#completely feralness aside

[acredb]

AHAAAAAAHRHEJAJHFNEISKF EIAJNDLEKAMSJRJ THIS IS SO COOL

OH MY GOD THANK YOUUUU!!!!!!!!!!

JWJSJEKAKAKKAKWKENDHRUEIAKBFIRIENSJJE

@acredb Sorry for the late gift lol, I got sick in the middle of working on it but I'm finally feeling better!

I loved your silly little ideas, and knowing me, I couldn't resist drawing Gristol together with Raz doing some silly 'Grulovian traditions'. I've been thinking about it a while, and I feel like them making a little train diorama would be a pretty fun idea.

Happy holidays, and best wishes for 2025!

[shadowinthetreesbutcooler]

red team are FULLY going feral im so here for it, cellbit vouching for cannibalism and getting excited, baghera wanting to build a dirt shack and everyone wanting to crawl into a cave and chase people through the woods

[fowlblue]

Me rn thinking about a post-TEC Valentine arc:

[mrsbarnesblog]

the broken sink

summary: you walk in on your boyfriend fixing the sink and looking absolutely delicious, so you cannot resist him

word count: 1.2k

warnings: porn without plot, unprotected p in v, cowgirl position, tits sucking

a/n: inspired by the tiktok i saw not so long ago😋

When you walked into your kitchen after going out for some groceries, the last thing you expected to see was Rafe lying on his back halfway under the sink. Without a damn shirt on. 

His grey sweatpants were low on his hips, showing a glimpse of his underwear, abs on full display for you, with a thin layer of sweat glistening under the sunlight from the window nearby. 

You swallowed harshly as you put the bag on the counter and looked back at your boyfriend, who was still unaware of your presence. The way Rafe’s muscles were flexing with every move under the sink and the way his toned and big arms moved back and forth with a wrench in them made your mouth water and left your head completely empty. 

“What are you doing in there?” You finally asked. 

His head peeked from under the counter, your favorite sheepish grin stretched across his face at your voice. “Hey, baby. Just though— you son of a bitch.” He cursed, and you heard a crunching noise of metal. “Just thought I would fix this thing you’ve been telling me about. I’m almost done.” 

Rafe sent you another smirk, and you were done for. You didn’t even think, your mind being completely blank, as you went closer and dropped to your knees near him. You swung your leg over, straddling his hips, hands flat on the lower part of his stomach, thumbs trailing the line just under the band of his boxers.

“What the—“ His deep voice was followed by a loud thud of his head against the sink as he moved, surprised by your actions. “Ah, shit… Babe, the hell are you doing? Like right now?” With one hand still holding a wrench and the other one instinctively gripping your thigh, Rafe’s eyes roamed over you with amusement and curiosity. 

You bit your lip, not even paying attention to his words, instead slightly lifting yourself and tugging at his sweatpants and boxers. The need and desire in you was excruciating, and you doubted that you ever experienced it in that way, but seeing Rafe like that—spread out on the floor, sweaty, half naked, looking like a fucking glazed donut—made you go feral. 

“I’m so wet, Ray.” You mumbled, barely able to think straight. 

“You’re wet because…?” He grinned, throwing a wrench near his head, and paying his full attention to you. He was slightly shocked, yes, but this is Rafe, and no matter what, he will never miss an opportunity to do something dirty and inappropriate with you. This man was obsessed, and when you showed initiative, he could get turned on in a second. 

Your hands finally managed to pull the pants down, just enough for you to pull out his quickly hardening cock. Instantly wrapping your hand around the base, you spit on the tip, working your hand up and down his length to make it nice and ready. Rafe’s hips buckled, a hiss leaving his lips at the skilled movements of your hand. “Holy fucking shit.”

“I’m wet because you look so fucking hot like that.” You moaned, your free hand desperately tugging at your dress, trying to pull it up. A frustrated huff left your lips when it kept falling down, preventing you from reaching your underwear and finally releasing the ache between your legs. 

Rafe’s head lifted off the floor, pupils blown wide at the sight of you on top of him, desperate as never before, angry at not being able to have him the way you wanted to. Your hand kept working with his cock, as he was already painfully hard. An amused laugh left his lips when your brows furrowed, a pout evident on your lips. “Lemme help you, baby.” 

He pulled the dress up, fisting the thin material in his hand, while you finally pushed your underwear aside. There was no teasing, no preparing yourself for his cock, or even giving him a chance to realize what you were doing with how fast you moved. You just sank on him in one smooth motion, throwing your head back and moaning at the stretch. 

Rafe’s fingers dug into your thighs, his mouth hanging open with surprise and pleasure, looking up at you with lust and need. “Fuck, baby.” He breathed, his voice rough and raspy. “You didn’t even give me a damn second to— shit!”

You shut him up mid-sentence, dragging yourself up and down his rock-hard cock, making his hand fall back on the floor with a thud. 

“Couldn’t wait.” You whispered, planting your hands on his firm chest, feeling every muscle shifting under your palms. “I’ve been thinking about you since morning, and then— then you were here looking so sexy…” You trailed off, eyes rolling back with a high moan slipping past your lips. 

“You’re crazy, baby, fucking crazy.” 

You leaned down, palms flat on his chest, lips barely ghosting his jawline as you dragged your hips slowly in circles. “You’re making me crazy.” You whispered, grinding down harder, pulling a ragged moan from deep in his chest.

Rafe’s hands trailed up your thighs, gripping your ass harder, pushing you down on him. You lifted yourself almost completely, then dropped back harder. Your pace quickened when you sat straight again, moving even though your legs started to feel tingly. 

Rafe couldn’t wait any longer. His fingers dug harder into your hips, bruising, as he started pushing up into you, making the filthiest and wettest noises fill the small and cozy kitchen. Your eyes rolled back, while his zeroed in on your nipples, picking through the thin fabric of your dress. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so hot right now.” He grumbled, propping himself on one elbow, his face now closer to your breasts, and catching the swell on your tit with his mouth. Rafe’s moan mixed with your gasp when he sucked on you through the fabric, dragging his teeth around the bud hard enough to make you cry. Your fingers threaded into his sweaty hair, tugging just a little, and Rafe growled low in his throat. 

You felt the heat in you building faster. The way Rafe filled you so perfectly, his cock kissing your cervix with every hard thrust, the way his hands and mouth were so desperate for you—it all made you spiral. “Need you to come, Ray…” He cupped the back of your neck, stopping his assault on your tits, bringing your mouth to his, and then falling back on the floor with you lying on his chest. 

“Fucking will, baby. You’re gonna cum on my cock too, hm?” Rafe asked, barely even stopping the kiss, before pushing his tongue back in your mouth—sloppy and borderline nasty. He started fucking into you again, feeling the way your pussy barely was letting him go. His cock throbbed inside, and with a few more thrusts, just when you couldn't hold back your orgasm anymore, you felt ropes after ropes of hot liquid painting your insides. 

You collapsed against him, both of you slick with sweat and panting, the only sounds in the kitchen your breathing and the distant hum of the fridge.

"Next time," he said, voice rough against your ear, "I'm not fixin' shit unless you're supervising like this."

You laughed, still too blissed out to even lift your head. "Deal."

He grinned, his hand smoothing up and down your back, lazy and possessive. 

The sink was still broken, tools were lying all around you, and your grocery bags were completely forgotten on the counter, but in that moment neither of you cared. 

[navybrat817]

For your consideration:

Imagine Bucky, the strong and dangerous and stern super soldier that by all accounts is terrifying as an opponent, being unable to stop himself from coming in his pants because of you. Maybe you don't even have to touch him; he gets so lost in the taste of you that he has to start grinding against the mattress, and accidentally comes when you do.

I've had this image in my head for days and had to share it somewhere, sorry 🫠

Nonnie, I love this so much. 🫠

Feral

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky gets a little feral now and then.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Oral sex (f. receiving), implied sex, possessive behavior, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Hope you lovelies enjoy. ��️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky gets in a feral mood every now and then. He may let you know with a text that simply says, “Be ready.” and other days he won't give you a warning at all. By the time you hear his deep growl or see his pupils so blown that the blue irises nearly disappear you know you aren't leaving the bed for the next day. Or two.

Today you don't even hear him coming.

You’re in the middle of a shower when he suddenly shoves the curtain aside, and you’re lucky you don't have a heart attack or slip and fall. A shriek still leaves your mouth when you lock eyes with the ex-assassin and you see the blown pupils, and you're about to have a heart attack for a completely different reason. You hope your schedule is clear because you know he’s going to thoroughly ruin you and you’d rather not try to pull yourself back together for a while.

“Bed. Now.” His growl should make you move, but you’re still under the water and trapped by his massive body.

You don't move around him fast enough and he doesn't care that his clothes get wet when he grabs you and throws you over his shoulder. All he cares about is making you wet. At least he has the good sense to shut the water off before carrying you away. He’s thoughtful like that.

He drops you unceremoniously on the bed, the comforter now soaked as well thanks to your dripping wet body. Removing his shirt and tossing it aside, you get a moment to take in the view of Bucky Barnes looking at you like a man starved. He’s a beautiful canvas of muscles and scars, yet he looks at you like you're a real work of art. You wordlessly spread your legs and invite him to feast on what belongs to him. It would've been rude to keep him from his meal and you weren't cruel.

Not to mention no past lover can ever live up to how Bucky Barnes eats pussy.

He drops to his knees and pushes your legs open more, licking his lips as gazes at your twitching hole on display. He brushes some of the hair from his face to get a better look, and it only makes him look more wild. Untamed. It doesn't take much for him to arouse you, but the way he growls at the sight of you has you feeling like a goddess. You’re on your back, but he’s on his knees ready to worship and you’ll gladly accept his offerings. However he chooses to give them to you.

“I know you’re starving, Bucky. So eat,” you finally tell him, wanting him to have his fill. Whatever puts him in this mood, you’ll go along for the ride.

But before he dips down to feast, he moves up your body like a sleek cat and fastens his mouth to yours. He won't take from you without at least one kiss. You moan low as you kiss him back and feel him grind against you. It surprises you that he still has his pants on, but he’s getting rid of them soon enough.

You can't help but touch one of the scars near his shoulder, making him gasp into your mouth. He’s so strong. So powerful. Life dragged him through hell and he didn't escape unscathed, but he survived.

“Mine,” he murmurs so softly you almost miss it as he kisses down your body. Every kiss is a reminder of who you belong to. You’ll always be his.

“Yours,” you gasp when his nose nudges your clit and he inhales deeply. You remember when the smell of your arousal used to embarrass you, and now you wonder why it ever bothered you since he loves it so much. His metal fingers part your folds and he drags his tongue along your slit with a hum, lapping up your wetness. “Fuck…” you whimper, bringing a hand up to play with your breast.

“Not yet,” he growls, pushing his tongue deep inside.

Your free hand flies to his head and you choke on a moan as you clench around him. If he was speaking more, he’d tell you how beautifully bittersweet you taste, how your pussy is made for him, how desperate you are for him to fuck you with his cock, how you're all he needs. A mix of praise, profanity, filth, and love. Hearing him growl and grunt as he feasts tells you more than enough.

“So good,” he grunts between licks, his flesh hand digging into your shaking thigh when he slips two metal fingers in. You recall gushing all over the metal the first time he made his arm vibrate. He likes having the scent of your arousal on the metal, almost as much as he likes having it on the fingers of his right hand.

You lift your head when you hear shuffling on the bed, your eyes wide when you see his hips rise and dip. You’re all too familiar with that motion. “Bucky… are you…”

“Pussy’s so fucking good. I can't… I can’t stop,” he groans, rolling his hips like he can't stop himself from humping the bed because of how good you taste. “‘m so fucking hard for you.”

Your man’s cock can be sensitive some days. Grinding against him can make him get off in his pants. You went down on him once and just the feeling of your breath against his shaft had him shooting off before you wrapped your mouth around him. And with his rebound rate, you never have to worry if he gets off before you because he’ll still take care of you.

“That’s so hot,” you admit, your mouth falling open when he moves his fingers and tongue in time with his hips. “It’s okay, big boy. Make a mess in your pants for me,” you beg, wanting him to get off to you.

His growl has a bit of a whine to it when he looks up at you, his lips and chin glistening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile, your fingers carding through his hair again. You don't want him to feel embarrassed.

He looks relieved. “Then make a mess on my face first,” he demands, dipping his head back down and making quick work of building your orgasm back up.

Pulling your hips down to meet his mouth, it isn't long before your orgasm tears through you. Your head nearly falls back as the tidal waves crash over you, but you keep it elevated enough to catch the stutter in his hips and the telltale husky moan against your sensitive hole. It almost triggers another orgasm watching him rut before he slumps against the bed like you.

Your head spins. Your heart pounds. And you smile. Bucky Barnes just came in his pants because you came. Yeah, you feel like a goddess and then some.

“You came in your pants for me,” you breathe. “That’s love.”

Your smile only widens when he pulls his mouth and fingers away to unbuckle his pants, your walls clenching when takes himself out. He’s large and thick as he strokes himself, and you can also see a bit of the evidence of him finishing in his pants. It gets you hot all over again, and now you need to make a mess around his cock while he finishes inside you. It’ll satisfy you both.

“Yeah, that is love,” he groans, brushing his thumb over the weeping tip. He still has a bit of the feral look in his eyes. “Now I need to fuck you with my cock at least twice before I eat again.”

Yeah, you’re in for a long and fun weekend.

I need him, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 13: February 2024 - Part 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, Me trying to write therapy sessions, Oscar being a lost little duckling, Lando being a feral street cat, Brocedes in the year 2024? Sebastian Vettel making a guest appearance just for myself.

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

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Oscar Piastri

Max: You free tonight?

Oscar: uh I think so? Why?

Max: come to dinner.

Oscar: …okay? Where?

Max: Our place. 7pm. We’re already feeding Lando. And Belle adopted you.

Oscar: I’m honored? I think?

Max: Good. Bring your appetite. And maybe patience.

Max:  Lando’s already being dramatic about it.

Oscar: What’s new?

Max: Exactly. See you at 7.

***

Oscar showed up at Max and Belle’s apartment at 7:02 p.m., clutching a bottle of wine he wasn't sure they'd need and trying not to look like he was afraid.

The door opened before he could even knock properly.

Max stood there, expression dry. "Two minutes late. Tragic."

Oscar grinned sheepishly. "Traffic?"

Max just shook his head, stepping aside to let him in.

The second he entered, Oscar spotted Lando sprawled on the couch, dramatically claiming all the cushions like some sort of feral housecat.

One of the actual cats was glaring at him from the armrest.

Belle appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, smiling when she saw Oscar. "Hey, you made it."

Oscar relaxed immediately. "Wouldn’t miss it."

"You’re brave," Belle teased, nodding toward Lando. "He’s been sulking for half an hour."

"I’m not sulking!" Lando yelped from the couch. "I’m... emotionally preparing!"

"For what?" Oscar asked, genuinely curious.

He looked up and immediately pointed accusingly.

"Traitor!" Lando said dramatically. "You got adopted before me!"

Oscar grinned and dropped into the seat across from him. "Not my fault you’re unadoptable."

Max, passing by with a plate of food, muttered under his breath, "Natural selection."

Belle rolled her eyes fondly and started setting plates on the table.

Oscar stood up to help without even thinking about it — grabbing forks, glasses, anything she pointed at — and Lando immediately protested.

"Hey! No stealing points! That’s cheating!"

Oscar grinned. "Skill issue, mate."

"You are SUCH a teacher's pet," Lando groaned dramatically, as he came to help as well. 

Max dropped down into a chair at the table with a smirk. "You're both insufferable."

Belle just smiled, utterly unbothered, moving around the kitchen like this chaos was completely normal.

Oscar, trailing after her as they finished getting everything ready, cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Hey, uh," he said under his breath. "Quick question."

Belle turned, eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, feeling about twelve years old. "Heard you freelance now? Like, design stuff?"

Belle nodded. "Architecture and interiors. Why?"

Oscar winced. "Hypothetically... if someone's apartment was a complete catastrophe... and that someone’s girlfriend was visiting Monaco in two weeks... could I, uh... hire you? Like, officially?"

Belle blinked, then smiled — warm and kind. "Oscar."

"I’ll pay!" he blurted out. "Or like... buy you coffee. Or cat toys."

Belle laughed, soft and musical.

 "You don’t have to pay me," she said. "I’ll help you."

Oscar sagged in relief. 

Belle just shook her head, grabbing the last plate and nudging Oscar toward the table. "Sit. Eat. We’ll save your apartment later."

Oscar smiled, warm and easy.

This — this ridiculous, chaotic little world — It felt like home already.

***

When Belle showed up at his apartment, Oscar knew he was in trouble.

She stepped inside with a tote bag slung over her shoulder — full of measuring tape, a notebook, a fabric swatch or two — and immediately gave the whole place a slow, assessing once-over.

Oscar stood awkwardly in the middle of the mess, like a defendant waiting for sentencing.

Belle didn’t say anything at first. She just exhaled, long and low, and shook her head fondly.

"We have work to do," she said, setting her bag down with finality.

Oscar smiled, a little helplessly. "I know."

And then she took over — completely.

Belle moved through the apartment like a general, gentle but utterly in control. She measured walls, vetoed half the sad furniture he tried to keep, drew rough sketches of new layouts.

"No," she said calmly when he pointed at a sad, lumpy chair. "That’s not a chair. That’s a health hazard."

"But it’s vintage—" Oscar tried.

"It’s a crime," Belle corrected, utterly unfazed.

Oscar found himself trailing after her, nodding obediently as she rattled off notes: "We’ll need a new rug. A real lamp. You’re getting curtains, Oscar, not just sticking paper over the windows like a college student."

It should have been overwhelming. But Belle made it easy — light, funny, somehow never making him feel stupid for needing the help.

And somewhere in the middle of hauling a sad, broken coffee table toward the door, Oscar realized:

She’s so nice.

Not the fake kind of nice — not the "I’m being polite because I have to" nice. The real kind. The kind you didn’t earn — the kind she just gave, freely and without asking anything back.

It hit him harder than he expected.

And for the life of him, Oscar couldn’t understand — How could her brothers not see it?

Later, while they sat on the floor eating sandwiches she had packed ("I didn’t trust your fridge," Belle had said, deadpan), Oscar glanced over at her.

She was perched against the wall, hair falling into her face, sketching something in the notebook balanced on her knees.

"Can I ask you something?" he said before he could second-guess it.

Belle looked up, curious. "Of course."

"Why are you helping me?" he asked, voice low. "You don’t have to. I’m not your responsibility."

Belle smiled — small and real.

"When I moved to Paris," she said, "for university, I didn’t know anyone. I was eighteen. Scared. Completely overwhelmed."

Oscar stayed quiet, listening.

"I met my best friend Emilie my second week at Sorbonne," Belle continued. "She saw me drop all my books in the metro. Helped me pick them up. And then — without even asking — she took me under her wing." Belle’s voice softened, threading with something warm. "She showed me the little things. How to find the good groceries. Where to get a real coffee. Which bus routes were safe late at night."

She smiled faintly. "She saved me, in a way. Made Paris feel like home."

Oscar felt something ache in his chest.

"And when I asked her why," Belle said, looking back down at her notebook, "Emilie said: 'Because someone should.'"

Oscar swallowed hard.

"And now," Belle added, glancing up at him, "I guess... I just think everyone deserves that. Especially people like you."

Oscar laughed, soft and stunned. "What, hopeless cases?"

Belle’s smile widened. "No. Good ones."

Oscar looked at her — really looked at her — sitting cross-legged on his floor, sleeves pushed up, caramel hair catching the light from the window.

He thought about how easy it would be for her to be selfish. How the world hadn’t exactly been kind to her, but she still chose to be kind anyway.

"Thanks, Belle," he said quietly.

She just smiled, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like giving kindness was as natural as breathing.

And Oscar realized — maybe it was, for people like her.

***

Nico Rosberg liked the quiet of the stables just outside Monaco.

It was one of the few places in Monaco where people didn’t care who he was — just another dad holding juice boxes and brushing mud off boots.

The stables had become something of a second home on weekends in the off-season. 

His daughters loved their riding lessons — loved the ponies, the hay-scented air, the thrill of mastering the trot.

Nico leaned against the fence, arms crossed, sipping a coffee, watching them finish their class.

He smiled when he saw the younger one waving excitedly at someone near the paddock entrance.

There she was.

The woman both his daughters constantly talked about.

"Belle helps me with my pony!"

 "Belle makes the best braids!"

 "Belle said I did the best two-point position today!"

Isabelle Leclerc.

Nico had pieced it together after the second or third lesson — the soft-spoken young woman who occasionally helped at the stables wasn’t just any Monaco local.

She was Charles Leclerc’s sister.

Though you wouldn’t know it from her.

No airs. No attitude.

Just patience, steady encouragement, and a laugh that made the kids beam with pride when she said they did something well.

Today, she knelt beside his youngest daughter, adjusting the stirrup leathers with careful hands, chatting easily as the girl nodded along solemnly.

Nico smiled to himself.

He liked her — genuinely liked her.

There was a calmness to her he rarely saw.

He was about to wave when he caught movement from the corner of his eye — someone slipping through the stable gates with practiced ease.

Max Verstappen.

Not in race gear.

Not in Red Bull blue.

Just jeans and a hoodie, baseball cap covering his messy hair.

Nico blinked.

Max? Here?

He looked... easy. Comfortable.

Especially when Isabelle turned, spotted him, and lit up with a smile that could have powered half of Monaco.

Max’s whole face changed at the sight of her. Softened. Brightened.

He walked straight to her, not hesitating, crouching to say something that made her laugh — that small, quiet laugh Nico had seen his daughters light up over.

Max reached out, brushed a stray piece of hay from her hair like it was instinct.

Nico straightened slowly against the fence, eyebrows raising.

Oh.

Oh.

He watched for a moment longer, unnoticed.

Watched how Max’s hand lingered at the small of Isabelle’s back.

Watched how easily she leaned into him, unthinking.

Not new.

Not casual.

Something steady.

One of Nico’s daughters came running up, cheeks flushed with excitement. "Papa! Belle said I can ride Daisy next week!"

"That’s wonderful,," Nico said, ruffling her hair. "Did you say thank you?"

"Yes!" she beamed. 

He gave her a kiss on the forehead, sent her back toward the stables, and took a slow sip of his coffee, considering.

Later, as Max drifted closer — probably spotting him now that the initial magnet pull toward Isabelle had worn off — Nico met him with a knowing smile.

"Max," Nico said lightly. "Didn’t know you were into ponies."

Max shrugged, the barest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I’m into her."

Nico chuckled under his breath. "Figured."

Max shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, eyes never leaving Isabelle, who was now kneeling to show a little girl how to buckle a bridle properly.

"My daughters adore her," Nico said after a beat. "Apparently ‘Belle’ is the best teacher they’ve ever had."

Max smiled then — properly, fully — something so rare and genuine that Nico almost did a double take.

"Yeah," Max said, voice low. "They’re not wrong."

They stood there for a moment, two men who had seen the brutal side of fame and pressure, silently agreeing that this — this quiet, real thing — was worth a hell of a lot more.

"Charles know?" Nico asked eventually, curious but gentle.

Max huffed a dry laugh. "No."

Nico winced. "Oof."

Max shrugged, unbothered. "Doesn’t matter. She’s mine."

There was no arrogance in the words.

Just certainty.

Steel wrapped in something terrifyingly soft.

Nico smiled slightly. "Good. Don’t lose that."

"I won’t," Max said simply.

Isabelle looked up then, spotting them across the arena.

She gave a small wave, smiling — easy and bright, like the sun slipping through the clouds.

Later, Nico watched Max head back toward the barn, where Isabelle was helping the younger kids put away their helmets, her hair half-falling out of her braid, her cheeks pink with the cool air.

Max didn’t even look at anyone else.

Max was watching Isabelle the way Nico watched Vivian — with a kind of unconscious gravity, like the rest of the world had blurred out and there was only her left.

And Isabelle — She looked up, caught Max’s eye, and smiled again — soft, sure, like she knew exactly where he’d always end up.

Nico shook his head fondly and muttered under his breath, "The paddock is not ready for this."

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Oscar Piastri

Oscar: Hi Oscar:  sorry to bug you again Oscar:  But can i ask for another favor?

Isabelle: Hi Oscar Isabelle: you’re never bugging me Isabelle: what’s up?

Oscar: Do you have any good restaurant recommendations for Valentine’s day? like... somewhere actually nice but not stupidly touristy?

Isabelle: You’re planning a Valentine’s dinner?

Oscar: Yeah.  First one in Monaco… I want it to be good

Isabelle: That’s really sweet. 

Oscar: I’ve got a short list already. I just need your opinion because Lando’s advice was (quoting here) “idk just get pasta or something, she’ll live”

Isabelle: oh my god

Oscar: I know

Isabelle: Send me your list.  I’ll help you pick. 

Oscar: Maison Bleue, Le Petit Bar or maybe that little italian place near the flower market?

Isabelle: All good choices!! Isabelle: I would lean Maison Bleue Isabelle: It’s a little quieter, more romantic

Oscar: Perfect, thank you!! Also already got her a necklace so I’m like 90% prepared, only panicking a little bit. 

Isabelle: You’re more prepared than 99% of people I know (cough my brothers cough)

Oscar: …Do they not plan?

Isabelle: They just expect me to plan everything.  Birthdays, anniversaries,  mother’s day,  sometimes their friends' birthdays too. 

Oscar: ... that’s awful. 

Isabelle: It’s nice that you asked and that you already had ideas. I am not used to that. 

Oscar: Of course? You’re helping me.  It’s the least I can do to be a human about it. 

Isabelle: You’re a very good human, Oscar

Oscar: You’re a very good human, too, Belle. 

****

It started with a text.

Arthur: Isabelle HELP I forgot to book anything for valentine’s day what do i do

Then Lorenzo chimed in.

Lorenzo: Hey, can you find a florist for me? Everything’s sold out.

And then Charles, predictably, a minute later.

Charles:Can you order something for Alex? I don’t know what she likes.

Isabelle stared at the group chat, feeling that familiar, sick tightening in her stomach.

 They just assumed she would fix it — like she always did.

No hello, no how are you, no are you busy.

Just Isabelle, save us.

She set the phone down on the counter carefully, like it might explode.

Max was leaning against the stove, stirring something in a pot. He looked up when he saw her face.

"What's wrong?"

Isabelle opened her mouth. Closed it again.

And then, quietly: "They want me to fix Valentine’s Day for them."

Max didn’t say anything for a second. Just studied her, like he already knew she was about to go to war with herself.

"You don’t have to," he said softly.

"But if I don’t—" she started, and stopped, clenching her hands into fists. "If I don’t, they’ll be upset. Or disappointed. Or say I’m selfish."

Max set the spoon down carefully, wiped his hands on a towel, and crossed the kitchen to her.

He took her face in his hands, gentle but firm.

"Belle," he said, voice steady. "You are not responsible for their girlfriends' happiness."

Tears pricked behind her eyes. She hated how easily they came now, how raw she always felt lately.

But Max didn’t flinch. Didn’t rush her.

"You deserve to have a Valentine’s Day too," he said. "You deserve to put yourself first."

Isabelle nodded, shaky, terrified — but somehow, deep down, she knew he was right.

She picked up her phone with trembling fingers and, for once, instead of making excuses or softening the blow, she just… said the truth.

Isabelle: I’m sorry, but I’m not available to help this time. Good luck.

She hit send before she could overthink it, before she could drown in the guilt.

There was a long, aching silence.

Then Arthur's message popped up.

Arthur: seriously? wow. okay then.

And another from Charles.

Charles: Nice. Thanks for nothing.

And Lorenzo, icing on the cake.

Lorenzo:Guess we know who we can count on.

The shame hit her hard and fast, brutal in a way only family could manage.

She set the phone down again and braced her hands against the counter, breathing hard, fighting not to crumple.

Max didn’t say I told you so.

He didn’t say they’re assholes, even though she could see it in his eyes.

He just moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin lightly on her shoulder.

"You did the right thing," he murmured against her skin. "I’m proud of you."

Isabelle choked on a laugh that was half sob, half relief.

"But they’re mad."

"So let them be mad," Max said. "You’re not their secretary. You’re not responsible for their poor planning."

She turned in his arms, burying her face in his chest, breathing him in. Steady. Solid. Hers.

"It hurts," she whispered.

"I know," he said. "But hurting doesn’t mean you did the wrong thing. Sometimes it just means you’re finally doing the right thing."

He rubbed her back in slow circles, patient and sure.

"You’re allowed to choose yourself," Max said. "Every time."

And Isabelle, standing there in their kitchen, wrapped in his arms, knew: This was what real love looked like.

Not demands.

Not expectations.

Not conditional approval.

Just acceptance.

Just safety.

Just Max.

***

Team Redline Stream – Transcript

Stream starts, usual chatter as the guys set up for the race.

Luke: “Alright, so Valentine’s Day is in two days. Anyone got plans?”

Gianni Vecchio: “Uh—”

Chris Lulham: “Define ‘plans.’”

Gianni: “I mean… I’ll figure something out.”

Luke: “That means no one has done anything.”

Max: already annoyed “Useless. All of you.”

Chris: “Oh, and you have plans then?”

Max: “Of course. What kind of question is that? I love my girlfriend.”

Twitch chat:

   •   here we go again

   •   max “i love my girlfriend” verstappen strikes 

   •   the way this man is always 10 steps ahead

   •   someone check on the team redline WAGs

Gianni: groaning “Okay, yeah, we get it, you’re in love.”

Max: “No, because seriously—why do so many guys just assume their girlfriend or wife or mother or sister will handle everything? How is that cute? It’s embarrassing.”

Gianni: laughs “Tell us how you really feel.”

Max: “I will. Because it’s not just Valentine’s Day. It’s all the time. Birthdays, holidays, family events—who does all the planning? Who buys the gifts? Who remembers every single thing? The women. And the men just show up, say ‘Oh nice,’ and then act like they had anything to do with it.”

Chris: “Alright, I feel personally attacked.”

Max: “Good. Do something about it.”

Twitch chat:

   •   he’s SO MAD HELP

   •   he’s right and he should say it

   •   max verstappen, feminist king??

   •   every girlfriend watching this is nodding

Gianni: whistles “This is… a lot of feelings.”

Max: not done yet “No, because I’ve seen it firsthand, and it pisses me off. You know how many times I’ve watched someone handle everything for the people in their life and not even get a thank you? Not even acknowledged? Like it’s just expected? They do it because they care, but no one ever stops to think, ‘Oh, maybe they’d like to feel appreciated too.’” And if they for once don’t do it, the passive aggressiveness is through the roof, because they take it for fucking granted! It’s actually pathetic. Like, you are an adult, but you can’t book a damn dinner reservation? You need your sister to do that for you?!

Gianni: “Oh, this is personal-personal.”

Max: “Of course it’s personal! I see it happen to people I care about all the time. They put in so much effort and get nothing back. Their family forgets things that matter to them, just assumes they’ll be fine with it. Do you know how awful that is? To love people who don’t even notice when you’re hurting?”

Twitch chat:

   •   nah bc this just got too real

   •   someone in max’s life is NOT getting enough love and he’s fighting for their life rn

   •   blinking twice for the mystery girlfriend rn

   •   the way this man is not even being subtle anymore

Chris: nervous laughter “Uh… yeah, that sucks.”

Max: flatly “Yeah. It does.”

Gianni: “I feel like I should be taking notes.”

Max: “You should.”

Luke: “So… are you gonna tell us what you planned?”

Max: “No.”

Gianni: “So you’re out here preaching about effort but won’t give us ideas?”

Max: “Correct.”

Chris: “You’re actually evil.”

Max: smirking “Maybe.”

Race starts. Max wins, because of course he does.

Twitch chat:

   •   he went on a 10-minute rant then destroyed everyone on track. classic

   •   someone tell the mystery gf that max has a RING READY bc there’s no way he doesn’t

   •   max: “i love my gf and i hate men who do nothing”

   •   whoever he’s talking about, i hope they know he would actually burn the world down for them

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1GossipQueen: Max Verstappen just went on a full-on TED Talk during the Team Redline stream about how men need to step up and actually plan things for the women in their lives. I have NEVER seen him this passionate about anything that isn’t racing.

@/LandoStan_4: Nah, because the way he said, “It’s not even just about Valentine’s Day or girlfriends or wives, it’s always the women in families doing all the planning and never getting a thank you,” like he had a PERSONAL vendetta.

@/softverstappen: Who hurt you, Max??

@/F1memes_daily: Max Verstappen when he thinks about men who make their wives and girlfriends or mothers or sisters plan every holiday, birthday, anniversary, and social event: [insert exploding volcano meme]

@/GridTea: I swear he was holding back from name-dropping someone specific. The frustration was too real.

@/ChaosLeclerc: The way he said, “You are an adult, but you can’t book a dinner reservation?” sir who are you calling out.

@/TireDeg_33: I’m telling you, his mysterious girlfriend is fighting for her LIFE against the invisible burden of being the only responsible one in her family.

@/AloNorrisFan: The man really said, “Bare minimum behavior is NOT cute,” and you know what? He’s so right.

@/DR3Honeybadger: Max Verstappen being the voice of reason for women everywhere was not on my 2024 bingo card.

@/F1_WAGwatch: We all joke about ‘wife guy’ Max, but this just confirmed it. He’s SO in love and he’s SO annoyed on her behalf.

@/PitLaneDrama: This was NOT a general take. This was deeply personal. Whoever she is, she’s got this man READY TO FIGHT.

@/MaxFanClub: Honestly, this is the kind of energy we need from men. He called out half the grid without even naming names.

@/RedBullBesties: Lmao Max really said, “Bare minimum? Embarrassing. Do better.”

@/UndercutStrategy: His girlfriend better be watching this like [insert smug cat meme] because she’s got the reigning world champion out here advocating for her rights.

@/McLarenChaos: I need to know what triggered this. Did someone in his friend group forget a birthday? Did he overhear some teammate say “my girl will plan it” and see red??

@/F1DetectiveAgency: There’s a bigger mystery here… who IS she, and why does Max Verstappen love her so much that he’s out here calling out society???

@/FormulaLover: Max really said, “Love is about effort,” and I’m gonna need the men on this app to take notes.

@/DR3Always: He was talking to someone SPECIFIC. You can’t tell me this was just a general rant. He had receipts.

@/VerstappenSimp33: Max Verstappen, voice of the people. Advocate for women everywhere. A true feminist icon.

@/F1Detectives: There’s something SO funny about Max Verstappen, of all people, being the one to passionately call out the mental load women carry in relationships.

@/RedBullF1Fan: I’ve never seen a man so aggressively pro-Valentine’s Day.

@/SassyTauri: Max out here unionizing girlfriends.

@/F1WAGWatch: This man is SO IN LOVE. He literally said “She deserves effort” with his whole chest.

@/TireDegGOAT: Imagine being his girlfriend watching this like “Yes, my man, drag them.”

@/Undercut_Stan: Petition for Max to start a relationship advice podcast.

@/RedBullGirlies:Max Verstappen: F1 World Champion, Cat Dad, and now the internet’s unexpected Feminist Icon.

@/PaddockSpy: We don’t know who she is, but she’s got this man out here EDUCATING the masses.

***

Lily wasn’t exactly worried, flying into Monaco to visit Oscar for Valentine’s Day — but she was... curious.

 Very curious.

She loved Oscar — loved his quiet steadiness, his dry humor, the way he texted her good morning no matter what timezone he was in.

But decorating had never exactly been his strong suit.

When he said "I’m settling into the apartment pretty well!" over FaceTime a few weeks ago, she’d had... doubts.

Mild, loving doubts.

 Visions of mattress-on-the-floor bachelor chaos danced in her head.

So when she walked into his place for the first time — duffel bag still slung over her shoulder — she stopped dead just inside the door.

Blinking.

Staring.

The living room actually... looked good.

There was a real couch.

Matching throw pillows.

A soft rug that didn’t look like it came free with a video game console.

Curtains that actually matched the walls.

Fresh flowers on the kitchen island.

It was— it was warm. It looked like a home.

She turned slowly to Oscar, who was hovering nervously behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"You did this," she said slowly. It wasn’t exactly a question. More like an accusation.

Oscar flushed. "Well... sort of."

She narrowed her eyes, stepping further inside. "Oscar. Be honest."

He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "I had help."

Lily folded her arms. "Yeah, no kidding. This has woman’s touch written all over it."

Oscar winced. "Belle helped."

Lily blinked. “Belle?

"Isabelle Leclerc."Oscar answered, grinning now. "Charles’ sister."

Lily remembered her vaguely — a soft smile, a quiet presence tucked in the corners of the paddock. Kind, but easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.

"Do I need to be worried?" Lily joked lightly, bumping his hip.

Oscar laughed so hard he nearly dropped her suitcase.

"Trust me," he said, still grinning, "you don’t. I think she adopted me. Like... another cat."

Lily snorted.

Oscar leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Besides, I don’t have three Drivers’ Championships and a fleet of cats. I’m not her type."

Lily stared at him. Oscar just raised one eyebrow. “Isabelle Leclerc and Max Verstappen?” Lily said, surprise colouring her voice. 

“Absolutely besotted with each other” Oscar said with a laugh. “And he’s good for her.”

"You like her," Lily said after a beat, softer now. "Not like that — but you like her."

Oscar nodded immediately.

 "Yeah. She’s..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. "She’s the kind of person who just helps, you know? Without making you feel like you owe her for it."

Lily smiled, stepping closer to loop her arms around his waist.

"Sounds like you lucked out," she said.

Oscar smiled, pressing a kiss to her hair. "I definitely did."

Lily glanced around the apartment again — at the carefully chosen throw blankets, the tiny succulents on the windowsill, the framed print over the couch that actually matched the room instead of clashing violently. 

She thought of the quiet girl she'd seen once or twice, standing in the background while her brothers soaked up all the attention.

And Lily decided, very quietly, that she liked this Belle already.

A lot.

***

Monaco at night always looked beautiful.

All glitter and shine, like the whole city was pretending to be softer than it really was.

Lewis Hamilton knew better. He wasn’t dazzled by the surface anymore.

He was walking back from a late dinner with some old friends, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, keeping his head down, when the world exploded.

The screech of tires.

 A flash of headlights where they shouldn’t be.

 The sickening crunch of metal hitting metal.

Lewis whipped around just in time to see it happen.

A green Volvo — coming through the intersection on a green light — blindsided by a black SUV that barreled through the red without even slowing down.

The impact spun the green car sideways, sending it skidding up onto the curb, crumpled against a light post. The SUV swerved wildly, tires smoking, before lurching to a stop a few meters away.

Lewis didn’t think. He sprinted.

He reached the green car first, heart pounding hard enough to drown out the sounds of shouting passersby. The front end was mangled, the windshield spiderwebbed with cracks, airbags deployed.

He yanked the passenger side door open — the driver’s side was crushed in — and leaned across.

"Hey, hey—" he said urgently. "Stay with me. You okay?"

The girl inside was small, dazed, blood trickling from a cut above her eyebrow.

Blinking slowly, struggling to focus.

It took him a second to recognize her.

Isabelle Leclerc. Charles’s sister.

"Isabelle," he said more gently. "It’s Lewis. You’re okay. I’m right here."

She stared at him, glassy-eyed, her breathing shallow and fast.

Shock. Pure shock.

Lewis cursed under his breath, fumbling for his phone with one hand.

He called emergency services first, rattling off the location, demanding an ambulance. Then he crouched by the open door again, keeping his voice low and steady.

"You’re doing great, Isabelle. Just breathe. Help’s on the way."

Her hands were trembling badly. She tried to unbuckle herself and flinched at the movement.

"Don’t," Lewis said quickly. "Stay put. You could be hurt worse than you know. Just sit still for me, okay?"

She nodded, small and shaky, tears starting to well in her wide, shocked eyes.

Lewis took off his jacket and draped it over her lap to keep her warm, crouching to stay at her eye level.

"I’m gonna call your brother, yeah?" he said gently. "Charles’ll want to know—"

Isabelle’s hand shot out, grabbing his sleeve with surprising force.

"No," she said, her voice raw and cracking. "Don’t call him. Please."

Lewis blinked, caught off guard. "Isabelle—"

"Please," she said again, desperate now. "Don’t call him."

Lewis sat back on his heels, frowning slightly.

He didn’t argue — it was clear she wasn’t in any state to be pushed — but it planted a seed of confusion deep in his gut.

He knew families could be complicated.

 But something about the panic in her voice unsettled him.

Not embarrassment.

 Not stubbornness.

 Something deeper.

 Fear, maybe. Or exhaustion.

He swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "Alright. I won’t call him."

Isabelle sagged back into the seat, closing her eyes tightly, breathing ragged.

The ambulance sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer.

Lewis stayed right there, hand braced lightly on her knee to let her know he wasn’t leaving.

Future teammate, he thought grimly, the words sitting heavy in his chest.

He’d just signed with Ferrari.

Was about to step into the same garage as Charles Leclerc next year.

 He knew Charles — or at least, he thought he did.

But now he wondered.

Because whatever was going on between Isabelle and her brother — whatever had made her so terrified at the idea of him finding out — it wasn’t simple.

It wasn’t small.

And Lewis, for the first time since agreeing to the move, felt the first real crack of doubt spider across the surface of everything he thought he knew.

***

Max’s phone rang late—too late for anything normal. Isabelle had been at Emilie’s for the evening, some kind of girls’ night that they always did just before Valentine’s day, involving ice cream and bad Rom-Coms. 

He was already half-asleep, curled up in bed with Sassy stretched across his legs, when the vibration jolted him awake. He frowned, blinking at the screen.

Belle ❤️

Something in his chest tightened.

"Schatje?" he answered, already sitting up. "What’s going on?"

There was a pause. A breath. Then, softly—too softly—Isabelle said, "Max."

He was awake instantly.

"What happened?"

"I'm okay," she said immediately. "I'm at the hospital."

Max was already moving, throwing off the blanket and reaching for his sweatpants. "What? Why?"

"There was an accident," she admitted. "A drunk driver ran a red light and hit my car."

His blood went cold. "Where?"

"Just outside the tunnel," she said. "Max, I'm okay."

"You’re in the hospital, Isabelle," he snapped, shoving his feet into sneakers. "That’s not okay."

"They just wanted to check me over," she reassured him. "No serious injuries, just some bruises. Probably because of the Volvo."

The one he insisted she get, because safety ratings mattered more than aesthetics, because he’d seen too many crashes to trust anything less.

"Which hospital?" he demanded.

"Max—"

"Which one, Isabelle?"

She sighed. "Princess Grace."

"I’m coming."

"You don’t have to—"

"I'm coming," he repeated, already grabbing his keys.

There was another pause, then, quieter: "Okay."

"Stay on the phone with me," he said as he got into the car, putting her on speaker. His hands were tight fists, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Tell me exactly what happened."

She exhaled. "I was driving back from dinner with Emilie. It was late, so the roads weren’t busy. I had a green light. Then, out of nowhere, this car just—slammed into the side of me. Hard."

Max’s grip tightened on his phone.

"The police said he was drunk. Almost twice the legal limit."

"Fuck," Max muttered.

"I didn’t even see him coming," she admitted. "One second everything was fine, the next… airbags, the car spinning, glass everywhere. Then people running over, trying to get the door open."

Max clenched his jaw, swallowing against the sheer terror clawing up his throat.

"Isabelle," he said, voice rough, "are you sure you're okay?"

"I promise, I am."

Max exhaled shakily, throwing the car into park. 

"I'm here," he told her. "Where are you?"

"Emergency department."

Two minutes later, he found her sitting on an exam bed, her coat draped over her lap, her hair slightly disheveled but otherwise—whole.

The moment her eyes met his, relief flooded her face.

Max didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in two strides and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. She was warm. Real. Breathing.

"I hate you driving alone at night," he muttered against her temple.

"I know," she whispered, holding onto him just as tightly.

"You're getting a driver."

"Max—"

"I'm serious."

She huffed a small laugh. "My Volvo might have saved my life tonight."

Max just tightened his grip, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "Then I'm never letting you drive anything else."

Max didn’t let go for a long time. He just held her, breathing her in, grounding himself in the fact that she was here, in one piece, instead of—

He couldn’t even think about the alternative.

Isabelle eventually pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. “You really didn’t have to come all the way here.”

Max gave her a look. “Don’t say stupid things.”

He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, before pulling back properly to look her over. She looked tired—her makeup smudged from the night, her hair messy, a faint red mark along her collarbone where the seatbelt must have held her back.

Max pulled back only when a nurse cleared her throat nearby.

"We're keeping her overnight," she said, flipping through the chart. "Mild concussion. And her vitals were a little unstable when she came in — classic shock. Nothing serious, but better to monitor."

Max nodded tightly. "Good. That's good."

Isabelle groaned quietly. "Max, it’s not that bad—"

"Not arguing," he said firmly. "You're staying."

The nurse handed Isabelle two small white pills and a cup of water. Painkillers, she explained. Isabelle took them without complaint, sagging back against the pillows.

"She’ll be moved upstairs to a private room soon," the nurse said. "You can stay, if you’d like."

It didn’t take long before the painkillers hit her.

By the time they had put her in a private room, Belle was definitely enjoying the side effects of said pills. 

She turned her head slowly, blinking up at him like he’d just materialized out of thin air.

“Max,” she said dreamily, her voice soft and a little slurred.

He moved closer, crouching so he was at eye level. "I’m here, Schatje. How do you feel?"

She reached out clumsily, grabbing the front of his hoodie and tugging him closer.

“I love you so much,” she mumbled, her face squishing against his chest. “Like…stupid much.”

Max’s heart twisted painfully in his chest.

“I love you too,” he murmured, brushing her hair gently off her forehead. “You’re concussed, sweetheart. You need to rest.”

She didn’t listen.

Instead, she stared up at him with big, glassy eyes and announced, very seriously: “You’re the best boyfriend in the whole world. The best. Like, you should get an award. A giant trophy.”

Max bit back a laugh, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “I don’t need a trophy, Belle. You’re enough.”

“No, no,” she insisted, poking his chest with one finger. “You don’t understand. You’re...you’re like, made of magic. You’re so good, Max. You’re…you’re my favorite,” she said solemnly, like it was the most important announcement in the world. "More than croissants. More than horses. More than the cats."

Max smiled, throat tight. "High praise."

She nodded, wide-eyed. "Don't tell Sassy."

"Your secret’s safe with me." He caught her hand gently, threading his fingers through hers. “You’re my favorite too.”

She blinked at him, still fighting to stay awake. “You’re so pretty, too. So pretty it’s rude. Like, how are you so pretty? It’s criminal.”

Max let out a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re beautiful,” she said solemnly.  Isabelle blinked up at him, utterly adoring. “You have such nice eyelashes. They’re so long. You know that? It’s not fair.”

“Schatje—”

“And you smell really good. Like soap and anger.”

Max bit back a laugh. “You’re off your head.”

She poked his chest with a finger. “You’re in love with me.”

He blinked. “That’s true, yes.”

She lit up. “I knew it! Good. Because I’m in love with you too. Like, so much. Stupid in love with you.”

Max melted and tried not to show it.

“I’m gonna marry you,” she added helpfully. “Someday.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Yeah? That the morphine talking?”

“No,” she mumbled. “That’s me talking. But the morphine is making it easier.”

Max took her hand and squeezed it. “Good. Because I’d marry you too. But first, we’re getting you better. No wedding until you can walk in a straight line.”

“I can walk in a straight line,” she said proudly. “It just moves sometimes.”

He laughed, unable to help it.

She just tugged him down until he was practically draped across her, clinging to him like he might vanish.

“Promise you won’t leave,” she whispered.

Max kissed the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here the whole night.”

“You’re my safe place,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep and meds. “You always make me feel safe.”

Max closed his eyes for a moment, breathing her in.

He would’ve fought the whole world to keep her safe. He would’ve torn Monaco apart brick by brick if it meant putting her back together.

“You’re safe,” he whispered back. “I promise.”

Isabelle finally drifted into a light sleep, her fingers still tangled tightly in his hoodie. Max stayed right there, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, letting her use him as a pillow if that’s what she needed.

***

Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Sebastian Vettel

Lewis: Mate. Lewis: You awake? Lewis: Need to ask you something.

Sebastian: Always awake for you. Sebastian: What's up?

Lewis: Ran into a situation in Monaco tonight. Lewis: A car crash. Drunk driver. Lewis: Girl got hit.

Sebastian: Christ. Sebastian: Is she okay???

Lewis: Yeah. Shaken up. Lewis: Shocky. Lewis: It was Isabelle Leclerc.

Sebastian: ...wait. Sebastian: Charles’s sister Isabelle??

Lewis: Yeah. Lewis: I stayed with her till the ambulance came.

Sebastian: Good man. Sebastian: How bad was it?

Lewis: Bad enough. Lewis: She was freezing. Could barely speak at first. Lewis: Stayed with her until paramedics got there. Lewis: She’ll need a proper checkup, but she was alive, breathing, conscious.

Sebastian: Poor girl. Sebastian: She’s always been... quiet, but good. Solid. Sebastian: Did Charles get there?

Lewis: No. Lewis:  I told her i’d call him. Lewis: She begged me not to. Lewis: full panic. Lewis: like—not just “i don’t want to worry him”— Lewis: like "please don’t tell him"Like panicked.

Sebastian: Shit.

Lewis: Seb. Lewis: What the hell is going on between her and Charles?

Sebastian: It's... complicated.

Lewis: That’s not an answer.

Sebastian: It’s family stuff. Sebastian: Not my story to tell.

Lewis: I’m not asking for gossip. Lewis: I’m about to be in the garage with Charles next year. Lewis: I need to know if I’m walking into a minefield.

Sebastian: It’s not a minefield. Sebastian: It’s a slow bleed that no one ever stopped. Sebastian: The Leclerc family dynamic is... difficult. Sebastian: Charles loves her in his way. Sebastian: But he doesn’t see her. Never really has.

Lewis: How do you mean?

Sebastian: It’s not loud.Sebastian: Not shouting or fighting. Sebastian: It’s worse. Sebastian: It’s forgetting. Ignoring.Sebastian: Charles forgets she’s a person sometimes. Sebastian: Like she’s background noise. Takes her for granted.

Lewis: Jesus.

Sebastian: Look, Charles isn’t cruel on purpose. Sebastian: But he doesn’t see her properly. Sebastian: Hasn’t for a long time. Sebastian: Too caught up in being the golden boy. Sebastian: It’s easy for everyone to overlook someone who doesn’t scream for attention.

Lewis: She shouldn’t have to scream.

Sebastian: No. She shouldn’t. Sebastian: But that’s the Leclerc family for you.

Sebastian: Charles loves his sister. I don’t doubt that. 

Sebastian: I tried telling him once…I don’t think he even understood what I meant, Lewis. 

Sebastian: Charles isn’t cruel. He is a good guy in a lot of ways. He’s not malicious. But he’s blind.

Sebastian: And the people around him? His family? They expect Isabelle to just... carry everything. Be the good girl. Be grateful.

Sebastian: Isabelle grew up in a shadow she didn’t ask for. And no one ever pulled her out of it.

Lewis: That’s fucked up. Lewis: You should have told me sooner.

Sebastian: It wasn’t my story to tell.  But now that you know... be kind to her, if you can. Sometimes being overlooked hurts more than being hated. (And she has some fantastic thoughts on Ecological architecture, if the topic ever comes up!)

Lewis: I will. Thanks, mate.

Sebastian: Anytime. Sebastian: And good luck at Ferrari. You’re going to need it.

***

Lewis didn’t usually make a habit of visiting hospitals.

Not if he could avoid it.

But after the night he’d had — witnessing Isabelle Leclerc’s accident firsthand, seeing her curled up in that crumpled car, bleeding and shocky — he hadn’t been able to shake the image.

He needed to make sure she was really okay.

Especially after she had all but begged him not to call Charles.

So here he was, walking through the polished halls of Princess Grace Hospital, a coffee in one hand and the quiet buzz of early morning filling the air.

The receptionist had waved him up to her room without hesitation.

“She’s in 433,” she said. “They moved her upstairs overnight for observation.”

Lewis headed for the elevator, heart pounding a little too fast.

He wasn’t family.

He wasn’t even a close friend.

But last night… he hadn’t been able to just walk away.

He pushed open the door to room 433, expecting to find Isabelle sleeping alone.

Maybe a nurse checking in.

Maybe Charles finally at her bedside.

Instead, Lewis froze halfway through the doorway.

Because slouched in the chair next to Isabelle’s bed — hoodie rumpled, hair a mess, legs awkwardly stretched out and still somehow managing to look like he belonged there — was Max Verstappen.

Lewis stared.

Max was half-asleep, head tipped back against the wall, Isabelle’s hand still clutched tightly in his.

Not loosely.

Not casually.

Like he couldn’t bear to let go.

And on the bed, Isabelle was curled toward him in her sleep, her fingers twisted into the fabric of his hoodie like she was holding onto a lifeline.

Lewis’s brain short-circuited for a second.

He hadn’t known what to expect — but it definitely hadn’t been this.

Max stirred slightly, blinking awake as Lewis stood there like an idiot in the doorway.

His eyes sharpened immediately, full of instinct and protectiveness.

“Morning,” Max said quietly, his voice rough from sleep.

Lewis cleared his throat. “Morning. I—uh—I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Max said simply, glancing down at Isabelle to make sure she was still asleep before looking back at Lewis. His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles without thinking.

Lewis’s mind was racing.

Max Verstappen.

Max “I hate Monaco socializing” Verstappen.

Max “I don’t do drama” Verstappen.

Holding Isabelle Leclerc’s hand like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Lewis stepped further into the room, lowering his voice instinctively. “I didn’t know you two were…”

Max’s mouth twitched slightly. Not quite a smile. “Yeah. Not a lot of people do. Lando does.”

Lewis nodded slowly, the pieces starting to rearrange themselves in his mind.

The panic in Isabelle’s voice when she said don’t call Charles.

The protectiveness bleeding off Max in waves.

The way Isabelle’s whole body, even unconscious, leaned into him like it was instinct.

It made a kind of sense, now.

A messy, secret kind of sense.

“I was there last night,” Lewis said quietly. “At the crash.”

Max’s eyes sharpened even more, alert now. “You were?”

Lewis nodded. “I saw it happen. I called the ambulance. Stayed with her until they arrived.”

Something flickered across Max’s face — gratitude, raw and immediate.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, like the words cost him something. “For staying with her.”

Lewis shook his head. “You don’t need to thank me. She… she didn’t want me to call Charles.”

Max’s jaw flexed. He looked down at Isabelle again, the tension in his shoulders visible.

“I know,” Max said after a beat. “It’s… complicated.”

Lewis thought about asking. About pushing.

But one look at the way Max’s hand tightened protectively around hers, and he decided against it.

Not his business.

Not today.

Instead, Lewis set the coffee cup he’d brought down on the bedside table, careful not to make too much noise.

“For when she wakes up,” he said simply.

Max nodded once. “She’ll appreciate that.”

Lewis hesitated, then gave Max a small, understanding nod.

And for the first time, he realized —

Max wasn’t just dating Isabelle.

He was in it.

Fully. Completely.

No half-measures.

And maybe — maybe that was exactly what Isabelle needed.

“Take care of her,” Lewis said finally, meaning it.

Max looked up, his expression hard and certain. “Always.”

Lewis nodded once more and quietly slipped out of the room, leaving them to their small, private world.

And for the first time in a long time, Lewis smiled to himself.

Because against all odds —

Isabelle Leclerc had found someone who would never let her stand alone again.

***

Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Sebastian Vettel

Lewis: You’re not going to believe what I just walked into.

Lewis: Went to the hospital this morning to check on Isabelle.

Lewis:  You know, after the crash last night.

Sebastian: Right. How is she?

Lewis: Sleeping. Safe.

Sebastian: Good.

Sebastian:  But that’s not what you’re texting about.

Lewis: No.

Lewis:  Max Verstappen was there.

Sebastian: ...what?

Lewis: Sitting in the chair next to her bed. Lewis:  Holding her hand. Lewis:  Full-on boyfriend mode.

Sebastian: Are you serious???

Lewis: Dead serious. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t new either.

Sebastian: Holy shit.

Lewis: Yeah. Lewis:  Suddenly a lot of things make sense.

Sebastian: Like her panic last night when you mentioned Charles.

Lewis: Exactly. Lewis:  She didn’t want Charles finding out. Lewis:  Probably doesn’t want any of them finding out yet.

Sebastian: Honestly? Sebastian: If anyone’s going to protect her, it’s Max. Sebastian: He doesn’t do anything halfway. Sebastian: And god help anyone who tries to mess with her now.

Lewis: Yeah.

Lewis:  He actually thanked me for staying with her after the accident. Like he sounded actually sincere. 

Sebastian: I think she finally found someone who sees her.

Sebastian:  Not the Leclerc name. Sebastian:  Just... her.

Lewis: Yeah. Lewis: Yeah, that’s what it looked like. Lewis: And honestly? I’m happy for her.

Sebastian: Me too. Sebastian:  God, Charles is going to lose his mind.

***

Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Lando Norris

Lewis: I know. 

Lando: ????????? know what???

Lewis: about Max and Isabelle.

Lando: OH MY GOD Lando:  WHO TOLD YOU????

Lewis: no one. Lewis: I saw it with my own eyes. Lewis: Hospital bedside. Lewis: Hand-holding. Lewis: Sleeping in a chair like a lovesick idiot. Lewis: It’s real.

Lando: holy shiiiiiiiit Lando: WELCOME TO THE NIGHTMARE

Lewis: what nightmare

Lando: hang on Lando: adding you

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz Jr. and Lewis Hamilton)

Lando Norris has added Lewis Hamilton

Lando: guys Lando:  GUYS

Lando: LEWIS KNOWS NOW

Daniel: LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Oscar: It was inevitable tbh.

Carlos: Hola Lewis. Bienvenido al infierno.

Lewis: ...why does this chat exist

Daniel: because max and isabelle are RIDICULOUS and SECRETIVE and it's KILLING US

Oscar: also because we needed a safe space to scream

Carlos: and gossip.

Lando: and bet how long until Charles finds out and has a meltdown

Oscar: How did you find out?

Lewis:  Last night in Monaco. Lewis:  Isabelle got in a crash. Lewis:  A drunk driver ran a red light. Lewis:  Slammed into her car.

Lando: WHAT?! IS SHE OKAY???

Lewis: She’s alive. Lewis:  Spent the night in hospital. Lewis:  Mild concussion. Bruises. Lewis:  They’re keeping her for observation.

Carlos: Oh my god.

Oscar: Poor Belle :(

Daniel: HOW DID WE NOT KNOW THIS

Lewis: I was there. Lewis:  I saw the crash. Lewis:  Ran over. Lewis:  Stayed with her until the ambulance came.

Daniel: You're a legend, mate.

Lewis: There’s more. Lewis:  When I said I was going to call Charles— Lewis:  She begged me not to. Lewis:  Like, full-on panic.

Daniel: ... That tracks tbh.

Carlos: Yeah. It’s complicated.

Lewis:  This morning I went to check on her. Lewis:  And Max was there. Lewis:  Sleeping next to her. Lewis:  Holding her hand like he was afraid to let go.

Lando:  max literally acts like a disney prince around belle 

Lando:  hand-holding and everything. Lewis:  how long has this been going on??

Lando: ages.

Oscar: Since like March. 

Lewis: does Charles know?

Daniel: ...............no.

Oscar: dear god no

Carlos: If Charles finds out there will be a war.

Lewis: You guys have been covering for them????

Daniel: YES. AND WE’RE DOING AMAZINGLY Daniel: (except for the part where we’re all gonna die when charles finds out)

Lando: new plan: Lando: if charles finds out Lando: we blame max.

Daniel: and also maybe… pretend we just found out too.

Daniel: Max can protect himself anyway Daniel: He’s built like a house and has no survival instincts around belle

Lewis: Honestly after what i saw last night he’s never letting her out of his sight again

Lando: cute but terrifying

Oscar: love that for her tbh

***

[simpjaes]

okay but drunk sex with Jay where you're completely sober but he's drunk out of his mind and the nasty, perverted, desperate side that he keeps hidden is getting revealed by the second cuz man cannot keep it in his pants ( yesterday's pics did something so carnal to me I'm afraid)

Your normal every day boyfriend Jay is no where to be found tonight. With his hands grabbing harder, his kisses that are bruising, his deep and almost concerning gazes at you.

You'd have thought though, that after getting him in the car to come home, seeing as how he's so fucking gone on that whiskey, he would have simply passed out upon touching the first soft and sleepable surface at home.

Well, it seems the alcohol doesn't make him drowsy like it would any normal person. Here he is, showing you what his hands wanted to do to you all night, kissing you harder, harder, harder. Everywhere, until his lips almost sting any surface of your skin he's already gotten his mouth on.

It's the way he fucks that really has you thrown for a loop though. On any other night with him, he'd be lending you the comforting, sweet, and perfect experience of being his pillow princess. Honestly, he does just about everything for you save for the times he's tired, and needs to simply lay back and be ridden.

You're still being a pillow princess, per se, but...it's not because he's trying to spoil you. It's because you couldn't do anything aside from just taking it, even if you wanted to.

He's not restraining you physically, but mentally you've gone insane over how he's loving you right now. Hard presses, plunging in and out of you at a pace he'd never given to you before. Whispering slurred dirty talk, showing how desperate he is for you. Drooling at the corners of your mouth when he kisses you, sucking on your tongue, licking your cheeks. Just going absolutely feral for everything that is you when he's in this state. You're in a daze at it, blindsided that Jay has a side like this to him when, normally, he's calm and collected. He's always got you in mind and his pleasure comes second. This time though, his pleasure comes first. And fuuuuck, you need to tell him how much you like this because if anything, when he's chasing for his release, yours seems to come even faster without any effort on his part. After all, you've gotten off twice already and you still don't think he's noticed.

[sanguineterrain]

Jason is definitely the type to go feral over his best friend he hasn't seen in years. Hear me out: he's alive again, and not only that, but he's huge. Strong. People are afraid of him. So the reader is in town, walking the streets, and they meet again, maybe when he protects them as Hood. And reader is ecstatic to see Jason again of course and he's the same but also, all he can think is minemineminemine and I WANT YOU. mans is down horrendous for his sweet best friend that he missed and he's been in love with them for so long and now that he has them, he's not giving them up

idk if this was a prompt but i got inspired <3 thanks for stopping by anon

jason todd x gn!reader. feral jason i guess, but really soft jason. jason who yearns to be yours. jason who'd do anything for it, even if it meant one sided devotion... and also, jason who is loved by you. 1.2k words

****

"I don't understand why you can't come to my apartment."

"I told you why." Jason's posture is rigid but his tone is gentle. Because he has told you why he won't enter your home. Multiple times. Doesn't mean you don't challenge it every time you meet him on a random rooftop.

"It would be fine, Jay," you say. "I trust you."

"I know. But I don't trust everybody else," he says, words crackling through his modulator. That had frightened you at first; in fact, everything about a newly-resurrected Jason Todd had frightened you. From his height to the guns, you'd been sure that night in Gotham would be your last.

But then it had become clear that cheated death aside, nothing could kill his heart.

"You haven't visited in a while," you say.

You don't mean for it to sound accusatory.

"I know," Jason says. "Been busy. The Bats..."

And you knew. You knew the second you found out that Jason was alive that it would be like this, that he wouldn't be completely yours. He wasn't yours when he was Robin either, perhaps even less so.

And what's wrong with that? You have no right to ask him to be yours. To give you more.

But the recent distance has frightened you. Maybe it's for safety's sake, but your selfish heart wishes that he'd drop that for once.

Then again, there's always that dread in your stomach that perhaps Jason Todd doesn't love you the way you love him. And perhaps he never will.

"Well, I wish you'd call," you say.

This is wrong. You shouldn't be picking fights. Jason doesn't go dark out of cruelty, only necessity.

Jason sighs. "I can't. 'M sorry."

You cross your arms. It's chilly tonight.

"Do you even want to see me?"

He tilts his head. Dangerous.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to intrude," you say. "You're busy and all the stuff with B, I don't—I mean, I wouldn't hold it against you if you—"

Jason takes two long strides and closes the distance. You swallow the rest of your sentence as he backs you up against the brick exterior of an abandoned apartment. Your heart picks up. You're not afraid; the fear went long ago. You're just... something. You're something about Jason.

The last time you two hugged was after Willis' death. You'd wanted to wrap him in his cape, thought maybe that would make everything feel as small as he'd been.

Now, a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier, Jason clearly does not need a cape. Right?

He takes off his helmet, lets it hang on his hand. His other hand is by your head. You lean back, let your neck go on display. Jason doesn't miss the movement.

"What're you doing, Jay?" you ask levelly.

Maybe he thinks you don't notice this distance but you do. You don't want to push him to talk about it, because as upsetting as it is, you're still strangers to each other.

You are and you're not. He died and he didn't. You grieved and you didn't. You burn and... you burn.

But you're tired of being and not being. You won't let him keep you in emotional purgatory. If he's done with you, he should just say so.

"If you don't want to meet anymore," you start, and let the words hang in the air.

"I—" he starts, then swallows. He tosses his helmet to the side. He doesn't touch you, just hovers inches away. Jason smells like lilac and gun smoke.

"I don't think you understand... my devotion," he says, voice low. "How much power you have over me."

Your eyes widen. "Wh—"

His green eyes reflect the streetlight like a cat's. The sight stops you short. Jason Todd is hot metal on a knife's edge, and it would do you well to remember that.

His hands curl into fists. He shakes his head.

"Sorry," he whispers like a prayer. "Not tryna scare you." His chest rises and falls rapidly. "'M I scarin' ya, sweetheart? Tell me and I'll go home, shake it off. Wait forever. I can be good. Won't want what I don't deserve."

"I'm not scared," you say, and it's the most sure you've ever been. "Not scared of you, Jay."

He breathes a laugh, like he can't quite believe you. His breath is warm on your neck.

"You'd be the first," he says. "The only one."

This, you believe. This, you have wondered some nights, knowing that even Batman isn't sure what to do with a son who lives with death on his shoulder.

"You don't have to devote yourself to me," you say, because that makes you pause. Who are you to be his god?

Jason laughs again, strong and sure. He sinks to his knees in front of you. His white streak glows in the light.

"You think it's a vice?" he asks. He rests a hand on your left thigh, testing. You lay your hand over his, so he holds your other thigh too.

He hums. "You do. You think you're holdin' me hostage."

Jason takes a shuddering breath and flattens his palms over your legs. Then he leans in and rests his cheek on your leg, nose near the apex of your thighs. Your belly flips.

"Let's make one thing clear. My devotion is my only redemption. 'S the only thing that makes me believe I'm not all rotted inside. Makes me behave. In this world and the next, I'm yours."

"I... Jason, you belong to yourself, not me. I don't—"

"You don't have to do anything. If it's too much, then I'll disappear. You can carry on."

You stroke the exposed side of his face. He looks up at you.

He is still. You have made him still.

"I'm yours too," you say.

He shakes his head. "You don't hafta—"

"Do you think being yours is a curse?" you ask, gaze sharp.

"Don't promise something for balance's sake," he rasps. "I'll be yours without you being mine."

Your heart is still. He has made it still.

"I'll keep coming back," Jason whispers, eyes wide. "If you're mine, I can't leave. Y'don't know what you're doing. Don't give yourself to me."

"I do. I'm yours."

His grip tightens around your legs. Jason shakes his head.

"Don't do it," he says into your thigh. "I shouldn't have anyone. I'm-I'm only meant to be yours. Nobody's mine."

But you know. You can slide your finger along his teeth and he'll wait with his mouth open. You can touch his edges and he'll turn his cheek so you won't nick your finger. He would sooner chew his own tongue.

"It's alright," you say, and kneel. You dirty your knees right alongside him. "It's okay, Jason. I know what I'm doing."

His breath hitches. Jason presses you into the brick, tucks his face into your neck. His arms wrap tightly around your waist.

"Sorry," he whispers frantically. "'M sorry. You can push me away. Sorry."

"I won't do that." You hold him and let him take you. "I know you're good. I thought—I thought you were pulling away, and I..."

"I was," he admits, muffled in your skin. "'M sorry. Was the only way I could think of to let you go. You deserve better. Couldn't think 'round you, honeylove. Knew it was a death sentence when I found out that you still lived in Gotham."

"It wasn't," you say. "Best thing that's ever happened to me."

Jason huffs. "You say that now, but..."

"No. I say it now and I'll say it again. Keep me, Jason. I'll keep you too."

[talaok]

Win Again

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x sex worker f!reader

Summary: Marcus has won yet another match, so to reward him, his master has granted him another hour with you.

warning: smut| unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), a whole lot of manhandling, he like uses your body idk how to explain it, multiple orgasms, and once again unnecessary feelings cause im not able to write something where they just fuck for some reason

a/n: i know im two days late but PLEASE read this still. (also) basic things for this guy that i've decided are canon: 1)he has a monster cock, like actually scarily big, 2) he's real fucking strong (hulk typa shit), 3) he's not a big talker (but he is a grunter). I need this man to fuck me more than i need my next breath (real), also i did so much research for this fic and you cant even fucking tell

It wasn't often that you didn't dread going to the barracks.

These were strong, ferocious, and dangerous men, and you were but a meek lamb in comparison.

But today was different, today you were seeing him, him who fit the previous description to a tee, and yet was so different from any man you had ever offered your services to.

And perhaps it was because it never felt like you were ever offering anything, ever since that first night, you had never given anything you hadn't wanted to.

The guards stopped as you arrived at his room and you felt a wave of excitement crawl up your spine the moment they opened the door, waiting for you to enter.

The armored men stepped aside to let you pass, the cobblestones on the ground sounding against your sandals as you made your way inside, looking back at the door just in time to see it being shut close.

It was his breathing you heard first, his heavy breathing coming from where you knew his bed sat on the room's left, and seconds after, the creaks of the wood as he stood up, his feet stalking your way.

You turned to him then, a smile almost making it to your lips as you saw him alive before you once again, granting yourself a second to relish in the fact he still breathed, he was still here.

"You've won again" you spoke softly, your hands slowly finding the string holding your dress together.

He didn't respond. The window behind him caused the moon's soft glow to fall on the stone floor, but not on his beautiful face, that, you had to watch closely to inspect.

A newer cut right above his left eyebrow had appeared, and his right arm was bandaged almost completely, but otherwise, he looked fine.

His eyes remained on yours until you'd undone the dress, until it fell at your feet- then, a low groan rumbled from his chest as he took you in, and took his turn inspecting every inch of your bare figure.

"How do you want m-"

You didn't have time to finish your sentence that he'd picked you up, effortlessly pulling your body up until your legs slung over his shoulders and his face was buried in your cunt.

He hadn't even given you a second to realize what was happening that his tongue was already lapping between your folds, desperately drinking everything your body gave him.

"Oh my g-" you threw your head back, your skull finding the wall behind you being the only reason you realized he'd moved, and you were now caged between him and stone as you forgot how to speak.

The moans you had faked so many times for so many clients were nothing like the ones your mouth was spilling now, these were higher, coarser, feral, and the way you were gripping his hair... there was no way that didn't hurt.

"Y-You only" a whine interrupted your words when you felt his tongue plunge into your hole, when he started fucking you with it just like he would with his cock "You only h-have me for an hour" you breathed, your thighs squeezing tighter around him contradicting the words you were about to speak "d-don't you want me to p-please you?"

His grip on your ass only tightened and his mouth halfheartedly parted from your core to answer you.

"You are"

And just like that, he'd gone back to work. The moment his mouth closed around your clit you knew you were done for, you knew there was no point in fighting what was inevitably going to come, and so you shut your eyes, as he brought you to heaven.

Your moans were getting higher and higher as your back arched to feed more of yourself to him, desperately craving the feel of his touch, of his nouse, of his beard against your thighs, of the lips he so devoutly was using to suck on your most sensitive spot.

"F-fuck- general I-" The fist you had wrapped around his hair tightened as every muscle in your belly did the same "Oh!"

Somehow, through all the chaos, while you were coming all over his face, while your moans reached levels never reached before, the only thing you could feel or hear, besides pure ecstasy of course, were his groans, his groans as he drank up every drop of your juices, as if your orgasm was bringing his as much pleasure as it was to you.

You barely had time to open your eyes that his strong, big hands and even stronger, bigger arms had pulled you down until your legs hugged his waist instead.

You really did weigh nothing for him, and if that wasn't enough to prove it, the next minutes definitely would.

Your heavy breathing was fanning over his mouth as he freed his cock from his pants, but while you were expecting him to kiss you, having been blatantly staring at your mouth since he had any way of seeing it, every thought in your brain turned to dust when with one hard fucking thrust, he drove his cock into you- or the first few inches at least.

You couldn't talk, you could do nothing but throw your head back as your eyes rolled to the back of it, and let him take whatever he wanted to take.

"I'm not a general anymore," he said with another thrust, stretching you out even further, even deeper.

You wanted to laugh at his words. Now? Now he was feeling the need to correct you? When you could barely breathe, let alone think?

But he didn't look interested in hearing a response from you, not when he grabbed your waist, and definitely not when he started moving you up and down on his shaft with just the sheer force of his muscles.

The moans, the lewd moans that crawled up your throat were filthy, even filthier than the sound of how wet, how unbelievably drenched you were as he plunged into you over and over, as he literally used you as a fucktoy, filling you up more and more, until he was finally sat inside you to the very hilt, until his pubic hairs were grazing your skin and the tip of his cock was touching your cervix.

"Oh my god" you whimpered, feeling tears prick your eyes as your toes curled at the feeling.

You could feel him everywhere, everywhere.

But he didn't pause, he wasn't one to take his time, and perhaps that was because he didn't have much; he resumed his movements again, retracting his hips while he pulled you up his cock, and slamming into you while pushing you down on it, leaving you breathless, a simple doll at his mercy.

His groans and growls were deep and filled with lust, just like the way he bent down to take your left tit into his mouth, just like the way he was fucking you, deep and hard, and God- God it was happening again.

"s-shit" you squeaked, your walls squeezing around him as you bit your lip, so fucked out you could barely remember your name or anything at all that wasn't how good he was making you feel.

"O-Oh my fuck-"

The arms you had intertwined behind his neck tightened with every spasm of your hole, with every flutter of your belly, until you'd come once more.

You opened your eyes, letting them trail downwards, to where his lips parted to suck in ragged breaths, begging him for a kiss.

"again" he said instead, and your eyes widened as you felt him starting to move anew

"I-I can't"

He looked at you now, really looked at you, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, his chest heaving as he breathed heavily, and then- then he kissed you. Marcus Acacius kissed you the same way he'd been fucking you for the last hour: like an animal.

It was a mess of teeth and tongues and yet it felt like the best thing on earth, better than wine, better than life, even better than the sex- it was perfect.

"again" he ordered once more, and what could you do, if not comply?

So he started again, he started fucking you again, even more ferociously than the previous time, even if you didn't think it possible.

The way his skin slapped with yours was drowned by both your desperate sounds, your legs started to tremble, beginning to fall from his hips as he moved you up and down his cock like it were nothing, and you- you didn't even know where you were anymore.

"please" you begged, a single tear of pleasure, of overstimulation falling to your cheek as he kissed you again, muting all your cries as he drove himself into you like a madman, like he was possessed.

"Time's up"

Two knocks sounded from the other side of the wall together with the warning, and you thanked Marcus for having rendered you such a mess because otherwise, that would have reminded you of how little time you two ever had, and how miserable everything really was.

His movements sped up at the notice, his dick plunging into you over and over and over until finally, it was happening again.

"give it to me" he said, and you did exactly as he asked- you gave it all to him, screaming and crying you let him have all you had to offer, feeling his eyes on you the whole time.

He came loudly just after you, groaning deeply as he filled you up to the very brim.

Out of all the words you could have said to him then, all the things you wanted to tell him at that moment, you chose none, because none would have said anything he didn't already know from the look in your eyes, from the same exact spark in your irises that ignited his own.

So he helped you to the ground until you stood on shaky legs, walked to where your dress lay on the floor, and dressed yourself again, his eyes never leaving you.

The door opened just as you were done, and you turned to him one last time again, a smile pulling at your lips.

"Win again for me, general"

He looked at you too for one last time again, as he thought about how you didn't know, you didn't know how big of a role you played in his victories, how many times he could only think of the taste of you, smell of you, feel and voice of you as he took his opponent's life, as he fought for another hour with you, another second.

"I will" he promised

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 3 — LINGERIE

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — dan heng, moze

— warnings. — fem! reader, seeing you with lingerie for the first time, messy syx, moze turns absolutely feral, petnames used: pretty, baby, brat

⚝ — DAN HENG

dan heng’s usually calm demeanor falls to the ground the moment you let your silky bathrobe fall to the ground as well— his eyes immediately widening right then and there.

now, he doesn't know where to look at first, or if he should continue to admire the chiffon and lacing hugging your figure so perfectly a while longer, especially how it fit you in ways that left little to the imagination.

dan heng's breathing stutters and breaks in half when you straddle his lap with it— he blinks once, then twice, trying to compose himself, parting his thighs a little to adjust the way he’s sitting.

however, the faint dusting of red on his cheeks ultimately betrayed him when you paraded your pretty tits in front of his melting face wanting nothing more but to be squished between them.

"y-you look…" his voice trails off when you take his hands to place them on top of your breasts, "i look what?"

"irresistible," he swallows through the sudden tightness in his throat, "so sexy," as his gaze flickered between his palms fondling with your tits and your hips grinding down his obvious bulge— fuck, dan heng still couldn't decide what to do, or if he should let you take the lead tonight.

he meets your eyes and quickly darts them away, like he couldn’t quite decide if he should or shouldn't look, or if he's allowed to drool over this beautiful sight before him— which was utterly hilarious when pointing out the fact that he was your boyfriend.

you felt your heart stutter, pulse quickening when he wraps one arm around your waist to help you grind down on him harder, your alluring attire getting a little messy yet— it was breathtaking to him.

you swallow thickly when he leaned forward to clumsily push the flimsy lace covering your tits aside to take a nipple in his mouth.

see, you do that to him— making him go all clouded and clumsy, his tongue messily lapping at your erected nipple as he nudged the other with his thumb and index finger, coaxing out a loud sigh of his name from you.

"fuck, you’re so perfect, so fucking perfect, my prettiest— i, sh-shit— ah" with every twitch of his bulge desperately rutting into your wet cunt, he cannot help himself but shower you in praises and singing them against your ear shell.

dan heng continues to rasp his emotions into your neck as you, sloppily now, chased your own high, your hips grinding and fucking into him as he whines into your neck, your hands cupping the back of his head to keep him there, for all time.

don't misunderstand, there was no rush— just the two of you, making each other feel real good, time and passion unraveling at your pace, your bodies craving each other dearly and most importantly, dan heng's composure slowly melting under your frame.

⚝ — MOZE

the delicate, revealing fabric clinging to your skin ignited something raw and primal within moze— surely, he's seen beautiful women before, but you? he cannot even form a sentence now, his sharp intake of breath was the only warning before he grabbed your wrist to playfully shove you against the bed, placing himself right on top.

"you…" he chuckles lowly, his voice ruff and strained, yet his eyes were raking freely over your form, lingering on every curve, dreaming of every inch of exposed skin as he wanted nothing more but to rip those little panties aside and fill you with his warm load.

"hey now, look at me pretty, c'mon, do you know what you’re doing?" there was a challenge in your smile, and you'd be stupid to think he didn't catch it, "look at this," he points to his twitching bulge pressed against your wet folds, "this is what you do, yeah, you little brat,"

"my brat," his touch was hot, rough, wet as he licked between your breasts— fuck, it's as though your presence alone had completely undone him, had his mind break and ultimately explode into a million pieces. you could smell his cologne all over you, especially heavy against his neck, and the way his hands grabbed and fondled with your flesh, fingers digging into your sides like he was afraid you might slip away.

"oh baby, you're dangerous like this," he whispers, his lips brushing your ear before licking your lobe.

it’s messy— juices splattered everywhere with your sweat sticking on one anothery the way he pulls his cock out to slip it into you so roughly made you see stars and dreams, alhough without prepping you, making it hurt a little as your hands cup the back of his shoulders.

he coats his cock with your walls, grunting out fiercely as you shiver over inch after inch— okay so; telling a little secret, but for you personally, you loved it whenever moze was too hot and riled up to prep you, maybe lap at your clit for a little before pressing his cock in you.

without doing that, you feel so, so right, so tight as his dripping cock slumps into you fully. your vision was white, and everything around you feels like being underwater— constricted, weightless.

you feel moze all over you, can smell and repeatedly moan at his tip pressing into your sweet spot— yet he wasn't done, not before he placed a hand over your spasming abdomen, applying just the right amount of pressure to intensify that overwhelming bursts of his cock wrecking havoc in your cunt.

moze laughs and licks his lips, "you have no idea what you’ve started," and his voice changes tone, sounding drenched with carnal need for you, for this, for everything— his hips now rutting into you sloppily, messily and without purpose, barely maintaining the even pace from before yet his smacks grow in strength, bursting fireworks all over your skin.

© 2024 anantaru  do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[gothcsz]

Hands To Myself | Javier Peña x F!Reader | ~4k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: You get to know the handsome stranger sitting next to you on your overnight flight to Mexico.

Tags: smut, reader is ovulating, hand job, fingering, dirty talk, lust at first sight again, sexual acts in public (on a plane), let's just pretend this is realistic okay, pwp, blowjob to completion, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, reader is a woman of color yet everyone is encouraged to read, no physical descriptions, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: this is all @probablyreadinsmut's fault tbh. coming into my inbox with horny thoughts, knowing i have to do something about it 😩 hehe i hope you guys like this, it's nothing special... i just need this man in any way i can get him! let me know what you thinkkkkkk🖤

You knew you were fucked the second you saw him at the gate. He isn’t just attractive—he’s ridiculously attractive. The kind of hot that only exists in movies or in passing, like some guy you make eye contact with and never see again. Except this time, he wasn’t just passing through. He was standing right there.

To make matters worse, your hormones are out of control. Peak ovulation. Just being around a man has your skin buzzing, like your body is betraying you on a biological level.

So yeah, you looked. How could you not? He’s tall, has broad shoulders, leaner than what you usually go for but still built in a way that makes your brain short-circuit.

Then the universe really had to mess with you—you are assigned the seat right next to him for the overnight flight.

Your stomach drops. Suddenly, your go-to comfy travel outfit, leggings and a cardigan, feels way too basic.

“I’m at the window seat,” you say, trying to sound normal.

He looks up, meeting your gaze, and smiles—actually smiles. His brown eyes are warm and a little intrigued as he gives you a once over.

“Okay.”

Just that one word and you are already overthinking. How good his voice would sound in your ear as he’s—

No, you won’t make things harder on yourself by having intrusive sexual thoughts about some stranger. No matter how good looking he is.

You shove your carry-on into the overhead bin and awkwardly step aside so he can stand and let you in. His body brushes against yours, and you get a whiff of his cologne, something woodsy, mixed with the unmistakable scent of whiskey from the airport bar.

Okay… so maybe you’d been watching him for longer than just at the gate. But who could blame you? The man is truly a sight to behold. It’s not like you were being a creep about it.

You mutter a soft “thanks” and sink into your seat, trying very hard to act normal while the flight attendants go through their safety spiel, though it’s hard to focus when you can feel his presence right next to you.

You need a distraction—fast. So, in a last-ditch effort to stop acting like a feral idiot, you pluck your book from your backpack and try to read.

It works, kind of. Not really.

“So, what’s waiting for you in Playa del Carmen?”

His voice, low and raspy, cuts through your attempt at reading—not that you’d absorbed a single word, still stuck on the same page since you opened it.

You glance over, and of course, he’s already looking at you. His leather jacket is gone, leaving him in a short sleeved button-down, a few undone buttons teasing the tanned skin of his neck, his thick biceps straining against the fabric.

You take too long to answer because he tilts his head slightly, lips twitching like he’s holding back a smirk. “Sorry—abrupt fuckin’ question.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You stumble over your words, mentally cringing at yourself. His brows raise slightly, amused, and you don’t miss the way his mustache tics when he presses his lips together. 

“A friend’s birthday trip. I got caught up at work, so I had to take a later flight at the last minute. What about you?”

He hums, the sound deep and thoughtful. “Work.” That’s all he offers. “Not as fun as what you’ll be getting up to, I’m sure.”

You bite your lip, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your book. “I’ve heard the beaches are beautiful. I’m excited to just lounge and take in the sun. It’s been so long since I’ve gone on a proper vacation.”

Your tongue is loose despite the way you’re vibrating under the weight of his attention.

“I know that feeling. Don’t even think my body knows what a vacation is…” He trails off, leaning back in his seat, thighs spreading in that way men do, which you usually find annoying but something about the way he does it has your pussy clenching, and you try no to let your eyes drop down to his crotch.

“How’s the book?”

You blink slowly, returning your attention to the paperback in your hand. “Got a slow start but so far it’s been alright.”

“I bet. You’ve been stuck on the same page since we took off. Must be the most riveting paragraph ever written.”

Heat creeps up your neck, and if it were anybody else, you’d be weirded out by their observation. Being hot does have its privileges. “Maybe I just like rereading. Really taking in the point the author is trying to make.”

“Uh-huh, right…” He chuckles softly and that sound triggers the desire that seeps into every pore of your skin.

The conversation continues flowing thereafter, which you definitely did not expect. His name is Javier, and he’s constantly traveling for work—though he’s vague on the details, and you’re not about to grill a stranger for his life story.

Instead, the topics meander, easy and flirtatious, both of you toeing the line between casual and something else.

You swear he’s flirting. He leans in slightly when you speak, holds your eyes captive just a beat too long, like he’s in no rush to look away.

You’re noticing everything the deeper you get into this… thing. The way lips form around each word, full and obnoxiously kissable. The way his brown eyes glint when he talks about things that should be trivial but feel interesting because he’s the one saying them. How the tendons in his forearms flex whenever he gestures, his fingers long and strong, the kind of hands that could make a woman very happy.

Your horny brain is spiraling.

“A mango marg is my go to. Preferably one of those ridiculously oversized ones with sugar on the rim.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, that tracks.”

You arch a brow. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

He scratches his jaw, flicking his tongue over his teeth. You admire how chiseled his jaw is. “Means you like to have fun. You probably get away with a lot.”

“And you think I get away with things?”

His eyes flick down to your lips, just for a second. “I think you could, if you wanted to.”

You cross your legs, shifting in your seat like that’s going to help anything. It just makes it worse. Focus. He’s just a hot stranger. A hot stranger that smells like whiskey and cedarwood and keeps throwing you these amused little glances like he knows what the fuck he’s doing to you.

You should probably end this before you embarrass yourself. But instead, you just keep talking, keep flirting, and keep waiting to see just how far this can go.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Javier’s voice snaps you back to reality, and you blink, heat settling on your cheeks as your brain scrambles to catch up.

“Sorry, what?”

His lips curve slightly like he’s fighting a grin, but his eyes give him away. “You keep staring at my mouth…” He trails off, but there’s something in the way he says it. As if he’s caught you red-handed and is enjoying watching you squirm.

Your stomach clenches. Your thighs press together on instinct.

Fuck.

Panic surges through you, and suddenly, the cabin feels way too small, the air too thick. “No, uh—there’s nothing there. I just… I zone out sometimes.” You clear your throat, fingers fumbling with your seatbelt. “Would you mind letting me get to the restroom?”

You sound as pathetic as you feel, but Javier doesn’t let up. His smirk stays put, eyes flicking over your face like he’s contemplating something.

Still, he nods. “Sure.”

He stands, stepping aside, and as you squeeze past him, his hand just barely grazes your lower back. Light enough to be innocent, intentional enough to send a full-body shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, pretending not to notice—pretending not to feel the slick heat between your legs pulse at the contact—and walk as casually as possible down the aisle.

The moment you lock the restroom door behind you, you press your palms against the tiny counter, breathing hard.

Your reflection stares back at you, pupils blown, lips parted like you just stumbled out of a damn makeout session. 

You’re hot. Turned on from nothing but a little eye contact and some shameless flirting. And the worst part? It’s not going away anytime soon. Especially since you’re sitting so fucking close to him. Your body is wound tight, aching at the worst possible time.

Your panties are soaked, borderline ruined, pussy crying to get some relief, and you actually consider slipping a hand down there and rubbing one out. But you know yourself. Getting off with your fingers is a slow, frustrating process, and the last thing you need is to be locked in an airplane restroom, chasing an orgasm while Javier is sitting just outside, existing like that.

So you suck it up. Splash some cool water on your face. Take a deep breath. Get it together.

When you step back into the aisle, he’s already standing, leaning casually against the row of seats as if his demeanor and charm aren’t totally putting you under his spell. He looks even better now than he did before you left.

You give him a tight-lipped, awkward smile as you slide back into your seat. He follows, sinking into his own with a quiet grunt, the sound low and rough enough to send another spark of pleasure straight to your cunt.

“Everything good?” He asks smoothly, but there’s an undercurrent of playfulness to it, like he already knows the answer.

You force your legs to stay still, clenching your thighs subtly as you nod.

“Mhm.”

He hums. “You don’t have to lie, you know.”

Your eyes snap up to his, heartbeat hammering. “What?”

“I know when a woman’s turned on. And you haven’t exactly been subtle about it.”

Your stomach drops, your whole body flooding with embarrassment. “That’s ridiculous—”

“Nothin’ to be embarrassed about.” He shrugs. “Been thinkin’ about how good your ass looks in those leggings since I saw you back at the airport.”

Oh, you’re so fucked.

Your breath stutters, fingers gripping the armrest as if that’ll do anything to ground you. Maybe this is a dream, it has to be. No way he’s reciprocating the horny vibes you’ve been exuding because of your damn ovulation cycle. 

“Javier…” His name falls from your lips, shaky, uncertain.

His expression doesn’t change—still cool, still lazy, but there’s a darkness to it now. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything…” His knuckles graze your thigh, featherlight, making you shiver before he pulls away. “But I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like I’m not attracted to you.”

You lick your lips, watching the way he follows the movement, how his hand balls into a fist against his leg. The cabin is dim now, most passengers lost in their own worlds or asleep, and the seats around you are conveniently unoccupied. The flight attendants have finished their last walkthrough, leaving you tucked away in a private little pocket of space.

Your pulse thrums, a decision forming in the haze of arousal clouding your mind. “What if…” You hesitate, but then let the thought take control, logic be damned. “What if I wanted to do something?”

Javier’s brows lift slightly, intrigue flashing across his face. The shift is instant—his relaxed posture stiffens, his jaw ticks, and his eyes dip just slightly as if assessing exactly how far you’re willing to go.

You’re barely breathing as he lifts the armrest between you, his body pressing in tight, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. You almost pass out.

“Yeah?” His voice is nothing but a whisper, matching the lust that’s thrumming in your veins. “Like what?”

The warmth of his breath has you letting out a soft, involuntary whimper.

“Anything,” you murmur, fidgeting with your fingers, the need unbearable. “I just need you to touch me.”

Javi exhales a low, quiet laugh through his nose, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. His lips ghost along the side of your jaw, teasing, taunting.

“I can do that.” His fingers then trail up your thigh agonizingly slow, stopping just at the hem of your leggings. “Just need you to keep quiet.”

You nod weakly, head tipping back against the seat as his mouth finds your neck. He starts slow, pressing soft kisses along the sensitive skin before sucking lightly, dragging his teeth over your pulse. You resist the urge to squirm as his large palm moves up your body, fingertips teasing along the curve of your breast over your top.

Your nipples tighten instantly, and when he pinches one between his fingers, both of you let out a quiet groan.

“So sensitive. You need more?”

You bite your lip, nodding desperately again. “Yes.”

His hand slips beneath your shirt and finally—rough fingertips meet your bare skin. He palms your breast, kneading, tugging at your nipple, sending sharp little sparks of pleasure straight to your pussy.

You shift, desperately trying to find any friction. Your horniness is maddening and he knows it.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs against your jaw, tongue flicking out to taste your skin. “So worked up already. Bet you’re soaked.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, and you whimper, hips rolling ever so slightly.

Javier groans at the movement, shifting even closer, his thigh pressing against yours as he works your tits over with a practiced hand.

His lips move up to your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. You turn your head, eyes locking with his for a brief moment before you both give in—lips crashing together, mouths desperate and hungry.

He can kiss.

His tongue slides against yours, tasting and exploring. The fingers at your breast keep working, rolling your nipple between his fingers, twisting just enough to make you gasp against his lips.

“Javi…” His name is exhaled breathlessly. “More. Please.”

He tilts his head slightly. “Yeah?” Leaving your tits, he moves down between your legs and you spread your thighs, giving him enough room to begin rubbing you over your leggings.

You let out a sharp gasp, back arching slightly. The pressure has you melting, chasing the touch you so desperately need.

Javier watches you, drinking in the slight furrow of your brow, how your lips purse. “Goddamn.” He can’t help but nip at your lower lip, gripping your thigh with his other hand as he grinds a little harder against your pussy. “You soaked right through these.”

Your fingers dig into his forearm, the teasing unbearable.

“You’re so—” You shudder, exhaling shakily and he’s living for it. “You’re so fucking hot, I couldn’t help it.”

“I could probably make you come just like this, huh? Needy little thing needs her pussy played with so bad, she’s whoring herself out on a fuckin’ plane just to get an orgasm.”

Your jaw hangs open at his filthy words.

Javier is clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. His fingers keep moving, slow and firm, while your hand drifts down, pressing against the hardness straining beneath his jeans. Even through the thick denim, he’s big, and when you squeeze just slightly, his hips jerk into your palm.

He groans into the kiss you’re sharing, enjoying your touch. “This is risky, you sure?”

You nod, struggling to think through the fog of lust clouding your mind. “I don’t care.”

That’s all it takes.

He pulls back, just enough for both of you to move quickly. You shrug off your cardigan, tucking it beneath you before slipping your leggings and panties down to your mid thigh. You’re not about to put your bare ass on this plane seat.

He unbuckles his belt, freeing himself from his jeans, and holy shit.

Your mouth goes dry. He’s thick, a swollen, flushed cock with a prominent vein running down the side, curving just enough to make your walls flutter at the thought of him fucking your cunt.

Javi catches your lingering gaze and smirks. “You just gonna look, or—?”

You drag your tongue across your palm before wrapping it around his leaking cock, your touch making him shudder. Slowly, you stroke him, spreading the precum with your thumb, gliding it over the sensitive head before giving a firm squeeze, earning a growl from deep in his chest.

His fingers slip between your thighs, spreading your pussy lips open, and he wastes no time in teasing your sensitive labia, dragging his touch up and down attentively.

You moan quietly as to not get yourself caught. He groans at the feeling of you, slick and hot, his digits smearing your arousal all over your pretty pussy before pressing against your swollen clit.

“If we weren’t on this goddamn plane I’d fuck the shit out of you.”

You can’t hold back your soft whine, your head tilting back, wrist still moving, his own fingers working magic between your thighs.

“How? Please Javi tell me how you’d fuck me.”

He buries his head into your neck, licking, biting, sucking at your skin, his thick fingers now breaching the mouth of your cunt.

It’s pure bliss—the stretch so much deeper, fuller than your own fingers ever manage. His thick digits work you open, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you. The way he drags against your inner walls has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, but it’s the relentless pressure on your fleshy pearl that wrecks you, erasing every thought but him.

“I’d have you spread out, my head buried between your legs, fucking you with my tongue until you’re wet enough to take this big cock.” His hips grind into your jerking palm to emphasize his point.

You can only imagine how his wet tongue would feel up against your flesh, tasting every crevice, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you.

“Probably start over you, wanna see that pretty face while I slide inside this tight pussy baby, fuck,” he groans, fingers now knuckles deep inside your cunt and you moan, slipping into this fantasy with him, imagining how good it’d feel to have his dick stretching you out.

“Not really a missionary girl but I know you’d make me feel good, Javi.”

His thumb is slick with your sticky wetness, allowing him to swirl your clit around, massaging it and making your pussy drool even more. Your nipples are hardened and oversensitive, adding to the bliss when they brush against the fabric of your shirt with every deep inhale and exhale you take. 

Javi’s fingers begin to thrust into you more earnestly, the soft squelch of your pussy getting finger fucked thankfully drowned out by the hum of the plane. “How would you want it then? Tell me how you’d take it.”

Another bead of precum dollops from his slit and your mouth waters, picking up the pace to match the stroking of his fingers inside you.

“On top. I’d bounce on your cock until you’re filling me up. Put my tits in your face, make you suck on them.”

A thin sheen of sweat clings to your temples, the heat of his kisses still lingering on your neck making your temperature spike like a fever you don’t want to break.

Javier gets desperate, leaning in to put his lips on yours, imagining the way your pussy would feel while you rode him. You clench around his fingers, your orgasm on the brink of making a mess all over his hand.

“You’d let me come inside you?” His voice is a husky murmur, almost taunting, laden with lust as he cups your jaw with his other hand before sliding lower, wrapping firmly around your throat. Not squeezing, just holding, keeping you in place as he curls his fingers, brazen eyes boring into yours.

Your breath stutters as ecstacy coils impossibly tight. “Mhm,” you nod weakly, tears welling in your eyes from how good it all feels.

A wicked smirk spreads across his lips, his grip keeping you steady as he drags you closer. “Naughty girl,” he murmurs. “Fuckin’ love that.”

His lips crash against yours again, swallowing your cries as his fingers work you harder, scissoring inside you, his fat thumb flicking your clit rapidly. 

It sends you tumbling over the edge, your entire body clenches, muscles locking as waves of pleasure ripple through you, your release coating his fingers while you moan into his mouth, trying to keep quiet, trying not to let the whole damn plane know what he’s doing to you.

Your grip on his cock tightens but you lose your rhythm as he lets you ride out your orgasm, whispering praises against your lips, not seeming bothered by the lack of attention at his shaft.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you attempt to catch your breath, blinking away the stars clouding your vision while he pulls his fingers out, a sticky web following.

Javier lifts his fingers between you, still slick with your release, dark eyes flicking to yours as he takes in the scent of your pussy before he’s licking at them, using the hold he still has on your neck to bring you in so you’re both making out with his wet fingers between the two of you, your tongue moving sinfully, getting lost in the act.

You break away when his fingers are licked clean, attempting to catch your breath. After regaining some control, you continue to work his cock, urging him to slide into the unoccupied third seat by the aisle so you have room to take him in your mouth.

Javi blinks, caught off guard, dick twitching in your grasp as he registers what you’re suggesting.

“You sure?” His hands flex like he’s barely holding himself back.

“Yes. Don’t want to make a mess, right? Just make sure no one’s looking.” You purr, pulling your legging and underwear back up before shifting your body and bending over to lick at his tip, circling around his head before you’re taking as much as you can into your mouth.

The positioning is a little cramped and awkward, but you don’t care. He tastes so good, feels even better on your tongue. The blood is roaring in your ears, you can’t even hear any of the quieted noises you’re pulling from him but you do feel his hand landing on the back of your neck and he pushes you further down, forcing you to take almost the entirety of his cock down your throat.

You fondle his balls, sucking in your cheeks and bobbing up and down quickly. His stomach tightens and before you know it, ropes of warm and salty cum are filling your mouth, his fingers digging into your skin. You moan around him, slurping him up before pulling away with a soft pop, wiping at the corners of your mouth where the fluids had smeared.

He looks just as wrecked as you had when you came, his cheeks a little pink, eyes dilated, breathing heavily. He exhales a quiet, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair before tucking himself back into his pants, watching you with something dangerously close to admiration.

You lean in, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to his lips, returning the favor and letting him taste the last traces of himself.

“Where are you staying? This can’t be the last time I see you.”

You tell him the name of the resort, watching as that familiar cocky smirk creeps back onto his face.

“Okay,” he murmurs, mind already made up. “Can’t let you walk away after that. Pussy’s too good. Hope your friends don’t mind me stealing you for a night or two.”

He caresses your cheek and you melt into him, resting your chin on his shoulder, staring up at him with starry eyes. You already know you’re going to get the lecturing of your life once you disclose what just transpired to your homegirls.

“They will. Maybe I should extend my stay just a little longer…” Your fingers fidget with the buttons on his shirt.

“I’ll pay for it. Anything to see you again.”

Oh god, is this irresponsible of you? Probably. But you’re not thinking with your brain right now, no, you’re straight up thinking with your pussy.

“Deal.”

@almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @persephone-girl . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7. @mandaloriankait . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @almostfoxglove . @thundermartini . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @clubsoft . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @joelmillerisapunk . @theestorm . @pasc4lfuzz . @manuymesut . @biapascal . @angiewatson .

[docdudo]

Vampire 141 - Fledgling!Reader

This was hell.

Actually, you truly believed hell must be kinder than whatever the hell was happening to your body these past few days.

Should you call the support line after all?

And to think it was all your boss’s fault. If that jerk hadn’t made you work overtime and close the stupid convenience store without any warning, maybe you could have found a way to get home safely.

But nooooo...

Now thanks to that, you were attacked on your way home after work.

Attacked in the middle of the night, on a week day, too far from any houses for anyone to hear the commotion.

And it had been a vampire.

You didn’t know much about vampires. Their species was way too mysterious and reserved with outsiders. That’s not to say they didn’t interact with humans—because they did, especially with the wealthy—but it was one of those situations where someone like you would never get the chance to speak with one.

They were high society. Big families that controlled entire cities and states. Like the Mafia or some shit, living in the rich part of town that you had never even set foot in before.

Although, you had heard of vampires appearing here and there sometimes, walking around through the city quietly and discreetly when problems needed to be solved.

Problems like feral vampires.

Loners cast aside from their Covens for one reason or another, now crazed and out of control, following their bloodlust blindly. They killed as easily as any vampire did, even if their only focus was to drink their victims' blood.

Dangerous creatures...

They were rare—incredibly so—since it was the responsibility of the high covens to protect the normal folk from ferals. They rarely appeared in other vampires' territory, fearing the powerful presence of their own kind.

But sometimes...

Sometimes, a new one would appear from far away, starved and crazed like most of them were by that point. And usually they managed to kill one victim before the covens hunted them down to kill them for good.

So it was very important to call the right number to report feral vampires in the area.

Should you have done that? Yes, you should have. You really should have. But you were so. freaking. tired.

You were a college student working part-time at a convenience store. After waking up from your near-death experience, you just couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. In fact, for a good while after waking up, you even thought you had hallucinated everything. You went home like it was just another night, your mind drifting, more absent than present.

The moment your head hit the pillow, you were out.

But, when you looked at yourself in the mirror the next morning...

You were supposed to be dead. Someone would find your body—drained and wounded—and call the feral hotline. Vampires would show up, deal with the feral with minimal effort, and make sure the area was secured again. That’s just how it goes.

EXCEPT!

You are fucking alive!!

You didn’t even know that was possible—a feral giving up on its prey after pinning it down instead of just killing it for the blood.

It was talking, too—mumbling nonsense by your ear, like it was actually trying to communicate with you.

It bit you, injecting its venom.

Your skin was horribly marked now. The wounds that had once been there had all turned into thin layers of scar tissue. Not the usual kind, but one formed by the venom injected into your bloodstream. The red and black layers against your otherwise normal skin tone made it look like the weirdest tattoo you’d ever seen—like you were a broken porcelain doll with satan himself trying to break free from inside out.

It started at your neck, on your left shoulder, blooming into an ugly, messy bite that was definitely the most obvious problem there.

It went down your left arm and chest, streaks that looked like veins, or cracks.

The artwork was completed by ending on the wounds you’d gotten on your lower body while fighting off the vampire on top of you—scrapes around your hips and legs.

At least you actually searched a bit about vampires after that, panicking hard over the weird markings on your skin. The only and most important thing you needed to know was whether ferals could transform humans or not.

Which, unsurprisingly, they could.

At least, in theory.

They still have their venom, but when they go feral, they usually just want to drink blood from their victims blindly, and the venom is mostly forgotten. There was never a case of a feral actually turning someone into a vampire!

Maybe that feral wasn’t as far gone as the others...

But now, this was somehow your problem! You barely knew anything about vampires', or how they worked in the first place!

What do they even do after transforming someone?

Are you really a vampire now??

Why did you have the ugliest markings all over your body after being bitten, when you’d never heard of vampires leaving markings like this???

And why the hell was your boss still making you go to work after you told him you were attacked late at night last week, the asshole?!?!

Maybe you should’ve specified it was a vampire who attacked you, but you were scared to face what had happened. What had been done to you, and what you might now become. Do you need to speak to vampires now? Are you actually one? You don't even have any fangs or anything different besides the markings...

You had so much to do—so many projects left unfinished for school. You never missed class, not even when you were sick. But now that you’ve become a completely different species…

"Dearie, what happened to you??"

You were startled by the worried voice of an old lady close to you, making you look up from the chip bags you had been staring at for a solid five minutes in the middle of the aisle.

You glanced back at her for a few seconds before turning your gaze to your own body, looking down at your neck and collarbone where the giant marking started, barely hidden by the collar of your work shirt.

"Oh, it's... dunno, a birthmark." You mumble, tired, not really caring much for a better excuse.

You were so tired lately... what the hell even happened? You always had that healthy college student tiredness from working and studying, but it never made your body feel this heavy.

If you were any more weak-minded, you might have just stayed in bed forever.

But then again, college student.

"It doesn't look like one…." The woman squinted, analyzing your neck like it was her fucking business.

Okay, maybe you were also a bit more irritaded than normal.

"Ma'am, it's nothing. Can I help you with something?" You force a smile, though it’s more cynical than polite, as you weren’t really in the mood to be that polite to people who couldn’t mind their own business.

She stared at you for a few more long seconds in complete silence, her eyes squinting as she made that slow, long hum that old people make when they're being casually judgmental.

"That's a vampire thing, isn't it?" A middle-aged man appeared around the corner, his eyes also drifting to your neck as he tilted his head to the side. "It looks like a vampire bite on your neck..."

This guy you actually know—Thomas, from the real estate office nearby—who always comes to buy a snack around this time of day.

"How did you even get to that conclusion...?" You mumble, frowning slightly in annoyance.

"For one, I can see two teeth marks on your neck, clearly. Second, have you not seen the news? There's a feral mosquito zooming around our area. He was spotted last week and still hasn't been caught."

The old lady gasped in shock, eyes wide as she turned back to you.

"Have you been attacked, dear?!"

Well, fuck. So much for ignoring the problem until it couldn’t be ignored anymore.

"I guess..." You shrug, wincing slightly at the pain that shot up your left shoulder from the action.

"You guess?? You should’ve called the hotline if you were attacked!" Thomas frowned, just as confused as he was indignant.

"You don’t get it, I have so much going on right now..." You groan tiredly, already slipping into a depressive mood as you remember all the work you still had to do for your classes.

"What does that even have to do wit—?!"

"Hey, what's with the commotion?!"

You sighed heavily at your boss’s loud voice booming through the store, the balding man approaching with a huffy expression, slightly controlled thanks to the two clients standing with you in the aisle.

"Didn't know you were at the store today, mr. Miller...." You mumble softly, trying to dodge the last subject.

"I wasn’t supposed to be! But we all received a notification—there’s a Coven coming here to deal with the fucking feral!" He grunts, clearly annoyed. "I came to close the store; apparently, those snobby suckers want all businesses closed to make their work easier."

"Oh no, don’t tell me that…" Thomas sighs, suffering, pulling his phone from his pocket immediately to start a call with what you can only assume is his manager, turning away from the group.

"Does that mean I can go?" You ask, raising an eyebrow as you point hesitantly at the glass door.

"Oh, you have to let her go, she needs to go to the hospital...!" The old lady quickly agrees, nodding with the most pitiful look on her face.

"Hey, hey, wait a sec, who said anything about a hospital—?"

"You still haven’t checked the fucking mark consuming your neck? Are you trying to kill yourself, girly??" Mr. Miller interrupts, glaring at you like this situation isn’t part of his fault.

"What the hell? You didn’t give me any days off??" You sputter, indignant.

"I have only you and that stoned kid right now, I can't afford to give any days off! You should go when you have time, like everyone else who works!"

You’re ready to probably yell back at his face when Thomas quickly runs back to the group, a bit desperate as he fumbles with his bags and cellphone.

"They're already here...! I have to go back too!"

"Yeah, I should be going too! Hit me up when you're uptaded, Mr. Miller! Thanks so much, bye-bye!" You say quickly, running out the door after Thomas, your backpack already over your shoulder.

You couldn't even focus on your boss' loud ass voice as you hurried down the street, your head pounding relentlessly. Ever since you got bitten, this had been your reality—splitting headaches, aching muscles, no appetite, itchy gums, and, above all, a bone-deep exhaustion.

To be fair, some of the symptoms were still pretty mild. But deep down, a gnawing fear told you something was off. You could barely wrap your head around the fact that you were actually turning (had already turned?) into a vampire. But feeling like absolute crap made you wonder… what if something was going wrong?

You should call the hotline. You should go to the hospital. Just get it over with—at least get some help. But wouldn’t that change everything? Wouldn’t it make things even more complicated? And what would the all-powerful vampires do with you then?

God, you can’t graduate if you miss too many assignments in a row!

Don’t you have that group project due in two weeks—the one no one in your group has even said a peep about?

A small noise from the other side of the otherwise silent street caught your attention, your head snapping up in alert. The street was empty—of both cars and people, as usual—except for the two men standing by the closed pet store.

And goddamn, these were NOT normal men.

They were dressed strangely, a mix of military style and high-end fashion. Clearly rich. Heavy black clothes with small pops of color, loaded with pockets and belts. Their boots—thick, heavy, the kind that could break your bones with a single kick.

But that wasn’t the weird part...

No, the weird part was how much of their faces they were covering. One of the men wore a heavy jacket, with a hood and beanie pulled up to hide his jet-black hair. A black surgical mask—like the kind you'd see in a hospital—covered his face, and dark sunglasses hid his eyes.

The other… good lord, he had to be around three meters tall. Sure, vampires were naturally bigger than humans, but still… what the hell? This guy was wearing a full veil over his head, black, with suspicious red streaks running down it, and his heavy clothes hid the rest of his body just as much.

They... they had to be vampires, right...?

You flinched when the man wearing sunglasses suddenly snapped his head in your direction. His face was completely hidden, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze. The other man too turned in your direction slowly, now both of them facing you, completely still.

It truly seemed as if time had stopped for a few moments. No one moved or made a sound. You weren’t sure what to do. The ugly markings on your skin—too high on your neck to be hidden by your snug polo work shirt—seemed to burn under their stares.

You can't take this anymore.

Without thinking, you immediately turned around and tried to make your way back to the convenience store, your heart hammering against your ribcage.

But you didn’t even manage to take a single step forward.

"What is this?" the man wearing sunglasses asked, his voice rough and quiet.

You jumped in place, a small hiccup escaping your lips in surprise as you felt heavy hands settle on your shoulders, keeping you still.

How did they get to you so fast?? You were on the other side of the street!

"Fledgling." The other man spoke even more gruffly, tilting his head down to see you properly. His veil was falling forward just enough for you to almost see his face beneath it.

You could distinctly see a red glow beneath it.

"W-Wha—"

Your stuttered words were interrupted by the veiled man's big, heavy hand tilting your head up gently, while his partner unbuttoned your polo shirt, pulling the cloth aside to reveal more of the damaged area.

"Abused by their Sire." The veiled man growled lowly in anger, his voice still mostly quiet as he analyzed the markings. You could clearly hear a distinctive German accent in his words. "Who? It's just our Coven here."

"There were visiting Covens not that long ago." The other one also spoke with an accent—something Asian, it seemed—but you couldn't quite place it.

"Too fresh. This is a just-turned."

"E-Excuse me—"

"This is a grievous sin against nature itself." The Asian man growled, making every hair on your body stand on end. The sound of his growl sent a shiver through you, paralyzing you slightly. "She didn't even complete the transformation."

"Fledgling, who is your Sire?" the German muttered slowly, forcing your head slightly higher so you had to look up at him.

Now they quieted down, letting you speak. Though you didn't really want to right now—not when you didn't understand what the hell they were saying.

"M-My... my what...?" You mumble anxiously, looking up in between both of their covered faces.

...

"Scheißdreck!" The veiled man cursed gruffly, his hands immediately going under your armpits to lift you up as if you weighed nothing, making you yelp in surprise.

"I did think the tribunal was too quiet recently," the Asian guy grunted, his arms crossed firmly as he watched you squirm slightly in panic in the bigger man's arms. "They're gonna love to hear about this."

"And the feral?" the German asked quietly, gently immobilizing you against him, tapping your back in small motions to calm you down.

"The others are here. No matter how smart a feral, they are easy targets. We have more important matters to attend to now. Isn't that right, Fledgling?"

You whimpered slightly in fear and confusion, your head pressed against the taller vampire's shoulder.

"How are we going to deal with this...?" The German sounded slightly calmer now, less aggressive with you in his arms. "This is serious, Horangi, a crime of this caliber..."

"I know, König. The tribunal will deal with that. For now, we keep her close. How about her teeth?"

You felt your body being slightly adjusted to lay more against the big guy's body, his giant hand coming up to your mouth to push his fingers inside it.

"No way!" you hissed defensively, trying to turn your head from side to side to avoid him.

"Shh, Fledgling. You're okay, stay calm. Open up." You let out a grunt in surprise and indignation as Horangi stepped forward, forcing his fingers into your mouth while König held your head in place. "Ha, it's what we thought. A fresh fledgling. Her teeth haven't even fallen out yet." He laughed without humor, shaking his head slightly as he let go.

"F-Fall out?? W-Wait, t-this is...! O-Oh, God..."

You whimpered, getting overwhelmed. This was precisely why you didn’t want to deal with the attack and transformation matter. And a tribunal?? You were so busy, living alone, and you couldn’t miss work—much less miss your classes.

"You are tired, Liebchen. Your body is taking a toll after the bad transformation. Settle, we'll take care of things." He patted your back gently a few times.

"She has a ton of venom in her bloodstream, and she's still awake. Rock her a bit, and she should fall back asleep quickly. I'm calling Laswell."

God Fucking Dammit!!

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny- pt. 10

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9]

“This you?”

Danny glanced at the stone tablet in Spoiler’s hands and groaned, Phantom form flickering with embarrassment as his face got even more neon green. It was indeed him.

——

The first Atlantean and Ghost King encounter went something like this:

Imagine Danny, sleep deprived. Easy enough. Now, imagine Danny, trying to corral a ghost that had a penchant for sea life.

“Alabastor, I swear to Ancients, if you don’t get back here, I’m gonna make you into ghost sea-food boil!” Danny yelled as he chased Alabastor through the ghost zone. The crustacean shaped ghost cackled, skittering along the Zone.

"Make me, Phantom! You have not seen the might of the sea!"

"That's it, soup-time, crabby!"

Danny dove after Alabastor, chasing him face first into a temporal portal and right into the sea.

"BEHOLD!" Alabastor rumbled, claws raised and sea churning around him. Danny flew at him, noticing the screaming people below. He quickly raised a dome of clear ice to protect their entire city before returning his attention back to the giant crustacean. The distraction cost him, as Alabastor blasted him with a beam of his power. "THE MIGHT OF THE SEA!"

"SOUP!" Danny bellowed back, Alabastor's power forcing him into a giant crab form, aside from, hilariously, his head. Danny, always quick to adapt, slammed a massive claw straight into one of Alabastor's eyes and popped open the Fenton Thermos with a feral grin. In but moments, Danny manages to soup Alabastor but not before slamming him down onto the unbreakable ice Danny had just made.

Carefully turning by skittering sideways, he unmelted his ice.

"Sorry about that," he said sheepishly to the gawking civilians below.

"Suh-ree? What is suh-ree?" A brave woman asked.

"Oh," Danny uttered as he realized that he should probably switch languages. His giant crab body and small itty bitty human head swayed in an unsure motion. "Sorry means "my apologies." I had not meant to involve you. I am Phantom."

"It is alright... thank you for protecting us... God Phantom?"

He grimaced. "Not a god."

"King, then." She stepped forward. "May I ask of the ice?"

——

Spoiler, sensing weakness like the Riddler to a riddle, leaned in. "Did you know they have a traditional dance to honor the god that gave them the unbreakable ice that protects Atlantis to this day? It goes like this," Spoiler stepped back and did the dance, complete with exaggerated arm movements and, embarrassingly, the scuttle walk Crab!Danny was forced to learn with his new crab form.

"We shall never speak of this again," Danny huffed.

"But King Phantom, the God of Eternal Ice and Protection, how could we not celebrate your iciness?" Spoiler simpered, Black Bat not too far away and shaking with laughter. The purple donning vigilante did the scuttle dance once more, picking up bottles as she went a small circle around one of Bludhaven's rock beaches.

Danny scowled and plucked the tablet away from her, hair flowing an a more agitated direction. His jumpsuit burned brighter. "Why are you two menaces in Bludhaven? I thought your territory was in Gotham."

"Nightwing asked for back up and we were in the area." Spoiler, blessedly, stopped the walk to answer him. "By the way, are you and Danny dating?"

"Pardon?" He asked, insulted but highly amused.

"Oh, you know, he has your number, and you only ever talk to him outside of us, and how you guys have a high level of communication." Spoiler said leadingly.

Oh, Danny knew what this was about now. He found out their identities and now these two are interrogating him because he liked them best. They thought they were so clever. Well, they clearly haven't gotten to know Danny at all if they thought he was going to make good decisions.

Danny tilted his head, making sure his face gets as eerie as possible, shadows elongating and eyes burning just that much brighter. The neon green of his face shone even brighter against the suddenly dark landscape of the place. Black Bat stood up, laughter seizing immediately. Spoiler tensed.

"I have a riddle for you. You are good at those, are you not?"

Spoiler blinked but gamely said, "Bring it."

"What do these things have in common? An arguing couple, papers on a stranger's desk, and Star City's robbers."

"..." Spoiler slipped into her solving mode. "Stolen goods. Stolen hearts?" She guessed.

"No. The answer is that they're all none of your business," Danny snarled. His form flickered. "Keep your questing away from Danny- Daniel, vigilante. Your duty is to protect your city and help her," Danny swept an arm out. "Stick to that instead of inserting yourself into places you are not wanted."

Then, with a toss of an ecto-crossed recorder that held the verbal report he'd promised Nightwing towards Black Bat, Danny blinked out of the visible spectrum and flew above the two.

"... Shit, I think I pissed him off."

Black Bat nodded. "He was defensive."

"Yeah... did you hear that slip? Oh, they are so dating."

Danny grinned. He couldn't wait for Tim to interrogate him soon.

——

"You're kidding."

Danny shook his head, maniacal grin still on his face hours later. He'd taken the liberty to call his best friends before classes started for the day.

Tucker groaned. "Danny, I can't believe you're messing with Batman. Why are you like this."

"Look, I need your help."

"Oh no, keep me out of your dumbass plans, Fenton," Sam pointed at him through the screen, immaculately painted black nails threatening.

"Okay, if you go along with my plan, I'll give you Dr. Isley's number."

"Deal," Sam said immediately, changing her tune at a drop of a hat. Or, at a drop of a number.

"What about me?" Tucker asked, offended. "I deserve compensation for my work too, dammit!"

"I'll give you Tim Drake's number and persuade him to let you have a crack at Wayne Industry's tech basement."

"Deal, what are we doing?"

Danny's grin spread even wider. "We're dating. And, you two? You're Phantom's exes. Tucker, you say good stuff about me. Sam? You make up terrible things about me. But we're all dating each other and I'm dating Phantom on the side."

"I hate you," Sam deadpanned. "But fine, it's not that hard. I've got tons of embarrassing stories about Phantom. You better get me that number, Danny, because you know Dr. Isley was my gay awakening."

"For Tim Drake, I'd be willing to puff up your ego." Tucker said solemnly.

"Perfect. I'm cleaning his brother of ectoplasm today. so expect a call later! Love you guys!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, boyfriend." Sam clicked off the call.

"Think Tim Drake would be interested in a date?" Tucker asked Danny.

"Nah, I think he's got his heart on Benard."

"Damn," Tucker sighed. "Guess I'll have to mend my broken heart with the tools of a state-of-the-art lab, right, Danny?"

"Yep, see ya!" Danny hung up. Today was going to be a good day.

[kashverse]

who the hell are mr. pickles and baby of the sukuna household? → read here!

pet visits at the sukuna household were nothing short of an event. they were a grand production of hissing, bribery, and more fur flying than what should be physically possible for two cats. but, alas, this was the price of responsible pet ownership, and babykuna took her role as a loving yet strict caretaker with great pride.

mr. pickles, the dignified maine coon who had long accepted his fate as a regular at the vet, took his check-ups with the quiet resignation of a war veteran. his ears flicked at the cold of the stethoscope, his tail swished when his belly was poked, but otherwise, he was a picture of patience. remarkably, for a cat of his advanced years, his medical results were pristine. the vet, in sheer awe, even called him "a marvel of feline genetics"—though sukuna grumbled under his breath that it just meant the furball was too stubborn to kick the bucket.

baby, on the other hand, was a walking health hazard. where mr. pickles was a refined housecat who requested fresh meals and pristine litter conditions, baby was a feral gremlin in the body of a domestic tabby. this was a cat that had, at least once, been caught trying to gnaw on a discarded tire. his lifestyle—if it could be called that—was "youthful" at best, "grossly unhygienic" at worst. the vet, exhausted after trying to inspect him, simply wrote "?????" under his potential ailments because there was simply no telling what eldritch horrors lurked in his fur. at this point, baby had probably singlehandedly discovered a new species of lice.

but medical concerns aside, the true highlight of vet day wasn’t the check-ups. no, it was the spa day afterward.

the moment they returned home, babykuna whisked her beloved boys straight into the bathroom, where a full-blown feline luxury treatment awaited. they were shampooed, conditioned, and towel-dried like royalty—though baby did his best to convince everyone he was being waterboarded the entire time. when they emerged from the bathroom, both cats were fluffed up like expensive rugs, their fur cleaner than it had ever been. baby, despite his protests, smelled like fresh lavender instead of whatever unholy mix of motor oil and dirt he’d been previously marinating in.

but the real cherry on top was the styling session.

mr. pickles, being the noble creature he was, tolerated this part with a dignified air. his fur was gently trimmed in a way that framed his face, and even his whiskers got the lightest touch-up—just enough to appease his tiny owner. a small bow was delicately placed on his collar, a mark of his undeniable seniority in the household. he looked like a wise old professor, the type to lecture other cats about the "good old days" when food didn’t come from cans but was hunted with claws and cunning.

baby, on the other hand, was made to suffer.

his fur, already a wild mess, was combed into submission before babykuna decided that he too deserved a bow. however, unlike mr. pickles’ refined little accessory, baby’s was a full-blown, oversized pink ribbon, positioned right at the top of his head like he was some kind of tragic beauty pageant contestant. the sheer offense on his face was unmatched. if looks could kill, babykuna would have been vaporized on the spot.

when sukuna entered post-session, arms crossed and already expecting some level of nonsense, he was greeted with the sight of two completely different levels of feline acceptance.

mr. pickles sat tall, his mane glossy, his whiskers subtly shaped—if anything, he looked rather pleased with himself. he was exuding "distinguished gentlecat" energy, someone who would sit on a velvet throne and demand tribute. 

baby, meanwhile, sat stiff as a board, the pink ribbon slipping slightly to the side, his eyes holding the thousand-yard stare of someone who had seen too much.

sukuna snorted. "why the hell does baby look like he just lost a bet?"

babykuna, utterly delighted with her work, beamed up at him. "doesn't he look sooo cute?!"

baby, tail flicking in pure rage, silently disagreed.

[gigiszn]

gwi-nam smut....😈

JUST A DREAM — gwinam x fem!reader

 ۫ ꣑ৎ ｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄! LADIES one at a time.. im only one sexy woman.. but since y'all asked so politely (and 10 times in my inbox) here is your GWINAM SMUT.. also i'm so sorry if i haven't gotten back to you but rn based on requests i'm also writing a gwi-nam fluff and a thg story! plus updating cheong-san fic tmrw prob idk whenever i feel like it okay?!?!?!

y'all know the smut gonna be good when you never even HEARD of the warnings (i didn't know the names of the kinks until i googled them)

tw: somnophilia, dom!gwinam, sub!reader, humiliation, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, begging, p in v, oral (f receiving), begging, hybristophilia, hair pulling, slapping, creampie, no use of y/n (though no name or features are described).

as always, you're responsible for the media you consume. read if u want, don't if you don't.

wc: 2.3k

 ۫ ꣑ৎ ｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

The hours had dragged on, each second thick with tension. One moment, you and On-Jo had been sitting close, sharing a quiet laugh as she nervously gushed about Bare-Su. Her voice had been light, teasing, but there was something raw in the way she spoke—something unspoken between you, an energy you couldn't quite place. Then, without warning, the world had shattered around you. The laughter faded into the harsh reality of your classmates turned monsters—feral, mindless creatures, chasing you down with a hunger you could feel deep in your bones.

The panic had set in quickly. The hallways had become a maze, the sound of shuffling footsteps and eerie growls echoing around you. You’d lost On-Jo, lost track of everything. Alone, terrified, you had found a classroom to hide in, slamming the door behind you, and for a brief moment, it had seemed like you were safe. But that security was short-lived.

The zombies had found the door, clawing at the wood, their nails scraping as they drew nearer. You knew you couldn’t stay here forever. The fear gripped you, cold and suffocating. You refused to let it end like this—not after you’d had to kill one of your own. You had to survive.

Taking a deep breath, you checked the door one last time. The sounds of the undead grew louder, and you knew it was only a matter of time before they broke through. Without thinking, you darted out of the classroom, running as fast as you could, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Each step was desperate, each breath labored. Your heart pounded, not from exhaustion, but from the raw terror that fueled you forward.

You spotted the music room just ahead, a glimpse of hope in the chaos. You pushed open the door, slamming it behind you, your back pressed against it for a moment, trying to catch your breath. The quiet that enveloped you felt surreal after the chaos outside. The room was still, untouched, as if time had stopped. The air smelled of dust and old wood, but there was a certain calm to it, a strange peace you didn’t think you’d ever feel again.

You quickly scanned the room. It was empty, save for a broken piano and scattered instruments. In the corner, there was a closet—small, tucked away from view. You moved toward it with quick steps, but then froze. A body lay crushed under the piano, clawing at the air above you in a desperate attempt to eat your brain, a grotesque reminder of the horrors outside.

Shaking your head, you pushed the thought aside. You needed to focus. The last thing you wanted was to think about the things you’d just barely escaped. You moved to the farthest corner of the room, a chair in the corner catching your eye. With a tired sigh, you sank into it, your body aching, your mind still racing.

The room was silent again, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to relax. Your muscles, tense from the fight and the fear, finally started to release. Your breathing slowed, but it was difficult to let go completely. You hadn’t let yourself rest in what felt like forever. The memories of the chaos—of your friends, of the ones you had lost—were fresh and raw in your mind.

You closed your eyes for just a moment, exhaustion overtaking you. The outside world felt far away, the sounds of the zombies muffled. Here, in this room, you were safe—for now.

And that was all that mattered.

 ۫ ꣑ৎ ｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

A growing sense of pleasure blooming in your cunt snapped you out of your slumber, each sense reawakening. Your eyes shot downwards, the sight of an all too familiar boy filling your vision as he looked up from his seeming frenzy against your now throbbing clit.

Every part of you screamed to run, to get the hell back in that supply closet. It wasn't normal to be awoken by a tongue fucking into your hole, yet something about the far-from-vanilla scene had you gripping the sides of the chair.

"G-Gwinam.. What the fuck are you do..doing?" You stammered out, chest heaving. Your question was left hung in the air, filling the silence surrounding you. The only sounds able to be heard were the sound of his tongue lapping against your clit. The sight was erotic, your hands scrambling to catch a grip on anything, finally settling for his hair. You tugged instinctively, Gwinam's mouth opening in a groan that reverberated against your pussy.

Your legs twitched, nose and brows scrunching as you felt your climax arriving. The coil in your stomach was tightening, like the feeling at the brink of a rollercoaster. "I-I'm gonna.." You muttered out, lips curling into a pleasure-filled frown.

"You better fucking hold it, you slut," He warned, stopping his abuse against your clit. You grimaced, staring down at him as your hips jutted upwards.

His tongue swirled and delved deeper into your hole, two fingers joining his mouth. Your legs shook, hands pulling tighter on his hair.

Gwinam could feel his hard-on rub against his pants, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried not to focus on the overwhelming pressure he felt as you tugged on the strands of his black hair.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore.

"I-I can't.." You whined out as the coil inside you unleashed and broke. The rollercoaster had fallen, and your cum was now spilling out onto your thighs and his face.

He licked and slurped at your clit as you rode out your high, a post-nut clarity washing over you as your eyes widened. You were far too loud, and the zombies would surely come. Without thinking, you pushed him down, stumbling as your legs shook while you tried to make your way to the supply closet.

Suddenly, Gwinam's strong forced pushed you against the wall, forearm against your neck. You attempted to claw at him, but he simply used his free hand to pin them upward. "Where y'gonna run now, huh?" He teased, biting down on your neck, "You don't wanna listen? I'll show you how to fucking listen, whore."

A loud slap emitted, a pink stain echoing against your cheek.

Tears brimmed your eyes, slowly falling down your face as a choked sob escaped your throat. You struggled against him, watching the sadistic smirk plaster on his face, eyes widened as the pupils traced the line of your salty cries.

"Please, Gwinam. W-We'll die." You stammered out, eyes widened as you tried to search for any trace of humanity in his eyes.

You didn't find it.

"You're so fucking hot when you cry." He groaned, pushing his mouth against yours roughly. It seemed he didn't have a care whether you kissed back, shoving his tongue down your mouth.

You wanted to resist, really, you did.

But the way he rutted his hips against you knew that you didn't want anything more than for him to fuck your brains out.

A moan fell from your mouth and into his, Gwinam's grip on your neck finally releasing as he used that hand to pull up one of your thighs. In a synchronized daze of horniness, you both grinded against each other in a desperate attempt to chase your high once more.

He grabbed your arms, dragging you to the window. Your face was pressed against it, breasts smushing against the glass as his hands carelessly fondled your ass.

Gwinam stuck in two fingers, stretching your tight pussy for what was to come. "If you cum before I let you, I'll kill you."

You knew he was serious. You just didn't have it in you to care.

One hand snakes up your back, wrapping around your neck as if he was the serpent and you were the forbidden fruit.

Squeezing, you let out a broken sob, purple bruises forming in the shape of his fingertips. He pressed his hips against yours at your cries, eyes rolling to the back of his head. There was nothing more erotic to him than fucking you while there were zombies mere metres away from you.

Agonizingly slow, he pulled your skirt down. With a huff, you impatiently forced the fabric down, pooling at your ankles. With a raspy chuckle, he leaned in close and pulled your ear lobe, "You just really can't wait to have me cum in you, isn't that right?"

He had you at a loss of words, biting your lip until it bled. Gwinam pulled you back by your neck, back pressed against his hard chest, "Answer me when I talk to you, slut," He warned, squeezing tighter.

With all the might you had left in you, you breathed out, "Y-Yes.. I can't wait.." Hearing your tears behind your words had precum dripping and his cock practically begging to burst.

Knowing he wouldn't last much longer if you both kept up with the constant teasing, his hands finally let their grip off you and to his pants. Your hands now pressed against the glass, your head dropped to avoid the painstaking scene of dead and dying classmates on the field outside.

As Gwinam finally dropped his pants and boxers, he let out a freakish grin seeing your distaste toward the chaos outside. Grabbing your jaw, he forced you to stare ahead as his pink tip circled your soaked hole.

It was all too much. You felt your pussy throbbing as you tried to find any way to make the dominance Gwinam was exhibiting less arousing.

"Watch them as I fuck you, Mouse," He purred into your ear, pushing his hard cock in slowly. You felt him stretch your fleshy walls, a soft groan sounding from both your throats simultaneously, "You wanna be good for me, don't you?"

You nodded with a whine, turning back to look at him with round eyes. He ran a finger across your lips before turning your head back to the window, angling his dick at your entrance.

As per his usual style, he gave no time in letting you adjust, immediately setting his rough pace. Each thrust let out a loud slap that echoed, angering the zombie under the piano further.

Your senses were slowly diminishing until you were just as brain-dead as the zombies—minus the dead part. Your hair pulled back by his hand, the one on your jaw now letting go and squeezing your ass. Though he had now let go of your face, you still remained looking out the window.

You wanted to be good for Gwinam. You were good for Gwinam.

Your emotions built up in your chest. Every erotic and devastated emotion. You wept as you watched the few survivors that made a break for the schools gates get eaten alive, slowly cracking and turning.

"Fuck—I love it when you cry, baby," He moaned, throwing his head back as his pace quickened.

Your eyes squeezed shut, feeling the slight overstimulation only enhance the pleasure you were feeling. Gwinam reached down, thumb instantly finding your clit and rubbing fast circles, matching his perfect pace against your throbbing cunt.

Your hole squeezed against his dick, and he 'tsked', "Don't you think about cumming." You nodded, placing a hand on your stomach. You could feel his dick sliding in and out of you, each time stretching your hole so that it would only ever be the right size for him.

He was marking you as his, and you didn't want it any other way.

Gwinam's hips stuttered, pace growing sloppy and uneven, "I'm gonna cum in you, okay baby?" He growled in your ear, licking a stripe down your jaw and to your collarbone, "I'm gonna make you mine, and you're gonna take my cum."

You felt yourself reaching the edge at his words, soft cries releasing from your throat as all you wanted to do was squirt all over his veiny length.

"Please.. Please let me cum, Gwinam, I'll be good," You whined, rutting your hips backwards against his, meeting them in the middle and bringing you both so much closer to your edge.

He shook his head, pulling your hair and causing a shriek to emit from your throat. He wanted nothing more than to have you creaming all over him, but he knew the pleasure he felt from commanding you was even better.

Gwinam bent forward against you, and he groaned as you reached back and pulled his hair. He grabbed your neck as he felt his high approach, knowing he wouldn't be able to take it much longer.

Finally giving you permission, Gwinam bit his lip, nodding his head, "Yeah, baby. Cum with me. I want you to cum." He muttered almost incoherently, and his approval was enough to snap the coil once more.

Following after you seconds after, you both continued your desperate movements against each other until the ropes of his semen remained inside your vagina.

The floor underneath you was dampened by your shots of cum, legs faltering. You fell against the window, Gwinam grabbing you by your waist and carrying your half-naked body into the supply room.

You were practically asleep as your body fucked-dumb was weak. He lay you on a sofa in the closet, not bothering to cover you up.

He knelt down, licking a stripe in your pussy filled with his cum. He could taste himself, salty and warm, the overstimulation causing your hips to jut upwards as your half-asleep self muttered under your breath.

Gwinam stood up, staring at you for a moment, before turning and heading toward the broadcasting room.

Maybe when you woke up, you'd think it was all just a dream, and would go back to fearing for your life—But the cum spilling out of you made you know that whatever had happened was real—and you knew you would want more.

[takaraphoenix]

I saw someone refer to Steter as a comedy relief duo earlier and it just completely sent me, because that's just... so far from what Steter is, in canon?

As I'm currently rewatching the show, it has shot up into being my favorite ship on the show because of the gravitas it has.

It's a ship that highlights Stiles' fearlessness in such intriguing ways, in canon. From the boy who yelled at a feral Alpha in the school, to their first face to face meeting at the hospital, when Peter recognizes him, knows him, acknowledges him ("You must be Stiles", as though Stiles' reputation as the one who figures things out proceeds him, as he is the first one to put together that Peter is the Alpha).

There's nothing comedic about the scene on the lacrosse field, when Stiles is kneelng beside Lydia's unconscious form and Peter... for reasons beyond comprehension... decides to curl his claws beneath Stiles' chin and guide him up. Not grab him by the arm and haul him up, not command him, not demand.

This is... sensual, filled with tension, and I don't even necessarily mean the sexual tension (even though the imagery of Stiles kneeling before Peter and Peter grasping his chin is something that I find hard to not see a sexual read on).

Peter kidnaps Stiles into the parking garage to force the boy to track down Derek and, sure, the "His username is Allison? His password is also Allison?" - "Still want him in your pack?" is absolutely iconic and is comedic... how do you boil that entire exchange down to "comedy relief"?

The way Peter offers Stiles the bite - Peter, who so far, only took whatever he wanted, never asked or offered - and doesn't force when Stiles says "No". Even the way Peter catches Stiles on the lie is a moment of tension and revelation on Stiles' part. The way Peter acknowledges Stiles as the clever one.

The season 1 finale? When Stiles sets the survivor of a horrific house fire on fire? Absolute riot, huh. It's vicious, it's cruel - it's everything.

And when Peter is resurrected? Sure, Stiles sarcastically asks if someone can kill him again and sure, Peter snarks about living in a cave system. But even in that episode, these brief comedic moments are absolutely overshadowed by the way Peter and Stiles work together, figure out what the vault is made of, then call Scott to warn him and Derek, by finishing each other's sentences. Two brilliant minds working together, on the same wavelength.

The next time they interact is when Peter tells Stiles about Paige, explains what the blue eyes mean. It's one of the more heavy and serious moments in the season, aside from all the death scenes. It's a big lore drop and character background on both Peter and Derek. And it's Stiles this information is shared with. It's a serious moment and even as Peter tells it all, Stiles doesn't trust, sees past the silver tongue and that too is part of the appeal.

When Peter and Stiles work together to save Cora's life in the hospital, while the Alpha Pack is hunting them down? Blind trust. Stiles asks Peter to help him and Peter doesn't even ask, much less quip, he just follows Stiles' lead and they work together.

Now, I'll admit, I haven't seen seasons 3B through 6 in six years and hey, maybe they'll be a real Abbott and Costello in season 4 and I'm just not remembering it, but damn it all to hell if the first half of the show doesn't present them as two clever minds challenging each other, with a growth from terror and pain to respect and teamwork.

I understand and respect not liking a ship, but I am genuinely baffled when people deliberately misinterpret a canon to suit their needs. Always makes me wonder what alternate reality's version of the show they were watching, surely not the same as me.