#hey look no misery this time

[pinazee]

Paul protec

Emma protec

Emma and paul protec

Paul no protec 😔

[emmebearpaw]

Keeping my thoughts short as I find trying to write about my emotions just makes me feel them longer as I continue feeling them while writing about them. Do you ever find yourself wishing something upon yourself that would objectively make your life harder because “then it would be easier to make things make sense”. Like, no brain, having more symptoms of neurodivergence wouldn’t make things better except for in the very specific situation of diagnosis. It would just make our life harder the rest of the time. No dysphoria isn’t something to want either. Yes it would make it easier to parse out what the gender situation actually is. In both fronts we just have to be ok with never investigating and never getting an answer, because investigating is miserable due to how unhappy it makes me and without investigating I can’t get an answer. Now please stop thinking about myself and stop feeling the stomach void TM plus nausea.

[h-f-k]

-

[moinsbienquekaworu]

Viewed a house yesterday that was kinda shitty but the people who already live there were really cool, I said I needed to think about it and I'd contact them later to tell them, I realised I wanted the room yesterday evening, sent them a message, they didn't answer, I sent them another one a little after noon, they're still not answering, it's been almost 30 minutes, and I am feeling both insecure and sad

[rizz-penguin]

I hate to admit but I kinda like Fall Out Boy.

Phoenix is fucking great, shut your mouths.

[elytrafemme]

i love finding songs that r literally about me and my system members, makes me feel a little less lonely in this quiet period :’) the phoenix by fob is literally about us btw 

[comradecowplant]

100 baby challenge is all fun and games until the feminism kicks in and you immediately feel bad for turning your sim into breeding stock 😔

[kethabali]

omg how does this happen everytime i go to do one thing i do like 3 thats why i stopped monitoring my chores so heavily bc i realized it gets done automatically anytime i get up in my house lmao not all at once like i keep trying to plan for but regardless within the week everything usually gets done to some extent

[flightyalrighty]

FIRST | PREVIOUS | NEXT CH 1 PG 36

Infested will return on June 27th. --- Thank you to the following Ascended supporters: @chaogongoozles, @fiiresiidefrfr, @elizard4227, @grogar, Ezzoh, @susivoi, @calculuscacophony, Eros, @ivycorp, @summersdale @borrelia, @mizukiz, @sanicdetails, @combinegrunt-echo-1, Pica, @veeceear, @quackenburt, ItsmeMonarch, @memendoemori, @trans-girl-sonic, & savarsenic

Content Warnings | Store | Ko-Fi (Discord!) | Read On Comic Fury! DISCLAIMER: "Infested" is a horror comic ft. content not suitable for those under the age of 17.

A long-winded looking back on things below the cut:

The first few pages of Infested were uploaded to this blog on March 2nd, 2023 -- Over a whole year ago! I was so busy, too, that I completely missed its birthday (Sorry Infested). Looking even further back than that, the original story was was something I began writing on December 25th, 2022 (Merry Christmas).

It took two years to get to this point.

And hey, not to toot my own horn about it, but completing even one chapter of a webcomic is a big deal. Especially for me. My first webcomic, Fight/Flight, didn't get very far. I completed the prologue, started Chapter 1, and then had to drop it for a number of reasons (I didn't really agree with what baby-me had to say, politically, anymore).

This comic was born from a lot of intense feelings. The story, itself, too. Some good. Some bad.

I had been forced to move away from my hometown, and with that move, I lost the physical connection that I had to all of my friends. I lost the familiarity of a place I'd known for most of my life. I'm now stuck somewhere... Worse. It felt like a cage. Still does. Disconnected from the life I thought I would be living after college. I didn't have health insurance, either -- Got kicked off of it because of the move -- And as a result, I was off my antidepressants.

So there I was, at a pretty low point in my life. I miserable and lonely and every single day dragged on. And on. And on. And I felt so disappointed in myself. That disappointment became self-loathing, and it all kinda spiraled.

Have I mentioned that I'm a huge Sonic fan? I don't think I need to. I'd say it's pretty obvious. But for the sake of this story, I'll say it again: I'm a HUGE Sonic fan. I've been that way since 2003 with Sonic Heroes. The franchise has been in my life for over two decades. I had a monthly mail subscription to Archie's Sonic the Hedgehog. Sonic the Hedgehog was something that I truly loved more than any other piece of media. It brought me endless joy. Until I didn't.

I had dropped Sonic after Lost World was... Itself. I had already felt pretty irritated with the Meta Era, and Lost World was the final straw. The last bit of hope that the series could recover was snuffed out when Forces was released. It was over. I was done. If Sonic was truly that embarrassed by itself, if they had truly lost touch with what made the series so great, then I wouldn't waste my time any longer. I was so sure that I had to just... Grieve and move on. My beloved childhood game series was dead. Long live the king or whatever. I'd just bitterly read IDW Sonic and think about what could've been. I was lucky to have that comic, at least. Archie had been canceled, too, after all. I was lucky to have my scraps.

Then Sonic Frontiers came out. And it changed everything.

And my god, it was everything. It was everything to me. Flaws be damned, it was everything. To. Me. The spectacle. The serious tone. The vastly improved writing. Kellin Fucking Quinn. It was FUN! It was actually FUN to PLAY. He was back. I was back. Sonic pulled me by my hand out of the ocean of misery I'd fallen into, and he looked me in my eye and he said;

"Hey. You're gonna be alright."

Metaphorically speaking. Sonic The Hedgehog didn't actually literally speak to me -- And sure, okay, maybe it's a little dramatic to describe a game as this great Depression Annihilator but I'm dead serious when I say that, for that time, before I was able to get back on my meds, I was self-medicating with Sonic.

Sonic was all I was thinking about. I reread the Unleashed arc in Archie Sonic, which got me sorta realizing something, and which led to my post where I said something along the lines of "Sonic would hide a zombie bite."

Archie Sonic would, at least. Because he basically did do that in the Unleashed arc of that comic. He let that problem fester until it became an even bigger problem because, ironically, he didn't want to be a problem.

So one thing led to another. I thought more about Sonic becoming a zombie. Bada-bing, bada-boom, Infested was born.

I didn't expect it to get the attention that it did. I felt lucky when the first page I drew Rouge on (Page 6 I think?) blew up. The right people saw it at the right time. I'm extremely grateful for that.

I'm extremely grateful for all of you.

So yeah, one chapter. Woo! Here's to many more.

[ozzgin]

I'm the anon who asked if your requests are open and i got busy assignments + presentations that i almost forgot about the request but now i remembered and it's based on my dream i saw that night..

How about a vampire who lost his relic (presumably a ring) and reader happens find it and tries it on, now the vampire is all panicking because guess what? That was a betrothal relic and it has binded the vampire's soul with the one of reader. They can't pull it out/take it of.. oh well, now they are stuck and obviously the vampire hates the idea of being stuck with a pesky human but hey they are kinda stupid..? How tf they tripped on thin air? Or how they are still alive even after being food poisoned 5 times a month? Vampire is now babysitter for his human *sighs * what has he gotten himself in..

(Please add yandere elements later on, my brain stoopid but i want a hot Victorian era vampire being obsessed with me ^^ muah!)

(I'm sorry this is so lengthy TT)

Yandere! Vampire x Reader

Featuring a ridiculously lucky Reader who constantly manages to escape a Vampire's assassination attempts. Did someone order a supernatural edition of enemies to lovers?

Content: gender neutral reader, obsessive behavior, mentions of stalking, romcom

[Monster masterlist] [Original works masterlist]

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?" your friends gasp in unison, eyes fixated on the fallen ceramic pot that scarcely missed you, now laying shattered at your feet. You laugh reassuringly and wave your hand in dismissal. "It's the fifth time it happens today. Maybe there's a storm coming?"

From within the shadows, menacing eyes glowing red follow your movements. "Damn it!" The mysterious man curses under his breath. He stares enviously at the bulky ring on your finger. The ring bearing his Family signet, where part of his very soul resides. It has stayed with him for centuries, and somehow, to his utmost shame, he lost it. By the time he rushed back to retrieve it, you were carelessly sliding it down your finger. He wanted to strangle the life out of you right then and there, but he felt it: the immediate surge of contractual power, dominating his will and holding him back from breaking your bones. "It's a little tacky, isn't it?" your friend remarked. You nodded in agreement and tried to remove it, but the metal band tightened around your skin, painfully constricting your digit. It was stuck. It was too late.

Now he has to rely on cheap trickeries like this one. Sure, he may not be able to directly plunge his fangs into your neck, but the bonding curse does not shield you from "accidents", you see. It would be a real shame if that flower pot was to land straight into your head, ending you instantly and thus breaking the connection with him. Except you simply refuse to die. A mystery, a paradox, one that enrages him to no end. It's almost as if the ring is bringing you fortune at the cost of his misery.

"Have you had any luck removing that ugly thing?" the person standing next to you mentions. The vampire lord grits his teeth at the blasphemous words. This is what's become of him: a deceitful buffoon, having to sit and listen to his inheritance being mocked relentlessly. He holds back the urge of shouting that thousands have bled to death in order to forge that magnificence. "Not at all", you respond idly. "I tried taking it to a jeweler, and she said she could try to cut it, but she ended up having a heart attack right in the middle of it. She didn't even look that old, maybe it runs in her family?"

Unbelievable. The thought of reclaiming his relic haunts every second of his day, to the point he's become your shadow. Stalking your every move, your every breath, observing his prey and waiting for an opportunity to strike. He can already picture that pathetic face of yours, twisting in pain, begging for-...huh. Well, look at that, you're reading one of his favorite books. Perhaps you do have a little taste, after all. It won't save you from your terrible fate, but he might skip the prolonged torture.

There's plenty of quotes out there about knowing your enemy in order to guarantee your victory, though one might wonder where the limit of such knowledge resides. Or what counts as useful to begin with. The vampire lord is presently wondering about this very aspect, as he mouths your coffee order from a distance. Less sugar, huh? You did mention losing your sweet tooth. He shakes his head indignantly. Absolutely not! The throb of his heart is fueled by raw hatred and nothing else. One of days he will savour your demise.

Your ridiculous luck might just end today. You've taken a shortcut on your way back home, and didn't expect a shady, burly man to block your exit. A perverted grin stains his face as he approaches you, twiddling with his pocket knife. "Alone at this hour?" You frown and try to find a way out, but the man suddenly begins to heave and convulse before your eyes, grasping at his chest as the skin shrivels and dries. He collapses at your feet, body wilted as if it's been emptied of its vitality. The Vampire Lord clicks his tongue.

To think he'd rush to rescue his sworn enemy, a pitiful mortal like you. He didn't even get the chance to consider the aftermath. You stare at the stranger, confused but observant. Pale skin, crimson eyes, unnaturally sharp canines...and the fact he just drained a living being into a bloodless corpse: everything hints to one possibility. "Are you by any chance a vampire?" you find yourself mumbling. "You must've graduated from Harvard with those deduction skills", he responds sarcastically.

Everything else unfolds in a haze. Wasn't he planning to kill you and retrieve his ring? When the hell did he offer to walk you home to avoid more creeps? Why is he twirling his hair sheepishly whenever you praise his demonic powers? Oh, but it gets worse: why did he suddenly feel the urge to kiss you before returning to his cursed lair? Why did he accept your invitation to spend the night at your place instead? One moment ago, he was doing his best to curse you off this Earth. Now he's tugging stray strands of hair away from your blushing, whining face, asking you if it hurts. Damned human.

"How did you know I like this? Have you been stalking me?" you joke, nudging your undead boyfriend and setting the gift aside. "More or less", he confesses with a yawn. He recalls all that time spent dutifully spying on your oblivious self. "You know, a human like you shouldn't be able to dodge death like that." He turns to you and scans your features. Then, abruptly embarrassed, he ruffles your hair to block you from noticing his blush. "I suppose my failure was the better outcome. It's not too bad, having you around."

[romugh]

INTIMATE STUDIES - nerd!NR

pairing- nerd!natasha romanoff x reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, gp!bottom!natasha, handjob (n rcv), blowie (n rcv), cockwarming, praise kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex

wc- 2.3k of pure smut

a/n- quick drabble as i'm working my way through BIOLOGY stuff as an ASTROPHISICS and ARCHITECTURE STUDENT. make it make sense?? I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE. not proofread, wrote this in like ten minutes as i was eating an apple :D

synopsis- you're studying biology, natasha comes in, you're doing biology (with her).

The past four hours had been a never-ending slog of human reproduction notes, diagrams of genitals, and biological functions that seemed completely irrelevant to your degree. You were an astrophysics major — the mysteries of black holes and quantum fields were your calling, not the intricacies of testes and ovaries. Yet here you were, neck-deep in textbooks, scribbling notes on a subject you didn’t care for in the slightest. Your biology exam was in two days, and every second spent on it felt like time wasted.

Your hand ached from writing, and your eyes burned from staring at diagrams. The irritation crept up further, gnawing at you, until the sound of the door creaking open drew your attention. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Natasha’s soft voice greeted you. There was a tentative innocence to her tone, one that always tugged at your heart in a way you could never quite explain. Natasha, your shy and awkward girlfriend, a literature major who found comfort in the written word more than social situations. Your Natty — so soft, blushing, and oh-so-easy to tease.

You glanced up, the sight of her instantly pulling you from your academic misery. Natasha stood in the doorway, blonde hair slightly tousled from the nap she’d taken, round glasses sitting low on her nose, and your oversized shirt hanging loosely on her small frame. The shirt swallowed her whole, the sleeves falling past her hands, and you couldn’t help but smirk at how effortlessly adorable she looked. The fact that her boxers were barely visible under the hem of the shirt only made it worse.

She stood there for a moment, awkwardly shifting on her feet, and something about the way she looked at you made a surge of desire shoot through your veins. Natasha was always so shy, always so unsure about these moments. But that only made your pulse quicken, knowing just how easy it was to make her come undone.

“Natty,” you called, your voice low and teasing. “Want to help me study?”

She blinked, eyes wide behind her glasses, but she stepped closer, that innocent curiosity mixed with a soft blush spreading across her cheeks. Her bare legs peeked out from under the shirt, the fabric brushing against her thighs as she padded towards you. She always had this way about her—this quiet, almost timid energy that made you want to take care of her, tease her, ruin her. “Sure,” she agreed, pushing her glasses up. “What are we studying?”

You smirked, eyes narrowing as you slid your textbook to the side. “Human reproduction.”

Her blush deepened, but she tried to play it off, oblivious to the trap you were setting. “I’m not sure I can help with that. I mean, I’m more into poetry than—”

You smirked, your eyes tracing the length of her body, admiring the way the fabric of your shirt hugged her frame. “Oh, I think you can. In fact, you might be the perfect study partner.”

Her eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as she fumbled for words. “W-what do you mean?”

You caught her by the hips, guiding her until she stood between your legs, her lithe form pressed against your knees. Her blush deepened, her lips parting as she looked down at you, curiosity and nervousness swirling in her eyes.

“I can show you,” you whispered, running your hands up the sides of her thighs, pushing the hem of the oversized shirt higher and higher, revealing the fabric of her boxers. Your fingertips traced the outline of her bulge, feeling the warmth of her body beneath the thin fabric. Natasha gasped softly, her breath hitching as you palmed her gently.

“See,” you murmured, your hand cupping her clothed bulge. “This is all part of the reproductive process.”

Natasha’s eyes widened, her breath coming out shaky as she looked down at you. “I-I know that,” she stammered, but the way her legs trembled betrayed her completely.

“You didn’t expect to be part of the lesson, though, did you?” you teased, your fingers moving expertly as you tugged her boxers down, letting them pool around her ankles. Natasha whimpered softly, her hand clutching the back of your chair for support as you wrapped your hand around her fully. “So sensitive,” you cooed, stroking her with deliberate slowness, your thumb teasing the tip just enough to make her gasp.

Her entire body tensed, hips instinctively bucking into your hand as you increased the pace slightly, watching her lose composure. "Y-you're—," she tried to speak, but her voice faltered, her body betraying her with every twitch and pulse of her length in your grip.

Natasha's breathing grew more ragged, her chest heaving as she clutched the back of your chair, her knuckles turning white from the grip. Her hips twitched involuntarily into your hand, every stroke sending ripples of pleasure through her body. You could feel her getting closer, the way her length pulsed in your palm, the faint whimpers that escaped her lips.

“Y-you’re gonna make me—" Natasha’s voice was barely a whisper, her words tumbling out in a breathless stammer as she squirmed in your grasp. Her face was flushed, cheeks burning with embarrassment as she tried to hold back, but you had no intention of letting her.

"Let go," you murmured softly, your voice thick with dominance. Your hand worked her faster, the slick slide of your palm coaxing her to the edge. "Come for me, Natty."

It was all she needed. With a strangled moan, her body tensed, hips jerking forward as she came, her release spilling over your hand. Her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parting in a silent cry as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. You watched her, captivated by the sight of her completely undone, trembling in your hand as she rode out her orgasm.

But you weren’t done yet.

Without missing a beat, you leaned forward, your lips brushing against the tip of her sensitive length, tasting the remnants of her release. Natasha shuddered, still trying to catch her breath, but when your tongue flicked out to lick her clean, her whole body jerked, a soft gasp escaping her as you took her into your mouth.

“You taste so good,” you murmured against her, the words muffled by the weight of her in your mouth. Natasha's hips bucked again, her hands gripping the chair for dear life once again as you began to work her with your tongue, teasing her back to hardness.

Natasha's body was still trembling from her first orgasm, her breath coming out in shaky gasps as you continued your slow, teasing licks. She tried to steady herself, gripping the back of your chair harder, but the sensations were too much. Every flick of your tongue made her hips jerk forward involuntarily, and before she even knew it, she was starting to harden again.

You smirked against her length, feeling her twitch as she became fully hard in your mouth. "That's it," you murmured, lips brushing against her sensitive skin. "You're already ready for more, huh?"

Natasha whimpered, her face flushed as she bit her lip, too embarrassed to answer. But you didn’t need her to. You wanted to drive her over the edge again, and this time, you were going to take your time. Wrapping your hand around the base of her cock, you began to stroke her in tandem with the slow, deliberate bob of your head.

The warmth of your mouth surrounded her, your tongue pressing against the underside of her length as you took her deeper, inch by inch. Natasha's knees buckled slightly, and her hands flew to your hair for support, fingers tangling in the strands as she struggled to stay standing. Every moan she tried to stifle only grew louder as you picked up the pace, the wet, obscene sounds of your lips moving over her driving her wild.

"S-so good," she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper, shaking with each breath. "P-please, don’t stop."

You had no intention of stopping. Your hand continued to pump the base of her cock while your mouth worked the rest, hollowing your cheeks as you took her deeper. Natasha's hips bucked forward again, her body betraying her as she chased the pleasure. Her breaths were ragged, and you could feel her getting close again, her thighs trembling as you sucked harder, faster.

She didn’t last long. With a strangled cry, Natasha came, her entire body trembling as her release shot into your mouth. You didn’t falter, swallowing around her, not giving her a chance to recover. Her grip on your hair tightened, her whole body buckling as she tried to remain upright, but the sensation of your tongue still working her through her second orgasm made her lose control completely.

But you weren’t finished.

As soon as you felt her begin to soften slightly, you pulled back just enough to take a deep breath before plunging your mouth down again, taking her all the way to the base in one fluid motion. Natasha let out a strangled moan, her hips jerking as your throat constricted around her. She was completely helpless now, every thought leaving her mind as she lost herself in the feeling of your mouth wrapped so tightly around her. The wet, gagging sounds you made as you deepthroated her pushed her over the edge once again, her body trembling violently as she came a third time, filling your throat with her release.

"Fuck," Natasha gasped, barely able to stand as her legs gave out beneath her, her knees buckling. "I-I can't…"

But the way her hands tightened in your hair told you that she didn’t want you to stop.

As Natasha trembled before you, utterly spent and flushed from her release, you pulled away, wiping your lips with a satisfied smirk. “I think we’re done here,” you said, standing up from your chair, feigning a tone of finality.

The look of disappointment that flickered across her face was instant, and though she tried to hide it, it was exactly what you wanted. A small, embarrassed frown tugged at her lips, her hands fidgeting at her sides, but she avoided meeting your gaze.

"Something wrong?" you teased, letting your words hang in the air. Natasha’s face flushed a deeper shade of red, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to respond but couldn't find the words. You grinned, taking a step closer, deliberately invading her space.

"Aw, poor baby," you cooed, running a finger along her cheek, your touch feather-light. "Were you hoping for more? Did you think I was really going to leave you like this?"

Natasha’s breath hitched, her eyes darting up to meet yours, wide and vulnerable. Before she could react, you pushed her down onto your chair, her body falling back against the seat as you straddled her in one swift motion. Her cock, still hard despite her exhaustion, slid inside you with ease, stretching you as you sank down on her with a satisfied sigh.

"Fuck," Natasha gasped, her head falling back against the chair as her hands instinctively grabbed at your hips, trying to ground herself in the moment. Her eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the sensation of being buried inside of you, your warmth enveloping her completely.

Without missing a beat, you turned the chair to face your desk once more, your movements deliberate and controlled as you positioned yourself. Natasha’s grip on your hips tightened, but she didn’t dare move. Not yet.

You settled yourself, leaning forward slightly to grab a pen, pretending to return to your notes. Natasha’s eyes, however, were drawn to your cleavage, the way your breasts were just inches from her face. Her restraint shattered as her hands moved up from your hips, one hand slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breast while the other wrapped around your back to pull you closer.

She began to worship your breasts, her lips eagerly pressing against your skin, kissing and sucking, leaving wet marks along the curve of your chest. The soft weight of your breasts in her hands made her lose all sense of control. Her hips bucked slightly beneath you, the friction sending shocks of pleasure through both of you. You couldn't help but smirk, knowing full well what was coming next.

Natasha’s breathing grew more erratic, her kisses becoming more desperate, and before she even realized what was happening, she was coming inside of you. Her hands stilled, her body tensed beneath yours, her hips jerking up as she filled you with her release, barely fifteen seconds after you’d settled onto her lap.

“F-fuck!” Natasha gasped, her face flushed with shame as the realization hit her. “I—oh god, I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—”

Her words were cut off as her eyes widened in panic, suddenly aware that you hadn’t put a condom on her. Her hands gripped your waist, frozen in place as she stammered out apologies.

"Shh," you murmured, cupping her cheek with a soft smile, brushing her lips with your thumb. "It's okay, Nat. Don't worry." You leaned down, kissing her forehead softly. “I wanted this.”

Natasha looked up at you with wide, bewildered eyes, her blush intensifying as she tried to comprehend your words. “But I—”

You cut her off with another kiss, silencing her before she could spiral further into embarrassment. “I said, it’s okay,” you repeated, your voice firm but gentle. "You did nothing wrong."

Despite her lingering guilt, Natasha nodded, her breathing still unsteady. Her body relaxed beneath you as she wrapped her arms around your waist, resting her head against your chest, her blush deepening as she continued to mumble soft apologies.

For the rest of the day, you stayed that way, continuing to study while cockwarming her, her cock still snug inside you. Every half hour, like clockwork, Natasha’s body betrayed her once more. She’d shudder beneath you, gripping your hips as another orgasm washed over her, filling you again and again.

And each time, her face would flush with embarrassment, her whispered apologies slipping from her lips, but you simply smiled, squeezing her tighter, grounding her in your warmth as you reassured her again and again: this was exactly what you wanted.

a/n again- oops? i'm going back to studying again, see y'all! (no taglist for drabbles, unless y'all want one i suppose)

[peachesofteal]

Light On- single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader Prompt: 1 of 2 for sickfics / requested by multiple

I’m going to need a raincheck for dinner tonight. 

Simon frowns at his phone. You’re bailing? You seemed excited about it when he asked earlier in the week, offering to take you and Emmaline down the street to the little café on the corner for dinner. It had taken him days to work up the courage, needlessly pushed on by Johnny’s ‘encouragement’ relentless text messages filled with date ideas, and bad pick-up lines. 

Still, you had said yes. Had asked if meant Emma too, and he took secret pleasure in the way you seemed so relieved when he tilted his head and told you, of course.

Okay. Is everything alright? He fires back immediately, wondering if the crying that he’s been hearing on and off all morning has anything to do with you backing out. 

I’m not feeling great, and neither is Emma. I think we’re coming down with something. Coming down with something, like you’re sick? You’re sick? Anxiety twists in the pit of his stomach, worrying curling his fingers into a fist with a clench. 

Alright. Let me know if you need anything? He waits for a text back, an answer of some kind, an assurance that you’ll seek him out if you need help or need anything. 

It never comes. 

Six hours later, Simon is at your door. 

He has grit his teeth through the day, paced around his own flat endlessly, tried everything he could think of to distract himself. Every time he heard Emmaline wail, his stomach flipped, worry, fear, breaking down his logical sense, the analytical part of his brain until he was standing in front of your door, waiting for the inevitable click of the handle. 

When it comes, and you’re standing on the other side, his heart sinks. 

He should have come over soon. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” He says it as softly as he can, a newfound pitch of his voice that seems to only be reserved for you, trying to allay the panic that has started to form as ice inside his chest. 

“Sorry about the noise.” You croak, and he smothers his wince. You sound awful, voice nearly gone, like your throat has been rubbed raw with sandpaper. Emmaline is clad only in a diaper, and when he looks closer, he can see the stain of what he thinks must be her vomit on your shirt. Over your shoulder, dirty bottles, dishes lay stacked next to the sink, a laundry basket with a mountain of baby clothes piled high sits on the table. 

“Can I help-“ You sway, arm tightening around the baby, and he doesn’t think, doesn’t stop himself, he just moves.“Alright,” He murmurs, wrapping an arm around you, supporting both you and Emmaline by shifting you into his side, one hand against Emma’s back. She feels warm, but not nearly as hot as you, and panic tries to bubble up his throat again at the blaring heat that’s coming from your skin. “I’ve got you.” 

“Sorry, ‘m a little dizzy.” 

“It’s okay.” He keeps you close, turning you back through the door. Emma makes scratchy, unhappy noises, and he rubs his thumb against her skin. “Shhh. I know, I know. You’re okay.” You lean into him harder, and he accommodates it, moving the two of you towards the couch. “I know, you’re not feeling too good are you?” He says to Emma after he gets you down on the couch, hands now around her back, waiting for a sign of permission from you to lift her. 

“She can go down. If you-“ Your breath gets caught in your chest, and you curl forward, his hand going to your shoulder, your body shaking with a cough. “If you want to try.” You whisper once you recover, brows knitted together in misery, and he cradles her, rocking her back and forth, mimicking your usual movements. 

“You stay right here.” He nods to the couch, using a fraction of the voice he uses on Johnny, and you immediately nod, eyes shuttering closed with a slow blink. “Just rest.” 

Emmaline is still crying when he opens the door to her room, the first he’s seen it, pale green walls and dark wood crib, small rocker in the corner next to a changing table. It’s a comforting space, decorated and cared for with love, and for a moment, his mind wanders to an image of you, painting the walls with a swollen belly, or curled in the plush rocker, reading a book to Emmaline, still nestled inside you. He wasn’t there for it, but he just knows you were so beautiful, the kind of glow that would have stopped him in the street. You still stop him in the street. 

Emma wails, bringing him back to reality with a softer cry than earlier, and he keeps her close to his chest, murmuring low and soft. “Shhh. You’re alright, baby girl. You’re okay.” He continues the rocking side to side thing you usually do in a standing position, mumbling things to her, stroking his fingers down her cheek, her forehead, bouncing and swaying at the same. “Are you not feeling too good? Is that what’s got you all upset? Yeah. I get kind of grumpy when I don’t feel good either.” He coos, little lashes slowly blinking up at him, transfixed on his face during his stream of chatter until they begin to slip shut, her mouth still hanging half open. He holds his breath, staring in astonishment at her sleeping face, half shocked, half ridiculously pleased.

“Have you taken anything?” He barely sits on your ottoman, leaning over to get a better look at you, uncomfortable with the way your eyes seem glazed over, how slow they are to react. Maybe you need to go to the hospital? 

“Some naproxen, a bit ago.”  You look exhausted, eyelids heavy, and he can’t stop himself from pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. 

“You’re really warm, sweetheart. Do you need a doctor?” Tell me what to do, he wants to beg. Tell me how to help.

“No, jus’ sleep.” A confused look flickers across your face. “Oh my god, did you…” you swallow a cough, his hand sliding down to cup your shoulder, thumb soft against your dirty t shirt. “did you get her down?” He nods, slowly, fighting the small grin that tugs at his lips. 

“Wow.” You breathe, and your hand drags up your chest to where his still sits on your arm, fingers intertwining in his with a small squeeze. “You really are our hero.” He smiles at you, because how can he not, heart warm and full in his chest, the feeling something he hasn’t experienced in a long, long time. 

There’s a moment, a second extended into a minute, maybe an hour, he’s not sure, where you don’t look away from him. Where you look at him, really look at him, and see him, see his twice broken nose, the scar on his cheek, the one above his eyebrow. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to hide or look away, just holds himself still, staring down at you on the couch, sweat dotting your forehead and neck, still beautiful with your fever parched skin and tired eyes. 

“Simon.” You whisper, and he thinks, maybe… he’s supposed to kiss you right now. That if he were braver, if Johnny were here to egg him on, if he felt like it wasn’t taking advantage of your weakened state… he might. But instead- 

“Why don’t you close your eyes, love. Try to get some rest. I’ll stay. See if I can get some of these dishes done. I can get her if she gets up.” 

“You don’t have-“ 

“I know.” He soothes. “I know I don’t, but I’m here. Let me help.” Let me help you. Let me be here. 

You take a deep breath, as deep as you can manage, and then your voice is light, but so sweet, and so, so trusting when you say;

“Okay, Simon.” 

[pucksandpower]

Grid Kids

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: your adopted family may be chaotic but you wouldn’t change it for the world

Series Masterlist

Max Verstappen: Jailhouse Rock

It’s an ungodly hour of the morning when your phone rings. You groan, fumbling blindly on the nightstand to silence the offender. The name glowing on the screen gives you pause: Max Verstappen.

“Seb,” you mumble, nudging your husband awake. “Max is calling. It’s 3 am.”

Sebastian grumbles something unintelligible, face squished into the pillow next to you.

“You take it,” you insist, poking him again, “I spent three hours on the phone with Lewis last night promising him that Roscoe doesn’t hate him for being left at home this weekend.”

Reluctantly, Sebastian sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He swipes to answer, his groggy voice filling the silent room. “Max, do you know what time it is?”

You hear a hurried explanation from Max’s end, something about a go-kart race, a party, and a tiny misunderstanding with local law enforcement. Your husband’s face becomes more incredulous with every word.

“Wait, you’re where?”

***

Ten minutes later, you find yourselves at the police station, bleary-eyed but amused. Max is sat behind bars, a sheepish look on his face.

“I promise, it wasn’t my fault,” he insists, blue eyes pleading.

You both manage to suppress your laughter. After signing a few papers, Max is free but the smug grin on Sebastian’s face tells you that he’s not going to let him off that easy.

“So, this is our life now?” you whisper to Sebastian, wrapping your arm around his. “Running a day care for unruly F1 drivers.”

He chuckles, giving you a light kiss on the forehead. “I think we make a pretty good team.”

Charles Leclerc: Open the Floodgates

It’s a stormy evening when your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a text message from Charles Leclerc: Hey, can I crash at yours? My flat’s kind of … flooded.

Sebastian, reading over your shoulder, raises an eyebrow. “Flooded?”

Before you can respond, a photo arrives — Charles’ living room, a sea of murky water with floating furniture: Okay, maybe more than just kind of.

You look at each other, suppressing laughter. “Guess we’re running a bed & breakfast now too,” you comment, already texting Charles back: Come over. Bring a mop.

***

Not an hour later, there’s a knock at your door. Charles, drenched from head to toe, stands at your doorstep, carrying what appears to be a plant pot with a small, equally wet cactus.

“I saved the cactus,” he says, looking as pitiful as a drowned rat, albeit a very cute one. He offers a half-hearted shrug, “I didn’t want it to drown.”

Sebastian bursts out laughing, his contagious mirth echoing around the hall. You can’t help but join in, hugging your sides in an attempt to remain composed.

“Well, come in. We can’t have you and the cactus catching a cold.”

***

Over the next few days, you quickly adapt to the unexpected housemate situation. Charles proves to be a surprisingly tidy guest, always washing his dishes and even cooking dinner one night (although you had to discreetly order pizza after trying his special lasagna).

In the evenings, the three of you curl up on the sofa with Sebastian’s old race replays, laughing and teasing each other. And every night, before he goes to his bed in the guest room, Charles says goodnight to his cactus — the newest member of your eccentric family.

Lance Stroll: The Cat-astrophe

A week later, you get a frantic call from Lance Stroll. “Guys, I found this cat,” he says, panting heavily, “It was all alone in the alley and I couldn't just leave it there.”

The line goes silent for a moment before Lance coughs then sneezes loudly. “Uh, guys, I think I might be allergic ...”

***

When Lance arrives, the culprit — a tiny, scruffy looking kitten — is perched on his shoulder while Lance himself is a picture of misery: puffy eyes, runny nose, and all.

Between his sneezes, Lance pleads, “Can you please keep her until I figure out what to do? I can’t just abandon her.”

You glance at Sebastian, who looks at the tiny furball with a mixture of amusement and concern. He’s been a dog person all his life but how can you say no to those pleading green eyes?

And so, your home expands to accommodate another kid — this time, a four-legged one.

***

The next few days are full of chaos. The kitten — whom Lance named Speedy — turns out to be an agent of destruction, knocking over everything in her path and giving Charles’ cactus a few worrying near misses.

You try to give Lance advice on finding a new home for Speedy while dealing with cat-proofing your own. But, during the ensuing pandemonium, you can’t help but laugh.

George Russell: The Shrunken Sweater Saga

One sunny afternoon, George Russell bursts through the door, a panicked expression on his face. “Guys, something terrible happened!”

Sebastian and you exchange a concerned look, jumping up from where you were cuddled on the couch. “What is it, George?”

He holds up a shrunken cashmere sweater, once a luxurious wardrobe piece, now resembling something only a toy poodle could wear. “I accidentally put all my sweaters in the washing machine! They’ve shrunk!”

As the reality of the situation sinks in, you can’t help but chuckle. “George, you do know cashmere isn’t machine-washable, right?”

“I thought they were!” he laments, looking at his miniature sweater in disbelief.

Sebastian claps a hand on George’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, mate. We’ll figure this out.”

***

Over the next few days, you and Sebastian embark on a quest to save George’s beloved cashmere sweaters. Armed with online tutorials and gallons of fabric softener, you attempt various rescue techniques.

Some of the sweaters regain a semblance of their former glory while others are beyond saving. You present George with a colorful assortment of shrunken clothing which he accepts with an embarrassed grin.

***

A sudden thought strikes you and you can’t help but giggle. Holding up a particularly tiny sweater, you call out to Speedy.

“Look, Speedy! It’s your size!” you exclaim as you gently dress her in the shrunken garment. It fits her perfectly, making her look like the most stylish cat on the block.

The sight of Speedy strutting around in a cashmere sweater breaks all of you into laughter. Even George can’t help but chuckle, despite his heartbreaking loss.

***

In the following days, Speedy parades around the house, flaunting her new wardrobe. George’s shrunken sweaters have found a new purpose, and despite the initial panic, everything worked out in the end.

“This is the most high-fashion cat I’ve ever seen,” Sebastian comments one day, watching Speedy strut her stuff on the living room rug. “She should be on a runway.”

George, watching his beloved sweaters being put to good use, grins. “I think they look better on her than they did on me.”

Speedy watches you with a lazy stare, now comfortably nestled in her new family’s hearts (and cashmere sweaters).

Lando Norris: Call the Milk Man

It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon when the doorbell rings, jolting you out of your peaceful nap. Groggily, you stumble towards the door, pulling it open to reveal a sheepish-looking Lando Norris.

“Hi, I was just wondering,” he starts, shifting nervously from foot to foot, “Do you have some milk I could borrow? I ran out and the shops are closed.”

Suppressing a smile, you nod, motioning for him to wait while you go fetch the milk.

***

When you hand Lando the milk, he seems relieved. But then, he looks at the container quizzically. “Why is it in a glass bottle? Don’t you use cartons?”

Your laughter fills the hallway as you explain your household’s eco-friendly policy. Lando listens attentively, his previous discomfort replaced with genuine curiosity. You can tell he’s taking mental notes.

***

Over the next few weeks, Lando pops by more frequently. Sometimes he borrows more milk, other times he just wants to chat about sustainability, an interest sparked during his first milk visit.

One day, he arrives at your doorstep with a broad grin and a glass bottle in hand. “Look, I’ve switched to glass milk bottles too!”

Sebastian will be proud.

Mick Schumacher: Comfort in Company

One evening, you find Mick Schumacher sitting alone in your backyard, gazing at the stars. His usually cheerful face is thoughtful, his eyes a little glossy.

“Mick, everything alright?” you ask, settling down next to him on the grass.

He looks at you then at the stars again. “I just ... I miss my dad, you know?”

The silence hangs in the air, thick with emotions. You reach out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay to miss him. You don’t have to hide it. Especially not here with us.”

He nods, wiping his eyes. “I know. It’s just some days it hits harder than others.”

You stay with him, listening as he talks about his dad, his memories both sweet and poignant. You realize that while you’ve adopted your grid kids into your chaotic family, they each come with their own sets of joys and sorrows.

***

Sebastian joins you two after a while and the three of you sit under the stars, sharing stories and remembrances. Mick smiles as Sebastian tells him stories about racing with Michael, the camaraderie they shared, and the respect they had for each other.

By the end of the night, Mick seems lighter, the earlier sadness replaced with a soft smile of remembrance. He thanks both of you for listening and understanding. “You guys really are like a second family to me.”

The Big Announcement

One sunny afternoon, you gather all your grid kids in the living room. The chatter is lively, the room buzzing with energy as they try to figure out why they’ve been summoned.

Sebastian gives your hand a reassuring squeeze as you both stand in front of your unconventional family.

“We’ve called you all here because we have some news,” you begin, heart pounding in your chest.

***

When you finally tell them you're pregnant, the room falls into a stunned silence, their wide-eyed expressions making you chuckle. But then, as the news sinks in, the silence is broken by whoops of joy and congratulations.

“Wow, so we’re going to be big brothers?” Max exclaims, while Lando jokes about teaching the baby to prank Sebastian, Mick looks almost teary-eyed with happiness, and George immediately volunteers for babysitting duties.

***

With your pregnancy announcement, your grid kids go into overdrive. They begin to dote on you in a way that’s both touching and a little overwhelming. From Charles insisting on cooking you healthy meals (despite his previous lasagna disaster) to Max bringing you comfortable pregnancy pillows, everyone tries to make you as comfortable as possible.

Lance even makes Speedy wear a bell around her neck in case she inadvertently startles you. The cat isn’t pleased but the sight of her jingling around the house keeps everyone entertained.

***

As the weeks go by, their concern borders on overprotectiveness. They fuss over you at the smallest things, like Max insisting on driving you to your doctor’s appointments because he’s “the fastest driver” or Lando continually adjusting the house temperature to ensure you’re never too hot or cold.

While their actions are well-intended, they often become hilariously excessive. One day, you find Mick baby-proofing the house even though the baby isn’t due for months. He sheepishly shrugs, “Just trying to be prepared.”

***

Despite the chaos, their actions stem from love and concern, which warms your heart. One evening, you find yourself surrounded by your grid kids as you sit in the living room, their laughter filling the air.

As you watch them, your hand gently resting on your growing belly, you can’t help but feel grateful. These young drivers, your grid kids, have become such a vital part of your life. Their genuine care and, at times, overzealous concern during your pregnancy only emphasize the strong bond you share.

Your family may not be traditional and your daily life may be filled with mayhem but it’s your life with Sebastian and the grid kids. It’s chaotic, hilarious, and unpredictable — and you wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

The Big Day

The day finally arrives when you’re rushed to the hospital. Sebastian is by your side, holding your hand through every contraction, while your grid kids anxiously wait in the waiting room, pacing and biting their nails.

A few hours later, when your newborn daughter makes her entrance into the world, Sebastian walks out to the young drivers, his eyes sparkling with joy and exhaustion. “You can meet her now.”

The joy and anticipation in the room is palpable as they rush in, crowding around the hospital room door in their eagerness.

The sight that greets them is nothing short of heartwarming. You’re in bed, looking tired but blissful, a tiny bundle nestled in your arms.

As they take turns holding the little one, their faces light up in awe. From Max’s gentle cooing to Lando’s finger being gripped by tiny hands to Mick’s unashamed happy tears to Charles’ whispered lullaby in French and George’s soft-spoken promise to be the “coolest brother,” the room is filled with a warm sense of family.

Even Speedy, smuggled into the hospital in Lance’s jacket, gets to sniff the newest human member of the family, much to the nurses’ chagrin.

A Baby in the Paddock

Several months later, the paddock welcomes an unexpected visitor — your baby daughter, wrapped snugly in a cute onesie with a tiny racing helmet print. As you push her stroller through the crowd, your grid kids and their fellow drivers are visibly smitten by the adorable sight.

Your grid kids instantly surround your daughter, their faces lighting up as they coo and make silly faces to elicit giggles. They take turns pushing her stroller and you can’t help but chuckle at their enthusiasm in their newfound roles as big brothers.

Sebastian, ever the proud father, looks on with warm amusement as he watches your daughter bond with her extended family.

***

Amid the hustle and bustle of the paddock, your daughter experiences her first pit stop as Charles and Lando try to change her diaper. Even Mick, the baby-proofing master, hovers nearby to ensure everything goes smoothly.

You can’t help but admire their dedication and the way they’ve embraced their roles as her protectors and playmates.

***

At the end of the day, you gather the whole group for a family photo. Your daughter, held by Max and Mick on either side, steals the show with her toothless grin.

As you look at the photo later, you realize that this quirky, chaotic family has grown and changed in the most beautiful ways. Your daughter has been embraced by these young drivers, who have become her brothers and protectors, just as they’ve become sons to you.

A New Racer on the Track

Years pass in the blink of an eye and soon your little girl is no longer a baby. She’s grown into a lively child with a love for speed, much like her father. Today, she’s ready to participate in her first karting race, and the whole gang — your grid kids now with seven World Championships between them — are here to support her.

As they gather around the track, an old joke resurfaces. Max points at a particular bend in the track, nudging Charles with a smirk. “Remember the inchident?”

Charles groans, rolling his eyes, “Not this again. It was years ago!”

Laughter breaks out among the group, their bond echoing through the years.

***

Before the race, each of your grid kids offers your daughter their sage advice. From Lando’s “always keep your cool” to George’s “remember to enjoy the ride,” her brothers are keen to impart their wisdom. Mick even attempts to show her how to properly do a pit stop, using a toy car and tiny plastic cones.

Your daughter, with a sparkling helmet almost too big for her head, listens earnestly, her wide eyes moving from one brother to the next.

When the race finally starts, your grid kids cheer on loudly, their voices carrying over the vroom of the karts. The sight of your daughter, determined behind the wheel of her tiny kart, brings a surge of pride and a few tears to your eyes.

As the race ends, your daughter crosses the finish line in third place, a beaming smile on her face. She’s welcomed back to the pit by a roaring cheer from her family, her brothers lifting her onto their shoulders.

***

That night, the celebration is filled with laughter, teasing, and an impromptu re-enactment of the inchident by Charles and Max, much to your daughter’s amusement.

Sebastian lifts his glass for a toast, “To our little racer, may you always find joy on the track. And remember, an inchident is only funny if it doesn’t happen to you.”

Laughter fills the room once again, and you can’t help but marvel at the love and joy surrounding you. These are the moments you cherish the most, moments of laughter and unity shared with this extraordinary, unconventional family.

As you watch your daughter being coddled and celebrated by her brothers, you realize that this legacy of love and support will always continue, and for that, you couldn’t be happier.

[eddiethebrave]

secret admirer part eleven

922 words

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten

Tuesday and Wednesday go much the same. Steve doesn’t watch Eddie at lunch anymore. 

That’s where Eddie does most of his staring, though. Steve wonders if Eddie felt like this knowing Steve was watching him. He hopes not. He feels like he’s on fire. In a bad way. 

He can’t help himself but go over everything he did, trying to find where he gave himself away, but he comes up blank. Anything he shared about himself in the notes could’ve been from anyone. 

He didn’t hint at it whenever he actually spoke to Eddie, either. 

The only thing he can think of is that he delivered the notes at the same time every day, barring the one time he was late. Eddie must’ve figured it out; saw him one morning. But he thought of that beforehand, too! The only door unlocked then is the gym door because no other sports or clubs meet that early. If Eddie were there, someone would have seen him. 

Then there’s art class. Steve gets whiplash from all the staring at lunch to business as usual in class; Eddie acts like nothing is out of the ordinary. That is to say, they hardly speak to one another, but when they do they’re friendly. 

Come Thursday. Carol is out sick so Steve has no distraction from the boy next to him. He can’t even try to convince himself he isn’t tuned into Eddie’s every movement. 

That day, the worst thing that could possibly happen, happens.

“Next to you, you’ll find your partner for this month's project. Go ahead and get acquainted, you’ll be spending a lot of time with one another.” 

The person on Eddie‘s left turns away from him to pair up with the person on their other side and Steve's stomach drops. He waits for Eddie to request a new partner, but he just drums his pencil on the table noncommittally. 

Steve would just put them both out of their misery and ask the teacher if he can wait until Carol returns to school, but he doesn’t want Eddie to think he minds being partnered with him, especially if Eddie isn’t going to be the one to interject. 

Steve has no reason to be upset with Eddie and, loath he is to admit it, he’d take any chance to be around him. Even now that he knows Eddie doesn’t want him in the same way. 

That’s another thing that’s been nagging him. Eddie was fine with H before he knew it was Steve - liked him even. Then the staring happened and he took off the ring. 

There’s only one explanation: Eddie doesn’t like Steve. 

You’d never guess it, though, not with the way he turns to him and grins. “Well, would ya look at that.”

Steve smiles hesitantly. “Hey, man.”

The teacher claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, alright.” Once everyone has quieted down, she hands each of those in the front row a stack of paper to distribute to their respective columns. 

“This is the project outline. In a moment, I’ll dismiss you to read through it with your partner. After you’ve done that, you’ll notice there is a brainstorm worksheet on the last page. Now, you only need to complete one of these for the both of you…”

Once she’s done giving directions, Eddie turns to Steve. “Do you wanna read or should I? Or separately?”

Steve doesn’t even have to think about the answer. “You.” There’s not really an option there. Not only does he get to hear Eddie’s voice for a prolonged amount of time, but he doesn’t have to stutter his way through reading, or watch as the words seem to evade him? Yeah, Eddie can read; no hesitation.

Eddie nods and clears his throat before starting. Steve reads along on his paper, and finds it much easier than if he’d had to read it on his own. 

The concept is pretty straight-forward. They’ll each have to make a portrait of themselves and the other, collaborating orally while not seeing the other’s work. Even when they’re finished, they have to turn in the projects without the other seeing. There will be an exhibit in three weeks before they go on spring break where all of the portraits will be displayed.

When Eddie’s finished, they flip to the worksheet. “Okay,” Steve says, “I’ll write since you read.”

Eddie hums his approval and they get started. 

At the end of the hour, the teacher tells them to hang onto their packets and take a moment to schedule time outside of school to meet. There will only be one day a week dedicated to the project at school.

Steve clears his throat. “So, I- uh, I’m free most days. When works best for you?”

Eddie tilts his head to the side. “What, no court activities? Responsibilities?”

Steve hesitates. “You mean basketball? I mean, we practice in the mornings and there’s a game next week, but other than that…” Steve trails off once he catches sight of Eddie’s amused look. “What?” He asks, immediately self-conscious.

Eddie waves him off. “Nothing, nothing.” Steve frowns but Eddie keeps talking. “How about Mondays and Wednesdays, right after school?”

Steve chews on his lip before nodding. “Yeah. Where are we meeting?”

Eddie thinks for a moment, drumming his pencil on the desk again. “Uhh, how about we decide that during class those days?”

“Sounds good.” Steve holds up their project outline/brainstorm worksheet. “I’ll just hang onto this.”

Eddie chuckles. “Honestly, man, that’s probably for the best.”

twelve

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sorry if i missed anyone!!

[ghoularaki]

tw kidnapping, noncon, double penetration, slight body horror, virgin! choso

mahito doesn't like a lot of things, but for some reason he liked you. little, defenseless you. he was honestly shocked when he realized you could actual see him instead of just being an invisible gnat flying around you.

how cute you looked when you bumped into him, he had to have you. with no way to say no, mahito picked you up and brought you to where the other cursed spirits lived.

geto simply ignored him, used to his antics, but choso was oddly curious.

"who's that?" the usually reserved man asked.

mahito pulled you closer to him and squished your cheeks between his fingers despite your insistent squirming. "i brought a new toy."

you whimpered at the implicants of what he meant. with how he forced his already hard cock against your butt, you knew you weren't getting out of this unharmed.

the stitched curse picked up on choso's curiosity instantly. whenever mahito dragged in a different humans, choso usually followed geto's example and ignore him. he couldn't blame choso, you sure were pretty for a human.

"hey choso, why don't you join me. humans are so much fun when they are squirming from pleasure."

choso choked on his own spit, not knowing how to respond. his violet eyes stayed lock on your pitiful form. tears had already bubbled over and painted your puffy cheeks. mahito blatantly groped you over you clothes. grabby hands fondling one of your breasts and your hands tried to pried him away, but he was too strong for you.

off in his own little world, mahito pulled you away from choso and called over his shoulder, "suit yourself."

snapping out of it, choso quickly followed mahito to wherever he was taking you. it wasn't like he wanted to know what a naked girl looked like. no he definitely didn't care about that, he just wanted to make sure mahito didn't go too far.

on a raggedy couch, mahito sat you on his lap and impatiently ripped your shirt from your body along with your bra. choso stared at how your breasts bounced from the rough motion. your nipples pebbled from the cold air.

mahito shoved a hand down your pants and found your slit. you gasped at how he swirled your clit, pinched it between his rough fingers.

"don't just stand there. help me take off her clothes," mahito called from over your shoulder.

you sobbed hard. he licked from your chin up your cheek to drink up your delicious tears. from his slimy tongue, you flinched away in disgust.

"your repulsed face only turns me on more," mahito giggled into your ear and rutted up into you.

pulled from his stupor, choso stood above you and delicately released you from your shirt and bra with some struggle. throwing it somewhere into the room, choso then went your pants. ignoring how mahito still hand his hand down the garment, he unbuttoned and unzipped you free.

"w-wait, please!" you begged.

the half curse glanced at you with with tented brows. he didn't want to harm you, but he couldn't deny how his cock strained in his loose pants. so he pulled down your pants and panties, and watched as mahito continued to twiddle your bundle of nerves.

"which hole do you want?" mahito asked choso.

"huh?" choso looked at him, confused.

mahito cackled. "forgot you were virgin. you want her pussy or ass?"

"um, p-pussy?"

mahito hummed, "good choice, i did want to see how far i can stretch her out."

that made you kick up a fuss. you didn't want him anywhere near back there. he was going to break you if he did. plus you had no clue if you could take both at the same time. what did you get yourself into?

pulling his own pants down, mahito pressed a hand on your back so you were bent over, your ass on display. wasting no time, he tapped his cockhead against the tight, untouched hole.

"wait!" you screeched.

laughing at your misery, mahito tugged you back and forced his way into the rim of muscles. your vision went black as he went in with no lube or prep. your chest stuttered from your heaving breaths. he brought your chest to his chest and then tucked his hands under your knees to bring them to your chest. warmth filled your face as your cunt was put on display for the other man in the room.

mahito stood up with you still in his grasp. from the angle he went deep into you. he moaned into your ear as you clamped down on him.

"there, you can fuck her now too."

gulping, choso walked to where mahito bucked his hips into your ass. your cunt clenched around nothing and some slick dripped down to accommodate mahito splitting you open. taking his own cock out from his robes, he followed what he saw mahito do. his cock brushed against your clit until he brought it further down to catch your hole.

nervously, he pushed into you. your breath hitched as he bullied his way inside until the hilt. you were thoroughly filled to the brim. they were both too big.

choso moaned as mahito's thrust caused you to be fucked on his dick. grabbing your hips, choso sloppily pistoned into you. your hands scrambled to grab onto something and deciding on mahito's tensed forearms.

both men used you as nothing more than a fleshlight to chase their own pleasure. inside you, you felt mahito shift inside until his own cock became more ribbed. you whimpered in confusion.

"doesn't it feel nice?" he said in your ear before shoving his tongue inside. you winced and tried to hide your ear from him, but he only laughed. "you're so easy to tease. maybe i'll keep you."

when you clenched down from the scare, choso fucked harder into you. with a few more uncoordinated thrusts, he came deep in you. you cried at the warmth seeping into your gummy walls.

"not fair, i wanted to go first," mahito pouted.

when choso finally pulled from you, the other curse used the cum dripping down to thrust faster into you faster.

"hey, make yourself useful and play with her clit. i want to feel her cum on me."

"her... what?" choso asked, fascinated with his cum drooling from your used cunt.

"the little thing above her hole. touch it."

nodding, choso followed his instructions and shyly dragged a finger up to brush against your clit. when you moaned he took it as him touching the right spot. remembering what mahito did earlier, choso swirled your clit with two fingers to the rhythm of mahito's thrusts.

at the pleasure, you squirmed to get away from it but choso didn't stop. he liked as your own slick dribbled out. human women are fascinating.

when he experimented and pinched the puffy nerves, you came against your will. mahito soon came with you. shoving his cock all the way in past the limits, he made sure your ass swallowed all of his cum.

unable to do anything, you sagged against the curse and let your mind go blank.

still thrusting into you despite already cumming, mahito's cock grew bigger. nuzzling into your neck, he giggled, "yeah, you're definitely going to be my new favorite toy."

[foldingfittedsheets]

Since I already have established myself as a little pickle freak with no shame I have another extremely embarrassing story that will probably make you laugh.

When I started dating Brendan he was still living at home, but after we'd been dating a while he and his best friend Charlie decided to move in together. Another friend of theirs was looking for roommates and they decided to go for it. It was the lower level of a house.

Here's where I need to set the stage a little. Looking back on the time I spent in that space, I don't actually even know if it could have been nice under other circumstances. I feel almost pity for that house, full of young disgusting boys. Bare and wretched, it had minimal threadbare furniture, no decorations, and the guy who lived there already was hands down the most disgusting person I've ever met.

Not his character, but his habits. This boy's name was Josh. I genuinely don't know if their moving in with Josh was a handshake deal or if they saw the place beforehand. No sane person would ever have chosen to live there otherwise, I feel certain.

There was a kitchen. Sorta. But like. Was there a kitchen? Every counter, the whole sink, everything was just covered in dirty dishes. Brendan and Charlie said, "Josh, you need to do the dishes, we can't even wash anything cause it's so full of dirty dishes."

Josh's response to being asked to clean was to load all the dirty dishes onto a blanket. And then he dragged that blanket down the hall into the laundry room.

Crusted on residue, molding slimes, and horrible odors arose as he moved the blanket. After two months they said, "Josh, you can't just leave your dirty dishes on a blanket in the laundry room."

Josh's response was to drag the blanket of misery and miasmas into his room instead.

Josh didn't shower very much and he was a big guy. At one point I walked past his door when it opened. His girlfriend was crossing to the bathroom and I almost dry heaved directly in front of her. The smell of rotting foot, dried on sweat, and sex musk swirled together into the most eye watering assault my nose had ever faced.

So that's where our story takes place. A home of no hand towels, no soap by the bathroom sink, a blanket covered in months of early-twenties depression dishes.

I was meeting some of these people for the first time on the night of our story. Josh had a crew of two others guys who just hung around constantly. So it's me and five dudes hanging out, chatting, ignoring the various smell scapes to live in the moment. Josh left briefly to go pee.

Then I felt a stabbing in my guts. I shot a panicked look to Brendan and casually said I had to pee too. At that time in my life I was experiencing some of the most god awful IBS I've ever experienced. I knew I was going to make a crime scene in there. To my dismay there was no fan to turn on. But Brendan, like the champion partner he was, started telling a story at extremely high volume to cover the sound of my anus exploding under the force of my anxiety poops.

When I flushed and turned to the sink, I was dismayed. There was no soap. I looked around the bare bathroom and didn't see anything useful. No one had ever wanted to wash their hands here before. I then looked over the tub and spotted a tiny window that I wasn't tall enough to open. I wanted to let out the truly rank and terrible smell I had filled the bathroom with, but I had to give that up as impossible.

I slipped out and quietly said, "Hey, is there dish soap or something to wash my hands?"

"Oh," said one of Josh's friends, "There's a bar of soap by the window, let me grab it for you." This was not unreasonable, because again, I couldn't reach the window but I was doused in fear at the ridicule I was about to face.

He went to the door of the bathroom and literally staggered back from the unholy smell I'd left there. He had his arms up as if to protect his face from the malevolent beast my bowels had left behind. When he turned to us there was tears standing in his eyes.

In this house of awful smells and terrible hygiene, I was the stinkiest monster of all, bringing this boy to tears. I broke out in a sweat, ready to cry myself at the shame that was about to be cast upon me.

But instead. He said, "JOSH!"

"I can't believe you dude! Oh my god! That is the nastiest shit I've ever smelled!!" He waved the door frantically to dilute the awful power of my shit and then plowed through to open the window and air out the bathroom, passing me the soap. "I can't BELIEVE you had to go in there after him, oh my god, use the kitchen sink to wash your hands! It's gnarly!"

Everyone turned to rag on Josh for the newest addition to the gallery of smells in the house and he didn't look at me once. He laughed and pulled my shame onto his shoulders with grace, taking the bullet for me like a true hero. Only Brendan and I knew I was the stinky villain.

Josh never brought it up after, but I remain grateful to this day.