#tap overload

[djyellur]

Doodles. Today

[tilbageidanmark]

(I don't have a cell phone, and on my iPad I get zero notifications..)

[agatemermaid]

“Feminine energy” this “masculine energy” that MOTHERFUCKER ENERGY BEAM

[reraen]

[pincheasstronaut]

The many dreams that have been plaguing me lately

[yasminawayne]

in case of overload

SYNOPSIS: During a tropical storm, you make the brilliant decision to fix the fusebox alone. It does not go well. One wrong surge and you’re on the floor, half-burned and rattled. Now you're injured and both your boyfriends are absolutely losing it.

TAGS: GN!Reader, Electrocution, Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Protective Boyfriends, Mild Angst, Soft Recovery, Former Valvidian Electrician Reader, Reader Makes Bad Choices, Volt Glows When He’s Mad, An Angry Volt is a Sexy Volt, Slightly Inaccurate Electrical Safety (Sorry Electricians...)

NOTE: please send requests for date everything pls

AO3: yasminwayne Ko-Fi: buy me a coffee!

"You scared the shit out of us," he muttered. Still working, still checking. "You didn’t just brush a line. That’s an exit burn. You’re lucky it didn’t arc through your ribs."

"You said ten minutes—" you whispered.

"I said ten minutes," Eddie repeated, "not 'go get electrocuted in the closet.'"

THE MUSIC TONIGHT WAS SMOOTH, low, and easy to ignore. Just the way you liked it when you were working. Jazz filtered through the ceiling like warm air through a vent, somewhere between syrupy and sleepy. You figured Volt was the one who queued the playlist. He always had a flair for whatever matched the mood.

The Breaker Box had been packed since noon. A busy crowd, full house. Even Dorian was sitting down with a drink for once. Laughter and conversation echoed against the club’s soft-lit walls. The electricity in the room was both literal and social.

Then thunder rattled through the floorboards.

The dateables jumped slightly at the sudden noise as the lights flickered overhead. You frowned, head turning just in time to see them stabilize again. The lights were steady again, but not confidently so.

Gnawing on your lip, you glanced toward the stage. There was that barely-there wrinkle in Volt’s expression. He was smiling, of course, but something about it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

There’d been a tropical storm hanging over your heads all week. Nothing you could fix, not directly. Power had been temperamental ever since. All anyone could do was ride it out.

Still, your brain wouldn’t stop spiraling. You started running through your mental list, instinctively cataloging all the things you might have to deal with. Hector was still keeping the place warm—bless him. Wyndolyn and Dorian were tucked safely inside, even with the storm. Wallace was holding steady, and you trusted him to keep the foundation solid. Freddy’s pantry stock could last another week if no one got greedy. Everything was holding.

But for how long?

Before you could get too deep into the thought spiral, you felt the press of a familiar thumb smoothing out the worry line between your brows.

"You’ve got that look on your face again," Eddie said, voice low as he slid a glass toward you. Clear soda, fizzy and cold, with a swirly straw already tucked inside. You took it with a sigh, leaning forward to take a sip.

"What look?"

"That look that says you’re about to do something stupid."

"Am not…" you mumbled, but it sounded weak even to you.

The soda was just sweet enough to cut through the buzz of nerves you hadn’t realized were building in your chest. You shifted deeper into your bar stool, knees drawn up against the rung, fingers tapping the condensation on the glass.

The overhead lights flickered again. Barely. But you caught it.

Eddie did too. You could see it in the way his shoulders went tense for just a second before he rolled them back.

The mental checklist flared back to life. The panels in the hallway. The fuse. The fridge temp. Eddie had patched the second-floor lighting loop yesterday but hadn’t looked rested since. Volt hadn’t slept more than four hours in a row all week.

"Don’t," Eddie muttered, like he could hear the thoughts scraping across your brain again.

You didn’t respond.

He leaned in, elbow brushing yours, and reached for the rag in his back pocket like he needed something to do with his hands.

"I didn’t even say anything," you murmured into your straw.

"You don’t need to. I know you." Eddie’s voice softened.

And then—without warning—he leaned in and kissed you.

It was gentle, brief, and entirely grounding. You froze, just long enough to feel it. His lips warm against yours, steady in a way that made the air go quiet in your chest.

When he pulled back, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

The jazz was still going, curling through the bar like smoke. Volt had shifted the vibe. It was something lighter now, playful and bright. You could hear his voice from the stage, teasing and smooth, filling the room with practiced ease.

You leaned your cheek into your hand. "I just wanna get ahead of things, that’s all. Check the system, run diagnostics, and tighten the grounding lines. It’s not like I’m gonna climb onto the roof during the storm."

"You say that like I haven’t seen you do worse. Remember that time you tried to clean the roof?"

Your face scrunched. "That was one time."

"You nearly fell into the chimney and down into Dante."

"I didn’t! I—" you paused. "...Okay, yeah, I almost did. But that was months ago."

Eddie raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. He didn’t argue. Just passed you a coaster and started wiping down the edge of the counter.

"You always think it’s your job to keep this whole place running. Storm or no storm."

You shifted in your seat. The ice in your glass crackled as it settled.

"I mean, I am the homeowner. Kind of comes with the territory, doesn’t it?"

Eddie made a sound—half snort, half sigh—as he leaned both elbows onto the counter beside you. "That doesn’t mean you’ve got to run yourself into the ground every time the lights flicker."

You didn’t answer right away. The soda fizzed gently between your hands, cool against your palms. Somewhere beyond the curtain, you could hear Volt sweet-talking Keyes into playing again. His voice was always so lilting, persuasive, impossible to say no to.

Eddie didn’t press. He never really did. He just waited, steady and present in the way only Eddie could be. After all, he was wired into the house as much as the breaker box was.

After a beat, you shrugged. "I don’t like sitting still when I know something’s off. You know that."

"Yeah," he said, voice low. "I know."

You both fell quiet again, letting the buzz of the bar fill the space between you. The soft glow of the club shimmered off the countertop. Overhead, the lights gave another little twitch, subtle enough that most people wouldn’t have noticed.

But you noticed. And Eddie noticed you noticing.

You caught his eye before he could say anything. "Just let me take a quick look at the panel. Five minutes!"

He frowned, but only for a second. "Ten minutes," he said. "And if you’re late—even by a second, I’m locking you out of the club."

"Har har," you muttered, rolling your eyes as you slid off the barstool.

You were halfway to removing your glasses when Eddie reached out, catching you gently by the wrist and pulling you closer. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was soft, lingering, a silent plea buried in the touch.

"Be careful," he murmured.

"I will," you said, offering a small smile before finally slipping the Dateviators off.

The club vanished in an instant.

Velvet walls dissolved into drywall. Swirling lights became a single flickering bulb overhead. The hum of conversation and jazz cut out like a severed cord, and suddenly you were back in your closet.

You took a breath. Let your eyes adjust.

It always smelled like copper and old detergent in here. Always a little damp, too. It was like the inside of a forgotten washing machine. The fusebox stood open in front of you, wires fanned out like ribs, humming faintly in the quiet.

You knelt and reached for Tony by the handle.

He rattled in protest as you dragged him closer, the sound bouncing off the cramped walls like a warning.

"Just help me out," you sighed, giving his lid a fond pat before popping him open with a familiar, quiet click.

Inside was your usual mess of tools and knick-knacks. They were well-loved, slightly disorganized, but reliable. You got to work without hesitation, sleeves rolled to your elbows, fingers moving with the kind of ease that only comes from years of hands-on labor. It was muscle memory by now. Deep in your bones.

Back in Valdivian, when you worked maintenance for the old residential towers, they’d throw you into half-dead substations at two in the morning with nothing but a rusted flashlight and shitty instant coffee. This? This was nothing. No voltage rating too weird. No wiring tangle too impossible. You’d handled worse on four hours of sleep and a vending machine granola bar.

The breaker panel creaked open.

Inside, it was warm.

…Too warm.

You tapped the voltage reader to a grounding line and frowned. That was way too much draw.

"Okay…" you murmured, eyes narrowing. "Where are you bleeding from?"

You isolated the cluster and went in, easing the insulation aside with your pliers. At first glance, the wire looked fine—dusty, maybe a little worn, but intact.

Then you turned it. Just slightly.

It snapped clean through.

There wasn’t even time to react.

The spark hit fast and hard, punching through your glove like it wasn’t even there. Heat shot through your palm and then the pain followed; Tight, bright, and crawling up your arm like it was trying to burrow beneath the skin.

You jerked back with a choked gasp, slamming into the opposite wall of the closet. The impact knocked the breath right out of you.

"FUCK—!"

You crumpled halfway down the wall, hand clutched to your chest, breath coming shallow and fast. The pain pulsed up your arm, hot and deep. Your fingertips were tingling now, and not in a good way.

Something had torn through. Maybe an arc fault, maybe a surge from the backup line. Whatever it was, it hit harder than you’d expected.

Tony rattled behind you in alarm, one of his hinges clicking open like a gasp.

"I’m fine," you muttered automatically, voice too thin to be convincing.

Tony didn’t buy it. A screwdriver rolled out of his open mouth and tapped your ankle.

You exhaled sharply through your nose and shoved yourself upright again, ignoring the sting climbing up your wrist. 

You flexed your fingers. Still moving.

...Eh, that was good enough.

"Right. Just let me finish," you hissed, more to yourself than anyone else.

Tony let out a long creak of protest as you bent back over the panel.

The wire ends blurred slightly as your vision swam, but you blinked it away. You worked one-handed at first. Then both, when you couldn’t reach the fuse clip without your dominant hand. The scorched skin near your knuckles protested every touch, nerves whining under your skin like a frayed cable, but you didn’t stop.

You were in too deep. Literally and figuratively.

The load was unstable, yes—but manageable, if you could redistribute it manually until the storm eased off. You adjusted one of the terminal screws, moving slow and careful to avoid another live burst. Your fingers trembled the whole time, but you forced them steady.

"I’ve got you," you whispered to the wires, not sure if you meant the house or yourself.

Tony squeaked again, louder now.

"Shush," you muttered, not looking back. "I’m already done."

Finally, with a slow exhale, you tightened the last connection. The screw clicked back into place under your trembling fingers, and you reinforced the grounding line with a fresh strip of tape. Your hands weren’t steady, but they were sure. It was done. Stable now.

Or at least as stable as anything could be, with the wind still howling against the siding and the gutters outside wailing.

Looked like the storm had knocked out one of the outdoor subpanels. It sent a surge straight back through the grounding loop. No wonder the readings were jumping earlier. Honestly, it was a miracle the club hadn’t gone dark mid-Volt’s opening.

You sagged back against the wall, letting out a low, shaky breath. "Alright. That should hold. Just need to monitor the current and—"

"Ow!" you yelped when something thwacked you in the shin.

You looked down just in time to see the Dateviators get nudged your way. They scraped across the floor and bumped gently against your foot.

You blinked at them. Then at Tony, whose lid had popped all the way open now, one tiny hinge trembling like a furious eyebrow.

"I know, I know…" you murmured, dragging the glasses toward you with your good hand.

You barely got them to your nose when the space in front of you shimmered. It flickered once and then Tony materialized, right where the fusebox used to be.

"You absolute manic lunatic, what the hell do you think you’re doin’? Huh? This what we’re doin’ now? Fryin’ your fingers like mozzarella sticks on a Tuesday? Do I look like I enjoy seein’ your nervous system light up like Lux!?"

You blinked up at him. "Hi, Tony."

"Don’t 'Hi, Tony' me. Don’t you even start with me right now! You shoulda been toast! I was five seconds away from launching a wrench at your forehead!"

You sat there on the floor, scorched hand cradled carefully in your lap, Tony’s voice ricocheting off the breaker box walls like a one-man riot.

He waggled a finger at you. "Oh-ho-ho, wait till Eddie and Volt sees this. They’re gonna short their whole damn panel—melt the floor—detonate, maybe! I should pop you like a lightbulb myself and save 'em the trouble—"

"Don’t tell them!" you blurted, tugging your jacket sleeve down to cover the burn. "Please, just—just let me fix it before they find out. I can wrap it, I’ll be fine."

Tony stopped mid-stride, arms folding over his strong frame. The look he gave you was somewhere between pity and rage.

"Look, sweetheart. Get your boys to yell at you before I do," he said flatly.

You hesitated. Glanced down at your hand again. The skin was darkened and red, the ache still pulsing from wrist to elbow. 

You looked back at Tony. "...They’re gonna freak out."

He raised a brow. "Good."

The Dateviators sat heavy on your nose. Tony just glared.

You sighed. The long, exhausted kind that came from knowing you were very much not in control anymore.

Then you aimed the glasses at the fusebox.

And the world shifted again.

Velvet walls folded in back around you. Warm golden lights washed over polished wood. The club pulsed with life again. There was laughter, clinking drinks, and a low buzz of energy rising.

You swayed a little on your feet. The warp was sharper than usual. It was like the space hadn’t fully settled around you yet. Or maybe that was just the part where your arm still felt like it was on fire.

Tony was still stepping into the fusebox behind you, muttering something under his breath, but you didn’t wait. You slipped away, moving fast through the side hall, ducking through one of the back passages to avoid the club floor. The last thing you wanted was attention. If you could just make it to the storage room, grab some bandages—

"Live wire?"

Eddie.

His voice cut through the air like a breaker snapping back into place.

He didn’t speak, not right away. His boots scuffed once on the tile, and then he just stood there, staring. Like the air had been sucked out of the room.

His eyes found your wrist—burned, half-wrapped in your sleeve—then tracked slowly up to your face.

For a moment, his expression didn’t shift. It didn’t go soft or angry or worried.

It just… paused.

Then he crossed the distance.

"What the hell," he said, voice quiet and flat, and it was somehow so much worse than shouting. "What the hell is this, huh?"

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The adrenaline had worn off completely now. Your pulse was crawling, the burn was starting to throb in full force, and all the justifications you’d rehearsed in your head suddenly felt stupid and small.

Eddie didn’t wait for an answer.

"Sit down." He was already dragging a bar stool over, one-handed, like it weighed nothing. "Sit back. Don’t argue."

"I wasn’t gonna—"

"Baby, you're always gonna," he muttered, crouching beside you. His hands were already at work, digging behind the breaker cabinet where he always stashed an emergency kit. "You always do this. Can’t leave well enough alone, can you?"

"I had to—"

“You didn’t.” He didn’t snap it, but the sharpness was there—clean and cutting, wrapped in worry. “You just wanted to. Don’t twist it.”

You tried to explain, voice small. “I didn’t want the load to jump to the upper panel. Volt’s been compensating for the storm. If it caught the stage loop—”

“Oh, so now it’s his fault?” Eddie barked, louder now. “That your wrist looks like it brushed up against a goddamn arc weld? That you didn’t call anyone? You think we wouldn’t have dropped everything?”

“I think you’ve both been working yourselves sick for a week straight,” you said, biting back tears. “And the last thing either of you needed was—”

“Eddie? Live wire?”

Volt’s voice broke through the air like a wire snap. There was a pause, and then his footsteps followed.

"I heard something," he said, rounding the corner. "Tony said something was..." His voice faltered, then dropped. 

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.

Volt’s eyes landed on your wrist—and he went still. The air around him shifted.

Then his outline flickered.

"What happened."

Blue.

Brilliant, sharp, electric blue. It crawled up his spine in jagged pulses, lighting veins beneath his skin like glass tubing, like lightning caught in a bottle. The whites of his eyes burned.

"Oh. No. No, no, no," he said. But his voice was warping now. It was buzzing at the edges, tinged with a crackle like voltage under strain. He stepped forward, and every step left behind the faintest scorched mark on the floorboards. "You’re joking. You’re—this is a joke, right?"

"Volt—"

"Live wire," he breathed. And your name, on his tongue, was a current. "You’re burned."

"It isn’t—" you started.

"Don’t." His finger pointed at you, trembling with charge. Arcs of light whispered across his knuckles. "Don’t you dare say it wasn’t that bad."

"It was just the panel—"

"Just the panel!?" he echoed.

The lights in the room surged then dipped low. You heard a crack-pop behind the wall. Somewhere behind you, a wire sparked.

You flinched.

Volt was glowing now. His entire form buzzed, casting a ghost-light onto the walls. Blue and unearthly. His voice, when it came, was low and shaking with something barely held back.

"You were working alone," he said, every word echoing, "on a surge panel. In a storm. While both of us were just floors away. And you thought that was fine? That we didn’t need to know?"

You curled in on yourself. His anger wasn’t hot. It was storm-born. Dangerous in the way of lightning you could feel before it hit.

Eddie saw your fear immediately.

"Volt. Calm it," he said tightly. "I let them go. Just didn’t think they’d be this reckless about it."

His voice wasn’t defensive, but it was a grounding wire. Eddie stood firm, and Volt, for all his buzzing edges, met the look and froze. Like he hit resistance.

"They're already hurt," Eddie said again, firm. "Don’t make it worse."

Volt blinked. The light in his skin flickered then dimmed. The hum dropped a few notches, no longer shaking the air.

He exhaled sharply, and the energy recoiled from his hands like it had been shocked. His glow softened to a simmer.

Then he dropped to his knees beside you.

His hand hovered, still faintly glowing. "I’m sorry, live wire," he murmured, voice ragged. "I just—Gods. When I saw your wrist—"

"I know," you whispered. "I just didn’t want to worry you."

Volt made a broken sound and sat down hard beside you.

"Sweetheart," he muttered, dragging his hand down his face. It left a trail of fading light. "That’s the only thing you accomplished."

Eddie didn’t speak right away. He focused on your wrist, peeling your sleeve back carefully.

"Let me see." His voice was back to its steady, quiet steel. "Pulse is fine. No full conduction. Burn’s surface-deep but could’ve been worse. We cool it now."

You hissed when the cold pack hit. Eddie braced your arm gently.

"You scared the shit out of us," he muttered. Still working, still checking. "You didn’t just brush a line. That’s an exit burn. You’re lucky it didn’t arc through your ribs."

"You said ten minutes—" you whispered.

"I said ten minutes," Eddie repeated, "not 'go get electrocuted in the closet.'" His glare wasn’t mean, but the exasperation in it ran deep, richer than sarcasm, heavier than anger. "You could’ve passed out. Alone. We could’ve found you goddamn hours later."

"Tony was with me. And I had it under control," you murmured, guilt crawling up your throat.

You blinked fast, trying to shake it off, but the tears came anyway. You hated crying in front of them. Hated the tight quiver in your chest, the way your breath wouldn’t stay even. But with Eddie bracing your wrist and Volt kneeling beside you, electricity still faintly humming through his skin, you couldn’t stop it.

"I thought I had it," you added, voice cracking.

Volt made a sharp sound and reached up to brush a tear from your cheek with the back of his knuckle.

"I mean, for someone supposedly in control," Volt said slowly, "you did come out looking like a fork that kissed a socket."

He tilted his head. "Oh, dear. If we weren’t the ones fussing over you, Daisuke would’ve had your head."

You let out a weak laugh, rough and wet. Volt’s grin softened, flickering to life again like a current catching.

"There you are," he murmured, tilting your chin up. "You know I can’t function when you cry. My circuits short. I start sparking in weird places."

Eddie rolled his eyes, but didn’t pull away. His thumb pressed softly into the crook of your elbow. "You need to lie down."

Volt nodded. "You've read my mind, darling."

He reached forward, one arm sliding under your knees as Eddie steadied your back. You let them lift you, careful and warm. Your injured arm stayed elevated, the cold pack still pressing against the burn.

"You can yell at us later," Volt said, adjusting you against his chest. "For now, let us take care of you."

"You’re just gonna lock me in your room," you mumbled into his shirt.

"Absolutely," he said, brushing a kiss to your temple. "Fuse privileges officially revoked. Until further notice."

"Indefinitely?" you croaked.

"We’ll renegotiate at the end of the fiscal year," Eddie muttered, brushing the back of your hand. "Assuming you survive your next bright idea."

They moved together, seamlessly syncing their steps. You sagged into their support, letting the last of the panic bleed out of you.

"Spark," Eddie said again, low and just for you. "Let us be scared. Let us be here."

You didn’t have an answer. Just another trembling breath—and a nod.

જ⁀➴ drop requests babe! this is my first date everything fic released to the fandom

[lovelyghst]

just imagine ghost getting his Jacob's ladder piercing while he's dating you and after it's healed yall have sex for the first time and it's just like sensory overload

i know absolutely nothing about piercings, but this idea is simply too good to pass up. my brain is melting.

hmmm, thinking about ghost who, despite not being able to properly get off himself, is still so attentive to his sweet girl throughout the whole healing process; offering you his mouth and fingers whenever he notices your focus beginning to drift off and shift elsewhere, having you rub yourself up on his jean-clad thigh when you can’t seem to shake the burst of energy.

because while you never outright asked him for anything of the kind, he just knew.

and even if you were the one so insistent on following the piercer’s advice—taking each and every precaution possible in avoiding the risks that simon shrugged off as ‘not gonna happen.’—you still felt bad. though, he couldn’t resist your stern pouting for long, turning weak the moment you cocked your head and promised him a sweet treat when he’s all healed up.

so, of course, ‘whatever you say, doll.’

anything to put your pretty mind at ease. he is a soldier, after all. he can wait, even if it kills him. it got pretty damn close to it, too.

which is what makes the first time back so fucking good. that reunion, and the return of that glimmering look you get in your eyes every other time he presses his pink lips to your collar and gently hikes you up the mattress after a long time away.

and truthfully, he was done in the moment you tapped him on his shoulder and told him to guess what day it was.

“shit, baby—” he grits out with a heavy breath, eyes trained on your own as he watches you reverently lick up the underside of his cock. your fingers tighten around the base when his abs pull taut, tongue gliding over the cool metal.

taking your time in feeling each and every barbell leading to the tip, making him twitch in your hand at the hot and wet drag over his sensitive skin. a heavy breath seeps from his lungs, his jaw clenching as he fights to hold off. jesus, you’re too good to him.

a sweet fucking treat, indeed.

you giggle before taking the head of him between your swollen, spit-stained lips, reveling in the quick hiss he sucks in through his teeth as you whine at the familiar taste of his pre leaking onto your tongue. your other hand slips up his thigh while you squeeze your own together, your freshly done-up nails leaving little, pink crescent shapes in his thick skin.

“fuck— not gonna last ‘f you keep that up,” he warns, a struggle in and of itself, and it’s an utter miracle he doesn’t collapse to the floor when you only hollow your cheeks and suck in response. he hardly manages to stifle an embarrassingly whorish moan at that.

god, you look so pretty down there, on your knees for him. so fucking debauched, and so, so perfect.

the way your thumb toys with the piercings as you have your own fun, and how you preen in his hold like a sweet cat when he slips a hand to the back of your neck. he’s going to miss it when he forces himself to pull you away, frowning at the pout you give him as he’s lifting you off your feet and carrying you over to your bed.

“’m sorry, sweetheart… just too fuckin’ pretty for yer old man anymore— didn’t want it t’go to waste.”

he kisses your temple, mumbling his apologies in your hair. you hardly even register your bare back making contact with your sheets, so wrapped up in his hold, before he’s kissing his way down your neck.

“wanna fill yer pretty cunt,” he murmurs, and it’s nearly incoherent as his lips press against your racing pulse point. “make ‘er cum ‘round my cock… know y’missed it too, sweet girl. a proper fuck…”

he’s talking more to himself than anything, and a small gasp from you follows soon after when his arm is snaked between your bodies and his fingertips make contact with your swollen, little clit. won’t even stretch you out with his fingers; he’s had his fill of that over the course of the last month. let him feel how much you missed his cock.

“poor thing’s soaked f’me, baby.” he groans as he adjusts on his forearm and regains his bearings, dick twitching against your thigh with every noise squeaked out from your throat. “cunt’s gonna take me just right, lovie… so fuckin’ well…”

he rambles a lot when he’s needy, you’ve come to learn.

you whine when his hand leaves you to take his cock in a fist, your nails digging into his chest and shoulder when he presses the head to your messy pussy. just the tip in and you’re already seeing stars, the shared moan between the two of you raw and pornographic.

he’s gritting out his swears before you try to shush his dirty mouth with a kiss, and he accepts it greedily, almost too eagerly.

your body reacts to his, simultaneously craving more and trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation all at once. your brain is fuzzy by the time he’s nearly bottoming out inside you, ears deaf to the unabashed sounds spilling from your lips as the feeling of his fresh piercings dragging against your every sweet spot burns itself into your memory.

and before you can catch your breath, a thumb is being pressed up against your sensitive bud once again, your legs constricting around him involuntarily as you jolt with a cry. heat prickles at your skin, his teeth at your jaw making your spine tingle.

he’s telling you to cum, begging you to make a mess of his cock.

his hand picks up its pace, hips grinding against yours sloppier than ever as he pleads right up against your temple for you to use him, just finish him off, fucking cum for him.

you squeeze around his cock like a vice and pull him straight under with you, arms locked tight around his neck as your pretty cunt utterly wrecks him. making him throb and twitch, fucking himself dumb through his high and wringing him dry of everything he’s kept pent up for you. at least for now, anyway.

his and your panting rings out in the room as he sits back on his knees, his cock still hard as he gently pulls out of you. watching his pearly cum bead from your slit, your chest gradually slowing down within the time he takes to drool over the sight of you.

it’s not long before simon has you laying on your tummy with your head in the soft sheets, a pillow slipped underneath your hips to prop you up. not making you do an ounce of work as he uses your warm, pliant cunt as his sweet cum dump for hours on end.

fucking you gently, lovingly, all while trying his best to keep his weight off your back. he kisses behind your ear, cooing praises and choked grunts that make your tummy flutter with butterflies. you can only giggle into the pillow nestled in your arms as he makes up for all the lost time.

filling you with load after load, the number becoming lost on your fuzzy mind after a certain amount, until your belly is achingly full and his cock is numb from overstimulation. only to coax you onto your back, easing your limp legs apart to watch his cum leak from your pretty hole. pressing a flat palm to your lower tummy, sighing in time with your strangled noises as your sensitive pussy drips more of his spend. leaning forward and licking it all up like some starved mutt; groaning at the taste, arms tightening around your hips as he eats his mess out of his pretty girl.

[hanimanny]

SHE'S BARBIE, AND HES JUST… TIM?

a.k.a Bruce notices the many upgrades Tim's been getting since your arrival.

tags: Tim Drake x reader (established relationship), Bruce Wayne x platonic!reader, crack, pretty bird is a certified genius!!!

word count: 2.2k , likes + comments + reblogs appreciated

It first started when Bruce and Tim—in the furry persona—went out on a reconnaissance mission gone wrong.

It was a trap! The blueprints for a deadly android able to possess and control whatever tech exists was rumored to be lurking around this area is nowhere to be seen, and instead, they were greeted with an army of robots. Old prototypes, tank-like and bulky, nothing like they were searching for but still extremely difficult to deal with. 

The robots had surrounded them, and the usual method of overloading them wouldn't work, not with this kind—they were clearly built to take a beating. 

While Batman fights expertly as he does, brute-forcing his way through by ripping out their motherboards, Red Robin takes a different approach. 

He takes his bo-staff, which looks a bit different from his usual one—glowing a faint blue light at its tips—and hums as it spins (yes, like a lightsaber) and tags the robots. 

He rapidly taps the bots with his staff while simultaneously avoiding the attacks targeted at him until he reaches the other side of the warehouse, tagging at least half of the robots. 

With a click of his bo-staff, all the robots drop dead, as if life has been sucked out of them. 

Strange, what the heck did Red Robin do? 

Soon, like a domino effect, the nearby robots to the dead ones drop as well, as if they were infected with the same virus Tim had infected them with. 

“Batman, the nano-virus will only incapacitate them; they’ll wake up in the next hour,” Red Robin informs as he takes the end of his bo-staff and stabs it through a robot's chest—destroying the motherboard.

Nanovirus? When did he come up with that? Sure, the idea of nanotech was prevalent, especially in this day and age, but quick-acting nanotechnology that was able to instantly incapacitate any tech—be it only for an hour—is incredible. 

Batman nods, keeping it in mind to question Red Robin during the debrief, and continues to destroy the robots. 

But the debrief wasn’t helpful at all. Tim was being as elusive as ever, which he thinks he picked up from himself. Saying that the Nano-Virus was a random project that he wanted to try out, that it wasn’t supposed to work this well. 

Overcompensating. Tim’s trying to hide something. He may be great at keeping his tone varied and avoiding detailed explanations that would definitely raise flags, but Bruce is the greatest detective alive and can see through anything. 

Bruce gives Tim a stern scolding. Tell him that he needs to be informed of anything, even if he’s just on a trial. It may have worked this time, but the future is always unforeseen, then dismisses him. 

He’ll get to the bottom of this. 

The next time Bruce sees changes, it’s in Tim’s demeanor. 

He’s been brighter; not that he wasn’t happy before, but Tim has been more chipper. He could assume that was from having a girlfriend—the girl who works as one of the lead biotechnology engineers at Wayne Enterprises, who somehow pulled a Tim (it’s what the kids are calling it) and discovered all their identity in the first week of meeting them. Bruce would lie if he said he wasn’t impressed, especially with how you had no prior experience with being a detective (aside from doxxing people in your teenage years). 

The stress of not needing to hide who and what you are from the person you love is surely elating, but that wasn’t it (maybe partially). 

Maybe bright isn’t the term to describe it… It’s more like he’s free. 

Tim sat on the couch, nursing a large bright red Stanley cup in one hand—probably filled with an ungodly amount of caffeine—and the TV remote in the other. 

“You normally watch in your room.” Bruce's voice breaks the silence between Tim and the paused movie on the flatscreen. Tim peaks over his shoulder, as if he had to make sure that the deep stoic voice belonged to Bruce. 

“Sup B, I do, but Birdie wants the big screen experience—like my room doesn’t have it,” he scoffs as he takes a glug of his drink. 

Bruce nods as he observes Tim further. “You seem less stressed,” he prompts. 

“Yeah, Birdie came up with an A.I able to sort the paperwork and get background checks on every company that wants to make a proposal with WE, so I got less on my plate.” Tim sighs, as if he doesn’t have a pile of untouched cases back at the batcave. “Did you know we have at least 250 fraudulent companies trying to make deals with us? Insane,” he mumbles before his lips are back in the cup. 

“Also, she has me drinking more than 8 cups of water a day; I’ve never felt more alive.” Tim rattles the Stanley cup, hearing the clashing of ice against its metal walls, before again, taking a fat swig. 

Bruce’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and not because of Tim’s unhealthy habits (maybe just a little actually). Not only were you able to convince Tim away from his horrible caffeine addiction, although he was still skeptical about the front, but you were able to come up with a program that passes Tim’s savant expectations. 

You would be a great asset to the league, especially now because you know their identities. 

You walk into the living room, startled, as you’d been dead in your tracks at the doorway. 

Your eyes flick towards Bruce, then Tim, then back at Bruce, then Tim. and then—

You’ll never get used to Bruce’s intimidating aura. 

“H-hello, Mr. Bruce Wayne, sir,” you stumble out and… bow? What the heck! You inwardly cringe at your action as you pull yourself up, gripping the bowl of popcorn with an unprecedented amount of strength. 

Tim chuckles at your words, and Bruce settles a gentle smile on his lips because—after an extensive background check on—you truly are as sweet as Tim describes. 

“Didn’t I say to call me, Bruce?”

Your face pales as if you’ve committed the greatest sin alive, as you visibly gulp (at least he still has his intimidation skills). “Yes, Bruce Wayne—I mean, just Bruce,” you nod as your eyes flick at Tim, who reads your mind (but I mean, it’s clear what you’re trying to do). 

“Say, Bruce, do you want to join us for our movie date?” Tim asks, and your face loses all its color at this point. Bruce laughs softly at the comedy of the moment and shakes his head for your sake: “It’s okay, you kids have fun.” 

You wait for Bruce to take his leave, bowing again (seriously, would you stop doing that!). before you scurry off to Tim’s welcoming side, letting out a mixture between a whine and a groan of embarrassment. 

Bruce will save the interrogation for later, saving you the trouble of passing out due to fear and embarrassment. 

Before he's completely out of earshot, Bruce picks up the lingering conversation between the two of you. 

“He's my boss!”

“I’m your boss.”

“That’s different; you’re a loser.” 

“rude”

“Cry about it, furry.”

“Technically, Bruce calls himself Batman, so he’s also—

“If you ever tell him I said that, I'll be sure to put laxatives in all your foods.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The last innovation that goes under his nose happens, literally, under his nose. or more so the batcave. 

Scarecrow escaped, fear gas smothering the streets, and everyone is in the bat cave preparing to leave for the battlefield. 

Gearing up in his quarters, Bruce—moments before the cowl is up—sees you whispering frantically to Tim, who’s dressed in his own kevlar gear—besides the mask—consoling you gently. 

You seem nervous, more nervous than you normally are when he’s in your vicinity. You’re holding a metallic case to your chest, mumbling something he can’t quite hear. 

Then Tim speaks up, “Bruce!” Not just Bruce looks at him; the others do too—Dick, Damian, and Alfred. Tim then ushers you in front of him, and the way you clutch onto the briefcase makes you seem like a little bird. 

“Come on, pretty bird, you know it’ll work,” he encourages, and you take the deepest breath known to man. 

“I made a vaccination for fear gas.” You start, your shoulders squaring as you stare directly at Bruce, “It blocks any foreign neurotransmitters from pursuing infiltration, so think of it as antibodies for a virus. You inhale it just like fear gas, and you will be immune; it's viable for any variation of fear gas—because I designed it to be fast-adapting—for 24 hrs.”

“Of course, it does vary between everyone’s metabolism, and it must adapt to you first, so for it to work I need to infuse it with your DNA,” you mumble the last part out. 

“And how are you sure it’ll work?”

“I tested it out on myself, which is a very invalid trial, but I promise you, Bruce W.-Bruce, it’ll work.” There's a glint of determination in your eye. Bruce pauses at that and stares at you with his iconic glare. “We’ll discuss this when we get back; how do you administer the DNA?”

Your meek demeanor slowly leaves you as you perk at his acceptance, scurrying away from Tim and towards Bruce. “You just need to prick your finger, wait a minute for everything to infuse, and use it like you use an inhaler,” you instruct as you crouch down to open the case. 

You get to work, pricking Bruce first, then Dick, and with much reluctance from Damian, him as well. 

“Why isn’t Drake taking one?” Damian calls out as you hand the inhaler to the boy. 

You glance over to Tim, who's already looking at you: “Umm… I kinda sorta… already took it.” Bruce deadpans and glares and sighs all at the same time. Tim braces himself for a lecture, but it doesn't come. 

“We don't have time. Let's go.

Bruce turns away, pulling his cowl on, but not before he sees you launch yourself into Tim’s arms in a fit of relief. 

“I can't believe I did that.”

“I can. You're one of a kind, Pretty Bird.”

Bruce huffs and shakes his head. 

…

When they all return, they are much less banged up than they normally are. Your vaccine worked wonders; although temporary, this innovation is amazing! The pathways that have opened are endless; you truly are incredible.

Bruce, of course, forces you to sit through the debrief, which was actually not that bad. Hearing that your vaccine worked way better than expected fills your chest with pride. You can't help but steal glances from Tim, who is fully locked in Red Robin mode right now and doesn't even spare you a glance, but he does give your thigh a little squeeze, something to tell you that he is proud. 

The lectures you receive, on the other hand… You don't know how Tim does it; sit through it with a straight face. You're sitting with your wits tight, breath held, and sweat dripping down your temple. You blink in a daze as you listen to Batman drone about safety, teamwork, and the ethics of self-experimentation and how you should definitely not do it. 

You don't notice the pause in the lecture, zoned out completely to save your heart the trouble of all the anxiety. Although your name coming out of Batman’s mouth surely draws you back into reality. Your eyes focus again, and you’re met with Batman’s infamous gaze.

“Yes?” You squeak out, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Do you want to work for me?” 

You blink owlishly, and your brows furrow in confusion, giving Tim a glance, who only shrugs in response. 

“Um, Mr. Bruce… I already am… working for you— I mean.

“No, as a family physician, I've seen all your degrees: board-certified doctor, surgeon, and PhD in multiple fields. You can work from the manor as well. It's convenient that you already know all our identities and the inner workings of this family. I've also seen the tech upgrades you've given Tim. I believe you will be a great asset.” 

Tim clears his throat, and Bruce spares him a glance. 

“Great addition,” he corrects himself. 

You're bubbling in your spot next to Tim, like a volcano ready to erupt. 

“I would love to work with you all,” you reply back, but it's obvious you're trying to keep your composure in front of Bruce. 

“You can let loose, Pretty Bird, B doesn't bite,” you erupt with permission from Tim. But what neither man expects is for you to launch yourself into Bruce, squeeze him like a giant teddy bear, and let out a string of thank yous. 

Tim is stuck between a state of horror, adoration, and relief watching you hug Bruce with all your might. He didn't know whether to stop you, cheer you on, or simply pass out. 

“I won't let you down, Bruce!” You pull away, and there's a bright gleam in your eye, something that Gotham lacks entirely. 

Where the hell did Tim find this girl?

“Let's go, Duckie!” 

And you're off, pulling Tim along, who’s sporting a lovesick grin. 

The adventures of Pretty bird (shenanigans revolving you and Tim's family)

[societyfolklore]

Open Up Baby

Title: Open Up Baby Pairing: Tony Stark  x Female Reader

Summary: Tony Stark straps you into a StarkTech-compatible bench for a private demonstration of his newest toys- complete with biometric feedback,

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, SMUT… BDSM/Restraints/Bondage, custom tech ball gag, toys (Egg vibe, anal beads, dildo)  Overstimulation, Toy fucking/Machine-assisted thrusting, Filthy talk (Tony can't shut up), AI assists with data tracking, clinical observation, forced openness, Sensory overload

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for April Kinky Bingo… Well this one turned into a whole thing.. Square: B2- Open Up Baby  Card Number: KB003

You were already strapped to the bench- back arched, thighs spread wide in glossy chrome stirrups, wrists bound snug in Stark-grade cuffs that didn’t budge an inch. The synthetic leather beneath you was cool against your skin, but your body was already starting to heat with anticipation. The bench itself shifted slightly with every movement, like it was reading your tension, calibrating every twitch of your muscles into data Tony could access later.

You could hear the soft hum of the room’s ambient systems, the low mechanical whirrs, the faint electric pulse of tech running in standby, and underneath it all, Tony’s voice. He hummed absently as he moved around you, flicking through translucent holoscreens that floated in the air, readable only to him. Light glinted off his arc reactor through the thin black shirt he wore, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, veins flexing with every subtle flick of his fingers.

He looked like a scientist. Or a surgeon. No, a goddamn artist.

“You look tense,” he murmured, stepping in close, his fingers grazing your jaw with a feather-light touch. “That won’t do. We need to get a clean read. No clenched teeth, no locked jaws. Just you- open and…relaxed.”

He held up a sleek piece of tech. A mix of leather and metal. To you it looked like a ball gag. That wasn’t just a gag. It was his gag. Something custom. Personal. Laced with Stark Industry Tech.

“Open up, baby. Gotta install the biometric reader. It’s not science without a baseline.”

You hesitated, lips twitching. Just for a second. But he didn’t push. He just waited you out, smirk deepening, one brow arched like he had all the time in the world. That cocky, knowing gaze made you squirm even before anything touched you. Your breath hitched. And then you parted your lips.

“There we go,” he said, tone thick with approval as he slid the gag into place. It clicked against your teeth, snug and firm. A soft vibration flickered across your tongue as it locked in pushing the muscle down.

Friday’s voice chimed in overhead, calm and clinical.

“Gag calibration complete. Biometric sync active. Tracking vocal response, saliva levels, and tongue pressure.”

Tony leaned down, brushing his lips across your cheek in a whisper of a kiss. “Good girl. Now let’s get to work.”

He started with the egg.

Sleek. Silver. Pulsing faintly in his hand like it had a heartbeat of its own. The metal shimmered under the clinical lights, smooth and polished, shaped with the kind of precision that only Stark could deliver. He turned it over once, twice, like he was admiring a prized gadget- one that he was particularly proud of.

He showed it to you like a doctor unveiling a revolutionary new tool- calm, confident, deeply amused. Except this wasn’t a sterile exam room, and the look in his eyes wasn’t professional. His smirk told you he already knew what kind of mess this thing would reduce you to.

"This is your warm-up," he said, voice low and playful. "Phase One. Internal warming protocol. Testing receptivity. Calibration through heat and pulse response."

You whimpered into the gag. Of course you were excited- he’d been teasing you with this little 'demonstration' all week. Whispering promises in your ear, tapping out reminders on your thigh, dropping technical jargon laced with filth that left your core throbbing before he’d even touched you. Now that it was finally happening, your whole body was buzzing with need.

He didn't wait. He moved closer, one gloved hand parting your thighs a little further, the other settling between them. The bench adjusted beneath you, lifting your hips another inch to meet his touch perfectly. His fingers dipped between your folds- testing your wetness, teasing you just enough to make your body jerk in its bonds.

"Already responsive," he muttered, half to himself, half to Friday. "She’s going to be a dream to log."

He slid the egg in with two fingers, slow and deliberate. The cool metal kissed your entrance, making you flinch slightly- it was colder than you expected, stark contrast against your heated skin. Your walls instinctively tried to resist, clenching down, but his fingers were patient, coaxing you open, parting you around the sleek, unyielding toy.

The egg slid upward, heavy and smooth. As it moved deeper, your body yielded to it, the slow stretch making your breath catch. Its contours were designed to press into every sensitive spot, and you could feel your muscles fluttering around it, trying to accommodate the sudden fullness. As he pushed it deeper, you could feel every inch of it being swallowed by your body, your slick muscles tightening, fluttering around the intrusion.

He pushed the egg up high inside you, then paused, his finger still inside you too. "Squeeze for me," he ordered. You did, instinctively, your walls closing down as you used your pelvic floor, and Tony gave the platic string attached a soft tug.

The stretch, the resistance- it was delicious. The egg stayed locked in place. You couldn’t push it out if you tried. He smiled, clearly pleased.

"Perfect. Secure fit," he murmured. "Wouldn’t want it popping out mid-test."

It settled deep inside you, a sinful throb blooming in your core. Then it pulsed- just once, a quick flutter that made you jolt.

"There we go," he breathed, watching the screen light up with new data. "Didn’t even turn it on yet and she’s already going. Fuck, I love this job."

You were barely processing the first toy when he reached for the second.

Beads. Tapered, growing in size, each one gleamed under the soft blue lighting like tiny pieces of futuristic art. You squirmed, thighs pressing together, but it was no use- Stark had seen your reaction.

Tony laughed- low and delighted.

"Didn’t know we were going there, huh?" He nudged your knees apart again, voice dipping to a darker octave. "Come on, baby. I want you to open up for me. Let’s see what this one does..."

You shook your head slightly. Whimpered into the gag. Wide eyes watching him as you tried to protest around the ball gag in your mouth. 

Tony turned to the tray beside him, selecting a small, frost-blue tube of gel. "Wouldn't be very considerate to skip prep," he muttered, more to himself than to you. He uncapped the tube and squeezed a slow, deliberate line of the slick, glistening substance along the length of the beads. The gel shimmered faintly under the light, warming as it reacted with the ambient temperature.

He coated each bead carefully, fingers moving with methodical ease, making sure the entire string was evenly slicked. "Lubricated. Body-safe. Custom formula," he said with a wink. "Slippery enough to slide in smooth- sticky enough to stay in place until I say otherwise."

Then he held the beads up for you to see, the string dangling between his fingers. You tensed instinctively.

"Oh no. You’re freezing up. Can’t test properly if you don’t behave. Legs. Open."

You didn’t.

Tony tsked, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. Then he grabbed your chin, firm and steady, tilting your head so your eyes locked with his.

"Don't think so much. That’s not what good test subjects do."

Click.

The bench tilted beneath you without warning. Your hips rolled upward, knees falling further apart as the restraints auto-adjusted. You were fully exposed now- helpless. Wide open.

"You know I can override those restraints, right? I built them. Now be a good girl and show me everything."

He dipped his finger back into the gel and brought it to your ass, pressing a cool dollop directly to your tight, puckered entrance. The sudden chill made you flinch, but it was followed by the warm glide of his fingertip as he gently teased the gel in slow circles.

"You tense here, too," he said, amused. "Don't worry. This formula warms up just like you do."

He rubbed it in carefully, working the gel into your rim with delicate, coaxing pressure. The sensation tingled- both from the temperature shift and the way his finger circled and pressed until your body finally began to relent.

Then he lowered the beads between your cheeks and began to press them in- one at a time. The first slid in easily, the gel working its magic, cool and slick. The second made your breath stutter. The third had your whole body tensing as your hole stretched just enough to accommodate the new pressure.

Each one pulled a different, desperate noise from you- somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, caught in the back of your throat and forced through the gag in broken fragments.

By the time the third bead settled inside you, you felt full. Stretched in ways that left you panting, your back arching hard off the bench. Everything was working together- the deep pressure of the egg nestled high in your core, the hum beginning to buzz through your clit like a phantom, and now the slow, firm intrusion of the beads pressing against nerves that had you seeing stars. You struggled to catch your breath, the gag forcing each inhale to be short and choppy. Air hissed through your nose while your mouth flooded with saliva, spit slipping from the corners of your lips in thick strands that slid down your neck and onto your chest. The overwhelming heat of arousal and frustration tangled in your gut, building like steam with nowhere to escape. The restraint of it made the fire inside you burn hotter.

Your muscles clenched involuntarily, your hips rocking against the air, chasing friction that didn’t come. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg. Just drool, tremble, and take everything he gave you.

"Mmm. That moan? That was bead three. She likes that one, Friday."

"Confirmed," the AI replied. "Pelvic floor tension rising. Heart rate increasing."

"Good. Means it’s working."

The egg began to heat. The beads hummed in sync, and you felt everything shift- internally and externally- as pleasure bled into pressure, and pressure into overload. You were trembling now, thighs twitching again, trying to close- but the bench held you wide, utterly exposed.

"Heart rate’s spiking..." Tony’s voice was pure, filthy glee. "Oh, she’s gonna break soon. Look at her squirm."

You rutted against the air, clit untouched and screaming for attention. Your walls fluttered around the egg, your ass clenching down against the beads as the different pulses overlapped and collided. It was all too much and somehow not enough. You needed more and needed it to stop, all at once.

You tried to breathe, but the gag made it impossible to take anything but shallow, panting gasps. Each exhale was laced with a moan. Drool spilled freely down your chin, dripping warm across your face and neck. You were flushed, messy, wrecked- and he hadn’t even touched your clit.

Your back arched violently off the bench, cords of heat coiling through your belly and thighs. It felt like your body was unraveling, muscles tight and desperate, nerve endings screaming with pleasure.

Tony leaned in again, voice dark and syrup-smooth. "We’ve got her plugged, egged, and ready to combust. Think she can handle the next phase?"

Friday answered, "Orgasm build-up at 87%."

"Perfect." He tapped a command into the air. "Now let’s push her."

The egg pulsed deeper. The beads vibrated sharper. You cried out- moaning, writhing, the gag muffling it into raw, incoherent noise. You couldn’t form words. Couldn’t beg. Just sob through the pressure building to a breaking point.

"Baby, this is science. Filthy, beautiful science."

It hit you like a wave- white-hot and all-consuming. Your legs shook violently in the stirrups, muscles spasming as your body locked around the egg and beads pulsing inside you. Every nerve ending fired in chaotic pleasure, overwhelming your senses. You tried to scream, to sob, but the gag reduced it to a shattered, strangled cry that vibrated through the tech, each desperate noise dutifully logged.

Drool spilled in long, wet strands down your chin as your back bowed hard off the bench, your whole body trembling under the assault of pleasure. Your cunt clenched tight around the egg, milking it involuntarily, while your ass throbbed with each hum of the vibrating beads. Everything inside you was pulsing, moving, grinding you down into submission.

Tony watched, transfixed, his gaze locked on your ruined, shaking form. “There she goes - God, I should patent that moan.”

Your eyes rolled back. You could barely breathe. You could only tremble and leak and convulse as the orgasm tore through you. The bench beneath you vibrated subtly with your body’s response.

Friday: "Orgasm confirmed."

Tony waited until you were trembling, your breathing uneven, your thighs still twitching with aftershocks that rippled through your overstimulated body. Sweat slicked your skin in a thin, glistening sheen, catching the light as your chest heaved with broken gasps around the gag. Your limbs strained weakly against the restraints.

Then- slowly, methodically- he reached between your cheeks and took hold of the first bead. He didn’t rush. He eased it out one at a time, each slick orb dragging along your inner walls with a sticky, stretching glide. You shuddered at the sensation- the unbearable emptiness that bloomed in the wake of each removal. Your ass clenched reflexively around the loss, trying to hold onto what had filled you so completely. But he kept going.

The final bead popped free with a slick, obscene sound. Your hips jolted involuntarily, your back arching once more as your body spasmed again, clinging to the ghost of sensation.

Friday's voice crackled overhead. "Anal pressure reduced. Sphincter still contracting. She’s experiencing post-orgasmic muscle spasms."

Then came the egg.

He curled his fingers inside you, tugging the retrieval loop with a firm, practiced motion. The egg slipped free, wet and shiny,  your cunt fluttering uselessly around the sudden void. The stretch, the drag, the warmth- it all left you aching. You cried into the gag, overwhelmed by the emptiness and the continued tremors in your muscles. Your thighs kicked slightly, your knees drawing in as far as the restraints would allow.

"Vaginal walls contracting. Core temperature still elevated. She's not done trembling yet," Friday observed, calm as ever.

Tony held both toys in one hand now- wet, warm, shining. He looked down at you with naked satisfaction.

"That’s some damn good tech," he said. "But we’re not done."

From the tray, he lifted his final piece.

A dildo- sleek, deep grey, Stark-stamped at the base. Modeled after him, and you knew it. Maybe a little bigger. Slightly wider at the base, with delicate ridges along the underside that hinted at something extra. Your breath caught just looking at it.

“This one’s special, baby. Built it from memory- well, from yours,” Tony said, rolling it in his hand. “Temperature regulated, pressure-sensitive, and the best part? The internal sensors sync to your contractions. It responds to you. The more you clench, the deeper it drives. A perfect loop.”

You whimpered around the gag, heart fluttering.

He moved between your spread legs and lined it up against your soaked, fluttering entrance. You were already sensitive- still trembling from the last orgasm- and when the wide tip pressed in, you nearly cried. It stretched you slowly, steadily, a little more than you were used to. Your slick walls resisted at first, clenching down instinctively, but Tony was patient, guiding it with precise control.

“There you go,” he coaxed, voice smooth but sharp-edged with amusement. “That’s it. Take all of it. Come on, baby- I know you can..”

His tone dipped into a purr. “There you go. Taking it like you need it. Bet you love being filled up with Stark-grade tech, huh?”

Your back bowed off the bench as he pushed it in, inch by inch, your pussy yielding to every contour, forced to accommodate the full shape of it. The fullness was delious, your body stretched taut around it. Your eyes rolled back as the final ridge slipped inside, the toy settling deep.

“There,” he said, watching your reactions with fascination. “Fills you out just right. And now... we see what she can really do.”

The base clicked into a pulse pattern, and the toy began to move inside you- slow at first, deliberate, like it was learning your shape. You could feel every textured ridge of the shaft as it rubbed against your inner walls, dragging across oversensitive flesh, sparking little detonations of pleasure with every pass.

Then it pulsed- long and low, a rhythmic thrum that radiated from base to tip, sending heat spiraling through your belly. With every thrust, the toy seemed to stretch you deeper, nudging a spot that made your toes curl and your thighs twitch against the restraints. Your pussy clenched around it reflexively, triggering the internal sensors Tony had mentioned. And just like that, the toy responded- pressing harder, thrusting deeper, faster.

It wasn’t just fucking you- it was reading you, syncing to the wild flutter of your muscles, pulsing in tandem with your arousal.

“Look at her,” Tony murmured, grinning as he watched the toy disappear again and again between your legs. “Every little squeeze makes it work harder. You’re doing this to yourself, baby. And I haven’t even touched your clit yet.”

You’d been so consumed by the thrusting inside you, by the stretch and pulse of the toy, that you hadn’t even noticed Tony move. But suddenly, he was there- looming over you, and the egg was pressed directly to your clit.

The sensation was immediate and brutal.

Your entire body jolted. The contact felt almost painful, your nerves raw and exposed, the stimulation electric. You tried to buck away, hips arching, thighs trembling, but you had nowhere to go.

Tony caught you effortlessly. One hand shoved the egg against your swollen clit, refusing to relent, while the other pressed down on your thigh to keep your knees from closing.

“Uh uh. None of that,” he said smoothly. “You don’t get to hide from this, baby. You earned it.”

You sobbed into the gag, thrashing your hips side to side, but the bench and Tony’s hands made escape impossible. Every attempt to squirm just sent the dildo thrusting deeper inside you, and the egg grinding cruelly over your clit.

“You’re not gonna break,” he whispered, teasing. “You’re gonna burn for me.”

"Don’t you dare run from it. look at me."

He was holding you still- one hand clamped over your thigh to keep your legs spread, the other pressing the egg mercilessly to your clit. You were trembling in his grasp, utterly helpless against the merciless pairing of his tech and his control.

"You’re gonna come again for me, sweetheart. Real data’s in the repeat response," he said, eyes locked on yours, voice both commanding and hungry.

The dildo thrust deep, the ridges grinding against your most sensitive spots as your walls clamped down. The egg buzzed brutally against your swollen clit, so overstimulated you couldn’t tell whether you were trying to run from it or chase it. Every jolt of pleasure lit your nerves like lightning- white-hot and impossible to hold back.

Your body jerked, hips spasming, thighs trembling violently as the sensations overloaded you. Your entire body was working against you- every clench, every twitch, every gasp just triggered the toy to go deeper, harder, faster. You weren’t riding it anymore- it was riding you, and Tony just watched with that devilish smirk, keeping you wide open.

“That's it. Shake for me. Scream into that gag. Show me what science can do.”

The climax tore through you without mercy- harder, deeper, a violent unraveling of every nerve as your body convulsed around the relentless rhythm of the tech inside you. You didn’t just come; you shattered, splintering open in a release so intense it blurred your vision, your mind, your ability to distinguish pleasure from pain. Your vision shattered into sparks, your scream muffled into a raw, hoarse noise behind the gag. Your body thrashed in the restraints, muscles locking as the orgasm ripped through you, longer and sharper than the last.

Friday: "Second orgasm confirmed. Neural spike significant. Subject approaching physical limit."

He slowed the toy, letting it ease to a stop deep inside you before withdrawing it carefully, letting you feel every last ridge dragging along your raw, overstimulated walls. Then, with a gentleness that almost contrasted the torment he’d just put you through, he removed the egg from your clit. The instant the contact broke, your whole body sagged in the restraints with relief and exhaustion. You were shaking, barely breathing- every inch of you buzzing, nerves fried and twitching from the overload.

You could taste salt on your lips- your own tears and spit, your jaw aching from clenching around the gag. You were drenched, body glistening with sweat, your skin flushed and hypersensitive to the air.

He removed the gag last. Your jaw fell slack with a wet, trembling gasp, strands of spit clinging to the corners of your mouth. You blinked up at him, vision hazy, lips wet and parted.

Tony gazed down at you, eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction, his mouth tugging into a crooked grin that said told you so. He looked like a man admiring his finest creation- smug, yes, but also thoroughly entertained by the glorious, twitching mess sprawled out beneath him.

“You did good, baby. Fucking beautiful. But next time?”

He leaned close, brushing a kiss to your temple- slow, deliberate, his breath warm against your damp skin.

“Think I’ll need to design something that gets you to squirt. Can’t let a variable like that go untested. Wouldn’t be very Stark of me to stop now, would it?”

He turned with a little flourish, tapping the screen with a flick of his fingers, not bothering to look back.

“Friday, save this session. Label it: Successful. Prepare files for Phase Two.”

[ijustwannabecool]

Just Like Him - All Drivers

Dad!Drivers x Reader

Summary... Genetics are wild — and a little bit magical. They say kids get their genes from both parents. But Y/N’s pretty sure hers got 97% dad, 2% chaos and 1% mom.

A/N: Just a little blur of dad!fluff and cuteness overload. This one has Max, Lewis, Charles, Carlos, Lando, and Danny. If you want to see more drivers let me know!! I hope you guys enjoy this one.

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy :)

Have a lovely day today!!

If you loved this story and want to support more F1 comfort chaos like this, feel free to buy me a coke.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Max Verstappen

You catch it the first time when Isa is just shy of two.

She’s strapped into her high chair, smearing avocado across her tray like she’s painting a masterpiece. There’s a soft lull of music playing from the speaker, and Max is leaned over beside her, trying to coax a spoonful of rice into her mouth. She ignores him completely, staring off into the distance, tapping one tiny hand on the tray in a steady rhythm.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Y/N blinks. Because that—that—is exactly what Max does when he’s annoyed but trying to hide it. When he’s in a meeting and the strategy isn’t making sense. When he’s trying to stay polite. When he’s being patient but barely.

She doesn’t say anything. Just watches.

Max finally sighs and puts the spoon down. “She’s stubborn.”

“She’s you,” Y/N says under her breath.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she hums, already storing the moment away in that secret part of her heart labeled reasons I love you.

--

The second time, Leo’s barely one. A warm, heavy baby who loves cuddles and hates shoes. He’s napping in their bed after a long morning of teething tears and clinginess, and Y/N comes in with her phone, planning to snap a quiet photo.

And then she sees it.

The scowl.

He’s frowning in his sleep. Like full-on deep Verstappen forehead crease frowning. Lips pressed tight. Eyebrows drawn in. All of it.

Y/N actually snorts. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Max walks in behind her, towel slung over his shoulder, fresh from a workout. “What?”

“Look at him.”

He squints. “He’s sleeping.”

“No. Look at his face.”

Max shrugs. “He’s probably dreaming about milk. Or getting overtaken.” He says it so casually and then kisses her cheek and walks away.

Y/N just stands there, staring at this frowning baby. “You’re not real,” she whispers to Leo. “You’re literally his clone.”

--

When Isa’s five, she builds an entire Lego village on the living room floor. Carefully. Methodically. Quietly.

Y/N is folding laundry in the hallway when she hears it.

“Ugh. No one listens to me.”

Soft. Mumbled. Annoyed.

She freezes.

Because those are the exact words Max said three weeks ago, after his radio calls got ignored during a wet qualifying.

She peers around the corner. Isa’s trying to explain how the Lego airport works to Leo, who is eating the red bricks and not listening at all.

Y/N presses her lips together to keep from laughing. “She really said that, huh?”

“What?” Max walks by, sipping coffee.

“She’s your daughter.”

“She’s our daughter.”

“Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.”

--

Leo’s four when it happens again. It’s a rainy day, and Y/N’s pulled out a big wooden puzzle to keep them busy while Max’s away at the factory.

Leo crouches over the pieces like a man on a mission. He studies the edges. Frowns. Runs his hand through his hair dramatically — a move Y/N has definitely seen during race weekends.

Then he starts pacing.

Pacing.

She’s leaned against the doorway in disbelief. Her mouth is actually hanging open.

Leo mumbles, “This doesn’t make sense,” under his breath and throws himself down on the couch like it’s the end of the world.

She laughs. Out loud. Can’t help it.

He looks up, blinking. “Mama?”

“Nothing, baby. You’re doing amazing. Just like Papa.”

--

It hits her one night when everything is still.

Max is home. The kids are finally asleep after a chaotic bedtime full of bubble beards, mismatched pajamas, and Leo insisting Isa stole his favorite sock.

She walks into the living room to find all three of them piled onto the couch. Max is half-asleep with both kids flopped on top of him like puppies. Isa is curled into his chest. Leo is on his stomach, tiny hand fisted in Max’s shirt. They’re all breathing the same way — slow, deep, synchronized.

She just stares for a second. Heart in her throat.

Max cracks one eye open. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re staring.”

“I know.”

He lifts a hand and wiggles his fingers until she walks over and kneels beside them.

“What is it?” he murmurs, brushing her cheek with his knuckles.

She smiles. “You don’t even see it, do you?”

“See what?”

“You made two tiny versions of yourself.” She smooths Isa’s curls, brushes Leo’s lashes. “And they have no idea how much they’re just like you.”

Max blinks, half-asleep. “That good or bad?”

She kisses his hand. “It’s the best thing in the world.”

--

It’s a Sunday morning when she catches it again — and this time, she gets proof.

The kitchen smells like cinnamon and butter. Isa’s standing on a stool stirring pancake batter. Leo’s at the counter pressing blueberries into already-cooked pancakes with sticky, purple-stained fingers. Max is manning the pan, flipping like a pro.

Y/N walks in, still sleep-rumpled, mug in hand — and stops dead in her tracks.

Because all three of them are standing exactly the same way.

One hip popped. Left foot slightly forward. Right hand resting lazily on the counter. Even their heads are tilted at the same angle as they concentrate.

She doesn’t say a word. Just sets her mug down silently and grabs her phone.

Click.

Max glances up at the sound. “What are you—?”

She flips the phone around to show him the picture. “Look.”

He squints. “Okay…?”

“Look, Max.”

His eyes flick between the photo and the real-life lineup in front of him. Then he blinks. “What the hell.”

“I told you. You’re not raising children. You’re multiplying.”

Isa looks up. “Mama, what’s multiplying?”

Max just shakes his head, laughing softly as he flips another pancake. “That’s terrifying.”

Y/N smiles into her mug. “That’s love.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Charles Leclerc

Mila is six the first time Y/N really notices it.

She’s sitting at the kitchen table, coloring a Ferrari red car with the kind of focus usually reserved for real race engineers. Her little tongue pokes out between her lips. Her eyebrows are knitted. Every few seconds, she mutters something under her breath in French — barely audible, but deeply unimpressed.

Y/N pauses, spatula in hand. Because that face? That concentration? That muttering?

It’s so Charles.

She watches for a moment longer before calling out, “Mila?”

Her daughter doesn’t even look up. “I told you, Mama, this line isn’t straight. I have to fix it.”

Y/N grins. “Of course you do.”

---

Luca and Jules — age four, chaotic energy personified — are building a blanket fort in the living room. Or, more accurately, Luca is building it and Jules is providing dramatic commentary and helpful criticism.

At one point, the blanket slips off the top.

Luca gasps, drops the pillow he’s holding, and stomps his foot. Actually stomps it.

Y/N blinks.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she murmurs.

Because that’s exactly what Charles did last week when he lost a board game to Mila. Same frustrated stomp. Same “I will fix this” energy.

She sneaks a photo from behind the couch.

---

Later that week, they’re at a birthday party and Jules is asked if he wants cake or ice cream.

He frowns, thinks, and says in a tiny but dramatic voice, “That’s too much pressure.”

Y/N nearly spits out her drink. Because what.

She grabs Charles’s sleeve. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That’s too much pressure. That’s what you said when we had to pick a Netflix movie last week.”

Charles laughs, clearly delighted. “He listens, huh?”

“He absorbs,” Y/N corrects. “Like a sponge. A dramatic little sponge.”

---

That night, Charles tucks Mila in.

She pulls the covers up to her chin and says, very seriously, “Can we work on tire strategy for my soapbox car tomorrow?”

He freezes. “Tire—strategy?”

She nods. “Papa, we’re losing time on the corners. I have ideas.”

He walks back into the bedroom with wide eyes. “Mon amour, I think we might be raising a future world champion.”

Y/N smirks. “I think you’re raising yourself.”

---

But it’s not all Charles.

Sometimes it’s her.

And Charles sees it — quietly, when no one else is watching.

He catches Jules humming while folding laundry. The tune is one Y/N always hums when she’s focused — soft, familiar, warm.

He sees Mila do her “thinking face,” the one where she looks up and bites the inside of her cheek. Just like her mama.

He watches Luca walk away after getting told “no,” muttering under his breath in exactly Y/N’s cadence, “That’s fine. I didn’t even want it.”

And sometimes it makes him laugh, sometimes it makes him melt — but every time, it makes him fall a little more in love.

---

One evening, all three kids are sitting around the kitchen island, coloring and munching on fruit.

Charles walks in from a call and stops. They’re all hunched forward, elbows on the counter, chewing pens as they draw — the exact way Y/N sits when she’s journaling.

He pulls his phone out and snaps a photo.

Later, he shows her.

“You see it now, don’t you?” she teases.

Charles nods. “They’re just like me.”

She smiles.

“And just like you.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Carlos Sainz

Camila is three when Y/N first catches it.

They’re in the kitchen, and Y/N has just said the forbidden phrase: “No more cookies.”

Camila gasps. One hand flies to her chest. The other reaches out in despair. She staggers backward like she’s been wounded.

“Mamá,” she says with a trembling voice. “You break my heart.”

Y/N stares.

Carlos, across the room, doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Maybe just one more for after lunch,” he mumbles.

Y/N narrows her eyes. “Carlos.”

He glances up. “What?”

“She’s you. That was you in toddler form.”

He squints at their daughter, who’s now slumped dramatically over the kitchen chair. “She’s just expressive.”

“She’s you. And you don’t even see it.”

---

Later that week, they’re at the park and Camila trips on her shoelace. It’s a tiny stumble — no injury, just a scrape — but she collapses to the ground and groans.

Not a cry. Not a whimper.

A full-bodied, frustrated, Carlos Sainz on team radio after a bad pit stop groan.

Y/N runs over. “You okay, baby?”

Camila lays flat on the grass. “I’ll never recover.”

Y/N covers her mouth to keep from laughing. “Oh my god.”

Carlos, jogging up behind them, doesn’t bat an eye. “She’ll be fine.”

“She just said she’ll never recover,” Y/N hisses.

Carlos shrugs. “She’s dramatic.”

“She’s you!”

---

Nico’s only ten months, but he’s already in on it.

He sighs. All the time. Little dramatic baby exhales whenever he doesn’t get picked up immediately or if someone dares to interrupt his snack time.

Once, he actually rolled over, stared at the ceiling, and let out a moan like life had defeated him.

Y/N caught it on video.

She showed Carlos.

He laughed. “He’s a passionate boy.”

“You’re raising a baby telenovela, Carlos.”

“He is Spanish.”

“So are you!”

Carlos just winked. “Exactly.”

---

One night, they’re reading bedtime stories, and Camila interrupts to dramatically whisper, “Mamá, if I had to choose between cake and Papa… I would cry.”

Y/N blinks. “You… what?”

“I love cake. But I love Papa.”

Carlos kisses her forehead proudly. “Mi niña romántica.”

Y/N stares at him. “Do you hear yourself?”

Carlos frowns. “What?”

“She’s literally you.”

---

The final straw comes on a lazy Sunday.

Carlos is on the couch, watching football. Camila is sitting next to him with a play microphone, pretending to do interviews.

“Mila Sainz,” she announces in a posh voice, “do you think you are the most handsome driver in the world?”

She pauses. Flips her hair.

Then replies to herself, “I do. But I also want to be remembered for my heart.”

Carlos gives a thumbs up. “That’s a good answer.”

Y/N walks in with Nico on her hip and just stares.

“She did your post-race interview voice.”

Carlos shrugs. “It’s a good voice.”

“You’re impossible.”

He grins. “And apparently, so are they.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Lando Norris

Ollie talks nonstop.

Y/N counted once — he asked seventeen questions before she’d finished her coffee. Seventeen. Before 8 a.m.

He narrates everything. His thoughts. His snack choices. The way his sock feels “sad” because it’s the wrong color. It’s so Lando it’s ridiculous.

Lando denies it, of course. “He’s just curious,” he says, as Ollie launches into a passionate TED Talk about worms.

“You literally talked through our entire first date,” Y/N replies.

“Yeah, but I was charming.”

Y/N gestures to their son, who is now taping two juice boxes together with painter’s tape. “So is he.”

---

Mornings with Ollie are… loud.

It starts in the bathroom.

Lando’s brushing his teeth, shirtless, hair a mess, doing a little shuffle dance to the music playing off his phone.

Ollie climbs up onto the stool next to him, toothbrush already hanging out of his mouth like a pro.

They lock eyes in the mirror.

And then it begins: synchronized chaos.

They both brush like it’s a sport — dramatic arm movements, mouth foam everywhere, wiggly hips and head bobs.

Ollie spits. Lando spits.

Ollie wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Lando does the same.

Y/N walks in just as both of them slap cold water on their faces at the same time — and then both yell “AAAAH!” like it’s so refreshing and totally not freezing.

She stares. “You guys good?”

Lando gives her a toothpastey grin. “Mornin’, babe.”

Ollie copies him perfectly. “Mornin’, babe.”

Y/N presses a hand to her mouth to hide the smile. “I’m leaving. I can’t parent two of you today.”

“Technically,” Lando calls after her, “you created this.”

---

It’s the little things, too.

The way Ollie laughs — full belly, nose scrunch, falling-over kind of laughter.

The way he claps when he thinks he’s made a good joke (which is every time).

The way he races everything — his scooter, his cereal, his toothbrush. “It’s lights out and away we go!” is heard daily in their house.

Y/N once caught him giving himself a pretend podium interview using a banana. “I think I could’ve gone faster if Mum let me eat cake for breakfast.”

Lando just beamed. “He’s got media training already.”

---

And then there’s the livestream.

Lando’s mid-sentence, talking sim setups and gear ratios, when the door creaks open behind him.

“Ollie—” Y/N says off-camera. “He’s working.”

“I am working,” Ollie insists, popping into frame.

Lando turns around just as Ollie climbs onto his lap like he owns the stream.

“Say hi,” Lando mutters, adjusting his mic.

Ollie leans in, dead serious. “Hi. I’m his boss.”

Lando snorts. “You’re not my boss.”

“I am, because I said so.”

Then he slaps Lando’s cheeks between his palms and says, “Focus, Lando. You’re losing concentration.”

The chat explodes.

THE LITTLE YOU OMG 😭 He’s got the same attitude I can’t breathe NOT THE “YOU’RE LOSING CONCENTRATION” I’M GONE I swear I’ve heard Lando say that on team radio apple didn’t even fall. it’s still attached.

Lando scrolls through the comments, eyes wide.

Y/N walks by in the background, completely unfazed. “I told you.”

That night, they’re curled up on the couch.

Ollie’s passed out on Lando’s chest, mouth open, hand fisted in his shirt.

“You know,” Y/N whispers, brushing a curl off Ollie’s forehead, “he’s just like you.”

Lando raises an eyebrow. “He’s louder.”

“He’s you, baby. Just… uncensored.”

Lando looks down at his son and grins.

“Poor world.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Lewis Hamilton

Lewis is in the studio, pinky finger against his lip, focused on the track in his headphones.

From the kitchen, Y/N watches five-year-old Sofia on the floor with a coloring book. Head tilted, one arm propped on her knee, pinky tapping her bottom lip — exact same posture.

Not imitating. Just being.

“Lew,” Y/N says softly. “Come here.”

He leans out. “What—?”

She points.

He stares for a long second, then quietly laughs. “No way.”

“You do that every time you’re deep in thought.”

He watches her for another beat. “She’s got my thinking face.”

“She’s got you, period.”

---

In Lewis’s mum’s backyard, three-year-old Mateo crouches near a bee on the porch.

“It’s okay, little guy,” he says, calm and careful. “You can fly by me. I’m just watching.”

Lewis pauses mid-step. Y/N sees it — the soft smile, the little catch in his breath.

“That’s you,” she whispers.

He clears his throat. “We respect all creatures.”

“You once whispered ‘sorry’ to a snail for moving it off the sidewalk.”

“I mean… it was in the middle of its journey.”

Y/N grins. “So is he.”

---

Lewis is on a call, pacing, only half-listening when Sofia looks out the window.

“Papa,” she says, “why do the clouds look like they’re holding their breath?”

Lewis freezes.

Y/N turns from the sink. “Did she just—?”

He nods slowly. “I said that once. About heavy skies.”

“She remembered.”

“She listens?”

“She sees you, Lewis. Even when you don’t see yourself.”

---

It’s been a long day. Y/N is quiet, curled up on the couch.

Without saying a word, Leo (now two) walks over with the Bluetooth speaker, pressing the exact button Lewis always does. Lo-fi jazz fills the room.

Y/N blinks hard. “Lew…”

Lewis is frozen, eyes wide.

“I didn’t teach him that,” she whispers.

“I did,” Lewis says, voice cracking. “I just didn’t know he was watching.”

Y/N reaches for his hand. “He was.”

---

Sofia’s drawing again. Galaxies. A rocket ship. A microphone. Earth in gentle colors.

“What is it, baby?” Y/N asks.

“My future,” Sofia says. “I want to sing. And go to space. And fix the world.”

Lewis is quiet.

“I used to say that,” he murmurs. “People laughed.”

Y/N brushes her fingers through his curls. “She doesn’t even think anyone would. Because in this house, dreams are sacred.”

Lewis swallows. Kneels beside Sofia.

“Can I come to your concert?” he asks.

Sofia beams. “You can sit in the front row.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Daniel Ricciardo

His son, four-year-old Rafi, wins a race at the go-kart track (against imaginary competition — he was the only one racing).

He hops out of the kart, rips off his helmet, throws both arms in the air and yelps, “YEEEW!” before spraying juice everywhere like it’s champagne.

Y/N is frozen on the sideline. Daniel is cheering like it’s a world championship.

“He didn’t even race anyone!” Y/N laughs.

Daniel shrugs. “A win’s a win.”

She just points. “That was literally you in Monza.”

Danny grins. “He’s got taste.”

---

Two-year-old Evie walks into the kitchen, sees Y/N holding pancakes, and does a slow-pointing double finger-gun gesture while saying, “Ohhhh yeahhh.”

Daniel almost drops his coffee.

“What was that?” Y/N whispers.

Danny shrugs, too fast. “She’s enthusiastic.”

“You did that at the airport last week. To customs.”

“She cleared me quickly.”

“She’s two.”

“She’s iconic.”

---

Rafi lets out a wild, cackling, snorty laugh at a cartoon — the kind that doubles him over and ends with a wheeze.

Daniel literally stops walking.

“That’s… that’s my laugh.”

Y/N pats his back. “Yes, babe. Your exact laugh. Pitch, rhythm, everything.”

“She didn’t even hear me laugh just now!”

“She didn’t need to. It’s coded into her DNA.”

---

Evie is explaining something to her grandma — arms flailing, eyebrows lifting, dramatic pauses, a fake gasp — like she’s doing a full one-woman theater piece about how the neighbor’s cat sat in the flower bed.

Daniel’s mum turns to Y/N and just wheezes.

“Oh my god,” she says. “She’s Daniel. She’s baby Daniel. That’s how he explained spaghetti sauce at age five.”

Daniel protests from the kitchen, mouth full of toast. “It was very good sauce.”

---

They’re at the playground. Rafi falls off a tiny climbing wall and lands on his bum.

He hops up and yells: “I’M GOOD. JUST ADDING CHARACTER.”

Y/N freezes. So does Daniel.

“That’s… that’s what I said when I broke my toe last year,” Daniel mutters.

She side-eyes him. “You say it all the time. You spilled milk last week and said that.”

Rafi shrugs like it’s no big deal and keeps playing.

Daniel turns to his mum.

She sips her coffee calmly. “You’re not raising children, darling. You’re raising Ricciardos.”

---

Family photo day.

Evie grins, throws a peace sign over one eye, tilts her head and sticks out her tongue like it’s a Red Bull era classic.

The photographer pauses. “That’s a very… specific pose.”

Y/N doesn’t even flinch. “It’s Daniel’s 2018 media day face.”

Daniel just blinks. “No it’s not—”

Y/N whips out her phone. “Side-by-side, Ricciardo. Don’t make me do it.”

His mum leans in. “You really did copy/paste yourself.”

Danny finally groans. “I didn’t even try to do this!”

Y/N just smiles. “Exactly.”

---

The end.

[crunchystarz]

TWST SELF AWARE AU—series

|Overblot boys x Gn!reader

Cw- this is a yandere series so the basic stuff like obsessive and possessive behavior, isolation all that good yandere stuff will be present (remember none of this behavior is healthy nor do I condone it this is purely for entertainment pls take care of yourselves)

Summary: You're just a college student trying to survive, you download a game out of pure curiosity and boredom, you really get into it soon your app starts acting strange. Hey are your things being moved around? You don't remember falling asleep in your bed. Perchance you're losing your mind— or there are 7 guys who all equally want your attention and overloaded their code to get it.

A/n: my twst self aware au has been some of my most popular posts and I get the most asks/req for it, it also so happens to be my favorite to write so I wanted to actually make a fic with it with actual plot and story— there is a category in my master list for all the other stuff with that au but none of it is really needed to understand the plot!(It will still be following main ideas abt this au ofc) This is short and really just an introduction🙂‍↕️

☆PROLOGUE—

Prologue [you are here] , CHAP1

You were tired, your eye bags proved that. They were heavy and a clear sign of the lack of sleep you had been getting the last few days. You finally got some rest time after you finished turning in work for your finals. Classes have started to be less hectic and work hasn't been as bad. You could relax. You lay in bed, scrolling through your recommended list for apps on your phone. One in particular catches your eye. You don't strike yourself as a huge Disney fan. Sure you liked some of the movies and shows mostly stuff you had enjoyed since you were young but you never were super extreme about it.

Twisted Wonderland. Interesting concept for a game. You rolled over in your side and swiped through the information on it. You let out a yawn before clicking download. A game based on Disney villains how intriguing besides It would be nice to have more things on your phone other than whatever free games came pre-installed. You rubbed your eyes, waiting for the downloading bar to complete.

After a few minutes of staring at your screen the download was complete. You opened the app. Too tired to use your brain to come up with a good name for your character you just left it blank. Yuu was good enough for you not like you were going to play the game too much anywho.

Turns out you were going to play the game a lot more than you'd like to admit. The story was fun you enjoyed the characters and it also had a gacha aspect. What could you say it kept you quite entertained throughout the day. You started getting into the fandom culture a bit even. You especially liked the overblot boys , they were your favorites.

You didn't know you were their favorite too.

You tapped away at your phone in your apartment elevator. You had come back from a mandatory lecture, you were beyond tired and you felt your eyes fighting the urge to close. Yet you had to do your dailies. You opened the app you had been obsessing over the past week.

"Huh?" You exclaimed out loud. Causing the others in the elevator to give you weird looks. You awkwardly laughed and hurried out the elevator. Leona was present on your home screen but last time you checked it should have been Jamil. How odd. Maybe you just forgot you had changed it. Ended up embarrassing yourself in front of people you don't know over something so silly.

You sighed as you fumbled with your keys. You'd never been happier to see your apartment. You sat down your bags on the chair near your island before making your way over to your couch and crashing. You didn't have the energy to go all the way to your room even if it wasn't much of a walk.

You pulled back at your phone and stared at the screen for awhile just watching Leona's character idly blink and occasionally speak. Something felt off, something about his character made you feel a little uncomfortable. He felt too real.

What are you talking about? You're going crazy. You're just tired and need some rest. You rolled over and tapped his character. His ears twitch and his face scrunches up slightly. Was he...blushing? You hadn't seen this Sprite before. Maybe it came with the update?

Too sleepy to care you turned off your device and snuggled into the throw pillow on your couch. You needed some rest.

—

Leona was a fool. A huge fool but he didn't care when he could almost feel you through the screen. Jamil was still pissed at him but how could he care?

He was one of the first few to realize something was wrong. Something was wrong with their world. Something was up with the little perfect of ramshackle. Ruggie called him paranoid yet something about the way they carried themselves was too practiced too perfect. It unsettled him, made his fur stick up.

His paranoia branched out to obsessive behavior. Yuu was odd. Magicless human from another world were odd in itself but something about them. He soon found out he wasn't the only one who had taken an interest in the perfect . He knew he wasn't going crazy there was something wrong with them. Something wrong with him. With everyone in that damn school.

Fake. All of it was fake. Leona found that out. He saw you first. The real you. Not the illusion that stood in your place.You. Maybe it was because it was the first real thing he'd ever actually felt. Something stirred in him. It wasn't programmed in him to feel. He wasn't supposed to.

Unfortunately like stated before he wasn't the only one who became too curious and learned too much. Everyone who was victim to the unusual overblots became hyper aware of their existence. Of how everything about them was mere programming and code. It was all a game. Their entire lives was nothing but something strug together by some unknown creator.

But you were real. You were the only thing real and they became obsessed with that. They all craved your attention all craved to learn more because you were the only thing that was real. You were like their god nothing mattered but you. Not your stand in persona Yuu no —you. You were theirs. You just didn't know it yet.

You were blissfully unaware of the seven guys behind your phone screen who stopped paying attention to all around them because why would they? What's the point if they're not actually real. They're just characters built to co-exist with them. Not important not real. Not you

MASTERLIST

[nekonaps0]

I absolutely loved both of the series with excuse me sir, and you're naughty. Could you possibly write an obey me version, sorry if its too much just noticed the fandom in your masterlist.

Sinfully naughty

✦characters: demon brothers

✦gn!reader

✦dirty jokes

✦their partner suddenly cracked a naughty, suggestive joke

Lucifer

"Are you a punishment? Because I’ve been very bad and I’d love to be disciplined… hard."


Lucifer arches an eyebrow, his usual composed expression shifting into one of amusement mixed with dangerous interest. He sets down his book slowly, turns his full attention to you, and walks over with deliberate, slow steps.

"Oh? That’s quite bold of you, saying something like that so casually. I suppose you’re testing me... But if you're asking for discipline, I do hope you're ready to take full responsibility for that mouth of yours."

He smirks, brushing a strand of your hair aside with one gloved finger.

"Let’s see how long you can maintain that cheeky attitude once I start."

You are cooked…

Mammon

"You must be a magician, 'cause every time you’re around, your clothes disappear... in my head."


Mammon immediately turns red, his hands flying up in defense.

"H-Hey! W-What kind of joke is that?! Are ya tryin' to kill me with embarrassment?!"

He stammers, flustered and blushing, glancing around as if someone else heard you. But then, a cocky grin starts forming despite himself.

"Tch, I mean... I can't blame ya for imaginin' me like that, though. I am the Great Mammon, after all. B-But next time, maybe warn me before droppin’ bombs like that, alright?!"

He nervously tapping his feet on the ground, clearly affected more than he wants to admit.

Leviathan

"You’re like an ultra-rare item drop... 'cause I’ve been grinding all day, and now I just wanna play with you."


Levi chokes on his soda and nearly drops his console.

"Wha—?! E-EHHH?! D-Don’t say stuff like that out of nowhere! I—I’m not emotionally prepared for that kind of side quest!"

His face goes cherry red and he covers his mouth, clearly overloaded.

"I-I mean… i-if this were a dating sim, that'd definitely be a secret route! A very NSFW one... N-Not that I’m complaining! I just—uh—h-how do you even say something like that so casually?!"

He fidgets with his console and mumbles something under his breath what more like whining.

Satan

"Are you a forbidden book? Because I want to spend all night exploring your dark secrets."


Satan closes his current novel and gives you an amused smirk, his green eyes glinting mischievously.

"How delightfully wicked. I didn’t expect such a provocative line from you. And you delivered it so... naturally."

He leans closer, resting his elbow on the back of the couch, studying you like a puzzle he’s eager to solve.

"I suppose I could be your ‘forbidden book’ tonight ,though I must warn you, the content is... intense, and once you start, you won't want to stop reading."

He winks, brushing your hand with his fingertips.

Asmodeus

"Are you lube? Because everything goes smoother when you’re around me and everything slips in so easily..."


Asmo gasps, putting a hand dramatically over his heart.

"Oh my! That was positively naughty! I love it!"

He bursts into giggles, already leaning into you with a flirty glimmer in his eyes.

"I didn’t know you had it in you, darling! That’s spicy, clever, and a huge turn-on. Say more things like that and I might just lose control and drag you straight to the bedroom."

He winks, pulling out his D.D.D.

"Hold still, I must record your voice saying that so I can loop it tonight~!"

Beelzebub

"You’re like my favorite dessert, sweet, irresistible, and I want to devour you after every meal."


Beel pauses mid-bite, blinking at you with wide eyes. It takes a second for the joke to sink in... and then he blushes.

"Oh... wow. That was... unexpected."

He chuckles a bit, looking both flustered and deeply intrigued.

"I thought you were talking about actual dessert at first... but now I can’t stop thinking about you like that either. And honestly... I wouldn't mind making you my dessert tonight..."

He licks a bit of frosting off his finger ,very pointedly and gives you a shy but hungry smile.

Belphegor

"You’re like my pillow, soft, comforting, and I wanna be on top of you every night."


Belphie opens one eye from his nap, smirks, and slowly stretches.

"Mmm... that’s surprisingly bold for you. Trying to get me worked up before a nap? Naughty."

He yawns, but it’s clearly an act, he smiles and eyes shining with amusement.

"You keep talking like that and I won’t be able to sleep… though I might find a better way to get us tired and knock us out."

He pulls you down beside him, draping an arm lazily over your waist.

"Keep making jokes like that, and I’ll start taking them as invitations."

..............................................................................................................................

Oh yeah baby! I can finally post Obey Me stuff as well! And yeees everything what’s on my master list are gonna come soon (I jusy got a lot of twst request)

[revelboo]

Seeing several bayverse bots and while the movie is eh uhhh tlk Optimus maybe 🫣🫣🫣

It's his thighs I'm sorry (im no better than a man 🫣😭) like why (but also thank you bit still)

🤣 I just love how at some point in the Bay stuff someone made the creative decision to just change his design to make him look like that. Someone looked at Optimus and said ‘make him slutty’

🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Thighs

Bayverse Optimus

• “Focus,” he growls, the low reprimand more of a taunt than anything else. When he’d offered to teach you to handle pressure and stay focused, this isn’t what you’d expected. Straddling the mass displaced mech’s thigh, with his palm cupping you, a servo inside you lazily stroking while you shakily try to focus on copying alien glyphs. Biting your lip and rocking against him, he vents to stir your hair. “Not until you’re done.” And his other hand grips your hip to keep you from trying to grind on him.

• Smiling behind his mask as you groan and your head thumps against the desk, he crooks his servo inside you just to make your breath catch. Hears you swear, grabbing the stylus and resuming the exercise. Annoyed with him like you have no idea he’s aching to be inside you. That this is a lesson in patience for him, too, as you add another glyph, your characters as wobbly as a sparkling’s. “Make me come and I swear I’ll do the rest?” You plead, voice hitching as he pumps his servo inside you.

• “That wasn’t the agreement.” Groaning at his stern rumble, you push back into his heated frame. And urgently buck against his palm to make him chuckle until he cups and pins you against him, apparently not about to let you help yourself out. “Patience,” he growls and you let your head fall back against him in frustration.

• Listening to you whine at him, his own patience is already stretched thin. Bouncing his thigh lightly, you shoot him a sullen look, but lean forward, hips deliberately rocking against his palm. And you snatch up the stylus. It’s definitely not pretty. Barely legible, but you work out the rest of the alphabet in record time as he keeps stroking you, servo occasionally tapping inside you just to make you squirm. “Fuck me,” you demand, tossing the stylus down on the datapad like a challenge. Finally.

• Slipping his servo free of your slick heat, he bends you over the desk and frees his spike. And he’s impatient despite harping on you about it, because there’s no teasing, just his thick spike stretching you in a hard drive of his hips. Pinning you on top of the datapad as your hard work gets messed up when your palms slide on the slick surface trying to brace. And he’s thrusting deep, hips bucking against you as he snarls, fans kicking on. Smelling the musky, metallic scent of him thicken until you can almost taste it as he moves against you, venting loudly.

• Hips pumping urgently against you as you gasp and squirm, you’re so slick for him after being played with for a joor. And all too soon, you’re whimpering his name, milking his spike as you come apart. Groaning as his hips snap against you, servos gripping the desk on either side of your hips, he keeps moving against you until he’s shuddering with his overload as you moan. Hips lazily rocking against you, he pulls the scent of you deep and rolls his hips. “You’re going to have to redo them all,” he growls, hands sliding to your hips before he curls an arm around you. Listening to your little protests as he braces you both with a hand. “Start over.” And he is smiling behind his mask when you reach for the stylus and he moves inside you while you try to write. This batch of glyphs even worse than the last.

[orphicsun]

Could you write something about worshipping Abby’s pussy… 🫢

warnings: 18+ content, body worship kink, wrote vaguely in terms of dynamics so you can imagine sub!top reader, sub reader, top reader etc, oral sex (a! receiving), implied overstimulation/long periods of sex

You go down her body like rigid rock underneath a waterfall, trailing South from pert breasts to the lines of her abdomen and so forth. You kiss the indentations in her hips and pass love from her belly button to the beginning of her short, blonde hair.

From there, you linger below. You tease beyond her clitoral hood, tongue swirling around the attention-craving bud to hear her falter.

"Shit," she curses. It’s all she can manage. Her breath is but a series of short pants, and then a sharp whoosh of oxygen when you lavish your wet tastebuds across her slit. She drips for you.

Abby is not one to hold still; from her sat position on the edge of the bed, the split expanse of her thighs were once separated, parted like a river with your head the divergent. The firm muscles of each thigh now meet your face, and you feel the melanin in her sun-tanned freckles practically print onto your flushed cheeks. You know you're doing a good job.

So you don't hesitate in her pleasure, and you do not stall for your own, though the sight of her teased and frustrated form is enticing. Your lips seal over the darkishly pinkened pearl like a kiss, and the heat that pours from your mouth and onto the very string that ties her needs to her brain like receptors, telling her it's all in love that you give her the thing she needs.

Streams of curses is all that spills from her tea rose lips. You impale through her hole, moaning into it the words of a lover when she immediately tenses up and relaxes again, but now a cracking temple above you.

You worship Abby down on your knees any time of the day you're able to. It's on your mind when she isn’t in your reaches; just the thought of your tongue buried deep inside the pussy that aches for you drives you to do things such as beg to eat her pussy, just because the taste of her essence on your tongue is worth the teasing look you receive as you toss your dignity into the nearest bin.

The only thing that humbles her is that you don't know when to stop. As long as she allows, you spend hours of your time picking her apart from her stem to the top branch of her frame. You don't care how many times she spills into your awaiting mouth—you'll swallow down her offering as many times as she needs to get her off.

It's that fine line between lapping at her cunt for your own pleasure and craving her ravished moans. You have an alternation that you tend to so frequently, switching between overloading the sensation of all you have to give onto her clit and then withdrawing to stretch her hole around your tongue, though you know it's not enough to make her cum.

And so like a follower to a deity, you devote yourself to the idolization of Abby—of those cloudy muscles and broad features. You look up every so often from your job to see her eyes meet yours in assurance that this is your dynamic: you between her thighs, below and giving, and her offering up the view of her nipples changing from soft, velvet-to-the-touch saucers to blossoming, needful points. You don't take much convincing from the look on her face to trail your hands up and thumb over the peaks.

And when she is drained of all power, your goddess tapping out, you pull away. Abby takes in the slick gleam on your chin and prideful tilt in your smile. When you wipe your mouth, you're missing her taste once more.

taglist: @aceywaycy, @starberr1, @ruelezz, @abbysbutch, @deluxism, @prwttiestbunny, @eriiwaiii2, @starrycherie, @fruitit00tie, @x0x0xkimara, @hotpinkskitties, @mars4hellokitty, @jhyoos, @moonfloweredprincess, @morticeras, @starryeyedlovergirll, @l0veylace, @abbysmeatrider, @ferxanda, @frillynpinkprincess, @plasticl0v3r, @meow4510, @g4ys0n, @mitskimisfit, @bewareofmyglock, @witzs

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[tawnfawn]

intoxicated | könig

summary: you get along with everyone on your team, except for könig. you think he hates you, but his perceived distaste for you only makes you want him more. you're able to keep your composure until you're partnered up for a mission, where everything seems to go wrong...

tags: könig x fem!reader smut. cod. pure filthy, shameless smut. sex pollen. proofread. MDNI. 5k+ words

cw: dubcon (due to sex pollen but there's clear consent before and after). unprotected sex (reader IS on birth control, wrap it before you tap it), p in v, oral m!receiving, fingering, accidental drug use (sex pollen), dom!könig and sub!reader, light humiliation kink, heavy praise, size kink if you squint, overstimulation, mutual pining, violence, killing.

MDNI. NSFW BELOW THE CUT

You crept around the corner of the warehouse with your rifle, watching König’s six as you progressed. The other KorTac members were stationed on site as well, giving quick updates through comms as you progressed. Details were scarce, except that in the warehouse, a Russian terrorist group was producing a bioweapon capable of mass destruction—and anyone inside was KOS.

Of course, the bioweapon in question was…dubious, to say the least. A strong aphrodisiac, the contractor had explained, much to the astonishment of your team. During the briefing, you’d managed to keep a straight face, but not all of your teammates were as courteous.

“So let me get this straight—you want us to risk our lives for…Viagra?” Horangi had questioned, exasperated. Your lips pursed at his crudeness, but it was exactly what you were thinking too.

The scientist’s face flushed. “N-no, this is much different,” he snapped. As one of the architects of the bioweapon, he was clearly offended. “It is much, much stronger. Exposure to just one dose will cause severe arousal: heart palpitations, excessive sweating, overheating. Imagine…” He seemed to be struggling to find the words. “Imagine a brain overload, yes? Rational thinking…disappears. Victims may lose all motor control. Too long without treatment can result in heart failure, aneurysms, seizures, stroke, and sometimes death.”

“So what is the treatment?” you interrupted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Sex,” the scientist answered, shifting uncomfortably on his heels. “It was designed to be, ah… difficult.”

Your jaw clenched, and your eyes darted to König. He was staring down the scientist, narrowed eyes betraying no emotion. While everyone else struggled to keep their bafflement hidden, his sniper hood obscured any hope of reading him. Just my fucking luck, you thought when you were partnered with him.

It wasn’t that you disliked König; it was just that you found it so much more difficult to talk to him. With the rest of your teammates, you were fine. A natural people reader, you were comfortable with the rest of them, relying on body language and the details they let slip to learn more about them. In fact, you considered yourself to be pretty close with them—unsurprising, given that in your line of work, your life rested in their hands and vice versa. But König was… different. You didn’t distrust him, per say, but outside of the battlefield, he was quiet. Reclusive. No matter how many times you’d tried to get him to open up, he barely interacted with you, despite talking to the others. You’d chalked it down to being the newest on the team at first, but now that you’d served over a year and a half together, you were frustrated. Shouldn’t that be well enough time to open up at least a little bit?

You knew your thinking was illogical. Your job was to hunt targets and invade bases, not deep dive into your coworker’s soul, but you couldn’t help the way it took over your mind. Your need to understand him had become a bit of an obsession. You constantly found yourself looking at him, trying to discern any emotion his eyes betrayed. You listened intently for any of his input in person or on comms, no matter how menial it was. You studied his body language, taken note of any habits or gestures. You’d even memorized the way he reloaded his guns.

It was…embarrassing, to say the least. But could you blame yourself? He was so tall and strong and imposing that even just standing next to him made you, a normally very confident and intimidating woman, feel small. Such was the reason that you pushed yourself extra harder whenever you were paired up with him, making sure he knew you were valuable, a force to be reckoned with. Your excellent performance had made you two quite the duo, often clearing out legions of enemies in mere minutes. And you had to admit, seeing him absolutely obliterate enemy lines made you feel some type of way…

But not like that, of course. You were just…curious. When he finally opened up to you (and not if, but when), your obsession would stop, and everything would be fine. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Today, however, there were a lot less enemies than you’d expected. Sure, there were quite a few soldiers stationed around the warehouse (which your team had incapacitated quickly), but inside, save for some scientists and the occasional guard, it was eerily empty and quiet.

“It’s fucking cold,” Horangi’s voice rang out from your radio. You sighed and brought the device to your lips.

“It’s fucking Russia,” you stated. “What did you think it’d be? Beachy?”

König’s quiet chuckle sounded from in front of you, and you couldn’t help the pride that swarmed in your heart. Heat burst in your cheeks, but you tried to brush it off.

“Fuck off,” Horangi replied. “East side clear.”

“West unknown,” you said. “Standby.” You tucked the radio back into your pocket, following your teammate.

You both peeked around the corner to the last room. It was filled to the brim with lab equipment—beakers, bunsen burners, flasks, microscopes—all sitting atop of large resin tables. Bright, fluorescent lights bounced off the sterile grey walls and ceiling, creating a dull glare that was almost depressing. Neat racks of tightly sealed vials and test tubes peeked through glass cabinets on the walls, parallel to the large sinks below. Across the room was a row of unfamiliar-looking equipment, and next to that, an enormous whiteboard boasting messily scrawled notes, diagrams, and equations. A bag of what looked like takeout sat on a nearby desk next to a crumpled napkin and a perspiring styrofoam cup. It was almost exactly what you’d imagined a stereotypical laboratory to look like, albeit a bit messier and more lived in. A singular man stood working at one of the tables, frantically scribbling on a notepad with his back facing toward you. König motioned for you to stay put as he crept forward. You complied.

Then the man dropped his pen.

“Xyй,” he cursed and turned around to pick it up. Of course, when he turned around, he saw König’s gigantic form pointing a gun at him, and he screamed. You fired your suppressed pistol, but not before the scientist hurled a glass vial at König. It shattered against his tactical vest as the dead scientist crumpled to the ground, releasing a burst of lavender-colored smoke that curled into the air and quickly dissipated.

König ripped off his tactical vest, coughing violently, but it was too late—the substance had already entered his lungs, likely reaching his bloodstream by now. He stared at you, blue eyes wide with—for the first time you’d ever seen—fear. 

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and he staggered to the wall, crashing down to the floor.

“König?” You stared at him, stricken. His eyes were closed, and he was stock still—stiller than you’d ever seen him—and for a long, hard moment, you thought he might be dead. 

Then his eyes snapped open. His pupils were dilated and blown, a sea of black barely tinged by blue irises. He stared at you, unmoving, before letting out a groan and bringing his hand over his face.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You grabbed your radio. “M-man down!” you stammered into it. “König’s been exposed. West side clear. Requesting med evac in thirty minutes. Going dark.” You turned it off, not bothering to listen to any input. The rest of your team knew what this meant. As did you.

In the time you’d been on the radio, König had torn off all of his other gear, leaving himself in just his shirt, pants, and boots. He was panting, his chest heaving with each breath, ungloved hand still hiding his masked face as he cursed in German.

You crossed the room in seconds and kneeled at his side. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, König, just breathe—”

“No,” he breathed. His voice was deeper, raspier than normal, and the unbridled heat in it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands were clenched into fists, body tensed as he fought the invisible infection. “Go. Now.”

“You know I can’t leave—”

His hand fell to his side, letting his eyes meeting yours for a split second. “Please,” he groaned, starting to tremble as you drew closer. “I—I can’t—”

His gaze strayed lower, and you followed it to the growing bulge in his pants. You gulped, unmoving, and he grabbed your arm. The force of it was enough to make you still.

“Go,” he insisted, his accent even thicker than usual. “I’m not—I cannot control myself.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here!” you argued, swatting his hand away. “You’re my teammate. You could die.”

“I will hurt you,” he retorted. All the muscles in his body were tensed, clearly on overdrive. Even his eyes were watering. “Please, maus. I am not gentle.”

Something inside about his statement made your thighs clench together, but you tried to ignore it. Tentatively, you brought your hand to his chin, pulling his face towards you. His skin was feverish, and your heart twisted in sympathy. “Let me help you,” you pleaded, and he inhaled sharply.

“It feels like I’m burning,” he hissed, and you frowned. His black compression shirt was nearly soaked with sweat, and you grabbed the fabric, pulling it up. He pawed at your arm weakly, but you shushed him.

“You’re overheating. Take it off,” you ordered, and finally, he let you pull it over his head, sagging back against the wall as you threw it to the side.

You’d seen him without a shirt before—it was hard not to with this kind of job, what with donning injuries all the time—but this was different. His head was thrown back as he panted, toned chest heaving with each breath, and you could see all of the muscles in his chiseled abdomen clenched, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. It was… erotic. Just looking at him made you feel dirty. You felt the thrum of something other than worry in your abdomen, and you swallowed.

“Leave me,” König growled, but it sounded more desperate than commanding. You shook your head at him.

“Not letting you die, König.” You began to rip off your gear, tugging off your tactical vest and discarding your weapons. 

König grabbed your wrist. “What are you…?”

“Wanna help you, okay?” you said softly, trying to catch his eyes as they darted over your face. “Are you gonna let me?”

He took in a deep breath, his other hand in a death grip on his thigh. “I-I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated, but it was starting to lose its original harshness. He was fading, and fast.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. You placed your hand on his bare chest, feeling the way his heartbeat stuttered and stammered under your touch. He cursed in response, the hand on your wrist twitching, clearly fighting the urge to touch you. In a split-second decision, you swung your right leg over his lap and straddled him, careful not to grind against him, waiting for an answer first. He let out a choked noise and grabbed you by the hips, his tight grip making you gasp. “Yes or no?” you breathed.

“Ahhh, maus.” The low groan he let out was nearly animalistic. “Yes,” he begged, and that was all you needed to hear.

You started grinding on his lap gently, trying to restrain yourself from going further. You wanted to be mindful of his sensitivity, but König simply huffed in annoyance and used his tight grip on your hips to tug you all the way down into his lap—allowing you to feel everything. The imprint of his hard, throbbing cock made you dizzy; you couldn’t resist pressing against it, moaning softly at the delicious friction it granted your clit.

“Scheiße,” König murmured, his thighs twitching underneath you. You felt bad, knowing he was probably dying for some real contact, so you decided to give it to him.

Your heart raced as you reached for his waistband, unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants to his knees. His cock was straining against his briefs, a wet patch forming from precum, and you quickly removed those as well, watching his hardened cock spring up and then fall slightly, its weight making it unable to reach his stomach. Your mouth went dry. Fuck, he was huge. You supposed it made sense: as an exceptionally large man, it was logical to have a proportionally large cock, but the sight of it still shocked you.

“Maus,” he whispered, breaking you out of your trance. He stared at you apprehensively, and you wrapped your much smaller hands around his cock, hearing him suck in a breath. You took a moment to marvel at the sheer size of him—your normally average-sized fingers looked miniature in contrast, unable to even fully wrap around his length. You felt your own arousal seep into your underwear, and you leaned down to kiss his tip.

The moan he let out turned you on even more than before, and you wasted no time teasing him, spitting into your hand and pumping his cock a few times before bringing the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the slit before pushing him further down your throat. His cock was so large that you had to fight not to scrape your teeth against it, flattening your tongue under the base of it.

His hand fisted into your hair, pulling slightly every time you moved your lips up and down his shaft, twisting your hand in tandem. Your other hand gripped onto one of his thick thighs, feeling his leg twitch as he struggled not to buck his hips up into your mouth. Each strained noise and curse you coaxed from him only encouraged you more, your own whimpers muffled against his cock as you did your best to fit him down your throat.

After only a few minutes, you felt him twitching in your hand and sped up your pace, determined to pleasure him as much as possible. Curses fell from his lips as he finished, hot spurts of his release shooting down your throat. You swallowed it quickly, continuing to pump your hand up and down his still rock-hard shaft.

König, however, pulled you off quickly, eyes wide and dark with an almost fearful desperation as he stared at you. “The poison. It’s still…”

You looked back down to see his cock still twitching in your hand. “It’s okay,” you said, starting to lean back down, “I’ll just—”

“No!” He pulled you back up by the neck. You blinked at him in shock, and he stared back, pupils blown wide like black moons. There was a fiery hunger in his eyes as he looked at you, one you’d never seen before. The sheer want in his gaze sent a cold shiver down your spine. No one had ever looked at you like this before—like you were prey.

“König?” you asked nervously.

Instead of answering, he began to unbuckle your belt, and you gasped as his hand reached under your waistband to cup your clothed core, index finger tracing lightly over your clit. You fought back a mewl, chest seizing as you shut your eyes from the pleasure.

“So wet,” he marveled. He pushed your underwear to the side, smearing your arousal over your soaked folds as you whimpered, bucking your hips into his hand. “Just from sucking my cock?”

His switch in demeanor startled you, and you moaned as one of his large fingers pressed into your weeping hole, curling inside you with precision. His hands were so much bigger than yours; the stretch was making your knees weak. He quickly found your G-spot, taking care to press against it as you arched into him. “Oh, oh, fuck, König,” you whimpered, coaxing a dark chuckle from him that made you clench around him.

Your thighs clenched around his hand, but he pried them apart with ease, forcing you to straddle him and rendering you helpless to his ministrations as he slowly dragged another finger in and out of you. With each achingly slow push into your dripping hole, he made sure to curl them just right, long fingers able to reach that sensitive spongy spot inside you effortlessly. His palm laid flat against your clit as he stroked your walls, letting you sloppily grind into his hand as he murmured praise into your ear.

“Does that feel good, liebling?” he asked, drinking in each of your breathy, pleasured noises with satisfaction. “You like making a mess on my fingers, mm?”

You simply whimpered, too embarrassed of your flustered state to form a real response. He seemed to pick up the hint, giving you a cocky smirk through his mask. “Ohh, it’s okay, maus,” he cooed, but his soft words were laced with a smug condescension that made your cheeks burn. “You look so pretty like this, all dumb on my fingers. I wish I could’ve seen it earlier.”

You whined again, desperately grinding down on his palm for more friction. His slow pace was torturous, giving you just enough to feel pleasure but not enough to build it. It was mean. It was twisted. It was agonizing. You were eating it up.

“Please,” you tried, teary eyes boring into his. “Can you—can you please—”

“Can I what, maus?” He cocked his head, darkened eyes twinkling with mirth. “Tell me, or I can’t help you.”

You know what I want, you wanted to shout at him, but you knew that wouldn’t work. “Please,” you begged, “I need more."

“What more do you need, maus?” he asked again. “You have a mouth. Use it.”

“Need you to—” You whimpered pitifully, dropping your head into his shoulder. “Please, need you to go—go harder.” You nearly sobbed out the words, desperation winning out over your embarrassment. You were mortified at your teary, shaking voice, but he seemed to revel in it, squeezing your thigh in appreciation.

“Oh, is that what you wanted?” he teased, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “You could have just said so.”

He set a steady pace with his fingers, bullying them inside of you hard enough to make you squirm against him. With each thrust, he curled them just right, sending your eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in heavy pants as you mewled into his shoulder. You were grateful to be spared of his intense gaze; you didn’t think you could look at him in the state you were in. It was mortifying just hearing the sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your gushing cunt.

“Oh, maus,” he cooed into your ear as you trembled, keening at the stretch of his fingers. “You’re just so beautiful like this, you know. So fucking desperate and pathetic. I wish I could see you like this all the time.”

Would I like him to finger me like this all the time? Hell yes, you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him, only able to whine and nod vigorously into his shoulder, lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you. You could feel yourself starting to reach the edge of your climax, grinding harder and harder into his palm and gasping with each spark of pleasure it gave your throbbing clit. You were so wet that you were starting to wonder if you’d been infected, too; each time he hit your g-spot just right, you felt more and more slick dribbling out of you and down your thighs. It was driving you insane.

“K-König!” You managed a cry of his name right before you came, clenching around his fingers as you bucked your hips into his hand. Breathy whines fell from your lips, your thighs shaking and seizing as you squirmed in his hold, feeling an almost overwhelming wave of pleasure wash over your body. The feeling was so intense it was almost painful; you hadn’t had an orgasm in so long, and the effect was palpable. His arms held you tight, keeping you grounded while you shuddered in his grasp, his big fingers determined to prolong your ecstasy.

When you finally came down from your high, you couldn’t look at him, mortified at your messy state. His fingers were still knuckle-deep in your arousal, and you could feel more of your slick dripping down your thighs, wet and uncomfortable. You kept your head buried in his chest shyly while your happy cunt stayed spasming in his hand.

“Okay, schatz?” he asked softly, using his free hand to tilt your head towards him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You stared up at him, mouth open. There were practically hearts in your eyes; your adoration was clear to him, and he laughed at your expression, cradling your cheek with his hand. “Aww, schatz.” He clicked his tongue, a smile audible in his voice. “You’re so sweet.”

Your cheeks burned red at the words, and you blinked rapidly, unable to look away. His piercing blue eyes stayed trained on yours, but there was a warmth in them that soothed you. He petted your cheek, lifting his hood to press a kiss to your forehead.

Your mind felt fuzzy. All you could think about was your need to be filled by him, and you pawed at his hard cock, wrapping your fingers around the base of it. A hiss of pleasure escaped him, and you kept your eyes on his, wide and pleading. “Please fuck me,” you whispered, still trembling in his grasp.

König’s eyes darkened, and he tugged off the rest of your bottoms quickly. His strong hands lifted you to hover you over his cock, and you shuddered with anticipation, head spinning. He rubbed the tip through your dripping folds, coaxing out a gasp as it brushed over your swollen clit. You tried to push him inside, squirming, but his tight grip on the bottoms of your thighs kept you in place, and you whined his name, hoping he would take pity on you.

“Bitte, König,” you begged, and he practically growled at the words, mercifully allowing you to sink onto the tip of his cock and drawing out a desperate mewl. Even with how wet you were, he was so, so big that he was practically tearing you in half.

“K-König—”

“Hush, liebling,” he soothed, and you moaned as your core clenched around him, beacons of pleasure ripping through you from just the feel of him. He waited for you to relax and then pushed in farther as you gasped at his length.

“Mmph! König—” You keened as he continued to push himself into you, waiting each time to make sure you were okay. You could feel his hard cock twitch with each thrust, and you knew it must be difficult for him not to go straight into fucking you, that he was holding himself back to be more gentle. The thought only made you moan louder.

Tears slipped down your cheeks when he finally bottomed out, and he wiped them away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, maus,” he groaned, no doubt feeling the way you clenched around him. “You’re just—so tight—”

You wanted to tell him to it was okay, but from your already fucked out mind, all that came out was a dumb whimper of his name. In response, he pulled up his sniper hood to kiss your forehead, to which you whined and chased his lips with your mouth. This made him chuckle, and he guided your lips to his, coaxing out a soft moan as his tongue met yours. He tasted wonderful, and you mewled into his mouth, feeling even more worked up from the way he kissed you: hot and desperate and sweet, like the world was ending and you were the last ones in it.

“Mein maus,” he growled, suddenly thrusting up into you and making your eyes roll back. His hips snapped against yours, setting a pace that sent your thoughts reeling. “Taking me so well, doing so good for me, hm? Du bist mein schatz, ja?”

“Yes, fuck—yes,” you babbled, barely able to understand what he was saying. His unusually rough tone was fogging up your dumbed-out mind, the contrast between his sweet words and punishing pace reducing you to nothing but a crying, creaming mess. You’d never been this wet for someone before. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m yours, please—”

“Good girl,” he moaned, pushing you up and down his cock with dizzying strength. Your legs tightened around his waist as he thrust up into you, high-pitched and pitiful noises falling from your lips at a shameful volume. He was using you like a toy, you thought, and the notion of it made your pleasured cries even louder.

“Mmm, yeah? Mmm?” He mimicked your breathy moans, and you could hear the grin in his voice. Normally, you’d be mortified, likely retorting with some witty insult, but now? Now with the way he was fucking you, all you could do was whine in pitiful response.

“So needy for me,” he groaned, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. The sheer force of him made your eyes roll back, and you felt that tight coil in your belly close to snapping.

“Fuck, König—” You panted heavily, your legs starting to give out. “K-König, oh my God, I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he cooed, pulling you closer to his chest so your clit could find purchase on his toned abs. “Doing so good for me, schatz. Such a good girl, getting off on me like this. Like the way I feel, mm?”

His sweet praise became your tipping point, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You cried his name, mouth falling open in shock as your legs kicked out, your cunt weeping and convulsing around him as you keened. You gasped for air as your orgasm rocked through you, the pleasure suddenly becoming all too much as he continued to drill himself into your gushing cunt.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed from the overstimulation, but he didn’t let up his pace, pressing chaste kisses to your lips to soothe you. “Wonder how many orgasms I can get from you,” he murmured. You could hear the smile in his voice as he panted. “How many more, mein schatz?”

“I—I don’t know!” you cried as his pelvis dragged against your clit, sending shocks of electricity through you. “I don’t—I can’t—”

He groaned as you trembled in his hold, pretty blue eyes boring into yours. “You can do it for me,” he replied. “I know you can. Isn’t that right, liebling?”

“Ahh—König—” The juxtaposition of his soft kisses and brutal pace was making your head spin. Too overwhelmed to answer, you just clutched onto his shoulders tighter, crying out every time his skin brushed against your puffy, overstimulated clit. It was painful. It was overwhelming. It felt so fucking good.

“Hush, mein schatz,” he coaxed, holding you closer as you clenched around his cock, babbling incoherently as he fucked up into you. “You’re doing so good, I promise.”

The answer was two. Two more earth-shattering orgasms before he finally went soft, coming inside of you twice before either (1), his dick just gave out, or (2), the poison wore off. Either way, by the end of it, you were exhausted and fucked out, still recovering from your cock-drunk state as he cleaned you up.

“I’m sorry, maus,” he apologized, sounding genuinely remorseful as he gently wiped your soaked thighs with a clean cloth he had found in the room. “I’m so sorry, I don’t—I don’t know what came over me.”

“Drugs,” you supplied, staring at the ceiling in exhaustion. “Really bad drugs.”

“Yes, drugs,” he agreed, carefully mopping your folds as you sighed. “But still—I am sorry. I was…overzealous. I hope I did not hurt you too bad.”

“I’ll be a little sore,” you admitted, glancing at the bruises his fingers had left on your waist and hips. “But I’ll be fine, trust me.”

He sighed, somehow managing to look resigned even with the sniper hood. “I should not have been so hard on you. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly?” you murmured, blinking at him sleepily. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He froze for a moment. “What?” 

“Not that I’ve had a lot of sex,” you said quickly. “But still, that was the best I’ve ever had. Probably will ever have, now that I think about it. You must be very experienced. Oh God, I should not have said that out loud. I am—I am so sorry.”

Even with his sniper hood on, you could tell he was blushing. “Oh, um—it’s okay, maus.” You could hear the shyness in his voice. “I do not consider that to be my best performance, but I will take it as a compliment.”

“Your best performance?” You stared at him, mind running through everything that had just happened. You’d had sex before, but that—that was a whole ass experience. You’d never even dreamed about anything that good. “Christ, what’s your best performance, then?”

“Well,” he replied, sliding your soaked underwear back up your legs for you, “I would have taken you out on a date first, at the very least. That would be the proper way to court you.”

“Court me?” you repeated, sitting up straight. “I didn’t know you were so well-mannered, König.”

He looked away from you, shifting awkwardly from his spot on the floor. “I try to be courteous before sticking my dick in people.”

It took you a moment to realize he was joking, and you laughed—actually really laughed out loud. His awkward humor was charming you, and you felt warmth swell in your chest as you listened to him speak. You grinned at him, his eyes crinkling in a smile back.

König still smiled, but a hint of sadness pervaded his gaze. “Ah, schatz.” He hesitated. “I would have liked to make love to you,” he sighed, “but I did not imagine these would be the circumstances. I was hoping to take you on a date first, get to know you better.”

“You wanted to what?” Your eyes widened, and you blinked in confusion. “But…I thought you didn’t like me.”

König practically jolted in place. It was like you’d electrocuted him. He stared at you. “Why would you ever think that?”

“You talk to everyone but me,” you said softly. “I thought you didn’t trust me. Thought you hated me.”

“Hated—?” He shook his head vigorously. “No, I wanted to speak to you. You just…made me nervous. The others do not.”

“I made you nervous?” The words fell from your lips with shock, your eyebrows furrowing. “How would I—how did I ever make you nervous? You’re like three times the size of me!”

König shrugged, sheepish. “You’re very pretty. And you seemed…kind, and well-connected with the others. I have trouble finding that connection. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing to you and fuck it up.”

“So you said nothing at all.” You were quiet for a moment, turning over the information in your mind. “Wow. I was way off.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but it is okay. I’m sorry for making you think I disliked you, schatz.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. You ran a hand through your hair, beyond shocked at everything happening. You couldn’t believe you’d fucked your colleague, the one you’d had a crush on for who knows long, and also discovered that he didn’t, in fact, hate you. “At least I know now.”

“Next time, I will be better,” König vowed, helping you tug on your pants. “More gentle. I will do things right, I promise.”

“Next time?” You hesitated, biting your lip. “There will be a next time?”

“Of course there will,” he answered, adjusting his tactical gloves. “Did you not hear what I said earlier?”

“Um…which one?” He’d said a lot of things earlier.

He helped you to your feet, towering over you as he cupped his large hand under your jaw. Your heart stopped in your chest as you looked up into his eyes, his large frame dwarfing yours beyond comparison. “Du bist mein schatz, ja?” he repeated, gloved thumb tracing over your bottom lip. His very soul seemed to ooze confidence. “That’s what I said, no?’

With the way he was making you feel right now, you didn’t think it was even possible to say the word no. “Y-yes,” you stammered, adoration clear in your eyes as you gazed up at him.

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “So there will be a next time. Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

“N-no, no, no, I definitely want!” you said quickly. You stumbled over your words in your eagerness, and your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I would like that a lot.”

“Good,” he said, patting the top of your head. Normally, you’d be furious at such an action, but considering his height, it seemed more practical than condescending. “Now come, schatz,” he said, adjusting his vest. “Time to deny everything to the rest of the team.”

Oh, fuck. You sighed. “Yeah…I forgot about that.”

[yoiisa]

IT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT ⋆˙⟡ MICHAEL KAISER

"Tell me that you're still mine, Tell me that we'll be just fine, Even when I lose my mind, I need to say, Tell me that it's not my fault, Tell me that I'm all you want, Even when I break your heart." - "Afterglow" by Taylor Swift all characters aged up (20+)! Tags: arguments between you two, hurt and comfort Kaiser gets mean and crowds your space. He doesn't touch you, but still proceed with caution! Makeup sex!! CW for vaginal sex (reader is afab), unprotected intercourse (please wrap it before you tap it!), body worship, slight praise kink please proceed with caution ^3^! not proofread.

a/n: This is part of a little series I doing where I’m writing BLLK fics for each of my fav songs on all the T Swift albums.

I consider Lover and Reputation to be complimentary albums, so when I was brainstorming for this series, I knew that Kaiser and Isagi had to be paired for these two albums. Little spoiler ig for which album Isagi will be! Again, this is also a smutty fic, so proceed with caution! Now lessgo!

The sky is blue, grass is green, and Michael Kaiser can easily become the meanest person in the world. It's like a fact of life. Normally, he could keep it to cheeky remarks with you. Aside from teasing comments, he would only ever treat you as a princess- buying you whatever you wanted, littering your neck with kisses while you cook, and immediately scooping you into his arms whenever you complained that your feet were in pain. However, that doesn't mean anything when he's mad. When Kaiser got mad, all pretenses were gone.

"Oh come on!" he scoffs, plopping down on the couch. "You really think I'd go for something as low as some random chick at the bar?!"

"Michael, it's not about that!!" you shout. "It's about the fact that you didn't turn her down until I pointed something out!"

"What was I supposed to do?! Shove her off?"

"Tell her to leave you alone!"

He leans forward and narrows his eyes. "I told her to fuck off, if she-"

"You should've said it again!" you shout, tears beginning to burn into your eyes. You frantically blink them away, but a few manage to run down your face regardless. "You should've said it over and over and over-"

"Don't tell me you're actually crying over this! Are you that insecure?! Are you that big of a fucking baby?!" he laughs humorlessly and leans forward on his knees.

Your heart squeezes and you shake your head as more tears run down your cheeks. "Stop. Stop it right now."

Kaiser stands and paces near the couch for a little bit, laughing incredulously at your behavior. "Of course. Of course. What should I expect but you fucking crying over this bullshit? Of course you're standing there, whimpering like a fucking bitch who has no sense of self whatsoever! Of course you always assume the worst of my behavior! I told you in the car that I told her to leave me alone! I just repeated it five seconds ago and you still-! Ahhh!" he throws his hands up in frustration and lets a coarse shout carve its way from his throat. "Du kannst mich mal!

"Michael-"

"Did you not stop for a moment and think that I was also uncomfortable?! Did you not consider-" he's so angry.

The girl had been ugly as all hell, but also very clearly drunk out of her mind. Perhaps being around you had softened him some though, because no matter what, he couldn't find it in himself to get overtly aggressive with her. He made comments ranging from passive aggressive to downright direct, all sharing the same consensus of "Get lost, you fucking weirdo," but she was drunk. She couldn't take a hint! It wasn't his fault! And here you were, acting like it was!

He couldn't breathe. He was seeing red.

"MICHAEL!" your voice is high and shrill. It wavers as fear overloads your body and you start to sob.

That's when he realizes it. He's left the couch completely and has you crowded back against the kitchen counters. The edge of the island digs into your lower back, and your eyes are wide with fear and now freely letting tears fall. He's in your face, his breath ghosting against your cheeks, and his hands are caging you so you have nowhere to run.

Instead, your legs fully give out. Your knees buckle and you drop to the ground, trembling. You kneel on the floor in front of him with your head bowed low and tears falling onto the marble tiles of the kitchen. Kaiser stares down at you, his chest growing tight as he takes desperate breaths, trying to calm himself down.

I didn't touch them, he thinks frantically. I just yelled at them, but I didn't touch them. I would never touch them like that, I would-

. . . I made them scared of me.

On the field, he was Kaiser. he had to be formidable. He had to be scary and intimidating and powerful, but here? With you? The idea of you being scared of him was too much to bear. He wanted to drop to his knees as well and beg for your mercy. Sob and plead for your forgiveness. If you asked, he'd march right back to the bar and kill that woman. It'd make you happy right?

But no. He's staring at your trembling stature right now, and there was no way for him to fix this. Michael would be lucky if you even stayed in the apartment tonight, or stayed with him in this relationship, period.

"Liebe . . ." It's an unconscious thing, his whispered word. It's so involuntary in fact, that he staggers back from you once he realizes that he spoke at all. He chokes out a wretched sound before cupping his hand over his mouth.

I didn't touch them, I didn't hurt them-

No. I did.

"I need air," his voice is hoarse and deep. "I need . . . I'll be back. I . . ." he can't manage an end to that sentence. He hurries off, quickly grabbing his coat and keys before leaving the apartment entirely, leaving you curled in on yourself on the floor.

--------------------------------------

It's really late once you've finally finished getting ready for bed. Kaiser still hasn't come home. You're wiping down your bathroom sink as you reflect on the events of the day. You look up into the mirror as you put the sponge back behind the spout and take in your wrecked appearance. Your hair is a little frizzy and dull, your cheeks glow red from crying, and you’re dressed in sleeping shorts and one of Kaiser’s old shirts.

Had you really been too pushy? Perhaps, but . . . but Michael was your boyfriend! He had a responsibility on his end of the relationship to uphold. He had to be faithful!

Had you just been too jealous to realize he'd been trying to get rid of the girl? Now that you're thinking back to the evening, he did seem really annoyed by her presence.

I wish I could say sorry, you think, before fresh tears roll down your face and into the basin of the sink. Your shoulders shake and you let out a few tiny hiccups as the sobs wrack your frame one and a time. Where is he? I'll call him and ask when he's coming home.

You wipe your face on the back of your hand and spin to leave the bathroom. As you open the door to the bathroom, you run right into a chest. You yelp in surprise as a pair of familiar hands take your arms by your elbow.

You look up and come face to face with a red-eyed Kaiser. His face is dry, but his nose is red too.

"Micha?" you whisper, and you see a light spark in his eyes. "W-were you drinking?"

He chuckles deeply and shakes his head vehemently. "No. No . . ."

"Your eyes . . ."

He leans down and you lean up a little bit. Your foreheads press together, as his left hand drifts up your bicep and the other drops to the dip in your waist.

"Micha," you mutter as your hands come up to his face. You cup his cheeks and brush your thumbs along his skin.

"Yes liebe?"

A tear runs down your face again as you kiss him deeply. His left hand cups the back of your head while the right hand draws you flush against him.

With your eyes closed, you can't see what he's doing, but Kaiser starts moving the two of you around. You pull apart when he lays you down on the plush covers of your bed. You scoot up into the middle of the mattress as Kaiser drops his jacket onto the floor and practically rips his shirt up and over his head. He lowers himself over you and nibbles at your neck

"I'm sorry," he breathes against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You shiver and he presses a kiss against your skin. "I . . . I didn't mean to scare you like that. You know I'd never hurt you right?"

You nod, only half listening to whatever he's saying. You just want him to keep touching you, which thankfully he is. His large hands are pushing the hem of your shirt up your body, revealing your stomach and underboob. You sit up and he slowly takes the rest of the shirt off your body, leaving the two of you topless.

You take initiative now, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him down for a kiss.

"Mmmph- [name]," he gasps.

"Shhh," you coo before diving in for another kiss.

Kaiser pulls back from your mouth and shakes his head. "Mein herz, we need to talk-"

"We will," you say firmly cutting him off, "but right now . . . right now I just. I need to know you're mine."

"I am," he says firmly. "I am always yours. Meine leibe, mein schatz, und meines lebens."

Your mouths connect again, moving in perfect unison. He sucks your tongue and you moan softly. You spend the next few minutes making out with one another, your hands caressing his back and his kneading your breasts.

You keen into his mouth, the sound chasing his lips as he finally pulls back. Both of you are magnificently flushed now and you can't help but giggle softly.

"What?" he asks, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger as he narrows his brows in confusion.

Your eyes flick from the rosy pink coating his pale skin, the bleached white-blond of his hair, and the blue ends. "You look like cotton candy right now."

He's silent for a moment, before the corner of his mouth twitches up. "Really?" he asks.

"Mmmm," you hum and peck his lips. "And you taste like it too. You're so sweet."

He kisses you back and murmurs into your mouth, "You're sweeter."

In a flurry of kisses and roaming hands, you're left in nothing but your panties and he is completely naked. His belt, jeans, and boxers lie scattered around the room, and your sleeping shorts are at the foot of the bed.

You’re straddling his lap, and Kaiser reaches around and gropes your ass, palming the flesh. You trace a line of kisses up his neck, tracing the rose tattoo with your tongue, before continuing your path along his jaw. When he pulls your hips forward to grind his aching cock against your clothed slit, you bite nibble his earlobe and whimper.

"I feel you," he groans, "through these pretty panties. You're already so wet."

He reaches a finger past the waistband, but before he can touch, you take his wrist and pull back. Staring into his sea blue eyes, you say, "I don't want foreplay, just . . ."

"Just what?"

God, he has to tease, even now? "Just put . . . your cock in. I just wanna feel it."

Kaiser wastes no time. He practically drops you onto the bed and hooks his fingers in your waistband of your underwear.

"Lift your hips for me, love," he whispers, and when you comply he drags them down your legs and tosses them behind his back.

He crawls up your body once more, before finally positioning the head of his cock at your entrance. When the tip initially stretched the ring of your opening, you bite your lip and whimper.

"Shhh, meine leibe," he whispers in your ear, before moving his hips forward more and finally sinking into your sweet pussy. "You've taken it before, just relax."

"I know," you sigh. You take a few deep breathes, trying to relax and open up more for him. " 'ts deep. . ."

"I know schatz, I know," he kisses your temple, then your cheek, then finally suckling your nipple.

You gasp and arch your back, the sudden wetness on your chest taking you by surprise. You arch your back and you finally become loose enough to fully take his cock deep within your body. When he bottoms out, he unlatches from your chest and groans into your ear.

"Wet- ugh. So wet and tight for me," he kisses your nose and you giggle.

"Give me a moment, I'll tell you when to move."

He nods and after a minute or so, you give him the go ahead.

You and Kaiser are no stranger to having sex, and have had a variety to boot. It's more common for him to rail you following a rough game or practice as a form of stress relief. He'll press you into the pillows and you drool as he pounds you from behind. That being said, he's just as good at this slow rhythym.

He takes slow, long strokes, pulling out almost entirely before thrusting deep into your cunt again. The tip of his cock kisses your sweet spot, and you can't stop the string of moans that spill from your mouth.

"Micha!" you gasp.

"Take it, my darling. You always take me so well, c'mon . . . c'mon," he growls in your ear. "I- ugh."

"I love you, ah~" you whimper, your back arching slightly. "Micha . . ."

He chuckles, and it morphs into another guttural sound as he quickens his pace ever so slightly. "It's so good meine leibe, mein schatz . . ."

"I love it, I love having you like this," you bury your face into the crook of his neck. "I don't wanna lose it."

"You wont," his voice is low and firm, his thrusts becoming more shallow and quicker yet. "I'll never let you go, you hear me [name]? There's- ahh, ahh, there's no one else I want beneath me like this, taking my cock like such a good girl, my good girl."

"Micha, I think," you take his hand and guide it to the bulge in your lower tummy. He presses gently on it, and you keen. "I feel it, I'm going to cum soon."

"Yes," he groans, maintaining his newfound desperate pace. "Yes, [name], yes-"

"I'm cumming!" you cry out.

Kaiser groans and relishes in the sensation of your fluids soaking his shaft. With a few more quick pumps, he finally settles himself into your pussy with his own release. He silences his gasps of pleasure by biting down on your shoulder. His body shudders as his hips involuntarily continue to thrust into your heat, draining himself for all he's worth inside of you.

The rest of the night is a quiet affair, with another two rounds, and then aftercare. Kaiser massages the insides of your thighs after having wipes the skin clean. He brings you water and a small cookie, before you finally pass out on the sheets he's frankly too lazy to change right now. Still, he grabs a clean blanket from the living room and drapes that over you instead of the cum-stained ones beneath the two of you.

He quickly takes a shower before returning and nuzzling into beneath your chin, placing a quick kiss to the hollow of your throat before finally falling asleep.

--------------------------------------

The sun is floating through the curtains when he finally rouses from his sleep. Kaiser internally grumbles. Should've closed those before I went to bed.

He's no longer tucked into your body, but instead, your sitting up already, with your back against the headboard, another pajama shirt covering your torso and damp hair.

Kaiser pushes himself up and scoots closer to you, nuzzling into the bite mark he left the night before.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," he murmurs against your skin. "I . . . I took things too far." When you remain silent, he asks, "You didn't think I was going to hurt you, did you?"

You smile and shake your head. You turn to face him, and he cups your cheeks in his hand, shifting into a more comfortable position.

"No, I known you wouldn't," you sigh, leaning into his touch, "but I was still scared when you got really close like that. I don't think I've ever seen you angry like that up close."

He sighs and shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he says firmly.

"I still feel guilty, a little bit," you say. "I . . . I feel like I made it into a big deal, bigger than it needed to be anyways."

You roll your shoulders a bit and then shrug. "Then again, if it'd been me in your position, you might've actually killed the guy, so I don't know."

Kaiser blinks, trying to decipher if there was any humor in your words. When he finds a little, his smirk tugs at his mouth. "Maybe, but that's besides the point. I just want you to know . . . I'm sorry."

You stare into his eyes, the earnestness etched into his irises like that's where it's always been. Maybe it has with you though. He doesn't mess around when it comes to you after all.

"I forgive you, mein leiber," you whisper, nuzzling your nose with his.

a/n: WOOO WEEE SHE WAS A LONG ONE! Congrats on making it to the end and thank you for reading his beast of a fic.

Additionally, if y'all caught the reference to one of my fav book series in here, love ya for that!

Anyways, that's it for me! See ya ˙𐃷˙ !