#and just with like skin changes in general

[lateasalways40]

I almost failed out of high school but they blamed my depression. I figured out how to learn (I’m very visual) and got a 3.8 gpa in college. After I had so many jobs where I did amazing but never “fit”.

My grandparents (who adopted me) instilled in me early on that the only reason I failed at things was that I was lazy and ungrateful. That the depression was my own fault for being pessimistic. I was misdiagnosed as bipolar and would spend years so medicated that I couldn’t think. I couldn’t remember the name of a fire truck. Eventually (in my early 20s) I took myself off the meds I had been on since I was 15. I started treating just the depression.

-I was always uncomfortable.

-I was always sad.

-The anxiety surrounding performance was unbearable.

In my early 20s, I learned treating my anxiety mostly cured the depression. It helped me interact with others (people are dogs and I was a cat) productively. I started therapy with a therapist I picked (my grandma had before). I started yoga. I met a great guy and I married him. We had kids.

-The postpartum almost killed me.

-I ended up with three hip surgeries due to life long pain that had been written of with “more of her being lazy”.

-My anxiety increased with each kid and each surgery.

-I took my grandparents in when they lost their retirement in the stock crash and housing bubble pop.

-I was diagnosed with CPTSD and began therapy for it. Life changing but still not quite right.

Years later, when my kids were teens and I could focus on me, I went for Psychological testing. Both my kids have severe ADHD. My husband does too and we clocked both kids at a young age and got them treated. My daughter is so much like me or how I was as a kid, that it’s impossible not to see that I’m ADHD and have sensory issues too.

-The drs found I have ADHD, CPTSD, Sensory Processing Disorder, Generalized Anxiety and Depression.

I took Adderall the first time and sobbed. The anxiety was gone. My brain was quiet. I was calm. It was again, life changing. My personality shifted because suddenly I could keep thoughts in my head if I wanted to. I didn’t jitter and my every moment wasn’t spent in bone crushing anxiety.

Suddenly I was performing well at work again. As the kids had grown and after my grandparents died, my performance had gone down. I was struggling so hard to focus and paralyzed by tasks frequently. It all went away. My inability to sleep my entire life went away. Motivation and executive function came back. My skin could stand to be touched. I didn’t flinch from everyone.

All this time, life could have been this easy. I’m 41. Undiagnosed/untreated ADHD directly impacted my quality of life, my marriage and my kids’ lives. It impacted my learning and my relationships. It almost took my life several times.

Modern science should be ashamed of themselves. They have done a disservice to women in general but especially with mental health and neurological disorders.

[ficsbylexi]

Skirts and Sweats — Part 1

Leah Williamson x OFC

Shot warnings: this is literally just fluffy

Author’s note: I swear when I saw Leah in the new kit I fell to my knees. Bit short for my liking.

Word count: 1347

Summary: England’s new kit drops. Leah’s girlfriend adores it.

Leah fumbled with her keys, hair in what could generously be described as a half-bun. The kind that said I gave up halfway through but what counts is that my hair is up, right? She sighed the moment she pushed the door open, toeing off her trainers as her oversized t-shirt slouched even more off her shoulder, revealing the faintest line of her sports bra strap. Baggy grey sweats clung low on her hips, and all she wanted now was food, a shower, and to lay down on her girlfriend until she couldn’t remember what soreness even felt like. Charlie must be home by now, she thinks.

“Babe, I’m ho—”

She didn’t even get to finish the sentence. A blur of limbs and warmth collided with her, nearly knocking her backwards into the door she’d only just shut. Arms looped around her neck, and then came the rapid, joyful, enthusiastic kisses.

“Hi—wait, what—baby?” Leah laughed breathlessly, but it turned into a squeak as a flurry of kisses landed all over her face. Her cheeks. Her nose. Her forehead. Her chin. A smacking one right between her eyebrows that made her giggle. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You. Have. Gotten. Into. Me,” her girlfriend declared between pecks. “I saw the promo. The England kit drop. Oh my God, Leah Cathrine Williamson—”

Leah groaned, dropping her bag onto the floor with a thud and covering her face with her hands. “Nooo, you saw it?”

“Everyone saw it! It’s all over Twitter and Instagram. You, in that away kit? With the skirt, babe?! It’s such a once-in-a-blue-moon type of thing for you that I swoon every time you wear one!”

Leah flushed a pink that crawled from her ears to her neck, and she tried to escape—but her girlfriend clung tighter.

“Stop it, stop looking at me like that,” Leah muttered into her hands, her voice muffled but grinning underneath it. “I’m literally in sweats right now.”

“And still the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” her girlfriend said without missing a beat, pulling her hands gently away to resume the campaign of smooches. “But that Leah? England captain, power pose, in a skirt? I nearly dropped my phone. Babe, you looked like a magazine cover. Like you belonged in Women’s Health or Sports Illustrated.”

Leah ducked her head, hiding against her girlfriend’s shoulder. “This is so embarrassing.”

“This is the opposite of embarrassing,” her girlfriend said sweetly, carding a hand through the messy half-bun and pressing a kiss to the crown of Leah’s head. “You wear kits and boots and look like you could destroy a nation. You wear a skirt once and suddenly I’m short-circuiting.”

“Don’t make me regret doing that shoot,” Leah mumbled, though her grin gave her away.

“Too late. You’ve created a monster.”

“I swear you like me best when I’m miserable and embarrassed.”

“I like you best when you’re just being you. Baggy sweats or hot photoshoot Leah, I’m obsessed either way.” She cupped Leah’s face, soft now, all fondness, pressing a kiss on the tip of her nose. “But today, I’m kissing your pretty face until you believe me.”

Leah melted, eyes fluttering shut as gentle lips met her skin again—this time slower, reverent. Each kiss like a full sentence in a love letter.

“Okay, okay,” she whispered eventually, voice thick with emotion. “You win. You always do.”

“I know,” her girlfriend hummed, smiling against her cheek. “But I also always kiss the prize.” Leah left a soft chuckle, feeling butterflies in her stomach at Charlie’s enthusiasm. “Go shower and put your pijamas on, I’ll make something quick for dinner.”

About half an hour later, the flat smelled like heaven.

Leah’s nose twitched as she padded into the living room after her shower, freshly changed into another oversized tee—this time Charlie’s—, some soft cherry print shorts and fuzzy socks. Her hair, now clean and a little damp, was down and brushing her shoulders. She smelled of tropical shampoo and warm skin, and the moment she spotted the spread on the coffee table, her jaw dropped.

“Charlie…”

There they were: homemade chicken nuggets, perfectly golden. Fries—crinkled, ever since they bought that cutter, her girlfriend has been obsessed with it— arranged like little edible sculptures. Two massive smoothies in matching tumblers, pink and frothy with little strawberry slices stuck to the rim. And popcorn. A mountain of popcorn in their biggest bowl, half of it already drizzled with something that looked suspiciously like melted butter.

Charlie, barefoot in shorts and one of Leah’s old Arsenal hoodies, was just finishing adjusting the pillows and blankets on the sofa. She turned with a proud smile. “You always take care of everyone else, Lee. Let me take care of you tonight.”

Leah blinked, emotion catching at the back of her throat.

“I don’t deserve you,” she mumbled, shuffling forward and dropping a kiss to Charlie’s cheek.

“Sure you do. You’re my golden retriever in football boots. Now sit down before it gets cold!”

They ate sitting cross-legged, leaning into each other, the glow of the TV flickering across their faces. The movie had already started—some delightfully predictable lesbian rom-com set in a beach town, complete with a grumpy/sunshine pairing and a slow-burn rivals-to-lovers plot. Every now and then, Leah made a snarky comment about a line of dialogue, and Charlie would smack her thigh gently and say, “Let me live!”

Once their bellies were full and Leah’s head was lolling a little, Charlie tugged her close.

“C’mere,” she whispered, pulling Leah down to lie on top of her.

Leah let out a sleepy hum, crawling over like a content cat. She sprawled herself over Charlie with a soft sigh, head resting on her chest, their legs tangled instinctively. Her hand slid under the hem of Charlie’s hoodie, just to touch skin.

“This is the best,” Leah mumbled, barely audible over the soft music in the film. “Like. Ever.”

Charlie only smiled, wrapping both arms around her and kissing the top of her head. “My pleasure.”

Leah let out a low, sleepy laugh, and Charlie could feel her smile even without seeing it.

With the movie playing on, Charlie’s fingers found Leah’s hair, slow and soothing as they untangled it from the base of her neck down. Every so often, she’d whisper something—quiet and reverent.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“You always work so hard.”

“You deserve all the love in the world.”

“I love you so much.”

Each phrase was followed by a kiss to her forehead, her temple, her cheek.

Leah didn’t say much back, but her arms curled tighter around Charlie’s waist, her breathing slow and deepening. She was safe. She was loved. She was full—in more ways than one.

When the movie ended and the credits rolled, Leah lifted her head, just slightly.

“You know I love you, right?”

Charlie smiled, brushing her thumb over Leah’s cheek.

“Yeah, I know. But say it again anyway.”

Leah blushed, nose wrinkling a little. “I love you, Charlie.”

“I love you too,” Charlie whispered, pulling the blanket tighter over them both. “Especially when you’re in a skirt.”

Leah groaned, burying her face in Charlie’s neck with a muffled, “You’re never letting this go, are you?”

“Not a chance. But come one, we should go to bed.”

“But aren’t we comfortable here?”

Leah’s cute pout almost convinced Charlie to give in, but knowing how busy she’d be the next day, she added: “We need to brush our teeth first. And you know I need to wake up extra-early tomorrow, honey. Let’s go, we can cuddle in bed.” Leah whined, hiding her face again in the crook of Charlie’s neck, the faint smell of her perfume relaxing her. “Lee…”

“Yes, my love?”

“Get up or I’ll tickle you.”

It took less than a second for Leah to get up, pulling Charlie’s hand with urgency. “Come on, darling, we need to brush our teeth and you have an early morning tomorrow.”

[charles-leclerizz]

driver diaries : collection #4 when you ask them to cum inside

models : CL16, CS55, MV1, LN4, OP81

VIP guest's in the front row : [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon, @lorarri], [@dallaavv, @nichmeddar, @sisinever] IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK, AND MUTUALS LET ME KNOW IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE REMOVED ON PRIV !

availability : dating ( all drivers )

designer's comments : so. you may wonder why I ask the masses for their opinion when I do my own thing anyway? Cause open defiance is my kink. My requests for this series AND generally are open. so stop by if you want ;)

Charles Leclerc 16 Tender. Breathless. Slightly stunned by how much he needs it.

Charles had you on the hotel couch, lights dim, hands all over you like he was afraid you’d disappear. 

You’d come straight from a sponsor event – he hadn’t bothered to even changed out of his black dress shirt, sleeves rolled, chest open at the collar. 

You were already half-undressed, knees over his thighs, his hands sliding under your top. He was supposed to be patient. Gentle. But that only lasted until you whispered, “You can fuck me, you know.” 

That’s when his restraint cracked. 

And now he was panting above you, hands gripping your hips like an anchor as he thrust into you slow and deep, voice broken, wrecked. 

“Tu me rends fou, bébé…”  You drive me crazy, baby. 

The couch cushions shifted beneath you with every push of his hips. He kept brushing your hair away from your face, as if he needed to see your eyes while he fucked you like this - no distractions. No walls. Just Charles looking like he’d never wanted anything more in his entire life. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, low and hoarse. “You feel so good.” 

He was buried raw inside you. Thick. Warm. So deep it made your legs twitch every time he rolled his hips just right. 

You could feel every part of him. Every desperate inch. 

And he couldn’t stop looking. 

Couldn’t stop groaning softly every time you clenched around him. 

He dipped his head, kissed your collarbone, breath trembling. 

“I don’t want to stop-” he whispered, voice cracking a little. “But I’m so close already.” 

You smiled, running your hand through his curls. “Then don’t stop.” 

He looked up - flushed, wide-eyed, like he hadn’t expected that. 

You kissed the corner of his mouth. 

“Finish inside me.” 

Charles froze. 

His breathing hitched. 

“You-” He blinked. “Quoi?” 

“I want you to come inside me,” you said again, soft but clear, brushing your lips against his. “Don’t pull out. Please.” 

The moan that left his throat was more like a whimper. 

Then he kissed you like he needed to feel every part of you at once. 

“Putain,” he swore into your mouth. “Tu vas me tuer…” 

His thrusts got faster. Sloppier. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, fingertips pressing into your skin, his entire body stuttering toward the edge. 

“Don’t stop,” you whispered. “I want to feel it.” 

That’s when he broke. 

He buried himself fully, holding your hips in place, and let go with a guttural moan - so soft, so desperate, so intimate. 

You felt him pulse inside you, warm and thick, the heat flooding your body as he came. 

His voice was all breath, all praise.  “Oui oui oui… comme ça… oh mon dieu…” 

He collapsed against your chest, still inside you, shivering slightly. His nose brushed your neck; lips parted against your shoulder. 

He didn’t speak right away. 

Didn’t have to. 

His hands slid along your sides, slow, almost trembling. 

Then he kissed the centre of your chest. Your jaw. Your cheek. 

And finally, your lips. 

When he pulled back, eyes still half-lidded, voice gone low, he murmured: 

“Next time… let me say it first.” 

You tilted your head. “Say what?” 

He smiled. 

“That I want to be the only one who ever finishes in you.” 

Carlos Sainz 55 Possessive. Gritty. Emotional control slipping.

It started slow. 

You weren’t rushing. Neither of you ever did when you had the privacy, the time, the stillness. The kind of nights where Carlos kept the lights dim, fingers lazy as he kissed along the inside of your thigh. His voice low. His gaze intense. 

He’d already made you come once with his mouth - face buried in you, groaning every time your legs trembled around his shoulders. Then, fingers. Just two, fucking you open slow, making you gasp and buck until you were practically panting his name. 

And now he was above you - thick cock hard in his fist, tip flushed and already slick with precum as he stroked himself between your legs. 

"Estás tan jodidamente bonita,” he murmured. You're so fucking pretty. 

“Then stop teasing,” you whispered, breathless. 

He smirked, hand steady. “You want me inside?” 

You nodded, lips parted. He turned to rip open a condom, until you grabbed his bicep, squeezing. 

“Bare?” he asked, voice gone rough, eyes wide as he looked back at you. 

Your stomach flipped. You knew that tone. That edge. 

You nodded again. “Yes.” 

Carlos exhaled, nostrils flaring slightly. But he didn’t argue. He just pressed his tip against your entrance and slowly eased in - every inch stretching you open, heat blooming low in your belly as your nails gripped the sheets. 

The moan he let out when he bottomed out was low and ragged and real. 

“Fucking hell…” 

You wrapped your legs around his hips, needing more of him. He was thick, heavy, the stretch just this side of overwhelming. 

He didn’t move right away. 

Just leaned forward, kissed your jaw, your cheek, your mouth. 

“You always feel this good for me,” he said, voice almost reverent. 

You clenched around him. 

Carlos groaned. “You keep doing that and I’m not gonna last.” 

"Maybe I don't want you to." 

That got his attention. 

His head lifted. Eyes locked with yours. 

"¿Qué?" he asked, voice lower. A little strained. 

You looked up at him, feeling the rush of heat rise to your cheeks-but you didn’t back down. 

“I want you to finish inside me.” 

Carlos didn’t blink. Didn’t speak. 

Just breathed. 

Then he swore under his breath-“Joder”-and started moving. 

Deep, slow thrusts that knocked the air from your lungs. Every roll of his hips filled you completely, thick and hot, the friction making your whole-body arch beneath him. 

“Say it again,” he growled, fucking you harder now. 

“I want you to come inside me, Carlos.” 

His head dropped to your shoulder. He bit down lightly, groaning into your skin. 

“Estás loca… You’re trying to kill me.” 

You moaned, wrapping your arms around his back, nails digging into muscle. His pace picked up - sharp now, relentless. The bed creaked beneath you. Your name left his lips like a curse. 

“You like knowing I’ll be the only one that’s ever done this to you?” he gasped. “That I’ll be the only one to come inside you like this?” 

“Yes-fuck-yes-” 

Your orgasm hit hard and fast, blooming outward in waves, your back arching, mouth open as you came around him with a sharp cry. 

Carlos wasn’t far behind. 

You felt his rhythm break, his thrusts stutter. 

He groaned low, rough, needy. 

Then buried himself deep one last time. 

And came inside you. 

You felt the warmth flood you. Felt his body shake from it, his arms locked tight around your waist like he needed to hold on while he poured every drop into you. 

“Dámelo…” he whispered, breath gone. “Dámelo todo, mi vida…” 

You didn’t let him go. 

Not even when he stilled inside you, panting against your neck. 

Not when he kissed your shoulder like an apology and a prayer all in one. 

Not when he finally pulled back just enough to watch it leak from you, that soft, sinful look on his face like he could see the moment burned into his memory forever. 

He pressed his fingers gently to your inner thigh, then your hips. 

“You okay?” he asked quietly, still inside you. Still pressed close. 

You nodded. 

“Good,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “Because next time… I want you on top. And I want to feel you clench around me when I fill you again.” 

You were already smiling. 

Already wrecked. 

And already wondering how soon “next time” could be. 

Max Verstappen 1 Unhinged. Growling. Pure fucking instinct.

You knew the second you said it; Max was going to lose his mind. 

He already had you on your back, one of your thighs thrown over his shoulder, the other pinned down by his palm as he fucked into you deep and fast, growling your name like it was the only word he still remembered. 

His skin was slick with sweat, chain dangling over his throat. His eyes never left your face - locked on your fucked-out expression like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. 

“You’re taking me so fucking well,” he grunted. “Look at you-already cockdrunk.” 

You whined, head falling back. “You fuck me like this and expect me not to be?” 

He smirked. Brief. Sharp. 

Then you said it, 

“Come inside me.” 

His whole body stopped. 

Like a full-body glitch. Breath caught. Muscles frozen mid-thrust. 

“…What?” 

You bit your lip, lifted your hips into his. 

“I want to feel it. Don’t pull out.” 

Max growled. 

There was no other word for it. Just a deep, animal sound torn from his chest. 

Then he dropped your thigh from his shoulder, shoved both your legs up, and folded your knees against your chest - locking you down, fucking deeper, pounding you into the mattress with a pace that made the headboard slam the wall. 

“Say it again,” he gritted through his teeth. 

“Finish inside me, Max.” 

His hand wrapped around your throat - not tight, just enough to feel it - and he stared down at you with wild eyes. 

“Fucking hell. You want me to come in you? Want me dripping out of you all night?” 

“Yes,” you gasped, nails clawing at his back. “Please-please, I need it-” 

“You’re not walking tomorrow.” 

He wrecked you after that. 

Not romantic. Not gentle. Just relentless, brutal thrusts and filthy muttering in your ear. 

“This pussy’s mine- fuck- look at you, begging for it-so desperate-” 

You were trembling, tears bubbling on your lashes from the overstimulation, the pressure, the stretch. 

He didn’t let up. You came first, screaming into his shoulder, clenching around him so tight he swore in Dutch, hips stuttering. 

And then he snapped. 

Max slammed in once, twice, and then let out a broken, breathless groan as he emptied himself inside you - cock twitching deep as he spilled into you with full-body shudders. 

“Fuck- fuck -yes -take it- take all of it-” 

He didn’t move right away. 

Just stayed there. Breathing hard. Forehead against yours. 

You felt him pulse with the aftershocks, felt the mess spreading between your legs already. 

And you whispered, dazed, “You really didn’t pull out.” 

Max chuckled-low, dangerous. 

“Too fucking late now.” 

A minute later, he pulled back slightly, spreading your legs with both hands to look. 

To watch it leak out of you. 

He stared at it, jaw tight. 

Then he used two fingers to push it back in, slow and possessive. 

“I meant what I said,” he muttered, eyes flicking up to yours. 

“You’re not walking tomorrow.” 

Lando Norris 4 Messy. Whiny. Loses his mind when you ask for it.

You were already close. So was he. 

It had been building from the second he got back from media duties - tension thick, eyes dark, voice low. He’d barely touched dinner. Barely touched you. Just kissed you once, slow and heavy, then pulled you into his lap and whispered, 

“Been thinking about this all day.” 

Now? You were underneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, hands fisted in his curls as he fucked you deep and slow - dragging every thrust out like he wanted to ruin you with it. 

Lando’s mouth was open against your throat, breath hot, his voice pure wreckage, 

“Feel so good-so tight-fuck, you take me so well, babe-” 

You were dizzy, aching, soaking wet - and he hadn’t even sped up yet. Just this perfect, devastating pressure. So deep you felt him in your stomach. 

“Lando-” you moaned. 

“I know, I know,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.” 

His voice was high. Breathless. Full of need. 

You pulled him closer, your lips brushing his ear. 

And then you whispered, 

“Come inside me.” 

Lando froze. 

Dead still. Balls deep. 

You felt him twitch inside you, like your words short-circuited his entire brain. 

“Wait-what?” he said, voice cracked. 

“I want you to come inside me,” you repeated, slower. “Please.” 

He let out the most pathetic little groan. 

“Fuck-don’t say that. I’m not gonna last-” 

“You don’t have to.” 

That’s when he snapped. 

He buried his face in your neck and thrust hard - deep, fast, chasing it now, no rhythm, no patience. 

His hands gripped your hips like he was holding on for dear life. 

“Oh my god-fuck-I’m gonna- babe, I’m gonna-” 

“Do it,” you gasped. “Please, Lando-” 

He moaned your name, high and broken, and slammed into you one final time. 

Then he came inside you. 

Warm. Messy. Full-body shudder. 

His whole body tensed, mouth open, eyebrows scrunched in complete disbelief as he emptied himself deep inside you, panting like he’d just finished a 90-minute quali lap. 

“Holy fuck,” he gasped. “Holy fuck- I came inside you-” 

You ran your fingers through his hair, soothing, smiling, kissing his flushed cheek. 

“I told you to,” you whispered. 

Lando pulled back just enough to look - saw the mess between your legs, the slick mix already starting to spill out, his cock still twitching from the aftershocks. 

He groaned again. 

Then grinned. 

“Jesus Christ… I’ve peaked.” 

Oscar Piastri 81 Silent. Intense. Ruined.

Oscar had always been good at holding back. 

Even when you were grinding against him on the couch, all breathy moans and slick skin, he was in control - one hand on your jaw, the other pressing down on your lower belly as he moved inside you with calculated precision. 

“Relax,” he whispered, voice low and quiet against your neck. “I’ve got you.” 

You loved that about him. The way he never raised his voice. The way he knew your body better than anyone. Every drag of his cock was deliberate. Controlled. He didn’t chase pleasure - he delivered it. 

And tonight? 

He was deep. 

So, so deep. 

Slow strokes that reached the end of you, hips slotted flush to yours, pelvis brushing your clit every time he rolled his hips forward. 

His hand was laced with yours behind your back. His other hand gripped your hip, keeping you open, grounded. 

“Oscar,” you whimpered. 

“Yeah?” 

“Faster.” 

He didn’t obey. Just chuckled, soft and cruel. 

“You sure?” he murmured. “You already look so close.” 

“I want it.” 

He tilted his head, brown eyes dark and steady. 

“You want me to fuck you properly?” 

You nodded, already breathless. 

He did. 

Harder. Deeper. Just enough to make the sofa springs creak once. 

Your thighs shook. 

“That’s it,” he whispered, eyes locked on your face. “So fucking tight around me, baby.” 

And just as your second orgasm built - tight and coiling - you gasped it, 

“Finish inside me.” 

Oscar stilled. 

Eyes narrowing. Chest rising and falling against yours. 

“Say that again.” 

You tangled your fingers into his curls, tugging. “I want you to come inside me.” 

He exhaled, shaky and hard. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re serious.” 

You nodded. 

He kissed you once. Then twice. Slow, like he was trying to memorize you. 

And then? 

He fucked you like he meant it. 

Oscar wasn’t loud. He didn’t groan or curse or talk you through it like the others might. He just moved - deep, sharp thrusts that left you gasping, thighs trembling. 

The only sound was skin slapping and you're whimpering. 

And then- 

He slammed in one final time and stayed there. 

Pressed deep. Eyes on you. And came. 

Hard. 

His entire body tensed - cock twitching as he emptied inside you, lips parting but no sound escaping, like he was too overwhelmed to even speak. 

Just quiet, heavy breathing as he filled you. 

Your legs shook around his waist. His hand came up to your cheek. 

Still inside. 

Still full. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, finally. “I’ve never done that before.” 

You smiled, dazed. “Me neither.” 

Oscar leaned in, kissed your cheekbone, your nose. 

“Hope you know,” he said, “I’m going to be thinking about this every time I see you walk tomorrow.” 

You laughed. 

But the way he looked at you knew that he meant every word. 

[melbagirl]

Image Description: A black and white photo of a pencil with a pointing finger emoji and accompanying text which reads “this machine kills AI”.

Below is a screenshot of a post on the Facebook group Artists Against Generative AI by user Danielle Sanfilippo. The post reads as follows:

Posting this on behalf of a member who would like to remain anonymous:

I'm an art director and supervisor for a large studio. The studio heads had the bright idea before I started to hire prompters. Several bros were brought onto the film project. I absolutely hated myself for not quitting on the spot but stuck with it because it's mercenary out there. Have a family to feed etc. I decided to use this time wisely. Treat them as I would any artist I had hired. First round of pictures of a sweeping Ariel forest landscape comes through and it's not bad. They submit a ton of work and one or two of the 40 are ok. Nearly on brief. So first round feedback goes through and I tell them about the perspective mistakes, colour changes I want, layers that any matte painting would be split into. Within a day I get 5 variants. Not changes to the ones I wanted but variations.

Again. Benefit of the doubt I give them another round of feedback making it clear. Next day it's worse. I sit there and patiently paint over, even explaining the steps I would take as a painter. They don't do it, anomalies start appearing when I say I want to keep the exact image but with changes. They can't. They simply don't have the eye to see the basic mistakes so the Ai starts to over compensate. We get people starting to appear in the images. These are obviously holiday snaps.

"Remove the people"

"What would you like them changed to?"

"... grass. I just don't want them there"

They can't do it. The one that can actually use photoshop hasn't developed the eye to see his mistakes, ends up getting angry at me for not understanding he can't make specific changes. The girl whose background was a little photography has given me 40 progressively worse images with wilder mistakes every time. This is 4 days into the project.

I'm both pissed about the waste, but elated seeing ai fall at the first hurdle. It's not even that the images are unusable, the people making them have no eye for what's wrong, no thicker skin for constructive criticism and feedback, no basic artistic training in perspective and functionality in what they're making.

Yes the hype is going to pump more money into this. They won't go anywhere for a while But this has been such a glowing perfect moment of watching the fundamental part fail in the face of the most simple tasks. All were fired and the company no longer accepts Ai prompters as applicants. Your training as an artist will always be the most important part of this process and it is invaluable. I hope this post gives you a boost in a dark time.

/End Image Description

This machine kills AI

[forsaken-headcanons]

okay , I have this stupid hc that Noob's parents are John Doe and Jane Doe.. so.. uh hc time, I guess ! (this is so embarrassing I'm actually gonna do backflips💔🙁 but I need someone to rant to this special interest IS insane ohhuh) no anonymous because I'm very, very, brave.

— The two suffered complications with fertility, so when Jane found out she was pregnant, despite it being planned, she felt a little scared to tell John and anxious in general about the situation. She knew she could trust him, but what if he had suddenly changed his mind? What if something went wrong during the pregnancy and she was the one to blame? (I headcannon her to be a big worrier, especially after John went missing.) BUUUT all went well so that's good !

— John Doe was noticeably a bit more protective of Jane whilst she was carrying Noob. Despite her protests of being independent, he coddled her and wanted to make sure everything was okay.

— Jane dealt with a lot of lower back pain, always sore and upset especially near the end of her pregnancy so John gave her a lot of massages lol (which I think he'd be pretty good at..)

— After Noob was born, Jane suffered from postpartum depression for a little, also being driven to sadness by her worries of being a bad mother. John took care of the baby primarily for that time, wanting to let Jane rest and reassure the woman about her motherhood.

— Jane did recover from the depression after a hard battle, and succeeded in being a pretty good mother! The three often cuddled on their couch all together, just cracking jokes and sharing body warmth.

— When Noob started to experiment with their dressing style [party noob skin, etc.] as a teen, the pair were very accepting of it, letting the teen thrift or buy clothes. (I like to think John and Jane are a bit wealthy, but not too wealthy.)

—When John went missing, Jane fell into another spiral, often crying or sitting in the darkness of her room. Noob was concerned but knew they couldn't do anything, only trying to reassure their mother that they'll find John soon. (Bad news for them, he was never found 💔.)

Anyways that's all for now, I'm supposed to be asleep..

awh jane :( never thought about them being a family but gods imagine the pain noob felt when they saw their own father as a killer for the first time. all those hours spent with their mother, cuddling when it felt so much colder with their family left uncomplete, hanging missing posters everywhere, all for naught. shaking them around

[inkwitchgames]

Full Name: Ramón Ortiz Species: Vampire Age: 295 Star Sign: Aries Height: 6ft0 Traits: gentle, honorable, protective, vengeful, volatile

Born into a prominent Cuban family in the 19th century, Ramón's first 31 years were ones of wealth and entitlement. But when his politician-father bit off more than he could chew, it was Ramón who ultimately paid the price.

Ramón is reeling from his imprisonment at Facility 4. The past 22 years are a drug-ravaged haze, memories of thousands upon thousands of experiments slipping just out of his grasp—thanks to the blocker bullet he took for you.

He recalls just enough to know that you were somehow important to him—that nagging sense of connection he can't seem to shake—and that the ones who did this need to pay.

But a lot's changed since Ramón went AWOL; there's a new king in town, and the two of them have unfinished business.

He just doesn't know it yet.

Hispanic male. 6ft0, stocky. Light brown skin and deep red eyes. Natural ear-length dark hair in a swept-back style. Dark, thick eyebrows, straight nose, full lips, and a lobe and mid-helix piercing on his right ear. Thick but short canine fangs, incredibly sharp. Generally sticks to dark, classically edgy-style clothing.

His favorite types of stories when he was young were of outlaws in the wild west.

His default SC outfit isn't what he likes best—he's all about those silky shirts from the Empire District with the buttons half undone.

Speaks 7 languages; picks them up very fast.

Had a habit of forgetting things long before the memory blocker—the bad shit he did.

It takes a lot for him to consider his own actions 'bad shit'.

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (15/20)

Hey, my boos!

We are getting at the final chapter....I know I know! Actually, I'm trying to write the perfect ending but my routine is so crazy! I'm thinking to stop for few days to organize it, and then, back.

Anyway! I'll let you know, okay?

Enjoy it!

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: angst.

Pairing: Governor! Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: Agatha finds your behavior strange.

Skewer

noun

a tactic where a more valuable piece (like a king, queen, or rook) is attacked, and when it moves to defend itself, a less valuable piece behind it is exposed and can be captured. It's essentially the opposite of a pin, where the less valuable piece is in front.

The smell of fresh-brewed coffee was the same. Strong, bitter, and persistent. Thanos loved making coffee. It was one of his small daily gestures, a ritual that seemed like affection.

“Do you have a meeting today?” He’d ask, still in expensive cotton pajamas, leaning against the kitchen doorframe.

“I do, at the Chamber.”

Silence would follow, broken only by the soft clinking of a spoon against a mug.

“Don’t you think you’re getting too involved in all this? Politics is… dirty.”

She pretended not to hear, took a sip. “That’s exactly why.”

Thanos gave her a small, measured smile. The kind that always came before a perfectly crafted phrase.

“I just think it’s too much exposure. It changes people, Agatha.”

She smiled back. Because smiling was easier than arguing. Because he never yelled, never laid a hand on her. And yet, every word felt like an invisible clamp pinning down her wings.

Their house in the Hamptons was beautiful. Classic, quiet, and immaculate. She used to run her fingers along the golden frames in the hallway, where his diplomas were displayed.

Economics at Oxford. MBA at Yale—where he’d been her mentor during undergrad, and how they met—and a smaller frame with her name on it, from a speech she gave at Harvard.

A speech Thanos had read and rewritten three times before letting her take the stage.

“It’s not about censorship, love. It’s just a matter of tone. You tend to sound… aggressive when you talk about the system, and no one likes aggressive women.”

That night, Agatha didn’t sleep.

She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember when exactly she started being tamed. When she had been boxed up and commanded.

On their wedding anniversary, Thanos took her to a French restaurant, all candlelight and background piano.

A toast to love!

He gave her a gift: a pearl necklace. 

And she gave a speech. Polished and empty.

On the way home, in the car, Thanos placed his hand on her leg.

“See? When you want to, you know how to behave. Everyone loved you tonight.”

She never wore the necklace.

Years later, she could still remember the taste of that wine. The scent of his skin. The impenetrable silence that filled the house.

And how, on the outside, everything looked perfect. 

The businessman and his wife. The philanthropy. The meetings. The smiling photos at gala dinners with his investors.

And a woman slowly disappearing inside herself.

[...]

The bathroom mirror was fogged up, steam curling up the tiled walls. Agatha braced her hands on the cold marble sink. Her reflection looked younger today or maybe just more real.

Her body still pulsed with what had happened a few hours earlier.

The tight stall.The bass thumping through the walls. The taste of your kiss. The muffled moans against your neck.

She closed her eyes.

God, that had been wrong.

So wrong.

Inappropriate, reckless, impossible.

And yet...

She thought of you.

So young.

But it wasn’t just your age. You were movement, impulse. Raw, generous desire.

You gave yourself like someone who had never learned to hold back, like someone who hadn’t been broken into small enough pieces to fear pleasure yet.

And that… that destroyed her, because she wanted to break you.

Wasn’t it wrong?

Yes.

Of course it was.

But... maybe not that wrong.

What happened in that bed, in that stall, it wasn’t casual. You touched her with hunger, with reverence, with a kind of freedom Agatha thought she had buried under layers of power, fear, and duty.

Freedom.

The word echoed with a summer taste.

Being with you was like an unexpected breeze on a stifling afternoon. A light, cool, rebellious wind. The kind that enters without asking, slams windows, sends papers flying, and makes curtains flutter like freed ghosts.

You were that.

An impossible wind.

And Agatha…

She’d spent her whole life closing windows.

She sighed, bracing herself on the sink, and remembered the word:

Mommy.

You always called her that, like it meant nothing. Or maybe it did?

It didn’t matter.

Because the effect was immediate and consuming.

It wasn’t just erotic, no—although it was, searing and incandescent to her. It was what it said about how you saw her.

With surrender, with trust, and need.

Agatha shuddered.

She felt exposed, yes. But also… adored. As if, for one night, she’d stepped out of her armor, as if someone had seen something in her beyond strategy and control.

You saw her. Whole. And still… you wanted her.

You were so sweet you might have been naive. There was a wild insolence in you, a thirst that never apologized.

You wanted the world and you wanted her. Even with her contradictions, her sharpness, her fears and mistakes.

And for some reason... that didn’t scare her.

Not like it should.

You were intense, generous, unfiltered, and maybe— just maybe—The best thing that had happened to her in seventeen years.

She straightened slowly, running her fingers through the wet dark strands falling over her shoulders. The robe touched her skin with silent tenderness.

She took a deep breath.

Maybe she wasn’t the kind of woman who deserved love, maybe she wasn’t the kind who knew how to love, but for now… maybe she could allow herself.

After all, even the most powerful king was once just a pawn trying to cross the board.

When Agatha stepped out of the shower with her hair still damp, skin warm under the cotton robe, she didn’t expect to find the bed so quiet.

You were there, lying on your side, one knee bent, sleeping deeply on the messy sheets.

She stopped, just watched you.

You breathed slowly, long strands falling across your cheek. Moonlight slipped through the cracks in the curtain, sketching soft shapes across your face.

So young.

So confident. 

and yet… so, so reckless.

She sat down beside you but didn’t dare touch. She just stayed there, watching over you like someone guarding something precious and fleeting.

That night, she slept beside you without armor. 

And dreamed of freedom.

In the morning, the shift was obvious.

You woke up first. Spoke little, almost distant. Irritation shimmered in your eyes, even though you tried to hide it.

Agatha furrowed her brow, confused. But she slipped the armor back on and didn’t ask.

Like every dream, your days of peace had ended.

The car drove in silence back toward Seattle.

She gripped the wheel with one hand, the other resting on her thigh in anxious stillness.

You stared out the window. Silent, closed off and inaccessible.

“Is everything okay?” She asked in the gentlest tone she knew, though it still came out stiff, almost automatic.

You just nodded.

“You can drop me three blocks before campus.”

Just like this. Dry and unaffectionate.

“Alright.”

And when the car stopped, you murmured a thank-you far too soft to reach her fully.

She didn’t reply with words. Just nodded, feeling her heart crack with a silence so heavy it ached in her bones.

She shouldn’t be this shaken. It was just sex. Just youth —in the purest sense of the word. Just a detour in the middle of a war.

But why…

Why did it feel so wrong to leave you there?

Hours later, back at her house, the longing ached in the most unexpected corners of her body.

Where was her good girl? That one who smiled with her eyes and obeyed with her body?

Where had she gone?

“Mom?”

Nicky’s voice snapped her out of it.

She smiled, drained.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

He walked in slowly, his eyes too perceptive for someone so young. He noticed the small suitcase and the fatigue on her face.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied too quickly. “I went to Oregon. Some company matters to sort out...”

Even to her own ears, the excuse sounded hollow.

She loved her son, with every cell in her body. But holding a real conversation with him—one that didn’t involve numbers, deadlines, or expectations—felt like trying to grasp something that always slipped through her fingers.

Still, she tried. As she always did, even if it was already too late.

She stepped closer and took his hands gently, as if trying to touch something that no longer belonged to her.

“Tell me, sweetheart… how are things? The SATs are coming up and—”

“Mom, please.”

He sighed, eyes shifting away—impatient, yes, but there was something else.

A deeper fatigue. 

An old disappointment.

“Can we, just this once, not talk about that?”

Agatha froze.

“About what…?”

“This. School. College. Career. How I always have to be perfect. How you only—”

He stopped himself, swallowing hard, like choosing between speaking and not hurting her.

“What is it, Nicky?” Her voice came out smaller, frightened. “Talk to me.”

“It’s just… sometimes it feels like you know me as a resume, not as a son.”

The words landed like a punch to the stomach.

He went on, calmer now, but cruel in his honesty.

“When I was little, we used to go to the park. You made picnics, you’d run with me. You laughed, mom!”

His eyes were shimmering with tears.

“Now I don’t even know what you like to do in your free time. I don’t even know if you have free time.”

Agatha felt her chest collapse inward.

“Sweetheart, I…”

What could she say?

That she was trying? That she’d spent years walking invisible tightropes just to keep everything running? That loving the right way always seemed to slip from her grasp?

He shook his head, disappointed.

“You keep asking what I want to be, but have you ever stopped to ask what you’ve become?”

Silence.

A brutal pause in time.

He let go of her hands with care. It wasn’t violent or cruel. It was just… final and that hurt more.

Agatha stood there, fingers still curled in empty air, as if she were still holding the five-year-old who used to run through fields with scraped knees and an easy smile.

But he was gone.

“I’m sorry…” she said, but he was already walking out the door.

And just like that, everything was loneliness again.

[...]

Dinner had been set for 7 PM sharp, but Agatha arrived at 7:10. Evanora had taught her well: Men should wait.

Tony Stark was already at the table of an upscale restaurant in downtown Seattle, a nearly untouched glass of white wine in front of him.

When he saw her, he smiled like an ad campaign — standing with the practiced charm of a seasoned flirt.

“Agatha Harkness,” he said, taking her hand as if she were rare porcelain. “You look stunning.”

She looked him dead in the eye, then withdrew her hand and casually wiped it on her dress.

“Spare me the bullshit, Tony. Let’s get to the point. Tell me what you want.”

She sat down without ceremony, crossing her legs with surgical precision.

He gave a low chuckle, settling into his seat with the smugness of a man who thought he was in control.

“What I want?” He twisted the ring on his finger, pretending to think. “I want you… submissive.”

Agatha laughed. It was loud, unexpected and a little terrifying.

“Submissive?” She repeated, leaning over the table, eyes gleaming. “Oh, Stark… how many years have you been dreaming about that?”

“Since you wore that blue pantsuit in the Senate. Almost gave me a heart attack.”

She smiled, but now it was pure ice.

“Shame it didn’t finish the job.”

Tony laughed, but there was a sharpness under the surface.

“No need to pretend you’re still some saint in heels. We’ve all sold something to get where we are. I’m just offering a better price.”

She leaned back in her chair, studying him like one would examine a dissected animal.

“You’re pathetic.”

He opened the black folder beside his plate with a theatrical snap.

“And you’re predictable.”

She saw them.

Photos.

Full color.

Too sharp. Too clear.

Her, at your dorm room door—that night when she couldn’t think of anything but you. You, stepping into her car wearing that purple sweater, still smelling like Cuir de Beluga—Agatha could still smell it. Your faces much too close to be professional.

She froze.

Tony turned the first image toward her and smiled like a snake.

“Didn’t know our golden woman had a thing for little girls.”

Agatha’s face remained impassive, but her hand gripped the glass so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“You’re bluffing.” She said quietly.

“Am I?”

He pushed more photos her way.

“You think the public will understand? A powerful fifty-year-old woman with a college girl in her lap? It all sounds very… nineties. And look…” he pointed at one photo. “this one’s right in front of her dorm. Underage or not, the headlines write themselves.”

Agatha didn’t respond immediately.

She took a deep breath and picked up one of the photos, examining it closely.

Tony seemed to savor the silence.

“You could end all this with a nod, Agatha. Be reasonable. Back my campaign. Step down with dignity, and maybe… I’ll offer you a role. Something symbolic. Decorative. Pretty. Like you.”

God, he was so repulsive.

Her stomach turned. The wine threatened to rise.

Agatha looked at him.

For a second, something in her face faltered. A muscle in her jaw, a tremble in her lower lip.

But she didn’t break.

Not there.

Agatha would never break in front of a man.

She gathered the photos one by one, each motion calculated and precise.

“Are you finished?” She asked, emotionless.

“For now.” He replied, smug.

She stood.

Her dress skirt was immaculate. Her posture, flawless. But there was a shadow in her eyes, a crack only the very observant would see.

Tony thought he’d won.

And maybe… for the first time in a long while, Agatha wasn’t sure he was wrong.

~*~

Can I kill Tony?

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqlz @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights @dingdongthetail @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi @milfovers4 @jaylie-bee @holystrangersalad @chlondykebar @natashashill @harknessshi @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @ahintofchaos @lowlyjelly @xblinkx2 @rmaximoff @loveshineslikethesky

[neowqing]

Neil had no idea how many clothes he needed, he had one bag that contained everything he needed, so new shopping, initiated by Alison, sounds like an unnecessary expense. She picks up his trousers, his sweatshirts, hides a top among the pile, and ignores Neil's raised eyebrows, generally he's glad Alison doesn't ask his opinion, and she even gets into what wearing Neil, except for the top, but: "it's not up for discussion" was said coldly and firmly, Neil won't argue with her.

He carries his things into the room, leaving the bag behind, only then noticing Andrew's presence, sitting on the beanbag chair, appraising what Neil is wearing now. Alison had made him change in the shop, immediately after paying, and ordered him to throw away the clothes he was wearing because "even a homeless man respects himself more" it was rude, but Alison didn't tolerate arguing about it, already having an argument about the hole in the waistband of his trousers and a bunch of stains that couldn't be washed.

Neil makes a circle, showing all his new clothes: baggy, comfortable, trousers, a long T-shirt and an unbuttoned sweatshirt, of course, comfortable, not distinguished.

"Hmm" Andrew rises from his seat to walk over, he lifts his T-shirt up, not enough to show skin, just enough to show the waistband of his trousers. "It would be better without clothes. Both the T-shirt and the trousers are unnecessary."

Neil takes this negatively.

"Not everyone is as highly aesthetic as you."

Andrew humours as he leaves the room, his favourite of all the things he bought being the top he learns about from Renee.

[lllunaverde]

𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫

"I thought of my father's loneliness and felt every cell in my body fall silent. And knew this was love. And knew that I had come very far in my distance. To let tenderness rule me." Jennifer Chang, from "Dialogues (Against Literature)"

NOTES: reposting my old works. please always read my general rules first.

©lllunaverde, july 2023

Men who are always in need but only shows the littlest surface of how deep their desire is to the little affections.

Sex is different. It's easy to them, always has been. Always initiative, assertive. Easy to them to make you dripping of a mess with only a few trails of their wet and hot lips to your skin, soft mumbles they utter along with their heavy but ever caring touches—will always have you whimpering of that little breaths they so love hearing.

It's easy, nonetheless new to them every time. You both love it that way.

Though what you found to love more is their undeniable need they keep at bay but evidently seen and especially felt no matter how they think it's not noticable.

It's in the aftermath of making you come with their mouth, trembling thighs they lovingly caress as they drink up your essence, always ignoring your cry of soft whines, telling them to stop, you're sensitive but they only hum that low vibration in their throat as their tongue continues to lap up on you, lips making that sucking noises. Even as every last drop was consumed, they continue to have their mouth latched on your heat, eyes that never seems to break from its daze. They can't stop. They don't want to.

When that said is done yet again, they take their time having their mouth climb up to you. Always entranced by the softness and thickness of your flesh everywhere. Taking a deep breath every nuzzle they make, palms and fingers that never stops to feel you up. He basks in the comfort you have, that you give to him.

Sweet incoherent nothings they mumble. It's in the fleeting moments of sweetness before he has you crying as he fucks you into oblivion. It's in the short agonizing pleasure of being high as he has his mouth whispering, mumbling words to continue again and again.

It's in the end of the night of him tending to you, always making sure you rest to your sleep rightly and comfortably.

But most of all.

It's in his seek of your warmth as you both rest. Face always buried in your neck, your chest or your stomach. It's you who holds him. It's him who lays in your arms. It's you caressing his hair that lulls him to sleep.

It's in the morning as he clings to you lazily and yet strongly once they feel you wake and trying to get up. It's in the dismissal of his stomach rumbling from hunger, ignoring that you just said you'll make breakfast--just so he could lie down longer with you beside him.

It's either in the tight or lazy hold they keep you in from behind as you finally make yourselves breakfast. It's either in their silence or mumbling as you asked for space to be able to cook freely and easily--they just stay there. And you're always left with no choice but to work in the kitchen with a big man clinging to you like that.

It's in the moment before parting from each other as you both have own agendas to get to before the day starts. Your full cheeks squished in between their brawny fingers as your waist were locked by their arm while he kisses you endlessly. It's in the seconds of him grasping your hand before your arm could fully slide away from his hold. Roughly yet softly mumbling a 'one more' as he gives you that lazy and daze look while yours were ever gentle but bright with a little breath of laugh leaving you as you stood there at a little distance from him, waiting for that kiss. It's in the seconds that turns into minutes from your little pecks you give him that he continues with his urgent kisses.

It's in the mundane of days doing nothing but your leisurely hobby, even as that, he's so close to your side. Touching whatever they can. Whether they'd be mindlessly staring at you or they're doing their own thing--a hand is always touching you. It's in the moments of him falling his head to your shoulder, nuzzling his face to your plushness there and you know it's time to put down whatever it is you're doing. Or be it him uttering a few words before he hooks his arm on your waist and carry you to the bedroom.

It's in the moments of being out together. His hand never parts from you, whether it's just holding your hand. Or him so close by your side, his arm around your waist with his palm resting on your plush belly.

It's in the sweetest moment to the eyes of others as you both fall in line to checking out the grocery you got. His arm still around you, body leaning down as his head will fall to your shoulder, on your back or on your neck while your own hand either rests tenderly on his face or his waist as you two wait there. Having to get used to the stares you always get from the little touches he does on you that you as well reciprocate.

It's all in those moments where you feel most loved. It's all in those moments he does because he wants to, because he knows what you feel over them. You don't know that he knows it all.

Yes, they keep that kind of need at bay. But each act, each moment wades the ocean of what he holds for you.

[blondedhunny]

butterflies | hamzahthefantastic x reader

y/n and hamzah go from childhood enemies to practical strangers to budding lovers.

you’d only given in because you were lonely.

you hadn’t even seen hamzah since you were both in school (back when your mother was strict on hosting those biweekly dinners and inviting neighbors to gather in your home — you always assumed this was due to her personal craving for interaction that she lacked desperately with your father’s long hours). you saw hamzah as brash and attention-seeking at that age. you remember how he’d dig his asparagus into his upper lip and get the other boys to follow suit; a table of walruses all barking aggressively and cackling boyish laughs. and you’d sit there glaring from across the table, finding the act embarrassing and awkward considering the rest of you were trying to eat your dinner.

he was especially rude. you remembered when he’d kissed his teeth and mumbled, “c’mon don’t invite her,” to your older brother when passing you on the way up the stairs. he’d always make sure you weren’t involved in their games or conversations. he found you annoying and bitchy— he’d say you were “no fun” within earshot, and he laughed when his friends would point you out.

in high school he fully ignored your existence. somehow avoided you when you’d frequent his living room during winter of your sophomore year, after being paired with his sister for a project. the most he’d spoke to you at the time was a general statement spoken to the entire room as he was leaving (clad in a heavy puffer jacket and beanie), “don’t do anything stupid while i’m gone, and if mom and dad call i fell asleep early.” but you remembered when he was eventually dropped off by his loud-mouth friends and approached the door just as you were leaving; when he recognized you he’d said, “leavin’ already?” with red eyes and a weirdly natural smile. you told him you’d been there for hours and needed to go home and he told you good night.

you didn’t expect the next time you’d interact with him properly to be at the deli in your hometown grocery store. while you were home for a much needed break from school, the cold winter air stripping your skin of moisture, and your mother suggesting you go out and buy a chicken to roast for dinner. where you’d stand next to him again and observe this version of him. you realized he was taller and more reserved, with glasses on his face and his signature charming way of interacting with the man across the counter.

you stared off and away from him to remove any attention from yourself, attempting to look bored while waiting your turn.

“what have you been up to, jonesie?”

you blinked and tried to remain unbothered, looking over to hamzah, “hey, i didn’t even recognize you.”

he smiled like he couldn’t believe you, “reaallyy?”

you shrugged your shoulders, “yeah,” your lips curled just a bit as you joked, “must be the glasses.”

“ah shit, the glasses threw you off, huh?” he echoed in an almost-whisper.

“they don’t look bad on you,” your reply was genuine but delivered as an accidental flirt.

“yeah? thanks.” he pauses, “you’ve changed a bunch too.”

“thank you, i think?”

“wasn’t sayin’ it like it’s bad … just, y’know … different.” he glances from your eyes to your entire figure.

“i think your, um, steak chops are ready,” you raised and pointed your finger behind him.

his eyes went wide and he laughed under his breath, thanking the store clerk loudly and returning his gaze back to you, “thanks. i’m havin’ a little get together at my parents house this weekend while they’re out at a cabin. nothing big but i’m sure my sister wouldn’t mind seein’ you again.”

“i guess you haven’t changed too much, still throwing high school parties at 22?” you couldn’t help but throw a dig.

he shrugged with a mocking pout, “and i can see you’re still just as much of a brat at 20.”

and after watching your brother leave the house once your parents fell asleep, with a beer bottle in each jacket pocket (and nothing more than a quip of “later” to you before returning to his phone call with who you can assume to be his long-time girlfriend), you contemplated if you’d take up hamzah’s invite.

the house was quiet and you felt overwhelmingly lonely.

you were at his front door within the same hour, by that time the “little get together” had become a full on function with people covering every inch of wall space inside and the smell of cigarette smoke left wafting over the lawn outside.

you bite your lip and consider leaving out of the stuffy space for your own mental wellbeing.

then you see him, right in front of you, at the end of the hallway, with a fitted hat atop his head, pushing wisps of black curls out by his ears. he’s dressed casually in a tee and jeans but keeps a slim chain of silver around his neck that surprises you.

you knew you’d see him here but you’re not sure what you planned to say. and now you feel extremely hot with your pink puffer jacket surrounding your figure. you begin to push your arms out of it and search for a closet.

you open a few different doors, excusing yourself through the crowd, before reaching a closet with a good amount of coats thrown about rather than properly hung. “here i gotcha,” you hear him softly behind you.

you glance at him and receive a smile as he takes the coat from your hand, “thanks,” you reply and move slightly to give him room to slot next to you.

you watch his hands while he places the bubblegum-colored jacket onto a hanger, “your brother’s here … somewhere.” he mumbles out.

“oh, yeah, i saw him go. i was still debating at the time.”

“had to contemplate whether i was good enough? wowww,” he chuckles and looks down at you, “i get it though, your time is most precious.”

your wrists circle before landing with your palms at the ceiling as you shrug, “at least you know.” you tilt your head, “and who says i came here for you?”

he nods his head, “you’re right. can i get you something to drink, sweetheart?”

“you think you’re cute, huh?” you laugh at his pet name but take up his offer kindly, allowing him to hold your back and guide you.

“you don’t drink?” he asks while leaning on the counter. you’re bent at your waist, reaching to grab a can of sprite from the fridge’s depths.

you shake your head with a downturned pout, “no. i’ve seen what it does to people.” you stand next to him and pop the tab of the can with a small crack. “and i’m not interested in feeling any of that.” your face turns up in what hamzah thinks is the cutest expression of disgust, like a bunny.

he blinks his squinted eyes and purposely coughs as he pushes away the cold beer he was once sipping, “yeah, totally fucking … gross.” he shakes his head in disapproval and you laugh at his antics.

“it’s okay that you drink, i’m not a prude or a bore.” you swallow more of your sugary drink.

“i never thought that, i know you’re not boring.”

“but you think i’m a prude?” you correct with a smile.

you can see him debate his response before he signals a flap of his hand as to say ‘maybeeee?’

“i’m not!” you defend.

he raises his arms in defense, “look, i’m not judging but i’m not seein’ a world where y/n jones is wildin’ out.”

“you’d be surprised,” you joke and try to hide your laugh through another sip.

his eyes widen and he gives a hefty laugh, “oh?!”

you aren’t the usual flirty type but hamzah brings that energy out of you— you can tell if it’s a hidden crush within that you hadn’t seen before, or an obvious mutual attraction, or maybe things are just that evolutionary when you’re 20. you’re still trying to put it together as he performs a public serenade in the form of karaoke in his spacious living room. he sings michael jackson’s butterflies with a few of his boys giving adlibs and snaps of their fingers, and you sit with your legs crossed at the knee giving a shimmy of your shoulders to the instrumental.

you feel your cheeks burn and your sprite threaten to spill from your mouth once he’s finished and lifting you off of the couch to spin you around bridal style. you shout his name and tell him that’s enough while he laughs and thanks the audience he’s gathered.

he sets you on your feet and takes your hand, leading you out to his backyard. when you begin to complain about the cold, he tells you he’ll start a bonfire to keep you warm.

he pokes at prods at the fire starter as it slowly builds in flames, “i’m glad you came.”

“me too.”

he takes a seat in the foldable chair next to yours, letting his neck relax and his gaze fixate on the dark sky slowly clouding with smoke from the fire. “i always kinda liked you, y’know? in school and stuff.”

you bite the side of your mouth and stare at the tips of the flame in front of you, “i don’t know what to say,” you whisper.

“i don’t know what i want you to say. i guess i just needed to tell you that. in case i seem super full-on.” his voice grows smaller with every sentence.

you pause, “i always thought you were rude when we were kids. you remember those nights at my house with dinner and our mom’s gossiping in the kitchen while we all played?”

“come on jonesie, can’t forget cooking that good. your mom knows her way around the kitchen for sure,” he glances over to you, staring at the way the fire’s light brings out the warmth in your deep complexion.

“yeah. i just thought you hated me or had something against me all along. you weren’t very nice to me back then. and in high school we were just on two different paths … i wanted nothing to do with you.”

“ouch, damn, girl … i get it, though.” he takes his hat off of his head to ruffle in his hair then replace it once more, “i didn’t know how to be emotional at the time. i was scared of finding a girl attractive, i didn’t know what to do with it so i deflected and would rather you want to avoid me than actually admit anything. plus you were younger and—”

“by two years,” you squint your eyes. as if your age difference was that ridiculous.

“it’s just tricky ‘cause once we got older it started to feel wrong, i mean you’re, like, my sister’s age.”

“so what makes it right this time?” you finally make eye contact, his eyes wider than they usually are, like he wants you to see them and read his soul through the deep brown windows you’re given.

“because when i saw you at the grocery store, i couldn’t help but smile, i got excited hearing your voice, seeing you on your own rather than in comparison to people around us. seeing you walk in my front door just now, looking this good. am i reading shit wrong or does this feel right?”

“i think it feels right,” you look away from him, behind you, towards the loud and rowdiness that the two of you are missing out on, instead holding this heavy conversation you hadn’t quite signed up for when coming to this party.

he silently reaches over to hold onto your wrist, slowly drifting his touch to your dainty, polished fingernails, “good.” you look back at him after feeling his warm hands, “shit got super serious, now i’m feelin’ a bit gnarly. d’you wanna go back inside?”

you use your thumb to rub over his hand softly, consoling his brain, “thanks for sharing that with me, hamzah.” your lips go a little pouty.

“of course, i just— had to let you know,” he scoots himself towards the front of his chair and stares at the fire, “‘cause i like getting to know you again.”

you spent the next week and a half home from college either with hamzah, or on the phone with different college friends and roommates completely gushing over him.

you took a few hometown girlfriends with you to get a new dress to wear for your first date with him; you ended up being slightly overdressed for the mid-budget restaurant he’d taken you to, but he noted that you were a woman of class and a dinner date was clearly an event to you.

another time he took you to the aquarium and you enjoyed taking pictures of him with the fish and reading the signs out loud with his arms wrapped over your shoulders as if you were educating him with knowledge straight from your brain. you found a photo booth outside of the freshwater exhibit and took multiple strips of photos together and some separate; hamzah put your solo strip in his wallet proudly.

you brought in the new year together, and hamzah respected your wish to wait to kiss him properly, settling for a warm new year’s embrace and kiss on the cheek. he whispered affirmations and sweet nothings into your ear while everyone around you cheered and danced in the glitter-filled air.

one evening you declared it far too cold to have a picnic so instead, you both took a long walk in the park, with layers of clothes on as if you were a pair of snowmen treading through the covered concrete.

hamzah liked to send you songs throughout his day; you found out about his shazam obsession very quickly.

your parents were petrified you’d even consider asking them if hamzah could stay over for the first time. they assumed you lost your mind and as soon as a lecture began to set in hamzah dismissed himself with a kiss to your forehead and kind goodbyes to your parents before walking a block away to his family’s home. you thought they were ridiculously harsh on you when it came to your newfound connection; they questioned what you could possibly like about him, “he’s been trouble his entire life,” or “aren’t you embarrassed? the boy couldn’t find someone his own age to date because he’s so damn childish, he had to date you?” you always were at his defense, you know he’d do the same for you. so you would often lie about your whereabouts to spend a night or two over at hamzah’s, where you snuck in and out, stayed up late picking each other’s brains or watching movies with your favorite snacks.

tonight is your final night together, before you’re both back on your respective campuses, with a four hour car ride separating you. he planned to take you to a nearby drive in movie, making effort to gather blankets, pillows, and a pairing of chocolate and strawberries — separate as you’ve expressed how disappointing the reality of chocolate-covered strawberries is for you (you find the strawberries can be mushy and distasteful if not freshly dipped).

the drive-in is surprisingly full of people, rows of cars fill the lot; couples on dates, families enjoying movie night on break, friends looking for a way to end their long winter days.

you feed hamzah strawberries every so often and attempt to pay attention to the storyline but the plot of step-brothers is no where near as interesting as talking to hamzah, or even better, kissing him.

you complain gently, like a kitten purring for an extra feeding, or a very needy twenty-something sat across from her handsome … situation. he’s got his legs spread ever-so-slightly and his jaw works a piece of dark chocolate, his eyes are shadowed by his signature hat slouched over his curls, his lips glistening in berry juice. your eyes can’t leave him and your brain is torn between the sadness of your final night together and the extreme heated lust radiating off of you.

“here,” you prop a strawberry up towards his mouth again, watching as he bites it without wavering his eyes from the screen in front of him. the juice flows out from the sides of his mouth like a fountain and you’re quick to gather it onto your finger and lick it off.

hamzah, unfortunately, loves this movie and while he’s laughing his ass off you’re contemplating the best way to tell him you want him. “mmm, i don’t know if i like this movie …” you shift closer and rub his bicep gently.

“what? really? this movie’s practically a classic, c’mon.” his eyes stay focused ahead.

“think i’m just missin’ you already.” you mumble-sigh.

he places his hand in yours and squeezes, “‘m right here, all yours.”

“but you’re not listening. i don’t wanna watch this anymore, hamzah,” you try not to sound too frustrated but you want him to look at you. to want you too.

he faces you finally, “y/n, what’s the problem, baby? acting like a brat right now, for what?”

you drop his hand swiftly, “a brat? really? good choice of words.”

“you have better words for this act?” his eyebrows pinch together.

“i just wanted your attention for a second,” you look away.

“and because i didn’t give you immediate attention, i fucked up?” he’s on defense, with his face plastered with irritation.

you’re aware of how you both are pushing each other away; because you both know it’d be easier to leave this entire moment with hate for each other because at least the attachment wouldn’t grow in your time apart. but you decide to be the stronger person and resolve what was never an issue in the first place, before blood is drawn and cuts go deeper.

“no, no. i’m sorry that’s not what i meant. i was being a brat. but it hurts hearing you call me that as if i didn’t hear it enough from you and everyone else when i was younger.”

hamzah seems confused, like he was ready for you to curse him and get out of his car dramatically. “i’m sorry too. i’m gonna miss you like hell, i just … don’t wanna think about tomorrow or even a week from now, without you, right now.”

“yeah, that’s all i wanted, for us to be together right now.” you agree.

“i know,” he leans across the console to hug you as best as he can.

he’s warm and his cologne has you weak. you begin leaving small kisses on his neck mumbling ‘thank you’ repeatedly.

when he pulls away he holds onto your jaw, looking into your dark eyes with his own. “you really don’t wanna watch this shit, huh?” you move your head slowly back and forth as your response. and he leans back into his seat, letting go of you completely, “i don’t believe you.”

“really?” you lift yourself up and remove the oversized sweater you wore to reveal a tight tank top with skinny straps and material thin enough to expose your lack of bra. you lean over and nibble his ear gently before removing his hat and scrunching your hand into his hair. “is this okay?” you ask quietly.

he looks over your face then glances to your exposed cleavage with a grin, “fuck, yeah, this is more than okay.” his voice goes down to a low rasp, “do whatever you want with me.”

you move his hands, placing one in your hair to move it from your view, the other at your waist, gripping and rubbing the area. you grin, biting your bottom lip for an extra moment before leaning in, you place your lips on his giving a slow, tender touch. you pull back and pause before you deliver another one, allowing it to grow and build; from slow and tame to feverish and tongue-heavy. tiny moans escape the both of you without any shame.

“move the seat,” you barely get the words out.

once you had settled into hamzah’s lap there wasn’t a moment you’d left that spot, not until cars began pulling off and the main lights turned back on. your lips were buzzing and a little swollen at that point, you were more turned on by a lengthy makeout session than any man had made you feel the few times you’d had sex in college.

hamzah returned his hat to his head, this time placing it backwards, and wiped his own swollen lips before driving off with his hand spread, rubbing over the fullness of your thigh.

the drive was silent. nothing but wide smiles and lapping wind coming from the windows (the car was ridiculously hot once you two had finally crawled away from each other). “hamzah, i wanna play you something.” you reach for his phone connected to his car.

when unlocked, you play michael jackson’s butterflies. the only song that could describe your exact feelings and get you both to embrace the playful mood as you sing the passionate lyrics to each other.

you cried when hamzah said his goodbyes to you the next day. he went back to school three days before you. you were left in the same town you spent your most beloved days with him, now empty and alone. you cried so hard into his shoulder that he left with a wet patch, and he could only keep repeating, “i’ll be back for you” so many times before he also shed a few tears and continued to hold you in silence.

you’d never felt this attached to a person in such little time. it felt as if you were grieving him the moment he drove away from you.

he called you every night for the next five months until you could see eachother again, including the nights he’d spent in costa rica during his spring break with his college friends.

you surprised him at his college graduation, with flowers and strawberries and chocolate. and a kiss. you both cried and he told you you were nuts.

that summer you swear you fell in love.

[zoshizick]

i have some headcanons about how the characters of the digital circus looked and acted before they ended up in it and were just ordinary people (tw: suicide and self-harm themes)

ragatha: a brunette with a plump build; has light skin and tan easily; had acne during her teenage years and struggled to treat it; has a scar near her right eye; possibly has heterochromia; has bad habits (biting her nails, overeating when stressed); very weak-willed due to her mother's upbringing; suffers from scoliosis; hates the real estate agency where she works; tries to please her mother in any way, even though she hates her; attempted to smoke but quit due to the harsh smoke; has no father and lives with her mother and younger sister; is afraid of centipedes, as one crawled into her bunk bed while she was trying to sleep, and when she noticed it, she fell from the top bunk; ended up in the circus due to a workplace accident, possibly through a computer

jax: a dark-skinned curly brunette; slim build; has feminine, attractive features; smokes but has a very low tolerance for alcohol; wears braces; cowardly; has no friends and was bullied; plays the guitar (not very well) and, thinking of himself as cool, filmed himself playing and smoking a cigarette, possibly leading him to end up in the circus; is afraid of corn, as he accidentally ended up on a farm at night and something happened that traumatized him; thought about suicide but couldn't bring himself to do it due to fear

gangle: a pale, slender european girl; tried to save money for a trip to Japan due to her love of anime, but after dropping out of college, suffers from severe depression; unemployed; constantly stays at home and tries to find a way to survive, and when she fails, resorts to self-harm; a collector of cute things; a fan of japanese food and culture in general; wears oversized clothing and has a habit of squeezing her sleeves; has a squeaky but hoarse voice; ended up in the circus as a result of a suicide that she recorded on camera

zooble: tanned; has many symbolic tattoos and piercings; hates their appearance due to possible past bullying; constantly experiments with their looks; changes jobs in hopes of finding something they like, but due to inner self-disappointment, nothing works out; smokes and knows a lot about cigarettes and alcoholic drinks; always wears hoodies; ended up in the circus due to a suicide attempt

pomni: an average office-working american brunette; has deep bags under her eyes; often doesn't get enough sleep; frequently dyes her hair or experiments with her appearance; often hangs out in bars; has a short haircut; can't stand heels and office dress codes; ended up in the circus after yet another exploration of an abandoned place

kinger: a stately man with graying hair; wise beyond his years; entered the circus early, possibly through a computer, as he had been studying computer science for 7 years

[bloodandiron-if]

What are their thoughts about marriage and kids?

⚠️ LENGTHY CONTENT INCOMING ⚠️

- - -

OPERATIVE D-6

Marriage: Not something they’ve ever imagined. The concept is foreign, but not impossible. If the MC shows long-term love and safety, they could quietly want it—even if they don’t fully understand what it means.

Kids: Deeply conflicted. They were a very young child when they were taken, so the idea of protecting a child stirs something intense in them. They’d never suggest it, but they might watch the MC with kids (Reese maybe) and just… wonder.

I don’t know what that looks like, but if it’s with you… maybe.

- - -

DETECTIVE JUNO REYES

Marriage: Yes. They believe in it. It’s the logical extension of loyalty and commitment. If they love the MC, they want to marry them eventually—though in a more quiet and serious setting.

Kids: They’re open to it, but cautious. They’ve seen too much of the world to romanticize parenthood. If they do become a parent, they’ll be protective, structured, and emotionally present—but it has to be with the right partner by their side.

"If I ever settle down, it’s all in or not at all."

- - -

NICO/NIA RUSSO

Marriage: Cynical at first. They joke about it being a scam, something people do to ruin good sex. But if they fall hard for the MC? They might start imagining it against their better judgment. They’d need to feel truly seen and chosen before all that though.

Kids: Not right now. Maybe not ever. But in a future where they aren’t just scraping by, where they feel safe and steady? They might want one—maybe two—but it would be quite an anxious experience with lots of second-guessing.

"Marriage? That’s a con. But I mean… maybe. One day."

- - -

KIERAN/KIERA MYLES

Marriage: Doesn’t believe in the institution, but does believe in loyalty. They’ll commit—but in their own way. A ceremony? Maybe, if it means something to the MC. But they’d rather carve a vow into skin than wear a ring.

Kids: No. Absolutely not. Not in this world, not with their past. They won’t change their mind easily, and even if they love the MC, they’ll remain adamant in their resistance.

"I’ve been claimed by worse things than love."

- - -

ALEX/ALEXI MONROE

Marriage: Yes. It’s something they quietly hope for, even if they never say it first. A stable partner, a safe home, maybe a quiet ceremony with soft music and no drama.

Kids: They’d like to have one or two—biological or adopted doesn’t matter. But only in a world where they’re not constantly looking over their shoulder. They want to give a child what they never had.

"A home. A future. Yeah… I want that."

- - -

ROWAN/RHEA CARTER

Marriage: Doesn’t care about legality or tradition—but they do believe in building a life together no matter what—so if the MC wants a ceremony, they’ll do it for them, not for the institution.

Kids: Yes—unapologetically so. They truly have the belief that teaching, protecting, and raising the next generation will give them a boost to survive and challenge the world. You can definitely count on them to be a fiercely passionate parent when it comes down to it.

"Children are revolutionaries waiting to bloom. And love should be chosen everyday."

[ddelylahh]

Cuddles And Something More.

Summary: After your heater breaks in the middle of winter, your boyfriend, changbin, takes matters into his own hands and buys you two matching onesies. After cuddling on the couch, things get a bit intense.

|Warnings!|: Fluffy smut, cuddling, mommy kink, hand job (CB receiving), praise, pet names (my love, bunny, mommy, pretty/sweet boy)

WC: it’s entirely too late for me to count this so I’ll do it when I wake up (4:13am Delylah here, hi!)

Note: IM SO TIREEDD PLS FORGIVE ME IF THERES SPELLING MISTAKES, ANYTHING SETTING-WISE CHANGED, OR IF THE STORY IS BAD IN GENERAL 💔

The cold in your apartment had reached legendary levels. The heater had given out days ago, and no amount of layering, tea, or glaring at the radiator had brought it back to life. You were currently bundled in three blankets on the couch, watching your breath fog the air as you waited for Changbin to return from his mysterious errand.

The door creaked open with a gust of freezing air—and in he came, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, a shopping bag in one hand and a triumphant grin on his face.

“I got the solution,” he declared.

“Is it a new heater?” you asked hopefully.

He scoffed. “No, something better. Something cozy, cute, and ridiculously couple-y.” He reached into the bag and pulled out… two oversized fleece onesies.

One was a soft, heather gray with a sleepy little bunny face stitched on the hood. The other—Changbin’s, clearly—was a warm blush pink with long ears and a tiny puff tail sewn onto the back.

You blinked. “You got yourself pink?”

He grinned proudly. “It’s my favorite color. And it’s a pig. And you are gonna look like the cutest little gray bunny in the world.”

You laughed softly as he handed you your onesie. “You’re so silly.”

“And adorable,” he added.

“Fine. I’ll give you that.”

Ten minutes later, you were both zipped up and tangled together under a thick blanket on the couch. The fleece onesies were warm, soft, and admittedly adorable. Changbin looked far too good in his—hood up, cheeks still a little pink, lips curved into that smug little smile he got when he knew you were staring.

You were. A lot.

He curled into your side with a sigh, resting his head on your shoulder. “Much better,” he mumbled. “You’re so warm.”

You wrapped your arm around him, letting your fingers run over the back of his head, threading through his soft dark hair. “Mmm. Poor baby. You’ve been freezing all day, huh?”

He hummed. “Yeah. Needed you.”

You smiled at the sound of his voice—low, sweet, already syrupy.

“You always need me,” you teased, brushing your nose against his temple. “You’re like a little baby bunny. So clingy and soft.”

“Mmhmm,” he murmured, shifting closer, his arm sliding around your waist. “I like it when you take care of me…”

The tone in his voice dropped ever so slightly. You felt the subtle change in the way he held you, his fingers grazing your waist like he didn’t want just warmth anymore.

“You like when I baby you, don’t you?” you cooed, letting your hand drift lower on his back.

He nodded slowly against your neck, his breath warm. “Yeah.”

“Of course you do. My sweet, spoiled boy.” Your voice dipped softer, more deliberate. “All dressed up in pink, snuggling in my lap like you’ve been waiting all day for me to pet you.”

He shivered, but definitely not from the cold. You let your hand slide over the zipper of his onesie at the back, just enough to feel the heat of his skin.

“Such a good little thing,” you whispered. “So cuddly. So warm for me.”

He let out a quiet sound, somewhere between a sigh and a breathless whine, and pressed his lips to your collarbone—soft at first, then slower, more lingering. His fingers clenched at your side, not moving—just holding.

You kissed the top of his head and smiled. “Want some extra love tonight, my love?”

He looked up at you through thick lashes, pupils wide, lips parted.

“Yes, please, mommy.”

You stroked his cheek, thumb brushing over the apple of it, and leaned in close enough to share breath.

“Then be good and let me give it to you.”

In the span of 5 minutes, you’ve managed to get him all whiny and red, sitting in front of you, legs spread, head cocked back onto your shoulder, and he’s moaning your name so nicely.

He leaned back further into you and gasped as you gently tugged on his member, teasing him in the worst way possible because he wanted to explode right there and then.

“shit, mommy.. can I cum? fuck, I need to cum. please, mommy..” He whined so pathetically.

“Go ahead, bunny. Cum for me.”

That was all he needed. As soon as the words came out of your mouth, he was already shooting ropes. He whimpered as he came down from his high and looked up at you with those puppy dog eyes he always did.

“You’re so pretty, bin. My pretty boy.” You praised so sweetly.

Apparently, he really liked that, because his body spazzed again and he shot out a few more ropes. He covered his face in embarrassment and nuzzled into your neck.

After an hour of trying to calm hyperactive binnie down, you finally got him to fall asleep. Once he did, he curled up so nicely in your arms and you pulled the covers over both of you. Kissing his head, you murmured a goodnight and lightly picked him up.

Carrying him over to the light switch, you flicked the living room lights off and padded into your room. Once there, you laid him on the bed and crawled in next to him.

Binnie pulled you back into a cuddle and nuzzled right back into your neck, pressing a kiss there and mumbling something about love.

[lilyrayaya]

I really like the Deivydoestutorials33 ARG it changed my view on the geometry skin completely. And because I'm so insane about them right now you'll be getting personal hcs about them as an individual killer. All under the cut with some doodles↓

I feel like when Spectre took geo out of the Remains it didn't know what to do with them so it just gave them the abilities of John Doe and rolled with it. Because of that specific reason geometry became similar to John Doe visually, too. Although geometry themselves are smaller than John Doe, closer to Jason's height.

Personal hc height chart for reference with geometry added. C00lkidd is slightly taller than the average survivor.

I feel like if John Doe ever caught geometry in the right mindset he'd be a little thrown off by the similarities. He'd try to maybe watch geo for a while and show some mild interest in them but eventually his Ability To Think Properly would be taken by the evil and intimidating Spectre once more. And he'd just. Leave geo alone.

MAYBE big emphasis on maybe he'll get used to it at some point. geometry themselves aren't sure what to think of John Doe. They thought John Doe was supposed to be scary, not... Whatever this is. They both confuse each other, but geometry, unlike John Doe, will get used to it rather quickly. geo might question John Doe only to get no response because that guy Doesn't Have A Singular Thought. Unfortunate, but moving on.

In general I think geometry would keep to themselves most of the time. Depending on if Bluudud is there they'll watch him play games on an occasion. Maybe give him some advice depending on what game it is. As long as it's not World Tower Defense, they've had enough of that game.

I might add onto this later

[ubtendo]

@thesafireartist

Ehehehehe

So happy that you've responded Bo!

So, on it!

I really want my kiddos to represent their parents while still having unique features to them. Often some generic traits aren't just coming from the parents but also from the grandparents and great-grandparents. So while I'm definitely not going to make designs for their ancestors (because I don't hate myself that much) I think that they might get some features from them as well.

We used to have to wear Crocs everytime we had to go outside in the summer when we were kids to avoid insects and hot pavement, so I thought it would be a cute design choice that fits her age. (But also yea, you're sister is right, they are so back, or rather they never left)

Yeah I think I might have seen one other Sticks fankid, but I think I can add her to the unique fankid pile with Prim Bea.

I wanted her to have a more traditional and wilder style to fit with her upbringing with Sticks. Sticks just found her on the forest ground, probably abandoned by her real parents. Sticks, not realising that, just thought that she was some kind of gift from some ancient gods maybe (or a robot conspiracy that she needed to stop) took it upon herself to raise her. That's why she named the baby Miracle. They both still live in the jungle on Angel Island (my headcanon) so she is friends with the knuxouge kids, primarily with Rocky, Crysta and Jules.

However I regret that I didn't make her a Coyote, because of the relationship the two animals have with hunting together. I just remembered that after I posted it and I'm so mad about that. I might actually ending up changing her species (or maybe even give her a sibling, who knows)

Yay yaya yaay, freckles :3

Apparent from Symbol and Prim non of my kids have some significant skin conditions (Prim also barely counts because she covers her acne up with make-up) and their all teens/pre-teens. I thought it would be appropriate to give him some acne/acne scars and freckles, to give more variety to my characters and not make them bland.

Also

Yeah, I can see that.

His everyday outfit isn't that formal, because, well he is a teen boy in his everyday. He does normal boy stuff most of the time. But he is also a prince. He does have a more royal outfit and I'll probably put him and the rest of the fam into it some time.

And choosing his name was hard, Cinder was the placeholder just so that I had a name. I wanted him and Mana having magical themed names, rather than just using the idea of their parents name. I think it's cute to have themed names and I've done that with pretty much every kid (i.e. Murmur and Cheer being sound based and all the knuxouge kids having geology names, the sonadow kids all starting with S, "Prim Rose"; you get the picture)

Ahaha, and the last one: the scrapped sonadow sibling. This is just a drawing of an idea that I had in my head a long time ago but haven't expanded on technically.

With Soda, Scout and Symbol all having black fur with individual tints, I was playing around with the idea of having one that was more in Sonics colours.

And then the Idea spiraled. Like, test tube baby, made by Eggman, basically being younger than Symbol but looking older than Soda, fusion of Sonic and Shadow rather than being a child - kind of stuff. But I figured that this was too similar to my sonshadamy kids, sooo it got scrapped. And in actuality, those three don't need an other sibling. They work just fine as a trio and a character like that would feel unnecessary to the story I have.

Right so I rushed this a bit so they're still a bit messy

But concepts for some new kiddos for the Chaos Kids AU

Can't ramble about them right now because it's literally midnight and I'm super tired, but feel free to send some criticism if you see something to improve on

Here are some doodles I made during work as I was brainstorming a bit about them (Cinder is Omen and Chatter is Cheer)

Oh also, a possible design for a scrapped fourth sonadow sibling, since I don't have anywhere else I can put this

[astronomodome]

I think there’s something thematically interesting that in the life series bdubs’s skin changes a lot and gets more beat up, adds items of personal value, etc as the series goes on but etho’s skin never changes