#<— yes i /did/ just come up with that for him

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic idea: The Cousin

Clark had always known that Krypton was an entire planet with more than just a few cities scattered about, but it was a very distant knowledge that he grew up with.

Yes, it was sad that he was among the few Kyptonians left in the universe, but Clark has always considered himself human before anything else. He was Jonathan Kent and Martha Kent's son long before he learned of his identity as Kal-El.

It made him feel guilty that he preferred being Clark Kent to Kal-El, but it was the honest truth, as mean as it was.

Kara had once accused him of not understanding what it mean to have lost their home planet like she did. She often pointed out that his Kryptonese sounded like someone who had learned it as a second language. She also claimed that he was only pretending to be Kryptonian in another argument, and the worst was when she stated he wasn't Kryptonian enough. She raged because she was mourning the loss of her planet and people, and lashing out at him was easier.

He knew that, but it still stung, though not in the way she wanted. It stung because of the guilt: He agreed that he was prouder to be considered an Earthling than a Kryptonian.

He couldn't help that English rested more comfortably on his tongue or the scents of Earth's food were far more appetizing than the meals Kara made (As close to her family's recipes as she could. There were some spices Earth similarly couldn't substitute)

His rocket ship was his parents' attempt to stuff as much of their culture as they could into it before their people were wiped out. He tried hard to learn everything they managed to save, but he didn't connect to it as strongly as he did in history class listening to the USA's humble beginnings.

He felt guilty about that, too.

When they found Kon-El, he let Kara give him a name, only to later discover what Kon in Kryptonian meant. By that point, the clone had built an entire identity out of the name, and seeing his cousin's smug smirk made his insides turn.

He didn't like the clone, but he didn't think the boy deserved that. Though Clark should have done something, eventually, he would help rebrand the name, shifting the translation of the more modern (or it was before Kypton was no more) to an older Kryptonian one. Although Kara acted like he was destroying more of their culture, Clark felt it was better this way.

It was a struggle to be trapped between two worlds, but Clark knew which one he would choose every single time.

Then Bruce found the boy.

As usual, Bruce kept an eye on all major powers, including up-and-coming heroes. He first gained wind of the young hero in Amity Park from a young Wes Weston, who posted daily about Phantom. Since Phantom seemed to fall under the jurisdiction of the Justice League Dark, Clark didn't pay much attention to him.

Bruce had eyes on the young hero and had sent Robin to offer training and support, but the boy seemed much more interested in staying in his own part of the world and fighting the dead. Clark could respect that.

All heroes had an area that was undoubtedly theirs, and Phantom picked the most haunted place in the country to protect. It made sense. Months went by with Bruce occasionally bringing up the boy in meetings, to either update them on his work or praise the child for his missions in that weird, emotionless way Bruce talked as Batman.

Then, one day, Kara barged into the meeting, about to argue for her right to join the Justice League, when her eyes landed on the hologram of Phantom, which was frozen in place. Her mouth opened and closed, eyes wide, before she blurted out, "You found someone from the house of Lor-Van!?"

"What?" Clark sat up, recognizing his mother's maiden name.

"Look at his chest! That's the Lor-Van symbol!" Kara screeched, hope starting to bloom in her eyes. "He's your cousin, Kal. Likely from your mother's young brother! I heard he was attempting to make a rocket on the other side of Kypton, but I never knew if he was successful....but he must have! He has your mother's eyes!"

Clark feels like someone kicked him in the chest. His voice cracks as he asks, "There were other refugees from Kypton?"

Whatever glee was on Kara's face died a painful death as she turned away, hiding her tears. "Not everyone believed Uncle Jor, but not everyone thinks he was lying. They just didn't make it."

The silence in the meeting hall is heavy. Clark is only half aware of his teammates shooting unsure glances between the two aliens until Bruce clears his throat. "If Phantom is truly of house Lor-Van, I think it's time to approach him again, especially since he's a ghost. Anyone with magic can take control of him."

"Oh," Kara's voice is small. "He didn't make it either."

Clark leaps to drag Kara into a hug. She goes willingly, but doesn't hug back as she stays stiff as a board, hiding her face in his chest. "He should have been your age. Makes sense why he's still a teenager."

He doesn't know what to say to make her feel better. Nothing will feel better when you lose your entire world.

"We could go meet him, " he offers instead. Clark feels Kara move her head against his chest in one brisk nod, but it's enough for him to excuse himself from the rest of the League. They wave away his apology, offering to come with them for moral support, but Clark feels it's something he and Kara should be able to handle on their own.

She's crying on her way back to Earth, aiming for the part of the planet that houses Amity Park. Clark could have just had the Zeta beams from the Watch Tower, but he felt a flight would have done her some good.

"I don't know why I'm sad," She laughs wetly. "It's not like he's my cousin. He's a cousin of a cousin. I just thought...."

"I know," he tells her, pretending not to see the flooding tears behind her. Maybe we can find out what happened to him."

Maybe he was raised on Earth before his early death. Maybe Phantom is like me. Clark says, but he hopes. Even if it were a ghost, it would be nice to have someone understand.

The two Supers don't say anything else as they re-enter Earth's skies, and they can spot a ain't green glowing monster fighting against another smaller white glowing figure on the horizon.

[pepshee]

First Place

when you make a bet with your best friend—loser is forced to do what the winner wants—but his demands for you aren't exactly what you expected, but you're fully willing to comply.

Pairing - heeseung x fem!reader

Genre - friends with benefits, friends to ???, smut

Word count - 2k

Warnings - p in v, creampie, cliche, degrading (he calls reader a slut), fingering, mentions of other enha members, Mario kart mention, stripping, lmk if I missed anything!

A/N - I was gonna lowkey abandon writing but here I am.. back again... again, sorry if it's bad, and thank you to the anon in my inbox who gave me writing advice! i dont feel like using capitalization in this one so im not gonna... anyways.. enjoy! also yes im aware its kinda cliche

MDNI 18+

heeseung was always your best friend; he was always there when you needed him and vice versa. meeting him in high school was the best twist of fate ever. those four years would've ended up miserable had it been someone else.

there was a decent amount of girls after him, but that was never a bother. in fact, he was always your wingman, helping you find ways to ask out your crush without looking like a complete ditz. he had a couple of girlfriends throughout high school, but they never really lasted.

he was able to tell when you were upset and was somehow always able to pinpoint the reason. you'd never thought of him in a romantic light, although he was extremely attractive. it was like a forbidden fruit, something you were too scared to explore.

after graduation, applying to the same college as one another seemed scary. what if only one of you got in? what if neither of you got in? those worrying questions quickly disappeared when one day you both opened your results and found out you were both accepted.

he made new friends, and so did you, but one thing was that you never forgot each other. you both still regularly hung out and went to your usual coffee shops or shopping malls.

heeseung and his friends are at his dorm, and he had given you permission to come and go in his dorm without asking whenever you wanted whether he was there or not. his roommate, Jake, was hesitant about this at first, but just agreed to avoid drama, however, he grew to not mind it.

you were bored lying in your dorm room, so you got up to go to his dorm. upon walking in, you find him, his roommate, and his friends all huddled together in the living room, some on the couch, some on the floor, and the rest standing around. through a closer look, it wasn't hard to locate a couple of them, including heeseung, who were equipped with gaming controllers; they were playing video games.

one of his friends who wasn't playing hears the door opening and looks at you. you don't know his friends well, except for his roommate, but you did know their names.

the friend who saw you, jay, smirks upon noticing your presence. you didn't know the reason, but you just left it alone with a shrug of your shoulders. jay tapped heeseung—whose attention was occupied by whatever game it is that they're playing—and he replied without even looking away from the tv screen. "what is it? I'm trying to win, dude," he said. jay leaned into heeseung's ear and whispered something that you were unable to hear.

heeseung paused the game, earning him a few groans from his friends who also held controllers before turning his head to the door where you were standing. he smiled at you, "hey y/n! come here, we're all playing video games!" after walking over to him you both quickly realize there's no room on the couch for you to sit, but that problem didn't last very long. he hits his friend sitting next to him, sunghoon, not very hard but so sunghoon will know what heeseung is trying to get him to do.

sunghoon promptly got up, before you even got time to process him getting up, heeseung grabbed your wrist and pulled you to sit down next to him on the couch. it wasn't hard to notice the looks and smirks his friends gave each other once he did this, but you didn't think anything of it.

"why'd you show up to my dorm this time?" he looked at you, the game still paused, but it seemed his friends were more focused on you two rather than the game now. you let out a small laugh at his comment, "i got bored so i came here, but you're already busy i see." he shakes his head, "i'm not busy, we're just playing games, now watch me win," he smirks, he's always been quite cocky but it's part of his charm.

he unpaused it and continued the competitive game with an intense focus. after a bit, the game was over, and well, heeseung didn't win, but that's not important. he throws a playful fit about losing, and after a bit, he turns to you. "hey, lets play the hardest map on mario kart and whoever loses gets to boss the loser around, but it's just us two," he grins at his own idea, hoping you accept.

he almost cheers when he sees you nod, and signals one of his friends to hand you a controller. he selects the map, and as the game starts, he's completely in the zone; he really wants to win, to have power over you.

after crossing the finish line for the final time, heeseung had won, which makes you let out a groan of disapproval. his friends all laugh as heeseung lightly pushes and teases you. "I knew you were a loser!" he teases, making you hit him on the shoulder. "knock it off, i hate you, you have more experience!" you argue back, and he just laughs.

"okay so now I get to tell you what to do," he smirks. you roll your eyes, but he suddenly shooes his friends out of his dorm while they shoot him knowing looks, and mocking kissing gestures. it's like they know something you don't, which makes you nervous. why would they leave that easily?

after they had left, heeseung shifts around in his seat and turns back to you. "so.. now I need to think about what I'm gonna make you do.. maybe me and jakes dishes? the laundry?" he says, basically talking to himself. he just sits there thinking for a moment, occasionally throwing out random ideas until his face changes, finally landing on one. "y/n, we've been friends for a long time, yeah?" you nod, waiting for him to continue. "you know.. you're really pretty, and I think I've made my decision..." your heart flutters for a second at the tone he used; he never really talked to you like this before. he's told you you're pretty, but the way he said it this time was different.

"strip for me," his tone completely serious, lacking any bit of sarcasm or signs that he's joking. your eyes go wide, and you look at him, bewildered at what he chose. "seriously? strip? hee—" he stopped you before you could finish, "I'm serious, I've always felt something towards you, this is my opportunity, I choose for you to strip," his tone lowering, you can see the desire and the hunger written in his eyes.

through your utter shock, you take a moment to think, he is attractive.. you've always thought he was. what's the harm in this? why not just do it?

you started by removing your hoodie. once he realized you were down for his demands, he couldn't look away. then you removed your shirt, followed by your pants, now just leaving you in your bra and underwear. heeseung was just sitting back, manspreading, smirking at you. he'd never seen you so exposed like this before. "so pretty, your body is so sexy," he commented, you could see the growing bulge in his grey sweatpants.

suddenly, he stood up, grabbing your wrist dragging you to his bed before promptly pushing you down onto it. he quickly crawled on top of you and smashed his lips onto yours. it was unexpected but not unwelcome as you kissed him back and moved one of your hands to bury your fingers in his hair. as the kiss continued, your grip on his hair got tighter, earning a groan from him, while one of his hands explored your thighs.

his hand made its way to the wet patch on your panties, touching you over the cotton. this caused you to let out a whine at the feeling; you wanted more, wanted him to touch you more. he clearly noticed this, "beg for it," he demanded. he clearly wasn't going to give it to you that easily even though it was his idea. "please heeseung, touch my pussy, please.." your pleas made his cock twitch in his boxers, he finally took your panties completely off, sliding them down your legs.

he ran his fingers slowly and teasingly through your already wet and slick folds. "all this for me? didn't think you loved the idea of fucking your best friend so much, you're just a slut aren't you?" his degrading words just fueled your desire for his cock even more even though it probably shouldn't.

he slowly inserted one finger into your cunt, the feeling causing a small moan to release itself from your mouth. he then added a second one and started out slowly moving his fingers in and out of your hole, but then he sped up and even curled the slightly making them hit your g-spot at just the right angle. you moaned at the pleasure that took over you as he continued to scissor his fingers inside of you. his thumb started to rub your clit further stimulating your pussy.

"heeseung im s' close—" he removed his fingers without warning, making you whine at the newfound emptiness. before you could even question, he removed his sweatpants and his shirt. you could feel the drool forming at the sight of his chest and physique, but then your eyes landed on something even more exciting, the stain on his boxers due to his leaking cock.

he removed his boxers next, his large cock springing out, the sight of it made your eyes widen. how would he even fit? "it'll fit baby, don't worry, I'll make it fit," he said almost as if he had read your mind. he ran the tip of his cock through your slick folds and gave himself a couple strokes before finally lining himself up with your entrance. "i'm gonna fuck this pussy so good you hear me?"

he was so eager he didn't even go slow this time; he immediately rammed himself into you, enjoying the sight of the slight bulge he created on your stomach. he pulled out almost fully before thrusting back in, he repeated this process, making you a moaning mess. it was hard to tell where one of you started and where the other ended, "seungie- p-please.. keep going," you begged him, and he listened. he wasn't going to stop until you both came. you could feel his tip grazing your cervix, his cock stretching your pussy so good. you'd had sex before, but you could already tell heeseung is the best you'll ever get.

"come on baby, i know you're close, you like this don't you? like being my little slut," he was right, you did like it, you were close, he knew how to read you like an open book. "gonna cum—" is all you could manage to get out as the pleasure took over you making it almost impossible to form coherent sentences. not long after your words you let go, your release painting his cock forming a white ring at his base as he continued his thrusts chasing his own orgasm. "hold on love, i'm almost there, you can take it," he encouraged. his thrusts started to grow sloppy; he was close. finally, he came, his release painting the inside of your gummy walls. you'd never had anyone cum in you, you'd always had them pull out, but heeseung was different. you wanted him to cum in you.

he rolled off of you, now lying beside you as he brushed a sweaty strand of your hair out of your face. he looked at your bra still covering your tits, he leaned in to your ear and whispered "next time, I'm gonna fuck these pretty tits. I was so caught up with your pussy your poor boobs didn't get any love," he said almost sounding genuinely upset and sympathetic for them.

you wanted to ask what you two were now, but a pang of fear hit you; you were scared of his answer, so you decided to stay silent. you wanted to stay awake, but exhaustion was catching up. no matter how hard you tried to fight it, you couldn't. you finally closed your eyes and fell asleep, heseung followed soon after.

i hope you all liked it!! i'm not too confident about this one but yk.. anyways, this is only like the 4th evber fic ive ever written..... im aware its kinda fast paced, i did rush it oops....

[mononijikayu]

thinking about volleyball player! sukuna getting upset because astrophysicist! reader doesn't wanna go with him in the shower after a long day of not seeing each other.

all volleyball player! sukuna wants is to hold your hand while he's cleaning his face for the night because he wants to feel you close after being touch starved.

because god forbid a loving devoted husband like him just wants to be with and feel his dear and beloved wife close to him after a long (heartbreaking) day of not being together. god forbid that this is his love language.

"are you actually mad at me?" sukuna pouts as he stands before you, still holding your hand. "do you actually not love me anymore?"

you sighed, looking at him. "my love, i did multiple labs today. i wanna be lazy right now."

"but i missed you." he whines to you, almost like a cat after not getting the belly rubs he wants. "come on, you can sit on the stool there while i look at you prettily at the mirror, still holding my hand."

"ryomen sukuna—"

"woah, just say you don't love me anymore at this point." he cuts you off, his face looking offended. "that's not my name. how dare you?"

"my love, really....." you sighed, rolling your eyes at his antics. you looked up and saw him glaring at you, like he was ready to cry. "its just the bathroom. you're just getting cleaned up."

"god forbid a man wants to multi–task." he huffs, shaking his head at you. his eyes looked like they were begging now. a sudden change from before. his hand squeezing your own. "come on, baby. just give in."

nearly a decade or so being together with such love with ryomen sukuna, you had always known that he was clingy but you never thought that he would be this clingy after getting married to you.

in some ways, marriage didn't really change your dynamics or your feelings for each other. that's just how it was when you've been so in love and continue to be in love after all this time.

but there was something about getting married that made the intensity of his desire to hold you, to touch you even more overwhelming. his life is incomplete when he's not feeling the warmth that completes the cold sweat that comes after he sits down and leaves the court for the day.

his body demands the warmth of you to complete him when the passion of the court cools down. because at the end of the day, he will walk out of that court. he will always go and in and out of it.

but you were the only one he could never leave. you were the only one that he will never resign himself away from. you were that only exception. because you bring him to life in ways not even the thunderous intensity of that ball hitting his palm ever would.

your warmth was more than anything that could ever be in this world. and he knows it. you knew it. so, yes, you could feel annoyed at the thought of him sulking and groaning and crying and moping with neediness for you and everything about you.

but it instantly goes away. because you love this man. and he loves you. that will never go away. annoyance is temporary but wanting to love him with everything despite it all is forever.

you looked at him for one more moment, seeing the tears threaten to fall down his eyes as though he was a little child about to have a crash out over not getting his favorite lollipop. you shake your head and started smiling and then laughing.

"alright, alright. just tonight, my love. after that, we'll go to bed."

you saw the threat of tears immediately disappear as he grins widely, almost as if his melt down had never happened. almost instantly, your husband became a golden retriever who has finally gotten a treat to enjoy.

he all but embraces you with everything in him, with you being nearly falling over as you get consumed by the warmth of his much bigger built. impressively, your hands are still locked in with his.

"my love—i'm about to fall!"

he laughs. "baby, you'll never fall. not when im here to catch you!"

and you like to think that's the case. he's never let you fall anywhere. he's never let you suffer or feel like he never cares for you or loves you. instead, he keeps you high above with him in the joyous clouds, enjoying the bountiful of the love he pours everything into.

when you both go to the bathroom, he's doing his facial with his free hand while his other one still remained wrapped against your own. you continued to listen to him talk about his day with enthusiasm, his bright scarlet eyes never leaving your own, which was full of love for him.

"did you know they're finally allowing me to have my uniform and shoes engrave the 'my love' on it?"

you blinked. "you requested it? and they approved it?"

"i mean, i've asked about it the moment i signed for them babe! been wanting to keep you with me at court if i can't wear my ring." he says, beaming at you. "but since im renegotiating my contract with the tokyo great bears and with the national team, it was the demand i asked for in my contract and they said yes!"

you could feel your entire chest feel warm and your entire body turn red as the blood in pumped high with pressure, feeling overwhelmed by the love your husband has for you. you use your free hand to hide your face in your palm, out of sheer flustered feeling taking over you.

how did you ever luck out in love in a world that has such a bleak look? how could one have such a big heart to love? how could you not love him and only him? how could every bit of everything that is negative just burst out in positives when he loves you like this?

"baby, why are you lowering your head like that—"

"ah, you're so...." you groaned at him, before looking up, still red. "you're so!...."

he turns around, moved closer to you and pressed a warm kiss on your lips. you were stunned as the smell of his vanilla creme echoes into your nose. you turn redder than before.

"love you too, baby." he whispered to you, his eyes blossoming in heartfuls.

how can he always just defeat you with his love?

".....hurry up, i'm getting sleepy."

"hey, don't sleep before i can!"

[heavenlybodies333]

Viagra, really? - S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader

All you'd wanted was to satisfy a dumb curiosity—whether or not Viagra had an effect on women. It wasn’t like you were going to pop a whole pill and throw yourself at the next human being in sight. It was just a fun, stupid experiment for a boring Wednesday afternoon. You’d split the dose in half, dropped one into each of two steaming cups of black coffee—one for you, one for JJ—and left them on your desk while you stepped away to make Dr. Spencer Fucking Reid his usual. Like you did everyday.

The man had a freakish internal clock—he always took his second coffee at exactly 3:17 PM. You were the one who usually made it for him, and this time, that was your downfall. You had left your desk to go make his usual cup, completely forgetting you’d left the two tainted ones sitting there.

When you walked back in, everything went to hell. JJ looked chipper, a little pink in the cheeks, sipping from one of the cups. Spencer was holding the other spiked one. You stared at the third cup in your hand, the safe, non-Viagra-laced cup you’d made specifically for him, and your stomach dropped.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

He noticed you staring, eyes narrowing behind those glasses.“What?”

“Nothing!” you blurted, voice too high, too guilty. “Just—coffee. You know. Love it. Can’t live without it.” JJ gave you a sidelong glance over her cup, one eyebrow rising looking over at Reid, who of course, had already half-finished the drink.

Fifteen minutes later, he shifted in his seat. Twenty minutes in, he tugged at his tie. Cleared his throat. His cheeks were flushed. You didn’t want to believe it was happening, but it was.

The Viagra was definitely working.

At twenty-five minutes, Spencer Reid stopped typing mid-sentence. His hands froze over the keyboard. His brows knitted in concentration, he glanced at you. His expression unreadable. Then he stood abruptly. His chair rolled back. His hand pressed low to his stomach—almost reflexively—and he muttered, “I need to step out.”

You blinked. “What?” But he didn’t answer. He was already halfway to the hallway bathroom. You turned slowly to JJ. She looked back at you. Eyes wide. “Did he just—?”

“He drank yours,” you hissed. JJ nearly choked. “Then who—?”

“I have his.” You looked at the untouched cup beside you. “You took mine. He took yours.” JJ snorted so hard she had to cover her mouth. “Oh my God.”

“This isn’t funny!” you whisper-yelled.

“I can’t believe you accidentally drugged Reid!”

“I didn’t drug him! I—okay, technically, yes, I—” You groaned. “JJ. I gave Spence a goddamn boner pill.” You dropped your face into your hands.

It took him thirty-six minutes to come back. And when he did? You knew immediately. Because he knew. His eyes landed on you with laser precision. He didn’t speak, not at first. He just walked—calmly, slowly—over to your desk. You looked up, throat dry.

“You wanna tell me,” he said angrily hushed, “why I just spent half an hour in the men’s room trying to hide a completely inexplicable erection?”

You stared at him before looking around for JJ to be your saving grace, of course that bitch was nowhere to be found. “Spencer, I can explain—”

“Can you?” His voice was low, sharp. “Because the only logical explanation is that someone laced my coffee with sildenafil citrate.”

You winced. “We were just—curious. JJ and I.”

His jaw ticked. “We?”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to—” You fumbled. “It was for JJ and me! I made two cups, left them on my desk, and then went to get your usual—”

“And you didn’t think to label them?” His voice cracked at the end, furious and scandalized. “You didn’t think to mention the presence of a powerful vasodilator in the office kitchen?”

“Okay, you’re being dramatic.”

“I am hard in trousers I can’t stand up in.”

You bit your bottom lip. “Oh my God, Spencer—”

“Don’t use that tone—like I’m the one in the wrong here.”

You were fighting a laugh. He looked so mad, and so flushed, and so painfully, obviously turned on.

His slacks betrayed him completely. The sharp cut of his jacket couldn’t hide the tension in his body, couldn’t cover the way he shifted, subtle and controlled, like every move was an effort not to feel too much.

“Are you seriously mad at me?” you asked, voice low, eyes darting around.

He leaned in, his mouth near your ear. “I’m hard,” he whispered, “and I’ve been hard for forty-five minutes. You drugged me. You think this is funny?”

You swallowed. “No.” But your voice said otherwise.

“It’s not funny,” you said, grinning. “It’s just—”

“What?” His voice dropped. “It’s what?” He just sat there, visibly hard, visibly panicking, eyes darting toward his lap like his own body was betraying him in real time.

“Reid,” you whispered, “do you want me to take you somewhere private?”

“I—uh—what? No. I mean, yes, I just—” He exhaled sharply and pressed the heels of his palms into his thighs, like that would help the situation. “This is not... I don’t normally feel like this. Not around you. I mean, not because of you. Not—not that I don’t find you attractive, because you’re very attractive, obviously. It’s just—I wasn’t prepared for this. You dosed me.”

You tried not to laugh. “I didn’t dose you, I made a coffee laced with a questionable pharmaceutical as a joke for JJ, and you drank it.”

His eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t make it better.”

“No,” you agreed, biting your lip. “But it does make it kind of hot.”

He gawked. “Hot?”

You leaned in, your voice hushed. “You. Like this. All flustered and mad and trying really hard to pretend you're not turned on in front of me.”

He made a wounded, embarrassed sound and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh my god. You’re enjoying this.”

You tilted your head. “A little.”

“I could report you to HR,” he muttered, though it had no real bite. His cheeks were flushed, jaw tight with discomfort and... something else. He refused to meet your eyes.

“And what would you say?” you teased gently. “‘She accidentally gave me a hard-on in the middle of the bullpen and then looked too hot about it?’”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re the worst.” you noticed he didn’t move away when you inched a little closer, nor did he stop you when you rested your hand lightly on his knee.

He looked down at it. Then up at you. And his voice cracked a little when he asked, “What... are you doing?”

You smiled. “Making it up to you.”

“You can’t just—just seduce your way out of this,” he stammered. “This is medical. Physiological. I—I’m experiencing venous occlusion and—and increased nitric oxide—”

“God, even flustered, you’re the most ridiculously hot person I’ve ever met,” you muttered, half to yourself.

He stared at you, lips parted. “Are you serious right now?”

You nodded, still smiling. “Dead serious.”

“You don’t have to do anything, Spence,” you said softly. “Just come with me. Somewhere private. I’ll take care of it.”

He hesitated. Eyes searching yours like he was weighing every possible outcome. Then he stood suddenly, stiffly, clearly trying to adjust himself without making it worse.

He stared at you. Then he looked toward Hotch’s office. Empty. Toward the hallway. Quiet. Back at you.

He grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to register it. He pulled you down the hallway, fast and quiet, past the copier, past the tech room, past the old conference wing. His grip was hot and firm around your wrist

You knew where he was going before you saw the door: Storage 4C – Surplus Tech.

Dead zone. No cameras. Half the time even Garcia forgot it existed. He pulled you in. Shut the door. Locked it. Watching him pace in a tight circle, he looked like he might combust.

“This is insane,” he said. “I’ve got dopamine overload, I can’t think straight, my pants—” He gestured wildly toward his zipper. “I can’t even sit down like this.”

You took a slow step toward him. “Then don’t sit down.” He opened his mouth—probably to ask what the hell you meant—but before he could speak, you dropped to your knees.

“Wh—what are you—” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, sharp and panicked.

You looked up through your lashes, palms dragging slowly up the backs of his thighs. “You said you didn’t know what to do, right? So let me.” You reached up to undo his belt, watching the muscles in his stomach tighten beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“You don’t have to—” he choked out.

“I want to,” you said simply.

He made a soft, moan when you freed him from the confines of his slacks—thick and flushed, already straining with pressure. The tip was leaking, glistening, and you could tell just how sensitive he was by the way his thighs trembled the second your breath ghosted over his skin.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Oh my god.” You wrapped your fingers around the base and leaned in, licking a slow, teasing stripe up the underside of his cock. His whole body jolted.

One hand shot out instinctively and tangled in your hair, the other hovered helplessly in the air like he didn’t know what to do with himself. His head tipped back against the wall, breath ragged.

“Y-you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered.

You smiled around him as you took him into your mouth, slowly, letting him feel the heat, the suction, the way your tongue curled just right. He gasped—a sharp, disbelieving sound—and his hips jerked forward before he forced himself back, muttering a frantic, “Sorry—sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You moaned around him in response, letting him know you liked it, and the sound dragged another whimper out of him.

He looked down at you, his face flushed, his lips parted, his expression somewhere between awe and desperation. His fingers tightened in your hair again when you took him deeper, your throat relaxing around him.

“God, you’re—” He cut off with a moan, teeth digging into his lower lip. “You feel... fuck, you feel so good.”

You bobbed your head slowly, deliberately, watching him unravel. He was panting now, trying and failing to keep it together. His knees buckled slightly and his grip in your hair more needy.

“I’m—I can’t—” he stammered, trying to pull you back gently. “You—you have to stop or I’m gonna—”

You hummed low in your throat, and that was it. His cock twitched in your mouth as he came. you sucked harder, mouth still wrapped around him, swallowing everything, hands steady on his hips while he sagged against the wall,

You let him go with one last slow drag of your tongue, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand like it was just another Tuesday.

His eyes were still closed when you stood. Like he couldn’t quite process as you leaned in close, your voice a whisper at his ear, “I said I’d fix it,” you murmured, “consider us even.” And then you turned and walked out—leaving him dazed, pants half-open, jaw slack, completely wrecked in the supply closet of the BAU.

No shame. Just the soft sound of your boots against the tile, echoing back to him

Spencer Reid didn’t move for a full five minutes. And when he finally did, all he could say was: “…Holy shit.”

a/n: omfg it’s confirmed Matthew is coming back for season 18 of criminal minds im losing my shit

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[sparrows4bats]

Dick Grayson sets Jon and Damian up, Completely accidentally.

So, years from now, Damian has finished his degree, med school, and is starting his residentancy. Jon is Superman, and his career as a science researcher is in full swing.

Both grew apart after Jon took up his fathers mantel, and Damian left crimefighting to pursue medicine. They are still friends, but nowhere near as close as they once were. ( Jon still listens to Damians' heartbeat every day, and Jon is one of the few people outside his family that Damian puts on the cape for now.)

Dick has been Jon's mentor for years, and he and Damian have only gotten closer as brothers (father and son) over the years. One day, after seeing Damian and Jon meet by chance, when Dick is injured and he makes Jon fly him to Damian to be patched up, Dick decides to get them to be best friends again.

Dick doesn't know why they grew apart, but they still seem fond of each other if the friendly greeting he witnessed is anything to go by. And both of them need more friends, each having been isolated by their responsibilities over the last few years.

So, he hatches a plan.

If they are going to be Best Friends again, they need to spend time together one on one. The few times he hung out with both of them at the same time, Jon and Damian tended to focus on him or a larger group activity.

So, Dick starts asking Jon to drop Damian over food or coffee after long shifts. Tells Superman how worried he is that Damian will overwork himself because he is doing so many extra hours in Peadatrics and the NICU. Jon happily agrees, armed by Damians' favourite vegan meals and a smile. Damian is confused at first but is so tired that he doesn't question why his childhood friend is suddenly feeding him a few times a week.

Next, Dick tells Damian about all the humanitarian work Jon is doing, and wouldn't it be so nice to go with him? The next time he heads off to refugee camp, Damian can come to provide free health care. Damian likes that idea immensely and asks Jon when he next shows up with food.

Jon and Damian start spending more time together, but only during times when they are too busy or exhausted to actually talk to one another. Neither have mentioned anything other than how tired and busy the other seemed.

So Dick enacts stage three and attempts to get them to actually hang out and relax together. Since they both desperately need it. So Dick asks them both to come over for pizza and movies at his place, and then just doesn't show up. Damian is always early and has a key to his apartment so he can let Jon in. The plan is foolproof.

He sends them a text 30 minutes after they were supposed to meet and tells them Barbara needs him for something, but go ahead and order the pizzas he will be there in a few hours.

After about four hours of celebrating his success and annoying Babs. Dick finally goes home to check on the besties.

What he did not expect was to find Jonathan Kent defiling his baby on his couch.

Some of their clothes are off and strewn around the space, and thank God all Dick sees is Jons naked back and Damian kissing him before he runs out of the room.

Only after he calls Babs in horror and she laughs in his face, does he gather the courage to confront them again.

When he enters the house this time, Jon and Damian are waiting for him, thankfully fully dressed.

Dick doesn't get a chance to speak before Damian is apologising for impropriety and looking like he did at ten when he didn't know how Dick was going to react to his mistakes. Jon takes his hand to settle his nerves, and it works.

Dicks feels like he fell down the rabbit hole.

"So, you two are a thing?"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"Since I saw Damian save 10 children in Sudan a few weeks ago."

"Oh."

"Jon was good with them, comforting and gentle." Damian sounds dreamy in a way Dick has never heard before.

"Is it serious?"

"I love Damian, and I plan to marry him as soon as he will let me." Jon is so confident and serious when he says this, Dick almost doesn't believe the words coming out of his mouth.

"WHAT?!" The pair ignore him choking on his own spit. Rude.

"You do?"

"If you want?"

Damian nods and smiles. "We could go to vegas tomorrow?"

Jon smiles back so wide Dick is sure his face is going to split in two."Or we elope tonight?"

Damian kisses him before whispering yes against his lips

He then turns to his brother.

"Richard will be our witness!"

Dick doesn't know how he ends up in a chapel in Las Vegas at 3am,on a Tuesday, giving his baby brother away. But they look so happy Dick decides he doesn't care at the moment.

Damian had rings already, for some reason, and Jon and Damian get married in jeans and hastily thrown on shirts. All three of them cry at sappy spontaneous vows.

Afterwards, Jon thanks him for helping him realise he already knew the love of his life. Damian just hugs him tightly and says something in a language Dick doesn't know.

It occurred to Dick in that moment that Bruce was going to kill him. Probably after he killed Jon.

He can't even stage a shovel talk because this is all his own damn fault.

Barbara and Stephanie never let him live it down. (But they can suck it, Jon and Damian name their first kid after him and make him godfather.)

[crystalshard]

Nightwing could only watch, caught between horror and disbelief, as Phantom sauntered up to Batman like a much more buff Catwoman.

"Danny," Batman grated out, and oh Nightwing was never going to be able to hear that voice the same way again. Ew, ew, and most of all ew.

"Bruce," Danny said, his voice deeper and darker and oh ew ew ew was that Phantom's sex voice too? Nope. Nightwing was not thinking abou that.

Batman took a step back, and Phantom allowed the distance. "Why are you stealing all this technology from Luthor?" Batman demanded, in a voice that was absolutely not his sex growl. Nightwing refused to think about that either.

Phantom smirked, one hand coming up and stroking thin air as though he had Batman's cheek under his fingertips. (Nightwing determinedly ignored the hitch in Batman's breathing.) "Personal reasons, my old friend with benefits. Luthor has something he shouldn't have. I'm just balancing the scales."

The cowl's eyes narrowed. "Something he stole from you?"

The smile fell from Phantom's face. "You weren't nearly this quick back in college. Yes, Luthor has stolen a great deal of very dangerous technology from me, and I'm taking it back before he can do something stupid with it."

Batman stepped forward again. Maybe it was meant to be intimidation, but his slightly parted lips suggested more of a desire to kiss than punch. "You need to stop this. Before you get hurt. There are other avenues we can use, I can -"

Phantom pressed a featherlight finger to Batman's lips. To Nightwing's renewed shock, the stoic defender of Gotham allowed Phantom to silence him. "Bruce," Phantom murmured, so quiet that Nightwing could barely hear him. "It's not fast enough. Luthor can't be allowed to keep what he's stolen. I have to retrieve it - or destroy it." The corners of Phantom's eyes crinkled. "And even with that voice of yours, you never did manage to order me around. I'm not stopping."

Drawing that silencing finger down Batman's mouth, the pad of Phantom's finger caught on Batman's lower lip as it passed. Then Phantom leaned forward and dropped a soft, chaste kiss on Batman's unresisting mouth.

Nightwing looked away, cheeks burning.

"Danny," Bruce said softly, and it was definitely Bruce's voice and not Batman's now. "At least wear a mask?"

Nightwing looked back in time to see Danny's face soften. "Okay. I'll get a mask." A half-smile twitched at the side of his mouth. "I'll stay safe."

And then Phantom was gone, shooting into the night sky with the ease of a Super.

Nightwing very carefully kept his eyes on Phantom as he sped out of sight. He had a feeling that he didn't want to see Bruce's face right now.

DC x DP prompt - sex growl

Phantom, new Rogue in Gotham: I know that's you, Bruce. We hooked up too many times in college for me to not recognize your sex growl.

Batman, panicking that his college crush is a rogue and also here: Hm.

Nightwing, practiced the Batman Voice for months to fill in when needed, traumatized all over again: YOUR *WHAT*

[4linos]

already gone.

kim seungmin x f!reader

synopsis: to the world, you’re the perfect couple: the rising athlete and the woman who stood by him. but behind closed doors, something is shattering. the MLB offer. the agent. the betrayal you never saw coming. now your home is no longer a refuge, but the battleground where truth and love fight for survival.

warnings: angst, heated arguments, infidelity accusations, implied cheating, emotional distress.

wc: 6335

The soft click of the clasp echoed faintly in the bedroom as you fastened the final earring into place. Your fingers were clumsy, tired, but determined. The room was dimly lit, the last orange traces of sunset bleeding through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the vanity where you sat. Behind you, Seungmin stood near the full-length mirror in his navy suit, carefully adjusting his cufflinks.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just stay home?” he asked for what had to be the fifth time, his tone light, teasing, but underneath, you caught it, something uncertain. Something else.

You glanced at him through the mirror, watching as he checked his tie again, even though you had already fixed it just minutes ago. His posture was relaxed, the easy smile on his face was one you’d seen countless times before… but it didn’t reach his eyes. Not tonight.

“I already told you,” you replied, reaching for your lipstick. “I’m going. I want to be there.”

He exhaled with a slight chuckle, walking over to you. His fingers brushed your shoulder, and you paused applying your lipstick as he leaned in and kissed the top of your head. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he whispered.

You smiled, but your heart didn’t flutter the way it usually did. “You’re stalling,” you said plainly.

He grinned as if caught red-handed. “Can you blame me? You’re just… very pretty. Distracting.”

“You’re very bad at changing the subject,” you said, standing up and brushing invisible lint from your dress.

A soft fuss broke the moment, your daughter, Iseul. You instinctively moved toward the crib in the corner of the room where she lay in her tiny floral onesie, fists waving in complaint. Before you could reach her, Seungmin stepped in front of you.

“I got her,” he said gently, scooping her up into his arms with practiced ease. “Go on, finish. We’re already late.”

You hesitated, watching as your husband soothed your baby with a quiet hum. Even after years of marriage, and two children, it still made your heart twist to see how naturally fatherhood came to him.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Always,” he said, giving you a lopsided smile.

The distraction of getting ready, wrangling a toddler who had earlier decided to dump an entire box of cereal on the floor, and feeding the baby between curling your hair had left you frazzled. Seungmin’s teasing earlier had only barely been tolerable.

“Maybe it is taking longer because I’ve got two little humans to keep alive now,” you’d snapped at him earlier, glaring as he chuckled.

He’d raised both hands in mock surrender. “Not complaining. Just saying you’re not the fastest anymore.”

You’d muttered something under your breath, but Seungmin had leaned down, kissed your shoulder, and taken Iseul from your arms like it was second nature. “I’m serious though,” he had added gently. “You don’t have to come. You’ve done enough today. You always do.”

And for a moment, you had almost considered it. Almost.

But that look, the one that didn’t quite match his words had bothered you more than you admitted. You were tired, yes. But more than anything, you were curious.

Now, watching him with your daughter, that strange unease returned. You shook it off, slipped on your heels, and followed him downstairs.

Seungmin’s mother arrived just in time, letting herself in with the spare key. She was beaming, as always, excited to babysit her grandchildren for the evening. She ushered you both out of the house with warm reassurances.

“You both look wonderful,” she told you, bouncing Iseul with ease. “Have fun! Don’t worry, I’ve got everything handled.”

You kissed your children goodbye, lingering maybe a little longer than usual and followed Seungmin to the car.

The venue was already buzzing when you arrived. The end-of-season dinner was a yearly tradition, but this year felt different. Bigger. More elaborate. The private hall was beautifully decorated, navy accents for the Lotte Giants, chandeliers glimmering above round tables where players, coaches, managers, and their families were already seated, laughing, talking, raising glasses.

You were seated at one of the central tables with other wives and girlfriends, many of whom you’d grown close to over the years. There was an easiness to it familiar faces, shared exhaustion from parenting, the camaraderie of loving men whose careers were as demanding as they were exhilarating.

Seungmin settled in beside you, and his hand found yours beneath the table. His thumb brushed along your skin absentmindedly, comfortingly. You leaned in closer, murmuring, “See? Aren’t you glad we came?”

His smile was soft. “Yeah.”

And yet, there it was again. That shadow behind his eyes. That silence between sentences.

You didn’t press him. Not yet.

Dinner was a blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and endless toasts. You chatted with other WAGs, one of whom was due with her third baby in a few months and shared tips about baby sleep regressions and toddler tantrums. Seungmin drifted in and out of the conversation, occasionally throwing a playful jab at his teammates, smiling when someone complimented your dress.

But the entire night, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was performing. Laughing at the right moments. Responding on cue. Holding you a little too tightly, like he was memorizing the weight of your hand.

Then the general manager stood up. The room fell quiet.

You turned toward the front, expecting the usual end-of-season wrap-up: congratulations, next season’s goals, and the usual pat-on-the-back speeches.

But this was different.

The GM’s voice echoed across the hall. “Before we close out this amazing season, I want to take a moment to acknowledge someone very special someone who’s been a cornerstone of this team for years. A player whose heart, discipline, and incredible right arm have led us through some of the toughest games of our careers.”

The room was still.

The GM continued, “Seungmin, you’ve given everything to this team and it shows. You’ve been more than a pitcher. You’ve been a leader. A brother. A Giant in every sense of the word.”

Seungmin squeezed your hand beneath the table.

“I know I speak for everyone here when I say: thank you. Thank you for the years, the grit, the wins and for making us proud. The MLB will be lucky to have you.”

Cheers erupted around the room. Glasses raised. Players clapped Seungmin on the back. WAGs smiled at you with congratulatory looks. There were whistles. Laughter. Applause.

But your body went cold.

The MLB?

The Major Leagues?

You turned to Seungmin slowly. He was smiling, ducking his head modestly, but when his eyes met yours, the truth was there. Quiet. Heavy.

You leaned closer. “What did he mean? The MLB?”

Seungmin’s smile faltered. “We’ll talk later.”

“Seungmin,” you whispered, but the room was too loud now. The moment had passed. Or maybe it had only just begun.

The car ride was so quiet it felt like the silence itself had weight.

Heavy, pressing. Like a fog that rolled in between you and Seungmin, blanketing the small, familiar space of the car in a silence that had never felt so foreign. This wasn’t the comfortable quiet that often passed between you, not the kind that came with years of knowing each other so well that words weren’t always needed.

No, this was something else.

This was the quiet of things left unsaid too long.

This was the sound of trust cracking.

Outside the windshield, the streets of Busan passed by in a blur of neon and night. Streetlights flickered over the hood of the car, casting fleeting stripes of light across Seungmin’s jaw, his hands on the wheel, the furrow of his brow. But you couldn’t look at him, not now. Not after the dinner.

Your arms were tightly crossed against your chest, like folding in on yourself could hold everything inside. Your disappointment. Your anger. Your fear. And your heartbreak most of all, that aching, low throb of heartbreak that kept pulsing under your ribs, like a bruise you didn’t see coming.

You felt him shift beside you.

Then his hand reached toward yours, the way it always did.

It was instinctive, familiar. Seungmin had always reached for you like this, even in silence. During fights. During your long hospital stay after giving birth to your daughter. During that sleepless month when your son wouldn’t stop crying and you were too exhausted to speak. His hand always found yours.

But not tonight.

You flinched.

Your arms tightened around yourself and you turned, just slightly, away from him.

Seungmin’s hand hovered in the air for a moment, then slowly fell back to the console. He didn’t speak right away.

And when he did, his voice was low. Regretful.

“I’m sorry.”

The words floated there, soft and tentative.

You stared out the window. You weren’t even looking at the streets anymore, just letting your eyes unfocus, mind reeling, thoughts scattered and tangled. You could hear the apology, sure, but it barely registered. It was buried under the roaring in your chest.

Because all you could think about, all you could see behind your tired, stinging eyes, were your babies.

Your son, Minjoon, who had refused to nap earlier today and had thrown a tantrum when you tried to get him into his formal little pants for dinner. Who’d needed three full readings of Goodnight Moon before he calmed down. Iseul, who had been fussy all evening, needing to be held, rocked, reassured. Her tiny body curling against your shoulder like you were the only thing keeping the world from swallowing her whole.

And the whole time, you’d powered through.

You’d put on the dress you’d been saving. Done your makeup. Smiled. Laughed.

For him.

Because it was supposed to be his night.

And the whole time, the whole time he’d known.

He’d known his future plans.

He’d known your life was about to be upended, and he hadn’t said a word.

A lump formed in your throat, thick and hot. You swallowed it down, but it didn’t go away.

Seungmin sighed again. This one sounded heavier.

“I didn’t want to ruin tonight for you,” he said, voice quiet. “I didn’t want to ruin what we have. I know I should’ve told you earlier. I just… couldn’t. I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t want to,” you said, eyes still fixed on the passing lights. “There’s a difference.”

That made him fall quiet.

You weren’t trying to be cruel. But you were tired, soul-deep tired and something in you had fractured when the general manager said “MLB.” The idea that your husband had been building a future, a whole new life across the ocean, and hadn’t included you, even in thought, had taken a sharp edge.

He shifted slightly in his seat.

“You don’t understand—”

“Don’t,” you cut in. “Don’t say I don’t understand. I understand too well. You’re scared, right? Scared of what it would mean to bring this up. Scared of how I’d react. So you just… kept it from me. Like it would somehow protect me. Like I couldn’t handle it.”

You finally looked at him then, and your voice cracked.

“I gave birth to two children. I’ve handled more than you know. And I thought we were in this together.”

Seungmin’s eyes flicked over to you, and the guilt in them nearly broke you. But not quite.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to risk you resenting me,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want to be the reason you uprooted your life, left your family, your friends. The kids… They’re so young. You already do everything for them. I thought maybe, if I just waited, if I figured it out first—I could make it easier. Cleaner. Safer.”

You shook your head, biting down hard on your bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“You don’t get to make that choice for me, Seungmin.”

He looked down at his hands on the wheel. “I know.”

A long silence stretched between you. The car rolled into your neighborhood quiet, peaceful. Your street, lined with hedges and low lights, your home waiting up ahead. You stared at the windows, lit from inside. A warm, quiet glow.

You could imagine your son asleep in his bed. His dinosaur pajamas. The way he sometimes rolled over in the middle of the night and called for you in his sleep. Your daughter probably cradled in her grandmother’s arms, small and peaceful, unaware of the storm brewing outside her home.

You exhaled shakily. “Did you ever stop to think how this would affect them?”

“Yes,” Seungmin said, his voice hoarse. “Every day. And that’s why I’ve been so torn.”

He turned off the ignition. The sudden silence made your ears ring.

“I want to do what’s best for us. I want to give them a future. I thought this opportunity—” He paused, eyes flicking to yours. “I thought maybe it would be worth it. A few hard years, and then we could have something more.”

You sat back in your seat, chest tight. “And you didn’t think what we already had was enough?”

His lips parted, but no words came out.

Because that was the question that echoed through the car, through your mind, through your bones.

You were building something. Here. Now. You had a family. You had a rhythm, even if it was messy and chaotic and exhausting. You had love. Wasn’t that enough?

The betrayal wasn’t just about baseball. It was about being left out of the most important decision since you’d chosen each other. Since you’d become parents. Since you’d stood at that altar years ago, hands clasped, promising to never go forward without the other.

And tonight, he had gone forward. Without you.

“I’m so sorry,” Seungmin said again, voice cracking this time.

You reached for the door handle but hesitated. Your hand hovered there, your heart racing.

You looked at him one last time. “We’re not okay.”

He nodded slowly. “I know.”

You got out of the car, heels clicking softly on the ground. Seungmin followed a few steps behind, but he didn’t reach for you this time. Didn’t try to touch your hand. Didn’t speak.

Inside, your mother-in-law greeted you with a warm smile and gentle hushes, the kids were fast asleep. You thanked her. You smiled tightly. You said all the right things.

But inside, the ache lingered.

That night, you lay in bed beside Seungmin, your backs turned to each other for the first time in months. And though your body was still, your mind was not.

Because you weren’t thinking about MLB contracts.

You were thinking about a dimpled little boy who would one day ask why you moved. Why you left his playground, his cousins, his language. You were thinking about your baby girl who wouldn’t remember this home, her first room, the sound of the ocean just beyond the porch.

You were thinking about whether you were strong enough to make this leap and whether the man beside you would be the one holding your hand, or the one who had already let go.

The morning light seeped into the bedroom like a quiet intrusion soft, unwelcome. It threaded through the curtains and warmed the edge of the bed where you lay, still in your dress from the night before, now wrinkled and clinging to your tired body.

You hadn't changed. You hadn't even taken off your earrings.

Sleep had come in short, fractured waves stolen between the cries of your daughter needing to be fed at 2 a.m., and the restless tossing that followed after, your mind far too loud to silence. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the banquet hall, the raised glasses, the moment the general manager said "The MLB will be lucky to have him," and the proud, practiced smile on Seungmin’s face.

And then… the way he hadn’t looked at you when he said it.

He was still sleeping now, or pretending to be. His side of the bed was slightly turned away, shoulders curved inward, a breath that wasn’t quite steady. You didn’t care to check. You slid out of bed wordlessly, your movements quiet but brisk, careful not to wake the children or him.

You padded barefoot into the nursery and found your daughter still asleep in her crib, her tiny chest rising and falling beneath the soft pink blanket your mother had crocheted. You stared at her for a moment, absorbing the stillness, the simplicity of her peace. Your son was next, curled up in a tangle of dinosaur sheets, one small hand clutching his favorite plush tiger to his chest.

And just like that, the sharp edges of your anxiety dulled, briefly. Your children were safe. Still here. Still yours.

But the gnawing ache in your stomach hadn’t left.

You walked into the kitchen, made yourself a cup of lukewarm coffee, and settled at the table with your phone, screen lighting up with unread messages. Friends. WAGs. Notifications. Mentions. Group chats.

One name caught your eye.

A message from Yuna, one of the team wives, someone you had grown relatively close to. Always sharp-eyed and protective of the women around her. The message was short, clipped.

“Hey. Have you seen the article?”

You frowned.

Tapping the link she’d attached, you opened it and began to read.

“Inside Scoop: Lotte Giants Star Kim Seungmin’s Secret MLB Talks And the Woman Behind It All”

It was a gossip piece. The kind that pulled from ‘sources close to the player,’ spun half-truths into narratives, laced with just enough credibility to make it hard to dismiss.

You skimmed, your heart already racing. The opening paragraphs went over Seungmin’s impressive final season stats, a summary of his fan popularity, and then, the shift.

“Sources tell us that Kim has been in quiet communication with a high-profile American agent, who has reportedly been facilitating a deal behind the scenes for over a year. The two met during a prior sports event in California, where, according to insiders, the relationship between the pitcher and the agent extended beyond professional bounds.”

You stopped breathing.

No. No, no, no.

“While neither party has confirmed the rumors, those familiar with the situation say their connection appears personal and long-standing. One source adds: ‘She was more than just a rep. She was someone he trusted, someone close.’”

Your hands trembled as you scrolled.

“When asked for comment, Kim Seungmin’s representatives declined, saying the athlete is focused on finishing the season strong and spending time with his family. But the silence speaks volumes.”

You lowered the phone slowly, your heartbeat in your ears.

It felt like ice water had been poured into your veins.

A woman.

Someone he’d met in California.

Someone “close.”

Someone who had been “facilitating a deal for over a year.”

You thought back searching your memory, tracing timelines. Seungmin had gone to the U.S. for a week during the off-season last year. He said it was for a training camp and you’d believed him. Why wouldn’t you? He'd FaceTimed you with a smile, sent photos of his hotel room, texted you how much he missed you.

You remembered because you’d been pregnant then. You remembered how miserable that week had been swollen feet, morning sickness that lasted into the night, and a toddler with a fever. You’d managed it all. Alone. And when he came back, he’d brought you a sweatshirt that smelled like new cotton, a stuffed animal for your son, and a small pair of baby sneakers.

It was one of the rare times he seemed truly guilty about being away.

And now… this.

You stared at your coffee, untouched, hands tightening around the mug like it might anchor you.

The sounds of the morning were beginning to rise,

Seungmin came down not long after. Hair messy. Shirt wrinkled. Face unreadable.

But your eyes were sharp now. Searching. Watching.

He said good morning like nothing had changed. Like the night before hadn’t happened. Like you hadn’t laid in the same bed wondering if the man beside you was no longer just your husband, but a liar.

“Did you sleep at all?” he asked, moving toward the fridge.

You said nothing.

He turned. “Babe?”

“Who is she?”

The words came out colder than you intended, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t afford to be gentle. Not now.

Seungmin froze.

He blinked slowly, confusion flickering in his features. “What?”

“The woman. The agent.” You pushed your phone across the table toward him, screen still lit with the article. “You’ve been talking to her for a year?”

His expression darkened as he read. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“This is bullshit,” he said, pushing the phone back. “You know how gossip sites work. They just—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He paused.

That pause was worse than a confession.

Your throat tightened. “Just tell me the truth.”

“There’s nothing going on,” he said, voice steady, but not reassuring. “She’s a sports agent. I met her once. She reached out after the winter games. She said there was interest. I didn’t think it was serious. It wasn’t personal.”

“You didn’t think it was serious?” you repeated, voice rising. “You’ve been talking to her for a year. Setting up your career without me. And now there’s an article saying it’s more than that, and I’m just supposed to believe it’s all nothing?”

“She wants me in the MLB,” he snapped, then immediately regretted it. His voice dropped. “That’s all. That’s all it is.”

You stood.

Something inside you, that tightly held center, broke.

“Do you know how humiliating this is?” you whispered. “Do you have any idea how it feels to be the last to know about your own husband’s life? To find out in a room full of strangers that he’s moving across the world? And then the next morning, read that he’s been seeing another woman behind my back, business or not — for a year?”

Seungmin was pale now. Quiet.

“I never touched her,” he said. “I never crossed that line, I never cheated on you.”

“But you hid her,” you said. “And that says enough.”

Your son peeked around the corner, clutching his plush tiger, wide-eyed.

You exhaled, fighting to calm the storm inside you. You bent down, kissed the top of his head, and guided him back toward his toys.

“I’m not doing this in front of the kids,” you said without turning around. “I’m not fighting with you where they can hear.”

Seungmin’s voice was barely audible. “Then when?”

You looked back at him, the man you’d loved for years, the man who had held your hand in delivery rooms, danced with you barefoot in the kitchen, written love letters on hotel stationery.

“I don’t know,” you said. “Because right now, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

And for the first time in your marriage, you walked away.

Not because you didn’t love him.

But because you had to protect something more fragile.

Yourself.

-

The silence that had stretched like taut wire through the early morning finally snapped by noon.

You’d tried to hold your tongue. Tried to focus on the children. On the daily motions that had once felt so automatic, making lunch, folding a forgotten pile of laundry, wiping jelly from your son’s cheeks. But even the gentlest parts of your life had turned sharp, heavy with unsaid words.

Seungmin paced behind you, trailing like a shadow, quiet but restless. You could feel his gaze at your back, like static.

He was waiting.

For you to explode.

Or for you to let it go.

And you could feel it crawling up your throat, that familiar heat. You had done this for too long. Swallowed things for the sake of peace. Told yourself it was just the job, just stress, just a phase. But today? There was no peace left to keep.

You turned toward him, jaw set.

“You’ve been hiding things from me for months.”

His eyes locked with yours instantly, tired, bloodshot. “I wasn’t hiding anything.”

“Don’t—” You barked a short, incredulous laugh. “Don’t say that. You didn’t tell me about the MLB deal. You didn’t tell me about this agent. And now, suddenly, the news breaks and everyone knows before I do?”

“I didn’t know it was going to come out like that,” he said, frustrated. “It was supposed to be private.”

“Private? We’re married, Seungmin!”

“I know that—”

“Do you?” Your voice cracked. “Because I didn’t feel married last night. I felt like someone tagging along at a dinner where my husband’s future got announced without me. And I didn’t feel married this morning, reading that some womanhas been guiding your entire next chapter, while I was here — pregnant, raising two kids — not knowing anything.”

He ran both hands through his hair, the tension in his shoulders visible. “It’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like?” you snapped. “Explain it. Tell me, because right now the facts don’t add up. You said you didn’t cheat, but I never even said you did.”

That stopped him.

His eyes went wide like you’d pulled the ground out from under him.

You stared.

And he knew. You saw the flicker of realization in his face. That he had let something slip, a defense he shouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t guilty of more than what you knew.

“I didn’t cheat,” he said again, more measured now. “I just thought— when I saw the article, I thought—”

“You thought I’d accuse you,” you said flatly. “Because something did happen.”

“No!” He stepped forward, desperate. “No. Nothing happened. I swear to you.”

You crossed your arms. “Then why are you scrambling? Why is your story changing every ten seconds? First you barely knew her, then she reached out to you, now she’s been helping you for a year?”

He gritted his teeth. “She reached out after the winter games—”

“You already said that.”

“She brought up the offer before it was even real. I didn’t take it seriously at first—”

“And yet somehow, she’s close enough to you now that people think you’re involved,” you said bitterly. “Funny how fast that escalated.”

He groaned, turning his back briefly, dragging a hand down his face. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want it to turn into this. I just— I’ve been trying to secure something better for us. For the kids.”

You laughed again, but there was no humor in it. “Don’t you dare bring our kids into this. Don’t act like this was some noble sacrifice. You weren’t thinking about them. You weren’t thinking about me. You were thinking about you. Your career. Your next big move.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair,” you shot back, “is waking up next to a stranger. A man who made decisions without me. Who kept a woman secret from me for over a year. Who lied — or twisted the truth so carefully it felt the same.”

Seungmin stepped closer, voice rising now to match yours. “She’s a professional contact. I didn’t want to involve you until I knew it was real. Is that so hard to understand?”

You were yelling now. “What’s hard to understand is why I had to find out with the rest of the world. If you respected me, if you trusted me, if we were a team like you always said— you would’ve told me.”

He shouted over you, voice breaking with frustration. “I was scared, okay?! I didn’t want you to say no. I didn’t want you to hate me for dragging you and the kids overseas. I didn’t want to make this harder than it already is.”

You stared at him, truly stared.

And what broke you wasn’t the yelling.

It was the fear in his voice. Not of losing you, but of confronting the truth. Of facing the fallout of a decision he’d already made.

Your chest heaved. Your eyes burned.

“That’s the part you don’t get,” you said, quietly this time. “You already made it harder. Not by asking me to leave. Not by considering the offer. But by lying. By deciding I couldn’t handle the truth.”

He shook his head, voice thick. “It wasn’t about you.”

You scoffed. “Right. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

You didn’t notice how loud you’d become until the silence that followed felt unnatural. And then, A piercing, frantic cry cut through the house.

Iseul.

Shrill, high-pitched, panicked.

You both turned at once.

Seungmin moved first, instinctively, like the father he still was bolting toward the nursery hallway. But your hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him cold.

He looked at you in confusion, breath shallow.

You stared at him with fire in your eyes.

“No.”

His brows furrowed. “What— she’s crying—”

“I’ll go,” you said, your voice raw. “Not you.”

“Why?” His voice cracked. “She’s our daughter.”

“No,” you whispered. “She’s my daughter right now. Because I’m the only one here.”

He blinked like you’d slapped him.

You let go of his wrist.

Then you turned and rushed.

Down the hall, through the open nursery door, into the soft lavender-painted room where your daughter wailed from her crib, little fists clenched, cheeks red and glistening.

You gathered her into your arms, heart pounding, holding her to your chest like a shield. Her tiny body shook against yours, but you whispered soothing words, rocking her gently.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured. “I’ve got you.”

And you meant it.

Not just for her.

For yourself.

Because right now, in this house filled with cracked trust and echoing pain, you were the only one still standing for her. For both of your children. You couldn’t protect them from everything, but you could be the one who stayed honest.

You rocked her until the cries softened, until her small breaths slowed against your collarbone.

And in the hallway behind you, you heard Seungmin sit down on the floor hard, like the weight of everything had finally caught up.

But you didn’t go to him.

Not this time.

The house was too quiet.

Hours had passed since the first argument, the one that left your daughter screaming in your arms and your husband sitting stunned in the hallway like the wind had been knocked from his chest. You thought maybe that would be the end of it. That silence would stretch long enough for one of you to finally make sense of what to say.

But you couldn’t stop thinking.

And Seungmin? He couldn’t stop moving.

He hadn’t left the house, but he’d stayed out of the nursery, out of the bedrooms, mostly pacing through the kitchen and hallway like a caged animal. When you walked past each other, it was stiff, shallow. He opened his mouth once, maybe twice, but the words fell away before they landed.

Until now.

It was dark out when it happened. The kids were finally asleep, your son curled in your bed, the baby passed out against your chest after her last bottle.

You passed her to her crib slowly, carefully, and left the nursery on bare feet, moving quietly through the hall.

Seungmin was waiting at the end of it arms crossed, leaned against the doorway to the living room like he was forcing himself to stay still.

You didn’t stop walking.

“Can we talk now?” he said, not looking at you.

You paused.

Turned.

“Yes,” you said. “But I’m not doing it with half-truths again.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

You crossed your arms. “So start from the beginning. Not the version you’ve revised three times. The truth.”

He pushed off the wall and walked into the living room. You followed.

He didn’t sit. Neither did you.

“It started last winter,” he began, voice low. “There was this exhibition thing in L.A., and one of the scouts introduced us. Her name’s Madison.”

Madison.

It hurt, having a name to put to the ghost. Somehow it made it worse.

“She said she’d seen me pitch in Busan the year before,” he continued. “Said she thought I had MLB potential. I didn’t believe her at first.”

“And?”

“She gave me her card. Said if I ever wanted to explore the option, I could reach out. I didn’t. Not for months. But then— after I got that minor injury in spring training, I started thinking about my shelf life. How fast it could end. How the kids are growing, and we’ll need more— more security, more stability. So I called her.”

Your expression hardened. “You were injured, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

You scoffed. “You didn’t want me to know. That’s what you mean.”

He winced, but didn’t correct you.

“I wasn’t planning anything big at first,” he said quickly. “It was just supposed to be background talk. Feelers. I didn’t even sign anything.”

“But you were talking to her regularly,” you said. “Behind my back. Letting her shape your decisions. Tell me again how that’s not hiding something?”

“She had connections,” he said. “I needed her.”

“You needed me,” you said. “You needed us. But you didn’t think we could handle the truth?”

“I didn’t want to drag you into something that wasn’t certain.”

“Bullshit,” you said, your voice cracking. “You didn’t want to hear me say no.”

His lips parted. Shut again.

Your heart was pounding now. Hard.

“And now this article comes out,” you said. “And it says you’ve had a close relationship with her. Not just business. Not just professional. And you still expect me to believe it was nothing?”

He threw up his hands. “Because it was nothing!”

“You keep saying that,” you snapped. “But everything else you say changes! First you barely knew her. Then she was a connection. Then you were working together for months. Now she’s your lifeline to a better life?! Which version is the truth, Seungmin?”

He stepped toward you, voice raised. “You think I’m sleeping with her? You think I would cheat on you?! After everything—”

“I didn’t say that!” you shouted. “You did!”

His mouth opened again.

And again, he had nothing.

“Do you hear yourself?” you said, near tears now. “You keep trying to fix the story instead of just telling it. Every time you talk, I feel like I’m catching you in another lie.”

He turned away, paced across the room, grabbed at his hair.

“I wasn’t lying,” he said, almost to himself. “I wasn’t trying to— I didn’t want to—”

“You didn’t want to hurt me?” you asked, voice softer now, but shaking. “Then why does it feel like every word you say is cutting deeper?”

He turned, frustrated. “I was trying to make the best of what I could! I thought if I got the deal solid first, you’d feel better knowing it wasn’t just a risk—”

“I don’t need you to protect me from risks,” you snapped. “I need you to be honest. I need you to respect me enough to let me choose the hard things with you.”

He stared at you, this woman who had stood by him through every game, every travel stretch, every missed birthday and late-night bus ride. And now, when he needed you most, he realized...

He’d gone too far without you.

And now he couldn’t pull you back.

Your hands dropped to your sides, empty. Exhausted.

“I don’t even know if I’m angry at you,” you whispered. “Or if I’m angry at myself for not seeing it sooner.”

He blinked, breathing uneven.

You moved past him, toward the hallway again.

“Where are you going?”

“I need air.”

He followed. “You can’t just walk out—”

You turned, eyes blazing.

“No,” you said. “You need to leave.”

His face twisted. “What?”

“I need space. The kids are asleep. I’m not doing this again while they’re in this house.”

He hesitated. “Where the hell am I supposed to go?”

“I don’t care,” you said. “You can go to a hotel, you can sleep in your car, you can call your manager. I just— I can’t look at you right now.”

He laughed, bitterly. “So that’s it?”

“No,” you said. “But it’s all I’ve got tonight.”

His eyes were wild now, mouth slightly open, chest heaving with things he couldn’t say fast enough.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Fine. You don’t want to hear it? You don’t want to listen to anything I have to say? Then I’ll go.”

“I’ve been listening,” you shouted. “It’s just that none of it makes sense.”

He shoved past you, storming into the bedroom. You heard drawers yanked open. A zipper. A bag hitting the floor.

You stood frozen in the hallway, watching the shadows move under the door.

Then, moments later, it opened. He walked past you, hoodie on, baseball cap low, duffel over his shoulder. His mouth pressed into a line.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

He walked down the stairs, opened the door, and stepped outside.

You watched him through the window, standing still in the dark. His car door opened.

But he didn’t get in.

He stood beside the car for a second, shoulders hunched like the weight had finally settled across them.

And then he looked back toward the house.

For a flicker.

A moment.

As if expecting you to follow.

You didn’t.

And then he got in.

And drove off.

You didn’t cry at first.

You stood there, gripping the edge of the banister like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Then, once the headlights vanished, once the silence roared back into your chest—

You broke.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

You just sank.

Onto the stairs. Onto your knees. And the sobs came in waves. Quiet, painful, relentless.

Because love wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Because you didn’t know what was real anymore.

Because the man you had once called home had chosen a path that no longer included you, not fully.

And you didn’t know if he would find his way back.

//

masterlist.

❌proofread

[homeofthelonelywriter]

gamer!Ghost x f!gamer!reader | Previous Part

Once Simon opened the front door, you realized that the bark had not been from a neighbor's dog, but from Simon’s. The german shepherd excitedly tried to jump onto you and sniff you, but one glance from Simon had it standing down and waiting for you to approach it. “Wow, he is well trained.” You crouched down and started to give him some scratches, which got his tail wagging excitedly. Simon just watched you, a smile hiding beneath his mask. Of course, his woman and his dog would get along.

While you continued spoiling the puppy, Simon took your backpack to the bedroom before coming back and asking if you wanted to eat or drink anything. “I’m fine, thanks, though. By the way, what’s his name?” You barely looked up from giving the dog some belly scratches when you asked. Heavy footsteps approached you, and before you knew it, Simon was sitting right behind you and pulled you into his lap. “Riley. ‘was a military dog. Took him in when he was forced to retire.”

You looked back, your faces so close to each other, a smile tugging on Simon’s lips as he watched the all too familiar blush settle on your cheeks. And only then did you notice that he had taken his mask off. Carefully, as not to startle him, you reached up and cupped his cheek, slowly stroking over the skin, smiling as the stubble scratched at your thumb. “Hi, handsome.” As he chuckled, you felt the sound vibrate in his chest, against your back, and a shiver ran through you at the sensation. When he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, you just sighed happily. “Hey, beautiful.”

As if jealous of the affection you displayed with Simon, Riley got his feet and whined quietly, before plopping down right in front of you, with his head on your legs, giving you the best puppy eyes you had ever seen. “Oh, you’re also handsome, Riley. Yes, you are. You are the most handsome.” Simon cleared his throat behind you and gently squeezed your waist. “Now that’s just rude.” But when you giggled and leaned back against him, he couldn’t help but smile down at you. His lips settled against your head, and you felt them move as he spoke. “’m really glad you’re here.” You angle your head back further, until you could look up at him. “Me too, Si.”

After Riley finally had had enough scratches and trotted off to go eat, Simon gave you a quick tour, showing you everything you needed to know. It ended in his bedroom, your backpack was placed on his bed, a large t-shirt, and a pair of joggers beside it. “Smallest pair I could find. Will probably still be big on you.” You smiled at him as you picked them up. “Thanks, Si. If they don’t fit, I’ll just wear the shirt. From the looks of it, I’ll be able to wear it like a dress anyway.” He chuckled as he leaned against the doorframe, just watching you unpack for a few moments. But once you pulled out your toiletries, he remembered that you had just been stuck on a train all day.

“If you want to shower, I can go ahead and whip something up for dinner.” You turned around to look at him, smiling. “Yeah, that would be amazing. Thank you.” But instead of leaving, he approached you until his hands could settle on your hips again. “Of course.” And then…he bent down and placed a quick kiss against your lips, before turning around and leaving. He closed the door behind yourself to give you some privacy, but for the next minute or so, you just stood there, frozen, mentally working through what had just happened. Slowly, as if you’d ruin the moment by moving too fast, you raised your fingers to your lips, tracing over them and remembering what it felt like when he kissed you.

It was soft, quick, and oh so innocent, and you couldn’t help yourself as your lips pulled into a grin. Simon had kissed you. He had kissed you. First time you see him in real life, and he kissed you.

You quickly grabbed everything you needed to shower and headed to the bathroom. As soon as you had turned on the water to let it heat up, a giddy but quiet squeal escaped your lips as you just jumped up and down. After a few moments of celebrating, you calmed yourself down and quickly showered, feeling the need to be next to Simon again.

In his bedroom, you tried on the sweats, but decided to leave them out when they slid down your legs three times. And then you searched for Simon. You found him in the kitchen, completely focused on cooking. While everything in you screamed to just hug him, you also knew that he was a soldier, and you had the slight feeling that surprising a soldier might not end well. “Hi.”

He turned around with a smile and held out his arm, wrapping it around you and pulling you closer the moment he could. Immediately, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his nose burying itself in your hair for a moment. “You smell really good.” You chuckle and tell him about your shower routine. Where previous partners of yours had either just stopped listening, or quickly interrupted you, Simon gave you his almost undivided attention, after all, he was still cooking. But at the same time, he asked questions: What smells you prefered. The brands you use. If you could substitute one product for another. And you answered all of them gleefully, a big smile on your face the whole time.

“Oh, wait.” You looked at Simon before your world suddenly moved. Well…kind of at least. Because, while you were distracted, he had simply picked you up and sat you down on the counter beside him. The confusion only lasted a second until you realized what had happened and couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s what I always used to do when I was at my Grandma’s and she was cooking.” Simon nodded with a smile. “Sounds like good memories.” You nodded as well, glancing down at your fingers as you fidgeted with them. “Yeah…the best.”

Your thoughts started to drift, but Simon quickly pulled you back, as his free hand reached out and landed on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “You okay, love?” You nodded with a smile.

Before you knew it, dinner was served and eaten, all the while, you chatted, made jokes, and laughed with each other. Once the dishes were done, Simon asked if you’d want to go to bed for the day or if you wanted to watch a movie. And as much as you would have loved to spend even more awake time with him, exhaustion was catching up to you. “I think going to bed is a good idea.” He nodded with a smile and led you back to the bedroom with a hand on the small of your back.

You quickly excused yourself to the bathroom and completed your evening routine, but when you returned to the bedroom, half the bed was empty. “Simon?” Just as you moved to the door to go look for him, he appeared right there. “Yeah?” You gestured to the bed. “Where is your stuff?” He looked genuinely surprised. “On the couch, why?”

For a few seconds, you just stared at him before you chuckled. “You don’t…you don’t have to sleep on the couch. I don’t mind sharing the bed.” His lips formed a silent ‘o’, your chuckles turned into giggles. “Are you sure?” Instead of answering immediately, you got onto the tips of your toes and pressed your lips to his, letting them linger for just a moment before pulling away again. Or at least as far as his hands, which had immediately wrapped around your waist and hips, let you. “Yes, I’m sure, Si.” He grinned, his lips hovering just over yours. “Good.”

Next Part | Coming Monday the 5th

A/N: Thank you all for all the kind words! It will take me a bit to get used to the meds, so please be patient with me during that time! <3

Also, let me know if you want to be on the perma taglist! Just say if you want all of COD or specific characters. Although I mostly post Ghost.

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[swtheartz]

“ LIKE STRAWBERRIES. ” — M. Grayson Part one, part two Info : Slow burn, duh. Mark’s perspective and him being an annoying little freak. General fluff before things get freaky W / C : 2.6k+. A / N : microsoft word didn’t wanna cooperate so i hopped in google docs and got to fucking work. mb for the delay, genuinely started tweaking out when i realized i was already behind schedule LMFAO

“Where do you live?”

The question was genuine and curious, as Mark sat there and let you use him as a lab rat. He was more emotional support than anything, actually, seeing as you didn’t really need to do anything too hard unless it was being the resident doctor. And, to be fair, he hasn’t seen you outside of the GDA unless you were placed out on the field for emergencies. That alone was a rarity.

You don’t even look up at him, sighing, “That sounds creepy. Like, scammer or stalker kind of creepy.”

He ignores the fact he technically is somewhat a stalker, instead focusing on the topic on hand.

“I’m serious. I’ve never even heard you mention anything outside of work unless it’s about Oliver or Eve.”

“Good,” leaning back in your new swivel chair—because Mark had broken the last one by pure accident—you look at him with a bored look in your eyes. “I like it like that. You already know too much.”

Mark shifts on the medical bed, not injured this time, which had become a more frequent thing. He’d drop by more often. Less bloody each time, but with heavier weights on his shoulders. It wasn’t something he bothered you with. Your presence alone seemed to remedy whatever ringing lingered in his ears.

“I don’t know what that means.” Mark shrugs, holding your stare. “The most I know is that you’re here, 24/7, using me as an emotional support pet.”

You snort. “You’re hardly emotional support, Markus. You’re an accessory at best. Every time I turn around, you’re there, and I don’t know why.”

“Do you have to?”

“Yes. I do, actually, because whenever Stedman catches you in here, we both get put on probation. Which is stupid considering I never tell you to come here. You’re like a dog,” You hum and set down your paperwork, done for the day. “And not in a cute way. I’d pet a dog, I’d castrate you.”

He winces at that, unable to help picturing the uncomfortable feeling of that. “That’s rude.”

You nod languidly, spinning around idly in your chair. The one he insisted on paying for because he wanted to know a little more about your preferences. If anything changed at all, if there was something new about you that he hadn’t noticed before and hadn’t made both mental and physical notes of.

“It’s supposed to be, Invinci-Boy,” You smile, but only faintly. It’s a sight that makes Mark pause every time he sees it, even if it’s barely noticeable by the untrained eye. He’s learned to watch close enough that even the smallest uptick of your lips has him stopping, just for a moment.

Over the last few months, he’s made slow progress. Slow, most definitely, but still more progress. You’re not as guarded. Mark himself isn’t sure if you’ve noticed it or not, but he’d prefer the latter. If you ever did notice how you ever so slowly relaxed around him, how you’d smile—despite it always being barely there—the longer he’d stick around. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you you’re wrong about him being like a dog.

Because you’re not wrong.

You’ve got him on a leash, and if you were to tug on it, he would follow.

“Please stop reminding me.”

“So this is your place? It’s. . .”

“If the right words don’t leave your mouth, I will gut you.”

The house itself on the outside was simple. A two story house, a light but faded blue color with a dark roof, actually quite the distance from the larger cities and areas that’d usually have crowds and countless buildings. It looked old. Something that had been passed down, for sure.

The interior, in Mark’s defense, was cute. Floral print walls that were slowly yet surely yellowing, dark wooden floors, and a plain white ceiling. It was cozy. Lived in; which was a surprise, considering how often you’d get to work early and stay late into the night. Years on years of memories scattered on the walls. People you don’t mention. Pictures you don’t talk about. Thoughts you don’t think about anymore.

“You live on your own?” He looks around, and there isn’t really any other indicator of anyone besides you living here besides those photos and decorations. Except for what looked like a cat’s food and water bowl, and a bag of what seemed to be really, really expensive cat food. But he’s not sure if a cat counts as a someone.

You’ve never mentioned a cat before. Mark supposes he should’ve known—you seem like a cat person. You have cat themed pens, and occasionally doodle weird looking animals on your reports to annoy Cecil. Maybe those were cats; even if they looked oddly misshapen. He can’t help but zone out as he thinks about it. Cats suit you, he figures. He buries the little fact deep inside his brain for later.

“I have a cat,” The words are nothing but a murmur as you crouch down, looking at the bottom of your couch with a slight furrow in your brow. With a huff, you reach under and pull out a small cat, which blinked as it woke up. “Her name is Apricot.”

“Apricot,” He repeats, testing the name on his tongue as he watches the cat in question purr and practically fall back asleep as you hold her. You don’t seem as jaded as you do when you are working. Fatigued, for sure, but you seem gentler. Softer around the edges. Something he wants to see every day. He’s surprised you’ve come around to the thought of him, enough to let him in.

It was strange. If it had been a month before this, or hell, a week before, you wouldn’t have trusted him enough. Not even enough to tell him your cat’s name.

As he said before. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless.

“Were you hungry when you named her, or?”

“I will let her claw your face off, Markus.”

Your home constantly smells of vanilla and something purely you, Mark comes to realize. There is always an extra carton of strawberries in your fridge thanks to him, and every time he drops by, you let him stay a little later. You let him stay until sunset. Then until the moon is hanging high in the sky, and then until the sun comes back up. It’s like you don’t notice, and if you do, you don’t say anything.

He doesn’t say anything, either. Doesn’t want to. This is something that is meant to go unsaid, Mark decided. It wasn’t every night, but it was definitely frequent enough to notice, even if no one said anything. He’s memorized the main floor of your house—knows the feel of the couch cushions, the smell of your air fresheners, the sound of rain against the windows. It’s something he’d subconsciously etched into his memory. Into the hollow of his bones, really. All the things he doesn’t want to forget.

The sound of both Apricot’s and your heartbeat is cemented into his mind. Mark’s never been much of an animal person, but your cat seemed to be an exception as she purred quietly against his leg.

“Why do you have a whole process for strawberries?”

“Because just rinsing them doesn’t do anything,” You tell him as though he should know, drying off your hands as you leave the strawberries he’d gotten you to soak. It’s become a new piece of your routine. Whether or not you asked, or said no, there’d be a new container of strawberries left on your desk or in your bag.

You couldn’t be annoyed. Not at the fruit, anyway. You usually ended up baking them into something and feeding it to his little brother or Eve, or gave it right back to him just to hear him insist that he share his piece with you.

“I didn’t realize you were a germaphobe.” Mark comments, leaning down to pick Apricot up after she basically tried to crawl up his leg. The joke itself was a lie. You’re a healer, and he’s seen firsthand how particular you are about the cleanliness of your workstation and of the people you interact with. He knows about the little pet peeves that you don’t even know about, the small habits that are second nature to you.

It’s just gotten worse since you’ve let him a little closer. To Mark, it doesn’t matter if you realize how much you’ve come to trust him or not. As long as he can stay in a close proximity, it won’t ever matter. As far as he knows? He’s the only one you’re willing to let invade your space. The one he gets to rant to, even if all he gets in response are mumbles and scoffs—even the taunts and sly remarks you make. He enjoys it. Revels in it, really, and he refuses to have it any other way unless it means getting even closer.

“You’re stressful. Like a toddler.” The words that leave your mouth come out as more of a yawn, and the quiet of your home accompanied by your heartbeat is what peace sounds like to him. “I wish nothing but nightmares and despair on you, Markus.”

“You know you are literally the only person who calls me that. It’s disturbing,” He hums, wandering over into the living room and is secretly delighted by the way you follow behind.

All day, you were working your ass off. Paperwork, Cecil, patients, and a last minute emergency where you had to be out on the field. Healing people with your own two hands seems to drain you, something Mark wishes he’d noted sooner. The solutions you’d made to avoid healing with your hands were depleted, unsurprisingly, with the sudden spike in injuries amongst the heroes.

The amount of times you’d berated people in the last month were too many to count. Still, the insults you would hurl towards his way still amounted to more, and he wouldn’t change that for anything—as dumb as that sounded.

It’s a comfortable silence between you two when you both settle on the couch. Opposite sides, of course, a quiet boundary that Mark couldn’t be bothered to break. Just being this close to you was enough.

At least, that was what he would keep telling himself until it wasn’t enough, and he’d crave more again.

He’d always crave more when it came to you. 

“I’m staying the night,” He rests his head against the back of the couch as he stares at the tv, which wasn’t even on. It wasn’t a question. It didn’t feel like he had to ask anymore, and you never protested. He’d leave if you told him to, but you don’t. Instead, it’s quiet for a few moments, before he can hear you sigh.

“I know.”

Mark can’t help but smile at that, noticing the way you curl up ever so slightly, shifting to get comfortable on the couch as Apricot crawled off of him and onto you. He can’t help but stare for a few moments, even if those moments are something he wants to last forever, and he blinks when you tilt your head to look at him. As usual, it’s blank. Tired, physically and emotionally. You don’t look like this whenever you’re on duty, but it is a look that he’s seen more as he spends more time with you outside of work.

Your heartbeat sounds like peace.

“Go grab the blankets from upstairs, you freak,” You lean your head on your hand as you reach for the tv remote and ignore the way he is seemingly snapped out of a trance. Slowly, he nods and stands up, wordless as he goes upstairs.

There are framed pictures hung on the walls of people. Not people you’ve mentioned before, and probably not anyone you could even remember yourself. They looked old. Aged, despite the moment being timeless and put behind glass and a wood frame to be hung up and looked at by those who could remember them. The wallpaper was somewhat chipped, little pink and blue flowers slowly fading and peeling. Every step he takes makes the stairs creak under his weight, and oddly enough, it feels comfortable.

You keep your blankets folded neatly in your room, on rare occasions. This is, what, the third time Mark’s stayed over? The second time he’d stayed, the blankets were sprawled on your bed, set up in a way you’d probably found comfortable enough to sleep on. He would figure it out at some point. Surely.

You’re still scrolling through movies and shows by the time he comes back down with all the blankets, setting them down beside you on the couch before sitting down next to you. Indecisive on what to put on, or if you even wanted to watch anything as you would doze off.

“What do you wanna watch?”

“Are we friends?”

Both questions come out at the same time, Mark’s voice being quieter than he had originally intended. He can hear the hitch in your breath, sees the way you stop scrolling through mindless television at his question. It’s been a nagging thought for some time, one that’d taken root barely even a month after he had met you a year ago. He wants to pretend that if anytime were a good time to ask, it’d be now.

When your heartbeat is slow and steady, calm and beating. When the creaks in the house have settled, when the sound of Apricot purring soothes the both of you, when he can’t help but feel his fingers twitch with want and feel his chest ache with so many thoughts swarming his head, he just can’t seem to focus on one.

You’d tilted your head slowly, a slight scowl on your face, and Mark can feel a lump in his throat.

He hadn’t felt this type of nervousness since high school—which, admittedly, felt like a lifetime ago after getting his powers, since moving on with his life. It was strange. A creeping feeling up his throat, his spine, his very soul. Down to the root.

“Friends.”

“Friends,” He repeats, nodding slowly. At best, you’d probably call Eve another coworker, Oliver an occasional nuisance, and Mark a constant pain in your ass that refused to leave no matter how much you turned him away.

The quiet that follows makes him want to claw at his throat, and he can feel his cheeks heating up. Whether or not it’s from embarrassment isn’t something he wants to think about right now, because he was certain he’d stopped being embarrassed around you quite some time ago, but it seemed that that wasn’t quite true.

And, again, you sighed.

“You know what? Sure. We’re friends,” You shrug, going back to focusing on the tv after making such a simple statement. As though Mark hadn’t felt like he was going to throw up just a few seconds ago. “Now, what do you wanna watch? Or else I’m putting on those obnoxious sleep noises and wait for a hell playlist to pop up and give you nightmares at like, three in the morning.”

He blinks, mouth opening for a moment before closing, and then opening again.

“Hell. . . Playlist?”

“I can show you. If I have to go through it, you do. I’d have to be smitten by the gods themselves if I didn’t torture you psychologically.”

As if you hadn’t done that enough just by existing, but Mark says nothing. He just laughs—relieved. You were willing to let him just a little bit closer, and that was enough. It had to be enough. Just for now, it was enough.

Until he’d start to crave more, just as he always did.

TAG LIST : @lxluvsmoney @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha @pookiei-bookie @tokoyamisstuff @koilikesthefishy @treeteaofversailles @astrelz @tryingandfailingtowrite @vghjvvhhj

[daemonmatthias]

Sorry, I have to go back to the Laius bit. I taught Antigone before, which is the last play of the Oedipus Cycle. I always summarized the first two plays before we read Antigone.

Prince Laius’s parents were killed when he was young as others took over the throne. Some loyalists smuggled Laius out of the city so he could grow up and then come back to Thebes and retake the throne. Laius was adopted and raised by King Pelops, who fully 100% treated Laius like one of his own children.

Laius didn’t kidnap and rape “King Pelop’s son”; he kidnapped and raped his adopted brother.

So yeah, the gods fucking cursed him for that. But he did grow up, return to Thebes, retake the throne, and marry a woman named Jacosta. He then visits the Oracle at Delphi, who tells him “if you ever have a son, he will kill you and marry your wife. He’s horrified and swears to never have kids. …but he gets drunk, and Jacosta ends up pregnant… and then they fight over what to do. Jacosta wants to keep the baby and just raise it with knowledge of the curse so it can be avoided. Laius wants to kill the baby so it can’t fulfill the curse. Instead, the baby ends up being raised by the King and Queen of Corinth as if he were their own child.

All of that is discovered towards the end of the first play, Oedipus Rex. The play begins with Oedipus visiting the Oracle at Delphi as he comes of age. The Oracle tells him “if you ever go home, you will kill your father and marry your mother.” Oedipus is absolutely horrified at the thought and swears to NEVER go back to Corinth. Since he can’t go “home”, he decides to head to Thebes….

But anyway, yes, the gods cursed Laius for very good reason, but also it’s kind of a stupid curse because Jacosta and Oedipus suffer the most for Laius’s actions.

i kinda feel bad for oedipus b/c everyone assumes he chose to fuck his mom when in fact he went out of his way to avoid it. he left his hometown and distanced himself from his parents because he was afraid he would somehow get tricked into fucking his mom. everything could have been avoided if his adopted parents told him he was adopted.

[springintosummerxx]

❀ downbad for you ❀

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌op81 x reader

in which oscar changes in little and big ways. aka oscar's downbad for you

warnings: suggestive, fluff, bit of pining, humour

word count: 1.9 k

masterlist

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌nicole piastri was not an impatient woman. she raised four kids, all of them talented, intelligent and painfully oblivious in some way or another.

so when oscar had started travelling on his own and barely - rarely - picked up phone calls or checked texts, she learned to wait for him to come to her. very reasonable, in her opinion.

but when she called him, early in the morning hoping to catch him before a sprint race, she was surprised to find that he actually picked up.

"hello?" he asked, tone a little eager and not it's usual monotone.

"oscar," she replied, a little startled.

"oh. hey, mum." he answered absentmindedly.

now she was suspicious, "why are you answering your calls all of a sudden?"

"didn't you call me?" he asked, with that born-nonchalance that made her want to rip her hair out sometimes.

"yeah, just checking in. everything good for the weekend?"

"sure, everything's fine. listen mum, i'm actually waiting on another call. i'll call you again after the sprint, okay? thanks."

then her own son, the one she'd painfully pushed - okay, that was a bit gross, but she was a little offended.

then it clicked.

the question she should be asking, instead of rolling her eyes over her firstborn's antics, is who is he waiting on?

nicole calls hattie next, who answers reliably on the first ring.

"is your brother seeing someone?"

"woah, mum. hello to you too," her eldest daughter huffs, "and yes, i think so."

she nearly jumps up in excitement, "who?"

"that, i have no idea. but he's been answering his texts so quick lately, and he asked me about what flowers were suitable for a first date."

"finally," nicole sighed, and then perking up, "when do you think he'll bring her home?"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌lando is staring at oscar as he puts on suncream.

he looks so...serious, squeezing out lotion from a bottle that looks way too tiny in his hands, concentrating on the thin white lines that coat three of his fingers.

"what?" he then is rubbing it into his face, and lando is scared.

"mate, what the fuck?"

"i'm protecting my skin," the australian answers, straight-faced.

he is 100% sure he's never seen oscar put on sunscreen, ever. especially not in the middle of the day, right between filming videos outside.

it's probably a good idea, if they don't want to get sunburnt; oscar, especially, with his pale complexion.

and who is lando to judge? he used to love it when his ex-girlfriend's did his skincare or forced him to exfoliate - wait.

before he can think through what he's going to say, he blurts, "do you have a girlfriend?"

oscar stares at him, and the faint, pink blush that's rising from his neck is enough of an answer.

"oh, my days you do!" he gasps. oscar shakes his head, the corners tipping up despite himself.

lando watches him, half-disgusted and half-proud.

his teammate has an absolutely shit-eating grin on his face, eyes bright. he leans back in the chair, looking dorky in his team kit and a little bit of sunscreen not blended in at his jaw.

lando could say with full confidence, after watching oscar not flinch at turns or crashes, that this reaction means that he is in love.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌the first time oscar brings you around (and hard-launches both of you to the moon) is during the miami gp.

the two of you, your smaller hand tucked into the crook of his arm, make your way across the green turf of the paddock.

he's aware of the cameras and eyes; it's kind of hard not to be, but he doesn't mind like he usually does.

it's probably gross and neanderthal, and he will definitely deny it if you bring it up, but he's so proud to have you on his arm.

the two of you met a months ago, in monaco, where you were starting the second year of your doctorate degree.

you were (and are, in his opinion) way too smart for him, drop-dead gorgeous with a dry sense of humour.

although monaco was known for hosting f1 drivers you weren't super well-versed in the sport.

he likes that about you, and even more the way you ask him to tell you about it as you run your fingers through his hair, when the two of you are out on a date in some little cafe.

"okay?" he murmurs, and you squeeze your fingers around his bicep once.

"hmm," he can tell you're a little overwhelmed by the crease between your brows that he smoothes out with his thumb, "m'okay."

the little yellow sundress you're wearing makes your skin glow under the florida sun, and he wants to press his nose to your shoulder.

"it'll get better when we're not-"

"hard-launching at one of your races? you sure go big or go home, baby."

however many times you use that nickname, whether in the early morning when you're bribing him with coffee or hushed as he presses himself into you late at night, it never fails to make him flush.

it sounds so pretty from your lips, so personal and intimate his stomach lurches still when he hears that pet name.

"yeah," he laughs, "can't help it though. want to show you off."

this time, it's your turn to be flustered.

he can't believe someone as put together and elegant as you turns into a pile of mush for someone as unromantic as him.

but perhaps he's changed, he thinks as you twist your mouth and brush a hand over your sun and love-warmed cheeks.

"god, oscar. you can't say things like that. i'm going to turn into a liquid."

"a very beautiful liquid," he offers, his free hand grabbing the yours that's tucked into his elbow.

he moves you to his other side, the one closer to the cafés and motorhomes as more people start flooding into the paddock.

"c'mere," he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your forehead.

normally, he would be against any sort of pda. but you look so relaxed under the sun, skin glowing as you watch him behind a pair of sunglasses that he can't help himself.

oscar hears the shutters of cameras, and he rests his cheek on yours.

"love you," he grins boyishly.

"love you, baby. good luck."

he wants a real kiss, one that makes you whimper the way he likes, but he's pushed his luck enough.

someone from the team leads you to the back of the garage to find a headset.

later that night, when the both of you are laying in bed, faces damp with skincare, he comes across an edit of you on tiktok.

there's some thirst-trappy song in the back and an annoying filter that makes everything a bit blurry, but he watches it three times anyways.

the first clip is of you in the garage, standing towards the back, fingers fluttering over your papaya headset. you look serious (though he thinks you do look a little confused, adorably so) with your eyes locked on the t.v. broadcasting his onboard.

the little skysports banner pops up, citing you as his partner.

oscar piastri's partner, it reads in block letters.

his heart warms in his chest, and he has to rub at it because of how intense he feels for you; you are so much more than that, and he can't wait for people to realize.

the next clip is you with alexandra, who you knew from someone's neighbor. or cousin. monaco was small, after all.

the two of you are laughing, striding with leo between your legs.

lastly, oscar watches with attentive eyes as the videos of you and him together come up.

it's undeniable that you guys look good together; he's smiling more than he probably has, ever, and you look up at him, adoringly as you blend some smeared sunscreen under his ear.

the sound of the tiktok has repeated four times by then, and you slide yourself into his embrace, wiggling up his chest.

he tilts his phone to you so you can see, and you bury your face in his neck.

"help," your breath warm on his skin, "i'm being perceived."

he laughs, pulling you up to kiss him, for real on the mouth, "thank you. for coming with me."

"of course," you say, a little surprised at how sincere he sounds, "anytime, baby."

now it's his turn to bury his face into your neck.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"he's never like this," hattie tells you.

"what?" you ask, smiling as your boyfriend's sister hands you a drink.

"he's so...touchy. it would be kind of gross, if you guys weren't so cute."

"yeah," edie pipes in, sipping her own drink, "it's freaky. unnatural."

"are you talking about me?" oscar asks drily as he slides into the seat next to yours.

frowning at the distance in between your chair and his, he wraps one large hand around the leg of yours and tugs until you're close enough for his to rest his arm to loop behind you.

mae shudders comically, just as edie pretends to gag. hattie hoots in laughter.

oscar, cheeks pink, unabashedly rolls his eyes as his parents take their seats around the table in their backyard.

it's nice seeing him in his natural habitat, teasing his sisters, helping his mum carry dishes to the dining table.

you insist on helping nicole wash up after dinner, and as you dry the dishes she hands you, she says something you don't expect.

"thank you," she tells you, "for taking care of him."

before you can respond, she goes on, "he's never been too good at taking care of himself. you know, he used to put his washing in the oven?"

you laugh, imagining oscar, on the cusp of adulthood, crouched over a oven with wet socks in his hands.

"but i can tell he's been well. so, thank you."

you blush, "i don't think it's anything to do with me."

she snorts, an easy smile on her face as she nudges you with her shoulder, "he's been calling more, he's eating well. i don't think he's been sunburnt or gone without fresh laundry for months."

you hum, "he takes care of me too, and i should thank you for raising a good man."

"i've got to stop leaving you alone with my family members." oscar sidles next to you, peering at his mum.

she brushes your cheek and pats his shoulder before wandering off to find his sisters.

"hi," he whispers into your hair, turning you around so he can crowd you into the kitchen counter.

"hi, baby."

he groans, burying his face into your neck. you feel him press a kiss to your shoulder, and you grin.

"okay?" you ask quietly.

"more than okay," he responds, smile content and squinty, "it's nice. to see you here, with my family. they love you."

"i love them," caressing his cheek, you press a kiss to his nose.

"this is probably weird for them," he hums, leaning into your hand, "to see me like this."

"i'm not going anywhere, so i think they'll get used to you being all gross and down bad."

"not downbad," oscar mutters, wrapping his arms around your waist in a hug and swaying the two of you back and forth, "just in love."

"downbad," you giggle, and he doesn't disagree, not when it makes you smile, so lovingly and soft at him.

maybe he is downbad.

[rooniearts]

Pitayaverse Asks............ TWO!

I once again have a good handful of asks regarding Pitayaverse, so here goes another post! :'D This time around there's about 29 asks I'll be answering! Enjoy <3

Silver's fine! His fur is just darkening with age :] Think of it like how a Siamese cat's fur works - he starts out looking almost fully white, but his limbs and face slowly darkens over time.

REAL,,, petition to let Tails hit his brother with hammers

@dahliacloud

Oh yes, he resents him deeply. He had no part in any of this, but still slowly but surely ended up with all of Sonic's responsibilities. But by far the worst part for him is seeing how much it all affects this tiny little baby girl. THAT is what truly infuriates him.

It's come to my attention that this ask is probably about his Archie backstory, which I unfortunately don't know much about and so isn't canon to the AU ;v; I'm going with the vague idea that they don't have parents for whatever reason and had to grow up alone together

But in that case, I still like to think it has a part to play, yeah. Tails knows how hard it is to grow up without a parent, and he knows Sonic does too, so he can't comprehend why he isn't trying harder to give this kid that love and stability.

@lowkeuu

LMAOOO idek how that would work with a fox! Maybe his fur thins? Idk :'D but he absolutely does start growing grey hairs pretty young

Oh, yeah. Having the Kind Patient Sweet one of the group snap and pop the fuck off on someone is scary every time it happens. All of them, Shadow included, would definitely be taken aback at the very least.

If I do end up giving them a kid, then this is absolutely the way I'd go with it. I can't let my boy go through even more turmoil in this AU, he's had more than enough :')

AWW LOL, see I like this take on it. That's very cute and I think he would just actually volunteer to take them in at that point too :D

[Referring to this post]

She does, but calling them that is a habit she picked up from Tails. Sonic and Knuckles just only referred to themselves and eachother as "dad," so when she'd talk to Tails about them he'd ask her to specify whether she meant "Sonic-dad" or "Knuckles-dad." Eventually she just started using those terms every time she spoke to or about them!

As Pitaya grows up, Knuckles graduates from "Knuckles-dad" to just "dad", but she eventually just starts calling Sonic by his name. Sonic doesn't really mind this, except for the few times that Knuckles gets to hold it over his head

HEHEHE loving all this Pitaya hype from y'all!! Thank you and yes, she deserves the world <3

YESSS! It's so important to me that she grows up to be happy. Maybe not well adjusted, but she's got endless determination and is not afraid to speak her mind!

[Referring to this post]

I mean, it's part of why. His actions didn't exactly do much to alleviate her doubts, either.

@your-local-cattus-enjoyer

The master post is right here! There may be a few stray asks that aren't listed, but they should still be under the tag

The basic gist of it is that he was just really neglectful. He was barely there, and when he was, it was often only a matter of time before he and Knuckles started fighting. As an adult, she's also really upset that he let Tails take over all the heavy lifting for him when he was still just a kid too.

Once in a while! Usually whenever both Knuckles and Tails are preoccupied for whatever reason. All their stories of clever sleuthing and high-stakes tussles is what made her want to be a detective one day :]

And yes, actually, she did! Her and Echo, and occasionally Psi and Alloy, end up forming their own New Chaotix Detectives group! They just aren't nearly as active as Vector, Espio and Charmy were :')

LOL, for sure! She loooves her cool uncles Vector, Espio and Charmy. She knows they've always got her back <3

Mighty USED to be in the cool uncle camp, but absolutely not anymore. That went out the window the second he got with Sonic. She does love Knuckles, but she's had her ups and downs with him. Ray she just doesn't really know at all, he just goes in the resentment bin by association :'D

That's so true actually,,,, my obvious Chaotix bias is showing :'D

But hmm, that's a good question. If they were to end up together, I think they probably wouldn't have kids, no. I like to imagine they'd be the type of couple who live seperately and just visit eachother frequently, and not like married with kids.

@inkmaams

Their go-to babysitter list is very short because Silver gets very very paranoid over them :'D It consists of Blaze&Amy and Vector ONLY. And it took Espio AGES to convince Silver to let Vector take care of them in the first place

[Referring to this post]

Yup :') He was probably not gonna tell them about any of that, but alas he and Espio spawned Little Mr. Thought Police so now he has no choice but to explain himself </3

@i-only-created-this-to-read

Maybe not robots, but in theory, I guess he probably could read aliens' minds. I was mostly referring to humans/mobians, but there's no reason he couldn't try on other sentient organic beings. However, I feel like they may end up being incomprehensible noise to him because of how differently an alien's brain would work to his own

As for when he's in meltdown mode and can hear everyone all at once, no, he can't hear everyone in the universe, just those that are within a certain radius. Think of it as like whatever a normal hearing range would be, just not obstructed by walls.

Yes! Espio and Silver are married and besides one or two blow-ups, they happily stay that way. And Sonic and Mighty are at the very least life partners, whether they get married or not (I haven't yet decided lol)

Besides them, Blaze and Amy are also married! And Knuckles and Rouge too eventually :]

LMAO, Sonic WISHES. But nay, Mighty had to go and be a spoilsport and put a rule against backwards names. Rude of him tbh.

bro just can't stop spawning babies, what can I say🥀

@scribble0rat

LOL yeah the poor guy only had a vague idea of what he was signing up for. He had met Pitaya once in a while when she was young, and he knew Sonic had struggled with being there for her and that something happened between him and his friend group, but he didn't realize just how angry not only Pitaya was, but also Tails. He's using all those years of anger management to their fullest to tank this situation, I fear :'D

AND YESSS my boy needs more love <3 Us Mighty girlies have to stick together💪

AWWW that's actually such a cute thought experiment!!!!

It's hard to say, but I think they'd be relatively close. Maybe not joined at the hip, but they'd appreciate one another. They're both very similar in personality, it's just mostly that Echo is an introvert and Silver is a HUGE extrovert. The only conflict I can think of is that Echo is very much a copycat, and I think Silver might get annoyed with that pretty quick.

@marinette-sky

No, Shadow is Echo's only parent via cloning shenanigans. Sonic has nothing to do with her, thank goodness :'D

And thank you!! Much appreciated!!! <3

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ignorantia Neminem Excusat

(Ignorance excuses no one, lat.)

"Commissioner."

Jim Gordon doesn't jump. They are years and years into this rodeo, he's stopped actually jumping at Batman's silent approach a long time ago. Yet, Bruce still notices the way his shoulders twitch just the tiniest bit, and his hand makes an aborted motion to his gun holster. Still got it.

The man turns around. Bruce can see the 'must you always do that?' in his slightly narrowed eyes. He presses his lips tightly together in order to not smirk: Batman doesn't do that, even if it's admittedly funny to see the seasoned Commissioner get spooked every time.

"There's a kid that wants to speak with you."

Bruce frowns. A kid that warranted a BatSignal? Not that he minds, but this is highly unusual for several reasons; however, Jim is not the kind of man that would fall for puppy eyes of any level, so it must be something more important than an autograph session or a victim of any of the recent cases.

Besides, the way Commissioner worded it implies that the kid, whoever they are, requested Batman specifically.

"He is a hacker," Jim puts both his hands in the pockets of his coat — he is either cold or uncomfortable, and Bruce highly suspects it's both. What's more, he starts to understand why. "I'm sure you're aware we were trying to track the person responsible for the few recent cyber attacks on GCPD servers," Jim glances at him, and Bruce nods. He is aware, yes, but the case was low-priority — it wasn't even an attack, really, someone just accessed the system foregoing the passwords and clearance levels, went through a few files, seemingly at random, and did a fairly decent job of hiding their traces. Bruce would have even thought it was Tim, if this happened a few years ago, when the boy was just learning the ropes.

Commissioner sighs and looks away, "But when we brought him in, the boy said he will only speak to you, and none of us have been able to make him say a word since." He pauses, a grim kind of expression on his face, "This was six hours ago."

Bruce is grateful for the way his cowl hides how his eyebrows raise. There are hundreds of scripts officers, detectives, and social workers can use to establish contact. Quite a lot of them could be attempted in the span of six hours.

Whatever the kid wants to tell him, Bruce decides it's worth a try. If not anything else, he can at least admire the sheer stubbornness.

—×—×—×—

The kid sitting in the interrogation room looks... younger than Bruce expected. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. He is dressed like any other homeless kid in Gotham — a hoodie and a jacket over it, jeans that look a size too big on him, sneakers with mismatched shoelaces — but he clearly hasn't been out in the streets for that long. His hair is braided into cornrows, and it looks professional, even if the roots have grown out so now it's just messy. What's more, he is missing that telltale wariness in his posture that Bruce has seen in every other street kid that has been brought into a police station. They always slouch and curl into themselves.

This boy is sitting with his back straight. Yet, there's a tension in his body that Bruce can only associate with a battle stance — give him the slightest reason, and the kid will lunge.

He steps into the room.

The boy — he hadn't given a name, and there wasn't a single ID on him — zeroes on him instantly. His eyes are a very pale, almost translucent green: a rather strange feature for a black-skinned person, genetically speaking, but Bruce doesn't dwell on it. Yet.

But then, the face recognition program comes up empty.

As in, 'there's not a trace of this person's prior existence' empty. Not a single camera footage, no records or reports of missing, no pictures, no social media, nothing. Bruce frowns.

"Hi," the kid says, his voice raspy, "My name is Tucker Foley. According to the government, I don't exist, so if your recognition program doesn't find anything on me, that's why."

Bruce doesn't say anything. Tucker wanted to speak with him, and previously, he was only merely intrigued by that request. However, as of right now, he wants to hear everything the kid has to say before asking any follow-up questions.

Because that always present, cautious and bordering on paranoid voice in the back of his mind tells him he is about to get into something way more serious than he expected.

Tucker moves — he kept both his hands on the table, palms open and visible, but now he closes one into a fist. Although, before Bruce can react to it, he opens it again. A small, the size of a flash-drive, dimly glowing green object rests inside.

"Do you know what this is?" The boy asks. He hasn't looked away from Batman's face once; Bruce is not even sure he blinked at all since he entered the room. Come to think of it, even with his tense, rigid posture, Tucker is too still, almost unnervingly so.

Bruce glances down to the boy's hand.

"Yes," he answers curtly, and there it is, the smallest shift in Tucker's face: he clenches his jaw like he's trying to hold the words inside his mouth. Bruce doesn't like it.

"What is it?" Comes the next question, but it's not curiosity that prompts it. It's a test of some sort. Bruce likes that even less.

"A power source," he decides on a neutral answer, not entirely certain what the boy is expecting to hear.

It seems to be a wrong answer because for the first time, Tucker's emotions slip from under his mask, and he takes a sharp breath in, looking like Bruce had just slapped him across the face. It lasts only a moment — Tucker closes his eyes for a moment, slowly exhales, and speaks again, calm and focused once more.

"And what exactly powers it?"

It's an important question, judging by the desperate, searching look in Tucker's eyes. His hands are not shaking, and there are no visible signs of distress, but for some reason, Bruce just knows that the boy's whole life seems to depend on the answer.

But.

"It's classified." Bruce doesn't take his eyes off the boy, but he still fails to see when he gets to his feet; the movement is quicker than the blink of an eye. All he knows is the aftermath of it, the screech of the chair legs on the floor and the loud slam of Tucker's palms on the table.

"Fuck the classified!" The boy yells, his face twisting in an awful mix of anger, hurt and a broken, terrified sort of hopelessness that almost breaks Bruce from the inside. "I need to know what they've told you, I have to- Tell me you think it's just a battery! Tell me you've never broke one to see what's inside, tell me you believe in science! They've showed you the research, didn't they?" Tucker's voice, so agonizingly different from the composed way he was talking before, breaks into a sobbing, almost hysterical laugh. His pale eyes are wide open and almost panicked, searching Batman's face for something he is not sure he can find.

"Tell me you've never seen one being made," this time, the boy doesn't yell, he whispers, his breath hitching and his knuckles white. "Please," he adds a moment later, and Bruce knows this kind of plea.

It's the plea of someone who is begging for the world to have mercy on them. A plea of a boy standing on their parents' grave, a plea of a man kneeled in front of his son's corpse.

Bruce swallows the bitter taste on the back of his tongue and takes a step closer. He sees the boy in front of him lean back and bend his knees, like bracing for impact, but he answers before any more misunderstandings can occur.

"I have seen the research. It provided enough information that I've never investigated further," he offers, and Tucker's shoulders slump like months and months of living in a constant state of fight-or-flight leaving his body all at once. Then, the boy's hands start trembling just slightly.

"Really?" He quietly asks, his eyes still glued to Batman, and there it is, the hesitant, uncertain hint of hope in his voice.

Bruce suddenly feels like not only this talk will be much, much worse than he ever feared, but also like in the end this will be another one of the things he will be blaming himself for. Things he could have prevented if he just tried a little harder.

"Really," he nods, taking a seat opposite from Tucker. "So explain what I've missed."

The boy keeps looking at him for a few more seconds, like trying to x-ray his thoughts for any sign of a lie. But then he blinks — for the first time, maybe — and rubs his face with his palm before all but dropping back in his own seat.

"Okay," he breathes out, evidently trying to collect himself and go back to the strong, focused self, "Okay."

[oikarma]

monaco yacht club

pairing: kimi räikkönen x reader

summary: the iceman didn't think love was in the cards this summer, but he's proven wrong when it walks right onto his yacht, the iceman.

a/n: monaco 2006 you will always be famous xx

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You had precisely three things on your summer checklist (well, it was only May, but these things were a technicality):

Get a tan.

Find your sea legs.

Avoid boring men in polo shirts.

So when you sashayed down the Monaco marina in your oversized sunglasses and silk scarf blowing dramatically in the sea breeze, you were convinced life was going exactly to plan. Until it wasn't. Because, apparently, you got on the wrong yacht.

"I don't remember hiring a crew," a voice said, low and unimpressed, behind you.

You turned around from where you were sprawled dramatically across the cushioned sunbed, sipping sparkling water and admiring your own pedicure.

And there he was: tall, sun-drenched, and scowling at you like you'd committed a federal crime instead of simply boarding what you thought was your family's boat.

"You're not wearing shoes," you pointed out, lifting your sunglasses just enough to glare at him properly.

"You're not supposed to be here," he replied coolly.

"I'm always supposed to be wherever I am," you said, standing now, a little flustered, a little thrilled. Who was this little boy? Well, not boy. He was certainly a man in his own right. But he shouldn't be talking back to you! "This is my yacht."

He crossed his arms, a small smirk playing on his lips. "That so?"

You blinked, looked around at the deck, at the gleaming chrome railing, at the Finnish flag. Oh. It might've slipped your mind.

"…this isn't the Phoenix, is it?"

"No. It's the Iceman," he said. "And you're on it."

You stared at him, then down at the deck, then back at him. "Okay. So, maybe I got a little lost."

"You 'got lost' onto a private yacht?"

"Maybe I got excited about getting back onto a white boat. It's hot. I was thirsty. Don't people trespass all the time in Monaco?"

"No."

You smiled at him, batting your lashes just a little. "Are you always this fun at parties? Who's paying for the yacht, pretty boy? Is it your daddy?"

"Yes," he said. And to your second question, "me. I race cars."

You blinked and looked him up and down, mostly with the purpose of figuring out who this racecar driver was, but also because he was a little attractive. Not Schumacher. Okay, that was it. What other blonde F1 driver did you know? Finnish...you scoured your mind and found two!

"Wait. You're either Mika or Kimi."

“Mika's retired."

"So you're Kimi."

"You say that like you expected me to be taller."

"Well, you probably seem taller in the tabloids. They don't want broody strangers."

"I'm not brooding," Kimi said flatly. "I just don't like strangers on my boat."

"Well then," you said, brushing imaginary lint off your dress and walking--gracefully, thank you very much--past him, "maybe you should have locked the door, Iceman."

You paused at the top of the plank, looking back at him. "Thanks for the drink. Even if it was technically theft."

He didn't say anything until you were almost gone, and he called out, "Next time you want a tan, ask first."

You turned around, eyes wide. "Next time?"

He--Kimi--shrugged, already walking inside. "You know where to find me now."

Your heart did an extremely uncool little flip.

And you added:

4. Come back to the Iceman.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You did not come back on purpose.

Okay, maybe you did. But only a little. It was your friend's idea. Sort of. She said you should "accidentally" walk by his boat again just to "see if he's real" and not a "fever dream with cheekbones."

Also, you wore the pretty white cover-up. Not for him. It was for the, uh, aesthetic.

You had every intention of walking right past the Iceman this time. A quick stroll down the dock, head held high, pretending like you weren't thinking about the man who didn't smile but made your heart do aerial stunts.

And yet.

"There's no way this is accidental," came the now-familiar voice from the deck.

You froze mid-step, toe hovering over the dock, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of your nose. "Excuse me?"

Kimi was shirtless this time. Unfairly so. He had one hand on the railing, the other holding a half-eaten nectarine like this was a Botticelli painting, and not your life.

"You're back," he said, as if that was the entire sentence. Clearly, he was a man of few words.

You huffed. "Don't flatter yourself. Maybe I'm scouting yachts. Maybe I have options."

He raised an eyebrow. "Girls with options don't wear lip gloss and look lost."

"I'm not lost," you insisted.

"You always say that when you’re lost."

You crossed your arms. "Okay, not always. It's the second time. And what are you doing? Standing there like a Bond villain, eating fruit and judging tourists?"

"I like fruit," Kimi said. "And I don't like tourists."

You stared at him.

He stared back.

And then--then--the corner of his mouth tilted. Just the tiniest bit. A smirk, barely there, like he wasn't sure if he was going to find you funny yet.

"I have champagne," he said casually.

You blinked. "Are you bribing me to stay?"

"Maybe."

"Is it cold?"

"Of course."

"And are there snacks?"

"There can be."

You paused for dramatic effect, then turned back toward the yacht, walking up like it was the Queen's invitation. "Fine. But only because my heels hurt and you're marginally less rude than the sun."

"You're not wearing heels."

"Don't ruin the moment, Kimi."

He handed you a glass of champagne and your fingers brushed, just barely.

You sat, legs stretched out, toes pointing toward the sea. He leaned against the rail again, watching you. He wasn't staring, just looking?

"So," you said eventually, swirling the glass, "do you offer all your trespassers drinks? Or am I special?"

He looked at you so intently you almost forgot how to breathe. "You're the first one who came back."

Your heart? Gone. Floating somewhere between the Mediterranean and Monaco's skyline.

"Oh," you said quietly, smiling into your glass. "Well. Good thing I like fruit."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The plan was simple: one drink, maybe a quick dip, then you'd float off back to reality before things got complicated. But the weather didn't care about your plans. And neither, apparently, did Kimi.

You were mid-laugh, ankles swinging off the side of the yacht, when thunder rumbled low in the distance. You glanced up from your glass.

"Was that--"

"Storm's coming," Kimi said from behind you, hands in his pockets, hair ruffled from the sea breeze. God, you wanted to run your hands through it too. Never thought you'd be envying nature.

You raised an eyebrow. "And you were going to tell me this when?"

"I thought you liked surprises."

"I like presents, Kimi. Not atmospheric threats."

But the sky was already turning dramatic--clouds rolling in with a moody kind of poetry that would’ve been beautiful if it didn't mean your tiny white dress was about to become a very damp, very clingy problem.

"We should get back to shore," you said, slipping off your sunglasses.

He glanced toward the dock, then back to you. "Too late."

Sure enough, the rain started--slow at first, then all at once. Warm, chaotic, soaking you in seconds. You shrieked, holding your arms out like you could stop it with sheer annoyance.

"Great," you muttered. "I'm going to look like a drowned heiress."

Kimi just watched you, completely unfazed, rain dripping off his brow like he was made of stone. A slightly amused, highly attractive stone.

"You could've warned me sooner," you said, pushing wet hair off your face.

"You were busy talking about horoscopes and olives."

"I was being charming."

He tilted his head. "You were being loud."

You squinted at him. "Do you even like me, or are you just too polite to throw me off the boat?"

He didn't answer right away. He only stepped forward until you were almost toe-to-toe, rain pattering around you like applause.

"I don't usually like people," Kimi said. "But you're strange."

"Wow," you deadpanned. "Romantic."

He smirked. "It's not a no."

Before you could respond--because you absolutely had a witty comeback brewing--thunder cracked again. This time, closer.

He jerked his head toward the cabin. "Inside. Come on."

And that's how you ended up dripping and barefoot in the cozy cabin of a multimillion-dollar yacht that wasn't yours, wearing his hoodie (gray, soft, slightly too big) and sipping something warm he wordlessly handed you.

You glanced at the rain still lashing the windows. "Sooo, you're telling me I'm stranded?"

He nodded. "Well. If you really wanted to, no. But if it doesn't matter that much, yes, you are stranded for the night."

You tried to play it cool, because fuck if you wanted it. "Is this where you tell me there's only one bed?"

Silence.

You blinked. "Wait. Is there actually--"

"There’s a couch," he said, poker-faced. "But I'm not offering it."

You nearly choked on your drink. "Are you flirting with me, Kimi Räikkönen?"

"Maybe."

You stared, then smiled, then whispered, "Took you long enough."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The storm had no intention of stopping.

You stood in the little cabin barefoot, hair wet, legs cold, staring out the porthole like you could will the rain to let up. It didn't. It just pressed harder against the glass, wind whistling like some moody movie score.

"Bed's made," Kimi said behind you.

You turned. He was leaning in the doorway, towel-drying his hair with one hand, wearing a plain black shirt and grey sweatpants like he hadn't just walked out of a lifestyle magazine shoot.

"Thanks," you said, voice small. "I can take the couch."

He gave you a look. Just one of those slow, unreadable ones. "There's no point pretending. It's raining sideways. Just take the bed."

"And where are you sleeping?" you asked, not quite teasing.

His mouth twitched. "Also the bed."

"Fine. But no funny business."

He raised an eyebrow, totally unimpressed. "You snore."

"I do not!"

"You don't know what you do in your sleep."

You huffed, climbing into bed with dramatic flair, turning your back to him. "You're incredibly rude for someone offering me shelter."

"You could leave, you know. I'm sure you could find someone willing, if you family owns a yacht. You're also incredibly dramatic for someone stealing my hoodie."

You rolled over just to stick your tongue out at him and caught him smiling.

When the lights flickered again, you both froze.

And then--almost instinctively--he slid into the other side of the bed. The mattress dipped with his weight. He didn't touch you. Not even close.

You stared up at the ceiling. "This is weird, right?"

“No.”

You turned your head toward him. He was lying flat, arms folded behind his head, eyes on the ceiling too. He was very pretty, you admit, with his long lashes fluttering lazily. You asked, "you don't think this is a little bit emotionally loaded for two people who met via trespassing?"

"You weren't trespassing," Kimi said calmly.

You blinked. "I wasn't?"

"You just got confused."

Now, he had you smiling in the dark.

"I like your boat."

"I know."

"And I like that you let me stay."

His voice was barely there. "I like that you came back."

There was a silence after that.

Eventually, your eyes got heavy. You turned on your side, facing away from him, but not all the way to the edge.

Then you felt it--the brush of his fingers, careful and slow, against your hand.

You didn't say anything. You just let your hand fall back into his and he held it. He didn't grasp tightly, like it was a declaration. There was just enough pressure. Just enough.

You fell asleep like that, rain at the windows. Your body was warm and quiet and his fingers were loosely twined in yours.

In the morning, when sunlight cracked through the clouds and your head was tucked under his chin, you didn't pretend to be surprised.

You just smiled into his shirt and whispered, "told you I don't snore."

And he murmured, half-asleep: "I know. I wanted you closer."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You were mid-bite when the door slammed. Slammed-slammed. Like 'Ferrari just lost a front-row seat to Monaco glory' slammed. Of course, because that was basically what had just happened. Except, of course, you had figured out now that Kimi drew for McLaren.

You paused, olive halfway to your mouth.

You heard boots. Heavy steps. Muted Finnish cursing. Well, it might've been some other language but that was your boy out there and he certainly wasn't speaking English.

"Kimi?" you called from the kitchen, mouth still full. You liked his other yacht more, Iceman, but this one was nice, too. It was called 'One More Toy' and Kimi'd asked you to come here with all his friends. The Iceman, he said, was a lot more personal. You supposed that made you two close. You wouldn't ask him that now, though, because he looked angry. "Is that you or an extremely pissed-off ghost?"

No answer.

Just more cursing and the unmistakable sound of a helmet being launched onto the couch. It didn't hit you, thankfully.

You popped the olive in your mouth. "I'm guessing the race didn't go great?"

He appeared in the doorway like an angry cat dragged backwards through gravel. His fireproof suit was half off and his hair a mess. It was kind of hot, actually. Even with his face doing that thing where he looks like he might kill someone but he's too tired to commit. It was especially hot.

"Engine failure," he growled.

You nodded solemnly, like a priest. "Tragic. Want an olive?"

Kimi just stared at you. Like he couldn’t decide whether to yell or marry you.

"Why are you in my hoodie again?"

"It's my coping mechanism," you said, offering him the jar. "Also, it smells like you, and I like it."

He groaned, stalking past you to the bar, where he poured himself three fingers of something probably older than your childhood dog.

You followed, jar in hand. "Do you want to scream into a pillow? Punch a baguette? I have options."

He downed the drink in one go, eyes closed, breathing like the car personally insulted his grandmother.

"I walked off the track mid-race," Kimi muttered.

"I know. It was very dramatic. Ten out of ten for mysterious recluse energy. Did you hear your friends celebrating as you came on? Oh, wait, sorry, you were brooding again."

"I'm not mysterious. I wasn't brooding."

"You're an international man of monosyllables who just disappeared during a Grand Prix and materialized on a yacht. That's the definition mysterious behavior."

You held up your hands when seeing his look. "I support you."

Kimi finally--finally--cracked the tiniest smile. You loved it when he smiled. Then, he sank onto the couch like his bones had given up.

You sat beside him, jar between you, quietly nudging it toward him.

He took one olive and chewed slowly.

"...fuck. These are good."

"'Course they are, my sister-in-law comes from a family that makes olive oil."

He glanced sideways. "Wow. Didn't know that was a thing."

"You're messing with me. Whatever. If you didn't know, you do now. You know what else is a thing? You coming here every time your life explodes."

Kimi didn't argue. Instead, after a long pause, he admit, "I didn't want to be around anyone else."

"Oh."

"I don't talk much."

"Really?"

"Hey."

"Sorry, go on." You gestured with your jar.

He swallowed. "You make it quiet in my head. In a good way."

The olive jar hit the floor. Metaphorically. Though you did actually fumble it a bit in surprise.

"I--"

"I'm not good at this," Kimi added, clearly distressed by his own emotional vulnerability. "The people stuff."

"Well, you're doing amazing, sweetie," you said, placing a very gentle hand on his very tense knee. "You stormed in here like a Nordic pirate and admitted you like me. That's practically a marriage proposal."

He narrowed his eyes. "I did not say that."

"You meant it."

He opened his mouth to argue, then gave up. He took another olive and had you grinning.

Kimi didn't smile, exactly, but he did press a kiss to your temple five minutes later, like he couldn't not.

You added another thing to your mental summer checklist, the last one. It was actually summer, soon. Almost June.

5. Spend lots of time with one (1) brooding, shirtless, Finnish blonde that's bad with emotions, or: Iceman.

But how were you going to do that? He had his job and you...actually, travel certainly wasn't a problem for you.

Kimi looked at you funny, as if he'd read your mind. "What are you thinking about?"

"Can I come to work with you?"

He coughed. "Work? Like my job?"

"Formula One."

"We'll have to leave the yacht," he said, almost ruefully. "You can handle that?"

"Fuck the Iceman," you responded, though at heart you loved the boat that'd brought you to him, him to you. "I have my own Iceman right here."

"You're sappy," he noted. And this time he smiled.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: i've never written for a retired driver so this was fun! i adore kimi lol and hope you liked the banter

[seitmai]

Steve cleared his throat after exchanging a look with Sam. “So, to recap, you were looking for Alpine and she was just… snuggled with a complete stranger?” He waited for a beat. “In the middle of a sidewalk at night?” “Yes, that’s exactly what she did,” Bucky said through his teeth. His friend was old, but not hard of hearing. 

Hahaha I can't with the old joke😂

“A sweet stranger who said you were the hottest man she had ever seen in her life?” Sam smirked. Yes, that was what you said and Bucky hadn’t forgotten it. Nor would he admit to his friends how nice the compliment made him feel the more he repeated your words in his mind. “And she snuggled with Alpine? Pictures, or it didn’t happen.”

Of course Bucky hasn't forgotten and Sam is a "picture or it didn’t happen" guy 😅

Bucky made a face. Why would he make something like that, or you, up? Did he really not believe him?  “Why the hell would I take a photo of her? That’s something a creep would do, and I’m not a creep,” he snapped, thinking about it while Sam chuckled. Grumpy with his share of issues, yes, but he was not a creep. “But there were security cameras outside of her building. Hacking the system wouldn’t be too difficult if you really wanted to see what happened.” “You’re not going to hack anything,” Steve said, trying to be the voice of reason. It wouldn’t be the worst crime committed if he did. “I think Sam meant the picture thing as a joke.” “No, I didn’t,” Sam said.

They crack me up with all the discussion about pictures, no pictures or Hacking to get pictures 😂 I feel like this discussion is so spot on for the dynamic of the 3 of them 😅

“Listen, I’m not saying this… dream girl or whatever you want to call her doesn’t exist, but I do have to ask.” Sam had a shit-eating grin on his face. “Did she really boop you on the nose?” If Bucky clenched his jaw any tighter he would’ve cracked his teeth. “She did. Twice.”

To be fair that does sound so silly that it sounds fake 🤷🏻‍♀️😅

 Steve looked like he was trying not to laugh and Sam didn’t bother hiding it. Why did he trust these punks with anything? “Okay…” Sam held his side as his laughter died down. “I have to meet her so I can ask where she got the balls to do that and say ‘you’re welcome’ for accidentally letting Alpine out so you two could meet.”

Valid 😅

“Well, with that attitude…” Sam mumbled, which Bucky pointedly ignored. It wasn’t like he was trying to be pessimistic, but getting his hopes up wouldn’t help either. “If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like Alpine isn’t the only one who liked her.”

Oh we have a Sherlock Holmes on out hands 🤭

Steve tried to catch his eye. “Do you like her, Buck?”

And Steve is so sensible about it 🥹

Sam sighed when Bucky didn’t respond. “Can you message her? Tell her Alpine’s trying to get out to see her?”

That would be a good opener

Alpine batted her paw against his chest and meowed, sensing the subtle shift in his mood. “What would you suggest, Al? That I just walk you up and down her sidewalk with you until she comes out?” Silence filled the living room. Was he really asking his cat for advice on how to see you again? Jesus fucking Christ, he needed help and he was already seeing a therapist.

I don't think it's so wrong to ask Al in this case, it was her fault to begin with this situation, I think she would have great intel🤷🏻‍♀️

Steve shrugged after a minute went by. “...It’s not a bad idea.” Sam snorted. He was enjoying this way too much. “Or you could just start by finding her on social media like a normal person since she at least gave you her name.”

There are decades between them and it shows in exactly that moment 🤭😅

Sam’s smile fell. “It’s weird to add her on social media, but it’s not weird to walk up and down her sidewalk like a wolf stalking its prey or talk about hacking the cameras of her building?”

He is calling them and their old ways out rn hahah

And if he couldn’t figure out a way himself, he had a feeling Alpine would take matters into her own paws.

Yes!! Queen Alpine 👏🏻

Late Night Recap

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky tells Steve and Sam about his encounter with you.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Mention of drunk reader, humor, attraction, Sam and Steve are good friends, a bit of grumpy!Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay? And he has a crush).

A/N: Based on an anon ask and a continuation of Late Night Shenanigans. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Steve and Sam sat across from Bucky on the couch, blankly staring at him once he finished his story. He stared back with a scowl and was pretty sure Alpine was scowling at them, too, daring them to tell him that he was making the whole thing up about what happened earlier. That he didn’t encounter a beautiful drunk stranger snuggling with his cat. That you didn’t seem at all intimidated by his presence. That he couldn’t get your smile or voice out of his head.

Wait, he didn’t tell them that last part and he sure as hell wasn’t going to.

Steve cleared his throat after exchanging a look with Sam. “So, to recap, you were looking for Alpine and she was just… snuggled with a complete stranger?” He waited for a beat. “In the middle of a sidewalk at night?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what she did,” Bucky said through his teeth. His friend was old, but not hard of hearing. 

“A sweet stranger who said you were the hottest man she had ever seen in her life?” Sam smirked. Yes, that was what you said and Bucky hadn’t forgotten it. Nor would he admit to his friends how nice the compliment made him feel the more he repeated your words in his mind. “And she snuggled with Alpine? Pictures, or it didn’t happen.”

Bucky made a face. Why would he make something like that, or you, up? Did he really not believe him?  “Why the hell would I take a photo of her? That’s something a creep would do, and I’m not a creep,” he snapped, thinking about it while Sam chuckled. Grumpy with his share of issues, yes, but he was not a creep. “But there were security cameras outside of her building. Hacking the system wouldn’t be too difficult if you really wanted to see what happened.”

Was that creepy? It wasn’t like he was trying to get feed to watch you or to see your beautiful face again. It was to prove to Sam that he wasn’t lying about what happened, nothing more. Not that he had anything to prove. He was telling the truth. It wasn’t his fault if Sam didn’t believe him.

“You’re not going to hack anything,” Steve said, trying to be the voice of reason. It wouldn’t be the worst crime committed if he did. “I think Sam meant the picture thing as a joke.”

“No, I didn’t,” Sam said. 

Steve held a hand up when Bucky’s fists curled. “What he means is we’re surprised because, besides you, Alpine doesn’t usually cuddle with people right away. She likes us, but it took her time to do that.”

“Yeah, well, she’s obviously different,” the brunette mumbled, scratching behind Alpine’s ears. “Alpine really liked her.”

Alpine purred in agreement, bringing a small smile out of the former assassin. Though part of him still wondered if you put some sort of spell over his cat to get her to warm up so quickly, he knew that wasn’t it. She was a good judge of character, so she had to take a liking to you since you were a friendly person. It was either that or she decided that you needed her to look out for you. And by extension that meant he had to look out for you, too. Someone had to.

Fuck, now he did feel like a creep with that train of thought.

“Listen, I’m not saying this… dream girl or whatever you want to call her doesn’t exist, but I do have to ask.” Sam had a shit-eating grin on his face. “Did she really boop you on the nose?”

If Bucky clenched his jaw any tighter he would’ve cracked his teeth. “She did. Twice.” 

Steve looked like he was trying not to laugh and Sam didn’t bother hiding it. Why did he trust these punks with anything? “Okay…” Sam held his side as his laughter died down. “I have to meet her so I can ask where she got the balls to do that and say ‘you’re welcome’ for accidentally letting Alpine out so you two could meet.”

“You’re not going to meet her or ask her anything,” Bucky said, looking up at the ceiling. “Because I probably won’t see her again.”

It didn’t make sense why his heart ached so much at the thought of not crossing your path again. He didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him. Fairy tales and meet cutes or whatever they were called didn’t exist in his world, not for people like him.

“Well, with that attitude…” Sam mumbled, which Bucky pointedly ignored. It wasn’t like he was trying to be pessimistic, but getting his hopes up wouldn’t help either. “If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like Alpine isn’t the only one who liked her.”

Steve tried to catch his eye. “Do you like her, Buck?”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek. Of course, his friends would latch on that he was possibly interested in someone. He hadn’t dated anyone since Leah, and his relationship with her hadn’t lasted long. Was the universe giving him a chance by putting you in his path, or was he reading too deeply into it? It had to be the latter. 

Sam sighed when Bucky didn’t respond. “Can you message her? Tell her Alpine’s trying to get out to see her?”

Bucky almost laughed because he could see the feline trying to sneak out to find you. “I didn’t get her number.”

“Wait, you didn’t ask for her number or give her yours?” Steve asked.

Bucky finally lifted his head and fought the urge to say that he wasn’t the suave guy he used to be. “She was drunk, Steve. I didn’t ask since there’s a good chance that she might not even remember me,” he answered, which somehow felt worse than the thought of not seeing you again. Call him crazy or selfish, but he wanted you to remember him. It was only fair since you were affecting him so much.

“Well, you know where her apartment building is,” the blonde smiled. “That’s a start.”

“But not her apartment number,” he sighed. 

You were alert enough not to give away that piece of information, which he appreciated. Though you joked that it was how “true crimes” began, did you have any idea how many laws he had broken over the years? No, how could you? If you knew, there was a chance you wouldn’t run straight inside.

Regardless of what he had or hadn’t done over the years, it didn’t change that he didn’t get your phone number or your apartment number before you parted ways.

Alpine batted her paw against his chest and meowed, sensing the subtle shift in his mood. “What would you suggest, Al? That I just walk you up and down her sidewalk with you until she comes out?”

Silence filled the living room. Was he really asking his cat for advice on how to see you again? Jesus fucking Christ, he needed help and he was already seeing a therapist.

Steve shrugged after a minute went by. “...It’s not a bad idea.”

Sam snorted. He was enjoying this way too much. “Or you could just start by finding her on social media like a normal person since she at least gave you her name.”

Bucky sat up, his cheek twitching. You had given him your name. “But wouldn’t that be weird to add her as a friend?” he asked.

Because, again, there was a chance you wouldn’t remember who he was. It would give him a chance to see photos of you if you shared them. Maybe get a feel for some of your likes and dislikes. Where you hung out. If your relationship status said “single” like he hoped.

…Was he venturing into creepy territory again?

Sam’s smile fell. “It’s weird to add her on social media, but it’s not weird to walk up and down her sidewalk like a wolf stalking its prey or talk about hacking the cameras of her building?”

“And that’s the end of this conversation,” Bucky said, shooting both of them a glare to drop it.

“You’ll see her again,” Steve smiled, quickly adding, “Now that’s the end of the conversation.”

Bucky wasn’t an idiot. It would not be the end of that conversation, not now that Steve and Sam knew he was interested in someone. He should’ve kept his mouth shut and said that he found Alpine all by her lonesome, but he didn’t want to keep you a secret. 

He wondered how you were doing. Did you have your water and aspirin like he suggested? Would you feel okay in the morning? Did you hope to see him again? He just had to find a way to see you, if only so you could see “Queen Alpine” while you were sober.

And if he couldn’t figure out a way himself, he had a feeling Alpine would take matters into her own paws.

I swear, he will see his girl again. Because, yes, you are his girl. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[dannyriccsystem]

REQUEST: “hello!! id like to request a fic :3 could you maybe do the drivers x reader where reader is insecure of her small chest so they comfort and reassure her and it leads to smut 🤭”

PRETTY ITTY BITTIES!

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

SUMMARY: Drivers comfort you after you share your insecurities with your small chest!

OVERALL W.C: 6.7k

WARNINGS: Smut, reader has a small chest, P in V, body worship, cunnilingus, etc. Y/N usage, NOT PROOFREAD

FEATURING: MV1, DR3, LN4, CL16, AA23, YT22, LH44, CS55, GR63, OP81

NOTE: No Kimi or Ollie ofc. All bodies are beautiful! This was request 36-ish! It was kind of intimidating to write this much 😵‍💫 It took me an embarrassing amount of time

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

“Max, are you streaming?” You whispered as you poked your head into the room. He perked up, pausing whatever game he was on to look over at you. He shook his head no, and you stepped your whole body in through the door.

Summer was coming up, which meant that it was time to go swimsuit shopping like you did every year. Your body obviously changed within the 9-ish months without wearing them, so you always donated or sold your old ones and bought a new one that fit nicely.

However, for some reason you were feeling ridiculous. You were wearing a cute bikini, which is what you typically chose, but something was off. You had lost a bit of weight, but it seemed to all come from your chest. “Be honest, does my chest look weird? I think my boobs got smaller...” You frowned as you looked down at yourself.

“I don’t know, I think I need a closer look.” You were slightly surprised by his reaction, but moved towards him nonetheless. You stood right in front of him, and he stared up at your body like you were an absolute goddess, “Wow.”

“What?” You asked softly, feeling nervous at his dismissiveness.

He didn’t answer immediately, instead his hands trailed up to the straps of the bikini, playing with them between his fingers. “Can I take this off?” He asked in a forward manner. Your eyes widened, and you found yourself speechless. You nodded. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” You choked out immediately, your face warm. He pulled the strap down, mirroring it on the other side. Once the covers were lowered, Max hummed, his thumbs brushing over your perky nipples, which sent a shiver down your spine.

He carefully wrapped his lips around one, eyes shut as his tongue diligently swirled around the bud. You moaned, pulling yourself into his lap on his gaming chair. Max just wrapped his arms around your waist, your body flush to his chest as he continued to lavish your small tits.

“You’re so beautiful,” He muttered before moving over to the other side, his slight stubble brushing against your skin as he sucked and nipped at your nipples. His hands traveled down to your bare waist, pulling you down to grind against his growing erection. “Feel how turned on you make me?”

This was certainly the most flattered you had been. You were speechless, the only sounds leaving you being soft, precious whines. Eventually he got impatient, pulling away to shift his focus to freeing his cock. He fumbled with the belt of his jeans, but finally managed to push them, and his boxers, down just enough.

He helped you get situated, letting you sink down onto his length at your own rate. You squealed, gripping his shoulders tight for support. “Yeah,” He huffed, his breath hitched as you finally lowered down to the hilt. “Oh, fuck,” He cursed under his breath, head thrown back to stare up at you.

His gaze was so soft, looking at you like you were his entire world. You felt slightly embarrassed by his gaze. “Max,” You muttered shyly, burying your face in his neck. He wrapped his arms around you, taking the initiative by slowly thrusting up into you.

“Hm?” He hummed, his voice light as he struggled to keep himself steady. He wanted to hold out for you, make sure you knew how much he worshiped you and your body.

“Feels so good,” You whined, placing sloppy kisses on his neck. He grunted, his pace slow and loving.

“Good,” He nipped at your ear when he whispered, followed by a moan that made every inch of you flutter. “You’re so pretty, Y/N,” He started. “Every. Single. Inch. Of you,” He punctuated each word with a harsh thrust before easing back into his slow pace. “Never forget that.”

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

“Danny, do you think my tits are too small?” Oh, you certainly caught his attention. He looked up from his phone, where he was texting some colleagues about an upcoming event. The movement was instant, like you personally offended him.

“Absolutely not.” He wasn’t afraid to admit he was a guy who liked smaller chests. He couldn’t tell you why, but he did. Especially yours. But then again, Danny loved everything of yours. You turned away from the full body mirror and towards him.

“Really?”

He suddenly set his phone down, spreading his legs just slightly, and then patted the open spot between them. “C’mere.” You did as he asked, positioning yourself in said spot. He pulled your back flush to his chest, hands running up your shirt to caress your stomach. “Can I touch you?”

His whisper sent a shiver running through you. You were completely at his mercy. “Yes,” You confirmed firmly. He lifted your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside. His hands groped your small chest, thumb and index fingers pinching your nipples. Your body jerked involuntarily, drawing a chuckle from him.

“Relax, I got you.” You melted back against him, letting him take control. One hand slithered down your shorts, pushing your panties to the side to slip your fingers in, feeling how wet you were already.

This man was a freak, and he wasn’t afraid to show it!

He noticed your needy action, and reached down to help you out of your shorts. He grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips to sensually lick the arousal off. You huffed a soft moan, hips twitching.

He spit on his two fingers before pushing them into your hole, a moan leaving his own lips at the sensation. His other hand was still playing with one of your tits, meanwhile this one was slowly pumping his long fingers inside of you.

He tilted your head to the side and back, allowing him to lock your lips in a steamy kiss. You whined, your mouth agape as he pressed sensual kisses to your lips. Your eyes fluttered shut, walls clenching and releasing around his fingers.

“D-Danny-” You cried out, gasping and moaning as he thrusted the two digits inside you. He sped up upon your cry of his name, moving his lips away to whisper in your ear.

“I got you, come on…” He kept whispering praises to push you towards the edge, and when you finally released, he helped you ride out your high. You were panting, completely slumped against him when he pulled his fingers out, licking them clean again.

“Got another one in you, princess?” You huffed a sigh at his insatiable smile as he innocently pressed kisses to your jaw.

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

Lando was pissed. You were both out with your friends, enjoying a nice time at the mall. Your two closest friends stumbled across Victoria’s Secret, which Lando obviously wasn’t comfortable going in. If it was just you, he wouldn’t mind, but he didn’t want to go bra shopping with your friends.

You seemed hesitant in deciding where to go. He didn’t put any pressure on you, wanting you to just have fun. Besides, he could then go visit that store that specialized in sports wear and gear. He could use a new padel racket. However, Lando was drawn out of his thoughts when he heard something peculiar, “Go with your boyfriend, Y/N!” It seemed like a normal thing to say until, “Yeah, this store is for girls with big chests, anyway.”

Just like that, they ditched you. You looked shocked, but Lando wasn’t going to let that shit slide. He grabbed your hand and started to drag you towards the exit, holding all of your bags in the other.

“Lan, wait-!” You were worried about leaving everyone behind, but he continued to march forward. “Look, it’s fine, I don’t really care!”

Lando lifted you into the backseat of the car, causing you to yelp with surprise. He dived in after you, pulling you onto his lap. “Don’t let your friends talk to you that way,” He muttered into your ear, playfully nipping at the lobe. You shuddered.

“Well, it’s true. I don’t exactly have the biggest chest, Lan.” It stung when people mocked you for it, but it’s not like you were astounded.

“So?” He tugged at the hem of your shirt. Thank goodness for tinted windows, otherwise you’d both be screwed by now. Still, the fact you could see everything from the inside was quite the thrill. When you reached down to help him, he pulled the shirt off of you. “They’re acting like a bunch of fucking bullies.”

He truly seemed more offended than you were. He wrapped his lips around one nipple, suckling softly before releasing with a soft ‘pop’. He stuck his tongue out, using it to circle your sensitive nipple. “Lan-”

“I fucking love your tits, love,” He grunted as he pushed his hips upward, his erection pressing into your heat. Lando gently lowered your back against the seats, hovering over you as he continued to worship your breasts.

He looped his fingers around your jeans, yanking them down. His fingers caressed you through the fabric of your panties, feeling your arousal seep through and start to drench his fingers. With a moan of delight, Lando began to trail kisses down your body.

He spread your legs, placing them over his shoulders as he crouched between your thighs. He pressed sloppy kisses to your inner thighs, leaving dark purplish marks in his trail. Finally, he ripped through your panties, making you shriek.

He looked up at you, his breath hot on your folds. “Can I eat you out, love?” Fuck, consent is so hot. You nod, whining a yes. He started with slow, gentle kisses on your folds before getting bolder. His tongue darted out to taste you, slithering between your lower lips.

It didn’t take long for Lando to get into it. He had already made you come on his tongue twice now, and was looking for a third as he nosed at your overstimulated clit. His lips were practically making out with your pussy, the noises so wet and sensual.

You grilled his curls, legs spasming as you felt your third orgasm within the hour start to approach. “Lan, fuck! Yes! Just like that!” You gently grinded your hips against his face, twitching every time his nose bumped your most sensitive part. He gripped your thighs, pulling you even closer.

“One more,” He muttered in between sensual licks. He was panting like a desperate, starved man as he feasted on your cunt. “One more and you can be done, baby. You’re doing so good.”

You squealed as you came, feeling the pleasure wash over you so harshly. He rubbed your sore folds until the spasms stopped, letting you slowly come down from such a high.

“I love every part of you, baby.” He whispered as he trailed more kisses up to your chest, where he proceeded to leave a few more hickeys for good measure. “Especially these pretty tits.”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

You were enjoying the sun with Carlos, both of you perched on the front of his yacht, relaxing against the soft cushioning out there. It was just the two of you rocking on endless waves, land miles away. You were curled up on top of him, your chest pressed to his with your cheek against his bare chest.

It was beginning to get dimmer, the sky slowly fading into a dark blue while the sun teased the horizon. You were scrolling on social media, humming every so often at the feeling of Charles’s hands lightly scratching circles into your back, making your skin slightly tingle.

“Why are you frowning, amour?” He whispered like a lullaby, his head tilted down at you. It was true, you were rather unconsciously frowning at your phone. You had come across one of his posts that featured you, and the comments were very impolite. They all talked about your body, especially how… Small some of it was.

“It’s nothing,” You scrolled past the post and answered dismissively. You could hear a low grumble in his chest as he muttered something incoherently. Charles snatched up your phone, setting it aside so you’d be forced to look at him. “Hey-”

“Talk to me,” He kissed the tip of your nose. “It clearly wasn’t nothing if you were upset.” His large hands were splayed along your hips, holding you to him.

You puffed your cheeks up momentarily, trying to think of a way to get out of this. But then you saw the sincere look in his eyes, and you realized that you should just be honest. “I feel like my body isn’t enough for you.”

“Already I feel like you’re lying.” He had that charming smile that eased your worries away, but you just responded with the light smack of his chest to show you were serious. “Obviously not, mon ange.” He rolled the two of you over so you’d were lying flat on your back with Charles straddling your hips, looking down at you.

“What are you-”

“Showing you that I love you and your body,” He responded easily. “If you’ll let me.” He paused, waiting for an answer. Before anything, he’d ensure you were okay with this. Charles was a gentleman first.

You seemed hesitant, but with a brave deep breath, you nodded. “Yes, please.” He lifted the oversized shirt you were wearing over your head, leaving you in just the bikini top you wore underneath. Charles reached around, pulling the strings behind your neck to let it come undone, both of nipples hardening as the breezy air hit them.

He started by kissing your neck, his hands a little more shameless with their exploration, rubbing you through your swimsuit bottoms. Instinctively, you lifted your legs to wrap around his waist. He trailed his lips down to your chest, whispering against your soft skin, “Tell me what you’re insecure about.”

It was hard to focus when his middle and ring finger were pushing past your bottoms, sliding into your hole with ease. With a trembling voice, you shakily replied, “My… My tits-” You were cut off with a sharp moan as he curled his fingers, pressing against that spongy spot that he knew drove you crazy. “Charles- Oh fuck!”

“These?” He asked with practiced smugness, his teeth tugging on one nipple just hard enough to make you shudder. He peppered them both with kisses, stopping occasionally to suck a dark purple mark into existence. Your chest was littered with hickeys, a sure fire sign of his appreciation. “What else, mon ange?”

He slid another finger in, a noise that you were certain was a moan leaving his lips. Your mind was foggy at this point, leaving you feeling dumb around his fingers. “I- Please, Charles-” He intentionally pressed against your sweet spot, making your whole body convulse momentarily. You couldn’t speak, so you placed a hand on your stomach.

He got the memo. He moved his head down to your belly, lips gently kissing and nipping the skin there. “I never wanna hear about you hating your body again,” He said firmly, staring directly up at you while his fingers ruined your cunt. “You’re perfect.”

It was at those final words that you came, your hips jerking upwards and your eyes fluttering shut. You cried out his name, all while he continued to softly rub your clit, kissing your stomach lovingly.

When you finally came back to reality, he pulled his fingers out and wiped them on a nearby towel, which he then proceeded to use to clean you up. “I want you to always tell me when you’re feeling insecure. I promise to make you feel better.”

He sealed it with a final kiss, letting you mutter a, “Thank you, Charles.”

—

YUKI TSUNODA - YT22

When Yuki came back to your shared hotel room, you were staring at him with a fiery look in your eyes. He didn’t think much of it, assuming it was just another night you were feeling needy. Who could blame you? Your boyfriend was incredibly attractive.

What he didn’t know was that you had been scrolling through instagram all day. It started when you stumbled across a picture of him in the RedBull polo. The navy blue was perfect, but it didn’t help that he had all of the buttons undone, his cross necklace settled just beneath his exposed collarbone.

You, of course, opened the comments for a laugh. Everyone thirsting over your boyfriend was both funny and relatable, because he looked damn good. Except, as you kept scrolling, you continued to notice something rather frustrating. Everyone leaving these comments was beautiful— Perfect bodies, perfect faces, sweet personalities.

When the door opened, you set your phone down and stared at the man who walked in. He set his bag down at the door and slipped his shoes off, greeting you where you lay on the bed with a kiss to the forehead. “What’s on your mind?” He sounded almost teasing.

“How good you look in that polo,” You muttered as you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him down to press a kiss to his lips. He returned the kiss, his own mouth moving against yours sensually.

“And what else?” He read you like a book, always. He could tell when you were withholding information from him, like right now. There was something else you were thinking about, and he needed to know.

You were silent for a lot longer than you should have been. Yuki pulled back from the kiss, tilting your chin up to look you in the eyes. He was serious. “I…” He nodded, encouraging you to go on. “I feel like… You could do better.”

He frowned. Not an angry frown, but one that seemed sympathetic. Almost like a pout. “Why?”

“Why..?” You repeated, and Yuki nodded, climbing into the bed, carefully pinning you down. For a small guy, he was really strong. Your chest rose with every breath, pausing at the stop as you tried to gain your composure. “Well— This is gonna sound stupid.”

“Go on.” Yuki leaned down, kissing your neck. “It’s not stupid if it’s making you upset.”

“I feel like- Yuki!” You squealed as he pressed his tongue flat against the spot between your collarbone and shoulder— A sensitive spot for you, and then he proceeded to nibble at it, leaving a hickey behind. “I feel like my tits are too small.” You finally blurted out.

He pulled back, brows furrowed. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He scolded. Even with his words, you didn’t feel stupid. “You have a very sexy body. And a very sexy personality.” You wanted to believe him, really. But you didn’t, and he could tell. “Do you need me to prove it?” You felt shy as you nodded.

Yuki took the invitation to slowly lift your shirt, unveiling your naked body like it was some prized piece of art. “Look at you,” His hands instantly groped your chest. Sure, there wasn’t a lot there, but he didn’t care. He was hypnotized by the sight of you, utterly taken aback. “So pretty.”

“Yuki,” You whimpered out as you pawed at the growing erection in his shorts. He sat hovered over your stomach, just barely pressing down with a fraction of his weight. He understood what you wanted, and he’d give it to you. He removed his shorts, and you eagerly tugged his boxers down too.

Yuki stroked his growing cock, and you stared up at him in awe. All he needed to do was stare at your chest, and it left him a moaning mess. If that wasn’t reassurance enough, it’s hard to say what would be. You bit your lip, reaching out to help him. Your soft hands wrapped around his, picking up the pace.

“See,” He choked out, his breath caught in his throat shortly after. “Y-You’re all I need,” He huffed, his forehead beading with sweat already. His chest was heaving, little whimpers leaving his mouth. What a dirty sight.

With one final stroke, you watched his length twitch and his body spasm for just a moment. He released onto your chest, coating you in his cum. You swallowed thickly, eyes wide. Yuki collapsed against you, softening as he snuggled his face into your neck.

“Told you.”

—

ALEX ALBON - AA23

“Hey pretty,” Alex grinned at you when he walked back through the door, carrying bags of groceries on his strong arms. The Monaco sun was sweltering, leaving him just slightly sweaty in his short sleeved t-shirt. You bit your lip at the sight, which went unnoticed as he turned his back to you. “Watcha reading?”

You felt a little embarrassed at his question. You always enjoyed reading, and recently decided to dive into the romance genre. What you weren’t expecting was for it to be so… Freaky. You felt almost disgusting with what you were reading, mostly because you couldn’t stop. “It’s nothing.”

He shrugged, assuming it was just another boring book. It’s not like Alex was particularly interested in books. He was just interested in you. You continued reading, drawn in by just how filthy it was. It was normal smut, but it just felt wrong.

Alex whistled as he put groceries away. The whole scenario felt rather domestic. As you read on, though, a sinking feeling started to worsen in your gut. You kept reading all these situations, but in every book the main character seemed to follow the same formula. Skinny waist, big boobs, big ass… That wasn’t you at all.

“Hey,” Alex drew you out of your mind when he lightly flicked your forehead, standing right in front of you. “You seem mad. If you don’t like the book, don’t read it,” He muttered, a soft smile taking over.

“No, it’s not that.” She shifted down in the armchair, relaxing. You had been so tense and on edge— You needed a release, but also you were feeling gross about yourself. “I just… These books are getting to me.”

“Why? Let me-” He reached out for it, and you quickly pulled the book back with a sharp, ‘No!’ He raised his brows, and then quickly smirked. “What? Are you reading something dirty? Don’t be shy.”

“No-!”

“You totally are. Don’t be ashamed, we all indulge in that stuff. Come on, what’s it about?” He leaned in, trying to take a peek, but you kept moving the book away.

“Alex, I just- I don’t wanna,” You frowned, and he suddenly faltered. It was like he just now realized you were upset. He took a step back, crossing his arms to look down at you. You softened, putting your bookmark in and shutting it. “Yeah… It’s- It’s smut, but I…” You shook your head, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your palms. “I was enjoying it, but every girl is described the same. In a way I’m not, and it makes me feel like… Like I’m not capable of being sexual.”

He furrowed his brows. “Read it out loud. From the start.” He suddenly ordered, his tone firm.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

You picked the book back up with shaking hands, flipping back a few pages to begin at the start of the scene. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, you cleared your throat to try again, “He knelt down between my legs, spreading them apart-”

You gasped as Alex fell to his knees, his hands prying your knees apart and placing them over his shoulders. He stared up at you, nodding for you to keep going. “He lifted my skirt up and…” Your eyes flickered down to him, and then back to the pages. “And he kissed my thighs, teasing me. He knew where I wanted him, but avoided it anyway.”

You could feel his lips on your bare legs, his eyes shut as he sensually kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin. Alex peeked up at you, waiting for you to continue. When you didn’t, he stopped. “Is this okay?” He asked softly, staring through thick lashes at you.

“Yes- Yes, sorry.” You looked back to the book, positioning it between you two to partially block his face. His kisses continued. “I whined out his name, grinding my hips up against his face. It was a silent beg for him to give me what I wanted. What I needed.”

You took the hint, and did as the book said. You lifted your hips, gently pressing your crotch against Alex’s nose for more friction. You stuttered over your next sentence, a little whimper leaving your lips. “Alex, I-”

“Keep reading.” He instructed, fingers tracing patterns on your inner thighs.

“He carelessly pushed my panties aside, his tongue lapping at my wet folds like a starved animal. He seemed satisfied, pushing my legs further apart to give himself better access.” Alex did just as the book said, nosing your underwear aside and diving in with his tongue.

“I.. I can’t read anymore-” You could barely keep your eyes straight as he passionately kissed and licked your slit, applying pressure to your clit and gently circling his tongue around it. He hummed, eyes shut.

“That’s fine,” He pulled away to talk, kissing the outside before pushing his tongue back in once more. “You taste good,” He whimpered against you.

He pushed your legs back further, propping himself up on his knees to press down against you, his arms wrapped around your thighs. You dropped the book, not caring that your marker fell out. You gripped his soft hair, eyes squeezed shut.

He finally pulled away once you came, squeaking out his name one last time. Alex was huffing, trying to desperately catch his breath. He wiped his mouth with his palm, staring up at you with blown-out pupils as he straightened your panties and skirt out.

“Was that enough proof for you?”

So that was his whole point, to prove he found you sexy. “Yes,” You confirmed with an uncontrollable smile.

—

LEWIS HAMILTON - LH44

Intimacy with Lewis Hamilton was far from lackluster. He always went all out, cherishing you like it killed him not to. He made every night long and slow, putting your needs before his. It was in Lewis’ nature to make sure you were satisfied at the end of the night— He’d never leave you wanting more.

There was soft classical music playing in the background to set the mood, candles lighting up the room from the nightstands. You both had this little at home date planned for a while now, everything planned out to a T, ending the night with sensual love making.

“You’re always so pretty for me, love,” He whispered as he pulled away from your long string of kisses. Lewis’ hands slithered up your sides, a gentle smile on his lips as he began to tug on your frilly tank top. It wasn’t too fancy, but just enough for a night like this.

You suddenly grabbed his wrists, eyes wide. Lewis raised his brows. “Do you want to stop? We totally can,” The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable. You shook your head, slowly letting go. He sat back, “Then what’s wrong?”

“Can we… Leave the shirt on tonight?”

“What? I mean— If that’s what you want, then I’ll respect that, but why?”

You felt guilty, because you weren’t communicating your feelings properly, and Lewis was always so supportive of every single thing you did. “Do you promise not to judge—” He gave you a pointed look, and you sighed. Obviously not. “I don’t like the way my breasts look.”

Silence.

“Baby, I respect you and your insecurities, but that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” You blinked in surprise, shocked he’d say such a thing. “I love your body, Y/N. What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re just not as big as everyone else. I mean, every girl you’ve been with—”

“Sure, but they didn’t last.” He interrupted. Lewis had such kind eyes, trailing over your figure like you were a feast made just for him. “You’re the love of my life.” He lowered himself, littering your neck and collarbone with those kisses of his— So unbelievably sweet.

“Lewis…”

“Y/N…” He repeated, mimicking your tone. “I’m not lying. If you’re not comfortable, I’m not gonna force you to do anything, but I’d love to show you how much I love your body.”

“Okay.” You didn’t have to hesitate, because you wanted nothing more than that.

He lifted your shirt, unclipping the back of your bra. As soon as your tits were free, Lewis leaned down to latch on to one nipple, licking and sucking the sensitive bud. You laid back, relaxing against the mattress. “Mhm,” He praised with a tender hum. “Just relax. Let me do all of the work.”

You didn’t take much convincing.

He coaxed you out of your little skirt and panties, tossing them off to the side. You tugged at his shirt, pulling it off to reveal those delectable muscles you loved. Lewis chuckled as you pulled him down, burying your face in his neck. He meticulously pushed his length past your slit, grunting into your ear.

“I got you, baby,” He drawled out, nibbling your earlobe. He held you tight to his body, your back just barely lifted off the mattress. His hips rocked against yours, the bed creaking beneath the weight of you both.

The room was filled with heartfelt moans and cries, finished off with the cry of his name from your lips as you came. Lewis pulled out, coming onto your stomach. He sighed, rolling off to the side to lay next to you while he caught his breath.

You curled up to his side, feeling the ache settle in already. He kissed your forehead.

“Don’t hide yourself from me, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too.”

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

“I did not realize this movie was this…”

“Freaky?” Carlos finished your thought for you. You nodded, shoving a handful of popcorn into your already agape mouth. You picked out a new movie to watch together on the couch, wanting it to be a nice domestic night. What you didn’t realize was that the movie you picked was tremendously sexual.

Pretty much every scene led to just about the dirtiest sex scene you had witnessed, making your heart pound and your thighs instinctively rub together. You should have turned it off, but you were simply in awe at the sight before you. Naked, warm, hot bodies. You eyed Carlos to see him wearing a similarly hypnotized expression.

He felt your gaze on him, and he turned to lock eyes with you. There was a silent exchange between your locked gazes, to which led to Carlos nearly tackling you against the cushions. You laughed, the air filled with intimate giggles as you shared a series of kisses.

“Amor,” He nosed at your neck, making you tilt your head back to allow further access. “Turn the movie off, we don’t need an example.” His little joke made you beam with delight. You reached your arm out, blindly fumbling for the remote to promptly flick the TV off. The room plummeted into near total darkness, save the moonlight that filtered in through billowing curtains.

He slipped your shirt off with ease, leaning back to admire the sight before him. “Carlos-”

“You’re so beautiful-” He reached out to touch you, but he paused. He searched your gaze for uncertainty. “Can I touch you?” You nodded, and he gently squeezed your breasts, leaning down to kiss your lips.

“Not much to hold,” You joked, though your insecurities seeped through. He shook his head, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Perfect amount for me,” He sat back, rolling you over onto your stomach, leaning over you. His hands slid up, supporting you from beneath by your breasts. “Don’t talk down about yourself, amor.” He slid your pants down just past the curve of your ass, pushing your panties aside.

He freed his aching erection, slowly sliding it in past your wet folds. You buried your face in the cushions, hands gripping at anything they could while he mercifully thrusted into you. His pace was slow, sensual, and intimate.

“‘M feeling good, Carlos-” You murmured in a half-assed manner, your brain already foggy.

“Yeah? Is that right?” He leaned down, hands sliding down to your hips. His mouth was right beside your ear. “Do you wanna come?”

“Yes- Fuck, Carlos… Please let me come!” You lifted your head just enough to where your words weren’t muffled in the cushions. He picked up his pace, teasing your nipples again until he felt you release around him, your whole body spasming.

Carlos, like the gentleman he was, let you ride out your high before pulling out and releasing onto your back. He kissed all along your shoulder blades before getting up to grab a towel to clean you both up.

“You did so good, Y/N…” He praised as he wiped down your sensitive skin.

—

GEORGE RUSSELL - GR63

It felt like that damn dress had been teasing George for weeks now. Everyday he’d pass by the boutique on his way to the coffee shop to buy you your favorite breakfast, and everyday the beautiful satin dress sat there, waiting for some buyer to snatch it.

He was surprised at how long it lasted. It was a form-fitting dress that had a long slit to the mid thigh, and a low collar. He knew at first glance you’d look absolutely beautiful in it. Finally, he caved. The dress was on sell and the place was crowded— It was like a sign. If he didn’t buy it right then, he’d never get to buy it… Ever.

So, that morning, he returned with both a dress and your breakfast. “I got you something I know you’ll love.” George told you with a huge grin, kissing your forehead. You had just woken up, evident by your pajamas consisting of an oversized shirt and shorts.

You tried it on after you finished eating. It was pretty, but you felt… Wrong. It hugged you in what you thought were all the wrong places, and your chest just wasn’t big enough to fill out the top of it. You sighed in frustration, stepping out of the bathroom to show it off.

“You look…” He trailed off, his entire expression taken aback.

“It’s too tight.” You spun in the mirror, trying to look at it from an angle that satisfied you. “And then… It’s not tight enough here! My boobs are too small.”

He could sense your frustration. George stood up from his spot on the edge of the bed, standing behind you in the mirror. His hands trailed up to cup your chest, kissing your neck. “Do you know what I see?” He looked at you in the mirror, locking eyes with your reflection. “A perfect woman.”

“George…”

“No,” He cut you off, turning you around. He suddenly dropped to his knees, arms wrapped around your legs as he looked up at you, eyes sultry and desperate. Your breath hitched as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Your body is perfect.” He hiked the skirt of the dress up, pushing it to your hips with a single command, “Hold this up.”

You gripped the fabric to prevent it from falling down. You felt exposed as his hot breath fanned over your panties. He ran his thumb over the growing wet spot, the sensation sending a twitch through his cock. He swallowed thickly, trying not to lose himself right there. Fuck, you were so beautiful.

“Can I?” He questioned mindlessly, his voice just slightly higher than normal. He sounded utterly desperate for you. For just a taste.

“Yes.” You replied earnestly. He held your hips, kissing you through your panties first. George always made it his goal to please you, just because it made him feel good too. But right now he knew you needed it.

He slid your panties down to your ankles, letting you step one heeled foot out so that you wouldn’t unintentionally trip yourself up. He blew cold air against your folds, making you shudder out a moan of his name.

He decided to test the waters by pushing his index finger in, listening and feeling for just how wet you were. After doing a bit of gauging, George pulled his finger out and dove in with his tongue. He shut his eyes, relaxing back on his calves as he thoroughly tasted your pretty cunt.

It didn’t take much to push you over the edge. After a few more rather carnal licks of your most sensitive areas, the knot inside your stomach snapped in half. George moaned as you came, pressing his nose into your clit, inhaling your scent. He stood quickly to prevent you from falling, scooping you into his arms and helping you sit up on the edge of the bed.

“Holy shit-”

“Now can you tell how sexy you are to me?” You shook your head, eyes slightly wide. That was not at all what you expected.

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

You and Oscar, your kindhearted boyfriend, were enjoying a nice lunch at home. But you just had to ruin it by making him choke on his food when you dared to ask, “Why do you always fuck me from behind?”

He stared at you silently, wondering if you really just asked that. Finally, he wiped his mouth and cleared his throat, “Sorry?”

“You always fuck me face down. Why?” You were somewhat embarrassed that this had been plaguing your mind.

“It’s embarrassing,” He muttered softly, the tips of his ears and his cheeks visibly red.

“Is it because my boobs are too small? Is it my face? Be honest.”

“No-!” He waved his hands defensively, and then scratched the back of his neck. With another clearing of the throat, he finally answered. Except it was an incoherent mumble.

“What?”

“I like coming on your back-!” He blurted out louder, taking you by surprise. “It has nothing to do with your tits or your face, I just like seeing my cum on your back.” He got quieter near the end, looking down at his empty plate.

“Oh.” You blinked. It was your turn to act taken aback. “I thought maybe it was because my chest is too small to get off.”

“No, I think your chest is just fine.” He said, starting to feel more comfortable in such a conversation. “You know, I can still appreciate your chest even when I take you from behind.”

You raised a brow, and one thing led to another…

Now you’re bent over the table, all the dishes pushed off to the side. Oscar’s as deep into your hole as he can get without breaking you in half, his thrusts slow and caring, Your upper half is twisted to the side, letting him kiss you ever so gently. His hands groped your bare chest, moaning against your lips as he pinched your pretty nipples.

“You feel so good,” So comfortable and warm around him, your walls fluttering with every uttered praise. “You’re so pretty— So fucking pretty,” His voice was slightly high pitched from arousal, trying to focus on making you feel good.

You shuddered, one hand on the table and the other gripping his arm, trying so hard to keep yourself balanced. His lips slowly moved back to your ear, leaving soft kisses in the spot behind it. Your mind was starting to get overwhelmed with all these sensations, your orgasm building up in your stomach.

“Osc-” You bit your lip to stifle a considerably loud cry, your eyes twitching as you got closer and closer to the edge. You were just trying to hold out long enough to let the guy know, “I’m- Ah, coming-!” Your breath was airy, voice soft.

He continued his pace whilst he dropped a hand from your breast to your clit, rubbing little circles against the sensitive surface. It didn’t take much before you were shaking, falling forward with your forearms against the tabletop, your inevitable orgasm washing over you.

Oscar pulled his length out, painting your back like he always did. His touch was tender as he scooped your shaking body up, “D’you believe me now?” He muttered against your lips when you kissed. “I’ll help clean you up, pretty.”