#* he’s a loving kind of guy; he’s dedicated; he’s made his choice he’s in love ( about. )

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Oh GOD, breeding kink with Ghost but he's actually determined to get his darling pregnant because after everything they've been through together, how much he loves her and vice versa? I could go on but it's just something to think about. I also strongly believe he'd be that kind of girl dad heheh

Couldn't Love You More (Ghost x F!Reader)

Left pic credit: @ vhenan_virabelasan on IG

Word count: 3.7 k

Tags/warnings: Tooth-rotting FLUFF. Mild, soft smut 🔞, crying (from joy), breeding kink (obv), comfort no hurt. All the softness and love.

A/N: Excuse me, more soft!Ghost coming through! I hope you like this take anon 💕

"I'm tired of using those things."

Simon rarely whispers, hardly ever murmurs, and never coos. But this time, his voice is deliberately soft. 

You sigh and put the condom package down on the table. This evening had been a nice change, a pampering for your poor, stressed-out nerves. He had done his best to take your mind off work ever since he got home: he took you out for a 3-course dinner – which reminded you of the early days of your dating – and it was all supposed to end in a good stress relief of a fuck.

You'd sent him suggestive texts all morning, knowing he was coming home today. Those messages were extra naughty because you happened to be ovulating, and juicy, and horny as hell.

And you know he has waited for this moment as well. Which is why you can't get your head around why he wants to raise the subject of using other methods of contraception right before you're about to have sex. 

Why would he suddenly start complaining when both of you are already naked – practically seconds before you're about to roll down the condom for him?

"You know I've tried, Simon," you sigh again – you don't even bother to disguise the annoyance in your voice. After all, you've tried basically everything to make it more pleasurable for you to make love without the risk of getting knocked up. You hate the rubber between the two of you just as much as he does, if not more. Apparently you need to remind him how the last attempt with the pill went.

"I become a bloated monster," you say, realizing you're pouting only when he laughs.

You absolutely love it when he does: it's a rare thing, even with you. Even after all these years of love and dedication, the warm, husky chuckle at the back of his throat makes your heart flutter and your head feel dizzy.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean…?"

The man has a tiny twinkle in his eyes, and the flutter in your heart turns into something heavier, more serious. He looks you up and down as if to weigh whether you're ready to take in what he's about to say.

"How about we just ditch the bloody things?"

Your heart is truly getting it today: it skips a beat or two from what he says. From what he implies.

"But you…” you whisper, still unsure if you're truly discussing the same thing here. “You said that kids are a bad idea." 

"They are." 

The twinkle in those eyes turns into an amused gleam, the corner of his mouth lifts up a bit from seeing you so shocked. 

And Simon never said he didn't want children.

It's just that he has avoided the subject like it's a seasonal flu he doesn't want to catch. 

He would make the perfect father: you just know it. Sad to say, but it was one of the main reasons you fell for this man. It's stupid, but it's true: women look for these things. They can tell if a guy would be a good choice for a father. They notice safety, security, the willingness to support and provide.

Biology and instincts be damned, you simply can't deny that Simon is the first man who made you think about what it would be like to have children. And of course the perfect candidate for a father thought that kids were a bad idea…

It seemed like a cruel joke, the way he brushed you off when you first approached him with your shy request. You pussyfooted around the subject, were as delicate as one can be, knowing it might make him uncomfortable. 

And it did. It more than just did.

He freaked the fuck out, went to work, and worked himself nearly to death – literally almost got himself killed, and you understood that this was serious. His childhood, his past, the dangers of his work – of course he thought himself unfit for the role.

Infuriatingly, it only made you more convinced that he was the perfect choice. The man was just so fricking responsible.

You barred your mouth shut after that. Instinct told you Simon might just leave if you continued the talk about having kids. Not because he couldn't take it, but because he would want to give you a chance to find someone to raise a family with before it was too late. 

It was his view of unconditional love: he was ready to let you go if need be. He would set you free if he suspected it would make you happy.

But then you saw him look at tiny kids – usually the ones that had just learned to walk – with a fleeting longing in his stare. It always turned into a withdrawn sulk, the gaze of a man who has accepted his fate.

He seemed to have the softest spot for little girls, especially when they were laughing and giggling or being unruly rascals, and sometimes flinched when a baby started to cry in the store. He looked a bit distressed for a second, and not because of the noise – but because he couldn't locate the immediate source and go and calm the baby. 

That's when you realized he actually wanted kids. The biological clock on this man was ticking just as furiously as yours. 

Years passed, and you silently buried your dreams of raising a little family together. He was enough for you, more than enough: you would not break up because of this. No man could ever replace Simon. 

But it still hurt. It was like a wound that never healed.

Until this night…

This night, it seemed he would not only cure it but heal it so well it wouldn’t even leave a scar. 

You suddenly find yourself under him – his moves are so quick that it's almost like you're teleported there. He sometimes does that: lets you play with him for a while, have your fun on top before reminding you who is in control here.

And this time, he won't even let you play.

"Simon, what are you doing," you sigh with barely concealed exhilaration. 

As if you didn't know exactly what he is about to do. 

He looks at you with that possessive look he sometimes has when you two have been apart for far too long. And there's something more behind that stare. It tells you that this is serious; this means business. The package you placed on the nightstand remains unopened and, apparently, will be the witness to his mission tonight. 

Serves the damn thing right…

You take in the absolute beef of this man: the bulk of pecs above you, the wide, solid middle that nearly swallows you every time you're under him.

You almost disappear between him and the mattress when you two are doing missionary, and it's one of the best feelings in the world. You've wanted to sink your teeth in to those huge, solid shoulders for god knows how many times. Once or twice, you actually did give him a little bite, only a nib, really, during a good pounding – and giggled at the breathless grunt of "Hey" that followed.

The trail of hair, darker in tone compared to the hair on his head, spreads over his abs which rest under a thin layer of fat. The happy trail, as you call it, runs down until it meets the heavy cock that always makes your mouth water like it's your favorite meal.

His hand is weighty, adoring when it comes to rest on your waist – the callous of his palms feels just the right kind of rough as he gives you the softest squeeze and a caress.

And he must know from the wanton looks you gave him all evening that he can just walk right in. Probably knew from those texts already that you've been wet all day long.

You try to spread your legs wider than they can go as he grabs himself to be positioned to your entrance. The fat tip of him feels heavy on your folds as he lazily slides himself up and down your slit, teasing the opening but not going in. It feels heavenly to sense him, all of him, with nothing there between you. There's no lifeless rubber: just his thick velvet meeting your wetness and silk.

The darned man won't even answer your question… Probably knows it's not really a question, just an astonished sigh of love.

"It's…not safe," your head falls back as he pushes the first few inches in – teasing you still by not giving you the full length and thick of him.

"Tired of safe, too," he rumbles softly above you, feeds more of himself in, and you tighten around his cock: receive him with fierce love and yearning. He groans at the sensation – it must feel divine for him, too. It must feel like it's meant to be this way. Now and forever.

You sigh as he starts to move, slow and intense, just the way he knows you like it when there's been too much stress and life has been a bitch. He always makes you feel better, always makes you melt in his arms when you run to him from the unfair, fucked up world. 

He's got some bad days too, and that’s when you ruffle his hair, scrub his back in the shower, give him a sloppy little blowjob, or make him his favorite dish, anything to make the tension in those mountains of shoulders disappear. 

You two worship each other; there’s no question about that. 

"Simon–ah… Truly, are you serious…?" 

"Hell yeah."

The idea of him cumming inside you is thrilling enough, but it's not just about that. 

You're ovulating, and he's a man in his absolute prime. He reminds you of mountain lions and snow leopards, living their life in harsh conditions and in wandering solitude until… Until the perfect companion comes along. He's simply the most virile male there is; broad, wide, and heavy, always ready when you are.

A man like Simon just cannot be infertile.

His eyes are half-lidded already, and those pale eyelashes make you bite your lip and grab his butt like it would be a life or death situation if he chose to withdraw.

And you know he loves it when you grope his ass and try to assist him with the thrusts. 

His little helper, indeed…

"Bloody fucking hell, you feel good…"

His head rolls back, exposing the tendons on his neck, thick, like the rest of him. Everything in this man is thick and broad and good – and fuck – he glides in and out like a dream. Somehow the extra layer of rubber has taken the brunt of his thickness away, but you feel it now, all of it, and it's something you could die for.

He grunts and thrusts, then halts for a while, chuckles all breathless…

"It's gonna be one hell of a show, sweetheart."

He's talking about what comes after. How it will be when there's a new addition and not a crew of two anymore. It brings tears to your eyes to see how he's already thinking about the future – and how he does it with a smile and a pleased chuckle.

"I'm used to sleepless nights," he reminds you softly. "You're not."

Ugh – he's thinking about your well-being when it would only make you the happiest woman on earth to take care of his children. Your children.

"I'll manage," you whisper.

"I know you will."

The tears are so close now; he’s simply the one and only person in this world for whom your love is boundless. It’s endless, overflowing.

He pulls back a little, raises your legs to rest on his shoulders, then crawls forward – he’s about to go deep, and the indecent but insanely sweet position makes you quail from him at first. It’s just too much all of a sudden.

"Wait–"

"The boys said this'll do the trick," he explains, waits until you adjust under and around him.

"The–the boys?"

He had been discussing this with his workmates…? 

Discussing which position is the best to help conceive?

"Yeah. Wanna do this properly."

This man might actually be serious… He just might be serious about this, and you still have difficulty grasping it.

"I can't believe you want this," you whisper, still trying to catch your breath on what's happening.

"Believe it or not, it's gonna happen now."

The smallest tear escapes, and you purse your lips, shut them tight to prevent a tiny little bawl from erupting. 

"I've always wanted you, Simon," you breathe into the air between you as he starts to make love to you, fill you with intent. "Just you, all these years…"

He rarely whispers, but this time, his voice is the softest hush.

"Right back at ya, darling."

"I–I want to give you… want your kids," you whimper, tears coating your voice as he continues the torture while the sweet, tight love surrounds you both.

"I want a family, Simon," you pant weakly, almost distressed. So urgent, desperate, like the wound is yet to be healed. You've never said those words to him before because you were afraid he might leave. 

"Love… fuckin' hell."

He has to stop to catch his breath, to catch the truth. Of course he has known it all along without you telling him, because he simply has those instincts of a wild animal. 

But words are powerful… They are magic. And this magic wants itself spelled out.

"I'll give them to you," he promises. "All of it. I swear."

Your eyes drift closed from the full wave of his vow. This mission is a crucial one, then, one of his most important ones. The man loves challenges; he loves when you up the stakes. Perhaps that's what this is about: he doesn't want to be a coward about the thing you both want. 

The skulls, the brass and death that always surround him can't take away the fact that he's a lifegiver. No matter what anyone says, men can give life, too. He has already given you so much, and now he's going to give you children.

A few more tears push through, and it's one of the sweetest things in your life: to get fucked by him so good while you're crying from joy.

"Luv. You trust me?"

You open your eyes again, and the sight of him is crystallized through tears. It's the most beautiful thing. 

"I trust you," you answer with a shaky breath.

Your trust is even more drugging to him than the tightness of your cunt, it seems. The corner of his eye twitches once, his brows knit together, and a pained look passes in his stare: but it's the sweet kind of pain, just like yours is.

"Feels so good," you whisper, looking up at him with devout love. "So, so good…"

"You're damn right," he sighs, panting with strained, short breaths. "Never felt this good."

He rocks you like you're under the sea, at the bottom of the ocean where the waves are mellow and the seabed is made of the softest sand. You're squeezed between his arms, tightly; he pins you to the bed with his body. The flutter of those pale lashes with every thrust is illegally sweet.

Your lips are bolted shut from the raw sensation, the swelling waves, but when a noise finally erupts, it does so with force. 

You know it makes him wild whenever you cry and plead under him. You know it sends him straight to the edge, too: when you moan and tighten around his cock, spread yourself for him to plunder while you're clawing at his back. You were so embarrassed the first time you noticed the red marks on his skin after your little sessions, but he was only pleased and said you should never apologize for that. His body is full of past pain and torture, and still, still, he allows, even wants you to destroy it even more.

"Faster, Simon, please…" 

"Yeah, that's it. Beg... Beg for me, love… "

And damn right, he's eating up your wrecked state like it's time for Christmas dinner, and the table is brimming with his favorite food. You're close, so close it would be torture, devastation if he stopped. 

"Ya want me to give it to you?" His voice is more rough, more commanding. God, he's close too.

"Yes–give it to me, please–"

Just don't stop, whatever you do, don't stop…

You beg some more, but it's incoherent. Just the way he likes. 

Simon–fuck…

There's no reason to it, just ah's and fuck's and love's, all knit together in a sweet, heady mess as you come– 

Fuck–!

…the orgasm is so intense it points your toes, makes you wrap around his middle with what little strength you have in your arms and fingers and those tiny little claws. Your nails sink in, somewhere between his shoulder blades: he's so wide you can't quite reach to hug him, but you latch onto him like a drowning person nonetheless.

"Oh–oh fucking god…!" 

He comes, right after, buries himself so deep that it stings a little, but you would never, ever complain. He pumps you full, doesn't even move, only arches his back to go even deeper, although he's already buried there to the hilt.

And never has he in all your years together sounded so vulnerable. He usually just grunts and huffs when he comes, but now you get a whole string of words and a fragile, broken pitch. He sounds as if he's near the point of breaking into tears. 

It must feel divine to cum inside you instead of a condom, and what's even more, with the intent to fulfill a mission with that shot. Give life.

If you don't get pregnant from this, well… you doubt you ever will.

He's lying on top of you in a heavy, panting heap, sounding like he's just done ten deadlift PRs in a row. You can't help but laugh, breathless, too, and caress him as he comes down from his sex high.

"You can let me go now," you ghost your fingertips up and down his back when he still doesn't move. It's not that you want him to release you, but he's simply too heavy to be lying all over you like this for long periods of time.

"Nah not yet. Gotta make sure..."

He thinks you want him to pull out, and you giggle some more.

"You're crushing me," you laugh. "And we can do this all weekend, silly. If you want to make sure."

His middle contracts with a silent laugh, too.

"Got a fair point there, love."

Finally, he lets you out of the spread. He pulls out, too – that's not necessarily what you wanted, but when he takes you in his arms, you don't complain.

"That was… so nice," you say, suddenly shy. As if this was the first time he wrapped himself around you in a post-coital embrace.

"That was the best."

He's so warm, and the arm around you is heavy, even when lax. Especially when lax. You feel soft and sweet in his hold made of pure strength.

"I'd be surprised if not. You were very determined."

"You think that did it..?"

He's suddenly shy, too. You could swear he has never asked such a fragile question during or after a mission.

"No half-assing with my sweetheart."

One could say he really used his whole ass on this. You know it, because you're the one who spurred him on with weak but eager hands.

"...but I think it would be best to try again tomorrow. Just in case," he suggests, and you can hear the smile. God, that you love him.

"I wouldn't say no to that."

You imagine him waking up to your baby's cry with a sigh and a jaw-dislocating yawn, hushing you back to sleep by telling you it's his turn to go. He would finally locate the source of crying and make it his mission to cradle the little breadcrumb back to sleep, too. You just know Simon would sometimes fall asleep on the sofa while the baby is still in his arms, sound asleep just like their dad.

And you also know the child would make him laugh more. He would have the greatest time hearing all the silly (not to talk about the clever!) things the kid comes up with once it started talking. Simon would listen with a straight face, at first – out of respect – but then he would come to you with an unrestrained smile and a comment: "Did'ya hear what that little thing just said? Unbelievable..."

Whenever the kid had a tricky question, you would send them to Simon. It's decided already. You imagine him explaining things to the child with his steady and calm briefing voice while you're trying to keep your giggle in.

And when the little one was big enough to run around and poke things off the shelves, Simon would embrace you from behind while you're pouring some morning tea and say: "Should we make another one, hmm?"

After all, your little troublemaker would also need a friend to play with...

There's a gigantic, peaceful smile on your face, and Simon should be snoring by now… But he's still awake, and the arm around you draws you closer. He even tucks his hand partly between your body and the mattress. It's the sweetest prison from which you never want to escape.

"What if… What if I get grumpy when I'm pregnant?" You start to chit-chat nonsense while he holds you against a solid chest. You know he will fall asleep soon, and you wish to voice some fragile concerns before he does.

"I'll bring you ice cream to keep you nice and calm," he mutters in the back of your neck, sounding drowsy already.

"What if ice cream won't help?"

"I'll bring you chocolate."

You smile at him having a solution to every problem, no matter how minor. 

"You're really not afraid…?"

"Of you being grumpy? Nah I don't think so."

"No," you laugh at him joking around. "Of… changes."

"After all that we've been through? No." He brushes his lips over your neck, and you turn a little to look at him.

"Simon... What made you change your mind?"

He thinks on the answer for a good ten seconds. You know that inward look, which is both a gaze to the past and a shaky, hopeful glimpse to the future.

"Don't wanna die without knowing how our kid would look like. What they would be like."

You swallow past sorrow – it's such a beautiful thing to say that you have to catch your breath for a moment. Then you put your hand over his arm, the one keeping you close to him.

"Guess I got tired of living in fear," he sums up the change of heart, and you have to blink back more tears.

"I'm tired of living in fear, too," you whisper, and he entwines your fingers together. The kiss that follows is like a seal to your change of plans. It's pure hope.

"Could you... Could you say that we'll be fine?" You speak on his lips as softly as you can. You sometimes worry that he's annoyed by your constant need for reassurance, but he sounds as solid as a soldier can be.

"We'll be fine like always. Promise you that."

He doesn't seem to mind: if anything, you could swear that giving you encouragement only makes his chest puff up a little. The man gets satisfaction from you needing him in your life like this.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of us."

You ease fully into his embrace. He has said he'll take care of you many times before, but now your world is changing. It has changed already; you just know it. There's no more you and him, a team of two. 

There will be a tiny little breadcrumb too.

[dollfacefantasy]

EVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE ♡

pairing: yandere!chris redfield x fem!reader

summary: after jill goes missing, chris changes. a lot. you call it controlling, but he maintains it's necessary. the only thing you both agree on is that his devotion knows no bounds.

cw: nsfw (18+), dark fic, smut, dubcon, fingering, predator/prey (chase), kidnapping/captivity, yandere, toxic relationship

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this. it was pretty fun to write and new for me <3

kinktober slot: day 6 - yandere

You're breathing too loud, and you know it. The puffs of air blowing from your lips are too sharp. You need to quiet down. He wasn't that far behind, and there had been no one else in this parking garage. Even someone who couldn't track as well as him wouldn't struggle to find you. If you didn't soften your gasps, he was going to catch you, and then you would be his again.

You clamp your fingers over your lips to silence a cry begging to come out. You're shaking like the dead leaves you can hear his feet crunching over. They'd blown into the cement structure from the crisp fall wind whooshing around. You could tell by the sounds that he was getting closer. 

If you tried to run now, you'd be banking on the hope that you could be faster than him - a hope you weren't so confident in. Getting away from him the first time had been a fluke, you didn't think it would happen again so easily.

Chills erupt over your skin as you stay where you are, crouching behind a black corvette. You try so hard to think of what to do, but it was difficult when your thoughts were screaming about so many different things at once.

One of the main things playing in your psyche on repeat was If I hadn't broken up with him, none of this would've happened.

Of course, that wasn't true, but to your mind that craved freedom above all else in this moment, it seemed plausible.

You and Chris had been together for over a year. He started off normal as could be, and you thought you'd hit the jackpot. He was sweet and kind, hard-working and dedicated. He loved his friends and his job. Spent a lot of his time working out. Everything about him just seemed so ordinary, and that didn't change with the addition of you into his life.

He made room for you as if there'd been a hole in his existence shaped like your soul. 

The two of you went out on dates regularly, he was always there to support you when you needed a shoulder to cry on or a pair of strong arms to lift you up. Truly, he seemed too good to be true. Looking back, you want to say that wasn't the case. He had been good. His kind heart was genuine. It wasn't a mask to hide the darkness underneath. He'd just changed.

It was after his friend Jill had gone missing. Something flipped in Chris. In a way, it was reasonable. Losing a close friend would put a damper on anyone's demeanor. But the way Chris shifted ran deeper than that.

The differences in his personality didn't manifest only in regards to himself. They came out largely in how he treated you. After losing Jill, it seemed that he believed your life was his to control, your choices his to make. He knew what was best for you - he told you as much multiple times. He knew how to dress you so that guys wouldn't try anything. He knew when and where it was acceptable for you to leave the house without him. He knew it was no longer safe for you to drink or even to talk with friends who would suggest such a dangerous activity. Not his girl. You weren't going to be put in harm's way like that.

So you broke up with him. You couldn't take the sting of the Redfield branding iron you felt slowly being pressed to your skin. You wanted out. Unfortunately, breaking up with him was on the list of activities that were strictly prohibited.

You could remember that day like it was yesterday even though it had been multiple months ago.

He didn't let you leave the morning that you'd told him the news of your decision -  didn't even let you make it through the door. Instead he scooped you up like a rowdy puppy that tried to run out the front entryway when it was left ajar. He threw the bag you'd packed back in the closet and tied you to your shared bed.

That bedroom was where you spent most of your time after that. The binding to the corner was long enough that you could get out of bed and reach other parts of that room, but he wouldn't let you roam the house when you were still so insistent that you had to leave him. You only were allowed into the other rooms when he was there to supervise you and ensure your safety.

You tried your hardest to break free, but no amount of screaming and crying, begging and pleading, or kicking and hitting worked. With his size advantage, wrangling you back into submission came easy. That combined with the fact that he knew you. He knew the words to soothe you, the touches that lulled your mind back into a state of complacency.

Tonight was the first time you'd been out of that house in months. 

You'd been so sick for the past week. You weren't even sure how that was possible considering you never go anywhere, but something had managed to infect you. Over the last several days, your temperature shot up and stayed in the triple digits. Everything felt distant and fuzzy.

Chris had been diligently taking care of you, tending to your every need. He made sure you had a steady supply of water and tissues, spoon-fed you broth when you felt like you could eat. As much as he reassured you that this was what he was here for, you could tell the constant attention your condition required took a lot out of him.

Today had been the best day out of the last seven. It seemed like you finally were descending the mountain on the side of recovery. When he fell asleep a few hours ago, he was knocked out. If you needed to get up to use the bathroom or grab a drink, he'd lazily undo your bindings and trudge out to wherever you needed to go, but it was obvious the thought of returning to bed clouded his mind.

The benefit that came with this was that he wasn't so attentive to making sure the restraints were all that secure when he refastened them.

You managed to slip one wrist out and then the other. Your ankles came loose next. You sat there next to his unconscious form, trembling with the terror of the possibility in front of you. Your feet swung off the mattress and hit the ground. Every move was executed with precise caution, the most effort you'd put into anything in your life.

The journey out of the bedroom was easy. You stayed quiet through the rest of the house as well. The hard part came when you managed to get outside. 

You couldn't decide if you should take the car or not.

Walking on foot would be harder. Only clad in a tiny set of pajamas, it wouldn't be comfortable. The car would bring speed and warmth, but you also didn't put it past him to have some sort of tracking mechanism wired into it.

In the end, you had decided to forgo the vehicle. You pulled your coat that you grabbed before leaving tighter around your body and headed down the desolate suburban street.

Your heart pounded in your ears like a countdown to his appearance the whole time. At any second, you expected to hear the sound of his voice or feel his intense gaze upon you. But your surroundings remained quiet, nothing but the wind and occasional scuffle of small creatures lurking in the dark.

As you walked further away from his house and down through the neighborhood, you tried to figure out where to go. You didn't know how much time you'd have before he woke up, and when he did wake up, you had no clue what his exact reaction would be.

You attempted to not overthink that stuff and decided on going to your friend's apartment complex. It'd been months since you'd seen her. You only hoped she'd understand that you didn't have too much time for explaining.

Upon arriving there though, you realized your hopes were meaningless. You knocked on the door, and she answered in seconds, much too quick for someone who should've been asleep at this hour. Her phone was cradled between her shoulder and her ear, and just as the words of explanation were about to leave your mouth, you heard her say "Oh, here she is now... no problem, Chris. See you soon."

Your entire being exploded and came back together in a matter of seconds. Every impulse screamed at you to run, but she was gripping your arm and trying to pull you in her home. Your head was spinning, your fever had returned with a vengeance against you for getting out of bed and walking multiple miles.

It was all so much, especially since you hadn't talked to another human besides Chris in months. You resisted her leading you through the entryway, ignoring her words of concern. Apparently your boyfriend - if you could even call him that still - had explained away your presence over the past few months with stories of a break down. And now, for those who believed him, this was just another episode. Your recovery had been going so well, but everyone hits bumps in the road!

You tried to explain the truth, but it seemed futile. So you ran instead.

All of this still took too long though. By the time you made it down there, his car was screeching to a halt near the entryway.

You push away your memories in favor of paying attention to right now.

This wasn't over yet. You still had a chance. All you needed to do was make it out of here. If you did that, you could make it to a convenience store and call for help. His lies wouldn't work on strangers... would they?

You reassure yourself they wouldn't because it's the only choice you have. There's no other option besides hitching a ride, but you're not banking on that at this time of night in a suburban subdistrict.

Your back presses against the sleek metal of the cold, black corvette. Maybe you could hop the stone barrier edge of the garage and run through the bushes. Trying to sneak around other cars and slip away was another possibility. You try to go through the benefits and detractions of both in your mind, but your illness has your eyes growing heavy and your bones aching to stretch out and just rot.

The footsteps still continue to pound at a steady pace against the asphalt. Lowering yourself to the rough pavement, you peer beneath the car to gauge his location. It's hard to tell with how dark it is. The lighting in this garage wasn't good either. You scan the opposite side for his feet, but you don't find them.

It's only when you turn your head a little to look between the two front wheels that you catch him dashing at your position.

You startle at the sight and whip upright. Now that there's no time left to decide, you bolt for the nearest exit you can see. It feels like you're going fast, but his footsteps sound faster. A sob openly tumbles from your lips now. Everything feels hot. Your vision seems to be going dark at the edges.

Before you can stumble or make it to the opening though, a pair of strong arms wraps around your waist. They pull your body back against a broad chest. Your sob morphs into a scream, and your legs kick fruitlessly at the air in front of you.

"Shh shh shh. You're alright," his deep voice rumbles, "You need to calm down. You're already overworking yourself as is."

"I am not!" you shout in immediate defiance, "Let go of me!"

Your head falls back against his shoulder as hot tears stream down your cheeks. More cries and whimpers echo through the open space of the garage while you try to pry his arm from around your abdomen. Your fists pound on it and your fingers pry, but none of it amounts to anything.

"None of that," he tuts, "No crying or carrying on, or I won't wait until we get home to give you your punishment."

"Just let me go, Chris!" you beg. Your breaths grow ragged as more cries fill the space between them. "You can't do this to me!"

"I'm not doing anything, baby. What am I doing? Taking care of you while you're ill?" he asks. You're not sure if the innocence in his tone intends to mock you or if it's a genuine performance.

"I don't want to go back to the house!" you cry.

"Well, that's too bad, sweetheart. That's exactly where you're going. You need to rest," he says.

"I just need to be away from you!" you scream, loud enough for the shrill sound to bounce between the walls for seconds after.

Your protests dissolve into a harmony of wailing and yelling, every word tinged with anger and betrayal. You still try to peel him off, but your efforts become weaker as you realize how pointless they are.

As if to rub his strength in your face, Chris shifts you around in his grasp. He turns your body and scoops you up, cradling you against his chest. When he reaches his own car, he only uses one arm to hold you in place. You sob against his shoulder, letting your tears soak his collar rather than your cheeks.

His palm smooths up and down your back. "There you go, babydoll," he coos, "Poor thing. You got yourself all worked up. I can feel how high your fever is again."

He opens the driver's door and slides in with you. He starts to scoot your body into the passenger seat, but a sudden burst of energy overtakes your weakened self. You slap at his shoulders and try to shove him to the side to lunge back out the door.

Chris has always had sharp reflexes though. Most of your attacks don't even land, and the ones that do don't seem to affect him. He tightens his arms around your smaller frame and pins you against him. You hear the click of the doors locking, sealing your fate.

"Enough. You're gonna hurt yourself," he commands.

He keeps you nice and secure against him until you seem to have settled for the moment. Then, he tilts your head back so he can study your face.

His eyes sweep over your features while his hand swivels you by your chin.

"I'm really disappointed in you, you know?" he says, his voice much softer than it had been before.

You scowl at him. Like you would care about his fucking approval anymore. You try to shove him away again to crawl into your own seat, but he jerks your head and gets you to go still.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," he says. The firm voice was back.

"I didn't," you dispute, sounding much meeker.

"Don't back talk either," he says. He takes a pause before a frustrated sigh leaves him. "So ungrateful. My little brat. One day you'll learn."

Anger boils inside you again. You can't rein in your arguments.

"No I won't," you say and glare at him, your glossy eyes gleaming with fury, "The only thing I want to learn is how to actually get away from you!"

Rage simmers in his gaze now; though, it's much more muted than your own. His fingers dig into the plush of your cheeks. Not enough pressure to injure but the right amount to ache.

"You think you'd be so much better off on your own? Look at you. Stumbling around in the middle of the night, nothing on but this slutty little thing," he says. His fingers tug at the thin fabric of your shorts and top while his voice grows as cold as the wind outside.

You open your mouth to respond, but he continues speaking.

"I got you no problem tonight! Imagine if it hadn't been me! If it hadn't been someone who loves you! Someone who wants to keep you safe," he presses. It sounds like he's speaking to a soldier in the field rather than someone he claims to feel so tenderly about.

His hands have locked around your biceps during his speech. The pressure of his fingers against your weak skin feels strong enough to create phantom bruises. You squirm in his hold to try and alleviate the feeling.

"I don't care! None of this would've happened if you weren't so crazy in the first place," you whimper.

"I'm crazy? That's how you say thank you for the hours I take out of my life to provide for you. To care for you," he growls.

"I didn't ask you to do any of that!" you cry.

"You didn't need to," he says. 

He takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes and calming himself down for a moment. His fingers release their iron grip on your arms and soothe the skin with a few gentle rubs.

"I know you're not thinking straight because of your fever," he says. It sounds like he's speaking to both you and himself. "You've been so good for me lately... maybe punishment isn't what you need."

You stay silent and watch him, attempting to discern what would come next. Right now, escape wasn't the priority. You'd missed tonight's chance for that. Avoiding further reprimand took current precedent.

His hands massage the muscles he had been squeezing before they rise up to cup your face. You meet his gaze with trepidation in your own.

"I should've been paying more attention," he says, "It's not your fault you're acting out. My sweet little baby. Your head is probably hurting you so much, and I know you're feeling extra tired."

He brings the back of his hand to your forehead, tutting when he feels the heat emanating from there. You grit your teeth and fight the urge to actually roll your eyes. Part of you hated when he spoke like that. But an even bigger part of you hated the part that didn't.

"I should have known you'd be extra fussy. Especially since you're all pent up," he continues.

Your teary eyes flicker with curiosity but then narrow in response to that last statement.

The expression brings a smile to his face, as if something is cute. But to him, you suppose that's all you are. Most days you don't know what you want to believe - that Chris has truly lost it and considers all this a genuine kindness to you or if he's just as mentally in-tact as before, only without a care for your feelings. It's hard to tell which is more likely, and you can't say you have a strong preference for either.

One of his thumbs strokes back and forth across your wet cheek. "Don't give me that look, princess," he chides lovingly.

"I'm not being fussy," you say, the word rolling off your tongue with disgust, "And I'm not pent-up."

He chuckles and gives you a light bounce on his lap, your back bumping the bottom ridge of the steering wheel. "Now, what did I say about back talk?"

You make a sound close to a growl and glare at him. Your brain tries to formulate any words that wouldn't result in this kind of patronizing response, but none come to mind.

Originally, you had anticipated that if he caught you again, you'd be in for the punishment of a lifetime. But now, sitting here in his lap and staring into those brown eyes, you realize this is much more in tune with the Chris you've come to know over the last few months.

"You can act like you're not frustrated, baby, but I know you. I know how much you need some regular release," he teases.

"That's not why I'm upset!" you say, trying not to explode into a sobbing mess again. 

This was the point in your arguments where you usually broke down. He acted so confident in his assertions that you felt like the ground on which you stood to defend your own crumbled beneath you. It was easier to just give in sometimes, but that fact just agitated you even more.

More tears well in your eyes while the words rising in your throat start to tangle into an angry, ugly mess. But before you get the chance to burst, he jumps in, hushing and cooing.

"I know, honey. I know it's not the only reason. I'm sure you have some other things bothering you," he reassures, "But I'm just saying, it doesn't help that my poor, sick baby hasn't been able to cum in a week, hm?"

You want to scream in his face and claw his throat out, but instead, your forehead drops against his shoulder. You're so fucking tired in every possible way. You're tired from this illness beating down on every one of your cells. You're tired of the way he reduces all your feelings down to silly little complaints. And you're tired because you actually haven't been able to cum in a week, but that doesn't make him right or everything else invalid.

His question receives no answer, but that's good enough for him. With your head down, you can't see the smile spreading on his face. The only hint of his satisfaction you get is the hand rubbing up and down your back.

"It's ok. I'm here. There's no need to be upset. We all make mistakes, sweet baby,"  he whispers.

You want to tell him that this wasn't a mistake. That the first time you left wasn't a mistake either. The greatest mistake you'd ever made in your life was giving him your number in the first place. But what's the point? All of that will be watered down to feverish words that you don't really mean. 

Cynical numbness settles in your chest like a weight. For right now, you decide it would be in your best interest to just play along.

You nod and snake your arms around his body, pulling yourself closer.

"That's my good girl," he coos, "How bout I make you feel all better and then get you home and tucked in bed, warm and safe?"

You nod weakly, every word siphoning more of your energy away.

He pecks your heated forehead and slides his left hand down your body. His palm rubs over your side and hip, taking his time to reach the point of attraction. As much as you despise him, it still feels good in the moment. You take what you can get, in your constant stream of disappointments, you let him tending to you like this feel like a win.

His fingers tuck below the elastic band of your shorts. They slide down to your center, rubbing through the folds. He shifts you closer so you can rest against his chest.

"My poor baby," he croons for what feels like the billionth time, "You're so hot. We'll have to get you all cooled down at home."

You just nod again. For now, you'd just let your mind shut off while the pleasure coursed through your veins.

The tip of his middle finger twirls around your clit, circling the little bud to tease some arousal out of you. He knows just how to flick it, the perfect amount of pressure to get your toes curling.

Your legs tighten up a bit as the muted tingle blossoms into a deeper burn of desire. A little moan sounds from your mouth throughout the car. He smirks and slips his digits down through the collecting wetness.

With his fingers all slippery, he rubs them over your throbbing bundle of nerves. He works even more pretty noises out of you and amps up the feeling in your belly.

"This is just what you needed, I should've known," he whispers, "Your silly little head doesn't know what to do when it gets all frustrated. So many thoughts and no relief."

You whimper and bite your lip. Even though you're letting it happen, humiliation still has its barbs in your lungs. You turn your face against his shoulder, hiding the way it scrunches against the fabric of his shirt.

Oftentimes, he'd make you look at him again, but tonight, he allows the difference. His fingers keep toying with your clit, rubbing it in tight tiny circles.

"'m not gonna stick my fingers in you right now. Think that's too much for my sick baby," he informs you, as if you had asked for anymore.

This was fine. You can't remember the last time you actually craved more from Chris. He was so attentive nowadays, his presence and care often felt smothering.

You don't rock your hips or move at all beyond a few involuntary squirms. There wasn't really any room for it. Moaning was embarrassing enough, you didn't want your ass to accidentally honk the horn or something. That and he's doing more than enough to get you there by himself. You can already feel the start of your finish beginning to take root.

Your noises grow higher pitched, more muffled too because you press your face into his shoulder hard. The thick fabric of his sweater works well as a self-imposed gag.

"You're so cute," he coos, "My needy little baby. You're gonna sleep good tonight."

You whine in response. Your body tenses up in his lap as you suck in a few harsh breaths. The edge was right around the corner.

"Come on, sweetheart. Cum for me. You can do it," he whispers.

Your fingers clutch the fabric at his back so hard it's in danger of tearing. Now your hips buck a little as you reach the finish line. They jerk back and forth but press more into his stomach rather than the wheel behind you.

Tremors rack through you, making you quiver violently in his grasp. You cling to him for a sense of stability, and that brings him pleasure almost as great as any you're experiencing.

As you start to come down, you feel like your body is melting on top of his. He holds you there in his lap for a few minutes after, rubbing your back and kissing your head.

When he deems you calm enough, he boosts you up and situates you in the passenger's seat. He strokes your head before buckling you up.

"We'll get you a change of clothes before you go to bed. I know those pretty panties are soaked through," he says and pinches your cheek.

[chris-prank]

I need the reaction of the baes (Vincent, Esteban and Atlas) to reader thirsting loudly for strangers online. Like full on down bad simping.

I love these kinds of ask about multiple of my ocs. This way they are all compiled in one post 😆 so thank you mellsfern! 

Now jealousy timeeeee

CW: Possessive behavior, manipulative behavior and mention/use of a syringe (in Vincent’s part) 

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Vincent has been monitoring your online activities for a while now. It was his favorite thing to do after a long day of working on new inventions for Fatalité, being able to sit comfortably in front of his computer and check what you were up to.  But lately… you’ve been checking one person’s account a bit too much on Slowgram. You liked their post the second they were up, why couldn’t you be dedicated like that with him instead!? What made his blood boil the most, was the private conversation you were having with your friend about this influencer. Paragraph after Paragraph were filled with praises, words of adoration and lewd comments on what you wanted to do to them. At first he thought it was just a passing infatuation, but he couldn't keep watching you lust over someone else, it made him see red. Dr. Seraph didn’t even have to hack into that influencer's computer to find their address, this idiot had it plastered all over their socials. At this point, they were just asking for it! At the dead of night, he easily entered their house. Hovering over the sleeping form, his face showed a scarily cold expression.  

“I was lacking a test subject for my latest invention.” With precision, he plunged a syringe in the person's neck, “I wonder if they'll still think you're attractive after I’m done with you.” 

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Esteban snatched the phone from your grasp. One minute you were alone in the living room, liking every post of a guy online and the next you were empty handed. Unbeknownst to you, he was actually stalking your account before all this and happened to see your liked posts. 

“What’s your deal?!” You jumped out of the couch, trying to take your property back. 

“What’s my deal? What about yours Mmm?!” He pouted, raising the phone out of your reach, “You have a guy with the literal body of a Greek god at your disposition and you're gawking at this?” 

He shook one picture in your face before retrieving it quickly. “Can you even tell that he is photoshopped? I don't need that cheap trick to look appealing.”

He couldn’t let you thirst over this loser and act like nothing was wrong. You shouldn’t need to feel the urge to simp over anyone else! All you need is him, him! That’s why he didn’t have a choice, Esteban had to have your device altered so you could never see that person's face again on any app. Without saying a word he headed towards the front door. 

“Hey! Give me my phone back!” 

“Don’t worry, I’m buying you a better one with some needed modifications.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Atlas stared at the picture that you were showing to him on your phone. He already knew your feelings towards this influencer. Having connected to your social media without your consent, he had seen that you were commenting on this person's post a bit too often for his liking. Still, he acted oblivious when you started ranting about them. 

“Aren’t they just so perfect!? Like they are so fine I caaaaan't!” You groaned and contracted your other hand as if you were a predator closing in on its prey. 

He really couldn’t understand what you liked about them that he didn’t have. He could at least console himself with the fact that this person unobtainable, that they would never be a part of your life, unlike him. But still, he hated knowing that you had eyes for someone else to this extent. 

Atlas leaned down, looking at you through his long and pale lashes. “I can be anything you want me to be, you know. I can change my hair color to match theirs or even my personality if that’s what you want.” Then, the android slowly lowered your phone down by gently taking hold of your wrist, “So no need to think about them any longer.” 

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

I love showing Vincent’s murderous and sadistic side, especially when it’s related to his darling. Also possessive Atlas is just a cutie pattotie.

[lestappenforever]

Lestappen fic - Ice cream shop owner!Charles AU

I don't typically get excited by AU ideas for Lestappen because Lestappen in canonverse is so appealing to me in and of itself. But, while AO3 was down yesterday, @thearchercore received and answered a whole bunch of asks from lovely anons about a Lestappen AU fic where Charles owns an ice cream shop (as inspired by the news that the man is actually going to open an ice cream shop in Milan.) And, well, for the first time ever, I got excited about a Lestappen AU. So, I wrote something.

This is, obviously, dedicated to the incredible @thearchercore, a true pillar of the Lestappen community, and to each and every anon who has sent in asks about this AU. And because this was entirely inspired by people on Tumblr, you can read the whole fic in this post. ❤️

---

Max realizes that he has probably let this whole thing go too far. Way too far. 

What had started as a chance encounter after the Monza Grand Prix, where Max had gone on a drive and ended up in a small, lovely ice cream shop - LEC - in Milan that served the most delicious vanilla ice cream Max had ever tasted, had spiraled and developed into what was now practically a weekly occurrence. Every chance he got, when the race calendar, his PR and training schedule would allow it, Max would fly to Milan, spending ridiculous amounts of money and contributing an unnecessary amount to further pollute the environment, just to go back to that ice cream shop.

And yes, although the vanilla ice cream was divine, that's not the real reason Max kept coming back. 

No, the real cause of his travels was the ridiculously beautiful shop owner, with the fluffy brown hair, the captivating green eyes Max kind of wanted to drown himself in, and dimples that Max saw every single night when he closed his eyes. And what’s more, the shop owner — Charles — didn't even seem to like Max, because the Monégasque was a die-hard Ferrari fan and he seemed to have made it his personal mission to put all the blame of Ferrari’s lack of success for the past fifteen years on Max. Even if Max hadn’t been in F1 for the entirety of those fifteen years.

Not that he was surprised, really. The passion of the Tifosi did, on more than one occasion, seem to seriously impact their sense of logic and capability of rational thinking. 

And apparently, the beauty, sass and stubbornness of the shop owner did the exact same thing to Max's. 

The irony of that is not lost on him.

The fact that the two of them had discovered they were on the same page about the superior ice cream flavor the first time Max had been in that ice cream shop — “vanilla is my favorite” Max had said at exactly the same time Charles had said “vanilla is the only right choice” — had not been enough to endear him to Charles. His allegiance with Ferrari and Max currently on yet another dominating winning spree with Red Bull was too strong. (Even if there had been the flicker of something in those green eyes when Charles had learned that he and Max were on the same page about vanilla ice cream.)

After yet another failed attempt at charming Charles a few weeks ago, Max had gotten so desperate that he had genuinely started considering a move to Ferrari, even starting to subtly ask around about the possibility, Red Bull’s superior car and strategies be damned. But then word had reached GP and his race engineer had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he would not be moving to Ferrari to impress ‘some ice cream guy in Milan’. Which Max had taken offense to, because Charles was not just ‘some ice cream guy in Milan’, thank you very much.

(Max really had to learn how to keep his mouth shut around GP.)

So yes, his obsession with the ice cream shop and its owner has gone way too far. And yet, on a warm August afternoon, Max finds himself walking back into that ice cream shop. 

Summer break has finally arrived, and Max had genuinely considered renting an apartment in Milan for the next three weeks so he wouldn't have to fly back and forth so much. But then he had come to the conclusion that that would be excessive. 

(Because flying back and forth between Monaco and Milan definitely wasn’t excessive. No, sir.)

Charles is there when Max walks in, as he is every single time Max walks in. The guy never seems to leave his beloved ice cream shop, and Max finds himself wondering if the other man gets enough sleep. Or if he even goes home to sleep, or if he has a bed set up in the back somewhere so he never has to waste time going back and forth between the ice cream shop and his home. 

He may not know Charles all that well, despite seeing him regularly for the past few months, but he does know that the man must have an incredible work ethic. 

The little bell above the door announces his arrival, and Charles looks up from behind the counter. For a brief second, Max is sure he sees a flash of excitement cross those gorgeous features, but the Monégasque quickly schools his expression into one of exasperation and indignation, complete with an overly dramatic eye roll. 

“No Red Bull Racing team members allowed,” Charles tells him with a huff, as he puts a brand-new tub of chocolate ice cream in the display freezer. 

Max snorts as he walks towards the counter. He had expected a frosty — pun intended — reception following Ferrari’s double DNF in the last race before the summer break, so Charles’ grumpy demeanor doesn’t deter him.  

“Hello to you too, Charles,” the Dutchman sing-songs, ignoring the way a couple of teenage girls at a table by the window gape at him. “Let me guess, Ferrari’s double DNF in Belgium was somehow my fault?”

Charles meets his gaze and narrows his eyes. He points an ice cream scoop at him. “I am not sure how, but yes.” He waggles the scoop accusingly. 

It’s Max’s turn to roll his eyes. “Right, because the two of them crashing into each other in turn two, while in P8 and P9 respectively, while I was at the very front definitely had something to do with me?”

“Obviously,” Charles confirms with a sniff. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Max laughs, shaking his head in a manner that can only be described as fond. He comes to a halt in front of the cash register at the counter, and waits for Charles to ask him what he wants. 

But Charles never does; instead busies himself with rearranging the different bowls of topping on top of the display freezer, wiping down the counter, and restocking the ice cream cones, all the while completely ignoring Max’s presence. Or general existence, even.

Eventually, Max runs out of patience.

“I’d like three scoops of vanilla ice cream, please.”

Charles doesn’t even stop what he’s doing. Doesn’t even look at him. “We’re all out of vanilla.”

Max stares. At Charles, then at the almost full tub of vanilla, with its little sign labeling it as vanilla sticking out of the fluffy ice cream. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Charles, I can see the vanilla ice cream. It’s right there,” Max insists, pointing at the flavor through the display glass. As if Charles isn’t completely aware of its existence, as if he’s not just being a little shit and punishing Max for something that isn’t even remotely his fault. 

Charles pauses in his bustling to look at Max. Then, he follows the length of Max’s arm to where his finger is pointing directly at the vanilla. His gaze returns to Max’s eyes as he says, deadpan: “That is only a display ice cream.”

Max blinks repeatedly.

“A display ice cream?” he echoes incredulously. 

“Yes,” Charles confirms, raising his chin. “It’s only for display, it is not to be served.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, it’s like this,” the Monégasque says, lifting one shoulder in a careless shrug. 

Max doesn’t know if he wants to smack him or kiss him. 

(That’s a lie, he knows damn well that he wants to kiss that smug look right off of Charles’ stupidly beautiful face.)

“Fine,” the Dutchman sighs, moving his finger slightly to the right. “Then I would like three scoops of the chocolate.”

“I’m sorry, but that is also only a display ice cream,” Charles tells him with a completely straight face. 

“You’re not serious.”

Charles raises one full eyebrow. “Does it look like I’m joking?” he asks.

And, well, Max has to admit that it absolutely does not. 

He stands there in silence for a while, wondering why the hell this infuriating man has been the object of his deepest desires for the past few months. Wonders why Charles’ face is the only thing he sees when he closes his eyes to sleep at night, and why he is the one person that keeps appearing in the majority of his dreams. Wonders why, when his mind wanders as he has a secure grip around himself in bed, it keeps wandering to the mental images of what Charles would look like, feel like, sound like if he was there with Max, when all Charles seems to want to do is get under Max’s skin and infuriate him in ways and for reasons Max hadn’t even known he could let himself be infuriated. 

Oh, who is he kidding? Those reasons, coupled with Charles’ overall appearance and being, are exactly why his mind never seems to tire of Charles whatever-the-fuck-his-middle-name-is Leclerc, and only him. 

Max has always been a sucker for challenges. And Charles is definitely a challenge. 

Had Charles been an F1 driver instead of the owner of an ice cream shop, Max just knows their on-track battles would have been epic. Their rivalry would have been one for the ages; their names and lives so intertwined that people could not have mentioned one without also mentioning the other. Because Max is sure that Charles’ passion, his stubbornness and his outright refusal to give in to anything or anyone would have translated into a fierce, unyielding, unapologetic driver. 

Forcing himself out of his reverie, Max gives a quick shake of his head to clear is racing mind. Then, he fixes Charles with a hard stare. 

“Let me guess, these are all ‘display ice creams’?” he asks, gesturing with a hand at the numerous tubs of flavors in the display freezer. 

“Of course not,” Charles scoffs, as if that’s the most ridiculous statement that has been made in the ice cream shop in the past few minutes. “That would be a horrible way to run a business. We have one flavor that is not only for display.”

Max is almost afraid to ask, but he does anyway. “Which is?”

Charles doesn’t answer the question with words, just points to the bottom tub at the far left. The little sign reads ‘Mint chip’.

“Who the fuck eats mint chip ice cream?” Max asks, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “That’s like eating toothpaste.”

For the first time since Max stepped through the door, Charles smiles. A beautiful, self-satisfied, mischievous smile that does things to Max’s body, mind and soul. It makes his heart rate pick up and his skin tingle with an excitement he has no business feeling. 

Pathetic. He’s absolutely pathetic. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Max. That's all I have to offer today.”

And Max, proving just how completely gone he is on this ridiculous man, lets out a long, tired sigh. 

“Three scoops of mint chip, please,” he requests in a voice that is completely resigned. 

Charles’ face lights up like a fucking Christmas tree, and he scurries to get one of the small glass bowls reserved for customers who want to eat their ice cream in the shop, not even needing to ask if that’s what Max is planning to do, or if he wants his ice cream in a cone. And although Charles is doing his damnedest to make Max believe that his general existence on this earth is causing Charles physical pain and emotional turmoil, the fact that Charles remembers his preference doesn’t go unnoticed by Max. 

He won’t even entertain the idea that Charles might just be adamant on making Max sit in his shop and eat his mint chip ice cream so Charles can watch him suffer with every spoonful. 

Charles is generous with the scoops — incredibly so — and Max is sure those three scoops he requested actually equal the size of at least six regular-sized scoops. He realizes that he probably should have asked for one scoop instead of three. He watches as Charles sticks a spoon in the ice cream and places the bowl on the counter in front of Max with the biggest grin on his face.

“It’s on the house,” Charles tells him, probably just to further add to Max’s suffering. 

The Dutchman eyes the bowl of ice cream warily, quietly cursing it and himself, before picking it up with a hesitating hand. Charles watches him expectantly the entire time as Max makes his way to a small table in one corner of the shop. Behind him, a small child, probably around five or six, had entered the shop with his mother while Max was waiting for Charles to finish scooping, and Max hears the boy ask for two scoops of strawberry ice cream. And Charles — the fucking asshole — makes a point out of saying ‘coming right up’ in both Italian and English just to fuck with Max some more.

Max takes a seat with his back to the window so he can face Charles. Because if nothing else, he’s not going to let Charles win.

The first spoonful really does taste like toothpaste with a hint of chocolate, and it’s an awful combination. It takes every ounce of willpower Max has not to let the disgust he’s feeling show on his face. He lets the ice cream melt in his mouth for a long moment, before swallowing the disgusting liquidized ice cream, all the while maintaining a completely unaffected expression. 

Charles watches him eat the entire bowl of ice cream, and Max never breaks eye contact. With every expressionless swallow, Max can see the thinly veiled disappointment on Charles’ face and the satisfaction he gets from that is enough to motivate him to finish every single bite. He even makes a point out of scraping the melted remains of the ice cream from the sides of the bowl, scooping it up into a mint green coloured soup in his spoon, and eating it. He even briefly considers licking the bowl clean just to get a rise out of Charles, but the Monégasque turns away from him with a huff before he can put his plan into action.

Which, thank fuck, because Max is starting to feel a bit sick from the ridiculous amount of toothpaste-flavored ice cream he has just consumed out of spite and spite alone. He pushes the bowl forward and away from himself on the table with a frown.

Charles goes back to ignoring his presence for the next fifteen minutes, and Max waits. Just because he can — just because he knows this wasn’t the outcome Charles had expected and he wants to revel in the satisfaction of finally getting under Charles’ skin for once for a little while longer. 

Eventually, Charles comes to collect his empty bowl and gives Max a disapproving glare. 

“Well? How was it?”

And Max, unable to resist, gives Charles his biggest, brightest smile. “It was delicious, thank you.”

If looks could kill, Max would have been dead. Then, Charles turns on his heels and walks away with Max’s empty bowl and spoon. 

Taking the win, Max gets to his feet and waits for Charles to look over at him from behind the counter. When he does, he gives the other man a wave. “See you tomorrow, Charles.”

“You’re not coming back tomorrow!” Charles shoots back.

“Oh, but I am,” Max counters. It sounds like a promise, and it is. 

As he walks out of the ice cream shop, feeling Charles’ gaze boring into the back of his head as he does, Max pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts looking up hotels in the area with available rooms.

***

Max stays in Milan for two weeks, and he goes to Charles’ ice cream shop every single day. 

Every day, Charles tells him the only flavor he can serve him is mint chip. By day three, Max has stopped trying to argue with him. By day five, Max orders vanilla and Charles responds with ‘three scoops of mint chip coming up’. And every day, Max sits at his little table by the window to eat his ice cream while Charles stands behind the counter, watching him eat the entire time. 

Every. Single. Day. 

And every single day, Max can see Charles’ resolve crumbling, little by little, convincing him that his tragic efforts are not in complete vain. They might be mostly in vain, but Max is in far too deep at this point to care.

On the eighth day, Max stays until closing and Charles spends the majority of his free moments actually hanging around Max’s table and engaging him in conversation. It's a step in the right direction, even if Charles does end up kicking the Dutchman out when he has to count the register.

And on the eleventh day, as Max is about to leave after finishing yet another disgusting, massive portion of mint chip ice cream, Charles finds himself looking at the blond from behind the counter, watching as Max smiles down at his phone. Those piercing blue eyes are crinkling in delight, causing adorable smile lines to appear at their corners, his full, inviting lips stretching to expose his straight, white teeth. A wave of something — jealousy, Charles would define it as if he wasn’t a pigheaded dick when it comes to four-time F1 World Champion Max Emilian Verstappen — washes over him at the thought of whatever or whoever it is that puts that smile on Max's face. 

It makes the Monégasque realize that all of his attempts over the past few months to convince himself that he doesn’t find Max attractive or charming as hell, and that he definitely doesn’t want to find out whether Max likes vanilla in bed, too, have been for naught. 

And so, with an overwhelming feeling that he's losing a battle he's been fighting for months, Charles throws away the paper towel he had been using to dry his hands and resigns himself to his fate. Because sometimes, perseverence needs to be rewarded.

And he's not just referring to Max's.

“You can take me out to dinner tonight,” he tells Max, and it sounds like the statement pains him. Which it kind of does.

Max stops dead, one hand on the door handle, half-turned to face Charles. The look on his face is one of utter surprise.

“Really?” he asks, and he sounds so fucking hopeful that it should probably make Charles change his mind. But instead, it makes him want to close up the shop immediately and let Max take him out to dinner right fucking now.

Which is pathetic, really. But then again, so is the way Charles has been waking up every day hoping Max Verstappen would walk through the door of his ice cream shop for the past few months.

But, having no intention of showing his hand, Charles maintains a stoic expression as he nods. 

“Pick me up here at nine.”

Max's smile is so wide that Charles wonders if it makes his cheeks hurt. He also wonders if said cheeks will feel as warm to the touch as they look.

“Okay,” Max says, still smiling. “Then I'll see you again at nine.”

And with that, Max turns, pulls the door open, and walks out of the shop. 

When Charles can only just see the back of the Dutchman through the window, he sees Max stopping briefly on the sidewalk and pumping his fist in the air in the same celebratory manner Charles has seen after so many victorious races over the years.

He looks ridiculous, and Charles might just be falling a little bit in love with him.

Charles doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

***

It turns out that Max's preferences in bed are far more adventurous than his taste in ice cream.

Which turns out to be yet another thing they're on the same page about.

[jweekgoji]

kind of headcannons about yanderes, so basic warnings about kidnapping, manipulation, unhealthy dynamics, obsession, overprotective behavior.

I kind of lied about Fern being the best yandere of AT, IMO Betty would be the best choice, girl freaking holds her man like her wifey, punches weird magical creatures she saw for the first time and she doesn't give a F about some big ass red boss baby , ALL FOR A MAN!!!

as for yandere potential, I would have ranked them like this. ↓

Betty/Golbetty is a really dedicated, ruthless and determined person when it comes to saving and protecting people she loves, even as a regular human she does really scary stuff against some powerful beings, all for beloved! I also really like Magicwoman Betty, I like insane yanderes losing their mind over how to save s/o , especially if they were really sweet and caring before all the crazy stuff happened.

Lich is kind of underrated tho, his voice actor really serves, a good villain which would give me god-like yandere villain/human beloved vibes which would be like a pet for Lich. The power difference is tasty, not to mention the size difference. Would wish to extinct all the life in the universe only for you to be all alone with him :P

Simon is not like Betty, even though he totally would do the same as her, sacrifice everything he has only for his s/o, without them he is nothing and pathetic to watch. but I see him as some kind of father figure with fucked up mind. Hates himself for it, thinks he's too old for you, you totally deserve better than someone like him, but not like he is against the idea of you being around him.

Scarab, The Star somehow like Lich, if you are human or just weaker than them, they would treat you as some sort of pet too. Maybe Scarab would taunt you more, calling you pathetic, ugly and disgusting, at the same time he would be the one who bathes you all the time. He thinks he is superior, but actually freak deep inside. But I would give bonus points for the reverse dynamic, s/o who treats Scarab as a bug he is, not caring about him begging for a job as a wishmaster. step on him, squish him like a bug, but he would run to you for more.

Ooo Finn is himbo, funny guy, actually average yandere, but Jake's death really changes his view on life. It's canon that he waits for the day he dies just to see his brother again. I think he would be a really overprotective one, always on your side whenever you go, helping you with whatever you have to do even if it's something simple. I love the idea of the good loyal hero being a little too protective towards their s/o. Most of the time Finn actually can't understand what he is doing wrong, so if you tell them about it, he would laugh it off.

FW Finn is such a cherry. I would pick Ice Finn and adult FW Finn for this. Ice Finn is scary, before he goes crazy, he is a polite and cute young man, but like other crown users, he has a really deep sense of love for the one he loves enough to put that cursed thing on his head just to save them. I see him more like a creepy guy, not like Ice King tho, Ice Finn would be kind of scarier since all those buildings made of frozen people would scare off everyone. He would be a clingy guy seeking human warmth since his body temperature is too low, but don't run away from him or you will add to his frozen collection.

Adult FW Finn are much cooler in both senses, like Ooo Finn he is overprotective, might be even more since Destiny Gang is always around and he can't let his s/o to be killed by them, he already had to lose his wife, so you would be guarded 24/7. Canonically, Finn would totally hear you once you try to leave him, so don't try it. He won't hurt you, but you would lose your privilege to walk.

Minerva just like her son is the one who wants to help people all the time. Even though they don't really want her help. It will be short here, but like I said about Finn before, she is an overprotective one, and her being everywhere literally would make your life a living nightmare since it would be hard as hell to leave her.

I already made headcannons about Fern, so will be short here too. Fern>Finn in yandere behavior, Fern is violent due to grass demon influence, he has low self-esteem, he doesn't think he deserves you since Finn would be much better at protecting you from harm. But his mind is constantly changing, so in the moment of trying to prove himself, he will kidnap or kill whoever stays on his way to get you, not to mention that if you are the person who's in good relationships with Finn, he would not hesitate to take care of Finn and take his place.

Winter King is a weirdo who has too much power. He is affectionate and could mess with the brains of everyone with his charm. Look at him, such a nice and powerful King! How could you not love him, dude?? Money, knowledge, power, love, all he has and he will give it to you. Well, if you are smart enough to see him playing, his mood will turn into a more angry one, showing some traits of the Ice King. So yeah, same old kidnapping Ice King stuff...

For PB&Candy Queen it's obvious, just like Ice Kings, she is a crazy girl, the definition of yandere, but her blender thingie is actually impressive. I don't think she will be all lovey dovey with her s/o, like she could play her songs for you, keeping you trapped, but one day you will be mixed with her together. PB from the vampire world is kind of like a much cooler version of OG PB, I like her character design and how she is portrayed, I just like strong women who would dominate you, that's all.

Can't say much about Hunter, Fionna, PB, Marceline or Phoebe for now. They're kind of chill and too cute, I can't see them doing crazy stuff (for now). For Huntress Wizard, my love, I see her cool and chill too, but this girl would give you some wild presents like when she gave Finn an animal's heart 😭 well, she is a lonely wolf type, kind of don't know what couples are supposed to do and would try to express herself in her own style which would weird you out a little but she still tries!

Peppermint Butler is kind of underrated too, he's a freaking funny guy, no one would actually believe you if you say that this candy guy would do some creepy shit. I mean look at him! Kind of like more the idea where his s/o is some really powerful entity like Death or Vampire King, he would daydream about you, giggling and kicking his feet making weird fanfics about you in his journal~~~

For Uncle Gambald and Patience, I would say they're pretty strong and violent. Don't disobey those two unless you want to die or something, are you stupid?? Patience at least would try to appear like she's actually trying to be good, she wants to know you more and teach some stuff, or tell stories about the past, just don't ignore her. Uncle Gambald is a creep, stay away from him!! He's gonna make you dumb candy citizen too!!

I actually love Prismo so much, but as for yandere he would be really tied up to his work. I mean, he can't do anything with you when you are outside his time room. He is helpless. He can't touch you or feel you like others would, he can't be around you 24/7 like them, he can't give you what most people need from their partners and it is really sad. Of course, he can make you appear in his time room whenever he wants, he can make everything you wish for, hoping that maybe you will stay with him a little longer. I don't think he would appear angry or annoyed by you, he's too sweet and caring. If you want to leave just go, but he would feel like shit without you around, his work is boring as hell, people who came for making a wish are annoying him, his time room is full of garbage. But Prismo's attention focused totally on videos of you from different universes, the only thing keeping him entertained.

[vermilionsun]

If you are still open for requests..how about Ais and Kuras (or pick which one) with a child/children?

Of course!! Don’t hesitate to send in more if ya want <3

Ais

Father figure of the year

✩ Pretty chill in general

He's the type of dad who will let you have a good time but also make sure you're staying safe.

✩ Always there to lend an ear or offer advice… or constructive criticism—

You can always count on him to give you straightforward and honest advice, even if it's not what you want to hear. Even though he may not always agree with your choices, you know that his intentions are always good and that he genuinely cares about your well-being. Ais may not show his emotions openly, but his love and support for his child would be unwavering.

✩ Seems to know exactly what to say in any situation.

Whether you need help with a problem or just want someone to talk to, he is always there for you (with judgment /j)

✩ Don't even bother to lie to him.

He can see right through any facade and will always know when you're not being completely honest. His ability to detect deception is uncanny, but it also makes him a trustworthy confidant. Besides, what even did you do that made you think the consequences would be that bad? (Or even exist?) Partying? Smoking? Drinking? Drugs? Sex?

✩ “Lame. When I was your age I was way worse—”

✩ CRAZY parent lore.

And he mentions it so casually every time. Like, he's seen (and done) it all before. Nothing seems to faze him in the slightest.

✩ He's the kind of guy who would drop everything to help his kid, no questions asked.

✩ On the other hand, if we're talking about babies…

He might be a bit (completely) clueless when it comes to diaper changing, feeding schedules, or soothing a crying infant. However, his willingness to learn and his dedication to being the best parent he can be are admirable qualities.

✩ He's the type of person who will spend hours researching the best parenting techniques and tips.

✩ He gets the hang of it pretty quick.

✩ He is incredibly patient to the point where it becomes a bit scary. 

✩ COMMITTED.

From reading bedtime stories to playing endless games of peek-a-boo, a cheerleader, a rock, a shoulder to cry on—he's all in when it comes to being a parent. 

✩ GIRL DAD

✩ If anyone dares to think about touching his child, they'll never see the light of day again.

Kuras

24/7 confusion

✞ This begs the question of whether the child would be half-angel.

Let's assume so, because it becomes ten times funnier.

✞ Absolutely  b e w i l d e r e d  in the beginning.

✞ “...Why does it cry so much?”

Another question that often arises is, "Is there something wrong with it that I can't see?" He's just… confused. He doesn't really understand babies. Kuras is used to living a fast-paced, independent lifestyle, so the idea of being responsible for a helpless infant is overwhelming for him.

✞ Incredibly good once he figures it out.

Despite his initial confusion and overwhelming feelings, Kuras quickly adapts. Kuras is always on call to help with midnight feedings and diaper changes, making sure the baby is well taken care of around the clock.

✞ “Uh… honey? The baby is floating.”

Cue Kuras calmly walking into the room and safely guiding the baby back to the ground with a knowing smile. It becomes a common occurrence in the household. 

✞ Eventually takes on the role of mentor, teaching the child how to control their powers and use them for good.

✞ Slightly strict

Believes in setting boundaries and enforcing rules to ensure the well-being and safety of his children. He considers discipline an important aspect of parenthood, as it helps instill good behavior and values in his kids. He may come off as harsh at times, but it all stems from a place of love and protection. Kuras wants his children to grow up knowing right from wrong and understanding the importance of structure in their lives.

✞ Comfort

He listens without judgment, allowing his children to express themselves freely. Kuras encourages open communication and fosters a strong bond based on trust and respect.

✞ Don't even bother to lie to him part 2

If you try to sneak out, he'll be waiting for you at the door, arms crossed and a stern expression on his face. You can try to pull one over on him, but chances are, he'll see right through it. It's better to just be honest and upfront with him, because he always seems to know what's going on.

✞ Consequences

Although Kuras seems disappointed at times, he knows that it is all part of the process of growing up and learning from mistakes. He understands that his children need to make their own choices and face the consequences of those choices in order to become independent and responsible adults. Kuras tries to offer guidance and support, but ultimately allows his children to take ownership of their decisions and experiences.

✞ Always puts his children's needs above his own.

✞ Being the doctor he is and a parent can be a challenging juggling act. Kuras, however, manages to balance both roles with grace and dedication.

✞ T r i p l e t s

✞ If anyone dares to harm their child, he will stop at nothing to protect them. Fuck repentance and forgiveness; Kuras will seek justice with a vengeance that knows no bounds.

[babyjakes]

lock them out and throw a feast.

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event | kinkmas 2023

prompt | food play

pairing | soft!dark!curtis everett x front-ender!reader

warnings | soft!dark!curtis. non-con. crying. restraints. use of gag. fingering. minimal dialogue (curtis is a quiet guy.) oral (f receiving) with plenty of clit focus. messy food play (a whole bakery's worth of sweets.) forced orgasm. squirting. implied multiple (forced) orgasms. written in 3rd person for some reason. showered!curtis :D

word count | 1,698

an | my snowpiercer knowledge is soooooo rusty i haven't watched the movie in years. this is kind of written in a universe where curtis and his rebellion were able to take over the engine. he picks out a pretty little front-ender as his reward and throws himself a feast... anyway, please ignore any details that might not align with the movie plot. this fic is dedicated to my sweet precious wonderful somny @onsunnyside, she isn't active much these days but of course i wanted to write her a kinkmas piece still, she is so special to me. and i know she loves curtis, so this felt like the perfect opportunity. love you, sonson<33 hope you're well and having happy holidays!

Everything was just the way he ordered it. An empty car all to himself, with both exits locked, dark curtains drawn. Lights dimmed, just bright enough to see through the stilled air. One shining down stronger than the rest in the center of the room, illuminating his long-awaited bounty. His final reward. His feast, fit for a king.

The moment he had laid eyes on her, cowering and weeping as her family's luxury quarters were broken into, he knew she was his endgame. He promised himself he'd have his way with her once he made it to the engine and overthrew the elite. Now that the hard work was done, it was time for him to revel in his victories. And there was no better way to do that, he had decided, than to feed the hunger that had been eating away at him for as long as he could remember.

He stood back in the shadows for the longest time, just taking in the glorious scene before him. Sucking in a strained breath, he pressed a tentative hand over the bulge in his pants. They were new; everything on him was. As his trusted second-in-commands were preparing his private car, Curtis had disappeared to care for himself and his body for the first time in seventeen years. He had a long, tedious shower, taking his time to remove nearly two decades of filth from his tattered body. Once he was clean, he had first choice from an entire car full of clothing- everything brand new. He remained modest with his choices. All the glitz and glam of the elite had no appeal to him.

Taking a step forward, he let his dark brown overcoat fall to the floor, leaving him in the simple gray t-shirt and utility trousers he had claimed earlier. Biting his lip, he pried his hand from his raging hard-on. He would relieve himself, in time. For now, he wanted to savor every moment he spent building up to that release.

Her quiet whimpers were the loudest thing in the room, accompanied by the low rumbling of the train's machinery in the background. Her crystalline tears only made her more beautiful, Curtis thought to himself. There was something so exquisite about her agonized expression; it didn't matter how wrong or cruel this was. He had given it all, risked his life for that damn train. This was his; he had earned it. He would allow himself that.

His men had done a fine job with the setup. She was as captivating as he had dreamt for all those years- no, she was better. Her body sprawled out elegantly over the smooth oak finish of the table below her, tied to the corners by her wrists and ankles, she was nothing more than a piece of meat to be feasted on, a meal to be devoured. And Curtis hadn't had a proper meal in years. The rest of the table's surface was covered in all the sweets and confectionaries his subordinates could find. Ripe fruits, delicate cakes and pastries, bowls of thick chocolates and creams- and to top it all off, his main course had been decorated lavishly to the likings of the delicacies surrounding her. Her most sensitive places had been drizzled and dipped, sprinkled and powdered, making her the most divine-looking creature the man had ever seen.

He took another step forward, surveying her as a vulture would its prey. Her dewy eyes peered up fearfully at him as he slowly approached the side of the table. Voice slightly hoarse from all her crying and struggling, she whined weakly through the thick cloth gag secured snugly between her chocolate-smeared lips.

"Shhhh," Curtis breathed out, the steadiness of his voice and posture such a stark contrast to the girl who lay weeping and bound before him. As he turned to make his way to the end of the table, her bare feet thrashed and kicked uselessly in protest. He simply shook his head at her pitiful displays of defiance. "No use fighting it, sweetheart," he hummed, his voice almost consoling in tone. "You're not going anywhere. Not until I get a good taste of what's mine."

With heedless, eager motions, the man cleared the portion of the table that sat between the girl's trembling legs. As mouth-watering as everything he was pushing aside appeared, his only focus was closing the space between him and the one thing he was truly starving for. Lowering his front down onto the now empty surface, Curtis' greedy eyes trailed up his victim's messy legs, finding the sacred point at which they joined. He drooled at the sight of her perfect cunt as it sat before him on display, dribbles of cream and what appeared to be nervous arousal collecting beneath her rounded ass.

"Mine," he repeated, this time nearing a growl. His rugged hands came up to squeeze at her soft, heavenly thighs, earning tiny squeaks of fear from the poor girl as she shook her head pleadingly- but it was no use. He had her before him now; nothing would come between him and his feast. "This body belongs to me now, angel. Do you understand?" He brought a hand up to push back her mound, exposing her swollen clit and leaky hole to his prying eyes. The confidence he was speaking with was impressive, given the fact that he'd never spoken to a woman like this in his life. But after all he'd lived through, he felt entitled to that sense of authority. He held her life in his hands, quite literally. And he sure as hell was ready to make the most of it.

"This pretty cunt-" he dared to take his words further, his other hand dragging a finger up through the streams of sugary icing coating her thighs to begin prodding at her tiny hole. "-is mine. All mine," he hummed, perfectly happy to be stating these truths to only himself, if his new possession was so insistent on denying them with her angry sobs and harsh glares. She would come around in time; he knew she would. She wouldn't have any choice in the matter.

His finger nudged and teased at the opening a bit more before gently dipping inside, the man's patience wearing thin. At the feeling of her tight, slippery walls doing everything in their power to fight off his intrusion, Curtis wasn't ashamed of the way his cock only grew harder from her unwillingness. He savored the distressed grunts and groans she let out as he forced his digit in up to a first knuckle, then a second. Turning his hand in a fluid motion, he began fucking his finger up into her, groaning lowly at the sight of her quickly growing increasingly responsive to his efforts.

Free-hand momentarily moving back to grab harshly at her hipbone, Curtis licked his lips as his gaze settled in on the tiny nub sitting at the top of the girl's messy slit. Bringing his thumb and pointer finger back down, he forcefully spread her upper lips apart, exposing her poor little button to the cool air of the room. Her legs kicked and struggled as he drew his face in closer, letting out a low groan as the bundle of nerves was finally taken between his parched lips.

The girl let out a howl through her gag, choking on her cries and spit as Curtis worked her aching clit. Closing his eyes, the man savored the feeling of the tiny bump twitching and trembling against his steady suckling. Letting go of any last hesitations, he submitted to eating her fresh cunt like a beast that'd been starved. He paid no mind to being gentle or polite as he latched onto her helpless core, delivering punishing waves of pain and pleasure well outside the realms of her wildest nightmares.

When his lips grew sore from sucking, he switched to dragging his tongue over the pulsating nub, starting with slow, teasing licks before switching to fast, merciless swipes in the blink of an eye. The alternating paces reduced his victim to softer sobs and hiccups, her hips bucking up wildly as her body struggled to tolerate the intense stimulation. And as soon as he'd had enough of the tongue work, he was back to nursing at the poor button, now so puffy and swollen from receiving his undivided attention.

As the girl's thighs shook, Curtis could see something shifting within her. The noises she let out were becoming more desperate, more panicked, with an expression of impending doom appearing on her tear-stained face. At the realization that she was being brought to orgasm against her will, the unrelenting hunger in Curtis' gut only rose. "That's it," he grumbled lowly, her sweet, sticky juices coating his reddened lips. "You're gonna come for me now, babydoll. Come on, give it to me," his face was hardening with determination, his finger thrusting more forcefully up into her fluttering walls as she hurled towards her climax at full speed.

The cry she let out as she finally came was the closest thing Curtis had ever heard to an angel on earth. As the incredible pressure in her tummy finally shattered, her poor clit spasmed helplessly in the man's awaiting mouth. A flood of sweetness sprayed against his scruffy facial hair as she squirted, the sight of her body coming helplessly against his efforts nearly too much for Curtis to bear. Groaning loudly, he coaxed her through the spectacular high. Only when her sobbing turned to weak sniffles did he finally pull away, his darkened eyes trailing up to find her tender face.

As he went to remove his digit from her soaking heat, he could've sworn she almost seemed to cling to him, in a way. He brought the creamy finger up to slip into his eager mouth, the sugary taste of her climax making his head pound with want.

His next words sent her into a fresh fit of tears. "One more," he decided, lowering his head back down to her sticky cunt. One more, he told himself, before he'd finally seek some relief of his own.

[angelismmm]

pairings. blade x gn!reader

synopsis. nsfw alphabet w blade gg ez, a-n only becuz im l-l-lazy....

a - aftercare (what are they like after the deed?)

blud lowkey don't give a shit about you if you aren't that close, lmao

but if you are, probably kind of clingy, and really caring. a lot of cuddling, don't tell me i'm wrong cuz i'm NOT.

in some cases, and instances, those.. 'activities' you both have do make him quite exhausted, and most of the time it really just ends with him showering you, cleaning you up, and just being in his embrace (more utc.)

b - body part (their fave body part, of themselves, and their partner's!)

probably for himself; would be his hands. just in general, plus he knows how well they treat you anyway! so why wouldn't it be his favorite? and for you, probably loves everything, doesn't know what he'd do without it, can't decide on one sole favorite, maybe your stomach and probably your neck!

c - cum (cum, anything to do with it)

will cum on your face, if not, he'll come inside, nothing in between.

i dont know how to elaborate here but um, the way his cum be sprayed all over ur face is just so mmmm to him. makes him hard all over again!

d - dirty secret (self explanatory)

not rly dirty, but wants to see you get a necklace with his name on it, or a collar with his name on it, and while he pounds so recklessly, he wants to see that pretty little pendant of his bouncing up and down on your neck, very fond of the idea, but never would actually say it to you, unless you really push him enough.

e - experience (has bro done the deed before?)

maybe? not that experienced probably, but has messed around with somebody before yes!

he knows what he's doing though, don't worry. but overall probably just did it once or twice, barely can call it sex

he probably read about sex before doing it with you, cause he wanted it to go perfectly.

f - favorite position (self explanatory pt2)

just as long as he can see your face, missionary, cowgirl, let it be anything, just as long as he can see how your face just gets so corrupted because of his big cock.

g - goofy (is bro serious about sex?)

very serious, it's almost funny, but it isn't, he's dedicated, and will show it.

but maybe when you both get closer, and are able to be more intimate with each other, in relationship wise, and etc., sure he'll laugh once or twice about a mistake he's done.

h - hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

um, yes and no?? i don't really know, i can't rly tell, like maybe thrice a week sure, and the rest of the week he don't really care, it gets messy when you both fuck anyways. and yes, black hair, thats it, idk how to elaborate ab this LMAO

i - intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

gets too embarassed. no he will not show his blushing face, even if he's already inside, probably takes like, a round or two before he does

kind of like, he'd giggle about it and go okay bae

but also would be the kind of guy to go, "i want to be the only man, the only person, in this whole galaxy, this whole universe, to make you feel like this."

j - jack off (master bait :D)

yes, very often, no other choice, i cant say otherwise. likes to imagine its you on that monster ahh cock instead of his hand, be real, he the type to do that. uses imagination wisely, and does it when you're away from him, on a mission, or whatever, needs you 24/7 tho

k - kink/s

degrading you like it's his life's purpose. loves you like it's the calm life he's been looking for since forever, but will degrade you, calls you slut, whore, made for his cock, and all that jazz.

oh but facesitting; super big fan, wants to just be in you, tongue up in your hole, while he just strokes his cock, just needs you to sit on his face so bad

be so fucking honest w me, he probably turned on by the idea of getting pegged, or getting anal. won't admit it out loud, but he wants to get treated like a prince. like just wants you to make him feel so good, that's it.

l - location

doesn't give a fuck if other people hear, will fuck you in an alleyway if he feels like it, or if you feel like it, in the public bathroom <3 but just way prefers being in bed with you, feels more romantic, and gives off more feeling to the moment, in his own opinion, will do whatever you're comfortable with.

n - no no

roleplay, anything related to it, it seriously grosses him out

non con, in general, he's disgusted by it, i know that for a fact.

don't degrade him please, he's heard, and been called all kinds of names before, and it's not like he ever liked them.

don't hurt him, it's clear in his skill he does hurt himself in the process</3, im sure he seriously just wants to love you, and wants it back, his degrading is to a small extent, and it's just in the heat of the moment thing!

[archiesss]

Overworked (Wriothesley x Male reader)

Recently, your boyfriend had noticed that you had been doing a lot of work, you were almost always the one stopping the prisoners from any sort of conflict, you assisted Sigewinne in taking care of the injured and even helped him do his paperwork. Wriothesley had grown concerned for your health, he didn’t want you to experience any sort of burnouts so here you were in his office.

“you called, Wrio?” You asked

“yeah, I wanted to talk to you is all.” He responded

“Am I in trouble or?”

“No! Why is that the first thing you think, what kind of guy do you think I am?” He responded offended

“I know I’m just teasing you.” You laughed

He sighs “Moving on, it’s just that, lately I’ve noticed you’ve been doing a lot for the fortress.” He begins

“I really appreciate the effort and the dedication but you need to take it easy before you get burnt out, I’m speaking from experience here okay?”

“but I have to do something! Sitting around and doing nothing just isn’t my thing.” You respond

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that, but that won’t change anything you’re gonna have to stay here and rest for the day.”

“No way! I’ll just go an-” he cuts you off

“No you won’t.” he stands in front of the door blocking your way.

“But come on I feel so helpless like this, please?”

“sorry but this is for your own good, just trust me okay?”

“…”

“well I know there’s no getting past you once you’ve made up your mind I guess I don’t have a choice…” you sit in the chair across from his

you close your eyes but you feel your feet suddenly leave the ground, you open your eyes to the sight of Wriothesley carrying you bridal style

“uh, what are you doing?” You ask nervously

he smiles

“helping you fall asleep.”

You find yourself resting against his chest, you realize maybe sometimes it’s best to rest a bit as you fall asleep in his arms, you hear a feint

“Goodnight love.”

[theunsinkableship1]

LUKOLA FANDOM: The bad and the ugly

DISCLAIMER: This is LUKOLALAND only. Skip this if you're not a shipper. This is only my point of view. No harm intended

Luke

Luke has recently found himself at the center of an undeserved hate campaign. Luke is not only a talented actor but also a genuinely kind and down-to-earth person. Those who know him personally often speak highly of his warmth, and strong work ethic. His colleagues frequently commend his positive attitude on set, his dedication to his craft, and his ability to bring a nuanced, relatable charm to his characters.

Despite this, Luke has been unfairly criticized for a range of baseless reasons. One of the most prominent accusations involves "Papgate," where he was allegedly involved in a publicity stunt that some claim detracted from the show's success. However, it's important to recognize that Luke has always been committed to the success of Bridgerton. As a professional, he understands the importance of the show's reputation and would never intentionally jeopardize it. A professional PR team would never have advised Luke to engage in such a stunt, especially given that there was no pressing need or benefit in doing so, after all, the hard launch has yet to occur. It's clear that Luke genuinely admires his good pal Nicola and values their relationship too much to have intentionally ruined their night. The lack of evidence to support these accusations further highlights the unfair nature of this criticism. His hard work and talent should be celebrated, not overshadowed by baseless accusations.

Another point of contention has been Luke's personal life, with some fans unfairly speculating and judging his choices. However, Luke, like anyone, has the right to live his life privately and without undue scrutiny. We might raise an eyebrow at some of Luke's associations and choices, but that's something we can ponder in the privacy of our Lukolaland without spreading negativity. Luke wasn’t jobless; he was taking a well-deserved vacation after months of hard work with his friends before returning to work in August, just like many do. There's nothing out of the ordinary here. It’s important to remember that we don’t have all the details, so we shouldn’t be quick to judge without knowing the full story. I trust that both Luke and Nicola will navigate this situation wisely and come through just fine. He has conducted himself with integrity, and the assumptions made about his relationships are purely speculative and often harmful. It’s wrong to attack him, his family and friends.

Luke Newton is a promising young actor with a bright future ahead of him. Beyond his undeniable talent, he is known for his kindness, and humility. Luke has always been a good-looking guy, though attraction is subjective. If he’s not your type, that’s fine, but many others do find him attractive, and it doesn’t make sense to broadcast your disinterest across Lukolaland. If you’re not a fan, simply move on without trying to ruin it for others. What truly matters is the work he’s done. Luke plays Colin with skill, bringing depth, relevance, and nuance to the role, with a performance that is both detailed and deeply empathetic. If his performance wasn’t to your taste, feel free to critique it constructively, but keep the focus on his acting. Luke is talented, passionate, and generous, and those who know him appreciate and love him for that. Even his Barbie, I mean-his costar, Nicola has nothing but kind words to say about him. While fans may have opinions, it is important to approach these with empathy and respect, rather than extending unwarranted criticism.

Nicola

I've come across articles and comments that unfairly critique Nicola’s appearance, suggesting she isn’t attractive enough due to her so-called "average" or "oversized" body. The only thing average about her body is that it fits an average size. Let's set the record straight: Nicola is neither fat nor skinny, she’s simply herself. And let's stop equating body size with beauty. Fat people can be stunning, just as skinny people can be less so; it's a fact of life. To claim she doesn't meet certain standards of beauty is not only incorrect but downright absurd. Have you seen her? She is a definition of beauty, both inside and out. Her radiance is undeniable, fitting most conventional beauty standards effortlessly with her baby blue eyes. She embodies all the qualities we value collectively in terms of feminine beauty and her body is a Roman empire.

While you might not personally be attracted to her, that view is far from the majority. Nicola outshines 99% of the population, and among the remaining 1%, she’s in the top tier, thanks to the beauty that comes from within. Her intelligence, brightness, and wisdom add to her allure, making her truly captivating. It's absurd to claim that Luke isn't attracted to Nicola simply because she doesn't fit someone's narrow idea of "his type." Attraction is highly personal and goes far beyond superficial traits. Luke and Nicola share an evident deep connection that likely transcends physical appearance, focusing more on personality, shared values, and mutual respect. Moreover, the idea that Luke wouldn’t be attracted to someone as radiant, talented, and charming as Nicola is equally baseless, if anything, she embodies qualities that many find irresistibly attractive. And we have no definitive idea of what "his type" is as both of his exes looked different and the only trait that they have in common is that they’re attractive talented genuine and kind women who are actresses; Its therefore not wrong to assume that Nicola could fit that description and not the contrary. Just as some may assume Nicola isn't his type, the reverse could be just as true, maybe she is not attracted to tall, dark and handsome men with a remarkable shade of blue eyes, which only underscores how irrelevant these superficial judgments are. Nicola is human, at least I think that she is, and like all of us, she might make mistakes. But unlike many, she is thoughtful and deliberate in her life choices. Nicola has every right to choose her own partner, and while we may wish otherwise, that decision is hers alone. She’s independent and career-driven, and she’s certainly not desperately waiting around for just anyone, only for the one who truly makes a difference in her life. That’s likely why she hasn’t publicly claimed anyone yet. Thankfully, we can trust her judgment, as she knows best who brings happiness and adds value to her life.

Tifaine

Within the Lukola fandom, some creators have been unfairly attacked for their dedication and hard work. Tifaine, in particular, has faced criticism despite her contributions to the community. While it may seem unusual to outsiders that grown people dedicate so much time to shipping real people, it is essential to understand that this community is built on love and admiration, not harm. The only people who have the right to criticize this are Luke and Nicola themselves, and they have expressed appreciation for the support they receive from fans. If Nicola or Luke ever express discomfort or a desire to reassess those boundaries, most of us would comply or, would stop because, contrary to popular belief, we are functioning adults with full lives.

Tifaine's work in the fandom has been invaluable, and while disagreements may arise, it is important to recognize the effort and passion she brings to the community.She has certainly sacrificed time, money for the cause and she puts herself out there which attracts a lot of negativity. Based on my understanding, she was merely presenting facts mostly well-known and non-detrimental ones that do not undermine what’s happening between the two leads. She has consistently shown that she cares deeply for both of them and genuinely wishes for their success, whether individually or together. I trust her intentions and appreciate the significant effort she has put into her work, which is far from negligible. Her dedication is commendable, and her contributions have helped create a space where fans can come together to celebrate the love and success of Luke and Nicola.

In conclusion, I believe that the recent wave of negativity in the community is both unwarranted and harmful and frankly quite counterproductive. And if none of them is above criticism, it is crucial to remember that behind the screens they are real people deserving of respect and kindness. As fans, our role should be to support and uplift, not tear down. By fostering a community built on love and understanding, we can ensure that the fandom remains a positive and welcoming space.

[cherienymphe]

When The Party’s Over XIII (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, forced pregnancy, implied abortion, forbidden relationship, violence, jealousy, underage drinking, drug use, manipulation, corruption,  public sex, innocent reader, Heyward!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @silkholland​​

➥ series masterlist

summary: Manipulated into a secret relationship with Rafe Cameron, you’re finding it much easier said than done to do the right thing and walk away…especially when he refuses to let you.

~

You sat on your bed, staring at the pregnancy test with the sickest feeling in your stomach.

It was the sixth one you’d taken, and although you’d begrudgingly accepted your fate after the fourth, you still just needed to be sure. You needed to make sure you weren’t hallucinating, or it wasn’t a false positive or something. You tried to remember if that was actually a thing.

You stood up, crossing your arms over your chest and staring out of your window.

You were pregnant.

You knew it was true, but even as the thought bounced around in your head, you still didn’t quite believe it. You couldn’t be…and yet the tests didn’t lie. You’d felt like you were on autopilot when you bought them, stuffing them into your purse before Bunny or Cam finally joined you at the register. For some reason, you hadn’t expected them to be positive. Periods became irregular for all kinds of reasons, namely stress, and God knows you’d had a lot of that lately.

You’d initially forced yourself not to freak out, telling yourself to at least wait. Well, now the time had come…and you were freaking out. You never missed a pill, not quite ready to look into the kind of birth control that required putting something in you whether it be a shot in your arm or some foreign object between your legs. After that first morning, you didn’t want a repeat of running into someone you’d rather not while trying to prevent an unwanted pregnancy.

For obvious reasons, Rafe didn’t really like to use condoms. You’d tried once or twice while you’d been waiting for said birth control to be ready for pickup, and he’d made his distaste obvious, lips brushing your ear as he begged you to let him take it off. In the throes of passion, you made a decision that wasn’t the smartest, and you’d only been grateful you hadn’t come to regret it. Which is why your current predicament was…mind-boggling.

You stared down at the familiar pills, turning them over with a frown, sinking your teeth into your lip.

How could you be pregnant? You didn’t know why you kept wondering about that. After all, in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter how you came to be pregnant. Using several forms of birth control wasn’t 100% effective, let alone just one. Wondering how this could’ve happened wasn’t going to change anything.

No.

What mattered was what you were going to do about it.

That was the only question that mattered, and tears kissed your eyes. You loved kids. They were brutally honest, funny, and didn’t really have the kind of fear needed to prevent them from doing the most life endangering things. They were just little humans trying to develop into their own persons…

…but you were eighteen.

You wanted to go to college next year. You wanted to drink and travel and actually experience your life before dedicating it to someone else. Was it selfish? Sure, but you were barely one step into adulthood. It wasn’t wrong to be selfish, and yet, with all of that being said, you didn’t feel right about considering your most obvious choice here.

You sat back down, staring at your wall.

Rafe had made it clear that he wasn’t boyfriend material. He wasn’t the kind of guy you needed to be with, but was it possible that a crappy boyfriend could be a good dad? Did he still have that right to be given a chance to prove himself in that regard? Did he have the right to know? Or were you kidding yourself? There was some part of you that hoped this baby would make Rafe grow up and be better for its sake…

…but there was a part of you that wondered if he’d seize this opportunity.

He’d made it clear that he didn’t want you to leave him, and his word choice during that phone call was not lost on you. He’d held nothing back as he called your breakup a mere attempt at leaving him, and you swallowed. If you told Rafe…you might regret it forever. Rafe was a lot of things, you’d come to learn, but would he really use his own child against you?

You laughed almost as soon as you thought that.

If Rafe could hurt your brother in an attempt to stay with him, then there was no doubt that he’d use your child to get the same result. Even still, you didn’t want to get rid of it. You didn’t feel right about that no matter how much you knew you needed to, and a few tears escaped as you hoped Rafe would prove you wrong.

You wondered why you even wanted him to, to be honest. Sure, as much as you would if you had to, you didn’t actually want to get rid of this baby, but was it worth everything that would follow? Was it worth Pope and your family finding out? Pope hating you? Possibly even hating the baby too? More importantly, was it worth forgiving Rafe?

It would be pretty difficult to co-parent with a man you were starting to hate. All the things he did to you aside, he’d seriously hurt Pope just to get back at you, to hurt you. You would’ve never thought he could sink so low, and in this moment, that was unforgiveable to you. A baby would change things, would force your feelings and attitude to change for its sake, and quite frankly, you weren’t ready yet. You probably never would be.

Feeling angry and overwhelmed, you swiped the pregnancy tests and tossed them in your garbage, hating what your life had become.

You nervously looked around for a familiar blond, Cam at your side. You’d agreed to going to another party with only one reason in mind, and his name was Rafe Cameron. As much as you wanted to talk to him about the baby, you needed to get some other things out of the way first, and your anger fueled your courage to confront him about Pope.

You had no intention of seeing him alone, barely wanting anything to do with him.

At a party with tons of witnesses around made you feel better, safer, and you sipped on your sprite. If Cam thought your refusal for alcohol was weird, she didn’t voice it. Bunny had disappeared moments ago, and with no sign of anyone from that familiar trio, you were starting to think that you’d come out for nothing.

Then Cam had called his name.

“Kelce!”

You turned, following her line of sight and watching her run into her boyfriend’s arms. As expected, he wasn’t alone, and you didn’t miss the way Topper made himself scarce as your eyes met Rafe’s. Your ex-boyfriend’s face was even, unreadable, but even without being a mind reader, you had a pretty good guess as to where his head was at.

Taking a deep breath, you approached him.

“We need to talk.”

You didn’t miss the slight smirk that danced along his lips, and you felt anger flare up at the light chuckle he let out.

“Alright,” he said, starting to move past you when you stopped him.

“No. Here.”

You could tell that that pissed him off, smirk dropping and eyes hardening as he stared you down. It was clear he did not want to have this conversation in the front yard of some random’s house, surrounded by partygoers. It was like looking into the face of some evil doppelgänger, finding it hard to believe that this was the same man who’d told you he loved you. The same man who’d given you your first real kiss, who’d taken your virginity, who’d been damn near perfect at one time.

Who’d gotten you pregnant.

Rafe shoved his hands into his pockets, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek as he waited for you to start talking.

“What is wrong with you?”

You didn’t know how else to broach the subject, and Rafe simply blinked at you, shrugging.

“Am I supposed to just know what you’re talking about or…?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Rafe. Don’t do that,” you spat.

He simply stared at you, but the hint of a smile on his pink lips had you swallowing down the urge to hit him.

“You attacked Pope,” you reminded him. “You and Topper jumped him.”

Rafe hummed to himself, looking around.

“Well, you know how things can get between the Kooks and Pogues around here,” was all he said, and you wanted to cry.

“You promised me-.”

“I promised you what?” he wondered, gaze meeting yours again. “…I remember promising my girlfriend something…”

Your stomach twisted, and Rafe tilted his head, slowly dragging his eyes over your frame.

“…but I don’t have one anymore, right? So, what did I promise you?”

With Rafe’s confirmation of your suspicions, you took a step back, shaking your head in disbelief.

“So, that’s how it’s going to be?” you tearfully wondered. “I break up with you and…you hurt my brother? To what? Get back at me? Hurt me? Make me change my mind?”

Rafe took a deep breath, taking a step towards you, and then another until he was so close you could smell that familiar cologne of his. His chest almost brushed yours, and your heart started to race as he looked down his nose at you.

“Do whatever you want, beautiful,” he whispered. “…but don’t expect me to uphold some bullshit obligation to someone who tossed me aside like trash.”

You frowned at him, opening your mouth when he continued.

“I don’t owe you shit.”

You swallowed.

“…and I owe that Pogue even less-.”

“That Pogue is my brother,” you sneered.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me, now?” he wondered, head tilted, a deep frown on his face. “You think that means shit to me?”

You glanced away.

“If you want it to…I’m sure you can think of something to change my mind.”

Your gaze was stricken when it met his again, and your lips trembled.

“Did you think I was joking when I told you you’d be sorry?” he scoffed, laughing to himself. “You know, I never thought you were dumb. Never.”

He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head at you.

“Sweet. Innocent. Too innocent, maybe, but never dumb,” he whispered. “…but you must be if you think I’m just going to let you walk away from me.”

You were frozen, too scared and shocked to move, and Rafe’s face grew stony, cold eyes looking between your tearful ones.

“You are mine,” he slowly told you. “I made sure of that when I spread your legs without a second thought.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and for a moment, you actually forgot how to breathe.

“…and if it wasn’t for you, I would’ve made sure this whole island knew a long time ago.”

“You ass-.”

“I still might.”

Your skin grew cold, and there wasn’t an ounce of humor on Rafe’s face as he threatened you while everyone around you was none the wiser.

“Do you have any idea how much I can make your life a living hell? Hmm?”

Against your will, a few tears escaped, skipping down your face, and you stared at Rafe like he was a total stranger. He reached up then, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks and wiping them away, a small sigh leaving him.

“No guy in his right mind would even look in your direction, and the friends you think you’ve got?” he paused. “Bunny loves a good party…and Cam is just so head over heels for Kelce. I could make them both laughing stocks if I wanted.”

You blinked, and Rafe’s hands were still on your face.

“I will turn this whole island against you, including your brother, and when it’s all said and done,” he quietly told you, leaning in and kissing your forehead. “I’m still going to fuck you every single night because I always get what I want.”

His words had you throwing yourself away from him, stumbling away in horror. Rafe didn’t look bothered, at all, wiping his hand over the bottom half of his face and looking at you like you two were having a regular old conversation.

“Like I said,” he started, face falling and actually looking like he felt bad for you. You knew better though. “You’re not stupid, beautiful. So, don’t be.”

He brushed past you, his hand coming up to graze your waist as he did, and everyone around you was too drunk to notice your distress. As terrified and shaken as you were, you couldn’t deny how grateful you were feeling. You hadn’t even brought up the predicament you found yourself in because Rafe, unknowingly, had made the decision for you.

He’d shown you exactly who he would be if you had this baby.

Pope’s tone was bordering along irritated as he asked you what you wanted. You stood in his doorway, more nervous and terrified than you’d ever been. He was fiddling with something that you no doubt wouldn’t understand, hardly paying you any attention, but you knew that wouldn’t last for much longer. You reached up, rubbing your neck with both hands.

“You have money saved up, right? Like…for emergencies and stuff?”

That got his attention, and your brother officially stopped what he was doing, turning to look at you with a frown. He stared at you long and hard, clearly trying to gage where this conversation was going.

“Yeah,” he slowly said.

You blew out a breath, licking your lips as you glanced away. You knew you just needed to come out and say it, but you felt like you were going to be sick all over his floor. Considering your situation, you probably were.

“I…I need your help,” you choked out, meeting his gaze again.

Pope chuckled to himself, leaning back in his chair, and you could tell by the look on his face that he thought you needed money for some useless bullshit or something. Your lips parted, and the longer you hesitated, the more your eyes watered. You cleared your throat, looking down, shaking and trying to stop yourself from throwing up.

“Hey.”

You looked up at the sound of his voice, and his expression was completely different, now. There was a frown on his face, and Pope was leaning forward, eyes focused on your tearful ones.

“What’s wrong? What do you need money for?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, and you looked towards the ceiling.

“Pope…you have to promise me that you…” you hesitated, shifting on your feet. “You have to promise me that you won’t say anything to mom and dad.”

You looked back to him, gaze pleading.

“…and you have to swear you won’t get mad.”

Pope snorted, shaking his head.

“No way,” he laughed, and you bit your lip, reluctantly accepting that.

You sighed to yourself before nodding.

“Okay,” you said, turning away when he spoke again.

“Y/N.”

You looked at him, and any humor was wiped from his face as he stood, now, studying you.

“Are you serious, right now? It’s…it’s that serious? I need to be sworn to secrecy?”

“Pope, I… I really fucked up, okay?” you admitted. “…and I’m trying to un-fuck it all up, and I need your help.”

His shoulders drooped, and you could see the concern on his face.

“…but if you can’t keep this between us, then that’s fine, and I’ll figure something else out-.”

“Okay, okay!” he relented, raising his hands. “I swear I won’t say anything, and…I guess I’ll try not to get mad.”

His face was as serious as you were sure yours was, and you believed him. There really was no going back, and so, fighting the urge to hurl, you told him.

“I need money…for an abortion.”

You knew that would be the last thing he ever expected, and the way his entire demeanor changed only confirmed that. His face didn’t just fall, it twisted into a mix of confusion and disbelief, like he heard your words but didn’t quite understand them. His mouth fell open before snapping it shut, and Pope crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side.

Your brother turned away, staring at the wall as his frown deepened, and when he finally looked at you again, there was nothing calm about the look in his eyes.

“What?”

“You said-.”

“I said I would try,” he corrected. “What-what the hell do you mean an abortion? This is a joke, right?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” you tearfully fired back, gesturing to yourself. “Look at me! I’m asking you of all people for help, Pope. I don’t know what else to do!”

You had considered going to Cam or Bunny, knowing they had the money and would agree in a heartbeat, but that was too risky. You didn’t trust Cam not to let it slip to Kelce, and you didn’t trust Bunny not to tell Cam who could let it slip to Kelce. The chances were too great, and if Kelce knew, Rafe would find out one way or another. Either straight from his mouth or Topper’s.

You decided that you had to bite the bullet and give Pope a crumb of the truth.

You didn’t need to tell him everything, especially the big unknown he’d wonder about. You and Rafe were over, and you intended to keep it that way, so there was no reason for Pope to even know. For him to get mad over something that would stay in the past. He wouldn’t be able to go back in time and prevent you from dating Rafe, but he could help you get away from him for good, because there was no doubt in your mind that if Rafe knew you were pregnant, your life as you knew it would be over.

Pope’s face crumbled at the look on yours, and you watched him swallow, jaw clenching as he turned away.

“Get out.”

You weren’t sure you heard him, at first, and you blinked.

“What?” you whispered.

“Get. Out,” he slowly repeated, still refusing to look at you as he said the words loud and clear.

You needed to know what he was thinking, and you needed to know what he was going to do, but you nodded even though he couldn’t see. Reluctantly, you did just that, feeling like crap for so many reasons. Maybe it was the hormones that had you crying again, or maybe your life was just becoming that tragic that it was the only appropriate response.

You sat down on your bed, thinking about Rafe’s words and the way they scared you to your core. Rafe didn’t want to let you go, and there was a huge part of you that was terrified he wouldn’t. He had money, so much more than you, and he had the influence that you could only dream of. You believed him when he said he’d make your life hell, and while you needed to figure out how to deal with that when that day came, you would be damned if he used an innocent child to do it.

You didn’t sleep much, stewing over your conversations with both Pope and Rafe, feeling like you were at a crossroads and your life could go either way. It was so early, the sun not even peeking over the horizon when there was a knock on your door. You hadn’t been asleep for about an hour, and you had resigned yourself to staying awake, anyway.

When you answered it, you were somewhat shocked to find Pope on the other side. By the look on his face, you wondered how much sleep he’d been able to get too. He didn’t look the happiest as he looked at you, and weirdly enough, it felt relieving to see the disappointment in his eyes. It was a reminder that you’d really gotten yourself into some mess, and you were determined to never make Pope look at you like that again.

“I’ve got pop’s truck for the day,” he finally said, scratching the back of his head. “There’s a Planned Parenthood in Charlotte.”

You perked up at that, eyes widening a bit.

“They take walk-ins, but it’s based on urgency and capacity and stuff like that,” he quietly mumbled. “So, we need to leave like…now.”

Your eyes watered, and Pope wouldn’t look at you, his gaze focused on his feet, but you didn’t care. Your stomach flipped for an entirely different reason, and you shakily nodded.

“Okay,” you breathed. “Yeah, okay, let me… I’m gonna get dressed.”

Pope nodded, turning away, and you stared after him before closing your door and searching for something to put on.

You laid in bed, staring at your ceiling with a deep frown.

In truth, you didn’t want to get an abortion. Not fully, and that decision was definitely something you always thought you should be 100% sure about. You’d been sure that you didn’t want Rafe to have any kind of hold on you. You’d been sure of that, but that was about it. In truth, you guessed that was all that mattered.

Pope had been quiet the whole ride there, and you’d accepted that until the drive back. You closed your eyes, still recalling the way he’d yelled at you when you refused to answer the one question you’d been dreading.

“You…you can’t tell me?”

His tone had been incredulous in the truck, and his eyes were wide as he looked between you and the road.

“No…I can’t.”

“Are you serious, right now? You remember where we’re driving from, right?”

The sound of your hand striking his arm had been loud in the vehicle, and you blinked back tears.

“You swear me to secrecy, I literally paid, and you can’t even tell me who?”

You had turned your head towards the window, struggling to swallow.

“I know you know,” he’d spat. “You’re not that kind of girl. You know who it is, and you know what else?”

You’d avoided his eye, but you could feel his heated gaze boring into the side of your face.

“I think it’s the same guy who did that shit to your neck.”

You hadn’t responded, merely keeping your gaze forward, and when it became clear you weren’t budging, you heard Pope mumble something to himself. That had been hours ago, and the last time you saw him, you’d been staring at his back after slamming the truck door closed.

You hadn’t even gotten the chance to thank him.

His anger left a sour taste in your mouth, but it was justified. You knew that much. Pope had every right to be angry and confused and concerned. That was all it really boiled down to, really—concern. Pope was scared and concerned, and rightfully so. It scared you that he made the connection between the incident at Rafe’s house and your pregnancy, and his anger only reminded you of the fact that if he knew it was Rafe,  it would be hell.

The little tiff between Pope’s friends and Rafe would be an all out war.

You were thinking that the full weight of what you did would finally hit you in a week or so when you heard it. A noise outside of your window. You sat up with a slight frown, mind racing as you wondered if it was Pope. It was too late for anyone to be up and outside, but you still found yourself slowly moving towards the window.

You’d been locking it lately, too paranoid and worried.

You didn’t think Rafe would stoop to that level, but the key word was ‘think’. There were a lot of things you didn’t think Rafe would do that he’d done. Like try to drown you, hurt Pope because you dumped him, threaten you at a party. Your curtains were closed, but you still stared at them like you could see through them.

When you heard another noise, you were too scared to pull them back, too afraid of what or who you might see. Your heart started racing, and you just reached for your curtains when you heard a noise…like someone trying to open your window. It was locked, of course, but the sound made your blood run cold, nonetheless.

It was impossible, but it was like he knew. It was like he knew what you did, what you’d deprived him of, and when you yanked the curtain back, only an empty yard met you. No one was there, and as you stared into the empty darkness, it felt like someone was staring back.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

everybody stay with me im shifting back into speculation & analyzing mode, this time about everybody's favorite pair of besties. ill put this under the cut for everyone's sakes

and please, take all of this with a Hefty grain of salt.

so ive been... thinking about a thing. a maybe-possibility. which if this has some merit, the part of me that loves characters having a good time and feeling good feels is screaming in fear. but the louder part of me that loves angst and hurting characters is rubbing its little fly hands together.

short version: i think Barnaby is going to emotionally distance from Wally, if not outright grow to resent him. maybe temporarily, maybe not.

full version: *cracks knuckles* strap in folks. so.

first of all, an entire chunk of Barnaby's bio is dedicated to his character relation to Wally. everyone else only has one-off lines dedicated to their relationships to other neighbors - even Frank & Julie just have single sentences about each other (note that they're described as "partnered with" and "depicted with" respectively. more on that soon). even Wally's bio has his Barnaby mention tacked onto the end of his first paragraph instead of being its own dedicated section

and then there's their character designs - their bios explicitly point out that they share characteristics; color schemes, hearts on their soles, similar outfits.

they were made to be best friends. literally. this quote is what made me start turning this theory over in my mind (sourced from @ /theneighborhoodwatch's collected & absolutely fascinating livestream trivia)

it appears that Barnaby literally did not have a say in whether or not he and Wally are friends. their bios even say "illustrated pages note that they were best friends multiple times." they have to be best friends.

which brings us back to Frank & Julie. they briefly reference each other in their bios, but they aren't described as best friends. it's incredibly likely that they were meant to be a romantic couple - i briefly covered that theory in this post (dont read the first one i was going insane) but they managed to avoid that. Frank and Julie defied the script and chose to be best friends instead.

and then in the trivia document a few more character relationships are briefly touched on, like how Howdy considers Barnaby a close friend, and Sally considers either Barnaby or Poppy as her closest friend, etc.

everyone else seems to be choosing who they're close with. they're forming their own opinions and dynamics and relationships. & its interesting that Barnaby is stated for both of these - as if implying that he may return the friendship feelings, or at the very least he's developed enough of a relationship with them to earn their affection

Barnaby and Wally... i doubt they ever got that. they were best friends from the start, no development, no choice. it's written into them.

and then there's how their relationship has been portrayed so far. i believe i saw an ask where Clown stated that Barnaby is very polite to Wally, which struck me as odd. have you ever had a polite relationship to your best friend? have you ever seen best friends be polite? i'd be surprised!

best friends mess with each other! they tease and rib and roast! what is a best friend for if not mutual tomfuckery?! jesting around? playfully pushing boundaries? a Polite best friendship... that's a straight up oxymoron. no such thing. that sounds boring and exhausting.

not only that, but the fact that Barnaby is often used for Wally's painting segments, and is the go-to guy for teaching Wally something new, is kind of concerning. it gives me the vibe that a big part of Barnaby's literal reason for existing is to be Wally's friend & guide.

which would make the fact of him being described as polite to Wally make sense. of course he's not going to push their relationship or try to deepen it - he's forming his own dynamics with the other neighbors. with Wally... it's already established. that is how they are with each other. that is what they are to each other.

and it's not like Wally can be the one to introduce nuances. i don't mean that as a slight or anything - he's just the way he's been described and the things stated about him that make me think that he wouldn't really... know how to? it just wouldn't occur to him. he probably thinks his and Barnaby's relationship is what a best friendship is and is how it should be.

but they have to hang out. they have to refer to each other as best friends. and while i believe that Wally does wholeheartedly think that they're best friends, close as can be... i doubt Barnaby feels the same. like - yes, he probably does care about Wally. everybody likes Wally.

but it's gotta be frustrating for Barnaby, especially as time goes on and he becomes more himself as a person over just being a character playing a part. it probably stunts his relationship growth with others, since his ~best friend spot~ is already taken and who would want to encroach on that? especially since its taken by Wally mcfuckin Darling?

their friendship might become less of a role and more of a responsibility. Barnaby might grow to feel obligated to stick with Wally as his "best friend". someone invites Barnaby to hang out and/or help with something? sorry, he has to pose for Wally's painting. Barnaby is trying to do his own thing? sorry, Wally is knocking on the door and asking for help with something.

i wonder if Barnaby ever hopes that Wally will go to someone else, or feels relief when he does. and then does he feel irritation/guilt over that denied hope or that granted relief? then does he get angry at himself for those emotions?

how would this effect how he treats Wally and acts around him? this confusing muddle of emotions and this strange growing resentment for his painfully earnest friend who only ever means well, if he means at all.

it makes me curious whether or not this theory has merit. and how this could come to a head. what would Barnaby, in this situation, do if/when he discovers that they're puppets on a set, and he's literally written to be Wally's bestie while everyone else changed their scripts and chose their own relationships.

personally, i don't think he'd be happy, and i doubt he'd handle it well.

[tmntkiseki]

This is a bit tangential to your Bo staff thought, but it made me think about it.

I’ve always thought Donny was the weakest fighter, mostly because on screen he’s the most likely to just drop what he’s doing or trip over himself. Which I attribute to him having his focus split between training and tech.

However, I personally don’t think him being physically the weakest makes sense. I don’t know a lot about the Bo staff either, but he uses it to launch himself quite a bit which has gotta take some crazy upper body strength. Which also tracks since he’s the one who’s (most often) working with heavy machinery. I think that’s a really interesting thought about how the weapon could lead to that stereotype, though. A guy with a staff doesn’t immediately look as imposing as a guy with a sword, even if they’re built the same.

Yeah, being physically weak and being the weakest fighter are two different things. As a casual observer, the bō comes off as a weapon that is far trickier to utilize effectively in combat as an offensive weapon than, say, Leonardo's katanas or Raphael's sais, simply due to the fact it's not a blade weapon; it is, for lack of better comparison, a glorified stick. And because it is a stick, it doesn't look particularly intimidating, which might give off the impression that Don is weak and doesn't have as much going for him when faced with a crowd of enemies.

However, what the bō lacks in raw attack power it more than makes up for in overall utility. A lot of Donatello's fighting style seems to rely on first defending against attacks with his bō, then finding an opportunity to counterattack using either the bō itself or his own strength. This gif offers a pretty good example of what Donnie looks like when he's at his best in combat, since we get to see him using his bō both offensively and defensively.

Like, especially note how the encounter with the Foot Ninja wielding the katana plays out. Don first uses his bō to block his attacker's weapon, then kicks him away while spinning the bō in the event the Foot Ninja attempts a counterattack, adopting a defensive posture in the process. A lot of lovely little details in the span of only a few seconds that show just what kind of fighter Don is.

Again, it's difficult to talk about how the turtles fight when you don't study/practice martial arts yourself, but Don is an interesting case study because he's probably one of the strongest turtles physically, yet his weapon of choice and the fighting style that comes along with it demands that he fight more defensively.

Edit: ALSO, in regards to Don having his focus divided between both ninja training and inventing, that would definitely account for some of his occasional clumsy moments during missions. He's definitely dedicated when it comes to his actual training sessions, but if he's spending a significant amount of time working on his machines, then he's likely not getting in quite as much practice as, say, Leo.

[calciumdeficientt]

Cal !! Saw the previous ask about Bryce and I absolutely loved your ideas- do you have anything in mind for Gord dearest?

Please, call me milky!

Anyway …Gorrrrrrrd! Gord was my first love, he was the first NPC i heard speak when i played the game (past this is your school,obvs) and he’s the one that hit me over the head with the autism sledgehammer. i want to scrunch him up and throw him in a wood chipper

GORD VENDOME HCS

He’s the cuntiest bitch on the bullworth academy campus and I’m literally not going to accept any form of argument, he came out of the womb wearing aquaberry. He lives and breathes it, its his lifeblood. He plans his walk around school to and from each class, checking the weather to make sure he if needs to tweak any parts of the route so that’s he has the best chance of getting every student to see how effortless, demure and graceful he is in his choice of fine clothes, jewellery and hair care. No one is fooled by him, they know it takes a hell of a lot of effort.

Gord does a closet reshuffle every 6 months or so, just to make sure all his clothes are on trend and in season. This is standard prep procedure, but what makes Gord’s rearranging so special is that he literally cannot bear to throw anything away. He attaches memories to every stitch of fabric he’s ever put on his body, he’s a work of art and therefore every single outfit he’s ever worn simply has to be memorialised, he can’t throw it all away. His father has dedicated several houses just to the backlog of Gord’s discarded clothing. There’s more than enough in there to fully stock several Aquaberry locations for literal decades.

He gets dreadful hay fever, its actually kind of disgusting to look at him if he hasn’t taken an antihistamine. Luckily very few people have ever seen him like that, he has several boxes on his person at all times during the spring and summer. He just doesnt have the heart to tell Jimmy about his pollen allergy, so when he’s given flowers he has to hold all of his sneezes in. This then makes his eyes water, and therefore makes Jimmy think he’s so overjoyed with the gift that he’s moved to tears. Luckily for gord he keeps several hand stitched silk handkerchiefs on his person at all times, initialled with thread made of spun gold, he’s not some kind of common mutt that uses disposable tissues.

Gord is a rather talented pianist, he was given the choice as a child to either play polo with his father, or take piano lessons. The thought of the latter made him so lightheaded he thought that he was having a heart attack so he chose to play piano instead. His family have a very nice grand piano in their house’s foyer, but a separate, dedicated room for music practice with an equally expensive, but less aesthetically pleasing piano. On special occasions when the Vendomes wanted to show off, they’d plonk Gord in front of the piano and set him loose. It was usually Schubert or Bach to show how deeply cultured their young son was; but in his personal time, Gord found he much preferred to play the works of more modern classical composers, Leonard Cohen was a particular favourite in his early teens. He doesn’t play all that often nowadays, he’s much too busy, but every time he thinks he might be forgetting he’ll spend an hour or so playing through the giant stack of sheet music he’s accumulated over the years.

His cologne is one of a kind, hand mixed by a company in Milan, its tailored to him and only him and was originally a gift for his 10th birthday. It’s more feminine smelling than most colognes but he thinks it makes him stand out more, he’s not a traditionally masculine guy, so he likes that his cologne reflects that. He’s been gifted many other scents, usually from distant relatives or prospective marriage candidates that dont really know him but they’re just not the same.

Actually got bullied so insanely hard for his ears when he was a kid that he refused to leave the house without a hat on. Even when he first came to bullworth kids weren’t the nicest to him. His ears are a big source of insecurity for him and he is in the process of convincing his father to let him get surgery to tuck them in. His satellite dishes are so cute and he should never get rid of them but its not really up to me.

Comforts Pinky when Derby forgets about every single one of their dates, he takes her shopping for whatever she wants, to dinner someplace exclusive (he always makes reservations on days when those two have dates, he just knows Derby will bail), and then back to Harrington house to watch movies. He openly cries at the sad parts of the romcoms they inevitably end up watching, often more so than Pinky.

Holds a fondness for poor people that not even he himself can fully explain. If he had to pinpoint it, its their freedoms. They’re free to be content with nothing, or to work to fix it, they dont start at an advantage in life and therefore get to enjoy the ride a little bit more. Thats his rose tinted view of it anyway, obviously he hasn’t the time to spend creating a nuanced understanding of his infatuation, he just accepts it as part of his psyche and moves on with his own, utterly fabulous life.

[shouts-into-the-void]

Some of My Favorite Webcomic Characters and Why:

Austen - Always Human by Walkingnorth

Your average college student experience—stressed out to the point of breaking but refusing to acknowledge it because of the societal pressure to stick with a career choice you made before you were old enough to pay taxes. The first time I'd ever been able to fully project myself onto a character. Heavily relate to crying or anger as a reaction to all strong emotions.

Lakka - Shoot Around

Ran around post-zombie apocalypse singing about her crush while killing zombies with her bare hands. Got completely blindsided by all of her friends deciding to split off to do their own thing, and then became a fashion designer about it. And got the girl in the end.

Juliette - The Beast of Hadingly Hill by HoratioMarissa

I don't know if I can put into words how much I adore her. She's adorable, protective of her girlfriend attendant. Immediately threatens to fire anyone who even looks at Mallory wrong. And she's a monster?? Everyone is being waaaaay to mean about her appearance, btw.

Brahm - A Spell For A Smith by ArtSasquatch

World's Most Respectful Man. His dynamic with Ivy and dedication to making her feel comfortable is adorable. I love when male characters with a tragic backstory are allowed to be kind and decent to other people instead of getting the Manwha ML treatment.

Michaelis - Clinic of Horrors by Merryweather and PokuriMio

Literally just wants to go to school. The greatest friend ever, would NOT let you be brainwashed into joining a cult run by a fungal infection piloting a dead body. Black hair, red eyes, and a monster??? Hello??? He fills all the requirements, guys!

A/Apollo/Avery - Seemingly Dark by RaptorJules

Looks Squishy. His dynamic with Rose is cute. Idk, he vibes like someone you want to wrap in blankets and give hot chocolate to and that sort of kicked-puppy energy appeals to me. Also whatever tragic backstory he's got going on has to be, like, The Tragic Backstory Ever and I don't even know what it is yet.

Eulalie - Nevermore by Kate Flynn and Kit Trace

The random trivia and occult facts?? The head-empty energy despite clearly being very intelligent? We are the same person. Her Spector having the ability to take away other people's Spectors has so much narrative potential and pretty much means she solos everyone. Also purple hair, eccentric personality, and potentially sapphic? She fills all of the requirements, guys!

[rolling-storm-writing]

Dating Graves (MW2 Headcanons)

Authors note:  Hey yall! this is gonna be a Graves/Top!Male!Reader I also tried to keep the reader as gender-neutral as possible so lemme know what yall think.  I’ve never written for this guy so take it with a grain of salt but regardless please enjoy!

Phillip Graves was not an easy man to befriend, and if you didn’t work with him in the forces it might be even harder.  He’s a tough nut to crack even with all shit the two of you have been through together.

Eventually, he would warm up to you, and he’d get used to seeing your face and hearing your voice on coms.  But it’s a very slow burn that’s for sure, that man is very dedicated to his job and would certainly put it over you 7/10 times. 

Your joking banter would become almost routine with his rolling eyes rolling even further with each new joke you managed to write up.  Soon enough he’d slowly start to see you as a friend he could depend on, when giving instructions his eyes would always find yours in the group.  Your slow nodding of understanding never failed to make him more confident with whatever he was planning.

Out of the two of you, you would definitely fall in love with him first.  He would fall much harder as time went on and your friendship only grew stronger.  Acts of service and words of approval were his love language.

Every morning he made sure to get himself a coffee and your (beverage of choice) every time without fail.  Would watch you clean your guns or sharpen your knives with a few “looks good” or “you’re good at that” from time to time.

He’s still a hard head and often times you two but heads on certain issues especially some opinions or ideas.  It stems from his own deep-buried issues or bad experience but no matter what you two always come back together.  

Around the four-year mark of knowing each other, he would start seeing you in a different light.  I see him having trouble with his sexuality and dealing with the idea he might be gay or at least bisexual.

He can be pretty insecure at times and these kinds of insecurities would start to cause tension between you and him.  He would start to push you away and start to hate how great you’d make him feel.

Your banter would stop, he wouldn’t get your drinks anymore, and overall it would just boil over into a big fight.  You’d confront him about it and this would just push you both too hard limits.

I could see him admitting his feelings in that heated argument and it would be the biggest weight on him.  The surprise on his face when you pulled him into the biggest and strongest hug.

From then on it would be a slow but beautiful romance with you slowly pulling him out of his shell.  Road trips, fancy dinners, traveling, and lots of DIY date nights.

 I can also see him being a very loyal guy who’s pretty possessive and kind of clingy.  Always thinking you might leave him for someone else but you always reassure him otherwise.

It takes him a bit to get used to being the more submissive partner too, especially if you’re taller than him.  He’s very much a power-bottom who just loves to be handled like one.  Not a big fan of PDA but loves the way you hold him and kiss him in private.

Adores the way your hands hold his waist and just melts whenever you kiss his neck.  You make him feel safe and this man just turns to putty in your strong hands…

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Ending Note:  I hope you guys liked this and if you have any suggestions for more let me know! I was thinking of doing one for Price and Ghost as well!  Thanks for reading!