#going to just do a massive dump of the whole thing I think

[dear-ao3]

hi it's me the person from like a week ago who's writing that college paper about f1 i was gonna respond and then i immediately forgot lol. the paper is on the different media strategies and narratives of the fia, teams, drivers, gp locations, etc, and how they interact with each other. and also how the ways liberty media and the fia are marketing the sport and drawing in new fans is actually alienating people and suppressing the authenticity of the sport. especially post drive to survive.

i'm a comms major lol i am a massive public relations nerd

also a couple questions: idk how well versed you are in business stuff but how would you say f1 has changed its branding, especially pre liberty media to now? and how were drivers marketed before the era of portraying them as like,, pop stars? when was that shift? also if you have any specific examples (or places i could find examples) related to that stuff or sexism in f1 or just how f1 tries to control the narrative i would appreciate it because jesus christ the lack of research is terrible

ok dump over the essays not due for another like 3 weeks but when its done i can send it to you if you want to read it :)

aaaaa this got lost in my ask box i hope i’m not too late posting it :/ unfortunately i have no real sources for you. i know the shift was post drive to survive, but i think it also depends on the country because like f1 hasn’t really been a huge Thing in the us, but like ferrari has been italys second religion for years. so it might make sense if you focused it on a country. like in the time since dts first released they added two more us gps: miami (2022) and las vegas (2023). i know there’s a lot of british bias, especially by sky sports and sometimes in the penalties as well. i think fernando alonso called that out this year (?) and max also usually mentions it a few times (at brazil this year he definitely called out the british press) i know there’s also interviews of drivers saying post dts people recognized them way more (maybe this was daniel? or lando?) but some of them really like it (daniel) and some of them don’t (like max) you could also play the angle from social media, like george used to i know at least run his own twitter way back in the day (might have been pre f1 but i think he was still running it loosely in 2019 or at least tweeting himself) and now he doesn’t really touch social media At All cause of the comments he gets. lando used to run most of his own social media also until i think like 2020? 2021? (as in i don’t think he had a social media team) before he passed it off to someone else, though i know he still goes on for sure. i think a lot of them definitely cleaned up their media presence post dts (like lewis was certainly a pr nightmare at one point earlier in his career which a lot of people don’t realize or remember and we’re not even going to talk about fernando alonso). the sport has gotten more tame for sure over the years, they used to get away with doing and saying way more but that could also just be a general cultural shift, there’s also i know pockets of people who are like oh this sport used to be so respectful and manly and blah blah blah and like. there’s photos of michael schumacher at a party in a wedding dress. david coulthard used to pretend to kiss his teammates on the lips in front of the cameras. as for sexism, there have been female drivers before, usually only doing short stints. i know susie wolff has talked about this with the f1 academy how pretty much only lewis consistently shows up to support it. i think max (?) said earlier this year that academy is great but if they want them to make it to f1 they need to give them faster cars. there’s also the whole horner fiasco from earlier this year.

idk if any of this is useful. or if you’ve already turned in your paper. in any case, good luck :)

[emmster]

Chapter 1 is all sketched out. Just need to line and colour

[icewindandboringhorror]

finally finished all of one character's entire quests/optional dialogue/questions/etc.... 100,000 words... .... aughhh

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Please Let Me Live - Vil Schoenheit x reader

You get isekai'd into the worst novel you've had the misfortune of reading because apparently your life is a cosmic joke. Now all you have to do is not act like the character you've possessed and it'll be fine, you think? Your fiancé being Vil Schoenheit makes it a little harder to behave like a human being with functional braincells, but hey, atleast he likes you, you think?

Series Masterlist

You'd avoided it for so long. For months, your best friend had been pestering you to read the shoujo isekai novel of the year. According to them, it was the epitome of romantic drama, the kind that would "turn your heart into a mess of feelings" and "change your life." So, finally, after a particularly grueling week, your willpower hit rock bottom. You caved. You bought it, poured yourself a drink, and figured, "How bad can it be?"

Turns out, really bad.

You’d barely made it past the first few chapters before your brain began to leak out of your ears. Every overused villainess plot point imaginable was crammed into the story like a contest of "how much nonsense can we fit in here before the reader gives up?" The evil fiancée everyone inexplicably hated? Check. The perfect cinnamon roll male lead everyone adored even though he had the personality of wet cardboard? Double check. The heroine who was so pure that even her sneeze would be enough to unite warring nations who also happens to be the saintess? You had to put the book down and take a moment when she gave a speech about friendship that was so saccharine, your teeth hurt.

Grumbling and filled with regret, you got up to refill your drink… only to slip on bubble wrap you swore yesterday that you were going to pick up later, fall face-first into the kitchen counter, and began to bleed out.

It was a comically stupid way to die. You knew that as you lay there, watching the light fade from your vision, your last thoughts being, This is the dumbest thing that’s ever happened to me.

And then, darkness.

You woke up with a groan, your head pounding. As your vision cleared, you noticed you were lying in a very, very fancy bed. Silk sheets, gold trimming on the canopy, the works. And you were dressed in something frilly, layered, and far too complicated for someone who just woke up from a near-death experience.

"What the…"

You sat up, rubbing your eyes, only to freeze as the realization hit you. This was not your bed. This was not your apartment. This was… Oh god, no.

You whipped your head around the lavish room, recognizing it from the novel you’d been hate-reading just last night. The massive mirror above the dresser, the tapestry with an overly detailed family crest, the obnoxiously large bouquet of roses that smelled way too sweet.

You’re in the book.

Panicking, you scrambled out of bed and rushed to the full-length mirror by the wall. The reflection staring back at you was not your own. Instead, you saw an unfamiliar face—her face. The one mentioned once, maybe twice, in the whole novel before being discarded like an old shoe: the betrothed of the villain.

The fiancée who dumps him for the male lead. The fiancée who gets themselves killed in the process.

“Oh, come on!” you groaned, slapping your forehead. “I’m the villain’s betrothed? I’m that idiot who leaves Vil Schoenheit because I fall for the human incarnation of a sugar cube?”

But there was no escaping it. You were now stuck in the body of a side character so irrelevant that even her death was treated as an afterthought. The one who leaves her handsome, ambitious, gorgeous fiancé for… Neige.

No. No, no, no. You were not about to die over a soggy cinnamon roll.

Determined to change your fate, you gathered your wits and opened the door to leave the room. But of course, you ran headlong into a tall figure, knocking you both back.

“Oof! Careful there!” a smooth, yet stern voice said. You looked up—and froze. Standing before you, looking like something straight out of a high-fashion magazine, was Vil Schoenheit. The man whose heart you were supposed to break, the villain who would later descend into madness after you ditch him.

And wow. In person, he was even more stunning than the novel had described. His golden-blond hair shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the window, his purple eyes were as sharp as they were beautiful, and his posture screamed confidence.

You blinked up at him, utterly dumbfounded. You’re supposed to leave him? For Neige? You nearly gagged at the thought.

Vil raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your wide-eyed staring. “Is something the matter?”

You gulped. Right. You were supposed to be cold and dismissive toward him, weren’t you? But how? This man looked like he could make the heavens weep with his beauty. How had your character ever even considered leaving him?

“No, nothing’s the matter!” you blurted out, a little too enthusiastically. “Actually, everything’s great! You look fantastic! I mean, not that you don’t always look fantastic—because you do—but, you know, extra fantastic today!”

Vil’s eyes narrowed. “You’re acting strange.”

Abort. Abort!

You quickly cleared your throat. “Uh, I’ve just been… thinking. About us.”

His gaze became sharper. “About us?”

You nodded, plastering on your most sincere smile. “Yes! I’ve realized… I haven’t been very, uh, appreciative of you lately. And I’m sorry for that. Really, I am. So from now on, I’ll be the most appreciative fiancée ever!”

Vil looked at you as though you’d just told him the sun was cold. He clearly didn’t trust this sudden change in attitude. “What exactly brought this on?” he asked slowly, suspiciously.

Time for Plan B. “Oh, you know, just… reflection! Self-improvement! I thought, ‘Why would I ever look anywhere else when I’ve got someone like *you* right in front of me?’ You’re… amazing, really.” You cringed internally at how corny that sounded, but Vil didn’t seem entirely put off.

“Hm,” was all he said, but his piercing gaze stayed locked on you, watching for any sign of deceit.

You were sweating bullets, but at least he wasn’t storming off. Yet.

You knew from the moment you read the back cover that this novel was going to be a dumpster fire of clichés, but you were not prepared for the sheer chaos of it all.

So, first off, we have the heroine—the Saintess—who has somehow never faced a single hardship in her life, despite the fact that she’s supposed to be the kingdom’s beacon of virtue and a symbol of overcoming hardship. She’s engaged to the crown prince, who conveniently disappears on a diplomatic mission and dies offscreen, probably to make room for her new love interest, Neige LeBlanche. Neige. That sparkly ray of sunshine who is so perfect and pure that you feel like you need sunglasses whenever his name is mentioned. Because apparently, what’s more romantic than falling for a guy immediately after your fiancé kicks the bucket?

Then there’s the second male lead, the brooding Duke of the North, who checks all the boxes: tall, brooding, handsome, tragic backstory—yawn. Of course, he’s madly in love with the Saintess, and like any self-respecting second male lead in a trashy romance, he sacrifices himself for her later. Because nothing says “I’m irrelevant” quite like noble self-sacrifice.

And don't even get started on the heroine's best friend. She’s basically there to fawn over the Saintess and then inexplicably fall for Vil, the Grand Duke, after she pressures him into apologizing for insulting the heroine's dress. Like, why? Was his dress critique that alluring?

Now, Vil Schoenheit. The Grand Duke. The guy you’re currently stuck with as your fiancé. He’s actually a decent character—powerful, intelligent, not falling over himself to worship the Saintess like everyone else. But in the novel, he’s wasted. Why? Because he’s engaged to the character you’re now possessing—Miss Mean and Cold—who treats him like dirt because she’s too busy fantasizing about Neige. You know, the guy she has no shot with because he’s destined to fall for the Saintess. Then, when your character eventually dumps Vil for Neige, she dies in a freak accident. Vil, who actually loved her (for reasons no one understands), is so heartbroken that he turns into the main villain.

Yes, that’s right—this whole mess of a plot ends with Vil going full villain mode because the love of his life ditched him for the living embodiment of a children’s snowman and then died in a way that no one can explain. Cue the Saintess and Neige teaming up to defeat him and live happily ever after.

And that’s the story. A tangled web of nonsensical relationships, conveniently dead characters, and more emotional whiplash than you can handle. And the cherry on top? You're stuck in it, watching everything unfold firsthand. It's honestly a wonder the book didn’t end up as kindling.

A few days passed, and somehow, miraculously, you managed to keep up the act. Every morning you would wake up, still half-expecting to snap out of this bizarre isekai nightmare, but instead, you were met with Vil’s meticulous morning routine and the low hum of his voice offering helpful reminders about skincare.

And the more time you spent with him, the more baffled you became.

How the hell could the original character have messed this up?!

Sure, Vil was particular—okay, maybe borderline obsessive—about appearances. His lectures about proper sunscreen application could rival the length of the Odyssey. And yes, the daily inspections of your outfit choices felt a little like going through customs at a royal border.

But… he was kind? Like, actually caring?

Every meal was an event because he made sure you were eating properly and not just shoving random food into your mouth like the gremlin you clearly were before. He listened when you rambled about your day, offering advice with this gentle patience that honestly made you want to weep. How could anyone leave this?

You found yourself in front of a mirror one afternoon, pacing and gesturing wildly at your reflection, as if you could summon the spirit of the character you’d possessed. "What the actual hell was wrong with you?!" you hissed at the glass. “What kind of brain rot would make someone ditch a man like Vil?! Are you missing brain cells, or was your skull just a rental with nothing in it?!”

You paused, glaring at your reflection as if it could offer answers, but nope. It just stared back, helpless.

“Like, hello?!” you continued, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You had a golden opportunity here! He’s literally gorgeous! He’s got hair that looks like it was hand-spun by some ancient beauty god, his fashion sense could kill a lesser mortal, and he—*gasp*—cares about your well-being?!”

You slapped your forehead dramatically. “How did you mess this up? Were you allergic to good things? Did you wake up every day and choose to be a feral raccoon instead of, I don’t know, appreciating this actual masterpiece of a human being? What, did you look at his perfect face and go, ‘Nah, I’d rather yeet myself into self-destruction?’ Because clearly, that’s what happened!”

Your reflection remained silent, offering no help, which only fueled your rant further.

“You absolute donut! You ridiculous bottle of poorly mixed potion! You—” You stopped mid-sentence, running out of sufficiently creative insults to throw at the former owner of this body. Because seriously, what kind of fool would’ve thrown Vil away?

You gripped the sides of the vanity table, leaning forward, narrowing your eyes at your own reflection. "If I find out that you gave up on this because he once asked you to wear a face mask or told you to drink more water… I swear, I'm going to find a way to repossess you just to kill you again for making me deal with this."

A soft knock at the door startled you out of your self-directed tirade. You nearly jumped out of your skin, spinning around to see Vil standing in the doorway, one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Talking to yourself again?” he asked, his voice smooth but with a teasing edge. “You know, that’s usually a sign of stress. Perhaps we should revisit that meditation routine I mentioned.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless, wondering how much he’d overheard. But then you caught sight of that soft smile he reserved just for you, and your brain short-circuited all over again.

Right. The original character was definitely an idiot.

The first major hurdle hit you when you least expected it.

It all started with what should have been a calm afternoon—a brief moment of peace where you and Vil could actually spend time together, no schemes, no weird confrontations, just enjoying tea. You were finally getting comfortable with each other, slowly building the trust that had been so fragile at the start. Finally, you thought, things were moving smoothly.

Then the overused villainess trope decided to rear its ugly head.

Vil was talking about an upcoming event he’d be hosting, his voice calm, his usual stern features softened just slightly by the moment of peace. You were finally letting your guard down.

That was until the door creaked open and in waltzed the heroine’s best friend, a girl with wide, doe-like eyes and a penchant for stirring up unnecessary drama. Behind her, looming in the doorway, was the second male lead—your eternal source of frustration from the novel. He was tall, brooding, and always, always popping up at the most inconvenient moments. A defeated looking Epel walked in behind them, with a look that screamed 'trust me I tried to stop them.'

“Oh no,” you whispered under your breath, recognizing this scene before it could even play out. You knew what was coming, and you braced yourself for the utter absurdity of it.

Vil’s sharp gaze flicked from the two intruders back to you, his brows furrowing in mild irritation. “What is it now?” he muttered, already sensing the impending nonsense.

The heroine’s friend, ever the bringer of chaos, marched right up to your table with a dramatic flair that could only come from someone who believed they were the only purveyor of justice. “I can’t stay quiet any longer!” she declared, pointing an accusatory finger in Vil’s direction. “Vil, how could you treat the heroine this way?! You’ve been so cold, so distant—and it’s clear that you don’t truly care for anyone but yourself!”

You blinked. Excuse me?

Vil’s lips pursed, the irritation growing on his face. “And what, pray tell, did I do?”

“You know what you did!” she exclaimed, crossing her arms like she’d just delivered the most damning statement in history. “You’ve been ignoring her, brushing her off, and acting like she doesn’t even exist. She’s heartbroken because of you!”

You groaned internally. Oh no, this was that scene. The one where, because Vil once made an offhand comment about the heroine’s poor choice in dresses at a ball, suddenly he was painted as some cruel villain who was emotionally tormenting the delicate heroine. It was such an incredibly stupid misunderstanding that you distinctly remembered wanting to throw the book across the room when you’d first read it.

To make matters worse, the second male lead, standing silently but brooding in the doorway, was glowering at Vil like he was ready to challenge him to a duel at any moment. Because of a comment about a dress.

“Are you serious?” you blurted out, the frustration bubbling up before you could stop yourself.

The heroine’s friend gasped, her eyes wide. “Excuse me?!”

“Let me get this straight,” you said, rising from your seat with a groan, “you’re upset because Vil, what, didn’t shower her with praise at the last event? And now you’ve decided to come in here, storming into our tea time, to complain about it?”

The second male lead’s brooding scowl deepened, his jaw tightening. “Vil has been cruel—”

“About a dress.” You cut him off, waving your hand dismissively. “Vil made one comment about her dress. That’s it. And now we’re doing this whole song and dance like he’s some kind of evil tyrant?”

The room was already tense, the heroine’s best friend visibly fuming, but you couldn’t help it. The words just came out before you could stop them.

“And while we’re at it,” you said, your voice dripping with mock innocence, ��let’s talk about that dress. You know, the one you’re all so upset about. I mean, I’m no fashion expert, but who in their right mind thought wearing that shade of mustard-yellow was a good idea?”

The friend’s mouth fell open, but you weren’t finished. “I mean, she walked into the ballroom looking like a sad banana trying to go to a high society function. I get it—saintess and all that—but there’s no reason to dress like the interior of an overripe cantaloupe.”

Vil made a choking sound next to you, and you dared to glance at him. His eyes were wide with shock, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement. Oh, he wasn’t pleased with the crudeness, but he definitely wasn’t going to stop you either.

“And you,” you said, turning to the second male lead, who had been standing there like a silent, brooding statue, just staring at the two of you menacingly. “What’s your excuse? You came in here with all this brooding energy, acting like you’re about to duel someone over the fate of the heroine. But seriously, what’s with your whole tragic hero act? Is your personality just permanent raincloud or do you practice that in the mirror?”

Vil covered his mouth with his hand, and you could see his shoulders shaking slightly. He was losing the battle to keep his composure, but he was trying—for dignity’s sake, of course.

Epel, on the other hand, had completely given up. The moment you’d said “sad banana,” he had fallen off his chair, doubled over in laughter, his face red as he clutched his sides. You weren’t sure if it was your insults or the second male lead’s thunderstruck expression, but either way, Epel was in hysterics.

“I—” the heroine’s friend sputtered, but you interrupted her again.

“Oh, and you.” You looked her up and down with a condescending smirk. “You really want to talk about fashion? Because I don’t know who told you that wearing ruffles with plaid was a look, but they were wrong. You’re out here looking like you got lost in a fabric store and fell into the clearance bin.”

This time, Vil snorted. Actually snorted. The sound was so out of place that it almost derailed your tirade, but you powered through, buoyed by his reaction.

The second male lead looked like he was ready to explode, his aura now bordering on murderous. “You can’t just—”

“Oh, can’t I?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Because it seems like all of you came in here with the intent to stir up drama over something as trivial as a constructive remark. If you’re going to go to war over fashion, at least wear something that doesn’t look like you picked it out with your eyes closed. Scratch that, I couldn’t imagine picking that up even with my eyes closed.”

By now, Epel was rolling on the floor, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “C-couldn’t pick it out… with your eyes closed!” he wheezed, slapping his knee.

Vil, despite himself, let out a low giggle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well,” he said, his voice steady but filled with mirth, “I suppose subtlety was never your strong suit.”

The heroine’s friend, now red-faced and flustered beyond belief, grabbed the second male lead by the arm and yanked him toward the door. “This isn’t over,” she spat, glaring at you. “We’ll see who’s laughing when the heroine—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved dismissively, “when the heroine what? Realizes she’s been pining for someone who can't tell mustard from elegance? Trust me, I’m not worried.”

With that, they both stormed out, slamming the door behind them in a huff of embarrassment and frustration. The second they were gone, you let out a breath and sank back into your chair, grinning at Vil, who was now openly smiling.

“You really didn’t hold back, did you?” Vil said, his amusement evident despite his usual calm demeanor. “I don’t approve of such… crude insults, but I must admit—” his lips twitched— “it was rather effective.”

Epel, still recovering from his laughing fit, managed to haul himself back into his seat, wiping tears from his eyes. “That was… that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said between gasps for air. “I can’t believe ya said that right to their faces!”

“Glad to be of service,” you said with a grin, though your heart was still pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe you’d actually said all of that out loud. But judging by Vil’s pleased expression and Epel’s ongoing laughter, it had been worth it.

Maybe surviving this trash novel wouldn’t be so bad after all.

You’d barely had time to process how bizarrely normal your life as the villain’s fiancée had become when the next absurd isekai plot point decided to rear its ugly, trope-filled head again.

It all started at yet another lavish tea party. Honestly, you’d begun to lose track of how many of these events you were forced to attend. They all blurred together into a haze of polite smiles, floral patterns, and far too much sugar.

This time, you were seated next to Vil, who, as always, looked like he had just stepped out of a renaissance painting. You, on the other hand, were trying not to spill tea on the new dress he’d insisted you wear. The dress itself was lovely, of course—Vil had impeccable taste—but the whole setting made you feel like you were constantly walking on eggshells. Especially since she was here. The heroine.

Today, though, you were determined to get through it without any drama. Just smile, nod, and let the heroine do her thing. Easy, right?

Wrong.

Everything had been going smoothly, too. The heroine, in all her sunshiney glory, was seated at the table, surrounded by her usual group of admirers. You had been doing a great job of fading into the background until someone—the hostess, perhaps?—brought up your previous adventures.

“Oh, didn’t you once accompany the Grand Duke to deal with that bandit problem on the eastern border?” the hostess asked, fanning herself with interest. “What a thrilling ordeal!”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the weight of too many eyes on you. “Well, I wouldn’t say thrilling exactly…” you began, trying to downplay it, but your nerves had other ideas. “I mean, the heroine here was probably off rescuing some poor lost puppy while I was just, you know, holding down the real danger.”

The air went cold.

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze. The table fell silent, save for the quiet clinking of teacups being set down. Every eye was on you. The heroine’s wide, eyes blinked at you, full of hurt and confusion. And across from you, the second male lead—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding—looked like he was ready to leap across the table and strangle you on the spot.

Oh no. Oh no no no. Why did you leave your filter at home?

You opened your mouth to apologize, but before you could, the second male lead slammed his cup down on the table, the porcelain rattling ominously. “You dare insult her honor?!” he roared, rising from his seat like some kind of vengeful storm cloud. “I will not stand for this!”

*Why did I say that?* You cringed internally, face turning a bright shade of crimson. "I-it was a joke—"

“No,” he declared dramatically, pointing a finger at you. “I demand satisfaction! A duel for her honor!”

You were still too stunned to respond, your brain scrambling to make sense of the situation. A duel? Over this? All you’d implied was that the heroine wasn’t exactly… battle-hardened. Surely that wasn’t duel-worthy? This man was acting like you’d called his mother a turnip or something worse.

The heroine, ever the epitome of grace, tried to intervene. “There’s no need for—”

But Mr. Broody wasn’t having it. “No! Her honor has been besmirched, and I shall defend it with my life!”

Vil, who had been watching this spectacle unfold with an expression of mild disgust, finally rose from his chair. His cool gaze swept over the table, landing on the second male lead with all the intensity of a snake about to strike.

“If anyone’s honor has been besmirched,” Vil said icily, “it’s mine. And I will not allow my betrothed to be disrespected by the likes of you.”

You blinked up at Vil, stunned. “Wait, you’re going to duel him? Yourself?”

Vil turned his piercing gaze to you, and though his face remained calm, there was a glimmer of something softer in his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “I would never entrust such a matter to anyone else. Besides…” His lips curled into a smirk. “It’s been a while since I’ve put an upstart in his place.”

You gulped, suddenly feeling a bit light-headed. Was it getting hot in here?

The second male lead, apparently unaware of just how screwed he was, smirked triumphantly. “Very well! Let’s settle this once and for all.”

The duel was set for the next day in your estate gardens. You spent the time leading up to it pacing back and forth in your chambers, wringing your hands in nervous anticipation. Somewhere along the way, you’d decided that you needed to do something—anything—to support Vil. So you had spent hours learning how to embroider a handkerchief, your fingers aching from the effort. By the time you finished, you were practically shaking, but you were proud of the result.

You didn’t expect Vil to be touched, let alone notice that you’d worked so hard. But when you handed him the handkerchief just before the duel, his eyes widened in surprise.

“You made this?” he asked, holding it delicately between his fingers, as if it were some priceless artifact.

You nodded sheepishly. “I figured, you know, for luck. Or to rub it in his face after you beat him. Whichever.”

Vil chuckled, his usually sharp expression softening. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low. He then noticed the small needle marks on your hands and frowned. “You hurt yourself.”

You quickly hid your hands behind your back. “It’s nothing! I mean, I’m fine. Just a few pricks here and there.”

Vil’s expression softened even further, and for a moment, he looked almost… touched. He carefully tucked the handkerchief into his coat pocket, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll be sure to put this to good use.”

You didn’t swoon. Well, maybe just a little.

The duel was, in a word, ridiculous.

The second male lead strutted around like a peacock, his sword gleaming in the afternoon sunlight as he swung it dramatically for the small crowd that had gathered. “Prepare yourself, Schoenheit!” he bellowed, pointing his sword at Vil.

Vil, on the other hand, looked utterly unimpressed. He barely glanced at the man before calmly removing his coat and handing it to you. “Hold this, will you?”

You took the coat with a nod, trying not to pass out from how effortlessly graceful he looked even in the midst of preparing for a fight.

The second male lead lunged forward with all the finesse of a drunken ox, his sword clashing loudly against Vil’s. For a moment, it looked like a real duel—until Vil, with a single fluid motion, disarmed the man in one clean strike. The second male lead’s sword went flying, landing in the bushes several feet away with a pathetic thud.

The crowd gasped, and you had to stifle a laugh. It had barely been five seconds, and the duel was already over.

The second male lead stood there, stunned, his hand frozen mid-air where his sword had been. He blinked once, twice, then turned bright red with embarrassment. “W-what?!”

Vil, ever composed, didn’t even break a sweat. He sheathed his sword and gave the man a cold, dismissive look. “This duel is over. Consider your demand for satisfaction... fulfilled. Now, kindly leave before you embarrass yourself further.”

You bit your lip, trying not to giggle as the second male lead sputtered and tried to come up with an excuse, but it was clear to everyone that he had been utterly humiliated. Even the heroine, standing off to the side, looked like she was struggling to keep a straight face.

As the second male lead stumbled off, defeated, Vil turned to you and offered his hand. “Shall we go?”

You took his hand, still trying to process how easily he had won. “You were amazing,” you blurted out, your heart fluttering as you gazed up at him. “Seriously, that was… wow.”

Vil smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Of course I was.” He then leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And I expect a proper reward later for defending your honor.”

Your face went beet red, and you were pretty sure you’d forgotten how to breathe.

Yep, you thought as he led you away, his hand still in yours, surviving this trash novel might not be so bad after all.

It happened at one of those overly extravagant banquets the royal court liked to throw. You spotted Neige from across the room, all bright eyes and an innocent smile. He was the epitome of purity, as if his very presence could summon woodland creatures to frolic at his feet.

And you hated him on sight.

You watched in disbelief as everyone around him melted into puddles of admiration. He was practically glowing, and his overly cheerful, squeaky voice was grating on your ears.

The overly saccharine male lead stood there, looking like a cross between a baby bunny and a sentient cupcake. Everything about him screamed "pure-hearted." You nearly gagged on your drink, hoping no one noticed your grimace.

Vil noticed your sour expression and leaned in. “Is something the matter?”

“That’s him, isn’t it?” you said through clenched teeth. “The one I used to follow around?”

Vil followed your gaze, and for a moment, his lips twitched in the faintest show of amusement. “Yes. That’s Neige.”

You snorted. "I can't believe anyone in their right mind would prefer him over you."

Vil's lips curled into a smirk, and he tilted his head slightly. “Oh? Is that so?” His voice was silky, dangerously low, but you could see the flash of satisfaction behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you muttered, still glaring in Neige's direction. “I mean, look at him. He’s so… good. And not in a ‘wow, what a decent person’ way. It’s like he’s one bad haircut away from sprouting fairy wings and breaking into song.”

Vil let out a low chuckle, right next to you ear, (Lord, have mercy) the sound sending shivers down your spine. “I never thought I’d hear you speak this way about him. You’ve been fawning over Neige for as long as I can remember.”

You rolled your eyes, throwing your hands up. “That was the old me. The dumb me. I mean, have you seen you?” You gestured dramatically toward him. “How could anyone even look at Neige when you exist?”

Vil was quiet for a moment, watching you intently. His violet eyes glinted with something unreadable, but you could tell he was pleased. Oh, he was very pleased.

“You certainly have changed,” he murmured, the smirk never leaving his lips. “And I must admit, I find it rather… delightful.”

Before you could respond, a very familiar voice rang out from behind you. “Ah! What a beautiful reunion this is! A moment filled with l’amour, sparkling like the stars in the sky!”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Rook Hunt appeared seemingly out of thin air, his hands dramatically clasped together as he beamed at you both. “I have seen many couples in my lifetime, but none quite so radiant as you two.”

You blinked, trying to recover from his sudden appearance. “Rook… were you just… hiding in the curtains again?”

Rook, ever the dramatist, placed a hand on his heart and smiled wistfully. “Ah, but how could I stay away when the beauty of your love draws me in like a moth to a flame?”

Vil raised an eyebrow. “Rook, you’re not helping.”

“Non, non, mon ami,” Rook insisted, twirling in place with a flourish. “I am merely basking in the glow of what is surely a love for the ages! The way your eyes meet, the subtle tension in the air—it is magnifique!”

You sighed, shaking your head, though you couldn’t help but chuckle at Rook’s antics. Meanwhile, from the other side of the ballroom, Epel was watching the scene unfold with barely concealed amusement. He caught your eye and shot you a grin, raising his glass as if to say, Good luck with this.

But the fun wasn’t over. Oh no. Neige, the human embodiment of a children’s choir, started making his way toward you. As he approached, his bright eyes locked on yours, his smile so innocent and wide that you almost felt bad for what you were about to do.

Almost.

“Good evening!” Neige greeted you, his voice as sweet as sugar. “I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to properly meet.”

You stared at him for a moment, unimpressed. “Yeah, uh-huh.”

Neige blinked, clearly taken aback by your lack of enthusiasm. He probably wasn’t used to people not immediately falling at his feet. “It’s truly wonderful to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.”

You squinted at him. “Mm-hmm.”

Vil, standing beside you, looked positively elated. You could practically feel the smug energy radiating off of him. He wasn’t even hiding his smile anymore.

Neige continued, oblivious to your complete disinterest. “I’m so glad we’ll have the chance to spend time together in the coming months! I hope we can—”

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” you interrupted, turning away and pointedly ignoring his very existence.

Neige blinked again, looking like a lost puppy. You almost felt a little bad. Almost.

Vil, on the other hand, looked like Christmas had come early. His arm slipped around your waist, his touch gentle. “I must say,” he murmured into your ear, his voice laced with amusement, “I’ve never enjoyed one of these balls quite so much.”

Yup, maybe this novel isn't that trashy after all?

Everytime you think this novel might not be that bad, it manages to prove you wrong.

The day had finally arrived: the Founding Day Ball. The event to end all events, where the kingdom’s most distinguished were honored in a grand ceremony. And, of course, at the top of the list of honorees was Vil, who might as well have been carved into the actual history of the kingdom itself with how perfect he was.

As his partner for the evening, you were dressed to the nines, dripping in elegance you didn’t even know you were capable of. When you caught your reflection in one of the massive ballroom mirrors, you had to do a double-take.

"Who is that?" you whispered, eyes wide. "Oh. It’s me."

Honestly, if there was a chance of impressing anyone here, you were impressed with yourself.

The ceremony went as expected. Vil was awarded the highest honors, his name met with thunderous applause as he gave a speech that left the crowd swooning. You found yourself half-clapping, half-gawking, wondering how this man kept getting more perfect. Like, was he actually human?

But as the evening progressed, the dreaded scene you despised the most crept into the evening, like a bad smell at a gourmet dinner.

After the ceremony, it was time for the opening dance. Naturally, Vil, being the epitome of grace and nobility, was the prime candidate to lead it. You were fully expecting him to ask you, but before he could even turn in your direction, the heroine — yes, that heroine — appeared out of nowhere, like she was materializing straight from the pages of the worst romance novel ever written.

“Vil,” she said in a voice that sounded like honey and broken promises, “I trust you’ll grant me the honor of the first dance.”

You blinked. *Excuse me?*

She said it so confidently, as if it were a foregone conclusion, like she was used to the world revolving around her whims. It was the equivalent of someone just cutting the line in front of you at the store and expecting applause for their audacity.

Vil, for his part, didn’t even flinch. His expression was as cool and elegant as ever, but you could see a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“I’m afraid,” he said, voice smooth and polite, “I already have a partner for the first dance.”

The heroine’s face froze in a way that almost made you choke on your own breath. “W-What?” She blinked rapidly, as if her brain couldn’t process the fact that someone had just told her no.

You, too, were a little stunned, for a seperate. Was she actually planning on throwing a tantrum right now? In public? At a literal state function?

“B-But you always dance with me,” she stammered, voice rising in disbelief, her face turning an alarming shade of pink. “I’m supposed to be your first dance!”

You physically had to stop yourself from snorting. Always? He has never even looked at her for longer than five seconds! You couldn't recall a single time Vil had given her anything beyond basic pleasantries. The only reason she’d be in his line of sight was because she was constantly putting herself there.

Vil’s lips twitched slightly, though whether it was out of irritation or amusement, you couldn’t tell. “I don’t recall ever dancing with you,” he said calmly, as though she were discussing someone else entirely.

The heroine blinked, clearly taken aback. “W-What?”

Vil’s voice dropped to an even icier tone, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “In fact, I dislike the very idea of it.”

The heroine made a strangled sound behind you, like a baby bird trying to scream.

You looked around the room, half-expecting hidden cameras to pop out, because this had to be a prank. Who acts like this?!

And as you floated onto the dance floor with Vil, you couldn’t help but marvel at the absolute insufferable nature of the scene you’d just witnessed. This was, without a doubt, the moment that solidified your hatred for the trash-tier novel world you’d been trapped in. People like her actually existed here?

Behind you, the heroine stomped her foot like a petulant child, completely ignored by the crowd. It would’ve been almost sad if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

And as you twirled under the chandeliers, feeling Vil’s warmth beside you and the heroine’s tantrum echoing faintly in the background, one thing became crystal clear:

This novel may have been trash, but at least you were the one dancing with the prince of perfection.

It hit you like a ton of bricks one day—completely out of nowhere. You had been sitting in Vil’s study, watching him work. He was meticulously going over some documents, his brow furrowed in concentration, his golden hair falling perfectly in place despite him having been there for hours. You were supposed to be reading through some kingdom protocol book, but instead, your gaze kept drifting over to him.

He’s so… beautiful.

You blinked, the thought suddenly snapping you out of whatever trance you’d fallen into.

Wait…

Your eyes widened. Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

You slammed the book shut, startling Vil from his work as you stood up abruptly. “I-I need some air.”

Vil raised an elegant eyebrow, clearly amused by your sudden panic. “Something the matter?”

“No! Nothing’s the matter!” you said, far too quickly, your voice an octave higher than usual. You stumbled over your chair in your haste to get out of the room, nearly tripping on your own feet. “I just—need to—um—fresh air, yes, exactly!”

Before Vil could say anything else, you bolted from the study and down the hall, your heart racing as though you’d just run a marathon. You darted into the nearest empty room and pressed your back against the door, your mind swirling with confusion.

Am I falling for him?

You slapped a hand over your mouth, horrified by the realization. “No… no, this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. I’m in love with a character from this awful, brain-numbing novel?”

You slumped against the door, groaning as the full weight of the situation sank in. How could this happen? How could my first true love— you gagged at the phrase —be from this trash novel?

There was no escaping it now. The butterflies in your stomach every time Vil looked your way, the way your heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled, the fact that you wanted nothing more than to be close to him… it was all painfully obvious.

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to die. I’m going to die of embarrassment in this ridiculous world.”

And the worst part? It wasn’t even one of the good isekai novels. You’d somehow gotten stuck in what could be considered objectively the worst one, and yet here you were, head over heels for a character who—against all odds—turned out to be the most amazing person you’d ever met.

“Oh god,” you muttered to yourself, sliding down to the floor, your head falling back against the door with a thud. “I'm in love with Vil. I’m doomed. Completely doomed.”

“Mon Dieu! What a revelation!” a voice suddenly rang out from the shadows.

You yelped, whipping around to see none other than Rook Hunt—perched in the corner of the room like some kind of overly dramatic bird of prey, his hat casting a mysterious shadow over his eyes. His entire being radiated excitement, and you swore you saw actual sparkles in the air around him.

“Rook?! How long have you been there?!”

“Long enough, my dear,” he said, voice hushed with reverence, as though you had just confessed your deepest, most tragic secret. “Ah, love! The torment, the longing! The exquisite despair you must be feeling!” He took a step forward, eyes gleaming with unbridled enthusiasm. “But fear not, mon ami, for I, Rook Hunt, shall be your faithful cupid! Together, we shall make Vil see the truth of your affections!”

You blinked, stunned. “Uh… I’m not sure that’s—"

“Ah, but you must!" Rook declared, swooping down to kneel dramatically before you. “Love, once realized, must be pursued with all one’s passion and determination! Do not let this opportunity slip through your fingers like sand in the wind! I shall assist you!”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sheer intensity of his expression made you falter. Rook was looking at you like this was the most important mission of his life.

Honestly, what did you have to lose at this point?

With a deep, exhausted sigh, you muttered, “Fine. Fine! I’ll do it. Help me, Rook.”

Rook’s grin stretched so wide it was borderline terrifying. “Excellent! This will be an adventure for the ages!” Before you could even process what you’d agreed to, Rook leaped to his feet and clapped his hands together. “But we will need more help. A certain someone with a youthful spirit and just enough mischievousness to add that je ne sais quoi to our plans.”

Oh no.

Cue Epel.

“What the hell are you ropin’ me into?” Epel grumbled as Rook dragged him into your predicament not five minutes later.

“I have volunteered you for a most noble cause, mon petit pomme,” Rook said, not even breaking stride as he swept Epel into the room. “Our dear friend here is head over heels for our Vil, and we are going to help them win his heart”

Epel paused, blinking at you in disbelief. “Wait, Vil? That Vil?” He gestured vaguely in the direction of where Vil’s office was.

“Yes, that Vil,” you said flatly, already regretting every life decision that had led you to this point.

Epel gave you a dubious look. “And you agreed to let Rook help you?”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Don’t remind me.”

“Alright, fine. I’m in.” Epel shrugged, a wicked grin creeping onto his face. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it big.”

Thus began the most absurd, over-the-top, and borderline catastrophic schemes in an attempt to prove your love to Vil Schoenheit.

It started innocently enough. You wanted to make Vil his favorite tea. Simple, right? But Rook insisted that it couldn’t just be any tea. No, it had to be presented with an air of mystery and allure.

“Bring it to him while reciting a sonnet of devotion!” Rook suggested. “Declare your admiration with each step, so that he understands the depth of your feelings!”

“I’m not reciting a sonnet, Rook.”

Epel, on the other hand, was far more pragmatic. “Or you could just… write him a note and leave it with the tea?”

That seemed normal. Rational. You’d take Epel’s advice. So, you snuck into Vil’s room, left the tea and a note on his desk, and slipped out before anyone noticed.

The next morning, Vil eyed you suspiciously over breakfast. “Did you leave tea in my study last night?”

You nodded, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, but you swore you saw the corner of his lips twitch into the faintest smile. “I see. How thoughtful.”

Then came Operation: Compliment Vil at Every Opportunity.

Rook, of course, insisted you be poetic. “Tell him his beauty rivals the very stars in the sky!”

“I’m not saying that.”

Epel chimed in with a much more straightforward approach: “Just tell him his hair looks nice. It’s always nice.”

But Rook’s enthusiasm was contagious, and before you knew it, you found yourself blurting out, “Your radiance is blinding today, Vil! Truly, I must shield my eyes from such ethereal beauty!”

Vil, who had been in the middle of inspecting his reflection, froze. His eyes darted to you, and he gave you a strange look.

“Are you… feeling alright? Did you perhaps get bitten by a stray Rook?”

You shook your head vigorously, your face heating up from how ridiculous you sounded. “Totally fine! Just… appreciating your beauty! Yep. Normal stuff.”

Vil didn’t say anything, but you could see a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He looked amused—and maybe a little pleased—but more than anything, he seemed confused.

At least he didn’t think you’d lost your mind. Yet.

You were convinced this novel had it out for you from the beginning, but this? This was a new low. The memory loss trope, the final attempt to make your life as ridiculous as possible, had arrived—right on schedule.

You knew how it was supposed to go. You’d hit your head (a complete accident, obviously), wake up with no memory of Vil, and immediately make the worst decisions possible, like falling for that knockoff prince, Neige. Cue dramatic heartbreak, public humiliation, and eventual abandonment. Classic trashy novel shenanigans.

But apparently, the universe—or whatever cosmic force was in charge of your suffering—had decided to take a vacation after all the work it had been putting in. Because when you opened your eyes and saw Vil leaning over you, worry etched into his perfect face, instead of forgetting him, you were… immediately smitten?

What?

And it didn’t stop there. When he took your hand in his, gently kissing your knuckles in that heartbreakingly tender way, it was like a light switch flipped. Your memories came rushing back, completely bypassing the whole convoluted plot about amnesia and bad decisions.

Because of course in this disaster of a novel, the solution to everything was true love's kiss. The most overdone, eye-rolling cliché in the history of romance, and yet here you were, living through it.

You almost laughed out loud. Of all the tropes this novel had thrown at you—evil fiancées, jealous heroines, duels for honor—this had to be the funniest. It was as if the universe had taken one look at your situation and said, “You know what? Let’s skip the suffering and go straight to the ridiculous happy ending.”

True love’s kiss. Really. This novel is mocking me at this point, you thought, fighting the urge to scream. But hey, at least you didn’t have to deal with more drama. And as Vil’s concerned gaze softened into a relieved smile, you couldn’t help but think that, maybe, this was one trope you didn’t mind after all.

You'd almost given up on confessing. Maybe you'll just live like this forever, your fate was sealed. The novel clearly doesn't want you to tell him how you feel.

But there was another ball (because apparently that's the only place that nobility had be at in this novel. What was this? the 108th ball of the year?) You'd decided that you'll ask him for a stroll under the moonlight and just tell him.

Of course, the novel is not on your side. What's new?

The ball was going well—well, for you and Vil, anyway. You’d just finished dancing, and he looked absolutely stunning, as usual. You were basking in the afterglow of all the whispered praise and envious stares. That is, until you overheard someone bad-mouthing Vil.

Of course, it had to be the heroine’s best friend, who was apparently using this grand occasion to air her grievances.

“I just don’t understand why Vil is always so cold to her,” she whined, loud enough for everyone within a three-mile radius to hear. “She’s the saintess! She deserves kindness and adoration, not disdain.”

Cue the dramatic gasps from the crowd. Ah, here we go.

You shot Vil a look, but he merely shrugged, rolling his eyes. He clearly didn’t want to start any trouble. But you? Oh, you were about to flip the table on these idiots.

“Excuse me,” you began, stepping forward, the crowd parting like the Red Sea as you made your way over. “I couldn’t help but overhear your incredibly loud complaints about my fiancé.”

The heroine’s best friend froze, clearly not expecting you to get involved. You smiled sweetly, but your eyes were throwing daggers.

“Let me set the record straight. Vil isn’t cold to her because she’s the ‘saintess,’” you air-quoted the title, “He’s cold to her because she’s an insufferable brat who’s so used to getting her way that she throws a tantrum every time someone says ‘no.’”

More gasps from the crowd. You could see Neige stiffening across the ballroom, already sensing where this was going. But there was no stopping you now.

“And don’t get me started on you,” you pointed at the best friend, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re out here defending her honor like you’re some knight in shining armor when, let’s be real, you’re just as bad. You fawn over her like a lost puppy, expecting her to shower you with praise when all you do is enable her delusions.”

Vil, somewhere behind you, was probably trying not to laugh. But you weren't done.

“And as for your precious Neige over there?” you tilted your head toward the prince-wannabe, who was looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. “He’s not some perfect angel either. He’s just a guy with an unsettling talent for showing up at the most convenient times, with that same doe-eyed, clueless expression, making everyone feel sorry for him.”

You didn’t stop at Neige.

"And as for you," you said, spinning toward the brooding Duke of the North, the infamous second male lead, who had been leaning against a pillar, looking every bit the tall, tormented, handsome cliché. “You’re not fooling anyone either. You’re the king of melodramatic entrances. Always lurking in the shadows, trying to look mysterious, but really, you’re just sulking because no one’s paying attention to you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—are you brooding? Again? Let me guess, you’re thinking about some dark secret that you’ll drop at the most inconvenient moment to make things worse for everyone, right?” You mimicked his deep, serious voice. “‘It’s the burden I must bear… alone.’” You threw your head back in mock agony, hands dramatically placed on your chest.

He straightened up, clearly offended, but you didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“And stop pretending like you’re some tragic hero,” you added, lowering your voice with a sharp edge. “You’re just a guy with commitment issues who sacrifices himself because you can’t handle the fact that the heroine doesn’t want you. Let it go.”

There was dead silence. You half-expected a chandelier to drop just for the dramatic effect. Even Vil had to look away for a moment, probably to hide the fact that he in tears, about to burst out laughing.

The heroine was slack-jawed, her best friend looked like she wanted to melt into the floor, and Neige… well, Neige just looked confused. As always.

Satisfied, you dusted off your hands and turned back to Vil, who was looking at you with a mixture of shock and awe, as if he’d just witnessed some divine intervention.

You let out a satisfied huff and turned to leave. "Come on, Vil, I can't stand to be in the same room as these second-rate characters any longer, let's bounce"

Once outside, you saw Vil was still recovering, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I think you may have traumatized half the ballroom.”

“Good,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “They deserved it. Especially that brooding Duke. ‘I sacrifice myself for the greater good.’ Ugh, give me a break.”

Vil chuckled, sliding his arm around your waist. "Still, you didn’t have to go to such lengths for me."

You stopped in your tracks, spun around, and looked him dead in the eye. “Of course I did! I love you, Vil. I couldn’t just sit there and let them trash you like that.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze. Oh. Well. There it was.

Vil’s eyes widened, a rare, unguarded expression crossing his face. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in your words. Then, without a word, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, soft but sure, like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as you had.

When he pulled back, his smile was the softest you’d ever seen. “You love me,” he repeated, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded, a bit breathless from both the confession and the kiss. “Yes, Vil. I love you. Even with all your ridiculously high standards and obsession with skincare.”

Vil laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Vil pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your waist, and asked with a quiet, almost teasing tone, "Well then, since you love me so much... should we get married?"

You blinked, your brain taking a second to catch up. "Wait—what? Married? Like, right now?" You stared at him, heart racing, before suddenly, an idea lit up your face like a firework. “Oh my god, yes! Let’s do it. Let’s get married ASAP. Like, today. Right now. Do we even need a ceremony? We can find an officiant and—boom—done. Just tell me where to sign!”

Vil’s eyes widened, taken aback by your sudden enthusiasm. “Are you… serious?”

You grabbed his hand, absolutely buzzing with energy. “Of course, I’m serious! Why wait? This dumbass universe keeps throwing garbage tropes at us, and honestly? Getting married right now is the perfect way to flip the script! Take that, fate!"

Before Vil could respond, an overly excited voice erupted from behind a nearby pillar. “Oh là là! Mon cœur can hardly handle this romance!” Rook leaped out from the shadows, practically sparkling with joy, as if he had been waiting for this very moment all his life. "The passion! The declaration of love! And now, a spontaneous wedding? Magnifique!”

“Rook!?” Vil’s voice was a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Have you been spying on us?”

“Spying?” Rook gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “Non, non, Vil! I was merely ensuring your well-being as any devoted friend would!” He gave a wink, clearly pleased with his role as an unintended audience.

“Me too!” Epel poked his head out from behind another pillar, grinning sheepishly. “I mean, who’d wanna miss out on somethin’ like this? Y’all are gettin’ married!”

Vil let out a long, tired sigh, but you could see the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he muttered.

“Oh, it’s happening,” you said, grabbing his arm again and dragging him forward. “We’re doing this, and it’s going to be the best wedding in this entire stupid book, Rook, Epel, you’re both invited. Wait, scratch that, you’re both in the wedding party now!”

“C’est incroyable!” Rook twirled dramatically, hands clasped together, already imagining his outfit for the occasion. “I shall be the most loyal and stylish groomsman! Oh, l’amour!”

“And I get to wear somethin’ fancy, right?” Epel asked, already envisioning something much cooler than his usual attire.

Vil was now fully grinning, his initial surprise turning into genuine amusement as he looked at you with sparkling eyes. “You really are something else.”

“Yeah, and now I’m gonna be your something else forever.” You beamed up at him, still holding onto his hand like you might drag him to the altar yourself right now.

“Well then,” Vil sighed, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Let’s get married.”

Before you could even start plotting where to drag Vil to find someone to officiate, Rook suddenly gasped, clasping his hands together dramatically. "Mon dieu! How could I forget? I am more than prepared for this moment!"

You and Vil exchanged puzzled looks. "What are you talking about, Rook?" Vil asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

Rook grinned, remviong his hat and and dramatically pulling out a folded piece of parchment. "Behold!" he announced, waving the paper with a flourish. "A certified license to officiate weddings. I took the liberty of acquiring it long ago, knowing that one day I’d be the one to unite you and your beloved. C’est le destin!"

“You’re… licensed?” Vil blinked, looking at Rook like he had officially lost it. "And you're walking around with the license in your hat?"

Rook nodded with a dazzling smile. “Why yes, I’ve been preparing for this glorious day! Every flower petal, every gust of wind, every glance of love I’ve witnessed between you both has been leading to this fated moment!” He struck a pose, the parchment still dramatically held aloft.

You stared at him, then back at Vil. "Okay, I know this is ridiculous, but honestly? This is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, and I kind of love it. Let's just let him do it."

Vil put a hand to his forehead, trying to suppress a chuckle. "Are we really doing this?"

“Yes!” you declared, squeezing Vil's hand. “If we’re going full chaos, we’re going all the way. Rook, officiate the hell out of this wedding!”

Epel, watching the entire spectacle, burst into laughter. “Only in this house, I swear…”

Rook practically sparkled with joy, bouncing on his feet. “Oh là là, it will be my greatest honor! I’ve been rehearsing my officiating speech in front of the mirror for months”

“Months?” Vil repeated, a mix of disbelief and exasperation in his tone.

“Mais oui! Every day, I’d wake up and say, ‘Today could be the day!’” Rook sighed dramatically, already tearing up. “And here we are. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Now, shall we begin? I have the vows prepared, unless you have your own?”

You leaned into Vil, barely holding back laughter. “I have zero regrets about this. Absolutely zero.”

Vil sighed again but couldn’t stop smiling. “Only you could make something this absurd seem perfect.”

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

Okay, this became way longer than I expected it to be but to be fair, i was on an extreme caffeine high and i'd just finished an assignment that had been beating my ass

[roosterforme]

Don't Waste Another Minute | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When you finally recognize that you have been hanging onto your relationship for all the wrong reasons, you end things. You knew there would be someone better for you, and it was a welcome realization to see that he had been right there in front of you the whole time. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst, asshole Jake, drunk Jake, reader dumps Jake, crude language, alcohol, swears

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @mak-32

As soon as you told Jake that you thought he'd had enough to drink for one night, he called you a bitch for the fifth time. It was mortifying. Because this time your boyfriend said it in front of his friends instead of just quietly whispering, "I'm gonna need you to stop acting like a bitch."

The area around the pool table went quiet, and it took everything inside you to keep your head held high. His friends weren't the ones who had to deal with the aftermath of angry, drunk Jake. You were. They weren't constantly getting yelled at for hiding his keys when he couldn't walk straight. And they weren't driving around in a car that still smelled horrendous weeks after he threw up a bottle of Jack Daniels next to the center console. You were. 

Your lips were shaking as you met his glassy, green eyes. And then Bradley Bradshaw stepped forward and put a hand on Jake's shoulder. "That's not cool, Hangman," he said, his voice deep and angry. He set down the bottle of beer he had been nursing and met your eyes with chocolate brown ones that somehow made you feel a little more grounded. Then he added, "I think you should apologize to your girl."

Just as Jake scoffed, you returned your attention fully to him. You pressed your lips together until you were sure you could speak without making a fool out of yourself. "No. I'm not his girl. It's been a long time since that was something I wanted to be. I can't do this anymore, Jake." 

As you dug his car keys out of your pocket, he slurred, "I should have dumped you months ago. You don't even know how to have fun. You're just a stuck up bitch."

You tried your best to ignore him as you handed his keys to Javy and softly asked, "Can you make sure he gets back to his place safely?"

"I will," he promised, nodding at you. Then you glanced around the group of aviators you had become fond of over the past several months since Jake first brought you here. You were going to miss them, especially Bradley and the soft smiles he always gave you. And the way he just stood up for you. 

But right now his handsome face looked stony as he shook his head at Jake. You ran your hand along Bradley's arm and tried your best to smile at him as you left the group and started to dig your phone out of your pocket. "Bye," you whispered to nobody in particular. You'd get an Uber and go back to your place and snuggle up in bed, and you'd be fine. You knew you would. 

As you headed for the door, you heard Bradley angrily say, "I wish you would have had the balls to dump her months ago. She's too good for you."

That made you smile as you pushed the door open and let the cool night air and the sound of the ocean wipe your senses clean. If you were being honest with yourself, you probably only stayed with Jake for as long as you had because you were afraid he was going to hurt himself or someone else one of these Saturday nights. The sting of embarrassment was worse right now than the pain of breaking things off with him, and that fact let you know you did the right thing.

You shivered as you looked up at the moon and the smattering of stars that were visible this close to the city. And then a massive body slammed into you, which you realized was probably your fault for standing so close to the exit. 

"Shit!" grunted a deep voice.

"I'm sorry-" you started as a big arm wrapped around you, steadying you.

"It's you," Bradley said when you looked up at him over your shoulder. "You're still here."

"Yeah... it's just me." You sounded a little breathless. You noticed you felt safer after ten seconds with his arm wrapped around you than you ever had when you were with Jake.

Bradley cleared his throat and slowly released you. "I just wanted to see if you needed a ride home. You know, since you left Jake's keys with Javy."

You turned to face him fully and took one big hand in yours before anyone else could exit the bar and slam into both of you. With wide eyes, he followed you willingly as you walked backwards toward the railing. "I'm fine," you assure him, letting go of his warm hand with an embarrassed shrug. "I'll get an Uber and have someone who didn't just witness my ex boyfriend call me a bitch before I dumped him take me home."

"He should have never said that," Bradley rasped, eyes fixed on your face. "He overdoes it on the weekends, and I'm sure he doesn't actually think you're a... well, you know. You're sweet. Everyone knows that."

You smiled softly up at him. "Thanks," you whispered. You let yourself indulge in committing to memory the way Bradley Bradshaw just said you're sweet. Because it made you feel warm inside. Then you entered your passcode and opened your Uber app, but before you could do anything else, he took your phone out of your hand. 

"Let me take you home," he said as you reached for your phone. But he tucked it behind his back. "That way I'll know you get there safely."

You reached your arms around him but he took both of your hands in his as your chest brushed the front of his shirt. "Did you put it in your back pocket?" you asked as you cocked your head to the side, only pretending to be annoyed. 

"Maybe," he replied with a grin as he squeezed your hands. "But you won't need it until I drop you at your place anyway."

You studied his face. The orange flicker of light from the lamppost in the parking lot bathed him in softness as he waited for you to respond. The only time you ever saw Bradley get drunk was on his birthday when Natasha drove him home. But he'd been funny, never crass. He'd even carried you from the jukebox over to the piano when he insisted he could do a better rendition of Changes than David Bowie. You smiled at the memory, and then he was smiling back at you.

"You just had that one beer tonight?" you asked softly, already knowing the answer. You supposed he drew your gaze more frequently than you were ready to admit. Especially in the past month or so. 

"Yeah," he replied immediately. "That's all I usually have."

"I know."

There was a beat of silence between the two of you. Your words felt like an admission, and you wanted to know how he'd respond. He laced his fingers with yours and said, "I'd never do anything to put you in danger. Been drinking just one beer on Saturday nights in case you were too far gone to get Jake and yourself home safely."

Now you weren't sure what to say. He'd been silently paying attention to you this whole time, too. No wonder you felt safe around him. "Okay," you whispered, and Bradley very hesitantly released your right hand. But you stayed close to his side, your left hand still held tight in his, and he started to head toward his Bronco.

Silently he unlocked the passenger side door and helped you climb in. "Thanks," you muttered, but then he removed his hand from yours, and you suddenly shivered as he closed the door. You thought of your apartment briefly, wondering if Jake's hoodie was hanging in your closet and thinking you'd just throw away the framed photo of the two of you in Venice Beach. It didn't really hurt to think about it, but you didn't feel the need to mourn over it either.

Then you realized Bradley had already turned right out of the parking lot and then made the first left. "You don't need directions?" you asked him as he went straight through the green light. 

He laughed softly but kept his eyes on the road. "I remember where you live. I picked the two of you up there once."

You remembered it, too. He had opened the door for you and helped you into the Bronco that night as well. He had been wearing the same shirt he had on now. And he smiled at you the same way. 

But you were still surprised he knew which street to turn down and which building was yours. "You can park in one of the visitor spots," you told him as your heart swelled with nervous excitement when he shifted into park.

Bradley paused with his hand on the key in the ignition and turned to look at you. "Will you let me walk you up?" When you nodded without hesitation, he killed the engine and smiled at you. And a few seconds later, your fingers were laced with his again. And you were climbing the stairs up to your apartment door. 

"Thanks, Bradley," you murmured, glancing up at him, unsure how to ask when you might possibly see him again after this. You didn't have his phone number, and you had no real reason to keep going back to the Hard Deck, but you wanted to see him again.

And then you felt a little embarrassed by it all. Sure, he remembered where you lived and he had been looking out for you. But you just broke up with Jake earlier tonight, even though things felt like they had been over for a lot longer. And you didn't want to rebound with his coworker of all people, especially since Bradley had you feeling like you wanted him to wrap you in his arms and make you feel safe all the time. 

And now you'd been standing in front of your door for long enough that it was about to become awkward unless one of you said something. But you were afraid the words on the tip of your tongue would be enough to shatter the moment if you said them. 

Your eyes caught on the scars on Bradley's neck as he swallowed hard. "Anytime you need a ride or... anything, I'll be around," he said with one of those soft smiles. But when he went to remove his hand from yours, you wouldn't let him. And then that smile slipped as he took a step closer to you. 

You decided to say the words and shatter the moment, because you had nothing to lose. "Do you want to come in for a little while?" you asked, and Bradley was nodding immediately.

You didn't expect him to keep his hand in yours as you closed and locked the door and showed him around the small space. You'd spent time with Jake in all of these rooms, but as you listened to the deep rumble of Bradley's voice and his soft laughter, you knew you'd sooner recall these memories once he was gone. But you didn't want him to leave at all, even though it was almost midnight. 

"Do you want a glass of water?" you asked him.

"Sure," he replied so quickly, both of you laughed. And then he commented on the books you'd left out on your table while he drank his water very slowly.

"I have more of the books from that series in my room."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, still hovering close by. "I only read the first two."

You simply took him by the hand again, and he went along with you, leaving the glass of water behind. When you paused in your bedroom doorway and reached in to turn on the light, you laughed and said, "You still have my phone in your pocket."

"I know," he replied, his gaze dipping down toward the floor as he blushed. "I've been holding it captive, trying to figure out a way to ask you for your number."

"Really?" you asked, stepping closer and coaxing his gaze up to yours. 

He nodded as he squeezed your hand again. "Feels like some sort of violation of guy code if I ask for it the same night you broke up with Jake. But I really don't want to leave here until I shoot my shot."

You gasped. Bradley Bradshaw. Wanted to shoot his shot. With you. "Shoot it," you said so softly, you weren't sure if he even heard you. But then his eyes went a little wide, and that smile you liked so much was back. 

"Alright." He cleared his throat and chuckled, cheeks still pink as he said, "Hey, so, here's the thing. I've actually had a massive crush on you for months. And I'd love to get your phone number. And I realize that you just got out of a relationship, so I don't mind waiting a few weeks to use it."

You were still holding hands as you pressed your lips to his cheek, and then his free arm wrapped around your waist. You kissed the edge of his mustache, and his fingers flexed against your back. "You can have my number, Bradley."

He sucked in a deep breath as you kissed his cheek again. "Okay. Cool. That's good. And uh... how long do you think I should wait before I call you?" he asked, and you couldn't tell if he sounded more nervous or more excited. 

"You could call me tomorrow," you whispered, still amazed at how safe you felt around him. "Or you could stay a little longer. Maybe we can start the third book in the series? If you want to."

"I want to," he said softly and immediately. "I want to do both. Call you tomorrow and stay a little longer."

When you tugged him toward the bookshelf next to your bed, he followed, his eyes on you as you reached for the third book. You toed your shoes off and kicked them aside as you asked, "You coming?" Then you crawled across your bed, leaving room for Bradley. 

He only hesitated for a second before he yanked both shoes off and placed them near yours. Then the sight of him easing himself onto your bed and slowly settling back against the headboard next to you left you aching to put your lips on his face again. He was giving you that same warm smile he always did, and now you realized you'd been craving these glances in your direction for a long time. You'd been seeking out his smile at the bar and at barbeques and on beach days. 

He cleared his throat a little nervously, probably because you were staring at him now. "Do you want me to read it out loud?" he asked, his voice so raspy, it set off goosebumps along your arms. You replied by setting the book on his lap and scooting a little closer, because you wanted to shoot your shot, too.

"In a minute." You brought your hand up to his face and brushed his stubbled, rosy cheek with your fingers before you kissed his lips. And it was just that simple. A soft press of your lips against his, and you were in the midst of the best kiss of your life. Not necessarily the needy kind where you wanted to tear his clothes off, but the kind where you were aware of every nerve ending in your body. But you already knew, if you let them, your feelings for Bradley would escalate into more.

With your forehead resting on his and your lips hovering over his mustache, you smiled and said, "Okay, now you can read the book."

He laughed softly and kissed you one more time before you eased yourself away from him. Then you curled up against his side, and he brought his arm around you as you helped him hold the book open. Nothing could have prepared you for listening to the words of your favorite story read in his voice. You barely moved, your lips pressed together as his steady, deep voice and his warm scent had you slowly melting. 

Bradley read and turned the pages one handed, your cheek on his shoulder and your arm creeping around his midsection. You had no idea how much time had passed when he whispered, "Do you want me to stop?"

You didn't. It had been forever since you felt like this. Comfortable and safe. Maybe you'd never felt this way before. Like you were absolutely certain this man wouldn't hurt you. Like you were sure he'd never call you a bitch in front of his friends or in private. But you didn't know if it was okay to keep holding onto him. 

"You can take the book home with you," you told him as you sat up slightly. But he made no move to get out of your bed, and you didn't ask him to. So you just settled right back where you were, and you felt Bradley's lips brush along your hair as you fell asleep. 

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

Loud, angry pounding noises did not belong here right now. No, Bradley was enjoying sleeping on a soft cloud with his dream girl snuggled up next to him. Everything was warm and perfect and smelled nice. Why was there still pounding? He cracked his eyes open to find you starting to stir next to him. You stretched and made a cute little noise as your chest bumped his ribs, and then your eyes opened wide.

"Oh," you gasped, quickly pulling your arm away from where it had been thrown over his midsection. "Bradley." Your voice was a combination of surprise, disbelief and pleasure, and he wanted to make sure you were okay with the impromptu sleepover, but there was still someone pounding on your front door.

He cleared his throat, but his voice was still raspy from sleep as he said, "You want me to go yell at whoever that is?"

"No," you replied as you climbed on top of him and kissed his lips. Bradley wanted to put his hands everywhere on you, but he kept them at his sides, still unsure about what he was allowed to do right now. "I'll be right back. You stay here."

Then you were out of bed and across the room, glancing back with a smile before you vanished through the door. Bradley's heart was pounding as he let his head sink back against your pillow. Okay, he needed to play this cool. He couldn't fuck this up. He'd been waiting months for you to realize Jake wasn't good enough for you, and he'd been spending months trying to make sure he would be, given the opportunity.

Your phone was still in his back pocket along with his, and he pulled them out to check the time. But when he looked at your lock screen, he saw that you had seventeen missed texts from Jake. And now he thought he heard Jake's voice in your living room. 

Bradley was out of bed instantly when he heard you ask, "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I came to apologize, but it looks like you should be the one apologizing to me." That was definitely Jake's voice, and he was definitely pissed off. 

"I don't know what you mean, Jake," you said as Bradley walked slowly down your hallway. He shoved both phones in his pocket and kept himself out of sight. "If you want to apologize for constantly calling me a bitch, then go ahead. Otherwise, just leave."

Jake laughed in a way that made Bradley's hands clench into fists. "You got a lot of nerve talking to me like you think I'm stupid. I saw his Bronco outside. I know he's here." Bradley squeezed his eyes closed and took a deep breath, and then Jake loudly said, "I knew you were a bitch. How long you been fucking Bradshaw?"

"I'm not," you insisted, your voice shaking. And as much as Bradley had loved reading your book to you and snuggling in your bed all night, now he wished he hadn't stayed. Because you didn't deserve this. 

"You really expect me to believe that?" Jake asked you maliciously. "Where is he, you fucking slut?"

"Don't you dare call her that," Bradley practically growled as he stormed into the living room. Jake was standing too close to you, and he didn't like that. But you were standing your ground as you turned to look at Bradley with some tears shimmering in your eyes. "I never touched her, and she never touched me. So just apologize or leave."

"Fuck you, Bradshaw," Jake spat. "I don't have to listen to a single fucking think you say."

"Get out of my apartment," you demanded. "I dumped you last night for a reason: you drink too much, and you're mean to me. And it was a long time coming. Just go."

Bradley could sense Jake's hesitation, so he took a few steps closer until he was standing right behind you. He made eye contact with him, just daring him to try something. Because Bradley wasn't in the mood to listen to him saying nasty shit about you, especially not when Jake interrupted the start of something so perfect. 

"Go," you repeated. Jake looked you up and down from head to toe and shook his head before he finally turned and slammed your front door behind him. 

"Are you okay?" Bradley asked softly, wishing he knew if it was okay to touch you. 

"Yeah," you whispered before turning and throwing your arms around his neck. 

Bradley let his hands settle on your waist as you looked up at him with bright eyes. He didn't feel bad about stepping on Jake's toes any longer. "I'm sorry if I made things worse for you by being here. But I can't really bring myself to apologize for falling asleep with you, because I liked it so much."

You laughed. It was the prettiest sound. And then you kissed him again with more heat this time, and Bradley had to convince himself to do this the right way. "Hey," he whispered as he broke the kiss. "I still need your phone number."

"Okay," you replied, and you whispered it to him as he entered it into his phone contacts. 

"Okay," he echoed as he handed your phone over for the first time since he took it from you outside the Hard Deck. You didn't even flinch as you swiped away the texts from Jake. "Now, here's what's going to happen. You ready?"

"I'm ready," you told him with a hesitant smile.

He kissed you one more time before he started to back away toward your front door. "I'm gonna go, but I'll call you."

"You better," you replied, and your smile was a little more sure now. 

"I will," he promised. "Just wait." Then he opened the door and closed it behind him as he tapped your name on his phone screen. 

You answered immediately, a giggle in your voice. "Hi, Bradley."

"Hey, so you know how you said I could call you today?"

"Yes," you replied, clearly smiling. "I do recall saying that."

"Great. So I was thinking I'd head home quick to get changed, and then I could come pick you up? Maybe we could get breakfast burritos and coffee from Lucy's Takeout? Go sit on the beach with the book?"

There was a beat of silence before you said, "That sounds nice."

"Then it's a date."

Bradley was all smiles as he ended the call and knocked on your door. When you opened it a second later, he leaned in and kissed you. "I actually need my shoes," he murmured against your lips, and you started laughing. 

"Wait here," you told him before you dashed toward your room and then returned holding his shoes and the book. Bradley slipped his shoes on and took the book in one hand as he pulled you close with the other.

"I'll be right back. Like seriously, it'll be embarrassing how quickly I get back here."

You buried your face against his chest and whispered, "It'll be embarrassing how much that makes me smile."

He had to force himself to leave after that, because the sooner he got back to you, the sooner he could start making you his.

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

Just imagine Bradley reading a book to you on the beach while also feeding you breakfast. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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Live a Little, Give a Little ... More [Part 2]

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Live a Little Give a Little part 1

Summary: you've got one last stunt in you before you retire to have your baby--will your mystery Baby Daddy make a final appearance?

Warnings: Breeding kink, pregnancy, exhibition, groping, public sex, public teasing, dub con, manhandling, rape-esc situation that may be triggering, unprotected sex, creampie.

18+ ONLY

- - - -

You keep waving to your camera even after it clicks off and stops recording. Leaning back in your streaming chair, you close your eyes. 

Well, you did exactly what you set out to do: gained a shit ton of views and earned a mega bonus from your subscribers, rating shooting up thanks to that little stunt you pulled a few months ago.

You peer down, drumming your fingers along the hefty bump that had grown in your belly since then. “Hope you’re a bit more responsible than me, kiddo,” you mumble, smiling softly as you stroke over with gentle fingers.

Getting pregnant was not exactly how you imagined achieving that feat.

In all honesty, the plan was never to fuck a stranger on a crowded train. You were on the pill, but STD and STIs were a thing, so the furthest you had genuinely planned with a few hand jobs and being groped by perverts. 

But the second you felt that man on you, felt his cock pulse in your legs, something else over took you. Your whole bodies shivers with excitement every time recalling that day. Trying to etch every single detail into your memory. His callused hands, the firm, broad chest and shoulders that easily could overpower you, his warm thick fingers dancing along your skin, the trace of his breath along the shell of your ear, each beautiful little grunt and groan echoing in your ear like a broken record. 

His massive fucking hung horse cock.

You’ve been fucked by big-dicked guys before. But to know how to use it so fucking well that you don’t need to be battered to a pulp just to feel it, is something that no man can compare to your handsome baby Daddy.

Slickness pools in your panties. At some point, your belly is going to be big enough that you won’t be able to touch yourself. But for now, as your hand dips into your underwear and gathers your arousal, you think about him. 

If he was here now, would he make you cum on his fingers before you could have his cock buried to the hilt in you? Tell you that you’re a naughty girl, so fertile and sweet for the taking? A cum hungry dumb slut who doesn’t know how to function without his seed filling her up at every conceivable moment. Make you watch yourself in the mirror cum like a whore from his touch as he promises to breed and brand you over and over again for the world to see. You bite your lips, feeling him hot on your skin, balls twitching with each pulse of his seed dumping safely into your waiting womb to take him.

The thoughts of the faceless, nameless man who impregnated you on a crowded train during rush hour brings you to orgasm much quicker than any toy or method you’ve tested. Your jaw drops in a silent scream, a slight grin tugging on your lips as you rub your pussy through her little quakes, desperate to feel complete again.

You come down from your high, sticky fingers tracing along your belly as you drift into your current situation, ironically brought on by your insatiable horny lust.

No, you didn’t intend to have sex with a stranger that day. And when you weighed the odds in the nano-second before he impaled you… I mean, even if you got an infection, so what, just this once? What OnlyFans streamer didn’t have a disease or two? (No, please don’t take that advice)

You got tested immediately afterwards, and thankfully everything else came back negative from your fun encounter.

It only took a few more weeks after that of peculiar symptoms to get tested for something else that, to you genuine surprise, was positive. 

The man must have super sperm to have blown past your supposedly unstoppable birth control, which hadn’t even failed you when you did that 5 creampie amateur gang bang porno last summer.  Maybe you were only an hour late in taking your dosage on time that one day, too drunk and more concerned about fingering him cum back into you, but still…

You went into shock for a solid week, not sure what to do. Sometimes even now you feel a little jolt in your tummy, and see your body changing, and it just keeps dawning on you that you’re actually about to have a whole ass child.

And you don’t know the father.

It’s both thrilling and horrifying shook up in a bottle of hormones and currently sitting on the edge of a cliff. You should scold yourself for how stupid you were, if only you actually regretted it.  Even if you’re about to be a single mother who cant explain a thing to your soon to be child about their daddy, you knew you were gonna love you baby. No doubts.

Besides, when you were more financially stable, you DID plan to have kids at some point. So what if it’s a little sooner than expected? Life is full of unexpected surprises! 

You decided after the baby is born, no more streaming. You were gonna get a more stable, (more cloth required) job and raise your precious kiddo on your own.

But a few teasing streams until then, just to milk those breeding, misogynistic, baby bump hungry men out there willing to throw money at you if you rubbed milk over your belly, would be worth those extra bucks before calling it quits altogether.

Still, it would be nice feel him just one more time…

-

Joel’s been watching your stream obsessively since that day you brazenly showed your pregnant belly to the world. He’s got notifications going off on his phone every time you upload something. 

Even with his cock in his hand, most of the time you just talk to your followers, answer their questions about your pregnancy so far, and about that day.

He sees the way your eyes glint, the corner of your lips curving into an unashamed smile as you retell details about him.

Sure, all the lonely fucks in the chat spam your inbox “that’s so hot”, “god I wish that were me,” “can I use your holes and breed you next? My bus departs in 30 mins ;)”

Honestly, who’s to say you aren’t pulling a total bluff? You’re a porn streamer; it’s your job to feed into men like his fantasies. Maybe you had fucked a dozen guys on the train that day, got pregnant from one of them, and only uploaded Joel’s session because it was the hottest? Maybe you were already pregnant, and you’re just spinning a scandalous story for your followers to hold on to? And who’s to say you don’t already have a cuck boyfriend or husband, who could have been filming or watching you two on the train that day from a different angle?

The thought of you belonging to another man, of the baby you “claim” to his being another’s makes his hand grip his cock tightly, teeth grinding down on one another while staring at your beautiful eyes and smile through the computer screen.

He drops a pool of spit on to his tip before sheathing it over with his hand, lubing his cock. You would usually end the stream with some tease:

“God, my breasts are just getting so sore,” you groan dramatically. You unbutton your blouse and reveal your naked cleavage. “Don’t even have any more bras because they’re getting so damn heavy!” You cup them and moan into the camera, relieving the ache while pinching your nipples. 

Joel licks his lips. He had gotten to know you (or the version of you on your stream) a lot more intimately thanks to discovering your blog. He spent hours studying every detail that he missed. Its one thing to have dumped his load into your exquisite pussy, but to be able to see your face, hear your unashamed moans, ogle your gorgeous breasts and body that he had been denied that day makes him yearn to have you one more time.

Your belly had grown just as quickly, drooping over your pelvis just a bit more than before. You’re not at full mast yet. He watches how you maneuver, maybe a little slower or more bulky than before. It fills him with pride, seeing how much you’re having to struggle with his child growing in you. At the very least, you can still reach to get a bulbous pink dildo in your cunt and flash the camera as you masturbate, crying out as you beg Daddy to breed you again.

Joel cups his balls with one hand while the other furiously works over his shaft. His stomach tenses, building towards his release with eyes transfixed on the way that little cunt still has enough room to fit that toy. He would know, you took him with very little prep. 

“That’s it baby, come on, Come for Daddy,” he groans.  Doesn’t care that he’s jerking off in a dark room by himself to a brightly lit screen of his baby momma that doesn’t even know him. Yet. 

You moan directly into the camera, mouth agape as you thrust the dildo in and out, hitting that sweet spot that has your eyes rolling. You spread your legs over the chair, and the skin strewn across your belly tightens as a gush of liquid squirts out of your pussy.

“Fuck Daddy, making my pussy squirt so fuckin good! M so full my cunt can’t hold all my naughty juices, too full with your cock and your cum and your baby!!”

Haggard groans rumble in his throat as his cock erupts into jets of white ribbons, shooting along the computer screen and covering your face as you smile and lick the dildo clean. He milks his sack of the last little spurts of cum before sighing and leaning back against the chair, dreaming about painting your womb white again with his next load. 

When you come down from your high, and the last of the generous tips come flowing in, you usually rub along your swollen tummy. Sometimes it’s subconscious, like you’re comforting your child, other times it’s for the show, twirling around and pushing it out to show everyone how big you’ve gotten. Your voice centers him back to reality.

“And before I forget, I have one final announcement: After our little baby is born, I will be retiring.” You smile softly, but there’s a sense of gratitude mixed with sadness. “I know! It’s been such a great journey, and I’ve never felt soooo good about something as amazing as this, and to share it all with you is more than I could have ever hoped. So as a final send off, I’m doing one last exhibition piece.”

Joel leans, ignoring the stain of his cum drying along his shirt and smudged into his laptop.

 “If you’re out there, Daddio, I want to meet you. Catch me in the same area, around the same time—and no I’m not going to tell you all exactly where on here!  If you’re there, you’ll know—and if not, I will be streaming the whole thing live this time so don’t miss out! Even if I can’t find my blessing baby daddy, I will certainly still be putting on a show for however many lucky bastards get to grope a pregnant, single slut like me!”

-

You stand along the train platform, anxiously glancing over your shoulder at the random passersby just trying to catch a commute. Some men have definitely eyed you in less than innocent ways already. It’s a cest pool of perverts today. 

You contemplate the biggest hiccup in your plan: You know the only chance you have to recognize him is from feeling his huge dick splitting you open again. Cinderella slipper style, if you will. You didn’t have a name, an address, any identifiable features—you wouldn’t even be able to recognize his face if it were right in front of you given that you never really saw more than a blurred partial reflection of it in the first place. That monster cock is the only thing that you’re betting your life on right now to find him.

But for the safety of your baby—you had 0 plans to fuck anybody today. And I mean it this time.

The wind from the train tunnels keeps riling up your frilly dress, the fabric now fitting a little more snug than it did before thanks to your baby on the way. There’s a sense of excitement mixed with disappointment steaming in your flip flops. No, you had no hope of actually finding him again. 

 But who’s to say you can’t still have a little fun, touch some dicks, get your tits squeezed and call it a successful career?

Rush hour got a bit crazy, and boy were the men just as in a hurry. You bit your lip and smiled at a man who brushed by you, his hand happily squeezing your little ass cheek through your dress. He seemed young, thin, definitely not your man, but his long fingers did feel nice, caressing your hips as he grinned to you as well. Swaying your chest in front of him, he peers over your cleavage. The two of you waited along the platform, the crowd shifting awkwardly around you waiting for the train. You twiddled your hair, angling your phone up so it could capture his hand gently caressing your lower belly. 

His eyes widen in surprise: your bump wasn’t entirely obvious under the skirt of the dress, still small enough to be concealed under baggy clothing but very obvious the moment you feel it or pull the fabric tight. You giggle as he eagerly stroked over your belly, and you can barely see the twinkle of a fantasy forming behind those eyes.

The train followed forward a little too soon, and the man got on without another glance at you. Probably his wedding ring might have had something to do with it, but no matter. You remained where you were.

When the cart rushed past again, the wind blowing your dress, you caught the eye of a group of two behind you. You winked at them, lifting your skirt scandalously to show off your bare ass and wiggle at them, before enticing them to follow you behind the stairwell. 

You propped your phone up quickly, conveniently cutting off from the neck up to disguise their faces before they too rounded the corner. One was a bit shorter, dark haired, maybe around 40s with a full beard. His hands were all wrong, not your guy, but you didn’t deter him as he stroked along your cheek and down your cleavage, pulling the fabric of the dress tight to see your swollen tits. 

The other man, tall and muscular under that tight shirt, blond and younger, pressed firmly along your back, the outline of his cock making you rub your ass along his crotch. You quickly reached behind you and stroked his stiff bulge while they pinched your nipple through your dress, held the weight of your pregnant belly and brushed their knuckles along your inner thigh. 

Their faces didn’t matter. Maybe they were your fans, maybe they were just some lucky pervs at the right place at the right time. Either of them could be your mystery man, while neither could be too. You try to brush off your disappointment with a flirty laugh, stroking both of them through their trousers as they breathed in your perfume and continued to touch your body. No, their cocks were all wrong. It didn’t feel this rigid or this plump, his tip was more bulbous than this, and the curvature is in the opposite direction.

You glanced at your camera, making sure you’re getting good angles of your pronounced body sandwiched between these two creeps. They didn’t say much, thankfully, and you didn’t care to talk. Your feed was blowing up, with them none the wiser at behind recorded.  It’s not until you peep again at the screen that you see a third man entering the frame behind you. 

The other guys shift uncomfortably at his intrusion, but you look up at lucky perv number three. You don’t bat an eye when he boldly put his hand between your thighs and slid up along your skin, thick digits grazing your wet folds. You hum contently. Oh, he’s here for the cake. You try not to go hazy, eying the cheeky bastard while being stimulated all over.

 His height was between the other two but that didn’t make him any less imposing. Broad around the shoulders with a bit of a soft tummy, but his denim shirt hugged those biceps so well. And he’s older too, much older due to the wrinkles under his brown eyes and the grays starting to take over in his curled hair and patchy beard—

Your brows furrow for a second, not enough time to process your thoughts before he’s shoving the other two men aside despite their protests and walking you back against the tiled wall, your bum resting on the metal bar there. His torso parts your legs perfectly, and you gasp, hands gripping his shoulders to keep your balance. He only grins, something very knowing behind that look, a secret you feel left out from, and you’re about to call it all off until he rolls that massive THANG between his legs against your uncovered core.

You moan out in surprise, your head falls forward on his chest. He growls something out to the other guys, who end up scurrying away with their palms pressed on their crotches like scared dogs. 

“L-Look, mister,” you say, and fuck you should be trying to fight this harder. Especially with the jangle of his belt coming undone between you. You don’t want some stranger fucking you—again—that defeats the whole purpose of the tease! You could still shout for help, there’s plenty of other people just around the corner if he tries anything funny. And your baby, your health, your safety— “I don’t —I’m not in the mood for anything—penetrative. But I could satisfy you in other ways,” you huff, dragging your lower lip between your teeth.

He smirks again. His breath is warm, so close to your face you could almost kiss him. He feels so strong yet so soft, holding you securely against him, his hand cradling your belly while his tented cock pressed along your clit. Your hearts racing, beating wildly that you don’t doubt he can’t feel it against his own. Maybe he’s considering it, something willing yet still satisfying. You feel drunk off him despite only sampling the scent of him, not the taste quite yet.

He holds your gaze with his curved nose honing yours. Its intimate.

Familiar.

You should protest at least a little when he flips you around and bends you over. He’s got one hand protectively over your belly, making sure you don’t fall into the wall. You glance up, and the sight of your body positioned perfectly centered at your camera. Fuck—he knew where the camera was? Was he a fan watching your stream before he came over? Your shocked expression fills the screen as his torso and hips press against your ass, yellow dress flipped over your hips for his private view.

Your mind is reeling, unaware of the thick slap of his length against your folds—that jolts your attention. You know that cock…

He thrusts in all at once.  No voice escapes your parted lips to convey the cross eyed, fantastic, unbelievable, one in a million stretch that you had been missing for months, now filling you up to the brim and suffocating every available micro meter inside of you, and making you whole again. The same stretch, the one that’s making you cum on his cock right now, flooding your senes as arousal electrifies every nerve in your body.

The man behind you only chuckles, still getting the perfect view of your gaping mouth and furled brows reflected on the phone scream. he hisses lowly between his teeth as you continue to clench around his cock with your sweet wet little cunt. It’s like scanning a membership, and your body finally recognizes the owner of the shop. You pant harshly into the bar, walls convulsing over his thick length buried deep to your occupied womb.

The man that had placated your mind, your pussy and womb for the last 6 months, the man who left the best gift you’d ever received, the man right here in the flesh, that you had almost considered a dream were it not for the growing swell of his child in your womb occupying your delirium…

He leans over you, just enough so that only his lips are visible at the top of the screen, his voice ghosting along your ear: “Hi babygirl. Missed you. Looks like you have a little surprise for Daddy.” You feel his bear palms caress your swollen tummy.

Your lips curl into a delirious smile, lashes fluttering in blissful patterns of love as your entire being welcomes this man into the home he’s already carved out of you.

Even your baby nestled small in your womb wiggles excitedly at the recognition of her Daddy.

Neither of you look away from another as he begins thrusting into you, rocking your body back and forth along his member like the toy you’re so good at being.

He was amazing—no, better than before if it’s possible. Impossibly hard, long, thick and throbbing, all shoved up your pussy with desperate ruts, impaling your soaking pussy over and over again. You had to remind yourself, still lost like a love sick puppy in his eyes, that you were still in public, being fucked raw, pregnant, behind the stairwell of a crowded train station during rush hour. Nosy chatter echoed through the tunnel as the two of you humped against one another, partially clothed minus your genitals connected in a haze of passionate fucking. The phone in front of you is only forgotten, and you can only imagine the comments and tips blowing up at the fact that you’d actually found him.

Despite the openness, the vulnerability of your position, it feels far more intimate, just the two of you fucking to your hearts content. You’ll wonder later about the wondering eyes from trains beginning to enter the station and seeing the two of you in the blurred windows , but right now, you’d be ready to take his second bastard child right this second. 

Your handsome hero reaches past you and turns the recording off, flipping the phone down. If he’s going to have you again, really have you, it would be his own little private show. No camera. No show. He abruptly pulls out before spinning you around and nestling himself between your thighs again, his cock aligning to your entrance before sliding right back in. Right where he belongs.

“Oooooh shiiiit. Shit Momma, you’re so good at taking it,” he rasps into your neck. He presses a wet kiss along your throat, each thrust pushing you back but he holds you close and sucks you right into his grasp again. Your open lips hover over one another as he sets his pace again, his tip now kissing your cervix with each kiss of your pregnant belly to his naval.

“It’s mine, isn’t it?” He growls with an edge of desperation. “Tell me it’s mine.” Beads of sweat begin to form along the creases of his forehead, but he didn’t once consider slowing his pace. With the pay your ass jiggles at each slap of skin.

“It’s yours,” you cry. There’s no doubt. your heart screams with joy just as the knot in your stomach snaps. he grips your mouth with his strong hand as your head rolls in ecstasy, wailing out into his flesh with unfiltered moans.

Harsh breaths are forced out of his nose, his lips switching between a snarl and a grin as he nears his end. 

“Inside,” you hum into his ear.

He wasn’t planning on putting it anywhere else. With one final heave, he lifts you off the rail briefly, your weight balncing under his arms and your tiptoes on the ground as he bursts inside of you, painting your walls with his hot cream.

You both breathe in the polluted air. Distant echoes of the rafters rattling in the darkened caves ahead while footsteps rustle down the metal stairs behind the two of you. The breeze of the caverned tunnels cools the sweat along both your bodies. He hasn’t let go, still glued to you, holding you close as if you’d slip away.

You sit upright in his lap, trying to catch your breath. You survey one another, pupils blown wide yet calming. The two of you just giggle as your pants slowly sync together. His rough yet gentle fingertips stroke your cheek before brushing away the strands of messy hair that had covered your beautiful face, and for the first time, he can really get a full look at you in person.

“I’m Joel,” he says sweetly. He brings your knuckles to his lips and presses a gentle and long kiss, never once breaking eye contact with you.

You shake your head and laugh, offering your name to him as well.

Although, at this point, with his cock still impaled deep inside, his baby growing in your womb— its safe to say the two of you are well past such a redundant formality.

-----

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[whumpitisthen]

Whumper who is part of the team 💞

I left a bit of a tag dump on a largely unrelated post about how much I adore Whumper who is part of the good guy team, and I have decided to make a post about it as the more I think about this concept the less normal I become so here it is

Whumper is part of the team, but everyone knows to be wary of them

Although they are dangerous, scary and even sadistic at times, everyone agrees that having their power and intelligence on our side is much better than to have them be on the enemy team instead

Because of what they bring to the team — and also because everyone is a little scared of them — Whumper's faults are a little easier tolerated than other teammates', and a young Whumpee who always gets in trouble and hasn't really had the time to get to know Whumper might find this blatant favouritism a little frustrating

Whumper also doesn't have to train all the time, or be present for strategy briefings, or to even really go out on missions with the team. They are always on their own, left to do their own thing, go on special, dangerous missions and the rest of the plan the team must follow tends to center around Whumper

A rookie Whumpee may be annoyed that Whumper gets to do all that, they may become curious of what Whumper really does, or even start idolising Whumper, because they are clearly so strong and smart and trusted, they must be so cool. They probably should not do any of that.

Nobody bothers Whumper when they're in a bad mood. Nobody enters Whumper's room under any circumstances, especially not alone. Nobody shall mention "the previous Whumpee" around Whumper. If Whumper is in a strange, unsettling mood, and seems a bit too friendly and interested in you specifically, you excuse yourself and make a swift escape from the situation. Call Leader if Whumper won't leave you alone. These, and many more rules are set in stone at HQ, and Whumpee is more than a little terrified of Whumper every time they learn of another weird unspoken rule that everyone knows to follow

Whumper loves rookies, and tends to play up their mysterious, dangerous persona in front of them for fun. A disgruntled Medic bumbles something about not letting Whumper get to them, but Whumpee has been sufficiently got to already, staring at Whumper with wide eyes

For whatever reason, Whumper and Whumpee are on a solo mission together. Whumpee is intimidated by Whumper, a little scared that they will follow up on a threat or insinuation they had made before about hurting them, but what actually happens is that Whumpee gets to witness first-hand the brutal efficiency and cruelty with which Whumper works, watching as they tear through the problem effortlessly, mowing through an operation that would have taken the rest of the team a whole week and careful planning to succeed at. Whumper tells them this was just a small favour, nothing major. They finally start understanding Whumper, and why they are such an important part of the team

Whumper leaves for a while, and Whumpee's first time hearing about them is through a desperate team begging them to come back when they face an unkillable, unspeakably powerful threat that they tried and failed to stop. Whumper shows up last minute, and fixes the issue in the snap of a finger with a smile on their face, mentioning how Leader could've just told them how much they missed them and they would've come back

The absolute, horrid carnage Whumper leaves after 'fixing' the team's issue leaves the whole team speechless, suddenly reminded in a massive, unbelievable show of strength and cruelty of just how powerful Whumper truly is. Whumpee has a lot of questions about Whumper for the team after that, namely: who the hell was that?; what the hell did they just do?; and oh my god, what the fuck?

After days of missing, Whumpee is found in Whumper's room tied to a chair, evidently kept there and tortured. Whumpee is so glad to have been found, yelling about how Whumper has always been so weird and unsettling, and how they bullied them and abused them all the time, and how they can't wait for them to be gone, but Medic has to tell them with an aching heart as they fix up their countless injuries that they always knew Whumper hurt them, and that they can't do much about it. Not even Leader can get them to behave without fucking up the system they have in place, and they simply can't afford to do that to the entire rest of the team. The best Whumpee can do is avoid them, or leave the team altogether — but Whumper might go catch them again if they try.

Whenever the team fails to interrogate someone, Whumper is sent in. They are always successful. Whumpee is sent down to ask if Whumper found out what they need to know, and is horrified by the state of the prisoner. Even worse, once they hear everything they need to know, Whumper ushers them out, ready to continue the torture. Whumpee innocently asks them what for if they already know everything they need to, and Whumper pauses to grin at them and ask if they want to join and see.

For a more found family type team: Whumper joins the dinner table for the first time. Everyone falls quiet. Or alternatively: Whumper stops having dinner with them. Whumpee grows concerned and brings a plateful up to Whumper's room. They do not appreciate it as much a Whumpee thought they would. This can go in so many different directions from soft fluff to just horrible awful times

Whumper reminds Leader of how voluntary their subordinacy is by roughing them or a teammate up a bit and showing them how helpless they would be if they decided to get on Whumper's bad side

Whumper is Leader.

Whumper is Medic

Whumper is indesposable

A hostage taken from the enemy confesses to how badly Whumper hurt their own teammates all the time, and shows some very nasty scars Whumper left on them too. The team is horrified

Whumper has something to hide, so they don't let their ex teammate spill anything, killing them before they can, or shutting them up any time they try

Whumper has nothing to hide, and listens with a grin as all their past cruelty is brought forth again. As if the team that they work for wouldn't already be more than aware of all that and more. Well if they weren't, now they can add all that to the list filled with their more recent cruelties

Whumper "accidentally" hurting Whumpee all the time. Whumpee is intimidated into not saying anything about what's really going on

Whumper slowly softening up to their new wholesome team. They can eventually grow fond enough to not be a colossal asshole to them all the time. Or they could go more in the "if anyone but me dares to hurt these idiots, there will be hell to pay" direction

Whumper is a cat. They claw at kind hands for no reason, they get the zoomies and cause chaos, they need to be fed on time or they become pissy, if they fall asleep on top of someone that someone will simply have to stay deathly still and wait for them to wake up because Whumper hates being woken up and once or twice a month they bring home half alive prey they caught to show off and play with. They also purr. If i have anything to say about it

They aren't close at all with the rest of the team yet. Whumper being here is a new thing. Everyone is on edge. It is unpleasant to share a room with this fucking maniac. Their eyes find teammates who they have history with, lingering on scars, or even fresh wounds hidden under clothes that they know fully well will never fade. Their smile is knowing and spiteful

"Does it hurt still? The cut I gave you? I remember how you screamed; it must ache still. How lucky that we are on the same team now, wouldn't you agree?"

No one knows Whumper at all. They are like a ghost. They show up, they do their job, they disappear. One day, Whumper stumbles into Medic's, and wordlessly climbs onto the table. Medic fixes them up with as few words as possible, and after a long, uncomfortable stare from Whumper, agrees to never say a single word about this to anyone

Whumper is a fighter. They live for the battlefield, having a little too much fun mowing down hordes of people. This is Whumpee's first time seeing them in action, and they can't help looking away right before Whumper crushes a defenseless, already incapacitated enemy's skull under their boot

Whumper knows the team way way way too well. They did stalk them for years before they joined. They know just how to get under their skin, and it's both infuriating and terrifying

Anyone who tries to break in at the dead of night answers to Whumper. The rest of the team may not even find out about the spy who tried to infiltrate them for a couple weeks, before Whumper decides to offhandedly mention that they have a hostage in their room and they are ready to talk

Here's the unhinged tags that inspired this if anyone wants to see

Masterlist | Ko-fi

[arc-misadventures]

MFK Coco: Jaune, Joan and RK Jaune

MFK : CO III

Yang: H-Hey, Coco...

Coco: Yang.

Yang: So uhh... you up for a game of, MFK?

Coco: That depends... Who are my 'choices' this time?

Yang: You'll like them! You'll like them this time I swear!

Coco: Will I?

Yang: I swear! Please don't hit me again...!

Coco: Alright, show me who my choices are?

Yang: O-Okay! First off we have, Jaune!

Jaune: Hey, Coco! Sorry you have to do this again.

Coco: Well at least it has the only guy I'm willing to fuck.

Jaune: Oh...

Coco: Who's next?

Yang: Next we have, Jaune's twin sister...

Coco: Wait, you have a twin sister?

Jaune: Yep. I'm the older twin by the way.

Coco: How come you never mentioned that you had a twin sister?

Jaune: Never came up in conversation.

Coco: ...

Coco: Fair enough. Continue, Yang.

Yang: As I was saying: Jaune's twin sister, Jeanne Arc!

Jeanne: Ohhh~! So this is the, Coco girl you've been talking about, Jaune. Mmmh~! Love the outfit, it flaunts your body off perfectly~!

Coco: You're one to say, your outfit look exceptional! I love how it shows off your bodies full curves~! And, I must say, 'Boing Boing~!'

Jeanne: Thank you my dear~!

Yang: And last, but not least. The man of myth, and legend, The Rusted Knight, Jaune Arc!

Coco: The Rusted Knight? F-From the book?

Yang: Yep, that Rusted Knight.

Coco: How the hell did that happen?

Jaune: Ohh boy... You better sit down, this is going to take a while...

~~~

A while later.

~~~

Jaune: So yeah... that's what happened.

Coco: ...

Coco: THE FUCK?!

Jaune: Yeah, that's how most people react... So anyway, this is the older me as the, Rusted Knight.

RK Jaune: Hello, Coco. You're looking just as beautiful as the last time I laid eyes upon you.

Coco: ...?!

Coco: Fuck...!

Yang: So, Coco: Of these three who will you, Marry, Fuck, and Kill~?

Coco: Fuck...

Coco: Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck...!

Jaune: Coco? You okay?

Coco: Ahem! I'm fine, I'm fine as hell, Bunny Boy~! So... I kill young, Jaune.

Jaune: Saw that coming.

Jeanne: It was a given since he is here.

Coco: I'm sorry, I...

Jaune: I take no offence, Coco, please continue.

Coco: Okay. I'd fuck, Jeanne.

Jeanne: Oh~? Are you perhaps interested in these?

Coco: Ye...

Jeanne: My titties? My massive badonkers~! My massive milk jugs~! My...?!

Coco: YES! A hundred percent yes! I want to play with your juicy thic body! And do all sorts of things with that voluptuous body of yours~!

Jeanne: Naww... But, I wanted to say the whole line...

Jaune: Told you, you wouldn't get the time to say the whole thing.

Jeanne: Meh, oh well; a lesbian should know how to please a woman~!

Coco: You know it darling~!

Coco: Last but not least; I marry, Rusted Knight Jaune!

RK Jaune: Of course. Let me guess: Upon seeing me you suddenly developed a taste for silver foxes, and because of my age you also realized that the number one thing you are missing in your life is a daddy to bend you over his knee, and give your rear end a good tanning. You want to be folded over as you are dumped full of his seed until you're a drooling mess. Leaving her looking like a happy, lust drunk mess, looking like she's three months pregnant with their child to be. Am I wrong?

Coco: I wasn't thinking about half of those things, but I want those things to happen to me! Please knock me up, Daddy~!

RK Jaune: Hmmm... I think that can be arranged~!

Coco: Fuck yes!

JJY: ...

Jaune: Why am I ever brought here for these when he's here? I always end up dead.

Yang: Can you blame us? I mean... Hello, Daddy~!

Jeanne: Who wouldn't like a, Daddy like him~?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: You know I will look like him eventually, right?

Jeanne: ...

Yang: ...

Yang: Wanna get married, Jaune?

Coco: Back off bitch! The original, Jaune is MINE!

Yang: Bring it you whore!

JJRKJ: ...

Jaune: Aren't you going to join them?

Jeanne: Naww, I will join the winner in seducing you.

Jaune: Oh...

RK Jaune: Did you expect anything else?

Jaune: No... But, I can dream can't I?

Jeanne: Not with your luck.

Jaune: Damn.

[takamimami]

(Angst for the 100 follower event)

Eustass Kidd having a massive argument with us over his temper and how he's too loud and then when we try and get some fresh air we accidentally fall off the ship 🙏 (The last part is a joke-- I was thinking actually like him being in denial about him being too much sometimes which causes him to say shit he did not mean to say!! And then Quincy advises us to dump his ass which we do and then we're both just sad and lonely, then the entire crew goes out drinking completely unaware of what has happened and we get drunk and end up kissing some random guy in front of Kidd and he gets angry then hate sex then apologies then reconciliation!!!)

Yes I am rather drunk whilst I am writing this.

Hello, hello, I have finally shut off my video games long enough to finish this prompt, lol! I giggled out loud when your request came in, just so you know. Additionally, I struggled to combine all three of the prompts you suggested - so I took some creative liberties and split the last two prompts between Kidd and Law. I hope that is alright :3 As promised, this is the smutty pt. 2 to THIS request - still a bit angsty but mostly hurt/comfort with some makeup sex :3 I hope I did your idea justice!!

Kidd/Law x F!Reader - NSFW - "Don't touch me!" (Kidd) and "Please, tell me you're okay." (Law)

STORY UNDER THE CUT - MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI 🔞

CW: SMUT; dub-con (kidd), possessive and dom kidd vibes, hand necklace (kidd) both of them are meanies :3, spanking (law), law fucks you on his desk, kidd calls you 'princess', crew mate!reader ---word count ~1.8k each

You had managed to avoid your captain for three days, and the crew finally had enough of your moping around the ship on the fourth day when you finally docked at your new destination. They forced convinced to you to get dressed up and come into town with all of them, shoving drink after drink in your face as everyone tries to get you to let loose and enjoy your night. It works for most of the night until you get a little too drunk and end up kissing a random stranger in the middle of the bar, your captain’s eyes angrily watching the entire occurrence and storming off immediately after.

You regret the entire situation the moment you see the hurt in your captain’s eyes, and the alcohol in your veins clouds your better judgment as you take off after him, following after him and his vice-captain as they make their way back to the ship. You sober up slightly on the walk back, and as you approach the gangway you can hear your captain’s angry voice echoing into the night.

🌷

His voice was angrier than you’d ever heard it, enough to make you falter a step as you heard him arguing back and forth with Killer as you walked up onto the deck.

“I don’t give a damn how drunk she was,” he seethes, his back facing you as he continues yelling. “She’s fucking delusional if she thinks I want anything to do with a skank like her! She can go whore herself to the whole fucking island, for all I care!”

Your stomach turned at the malice in his tone, and Killer puts his arms up over his head as he sees you watching and listening from the edge of the deck. 

“Kidd,” he says soothingly, trying to calm him down, “You’re just upset. Don’t say things you’ll regret later.”

Kidd notices Killer’s gaze looking over his shoulder and he turns around to meet your bleary eyes, his own amber eyes softening as he takes in the expression on your face.

You’d already beat yourself up about the kiss on the walk back to the ship, but hearing those harsh words leave Kidd’s lips felt like a knife to your gut. The tears that burned your eyes caused you to turn your face from him, wiping them away before they could fall as Kidd moved in your direction.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, reaching a hand out to you as he approaches. “I didn’t…”

“Cause you’re some fucking saint, right Kidd?” you retort back at him, masking the hurt you were feeling with anger nearly matching the intensity of his own moments ago.

You see his eye twitch and his lip curl at your accusation, his step faltering slightly before he continues approaching you, slowing down ever so slightly.

“Never claimed to be a saint, princess,” he growls, “But I’m not the one running around kissing strangers after telling someone they love them.”

You feel the burning in your eyes rise again, his smug tone making your lip quiver as you try to keep the angry ember burning inside of you.

“You didn’t ask me to love you, remember? Maybe I’m trying not to anymore.”

Kidd’s hand reaches out to you and yanks you towards him by your forearm, his grip rough as he leans down so his face is a mere inch from yours.

“And how is that working for you?”

You tug your arm away from his grip, and he lets you go with an evil grin, eyes ablaze as he watches you back away from him. He stalks towards you again and reaches like he’s going to grab you again, but you swat at his hand defiantly.

“Don’t touch me!”

Kidd’s hand flinches back at the tone in your voice, stopping mid-stride he stares at you intently, gauging your reaction as your chest rises and falls with your heavy breathing.

After a few moments, Kidd resumes his steps, closing enough of the distance between the two of you to where you can feel his shallow breaths ghosting over your collarbone.

His smirk returns as he hears the slight hitch in your breathing, noting the twinkle of desire in your eye as he hovers over you.

“You sure you don’t want me to touch you, princess,” he croons, his fingertips ghosting over the skin of your arm as he defies your earlier command.

You shudder at the feeling, your throat going dry as his fingers send a shiver down your back. He traces his fingers up your arm and down the front of you, stopping to toy with the waistband of your skirt as he drops his eyes to where his hand is. 

“I bet that sweet little cunt of yours will tell me a different story,” he murmurs, dropping his head down and connecting his lips to your neck, placing wet kisses along your jaw as he slips his fingers down into your panties.

He hisses at the feeling of you, and you flush at just how easy it is for him to slip a finger inside of you, a feeble moan falling from your lips as he begins pumping it in and out of you. 

You’re grateful Killer had taken his leave once he felt the shift in the conversation, biting down on your lip as you try to stifle the moans Kidd is so effortlessly pulling from you. You feel your body arch into his touch as he slips in another finger, your hips bucking as he presses his thumb to your throbbing clit.

Just when you feel the pressure begin to build in your core, Kidd pulls away from you entirely, holding your angry gaze as he brings his fingers to his lips.

“Too bad you don’t want me to touch you,” he purrs, turning and walking away from your panting form. 

You snap out of the shock after he gets a few steps away, your own lip curling into a wicked grin as you call out after him.

“Maybe I’ll go have the guy at the bar touch me. His kiss was decent enough.”

Kidd’s hands are on you in an instant, pressing you down by your neck against a nearby table as he looms over you, eyes blazing.

“I fucking dare you.”

You feel the damp heat pooling in your legs as he stands between them, Kidd’s free hand tugging at his pants as he pulls out his cock and teases the head of it against your clothed cunt - pulling the fabric to the side an teasing your entrance a moment later. You both hiss at the sensation, and Kidd’s hips snap into you hastily, a strangled cry escaping your throat as he bullies himself into your warmth and immediately sets a punishing pace.

Your back scraps against the wood of the table as Kidd fucks into you, hand still holding you in place by the throat as he growls from above you. The sudden sting of his intrusion quickly melts into pleasure as he angles his hips to hit that sweet spot inside you.

“You think his cock would’ve felt as good as mine, hm? You think he would’ve been able to make you scream like I can?”

Your only reply is a throaty moan as Kidd pumps his hips into yours, your vision going blurry as the pressure in your core begins to intensify. Kidd’s hand tightens around your throat as you close your eyes, causing them to snap back open and meet his amber orbs.

“Answer me.”

You shiver as he growls out his command, his metal hand reaching down to rub harsh circles on your clit.

“No!” you shutter, the volume of your voice rising with each hard thrust of Kidd’s hips.

Kidd’s response is a grunted laugh, his pace slowing as he feels your walls begin to flutter around him. 

“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he commands, his slow and deliberate thrusts punctuating his words.

You roll your eyes and bark out a laugh. “Fuck you,” you grit out between your teeth.

Kidd barks a laugh back, his mocking tone riling you up even more as he presses his hips to yours. 

“Isn’t that what we're doing, princess?” A quick snap of his hips and you hear the table creak from the pressure. “Tell me.”

You feel yourself involuntarily clamp down around Kidd’s length, his hand tightening in reaction as he stops his movements altogether and ruts his hips against yours, the movement not nearly enough to satiate you. 

You whine desperately as you try to buck your hips against him, his torturous stare boring into you as he holds you still. 

“It’s yours,” you gasp out, exasperated and desperate to feel him moving inside you again. 

“Hmm?” He croons, and your cheeks flush as you meet his heated gaze.

“It’s yours,” you say louder, more conviction in your voice as you see the triumphant grin curl onto Kidd’s lips.

He pulls himself out of you, nearly leaving you completely, before slamming himself back into you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix as he pulls you to the edge of the table and pistons in and out of you. His metal finger returns to your clit and your moans vibrate through your chest as the cord in your abdomen tightens.

“Come for me, princess,” he hums from above you, losing himself in your grip as he feels his own orgasm rear its head. 

You do as he commands, your orgasm washing over you as your eyes screw shut, stars dancing behind your eyelids as you feel your voice go hoarse from calling out for him. You claw at the edge of the table as Kidd rocks into you, each wave of your orgasm causing your cunt to grip him tighter and tighter as his thrusts grow slower and sloppier, finally coming to a halt after he’s spent. Your labored breaths are the only thing that can be heard as soft waves rock against the ship until you slowly start to hear voices approaching in the distance - signaling the return of your crew.

Kidd wordlessly scoops you up into his arms, whisking you away to his quarters below the deck before anyone has a chance to see the two of you. Once inside, he sets you down gently on the bed, leaning over you and keeping his head nuzzled in your neck as he contemplates the next thing to say to you.

“I’m sorry.”

The last two words you were expecting leave his mouth, and you feel a lump form in your throat as he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours.

“For everything.”

Your mind flashes back to the heated words you two had exchanged over the past week, the tenderness in Kidd’s voice a soothing balm over the wounds that had been opened up in the process. You bring a hand to his face and stroke the soft skin of his cheek, his face leaning into your touch as your eyes haze over with sleep.

“You can continue apologizing in the morning,” you muse, a yawn escaping your lips as you cuddle down into his blanket, feeling him crawl into the bed behind you and pull you towards his chest.

“Does that mean I’m not forgiven yet?”

You chuckle lightly, rolling around to face him and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Nope,” you say with a wink, smiling at him teasingly. “You’re gunna have to do better than that.”

He blinks down at you unexpectedly, your challenge settling into his mind as his devilish grin returns. He flips you onto your back and tugs at your clothes, no longer willing to let you sleep until he proves to you just how sorry he really was.

🐯

“I’m fine, Bepo,” Law growls, dismissing him with a wave of his hand as he continues further into the ship. “I don’t care what she does, she’s the last of my concerns right now.”

Bepo waddles behind him wearily as he stomps towards his office, your quiet footsteps following them from a distance as you try to muster up the courage to face Law in his current state.

“Are you sure about that… Captain?” 

You hear Bepo’s weary voice as you approach the door, your footsteps coming to a halt just outside the office. You barely hear the grumbled response from Law as your heart begins thundering in your chest, swallowing hard as you will your legs to move you forward, stopping in the doorway as your heavy eyes look across the room to your captain.

His eyes take you in, and you try to mask the weariness on your face as he finally meets your gaze. He only holds it for a moment, before a scowl curls up onto his lips and he looks away, pulling his hat from his head and running his fingers through his hair.

“I-I’m gunna go…” Bepo stutters, and you glance at him with pleading eyes, trying to beg him not to abandon you. But he’s gone an instant later - leaving you in an uncomfortable tension hanging in the air.

Neither of you speak for a long while, neither of you able to find the right thing to address first. 

Law huffs out a deep sigh as he collapses into his chair, resting his elbows on his desk and clawing at his hair again.

“Did you need something, Y/N?” was all he could think to say, the edge in his voice teetering on annoyance as he struggled to grapple with the chaos of emotions in his head.

You clenched your fists tighter to your sides as you struggled to breathe, words escaping you as you searched your brain for something to say that wasn’t laced with the venom you wanted to spew back at him. You wanted to scream at him - wanted to make him realize the hurt he’d caused you to feel the last few days. You supposed the kiss with a random stranger had succeeded in that partially, but now he had the audacity to be the one acting upset?

Your mind raced a mile a minute as Law sat staring at you, his brows furrowed as he watched your gaze turn from sorrowful to… angry? There was something sparking through the haze in your eyes that he couldn’t put his finger on, and he braced himself as your chest rose with a deep inhale.

But instead of a snide comment, a feeble laugh was all you could muster as you loosed the breath you held, feeling your shoulders relax as you shut your eyes and turned on your heels. 

“Y/N,” Law’s voice held a commanding tone as he called out to you, and you paused mid-stride to glance over your shoulder at him.

To your surprise he had began to rise from his seat, and as you turned to face him once more he crossed the room in a few long strides, stopping less than a foot away from you. He reaches out an arm to you and you flinch away from him, his hand dropping when he sees your reaction.

“Are you… alright?”

You huff out another laugh at the question, and you swear Law flinches at your reaction. His brows furrow in irritation momentarily before softening again, and he puffs out a sigh before speaking again.

“I… I realize I may have been a bit… harsh with you the other day,” he says through gritted teeth, as if it pained him to admit he may have been in the wrong. “And I realize that you only pushed as hard as you did because you care.” He raises a hand to the back of his head and casts his gaze around the room, avoiding eye contact as he tries to find any words to ease the pain still lingering in your expression.

Still you remained silent, sensing how every non-response sent his pulse sky rocketing. You were unsure why, but something about the way you were effortlessly able to get under his skin had a smirk threatening to curl onto your lips as he leaned closer, eyes softening even more as he reaches a hand toward your chin.

You don’t flinch away from him this time, allowing him to pull your chin closer to his with his index finger, the touch gentle as his breath tickles the side of your neck. 

“Say something,” he pleads, his voice barely more than a whisper now, “Please. Tell me you’re alright, tell me you hate me - say anything, Y/N-ya.” His voice trembles a bit as he says your name, and any smugness you had felt dissipates at the sound.

You feel your lip quiver as you try to figure out what to say - what you want to say - and the two of you remain that way for a few more heartbeats before you finally break the silence.

“You… are a real asshole when you’re angry… you know that?” You drawl, sensing Law relax a bit at the smirk you offer him for a quick moment before your lips fall back into a harsh line. 

Law huffs out a deep chuckle, the sound vibrating in your chest as he leans his head down towards your ear, kicking the door shut behind him before leading you further into the office.

“Says the girl who just threw herself at a stranger after making sure I was watching her every move.”

Your back stiffened as you felt the edge of Law’s desk press into the back of your legs, papers rustling behind you from the slight disturbance you’d caused.

“I did no such thing,” you said defiantly, though your voice came out less convincing than you had wanted it to. You swallowed hard as Law pulled his head back to look at you, his eyes a shade darker than they had been a moment ago as they watch the bob of your throat. 

“Keep lying to me, and I’ll have to punish you, Y/N-ya.”

Your thighs squeezed together at the threat, and you curse whatever broken part of you causes you to melt at the sight of your captain like this - at the condescending tone in his voice.

“I’m not,” you whisper, pressing your body against his as he watches you through heavy lids, “But I’ll gladly take whatever punishment you deem necessary, Captain.”

He hisses as you reach down and palm him through his pants, his considerable length pressing against his pants painfully. He grabs your wrist to halt your movements and your eyes fly up to meet his heated glare and biting your lip as a growl escapes his lips.

“Turn around.”

The command in his voice has heat pooling in your core as you turn and bend over the edge of his desk, not caring what papers you scatter to the floor in the process. Law silently lurks behind you, running a hand over your ass tenderly before pulling the waistband of your bottoms down, exposing yourself to him. He growls again, this time rubbing the flesh of your ass harshly before lifting his hand and bringing it down onto your ass cheek with a sharp slap.

“That,” he groans, and you hear him fidget with the buttons on his pants, “Is for disobeying your captain’s orders in the first place.”

Another slap to your opposite ass cheek has you crying out at the sensation, the sting of his hand immediately being soothed by his fingers as he kneads the swollen area.

“That… is for arguing with me and then avoiding me for three days.”

You wince as his hand raises again, a whine escaping his lips as he tears the underwear from your legs and pulls your back up and flush to his chest, his erection pressing between your ass cheeks as he breathes harshly along the shell of your ear.

“You’re too loud,” he groans, balling your underwear up and shoving it into your mouth as a make-shift gag. “Keep quiet or I’ll cut this punishment short.”

You nod your head as he leans you back over the desk, tracing your entrance with the tip of his cock as you bite back a moan. Law grabs your forearms and crosses them over your back, gripping both of them in one hand as he presses himself into your warmth, a muffled moan escaping your lips despite your best efforts.

“Quiet,” Law snaps, pulling himself from you and laying another smack to your ass as you feel tears begin to prickle at the corners of your eyes. Your breathing is labored as he presses back into you, this time sinking into your walls completely, the stretch of him inside you causing your eyes to water further as the slight pain melts into pleasure as he sets a punishing pace as he moves in and out of you.

The sound of your skin slapping together fills the office, the sound accompanied by Law’s husky grunts and your muffled moans. You really did try to contain them, but the feeling of him moving inside you was too overwhelming for you to care about the sounds coming out of you.

Law yanks your arms back, causing your back to arch up off the desk as he leans forward and wraps an arm around your shoulders. The new angle has you leaning back into him, meeting him thrust for thrust as he feels your walls tighten around him.

“You never know when to shut the hell up, do you?”

Your defiant response is to let out an even louder cry as he releases the hand around your arms and wraps it around you to thumb at your clit, chasing after his own release as you tumble into your orgasm. You feel yourself clamp around him tightly as the waves of pleasure have your vision blurring, your mouth going dry as you try to cry out his name. Law hears your attempts and pulls the underwear from your mouth, his cock twitching when he’s finally able to hear his name fall from your lips. You feel his body tenses and his legs begin to shake as Law drags his cock hastily through your walls, until finally his thrusts grow sloppy and his own orgasm washes over him. Each grunt of your name sends a wave of goosebumps over your skin as he comes to a still behind you, peppering your shoulder with gentle kisses as he lifts his hand and the two of your bodies are replaced by pillows inside his office.

Back in Law’s quarters, he pulls you into his arms and kisses you needily, trying to convey all the emotions he’s wrestled with over the past few days with the action.

“Just so you know,” he says when he finally pulls away, his eyes falling to your puffy and swollen lips as he licks his own, “I do want you here. I always want you here, Y/N-ya.”

You feel your chest tighten as you think back to the heated words the two of you had exchanged days prior, letting out a small sigh of relief at the reassuring words you’d been waiting to hear. “Even if I don’t know how to shut the hell up?”

Law grins, a devilish twinkle sparkling in his eye as he dips his head back down to yours.

“Especially because of that.”

100 Follower Event Masterlist ✨come say hai :3✨

[oakparchment]

No Nut November with Itzy

Male Reader x Yuna, MR x Lia, MR x Chaeryeong, MR x Ryujin, MR x Yeji

Length: 1,479 words

Tags: cumplay, edging, blue balls, creampie, facials, NNN, cum slut

Summary: How each member of Itzy handles you going through NNN (No Nut November).

AO3

A/N: For a NNN post this story has a lot of cum.

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

Yuna is a cum slut. Neither of you have any chance of surviving NNN.

After just the first day or so she’s already begging for it: “I’ve been a good girl, don’t you think I deserve to be fucked by your cock? Don’t you think I deserve to be painted with your cum?”All whilst looking at you with the wildest fuck me eyes and pushing her clothed tits into you.

Your will was simply not strong enough to resist Yuna when she gets like this, and so you give her what you both want. You nut on her, in her, sometimes both in the same day. Yuna turns No Nut November into something more like Never stop Nutting November. Her day isn't finished unless she gets at least one load, and you're more than happy to give it to her.

Oh well, maybe she'll be less cum hungry this time next year?

Fail.

Lia is very subservient to you during November and goes along with your whims. If you persevere throughout the weeks then she’ll support you along the whole way, doing her best to distract you whenever you get horny. When she feels you getting hard against her ass at night, she’ll turn over and make conversation instead. Or if she can sense you’re about to boil over, she’ll make plans for you both to keep yourselves busy.

But if you instead completely give in, then in a moments notice she’s either on her knees with her tongue out, or bent over with her lips spread apart, ready to use her own body purely to give you pleasure and to extract your cum.

Even when you’re tracking well throughout the month, it’s not like you can completely keep your hands off each other. She likes to suckle on your sensitive balls, massaging them in her mouth whilst you run your fingers through her hair and scalp. 

Schrodinger's Cat. Whether you succeed or fail is completely up to you.

When you present the idea to her, Chaeryeong goes along with it initially but quickly gets impatient and horny. When you’re home she’ll try to hide the fact that she's fucking wet to help you push through, but when you’re out she’ll send you nudes. Scandalous pictures of herself bent over in front of the mirror, her ass wide on display. Or an upwards angle that shows both her dripping wet pussy and her best ‘fuck me’ face. The messages under it read "Can't wait until this month is over so you can be inside me again" or “I've been a good girl and haven’t touched myself yet, can you tell?”

It’s obvious. She wants to break your will down so that you can pound her creamy little pussy and fill her up with cum. Chaeryeong tortures herself along with you, choosing to participate in NNN together, refusing to cum unless you both do. You reply back with videos of your 

You last a week, maybe even two if you're lucky, but you can only tease each other for so long before you find yourself racing through the door, bending her over before you even reach the bedroom. Fucking her on the floor like wild animals in heat. Her body quivers, milking your cock as you dump a massive load inside her. Chaeryeong's pussy is a creamy mess, yours and her cum oozing out of her hole.

Fail.

Ryujin's favourite month of the year is November. Apart from little teases here and there, she doesn’t touch you at all. The most you get is ‘accidental’ grazes of her hand on your hard-on as she walks past. Or when she stretches in bed at night and for one fleeting moment she grinds her ass into your bulge. If you try to initiate anything, or touch yourself, dommy Ryujin comes out. She’ll clutch your balls a bit too hard, or slap you just to let you know who’s in control.

Ryujin will make you watch as she rides on her thick dildo, saying things like “I know you wish I was bouncing up and down on your cock instead. You want to feel my pussy walls suffocating that pathetic throbbing cock, hmm?” From start to end, you have to watch Ryujin fuck herself whilst she humiliates you, and you’re not allowed to do anything about it. “This dildo probably feels better than you anyway, I’m glad I don’t have to feel you inside of me.” You are both well aware this is a blatant lie, but for the course of the month you grit your teeth and go along with it.

On the last day of November you’re so sensitive that even just playing with your balls sends shocks throughout your body, which Ryujin is acutely aware of. Without ever giving attention to your cock, she sucks and plays with your balls for what feels like an hour straight. You’re so touch deprived and tender that this alone eventually makes you cum. That’s right. Ryujin went through all of that just to make you lose NNN on the last day without even touching your cock. She’s a fucking cunt and she knows it.

Fail.

Yeji edges you, using you like a sex toy to get herself off without ever letting you finish. She'll suck you off or fuck you as usual, but anytime you get even remotely close to cumming she’ll stop. If you’re in Yeji’s mouth then she’ll release you from her warmth with a loud pop and then sit on your face. If you’re pounding away at her pussy then she’ll pull you out and finish herself off with a vibrator. You can’t do anything but watch as she squirts all over you.

Your balls ache. Badly. And the further into the month you go, the shorter your edging sessions last before you’re about to nut and she switches to getting herself off. Numerous times you get so damn close to spilling over, but she knows just how to ride the edge. The last week is torturous, and it makes going about the rest of your life difficult.

At midnight of December 1st, the month rolls over (a moment that you have been waiting for since the first night she edged you). Yeji is fast asleep but not even the world ending could stop you now. With your pulsing cock in hand, you pull her silk pajama shorts to the side and thrust balls deep. Yeji’s gentle breathing turns into high pitched moans, announcing that she's awake. You fuck her pussy hard and fast. This was never going to last more than a minute or two, you’re only after one thing here; to ravage her until you came. Now it was her turn to be nothing but a slutty little sex toy.

As much as you appreciate her, this past month of torture has also built up a small amount of resentment towards her that could not be ignored. It was something that you know will wash away as soon as you finally release this load. Wanting to punish her a little, you pull out and switch holes, fucking into her tight ass instead. Yeji groans deeply, but you slap her face and spit in her mouth in response. Given that she wore no panties and her ass was prepped, she clearly knew something like this would happen. How can she be such a good yet bad girl at the same time? After another handful of thrusts, your inevitable peak arrives. A blinding orgasm follows. The only reason you don’t black out is through sheer will of not wanting to let this nut go to waste after waiting 30 days. You pump a couple loads into her ass, then pull out and thrust back into her pussy. After sufficiently painting her guts white, you find your cock still spurting, so you jerk yourself off onto her abs, her tits, her face, and finally depositing the last few drops onto her stretched out tongue. You step back and admire your masterpiece. An entire month of your built up edging load lays inside and on Yeji, who looks up at the ceiling, panting with a wide smile and fucked out exprssion on her face. Her double creampie starts to drip out of both her holes. A trail of your cum spans from her stomach to her perky tits, and of course she also has what appears to be a full load of a facial despite all the cum throughout the rest of her body. She is a cum dumpster, through and through.

Would you go through all that again next November? Almost certainly not. But in this moment would you say it was worth it? Yeji licks up the cum around her lips whilst fingering your cum deeper into her, chasing her own nut.

Absolutely it was.

NNN with Yeji. Success.

A/N: If you're one of the people who chooses to participate in NNN, I hope this smut didn't make you cum. But then again if you're doing the challenge then should you really be browsing porn?

[yuh-l8t]

its villain Kirishima

villan Kirishima who stalks you and your every move bc he just can’t resist a pretty lil thing who looks like a goddess, one who could rule the world with. Villan Kirishima who hooks up with you bc let’s b honest you don’t like to watch the news and he knows it so you’d have no idea of who he is and because he finally found what he was feeling..love (more of a fuckin obsession bc he knows what soap u use and what clothing u wear EVEN your shoe size) he is OBSESSED. Villain Kirishima who starts dating you only for guys to flaunt over to u and hit on you (yes Kiri is all dressed so no one notices him bc he doesn’t want to start a whole stampede EXPETIALY in a mall) (you two have been dating for like 3 years now)

And now your at home from said mall..You were pinned to the counter as kirishima is fucking into you like a mad man (he technically is but you don't know that) you can’t make out any words because his tip is rubbing your g-spot and because his massive cock is splitting you open like your his personal cocksleeve and the only thing you can think about in this moment is how fast he’s fucking the shit out of you

Simply because he’s seen so many guys eyeing you, some of them even had the courage to come up to talk to you and ignore Kirishima, ofc he was pissed off ab it

what really set him off was when he saw said dude grab you by your waist and try to kiss you (yes it was in front of Kirishima)

OOOOO BOY WAS HE PISSED

he simply dragged you to the car and told you to wait there

meanwhile he was dragging the guy to a alleyway andddddd punched him once squatted down (he’s so hot omg) and said “if I ever see you again I will fuckin’ kill you”

the guy was fucking shaking in fear bc let’s be honest what power would our lovely kirishima have if he wasn’t intimidating and serious to those who oppose him or those who even think about his downright gorgeous (it took me half an hour trynna spell that word… the things I do for u people) girlfriend

and now he’s fucking you like there’s no tomorrow “yeah? You love it when my fat cock is in you huh? You love it when I’m deep in your pussy? You love it when I’m fucking you like this?yeah?yeah?”

you are so out of it like you could barely breathe just from how fast he’s fucking you

all because he’s soooooooooooo possessive of his pretty gal

He must keep you all to himself ( not only because your his girl but also because he’s crazy for you)

next thing that happens is that a HERO (his nemesis bakugo no I won’t go into detail bc I’m l lazyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy) Was hitting on you….BROAD DAYLIGHT anywhooooooooooooooooo

he simply went and sized up bakugo in broad daylight in front of you and ofc its you being in the middle only for you to be all confused bc you don’t watch the news

you innocently look up at Kirishima and with pure confusion you ask

“Babe..whats going on?” As you cling to him

bakugo being clearly confused

he simply looks down at you softening his gaze but still standing his ground ready to fight “ I’ll tell you later jewel..please go back to the car”

and you do because no#1 he fine af no#2bc why not? No#3 bc you want to walk

so now your in the car and your waiting patiently thennnnn something happens the guy who previously kissed you is running for whatever reason (bc kiri scared the shit outta him)

he made eye contact with you and played it off as if he were just on a jog.

he then walked up to the car you were in and tapped on the glass just to yk talk to you

you got out of the car bc you have simply lost the will to walk :/

and you start to walk around with the guy bc you simply didn’t think of the consequences of your actions smh

And so here you are ( if you want the fight tell me) walking around and clearly Kiri won the fight because yeah and he's a hottie so ofc he will win likeeee

So he was panicking because he couldn't find you

anything could have happened like you getting stolen, someone better than him takes you away, you dumped him, the hero’s took you

Whatever it was it made him mad

he jumped on rooftop of the buildings and searched

it only took him 5 minutes to find you

He looked at the guy and fucked him up

grabbed you ( he threw you over his shoulder and smacked your ass when you threw a fit)

“ you shoulda’ stayed in the car like I told you to”

“ but I don’t wannaaaa it’s boring in there! I wanna go shopping!!!!!!!”

and that earned you another smack to the ass

And here you are now

getting fucked on the counter, his tip reaching places you can’t with your dildo

him punishing your pussy

him playing with your clit and stopping and pulling out when you about to release

and no

not like the other smuts that are written he doesn’t finaly let you cum

instead he restrains you to stop you from touching and sits you across from him an you each as he pumps his dick in his hand

and you simply whine from the loss of contact

you never got that contact for the rest of the night

[huellitaa]

good morning! 𐙚๋࣭⭑⋅˚♡.

i dont think people quite understand the importance of having a good morning routine. how we spend our morning sets the tone for the day and its a very important, peaceful, underrated & overlooked part of life i think we should appreciate more !! ♡

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 the importance of a good morning

gives a sense of control

sets the mood for the day

develops healthy habits

boosts productivity and energy levels

helps to manage work & schedules

improves memory and focus

...anddd much much more. i love love love mornings so maybe i'm a liittle biased but they're so overhated & have so many positive benefits we should def make use of! ♡

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 1. gratitude

idk if its just me but waking up early and prioritising my mornings makes me a lot a lot more grateful for everything i have in my life. appreciate just how lucky we are to be able to even have a bed to wake up in in the morning. be so grateful for being able to see the sunlight through your window and being able to see another day. its a luxury, privilege and blessing to be alive.

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 2. dress up!

getting ready is always my FAVOURITE part of the morning. "but im not going anywhere" "im just going to school" "theres no point" no. idc. why do you have to have a reason? why cant you just do it for yourself? when i look cute i feel cute & when i feel cute i feel good. dress up do ur hair do ur makeup (if u wear it) ! look good -> feel good. 💖

(🗒️🎀 note: i also have a post on looking good at school here! ♡)

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 3. time management

set the perfect time for you. that revolves around the time it takes you to get ready, to travel to your destination, etc. and set that back by 30 minutes. so for example say said time would be 7am -> you'd then change that to 6:30. that way youve got the extra time to just focus on yourself and sort out your day, choose what youre wearing, eat a lovely breakfast, drink something yummy, exercise, pilates, tidy up, etc. ♡

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 4. romanticism & enjoyment

id say this goes hand in hand with time management but make it so that you aren't rushing and stressing in the morning. enjoying the little things makes life as a whole so much more enjoyable. mornings often set the tone for the day, so if you have a calm and gentle morning, youre more likely to have a good day! ♡

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 5. clear mind

the third sibling of time management & romanticism is definitely being able to go into the day with a clear head. dumping down all your emotions in a journal, in your notes, whatever you use & having your day clearly planned out is a massive motivator for me. i use notion since im more of a visual learner and enjoy having things laid out pretty and neat in front of me but it can be anything you like! (notes, paper, journal, etc.) this ensures you go into the day without a ton of thoughts and worries weighing on your head already before you even start.

so maybe im a little biased because i really love mornings but think about it. feeling the sun through your window in the early dawn, watching it rise and listening to the birds, having some downtime to clear your mind and just be free for a little while before chaos of life begins again. i love you and wish you the best in all you do today 🫶🩷💕

all my love 🫶🩷🎀

[marnikula]

Can u do early seasons spencer x reader who has a lot of problems and they let people walk all over them and they dont set boundaries and they struggle with their emotions. Reader likes spencer a lot but doesn't seek him out bc they feel like he deserves better! And u can decide what happens but make it happy ending :)

Oh my word, I literally spent like 2 hours writing this because I wrote something and then my internet cut out when I posted and now it's lost, so I had to rewrite it. Hope you enjoy!

Cw: gn reader, people dumping work on reader, Spencer being cute

Enjoy!

You were a doormat. You knew it, your friends knew it, everyone knew it. You tried to set boundaries, to say no, but it never seemed to stick. Saying no made you feel guilty, it made you feel like a bad person even though you knew you weren't.

Being a doormat, people tended to walk all over you, requesting ridiculous things of you. That is how it came to be that you were sitting alone in the bullpen, the clock ticking away, showing you that it was around midnight and you still had a whole stack of papers to go through. You felt yourself about to fall asleep, and truly, you were too tired to fight it off when a ding signaled the arrival of someone.

Without even turning to look who it was you knew it was Spencer Reid. You recognized his footsteps, and even if you didn't, the smell he brought with him would have alerted you. It was the smell of coffee mixed sweet undertones, almost as if he had spent his whole day in a café. It was intoxicating. "What are you still doing here?" "Working, I have a lot of stuff to finish before tomorrow" "you mean today" looking back at the clock you could see he was right, it was now officially the next day.

"Do you need some help?" without even waiting for you to decline Spencer took half of the pile you were working on. He moved fast, knowing you well enough to know that you hated asking for help, especially from him, he just could never figure out why.

"Spencer, you really don't need to, I've got this" reaching your hands to take the files back only to be swatted away by the doctor was something you did not expect. "I'm not saying you don't have it, I'm just going to help you so you can go home earlier"

Sighing you admitted defeat and went to go make coffee for the two of you. With Spencer's help you managed to make it through the massive stack of papers on your desk in less that an hour, something you would never have been able to do on your own.

"You, doctor Spencer Reid, are amazing, what can I do to thank you?" it was a slight tease on your part. You didn't expect him to ask you anything return, it wasn't like him, he was too nice . That was one of the things you loved about him, and one of the reasons you willed the crush growing in your heart to shrivel up and die. He deserved so much better than you. Someone with a mind as amazing as his own, someone with kindness rivaling his and someone who knew how to say no. You were none of those. At least not in your own eyes.

"You could go on a date with me" Spencer surprised himself with those words, he really hadn't meant to say them out loud, but he really liked you, and in a moment of confidence inspired by sleep deprevation, he decided to take a chance.

"Really? You mean it?" the both of you were blushing hard at this point, him thinking about how he could have possibly screwed this up and you thinking about how this could possibly get any better.

"I-I mean, only if you want to, you really don't have to feel pressured, I know I said I would take it as paiment, but honestly spending time with you was enough of a payme-" grabbing his face in your hands you turned him to look at you, shutting off his ramblings with the movement and shutting off his brain with your words

"I would love to"

[utilitycaster]

So far in campaign 3, 5 of the party have died and been resurrected and 2 have died permanently, with only Imogen, Dorian, and (presumably) Braius not dying ever. In campaign 2, again 5 of the party died and got resurrected over the whole thing with Beau, Yasha, and Kingsley surviving, and Molly permanently dying. BUT, in Vox Machina, everyone except Tary died at least once with the twins dying FOUR TIMES EACH and only Vax permanently dying. What do you think changed after the first campaign? Is it that Matt got “better” at scaling encounters, the players got better at staying alive, a group decision to take resurrection more seriously, or is it a total coincidence?

It’s just something I noticed all of a sudden tonight and I’m not sure if I’m just seeing something where there is nothing or if other people have noticed this too and have thoughts on why it is.

Hi anon,

I started to write up a massive and lengthy analysis this morning and realized it was not very good and that I had to leave for work in 20 minutes. Anyway I think it's mostly the players getting better at staying alive, mostly through party comp:

Vox Machina unexpectedly, for "Ashley got cast on a TV show that filmed in NYC" and "Tiberius's player sucks" reasons found themselves abruptly down not only a healer (most of the time) but an arcane caster, leaving Scanlan and Keyleth doing double and triple duty. Vex did a pretty impressive amount of healing for a ranger, actually, but only had touch heals and limited spell slots for them. Add the fact that Keyleth couldn't heal while in Wildshape until pretty much the endgame and Scanlan was absent for an arc, replaced by Tary, who could heal but was not a full caster, and that explains a lot.

Vox Machina also had two characters with relatively low HP/terrible con saves to go with it (the twins) and only one true, full-time tank (Grog). Vex and Percy were often out of healing range but could get hit by an AOE attack. Also, dragons are particularly lethal for AOE reasons and four of those deaths are Raishan, two from when they tried to get Raishan immediately after the Thordak fight.

Of Vox Machina's deaths, two of Vax's, one of Vex's, Keyleth's, and one of Grog's are all out of combat and primarily due to player choice. They got way better at not doing this (well, Vax's are kind of unavoidable, but we only had one in C2 of this nature with Veth and the Power Word Kill trap, and none in C3).

One VM death (two if you count the wedding one-shot) was a direct assassination vs. one in the Nein and none for Bells Hells.

Now consider:

The Mighty Nein and Bells Hells each have at least two tanks; Bells Hells has three. The Nein have two full clerics (*extremely tired voice* Jester actually is a very good healer, Caduceus is just exceptionally support-focused) even without Fjord and Yasha's healing. Bells Hells had one full time cleric, and now they have a full bard and a bard-paladin.

No one dumps CON anymore. If only I could get them to start dumping WIS again and stop dumping INT, but I digress.

People are getting better at checking for traps and not selling their souls to cursed items.

Otohan Thull's build is in fact, I must admit, pretty good and cool, her lack of any personality traits not withstanding, but her lethal nature is specifically because she exclusively faced a super tapped party in a situation where they couldn't get out of there. She is responsible for all 5 deaths that weren't a Bertrand Bell Clear Setup situation; I think if Bells Hells hadn't been trapped and tapped things might have gone differently, whereas Vox Machina often was like "rests are for SUCKERS" and got their asses beat in avoidable manners.

My other caveat is of course not to count your chickens before they're slaughtered, namely, while none of Vox Machina died in the final Vecna fight unless you count Vax, which I don't, Vecna did kill two of them earlier on, though; Vax permanently (the Raven Queen just let him hang out a bit longer). The Somnovem/Lucien hybrid killed two of the Mighty Nein in the final battle. Ludinus or Predathos could fucking level the party. Otohan could have gone much worse in episode 91 without many changes; that was the first time I've ever heard Matt talk like a TPK was potentially imminent. Some of this is also luck, and some of this with Bells Hells is that *Myst voice* the ending has not yet been written.

[hookedonhuge]

Lucky Shorts

This is a story about the luckiest day of your life.

It all started when you went to a rugby match which wasn’t your usual style as you had no interest in the sport. The people playing the sport on the other hand, well let’s just say they had bodies built to be watched by people like you.

If eyeing off the large men wrestling with each other wasn’t enough for you, then seeing one of the star players peel off their tight, sweaty shorts from their giant, bubble butt and huge, athletic legs and toss it into the crowd after the match certainly was. The icing on the cake was that those very same shorts landed in your hands. It was as if he knew just how desperately you wanted them.

As soon as you got home you went into your room and pressed those sweaty shorts into your face. You were in total bliss as you breathed in the intoxicating, ripe odours of the shorts, imagining that big, sweaty stud being in the room with you. You revelled in the fantasy of him smothering his stinky shorts into your nose, his face painted with a mix of pride and disgust as you got off on inhaling his potent musk.

“How pathetic,” you imagined him saying. “Not even the sweatiest, smelliest players on my team can handle my post-match stench. Yet, you love it.”

You had to try on those shorts. Even if they were going to be a bit big for your smaller frame, you needed to feel the damp fabric against your ass.

You took the shorts away from your nose, it wasn’t easy to say goodbye to the scent, and pulled them up over your black underwear. Huh, it was a tighter fit than you expected. The sweat-soaked material wrapped snugly around your butt and you could feel the moisture soak into your underwear. You pinched at the shorts and it was so skin tight that all you could feel was the heavier, wet underwear fabric beneath.

Wait, the shorts weren’t just skin tight, there were actually no shorts on you at all. Of course there were no shorts, you had been in your room in just your underwear the entire time. What were you doing again?

You aimlessly wandered around your house trying to think of what you were supposed to be doing. You eventually sat down on a seat in the living room, scratching your empty head in confusion.

“Bro, if I swung that way I’d definitely hit that ass up.” It was your roommate. He was straight as anything, and a total bro. He was staring at your butt; your big bubble butt. “Why do you always have to stick that massive thing out like that, you’re going to make me hard one day if you don’t be careful.”

“Are you sure it doesn’t make you hard already?” You joked, leaning your body forward and sticking out your dump truck ass a little further. “An ass like this is very popular with boys like you.” You loved teasing your straight roommate.

He took a cautious step forward then pinched his nose in disgust. “Your ass reeks bro, have you just come back from the gym?”

The gym, of course! That’s the thing you were planning on doing this whole time. You quickly got changed into your gym gear, throwing your black underwear on the floor of your room, and rushed out the door.

The gym felt like home to you. You couldn’t wait to lift up some weights and get your sweat on, and boy did you sweat. You were only on your first exercise and already a large sweat mark had formed under the band of your grey compression shorts.

As you continued your workout you kept getting sweatier and sweatier. It wasn’t long until your shorts were completely drenched. 

The best part were the slaps of encouragement your ass would receive from the gym bros. The slaps would make a satisfying squelch noise and then your bubble butt would jiggle like jelly. This was usually followed by a comment fawning over your dump truck ass or congratulating you about how sweaty and smelly you were (to the gym bros this was a sign of a good workout). To say you were getting a lot of attention was an understatement. You were enjoying every second of it too, even making sure to bend over and stick your butt out when one of your jacked fans walked past.

Once you finished your workout you headed straight home without showering. Why waste all of that beautiful sweat you worked so hard for?

When you arrived home you stumbled across a very fortunate surprise. It was your roommate, and he was on the floor of your room sniffing the sweaty black underwear that you left there.

“Now are you sure I don’t make you hard?” You said with the smuggest grin. He turned around to meet your gaze and he was in complete shock. His face turned bright red and he couldn’t get a single word out. “How pathetic.” You said, changing to a deeper and more condescending tone. “Not even the sweatiest, smelliest men in the gym can handle my post-workout stench. Yet, you love it.”

You lifted up your shirt to show him your spectacular body that glistened with sweat. “No point denying it, you're in love with me.” You were literally talking down to him. “And most of all, you’re in love with my sweaty body.”

Your roommate sprang up from the ground and began frantically licking the crevices of your hairy abs. You grabbed his head and pushed it into the damp abyss between your two amazing pecs. Moans of pure happiness reverberated into your chest, which only made you push his face in harder.

Once you felt he was done with your chest you shoved his body to the ground. “It’s time for the main course,” you said with a grin. You turned around so your massive butt was facing towards him. Your shorts were so drenched that sweat was dripping off them onto your housemate’s body.

“Yes please, I need a taste!” Your housemate begged.

You lowered your behemoth ass onto his face. Both cheeks spread around his face and touched the floor. His face was completely trapped in the dampest, rankest, nastiest, foulest cage imaginable. You couldn’t tell if he was screaming in joy or screaming for release but either way the vibrations felt amazing as they rippled through your cheeks. How lucky that he has a stinky, sweaty housemate who is willing to use his fat, pillowy butt to indulge his fantasies.

[fiber-optic-alligator]

Desperation vs. Domestication

Pairing: IDW Drift x Human Reader

WARNING: This story contains soft vore. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read this story.

Word Count: 3161

Summary: Trapped aboard the Lost Light and chosen by a certain red-and-white samurai mech as the perfect sapien companion and tasty snack, you decide to form a rudimentary plan on possibly escaping your robot captors and finding your way back to Earth…while also realizing that spending months living as a pet has messed with your judgment on a greater scale than you previously realized.

This is based off of an ask I saw on Relic’s blog about what might happen if a human trapped aboard the Lost Light tried to escape via an escape pod, and I liked the idea so much that I had to write something based off of it. This is my first time writing for the Tasty Au and the First Contact Au and I must say I am quite happy with the result. This is inspired by Callsign-Relic’s Tasty Au, obviously, and I am so utterly fascinated with the whole concept, as well with First Contact scenarios in general, that this certainly won’t be my last time writing about this sort of thing. Thank you all for reading and thank you to @callsign-relic for giving me permission to write about it!

Also available to read on AO3!

Here is the link to pt. 2!

Sticky globs of synthetic saliva coat your shivering body as you are carefully slipped out of the massive mech’s cerulean mouth. The red-and-white bot nuzzles you gently with his nose, cooing to you in soft alien words. You don’t understand his language; to your ears, he speaks with the purr of a car engine, the rumble of machinery, the smooth hum of something distinctively much, much bigger than you. And yet, after months of being trapped aboard this titanic starship, surrounded by these massive extraterrestrial robots that have turned your life upside down, you’ve come to comprehend some simple, short phrases your mech typically only says to you: Good. Proud. Love you.

  You hate how you lean into his touch. You hate how you cling to these few words you can translate. You hate how your heart softens for him as he sets you down on his desk and begins to clean you up, rubbing his saliva off of you with a towel. You protest softly when he smushes you gently with both hands, struggling feebly before you reluctantly give up and go still. He chuckles deeply and shushes you. “Shhh, shhh….Safe…Safe.”

  After a few minutes, he nods to himself, satisfied with his work. You stare at him with the deadpan look of a cat who was just dumped into a bathtub while he retrieves a fuzzy blanket from his bed and wraps you up in it snugly. The part of you that still clings to your autonomy wants to scream and shove his fingers away when he slowly rubs your scalp. It wants to curse him out and tell him you despise him, how you are traumatized because of him and the rest of his kind.

  And yet, you can’t.

  You know he won’t understand you. You know you’ve developed feelings for him in your weak, pathetic heart. Your bot cares for you. It is obvious in the way he treats you, and you can tell it’s gone beyond seeing you as a pet. He calls you sweet. Little one. He’s never hit you, never yelled at you, and actually respects your boundaries when you express them…sometimes. There are some days where you have clearly shown you don’t want to be eaten. He listens. Those days are few, but they happen regardless. You can’t help but sympathize with him. Call it Stockholm Syndrome, call it delusion, but you are at war with yourself, one side begging you to resist, the other side wishing to submit and accept the role you have been forced into.

  Your mech scoops you up. For a good minute, he simply holds you, purring deeply while he traces circles against your back with his thumb. It feels good, and you hate that it does. His heavy rumbles are soothing. Despite what one might think, being eaten, massaged by a mechanical stomach for hours, and then regurgitated is an exhausting experience to go through. You find fatigue tugging at the back of your mind while your eyes flutter shut and you yawn.

  The mech coos. “Sleep,” he whispers to you, his voice smooth as honey. “Sleep.”

  If this were your first time, you would have fought it. But it’s not your first time, and you know resisting will get you nowhere closer to escaping. Darkness pulls you into its embrace with the glow of his eyes flickering in the background until it too fades away. It doesn’t take long for you to give in.

  His name is Drift. That’s the first thing you think when you wake up. His name is Drift, and he saved you from the first set of robots that plucked you from your home and carried you off into space, saving you from one personal hell and thrusting you into another. It did not matter if this particular hell was a rather comfortable one. It was hell regardless. To have your sense of self snatched away from you, to be reduced to nothing more than a pet and a snack, to know you are possibly light years away from Earth and you are utterly alone here is enough to drive you insane.

  You sit up slowly and groan, running a hand through your tousled hair. You're still wrapped up in the blanket Drift gave you, and you're resting on his berth. It’s covered with more blankets and even pillows, all courtesy of the mech who has done what he can to make your life here as comfortable as possible. The lights are dimmed. Drift is nowhere to be seen. He must have had some other matters to attend to and decided to give you a moment of solitude while you were resting. It was considerate of him. The sympathetic side of you feels appreciation. All that’s left is relief he is not here to stuff you back into his maw.

  Drift does not understand you. In his eyes, you are simply an adorable little creature he has adopted. He cannot speak your language, and you cannot speak his. No level of displaying your intelligence will ever prove to him that you are worthy of being considered a true person by him or the other mechs. Oh, he cares. You know he does. He’s not a bad guy. You’ve seen bad, and he’s a welcome change from it. But he will never view you as an equal. You are simply just an animal in his mind’s eye.

  Your fists clench with subdued rage without you even realizing it at first. The frustration bubbles up and leaves a foul taste on your tongue. You’ve screamed. You’ve begged. You’ve done everything you can to show them that you do not belong here. But they don’t listen. He doesn't listen. You're too cute, too tasty. For the first time in your life, you truly wish you had it in you to be a violent person and live up to the horrible reputation humans have given themselves on their own planet. Maybe if you had the power to destroy like the rest of your kind can, the mechs would finally learn to respect you. But human beings only destroy what is theirs. And here? Not even you belong to yourself anymore.

  “Damnit,” you whisper under your breath. You haven’t felt this level of helplessness in a long time. Your chest tightens, and hot tears trickle down your cheeks and drip off your chin. You close your eyes and grit your teeth as a low sob heaves up from your throat.

  “I want to go home,” you say to no one in particular. There’s no one to hear you. Even the gods of your world are too far away to listen to your prayers. “Please. Please. I want to go home. I just want to go home.”

  So why don’t you?

  Your eyes fly open.

  Wait.

  There are escape pods on this ship.

  You’ve only seen them once. Drift usually keeps you perched on his shoulder when he travels around the ship and tends to his duties. He’s walked by them before. They’re towards the middle of the vessel, all lined up in single file. 

  What if you were to steal one?

  A plan begins forming in your mind. It’s stupid. It’s risky. It could cost you your life. But you're so scared, and you’ll do anything to relieve that fear. You could return to Earth…you could go home.

  You look around Drift’s room, taking in how absolutely massive everything is compared to you. The escape pods will be the same. One single little human will have a hard time piloting it. But what other choice do you have? Sit here and live the rest of your life as a pet?

  A part of you actually finds it tempting. But you can’t let that side of you win. You cannot allow yourself to slip into the stupor that is slowly breaking your spirit. You must keep fighting. You must take back what was stolen from you: your life.

  Drift is not a stifling owner. He does not demand your attention 24/7. He understands you need your space, and usually, if you protest enough, he will simply coo at you understandingly and leave you in his room for a few hours while he leaves.

  You come up with a plan. It’s not a particularly stable one, and there are way too many points where it could go horribly wrong. But you will go through with it anyway, because you don't know how much longer you can take this. You're desperate for release, frantic for an escape from this nightmare reality you are in. You will find a way back home. You can’t give up. You refuse to give up. You are a human being. You belong on Earth.

  As much as your plan relies on Drift leaving you alone, it also depends on his presence too. It’s impossible to traverse this starship by yourself. To be seen without your mech companion would lead to some robotic stranger scooping you up and bringing you right back to square one.

  So, you will have to trick Drift.

  You will use the advantage of your harmless appearance and have him bring you to the escape pods. You could blast away right under his nose and he won’t even know it because his belief that you are just an innocent, adorable little thing who can barely think for yourself is just too strong.

  Guilt flashes through you.

  He has no way of understanding, a tiny voice whispers inside your mind. It’s not his fault there’s a language barrier between the two of you. He’s trying his best. He’s trying. Can’t you appreciate that?

  He views me as a pet, you think back. He thinks I’m an animal. A snack. Is abandoning my will as a human being worth it if it means I please him?

  Yes.

  The realization makes your heart sink.

  Are you really that far gone? Have you become that accustomed to your life here? Have…have you truly been broken in?

  The soft whoosh of the room door opening interrupts your thoughts. Drift slips in on silent feet; you still don’t know how such a large mechanical creature can move so quietly. He doesn’t look at you, and instead trudges to the mirror attached to the wall opposite his berth with his shoulders slumped and his head hanging low. Through the reflection of the mirror, you can see him staring at himself with a complicated expression. His mouth tightens and his hand rises to slowly begin tracing the metal beneath his eyes. You watch, with growing concern, as he just…looks. He’s observing his features, taking in every scar, every dent in his armor, every sign of age.

  He vents out a soft exhale. With a surprising amount of weariness, he takes his swords and places them on their display stand.

  “Drift?” you call out to him.

  He turns to focus on you. His eyes immediately soften, and his grimace uplifts into a tired smile.

  He looks so much older than he really is.

  Your heart twists painfully. All of your previous foul thoughts towards him vanish as your empathy takes over and you raise your arms to make grabby hands at him. This is a language anyone can understand: Pick me up please?

  He wastes no time in obliging. Swords and reflection forgotten, he makes it to you in four long strides. Gentle fingers push the blanket aside and free you from your fabric burrito. They curl around you, holding you in his right palm while he slowly lifts you up and slips his left hand under to support you. You no longer feel the queasy flip of your stomach turning circles from the dizzying experience of watching the floor grow further and further away. That reaction was long lost with your time here.

  He presses you to his chest. The metal is warm, and deep within, you can feel the steady beat of his heart. It thrums through your entire body and causes you to shudder with awe. This is an alien being, one you hardly understand. Yet, he has a heartbeat. It connects the two of you, in a way. As your heart begins to beat in tandem with his, you feel so small. Yet…it helps you feel for him all the more, because it proves he is alive.

  After a few minutes of hugging you, Drift lifts you higher. The soft blue glow of his eyes washes over you as the mech observes your tiny face. There’s a moment when he pauses, and then his thumb caresses your cheek, lightly running over the stains decorating your skin from your previous bout of tears. His smile falls into a concerned frown.

  “Little one?” he whispers. He knows what tears are. You’ve heard him cry himself to sleep some nights. So he must understand you are not in a particularly good headspace right now.

  “Drift,” you whisper back. He whines when he hears how your voice trembles. With great sadness weighing his expression down, he brings you close and presses his lips gently to your forehead.

  You automatically freeze, and your eyes widen in shock as you feel the slightly plush metal against your skin. It’s so…intimate. All too quickly, you melt into the embrace, closing your eyes as a fresh wave of emotion washes over you and threatens to unleash the waterworks again. You sniffle and cling to him. “I hate that I’m enjoying this,” you quietly say.

  He hums in response and slowly pulls away. The smile he offers you is so sweet, it makes your heart skip. You feel like a foolish schoolgirl in love. It’s the wrong emotion for the wrong person in the most wrong scenario you could ever imagine, but it feels so right.

  He leans back in, and you think you are going to receive another kiss. But then his mouth opens wider and you have a full display of the squishy segmented tongue that’s shifting in eager anticipation for the taste it desires: you. Strings of saliva connect between metal teeth as large as your head. Inside, there’s light that softly pulses with the same color as his eyes, and it runs all the way down into his throat, illuminating the journey you know you are about to take. Fear jumps through you. “Drift,” you say, pushing frantically at his fingers. “Drift, wait!”

  “Shhhh,” he murmurs. There are some incomprehensible words that, to your ears, sound like the garbled slurs of a broken radio. Your mind works overtime to comprehend. “Little one…safe…comfort…”

  Oh.

  He wants to comfort you.

  You feel absolutely disgusted with yourself when you bite your bottom lip and contemplate his request.

  Unfortunately, Drift doesn’t give you a chance to decide whether to accept or not. Apparently, your tears are really worrying him. With one last reassuring purr, he delicately pushes you into his mouth. You yelp when his tongue curls around your little body to begin slicking you up for a smoother ride. Drift rolls you around carefully, tasting every inch of your exposed skin with happy hums of pure pleasure.

  You want to fight off the large muscle and demand he open his mouth to release you. However, you know there is no point. He’s not listening to you today. He believes this is the only way to bring you the reprieve you need. So, you give in. You go limp and allow your mech to toy with you.

  He presses you to the roof of his mouth and suckles gently. A low moan rumbles up from within him. You are delicious. You know you are delicious. The way he savors you both terrifies you on a raw, existential level, and also makes you feel…wanted, in a way. He wants you. He cares about you. This is just another way of him showing it.

  Eventually, his tongue lowers, and everything goes tipsy as Drift tilts his head and begins to push you towards the back of his throat. You instinctively scrabble at the base of the biomechanical muscle, but you cannot stop yourself from sliding back. When you look behind you and see the pulsing metal waiting to slurp you down into its dark, wet confines, you want to scream.

  “Glk.”

  One gulp.

  That’s all it took for Drift to swallow you.

  It is extremely unnerving to be reminded of how small you are.

  You are sucked into Drift’s throat with no resistance. The glow of his mouth sticks with you while you are squeezed downward from all sides by the soft, moist walls of his esophagus. You wriggle as much as you can, but it is virtually impossible to move due to how tight the passage is. You find yourself holding your breath as you close your eyes and try to remain calm while you listen to the steady sounds of his internal systems working to keep him alive: the heavy thudding of his heart. A rhythmic intake and outtake of air that is eerily reminiscent of human breathing. There are other low whirrs and hums you cannot identify as well. All consuming. All just for you to hear.

  Space opens up beneath you, and you drop into his stomach with a wet plop. The organ gurgles, welcoming you back like an old friend. You bounce a little as the floor jiggles, then you find yourself sinking into the mesh metal. The walls close in, squeezing you, kneading at you, all while a melody of rumbles and groans fill the space. You pant, taking a moment to catch your breath as you lay on your back and stare up at the soft biolights all around you, filling the stomach with a comforting hue.

  Something presses against you from the outside: Drift’s hand. Above you, the mech says something. His voice is soft, yet loud at the same time. You are utterly, completely surrounded by him. Locked away behind all of this metal, you truly feel like you are his.

  For some reason, this is not as scary as it usually is.

  You sit up and try to wipe saliva off of your face, but only succeed in smearing it all over you even more. Drift speaks again. “Little one?” His tone is urgent, worried. The stomach growls with nervous trepidation.

  You crawl on your hands and knees to the organ’s wall. Sitting up, you press your hand into the wet muscle, watching as your fingers sink into the squishy grooves. “I’m okay, Drift,” you murmur. “I’m okay.”

  You feel him relax all around you. Drift presses his hand right over where yours is and rubs you tenderly. You cuddle up against him and close your eyes, listening to your mech’s happy purrs, enjoying the feeling of being constantly massaged by his stomach.

  It is warm.

  You are warm.

  You no longer want to cry.

  Maybe…maybe you can put off your escape plan. Just for a little longer.