#face fat transfer

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[oatbugs]

i feel rly irredeemably horrible rn...longing for emotional support....anyway vent in tags

[tunctiryaki]

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[callsign-datura]

denial. imagine just sitting with simon on the couch. not watching tv, just laying there and listening to the rain hitting the roof. he's on his back with his shoulders against the arm of the couch, his head lolled back as you're sprawled on top of him. he likes cuddling with you on top; likes the warmth you provide. although simon is almost always warm to you, he always feels inexplicably cold. your soft warm body wrapped with his is the perfect solution to his consistent cold temperature. your fingers toy with the strings of his hoodie, wrapping it around your pointer finger and tugging it a little as you move further up. you never sit still, he's realized. always squirming. "quit movin', luv."

he warns quietly, tilting his head forward to kiss your forehead. you give a quiet whine in response before you settle into his broad body's warmth. your hand leaves his hoodie string, and you wrap your arms around your torso, fitting yourself snugly against him. his hands slide down from your back to your hips, and his thumbs slip into the hem of your shorts, resting on the curve of your hip bones and rubbing small circles. he hums to himself at how warm you are, and you whine at how cold his hands are. he chuckles in amusement, his hands leaving your hips to cup the back of your thighs and bring you further up, straddling his lap a bit more. you follow his lead and shift forward, legs resting on either side of his. you shift your hips a little into his, and you feel that warmth pooling in your belly. you act on the feeling, and you pepper little kisses over his chest and take his wrists, guiding his hands to your ass. he follows suit and cradles the flesh, kneading the fat for a few moments before he shifts and sits up, cocking his head forward to ghost kisses across the span of your neck. he breathes a little sigh as you grind against him, your warmth transferring to him and melting his worries away. a little whimper leaves your lips as your grip tightens on his arms, the warmth pooling in your belly further as you feel him shift underneath you, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer.

"c'mon, dove," he murmurs, his tongue darting out to travel along the length of your flesh. he feels you shudder, and a smirk curls his lips as you grind against him a bit more. his grip on you tightens and your movements stutter. he gently pushes you off of him, and you exaggerate the movement, falling on your back towards the other end of the cushion and huffing out. "hey!" you exclaim, lifting your head and sitting up. confusion is etched on your face and he chuckles. you note that sparkle in his eyes as he crosses his arms and leans back. "not now, eh? we were havin' a moment, and you come n' make it somethin' else entirely." he teases quietly, his eyebrows coming up as his gaze travels your face. your eyebrows knit together, and he rolls his eyes, the smirk never leaving his lips.

"show me how bad y'want it, pet, and maybe I'll indulge ya."

[astralnymphh]

stuff you up ౨ৎ

aestras thanksgiving smut special

' so who's getting stuffed, you or the turkey? '

HELP PALESTINE . DO NOT BUY TLOU2

♡. summary; fuck the festivities, who actually cares about all that sappy shit. instead, embark a newly founded festivity– fucking your girlfriend up in the dusty memory of your old bedroom~ ♡. a\n; late af as fuck but just a fun little smut, nothing too serious, a bit rushed but here y'all go ♡. CW; groping under the table, fingering (r), clit stim (r), strapping (r), horndog!ellie, dom!ellie, tipsy!ellie, risky sex (joel almost catches u), cock referred as 'her' + referred as ellies, cocktip teasing, ass grabbing, some ass smacking, some plot, jokey bickering, readers a bit bratty, a slight brat-taming moment if you squint, mouth muffling, squirting, petnames; babe, baby, babygirl, princess, good girl, (lmk if i missed anything)

♡ WC; 5.5k ♡ masterlist ♡ thanks 2 @fleshunger 4 proofreading the intro ♡

Paired minds savor the embellishing glow of lit stick candles settled before them in a ritzy manner– shedding light over plates of arraying colors. Marination that glistens, crispness that scrapes, and mushy mesas' of garlic herb potatoes that delicately slump in the cradle of a spoon. Consume with your eyes first, then your cameras– and conclusively, your rumbling tummy. 

Rather to consume what's meant to be, than to gorb the scruffy haired girl next to you– at least for now, yes? 

It's your first Thanksgiving with Ellie, being that you two only linked heartstrings this year.

You, the possibly innocent angel that you are– right now, serve clement smiles to whomever talks to you, be it Joel or some random relative who’s name only just surfed your ears this night, it doesn't matter. De rigueur, wear it well.

A baser mind– I mimic regret while telling you this– tumbles far from the garden of Eden and slips away into a daunting realm, the underworld. By under, I mean downstairs, below the button, the internals. Ellie straight up, served hot, was just bursting with hormones. The tender meat oozing with buttery slick melt fell short in maintaining the contact of those chartreuse eyes, instead, suffering the envy of them rooted to your thighs beneath the oak. 

Noses immerse themselves in salty goodness, eyes feast before gobs could, rolling molars gnaw turkey off the tines of forks, but her, her cunts' the only organ thinking right now.

Especially while seated adjacent to you, her clit was throbbing past the hard material of her jeans.

"You both settlin' in your new apartment?" Joel's bellowed drawl carries over the other muted chatter, low in the background.

"Mhm," your hum slopes and rises behind lips sealed to a glass rim, then part with a smack, "Ellie’s definitely settled more than me." ending with a giggle.

Her ear pivots from you, dirt–dappled nose at the fore, "Oh? What's that 'spose to mean babe?"

"Can't keep your hands off that shiny new Playstation, hmm?" 

"Tchh– you bought it for me." replied her with a skosh of sass.

"That I did."

"Uh–" Joel bumbles.

Els drones out, "Andd all my video games–"

"Where's my thank you?" you pout in frolick, forwarding your face for her view.

Hmph.

Her miffy eyes bounce around her skull hence to piloting back on yours, her own pout puffing, "Okayy, here," she sighs lowly, nosing her lips down to pucker a peck– smacking together.

A shared hum in approval vibrates between the bond of skin, half–approval, a kiss was meager in your book of play, and you felt particularly playful this eve.

With a finished kiss, leaves your mouth to mouth a sneaky little quip, fruitful in a whisper, "Didn't hear a thank you~"

"Hmm?"

"Els.." 

Faces still bathing in transferring warmth, her breath hitches on your mid–face, a sigh to end all worries, "You'll see, just wait." Her voice cracks a bit, silken on your ears.

Waiting wasn't even on the table. 

Not when a brawny hand suddenly gropes your inner–thigh, squeezing the fat in little wags.

Give thanks to whomever, thank fuck for being at the tables edge, where nobody else could witness this.

"Anywho–" Ellie grogs her throat clear of those debaucheries, returning to her normal seated poise, "yeah, like, we're settled– thanks for helpin' us find that place." her pitch heightens, flowing into a nosy chuckle.

"Course, kiddo." softly spoken off Joel’s sentiments, but minding less attention and returning his mouth to something more, toothsome. Foodsome.

Goddess, her grip is mighty.

Devious fingers– they found their way, quick. Fingers such as hers, waxy and pale, rigid and calloused, stamping up your hip and giving firm pressure to the bone. Knuckles flushed of pigment, they dig around the crest wanton, nudging you slightly.

"Seriously?" you spit through grit teeth, wiggling your hips in reaction.

Ellie harks your mutter, tugging those smug corners into a cocky smile as her nervy nature would plant her in, naughty–toothed smile, "Huuh?" that bastard coos, "what's wrong babe?"

"You dickhead." 

"Me, dickhead?"

"Yes, you, dickhead."

"That's a lot of dicks n' heads, what is it with you and dicks n' heads?" she creeps her face closer, squinting dumbly– which only made her onslaught of 'heads and dicks' more peeving now that you really loured at her.

Grimacing at her dense brows queller than a storm, blushy nostrils taunting in a wiggle, it subtly made sense– impish coquetry. The kind of shit you toss like a game of ball, prior to the main event. An event, to be seen.

"Why you givin' me that look, huh?" she squints lower in return, flaring her nose, "Do I have a dick for a head?" 

"I would not kiss you if that were the case," you claim advantage of her closeness and peck her goofish scowl, forcing a crescent to spry on that mouth, "Dork."

Hooks on your hip palpate harsher on the jut, her thumb swiping where the cushion and your butt cleft. Pressure given, when words pique her interest.

"Babe," Els murmured with fry in her chords, "d'ya want it?"

"It?" you gulp.

"Mhm.." thrummed she, eluding, "c'mon, you know.." said with that chilling husk, whew.

Okay, maybe it's clearer–than–a–midsummers–noon clear, that Ellie was a tad tipsy. Pink worm of hers just couldn't resist the samplage of some bourbon, sweet oakey notes that evoke memories of bourbon skies hence, quite the beautifying thought. Skies where you play a shrouded silhouette to her line of sight, tapping thumb to chin in ponder. Ponder, pondering.. for what were you pondering those sunsets?

Yet now you lacked a ponder on whatever the hell she was hinting to, only for it to ferment suddenly.

"Ellie, what are you on–"

"My fingers," a blurt wets her whistle, cocking her head dear to your poor ear, "do you want.. my fingers– in.." you feel her dual digits dive in the crevice of your thigh and groin, curling snugly.

"Ellie.." you hiss, pinching your brows in honest bewilderment.

Her pinkie roves over the bulge of your crotch and punctures the inseam right above your clit, stinging the little bud– which throbbed at her press.

"Do you?" her breath wanes, speech sedated with the aim of persuading you.

Contemplation was considered– maybe too carefully, maybe not. Problem one, legitimately most if not all of your family was within spitting distance of you, but on the other hand, the gutsy hand, weighed her offer slacker than a greedy businessman. In precis, her puppy eyes of coveted sanction, rears triumph. Dickhead.

A caught gulp squeezes down your gullet, puffing your chest out, "Mhm.." 

"Okay.. mhh–" she giggles with husk, creasing up as her lithe fingers trace and wrest your fly open, skulking her hand beneath the hood, "Just focus on dinner baby, I got this.." wisped soft, kindred to cashmere.

The unyielding stretch of your denim fastens around your hips in the act of her palm ramming inside, yanking you forward. Pursing your lips in elated exhales, you try, try to winch meat to mouth and void the tamping of your clit, try as you might– the pleasure is dire.

Ellie’s prints depress a lewd discovery, the stub of her smaller knuckle thickens itself in leaky panty, secreting from your eager hole. A discovery, worth a hushed gasp, "Ooh? Wet already babe? God damn.."

"Shut.. up.." choked you, only reaping a laugh from her.

"Fuck, I do all this?"

"Duh."

"Hehe– fuck that's hot.."

She withdraws her fingers half–way, to slither them under your panties. And without a foraged bit of foreplay, dilates your labia with her furled digits loading inside of you.

A squishy nub brushes your sweet spot.

Your pipes in turn swell with sharp intake, wall of your throat cooling instantly. Fuck, bona fide fuck. Enormously fucked when her pumps wreak gentle squelches from your dewy core.

"Jesus, mhphh.." a gruff of air susurrus from her, starkening her torso in an 'appeasingly normal' angle so she may, blend in, bemusing your mother with small–talk, "So, d'you always have a gathering this big on Thanksgiving?"

Out of all people, really, Els? 

She indulges with a smile, purely answering, "Oh yeah, every year– whole family, too many relative I suppose." fading erratically into a giggle.

"Heh– ‘least you got a big house, shitt– I mean," In spite of sounding casual, slips into a grit curse when your wet walls clench her in, "–dang, what I wouldn't give to live here, right babe?"

A mere butt of her elbow nearly dips you into the waters of appearing– deviant of natural, those slender digits, twisting a tender knot inside. She pumps at a canter, lesser than brisk, swifter than a slug. Beat, beat, beat to your g–spot, akin to the pitter, pitter, pat of your whizzing heart.

"Y–yeah, soo jealous, even though I did as a kid.." laughing it off awkwardly, a bask of 'Please let that be the only time I talk.' relief uplifts your sunk gut, momentarily.

"You still eating well livin' on your own?" your mother queries, tuning that time–old maternal charm.

"I mean, d–decent, enough–"

Ellie thrusts her fingers faster, fashioning a trickle of ooze to froth out onto your underwear. Pacified by the sensations, you clamp tighter, knocking a winded hitch to your staggering speech. Fucking inconvenient. Olives of her eyes binge a glint so bawdy, yet inlaid in a bad case of puppy–face, bullshit purity on her glossy lips. She knew the consequences, and consumed them like nothing.

"Pshh– decent? Babe, please, I'm like the microwave master!" exclaimed she, feigning a biggety tone atop her rasp.

You scoff, "Ah–" shuffling your thighs in light see–saw motions, "again, decent."

The knot squeezes as she finger–fucks the tranquility of mind from your pussy, staring knives at you when her supple thumb drags your clit in flicks.

"Sure it's not good?"

"Mh–mh.."

"Like, really good?"

No way she was referring to the microwave meals anymore.

Your mother intrudes softly, "Honey I can start bringin' you my homemade food if it's not–"

"It's okay, she's just playin' around–" Ellie replies before a vowel can flutter your lips, proceeding to eye–fuck you with a smug visage, "she loves my cooking." she rasped, eyes slimly showing.

All you can spotlight on is her gropey hands, jerking you like some toy, it felt too fucking good. Too pleasant to snuff, too divine to scold, exhilarating to your veins sore with salaciousness. Then, you route back to a ponder, what more could she stipulate? 

"M' gonna go to the bathroom," you swat her hand out and jostle your fly up, netting a coo of amusement from Ellie– secretly.

"You good babe?" she vocalizes after, keeping her pussy–prune digits free of smear.

"Come with me." purred you, hoisting from the oaken chair.

Ellie's lids arise with tangible hots– an aphrodisia densely potent of kindiling her eyes. No anointing of sanctity will ripen her intentions, nor anchor the even throb of her cunt. For a throb is a hymn, to you. She wants you, and she's going to have you. Moments and minutes hence, falter to compare in energy.

Cue her cheek pleating smile.

"Okay–" a light snort prances off her open lips, whirling her lap aside to skim through the tight wedge and stumbling to you, "which bathroom we doin'–"

"Just follow me," your voice aspires over, cusping your hand and snagging her calloused ones in the curve of it, "gonna' show you somethin'."

"Heh–" she chuckles dryly, tailgating with a gentle pull of your forearm.

You two whip around a door nook, glide through the foyer and advance upon a staircase. Your cotton–clad heels stroke wood planks beat by beat, soft wallops that carom off skyscraping maroon wine walls. Ribbons of lunar light dangle on and off your heads, crafting gauzy shrouds that mix and mingle off the corners with a bobbing ascent. Every wall laid reminiscent of a ritzy manor, a lacquer of lavish. 

The flight of stairs then ingress into a much thinner hall, in a much quainter space, and fitted to each doors awaiting enigma. Duller light spills through, glossing the path you took towards a fawny brown door– your bedroom.

Ellie espies the cleave of an abutting door, aiming a bead on with her index, "Wait– isn't that the–"

"Shh," you gingerly rustle air on locked teeth, shifting your arm towards the gilded rotund knob and twining with metal clicks and clacks, "bathroom was just a cover up."

"Oh~" 

"Hmm hm~" you kittenly croon.

The barrier pendulates sideward from your stride, only to be elbowed soundly back to a wisping shut.  You pinch the little knob's notch and, click, lock the door. An amused flit of breath pours from her agape lips, catching your wordless gist bereft of another second.

Ellie thrums that same old rasp, sweetening you up, "Real smooth babe, takin' us up here.." her feet coast her closer to you, kitty–cornering you to a rearwards stumble.

Plaster bumps, a welting sharp ridge– they trench in your ankle and up as your calves butt the wall, inevitably backed up. Trapped, positively trapped. 

"Well–" a scoff enlightens your latter words, "couldn't just stay there with you two fingers deep, hm?" and your 'hm' asks for her agreement, pitch yawing.

"Was 'gonna make it three, but.." 

"But?"

Her head shrouds yours in a gray penumbra, orangey–tint nose a scant whisker from brushing yours, and sends you into a conundrum with a mere utter, a tepid utter, "got uhh', something better for you." tying off with a willed lip bite.

"Oh really?" you moon with pep, hooking a calf around hers.

She smokily coaxes, "Fuck yeah– look." her knotty digits then cruise around her hips, meeting at her denim zipper and tugging that metal tab down. Fleeting as starlight, she thumbs the belt–band and chucks her jeans just beneath the ruck of her asscheek, chafing fabric to fabric with her lax boxers.

A lone brow quirks, expressing the fact that with the way she juts hers hips forward and palms her crotch weirdly– it reared too obvious, "Ellie, don't tell me–"

A springy mass wiggles against the front inseam, held in her teasy tauty grip– veins popping of course, "Tell youu whaat?" her words muff in hoarse laughter.

"Baby.." you exhale, adjoining a whiny moan. Ellie's such a goofy tease.

That simple mass in her crotch, was a sign– a clear, lucid, taintless and foretelling, that you were getting stuffed like a turkey tonight.

In counter, her exhale fuses with yours in dancing particles, so gentle, finer than purity made flesh, "Babe.." and such gentleness caresses your ears, a pureness forgotten in those divinity forsaken puppy eyes– pout moist.

You can't rend your pupils elsewhere, trapped like mice, you gape with encroaching arousal dowsing out your nerves– and drenching down below. Markedly, where you gaze now– her fingers tug the waistband down, exposing the bulbous green head of her cock in her boxers tight band, barely, literal orb of luster dabbled on the tip.

Now your eyes truly cannot escape.

Cotton tenderizes in lines around the bulge, her hand stroking above the shape. And the way you stare, fucks her mind good, speaking throatily, "God," a gulp bubbles, "can't stop starin' hmm?"

"Hehe– couldn't help but wear it?" you snap back.

"Yes ma'am," said off a grunt, pushing said bulge to your curious hand, pleading for a rub, "you gonna' suck her?" soothing is her tone, a breathless moan.

You coo, "Want me to?" and weasel your palm in circles, watching her pelvis follow.

"Uh'huh babe– mhh, need it.." she rolls the hem of her shirt up to her ribs, flaunting that strapping waist– perfectly toned.

Appetent with sure appetite, you nod, a nod that tows her lids down, down.. down, till the green born of her eyes rely on a thin horizon hawkeyeing you. A sliver of sparkle, eager in you. It only takes you dual bends of the knees, stamping chiffony flesh to cold oak and your fingers tucking in her underwear– to excite Ellie.

"Yeah, m'gonna suck her, suck that cock." you mouth in broken vowels, steeping breath on her firm navel pouch.

"Fuck.." she nimbly grunts and tosses her head back, tightening skin on the jounce of her adams apple, swallowing.

Giving tender pressure on her boxers, you slither them netherward until they sojourn atop her bunching jeans fixed above the knee. You swear, those quads of hers clench at your brushing touch, causing your sights to skip up on that dangling cock. Wow. The fat head pokes your nose–tip, curbing up as she cradles its silicone girth to palm.

"Hold uh'," what you expected to be 'up' erupts as a tiny grunt snuffing, eyeing her other hand concealing her lips with a muffled 'puh' to top, "there we go." that hand draws down to smear her spit along the length, squelching mildly.

"Mhh–" you hum shorn of audible sound, batting keen breath on her strap, "–so big.."

You tell her that, everytime. And everytime, she revels in that negligible fact, shutting her eyes in skin–sheathed darkness– pinpointing on how too–too hot that seems. And the way you say it? Oof.

Ellie tacks five fingerprints on your head's crown and coaxes in flits of force, easing you on, "My god, babygirl– oooh.." she relishes an oval–mouthed moan, watching your lips wrap her cockhead.

And it's warmer than anything you've gobbled so far this eve.

Balming a heat like that, tucked in her boxers so neatly and snug– it tickles your gums. Soft and pliant, your lips are, they crease and roll under as you swallow her in, impressing a pit on your tongue when they meet.

"Hhmmm.." you moan a mouthful on the frothed up silicone, dragging your lips back over to motion a bounce of your head.

"I know~" she coos to your bumble, pucking her hips with an equal piston to her pelvis, "them' lips feel goood– fuuckkk.." as if you can feel them, dork.

You clasp her thickness in hooks of your tongue, sending splotches and globs of spit to pool around your oval–ringed mouth, courtesy of her tip bumping your throat in, "Guh- guh, guh, guhh–" prods. 

Ohh, that birdsong. The quaffing of your vocal bands subject to her humps, producing a rhythmic beat to alight her hormones. Your song worthy of hearing. You wimp the swelling sink that her nails wreak, a flicker between cuspate tapering and a meek love– a calling for more.

Enlighten me a morsel of those twisted, dirty thoughts, auburnhead devil.

Leathery wads of her free digits roam hot on your pulping cheeks, chiseling out as you suck. Her fingers then find themselves arcing a tuck behind your ear, thumb printed to your temple. A dash of encourage, she presses, a truer than blue visage, she contorts ran by pleasure. Squelch, suckle, drag spit, and repeat.

Due to your stretching spread of lips taking her well, likeness of a blockade in your mouth, you couldn't speak. Obviously. So over the wish–wash of saliva, Ellie tunes you in with her filthy comments.

"Suckin' my filthy cock.. fuck–" she pauses with a gruff moan, baking in your brain deep, "gonna' make me cum so goood–" her vowel strains, clenching her pussy lips around nothing except the cool, cruel air, "yes.." 

A reed of cold nips your chin, seconds hence realization settles; you're getting sloppy. A manifestation of Els actually fucking your noggin to slosh, wouldn't spark surprise if liquid poured from your cranium at this point.

Her own arousal rots you further down, too.

With the feeling of her cock climbing near hellward down your throat, smacking on the gummy walls, and the husk her moans endure, crucifies your pussy with an ache of want. Fabric of your jeans suffers a beat, your clit, throbbing. It hurts so good and it stings so right, so tight, you need her now.

A faster bob you give, the more Ellie can't take it either. 

"Babe–" she hawks out, but fails to halt your bopping movements, "babe, fuck–" the digits parked behind the conch of your ear skip and push your jaw up, staking her cock out with a spring. 

"Ghh– schhlp, huh?" a chuck of spit muddled your words, unfurled tongue lapping up every web left by your messy, messy mouth.

Nook of her hand like a cusp to your jaw, she beckons you with a nudge, and rasps, "Up– c'mon, n'turn that ass around." 

Ass. Something about that word reverberated in you, bothered you hotly, made a tepidness leak from your cheeks. The rasp she rung it with, eyeing you with twin fern flames for irises– an approaching engulfment to marry your skin with ashen blessing, more consuming. Ass, Ash, haha.

A flutter in your hips spreads like fire across your legs. It weakens the muscle you bend, standing upright challenged resemblant of a feat, especially when Ellie's grabby gropes found purchase in the crevice of your hips, spindling you on a quick axis. It wanes the composure you hold like a goblet, dwindling to shattered shards across the floor, primarily as those bedeviled claws slot under rough woven denim and remove them false of trouble and trick– ruching to nothing at the root of your ankles.

Where happy hubbub clamors downstairs, pleased pandemonium moans upstairs.

A jut of two knobby hip bones thump into each asscheek, denting the skin into a gully. Warmth, a ligature of it rides through your backside, making you shake. Not like her hands would let you tremble, one being so immovably returned to your hip.

"Fuuck that pussy 'been waitin' for me, huh? Can just tell.." mumbles her with vocal fry, pupils ogling bare of shame at your cinched folds, clasping nothing.

"Your fault."

"Oh really?"

"Mhm.." you hum timidly.

"Gonna call me dickhead again, or–" a fat ball teases the dripping lips of your pussy, spreading them slightly and sloshing the skin around, "Is this enough?"

To give way, was a mistake, buckling your pelvis deeper on her cock which faces a grip ardent to shaft– teasing with rolls of her wrist. The cockhead, or literal dickhead, warps and smooshes against your clit as she toys with it. A whiny, "Huuh– Els.." mangles in your larynx, pitching.

"Yeah, you like that? Know you do." that damned smirk lives in her curving tone, sweet with a dash of tang. Her cock dilates your delicate folds further, exposing the velvet flesh to cold air and an intrusive visit. 

Your fiendish pussy kisses her cocktip and ceases its movement, clamping her in place, whimpering, "Mhh, ahh– ah.." 

"Hey, 'lemme go– was just getting started babe," she laughs crisply, landing a fine plume touch to your ass, "c'mon.. loosen up.."

A flux of slacken tires the muscles that clamp her in, hugging your entrance more softly around her tip.

Ellie winches weight on her knees, crouching her groin into you with a slow swerve, "There we go.." she purrs with tension in her tune, relieving a sigh when her cock pops in silkenly.

You seize up, gasping sharply, hips begging to break brittle in her grasp of iron– but iron does not deform easily. Pressure stays pressured, and digits knurl over the hill of your hip bone to prop it upright. With walls expanded on her cock like your pussy was made for her, it humbles you, belittling you to sludge in her metal caress.

"Fuuckk yeah–" she broadens her sigh of bliss, abrading on the 'K', like a crackle. Pleasure kills neutrality in the smoothest way, gathering grooves in her forehead, "y'feel so warm baby.. mhmm–" 

"That's not even your dick.." you half–way give a giggle, suppressing the moans you choke up.

A tense whistle of air sounds from Ellie's nose, a reaction of vague irritation, "Swear to god.." her tongue smacks after and a sudden thrusting of her fat cock catches your mind astray, winding those choked moans out. 

"Uhn– uh fuck, huhh–" you babble.

"Not my dick huh? Who's fucking you? Tell me, fuck– yeah?" Her words warble where skin smacks, wetness palping in obscene squelches. 

Does she really expect you to answer when her cock continually swells your cunt and abuses your g–spot? Yeah. Ellie will fuck the answer from one hole to the other, if she so feels compelled to.

But of course, you don't answer.

"Baaabeee," she taunts, "baabyyyy," and tortures, "who she getting fucked by right now, tell mee.." and fucks, cooing purer than vernal spring washed in the rain, mushing globs of pre–cum all over your cervix.

"Y-you.."

"That's right."

This feels almost violating to your vagina, to be stuffed like this. Did she size up? Get a new strap? Whatever the case presents itself as, it felt fucking good. Made you woozy, each bop she played like a drum on your sore ass, summoning a white ring of creamy sap to veil around her cock's girth. White droplets failed to envelop her cock, though, each jiggle of your muck bodies lashing beads of it onto the oak boards, your thighs, her pretty auburn bush, etcetera. Attempting to grab the wall, duh– that fails, then you scramble jittery digits across said wall, awkwardly finding a rigid door trim to grasp at long last– speak of the devil, Ellie laughs at that.

"Haha– aww, too big for you princess?" she utters to you like a dumbass, ego brimmed with the pumps her cock skids on your gummy walls, smirking with thinned lips.

Vulnerability loathes humility, "Fuck y–you."

"Sure."

Her perception of sight, harboring verdancy, drops low to your bulging hole that swallows her good– as you should, tender milk that pools inwards as she slides out, and froths a flood of slick when she humps it back to the same hole it spilled from. 

Might she indulge more sampling?

Ellie's hell–sworn index traces your swelling folds mellowly, togging a cap of pearly cum on her finger pad. Scrutinize, then she licks. Her peach lips kiss her finger softly, puckering wrinkles as she sucks the sleek off, "Sssmhpt–" her lips zip, "yeah–ha, that's what 'm taking about–" delighted, she is.

The knot in your womb begins to coil and fill, a rapturous sting impaling inside. Your folds, springing on her friction, sends a ripple to fluctuate in your ass cheek. Enticing. So enticing, Ellie grabs a handful, bloating fat strokes of your buttcheek between the webs of her delirious fingers.

"Ghh– yes.. yes–" she growls, deep in her lungs. The harness in return rubbed her clit in all the right ways, electrocuting her legs with a twitch, "arch that bsck f'me baby, c'mon– arch on my fuckin' cock–" 

Harking her, you heed. Heed with a convex draw of your back, protruding your ass out for her messy usage. That– that was the last straw, her only straw. You being so keen. Something less than a mutter of, "Good girl." was the last audible voice you could pick up, her game swapping to a faster ramming into your sloppy pussy.

"Ellie!" you wince, praying on a star, "So g–good.." you gape and fall forward, smearing slobber on the drywall.

Her cock was too much. 

A tear soaked upon that very wall, gifting it a taste of your salty heaven.

"Mhmm– god, fuck fuck fuck! You're so good, s'good t'me.." a breath shuddered, she limps forward onto you. Her pale hips still punishing with a litany of humps, now scores deeper on your gushy cervix, her drenched chest marking hot on your clothed back.

"Needa' cum– Els, babe.." why you were even asking, might flummox a future specter of yourself– purling on her thickness, feeling the endless tension pull from you in strings of cum, kissing the head of her cock, you were on the train track to cumming already. Dumbified questions really egged Ellie on, luckily.

"Yeah baby, want'chu to– all over her, she needs it, mhm–" she assures you, two foam–spit lips stamping your lobe, "feel that baby?" her elbow mounts like a belt to your hip crest, ducking under and tamping your womb, palm to pudge, and intones, "She's so fucking deep– shit.." 

Spade of her cock punching your walls, over and over, you finally snap. The added hand to your belly, sought it done. Done well, pronto. 

You convulse in tight vices to squeeze her dick, orgasm shaking you to the literal core, "Huunhh– Ellie, Els! Ssuhh– Ell–" a clammy paw wedges your mouth from splitting the walls with your uproar, fingers tender on your lips cushion.

"Shh– shh.. not so loud babe, take it easy–" snuffing you, she talks clemently, little grunts detailing you on how close she was, too, "that's it.. don't hold back baby– uh, fuck."

Her cock fucks you just right, blows you fried so easily, with every heavy lunge– you weep.

A pang twisting inside averts a sightly gaze to the beautiful coastline of darkness, pure oblivion. Fuzzy dollops of faded splotches prance your vision like a sick joke, mocking your high. You can't even croak, not even a peep, just sit back and let cum dribble from your hole, plashing her filthy cock in a sick mess.

Right on a dream–like cue, a snarled groan mauls from the deepest depth of her diaphragm, fresh on your ear, "Ghhodd– fhmm, good fuckin' pussh– mhh!" 

Splash.

Her lids squinted tight, nose flared wide, she came. In waterfalls you couldn't observe, but swore you heard. A geyser to the floor, hyaline ribbons of her precious flavor taint the floor so disgustingly, so vividly, it shines.

Guess the wine loosened both of her lips.

She usually does not cum like that.

Damn.

Muggy exasperation fans your neck in ghostly hands that wrap, a recalescent mist baying for some kind of relief in dramatic swells and shrinks her chest pushes into you. Then, something moreso flobbed, a chuckle.

"Heheh–" her fingers slip from your lax lips, tapping kittenly on your chin.

"That's was, mhh– um–" you huff, dead of air just like her.

"Good?"

"Yup, just– couldn't.. oof.." 

Her lips purse and plant a kiss to your scruff, grinning against the flesh, "Did good for me," moist smacks besmirch further, rasping, "felt so good t–"

A beating of hardy steps peals through the door's underside, sending a wash of shock over both of you abruptly.

"Fuck." Ellie's voice muffles sotto voce, darting grips to your folded hips, thumbs tacking on the streched knoll your ass provided.

You perk your ears in tune of this noise, gut instinct curls and kicks your body to move, bucking back on Els– who mind you, was still sheathed inside you.

That knocked another grunt from her, "Hmmph– don't do that– god, babyy.." she whines, runting back into you.

Hole stuffed back up, you clench your fists into a ball. This idiot.

"Ellie? You in there?" A familiar, dense, Texan drawl aptly known as Joel's, beacons from beyond the door.

That's bad.

"Shit what do I–"

"Get off, for onee–" a tense on your chords, you huff, bucking her muck sweat thighs off your hind and skidding out her cock pronto. The sudden emptiness was jarring, but, no time to waste.

"Fuck! Again–" she hisses.

You crouch your bare bum inches from the floor and swoop up the pooling pile of denim and cotton panties, rearing them up and fiddling with the metal button. Ellie followed suit, the best of her abilities– sex really fogs up her faculties, and pressed her cock plumb to her stomach as to tuck it properly her boxers, letting the band snap in place on waist– gently.

Triple knocks erupt, and then his bellow, "Kiddo?"

"We're good, we'll be down!" she calls back, eyes far from not studying your scurrying silhouette, just has to comment, "–fuck that ass." like she wanted more.

A grumbled 'Hmm' vibrates on the oak, trailed by fleeting footsteps that trudge away, thump, thump– you get it.

"Oh?" you kink your whisper, foxily, "second rounds?" and pivot around to face her.

"Mphht– not what I meant, dickhead." her voice deepens weirdly at the brink her sentence plonked upon, cocking her head with a smirk.

"Whatever." your eyes roll, capering off the room's corners.

"Hmph–" gruffed in amusement, "Cutie." gingerly steps huddle you right against that wall again, two biceps meeting warmth–to–warmth with your soaken shirts waistline.

Scoff, just scoff, "I think this is how second rounds start, liar." 

She goes all bumbly, furrowing those bushy orange brows and frisking her eyes in a roll, copycat, "Don't get me started, pleasee." she begged fakely, cadence dense.

"Too late."

"You're right." her lips, wisp to yours so perfectly timed, interlocking one pink bud under your top lip and butting noses, plushing together in tide. Even plopped a little smack to the clad meat of your ass, how sweet.

A scant hint of dinner lingered on her breath, passed to you like a spill. Makes you want to slink those stairs in one go for a different palate of seconds. But, alas, you two bet smooches on the hope of no further interruptions, scarfing up kisses like hungry dogs.

(pls lmk if u wanna be added to the perm list, some mentions didnt work!)

@whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss

[aidaronan]

"First movie you ever saw in theaters?" Steve lounged opposite of Robin on the couch in his living room, the stereo on low, spitting out Madonna on the local radio station.

"Oh, that's easy." Robin bit off part of a licorice. "Freaky Friday. I remember because I was terrified for weeks that I'd end up switching places with my mom and have to, like, balance a checkbook or something."

Steve laughed, separating m&ms in his hand. "You still don't know how to balance a checkbook, do you?"

"Like you do." Robin playfully glared at him. "Okay, here's a good one. First kiss."

Steve ate the sole blue m&m first, a grin spreading across his face because he usually lied about his first kiss, but he didn't have to. Not with Robin. "Camp Stronghold when I was nine. We met up in the boathouse after lights out to trade contraband."

"Contraband, huh?" Robin raised her brows.

"Candy. I swear my parents loaded me up like I was going to prison. 'This is as good as cash in there, Steven.' I think my dad wanted me to network or something. Because, you know, I was totally gonna start a small business with a group of eight-year-olds."

Robin snickered. "And the kiss?"

"Ah. I didn't actually want candy. I just wanted this kid to like me so bad, and I didn't know why until we were there in the dark tripping into each other because we couldn't see. I had all these butterflies, and we were standing close enough that I could feel the heat off his sunburn in the air." Steve could still picture it. The way he couldn't see more than a few inches in front of his face. "Then he kissed me, just this quick peck on the lips before he turned tail and ran. I left the boathouse with a Snickers and one massive first crush."

"Did anything else happen?" Robin asked.

"No. It was the last week of camp and I think he freaked himself out over it. I don't know. He didn't even really say bye to me after we climbed off the bus to meet our parents. Never saw him again. I honestly never even thought to get his name."

"That sucks."

"Yeah. I just hope he's doing okay, you know? That he's got people in his life that make him feel like he's allowed."

Robin looked at him softly, reaching out to give his ankle a squeeze. "Hey, you never know. You might run into him again someday. Maybe he's your soulmate or something."

"Please. I think you're pretty obviously my soulmate." Steve nudged Robin with his foot. "But I guess he could settle for 2nd place."

"Oh, there's a toast for sure." Snacks tumbling off her lap, Robin reached for her can of Coke on the coffee table and raised it as high as she could reach. "To both of us finding our 2nd places."

"Cheers to that." Steve thrust his own Coke into the air.

____

It felt like a big cosmic joke that Steve would be in a boathouse when he realized who Eddie Munson had been all that time. Eddie had looked so different when he'd transferred into Hawkins that Steve had never even given him a second look, not during their shared classes, not during any of those cafeteria tirades. Not during the numerous occasions where he gave the kids rides to D&D.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!"

It was the eyes that finally pulled back the curtain and cut away all those in-between years. Steve had never been close enough to clock them, but he couldn't deny them now. Not at such close range, Eddie holding a broken bottle against his neck, trembling with so much fear that Steve worried he might actually use it.

Dropping the oar from his own shaking hands, Steve said the only thing he could think to say.

"Well, this brings back memories."

Eddie didn't respond, the fear in the air drawing out every second, making it feel infinite. Behind them and in another universe, Dustin said a bunch of stuff Steve barely heard for the pounding in his ears. He watched beads of sweat roll down Eddie's forehead and waited for something to give.

Like clouds fat with rain, Eddie finally broke open, tension draining out of him, arm and weapon dropping to his side. He exhaled a shaky breath, maintaining eye contact, his expression too complicated for Steve to fully read.

Steve was about to say something else when Eddie finally spoke, cocking his head to the side and leveling Steve with a look.

"And here I spent all these years thinking you forgot."

[sincerelyakilljoy]

THE GOLD COIN THAT GLITTERS AND GLINTS

pairing - aventurine x gambler + debtor!fem reader length - 11.4k words warnings - nsfw/18+ content, fem!reader, some fingering (with his gloves on), slight choking, pet names (pretty girl, sweetheart, doll, etc), he's kinda mean, teasing, penetrative sex, guns (barely), gambling, aventurine whines a bit, kinda dom aventurine (?), slight coercion/threats (reader is consenting)

summary - you ran away from the IPC to penacony because of the huge debt you owed and couldnt pay. years later when youre out gambling a familiar figure appears with another offer you cant refuse.

NOTES

honestly i can see him being like this in all honesty, he definitely would be an ass tbh...this is proofread (ty to my frennn) but sorry for any mistakes :p also ive never gambled so writing that was a bit hard, so sorry if it sounds stupid

The smell of cedar and smoke fills your senses as you enter the casino, eyes scanning the floor before shifting to one of the casino’s cashier windows.

You huff as you saunter your way over to the cashier, lugging a briefcase along with you.

A sweet smile spreads along your features as you greet the cashier. “I’d like to exchange my cash.” You hum, setting your briefcase on the counter.

“For how much?” The cashier asks, clicking a few things on his kiosk before looking up at you as he reaches out and grabs the briefcase, flicking open the metal clamps and cracking it open.

“A million.” You say with a smile, watching as his face shifts with emotions you don’t even bother to acknowledge. “Hurry please, ‘m a bit busy.” Gently urging him to hurry.

Your tone is a bit rude but you don’t mean to sound like that, you’re in a rush and the face the cashier made only made you feel anxious and like he was going to take a bit too long.

The cashier only nods and hurries to transfer your money to chips, opening the briefcase to pull out the stacks of cash.

“M’sorry if I was a bit rude,” You apologize, you’re voice a bit awkward as you try to sound a bit nicer. It's not on purpose but..you’re a bit “tone deaf” per se. “I’m just in a bit of a rush.”

The cashier mumbles a “it’s fine”, clearly focused on his job at hand.

You don’t say anything more than that, only leaning forward against the counter as he deals with your money.

After a few minutes he sets a briefcase containing your poker chips on the counter, pushing the briefcase towards you. “Here you go, ma’am..” 

You grab the cool handle of the briefcase, nodding a polite thank you to the cashier before walking away.

You look around the casino, looking at the games being played. Men surrounding tables with women on their arms while smoking fat cigars, some young, some much older. 

You walk around a bit before seeing a poker table with an empty seat. You hum to yourself before walking over, glancing at the people seated. “Can I join?” You ask with a smile. 

The other 6 people look at you, eyeing you pointedly. You can’t tell if they’re being judgemental of some sorts, their looks a bit annoying to you. 

“Of course sweetheart, take a seat.” A man says, his voice drunk sounding and gruff. 

You angle your head to look at him, raising a brow at the nickname he called you but you relent to not say anything more and just slide into the seat that happens to be next to the man.

As you sit the cashier deals the cards smoothly, sliding them in all directions cleanly.

After you’ve been dealt your cards you pick them up fluidly, eyeing the cards in your hands while keeping a straight face, a poker face if you will.

“Place your bet.” The dealer says, looking at the person next to him, waiting for his bet.

“Hundred thou’.” The man says, stacking his chips next to him on his left.

You swallow at the amount, a bit annoyed with how high the bet was already but what can you do? 

You wait for someone to raise it but when nobody does the game starts.

You look down at your cards again, listening as the players place their bets, all of them not raising the previous price at all.

“Raise three hundred thousand.” You hum once it’s your turn, placing more chips on the table. You think to yourself whether or not it’s good to bet so much more this early on but you decide that it doesn’t matter much.

You have more money waiting for you in your account if you really needed it and to be cocky, you’re real fucking lucky.

A few at the table call while two of them fold, placing their cards face down and pushing them to the dealer before abruptly leaving, losing anything they’ve bet so far.

After the two leave the dealer places three cards face up on the table, an Ace of hearts, Seven of spades and a 3 of clovers.

You smile slightly to yourself, already seeing a in so early in the game.

Oh, you’re definitely winning this.

You won big.

Another 1.2 Million to your savings all from one match of poker. Lucky might just be your middle fucking name.

A bit smugly you get up from the poker table, collecting your neat, little chips in your briefcase, watching as the others at the table grumble curses while staring daggers at you.

You couldn’t care less. Feeling smug and cocky, winning one round is really getting to your head. 

You hum a little song to yourself as you walk away, looking around for something else to play. But everything seems to be a little boring tonight, after winning so much money and one shot you didn’t know what you should play next in all honesty.

You walk around the floor, heels softly clacking on the soft, velvet floors as you eye tables for anything that even slightly grabs your attention. 

That’s when you hear loud voices, someone yelling.

“This fuckers-hic- cheating..!” A drunken voice booms and nosily, you can’t help but walk over to see what’s going on.

A drunkard waving his hands at a man as a bouncer tries to grab him and calm him down. 

The man seems calm, looking at the man with almost too natural looking smirk adoring his features. Blonde hair framing his face and a hat that looks like a fedora on, slightly hiding his features with rose tinted glasses on.

“Cheating? Don’t be so mad, maybe you’re just unlucky, hm?” The man says, a bit sassily while he flips a gold coin in his hand.

This seems to only enrage the drunkard who swings at the blonde man who just steps back, causing the drunk idiot to stumble and fall.

“That’s embarrassing, don’t you think?” The blonde says, a smug look on his face as he looks down at the drunk condescendingly.

You watch as the drunk gets dragged out, yelling profanities at the blonde who just shrugs it off.

You swear you’ve seen the blonde somewhere but can’t put a finger on it, so to quench your curiosity you walk over to the table.

As you walk up you look at the table, seeing its roulette you feel confident that you might get even more lucky.

You ask the dealer to join who simply says yes and you move to sit on the stool at the table, directly across from the blonde. 

You attempt to get more glimpses of his face but can’t due to his hat and glasses.

The dealer calls for bets and each person places them, including yourself and the blonde across from you.

“Black, eleven.” He says, it almost seems like he’s bored as he smugly rests his chin on his palm, looking at the board as the dealer spins it.

As it spins you feel a bit nervous, roulette is more of a game of chance than anything, you just have to get lucky again.

And you do, the die landing in the slots you betted on.

You smile as chips get pushed your way, getting a slight thrill.

“Mm, seems like I wasn’t so lucky this round.” The blonde says with what seems to be a feigned sigh as he moves to pull off his hat, setting down next to him.

Then you’re painfully aware of how you recognized him.

IPC..he’s from the fucking IPC.

He smirks at you, cockily and knowingly, and you can’t help but fucking shiver from the way his eyes bore into you, almost saying “Recognize me?” 

You ponder on whether or not you should act like you don’t recognize him, playing a few more times with the risk of him possibly confronting you or just walk out with your winnings with the chance of him following and confronting you.

Both seem to have the same outcome.

So you play innocent, shifting your gaze away from his with a calm face in an attempt to hide your onslaught nervousness.

 You mumble your bet and push your chips forward, glancing at the blonde.

“Raise fifty million.” 

He said your debt, the exact amount of money you owe to the IPC, he’s fucking with you.

You clench your jaw to save face, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you stare down at your chips.

He laughs, the sound snapping you out of whatever daze you’re in.

“I’m kidding, raise it five hundred thousand.” He hums, pushing his chips forward as he eyes you pointedly before saying his color and number.

You swallow at the eye contact, internally screaming at yourself to just leave but you don’t, either way you’d seem suspicious no matter what you did so you decide to stay, matching his bet.

The dealer spins the board and you just feel dizzy watching it, sudden waves of anxiety washing over you as you think about what might happen later.

You haven’t paid your debt in over 5 years, deciding you’d rather disappear and be a fugitive to the IPC than pay the debt you owed. 

You only had them come after you once and that’s when you initially met the blonde.

Aventurine.

He was cynical, cocky and arrogant, wearing a smirk while threatening you.

The IPC had come for you when you still lived in the underground city of Belobog, broke and stupid you decided to take money from them as a loan.

A stupidly large amount of money that you didn’t even know what to do with. 

Initially you didn’t want to ask for much, only a thousand or so but greed got the best of you and you just wanted to get money, so you said the price. Fifty million.

When you got the money you were shocked, the check was so huge you didn’t even think you could cash it in at the bank. You didn’t spend much of the money until you heard more about the IPC, when they started to get exposed for their inhumanity.

“You took how much from the IPC?!” Your boss nearly blew your eardrums out with her shouting and you only looked at her stupidly, like you were caught doing something obscene.

“F..fifty mil- but I’ll pay it back! I’ll just take it slow..y’know..” You mumble, rubbing the back of your neck nervously as you lean back against the bar's counter.

“Girl, I don’t think you know how serious the IPC are about their money…” Her tone is serious, eyes boring into you with worry and fear. “You don’t understand what they’ll do to get every last dollar back, down to the penny.” 

You roll your eyes, picking up the broom that was leaning on the counter next to you.

“What? They'll take my stuff? Newsflash, I don’t have shit.” You hum ignorantly, slowly starting to sweep the floor.

“Girl, they will take you.” She grabs your wrist, it’s not tight or anything but she squeezes ever so slightly to let you know, she’s not kidding.

“If you don’t pay it back in the time they gave you in your contract, you're screwed. You don’t know what they will do to ya’.” 

You roll your eyes for the upteenth time, completely ignoring her worries even though she seems scared for you.

“Honestly, I’ll pay it back. Don’t worry too much, I’ll be okay.” You sigh softly, placing your hands on your boss’s shoulders, massaging softly in an attempt to soothe her worries.

“It’s not like they’ll threaten to kill me or anything.”

Those words rang through your head a year later, after missing nearly every payment required of you. It was only a matter of time they came for you. 

You pant heavily, watching as IPC troops stormed into your dingy, little apartment that you made home. Breaking picture frames, plates and anything else that got in their way. 

You’re backed up into a corner of your kitchen, two IPC troops pointing guns at you as they seem to wait for someone else to come deal with you. 

“W-what are y-” you’re interrupted by a gun shoving you in your stomach, pushing you back into the kitchen counter.

“Shut your mouth!” The trooper shouted, keeping his gun pressed to your abdomen, twisting it into your skin, making you cry out. 

You stand there, shaking as you watch them tear you home apart. 

In that moment all you can do is regret, regret taking the money while deep down knowing you weren’t going to even be able to pay the monthly payments, especially with the insane interest that was added to your debt.

With shuddering breaths you watch as someone else enters your apartment, seemingly dressed to the nines, you ponder on whether or not you could even afford a single piece of string used for his clothes.

He walks in, rudely stepping on the photos that were left scattered on the floor. He looks around, humming at the sigh of your home in shambles before turning to you.

“My, my…couldn’t have expected this..could you?” His voice is sickeningly condescending while keeping up his feigned friendly tone as he walks towards you, pulling off his rose tinted glasses that he simply tucks into a pocket.

You clench your jaw as he walks towards you, getting so close you’re practically huffing the expensive cologne he wears. 

The IPC troops step out of the kitchen, leaving you and the blonde alone.

“Hm, this place looks awfully…” He starts, turning his head to look at the state of your home. “Lived in, hm?” He looks at you, tilting his head to the side as he wears a disgusting smirk.

You don’t reply, only staring up at him in hatred and fear, knuckles turning white from how hard you’re gripping the counter behind you.

“Can’t speak? That’s fine,” He shrugs, his eyes never leaving your face as he steps back a bit, giving you a bit of room in the small kitchen.

“You’re at least a bit aware of who I am, yes?” He asks, folding his arms as he looks at you.

You shake your head slowly. “I only know the IPC in general…nothing more.” You respond, your voice a bit shaky as you try to hold yourself together.

“Well, you do know what debt collectors are in general, right?” He hums, looking at you as he waits for you to answer. 

And when you don’t, he’s stepping forward once again. You raise a brow as you watch him step forward before a sharp yelp is pulled from your lips as his gloved hand comes out to roughly grab your jaw, yanking your face so close to him his nose brushes against your cheek.

“Right?” He sneers into your ear his tone losing its feigned friendliness, only a tone of disgust and malice lacing his voice. He tightens his grip on your jaw and it feels like he might be able to just pull it off.

You wince at the feeling, feeling your eyes water from the pain alone. So you squeak out a “yes” and thankfully he lets go but doesn’t step back.

“I’d advise you to use your words,” He sighs, sounding all too relaxed but it makes sense cause he’s not the one in the situation at hand. “I can be patient but at the moment patience isn’t enough, due to the fact we’ve already have been soo patient and kind to you for the past year.”

You listen in silence, rubbing your sore jaw as you start daggers at him.

“What’s with that look? You’ve more or less brought this upon yourself..” He laughs and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. “Let me explain to you what’s going to happen from today onwards,” He hums, taking out a gold coin before starting to toy with it in his fingers.

“Right now you still owe about forty nine million eight hundred fifty dollars, somehow you managed to pay the one hundred and fifty thousand dollars that you owed one month but for some reason you never paid the monthly payments again.” He looks you up and down, flicking the coin up into the air before catching it in his hand. 

“So, what happened to all the money you took?” He asks, tilting his head to the side slightly as he stares at you, still wearing a smug smile.

“I..I gave it away to people.” You lie, although you did give a lot of it away to friends, family or others in need you put the rest of it up. Why didn’t you just pay the monthly payments with that money? You didn’t even know, assuming that the IPC wouldn’t do anything to you for that money and the fact they probably have trillions of dollars to their name.

What’s a measly fifty million?

Clearly a lot if they’re doing this.

“Gave it away?” He repeats, raising a brow. “Generous aren’t you?” He says, before stepping closer to you once again.

“Let’s make a bet.” He positions the gold coin on his thumb and forefinger in a flicking position. “I’ll flip a coin, if you guess which side it lands on correctly I’ll give you some leeway, seventy five percent less interest and another year and a half to pay it back. How’s that sound?”

You stare at him with uncertainty, swallowing thickly as your hands tighten into fists, nails digging into your palm, leaving deep crescent shapes behind in your skin.

This man just stormed your house and trashed it to hell…how are you supposed to believe a single thing he says. 

“I know, how are you supposed to believe a thing I say?” He says, practically reading your mind and it scares you a bit. “Trust me…you’ll want to take this offer.” 

His tone feels like he’s not lying and the way he’s staring at you feels like burning holes right into you, silently telling you to hurry up and answer.

You exhale a shaky sigh before nodding. “Deal.”

“Hmph, good choice.” He hums before flipping the coin, smoothly catching it with his left hand. “Heads.” His voice is low as he stares you in the eyes, piercing you with his gaze as he clenches the count in his gloved hand.

“Tails.” You mutter, your voice shaky and quiet as you advert your gaze, looking down at his hand to avoid his eyes. Holding your breath in fearful anticipation as you wait for the reveal.

Slowly he opens his hand, the coin flipped on tails.

You let out a shuddering breath of relief as you see the coin, basically collapsing back against the counter as you hold back tears that threaten to roll down your cheeks.

“Awe, relieved are you?” He coos, voice sickeningly sweet and laced with condescendence.

He moves closer to you, invading your space as you back up instinctively, bumping against the counter that traps you. He reaches out and grabs your chin, not as harshly as before but firm enough to force you to look up at him.

“You’re quite lucky and here I was, ready to drag you out of here by the hair.” He laughs cynically, trailing one of his gloved fingers along your jaw. “Next time,” He starts, inhaling through his nose. “I won’t be so lenient. Next time, I’ll make sure you pay off your debt by any means the IPC sees fit, and trust me when I say this,” 

He leans in, breath fanning against your ear. “You’ll fucking wish you were dead.”

Those words ring in your ears, years later, in this moment. You’re screwed, screwed in ways you couldn’t even imagine.

You regret not just paying it back, you should’ve just paid it back. You don’t even know why you got so cocky, developing a gambling habit and deciding to run away, changing your name and doing whatever you can to disappear.

You went to Penacony, thinking it may be a safe haven due to how many people come and go there..but clearly it isn’t, now that you’re stuck in this unwinnable situation.

If you could, you'd drop to your knees and pray, maybe even lick the bastard's shoes while you’re at it. But you’re quickly snapped out of your thoughts when you see chips getting pushed your way.

“Miss? You’ve won again.” The dealer says simply, pushing chips towards you.

You inhale sharply, knowing the amount may well be over the money you’ve already won. You’re feeling real lucky now.

You decide to push your luck. 

So, you put on a pretty smile, collect your chips and fucking book it.

Well not exactly, running in the casino will just make you seem stupid and suspicious so you turn, take your winnings and walk away, walking to a kiosk to cash out. 

Maybe it’s the paranoia but you swear that you can feel Aventurines eyes boring into you, feeling that piercing gaze sting your back, even when you’re away from where that man is. Yeah, you need to hurry the fuck up.

Quickly, you shove your winning into your briefcase before speed walking out of the casino.

You contemplate whether or not you should go back to your hotel room. The IPC could be there, waiting for you to show up. 

Instead of heading straight home, you go and walk around the city, trying to figure out what to do and where to go next. You’ve already done so much to get away, erasing yourself from Belobog completely and they still found you.

At this point it seems like you’ll have to fake your own death just to get away.

You walk around Penacony, taking in the sights as if it’s your first time there. Honestly, you’re just doing this to distract yourself. And you’re thinking and thinking about what you could’ve done differently back then and the answer is so painfully obvious. Never take the money.

If you felt like it, you would kick yourself for being such an idiot.

You walk through Penacony’s shopping district, not looking to buy anything at the moment but it’s nice to just look.

As you’re walking you see three IPC troops in the distance, talking to some woman while showing them a photo. 

You freeze, wondering if they could be asking about you.

I mean, there’s tons of people in debt with the IPC, they wouldn’t do this much for one person…right?

Wrong.

You watch as the woman glances around, the IPC troops filling her gaze before their sights land on you. 

One of them shouts at you and this time, you fucking book it.

Quickly pulling your heels off your feet to carry as you run in the direction of your hotel. You’re sure they’re on your ass, hearing heavy footsteps behind you as you run.

As you’re running you see a tight alley, dark and long. You look over your shoulder and see that they’re far behind but close enough to catch you if you take one wrong move.

Quickly you duck into the alley, hiding behind random clutter that’s in the alley.

You wait a second before hearing the troops stomp past the alley, yelling “where is she?!”.

You sigh a breath of relief, clutching your chest. You can’t believe you managed to lose them, panting and tired you laugh slightly to yourself, wondering how the hell they were so stupid.

You wait about thirty minutes before walking out the alley and running to your hotel, which conveniently was nearby. Although you look silly, running barefoot while carrying your heels and a big ass suitcase, you couldn’t care, hurrying into the building and to your hotel room.

You shove yourself into your room, shutting the door behind you before collapsing back against it, panting and breathing heavily as you slide down onto the floor, ultimately relieved.

Once you’re calmed down and caught your breath you get up to look around your hotel room, making sure nobody’s in there hiding to catch you off guard. You look in the kitchen area, being so paranoid you open the cabinets, searching the inside ‘cause honestly, the assholes could be hiding anywhere.

You check the bathroom next, yanking open the shower curtain and sighing a breath of relief as you see nobody’s there. You walk out the bathroom, sighing as you start to unzip your dress, exhausted and in dire need of a shower. You start to slip out your dress when you hear a voice clear its throat.

You whip your head around and see the blonde bastard, comfortably sitting in the recliner that came with your room. 

You don’t even know how and when he got in but the thought of him being able to come in without you noticing sends a chill up your spine.

“Nice room,” Aventurine hums, looking at you with a disgusting smirk that makes your blood run cold as he flips his gold coin in his fingers. “Now, how can you afford this room, a trip to the beautiful place of Penacony and of course, your gambling habit but cant pay back the debt you owe?” He sneers, a disgusting tone of voice that hides his hostility, a mocking sound of friendliness slipping from his lips.

You can't even respond, you've been caught. You stand in the mini hallway of your hotel room, hands balled into fists as you try to think of something to say but you can't. You're scared, really fucking scared. All you can think is about his threats, is he going to kill you? Enslave you to the IPC as some sort of labor worker until you pay off your debt? 

You're frozen, completely frozen even as he stands and walks towards you, piercing eyes boring into you, feeling like he can burn holes straight through your body with his eyes alone. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath as he gets closer to you, eyes already watering just from his presence. “I’m s..sorry..” You mumble, looking at him a bit pitifully.

“Hm,” Aventurine grabs your balled fists, easily opening your hand, revealing deep crescents dug into your skin from your nails. You flinch with his every movement, breath hitching as he unballs your fists. “You're only sorry you got caught, be honest with your apologies.” He runs his fingers over the marks on your palm, tracing circles over them. “Honestly, it wasn't very hard to find you. Rather simple actually.” He hums, releasing your hands. “It was a bit obvious you'd be here but since you've done so much to get rid of yourself, it took us a while. But you know what happens now, yes?”

You're dead silent, not even knowing what to say in this situation, you can't apologize, you can't bargain and you can't pay. You can only beg.

“i..i'm sorry.. I swear.. please..do..don't..” You start to cry, shaking and staring down at your feet and your hands move to clutch at your dress. “P..please…” You say with a grovely tone, voice shaky as you try to look up at him, eyes bleary with tears making it hard to see him, but you don't even know if you want to see his face.

“Aww, don't cry,” Aventurine coos, voice laced with feigned sweetness as he reaches up to cup your cheek, gloved thumb swiping your tears away. You flinch away from his touch, still crying and sniffling as he looks down at you. His touch is disgustingly tender, softly brushing away your tears as if he cares but when you look at the look on his face it's one of condescendence and power, smirking as if he's getting a kick out of seeing your tears. 

“Do you want help? Ill bargain with you one last time, how does that sound?” His voice disturbs you, making you shudder in fear. “If not, I'll just take you away now.”

It sounds like he wants you to take the deal, his second sentence a clear threat to force you into taking the deal. And like an idiot, you silently nod. 

He smirks even wider at this, both hands moving to cup your face and force you to look up at him, his hold is firm, making sure you wont move your head to look away. “Is that a yes? Use your words, sweetheart.” He disgusts you, you hate him. Your mind screams insults at him, but all you do is play exactly into his hand. “Y..yes..”

You feel horrible, but you dug yourself this grave and you’re painfully aware of that.

He grins widely, hands holding your face firmly. “Spend the night with me.”

You do a double take, flinching and attempting to move away but his hands slide down to your waist, gripping it firmly to keep you still while squeezing hard enough that the feeling has you wincing in pain.

You look at him with a shocked expression, eyes wide with your brows furrowed and curved. You open your mouth as if you were going to say something but can't get anything out a few sputters of jumbled words.

“Huh? Cat got your tongue?” He coos, tilting your face up with his thumb and forefinger, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. “Take this deal and your debt is gone, zero cents owed to your name..”

You dont reply, eyes shut as you think. You hate this man but you can't deny that he is attractive and you really need the IPC off your ass. Pushing down your pride you respond. “Okay..”

You accepted the deal all too quickly. Selling yourself out without a second thought or consideration of how just accepting this deal would affect you in the future.

After you utter those words his lips are on yours, kissing you in a way that contradicts the way he acts. Your hands tug at the sides of your dress, as you squeeze your eyes shut, unsure of what to do.

His gloved hand slides up to cup the side of your neck as he breaks the kiss, looking at you with low eyes. “First kiss, hm?” He murmurs, his thumb swiping against your bottom lip.

“You wish.” You mutter, looking away from him. You can’t help though as your breath hitches, feeling his thumb against your bottom lip.

“Ah, feisty aren’t you? Yet here you are, at my mercy.” He grins, sliding his hand to grab the back of your neck, tugging you closer so you’re pressed flush against him. You gasp at the movement, your own hand coming up to grab at his forearm, gripping onto the expensive fabric. 

“Quite pretty too…it’s too bad you make such stupid decisions..” He murmurs before capturing your lips once again, his free hand grabbing your hip gently and pulling you closer against him while his other hand stays on the back of your neck, massaging the skin with his thumb.

You slowly feel your resolve crumble, the line between circumstances and your own free will starting to blur as you lean more into the kiss, your hands sliding up to grab onto his shoulders, squeezing them slightly.

You feel his hand trailing down your spine to your lower back, splaying his hand out and gently pushing you forward so you press against him more firmly.

You sigh shakily against his lips, letting your body press more against his as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

He groans softly, his tongue teasing the seam of your lips before gently slipping into your mouth, tongue sliding against yours while his hands slip to your hips, grabbing them and pulling your hips against his, his leg gently nudging between yours.

You gasp into the kiss when he pulls your hips against his, your fingers starting to tangle in his blonde hair as you kiss him with more urgency, pressing your chest flush against his as you tilt your head opposite to his, further deepening the kiss as you whine softly.

He nips at your lower lip with his teeth, leaving a stinging pain behind before soothing it with his tongue, making you gasp shakily in response. “You're so needy,” He muses, starting to trail wet kisses and love-bites along your jawline and down your neck while his hands squeeze your hips firmer. 

He bunches the part of your dress that's by your hips in his hands, letting it ride up your legs before he nudges his thigh up between them, pressing against your most sensitive spot. You leg out a shuddering moan before moving your hand to cover your mouth. 

He pulls away to look at you, his once brutal gaze turned to one clouded with lust. “Don't cover your mouth sweetheart,” He coos, his voice lower and throaty but still holding that same condescending tone as he leans in and you can swear you hear the smirk in his voice when he whispers in your ear. “I want to hear those pitiful, little moans you make.”

Right after saying that, his grip tightens on your hips as he starts to move you, guiding you to grind against his thigh while he sucks and nips at your neck; leaving dark spots behind that feel hot on your skin. You let out a broken moan in response, your arms wrapping around his neck tighter while you bury your face into his shoulder. Fingers digging into his clothed upper back while you gasp and whimper, starting to move your hips along with his guidance.

At this point you can feel how embarrassingly wet you are, the insides of your thighs slick and your panties aren’t faring any better, practically drenched at this point.

You hear him let out a breathy laugh as you start to move your hips on your own. He runs his tongue along your neck to your earlobe before nipping it. “Fuck youre soaked..i can feel it through my pants..” He murmurs into your ear as he starts to move your hips faster against his thigh. “These were expensive too..are you going to pay for the cleaning or am i gonna have to add this to your debt..?” He smirks, running his tongue along the shell of your ear.

You whine in response, knowing that any words that might come out your mouth will just sound like gibberish. 

You start to ride his thigh faster, trying to get to the edge as soon as possible. He groans in your ear softly as he feels you move faster, his hands tightening around your hips with a bruising grip as he laves his tongue along the sensitive skin of your neck. 

Your thighs start to twitch as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge, the pressure in your lower stomach building quickly as your moans and movements get needier. Aventurine starts to trail kisses down your neck to your collarbone, his left hand leaving your hip to reach up and tug the straps of your dress off your shoulders, causing your dress to slack and fall.

He tugs the top of your dress down, freeing your breasts from the confines of your clothes, causing you to shudder as you feel the cold air of the room hit your breasts. He smirks and raises a brow, looking at you with blown pupils when he sees that you're not wearing a bra, his left hand sliding down your shoulder to cup one of your breasts, his gloved hand squeezing and massaging while he leans down, dragging his tongue along your breast before nipping the swell of it, making you gasp.

“So fucking pretty…” He groans before capturing your nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardening bud before sucking harshly. He presses his thigh against you more firmly, drawing out a moan he finds oh-so pretty.

You rut your hips against his thigh faster, feeling like the building pressure in your abdomen is going to burst at any second. 

A whimper bubbles in your throat as you feel his lips latch onto your breast while his hand fondles your breast, making you shiver and whine as you flutter your eyes shut and toss your head back slightly. One of your hands slides up to tangle in his hair, tugging at the blonde strands as you push his face further into your chest. 

He groans against your nipple as he feels you tugging his hair, taking it as a sign of encouragement. He nips at your sensitive bud with his teeth, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He soothes the sting as he flattens his tongue, dragging it along your nipple, looking up at you with low lidded eyes. 

Your breathing grows ragged as you get closer to your release, hips bucking against his thigh needily while lewd gasps and moans fall from your lips, Your fingers tighten in his hair as you mumble breathlessly, eyes watering as you crack them open. “I…ah…m’gonna…” You sob, words nearly incoherent as you feel the pressure in your stomach ready to burst.

“Hm? What’d you say? Use your words, sweetheart…” He coos teasingly, sliding his hand down from your breast to the spot between your legs, just barely touching your clit through your panties.His middle and ring fingers slowly starting to circle it, as his eyes flick up to your face with a wicked smirk gracing his lips.

You can’t muster out a thing as he starts to barely circle your clit through your panties while his thigh stays pressed against your cunt. You let out a pitiful sob as you buck your hips, grinding against his thigh as you desperately chase your orgasm.

“Hah…m…m’gonna cum...” You whimper, gasping and sobbing as you get ever so closer to your impending high. 

“Ah...you're gonna cum, huh? Come on, pretty, cum on my thigh...” Aventurine hums, leaning up to press his lips to your throat as he starts to circle your clit faster, quickly bringing you to the edge.

You let out a broken moan as you feel your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. Your hips squirming as your thighs twitch and shake slightly. Your fingers tug at his hair roughly as you try to ground yourself as you grow dizzy and your body feels warm and fuzzy.

Your arousal leaks out of you, drenching anything in its path. Your thighs grow sticky and Aventurine’s pants are getting drenched as you cum, shuddering gasps and whines falling from your lips.

 Aventurine smirks as he looks up at you, seeing the blissed out expression on your face as you reach your high makes him grow even harder in his slacks. Straining against the zipper of his pants. His fingers continue to circle your sensitive nub, cooing sweet praises in your ear and peppering kisses your warm cheeks as he works you through your orgasm.

“Mh...you’re so messy...” He murmurs into your ear, his voice low and hushed as he speaks. “Just look at what you’ve done, beautiful...” He pulls back, free hand coming up you clasp around your jaw as he tilts your head down, making you look at the sticky mess you’ve made.

His thigh is soaked. His white pant-leg sticks to the top of his thigh, wet with your arousal. You whine when you feel him pull his fingers away from your fabric covered cunt.

He hums softly as he spreads his fingers apart, sticky webs of your cum spreading between his gloved fingers that shine with your slick and you can’t help but gasp at the sight. 

“I didn’t know you’d make such a mess, now my pants are ruined…” he chortles, his hand that’s gripping your jaw squeezes your cheeks together, causing your lips to puff out to a cute pout as you whine.

“How are you going to pay me back, sweetheart? Hm?” He tilts your face up to his, his gaze intense as he stares you in the eyes, wearing a smug grin. 

“I dont…I don’t know...” You babble, your eyes a reflection of your neediness and lust as you look up at him. Your breathing still ragged and hindered.

“Mhm…I have an idea,” Aventuring sneers, looking down at you with a condescending smirk. “How about you clean it up, sweetheart…?” 

He brings his slick coated fingers up to your lips while his other hand that was once gripping your jaw moves to grasp your chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. 

He drags his gloved digits across your lips, smearing your arousal on them. “Open up.” He coos, gently pushing his fingers between your lips and into your mouth.

You part your lips more, letting him push his fingers further into your mouth. You whine as you taste yourself off his fingers, feeling dirty for doing this but you can’t help but enjoy it, fluttering your eyes shut as you willingly take his fingers into your mouth.

His smirk grows wider as he watches you take his fingers into your mouth. He pushes his fingers deeper into your mouth, causing you to gag slightly. “Suck them, pretty girl…” He breathes, pressing his fingers down against the flat of your tongue. 

You close your lips around his fingers, starting to suck them slowly. You swirl your tongue around his fingers, moaning softly at the taste of your arousal in your tongue.

“Uh huh, just like that…” He coos, his hand that was holding your chin sliding to the back of your neck, cupping it as he pulls back to look at you. “Such a good girl…” 

He slowly pulls his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his gloved digits as he smirks down at you.

He snickers, looking at your flushed face. “God, you’re just a mess, aren’t you?” His hand that’s on the back of your neck tugs you towards him, his lips brushing against yours as he tilts his head, looking at you with lidded eyes.

“I’ll fix that…” He murmurs before pressing his lips to yours. His lips are soft and pillowy as they move against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his gloved hand slides down to your hips, grasping tightly while his thumbs trace small circles against them.

You sigh shakily as he kisses you, arms sliding up to wrap around his neck as you tug him closer, whimpering into his mouth as he tightens his grip on your hips, dressing bunching up in his hands as he firmly pressing his hips to yours.

He starts to walk you backwards to your bed, keeping your body close while never breaking the kiss. You feel the back of your legs hit the bed before he’s pushing you back onto the bed. He climbs on top of you, straddling you as he keeps up his feverish kisses.

You wrap your legs around his hips, locking your ankles together behind his lower back, whining into his mouth and letting your tongue slide with his as you kiss him needily.

Aventurine breaks the kiss, moaning softly as he starts grinding his hips against yours, rubbing against you so perfectly you whimper and arch your back against his body. 

He buries his face into the crook of your neck, lips latched to the soft skin as he sucks a dark spot to the skin of your neck. 

His hand slides up and under you, lifting you slightly as his hand finds the zipper of your dress, his other hand moving to the middle of your back, lifting you up more to make it easier as he unzips your dress.

He unzips your dress, slowly sliding the zippier down, causing your dress to slack. “May I..?” He whispers against your neck, eyes peering up at you.

You nod sheepishly, looking away to avoid his blazing gaze. He grins, hands sliding down to the hem of his dress, pulling it down and off your body, discarding the fabric somewhere on the floor.

He sits up to look at you, taking in the sight of your half-naked body, your panties the only thing left on. 

He lets out a shaky breath, gloved hands sliding up your lower stomach. One of his hands slides to your waist, squeezing the soft skin there while the other moves up to cup your breast, caressing the soft flesh there.

“So fucking gorgeous…can’t take my eyes off you..” His voice sounds shaky and breathy, his hips shifting to press against you harder, letting you feel how turned on he is.

You gasp at the feeling of his gloved hands all over your body, caressing and groping you as you lie beneath him, biting your bottom lip to quiet whatever pitiful moans that threaten to fall from your lips.

He starts to grind himself against you, the bulge in his pants pressing against your sensitive clit covered by your drenched panties. 

He moans, sounding pretty and whiny as he leans in to bury his face in your neck, his hand starting to roll your nipple between his thumb and forefinger all while he ruts his hips against you, desperate to feel you.

“You feel so good… ” He mumbles, his tongue licking at previous marks he’s left on your neck. You moan desperately, hands clutching at the fabric of his jacket, pulling and tugging. 

You need him so badly, body trembling with each roll of his hips, you only feel more desperate and needy. You whine as you feel his tongue lavish your neck, your legs wrapping around him tightly.

“Ah…I need you…so bad…” Words a breathy whisper as you grow more needy for him. You start to move your hips in tandem with his, whining shakily.

He pulls away from your neck, nuzzling his cheek against yours as he whispers. “Tell me what you want…I’ll give it to you…” His words a shaky rasp as his hands squeeze your breasts, thumbs rolling over your nipples.

You can barely get the words out, everything coming from your lips a breathless mumble. “I need you inside me…please…”

Hearing your words something in him snaps, turning off any critical thinking that’s wired in his brain. “I’ll give you it. I’ll give you everything you want…”

His hands slide down your body to the waistband of your panties, teasingly slipping his fingers under the hem before slowly dragging your panties down your legs while starting to trail kisses down your neck to your collarbone, nipping at the skin there.

You let out shuddering breaths as he teases you, purposely dragging on the removal of your panties. You moan and whimper as he trails kisses along the heated skin of your neck down to your collarbone, a shaky gasp escaping your lips as you feel his teeth nipping at the exposed skin there.

You let out a sigh of needy relief as he finally pulls your panties off, tossing them to the floor, presumably by your dress.

He pulls away from you once again, eyeing you more hungrily than before as he looks at your naked body, taking in the sight, trying to further memorize every curve of your body. 

He starts to pull off his jacket, tossing it onto the recliner he was sitting on earlier. You’d roll your eyes at how he’s taking more care with his clothes than yours, but clearly, it’s the last thing on your mind right now.

He gazes down at you, eyes catching sight of your glistening folds. He reaches out, dragging a gloved digit along your slit teasingly. “You’re so wet, it’s cute.” He smirks, his words coming out breathily. The smoothness of his voice is gone, replaced with a tone of need and lust.

“You want me here? Wanna feel me inside you…? Tell me.” He sighs, tilting his head slightly as he pushes two of his fingers inside of you, hazed eyes watching how your cunt swallows his fingers up so easily.

You gasp and buck your hips as you feel his fingers slide inside you, your walls clamping down on his digits as he starts to slowly thrust them inside you, his thumb moving to circle your clit.

You whine and shake your head, looking up at him with needy eyes clouded with lust. “I don’t…want your fingers…” You mumble between shaky gasps. “I want…I need you.”

Aventurine can’t help but wear a smirk on his lips, just the sight of you so needy, practically begging beneath him has him reeling and the thing is, you don’t even know how badly he needs you. 

“Okay, gorgeous...” He murmurs, slowly pulling his fingers out of you, leaving with an empty feeling in your lower stomach that’ll soon be satiated. “I’ll give you just what you want.” 

Aventurine pulls away, letting out a shuddering breath as his hands slide down, deftly unbuckling his belt, the clinking of the metal ringing in your ears as you watch him.

After getting his belt unbuckled he quickly unzips his pants, tugging them down just enough to let him pull himself from the confines of his clothing.

He lets out a shaky sigh as he frees himself, and in that moment you realize how desperate he really is for you.

You can’t help but shamelessly stare at his length, it’s lengthy and pretty with it’s tip flushed pink; practically oozing precum as it twitches. It’s a sight for sore eyes.

Aventurine hisses as he strokes himself, his thumb running over his tip, collecting the precum to smear on his shaft. 

He glances up at you, raising a brow when he sees how you’re eyeing him. “Like what you see…?” He grins, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that barely lasts a second before he’s pulling away again, gazing down at you.

“I do…” You sigh, hand reaching out to gently wrap around his length. You slowly start to slide your hand up and down his shaft.

Aventurine gasps softly, his face nuzzling into your neck as you stroke him slowly. “God…you’re killing me…” He mumbles, his hands sliding up to your hips, wrapping around them. “Let me feel you…” He kisses you again, this time it’s needy and a bit sloppy, devoid of any sense of restraint.

You moan softly into the kiss, hand gliding along his cock. He whines into your mouth, his hands squeezing your hips even tighter as his hips buck into your hand in time with your strokes.

After a minute he breaks the kiss, panting as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours. One of his hands moves to where your hand is, gently pushing your hand away. “I don’t need any of that...” He says simply, his voice low and quiet.

“…You sure?” You whisper, hands sliding up his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his expensive clothes under your fingertips. “I want to.” 

You want to touch him, even though you hate him? Do you even hate him anymore? Has your opinion on him really changed so much just from this moment? He used to scare you but now you’re yearning for him… Have you really lost your common sense?

You bury these thoughts in the back of your head, saving them for yourself later when you finally have to face the reality of your actions right now.

He shakes his head, pressing a wet kiss to the side of your neck before nipping your skin. “I don’t need you to touch me, beautiful.”

He sits up, his face flushed and hair a mess. His gloved hands slide up your legs and to your thighs as he hums, gazing down at you with intense eyes. His hands travel to your inner thighs, gently pushing them open as he shifts to position himself between your legs. 

Aventurine drags a gloved finger up your slit teasingly, making you whine and shift your hips. “Stop teasing already…” You mumble, brows furrowed as you look up with a slight pout on your face. 

He laughs softly as your expression, a smug look playing on his face. “Don’t worry sweetheart, just wanted a taste…” He murmurs before bringing his finger to his lips, licking your arousal off the digit as he gazes down at you, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath hitches as you watch him do this, feeling yourself get impossibly more wet than before. You feel your cheeks heat up with slight embarrassment. “Don’t look at me while you do that…” You mutter, slightly turning your head to look away from him.

“Don’t be so shy,” He smirks, suddenly regaining the steadiness in his voice, not sounding as shaky and whiny as before. “You taste sweet.” He murmurs, as he grabs your legs, moving them to wrap around his waist. “I’ll taste you more next time…” 

You furrow your brows, looking up at him with crooked eyebrows. “There won’t be a next time.” 

Aventurine looks at you, a smug smile on his face. “We’ll see.” 

You don’t bother to respond with any other smart-ass comment or a remark, choosing to focus on what’s happening in the moment.

He leans in more, one of his hands grabbing your thigh while the other wraps around his length. He rubs his tip along your drenched folds, making you whimper and whine, hips squirming against his hold.

His hand tightens its grip on your hip, silently urging you to hold still. He rolls his hips forwards, grinding his cock against your slick cunt, teasingly rubbing his swollen tip against your clit as he looks at you with a smirk. 

You moan softly, eyes fluttering shut as you feel his length sliding against you, pressing against your clit instead of where you need him right now. “...Just...fucking…” You mumble, cracking your eyes open to look up at him, seeing him stare down at you with lust.

“Just what? I’m not a mind reader, doll.” He hums, shifting his hips slightly so that his tips pressing against your entrance. “Let me guess...You want me here, yeah? Want me inside you…?” He coos, leaning down to press a kiss to your jawline. “Tell me, pretty…you don’t wanna keep waiting, do you?”

 You whine and shake your head, whimpering as you feel his tip pressing against your entrance. “P..please…put it in…” You gasp, eyes low and lidded as you look up at him, a needy look on your face.

“There you go… Wasn’t hard to use your words, now was it..?” He murmurs, nipping at your earlobe as he presses his hips forward, slowly pressing his cock inside you. 

You gasp as you feel him pressing into you, slowly stretching you wider. Your arms move to wrap around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder.

He slides in inch by inch, groaning softly as he feels the warmth of your walls hug his cock tightly, squeezing and pulsing around him needily.

You clutch onto him tightly while panting, feeling the sting of the stretch when he finally bottoms out, his cock buried deep inside you, top of his cock nudging against your cervix. 

He holds still for a moment, pressing kisses to your shoulder as he waits for you to get used to his size. “You’re so tight…it’s must’ve been awhile, hm?” He murmurs into your ear, you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice as he whispers to you. “How’s long it’s been, sweetheart…?”

He starts to roll his hips forward, slowly thrusting into you with long strokes. “Do you not wanna tell me, pretty girl…?” He hums, running his tongue up, along your neck before nipping at the skin of your jawline. 

You whine as he starts to thrust into you, soft moans falling from your lips as you flutter your eyes shut. “I..I don’t know…” You mutter, voice shaky as you speak. “It’s been too long…few years…”

You don’t want to admit it but it’s been well over a few weeks or months. Not having sex since you still lived in Belobog…

He grins at this, feeling smug at the thought of him being first in a long time, and he can tell just by how you’re acting, moaning with each slow drag of his hips, clutching onto him tightly and squeezing around his length like a vice, when he’s barely fucked you yet… It’s now feeling very obvious to him you haven’t felt like this in awhile.

He hums softly, his gloved hands sliding to your hips, grasping them tightly. “Then I guess I’ll have to screw you real good, huh?” 

He starts to speed up his movements, pulling your hips along with his, rolling his hips into you at a pace that’s just perfect.

You whimper, hands grasping at the back of his shirt as you feel him thrust into you deeper and harder, soft smacks filling the room from your hips slapping against his.

He groans against your neck, one of his hands sliding up to wrap around your throat, squeezing slightly as he grinds into you. “You feel so good...” He mumbles, teeth nipping at your shoulder while you moan and gasp.

You whine as you feel his gloved hand wrap around your throat, squeezing hard enough to make your face feel warm but gently enough you can still breathe.

Your legs wrap around his hips, locking at the ankle as you pull him closer to you, desperate to feel him deeper inside you.

Aventurine moans shakily as he feels your legs wrap around him tightly, urging him closer. He starts to speed his pace up more, fighting the urge to slam into you with all of his strength.

His hand on your hip pulls you in tandem with his thrusts, hips meeting his halfway as he thrusts into you, feeling your walls twitch around his length. 

Lewd noises escape your lips as you feel him pull you along with his movements. You feel him shift his hips before starting to slam into you harder.

You let out a loud gasp, feeling his tips slamming against your g-spot. You tighten your arms and legs around him, practically holding onto him for dear life as he smirks down at you.

“Right there, huh?” He sneers, starting to pound into your harder, slamming against your sweet spot over and over as you squirm and sob, gasping for air as you feel his hand tighten around your throat. 

He pulls away to look at you more directly, smirking down at you as his lust filled eyes stare down at you. “You’re so pretty like this…” He sighs, his hand sliding from your throat to squeeze your breast, groping it roughly as he continues to pound into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix as you sputter and gasp beneath him.

You feel the knot in your lower abdomen start to tighten and twist, signaling you to your impending orgasm.

You look up at him with teary eyes and a blissed out expression, your hands moving to clutch at the bedsheets as you sob and whimper. The feeling of him slamming against your cervix while his hand squeezes your breast before his thumb rolls over your nipple, making your eyes flutter shut and your walls squeeze him tighter.

He drags his hand down from your breast to your waist, squeezing the plush skin as he uses it as leverage to thrust into you even harder, loud, wet smacking sounds filling your ears as you moan louder, pushing your head back into the mattress, arching your lower back as you feel the cord in your abdomen about to snap.

Aventurine suddenly slows down his movements, smirking down at you as he watches your face shift to a needy pout, eyes squeezing shut as you sob from the burning feeling of your orgasm being halted so abruptly.

“Not yet, pretty girl…” He murmurs, sitting up to pull off his shirt, revealing his fit torso, albeit a bit skinny he has the build of a swimmer, which you find attractive. He tosses the shirt next to his jacket before returning his attention to you.

He hums as he slides his gloved hands down to your thighs, squeezing them before moving to cup under your knees, pushing them up so their level with your shoulders. 

Aventurine slowly starts to build up the pace again, leaning it to press his forehead to yours, letting your ankles dangle over his shoulders. 

This position feels like he’s somehow even deeper inside you. His fat tip grazing your g-spot with each thrust. You moan and gasp louder, head feeling light and hazy as he pounds into you, wet slaps emanating throughout the room with each thrust.

He leans in to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue running over your lips before his tongue sweeps into your mouth, sliding with yours as he groans against your lips…

His hands move to nudge your legs off his shoulders , letting them wrap around his hips once again. “You…feel…amazing…” He mumbles between kisses, his eyes fluttering shut as his hands slide under you, up your back and to your shoulders, his hands gently grabbing them as he pulls you close against his chest.

You moan into his mouth, his lips on yours as he swallows your sounds. You move one of your arms to wrap around his neck, holding him close while the other one slides under his arm to his upper back, hands slightly scratching at the skin there.

He continues to slam into you with reckless abandon, ditching whatever self control he may have had to fuck you how he-so desperately-is doing.

He groans as his hips pound against yours, wet slaps and lewd moans coming from the both of your lips as you both feel your orgasms building.

You let out pretty sobs against his lips, nails digging into his upper back, leaving crescent marks and scratches on the fair skin as your hips buck along with his hard thrusts, desperately chasing your orgasm.

Aventurine isn’t faring any better, whining and groaning into your mouth as he slams into you harder and faster, feeling your walls pulse around his twitching cock, basically signaling him of your nearing orgasm. 

He breaks the kiss, burying his face into your neck as he moans softly, one of his hands sliding up to grasp the back of your neck while the other squeezes your shoulder tighter. 

“m’...close...” You sob, clutching onto him as tightly as possible as you feel your eyes water from pleasure, head hazy and body fuzzy. 

“Yeah? Me too, sweetheart…” He rasps, his hand slipping from your under shoulder to slide between your sweat slicken bodies, gloved hand finding your clit, his thumb rubbing harsh, little circles against it. “Go ahead, cum on my cock, gorgeous...”

His pace speeds up even further, slamming against your sweet spot over and over as he works to push you over the edge, his lips pressing against your neck.

You let out a loud, whiny sob as you feel the cord in your stomach snap, orgasm washing over you.

Your head feels lightheaded as pleasure clouds your senses, hips bucking and walls spasming around his cock while your juices spill out of you, covering his shaft and your inner thighs. Your body twitching against his as pitiful whines and gasps fall from your lips.

He falls over the edge immediately after you, his cock twitching inside you before he abruptly pulls out, spilling his seed all over your lower stomach as he groans against your neck, his hand squeezing the back of your neck as his hips buck against you, rutting his twitching cock against your lower stomach.

You hold onto him tightly as you both come down from your orgasms, staying in each-others arms. Panting and shuddering breaths are the only things you can hear.

After a few minutes, Aventurine sits up, gazing down at you as he looks at the mess you’ve both made, a small grin appearing on his pretty face. “Guess we’re both messy, huh..?” He murmurs, sliding his hands down your side to your hips. 

You don’t respond to him directly, mumbling some random insult as you lift your arms to cover your face.

He can’t help but stare, looking down at your flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, chest rising and falling with each shaky breath, looking completely fucked out.

He hums softly, pulling away from you. “Where you going...?” You mumble, watching him stand up and start to pull his pants up from the corner of your eyes.

“To grab something…” He replied, glancing at you from over his shoulder as he buckles belt before walking to your bathroom. 

You sit in a bit of a daze, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how things are gonna play out now the IPC now that you’ve fucked one their higher ups. What excuse is Aventurine gonna make for your debt? Is he even going to actually get rid of it for you?

God, you’re an idiot.

You’re about to smack yourself in the forehead when Aventurine comes back into the room with a wet towel.

“Erm….what’s...that for?” You ask tiredly, rubbing the back of your neck with your palm as you glance away from him.

“You’re stomach, sweetheart.” He hums, nodding down at your stomach, covered with his seed. 

“Oh...nice…” You mumble, watching as he sits across from you on the bed, leaning in as he starts to wipe the sticky mess from your stomach.

It’s quiet between the two of you, it’s awkward but not unbearable. “Thank you..” You say softly, as he finishes wiping the seed from off of you. 

He smiles slightly. “I made the mess..why wouldn’t I clean it up?” He hums, tossing the towel somewhere onto the floor.

You shrug in response before yawning, covering your mouth with your hand. Aventurine looks at you, a small smirk on his lips. “You’re quite pretty, y’know...” He tilts his head slightly as he looks at you, eyebrows raised slightly as he looks at you.

Your cheeks flush slightly as you look away, a bit embarrassed. “Mhm…thank you...” you mumble, scooting closer to him you place your hand over his, thumb rubbing over his gloved knuckles. “Are you staying…?” 

Your question catches him off guard, a surprised look spreading on your face for a second before a grin spreads on his face. “I’ll stay if you want me to, pretty...” He hums, his hands moving to gently grab your waist, pulling you closer. “I want you to...” 

“Okay gorgeous..I’ll stay..”

You don’t know when you fell asleep but you did. His arms wrapped around you while you cuddled up against him.

You didn’t expect him to stay, it was only a one night stand but you didn’t expect…this.

When you woke up you found everything in your hotel room tidy and neat, like he cleaned everything up for you before leaving.

You yawned and rubbed your eyes as you slid out of bed, walking to where your things were arranged neatly.

You bent down, starting to look for the briefcase that held your money. 

You started to grow frantic when you couldn’t find it, not in any drawers, on any counters or with any of your things. 

You stomped around, tearing the room apart until you crouched down to look under the bed, where it was shoved far under to where you can barely reach.

You groan as you drag it out from under the bed, standing it and placing it onto the bed as you flick the clasps and open the briefcase.

Your stomach drops.

Your fucking heart drops.

Your eyes widen and your jaw clenches, all the money that was in there gone, down to the penny.

You feel your face grow hot as you look at what’s been left in the box, a single, small note. Picking up the small paper you grow more angered, face scrunching to a scowl as you read the note’s contents.

Thank you for the night, as promised your debt is erased and the IPC will no longer have you listed as a fugitive but I took your money as a consequence for not initially paying your debt.

Actions have consequences, sweetheart. Be more smart next time.

-- Aventurine..

Fucking bastard. You might just kill him if you see his face again.

ty for reading sweethearts!! and thank you to my lovely friend who gave me suggestions and proofread this big'ol thing :p

[scremogirl]

✪⁂✫彡𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓✵✥☆ミ★ ???

𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞-𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞

Yandere Student Council Pres x Nonchalant reader

I’m not sure if I should retitle this to Yandere! Childhood friend x reader or not. There’s not a lot of the fact he’s the SCP shown in the story. I felt like I went a little off track. I got so consumed in writing😭. I already have a post like that on my page so I didn’t want to make it confusing. I don’t know if I should’ve said unemotional reader either. Idk let me know what you think. Have fun reading!

He was at the top of the food chain. Good grades, teachers liked him, students feared him, rich, good looking, and most importantly; the student council president. With that being said, why wouldn’t he leave you alone?

Takenya was a stuck up priss in your opinion. Always lecturing you about things you could do in order of improvement. You weren’t popular but you weren’t one of those weird Naruto kids that sat in the back of the class and ate crayons either. You just existed. Someone so average at everything somehow attracted the most “perfect” guy in school. Your grades were fine; a straight A-B student with the occasional C here and there. Your attendance on the other hand… well maybe he’s not so wrong about that, but who actually wants to be at school anyways?

“I don’t understand why you don’t try harder? You could easily surpass most of our class,”

“You need to come to school. This behavior would never pass in the real world. What would your employer think of you just not showing up?”

“Chocolate for lunch…really? If you want to stay healthy you’ll need to-“

Why does he care so much anyways? Sure, you used to be friends in like what, fifth grade? You used to get bullied in school for being different. You just didn’t like the things that kids your age were supposed to like. But… it never bothered you. You weren’t emotionless per se, it’s just, why care what others have to think?

Mellisa Grey. The girliest of all girls. She used to have it out for you when you were younger. Calling you names and bumping your shoulder whenever you walked by. You put up with it until the end of the year; fifth grade graduation. That evening she and her crew thought it’d be funny to pour milk on the shy little nerdy boy in your class. Some spilled on your dress, that you didn’t mind, but the tears of the boy next to you made you. Something inside of you just snapped. You shot up from your seat grabbing a first full of her hair and slammed her head onto the wooden table. Not stopping until you saw the wire of her pink, sparkly braces fly out her mouth. Well, that was what you wanted to do; the teachers came too early for you to inflict any further damage. The most you got was a broken nose and a lawsuit. She transferred schools after that, and you got the whoopin of a lifetime. You didn’t care. You didn’t feel bad at all. If anything you felt elated seeing her in pain and the rage on her parents faces as the cussed child you out. You didn’t cry or yell when your parents picked you up. You weren’t phased by the belt or the palm of your mothers hand striking you. You didn’t feel anything. So why were you so upset on someone else's behalf anyways?

You knew this kid. I mean, how couldn’t you when he would follow you around 24/7.

“H-Hi… my names Takenya” you just blankly stared. His sheepish gaze barely meets yours from behind his big fat glasses.

“…Do I know you?”

“Well…no. But I know you!”

“Good for you I guess.” You continued to go back and forth on the swing, not acknowledging the boy's existence at all. The swing he sat on remained stationary, never once dropping his gaze from you.

“Uhm… I just wanted to thank you for yesterday,” Hm? What was he talking about? He saw the confusion in your face when you turned around to ask and beat you to the point.

“You probably don’t know me. We’re not in the same class,” Right. So why is he talking to you? Again, before you could ask he cut you off.

“The other day when recess started you helped me pick up all of my stuff after Carter pushed me down; remember? I-I just wanted to say thank you for sticking up for me” Ohhh, you do remember him now. He was that shy little rich kid that transferred here at the end of fourth grade. He didn’t have many friends, let alone any at all. Everyone had grown up with each other and formed friend groups at this poin. He was a little late to the party so he didn’t fit in. He wasn’t worried about the next episode of Ninjago and didn’t find humor in looking up the words penis and vagina in the dictionary at the school library when the teacher wasn’t looking. His hair long, tied back into a neat ponytail and not buzzed into a Mohawk like half the boys in your grade. He had glasses that almost covered the entirety of his upper face. He always ate his pb&js on whole wheat instead of white and preferred celery sticks over fruit snacks. So, just like you, he got bullied just because he was different.

“Oh yea. I remember you now. You’re welcome by the way,” he grinned. The first time you saw him smile ever since he came to your school.

That marked the day of a long friendship.

That was until you went to middle school. You think puberty had something to do with it. He grew into his face more and sized down those jellyfishing glasses. His scrawny figure gained slightly more bulk and dressed in a more modern fashion. His hair remained the same; a bit shorter than before but still longer than most guys. You’ve always liked his hair. He would let you braid it sometimes when he was too distracted playing on his DS. He didn’t get acne like many of the other kids your grade either, skin smooth and clear. All the girls found him to die for. Your nonchalant behavior rubbed off on him and he became more confident in himself. Not letting his elementary school self be reflected into now. He became a bit too obsessed with his studies for a middle schooler; pushing all his ways on you. He would always follow you around blabbing about not attending gym class. He even started hanging around the same snotty rich kids he would complain to you about. You became annoyed. So you cut him off. Just like that. Stopped talking to him, answering his texts, not sitting with him at lunch or in class. Even after all the rejection at his advances, he came running back to you. Not willing to let you go so easily.

The school bell rings signaling the end of 4th pd and beginning of lunch. You were planning to go off campus today and not come back. Keys in hand you make your way to the student parking lot. However, someone’s blocking the exit. He’s gotten taller, about 6’2-6’3; sleeper build accommodating his height. Glasses thinner and sit perfectly on the bridge of his nose. Hair as long as ever, tyed back with that same white ribbon you gave him years ago; revealing an undercut. He fixes the collar of his button up and readjusts his tie and vest.

“And exactly…just where do you think your going?”

“To lunch,”

“The cafeteria is that way,” he points with a slender finger, decorated by a diamond ring. It shimers under the lights above reflecting against his matching earrings.

“Off campus,” he raises his eyebrow, folding his arms.

“Knowing you, you won’t come back. You do realize your request for a half day schedule is still pending right? You also recognize that I’m the one who assists the principal in granting them as well?” You don’t answer him, already knowing we're going with this.

“As I said before, your attendance needs improving before I-… we can grant it,” what a pain in the ass this guy is. You try to walk past him but he stops you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“I don’t eat school lunch. I’ll be back after,” he gives you an unamused look. Hand gripping your shoulder a little tighter as you try to take another step.

“You know I can’t let you do that. Not unless you don’t want a new schedule,” he pauses.

“Not unless I come with you,” you look up.

“You’re paying?” His eyes widened slightly, shocked at your willingness. But he can’t be too surprised, he knows you don’t care about anything unless you get what you want.

“Of course I am. You need to spend your money on other priorities; like a new math textbook,” you ignore the subtle jab and walk to his car. No need to ask where as he parks next to you everyday to make sure he knows you’ve actually show up. Definitely not because your the first thing he wants to see in the morning.

“I don’t understand why you come to McDonald’s of all places,” he lets out a sigh, handing his card to the drive through worker. He drives up to the next window waiting for the food.

“It’s not healthy. You seriously should consider my offer in taking you to that new place down the street,”. He looks over when he doesn’t get a response; noticing the music blasting from your headphones as you look at the door. He sighs again before taking the food from the workers hand and grabbing your headphones. You turn your head to look at him but your gaze shifts to the bag in his hand. You reach over and grab a fry out of the bag and he s his eyes. Pulling into the parking lot, he silently watches you eat. This brings him so much nostalgia. He misses eating lunch with you everyday. Ranting while you just sit there and chew. He misses having someone listening to him about something that’s not related to school. After you stopped *attempted* talking to him in the beginning of 7th grade, his heart felt like it got ripped out of his chest.

He’s never felt anything his whole life. His father would tell him that one day he’ll find someone who makes him feel everything, makes life worth it. He’d seen the love shared between his parents everyday. He always wanted that. In the fourth grade all of that came true. He saw you getting off the bus making your way to school. He saw the way you helped up Michael Lemitzki, a dorky little boy, after Conner pushed him down. Shaggy hair, braces lining his teeth, comic books all on the floor. How pathetic. You weren’t scared of Conner at all. He was bigger than you and more popular than you, but you didn’t care. You kept a straight face as he threatened you and held your composure. No emotion showing whatsoever.

He thought you were beautiful. It was love at first sight. He was too busy staring at you to hear his father calling out to him. He followed his son's gaze to you. He looked back down at the small boy and gave a knowing smile. Takenya just stared at the other boy hugging you with tears down his face. Why is he touching you like that? Push him away already! That day he purposely made himself a target to the bullying of Melissa and Conner. Hoping that one day, you’ll save him the same way you did Jacob. He got bigger glasses, grew his hair out, and started dressing like the typical “nerd”. He would leave candies in your cubby, prized limited edition Pokémon cards in your backpack, brand new color pencils and markers showed up around you. He started to lose hope though. Why haven’t you noticed him yet!? Sure he’s never actually talked to you.. but still! Could you not see his effort?! Did you not care? He sat alone at recess that fateful day. He was randomly pushed down, papers and crayons flying out his small hands. He wasn’t in the mood for Connors teasing today. To caught up on the fact that the love of his life may never see him they way he’s dreamed of. Oh the dramatic mind of a fifth grader. He clutched the safety scissors that flew out of his pencil pouch watching the dick of an elementary schooler turn around. He was about to get up but stopped as he saw someone bend down beside him. It was you! You helped gather all his things and placed them into his arms. His heart pounded in his chest and the blush on his face spread like wildfire. Before he could say anything you walked away. Taking your place on the swing set. He hurriedly put all his things away before trying to build up the courage to come talk to you. He took to long, however, as the teacher soon yelled for everyone to make their way into the line back to their respective class.

As he reminisces on the past, an alarm rings. Telling him that it’s time to make his way back to school. You’ve already finished all your food and somehow managed to take your headphones back.

“What?” You say snapping him out of his trance. He didn’t even realize he was staring.

“Nothing,”

You make your way back to the school and go your separate ways. He walks you to class ensuring that you get there. Out the corner of his eye he sees someone wave to you. Lemitzki. His hairs more well kept, ditched the glasses for contacts showing of his green eyes. He’s taller and has more muscles now. The only thing that hasn’t changed is the jagged line that makes it’s way across his right cheek, interfering with his dimple as he smiles. It’s been awhile, the scar healed well. The once clutzy boy looks at the door and freezes, hand dropping and going pale. There’s a silent stare off between the two before the late bell rings. Takenya makes his way to class, a slight smile on his face at a sudden memory.

Watching him walk away, a fist tightens. Little does he know someone was planning on getting their revenge.

Hi loves! I hope you guys enjoyed. Take is an OC of mine I’ve had for a while just never had a name for him until now. Like his concept was in my head foreverrrr. He might be a reoccurring character. I really like him. But I did put one shot so I’m not sure. Lemme know what y’all want. Check out this post below for a little more context. Hope you enjoyed.

-Love, Sos❤️

[boxtea]

🎀Imagine doing Sam’s makeup for him🎀

Sam Monroe x Reader ☕️

Not proofread

Fluff but sams a pervert

Sam only allowed you to do his makeup so you’d sit in his lap. He held onto you, his hands resting just above your butt as you held onto his chin. Your pretty pink makeup bag was sprawled out on his floor around you two.

“Sam you’re being difficult!” You huff as he moves his face away from your fluffy makeup brush. “How much shit are you gonna put on me..” he groaned out. He originally thought you were going to help him with his everyday messy eyeliner but to his disappointment you were covering him in glitter and pink pigments. “I just wanna make you look pretty!!” You say as you hit his chest.

You dotted foundation on his face. Your shade wasn’t exactly a match for him but it wasn’t terribly far off if you just didn’t use too much. Sam was very obviously staring at your tits, they jiggled just the tiniest bit as you blended out the product.

“Look up.” You command and he obliges, letting you dot concealer under his eyes. “This is so stupid.” He complained as you blended it out and tilted his head back down.

“Suck in your cheeks.” And he does, allowing you to put blush on his cheek bones with a big fluffy brush. Of course loving him enough to use your fancy Dior blush. “You look so cute!!” You squeal out as he rolls his eyes. You grab a cute frosty highlighter to put onto his cheeks and nose.

“Pink or blue?” You ask with a big grin on your face. “Blue.” He answers gruffly, wanting to get this over with. You use a lighter blue in his inner corner to highlight it and a darker blue on his outer corner, blending it under the eyes. You used a mid point between the two in the middle of the eyelid to blend them together.

“Alright alright we’re almost done.” You say as you reach for your mascara. “Open your eyes please.” You ask but as soon as you bring the wand close to his eyes he flinches. “Sam!!! Stay still!” You roughly grab his jaw, your manicured nails digging into his skin a bit. You wiggle the wand from the base of his lashes all the way to the tip, only applying two coats.

To apply his lip gloss you put it on yourself first, before giving him a fat kiss on the lips, successfully transferring it onto him. But to your dismay he leans in for more, shoving his tongue into your mouth and making out with you, smearing the lip gloss all over both your mouths.

“Sam you look so pretty!!” You giggle out as you pull away, dragging him to your mirror to show him. “I did such a good job!!” He again rolls his eyes and pats your head. “You did a very good job. Now get this off me.”

[copper-16]

She Feels Safe With You

Ingrid comes to a realization about her wife as a mother after a particularly hard day with a fussy, upset baby.

(a/n: this was requested by someone on ao3! It's honestly half coherent but life I am riding the struggle bus a tad bit ust wanted to write something soft and sweet about these three, hence this!)

Mapi never really considered herself a crier, not just as a general rule. 

She did not cry when she got hurt, or when she was frustrated, or when she watched a sad movie. 

She cried occasionally, sure, but it wasn’t a daily, or weekly, or even monthly occurrence. 

The Spaniard had cried when Ingrid had walked down the aisle, when she had resigned from the national team. She had cried when she got the notification that Spain had won the World Cup, an event she was not present for. 

When they found out they were pregnant, Mapi cried. Ingrid had been in too much disbelief to cry at first, not truly believing that it had worked, not after two failed transfers. 

But the center back had cried instantly, fat, bumble bee like tears rolling down her cheeks as she thought about the fact that they were actually going to be having a baby. 

It probably should have been a sign of what was to come, in the future. 

Mapi cried at nearly every ultrasound, tears springing to her eyes whenever they simply wheeled the doppler, practically. Ingrid had begun to joke that her wife had turned into Pavlov’s dog, except it was listening to their baby's heartbeat at the appointments. It earns her a withering glance, as Mapi roughly shoved her tears away. 

“Are you going to cry every time you hold her? What is going to happen when you hear her heartbeat when she is no longer inside of me?” Ingrid sassed, though Mapi does not dignify her with a response. 

The Norwegian has a relatively easy pregnancy, thank god. She keeps waiting for the wild emotional highs and lows, or the cravings, but neither really come. She had her moments, sure, but in the large percentage of the time, she felt normal. 

What had been more fun, honestly, was to watch her wife turn into a complete and utter pile of mush, emotionally. 

She had never seen Mapi cry as much as she did in the lead up to Elena’s birth. Sometimes she would walk out of their bedroom to see Mapi sitting on the couch, tears running down her face as she looked straight ahead, not even really looking at anything in particular. 

“What are you crying about?” Ingrid had asked, her head cocked to the side in confusion. The Spaniard looked back toward her, her brows furrowed in confusion as she shook her head. 

“I’m not really…I’m not really sure?” Mapi asked, her words a question rather than a statement. She took Ingrid in for a second, the swell of her stomach, and couldn’t help the fresh wave of tears that overtook her once more. 

“We’re having a daughter,” she breathed out, her words slightly gasping over the wavering of emotion in her voice. Ingrid made her way over to the couch, settling next to her wife as she curled into her. 

Mapi moved to wrap her arms around Ingrid, as she usually did, but the dark haired woman stopped her, softly. Instead, she took her wife's hands gently in her own, pressing a kiss to each of her palms before she placed them over her belly. 

Ingrid relished in the way that her wife let out the tiniest little sigh of relief, even as more tears dripped down her face. 

“That’s your daughter in there,” Ingrid insisted, her voice soft. A tiny kick pressed against the center back’s hand, as if to punctuate the defender’s point. Mapi closed her eyes, even more tears leaking out of her eyes as she nodded. 

The Spaniard was terrified that she wouldn’t be connected to Elena, because she wasn’t the one who carried her. She was terrified that she wouldn’t love her daughter, or be a good parent, that she wouldn’t do or say the right things. 

It was easy for Ingrid to know that Mapi was going to be a good parent. Because the reality of the matter was that her wife cared, deeply, and that already made her a hell of a better parent than a lot of people out there. 

But Mapi still struggled to see that, no matter how much she was reminded. 

————

Mapi cried when Elena was born. She cried as she held her little baby, as she pressed the pad of her pointer finger to her little nose. Elena stayed firmly asleep when she was in Mapi’s arms, never once fussing until she was passed around. 

It became a bit of a theme, their daughter sleeping on Mapi. 

Ingrid didn’t notice it at first, not when she was a baby. She was so little after all, all she did was sleep, practically. 

But still, Ingrid snapped a million photos of her daughter, and so she got a fair bit of Elena sleeping against Mapi. It was where her daughter always seemed happiest, and as much as the Spaniard panicked and turned to Ingrid when the baby was fussing, it was her who was the best at calming Elena. 

It was only when Elena got a little bit older, that Ingrid finally pieced it together. 

The baby was a little bit older, a little bit more alert. She was nearly a year old when she began to resist sleeping, not as easy to put down, waking up early, becoming fussy. 

Ingrid had been at her wits end all morning. The baby wouldn’t stop crying, and her head hurt, and she was tired. 

She wanted nothing more than to go into her bedroom, curl up with her wife, and sleep for more than two hours at a time. But she couldn’t do that, not with her baby here, not when Elena needed her. 

When the doorbell rang, the Norwegian honestly wanted to scream. Elena looked as though she was just about to fall asleep, but the baby jerked awake as soon as the doorbell rang, her nap forgotten. 

The crying was back, and Ingrid held the baby to her chest as she ripped the door open, lashing out at whatever was closest. 

The culprit just happened to be Frido. 

“Fridolina Rolfö I swear to GOD–” Ingrid started, only to be cut off before she could say something she truly regretted. 

“Ingrid.” 

The voice was soft, and probably shouldn’t have been audible over the crying of their daughter, but Ingrid would never not hear her wife. The defender turned around, finding Mapi standing behind her with a sympathetic look on her face. 

The Spaniard had just gotten off the phone from a brand meeting, just a few minutes prior. But she had called Frido before the meeting started, telling the Swede that she needed to come steal Ingrid for a bit. Feed her, let her nap in peace, get away from the house for a bit. 

The Norwegian looked back at her wife with confusion. She hadn’t made plans with Frido, and she knew that she couldn’t leave Elena like this. 

But the Spaniard reached for the baby regardless, taking her from Ingrid. The dark haired woman looked over her wifes face. There was exhaustion present, lines written into her face, bags under her eyes. 

But there was also understanding there. Some nerves, but understanding nonetheless. 

“I called Frido to come take you back to her house for a bit, to have a little bit of a break. Eat a proper meal. Get some sleep without a crying baby around. Rest for a while, princesa. We will be here when you return,” Mapi promised, leaning forward to kiss Ingrid’s cheek. The Norwegian panicked, looking from Frido to her wife. 

“But–” Ingrid started, knowing how nervous it made Mapi to be left alone with the baby. 

Still, even all these months later, she worried that she was struggling to connect with her daughter. All of Ingrid’s movements seemed so natural, so perfected. And somehow still, hers felt awkward and stinted, never quite right, never as maternal or as easy as she wanted them to be. 

She wanted to do better, though, for her daughter and her wife, who was clearly exhausted. Not that the center back wasn’t equally as tired, she just couldn’t very well do anything about it right this very second. But she could do something about Ingrid’s exhaustion. 

“No, we will be fine, Ingrid. Take a few hours, amor, you are exhausted,” Mapi soothed, gently pressing the Norwegian out of the door with a soft hand, allowing Frido to lead her away. 

It turned out, Ingrid needed it more than she thought humanly possible. When she got back to the Swede’s house, there was Sodd waiting for her on the table, and she practically collapsed into the bowl she ate so quickly. 

She napped in Frido’s guest bedroom, sleeping for four straight hours. 

When she awoke, she felt like a new woman. She emerged from the bedroom with a small, sheepish smile. 

“I am SO sorry for snapping at you this morning,” Ingrid apologized, even as Frido held up her hand. 

“Ingrid, you were exhausted and carrying a screaming baby, if I had been you I would have been roundhouse kicking someone,” Frido admitted, and the defender couldn’t help the tiny laugh that she released at the thought. As she came back to herself, she couldn’t help but straighten, a thought racing through her mind. 

“Oh my god, Mapi is still home with the baby…can you take me back?” Ingrid asked in a slight panic, and her Swedish teammate quickly sprung into action to grab her car keys. 

“She is still so worried that she is not doing a good job with Elena,” the Norwegian admitted as they drove, her heart punctuated with worry. 

“Still?” Frido asked, well aware of the struggles that the center back had during the first few months of Elena’s life. 

“Not as much now, but still. It does not come as naturally to her as she wants it to be, but she still does such a good job, somehow. I do not know how she doesn’t see it, really,” Ingrid revealed, and Frido let out a small, sad sigh. 

“She is so hard on herself,” the Swede commented, and Ingrid could only cringe as she nodded, her agreement weighing on the car heavily. 

Frido parked the car in the car park of their apartment building, coming up with Ingrid to check on Mapi and Elena. They were both expecting to still hear crying as they unlocked the door, but the house was…quiet. 

Ingrid looked toward her teammate in confusion before they walked into the house, both of them searching for the Spaniard. 

“Mapi?” Frido called out softly as she checked the kitchen, only to hear the Norwegian call out to her in the living room. 

When the blonde walked into the room, she stopped next to Ingrid, surprise coating her expression. 

Mapi was fast asleep on the couch, with Elena curled into her chest. Mapi was only in a sports bra, her shirt discarded on the floor. The baby was stripped down to her diaper, pressed into her Mami’s chest comfortably, completely asleep as well. 

Frido looked from the Spaniard to the Norwegian, her eyebrow raised. 

“I don’t know, looks pretty natural to me,” she shrugged, and Ingrid softened as she nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight. She pulled her phone out, snapping a photo and placing it in an album on her phone that she was well acquainted with. 

Ingrid left the two of them, seeing Frido out before she returned to the living room. She sat on the floor, simply staring up at the two of them as they slept. Elena was completely safe, engulfed by Mapi’s arms. 

How Mapi could keep her daughter so safe and secure, and still question whether she was a good parent, Ingrid sometimes did not know. It seemed so blatantly obvious to the dark haired woman, that her wife was an amazing parent. 

She only wished that the brunette could see it herself. 

It was only another half hour before Elena began to fuss, and Ingrid quickly plucked the baby from her wife’s arms, going to feed and change her. The Spaniard was dead to the world, and Ingrid decided to simply let her sleep. 

Lord knows the woman could use it, just as she had needed it. 

But even after Elena was fed and changed, she continued to fuss. She cried softly, not very loudly or in a grumpy way, but as though she was not completely happy. 

Ingrid tried everything. She bounced the baby, she walked her around, she made faces at her, she covered her in blankets, she laid her down. 

Nothing seemed to appease her daughter. Not even when Ingrid stripped her own shirt off, wondering if maybe she just enjoyed the skin to skin contact. 

But still Elena kicked her little legs, letting out a weak, tired cry. The defender held her baby out in front of her, her eyebrows furrowed. 

“What do you need?” Ingrid asked aloud, though she wasn’t really expecting an answer. Still Elena let out a frustrated cry, wriggling slightly. The Norwegian paused for a moment, before turning around and heading for the living room to test a theory that was beginning to form. 

And sure enough, as soon as the baby was laid on her Mami’s chest, she quieted instantly. 

The brunette shifted in her sleep, wrapping her arms protectively around Elena, mumbling incoherently as she snuggled into her. Ingrid sat down on the couch next to her, cuddling into her wife as she slept, and helping to keep their daughter held securely as she slept. 

Mapi awoke when Elena started fussing again, waking gently as she wrapped her arms around her daughter, her attention completely on Elena even as she woke up. 

“Shh shh mi sol, esta bien, esta bien,” Mapi murmured, picking Elena up and going to sit up, at which point she registered Ingrid next to her. 

“Oh, hello princesa,” the Spaniard murmured, settling their daughter in her arms before she leaned over to deposit a kiss on her wife’s cheek. She paused though, when she found Ingrid crying, her phone in hand. 

“Ingrid? Is everything okay?” Mapi asked softly, her voice thick with sleep but still filled with concern. The Norwegian nodded easily, running her hand over Elena’s back as she set her phone down on the couch. 

“You are the best Mami,” she replied simply, watching as a flicker of doubt overtook the Spaniard’s face before she nodded, trying her hardest to look encouraged. The Norwegian looked at her wife for a moment before she reached for their daughter. 

“Here, give me Elena,” Ingrid said gently, taking the baby and going to put her down for an actual nap. 

When Ingrid returned, she found the center back sitting on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest. 

“I realized something, when I came back from Frido’s,” the defender began as she sat back down, reaching for her phone once more. Mapi turned to look at her, quiet and more than a little curious. 

“Ever since Elena was born, I’ve kept an album on my phone that is just pictures of her sleeping on you. And whenever I feel sad, or upset, or I just need a little pick me up, I always look at it. It’s my two favorite people in the world, after all,” Ingrid explained, and her words are so gentle that Mapi can’t help but smile shyly, even after all these years. 

“She’s always loved sleeping on you, María. You are the best at calming her down, you are the first to get her to sleep. She feels safe sleeping on you, amor,” Ingrid argued softly, though Mapi looked immediately posed to disagree. 

“Look,” Ingrid insisted, pressing her phone into the hands of her wife. The album is already pulled up, simply waiting for the Spaniard. 

Hundreds of pictures. 

Thousands of pictures, even. 

All of Elena snuggled into her Mami, fast asleep. They started when she was a newborn, so tiny that Mapi had struggled to even hold her without feeling fear. 

As the little girl grew, so did the Spaniard’s resolve to be there for her daughter. Her confidence grew as well, her worry subsided a little bit. 

But more than anything, over the last year, her love for the little girl grew immensely. Tears slid down her cheeks as she scrolled through the album, through the actual, physical proof that just served to show how much she had come to care for their daughter. 

The brunette still had no clue how she could hold so much love for someone so incredibly small, but she did.

The Spaniard stood suddenly, handing Ingrid’s phone back to her before she walked back into their apartment. It was the number one rule, not to move a sleeping baby, but Mapi did not care, not right now. 

She picked Elena up from her crib, tucking her daughter into her arms tightly, praying that she could always protect her from the world as much as she could right now. 

The baby stayed fast asleep, little hot puffs of air hitting her in the chest, where Elena was positioned. Mapi bowed her head downward, her tears dripping from her nose and onto her daughter's perfect little head as she pressed kiss after kiss to the crown of her head. 

“Te amo mucho,” Mapi murmured, as she wondered if finally, finally, she was enough. 

“She feels safe with you,” Ingrid commented from her spot leaning against the doorway of the nursery. The center back looked up for a moment, her eyes thick with tears. “She is always falling asleep with you, always soothed by you. She feels safe with you, amor. She feels safe with her Mami, and that is enough, you are enough,” Ingrid emphasized, and Mapi struggles to keep her composure as her lungs spasm, burning from the effort of keeping her cries quiet. 

Elena opens her eyes carefully, blinking up at Mapi with sleep ridden eyes. 

“Mami,” she rasps, reaching out for the Spaniard. Mapi cradles her daughter close to her, pressing her face into Elena’s skin as the little girl giggles lightly, reaching out to pull at a lock of brunette hair. 

The Spaniard cannot bring herself to care as she pulls the little girl back, looking her firmly in the eyes. Elena smiles back at her, content and happy, safe and secure. 

“Te amo tanto. No puedo vivir sin ti,” Mapi murmured to her daughter, as she felt a part of her heart settle. 

Maybe it hadn’t always been the most natural thing to her, to hold a child or change a diaper or play with a baby. 

But what she made up for in lack of skill in the beginning, she had made up for with an entirely overwhelming amount of love. Because no matter what she did not know, there was absolutely nothing that Mapi would not do for her little girl. 

And maybe, at its core, that had always been enough. 

Maybe all they needed for everything to make sense was a little love, and a very long nap. 

[pucksandpower]

Ties That Bind

Charles Leclerc x royal!Reader + Max Verstappen x sister!Reader

Summary: life as Princess of the Netherlands is pretty perfect but when health issues become a (literal) royal pain, you discover a familial connection that will change your life forever

Warnings: struggles with infertility, child abandonment, serious health issues, medical procedures and treatments

This is what happens when I’m insane enough to try juggling writing an 8k+ word fic with studying in medical school

The night was a cascade of ethereal snowflakes, each one glistening under the pale moonlight, landing gracefully upon the earth. The silver car glided along the road, its headlights illuminating the path through the thick curtain of snow, like two piercing eyes navigating through sorrow.

Inside, Prince Frederik of the Netherlands drove in silent contemplation, the weight of the day’s news pressing heavily on his heart. Beside him, Princess Marianne stared out of the frosted window, her reflection capturing swollen eyes that glistened with fresh tears. Her fingers trembled slightly, crumpling yet another now irrelevant medical report indicating one more failed IVF attempt.

“I thought this time would be different,” Marianne whispered, her voice quivering. “I truly believed it.”

Frederik’s grip on the wheel tightened. He turned to his wife, pain evident in his eyes. “I know, my love. I know.”

As they drove, Frederik’s eyes caught a glimpse of something unusual by the side of the road. “What’s that?” He murmured, slowing the car.

Marianne followed his gaze. “It looks like a bundle ... stop the car!”

Frederik brought the vehicle to a halt. They both jumped out and hurried over to the mysterious object. As they approached, Marianne gasped. “Oh my God, Frederik ... it’s a baby!”

She quickly bent down to scoop the tiny, shivering form into her arms. The baby’s skin was cold, blue lips barely parting for shallow breaths as the thin pink blanket wrapped around it did little to fight the chill. “Who could do such a thing?” Marianne cried, holding the child close for warmth.

Frederik’s face hardened. “We need to get her to a hospital. Now.”

Back in the car, Marianne cradled the baby, trying to transfer her warmth. “Stay with us,” she murmured, tears spilling. “Please, stay with us.”

As they sped towards the hospital, Frederik reached over and held Marianne’s free hand. “It'’s a sign,” he whispered. “After everything we’ve been through today ... finding her like this ... it’s fate.”

Marianne looked down at the baby, her fingers gently brushing the soft wisps of hair on the child’s head. “Our little miracle in the snow,” she whispered back.

Frederik smiled faintly, squeezing Marianne's hand. “Yes, our snow angel. We’ll take care of her and she’ll take care of us.”

***

“You know, every time it snows, it feels like the world is celebrating the day we found you,” your father, now King Frederik, remarks, gazing out of the vast palace windows at the flurries descending from the sky.

You smile, reaching for a delicate pastry from the breakfast spread laid out before you. “And every snowflake reminds me of the warmth of this family that saved me from the cold.”

Your mother, Queen Marianne, hair now threaded with silver, gives you a loving glance. “Our snow angel, right when we needed you most.”

“Speaking of snow,” you muse, “I’m thinking of wearing the ice-blue gown for tonight’s gala. Thoughts?”

Your father raises an eyebrow, “For the Children’s Foundation event? Perfect choice. It complements the theme and matches the tiara your mother has picked for you to wear.”

You grin, “Who knew you had such a fashion sense?”

Your mother chuckles, “It’s a king thing. But he’s right. And with your sapphire necklace, you will be the talk of the gala.”

You take a sip of your tea, thinking of the evening ahead. “I want to ensure my speech captures the essence of our foundation’s work. It’s more than just another royal event, this is about making a real difference.”

Your father nods, “It always is for you. That genuine desire to impact lives, it’s how I know you will be a great Queen one day.”

You blush slightly, “I learned from the best.”

Your mother, with a hint of mischief, remarks, “And speaking of learning, have you decided on a dance partner for the first waltz? There’s quite a line-up available.”

You laugh, “Oh, Mom! Let’s not start matchmaking before breakfast is over.”

Your father joins in the mirth, “Give her a break, Marianne. Our snow angel must not melt.”

***

The regal hallways echo with the gentle patter of your heeled footsteps. Lately, the palace, your lifelong sanctuary, feels more like a maze. A sudden wave of dizziness makes you pause, leaning against a gilded wall for support.

“You okay there?” a soft voice calls. It’s your mother, her face etched with worry.

“Just a bit dizzy,” you mumble, attempting a reassuring smile.

She hurries over, her gown flowing. “You’ve been looking pale these past few days.”

Before you can reply, a sharp sensation pricks your nose. Touching it, you’re shocked to see blood on your fingertips. “Oh no,” you whisper, panic creeping into your voice.

Your mother’s eyes widen. “We need to see a doctor.”

“But the gala—”

“Forget the gala!” She interrupts. “Your health comes first.”

***

Inside the royal clinic, the room is a tense silence. Your father paces while your mother sits beside you, holding your hand tightly.

The family physician finally arrives, his expression somber. “Your Highness, Your Majesties,” he begins, “we’ve run several tests.”

“And?” Your father demands, halting his restless walk.

You take a deep, shaky breath, bracing yourself.

The doctor hesitates for a split second. “You have aplastic anemia.”

The room seems to close in. The words hang heavily, turning the opulent clinic cold.

Your mother’s voice trembles, “What does that mean?”

“It’s a condition where the bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells. This leads to fatigue, higher risk of infections, and uncontrolled bleeding,” the doctor explains.

Your mind races. The symptoms make sense now — the fatigue, dizziness, the nosebleed.

Your father’s face hardens, searching for hope. “What’s the treatment?”

The doctor looks grim, “The most effective treatment at this severity is a bone marrow transplant. We will need to find a matching donor.”

Your mother’s grip tightens on your hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We’ll find one. We have to.”

Your father nods. “We will move mountains if we have to.”

You muster a small smile, drawing strength from your parents. “One snowstorm at a time.”

***

“How long does it usually take to find a match?” Youu inquire, voice trembling ever so slightly.

Dr. Van der Meer, the lead hematologist on your case, sighs, “It varies, Your Highness. Some find a match within their family, others from the global database. It can take days or even months.”

Your mother breaks in desperately, “But surely, with our resources, we can expedite the process?”

Your father adds, “Every avenue, every connection we have at our disposal is yours to use, Doctor.”

Dr. Van der Meer nods, “I understand the urgency, Your Majesties. We’ve already started to search within the national database. Meanwhile, we advise immediate family to get tested first.”

You interject, a sense of realization dawning, “But I’m adopted. Our genetic makeup differs.”

Your father and mother exchange a heavy look, the weight of your situation pressing down on them.

“We still have a vast network, a whole nation even,” your father muses. “Surely someone out there is a match.”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates then says, “Actually, there has already been a hit from the database. A potential match.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Who?”

“We maintain confidentiality, Your Highness,” he replies. “But once we confirm the match and receive their consent, you will be informed.”

Your mother’s voice is tinged with hope. “So there’s a chance? A real chance?”

You lean forward eagerly. “When will we know more?”

Dr. Van der Meer offers a comforting smile. “Soon, Your Highness. For now, patience is our ally.”

***

“It’s been weeks, Doctor. Why haven’t we heard from the potential donor?” The frustration is clear in your mother’s voice.

Dr. Van der Meer looks up, choosing his words carefully. “The potential donor ... has some reservations.”

Your father’s brow furrows. “Reservations? Isn’t saving a life more important?”

The doctor clears his throat, “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Your Majesty. The potential donor is someone you’re familiar with.”

You lean forward, your curiosity piqued. “Who is it?”

There’s a momentary pause, the silence thickening. “Max Verstappen.”

Shock ripples through the room. The name isn’t just any name. It’s a name known to every Dutch citizen, celebrated in every corner of the nation.

Your mother blinks in disbelief. “The Formula 1 racer? We’ve met him multiple times at the Grand Prix. But why would he have reservations?”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates, “There’s more to it. We ran some further genetic tests, customary for close matches. The results were ... unexpected.”

Your father leans forward in anticipation. “Go on.”

The doctor takes a deep breath, “Max Verstappen is not just a match. He’s ... he’s your half-brother.”

The room goes still. The revelation hangs in the air, too staggering to fully comprehend.

You feel your world tilt. “That’s impossible.”

Your mother’s voice is a whisper, “How can that be?”

Dr. Van der Meer clears his throat. “The genetic markers were unmistakable. Given the rare degree of compatibility and the markers we found, there is no doubt.”

Your father runs a hand through his hair, trying to process the news. “So all these years, at every Grand Prix, we’ve been cheering for ... family?”

You chime in, a flurry of emotions whirling inside, “And he doesn’t know, does he?”

The doctor shakes his head, “No, not yet. That’s the reservation. Revealing this ... it changes everything for him too.”

Your mother is contemplative. “We’ve celebrated his victories, felt the pride of having him represent our country. And now, knowing he’s family ...”

You interject, “And now, we need him more than ever. Not as a driver, not as a national icon, but as family.”

Your father’s resolve strengthens. “We need to tell him. He deserves to know.”

***

“How do you even begin a conversation like this?” You wonder aloud, staring at the blank screen of your laptop.

Your father, deep in thought, answers, “Honestly, directly, and with sensitivity. It’s uncharted territory for all of us.”

Your mothers adds, “Perhaps start by expressing your genuine feelings, without the weight of our titles or his fame."

You nod slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Dear Max,” you repeat out loud as you begin typing, then pause. “Too formal?”

Your father shrugs, “It’s sincere. And that’s what matters.”

Taking a deep breath, you continue:

Dear Max,

This isn’t a typical letter and I struggle to find the right words. By now, you might have been informed by the medical team about our unexpected connection. I wanted to reach out personally, not as the Princess of Orange, but simply as ... family.

Your mother reads over your shoulder, “That’s a good start.”

I cannot imagine how jarring this news must be. It was for me too. All these years, our paths crossed, shared smiles exchanged, never knowing the deeper bond we shared.

“Maybe mention the Grand Prix, how it has been a tradition for us,” your father suggests.

Every year at the Dutch Grand Prix, my parents and I cheered for you, felt immense pride in your victories. The realization that those cheers were for family adds a layer of emotion I can’t quite put into words.

I understand if you need time to process this. But I want you to know that this revelation changes nothing about the respect and admiration I hold for you. However, it does add a depth of connection, a newfound kinship.

Your mother, her voice choked with emotion, suggests, “Maybe let him know why it’s important now, about your condition.”

The reason I am reaching out now is not just about our newfound connection but also because of a pressing health concern I am facing. I need a bone marrow transplant, and as it turns out, you are my best match.

“Reassure him,” your father adds. “It’s a big ask.”

I understand the weight of this request. There is no obligation, only hope. No matter your decision, I want you to know that discovering this bond, this link between us, is a gift in itself.

Please take all the time you need. Whatever you decide, I respect and cherish the connection we have discovered. Wishing you all the best on and off the track.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Your father, visibly moved, murmurs, “It’s perfect.”

Your mother nods in agreement, tears shimmering. “It’s from the heart. Now, we wait.”

***

The roaring engines on the racetrack outside fade as the door to the private lounge close behind you. Max Verstappen stands there, his usual confident demeanor replaced with apprehension. The weight of the recent revelations is thick in the air.

“You look different without the crown,” Max remarks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You chuckle softly, “And you without the helmet.”

The initial ice broken, the two of you sit. A beat of silence passes. Then Max, eyes searching yours, asks, “Why now?”

You take a deep breath. “I’ve always known I was adopted. Every snowy day, my parents would recount the tale of how they found their snow angel. I grew up surrounded by love and privilege, never lacking anything.” Your voice trembles slightly, “But there were nights ... nights I’d wonder about the person who left me there, in the snow. Why didn’t they want me? Why did they abandon me to the whims of a storm?”

Max’s expression softens, his own memories surfacing. “I grew up with my father’s strict guidance. Racing wasn’t just a passion, it was life. There was little room for anything else. I always thought I understood my family but this ...” He sighs, looking away. “It makes me question everything.”

You nod, shared uncertainty bringing you closer. “But through all this confusion, one thing is clear: we’re family. Blood, it seems, has a way of revealing itself.”

Max smiles ruefully, “You know, I have a sister, a full sister. Growing up, we were close but our paths divided. Racing consumed me. Now, discovering I have another sister, you, it’s ... overwhelming.”

You chuckle, “Two sisters. Lucky you.”

He grins, “Twice the protective instincts.”

The humor fades, replaced by raw emotion. “You know,” you whisper, tears brimming, “Despite everything, I’m grateful for our paths crossing like this. Even if it took a lifetime.”

Max reaches out, taking your hand. “Me too.”

The weight of the moment presses on both of you. You look at each other, eyes brimming with tears, souls bared.

In a sudden rush of emotion, you step forward, collapsing into Max’s embrace. He holds you tightly, as if trying to shield you from all the past hurts, regrets, and questions. The warmth of the hug contrasts sharply with the cold memory of that snowy night. In his embrace, the years of wondering, the pain of abandonment, seem to melt away.

Pulling back slightly, you look up into Max’s eyes. With a tearful smile, you whisper, “Brother.”

He grins back, “Sister. How would you feel about attending the next race, not as royalty but as my guest?”

You hesitate, the memories of previous races filled with formalities and protocols. “It will be different.”

Max wraps an arm around you shoulders, “Very. But I promise, you will see the world of racing like never before.”

***

The roar of the engines, the excitement of the crowd — it was all distantly familiar. Yet, standing beside Max, everything feels different.

As you walk through the paddock, Max’s pride is evident. “Guys,” he calls out to his mechanics, “Meet my sister.”

They look up, surprised, then smiles break out across their faces. “It’s an honor, Your Highness,” one of them greets.

Max nudges him, “Just call her by her name.”

You laugh in agreement, “It’s nice to meet you all without the formalities.”

Max continues his introductions, his enthusiasm infectious. When you reach Christian Horner, he looks pleasantly surprised. “It’s been a while,” he remarks, “Though our meetings were always, well, more formal.”

You nod, “It’s a different world from this side of the track.”

Max beams, “And she’s getting the full experience today.”

When the race starts, every moment feels magnified, more personal.

And then, the checkered flag waves for Max.

The Red Bull garage erupts in jubilation. During the celebration, Max, still in his car, locks eyes with you from across parc fermé. You can see the moisture, the emotion in his eyes. The moment he is out of his car, he races over, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“This win,” he whispers hoarsely, “it’s not just for me this time. It’s for us. For family.”

As the Dutch anthem plays during the podium ceremony, tears fill your eyes. The anthem, a proud symbol of your country and kingdom, now also symbolizes the new, ever-growing bond with your brother.

Max, standing tall on the podium, catches your eye and winks. And as the ceremony concludes, he suddenly turns, aiming his bottle of champagne right at you. The spray catches you off guard, laughter bubbling up as the cold liquid soaks you.

“You had to, didn’t you?” You laugh, wiping away the liquid before it can sting your eyes.

Max ruffles your hair, “It’s my new duty as your older brother!”

***

“Hey, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Max says, pulling you towards the thrumming heart of the afterparty.

The vibrant lights and chatter fill the room but everything seems to slow as you’re introduced to a lean figure with tousled hair and hypnotizing eyes. “This is Charles Leclerc,” Max grins, “One of the toughest guys I’ve raced against.”

Charles offers a charming smile, “Pleasure to meet you. Max speaks highly of you.”

You raise your glass in a mock toast to your brother. “Glad to hear that my bribe has been paying off.”

Charles laughs, “Well, considering today’s win, you might just be his favorite person.”

The two of you share a laugh, an effortless ease settling between you as you barely notice Max walking off with a wink shot your way.

“You’ve been to several races, haven’t you?” Charles asks, sipping his drink.

“In a more official capacity, yes. But today was ... different.”

He nods, his gaze intense, “Being family changes the perspective.”

Charles leans in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now that you’ve seen me on the track maybe I should show you some of my other talents?”

You raise an eyebrow, the thrill of the night’s excitement mixing with his words. “Oh? What other hidden skills do you possess?”

His voice drops to a sultry murmur. “Well, I make a mean pasta carbonara. Maybe I’ll whip it up for you someday.”

You laugh, the warmth of the moment spreading through you. “I’ll definitely hold you to that.”

Max, watching from a distance, nudges Carlos, “Look at them. Told you they’d hit it off.”

“You know, I’ve always been curious about the life of a princess,” Charles muses, a playful glint in his eye. “Is it all tiaras and tea parties?”

You smirk. “It’s more boring than you would think. But for a driver like you, every day’s a thrill, right? Speeding cars, roaring crowds, adoring fans?”

He grins, leaning closer, the proximity making your heart race. “Most days. But some nights, the thrill is ... elsewhere,” his gaze deepening, locked onto yours.

The two of you are drawn into a world of your own, the party’s noise fading into the background.

He brushes a stray hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer. “Have you ever considered doing a hot lap? It’s quite the rush.”

You laugh, feeling the warmth of his touch. “I don’t know about getting in a race car but I can think of something else I’d love to ride right now.”

As the club’s pulsating music envelops you, Charles leans in, his voice husky over the beat, “Care for a dance?”

You accept, and as you both move to the rhythm, the world around seems to disappear. The close proximity, the electric energy on the dance floor, and the feeling of his body moving against yours is intoxicating.

“Right now,” Charles murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear to be heard above the music, “I feel like the winner tonight.”

You smile, your gaze locked onto his, “The night is still young. Let’s see where it takes us.”

***

“I’ve noticed you’re attending more races lately,” Max comments, a teasing glint in his eyes as you both walk through the paddock.

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Well, I’ve developed quite an appreciation for the sport.”

Max chuckles, “Or for a certain Ferrari driver?”

Blushing, you retort, “Can’t it be both?”

Before Max can respond, Charles approaches, his smile brightening as he spots you. “Good to see you again,” he greets, though his eyes convey a warmth that words can’t.

“You too,” you reply in a voice softer than intended.

The three of you share some casual banter before Max excuses himself, leaving you alone with Charles.

“You know,” Charles starts, “it’s become the highlight of my race weekends, seeing you here.”

You smile, “I’ve come to realize that there’s more to F1 than just the thrill of the race. There are ... other attractions.”

Charles grins, “Is that so? Any attraction in particular?”

You playfully nudge him, “Don’t get too confident, Leclerc.”

Weekends spent at circuits become a regular fixture in your life. While you’re initially there for Max, the increasing time spent with Charles deepens your bond. The stolen glances during press conferences, the private moments away from the limelight, and the late-night conversations make the connection undeniable.

One evening, after a particularly intense race, Charles pulls you aside, his face flushed from the adrenaline. “Every time I cross the finish line and look towards the other garages, I hope to catch a glimpse of you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “And if you do?”

He smiles, “It either makes victory all the more sweet or the sting of defeat not quite as painful.”

***

“You’ve made the front page again,” Max remarks dryly, handing you a tabloid during breakfast.

You glance at the headline, The Princess and the Racer: F1’s Fairytale Romance accompanied by a candid shot of you and Charles out to dinner.

Charles groans, “They make it sound like a soap opera.”

You sigh, “It’s the price we pay, I guess.”

As weeks go by, the media scrutiny intensifies. Every public appearance and every minuscule gesture, is analyzed, often blown out of proportion. The weight of the world’s eyes strains the joy of your newfound relationship.

One evening, after a particularly invasive article speculating about a rushed engagement, Charles pulls you aside, his face drawn with concern. “I noticed you’ve been pale lately, more tired. Is it the stress from all this media attention?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. The truth is, it’s more than just the media. Your health has been deteriorating and you’ve been trying to hide it.

“It’s not just the media,” you admit.

His eyes are filled with worry. “What is it?”

Max, overhearing the conversation, interjects, “It’s her health. She didn't want to worry you.”

Charles looks at you in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You take a deep breath, “I didn’t want to add to the pressures of the season, to be another burden.”

He reaches out, holding you close, “You’re never a burden. We’re in this together.”

You take a shaky breath, drawing strength from his words. “I’ve been diagnosed with aplastic anemia. It’s a condition where my bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells.”

Charles pales, “That’s ... serious.”

You nod, “After this race, I’m starting chemotherapy to destroy the dysfunctional bone marrow in preparation for a transplant.”

Silence envelops the room. Charles processes the weight of the revelation, the enormity of the situation sinking in. “Why now?” He finally asks.

“Timing is crucial,” Max chimes in, “She’s been putting it off, not wanting to disrupt the season. But we can’t wait much longer.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just wish you had told me sooner.”

You reach out, touching his arm, “I didn’t know how. Everything was happening so fast — our relationship, the media attention. I didn’t want to add more stress.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his voice choked with emotion. “Promise me, no more secrets.”

You nod, tears streaming down your face, “I promise.”

***

“Are you sure you want to be here for this?” You ask Charles as you both sit in the sterile hospital room, awaiting the doctor who would be overseeing your chemotherapy treatments.

Charles takes your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Every step of the way.”

The door opens and the doctor walks in, a gentle but serious look on her face. “Before we begin, there’s something important we need to discuss. The chemotherapy might affect your fertility. It’s not certain but there is a significant risk.”

You freeze. You had expected side effects, the potential hair loss, the fatigue. But this? This was unanticipated. This ripped your heart out of your chest.

Charles tightens his grip on your hand, his face pale. “Is there ... any way to mitigate that risk?”

The doctor nods, “We can retrieve and store your eggs. It’s a procedure done before chemotherapy in some cases. You will need hormone injections for about 10 to 12 days to stimulate the ovaries.”

You look at Charles, your eyes filled with tears, “It’s another delay.”

Charles brushes a tear from your cheek, “We face this together. I am here for you no matter what you decide.”

The days that follow are a whirlwind. Charles is by your side every step of the way, providing both emotional support and administering the daily injections.

Each evening, he carefully prepares the hormone shot. “Ready?” He asks, looking into your eyes.

You nod, trying to put on a brave face. But the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the emotional toll. Still, with Charles by your side, each day becomes bearable.

One evening, as he administers the injection, he whispers, “I’m so proud of you. Your strength amazes me every day.”

Tears spring to your eyes. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping you. “You’ll never have to.”

***

“Are you sure about this?” Charles asks, his fingers brushing yours as you lay on the hospital bed.

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I am. It’s a step towards preserving a potential future, one I hope to share with you.”

His eyes soften. “Every step, I’m here.”

The medical staff move around in the background, preparing for the procedure. The hum of machines and the sterile environment contrast starkly with the intimate bubble you and Charles share.

As the procedure begins, Charles holds your hand, his thumb drawing comforting circles on your skin. “Remember our trip to Monaco?” He murmurs, attempting to distract you. “The sea, the laughter, the little café by the pier?”

A smile tugs at your lips, even as you nod for the OBGYN to proceed. “The one with the overly sweet pastries?”

Charles chuckles, “That’s the one. Imagine us there, a decade from now, two kids in tow, arguing over whether chocolate or vanilla is better.”

The image he paints eases your tension, providing a temporary escape from the clinical room. The retrieval is swift but the emotional weight lingers.

“You did great,” Charles murmurs, brushing a stray hair away from your face.

You smile weakly, “One hurdle crossed.”

The next phase comes swiftly the following day: chemotherapy. The treatment center is full of artificial warmth — the walls painted a deep yellow and the heater working overtime to keep patients as comfortable as possible — but it does nothing to counteract the chill of fear that has taken over your body.

When the nurse enters with the IV bag for your chemotherapy, Charles stands up, his stance protective. “How does this work?”

She explains the process, her voice soft, “The medication will enter her bloodstream and target the rapidly growing cells. There might be some side effects but we will monitor her closely.”

You feel a pinch as the needle is inserted and soon the clear liquid starts making its way into your veins. You blink rapidly, willing the tears away before Charles can see them.

Attempting to lighten the mood, he starts recounting some of his funniest moments from racing. You chuckle at his anecdotes, grateful for the distraction.

Hours pass. The room is filled with a mix of medical beeps and Charles’ voice, offering a counterbalance of cold reality and warm comfort.

As the IV bag nears empty, you feel a wave of fatigue. Charles notices. “Rest,” he urges softly, his thumb caressing your hand.

You nod, closing your eyes, “Thank you for being my anchor.”

He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Always, for every challenge, every step. Always.”

***

“I still can’t believe you made him go,” your mother murmurs from the chair next to you. The hum of machines and the sterile scent of the hospital room are in stark contrast to the roaring engines and burning rubber of the track that you can almost sense through the television screen.

You manage a weak smile. “He belongs on the track, Mom. This race is crucial for the championship.”

“He wanted to stay,” your father adds. “He’s racing with a heavy heart.”

“I know,” you whisper, a tear trickling down. “But he’s strong. And I want him to win, for both of us.”

The room falls silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the machines. You can feel the potent cocktail of drugs coursing through your veins, sapping your strength but a necessary step to fight the disease within.

The TV in the corner broadcasts the race. You hear the commentator’s voice, “... Charles Leclerc, giving it his all today. You have to wonder where he’s drawing this intensity from.”

You know the answer.

The laps go by. With each turn, each overtake Charles makes, you can sense his determination, his desire to win not just for the title but for something else … someone else.

“You should rest,” your father advises, noticing your drooping eyelids.

But you resist, wanting to witness Charles cross the finish line.

The final laps are intense. Charles battles fiercely, and as he takes the checkered flag, the room bursts into subdued cheers.

“He did it!” Your mother exclaims.

You feel a swell of pride. “For us,” you whisper, before fatigue takes over and you drift into a deep sleep.

As consciousness slowly returns not too long after, the first thing you notice is the gentle vibration of your phone on the bedside table. Groggily reaching for it, you see a new message notification from a group chat with Charles and Max.

It’s a photo of Charles and Max, still in their race suits, grinning ear to ear. Charles holds up his first-place trophy while Max proudly displays his second. They’re both covered in champagne, evidence of the post-race celebrations.

These are for you. For our champion.

With shaky fingers, you type back:

My heroes. Thank you for being my strength. So proud of you both. Can’t wait to see you again.

Your mother, noticing your reaction, peers over your shoulder. “Those boys,” she says with a fond smile, “they really adore you.”

You nod, wiping away a tear. “I’m so lucky.”

***

“Hey, sis,” Max’s voice is soft, tinged with a mix of worry and hope as he sits beside you in the pre-op room, “Ready to share a bit more than just DNA?”

You manage a small smile, despite the anxiety. “As long as you don’t start claiming we share driving skills.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Promise.”

The doctor enters, clipboard in hand. “Both of you understand the procedure, correct? Max, we will be extracting bone marrow from your pelvic bone. It’s a relatively straightforward process but you might feel some discomfort.”

Max nods resolutely. “Anything for her.”

You swallow hard, emotions swirling. “Thank you, Max. This ... it means everything.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with a brotherly love that’s grown exponentially over the past few months. “We’re family. We look out for each other.”

As Max is wheeled away for his extraction, he offers a brave smile. “See you on the other side.”

Hours later, as you sit by his bedside, watching him slowly come around post-procedure, you squeeze his hand. “You okay?”

He groans, “Feels like I’ve done a doubleheader race without any breaks. But it’s worth it.”

Then comes your turn. Max, despite his exhaustion, insists on being present. The stem cells he donated are infused into you through a central line. It’s a simple procedure but one filled with so much hope and emotion.

Max watches closely, gripping your hand. “You got this,” he murmurs as the life-saving cells flow into your body.

You try to show a convincing smile before closing your eyes and praying to whoever’s listening that this works.

***

The pale blue walls of the hospital room have become all too familiar, the rhythmic beep of machines a constant in the background. You’re reclined on the bed, an IV line dripping nutrients and much-needed blood transfusions into your system. As your body adjusts to the new bone marrow, these are crucial.

Max is seated beside you, a crossword puzzle in hand. The chairs aren’t particularly comfortable but he’s still rarely left your side.

Max taps his pen against the paper thoughtfully. “Alright, here’s one for you. Seven letters: someone who is always there, no matter what.”

You raise an eyebrow, pondering. “Is it brother?”

He grins, “You’re getting good at this.”

You chuckle, “Well, I can’t help it when the answer is so obvious …”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I snuck in some of those chocolates you like from that little shop in town.”

Your eyes widen in mock horror. “You rebel. We’ll be banished from the kingdom.”

He winks, producing a small box from his bag. “Worth it.”

As you both indulge in the illicit treat, you realize just how much these little moments, these shared smiles and inside jokes, make the ordeal bearable.

Max notices your contemplative expression. “Hey, what’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have a brother who sneaks chocolates into a hospital for me.”

He extends his pinky towards you, “Always. Until the end of the race.”

You intertwine your own pinky with his to immortalize the promise, “And beyond.”

Just as the two of you are finishing the last of the chocolates, the door swings open quietly. Charles steps in, his eyes immediately seeking you out. There’s a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand, their vibrant colors standing out against the sterile environment.

“You two conspiring without me?” Charles teases, setting the flowers on the bedside table.

Max smirks, “Just ensuring she gets her daily dose of chocolate, doctor’s orders.”

Charles moves to your side and presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better now that my two favorite racers are here,” you reply with a smile.

Charles laughs, “I see. Well, the doctor outside told me your blood counts are improving. Seems the new bone marrow is getting to work.”

You nod hopefully. “One day at a time.”

Charles moves closer, taking your free hand. “Every day is a step closer to getting you out of here.”

Max, sensing the intimate moment, stands up, stretching. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Need to grab a coffee and give that crossword another go.”

Charles smiles gratefully at him, and as Max exits the room, you’re left in a bubble of comfort and warmth with your boyfriend.

***

“Grant our daughter strength and good news,” your mother’s prayer weaves through the tense atmosphere of the room.

Charles’ grip on your hand tightens and he whispers, “Whatever the news, we face it together.”

“Guide the hands of the doctors, let their knowledge lead to healing.”

Max, on your other side, offers a comforting squeeze, his face betraying his own anxiety. “You’ve come so far already.”

“And bless our family with your grace and protection.”

The prayer lingers in the air just as the door opens.

“Grant her the strength, the health, the life she deserves ...”

The doctor steps in, a manila envelope in hand. Everyone’s gaze immediately fixes on him, the room heavy with bated breath.

He looks around the room, making eye contact with each one of you, then finally says, “The results are in.”

You feel Charles’ hand tremble slightly … Max’s grip tighten … your father barely breathing behind you … a silent prayer still on your mother’s lips.

“The bone marrow has taken exceptionally well. All indicators and markers are positive.” The doctor smiles. “You’re officially in remission. You’re cured.”

A tidal wave of emotion crashes over the room. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, happiness and relief mingling in each drop.

Your mother’s whispered prayer crescendos into a heartfelt “thank you,” choked with emotion.

Your father, the ever-composed king, has moisture in his eyes as he holds you close, “Our snow angel, our miracle.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace next, his voice a shaky whisper, “You did it.”

Max is grinning from ear to ear. “Told you, sis. Until the end of the race and beyond.”

***

“Look at them,” Max says, nudging you as the camera pans over the pit crews, each member prominently sporting a bright red ribbon. “All in solidarity.”

Charles beams, joining the conversation. “It was Max’s idea. The ribbons. Both teams were eager to join in.”

You’re touched, tears threatening to spill. “It’s incredible. Both of you, your teams ... I’m speechless.”

The commentator on the screen picks up on the theme. “For those just tuning in, both the Ferrari and Red Bull teams are wearing red ribbons today in support of aplastic anemia awareness, a personal cause for them given the recent battle of the Princess of Orange with the condition.”

Mid-race, Max’s voice crackles over the team radio, “This one’s for you, sis.”

Charles, not to be outdone, pushes his car to the limit, the red ribbon painted on his helmet clearly visible every time the camera focuses on him.

Later, as you walk back out through the paddock, fans approach, many sporting red ribbons of their own. One young girl looks at you with stars in her eyes, “I wear this for my mom. She’s fighting too, just like you did.”

You pull her into a gentle hug. “She’s got this. I know she does.”

***

As soon as the statement goes live on the official website of the Netherlands Royal Family, the internet erupts.

The Royal House of the Netherlands is pleased to announce that Her Royal Highness, Y/N the Princess of Orange, and Mr. Charles Leclerc are officially courting.

Your phone buzzes incessantly with notifications. Charles, seated beside you, chuckles, “Well, there’s no going back now.”

Your father enters the room, a smile playing on his lips. “The people seem to be taking the news ... enthusiastically.”

Your mother, scrolling through her own device, adds, “And overwhelmingly positively. Listen to this: We’ve seen them together. Their chemistry is undeniable. Wishing them all the best!”

You exhale, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “I was so nervous about the reaction.”

Charles brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “We’re in this together, remember?”

Max bursts into the room with his usual energy, “You two are trending. The fans are loving it!”

Screens across the nation flash images of you and Charles — at the racetrack, during hospital visits, candid moments captured by keen-eyed photographers. Talk shows and news channels dive deep into analyzing your relationship, piecing together any crumbs of insight they might have.

A popular racing pundit remarks on a live broadcast, “Their bond is evident, both on and off the track. Charles’ performance has been exceptional since they've been together. It’s clear that they draw strength from each other.”

The public’s fascination is insatiable. Magazines are splashed with titles like Love in the Fast Lane. But despite the media frenzy, what touches you most are the personal messages. Fans share artwork, write songs, and pen heartfelt letters, celebrating love and the winding path that brought you both to this moment.

One evening, as you and Charles sit on the palace balcony overlooking the city, he turns to you, “They’re acting like we’re some sort of fairytale.”

You lean into him, “Maybe we are. It’s our story and I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

***

“You know,” your father begins, a playful glint in his eye as he slices into his steak, “I had an amusing conversation with Prince Albert the other day.”

Charles, taking a sip of his wine, raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Your father chuckles, “He said Monaco might need to extend an invitation for our next state visit given that we seem to have shared interests now.”

The table erupts in laughter. Your mother adds, teasingly, “And here I thought we were simply bonding over diplomatic ties.”

“So,” Max leans forward eagerly. “Any embarrassing stories about Y/N? I have to make up for all of the childhood adventures I’ve missed.”

“Oh, there are plenty! Remember the time she tried to drive a lawnmower and ended up in the rose bushes?” Your father says, trying to look serious.

Marianne chuckles, “Don’t remind me! Those were my favorite roses.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I was eight! And I thought it was a car!”

Charles grins, squeezing your hand under the table. “I can only imagine a mini version of you so determined behind the wheel.”

“And at her sixth birthday party,” your father recounts with a smirk, “she declared that she’d be ruling the kingdom by sundown and tried to hold a mock council meeting with her stuffed toys.”

Charles nudges you playfully, “Planning coups at six? Should I be worried?”

You swat him lightly, “It was a phase.”

As dessert is served, your mother turns contemplative. “You know, I’ve always believed in destiny. And seeing all of you here, witnessing the bonds and the love, it reaffirms that belief.”

Charles nods his agreement, “Life has a way of bringing the right people together.”

Your father raises his glass, “To family, in all its forms. To the journeys we embark on and the memories we create.”

The clinking of glasses has never sounded sweeter.

***

Charles, his face flushed with the victory of the 2025 World Championship, stands on the podium, trophy in hand. The cheering of the crowd is deafening but as he signals for a microphone, a hush descends.

“I’ve never done this before,” he starts emotionally, “naming my car, I mean. I watched Seb do it year after year and I always wondered what that felt like, to have such a connection.” He takes a deep breath, his gaze scanning the audience until it lands on you. “This season, I finally understood. My car, the one that just secured this championship, I named it after the most important person in my life.”

The crowd waits with bated breath.

“I named it,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, “after you. After the woman who has been my anchor, my strength.”

You feel tears prickling your eyes as the sheer intensity of his words hits you.

Charles signals and you’re gently nudged forward, guided up to the podium. The world seems to blur, the noise, the people, everything fading until it’s just you and him.

“Every race, every lap, I had two goals: to win for the team and to make you proud,” he confesses, his eyes never leaving yours. “You are my world. And today, in front of everyone here, in front of the world, I want to ask you one thing.”

He gets down on one knee and your hands move of their own volition to cover your mouth. Producing a gorgeous ring, Charles looks up at you, his eyes shimmering. “Will you marry me?”

The world stops.

The deafening cheers of the crowd seem quiet compared to the beating of your heart.

Tears stream down your face as you nod. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

No sooner have the words left your mouth than Max and Lando, the other two podium finishers, gleefully seize the moment. With mischievous grins, they uncork their champagne bottles, dousing both you and Charles in a bubbly shower. The liquid gold sparkles in the sunlight, adding to the magic of the moment.

Charles pulls you close, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as you both get soaked.

***

The grand cathedral, bathed in the soft glow of a thousand candles, echoes with the hushed whispers of eagerly waiting guests. Roses, lilies, and orchids cascade down the pillars, their fragrance mingling with the scent of incense.

Behind the doors of the bridal suite, Max stands beside you, dressed impeccably in a classic tux. There’s a brotherly tenderness in his eyes as he reaches out, smoothing the delicate lace of your dress to ensure that every detail is perfect.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmurs, the emotion of the day making his voice waver.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Man of Honor,” you reply, squeezing his hand.

As the first strains of the bridal march begin, the doors open, revealing the grand aisle, lined with well-wishers from all corners of the globe. Your father steps up and offers you his arm, his eyes glassy with pride and a hint of melancholy. “Ready, my snow angel?”

You nod, tears of happiness already blurring your vision. The world narrows down to the altar, where Charles stands, back straight in his crisp full dress uniform. As you make your way down the aisle, your eyes lock with his and the universe contracts to that singular point of connection.

Charles’ normally composed features give way as he takes in the sight of you. His eyes, also glistening with tears, convey a depth of feeling that words could never capture. Love, gratitude, wonder — all interwoven in that magnetic gaze.

His voice breaks as he whispers just for you, “You are my dream, my reality, my forever.”

Your own voice is thick with emotion, “And you are my heart, my soul, my love.”

As vows are exchanged and promises made, the world bears witness to a love that defied odds, overcame challenges, and brought together not just two souls but two worlds.

And as you both seal your commitment with a kiss, there is not a single dry eye in the cathedral. Because love, true love, is a force to be reckoned with, and today, it reigns supreme.

***

The soft whimpers of a newborn fill the air of the private birthing suite. Nestled in your arms, wrapped in a royal blue blanket, the baby prince stirs, his tiny fingers curling around one of yours.

Charles, sitting beside you, gazes down at your son with sheer wonder. “He’s perfect,” he says in a teary whisper.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “Our little miracle.” The journey, the IVF treatments with your frozen eggs , the hope, the fear — everything culminated in this singular, beautiful moment.

The door opens gently, revealing Max, his eyes wide as they take in the sight before him, and your parents, their faces a canvas of joy and pride.

Max approaches tentatively, his usual confidence replaced by an awe-inspired reverence. “May I?” He asks softly.

You nod, handing over the precious bundle. As Max holds the baby, a bond forms instantly. “Hey there, little one,” he coos, “Your godfather is here.”

Your mother, tears in her eyes, leans in, planting a gentle kiss on your son’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, our precious grandchild.”

Your father, hoarse with emotion, simply murmurs, “An angel for our snow angel.”

And you know what? You decide that the fans were right. Your life really is a fairytale.

[mechaknight-98]

Overlord (NSFW)Ft: Eunbi and Hyewon

You're rushing to finish dinner when Hyewon arrives. She walks in and looks for you.

"Babe?" Hyewon says, "Babe" she repeats.

"In the kitchen Dear," you reply. Hyewon walks into the kitchen of your shared home and gives you a back hug. "How was your day dear?" you ask your girlfriend.

"It was rough. Eunbi punched me a bit too hard today and I had to walk it off." Hyewon whines. you turn from the stove to comfort your girlfriend. you start by stroking her hair. Hyewon purrs in comfort.

“You know what would make keep feel better besides tacos?” Hyewon asks you seductively

“What would make you feel better?” you ask

Hyewon smiled mischievously before saying “Feeling that hard cock down my throat.”

“Hye you're insatiable,” you tease

“But you like that,” Hyewon says with a smile as you reminisce about how you met.

It was 2 years ago when you had just begun your supervillain career, so you didn't have a name for yourself yet. You were at the bank making the first of many withdrawals to begin transferring account funds to your new bank of super evil Magacorp or SEMC as all villains use them when Hye walked in…well stormed in she crashed into the building with her super speed and flight before declaring a robbery of 15,000 dollars. Which I believe is the exact amount that the bank held at one time. You tried to sneak out as you had somewhere to be but due to her super sight and hearing she noticed you.

“Where do you think you're going?” she said with such a dominant and sexy voice.

“Please stuff your fat cock down my throat” Hyewon begged in a whiny voice. For how dominant she appeared as a villain she was even more submissive in her personal life. She hated having control and would often beg for you to dominate her, which you could never resist so you turned off the stove before fulfilling her request. She smiles as she lowers your sweatpants

“Oh, you're giving me easy access today. She teases

“Well I didn't have work so I figured I could wear something more chill,” you say defensive

Hyewon smiles as she's your cock out and licks it “Is that guarded tone I hear. Are you worried I'll think you're a slut because the only slut here is me for your cock.” Hyewon exclaims proudly with your cock in hand as she strokes it before taking it in her mouth. Her soft brown eyes stare in that innocent doe-eyed look she's nearly perfected that drives you wild as she takes you further down her throat than she ever has.

“Come on overlord cum down my throat. Fuck my face” she says trying to coax out your more aggressive side because she's so desperate for it, and right before the switch flips and you give in to her there's a ring at the doorbell.

“Damn it,” Hyewon yells as she readjusts herself to look presentable she has you not pull your pants up because she will “be quick” She looks through the peephole and sighs before opening the door

“Hi, Hyem.” Eunbi. Hyewon’s ex-leader and popular hero says as she walks in. You shuffle to get your sweatpants up but Hyewon uses her super speed to stop you.

She has a view of your cock blocked by the island as Eunbi walks in closing the door behind her. Hyewon uses her telepathy to tell you “I'm going to keep stroking you until you break and Overlord comes out. To emphasize her point she begins with a long and torturous stroke of your cock with her hand.

“So Eunbi what brings you here?” Hyewon asks innocently as she continues to stroke you. You feel Overlord beginning to take the lead. You stare at Eunbi. She isn't dressed inappropriately but because of her voluptuous figure you can't help but imagine bending her and Hyem over the table and fucking them both to incoherence

“Well I know I hit you a bit too hard today so I came to apologize but it looks like you two are in the middle of something,” Eunbi says demurely

Hyewon smiles as she strokes you slower and slower before saying “Oh it's no big deal. I appreciate it. You should stay for dinner. My boyfriend is an excellent cook, and he always makes more than enough for us.” as she says this in your mind you hear Hyewon say, “I'm impressed this is the longest you have held out.”

“Hyewon please stop,” you demand telepathically. She smiles and turns to you before saying “Of course honey. Would you like me to set the table?” you nod at Hyewon who walks away and as you try to nonchalantly pull up your pants and underwear she says telepathically

“Do that and I'll fuck you right in front of Eunbi, better yet take them fully off.” you stare daggers at Hyewon but she looks at you with the same look as when you meet her dominant confident, and sexy. You feel the mundane parts of you begin to crack. So you throw yourself back to cooking as Eunbi and Hyewon chat.

“So I saw you won another hero award sorry I couldn't make it you know being a villain and all. Hyewon says casually.

Eunbi sighed and responded its okay Chae, Kkura, Yujin, Wony, and Yena were there but I felt the love.” you smile from hearing the two until Hyewon asks

“Sweety smells great is it done?”

“Yeah, babe just let me prep the serving dishes,” you say before remembering your current situation. “Fuck it.” you think to yourself and carefully deliver the food while Eunbi isn't facing you. You pray before you eat which makes Eunbi smile.

As you finish Hyewon begins stroking you to hardness again under the table. You stare daggers at her again. She leans into you adorably

Eunbi takes her first bit and smiles wider. Your body can't help but lurch as she leans down and her cleavage enraptures you. You wondered what it would be like to fuck her large breasts. You hear Hyem whisper as she strokes you “Lose control.” but you remain firm and disciplined

“This is so good,” Eunbi says with a smile before taking another bite, for the most part, you eat in silence while Hyewon and Eunbi chat but you don't hear them because you are trying hard to keep composure as Hyewon gives you enough stimuli to keep you hard and drip precum but never enough to push you over the edge. It wasn't until after you finished eating when Hyewon abruptly stopped stroking you walked over to Eunbi, sat on her lap, and kissed her. The kiss they shared was full of lust and desire they groped each other lost in the moment. Hyewon pulls Eunbi’s top row to expose her tits and she smirks at you. When Hyewon finally breaks this kiss Eunbi is panting heavily and looks at you scared. Hyewon smirks and says “Well come on aren't you going to fuck your two little sluts?” at that point the color drains from your vision and you approach both women. Your manhood is dangerously hard as you lose control. you rip the back of Hyewon’s panties, pants, bra, and top before entering her. Hyem looks back at you and smiles

“Is this what you wanted you devious little minx,” you growled as you thrust into her. Hyem’s eyes roll back as she finally gets Overlord. You thrust into her harder and she moans. Hyem is the wettest and tightest she has ever been. Her folds almost tear into your rod as you thrust with measured lust. Eunbi whimpers and you look down to see Hyewon fingering her while you fuck her. You lock eyes with Eunbi and you see the desire hazing them over as you thrust harder and harder into Hyem. Hyem is not known for her stamina and hits her orgasm before you do. Her pussy tightens even further triggering your release as you cum in her, but you're not done you look at Eunbi who weakly nods and you plunge into her pussy next.

“Oh god yes,” she moans. “I haven't had a good cock in ages.” she groans as you thrust into her

You continue to pound the older woman's pussy as you both awaken the sides you so desperately try to keep hidden. Eunbi is nowhere near as tight as Hyewon but she is much wetter. Your cock almost glided in and out of her pussy. Eunbi and you lock eyes and she says, “I'm glad someone has been taking care of my little brat.” she says

“Well she makes it easy just stuff her till she cums and she is fine,” you say Eunbi smiles at you before you look back at Hyewon she looks so smug. You decide to wipe that smug look off her face. You begin by smacking her ass, but you forgot Hyewon loves this so you stop Eunbi sees the frustration in your eyes and mouths

“Fuck her ass.” you nod as you come out of Eunbi and plunge into Hyewon’s ass she groaned in a mixture of agony and pleasure.

Hyewon looks back at you with fiery anger but you thrust back in and her eyes roll back.

“Fuck Hyem If I knew you'd be this tight I’d have fucked your ass months ago.” Hyewon can't respond because her mind is blanking from the pleasure. You continue to thrust until you cum again. This time you were finally spent. You groan as your seed rushes into Hyem. You fall back onto the chair before collecting your breath Eunbi slides a wrecked Hyewon off of her as she begins to strip. When she frees herself you marvel at her curvy body as she crawls to you.

“Do you have enough in the tank for me?” she asks seductively. You nod