#I JUST GET TOSSED WITH THE WIND | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unproduciblesmackdown · 1 year

Text

an approach of "everyone inherently deserving to have autonomous choices" as juxtaposed with, fundamentally opposed to even, "a select few entitled to limit others' ability to do so, making themselves more able to choose what happens to other people, enforced through power"

also the way "direct interpersonal exposure to an abusive party is sure like how other interactions in relation to power differentials / no principled approach that everything isn't a hierarchical competition actually, like taking up space, communicating; ft. double standards in favor of the winners" wherein it's like, it's not even just like "being in the haunted house of living with an abuser is like a Metaphor for existing amongst broader power disparities / w/selectively applied (by others) increased vulnerability / at the whims of w/e authority" like, more like a Model. it's the same principle and the same system and the same bullshit, just more confined / a smaller isolated unit of [nuclear household] or [romantic partnership] or w/e interpersonal specific social grouping. been training to recognize "wow just like [a reality of such experiences]" all my life actually

the difference of the possibilities of You Can Choose This versus limitations of arguing to the existing power structure to possibly acknowledge that you Have to [pursue certain option] b/c it's the only way, Objectively, so if only they can be shown this they would allow it....despite this situation not requiring "or you could've just been able to choose to do that freely in the first place" & by extension not requiring [threat to that power structure]

the pressure to [hey. don't unionize] like, the numbers always being against the few at the top, so it's required to have these iterations where other people can prop up this world of Gotta Have Power At Others' Expense by supporting people playing by the rules and keeping others in line; being someone who helps / supports the overall system of oppressive power structure and can enjoy wielding the granted power / being supported/insulated at others' expense / having a sense of entitled authority themselves. while people can be mad at those who are in the same boat / aren't actually wielding that structural power and scapegoat anyone like, well this is why we'll never get treated better by [group / individual in power], you're ruining it / responsible for those choices/actions of those in power....which doesn't challenge that empowered party's ability to choose those actions that are affecting everyone

versus support in the face of vulnerability to that, being what allows people to make choices for themselves / exist more freely. rejecting the idea of "well [person] fucked up so now i won't deign to reward / Not punish everyone after all" as being [person]'s fault; like "well if we all only acted perfectly Deservingly / in just the right way, those in power would have to go 'oh okay everyone can be treated as inherently deserving now :)'" is the answer, when even then, b/c of the power structure putting them In Charge anyways, at most, they simply Could do that and Could graciously rescind that power. and if they don't, oh well, you didn't all do it right after all, assign blame amongst yourselves to stay in continual competition and avoid recognizing that actual improvement requires a different approach where you have to support each other instead of criticizing / blaming / competiting and just hoping there's always someone else to get the brunt of the most negative attention / harmful treatment

thinking of queerness as an expanse of possibility and autonomous choices. versus the limitations of "patriarchal society atomized into nuclear family units" concept of sexuality & gender, Cishet Ideals. existing outside those ideals as being a matter of what people Can do. versus what they Have to do. arguing that the guiding light, the defining principle here should be recognition of people who Have to be gay, for example, as what doesn't really challenge the power structure that requires & reinforces homophobia. while "what if it doesn't matter if people are objectively proven & universally recognized as Having to be gay. what if people Can all choose to do some gay shit regardless, without these choices being limited by their vulnerability to harm, such that Everyone is pushed into [patriarchal nuclear family unit ideals] life." even if you argued everyone ever is straight, actually, the problem is in whether you can define what that means and enforce it on everyone. people who Are straight are harmed and made more vulnerable by patriarchy & the imposition of [your only source of social support is within the isolated nuclear family unit]; Cishet Ideals are also an impossible standard that can also be used to blame anyone, including people who could would consider themselves cishet, for their inevitable failure to live up to them as the reason that [isolation & domination sucks actually] is hurting them. like how cis people also never live up to supposed Cis Gender ideals and are subject to trying to better earn, & objectively prove, their quality as a member of their gender, thus worth, & be under constant scrutiny re: gender & able to be blamed for failing to live up to the ideals. while, of course, the fractalized iterations of power structures means cis people still get to be gender cops at the expense of anyone more vulnerable

language as an art & science, necessarily always evolving & in flux, rather than prescriptive & static. the way that Static Prescriptive approach may be marginally associated with "well this helps Coordinate; streamline; reduce confusion" but Uncertainty is also possibility. Allistic Social Ideals seeming to be about [minimize confusion, streamline, coordinate] in the best light, but also being affected by ableism, and this approach being used to Other people, as enemy &/or lower on the social hierarchy, to be diminished/harmed either way. this being able to be used against any individuals or groups that can thusly be [othered]; ableism also affects everyone: the logic that we don't think we should all support each other / respect autonomy, we're instead all subject to an eternal Meritous test to prove who has the Capacity to Deserve to have more power than some others. ableism also needing to be understood in juxtaposition with / the context of racism; vice versa. the "you Can't" in applied authoritative power being not just [i won't allow it] but [i won't allow it b/c you are literally incapable anyways]....in every power disparity, the empowered supposedly deserve it on a merit that grants them Superior Abilities. e.g. patriarchy requires ableism, women Cannot do the things that men get to do, in their bones & minds & souls they must be shopping; the same logics play out like they do in ableism, patriarchy is only bolstered by "oh well you're good at Other things that I'm not good at :)" which conveniently means in ways still exploited to support those who already have more power while you stay more disposable; acknowledgment of those who "overcome" being disabled, or a woman, to do the thing abled people or men can do, which just means All of you should try harder and then you'd all be equal to us, it's your own fault :) and/or simply taking ideas, recognition, credit from them. even "gotta colonize & subjugate the world, which is good actually b/c it's for jesus" is like, legitimately oh you're welcome for now having The Capacity to go to heaven: but also to justify violence & oppression based on who's Inherently more evil from this christian evangelist perspective, which happens to deserve death or exploitation (work & suffering good for your inner christianness. you're welcome)

white man's burden, how Easy women have it, can't believe 5 cents of my taxpayer money might've gone to a disabled person somewhere to barely live on b/c "see how even Institutionally Recognized As Legitimately(tm) 'Disabled' people are treated?" has to be a threat for all / not display what it could be like to actually support anyone's genuine wellbeing, including their having the support to have more expansive choices in their life, vs just barely hovering over the constant threat of dangerous increased vulnerability....

that those in power will very readily consider themselves Constantly Besieged, Wronged, Threatened By Any & Everyone; versus those actually negatively affected by being low enough on some hierarchy to be harmed & denied autonomy by others with more power being the ones who have to struggle to even stop blaming themselves or at least people who Aren't the ones with that power, who are more likely to cling to "well, it's my fault, and i Can earn my way out of this" narratives....which actually would be a situation in which one theoretically Does have more autonomy; thus more palatable than believing that anything's truly out of your hands / there isn't so simple a solution here / [other person; people] are/were never going to actually start affording you respect as a person

back to the expanse of possibility of language, subjective & in flux & developed by the mutual Effort to (more) successfully communicate....thinking about being autistic and someone talking about how the demands in Trying to be understood verbally means innovating and developing Language thusly. an art and a science. creative and experimentally backed. (also math/science as approaches are also creative / Not the antithesis of art, thanks). thinking of how sure nt (another socially constructed Ideal that doesn't exist to describe reality but to demand everyone just try to stop failing to have earned better / congrats on bringing it upon yourself, you're responsible for my feelings & actions) people might generally approach communication like "??? idk i don't have to regularly have a conscious approach, so i don't. i just Am Normal" versus when your communicative approach, for any various reasons, is Not considered normal, thus not considered ideal, so you Do have to interact with people consciously, Translate for their benefit as best you can. thinking of the idea of Poetry as a work understood to require a third space between two parties: it's not colloquial, the poet is using language in this noncolloquial context to communicate a concept, perchance create a link to an effect they can't invoke with a preexisting word for it, while the reader/listener is understood to likewise have an active role, be consciously trying to not just "correctly" receive the meaning, but explore the possibilities of various, even ongoing, interpretation, in conversation with the poet's efforts and the reality of them as being another person, and also perhaps allowing for the spontaneous mutual discovery of possible meaning for the third space / conversation between speaking and interpretating. (versus artist as authorititative vanguard, communicating something static & definitive that others can only Fail to interpret correctly, which is just like them. lol) like, what's not Poetic, in that sense, about two people bringing mutual conscious effort, flexible interpretation / room for possibility, interest in getting it right not to bolster ego but to have had a more successfully constructive interaction. which could even include the ability to interpret someone's lack of communication in expected ways; their choice not to engage thusly; as anything other than a threat or slight to your supposed entitlement to just that. like i deserve phonecalls over emails or speaking over nonspeaking or even the Guaranteed opportunity to communicate w/anyone when & how i want to, i'm simply being so good faith curious i swear........anyways, i'm not that into reading poems, absolutely not into making them, not in this "literal" sense anyways, but again what's not poetic about just trying to communicate via this Translation all the time. the way i can latch on to phrasings from prose written by people who also write poems, and/or just sure appreciate like the entirety of some essay of theirs, the approach, its execution. anger is a type of geography. when something is ignored, it can do what it likes, sometimes.

everyone always on twitter trying to outrun some [every other day's qrt trend of "what opinion has everyone hate you" tangled meme that is sure like "and apparently you're about to acquiesce" in context but also that everyone Loves to air, actually, hence it being in constant, inescapable distribution] (i don't see it b/c successful curation ig lol). everyone trying to feel like they're more worthy vanguard authoritative Radically Non Cishet than others constantly just going off of vibes, which is to say, probably just going like "but have we considered being more biphobic" or some more tried & true similar [this is the same old shit & the Cishet Ideals are supported by it] takes that are like, "any Unleashed Edgy Freethinking standup comedian man saying shit you'd hear in a mall food court from some rando's uncle" like, we have heard of this actually, but sure you're so brave for suggesting maybe the transgenders have gotten a bit too powerful, except you're saying it in a [but this is totally queer analysis] way....queer analysis Linguistics being like, undoubtedly the favorite [i am become flynn rider swords tangled twitter meme] avenue. this like language revanchism like "this word must be returned to this specific usage" but a) it's never returning it to a way that it actually existed and b) is the prescriptive ossification of our limited preexisting language to discuss queerness, guided by the idea that it'd be bad if it was Too Inclusive, actually the principle we want to operate on here. is indulging in the level of power trip feeling of like tormenting a peer in middle school really your most serious focus and genuine efforts in supporting people's ability to exist as they are

how did the "asexuals can't be queer" stint work out for everyone? the fact that all the arguments also backed every other form of bigotry and abusive logic aside: what were the results, exactly? stuart cishet was thwarted from nefariously entering a queer space & ruining it for all, b/c he no longer had the option to cross the drawbridge by saying he was asexual, right, that was a close one. anyone amused by being like "they hate to see a meboss winning" just limited to not even arguing about "uhh but you're As Good As straight" (a crucial, supportive tool in our history, right) but rather just like....deciding it's about asexuals being cringe or something, and who could easily move on not by actually operating on better principles than "cishet ideals of controlling people's sexuality is: Don't Have Sex, right? which is also the whole of what asexuality describes or entails?" or "what's gained by focusing on making this as exclusive as possible anyways. nonrhetorically. what do you gain or facilitate. what do you lose or preclude." but just like "haha well i've moved on anyways"

your choices re: your sexuality and gender as ones you Can make. with expansive possibility borne of the support as a person that you should get merely by virtue of existing. versus "but i Have to exist like this" as an appeal to the established power structure to perhaps elect to allow Some truly legitimate gays to suffer a little less effects of homophobia. who can in turn be like "ugh, bisexuals CAN seem straight to everyone. so they're ruining it for us truer more legitimately gay people." see: it's still homophobia's fault. see: your sameness is in Wanting something else, being able to Choose something else without fear of the violent enforcement of the demands & requirements of Cishet Ideals. someone who's never had sex / dating deemed Gay Enough isn't "as good as straight." see: it's not that everyone thinks you Can't do gay shit, it's that everyone Knows you can, and that's exactly the problem, violence is required to try to force otherwise, to limit the only option for any support in life to the happy nuclear family existence (for those who deserve even that, versus mere support to someone else's nuclear household). it's not a Problem when people center transness on what you want to do, that you are able to choose to do it, support, a better life than you would have otherwise. or even to say it should be so easy that, yes, someone can Just Say that they're trans. versus the idea that the only legitimate trans people are miserable, wish they were cis, and are going through processes legitimized & controlled by "but are you really trans. do you really deserve it" roadblocks & resistance & required cis approval, and their difficulties & unnecessary infliced pain & vulnerability in doing so? is really the fault of some theoretical teen who wants to say they aren't cis b/c they just feel like it. damn them.

queerness (see: logic of ableism in all these matters) being Suffering, what you're Limited to being by demands outside your control so please recognize this, what you Have to do (you just might be more cishet otherwise, like surely all the bisexuals or transgenders want to be. damn them), a difficult and exclusive experience that is the fault of those in the group themselves: does not challenge the [cishet ideals] including [enforcers of cishet ideals get to choose which gays to begrudgingly recognize, perhaps conditionally / temporarily, to prove to everyone else they might be Worthy too, if they tried harder to deserve it / scrutinized more people in their group for not playing by the rules and appeasing those in power enough]

while, of course, people can think they're the bravest smartest ones / the most suffering more than jesus hated ones for this. biphobia / transphobia being evergreen, while asserting that it's actually being cis gold star gays that's the most oppressed life. accepting the limits of [what Externalized Activities, like defined sexual interactions or gender presentation, are encoded into legal arguments for policing queer people] as indeed what should thus be the boundaries of defining existence outside cishet ideals, and what supports that. the hot trends over the years, i remember circa 2010 "the transes On Here are way out of line expecting way too much. they have to remember they're weird and it's sooo hard (and weird) for us." the blog i unfollowed for accepting a submission about "can't stand trans guys who hate to be misgendered but won't try to seem less feminine." the twitter i unfollowed for rt'ing a take about "can't stand bi ppl who hate to experience biphobia but won't try to seem less straight." the epic trend of "Really respecting trans people means talking over them to tell them they're now equivalent to cis people so stop talking about your experiences otherwise," i can't even trust that nobody ever Didn't take that to its logical conclusion of "straight trans people are as good as cishet." the asexuality exclusion bullshit. eternal "the most legitimate nonbinary people seem androgynous" points that would, in fact, require nonbinary to be defined by, and limit themselves according to, the gender binary & its ideals. trying to cut off the LG from the BT, as has always gone on, including just with the linguistic making shit up like evergreen Flynn Rider Edgy Meme argument about how everyone's trying to steal the word Lesbian from you to just be used Illegitimately, with bonus fallback on the fact of patriarchy. less common but i've sure also seen arguing about Gay being used too willynilly as well and arguing The Rules / pretending that there's never been an overlap with gay men, (cis or trans) women, bisexuals; apparently believing that it also would likewise be Better trying to narrow definitions into something more exclusive when all our language is to create possibilities out of what was logistically unspeakable before. when we've Perfectly Stratified all the vocab and are just standing around, what's the next step that's now more possible because of those efforts? having the LG doesn't enforce the gender binary, unless you're trying to recreate your own version of it, as people in fact always are. "um it's simple. people who are the Truest members get to decide who else are the Gay Women and Gay Men." who gets to draw these lines for everyone else, and why do they get to do it. what would be achieved by embracing Purity concretely, eternally affixed in place; versus fuzziness & expecting flux & future possibilities, where even seeming contradictions just mean there's even more here than you thought. do you Want to be queer and Get to make those choices, or not. what if You are the only True Gay in the world, everyone else is cishet and just pretending and saying they're also gay? you'd still only gain everything by that being possible. if you were the only Real Person and can't know anyone else's interiority is only an illusion: you can only lose everything by acting like you're the only real person. that's how some people already operate as individuals vs everyone else, or a member of the Truest People group vs those beneath them who are ruining paradise. you operate on those principles of being entitled to dehumanize others, you have the power to exploit that

[you can't define Woman in a way that doesn't exclude some women / include things/people that decidedly aren't women] applies for us too b/c The Gender Binary Isn't Real. it's also of course used to serve patriarchy, ableism, racism, all of it. like how we can understand / analyze Everything as political. white supremacy everywhere, all the time. ableism in all of it. every interaction or behavior existing in a medium of Power Relations. how do you define woman. why would your definition get to be imposed on anyone else. would you demand there be a "take the racist ableist misogynist gender binary, but give it a lil Gay spin" situation. is being a woman in required physical traits. in required presentation. required experiences. what's served by being mad at "i'm not a woman but i'm in community with them b/c i have [xyz] traits; [abc] presentation; &/or [qrs] experiences" and using language applied to a group considered Women b/c language tends to assume a strictly defined, Real gender binary. what's served by going "hmm, that's a problem. make this More strictly defined and binary" in response instead of focusing on the connections there and solidarity through [this is all iterations / fractalized areas of the same shit, who has the power to exploit & compound others' vulnerability] [power control abuse]. are you a woman b/c that's how you want to identify? b/c [reasons you don't have to explain, b/c on principle your choices for yourself are respected, no one has the authority to thwart this]? are you a lesbian likewise b/c of your wants & choices? great. the idea our language has ever actually supported clear lines even between gender, a binary that requires Cishet Ideals & all that that demands....? inaccurate, aligned w/bigotry, nonconstructive, unserious.

the twitter i follow of a group who supports incarcerated lgtbq+ people, and how the other year they voted to include cishet ppl w/hiv or aids. the goofs & gags like "queering our marriage b/c i have more flexibility" like yknow, i agree with the least measures that increase support / choices for any women as in fact legitimately contributing to The Queer Agenda more than people trying to make the terms masc & femme into [thee gender binary. but gayer] remix, or complaining about fellow queers who are totally ruining it for everyone else, The Establishment totally would've graciously & benevolently deigned to allow our autonomy (with a "but you're on thin ice" and ability to revoke that at any time, but whatever) until This jerk who's totally as good as cishet Made them choose otherwise for the 9000 zillionth time!!! well i'm going to go laugh at language people are developing to better describe their experiences, realities, wants, & values, b/c i'm obviously more Normal & Deserving than those weirdos. and to keep stuart cishet at bay, this is a huge threat actually so you're welcome that i focus on going "but COULD a cishet person just PRETEND to identify thus" like, yes. yes, they always could. what of it, if everyone could?

tl;dr idk things like "accepting the limitations that you might possibly only be Allowed anything if you can prove you Haaaave to / prove that nobody could possibly miserably force themself through otherwise (you can't)." "accepting the limitations of: wielded authority would always be benevolent & supportive, or even not wielded at all, if not for those among you ruining it for everyone else." that of course it's like "being queer is supposedly miserable so who would choose it? but also we have to prevent people from even having the choice" b/c they Know people would & do make those choices, and you have to enforce [marriage & patriarchy & nuclear family] life even w/cishet people, the power disparity requires constant maintaining & deflection of scrutiny / responsibility focused back on those in power. what would happen if every straight person in the world could just say they're gay. or every cis person could just say they're nonbinary now. great. say tomorrow they miraculously all do: great. the cishet ideals gender binary aren't Real. it's supposed to be so conflated with reality & unquestionable that the term "cishet" isn't supposed to exist; "stop Forcing Labels on me. hypocritical much" / "i don't know what a cisgender is but i know it shouldn't be allowed around children" style. what would happen if everyone could "claim" to be queer. epic. if everyone said they're nonbinary & now the gender binary doesn't exist. hell yes.

"everyone can just say some shit" is always true, you can always question their intentions / meaning, but when you can't prove the interiority of another person, making things Contingent on that only serves to make it impossible: like someone having to prove they're Meritously Good Enough as a person, inherently, and what's withheld / prevented by those in power b/c of it, rather than what we think everyone inherently deserves As a person, and what's provided / made possible by other people as peers b/c of it. what do people Actually Do. what do they Get to do. actions manifest externally, and affect others outside of the self. how have the possibilities & autonomy in our lives, anyone's lives at all, been supported / improved by unserious stances focused on arguing relative authority by people going "watch this. the haters" and getting up on the cross or in the middle of the swords with some linguistic arguing that doesn't think about what supports anyone or challenges existing norms & ideals or reflects reality rather than going "this is my idea of the vibe and some people agree or could be convinced." we've existed before modern terms that classify groups, and we'll have more, different terms to describe experiences and ideas going forward, which is: good. the divisions are already Not Real, how interested are you exactly in your language being like "but i think we could just have different divisions. a different Gender Binary. cishet people Have to be cishet? i'm sure that's real & fine, so: we Have to be Not cishet"

anyways april being autism acceptance month And national poetry month (u.s.)

#decidedly inclusive stance thanks. just all around #the godawful biphobia; transphobia; ableism; bog standard homophobia arguments even just tossed around w/Epic Ace Exclusionist posts #which isn't surprising or coincidental: It's All The Same Shit #asexuals having autonomy over their sexuality supports Yours; supports Everyone's.#versus who found their path into knowing & accepting themselves as queer more smoothly paved b/c of All That shit #who's like ''well i Was homophobic. then i heard asexuality is cishet. so i'm less homophobic now''#but congrats to getting to enjoy feeling like ''i am the high school bully authority i deserve to be'' towards their own community #is that going to stay your guiding light re: when you're taking a principled stance that supports your cause here #Does Your Stance Require Your Having More Power Than Other People. Does It Align With What's Already Considered ''Normal''#or the ''normal'' actions already taken. letting cishet ppl's imagined Perspective dictate how we see ourselves & how we act accordingly?#the posts abt how queer people have Been using language the whole time....but sure it's only Nowadays ppl are trying to Ruin that #long post ...#just the other day like ''lol four years later & i'm only Now restoring the follower count from the S4 Winstanning Overnight Drop''#also the absolute mad lad in the notes who's just criticized gifset quality (like i don't realize it's Ok at best) ft. a smiley like :)#throwing ''language absolutely matters & it's also never going to be Everything / the one conduit/creator of Power'' to the wind #this menace must be stopped....no fr folks. it's funny though #meanwhile ofc i realize people may disagree like ''i love exclusivity & prescriptivism'' like great. i in turn disagree fundamentally #there are terms i wouldn't use b/c i realize the exclusivity Specifically relates to the reality of: enforced power dynamics #while of course ''but what if ppl...could Possibly Misuse these terms With Malice'' is like yeah that's always true. what can we Do rgrdlss #what if stuart cishet is like ''haha. >:) so i can just Present like this. i can just Have Sex w/this Other Man'' like yea if he's down.#we have vulnerabilities & limitations & is that going to be countered by blaming & rejecting those also getting the same shit #or trying to demand everyone ''act right'' to be more Deserving than they are & then everything will fall into place #It Is Not Going To Fall Into Place. the guiding principle of ppl enforcing this shit is having & maintaining power over others' lives #They Don't Have To; so they won't; they Will try to increase everyone's vulnerability / encourage playing by the rules vs solidarity #well anyways happy politics hour tuesday it's 9pm lmfao. aaand post

3 notes · View notes

imwritesometimes · 1 year

Text

god gives his biggest, honkin-est shoes [only caring abt old blorbos from, by today's standards, badly flawed media] to his silliest clowns [me 🤡]

#I went back and read some of my old fic for an *old* pairing and it is so fun! and I can tell like #I had so much fun writing them. they're actually quite good tbh like characterization is good dialogue fits plot is sturdy #and its like. it was so much fun! I enjoyed it! I would never write fic for the ship again cause of.... disc horse. that I caught wind of.#after I wrote the fics.#the blorbos I have been feral over the last couple weeks... like I enjoy them. immensely. but.#I think I overshot the scope of what I could actually do and the lingering omg don't ever actually post this cause disc horse #got way into my brain and killed my joy for it #then the like only current still airing media I had a ship for decided to cast aside one blorbo entirely #like a doll left in a sandbox at the park just... completely forgotten. so that's 🤷‍♀️#like I get that there's always fan works but. unpopular opinion. I don't like to entirely rely on just fic #I want the fic to be established off *something* and if they just toss blorbo out the window on the freeway #there's nothing anyone can do abt it #so here I sit. blorbo bermuda triangle. can't work on my wip. don't want to work on anything else.#back is out. again. my fckn nerve damage bro is so bad. gotta loe around all weekend and not do fuck all nothing #makes me CRAZY ok I get way too far into my own brain.#erin explains it all

2 notes · View notes

novemberthecatadmirer · 1 year

Text

Nobody:

Me: Being emotional over fictional characters doomed by the narrative written by dead authors from last century

Me: The dead authors lived in a period of time with pathetical limited understanding of basic human psychology and religion was probably the major duct tape for every broken water tank.

Me: The authors believed love fixes everything. They tried to believe it so hard because that was what they were told and what they wanted to believe. When they see something that cannot be fixed by love they got confused and thought maybe there is something very WRONG with this thing because why it just refused to be fixed by love?

Me: But sometimes there is nothing to be fixed. The thing should not be fixed to begin with and it cannot be fixed because it is not something wrong it is just something different and needs to learn coping methods or get therapies or get medicines

Me: And LOVE FIXES NOTHING. Love is good but people need actual respect and understanding and they need to be listened to instead of talked to

Me: Love hurts without respect. Love KILLS without respect.

#yes this is about silmarillion and wind in the willows #being sad over young adult characters getting talked over and mis-explained by the damned narrative #maeglin #yes it's about maeglin again #because i am driven by this adhd obsession and decided to just vibe with it #but it's also about the toad #nearly all the respectable characters in the books are characters that are lucky enough to fit into the normal box #the unfitted one?#they get punished by the narrative #he looks noble but he has black-heart of his father #make him villain (after torture) and toss him down a wall #witw: he is impatient and prone to obsession and should learn to be more like his respectable father #witw: toss him into jail to force him to learn to be a good toad #like ahhhhhhhhhhhh I have opinions

5 notes · View notes

trashcanalienist · 2 years

Text

#i feel like a human being. the ocean is healing. maybe the unbearable urge i get to throw myself into it at my recurring worst is just the #physical extreme in an attempt to submerge myself completely and be so healed.#unsure. further research required.#but - my circuits are not offended by saying such words. it is a possibility my wiring yields to.#la mer...perfect water true be sure. bells in random order. water cleanses you know...in water #angel's thanatos. psychologically then it is no wonder that i seek out similar comfort to that roar and thunder.#the ocean. yes. and the sweet pungent smell of grass and its animals. and all the thousand million familiarities of home and soul that are #lacking in the desert which i like all of its stubborn inhabitants have dug tenacious claw into.#it's true that - the rabbit and the tortoise and seven bugs of increasing manner. all clawed beasts. the desert grows claws in the softest #fish. it's necessary for life in the rocks. i already had claws from scrabbling at sheer metal my whole life. the cage they put me in. my #whole existence i've only ever wanted the rat park but instead - instead - and so i have grown claws and watch everything with owl's eyes.#ah. kahreta i get carried away. the grass and depth of things and blue shadow...#the wind tosses playfully they say. i do not speak. it sings in a voice never described of knowledge and sorrows of travel which i know #from past life and the memory of my born flesh. that which sent me. that which loves me #that which brings me back for want of. i know how all the world will work for observation of the part but i am drawn like gentle moth #to a glass globe of light the familiar sun. the moth is immortal and there has only ever been one. silver secrets i hear from the moon #out here at least i am not alone in a way that matters.#words i speak #nonsense #the beach #sand #blue #shadows #photo #photos #beautiful #beach

13 notes · View notes

medicinemane · 1 year

Text

There are so many songs I like where, and it's important to note that I enjoy them as they are, where they have these really killer lines or sections and... the rest of the song doesn't quite... back it up the way I need it to

Like I legitimately enjoy the song, and I like this version of the song as it is... but hmm... just... I have to take that line in isolation and can't really work with the rest of it for what I want that line for

#dancing in silence the orchestra late #toss in a word and I'm your villain #pretty much everything in Mr Roboto up to the chorus... which is good... but it doesn't really work again till you get to killroy #to a lesser extent stuff like #when a cold wind blows it chills you; chills you to the bone #or; by the last breath of the four winds that blow #but those both lead into straight up great songs through and through it's just I don't like to tip my hand about what they're from #and once again I actually like all these songs... it's just like...#compare I'm Your Villain to Hem of Your Garment and the lyrics of the second one fill their job the whole way through #I'm Your Villain is a song I like as is but... hmm... just not the right words #and Vermilion Sands is great for just kind of humming proper syllable nonsense to but... man... dancing in silence the orchestra late #it has so much potential and I can't quite wring it out of there as is #mm tag so i can find things later

2 notes · View notes

unma · 3 months

Text

Don't think I've mentioned it here before, but I had Wind Catura for a good while and tried her out again after her recent update and god. Wind Kengo is so goddamn fun with her. I love her 10+mil nukes every couple of turns. And with wind Charlotta, once turn 10 rolls around the team starts throwing out ougis like girl scout cookies. It's so fun to have guaranteed 8 chains every 4 turns. so funny. I love ougis.

I remember when I first tried her in the past. I saw her high gear and thought it'd be useful for a gw otk. Only issue being that fa didn't work for 0-turn skills at the time, which made it impossible to use. I wonder if it'd be worth it now (if I didn't already have better, faster otk teams). The skill still sucks even now and kinda makes no sense with the rest of her kit, but whatever. I'm going to enjoy tossing out damage numbers that my dark ougi team struggles to keep up with.

#unma rambles #gbf #it's funny how I went from my light team being my best #to my dark team #to now undoubtedly my wind team #which will only grow stronger once I uncap the dark opus weapon and can reach 15 weapon skills much easier #I still have good light and dark teams #but I have two really good wind teams that I can just toss at most content #and come out fine #now if only I had a team for Siegfried #grand charlotta carried my wind team for so long #so with wind catura now I'm so happy I get to use her more #was saddened to see my favorite harvin not as used because I didn't have a good kengo team #and now I can do justice to my beginner character #Charlotta will always be special to me #her water version carried me for so long #also she is so cool I love her #my favorite short knight #rambling in the tags

0 notes

shotmrmiller · 2 months

Text

johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader

7K notes · View notes

astro-b-o-y-d · 11 months

Text

Bill really said “I’m gonna try and destroy Dipper’s journal” and just...forgot Stan made a copy of it, huh?

#Hayley Speaks #Actually I feel like the writing sort of forgot about that aspect in general and mostly wanted it as a throwaway joke #I assume he did the same for the other journals so like...#Throwing the originals into the Bottomless Pit makes even less sense #Were they tossed down there as well?#Did they torch them along with the rest of Ford's Bill stuff?#...Did they get scattered to the winds when they turned the Shack into a fighting robot?#I assume the basement and Ford's study were blown wide open as a result of the house just getting up and walking away #I am 100% putting too much thought into this

1 note · View note

simonrileysfavteacup · 3 months

Text

The Morning After

Paring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x wife!reader

Word count: 700 ish?

Warnings: Mentions to sex, hickeys, naked people, Simon wanting you for breakfast

Summary: The morning after a steamy night.

Sunlight creeps in through the curtains you never closed last night. The curtains fly around the room, pushed by the daring wind. The window’s are still open, letting in the chirps of birds outside. The wind pushes a breeze around the room and you shiver.

You’re laying on your right shoulder. There’s a heavy arm that isn’t yours draped across your waist. There’s a head tucked into the crook of your neck. There’s another forearm underneath your head. There’s someone’s heavy breathing going straight into your neck. You can feel a bit of stubble. You can feel hair, long, soft hair. You can feel a strong chest against your back. All of it is memorized in your mind.

And there’s only one person in the whole world who’s body you know inch by inch.

You squint as you open your eyes, the sunlight almost killing you. The duvet is all messed up, barely covering your tangled bodies. His right arm is underneath your head, draped off your side of the bed. His grip on your waist is loose, he’s still asleep. His breathing is even, you can feel it.

You push yourself out of bed slightly, making a move to shut the window and close the curtains. He grabs onto your waist tightly and pulls you back into the position you were in before. His voice is raspy, almost not even there, as he says, “Five more minutes.”

It should be illegal. His voice. His hair. His chest slowly falling and rising. It should be illegal to look this fucking good in the morning.

“Just wanna close the window,” You reply, keeping your voice hushed.

“Who gives a shit?” He pulls the duvet higher over you, covering your naked body from the wind. “There. Now, give me 10 more minutes.”

His hand goes back to your waist, covering the soft maroon and purple bruises that formed throughout the night.

So, you lay back down, take in a deep breath, and try to fall asleep.

At least an hour goes by before you finally wake up again. Your position hasn’t changed and Simon’s hold on your waist is loose again. You finally move, getting up from bed. He doesn’t pull you back this time, but rolls over. He lets out a groan. “Oh, shut up, you big baby. I gave you more than 10 minutes.”

He doesn’t respond. Just lets out another groan, but louder and longer.

You grab the shirt he wore last night, the one he threw into a random corner of the room, more focused on your body. You toss it into the hamper. His pants and boxers are thankfully close enough to the hamper, yours nowhere to be found. Guess he was a little too excited.

You walk into the bathroom, getting a fine look at yourself in the mirror.

Hickeys and the traces of fingertips line your neck and chest, your hips and legs are covered, and I mean covered, in bruises. On both sides of your hips are marks of large, muscular hands. The marks are red, and it doesn’t look like it’ll all fade in the next hour. You turn slightly, getting a look at your back. Your ass is marked the same way your hips are, with large hand prints, your back thankfully okay.

“You’re hurt,” Simon’s voice is barely above a whisper as he stares at you from the bed.

This happens every time he leaves a mark on you. He turns cold again, becoming distant in fear of hurting you again. Every single time. It takes so many words of encouragement to get him to open up again, assuring him it didn’t hurt.

“They’ll fade,” You shrug.

“I hurt you,” He whispers.

“No, you didn’t. Last night was probably one of the best nights of my entire life, love. Don’t you dare think I’m in any sort of pain or anything. I’m fine,” You smile at him. “And I left a fair share of marks on you. Look at your back.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, looking over at you again. “Promise?”

“Swear on my life,” You smile. “You want breakfast?”

“Mhm,” He hums, walking over to you and kneeling in front of you. “It’s already served.” Are his last words before diving in between your legs.

#simon riley fluff #simon riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #ghost call of duty #ghost simon riley #ghost imagine #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x you

3K notes · View notes

m0chaminx · 6 months

Text

Coriolanus Snow | “What about you?” “She's the star.” “Luckily I Like Roses.”

*•.¸♡Request: omg can you write a coryo x reader, i don’t mind what, just pls don’t make him go batshit crazy at the end😩😩

*•.¸♡Prompts: none

*•.¸♡Warnings: Coriolanus, I completely forgot the other Covey peoples names :I, reader is shorter than Snow, Cori isn't insane (ish), Snow is slight ooc, and yes he's a terrible person but you’re here too

*•.¸♡Paring: Coriolauns Snow x F!reader

*•.¸♡Summary: On Coriolanus’s trip down to the lake with the star Lucy Gray, he found the most beautiful rose ever seen

Coriolanus pervs on you while swimming (romantic)

*•.¸♡Words: 1.1k

Part 2

Growing up in the Covey had been a stroke of luck, simple as it gets, when Lucy Gray Baird and her family had been forced into District 12 Seeing the talent you had with a guitar one night as you played to the darkness, they took you to their next show where you played alongside Lucy Gray. She was still the star, she had the smile, the voice, the charisma. You could sing when you needed to, and you played the guitar just as well, but she always took the spotlight. And when she strolled into town after winning the Hunger Games, that star power only grew. She was the star, until one sunny morning.

Mockingjay's sang into the wind, the warm sun beating against your skin and the gentle breeze made your sundress flow in the wind. Meeting Lucy and the others on the walk to the lake you came face to face with Coriolanus Snow. Buzzed blonde hair, sharp jawline and the bluest eyes you had ever seen. His smile was bright, and his laugh was as sweet as Lucy’s singing. And it should be, he was laughing at her jokes. Smiling at her. Before he could catch you staring your eyes had shifted quickly, focussing on Lucy as you walked to her side.

She beamed as she saw you, wrapping her arms tightly around you.

“Coriolanus, I want you to meet only the bestest person in the world,” Lucy went on, kissing you quickly on the cheek.

The same smile returned as he turned to shake your hand, his skin soft on your calloused palms. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He spoke your name softly, the syllables dripping from his tongue like honey. Your hand slipped from his, the tips of his fingers running along your palm.

Lucy quickly ushered you and the rest of the group on, starting the long hike down the green hills. Lucy walked ahead with Aurora, talking wistfully into the wind. You walked in silence, one hand gripping the strap of your satchel as you watched the critters race up the branches of the trees.

“Lucy said you played the guitar,” Coriolanus spoke up, swatting away another mosquito. He walked beside you, his tall figure blocking the sun from your face. He looked down at you, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Why didn’t I see you performing last night?”

You simply shrugged. The answer was the crowds didn’t cheer for you, Lucy was the star, and she could play for hours without backup. But it sounded sad. You looked over the trees, the Mockingjay's flying higher into the trees. “Nothing special, you probably just missed me when I left.”

Coriolanus shook his head softly, “I feel like I’d remember you.” You couldn’t place what Coriolanus meant, your eyebrows furrowing as you thought over his words. You didn't say anything more after that, keeping your eyes ahead on the track leading to the lake.

As soon as the dock was close enough Aurora and Tip had stripped their clothes off and thrown themselves in the water. You tossed your bag down, the hot sun that had beat against your skin had made you more than happy to rush into the water. Tossing your sundress aside with your satchel you ran down the dock and dove under the crystal blue water. The cool lake chilled your skin enough to relieve the sun but not enough to raise goosebumps.

You swam up to the surface, pushed the hair back for your face and fixed the straps of your handmade bra that slid down your shoulder. Lucy jumped in after you, and with a yell, Coriolanus jumped in, the splash of water hitting your face. You laughed, using your arms to keep you afloat. Coriolanus muttered an apology through a smile, but you barely noticed as your eyes fell over his light skin, his collar bones and muscular shoulders.

The lake was sweet, a nice relief from the constant smell of coal and sweat, the rowdy crowds and the smell of liquor on everyone's breath. Some time later Lucy had swam to shore, helping Aaroa and Tip fish and dig up Katniss' roots.

You floated on your back, the gentle waves lapping at your skin as the sun warmed your face. Coriolanus sat on the edge of the dock, toying with his fingers as he watched you. The wind blew the waves softly, the sun reflecting on your skin like liquid gold. He pushed himself off the dock, slipping below the cold water once again. “Can I hear you sing?” His voice made you turn your head to look at him.

“I don’t sing,” You muttered, turning your head to face the sun again.

“Lucy said you sing.”

You turned to swim properly, treading water. “If you wanna hear someone sing you should ask Lucy,” You insisted. You pushed yourself closer, slipping your fingers under the slim metal chain of his dog tags, untangling the knot. You moved it to hang properly from his neck, your nails dragging ever so slightly across his soft skin.

His icy blue eye moved from your hand on his skin and looked up at your face, droplets of water falling from your hair, and slipping down your skin and when they hit your lips, you swiped them away with your tongue. “I wanna hear you sing.” His eyes snapped up to meet yours as you lifted her gaze from the metal chain.

You chuckled softly and he swore it sounded like the sweetest melody, a honeydew sound that he couldn't help but smile at. “You’re funny Coriolanus Snow,” you said softly. “Turning down the winner of the Hunger Games. A true victor.”

Coriolanus wiped a hand down his face, wiping away the water running over his eyes. “What about you?” He asked.

You shook your head softly. “She’s the star, the songbird,” You insisted, unsure you were convincing him or yourself. His smile made your stomach flip, his gaze made your cheeks burn, but his words… his honey words.

His hand slowly reached out, his fingers slipping beneath the strap of your bra and sliding it back up your shoulder. His hand lingered there for a moment before falling back into the water. “Luckily I like roses.”

ﾟ°☆Page navigation

#m0chaminx #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games #hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow smut

6K notes · View notes

supercutszns · 5 months

Text

a place with you; luke castellan

wc: 2.8k (got a little carried away whoops)

pairing: luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: luke is used to people coming in and out of hermes’ cabin without a second thought. so when you’re having a hard time adjusting to camp life, he doesn’t expect you to stick by his side, even after you’re claimed.

warnings/notes: shy reader going through a tough time, hurt/comfort, pining, kisses, fluff, potential ooc luke i don’t know what i’m doing, most of this is prob inaccurate lol, i got wayyy too attatched to this i am sorry, title inspired by dragon eyes by adrianne lenker

Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s used to delivering, passing things along, letting them enter his life and leave him. Sometimes it makes him angry. At his father, at the world, at himself.

So when you passed through the Hermes cabin for the inevitable few weeks before getting claimed by your Godly parent, the last thing Luke expected was for you to stay.

When you first got to camp you were terrified. Luke remembers that much. He can still picture you in Chiron’s towering shadow as he led you up to Hermes cabin. He gave you the usual spiel about the cabin, the land of the unclaimed, but it clearly hadn’t quelled your nerves. You were wringing your fingers together when Luke first spotted you, your eyes blown wide in what he knew as shock and a sort of . . . grief. For a life you’d left for what Luke knows as a life you’d never really have. He’d seen it in so many campers before you. He’d see it many times after.

“This is Luke, Hermes’ head counsellor and one of Camp Half-Blood’s finest,” Chiron pointed him out to you at the entrance. After Chiron introduced you, Luke held your name in his memory. Not because there was anything particularly intriguing about you at first, to be honest, because he’d seen a lot of people like you that needed help settling in (although maybe not many his age). It was harder for some people to adjust than most. He knew that better than anyone.

“Nice to meet you,” he stuck out his hand for you to shake after Chiron left. “I’m Luke.”

You sniffed, shaking it without looking at him. You were so, so embarrassed. This whole time you’d been too stupidly overwhelmed to process anything. Why was this so hard for you? Was it this hard for everyone? “Hi,” you managed, and that was it.

Now, weeks after your first meeting, you’ve concluded that it was not, in fact, this hard for everyone. The camp is crowded but full of life. You’ve never seen more happy kids in your life. There’s a sense of community on the wind.

So why can’t you feel it? Why is it so hard to connect with people? To participate in the fun? Everywhere you look there’s people but it’s all just so . . . lonely. You don’t fit. You’re lost.

Luke wakes up at night when the cabin door creaks open. He’s already tossing, so it’s no surprise he catches it. Unfortunately, he’s supposed to be a good counsellor—sneaking out at night is against the rules, and you’ve gotta reign the strays back in before they cause a ruckus. Sure, Luke’s not exactly a stickler for the law, but the least he owes is to make sure everyone’s safe.

Groaning, he draws himself out of the comfort of his bunk but doesn’t get far when he spots a familiar silhouette slipping out the door. He knows it’s you. He’s been hearing crying at night, and this is confirming his suspicions. It makes him ache in a million different places. Every time he thought about approaching you he shut himself down almost instantly, because who the hell wants some random guy coming up to them in the middle of the night and drawing attention?

This time, though, he’s a little worried.

It’s chilly tonight but not too bad, especially when you’re huddled up in a ball on a hill in front of the lake, grass tickling your ankles. Your tears keep you warm.

It’s a sorrow that feels bottomless. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. You don’t know why everything’s so hard.

There’s a scuffling of shoes, and your name is carried to you on the heels of a breeze. Oh God. There’s someone else here.

You sniff and smear your tears on the palms of your hands the best you can but a little part of you only wants to cry more now that you’re all anxious, and you only have a few seconds to collect yourself before you turn around and see Luke, your cabin leader, with furrowed brows. “Oh, h-hi, Luke.” It’s hard to ignore the splinter in your voice. You curse yourself a thousand times.

“Hey,” he says hesitantly, eyeing you in a way that makes you feel entirely exposed. “You, uh, you know you’re not technically supposed to be out here, right?”

You start to scramble to your feet with an apology on your tongue but surprisingly he laughs, a gentle sound, and beckons you to sit back down. “No, no, I’m not gonna get you in trouble or anything, just . . . letting you know.”

It’s uncertain if you should keep sitting, but you decide to because well, you’re already down here, and things can’t go lower than this. Luke comes to sit next to you and you stare out into the sea like your life depends on it. “Wanna talk about why you’re out here?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean,” Luke sighs, scooting a little closer to you. “Most people don’t up and leave in the middle of the night because they’re having a great time.”

The answer is too hard to say so you don’t reply.

Again, Luke sighs, and you try not to look at the shadow the moon casts on his admittedly handsome face. “It’s hard settling in, I know. It happens to a lot of people. I’ve . . . I’ve seen a lot of them, and it doesn’t get any easier.”

“Well it sure seems easier,” you snap, and your self-control flies away before you can stop it. “I have no idea why I can’t just suck it up and fit in here. Everyone seems so happy and it’s driving me nuts because I’m just so confused on why I can’t—why I can’t—process any of it.” Tears burn your eyes. “I’m just miserable. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

In the corner of your view, Luke’s face falls. “I’m your guide, you know that, right? I can help you.”

You sniff, embarrassingly pathetic. “I know.”

He comes even closer. “So why didn’t you ask?”

“Because I—I don’t know, you’re busy all the time with all the people in there, so I’m sure your job’s already stressful as is, so—”

“My job is to help you,” he says, a hand on your shoulder. “That’s what I signed up for. If you need something, I’m the one to ask.”

“I’m not sure you signed up for me crying like a baby,” you swallow, the ripples of the lake blurring together. “I mean, I’m like, older than half the kids here, and they’re all so much better than me. I’m not good at a—anything, and I’ve tried it all, and nobody’s claimed me yet, and I feel so weird and old and alone and . . .” It’s too much to think about so you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, hoping the sting wards off the thoughts. “What if I’m nothing? Why am I here?”

You’re crying again, hiccuping into your hands. Shame sears into you. Luke’s arm curls around your shoulders and you realize how cold you are when he’s warm, so warm, and you want to cry even harder. You don’t even know him, but it’s the most tenderness you’ve received in what feels like years. “Hey, deep breaths,” he murmurs, rubbing your arm with his other hand. “It’s okay. Look at me.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of strength to heed him. His hand catches your cheek and you can’t bear to pull away. Something strange rustles in your stomach.

Luke’s taught instinct when faced with situations like these is to reassure that the Gods always have a plan. But he doesn’t feel like much of a liar tonight. Both his hands steady your face towards his, your skin damp and cold beneath his thumb. “It's not your fault. It always takes a little bit of time for people to get claimed, it’s never . . . well, you can never tell.”

“What if I don’t get claimed?” You say it so quiet you can pretend it was imaginary.

His eyes crinkle at the sides when he says, “Well, Hermes’ll always have a place for you.”

I’ll, Luke wants to say, I’ll. His father is not responsible for his cabin’s kindness.

“No one really prepares you for how overwhelming this is,” he continues, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek. Your vision is clearer now, and Gods, he is handsome, isn’t he? Even when his eyes are forlorn. “It’s harder in a way when you’re older. More to leave behind. Less to look forward to. It’s easier when you have a friend. Or a great cabin head.” He tilts his head with a faint smile, “Lucky for you, I’m both.”

It almost makes you laugh, and that’s enough. “It’ll get easier,” he promises softly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Your cheeks burn. It’s hard to keep his gaze, so you blot at your eyes with your hands as Luke gently slides his off your face. “Thank you. Sorry for, um, all that. And the crying.”

He chuckles, “Don’t even worry about it.” You watch him rise in the throes of starlight. He offers you a hand. “Aren’t you cold?” He asks after pulling you up, and you sheepishly nod your head. He tosses you a sweater he’s been wearing, and it smells like firewood. Nostalgic, in a way. “I’m gonna poke around for some tea. Wait for me back at the cabin.”

Before he leaves, he squeezes your arm and that thing happens again in your stomach. “No need to be embarrassed, by the way. You can come to me anytime. I’m probably less busy than I look.” As he walked away, he added, “And don’t worry about the crying. You’re pretty either way.”

Either way. The tea doesn’t seem important anymore because your face is on fire.

Time reveals that Luke is right. He is a great cabin leader and a friend, and it’s hard to tell which he’s better at. You fall in with him right away. Soon enough, you’re drawn into your new life, so slowly you barely realize it’s happening. The days get shorter and you start wishing they were longer. The nights get easier. And when they’re not, Luke tucks you into his bunk and folds you in his arms until you drift off. You pick up a bow. A sword. Luke tells you to straighten your shoulders with a hand on the small of your back, and you swear it always lingers. You braid garlands of carnations for your cabin mates and they wear them with pride. It’s warm, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and things start to feel like home.

Until you’re claimed.

Now you’re a ghost in Hermes cabin, another empty bunk to be filled, and Luke stares at it until he can remember every last detail of what it looked like when it was yours. A beautiful, gentle daughter of Demeter, no longer in arms’ reach. He should’ve seen it coming.

He sees you with your siblings all the time. You’re so happy and he envies it. You belong there, he knows that, the way your face lights up at the dinner table and how you giggle when your half-sister presents you a flower. But sometimes your eyes wander, and something inside them dulls, until you look at him, too.

Luke’s place at camp is to be nothing but a funnel for lost campers to find their home. He’s a temporary stop in everybody’s journey. He’d made peace with it a long time ago. But here you are, messing it all up, because you still don’t leave him.

You beg him to give you another sword-fighting lesson. You sit next to him at bonfires. You pick him for partner camp activities. It doesn’t matter how many younger boys want to latch onto him for guidance—he sees you heading towards him, and he can’t imagine choosing anyone else.

But you’re always whisked away by your siblings, separated at meals and in sleep and in activities so it’s never, ever enough. Why did he delude himself into thinking you’d stay forever?

After weeks of distance from you, he’s elated when you have even a fraction of a conversation. “Hey, Luke!” You call out to him, and he finds you instantly. You’ve broken away from your siblings to get to him.

“Hey,” he smiles, and hopes he doesn’t look too pleased.

You lean a little towards his ear, and you smell like every wonderful thing in the world. “Can we hang out tonight? On the hill?” You’re a little bashful when you say it and it’s entirely endearing. Even now, you’re still so unsure. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he says almost instantly, and it makes you look less nervous. “Yes. Absolutely. But don’t get caught breaking curfew now, you hooligan.”

Someone calls your name and you give a curt, playful nod. “Yes sir, camp counsellor sir!” He carries your laugh close to his heart until night falls.

You’re already there when he arrives, a vision in the moonlight before he even sees your face. “Hey, angel.”

When you turn around you look flustered. He won’t pretend like it doesn’t flatter him. “H—hi, uh, hello.”

There’s a moment where the world is still. The two of you, alone, for the first time in ages.

He sits down next to you, and it’s like the first time all over again. You get to talking, about your days, your anecdotes, your cabins. The strangeness of it all. “It’s so weird waking up in the morning and not having you yapping in my ear,” you remark, and he teasingly pushes your shoulder.

“Well, one of us has to be the talker, and it’s clearly not you,” he retorts.

You fiddle with blades of grass between your fingertips, weaving them together. “I’ll have you know I had a cabin-wide conversation about Capture The Flag yesterday, and I contributed greatly.”

“Oh, really?” He grins, knocking your elbow to steal your attention. “Look at you, coming out of your shell. I’m so proud.”

It’s hard to hold his gaze for more than a second. You’re afraid you’ll do something stupid if he keeps looking at you like that, but you almost want to. “Oh, shut up.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder. “No, I’m serious. I’m proud.” His eyes rake over your face. “You’re flourishing. You found your place.”

You can’t stop yourself from saying, “I kind of miss my old one.”

There’s a way he studies your expression that makes you feel utterly helpless. You wish you could dish it back to him, but you know you just look awestruck whenever you stare at him for so long. He’s quieter when he replies, “I miss it, too. A lot. Sometimes, I—” His face scrunches up like he just tasted something sour. “Nevermind.”

Frowning, you prod, “What? What is it?”

He sighs and turns to the horizon. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him struggle. “Sometimes, I wish you hadn’t been claimed. Sorry, that’s . . . that’s awful, I know.”

His surprise is evident when you say, “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t either.”

He turns back to you. “Really?”

“Really,” you nod, staring at the beads on his necklace. “You’re the only reason I’ve adjusted here at all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

“It’s true. And I miss you.” A few months ago you would’ve kicked yourself for saying this. But Luke has a way of inspiring confidence in people.

“I miss you, too. So much.” He gently prys the grass you’ve been weaving out of your hands, now a small necklace. “But look at how talented you are. I’ll tell you, I’m lucky you’re still sticking around. For most people, Hermes is touch-and-go.”

Luke leans forward to tie the garland around your neck, and your pulse picks up. “This isn’t about Hermes, Luke,” you try to be firm but it comes out soft. “It’s about you.��

His hands stop fiddling and rest on your neck. When he speaks, you can feel his breath on you. And you have no idea that he’s been waiting to hear that his whole life. “What’s about me?”

It’s not fair, your inability to string sentences together only worsens right when a beautiful boy is this close to you. “Hermes isn’t—it’s not special because of your father, it’s special because of you.”

There is nothing else you can possibly think of saying with the way his fingers trace up your neck and hold your jaw. “Yeah, well,” he murmurs, “The only reason anything in my life is special is because of you.”

You don’t know if it’s a lie or not; you don’t care. His nose nudges yours. There’s a moment where you wonder if this is as close to Elysium you’ll ever get. Then he slips a hand to the back of your neck and pulls you to his mouth.

He kisses you in a near fury, then when he knows you’re not going anywhere, it’s the gentlest thing you know. It’s hard to believe this is even happening. Your hands weave through his curls but he holds you steady, and thank the Gods for that because you’re pretty sure you’re melting. You kiss again, and again, and again, until you genuinely think you’re going to pass out and you have to pull away.

“Aw, look at you,” he murmurs when you can’t meet his eyes, a playful lilt in his voice. “Still so nervous.”

“Would you shut up?” You press your face into the crook of his neck with a huge smile.

He kisses the top of your head. “Love to, angel.”

Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s supposed to believe he’s bringing the best of humanity to the Gods and glory above.

But screw the Gods. He’s keeping this one for himself.

#perrie’s fics #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo #pjo series #pjo x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #charlie bushnell #this is far longer than i wanted it to be so sorry.#don’t usually write in 2nd person or present tense so i’m just trying not to look at it #the evil men with curly hair have won again

6K notes · View notes

cherry-leclerc · 6 months

Text

true temptation ☆ cl16

genre: sainz!reader, humor, nnn (mommy, i can explain), smut, fluff, whipped!charles, established relationship

word count: 2k

Your boyfriend makes a decision to participate in NNN, but immediately regrets it when he realizes just how difficult it is to stay away from you.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...car sex, riding, fingering

req!... probably the longest drabble i’ve done so far, but i hope you all enjoy!

“You’re never going to last.”

The Monegasque’ eyes challenge you as you stand there unimpressed, hands on your hips. It had all started with him barging in on you and calling an ‘emergency couple’s meeting’.

Pacing the room, he goes back and forth, mumbling slowly, as if creating a plan up in his head. As far as you’re concerned, he was never going to actually do it. The man was obsessed with you.

“Have a little faith in me,” he groans, hands brushing his hair back in despair.

His so called - ‘emergency’ - was that he would be taking part in No Nut November. No kissing. No sex.

Or anything remotely related to it.

Walking up to him, you pat his chest. His hands find their way down to your waist, doe eyes staring back up at him.

“I will… But I’m going to make your head spin.”

He started off strong. He even felt a bounce in his step when he entered Ferrari Hospitality; he swore he felt like he was walking on sunshine.

“You’re actually doing it?”

Joris, too, had no hope for his friend. He had seen the way the green eyed boy would cling onto you as if it were the only thing he knew how to do. The way he talked about you, even when you weren’t around.

“Oui. Why? Do you not think it’s a good idea?”

His friend tilts his head to the side as he thinks about it for a minute. “Not sure. All I know is that your and Pierre’s bet on who can last longer is never going to end up good. You can’t even go a single second without kissing her!”

“He said he could last longer than me? I have to prove him wrong….” His mind slips over to the last part. “I can live without her kisses for a month. It’ll be fine.”

The Ferrari driver makes his way to his team, properly analyzing what faults his car had and how he can make the best out of it. Frustrated, Charles rubs his eyes.

“I will do the best I can, but I can’t promise a podium. Not with a car like this.”

Taking notes, Xavi nods as he walks away. “Hi, Xavi!” The sound of your voice instantly makes him ease up as he searches for you. His jaw goes slack.

“What are you wearing?”

Smiling wide with eyes crinkled, you rush over to him. “It’s only a dress.”

But it wasn’t just a dress. He knows you did it on purpose, wearing the little black dress he had last fucked you in. It’s the way it fans your thighs as the wind gently teases anyone passing by.

“You’re supposed to be on my team. Are we really going to let Kika and Pierre win?”

Rolling your eyes, you tippy toe, naturally about to kiss him, but stop yourself before you do. He frowns.

“You are sooo right!” You comedically screech as you slap your hands against your cheeks. “I do want us to win! Forget the kiss, my mistake.”

He chuckles darkly, shaking his head.

“You’re a fucking nightmare.”

He’s a week in and he’s finally starting to lose his grip.

“You’re sweating buckets, mate,” Daniel points out as he lets out a loud laugh, doing a muppet dive. Charles unbuttons his collared shirt.

“It’s the heat, it’s the heat.”

The Aussie furrows his eyebrows and he raises a hand up to feel the air. Light breeze. Shivering, you strut over to your boyfriend.

“Can we leave? It’s getting too cold.”

And he hates the way that dress clings onto your body, your figure being completely shown off. Nothing but dirty thoughts have entered his mind from the moment he first saw you.

“Sure.”

Kicking off your heels, you throw yourself onto the bed, face first. Shooo tirefff, you mumble against the sheets. He purposefully takes a seat across from you, knowing he’d be tempted to cross the line if he didn’t.

Tossing over, you reach out for him. And he’s about to turn you down, but he notices the way your nose is painted pink - your cheeks, too - and soft, tired eyes meeting his. His heart melts at the sight. So, he reminds himself that a hug with his girlfriend is nothing bad.

Climbing onto his lap, you dig your face into his chest, short dress riding up. He physically has to stop himself from letting out a loud moan. Instead, he traces his fingers up and down your spine. You shudder.

“Are you sure we can’t fuck, Charlie?”

Right there, is his breaking point. He’s ready to kiss you, finger you, eat you out, fuck you, anything. But you giggle teasingly as you pull back, a wicked smile drawn.

“Whoops. Never mind.”

He’s known you wouldn’t make this easy on him. It’s almost as if you’ve made it your mission to screw with his head - and while he would normally love it - in this case, it was killing him.

Dance with me, you would beg him and you sway in front of him. It was a rare moment of it just being you two, so naturally, you took advantage of it. You showered, did your skincare, watched a movie, but the moment you heard Sparks by Coldplay echoing from his phone, you immediately jumped up like a bunny.

Then, his heart would melt, and melt, and melt - and melt some more. It would only be a reminder of what a perfect match you both were. He would memorize your face once again; no makeup, eyebags due to long travels with him, a small cut on the bridge of your nose from earlier when Lando had accidentally hit you with his frisbee, pink lips he so desperately missed.

He would oblige, the way you knew he would. He found home within you as you would both sway, your feet on top of his as he would lead you both, you having to do nothing but close your eyes and feel his heartbeat. And it was so sweet to know that it was only yours.

I love you, he would remind you as if he didn’t already tell you a million times before. As if it were a way to make up for all this. And you would say-

“I know.”

“How are you keeping up?”

The Frenchman smiles proudly as he takes a sip of water. “I’m actually doing fine. You?”

Charles gulps, green eyes following to where you stand next to Kika.

“Good.”

“It’s actually not that hard.”

Kika and you had been touching up on your boyfriend's challenge. She would say it as if it were the easiest thing. You slump against your chair.

“That’s not fair… Mine has the most beautiful face ever!”

“Hey!”

You squeal as she aims a pillow at you. I’m sorry! The Portuguese laughs too, sticking her tongue out. You sigh. “I do miss him, though.”

“Yeah…”

“Have we seriously just been talking about how horny we are?”

“Don’t say it like that!” She bites her lip. “We have.”

“Why did they ever think this was going to be a good idea?”

Propping her arm against the table, she beams. “It’s not, but I heard from Pierre about how much Charles is struggling.” You groan.

“Yeah, well that’s nothing but his own fault.”

It’s now been 2 weeks and he’s already given up. His pleads were convincing.

C’mon, baby. Let me fuck you.

It’s been too long. I miss the way you taste.

But you stood your ground.

“No, no, no.” You shook your head, running away. Seeing Carlos, you hide behind him. “You brought this onto yourself! Now you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Confused, Carlos questions you both on what you’re talking about. It’s just that your sister won’t let me-

“Stop! That’s my brother!”

The Monegasque shrugs as Carlos turns to you. What is he talking about? Your face burns up as you brush him off. “Nada, nada - he’s just being a jerk.” And so, he believes it and walks away, too tired to deal with any of it.

You let out a squeal when Charles plunges towards you. He picks you up, carrying you to his motorhome.

“Let go!”

Dropping you onto his small bed, he stares down at you like a lion salivating over their prey. You suppress a whimper, clamming your legs shut. He raises a brow.

“You’re telling me you don’t want the same thing I do? I promise I’ll do it just the way you like it.”

Closing your eyes, you can picture it. You can feel him already, pressed up against you. You do want it, you do. Opening your eyes, you shake your head.

“Just two more weeks to go.”

“We lost.” Taken aback, you snort. What do you mean? Your friend blushes before dragging you to the corner. “I mean that last night Pierre and I went out for dinner and one thing led to another and-”

“Okay, okay, I caught on!”

Giggling, she shimmies her shoulders towards you. “What are you going to do?” You pout as you stare back blankly. She sighs. “I’m talking about you and Charles! I mean you both already won - you could do whateverrrr you want.”

Stuttering, you cough before saying, “You made it loud and clear, thank you very much.”

Shivering, you climb into the passenger's seat of his Pista as you thank him for opening and closing your door. As soon as he climbs in, he turns on the heater. The Monaco streets were lonely, everyone already in their homes, sheltering from the light rain that had picked up.

“You want to pull over?”

You sound so sweet asking that he almost thinks he’s hallucinating or that any second now you’re going to surprise him with a, just kidding!

But he quickly could tell you weren’t and he doesn’t want to let the moment slip away. Not when he’s been waiting for so long. Screw it if he lost.

Pulling over on the side of an isolated street, he hauls you onto his lap. You thank the universe for skirts. Pushing your panties aside, his long fingers slide against your wet folds. You let out a wail.

“Fuck, you don’t know how I’ve missed hearing you.” He slides two fingers in. “Feeling you.”

Dazed, you find yourself grinding on his fingers. Every single time they would brush against your g-spot, you would kiss him harder. He slips them out, bringing them up to his lips.

And he moans in a way you’ve never heard before. So fucking sweet. Blushing, you lean in to kiss him. You can still taste yourself.

“Charles, please - do something.”

Never during your entire relationship has he ever fucked you as hard as he did that day. His grip on your waist hurt, but it hurt so good. His cock would continuously brush against where you needed him the most, so much so, he left you seeing stars. Drooling all over him, you hold onto his shoulders, bouncing up and down rapidly.

“So tight – So warm.” He chokes when you ground your hips deeper. “So fucking good.”

Then, he finishes inside of you. His fingers slide down to your clit as he rubs it. You finish with a loud cry. Kissing you one last time, he slaps your ass. You scowl playfully.

“Admit it - you’ve missed it, too.”

“Just a few more weeks and you would have won!” Pierre clicks his tongue before kicking his legs up against the table in front of him. Charles rolls his eyes.

“I’m never doing that again.”

Kika smacks the Frechman’s thigh. “You both lost, remember? Only, you did before him.” The Monegasque quickly springs up.

“You’re saying we won?”

“You’re acting as if this were the fucking Olympics, Cha.” You drag him by the arm to sit back down as he starts celebrating his ‘accomplishment of the year’.

“What are we clapping about?”

Your brother strolls over to an open seat as he opens up a water bottle. Hurriedly, you screech, “Nothing! Only that the season is almost over-”

“He’s yapping about how he won No Nut November, except, he didn’t. 2 weeks and fucking does not count.”

“You did what?”

Jumping up, Charles trips over his feet as he tries backing away from the angry Spaniard. “I think I forgot my phone! I’ll be right back!”

Chasing after him, your brother yells out, “That’s my baby sister, cabrón!”

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc f1 #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader

4K notes · View notes