#I will go back to it and make the full picture

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hello! thinking if you woulf write a history about Kimi Raikkonen and the fact the e everytime he go back to the paddock, but he NEVER talk to anyone only see (and play) with one of the drivers daughter (and she even smile to her)

your blog is amazing!!!🩷🩷

The Ice Man and the Princess

The sun was blazing down on the paddock, shimmering heat rising off the tarmac as drivers, team principals, and media bustled around like ants in designer sunglasses. Everyone was abuzz with excitement. Not because of the race. Not because of the rumored upgrades to the Red Bull car. Not even because Seb was visiting with his usual charm and environmental flyers.

No. The paddock had one topic of conversation: Kimi was back.

The Iceman had returned.

Except, he wasn’t back to make any statements. He wasn’t there to support the GPDA, or give nostalgic interviews, or do that awkward thing where Sky Sports tries to wrangle more than three sentences out of him.

He was here for one person, and one person only:

Yn.

The two-year-old daughter of Alex and Lily, toddling sunshine with tiny sneakers, round cheeks, and a shock of slightly-too-much hair for a toddler. And, for reasons the entire grid was still trying to figure out, she had managed to melt the heart of Kimi Raikkonen himself.

"Is he coming over?" Lando whispered, peeking out of the McLaren hospitality unit like a meerkat.

"To us?" Charles scoffed, sipping his espresso. "Don’t be ridiculous. He’s locked on target. Look. Baby in sight."

Sure enough, Kimi was gliding through the paddock like a ghost. Drivers and team members tried to wave at him, some even attempted a handshake.

Kimi walked past them all like they were ghosts in his simulation.

"Hey, Kimi!" Seb tried, cheerfully stepping in front of him.

Kimi blinked. Calculated. Then took a single step to the left and walked right around him.

Seb stared after him, mouth slightly open. "Did he just... detour me?"

"You got Kimi'd," George muttered, trying to contain his laughter.

Meanwhile, over in the Williams garage, Yn was sitting on the floor next to a crate of tires, stuffing her teddy bear’s head into a toy teacup.

"Teddy say aaah," she mumbled seriously.

"You say aaah," Kimi said, suddenly there, crouching beside her.

"KIMI!" she squealed, leaping into his arms with all the grace of a flying watermelon.

Kimi caught her with practiced ease. “Bwoah, heavy today.”

Alex, sipping coffee nearby, barely looked up.

"She made you carry her bag last time, mate. She’s training for it."

"Bwoah, she's strong," Kimi muttered, letting her hang onto his neck like a baby koala. He moved to the corner of the garage and sat down on a stool. Yn, being the tiny dictator she was, instantly clambered into his lap.

Then she pulled out a pink marker.

"I draw!"

Kimi extended both arms like a seasoned professional.

"Make it good."

Moments later, Lando—young, bright-eyed, full of optimism—spotted Kimi across the garage.

“Okay, I’m going to try again. Maybe if I ask about the Sauber days, he’ll warm up.”

“Don’t,” Daniel warned.

“I got this.”

Lando jogged up to him. "Hey, Kimi, just wanted to—"

Kimi didn’t even look up.

“Bwoah. Not you talking to me."

Lando stopped like he'd hit an invisible wall.

Behind him, the collective will of the paddock crumbled into silent laughter. George turned away, biting his knuckle. Charles dropped his coffee and didn't even notice. Pierre took a picture. Daniel physically sat down to wheeze.

Lando blinked. “I—I just wanted to talk about karting—”

Kimi patted Yn on the head. “Good girl. No small talk.”

Yn nodded solemnly. “Boring.”

Lando staggered away in defeat. “She called me boring!”

Seb, watching all this from a distance, looked betrayed. “I got bypassed. I was detoured.”

Max, leaning against a wall, smirked. “You were traffic.”

Later, in the hospitality area, all the drivers gathered at a table like gossiping teenagers at lunch.

"He lets her draw flowers on him," Lewis said, showing a photo. “Flowers. On Kimi.”

“Last week in Austria, she put a sticker on his forehead,” Pierre added. “He wore it. All day.”

“He drank pretend tea from a pink plastic cup,” Oscar said, holding up a finger. “Twice.”

Fernando raised an eyebrow. “I heard he smiled.”

Everyone went quiet.

“No.”

“Full teeth,” Oscar confirmed.

Charles gasped. “He smiled at me once. But it was… like… a mistake. He thought I was a cat.”

Back in the Williams garage, Lily arrived to see Kimi sitting cross-legged on the floor, with a flower drawn on his bicep, a tiara on his head, and a toddler trying to explain to him in a mix of Thai and Mandarin how her teddy had fallen asleep in the pit lane.

“Xiong xiong sleep! Bù kěyǐ! Too loud vroom vroom! Must nap!"

Kimi nodded solemnly. “I understand. I also hate vroom vroom sometimes.”

She handed him a tiny blanket.

“Shh, teddy cold.”

He tucked it around the bear’s head. “There.”

Lily blinked. "You alright, Kimi?"

“Bwoah, yeah. We’re just chillin’. Teddy's in coma.”

“Right.”

Alex appeared behind her. “She tried to explain a tire compound to him this morning.”

“She said medium tires taste like chicken,” Lily nodded.

Later that afternoon, the drivers tried one more time.

They lined up—Seb, Daniel, Lando (now cautiously at the back), Charles, and Lewis.

George held a sign: “We Just Want To Say Hi.”

Kimi walked past.

Only paused briefly to say:

“Not now. Busy.”

And there she was, giggling in a pile of bubble wrap, holding Kimi’s phone (he had given it to her, no case, just vibes), while he pretended to be asleep next to her.

“Why does she like him so much?” Pierre asked later, still trying to figure it out.

“He doesn’t try too hard,” Alex said simply.

“He doesn’t talk too much,” Lily added.

“He doesn’t treat her like a baby,” Oscar shrugged.

“And,” Max added with a sly grin, “he lets her draw on his shoes.”

Charles looked horrified. “She ruined his shoes?!”

“No. Made them better,” Kimi said behind them, holding up one sneaker covered in glittery stickers and a badly-drawn sun.

“It’s fashion,” he added.

That evening, as the sun dipped low and the paddock began to wind down, Kimi sat outside the Williams motorhome, Yn asleep in his arms, her thumb in her mouth.

The drivers walked past silently. No teasing now.

“He really loves her,” George murmured.

“Not sure love is the right word,” Seb said quietly. “More like... she’s his person.”

“He picked her,” Lewis smiled.

And from across the paddock, Lando sighed dramatically.

“Wish I was that toddler.”

After this comment, Charles never stopped giving Lando big side eyes 😊🫡🙂‍↕️

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

-♡○♡

[jadore-f1]

Hard Launched | LN4 | chapter 1

Synopsis ♡ A series of coincidences lead the world to thinking that you’re dating Lando Norris.

Genre ♡ SMAU, Lando x Fem!reader, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, may be slightly suggestive in future chapters

Notes ♡ MDNI (no smut but I am a +18 blog), my first smau! i’m having so much fun with this lol so i hope you guys enjoy! 🫶🏾

Face Claim ♡ Kianna Naomi (any other pics are for outfits and general vibes) all credit to pintrest for photos

y/nuser

(one minute video and one picture)

15k 💬 600 ⤵️ 343

y/nuser: @/Kwnway @/Kehlani Y’all did your big one with Worst Behavior i’m obsessed! So you know I had to make a lil combo for it 😘 Watch the full video on YouTube and get a behind the scenes look at my creative process!

bestieuser: oh you ate this upppp omg teach me

↳ y/nuser: I gotchu pookie one on one lessons coming up 🫦

↳ bestieuser: 🧍🏾‍♀️see here you go with that freaky stuff

↳ y/nuser: my bad 😭😭😭

nicolekirkland: 🔥🔥🔥 as always, can’t wait to collab again!

↳ y/nuser: 🫶🏾🫶🏾 yes we need to get back in the studio together asap

user1: ur so talented!

user2: @/user3 are you seeing what i’m seeing?

↳ user3: i’m peeping for sure…

↳ y/nuser: ???

user4: loving the dance but the shoes!! i need immediately

↳ y/nuser: thank you lovely, they’re from Aldo you can use the code linked in my bio for money off ✨✨

user3: @/user2 i can’t find anything showing they know each other

↳ user2: idk it feels targeted like the lyrics plus she’s wearing his jersey in her yt video 🤷‍♀️

user5: she’s not his usual type at all i think you guys are reaching

user6: ew what is she even doing

user7: LMAO bitches do anything for attention

user8: 🙄🙄typical slut just trying to use Lando for clout he would never go for her

↳ y/nuser: Not to fucking much???? who are you even talking about

Maxfewtrell: 👀

Meanwhile…

New Stories Posted!

Lando Posted on his story!

🏁F1gossip has posted a new article!

New WAG on the rise?

LANDO NORRIS & INFLUENCER SPARK ROMANCE RUMORS AFTER NIGHTCLUB SIGHTING

Lando Norris, McLaren’s golden boy is fueling the rumor mill once again. But this time it’s his off-track moves that have everyone buzzing. The 25 year old driver was spotted at an exclusive London nightclub over the weekend, but it’s who he was seen with that has fans putting on their detective hats. None other than Y/N L/N, a 24 year old dancer originally from the United States.

Eyewitnesses say the pair arrived separately and weren’t really seen close together BUT maybe they’re just good at keeping it low-key in the public eye.

The speculation started when Y/N posted a dance cover to a song fans felt was heavily targeted towards their beloved driver. With lyrics like

“Keep drivin’ one hand on the wheel and one inside it Speed into your crib to get me riding”.

The post was soon followed by a youtube video where she can be seen wearing his iconic papaya merch. {link to video}

I mean come on girl, it doesn’t get more obvious than that!

Naturally, social media went into overdrive.

“Why is Lando always at these clubs? Who’s that with him??” wrote one curious fan.
“Okay but if Lando and Y/N are a thing… I’m not surviving this season,” tweeted another.

To add fuel to the fire, followers noticed Y/N and Lando both posted very similar Stories the next day, coincidence? F1 Twitter thinks not.

So, are Lando and Y/N just friends who party, or is there a new power couple on the horizon? Only time and perhaps a cheeky soft launch — will tell.

But for now, we’ll be keeping our eyes on the grid... and the guest lists.

Okay sooo thoughts? 👀 no direct interaction between our main couple but trust! it’s coming soon 🙂‍↔️i have so many ideas i just gotta make them make sense you know. gotta figure out how to turn the enemies to lovers because shes sick of him at the moment 😭(deservedly so tbh) Anyways Thanks for reading!! love ya 🫶🏾🫶🏾

[bearforcecaptions]

It’s my cologne.

That’s where it begins for most of them — but especially for him.

The scent hits first. It always does. Leather and smoke, with warm notes of aged cedar, worn tobacco, musk that clings to the lungs like memory. But under it all — beneath the rich, masculine perfume I distilled over years of trial and private experimentation — there’s something that doesn’t come from any bottle. Something that wraps around the mind like a warm fog. Gentle. Heady. Opening.

I don’t need to touch. I don’t need to command. All I need to do is be there — and breathe.

He was straight when I met him. The real kind. The kind that walks around with a cocky grin, a worn baseball cap, and no real awareness of how much of his identity is just noise. His voice was always a little too loud. He always looked like he was performing for someone, though I don’t think he ever figured out who. Confident in the way young men are when no one’s ever made them doubt themselves — yet.

That gym was full of them. Shaved chests, neon tanks, cold stares. They glanced at me sometimes — older, heavier, hairier — then looked away like they hadn’t. He was no different. The first few times, anyway.

Until he caught my scent.

I was sitting on the bench near the back corner, toweling off, the cologne still fresh on my beard and chest. I saw him walk past, mid-conversation with a friend, mid-laugh. Then I saw him stop. A beat too long. Just a breath. That’s all it took. His laugh cracked. His eyes flicked to me, puzzled. I didn’t even smile. Just met his gaze. Let the scent do its work.

He wouldn’t remember that moment. I made sure of it. It would dissolve into the background of his day, like a skipped beat — like forgetting why you walked into a room. But his body remembered. His brain learned something, in ways his conscious mind couldn’t grasp.

That’s the trick of it. The cologne doesn’t shove. It seeps. It convinces.

He started changing his schedule. I didn’t ask him to. He just started arriving when I was there. He told himself it was coincidence. That he liked the quieter hours. But I watched him — how he lingered near me, how he seemed distracted, a little more uncertain around me than anyone else. That cocky smile softened when he talked to me. He forgot to perform.

He asked about my cologne on the third week.

“What is that stuff you wear?” he said, with a nervous chuckle. “Smells… I don’t know. Good. Strong.”

I just said, “Something I make myself.” And that was enough.

He didn’t notice the way his breathing changed when he got close to me. How his body leaned in. How his shoulders dropped a little. He didn’t question why he started listening to me more — why when I gave advice, he followed it, even when it contradicted everything he’d done before.

I told him he’d look better with a beard.

Two weeks later, he stopped shaving. He told me it was just laziness. He said it offhandedly, as if he barely noticed. But I saw him stroking it while we talked, tugging the edges while his eyes flicked toward mine, waiting for approval. When I reached out and touched his cheek — thickening with scruff — he didn’t flinch. He just smiled. Nervous. Flushed. Obedient.

He still thought he was straight. That was important.

He still dated girls for a while. Still posted their pictures, still made the occasional comment about “getting laid.” But there was something hollow in it. The way someone sings along to lyrics they don’t understand. He was going through the motions, but the heat was gone. The hunger.

Meanwhile, I was in his dreams.

He wouldn’t tell me at first. But it leaked out, slowly, as it always does. The confusion. The vividness. The way he could feel the heat of my body, smell my chest hair, the weight of it — heavy, masculine, real. He said it like he was confessing something. I just smiled and rubbed his shoulder.

He stayed longer each night. Claimed he lost track of time. We’d sit on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, his breathing slower when I was near. Sometimes his head would tilt, just barely, until it touched me. He never apologized. Never pulled away. And I never said a word.

By then, the changes were more than social. His clothes shifted. He stopped wearing flashy brand names. He bought flannel. Heavier jeans. Real boots. He told me he was “trying a new look.” He didn’t remember where the idea came from. I did.

I helped him cut his hair shorter, rougher. Said it brought out his jaw. It did. He looked good. He always had. He just hadn’t known how to be seen before.

He stopped waxing his chest. That was my rule. I wanted him natural. I wanted him mine. The first time he stripped off his shirt and I saw the new growth — darker, denser, thicker — he blushed. I stepped forward, placed a hand on his chest, and said softly, “Good.”

He didn’t speak. But he stood a little straighter.

He sleeps in my bed now.

I never told him to. He just… started. A few nights a week, at first. Then every night. His old apartment’s still out there somewhere, but it doesn’t matter anymore. He has a toothbrush here. A drawer. A place by my side. And in his mind, this has always been the way it was going to be.

He calls me “Daddy” now. Not with a wink or a smirk. Not in some playful, performative way. He says it like it’s my name. Says it softly when I brush past him. Whispers it when he wraps his arms around me at night, burying his face in my chest hair, breathing me in like he needs it to sleep.

And he does.

When he’s away from me too long, he gets restless. Fidgety. He doesn’t know why. Can’t explain it. But when I pull him in and press his face to my beard, I feel the tension leave his body. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

He never questions it.

Never wonders why his old self feels like a stranger now. Never wonders when exactly he stopped wanting women, or why the thought of obeying me feels so right, so natural. Why hearing “good boy” makes him close his eyes and smile.

Because he doesn’t remember who he was.

He thinks he’s always been this way — mine. Submissive. Devoted. Gay. In love with his big, hairy Daddybear.

And he is. Because I made him that way.

All it took was a little patience. A slow hand. A warm embrace. And a scent that slipped into every crack of his mind, filling the spaces he didn’t know were empty.

It’s my cologne.

And he’s mine.

Now. Always.

[revelboo]

Boo, you know how some babies stiffen up and start shaking their little arms and legs, and kind of growl like “aaah… aaaah” when they want something, and only stop when you give them something to suck on (especially when they’re teething)? I can totally picture TFP Megatron’s sparkling doing exactly that. Reader walking around carrying him, with a bag full of energon goodies for when he starts growling at people, then they just hand him one, and he gets distracted, happily sucking on it and getting himself all messy

That sparkling is stressed out so bad, growling and hissing, seeing threats everywhere

Distractions

TFP Megatron x Reader

• Keeping a hand on your son as you move along the little human walkway Megatron had made the Vehicons construct before they’d all defected and disappeared who knows where, you see Knockout headed your way in the hall of the Nemesis and he glances at you and your son when the tiny sparkling begins to tremble, limbs kicking out and trembling as he starts hissing. Reaching into the bag at your hip, you grab a soft energon goodie and offer it to him.

• And he leans, mouth opening to gum at it instead of taking it as his optics cut toward Knockout with a distrustful, muffled warbling mmmn of noise. “Want one?” You ask, arching your brows right as Breakdown rounds the corner and brushes his servos against Knockout’s arm. Before the bigger mech is holding out his hand and the medic stiffens as you fish another tiny goodie out and lay it on his servo. Watching Breakdown grin at Knockout, before wincing when the medic clears his vents at him in disgust. Amused as the huge mech pops the teeny bite in his mouth and wiggles a servo at your son, you keep walking, glancing down to see your son smearing energon all over himself. “That good?” You ask and he pats your neck and hair with a sticky hand. Holding up a fistful of the treat. Offering you a bite again, unable to understand its poisonous to you. “No thanks.”

• Pressing a kiss against his helm to make him chirp, you head for the bridge and Megatron’s throne room. And it feels good to not be so helpless, to be able to get around via the series of ladders, stairs and walkways that now litter the ship. Enabling you to visit the other humans, to carry your son to play with Predaking’s twins under close watch since those sparklings play rough. And you’re almost sure Soundwave’s human might be sparked, the nightmare, tentacled mech not letting them out of his sight now and hovering nervously the last time you’d brought your son over to let them fuss over him. Because it’s not escaped you that your sparkling is more at ease around humans than Cybertronians.

• Head lifting as he spots you round the corner carrying his youngling, Megatron stands and heads your way. And tries to ignore when his son immediately warbles uncertain growls at him, servos fisting your shirt and the harness underneath. Pretending the sparkling’s distrust doesn’t bother him as he reaches to cup his hands around you both and his son begins hissing louder, the noise tapering into a whine when you kiss him and offer him an energon goodie. Those wide optics stare up at him as the sparkling grabs your wrist and mouths the treat. Settling himself on his throne, he cradles you both against his chassis in his palm. “You’re making him soft,” he mutters as you rub a hand against his son’s back.

• “He’s a baby,” you counter. You know Megatron’s youth was a hard struggle to survive in a harsh world, but your son doesn’t have to know any of that. “You can teach him gladiator crap when he’s a teenager. Right now, he’s going to be happy.” Even if he’s stiff and growling raspily because Megatron’s holding you. The little one picking up on his dad’s shitty vibes maybe. Able to instinctively tell Megatron’s an asshole. Or it’s you. Maybe he’s picking up on how stressed and uneasy you sometimes are being surrounded by Cybertronians. Resting your cheek against his developing helm, you push down that uneasy, guilty feeling. Hoping it’s not you making your son afraid of his dad.

Went to go pick tomatoes and yeah, that’s his tomato now. I just clipped off the entire branch and carried it to the tree line so he can’t eat anymore of them

[melancholymetropolis]

“Did you know?” Stack asked, staring Mary directly in the eye.

“Know what?” Mary snapped back at him. 

“About Y/N and her daughter,” Stack clarified. 

He was scarily calm. It was one of the only times anyone had ever seen him that way. Even when Mary raised her voice at him and shamed him for leaving. His expression was melancholic and somber. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t even bat an eye when Mary came hooting and hollering into the juke. For the first time in a long time, Stack was silent. His mind was whirling into oblivion. Thoughts rendering him mute and unapproachable. He had tried to put on a brave face and keep his usual smiley demeanor. But it was only a shadow of who he once was. A mask to hide behind his true self. Or, more like a new self. 

A father?

Mary visibly stiffened and gripped the front of her dress. Bracing herself for his reaction. “Yes, I did.”

Stack shook his head and turned to walk away. 

“Wait! Just let me—” Someone immediately cut between them, delaying her pursuit of him. 

It was two lovers, swirling along with the music. Completely mindless to everything and everyone around them. Mary gazed upon them. Taking in their brown skin in the low light and bright, white smiles. She, also, had inner turmoil plaguing her soul. As much as she loved Stack, she knew it was forbidden. Not because of their skin color, but because of their history. Being raised together, alongside Anne and Y/N. She knew the twins were very protective of them— their families were burned at the stake for practicing witchcraft. The four of them were orphans, something they all bonded over. Something Mary couldn’t fathom, since she had her mother. She hated the way the twins looked at them— starry-eyed and full of hope. Knowing that if they wanted to settle down someday, it would be them they would choose. Leaving her out of the union completely. 

She would be left alone, possibly forever. 

When Mary finally caught up to Stack, she saw him heading straight to Annie. His head was bowed, and his fists were clenched at his sides. Almost like a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs. He whispered something to her behind the counter, which prompted her to nod and gesture for Grace to take over. The two sauntered from the bar and into a back room. 

Something that Smoke immediately caught and silently questioned. 

“You know what I’m gonna ask you,” Stack said silently, almost in a whisper. As if he were too ashamed or terrified to say it aloud. It would make the situation that much more real. Make his absence that much more painful.

“About Madeline?” She raised an eyebrow, studying his face closely. 

He tried not to let the look of astonishment cross his face, but failed. Stack had finally learned the little girl’s name after hours of pondering. He was happy with the choice. Y/N had named her after her mother. A fearless woman, tougher than any man he’d come across. 

She was a seer. Could predict the future mere days before it would happen. Sometimes, even weeks before, depending on the gravity of the case. She had seen her own death in her dream, days before it happened. Saw the white hoods and chains behind her closed eyes. Felt the heat and pain of the fire against her skin. She was only given two days before the Klan came knocking on her door and used every second of it. She wrote down all her spells in the family grimoire, kept notes about her apothecary by her bedside, and a letter for her daughter on where to go when everything was done. 

Madeline didn’t utter a sound when she was being burned. She simply closed her eyes and pictured her daughter’s smile while the flames consumed her. 

At least that was what she told Y/N in a dream.

Stack nodded, unable to trust his words.

“I’m pretty sure you don’t need me to tell you that she’s your baby,” Annie replied, hands resting on her hips. “Your eyes work just as good as mine.”

He released a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wish she had told me. Things could’ve been different.” 

“Before or after you started robbing trains with your brother,” she chided with a scowl.

“Anne, please,” Stack begged. “Can we not do this now?”

“We have to. Whether you like it or not,” she chastised, stepping closer to him. “You cannot come back here after seven years and think you have the right to anything. Leave Y/N out of your mess. She has moved on. I think you should do the same.”

“But, Madeline—”

“You may have fathered that child, but she already has a daddy,” Annie interjected. “She does not know you, Elias.”

He thought back to Madeline and her chubby brown face. How she looked at him with such disdain and irritation. She was so protective of her mother, but smart enough not to challenge him too much. So, she asked permission before heading over to get someone who could handle him. Her daddy. Someone who wasn't him.

“And who would that be?” He asked, after a moment of silence.

“I already told you to leave her—”

“Annie, please!” The desperation in his voice was something she had never heard. 

Desperate and Stack never went together. He would always find a way to get what he wanted, however he wanted it. He wasn't above cheating, stealing, or lying. He'd rather be a criminal than be without his desires. But, he couldn't do that with Y/N. She wasn't the type to be pleased by it. Her calm spirit healed him in ways he didn’t he couldn't comprehend. Seeing her was the true homecoming. She had gotten even more beautiful with age. Still tall, thick with ass for days. But she had an air that was unrecognizable. An elegance that wasn't there before. Motherhood looked good on her.

“Please, what?” Smoke asked from the doorway. 

Stack groaned loudly and clenched his jaw. “We'll be out in a minute.”

“Sure you will,” Smoke closed the door behind him. “But not after you tell me what got your head all screwed up. I'm guessing it has to do with Y/N, since you only ever bother Annie about her.”

“Leave it alone, Smoke,” Stack warned. “This doesn't concern you.”

“See, I think it does,” Smoke replied, closing the distance between them. “You're holed up in a storage closet, begging Annie for information rather than watching the door like I told you to.”

“Let him be,” Annie interjected. “He has a good reason.”

“And what would that be?” Smoke cocked an eyebrow. 

Annie gave him a wary look before turning to Stack. The weight in her gaze made the man sigh heavily and shake his head. He couldn't lie to his brother, even if he wanted to.

“Sh-she was. . . She had. . . uh. . . “ Stack stammered.

“Spit it out, fool,” Smoke shot back.

“You're an uncle, baby,” Annie nearly whispered.

Smoke's entire body went frigid, and his expression softened completely. His eyes searched Annie's for any deception or mischievous intent. But there was none. She was telling the truth; he could feel it. His heart swelled as the words sank in. A mixture of sorrow and excitement. He still mourned the loss of his baby, but the idea of being an uncle made him giddy. It had been forever since there was a baby in their immediate family. Even longer for Annie's side. A child was a blessing, a truth Smoke knew all too well.

“I'm guessing you didn't know?” Smoke questioned.

“Of course I didn't!” Stack replied. “It would've changed everything.”

“It sure would've,” Smoke agreed.

A silence fell amongst them, uncomfortable and humid. Memories started to resurface. For Annie, it was the night her baby went with the ancestors. She was born sleeping, the sweet girl. Her sweet face made a thousand cuts on her parents' souls. They would never forget the shade of blue. For Smoke, it was the weeks after. The way Annie buried herself in her work and slowly shut him out. The way she could hardly look at him without crying. Without apologizing. For Stack, it was when Y/N found out about Marie. Her calm nature was fighting against the rage pooling in her heart. She screamed at him, so viscous and raw, to leave her alone. Never come back. I don't want to see you again. Like the idiot he was, Stack went running right back to Marie.

Smoke's eyes found Annie's. “How is she? Y/N, I mean. And the baby?”

“Happier than ever,” a smile fell on her lips. “William takes good care of them.”

Stack jerked back as if someone had struck him. “William? Bo's little brother? Bill?”

A soft smile fell on Smoke's face as he took in the information. He was glad it was Bill who stepped in to raise his niece. William had a kindness that couldn't be faked. He was genuinely loving and nurturing. Smoke watched him nurse a dove back to health after its wing broke. He fed the stray cats in the alley when they were younger. And when he was a baker's apprentice, Bill made sure to give them extra goodies on the sly. A donut, a bagel, or even a loaf of bread. 

Smoke knew back then that Bill was in love with Y/N. The smile he wore while looking at her was raw and authentic. He would die for her. Kill for her. Do anything she'd ever ask without hesitation. Silently, Smoke wished Y/N had never gotten tied up with Stack. She was too good for him. Loving, selfless, and empathetic. Everything Stack wasn't. Everything he'd attempt to steal from himself— he was greedy in that way. The worst part was that he didn't notice it. Wasn't conscious of his exploitative ways. Something that infuriated Smoke to no end. Everyone knew Mary was his first love. The sole owner of his heart. Except for Stack. Which was why he tried chasing Y/N. A weak attempt to run away from his confusing love for the girl. Sure, he had feelings for Y/N. But they weren’t as deep. More surface-level, possessive. Almost like, “that pretty thing is mine and no one else's”. It made Smoke sad to think about. No one deserved to be caged up in that way. She deserved to be free. Free to see the past is brother and see the good that was waiting for her. See the handsome baker willing to climb mountains and cross valleys for her. Someone who would rather harm themselves than break her heart. Someone who would risk it all. Just how he would for Annie. 

"Good for her," Smoke said, before leaving the room.

He made a mental note to stop by the bakery to see her the next day and hopefully see his niece.

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

a/n: you know I had to post something this weekend!!! come on now. i appreciate the love y'all pour me every day. i didn't think anyone would want such an original story. y'all proved me wrong.

as always, let me know if you want to be on the taglist. leave a comment if you'd like.

also, if you have requests, my asks are open! wouldn't mind writing a drabble

finally, someone asked what Bill looks like. I envision him as Paing Takhon (see link for picture).

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

Taglist

@snowtargaryen @briana-mishell24 @lov4gor3 @marley1773 @thegreatlibraryofalex @beverly-991 @depressedandhornyfl @rollingraypurrr @mea-bby @heyyimmisunderstood @harleycativy @childishgambinaax @mskirara @bishhhitsaurion @daughterofapollo-7 @thickianaaaa @capswife @hrlzy @melodyofmbaku @skywalker0809 @asterizee @nooooonooooonooooo @jackierose902109 @wabi-sabi1090 @rolemodelshit @naebae14 @christinabae @thedondada05 @simpingfor-wakasa @lovesickbwnny @brattyfics @saintsir4n @abriefnirvana @tforpresz @sinflowersugar @kinkythotsthoughts @heyyimmisunderstood @daughterofapollo-7 @gweelczz @darkskinchristiandiorpostergirl @sinnersappreciation @depressedandhornyfl @bxrbie1 @honestlyurslol @woodle-isbae @iceyyycapsicle @pinkpantheris @thesmutconnoisseur @artsenthusiastk7 @nbanenefrmdao @nightwitchlurker @woahthatshitfat @azazel-nyx @pr3ttyfac3jaelyn @jollof12345 @zomqiez @holdyuhmuda @ninacutebee16 @fadingcherryblossompeach @faithelts

[rafesteddy]

Heyyy! i just had a thought about bardown!rafe and reader, like reader being in rehearsal or smth and rafe watching and getting turned on… (and maybe leading to something +18🤭🤭)

Would love to read something like this! Love your work💕💕💕

-bia

Hi babe!! Thank you for your compliments and your ask 🤭 that means a lot to me. This does not need to be read with the rest of the au

𝓝𝓗𝓛!𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝔁 𝓟𝓸𝓹����𝓽𝓪𝓻!𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

+18 -> smut | 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎’𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚊𝚍—𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚝, 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜.

c/w: slut!rafe, language, sexting, masturbation (male), sex tape and casting it on the TV, sex fantasies about the reader, overstimulation (rafe), unprotected p in v, possessive!rafe, begging, creampie, praise, rough-ish (hair pulling, slapping hand away) + voyeurism

2.4K

Rafe should’ve stayed busy.

Should’ve kept the TV on. Should’ve gone for a run. Should’ve thrown his phone under a couch cushion and walked the hell away from it.

But he didn’t. He’s sprawled on the sectional, thumb swiping restlessly, halfway watching Sports Center while waiting on the clock to hit draft party o’clock. His jaw’s tight; shirt wrinkled. And his patience? Nonexistent.

📱Rafe: Baby I miss you so much. You free?

He stares at the message like it’ll bring you home faster. Like maybe if he wants it bad enough, you’ll teleport from that studio across town and climb right onto his lap.

Buzz.

📱You: No baby. Sorry 💔

And then—fucking then—comes the picture.

You’re in glam. Full beat, hair curled, mouth glossy, posing mid-laugh in a silk corset and high-waisted micro shorts.

His head drops back against the couch with a low, guttural groan.

“Jesus Christ…”

He palms himself through his pants on instinct, already half-hard, vision blurring slightly as he squints at the screen like that’ll make your image drill deeper into his brain.

📱Rafe: You sure you’re not getting out soon?

📱Rafe: Like soon-soon?

He’s only half-joking, fingers fidgeting, stomach all twisted up—because it’s been days since he’s touched you, since he’s felt you curled up in his arms.

📱You: No 😞

His free hand flies up to rake through his hair, mouth parted in exasperation.

“Cool, cool, cool,” he mutters.

Then buzz. Another pic.

This one’s worse. You’re sitting pretty in front of the mirror, legs crossed, strap falling off one shoulder, giving the camera that look that always fucks with him—that “I know what I’m doing” smirk like you’re the star of his wildest dreams.

His slacks are definitely tighter.

Rafe adjusts and hisses at the pinch.

And then TikTok has the absolute audacity to send a notification.

🔔 @/yourname just posted: with @/stassiebby — Lights Down Low dance credit: @/kiana

His thumb’s already moving, instantly.

There you are, his girl, twirling, dropping into the beat, laughing with your best friend and looking way too fucking good for someone who just told him ‘no, baby, sorry.’

You’re so damn talented. So bubbly. So hot it actually hurts.

Rafe drags a hand down his face, biting back another groan as you spins in those tiny shorts, ass recoiling with a hard step.

And he knows. He knows if he opens that hidden folder—the one with the private videos you sent him on his road trips, the slow ones, the unedited ones, the ones where you moan his name and gasps “I wish it was you” he’s gonna spiral completely.

His body’s already burning; zipper halfway down.

Hearing your voice echo through the living room might just break him. But honestly? If he can’t have you, that’s exactly how he wants to go.

His phone buzzes again—and yeah, of course it’s you. You always know.

📱You: You got real quiet baby…

📱You: What are you doing?

He chuckles to himself, slow and low, filling the dark room. Rafe bites his lip, hand already resting over the thick bulge, hand rubbing teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah…” He mutters under his breath, fingers gliding toward the hidden folder on his phone, “you know what I’m doin’, sweetheart.”

The folder opens. He taps once. It expands.

And just the thumbnails alone nearly make him come undone.

You in his t-shirt. Bent over the edge of his bed, glancing back at the camera with that breathy little smile.

Or you in the back of his sports car, legs spread, moaning out his name as your pussy swallowing him up—Rafe’s cock glistening with you.

Or you and that first time you ever sent him a video in the pitch black, just your voice, soft and needy, whispering “I miss you so bad, Rafe…” leaving the rest up for his imagination to run wild.

He scrolls, breath caught somewhere high in his throat, heart racing faster with every thumbnail he flicks past. God, you made it so difficult for him —and right now it’s a fucking lifeline. Each preview teases something worse than the last: your face, your thighs, your mouth… his t-shirt slipping off your shoulder.

And then he finds the one.

That first night you filmed something for him alone in his house when he was gone, wearing his white button-down, nothing underneath except that lace she knew drove him insane, like you’d already know he’d be watching it in a moment like this with his hand wrapped tight around his cock.

He taps the screen. AirPlays it to the living room TV.

It fills the space in front of him and his hand drops to his lap. He moans, unzipping the rest of the way, letting his cock free and aching in his palm. The video starts, the soft whisper of fabric falling away.

He’s already close and you haven’t even started yet.

His phone buzzes.

📱You: baby?

A grin curls on his lips as he types back one-handed, thumb slow over the keyboard.

📱Rafe: Hands a little busy princess. Unless you have some time for me

You smirk as your driver rolls through the traffic light. You’re almost there… Just two turns away from the high-rise and your heart’s pounding from the thrill of it. Rafe doesn’t know yet. He thinks you’re still at the studio, teasing him just to wind him up.

You open the texts, see his name, and already you feel yourself start to throb. You move in your seat, thighs squeezing together.

📱You: I wish I was there

You don’t wait for his reply. You flick open your camera roll, grabbing a picture he hasn’t seen yet. One you took to tease him on his upcoming trip. His Kings sweatshirt lifted up around your waist showing off your ass and panties.

📱You: your turn

He nearly chokes when he sees the photo, and the contrast of your sweet little message with the image is too much. He’s already pumping slowly, but now his grip tightens, hips pitching.

📱Rafe: jesus fucking christ

📱Rafe: you’re evil

📱Rafe: you’re perfect

📱Rafe: you do this shit on purpose baby

📱You: send me a video when you cum. Volume on

📱Rafe: anything for you

📱Rafe: watching that video you took when I was in Vegas. You were wearing my shirt. Red panties. So fucking wet holy shit

He watches himself in the reflection of the window; jaw tight, eyes hazed, cock swollen in his fist. He’s not gonna last like this.

He lowers the phone for a second, groaning into the void, eyes locked on the TV where your slipping your panties lower and lower down your thighs.

You bite down a grin and don’t even wait to make it to the elevator—already typing.

📱You: don’t forget the video baby. I want to use it later

📱Rafe: Stop shit I’m trying to last

📱You: no baby. i want you to cum for me.

You’re walking now—keys in hand, purse hanging off your arm as you hit the elevator button and lean against the wall, heart in your throat.

You know what that video does to him. You made it for this reason. You can picture it perfectly: the way he’s watching, breathing hot and heavy, legs spread wide on the couch where you’ll be joining him in about thirty seconds.

You pop the lock open and step inside quietly. The second you look up, your whole body floods with heat.

He’s sunk into the couch—shirt wide open, pants halfway down, hair sticking up in every direction like he’s been raking through it for hours. One hand’s gripping his phone tight, knuckles washed out from how hard he’s holding on. The other moves slow between his thighs, stroking himself slick, twisting at the tip with a low, ruined sound that shoots straight through you.

Your voice’s everywhere—floating out of the TV in soft moans and shaky little sighs. The screen lights up his face in flashes, catching the edge of his jaw, the slow blink of his lashes as his head falls back, mouth open.

He’s too far gone to hear the door. Doesn’t even flinch when you step inside.

Not when you drop your bag.

Not when you toe off your heels.

Not when you reach up to pull off the Kings sweatshirt—his sweatshirt—exposing nothing but the lace underneath.

You watch him close, not even knowing you’re in the room yet. Your fingers curl around the straps of your panties, slowly dragging them down as you cross the floor, and still he doesn’t move. Still lost in the image of you on his screen, your name slipping off his tongue.

You peel off the last piece of clothing.

And then you speak. He sees you—and it’s like his brain stalls out.

Because there you are. His hand slips off his cock, chest heaving, and for a second, he honestly wonders if he’s dreaming—if the video, the moans, the grip of his own fist made him hallucinate you.

But then you’re on him. Straddling his lap. Skin on skin.

And it’s too real. Too warm. Too good.

“Baby…” He breathes, hoarse from panting your name. “You’re here?” He whispers, almost like he doesn’t believe it. “—Didn’t think I could need somethin’ so bad.”

You take over without a word, your hand wrapping around him, slick from his own palm, stroking him slow and tight. And it’s everything. His hips twitch. His eyes slam shut.

“You close?” You murmur, eyes teasing, lips right by his ear.

“Yeah—Fuck yeah, baby—I was right there—”

He’s a mess beneath you—hands gripping your ass like he doesn’t know where else to hold, head nuzzling the crook of your neck, muscles trembling. You’ve never seen him this worked up; so close he’s barely breathing, moaning under his breath like he’s trying to hold it together now that you’re here.

But you don’t let him.

You rise up on your knees, line him up, and sink down in one slow, sinful motion.

And that’s it. Rafe shatters. His entire body locks up—eyes rolling, jaw falling open, one loud, guttural groan echoing off the high-rise windows as you take him deep.

“Fuck—Fuck. Oh my god, baby—” he cries out, spilling the second you bottom out. His fingers dig into your skin, anchoring himself to you.

He wasn’t ready. He didn’t think this was how tonight would end.

But here you are. Wrapped around him. Making him cum so hard he sees stars. He barely gets out a broken, “Thank you,” before you start to move.

You roll your hips dragging a jagged gasp from his chest, like it shocks his whole body. Like it’s the first time he’s ever felt you. The sound between you is filthy, wet, too much. He jerks, hands flying to your waist, but he doesn’t stop you. Couldn’t if he tried.

He’s still twitching, barely coming down—and the second you move again, he’s gone. Eyes glazed, lips parted, completely overstimulated, just how you like him.

You know he’d never beg you to stop. Not when it’s you. Not when he’s finally got you back on him where you belong.

Your hands drag down his chest, nails trailing through the light sheen of sweat painting his abs. The flash of silver catches the city lights outside; the delicate initial around your neck and the shiny pendant stamped with his number. He watches it bounce with every thrust, his jaw going slack again.

“Fuck, baby…” He groans, helpless as you tilt back slightly and plant your hands on his knees, bouncing on his lap now, giving him the full view—your body taking every inch, squeezing around him like you were made to. He grips your thighs, hard, knuckles white, moaning so softly it barely makes it past his throat.

You reach one hand down to circle your clit but his reflexes snap. He slaps your hand away, fast and rough, and replaces it with his own greedy fingers.

“Mine,” he groans, low and possessive.

Then he fists your hair, pulls you forward, and crashes his mouth to yours. It’s messy and deep—his lips dragging across yours like he’s trying to memorize you again. His fingers don’t stop.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, kissing between every word. “Missed your voice, your body—how fuckin’ pretty you look when you take my dick—”

You hum into the kiss, mumbling right back, telling him how much you missed him, how good he feels, how you never wanna leave again.

You tighten around him—and fuck, he feels it. That flutter, that shake in your thighs, the way your breath catches as your head tips back.

“Baby…” He warns, voice cracking like he’s already there again. His grip clamps down on your hips, using you, bouncing you just right on top of him, driving into that spot that makes you cry for him. You're moaning with yourself on the TV as the video continues on, and to him it sounds like heaven. And then— “Rafe!”

You scream his name, eyes squeezing shut as you fall apart in his lap, soaking him, shaking from head to toe as your orgasm rolls through you.

And the second you do he follows.

With a sharp, broken groan, his head falls back, mouth open as he spills into you again. The overstimulation hits hard and his thighs jolt beneath you. Rafe’s hands clamp down on your hips, holding you tight, filling you completely as his heartbeat hammers against your palms. His lashes flutter shut.

You fold into his chest, and his arms come around you right away.

Your mouth finds his—messy, deep, breathless. He kisses you like he’s afraid to let go. One hand cradles the back of your neck, the other spread wide across your spine, holding you close.

“I miss you,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours, his voice all shaky heat. “Miss you so bad it fuckin’ hurts.” You nod against him, still dazed, still trying to catch your breath.

And he holds you tighter. “Be here when I get home… I need you again before I leave.”

You giggle breathily into your kiss, still trying to catch your breath. “I think I’m just gonna come with you. How does that sound?”

Rafe’s smile pulls along your lips before he kisses you again.

“How the hell am I supposed to focus now? Got your moans stuck in my fuckin’ head… You in my bed all weekend? Yeah, that’s perfect, baby.”

@rafesthroatbaby | @ietss | @lilithblackkk | @rafecameronsfavourite | @my-name-is-baby | @urmotherlvr | @forgiveliv | @barnesboo1967 | @wtfisastiles | @k4yr14 | @taliescapes | @rafesbuzzcutseason | @sky-44 | @biascriptum | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @lolasangelz | @st8rkey | @lhhlver | @slut-4-rafey | @gri959 | @prettybabyyyy | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @maybankslover | @littlelamy | @buckybarnessweetheart | @angelicameron | @lover-girlyy | @rcameronlova1 | @rafesbabygirlx | @mayanqueenxx | @bimbob1tch | @dylsdaily | @blair-bears-blog | @akobx | @countryclubwhore | @esmerai-artemis | @jkmylove97 | @wtfdudesblog | @livie4lifestarkeyblyth | @yasmin-oviedo | @queen-cs | @floredaqueen | @alexxavicry | @aerie717 | @cokewithcameron | @premiumshitt | @rcameronlova1

[confessionsandcreampies]

bakugo’s heroine, 18+

“where the hell is she?” bakugo muttered, slamming the door behind him.

it was too quiet. that was never good. not in this apartment. he kicked off his boots, peeled off his gloves, and rolled his neck like it personally offended him. patrol had sucked. boring. loud. hot. full of civilians with the iq of a toaster. he needed a shower. a nap. maybe a—

“boom!”

a crash rattled the hallway. he flinched, blinked. and then, there she was. stomping toward him like a possessed toddler in a kaiju costume, wearing his hero shirt (oversized, slipping off one shoulder) and his boots, which were flapping wildly on her feet with every dramatic step.

she threw her arms out like a wwe announcer and roared, “i’m katsuki fucking bakugo.”

bakugo blinked. “are you serious right now.”

she kept going, undeterred. “who needs a quirk when you got explosions comin’ out your ass?!”

he stared. “you’re doing the thing again.”

her expression twisted into a wolfish grin. “not done yet. just saved tokyo from a fifty-foot sludge monster using nothin’ but rage and protein powder.”

he squinted. “sludge monsters don’t even—”

“and now?” she shouted, flapping the sleeves of his shirt like she was about to take flight, “i’m gonna shower, shove a protein bar down my throat, and rail my girl so hard she can’t walk until wednesday!”

she charged at him, full speed and all. arms flailing. boots slapping. screaming something about ‘boom shakalaka’ as her battle cry. he caught her mid-run, arms locking around her waist like she was a feral raccoon. she burst into laughter as he hoisted her off the ground, squirming like she’d won.

“you’re outta your damn mind,” he muttered into her neck, already dragging his teeth along the soft skin beneath his shirt’s collar.

“you love it,” she said smugly, kicking her feet.

“you know what you do to me when you act like this?”

“turn you on?” she whispered, all innocent with her legs still wrapped around him like a koala.

“damn right.”

two minutes later, the boots were flung across the room, the shirt was long gone, and she was pinned to the wall like a poster someone didn’t want falling off. his hands were everywhere. one gripping under her knee, the other slamming against the wall beside her head. her legs cinched around his hips. her breath hitched when he thrust into her hard enough to rattle the picture frames.

“you wanna act like me?” he growled against her throat. “then take responsibility like i do. that means loud. that means messy. that means you’re not walking straight tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“good,” she panted, tugging him even closer. “then i’ll really be in character.”

he groaned sharp, wrecked, and slammed into her again, this time hard enough to punch the breath from her lungs. the moan she gave him made his vision go white.

“katsuki.”

he froze. head and heart dropping. that growl ripped from deep in his chest. “say that again.”

she blinked, dazed, drunk off the force of him. “wh-what?”

“you called me that. say it again.”

he rolled his hips slower this time, deliberately deep against her sweet spot. she whimpered. then whispered against his ear, sweet and sinful, “my katsuki.”

that was it. that broke him.

he fucked her so hard that sparkles flew from his palms and the smoke detector went off. her head hit the wall. her legs trembled. her nails clawed down his back like she was hanging on for dear life. and through it all, he was chanting her name like a man possessed, like she was his religion and he was finally ready to repent.

“you always do this,” he panted, forehead pressed to her shoulder. “you make me forget i’m a hero. like none of that shit matters when i’m with you. like i’m just—”

“—mine,” she whispered, cupping his face, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw. “just my katsuki. you could stock apples at the market and i’d still lose my mind over you.”

his rhythm stuttered. then deepened. slow, rough, full of heat and hunger and something achingly soft underneath.

“you don’t get it,” he whispered, lips ghosting over hers. “you make me feel like i’m worth something even when i’m not number one.”

“you are.”

his hand slid between her thighs, dragging over her clit like he was memorizing her heartbeat with his fingertips. she gasped. he kissed her like she was made of wildfire.

“i’m gonna make you scream for me,” he growled, “until the whole city knows who the fuck i belong to.”

[minyoongiss]

ONLY MINE | taehyung kim

you shouldn't have tried to make him jealous. or maybe you did the right thing.

pairing: idol!taehyung x you

wc: 1.3k

warnings: 18+, pure filth.

authors note: first post ever and it’s smut. didn’t proofread it

“will you ever try to make me jealous again?” taehyung whispered in your ears as he thrusted in you from behind. hard and fast. your hands were pressed against the cold window of the hotel. the coldness cooling down your hot body. your check was pressed against the cold surface of the window, you cold see a fogy layer creating on it because of your hectic breathing.

you couldn’t answer, all your thoughts all possible sentences you could form were gone the moment he entered your needing wet hole. and god did you love it.

the room smelled of sex, the fog clouding it as your sounds echoed off the walls, you didn't even try to hide your voices anymore at this point. not caring if anyone could here you. not caring if they heard how good taehyung was fucking you.

he pressed your front firmly and insistently against the cold glass, but not too hard. it was just enough pressure, as if he knew you liked it. even after all these months. he always knew what you liked. how you liked it. his arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, grounding you and pulling you against him until you had barely enough room to think—let alone move. each time, he pushed in and out of you. every time, your body tilted forward completely because you could no longer hold yourself, he pulled you back against him. not caring about all the cries and whimpers coming out of your mouth. “i’m sorry,” you subbed. but were you really sorry?

the way he pressed his hand on your lower abdomen whenever he rammed his cock into your cervix with full force made you feel it more intensely. "can you feel it? how deep i’m inside you?" as if trying to prove something, he went deeper than you thought was ever possible. his thrust brutal and deep, his cock dragging against your walls like he was trying to stamp himself in your body. as if he wanted to make sure that you would even feel him days after this. no, so that you could never forget him.

"do you really think that jimin could ever fuck you the way i do? do you think he could even make you come?" his hand, which had been pressed against your abdomen, found its way to your clit. two fingers rubbing it in a sloppy way.

you moaned as you buried your head into the pit of his shoulder. “tae-taehyung don't stop,” you screamed, holding on to the window with your arms, to his biceps, which had grown twice as much since he returned from the military, to whatever you could hold yourself onto. you could still remember exactly when he'd sent you a topless picture without any context. a shirtless picture of him after training in the military. and the only thing you could see was how big he got. big and bulky. he looked so sexy, so manly that the first thing you did when you went home was, make yourself come with your fingers to the sight of this picture. making a fucking mess.

"i asked you a question baby. answer me," he gasped breathlessly against your ear, his voice low and raspy. he kissed down your neck slowly, leaving light bites, desperate to mark you. to mark you as his. “tae not.” were the only words you could get out, way to fucked up. you agreed when you started this ‘relationship’ that you would leave no marks. no hickeys, no nail marks on his back. nothing. because how was a world-famous idol going to explain to his make-up artist where all the marks on his neck came from?

"should i send him a video of me fucking your tight pussy. what do you say?” you knew exactly who he meant. “maybe then he will stop flirting with you.”

he chuckled.

“or better i'll call him over and show him what a cockslut you are for me,” he swivelled against your ear, licking where he'd marked you. you convulsed around him. a needy moan escaped your lips. at this point he was just desperate. desperate to get a response from you. you knew why he was doing this, you knew what he wanted, why he pushed you, and yet, you flirted with jimin. looking deep in his eyes, smiling devilishly. and that was all it took for him to explode. and maybe he knew why you did it too.

“you like that? the thought of jimin seeing how i’m fucking you? fucking your needy pussy for months,” he moaned as he abused your cunt. taehyung slows his pace, but only so he can penetrate you harder. each slap that connects with your skin elicited a pornographic moan from your throat. you felt his balls slapping harsh fully against your ass, and how his bodies presses you against the cool surface. his fingers still rubbing and pinching your clitoris, making you cry out. fuck, you would never get tired of this.

“tae please.” you didn't know what you were begging for. were you begging for him? or for the thought of him filming you? how he was fucking you hard and mercilessly. how he fucked you, a mere employee of HYBE. maybe that was the reason why the whole thing had started between you in the first place. why you were on your knees with taehyung's cock in your mouth in the first week. blowing him like it was about winning the gold madeille. or maybe the fact that the whole thing was secretly giving you the kink. the thought that something could come out at any moment. someone seeing you. that this was your dirty little secret.

“no matter how hard you try to make me jealous,” each of his thrusts deepened with the roll of his hips. “you're mine. say you're all mine.” you moaned loudly. your breaths became shorter, your chest rose and fell quickly. his fingers let go of your clit and found your neck.

with each thrust he hit the sweet spot inside you, the pressure intensifying until you think you might break. your eyes watered, not from pain, but from the intensity of the lust that built up and threatens to swallow you whole. you could feel his muscles tensing, his body on the verge of its own release.

you nod, “yes-yes i'm yours,” your voice turned into a high-pitched whimper and then you come. you come undo on his throbbing cock. still as he kisses your gspot with his tip ans for a moment you think you see the stars, mound dropped no sound coming out. only hearing the pounding of your racing heart in your ears. no, you really were seeing the stars. taehyung really outdid himself. “fuck. fuck. fuck.” taehyung fucked you through it, his thrusts turning erratic as he chases his own release. his fingers clasped your neck harder, the pain of your high coursing through you, riding out your high.

he pulled your head to his neck and greedily presses his lips to yours in a messy, teeth clashing kiss. the angle was uncomfortable, especially since your head was stretched in painful way. but you didn’t care. it felt good. way too good. you gases pain-filled into his mouth, taehyung seizing the opportunity to push his tongue slopply into your mouth.

“gonna fill you up. gonna mark this pussy,” he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with need. “gonna pump you so fucking full of me, that it‘ll be dripping out of your cunt for days.” his voice sending another shiver through you, making your oversensitive clench around his cock. and then he's burying himself deep with an animalistic moan, his cock twitching as he spilled inside you, colouring your inner walls white. not stopping until you felt the mixture of his and your come dripping down your thighs.

soft moans and the sharp hiss of breath were the only sounds in the room. no other sound could be heard for a couple of seconds. you tried to get your breathing under control.

taehyung pulled himself slowly out of you. you whimpered at the loss of the feeling of fullness. then he bend his head down to your ear. “you’re mine. only mine,” he said as pushed the mess leaking out of your cunt back in it.

maybe you should make him jealous more often.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Hi! I don't think I've seen any fluff on poly141 x f reader in the tags on this type of ask, I'm hoping to see in this request. But imagine poly 141 taking f!reader on a local fair date. Things have been going smoothly, eating great food, going on rides, until f!reader saw a cute giant plushie at one of the game booths. She wants one and poly 141 ends up into a small competition? Game? On how many can they win. By the end of it they ended up kicked out 😭 but at least they won her a plushie and a good time.

Ride or Die

Pairing: Poly!141 x F!Reader

Warnings: Shameless PDA, ridiculous competitive energy, mild suggestive behavior, tension that could ignite a plushie, public teasing, light swearing, handsy behavior, emotional softness, them being completely in love with you and not hiding it

Author’s Note: What starts as a sweet local fair date turns into chaos, heated glances, and a full-on plushie war. They're competitive idiots, you're their favorite thing in the world, and everyone else is just an NPC tonight.

Summary: You just wanted a fairground date. Your boys just wanted to spoil you. But when a giant plushie catches your eye, they start a war they don’t know how to walk away from. Between cotton candy kisses, jealousy-fueled games, and being very publicly in love, it’s anyone’s guess who gets banned first.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The fair smelled like fried sugar and hot pavement, thick in the air like summer nostalgia.

The sun had dipped low enough to make everything golden—carnival lights buzzing to life as your boys flanked you on either side. John’s hand was wrapped around yours, fingers warm and easy. Kyle had claimed your other side, brushing your shoulder every few steps. Behind you, Simon and Johnny were fighting over who’d finish the lemonade you’d barely had a sip of.

“Oi,” Johnny said, stealing it again. “She’s not drinkin’ it fast enough.”

“Because you keep draining it,” Simon muttered.

“Boys,” you said, smirking, “if you’re gonna argue over my spit, at least do it with some class.”

Simon choked on a laugh. Kyle turned, eyebrows up, grinning like he’d just won something. John gave your hand a squeeze, his mouth twitching at the corner.

“Y’realize we can’t take you anywhere,” he murmured.

You leaned up and kissed his cheek anyway. “Yet here we are.”

You’d been walking the midway for maybe an hour—funnel cake dusted all over Johnny’s shirt, Kyle’s phone full of silly pictures, Simon grumbling in the background about crowds while still keeping a hand on your lower back.

You were happy. Loved. Completely and utterly seen.

And then it happened.

You stopped in your tracks, heart doing a stupid fluttery thing.

There it was.

A game booth decked out in hanging prizes—and smack in the center, dangling high above the others like a trophy, was the biggest plush golden retriever you’d ever seen. Soft tan fur, lopsided smile, ears flopped like it was already tired of life.

Your eyes lit up.

You pointed without saying a word.

Kyle followed your gaze. “Oh no.”

Johnny grinned. “She’s in love.”

Simon just sighed, muttering something under his breath about consumer traps and plushie scams.

You turned to them, full tilt. “I want it.”

John raised an eyebrow. “That one?”

You nodded, dead serious.

“It’s huge,” Kyle said.

“Perfect,” you replied.

And just like that, the game was on.

—

They tried to be casual about it at first.

Simon handed over a crisp bill to the carnie like it was a briefing. No wasted movement. Eyes locked. Threw the first ball at the bottle stack like it owed him money.

Clang. Miss.

Johnny snorted.

Simon threw again—bullseye. Half the stack tumbled, but the top stayed balanced, mocking him.

Johnny stepped up next, clapping him on the back. “Lemme show you how it’s done.”

He winked at you before hurling the first ball wildly off-center, nearly knocking a nearby prize off its hook.

“Solid start,” Simon deadpanned.

“Warm-up,” Johnny said.

Kyle went for the ring toss. Missed every time. John tried his hand at the dart balloons—popped two, got a small keychain.

“This is bullshit,” Johnny muttered, arms crossed as the carnie shrugged again.

You leaned against the side rail, watching the whole thing unfold like it was the best movie you’d ever seen. The way they kept looking back at you—checking if you were laughing, if you were still watching, if you were impressed. Their eyes glittered every time you smiled.

“You don’t have to win it,” you said gently.

Simon looked over. “Yes, we do.”

Johnny rolled up his sleeves like he was going to war. “For you? We’ll burn this booth down if we have to.”

That got the carnie’s attention. “Hey now—”

John stepped forward. “How many tickets for the dog?”

“Gotta win the top shelf prize,” the carnie said. “Five knockdowns minimum.”

Kyle grinned. “Say less.”

—

They did not walk away after the first win.

Or the second.

By the time Johnny nailed the fourth prize, they were drawing a crowd.

You were covered in prizes—arms full of teddy bears, snakes, a foam hammer, and a neon star pillow that Simon won after muttering “last try” five different times.

Finally, finally, the dog came down.

The carnie handed it over with a grim look, muttering, “You’re banned after this. Fair warning.”

You didn't even hear it.

You were too busy squealing as John and Simon lifted the thing between them, showing it off like it was a trophy kill. Johnny kissed your temple from behind, whispering, “Told you we’d get it.” Kyle gave you a little spin, hands at your hips, eyes soft and full of heat.

“You happy?” he asked.

You nodded, breathless. “So happy.”

They looked at you like you hung the damn stars.

And then security showed up.

“You can’t keep blocking the booth,” the guy said, arms crossed.

“We paid fair and square,” John said.

“You’ve been here forty minutes. People are complaining.”

Simon rolled his neck. “What a tragedy.”

Johnny muttered, “Philistines,” while Kyle tried to bribe the guy with a free plushie. You were trying so hard not to laugh your face hurt.

Eventually, they walked you out—escorted, not arrested, but the vibe was definitely banned-for-life adjacent.

You didn’t care.

You were holding the stupid dog like a life raft, tucked under one arm as you giggled the whole way back to the parking lot. Johnny was hand-feeding you bits of fried dough, Kyle was still holding your waist, Simon’s arm was slung over your shoulder, and John had your fingers laced in his.

The truck was quiet, finally.

Late night breeze. Prize bags in the trunk. One ridiculously massive plush retriever stuffed across all your laps in the backseat.

You leaned into Simon, curled against his chest, your hand still warm from John's grip.

“Worth it?” Simon murmured.

You looked around at all of them.

At Kyle’s lazy grin from the passenger seat. At John’s soft eyes in the rearview. At Johnny’s foot tapping on the dash while he hummed under his breath.

You kissed Simon’s jaw. “You won me a dog.”

Johnny leaned over and whispered, “And a lifetime ban.”

John sighed. “Add it to the list.”

You pulled your new plush closer, grinning ear to ear.

They gave you a fair date.

They gave you chaos.

And most importantly—

They gave you them.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[simonz-angel]

sugardaddy simon headcanons please🙏

hii baby yknow i’ve gotchu. please tell me how i did, if i didn’t do it justice just lemme know pretty doll always happy to give it another go!! these are my personal thoughts on sugar!papa simon but yk. now enjoy babydoll, thank you for your lil request!! feel free to request any specifics!

❤︎ sugar!daddy simon who becomes your personal little shopper. who shops for you outside of you being with him. grabbing at anything from sleek dresses, to frilly, to lacy lingerie. anything he wants to see you in, he might even have a card copy of your measurements, being sure to get the best size and fit.

❤︎ sugar!daddy simon who provides you with your own little credit card. he’d found one with a 10k limit and sucked his own damn teeth, perfect. he’s more than happy to be paying it off, he’s almost disappointed you don’t hit your spending limit. but then again, you like to make your big purchases with him.

❤︎ sugar!daddy simon who sends you $200 with each pretty picture you provide. wether it’s that pretty face, an outfit for approval or the teasing ones, he’s blowing up your bank account. the more suggestive, the more you get. although it’s really just a treat, because you’ve already got more money then him at this point.

❤︎ sugar!daddy simon who stuffs $100’s in your bra before he leaves. he’d be kissing, sucking at neck, ignoring the sour taste of your perfume. and his thick fingers are digging into the crevice between soft padding and doughy skin, money crinkling as he stuffs your bra full.

❤︎ sugar!daddy simon who lets you boss him around. ordering him around in stores till he’s practically sweating running around, all the while you sit there pretty waiting for him. rolling your eyes when he takes too long, and when he at least tries to hand the bag over so you can see your most recent purchase, you scold him, “isn’t that like your job?” 🙄

❤︎ sugar!daddy simon who bullies you right back with his cock. grabbing at the nape of your neck to keep you face down in the pillow. he loves all your petty treatment, but sometimes he’s gotta tone it down. and his other hand holds tight at your waist, bending you into a deep arch, chest pressed flush to the bedding. “anything else you wanna say to me, bunny?” he laughs, but when your sharp, fresh nails slide against the back of his thighs, and your head twists, you demand. “faster, i have places to be.”

❤︎ sugar!daddy simon who gives you ultimate princess treatment. letting you sit your pretty, pussy down onto his face. you bury him practically, riding at his face, grabbing at his short, graying golden hair all while giggling. he lets his hands find home, grabbing and squeezing at your thighs, at your ass, before reaching to pinch at your peachy, nipple. his tongue works hard, but your hips work harder, he’s sure you’ll break his nose soon with the way you jump and grind, but he doesn’t think he’ll mind. 🤷‍♀️

❤︎ sugar!daddy simon who keeps a folder of all your pretty vids and pics on his phone. he likes scrolling through them in the office, grabbing at the crotch of his dress pants when they tighten up. it’s cruel the shit you send him, your sweet, small fingers playing with your clit, dipping in to the puddle of slick that accumulates as you play with yourself. and he scrolls, past over the picture of your pretty tits pushed together, before settling on one. you’re perched up onto his pillow, the one he buries his face in as he sleeps. your thick thighs straddled tight around it as you grind your bare pussy up over it. and he’s unbuckling his belt, as you’re pulling at your peaked nipples, bouncing like a little bunny as you work yourself up.

❤︎ sugar!daddy simon who provides any and everything you like. he’d do anything you ask of him, and so he’s lowering his hand. practically smearing the pretty, pink tip of his cock over the camera lens, and his wrist flicks, jerking himself off. and in the back of the camera you can see his head fall back, his lips crack open in a soft groan. and he sends the video, with a sweet (your fav) text after it. “take you out when i get home?”

hope you enjoyed again baby, i really appreciate the request, feel free to get back to me with your thoughts ❤︎

divider creds - @bernardsbendystraws

[clarkeyscherry]

BF HEADCANONS // CHRIS DIXON!

boyfriend!chris… what a sweetheart omg.

boyfriend!chris… who’s so so gentle and patient with you.

boyfriend!chris… he would definitely love you so loudly, no doubt about it. posting you everywhere, bringing you up when he can, inviting you to shoots and being in his videos — vice versa.

boyfriend!chris… who’s big on giving and receiving reassurance, if you’re worried about something/someone he’s there straight away.

“i promise you have nothing to worry about.”

boyfriend!chris… seems like he dates to marry so he’d definitely plan a future with you. marriage, children. and he has a list of names he wants for his future kids (so do you).

boyfriend!chris… who would force you to listen to taylor swift and would probably give you the meaning of every song.

boyfriend!chris… teaches you how to play footie. you could score the shittiest of goals and he’d be proud.

“there you go! well done babe.”

boyfriend!chris… loves the idea of being cat parents with you.

boyfriend!chris… when he plays in sidemen charity matches and he sees you in his jersey, it would boost his confidence so much. cutie.

boyfriend!chris… if you’ve had a long day at work he’d have food on the table ready for you.

“cooked your favourite ready for when you come home xx”

boyfriend!chris… who’s love language is physical touch!!! is always either holding your hand, hand on your back or leg, arm swung around your shoulder.

boyfriend!chris… he’s convinced that he’s punching with you but you’re like ??? cause he’s so fit hello.

boyfriend!chris… loves your relationship with kelly, literally means the world to him that you make a lot of effort with his family.

boyfriend!chris… i think if you had any nieces/nephews and they’d call him uncle chris he’d definitely be like 🥹.

boyfriend!chris… also gets broody seeing you with them. but you do too when you see how good he is with them.

boyfriend!chris… would bring you flowers ‘just because.’

boyfriend!chris… would force you to watch lord of the rings 🥲.

boyfriend!chris… knows you were obsessed with him but then when he started styling his hair curly it just got so much worse 🫠🫠.

boyfriend!chris… cooking dates!!

boyfriend!chris… loves seeing you wear his red fleece.

boyfriend!chris… he definitely got you a jersey with your last name on it and with the number 10 😉.

NSFW!

boyfriend!chris… his height might be short but something else isn’t 😏.

boyfriend!chris… i think his favourite position would be doggy, loooves holding your waist from behind.

boyfriend!chris… would be giggly sometimes, especially your first time the nerves of it all.

boyfriend!chris… but he’s also very serious and wants to make you feel good.

boyfriend!chris… loves when you put your head into his neck so he can hear your little moans in his ear.

boyfriend!chris… prefers sex when it’s slow and more love making, rather than fast paced and rough.

boyfriend!chris… VOCAL.

boyfriend!chris… is not afraid to let you know how good you feel around him.

boyfriend!chris… would probably keep pictures on his phone of you, no one else ever sees them.

DURING AN ARGUMENT!

boyfriend!chris… so softly spoken, would never raise his voice.

boyfriend!chris… absolutely hates arguing, always comes up with a solution.

boyfriend!chris… would never ever call you any names, he’d be caught dead before that ever happened!

boyfriend!chris… yes you’ll have little bickers but never full blown arguments.

boyfriend!chris… the small ones would occur more in the beginning. both of you coming out of long term relationships made it harder but you worked through it.

boyfriend!chris… we know how chris gets when he’s drunk, he’s either mean or incredibly gay. but if he says anything that’s remotely rude to you on accident he’ll immediately apologise. and won’t stop apologising until he’s so sure you’re okay.

boyfriend!chris… again with the beginning of the relationship, i feel like arguments would be caused by him talking about shan a lot. obviously you didn’t mind but it was A LOT so you thought he wasn’t over her. he had to constantly reassure you that he was.

chris version!! for my girl @livvymd cause she said it would heal her soul xx

also thank you so much for 200 followers ily all💕

[millermouth]

joel miller x you

not that anyone asked but here's a fluffy drabble because my social battery has been so low from a weekend of social shit that today I literally couldn't wait to leave and wished joel miller could come save me. gooooodnight. sometimes I write these little drabbles and never post cause idk they're not smutty or even interesting. but I just love picturing joel in my regular life. so yeah. here you go I guess! warnings: brief mention of hard relationship with extended family

It was exactly as your Aunt Kathy launched into her third, inexplicably detailed anecdote about her goldendoodle’s latest grooming fiasco that you felt the last flicker of your social battery sputter out and die. You’d seen it coming, the warning signs blinking dimly in the corners of your mind like a low fuel light you always swore you’d heed earlier next time: the long, barely-stifled sighs, the aching behind your eyes, the zoning out during conversations. You had tried, by God, you really did, to stretch it a little longer, to hold out for dessert or maybe just until Sarah got tired enough to want to leave too. But it always crept up the same way, that sensation of being entirely alone in a room full of fifteen people who had known you your whole life and still couldn’t seem to really see you. The same people who spoke over you with affection or obligation but never understanding.

You were already shrinking into the lawn chair, your elbows heavy on the plastic arms, your gaze unfocused and blank as your cousin’s husband droned on about his golf swing, when you felt the warm weight of a hand settle on your shoulder—the only hand in the world that made your shoulders loosen instead of stiffen. Joel had moved in beside you without a word, like a second sense had guided him from across the yard straight to you. The denim of his jeans brushed your bare arm and you tilted your head to rest the side of his leg, seeking him like shade on a sun-drenched afternoon. His hand drifted from your shoulder to the bottom of your neck, fingers parting the hair there, scratching slow and absent-minded. 

And then he pulled a little harder at the nape: You okay? It meant. How bad is it? Do you want out? Do you need me to be the bad guy and make an excuse? Because I will.

You tilted your face up to look at him. His cheeks were flushed red from running around the yard with Sarah and your nephew, his forehead damp with sweat, the neck of his t-shirt clinging faintly to his collarbone. There was a sheen on him that reminded you of something feral and sweet all at once. He was so sun-warmed and masculine, worn in and beer-laced breath with barbecue smoke woven into the threads of his shirt. Vaguely, your tired brain entertained the thought of what the salt on his skin would taste like if you had even a single ounce of energy to lean forward and lick it clean. But alas, you were running on fumes at this point, so instead, you just tilted your head up and looked at him. 

Get me out of here, you begged with your tired eyes.

His fingers kept grazing the base of your skull, and then, lazily, his long middle finger curled around to pinch your earlobe. You smiled, lips twitching upward in something involuntary and grateful. He caught it and sent one of those conspiratorial little winks down at you over the rim of his beer can. 

He turned only to scan the yard, “Hey, hon?” he called, eyes settling on Sarah as she trotted toward the garden with your nephew in tow. She glanced up at her dad, cheeks pink from the sun, braid coming loose, the whole day written across her in sweat and sugar.

“You ready to go?” 

Her face fell a little, a flicker of disappointment at the corners of her mouth. Before she could say anything, your mom swept in from the patio, asking if Sarah might stay a little longer for dessert, maybe keep the kiddo occupied. Sarah looked hopefully back at her dad, and Joel, bless him, sighed, already caving.

“Alright, but you help clean up if you stay,” he said with a soft point of his finger. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Sarah grinned.

“Why, you headin’ out already?” your mom asked, voice raised just enough for the rest of the family to turn and notice you both rising to leave.

Joel answered before you had to, holding your hand and pulling you out of the adirondack chair with a groan, “Think it’s about that time. Early wake-up.”

You nodded in agreement, offering your mom a tired, apologetic smile, and let yourself be folded into the leaving ritual. There were Tupperware containers shoved into your hands, leftovers you didn’t ask for but would be glad to eat tomorrow night in front of the TV. There were quick hugs, soft goodbyes, a kiss to the crown of your nephew’s curly head, and Sarah giving you a side-hug before Joel leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“I’ll come get ya in a bit.”

“Grandma said I could stay over,” she chirped back.

Joel raised a brow, eyes narrowed. “We’ll talk,” he said with a hint of amusement.

And then you were walking down the driveway a few minutes later, the summer heat still clinging to your skin and the sun low and honey thick behind the trees. Joel didn’t say much, but he stayed close, hand resting lightly against your back until you reached his truck. He opened the door for you and you climbed in slowly, arms full of food and mind heavy with fatigue. Instead of shutting the door on you, he leaned in against the door frame.

“Alright?” he murmured, eyes scanning your face. 

You looked up at him, all warm light and soft affection, the fading sky painting him in peach and pale blue. His silhouette was golden, haloed in evening light, and for one moment, he looked so stupidly beautiful it made your chest flutter. You reached up, ran your hand along his bearded jaw, thumb brushing the scratchy edge of his cheek.

“Better now,” you said with a small smile.

He grinned back and leaned down into the cab to press his mouth to yours. It was long and gentle, almost lazy in its heat. You sighed against him, drinking in the taste of beer and smell of charcoal, the quiet hum of safety he always seemed to carry with him. When he pulled back, there was a glint in his eye, something playful beneath the concern.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you faked bein’ on your last legs just to get me outta there.”

You smirked, still touching his face. “On the contrary, Miller. I was genuinely suffering. You just happen to be the only thing I can’t ever resist.”

His chest shook with quiet laughter, and he kissed you once more, quicker but no less affectionate, before finally closing the door and rounding to the driver’s side. He hauled himself in with a groan, the seat creaking beneath him.

“Let’s get you home. What’s on the docket tonight? Love Island?”

You hummed, head tilted against the window, already letting the starting hum of the engine soothe you. “I’m thinkin’ Titanic. In the mood to watch some rich people sink.”

He groaned lightly but nodded, already resigning himself. “Titanic sounds… great, baby.”

You shot him a sly look. “Wow. Must really love me to cave that easily.”

His eyes flicked toward you at the stop sign, the amber of the sunset caught in them.

“I sure do,” he said with a wide smile.

[wingedhallows]

i need more of nat x kevyn’s sister pretty pleasee

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒

━━ ꩜.ᐟ

⋆ 𐙚 ˚. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 nat scatorccio x reader / 0.5k words ⋆ 𐙚 ˚. 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 fluff, suggestive energy idk ⋆ 𐙚 ˚. 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 hey! thanks for requesting. i hope you like this little something !

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The house is quiet - no scratch that - there’s shuffling down the hall, a door slams shut and a moment later music screeches through the walls. Nat’s over again, as usual.

You can almost picture them, splayed on your little brother's bedroom floor, CD’s of bands you wouldn’t be caught dead listening to and weed barely lit which Nat swears she doesn’t buy from that one weird sophomore who should’ve graduated two years ago.

A groan so scratchy and annoyed leaves your throat - it’s saturday, which means no school and sleeping in but not with your annoying little brother and his strangely attractive best friend in the house.

The pants lay abandoned on the floor since yesterday night and there’s no desire to put them on now so you drag your body down the hallway, limbs heavy and warm with sleep.

There’s music blaring through the plywood door, something rock, something too loud for eight in the morning. The door flies open with a clunk, the handle slams into the cabinet behind it as you push it open. The music keeps going but Kevyn and Nat stare at you, caught, eyes wide and a blunt mid pass between them. 

“I swear to fucking god, Kev - turn the shit music down.” Kevyn doesn’t move for a solid minute, too stunned by the intrusion but Nat’s more than functional.

She reaches for the beat up boombox and lowers the volume, one hand lifting the blunt to her mouth but her eyes stay on you, unashamedly. She eyes you, one eyebrow cocked in a way that feels more than interest.

“Jesus - no need to kick my door in.” Your little brother mumbles under his breath, like a coward. Which he is. “Shut it, idiot.” Kevyn does shut it but not before flipping you off.

Nat on the other hand looks more than amused, intrigued and a little hazed. She holds out the blunt without another word. You take it.

Her fingers brush yours, soft and warm and full of something neither of you are ready to name. “Morning.” Nat’s lips curl into a soft little half smile and it makes something warm spark behind your ribs. 

“Nice panties.” You huff a breath, smug.

Nat - I don't think about girls like that - Scatorccio is eying you like breakfast, lunch and dinner all at once and to be honest, you’re more than pleased.

“Only for you.” The blunt finds its way back into Nat’s hand. You give her a wink, teasing and challenging all at once and you swear you see her grin sharpen.

[sapchat]

Who I think would say ‘I love you’ first in the 141 (including Nik cause I’m a whore for that man)

Let’s start with Price, he’s a little grizzled, older but also emotionally constipated. Like a grandparent with their kid but not their grandkid. Little rough around the edges. In his early days, when a lieutenant he’d probably be the first. It’d be a romantic affair, likely after a date, whilst sitting on the couch afterwards with a nightcap…. It’s sweet. But now there’s at least two(2) divorces. And he’s a captain. With men to protect, many who’ve died, some who haven’t.

Now however, it’s you. Said likely without fanfare. Either laying in bed after he’s come back home, or just before he leaves when you drop him at the fence gate. He’s learned that whilst he knows he loves you, he should wait, give it time to make sure you both know that’s what it is. But you know…. And for now…. He’ll learn to accept it until he’s ready to actually say it as well…

Now I’m going in order of rank here, which means it Simon next. Little Ghost. And whilst I love the ‘ghost doesn’t verbally tell you he loves you he shows it’ propaganda, I can’t picture it. This is a man in his late 30s. He’s been to hell and back. He’s seen his family be ripped apart, taped back together then shredded. He says ‘I love you’ first. He knows how it feels to leave words unspoken. To live with regret of not saying something when he should have. And honestly? It’s probably pretty sudden. Now I don’t think Simon will go head first into a relationship without knowing the other. You two knew each other before toeing the line of dating, and when it comes time for him or you to ask the other out. He knows he loves you.

He’s not gonna say it the minute y’all start dating but it’ll be like maybe a week or so in. Quiet, in bed… either facing each other nose to nose, or with you draped over him his hand trailing up and down your arm. It’s said with hesitance but with full devotion behind it. Because he does love you. And he wants you to know he loves you… just in case.

Soap is next. (I’m a firm believer that soap is probably a year or three older than Gaz.) Soap believes in love at first sight. If he could he would’ve told you he loved you the minute your eyes met. Whether that be a grocery store, or when you shove your foot so far into his dick/nuts during sparing. He’s an all in or all out type of guy.

And when he meets someone he enjoys the company of, finds them funny, he’s attractive to them? He’s all in. I feel like he’s definitely the type to think ‘I love you’ after the first date, but he actually says it after the third date….

Gaz! He seems pretty down to earth. He’s learned to get his hands dirty after being with Price and the team. You both say it basically at the same time. It’s quite funny actually! It’s the 5th date, you’ve been official for like half a year (man those deployments he does sucks…), it’s laying on the floor recovering from the biggest food coma you both have ever suffered, it’s quiet, a fireplace video playing on the TV because “nothing beats a Yule log love” the two of you starring at the ceiling when you look at each other, a knowing glint in the others eye with a goofy smile.

He’s simple, he’s sweet. And I feel he’d be the perfect partner he’d keep away from the military life.

Nikolai. I feel like Nikolai’s a toss up… he’s definitely like Price, has maybe one divorce under his belt… or at least a fake divorce or broken hearted fiancé from when he was in the military. What I do know is that he says ‘I love you’ in a silent way without saying ‘I love you’… but it’s definitely after you’ve said it.

It’s said maybe about 5-6 months in, said after something dangerous happened, for either him or you, you’re laying in bed together, fingers tracing down his nose… when you say it, just a little whisper has his eyes close… and in response he tells you his name. His real name—and whilst it isn’t those three words, it’s something meaningful, for now that’s enough….

Kate, Kate Laswell is hard to get a read on I feel. Which is weird because she has more screen time than Nik I’m pretty sure. Kate loves you. Really she does… but she doesn’t really say it. She loves you more through actions than words, she says it in the way flowers or groceries will show up while she’s away, or how when she does come home she always has some sort of gift. Like the expensive vase that came from Africa, or the century old bottle of alcohol that still sits in the rack in the kitchen, yet to be open.

The words are spoken at times, usually said instead of ‘sorry’, but are said nonetheless. It’s something that will cause fights, and will lead to her actually telling you to make up for it. But she’s your wife, and she’s a little emotionally constipated… but she loves you all the same.

[bewitched-hours]

yandere robot forsaken au where y/n is but an apathetic inventor whose skill went underappreciated by their coworkers (work for a corporation idk). one day, they were requested by a wealthy family to....make a robot replica of their dead son? (chance) weird, but anyways. after the success of one, many orders started to pour in and as they were drowned underneath works, they failed to see signs of severe malfunctions from these machines. (are they truly robots? idk)

Y'all are freaks! And I love it- Idk if you wanted all of them(except Chance) or not so uh- Hopefully you did-

Anywho, reader gets she/her for the sole purpose of strong wamen~

Your apathy would be your downfall.

That's what everyone at your workplace thought of you.

You didn't participate in gossip or office drama, you didn't entertain small talk, you were just there to make money and fuck off.

You thought that when you were contacted with a business opportunity by some wealthy folk that you'd be able to challenge yourself for once.

The task was to create a life-like robot version of their deceased child, even sending along pictures for references.

It took you months to figure out the most efficient way to go about it and once sent off, you were proud of yourself. You technically reanimated the dead and even got paid double for it!

With those 6 figures now in your account, you began wondering if you should quit your job. You didn't do it just yet because you figured it was likely a one-off occurrence. There's no way more people would-

... You had more orders... Just a week later...

Turns out when you satisfy a wealthy family, you attract many more...

But you wouldn't let the sudden inflow stop you and quit your job to focus on the orders. It likely wouldn't be a long-time solution so you made sure your boss was still left with a good enough impression of you for when you had to go back to the job market.

But with the orders all being at once, you had to work on all of the robots day in and day out. You neglected your needs and spent many nights keeping yourself awake for work. You even failed to notice your own mistakes in their programming and never had the realization that they were coming to life and gaining sentience.

Bit by bit, they would watch you work on them with care, quietly talking to yourself to help your focus and make sure you wouldn't mess up.

It made them... Feel.

They felt a strange draw to you. Like they had to do everything to keep you with them.

Their affections started subtle.

Putting your jacket back on you when you fell asleep at your desk and letting you believe you forgot to take it off the night prior, leaving snacks out at random and creating deepfake footage on your security cameras to make you believe you simply forgot about putting them there yourself, even displacing your keys or wallet at times to keep you inside longer.

Don't get them wrong, they were quick to understand what it meant to be human and what necessities you had thanks to your programming skills but...

You also had to understand that you made a simple mistake and now had a full cast of robots literally ready to kill to make sure you were theirs.

You only noticed too late that they were moving on their own.

"What... the.... Hell...?" You instinctively tilted your head to the side as you dropped the bag of groceries you just got inside.

C00lkidd was playing in the living room but had frozen up at the sound of the door. He didn't have the time to put away your stuff again and this time you were sure something's gone wrong.

"How is this possible??" You questioned, approaching the small bot and kneeling down to check his eyes. "You're not..."

You didn't dare to finish your sentence as you saw a faint red glow in his eyes. "Oh no... No no no- NO!" You quickly got up and backed away, thinking about all the possibilities before you were stopped by a metallic hand on your shoulder.

"Surprise..?" That... Was Elliot's voice... The voice you programmed for him....

"Please don't freak out..." And there's 007n7's voice... What the fuuu-

Truth be told, you didn't freak out and allowed them to explain. They begged you not to take their sentience away and it made you think...

You created literal life out of metal and code...

With a sigh, you promised they would be able to stay and keep their sentience but you would need help creating new bots like them to fulfill your orders. They were more than happy to comply since you promised them they would keep living and didn't even need to leave your side!

Not like they'd go peacefully...

Surprisingly, their help still got all the orders to be done within the deadlines and they made sure the new bots didn't get the same sentience they got... They'll be damned before they share you with cheap replicas.

So when you sent off the new models, you thanked them. It was rare of you to show such warmth but their systems took it... Well...

It wasn't even all that bad! C00lkidd was happy to call you mom and the other bots were happy calling you theirs.

Who would've thought a minor slip-up could lead you to run a household full of... Lovers? Lover-bots? Who cared at this point? Certainly not you...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[dirtyl0ver]

Hi!!!!!! Omg. I am OBSESSED with the virginity and corruption headcannons with the creeps. You could feel their possessivness- and I had to ask this.

Say if there was a case where the s/o and the creeps break up because well- serial killers = toxic relationship. After a while- creeps miss their s/o and want her back only to find out she has found another guy - a green flag. And she hasn't just recently met him. They've been together a while and are thinking of marriage

I can only imagine the creeps are absolutely pissed because even though them and s/o broke up- they never thought she would actually move on from them and that they were still together.

How would the creeps deal with a situation like that?

Love this question!

So like, yeah, the easy (and frankly lazy) answer would be “oh, they'd just kill the guy” especially for someone like Jeff - but I think that’s kind of one-dimensional and doesn’t do their emotional complexity justice. These men feel. They obsess. And sure, they’re violent, but not everything gets solved with a weapon, especially not when it’s about someone they genuinely loved.

So here's how I think each of them would react!

Ex S/O Is Engaged to Someone Else

Brian/Hoodie

Definitely takes it the best. He’s logical and repressed as hell. Deep down, he knows he could never give you a safe, stable life - so if he sees you with someone who can? He’ll try to be mature and accept it. But that doesn't mean he’s not bitter. This man is petty, he might anonymously stalk your socials, maybe even consider sending your new guy some spicy old content of you... but ultimately won’t. He’s too proud. Still, the door is always open if you come knocking - he'd still hook up with you in a heartbeat. No strings, right?

BEN Drowned

Ben spirals. You’d think he’d be the most accepting since he’s seemingly all relaxed, funny and emotionally detached, but no. He goes full psycho ex-boyfriend. Hacks everything - your smart TV, your phone, even your vibrator app (yeah, he knows that too).

It starts subtle. A corrupted file here. Your Spotify starts auto-playing his favorite tracks. You get a text from your own number:

“he’s not even fucking you right lol”

Your new guy freaks out. He suggests changing your number. You do and Ben still finds it. Of course he does.

The moment he realizes you’re talking engagement? He goes nuclear. He sends your fiancé a blurred video: you in bed, in the filthiest position you can think, moaning Ben's name. The fallout? Predictable.

He’s not trying to kill your man. He’s trying to make you come back to him willingly. And if he has to make your life hell to do it, so be it.

And getting your new man to leave? Easy. Getting you to come back? That’s the hard part.

Jeff the Killer

Oh man. This dude goes through all 7 stages of grief and then circles back just to suffer more. At first, it’s denial - binge sex, drugs, chaos, pretending he’s unbothered. When he hears you're engaged, he just laughs and downs another line. But it eats at him.

Then comes rage. Starts sending you dead rats, shows up to your work just to stare at your new man, maybe even tries to intimidate him out of the picture. And it might work. But if you really tell Jeff it’s over? If you call the cops, threaten to expose him, tell him you're absolutely finished with him for good? He might go cold. Like a switch flipped. He’s emotionally detached enough that once he decides he’s done - he’s done. Even if a part of him dies quietly with it.

Ticci Toby

Toby shows up at your house. No warning. Rain-soaked, blood on his hoodie from who-knows-what. He stands at the door trembling, eyes wide, hands twitching.

“Y-you d-don’t love him like you l-loved me, right? I-I was yours. You were mine. You said– you said–!”

You try to talk him down. Try to reason. But Toby doesn’t want reason. He wants you. Even if it means making you watch him carve your name into his own arm.

He’ll beg. Cry. Promise to be better.

He’ll say:

“I c-can change! I-I can be normal! Tell me what to do, and I-I’ll do it! I’ll fucking bleed for you, just please–please don’t marry him.”

And if you slam the door in his face?

He’ll sit outside all night.

Ultimately, Toby is the one who is most likely to spill blood. If your fiancé just disappears, no trace, no clues, and Toby shows up at your doorstep, smiling like a puppy? Yeah, you'll know what happened.

Tim/Masky

Tim doesn’t lash out right away. He buries it. Numbs it. Disassociates. You get engaged? He doesn’t even react. Not outwardly. But that night, he gets drunk. Real drunk. And maybe puts his fist through the wall.

He’ll try to move on. Fuck someone else. But she doesn’t laugh like you. Doesn’t understand him like you did. He keeps fucking it up. Keeps comparing. And the anger keeps building.

Eventually, he might beat your new man to a pulp in a random alley one night - masked, anonymous, cathartic. But he wouldn’t kill. He’d walk away.

And maybe, just maybe, wait for the day you walk back.