with Rhysand to marry you (Rhysand’s sister-in-law) to solidify an alliance between the two courts.

A/n my first Eris fic ! ! ! I hope you guys like it. Feel free to request him.

When Rhysand asked you if you could do him a huge favor you never imagined the favor involved you getting married to Eris, the new high lord of the autumn court. He told you that he had his eyes on you ever since he met you during your trip, the court of nightmares a few days before the winter solstice. 

That was the day Nesta was supposed to seduce Eris, but his attention was only on you while you danced with Azriel. He was so hypnotized by your dancing that he interrupted your dance with Azriel.

Azriel wanted to protest. He saw you as a younger sister and felt compelled to protect you from males like Eris. Unfortunately, Rhysand told him to walk away and let Eris have his dance with you. He knew how important this alliance was for both of the courts, and Rhysand would stop at nothing to achieve it.

By the end of the night, Eris asked for your hand in marriage. Your sisters, along with Mor, Azriel, Cassian, and even Amren protested the possibility of you being married off to Eris. Mor was the most vocal about it, seeing as she had a volatile relationship with the new high lord of the autumn court.

Rhysand ultimately let you decide if you wanted to accept Eris’ marriage proposal, and to the shock of everyone, you accepted the proposal. You knew marrying Eris was a big risk, but you felt compelled to accept, especially after everything Rhysand had done for you and your sisters.

After months of planning, your wedding day finally arrived, and it was a big spectacle. 

Since you were marrying a high lord, your wedding was supposed to be over the top. You were the polar opposite and didn’t know what you were doing, so you let Eris’ mother plan the wedding and only showed up for dress fittings. 

You honestly didn’t know how, but you managed to get through the entire day without having an anxiety attack. It helped that Eris would rest his hand on your thigh and gently squeeze it to reassure you that everything was going to be ok.

Once the celebration ended, Eris brought you to your shared bedroom in your new home in the autumn court.

That’s when you decided to start undressing yourself in front of Eris. “What are you doing?” Eris stopped you once you began removing your undergarments.

“We have to consummate the marriage,” you replied and tried to remove your undergarments again, but Eris stopped you, “What’s wrong? Don’t you want this?”

Eris’ eyes softened at your words and engulfed you in a hug, “Yes, of course, I do, but not like this. I know you still don’t trust me, and I need you to trust me completely before we do anything physical.”

“I understand,” you started while pulling away from Eris and continued your previous actions, “But we have to, for our courts.”

Eris knew he should stop you, but as soon as you were bare before to him, his self-control disappeared. His primal urge to bed you took over, and before he knew what he was doing, he had you on the bed with him buried inside you.

Soft moans and heavy breathing filled the room as you and Eris became one. “Please don’t stop doing that. It feels so good,” you begged when Eris reached down and started playing with your sensitive clit.

Eris, for his part, was desperately trying not to cum. You felt so good around his cock that he had to think of the most disturbing thoughts to prevent him from cumming.

Unfortunately, he found himself cumming when he felt you gently biting his earlobe and tugging on his hair. “Fuck,” Eris cursed as he came inside you.

That, in turn, triggered your orgasm, and you found yourself digging your nails into Eris’ back as he kept moving inside you, “Oh gods, YES ! ! !” you held onto Eris as you came. A sense of pride washed over Eris as you held onto him and repeated his name. 

He typically rolls over and ignores females after they’re finished having sex with them, but with you, it’s different. Eris found himself kissing the top of your head before pulling out and lying beside you. You were getting up to clean yourself off but found yourself being pulled into his embrace, your back to his chest. “You are not allowed to leave this bed, not yet, at least,” Eris whispered as he held you possessively.

After a moment of silence, you decided to speak out, “My family might not trust you, but I do. I know you’re putting up a front like Rhysand did to protect his people. I know deep down you are a kind male who just wants to protect your court. I will stand by your side for as long as you want me.” 

That’s all Eris needed to hear before he got on top of you again, “That’s good to know, seeing as I have no intentions of letting you go. You will be the high lady of this court and rule this court for the foreseeable future,” Eris bent down and kissed you again. This time, it was sweet and gentle, unlike the kisses you exchanged while you fucked. He was showing you a side no one has ever seen before, and at that moment, you knew you made the right decision to marry him.

#eris vanserra imagine #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #acotar imagine #acotar x reader

[singingcicadas]

The beginning of the Decepticons according to Megatron:

The beginning of the Decepticons What Actually Happened:

That it could ever be called a revolution of the oppressed is a joke. Megatron's philosophy is purely pugno ergo sum. I fight, therefore I am. His first recruitment speech was a promise for power, made to the most bloodthirsty audience he could dig up from the dregs of society. Those people were there because they thrived off the bloodsport. They wanted audition to join Megatron in the pits. Megatron offered them something even better: turn the entire planet into our gladiatorial arena, and we take.

Ever since the beginning Megatron viewed the Decepticons as nothing but a tool, to be used and thrown away. He wanted them to be as ruthless as possible in order to wipe out all opposition, but once his end goal's achieved, well, there's no place for ruthlessness in a perfect society under his absolute control. Therefore, remodelling and recreating. It doesn't sound like he wants to rule over actual people with individual personalities, he wants a bunch of mindless drones programmed for obeisance and peace and hardcoded to Do What Megatron Says.

Ravage and Tarn. It's interesting how they both use the word "emancipated" when lauding Megatron's accomplishments, when it's clear that Megatron did so for the practical purpose of bulking up his army. He overthrew those in power because he wanted to be the one in power. The only one. The people he "emancipated" were just exchanging one set of shackles for another, as they had no choice other than to join the Decepticon army. Not fighting was not an option. Cowardice was punishable by traitor's wheel. Going neutral was also not an option. Soundwave had specific anti-neutral pogroms for those.

I wonder if they knew what "the Megatron they loved" had in mind for the Decepticons after they won the war. The remodeling and recreating. Or maybe they thought that's just for the lowly genericons. That they would be exempt from such treatment because they were confident of their privileged places at Megatron's side. After all, if you're rooting for someone whose motto is peace through tyranny, you'd do so with the expectation that it's only Other People who are going to get tyrannized.

It's true that he did rise against an oppressive government, despite it being the goal to replace it with himself as the tyrant.

But he also thought the single admirable quality about Zeta was his ruthlessness. As in trying to kill an entire city of his own people to fuel his vamparc ribbon. And he said that in front of Hot Rod, who was forced to bomb his own city to stop Zeta from winning. Even disregarding the twisted values here, this is still fifteen levels up the insensitivity lane. No wonder Hot Rod didn't want to join up.

Torture's for fun and domination. It takes a special kind of sadistic streak. And this is before the war even officially started.

Thundercracker's view on the Decepticon cause, when he defected to save humans from the nuke:

"Everything we have done here" - Just here? He'd either been living under a rock for the entirety of the war or has some serious misunderstandings about what the Decepticon name is.

Or just been willfully blind for four million years and the deaths of a hundred billion lifeforms until the day he decided to grow a conscience. Same with Soundwave.

Tarn's a really good case study because he's the poster boy of Megatron's Decepticon propaganda. Megatron probably spoonfeeds him the stuff by the gigabytes and he regurgitates them with twice the zeal and tenfold the pretentiousness. He's also the embodiment of the vices and tragedy of the Decepticons as a whole, as created by Megatron. A sadistic hypocrite, a glorified thug, a delusional fanatic, a customized tool for use and dispose. Crippled by the blinkering desire to be superior, to be part of a greater cause.

Megatron cares nothing for Tarn, just like how he cares nothing for the Decepticons. During the war they were a means to an end. After Megatron's defection, their "toxic loyalty" became a personal burden, a blemish from his past that he would like to cast aside and move on from but annoyingly refuse to leave him alone.

The road-sweepers and the haulers. The miners. What were they to Megatron during the war? Disposable cannon fodder. A pretty banner to hide behind. For a movement that likes to justify itself as a revolution of the oppressed, the emancipation of the disenfranchised, there's certainly a distinct lack of those classes among the upper Decepticon ranks. Megatron said in his recruitment speech that he wanted strength and power. Then where did that leave the weak and sick, the empties on the streets?

Nowhere but the smelting pool, to be recycled into something useful for the great Decepticon cause. They should be honoured, really.

Freedom fighters? No, freedom won't be missed. Probably has something to do with the remodelling and recreating part.

Starscream's only partially right. It was absolutely Megatron's intent to tap into that well of rage and resentment, and he meant for the riot to happen. Of course it got away from him in the end - that's what happens when you cobble an army out of bloodthirsty power-hungry degenerates, half of which were on board for the violence, half for their own scheming agendas, and the rest stitched together by charisma and fear - but he'd shaped the events enough to come a hairsbreadth away from winning multiple times. People like Shockwave and Scorponok were treacherous, but they weren't the reason that Megatron lost the war.

It was his own blind arrogance that led to his downfall.

No he didn't lose his way. He's exactly where he set himself out to be, from the moment he gave that speech in the arena. Perhaps even earlier, to that gradual slide when killing his opponent in a match no longer felt like a guilty burden but instead brought him the sweet rush of satisfaction. There was no revolution. There was no righteous cause. There was no for the people and never has been, because he did not care about other people. Four million years and countless deaths, and it was only really about one insanely self-centered person and his deluded ambition of peace through tyranny.

Hence his breakdown, because he'd just been hit in the face with the realization that he was Wrong. And has been wrong for the past four million years. He wasted everyone's lives. He wasted his own life, wasted it on anger and destruction and hatred, with nothing but regrets to show for it.

I believe that Megatron believed he's telling the truth here. I believe that he meant every word he said, except for that one "we" on the second last line.

Because that "we" should really be "me".

The Megatron who wrote about pacifist rhetoric, who was compassionate enough to share his fuel with the injured, who cared about others and had genuine friendships, that Megatron died a long time ago in the pits. Ever since then, every murder, every atrocity he'd committed in the name of "the people" was just facist rationalization.

I'm sure that he likes the sound of "emancipation of the people" or "freedom of choice" as a concept. But when it comes down to individual people? With actual, real choices that conflicts with his desire for absolute rule? Nope. He's the only one who should get to make choices. The only one who should have choices. Because he knows best.

Form dictates your function ❌; Megatron dictates your function ✅

Function dictates your fate ❌; Megatron dictates your fate ✅

Great minds must think alike, because Megatron and the Functionalist council in the Functionalist universe did a lot of the same stuff. Massacring the Senate. Recycling people who are deemed useless burdens. Remodelling and recreating. Imperalism and genociding organics. Killing all dissenters. The Functionalists even got pretty close to Megatron's ideal of peace through tyranny with 99% of the planet fitted with brain bombs and kissing the ground at their feet. They even managed to do it while maintaining a habitable planet and full population. And Megatron took one look and was disgusted.

Megatron wasn't a misunderstood revolutionist who had his heart in the right place when he started his war. The Decepticons didn't start out well-meaning and turned bad somewhere along the way. At no point in their movement were they ever true freedom fighters. They were always Facists, through and through. They were worse than the Functionalists they hated and the Senate they overthrew. And it's important to acknowledge this because (other than it's weird to see such an obvious Facist analogy being associated with freedom fighters) otherwise you don't get the whole depth of Megatron's redemption arc, especially in the Functionalist universe.

Like the impact of this scene wouldn't be fully apparant unless you take into account that when Megatron first formed the Decepticons, all he cared about was their fighting strength. He did not care about his troops, he did not care about individual people. He considered himself above everyone and everything. He would have sneered at such a weak, ineffective form of protest. Now he's actually being supportive and seeing people as people, instead of pawns to be used.

Here he's genuinely happy to see the Decepticons, even those in the very bottom of the pecking order, taking enough care to greet them each by name. And also Fulcrum, who he sentenced to death twice.

For once in his life he's actually trying to do the Right Thing instead of focusing on himself, either on his ambitions or his remorse. The people in the Functionalist universe have nothing to do with him, yet he wants to help anyway. And he's finally appreciating the value of self-determination for what it is, instead of trying to twist it to serve his own purposes or turn it into Megatron-determination.

"No one can decide how you live your life except for you." Back before, he was going to remodel his entire army to achieve his peace through tyranny. Autonomy and free will were considered things that won't be missed.

Megatron learned to care about other people! Peace through empathy is such a groundbreaking step for his character because he used to have no empathy! He stayed true to his ideals for eight centuries despite the hardships, despite his personal losses, despite the AVL being driven to near extinction and not knowing if he would ever return to his own universe. During all those years he could have had ten million chances and excuses to break his vow of pacifism or leave on the Last Light, taking the easy way out, and there would have been no one to stop him.

But he didn’t.

#transformers #idw transformers #maccadam #megatron #also he tossed his Decepticons out the back door at first chance in exchange for his freedom and legacy #the trial on Luna 2 #his frowny face when reading the surrender speech wasn’t for letting the Decepticons down it was for his own humiliation

[geeks-universe]

Cooper Howard x F!Reader (not to spoil it, but you know I love my crossovers so…)

The Fallen pt. 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once, when the world was younger and you were still naive enough to believe in fate, you asked your father about love.

He’d laughed then- a deep, cheery kind, that spoke of a wisdom you could never hope to achieve.

“In time,” he’d promised, taking your hands into his, “You’ll learn that love comes in many forms, and the love you choose will always be the greatest.”

Even after everything, after years and years of disappointment, of cruelty and emptiness, you couldn’t forget his words.

So, in an act of rebellion, you chose love.

You chose the love of your brother, the brother who would lose everything, who would fall from Grace, just for defying fate.

You chose the human race, who turned their back on you, who hurt you over and over again.

You chose a better life, that seemed impossible most days- but sometimes, just sometimes, everybody lives.

And you chose wrong.

The world tore itself apart, and just when you wanted to believe it could find itself again, it would fall into the greatest trap in human history: greed.

The love in your soul turned to dust, like the cities you’d once roamed, crumbling until all that remained was an empty space and broken dreams. You’d held onto what you could of yourself, desperate to piece together the fragments into something that resembled the person you’d been, but there was no hope. The spark of hope you’d once kindled and raised to an inferno was doused, nothing but ashes in the ocean of your disappointment.

There were still a few things you couldn’t abide by, however, and Cooper Howard dragging an innocent woman through the desolate Wastelands was one of them.

You’d happened upon the scene by accident, just passing through, but the familiarity of the figure had you lurking longer than what was normally deemed safe.

“Coop?”

Your voice was gentle, like the beginning strums of a sweet song. Cooper wasn’t sure how the harshness that had etched itself into your demeanor never invaded your speech, but he would be eternally grateful. It was a goddamn godsend he didn’t believe he ever deserved.

“Well, now,” he drawled, careful to keep the smile that threatened to peek through hidden. “Last I heard, you were headed East.”

You had no such reservations, and even the years of guilt and pain couldn’t wipe away the upturn of your lips. For an action so small, it sure did radiate in a way the sun never could.

“I did, but it didn’t stick,” you shrugged, grabbing the straps of your backpack. Never one for subtlety, you gestured at the vault-dweller, who had been eyeing you with a keen interest.

She had been quiet, obviously, for the sake of herself and how Cooper might react to her asking for help. Now that you’d acknowledged her, though, she started speaking up, much to Cooper’s chagrin.

“I’m Lucy,” she said, tugging harshly at the restraints around her neck. “I’m looking for my father.”

You nodded, and the fluttering in Lucy’s heart slowed, fear mixing with her initial curiosity. You knew the ghoul holding her captive, the chances of you helping her were slim to none, but she tried to remain optimistic. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a good person on the surface.

“Might be hard to do with that,” your eyes flicked from her neck to Cooper, with a pointed raise of one brow.

He let out a low whistle, leaning back with the confidence of a man who’d lived long enough to not be afraid of shit. If it were anyone else, friend or not, he would’ve shot them dead and been done with it. He didn’t need to answer to anyone, but something deep in his chest forced his hands steady.

“She broke my vials,” he explained, cautiously avoiding your gaze. “Seems only fair she gets me more.”

“He used me as bait!” Lucy argued indignantly, trying to take a step towards you only to be tugged back by Cooper. “I had to do something.”

“Your father,” the word is strained, a haunting in your eyes Lucy can’t place, “Where is he?”

Lucy tried, once again, to walk to you. Coop, however, was keeping her on a tight leash, refusing to let her near you. It’s for his benefit, he tells himself, even if some small part of him does it for your protection.

Over the years, he’s run into you many, many times. No matter how hard he’s tried, it’s like fate keeps bringing him back to you. At first, he’d been downright horrible to you, terrified to admit that there was something in your eyes that made him feel human again. Slowly, ever slowly, like a stubborn weed you grew on him, and it’s been impossible for him to deny the way his body reacts to you.

“Coop,” you chide, your voice like velvet, enveloping his skin in a soft warmth. Fuck, he did love it when you used his name.

You gave Lucy a half smile, and the growl that threatened to leave Cooper’s mouth got caught in his throat as he realized you weren’t walking to her, but to him.

“I’ll get you the vials, just let her find her dad.”

He stood a little taller as you approached, planting his hands on his belt as he ran his tongue along his teeth.

“Darlin’, I ain’t doing this for the hell of it,” he replied, and then paused. “Mostly.”

You reached your hands out, carefully enveloping them around where he was grasping the rope. In all his years, he hadn’t recalled a single touch ever stirring his stomach the way yours did. You’d only ever touched him once before, and it was a brief graze of his cheek. This was intentful, and it felt a hell of a lot more intimate than it had any right to be.

“Please,” you breathed, and he could see the despair in your eyes - eyes that were far too old for someone who looked so young. He could never quite piece together how you fit in this world, or how you managed to look as if you’d stepped right out of the past just to have this moment with him.

He sighed, maintaining a scowl for all he was worth. Cooper Howard would not let you see the effect you had on him.

“Thank you, Coop.”

His stubborn heart skipped a beat as he clenched his jaw, his expression emanating annoyance. You weren’t perturbed, however, turning away to free Lucy.

“I’m (Y/N),” you introduced yourself, careful not to irritate the marks on her neck further. Cooper was rough around the edges, you knew that, but you saw the man beneath the armor in the little moments, the times he couldn’t quite hide who he was.

It intrigued you, made you think about yourself and the person you’d become. Perhaps, you had been too hasty in throwing that person away. Maybe, that part of yourself was still alive too, buried underneath layers of armor.

“Thank you,” she was sincere in her gratitude, and that tiny piece of yourself flared, begging to be remembered.

“I could help you too, you know,” you offered after a delayed pause, chasing the optimism she held tightly onto.

No matter how hard you tried, your soul fought back, demanded to be whole again.

“Really?” Her surprise morphed to joy, and you found it contagious.

“Now hold on just a damn minute,” Cooper interrupted, not pleased with that development. “Your services are required elsewhere.”

“I’m capable of servicing more than just you.”

His leg twitched at the insinuation, at the way you looked at him from beneath your lashes with an innocence he doubted you possessed.

“But, since you asked so nicely cowboy,” your smile was devious, your tone far too sultry for the sweltering heat of the desert. “You first.”

Lucy’s brows were to her hairline, unsure what to make of the dynamic between the two of you. Her entertainment, however, was cut blissfully short when you threw a canteen towards her, which she caught instinctually.

“Now you’re coddling her, sweetheart?”

You took a moment to wrap the lasso Cooper carried around into a neat loop, your gaze locked with his as you approached once more. Lucy was too preoccupied with her water to notice the two of you sizing one another up.

“Don’t be jealous, Coop,” you grabbed the front of his belt roughly, forcing him a step closer to you.

He fell into the motion, tracing his eyes dangerously slow from where you gripped his belt to the soft curve of your lips.

“You’re still my favorite,” you promised on a breath as you tucked his lasso securely into his waist.

His hands snatched your wrists before you pulled away, and for a brief moment, the intermingling of your breath was all that interrupted the silence. His gaze was a challenge, and yours was far too playful.

It was damn near unfair how you could walk through the apocalypse and still look like you belonged on a fucking billboard. There was an unnatural allure around you, and he wasn’t sure if it was the twinkle in your eyes, or the smoothness of your skin, or the gentle bur of your voice- but holy fuck you looked like an angel that’d accidentally stumbled into hell.

The silence was interrupted by Lucy clearing her throat, an awkward smile as she caught your attention.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but-“

“It’s okay,” you assure her, grazing your fingers along Cooper’s palms as you step from his proximity.

“Vials first, daddy dearest after,” you reminded them, taking the lead.

Lucy was more than happy to walk beside you, while Cooper trailed a small distance behind. Where Lucy was insistent on speaking, keeping up a steady conversation through the long trek, Cooper preferred to observe.

First, he focused on the way your black jumpsuit hugged all the right areas, tight enough it could be considered a damn sin. That train of thought was dangerous though, and left him with an ache he knew he couldn’t satisfy on his own.

So, he instead focused on the way you effortlessly dodged Lucy’s line of questions, and redirected the questions to learn about her. It was curious, that. As much of a tight lipped bastard that Cooper was, you were doubly so. Through the years and the friendly encounters, he’d let some of his life slip in conversation. Nothing substantial, but you certainly knew more tidbits than anyone else.

He, however, didn’t know anything about you. He knew what he observed, but you never told him anything about your past.

It helped pass the time, sifting through your noncommittal answers to make assumptions about the life you lived.

It was difficult though.

Sometimes, you talked about things like you’d witnessed them, even though it would’ve been impossible. He didn’t know your age exactly, but if he had to guess, he’d put you at maybe mid-twenties, and that’s at the oldest. It was damn near a miracle you didn’t have any missing limbs or obvious scarring. You looked as unmarked as a damn vault dweller, and he was starting to think that perhaps you had been one.

“Have you always lived on the surface?”

He never thought he’d be thankful for the damn vault dweller, but it was nice having someone try to pry some answers out of you.

“That’s a harder question to answer than you’d think,” you laughed a little coyly, like there was a joke that only you were privy to.

When it was obvious you weren’t going to continue speaking, and Lucy had far too many manners to push any further on the subject, she asked another question.

“Why’d you help me?“

Your gaze turned toward the setting sun. It had been over half the day since you’d decided to help them both, and the sun was just now slipping below the horizon. The three of you would have to rest soon.

“It’s hard to forget the person I was,” you admitted lowly.

The symphony that was your voice turned decidedly melancholy, unnaturally so. Normally, it sounded more like a romantic string of tunes that captured the essence of life. This, however, was sad, dead.

“Maybe the world needs more people like that,” Lucy provided, and Cooper didn’t miss the flash of guilt that devastated your expression.

Curious, indeed.

“I’d reckon that’s the last place we’ll find ‘fore the sun disappears,” Coop states, pointing to a rickety, old house, somehow still standing against the desert in defiance.

“It’s as good a place as any for the night,” you shrugged, leading the small group to the rest spot.

Where Cooper was cautious, weapon drawn, you were careless, opening the door like you knew nothing was in there that could hurt you. He felt a twinge of annoyance that you would be that reckless, knowing the dangers of the Wasteland. He was many things, but a protector was certainly not one of them.

“Here,” Lucy tried to hand you back the canteen you’d gifted her earlier as you settled yourself down in a corner.

The building was definitely empty, and provided some amount of protection from both the elements and any creatures lurking about, but there wasn’t any intact furniture. You’d found a relatively comfortable pile of sand and laid your pack down, as if it were a pillow.

“Keep it,” you refused to take the offering. You were honestly a bit surprised she had even saved some for you.

“But you haven’t had anything to drink all day.”

It was an oddity that Cooper had noticed too. While both he and the vault-dweller had taken an occasional sip of water or a bite to eat, you hadn’t done either, and the brutal pace you’d set hadn’t reflected that.

“Believe me, “ you said, turning your back to your two traveling companions. “I’m okay.”

Obviously unsatisfied with leaving the conversation, Lucy frowned, but obeyed. Her probing look to the ghoul warranted no answers, and eventually she found her own patch of sand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days passed along in a similar manner, and the more of you that the two observed, the more confused they became. They didn’t voice their concerns, however, far more focused on the destination you had in mind.

“It’s…”

Lucy trailed off, side eyeing you with a questioning look.

“A lab,” you supplied.

“Right, a lab!” She echoed enthusiastically, deciding it best not to point out that it was very much in a state of disrepair and the likelihood of anything surviving the looting prevalent throughout the Wastelands was little to none.

“Sugar, I don’t have the time to be fucking around right now.”

It was the closest tone to anger that Cooper had spoken to you since his first year of knowing you. In the past two days specifically his coughing had grown more severe and more often.

You’d explained a generalized version of what would happen without help to Lucy after the first night, and since then she’d been a bit more apologetic to the ghoul, even if he was a dick.

“Stay out here,” you ordered, not waiting for their inevitable protest as you slipped into the decrepit building with a loud screech of the door.

At the very least, your traveling companions didn’t follow you into the descending hallway, which was more than you expected.

Whatever source had powered the underground facility had died years ago, leaving the bulk of the supplies sealed tight behind an impenetrable door. The bunker was lined with 2 feet of lead, and a door weighing many tons. It was nigh impossible to get in, and if you were anyone else, you would’ve considered it a lost cause.

Instead, you cast a glance back towards the faded light where the entrance was, ensuring that you were not followed while you grabbed hold of the door handle.

You sighed, yanking with a great deal of force until the door made a loud pop, coming unhinged and falling to the ground with a deafening thud. There was a hushed murmur from where Lucy had yelled down to you, but you didn’t bother replying, instead focused on the rows and rows of vials.

Most of the initial testing sites were still secret, a forgotten part of history that, despite their usefulness in the current state of the world, had fallen into the cracks of negligence. Luckily for you, and by extension Cooper, there was enough supply to last him damn near a year if he could ration and store it properly.

Just as you dropped the first vial into your backpack, which was in a convenient metal container, you heard a distinct whooshing noise. You didn’t need to look at the falling object to know who had decided to drop by, and with an exasperated sigh, you tilted your head toward the ceiling of the very dark, very cold bunker.

“Brother…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you think we should check on her?” Lucy was having trouble keeping still, straining her eyes down the dark hallway. “What if she’s hurt?“

“She ain’t hurt,” Cooper shot back, leaning back against the dingy building and crossing his arms over his chest.

“She could be de-“

“Finish that sentence and you might find yourself there, sweetheart,” He threatened, his fingers reaching down toward his holstered gun.

Maybe it’d be better to keep her mouth shut, but after a tense silence, and quite literally nothing better to do, Lucy couldn’t help herself.

“So, you and (Y/N)-“

“Do you like breathin’? ‘Cause I’m getting the distinct feeling that you certainly do not.”

“I couldn’t help but notice you look at her with this-“

“I have no qualms with blasting a hole through your head ‘nd tellin’ her you decided to run off.”

“And then there’s the way she talks to you-“

“I’m gonna stop you right there, sweetheart. If one more word comes out of your mouth, it’ll be the last.”

The two met stare for stare, the threat lingering in the hot breeze between them. Lucy had no doubt she was beginning to grate on the ghoul’s nerves, but she also didn’t really think he’d harm her, not when it was obvious you’d know it was him that did so.

He wouldn’t risk you being upset with him.

Probably.

And because Lucy really didn’t know when to stop talking, she spoke one more time.

“I know that you think I’m naive, and maybe I am, but I do know that life is unexpected and people die, like, a lot.” She dragged in a breath, envisioning her last, and only, memory with her mother, surprised that Cooper had actually let her speak for this long without interrupting.

“Especially up here, so maybe, just… keep that in mind.”

The silence stretched, and for a long moment, Lucy was sure he was going to shoot her. Or at the very least, not answer.

Ever so quietly, however, in a low grumble she heard him mutter, “I know.”

The air felt significantly less murderous after that, and she left the ghoul to contemplate his complex feelings on the subject. She might not fully understand the extent of your connection, or even why you felt that way towards him, but she could appreciate the raw emotion that sparked in the conversation between you both.

If anything good came out of her coming to the surface, besides bringing her dad home, she hopes it would be them realizing the gift they have. Idly, she thought about the knight she’d met back at Filly. That was the first real connection she’d had with anyone, as silly as it was to think about.

“I’m glad nobody’s shot,” you interrupted the quiet contemplation, the smile on your lips not quite reaching your eyes.

Whatever happened in the mysterious lab couldn’t have been good, but you seemed entirely unscathed outside the haunted, nervous look in your eyes.

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Cooper greeted, tipping his hat back a titch so he could inspect your person. If he took a little extra time to appreciate the curves of your body- well, who could blame him?

“It’s cleared out,” you rattled your pack in the air before you, nearly dropping some of the overstuffed vials.

Coop let out a low whistle, and Lucy commented, “That’s enough for a lifetime.”

“Not quite,” you laughed, passing along the top one to Cooper. “But it will certainly last a while.”

While the ghoul tended to his needs, Lucy and you wandered further into the Wasteland, eyeing the pipboy on her wrist with the directions to the head.

“So the head for your dad?”

There it was again. The sourness in your voice at the word “dad”. Lucy wanted to ask without being too terribly intrusive, but let the subject drop.

“Did anything happen in the lab?”

You bummed, shaking your head. It was clearly a lie, further proven by the frown that settled on your lips. There wasn’t a lot of yourself you trusted other people with, especially not when it came to your family, but your soul was burning with the desire to shed your armor.

“My brother’s name is Lucy,” you said suddenly, unprompted. “Well, his nickname.”

Lucy, at the very least knowing where the boundary was, decided not to press her luck. Despite seeming to be such a small piece of information, she could see the effort you put into sharing it nonetheless.

“Lucy?” Cooper echoed, having snuck up at some point to follow you.

You weren’t bothered that he’d overheard though. On more than one occasion you’d wanted to share pieces of yourself with Cooper.

“Lucifer,” you provided his full name, a twinge at the top of your shoulder blade, where your battered, broken wings began, ran down the length of your spine.

“Like the devil?” Lucy inquired cautiously.

A laugh crawled up your throat, and before you could stop it, you were giggling heartily, nodding your head.

“That’d be the one, yeah.”

She didn’t understand the truth you were telling her. You knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t possibly fathom the implications that ensued with that knowledge either.

Lucy casted one quick glance at Cooper, then cleared her throat and claimed she was going off the path to use the bathroom quick.

There was a tense silence that permeated the hot, desert air when she left, a new development that neither occupant knew how to navigate. Finally, Coop broke it.

“Ya know, you’ve never actually talked about… all o’ that.”

Your family.

He didn’t say it in so many words, but you could fill in the unspoken topic without much thought. You hummed, acknowledging your own secrecy regarding your past.

“Sometimes it’s better to leave the past buried.”

Coop breathed out a laugh.

“Don’t I know it.”

The smile you gave him was genuine, albeit small. Hesitantly, you reached out towards his gloved hand, grasping it lightly between your own. You didn’t have anything you really wanted to say, didn’t need to, actually. He could see it in your eyes, the gratefulness shining in your bright gaze, clearing some of the guilt that stayed stagnant on your person.

“The vaultie reminded me today,” he drawled, his voice even lower than normal. If you didn’t know him any better, you’d say he was almost flustered.

“People die.”

You waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, you raised a brow in question.

Cooper felt his heart jump to his throat. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bare himself- not now, maybe not ever. The world felt like it started spinning around him, and he pulled his hand from yours, cradling it to your chest.

“Just hope you’re not one of ‘em, darlin’,” he finished lamely.

You swallowed, deciding it was better not to push. Not today.

“You too, Coop.”

Words simmered between you. Dangerous, terrifying words. But Cooper couldn’t get them out, couldn’t get past the panic that played his heart like a damn fiddle.

And you, well you couldn’t let go of your guilt, couldn’t see past the pain of watching the world go to shit and not doing anything to stop it.

So those words stayed unspoke, utterances of the heart, but not of the lips. Maybe, if they were never voiced, they could freeze, and eventually crumble, like time did to all.

Lucy returned then, and the unlikely group continued on as before, leaving the forgotten words to decay away in the dry sand of the Wasteland

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout x reader #cooper howard x you #cooper howard insert #i love him #i warned y’all #anyways #bye I have no regrets

[miquella-everywhere]

Miquella and Griffith: Why the comparisons make no damn sense

So instead of me screaming to the sky, "Waah Miquella is Griffith theories make me so mad grrrr I hate them so much" I've decided that I'm going to do an analysis between the two characters and dissect why the comparisons and Giffiths influence on Miquella makes absolutely no damn sense.

So first and foremost, warning: I will be talking about and spoiling Berserk, so if you wanna read it for yourself then steer clear of this analysis

So to start off let's discuss Griffith and his character/motivations in Berserks story: Griffiths whole goal from childhood was to establish his own country, his own paradise and to achieve that goal he first established his own mercenary group The Band of the Hawk. Griffith was beautiful and charismatic and the people who were apart of his band all looked up to Griffith and admired him, placing all of their hopes and faith into him and his dream.

But as the story goes on Griffith hits an all time low point, and after essentially being tortured for a year, which makes him emaciated, weak and practically crippled for life, all of Griffiths dreams seem like an utter impossibility as he is left as nothing more than a shadow of his former self.

That is until he decides to cast everything aside to become a God.

And by cast everything aside I mean that he betrays his companions, his Band of the Hawk, and sacrifices their lives to untold evils in what is absolutely the most genuinely horrific and unsettling imagery I have ever seen from a work of fiction in my entire life.

(Going off topic but I cannot stress this enough that if you decide to read Berserk understand that the violence shown pulls no punches with its depictions and involves both heavy gore and sexual violence. Especially the sexual violence)

Anyway, what makes the Band of the Hawks sacrifice so jarring is that these people all loved Griffith. They adored him. Backed him every step of the way and were the ones to go and rescue him as he was being tortured, and they all mourned the pitiful state that he was in when they found him. But regardless they STILL tried to be hopeful for Griffiths sake.

The Band of the Hawk loved Griffith and that is why Griffiths betrayal of them hits so hard and is why Griffith is known as one of the most evil characters in fiction.

And all of these reasons are precisely why Griffith is such a good and compelling character.

From the beginning of Griffiths introduction you could tell that something was... off about him. But at the same time his charisma and big ambitions painted him in a sympathetic light and you rooted for Griffith. But as the story went on you could see how Griffith was going deeper and deeper into the darkness and, quite frankly, his subsequent torture is entirely his own fault because he made several stupid and completely avoidable choices.

And it's all because Griffith at his core is selfish.

And it's for exactly these reasons why it's so baffling to me that so many people believe that Miquella is going to be just as evil, or worse, than Griffith.

Because in truth unlike Griffith, Miquella is not selfish.

The main problem that I have with the Miquella is Griffith comparisons is that all of those theories hinge entirely on the Bewitching Branch item description, and so many people have gone out of their way to spin Miquellas ability to compel affection as definitive proof that he is manipulative and evil, meanwhile conveniently ignoring everything else that Miquella has done in the lore.

So for a single moment, let's pretend that the Bewitching Branch does not exist and take a look at all the other lore that surrounds Miquella:

Miquella has dedicated most of his life to curing Malenia, his twin sister, of her crippling disease, and has even crafted prosthetics for her as well as an entirely new type of God Repellent Metal, which can halt the effects of said disease

He was a Golden Order Fundamentalist but ultimately abandoned it because it could not cure Malenias sickness

He created a Haven for those who are outcasts in the eyes of the most dominating and repressive Order in the Lands Between

He watered said Haven/the Haligtree with his own blood so it could grow into something that could rival the Erdtree

He used his identity as St. Trina to sing to and ease those who have been afflicted by the Frenzied Flame

There are several statues that depict Miquella and Malenia embracing eachother, 1 in Altus in an area dubbed Miquellas Hideaway and several all over the Haligtree. The fact that this statue is the dominant imagery found at the Haligtree really hammers in the fact that the twins love eachother, and that the Haligtree isn't just Miquella's, but Malenias home as well

He also has a clear affection/love for his brother Godwyn as the statue at the Haligtree depicts him embracing his siblings and even created a sword to commemorate Godwyns death and prayed for him to Die a True Death.

The soldiers of the Haligtree came across a bitter revelation as they await Miquella(presumably they feel immense guilt for being unable to protect their Lord) and explode with light, which they hope will guide Miquellas return and no Miquella did not put the light in them to make them explode there is absolutely zero proof of that, looking at you vaati

And now to be fair, lets get into the comparisons that are shared between the Griffith and Miquella:

Both are highly charismatic and beautiful individuals to the point where both Griffith and Miquella are mistaken for being girls.

The Eclispe imagery. For Griffith the Eclipse is what allows him to ascend to Godhood(after sacrificing the people who love him) and for Miquella the Eclipse is presumably how they are trying to resurrect Godwyn (Miquellas plans for the Eclipse are mostly unknown/vague at this point)

The Egg. Griffith and Miquella both go through a type of metamorphosis involving being encased in a cocoon/egg.

And honestly that's kinda it. The straight comparisons between the two are highly lacking and purely thematic in my opinion, especially when you consider everything else going on between their respective characters.

So to summarize, the good things that Miquella has done outweighs the bad and that is why Miquella is, in actuality, the exact opposite of Griffith. Unlike Griffith who is selfish, Elden Ring canon points to Miquella being a compassionate and loving individual, and if anything, he is a complete inversion to Griffiths character.

With the points listed above a majority of the in game text highly suggests that Miquella is kind and altruistic, and with the newest text regarding Miquella in the DLC:

Points to Miquella potentially being selfless and self-sacrificial.

And also, I've seen several people argue that Miquella wants to become a God so he can create his own utopia/Falconia like Griffith did. And I'm like.... Uuuum okay well, there is a big problem with that argument along with an elephant in the room that's being completely ignored, and that is the fact that Miquella has already created his utopia/Falconia with the Haligtree and Elphael.

So as of this moment Miquellas exact goals are completely unknown, what he is doing in the World of Shadow cannot be determined until the DLC arrives. But my point remains that so many people seem to think that Miquella will be evil based off of, in my opinion, evidence that is completely lacking in substance, along with the pervasive belief that since Elden Ring has drawn inspiration from Berserk/Griffith it means that Miquella will end up as a similar type of evil character as Griffith, all while ignoring the things that Miquella has done in canon that sets him apart as his own character.

So I've said my piece and what I believe in, so I'm just going to leave this analysis with this last statement:

The good that Miquella has done and committed himself too in the Lands Between completely outweighs the singular implied evil of the Bewitching Branch.

#uri posts #elden ring #miquella the unalloyed #elden ring theory #shadow of the erdtree #also yes this is griffith slander i think he is a dumbass lol

[libraryofloveletters]

The Same Shade Of Red

Sebastian Vettel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: monza 2020 (double dnf for the boys in red), so much angst sorry, redbull comparisons for seb, the magic that is monza, the disaster that is ferrari and their team, talks of seb's races in monza, a few harsh/sad thoughts from seb, mentions of retirement, charles's crash in monza 2020, mentions of the pandemic, reader is the most loving wife to which seb is her perfect match, britta is sooo over you guys after years of this.

Word Count: 2.2k

Author's Note: would I be me if I didn't take monza race weekend and turn it into an ode to seb? no. ferrari seb you will always be my most beloved and fuck you ferrari for hurting my husband fr. (also this gif is so sexy I can't explain it. well I can but I will be banned from tumblr dot com)

---

Monza held a special place in the heart of your husband, in yours and in anyone that was a part of the Vettel family.

Sebastian had proven his worth, winning his and Toro Rosso's first ever Grand Prix in Monza during the 2008 season.

It was no different when he moved to Red Bull from Toro Rosso, his era of dominance brought him win after win and two of which were in Monza; the home of Ferrari.

Ever since that first win, Sebastian held a special love for Monza, as did you. There's something magical about the place; it might be the atmosphere or the fans but it has always been good to you and Seb. Whatever it was, it was nothing if not remarkable every single time.

The Tifosi held their drivers to the highest of standards, some would say next to God. Something happens to Italy when motorsport comes to town; everything changes and every single person you meet is so passionate. They live and breathe for Ferrari, they'd die for their drivers if it meant they could see them on that top step.

When Sebastian moved from Red Bull to Ferrari, he counted down the days to Monza.

It had always been his dream to drive with the red team, just as his childhood hero and friend, Michael, had done. Sebastian's first year with Ferrari was the epitome of picture perfect.

Despite coming in P2 behind Lewis and Mercedes, being on the podium at home for Ferrari meant everything to the German driver. This wasn't the first time he had gotten on podium for Ferrari, in fact he had already won twice with them that season; in Malaysia and then again in Hungary.

Monza was different; magical, special. There was something in the air, the energy was indescribable. Sebastian grinned, waving to the team from the second step.

You smiled, watching as your fiancé at the time hummed along to the Italian anthem, a country he quickly counted as his second home.

Sebastian was the king of the world that day, even though he hadn't won.

He had returned to the garage with the biggest grin on his face, trophy in one hand and the bottle of champagne in the other. He passed them over to his engineer, making a beeline for you. The man's covered in champagne and sweat and confetti, and he smells like gasoline and engine oil but he picks you up, squeezing you tightly.

You remember telling him how much you loved him and how proud of him you were. Sebastian responded with a kiss, you can taste the champagne; a familiar taste that slowly became more scarce as his days with Ferrari went on.

Unfortunately, things took a bit of a downwards dip for Sebastian after that. He was hungry to win, he was constantly in a fight for the championship every year and it was killing him that he wasn't there yet. Yes, he had won races with them and broken every record he could possibly break but if he couldn't achieve the one thing he really set out to do, the one thing he had always dreamt about, then what was the point?

Monza seemed to always have Sebastian in its grasp, tricking him as the years went on. He almost always was there, he could reach out and touch the win and yet, it slipped through his fingers. Winning in Monza meant more to a Ferrari driver than winning in Monaco would - unless you were born and raised there like Sebastian's teammate, Charles.

You were the king of the world if you won there; your name written in the history books from now until the end of time.

Sebastian longed for his name to be in the book of the greats; Sebastian Vettel, Monza race winner.

A dream that slipped through his fingers as did his hope of winning the championship with Ferrari.

After coming in P2 in 2015, things just kept getting further and further from the finish line for him. P3 in 2016 and 2017, P4 in 2018 and last year was the final shove before the cherry on top this year; P13 while his new teammate, Charles, stood on the top step as race winner, basking in the magic that is Monza.

He was happy for him, beyond happy actually and any win for the team was great but oh how he wished that was him.

Now you're back in Monza, the season had been delayed due to the pandemic and this was the first race you had been able to join him for all season. It was weird being there with the track empty; just the teams and the occasional celebrity guest that was rich enough to pay their way in.

The car has been giving Sebastian a hard time all weekend, practice was shit and he placed P17 in qualifying. It wasn't a good weekend for your husband.

"Be good," you told him while he was getting ready for the race. Sebastian nods, a witty remark about him always being a good boy slipped past his lips and you waved him off, your cheeks red as you walked back to the garage.

Watching him start from the back of the grid was breaking your heart, you knew he could manage much more than that but it's the stupid car that was giving him trouble.

He barely got a grip on the car before he drove off and into the blocks that were in the run off area. Your brows furrowed as you watched him speed through the blocks, his voice coming through the headphone - "brakes failed."

Your heart drops, eyes fixed on the screen as Seb pulls the car into the corner as best as he can without disrupting the race. He finds his way back to the garage after the marshals come for his car, Sebastian gives your hand a squeeze as he passes through and into the back hallway to his driver's room. You figured you'd give him space to cool off and you stayed in the garage to watch a bit more of the race.

It was barely 20 laps later that you saw the other Ferrari slide into the wall. To no fault of Charles, the car had understeer which caused him to lose the back half and send him into the wall. You stood there, waiting to hear if Charles spoke before you took your headphones off.

Once you hear that he's okay, you step out of the garage and make your way to your husband's driver room. You knock on the door, peeking in before he answers.

Sebastian gives you a sad smile, you can feel your heart breaking as you step in and shut the door behind you. He's sitting on the bench and you walk over, joining him.

"Charles is coming in."

"What? The race isn't over, is it?" Sebastian looks over at you before glancing out the window. You shook your head, "it's a red flag now, Charles' car has understeer, went into the wall."

"Is he okay?" He asks and you nod, "he's a little shaken up but he'll be okay."

Your hand finds your husband's, interlocking fingers. "I always admire that even when you're going through it, you still look out for others."

"I know what it's like to be in his position, it's tough."

You hum, glancing down at the racing boots that were tossed to the side, Seb's sock clad feet slide back and forth over the floor. "You know what happened today wasn't your fault, Sebastian. It was mechanical."

He's quiet for a bit, nodding at your words. "I don't know how much more of this I can take, baby."

You look over at the man, "of Ferrari or of racing?"

"Both," he answers truthfully.

Sebastian and Ferrari had come to a mutual agreement - a publicity term - that they would not be renewing his contract. You weren't opposed to it, you knew it was killing your husband to go but if Sebastian was good at one thing, it was that he knew when it was time to go, he had to go. He wanted to win with them, you think a part of him still held a tiny sliver of hope that he would find his way back to the top step as champion of the world but he also knew being there was killing him.

Mentally, physically, emotionally; he couldn't bear the pressure of staying there any longer.

"It's just a few more races, love. You can do it."

He nods, "I know but.." "Don't even go there," you tell him, shifting to face him. One of your legs hanging off the bench as the other folded in front of you.

"Monza's special, you know that." He says, "I just.. I feel like I failed." He sighs, his head hung and if your heart wasn't already broken, it was broken now.

It was days like today that made you hate the team that your husband so dearly loved.

"You didn't fail, you never failed them, Sebastian." You squeezed his hand, the man looked up at you. Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, your thumb rubbing over the few days old stubble on his cheek. "If anything, they failed you."

"You have the talent and the skill, and the drive to win and to be a champion; it's them, babe. They couldn't give you a car that was worthy of you, you can't blame yourself for that." You look at your husband and the man sighs again.

"I should have been able to, though. Been able to get the best out of the car."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Seb, c'mon. Be for real right now, it's their shitty ass car, it's not your fault. You know Lewis's car is basically a rocket ship, plus it's not like your strategies are A1 over here."

Seb tosses you a glance, a look of disapproval on his face. "You're so not helping right now, darling."

You raise your hands in surrender and your husband smiles - his first genuine smile all weekend. You smile back, holding his face again. "I love you, Sebastian."

"I know," he grins and you shake your head, laughing. "This is usually the point where you say I love you back."

"Oh, sorry." he chuckled, "I love you, y/n."

You smile, leaning in to give him a kiss. "Good, now come on. You need to get dressed, go check on your teammate," you patted his thigh, getting up to find a shirt for the man. In the meantime, Seb pulled off his race suit and fire proofs, slipping on a pair of shorts.

"Do I really have to go?" He sits on the bench again, shifting to lay down, his arms tucked behind his head. You roll your eyes, looking through the small cabinet off to the side. "Yes, you know they'll make you out to be a villain if you don't."

"And if I wanna be a villain ?" He asks, looking over at you.

You sigh, tossing the shirt at him, "Sebastian, don't start with me right now."

The man laughs, dropping the shirt on the bench before standing up. Sebastian grabs your hand, pulling you flush against his chest. "Ew," you fake a gag, "you're sweaty."

He smiles, ignoring your comment. "I don't know what I'd do without you, I can't thank you enough for being here for me all these years."

Your hand rests on his jaw, giving him a kiss before smiling at him. "You don't need to thank me, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat but.. if you do wanna thank me, you can buy that purse I liked."

"Show me when we get back, you can take my card and order it."

"I was joking," you look at him, and Seb shrugs. "It's the least I can do to thank you for being the perfect wife."

"It's easy to do when I have the perfect husband," you smile, kissing him again. There's a knock on the door, causing you both to look in the direction of it.

"When the two of you are done being perfect, you're needed for press, Sebastian." Britt's voice from the other side of the door, making you both laugh.

Seb gives you one last kiss before grabbing his shirt, "I'm coming!" He calls to her, pulling it on. He was on his way out but you stopped him, grabbing his hand.

He turns back, looking at you as he waits to see what you wanted. "I'm proud of you, no matter what," you tell him.

Seb nods, smiling at you. "I love you."

---

taglist: @dragon-of-winterfell @benedictscanvas @elisaa-shelby @hnmaga-blog @czechoslovakiandisco @dr3lover @troybolton14 @Lovingroscoee @compulsiveshit @somanyfandomsbruh @damnyoulifee @barzysreputation @vickyofalltrades @yeolsbubbles @barzysreputation @thybulleric @valkyrie418 @ricsaigaslec @idkiwantchocolatee @sessgjarg @molliemoo3 @bisexual-desi @sunf1owerrq @alwaysclassyeagle @coldmuffinbanditshoe @sillybananamaker and @oconso cause she was fucking with the preview I sent her

#sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel fluff #sebastian vettel one shot #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #formula one #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fanfiction #formula one fic

[undercoverpena]

ix. put me to bed

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter nine of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings. angst with fluff. dont hate the jo. a love confession, but not to the other. mention of alcohol (a few drinks). one use of the nickname 'bean', no use of y/n

word count: 4.1k

an: the most overwhelming thanks to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this chapter and the next, and giving me the comfort i needed to say goodbye to them.

He doesn’t know where to begin.

For the longest time, he just stands. Eyes sweeping across the effort you had made—the weight of it hitting into him. Contemplating the reason behind it, letting it mist over him, slathering itself onto his clothes, making them cling to his bones.

Drowned. He feels like he’s drowning.

It’s making everything feel tight, uncomfortable. All the while processing this thing he’s squandered. Ruined. Destroyed like he does everything else in his life.

Because you had broken a rule for him.

A declaration that you had encased in a statement, it all bold. He can only imagine from the display (and an array of wick-burnt candles) that it would have been illumed by dancing flames.

That is if he hadn’t overslept. If he had put on an alarm, done something other than close his eyes and hope.

Usually, Frankie doesn’t nap. He barely, and rarely even sleeps. Hasn’t been particularly good at getting a good amount for a while. Too many thoughts which keep him paralysed in the dark, ifs and buts and maybes all circling. The unknown faces of the loved ones that are left behind because he had something to do, achieve, complete.

Even since he’d gotten out, it hadn’t improved. In fact, it had worsened, doubling more so in the time since Colombia—only improving whenever he finds himself next to you. When your soft breaths in, and out, calm him, the scent of your shampoo takes the last bit of stress from him, handing him only a pleasant night's sleep.

He’d wanted to return the favour—give his attention, his time. It’s why he’d closed his eyes to begin with, why he’d thought grabbing an hour would be beneficial.

Now, it’s spoiled everything.

His teeth leave indents on the inside of his mouth, biting further down until it stings. The pads of his fingers tug at his curls as he unsticks his foot from the floor, deciding it was likely best he begin to tidy.

One, in the hope it’ll distract him, pass the time until you return from wherever it is you’ve gone. Two, because it’ll at least provide you with a clean home to return to—no evidence of the night he’d let you down.

It’s only when he’s cleared the table, mid-scraping the food into your bin, does he glance up. Eyes landing on your fridge, finding the Polaroid stuck to it—the one the two of you had taken at some BBQ years ago. Your lips pressed to his cheek, his eyes closed, lines in the corners as he grins something stupid. It always makes him smile when he sees it—had even begged you to let him take it when he began working away.

No. If you take it, you’ll have nothing to come visit me for.

As if that could ever be true.

He remembers when he told you about his license, the stupid drug charge. You had been the first place he thought of going. Rocking up to your door, enveloped in your porch light he stood more mess than man, shaking, trembling, so fearful that his life would go up in flames. But, you were an anchor, a thing which rooted him and didn’t let him float up into the sky. Hand on his back, guiding him in.

Whatever it is, it’ll be okay, Frank. I promise.

You had been right. Like you were about so many things.

Constantly a calming vibe, a thing he instantly feels better around—relaxing and unknotting him, it not mattering what state he presented himself to you in.

Closing his eyes, he runs his thumb over his phone—without even needing to open them, he finds your contact. Suddenly drowned in the dull ringing tone. It sounds out in the tension, vibrating against it, making it more prominent, until it rings to nothing, stuffing it back where he won’t see you and your face illuminated on the background of his phone.

Sinking into your sofa, he feels he should go. Return back to his place, pass all the buildings he’s just torn past, likely hit each red light on the way home (a thing he’s sure he deserves). He should get behind the wheel, tap his thumbs against it as he hopes you’ll ring him, maybe even force him to change lanes and come to you.

He sits instead. Both in the discomfort of his own making and the sorrow of a failed night—letting it sink into him. Pierce in, leave a mark, an invisible tattoo needled in with what he hopes isn’t your tears, sadness and anger. Yet, he suspects it’s all three.

His phone buzzes, heart flipping as he pulls it out of his jean pocket, hoping he sees your name—sees your face lit up on his screen. That happy one, where your eyes are closed and your mouth is open, it snapped a year ago, his shades hanging off the tip of your nose and a streak of jam on your cheek from a doughnut.

It isn’t your name.

Isn’t even a call.

Just one text, from Will.

Come get your girl, Fish.

He drives calmer than when he’d headed over. Only for the fact he doesn’t want to face the judgment when he arrives.

Because Will is nothing but predictable, likely timing him, knowing the exact minute of when he should arrive from either his own place or yours.

Naturally, he’s greeted by him—waiting outside, arms folded.

“Hey. Where is she?”

Frankie is barely confident he’s shut the door of his truck, only hoping it’ll lock as he presses the button, walking across the road to him—coming face-to-face with his friend.

It’s clear there’s judgment there, all heavy—embedded in confusion and disappointment. Both were like old friends sliding in, sketching across the same face he’d been beside in sand dunes and deep in jungles alongside.

“Inside.”

Something tightens, the rope threading through itself further, creating another knot he’ll struggle to undo. “She tell you?”

Will snorts. “No. But she didn’t not tell me either.”

“You out here to defend her or something?”

Narrowing his eyes, Will just stares—letting it simmer for a moment, letting it bubble in tension before he runs his thumb across his bottom lip.

“No,” he eventually says. “If anything, I’m not sure who she’s more pissed at. Apparently, I betrayed her.”

Frankie bites back a smile, dipping his head, hiding it—hopefully.

“Tell me I upset her for the right reason,” Will continues. “Tell me I didn’t make her look at me all crushed for no reason, Fish.”

Scratching the back of his curls, he swallows.

“C’mon man, gimme something here. I’ve had to watch the two of you do this fuckin’ dance for years. Ever since you left Ben’s. I thought, maybe this is it, maybe the two of them will open their eyes.”

Rubbing his arm, he drags his tongue across his bottom lip. Staring just passed him, at the windows of the bar—wondering if you’re there, if you’re further tucked inside, simmering, all hating and fury—

“Fish.”

“What?”

Giving him a pointed look, Will throws his arms out to the side. Wearing a look he’s seen before. One usually there when he’s telling someone off—berating them.

“What do you want me to tell you?” he asks.

Because, he isn’t sure. Not even wholeheartedly confident he knows what to say.

It’s why it was supposed to come out solid, all sharp edges and deep. Instead, it comes out shaky, weak—wrapped in nerves and encased in concerns. Defeat flowing through him, smothering everything else—made worse by the tilting head of his friend.

“You want me to tell you that I’m in love with her? Well, I am. I have been for… fuck—longer than I’ve known. You want me to tell you that I’ve been happier than I have been the last few months getting to enjoy seeing what it would be like to be with her, because I can’t.”

Swallowing, Frankie runs his hand across his face.

“You want me to tell you that I can’t stop thinking about her, that it feels like my heart has been wrenched out and gutted from my fucking chest because I let her down tonight—that she deserves better—“

“Fish…”

“—she does. Someone good, someone like you who makes her laugh, is there at the drop of a phone call, and can provide—“

The ball doesn’t shrink, it just pulses. Filling the space in his throat, constricting, widening in the limited avenue it has until he almost chokes on it.

“—and I can’t. I… I don’t know how to do any of it. Even if being with her feels like everything—like the fucking rain doesn’t make me think of Colombia, doesn’t make me remember the weight of carrying his body. Because—“

It catches and hits the back of his teeth. Attempting to swallow, shove it back. A sting to his eyes as he tries to blink it away.

But it isn’t so easily hidden, removed—or buried. It’s there now, existing, risen to the surface, bobbing up and down on emotions which are too heavy to sink to the bottom of his soul.

“—Because—“

“Y’need to tell her,” Will says, finally cutting through. Hand on his shoulder, grappling him, digging his fingers in. “Believe me.”

Blinking, he breathes. Takes more air in. Trying to settle his nerves, the adrenaline from letting it all out. “What if I lose her?”

“Y’won’t. Do you know why? Because while you’re getting worked up about what you think she deserves, she’s sat wishing she was good enough for you. So, talk to her. Trust me.”

Nodding, he casts his eyes down, hearing the door of the bar open—the loudness escaping out into the otherwise quiet street—as he locks eyes with you. You, who even with anger simmering, take his fucking breath away.

“I don’t like her like that, Fish,” Will whispers. “Never have. But even if I did, it wouldn’t have mattered. She’s always been yours.”

You’re quiet when he opens the door, even more so when you slide in beside him. A part of you knows he'll hate it, the silent treatment.

But, it's either that, or words, all matted together, coming out like a magician's infinite silk handkerchief.

You're sure that's what is simmering in your chest, all eroding, bubbling, all coiled and twisted. At the heart of it is disappointment, followed up by so much more. It prickles in and around the truck, adding in thick layers to the tension—it all being plucked like the chords of a song.

Your stomach swirls, in the opposite way to your head. The few drinks you had mixed with the emotional whiplash you were still recovering from.

Because when you’d seen him, all you had wanted to do was bury your head into his chest. Somehow hold him, rid yourself of the doubts, the worries. The thoughts which had thundered inside of you, were only diluted by the anger you’d been feeling that maybe, just maybe, he’d decided against doing this thing with you.

It isn’t until the engine rumbles, does your stomach make a noise, a grumble. The hunger rising, not as easily ignored as it had been before—when you’d been turning things over. Purposefully choosing to sit in the complex emotions Will tried to urge you to explain.

But how could you?

Especially when you were unsure at what point they began and ended? A love that had woven in and around all of you, threaded itself between bones and became part of muscles.

“How much did you drink?”

Twisting your fingers around the strap of your bag, you swallow. “Two, maybe three.”

You catch his brow arching, lips tightening into a thin line. His profile is all lit up by the lights above dashing past as he heads down the quiet road.

“Someone spilt a drink on me. That's... that's why you can smell it.”

“You okay—I got a hoodie in the back?”

Snorting, you lick your lips. “No. I’m fine. Was just a shot—smells worse than it is.”

Pulling up to a light, you hear him take a deep breath. A sound you shouldn’t be happy to hear, but you are. It settling things, easing the grip around your heart—the one which had tightened when you’d wondered if something had happened, if he had been hurt—

“You really do stink.”

You don’t laugh, just bite it back, letting the lights go green as he drives and drives. Your head wants nothing more than to turn, stare at him—ask him what happened, shout and even cry.

You do none of it.

Just waiting until he pulls up, in that spot his vehicle always finds itself in. The engine cuts, the air around the two of you turning silent.

It’s just you, and him, your dark and quiet street, and the animals who wish for some privacy as they get up to no good.

“I…” he begins, clearing his throat. “I need you to know I didn’t mean to stand you up—I overslept.”

“I know,” you mumble, shaking your phone. “Saw your text.”

Nodding, he chews his cheek, sighing. “I know people let you down, but please... I wouldn’t, I didn’t mean to do that to you. I just—I needed a nap, just… fuck I just wanted to be more alert.”

Biting your bottom lip, you almost pierce it. It stings, throbs, worsening in the seconds that pass as you nod.

Undoing your seatbelt, shifting yourself to the side. Pulse thumping in your ear, beating, getting louder and louder, and then you look at him.

The way his eyes have widened, soft, all worried. His face pinched, his lips in a thin line, but it’s the dark circles under his eyes, the darkened tinge you know wasn’t there the week prior.

Because you’ve mapped him. Know every inch of him now. Somehow able to carve him from clay with how your hands know him, able to spot the way his hand feels in yours from a lineup.

“I just didn’t want to have waited all week to see you, and fall asleep once I was around you.”

Snorting. “I must be good company.”

He whispers your name, more urgently, all quick. “You’re… I feel relaxed around you, that’s all.”

Sighing, the car fills with the sound, as he lets his head roll back onto the headrest. And you can feel him staring at you, getting the feeling he’s unable to take his eyes off of you. As if he’s almost unable to, commanded to.

You hate that you feel the same. That you always feel the same. Your eyes scanning over each angle of his face, an act you’ve done thousands of times, but this time, feels, different.

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t sleeping?”

“It’s not that I’m not sleeping. More that I’m just not sleeping as well.”

You almost say same. Spill it. Share it with him.

You’re just fearful of what will come with it. Confessions are so easy when your mind is full of the things you can’t say, mixing with the tiredness that’s come on from worrying, from being nervous, from crying—from keeping a tight lip when Will tried to get you to open up.

At this point, it would be easier to tell him that you dream of waking beside him. Your linens, but in his bedroom—all dark walls that make the day not seem like it's arrived, just so you could steal more time with him.

“How long?”

Smirking, it softens into a smile as the seconds collect. “Since I began spending one night a week curled up against you.”

Eyes dropping, your fingers begin playing with the zip on your bag. Pulse thundering in your head, that little screech starting in your eardrum as you try to keep yourself calm, try not to let yourself get ahead of yourself.

“It’s why…” pinching the bridge of his nose, you let your gaze wander back to him. “I just wanted to see you on more sleep than I’d had since I was up there.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“You want me to turn it off?”

Looking down, you nod. A playful smile begins to grace your lips, feeling him still watching you. You sit in it—all the things unspoken. The fact that hours ago, all you had wanted to do was pour your heart out, tell him, clutch his cheeks—love me, Frankie, please love me.

Now, you fiddle with any part of your bag you can. Secretly wanting him to kiss you, render you thoughtless—make the night fade, blend into a sea of other ones. Because you’re not sure how to explain to him how often you think of him, how his name comes so easily to rest on your lips when you first wake in the morning when you’re having a bad day, when your hand is sliding under the band of your underwear seeking a little something to unwind.

It’s him. Always him.

Even if you know that a part of you also knows he isn’t yours. He doesn’t owe you anything, it all barely an agreement, barely anything in place which would explain the way you feeling—how crestfallen, shattered and smashed into a thousand pieces.

“Bean…” he whispers.

Forcing your eyes to drag up. “You’ve not called me that in ages.”

Smiling half-heartedly, he snorts.

An old nickname, a thing he called you for no reason, but it stuck. Became a fixture. A thing now replaced with other pet names, other terms of affection. You're not sure which one makes your heart double in size more.

Not now. Not when all you do is feel so much for him.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” you reply. And you do.

Not meeting his eyes, not able to, a part of you worrying what will happen if you do—will you ever be able to look away? Will he see through the facade you’d throw up for him, see all the ways he’s managed to bring old scars to the surface, make you feel at fault, foolish—

Your insides churn.

“Okay.”

Lifting your chin, you slide your hand over to take his, gripping it, not letting go. Because there’s not a thing you wanted more than him, not ever. Not when you’d been sat waiting, with time to tick on, and not now sat, feeling his guilt wash from him in thick, horrid waves.

“I thought you’d had enough of me.”

It’s all you can say, swallowing the rest. That you’d worried you were broken, unsave-able—forever destined to be let down and hurt. A pattern of it stitched into you before him, a sea of bad dates and bad relationships, each leaving a different insecurity nestled within you.

“Never,” he breathes.

You blink, feeling the corners blur as the tears approach—your elbow resting on the door of his truck, teeth nipping at your thumb, biting down harder, more intently, just to stifle them. Stop them from building more, fearful of them falling.

Because it heals a shard inside of you—apply glue to it, knowing it’ll be set in a few hours.

“You coming in?”

“Sure, querida.”

Another part of you calms. It sliding back into its original place inside of you—able to take a breath, a real one. Hearing his footsteps fall behind you, your fingers finding your keys, as your door unlocks with far too much ease with how you’d slammed it earlier tonight.

It’s only when you throw your bag on the hook, passing the jacket he’d left behind, that your mind remembers the evidence at your dining table. The thing you wouldn’t be able to explain, even if you tried. The words are all jumbled now, blasted to the inside of your brain by earlier sobs, anger and now beer.

“I’ve already seen it.”

His voice sounds louder in the quiet of your home and the thudding of your head. Your brain whirring, trying to catch up, to think on your feet—be quick, be witty, do something, say anything.

“Tomorrow?” he adds, cutting you off before words even begin to be thought.

A lump forms in your throat, beginning there, all unable to be swallowed as he runs his hand up and down your arm before he heads into your kitchen. You follow, slowly, more cautious in your steps as you hear the tap, hear him grab a glass—all movements that feel normal, but now feel the very opposite of that.

“Drink this.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Humour me,” he says, nudging the glass into your hand.

It allows you a moment to spot the table—how spotless it is, the only evidence of the night being the candles, the cutlery he hadn’t put away, the rest is gone, vanished.

“Came to find you,” he says, all able to read you—a thing he does with far too much ease.

And it makes you worry, and panic. Because if he can so easily discern this, does he already know? Had it been an element of why he had needed the nap—more energy to end this, the thing the two of you have that has been more than just sex. It has become something so much more.

You had known it. Had been feeling it.

It was evidenced by the fact you had begun to count more than days till you could see him.

“Remember when you cleaned sick of my floor.”

Snorting, he leans against your counter, all legs outstretched, arms folding—even the outline of him handsome, barely needing the light on to see how good he looks. Because that’s just him.

“Vividly,” he says, smirking. “Not repeating that tonight, are you?”

“No. Didn’t drink much.”

“You keep saying that but your eyes are glazed.”

You bite your lip. “I didn’t eat.”

He doesn’t speak but rather makes a noise. Something in the back of his throat, something he buries in a cough, smothering it from existence with a wipe of his face, as you drain the last bit of your glass.

“Good gi…”

Biting your bottom lip, you pause as you offer it to him, staring at him.

It’s likely wrong, not the thing you should do, but you do it anyway. The gap closing, all easy to do (barely more than three steps) as you clutch his cheeks, crashing your lips to his, hoping it says enough—a gesture which speaks a thousand of the words which keep circling, swimming.

Can you hear me love you, Morales?

His lips moving with yours, the tip of his tongue sliding across your bottom lip—warm, eager, likely saying just as many things, but they’re not easy to read, to tell.

Pulling back, you press your forehead against him, fingers working around his neck, twirling a curl or two. Just being. Taking in the way you can feel his heart hammer against yours, the two of them trying to find a rhythm, desperate to match, to fit.

“Should sleep,” he whispers against you, a soft kiss against your skin. “We can… we can talk tomorrow.”

“Stay—“

Nodding, he cups your face with his hands. “I will, baby. I promise. Out here, on the sofa. You… we should talk tomorrow. You’re tired, I’m tired.”

Tears threaten to spill, hanging, all delicate from your lashes as you slowly lift your head, trying to nod. Your throat tightening, clenching.

“Bean, don’t cry. It’s gonna be alright, we’ll sleep and then tomorrow we’ll talk and it’ll be fine.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you try to smile. “Okay.”

Kissing your forehead, he lingers, your fingers hovering over his waist, desperate to pull him close.

“You’re not leaving me are you?”

Something shifts in his eyes. A moment where they widen and then narrow ever so slightly—like they’re being pinched by his thoughts, things he likes wants to say, spill, let you know and understand.

“No. Never,” he whispers, fingers clutching your chin, thumb drawing a line up and down it. “I’ll tell you how I’m never going to tomorrow. When you’re sober.”

Okay, you think. Biting your lip, casting your eyes down when you hear him say your name.

“If I…” Frankie scratches the back of his head. “You’ve had a drink… I don’t wanna push things, but if you—”

“I want to fall asleep with you,” you cut in.

Okay, you hear.

And it’s different than the one you thought, different than the nervousness in his voice a second ago. It’s different—all of it. You just hope different doesn’t mean wrong.

FINAL CHAPTER ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #jo: iltwy #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader smut #pedrostories

[illumnis]

for love in trouble. ― for someone who relied much on their logic, often times, they avoided the subject of love. love to him was simply, too much of the unknown, too much of what he wasn't good at; his feelings.

pairing: various x gn!reader

warnings: errrr emotionally constipated boys, mushy gushy euwey guwey feelings :), unedited!!!

note: err i'll make a haikyuu mlist later maybe

it's love, they say. they- as in his closest confident who was nothing more than unreliable. or rather, in his words, piteously romantic.

if he is valentine; his confidant is proteus- when he loved, he was all consumed. but he digressed; after all, he didn't want to think of his friend. he wanted to think of you- er, your effect on him he means...

if it were true that he loves you, then he believes it counterproductive.

a paradox how he hates the way his heart put in the work to double its beat when you were around, but he loves your presence; believes it a gift. a paradox how he hates the way his carefully thought out sentences turn a puddle in his hands when he was around you, but how he loves your twinkling eyes that wait patiently for him to collect himself; he believes you are truly an angel, his blessing from the gods for ever single good thing he has done in his life (which, to him doesn't seem like enough to be deserving of your life).

ever since he has had the ability to grasp onto a coherent conscience or reason and logic, he believed himself nothing special; someone who was simply born to achieve merely out of ambition. but compared to you, someone who, he believes was born from divinity to grace the earth with their love and knowledge; he suddenly thinks he's the piteous one.

that, or, maybe he's giving you too much credit. while you are nothing short of beautiful in every factor possible, from the way you smile all the way down to the beat your heart sang, you are beautiful. a taste of dismay lingered on his tongue like the bitterness of cough medicine when he thought of anyone else who may see you the same.

of course, as unreliable as his version of proteus was, he still confided. much to his chagrin, he was told he was being jealous even without substance.

of course, there was nothing he could argue to that point; for there was nothing he could use to defend himself. after all, he had spilled his guts out only to be told the truth.

his confidant only laughs at his silent irritation.

"y'know... i actually ran into them earlier. they asked about you actually."

whether his ever so pesky confidant mentioned you because he knew exactly which buttons to press or simply just telling him a truth he knew that he would cherish silently (or perhaps both, which does not seem like a reach), he can't help the fact that his mind drifts back to you.

despite the truth- the fact that he does, find himself extremely head-over-heels for you- being a hard pill to swallow, he takes a deep breath. courage builds up in his throat, and he swallows it without much more fight. if it meant that both your hearts would beat the same song around each others' presence, he'd face even the highest of hurdles, even if the first step was coming to terms with his confusing feelings.

― men who prefer facts over feelings, but when it comes to you, the two seem to bleed together: alhaitham, sakusa, nanami, kuroo, yaku, xiao, kita, megumi, gojo, diluc, wanderer.

navi. mlist.

#theatre: now playing! 🎭 #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham fluff #sakusa x reader #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #kuroo x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #yaku x reader #genshin xiao x reader #kita x reader #megumi x reader #megumi fluff #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #diluc x reader #scaramouche x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #i hatevthe tag limit

[strwyofthesun]

a workplace escapade

pairing: id!leon kennedy x agent!(f)reader

synopsis: you work at the DSO and your days there have become increasingly mundane till you are assigned to a mission with Leon under the president's orders. and ever since then, tension grows between the two of you in your workplace.

word count: 2.4k

cont: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, masturbation, oral (m receiving), slight degrading, overstimulation, breeding (?)

a/n: it's like 5 am here and i have not had a blink of sleep. also, is it normal to feel hella embrassed when writing smut? can't take myself seriously i sweaaar. stream sntv too, i was inspired by i can see you to write this cuz shits jus so good.

reblogs, comments, reqs are highly appreciated! <3

The days in the headquarters of the Divisions of Security Operations have been getting more and more tiresome the longer you’ve been working. When you were newly employed, the job seemed exciting at first. Working alongside the best of the best agents from all across different branches of the US federal government, it was nice to have more company and see new faces. Over time though, the missions increased in difficulty and you’ve seen friends and colleagues come and go. You’ve tried your hardest not to become numb to everything but hid your emotions of anger and frustrations. On days where you weren’t on the front lines fighting, you were in stuffy, cold rooms reporting on what happened during your missions and relaying the information you have found. Your work-life balance was basically non-existent at this point, spending most of your time in and out the headquarters and if you’re lucky, you’d get to go home and relax for a while until you are called again for the next assignment.

Nothing gave you any thrill or excitement anymore. Everything had become a routine to you, until, under the president’s orders, you and agent Leon S. Kennedy are paired together for a mission. You left your comfort of your home immediately as soon as you were called and headed to the white house to meet the president and Leon.

Leon wasn’t exactly a new name or face to you. You’ve heard about his deeds and he does live up to the name he has made for himself. There has been a couple of instances where the two of you would bump into each other in hallways, but other than catching each other’s glances, there wasn’t anything more to say really. Though, you had to admit, other than being one of the president’s bets, he had looks that could kill as well. It’s hard to miss him whenever he’s around. His striking blue eyes, tall figure, long blonde hair, and that charming smile of his. If only your job had room for having more of a life, you’d have probably fooled around with Leon by now. But sadly, that isn’t the case.

You shortly arrived at the foot of the president’s office and you could hear him talking to who you assumed was Leon. Two of the president’s bodyguards opened the door for you and you let yourself in.

“Ah, speak of the devil, she’s here.” The president said while smiling at you. “I’m sure you are acquainted with one another, yes?” He asked while looking at the two of us.

“Yes, Mr. President but it’s our first time working together.” You responded.

“Oh? Is that so? I trust that my best agents will be fine.”

You got flustered at the president’s comment and hear Leon chuckle from the side, “We’re flattered sir.”

The president soon briefed the both of you on what needs to be done and the goals you must achieve. You and Leon nodded in agreement and the president patted the both of you on the shoulder with a look of pride painted on his face. “Make me proud my agents.”

The mission went according to plan and was successful. The following day, the both of you return to HQ and prepare to report what happened. You sported a white long sleeve button-up that has been rolled up and a black skirt that hugged your figure nicely. It wasn’t all the time you wore an outfit like that whenever you reported back, so not only were people congratulating you for the successful mission but at the same time, complimenting you on your outfit. You arrived rather early in the meeting room as it was only you and a couple associates in the room. Later, heads started turning once Leon stepped into the room. He was wearing a blue suit with a white button up underneath, looking jaw-dropping to say the least. The men and women in the room stood up to shake hands with him as you patiently waited for your turn. You stood up and walked up to him while he checked you out.

“Nice outfit. Suits you.” He said smiling at you.

You returned the smile and said, “I can say the same to you.”

The two of you head to the front and start recounting the events that have occurred. Whilst you were talking, you noticed Leon from the corner of your eye, looking at you. But it wasn’t just a simple look, you could see his eyes shine as he drowned in the sight of you. It was as though he was undressing you with his stare. One of the associates asked Leon a question but he didn’t respond due to him still having his gaze fixated on you. You turn to look at him directly and uttered a small “Hey” to catch his attention. He snapped out of his trance and apologized. Leon answered the question and for the rest of the meeting he really couldn’t keep his eyes of you.

Once the meeting was finished, you came up to him and jokingly asked, “Did I have something in my teeth? Why were you staring?”

“Oh, was I? I didn’t realize… I'm sorry." He apologized.

“No need to apologize. It’s okay Leon.” You reassured him.

He then gestured for the door and held it open for you. You thanked him and went parted ways for the day. When you weren't on a mission, you mostly spent your time on your desk from morning till night while occasionally running into Leon if he wasn't on a mission as well. You’d give each other an awkward smile and go about your business. This went on for about a week and over time, Leon was suddenly all you could think about every time you’re at work. Hopping that you’d bump into him somehow or see him around the halls. The thought of catching him staring at you excited you. It felt like there was this electrifying tension between the two of you.

You were done working together for a mission, but something told you that this wasn’t just the end for the both of you. Impure thoughts filled your head, distracting you from your job. You could tell that it wasn’t just you, and that’s what thrilled you the most. Knowing that you both want each other, yet held back. It made you long for him even more. The times you and Leon would talk to each other for work purposes, the two of you kept your composure and kept it professional when deep down you both needed the fulfill the urge to be on each other's bodies.

It was getting late at night already and you yawned from the exhaustion of a long day’s work. You rummage through your paper looking for a specific document when you remembered that you had left it in a meeting room. You sighed and sluggishly make your way to the meeting room, cussing yourself out for forgetting and now you’re working overtime. As you approach the door, you hear noises coming from the room. You thought it was odd that someone was still in there since the building was almost empty at that hour. Leaning into the door, you peaked through the glass and see Leon, touching himself. He moaned your name under his breath along with profanities. This took you by surprise. You leaned even closer on the door and ended up accidentally pushing it, making Leon jolt knowing that he’s been caught.

He quickly zips up his pants and walks up to door to see who was looking, when he was then met face to face with you.

“I-I left something inside the room…” You stuttered.

Leon just looked at you panting slightly, forehead glistening with sweat and the buttons of his shirt open just enough to see his bare chest. You excused yourself and went in the room and grabbing the document you left when all of the sudden, Leon pinned you to the wall, barely leaving any space between the two of you.

“Are you really just going to leave me here?” Leon asked .

“You seemed… busy.”

Leon let out a chuckle and leaned in close to your ear, “I know you heard me…” His breath making contact on your skin made you shudder.

“Maybe I can help you out..." You whispered back dropping the document to the floor and placing your hand on his chest, slowly moving down, palming his hard dick through his pants. Leon buried his face into your neck trying to stifle his moans. You undo his button, unzip his pants, and pull it down along with his boxers.

You bend down to kneel infront of Leon and level with his cock. You run your thumb over his tip making Leon's breath hitch. You let your tongue slide along his shaft tracing the veins on it. Slowly, you take in his dick in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down while your hand stroked the lower shaft. You licked his tip and left kisses on it, teasing Leon. You speed up the pace leaving Leon breathless, throwing his head back.

"Faster..." Leon panted.

"I can't hear you, Leon. Speak up."

"Faster... please..." Leon says louder this time. you granted his request and start pumping him faster. His mouth is agape as he starts heaving heavily. It turned you on knowing that you could make the Leon Kennedy like this. The thoughts of you and him together were coming to life, and this was barely scratching the surface of all the things you've imagined.

"Fuck, I'm gonna... cum..." he said trying to desperately get out the words from his mouth. You moved even more swiftly this time until Leon came onto your hand and before he could even ride it out, you started stroking his still hard and now sensitive dick.

"Wha- what the fuck are y-you doing?" He hissed.

You don't reply. You just look at him in his eyes while you pick up the pace catching Leon off guard.

Leon whined, "Please..."

"Please what?" you responded.

"S-Stop..." He managed to say.

"And why would I do that? You seem to be enjoying it." you smirk as you stroked his dick faster and faster.

Leon started to tremble a bit and his cock twitched in your hand. He groaned at how you were pumping his overstimulated cock, continuously moaning, filling up the room with his whines and groans. He was begging to you to stop but you didn't. You didn't stop until he came again. And when he did, you finally let him ride his climax down.

Once he settled down, he looked at you menacingly and you thought to yourself, if eyes could kill, you'd definitely be dead by now.

"Stand up. You think I'd let that shit slide?" he said as he heaved. You stood up as Leon grabbed you and turned you around, your back facing his. He pulled you closer, one arm wrapped around your torso while the other snaked its way down to your core. His hand unbuttoned your shirt, slid its way into your bra, and fondled with your boobs, leaving a moan escape your mouth. His other hand moved in tight circles around your clit, doubling the pleasure you were feeling at that moment. Leon pulled your skirt up and pulled your soaked panties down. He slipped his dick inbetween your thighs just right at the surface of your cunt. He thrusted back and forth making sure his dick isn't in you on purpose. He was teasing you and you were starting to become needy.

"Leon... put it in me..." you tried pleading with him.

"Beg for it." He responded, his lips curling into a smirk as he continued moving his dick through the folds of your slick cunt. "Please Leon... I need you in me." Hearing you beg for him, he gave into it and rammed his dick in your cunt leaving you and him gasping at the sudden movement.

"Leon what the fuck?!" you screamed. "I gave you what you wanted didn't I? Ungrateful bitch..." Although Leon was cussing you out, you didn't feel any sort of hatred or resentment towards him. In fact, it turned you on even more and Leon was catching up to it.

"You like it when I call you a bitch huh?" he asked as his hand moved from your boobs to your jaw, squeezing it.

He moved closer to your ear and whispered, "Or would you prefer if I called you a slut instead? Would you like that?" You nod your head in response.

"My, my, what a dirty little slut you are... I can't wait to fuck you like one." He said as he lets go of his grip on your jaw.

"I'll be your slut and yours only... Use me however you like. I'm at your disposal Leon." You said breathelessly.

"Oh I'll never dispose you. I'll make sure I fill you up with my cum like the fucking slut you are. So shut the fuck up and take it." Leon whispered as he started pounding hard into you leaving you in shambles. Whatever mess you left Leon in a while ago, you were now twice the mess he was.

Leon was fucking you in every spot you thought nobody could even fucking reach. He placed his hands on your hips and gripped it tightly as he pounded his cock deep into you. You were panting, breathing heavy, moaning, whining, all of the above.

"Good girl... You really are taking it like a slut. So fucking good for me."

Your walls tighten around Leon's cock, milking him off everything he had in him. You scream, "Le-Leon! F-Fuck I'm gonna cum!"

"That's right cum for me, princess." You came screaming his name but he didn't stop. "Leon! S-Stop please..." You begged.

"Why would I stop? I haven't even came yet." He said with a smirk plastered on his face. All your pleading went in his ear and out the other. He continued ramming into you while your eyes welled up with tears from the feelings of pleasure derived from pain. As much as it hurt, you didn't want it to stop either. Leon quickened his thrusts and grunted as he came, feeling his hot cum fill you.

"Take all that in." he moaned into your ear. As he was filling you with his seed, tears streamed down your face from the overstimulation. Leon pulled out and made you face him.

"Don't cry princess, isn't this what you wanted?" Leon said as he kissed the tears off your face. Trails of kisses from your cheeks led to your lips and the both of you share a long and passionate kiss before pulling away and fixing each other's clothes.

Maybe overtime wasn't so bad after all.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon scott kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut

[dawndelion-winery]

They're So-

How they talk about you

Ft. Arlecchino, Capitano, Childe, Dottore, Pantalone

Arlecchino:

She speaks fondly of you, almost as if she were talking about family

She smiles softly, and anyone can tell you're the most important person in her life

Her words are curt, though, because she doesn't like other people prying into your lives

She'll only speak of you when asked

Unless she's with Columbina, then she won't shut up

Columbina finds it funny, probing every now and then when Arlecchino seems almost done only for Arlecchino to speak of your achievements with vigour once again

She's always so proud of you

And the fact that you're dating her? You have impeccable taste in women

She probably has a while presentation on why she loves you and Columbina has heard it at least seventeen times

The other harbingers have probably heard it at least five

Even the Tsaritsa isn't spared from hearing about how pretty your hair is, flecked with snow as light reflects off it

"Arlecchino, how are things with you?"

"All is well, my s/o recently-"

Yeah, she just goes on

Capitano:

He talks about you like he's your knight who's helplessly pining for his master but cannot admit he's in love because that would be preposterous

Which is ridiculous because you're sure you're way more into him than he is you

Wrong. You can never love him more than he loves you - he will always love you more and shower you in it

He thinks you're beautiful in every sense of the word, and he makes it known to everyone

"Are those the new uniforms? Oh, it's nothing, I was just thinking the colour would suit y/n. Don't you think so?"

"Yes, lor-"

"Yes, yes, they'd look good in anything, what was I thinking"

There is only one person willing to listen to him and that's Childe because the ginger gets to spar with him in exchange

Cue Capitano effortlessly pinning Childe down as he rambles about how you once stepped on his chest in a similar way and looked stunning while you did it

Childe:

Anything and everything he sees will be likened to how amazing you are

He just tasted some really good food? Hey that reminds him of that meal he shared with you, all good tastes better when it's eaten with you

^^has offered to invite subordinates to meals with you but they know better than to accept

That's his special time with you and if they encroach on that time...they'd be goners

So all anyone can really do is smile and nod along in agreement as he sings your praises

He's lucky Pulcinella sees him as his adopted kid of sorts or he'd have hit him upside the back of his head for never shutting up

The old man only ever sighs at his youth, shaking his head at the devoted, passionate puppy love Ajax had for you

He even keeps a stack of photos of you in one of those folding wallet things that he flips open when he wants to talk about you

Which makes for very exasperated subordinates who have to listen to him ramble about you at meetings because he insists they're not as awestruck as he is because they haven't seen you in the moment

"That's fine, here, let me help you understand" *whips out pictures* "So you see here, this is them-"

Yeah, they're in for a long story time

Dottore:

He seems so nonchalant that anyone would think he had no interest in you

He barely speaks of you to anyone except to mention your input which makes it seem like you're just another poor sod who works under him

Until someone dared to voice that thought

"You could treat them better?"

"Lord Dottore, I-"

"Go on, do elaborate. Exactly what can you give them that I don't already? What can you provide that could possibly measure up to my y/n's worth?"

Oh they're in for an earful, because he'll criticise everything about them, from appearance to talents, their fears and beliefs

All while praising how you could never be compared to such scum

It's a wonder how they were still standing at the end of- nevermind, they dropped to their knees the moment Dottore walked off

He's just a teeny bit scary like that, y'know?

Pantalone:

It's hard to catch him talking about you without you there because,,,well he takes you everywhere

After all, how could he not want to show you off to everyone?

So yeah, he will just straight up fawn over you to others in front of you

Embarrassed? Deal with it, you're free to hide your face in his chest as he hides you in his huge coat, but that's all you're getting

No, you can't leave without him, what's he going to do without you there to hold his hand?

Surely you wouldn't deprive him of the warmth he can only get from holding you close?

He especially likes to praise you when shopping

New shipment just in? Well those jewels really bring out your eyes, he should have them made into a ring for you

You'll never have nothing to wear because he insists on getting you something new whenever he can and then telling everyone how incredible it looks on you

Of course, shopkeepers and merchants aren't going to disagree with him when he says you look stunning in their wares

So you've practically everyone reminding you that you are indeed the loveliest partner for Lord Regrator, what a darling couple you make etc

With the man himself fueling it all

Taglist[send an ask to be added/removed]: @myluvkeiji @pluvioseprince @aqui-soba @euphoric-author @paradise-creator @favonius-captain @tiredsleep @raincxtter @loverofthe-stars @gensimping-for-all @irethepotato @almond-adeptus @mx-kamisato @yuzuricebun @chaosinanutshell @heizours @codename-hiraeth @andreiling01 @callmemeelah @sadlonelybagel @plinkuro @thevictoriousmoon @mastering-procrastinating

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #arlecchino #capitano #childe #tartaglia #dottore #pantalone #regrator #arlecchino x reader #capitano x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #dottore x reader #pantalone x reader #regrator x reader #genshin arlecchino #genshin capitano #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #genshin dottore #genshin pantalone #winery specials

[cinnamonest]

hii!! do you think any gnsn yandere would go for anal with the intention of making it very pleasant for darling? like, "I'm telling you, it can feel so good" and "I read about it" (<- that's definitely Haitham lol) and maybe "I know what I'm talking about"

Yessss he would! Alhaitham thinks himself The Expert™ and that any fears you have are silly and unfounded. He takes the matter very seriously and has actually done his research, which, while he can be very annoying at his pretentiousness and stubbornness about it, is actually reassuring, because he does actually know what he’s doing, makes sure he gets in at an angle that will still press against the sweet spots that make you feel good, and keeps his hand practically latched to your clit too.

He develops quite the fixation, actually. You know, you can make this a regular thing, some people get into making it a lifestyle, and the thought appeals to him quite a bit. So he can train you, keep toys inside your ass throughout the day to ensure that if he ever wants it, it’ll be easy to access without having to go through the process of stretching you out a lot each time. And eventually, he can set a day or two per week — or maybe a full week per month? — where any other hole is off-limits, ensuring you get mentally adjusted as well.

Also, the man has a specific little fantasy he intends to fulfill... that is, he's into the idea of switching holes while he's fucking you. Having you on your back and railing you hard and fast, letting the slick fluid pour out of you and drip off his cock as gravity makes it trail downward, coating your asshole too... then pulling out and flipping you over onto your stomach before sliding into your ass, lubed by the grool your body already made for him, feeling you stiffen and clench and gasp... let him live that out just once, and he can die a happy man... well, he thinks that, but you let that happen once, there's no way he can leave it at once.

Albedo has something very similar going on, perhaps an even more intense fixation, although for him it’s part of a much larger pool of kinks and turn-ons ranging from fairly normal to outright depraved, and you’re not quite sure where this compulsive need to ream your poor ass falls on that scale. He’s just not content until he feels like he owns every part of you, and the more vulnerable and sensitive a part of you is, the more satisfying it is to take it for himself.

Still, he at least knows what he’s doing, and he has a way of keeping you calm with how gentle-sounding his voice is. He can also make you various consumables that act as either aphrodisiacs or numbing agents and so on, anything that enhances the good while diminishing any discomfort as much as possible (unless he’s mad and wants you to have some discomfort, of course).

He gives you the I know what I'm doing line quite a bit, and assures you that if you just calm down and hold still, it'll feel good... and he ends up being right, at least to some degree, as he also manages to make you cum that way.

He in particular develops an obsession with trying to get you to cum just from anal stimulation and nothing more, and no matter how slow and gradual the process may be, he's quite determined and patient with training you to achieve that, and it'll be all that much more rewarding when he finally does get the desired result.

But also, he uses his anatomical knowledge against you, because he knows you’ll take whatever he says seriously, so he will do his best to convince you of the therapeutic and health benefits of letting him cum in your ass, and unfortunately he’s actually quite convincing…

Childe’s on the list too, except it is 100% a lie and he does NOT actually have the requisite knowledge, he just has a level of confidence that is directly inverse-correlated to his IQ and it will become your problem. He’s alarmingly uneducated on something that by definition necessitates a lot of know-how to do properly, so please be on guard or else he will just approach it the same way he does pussy — trying to shove it in all in one swift motion, not enough lube, goes way too fast and hard, etc… he still wants it to feel good and insists it will, he just doesn’t actually have any idea what he’s talking about, so be wary and force him to slow down lest you suffer for not doing so.

#.al #.ch #.ah