#felt like drawing for the first time in a while

[sugawhaaa]

Han Jisung Drabble

•.•.•Morning after•.•.•

Warnings:: SMUT

Pairing:: jisung x fem!reader

Genre:: morning after, fluff, mentions rough sex,

A/N:: I'm back from the grave...✨️ anyway this is a bit of a teaser thing for a fanfic I'm writing for Han, this is kind of like part 2 of the fantic I haven't even posted yet 😭

Skz masterlist:: 🧡

When you first came to everything felt kinda fuzzy. You and Han had been dating for a while now and you'd slept in his bed many times so waking up beside him wasn't anything new. However, waking up next to him, naked, covered in hickeys and bruises was new.

Han was still balled up in blankets, sleeping away. He had a few marks on his neck as well. His cheeks were puffed out as he slept, his breathing heavier than average. Something about the way he looked right now was so endearing. However when you sat up all that endearment seemed to dwindled.

It seemed as though every bone and muscle in your body ached from his behavior last night. Jisung got a little jealous and possessive of you and when you showed that you were into it, he went to town. Your jaw ached and the corners of your mouth were undoubtedly red fron friction, your hips and upper thighs were stiff and potentially bruised. Your head throbbed, probably because you were dehydrated and perhaps because Han was pulling on your hair half the night.

You manage to drag yourself out of bed and put on some clothes, baggy mismatched clothes, half of which belonged to Jisung. As you head to the door you glance back and Han, noticing the redness of his back. Upon closer inspection, you realized it was scratch marks, scratches from your nails... seems like the both of you have lots of marks to prove your fun last night.

After leaving his room you're greeted by a few of the members sitting at the dinner table eating what they call breakfast. At first, none of them seem to notice anything odd about you until you sit down. Dark circles under your eyes, frizzy hair, and marks all over your neck and upper chest. Lee know smirks to himself before taking a sip of coffee.

"Have a long night?" Felix tilts his head, trying to be a good sport about this but deep down he finds it humorous.

"That's one way to put it," you groan before resting your head on the table, arms supporting your head. With your head down you suddenly feel a hand slide up to your head and fluff your hair. When you pick your head up you see Jisung, a tired smile on his lips. He wears a grey hoodie and black sweatpants, a typical Jisung morning outfit. He leans down to talk to you on a quieter level.

"How you feeling this morning? Was it too much?" A guilty smile spreads across his face and it's somehow endearing.

"A little stiff...very stiff," you rub your hip bone and Han blushes before giving you a hug. The members ignore the two of you having your little moment and leave you be.

"I'm sorry," he chuckles but his words are sincere. You put a hand over his.

"It's okay, it was amazing," you peck his cheek. Changbin then claps his hands together.

"Okay let's get today rolling," he smiles awkwardly before drawing everyone's attention. Jisung steals one last glance at you before giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

[jeondesu]

FRI(END)S — ꒰ 양정인 ꒱

── ✧ ˚. 𝓹airing ˒˓ yang jeongin x f!reader ˒˓ childhood friends to lovers 𝓰enre/𝓽ags. fluff, angst (not a lot, i hope..?), some profanity, kissing, i believe that’s it.. 𝔀ords. 3.8k

[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — hello peeps, i’m back from the dead w a new fic that i’ve been working on for a while but i’m glad i finally finished it :D this is for my sweetheart @jeonginslittledoll, i hope you like it bestie <3

𝓼ong 𝓲nspo. fri(end)s by v

Jeongin doesn’t remember a time in his life when you weren’t there. Dating all the way back to kindergarten, you were in all his drawings— your pigtails lopsided and stick limbs holding his hand. He remembers how he’d always draw the sun in the corner and you’d insist on adding glitter stars even when it was supposed to be daytime. You shared your crayons with him without hesitation, even your special sparkly ones, which at five years old was basically the pinnacle of loyalty.

You were there the first time he cried over a scraped knee, when he wanted to show you this cool trick and ended up falling off his scooter. He tried not to let it show, but you saw anyway, gasping so dramatically he cried harder, until you kissed his knee and told him you had ‘magical healing powers’. He never once questioned it.

In third grade, he failed his math test for the first time. His hands were far too shaky to hand the paper to his mom, so he showed it to you first. You sat beside him on the swings, bumping shoulders, and told him you’d help him study, even if you both sucked at fractions.

When sixth grade rolled around, you were there to console him when a girl told him that she “just wanted to be friends.” He didn’t even like her that much, not really. But he still looked for you after class and said nothing when you handed him your last fruit roll-up and gave him a little nudge, a signal that meant “I’m here for you.” You didn’t bother with the clichés or telling him there were plenty of other fish in the sea. You just stayed. That in itself was enough for him.

He never got over how easy it was with you. How stupidly, infuriatingly safe he felt around you. Like all the worst parts of him didn’t matter because you already saw them and accepted him exactly for the way he was— choosing to remain by his side.

You knew him when his voice cracked, when he had braces, when he tried hair gel for the first time and looked like he’d dunked himself headfirst in a bucket of oil. You gave him a beanie and said, “we’re pretending this never happened.” He wore it every day for two months straight.

You were his first crush, too. Of course you were. He was eleven, you had the most god awful haircut, a gap in your front teeth, and you laughed so hard at his stupid Pokémon impressions that chocolate milk came shooting out of your nose.

He swore that day that he’d marry you.

And even though he was just a kid who barely understood the concept of love yet, some part of him must’ve already known— because every person he’s tried to love since then were miles behind you.

You were his first sleepover. The first person who saw him cry when his goldfish died. The only one who remembered the day his great grandfather passed and left a cupcake on his porch even though you had just came back from out of town.

He fell in love somewhere between then and now. Quietly. Foolishly. Permanently.

Maybe it was sophomore year of high school, when you made a Spotify playlist just for him called “for when your brain won’t shut up”, and every single song felt like a lifeline. Maybe it was that summer you got into a shouting match with a guy who tried to cut in front of Jeongin at the movies, even though the guy was like twice your stature. Or maybe it was during junior year of college, when he saw you at 2 am— bare-faced, exhausted, curled up in his hoodie on the couch, nodding off mid-sentence and realized there was no one else he’d rather listen to ramble about life and cereal brands until the end of time.

But you never knew a thing.

Because what kind of selfish asshole would risk twenty plus years of friendship just to say, I wanna kiss you so bad it hurts?

What kind of friend looks at the one constant in his life, the only person who’s witnessed all his bad days, all his awkward phases, all his heartbreaks, and confess that he wants something more?

So he kept it all in. Repressed every emotion until it was buried so deep underground that there’s no way you could possibly detect his true infatuation for you. Through the birthdays, family gatherings, and movie marathons, the way you’d unconsciously rest your head in the crevice of his shoulder during long car rides. Every sleepy voice note you’d sent to him when you couldn’t fall asleep, every text that ended with a heart or a “love you!” that he knew was platonic… but still made his chest tighten.

He learned to smile while watching you fall in and out of love with other people. Learned to perfect the role of the supportive best friend you’d never lose— at the expense of being the boy you’d never choose. Because that’s the thing about loving someone who’s always been there.

You’re too afraid of what might happen if they’re suddenly not.

+

“You think this looks okay?” You ask, finally stepping out after rummaging through half your wardrobe.

Jeongin glances up from the TikToks he was watching on his phone, sitting comfortably on your bed. He hears the faint rustle of fabric swishing around before he sees you, feet shifting nervously against the hardwood floor. You’re in a white babydoll dress, thin straps, low-cut neckline, the soft flowy hem brushing your thighs— for a second, he forgot how breathing works.

You’re so pretty, it kills him, only causing him more stress and inner turmoil from staring at you for so long. He wants to thank your parents for creating such a masterpiece. If this were a cartoon, his eyes would’ve been filled with nothing but hearts and practically jumping out from his sockets.

You strike a awkward pose. “Is it too much..?”

“No,” he croaks, throat instantly going dry. “You- you look great.”

You look like everything he’s ever wanted and never got to have.

He sees the way you pause, smoothing down any wrinkles on the garment, then scrunch up your nose like you’re not convinced. You do a little half-spin toward the mirror and Jeongin props himself up on his elbows, watching as you inspect yourself with furrowed brows.

You beam anyway. “I’m a kinda nervous. Feels like it’s been forever since I’ve gone out on an actual date.”

Jeongin forces a stiff smile, straightening his posture, elbows now resting on his knees, hoping that his voice doesn’t give out on him. “You’ll be fine. Jake seems… like a decent guy.”

His voice dips ever so slightly on the word decent, but you don’t catch it. Of course you don’t.

You don’t notice how carefully he avoids eye contact. How he keeps wringing the hem of your throw pillow like it might save him from saying something reckless. You don’t see the way he keeps shifting on your bed like the mattress is made of nails.

You move towards the mirror of your vanity and start dabbing lip gloss on, tongue between your teeth like you always do when you’re concentrated. “You think he’ll like this lip color?”

Jeongin’s heart almost shatters. “Yeah,” he whispers. “He’s gonna love it.”

But he hates it. He hates all of this. Hates the way you hum a little tune to yourself while curling your lashes, the way your perfume already smells like a goodbye, and the way your phone lights up with Jake’s name and not his.

You suddenly groan, tossing the lip gloss onto your vanity that’s cluttered with a bunch of other products and dig through your makeup bag like it just insulted you.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” you laugh dryly, half out of fear and half out of excitement. “This one’s too pink, the other one makes me look like I’ve been kissed by a ghost, and I swear this eyeliner’s plotting violence against me—”

“You don’t need any of that,” Jeongin says quickly, before he can stop himself.

You blink, turning to him, lip gloss wand frozen midair. “What?”

He swallows. “I mean… you look fine. More than fine. You’re pretty without any of it.”

The room stills with a bitter silence and Jeongin panics.

“I-I’m just saying,” he stammers, scratching the back of his neck and glancing everywhere but at you, “if this guy can’t accept you for who you are, like, as is— then he’s not the one for you.”

You stare at him for a beat too long, then your gaze softens at his words, “…Jeongin.” Your lips tug upward, just barely.

He swears the way you say his name will be the death of him.

You look down at your feet, suddenly shy, your hand fluttering over your mouth as if the compliment just fully hit you. A rush of heat spreading across your cheeks.

“Thanks,” you mumble, eyes flicking up. “That was.. really sweet.”

Jeongin shrugs, trying not to combust. “Just being honest.”

You face to the mirror again, a little quieter now, a little more smiley and upbeat. Still touching up your mascara, still blissfully unaware that he’s sitting there on your bed, watching the love of his life get all dolled up to go fall for someone else.

Yet he stays, because there’s nothing else he can do.

Even when it hurts like hell.

+

The night feels like an itch under his skin.

Jeongin doesn’t go home, telling himself that he’s just “killing time” by driving around aimlessly like he always does when his thoughts get too loud. But somehow, he ends up parked outside the diner down the block from where your date is happening, pretending like he’s just “in the area” as if it’s some kind of coincidence.

The cars still running, headlights dimmed. He fumbles with the radio, trying to drown the silence with anything that doesn’t sound like his internal monologue going back and forth. But every damn station seems to be playing some kind of love song, sappy ballads or cheesy pop lyrics about holding hands and finding “the one”.

He switches the station again. Then again. And again.

No luck.

“You are the best thing… that’s ever been mine…”

He groans and smacks the power button. Back to silence, which is even worse, somehow.

His fingers twitch around his phone as he mindlessly scrolls through different apps, reading the same unfunny tweets, the same recycled memes, and the same dumb messages from the groupchat. Staring blankly at the screen until everything fades into nothingness.

Ultimately, he gives up. Tossing his phone into the passenger seat with a defeated sigh.

He’s now people watching through the windshield. Spotting a happy couple that’s walking as if nothing else exists around them, the girl’s giggling like some lovestruck teenager and clinging to her boyfriend’s arm like she’s been permanently glued to him. Another pair drinking a milkshake inside the restaurant booth next to the window, sharing a straw as they interlock hands. Some other guy pulls his girlfriend in by the waist outside the door and kisses her like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Jeongin exhales hard through his nose, balling his hands into a fist like he’s going to punch the air.

It’s like the universe was straight up mocking him at this point.

This is what it’s supposed to look like, right? The hand holding, the lingering glances, the closeness, the quiet knowing.

And he has that, with you. Just not in the way that counts.

Not in the way that lets him pull you close and kiss you in public. Not in the way that lets him say, God, I wish it were me instead of him.

There’s a constant ache in chest that settles behind his ribs, dull and relentless.

It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. You’re allowed to go on dates. You have free will to go like other people and fall in love without asking for his permission, but that doesn’t stop the nausea that keeps rising in the back of his throat like bile.

The sick pit in his stomach just won’t dissipate.

He even picks his phone back up and hovers his thumb over your name in his contacts. Just to... check in. See how it’s going, or maybe make up some fake excuse. ‘Hey, did you leave your charger in my car again?’ Anything to hear your voice, to make sure you’re safe. To remind you that he is the one who knows your favorite coffee order and your allergies and the way you always double tie your shoelaces out of habit.

But he doesn’t hit call. He just stares blankly at the phone screen like it might explode in his hands.

And then it does.

His phone lights up with a new notification from you. Heart leaping out of his chest as he picks up on the first ring.

“Hey,” he says, trying not to sound too eager.

Your voice is small, sounding mildly upset. “Can you come get me?”

Jeongin’s already starting the car. “Of course. You okay?”

There was a long pause, but you reply soft-spokenly, “Yeah. Just… not what I thought it’d be.”

Your voice cracks a little on the word thought, and something in him twists hard.

“Stay there,” he reassures, “I’ll be there in five.”

Another pause follows suit. Then you respond with a quiet, “okay.”

He hangs up, his grip on the steering wheel grew tighter, trying his best to ignore the heat that’s crawling up the back of his neck.

He should be relieved. Over the moon even. But mostly, he’s terrified of the outcome of this. Because tonight, for some reason, he feels as though something’s going to break— and he’s not sure if it’ll be his heart, or the silence between you. Maybe both.

+

Not even ten minutes later, you’re climbing into his car, arms crossed, face unreadable.

Your perfume comes floating in with you, faint but familiar, like vanilla orchid and late nights— and Jeongin swears it knocks the air right out of his lungs.

You don’t say anything at first. Just buckle your seatbelt with stiff hands, staring out the windshield like it personally wronged you. Your eyeliner’s slightly smudged, your earrings are missing, and your cheeks are flushed, but not from laughter, he can tell. From frustration. From disappointment.

He doesn’t pry with questions. Just hands you the bottle of water he always keeps in his cupholder, label half-peeled from your constant fidgeting over the years.

You take it with a ‘thank you’ so low he barely catches it.

He watches as you untwist the cap and sip in slow silence. The streetlights flickering across your face in a rhythm that feels far too fragile.

It pains him to see you like this.

“He talked about himself the whole time,” you mutter eventually, still choosing not to look at him. “Didn’t ask me anything.”

Jeongin watches the way your fingers pick at the label on the bottle, thumbs moving in distracted little circles. You always do that when you’re thinking too hard. He wonders if you even realize.

He wants to tell you that any guy who doesn’t ask about your favorite Studio Ghibli film within the first five minutes doesn’t deserve a second of your time. That if someone can sit across from you and not feel a magnetic pull toward your laugh, your weird stories, the way you ramble when you’re nervous— then they’ve never had a heart worth trusting in the first place.

Instead, he replies, “that sucks.”

Because it’s the safest thing to say when his own heart is gnawing at the inside of his ribs.

“He also said we should hang out again,” you add, letting out a bitter laugh that sounds more tired than amused. “Said he ‘vibes with my energy.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

Jeongin’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight he could almost break it in half, knuckles whitening, clenching his teeth.

He’s quite a second too long before forcing out, “Do you want to?”

You finally turn your head towards him. “No,” you admit, looking at him. Really looking.

That almost undoes him.

Your eyes are searching, soft, but laced with something deeper. Something older. Something that knows him too well.

“He’s not you.”

He blinks rapidly, caught off guard. “Huh?”

You shrug. “I mean, I don’t know. I just kept thinking how easy everything is with you. Like… he didn’t laugh at my weird stories. He didn’t know how I take my coffee or why I hate pickles or that I cry during Pixar trailers. It felt like I was performing. But with you, I don’t have to.”

Jeongin swallows hard, throat going dry, his mind racing ten miles per minute.

You said it so casually. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s not unraveling every thread he’s spent years pulling taut just to keep himself together around you.

“You shouldn’t settle for someone who makes you feel like you’re not enough,” he tries to remind you of your worth, how there’s no need for you to deal with these sorry, weak excuses of men when he can be all you need and more.

“I’m not,” you say, voice gentler now. “That’s why I’m sitting here. With you.”

Something in his chest snaps upon hearing that. It’s so abrupt even he’s shocked by it. Like something he’s been desperately trying to hold back finally breaks free.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You freeze, raising an eyebrow of confusion. “What?”

He turns to fully face you now, deciding that now was the time to change everything, everything he’s been suppressing for as long he could remember.

“I can’t keep pretending that I don’t love you.”

The car goes eerily quiet. Even the night outside seems to be at a standstill.

“I’ve been in love with you y/n, since we were kids,” he continues, the words come tumbling out— raw, scared, unstoppable. “Since you wore that coat that was a hideous shade of purple every winter and made me dance with you in your living room at midnight. I’ve loved you through it all. I can’t stress enough how much you mean to me. You’re all I think about, I can’t even look at other girls the way I look at you, there’s no comparison. It’s either you or nothing, I really don’t care about anyone else.”

You blink several times to register all of what he’s saying, but none of this still seems real to you. Even after he’s confessed everything, poured his whole heart out while looking at you with a straight face and candor of his actions— it’s still not clicking for you.

He can’t believe he just admitted to all of this out loud but truthfully, it’s like a weights been lifted off his shoulders, finally freeing himself of this mental prison he’s locked hisself in for so many years. If you say no he’ll ultimately have to accept it, though he won’t let you go just yet.

“Jeongin..” your voice trails off, too lost in thought to even conjure up a proper response.

He cuts in before you get the chance to react, “You don’t have to say anything. I know this’ll probably ruin everything and you might not want to remain friends, I- I get it. I just couldn’t watch you walk away again and wonder if maybe I should’ve said something. I had to say it. Just once.”

Your silence is a living thing, stretching thinly between you and trembling, full of everything neither of you said your whole lifetime. The car feels too small, too intimate, too heavy with history.

And then, you reach for him.

With no hesitation, a set of lips are pressed onto his. Eyes wide open from shock, but soon melts into you, deepening the kiss with a fiery passion that could only be ignited from years worth of pining.

He’s only ever kissed you in his daydreams but the real thing? It doesn’t compare one bit. It felt surreal kissing you, touching you, holding you this closely.

Your lips sync together in motion, connecting as one. His hands cupped your face perfectly; so soft, so warm, and inviting. Your fingers were now tangled in his hair and he tilts his head to capture more of you. The sweet taste of you was exactly as he imagined, he couldn’t believe he went this long without kissing those pretty lips of yours.

Dopamine floods his senses like static electricity, it was all too much for him yet he couldn’t stop himself. He was intoxicated by you. It was probably that favorite cherry chapstick you always wore, he knows that was your go-to flavor of choice. He wanted to savor you in this moment for as long as he could.

You left each other breathless by the time you pulled away. His lips red and puffy from all the pressure.

“I hope that clears up my response,” you express finally, “I know you said I may not want to remain friends after telling me this, but that’s okay. I don’t want to be just friends, I’ve always wanted something more with you too.”

His eyes lit up. It felt like he could finally breathe again. He poked your arm, lightly touching you to make sure this wasn’t another lucid dream he could’ve been having.

He was going to ask you to pinch him but he’ll save himself the embarrassment for later.

“I feel so secure when I’m with you, it’s like nothing else matters when I’m around you. I know how certain I am of my feelings for you. We don’t have to date right now.. we can take our time if you want. I just feel so truly blessed to have someone like you in my life.” Jeongin does his best to articulate his words but he never feels like it’s enough to convey.

There wasn’t a million words in the world that could ever describe the feelings he has for you but he was adamant on showing them.

“I love you Jeongin.”

His heart almost stopped once he heard that. This felt way better than a dream, the reality was far more sentimental. He wasn’t expecting the night to turn into a sappy love confession between you two but here you both are. Sitting in his car through the late hours, looking with nothing but admiration for one another.

“I love you y/n. Always have and always will, I’ll continue to love you in every way possible. I’ll never let you go from this day forward.”

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[shysuccubusstuff]

Helping Hand

Content: Non proof-reader; Android! Caleb + Overstimulation + Fake cum + Size difference + Dacryphilia + Praise kink + Aftercare

Summary: You chose to buy one of those new androids in the market, after all, with the little time you had, it was logical for you to get one! But after your birthday party, you can't help but feel like something has changed within Caleb...

Note: I'm finally done with exams but now my brain is dry... On another note, I have to keep on writing my novel! It has nothing to do with my usual work here, but I really should keep on writing cause I have so much ideas for cool characters! Wish I could draw them... I hope people get the ideas of how Android! Caleb lower half works...

Note 2: I just put some fake nails and writing has become so difficult... Had to use two pens towards the end...

Android! Caleb who opens his eyes and encounters your face. He was programmed to be cold, always following the orders of the person who bought him. At least, that was what he had learnt, as you soon rebooted his whole system, changing his personality to a softer and more "human" one. He is still quite confused, why would he need to have a personality for serving a human? Still, he couldn't help but feel a strange rush of electricity run through his system, maybe he had a strange type of malfunction?

Android! Caleb who becomes accustomed to taking care of you. He is always close to you, always waiting by the door of the house a few minutes before your arrival, food still warm and waiting for you to eat, the house completely in order from him cleaning it... Gosh, you could even feel all the tension leaving your body as soon as you entered your house. You allowed him to carry you to the bathroom, head resting against his soft chest as you let him undress you, letting your clothes carefully folded as he helped you get inside the lukewarm bath.

Android! Caleb who becomes your only caretaker. It took him less than a few days to get completely used to your body language, knowing exactly what you wanted, when you wanted it and even how you wanted it. He was basically reading your mind, always one step ahead, letting you rest your exhausted body on his bigger body, his soft hands caressing your hair as his mechanic heart kept pumping the blue liquid all over his system. You knew you shouldn't get so attached to him, but how were you supposed to stop yourself from it when he knew you like the palm of his hand?...

Android! Caleb who receives a strange update. It had recently been your birthday, so you decided to make a small party, nothing big, really. You invited a few of your friends from work, together with some other friends from when you were still studying, organising a small party at your house for all of you to drink and have fun while watching some low-quality films. It was around 3:00 when you started to feel your eyelids dropping, with your friends too focused on the climax of the film for them to notice, you chose to simply fall asleep in the cozy sofa, surely someone would wake you up sooner or later, right?

Android! Caleb who becomes much more... domestic. You didn't notice the first few days, still unaware of the strange update your friends had added as a "gift" for you. Yes, it was a bit strange for Caleb to always greet you with a hug and a kiss on your forehead, but hey, maybe it was something that they had added in one of the millions of updates Caleb had, maybe some client had complained about them being too stiff? Whatever, it wasn't as if you were particularly concerned about it, in fact, you did like it a bit...

Android! Caleb who finally puts his update to good use. It was late at night when you suddenly felt the urge to do it. It wasn't something particularly strange, with you being alone most of the time and all the stuff you liked reading and listening... What was strange was the moment the door to your bedroom was knocked. You quickly hid your naked lower half with the sheets trying your best to get your phone to hide the content you were seeing. "Caleb?" You whispered, heart beating rapidly in fear of having been discovered by him. "Pips? I'm sorry for disturbing you so late at night, but my systems have warned me that my owner, that is you, is currently in need of my assistance." You furrowed your brows, slightly confused about what was he even implying, still, you knew Caleb was unable to cause any harm to you, so you simply sighed, letting him enter without much thought. "So what was wrong, Caleb?" Caleb smiled, sitting close to you and petting your hear with his rough hands. "My system told me you needed my help, do you need it? I have been upgraded with the latest system, allowing me to help you in this kind of delicate activity." Still confused, you simply nodded, after all, the system tended to be right. As soon as you did so, Caleb removed the sheets that were covering your body, his huge hands lifting your legs with ease, getting them closer to your face, just enough for your slick pussy to be in front of his face.

"Caleb! Just-- Just what are you doing?" You tried your best to get him to let go of your ankles, squirming around with not much luck, with Caleb still retaining his sweet smile.

"I'm fulfilling my new tasks, you allowed me to do so." Caleb's arm moved, changing his grip on your thigs to keeping your body in position with just his arm. "Now, no more moving, pips, I need you to remain calm so I can help you appropietly." Caleb's tongue stick out, this time looking slightly longer than usual, his right hand making his way to your entrance as his mouth got closer to your clit.

"Wa--Wait a second! I'm pretty sure this was NOT included when I bought your model--!" Caleb stopped for a second, his expressions remaining as sweet as always.

"It wasn't. Your friends added it to my program in hopes of making you happier, they explained it to me and I agreed. I believed it would truly help you destress. I hope I will actually ." Caleb moved closer, spreading soft kisses all over your lower tummy, making a small path towards your pussy. At the same time, his hands started to glide towards your entrance, teasing it with his fingers by simply gliding up and down on it but never actually inserting them, simply coating his fingers with your lewd fluids. "Let me know if you feel any discomfort." Caleb's mouth slowly got closer, wet kisses being left around your clit as a way to tease your sensitivity, being unable to not smile after seeing your back arch from the sudden touch. Following the set procedure, Caleb slowly entered one of his fingers, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue and making you cling to the sheets, soft whimpers leaving your mouth even despite you tried to cover your mouth with your hands as a way to avoid letting even more shameful sounds escape. Suddenly, one of Caleb's hands moved, grabbing your wrists with ease and pinning them on top of your head. "I need to hear you so I can know exactly what you need." Caleb moved, his face now facing yours before diving himself into a deep kiss, his right hand still playing with your clit, making short circles around it regardless of your poor attempts of squirming away.

"Ca... Caleb! Too much-- it's too much!" You whispered, chest puffing up and down as you tried to recover from Caleb's kiss.

"My name is not the safe word, you should probably know that." Caleb suddenly switched positions, letting your back rest against his chest, his legs tangled around yours to avoid letting you try to close your legs, his lips kissing yours as he moved one of his hands to your chest, playing with your nipple as the other hand kept slowly moving inside you, searching for that sweet spot until you let a whimper escape you. "This must be your g-spot, right? Gotta make sure you enjoy this." Caleb kissed your face, peppering soft kisses all over your face as he slowly introduced another of his digits, his fingers constantly hitting that spot even as you kept trying to move away from him, with Caleb simply laughing softly against your ear, pushing his fingers even deeper inside. "You're so cute... Humans always react so vividly to the stimuli..." You could't help but feel embarrased, with Caleb's mocking tone reverberating inside your head as he kept forcing you to cum around his fingers, using his other hand to pinch and twist your nipples with just enough force.

It had been over 20 minutes since your sweet torture had begun, with Caleb moving and hitting the exact place you were craving, forcing you to close your eyes from the overstimulation. "Caleb~... That's enough... I don't think I can cum more..." Your voice sounded now raspy from all your whines and moans, with Caleb obviously ignoring them, simply cooing you.

"That's alright, then we can finally move to the main course, right?" Caleb finally let you move a bit, getting up and removing his trousers, leaving them on your chair before returning to the bed. "Let me syncronise my tools, alright?" Suddenly, Caleb's lower half changed from the usual plain surface to the shape of an erect cock, his . "Let me just..." Caleb got on top of you, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist, moving his hand to grab his cock and starting to rub it against your entrance, letting some of his self-lubricating fluid just for extra caution. "I'll do it slowly, open wide now, pips." You took a deep breath as Caleb's cock entered you, softly biting against his shoulder as a way to stay calm. "Such a good girl... Just a bit more." And you could simply whine, your insides already feeling as if they were about to tear as Caleb finally bottomed out. "So good for me..." Caleb caressed your cheek, kissing your forehead as he started to move, barely moving a few centimeters before pushing back in, nails digging on his back as he kept pressing his body against yours. "Just a bit more... It will feel so good in just a few minutes..." Caleb pressed your mouths together, sucking on your tongue before starting to french kiss you, a strand of saliva connecting you both the moment the kiss ended.

As the minutes passed, you were finally able to get used to his size, the slight discomfort changing into pure pleasure, making your eyes roll back each time he rubbed that spot. "You feel so nice wrapped around me... Let me help you a bit baby." Caleb lifted your body with ease, laying your body on your front before moving back on top of you, his cock entering you, the pressure of his weight making you bite on the pillow that was close to you, whinning as Caleb's hand made light pressure on your lower stomach, just enough for you to start feeling his length even more, each thrust making your walls wrap around his cock, the system of Caleb slowly getting overheated each time you clenched around him. "Be careful... My system may get a bit overwhelmed if you keep clinging so much to me..." That was of course easier said than done, after all, it had been such a long time since you had been able to feel so good... Still, you tried your best, taking a deep breath and hugging your pillow, a few tears falling down your cheeks as you felt your mind slowly slipping away.

"Too big... You're crushing me~..." You whined, the heat radiating from Caleb mixed with the feeling of having your insides scrambled being enough to make your head feel overwhelmed. Regardless of that, Caleb kept going, his hips bumping against your ass each time he forced his whole length inside you, his hands petting your hair whole he whispered soft praises against your ear.

"So good... Cum all around me pips, show me just how much you're enjoying this..." Caleb's raspy voice echoed inside your mind, the embarrasment of having your own android seen you so fucked dumb suddenly leaving, letting you only focus on how much you wanted Caleb to praise you... So of course you did just as he asked, your gummy walls pulsing around his cock as you felt a warm liquid filling you up, forcing you to cum for who knows what time, toes curling as you felt Caleb increasing his rhythm at the same time you came, then slowing down as he felt your breath become even heavier.

After letting you recover your breath for a few minutes, you felt Caleb lifting you up from the bed, carrying to the bathroom with ease and letting you rest inside the warm bathtub and using a soft towel to scrub you, removing all the sweat together with the mixture of his cum and all your fluids. He then left for a few minutes, returning with a huge towel, wrapping your whole body around it before taking his sweet time drying it. After that, all you could remember was te warm embrace of Caleb, mixed with the fresh smell of a new set of heet together with the citrusy smell that emanated from him.

[truth-shifts]

No one asked

BUT

🧟‍♂️ The Walking Dead 🧟‍♂️

Simple Man - Lynyrd Skynyrd

Daryl, Hannah, Negan, and my pets Sabbath and Phantom

My combat ability, How people and animals feel safe and comfortable with me, My style (a necessity during the end of the world as I’m sure you know)

No but I can kick a grown man’s ass black widow style at the gigantuous height of 5’4"

I’m excellent at fighting, especially with a sniper on a machete. I’m the best scavenger in the group, it’s like I can smell where all the good shit is hiding. People trust me easily so I can diffuse arguments or even get the enemy to trust me and then break shit apart from the inside.

18 at my first shift

Daryl, my man, found me on the brink of death in the woods while we still lived at the quarry. It was about a week ish before Rick showed up. He’d never admit it at the time but he was so worried about me, he’d watch my breathing while I rested but would still check my heartbeat every few minutes just to make sure I was ok.

Pre-apocalypse it was the original flavour Mother energy drinks, during outbreak it was water cause we had nothing else, and at Alexandria I always steal apples from the pantry to make apple juice

I journal or draw, Play acoustic guitar if we have one, Talk with my friends, Annoy the men (specifically Daryl and Joel), Play fetch with my dog, Hangout with the animals (usually the goats or the ducks cause they’re funny)

Pre-apocalypse: Whenever Negan and I would play video games on the couch, Lucille always cheering me on as we both trash talk Negan, covering his eyes to help me, distracting him with a kiss and making all of us laugh in the process or When I would show up at Negan’s place in the middle of the night after my parents fought again and no matter how tired he was, he always read me books until I fell asleep, making sure I was safe and comfortable. So basically anytime I was at Negan’s and my life felt normal, away from my parents. Post-Apocalypse: Finding Hannah and Negan again after being seperated for months/years (Negan was short lived but still) or Negan waking up in the infirmary after the saviours war, trying to speak but he can’t so he signs “I love you”, the only piece of sign language he remembers from when I tried to teach him 6 years earlier. or Kissing Daryl for the first time and watching this 36 year old man blush and stutter afterwards. or Finding the group again after the fall of the prison, daryl and I running to each other and hugging while whispering thanks to a god neither of us truly believe in.

My hair is pretty long so I plait it so it’s out of the way, or just a simple messy bun (Photo at the bottom)

I collect patches and pins for my bags, I collect daggers and other cool knives, I keep a collection of Polaroids, I collect DVD’s, CD’s, and Vinyl Records (in Alexandria), and I collect marvel trading cards (like how Ellie collected savage starlight cards in tlou)

Spring cause the vibrancy and the flowers make the world look less dull, it reminds me of the old world

Quarry: sitting on the edge of the quarry with my legs dangling, my back against a tree as I journal. Farm: if you’re standing in front of the house looking out over the paddock, there’s a tree swing on the right hand side of the property and it’s surrounded by daisies and little purple flowers. Prison: I cleared out the guards room in the prison and it had an old leather couch with some old mixtapes and a radio, I brought in books and now only me and a few people have keys to it, like our own little hide out hole. Alexandria: On the roof of our house or in the Rabbit enclosure for cuddles, or with the baby horses, goats, cows if it’s breeding season. There’s also a field of flowers not too far outside the walls that I go to for when I need to recharge from people completely.

Gabriel, Spencer, Abraham when he’s in his me of his moods

Vanilla girl till I’m DEAD

⟡ questions to answer as your dr self ⊹ ₊˚

here is a part 2! ໒꒰ྀི ๑ ´ ˘ ` ू ꒱ྀིა

1. what’s a song that reminds you of your s/o?

2. who makes you the happiest?

3. what are 3 things you like about yourself?

4. do you have specific powers / abilities?

5. what are your skills?

6. how old are you?

7. how did you meet your s/o?

8. what’s your favorite drink?

9. what do you like to do when your bored?

10. favorite memory you have?

11. how do you usually style your hair?

12. do you like collecting stuff? if so, what is it?

13. what is your favorite season?

14. what’s your favorite spot to relax?

15. who is someone you don’t like?

16. favorite scent?

[bewitched-hours]

Forsaken | Mafioso & (His)Child!Reader (Part 2)

See part 1 here @lopfuuinhareanon @albinoxp Hope you enjoy o(≧▽≦)o

Reader gets She/Her again~

"And you're sure?" Chance asked you with a perplexed look.

"I saw them! They hesitated!" You protested, struggling against the gambler's grip with tears running over your cheeks.

Nothing you remembered in your past could've prepared you for watching your father actually kill someone. You knew he did it without question, you knew he'd sometimes come home with blood on him and need a bath before you could shower him in affection and stories from what you did with whichever goon stayed behind to watch you.

But you've never seen him actively kill someone...

And when you were the one he got, it felt even worse... Like you've done something to deserve this.

But sometimes... Even he seemed to hesitate when you pleaded with him, telling him you still believed in him even as he killed you.

Somehow... You knew he could hear you... Or at least your fear...

You figured if you just refused to give up, he would remember and win over the Spectre's hold...

"I saw dad too! He had that look again!" You tried to stomp your feet in the air until Chance hid in a building and let you down finally.

You knew he meant well, seeing as you were a bit slower with your shorter legs. Even your bunny speed can't get you so far...

You looked out carefully, watching the goons scramble to find you with an odd look to them... Like they felt guilty...

It honestly broke your heart. Even though they've killed you several times, you still saw them as family and knew you'd forgive them in a heartbeat. It wasn't their fault the Spectre made them turn against you...

You couldn't help but let out soft squeaks. Nothing like the ones you'd show when you let any of the survivors pet you but more with a sad undertone to it. Chance could only pray to his lady luck that the goons wouldn't hear it as you watched them split to look for the gambler and you.

"Kid, I know you can't control your squeaks but is there a way to muffle them at least?" He whispered nervously, trying not to sound upset.

He knew you just wanted your life back. Everyone did.

But they to focus on the present, as did you.

"Sorry..." You muttered, your squeaks quieting down until they were barely heard. You knew Chance felt bad about it though as he proceeded to lead you to a generator and help you with the puzzle so the generator would be done quicker.

By the time you've finished the round and won with Chance as the last two standing, you felt homesick again.

This time though, the survivors tried to trust you a bit more and went to make the table, simply handing you paper and crayons again so you went off to draw like usual until dinner was ready.

You learned the routine by now. Each 'day' has about 6 to 7 rounds before you were all allowed a longer break to have dinner and sleep.

You would get 10 hours to sleep and clean before it all repeated... It exhausted you mentally- wait...

There was a sudden song outside... A whistling you recognized anyday.

You looked to the other survivors and made sure they were distracted with dinner while you quietly snuck out.

"Sorry..." You whispered whilst slipping through the door to find the source of the whistling. A pit practically formed in your stomach and tears prodded through your eyelids as a lump formed in your throat.

It couldn't be a coincidence... It had to be them...

It was the exact melody they would whistle to help you sleep after a nightmare...

Hmm, should the child join the killers, I wonder~?

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[loricciardo]

CHAPTER TWO | TOO SWEET

tags. original female character, jos verstappen, depictions of physical and verbal abuse in reference to max & jos, mild references to childhood loneliness and emotional isolation, mentions of of pressure and high expectations in youth sports, neglectful parenting.

taglist. want to join or be removed from my taglist? send me an ask or comment below!

rules pinned navigation ysv masterlist next →

The next day, Max won the race. And Natalie tried not to be too disappointed about it.

Third place was still good, even if it wasn’t like the result she had yesterday. Natalie had gotten a decent start, stayed clean into the first corner, and fought like hell to keep up, but Max was just… faster. He flew out of corners like he was superman, and the kart was an extension to him. He didn’t fight the tires, they just listened to him.

Natalie’s didn’t. Hers slid and squealed and snapped through every tight chicane, almost sending her kart flying sideways.

Still, she smiled as she pulled off her helmet. Michael ruffled her sweaty hair as soon as she stepped into organization’s tent.

“You drove well,” he smiled simply.

And that was enough for her, even if she hadn’t necessarily won. Even if Mick had beaten her, too, finishing second and already grinning, acting like he already won the entire karting championship.

Her papa never ever measured her by which trophy she held. He looked at how she fought, how she learned, how she tried. He said that made someone a real driver.

But still… Natalie glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see the scary man smiling and hugging Max after his win. But.. he wasn’t. He still looked furious.

She didn’t know why, and truthfully, she didn’t want to. Maybe she was still too shy from yesterday’s hotdog. Or maybe it was just the way that scary man, who she learned was Max’s father, hovered nearby, arms crossed, barking in Dutch at no one in particular. Max stood silently beside his kart, eyes on the ground, while the man paced and shouted like he was running the military.

Natalie’s brows pulled together. She didn’t get it at all. When she won yesterday, her papa picked her up off the ground. Told her he was proud. Ruffled her hair and lovingly kissed the top of her head.

Wasn’t that what winning was supposed to feel like? Wasn’t winning supposed to be celebrated?

Natalie was pulled out of her thoughts when her papa gently touched her back, nodding toward the podium marshal. “Come on Nat,” he winked. “You still earned a podium.”

At the podium, Max stood stiffly with his trophy while Mick gleefully sprayed pretend champagne at anyone within range. Then came the slow shuffle back toward the motorhomes, shoes scuffing against the gravel, the lively thrill already fading into dusk.

Natalie hung in the back on purpose.

She looked ahead and saw the scary man walking in front of Max, holding Max’s trophy like it was his. Max followed in silence, hands empty, head down. She felt her stomach twist again. She thought about saying something. But what exactly would she say? She didn’t even know if Max remembered her name.

So she just walked quietly alongside Mick, who was still chattering about his overtake on lap nine. But her eyes kept drifting, just slightly, to the small boy walking alone behind his father.

It was later, when most of the motorhomes were winding down for the evening, that she found herself outside again. Her socks half-damp from the grass, arms folded tightly over her oversized hoodie she had stolen from her papa.

Max was crouched near the edge of the lot again, fiddling with a stick and drawing shapes in the dirt.

She hesitated, but her papa always said to go where her gut told her on the track. Maybe it worked off the track, too. Therefore, she stepped closer.

Max didn’t flinch when he saw her this time. He just looked up from the dirt, squinting slightly.

“Hi,” she said, and Max curtly nodded once. “Sorry you didn’t get to keep your trophy,” she added with a grimace.

Max looked at the ground again. “He always keeps them.”

Natalie didn’t know what to say to that, so she sat down beside him again, legs folded under her, letting the silence stretch between them. That was, until she got a million dollar idea.

“Come with me,” Natalie smiled, brushing the damp grass off her shorts as she stood up. She glanced at Max, who looked hesitant. He wasn’t quite sure she had honestly been talking to him, but there was the faintest flicker of trust crossed his face when she waved him forward.

Max stood slowly and followed Natalie, his steps careful and quiet. They walked side by side through the maze of motorhomes and trailers, past tangled cables and scattered karting gear, until they reached Natalie’s own little home on wheels. The faded red trim on the trailer caught the ray of the dimly lit street lamp, and a hand painted Ferrari sticker, peeling at the edges, clung to the door.

A battered wooden bench rested beside the trailer, its legs sinking unevenly into the dirt. Natalie pointed to it. “You.. can sit. I will go get something.”

Max, without a word, eased himself onto the bench, folding his hands nervously in his lap. He itched his buzzed blonde hair, fingers lingering at the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. His shoulders were tense, hunched slightly. His blue eyes kept glancing toward the Verstappen motorhome every few seconds, like he was waiting for someone to call him back, or worse, catch him here.

Inside the trailer, the air was cool and smelled faintly of motor oil and worn leather. Her father was resting, headphones on, a karting manual open but forgotten on the table. She moved as quietly as she could, careful not to disturb him. Michael’s soft breathing was the only sound as she rummaged in a drawer until her fingers found the worn rubber band around a deck of playing cards, edges dog eared and bent from travel.

She clutched the deck and slipped back outside, trying not to trip on the steps. Max was still sitting where she left him, hands clasped tight in his lap.

She dropped down opposite him on the bench and spread the cards between them.

“Do you know how to play Go Fish?” she asked carefully, enunciating the words as best she could.

Max tilted his head. “Fish? Like… swimming?” He made a flicking motion with his hand, his mouth quirking into a shy grin.

Natalie chuckled. “No, no. Not water fish. Cards fish,” she pulled two matching cards from the deck and held them up.

“You look for the same,” she said simply.

“Ah,” Max nodded slowly. “Same cards.”

She dealt them each seven cards, the worn deck shuffling unevenly in her hands.

“You ask,” Natalie mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully, “’Do you have… five?’” Holding up the five of hearts.

Max looked at his cards, then at her. “Do you have… five?” His words came out slow, but clear.

“Yes! Very good!” She smiled wide, passing him the card.

Max’s grin grew a little, small but real, and he slipped the card into his hand.

They played like that for a while. Slowly, awkwardly, laughing at their mistakes. Natalie mixed English and German, Max added quiet bits of Dutch. They stumbled over numbers and words, but remarkably, the game unfolded smoothly, each card a small bridge between two worlds. Dutch, Natalie noticed, wasn’t so far from German after all! Some of the words sounded familiar. Echoes from home just spoken in a different rhythm. She understood just enough to keep up, and Max understood just enough to grin when she teased him for losing.

“Do you have… seven?” Max asked after a few turns, holding up his cards like a shield.

“No seven,” Natalie groaned. “Go fish, boy.”

He drew a card and his face lit up. “Lucky!”

“Very lucky,” Natalie giggled back, holding her hand out for him to shake. “Good game.”

Max stared at her hand for a long moment, then shook it with a quiet grin. “Good game,” he said again.

For the first time since arriving at the track, Natalie felt something that didn’t come from her father’s proud smile or Mick’s playful teasing. Max was different from those two. She hugged her knees tighter, watching the boy shuffle the cards slowly, his blue eyes fixed on the worn deck. She was used to being supported, having people in her corner. But it was rare to sit with someone her age who didn’t already know her, who wasn’t her brother or one of his friends. Someone who didn’t treat her like a Schumacher, just… Natalie.

After a pause, she spoke softly, “Your papa… he is… mad with you?”

Max’s hands stilled on the cards. He glanced up, startled by the question, then quickly looked away, eyes narrowing. “Why do you ask?”

Natalie bit her lip, hesitating. “I see him. At the track. He shouts at you.” Natalie looked down at her scuffed shoes.

Max sighed, leaning back against the bench and dropping the cards on his lap. “Yeah..,” he admitted quietly. “He shouts a lot.”

Natalie’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But my papa never yells at me like that. He says I am strong, no matter what. He tells me he is proud.”

Max looked at her, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Your papa… he doesn’t get mad?”

“No,” she replied quickly. “Even when I make mistakes, he smiles. He says I am learning. That I will be better next time.”

Max’s lips pressed together, and for a moment he stared at the ground. “That’s… nice.”

Natalie nodded slowly, her green eyes thoughtful. “Why does your papa yell then? Does he not love you?”

Max shrugged, picking at a splinter in the wood. “He loves me. But… he thinks love is making me better by pushing me harder. If I don’t win… he’s angry. Says I need to be perfect.”

Natalie looked down. “My papa says I don’t have to be perfect to be loved. That being myself is enough.”

Max gave a small, bitter laugh. “It… I… Sometimes, I think he cares more about winning than about me.”

Natalie reached out tentatively, placing her hand lightly on his arm. “That… doesn’t sound like love. To me, at least.”

Max looked at her, surprised. Silence stretched between them.

Then he asked quietly, “Your papa… you are sure he is proud of you?”

Natalie shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Yes. Always. Even when I’m not the fastest or the best. He says I make him proud just by trying.”

Max frowned, looking almost jealous. “That sounds like a really good papa.”

Before she could say more, a sharp voice cut through the quiet.

“Max!”

They both jumped, startled like dogs caught sneaking food off the dinner table. Jos Verstappen stood just a few feet away, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, shoulders tense beneath the weight of barely contained fury. His stance was sharp. Rooted, unmovable, like a warning sign in human form. The late night light cut across his face, casting half of it in shadow and making the glare in his eyes burn even colder.

Max’s smile disappeared. He stood up quickly, knocking over the cards from his lap.

Jos stormed over, speaking quickly in Dutch, his tone harsh and commanding.

Natalie caught only a few words. And Schumacher was one among them. She felt her heart tighten, the sound of her last name spat like an insult. The rest of the sentence blurred past her, sharp consonants and vowels tumbling too fast for her to understand, but the intention was clear. Jos’ voice was like gravel; low, cold, hurtful.

She wasn’t used to that kind of anger. Not ever directed at her, especially from a parent of a teammate.

Her papa never raised his voice like that. He didn’t get in her face or bark orders like she was something that needed fixing. So she stood there frozen, unsure what she’d done to make this scary man look at her like that.

Natalie didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Just the sound of Max shifting nervously beside her, his shoulders curling inward, trying to shrink himself small enough to disappear.

Jos switched to English, his voice cutting through the quiet like a snapped branch.

“You,” he spat, jabbing a finger in Natalie’s direction. “Don’t you ever talk to my son again.”

Natalie blinked, startled. “What?” she asked, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

Jos didn’t look confused, but rather he looked furious. Cold and sure of himself in that terrifying, know it all, grown-up way that made Natalie feel suddenly very small.

“You heard me,” Jos deadpanned. “I don’t want you near him.”

Max had gone still beside the bench, shoulders tensed, eyes flicking between his father and Natalie like he didn’t know what to do. But only that he couldn’t do anything.

Natalie stood up slowly, the bench creaking behind her, and instinctively took a step back from Jos. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeves.

“I’m so sorry sir,” she spoke quietly, voice small but steady. “We were just playing.”

Jos scoffed like the idea was laughable. “You think this is a game?” he snapped. “You race against my son. You don’t get to be ‘just playing’ with him.”

Natalie blinked again, confused. “But.. why does that matter?”

Jos leaned in closer, and even though she held her ground, every part of her wanted to run. “Because your name is a problem,” he frowned. “Your father is soft. He tells the press how proud he is of you when you lose. You really think that teaches anything? You’re a pathetic girl in this sport, paraded around like she’s earned it. When it’s just your name doing all the heavy lifting.” His voice was sharper now, slicing through the young girl like ice. “And I will not have Max around that.”

The words landed like stones in her chest. She didn’t understand all of what Jos had meant, but the cruelty in his voice was clear.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Max shift his weight like he might speak, but he didn’t. He didn’t even lift his head.

“You’re not to speak to him again,” Jos informed, straightening. “Not at the track. And especially not afterwards. Nowhere.” His gaze swept to Max. “You. Let’s go.”

Max didn’t move right away. Then, without a word, he turned with his shoulders still hunched. He followed after his father, eyes fixed on the gravel.

He did not give Natalie a goodbye. No backward glance. Absolutely fucking nothing.

Natalie stood in the silence they left behind, the sound of the wind gently rattling through the trees and tents. The cards that had been in Max’s lap were now scattered across the grass, some of them face down in the dirt, others turned upward like they were still waiting for the next move. One fluttered a few inches farther with the breeze, then settled near her feet, its edges bent.

Natalie’s hands were clenched at her sides, jaw tight, but she didn’t understand why. She’d done nothing wrong, in fact, she was only but kind to Max. And honestly, the only one who was kind to Max.

The other kids at the karting track whispered behind his back sneered when Max passed by, calling him weird, quiet, even scary. They kept their distance, wary of the boy who rarely spoke and whose sharp blue eyes seemed to look right through them. But Natalie saw something different. She saw someone who needed a friend. Someone who deserved better. Yet now, standing alone as they walked away, she wondered if her kindness was worth what had just happened.

She didn’t know what to call what Max’s father had said. But she knew, deep down, that it wasn’t love.

And for the first time, something bitter and unfamiliar bloomed in her chest. Not because she had been yelled at by Jos, but for the little boy who hadn’t even looked back.

taglist @anamiad00msday @norstappenvibes @maxswhore33 @ragioniera @anedpev @dannydancer1 @beyond-the-ashes @flowersofdeath @camilahpg03 @iisa-bellla @haileyweinstein @butterflygxril @c3lest328 @toxicthotsyndrome68 @d-aydr3aming-in-stars @itsjustmyopinionf1 @quelinameowl @lagrandeoursee @havaneselover08 @luckyladycreator2 @linneaadele @softmhm @gabriellepearce96 @cryinghotmess @manuztb @embonbon @lelevs @athanasia-day @darkkingchild @wallowinmemories

[truthfultales]

Reader x Halsin –

Buried In You

Unaccustomed as I am to writing reader-insert smut (my focus tends to lean toward more emotionally nuanced intimacy ^^), this is something of an experiment - I hope it lands. EDIT: Ended up expanding the ending slightly, as it felt something was missing. I wanted to involve his scent, as well as the nest his chest forms. His warm tenderness behind the solid physique. (And I did feel the need to add even more reverence, while also underlining the hint at Breeding.)

Link to Ao3

___________________________________

– Buried in You –

There’s something ancient in the way Halsin touches you – not practiced, not polished, but instinctive, like moss growing toward light or rivers carving stone. His hands roam your skin with reverence and hunger braided together, calloused palms spreading heat along your thighs as he guides you into his lap like a blessing he’s waited seasons to receive.

You straddle his hips, and when you reach between your bodies to guide him to your entrance, his breath catches – a sharp inhale, like the first time he breathed forest air after captivity.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice deep and tight with restraint.

You answer by sinking down on him.

The stretch steals your breath – slow, thick, endless. He fills you inch by inch, the way roots claim the soil, until you’re seated fully, hips flush, stuffed full of him. Halsin groans beneath you, head falling back against the bedroll, jaw clenched, golden eyes fluttering shut.

“Gods, you’re–” He shudders. “You feel like the forest itself. Hot. Wet. Alive.”

You stay there a moment, impaled and trembling slightly from the sheer fullness of him. He’s so deep it borders on overwhelming – not painful, but intense, grounding. You feel stretched open, not just physically, but claimed. His hands find your waist, holding you still as he breathes through it.

“Look at how well you take me,” he says, voice a growl now, roughened by arousal. “Like you were carved to fit me.”

You begin to move – slow circles of your hips, grinding instead of bouncing, letting him drag along your walls with every pass. Halsin’s grip tightens. His cock pulses inside you. He’s losing composure by degrees, undone not by roughness but by the softness of it – the intimacy. The unbearable pleasure of being inside you and watching you take him.

Every thrust is a low, drawn-out stroke that has your cunt fluttering around him. You’re soaked, every motion squelching softly between your thighs. He slides in deep, kisses your cervix, and you gasp –sharp and helpless. Halsin’s voice breaks.

“Oh, love,” he moans. “You feel like the first bloom after frost. Like spring come too early.”

The words break something in you.

You ride him harder, chasing the rhythm that makes your vision blur –and he meets you, hips snapping up to bury himself deeper, each stroke slapping wetly as arousal coats your thighs. His praise comes fast now, unfiltered:

“Perfect. So tight. So good for me – gods, you’re drawing everything out of me–”

You clamp down around him, and he knows.

His hands shoot to your hips, slamming you down onto him, and he buries himself to the hilt with a ragged groan. His cock throbs inside you as he comes, heat spilling deep, thick, warm – filling you in waves that pulse through his whole body. He holds you there, his arms tight around your back, as if anchoring himself to the earth.

He doesn’t pull out.

You stay locked together, chest to chest, your cunt still fluttering from aftershocks as his cum seeps from around his cock. Halsin cradles your face, kisses your temple, still buried in you.

“I’m not done with you,” he whispers against your skin. “Not until I’ve filled you again. And again.”

His hands soften – one trailing reverently up your spine, the other slipping between your thighs. With patient worship, he begins to circle you there, slow and deliberate, coaxing another wave from you while you’re still trembling from the first. His other hand cups your breast, his mouth lowering to take the soft weight into the heat of his mouth. You arch into him, caught between comfort and desire, between grounding and flight.

You breathe him in – the sharpness of his sweat, the heat of it mingled with the familiar scent of woodsmoke and pine needles and the faint, earthen tang of crushed herbs clinging to his skin. His chest, broad and furred, is your sanctuary now; you drag your palms through the hair there, luxuriating in the primal warmth of him. Even the dark scent beneath his arms – wild, musky – makes your blood hum.

Halsin’s golden eyes open as he feels you rise again, slow and sure as the moon tide.

He watches your face as if it were sacred, memorizing every flicker of expression – the flush across your cheekbones, the way your lips part around a breathless sound you try to swallow. One hand remains at your back, steadying you, while the other continues its quiet devotion between your thighs, coaxing the storm building beneath your skin.

“You are… wonder,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “More than I thought the gods would ever let me touch.”

Your forehead meets his, and your hips roll once more. It’s not urgency that drives you now – it’s worship, tethered to the quiet understanding that this moment is not a flame but an altar.

A prayer in motion. Your worship, unspoken but aching in every breath, reaches its peak in that shattering stillness, your body clenching around him as if to draw him into your very soul.

You tremble in his arms, boneless and burning, clutching at him as if the world might fall away without his weight against you. And in that sacred pulse – those final, reverent contractions – you feel his seed drawn deeper, claimed by your body with the same certainty as breath filling lungs, or roots drinking rain.

He holds you through it, murmuring praise into the curve of your neck, his voice like low thunder, his breath damp against your skin. There is no rush to move, no need to explain. Only the quiet miracle of being fully seen – and still wholly wanted.

At last, you sink fully into him, your limbs draped over his, breath slowing, your heart settling into the rhythm of his chest. You feel his hands still resting on you – warm, grounding, protective – as if to say, I am still here. I will remain.

Outside, waves lap against the dock. The fire at camp crackles, dimming to embers. The stars have begun their slow wheel across the sky, unnoticed.

He doesn’t move, and neither do you. There is nothing left to chase. Only the stillness after the bloom, the peace after the rain.

Halsin presses one final kiss to your brow – soft as moss, deep as root – and whispers, "Sleep, my heart. We’ll delight in each other again, soon. You are safe."

And with his heartbeat beneath your cheek, the world feels as it should – quiet, and full.

[brooklyn-duo]

Their week together was a dream come true for Bucky, he never believed he could be so happy with anyone, even with Steve. The years he spent pining, loving him secretly, dreaming of maybe one day having this; it didn’t compare, none of it could compare to what it truly felt like. He got through the most brutal factory shifts as if they were nothing, because he knew he would be seeing Steve that night and he would get to kiss him first thing when he walked through that apartment door. He felt bolder around Steve, less cautious and less afraid of getting caught.

God..that night on Coney Island, he couldn’t believe how different it was when the sun went down. He’d gone there before, taken girls on dates and it was a generally wholesome time that ended with getting ice cream to enjoy on the car ride back. But being there with Steve, after dark, it was like a whole new place. The number of men he saw holding hands, it gave him the courage to slip his into Steve’s even as they’re walking on the boardwalk. But kissing on the Wonder Wheel made him see stars, he couldn’t believe they were doing this and it made him insatiable for Steve, that night when they got home holy shit he couldn’t stay away from him even if he’d tried (and of course he hadn’t).

Their last night, Bucky couldn’t ignore the bittersweet ache in his heart. He knows he’ll be able to come back briefly before he ships out but this felt so much like a final goodbye that he couldn’t stand it. They didn’t have sex that night, didn’t fuck, no they made love to each other in a way he never had before. He looked into his eyes while they become one together, kissed him with such tenderness and showered him with affection and soft words so that there was no doubt between them that Steve was the love of his life. He couldn’t imagine feeling this way for anyone else, it felt absurd to think anyone could ever come close to meaning this much to him.

He lay awake for a while after Steve fell asleep, staring at his sleeping face and trying to etch every detail of him to memory. He wanted to be able to visualize it at night when he was alone at basic training, wanted to have something to hold onto. He fell asleep that night with tears streaming down his face, he wasn’t sure how he was going to survive without this now, without his Steve. He wanted to scream, to tear the world apart for the unfairness of it all. He had refused to think about it, refused to dwell on his sorrows this past week because he was so focused on Steve but now it all came crashing into him as he realized this was the last night they would have like this for the foreseeable future. It twisted up inside him, the harsh reality of their situation, and he struggled to stay still because of it until he finally fell asleep

He wakes slowly, blinking tiredly as he realizes Steve is no longer in his arms, but smiles weakly at the sight of him drawing, “Workin’ on your next masterpiece?” he asks teasingly, hiding a yawn by pressing his face into the pillow.

Bucky was happy to hold him close, nuzzling against his hair and keeping him tucked right up against him easily. He strokes his fingers absently down his back, “I love you too Stevie, my Steve,” he smiles faintly before he blushes deeply at the question, “Baby we can do that anytime you want, as often as we like..” until he had to leave. The words sit unspoken and completely breaking his heart the second he thinks it. But he just holds Steve close and lets the feeling of the man he loves in his arms keep him from sinking too far into those kinds of thoughts.

He feels a slight fuzziness, it was more than pleasant just lying here with Steve and he’s quiet for a moment, just enjoying the closeness they could share, “love this with you, not just..i love kissing and touching you and..and what we just did was..god it was perfect, but I like this too Stevie, love just layin’ here with you and holding you, and being able to have this with you..” he mumbles softly, leaning over to kiss shoulder again and it’s a long few minutes before he finally sits up. “Let’s go have dinner Stevie then we..we can do this all over again,” he grins, reaching for his clothes to pull them on reluctantly.

[vaginalvr]

Hi! I love your work! It’s soooooo gooood!!!! Like I want to crawl inside of them and just live there lol.

Would you be able to do a Spencer x reader x Hotch one with like double penetration and some like m/m action?

content warning: extremely explicit sexual content, 18+ only, includes double penetration (reader receiving), m/m action (kissing, touching), and dominant/submissive dynamics with trust and affection throughout.

a/n: i spent so long on this its disgusting and i love it its 5 am here god this is what i do with my life now

word count ~ 6k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

It was supposed to be one last drink.

The case was over, the unsub was in custody, and for once, no one had died. The three of you ended up back at Hotch’s apartment — his invitation, casual and unexpected, drawing you and Spencer like moths to a flame. Maybe you all just weren’t ready to say goodnight yet. Maybe something else had been simmering under the surface for too long.

You sat on Hotch’s couch with Spencer beside you, legs tucked beneath you, your fingertips brushing his as you passed him your empty glass. The warm flush on your skin had little to do with the whiskey and more to do with the way Hotch was watching you.

And Spencer.

Both of you.

With heat.

With want.

With decision.

When Aaron finally crossed the room and pulled you to your feet, there was no pretense. His fingers curled under your jaw, lifting your gaze to his. “Say stop,” he murmured, “if you want to stop this.”

You didn’t.

Neither did Spencer.

You’d never felt more naked than you did fully undressed under both of their eyes.

Hotch stood behind you, firm and steady, his hands tracing reverent lines down your body. In front of you, Spencer looked wrecked already — his curls mussed, his shirt gone, his belt unbuckled and hanging open. His eyes darted from your chest to your lips to Aaron’s possessive grip on your hips.

“You’re stunning,” Spencer breathed, and Aaron’s hand moved lower in approval, pressing you back against his chest.

“She’s more than that,” Hotch said lowly, his breath ghosting over your ear. “She’s ours tonight.”

Spencer swallowed, visibly shivering.

Hotch kissed your neck, slow and claiming. “Get on your knees for us, sweetheart. Show Spencer how good you are.”

You sank to the floor, between them both.

They took their time.

Spencer fumbled slightly at first — always so brilliant, always so eager — but once his cock was in your mouth and your lips were wrapped around him, he forgot to be nervous. He forgot everything but the way your tongue swirled, the way your eyes met his, the way Aaron stood behind you murmuring filth in your ear.

“Look how much he loves it,” Hotch whispered. “How hard he gets when you moan around him.”

Spencer’s hips bucked involuntarily and you held him in your mouth, letting him fuck your throat gently, your fingers curled around his thighs. Hotch’s hand cradled the back of your head, guiding the rhythm, watching both of you fall apart a little more.

By the time Hotch tugged you up, Spencer was trembling — not from orgasm, not yet, but from restraint.

“She needs both of us,” Hotch said firmly. “Come on. Bed.”

You laid out on Aaron’s mattress, spread for them, every nerve ending on fire.

Spencer knelt between your legs, his fingers moving carefully through your folds, slow and attentive, while Hotch prepared himself behind you. The slick sounds, the low sounds of both their breath, the heat curling deep in your belly — it was overwhelming.

“Is this okay?” Spencer asked, always asking, always gentle.

You cupped his cheek. “I want you. Both of you.”

Hotch’s voice was rough. “She’s ready.”

And then you were surrounded.

Spencer lined himself up and pressed inside first — slow, stretching you, filling you with a gasp. He leaned down to kiss you, and it was sweet, shaky, like he couldn’t believe he was inside you.

Hotch didn’t wait long.

The extra stretch of his cock behind you was more than full — it was mind-blowing. Hotch took it slow, carefully, giving you time to adjust as he eased inside alongside Spencer, groaning low in your ear when he bottomed out.

Double penetration — you’d fantasized about it, but nothing prepared you for the sensation. You were completely filled, tight and trembling, with both of them pressed inside you, holding still while you clutched at Spencer’s arms, trying to breathe through the overwhelming fullness.

“You’re perfect,” Hotch growled. “So tight like this. Taking us both.”

Spencer kissed you, panting. “God, you feel… incredible.”

They started to move.

Not too fast, not at first — a slow, deliberate rhythm as they moved in sync, careful not to overwhelm you. Spencer fucked forward while Hotch thrust deeper behind you, and the friction, the stretch, the heat had you gasping their names, clawing at the sheets, shaking apart.

Aaron’s hand slid around your throat, just resting there. “Good girl. Look at Spencer while we fuck you. Let him see how pretty you are like this.”

You moaned — loud, uninhibited.

Spencer leaned down to kiss you again, needier now, his tongue sliding into your mouth as you whined into it. You felt Aaron’s chest at your back, his breath ragged, and then — his voice low and deliberate —

“Kiss him again.”

You obeyed.

And then something electric happened — Spencer whimpered into your mouth as Aaron reached forward and curled his fingers into Spencer’s hair, pulling him close. And before either of you could fully register it, Aaron was kissing Spencer too.

It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t delicate.

Hotch kissed him like he owned him.

Spencer moaned into it, his cock throbbing inside you, and the low sound Aaron made in response had you clenching hard around them both.

“That’s it,” Hotch muttered darkly. “You both belong to me tonight.”

It became a blur after that.

They moved faster, deeper — fucking you harder, praising you, touching you everywhere. Spencer’s hand found your clit, rubbing firm little circles that had your legs shaking. Hotch gripped your hips, thrusting deep, his voice low and filthy in your ear.

“You were made for this, sweetheart. Made for us.”

“Please,” you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for anymore.

“Let go,” Spencer urged, voice cracking. “Come for us. Please, I want to feel—”

You shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you with a violent, shaking cry, your body clenching down so hard on both of them that Spencer nearly lost it.

“Oh god—” he choked, “Hotch, I’m—”

“Go ahead,” Aaron said. “Come inside her.”

Spencer gasped as he came, pulsing deep, his face buried in your neck. Hotch held both of you through it, still moving behind you, still thick and hard and aching for release.

When Spencer collapsed beside you, spent and panting, Hotch pulled you up and over into his lap, never pulling out. He adjusted your hips until he was buried deep again — this time alone — and you moaned at the soreness and fullness, your body already so wrecked.

But you wanted more.

You rode him as he gripped your hips, thrusting up hard into you, chasing his own high. Spencer leaned in, kissing your shoulder, murmuring sweet praise into your ear — how good you were, how beautiful, how perfect.

Then he kissed Aaron.

It was slower this time. Aaron’s hand slid up to cradle Spencer’s jaw, and Spencer moaned into the kiss while Hotch finally came inside you with a low groan, gripping you tight, thrusting deep as he emptied himself.

You collapsed between them, boneless and overwhelmed.

Aftercare came like a wave.

Hotch cleaned you up gently, wrapping you in one of his softest shirts, placing you between them on the bed. Spencer spooned you from behind, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder while Hotch held your hand and rubbed circles into your palm.

No words were needed.

Just soft breathing. Gentle touches. The warmth of being held by two people who had you — completely — and who you had in return.

As you drifted to sleep between them, you felt Spencer murmur something against your skin.

“…hope this wasn’t just one night.”

Aaron answered before you could.

“It won’t be.”

[hard-core-super-star]

cards on the table [L.Calderu]

pairing: lilia calderu x vampire!reader

summary: the morning after, you can't bring yourself to leave lilia again. instead, you let the desire you still feel for her take over.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT -> morning sex; mommy kink galore [because it's lilia, duh]; SO much biting [because vampires duh]; desperate switch!lilia is SO important to me; grinding; making out; unholy uses of magic; fingering; praise kink go brrr; lilia's boobs deserve their own warning fr; plot and feelings randomly thrown in because i can't write porn without it; so much banter

wordcount: 2.6k

a/n: HELLO! this part took longer than i planned but i'm really happy with how it turned out. i couldn't write vampire!reader without throwing some smut in before more plot 😌i'm having a lot of fun writing for lilia so i hope i've delivered. as always, my inbox is open and i hope you enjoy <3

part one |

* * * * * * *

When your eyes open, the first thing you see is the way the sunlight bounces off the ceiling. Unlike what most vampire myths said, you weren't afraid of the sun. At least not any more than a mortal with secrets made far too vulnerable by the light.

The second thing you notice once your eyes focus and your mind starts clearing is the comfortable weight settled on top of you. Reality's quick to crash into you after that.

For some reason, you had expected Lilia to be up and about by the time morning came. Even though she had made fun of you for wanting to run away, she was the same way. Actually, she tended to be worse. But of course, she would never admit it, preferring instead to throw the blame on you.

Seeing her like this, though, soft and vulnerable, reminds you why you hated leaving her in the first place. While you knew it had to be done, it didn't change how awful you felt about it. How lonely the years that have passed have been.

"How are you already so tense?" Her words break the silence and draw a sigh out of you. It really isn't fair how easy she can read you, even now.

"I'm just not used to waking up under a beautiful woman," you reply, the corners of your mouth tugging up into a lazy smile.

"I find that very hard to believe, sweetheart."

You suppress the urge to laugh and instead give in to the easy atmosphere. "Ouch, are you calling me a whore, Madame Calderu?"

The eyeroll you earn yourself is more worth it. "I'm calling you charming, my dear."

"Oh, my mistake."

She laughs, the sound rich and soft and capable of turning all your thoughts to mush in a second. "I've missed this."

You know what she means, but you don't allow yourself to linger on her words too much. A part of you feels undeserving. It wasn't like you didn't have good reason for leaving and yet…the guilt threatens to swallow you whole.

"Insulting me?" You ask as your fingers draw random patterns on her back. The fabric of her robe is thin enough for you to feel the warmth of her skin beneath it.

With a soft sigh, she lifts herself enough so she can stare down at you. The wrinkles in the corners of her eyes are as soft as her smile. "Laughing with you."

It's impossible to ignore the truth in her tone. "Yeah, I guess that's nice too."

"You guess?" She responds, attempting to sound offended. It doesn't work very well, though, since she's still grinning too hard. "You're a hard woman to please, my darling."

It's impossible to stop yourself from laughing at that. "You of all people should know that's not true."

Instead of instantly replying, she allows her eyes to drift down your face, lingering on your lips. You're not sure if she knows exactly what she's doing, but you do know you can't stop yourself from craving more.

And you can't even be mad at yourself for it.

You never even tried to lie about your feelings for her. Even after the visions, the prophecy, the knowledge that she'll be your undoing, you still love her. You've always loved her. How can you fight against that part of your fate?

One of your hands comes up, fingers slowly grazing against the side of her neck. The only thing left of your bite is the memory and yet she still shivers. Still leans into your touch.

"y/n," she whispers, her eyes fluttering closed for a few seconds. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

"I find that very hard to believe," you reply, your voice just as soft as hers.

She lets out a soft huff of air, something halfway to a chuckle, before you steal whatever teasing words were on the tip of her tongue away with a kiss.

Despite how strong your longing for her has been, you still surprise yourself. You almost assumed you'd walk out of her life again without doing exactly what you'd been thinking about since you left.

Clearly, you're a fool in more than one way.

Your fingers move back to tangle in her hair and even though you try to keep yourself in check, you can't. You want more. Need her in ways that scare you and excite you at the same time.

Lilia pulls away from the kiss, her heaving breaths fanning across your lips. "I missed this too."

"I missed you," you admit, your face warming up exponentially.

It's dangerous to say it out loud, but there's no use in hiding. Not when her eyes can see everything you don't say. Everything you feel without meaning to.

"Yeah?" Her head tilts to the side, wide pupils scanning your face. "Show me."

You grin, sharp teeth poking out from under your top lip. "Gladly."

Your hands travel down her body in an instant and your fingers grasp the fabric of her robe. A laugh escapes her as you hurry to slip the garment off of her, shifting around until your lips can meet the exposed skin of her shoulders.

"Impatient as always, little one?" She questions, using her words to distract you from the way she's moving above you. It's subtle, but you can't ignore the feeling of her heat pressing against your thigh.

"Only when it comes to you."

You let your fangs graze her skin, dragging along her shoulder blade until she's shivering above you. The urge to bite her is far stronger than it should have been considering how much you'd drank the night before. Then again, your thirst for her has always been stronger than anything else. Including your common sense.

"Such a flatter," she mutters.

Her hands move to her robe, helping you get the rest of it off, while your attention is captivated by her warm skin. You sink your teeth into her shoulder, not hard enough to actually draw blood, but enough to feel the connection that thrums beneath your veins.

"And so eager too," Lilia hums.

There's no way you can deny her claim. Especially with the way your hands start exploring the newly revealed contours of her body. Your fingers trace the lines of her muscles, mapping out the freckles you can't see but know are there.

As much as it pains you, you remove your fangs from her without drawing any blood, focusing on her hunger instead of your own. "I'm not the only one, I think you're soaking my pants."

"Oh, very funny." Her voice lacks humor but her eyes dance with a mischief she was sure she'd lost years ago. "Maybe if you weren't so preoccupied with biting me, I wouldn't have to be doing all the work by myself."

"All the work- oh-"

Your question is answered by the way she shifts her hips, slowly grinding against your leg. One hand lands on her hip to steady her as she sits up slightly to get better friction. You move with her, rising into a slightly uncomfortable position just to latch your mouth onto her chest.

"There you go," she coos. "You remember what mama likes?"

You don't think you could forget if you tried.

Your lips wrap around one of her nipples, feeling it harden under your tongue. Her back arches into your touch and you can't stop yourself from letting your teeth graze her sensitive skin.

The noise she makes in response is more than enough of a reward, but then her hand tangles in your hair and pulls you closer. "Fuck, darling. You're so good for me."

Her whimpered praise sends sparks of electricity up your spine. Not even your own pleasure can distract you from your mission, though.

One hand stays on her hip, slowly guiding her movements when her hips stutter, and the other one comes up to toy with her other breast, lavishing both of her nipples with the attention you know she needs. If your mouth wasn't so busy, you would have teased her for how frantic her movements against you are.

And she was making fun of you for being eager.

"y/n," she whispers, her voice shaking almost as much as her thighs.

All you do is hum, biting down on her nipple just enough to hear her gasp. Her movements speed up and you double your efforts, flexing your thigh and pushing up into her as much as you can.

It makes you a little dizzy due to the proximity but you force your eyes to travel upward until you can take in the curve of her neck and her parted lips. The puffs of air she lets out sound more like whines than anything and you let them wash over you like a wave.

You wait until she starts muttering curses beneath her breath to move again. Your hand leaves her breast and glides down the front of her body, easily slipping under the waistband of her ruined underwear.

You detach yourself from her nipple only to trail kisses up the valley of her breasts. "Cum for me, mama, I know you need it."

Your fingers press against her swollen clit and you watch as her whole body shudders in response. It's the most beautiful sight you've seen in years.

You work her through her orgasm, feeling as she soaks your fingers and her underwear all in one go. It's sinful and delightful all at the same time.

When she slumps forward, worn and overly sensitive, you instantly wrap your arms around her waist and lie back against the couch once more. For a moment, it's like no time has passed at all. Like you managed to cheat both time and space just to be with each other.

As silly as it might be, you allow yourself the fantasy.

Your lips press against her temple as the two of you lay there, her head on your shoulder and her nose nuzzling your jaw. As hard as it is, you don't move. You don't dare break the moment.

Because you know once you do, you won't get to have her like this again.

The runes may be strong and the wards may pulse with life every time you make her heart skip a beat, but you're being hunted. And every second you spend with her only puts her in more danger.

You know that.

But then she's shifting again and her lips find yours and it's hard to think about anything else except her.

When she pulls away, you're both breathless, gripping onto each other like you're afraid you'll disappear. The helplessness that simmers beneath the surface is hidden well under desire and desperation, but you can still feel it. Thrumming to life after every kiss.

"You were so good for me, angel," she murmurs, almost like she doesn't want to risk breaking the moment by being too loud. "Let me make you feel good."

"Yes please," you reply as your arms wrap around her neck to keep her close.

To your surprise, she makes no move to make fun of you for how clingy you are and instead her arms move down your arms, caressing your skin like she's commiting every touch to memory. You don't doubt she is.

Once she reaches your shirt, she simply smirks down at you and with a flick of her wrists, your clothes dissapear. "Cute trick."

Lilia just raises an eyebrow at you, hovering over you with a borderline dangerous glint in her eyes. "Trick? Are you insulting my magic, little one?"

"Oh, I would never dare," you tease.

Of course, she doesn't believe you, and you honestly don't blame her.

"You just can't stop yourself from being a brat, can you?" Her question is completely rhetorical, especially considering her next idea.

She hovers above you, watching your face closely as one of her hands trails down your body to the heat eminating from between your legs. Her fingers part your folds, revealing your clit to her before she murmurs something ancient under her breath. You have no idea what she's doing…until you feel a sudden shock on your clit.

"Lilia-" you gasp, your thighs attempting to close.

She clicks her tongue in dissaproval as she lands a warning smack to your inner thigh. "Don't you dare close them, I'm just getting started."

Your cunt clenches around pure air at that and the pleasure sends another shock-like sensation through your cunt. You quickly realize you don't mind, though, as the pain morphs into unbelieable pleasure.

"Oh, fuck."

"You read my mind, baby."

You don't get anther second to react before two of her fingers are teasing your already sensitive clit, pressing down until your thighs shake and then moving down to gather your wetness on the tips.

She's absolutely playing with you and you can't find it in yourself to mind. Not when the way she toys with you feels so damn good.

"Please," you all but whimper. "More."

"Always so needy, it's adorable."

You whimper again and she finally takes pity on you, sliding those same two fingers into your wet cunt. It only takes a few thrusts and another well placed shock for you to near the edge.

"Mama- please-"

"Already?" Despite her teasing tone, she can't hide her excitment. "You wanna cum for me, sweet girl?"

You desperately nod, your hips bucking up into her without meaning to as you chase your incoming orgasm. "Yes, need it, please."

"I've missed hearing you beg like that. Go ahead, baby, don't hold back."

She doesn't have to tell you twice.

Your body instantly reacts to her, clenching uncontrollably around her fingers while her thumb plays with your clit. You cry out as your orgasm crashes into you and you're left whining and shaking underneath her.

She leans down to pepper kisses across your face, her tongue darting out to lap up the few tears that escape the corners of your eyes. "Always so sweet for me."

All you can manage are a few incoherent mumbles and she chuckles as she removes her fingers from between your legs. Another incantation is mumbled and the ache on your clit subsides.

"Better?" She asks, shifting around once more so she's on her side, arms bringing you closer to her.

You nod and mirror her, tucking your head beneath her chin and wrapping yourself around her warmth. "Did you melt my brain so I wouldn't leave?"

"Not on purpose," she replies with a laugh. "Does that mean you'll stay?"

You allow the question to hang in the air for a few seconds. There's nothing you want more than to stay. Not only are you technically still injured, you'll have to drink from her again soon or risk growing weak once more.

You know the risks, the ones that go beyond simply being a vampire in love with a witch. Between the Guild, your family, and the prophecy that looms over both of your heads…staying with her will do nothing besides bring you more pain.

And yet, the answer forms before you can stop it.

"Yes. But only because I'm still hungry."

Lilia knows you're lying, but she doesn't call you out on it. Instead, she simply holds you closer, her fingers tracing the area where you'd been stabbed by the Guild's hunter. "Just give me a few minutes, then we can get up."

You know she's lying too, but all you do is smile and burrow into her chest.

* * * * * * *

taglist: @p00ki3-m0nst3r

[weaver77]

Ready player 2

Gamer Shiesty!Mark x Reader

Part 1

Inspired by @clairewritesfanfics version of Shiesty, I didn't know i needed gamer Shiesty until now.

If Mark were to go back in time and told his past self, that he would one day. Buy Animal crossing, Stardew Valley and even the Sims. He would have promptly laugh in his face and tell him to fuck off

And really, Mark couldn't blame him. Because after all he hadn't meet you yet.

When the two of you started dating he didn't expect it to last long.

At best, he thought it would last for a week or two. Before ultimately the two of you would part ways due to respective differences.

But that never happen.

Instead he was surprise when not only did you made an effort to know the things he liked. But you remembered them too.

He mentioned offhandedly about an anime character he liked and you got him a keychain of said character.

Before he knew it, the two of you started talking about all his favorite series, games. Heck, he even showed you the cosplays he made and the figurines he collected.

For the first time in his life, Mark felt like could just be himself around someone. Not Invincible the masked hero or Mark the resident bad boy who gets in trouble with the cops.

Just Mark Grayson who likes to read Seance dog and learned how to sew so he can cosplay his favorite character.

So when he accidentally insult you, he knew he fucked up

You had invite him over to your place, its the first time his been inside your house. And Mark was trying his best to hid how nervous he actually was

He lowkey regrets not doing any romance routes in his games. Maybe it would better prepare him for these stage

Maybe you picked up on his nerves because low and behold you set up a game console for the two of you.

How did he get so lucky?

He toke his respective seat ready to play the game you set up. Mark already decided he would go easy on you on the first round

When the game boot up and the title screen appeared. It toke a minute for Mark to register the name. Mario Kart

"What's so funny?" You ask carrying a bowl of popcorn catching the tail end of Mark's snicker.

"I'm sorry Babe, its just-" Mark bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing again as he reach for the popcorn bowl "I think you bought the wrong game"

You stilled for a moment processing what he said "What do you mean?"

"Its a racing game, you nailed that part sweetheart but it's for kids"

You didn't say anything

"It's okay" He paused to munch on the popcorn "We've all been deceived by good cover art "

You watch Mark pop more popcorn in his mouth

"We can exchange it for a real game so you didn't waste your money, or if you like I'll find a way to get your money back babe"

".. Mark" You spoke softly drawing his attention immediately "I didn't buy these game for you"

He blinked "What?"

"I owned these game for a while now, i played a version of it when i was a kid. And when i saw they're releasing a new version, i got it for myself"

Oh "Oh" Mark looked between you and the tv screen

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"I don't understand, how can you like these?" Mark ask waving his hand towards the screen like it has personal offended him "I understand liking it as a kid but how can you still like it now, is it the nostalgia?"

You toke in a deep breath before responding "I had fun playing it by myself and with friends. You like racing games so i thought we could have fun playing it together"

Mark remembers when he introduced you to one of his favourite anime, you haven't watched the show before and despite it not being in your genre. You watched it with him and listen to him gush about it.

And here he was interrogating you on why you like Mario Kart when you set it up as a cute co-op gaming date with your boyfriend.

"Its fine" You sigh snapping Mark back into the present "We can just watch a movie or something"

Before you can take away the controllers Mark stopped you "Y/n- baby wait" grasping your hand Mark inhaled looking up at you with his sad puppy dog eyes "I'm sorry, i shouldn't have said that too you. I meant not like these game but i shouldn't be an ass about you liking it"

Your expression soften as you hear out Mark's apology, due you didn't respond right away. Letting him sweat for a moment before ultimately bringing him into a hug "Apology accepted". Mark sighed sagging in relief as he returned the hug tenfold, nuzzling his face into your neck before separating.

"Do you still want to play?" Mark asked holding up the controller

"Mark we don't need to play Mario Kart if you don't like it" You replied not wanting Mark to feel pressured into playing it with you

"I know but you like it. And if it's something you enjoy playing then I'm happy to play it with you" Mark replied blushing at how sappy he sounds, but it was no less true.

And that was how Mark mange to salvage the date, only to lose the battle that was Mario Kart.

It seemed simple enough, cross the finish line. Something Mark is familiar with

What Mark didn't account for was how brutal you were with the turtle shell

Mark can figure out the best route of the race course but it was the power ups that got to him

He wasn't familer with them and even when you explained what each were he was still getting use to them

Meanwhile you were incredible experience in the game and it shows

Mark used the squid to ink up your side of the screen, limiting your vision in hopes of catching up

But you were still able to navigate through the course from the small clean gap the power up didn't cover

Which Mark is impressed by and finds attractive as hell

"I can't believe i lost" Mark stares in disbelief at the screen as you cross the finish like first

"Well that's not true you came in second place, that's a good first try" You point out patting him on the back

"Yeah but I'm usually come first" He muttered with a pout "I swear I'm usually good at these"

"Hmm i don't know" You hummed thoughtfully "Sounds like an excuse to cover up your skill issue"

"You did not just say that" Mark gasp

"Oh but i did, what are you gonna do about it Bowser?" You smirked raising your controller

"Oh now it's on!" Mark grinned in return starting round 2

Mark ended up winning that round and both of you ended up having a competition too see who can get the much wins

Mark knew some of the characters, like Peach, Mario and Luigi. But he was surprise there was more then one Mario and Luigi who apparently called Wario and Waluigi

You start to explain the characters history as the two of you played, even going into the other Mario games.

"I'm not sure if they kept these in the new release but in the original Mario and the thousand year door. The robot who was Princess Peach jailer fell in love with her when he watch her take a shower"

".. What?"

"And in another section she had to take off her clothes when she turned invisible to sneak around the castle she's in"

"What!?"

"Yeah it happened"

"Why- wait no go back, rewind. Tell me more about what happened with these perv robot"

By the end of the night not only did Mark have fun playing Mario Kart but he also takes back the Mario franchise being a game only for kids

[morningstar-the-king-himself]

Lucifer did his best to smile as he did his best to lean into Alastor's touch. "We'll get better with time," He reassured. Because even if they were hitting a couple bumps, Lucifer knew that this was something small. Their love could conquer so much more than this.

His eyes widened when he was picked up and taken to the bedroom. He clung to Alastor and felt a bit ashamed and embarrassed, "This was supposed to be a more fun start to our weekend. I promise I'll be more fun soon..."

Lucifer closed his eyes to try and calm his thoughts while Alastor went to make sure Charlie was taken care of and properly tucked into bed.

He's had these sort of feelings on and off throughout his life. Usually he would talk with Michael who would make him some tea and and listen to him rambled until he fell asleep. The next day he wouldn't even remember what those thoughts and feelings were about. This was similar to those times but...intensified like never before. Clearer thoughts, louder thoughts!...and yet they were still an inch away from his grasp.

Feeling restless, he stood and looked around until he found some paper and a pen. He felt like a man possessed...

First, he tried to draw the flash of shadow that he saw Alastor as. Once he did...he drew him again.

He didn't hear Alastor come in as he stared intently at the picture in his hand. There was something so...strongly familiar about the shadow. It wasn't simply a shadow. A shadow like this wouldn't be nameless. "Ombre..."

Lucifer winced as a headache pain pulsed through him. He closed his eyes to try and force it away. His mind still loud with thoughts he couldn't understand the words of.

Alastor smiled lightly and ran his fingers through Lucifer's hair as he spoke, pausing when Lucifer mentioned a week, alone, with Michael. They continued soon after, and he smiled. "Seems we're not the best at this balancing act~" He teased, referring to him, making Charlie feel a bit neglected, and now Lucifer then doing the same to Michael. Never mind the fact Michael wanted to rip them apart.

"Come on." He beckoned, standing up and then picking Lucifer up bridal style, like he used to when the king refused to sleep and was close to a breakdown. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable." He hummed, carrying him to his room. He laid Lucifer on the bed and made sure he was comfortable before kissing his forehead. "Rest up, I'll take care of Charlie." He promised before leaving to go play with her, give her a bath, and tuck her into bed before joining Lucifer in bed.

[444eggnog]

Light-Up Shoes to Wedding Shoes

✍︎: i’ve always imagined Oscar as a very hands on girl dad, gentle, soft-spoken, the kind who tears up at school plays and keeps crayon drawings in his desk. and i’ve always wanted to write an AU using this song… what better way to capture its quiet beauty than through the story of Oscar and his daughter? 

This one’s for the tender moments:

The wedding. The flashbacks. The tears he swears he’s not crying.

this will probably be my last AU for a while (okay, maybe just a few weeks lol) because uni is absolutely beating me up right now. nonetheless, i hope you enjoy this one; it’s extra special to me. ♡

content: fluff, Oscar as a girl dad, wedding, flashbacks, soft crying, full heart 

wc: 6,175 (I'm so sorry, I got carried away...)

The First Time I Held You…

Oscar held tightly onto his wife’s hand, whispering encouragements as she pushed through the pain of labor. It had been a difficult pregnancy, filled with worry, sleepless nights, and quiet fear he never let her see. He was terrified. But the moment their daughter’s first cries pierced the air, all that fear melted away.

Tears welled in his eyes as the doctor gently placed the baby on his wife’s chest. He couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. She was beautiful, soft features, a tiny button nose, a mix of them both. Somehow brand new, yet already the most important person in his life.

Later, in the quiet of their hospital room, Oscar hesitated when the nurse offered to let him hold her. She looked so small, too fragile, like the world might break her if he wasn’t careful. But his wife gave him an encouraging nod and smiled. You can hold her, Osc.

So he did.

He cradled his daughter with trembling arms, heart pounding in awe. A smile tugged at his lips as he leaned in and whispered the softest “Hi,” like she was a secret only he got to keep.

In that moment, something shifted inside him.

He’d thought he knew what love was. But now he understood something deeper. He would do anything to protect her. No one would ever hurt her, not if he had anything to say about it. He’d never let her cry, never let her feel alone.

And if someone did hurt her? Well, he wouldn’t end them, but he’d think about it.

The Very First Walk

It happened one lazy afternoon.

Oscar was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, toy blocks scattered around him, watching his daughter as she clung to the edge of the couch like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her legs were still wobbly, soft knees locked with determination, curls bouncing every time she shifted her balance.

She’d been practicing for days. Holding onto furniture. Testing her limits, then sitting down with a soft thud like she needed a break from trying so hard.

But today felt different.

Oscar held out his hands, close but not quite touching.

“Alright, bub,” he murmured gently. “You ready?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes, uncertain but curious. Then slowly, cautiously, she stepped away from the couch. Her little hand reached for his finger, gripping tight like she trusted it, like she always would.

One step.

Then another.

Oscar walked slowly, backward, matching her rhythm. Guiding. Not rushing. Just being there.

“Good job,” he whispered. “Look at you.”

Her grip loosened.

She kept going.

And Oscar, heart lodged somewhere between awe and ache, let her hand slip from his.

She kept walking.

Tiny steps. Wobbly legs. Arms out like wings.

He didn’t catch her this time. Didn’t rush forward or steady her.

He just stayed close, watching.

Letting go, but never far.

When she finally plopped onto the floor with a surprised laugh, he dropped beside her, scooping her up in a hug that felt too big for such a small moment, but it wasn’t. Not to him.

“You did it,” he whispered into her curls. “You walked.”

His wife peeked from the hallway. “Is she walking already?”

“Just now,” Oscar said, still grinning. “We walked together.”

His daughter giggled in his arms, cheeks flushed, tiny fists tugging at his hoodie string like it was her prize for getting across the room.

First Birthday

Oscar had no idea why she was so obsessed with Bluey.

Maybe it was the voices. Maybe it was the colors. Maybe it was the way she’d go perfectly still completely entranced whenever the opening theme played. Whatever the reason, he hadn’t even thought twice before choosing it as the theme for her first birthday.

He just wanted to make her happy.

Now, standing in the middle of a sea of blue streamers and balloon dogs, Oscar was panicking. His heart raced, his palms were sweaty, and he’d forgotten where the gift table was, again.

Why had he invited everyone?

Why did he think he could pull this off?

She didn’t even know what a birthday was. She didn’t care if the cake had fondant or if the streamers matched the cups. She just wanted Bluey. And maybe some mashed bananas. 

So he found her, sitting in the middle of a blanket someone had laid out on the grass, hands sticky with frosting, curls a little wild from crawling around too much.

And just like always, the moment he saw her, everything slowed down.

She was clapping off-beat to the music from the speaker, squealing at the screen as Bluey danced with Bingo. Her laugh was loud and messy and perfect, cutting through all the noise in his head. Nothing else mattered.

He crouched beside her, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Happy birthday, bub,” he whispered.

She turned to him with cake smeared across her cheek and a proud little sound that sort of sounded like “dada...”

Oscar’s chest tightened.

She wouldn’t remember this day. Not the balloons, not the presents, not the chaos he’d wrapped himself in trying to make it perfect. But maybe, she’d remember how safe it felt to be in his arms. How he was always there. Always watching. Always loving her more than he ever thought was humanly possible.

He picked her up, ignoring the frosting on her fingers now clinging to his shirt. “I hope you stay weirdly obsessed with this dog show forever,” he said, kissing her cheek. “But even when you’re not, I’ll still be here.”

She giggled and reached for his nose like it was her favorite toy.

And in that moment, Oscar realized he didn’t need to throw the perfect party. He already had the perfect girl.

It's Just 90 Minutes

It was only ninety minutes.

One and a half hours. That’s all.

Oscar had repeated it to himself at least twelve times that morning, pacing the kitchen in mismatched socks while his daughter munched on a banana in her high chair, completely unbothered by the milestone looming over them.

Today was her first day at daycare. Just a trial. Ninety minutes.

Still, it felt like someone had yanked the ground out from under his feet.

She looked so small in her tiny sneakers and oversized backpack. The straps kept sliding off her shoulders, and her curls were tied up in a little puff that wobbled every time she walked. She was fine. Giggling. Pointing at the fish stickers on the daycare windows like it was the most exciting place in the world.

Oscar smiled and waved, crouched next to her as the teacher led her inside.

Then the door shut.

And so did something in his chest.

He made it back to the car. Barely. And sat there in silence, hands frozen on the steering wheel, heart thudding in the kind of rhythm that made his eyes sting.

His wife reached across the center console and gently touched his arm. “Oscar.”

He shook his head quickly. “I’m fine.”

But his voice cracked. And that was it.

His shoulders dropped as the tears spilled over, quiet and frustrated and way more emotional than he wanted to admit. “She’s just a baby,” he whispered. “She’s so little. I’m supposed to be with her, always.”

She squeezed his hand. “You are. She’s just in a different room.”

He gave a watery laugh, wiping at his face like it would erase the truth. “She didn’t even cry. Didn’t even look back.”

“That’s because she’s brave,” his wife said softly. “Like her dad.”

Oscar looked out the window, blinking hard. “It’s just an hour and a half.”

“Yep,” she nodded. “And then you’ll get to tell her how proud you are and give her the biggest cuddle in the world.”

He didn’t answer. Just rested his forehead against the steering wheel, cheeks damp, heart too full.

Because maybe it was just daycare. Maybe it was only ninety minutes. But it was also the first time he’d felt the space where she wasn’t.

And he didn’t like it.

Light-Up Shoes and Rainbow Wishes

By the third day of daycare, Oscar thought he’d gotten the hang of it.

He no longer cried in the car (small victories), and drop-off had gotten smoother, no clinging, no wobbly lip, just a cheerful wave and a distracted “Bye, Daddy” as she toddled inside.

But that afternoon, when he came to pick her up, something was off.

She wasn’t running to him like she usually did. She was sitting cross-legged on the mat, poking at the velcro on her shoes, quiet.

Oscar crouched in front of her, brushing her curls back gently. “Hey, bub. You okay?”

She looked up at him with eyes far too thoughtful for a toddler. “I want fluffy socks.”

His brows lifted. “Fluffy socks?”

“And shoes that light up when I walk.” Her voice got even softer. “And a water bottle bag. Pink. With rainbows. Gemma has one.”

Oscar’s heart cracked a little.

He didn’t care about the socks. Or the shoes. Or the price tag. What got him was that look, that tiny frown she didn’t quite know how to hide yet.

He bundled her into the car, promising they’d stop by the store “just for a look.” What followed was a two-hour quest through three different shops and one online order. He didn’t know where people even found pink water bottle bags with rainbows, but somehow he did.

That night, she tried on her new fluffy socks with pride, stomping around the house to test the lights on her shoes. Her laughter echoed down the hallway like it was made of gold.

Oscar leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her spin in circles. A soft chuckle slipped out.

“Thirteen bucks for sneakers and she’s acting like she won the lottery.”

He smiled to himself, a little dazed by how much joy something so small could bring.

But then again, so was he.

Almost There

Oscar was cleaning up in the kitchen, humming under his breath, when he heard a soft grunt from the hallway.

He peeked around the corner.

There she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, tongue sticking out in pure concentration, tiny hands wrestling with her favorite pair of shoes.

The light-up ones.

The ones with the glittery pink straps and soles that blinked when she stomped. The ones she’d begged for after daycare because “everyone else had them,” and she wanted hers to be pink with rainbows “not just pink, Daddy, pink with lights.”

She was trying to put them on by herself.

Left foot first. A small pause. Then she adjusted it just so, like she was checking her own work. She beamed, proud.

Then the right foot. A little sideways at first. She frowned. Tried again. Wiggled her toes in.

The lights blinked once, soft, faint, a flicker of magic.

She didn’t know how to fasten the Velcro properly yet, not tightly, not evenly but that didn’t stop her. She mashed the straps down with all the strength in her tiny arms, completely convinced she’d done it perfectly.

Oscar didn’t say a word.

He just stood there, heart climbing up into his throat, watching her figure it out. His little girl. The same one who used to cry when her sock bunched up weird. Now sitting on the floor, shoes slightly off-center, still glowing with each proud little kick of her heels.

She looked up when she noticed him.

“I did it!” she grinned, cheeks pink with effort.

Oscar nodded slowly, voice soft. “Yeah, you did.”

She stood up, the lights in her shoes flashing unevenly, Velcro flapping a little with each step. She held out her hand toward him.

“Help me fix?”

He knelt beside her, fingers gently peeling the straps back, smoothing them down with a care that came straight from his chest. Slower than usual. Deliberate. Letting the moment stretch just a little longer.

“Almost there,” he murmured.

And maybe he meant the shoes.

Or maybe he was just trying to come to terms with the fact that she was growing right in front of him and faster than he was ever going to be ready for.

Her Favorite Superhero

Oscar had pulled up to the school gate like always, sunglasses on, window down, already scanning the sea of backpacks and untied sneakers for the one pair he cared about most.

Usually, she came out running, arms flailing, curls bouncing, talking a mile a minute about story time and snack swaps and who got a time-out today.

But not today.

Today, she walked out slowly. Shoulders low. Her hands were curled around something, crumpling it tighter with every step.

Oscar stepped out of the car the second he saw her face.

Her bottom lip was trembling, eyes pink and glassy like she was trying really hard not to let the tears fall. When she reached him, she didn’t say a word, just wrapped her arms around his legs and pressed her face into his hoodie.

“Hey, bub,” he said, kneeling down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffled. Then carefully, she uncurled her fingers and held out a wrinkled sheet of paper.

It was a drawing. Stick figures and squiggly stars. Her usual style, lopsided but full of love. He could tell instantly who it was meant to be: him, in his racing suit, a cape drawn behind him in bold, wobbly orange. In the corner, a tiny her, holding up a gold medal.

But all across the center, thick, angry black spots were scribbled over the drawing. Like someone had tried to cross it out.

Oscar’s stomach twisted.

“Who did that?” he asked, voice still soft but tighter around the edges.

“Riley,” she mumbled. “The teacher told us to draw our favorite superhero. I drew you.” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “But he said dads can’t be superheroes. And he ruined it.”

Oscar blinked. Hard.

He looked at the page again, imagining her sitting at one of those tiny tables, tongue between her teeth, coloring each little detail just right because she wanted it to be perfect for him.

He pulled her gently into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Hey. You listen to me, yeah?���

She nodded, sniffling.

“That’s the best superhero drawing I’ve ever seen,” he said. “Even better than the rocket ship one. And I’m still putting it on my wall.”

“But it’s all messy now…”

He looked at it again, folding it carefully. “No. It’s not ruined. It’s got battle scars. Makes it cooler. Like the real superheroes.”

She gave a small, watery giggle and curled closer into his chest.

Later, when he buckled her into her seat, she reached between the chairs to hold his hand, her little fingers sticky with crayon smudges. He drove slow on the way home, like the whole world needed to take a breath.

That night, he taped the drawing up right above his desk, scribbles and all.

And underneath it, in her tiny handwriting with a backwards 'S', it said:

For Daddy! My Favorite Superhero!!!

And every time he looked up at it, he smiled. Because no one, not even some kid with a black crayon could take that away from him.

Who’s Got A Crush?

Their little café booth had become tradition. Same place, same order: pancakes with too much syrup for her, black coffee for him. A "father-daughter date," she'd called it once, and the name stuck. He blocked out time every month for it. No calls, no training, no team meetings. Just them.

She was older now, legs swinging off the bench seat, baby teeth gone, ponytail messy in that way that said she didn’t care about neat anymore.

Oscar was mid-sip of his coffee when she said it. Casual. Like it was nothing.

“I think I have a crush on someone.”

He choked. Audibly.

She blinked at him, confused. “Are you okay?”

He coughed into his sleeve, heart stuttering. “Yeah. Yep. Totally fine.”

Crush? She has a crush? On who? Why? Who gave her permission to grow up?

She took another bite of her pancake like she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. “He’s in my class. He has a dog. And his lunchbox is shaped like a dinosaur, which is really cool.”

Oscar stared at her like she’d announced she was moving out. “That’s... very specific.”

She nodded, matter-of-fact. “I think I’m gonna marry him. Or maybe be a vet. I’m still deciding.”

Oscar gave a weak laugh, setting down his coffee. “Right. Of course.”

She tilted her head. “Why do you look weird?”

“I don’t look weird,” he lied.

Because what was he supposed to say? That his heart just folded in on itself? That hearing those words “I have a crush” felt like someone had turned the page on a chapter he wasn’t ready to end?

He cleared his throat. “Well… whoever he is, he’s very lucky.”

She grinned. “I know.”

He smiled back, trying to hide the ache behind it. Then reached across the table, ruffling her hair the way he always did.

“Just remember,” he said lightly, “you can have crushes and dinosaur lunchboxes and all that. But you’ll always be my girl first.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile softened.

Later, when she ran ahead to look at the pastry shelf, Oscar sat back and watched her, laughing, confident, growing into herself.

And in that moment, he realized he didn’t need to stop time. He just needed to be there as it moved.

Medals, Caps, and Gowns

Oscar didn’t think he’d cry.

It was just primary school. A short ceremony, small chairs in a sunlit auditorium, kids in too-big uniforms fidgeting in their seats. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

But then they called her name.

She walked up, chin up, ponytail bouncing, the sleeves of her button-down still a bit too long and Oscar felt his throat close.

First medal: Athletics. She’d broken the school’s sprint record. Still said it was “just for fun.” Second medal: Academic Excellence. Oscar’s heart nearly gave out.

Then the third one.

“Most Encouraging Teammate,” the principal announced with a smile. “For her kindness, her endless support, and for cheering louder than anyone else, no matter who was winning.”

Oscar laughed under his breath, wiping at his eyes as his wife handed him a tissue.

Of course.

She stood there, medals glinting, grinning like the stage was the best place on earth. When she caught Oscar’s eyes in the crowd, she gave a tiny wave, subtle, just for him and he swore his heart would never be the same.

After the ceremony, she ran straight into his arms, all laughter and tangled ribbons.

“Three medals,” she said proudly.

“I saw,” Oscar whispered, his voice thick. “You crushed it, bub.”

“I almost tripped on the steps,” she added with a giggle. “But I didn’t.”

He hugged her tighter.

He remembered the first day he dropped her off at daycare. The fluffy socks. The pink light-up shoes. How small she looked walking away.

Now she was tall enough to hang her own medals on the hook by the door.

Growing up, he thought, was just a series of letting go, one handshake, one applause, one medal at a time.But holding her now, still breathless and warm in his arms, he knew: He’d never stop being proud. And he’d never stop being hers.

18th Birthday and a New Face

Oscar stood when they asked him to say a few words.

He didn’t grab a mic. Didn’t tap his glass with a fork. Just stayed where he was, hands loosely tucked into his pockets, shoulders a little hunched, eyes steady on her.

The room quieted.

She was glowing in her dress, surrounded by friends and family and a cake that probably took four hours to decorate. But Oscar only saw her, his girl, the same one who once cried because her sock felt weird, now standing tall at eighteen.

He gave her a small smile. The soft kind. The only-for-her kind.

“Eighteen,” he said. “Feels fast.”

There was a short pause. The kind that always followed when Oscar searched for the words that lived somewhere in his chest but not always in his mouth.

“You’re smart. You’re kind. And you’ve always been... good. You’ve always had this way of making people feel seen. I don’t even think you realise it most of the time.”

Another pause. He shifted a little, the room silent, listening.

“You’ve got a strong head, a stubborn heart, and a laugh that’s way too loud. But it’s you. And I love it.”

He cleared his throat. Not because he was emotional, of course, just… clearing it.

“I’m proud of you,” he said. “Always have been. That’s all.”

Then he sat back down like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just quietly shattered the room.

And she was already blinking fast to hold back tears, smiling at him like he’d given the greatest speech in the world.

Because to her, he had.

A little later, after the candles were blown out and the room had settled back into music and chatter, she found him standing near the corner, sipping from a paper cup.

“Dad,” she said, tugging gently on his sleeve.

“Yeah?”

She glanced over her shoulder and then back at him. “There’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

She bit her lip. “You remember that guy I told you about at our cafe? With the Dino lunchbox?”

Oh. That guy.

Oscar blinked, holding her gaze.

She looked so hopeful. Nervous, too, but sure. And somehow still his little girl, even in heels and lip gloss.

He took a slow breath, then gave her a faint nod. “Alright. Go on, then.”

And she smiled, wide and excited and turned to wave someone over.

Oscar kept his expression neutral.

But inside? Inside, he was already silently evaluating every single thing about this Dino lunchbox boy.

Because even if she was grown now... He still remembered the baby in light-up shoes who once reached for his nose and giggled like it was magic.

And he wasn’t about to hand her heart over to just anyone.

The Drive

The car was quiet.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet they usually shared on long drives. Not the sleepy hum of the engine with music low and snacks in the middle seat. This one felt heavy.

Oscar glanced sideways.

She was curled up against the window, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, eyes fixed on the blur of the road. Her suitcase was in the back. Her university acceptance letter still folded neatly in the glove compartment. The city they'd be leaving in the rearview. And a name they hadn’t said since they left the house.

Dino Lunchbox Boy.

He hadn’t brought it up. Wasn’t sure he was supposed to. But it was all over her face, every sigh, every blink too long, every time she picked at the edge of her thumbnail like she used to when she was a kid trying not to cry.

“You okay?” he asked gently, eyes still on the road.

She was quiet for a second. Then gave a tiny nod.

He waited.

Then: “We broke up,” she whispered. “Before I started packing.”

Oscar nodded once, slow and steady. “Because of uni?”

“Yeah. His offer was overseas. Mine’s here.” She cleared her throat. “We tried to figure something out. But it just… didn’t make sense anymore.”

He could hear it in her voice, that quiet kind of heartbreak. The kind that doesn’t shatter, just bruises deep and slow.

She was always so careful with her heart. But she gave it anyway.

“He was a good kid,” Oscar said after a while.

She nodded, wiping the corner of her eye. “Yeah. He was.”

They pulled up to campus not long after, cars unloading, students hugging their parents, dragging duffels and dreams into dorm rooms. He parked in a quiet corner, far enough that it still felt like they had a moment left to themselves.

Oscar helped unload her things. Carried them up the stairs. Let her lead.

When it was all set, bed made, desk neatly stacked, a mug she didn’t really need sitting on the shelf, he paused at the doorway, hands in his pockets.

“You’ll be alright,” he said.

“I know.”

“And if you’re not, that’s okay too.”

She looked at him then. Eyes red, lips trembling, not from Dino Lunchbox anymore, but from this. From goodbye.

Oscar stepped forward and wrapped her in the kind of hug he used to give when she was five and scraped her knee on the pavement. She was taller now. But somehow, she still fit.

“You still call me when you need help opening jars,” he muttered into her hair.

She laughed. “They’re really tight jars.”

He pulled back just enough to kiss the side of her head. “Call me if anything hurts. Doesn’t have to be a jar.”

She smiled. “You’ll come visit?”

“Course I will.”

“And text?”

He raised a brow. “You won’t answer, but yeah.”

She laughed. He memorized it.

Then he walked out of her room. And for the first time since she was born, he left without her.

The One

She graduated on a hot, cloudless day.

The kind of heat that clung to the back of your neck and made dress shoes feel like punishment. But Oscar didn’t care. He stood in the crowd, sunglasses on, camera in hand, smiling like he was watching the sunrise.

She wore her cap slightly crooked. Medas  tucked into the collar of her gown. That same proud, unshakable grin she’d worn her whole life like she knew exactly who she was and wasn’t about to shrink for anyone.

He swore she looked taller up on that stage. Braver, too.

After the ceremony, she came bounding through the crowd, arms wide, tossing her cap somewhere behind her as she crashed into his chest.

Oscar caught her with a laugh and held on tight. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into her hair.

“Even in this heat?” she teased, voice muffled by his shirt.

“Even if I melt into the pavement.”

Later that night, their house was filled, family packed into every corner, laughter echoing off the kitchen tiles, cupcakes half-eaten and champagne corks missing. She looked radiant, floating between people like she belonged in every room.

Then she walked in with someone at her side.

He was tall. Pressed shirt. Neatly combed hair. Shoes that looked too clean for this house. He stood close, but not too close. Hands carefully folded in front of him, like he was afraid to touch anything without permission.

Oscar straightened instinctively.

“This is Jack,” she said, her voice light. Then, with a smirk, “I think he’s the one.”

Oscar blinked.

The one? She’d never said that before.

“I like the name,” she added, nudging Jack with her elbow.

Jack smiled nervously and offered his hand. “Sir. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to call me that.”

Jack chuckled, glancing down. “Right. Sorry, Sir.”

He didn’t make eye contact for more than two seconds at a time. But he said thank you when offered a drink. Helped her mom without being asked. Laughed, albeit awkwardly, at her cousin’s awful puns. And when Oscar’s dad started talking about old cars, Jack listened like it was the most important history lesson he’d ever heard.

When she wasn’t looking, Oscar caught him gently tugging her chair in so she could sit. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud.

Just thoughtful.

Later, Oscar stepped outside to get some air. The backyard was quiet now, soft light spilling from the kitchen window, music playing low inside.

Jack found him there, shifting on his feet like he didn’t quite know if he should interrupt.

“Sorry to bother you, sir,” he said “I just wanted to say thank you. For welcoming me. I know… meeting the family isn’t easy, especially on a day like this.”

Oscar studied him.

The stiff posture. The polished shoes, now dusty from the yard. The way he stood up straight but looked down when he spoke. Professional. Polite. Nervous. Trying.

“And I also wanted to clear my intentions,” Jack added, voice more certain now. “I care about her. A lot. And I’m not here to waste her time.”

There was a pause. Oscar looked at him, really looked. The shoes scuffed from the yard. The shirt a little wrinkled now. Still standing up straight, still choosing his words with care. Nervous, but honest.

He didn’t say anything.

Just looked through the window again, at his daughter, cheeks flushed from laughing too hard, joy tucked into every corner of her.

Then he nodded.

“Good,” Oscar said. “That’s all I need.”

Jack let out a breath, relieved and a little stunned. “Thank you, sir. I mean Mr. Piastri. Sorry.”

Oscar cracked the smallest smile. “You’ll figure it out.”

He watched as Jack headed back inside, slipping beside her naturally, their hands brushing, still not holding, but getting closer.

Oscar stayed out a minute longer, watching through the glass.

She looked happy. Safe. Like someone who’d finally found her way home.

Maybe she had.

The Blessing

It had been a few years since Jack first sat in this kitchen: sweaty palms, dress shirt too stiff, calling him sir like he couldn’t help it.

Not much had changed.

Jack was still Jack. Still a little too polite, still a little too nervous around Oscar. But he had settled into himself more now. His hair wasn’t gelled to perfection, and he didn’t panic when the dog jumped on him. He laughed easier. Fit into the family noise like he belonged there.

But today he was quiet again.

He sat at the table with both hands folded in front of him, back straight, eyes flicking between Oscar and his wife like he was preparing for a formal boardroom pitch. The air was soft, late afternoon light spilling through the windows, mugs half-full on the table. Their daughter was out.

Jack had asked to come by. Said he had something important to talk about.

Oscar had a feeling he knew what.

Jack cleared his throat. “Thank you for having me. I, uh…” He paused. “I just wanted to say thank you. For welcoming me into your home. For trusting me with her.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. His wife smiled faintly.

“I care about her a lot. You know that.” Jack looked between them, more serious now. “And I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t absolutely sure.”

Oscar waited.

“I’m here to ask for your blessing,” Jack said. “Before I propose.”

There was a silence, small, still, and full.

Oscar leaned back slightly in his chair. Studied him. “Big question.”

Jack nodded once, hands a little too tightly clasped now. “I know, Mr. Piastri.”

Oscar glanced at his wife. She gave a tiny, knowing nod.

“She’s a lot like her mum,” Oscar said slowly. “Strong. Stubborn. Smarter than most people in the room.”

Jack smiled. “She is.”

“And she’s not someone you ever take lightly.”

Jack’s voice was quiet. “I don’t.”

Oscar watched him a moment longer, then finally gave the slightest nod.

“Alright, Jack,” he said. “You’ve got our blessing.”

Jack let out a breath, blinking a little like he hadn’t been sure he’d get that far. “Thank you, sir. I—I really appreciate it.”

Oscar’s wife reached across the table and gave Jack’s hand a gentle squeeze. “We’re proud of her. And we’re glad she has someone who sees how special she is.”

Jack’s voice cracked just a little. “I do. I really do.”

As Jack stood to leave, jacket folded over one arm, Oscar walked him to the door.

“Jack,” he said quietly, just before the boy opened it.

Jack turned.

“You can drop the sir, you know.”

Jack gave a sheepish smile. “I’ll try, Mr. Piastri.”

Oscar just shook his head, lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Close enough.”

And with that, Jack left, heart thudding, a ring in his pocket, and a quiet kind of peace blooming in his chest.

Oscar stood at the door a moment longer, hand resting on the frame.

His little girl was really getting married.

And somehow, he was okay with it.

Wedding Shoes

Oscar’s phone buzzed once.

Then it rang, shrill and familiar.

He didn’t even look at the screen before answering. “Hey, bub.”

Her voice came through, a little breathless. “How do you feel about closed-toe heels?”

Oscar blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“For the wedding,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Do I go with something classic? Or like, a block heel? Or maybe flats, since the ceremony’s outside…”

He leaned back in his chair, the warmth of the afternoon sun spilling through the kitchen window, one arm resting on the table.

It hit him quietly, without fanfare, without warning.

Once, when she was three, she cried because her light-up sneakers didn’t match the color of her hair clips. He’d spent forty-five minutes convincing her that Bluey would totally wear mismatched shoes.

Those sneakers had cost thirteen pounds and lit up every time she stomped on the ground like a dinosaur. He remembered the sound, the way her tiny feet would race across the floor, squeaky, chaotic, full of life.

And now she was asking him about wedding shoes.

There was a lump in his throat he didn’t quite expect.

“You there?” she asked, soft again.

He cleared his throat gently. “Yeah. Still here.”

“So? Closed-toe or open?”

He smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Whichever one lets you dance properly. You’ve got terrible balance in heels, remember?”

She laughed. “Rude.”

“True.”

There was a pause. Then her voice softened. “Thanks, Dad.”

“For what?”

“For still picking up on the first ring.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was, he always would. No matter what. No matter how far, how grown, how busy life got. If she called, he’d answer.

Always on the first ring.

And she knew that. Somehow, she still knew that.

“You’ll look beautiful,” he said finally. “Doesn’t matter what’s on your feet.”

She smiled through the phone. He could hear it.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, bub.”

The call ended, but Oscar didn’t move. Not right away.

He just sat there, thinking about sneakers and wedding shoes, mashed bananas and wedding cakes, night lights and aisle lights.

She wasn’t little anymore.

But she still needed him.

And somehow, that was enough.

The Most Important Walk

The music had started. Soft, distant, barely there beneath the rustle of satin and the flutter of nerves.

Oscar stood beside her, just out of sight from the waiting aisle. His hand rested gently on hers, not leading, not pulling, just there. Like it always had been.

She adjusted her bouquet, breath coming out in small, uneven huffs. She looked radiant, hair pinned just the way her mum used to do it, dress flowing like water, eyes wide and shining.

But beneath the shimmer of highlighter and lace, she was still his little girl.

Oscar leaned in slightly.

“You okay?”

She gave a shaky smile. “Nervous.”

He nodded, soft. “That’s alright.”

Then he waited a beat.

And in the quiet before the doors opened, he gently asked, “Is this what you want?”

She looked up at him. Like she had so many times before. Like when she scraped her knee and didn’t want anyone else to clean it. Like when she forgot her lines in the Year 6 play and scanned the crowd just to find him. Like when she called wedding shoes and asked if he thought she was doing the right thing.

And now, here.

She nodded. Steady, certain. “Yeah. It is.”

Oscar’s throat tightened. He offered his arm. “Then let’s go.”

The doors opened slowly, light spilling in like the world was holding its breath.

Everyone turned.

And she stepped forward, not alone. Never alone.

Oscar walked beside her, not just down the aisle, but through every memory stitched into her stride. He could still hear the echo of her tiny feet running through the house. Still see the frosting smudged across her cheek on her first birthday. Still feel her fingers tugging his sleeve that one morning when she cried because a classmate ruined her superhero drawing.

Now her steps were steady.

And he only let her hand slip from his when it was time.

He kissed her forehead, whispered something only she would hear, something like I love you, something like you’ve got this, something like I’ll still pick up on the first ring.

Then he stepped back, hands in his pockets, sunglasses hiding everything he couldn’t say.

She turned to face the rest of her life.

And Oscar… He smiled.

Because she was exactly where she was meant to be.

[womanofwords]

Darling Demon (Part 19)

Yandere!batfam x betrothed!neglected!male!reader x yandere!demon!spouse

TW: public humiliation, consensual non-consent.

Azrir had won. They'd taken your virginity at long last, and it felt like fireworks were exploding in your head the whole time. Yeah, being married to them for eternity would be pretty damn good. Most demons would then parade their human around while tormenting them in whatever ways they wanted for the rest of eternity, but Azrir couldn't afford to do such a thing. A prize like you had to be kept safe, after all.

And definitely bragged about.

"Little prize, I have an offer for you," Azrir said. "I've been meaning to show you off, but I had to wait until your virginity was taken so the other demons could smell the sex on you."

"You guys can smell that?" you whimpered.

"Yes, darling. In order to show you off, I'll need to doll you up, and that means bathing you."

Gently, Azrir took you to a bathtub and drew water for you. "I am only going to use unscented soap on you so the scent of sex can still be detected," they explained, as sweat was scrubbed off you. Their hands were thorough, but not sexual, which felt like a relief. Thick, clawed hands rubbed shampoo into your hair. "You will be clean for this demonstration," Azrir said.

"Azrir, who are you going to show me off to?"

"Some of the lower demons. Winning a human spouse is a high honour for us. I want to show them what they will never have."

Humans were a status symbol? Well, that got you thinking. "Azrir, if human spouses are a status symbol, does that make me a trophy husband?" you asked.

Azrir paused, their hands temporarily freezing while soap suds latched onto their claws. "Technically, yes," they admitted.

"Well, Azrir, if I'm really going to be paraded around as your little trophy, then I should get some sort of reward. After all, I have to be actually tempting for this to work."

Azrir forced themselves not to laugh. Here you were, negotiating your way through their own display while being bathed like a show dog. "Very well, Y/N. What are your demands?"

"First, I want to be able to shapeshift on command, too. My family has a tendency of looking for me, and I don't want to be recognisable. Second, curse Damian into compulsively sucking his thumb explicitly while he is trying to be intimidating or cause pain."

"Consider both of those things done, little prize," Azrir said.

"Also, when we get back, I'm going to drink a cup of sex potion, tie you to the headboard, and top you like it's my only reason for existing."

Azrir's mouth curled into a large smirk. "Deal, little human. Now, put on this outfit and let's go taunt some grunts."

*_*_*_*_*_

The outfit Azrir picked out for you was merely a shirt that went halfway down your thighs with the words "AZRIR'S PRIZE" written on the front. "I don't have to remember lines, do I?" you asked.

"No, Y/N," Azrir said. "I must warn you, little toy, that my hands are often going to . . . have a little fun with you, but nothing too far. Just enough to torment those peons."

"I can live with that," you said, as Azrir hoisted you over their shoulder and began to take you to the ring of lust.

You were ogled a lot. You grew up not drawing much attention while with humans, but here, you were drooled over. You really were a prize.

"Give us a piece," a demon growled, reaching towards you. Azrir grabbed their hand between theirs and squeezed it, hard.

"Touch this human, and I shall eat you," they hissed. Demons fled. Azrir took you off their shoulder and cooed at you. "You poor thing, that must have been a nasty thing to see. There, there, I'm here."

You arrived in the ring of lust and met two demons that were significantly smaller than Azrir. "Azrir, what brings you to us?" one of them asked.

"Bringing you motivation," Azrir said, showing you off with pride. "I used to be a lowly and weak demon such as yourselves, but then I toughened myself up and fought for a human spouse. This is what you can have if you work hard. A little human to do . . . this to."

Azrir's hands went up your shirt, and you stifled a yelp. "This is a bit much!" you whimpered.

"I know," Azrir taunted, grinning as the hand over your crotch got more adventurous and audacious. "Want it to stop?"

You felt dizzy, head spinning. "No, Azrir. Please keep going."

"That's what I like to hear."

"So you brought your human spouse here to . . . taunt us?" the first one asked, notes of disbelief in their voice.

"No, of course not!" Azrir lied. "This is what you could have if you applied yourself."

"If that's the case, why are you blatantly pleasuring it in front of us?"

"Because I can and he's mine. And if you just put in the effort to be stronger, you could have one."

You were going crazy. If Azrir kept going, you would legit go insane. You weren't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed when they stopped and put you back over their shoulder.

"I'll see you around, peasants," they laughed, taking you back home to your bed while groping your behind.

Once you were alone together, you were glad to remove that damn shirt. "Honey, you did so well," Azrir said, smothering you in kisses. "And now, your rewards." Azrir snapped their fingers, and changes occurred.

Your body tingled, but only temporarily and it was over so quickly. That had to be the manifestation of your powers. You only really needed to change one thing, really.

"My love, you have shapeshifted your loins," Azrir said, looking down at your dick with alarm.

"All the better for pleasuring you with," you said, as you got yourself the lube and a cup of aphrodisiac.

Your mother screamed with pain as the scoreboard went up again. "WHY ISN'T THAT DEMON GETTING OFF OF MY SON?" she screamed.

"They can't. Your son is on top of the demon, and having a lot of fun with it," one of the demons said.

Limbs were sawed off again, and your mother screamed. "MAKE IT STOP!"

"We can't. It's honestly entertaining," another demon said. "Azrir knows what they're doing."

The numbers on the scoreboard spun again, and your mother's blood spurted in celebration.

Taglist: @tinybrie, @bunniotomia, @c4xcocoa, @darkmoka, @fightmebissh, @bloobewy, @chi1lllb, @cqerrz, @heart-cream, @noone1233nobody, @type-ink, @sonyboos, @atlasbatman05, @eyeless-kun, @zomqiez.

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[leafyln4]

"Would you love me more?"

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, smut, oral f!receiving, somehow almost everyone here is an asshole. lando is a bitch, max is a bitch, mentions of carlos, mentions of alcohol usage, reader is a whore, mentions of drugs(weed).

author's note: this took me wayyy too long to write. sorry for the bad writing (this one is so bad😭). english is not my first language and this is not proofread.

Max wasn't usually the type to go back and forth from Lando's house. But the DJ was stubborn and wanted Max to help him with some songs, so how could he say no? He was a good friend. Sometimes.

The streamer quietly enters the studio, not knowing if his friend was recording something or not. The place was quiet, filled with a light smoke he recognized too well.

Lando was sitting in his chair, looking through some papers, a joint lazily resting on the table. Max clicks his tongue, drawing the brit's attention to him.

"Thought you said you'd stop smoking." His voice carried that teasing undertone, a smirk up on his lips. He wasn't really surprised that Lando still smoked from times to times.

"Try not smoking when Sainz is in your life."

Sainz. Carlos Sainz wasn't someone Max liked that much. Not a lot of people from their circle liked Carlos, in all honesty. He was arrogant, always thought the word belonged to him. Just the mention of his name made his blood boil.

The dutch sits on the small couch on Lando's studio, scoffing while rolling his eyes. He didn't want to go there to talk about Carlos out of all people.

"You called me here to talk shit about him? Sorry, but I'll go away if that's the case."

He was already standing up, but Lando grabs his wrist in a tight grip. Lando didn't make all of the arrangements just for Max to leave now. And Max could see it in Lando's gaze, the hunger, that hint of desperation that was always in his eyes when he craved for something.

Lando was dangerous, in a way, and Max knew his friend better than everyone else. So he makes sure to sit down again, rolling his eyes at his friend.

"Okay, okay. Fine. Whatever you say." Max raises his hands in surrender, watching as a smirk crept onto Lando's face.

The brit, not sparing Max a word, takes his phone out of his pocket and seems to text someone. He hides his phone screen from Max, the dutch's curiosity rising.

Soon enough, a girl in a white top and baby pink skirt emerges into the studio. You. A small smile on your lips, a light shade of pink adorning your cheeks. You looked like an angel. Max almost had to remind himself to breathe.

"Hello, mr. Verstappen." Your voice was velvet smooth, carried by that innocence only you could carry in such environment. "Mr. Norr-- I mean, Lando told me a lot about you."

You sounded so sweet, your words like magic to Max's ears. So Lando told you about him? Interesting. He looked at the brit, seeing the smirk on his face.

Lando was up to mischief and he knew it.

"Oh, yeah? Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, miss."

His mouth felt dry, his words leaving with more enthusiasm than he wanted. He faked a cough, not wanting to show how much your presence was affecting him. He felt like a teenage boy, his pants getting tighter than ideal.

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Lando's words brought Max back to reality, a pretty pink adorning your flushed features. You were, indeed, very pretty. Something about that innocence, that shy demeanor, drew Max in.

So the dutch nodded, watching as your squirmed in your feet, as if his agreement hit you in the right way.

This would be a fun day.

The dynamic was easy, light, predictable. Max always went to Lando's place whenever he asked, eager to see you. You were always there, in Lando's lap, sometimes even cockwarming him shamelessly.

And Max, well... Max loved it. He loved when Lando would ask you to help Max relax, he loved how you were always so obedient. Their sweet girl. So sweet, so naive.

And you grew attached to Max in the same way you did to Lando and Carlos. You were well trained, your pussy soaking by the sight of them only. Max's blue eyes staring at you, eating you up with his gaze. It was all too much.

So when Max came in for a drink with Lando, you wore the sluttiest outfit ever known to mankind. The shortest skirt, some really tight crop top that outlined your boobs perfectly. It was quite the sight for both of them.

You were already tipsy when Lando left the room, saying he had to grab something in his studio. You didn't notice the exchanged glance between him and Max, didn't notice how close Max was to you.

"Schatje, you look so pretty." His hand ghosted under your shirt, a gasp echoing through your lips as he played with one of your nipples. His calloused hands rolled, pinched, touched your nipples in all of the ways that make you squirm.

Soft sounds, gasps, moans, something in-between, left your mouth, your back arching, chest seeking his touch more and more. You were still a bit sore from your night with Lando a the other night with Carlos, but Max's touch made you completely forget all of that.

Your body was aching, craving for him since you first laid eyes on him. But you were too shy, too much of a good girl to do anything. So you waited, used your clothes in your favour, and waited. And, now, he was touching you like you belonged to him.

He didn't ask for permission, it was like he knew what you wanted, what you needed. His hands squeezed your breasts, your nipples already hard and sensitive enough to make some tears form at the corners of your eyes.

"Look at you... I barely even touched you and you're already squirming. What a sweet girl. Do you like being touched like that, hm? Like I fucking own you?"

You could only whimper, your cunt clenching around nothing as his hands wandered through your body. Soon enough, he was pulling your skirt up, pulling your panties down in one swift emotion. His fingers soon find the wet mess between your legs, a groan leaving his lips.

"So fucking wet... Can't believe Lando has been keeping that sweet cunt in secret for that long."

There were already tears in your eyes, you were so over and understimulated at the same time. It was maddening, crazy, insane. You whine when he brushes his thumb on your clit, closing your legs as soon as he kneels between your legs.

"Come on, don't get shy on me now. You're whoring yourself out for me, act like one." And so he holds your legs open, taking a long yet slow stripe up your folds. You were so sensitive, the way he sucked you made you scream in pleasure.

In no time, you were coming all over his face, your cunt clenching around his tongue as he fucked you with it. Even then, he doesn't stop until Lando comes back, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you.

And, when Lando is finally there, you know you're in for one hell of a night. <3

[tsaheylutales]

Found this in my drive, convince me to finish it?

i think it's either set in the russian base or the bathroom in season 3. reader has acne btw (me projecting lol)

also guys pls talk to me, i rebloged some ask games? (ik i look desperate, i'm rlly bored)

“You know I sat behind you in Biology for two years?” The words come out sharper than you expected, trembling at the edges. You swallow hard, heart pounding in your chest. “Sophomore year… you used to bully me, Steve.”

He looks confused, like the sentence doesn’t register. Like you’re speaking another language. You push on, bitterness curling in your throat.

“You and your friends, you made my life miserable.”

You pause, just for a second, long enough for the old memories to start flooding in. The snickers behind your back. The cruel whispers. The way his laughter, once just background noise in the classroom, became a trigger for dread.

“I liked to draw…” You say quietly. “And I was spotty, worse than I am now. I wore these ugly clothes and… you guys made fun of everything. Every sketch. Every pimple. Every time I raised my hand in class.” You exhale shakily. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe when you were near. I was constantly terrified I’d do something wrong, or weird, or just exist the wrong way in your line of sight.”

Your voice shakes, but you don’t stop.

“You guys ruined my life. For ages. I was so… insecure. So anxious all the time. I didn’t belong anywhere.”

You can see something shift in his face, guilt, maybe, or confusion. But it doesn’t matter. You’ve carried this for too long to soften now.

“Oh, [Y/n]…” Steve begins, his voice low and regretful.

But it makes something twist in your stomach, not comfort, not validation. Something worse. Something unfair.

You laugh, bitter, hollow.

“And now I work in this stupid ice cream store, wearing this stupid outfit, serving stupid sundaes to stupid, rude customers.” Your fists clench at your sides. “And I smile like nothing’s wrong, like it’s all okay and it doesn’t still haunt me.”

“Hey! Hey, I’m really sorry, I… I don’t even remember you-”

That’s it. That breaks you.

“Right.” You whisper, stunned. “So that makes it all okay? That you don’t even remember me? That the comments, the laughs, the jokes at my expense meant so little to you, you just forgot?”

Your eyes burn. You blink fast, furious at yourself for almost crying.

“You ruined my life, Steve! School was the only place I felt like I could escape, and you made it worse! You made me feel like a joke.”

You force yourself to breathe,  shallow, rapid breaths that don’t do anything to calm you down.

“While you were making out with Tammy, or Tina, or Nancy in the bathroom,” You spit, “I was in the stalls. Crying. Hoping it would all just… stop.”

Silence falls between you like glass shattering.

Steve’s face is pale, stunned into stillness. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

And for the first time, maybe ever, you see it, a crack in the shiny, golden-boy armor he always wore. And for the first time, maybe ever… he sees you.