#let me know what you think about them ^.^

[ozzgin]

Thinking about playing an otome game where you're still rather undecided about which character to romance, so you choose the right answers for everything. Why not? It will eventually branch out, and you'll be able to pick anyone. It can't hurt to have everyone already interested in you.

The further you progress into the story, however, you begin to notice that your gameplay strays from the walkthrough you're following. Weren't you supposed to unlock an outing with this character? You check your answer: it matches the online guide. The outcome, though, is something entirely different; you watch in confusion as several characters are fighting over who gets to take you out on a date instead.

"I'll let you know that (Y/N) has confided in me before," one of them declares feverishly.

"Yeah? It's me they came to when they needed to talk," another chimes in.

What a load of nonsense. You sigh, determined to redo this scene at a later point in time. Yet the window won't close anymore. It's frozen on your screen, and the men continue to argue.

"Clearly (Y/N) doesn't know what's good for them," one character concludes, turning to face you. "It's up to us to decide."

Why haven't you picked one of them so far? Indeed, you must be confused. It happens. If that's the case, they would be more than happy to help you with your uncertainty.

The next time you blink, you find yourself on the ground, gawking in horror at the characters - now standing tall before you.

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 33: September 2024 - Part 4

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The office was quiet, soft. A low hum of air-conditioning filled the silence between words, the kind of ambient white noise that Belle had grown to find oddly comforting. She sat cross-legged on the couch, a mug of chamomile tea cooling in her hands. Simone, always calm, always precise, watched her with an expression that never pushed—but always invited.

“I think it’s… better,” Belle said slowly. “Not fixed. Not even close. But better.”

Simone nodded. “What feels better?”

Belle thought for a moment. “Arthur’s been texting more. Charles and Lorenzo send me links to baby things they think I’ll like. Nothing huge. Just... consistent. Like they’re trying.”

“And how does that feel?”

“Confusing,” Belle said honestly. “Nice, sometimes. Other times I want to scream. But I’m not… shutting them out. Not completely.”

Simone’s gaze softened. “That’s progress.”

“Yeah.” Belle gave a wry smile. “It’s baby steps. My mother sends me articles about parenting now. Like I haven’t already read everything the internet has to offer. But she’s trying.”

“And how does it feel when he does?”

“Complicated,” Belle admitted. “It makes me happy, but it also makes me angry, like—where was this five years ago? Where was this when I needed it?”

Simone nodded once, acknowledging the contradiction without judgment. “You’re allowed to feel both. One doesn’t cancel out the other.”

“I know.” Belle paused. “But I think… I want to keep the door open. Just a little.”

“That sounds brave.”

Belle gave a dry laugh. “It sounds terrifying.”

Simone tilted her head. “Would it help if you had more control over how you let them in?”

Belle looked up. “What do you mean?”

Simone set her notebook gently aside. “What if you invited them to something low-stakes? Something where they’re part of your world, but not the center of it. Somewhere you can set the tone, and where other people are around. Like a buffer.”

Belle blinked. “Like what?”

Simone smiled lightly. “You mentioned Max’s birthday. That you’re planning to decorate the nursery that weekend?”

“Yeah…” Belle’s voice trailed off as the thought formed. “We were going to build the shelves and hang the prints. Nothing fancy. Just… make it feel real.”

“What if you invited your family to be part of that?” Simone asked gently. “Not the whole day. Not a big deal. Just… included.”

Belle was quiet for a moment. “It wouldn’t be about them.”

“Exactly,” Simone said. “It’s about you. Your space. Your child. But it could be a way to let them step into that gently. On your terms.”

“And if it’s awful, I can make Max tell them to leave,” Belle muttered.

Simone smiled. “You’re not alone anymore. That’s the difference.”

Belle stared down into her tea. The idea sat heavily—but not painfully.

Maybe it wasn’t a reconciliation. Maybe it wasn’t forgiveness.

Maybe it was just… the next step.

“Okay,” Belle said softly. “Maybe I’ll ask them.”

Simone nodded, kind and steady. “Only if you want to. You don’t owe anyone a seat in your story. But if you want to hand them a folding chair—they’ll know where to find it.”

Belle snorted. “God, that’s such a therapist metaphor.”

“And yet,” Simone said, eyes twinkling, “you got it immediately.”

Belle smiled, small and tired and real. “I did.”

***

The fan hummed softly overhead. The windows were cracked open just enough to let the night air in, and Belle was half-curled on her side, head resting on Max’s chest, her fingers absently tracing the edge of his shirt.

They were supposed to be asleep. But the baby had kicked just hard enough to startle Belle, and now sleep felt like a distant thought.

“Do you want to keep talking names?” Max asked quietly, not pushing, just offering.

Belle didn’t answer right away. Her fingers paused, then started again. “Maybe.”

Max waited.

“I’ve been thinking about middle names,” she said eventually. “And… I don’t know. I’m stuck.”

“Too many options?” he asked, brushing his hand along her spine.

She shook her head. “Just one. That I keep coming back to.”

Max was quiet, letting her shape the words however she needed to.

“My father’s name,” Belle said softly. “Hervé.”

He didn’t react. Just shifted a little so he could see her face better. “Okay.”

“There’s this… expectation,” she continued. “I haven’t said anything to anyone, but I know. My family will assume we’ll use it. Especially because we are having a boy. It’ll be this unspoken thing that I’m supposed to do.”

Max ran his thumb gently along her arm. “Do you want to?”

Belle was quiet again. “I don’t know.”

And that was the honest truth.

“I loved him,” she said, her voice rough now. “He died when I was nineteen. There’s a part of me that still misses him every day.”

Max’s eyes softened. “I know.”

“But he also…” She swallowed. “He sold Blanche.”

Belle let out a breath. “Sold her. My horse. My best friend. Just—gone. For karting tires. For Charles. And I know it was to help the family, and I know he thought he was doing the right thing. But he never even told me. He didn’t say goodbye. I came home and the stable was just… empty.”

Max didn’t try to fix it. He just leaned in a little, one arm brushing hers. Letting her feel him there.

“So now,” she said, throat tight, “I think of giving our child his name, and there’s this voice in my head saying, you should. That it’s the right thing. That I’ll be ungrateful if I don’t. That everyone will judge me.”

Max reached for her hand and wrapped it gently in his.

“But then,” Belle whispered, “there’s this other part of me that still feels like that girl. Standing in that empty stable. Wondering why I wasn’t enough to keep.”

Silence bloomed between them. Not heavy. Not cold. Just true.

After a moment, Max spoke, voice low but certain. “You don’t owe anyone that name.”

“I know,” she said. “But part of me still wants to give it to the baby. Because he was my dad. Because I did love him. Because it wasn’t all bad.”

She turned to look at Max. “Is that stupid?”

“No,” he said immediately. “It’s not stupid. It’s human. He mattered to you. It’s okay that it’s complicated.”

Belle’s eyes glistened. “What if people think I’m being selfish for not using it?”

Max shifted closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Then let them think it. This isn’t about them. It’s about what feels right to you. To us.”

She leaned into him slightly, comforted by the certainty in his voice.

“And Belle,” he added, voice gentler now, “you know Charles or Arthur or maybe even Lorenzo will use the name. One of them will. Hervé will live on, one way or another.”

Belle turned slightly toward him.

“And maybe they should,” Max continued. “Because he had a different meaning to them. Because Hervé was their father too. And that’s their grief to carry, their memory to honor.”

Belle gave a small, tearful laugh. “Arthur will probably make it the kid’s first name and then forget to tell anyone.”

Max smiled. “Exactly. So you don’t have to carry that weight for them. Not this time.”

She nodded, silent again. But this time, it felt less like drowning in indecision and more like finding breath.

He squeezed her hand. “This is our child. And this name? This is yours to choose. Not for tradition. Not for guilt. For love.”

Belle blinked back tears she hadn’t meant to let fall.

Max smiled softly. “If you want to use Hervé, we can. But it doesn’t have to be this time. Or ever. Our baby won’t love you less. He won’t even know unless you choose to tell him.”

Belle exhaled shakily and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Can we just… sit on it for a while?”

“For as long as you want,” Max said. “We’ve got time.”

Belle stayed curled against him, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. One of his hands had settled over the curve of her belly again, warm and grounding. She didn’t want to break the moment—but she also didn’t want to hold it in anymore.

“There’s something else,” she said quietly.

Max shifted just enough to show he was listening.

“I saw Simone yesterday.”

“Yeah?” he murmured. “How was it?”

“Good,” Belle said. Then, after a pause: “Hard. But good.”

Max waited.

“She brought something up. Something I haven’t stopped thinking about since.”

Max hummed softly, encouragement in sound form.

“She suggested… maybe I invite my family to help with the nursery. On your birthday.”

Max blinked. “Oh.”

“I know that’s not what we planned,” Belle rushed to say. “And it’s totally okay if you don’t want to. Or if it feels like too much. I just—Simone said it might be easier if I let them come when it’s not just about me. When it’s already a full day. Less pressure. Less expectation. More people around.”

She lifted her head slightly to look at him. “Would that be okay?”

Max was quiet for a moment. Not because he was upset—Belle knew his silences now. This one was full of thought, not hesitation.

“I don’t care what my birthday looks like,” he said softly. “As long as you’re okay. If this helps you… if this makes it easier to let them in, even just a little—I’m all for it.”

Belle’s brows knit, uncertain. “Are you sure?”

Max reached up and gently tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m sure.”

She searched his face for any sign of discomfort. There was none.

“I just…” She took a breath. “I don’t want it to become a whole thing. Like—‘we’re all fine now,’ or ‘look how close we are again.’ I’m not there. I’m not even close.”

“You don’t have to be,” Max said. “It doesn’t have to be anything more than a few hours of paint and furniture and wallpaper. If anyone tries to turn it into a redemption arc, I’ll lock them in the garage with Christian.”

Belle laughed wetly, wiping her eyes.

“Let them come,” Max said, gently. “Let them hold a paintbrush and hang some shelves and exist in a space that you created. That we’re building for our son.”

She exhaled slowly, like letting something heavy slide from her shoulders.

“And if at any point it’s too much,” Max added, “just say the word. I’ll fake a plumbing emergency.”

Belle snorted. “A plumbing emergency in a newly built Monaco penthouse?”

He grinned. “I’m very committed to the bit.”

She rested her forehead against his. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me have it both ways,” she said softly. “For letting me try.”

Max’s voice dropped, rough with affection. “I always will.”

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Lando Norris

Max: you’re coming to my birthday next weekend don’t make a face we’re decorating the nursery

Lando: oh thank god i thought you were about to make me wear a button-down and socialize

Max: no button-down just emotional labor and assembling IKEA furniture

Lando: so… worse

Max: also the Leclerc brothers will be there all of them

Lando: MAX NO no no no no no i’m not sitting through Arthur quoting Pinterest at us and Charles making emotionally repressed noises

Max: that’s why i’m texting you i’m not sitting through that alone you’re my support gremlin

Lando: i hate it here

Max: bring a drill and snacks or just stand near me and make fun of Arthur under your breath either works

Lando: i had plans that day

Max: do you even know what day it is

Lando: not the point

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Emilie Abadie

Lando: MAX IS MAKING ME GO TO HIS BIRTHDAY NURSERY BUILDING CHAOS THING

Emilie: yes. we are going.

Lando: WHAT WE??

Emilie: yes. You’re not getting out of it. I already RSVP’d for us when Belle mentioned it

Lando: this feels like betrayal

Emilie: it’s community support and if i have to be in the same room as Charles, i’m not doing it alone

Lando: but i was going to play FIFA and ignore my feelings

Emilie: congratulations. now you’ll be building a changing table and confronting emotional growth instead

Lando: i’m calling HR

Emilie: HR said bring cupcakes

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Max Verstappen

Lando: we’re coming emilie sold me out

Max: excellent i’ll save you a paint roller

Lando: i hope the baby grows up to be a McLaren fan out of sheer spite

***

Group Chat: WHAT IS HAPPENING

(Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo)

Lando: i need backup this is an emergency

Oscar: hello to you too

Daniel: what did you do now

Lando: MAX invited me to his birthday which is also apparently a nursery decorating session AND THE LECLERCS WILL BE THERE plural. brothers. full trio. mother. no escape

Oscar: so what you’re saying is you’re being forced to be emotionally supportive and also use a screwdriver

Lando: YES emilie said we’re going i didn’t even have a say i was mid toast when she RSVP’d for both of us

Daniel: mate that sounds like a you problem i’m in australia 8,000 miles away UNREACHABLE

Lando: that’s cowardice

Daniel: that’s geography 😌

Lando: oscar please don’t leave me alone with a roll of painter’s tape and charles leclerc talking about childhood trauma

Oscar: unfortunately i have a prior engagement

Lando: you don’t even know what day it is

Oscar: still. engagement confirmed. cannot cancel.

Daniel: i hope they make you do the stenciling

Oscar: i hope you get stuck between Arthur and Jos in a very small room

Lando: i hate both of you i want that on record

Daniel: duly noted, now post pictures of you holding a baby onesie and pretending to care

Oscar: bonus points if you cry during the wallpaper reveal

Lando: this is abuse

Daniel: this is family ❤️

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Lily Zneimer

Lando: Lily. Light of Oscar’s life. i need your help.

Lily: what did he do now

Lando: MAX invited us to his birthday slash nursery decorating emotional ambush oscar said he had “a prior engagement” please tell me that’s fake. PLEASE.

Lily: excuse me??? this is the first i’m hearing of it

Lando: I KNEW IT he’s trying to abandon me with a paint roller and charles leclerc’s unresolved childhood trauma

Lily: he said nothing about this we are absolutely going

Lando: thank god you’re my favorite

Lily: i am texting him right now “prior engagement” my ass the engagement is with Belle’s wallpaper

Lando: can i stand next to you the whole time

Lily: yes but only if you bring cupcakes and stop calling it an emotional ambush

Lando: i make no promises

***

Text Messages: Lily Zneimer & Oscar Piastri

Lily: “prior engagement” ??? MAX’S NURSERY DAY IS NEXT WEEKEND AND YOU LIED

Oscar: i didn’t lie i deflected

Lily: we’re going. you’re painting something. lando is emotionally fragile. you are not abandoning him.

Oscar: i regret all of my life choices

***

Text Messages: Oscar Piastri & Lando Norris

Oscar:I hate you.

Oscar:Lily said i have to help you emotionally regulate during baby-themed social situations

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Belle: Hi everyone— I wanted to let you know that we’re doing some nursery decorating on Max’s birthday. Nothing formal, just paint and furniture and probably chaos. We’ll be at the house all day. If anyone wants to come by and help, you’re welcome.

Belle: No pressure. But… if you want to be part of this, this is a good place to start.

Arthur: i’ll be there!! do i need to bring snacks??

Charles: Thank you for inviting us We’d love to help

Lorenzo: Do you need tools? Or wine?

Belle: both, probably

Pascale: Thank you, ma chérie. I’d love to come. Let me know what you need.

Belle:Just… bring yourselves. And maybe don’t wear white.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: just a heads up the entire Leclerc family might be at the house next weekend

Victoria: wait what like… the Leclerc family?

Max: all of them Belle invited them to help with the nursery on my birthday painting. furniture. emotional tension. the works.

Victoria: so… you’re telling me that i need to bring snacks, patience, and a fully charged phone for live updates

Max: absolutely arthur’s already trying to bring snacks so we’ll see how that goes

Max: i’m just warning you there will be wallpaper there will be feelings there may be passive-aggressive screwdriver moments

Victoria: i’m bringing wine and wearing black in case we need to mourn the concept of boundaries

Max: smart also maybe stay near belle just in case she needs backup

Victoria: always

Max: she’s trying so hard i just want it to go okay

Victoria: it will you’ve got me and a surprisingly motivated lando norris, apparently

Max: he’s been emotionally blackmailed into coming it’s beautiful

Victoria: see you there, birthday boy don’t let anyone cry on the crib mattress

Max: no promises

***

Team Redline Stream Transcript

Luke Crane: (laughing) “Okay, okay — last lap, and then serious question time. Max. Birthday boy. What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

Max: (without hesitation) “Ah, nothing crazy. My family’s coming over.”

Gianni Vecchio: “So what, big party? Michelin chef? Yacht? Balloons shaped like racing trophies?”

Max:  “No, nothing like that this year.” (pauses, completely deadpan) “We’re doing the nursery.”

(beat of stunned silence)

Chris Lulham: “…You’re doing what?”

Max: (grinning now) “You heard me.”

Chris: “Mate. Like… baby nursery?”

CHAT: 🧡🧡🧡 “Wait. THE NURSERY??” “HELLO???” “Is this how we find out he’s building the baby room???” “MAX. HELLO. BACK UP.” “Soft dad mode ACTIVATED.” “27 and domesticated.” “Say ‘my wife’ next, I dare you.”

Max (nodding, smiling like it’s the best thing in the world): “Yeah. Belle wants everything up before December, so we’re starting now. Wallpaper, furniture, the works. It’s… nice. Feels real.”

Luke: “You’re telling me you, Max Verstappen, multi-time F1 World Champion, are spending your birthday assembling a crib?”

Max: “Yeah. Why not? We’ve got to put up the wallpaper. And the mobile thing. The one with the little monkeys. I have been trying to build the giraffe lamp for three days and failing.”

CHAT: “BELLEEEE 🥺” “JUNGLE. NURSERY. I’M DEAD.” “Wait it’s a jungle theme I can’t breathe that’s so cute.” “HE SAID HER NAME.” “‘My family is coming over’ = wife + baby bump confirmed.” “IKEA collab when.”

Luke:  “Do we get a vlog? A ‘Verstappen Builds a Jungle’ series?”

Max:  “You can come help if you want.”

Luke:  “Absolutely not. I’m not getting blamed if the giraffe ends up upside down.”

Max: (shrugging)  “It’s Belle’s vision. I’m just the assistant. And maybe the muscle.”

Chris:   “Can’t believe the guy who nearly flipped a kart at age nine is excited about monkey mobiles.”

Max:  “Yeah, well. Turns out there are better things than trophies.”

Gianni:  “…you’re telling me your birthday party is IKEA furniture and jungle wallpaper?”

Max (smiling): “Yeah. And honestly? I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Chris: “God, he’s in deep.”

Luke: “Deep? He’s gone. Man said nursery like it was a five-star spa weekend.”

Max: “It kind of is. You don’t know joy until you see Belle looking at stuffed lion.”

Gianni: “Max Verstappen: Three-time World Champion. King of the jungle nursery.”

Max: “Soon-to-be father of one very spoiled, very loved little monkey.”

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/gridwife: MAX VERSTAPPEN SAID “YOU DON’T KNOW JOY UNTIL YOU SEE BELLE LOOKING AT STUFFED LIONS” don’t touch me i’m emotional

@/rbrarchive: i don’t want Drive to Survive i want a 4-part miniseries called “Verstappen Builds a Jungle”

@/formulafem: Belle: “Don’t make it all about me.” Max: “Her name is Belle. She wants monkeys. I love her. My job is giraffe assembly.” 🥹🥹🥹

@/kartsandcookies: Soft dad era Max Verstappen is stronger than any Red Bull aero package. He’s GONE. He’s in the jungle with a mobile in one hand and an allen key in the other.

@/f1contentqueen: We just watched Max Verstappen admit live on stream that he’s building a jungle-themed nursery for his child. On his birthday. Because Belle wants it done before December. Sir. You are the prize.

@/itsgivingdadenergy: 27. Multi-World Champion. Could be celebrating on a yacht. Instead: – Crib assembly – Monkey mobile – Jungle wallpaper – Saying “there are better things than trophies” 🥹

@/alonsohascats: MAX SAID BELLE WANTS “EVERYTHING UP BEFORE DECEMBER” SOFT DEADLINE?? BABY VERSTAPPEN ETA CONFIRMED FOR DECEMBER???? HELLO????

@/verstappenanon: You can actually hear Chris Lulham’s soul leave his body when Max says “the nursery.” I need the highlight reel. I need the full transcript. I need therapy.

@/sheercontent: Please understand that “Soon-to-be father of one very spoiled, very loved little monkey” is now my religion.

@/formulaiconics: Someone asked Max Verstappen what he’s doing for his birthday and he said “assembling jungle furniture for my unborn child.” This man has never been hotter.

@/gridtea: Max: "My family is coming over." Us: oh cute. Max: "We're doing the nursery." Us: EMOTIONAL COLLAPSE

@/carbonsnack:

I regret to inform you that Max Verstappen is so deep in domestic bliss he considers building IKEA furniture a birthday treat.

@/chaosandcarbon:

Max Verstappen, in 2019: “I’m here to win.”

Max Verstappen, in 2024: “I’ve been trying to build the giraffe lamp for three days.”

@/iknowaboutthegiraffelamp

if you’d told me five years ago that Max Verstappen would be losing sleep over a giraffe lamp and grinning about baby mobiles on Twitch I would’ve called you delusional but here we are

***

The plan had been simple.

Paint the nursery. Assemble the crib. Maybe hang the curtains. A cozy afternoon with a few close people.

Instead, there were 20 humans, two stepladders, a very suspicious IKEA instruction manual, and one giraffe lamp with a death wish.

***

In one corner of the nursery:

“Don’t force it,” Lily said calmly, crouched beside Oscar as she braced the neck of the lamp, her fingers steady against the ceramic.

“I’m not,” Oscar replied, tone even, brows furrowed in concentration as he adjusted the internal wiring with surgical precision. “But whoever assembled this originally had a deep disregard for physics. Possibly also sanity.”

Lily glanced at him, amused. “So Max, then.”

He gave her a long, unimpressed look. “Do you want the giraffe to work or not?”

She held up one hand in surrender but didn’t let go of the lamp. “Please continue your delicate surgery, Doctor Piastri.”

Oscar muttered something under his breath about hostile work environments, but his hands were careful, his focus razor-sharp. Despite the chaos unfolding around them—Arthur dropping wallpaper paste on the floor, Charles reading the instructions upside down, Lando declaring himself a “pattern expert”—the corner they’d carved out for themselves was oddly peaceful.

They’d been working on the lamp for nearly twenty minutes. Rewiring the socket, re-aligning the brass hardware, and gluing down a chip in the giraffe’s ear with Lily’s travel-sized nail glue. The giraffe’s head, slightly cocked to the side, had a vaguely judgmental expression, as if it, too, was questioning every decision that had led to this moment.

It fit right in.

“There,” Oscar said finally, sitting back on his heels. “Moment of truth.”

He reached up and flipped the switch.

The giraffe’s eyes lit up—literally. Two soft golden bulbs nestled behind the ceramic pupils flickered to life, casting a warm, slightly eerie glow around the corner of the nursery.

Lily gasped, delighted. “It’s majestic.”

Oscar tilted his head. “It’s deeply unsettling.”

“Majestically unsettling,” she corrected. “I’m naming him Gerard.”

Oscar blinked. “Gerard?”

She nodded, solemn. “He’s seen things. He has opinions. He’s here to supervise.”

Oscar glanced at the giraffe’s glowing face and then at Lily. “We’re not keeping this in the corner. It’s going next to the changing table. That way the baby can meet Gerard during every diaper change.”

“Perfect,” Lily said. “An early lesson in judgment and accountability.”

They both laughed, low and warm, the kind of laugh that comes from knowing each other too well and still liking what they find.

Across the room, Belle caught the glow out of the corner of her eye and smiled. “Did you fix it?”

Oscar looked up. “Gerard lives.”

Belle blinked. “You named the lamp?”

Lily patted Gerard on the head. “He named himself.”

Max, overhearing, just said, “If that lamp judges me at 3am while I’m trying to swaddle a screaming child, I’m throwing it in the bin.”

Oscar stood, dusting off his hands. “He’d survive. Gerard has strong main character energy.”

***

In another corner of the nursery:

“Okay,” Alexandra said, holding up a brass knob shaped like a monkey. “We’ve got a giraffe, an elephant, a lion, a hippo, and this little guy. Rank them in order of jungle superiority.”

“Giraffe wins for drama,” Emilie said, without looking up as she carefully smoothed down a tiny cotton onesie covered in embroidered leaves. “Monkeys are too chaotic. They’re basically Lando with a tail.”

Charlotte, on her knees by the partially assembled dresser, looked up with a grin. “So lion goes in the center drawer. Obviously. Power placement.”

“Agreed,” Alexandra said, already unscrewing the generic silver knobs from the dresser Max had built three weeks ago and left in ‘temporary, totally functional’ mode. “This child will be raised with aesthetics and authority.”

“Also, do we alphabetize the clothes?” Charlotte asked, holding up a delicate pale green muslin romper. “Or organize by size? Or by outfit vibe?”

Emilie blinked. “Is… outfit vibe a category?”

Charlotte shrugged. “If it’s not, I’m inventing it. Look at this cardigan. It’s giving ‘baby goes to brunch.’ This one?” She held up a tiny zip-up hoodie with bear ears. “This is ‘baby goes camping but stylishly.’”

Alexandra held up a pair of overalls the size of a dinner napkin. “This is ‘baby is emotionally prepared for tax season.’”

Emilie snorted. “Belle is going to walk in here and either cry from joy or immediately revoke our access to her child’s wardrobe.”

“I’m betting on both,” Charlotte said.

They laughed, quietly, gently, surrounded by soft fabrics and the scent of wood polish. Emilie reached for the drawer handles and began screwing on the animal knobs—giraffe on the top left, lion in the middle, elephant bottom right. It was absurd how satisfying it felt.

“Does this feel… real to you?” Alexandra asked after a moment, her voice a little softer now. “Like… Belle is having a baby.”

Emilie paused, hand resting on the edge of the dresser. “Sometimes, no. And then I fold a pair of newborn socks and remember that a tiny person is going to wear them.”

Charlotte added, “A tiny person with Max Verstappen’s DNA. Which means we’re probably going to have to baby-proof the sim rig by month four.”

Emilie smiled, but her eyes were warm. “They’re going to be so good at this.”

“They already are,” Alexandra said.

Emilie screwed in the last knob—a hippo, slightly crooked, just enough to be charming.

“Done,” she announced.

Charlotte leaned over to inspect. “That hippo is judging me.”

“Perfect,” Emilie said, sitting back on her heels. “He and Gerard the giraffe lamp can have meetings.”

***

In another corner: 

It was supposed to be a straightforward job.

 One wall.

Four panels of jungle-themed wallpaper.

An afternoon of light banter and bonding.

Instead, it had become a cautionary tale about letting three Leclercs, two Verstappens and a chaos-addicted McLaren driver do anything involving measurements.

“Okay,” Max said through gritted teeth, holding the smoothing tool in one hand and a strip of wallpaper in the other, “this is the last panel. We just need to line it up with the tree trunk on the previous one.”

Charles leaned in, squinting. “It’s already misaligned.”

“I haven’t even put it on the wall yet, Charles.”

Arthur, standing precariously on the second ladder with a glue brush in one hand and his phone flashlight in the other, said, “It’s the giraffe that’s off. Look. Its legs don’t line up.”

Lando, sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaned back slowly until he was lying flat, arms splayed out dramatically. “I could be anywhere else. I could be in Bali. Or dead. Either would be better than this.”

“You’re not helping,” Max muttered.

“I told you I wasn’t helping,” Lando said, voice muffled by the carpet. “I was promised cake and low-stakes birthday vibes. Not psychological warfare disguised as home improvement.”

Lorenzo sighed loudly. “I said we should’ve started with the right side and worked left. But nooo, Arthur had a system.”

Arthur looked offended. “My system was logical!”

Jos, standing by the door like a deeply disappointed god, crossed his arms. “Your system has resulted in two upside-down leaves, a floating lemur, and ten minutes of arguing about tree trunks.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “We wouldn’t be arguing if people listened to me when I said we needed a laser level.”

“NO ONE OWNS A LASER LEVEL, CHARLES,” Max snapped, eyes wild.

“I do,” Jos said, calmly.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“What?” he asked. “I like precision.”

Lando groaned from the floor. “I’m going to fake an injury. Someone drop a bookshelf on me.”

“Can we please just get this on the wall before my son graduates university?” Max asked, voice climbing into a pitch usually reserved for pit wall frustration.

Jos stepped forward silently and took the smoothing tool from Max’s hand.

“Oh, thank god,” Lando muttered.

With terrifying precision, Jos adjusted the paper, ran the tool down the seam, and stepped back. It was perfectly aligned.

No one said a word for a full five seconds.

Then Jos, still deadpan, muttered, “It’s like working with unmedicated squirrels.”

Arthur snorted.

Lorenzo looked personally wounded.

Charles opened his mouth and wisely closed it again.

Max dragged a hand down his face. “Why did I think this was a good idea?”

Lando, now half-asleep on the floor: “Because you love Belle. It’s always because you love Belle.”

Jos handed the smoothing tool back to Max and walked out without a word.

A moment of silence followed.

Then Arthur said, “Should we… fix the lemur?”

Max turned slowly. “If you touch that wall again, I’m using your face to test the crib mattress.”

***

In another corner: 

The nursery was full of chaos—ladders, laughter, half-screwed drawer knobs, wallpaper that had probably driven someone to therapy. So Belle had retreated to the sun-drenched living room with a basket of baby clothes and a folding station made out of the coffee table. Victoria helping her sort the clothing by size. 

Sophie knelt near the bookshelf, methodically stacking picture books and board games by theme and height. Pascale perched neatly on the edge of the armchair, holding a cup of herbal tea. 

In the hallway just outside, the sounds of chaos filtered in: a thump, a shout, and the unmistakable hiss of an offended cat.

“I said don’t chase Sassy with the tambourine!” Tom called, exasperated.

“We’re not chasing it, we’re guiding her with sound!” one of the children yelled back.

Victoria winced. “That’s the third time today.”

Belle sighed.  “She’ll live. Granted, she’ll loudly complain to Max this evening, but she’ll survive. ”

They shared a smile, the kind of tired, knowing thing women passed between each other without words.

The conversation drifted toward baby names as Belle started sorting through the pile of baby clothing.

“We’ve narrowed it down,” she said casually, “but we’re still thinking about middle names.”

“Have you considered something from your side of the family?” Victoria asked gently.

Pascale perked up immediately, voice sweet with just the faintest edge of expectation. “I always thought Hervé would be such a lovely tribute.”

The words hung in the air.

Belle’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. “Yes,” she said, carefully. “We’ve talked about it.”

“I just think,” Pascale continued, smiling, “it would be such a nice way to honor your father. Especially since it’s a boy. Your father would’ve been so proud.”

Sophie, without looking up from her espresso, said, “Would he?”

Pascale blinked. “Excuse me?”

Sophie set her cup down and looked up slowly, voice as calm and cutting as a fine blade. “You speak as if love and grief are simple. As if honoring someone is a duty, not a choice.”

Belle’s breath hitched, just slightly.

“He was her father,” Pascale said, defensively.

“Yes,” Sophie said. “And he made choices that hurt her. That shaped her. That took something from her she never got back. That doesn’t make him a villain. But it does make this complicated.”

“I’m not saying he was perfect,” Pascale said stiffly. “But he was part of her.”

“And she’s allowed to decide which parts she wants to pass on,” Sophie said. “You may think you’re asking for a tribute. But what she hears is a demand.”

Pascale fell quiet. Not insulted. Just… still. Like someone who’d finally heard something that made the ground tilt.

Belle didn’t speak. She just folded a blanket slowly, fingers steady even though her throat was tight.

Sophie’s voice softened. “If Belle chooses that name, it should be because it brings her peace. Not because she feels indebted to grief.”

Victoria reached out and gently squeezed Belle’s hand.

And then—quietly, almost too quiet to hear—Pascale said, “I never thought of it like that.”

Belle looked up.

Pascale swallowed. “I just… I thought I was helping. I thought keeping his name alive meant something. But maybe I was asking her to carry something I should’ve been carrying myself.”

Sophie nodded, sitting back. “Then perhaps now, you can start letting her choose her own way to remember him.”

***

Instagram Stories: @/victoriaverstappen

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/sportschaosnet max verstappen going from “i don’t need friends” to “i have a jungle-themed nursery and a sister who writes poetry about it” is MY roman empire

@/OscarHardLaunch MAX HAS A NURSERY THERE IS A JUNGLE THEMED NURSERY THE CATS HAVE BEEN DEFEATED THE ERA HAS BEGUN

@/wheresthedrama Studio_B tag = BELLE IS THE DESIGNER = Max Verstappen’s wife is actually an interior architect with immaculate taste Do not speak to me I’m in mourning for my own walls

@/featherandfuel “Happy birthday, Max. You picked the best kind of life.” HELLO???? I’M CRYING IN TARGET

@/MaxVerstappenDefenseSquad can’t believe max verstappen’s redemption arc includes a eucalyptus mobile, a giraffe lamp, and an younger sister who now speaks in emotional prose

@/charlesgirliesunite i just know charles walked into that nursery and immediately questioned every aesthetic choice he’s ever made

@/formulalatte tbh the only thing more powerful than belle’s design taste is victoria's commitment to chaos. what do you mean “objective: avoid punching my brother” girl HELP

@/verstappenupdates victoria tagging @studio_b like belle isn't her sister-in-law and bestie now LMAOOO supportive queen

@/circuithearts max verstappen having a jungle nursery and victoria getting emotional about it was not on my 2024 bingo card but I’m here for the domestic era

@/softerverstappen “Happy Birthday, Max. You picked the best kind of life.” i am on the FLOOR. this is max’s roman empire.

***

The house was quiet. Max had gone out for a drive to clear his head after dinner, and the chaos of the day—the laughter, the teasing, the wallpaper war—had finally settled into a gentle hum in Belle’s memory.

She sat cross-legged on the rug in the half-lit nursery, a notepad resting on her knee. The giraffe lamp—Gerard—cast a golden glow over the list of names she’d scribbled and rewritten so many times the page had started to wrinkle.

She wasn’t even pretending to be objective anymore. The list was chaotic. A mix of classic and unusual, soft and strong. Names Max had liked. Names Belle had dismissed. Names from books. Names from nowhere.

And again—again—her pen landed on the same one.

Emilian.

She wrote it down softly. Fourth time this week.

She didn’t say it out loud. Didn’t need to. Just traced the letters, over and over, until the ink deepened and the paper thinned beneath it.

It was Max’s middle name. One he almost never used. One that came up once in conversation, early on, and she’d filed it away without knowing why.

But that wasn’t the only reason.

It was Emilie, too. The girl who had stood beside her in everything. The one who’d carried her grief like it was nothing and handed her back joy in return. It was Emilie’s laugh. Emilie’s loyalty. Emilie, who had become something like a sister without ever asking for the title.

Emilian.

It felt right in a way she couldn’t explain.

Strong, but soft. Steady.

She never said anything to Max. Not yet. She didn’t know if she was allowed to name something so permanent after people who already meant so much. Didn’t know if Max would see it as sentimental or strange.

So she kept the name to herself.

Wrote it at the top of every new page.

Circled it absentmindedly when she talked to the baby alone in the quiet.

Sometimes whispered it under her breath when she folded tiny onesies or passed by the crib and imagined someone small in it.

Emilian.

Maybe she was waiting to see if Max said it first. Or maybe she just needed to be sure.

But again and again—when she closed her eyes, when she dreamed of someone with Max’s eyes and her stubbornness—

That was the name that came back.

[0scarp1astr1]

Spoiled Much? (P1)

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Pranking them but telling them you let another man pay for you. ||

P2 (COMING SOON)

ᯓ★ Featuring: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Fernando Alonso.

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Humor

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? Yes

Author Note: We are back to headcanons! and doing requests given to me. I've been working on the masterlist that will soon replace the original pinned post. It'll have links to each part of these headcanosn so I hope you all enjoy.

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Max Verstappen

It all started with a few innocent scrolls on TikTok—girls pranking their boyfriends left and right—and you figured, why not? Max had just handed you his card to go grab a few things from the store, trusting you like he always did. That’s when the perfect plan popped into your mind.

"Call me if you need me," he said casually, completely unaware. You hummed in response, leaned over to kiss his cheek, and slipped out of the car with a little too much pep in your step.

Max leaned back in the driver’s seat, letting the car sit idle in the parking spot. At first, he thought nothing of your delay. He assumed you were just stuck in a long line. Meanwhile, inside, you were hunched over a cart, hiding your giggles behind your hand as you rehearsed the prank in your head.

Eventually, you managed to compose yourself, strolled out with your bags in hand, and tossed them into the back seat before slipping into your place beside him. You buckled up, eyes wide with innocent mischief.

"The man I ran into was really nice—he paid for everything," you said smoothly.

Max turned toward you, brow already furrowing. "The man?" he echoed, confused. "What are you talking about, lieverd?"

You nodded, playing it cool. "Yeah, he said I was pretty and that I shouldn’t have to pay on my own, so...he paid for everything."

Max leaned toward you, staring like he was trying to read your soul. "You weren’t paying on your own? That was literally my card."

"Yeah," you shrugged, holding it out to him. "But he insisted."

He took the card from your hand, jaw tightening slightly. "How old was this guy?"

You pretended to think, dragging out the moment. "Hmm… around your age, I guess?"

Max scoffed. "And he just—what—started complimenting you and offered to pay? Just like that?"

You fought the urge to burst into laughter. "He wasn’t hitting on me," you said, smiling just a little too much.

"He called you pretty," Max shot back, frowning. "And don’t get me wrong—you are—but still. He clearly meant what he said. That’s not casual."

You just nodded solemnly, letting the tension hang in the air a second longer before he abruptly unbuckled. "Alright, I’m going back inside to find this guy."

You grabbed his arm, laughter spilling out now. "Max, wait—"

"No, seriously," he huffed. "He thinks you’re single or something. Like he has a shot. I can afford to fly you to Monaco, let you live in my house, be spoiled every day of your life—what can he offer you?"

You were full-on laughing now, tears threatening to sting your eyes. "Baby, I was pranking you. There was no guy. I used your card like you said."

Max froze, blinking at you. Slowly, his stern expression melted into something softer, almost amused.

"You’re evil," he muttered, shaking his head. Then he let out a quiet laugh of his own. "Don’t joke like that, lieverd. You know I don’t care if people think you’re pretty—but if someone’s actually hitting on you? No. Absolutely not."

You leaned over, kissing his cheek. "Look at you, all protective and jealous."

"You nearly scared me to death, lieverd,"

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Charles Leclerc

Charles was home, lounging on the couch with Leo curled up beside him, the little dog resting his chin on Charles' leg like the most loyal companion. The TV played softly in the background, a comforting buzz. Before you left, Charles had handed you his card with a smile, telling you to get whatever you were craving for dinner tonight. But instead of heading straight home after shopping, you were too busy plotting your latest prank—one inspired by a few too many TikToks.

"I'm home!" you called out as you stepped inside. At once, Leo perked up, leaping from the couch and padding over to greet you with his tail wagging wildly.

Charles looked over his shoulder. "I was starting to worry," he said, standing up. "You took longer than usual."

You smiled innocently, setting your keys down and slipping off your shoes. After leaning in to kiss his cheek, you dropped the first line. "Sorry, this guy paid for everything and we just got caught up in conversation."

Charles froze, staring at you like you'd just said the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “Je t’ai donné ma carte ?” he asked, blinking slowly.

You hummed. "I know, but he was really sweet. Said I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about paying. He covered it."

Charles just stared for a moment before slowly shaking his head. “That’s unbelievable. People are going to assume you're dating him.”

You fought back a grin, holding it in with all your strength. "No one’s going to think that but you, Charles."

“Sure, sure,” he muttered, eyes narrowing as he turned on his heel and headed toward the kitchen. You followed him, bags in hand.

"Tu fais la moue ?" you teased once inside, catching a glimpse of his unmistakably pouty expression.

Charles didn’t even try to hide it. He just stared at you, arms crossed like a sulking prince. “I treat you well. We live in Monaco. We have Leo,” he gestured around, like the dog was part of his romantic résumé. “I drive in F1—and you're letting some random guy hit on you, baby?”

You couldn’t help it anymore. You broke, laughing as you set the bags on the counter. “I was just messing with you, Charles. There was no guy. I used your card—like I was supposed to.”

He let out a long sigh, his head dropping back slightly. “Don’t scare me like that, woman. I thought some random was actually going to take you away from me.”

You walked up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m with you, Charles. Why would some random have me?”

He gave a tiny shrug, still sulking. “You never know.”

You patted his back playfully. “I got you good,” you said through a soft laugh. Leo barked at your feet as if to agree, his tail wagging like he, too, was in on the joke.

Charles looked down at the dog, then at you, his pout slowly morphing into a smirk

“Yeah, well—just wait, Y/N. One day, I’ll get you back.”

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Lewis Hamilton

You and Lewis had been shopping together most of the day, casually wandering the aisles like the soft domestic duo you were. At some point, Lewis veered off toward the pet section to get Roscoe a few new treats and maybe a fresh toy or two, promising to meet you up front when he was done. You nodded sweetly and went your own way—though behind that innocent look, you were plotting. And not just any plan: a prank. A classic, lighthearted trap for your sweet, loving, “just tell me what you need and I’ll buy it” boyfriend.

After grabbing everything you came for, you paid for your cart using your own money, then waited with the most innocent look you could muster. Lewis eventually showed up, a plush dog bed under one arm and a pack of Roscoe’s favorite snacks in the other.

"You already paid for your stuff?" he asked, dropping the items onto the counter.

You nodded, slipping into character. "No actually… this really nice guy offered to pay. Said I looked beautiful today, and he didn’t want me lifting a finger."

Lewis blinked. “He what?”

"He paid for me," you repeated with a shrug, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. "Said it was his pleasure. Real gentleman type."

Lewis squinted at you like you just told him someone insulted Roscoe. "Baby… that man was flirting with you."

You shook your head, playing dumb. “No, he was just being nice.”

“Right. ‘Just being nice,’” Lewis echoed, making air quotes with a look of complete disbelief. “Because men randomly pay for groceries out of the kindness of their hearts and not at all to shoot their shot with a gorgeous woman.”

You kept your poker face as he grabbed the shopping bags and kept going. “I don’t see myself out here buying random women’s almond milk and cucumbers just to be nice. That’s a move.”

You tried to hide your smirk. “You sound a little… jealous.”

Lewis narrowed his eyes. “I’m not jealous. I’m logical. Man sees a beautiful woman, she’s alone, he tries his luck with his wallet. Basic flirting algorithm.”

“I mean, it worked. He was really sweet.”

That did it.

Lewis ran a hand down his face and let out a long sigh. “Look, it’s great someone thinks you’re hot enough to swipe a card for—but you know I’m right here. You never have to let some man pay for you when your boyfriend drives for a living. Just sayin’.”

You watched him ramble with a barely contained laugh as he kept going.

“I mean, come on, I spoil you for a reason. And now some stranger thinks he can step in with a grocery run? That’s his whole move?”

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You burst into laughter, your body shaking as you leaned into the cart. “Lewis. Babe. It was a prank. I paid for everything. No man, no flirting, no almond milk Casanova.”

He blinked, pausing mid-rant. “Wait… you’re serious?”

“I am. Gotcha.”

He took a breath like someone who’d just been pulled from open water. “I’m forty, woman. You can’t play with my blood pressure like that.”

You grinned. “Alright, old man.”

Lewis straightened up immediately. “I am not an old man.”

“You didn’t even catch on to the prank, grandpa.”

He narrowed his eyes, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Forty doesn’t make me old. It makes me wise. And this wise man now knows he’s being pranked in public.”

You patted his back “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll go easy on you next time.”

Lewis gave a low chuckle, wagging a finger at you.

“No, no. You started something. A prank war is officially declared. So… just be prepared.”

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Lando Norris

When it came to you and Lando, pranks weren’t just an occasional thing—they were a lifestyle. The relationship came with love, laughter, and a mild risk of heart attacks. Like the time he woke you up at 3AM with a horror mask and you nearly karate-kicked him into next week. Or when you served him a fish smoothie and he banned you from the blender for a month. Your TikTok followers? Obsessed. They lived for every prank war update, every meltdown, every squeal of revenge.

So when you got tagged in a new viral prank trend, it was practically a public request to strike again. You didn’t hesitate. The phone was propped up, camera rolling discreetly, and you were all set. Lando, of course, had no clue what was coming.

You heard the door open and quickly pretended to be busy with prep in the kitchen. He walked in, hoodie slightly damp from the gym, cheeks flushed from the workout. “Smells good,” he said, setting down the grocery bag before leaning in for a soft kiss. “Took me forever to find that stupid oat cream you like.”

You smiled sweetly. “Oh, you didn’t have to. I ended up sending that list to Joshua earlier, and he already grabbed everything for me. Paid for it too. Said, and I quote, ‘anything for the pretty lady.’ Sweet, huh?”

Lando froze, hand still half-in the bag. “Joshua?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nodded, biting your inner cheek.

He blinked. “As in your friend Joshua? The one who wears too much cologne and tried to teach me how to salsa at that dinner party?”

You tilted your head. “Yeah, he insisted.”

Lando scoffed, standing up straighter. “I literally sweat through my hoodie at the gym, fought for a parking spot, went to four aisles for oat cream—and you let another man, one who smells like a Hugo Boss sample sale, buy your groceries?”

You struggled to keep a straight face. “He was being nice.”

“Oh, nice? Nice?! That’s the international signal for flirting. What’s next, is he gonna tuck you into bed and read you poetry? Babe, if I see him handing you a spoon while you're cooking, I might lose it.”

“Are you jealous?”

“I’m insulted. I’m offended. I’m—” He placed a hand over his chest. “—deeply betrayed. I mean, I pay rent! I drive race cars for a living! I went out to get snacks for your cravings at 4AM one time! And now I’m just… footnote boyfriend?”

You snorted. “You’re so dramatic.”

He gasped. “Go ask Joshua to massage your feet tonight then. My spa services are officially retired. Hope he has peppermint oil.”

At that point, you burst into laughter, pointing toward the camera recording from the corner. Lando followed your gaze, groaned, and dragged a hand down his face. “You little gremlin,” he muttered. “Of course it’s a prank. Of course.”

“Aww, you love me.”

“I do. Too much. Which is why you’re lucky you’re cute, because anyone else trying this would be blocked and reported.”

You leaned up, kissing his jaw gently. “You’re my favorite victim.”

He smirked. “And you’re my favorite menace. But just know—this war? It’s not over. I know you're scared of some bugs and some...other things. I’ve got Oscar on speed dial.”

Your eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I will. I already know where you hide your slippers.”

“LANDO NORRIS!” you shrieked as he backed into the hallway, giggling like the absolute child he was.

“Love you!” he called over his shoulder.

“Calling Oscar now! Let’s ruin her life!”

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Carlos Sainz

Carlos and you had been on the road for way too long, the kind of drive where you’ve already debated three podcast topics, played the same five songs on repeat, and shared half a bag of chips in silence. You were coming back from a much-needed trip—two full weeks away from the chaos of daily life. But now, you were finally heading home. And honestly? You were ready.

Still, you needed one last laugh before real life kicked back in. So, naturally, you plotted a prank.

You’d been riding like a queen in the passenger seat the whole time—pillow tucked under your head, cozy in the Christmas blanket Carlos had gotten you last year, doing everything but offering to drive. So when Carlos offered to go into the store to grab some snacks, you stopped him with a sweet smile and a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll go,” you insisted, taking his card from his hand.

He smirked. “Okay, but bring chips. Whatever you pick, I’ll eat it, mi amor.”

Inside, you grabbed everything you both liked—chips, drinks, something sweet. But instead of swiping his card, you paid with yours. And as you made your way back to the car, the plan was already in motion.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you handed him his card back with a calm smile. “You know,” you said casually, “the cashier was really nice. Paid for everything himself. Said he’d just take it out of his paycheck. Also told me my shirt looked cute.”

Carlos stared at you. “Wait—my shirt? That’s literally mine, you’re wearing my clothes.”

“Yeah, but he liked it,” you said with a shrug. “Said it brought out my eyes.”

Carlos blinked at you like he’d just short-circuited. “Oh my god.”

You bit your lip, trying to hide your laugh.

“Mi amor, what do you mean some random cashier paid for your snacks and flirted with you while you were wearing my clothes? Do I look like I’m sharing?”

You tried to keep a straight face as he gestured wildly at the snack bag like it had betrayed him. “I don’t even want these anymore. I can’t eat the chips. They’ve been... compromised.”

“Carlos—”

“No, seriously. You have a ring on your finger! Granted, it’s a promise ring, but still, the promise is loud and clear! I was gone for five minutes and I already lost you to a gas station Romeo?”

That was it. You burst out laughing, your head thrown back as tears formed in your eyes.

He narrowed his gaze, suspicious. “Wait. No. Don’t tell me...”

Still giggling, you nodded. “It’s a prank. I paid with my card.”

He groaned and started the engine again, shaking his head. “You almost gave me a heart attack, mi vida.”

You wiped your eyes, still giggling. “I have to tell Charles about this. He’s going to love it.”

Carlos turned, deadpan. “Do not tell Charles. I swear, if that man starts calling me Gas Station Cuckold or something—”

“You’re being dramatic!”

“I’m being real!” he exclaimed. “That was emotional damage.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You love me.”

He sighed. “Way too much. And that’s exactly the problem.”

You laughed again as he muttered under his breath, pulling back onto the road. “Just know...this isn’t over. I’ve got something planned. Something evil.”

“Oh yeah?” you smirked.

He grinned. “Just wait till you wake up to find glitter in your shampoo.”

“CARLOS!”

“Love you!”

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Fernando Alonso

You and Fernando had only recently tied the knot — rings still shining, wedding playlists still stuck in your heads. The honeymoon? Cut short by his ever-demanding racing schedule. But to make up for it (and to keep his guilt in check), Fernando had surprised you with a follow-up getaway, your choice of destination. Romantic, thoughtful… and, as you decided, the perfect setting to prank your new husband.

The internet had become obsessed with your marriage — overnight, you'd gone from “regular girl with decent taste in sunglasses” to “Fernando Alonso’s wife who posts adorable reels.” So when fans started tagging you in prank challenges, you figured: why not give the people what they want?

Camera hidden. Kitchen smelling like garlic and glory. Tomatoes being sliced with intention. You were ready.

Fernando walked into the vacation home and immediately lit up. “Huele bien,” he smiled, shrugging off his jacket.

“Mhm,” you hummed, sliding the tomatoes into the pot. “Took me a minute to get it all, though. I accidentally brought the wrong card with me to the store.”

He frowned immediately, concerned. “You should’ve called me, mi amor. I would’ve paid—”

“No need. A very sweet guy at the store paid for me. Said he didn’t want a pretty girl like me to struggle.”

The air stilled. Fernando blinked. Once. Twice.

“I’m sorry, what?” he said slowly.

You kept stirring the pot, tone completely casual. “Yeah, he just insisted. Said it was no trouble. Even complimented my top. Super nice guy.”

Fernando was now planted in place like he’d just been hit with a yellow flag mid-race.

“So... some stranger,” he started, arms crossing, “paid for your groceries. Complimented you. And you just… thanked him and left?”

“Yep.”

“You didn’t say, ‘Oh, I’m married to Fernando Alonso, two-time world champion, racing legend, heartthrob since 2001’?”

You blinked innocently. “Didn’t think it was necessary.”

Fernando threw his hands up. “Necessary?! That ring I gave you is the size of a small island. It has its own timezone. You could signal planes with it.”

You bit back a grin as he kept spiraling. “And this guy? Just decided to be your white knight? At the produce section?! He sees you picking tomatoes and thinks, ‘Yes, this damsel needs saving’?”

You nodded, trying so hard not to laugh. “Pretty much.”

He started pacing. “No. No, no, no. See, I make you feel better when you’re down. I buy you things. I compliment you. I signed up for that role! This guy? He’s just freelancing emotional support. I should find him.”

You turned, finally pointing toward the fruit bowl hiding your phone. “Or... you could relax. Because you’ve been pranked.”

Fernando froze. “You’re joking.”

You just smiled.

He leaned in, spotting the camera, then groaned dramatically. “Oh my god. I gave a full speech. I even included my racing credentials.”

“And it was a very passionate monologue,” you teased.

He stared at you, narrowing his eyes. “You’re evil.”

“Maybe. But I’m your evil.”

He shook his head, muttering something in Spanish before pausing. “Also… be honest with me. Was I really hot in the early 2000s?”

Your head snapped up. “Fernando. You were unfairly hot in the 2000s. Like, ‘could’ve ruined my life if we’d met back then’ hot. The hair? The fire? The attitude? I would've fallen hard.”

He raised a brow, trying not to look too pleased. “Gracias, mi vida. Very sweet of you.”

Then he pointed at you, smug returning full force. “But don’t think flattery will save you. You will be pranked back. And when it happens? You’ll regret ever stirring that tomato sauce.”

You giggled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re dramatic.”

He smirked, grabbing a spoon and tasting the pasta. “I was adorable in the 2000s too.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m going to post this entire thing.”

“I know,” he sighed.

“Just tag me in it — and put ‘Oscar-worthy performance’ in the caption.”

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[smutoperator]

Red Hot

Shin Ryujin x Male Reader

Tags: anal, anal creampie, asshole fingering, cock and toy DP, dick sucking lips, dildo, dirty talk, doggy, pornography, POV, redhead, riding, sex on camera, sloppy blowjob, thong, throatpie

Word count: 4329.

You were trying to scout new girls for your adult entertainment agency, but you had been struggling as of late to find new talent. Things were dire, and the girls you had lately taken a look at weren't impressing you much; maybe the prospect of new talents was truly dire.

Until you saw a redhead Asian girl shaking her ass on stage and fell in love with her instantly.

"She's so good, I need to get her number," you said as you watched the tape of the redhead girl, knowing you needed to get her at all costs to film a scene for your studio. "Apparently her name is Ryujin," you said to a staff member. "I have to call her ASAP," you continued. It took a bit, but you finally managed to find a way to contact her.

"Do you want to film a scene with us?" you texted Ryujin. "Sure, but I think I'll need my label's authorization," she answered. "This has to be between us; I don't want anyone to decide for you," you told her.

Ryujin ended up accepting your offer to film the scene; she was initially thinking it was for some drama, but soon she would find out it was a different kind of scene.

As Ryujin entered the studio, she found you finishing a hardcore sex scene with a girl. At first, she felt embarrassed. But before she could say anything, you put your clothes back on and went in her direction.

"I don't know if I can do this. I thought it was going to be a regular scene, not pornography," Ryujin told you. "Relax," you said to her. "What if people close to me see it?" she asks. "Don't be afraid; you can use a stage name. How about 'Red Hot'?" Because that's what you look like with that hair," you said to her.

"Ok, that's a great name," Ryujin answered. "Go to the dressing room and take your favorite outfit from there; we can start as soon as you do," you answered her. "Alright," Ryujin replied, still trying to process what she had gotten into.

"Wow, oh my goodness," you said as Ryujin returned from the dressing room. She had truly chosen the skimpiest possible outfit: a G-string bra and thong along with high heels. "Looks like you are going to pull out an amazing performance today," you told her. "I always do; you can count on that," she said.

Ryujin started making sexy poses in the mirror and smiling as you looked at her beautiful, hot body. Soon, you got the camera rolling. "You like my outfit? I put it just for you," she said, licking the mirror. "It's incredible," you answered. She smiled again. It didn't take long for her to start talking dirty to you. "I've been thinking about your cock all day long; bet it's really hard for me," she said.

"I can't wait for that big cock to be deep in my pussy and my ass," Ryujin kept talking dirty to you. "How did you guess I was gonna fuck your ass?" you asked her as the camera zoomed into her body. "Well, I know most guys would love to," she said, shaking them in front of the camera just like she did in the concert.

"Your outfit is wonderful. Are you ready to be my naughty little kitty today?" You asked Ryujin, the camera zooming in on her boobs. "Of course, I've been so horny," she answered, pulling her bra to the side and letting you pour some slick lube on her cute tits for her to massage them.

"My nipples are so hard, I'm so excited and horny to bounce up and down on that cock," Ryujin said as she grabbed her boobs and played with her small outfit. "Such a nice pussy, I love it," you said as she teased you, playing with her thong that could barely contain it. "I'm so horny, I need that big fat cock, please, stroke it for me, show me how much you want it, get it hard for me," she said.

Ryujin turned around and slowly took her thong down, showing you her tight little holes. She bent over a little, massaging her pussy in front of you and putting a finger in her asshole. "Rub it in for me," you told her, pouring lube on her ass and making it shiny as she kept teasing you and shaking her ass just like she did at the concert. "Imagine that butt sliding down that big fat cock, up and down like this," she said, moving it to show it.

Ryujin truly loved to tease you, smiling from ear to ear as her body got you throbbing. You had filmed countless scenes with many naughty girls, but Ryujin truly had a unique charm. "Use me, use all of my holes," she begged, spanking her own ass. Soon, you took your turn, spanking her butt a bit. "I like that," she said, with a cute smile, before you set your sights on a different target and started rubbing your fingers around her asshole.

"Oh yeah, play with my tight ass. Oh, that feels good," Ryujin says as you start penetrating her butthole with your thumb. "You like that?" you asked her. "Oh, I love it," Ryujin said, letting you stick your thumb as deep as possible. "My ass is very tight," she said, and you could tell as it contracted as soon as you pulled out of it.

You feed your dirty thumb straight into Ryujin's mouth, her enjoying it a lot as she smiled at you, and you gave her a little choking too. She pulled her tongue out as you ran your hands over her body and pulled your pants down. "That cock is nice and hard and ready to fuck me," she said, touching it. "It's all yours today," you told her. "I can't wait to feel it inside me," she said.

Ryujin slowly stroked your cock using her very strong hands. "Look at that cock," she said, getting down on her knees and kissing the tip of it before going down the whole shaft. She teased you a bit with a few kisses and licks, paying special attention to your throbbing tip and making your pant sounds be loudly recorded.

"I love to kiss your cock," Ryujin said. "Can't forget about the balls," she continued, putting them in her mouth for the first time as she kept stroking your cock. You zoomed the camera into her pretty face and worked all over your sack. "That's incredible," you said as she spat on your cock and started finally taking it in her mouth.

Ryujin gave you a very slow-paced blowjob, but her dick-sucking lips were so incredible you were already on the edge. And she knows how to tease, rubbing the tip of your cock in her nipples a couple of times between her blowjobs. "Playing with those hard nipples," she said.

Ryujin sucked your cock like a champion, giving you a blowjob very few girls you had previously performed with had managed to. Her warm mouth, dirty talk, and strong strokes made for a lethal combination, putting you at the edge of your seat from the get-go. "That cock tastes so good," she said, taking it deeper and deeper in her throat. She was very sloppy, coating your shaft with her saliva and maneuvering every inch of it incredibly.

You tried to fuck her face, but Ryujin didn't relent, taking your cock with ease deep in her throat before retaking control of the blowjob. "I love blowing bubbles on that big cock, so big I need to use both my hands to stroke it," she said as she kept working them alongside her tongue to perfection.

You kept panting against the camera, Ryujin's blowjob making you use all your energy just to hold onto the cum that was begging to come out of your cock. She circled her smiling all over it, smiling as she didn't spare

It didn't take long for you to not resist Ryujin's incredible cock-sucking skills and blow your cum out prematurely, forcing you to cut the scene. "Damn, looks like you enjoyed me sucking your cock a lot," she said with the camera already off. "I definitely did," you said, getting on the floor for the next sequence.

"Get that cock hard and we can keep going," you told Ryujin, who promptly obliged as she didn't need much effort to put it back throbbing again, spitting all over your cock as you lay on the floor. "I can't wait to have it inside you," you said to her. Ryujin agreed, but first she needed to taste it a little bit more.

Ryujin dove between your legs, circling her tongue around your balls before moving down to lick your asshole. "Such a nasty girl," you said as the camera followed her face and Ryujin started to make sloppy sounds with her tongue deep in your rectum. She moved her face up and down as she worked her mouth all over your anus, spitting on your balls and licking them as you filmed that amazing point of view for the audience.

"So good," you told Ryujin, praising her incredible rimjob skills. Not every girl has the courage to get down and dirty, even among the best cock suckers, but Ryujin was taking her tongue inside your asshole with the same ease that she sucked your cock. She kept following the camera, looking at it very naturally.

"Are you ready for my tight pussy?" I want you to stretch all my holes today, my tight little pussy and my tight little ass," Ryujin said, looking right at the audience while stroking your cock. She was finally ready to climb on top of that cock as she prepared herself to ride it and got herself in position, but not before you gave her a few instructions.

"Rub it in your pussy," you told Ryujin, who promptly started teasing you, touching the tip of your cock against the entrance of her vagina. "I love that pussy grinding on my cock," you told her. She went a little further, rubbing your tip against her navel. "Can't wait to have it bulging under my belly," she said, also pressing your cock a little between her thighs before finally taking it down her pussy.

"Fuck, it's so big," Ryujin says as she starts having second thoughts, taking only the tip of you inside her pussy. You capture her priceless reaction to the size of your cock. "Oh, it's so big," she repeats, trying to get it deeper in her pussy, bouncing very slowly. "That cock feels so good inside me," she says.

"Do you enjoy watching it go up and down my pussy?" Ryujin asks as she slowly starts to get more comfortable with your cock. "I can feel it stretching me out," she says, your amazing girth filling her pussy to the fullest. She looks at the camera and starts making sensual expressions, grabbing her boobs as she moans riding your cock. "Ohhhh, ohhhh, you make my pussy so creamy," she moans.

Ryujin picks up the pace, you moving the camera to capture every inch of her body. "I love feeling that cock so deep inside me, oh yeah," she moans. You try to push upwards, but Ryujin quickly takes control, her sexy slow ride quickly bringing you to submission. You zoom the camera right into her crotch, capturing her riding your cock in a way the audience can feel fully immersed in the scene.

"Ohhhh, I love to feel every inch of that cock in my pussy," Ryujin says, riding your cock hard and deep just as you zoom around her pussy. She grinds and spins on your cock, riding it perfectly as she rubs her pussy for the audience. "Oh, fuck, oh yeah," she moans, quickly getting wet and dropping a huge load of squirt into the camera that makes her giggle.

Ryujin cleans the squirt from your shaft and your belly as she smiles. "It tastes so delicious," she says. "You're so naughty," you tell her as she sucks your cock and spits all over your cock. "Come here, baby, crawl for me like a kitty cat," you tell her, Ryujin obliging as you put your camera on a tripod and capture her crawling body, giving you a nice gift in the process.

"Ohhh, that's big, but I don't know if it's bigger than yours," Ryujin says as you give her a dildo for her to play with. She strokes and sucks it just like she did to your cock, your camera fully capturing her sexy moves while she plays with her pussy, making gag sounds all over the toy and deepthroating it. "You like sucking it?" you ask her. Ryujin smiles.

"OH MY GOD," Ryujin screams as you get behind her and shove your cock back inside her pussy. The camera captures her reaction perfectly. "OH FUCK," Ryujin screams as you pump her pussy hard as she performs a spit-roasting with the dildo, gagging hard on it as she gets pounded. "OH FUCK, OH YEAH," she moans, you pushing her body closer to the camera and grabbing her hair, relentlessly attacking her tight pussy.

"OH, THAT FEELS SO GOOD," Ryujin moans as you get fully in the frame, topping her with hard thrusts deep in her cunt. She gags all over the dildo. "OHHHHH," she screams as she pulls out of it, giggling and sucking it as you tell her about your next plans.

"I want to put this in your ass," you say to Ryujin, filming her hot body in full display. "Do you think it can fit?" she asks. "Of course, I know you can do everything I ask," you tell her.

Ryujin bends over on the couch, you adding some lube to the dildo as you watch her start shoving it down her butthole. "Oh, fuck," she moans as the dildo anally penetrates her. "Oh my God, that ass is so tight," she says, yet still manages to shove the whole toy in her anus, teasing you as you zoom into her backside to watch her play with it, Ryujin taking the whole 10 inches of the dildo up her butt.

Ryujin moans as the dildo continues to stretch her asshole. "I can feel that cock stretching my little tight ass; I know you want it too," she says. "OH MY GOD, IT'S SO BIG," she screams, but keep going, simulating an anal penetration in front of you to perfection. You capture her moaning face and her incredible ass, eventually not resisting the urge and shoving your cock back in her pussy.

"Oh yeah, fill both my holes," Ryujin says as your cock gets in and double stuffs her. She takes both the fake and real cock with ease, giving away that she's got some previous experience getting double penetrated. "OH FUCK, THAT FEELS SO GOOD," she says, your cock barely inside her as you keep thrusting, Ryujin matching your thrusts with the dildo in perfect sync.

Ryujin's tight pussy squeezes your cock even further now that she's got two massive toys in both her holes to play with it. She giggles as she pulls the dildo out of her asshole to taste it. "You want the real thing, don't you?" you ask her, not even giving her rectum a second to breathe as you already shut it back down with your massive cock.

"OH MY GOD, OH FUCK," Ryujin screams as you anally penetrate her for the first time, muffling her moans with the dildo. She shows she's not intimidated by your massive cock up her butt, moving her hips to meet your thrusts as your hand camera fully captures it for the audience. Moaning and gagging sounds come from Ryujin's mouth as your cock gets deeper in her ass, her shaking it nicely to take all of it while she gags all over the monster dildo, having fun with both her toys.

"OH YES, FUCK MY ASS, JUST LIKE THAT," Ryujin commands as you zoom briefly into her moaning face before giving the perfect view of your cock pounding her ass, immersing the audience almost as if they were the ones fucking her. "Do you enjoy fucking my ass?" Ryujin asks just as your camera zooms into her sexy face.

"Give me that big cock deep in my ass, use my hole, use my tight ass, oh fuck, use it to stroke that cock," Ryujin talks dirty as her tight butthole squeezes your cock to the fullest. "So nice," you tell her, Ryujin licking the dildo as you penetrate her butt.

"Ride my cock," you tell Ryujin, never pulling out as you get down on the couch. "Like this," you tell her as Ryujin starts squatting on your cock with her fit butt, you giving a full body angle to the audience of the incredible ride she's giving you, zooming into her ass just as she grabs her cheeks and spreads them for your cock.

"OH YES, YES, YES," Ryujin moans as she bounces on your cock like a pro, pushing you to the edge as the side of her cheeks hits your legs. Her flaming red hair waves beautifully, creating an effect that looks almost as if she's catching fire. You have to briefly pull out just not to cum, with how amazing she's performing. "Please, put it back in. I want you to use me like your sex toy," Ryujin says, begging like a baby girl to you.

"Put it back inside your ass, you earned it," you tell Ryujin as you recover your breath and hand your cock back to her. Ryujin promptly sits on it, you zooming your cameras as she shakes her ass on your cock sideways, giggling and moaning as she does so, you capturing her wide as close as possible while also taking a look at the reactions in her slutty face as she looks behind to watch herself getting impaled.

Ryujin goes all-in, riding your cock extremely well, taking it all the way deep with fast thrusts. "OH MY GOD IT'S SO FUCKING GOOD, I LOVE HAVING THAT BIG FAT COCK DEEP IN MY ASS," she says, you groaning again, her tight ass squeezing your cock more than ever.

Ryujin knows she's in the driver's seat, spanking her own ass as she squats hard on your cock. "OH, IT'S SO DEEP, MY ASS IS SO FUCKING TIGHT BOUNCING UP AND DOWN THAT BIG FAT COCK. OH FUCK, I LOVE RIDING THAT COCK," she screams as her bounces only get harder, the couch making noises as Ryujin makes you unload inside her ass. This time you don't cut it from the scene, just letting the audience enjoy the way she drained your balls.

"Looks like I'm winning it handily against you," Ryujin says off-camera as she watches you sit to take a little relief. It takes a bit for you to recover from her incredible anal ride, but as soon as you're ready, you pop your cock back in the screen for her to taste her ass. "Taste that dirty ass, baby, suck my cock," you tell her, Ryujin promptly bobbing her head, using no hands, just attacking your cock relentlessly with her dick-sucking lips as you try to fuck her face, but she's so strong she quickly prevails, spitting on your dick to sign her win.

"Lay on your back," you tell Ryujin as she spreads her legs on the couch and starts teasing you, bringing back the dildo into play as she shoves it in her pussy. You're still so numb from the last fuck session you drop the camera just as you were about to start filming her masturbating. "Oh, fuck, oh my God," she moans, her legs fully spread as you soon enter the scene, putting Ryujin in a feet position and pushing your cock back in her ass.

"OH FUCK YEAH," Ryujin screams as you thrust as hard as possible into her asshole. "OH YES, FUCK ME," she begs, pushing the dildo hard and deep into her pussy to match your intense penetration. She giggles and then shoves the dildo up her mouth just as you bring the camera and zoom into her body, giving the perfect view of her ass getting fucked with her pussy wide open, albeit not for long as Ryujin shoves the dildo back inside it.

"FUCK YES, YES, YES, YES, YES," Ryujin screams until she squirts all over the dildo, smiling to the camera as she tastes her juices from it. You stay focused, fucking her ass hard and immersing the audience just like a POV sex scene asks for, capturing all of Ryujin's sexy reactions as she fingers her pussy and facefucks herself with the dildo while you anally pound her. She puts a couple of fingers up her cunt, ready to squirt at any second.

"YESSSSSSS," Ryujin loudly screams as the juices of her pussy cover your cock after a massive squirting, some of it spilling into the camera lenses. "That felt so good," she says with that incredible smile that you already fell in love with. You adjust the camera, taking her into a slow round of ass-fucking, just admiring her beauty as you fuck her like your sex toy, just like she asked before, Ryujin sexy looking into your eyes and moaning beautifully.

"AHHHHH," Ryujin moans as you hit the depths of her asshole. You switch to her pussy. "Oh yes, fuck my pussy," Ryujin says as things get hotter and hotter, the red-hot girl making you want to go on forever. "USE MY PUSSY, YES," she begs. You choke her a bit and share some kisses, showing hot, passionate moments are possible even in the most hardcore scenes. "OH YEAH," Ryujin screams, her pussy getting wet as you fully top her, slowing down with your cock fully buried deep inside her pussy.

Ryujin starts losing her breath, the long pounding finally catching up to her. You sense her vulnerability and pick up the pace, kissing her as you thrust hard and fast inside her pussy, watching her get wetter and wetter. Her legs are so spread her high heels almost hit the camera, you grabbing it to capture her beautiful smile.

"Sit on my cock," you tell Ryujin, her obliging as you give a back view of her getting stuffed in her pussy. You grab her hot body and start pumping up her cunt. As soon as Ryujin gets your cock back inside her, the viewers enjoy her getting used by your massive cock with fast but very passionate thrusts. The only thing they can see is your legs and Ryujin's ass as you pump her hard and grab her butt. "OH MY GOD, OH YEAH, OH FUCK," she moans, losing her breath bit by bit as your hard pounding exhausts her, but despite that, she keeps giggling and smiling at all times.

You let Ryujin sensually grind on your cock, the viewers getting an incredible experience of her moving her pussy around your cock. Her puckered anus winks to them like a camera eye, Ryujin just letting herself get pounded nonstop as you attack her pussy like a madman, the only audible things on tape being her moans and the sound of your hips clapping against her cheeks.

"OH YES BABY, OH YES BABY, PLEASE FUCK ME," Ryujin begs as her pussy gets obliterated. She is tired now, her preparations for the comeback and all those performances at those university festivals that made you fall in love with her finally catching up to her. You stay with your cock inside her pussy, taking a little break to suck her cute tits and share some kisses.

"I want your cum," Ryujin says as she's ready to enter the final moments of the scene. You knew there was only one way to end this scene, as you put Ryujin's pretty face upside down on the couch and started fucking it balls deep, enjoying the saliva coming out of her face.

"Eat that ass," you tell Ryujin as you sit on her face to take a little break, her obliging and licking your asshole as you wipe it on her face and stroke your cock, Ryujin taking a slice of your balls to lick it as well. You quickly go back to pounding her throat, enjoying her coughing and gagging as your cock bulges under her throat while you grope her tits.

You switch the angle of the camera, attacking Ryujin's throat as hard as possible as you give the viewers a back view, Ryujin's throat getting stuffed like a pussy as saliva starts running down her mouth into her face, ruining it completely. You're now closer than ever and know only a few couple thrusts are needed for you to cum. "I want to fucking cum," you tell her, Ryujin gagging as a way to beg for it, her eyes rolling as her face is completely stuffed full of your cock now, loud wet noises coming out each time you hit deep in her throat, your cock all the way down it and even your balls now completely stuffed inside her mouth.

You unload inside Ryujin's throat, pulling out a bit to also shoot a couple of loads in her pretty face, the scene ending with her ruined face covered full of cum. "That was so good," she says just as you turn off the camera. "You're incredible, red-hot girl," you tell her. "Thank you," she says, smiling as you praise her performing skills.

As Ryujin gets ready to leave, you make another proposal to her.

"Come back tomorrow; I need to fill this pussy next," you tell her.

"Hell yeah, can't wait for you to cum multiple times in my pussy," she answers.

[nightingale-prompts]

Dying to Love- DCXDP

Dating is hard. And Danny has bad at tough go at it.

"She called me creepy." Danny sighed into his coffee cup.

"What? You're not creepy." Tim reassured.

This has been an ongoing thing. Every time one of Danny's dates canceled, rejected, or ghosted him he ended up pouring out his sorrows with Tim.

"Well, who wants to date a funeral director?" Danny gripes.

It was kind of hard to explain how they met. The Waynes wanted to move a headstone for their no longer dead son/brother. Danny had to oversee the process that day and thankfully they didn't need to dig up remains.

Danny didn't know why Tim wanted to be his friend but who was he to complain when he didn't know anyone in this city. No one had any reason to talk to him since he was always working. Constantine came in on occasion at least. The Bats did as well.

And Danny? He keeps to his own. What humans do is on them. The ghosts are enough of a handful. Yeah, it was cold but so was he. The mortuary was comfortable, and he liked this life.

Yes, it was emotional. How do you tell a family that their newborn who died of SIDS needed to be held for a few hours before they were ready for burial? Or that grandma was mad they didn't cremate her like she wanted?

The ghosts weren't always there. Most of the time he was alone. It was rare that one lingered around the body or didn't pass on immediately. It just meant that death let them slide for a while. She was unpredictable like that. That's how he got here.

It's a lonely life though.

Did he just want friends? Well sure. So he somehow became friends with Tim Drake. Easy. Okay not easy, he and Tim just had common interests like true crime. They both could talk for hours on that alone.

But that's not the same as dating and he wanted to have a relationship. So he went on a few dating apps and had a few meet-cutes. But they never last.

"Danny, you aren't creepy." Tim lied. "You love what you do and someone will understand."

"Tim, even my coworkers don't want to talk to me." Danny sobbed.

"Well, male morticians have a bad rep. They might not know you well yet. Give it some time."

Tim knew very well that Danny was creepy. Danny had a habit of talking way too much about his job. Not everyone finds embalming and cutting open bodies fascinating. But he'd never tell Danny to stop.

"I actually invited my last date over and she ran the moment she came in."

"She must be uncomfortable going to guys' places. That's normal."

Tim knew why that happened. Danny collected occult and haunted items. He would make displays of death masks, haunted dolls, animal and human bones. Danny does tarot readings for himself every morning. It's not normal behavior. It's actually the reason Tim started talking to him. He had suspicions that Danny might be a serial killer. He wasn't, he just had hobbies.

Tim was an enabler on all this. He thought about pointing Danny in the direction of some edgy types or those into witchcraft. But if he did that then Danny would be dating someone else.

Tim was good but he wasn't a saint. So everything Danny fumbles with a potential partner he stands by to pick up the pieces. Call him what you want, it's not like he was sabotaging his friend. He just didn't want him dating other people. And honestly, if someone doesn't like his interest then why aren't worth Danny's time.

"Hey, do you I know Red Robin's number?" Danny asked suddenly.

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I think if I were with someone used to this for of thing it would be easier. Also, he's the good-looking Robin."

Tim 100% filed that away as a gloat over Dick.

That being said, if he did give out that number would that further the manipulative asshole title that he probably already earned. He was nothing if not smart enough to be self-aware.

[a-casxandra]

I seriously love your writings both of caleb and rafayel......! You literally ate!.....And i know you are gonna write zayne next but i really wanna see them regret more like how about a part three where they see you with some man and their jealousy spikes (but the man is like just a friend or relative)....and when they pull you away to some other place to talk in private you tell them that's how you felt when they were with mc but you are not like them...and blah blah blah angst angst angst....pretty please

🥺🥺

❝𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗧𝗢 𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗦.❞

𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑴𝒆 | 𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍 𝒙 𝒚𝒐𝒖 (𝒏𝒐𝒏-𝒎𝒄)

𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓 | 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃 𝒙 𝒚𝒐𝒖 (𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒏-𝒎𝒄)

It had been six months.

Six months since he last saw you.

Six months of scrolling through his camera roll, hoping your face would blink back to life.

Six months of unfinished messages in his drafts.

Six months of pretending to move on, while being stuck in the same moment you walked away.

Rafayel saw you again on a Sunday.

Bright day. Warm air. People laughing around a pop-up market near white sand bay.

And there you were—laughing too.

Wearing a white sundress. Hair tied up in a loose bun. Holding an iced drink, chatting with some guy. He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Well-dressed. Probably kind.

Rafayel froze mid-step. A sharp breath lodged in his throat like a punch to the lungs.

You were smiling.

You looked… okay.

Without him.

And that hurt more than anything.

The man leaned in to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. Rafayel didn’t think.

He moved.

Before he could stop himself, he crossed the street, pushed through the crowd, and grabbed your wrist.

You gasped.

“Rafayel?” Your voice was pure shock.

The man stepped in instantly, protective. “Who the hell are you?”

But Rafayel’s eyes were only on you.

“Can we talk?” he asked, breath shaky. “Please. Just a few minutes.”

You looked at your companion, then back at him. “…It’s okay. I’ll be back in a bit.”

You always were too kind.

You walked to a quieter part of the bay, away from the crowds. Rafayel didn’t speak at first. He just stared.

“You look good,” he murmured finally.

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “So do you. I saw the awards you won. Congrats.”

It felt like poison.

He didn’t care about the awards. Not when you weren’t in the crowd, cheering.

Then he snapped. “Who is he?”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

“Is he your boyfriend?” His tone was colder than intended.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “He’s my cousin, Rafayel.”

He shut up.

“God,” you muttered. “You really haven’t changed, have you?”

Rafayel took a shaky breath.“I thought I saw you happy with him. I thought—”

“You thought I forgot you?” You looked at him now. Really looked. “You think I just walked away and stopped feeling anything?”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t know. You never answered my texts. You shut me out completely.”

“Because you already shut me out first.” Your voice trembled. “I begged for your attention. I waited on you. I stood in the shadows, loving you silently while the world shipped you with her. I told myself it was just acting. That you’d come back home to me every time. But you didn’t. Not really.”

"i was stupid." he whispered. “I didn’t see what I was losing.”

“No,” you said, eyes glossy now. “You saw. You just didn’t care until it was gone.”

Rafayel felt the ache throb harder than ever. “I care now.”

You looked away. “Too late.”

Silence fell between you like an ocean.

“I still love you,” Rafayel said, voice cracking.

You shut your eyes at that. “And I’ll probably always love you. But love doesn’t fix trust, Rafayel. It doesn’t erase being forgotten.”

He nodded slowly. Pain blooming behind his ribs.

“I’m not asking for another chance,” he said quietly. “I just… I wanted to hear your voice again. To know if you ever missed me.”

You turned to him then. “I missed you every night I cried myself to sleep,” you said. “I missed you every time I saw your face on a billboard and knew that smile wasn’t mine anymore.”

A long pause.

“Do you hate me?” he asked.

“No,” you said gently. “I mourned you. That’s worse.”

Rafayel swallowed hard. You stepped back, and he felt you slip through his fingers all over again.

“I hope you find someone who chooses you every day,” you said. “Even when the cameras are off.”

He blinked fast. “And I hope you find someone who never makes you feel like a secret.”

You nodded. Then gave him the softest smile.

“Goodbye, Rafayel.”

As you walked away—back to your cousin, to your laughter, to your healing—Rafayel stood frozen, shoulders trembling, heart hollowed out.

He got his closure.

He got his answer.

But he never got you again.

It was a bookstore.

Of all places, it had to be that damn bookstore.

Caleb hadn’t even meant to go in. He was just wandering—haunted, really. Some part of him was always retracing the places you'd once gone together, like maybe memory could substitute for presence.

Then he saw you.

Poetry aisle. Laughing. With someone else.

Your smile hit him like a truck.

The guy beside you was tall. Kind-looking. He leaned close—too close. Your hand brushed his. You didn’t flinch. You laughed again, head tilted, that same way you used to tilt it with him.

Caleb’s stomach twisted.

Jealousy. Regret. Panic. All-consuming.

He moved before he thought, crossing the store and standing right behind you. “Hey.”

You turned. A flicker of surprise crossed your face. “Caleb?”

The man beside you stiffened slightly. Caleb didn’t care.

“We need to talk,” he said, voice low, sharp. “Now.”

You blinked, instantly guarded. “Excuse me?”

“Please,” he said, this time quieter. “Just—five minutes.”

You exchanged a glance with the man beside you—calm, collected, not threatened. He nodded once, as if giving you the choice. “I’ll be right back,” you told him softly.

You followed Caleb. Not willingly—but not resisting either.

He led you out the side door, into the quiet alley behind the building. The moment it closed behind you, the air shifted. Old ghosts crept in.

You crossed your arms. “What is this?” you asked.

Caleb ran a hand through his hair. “I saw you. With him. I just—I lost it.”

You stared. “So?”

“So I couldn’t handle it,” he blurted. “Seeing someone else make you laugh like that. It felt like being erased.”

You tilted your head. “Funny. That’s exactly how I felt when you forgot how to love me.”

He flinched.

“I know I don’t have the right,” he whispered. “But I can’t lie to you. I haven’t moved on. I haven’t been able to.”

“Caleb,” you said softly. “What are you doing?”

“I want to start over,” he said. “Not as who we were. As who we could be. Coffee. A conversation. One small step—”

You shook your head.

He stopped.

“I’m not angry anymore,” you said. “And I’m not bitter. But I’m done.”

His eyes searched yours. “You’re really saying that?”

“I waited,” you whispered. “I gave you chances. You wasted them. Now I’ve learned to build a life where I don’t have to be someone’s second thought.”

Tears burned at the corner of his eyes. “But I still love you.”

“I believe you,” you said. “But love isn’t enough. Not when it comes too late.”

He reached out, then stopped himself. “So that guy…?”

“My cousin,” you said again, almost tiredly.

Caleb blinked.

You offered a soft, almost sad smile. “It’s not jealousy that should’ve brought you here. It should’ve been realization. It should’ve been me.”

“I was a coward.”

“You were,” you agreed. “But that’s not my burden to carry anymore.”

Silence.

Wind passed between you both like a closing chapter.

“I hope you find peace,” you said gently. “And next time—don’t wait until it’s over to say what matters.”

You stepped back, and this time, he didn’t stop you.

Just stood there, like a man watching a door close on the version of himself he’d only just begun to love again.

You disappeared back into the store, the world, your future.

And Caleb stayed in the alley—

Finally, alone.

Truly.

Utterly.

Alone.

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 : my actual plan was to have them get back together. but then i remember, you can't heal using the same method that hurted you. so yeah, i gave them closure instead. but don't worry i'm gonna give all of them happy ending! (●'◡'●)

[what-even-is-thiss]

Hello I know almost nothing about assassins creed but I know a few things about costume design and history so I’m gonna look at all the assassins creed box art/default outfits of the various protagonists and take a look at their inspiration, practicality, and rough historical accuracy.

I’m gonna go in chronological order by time period just to be an ass about it

Alexios and Kassandra, Greece, 400s-ish BC

They put boobs on Kassandra’s version which immediately puts them on my shit list. That makes the armor easier to pierce because it gives blades a convenient slide towards the center of your chest.

Those concerns aside though, I haven’t really seen an armored torso piece with this exact design but the historical inspiration is clearly there. I’ve got no real issue with the Spartan helmet.

They’ve got a belt for a purse but no purse. And normally I wouldn’t criticize that because they could be keeping their weapons there but they’ve got an embarrassment of belts here. They’re also wearing red which is a fairly expensive color compared to yellow or blue or something but whatever it does look pretty cool

Looks pretty good, has the period vibe even if it’s not accurate, and is relatively appropriate attire for a soldier for hire, if a bit flashy. 8/10 broken spears

Bayek, Egypt, 49 BC

No offense but I think that this man saw into the future and witnessed both a hot topic circa 2008 and a 20th century orientalist depiction of the Middle East and tried to recreate both of them with what he had lying around.

So the collar thing seems to be based on actual Egyptian armor but it looks leather instead of metal. I don’t know what his weird menstruation skirt is supposed to be or why he’s wearing pants. During this point in Ptolemaic Egypt I’m not sure anyone would’ve even heard of pants unless they’d heard stories from the far north.

As far as practicality goes I mean he’s guarded from the sun I suppose. He’s got gloves for handling his eagle. I can’t tell what his clothes are made out of. If they’re made of cotton or linen he might stay cool but if some of that is leather like I think it is he’s not gonna be comfortable in there.

I would criticize all of those belts again but at this point I think they might be holding his outfit together. I don’t wanna dignify this one with a rating.

Basim Ibn Ishaq, Baghdad, Abbasid Caliphate, 800s AD

So the armor I mostly don’t have a problem with. It’s a bit short but it’s clearly based on actual period designs so I’ll let it go. Even if it does commit the sin of too many belts.

The assassin outfit… confuses me. Makes me conflicted. So around that time there were a lot of different colors and patterns available for fabric however he’s gotta keep with the white outfit aesthetic. I get it. He’s also got a cute pop of blue in there. His outfit is flowy and loose fitting and will keep out the sun. That fits the time period vibe.

However this guy would still stick out like a sore thumb. First of all, random armor pieces. Second of all, too many belts. Third of all, there were so many things you could’ve done with turbans in this setting? And veils? There was and is still a style of wearing a turban where you leave part of it hanging off the side or back and so many things could’ve been done with that to cleverly and mysteriously obscure his face.

There’s potential here but I do deeply wish that potential had actually been used. 3/10 houses of wisdom

Eivor, Norway & England, late 800s AD.

This protagonist comes in both boy and girl flavor and for once the outfits match. I appreciate that.

This person also has an actual purse to go with their embarrassment of belts and the underlying tunic and pants at least have the general vibe of being period accurate.

As for their armor though, they either aren’t wearing any or they have some secret chainmail under their tunic. And those random bracers that don’t look particularly Viking.

Their little fur cape there would probably be warm but also wouldn’t function great as a cape. Or as a blanket.

Weirdly historically accurate but also not accurate at all. Kinda extra. Kinda like it though. Looks warm. 9/10 ravens

Ezio, Italy and Ottoman Empire, 1400s AD

This is the og guy. Weirdly enough unlike many of his successors he doesn’t actually have an unreasonable amount of belts.

What I will say in favor of this outfit is that the color and metalworking isn’t improbable for his time period. I mean they had the technology.

Everything else about it though? Uuuhhh idk where they got any of this. Collars in that style weren’t really much of a thing yet, that belt is huge, and hoods would’ve been more likely to be separate garments from the rest of your clothing. This guy looks badass this is a very compelling design but nothing about this dude screams renaissance Italy. If his goal is to remain hidden he’s going to have a very tough time. 6/10 da vinki paintings.

I’ve reached the image limit. I will finish this list in a later reblog.

[moonstruckme]

hi, i was wondering if for the new girl au you could write about reader going on a date? maybe the tinder thing worked and all the boys are fussing over her before she goes, and remus feels strangely protective of her but is too oblivious to know why? if not all good <333

Thank you for requesting angel!

cw: some french slander (mostly to fuck with Sirius)

Who’s That Girl AU

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

You want to go straight to your room upon entering the flat, but first you need a snack. This is somewhat of a calculated sacrifice, because your whole way to the kitchen your flatmates stare at you like a zoo animal let out of its enclosure. Sirius has muted their film. 

“So,” says James after a moment, drawing out the o, “how was it?” 

“Bad,” you reply shortly. 

He makes a sound so disappointed you actually feel bad for him. You pivot with a bag of crisps in your hand to find James fully turned around on the sofa with his chin resting on his fist, pouting. 

“Well, don’t just stand there,” says Sirius. “Come, spill.” 

You sigh. “I’m tired.” 

“Too bad. You have to debrief with us, it’s in your lease agreement.” 

You give him a dry look. “Is it really.” 

Sirius mirrors you. “Read more carefully next time.” 

You heave another sigh, tearing open your crisps as you go to the end of the couch and curl up against the cushions. James immediately reaches into the bag for a handful. 

“Okay, so remind me,” Sirius says, taking a few from James’ hand, “which one was it that you were with?”  

You frown. “You make it sound like I have dozens of prospects. I’ve only been messaging with three guys.” 

“Malcolm, Tom, and Liam,” James rattles off. 

“Right.” Sirius waves his hand. “And which one of these dull names were you with tonight?” 

“Tom,” you say, crunching down vengefully on a crisp. 

“What was so awful about it?” asks Remus. 

“It was just—” You sigh helplessly. “Honestly, I sort of knew we weren’t going to get along. Even over text, he was dry, sort of boring. I had to ask all the questions. I only went because he’s French.” 

James lets out a startled sort of laughter. “Why?” 

“Because, you know.” You shrug. “It’s kind of a bucket list thing.” 

“Babe,” he laughs, “you can find French men all over London.”

“It’s no wonder he was a prick.” Remus is smirking now, too. 

“Hey!” Sirius objects as James nods his agreement. 

“If you’d told us you were going out with a French bloke,” he says, “we’d have told you not to bother.” 

“Every one of them is pompous, shallow, whiny—”

“Oh, fuck off,” Sirius snaps, scowling when James curls an arm around his neck to ruffle his hair. Remus looks to be hiding a grin. 

“Are you French?” you ask, confused. 

Sirius looks over at you despite James’ loose chokehold, managing to arch a brow. “N’est-ce pas évident à cause de ma peau impeccable et de mon aura cultivée?”

“Goodness.” James blows out a breath, sitting back to fan himself. “I will take you to bed right now.” 

“That,” you clarify. “That is why French men are a bucket list item.” 

Sirius looks smug. “Did he at least like your outfit?” 

“Um,” you hesitate, “he didn’t say—”

“Can’t be that French, then. No taste.” 

“—but to be fair, I don’t think he was paying me much attention.” 

“Definitely no taste,” James seconds. “What do you mean, he wasn’t paying you attention?” 

“He just seemed a lot more interested in talking about himself.” You roll your eyes, gratified when Remus makes a judgemental humphing noise. “It was all about his job, how much money he makes, stuff about cars. He was a big car guy.” 

“Uh oh.” James is smiling again. His eyes slide over to Sirius, who looks already prepared for a fight. “Cars, eh? And are you quite certain your date wasn’t Sirius wearing a hat?” 

“Jar.” Sirius slams his fist down like a gavel. “I demand a contribution to the jar.” 

“Sorry,” says Remus drily, “no.” 

“I may like working on my bike, but I know better than to talk about it! I won’t accept car guy slander in relation to my good name.” 

“Did you or did you not,” says James, with the air of a lawyer in a courthouse drama, “spend twenty minutes telling me about your new muffler?” 

“You fucking liked it, you prat.” 

You hide a smile behind your hand. It does make you feel immensely better coming home to this place of laughter and teasing after the awkwardness of silence across a small table, looking over a full pint of beer that your date ordered for you and you didn’t want. 

“He did actually send me a picture of the inside of his car before we went out,” you say, taking out your phone to show them. 

Remus groans. 

“See?” Sirius spreads his hands. “That’s the difference between me and car guys. I would never do that.” 

“Hold on, let me find it…” You scroll through your messages—large text bubbles of attempted conversation starters on your end, single-word responses and the occasional unsolicited selfie on his—only to gasp and drop your phone when the screen changes without warning. “Oh my god.” 

“What?” James and Sirius ask at once. 

“He’s calling me.” 

“He—Tom?” James’ eyes round behind his glasses. “Tom is calling you?” 

“Yes!”

“Why?” 

“I don’t know!” You toss the phone to Sirius.

He tosses it back to you like a hot potato. “Well, fucking decline!”

“Don’t decline!” says James. “Answer it!” 

“I can’t answer it! Why would I answer it?” 

“Because what if he needs something?” 

“What could he possibly need from her?” Remus asks, frowning. 

“I don’t know—what if—he might want to apologize for how things went. Maybe he was just nervous and he wants to try again!” 

You shake your head. You admire James’ way of looking for the best in people, you really do, but you don’t ever want to see that man again. You’ve worked yourself up too much about it. “I’m not answering it.” 

“Then give it to me.” He reaches into your lap before you can stop him, plucking up your phone. 

“James,” you hiss, as Remus makes a strangled sound and Sirius reaches to snatch the phone from him, but you all turn to statues when James presses a button and says pleasantly, “Hello?” 

You hold your breath. 

“Oh, hi. Tom, is it? I’m her flatmate. What can I do for you?” 

He pauses, listening intently while you and Sirius trade panicky looks. 

“Her lip balm?” James raises his eyebrows at you. You pat your pocket, wincing when the familiar shape of a small tube is missing. “That was kind of you to grab it for her. Right…well, I don’t think all women are forgetful. I wouldn’t say that.” 

You look at your flatmates like see? Sirius’ face screws up in seeming abashment for their gender as a whole, while Remus remains impassive. His eyes lack the warmth you’ve become accustomed to even when he’s frowning. 

“Yeah, sure, you can bring it by—” You jolt, shaking your head vehemently, and James’ eyes widen. “Erm, actually, you can keep it.” A pause. “Yeah, well, it’s just that she’s not in a state to be seeing anyone right now. She’s, um. She’s very sick.” 

You bend over, putting your head in your hands. Sirius reaches over James to pat your back. 

“Yeah, no, rather sudden. What did you have tonight, by the way? It’s really—I mean, are you feeling alright? She’s had her head in the toilet from the moment she got back. Really awful.” 

You hear Remus murmur quietly, “Alright, wrap it up.” 

“No, um, I don’t think tomorrow would work either. For one thing, we don’t know how long the vomiting will last, and for another…she’s…moving?” 

You look up, incredulous. 

“Yes.” James nods, seeming almost as if he’s reassuring himself. “She’s moving. Back home. Just at the end of the week, actually, and you know, um, you can’t bring lip balm on an airplane. Really, you can keep it. I’m sure she’d want you to have it.” 

“Why is he making it sound like I’m dead?” you whisper to Sirius, who only shakes his head, resigned. 

“No, she had a really lovely time with you—she managed to tell us that, through all the vomitting—so she’d…want you to have something to remember her by. Yeah, alright. You too. Thanks, mate.” James ends the call, blowing out a breath. “You owe me so big for that.” 

“I owe you?” you ask, astonished. “How did all that end up with me owing you?” 

“I got him to leave you alone,” James points out. “And he thinks he was your great British love affair. Everyone’s happy.” 

You make a breathless sound, locking eyes with Remus, who grimaces sympathetically. Sirius, however, pats James on the back. 

“Yeah, fair enough,” he says. “Well done, Jamie. Tom’s going to make out with that lip balm for weeks to come.” 

[nekonaps0]

Is Your Girl Single? pt2

✦part1

✦characters: second years + Trey Clover, Rook Hunt, Lilia Vanrouge

✦fem!reader

Ruggie Bucchi

The question barely leaves the guy’s mouth when Ruggie freezes mid bite of his sandwich. His ears twitch. His entire posture goes still… calculating.

“...Huh?”

He turns his head, blinking innocently. Smile sharp, saccharine.

“You askin’ if my girlfriend is single?”

The tone is polite. Dangerously so. The gleam in his eyes says he’s already planning your funeral… and billing you for the shovel.

“So lemme get this straight. You saw her with me. Me walkin’ next to her. Me carryin’ her bag. Holding her hand and everything. And you still asked if she’s single?”

Ruggie laughs. Loudly. Then leans in, voice low:

“She’s about as single as a prey guarded by twenty hyenas. Try your luck, though. I could use a new pair of shoes. Buy her something nice, shehe~”

Later, he teases you with a grin:

“Oi, next time someone tries to flirt, can I charge a fee? Love tax?”

Jamil Viper

Jamil’s halfway through stirring tea when someone taps him and casually asks if his girlfriend is single. He doesn’t react right away.

In fact, he keeps stirring, slow and methodical.

“What did you say?”

He sets the spoon down with a faint clink, then turns to face the fool with the calmness of a man about to commit murder.

“No. She’s not. And it’s incredibly disrespectful to ask me that. Especially when you know I’m with her.”

He smiles, but there’s nothing warm about it. His magic coils subtly around his fingers, crackling faintly.

“Would you like a demonstration of how un-single she is?”

The person backs off, flustered. Jamil brushes imaginary dust from his jacket, then walks over to you, casually slipping a hand into yours like it’s second nature.

“You’d tell me if someone was bothering you, right? Good. I don’t like when idiots causing trouble”

Jade Leech

The poor soul who asks Jade this question never stood a chance.

Jade hears it, smiles kindly, and tilts his head just slightly to the side like a curious bird.

“My girlfriend? Ah… you’re asking if she’s single?” He cracks a low chuckle “she’s taken. It’s a bold question. Reckless, even.”

His smile widens. The hallway seems colder now.

“Let me clarify something.” He leans in, voice velvet and venom “She is very spoken for. In fact, I daresay I’d go to extreme lengths for her. So if you were thinking of pursuing her… well. You wouldn’t get far.”

He stands up straight again, that elegant Octavinelle charm shining through.

“But truly… thank you for your interest. It’s good to know I’ve chosen someone so desirable.”

Later, you get a bouquet of mushrooms and a handwritten note that reads:

“They see what I see. But they’ll never have it.”

Floyd Leech

Oh dear. You know this is gonna be chaos.

The second Floyd hears someone ask if his Shrimpy is single, his head whips around so fast he nearly throws out his shoulder.

“HAAAAH?! What’d you just say about Shrimpy???” He leaned closer to the poor guy

“You CURIOUS if she’s single?! That’s like asking if the sun’s up when it’s burning your face off!!”

He lunges, and the poor person flinches as Floyd grabs them by the collar, holding them just an inch off the ground.

“Shrimpy’s off to the table. Got it?! I’ll squeeze anyone who tries to fish in my part of the ocean.”

Eventually, Jade has to slink over and gently pull Floyd off with an exasperated sigh.

“Floyd, we talked about threatening potential suitors with violence…”

Later, Floyd throws an arm around you and buries his nose in your hair.

“You’re not allowed to look that cute. I’m gonna have to scare off every fish in the sea~”

Trey Clover

Trey blinks slowly. He was in the middle of baking club prep when someone sidled up to him and casually asked if you were single.

He sets down the bowl of batter and wipes his hands calmly on a towel.

“You mean… my girlfriend?”

There’s a long pause.

Trey gives a warm, polite chuckle but his eyes don’t match the smile.

“Huh. That’s interesting.”

He walks closer.

“You know, I try to be a nice. Understanding. Patient.”

“But you just asked if my girlfriend is single. While she’s dating me. That’s kinda rude.”

He folds his arms and leans in slightly.

“Look. She’s not single. She’s with me. Happily. If she wanted someone else, she wouldn’t be mine to begin with. But she is.”

Later, he offers you a cupcake with heart shaped sprinkles and a soft smile.

“You’re the sweetest thing in my life. I’m not letting anyone else have a bite.”

Rook Hunt

Rook was admiring you from a distance when someone made the grave mistake of walking up to him, all casual, hands in pockets, and asked

“Hey, that girl you’re always with… she single?”

He doesn't speak at first. Just gasps…loudly. A hand goes to his chest as if he’s been shot with a poetic bullet.

“Oh là là… you ask if ma chère is single?”

His eyes glitter with disbelief and drama as he paces in a small circle like a detective processing a scene.

“You ask this while I am but a few paces from her, eyes fixed upon her like a hunter to his mark? You ask this while the sun itself dares not shine as brightly as her smile?”

You try to intervene, but it’s too late. He’s in full monologue mode.

“She is not single. She is mine, and I am hers. In this vast world of fleeting glances and hollow hearts, she chose me, and I have vowed to protect and worship that affection.”

Then he turns to the poor soul with a sharp smile, eyes glittering like polished steel.

“If your heart seeks to chase her, beware. I do not miss my mark.”

Later, he takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and whispers in your ear

“Even if the world lined up to win your heart, my dear, I would stand at the front with a bow in one hand… and your name on my lips.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Ah, the moment the question is asked, Lilia smiles, eyes narrowing just enough to hide the centuries of wisdom and mischief behind them.

“Is she single? Hoh? That’s quite the bold question for someone still breathing.”

He chuckles softly, tilting his head.

“Why do you ask? Planning to woo her away from me?”

The guy started to mumbling excuses, clearly feeling uncomfortable under Lilia gaze.

“Ahhh, I see, I see. Well, allow me to clarify…”

Suddenly, the temperature drops. A strange aura surrounds him. Shadows flicker at his heels.

“The moment she chose me, I made a vow, I must protect her through centuries, even if the kingdoms fall. And I take down anyone who try to take her away from me…”

Then he breaks the tension with a cheeky grin and a wink.

“But do try. I haven’t cursed anyone in weeks.”

Later, when you're walking together, he casually puts his arm around your waist and hums:

“Imagine thinking you’re single. I suppose I’ll have to kiss you more often in public so there’s no confusion, hmm~?”

………………………………………………………………………….

[whenstarsundress]

the café was louder than usual. music playing, espresso machines hissing and the table of guys next to yours getting rowdier by the minute. you tried to laugh through it with your best friend. tried to ignore how their voices kept getting closer, how their comments got bolder. until one of them pulled up a chair uninvited.

“didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said, grinning like he absolutely had, “but i couldn’t help noticing how cute you are when you laugh.”

your smile died. “i’m not interested.”

your best friend gave him a death glare. “she has a boyfriend.”

the guy just laughed ugly. “then he must be a fool to let you out alone.”

your heart started to pound. you slipped your phone under the table, fingers flying across the screen.

sylus. elm café. group of guys won’t leave us alone. please come now. i’m scared.

his reply came within seconds.

on my way. don’t say another word to them.

but one of them leaned in again, fingers brushing the table just inches from yours. “so what’s he like, huh? bigger than me? tougher? come on, baby, don’t be shy.”

you flinched. then the café door opened. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. the entire room seemed to feel it, like the temperature dropped ten degrees in a second.

sylus walked in with quiet and lethal calm. black coat buttoned up, expression unreadable. his gaze landed on you, and didn’t leave. he came to your side, slow and deliberate, like a storm winding up.

“you okay?” he asked you softly.

you nodded, but your hand trembled when you reached for his.

he turned to the guy still being way too close. “back up.”

the guy sneered. “who the hell are you?”

your man didn’t answer. he didn’t need to. the look in his dark eyes was a warning enough. but another one of them laughed from their table and called out,

“come on, bro, share with us. don’t be greedy.”

the entire café went still. sylus blinked once, like he hadn’t quite heard that right. you felt it first, the absolute stillness and the tensing of muscles. the kind that settles over predators right before they strike.

he leaned forward, his voice turned into velvet-wrapped steel. “she’s not yours to share. she’s not mine to share. she’s not a thing. she’s my woman. and if you ever speak to her like that again, you won’t walk out of here.”

the guy scoffed like he wanted to argue until sylus stepped forward and the entire table backed up.

“you think you’re scary or something?” the first guy muttered, weaker now.

sylus tilted his head, gaze calm but cutting. “no. i don’t think. i know.” he looked to you. “come on, angel. let’s go.”

you slipped into his side instantly, grabbing your best friend’s hand on the way out. he didn’t say another word or looked back. he kept one firm hand on the small of your back until the door shut behind you.

outside sylus called a cab for your best friend. the silence was thick and your heart was still thundering. after saying goodbye to your friend, sylus lead you to his car.

inside, his fingers were still tight around the wheel, and his jaw clenched tightly.

you reached for his hand. “i’m okay now.”

he finally looked at you, like he had to see you to believe it. his voice came low, soft but hoarse. “you should’ve never been put in that position.”

“you came,” you whispered. “that’s what matters.”

he leaned in and kissed your forehead softly. “you’re not a toy. you’re not a prize. you’re mine, but that’s not possession, angel. that’s protection. and i’ll protect you from anything. anyone.”

you smiled gently. “even idiots in coffee shops?”

he smirked, but only a little. “especially them.” then his voice dropped a little lower, laced with something darker. “if i ever hear someone speak about you like that again, i won’t just walk out.”

and for a moment, the car felt like it belonged to something dangerous, something terrifying. but completely yours.

[todomochi-uwu]

already over.

Pairing(s): Luffy x reader; Zoro x reader; Sanji x reader; Ace x reader; Law x reader Genre: Smut, angst Warnings: This content is for a mature audience Synopsis: The flesh is weak, and you are even weaker for him. Author's notes: I finished Marineford, and I feel like dying, so you might notice my love for Ace through this text. I'm thinking about writing a second part, but I'm not sure. Would you guys like a part two? Partially inspired by Already over by Sabrina Carpenter, hence the name of this work. Masterlist If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee

Luffy 

You broke up with him, and it killed you, but you must face the truth: He's still too immature for a serious relationship. He isn’t what you need right now. 

The idea of you not being in his life doesn’t make sense to him. 

“Can we, at least, be friends?” “Maybe in the future, Luffy.” “Like, in a week?” 

Pushing you out of his routine is something he can’t seem to do. 

“Hey! Are we still on for dinner on Friday?” “Luff, we are broken up.” “Is that a no?” 

Sends you constant TikTok videos and memes that remind him of you. You try not to answer but can’t help but see them. 

Moving on from him is a nightmare cause he’s always there. 

It takes something to have reality hit him. 

“Oh, look at this photo Y/n posted!” He showed Usopp your profile. A thread of photos you had posted last night. The first one of you with chopsticks on your nose. The next one mid mid-bite. The third one of you smiling and looking at the camera. 

"I thought you guys broke up?" He side-eyed his friend. 

"Yeah, so?" He was too focused on flipping through your pictures until he came across the last one. You were posing with a guy, his arm around you while kissing your cheek. You were laughing. “Who the fuck is that?!” 

“Um...” 

He won't hesitate. He corners you to ask who the guy in your photo is. And when you answer honestly, it feels like a punch to the gut. 

“It’s a guy I’ve been seeing.” “What? I thought you just needed a break or something. Not an actual break-break.” “Lu, we broke up four months ago...” 

Be sure he’ll drive away anyone who dares to approach you. He wants you and won’t let you go. Not that easy. 

It's no surprise you end up back on his bed. You love this man, your heart longs for him. 

“Luffy!” Overstimulated and cross-eyed he had you, on the old and ragged couch of his living room. His tongue lapped at your wet cunt, thrusting and sucking on everything across its path. Luffy was always a messy eater, so oral sex wasn’t the exception. 

"You always taste so good." He pulled away for a second, just to see the way your juices spilt out along with his spit. Then, he pushed two fingers inside, with no warning, but sure where to aim. He knew your body like the palm of his hand. 

“Shit!” If he hadn’t been holding you, you surely would've face-planted. Your fingers ran through his hair, shoving his face closer to your core. Getting closer and closer for the nth time, thanks to the way his fingers fuck you and his lips around your clit. 

Yeah, you fucked up. 

Your head is a mess, and this won’t help. But you are weak, dumb and in love. And, painfully, in denial. 

To him, it just doesn’t make sense. If you love him, and he loves you, why not be together? 

“Are we good?” He asks while stroking your arm, leaving kisses on your shoulder. It’s then you realise you aren’t and he’s still the same man you broke up with. 

“No, Luffy. We are not.” You get up and get dressed.  

"But I miss you, Y/n, and I know you miss me too!" He hugs you from the back, "We are meant to be." 

“Are we?” You won’t even look at him. No matter how much he tries. 

Zoro 

He doesn’t even flinch when you break up with him.  

He’s the definition of lovers to enemies. 

Being friends with the two of you is hell. 

“Why are you acting like a fucking asshole?” “Why are you being such a bitch?” 

Do not be mistaken, Zoro might act like he hates you, but he’s hurting. Having you so close but not being able to be with you is killing him. Even more, knowing it was his fault. 

He took you for granted. He was neglectful and dismissive, prioritizing every aspect of his life over you. Unaware of it until it was too late. 

It’s not that he didn’t care that you left, it's the fact that he didn’t know what to do to get you back. So, he resorted to anger. 

Rolling his eyes every time you were brought up, being in the worst mood whenever you showed up; and arguing with you at every little opportunity he got. 

Hate sex came out of nowhere, am I right? 

“Don’t stop!” Eyes at the back of your head, face shoved against his pillow. 

His hips pounded against your ass again and again. You’ve been going at it for God knows how long, but Zoro didn’t seem anywhere near done with you, "Such an obedient girl.” His thrusts slowed down while pressing his chest to your back, leaving kisses on the skin and biting your shoulder, “your pussy is more honest than you, baby.” 

Your hands gripped desperately to his sheets. You couldn’t form a single straight thought, just his name and moans escaped your mouth. “Fuck you." You felt the knot in your belly snapping, legs trembling, and juices spilling everywhere, “Zoro!” 

“You don’t have to pretend, baby. We both know how much you love this dick.” He didn’t stop, bullying your cervix with the tip of his cock, prolonging your climax, “Fuck, you feel so fucking good, baby.” 

But each time, you would run away from him. Claiming it was a mistake, and that it wouldn’t happen again. (Spoiler: it did.) 

He would find any excuse to get you riled up, poking you in ways only he could. If this was the only way he got to be close to you again, he would do it, no doubt. 

“We can’t keep doing this.” You said while putting on your bra. Shame screaming in the back of your head. 

"You always say that." He lies on his arm, looking at you with a smirk. 

“I need to move on, Zoro.” A sob escapes your lips. This worries him, making him want to comfort you. “I can’t keep doing this to myself.” 

"Give me a chance to prove you I've changed." He grabs your hand and looks you in the eyes, "Let me make it up to you. I won’t repeat the same mistakes.” 

You contemplated it for a second. The man you so desperately love is right in front of you, begging for a second chance, but you can’t bring yourself to believe him, “I don’t trust you, Zo.” 

He watches you walk away from him, and once again, he doesn’t know how to stop you.  

Sanji 

He’s a whore. Plain and simple. This is not to say he cheated because he didn’t... but flirting with everything that moves is just as bad. 

He’s at a loss when you break up with him, claiming it came out of the blue. 

“I don´t understand, my love. I thought we were okay.” “You can’t flirt with my friends and expect me to be okay with it.” “I'm just complimenting them, love. Every woman deserves to feel appreciated.” 

Yeah, well, now he can appreciate them all he wants. 

Do you want him to beg? He’ll do it, every day, all day. 

Flowers and desserts are always present at your desk first thing in the morning. 

Poems attached to gift bags at your doorstep when you come back from work. 

Long texts professing his love and how much he misses you. 

You gave in after a couple of weeks. 

He seems genuinely sorry. He’s been attentive, caring, loving, and you are, mind-numbingly, in love with the chef. Why not give him another chance? 

You look into each other's eyes while his fingers trace up and down your skin. “I missed you so much, sweetheart.” His mouth presses against your neck, leaving small, red marks on it. 

 “Sanji.” You whimper, running your nails against his back. 

He’s slow to undress you but covers your body in kisses as he pulls off every piece of clothing. He whispers sweet promises against your body while his hands dance across your skin. “Don’t ever leave me, my love. I thought I’d die without you.” 

You press your hand against his clothed member, making him whimper in your mouth. Both of you are hungry for more, longing for each other’s body and love, “please, Sanji, make love to me.” 

And that’s all it takes. Sanji is inside you in a second, chasing your and his pleasure. His thrusts are desperate and uneven, but you couldn’t care less. "You feel so good, baby. Shit, so good, so good." He’s pussy drunk on you. 

In the morning, you wake up feeling good and loved. 

His scent and warmth still linger on the bed. The house smells like syrup. Your body aches in a good way. Could it get any better? 

The moment you open your phone, you see it. 

A heart-eyed emoji under Nami’s latest post. 

That mother fucker. 

You gather your clothes, shoving yourself into them, eager to get out and never see him again. Just as you are about to open the door, he does. A breakfast tray in his hand, makes your stomach grumble, but you refuse to acknowledge. 

“Good morning, my sweet.” He places the food on the bed, “Why are you up? I thought we could have breakfast in bed.” 

“I’m leaving, Sanji. Last night was a mistake.” You can’t look him in the eyes cause if you do, you know you’ll give in. 

“What? But I thought,” He stutters, “I thought everything... I... We were fine.” 

“We weren’t, Sanji.” You grabbed your bag, “Don’t call me.” 

Ace 

The absolute worst kind of ex. The perfect one you can’t seem to hate. 

You broke up because you start to notice how much he loves being free, so much more than being in a relationship. He’s the flirty type, consciously or not, it was just who he was. 

He won’t deny it, but he’ll say he likes meeting new people. 

He will respect your decision, even if it breaks his heart. Sometimes wonders if he should have fought harder for you. 

You try to stay friends. At the end of the day, Ace is loyal to those he loves and cherishes, and you aren’t willing to lose that. (And selfishly, you don’t want to give him time to be on someone else’s lips.) 

Both of you act like nothing ever happened. Pretending it wasn’t a big deal, and you are okay with going back to being friends. 

Outings with your friend group are the perfect excuse to see each other, neither of you brave enough to admit how much you miss the other. 

Robin tries to set you up with one of her coworkers. Ace prays to God he doesn’t show up, or he’s a complete pig. 

He suffers in silence every time he sees someone hitting on you at a bar. (In silence meaning that everyone in the room can tell his fuming.) 

“Why won’t you admit you miss her?” “Y/n and I are better off as friends, Marco. Don’t worry about it.” 

Then why won’t you leave his bed? 

Ignited by the feeling of missing each other (and the amount of alcohol in your systems), you are back on his bed. 

“You are such a good view.” He moans, one hand grabbing your ass while the other one rests behind his head. Enjoying the way you bounce on his dick. 

You threw your head back, legs about to give in, but desperate to feel his cum inside you, “Ace!” You whimper. 

“Already tired, princess? Oh, but you are doing such a good job.” Ace loves to tease you, but even more than that, he loves making you cum. Both his hands on your hips and feet placed on the bed, making you lean on his knees, he takes over. 

Chest to chest, your face against his neck, you cry out, begging him to make you cum, and for him to fill you up with his cum. "Please, Daddy, please, make me cum.” 

He smirked, “didn’t know how much I missed you calling me that.” He spanked you, "Don't worry, baby, Daddy'll give you what you want.” 

You love your bed, but it loves him too. It'll happen at the same time every weekend. 

But you know it must stop. You love him and you can’t keep hoping that someday he’ll change. 

So, you’ll make the most mature choice you can think of. You ghost him. 

You won’t answer the phone when he calls, messages, emails, or anyway he can contact you goes unanswered. You don't show up to events or plans when you know he will. 

And it works..., for like two weeks. 

It’s seven a.m., and some maniac is banging on your door. With dry spit on your cheeks and puffy eyes, you answer the door, wondering who the fuck dares disturb you on your day off.  

“Ace.” Shit. 

“Yeah, may I know why you are ghosting me?” 

“I, I am not.” You stutter. 

“Don’t lie to me.” He shoves his way into your apartment. “What’s going on, Y/n? Why are you avoiding me?” 

“Because we can’t keep doing this, Ace. I can’t keep allowing myself to fall for you when you don’t want me like that.” 

“You were the one who wanted to break up, not me.” 

“That’s beside the point, Ace. Please, don’t make this any harder.” 

“Can we at least talk about it?” 

“Leave, Ace.” 

Law 

Sometimes, you don’t know if he’s dating you because he loves you or just to shut you up. 

He cares, and you know that, but words without actions are just that. 

He’s a doctor, and you understand he’s busy, but the fact that you have to break up over the phone cause he’s too busy to talk in person makes you feel better about your decision. 

It’s not until he finishes his shift that reality hits. Twelve hours later. 

Drowns himself in work to try and forget you. Sometimes he forgets he’s human and still can hurt. 

He won't call, text or contact you to talk things over. At least not in the beginning. Do you want to break up? Fine. He’s got too much going on to deal with you. (That’s what he says to convince himself.) 

Starts noticing how much you loved him, and how much he took for granted. 

Homemade lunches and snacks that no longer sit on the counter when he’s leaving for work. No random texts throughout the day that pull him out of the rut. No one waited for him at home, and no one filled his days off. 

Law spends hours looking at his phone, contemplating whether he should call or not. What would he even say? Sorry? I miss you? I’m a fucking mess without you? 

He cringes at the idea of acting that vulnerable. 

“Didn’t know you and that girl had broken up.” Law barely heard the other doctor, too busy disassociating himself in a cup of cold, bitter coffee. 

“Huh?” He’s too drowsy for this. 

“Yeah, I saw her last night at that new club. She looks great, no wonder she had all those dudes trying to take her home." He laughed mockingly. "If I didn't respect you enough, I would have given it a try, oh well.” 

The comment makes his blood boil, but he doesn’t say anything. 

After that, it doesn’t take much for him to contact you. Men and their fragile egos. 

“Hello?” ... “It’s me.” 

You no longer have his contact saved on your phone. It’s been months. 

“Okay? What do you need, Law?” “Can we talk?” 

Oh, now he wants to talk. 

You go to his place, as per his request. Talking turns into crying, then into yelling and onto you being pounded on his bed. The flesh is weak, and you are even weaker for this man. 

Your knees are next to your ears, tears dripping down your cheeks and his dick shoving his way in and out of your cunt. You can barely breathe, and your head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. "God, Law." 

“Miss me, babygirl?” His thumb pushes on your overstimulated clit, making you clench even harder around him, “do you miss my cock, love?” His thrusts won’t let up even if you cum he won’t stop, not until you are dripping out with his cum. 

You are shaking, your lungs feel like they are on fire, and your core is so sensitive everything he does throws you over the edge. But you want more. You need more. 

"No one can make you feel the way I do. Don't ever forget that." He says right after he spills his seed inside you. His fingers push it right back inside once it threatens to come out. 

But when morning comes, everything goes back to the way it was.  

You can’t go through it again. The lonely nights, the missed anniversary dinner, the unanswered texts. You won’t go back to feeling unloved. 

“You don’t have to go.” He whispers while watching you put back your clothes. 

You shake your head, "This was a mistake, Law." You grabbed your phone and looked for your purse. 

“I know I fucked up, but...” You cut him, done. 

“It’s been months, Law. I think we are past that." You close the door of his room and on you two. 

[yukioos]

JEALOUS SHOTO. JEALOUS SHOTO PLSS!! I could imagine him being jealous bcoz reader has second year or third year close friends hehe

teasing shoto because he’s jealous of your third year friend

shoto frowns once he spots you and amajiki talking at lunch. you sit at amajiki’s table, chewing your food and pausing in the middle to talk or rant to him about something, though shoto doesn’t know what it was about. all he can focus on was amajiki’s shy smile and his reddened cheeks, and the way he gives you a small nod when agreeing with you.

your hands move around, animated as you talk. why the hell isn’t amajiki talking with his classmates instead of you? he isn’t too popular amongst his class, besides being in the top three students, but he’s best friends is hado and togata. he could’ve just sat with them.

amajiki looks at you so adoringly, he doesn’t notice shoto’s glare, but someone else does.

kaminari slides up next to him with a small frown on his face, immediately noticing shoto’s piercing eyes and his untouched food. he asks, “you okay, man? you haven’t taken a bite of your food yet.”

“i’m fine.” shoto immediately responds, though kaminari can easily tell he’s lying. it’s obvious because of the look in his eyes.

so when the bell rings, and it’s time for everyone to part ways and retreat to their classrooms, he watches you and amajiki wave bye to each other, and he still has that stupid, meek smile on his face. you take his lunch tray and throw away his leftover food, as well as your own, and give the tray to the cafeteria staff.

immediately, shoto starts walking towards you once amajiki’s out of his sight. you slowly walk towards shoto when you see him, though he looks a bit distressed. a smile appears on your face, but he finds it hard to return it.

you notice it and the frown on his face, “you okay, sho? you seem a bit off.”

he looks away from you but walks with you back to the classroom, but slowly, wanting to take his time with you, “you didn’t even say hi to me before or during lunch.” he pauses, “you always hang out with that amajiki guy, he’s always smiling and laughing around you. he never does that. ever.” shoto stops in his tracks, “i think he likes you.”

you look at him for a minute before hunching over and laughing, and for a moment, shoto thinks you’re belittling him until you wipe away a tear, “honey, he sees me as a younger sibling. i was talking to him about you, but in a good way, of course.”

by now, the hallway is cleared, and you’re certainly late for your next class. he blatantly asks, “really?”

you nod and slowly grab his hands, rubbing them gently, trying to comfort him and make him feel better. his eyes are now softer, and he looks at you so sweetly. you smile and drag a hand up his face, trying to pull him closer to you. he eventually places a hand on your back, pushing you closer to him until your stomachs and chests are touching. he pushes his lips against yours, hands grasping to touch you.

a small sigh of relief escapes you, and he grins against your lips. he’s never been so possessive before.

but when he lets go, the two of you are still left smiling, and you tease, “you were just jealous, huh?”

a huff escapes him, and he playfully rolls his eyes, not responding, but he leads you to your next class with a happy feeling instead of an insecure one.

decided that amajiki could be readers bsf in this bc him and shoto are pretty quiet

[username0204]

"Will is such a whiny little helpless scared boy"

Excuse me what?? Are we talking about the same Will Byers? I really have no idea where those opinions come from... someone's ass I suppose.

There's a lot of talk about Will being traumatized and all but can we please acknowledge that he is also one of the strongest characters in ST? Tbh he's kinda badass if you think about it... but just more of a quiet, resilient, selfless kind of badass...

Ok, let's recap:

01. Will at age 11 beggs his mom to let him see Poltergeist. Fucking Poltergeist. I know people who couldn’t sit through Coraline at that age… This kid is a horror and punk rock fan, that doesn't really scream "snowflake" to me

02. After being followed to his house by an unknown creature at age 12 he doesn't hide under the bed... noooo, he goes outside and grabbs a shotgun - a fucking shotgun! I'd like to remind you, that the only other kid to hold any kind of weapon in S1 is Lucas and it's a slingshot... In S2 Max holds a bat and Mike holds... well... a lamp and a goblet xd To this day I believe he's the only one to hold a gun among the "kids" generation and probably is the only one to know how to use it (though I wouldn't put it past Max tbh)... and it was S1

03. Kid somehow survives a week in another dimension that killed multiple adults during that time... not only that - he manages to figure out a way to communicate (smart kid) and one of his first messages to his mom is not "HELP", it's "RUN" - his priority is to save her, not for her to save him

04. After waking up in the hospital, the very first thing he does is ask Jonathan about a bandage on his hand as if he didn't just almost die... "Don't mind me! There's a cut on your hand, are you sure you're ok??"

05. Will at age 12 starts seeing things that brings him back to the other dimension that tried to kill him but this time there's another creature following him... Then gets possessed by that creature at age 13 and in both instances decides at first not to tell anyone about any of it bc he doesn't want others to worry about him or treat him like he can't take care of himself

06. While being possessed at age 13 he manages to find a way to communicate (again) with a fucking morse code (smartass) and apparently he's the only one aside from Hopper to know it by heart (while being possessed, mind you). And what does he communicate you might ask? Well, he figures out a way to kill the thing that attacks the town knowing full well that it will probably kill him too. Does he say it might kill him though? Nope. He'd rather get himself killed than put his loved ones in danger. Gladly Mike was able to figure it out...

07. After all of that at age 14 he finally can live a "normal" life while still feeling the presence of that thing that possessed him and took control over his body... and he is so fucking patient and tries to keep a level head with his friends that straight on dismiss him and he is able to take so much shit from them (especially from his best friend he is in love with) before he finally snaps. Then again he sweeps that under the rug and doesn't hold a grudge bc there are more important stuff happening which he can feel thanks to that lovely bluetooth connection he has with his former supernatural abuser

08. At age 15 (shortly after his birthday that everyone forgot) he buries his feelings again for (what he believes is) the greater good. He "sells" his own love and a painting that he poured his heart into to repair his best friend's relationship and to cure his insecurities. After that he encourages said friend to make a grand confession at his own expense bc he believes that it might save the day.

And after all of this you want to tell me that he's whiny, weak and helpless? Did we watch the same show?

Funny thing about Will being "saved" in both S1 and S2 is that it didn't come from Will... he didn't ask to be saved. It was Joyce's and Mike's love that saved him, that brought everyone else on board. It was all those people who cared and went out of their way to save him even if he didn't care to be saved.

That is not a testament of Will needing to be saved, it's the testament of how much he means to all of those people for them to love him this much to save him.

He is not weak, he is loved. <3

*I know he goes through so much more shit but I really tried to focus on him handling situations and how it shows his character and not on the stuff that happens to him that makes us feel bad for him if that makes sense xd

[juletheghoul]

AN: I miss Joel. That's it, that's the note. Enjoy this vengeful, ass-kicking Joel. (There will be a part three although I'm not entirely sure what it'll include. Message me about it!) (this is unbeta'd and barely proofread, any and all mistakes are mine) **This is a follow-up to Grown**

Joel Miller x F!reader (sex worker, Joel calls you ‘Pretty’)

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.4K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) , language, **warning** sex work that turns into assault very quick, domestic violence from a customer, violence from Joel (not to you) age gap (legal), feelings of guilt, fear, **trauma**

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Read part one Masterlist 

-----

You whimper, and not with pleasure. He was squeezing too hard, moving too roughly and it was starting to hurt. 

“Honey, slow down a little, you’re hurting me.” You try to stroke the pale skin of his back, soothe him into calming down a bit, but he lets out an angry huff and the alcohol you’d smelled on his breath and on his clothes when he came in hits you square in the face. 

“Can you just shut the fuck up and let me finish?” He seems to speed up, chasing his pleasure so hard it burns now, the tiny bit of arousal you’d worked up had dried right the fuck up. 

“I will but please, I need you to slow down, it’s starting to really hurt–” The crack was hard enough, shocking enough to freeze the words in your mouth and steal the breath from your throat. The back of his hand had caught you perfectly on the side of your face, close enough to your eye to make it feel like he’d knocked it out of the socket. Something, a ring? Had definitely cut into your skin. You brought your hand up, and saw the evidence of it on your fingertips. 

“For fuck’s sake.” His cock softened, seemingly losing his interest in your services. He pulls away, angrily grabbing his clothes from where he’d tossed them on the floor and started dressing. 

“God, you just couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut, could you.” It’s not posed as a question, more of an angry grumbling. Your heart raced, fear gripping you enough to chill you to the bone, eyes darting to the baseball bat hidden behind your little dresser. It’s a risk to go for it, because if he wrestles it from you, things could get very ugly. You kept quiet. He sits on the bed, and stays eerily still for a moment. You hold your breath, hoping he’ll just leave.

“And to think, I was going to pay you for that.” He turns and there is nothing but aggression in his icy blue eyes. Blood pools and drips down onto your breast but you know in your heart you cannot look away from him. You ignore the pounding pain, the blood in your vision making half the scene red, and keep your attention on him. 

“How many people have you fucked this week?” He gets up, looking around suspiciously, as though he’ll find clients hiding in the walls. You don’t answer. He opens your drawer, seeing the rags and some clothes, but then he spots the small bundle of rations you’d saved, and he swipes them. A week's worth of food and supplies you kept for emergencies and you’re horrified to see him smile cruelly, and slip them into his pocket. 

“Stop–I need those, they’re mine!” You stand, indignant to be hurt, and robbed by this fucking kid, barely twenty and already on the path to destruction. 

“And what the fuck are you gonna do about it? Tell FEDRA I robbed you? You gonna tell them about your little side-hustle too?” You approach him, naked with the fear momentarily replaced with fury but he shoves you back, laughing. “Stupid whore, this is recompense for your bullshit.” With that he leaves, laughing hard as the door slams behind him. 

It's hours before you pick yourself up off the place you landed on the bed, finally heading to your tiny bathroom to clean and treat your face. That’s when you cry. The sight of your swollen eye, the jagged cut that missed it by a miracle pulling sobs thick with despair from deep in your chest. It wasn’t an easy life, the one you’d created for yourself in this dystopian fucking nightmare, but it had worked for you, you’d compartmentalized it enough to almost think you were lucky. 

That little shit had scratched the varnish off, exposing the rusted surface of everything underneath. He’d reminded you, and now with your face in this state, there’s no way you’d forget again. 

-

Beads of sweat collects, and slides down your neck to soak through your sweatshirt. That’s fine, you can deal with a damp shirt, what’s worse is when they fall into the cut under your eye, every drop like a tiny, salty knife. It irritates you but you cannot afford to leave before the shift is done, with your stash stolen, and your face in this state you cannot replenish it for a while. You can’t even afford to head straight home after this round of cleanup, you’ll have a tiny break, and then move onto whatever else is available. This is your life for the next couple of weeks. 

So you buckle down, you focus, and when you’re done you collect your payment and move onto the next. 

You almost start to feel better after the little break, despite being on the gruesome duty of piling dead infected into the QZ’s paltry version of a funeral pyre. Your luck isn’t to last though. Joel has also signed up for this duty, his big frame and grey hair so distinct as he joins the tiny group of you waiting for the truck to arrive. He catches your eye for a moment and does a double take, his usual show of pretending there’s no recognition gone and replaced with a confused, almost furious frown. 

You cannot parse what that look means. Whether it’s worry, confusion at seeing you out working, or just plain disappointment you cannot know for sure. What it feels like, is a sinking stone in your belly and so you look away, pulling the hood of your sweatshirt up and over your head and pulling the bandana around your neck up to cover your mouth. 

The work is hard, but you don’t complain, you push through, ignoring the smells and the sights in front of you. His eyes track you though, even though he doesn’t speak to you. At one point you feel him beside you, his arm pressing against yours as you both reach into the back of the truck to grab whatever nameless, faceless infected thing is closest and wordlessly you both carry it over to the pit. A momentary synergy shared between two people who refuse to break the tense silence. 

It’s ghoulish, the whole thing but you breathe through it, focus and count down the hours. You take comfort in the fact that nothing lasts forever, not this job, not this day, not the pulsing ache in your face, not this fucking melancholy that has you in it’s grip. Not even Joel’s silent, questioning stare. Soon you will be done, you will have been paid for this awful assignment and you’ll be free to go home and sleep for a day. 

Joel lines up behind you when the proverbial whistle blows, and you can feel the almost accusatory way he stares into the back of your head but you ignore him, you collect your payment and you haul ass back home, feeling his eyes until you duck out of his line of sight. 

-

They all know you’re out of commission, the regulars that make up your week, and so everything is quiet when you get home. Until the knock sounds a few hours later. 

You don’t open the door, a bolt of fear strikes through your being at the sound, that little shit could have come back; you were an easy target after all. 

“Who is it?” You grab the bat from behind the dresser, a white-knuckle grip on the handle just in case. 

“It’s Joel, can I come in?” You sigh. 

“Not right now Joel, I’m not working. Come back in a couple of weeks.” You set the bat down.

“I know, I’m not here for that, can I just talk to you? Let me in, Pretty.” His voice sounds clipped, despite his term of endearment. 

“I don’t think you can call me that just now.” 

“Pardon’?”

“Nothing.” You open the door, and greet the wall of him. “I’m not in the mood for visitors right now Joel, I’m sorry.” You cross your arms in front of you, containing the mess of emotions as best you can. He frowns, and you see the hardness of him, the anger and the aggression he never brought to your door. 

“What happened? Who did that to you?” He stares at the swollen mess of your face and you know he sees all of it. The jagged cut, the broken blood vessels in your eye and all of a sudden you feel naked and raw, so much more exposed than you’ve ever felt with your clothes off. 

“Just some stupid kid.” You lower your gaze. 

“What kid? Tell me.” He takes a step forward and you don’t flinch, but you do back up a little bit, unconsciously. “I’m not gon’ hurt you, Pretty. Can I come in? I just wanna talk.” He holds his hands up like you would when approaching a wild horse, or in your case, a wounded dog. 

“Sure. I know, I’m sorry.” You back up and he tsks. 

“Don’t you be apologizin’ to me.” He steps inside, kicking his boots off before gesturing to your table. You follow him and sit opposite. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” He pulls his chair forward, tentatively raising his hands towards you and you let him come close. His fingertips are feather soft when they turn your injured side towards his eye. Something slithers and coils around your heart, wreaths its way through your brain, whispering nonsense about how nice it is to see him this worked up about your state. You shove it away. 

“I was working.” You avoided his eye, uncharacteristically embarrassed about your means of making a living, “he was getting a little rough-“

“Rough how?” His anger swells, a grotesque balloon filled with something sinister. You didn’t want to get into the nitty gritty with him, but something in his expression told you he wasn’t leaving without hearing the whole story.

“We were in the middle of it, and he started going too fast, too hard and well, it wasn’t the most arousing thing so, it was burning and I just asked him to slow down.” You took a deep breath, trying to lower your rapidly rising heartbeat, “I just wanted him to slow down, I asked him and he cracked me with a backhand.” 

His jaw clenched, and he scooted a little closer. 

“He stopped after I started bleeding. I didn’t want him to do anything else so I stayed quiet, I didn’t go for the bat, but he was really mad and then he fucking robbed me.”

“He robbed you?” Any warmth in Joel’s eyes disappeared, ice crawled through your veins at the tone of his voice and it was as though a stranger sat in front of you. You nodded.

“What’d he take?” 

“About a week's worth of work. I had my emergency stash there in the first drawer and he took them. I tried to stop him because fuck, you’re gonna hit me and then on top of that steal? He just shoved me, laughed and told me I wasn’t gonna do anything because it’s not like I can report him to FEDRA without them being up my ass about all this—“ you gestured to the bed with open arms, your little life here, as fucked up as it was, still yours nonetheless. You let go of the breath in your chest, resigned, deflated. 

“He just laughed, and left.”

He said nothing. He sat there, listening to you vent until you met his eyes again. 

“What’s his name?”

“What does it matter, there’s nothing I can do, I’ll just avoid him and be a little more careful about who I let in here.”

“What’s his name, can you please tell me that?” His voice is soft, but it doesn’t match the expression on his face. You have a nagging suspicion that if you tell him, you’re opening a door to something that you will not be able to contain. On the other hand, that would imply that he’d go all cowboy on this kid for smacking you up, that wouldn’t make sense. Joel wouldn’t do that, in order for him to do something like that you’d have to think he cares, and that’s a dangerous road to tread down, he doesn’t. This is just another example of him trying to be soft. You tell him the kids name, and scatter caution to the fucking wind. 

He says nothing. 

“Thanks for checking up on me, I am exhausted.” You get up and he stares up at you for a moment before following. 

“Get some rest, keep that bat near you and if that little cocksucker comes back ‘round, I want you to take out his fuckin’ kneecaps. You hear me?” He slips his boots on, making you smile your first smile since the incident. He smiles back, encouraging you regardless. 

“Bye Joel.”

“Bye Pretty.”

-

Joel saw red. A bloody haze over everything and it only got worse when he realized that half of her vision had probably been the same when the injury was fresh. The nerve of that fucking animal, to smack her around because he couldn’t keep his dick hard, or because he didn’t know how to be with a woman, or whatever other bullshit excuse he’d made up in his head to justify his behaviour. 

He took a deep breath, stalking down the street to find out exactly where this little cocksucker was. He had no doubt he’d find out, no one had managed to stay hidden if Joel needed to find them. Not yet anyway, and he had no reason to believe this kid would be the first to achieve it. So he got to work. 

He bribed, and asked around, he worked methodically through his more informed contacts and finally hit the jackpot. His contact had heard of some stupid kid, laughing about having stolen a fat wad of rations from some ‘dumb whore’, that it’d been so easy, that he had half a mind to go back and take more, take everything. His jaw clenched at the news, thanking his contact while almost blind with rage. 

He didn’t even pretend to think things through, he followed the tip he’d gotten and made his way over to where he might find his target. There was a speakeasy in the QZ that he’d heard about, that he’d been in before but didn’t frequent. It was usually full of the younger, wilder guys that had no qualms and no sense. They served barely passable alcohol, nothing anyone would have paid a cent for in the before time, the patrons didn’t know that though, how could they? Anything worth drinking definitely wouldn’t be found there.

It was late, and so there weren’t very many patrons. They looked at him with curious, suspicious eyes when he made his way through to the bar. The man behind it knew Joel, and raised his eyebrows to see him there, frowning very quickly after he’d come to the conclusion that if Joel was here, something was wrong.

“Hey Joel, everything okay?” The bartender's voice was nervous, “Can I get you anything?”

“You got anythin’ worth drinkin’?” 

“Not really, not by your standards. There’s some decent gin, It’s almost good.”

“Sure.” He accepted the glass, and took a sip. It was awful, but it burned in his throat, helping to ground him enough to look around. “You know anyone by the name of Andrew?” 

“Think so, young kid? Blonde?” Joel didn’t fail to notice the relief on the bartender's face, he wasn’t the target, and so he was all too happy to help find the real one.

“Think so, I reckon he’s been talking a lot of shit about robbin’ a girl-”

“Oh, yeah. That’s him right there.” The bartender subtly gestured to a group of three standing a few feet to Joel's left, the taller one fitting the description, a shit-eating grin plastered on his moon-face. Joel shot back the rest of the piss being passed for gin and made his way over to his target. 

“You Andrew?” He interrupted the kid mid-sentence, barely containing the fury inside. 

“Yeah, who the fuck are you?” He looked Joel up and down, his lip curled in disgust. Joel assessed him right back, he was tall though not as tall as himself. He was sinewy, all angles and hunger. He tipped his glass back as Joel sized him up and he saw the ring on his pinky, something ugly and misshapen and all at once the fury swelled and flooded him like the beach at high tide. 

“You hear me old man? I said who the fuck are you?” His two friends laughed, unthreatened by Joel’s presence. 

“I heard you smacked a girl around, a girl you couldn’t keep your pencil-dick hard enough to fuck and then you robbed her like a dirty, little fuckin’ rat.” They all shut up after that. 

“That true? That what you been sayin’? Or are you keepin’ that second part out?” Andrew’s eyes widened for a moment, before he got ahold of himself once more.  

“I don’t know about no girl, I taught some whore a lesson–” Joel’s hand shot out, almost faster than his mind could catch up and grabbed the kid by the hair and slammed it as hard as he could into the edge of the bar. There was a satisfying crunch when his nose broke. 

There were very few people in the place watching what happened, none of them batted an eye.

“Oh, okay, kinda how I’m teachin’ you a lesson right now, ain’t that right boy?” He held him up by the back of the head, satisfaction filling him with warmth at the way the kid cried and bled like a stuck pig. His friends were screaming, indignant at the assault but Joel was ready. The knife that usually sat in his pocket filled his hand now, shiny and glinting with the threat of violence. He pointed it at the two other boys and suddenly, their loyalty was paper thin. 

“This ain’t for either of you, but it could be.” Joel watched them, daring them to challenge him, they ducked their heads and ran out. 

“Now. I think I misheard you before.” Joel pulled the kid closer, yanking on his hair to make him look into his face. Already, purple was blooming under this kid's eyes, his nose was definitely broken, and he had a cracked front tooth. “I reckon you said ‘whore’, you wanna run that by me again?” 

Andrew coughed, spitting blood out onto the floor, any and all bravado gone in the face of real danger. All too soon he’d given up, all fucking day Joel’s bones had itched to fight this kid, to make him hurt. 

“You hear me boy? I asked you a question, you wanna talk about her like that again?”

“No sir.” He wheezed the answer out, ‘sir’ now, instead of ‘old man’. 

“S’good to hear, you robbed her too huh?” He rummaged through the kids pockets while he stood there, finding a small stack of rations and he pocketed them. “This it?” 

“I used some, but that’s most of it.” He pressed his sleeve gingerly to his nose, wincing when he touched it. 

“Here’s what’s gon’ happen. You, are never to even fuckin’ look at that girl again. If I even hear about you bein’ near her place, approachin’ her on the street, given’ her so much a dirty fuckin’ look, you even speak her name again–I’ll kill you. You hear me boy?” He tightened his grip on the kids hair, relishing the way he grit his teeth against it. 

“Yes sir.” 

“Come again?”

“I said, yes sir.” Fire blazed in the kids eyes, but he didn’t fight back. 

“S’good, s’what I like to hear. Now, you ever second guess what I’m tellin’ you now, you ever forget about this right here-” He flicked at the kids nose, eliciting a response much more violent than the initial break, “you go ahead and ask around about me, I’m Joel, and there ain’t no one in this place that’s gon’ hide you from me. You got that?” He let him go, shoving him back hard enough that he fell on his ass. He pulled the little bundle out of his pocket once more, tapping it against his open palm. 

“Whatever is missin’ from here–you’re gonna replace it. By tomorrow. You find me, and pay it back. Do not make me come lookin’ for you because I’ll break a lot more then just your fuckin’ nose.” He nodded, Joel almost felt bad for him, but then he remembered that this piece of shit had laughed at her. He’d hurt her, stolen from her, and then laughed. Any and all sympathy dried up as fast as small town gossip. 

“Not so fuckin’ funny now huh, boy.” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a curse. The anger in him burned bright enough to make his bones ache, so he left him there on the floor, and made his way home. 

-

The day had been fine, until you spotted him walking towards you on the street. It was just a glimpse of him, but you knew the gait, the shape, the flash of that stupid fucking ring. 

Your stomach sank quicker than a stone thrown in a lake, and you froze there, in the middle of the sidewalk like a fly stuck in honey; until you saw him head on. Ice crept through your veins, a lace pattern of frost replacing your nervous system at the state of him. Worse, was the matching look of fear mirroring yours at seeing you.

He didn’t take another step, once he caught sight of you, he turned and practically ran down the street in the opposite direction. 

Someone had gotten to him, and made a worse mess of his face than what he’d done to you. Joel’s face flashed through your mind as you stood there, with the vision of the kid's obviously broken nose, the purple black bruises under his eyes imprinted in your vision. 

You had to move. You made your way back to your home, almost in a daze, the vision of Andrew so injured following you around like some sort of phantasm. It occurred to you then, almost belatedly how much of a fucking zoo the QZ is, despite growing up and living most of your life there, it almost felt like you’d been living in some sort of rose coloured glass house. Recent events had seriously been one hell of a wakeup call. 

Joel was waiting on the steps outside your apartment when you got there, his expression calm, patient. It seemed absurd to say the first word, so you wait. He doesn’t make you wait for long though. 

“These are yours.” He gets up, pulling what looks to be your stolen rations out of his pocket. That same fear grips you again, but this time it’s out of your own ignorance, a deep realization that you have no idea who this man is, or what he’s capable of. And judging by the state of Andrew's face when you’d seen it, he wasn’t someone to be messed with. 

“You got them back?” 

“They’re yours, they should be with you.” It’s a roundabout answer, but you let it slide. 

“Thank you.” He puts them into your palm, and all you can do is stand there, staring at the space they took up in your hand. They were so light, such a paltry thing to make such a mess of your life. 

“Well okay then.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, and you saw the glimpse of it again, a lost man, doing his best to be soft for another person. A lot of emotions hit you at once and you’re not really sure how to feel, does he feel something for you? Something beyond what clients feel for the woman they pay to fuck? It’s another one of those crossroads you seem to come to a lot when it comes to Joel, one side is safe and completely casual. Healthy. 

The second choice was shadowy, full of uncertainty and very real danger. He gifts you with a rare smile and you return it, almost against your will. His hand comes up, and he cups your cheek so soft you begin to think you’d only imagined what you’d seen on the street, the implications of the returned rations in your hand. You begin to gaslight yourself into a normal, healthy set of feelings for this older man. 

“Joel?” He doesn’t move his hand, his fingers slide down, curling around your neck while his eyes bore into yours. Something about his expression gives you the inkling that if he could, he’d erase the injury on your face. 

“Hm?” 

“What did you do?” Your hand comes up, and rests on his. It’s warm, much too warm to belong to the person who could do what you suspected he’d done. His eyes darken a little, and you see a glimpse of something. 

“I took care of it. You don’t need to be scared of anythin’, he won’t be botherin’ you ever again.” His thumb pressed to your lip, you watched your hands press to his chest. He was so solid and warm, and despite the implications, you felt safe. Safer than any other time in your life. Your body and your brain fought tooth and nail, confused on whether to hold onto the outrageous peace he inspired, or the impending sense of doom that seemed to ripple around him like heat on asphalt. 

He comes closer, and his lips press to yours soft enough to tickle. 

Peace wins. 

He presses kisses to every inch of your face, soft and comforting, curiously paternal despite the relationship you share. The thought should disgust you, but the truth is you needed this, you crave the protection, the feeling of security he provides. 

“Come inside.” You press the good side of your face into his neck and sigh, relishing the way he surrounds you. 

“I want to, but I got some things to take care of.” He holds your face softly, presses a kiss to your forehead before herding you towards your door.

“You’ll come back though?” A pout you don’t want to give him shines out from your face.

“Yeah, ‘course I will. See you soon, Pretty.” With another press of his lips, he’s gone. 

-

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[parfaitblogs]

love language ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you come home after failing a test, and spencer reid helps you feel better — in a few different ways. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut (18+ mdni) tags: college!reader. unspecified age gap. oral (f receiving). fingering. praise. sorta soft dom spencer. losers in love.  word count: 1.9k a/n: i once was doing so awful on a chemistry test my teacher stood in front of my desk and spoon fed me the answers at lunch once everyone else had left. this is for my angel piper wiper who heard about this idea and then asked for it to be a chemistry test. even though it already was. and also bc she leaves tomorrow :((

"I fucking hate chemistry!"

He can hear your voice before he sees you. Before the jingling of keys falling into the bowl next to the front door, and before the sound of your footsteps against wooden flooring. Perched on the couch, Spencer's head lifts from the nearly complete Sudoku puzzle in his lap, and finds the ears-steaming, grumbling ball of frustration that is you, angrily walking into his apartment. 

"You were telling me just yesterday about how cool you think it all is," he replies, placing the puzzle down on the coffee table as you manoeuvre around to stand in front of him. 

"That was a past me. A me who had no idea what she was getting into. She's been cheated, played for a fool," you snap, "chemistry fucking sucks."

"Do you have context coming soon, or are you just going to keep insulting chemistry?" his head tilts, arms reaching out to coax you into them. 

You relent quite easily, climbing into his lap and burying your face into the space between his shoulder and his jaw. Your lips move against his skin, voice muffled as you mumble, "I failed."

"You failed?" he repeats back. "The test?"

"Mmhm," your head moves in a nod, hair tickling his jawline. "By one mark, mind you. One. I don't even..." you jerk back suddenly, eyes blown wide as you stare at him, "Spencer I studied for days. Weeks. I had you helping me. You were confident I'd do really well!"

Tears prick the waterline of your eyes, and his heart cracks a little in his chest. He doesn't enjoy seeing you like this, and yet he's sure there's very little he can do to make you feel better. Academic guilt is too high of a hurdle to jump over just like that.

"I know, honey," he's pulling you back in with gentle hands, hands that entangle in your hair, followed by lips that kiss your jaw. 

"I don't understand," you huff. "I don't fail, Spencer. I don't."

"You're spiralling," he comments. How observant.

You nod your head, falling silent as you let every complaint and word of frustration manifest on your tongue, and then swallow them down. You know it won't help, talking deprecatingly about yourself, and it certainly won't change anything. 

"Sorry," you finally sigh, and you can feel him shake his head against your own.

"You don't need to apologise to me. I know how you're feeling."

"No you don't," you grumble, though there isn't any malice behind your words. 

He pauses, then, "No, I don't." 

It makes you laugh, quietly, face burying in his chest as you end the laugh with a groan. "I hate your stupid smart brain. I hate that you're smarter than me."

"I don't think I'm smarter than you," he says, and you fight back a scoff. 

"Yes you do," you narrow your eyes at him, pulling back just so he can see your glaring gaze. He barely even flinches, even goes so far as to let a humoured smile stretch across his lips instead. 

"Objectively, I am. I'm smarter than most people."

"Humble, too."

"Shush," he bounces his knee to nudge you, and you only reply with a giggle. "But, I find your brain fascinating. I wouldn't be with you if I didn't. You're beyond smart to me."

"Not smart enough to pass a stupid college chemistry test, though."

"It was one test, honey," he murmurs. "It doesn't define how smart you are. It won't matter in a year, anyway."

"I know," you sigh. "Still."

His hands are warm on your skin when he brings them down to your thighs, a comforting touch, as he brushes his lips against your nose. It crinkles as you smile. Again. A black hole opened in the pit of your stomach, yet a few simple words from your boyfriend, and you're unable to wipe the joy from your face. 

"I think you're the smartest person I know," he says, lips moving down to your neck and, at the same time, his hands find their way to your inner thighs. You don't have it in you to argue with the statement, instead letting a contented sigh fall from your lips. "And the prettiest," he presses a kiss below your earlobe, "and the kindest."

"Flattery won't get you into my pants, Reid," you mumble, and his breath fans against your skin as he laughs. 

"Not flattery," he replies, fingers digging into your thighs. "I do think I am successfully getting into your pants, though."

"Mm-mm," you deny him with a shaking head, smiling lips hiding away against his chest. 

"No?" he feigns shock, careful with his movement as he stands from the couch, you still in his arms. "I think I am."

"I think you're delusional," you say. "I'm sad and stressed out. Stop taking advantage of me. You're terrible. Insatiable, some could say."

"Just trying to help ease the stress," Spencer replies, and he's forgiving as he lays you down on his bed. Evergreen cotton surrounds you, and you relax into the embrace of the smell of him. 

"Uh-huh," the fight leaves your body the second his head is at your stomach, and instinctively, your legs part for him.

"Uh-huh?" he mimics back to you, but his lips are making a strong point on the sides of both knees, and all of your arguments evaporate. 

"Spencer," you say, and though it's supposed to be a scold—for his slow teasing, his mocking—it comes out on a breath. A whispered moan, that only prompts him to go further. 

"I know, pretty girl," he says. You hate how easily he gets you flustered. 

His hands hook under both of your knees and bend them, palms sliding beneath your thighs. Featherlight, and erupting a path of goosebumps in their wake. 

Brown eyes meet with yours, a kind gaze liquidising every cell in your body as you nod, and he's baring you to him with a gentle tug of fabric. For a moment, you focus on the glaze in his eyes, dilated pupils as he watches for your micro expressions. 

Then, he's back to kissing you. Your thighs. You lose any train of thought about how beautiful his eyes look when they are locked with yours, and are reduced to surface level emotions as his lips travel higher up your legs, and his breath is suddenly directly over your cunt. 

Your tense, anticipating muscles relax almost instantly the second his mouth is on your clit, rolling his tongue over it, white hot pleasure shooting through your veins. 

Like a trigger, your vow of silence breaks, and you're already sighing out his name amidst a string of moans. Never relentless, your eyebrows pinch and your mouth falls open as his tongue flicks against your clit. 

Your hands—desperate for something to grasp onto that isn't sheets pulled too tight over a mattress—find his, fingers interlacing together just as his tongue drops to dip around your entrance. 

Every single thing you do he memorises into storage in his brain. Every twitch, every eyelash flutter, every nails-digging-into-palm squeeze. A silent prayer of gratitude to whatever resulted in his eidetic memory, for there are these sights of you so beautiful he desires to replay them well into his afterlife. 

Every weighted self-doubt from the past two hours dissipates inside of you, fading to dust under the power of his lips on you. 

Your head falls back as he lifts his own and stubble grazes against you, tongue circling your clit once again. His alternating between abusing the bundle of nerves and teasing your wanton entrance, combined with the approaching two full weeks of being too busy to entertain the concept of a sex life, results in a steady knot forming in your stomach. 

"Spencer," you say his name, again, and his hands squeeze yours in recognition. The sound of your voice—cracking from pleasure—and the way your hips twitch and attempt to lift from the mattress key indicators to your approaching orgasm. "Spencer, please," you're begging for no reason. You know he'll give you what you want no matter what you do. 

He registers your orgasm. You know he does, because his hands slip out of yours and instead return to your thighs, holding them in place in a bruising grip. A silent scolding for your writhing, that has your heart stuttering in your chest. You know he does, because his tongue slows slightly as you ride out the last of it, gentle as he works you back to normalcy. 

Then, you have to question if he registered it at all. As quick as he was to ease you through your high, his tongue never gives up, and he's still going. 

"Spence—no, mm-mm," you choke out, the pleasure building with a speed and intensity you'd all but forgotten in recent days. "Please."

"One more," he says, meeting your blown-wide eyes. He cuts you off when you go to protest, "You can. I know you can. C'mon, angel."

"I can't," you moan, again, but there's the undertone of desperation that says otherwise. 

"You can," he repeats, pulling back and replacing his tongue with his fingers. Slipping two through already wet folds, and flicking your clit. "Look at you, you're doing so well for me, honey."

"Too much," you argue, neck stretching as your head presses into the bed beneath it. "Spence—ah."

"No it's not," he replies, and you glare at the ceiling because, shit—he's right.

"Yes it is—oh fuck," you shudder as a finger pushes into you, his thumb replacing it at your clit, and your nerves near explode. "Please."

"Need to come again?" he asks, and watches as your head frantically nods in place. 

He adds a second finger and you whine at that. Then, he curls them inside of you, and you whine again. 

"Words, honey."

"Yes—fuck—I need to come again. Please, Spencer. Oh, God," your hands fly to his wrist, fingers wrapping around it and nails digging into his skin. He barely even reacts, your grip weak, and his determination strong.

It feels like milliseconds between your begging and when he pulls you over the edge. It could've been hours. 

"There you go," he murmurs as you let out a shuddering breath as the high passes, and your hands fall limply by your sides on the bed. 

Silence fills the air, nothing but the feeling of his fingertips mapping out your skin as your drunken eyes stare at the barely there detailing on his bedroom ceiling. For a few minutes, you bask in it, smiling to yourself as dopamine and oxytocin and whatever other hormones just released by your body swirls within you—really, you could just ask Spencer. Covering up the stress from earlier easily. 

"Hey," you tilt your head down to look at him, his head now on your stomach as he lays atop of you. He lifts his own, eyebrows furrowing in question. "Up top," you raise your palm.

"What?" he's confused. 

"High five. That was my first orgasm in two whole weeks. I think that's a personal best for us," you say, and he blinks once, then twice, and then laughs, and weakly slaps his palm against yours. 

"Go to the bathroom. Loser," he rolls off of you, nudging you off the bed and towards his ensuite. 

"You are the textbook definition of a loser, by the way. Keep your mouth shut," you say with a pointed look, lazily swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. After a few more minutes of contemplating it, you finally stand up. 

"Go."

You disappear into his bathroom in a fit of giggles.

[anonmousegosqueak]

I'm gonna give out my secrets because I think I'm pretty cool and funny and I like talking about myself>:)

Feel free to skip this one, just consider it... A 124 follower special!

Speaking of which-

I have 124 followers!

My last date was.. too long ago :/

450 posts!

Ugly ahh sports shoes (they have holes in them)

White and yellow! They honestly look pretty musty but I didn't paint my walls so whatever

48°52.6′ South, 123°23.6′ West

Well the mean part of me says I'm bad at art, but the mean part of me is an asshole so I don't listen to it

SKIP

Well obviously! I'm not a baby after all... I've got this cat/body pillow I call Long Cat and I cuddle it every night <3

I've got this lightweight maroon shirt and I love it SO MUCH

Urban

I don't *like* to shop? I do it because I have to because stuff isn't free, I especially don't have a favorite place to shop

Funny! 🤡

I collected lipbalm for a while

A singular Cheeto

I did (I don't anymore). She was... Fine? I liked her but also she was pretty sure I wasn't autistic despite, well, every about me? I dunno, I didn't mind her too much

Twitter.

John Doe

Funny story! My parents never told me santa was real? I actually argued with them about it for some reason?? I was a weird kid...

Owl House ig? It didn't get the ending it deserved, I wish it did

Don't think so? Uh- basic?

I didn't actually have one, I just sorta listened to all of nerd culture or repeat until I died

Mp3 players

Every time they release a new sandwich

I mean, I don't have *one* best friend, I got a bunch and I love them all very much <3

DOUBLE SKIP OH GOODNESS

Fudge, I dunno. Him from The Powerpuff Girls? I can't decide tbh, I like a lot of kids cartoons.

Music that matches the mood, I like my emo music when I'm very sad >:)

Maroon shirt, black pants, rainbow socks. The same thing I wear every day, obviously~

Hehehehe

Crocks/open toed shoes. Protect your feet y'all!

Once a week, sheets get washed as well

Silver jewelry

Well... I have this one rap battle song that I *know* is cringe and edgy and dumb, but I just love it so much...

I've been working on growing out my hair to be longer and it SUUUCKKSS. I wish it could just be magically longer...

Occasionally! Always red too, I have several shades to pick from every time

Clowns <3 (NOT CREEPY)

Filbo was actually my first pet! I mean technically my parents had a cat when I was born but I hardly remember her. She was a sweetheart, yes, but Filbo was the first pet that I actually interacted with.

Ughh- I wanna like with different accounts SO BAD. Or at least let me change what my main account is?

I actually have one of those hyper realistic baby dolls! Her name is Christy and she's a work of art.

Pleeeeeeesseee take me to a museum, let me hold your hand and laugh at the funny paintings...

SKIP SKIP SKIP. NO THANK YOU. I DONT WANNA THINK ABOUT MY REGRETS.

42 personal questions ask game

how many followers do you have?

when’s the last time you went on a date

how many posts have you made?

What type of shoes do you wear?

what colour are the walls of your room

where are you right now? (not exact location. ex: at a park)

would you consider yourself good at art?

who was your first kiss?

do you still sleep with stuffed animals?

what’s your favourite piece of clothing you own?

do you live in an urban, suburban, or rural area?

what’s your favourite store to shop at? (online or irl)

if you had to choose one POSITIVE word to describe yourself, what would it be?

do you collect anything?

what’s the last thing you ate?

if you go to therapy, do you like your therapist?

what’s one thing you want to buy, but don’t have the money or resources to get?

Who’s the first person you can think of?

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real?

If you could revive one tv show that has been cancelled, what show would it be?

do you consider yourself a part of any alternative subculture? if so, which one(s)?

who was your childhood favourite music artist?

CDs or record players?

Do you believe in any conspiracy theories?

would you get back together with an ex if given the opportunity?

favourite kid’s show character?

is the person you call your best friend actually your best friend?

when you’re sad, do you prefer to listen to music to match your mood, or listen to happy music?

what’s the last outfit you wore?

do you have any online friends?

least favourite clothing style that is currently popular

how often do you do your laundry?

do you prefer silver or gold jewelry?

what’s your book/movie/tv guilty pleasure?

if you could change your hair however you want, how would you change it?

do you paint your nails?

what’s an uncommon/specific /obscure topic you’re interested in?

what’s the name of your first pet/what would you name your first pet if you had one?

what’s one feature you would change on tumblr?

what’s the most interesting item you own?

would you rather go on a date at a museum or a concert?

what’s one regret you have?