#i just hAVE FEELINGS THAT I NEED TO BE LET OUT

[autumnscribbles]

take care of you | rc

pairing: mommyissues!rafe x pogue!reader

summary: after a heated argument with ward, rafe seeks comfort from the only woman in his life who’s ever stayed

warnings: wee bit of theorizing about mama cameron (death)

wc: 1.8k

a/n: hey friends!! thank you to the anon that sent this request in!! i love me a soft rafe moment who just needs to be held🥹 enjoy!! feel free to send me more angsty/soft rafe i love it!!!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘

Rafe slammed the truck door shut behind him, twisting his key into the ignition. Ward stood in the doorway ahead of him, his mouth moving but his words unheard. Rafe stopped listening to him even before he decided to leave. He couldn’t listen to it anymore. The rain pelted the windowsill, overpowering the pounding sound of his accelerated heartbeat. He pulled out of the driveway, no destination in mind. He just had to leave.

As he drove, his headlights broke through the rain ahead, illuminating the pitch black road. His breathing was still heavy, trying to ignore his fight with Ward. They weren’t exactly few and far between, but this one had escalated particularly badly. He replayed it over and over, on the verge of screaming just to make it stop.

He didn’t know why he tried to hard to impress Ward, or to get his validation. Everyone is his life left in one way or another. Whether it was on their own terms, or they were taken. He clung to Ward and the fact that just maybe, he would stick around. Be proud of him. In the end, everyone gave up on him. Everyone screwed him over.

Except maybe one person.

When Rafe first met you, he didn’t like you. He never thought he could be friends with a pogue, let alone be with one romantically. You had too much confidence for someone who didn’t have very much. He admit, he thought less of you. He judged you about things that didn’t truly matter. Eventually, he began to find you endearing. You didn’t need boats, a big house, designer clothes, or anything material to be happy. You knew who you were, and he admired that.

You understood him in ways no kook ever had, and probably more than any kook ever will. You knew hardship, and you saw through his bravado. You could tell deep down, he was in pain. No money could fix what was truly happening inside. All the other kooks were shallow. Never having any conversations with substance, just rambling about bullshit. Rafe never really fit in with any of them. He pretended to be friends with most of them, to keep up appearances and his reputation. At the end of the day, he knew none of them truly cared about him. Even worse, he knew they would mock him if they knew he was with you.

Without realizing, Rafe ended up pulling into your driveway. Through the still pouring rain, he could barely see your house. All the lights were off, including the porch light. Were you home? He didn’t even know. As his mind reeled, he automatically drove here. He wanted to see you. Wanted your comfort. Before you, he hadn’t had that in a long time. Since his mom…no one had ever been there for him. No one to tell him things would be okay, no one to comfort him, or hold him. He craved it.

He hopped out of the car, jogging through the rain to your front door. He rapped his knuckles, hoping you would appear on the other side. He saw a light turn on inside, and exhaled a sigh of relief.

You opened the door, met with a dripping wet and sad looking Rafe on the other side. You were surprised to see him. You had some distance from each other recently, since Rafe told you that his friends couldn’t know about your relationship. You pulled back as he continued to hang out with them, unsure how to move forward.

Seeing him here made your heart sink. He pouted as his blue eyes bore into yours, sadness overcoming his entire expression.

“Can I come in?” he asked. “Please.”

“Of course,” you muttered. You stepped aside, letting Rafe into your empty house.

He crossed the threshold, a shiver coming over his body at the sudden change of temperature. His wet clothes left him cold, making the warmth of your house even more shocking to his system. He wiped at his face in attempt to dry it.

“Are you cold?” you asked gently. “Here let me go get you some clothes and a blanket.”

You walked away for a moment, leaving Rafe standing in your doorway. You gathered a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that belonged to your brother. He wasn’t here, he wouldn’t mind. You snatched your fuzzy blanket from your bed, scurrying back to where Rafe stood waiting. You passed him the clothes, offering him to go change.

As he took his time, you put a kettle of water on the stove. Opening your white cabinets, you rummaged through the various flavours of tea you had. You settled on chamomile. You knew Rafe liked it, even though he would never admit it to literally anyone else. You grabbed 2 mugs and placed the tea bags inside as the kettle began whistling.

You took the two steaming mugs out to the coffee table, where Rafe sat on the couch, waiting for you.

“Here,” you muttered, handing him the mug. You grabbed the blanket, placing it across his lap. “That should warm you up.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, gentle eyes looking up at you.

You sat down beside him, tucking your legs up on the couch. You both sat in silence for a moment, sipping your tea. He let out a small sigh after his first sip, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“My favorite,” he whispered. You responded with a nod.

“You take such good care of me,” he said, breaking the silence more. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Rafe,” you sighed.

He shook his head, not wanting you to deny the truth. He didn’t want you to tell him that he deserved it when he knew it wasn’t true. You were consistently there for him, exuding a kindness he’d never felt. Yet what did he do in return? Essentially tell you he’s embarrassed about your relationship. It was ridiculous, and you shouldn’t be nice to him.

“Come here,” you whispered, opening your arms to him.

His eyes welled up with tears, and he leaned over, resting his head on your lap. You tugged the blanket up slightly higher, covering his torso. You ran your hands through his hair and down his back, feeling the tension release from his body.

Unexpectedly, the tears continued to fall harder. Rafe’s breath caught in his throat as he heaved out a sob.

“You’re okay,” you cooed. “I’m here.”

He let out all the emotions he had been trained to hold back. Grown men didn’t cry. Strong men didn’t cry. This is what he was told over and over. No one ever let him express himself freely, or show vulnerability. For some reason, he felt safe to show it around you. Confident that you didn’t judge him, or view him as weak.

He didn’t realize how much he was craving to just be held. To have his hair played with, his back scratched. To be told it’s okay. He couldn’t remember a time when someone treated him so gently. He wondered if his mom was the last person who truly took care of him. Now, he felt responsible to take care of people around him most of the time.

“Talk to me,” you said. “What happened?”

“My dad,” he blurted out. He rubbed the tears from his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to compose himself. “We got into a fight, as always. I accused him of…of killing my mom.”

“What?” you asked, unable to hide the shock in your voice. “Do you really think…”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was too young, but sometimes what he says just doesn’t add up. Doesn’t matter anyway, not like anything would happen to him.”

You nodded silently, knowing he was right. Even if Ward had killed her, no justice would be had. You knew Rafe grappled with the loss of his mom. Rose wasn’t exactly a replacement. She was cold, unkind. Rafe was in a constant battle with Ward. Trying to impress him, get his validation. Rafe grew up wanting his dad’s success, but most of all he just wanted his love. His acceptance. He didn’t think he would ever have a real family. That possibility only came into view when he met you.

“I’m so sorry, Rafe,” you consoled him. “I know how tense things can get with your dad. My arms are always open if you need a break, or need to talk.”

He sat up from your lap, facing you. His eyes were bloodshot from his previous tears. His usually hard features had softened, his eyes still carrying a deep sadness that you knew you couldn’t fix.

“I’m going to tell everyone we’re together,” he told you. “You’re…you’re perfect. You don’t deserve to be hidden. I don’t deserve you in general.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “When you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” he nodded. “I think…I think you’re the only person who actually cares about me. Who listens and…sees me.”

Your eyes welled up slightly. You weren’t expecting Rafe to say something so vulnerable like this. His rough edges were beginning to soften around you.

“I see you, Rafe,” you told him. You reached out and cupped the side of his face, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.

He leaned forward, his warm lips crashing onto yours. The kiss was desperate, yet gentle. You didn’t realize how much you had missed this. When you pulled away, Rafe’s eyes were glistening once more.

“Everyone in my life leaves, or screws me over,” he told you, repeating his previous thoughts. “Please don’t leave me.”

You pulled him towards you, wrapping your arms around him. He melted into your touch, safety and warmth encompassing his entire being.

“I’m here, Rafe,” you whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You heard his stomach gurgle, making you let out a quiet chuckle. “Hungry?”

He nodded into the crook of your shoulder. You laughed once more as he pulled back, a smirk on his face.

“Let me make you something,” you told him. You planted a kiss on his cheek before standing up, placing the blanket over his carefully. “You just sit here and relax, okay?”

“I love when you take care of me, baby,” he murmured as he rested his head on the arm of the couch.

You smiled down at him before going into the kitchen to make him some food. He felt safe with you. You had to admit that your heart soared at the thought that you were the first person he came to after a fight with his dad. The first person he opened up to about his mom, to try in front of.

You didn’t even realize it would always be you. You would always be the first person he would run to, even in a crowded room.

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[priniya]

𝜗𝜚 𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝜗𝜚

⋆ pairing. oscar piastri x verstappen!reader

⋆ summary. falling in love has never been on your radar, but when the cute, quiet guy finds his place in your heart, you try to cherish the rare, yet beautifully domestic moments. that is, until you hit the four years together mark and realise that your family probably doesn’t know.

GROWING UP YOU WERE CONVINCED BY THE circumstances that being loved must be earned. you had never put any thought into that — it was just the things were, at least that’s how you were brought up. if you did something your parents didn’t like, you were given a cold shoulder and — from time to time — a silent treatment. as a teenager, you came up with a… pretty saddening conclusion that love wasn’t worth it in the end, so you simply avoided any kind of romantic relationships.

to be completely honest, it wasn’t a hard task. all you ever wanted since you entered the awkward phase of your life, when you could make your own decisions, one of which was leaving your household as soon as it was only possible.

you had departed from your home around the age of fourteen, after lots of begging to let you study abroad had taken place. you were the youngest out of the three. your brother was already in formula one, when you were wearing a plaid skirt, a merlot blazer with the school’s logo, a matching necktie and a few more things that made max and victoria call you a posh, british girl. you didn’t mind it, you were glad to be out of the house, slightly distancing yourself from your family overtime.

the day you met oscar took place on the day of your eighteenth birthday. you and some friends had gone out to celebrate not only your birthday, but also your acceptance to the king’s college in london, giving you an opportunity to pursue your dreams of becoming a doctor. you were yet to tell your family about it, having lied to them about the date, wanting to have this moment to yourself.

you went out to a few bars before ending up in a club as the girls secretly wanted you to find a guy to go home with, since the last year and a half you had been constantly overworking yourself to get into your dream university, (“you got the school in the bag, now get some lad to relieve the pressure”).

oscar had been racing in formula renault at the time, but ever since you left the netherlands, racing hadn’t been on your mind for a long time — it probably should, considering your big brother was two points behind kimi räikkönen last season, however you had a feeling as if racing was the reason you were so disconnected from your family. your dad was racing in formula one, your mom was karting, your brother has been racing in formula one as well, and your sister shared the interest, while the love for partaking in the sport never appeared in your heart.

your chest was slightly pressed against the countertop, smiling at the bartender with a drunken look in your eyes, while he was preparing your umpteenth jägerbomb. jesus christ, you really needed that break. the alcohol running through your veins was really hitting you already as your body couldn’t stay still even for a second — your hips swaying to the beat. that was until you looked around the place and your eyes landed on a boy your age. he was wearing a white, printless t-shirt that clung to his body, turning your quick look-around into a staring situation.

if sober, your thoughts would stay where they should — in your mind, however… you were far from being sober. the proper social etiquette you were taught over the years at your boarding school were long forgotten as you shamelessly ogled the boy. he was simply gorgeous, breathtaking some would say.

“gals, i think i just saw an angel sent from heaven just for me.” you announced, your tone causing your friends to chuckle in amusement. you sound like a person who thought they just invented a cure for cancer. “i need to throw myself at him.”

“oh my god.” aliyah, your roommate from school, laughed, throwing her head back. it was hilariously unexpected to hear you say a thing like that — the girls have heard you talk about the boys you had hooked up with before, even intoxicated, but never this. you had never been so… so not-you. “this-this is the funniest thing, like, ever.”

“which one?” inaya scrunched her brows as she looked around, searching for a guy who could fit her imagination of a guy you would call an angel. she groaned in disappointment, once you discreetly pointed in oscar’s direction. “a white guy? seriously, yn?”

“i can’t help it.” you muttered, your shoulders slumping as the alcohol intensified every single emotion you have felt during the night. “i wish he would have my baby. or like a thousand of them.” your sighed, dropping your hand to your stomach, while one of the girls bursted out laughing at the absurdity of your words.

inaya could easily recall the day before your acceptance letter came in and your speech to the group chat about romantic attraction, relationships, kids, and commitment, concluded with confidence (“i’m gonna be that one, successful aunt that hates kids, but not that one niece.”).

“they would look cute together, though.” priya giggled, stealing glances at your boy, as if she wanted to hit on him, too. then, the thought of priya with your boy disappeared from your mind at the image of your best friend and her long-time boyfriend. right, she and james had been together for the longest time. “you should shoot your–” the universe was not having the girl speak, because a guy, seemingly confident, approached your table.

“hey, i hope you’re having a good evening.” he started in a nice tone, the girl beside you — the last of the four, ciara, seemed to melt against your shoulder, looking at the boy with heart eyes. “sorry to bother you, girls. my friend, that one over there, thinks you’re really gorgeous and would love to get your number, but he’s a bit shy.” he joked, having pointed to oscar, turning the second part of his monologue to you.

before any of you could’ve responded to him, a guy — the same one you called an angel — walked up to the six of you, groaning when he realised that his friend already had done what he threatened to do. “jesus, arthur.” the blonde ran a hand over his face, groaning in exasperation.

“i’m so sorry for him.” he let out a small sigh. “i told him not to bother you, but he’s like a toddler.” he tried to explain, earning a few quiet chuckles from all of you.

“ah, there’s nothing to be sorry for.” priya grinned. “you two look like you haven’t had a drop of alcohol yet, maybe wanna join us?”

oscar wanted to refuse, out of courtesy — he didn’t really care about the embarrassment brought upon him by the monegasque, although the look on your face was making his heartbeat quicken. he’d never felt like this before, it was crazy. he just saw you for the first time and his mind was filled to the brim with small ideas to impress you that were supposed to be shoved away as he opened his mouth to politely refuse the invitation. arthur, however, had different plans and sat next to the ginger haired girl, who quickly engulfed him in a conversation.

looking at him so up close was almost a life-altering experience. for the first fifteen minutes you had to remind yourself to breathe, so enamoured with the boy sitting next to you. after that period, you got even more entranced with oscar. once he started his small conversation with you, you couldn’t help but hang onto every single word that left his lips.

you’ve never felt like this before, so interested in what a boy had to say to you. you forgot about the detail that, if it wasn’t a joke, oscar thought you were gorgeous and loved to have your number. the conversation with him was easy, you didn’t have to do anything special to prolong it, neither did he. by the time the watch on your phone was showing three in the morning, james had already picked priya, inaya and aliyah up, leaving you and ciara with the two boys. you went out to a club to have fun, drink, and dance a bit, but it all was thrown into oblivion once piastri started a conversation with you.

YOU COULD EASILY RECALL THE MOMENT YOU realised that life without oscar wasn’t what you’d ever want. it happened after a few weeks of constant texting, late-night calls and a bit less meetings at his/your place. at the tiniest thought of falling in love with him, your stomach started to hurt, because love wasn’t something you believed to have a happy ring to. your parents were divorced and they took it out on you and your siblings, sophie, your mom, wasn’t as bad as your dad, though.

oscar knew about your stance towards love, but took it upon himself to change it — and he suprisingly did. there wasn’t a thing oscar could do wrong to make you disappointed. despite the hectic schedule he had, you always spent at least ten minutes on the phone to just check in, which was the best part of your day most of the time.

medicine at king’s was killing you every day to the point, where once oscar was able to visit you, he had always made you something to eat, drew a bath for the two of you and took a nap with you. he never complained. for as long as he remembered, most of his days were fast paced — there were little to no slower moments in his life, so despite your insecurities that he must’ve hated you for being too exhausted to spend time with him, he liked just feeling your presence next to him.

your friends, despite the constant teasing, couldn’t be happier for you. you often denied yourself stuff that you probably should experience in life, as a result of growing up in a household where love was conditional. they knew that, it wasn’t a rare sight to see you crumble under pressure, before inevitably breaking down in front of them, so seeing you blossoming like that was not only refreshing, but also relieving.

you were starting your fourth year at the university, while oscar was in the middle of his first season of formula one. before the australian, you weren’t a fan, yet you couldn’t help but bawl your eyes out in pride and happiness, when oscar called you to tell you that he had signed with mclaren.

you had already known about the signing, when oscar came to your shared apartment later, so despite an upcoming test, you spent most of your free afternoon baking him a small cake to show him that his dreams are as important to you as they are to him. you definitely weren’t a great baker, but you tried your best and made a small, lemon flavoured cake with a light, orange-ish congratulations, formula one driver on top.

“baby, i’m home.” your boyfriend called out, entering the apartment as he was taking off his shoes, placing them on a shoe stand. you smiled to yourself at the sound of his voice, head turning to look at him. his hair disheveled, a stubble on his chin, and a slight hint of tiredness in his eyes that seemed to disappear once his gaze fell onto you.

“hey.” you replied as oscar approached you, sneaking his arm around your waist and placing a soft kiss on your lips. “i made you something.” you whispered, tilting your chin to have a better view of his face.

“yeah?” he asked, intrigued. “what did you make?”

“i baked a cake.” you nodded, almost as if it was something you did every other day. “because my boyfriend is officially a formula one driver. i’m super proud of you, you know? and it’s mclaren, too!” you added, a beam creeping up on your lips, your hands cupping his cheeks as you pressed lots and lots of light kisses against his entire face.

a chuckle rumbled in his throat at your silly display of affection, pulling you closer with ease. “i still can’t believe it.” he smiled in between the smooches. “i couldn’t have done it without you.” his voice dropped to a whisper laced with sincerity.

“ah, this is simply bullshit.” you responded, scrunching your nose. “you’re a great driver, baby. you would’ve done it anyway.” you matched the quietness of his tone, bringing your hand to run your fingers through his messy blond hair. “everyone knows that, especially zak and andreas.”

“you did help, though.” he muttered, relishing the feeling of your fingers in his hair. “you keep me sane.” his words earned him a quiet giggle from you. you tilted your head to the side, shaking it lightly, pulling him into a kiss.

it started off slowly and gently, now both of oscar’s arms wrapped around your waist, caging you into his loving embrace. before you knew it, his hands were squeezing your sides, sitting you on the kitchen counter, his body pressing against yours as your lips moved in sync. the pent up stress, pressure and exhaustion slowly dissolving, oscar’s stiff shoulders loosening as your fingers tugged on a strand of his hair.

his tongue has moved past your lips, when you heard a sound, making the two of you pull away from each other in reluctance. oscar’s mom often texted him, when you were either making out on the couch or having sex, almost as if she had a hunch about what the two of you were doing. as a result, you came up with a system that whose phone would go off and interrupt you, the person would have to do something in return for the other one. despite the annoyance of being interrupted, you beamed, knowing that it couldn’t be your phone. that was, until you noticed the smirk creeping up on your boyfriend’s face.

“not mine.”

a loud groan rumbled in your throat, unhappy with the result as oscar passed you your phone from the table. you let out a dutch curse word under your breath, noticing the contact’s name on the notification.

max.

you haven’t spoken to your brother since the end of that year’s season, when you called to congratulate him on his second title. making so much distance between you and your family ever since you were fourteen and in a boarding school was hunting you now. no one from your family knew about your relationship with oscar, despite being together since mid-july 2019. you didn’t want to change it, not because you were ashamed of oscar — that, you could never be — but because you were afraid it would ruin everything between the two of you, and deep down inside you, you knew that your heart would shatter into pieces if that ever happened.

oscar understood where you were coming from, he knew how much of an outcast you considered yourself to be as a kid, and how much work you put into getting away from the town you grew up in. he didn’t mind that he didn’t officially met your blood family, he knew that the friends you went to school with were closer to you and at that time of your life mattered more, so he couldn’t complain, knowing that this family accepted and liked him. your mood significantly dropped, oscar’s hand gently squeezing your thigh for some reassurance, nodding silently, a way of saying that you should call your brother back.

some people would say that your boyfriend was the reason behind the poor connection between you and your siblings, but he was actually the one, who often — subconsciously — made you reply to their texts and calls more, or even calling them yourselves to just check in as you often sent gifts to your two nephews and penelope. although you thought that it was too late to repair the relationship with max and victoria, oscar always told you that it’s nonsense (and he was, indeed, right).

“hey, sorry, i was studying. a cardiology exam coming up soon.” you explained as your brother picked up the call, your voice slightly sheepish as you avoided your boyfriend’s look.

“in december?” max asked. “i was calling to ask if you’re coming back for christmas?”

you sighed softly at the question, knowing that your reaction would probably upset your brother, which you didn’t want to happen.

“uh.” you started. “i–i’m not sure, yet.” an incoherent mumble came from the other side of the line, as you started to pick on the skin of your bottom lip. “i think i am, but not for too long. i have an early flight on the twenty seventh.”

you could see the smile rising on oscar’s lips upon your answer, you were conflicted whether or not you should go back. you missed your brother, sister and mom, but coming home always resulted in your sour mood and not-too-great memories from each year as you always ended up fighting with your dad over something insignificant that made you come back to london sooner than planned. this time, you were supposed to lay down the boundaries and try to have a good time, before flying to melbourne to spend some time with the piastris.

“it would mean a lot to all of us to see you.” max replied in a gentle tone, not wanting to accidentally guilt trip you into coming. “we miss spending time with you, yn.”

“i know, i’m sorry.” your voice broke, sadness washing over your body as you ran a hand down your face to stop yourself from getting too upset. it’s your boyfriend’s big day, you shouldn’t be crying over your familial situation, when it was such a happy day for him.

“i miss you all too.” you whispered, piastri’s hand gently moved up and down your thigh in a soothing mood, helping you calm down a bit. despite not understanding a thing you said since the conversation was held in dutch, he could tell that you were getting upset and it worried him. “i’m gonna be there, okay?”

DESPITE YOUR MOM’S QUESTION UPON YOUR relationship status during last year’s christmas, you didn’t drop a clue whether or not you were dating someone. you felt secure in your relationship with oscar, you didn’t want to jinx it. you started therapy just a few months earlier, but the anxiety to get past this awful feeling of revealing your boyfriend to your family was too much to do yet. you definitely wouldn’t do it without him by his side, and not when your father was around.

throughout the months of 2023, your relations with your mom, max, and victoria had improved significantly, which you were grateful for. by may, victoria’s oldest son, luka, considered you to be his favorite auntie and you really, really liked that feeling.

oscar noticed that you started to come out of your protective shell and he couldn’t be prouder of you. it was around summer break, when you decided that this year, you’d break it down to your family, no more avoiding the conversation you dreaded, but before — you would spend the summer break with your boyfriend in melbourne.

oscar, as usually on his days off, was still fast asleep, when you tried to get out of his grip in the morning. his arm had almost caged you to his side, but somehow — after fifteen minutes of trying to come up with an idea to get away without waking him up, you succeeded.

nicole was already seated at the couch with two steaming cups of coffee in front of her, almost as if she was waiting for you, which you knew she was. it was slowly becoming a little tradition you had with your boyfriend’s mom, you two would sit on the couch in their living room, casually chatting about something, while a movie played on the television in the background to your chatter.

“oscar’s still asleep, love?” she asked in a soft, yet chirpy tone as she noticed you walking down the stairs. your hair was still a bit messy, but nevertheless you looked gorgeous.

“yeah.” a chuckle escaped your lips as you took a seat next to her, taking the mug into your hands. “we stayed up watching a movie last night, apparently i had missed out on the magnificence of david fincher’s filmography.” nicole giggled, shaking her head.

“ah, yes. we’ve been through that, too.” she smiled, taking a sip of her coffee. “so, i’ve heard from hattie that you’re planning on going to suzuka with oscar. that’s, hm… how did she call it? a hard launch, right?” you smiled softly, nodding your head at her question.

throughout your entire relationship with the oldest piastri’s kid, you have been to few races, most of them being his formula renault and three ones, when the schedule didn’t overlap with any of your exams. during his first season in formula one, you were only at silverstone, but as a guest of max, making your first appearance in paddock since you were a baby. this time, you’d be there not as max verstappen’s younger sister, dressed in a red-bull jacket with your brother’s number on the back, but as oscar piastri’s girlfriend.

“that’s true, i’m really excited.” nicole’s warm smile upon hearing your response made you feel even more sure that you were making a good decision. “it’s gonna be my last year at king’s, and i really hope i’ll be able to come to more races to support him. i don’t want oscar to feel like i don’t care about his dreams or achievements.”

“i’m sure he doesn’t feel like that, love.” she reassured, reaching out to squeeze your hand with a slight nod. “you still haven’t told your family, have you?” nicole asked, her head tilted to the side in curiosity and empathy.

she was aware of your bumpy relationship with your family, so it wasn’t a surprise she’d asked that. you feared that oscar’s relatives would think you didn’t take him seriously, and even if they did, they never showed it.

“i want to.” you spoke quietly, having taken a sip of the drink in your hands. “it’s been going on for too long and i’m fully aware of that. i can’t see myself without your son, he’s… he’s probably the, uh, the best thing that ever happened to me.” the genuineness of your words was painfully evident. “i just want them to see that, i wouldn’t be the person i am without him. i’m also just… a bit scared of their reaction. i don’t want to hurt them.”

“i’m gonna be frank with you, love. i think they will be slightly hurt that you haven’t told them about oscar earlier.” nicole started, giving you a look full of compassion. “but you did say that they weren’t insisting on staying in touch with you as much as they do now, your relationship hasn’t been as good as it is right now, so after the initial shock, i think they’re gonna understand why you haven’t told them earlier.”

“thank you for saying that, nicole.” you replied softly, smiling at her with gratitude. “it gives me a bit of hope that things won’t go so bad.”

oscar got down an hour or so later, looking like he had just woken up, what was probably the truth. you’ve had a hunch that he would’ve woken soon, so you started preparing something for him to eat before he had to head out for his usual jog (which he skipped yesterday). his arms sneaked around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest, while nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

you giggled at the sensation of his light stubble against your skin, when he pressed a few lazy kisses along your neck. “g’morning, baby.” he muttered, his voice still having that rought, just-woken-up ring to it. his slightly cold hands moved beneath your shirt, gently caressing your stomach, causing you to shiver at the contact. “what d’you gossip about with mom today?” he asked, continuing with his antics.

“ah, just stuff, love.” you replied, nicole’s petnames rubbing off on you. “edie with a friend will stay at ours before the summer break ends.” you mentioned his younger sister’s plan to come see london and all you got in a response was a soft hum.

“cool, cool.” oscar mumbled a few seconds later, teeth grazing the sensitive spot on your neck, making you bit back a moan. the corners of his mouth turned into a smirk at your reaction.

“ah, fuck off, lad.” a giggle escaped your lips as you turned to face him, having finished preparing some scrambled eggs for the two of you. “go eat, i promised max i’d call him.” after oscar stole a sweet and slow kiss from you, he sat down at the table, shamelessly watching you as you called your brother.

he knew that the situation was better, but he wanted to notice the tiny changes in your expression to comfort you within seconds. he probably wouldn’t understand too much of what you’d say, but before the season started, he’s began thinking about putting a ring on your finger one day, and proposing in dutch sounded like a good idea, so… he started learning on his own, just to be able to surprise you, but also show your family that he cared about the possible language barrier.

“hey, penelope.” you smiled as the four years old girl greeted you after picking up max’s phone. “could you please give me max?” from what you’ve known, max and kelly went to see her family in brazil, so hearing that p wasn’t asleep, wasn’t a surprise.

you could’ve heared ruffling on the other side of the call, before your brother’s voice rang in your ears. “sorry, i was outside.” he apologised. “p said you wanted to talk, everything alright?”

“yeah, everything’s alright.” you smiled at the hint of concern in his voice. “just wanted to ask when you’re flying back to monaco.” you asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“ah, around next week, i think. not sure though, why?”

“just… uh,” you looked over at oscar and smiled to yourself. “i just wanted you to meet someone. think you could make a quick stop in london before monaco?”

you could’ve heard max stiffle a small gasp and it made you want to laugh. they thought you’d never find someone, didn’t they? after looking at your nails, you turned your gaze to oscar, whose eyes were still watching you carefully. it was so endearing to see your boyfriend like that, so protective over you. you knew you made a good choice of not pushing him away, oscar must be your soulmate, there’s no other way. you sent him a small wink as you awaited max’s reply.

“someone?” he repeated the word. “as in friend? a boyfriend? god, i never thought i’d live to that day. he’s not fifty or something, right?” this time, you couldn’t hold back the laugh. piastri smiled at the reaction, actually relieved that you weren’t getting upset. he’s never seen you talk to jos, but he knew if that happened on his watch, the entire evening, day or week would be spend on comforting the shit out of you.

“what? no, jesus, you’re quite ridiculous.” you shook your head, a smile still present on your lips. “he’s my age, you idiot.” you rolled your eyes playfully, despite max couldn’t see you.

“but he’s good for you?” max asked for reassurance that you weren’t getting into a relationship, which would end up hurting you more than anything else. “he doesn’t hurt you, or anything? and you’re sure he’s your age? that doesn’t go well with your daddy issues.”

“i’m gonna pretend like i didn’t hear that last bit.” you joked, sitting down at the table next to oscar, taking his hand in his, intertwining your fingers together. “he’s super good for me. wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

the reasoning behind telling max before the summer break would end was simple, you didn’t want the information to mess with his performance, but also so he wouldn’t try and run your boyfriend off the track, or crash into him in a rush of emotions.

“alright, tell him to better treat my sister right or i’ll run him over with my car.”

OSCAR WAS TRYING TO CALM YOU DOWN AS YOU paced around your shared apartment, a few days after the conversation you had with your brother. your brother, who was on his way from the heathrow airport to your home.

“baby, it’s gon’ be alright.” he whispered, leaning close to your ear as he cupped your face in his hands, having brushing his nose against yours a few times affectionately. “max won’t sacrifice his relationship with you, solely because you haven’t told him about us. he’s gonna have to understand, alright? don’t stress out.” his thumb moved against the skin of your cheeks, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“you think so?” you asked, meeting his gaze as a small pout appeared on your lips.

“i know so, baby.” he soothed, trying to put your mind at ease, remembering how much hassle the situation had put on your shoulders, having heard you empty your stomach in the morning, when your phone went off once max had texted you that they have just arrived in london.

fourty minutes later, oscar was calling the security guard to let max, kelly, and penelope inside the building. the australian went back to the living room as you had planned beforehand, when you agreed on inviting them to your apartment.

“auntie yn!” penelope smiled, throwing herself at you. you swiftly picked her up, masking the shakiness of your hands. “maxie said you have a boyfrieeeend.” she singsonged with a beam on her face. you could swear to god that in that moment you’d heard the faint sound of oscar’s laughter.

“max.” you gave your brother a look, while he just shrugged unbashedly. “what? it’s true isn’t it? where is that brit of yours?”

“he’s not british.” this time, max gave you a look that said he was confused, while you just shrugged, waving your hand at the three of them, before leading them to the living room. penelope noticed oscar first and murmured to you that he looked really pretty, a warm sensation spreading in your stomach, when the pretty boy smiled at you. the oldest verstappen might get angry or feel hurt, but at the end of the day, no one could do anything to break the two of you apart. you’d chain yourself to the aussie if it was necessary.

“wha— oscar?” max’s mouth fell agape as he took in the sight of your boyfriend, who gave him a tiny, sheepish smile. “hold on a second, what?” he repeated, puting a strong emphasis on the last word.

you weren’t sure if it was inappropriate for you to scoot a bit closer to your boyfriend, leaning against his side as your older brother tried to stomach the fact that the reason behind your often trips to australia was his on-track rival.

“but you were with kelly at the silverstone, not leaving her side at all?” his confusion was messing with your anxiety and you had to do your best to stiffle the laugh bubbling up in your throat.

“yeah, um… we didn’t met at silverstone.” it was oscar’s time to speak up as the bits of contact between you made him more relaxed. “we… have been already dating back then.” piastri explained calmly, his arm going around your shoulders to bring you even closer.

“so that’s why you cried!” kelly smiled at you as your cheeks flushed bright red.

silverstone was oscar’s best finish in formula one so far and seeing him end up almost on podium had melted your heart as you broke down in the red-bull garage. when kelly asked you what made you so emotional, you slipped a small lie, saying that it was because max earned another grand slam.

“you cried?” oscar asked quietly, his heart swelled with love.

“she had a full on mental breakdown.” piquet joked, your cheeks had turned its color from bright red to crimson. it was nothing to be embarrassed about, you loved your boyfriend with all your heart, you couldn’t help but be proud of him for almost every day since you got together. although, he wasn’t supposed to know about your little breakdown.

“i didn’t know about that.” oscar teased you a little, gently pinching your side.

“wait, because i still don’t understand. you were already dating at silverstone, when did you-did you start, then?” the red bull, who — rightfully — couldn’t wrap his head around the possibility that what you were doing right now, wasn’t a silly prank or tiktok of some sort, and you and oscar were actually together.

you opened your mouth to tell him the range of your anniversary, when oscar, like he was aked about it every other day, responded with; “eleventh of july, 2019.”

“fucking four years?” max asked, his eyes widening at the revelation. “four years and you didn’t tell?”

“i was scared that telling one of you would lead to telling dad, and i didn’t want him to say something that would ruin what we have.” your voice dropped insignificantly, oscar’s arm around your body tightening in compassion. “he’s been my rock, i didn’t want to risk losing oscar.”

your brother’s face softened upon hearing the explanation and just smiled. “i’m not taking what i said back. you better treat her right, or i’ll run you over with my car — on or off track.”

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ yourname . . . at melbourne! dec 28th, 2026

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, inaya66 and 67 218 others.

yourname met this muppet in a bar after years of not believing in love (definitely not at the first sight), overworking myself and worrying all my friends that if i get into my dream university, i’ll have no energy to push forward. took me one glimpse of him (and a jägerbomb) to realise that i need to walk up and talk to him. big thanks to arthur_leclerc for walking up to us and trying to embarrass him.

no one could ever make me as happy as you. not enough words, papers and ink to describe even the quarter of love i have for you, two times world champion. seven years and more to come. thank you for showing me that love can be unconditional and that with you next to me, everything is possible.

(ps. a small sneak peak of one significant bean with us to come through life together xx)

comments on this post have been restricted. view all!

oscarpiastri happiest seven years of my life. nothing compares to the feeling when i’m with you xx

yourname stop cutting the onions (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

inaya66 couldn’t be happier for the two of you ☹️

ciarrrra thats a lot coming from u considering u didnt like oscar

aliyahbilal i wanna be you when i grow up

arthur_leclerc safe to say i’m gonna be the best man?? 😝

oscarpiastri don’t push it

arthur_leclerc i made you two possible

ciarrrra baby… she was on her way to him when u walked up to us…

oscarpiastri so WE kind of made u 2 possible :p

maxverstappen1 stop posting sappy stuff, and get here already bean misses her favorite uncle xx

landonorris yeah n you’re not the one

charles_leclerc boys… i have a dog u really think u stand a chance

yourname that’s really sweet that u think u ever stood a chance with alex, jack, and james…

maxverstappen1 over her own blood??

yourname stop shaming my daughter for her choices old guy

sebastianvettel lots of love and happiness to your little family

ciarrrra sign me up for babysitter duty pleaseeee i miss my beanie ☹️

aliyahbilal nooo me me me need to catch up on those nursery gossips with my bestie!!!

victoriaverstappen can’t wait to see you guys 🫶🫶 hailey misses her bestie

mclaren we are always told things last ☹️☹️☹️

yourname you know it’s not true admin why do you lie 🙁🙁

hattiepiastri best soon to be sil 🥳🥳🥳

yourname whats with you piastris and making me cry today!!!

nicolepiastri love you both lots xx

jackdoohan i’m the favorite?? need to come over with gifts asap🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

fin.

author’s notes! super hyped to post this fic 🥹 it’s honestly my baby that i’ve been working on and thinking about it 24/7 (even when i was supposed to be studying LMAO) huge shoutout to my whatsapp girlies esp catalina and sonny!!!! this is kinda not proofread so if u saw any mistakes (which definitely were there) pretend like u didnt 😝😝 part two with domestic dad!oscar and uncle!grid?? lemme know whatchu think <3 requests r open btw!!

[makingqueerhistory]

":')))))))) you realise that gen AI is available to everyone though right??? Queer creators can use it just as much as anyone else??? I just don't understand this post... It really feels like a cheap way to get on the 'AI Bad's bandwagon, and coming from such a thoughtful and insightful creator that's incredibly disappointing... It's okay to not comment on subjects you're not an expert in y'know...?"

Y'all know the drill, I am replying to this publicly but that is not an invitation to send any negative messages to the person I am replying to.

Anyways, let me start by saying that the original context of the post you're replying to is discussing an event where a queer org used generative AI to steal an interview with Keri Hulme. So let's start there. To be clear I don't even know if the original interviewer was queer so let's put the identities of stealer and stolen from to the side. I want to explain the harm done in this example specifically and I hope this is illustrative of what harm generative AI can (and does) do.

The original place I saw generative AI was a queer org that explicitly says they are using generative AI "for good", and as a way to bring more queer history to light. So let's take them at their word, and assume they are not out to cause harm. This is the best example of generative AI that I can imagine, so I hope that makes it clear that I am not coming at this issue from bad faith in any way.

Here is the harm they are causing:

Decontextualizing and rephrasing an interview: I am not going to pretend that I am an expert in academic best practices, but I do believe one thing, if a person is speaking on their own identity and lived experience, it is always much better to directly quote than it is to rephrase. As I read this source, I initially didn't know that it was AI, and I was already upset. An interview that is widely available on the internet with no pay wall, was poorly sourced and made more vague than it was in the initial text. By creating one degree of seperation between the original words of A WRITER (whose literal job was largely based in choosing the right words to describe experiences they had) harm is already done. It makes vague what was once clear, and removes Keri Hulme's voice from her own narrative.

The original interviewer is not paid, or given proper recognition: I get it, sometimes just copy pasting an interview doesn't feel transformative enough, but something that one would learn if they worked in the queer history field and weren't a literal robot rehashing what has already been said, is that not everything needs to be transformed. In those cases, we give credit to the person who said the original words (in this case Keri Hulme), and the interviewer who facillitated the conversation (in this case Shelley Bridgeman). This case (again a best case scenario), takes the attention and byline away from the original interviewer and gives it to an AI.

The original publisher of this story is deinsentivised from paying interviewers in the future: The original publisher of this interview has ads on their website. As a person who also has ads on their website, taking an article like this and rephrasing it for no good reason (the orginal word count was not prohibitive and the rephrasing did not make it more readable), takes money from the publisher. It's pennies, but it's also removing numbers could have been used to justify further interviews with asexual people and archiving of asexual stories. The org that stole from this publication does not interview people themselves so the money and numbers that could have gone to continue to preserve asexual stories goes to stealing them instead.

These are just the active harms that I saw in this specific case. As you said, I am not an expert in generative AI, and will not be speaking as if I am. But I will say that asking me not to speak out on active harm that is being caused in queer history spaces, is disrespectful to my many years in this field.

To illustrate this even clearer: if you were a patron, you would know I recently took down an old article. I have been rereading and editing our backlist of articles, and I found one that no longer fit my standards of sourcing. My standards had recently raised due to a video made by HBomberguy about someone in the queer history space who was stealing from other creators. I watched this video not as a work project, but because I watch most of HBomberguys videos, and this one made me think more critically about sourcing. An AI can't do that. All an AI has is what has been inputted, and it is right now impossible to input every available peice of information about ethics into an AI and get a coherent ethical basis on which it will function.

It is a distinctly human trait to absorb information and change in that way. AI can rephrase information that already exists, steal it, recontextualize it even, but it cannot create something altogether new.

Do I believe that there one day might be an ethical use for Generative AI? Maybe. Do I believe that coming into a queer history space, stealing the words of a Maori asexual author, rephrasing them, and giving the original interviewer and publication no form of compensation for their work, is accomplishing that? No.

On a more personal note: I am coming at this issue with a bias. As a queer history creator, I do not want AI in my space, because it is literally damaging to my financial prospects. It has been like pulling teeth to try and get patrons in the current state of the global economy. I don't blame anyone from that, but I feel very disrespected that I am being asked to compete with a machine now. Not only that, but I am being asked to shut up and be fine with it? No, absolutely not. I cannot and will not stay quiet as space that I have fought tooth and nail to create in mainstream discussions is taken and given to AI.

AI was not supporting me when I was sent gore to try and scare me off of discussing queer history. A person did that. AI was not there to tell me I had written too many sad stories, and I needed some happy endings to remind myself of the good in the world. A person did that. AI was not there when I was being harrassed for supporting and including asexual stories on my website. A person did that.

And after all that, I am being asked to lie down and take it when my ability to pay the people who supported me in those ways, is being threatened. Nope. Not going to happen.

An AI doesn't have to make rent. An AI doesn't understand what it feels like to have to stop holding their wife's hand in public. An AI didn't get calls from people needing comfort in reaction to the election. Pay me for my work, and get this AI nonsense out of my face.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

I’ll Take Care Of You

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: sick Lando, smut

You weren't supposed to show up at the Las Vegas GP because you had your own business commitments, but knowing the state Lando was in, you decided to drop everything and come with him. You knew he needed you there and there wasn't a second of doubt in your mind whether or not to go with him when you saw how sick he really was.

After Brazil, Lando was not feeling well mentally. He couldn't sleep, he wouldn't eat or drink, his mood was at zero and all of this affected his immune system which resulted in him falling ill just before the Vegas GP.

Your heart ached seeing him like this because you knew there was nothing you could do except be there for him until he got through it. The only good thing about all of this was taking the pressure of being a world champion off his shoulders until next season at least.

Before the Vegas race, Lando could barely function, to be honest. His nose was blocked, his head was pounding, and he could barely hear in one ear.

As you closely followed the race in the garage, it no longer mattered to you which place he would take, you just prayed that he would finish the race safely and successfully so you can get him out of there.

So once the race was finally over, you were relieved, and so was he. When he got out of the car and took his helmet and balaclava off his head, he immediately looked for you with his eyes.

"Baby.." You looked at him sadly, approaching him and extending your arms towards him. "Are you alright?"

"Hey, love" His head fell onto your shoulder as he buried his face in your neck, pulling you closer to him. "I feel so sick" He sighed quietly and you immediately put your palm against his forehead to check his temperature.

"Lan, you're burning"

He was exhausted, so tired he could barely keep his eyes open and head up. He desperately needed to rest and all you wanted was to get out of there as soon as possible.

"Go get changed and we're going to the hotel, okay?" You tell him.

"No, I don't wanna go to the hotel, I wanna go home." He says.

"Lan, you can't get on a plane like this. You need to get some rest first and then we're gonna go home"

"No, please baby, I just wanna go to our home, please. I really need it. I know I'll feel better as soon as we get home." He whines. You sigh for a moment just looking at him as you ponder if this really is a smart decision. "Please" His eyes plead and you finally agree.

He was clinging to you the entire flight, holding his head in your lap and trying to sleep. He still had a fever so you improvised compresses to put over his forehead.

Lando wasn't sick often, but once in a while when he caught a cold, it would wipe him out. It was the same this time. He was bedridden for a week, and you were there every day taking care of him. He wasn't even exaggerating, he was really sick and you were worried he would get dehydrated or his condition would get worse. You even wanted to take him to the emergency room, but he promised he was fine and just needed you by his side.

Once he finally felt well enough to get out of bed and go further than the bathroom, you felt a pair of arms hug you around your waist as you prepared lunch in the kitchen.

"Hey, baby" Your eyes lit up when you saw him.

"Hey" He smiled nuzzling his head into your neck and leaving a kiss.

"Are you feeling any better?" You asked.

"Mhm. My throat is still a little sore, but I feel much better." He says in a hoarse voice.

"Well, good then." You rise on your tiptoes to leave a kiss on his cheek. "You have no idea how happy that makes me. You really got me worried."

"Thank you for taking care of me" He smiles putting your face between his hands.

"You don't need to thank me for that. I enjoy doing it."

"I know, but that's my job - to take care of you and me."

"You know how they say, 'in sickness and in health'." You both laugh considering you're not even engaged yet, let alone married even though people around you keep asking you about it all the time.

"Do I hear the wedding bells?" Lando asks.

"I don't know, do you?"

"I think I do." He smirks biting his lip before pressing his lips against yours knowing it's only a matter of time before he proposes to you.

Although he felt better physically, he still hadn't mentally recovered from the 'defeat', even though he didn't want to admit it. But it gave him away when you looked for him on his side of the bed in your sleep and couldn't find him.

You squinted at your phone to see what time it was and when it showed 2 a.m. you found it strange that he wasn't there because he usually sleeps all night.

You headed straight for the living room where you found him on the couch in front of the TV. He was lying down in his boxers, watching TV, but his gaze was thoughtful and you knew something was bothering him.

"Lan?"

"Baby, what are you doing awake?" He asks extending his arm for you to lie down next to him.

"I have the same question for you." You say taking a place next to him and leaning your head against his chest.

"Couldn't sleep, I was tossing and turning the whole time. I got up so I wouldn't wake you up."

"And why couldn't you sleep?" You ask, but he stays silent. "Baby, what's bothering you? Talk to me, please."

"You already know what it is" He sighs tracing his fingers over your shoulder. "But I don't wanna talk about it anymore. I really don't, I just need to get through it."

"Is there anything I can do about it?"

"You're here with me. That's all I need." He says placing a kiss to your forehead.

But you were determined to do something, anything, to make him feel at least a little better. And what's better than satisfying him to relieve him of frustration and tension.

Besides, it's been over two weeks since the last time you fucked. You'd be lying if you said you didn't need him in the same way and you thought tonight was the perfect opportunity for both of you so you straddled him and started kissing him gently.

He gave in to the kiss, not yet realizing what you were up to. It was only when you slowly started grinding your hips against him that he smiled into the kiss.

"What's on your mind, baby?" He asked gripping your hips.

"Just wanna make you feel better" You said moving your lips to his neck. He moaned throwing his head back and you felt him starting to get hard underneath you.

You soon positioned yourself between his legs and pulled his boxers down. He quickly got rid of them, throwing them aside, and you began to kiss him around his length.

"Wanna please you" You said between kisses.

He took his cock in his hand and tapped it against your lips. You stuck out your tongue and licked his tip making him groan in response. You teased him by slowly licking him up and down and he was starting to get impatient.

"Baby, please" He whispered stroking himself against your lips.

"Please, what, Lan?" You asked innocently, stopping his hand and cupping his balls.

"Put it in your mouth"

His breath catches as your lips finally wrap around his cock. He collects your hair into a ponytail and tilts his head to get a better look at you taking him all the way in.

You keep taking him deeper and deeper until his tip hit the back of your throat and you gag around him.

"Oh fuck.." He moans while his fingers keep raking and twirling in your hair. Your hand soon replaces your mouth as you spit on his tip and stroke him up and down. You don't want him to cum this way, you want him to cum inside you and you know he's close so you straddle him again guiding his cock to your entrance.

"Fuck, baby, fuck" His hands are pulling your night dress up to reveal your ass and grab it. He lets out a low groan as you slowly sink down on him. Leaning back, he shifts his hips up to adjust how he's sitting.

"You feel so good, so big inside of me" You whine as your rock your hips back and forth.

"Yeah?" His breath is ragged as he grips your hips tighter and attaches his lips against your neck.

"Stretching me out so good, Lan, shit" You make special effort to compliment him tonight as you keep on riding him quickening your pace.

He grips your ass tighter pulling you down harder on him. His breath is ragged in your ear and it makes you take him deeper and harder needing him to lose control. And you know what's coming next when you feel him twitch inside you.

"I'm cumming" He chokes out triggering your own orgasm. You clench around him as he fills you up biting his teeth into your skin.

He hugged you tightly, kissing your forehead while you lay leaning against his chest, barely catching your breath from the sweet release you both needed so desperately.

"I love you" He whispers. "I love you more than anything"

[tender-rosiey]

I can’t get thisss out of my head and I wish I didn’t have adhd and could sit and write it correctly but oldest daughter y/n having to marry the brute lord Sukuna (arranged marriage type beat) and the only reason why she agrees is Becuase if she doesn’t marry him one of her sisters will have to and she just cannot bring herself to put her sisters threw that 😣😣😣

a garden among thorns — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: this is longer than most of my works, but i needed to do this idea as much justice as I can

your father’s face is pale as he kneels before the messenger, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on his shoulders.

his hands tremble in his lap, and his posture slumps, as if the air has been sucked from the room. the messenger stands tall and unyielding.

“lord sukuna requires one of your daughters to marry him,” the messenger states, his tone sharp and businesslike. “to refuse is…inadvisable.”

your mother gasps, clutching the edge of her robe, and your sisters exchange wide-eyed, horrified looks. aya’s grip tightens on hina’s sleeve, and hina’s mouth trembles, unable to form words.

you remain silent.

sukuna’s name hangs in the air like a curse—the king of curses feared across the land. to be sent to him is to step willingly into the jaws of a predator.

your father stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. “p-please…surely, there must be another way…”

the messenger’s gaze hardens, his words sharp and final. “lord sukuna does not make requests twice. you have until the week’s end to decide. one of your daughters will be sent to his estate.”

the messenger leaves, and the room plunges into a suffocating silence. your father collapses forward, burying his face in his hands, his body trembling with despair.

your mother’s sobs start quietly but grow louder, echoing through the room. aya clings to hina, her face pale with fear.

“I won’t let you choose,” you say, your voice cutting through the heavy silence.

all eyes turn to you in shock. your father lifts his head slowly, his expression a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. aya’s small hands clutch your arm. “no, you can’t mean—”

“I do,” you interrupt firmly, despite the turmoil gnawing at your chest. you meet each of their gazes, the weight of the choice pressing down on you.

your mother rises, hands trembling as she reaches for you, her face etched with anguish. “no, y/n. you’re the eldest, yes, but that doesn’t mean this burden should fall on you.”

you step back gently, removing her hands from your face. “do you want it to fall on aya? or hina?” you gesture toward your sisters, who stiffen at your words. “do you think they’ll survive with a man like him?”

aya shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. “you’re just as important as we are! why does it have to be you? please, don’t do this.”

you stand in front of her, brushing the tears from her face. “aya, I don’t want to go either. but if we don’t do this, sukuna will come for us.

he’ll take what he wants, and we won’t be able to stop him. you don’t deserve this life. hina doesn’t deserve it. at least I can try to protect you this way.”

aya sobs harder, her small frame shaking. “I can’t lose you,” she cries, burying her face in your shoulder.

you hold her tight, feeling the pain of this decision settle heavily on your chest. hina steps forward, her face unreadable. “be safe,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“I will,” you promise, though the words feel hollow.

your mother sobs uncontrollably into your father’s chest, and he remains silent, broken. he doesn’t stop you—he can’t. you know he wouldn’t, not in the face of sukuna’s power.

you pull away slowly, aya’s small hands slipping from your arm. “I’ll write,” you murmur, turning toward the door. “I’ll write as often as I can. you’ll be okay. just…take care of each other.”

they nod silently, but the fear in their eyes won’t fade.

your mother’s voice breaks through the quiet. “you’re so brave,” she whispers. “but I wish you didn’t have to be.”

you take a last look at your family, standing together in the doorway. their figures grow smaller as the cart takes you away, the weight of their sorrow heavy in your heart.

the world outside seems darker, colder as you leave them behind. the home you’re leaving is more than just a place; it is everything you know.

and with every step, you feel a piece of yourself slipping away.

the journey to sukuna’s estate feels endless, each passing mile colder than the last. the wind bites at your skin, and the clouds above seem to mirror the heaviness in your heart.

the long ride in the cart gives you ample time to think, but there is no solace to be found.

your family, the warmth of your home, and the lives you knew are fading into the distance, replaced by the looming unknown of sukuna’s estate.

your stomach churns with unease as you approach the gates. they are massive, imposing iron structures that seem to swallow the light, and as the carriage slows to a stop before them, the oppressive silence only amplifies the dread in your chest.

the heavy gates groan open with a reluctance that seems to mirror your own, revealing the vast grounds of sukuna’s estate.

everything about this place screams power—an estate built to intimidate, to assert dominance over all who enter.

the stone paths are harsh and cold beneath your feet as you step out of the carriage. the servants who meet you are stiff, their eyes avoiding yours as they take your belongings.

you are no more than a stranger in their world, a burden that they carry, and you feel the sting of that isolation.

as you make your way inside the grand hall, your footsteps echo in the silence. it’s all so stark, so cold. the air feels thick with tension, and as you round the corner into the heart of the estate, you are met with the full weight of his presence.

sukuna sits at the head of a long table in a massive hall, his eyes fixed on you as you enter. the sight of him is enough to take your breath away—his posture relaxed, yet every inch of him exudes power.

his dark crimson robes shift slightly as he stands, towering over you with an unsettling ease. his gaze is sharp.

“so,” he says, “you’re the one they sent.”

you stand tall, refusing to let the weight of his gaze break you. beneath the surface, your heart races, but you force yourself to keep it steady.

“I came of my own choice,” you reply, your voice firm but betraying a hint of the turmoil churning inside.

his lips curl into a smirk, an expression laced with amusement and something darker. “did you, now? brave. or foolish.”

the words sting, but you bite back the retort that rises to your lips. there’s no point in showing him weakness. “I’m not foolish,” you say, your voice colder than you intended, but it’s enough to get his attention.

he chuckles, a sound rich with disdain and amusement. “well, little wife, you’ll learn soon enough what your choice means.”

his eyes glint with a dangerous promise, and despite your resolve, something tightens in your chest.

after that meeting, his presence lingers, an almost tangible force, but he keeps his distance. it’s not until later that night, when you’re left alone in your new room, that the weight of your decision truly hits.

the walls feel too close, and the silence is suffocating.

life at sukuna’s estate is harsh, far colder than you anticipated. the mansion itself is sprawling and filled with echoing corridors, but it never feels warm.

the servants, though polite, are distant, as if afraid to make eye contact. your days are spent in isolation, wandering the gardens or sitting alone in your chambers, trying to make yourself useful without getting in the way.

you are nothing more than a visitor in this grand, empty place—a prize claimed by a man who has no use for you beyond the title you now bear.

at times, sukuna’s presence seems to vanish entirely, leaving you to grapple with the silence. but on other days, his sharp words cut through the air like blades, his moods as unpredictable as the wind.

he is a storm, sweeping through the halls when he deigns to speak, his eyes always sharp, always calculating.

one afternoon, you are working in the garden, your hands busy with the familiar task of pulling weeds, trying to occupy your mind.

the scent of earth and flowers is the only thing that feels real in this place. a soft breeze stirs the air, and for a fleeting moment, you almost feel like you’re back home.

but then, you hear his voice. it’s low and mocking, a drawl that sends a shiver down your spine.

“do you plan to sulk forever?” sukuna asks, his tone cutting through the air.

you glance up from your task, narrowing your eyes at him. he stands in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, his robe flowing around him like an aura of danger.

“I’m not sulking,” you reply, your voice clipped, though you know it’s a lie. you are, in fact, sulking—trying to retreat into yourself because it’s the only way to survive this.

“could’ve fooled me,” he retorts, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “you’ve been quieter than a graveyard since you got here.”

you get ticked off by his words but force yourself to stay composed. “what would you have me do? laugh at your jokes?” you don’t know why you say it, but the challenge is there, raw and unfiltered.

he chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that grates on your nerves. “I don’t tell jokes.”

you mutter under your breath, “clearly.”

to your surprise, he doesn’t take offense. instead, he raises an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly as he steps into the garden.

his presence fills the space, as if he owns it. he leans against the stone wall, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and something more.

you feel his hand hold the top of your head for a moment, and he hums, “at least you’ve got a spine. I’d hate to have a wife who folds like paper.”

you don’t know what to make of the compliment—or if it’s even meant as one. but his words, though gruff, are the first acknowledgment he’s given you that isn’t full of disdain or indifference.

“I don’t fold,” you reply, try to shake his hand off. you find yourself meeting his gaze, a silent challenge passing between the two of you.

for a long moment, sukuna doesn’t say anything. the tension hangs in the air, thick and unspoken. then, finally, his lips curl into something that might be the start of a smile, though it’s fleeting.

“good,” he says, his voice almost too soft for you to catch. “you’ll need that fire, wife.”

you don’t respond, but as the days pass, his words linger in your mind. slowly, something starts to shift. his unpredictable moods, his sharp words, his occasional moments of unexpected gentleness—they all begin to add up.

it’s not love, not yet, but something else.

you’re not sure if you want to like him, but the more time you spend in his presence, the more you begin to understand him. in return, he seems to start observing you more closely, his interest piqued.

whether you like it or not, you are now bound together in this cold, sprawling estate, and the strange, slow pull between you grows with each passing day.

the first real instance happens during dinner. the grand dining hall is silent, save for the soft clinking of silver against porcelain.

sukuna sits at the head of the table, a looming figure of power, draped in his usual white and black.

his gaze flicks to you once, but he doesn’t speak. it’s a familiar pattern by now—he speaks only when he has something to say, and even then, his words are sparse, deliberate.

but tonight, as you reach for the pitcher of wine, your hand knocks over the glass beside it. the sound of the glass tipping and shattering against the floor startles everyone in the room.

a sharp, echoing crack. the servants freeze, eyes flicking nervously from the broken shards to sukuna.

you stand frozen, the glass at your feet, heart racing. the tension in the room thickens, but no one moves. you glance up at sukuna, half-expecting the usual cold indifference or a sharp rebuke.

but tonight, his dark eyes flicker to the broken glass before meeting yours. there’s something in his gaze—a spark of amusement—before he leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his posture lazy but commanding.

“careful, little wife,” he drawls, his voice low and slightly mocking, but there’s no malice in it. “I wouldn’t want to see you spill any more of my wine.”

you nod, instinctively bending down to pick up the shards, but before your fingers even touch the glass, sukuna’s voice cuts through the air.

“stop,” he commands, his tone sharp and unwavering.

you freeze mid-motion, looking up to find his gaze already fixed on you.

“clean this up,” sukuna commands, glancing at the servants, his voice a deep rumble that makes the servants rush to obey without a word.

as they quickly gather the shards, sukuna’s attention returns to you, though his eyes linger a moment longer than necessary.

“you seem eager to be useful,” he observes, his voice tinged with a hint of something almost approving. “but I’d rather not have my wife make herself filthy for something as trivial as this.”

you open your mouth but stop, unsure if you want to argue with him or remain silent.

a week later, you find yourself in the garden again, absentmindedly tending to the flowers that line the stone walls.

the peace of the garden is a brief escape from the heaviness inside the mansion, and you’ve come to cherish the quiet moments there.

this time, however, you hear footsteps approaching behind you. you don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. the weight of his presence is unmistakable.

“I see you’ve found your little sanctuary,” sukuna’s voice comes.

you don’t answer at first, focused on trimming the overgrown vines. his footsteps stop, and for a moment, there’s just the sound of the wind rustling the leaves and the faint scent of flowers in the air.

“are you going to ignore me every time I approach?” he asks, a hint of curiosity and a bit of annoyance lacing his words. “you don’t seem like the type to hide from confrontation.”

you glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze for a brief moment. his eyes are narrowed, but there’s no hostility in them. it’s a rare look for him—almost like he’s testing you, waiting for your response.

“I’m not hiding,” you reply, your voice steady, though there’s an edge to it. “I just prefer peace.”

sukuna steps closer, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you work. “peace? in my estate?” his laugh is low and dark, more of a scoff than an actual laugh. “you won’t find that here, little wife.”

you focus on the flowers in front of you, resisting the urge to let his words unsettle you. but for some reason, you can’t quite brush off the way he’s watching you.

“I didn’t expect to,” you reply, your voice quieter now, softer.

there’s a beat of silence, and then, to your surprise, sukuna crouches beside you. his presence looms close, his eyes scanning the flowers you’re tending to. “they’re not bad,” he says.

you glance up at him, meeting his gaze. for a moment, the weight of the estate, the pressure of being in his presence, fades away.

it’s just the two of you, sitting in this strange, delicate quiet.

“well, they’re not as high-maintenance as you are,” you mutter under your breath, a playful jab that you can’t quite hold back.

he chuckles—a low sound that vibrates through the space between you. it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh like that—without mockery, without an edge. it’s almost human.

“high-maintenance, huh?” he muses, his tone teasing, but there’s a shift in the air now. “maybe you’ll find that out the hard way.”

the words are playful. you’re not sure what to make of it, but it stirs something in you, something that’s both unsettling and... intriguing.

over the next few weeks, these small moments become more frequent, threading together a fragile tapestry of connection. sukuna’s presence is still overwhelming, but it feels less suffocating now.

he no longer seems entirely distant, nor does he hover with the same oppressive force. instead, he’s there, always watching, always waiting for something unspoken to unfold.

one evening, as you sit alone in the garden again, this time reading a book your family had gifted you, you hear his footsteps before you see him. sukuna doesn’t announce his presence this time.

he simply stands there, watching you with his usual, inscrutable gaze. you feel his eyes on you, and for once, you don’t feel the need to pretend you don’t notice.

“I’m surprised you can read,” he says, his voice a low murmur. there’s no mockery in it, only a genuine comment. “thought you’d be too busy sulking.”

you glance up from your book, meeting his gaze. “I’m not sulking,” you reply, the words more matter-of-fact than before. there’s no need to explain yourself to him anymore.

he steps closer, his presence heavy as always, but this time it doesn’t make you want to shrink away. “what are you reading about?”

“it’s just a story,” you say, closing the book slowly. “something to pass the time.”

“hmm,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking down to the book. “must be a boring story if it’s keeping you this entertained.”

you chuckle lightly. “maybe I just need a distraction from you.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, but there’s a tension in the air, as if the words have just cracked open something between you.

the turning point comes one evening when you receive a letter from home. you’ve been sitting by the window, when you notice the familiar parchment.

aya’s neat handwriting graces the top, and as soon as you read her name, your heart stutters.

you eagerly unfold it, fingers trembling slightly as you begin to read.

her words spill across the page with such love and longing that they cut deep, each line filled with updates about their daily lives, the little things that no longer seem so insignificant to you.

she tells you about hina’s recent antics and how their mother insists on planting a garden in the courtyard, even though the soil remains stubbornly unyielding.

she writes about how your father has been more quiet than usual, always looking out toward the horizon, waiting for the day when his daughters are reunited.

but more than anything, the letter is a reminder of how deeply you are missed, how the absence of your presence has created a space no one can fill.

you can feel the tears welling in your eyes before you realize it. they sting hotly as you read on. the weight of being apart from them—your sisters, your parents—becomes almost unbearable.

you can’t suppress the sobs that rise in your chest, so you quickly wipe them away, desperate to regain some composure.

but you’re too late. the door opens with a soft creak, and you don’t need to turn to know who’s standing there. sukuna’s presence fills the room as it always does.

he pauses, his sharp eyes narrowing in on you. his gaze flicks over your tear-streaked face then down at your hands.

“what’s that?” he asks, his tone surprisingly less abrasive than usual. it’s subtle, but there’s a shift in the way he speaks.

“a letter,” you reply quietly, your voice thick, the emotion still lingering. “from my sisters.”

his eyes linger on you for a moment longer, studying you with an intensity that seems to reach beyond your tears, deeper into the vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep hidden.

he steps forward, closing the distance between you, and before you can react, he takes the parchment from your hands, his fingers brushing yours just slightly as he does so.

you watch him scan the letter, his expression unreadable, as though the words don’t mean anything to him.

but you notice the slight twitch in his brow when he reads aya’s mention of hina’s mischievous behavior and the mention of your father’s quiet gaze.

he hands the letter back after a moment, his face still impassive, but something lingers in his gaze as he meets your eyes.

“they miss you,” he says simply, though his voice is quieter than usual, less detached.

you swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. you nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I miss them too.”

for a long moment, neither of you speaks. the room is thick with the weight of unspoken words, the quiet intimacy of the exchange hanging in the air between you.

you wonder if he understands what it means to miss family—what it means to be torn from them, to feel so distant from the people who raised you, loved you.

you wonder if there’s a part of him that understands loneliness, even though he wears it like a badge of honor.

his expression remains unreadable, and for a moment, you think he’s about to leave, to retreat back into the distance that has characterized most of your interactions.

but then, to your surprise, he speaks again, his words low and deliberate.

“you may go visit them,” he says.

your breath catches in your throat, and you stare at him, eyes wide with disbelief. the words don't seem to register at first, not fully, and you find yourself unable to respond immediately. “what?”

his gaze remains steady, unwavering. “you heard me,” he repeats, a touch of impatience creeping into his tone. “you may visit them. if it’s that important to you.”

the shock slowly fades, replaced by confusion and a strange warmth that spreads in your chest.

you’ve always thought of him as a cold, imposing figure—a man who ruled through fear, who demanded respect through power.

but now, in this moment, you realize that he’s offering you something more than you ever expected. something human.

“I... thank you,” you finally manage to say, your voice barely a whisper.

“don’t make me regret it,” he warns, his voice returning to its usual gravelly tone. “I’m not doing this out of kindness. I simply don’t want you moping around here for the next week.”

you nod, the weight of the gesture sinking in, even as his words remain curt.

you don’t know if sukuna truly cares for you, or if this is just another act of power—his way of testing your limits or asserting control over your emotions.

but for now, you can’t help but feel a flicker of something more, a warmth that feels entirely out of place.

“thank you,” you repeat, your voice firmer now, despite the uncertainty that still lingers in your chest.

he grunts in response, turning to leave, but there’s a moment where his eyes meet yours again. and for the first time since you’ve arrived, you don’t see just the ruthless lord in those dark depths.

the journey back to your family’s home is a blur of emotion. the reunion with aya and hina is everything you imagined and more—warmth, laughter, and the comfort of familiar faces.

for the first time in months, you feel like yourself again, surrounded by the people who’ve always known you.

but even as you relish the joy of your visit, something lingers in the back of your mind. sukuna’s words, his unexpected offer to let you go, echo in your thoughts.

the days with your family fly by too quickly, and you can’t help but feel the ache of leaving them again.

aya hugs you tightly before you leave, her words of encouragement like a balm for the unease building in your chest. “you’ll be okay,” she whispers, her arms tightening around you.

when you return to the estate, everything feels oddly unchanged, yet different. the servants carry on as if your absence was nothing more than a passing breeze, and the cold, vast halls are just as you left them.

but sukuna is nowhere to be found—until you’re alone in the courtyard, unloading your things from the carriage.

the familiar sound of footsteps reaches your ears. the air shifts, heavy with his presence before you even see him. then, his shadow falls over you. you don’t need to look up to know it’s him, but you do anyway.

his gaze fixes on you, unreadable, but his lips are curled in that signature smirk. “back already?” he asks, his voice low.

you stand still, setting down the basket you were holding.

his eyes are sharp, studying you, but there’s an underlying softness you weren’t expecting. you nod, keeping your expression neutral. “I couldn’t stay away forever.”

sukuna doesn’t respond immediately, instead stepping closer. his feet crunch against the gravel.

you can’t help but notice how his gaze lingers on you, assessing, like he’s trying to understand something about you that he hadn’t before.

“do you miss them now?” he asks, his tone surprisingly casual.

you hesitate for a moment, feeling the vulnerability of the question. “of course,” you admit, your voice softer than you intended. “but I missed you, too.”

there’s a brief silence, the words hanging in the air between you. you can see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, something momentarily caught off guard by your honesty.

it’s rare that sukuna is disarmed, but somehow, your admission does just that. his lips quirk, but it’s not the mocking smile you’re used to. this one is different, almost amused in a way that doesn’t feel as patronizing.

“did you now?” he murmurs, taking another step toward you. his hand reaches up, and he places a finger under your chin, lifting your face to meet his gaze.

the touch is intimate, but there’s an unspoken weight to it, like it’s a silent acknowledgment of something neither of you are quite ready to voice. his thumb brushes lightly against your skin, the gesture soft but somehow grounding.

“I didn’t think you’d miss me,” he says quietly, his voice a low rumble, softer than usual.

you’re suddenly acutely aware of the space between you, of the way your heart seems to beat a little faster in your chest, of how his presence pulls you in like gravity.

the tension, always so thick and unyielding before, now feels different—softer, but just as real.  

your breath catches. “you’re not as bad as they said you are,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

sukuna’s eyes narrow slightly, and he takes another small step forward, the tension rising again, only this time it feels like a slow burn.

his fingers curl gently under your chin, his thumb stroking your skin as he leans closer, his breath mingling with yours.

“and you,” he murmurs, voice hushed, “are much more than I gave you credit for.”

before you can respond, something shifts between you. the air crackles with an intensity that neither of you can ignore. his lips are so close now, and you don’t think.

you lean in, your mouth brushing against his, tentative at first, like testing the waters of something new, something dangerous.

but then, without warning, sukuna’s hand grips your waist, pulling you into him. the kiss deepens, slow and steady, as though he’s savoring it, taking his time.

his touch is commanding, yet there’s a tenderness to it that surprises you, a carefulness you didn’t expect from someone like him.

when you finally break apart, your breath mingling in the space between you, there’s a quiet understanding in his eyes.

he doesn’t speak immediately. instead, he holds you close, his hand still resting on your back, steady and sure.

“you’re fully mine now, wife.”

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If You Were My Little Girl II

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Things are looking up

Alexia watches from the stands.

They're mostly empty, like almost all Barcelona B matches.

Women's football has only really started picking up steam recently but only at the top flight. The lower level leagues are still having a bit of a popularity issue.

But Alexia, for once, finds that she doesn't mind.

Because it means she can sit practically alone in the stands as she watches the home match.

A notepad sits on her lap, a pen tapping against the pages thoughtfully as she watches.

Barcelona B are good and Alexia has never expected anything different. She's seen the system at work many times as La Masia churns out players like Aitana and Pina and Jana, and more recently Vicky and Martina.

There's a reason so many clubs wants La Masia products.

They're all good players but even now, Alexia can tell a great player when she sees one.

You rise up among the crowd in the box and slam the ball into the goal, the net rippling with the force of the shot.

The best part, Alexia thinks, is that you didn't even need a moment to control the ball, hitting it in on the volley and grinning as your teammates practically dogpile you.

A hattrick in ten minutes is impressive in any league and Alexia makes another note in her notebook, humming softly to herself.

She rises out of her seat at the end of the match, disappearing into the building and out the doors.

It takes another half an hour for you to appear again, hair damp and an old crew neck sweater that Alexia's pretty sure is Alba's being tugged over your head.

You slip into the passenger seat, throwing your bag into the backseat and Alexia pulls your head down to press a kiss against the side of it.

You smile shyly at her as she offers up the fries she'd bought for a job well done.

"You did good, kid," She says," Very impressive."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. But I think we're going to work on evading slide tackles next," Alexia says as she drives off," We're trying to keep those ankles of yours intact, alright? I'm going to need them this season."

You roll your eyes and Alexia clicks her tongue.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," She says," I've got a good feeling about that meeting later in the week. A great feeling, actually. You should have one too."

"I'm managing expectations."

Alexia looks at you fondly. "Well, we'll see which one of us is right in a few days."

She lets you choose the music in the car, like she always does when you've scored a goal and you pull up to the apartment a lot quicker than you want to seeing as you're in the middle of singing along to your favourite song but, still, you drag yourself out of the car and up the stairs.

"How was the match?" Olga asks as she greets Alexia with a kiss on the lips.

"She did very well," Alexia brags," A hattrick within the first ten minutes and another goal in injury time."

"Exciting," Olga says indulgently as Alexia grins, already giving her running commentary of everything that happened during the match.

You escape though, hurrying to raid the cupboards before Alexia finally comes to her senses and tries to stop you 'spoiling' your dinner.

You don't know if there's any way to thank Alexia for what she's done for you.

Just three months ago, you were convinced that you were going to quit. You had no passion for the game, no hope of what your future was going to be but now all of that had changed.

You had direction. You had a manager. You had new boots and a place to live that wasn't a group home and support and love and everything seemed to be coming together for you.

A toe pokes you in the leg.

"Move."

"Alexia says that if you're trying to nap on her sofa again then I don't have to move," You tell Alba, who huffs and pokes you with her toe again," She also says that you have your own apartment and should stop mooching of us."

"But Olga's a better cook than me," Alba complains and you roll your eyes.

"Aren't you an adult? Even I can cook."

"Yeah but it's not like you could mooch off your sist-"

Alba falls silent quickly and you pretend to not notice what she was going to say for both hers and your own sakes.

The topic of your sister is kind of off limits when you're in the room. It's not completely banned because Alexia's still Jenni's national teammate but she's not really spoken about if you're in the room.

Alba's face flashes with terror for a moment so you pretend you don't notice her slip up ever though it sends a bolt of lightning into your stomach, a deep pit forming there.

It works for the most part, everyone in the house pretending Jenni isn't who she is to you, pretending that she's just Alexia's teammate and not her friend and ex, pretending that Alexia fostering you isn't her walking on a tight rope because Jenni doesn't know.

All Jenni knows is that you didn't quit when she told you to.

Jenni doesn't know that you live with Alexia. Jenni doesn't know anything. You doubt she even thinks about you when she's got a life far away in Mexico.

She lives there, far away from you and your life here in Barcelona.

She lives there and her presence is hardly ever mentioned around you.

Life is good at Alexia and Olga's house. Life is even good at training, though you could do without the smug little smirk Alexia has on her face when she picks you up.

"You already knew!" You accuse her, waving a finger in her face.

"Knew?" She asks, lips curl up in what can only be described as pure smugness," Knew what?"

"Right, who told you? Go on. Who was it?"

Alexia grins. "You do realise I am the captain? Any time they're looking to bring someone in, they ask me my opinion."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah and I'm sure you gave it."

"You're a good player. A great player," Alexia says," All I did was tell them what they already know."

You look down at your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. You want to be mad at her, to yell at her for keeping this from you. Maybe even yell at her for promising to the staff something you're not but you know she hasn't done that.

If she thought you weren't ready, she would have told them that.

But Alexia didn't. She didn't tell them to let you have a bit more time with the B team. She didn't tell them that you don't quite have what it takes.

"Thanks."

Alexia smiles at you as she drives home, a comfortable silence enveloping you both until your hand is on the door handle.

You stop.

"When I open this door, there's going to be a party, isn't there?"

"I may have told Olga...who told Mami...who told Alba...who told the rest of the family..."

"Is that a yes?"

"Possibly..."

"And there's no getting out of this?"

Alexia ruffles your hair, a soft kiss being pressed to the side of your head. "They're here to celebrate you."

You suck in a breath, just ready to turn the handle when the sound of the lift doors opening chimes down the corridor.

Both you and Alexia turn your heads towards.

It's just a fleeting second.

Just a moment.

But your good mood plummets as the door opens.

Alexia's hand tightens on your shoulder, pushing you slightly behind her and putting herself between you and the elevator.

Between you and Jenni.

[viaviavie]

BLOT BATTLEMENT (100 FOLLOWERS MILESTONE)

in which he suffers watching you fawn over his overblotted copy who seems to be in love with you.

SUMMARY: after an experiment gone wrong, an overblotted clone of one of the victims has re-emerged. luckily for everyone, it's reasonably powerless and will eventually disappear. unluckily for him, the clone seems to reflect his true feelings towards you.

PAIRINGS: overblot gang x reader (seperately)

WARNINGS: suggestive (for jamil, vil, and idia), slight possibility of drowning (azul), projection for ob!vil

NOTES: this is in celebration of hitting 100 followers! thank you so much for following my work, and for all the comments you have left behind! i will also be rewriting malleus's section once book 7 is complete! on another note, pls invade my inbox if you immediately see that reference from malleus's section, mwah!

"That's enough. If one of you barks one more time, I will have to show you what happens to unruly puppies that won't obey." Crewel sighs and pinched his nose, another hand gripping his baton in irritation. "Unfortunately, we cannot fix this in an hour. You bad doggies need to get along until this entire issue is resolved."

The professor clicked his tongue, shoving the two out of his office. "I have already contacted someone to get you both. Surely, the Prefect has survived both of you once and will be able to do it again. So stay put, and be good. Or else."

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

Seeing his Overblotted self summons waves of shame and embarrassment for Riddle. It was not his best moment at all, and that inky copy is a reflection of his worst flaws and traits. You could imagine how rushed Riddle was to collar his copy in fear that it would hurt others again, especially you who had already dealt with it once.

"Don't make me repeat myself, I demand that I see my King of Hearts, this instant!" It's very much like babysitting a spoiled child, and it makes Riddle so wracked with embarrassment. He cannot control his copy as it stomps and yells outrageous demands to see you. Riddle was really on the verge of collaring it and dragging it back to Heartsyabul when you turned the corner.

OB!Riddle's smile is so wide that it could be mistaken as sinister. "My rose!" Inky blot is smeared all over your uniform as the fake runs towards you. Just as Riddle was about to whip out his wand to stop it, you relax and return the embrace, albeit with a confused expression. Riddle manages to explain very quickly whilst trying to pry off his copy, but you suggest that it is best to let it do what it wants.

What Riddle doesn't tell you is that his copy reflects his desires as well, claiming he is uncertain why it insists on being so affectionate with you. However, it seems to be quite the blessing when OB!Riddle marches to the Heartslabyul dorm to resume its position as Housewarden. In fact, the entire dorm thanks you profusely for being able to manage that little tyrant with a bat of your eyelashes and a gentle voice.

"Trappola, have you not learned your lesson!? Rule #186, you shall not eat hamburg steak on Tuesday! OFF WITH YOUR HEAD—" Tapping lightly on its shoulder, you attempt to placate the copy with a weak smile. "Riddle— I mean, Housewarden Riddle, Ace has not been able to eat all day and the steak was the only thing left in the cafeteria. He did not have much of a choice." Suddenly, the copy's face softened before relaxing back into its seat.

"My rose, I mustn't bend the rules. If I bent them for one, I would have to bend them for all." It scowls, only sinking further into its chair as you rub gentle circles around his forearm. The entire table stares at you with looks of gratitude and relief, all in agreement that you just saved everyone a tantrum's worth of stress. You hummed at the copy, nodding softly. "I know, dear. May I remind you that rules are there to ensure everyone is happy and safe? If Ace hadn't eaten his lunch, perhaps he might have gorged on the tarts instead."

"I suppose you are right, my King of Hearts."

Riddle seethes from the other side of the table, arms crossed and face on the verge of turning red. It was hard for him to decide whether he was merely jealous, or upset at his own copy rampaging around as if he were the real one in charge. He pauses for a moment as an epiphany comes to him.

Is this what it looks like whenever the Prefect is here to calm me down from my temper?

Even though OB!Riddle cannot use his magic, Riddle is extremely watchful of his copy. It is perhaps the ugliest side of him, and the last thing he wants is an Unbirthday Party ruined and spoiled by ink. They only had to put up with it for a day, and surely, Riddle has enough patience to ride out this episode.

He does have to watch and hold himself back as his copy acts so familiar with you. A hand at your lower back, perhaps an inky kiss on the cheek, and you being referred to as 'his rose'? It should have been me!

When his copy disappears, Riddle takes the time to pull you aside and admit the truth behind the blot's behavior. His jealousy seems to have pushed him into confessing, and he makes it clear that he would rather earn your feelings properly instead of coercing you for affection with potential tantrums.

"Forgive me, Prefect. I apologize for my copy's behavior. I have to tell you the truth— it was reflecting my innermost feelings. Prefect, I harbor these affections for you and I yearn to be more than friends. You do not have to tell me anything else at the moment. If you wish for time, I understand as well. Allow me to be curt, at least just this once. I like you more than a friend should, and I would hope to hear your response soon." (So polite!)

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

What a drag. Does he really need to help monitor his own Overblotted self? If you were able to survive it once, you should be able to handle that huge lion on your own. OB!Leona appears to be nothing but a grumpy lion who answers to no one, only being forcibly dragged around by his original self.

It changes when you show up. Suddenly, the copy springs to life in your presence and is completely disobeying the original.

You are taken by surprise when OB!Leona backs you onto a wall, a clawed hand lightly brushing against your cheek. "Herbivore," He breathed as his green eyes zoned in on you. "You should be more careful when you wander these halls alone." You couldn't help but gulp as he grins, fangs glinting against the sunlight. "You never know who might just be planning to eat you."

But when Leona takes notice of his Overblot's sharp nails cut into your skin, his attitude changes as well. The original takes initiative to pull you away and stand between you both. Perhaps you don't understand the way they bare teeth at one another, taking aggressive stances as if one or the other would jump and claw at their target. It sets the tone for a very tense environment as you attempt to drag them both to Savanaclaw.

It was best to keep both lion beastmen confined in his room. Considering that OB!Leona was focused on getting your attention, it wasn't hard to manage him. It was all that his overblotted self wanted; attention and absolute adoration. Leona, on the other hand, was more so bothered by the fact you smelled too much like ink in his own room.

"Tell me, do you look at anyone else like this?" Having been kicked out of his own bed, Leona could only stare blankly from his couch as his copy kept you trapped against its chest on the mattress. It only served to annoy him further when you seemed to reciprocate the attention it was giving you. "No, only you." The copy smirks, its tail entangled around one of your legs. "Then tell me, why? What do you adore about me?"

You hummed, sighing while your hand began to play with his mane-like hair. "You're brilliant. You're the most cunning lion that I know." Leona swears you were teasing him as you take a quick glance at him, smiling slightly. "And you're the only one that can protect me." With a mocking grin, the copy cups your cheek and returns your gaze to his own. "Tell me more, herbivore."

When the copy finally reverts back to ink, Leona can't help but find some relief in having the bed (and you) all to himself again. The first thing he does is drag you to the mattress and keep you trapped against his chest. You still smell of ink and lion, and it's his job to fix that.

"Go to bed, herbivore... Ha? I don't have to give you an explanation. You're a smart cookie, haven't you figured it out yet? ... Even with all the answers my blotted copy gave you, you're still not satisfied? Hmph, that's not my problem anymore. You're mine now, is that what you wanted to hear? ... Good. Now if that is all, let's go to sleep. You reek of ink..."

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

It had become priority to get Azul's overblotted self into the biggest Octanivelle tank, which also happened to be the most isolated one. While OB!Azul seemed to be temporarily human, he seemed more irate with each second spent on the surface. It only relaxes slightly when it spots you, but his grip on your arm never relents. "Prefect, please. I need the sea..." He's just so needy and in pain. You'd help him, would you?

Azul is absolutely livid. He doesn't want you to see his copy in such a pathetic state. He most certainly tried to get you to turn the other way and march straight home, but you had to hit him with, "Even if it's your overblotted self, I would still help you." It might have been just a small comment, but he takes it as if you would move mountains for him. You weren't making it transactional, and that's practically special treatment for him.

You thought that his overblotted self would settle once in that tank. The copy immediately sheds its human form in favor of his merform, much to Azul's embarrassment. The businessman ready to drag you out and leave that blotted mess to fend for itself when a tentacle had dragged you into the water. Suddenly, you're met with teary blue eyes just before you were submerged. "You didn't plan to leave me here alone, did you?"

And goodness, Azul is just torn between fuming and panicking as his copy drags you further and further down. To make things worse, you haven't even taken a breathing potion! That was more than enough to make the octomer shake off his anxieties and plunge down into the waters after you before you drowned.

"And then what? What exactly were you planning to do once you had the Prefect here?" Azul pinched the bridge of his nose as he crossed his arms, unable to even make eye contact with you. Clutching at the little potion bottle in your hands, you do your best to ignore the way that the copy's tentacles seem to latch onto every single limb of yours. Not to mention how they twitch and slowly coil against your skin, or the way that the copy buries itself into your neck with a whine while it ignores its original.

"Why? Why won't you give me an answer?" It murmurs, arms caging you into its chest. You can see Azul's jaw clench, but you cannot exactly tell if he's embarrassed by how pathetic his overblot can be or envious of how it got a chance to be so close. "I'll give you everything. You will never want for anything. All you have to do is say that you'll be mine." The copy grits its teeth as it tightens its grip on you, tearing a surprised gasp from your throat.

"Why won't you surrender to me?"

The moment that this entire fiasco ends, you never see Azul for another two weeks. Every time you go to the Mostro Lounge to see him, he's suddenly occupied with every single disaster known to man. It isn't until Floyd gets bored of the entire thing when you get the opportunity to be tossed into the tank again. It isn't until Azul jumps into the tank after you with another breathing potion to save you, again.

"Please don't speak of that incident, Prefect. I wish you never had to be witness to such a sorry display... W-What do you mean Floyd told you about that botched blot experiment?! ... Don't play with me, Prefect. You can't just say that you'll surrender to me, you'll hurt my poor heart! ... If you dare say it again, I am afraid that the contract can never be broken. Choose your next words wisely, Prefect. Not all agreements have to be in writing."

JAMIL VIPER

Of all the Overblots here, Jamil's was the most... unhinged one, surprisingly. It was also the nastiest, based on how it seemed to disregard everyone around him. Truly, it was the worst of Jamil's envy and wrath towards everyone around him for shaping him as a servant. No matter what Jamil did to snap some sense into his copy's head, it only served to tick it off even more.

When you came to assess the situation, however, you immediately got the sense that the Overblot will not be cooperative unless it gets what it wants.

"Master Jamil," Both copy and original froze, slowly turning their heads to you, who has knelt onto the floor with a small smile. "A frown does not suit such a handsome face. Is there anything I can do for you?" Jamil remains frozen, mentally screaming in his head while his Overblotted self smirks, sauntering towards you with desire swirling in his maddened gaze. "Rise, my diamond. You certainly may do a little favour for me..."

Thanks to Kalim and the coordination of the entire Scarabia dorm, everyone has tricked OB!Jamil into thinking it was the boss of the place (at least for a day, Kamil is super understanding of the situation!). At least someone expected the copy to see through this farce, but OB!Jamil's ego was so stroked by you and everyone around that it seemed to buy into the delusion.

Unlike Leona's copy which was super uninterested with anything that didn't concern you, Jamil's blotted self was extremely irritant with everyone else. Had it not been for you, Jamil would never be able to live down the embarrassment for having such an... unpleasant copy. So far, there have been no disasters while Jamil was occupied with keeping his copy at bay.

It's just that... Jamil has been watching from the sidelines as you are perched on his copy's lap, feeding it and attending to it's every beck and call!

Gripping his knee, Jamil's eyes narrowed onto your flushed gaze as your fingers combed through his copy's hair. If he had envied everything that Kalim ever wase, he certainly envied the abomination wearing his face as it rested its head on your lap. You didn't have to look at Jamil to know that he was seething, but it wasn't as if you could abandon the blotted copy either. It had only been a few hours since it had latched onto you, and this was not the best time to agitate it.

"It seems that I have not rewarded you." The copy sings. Its expression remains content, shuddering at the sensation of your fingers pulling gently at its scalp. "Do tell me what you desire most." Your breath hitched at the copy's purr. You do not react either as the fake Jamil sits up to caress your warm cheek. Biting onto your lower lip, you shook your head. "I desire nothing but to make you happy, master." You swear that you see Jamil's expression strain itself, and you already see how tight he grips his knee.

"Is that so?" You say nothing when the copy leans in closer to you, licking its lips with intent. You should be frightened, and most certainly be running away, but you don't. "You wish to make me happy, then? Is it me that you want?"

All the signs were there. That copy's hand was pressed against your lower back, the other hand was on your cheek, and his face was so so close—

Its lips are hot to the touch, and you melt immediately into his hands as he pushes and prods with his tongue. Against the candlelight, Jamil cannot tell if your cheeks were truly flushed red. He watches as your own hands crept up onto the copy's shoulders, pressing and digging nails into its shoulders until you have the strength to push yourself away for air.

You pant as your vision returns to you, meeting the copy's cruel smirk. It is looking down on you, and yet, you do not feel animosity towards it. You only feel disappointment once you recall it was only a fake.

"Or perhaps," A gasp is torn from your throat when the fake grabs your cheeks with a firm hand, forcing your gaze to fall upon a stunned, yet flushed Jamil. The copy smiles wickedly against your cheek, humming with absolute glee.

"Is it him that you want instead?"

You nod, and Jamil's heart skips a beat.

Yeah, no. Our boy Jamil ain't recovering from this. The moment that the blot disappears, you best expect that Jamil ain't letting you leave that room without an answer.

"I wouldn't act coy right now, Prefect. You may be clever, but I have no patience for your antics. Now, are you going to be honest with me? ... Why don't you tell me what you want, instead? What? But you were so honest with that fake only a few moments ago. Where have your words gone? ... You wish for me to force the truth out of you, then? ... As you wish, Prefect. I will give you everything you want."

VIL SCHOENHEIT

This was such an inconvenience for poor Vil, and he hates his copy to the same extent that Azul does. Just like Riddle, Vil feels a sense of shame when he looks at his doppelganger because it was a personification of his insecurities and selfishness. However, at least the copy was very calm and cooperative, perhaps even melancholy until it sees you.

Seeing Vil's Overblotted self again doesn't change the fact that the fake was still so beautiful. You are actually stunned into silence when you are brought before the two. Grim swears you have stopped functioning because being in the presence of two Vil's is too much for this world.

If you weren't watching yourself, you would've passed out the moment OB!Vil cupped your cheek with its inky hand and smiled down at you. "Ah, Prefect..." You gulped as it cooed at you, much to Vil's alarm. Its surely dangerous, but danger loves you so much and you can't pull away from it.

OB!Vil never lets you out of its sight after that. Wherever you went, the blot would follow. It seems to be fixated on being in your sights, which was not exactly a problem when you brought yourself to Vil's quarters where you would wait the entire thing out. It does concern you, however, just as the copy seems to grow more and more unhinged with each second that passes.

Vil is not exactly envious of how intimate the fake acts with you. Rather, he's extremely perplexed and observant of the way it pines for your attention and praise like a lovesick puppy. However, it isn't always so sweet. It isn't so sweet when the copy comes so close to scratching at your skin as it begs for your honesty. It certainly does not appreciate being lied to.

"Tell me, Prefect. Who is the fairest one of all?" It asks for the hundredth time.

Vil cannot exactly explain how he found himself watching his copy cage you into his own bed. It has straddled your hips, pinning your hands down onto the mattress without a care for the mess it makes. Ink drips and spills over his silk sheets, his pillows, you. Your neck has been smeared with ink, and so have your clothes. His copy is smiling with ink dripping from its lips and its hair, an obscure yet beautiful mockery of the original.

The original's breath hitches as your lips part into a breathy smile. You look like absolute art, and his fake looks like an absolute mess. "You, Vil. You're the fairest one of all." Vil shut his eyes at your quiet whisper, and he wishes that you stop bending yourself over for this pathetic imitation of him.

The copy snorted in dismissal, a sinister grin taking over its features. "Ha!" Even as it grips your wrists tighter, you know better than to believe that the copy would dare hurt you. Your heart pounds, however, as it leans in closely to your face with desperation on its breath. "Why do you say such, Prefect? Why do you say such when you feast your gaze on the ugliest part of me?" A choked breath stills the copy, its grin growing more crooked and maddened. Ink splashes against your cheek, and the copy pathetically takes a long finger to smear it away, only obscuring your features further.

"Are you trying to lie to me?" It croaked, maintaining that desperately smile.

Vil thinks you'll push it away. Vil thinks that you think of his copy so hideously, and so ugly. Vil thinks that you see him as ugly.

And you dispel all those cursed thoughts as your hand reaches out to cup the copy's cheek, dirtying your own hand in turn. "You've pushed yourself so hard, Vil. You've worked hard for everything you dreamed of." The copy's crazed expression remains, and more ink pours into you. Still, you return it with a gentle smile of your own. "Even when everyone complains, you're only pushing them because you care the most. Perhaps you act like the evil queen everyone makes you out to be, but that crown is yours by right."

Vil's heart stops. He still cannot bring himself to look at the sight. It's that cynical part of him that believe in your acting skills, that this was all a ruse to satiate his fake. The knife digs into his chest further as you hummed sweetly. "Your flaws are just as beautiful to me."

Only then does Vil bring himself to look at his copy. It is still smiling, eyes so wide as blotted tears fall upon your skin. You are covered in ink, covered in the ugliness that had consumed Vil, but you accept it all. You embrace the mess, just as you embrace the ugliness of Vil's heart. "Do you truly mean it, Prefect?" Its whisper shakes with hope, very much unlike the weariness and suspicion it held towards you the entire time.

Both you and the copy slowly glance at the real Vil whose eyes had widened at your softened gaze, filled with nothing but adoration. The heart in his chest ached, and he imagines that his entire body is melting into your hands. You are his weakness, after all.

"I mean every word, Vil."

When the situation died down, Vil takes the time to walk you back to Ramshackle Dorm. However, he makes a quick stop when the moon is set at the right spot, just to cast down light on your starstruck gaze.

"To think that the ugliest part of me revealed such feelings— you deserve an appropriate confession, at the very least. The affection that my fake expressed to you was no different to what I feel for you. I realize... that you meant more to me than you should have. I am not a benevolent prince, nor am I pure as the white snow. Still, I offer my heart for you to keep in a box. I only ask you to accept me, for all my beauty and ugliness... Ha, potato. My lovely potato, you're mine..."

IDIA SHROUD

Surprisingly, Idia got along the most with his Overblotted self. It wasn't as if he was driven by pride or competition— there was just some sort of acceptance when OB!Idia was first manifested. There wouldn't have been much issues.

At least, that was what he wanted to believe before OB!Idia set his eyes on you. It sent Idia into a choking fit when he saw OB!Idia approach you with such cool indifference, acting like one of those aloof protagonists from those dark otome games that he saw on a playthrough once. It's the way that OB!Idia leaned down towards your ear, muttering something about his boredom and suggesting to retreat to his dorm.

Idia took an hour to recover before sprinting to his dorm to ensure nothing has happened. All he found was you sitting on OB!Idia's thighs (it insisted!), and Idia swore that his copy was smirking at him.

OB!Idia was nothing to be concerned about. It wasn't as if it had the power to open up the Gate of the Underworld, which so happened to be far away. Other than the fact that the copy seems so... forward with you, Idia tried his hardest to ignore it.

"You look tense, Prefect." The copy smirked as it gently backed you against the wall. It places an arm right above your head, the figure leaning down at you. Behind the mask it wore, you can almost see it smirking down on you. "Don't I scare you?"

If this was the copy's attempt to intimidate you, ha! You got it covered! Idia is practically weak to any sort of romantic notion, it should surely send his overblot into a flustered fit! Boldly, you close in the gap slightly, crossing your arms around his neck and smiled at him. "Not at all, Idia." Much to your surprise, however, the copy takes its hand to cradle the back of your head, gently nudging your face closer until you barely a hair's worth away from kissing his mask.

"Are you sure about that?"

Suddenly a flare of red catches your attention as you glance to the side to see a fuming Idia who snuck over to your side. Wrapping a possessive arm around your middle, the original Idia glared at the fake and gritted his sharp teeth. "Listen here, bucko. You ain't getting more action than me, so buzz off!" He towers over you, hair threatening to burn orange if this fake continues to toy with you. "You wanna play, huh? Only one of us can have her, and you're nothing but a MagicMart knock-off!"

Cocking its head to the side, the copy snorted. It didn't seem to relent its hold it had on you. Instead, it leaned in towards Idia with a taunting stare. "Yeah? Why don't you ask the Prefect, hm? Seems like our little guest is enjoying all the attention." Both of them glance down at you, who seemed to be busy turning red to even give a proper response.

The blotted copy takes its hand to cup your cheek gently, but it was only a ruse as it forces you to look at Idia, eyes hazy with want. The way your breath shudders makes the original itch to steal you away from the copy.

"Don't you?"

Take that ending however you will. Idia does end up confessing to you once his copy is reduced to ink once more.

"Don't give me that look, Prefect. You totally loved seeing me get all riled up. And don't you dare deny you hated the idea of getting sandwiched by two of me... Please don't make me say it. I ain't good at the 'asking out' part, but I don't wanna skip over to straight up dating. Ugh, fine. I actually liked you for a really long time, and oh Great Seven, I just hope that I'm saying the right stuff to get onto your route. You're the only route that I wanna pursue."

MALLEUS DRACONIA (Book 7 is incomplete at the time of this posting)

Had it not been for the lack of potency in the blot, OB!Malleus would have been the end of NRC. Lilia was not a stranger to Malleus's ability to change the environment based on his mood. Even when this was a mere fake that they were dealing with, no one really wants to find out the consequences of upsetting the copy.

Malleus looks down on his Overblotted self. It was a flawed part of him, but nonetheless, a part of him that he was most disappointed by. The Fae Prince should know better than to act so wickedly, but the original understands. He tries to be as sympathetic as he can be for the copy, but it was only indifferent to what the original demanded of it.

Being the concerned friend that you were, you went to see them both despite all warnings from Sebek. Admittedly, Malleus would rather you be as far away from this poor imitation as possible. He does not want to see you hurt, let alone be at the mercy of his copy. Alas, it is too late now. The blotted copy will not allow you to leave.

Malleus hid his frustrations and anger underneath that collected demeanor. The only thing keeping him from doing anything rash was the fact that you were cradled against his chest. With a protective arm holding your waist, you were seated upon the fae's lap. The copy is forced to look up at him as he sat on his makeshift throne, and the fury behind its eyes is most evident, based on the way its hands grip your knees as if it were the only piece of you left.

Alas, it is only a stalemate now. With each tug that the copy made at your lower half, Malleus would simply pull you closer to him in turn. The fae hummed, glaring down at the copy who seems indifferent to intimidation. "Prefect, you may only say the word and this fake will be no more." He grunted, and you resist the urge to whimper as the copy's lips turned upwards into a smile. "If you wish for it, Prefect, I will disappear." It cooed, and the glint in its eyes reflecting the madness of blot.

Hesitantly, you shake your head and only feel Malleus's nails brush against your waist. "I don't want you to disappear." You whispered meekly, uncertain of what to think of the fake's lovestruck gaze. "Prefect, do you know what I can give you?" Even as the fake is forced down by the original, it still has the nerve to reach out and cup your cheek. "I can grant your dreams. I can make your fantasies a reality. I can give you everything."

Malleus lets out a breath of warning, leaning down to your ear as he narrowed his eyes at the fake with restraint. "Do not listen to this mockery, Prefect." His words are tinged with a hint of desperation, as if he had something to hide, something to shield you from. No matter how much he attempts to intimidate the fake, his blotted self presses on with a cruel smile.

"Prefect, all you have to do is love me, fear me, and do as I say. I will be your servant to will, to rule, to ruin." You are frozen as Malleus loses his temper, swinging out his staff to dispel the fake once and for all. Much to his dismay, his blotted self backs away just in time as its glowing green eyes lock onto yours once more.

"All you have to do is stay with me, forever."

The campus lets out a collective sigh of relief when the OB!Malleus disappears. However, suddenly, the entire campus is holding its breath again when Malleus doesn't immediately let you leave his room.

"Prefect, I beseech for your forgiveness. I fear that the fake has reflected my most selfish desires... You have nothing to fear, for I shall never withhold you against your will. How could I do such a thing when I am already so weak to your whims? ... Perhaps you do not have to stay forever to render me your servant. I pine for you, Prefect. My heart has already been yours long before I noticed. Please, grant me your forgiveness, Prefect, lest you cast me aside and I shall let my feelings fade with time."

[no-144444]

farm girl- o.piastri

summary: what's a better way to a guys attention than shouting at him for being too slow?

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! clarkson farm, farm-hand!! reader

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You weren’t the biggest fan of Jeremy’s reality show, but you enjoyed working the farm, so, as per your agreement, you wouldn’t be featured in episodes as much as possible. You were so far removed in fact, that you didn’t even know that someone else was driving the tractor when you shouted for them to ‘stop being shit’ at driving it. 

“Y/n!” Jeremy shouted. “Stop being rude!”

“What?” you scoffed. “I swear to god, if Finn doesn’t fucking speed up I’m going to-” you started, but stopped yourself when you saw none other than Oscar fucking Piastri in the driver’s seat with an embarrassed and guilty smile on his face. “Sorry,” you offered, internally cursing yourself. “Continue on!” you announced before turning back and continuing on with more of your duties. 

Oscar looked after you as you walked, an amused smile on his face. “Who’s that?”

“Y/n, one of our farmers,” Jeremy explained, a chuckle on his lips. “She’s… fiery.”

“She’s damn good at her job!” someone from off-camera chimed in, making everyone chuckle. 

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As his day went on, he caught glimpses of you. You were tending to animals, or showing someone around, or just generally being beautiful and mysterious. He was desperate to know more. He asked a million questions about you, and he was sure everyone was aware of his not-so-secret crush on you.

“You should ask her out, she likes F1,” Jeremy advised as they sat down to lunch. “You’re one of her favourite drivers.”

He still got surprised when people knew him, forgetting sometimes that he is, in fact, a public figure. “Yeah?”

Jeremy laughed. “Yeah,”  he scoffed. “Kids these days…”

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When his day of hard labour came to an end, he made it his plan to seek you out, humoring Jeremy’s theory. 

“Hi,” he smiled, standing just behind you. 

You startled, jumping up from whatever it was that you were doing and cursed. “Fucking hell! Announce yourself!” You let it slip before you could really stop yourself, but you didn’t feel all that bad, he should have announced himself. 

He laughed. “What did you think I was trying to do?!”

“Scare the shit out of me?” you scoffed. “I don’t know.”

“I’m Oscar,” he held out his hand to be shaken. “Nice to meet you.”

You took his hand,shaking it quickly. “Y/n. Sorry about the whole…  tractor thing.”

“Nothing but a bruised ego,” he chuckled. “So what do you do around here?”

You shrugged. “A bit of everything, I guess.”

He nodded, and you both stood in silence for a minute. 

“Did you need something?” you questioned. “-Not to be rude, or anything, I just… I've got to get back to the rest of my stuff so… yeah.”

He smiled, enjoying the fact that you were as awkward as him. “Can I get your number?”

You stared at him for a second, then you broke out into one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever seen. “Why?”

He stepped closer to you. “I think you’re really pretty,” he explained. “And I want to get to know you more.” 

You nodded. “Give me your phone.”

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[littlelamy]

massages with rafe

They always started the same way—innocent enough, at least on the surface. It didn’t matter how much you told him you didn’t need it or how many excuses you tried to make. Rafe didn’t care. He was relentless in his mission to make sure you were taken care of.

“Baby, you’ve been carrying stress all week,” he’d say, his voice laced with that soft, commanding tone that left no room for argument. “Just let me handle it. Let me help.”

And so, you always gave in. How could you not? Especially when his hands were so good at coaxing away every ounce of tension you didn’t even know you had.

Tonight, you were on his bed, stretched out on your stomach, the soft glow of his bedside lamp casting golden light across his sharp features. The sheets beneath you smelled like him—cedarwood and something faintly smoky—and the familiar scent was enough to ease some of the weight pressing on your chest.

Rafe straddled your legs, his hands warm and firm as they worked over your shoulders. His fingers pressed into your skin with practiced precision, finding every knot and coaxing it loose.

“You’re all wound up, princess,” he murmured, his thumbs digging into a particularly tight spot between your shoulder blades. “What’s got you so tense?”

“Life,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the pillow.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through the quiet room. “Good thing I’m here, huh?”

You didn’t answer, too focused on the way his hands worked their magic. His touch was firm yet tender, soothing yet intoxicating. It was almost too easy to lose yourself in the rhythm of his movements, to let your mind wander as his hands moved lower, tracing the curve of your spine.

But with Rafe, it was never just a massage.

The shift happened slowly, subtly at first. His hands lingered on the small of your back, his thumbs brushing against the waistband of your shorts in a way that made your breath hitch. You felt the change in the air, the way it seemed to thicken with something unspoken, something electric.

“Rafe,” you said, your voice soft, tentative.

“Hmm?” His response was casual, almost innocent, but the way his hands moved wasn’t.

His fingertips dipped just below the waistband, tracing slow, deliberate circles against your skin. “Relax, baby. Let me take care of you.”

Your heart raced, a mix of anticipation and nervousness coursing through your veins. His touch was intoxicating, making it hard to think, hard to breathe.

“You had a rough week,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your shoulder as his hands slid lower. “You deserve to feel good. Daddy’s got you.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly. You couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips, your body instinctively arching into his touch.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Just let me do the work.”

He tugged at the waistband of your shorts, sliding them down your legs in one smooth motion. The cool air against your bare skin made you shiver, but the warmth of his hands quickly chased it away. His touch was reverent, almost worshipful, as his hands skimmed over your thighs, squeezing gently before moving higher.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe as his fingertips traced the curve of your hips. “So perfect.”

Your cheeks burned at his words, but you didn’t have time to dwell on your embarrassment. Not when his fingers were sliding between your legs, finding the damp heat already building there.

“Look at you,” he said, his tone both teasing and adoring. “So puffy, so ready for me.”

A whimper escaped your lips, your hips bucking involuntarily as his fingers pressed against you through the thin fabric of your panties. He chuckled softly, clearly pleased with your reaction.

“Rafe,” you gasped, your voice trembling as he slid the fabric aside, his fingers brushing against your bare skin.

“What is it, baby?” he asked, his voice low and dripping with affection. “What do you need?”

“I...” Your words faltered, your mind too foggy with desire to form a coherent thought.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “Tell me, princess. I want to hear you say it.”

“I need you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He groaned softly, his fingers finally sliding inside you, drawing a gasp from your lips.

He moved slowly, deliberately, his fingers curling just right to hit that spot that made you see stars. His free hand slid beneath you, his palm pressing against your stomach to hold you steady as he worked you over.

“Feel that?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck. “That’s me taking care of you. That’s me making you feel good.”

You couldn’t answer, too lost in the sensation of his touch, the way his fingers moved inside you with an almost unbearable precision. He took his time, savoring every reaction, every moan and whimper that spilled from your lips.

“You’re so tight,” he muttered, his voice tinged with awe. “So perfect for me.”

Your body trembled beneath him, your hands gripping the sheets as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, baby,” he said, his tone filled with pride. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.”

When the wave of pleasure finally crashed over you, it was overwhelming, all-consuming. Your body shook, your vision blurred, and all you could do was hold onto him as he guided you through it.

He didn’t stop, didn’t pull away. His touch remained steady, grounding you as you came down from the high, his lips pressing soft kisses against your shoulders and neck.

“Better?” he asked, his voice soft and filled with genuine concern.

You nodded weakly, a small smile tugging at your lips as you turned to look at him. “Yeah. Better.”

He smiled back, his expression tender as he leaned down to kiss you.

“Good,” he said, pulling you into his arms. “You deserve to feel good, princess. Always.”

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms, depression, manipulation wc: 5155 a/n: hi everyone! i'm so excited for this piece of work as I have a lot of exciting ideas planned in store! this will probably have slow updates, so please please please be patient with me. thank you all for reading! i'm aiming for at least 15ish chapters, maybe more or less, depends how much i write in one chapter in the future. next chapter

“Cash or card?”

“Card.”

The sound of light dinging follows, the transaction completed. “Here you go, Miss. Have a good day.”

“Thank you, you too.” The woman takes the small bag from your outstretched hands, giving one last smile before exiting. The bell at the top of the door rings, signifying her exit. You sigh and look at the clock, one more hour. It’s not that long. But you’ve been here since opening and the shoes you’re wearing are beginning to hurt your feet. Maybe you should’ve broken them in more.

It’s a quaint little cafe. Most of the customers are teenagers, college students, or overworked office workers who need caffeine to get them through the day. Other than that, you have no qualms. Of course, it does get a little annoying having to tell the newer, much younger co-workers that they can’t do this or that. 

A mundane routine of making coffees, packing orders, and ringing them up. Just one more hour. 

As soon as the clock strikes 5:00, you’re clocking out and saying goodbye. The school is an exact walk of ten minutes, six if you’re fast. Then another ten back to the apartment. And finally, another fifteen to the convenience store. 

Hustle and bustle is all you’ve ever known. Sure, you like it most of the time. But you just wish you could get a break. It’s always go, go, go, but never take a rest and time to yourself for a moment. But when you see that adorable smile plaster on those chubby cheeks you never shy away from pinching, it’s all worth it. “Mama!” 

“Baby!” you crouch down and open your arms. The young boy wastes no time in throwing his body into yours, face nuzzled into your chest and arms around your neck. “How was school? Fun?” you ask, hand rubbing his back up and down.

He nods. “Mhm! Mr. Ito says I got the most gold stars out of everyone in class.” 

Your smile grows wistful, aweing. “Wow, such a good boy, aren’t you?”

You carry Koji into your arms, starting the walk back to your very humble apartment. He chatters innocently the entire trek, with you occasionally adding on or asking questions. His soft white hair pokes at your cheek, to which you straighten down with one free hand. It’s days like these where you wish you could just lounge at home with him, basking in his sweet innocence. But while most people are ending for the day, you’re barely starting your second half.

You feel the self-deprecating thoughts fill your mind like a virus while stationed near the light, waiting for the pedestal symbol to indicate. Your grip tightens around your son slightly, as if anchoring yourself to reality and reminding yourself you’re doing it all for him, and to keep going for him. 

It���s hard, yes. But so is parenting. 

The symbol comes on and you walk, seeing the building of your complex in the distance. Forcing any lingering negativity away, you clear your throat. “So, what did you learn today, baby?”

Koji looks up at you. “We learned how to add! I helped Mina.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

He giggles bashfully, leaning into the kiss you place on his cheek. Eyebrows raising as a sudden memory hits him. “Oh! And Mr. Ito said Dad Appreciation Day is next month. There’s gonna be food and music.”

Your smile wavers, footsteps momentarily pausing before continuing. “Oh, really?” you ask, inhaling a wavy breath of air. “That sounds like fun.”

“Mhm.” Koji nods, then tilts his head curiously at you. “But everyone is bringing their daddies. I wanna bring Papa too.” 

And you really try not to make your guilty grimace visible. “I know, sweetie. I know.”

“Can Papa come?” he frowns. 

No, he can’t. But you’re not about to tell your five-year-old that the reason his father can’t make an appearance is because he doesn’t even know he has a son. It’s been a difficult conversation for you. You’re not sure when or how to have these sorts of hard ones with children. So you’ve been dancing around the subject. Saying his dad is away on vacation, or fighting intergalactic dragons, or some other excuse you’ve been forced to use. He believes you, most of the time. But that doesn’t stop his curiosity and growing impatience. 

The last thing you want him to think is that he has no father in the first place.

He does. You’ve shown him pictures and videos occasionally. Of, and of course, he’s an exact carbon copy of the man. From his bright blue eyes, albino hair, and all the way down to his stubborn personality. You were a little annoyed when your only child took quite literally everything from his father, only leaving him with a couple of things from you–your nose and helpful nature. 

“We’ll see. Papa is busy, remember?” you gently reply, walking through the parking lot of your complex to the lobby.

Koji’s frown deepens and so do the metaphorical scars on your heart. “But Papa’s always busy! I wanna see Papa.”

“I know you do, baby. You will soon, okay?”

“Do you promise?”

You hesitate but eventually nod with a forced smile. “Mama promises.”

After leaving Koji with the babysitter, you give him a quick kiss and recite the list with the babysitter before rushing off to your second job. A convenience store. 

Not the most savory place, mainly because you get all sorts of crazy and odd customers, but also because you are close. You hate closing. But you need the second disposable income and this is the only place that fits with your schedule. It’s also a little more leaned back than the cafe, when there are no customers, you spend your time browsing the web for jobs.

You’ve probably sent in over 500 applications over the years, with not even half of those places reaching out. Even then, you’re not guaranteed a job. The job market is horrible nowadays and you’re living through it.

Whatever, you think to yourself as you clock in. One day at a time.

It’s around eleven at night when you're slugging back into your apartment, lights dim, and silence enveloping the place. “Thank you, Sana.” You mutter, exhausted but still sparing the 20-year-old a smile. You hand her a small envelope. “For today and last Saturday. How was he?”

Sana thanks you kindly and grabs her stuff. “All good, no tantrums today.”

“That’s good.” you walk into the kitchen, grabbing some food you’ve meal prepped. “Get home safe, okay?”

“Thank you, Y/N. Sleep well.”

When she leaves, you give yourself a moment to slump over the kitchen island, sighing in both relief and lingering tiredness. The silence feels nice, like an old and familiar friend welcoming you and praising you after yet another day of the same routine. You’ve always loved routines, but you can’t help but crave at least some sort of spontaneity. Putting the tupperware of chicken and rice into the microwave for a minute, its light humming makes you zone out. The conversation from before with your son ringing in your mind like a very annoying bell.

Soon, images of his son, your ex, flood your mind. An old fluttery sensation residing in the pit of your stomach, your body suddenly feeling all too warm for your liking. Your fists clench to stop their light trembling, shaking your head free of him. 

Not now.

You stop the microwave at one second, before it makes that obnoxious beeping and wakes your son. There are two chairs at the small dining table, you sit at one of them and eat your now warm meal. You’ve started meal prepping after one too many missed meals and a few incidents where that light-headedness and blurred vision caused you to faint. Luckily, you were alone when that happened. Unluckily, you were alone when that happened. Nursing a few bruises to your forehead after making contact was not a fun time. 

You take time to eat, in no particular rush. Although you know you should be getting ready for bed soon for another early day tomorrow, your body doesn’t move. Either consciously or subconsciously. The end of the day is when you find yourself attempting to unwind and detach from the day’s events. But, the stress of unpaid bills, debts, and worry for the future always find time to crawl back.

It’s exhausting, extremely so. Sure, you’re an adult and this is normal. But don’t you deserve at least a little bit of time when you don’t have to worry about anything? It feels like every waking second your mind is working overtime, your body in a constant state of motion. It’s worn you down completely over the years. But you have a son who needs you, so you suppose you shouldn’t be feeling pity for yourself.

This is what parenting is all about, isn’t it?

Making sacrifice after sacrifice for your child. However, when you feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper, slowly losing more of yourself, what if there’s nothing left to sacrifice in the first place? The eviction bill from this morning taunts you as it lays upright in front of you in the middle of the table.

It’s then do you think, no, you do have one thing left. 

Koji.

If Koji’s gone, then you really have nothing left. There’s no reason to live if that happens. And with the path you’re going down, that’s feeling more and more like a dreaded possibility. 

I wanna see Papa.

Koji’s words play repeatedly. For a second, you feel yourself resonating with your son. Only for a second. You reach for your phone and go to Google, typing in a name that still haunts you. You’re barely three letters in before his name appears and you’re clicking.

A smiling image fills your screen along with other general information.

For some unknown reason, your breath hitches. You feel like he’s almost staring at you, smiling at your pathetic predicament. Grip tightening around your phone, swallowing down an unexpecting lump, tears fall from your eyes and onto the phone screen.

Why you’re crying, you don’t know. It could be many things, but you won’t address that right now.

Gojo Satoru.

The father of your child, your ex of 4 years. 

You rarely look him up, almost never. Only in desperate times when you feel yourself drowning and needing some sort of comfort. It’s stupid. You haven’t been together or even seen him in seven years. Not since you ended things with him. Not since you felt his hands roam your skin, whispering sweet words.

He didn’t even protest or question why. Almost like he knew your breakup was inevitable. You’re not sure if that hurts more.

You’re twenty-eight now. But while your life still feels the same from when you met Satoru at the ripe age of seventeen, you’ve reached a plateau. But him? He’s thriving, of course. Making a name for himself, as an heir to one of the biggest conglomerates in Japan, the Gojo Group. 

You’re happy for him. But where is that happiness for yourself?

You feel a little, no, a lot jealous. You always were of Satoru. Being given everything he wants without much thought, never worrying about money, and a stable home life. You’re extremely jealous of that bastard.

But right now, jealousy isn’t in the picture. It’s your son’s father. And if you want to keep your son, give him everything he wants, that starts with one person.

Letting him meet his father. 

“Honey, do you like your pancakes?” you ask your son who’s currently scarfing down his plate of breakfast. Adorned in an adorable shirt uniform shirt and some little black trousers. He hums back excitedly with a muffled “yes, mama”. With a chuckle, you dry up the rest of the dishes, then your hands. Dropping him off at school is the first thing on your agenda, as per usual. 

The walk to his school is a familiar one, wanting to get your son knowledgeable with the route so when the day comes that he needs to walk him himself, he’d know his way back. You pass by other kids and parents, some children yelling bye as they step onto the school grounds, with others giving their children long-lasting hugs.

You walk until you reach his door, his teacher, Mr. Ito, standing outside and greeting his students as they enter. When he makes eye contact with Koji, he smiles a bit wider. “Good morning, Koji.”

“Good morning!” your son happily replies, waving up at his teacher. With one final hug and kiss shared, he’s running in to already begin talking to his friends. Standing back up, you see Mr. Ito already looking at you. And you especially don’t miss the way his eyes not so subtly rake up and down your figure. You clear your throat. “Good morning.”

He meets your eyes again. “Good morning, Y/N-san. How are you today?”

“Good, and you?” 

“Very good.” 

The way his tone is almost causes you to visibly shiver, brows furrowing slightly in discomfort. One of the things you dislike the most about Koji’s school, his teacher. Although he hasn’t outwardly done or said anything inappropriate, you’re a smart woman. “That’s good. Well…have a nice day.” Doing anything you can to quickly end this dreaded conversation, but still wanting to maintain a level of politeness. 

You’re about to turn on your heel and leave when he calls out. “Ah, Y/N-san?”

Damn it, what now? “Yes?” you turn and look at him.

The distance between you reduces as he steps a little closer. “I have some concerns regarding Koji’s behavior in class. Would you be available to set up a conference anytime this week?”

“Behavior? Has he been misbehaving?” You did not expect that.

“Well, it’s complicated. He has some trouble listening as talks when he shouldn’t. I’d like to nip this in the bud before it grows out of control.” Mr. Ito cooly replies, smile looking more like a hidden smirk. “So, will you be available?”

You hesitate, not really. With your two jobs, you barely have time for yourself, let alone your son’s teacher. But if it’s regarding a behavior problem, then do you have any choice? “I think I’ll be free this Saturday. Weekdays are very hectic for more.”

He nods. “That’s fine, we can grab coffee.” When your head tilts slightly, he adds on with a chuckle. “And discuss Koji over coffee. On me.”

Right, of course. You know what this is, but just think about your son. That’s the priority. “Okay, 8 am at Latte Lounge sound good?”

“Sounds excellent, I’ll see you then. Have a wonderful day.”

With a simple nod back, you turn around and finally leave. Practically feeling the way his eyes shamelessly check out your behind. A frown inevitably grows on your face, why wouldn’t it? As long as this man doesn’t try anything…more, you should be fine. And if he does, 1) you’ll be in public, and 2) you’ll tell him straight up.

Whatever. 

“Pizza or teriyaki?”

“Pizza!”

“Of course.” you chuckle and put the frozen pizza in your cart, your son clutched onto your right hand after announcing he can walk on his own because he’s a big boy. The grocery store isn’t crowded during this time of day. Rightfully so. It’s 7 pm on a Tuesday, most people already cooking dinner by now. You always grocery shop at this time, your son appreciates it too. There’s been a few times when you both got quickly and very overwhelmed with the bustling nature of the grocery store on a weekend morning. Currently, you’re moving through the snack section now, picking up a few of your and Koji’s favorites. 

“Mama, can I pick a cereal?” Koji asks and points to the cereal aisle next over. When you nod, he happily runs off. You still however make sure to look over at him frequently when picking up and putting down a few snacks. 

You reach up to grab a pack of Hello Panda, the pink and chocolate ones, before a hand beats you to it. “Oh, I’m sorry.” As soon as you look over, you and the stranger meet eyes. 

Immediately, there’s a silence that falls over you two. Eyes each blown wide in shock. 

Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me.

Just your luck. As soon as the stranger speaks, a strange nostalgia fills you. “Y-Y/N?”

It almost sounds weird coming from his lips. Your friend–well, ex?--friend gets out. He still looks the same, just more…manly. 

“...Suguru, I–I’m… surprised to see you.” you awkwardly laugh. Reunions were never easy.

“Oh my god,” Suguru breaths out, shaking his head with a faint smile. “Well, shit. I mean, how are you? You..you look good.” His eyes move down your figure in an appreciative way.

“Thank you, I’m good. How are you? Your hair is longer.” you motion to his sea of black, healthy locks. “ ‘M a little jealous.”

He laughs with you, the sound reminding you of old times. “Yeah, been working on it. And I’m good.”

Another pause is permitted, as if you two aren’t very sure what to say to one another. Well, in all honesty, it has been seven years. “Well,” he clears his throat and puts his hands in his pockets. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, you know,” you glance down at your cart. “Just some shopping.”

He also looks down, head tilting slightly. “Ah, right.” With a nod, he juts his head toward the direction of the kid’s toothpaste. “Just for one?” He laughs, joking of course. 

You mentally curse yourself, putting a pack of cookies on top of the toothpaste to hide its already revealed existence. “Uh, ye—”

“Mama! I want this one!” Koji runs up to you, showcasing his desired cereal.

Well…..shit. 

As if things weren’t already complicated.

With Suguru’s eyes even wider than when they were staring at you, his mouth is practically on the floor when the young boy looks at him. His sharp eyes dart across his features and…..

“I-is this—”

“Koji.” you cut him off, gulping and shifting the child closer to your leg. “My son.”

Suguru spends another good minute staring at the boy, who innocently stares back. When his eyes slowly move from the blue ones to yours, there are a million and more questions swirling in his brain. He’s not even sure which one to ask first. But he goes with the obvious. “...Is….is he…..”

You nod uncomfortably. 

He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, hand running through his hair. “Holy shit, I mean….holy heck.”

Your lips purse, putting Koji’s cereal in your cart before picking him up in your arms. “Koji, this is Suguru. Say hi.”

“Hi.” Koji childishly smiles at the older man. “Are you Mama’s friend?”

Suguru spares you a glance. “Uhm…yeah. Yeah, kid, I am. Nice to meet you.” He then shifts weirdly, not sure if he should shake the boy’s hand, which seems too formal. He decides to gently ruffle his hair. “So…how old is he?” The question is directed towards you, but Koji answers. “I’m five!” He holds up five small fingers. 

“Five?” Suguru’s brows furrow at you. It’s surprising how quickly you recognize that scolding look of his. “Have you—”

“No.” you once again cut him off, shifting Koji to your hip. “I haven’t.”

“Why?”

That’s a good question. One you know the answer to…slightly. But with Koji looking between you two curiously, you can’t exactly say why. At least not here. “I….I just…haven’t.”

Silence. 

You can feel Suguru regarding you with many emotions, but the main one is confusion. He bites his lip as he thinks over how to react properly to this situation. From the looks of it, Koji is just as clueless as him, maybe even more. “Jesus Christ, I don’t even know what to say right now.” Heavily sighing, he looks back at Koji, then you, then Koji, then finally you. “You’re going to…right? I mean, he deserves to know, Y/N. You’ve just–I mean, come on.”

There’s not much of a response to that, much to his expectation. You always used to do this when you were guilty. But Suguru has always been the more… empathetic of the two. “Look, I–I know you’re probably going through your own things, but…”

You look at him again, remorseful. His lips purse and with a heavy sigh, he takes a card out from his pocket and hands it to you. “Here’s my business card, it has my number. We lost your old one, so.”

Your hand reaches out to take it, examining the words, Rising Futures Foundation. "Building futures, one child at a time.” You meet his eyes again, forcing words out. “Okay…thanks.” 

“No need,” he waves you off, taking down the two Hello Panda boxes and putting them in your cart. “I’m sorry, I have things to do right now, but please…give me a call, okay?”

With slight hesitation, you nod. He mirrors you before focusing on the child again, a smile forming. “See you, buddy.” Suguru pats his shoulder lightly before walking away and away from your vision.

Your mind is being overrun, body feeling stiff and stuck, unsure of how to process what the fuck just happened. No doubt he’s about to tell his best friend. Then said best friend will find you and Koji. Then maybe he’ll try taking you to court for hiding his son for five years. You’ll obviously lose because you have no lawyer and Satoru has the best. Your son, your one and only, your sole happiness will be taken away from you and you’ll be left alone to rot in angui–

“Mama?” Koji’s small hand is put to your cheek, stirring you from your mild comatose state. “Are you okay? You have tears in your eyes.”

“What?” Raising your hand to your eye and sure enough, you are letting loose some tears. “No, no, Mama’s okay. I’m not crying, just…just tired.”

But with growing age, so is his perception. “Are you sure? Did your friend make you cry? I don’t like him then.”

Oh, how sweet. You smile, head tilting. “No, baby. Don’t say that, okay? Mama’s fine. I promise. See? I’m smiling. Wanna smile with me?”

Like clockwork, he follows your emotions and smiles, giggling. “Yeah, I wanna smile with you. I like smiling with you, Mama.”

“And I like it when you smile with me too.”

Maybe, this isn’t too bad. You were just thinking that you want Koji to finally meet his dad. So, this is good. This ensures a meeting. But, it also ensures a deep-rooted, most likely bad confrontation that will take place between you two. Why wouldn’t it? At least you’ll be able to prepare yourself now, mentally. 

You can imagine the harsh words he might say. The raised voices and brutal questions about how you can do this to him and so on. In hindsight, you deserve it. What kind of woman does do this to a man? Children are supposed to be bundles of joy, not hidden secrets. Of course, there’s the lingering worries of what legal action Satoru, or his family, might try to take.

That would quite literally fuck you over so hard.

But…maybe Satoru will go easy on you because of your past. You really don’t know. This situation is messy as fuck and it’s mostly—a lot—because of you. You have no one to blame but yourself. Hopefully, he’ll take pity on you, even though you hate when others pity you. It’s different when it comes to him, the father of your son. It always has been and it probably always will be. 

Honestly, you’re a little relieved that you ran into the best friend of the man than the man himself. Now that would’ve been bad. 

The sounds of skin against skin fill the room, mixed with heavy grunts and airy moans. The headboard repeatedly hitting the wall plays like a drum, the lights dim and the view of the dark city landscape is exposed. Satoru’s gripping the woman’s hips, leaving crescent-shaped indents in her fair skin. Her constant mewls sound heavenly in his ears. “God, you feel so….good…”

“S-satoru!” 

“Yeah, say my name. Just like that, baby.”

He presses a firm hand down on the small of her back to keep her arch in place, feeling his release invade her warm walls, filling her with a lovely warmth. She clenches around him, moaning out once more as she finishes with him.

He collapses against her back, his heavy breaths tingling her ear. “Baby, that was…so good…” she croaks out. 

Satoru’s mind is fuzzy, vision blurring slightly. He hums in response and leans back up to pull out, discarding the heavy condom with his load into the trashcan beside the bed. “Stay.” With a small pat to her hip, he’s forcing his limbs out of bed and to the connecting bathroom to grab a warm rag. Aftercare. Although most of the time, he really can’t be bothered to do something like this. Cleaning her up feels like a chore sometimes,  but the last time he voiced that opinion, it led to a huge argument between the two. 

In just a few minutes, they’re both cleaned and changed. Wearing his sweats low on his hips while she indulges in just one of his oversized shirts. Another small pet peeve he has. And another thing he must keep his mouth shut about. “What time do you have to go into the office tomorrow?” Himari asks, snuggled up against his chest, dainty fingers tracing circles along the firm muscles. 

“Same time as always,” he sighs, grabbing the TV remote and putting a random show on. “You know that.”

“I know, but…can’t you just call off tomorrow? Please? I wanna spend the day with you.”

When he looks back down at her, she’s frowning. A small tug is pulled at his heart and before he knows it, he’s pulling her closer and placing a gentle kiss to her hair. “Can’t, baby. Maybe this weekend?”

Satoru can feel her ready to protest again, but the sound of the front door downstairs being opened and closed interrupts the moment. Followed by the familiar voice of his friend. “Satoru! You here?”

Satoru’s brows furrow slightly. A small grunt falls from his lips as he maneuvers Himari off his chest, standing up and walking out. He looks down the staircase and sees Suguru staring up at him. “What do you want? I’m sorta busy.” Himari comes out and hugs his waist, proof of his so-called “busyness��. 

Suguru holds back an eye roll when the woman gives him a look, focusing on his best friend. “Need to talk to you. Privately.” 

“For what?”

“It’s important.”

“So just say it now.”

“Damn it, Satoru. Just come down and kick your friend out.”

“Girlfriend.” Himari corrects with a scowl.

“Yeah, sure.” Suguru waves her off and motions for Satoru to come down as he walks into the man’s kitchen.

Sighing with his eyes closed, he turns to Himari. “Sorry, babe. My driver’ll give you a ride back.”

Once again, she frowns. “But I—”

“Please.” 

His bottom lip pokes out in a small, but convincing pout. “I’ll see you later, mkay?” Satoru reaches his thumb out and brushes it along her cheekbone, which he knows she’s weak for. Confliction and hesitation dance in her eyes but she concedes. Gathering her purse and shows, she gives Satoru a dramatic kiss on the lips before leaving. 

“Finally,” Suguru huffs from the kitchen, swirling a glass of whiskey. “I thought you guys broke up.”

“It was a break.” Satoru grumbles, walking over to stand across from his friend, snatching the glass out his hand and sipping. “Anyway, what’s so important you come unannounced for and demand my sweet company to leave?”

“That woman is not sweet.” 

Satoru smiles and shrugs, “She tastes it.” 

A groan is heard from Suguru, eyes rolling before he shakes his head. “Look, you should sit down.”

“That good, huh?” he plops down in the nearby chair and leans back, arm resting against the back of it. He nods. “Alright, shoot, baby.”

Suguru takes in a deep breath and steels himself for the more than likely hard conversation. A part of him feels like he’s intruding, like it’s not his place to reveal such a thing to him. But at the end of the day, it’s his best friend. And you, well…he’s not exactly sure if you’re still friends or not. “What I tell you might sound crazy, but I need you to promise you’ll stay calm until I’m done speaking, got it?”

Satoru’s brows raise in mild astonishment, seeing Suguru get all serious like this is quite amusing. “Okay, I promise.” He shrugs again. “Can’t be that bad, right? No one’s hurt.”

Not yet, Suguru says to himself. He claps his hands together, mulling over how exactly to break the news. “So, I came across an old friend today.”

“Oh yeah? She cute?” Satoru swirls the alcohol in his glass.

Suguru holds back another eye roll. “Yeah, she is.”

“Nice, man.” the white-haired man chuckles, head tilting. “So what, did she make a move on you or something? Now that’s crazy.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m actually quite favorable amongst women.”

“Are you now?”

“Listen, you ass. No talking, just listening.” When he doesn’t get a response back, he takes it as a sign to continue. “Anyway, I saw an old friend. And…she had a kid with her.” Satoru nods slowly, already getting lost on his this information is even remotely crazy, or relevant to him. But he stays shut, deciding not to face another one of Suguru’s mini-lectures. One more deep breath is let out from Suguru and he gets to the point. “It was Y/N, she has a kid.”

A small beat of silence follows as Suguru gauges his best friend’s reaction. He doesn’t look like he’s flipping out, but he doesn’t show much emotion either. Confusing Suguru, he waits for the inevitable lash out.

“Who?” Satoru ends up asks.

His best friend knits his brows, trying to see if the other man is serious or not. When his expression doesn’t change, he replies. “Y/N…” he speaks slowly. “...your ex?”

Still, no emotion. But his grip on the glass does tighten.  “And she has a kid.” Suguru reiterates, almost in nervousness now. 

“Satoru….the kid looks exactly like you.”

a/n: thank you guys for reading!!! Sorry if this chapter was a little short, i’ll try to make the next ones a little more longer. But writing super huge chapters isn’t my forte. Anyway, stay tuned for chapter 2 :)

[dcxdpdabbles]

Danny: Hi! I'm Danny Fenton, your new dorm roommate.

Jason: Jason Todd. Thanks for letting me take the spare bed. I registered late, but one of my scholarships had a requirement of living on campus. I was really worried you say no.

Danny: No worries, I figured something like that was going down if the RA asked me a month after the semester started if I was cool with a roommate. I do have one rule though.

Jason: Anything

Danny: If you want to bring someone to the dorm, I need a heads up. Not just for dates or hookups. Friends or guests too. I'm a chem major, and I don't want anyone messing with my equipment. Of course I'll do the same.

Jason: That's not a problem. And I feel like I have to warn you that I keep odd hours. I'm a bouncer.

Danny: That's fine.

Three weeks later

Danny: I think my hot dorm roomate is in the Mafia.

Dan: Damn which one? I may have shot him last week.

Danny: I wish you leave the Red Hood Gang

Dan: And get my kneecaps taken from Hood for betraying him? Nah, besides, it's not that bad. Sometimes, I just walk around and make sure the kids get home safe from the school buss or that none of working folk are bothered too much. Hood is surprisingly kind about that.

Danny: I still hate that man.

Dan: I know. I'm sorry I got mixed up with that crowd. I'm too deep to get out though.

Danny: It's not fair!

Dan: No, it isn't. But it's a mistake that I made and now have to pay for.

[munson-blurbs]

Eddie Munson x Best Friend!Reader

Summary: You never meant for Eddie to know that you had a crush on him. What happened when he found out, courtesy of Mike Wheeler's big mouth?

WC: 2.6k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), angst to fluff to smut and then back to fluff?? I don't even know, idiots in love, p in v, semi-public sex (we get it on in the van, baby)

Part of @cherrycolored-punk's Softember event!

Divider credit to @saradika

Friday, May 16, 1986: the day you determined that Mike Wheeler was the worst. 

You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, it couldn’t be easy growing up in Nancy’s perfect shadow. Just the time you spent working with her on the school newspaper was exhausting. 

That was where you were currently sprinting from, weaving through the empty hallways towards the drama room. Leave it to Nancy to schedule an emergency newspaper meeting on a Friday afternoon. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” You kept your head down as you breezed into the Hellfire meeting. Even without looking, you could feel the guys glaring at you. The only thing less forgivable than missing a campaign was interrupting one. 

Gareth let out a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nice of you to join us, Lady Atwood.” He shifted forward in his seat. “You’re in luck today—our fearless Dungeon Master has yet to grace us with his presence.”

You wrinkled your nose, only then noticing that Eddie’s throne remained empty. “Where is he?”

From his spot at the table, Mike Wheeler scoffed. “Surprised you don’t know, considering you’re basically in love with him.”

You were about to refute his statement, or at least give him a well-deserved middle finger, when you heard a clattering behind you. 

Like metal hitting the floor tiles.

No. No, no no no…

“S-Sorry.” Eddie stammered. He quickly scooped up the tin lunch box that doubled as a place to stash his weed. “I had a last-minute deal. Apparently there’s a party at McKinney’s house tonight and he needed some, uh, provisions. So, uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat, eyes darting around the room and looking at everyone except for you. “We can get started.”

There might as well have been a spotlight beaming down, accentuating the embarrassment written all over your face. Everyone in Hellfire knew about your crush on Eddie, but they had the decency to keep it a secret. 

Everyone except for Mike Wheeler, apparently. God, you wanted to squish that little shit like a bug beneath your shoe.

It certainly didn’t help that Eddie kept glancing at you, even when he addressed the group. Like he was waiting for you to say something about Mike’s comment. Waiting for you to refute it, to roll your eyes and whip out a snappy comeback. Maybe he was even hoping you would.

He was probably internally cringing just thinking about you having romantic feelings for him.

“Lady Atwood?”

Your gaze instinctively snapped over to Eddie when he said your name. He was looking at you, brown eyes wide with anticipation of your response. 

Warmth crept up your neck. He had heard what Mike said about you being in love with him–he had to have. He’d just had the good grace to brush over it because…

Because he didn’t feel the same way and didn’t want to cause you any further humiliation.

“Y-Yeah?” You choked on the word, trying to put the incident behind you. But you couldn’t, because the pain of unrequited feelings kept yanking on your heart, drawing tears that you desperately wished would evaporate.

“Gareth the Great has proposed battling the demogorgon.” There was a hint of a smirk on Eddie’s lips. It was your first clue that the move would prove entertaining, perhaps at your character’s demise. “We’re waiting for your input.”

Nodding, you chewed the inside of your cheek and studied the board. Okay, it looked like winning the battle was feasible, though a bit risky. The rest of the club watched as you contemplated; Gareth especially was practically vibrating with anticipation.

Then the ceiling started leaking. Soft drops with no particular rhythm, landing on your cheeks. Just your luck–first Mike’s big mouth spilled your secret, then whatever nastiness was living in Hawkins High School’s pipes was now seeping into your skin.

“Holy shit, is she crying?”

Dustin Henderson’s voice broke into your thoughts. His tone, for possibly the first time since you’d met him, held only concern with a note of snark.

Who was crying? You were the only girl in the club now that Ronnie had graduated, save for the times Erica Sinclair served as a substitute. Which meant…

“Way to go, asshole.” Lucas thwacked Mike across the chest. 

“I didn’t know he was there!”

The purple fabric of your shirt darkened beneath your arms as another disconcerting flash of heat hit you. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Maybe you’d get lucky and the floor would open beneath you and swallow you up. 

“I need to get some air.” Whether you spoke the words aloud or said them silently to yourself, you weren’t sure. 

Your feet seemed to carry you out of the room and through the school’s front doors. Tears blurred your vision, and you swiped them away before any other lingering students could see. 

The air was warm, teasing of the approaching summer. God, summer—you always spent it with Eddie, lounging by the public pool or sitting down at Lovers Lake. You’d read a book while he pored over his Hellfire notebook, scribbling notes for future campaign ideas. 

Would he still want to do that, to spend those long days with you, now that he knew about your pathetic crush? 

It wasn’t until you reached the parking lot that you remembered: Eddie drove you to school that morning. If you started walking now, you’d definitely get home before dark. Or maybe you could call your parents from the payphone if you managed to scrounge up the change—

The sound of your name stopped you in your tracks. You should’ve kept walking the moment you saw Eddie, his frizzy curls bouncing as he jogged over to you. 

“Hey.” His hand brushed yours, though you pulled away before he could grab ahold of it. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

He sighed. “Okay, let me rephrase that: Why did you leave? Because of what Wheeler said?” Eddie let out a small, disbelieving laugh when you nodded. “He’s such a little shit. Always messing with me. I’m gonna kick his sorry ass one of these days.”

Your eyebrows shot up. Messing with Eddie? “What are you talking about?”

“That joke about you being in love with me. He obviously saw me in the doorway and said it to embarrass me.” A blush crept onto Eddie’s cheeks. “Y’know, ‘cause…”

But you didn’t know. You had no idea what he meant. And as much as Mike was a menace, he seemed sincere when he said he didn’t realize that Eddie was there. 

“Because why?”

“Because,” Eddie’s gaze shifted to his van’s tires before he finally looked at you again. “Because he knows I have this dumb crush on you, and he thinks it’s hilarious to fuck with me about it.”

Words evaded you. This had to be some sort of elaborate set-up. Eddie had a crush on you? When girls like Chrissy Cunningham and Heather Holloway lived in the very same town? 

Impossible. 

Not privy to the argument playing out inside your head—thank God—Eddie babbled on. “I know it’s weird. That’s why I haven’t told you—well, until right now. And I’m starting to regret it, because you’re looking at me like I have three heads. So maybe I’ll just shut up now.”

“No.” Summoning all of your courage, you took his hand in yours and managed a smile. “Eddie, Mike was teasing me because I like you. More than a friend should like a friend.”

Eddie’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “What if I told you…I don’t want to just be friends?”

You let your eyes meet his. “I-I don’t want to just be friends, either.”

He took a pause before he asked his next question. Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears as you waited for him to speak.

“And what if I did this?” One palm, callused from years of guitar playing, cupped your cheek. Eddie moved closer, his nose bumping against yours in a clumsy attempt to close the gap between you. “Shit, that–that was supposed to be suave.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Munson.” The words left your mouth before you could think them through. Your fingers tangled into his hair, pulling him back towards you and finishing what he had started.

His lips, soft and tasting vaguely of the cigarettes he’d smoked after school, crashed into yours. One hand snaked around your waist and pressed you against him until you felt his metal belt buckle through your shirt.

You moaned softly, letting his tongue into your mouth without hesitation. More, more, more…you needed more. You needed all of him. 

It was Eddie who broke the kiss, much to your chagrin. But what he said next made up for the loss.

“Sorry…I’m trying to be a gentleman. But it’s, uh, getting a little hard.” He chuckled, stealing another quick kiss. “Pun very much intended.”

A quick glance proved that Eddie wasn’t lying: His erection tantalizingly strained against his fly. What you wouldn’t give to feel him inside you…

“Y’know, take you on a date, tell you how pretty you look,” Eddie continued, shifting his stance in a pitiful attempt to quell his desire. “I don’t wanna go at it in the school parking lot like some feral rabbits.” He waved his hand haphazardly. 

You bit your lip, weighing your options. A date would be nice; perhaps a night at The Hawk, his arm around you as a movie played on a giant screen. Or maybe he’d take you to dinner—nothing as expensive as Enzo’s, but somewhere more romantic than your usual Benny’s hangout. 

A date with Eddie was something you’d only ever dreamed of. But right now, you needed to live out a different fantasy before you combusted from an overload of lust. 

“Remember the first campaign you created this year?” Your soft voice held a sultry air despite your nerves. “It was your most sadistic one yet. We were all ready to forfeit, but you took pity on us and gave us a hint.”

Taking a deep breath, you plunged your hand into his front pocket. “Do you remember what you said?”

Eddie shook his head. “I can’t remember my own goddamn name right now, Sweetheart.”

You laughed, your finger hooking around his keyring. “You said that sometimes, it’s better to work backwards.”

With a triumphant grin, you plucked the keys from his pocket. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” His own smile betrayed his exasperated exterior as he grabbed your hand. His van seemed a million miles away, though it was parked in one of the closest spots in the lot. 

Eddie yanked open the back door, waiting just long enough for you to get settled before he scrambled in behind you. The moment the door closed, he pulled you on top of him. 

You could feel him, feel his hardness, against your core. You rolled your hips instinctively, savoring the friction. 

Hands clamped down on your denim-covered thighs. “You gotta…you can’t…” Eddie choked, struggling for words. “We’re already about to do it in my van. I don’t wanna look even more pathetic by coming in my pants.”

Warmth blossomed in your body. You could imagine him sputtering out a stream of swear words as he came, flooding his own boxers with his release. 

Maybe another day. 

Buttons were undone, flies were unzipped, clothes were discarded into a pile in the corner of the van. It was only you and Eddie, not a single scrap of fabric between you. 

Sweat glistened on his chest, matting down the sparse hairs that curled around his nipples. You leaned in, kissing just above the demon head tattoo etched on his pec. 

“Baby,” he crooned. The new pet name wasn’t lost on you. Your heart beat faster, a butterfly frantically flapping its wings. “Baby, I need you.”

He did need you, unless he was going to take care of his achingly hard cock by himself. The pink tip leaked with pre-cum, and if you had more room, you would have licked it clean off. 

You settled for swiping it away with your thumb, his abdomen tightening at the sudden contact. Eddie nearly passed out on the spot when you sucked on your finger, savoring the salty taste.

“Baby,” he groaned again. “I w-wanted to get you off first, ‘cause I know I’m not gonna last like this.”

“S’okay.” You lined him up with your entrance, ignoring the way your hands shook as you slowly sank down onto him. His hips bucked up almost of their own accord. “F-Fuck, Eddie…”

Eddie looked up at you, brown irises wide. He paused for an extra moment; maybe he really had forgotten his own name. “I know, I know,” he said finally. “God, I fucking know, baby.” 

His thumb found your clit the second he composed himself, rubbing delicate circles until your toes curled. His other hand held you with just enough force to keep you stable while still being able to ride him.

“You’re so beautiful.” He let out a breathless laugh. “If I wake up and this was all a dream, I’m gonna be pissed.”

You shared the same thought. What if the Eddie laying before you, curls splayed against the worn carpet of his van, groaning your name–your name–was all a mirage? Another fantasy conjured up by your lovesick brain?

“I’ve never had a dream this good before.”

“Me either,” he admitted, “but the only ones that’ve come close involve you.”

You tightened around him, your hands flush against his chest. The fact that you occupied his thoughts, unconscious or otherwise, sent a wave of arousal rolling through you. You wanted to hear every last detail of those dreams, to know exactly what turned him on.

Maybe later. Right now, your focus stayed on the way he touched you. So intentional, so precise. And Eddie worked you through your orgasm, keeping his same rhythm as you came around him.

“There you go, pretty girl. That’s it,” he murmured. “‘M close. Where do you–where can I–”

“Inside.” You’d never been more grateful to be on the pill. 

Eddie let himself go, unleashing a torrent of desire. He thrust into you, chasing his own release now that he knew you’d gotten yours.

It was only when he slowed his pace, milking the last drops of cum from his cock, that reality began to settle in.

You just had sex with your best friend in the back of his van, a few hundred feet away from where your friends were gathered around a DnD board–

“Oh my God, Eddie!” Your eyes snapped open in realization. “Hellfire–they’re still there.”

Eddie pulled you closer and kissed your forehead. You relaxed into his chest. “They’re smart guys when they’re not being idiots.” The words vibrated against your skin. “I’m sure they figured out that we weren’t coming back.”

He sighed, wrapping one arm around you. “Can I take you on that date now, baby? Y’know, once we get dressed.” He smirked. “We can go to Scoops Ahoy and split a sundae. And then, if you want, I’ll take you back to my place and undress you again?”

You scrambled for your clothes almost as quickly as you’d shed them, Eddie following suit. And as much as you wanted to have sex with him again, to really take your time and cherish each second, you were equally excited to cuddle up in a booth and share some ice cream.

Friday, May 16, 1986: the day Mike Wheeler’s lack of filter didn’t completely backfire. Because it was also the day that you and Eddie Munson became boyfriend and girlfriend.

--

[embbarnes]

Manhandle. | L.H

summary: Feral-ish Logan is obsessed with you.

warnings: Smut | 18+ MDNI | Porn no plot | Soft dom!Logan | PiV | Unprotected sex | Swearing | Light degrading | Dirty talk | Cunnilingus | Aftercare

a/n: I will die on the hill that Logan loves his partners a little chubby. Idc. I didn't have the patience to edit this ignore mistakes pleaseee. Reposted after deleting, reprised a little bit but I didn't bother to edit it so ignore mistakes. ;; wc: 2.4k

Logan cannot stand you for one reason and one reason alone: You drive him crazy.

Why the fuck are you so soft? Why do your hips sway so much? Why are you so doe eyed and sweet smelling?

His cock twitches in his pants as he sees you talking to another mutant. Fuck. He doesn't like it. He wants you for himself. He needs you for himself.

That's exactly what he does.

He grabs you and tugs you along, you of course go with him, being so sweet and naïve...when you're alone, he practically rips your clothes off. He normally would tease and play with you more, but he can't help himself. He's too eager, his patience is diminished.

Your soft gasp when he tore the fabric from your body made his balls grow heavy and a low growl rumble out of him. You were beautiful to him, your body drove him crazy. He felt hotter than normal, like he was going to die if he didn't have you. You made the most pathetic sound when his hand pushed between your legs and felt your soft folds, his calloused fingertips finding that sweet little pearl. "Fuckin' wet for me...from rippin' y'r clothes off, huh? You like it like this? Bein' manhandled?"

You felt your face heat up and your legs trembled, threatening to give out at any second. You stammered, unable to come up with a solid reply as you pathetically tried while his thick fingers explored your folds confidently. They prodded your entrance, making you tense a bit.

"Y'r tight, my damn finger has a hard time gettin' in here...how are you gonna handle my cock, princess?" he grabbed your face with his free hand, tilting your head up as he kissed you. His lips were warm, the taste of cigar and whiskey on them, a hint of salt and jerky. You melted into his kiss, even though he was claiming you this way. His tongue pushed into your mouth, invading you and exploring every inch as if he owned you. His teeth gently bit your bottom lip, he didn't want to overwhelm you too much, not yet anyway.

"That's it...whimperin' for me...you love this, I can tell by how wet you are. Can't imagine my cock in there...it's so tiny...have you ever been fucked before?" he grunts deeply in your ear, the sound making your entire body react as you shake. Your nipples erect and feeling stimulated by the fabric of his shirt as he stands close enough to rub against you.

"Logan...I...mmn, I have I just...-"

"You've never been with me baby, I'll show ya what a real man can do. I know when y'r fakin' too, you won't have to do that with me." He chuckled, his hand moving away from your dripping core and he grabbed your plush hips, lifting you up while his hands massages and groped the meat of your ass and thighs. "Goddamn...these things..." He threw you onto his bed, his hand on your belly for a moment, kneading you.

"Logan-!"

"I gotcha...just let me take care of you..." Logan's voice was gentle, but he sounded slightly condescending as he spoke to you, the clear teasing undertone made you whimper in response. His hands pawed at you like a man who had seen a naked woman for the first time, on your breasts, sides, hips. Hs grabbed your thighs again, eagerly holding onto your flesh and spreading your legs apart for him. "Such a fat cunt you have, looks comfy, you'll treat my dick well won't you, sweet thing? Perfect little home for it...that's where it belongs isn't it? You're lost without my dick in you."

You squirmed below him, feeling vulnerable and exposed as he held you down. You couldn't deny how hot your pussy felt, you wanted to demand for him to stick it in, to just fuck you into the mattress, but you also didn't want to admit it, playing the game a bit. Besides, Logan was clearly enjoying how you were acting, so you kept it up.

"Ah...please..." You begged lightly, your legs falling limp and allowing him to open them wider. You felt so horny by now, Logan had a way of bringing it out of you. Your core felt like it was on fire, and you needed his touch more than air.

He placed open mouth kisses on your inner thighs, his teeth grazing the thin skin and biting your flesh teasingly. You could feel the slick, warm muscle of his tongue barely touch your sensitive skin as he continued to knowingly tease you. After his painfully slow movements, he finally got to your center, his pupils blown like he was on drugs.

Logan growled deeply, exhaling through slightly parted lips as his hands came around and held your thighs tightly. His head lowered, nose nudged your clit as this man took a deep inhale of your sex. Your face heated immediately, suddenly feeling embarrassed he was smelling you so intensely. His nose buried, your wetness covering it as he investigated further into you until he was satisfied memorizing your scent.

When he pulled up, he barely pulled away for you to say something about his little display and his lips latched onto your clit, knowing exactly where it was after mapping out your cunt mentally. He was torn between making you squirm and beg, or just taking what he wanted. You were intoxicating to him, he hadn't felt his cock throbbing to painfully before, patience was not an option right now.

You made the sweetest sound for him when his encased your clit in his mouth, his lips securing around that pretty pearl and he lightly sucked on it. His firm hands held you still while you naturally squirmed around from the stimulation, keeping you down even when you tried to buck into his mouth more. Logan pulled back enough for his breath to warm your swollen bud, and he grunted, "Stay still. You don't get to move. I'll make you cum, I'll decide when you've had enough."

The tiny whimper that left your trembling lips was enough encouragement, but he wanted to push a little more. So, the smug bastard leaned up and over you, glaring down, his wet lips shining against the dull light of the room peering through his always drawn curtains. Still, when the warm sunlight did peek through, he looked gorgeous.

"Say it. Say you understand."

"I...I understand..." you swallowed the thick lump in your throat, not realizing how tight it felt until you spoke again. He smirked down at you, his eyes raking over your form and he let his hands knead your body a bit more. "So soft...perfect for me. I can really throw you around hm? You can take it..." he groaned as he felt your body, his hands moving up to your breasts and holding them, massaging and pinching your nipples like an eager virgin.

Logan moved down again, his mouth drooled as he took your clit once more, his tongue lapping and teasing the bud before dipping inside your entrance. He tasted you, groaning like an animal at your taste as his tongue went deeper. You hooked your leg around his shoulder and pulled him closer, finding a loophole in keeping your hips still.

Luckily for you, he enjoyed it enough to allow it.

"Stop squirmin' princess...I've almost gotcha ready." He continued to work your pussy until he felt like you were ready enough. He pulled away and licked his lips, "Now...open those pretty lips." he swiped his fingers over your folds and then held them to your pouty face. "You're such a dirty girl...doing everything I say, aren't you?"

He lightly spanked your pussy, then pressed his dick into your folds and rubbed to slicken himself. When did he take his pants off?

You were interrupted when his fat head poked your entrance, forcing you to stretch out around the soft flesh and allow him in. You mewled desperately, the burn of it was so addicting. "Lo...Logan..!"

"Shh, sh, you can take it." he whispered and pushed until his head popped inside. You gasped, just his head made you feel dizzy. And he kept going.

Inch after inch.

You were squirming and crying softly, he was so big, ugh it felt amazing but overwhelming all at once. "L-Lo..Logan, I..aah," you blabbered, his thumbs swiped your temples as he chuckled down at you, his body keeping you warm. He pressed his scruffy cheek into yours so he could whisper to you while his hips rocked against you, his wet head smacking gentle, sloppy kisses to your swollen cervix.

"Shh, good girl, gooood girl," he praised you in a low, soothing tone, his voice contradicting what his body was doing to you. You felt like you were on fire, pleasure was shooting through every inch of you while that delightful burn remained as strong as ever. "Y'r doin' good...so good. Takin' all of me inside ya...knew you could."

Logan's hips moved faster inside you, driving himself in and out at a much better pace for the both of you. He held your legs up and watched himself move in and out of you, admiring the beautiful arousal that coated into his curls. He deliberately made slow, long thrusts so you could feel the mold of his cock perfectly.

Every vein, the spongy head, how his cock formed your velvet walls and made you adjust.

It was everything you could've wanted from him.

While you memorized the shape of his dick, he suddenly threw your legs around his waist and he leaned over you, causing your hips to come up and off the bed a little. He began to drive himself inside at an animalistic, rough pace while he held you. His teeth bared as he let out the deepest snarl you ever heard from him. "You make me fuckin' wild, baby...look what y'r doin'...I'm actin' like how I should. A fuckin' animal."

You sobbed lightly from the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you, his cock hitting that delicious spongy spot inside that made you see stars. "Logan!! M'gonna cum...!" you cried, your fists balling the sheets by your head as you let out all your little sounds you tried to hide.

There was no reason to hide them anymore, honestly.

He kept going just as he was, knowing his movements and pace were perfect for you. "That's it...yeah baby, cum on my cock, show me how much you like it, milk my cock." Logan held your hips firm, his fingers dug into your flesh as he focused on his thrusts, driving deeper and deeper.

You finally let out a strangled cry, your vision blurring as your body released around him, clamping down on his dick like a vice and almost messing up his rhythm. Logan hissed, "G-goddamn-"

"I'm cumming, fuck! Don't stop, keep going, keep fucking me!" you screamed desperately, reaching you and clawing his shoulder blades, your hips rocking against his thrusts as your mind just focused on riding out your orgasm for as long as possible. He moved with you until he finally let loose, one single thrust in and his cock swelled and exploded against your pretty cervix, spraying his cum inside and filling up your little hole. He dripped out of you as he continued to fill you up, cum squeezing past his cock plugging your pussy, but the sheer amount of it couldn't be contained completely.

Logan's chest rose and fell quickly, his skin in a thin sheen from sweat, as was yours, and you both stilled as you regained your breaths together. You were in a complete daze, your mind foggy from pleasure and good hormones, his dick still buried inside you and felt so right.

"Good girl...fuck, my girl." he grumbled and nudged your head to the side with his own, kissing your jaw. "Did so well...down we go, easy," he lowered your legs while speaking to you gently, pulling himself from your body and watching as his cum flowed out of you. You whined at the absence of him, he just tsked and shushed you.

"Ah, don't give me that...we have to get you cleaned up. Be good for me, and I'll make sure you're nice and cozy after." Logan chuckled at your dazed expression, lifting you up a bit and smirking at how you whined into him.

"Logan....noo, just a little longer..." You pleaded lightly, trying your best to convince him, but he was not going to give in. Instead he picked you up with ease, your weight didn't bother him in the slightest, and he carried you to the bathroom.

"Clean first, then we can lay all you want." He set you down in the bathroom, knowing you were very exhausted by now and most likely coming down from your orgasm high, so he made the clean up quick. His touches were gentle, carefully washing the rag over your body and between your legs, getting all the sticky cum washed away. He stood behind you and kissed the nape of your neck, giving you goosebumps even under the hot water. "Doin' good for me...keep it up, we're almost done princess..."

When you were finally finished, you were so relieved to lay on the clean bed. Your body was much more worn out than you thought, before you collapsed, your legs trembled and almost refused to hold you up. You snuggled into the sheets, smelling heavily of Logan plus a hint of the earthy cologne he rarely wears.

He joined you a few minutes later, his strong arms wrapped around you and held you close. His hand slowly caressed up and down your side, gently squeezing and massaging you. His presence and the tiredness hit you after cleaning, and the drop of hormones made you want to sleep. Your body turned towards him, your face burying in his chest as you let out a shaky breath.

"Easy...I gotcha...sleepy girl. Go on and take a nap, I'll stick with ya until you wake...promise." He kissed the crown of your head and held you firmly against him, knowing you were going to fall asleep any second. You drove him so wild but he also felt a strong need for you in other ways. He wanted you for himself in every shape and form, you were so beautiful, and he would make sure you believed it and saw yourself as he did.

If he couldn't convince you with words, well...he can always fuck you again and make you see.

Thanks for reading - em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest

[ghouljams]

I feel like each of the 141 has a difference preference when dicking down their mate.

Kyle prefers to stay human, it lets him really get a good show while fucking into the pretty thing he managed to take home. Seeing how your skin contrasts to his softly colored sheets is more reassuring to him that you're his than any scenting could be. Also, he's a lighter sleeper as a human, letting him keep you in his bed if you try to slip out while he's asleep.

Price likes the little hint of other, as a sign of his age and experience. He's the only one of the 141 who can shift only a few senses instead of having to start properly shifting. Let's him memorize your scent while fucking you, all so he can let you have the illusion of choice by letting you go and "finding" you again later. Eventually, he'll make it seem like a bit of fate and offer you out on a date.

Ghost partially shifts, and that's the most he can hold himself back when it comes to you. Claws and teeth come out, drool dripping from his maw to your skin. He needs to taste you, to make sure you taste the same. Taste like his.

Soap is a dog and he will fuck you in full transformation because of it. This man needs you on the most primal level, so why not just fuck you at his most primal. It also gives him a better nose to smell your sweat soaked skin, a longer tongue to shove into you, better hearing to catch each and every whimper you make. He needs to consume you and the best way to do that is with his wolf.

At least, that's my thought.

As usual how does it feel to be so fucking right?

Gaz absolutely prefers fucking you as a human, it feels too much like taking advantage of you when he has his semi-transformed strength and the idea of fucking you fully wolf makes him itch a little. He's so worried about damaging you with his claws and fangs :( his poor human mate, he doesn't want to ruin you. We'll, not like that at least. That won't stop him from knotting you, that's a luxury he can't afford not to indulge in. He loves the way you squirm and complain about the stretch, shushing you with soft coos, promising it'll be over soon, even when he knows it'll be a good 20 minutes at least.

Price is old hat at transformations and after years of growing and shrinking it's worn on his joints, if he doesn't have to transform he won't. He'll indulge in the sensed his wolf-form lends him, pressing his nose to your pulse and getting himself drunk on your scent. His eyes are always dark, animalistic, when he drags his flat tongue against your sex, and you worry that the teeth he's hiding might bite too hard, but he hasn't hurt you yet. And the only scare he gives you is when he presses his hand against your come filled stomach talking about pups.

Ghost simply lacks self control around you. The man has the control of a saint, but once he gets drunk on the scent of your arousal it's over for him. He grips you with heavy clawed hands, his skin splitting with fur and his nose starting to lengthen, and it scares you a little. His breathing is uneven, but his hips don't stop moving even when his bones start to break and his joints begin to pop. His drool dripping onto you is the only indication you get before he's sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You'll have to take wolfsbane in the morning if you don't want to end up going through the same pain.

Soap though... Soap fucks you like a dog, literally. He'll hunt you down on a full moon and hold you down with big paws, murmuring canned tones from his open maw about how he can't stop himself. He's all instinct, all panting and howling as he mounts you and ruts his cock against your sex, uncaring what hole he fucks himself into as long as it's yours. He'll lay directly on top of you once he's knotted you too, licking your face in apology but you know he doesn't mean it because he keeps asking for another round.

[chestersturniolo]

special candy

Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader x Chris Sturniolo

Summary; you unknowingly eat some of dealer!matt & dealer!chris’ “special candy” whilst they’re out on their runs..

warnings; chratt poly relationship dynamic! if you are not comfortable with this, do not read // drug use (ofc) , pet names, tripping out (ish) — based on this request

Matt and Chris were currently out handling business, leaving you to your own devices for a couple of hours. As hunger creeps in, you lug yourself off of the couch to scrounge the kitchen, you spot a bag of gummies on the kitchen counter. You don’t think twice. You grab one, then two, then three- before you know it, you’ve polished off almost the entire bag.

You return to the couch, sinking into the cushions, opening your book back up. A chunk of time goes by before things start to feel…strange. Your breathing feels too deliberate, manual even, like you have to focus on every inhale and exhale. Your stomach churns, and time becomes a bizarre concept- minutes feel like hours, or maybe it’s the other way around. The words in the pages of your book start to morph. You squeeze your eyes shut to refocus them, trying to control your breaths and ignore this abnormal feeling.

A small while later you hear front door open, footsteps echoing up the stairs. Matt is the first to reach the living room. He spots you on the couch, grinning as he makes his way over. “Hey sweetheart” he says, cupping your cheek with a gentle hand.

You skip the usual greeting as you jut your lip out “I don’t feel well” you whine, eyes glossy.

Matt frowns, sitting down next to you, “Ah what’s wrong, baby?” he coos, frowning with concern, before brushing a soft kiss to your lips. The moment his lips leave yours, his expression shifts. His eyes widen. “You taste like…blue raspberry” His voice is slow, laced with panic. He grips your jaw, coaxing your mouth open “Fuck” he mutters under his breath, as his eyes land on your bright blue tongue.

Just in time , Chris reaches the top of the stairs, a couple of duffle bags he had retrieved from the trunk slung over his shoulder. Matt stands abruptly,marching over to him “Where the fuck did you leave that batch, Chris?!”

Chris blinked, confused “On the counter…?” he shrugs casually. The confusion lasts only a second until Matt flails his hands toward you. Chris’s eyes widen, and the duffel bags drop to the floor with a thud. He hurries over, crouching down in front of you, hooking a finger under your chin to inspect you

You blink at him slowly, your eyes heavy lidded “I’m sorry I ate your candy..i was hungry-“ you mumble “-I’ll buy you more, I promise!”

Chris ran a hand over his face, “No, you don’t understand, that was special candy, kid. Product!”

From the kitchen, Matt’s voice was frantic “She ate most of them!” he says, as he holds up the bag in the air , a couple of stray blue bears at the bottom. He chucked it down on the counter as he comes back to the couch, raking a hand through his hair.

Panic welled up inside you, your breathing growing shallow. “I-I didn’t mean to…Is this really bad?- am I gonna die?” fear in your voice

In that moment, the boys realise that they need to push their own freaking out aside and help you ride this out. Matt immediately sat beside you, placing his hand on your cheek “No, hey, listen to me - don’t panic, okay?” He shot a glare at Chris, who was pacing now, before turning back to you. “I need you to relax, baby. Talk to me, what are you feeling?”

Tears welled up in your eyes “Time is moving really…slow..and I feel like I’m tingly,and in..in bubble wrap” you pause for what feels like an hour “don’t feel good Matt” Your voice cracked, and you clung to him, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

Chris lets out a big sigh before rummaging through the duffel bags, pulling out a bag of identical blue gummies. Matt’s eyes narrowed “The fuck are you doin’?”

Chris muttered, more to himself than anyone else “Shit’s my fault” He looked at you, guilt in his eyes. “You’re gonna be fine, okay? Look, I’m gonna do it with you” he says in a reassuring voice before quite literally shovelling them into his mouth.

The batch wasn’t majorly strong, but since you barely ever used substances, it was hitting you hard. He knew that taking them wouldn’t put him on the same level as you, considering his tolerance was worlds apart from yours, but he also knew that you seeing him doing so, would calm you down

And it worked, as you watched him chew, you felt a sense of reassurance, knowing you’re not alone in it.

~

Matt had tucked you into a blanket, you were sinking deeper into the couch as the initial waves of panic began to subside. The room felt both too quiet and too loud, and it was almost like you could hear the air bouncing around the room. The lights seemed brighter, and everything felt far away. Each breath still felt like work.

Matt stayed close, his arm wrapped protectively around you. His hand moved in slow circles over your back,. “Just keep breathing with me, okay?” He took exaggerated deep breaths, guiding you. “In…and out, that’s it”

You tried to mimic him, but it felt like your body wasn’t quite yours “Matt…it’s weird, everything’s weird” you whispered,

Chris knelt in front of you, resting his hands on your knees “Listen to me ma, you’re okay..this is just the gummies messin’ with you, i feel it too” he bluffed. He barely felt a thing…and although he hated lying, in times like these, a little comforting white lie never hurt anyone,right?

“It’ll pass, I promise” he continues , reaching for your hands, holding them firmly “squeeze my hand when it feels too much, yeah?” he says, taking a seat on the other side of you. You nod, holding onto his hands for dear life.

Matt glaced at Chris, silently communicating something before standing and heading into the kitchen. You watched him leave, slight panic flaring again “Where’s he going?” you ask, your eyes trained on him. Chris cupped your face, forcing you to look at him “He’s just getting you some water angel, you need to stay hydrated. Focus on me, okay?” His eyes searched yours, softening as he brushed a strand of hair from your face.

Matt returned moments later with a glass of water and a damp cloth. He sat back down in his spot beside you, pressing the cloth to your forehead, before guiding the glass of water to your lips “Small sips”

You took a few hesitant sips, the icy water doing wonders for your cotton mouth. You push the glass away after a few more sips before huffing, “It feels like…like I’m floating” you whispered, blinking slowly.

Matt set the water down on the coffee table, and his hand falls to your thigh “You’re on solid ground, baby. Feel the couch under you? Feel my hand?” he says, giving a small squeeze to your leg. He guided your hand to the blanket, letting you feel its texture. You nod slowly, playing with the soft fluff.

He pressed a kiss to your temple before glancing at Chris, nodding toward the TV “Put something on, something light”

Chris grabbed the remote, flicking through channels until he landed on a nature documentary. The calming voice of the narrator filled the room “This should help” he shrugs, glancing back at you.

You watched the screen, the vivid colors too bright, too intense “It’s…too much” you mumbled, squeezing your eyes shut.

Chris quickly turned the lights off, and turned the volume down “Better?”

You nodded, letting yourself get lost in the life of a polar bear.

~

As the initial anxiousness faded, a different sensation took over. Your stomach growled loudly, breaking the quiet. You glanced up at Matt, with hazy puppy dog eyes “I’m…really hungry”

Matt exchanged a glance with Chris, a hint of amusement softening their worry “The munchies” Chris murmured, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Matt chuckled, pulling out his phone “Alright baby,what do you want? We’ll get you whatever you need”

“Everything” you pleaded , pulling a chuckle from them both.

Within minutes, they had food on the way-pizza, burgers, fries, ice cream. Chris disappeared into the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards and returning with snacks..chips, cookies, anything he could find. He handed you a bag of chips, watching you carefully. You practically snatched them from him

You crunched on them, eyes widening in delight. “These are the best chips I’ve ever had” you mumbled around a mouthful, crumbs falling onto the blanket.

Chris laughed softly, as he settled back in beside you, brushing them crumbs off your lap “Glad you’re feeling a little better” he smiled as he noticed a crumb on the corner of your mouth, reaching his thumb to wipe it off “pretty girl”

~

They stayed close,both planted either side of you. Whenever a random wave of strange feelings hit, they were there, talking you through it, grounding you.

Eventually the food arrived, they set everything up on the coffee table, letting you pick at whatever you wanted. It was the best meal you’d ever had, everything tasted like magic. You’d even lathered some ice cream on a pizza slice, making the most disgustingly delicious concoction. Matt and Chris watched you in awe.

Once you’d finished your food, and your belly was fulll, exhaustion set in. Your head drooped onto Chris’ shoulder, your eyes heavy. “M’tired” you mumbled.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head as Matt reaches and pulls the blanket over you further “Sleep sweetheart, we’ve got you”

It was seconds before you drifted off, feeling like the couch was swallowing you in its comfort. Every few minutes, Chris leaned in, carefully checking on your breathing, his ear close to your slightly open mouth.

Now you were asleep, Matt took the opportunity to scold his brother further ,, “Never leave our fuckin’ shit out again y’hear me?” he said with a stern look

Chris let out a big sigh, letting his head fall back with a guilty look, before nodding “Lesson learned bruh”

dividers - @strangergraphics-archive

AN; thankyou so much for the request anon! i had so so much fun writing this!! i included some of my personal “trips” in here lmao.

hope y’all enjoyed! - 𝑺𝒂𝒈𝒆 ♡

MASTERLIST LINKED HERE

[seichv]

˖ ࣪⭑ CERTIFIED FREAK !

☆ sum: sunday, gallagher, aventurine, and sampo's kinks.

contents: (MDNI!!!), f!reader, bdsm, dacryphilia, exhibitionsim, orgasm denial, slight degradation, praise, p in v, fingering, creampie, squirting, daddy kink (gallagher) sampo is subby and whiny, choking, just... freak shit hehe ;)

note: writing slump: 0 ellie: 1 ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

SUNDAY - BDSM

yeah, he can indeed fool someone with those angelic looks, can’t he? he can easily deceive with them. giving you the impression that you could get away with just about anything under his watch, huh? you were simply wrong. little did you know the things he was capable of.

who would’ve thought you’d find yourself tied up, bound, hands clasped together by ropes, ankles tied to the ends of the bed, with sunday looming over you like a tantalizing, impending, dooming shadow, his sharp gaze like daggers, like frosty ice, boring into you, boring deep. 

“should i have brought a gag along with me too, darling?” he teases, inching his face closer and closer to you as your pussy pulsates with a brutal need, drenched in your arousal. he can practically smell it on you. smell your surrender, your submission. 

and oh, how beautiful the sight of your naked form is… trembling, goosebumps tickling your skin. it’s purely art to him. a masterpiece. and it's all for him and him only.

you vigorously shake your head in response, watching him slowly stroke his cock as he aligned it just barely at your weeping entrance, and you impetuously rut your hips up, desiring friction, attention, any sort of contact, as you writhed in agonizing desperation, deprivation. "n-no, please… please, fuck me…”

he hums at the sound of your frail voice, a smile spreading along his face. "such a pretty mouth uttering such filthy words… hm,”

and before you can say anything else, you suck in a deep gasp, the intrusion of his length taking you out in one go. he buries himself to the hilt in one thrust, and slowly, tormentingly begins rolling his hips, watching your expression like a hawk the entire time. he can’t help but hiss, your spongey, melting walls encasing him, sheer blankets of your slippery slick smearing along his cock. this couldn’t be mere pleasure anymore, this was euphoria.

and he’s already lost his sanity,

“o-oh, yes, yes,” you gasp, the thump of your heart skyrocketing in speed, as his pelvis starts smacking into yours faster… and harder… the woody material of the bed frame beneath you creaking, and ramming into the walls. you simply can’t understand how he can possibly feel so good. reaching places inside you you never knew you could feel, as if he were attempting to merge the two you into one.

"i want you to tell me,” sunday whispers breathily, glacially, almost like an eerie rustle of wind, like a whoosh of arctic air blowing right through every inch of your weakened, restrained body. he reaches out, takes your jaw in his slender hand, his penetrating stare not moving an inch from your beady eyes. “how good does it feel, darling?”

your vocal cords are giving up on you, being pulled at with every labored mewl and sob running off from your quivering lips. you can barely form a response, a creeping warmth scratching at your skull, making you feel dumbified. “s-so good! c-can’t… last long…”

and neither can sunday, not with how pretty you look, not with how the sweet, harmonic melody of your sounds makes the ache in his cock escalate overwhelmingly. all the sensations are getting sharper, more vivid, his pulse syncing with his rapid panting.

"cum with me,” he permitted, his tone close to urgent, almost like a plead. “let go for me. together.”

and it all happens quick. sunday grabs onto your waist, tightly as if for leverage or grounding, his eyes going wide as he’s met with his climax, his cock twitching inside your cunt before dumping his load inside, strained groans breaking out his throat as you gush all over him simultaneously.

yeah, he’s addicted. addicted to basking in the blissful pleasure of your body, basking in it with you.

GALLAGHER - EXHIBITIONISM

oh, the things you do to him.

he’s on a shift. but you, being the damn minx that you are, decided to prance on into the drink lounge with your pretty ass, giving him that look, seductively licking the rim of sugar that coated the top of your glass, while looking him dead in the eye.

you little tease,

would it be shocking for you to end up pressed up on the wall in the employee room, that gratuitously short skirt (that you very much wore on purpose) hiked up around your waist, with his thick cock drilling into you? he shouldn’t even be indulging in this, since you’re such a brat. you shouldn’t be getting what you wanted. but he can’t fucking resist, not when you play with him like that.

"showing up to the lounge, teasin’ me like a little slut, huh? while i’m working?” he snarls, his deep, gruff voice snaking up from behind you and right into your ear, making your knees give out. gallagher peers down, before lightly pushing at your ankle with his boot, urging you to spread those pretty little legs wider for him, his hands grabbing at your bubble ass, fondling and spreading the globe-y flesh. he wants a nicer view of that pussy swallowing him whole.

and god, it’s like a fucking glove. a sleeve,

your pussy is crying for him, hugging him, holding on like you can’t bear the thought of letting him go. you’re coating him in that creamy, syrupy slick, and every stroke has the static in your mind playing more and more frenzied. and he’s just so big, that thick head of his cock bullying your cervix with every sloppy, rough smack of his hips against that ass… fuck.

"hngh— n-needed you… so bad…” you’d whimper, choking on every whiny noise that you try to suppress, as you’re still trying to keep in mind that you are indeed in public. not that you’d admit that it turns you on more. you can’t help yourself. not when you’ve got him on your mind all day, his musky scent that engulfs your senses in flames, his perfect body… those muscles that you’re always ogling at.

oh, and speaking of muscles— your eyes suddenly roll right back into your skull the moment his beefy, rock-hard bicep curls around your throat, manhandling you in a chokehold, pulling your head back and making you arch against him, his dazy gaze right up in your fucked-out face, and he chortles. 

"yeah, didn’t you? can’t go a little while without some dick, huh?” gallagher practically growls, his teeth gritting hard with his jaw taught and set in a firm clench. if anyone could get a glance of his expression right now, they’d think he fucking hates your guts, like he’s fuming. with the way his sleeves are pushed up his arms, the veins in his forearm are visible, throbbing and bulging just like the veins of his cock inside you, the veins that your pussy can map out perfectly,

"w-with no haah— panties underneath this fucking shit,” gallagher groans, before his free hand lands a sharp smack to your ass, leaving behind a delicious sting. he’s not even surprised that you like that shit. like the naughty, cock-hungry whore you were. 

“daddyyy…” you whine, your tongue lolling out dumbly as you went limp, every part of you going numb except your pussy, throbbing and aching harder and harder the more he plowed into you with ruining force, as if he was trying to make you crumble apart entirely.

”gonna cum for daddy, huh?” gallagher huffs, his tone of voice nearly mocking. “yeah… how ‘bout you shut the fuck up and take it? k-keep milking my shit dry f’me… f-fuck.’

and that’s when it hits, your orgasm. it’s like a freight train, like a harsh blow, knocking you out in a blink of an eye. there was no way you could hold it anymore, not with the authority in his voice combined with his unmatched fervor and strength—

it’s splattering, your juices squirting out your pussy like a fountain, your mouth agape as your nails claw at his arm that stayed put around your throat. gallagher groans out loud at the sight, his own eyes rolling back as a rushed, ‘fuck, fuck,’ rasps out his strained throat. thick, hot streams of his seed plugs your wet heat up to the very brim, and he stays there, panting hard with you pressed against him.

"f-fuck, sweetheart. made a goddamn mess—"

"gallagher?! whaddya’ doin’ in there, man? you disappear on me, or what?” aaand there’s siobhan… fuck.

you can only glance back at gallagher with a cheeky little giggle. hehe… whoops.

AVENTURINE - DACRYPHILIA

“don't you take those eyes off of me.” aventurine coos, his gaze flickering back and forth from your pussy, then back towards your face. he’s got you prettily sprawled out on the bed, two of his slender fingers pistoning inside your drooling cunt, curling at just the right angle, reaching nice and deep. his vigor is just relentless, you’re desperately trying to clamp your legs together, your face shying away as your eyes squint and your eyebrows curl inward, a squeal escaping from your throat.

“oh, i don’t think so,” aventurine grunts, his free hand roughly spreading your legs back open, his forearm shoving against the back of your thighs so that they stay pushed back. “you are not running from me, darling. take it like a good girl, won't you?” he purrs, and you gasp, dragging out a hoarse whine as he picks up the pace, the wet sloshes that your cunt produces getting progressively louder. even flecks of your juices were flying out with every thrust of his hand at this point, and fuck, was it lewd…

“gonna cum—!” you’d croak out, warm tears flooding your vision and pooling up along the waterline of your eyes as you’re unable to sit still, creaks and rustling ringing out from the bed as you desperately attempt to thrash around, despite aventurine holding you in place. that familiar tingle in your lower tummy was brewing up, and quick.

and oh, were those tears he saw?

the ache and the strain in his pants only hardens at the sight, serving to drive him even crazier. he can’t help it. you look so helpless, so vulnerable, yet so needy, so desperate. and it’s all because of him…  fuck. makes him wanna devour you whole, like he’s lost every train of thought, every bit of composure…

“my, oh my,” he snickers, shaking his head incredulously as he keeps his gaze glued to you, his violet orbs bordering a feral look to them. he loves seeing those crystal streams trickling down those cheeks that are prominently coated in a deep, rosy flush of color. you look like a doll.

his doll,

and he can tell when his doll is close. that adorable look on your face gives it away, eyes wide, gazing up at him, your mouth dangling open, hands grasping at the sheets for dear life. “gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his tone low, almost taunting, so velvety, so smooth, it's practically spine-chilling, and that alone makes your walls clench around his digits once more. as if you hadn’t done that enough already.

"y-yes, gonna— fuck!” you’re cut off as aventurine’s thumb meets your clit, rubbing the swollen nub with skilled precision, causing your pleasure to soar up to insanely imposing heights. its as if he’s trying to coax your pussy into orgasm, trying to lure you into cumming. and fuck, is he doing a good job at it. a good job is an understatement. his hands… it’s like they could cast a motherfucking spell on your pussy…

“cum, pretty. make a mess all over my fingers. go on,” he urges, the smirk on his face flashing brighter as one last whimper rips out from your throat, until you’re squirting all over his hand, and his mouth drops open, his pupils blowing and darkening.

"oh, yess,” he groans, eager to milk every last drop out of your pretty pussy, continuing to finger fuck you through your high, elongating it, even as you’re a shaking mess, trying to pry away from him. 

“mhmm, would you look at that,” he huskily purrs, sliding his creamy, sticky fingers out your pussy with a squelch, licking them clean with a smirk, before your pussy throbs at the contact of his hand meeting it in a mean slap, spanking your pussy and sending a jolt through your body. 

"made my pretty girl cry from both her eyes, and her pussy, hm? poor thing…”

SAMPO - ORGASM DENIAL

sampo is a mouthy one, there’s no doubt about that. roguish, cocky, cheeky. you can't help but feel this itching urge to shut him up. to put him in his place.

hence why you’ve got him in between your legs, his back to your chest, one of your hands pumping his cock while the other is over his mouth, muffling his needy moans.

he’s bucking his hips up as you stroke his cock, fucking up into your hand, his eyes rolled back,

”ohh, baby,” you coo with a sly grin, your warm breath fanning against the shell of his ear before you give it a small nibble. “don’t tell me you wanna cum already, hm? its too early for that, silly boy.”

you lift your hand off of his mouth, only to gently wrap it around his throat, and he lets out a hoarse whimper, shaking his head. “n-no… w-won't cum yet… won’t cum…” he whines, and it practically pains him to say that, as he’s just dying to cum, his angry tip flushed bright red, his balls heavy and aching, desperate for release.

"good boy. you just sit still and take it.” you giggle, your words alone making him even needier by tenfold, his legs shaking, his hands grasping at your legs like lifelines. 

you’re pumping harder now, schlick after schlick, sticky and creamy, his arousal making a mess out of your hand.

he throws his head back against your shoulder with a loud moan, his hips bucking more frantically before you land a soft spank to his balls, earning a sound from his throat that almost sounded close to a shriek. 

“didn’t i just tell you to sit still?” you resume your quick, rough stroking as sampo has to hold back from literally throwing himself around, his consciousness practically out the window at this point. “you were doing so good f’me, sampo. what happened? don’t you wanna cum?”

"yes!” he’s quick to respond, burying his face in your neck as he sniffles, shaking hard like a leaf. “y-yes, please… ‘m sorry, so sorry… w-wanna cum so bad—!” he whines, hearing that buzzing begin to ring in his ears, his vision a bright white light. his limits are being pushed and pushed and pushed, about to burst like a balloon. its too much for him.

"p-please… c-can i cum for you? n-need to cum for you…” he whimpers, lifting his face to look into your eyes with a pleading, almost teary gaze. his cock is solid, and he needs this release so bad it’s close to paining him. “s-so much… h-have so much for you…”

"mm, wanna make a mess all over me, don’t you? all for me,” you giggle, pumping especially harder at the tip, making the twitch in his thighs quicken.

"go on, then. cum for me. let me see how bad you need to,” pfft. you didn’t need to tell him twice. like jets, his cum splurts out, shooting straight up and all over his hand as he’s whimpering, and whimpering fucking loud. his jaw falls slack, fat beads of sweat running down his temples, his eyes going straight back into his head yet again as he thrashes back against you. you gasp, chuckling softly as you keep your gaze glued to his twitching cock, leaning in to gently pepper kisses along his neck, making him shiver harder. 

”lookkk at that, baby,” you purr, your hand that was around his throat sliding up to brush his hair away from his face. “there you go, easy, baby,” you whisper, and he chuckles breathily, whimpering small little, ‘thank you’s’ before his eyes flicker back open and fall upon your tongue licking his cum off your hand.

yeah. that’ll do it for him. now he’s definitely gonna slurp your pussy off the bone.