#i feel like i need to draw more of him but i need ideas first

[softaestluv]

prev. | mlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but your apartment is the last place he visits before being sent off on an assignment.

‘Jus’ need somethin’ to tide me over, yeah dove?’

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but when he’s away, his rugged and calloused hands don’t feel like yours, can’t get off unless he pictures you.

Above him. Below him. On your knees. On your back. In your mouth. Buried in your cunt.

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but your apartment is the first place he visits when the mission is finished, doesn’t even bother going home.

And you answer, despite it being three in the morning.

“There’s my girl.” He breathes. Relieved. Dropping his bags on the floor before lunging forward to cup your face in his palms.

The claim makes you whine quietly, digging your fingertips into his wrists, arching on your tippy toes to meet his lips halfway. It’s ravenous, leaves your breath ragged, and lips thrumming with swelling blood.

He hoists you in his arms, burrowing his hands under your thighs and ass, pinching the flesh so hard it’ll bruise, but he can’t help it. He’s greedy. Selfish. Hasn’t quite coaxed himself down from the harsh realities of being ‘Ghost.’

“Ah—Simon,” You whimper, huffing hot air against his lips, “You’re hurting me.”

“Sorry, baby,” He smooths his hands, petting the backs of your thighs, “I just-”

The ‘missed you’ dies on his tongue, stops it from rolling off and filling the empty space between the two of you, but you know.

That night when he asks you to repeat him, tell him you’re all his, you don’t respond like usual. He tries his best to coax it out of your pretty lips orgasm after orgasm because he needs to hear it, but you don’t give him the pleasure.

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, so he has no other option but to accept it because you’re not his. The lack of acknowledgment eats at his skin, brutal talons gnawing at his flesh when you slowly stop responding to his texts.

Shows up at your doorstep anyway because you don’t get to tell him when this stops. When you answer the door, you’re all dolled up, a tight little skirt hugging your figure, lip gloss smeared on your lips like you have somewhere to be other than on his cock.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, glaring at him, “I’m busy.”

“With what?”

You frown, “I have a date.”

He snorts, pushing past you, making a show of taking off his boots and placing them next to yours, has no intention of leaving.

“Simon,” You sigh, closing the door behind you, “I don’t have time for this right now. He’ll be here any minute.”

The statement alone pinches his temples with irritation, but that’s when he sees it, one small hickey adorned on your neck, just below your ear. His vision narrows, tunneling red, nudging you against the wall with one swift movement, tilting your jaw to get a better look at it.

“The fuck is this?” He snarls, runs his thumb over the bruise, and makes your breath hitch slightly.

“Nothing.” You mutter quietly.

“Your little date give you this? Huh?” He grits through clenched teeth, grip tightening on your jaw, drawing dimples in your skin.

“None of your business.” You spit back, but it’s far too gentle to have any real bite like it always does with him, pup with baby canines.

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but he seethes at the idea of another man inside of you, another man marking you as theirs when you’re his.

Sinks his teeth around the stupid mark, dragging sharp fangs against your delicate flesh, and sucks the skin viciously. Covers the ugly bruise with his own claim.

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but he presses you right up against your front door, so your date can hear him fucking you in two when he comes to pick you up.

‘Can yer little boyfriend fuck you like this? Huh, baby? Did he know jus’ how you like it?’

Fucks you messy and pretty, until your cheeks are tear-stained and your breaths are wrecked, hiccuping over your moans that’s he’s so mean, so cruel, asking you to say you’re his when he doesn’t even have the courage to say he missed you.

‘Be a good girl f’me, yeah? Tell me you’re all mine.’

And when you do finally say it, he carries you to your bed, fucks you slow and deliberate like he always does, like he really means it, and whispers the words against your skin.

@bbygirl9 @ailanbutterfly @amberbalcom14 @h0lydrag0ns

[jeonstellate]

the ghost of legacy

a legacy joins the paddock for the season — and oscar is the only one not keen on befriending her.

๑彡 oscar piastri x fem!räikkönen!reader

๑彡 brief mentions of weight, sainz-leclerc divorce, & wound; depictions of insecurity, grid chaos, & confusion/denial

๑彡 paragraph format — 4.1K words

masterlist

[pic’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 direct sequel to the ghost of monza!

๑彡 all italian & spanish words in this are from google! yn is kimi räikkönen’s daughter, but there are no physical descriptions mentioned.

๑彡 remember how i mentioned that tgom might be my first & only f1 fic? well . . . i’ve been persuaded otherwise :D i have some regrets about this, so i’d appreciate it a lot if y’all can share some feedback <3

The dawn of a season carries fresh, untainted hope. It brings a clean slate in most things — and in everything that matters. It resets the clock back at zero, and draws a mint coat for the starting line. It opens a new book with blank pages, awaiting fresh ink to flow and fill it with something worth remembering.

As poetic as those sound, Oscar can’t care any less. A new season’s a new season, meaning — for the most part — another chance at winning either championships.

For the remaining part? It means coming back to Monza, A-K-A where he met [first name] for three years in a row.

The Italian Grand Prix is still a lifetime away, but there are already moments where he finds himself wondering if she’ll still drop by and ask about Fernando’s whereabouts this season as well. With three consecutive years under their belts, it kind of feels like a tradition by this point. It’ll be too much of a shame if they break it so close to the fifth anniversary.

Honestly, he’s a little tempted to ask the older driver about his niece, but he’s also a little scared of what the other might do if he shows interest. Fernando looks like he’ll slash his tires as a form of intimidation. He doesn’t seem to be above purposely making contact during a race to prove a point, either.

It’s not like he can cut the middle man altogether. He only got her first name. There are a lot of [first name]s in existence. An Instagram search won’t cut it, especially if her profile picture isn’t of herself. A browser search will be just as impossible, if not even more so.

Oscar lets out a sigh without realizing. Is it better, after all, to let the universe decide if they should continue their little tradition?

"It’s not that bad," he hears Lando say next to him. They’re currently in the general hospitality, with a tray of free food they were promised for attending the pre-season ‘grid bonding’ and meetings. As the hospitality doesn’t open until the season officially starts, it’s just everyone in the paddock — the drivers and the crews — occupying the floors.

He looks at his teammate for that, silently hoping he’ll get a clue on what he’s talking about, because he has absolutely no idea what conversation topic they’re currently on. He didn’t mean to zone out but, alas, it’s just so easy to.

He decides to take a shot in the dark, after a moment of not perceiving any clues. He assumes — based on nothing — that he’s talking about the food. "The presentation might be intentionally deceiving."

Lando isn’t impressed. "You just need to gaslight yourself and think it’s good, if that’s really the case."

"No need! It’s actually good!" Pierre interrupts from one of the full six-seater tables. "Try the soup!"

Oscar isn’t really sure if he trusts Pierre’s tastebuds but he thanks him, anyway.

He guides Lando to sit at the eight-seater table next to Pierre’s group, albeit intentionally at the further side so he doesn’t feel pressured to socialize in the beginning of his lunch. He sits on the second seat from the edge, diagonally from the laptop he’s assuming someone forgot to take with them. Lando sits directly across him.

They eat in silence. Normally, one of them initiates a conversation over food. Today, though, Oscar lets his teammate clear his tray without a word. The other had — wisely and questionably — foregone eating breakfast to make the promised buffet worth his while.

He munches on his lunch thoughtfully, uninterested in taking advantage of the free buffet to the fullest. He — as the rest of the grid — has to watch his weight this close to the first race of the season, anyway, to avoid the risk of jeopardizing the car’s speed. He’s not really a fan of intensifying his gym workouts to burn extra calories if he eats way past his normal fill, either.

He zones out while looking directly at the stickers on the laptop cover. He’s not completely foreign to such practice, since his own sisters have decorated their personal laptops with a collection of stickers. As such, he knows how the stickers and their placements essentially show a portion of the laptop owner’s personality and interests.

Deciphering the laptop owner’s interests proves to be a good ‘during lunch’ activity. It doesn’t require a lot of thinking since most of them are pretty straightforward. Some are definitely out of context. The rest are completely obscure to him, which he doesn’t think too deeply about.

Then there’s a selected few that Oscar feels he should know, like the W resembling a fire and the RKN, but is currently blanking on.

The third general hospitality floor, by some coincidence or another, houses all drivers — reserved or otherwise — for lunch. They aren’t the only people on it, as there as also crew members scattered around, but it’s a bit impressive that the entire grid chose to settle on the same floor. Perhaps it’s an (un)intentional consequence of the grid bonding they’re forced to participate in.

Oscar gains more tablemates halfway through his first plate when Ollie and Kimi sit on the edge closest to Pierre’s group. He gains a seatmate when Alex sits next to him and George appears next to Lando.

There’s some sort of harmony in the chaos of overlapping conversations. Even more so when the tables talk to each other without bothering to get up.

Oscar thinks the chaos already peaked when the British and French drivers started defending their respective cuisines from the other’s attacks. Unfortunately, he’s eventually proven wrong when someone makes a deal out of someone else’s entrance to the floor.

"—laptop on a table," he hears a voice say. He can’t see whoever it is, though, since they’re blocked from his view by another.

"Go grab it first then I’ll introduce you to our drivers." The person blocking his view — someone from Williams, judging from the team uniform — moves slightly, allowing him to finally catch a glimpse of the other.

He sees the same Williams polo shirt first. Then— the matrix must’ve glitched.

He doesn’t remember blinking nor zoning out, but the next second he comprehends has [first name] diagonal from him across the table.

It feels wrong — and he isn’t quite sure what ‘it’ is. It is the fact that they’re currently worlds away from Monza? Or the fact that she’s wearing nothing that can get her mistaken as a tifoso?

[First name] gives him a wordless nod of recognition before excusing herself to the rest of the table, her laptop tucked between her arm and side.

"Osc, do you know her?" Someone in front whispers to him. He can’t be bothered to identify which gridmate, though, much less give them a reply. After all, his attention has stuck to [first name] like a moth to a flame.

Oscar has no shame about blatantly listening in on a conversation he obviously isn’t a part of.

"Alex, Carlos, this is our engineering intern for this year," the Williams crew member introduces the three. "She’ll be shadowing your race engineers alternatively."

"I’m Alex Albon, car twenty-three." He watches Alex as the latter holds a hand out for a handshake. "Welcome to team Williams."

[First name] takes his hand, "A pleasure."

Carlos reacts late, so it’s almost as if he’s hesitant to introduce himself. "Carlos Sainz, car fifty-five." Unlike his teammate, he doesn’t offer his hand for a shake. He just nods his head once — which she then returns with the same energy. "I see I got custody of you in the divorce."

[First name] lets out a laugh that doesn’t even reach Oscar’s ears. "[First name] Räikkönen — a child of the Sainz-Leclerc divorce, apparently."

Räikkönen?

Kimi Räikkönen?

Oscar must admit, despite understanding that her father is a former Formula One driver since last year, this revelation is still surprising. It isn’t unexpected, as Kimi Räikkönen was one of his top suspects then, but shock is definitely still there.

Probably because he now has an irrefutable evidence that the ghost of Monza is actually an F1 champion’s daughter.

And because there’s also a small part of him that feels embarrassed for not realizing right away. After all, [first name] wears her father’s number proudly — and her favored RKN logo is close enough to his RKKNN. Quite literally, the answer has been right in front of him this entire time.

"Räikkönen? Like Kimi Räikkönen?" Alex echoes his thoughts unknowingly. "That’s so cool."

"Exactly like Kimi Räikkönen," she replies good naturally. "He’s the one who passed it onto me."

The younger Williams driver is handling the revelation better than he is, as far as he can tell. But maybe that’s because Alex didn’t spend a good year thinking she’s a ghost. "No way."

"Yeah, [first name]," Charles pipes up from his seat at Pierre’s table. "No way you broke the Ferrari alliance!"

[First name] looks over to the side to meet Charles’ eyes. "There is no such thing."

"There is so!"

She doesn’t give the Monégasque the satisfaction of responding. Instead, she just returns her attention to the Williams drivers. "I look forward to working with you, Mr. Albon, Carlos."

She gives them a smile so genuine, the media would’ve scrambled to capture it — partly in disbelief that a Räikkönen could smile like so.

And, for a brief moment, Oscar could’ve sworn [first name]’s smile widens a little when their eyes meet.

(Un)fortunately, she’s gone before he can think too much about it.

The paddock stayed the same with [first name] Räikkönen around, more or less. ‘More’ because the fight for the title is still as cutthroat as the last with new rivalries, without necessarily interfering with the civility between them drivers. ‘Less’ because her presence has caused some drivers to gravitate towards her — unintentionally orbiting her every chance they get.

Fernando is a given. As are Charles and Carlos, based on their already-founded closeness in the hospitality. Alex follows soon after. Then Max.

That’s not an exhaustive list. If it had been, most of the grid would’ve been name-dropped, for sure. Maybe even have all— except one. Oscar.

Oscar doesn’t feel deserving of being [first name]’s friend, for a reason he can’t really put into words. [First name] is . . . [first name]. And he’s . . . just Oscar.

He doesn’t ignore her, of course, nor does he pretend she isn’t there when they cross paths. He just doesn’t go out of his way to be closer than acquaintances and gain her favor. He exchanges brief ‘hello’s with her whenever they meet going opposite ways. He returns her nods and waves of acknowledgment from across rooms, and has initiated them on occasion whenever he spots her first.

He doesn’t take detours to drop her off to her destination. He doesn’t sit with her whenever she’s alone, either. Because then, it’ll be a quiet kind of friendship — and he can’t be her friend.

He’s just her acquaintance, at best, and he’s content with that.

After all, [first name] has more than enough new friends. She doesn’t need him — his friendship, that is.

For her part, she seems to respect the invisible line he has drawn between them. Almost as if she can see it as well as he does.

But, perhaps, it isn’t actually as defined for her. For she has no qualms about crashing his pity party on a sidewalk.

"Are you lactose intolerant?" [First name] appears in front of him seemingly out of nowhere.

Oscar takes a second to process what just happened. Even then, he’s still not sure if he’s understanding correctly. ". . . No?"

She nods, almost approvingly, before handing him a paper bag. "Here."

"What’s—" He starts before she can commence her regular habit of disappearing.

[First name], who is already steps away from him, turns back to face him once more. "My dad says it makes everything feel better."

He lets her go after that, albeit her response just made him even more confused.

When he finally opens the paper bag, Oscar finds a spoon, a bottle of water, and a sealed half-pint of gelato in his favorite flavor.

Something in his chest stirs.

The general hospitality is set to house the entirety of the grid drivers for the nth time this season. Another drivers’ meeting is scheduled to start in thirty minutes, and — in true fashion — less than half have made their way up to the room.

By the time Oscar shows up with a pack of others he met on the way, majority of the rookies are already there. Punctuality has obviously not been drained — or, at the very least, influenced — out of their systems.

"George!" Kimi calls for his teammate’s attention as soon as he spots him amongst the crowd that’s barely entering. "Can we adopt [first name]?"

George’s confusion is evident in his stance. Behind him, Oscar needs to stifle an amused laugh. "What?"

"She sang the Italian national anthem for me!" In all honesty, he isn’t following the Italian rookie’s logic. Thankfully, he isn’t the one who needs to respond. "She can also speak Italian!"

He enjoys the view of the older Mercedes driver buffering for an answer from the seat he secured next to Carlos. Even more so when the younger one of the duo pulls out a pleading look with his "please."

He doesn’t know how he found the strength to, but George eventually replies with a non-answer. "You should probably ask Toto about that, Kimi."

"No! [First name]’s ours!" Alex disproves, protectively. "Get your own [first name]!"

"She was ours first!" Charles joins in. The Monégasque likes reminding people she’s a tifoso first, before anything else, during moments like these. He hasn’t quite moved on from the fact that she chose to intern at Williams rather than Ferrari. "Why do you think she knows the Italian national anthem by heart!"

Lewis lets him do all the talking, as Carlos does with Alex. Both seem to have — wisely — figured out [first name] will put a stop to it soon enough, with or without their varied inputs.

And, sure enough indeed, a high pitched sound comes from the speakers built around the room — which instinctively makes everyone cover their ears.

"Princesa!" Oscar can somewhat hear Fernando scold somewhere behind him. "Stop—"

Thankfully, the sound stops within three seconds — and before they actually have to plead for their hearing.

Ever the nonchalant, [first name] merely scans the crowd of betrayed and confused looks before nodding to herself, "Good." It is then that he realizes she used the feedback to silence the room, with the least energy wasted possible.

He knows there’s a chance that might’ve just sent the room into more chaos. After all, they might all be grown up, but they can also a bunch of children sometimes. It was a fair gamble and yet, somehow, she looks like she was completely certain.

He salutes her for that; for having confidence and conviction on par with that of a Formula One driver.

"You’re our race engineer intern, no?" Carlos inquires before expressing his thanks for the printed meeting agenda she handed him and Alex. "Why are you the one doing all of this?"

She shrugs, "Still an intern."

"Do we get one, too?" Esteban asks for the majority somewhere to his left. It’s a fair question, drivers’ meetings don’t usually have the agenda printed out. It’s usually kept hidden from them, to avoid getting them antsy or, worse, letting them organize their protests.

[First name] points to the Williams logo on her uniform. "I’m only required to make Carlos’ and Alex’s lives a little easier."

They find a stack of meeting agenda copies by the front of the room a minute after she disappears. A sticky note on top reads, don’t pass out if they start fighting.

(She becomes their instant favorite to set up meeting rooms. Unfortunately, the FIA has forbidden Williams to let her facilitate their next turn for the same reason.)

The drivers’ rooms are the most private areas in the paddock. It’s where drivers leave their belongings while they’re out and about. It’s where their visitors usually stay to keep out of the crew’s way until the race. It’s where they sneak in a snooze when they don’t get enough sleep from the night before.

However, despite that, the drivers’ rooms can’t be locked from the outside. The McLaren ones, at least, for the time being while their PIN code lock is being updated.

No one knows about the update except for him and Lando, but he still made sure to stash his belongings inside the lockers instead of leaving them lying around just in case. He has faith and trust in the crew, of course, as he has worked with the majority of them for years, but the garage is also an open space. Someone with malicious intent can easily slip in, unnoticed.

In hindsight, it makes the most sense for someone to slip in when either he or Lando wins a race since the garage will be mostly empty then. Thus, a small part of him isn’t surprised to discover that his driver’s room isn’t exactly the way he left it before leaving for the race he ultimately won.

Nothing is taken, thankfully, and the only thing out of place is the sealed half-pint of gelato on the table — which has a spoon tied on it by a familiar handcrafted OP81 bracelet.

[First name]’s.

There’s no meaning behind her very apparent attachment to it. At least, not in a way that is connected to him personally. For all he knows, she only refuses to stop wearing the bracelet — even at the behest of drivers close to her — because of the young fan that handed it to her.

"You don’t have to keep wearing it."

"I want to."

However, nevertheless, seeing the bracelet with his initials and number around her wrist always spark the same unvoiced feeling in his stomach — the one that grew from what stirred in his chest then.

And, somehow, knowing that she intentionally left her prized OP81 fan-made merch behind almost feels like a concession. Like she’s leaving him behind.

That’s an irrational jump in reasoning. After all, they’re not even friends. He knows that — but, apparently, the rest of his body doesn’t. He can easily blame his heightened emotions and illogicality on the adrenaline that hasn’t completely left his body, but that doesn’t make it any less real.

For a reason he is yet to understand, he’s wholeheartedly convinced [first name] isn’t just letting the bracelet go. She’s letting him go, too. And that thought, however illogically sound, doesn’t sit well in his stomach.

He can’t accept the bracelet with the plausible implication it carries. He can’t accept her concession. He doesn’t want to— He doesn’t want her to give up on him.

(He understands nothing. They’re not even friends.)

Thus, like a man with no time to lose and everything in line, Oscar takes off running before he can even comprehend where his feet are taking him.

"[First name]," he calls in relief when he sees her exit the Williams motorhome the same moment he arrives. His voice comes out a little breathless, a little winded from the impromptu run he did around the paddock post-race. He doesn’t care.

"Oscar," she turns with his name on her lips. Her shock is only evident in her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"To return your bracelet," he admits, "and to thank you for the congratulatory gift."

She makes a sound of acknowledgement as the shock filters out of her eyes. "You’re welcome. You can keep the bracelet."

Her words sting, like alcohol is poured over an open wound.

(Ridiculous. They’re not even friends.)

"I don’t want it." He says abruptly, instantly regretting the words the moment they’re out of his mouth. "I mean— the bracelet looks better on you."

"I don’t really like orange."

Oscar swallows down the instinct to correct. Protecting the McLaren papaya pride is the least of his worries at the moment. "It goes well with Williams blue—" there’s a hint of desperation in his voice now. He finds it difficult to swallow— "and Ferrari red."

[First name]’s silence stretches. He begins to wonder if she’s back into being a mere hallucination; if he didn’t actually catch her on time and she’s bound to disappear in front of him any second.

He unconsciously holds his breath, anticipatory and unblinking. Praying, almost.

(They’re not friends.)

Then, finally, the silence breaks with her laugh sounding like scoff. She walks towards him with amusement dancing almost unnoticeably in her features. "Okay."

Oscar exhales in relief. He slots the bracelet back around her wrist with a silent promise even he is yet know.

(They’re not friends.)

The season calendar ultimately reaches the Italian Grand Prix, as it does every year.

Oscar, for someone who had been looking forward to it before the new season even started, has forgotten about it as soon as the new season actually began. In his defense, his plate filled at an alarming rate, especially with McLaren’s steel determination to become this year’s World Constructors’ Champion as well. It doesn’t help that he’s already seeing his only reason every weekend, either.

Well, ‘only reason’ might be a little too vague. [First name] is certainly part of that reason, but a big part of it is the tradition they unknowingly made. At least, that’s what he’d like to think, anyway.

Even if it no longer rings true, especially since . . . then.

They’re much closer since, having erased the invisible line between acquaintanceship and friendship. They still do everything they used to do, but now they aren’t limited to just those. They occasionally take detours now. And sit together, when they happen to take a break at the same hour. They hide together, too, when they crave the quietness of being away from everyone else.

Yet, despite the undeniable spike in their time spent together, their tradition at Monza has never been brought up. Not even in reminiscence.

As such, any thoughts about their tradition only lied dormant until the day of. More specifically, when Oscar finally finds himself sitting idle in the McLaren motorhome with a view identical to where he had seen her appear for the last two years.

It’s a bit too late to phone her to drop by just for the unspoken tradition’s sake. So, alas, all he can do now is will the universe to bring her to the McLaren motorhome for any reason it can think of.

Oscar lets himself wallow. He figures it’s better for him to do it now, since his brain refuses to let him think of anything else. He can’t risk jeopardizing his team like that, in case his compartmentalizing ability decides to fail him later.

"What are you doing?" A familiar voice pulls him back to reality. He focuses back to comprehend [first name] standing just outside of his personal bubble, clad in her Räikkönen tifoso gear. He almost forgot how she looks in them, having gotten used to seeing her in Williams colors for the past several months.

He spots the OP81 bracelet resting on her wrist. Its black and papaya theme compliments her red and white tifoso outfit.

A small smile forms at the corners of his mouth. "Waiting for you."

She tilts her head slightly in confusion, but doesn’t question him. "Sure."

He decides not to alleviate her confusion. He just starts walking towards the door, completely trusting she’ll follow him out. He gestures for her to exit first. "Fernando should be in the Aston Martin garage at this hour."

She obliges. "I know." Unlike the previous year where she actively fought to not walk next to him, she doesn’t even bat an eye when he claims one of her sides as they make their way to the Aston Martin area. "I’ve always known after our first meeting, actually."

Oscar can’t quite believe his ears. "Seriously?" [First name] affirms. He suddenly begins to question their exchanges during his first two years in McLaren, skimming through vague memories for clues. "Then why—"

"I needed an excuse," she shrugs nonchalantly. Acting as if she isn’t singlehandedly rewriting the way he views their little tradition. "I had quite the crush on you."

At the bluntness worthy of a Räikkönen, Oscar stops working altogether.

๑彡 it’s a little awkward to have an note at the end bc of my tumblr formatting, but it’s important to me that you guys know that yn definitely got banned on purpose. it’s meant to loosely parallel kimi in that grill the grid ep where he lost on purpose so he could leave, heh.

๑彡 also! 5/6th way to finishing this, i realized this prolly would’ve been better if i showed yn’s pov— but that was a lil too late, so osc’s pov had to do. yn’s pov would’ve had more angst in it, too, && idk if y’all dig that. lol. in all seriousness, i hope y’all enjoyed somehow <3

[saatorus]

had the brightest idea…sukuna x tattoo artist reader..😪😪

wc: 1.4k

warnings: smut (unprotected sex)

authors note: anon anon anon. i need to pull your head off so i can get access to your brain like kenjaku so that i can give your smart brain a lil smooch. this was fun to write :3

The first time he walked into your studio, he had zero tattoos. Just scars from what looked like getting into fistfights and that sharp, cocky grin.

You didn’t think he was serious. Guys like him—too smooth, too smug—usually just wanted to flirt and bounce. But he picked a design off your wall, pointed to his chest, and said, “Right here. First one. Don’t fuck it up.”

You didn’t. In fact, he looked almost… reverent, watching you prep. Like he wasn’t used to being touched gently.

You assumed he’d be a one-and-done. He was not. He came back the next week, shirt already off when he walked in. “What’s up, picasso shawty. Wanna do my ribs next?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but you let him sit. Again. And again.

He kept coming back. More tattoos. Bigger pieces. One on his back. One winding around his thigh. Some you designed just for him—your art permanently etched into his skin.

Your studio’s small. One chair. Walls covered in sketches and post-it notes. Half your tools are secondhand, but your work is crisp—clean lines, solid shading. Sukuna never comments on it directly, but he never lets anyone else touch him. Not once.

You pretend not to notice how he watches you set up. The way he stares at your hands like he’s memorizing every move.

He’s always saying dumb shit.

“If I say something filthy mid-session, will you mess up on purpose?”

“If you talk while I’m doing linework again, I’m putting a Hello Kitty on your ass.”

“Tempting.”

You keep it professional for months. Years. But it’s not cold—it’s comfortable. Inside jokes. Dumb snacks during long sessions. Him crashing on your couch once when it got too late. You drawing a fake tattoo on his thigh with sharpie “just to mess with him.”

One night, you’re doing a detailed piece low on his hip. He’s quiet, for once. Then:

“You ever think about how many hours you’ve spent touching me?”

You blink.

“You ever think about shutting the hell up?”

But your voice cracks a little.

The shift is small. He starts showing up without appointments. You don’t kick him out. You start drawing designs with him in mind. You stop correcting him when he calls you “baby” just to mess with you.

One night, it’s late. Like should’ve closed an hour ago late. The shop is quiet, just the soft hum of the fluorescent light and whatever chill R&B playlist is still looping from your phone. You’re cleaning up after a late session with Sukuna—again. He’s lounging in the chair, shirt half-on, scrolling on his phone like he lives here now.

“You know I have other clients, right?” you mutter, wiping down your machine.

He doesn’t look up. “Yeah? You tattoo them like you do me?”

You pause. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He looks up now, real slow. Smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Means you get real quiet when you're working on me. Like you’re focused or… like you’re trying not to think too hard.”

You toss the rag on the tray, annoyed. “I don’t know if you know this, but that’s actually called doing my job.”

“You’re shaky sometimes,” he adds, casual. “Especially when I’m shirtless. Or when I ask for spots you gotta like, get on your knees for.”

You scoff. “You think you’re hot shit.”

He stands. Walks up, real close. “I know I am. But that’s not the point.”

Now he’s right in front of you. Not touching—but close enough that you feel him. Heat off his skin. The scent of his cologne and smoke and something distinctly him.

“You wanna do it or not?” he says, voice low, like he’s done waiting.

Your stomach flips. “Do what?”

“Come on,” he mutters, like he’s tired of the game. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to fuck me since the third tattoo. You gonna keep pretending or you gonna let me fuck you in that chair of yours?”

Your throat goes dry. You stare at him—cocky bastard, red eyes burning into yours, hands flexing at his sides like he’s holding back too.

You don’t say anything. Just grab the front of his hoodie and pull him in. Not your proudest moment professionalism-wise, but he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this.

The kiss is messy. Too fast. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You don’t know who moans first—doesn’t matter. His hands are already on your ass, pulling you in like he’s starving.

You shove him back into the chair. Straddle him. His hands slide up your shirt, palms hot and rough, and he mutters, “Been jerking off thinking about this for months, fuck.”

Your fingers are already at his belt. “Shut up.”

“Not a chance,” he laughs, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna hear how bad I wanted this.”

You sink onto him right there, still half-dressed, the whole thing rushed and reckless. The studio smells like ink and sweat and skin. He’s gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. And you’re riding him like you’ve been needing it just as bad.

No soft words. No slow build. Just the creak of the chair. His filthy mouth in your ear. Your nails digging into his shoulders. And that broken sound he makes when you clamp around him, whispering “Fuck, don’t stop—”

Before you know it, you’re clamping down on him, hard, your orgasm washing in pleasurable waves over you. He follows suit, a final thrust of his hips, emptying his load inside of you.

The only sound is your breathing—still uneven—and the low thrum of the playlist you forgot was even on. You’re half-naked in your own damn studio, still straddling Sukuna in the chair, clothes tugged out of place, skin flushed and sticky with sweat and everything you’d been ignoring for way too long.

You shift off him with a wince. “Holy shit. That chair is not designed for fucking.”

He groans and leans back like he’s broken. “Speak for yourself. I’m thriving.”

“You’re gonna walk outta here bow-legged.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’ll limp home with dignity.”

You tug your shirt back down and start reaching for paper towels, the reality of what just happened catching up to your brain.

“Yo—chill,” Sukuna mutters, standing up behind you and gently taking the paper towels from your hand. “I got it.”

You blink, thrown off.

He gives you a flat look. “I just fucked you in your sacred little tattoo chair. Least I can do is wipe you down…and the damn chair down too.”

You snort, but your stomach flips at the way he says it—casual, like it’s no big deal, but not teasing either. 

He gently parts your legs, a grin on his face when he sees himself seeping out of you, wiping the mess clean. You lightly push your foot against his chest when he continues staring and he finally relents, snickering and grabbing your disinfectant spray.

He grabs a fresh towel, sprays down the chair, even gets the floor where one of you knocked over the rinse cup. You watch him for a second—shirtless, pulling on your pants and standing up—shakily— still flushed, watching the glint of his rings on his fingers as he moves. Like this is just part of the routine now.

“Don’t get used to this,” he says, not looking at you. “I just—y’know. Respect the tools.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what, fucking me is now a line item on your cleaning checklist?”

He grins, tossing the used towel into the bin. “Only if it’s a recurring event.”

You scoff and toss him a water bottle. He catches it midair without flinching, cracks it open like this is just… normal now.

And maybe it kind of is.

He walks back over, presses the cold bottle lightly to your cheek with a smirk. “Still blushing?”

“Still annoying.”

“Still wet?”

You swat him, laughing despite yourself, but you don’t pull away.

There’s a weird quiet after that. Not awkward—just new. Like something’s shifted and neither of you’s pretending otherwise.

You break it first, voice lower now. “So… you still want that piece over your heart?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “If it’s your name? Yeah.”

“You’re so corny. That trend died in 2015.” You roll your eyes, but the smirk tugging at your mouth gives you away.

And when he leans in and kisses you again, actually moving his lips against you with a soft precision, different to how his tongue had been plunged into your mouth just minutes before. He grins—sharp— before uncapping the water bottle.

After a sip of the water, he looks at you over the bottle. “So… you free next week?”

You narrow your eyes. “For what?”

He shrugs. “Tattoo. Fuck. Hang out. Whatever. Don’t pretend you’re not thinking about doing it again.”

You groan. “You are so lucky you’re kinda hot.”

He winks. “And marked up like your own personal sex doll. Admit it—you liked the dick.”

You’re smiling this time. It’s different now. Maybe him being a regular wasn’t so bad at all.

[little-diable]

Lust - Tom Riddle (smut)

Requested by @midoriiakina for my Deadly Sins challenge. I tried to follow the idea as much as possible and hope you like it! Please like and reblog it you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader works at a strip club where she meets a man who seems to watch her every step. But perhaps she is the one watching all along.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), mentions stalking on both sides, stripping, obsession

Pairing: Tom Riddle x fem!reader (1.7k words)

She was wrapped in darkness, only the lights that kept flickering in colourful hues alighted her body every now and then. She had her eyes focused on the crowd, moving to the beat of the song she knew by heart. The strong muscle was pounding in her chest whenever she found his eyes, piercing, calculated, sharp.

He had first stepped into the club weeks ago, suddenly appearing as if he owned the place and every single woman working here. At first she had hated him, had tried to stay away from him and his mysterious aura, but her hiding game had soon failed the second he had requested a private dance from her.

(Y/n) hadn’t spoken a single word to him that night, only mumbling something about their hands-off policy before she had danced for him. He hadn’t made a single sound, and yet she could tell that he enjoyed the performance she put on for him, keeping close enough to feel the heat of his body clashing against her naked chest.

Ever since that night he had turned up every single week, going through the same routine of ordering a drink before requesting some time alone with (y/n). By now she didn’t mind having him close, something had piqued her interest, something that had whispered to her late at night when she had tried to find him online. At first she hadn’t found much, since she only knew his first name and wasn’t even sure if it was his real name after all, but then her curiosity had spurred her on to dig deeper.

It hadn’t taken much for her to find out his name, within a few minutes after flirting with their bouncer, she had learned his details, giving her enough to actually find him online. Somewhere along the way it had turned into a game, she tried to dig as deep as possible, while sharing a few details she had figured out whenever he was close to her. She barely got any reaction from him, just a few raspy laughs and praises that made her wonder if he enjoyed the way she seemed to obsess over him.

The second her song ended, she reached down to collect the money before moving off the stage, accompanied by claps and cheers. She reveled in the attention, enjoying the greedy eyes which wanted her all for themselves and were more than willing to spend enough money on (y/n) to finance her needs. Within minutes she was led to one of the private rooms, eyes finding his as he looked at her.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Her voice had a sultry undertone, wrapping itself around the two of them like a snake slithering up their bodies. He only let go of a hum, leaving her unsatisfied and aching for more praise.

Slowly, she walked towards him and the chair he sat in, thighs spread for her to settle on them. Even though she had always stuck to the no touching policy of the club, she sometimes reached for his hands to place them on her waist. Something about his touch only heightened the sensations she felt in those moments, urging her to roll her hips against his to try and draw a moan from him. Every now and then she succeeded, clinging to the sounds he let go of when she exposed more of her body to his wandering eyes.

“You see, Tom, I always wonder why you seem to go back to me. Why not choose one of the others?” Their eyes held contact as she toyed with the straps of her top, slowly exposing more skin before pulling it off her body. He kept quiet, piercing eyes focusing on her chest as his hands tightened their grip on her waist. “What is it about me that fascinates you?”

Desperation clung to her as she tried to lure something out of him, a single praise she could think back to late at night whenever she was dreaming of him. But deep inside of her she knew that he loved the desperation she couldn’t hide, telling him that he wasn’t just a simple customer but someone she actually wanted close.

“You know, I see your eyes on me. I know you watch me leave the club, and I have seen your car parked near my home. I could call the cops on you.” Her teeth nibbled on her lower lip as her hips kept rolling. Heat wandered up her spine as if it was whispering to her, daring (y/n) to cross that invisible line between them and to actually touch him. Perhaps she would, perhaps she’d give in just once - but only after getting some more answers from him.

“But you won’t.” His raspy voice made her shudder, forcing her eyes back towards his unreadable ones.

“And why is that?” Slowly his hands began to move as if he was testing the water, wondering if she’d allow him to touch the places his eyes had been fortunate enough to study for the past weeks. She didn’t move away from him, almost pressed herself even closer as his cold fingers stroked up and down her sides before teasing the skin beneath her breasts.

“Because you love knowing I’m there. Watching. Waiting.” His hands settled on her chest, thumbs flickering her hardening nipples while drawing a moan from her. (Y/n)’s eyes fluttered close, breath hitched in her chest, unable to pull away from him and his wandering touch. She felt him shift beneath her, lips finding her exposed throat to press a kiss against the spot that instantly made her shudder. “I may be watching, but I know you like having me here just as much, you always look for me.”

“I do.” She hated giving in this quickly, but her body won the upper hand, unable to move from him. His hands kept exploring her warm body, even as she felt him harden beneath her. Whenever she rolled her hips against him, moving like soaring waves clashing against the wooden body of a ship at sea, both let go of sounds so sinful she feared even the devil would look away from them.

“So what is it, doll? What do you want from me?” The words hung between them, filling the room as she pondered over her choices. She knew she needed to pull away, ending something that had spiralled much further than it was allowed to. But she couldn’t, didn’t want to move away from the man who had such an intense obsession for her.

“Everything.” The word rolled off of her tongue before she realised what she was doing. But before she could even try to speak up again, he had already picked her up to carry her to the bed wrapped in darkness. Her body was covered in goosebumps, back arched off the mattress as cold fingers pushed her barely there skirt up to her waist.

“You were mine from the day I first saw you. I knew right then that I needed to have you. And I won’t ever let you go again.” Fear should have buzzed through her veins at that very promise he spoke, but she felt nothing but anticipation. Nothing but excitement which only grew more intense as his fingers brushed over her now exposed heat. “No matter where you go, no matter what you do, I’ll always be there. You may not always see me, but I’m right there.”

Nothing but a whimper left her as he dipped his head down. His lips kissed their way up her inner thighs until he found her cunt, tongue pressed flat against her warm skin in order to explore her. She was already trembling, needing more from the man who exuded something so dangerous, she couldn’t help but ache for more.

He sucked on her pulsing bundle, moaning at the taste while a cold finger was pushed into her warm tightness. (Y/n) didn’t stop her moans from leaving her, filling the room just like the loud music that could be heard from the stage. She was wrapped in everything he offered, body pressed against his mouth as if he was tracing holy words with the movements of his tongue.

It was sinful, all too sinful what they were doing, but she couldn’t worry about any sins, couldn’t worry about the greedy lust that urged them on. All she could worry about was her racing heart and the way her walls fluttered around his fingers.

“Atta girl, I knew your body wouldn’t say no to me.” For a moment, his eyes found hers. They were wordlessly communicating, telling one another that the game had just begun, but the second he curled his finger against her swollen spot, she had to give in to the pleasure once again. Her head fell back against the mattress, hands fisting the covers to try and hold on before she could be ripped from this dimension.

Her orgasm clashed through her without another warning, making her choke on his name while her eyes rolled back into her head. Tom kept sucking on her pulsing bundle, fully enjoying the sight of her trembling body beneath him, until she finally seemed to relax.

“This body is mine, forever now.” The possessiveness dripping from his words made her chuckle. (Y/n) slowly pulled away from him, hand cupping his cheek while a sinister smile tugged on her lips.

“Oh, Tom. Sweet, Tom. You think you’re the one in charge? You think I don’t know about that diary of yours and what you write about me late at night? You think I don’t watch every step you take while letting you believe you’re the one guiding me? Oh, Tom. You’ve got so much more to learn from me.”

[kpopsexstories]

QUICK FIX #45: TXT Yeonjun Missionary Style (Lazy Romance Bonus Story)

Member: TXT Yeonjun

Content: Great missionary sex, Female orgasm, Romantic

Type: MEDIUM

Word Count: 1,137

This story is a bonus story added to Quick Fix Season 5, because I got inspired by the Yeonjun 'Boyfriend' Lazy Romance story I posted a few weeks ago. I realized that story could have shown more of the sex, which this new story now adds.

Both stories are inspired by Yeonjun's song 'Boyfriend' and are part of my Quick Fix Dirty Kpop Imagines series – check it out for more x female reader smut and other groups and members.

-> Read Yeonjun 'Boyfriend' Lazy Romance first, though you don’t need to – it adds a little more buildup, but the story in this post can also be read on its own if you just want some quick, hot smut 🙂

You’ve just put a label on your close friendship and sexual relationship with Yeonjun and it feels good. Real good. Amazing, even. My boyfriend, you think and can’t stop smiling, suddenly feeling very awake.

So does Yeonjun, who is already shirtless and hard. You’ve been lazily making out in the late morning, and now you’re lovingly and gradually undressing each other.

You half way sit up, horny and in love, and Yeonjun extends his hands to help pull your t-shirt over your head. He quickly comes crashing down, attacking your naked breasts with his lips while you reach down to take off the panties you've slept in.

You briefly close your legs so they can slide all the way down. Yeonjun raises his body between a knee and an elbow to give you some space, while simultaneously pulling his shorts down and freeing his rock hard dick. When he comes back down, you're so wet and ready for your first time as an official couple.

Yeonjun pants louder while grinding his naked body against yours. You touch his back and ass and hold him tight around the shoulder, while his hands run up and down your sides with increasing passion. You spread your legs for him, and let out a deep sigh when you feel the head of his shaft push in between your folds.

He plants his lips on yours and keeps them there. He holds his breath and grimaces when he penetrates you. The head goes all the way in, and a third of the shaft with it, before he stops and exhales deeply.

He opens his eyes and smile down at you. “My girlfriend,” he whispers. You lovingly stroke his side and lift your head to kiss his lips.

The kiss lingers, until Yeonjun closes his eyes again and jolts. He grunts and abruptly draws a breath. Then you both relax, when he sinks down between your legs and the throbbing boner begins to rub against your insides.

You start to fuck, slowly. You raise your knees slightly in the air while rubbing your feet against his legs. He buries his head in your neck and his ass moves deliberately up and down. Each time he thrusts into you he exhales, and you open your mouth wide to breathe abrupt puffs of air on his warm and soft skin.

Your body starts to rock back and forth as the sex picks up the pace. Yeonjun holds you tight, altering between kissing your cheek and panting softly by your side.

Every little movement and shift between the two of you feels stronger and more loving than any previous time you've done this. Perhaps it's the slow speed but passion in Yeonjun's soft jolts that makes every thrust of his hips feel more intense. Maybe it's the happiness you both feel from making your relationship status official. Whatever the reason, it's a physical pleasure like none you've ever experienced before.

You've crossed a barrier by saying the words ‘I love you’, and by confirming what you both hoped for. You've never been so wet for a man in your life as you are for Yeonjun in this moment. His your boyfriend, and you're his girlfriend. You've never felt so much joy in your heart.

*****

You have no idea how long it's been since you took off your clothes and Yeonjun's dick slid inside and filled you up. It feels like hours that have passed in seconds. In reality it's only been ten minutes. The best ten minutes of sex you've ever had.

“Ahh, Yeonjun,” you moan. Hearing his name triggers something in him.

He puts his hands by your sides on the bed and pushes his upper body above yours. You smile at each other when your eyes meet, but only for a second as he continues to move his hips and groin between your legs. You bend your knees and lift your ass slightly, and Yeonjun's dick suddenly hits you in just the right spot.

He starts to moan while thrusting faster, which makes the wonderful sensation stronger yet. “Mm, mm, mm,” he repeats with each jolt, as your bodies clap together as one.

You squeeze his hips with your thighs. “Mm, Yeonjun!” you exclaim which surprises you, because you've never said his name during sex before and now you’ve done it twice.

“Ahh, ahh, yeah, I love you,” he whispers while grimacing, before he comes crashing back down and you feel the full length of his body in your arms.

He pushes faster into you while keeping his arms and upper body still. You hold him tighter and open your mouth wide to let out air and catch your breath. You feel your orgasm building which makes you buck your hip, repeatedly jamming it against Yeonjun's pelvis, seconds before you reach your climax and your whole body is filled with a euphoric bliss.

“Ahh, Yeonjun!” you exclaim again, louder this time. Ahh, ahh, yes Yeonjun, Ah-Ah-Ah-Ahhhhh!

Every muscle in your body stiffens. Yeonjun is tense and hot. You can feel his grimacing face press against your neck while he moves his ass quickly up and down, rocking his body back and forth, until he too reaches his peak and his dick erupts inside you.

“Mmpfhhh,” he groans, a muffled sound by your ear. “Mm, mm, MPFHH!”

He jolts several times while he unloads. His dick jerks which only makes you more eager for it. Your own orgasm starts to fade out, while he collapses on top of you and squeezes your boob and waist.

“Ahh, fuck,” he sighs loudly. This is also a first, as he's never been so audible when you've had sex before.

“Mmm, Mmm,” you pant slowly while gasping for air. “I love you Yeonjun.”

“Ahh, babe,” he says. “Fuck, you're amazing. I love you so much.”

*****

You lay naked in Yeonjun's arm, resting on his shoulder, watching his chest and stomach move slowly up and down while you trace your fingers over his body. You feel spent but happier than ever. That was incredible sex, short but stronger than ever, thanks to the physical and emotional connection between you.

You're not sure if Yeonjun has drifted off to sleep again. He's on his back and his eyes are closed when you lift your head to check. You kiss his lips and he turns to face you.

“Why are you looking at me like I'm your boyfriend?” he asks with a playful grin.

“Because you are,” you say and smile back at him.

He pulls your head closer and gives you a kiss on the nose. “I like that,” he says, before leaning back on the pillow and you return to his shoulder.

Lazy mornings like this are great. You can't wait to have many more of them together.

[lordgeneralsix]

istvan in henry's place my lord? 👀 please share your new kcd diseases with us.......

this disease is what I like to call the um. sympathetic view of istvan. there isn't much to it since it's ofc just guesswork but here's the general idea...

let's start from the end of that post: "'you just won't give up will you? .. I actually like that about you .. it reminds me of someone'... makes me wonder about the stronger dogs he's confronted exactly like this and reduced them to nothing but a bloodstain on the floor."

istvan didn't come out of the womb evil, no one does, but we know what triggered this mental break - the turks killing his parents. it didn't happen overnight; this spiral was gradual. his life was stripped away from him and he's been acting out of self preservation ever since, desperately trying to regain control in his life.

i wonder about the time before he met erik and before he became nobility. istvan wasn't handed anything on a platter. he was not born w a silver spoon in his mouth like all his other nobleman colleagues, he had to earn that shit through blood. he doesn't fight for sigismund's cause, he is a mercenary with a bandit lover who fights for themselves only, which means sticking with the stronger dogs no matter what - because frankly, he is not.

istvan is a hypocrite; his whole life is about revenge. it didn't stop with killing turks, or the turks, his wrath extends to any that threaten his existence. then he finds erik and he feels for him. he takes erik in because he sees himself in his eyes, as I've mentioned before on my isterik post. istvan telling henry revenge is childish nonsense isn't him scolding henry, he's speaking from his own experience of living for nothing but revenge and never being sated. and maybe, just maybe, he's grown weary of the fight. but stopping is no longer a choice.

I'm going to throw in something i said to you before but it's pretty relevant now:

"[...]I really struggle to believe the evil mastermind narrative, bc taking out a man like istvan is completely insignificant compared to taking out a man like von bergow ... no one really respected him and I'm sure he knew, I mean they thought he was So weird and that He Killed Himself at trosky, not that he was significant enough to be hated and assassinated."

i feel like istvan's significance is played up. he was given a warden's job with little defense and three men who wanted to tear him limb from limb. he knew something bad was going to happen at trosky. his death is no big loss to anyone (except erik), because a spy can easily be replaced. that's all he ever was. istvan isn't important and neither is henry. istvan is doing bandit work and getting his hands dirty while his allies remain cozy in their castles - henry does the exact same field work for his lords. difference is, henry still has faith in people and the world, and of course his people care about him. istvan only has erik.

istvan is not stupid, he knows his allies are using him just as much as he's using them. then he tries to convey this reality to henry about his own allies with little success. during the torture scene he tells henry this isn't his war, almost pleading. very little torture actually takes place, and he chooses psychological tricks instead of physical pressure (e.g. saying zizka already told him what he needs to know when he didn't, letting henry say stupid things to him with little consequence, godwin always breaks if henry doesn't talk, maybe istvan knew and dragged it out to see just how much these people care about henry). he feels for henry in his own way, else he had many chances to just kill him and be done with it.

I draw lines to henry because he is also not fighting for wenceslas' cause, he is fighting for himself and the people he loves first who happen to align themselves with wenceslas. but henry is on a revenge streak first and foremost. he brutalized runt and istvan over a sword and treated the man who killed his parents w more dignity. he is just as capable of taking the low road as istvan, and for the moment he enjoys it too.

so when henry stares istvan down, istvan sees his younger self who revelled in his newfound control through brutality... but now he's aware of his place in the world and was trying to make sure erik didn't follow the same path, and by extension henry. he's much older than them. he's seen a lot of horrible shit; seen people succumb to the same cycle - including himself. erik represents the hope of breaking this cycle, and perhaps he saw that same hope within henry too.. but that doesn't matter anymore.

I can't stop thinking about istvan confronting the men who killed his parents the way henry confronted him. maybe they were important, maybe they were just soldiers. but there was no chance of a fair fight, maybe a knife in the dark, even poison. maybe he gave them the runt special, who knows. but for sure there are countless men he's graced with a visit in the night, just as he did with talmberg and hans' company. the stronger dogs have one fatal flaw of underestimating the weak, so he wouldn't make the same stupid mistake with henry... but it's a shock when he stabs him with the dagger so easily because he had more faith in henry keeping his honour. then he uses his final breath to not chide or congratulate henry for "finally learning", but warning him once again of the path he's carving. if he truly hated henry, this would not have been so easy.

so... i guess my overarching point is, "henry is like istvan" is correct in some ways, but i feel more that henry is a reflection of who istvan used to be and istvan is a reflection of who henry could become.

[dreamscapesofimagination]

Hii if you're taking requests could you write some NSFW for Satan? More on the sweet and romantic side? 👉👈 I really like your writing

I'm so glad you enjoy my writing!

TW: Soft!dom Satan, first time w/ eachother, he is down bad for you, kinda freaky, listen i think its sweet but i also think that as demons they have a more possessive/unhinged streak as well as a thing for corruption, slight imagined blood drinking, unprotected pinv, creampie

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

The way he kissed you was reverant. Warm hands caressed your body, basking in the syrupy mewls that dripped from your lips.

His eyes opened as you squirmed away, green eyes hazy as he looked at your flushed face, lips swollen and slick with spit.

It made him want to capture them again, to kiss you until he had stolen the breath from your lungs, until you needed him to breathe.

"You okay?" he asked, forcing his head to clear a bit as he watched you carefully.

His eyes dropped to where your teeth worried your lower lip, digging into the soft flesh and he wished to replace them with his own, sink his teeth in until he could taste the metallic tang of your blood.

"What is it?" he asked, reaching a hand to gently caress your cheek before pulling your lip from between your teeth, thumb resting gently on the plush skin.

Your eyes glanced down shyly as you spoke- the sheer innocence of your countenance luring him in like a siren song.

"'m scared I won't be good enough," you mumbled, unable to meet his gaze.

Satan froze for a second, processing your words.

You? Not good enough? The very idea was laughable.

If only you could read his thoughts, see how he wanted to bite into your skin, hear all the sweet little whines that he would draw from your lips, feel the way your arousal would drip around him.

Perhaps it was better that you couldn't read his mind. The way he imagined stealing you away, hiding you so that you were only his, so he could sink into the soft squish of your body whenever he pleased- surely the thoughts racing in his mind would frighten you.

To think that a human had him under such a spell.

He shook his head wildly, pressing his forehead to yours in a comforting gesture.

"You could never be anything besides perfect." a soft gasp leaves your throat before his leans forward, capturing your lips with his own again.

His hands trace under your shirt, slowly skimming it up until you part just long enough for him to toss it aside.

Your breasts heave in your bra with every ragged breath. The sight of your blown out pupils is enough to have Satan wondering if you are the true Avatar of Lust.

The scent of your arousal is thick in the air, his mouth watering at the sugary smell.

His lips trail down your neck, nipping the soft skin as he makes quick work of your remaining clothes, impatiently tugging his pants down.

He runs his dick through your drooling folds, eyes rolling back in his skull at the sensation, feeling his resolve fray.

"Be gentle?" your timid voice reaches his ears, and his eyes snap open as he takes in the sight of you beneath him.

Without hesitation he laces his fingers with yours, flashing you a lovesick smile, "of course, pretty girl."

His other hand guides his member to your core and the first press has you keaning.

The resistance of your slick walls has him shuddering, eyes focused on your pinched brow, watching your glossy lips fall open as he slowly sinks in.

"Oh, fuck," his head drops, a whine leaving his own throat once he bottoms out, feeling your gummy walls flutter around him.

Here, in your silken pussy, was the closest thing he would ever experience of the divine.

And it sparks a sick thought of ruining you- defiling your ethereal form until all you could think of or desire was him.

He had promised to be gentle, but he knew he could tear you down and build you up again without ever getting rough.

His hips slowly withdraw, strings of your slick coating him while your pussy desperately tries to suck him back in.

Rolling his hips, Satan begins to fuck you, thrusts slow and deep. Sharp little whines tear from your throat as the pleasure simmers through your veins.

The sight of you under him, skin glistening with sweat, cream gathering around his pistoning cock, its enough to have him gone.

"Fuck, pretty girl. So good- so good around me," Satan is not the most talkative demon, but here? Buried deep inside the furnace of your crying cunt? He can't help the drunken babbles that fall from his lips.

The praise seems to go straight to your pussy, and Satan hisses as you tighten around him.

"G'nna cum for me, sweet thing? Let me feel you squeeze 'round me?"

You nod wildly at his words, "feels so good!"

A feral moan rips from his chest at your words, hips losing rhythm as he thoroughly pulls you apart.

"Satan!" you all but scream his name as your cunt squeezes around him.

And if Satan could, he would save this moment forever, the way your body archs into him, eyes screwing shut, pink tongue lolling from between your lips.

"So good for me baby-fuck!" he snarls as his own orgasm rips through him, balls drawing tight as he fucks into you with desperate little grinds, coating your insides with his seed.

Both of your chests heave as you come down from your highs, and after a moment, Satan speaks.

"Told you you'd be perfect," he huffs out, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips as you giggle under him.

As he looks down at you, he imagines that this is where he would always want to end up. You, glowing and giggly as he holds you, your combined spends dripping from your addictive center.

"Satan?"

He hums with a dazed, love drunk expression.

"I don't think I can walk."

He knew he could ruin you without being rough.

[dandysworld-meh-imagines]

How about some Enemies to Lovers Scraps X Canine reader?

Enemies To Lovers With Scraps As A Canine Reader!

I think I did this right, this was fun, haha! Scraps is really something, got her in blackout in a public run yesterday, it ended our run sksks. Here you go, dear! Thank you for requesting! <3

-Anna

-Scrap's tail just.. wags when you are around. It's not like she hates you or anything but she feels the way her ears drop when you growl or make a sound similar to it, even if you don't always mean to. It reminds her of Pebble a lot and she doesn't really want to be around you for her own sake. She's not that secretive about it, always making sure to keep a good distance from you. It's pretty safe to say that you got the hint basically.

-You, on the other hand thought that she just disliked you for being a canine, which got you pretty upset, so you also avoided her, getting defensive when she happened to be around and she would hiss a bit as you two go your separate ways. It just made you growl in annoyance which would make it worse pretty much if she happened to stick around. It was obvious for anyone around that you two were pretty much enemies at this point.

-This really got Goob sad! Just like Pebble, he doesn't understand why Scraps just simply dislikes you! His shoulders would drop as he would frown when he witnesses the whole thing and Goob is one of those toons where no one really liked seeing him sad. He is a pretty expressive fluffy craft, after all! It did get Scraps sad too when she sees her brother like this but she can't help it when you growl lowly, it gives her the chills!! Goob would try to think hard of something because he doesn't like it when his sister and his friend have this tense atmosphere as they make aggressive noises to each other.

-That was when Goob had the brilliant idea of doing an activity with you two, together. He figured it would be a good way to get to actually know each other and maybe.. not be so aggressive to one another? Normally at first, you two declined but when you two watched as Goob got sad, you decided to give in at the end with a sigh. This got Goob excited as he looked forward to it, running to get the art supplies ready. Drawing together with Scraps would always feel nice to him! He hopes you two would get along and share that feeling!

-The actual meeting did discourage Goob a lot as it was awkward with little talk but it was.. alright. You didn't need to talk that much if you drew, right? Scraps watched as you drew while she struggled with her claws, sighing and then switching to origami. She did like to draw but she would struggle and switch between the two activities. Her attention was all on the origami as she tried to not look at you. Things seemed.. okay for the most part, no arguing or making any sort of noises at each other. Her tail wagged low and slowly around as her hands worked hard.

-You thought the way she did origami was quite impressive and your grumpy mood slowly went away as you watched her work on it. Scraps might have claws but she knows how to do a good origami with all this paper and that around! She didn't really notice you staring, just doing finishing touches on it before making it a some sort of small creature and giving it to Goob to color, which he was so excited for, tapping his hands on the table as he thanked Scraps happily and hugging her! Scraps smiled as she patted his head and hugged him back. Maybe.. she wasn't as bad as you thought.

-After that, you decided to compliment Scrap's origami skills, which got her surprised as her eyes widened a bit and she blinked. She gave you a small smile as she thanked you and suddenly that tense awkward atmosphere left almost immediately. It got Goob smiling wider as his plan worked! He picked up a marker to start coloring the origami to give it more life while Scraps worked on another. The fluffy craft listened as you and Scraps started the small talk, talking about things and asking questions to one another. She also did compliment your drawing skills too, saying you draw nicely, it got your tail wagging a bit, happy for her nice words.

-While not an immediate success, you and Scraps stopped the whole thing with being angry at each other. She didn't mind being so close to you and it was more of a small talk than actually talking to each other. Hey, it was still pretty good progress at least! You two got slowly more comfortable with one another and she considers you a nice friend. She lets you know that when you growl, it gives her the chills and apologizes for being mean to you which you appreciate and apologize back, thinking it was because you were a canine which she surprised her and made her feel bad.

-You started to really like the way she leaves her origami around on random spots. It filled the place with her presence here and there which you liked. The most recent origamis would look even better with more lines as time went on, you could clearly see the improvement. You figured she leaves them around for Goob to grab and color or add small accessories before setting them back on the same place again. It must be a thing they love to do together, combining their own skills. Even without any colors and that, you loved to admire her skills, you couldn't help but let her know about it, making her giggle as she warmly smiles at you.

-As time went on and on, you and Scraps became closer and it was something that made Goob very happy and proud of himself! He smiled as he watched you two get along super well and he was just very glad that he helped. You never thought you two would catch feelings for one another but you were pretty happy when it became official. Scraps trusted you a lot and wasn't as scared when you make growls or anything like that, because she knew it would never be at her. She hopes you have enough space in your room because she is going to give you a lot of her origamis or drawings for you to do anything you wish with them!

Thank you for reading! <3

[thatspurgatory]

OKAY FUCK DRAWING IM GONNA DEVELOP THE AMNESIA AU

//amnesia, gaslighting, just toxic yandere behavior

I do like the idea of people somehow discovering Silver is the son of Dawn Knight and Queen Leah and being the focus of attacks. He thought he was being injured for defending Malleus and that actually the person wanted to hurt Malleus instead of him, which isn't the case.

He gets hit by an amnesia spell, and the last thing he can see is his father coming up to him after defeating whoever was fighting Silver.

When he wakes up, the first he sees is this black and pink haired man throwing himself on him and hugging him, followed by some green haired guy starting to scold him for being so reckless. But all Silver can respond is, "Who are you? Why am I here?"

After the initial shock, Lillia ( who's very devastated to know his own son, doesn't remember a single thing about him, not even by telling him who he was) and Sebek go inform Malleus about the situation. Malleus was initially sad to know what happened to Silver... to think he probably doesn't remember Malleus either leaves him with a bitter taste on his mouth. However, he thinks it's better not to tell Silver everything, not even about his job as a bodyguard, as the amount of information he would get could stress him and not only but his duty might burden him when he needs to take time to rest.

Malleus and Lillia are very sure this attack was personal towards Silver, so while he rests, Lillia will look a way of regaining his son memories while Malleus investigates what the motive of the attack was ... he might as well need that person alive for now.

It's weird to Malleus, though, since Silver doesn't know about his duty and treats Malleus the same way he would treat a friend, even though he's more polite as Silver obviously knows he's a prince. It reminds him of simpler times when Silver was just the boy he used to visit every now and then, who loved to play with him, who didn't keep Malleus at a distance because of their roles.

Maybe Silver should stay not knowing this part. He can know everything but this, actually.

Malleus craves Silver's affection more than he knew, actually. He never knew how good it would be that they could hold hands, that Silver gets to talk to him about his problems (especially the amnesia) while Malleus listens and comforts him, that they even get to hug now... he doesn't want to let Silver go to being a retainer.

He can never return to the past now. Malleus doesn't want to feel so lonely anymore. He wants Silver close by his side, like a lover, not a guard.

Well, a little lie wouldn't hurt, would it? He did tell Lillia and Sebek to keep quiet about Silver's retainer job... it wouldn't hurt to tell Silver that he wasn't a body guard at all. After all, didn't that job hurt him? Malleus didn't need Silver's protection, but Silver DOES need Malleus to protect him at all times.

That mindset would worsen once Malleus found that Silver is being targeted for being Dawn's son. Ah, he gets too worried about him 24/7, and no one but Malleus is trustable enough to be so close to Silver, well, except Lillia and Sebek, he guesses. One more lie is fine. Those friends Silver had didn't want his good anyway, so even if Malleus did make some things up, he was right to do so.

The orders have changed now, and now they can't let Silver leave. What if he gets hurt so badly again? What if someone truly powerful is after him? Only Malleus can protect him. Not anyone else is capable of doing so. He tells Lillia that he doesn't need to look for a cure for Silver. They can just tell him everything. With the exception of that one information, of course. Lillia accepts it... maybe it's for the better that Silver doesn't know.

Ah, Malleus loves how Silver trusts him.

That's why he tells him they were lovers in the past, no more guard and prince history, that wasn't doing any good for both of them. They are lovers, always were, don't you trust Malleus to tell you the truth, Silver? It isn't good to worry about nothing at all? To just remain in the castle and love Malleus?

Silver doesn't need to know. After all, if he knew, Malleus would erase his memories once more again. That's the only way to save them both from a horrible path.

//yeah fuck the plot of the original game lol I just like the dialogues from Toma since they are very yandere!Malleus TO ME!!

"Are you scared of me?"

"Just like you don't care about my pain, I won't care for yours as well."

"I do everything to keep you safe, and yet you still escape."

I may have get some dialogues wrong BUT YOU GET THE VIBES

[clockworkreapers]

More TFTGS memes

[cent-scratchnsniff]

hiii cool drawing person!! I uh saw that you kind of do requests? So I was wondering if I could request a little doodle of Yesod hugging Netzach.. I feel like Netzach goes through so much hell that he'd need that, and Yesod would like to give affection to someone considering his uh. . . prior need to delete a bunch of information and pretend that no one who died existed you know ? Plus snake.. haha good at squeezing. and he's chest height, how stupid <3 thank you so much for making so many people's days with your art and your thoughts oh my god your thoughts. i love how you dissect these little freaks 🥺

hi neat anonymous sender!! thank you so much for your words!!! im so glad that i can bring some sort of joy and happiness even if it is small. and that my thoughts and writings are well received still. i am still in a bit of a shock that people like and read them even with the passing time. . . i hope youre okay with these doodles! thank you for sending this in

[xxplastic-cubexx]

normal erik is honestly the only time i like erik with a beard and u make him look even better

after staring long and hard at normal erik i had become convinced magneto can look Acceptable with a beard under the right circumstances

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King Seb :D

[arolesbianism]

Shakes and cries I wanna make Jackie parent hc designs but I can't because potentially one of them is a prevalent character now and her ass has not spoken a single line yet so I both know nothing and can't just start making shit up yet </3333

[touchlikethesun]

so james’ tattoos are obvs the antlers along his v-line, matching with sirius’ flower v-line tats, his gryffindor quidditch jersey number on his bicep, and then constellations across his chest for sirius and reg. regulus has stars tattooed around his moles, on his collarbone, arms, and back, all in slightly different styles, since some have been done by different artists and some have been done by his friends. he also has a sun over his heart with long rays reaching out across his body.

[coolauntlilith]

Every now and then I replay the first episode of VLD and I wonder why I thought it be a good show lol