#(mostly eights and nines out of ten ! ! ! ! ! !)

[outlying-hyppocrate]

hello beautiful world!! who is proud of me on this fine day!!

[honeypiehotchner]

Sleeping Beauty (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

Nobody look @ me this is the filthiest thing I've ever written I need to go take a cold shower

Summary: With the demanding jobs you both work, you and Hotch see each other more often when one of you is asleep. An idea pops into your head.

Warnings: SMUT mdni 18+ only etc, somnophilia (if that's not your cup of tea, feel free to scroll bc it's the entirety of this fic lmao), angst if you squint, established relationship, consent/ground rules are established before anything happens, fingering, oral (f recieving), unprotected sex (don't be like them), mentions of phone sex, dirty talk, Hotch is just pussy-whipped as y'all say

WC: 3.8k bc I clearly have no self-control

It started as a joke. Mostly.

Both of your jobs are demanding — you and Hotch knew this from the start. It was first date material, after all. The usual, surface-level questions including So, what do you do for work?

He told you later that he thought about giving you a vague answer, so as to not scare you away. But you had opened up first, said that your job at the courthouse meant your hours were long and somewhat unpredictable, no matter how hard everyone tried to stick to the 8 to 5 routine. There were nights you wouldn’t leave your desk until nearly eight. Hotch’s chest had tightened at that, even on the first date, the idea of you overworking yourself, but he’s no better.

You told him some nights it was a miracle if you got home before ten; he joked with you and said it was a miracle he made it home some nights at all.

It was like everything opened up from there. There was no pressure. If one of you had to stay late, it didn’t really matter, because the other probably had to as well. If one of you had to cancel or postpone dinner plans, it was fine, because nine times out of ten, the other was already on their way to calling for the same reason. 

It always makes the two of you laugh. The phone call the afternoon of the dinner plans, you laughing as you answer the phone to say, “Let me guess, raincheck?” His soft laughter, but apologetic all the same, “We just got called to New York.” And you expected it, so you said it was fine, right before your boss came knocking on your door, a frantic look in his eyes. “And I’m being summoned. Be safe in New York.” And Aaron’s ever-present gentlemanliness, “I’ll text you when I can. Go show them how it’s done.” You were grinning as you hung up, turning to your boss with an extra boost of confidence. “What do we have?”

As one can expect, this schedule, this careful dance the two of you have, means that nights together are rare, and the sex is, unfortunately, just as rare. Not that the two of you haven’t found other means— who knew Aaron’s dirty talk would somehow sound hotter through the phone when he’s timezones away, on a five minute break to call you and check in, and help you relax enough so you can sleep? But it’s not the same. It’s not the same as having him here.

And he is here, just not as often as you’d like, especially not when you’re awake. Ever since you started staying at his place — it’s closer to the courthouse, you tell yourself as an excuse, those five minutes make a big difference — you see him more often, but you mostly feel him. The dip of the mattress as he settles in to sleep beside you. The strong arm wrapping around your middle, pulling you toward him in his sleep, as if he needs to be certain you’re still there, even as he’s dreaming. The rustle of sheets as he scrambles to grab his phone to silence the incoming call, to get up and get dressed without waking you. 

It’s just a fact. The two of you see each other more when you’re sleeping. Isn’t that crazy?

So, who can blame you, when one night, half-asleep, only woken by Aaron’s soft nuzzling into your neck, you say, “Keep going.”

He freezes, lips just barely hovering over your pulsepoint, the place he loves to suck on, nip at, because he loves all of the little sounds he can draw out of you. 

When you’re awake.

“Honey,” he chuckles nervously, pulling back. “You’re asleep.”

“M’awake,” you protest, tossing your arms around him clumsily — as if that was going to prove your point.

He placates you with a soft kiss on your lips. “Sure, honey,” his laugh rumbles through his chest again as his hands smooth up your arms. “I believe you.”

“See?” you murmur, but your eyes are closed. There is no way you’ll remember this come morning. “You can keep going. Wanna feel you.”

He tenses. The idea is tempting, and that scares the shit out of him, which is exactly why his hands don’t move any lower than your arms. You’re practically asleep, for god’s sake. That’s taking advantage, and he will not be doing that.

“Maybe later,” he says gently, kissing your forehead this time. “I’m exhausted.”

You whine, but you bury your face in his chest, and your breathing slowly evens out. 

He sighs, wrapping his arms around you, wondering what in the world he’s going to do with you.

+++

You do remember it. Aaron thought you wouldn’t, and for a couple days he was convinced that you didn’t, until a rare night when he returned home to find you already there.

“Half-day,” you explain with an easy smile, meeting him at the door for a kiss. “Well, kind of. I brought some work with me. You know how it is.”

You’re rambling and he knows it. You know it, too, but you can do nothing to stop it. He knows you need to talk to him about something, but you don’t want to admit it. He knows how you work. 

Which infuriates you on a bad day. On a good day, it’s hot as hell.

Right now, it’s somehow a mix of both. All it takes is him sitting next to you on the couch, seemingly unbothered by your fidgeting, and one simple question.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Too many things,” you answer automatically, letting out a laugh and exhale at the same time. God, your chest feels so tight, and not in a good way. Since when are you this nervous to talk to Aaron? The man you’ve been seeing for well over a year now, the man who has been nothing but understanding with everything you’ve thrown his way, the man who is sitting right here with you, who knows exactly what your nervous rambling means and isn’t upset with you for it.

As if he can sense the anxiety rolling inside of you (and he can sense it), he reaches out to thread your fingers with his. “You can talk to me. Is it work?” You shake your head. “Is it us?”

“Kind of.”

“Is it the other night?”

Your eyes blow wide, giving you away entirely. Your eyes snap to his. “Seriously? Three questions? That’s how long it took you?”

He chuckles. “It would’ve only taken one, but I didn’t want to assume.”

“Cocky motherfucker,” you mutter, which only makes him laugh more. This is good. Lightening the mood is good. You don’t need to be so on edge about this, about what is most likely about to be Rejection City Central. “Okay. So. Yes. The other night.”

He nods, waiting patiently for you to get your words together.

“I feel like it was…too much.”

His eyebrows knit together. “Too much?” Nothing happened. Do you think something happened?

“I feel like I pushed too far, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry, we don’t have to harp on it anymore than this, I just— I felt like I was pushing you into doing something you don’t want to do. And I don’t want you to feel pressured—”

“Honey,” he stops you gently. “Hey, look at me.”

Slowly, you do, but there’s worry swimming in your eyes. 

“What do you remember?” he asks. He knows how it sounds, cryptic and probably a little scary, but he needs to fully see where your head is.

“Um,” you hesitate, your eyes darting away again. “I remember asking you to keep going and you saying no. Because I was asleep.”

He nods. “Okay.” He pauses, gathering his words. “Honey, we’ve never talked about that before, about doing anything when either of us is sleeping—”

“We don’t have to do it,” you immediately interrupt, clearly still with the wrong idea in your head. “It’s weird, I get it—”

“It’s not weird, not to me,” Aaron says, remembering the way desire flared in him. He had secretly hoped you would still be awake that night, not because he wants you to deprive yourself of sleep, but because he wanted to have you. “And it’s especially not weird if it’s something you want, too.”

You pause, staring at him wide-eyed. “Wait. You. You’d want to?”

“Absolutely,” he says, trying not to sound so unbelievably wrecked just by the thought. “But I want us to talk about it first. Set ground rules. Figure things out first.” He pauses, squeezing your hand. “Believe me, I wanted to.”

Your lips part just a little in disbelief. “You did?”

He nods seriously. “Of course I did. Do you have any idea how good you look sleeping in one of my old shirts and nothing else?”

You smirk, a wicked look brewing in your eyes. “I have an idea.”

He pulls you over into his lap for a bruising kiss, one hand cradling your jaw. It’s intoxicating, his tongue on yours, all gasps and moans as he rocks your body against his.

“Wait,” you gasp, his lips chasing yours as you pull back. “I want to talk about it.”

“We will,” he bites out, just before he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth. “But I want to taste you first.”

+++

You do talk about it. You lay the ground rules, for both of you. 

Aaron orders a new pair of panties just for the occasion, so that when you wear them, it’s a signal. He can do what he wants. For him, it’s slightly different, since he always sleeps in boxers, so if he’s not wearing anything, that’s his signal. He wants to be woken up; you’re happy to be mostly asleep, though you know your body will wake you up and want to stay awake to drink him in. 

And, of course, if when either of you wake up, if it’s too much and it needs to stop immediately, you have your safe words, but a simple no, stop will work given the added complication of being asleep.

It’s exhilarating, thinking about it. Planning everything out. Your body practically buzzes with need. 

But you have no idea when it will happen. That’s the whole point, of course, but it’s complicated with your work schedules. The strange hours and days you both work has never pissed you off so badly as it does now. 

It’s as if your schedules are mocking you. Every time it feels like there might be a night where something could happen, something comes up. Aaron is called away, a case goes sideways and delays his return, or you get slammed at work and don’t make it home in time before he’s called away, or you get home in such a bad mood that if he even tried to touch you, you might lay into him.

It just never seems to line up properly, none of it. You start to think it was foolish to want it so badly, that you should’ve known better with your schedules.

Especially because now, it’s quickly approaching week two of Aaron being away on a case in Florida, and week two of you practically living at his place since going back to your own apartment feels too empty.

You miss him. It’s an aching feeling, one you don’t get often because you two make things work, and because you’re usually too busy to feel it, but it’s here now. This is the second-longest case he’s been away on. And because the universe is torturing you, work is calm for the moment, so you don’t even have that as a distraction.

All you have are Aaron’s old law school t-shirts, a bed that still, miraculously, smells like him after a week of his absence, and a pair of lace panties that seem laughable as you pull them on.

You curl up against Aaron’s pillows, sighing deeply. When you close your eyes, it’s almost like he’s next to you.

+++

Hotch is bone-tired. It’s been a long time since a case has been this wild, full of this many twists, and dragging on so long that it’s starting to piss him off. All he wanted to do was finish this case quickly and get home to his girl, but the unsub had to drag things out. For a week and a half.

It’s so late when they get back to Virginia that he doesn’t bother texting you, not wanting to risk the sound waking you from your no-doubt peaceful slumber. He smiles faintly as he drives toward his apartment, thinking of you sleeping so softly, probably twisted in the sheets from how restless you get on your own.

God, he misses you.

He’s quiet as he unlocks the door and quickly silences the alarm. The apartment is dark as he sets his briefcase down on the couch, shrugging off his suit jacket as he heads down the hall. The door to his room is cracked just barely, and soft snores are coming from a lump in the middle of the bed.

He chuckles to himself as he enters, stealing a glance at you as he walks to his closet. He quickly undresses, not bothering to hang anything up until morning. Right now, he just wants to be next to you.

With just his boxers on, he heads back to the bed, lifting the sheet and— He freezes.

You’re in your usual pajamas: his shirt and your underwear. Except this time, it’s a very specific pair of underwear. A specific pair of lace panties that he remembers ordering, probably spending too much money on, but he didn’t care. He wanted them to be special. And they are.

And you’re wearing them. 

He stands there like he’s seen a ghost, his brain momentarily short circuiting as he tries to compose himself. He swallows.

He’s only human. It’s been so long since he’s seen you, even longer since he’s touched you, or even got to hear you touch yourself. The case was too hectic for even your usual phone sex, and he didn’t realize how wild it was driving him until now.

He tosses the sheet back gently, watching as you curl further into his pillow, your body registering the sudden chill.

Slowly, he crawls over you, settling himself at the end of the bed. He can only imagine how crazed he looks right now, the way his eyes can’t leave your legs. He wants to drink you. Devour you in every way possible.

His movements are gentle, not wanting to wake you, not yet. You said you wouldn’t mind being asleep the entire time, but he wants to rouse you, wants you to really feel it even if for a moment, but not yet.

Right now, he stretches your legs out, turning you on your back. You make no noise other than a content sigh. He smirks as he spreads your legs, lowering his mouth to his favorite place.

He plans to take his time. He has all the time in the world, after all. You’re sleeping soundly.

He mouths at your core over your panties, just barely silencing his own groan. That would be something, waking you up because he can’t keep himself in line. He can already hear the playful annoyance in your sleep-filled voice if that were to happen.

Returning to his task, he drinks you in as he likes, smothering your inner thighs in kisses, even leaving a love bite or two there. It’s a private, guilty pleasure you both have. He loves to leave marks, you love to have marks. But you’re both adults and you absolutely cannot be caught with a hickey at the courthouse.

So, he leaves them here. In a place where only the two of you can see. It wakes something primal in him, seeing the little reddened marks where he’s irritated the skin enough for a bruise to form later. He smooths his thumb over the spot, pressing. If you were awake, that would earn him a little squeak. Right now, all he hears are your even breaths.

He hooks a finger into your panties, pulling them to the side, nearly cursing aloud at how beautiful you are. He has to take a moment, just admiring, his thumb gently stroking you, and already glistening. He pops the digit into his mouth, eyes rolling at the taste. You’re addicting like nothing he has ever known.

He tests the waters some more, blowing onto your core, watching in awe as your body reacts instinctively, even in your sleep. It’s mesmerizing.

He can’t wait any longer, so he doesn’t try. He surges forward, finally tasting you, finally lifting your legs to rest over his shoulders. He relaxes into his favorite place, sucking gently on your clit before dipping his tongue inside you. You don’t even shift in your sleep.

He wonders, then, if he can make you cum like this. In your sleep.

Suddenly, and albeit selfishly, he wants to try.

He takes his time inserting a finger into you, watching as you take him in so easily. He adds a second right away, knowing how much you hate it when he teases you with just one. Your walls clench around him, but your heat envelops him, and he’s dizzy with it.

He circles your clit with his tongue as he thrusts his fingers, curling just slightly until you clench, your body telling him he’s found what he was searching for. And he doesn’t relent, only massages that spot inside as his mouth works outside. He adds a third finger, your body welcoming the stretch, pulling him in.

You shift, and he comes up for air, watching your face, but you don’t wake. You melt into the pillows as his fingers continue their pace.

Relieved in some twisted way, he returns to sucking your clit, doubling down, forcing you toward that edge. He almost thinks it won’t happen, that there’s no possible way you’ll climax and not wake up, until he feels those tell-tale spasms, and he knows you’re close.

He groans into you, knowing how that sends you over when you’re awake, and it works even now. Your walls clench around him, spasming through the shocks of your orgasm, and he doesn’t stop, milking out every last bit, wanting to drown in the way you taste, the way your body relents.

You’re a dream. He presses a loving kiss to your inner thigh, disbelief in his every breath. Gently, he removes his fingers, and tugs your panties down, tossing them to the floor. 

When he crawls back up the bed, you’re still sleeping soundly, but that won’t do.

He presses his erection into your hip, presses a kiss to your jaw, whispering, “Honey, I need you.”

+++

You’re floating on pure bliss. Dreams are rare these days, and dreams of Aaron are even rarer — which just feels rude, honestly. But this one. This one is the best you’ve ever had.

Only, you realize you aren’t dreaming at all. The sensations are real. The hot breath in your ear, the slick want between your thighs, the hard press of Aaron’s cock as he rocks against your hip.

But you’re so tired. You can’t bring your eyes to open. You barely have enough energy to turn toward him, to wrap an arm around his neck, toss your leg over his, pressing your core right against him. The growl he lets out is delicious.

The next thing you know, the boxers are no longer separating you, and the head of his cock is parting your lips. 

You sigh in content as he thrusts into you, hitting you so deep, staying there just to grind his hips into yours.

“Missed you,” you murmur, hands clumsily tugging on his hair to pull his lips to yours. He goes without protest, licking into your mouth and you gasp in surprise, tasting yourself. “Did you…?”

He smirks against your lips. “Did you know you can have an orgasm in your sleep?”

Your eyes fly open at that, vision adjusting in the dark, but it’s easy to see the smug look on Aaron’s face. And then he pulls his hips back, slamming into you again and causing your eyes to roll back. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, the words so gentle and soothing, a stark comparison to how brutal his pace and depth of his thrusts are. “Breathtaking. My sleeping beauty. Can you give me another one? Need to feel you again.”

You’re awake, but nowhere near alert enough to have any wits about you when he talks like that. You nod dumbly, rocking your hips in time with his, but your movements are sloppy, the pleasure rising at a blinding pace.

“Come on, honey,” he murmurs, capturing your lips again, his tongue searching for yours. “Just one more, then you can go back to sleep.”

Something about that does it for you. He thrusts as deep as he can go, and your body crashes, writhing against him as he holds you in place, grinding into you.

“There you go, so beautiful, honey,” he guides you through it, soaking up all of your little breathy moans.

But like every time when you have an orgasm (or two) when you’re already on the verge of sleep, your eyes are struggling to stay open.

“Aaron…” you whine, clinging to him. “Keep going.”

“Oh, I will, honey,” he chuckles, pressing a soothing kiss to your forehead before flipping you onto your back again, so he can hover over you. “You just sleep for me, okay?”

You nod, the action already taking too much of your energy as your eyelids slam closed and refuse to lift again. He moves inside you, slower now, just a gentle pace, lulling you back to sleep.

It doesn’t take long for him to spill inside of you, and you’re still somewhat conscious, given the happy little sigh he hears you let out when he cums inside you. You’ve always loved the feeling. 

Feeling wrecked, he slowly peels himself off of you, heading into the bathroom to wet a washcloth. When he returns, you’re back on your side, hugging his pillow again. He shushes you with gentle praise while he cleans you up before tucking you back in.

After cleaning himself and slipping boxers back on, the exhaustion hits him in full force, and he sleeps soundly with you tucked into his chest, clinging to him like a koala.

[littlejackles]

“what’s the number, bunny?”

dean’s voice is thick—mostly wrecked from fucking you through six loads already. he has a hand on your throat, loose but ever so present, and the other digging into your thigh, holding you wide as he ruts in deep and heavy.

the marker mark on your stomach is smudged, a shaky 7 circled in black.

you choke on a moan, your lips trembling, brain fogged and sliding in and out of language. “s-sev—seven,” you gasp. “dean, it’s—seven.”

sam chuckles from his seat next to the table, leaning in close so his breath brushes your ear.

“and how many are we aiming for?” he says it like he’s asking what you want for breakfast. his palm strokes slow down your chest, circling your abused nipples, still shiny from his tongue.

you whimper; your eyes dart to the marker in his hand.

“ten,” you breathe. “fuck, please—ten, ten, i can take it—”

“you sure?” dean grits out, slamming in deeper making you scream. “you said that at five, then you begged to stop at six.”

you were crying by now, legs trembling against the belt around your thighs, but your hips keep rolling, greedily and slick. your cunt makes a messy, wet shhlickk sound every time dean pushes in and out.

sam grabs your chin, turns your face toward him. “look me in the eye,” he says. “tell me you want all ten.”

you blink through tears, lip wobbling, and voice breaking. “i want all ten, please, i want you to fill me ‘til it’s leaking, ‘til you can't fuckin’ see the number anymore—just cum, all over me—in me—please—”

sam’s smile is cruel, as he uncaps the sharpie, drawing a lazy 8 beside the seven.

“dean, give her her eighth,” he says, smirking.

“already there,” dean grunts, pounding faster now. his balls are slapping your ass, his breath a rough pant over your shoulder. “f-fuck—bunny, take it. take it all.”

“give it to me,” you whine, arching. “please, i’m so empty, fill me, want it—i wanna feel it spill out—”

he groans, spine jolting, cock twitching deep inside you—he then growls, grinding in close, hips flush to yours as you feel the senstation.

all hot and heavy, spilling into your already-soaked pussy. your back arches, body trembling as you clench around him, milking every drop, even as it leaks out around the stretch of him.

you continue to sob and twitch, trying to breathe since you feel like you're on cloud nine.

sam taps your cheek with the sharpie. “what do you say, bunny?”

you swallow, breath catching. “thank you for number eight…”

he smirks at the sight, cooing at your weak voice.

“good girl.” dean finally pulls out—slowly, cum dripping in strings from your hole to his cock. you whine, feeling it ooze down your ass onto the table.

sam grabs your chin again, thumb dragging across your lip. “now ask nice.” you blink, dazed. “ask for number nine, pretty.”

you hiccup, and nod—throat raw from yelling.

“please,” you whisper. “need nine, need both of you, please, please fuck me, stuff me—i wanna feel it all night. wanna be messy, wanna wear it.”

dean’s already stroking himself again, watching the spill of cum still leaking out of you with a groan.

“shit,” he mutters. “we should’ve started earlier.”

sam chuckles and pulls off his belt.

“plenty of time left in the night.”

tags below ❤︎

@soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @bruisedfig @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume @bejeweledinterludes @k-slla @lunaleah @pieandflannel @liiiilsss @that-stanford-girlie @lanasgirlfr @angelicjackles

[hysteria-things]

smut w chris and goody 2 shoes reader who always acts so smart and innocent w people then acts like a brat to chris?

he gets sick of it and roughly fucks her into her place , caring less for her pleasure and using her just so she knows how much of a slut she is!

LESSON LEARNED

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: brat tamer!chris x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you get taught a lesson when you act like a brat in public.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, spanking, humiliation, face fucking, dry humping, squirting, p in v, rough sex, degradation, a sprinkle of praising, overstimulation, unprotected sex (no bueno!)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,502

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: HAPPY KINKTOBER!!!

this is based off one of my blurbs from a while ago😜

your reputation to others is excellent. you’re a nice girl, who is outgoing and will always follow directions or help whoever is in need. goody two shoes is what people mostly describe you as, which isn’t that far off. however, when you’re with your significant other, your bratty side slips up.

“let me go!” you tell chris like you’re a toddler, stomping your feet while he leads you to his bedroom. “i’m being serious!”

opening the door, he lets go of your wrist to have you lead inside, yelping when his palm smacks your ass to usher you more quickly before bending you over the edge of his computer desk. pouting your lips, you hear his heavy breathing as he forcibly pulls up your skirt. you know what’s coming. your punishment.

your eyes start to well up, feeling the slightest bit bad that you acted like a brat in front of his friends, but you’re one of all things. “o-one.” you say between a sob when your boyfriend’s hand slaps your ass for the first time out of many to come tonight. you start spewing out apologies, wiggling in his grip that’s pinned your hands behind your back. “i’m sorry, okay?” you admit, his hand spanking you once more. “i didn’t mean to!”

“if you didn’t mean to you wouldn’t have done it in the first place.” chris snarls back, followed by another smack. “keep counting,” he says through gritted teeth.

SPANK.

your cries echo throughout the room as he continues to punish your reddening bottom. each slap lands with accuracy, leaving its mark on your tender skin. your tears fall on your cheeks now, mixing with the stinging sensation. “seven... eight... nine!" you wail, your voice hoarse from yelling. your body shakes with each impact, trying to squirm away another time. again, no use.

his palm connects again, the force jolting you. the pain courses to your core, pussy throbbing in response with a mix of mercy and arousal. “ten! i swear i won’t do it again!” you plea, desperate for at least some sympathy. alas, chris remains careless, his anger still fresh.

he acts like he didn’t even hear your lame apology, his focus only on disciplining you for your actions. raising his hand high, he prepares himself for another smack against your now-colored rear. “eleven.” he says under his breath, starting to count for you. the sound of skin meeting skin chimes, along with your pained whimper. he pauses for a moment, letting you take a breath to let your punishment sink in — and there’s no way out of it. then, without warning, his hand comes down again, striking your already sore ass with a vicious hit.

“twelve.” chris states clearly, his tone lacking mercy. he continues this harsh pattern, each spank followed by a number. “thirteen... fourteen... fifteen...” the more he counts, the more you sob.

“sixteen… seventeen!” you take back your job, shouting after each brutal strike. your body trembles, feeling like every nerve is in pain. the heat from your bruised cheeks radiate down to your thighs and the folds of your pussy. despite being punished, you feel thrilling and excited all in one. “eighteen... nineteen... twenty!” you choke out, your voice barely audible over your heavy breathing. the tears keep streaming, skin shining from sweat.

by the time his hand falls for the twentieth time, your bottom is a crimson mess. the sting lingers, knowing it’ll be that way for days. yet, you’ve never been so turned on.

chris finally stops after the last spank, admiring his work. your ass is a beautiful shade of red, the perfect blend of pain and pleasure. he can see the arousal glistening between your thighs, a clear visual of what this has been doing for you.

with a firm grip, he grabs your hair and pulls your head back, forcing you to look at him. his eyes stare into yours, filled with a mixture of anger and desire. “what a fucking brat.” he sneers, his other hand roughly groping your numbing ass cheek. he releases your hair, pushing himself off of you with so much force you fall to the ground, landing with a thud. from the impact, your butt stings even more.

curling into a ball, you wrap your arms in front of your legs and cry softly. “i-i’m sorry, chris.” you whine, voice shaking. the humiliation of being bent over and spanked like a naughty child, combined with the intense physical sensations, leaves you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

despite the pain, you can't ignore the ache between your legs. your cunt throbs with a need that it’s confusing. you’ve never felt this way before, and it scares you.

chris watches you on the floor, a smirk playing on his lips. he knows exactly what's going through your mind. “get up.” he snaps, standing tall and towering over you. “and get on the bed; on your knees. now.” he waits, expecting a protest, but he doesn’t receive one. that means it’s working.

once you're in position, he comes over, his cock already half hard. “if you're going to act like a brat, you'll learn how to get treated like one, too.” chris explains, running a hand through your hair. he unbuckles his jeans so they fall freely onto the floor, dick springing out right in front of you while gripping your hair and pushing his tip against your lips. “open up.”

trembling, you part your lips, allowing chris to guide his thick cock past them. the taste of pre-cum fills your mouth as he thrusts deeper, hitting the back of your throat. “mmph.” you gag slightly around his length, eyes glossy. you don’t pull away, of course. instead, you relax your jaw to accommodate him.

he sets a steady pace, fucking your face with elongated strokes. each snap of the hips sends vibrations through your head, making your nose pressed against his pelvis. your hands grasp at the sheets below, wanting to hold onto something since he’s in full domination. you’re uncomfortable, but your pussy continues to clench with need, juices dripping down your thighs. without thinking, you start humping the blanket to try and get friction on your clit like a bitch in heat.

groaning in satisfaction as he uses your mouth for his pleasure, he can feel your throat tighten around him, fighting to breathe around his girth. “that’s it, take it all.” he grunts, holding your head in place as he ruts in and out of your stretched lips. “this is what brats like you deserve.”

taking his free hand, he reaches down to cup your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. the sight of you, tear-streaked and submissive, only makes him want more. noticing your desperate humping, he chuckles deeply. “look at you, getting off like a pretty little thing. you do enjoy this, don't you?”

you moan muffled around chris’ cock as he continues to use your mouth, driving you wild. “mmph! mmph!” you manage to respond, nodding frantically at his question. your hips buck harder against the bed, chasing the friction your clit needs. your pussy clenches tightly, a clear substance gushing out to soak the bedding beneath you.

seeing you drench the sheets, he grins, knowing he's pushed you to ultimate submission. he speeds up his thrusts, fucking your face with more power. “yeah.” he grunts, watching you fall apart beneath him. “you filthy slut. show me how much you love taking this dick like a good little whore.”

his words are degrading, but you enjoy the hell out of it. your mind goes blank, focusing on the feeling of his cock in your mouth and the desperate need pulsing between your thighs. sensing your climax, he pulls out abruptly, leaving you gasping for air and drooling. before you can recover, he flips you over onto your back and yanks your legs apart.

panting heavily, you stare up at chris in a daze, your body still shaking from the intensity of the previous actions. the sudden loss of his dick in your mouth leaves you feeling empty. you. want. more.

the exposing of your dripping cunt has his eyes widen, as if he’s a kid in a candy shop. “jesus, chris.” you whimper, feeling ashamed by how pathetic you seem right now. “please.” you’re desperate, not even sure what you're begging for anymore. release? punishment? his harsh words? all you know is that you’re craving every bit of him.

chris takes in the sight of your exposed, fluttering hole, his horniness shooting straight to his dick. “you want it?” he murmurs, his fingers tracing the swollen slit of your pussy. “you want my cock inside you; stretching out every inch of this needy pussy?”

when you’re about to answer, he lines himself up and plows in deep, burying himself in one stroke. a guttural groan rips from his chest at the tightness gripping him. “holy shit, you were made for this.” chris exhales, each pump of his hips driving him impossibly deeper. “taking my cock like the perfect slut you are.”

a sharp cry tickles your throat as he thrusts into you, the sudden stretch sending waves of pleasure and pain through your core. your nails dig into the sheets as he fucks you, each ruthless thrust hitting that sweet spot inside you and sending stars flying behind your eyelids. “yeah! oh, fuck, yeah!” you shout, your hips bucking fast to meet his brutal rhythm. “making me feel so good!”

the filthy words spill from your lips before it’s too late, fueled by the overwhelming pleasure you’re experiencing. you’ve never felt so full. his cock is hard inside you, pounding repeatedly against your cervix with each stroke.

his eyes flash with possession as he rails into you, living for the way your cunt clenches around him, gripping him deep. his balls slap against your ass with every violent thrust, the lewd sound mixing with your wanton cries. “mhm, scream for me.” he says, angling his hips to hit your g-spot just right. “let everyone hear what a cock sleeve you are for me.”

leaning down to your chest, he takes a nipple and swirls his tongue around it. his other hand snakes between your bodies to rub circles over your clit, wanting to push you over the edge. “cum on my cock, you filthy girl.” chris demands, his voice filled with lust.

each bite to your nipple sends sparks of ecstasy through your veins while his stimulation on your clit has you close to the brink of release. “oh god, oh god! i’m-i’m gonna—” your words turn into incoherent babbling as the waves of your orgasm crash over you. your pussy clamps down viciously on his length, milking him as your body shakes and becomes limp beneath him.

the grip on your clit tightens, prolonging your pleasure as he chases his release. with a final, sharp thrust, he buries himself and cums inside you, filling your spasming cunt with his seed. his cock throbs with each string until he collapses on top of you, his weight pushing you further into the mattress. “fuck, that was amazing.” he pants, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “and it’s all for me.” he whispers in your ear, referring to your body.

after a moment of silence, he pulls out with a wet pop. a trail of cum flows, painting your thighs with its sticky substance. he rolls off of you with a satisfied smile, but bites his lip when he spots his cum on you. “turn around and show me that pretty ass.”

“what—” you’re cut off when he guides you on your hands and knees, in the position he wants you in. his favorite; ass up with your pussy on full display. a shiver runs down your spine. it was silly to think you were getting off the hook that easy.

he shifts behind you, hands grasping your thighs as he aligns himself between your spread legs. one finger traces the marks he left earlier, your hips backing into him unknowingly. “so eager. tell me what you need, slut. beg for it.” he pushes the head of his cock against your entrance, letting you feel his growing erection.

chris waits patiently, your body practically calling his name to be filled again. he can see the desperation in the way you arch your back, presenting yourself even more. “you know what to say.” he points out. “i want to hear those dirty words from your smart mouth.”

he delivers a sharp smack to one cheek, watching the flesh jiggle and flush pink under the force. he massages the sting away, waiting for you to give him what he wants. “please, chris.” you pout, feeling embarrassed about how at this moment you can’t live without his cock. “please, fuck me again, baby. use me however you want.” it seems like you don’t know who you are anymore. hours ago you were tough and mighty, but now you’re small and submissive.

pulling you back against him, he lines up his dick with your soaked sex. “that’s it, princess.” he says, his breath hot against your ear. “swallowing my cock like the good girl i know.”

bullying himself inside of your used hole, your eyes roll back from being filled with him again. just as before, you wrap deliciously around him. he sets a quick pace, the sound of your bodies conjoining bouncing off of the walls. “you’re still so tight.” he hisses.

your mouth falls open in a silent scream as he slams into you, the wideness spreading you open and hitting spots you didn't know existed. it’s almost too much, but you love it. “yes! yes! yes!” you cry out, meeting each of his powerful thrusts. “h-harder.”

the explicit sounds of your guys’ love making fill the air, conjoining with your moans and the slap of skin. you can feel another orgasm building, your walls fluttering wildly around his base. “do-don’t stop. don't ever stop.” you babble incoherently, lost in the trance of ecstasy. “i’m g-gonna—”

feeling your gummy walls squeeze around him, chris is determined to bring you to release. “cum for me.” he insists, brunette strands sticking to his forehead. “come on, give it to me.”

he can feel his own high approaching, his balls tightening as he nears. he holds back, wanting to put you before him. walls spasming, your moans become a higher pitch. “i’m cumming! fuck, i’m—” you don’t finish your sentence when the familiar ring of white moves down his shaft. chris fills you up one more time shortly after, ropes of cum shooting into your womb.

exhausted is an understatement. you know damn well you’re going to be walking from side to side for days, possibly weeks. “i love you so fucking much.” he breathes from next to you, kissing your shoulder. you hum in response, shutting your eyes. if that didn’t make you learn your lesson, you don’t know what will.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

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[no-144444]

whiplash- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist.

pls remember this is fiction and purely for fun!

(HOLY SHIT THEY WON THE CONSTRUCTORS!!!!!!!)

(dw i have many fics planned for the end of season stuff, so be prepared for them to come out in the next week or so!)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve

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Recovery after the crash was pretty straight forward, no bright lights, too much screen time, or loud noise for 2 weeks, and thankfully, you had a month off. 

Only problem? Someone had to take care of you for those two weeks, and that someone was Oscar Piastri. 

And what a roommate he was. He unloaded your things from the car as you unlocked the door to your house, letting him in, and he didn’t let you carry a thing. He sent you straight to bed while he made some sort of bland, diet-approved dinner for the two of you and brought it up to you with very little speaking. You enjoyed it though, listening to some random youtube video at a very low volume, and then you just slept, despite the pounding headache you had. 

Oscar stayed downstairs, looking around the place. You had a lot of books, which he realised made a lot of sense. You were often reading on race weekends. You had a lot of artwork as well, mostly from what he assumed to be local artists in Monaco, and some from your home country. He walked through room after room, finding more about you as he went on. You liked a specific band, you collected records, you liked stationary (you had a lot of extras in your office), you had two of the same pairs of sunglasses (he assumed it was because you often lost them), you had very few pictures of yourself with friends, but many of just your friends, you had nothing to do with racing anywhere in your home. The only room that had anything remotely racing related was your simulator room, which just had your sim and some team merch you’d been given. He wondered where you kept all of your suits and helmets from other years, where you kept the trophies. 

“You’re snooping,” you said from behind him. He jumped, turning to you. The whole house felt so suffocatingly you. You were around each corner, things that reminded him of you were everywhere. It wasn’t easy, like in the garage. He was out of his comfort zone , out of his routine. His plan had been to go home for the break, but now he was taking care of the pretty girl he spoke to over the radio. The bottom line was that he was scared. He was scared he wouldn’t get over the crush, he was scared you’d reject him, and he was scared of his feelings being too obvious and scaring you away. He couldn’t let his months of hard work go to waste over something as silly as his feelings, and he wasn’t going to leave you high and dry without support, half way through the season with a team who didn’t like you. You did look quite cute though, even in the dim light (he’d gone around and closed all of the curtains in the house, only allowing a small amount of light in), tired and groggy, but pretty all the same. 

“Just trying to find my bearings,” he smiled. “Did you sleep?”

You nodded. “I’ll show you the guest room,” you said, leaving the doorway and walking away. He followed behind. The conversation didn’t flow as easily as it had before. Oscar felt… surrounded. By you. And he wasn’t sure he was totally upset by it. Everything in this house was you. It made sense, it was your house. He just wasn't… used to it. He followed behind you, staring at the ground as you both walked up the stairs. 

“You don’t keep any racing stuff in the house,” he stated. 

You shrugged. “Why should I?”

“It’s your passion?” he suggested. 

You just stayed silent. “This is your room. There’s a bathroom connected, so if you need anything, just tell me. You have free reign of the house, just obviously not my bedroom… so yeah.” 

He nodded. “Thank you, do you need anything for your head?” 

You shook your head. “Sleep.”

He nodded. “Text me if you need anything-”

“No screens,” you reminded him. He frowned. 

You couldn’t shout, and neither could he, neither of you could text, but you had to communicate somehow. He had an idea. “I have an idea,” he said. 

You stared at him expectantly. 

“Walkie talkies.”

And you laughed. You genuinely, unashamedly, fully, laughed. And it was a sound he would do anything to hear again. The tension broke. The house didn’t feel as suffocating as it once had, and it felt as easy as being in the garage. He felt himself smile, smiling at you. He liked seeing you smile, the kind of smile that showed your teeth, that made your nose scrunch, that made him see the small glimpse of you. 

Not the racer, not the fighter, not the victor. You. 

“That works,” you nodded, the smile still on your lips. You looked down for a moment. “Thank you for taking care of me, Oscar. It means a lot. No one’s ever… done this for me.”

He frowned despite himself and cursed himself when he saw that you noticed. “I’m happy to be here. I’m happy that I get to make sure you’re ok.”

You offered him a sad smile, and left him to ‘find his bearings’ in his room. He huffed as he sat on the bed, looking around the room. There was a vanity with a mirror (we wouldn’t use it, but maybe he'd put the sunscreen his sister had been bugging him to use there, just to see if he’d remember to use it in the mornings), aa bed (a king bed, which he was very happy with), bedside tables with some random lights, a wardrobe, a mirror, white walls, hardwood floors, and a big window seat. He looked out into the garden, and it was green. Plants, fruits, vegetables, everything. So that was your hobby. Gardening. 

He chuckled. You were full of surprises. He wanted to figure every last one of them out. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

The next few days went quickly, mostly you two were on different schedules. Oscar was working during the way (no rest for any McLaren employee, especially not when you were P2 in the standings), while you slept and stayed up during the night. You went into the garden, caring for your plants all night long, reheated leftovers from Oscar (he was a surprisingly good cook), and listened to podcasts and music (at a low volume). 

That all changed when he found you in the garden at 2am, soft music playing as you collected plums from your trees, he smiled. 

“Busy?” he called out. You shook your head, placing them in the basket. “I didn’t realise you were such a gardener.”

“It’s peaceful,” you admitted. “Slow.”

“A racecar driver likes going slowly?” he questioned. You rolled your eyes, sitting beside him on the bench.

“Not all of us are the same on and off track, alright?”

He chuckled. “Fine, you got me there,” he admitted, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “What else does F1 driver Y/n Y/l/n like to do?”

And the air shifted for some inexplicable reason. He was too close to you, too personal, too… something. You felt everything tenfold, every hair on the back of your neck standing to full attention. He didn’t mean to make it sound flirty, surely. You told yourself. 

He wasn’t even sure of that himself. 

“I like dancing,” you answered, your voice soft and small, softer than he’d ever heard you. “When I was a kid I was a dancer. I gave it up for racing, but I still enjoy it.” 

He swore he was the one with whiplash. You were so hot and cold. One minute you were telling him about you childhood dreams, the next you were screaming at him over the radio to go fuck himself. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “What about you?”

“I like to spend time with my family,” he admitted. “But you know that.”

You smiled, a small, shy smile, but a smile all the same (aka, he counted it as a win). “They seem fun.”

“They are,” he nodded, smiling brightly. “They’re crazy but I love them.”

“When they come to a race, I’d like to meet them,” you expressed. He stared at you for a moment. He really took you in, sitting there with your legs up against your chest looking nothing like the strong racecar driver you’d made him think was your only personality. He thanked his lucky stars that he got to see you like this. Laid back, shy, reserved, perfect, you.

“I’d like that,” he smiled. 

“Me too.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

He woke up one night (after 4 whole days of radio silence from the last night you’d spoken) to music playing in the living room. He silently crept downstairs as the smooth voices of Frank Sinatra and Nancy Sinatra filled his ears. There you stood, swaying in your living room in your pjs as you ate your food. Your hair was down, your eyes were closed, your body just swayed. You looked so… free. Sometimes, he forgot you were only 22 (only a year younger than him, but whatever). You didn’t have regular friends that you could just talk to, you had colleagues who worked for the same team as you. You had no family support, you were effectively alone. 

But you had him, and he reminded himself of that as he sat on the last step, watching you truly let go. 

“You should join me,” you said, eyes closed, but still noticing his presence. “Dancing is good for your health.”

“Is it now?” he smirked, getting up and joining you, despite the nerves in his stomach. 

You nodded, wrapping an arm around his neck, your eyes still firmly closed. “It’s physical exercise.”

He nodded, placing his hands on your waist. He leaned as close as he could to your face, studying every detail he could. Every freckle, every crinkle of your eyes, every acne scar, all of it. And he thought you were perfect. 

Your eyes opened, and you had a small smile on your lips, standing on his feet as he swayed you both. “You’re staring at me.”

“You’re worth staring at,” he admitted. 

“Smooth,” you chuckled. Again, whiplash. 

You laid your head against his chest, letting him take the lead for a few moments. “Oscar?”

He hummed. 

“Thank you for being my friend. I’ve never had one of those before. It’s really nice.”

As much as your confession broke his heart, he was glad he could be your friend, even if he hoped he could be something more. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Zandvoort rolled around, and the garage was buzzing. You were catching Max, only 30 points between the two of you, as the title fight truly began. The RB20 was falling back, and you were only getting quicker. 5 wins under your belt. Monaco, Canada, Austria, UK, Hungary. You were a winner, and a podium anywhere else. Lando was only falling further behind, as the team shifted their focus to you. You got more attention, more praise, more weight on your shoulders. More people came to you, treated you with respect, acted differently.

It was a lot. You were overwhelmed. 

But Oscar stayed the same. Always the voice of reason, the voice of calm in the storm that was F1. He was calm over the radio, celebrating with you when you crossed the line first. 

You’d won on max’s home turf. That was truly something. 

“You’ll go on the podium with me, right?”you asked as you crossed the line. 

He smiled in the garage, blushing slightly. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Something worth celebrating!” Zak cheered as he entered the garage. 

You were soaked in champagne, but happy all the same. It had been a hard season, but you were trudging on and continuing, looking forward to the things on the horizon. You were the woman with the highest points scored, ever. You had multiple wins in a row. You were in the title fight. You were a rookie. 

“Something to be proud of,” Oscar nudged your arm, smiling as he sat beside you in the debriefing room. You offered him a soft smile. 

“Thanks Osc,” you answered, unaware of the way you’d made his heart beat far too fast for something as simple as a nickname. 

“Stop eye-fucking each other,” Lando scoffed. 

“Stop trying to fuck her races up, then come back to me,” Oscar shot back. Lando did have some sort of love for fucking up your races (cough cough Belgium cough cough). 

Lando shut up. 

It was nice to have someone in your corner.

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[chipstatoest]

Where the Track Begins

Oscar Piastri x Reader - 1.6k - childhood friends to lovers

Summary: The first time you met Oscar Piastri, he beat you in a go-kart race and called you slow. The second time, he gave you an orange ice pop and made you believe in impossible things. Years later, he’s in Formula 1—and you’re still in Melbourne. But when an unexpected message arrives, inviting you to Silverstone, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he never really left.

part two

Warning: This chapter contains mild emotional tension, themes of growing apart over time, and nostalgic reflections on childhood; no explicit content or heavy angst appears in this part.

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Melbourne summers had a very specific feeling. They clung to your skin like sunscreen and sweat, and smelled faintly of eucalyptus and cheap fuel. For you, summer had always meant three things: sunburned shoulders, ice pops melting too fast, and Oscar Piastri.

You met him when you were eight. Or nine. You couldn’t quite remember the exact day, only that he’d been wearing a shirt two sizes too big, muddy sneakers, and the most determined expression you’d ever seen on a kid’s face. He wanted to race. That much was obvious. The local go-kart track had just opened its junior program, and Oscar Piastri had shown up like it was the Monaco Grand Prix.

You weren’t there to be competitive. At first. Your parents thought it would be fun, and you’d only agreed because your cousin bailed and left you with a free helmet and an orange kart with peeling stickers.

But Oscar? He was different.

From the moment he adjusted the strap on his too-loose helmet and climbed into that red kart of his, you knew you were dealing with someone who had a different kind of fire. You didn’t understand it then— the obsession, the intensity— but you would.

The first race? You lost. By a lot.

“Oi!” you called out as he sped past on the third lap, practically flying around the bend while you wobbled like a baby deer. “You pushed me!”

Oscar didn’t even glance back. He just laughed, high-pitched and carefree, the sound of a kid doing exactly what he loved.

After the checkered flag waved, you stomped over to him in your oversized racing suit, chest puffed out in mock rage. “You totally cheated!”

“Did not,” he said, a smug grin stretching across his sun-dusted face. “You’re just slow.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Maybe. But I’m faster.”

You hated him.

You also liked him. A lot.

Later that day, the two of you sat on the curb behind the pit building, helmets discarded, sipping lukewarm juice boxes and pretending the pavement wasn’t burning your legs. Oscar rummaged through his backpack and pulled out two ice pops— one red, one orange.

Without asking, he handed you the orange one.

“How’d you know?” you asked, surprised.

“You always take orange,” he replied with a shrug. “Since last time.”

That was Oscar. He noticed things.

“You’re gonna go pro one day,” you mumbled between bites, voice sticky with sugar. “Like… Formula 1 or something.”

Oscar looked at you then. Eyes full of something too big for a ten-year-old. “Yeah. And you’ll be there, too. Maybe running the team. Yelling at everyone. You’re good at that.”

You shoved his shoulder, and he fell back laughing. The kind of laughter that echoed into your bones.

That was years ago.

Now, your childhood best friend was on TV. In interviews. On podiums. On planes to places you’d never even heard of before. Oscar had left Melbourne and never really looked back— not in a cruel way, just in that way people do when dreams start unfolding faster than their feet can keep up.

You still talked. Sometimes. Mostly texts. Quick, harmless things. A happy birthday here. A “Did you see that move on lap 42?” there. A heart emoji when he won his first Formula 2 race. But those conversations were fading, stretched too thin over time zones and silence.

You watched him grow into someone the world admired, and wondered if he still remembered what it felt like to sit on that burning curb with you, juice box in hand, dreaming about the future.

Then, one quiet Wednesday night, your phone buzzed.

Oscar Piastri [10:02 PM]:

Silverstone next month. Got a paddock pass with your name on it — literally.

You in?

You blinked at the screen.

Was he serious?

You hadn’t seen him since before his F2 debut. Three whole years. So much had changed— not just with him, but with you. He was a household name now, a McLaren driver. And you were… well, still in Melbourne, finishing your degree, working part-time at a café, and pretending it didn’t ache to be left behind.

But here he was.

Reaching out.

Inviting you back.

You stared at the message, your heart thudding too fast, your fingers hovering over your phone like it might burn you.

So many things you could’ve said.

“Why now?”

“What does this mean?”

“Do you miss me like I miss you?”

But in the end, you kept it simple.

You [10:04 PM]:

Always.

And you meant it.

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✧ Author’s Note: Hey! This is my first time posting something like this on here, so please go easy on me. I’m still figuring things out, especially with this kind of story. Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate you being here! Maybe more imagines to come — who knows? Possibly part two <3

[gguk-n]

The One (Charles Leclerc x Reader)

Summary- In a world where soulmates exist. Each pair has a unique soulmate mark. Charles doesn't know what his mark is or if he'll ever meet his soulmate.

Charles Leclerc and Y/N Y/L/N grew up together. They didn't remember the first time they met, they'd always been a part of each other's lives. They did everything together. They were a package deal, you wouldn't find one without the other. Maybe, that's why they hadn't found their soulmate yet or seen a soulmate mark.

Y/N was in primary, maybe eight or nine when some people in her class had started to bully her. Charles was the only one who noticed that she wasn't herself. "Hey Y/N/N" Charles said trying to catch her attention. "Hi Cha" she replied, faking a smile. "You look sad" he pointed out. "I'm okay" she reassured him. "You can tell me anything" Charles said and she broke down crying. Charles soon found out about the bullying and took it upon himself to protect her. That day he returned home with multiple bruises and when asked, he just told them he was protecting his person.

Y/N was ten when her dad told her stop karting. It was her favourite thing to do since she got to spend all her time with Charlie. She would recount the events of the day to anyone after every race. The debriefs were fun, she mostly talked about Charles, actually she only talked about Charles. Hervé tried to reason with her dad to let her continue since she was inconsolable. "But papa, I love karting." she cried. "That's not very girly. Stick to things girls do" he told her sternly. Y/N spent most of her day crying until Charles came around. "I'm sorry we can't kart together" he said hugging her. "You can use my kart whenever you want" he bargained. Y/N smiled for the first time that day. Charles kept to his word, he would let her use his kart whenever she wanted; to this day, she was the only one allowed to touch his cars, even the Ferraris.

Y/N was with Charles when he won his GP3 and F2 title. She was the first one he met as soon as he got out of the car. She was crying with snot running down her nose. "You look ugly crying" Charles laughed and Y/N hit him. "I'm just happy" she said. "I know" he replied, hugging her for a very long time.

Charles was there when Y/N got rejected from her dream university. She had locked herself up and wouldn't open the door for anyone. Charles was the only one able to coax her out. "Wanna get ice cream?" Charles asked rubbing her back. She nodded. The pain of rejection melted away with the ice cream. That was when Y/N knew, the reason she didn't have a soulmate mark. It was because she had already met her soulmate. Charles was her one and only and she didn't need a a stupid soulmate mark to tell her that.

Y/N was also there when Hervé was sick and in the hospital. "Charlie, don't worry. I'm here. I'll made sure Hervé gets well soon while you go and race" she reassured Charles who was not ready to leave. "I trust you." he told her. "I know" she nodded.

Y/N was there when Hervé passed. Charles was a mess. He wouldn't stop blubbering, tightly wrapped around her as if she would disappear too if he let go, as she patted his back. "He's watching down on us. He's always with us" she said trying to console him.

Y/N was there when Charles got offered the Ferrari contract. She had heard him contemplate his choices when he had joined Formula One and now that Ferrari was offering him a contract, it was a no brainer for him. He was quick to sign the contract with Y/N right behind him, literally and figuratively.

Charles would spend a lot of his time wondering who his soulmate could be. And it saddened him to think that it would be someone who would never have the opportunity to meet his father. Y/N always wondered what her soulmate mark could've been, but alas, at least she had her soulmate even if he didn't know it yet.

It was the Monaco GP, Charles had finally broken his Monaco curse. As the checkered flag waved and Charles crossed the finish line; his heart was heavy yet warm. He couldn't believe he had done it, finally. He got out of the car and raced to his team; his family waiting for him. The first person he saw was Y/N, with tears staining her cheeks. Charles wiped her tears, "I won" he muttered. "I know" she smiled wrapping him in a tight hug. "I'm sure he must be looking down on you right now. He must be so happy. I know it" she whispered into his shoulder. "You always knew what he felt" he replied. "He would tell you how proud he was of you and how he knew you could do it" she elaborated while pulling away. As Charles eyes met hers for the thousandth time since they first met, his heart felt warm, his mind was calm and everything around him felt like it was where it was supposed to be. He was where he was supposed to be. He was with his soulmate. "Go on" she pushed Charles towards his team and smiled as he stumbled forward.

A couple days after the GP, Y/N was lounging around his mother's shop when Charles interrupted her. "Hey" he spoke slowly. "Hi Cha" she smiled. "I wanted to talk to you" he began. "Looks like it" she replied while using her two fingers to ease the worry lines on his forehead, nodding at him to continue. "You know how we've yet to get out mark or our soulmate" he pointed out. "I'm aware" she laughed. "What if, we've already met our soulmate?" he questioned. "hmm" she cocked her head. "What if we met them so young that we don't know, we don't know our mark was or anything" he rambled. "Where are you going with this?" she asked hesitantly. "What if our soulmate has always been around? With us, through it all" Charles suggested. She nodded with tears in her eyes. "What if we are each other's soulmates?" Charles proceeded hesitantly. Y/N jumped into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Took you long enough" she mumbled against his neck. "You knew" he asked, pulling away to look at her.

She nodded with her arms still around his neck, Charles placing his on her waist. "When?" he asked. "The day I got rejected from the university I wanted" she replied. "That long?" he asked. She just nodded. "You were always there, through my highs and lows" she explained. "You were with me through everything too." Charles interrupted. "I'm glad it's you" Y/N announced. "me too" Charles reiterated.

"Our mums will be happy" Charles said, as the pair walked hand in hand. "I think they always knew" Y/N stated. "That's even better. That means dad met my soulmate" Charles smiled. "Can I tell you a secret?" Y/N asked. "What?" Charles asked. "He always hoped we'd be soulmates" she replied. "No wonder you were his favourite" Charles laughed pulling her in for a kiss.

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret ☆

A MANDALORIAN SERIES MASTERLIST

[ COMPLETED ]

✩ a bodyguard!din x princess!reader fic ✩

series summary :

Married off to a prince on a planet that you hate? New husband doesn't know you, and doesn't want to know you? New husband gifts you a personal Mandalorian body guard as a wedding present? Mandalorian is a wiseass who won't leave you alone? Lucky you.

18+ mdni

do you like kitschy, campy romance novels? if you're reading this, I hope so.

behind the scenes & chapter notes + other extras (spoilers) :

chapters 1-5

chapter 6-15

spotify playlists

Lysa & Elaine information

the bks screen adaption

bks q&a

bks what if's

reader is generally not described past being picked up a few times, and having hair long enough to be put up

✩ chapters containing smut!

chapter one : honeymoon (6.7k words)

[ Absurd.

That is the only word that comes to mind as you stare at yourself in the mirror. “His favorite color is blue.” ]

chapter two : silent treatment (7.4k words)

[ Something is wrong. You bolt up from the pile of blankets that you call a bed and your eyes dart around the closet as you furrow your brow trying to discern why you feel so much different. ]

✩ chapter three : the smitten paladin (4.6k words)

[ You’re starting to think the planet isn’t the reason you’re so hot all the time.

You had woken up this morning feeling a bit better than you thought you’d be, your stomach is full of butterflies but you're still standing and considering the night you had you’re gonna take that as a win. ]

chapter four : sarad'ika (6.8k words)

[ Sarad'ika. 

You won’t forget it this time, you can’t. So you write it in your book, just under Mando’s favorite color you write the two little words that have been keeping you up at night. ]

✩ chapter five : lunar interlude : just a man (5.0k words)

[ Absurd.

It’s absurd how much the job pays. Din’s not even sure he should take it at this point because it’s too good to be true. ]

✩ chapter six : torment (5.1k words)

[ Okay, maybe you didn’t think this through. 

You didn’t think he’d actually come in and now suddenly the door is shut and you’re alone with him. ]

✩ chapter seven : just friends (3.1k words)

[ Maker it feels like it’s been an hour and you’re both just laying here. He was just inside of you; it shouldn't be so hard to find something to talk about at this point. ]

chapter eight : solar markets (5.3k words)

[ It’s nice to wake up excited again. 

You wish you could say that it happened more often but hopefully it will from now on. It’s going to be your first time leaving the castle grounds since you got here. ]

✩ chapter nine : shuk'la rules (5.6k words)

[ You need sex.

Normally you would be satisfied for quite some time after getting off but for some reason with Mando it was different. But it’s only been two days and you need more. ]

✩ chapter ten : lunar interlude : briikase gote'tuur (4.1k words)

[ He’s grateful for the break from you, even if brief. 

That’s not to say that he doesn’t enjoy every moment he gets to be in your presence but the more time he spends with you the harder it gets to remember that this isn’t real. ]

chapter eleven : he loves me not (4.6k words)

[ Something is wrong. 

All day it’s been wrong. 

He’s different. Distant. ]

chapter twelve : pretend (4.4k words )

[ Two days.

That’s what you’re willing to give yourself. Two days to get over it. One to get it all out of your system and one to pull yourself together. ]

chapter thirteen : lunar interlude : vercopa (3.5k words)

[ He did it.

He did exactly what he knew he needed to do.

So why does he feel worse than ever? ]

chapter fourteen : condemned (4.9k words)

[ You’re having trouble sleeping. 

You have no problem falling asleep, it’s mostly staying asleep. There’s a million different things that consume your thoughts and everytime you drift into unconsciousness you find yourself jolting awake, barely able to stay asleep for more than an hour at a time. ]

chapter fifteen : two tea parties (5.4k words)

[ “What did you do to her?”

Her voice breaks through his sleepy haze as he sits up properly. 

“Excuse me?” ]

chapter sixteen : absolution (4.6k words)

[ There’s a visceral sense of dread when you wake up, for several reasons. 

The glaring obvious culprit of your discomfort would be the fact that today’s your husband's birthday. ]

chapter seventeen : the apostate’s cabin (3.5k words)

[ Just Din. 

It’s sinking in as you walk in silence, holding his hand tightly as he pulls you towards his home. ]

chapter eighteen : portrait of a man (5.4k words)

[ It’s deliciously warm when you wake. You can feel his heartbeat and you can feel the soft traces of sunlight dancing along your back. You stretch in his arms slightly but freeze up as you feel him nuzzle his chin into your hair, planting a kiss against your hairline. ]

✩ chapter nineteen : reverence (7.3k words)

[ You really want to. 

You couldn’t possibly want to more than you currently do. 

It’s actually a bit mean. That he’s left you here in this state. ]

✩ chapter twenty : like real people do (8.4k words)

[ Mando and Din. 

All you can think about right now is how there must be two of them. 

You’re playing with his curls. ]

✩ chapter twenty one : te mirci't (9.0k words)

[ “It means I love you.” 

You aren’t entirely sure how long you stare at him, looking rather silly with your jaw practically on the floor. ]

✩ chapter twenty two : it’s you that i lie with (11.3k words)

[ Naboo has several trading ports. 

You could get him on a cargo ship. That would be the most inconspicuous form of transport. It would help if he was willing to ditch his armor. ]

✩ chapter twenty three : lunar markets (15.0k words)

[ Sneaking out of the castle gets easier every time you do it. 

It only takes a few minutes and you’re walking outside towards the forest trail, Din’s hand in yours, still giddy. ]

✩ chapter twenty four : lunar interlude : riduur (7.8k words)

[ He doesn’t deserve this.

How could he possibly be deserving of you? Yet somehow you make him feel as if he is. With your soft touch and the way your eyes get just a little bigger when you see him. ]

✩ chapter twenty five : wedding bells (11.7k words)

[ Four days of Leo. 

You were upset that Din was leaving you but you got over it rather quickly with the promise of his hasty return. ]

chapter twenty six : crucifixion (12.7k words)

[ “My room is too big.” 

He bursts into genuine peals of laughter and you gently smack his arm.

“Don’t laugh, it’s a serious issue! My room is enormous.” ]

chapter twenty seven : the apostate (6.0k words)

[ Silence.

That’s all there is in his brain. 

It’s hard enough as is for him to hear. It doesn’t help when he’s been beaten half to death. ]

✩ chapter twenty eight : a place for us (8.4k words)

[ You’d spent the better half of the day trying to get on top of him. 

Every time you managed to get close he’d simply set you down on the nearest surface with a kiss on the cheek and go back to doing whatever he was working on. ]

chapter twenty nine : the best kept secret (epilogue) (6.1k words)

[ The morning sun is warm against your face, you bask in it, unmoving and only half awake until you feel a tiny hand slapping your cheek. The illusion of tranquility is immediately shattered as you softly laugh. ]

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part nine: friendship is magic

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none!

eight | nine | ten

Lando had never intended for it to become a habit. 

Habits got people caught. Habits made people predictable. Everyone knows that predictability is a liability.

And yet, somehow, he found himself walking through the door of Books & Brews again. Not every day (he wasn’t that careless). But just often enough that he knew exactly how the shop smelled when the espresso machine had just been cleaned, and how Y/N always hummed quietly under her breath when she was focused.

It was just coffee.

Just coffee.

The coffee here was good. Better than his usual place, certainly – better than any of that overpriced, industrial-strength shit he usually drank. Instead, it was smooth, just bitter enough to wake him up, but warm in a way that settled, almost comfortingly, in his chest. She always got the temperature right, the milk-to-espresso ratio perfect—not too bitter, not too sweet. If he had to choose between an overpriced, burnt-tasting cup from a chain and the one topped with fresh cinnamon and cardamom from Brews & Books, well, the choice was obvious. 

That was why he kept coming back. 

Not for anything else. 

Certainly not for her.

It was just coffee.

And maybe a conversation.

And maybe also the way she smiled at him, like he wasn’t the kind of man who had blood on his hands.

But mostly the coffee.

Lando leaned against the counter, watching as she poured hot water over freshly ground beans, her movements quick and practiced.

He took a sip, savoring the taste—strong, a little sweet, just how he liked it.

She watched him, her head tilted slightly as she seemed to contemplate something. “Do you read? Are you really not a book kinda guy?”

Lando raised an eyebrow, brought out of his stupor. “What?”

Y/N gestured toward the bookshelves lining the café. “I mean, you come here for coffee, sure, but I’ve never seen you even look at the books.”

Lando exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head. “Not much of a reader, to be honest.”

She made a mock-offended face. “That’s tragic, really.”

Lando smirked. “What do you even read?”

Y/N’s eyes lit up, and Lando immediately regretted asking—because of course she had an answer, and of course she went on a long-winded tangent about different genres, authors, motifs. And God help him, he actually listened.

Lando didn’t mean to keep coming back.

The first time was just because he needed something to sober up. The second time—well, it was on the way. Again, he blamed the coffee.

It was the way she made it, the way the bitterness was perfectly balanced without needing too much sugar, the way the warmth lingered just right against the chill of the morning air.

Yet, somehow, Lando found himself there more often than he probably should.

His schedule was unpredictable—meetings in the early hours, transactions that stretched deep into the night, fights that left his knuckles raw. But still, he stopped by whenever he could, when time allowed.

Those other places didn’t come with a girl who looked at him like she believed his name really could be Liam, like she actually believed he was some normal guy who had begun to develop an unreasonable caffeine addiction.

With a moniker like The Reaper, Lando was more than used to people being afraid of him. Maybe that’s why it was so intriguing when she looked at him like she was somehow happy to see him.

How odd.

The shop was quiet this time of the afternoon, a few scattered customers tucked into corners with books or laptops. And behind the counter—

Y/N.

She was sorting through a stack of books, pushing up the bridge of her glasses with her wrist when they slid down. Her hair was a bit of a mess today, like she’d been running her fingers through it absentmindedly. The bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside, the warm aroma of espresso and vanilla filling his lungs.

Y/N looked up from where she was restocking the pastry case, her eyes lighting up in recognition. And when she looked up and saw him, she smiled. It was small, barely more than a twitch of her lips, but something about it was… nice. Authentic.

Y/N was behind the counter but her head lifted the second she saw him.

A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. “Oh, look who it is,” she teased, grabbing a cup without even needing to ask what he wanted. 

“Miss me?” he smirked, leaning against the polished granite.

Y/N scoffed, but there was amusement in her expression. “You wish. I just think if you’re going to be here all the time, I should start charging you rent.”

Lando chuckled, shaking his head. He leaned against the counter, playing it cool. “That’s not how coffee shops work. What if I just like the coffee? Best coffee in town, this is.”

Y/N snorted. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Not even a free drink?” he asked, dramatically incredulous. The numbers in his account in the Caymans indicated that he could probably purchase this whole shop several times over, but he decided that it was probably best not to mention that.

“Absolutely not.” She set a fresh cup in front of him anyway, watching as he took a sip. She hummed, scribbling something on a notepad before tearing it off and holding it out to him. “Well, I was going to offer you a frequent customer punch card, but if it’s just the coffee, maybe I won’t...”

Lando stared at the scrap of paper. Sure enough, she had doodled a crude little version of one—ten boxes, half of them already checked off, complete with a lopsided drawing of a coffee cup.

His lips twitched.

“You really made this just now?”

Y/N shrugged, grinning and clearly proud of herself, but pushing her glasses up her nose out of habit. “I like to be prepared.”

Lando let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he took it from her. “Yeah? ‘N what’s the prize when I fill it up?” “...My undying friendship?”

Friends?

His brain had short-circuited a little at the casual way she had said it, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like it was something he should have expected.

She didn’t say it with suspicion. Didn’t look at him like she was piecing together the cracks in his story. No, she just said it like it was obvious.

Like he was just some guy who wanted to spend time with her.

Lando had no business having a friend like her.

Lando exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

She crossed her arms. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to make him smile like that. Lando, who spent so much of his time analyzing humans and their microexpressions, couldn’t believe he didn’t realize it sooner.

She thought they could be friends.

Before he could even think twice, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and slid it across the counter. “Give me your number,” he said smoothly. “In case I ever want to pre-order my coffee.”

Y/N hesitated for just a second, her eyes flickering to his before she let out a small laugh. “That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

“Did it work?”

She rolled her eyes, but still, she picked up the phone to type in her number. 

“This only solidifies our never ending friendship. You know that, right? ”

Much to his own disappointment, he smiled. “That so?”

She nodded. “I mean, I do know your coffee order by heart, and we’ve had like… five whole conversations. That’s practically marriage in some places.”

Lando forced another signature smirk, ignoring the way something unsettled coiled low in his stomach. “Didn’t realize we had a whole thing going on.”

Get it together, Norris.

Y/N laughed, propping her elbows onto the counter. “You’ve been here, what? Four times just this week?”

Three. But who was counting?

“That’s gotta mean something, I’m telling you,” she teased, eyes flickering with playfulness.

Lando huffed, shaking his head as he reached for his coffee. He could play this off. He would play this off. He didn’t do friends. Not real ones. The people in his life existed for a purpose. Business partners. Associates. Soldiers. A hierarchy built on control, loyalty, and utility.

Not this.

Not her.

And yet, he didn’t correct her.

Instead, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You talk too much.”

Y/N only laughed.

“Sure,” he then drawled sarcastically, lifting the cup slightly in a mock toast. “Guess that makes us friends then.”

Y/N beamed, like she had won something, before typing her number in with an ease that made Lando feel sick with himself. She then held her phone out with that same expectant smile, waiting for him to type his own number in.

She had no idea what he was, who he was.

Lando looked down at the screen, at the saved contact and told himself he wasn’t making a mistake. Objectively, he knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He was being selfish. He was putting her in danger just by existing near her.

But he was good at lying.

Even to himself.

For now, he told himself that he could have both lives.

For now, he convinced himself that nothing would go wrong.

a/n: made you guys wait, so i think today will be a double update day! i'm excited for the next one :)

[batsandbirdbrains]

A soft little BatDad idea that’s wriggling around my head

The one with the baby Bat pics

I just think it would be so cute if Bruce has pictures from when Dick was freshly Robin, a teeny tiny little eight year old gremlin, but he’s got the bat cowl on and he’s wrapped up in the cape. Dick had probably been playing in it while Bruce wrote up patrol logs after a long night, because even though Bruce has told him their vigilante gear isnt a toy, he loves the way Dick giggles and leaps around the cave and whispers in an overly deep voice, “I’m Batman.”

One picture in particular Bruce has several copies of. He keeps one in his desk in his home office. There’s on in his bedroom at the manor he keeps tucked in a drawer. He has two on the Watchtower, one in his private quarters and one in his work area tucked into the side of a monitor.

It’s Dick passed out on a chair by the Batcomputer. He has the cape tucked around him with one arm sticking out over the side still loosely holding a Batman doll he’d forced Bruce to buy him when he saw it during patrol that night, the rest of the cape spilling over onto the floor, and the cowl is ridiculously oversized on his head, his little mouth parted just slightly in his sleep.

Bruce loves this picture. Dick had only been with him for a few months at that point, but there was something so charming about it, so sweet that it melted Bruce’s heart.

Dick was the only one who ever wanted to play in the Batman costume, or at least the others never let Bruce know about it or be around if they did. He likes to think of them as baby pictures in a way, since Dick was the youngest kid he’d ever had living with him.

There are several others scattered amongst Bruce’s most visited places, and even other members of the JL have a few - the members who’d been around when the photos had been taken, mostly.

There’s one taken in the Watchtower when Dick was eight, held up by Superman while Dick has the cowl on. He’s trying to do his most serious Batman impression, but you can see how he’s smothering down a smile. Clark looks ridiculously pleased holding the mini-Batman.

There’s one of him grinning from under the cowl when he’s about nine, sitting in Batman’s chair at a Watchtower meeting room. He’s holding up a case file. Bruce had let him wear a spare cowl and cape that day, letting Dick be the one who briefed the rest of the involved League members on the updates that had been found thanks to Dick’s insight.

One of Green Arrow’s personal favorites is of Dick sticking his tongue out, the cowl nearly falling off his ten-year-old head and his hands holding onto the bat-ears. He has a pair of Batman’s gloves on, too. He’s kept it in his wallet since Bruce gave him a copy.

Donna personally loves the one with Dick wagging a gloved finger in the air, his other hand on his hip while the cape billows on the floor and the cowl tilts just a bit too much forward. He even has Batman’s much larger belt strapped across his chest. He’d been eleven, and he’d telling off the other Titans for goofing around during training. One of their mentors had snapped the picture, unbeknownst to them at the time. She recalls them all busting out laughing once Dick was done - Dick included - and she keeps it in a box full of other special photos and mementos. She uses it in her “work phone” as Nightwing’s ID picture.

Dick himself just thinks they’re funny whenever he comes across one. The other batkids collect them like Pokemon cards.

[gayestsimp]

Warp Gate! (Kurogiri reader x Batfamily)

Words used: 2.5k

/-\ /-\ /-\ /-\ /-\ /-\ /-\

/-\ /-\ /-\ /-\ /-\ /-\ /-\

(Name) Wayne. He was the second eldest son of Bruce Wayne. He was somewhat stoic in the family- having been trained by Alfred, with a less of a focus on fighting and more so in medical aid, tracking, and effectively being the man in the chair- it helped Alfred a lot to have someone else in the mansion that can do these things, along with cleaning, dusting and general chores- even with the older man telling the boy to take a break and let him do it… but (Name) was persistent.

(Name) was only six when he was brought into the mansion, the first born child of Bruce- his mother and and Bruce had a one night stand, having taken as many precautions, and just eight months and three weeks before she gave birth, the woman had returned to her home country of Japan. And soon (Name) was born, and he had spent six years in Japan, his mother wanting the boy to learn as much as he could from not only her side, but his Fathers, she even informed Bruce, leaving the man surprised, but he’d make sure to send over child support to ensure she can take care of their child, and signed off that (Name) will be sent to him if anything happens to the boy’s mother.

And a few days before here sudden passing away from a terrible accident, she gave (Name) a specialised and custom item she got from her visit to the country that Bruce was visiting for his ‘training’ but what she got was… a pocket watch, with special engraving and details, unique and one of a kind, and on the back was her surname… ‘Yui’ was one of the few things he had of her.

(Name) though was quickly sent to his Father, he was scared and upset to leave his home, it was off putting for the boy, and he cried so many times- he missed his mother… at least he never saw what happened to her. But thankfully, the older man that accompanied him was there- patting his back and soothing the boy, just looking over the young (Name) and doing his best, letting the boy cry out in broken English and mostly in his native tongue… the boy still had much to learn in English- especially with his pronunciation, after all, he had recently started learning it and his mother had yet to complete more English lessons with him- same in his school. But when they finally arrived, he was finally greeted with his Father, the man was busy, that was clear, and over his stay in the manor, he wouldn’t see Bruce as much as he would see Alfred- but he did- the man tried his best to make time… and he couldn’t help but spend time just looking at the pocket watch with (Name), Bruce missed her… (Name)’s mother was nice, often they would chat on the phone still

Soon enough, when (Name) was nine, Bruce had returned with a twelve year old boy, a boy called Richard Grayson, or Dick. (Name) had quickly picked up on most English words… but still struggled and didn’t have the largest vocabulary, often speaking in his native tongue before realising his mistake and moving to English as best he could. Dick at first was closed off and didn’t interact with (Name) much… but slowly they built a bond, a brotherly one that only grew- they found comfort in one another, realising the lost of a parent(s), and found warmth in their new family. And that would go on for the rest of their lives truly.

When (Name) was ten, he was than told about his Father’s and Brother’s secret identities- Batman and Robin… he was excited and admired them both so much, he thought it was awesome! And quickly wanted to learn how to help, soon become their man in the chair, alongside with Alfred. (Name) had ensured he could remember alarmist every location, hideout and points of interest that relate to the rouges that the bat faces on a nightly occurrence, with that being the boy’s role, he could only improve over the next five years, with new family members joining, well one new one in Jason, a boy that was also closed off, just at thirteen, but he had a love for book and a want to be close to his new family… (Name) was also sad with Dick leaving their home, but the older boy still kept in contact with his younger sibling so they were all still close- he could only wish Dick’s and Bruce’s relationship was better. However, before Dick left, (Name) had met Barbra Gordon- someone he sees as an older sister, someone uplifting and caring like Dick- a big sister to him, he loved Batgirl- she was a nice addition to this family.

The fifteen year old’s life would be going well from this point on, his training with Alfred and the rest of the family meant the boy could sometimes go out in the field, but he was better at the chair, giving the precise locations of whatever the family needed. It was all going well for the two years since Jason’s arrival, until two major events- Barbara’s paralysis and than… Jason’s Kidnapping.

Alfred had wanted to boy to remain inside the cave and help Bruce find Jason from a distance, to keep himself safe, after all- he wasn’t as strong as his brothers, and especially not as much as his Father. But the seventeen year old knew he had to, his dad and Brother were too far away- (Name) was the only one close enough to Jason’s location and could get there quick enough… but it all ended in vain- Jason and (Name) were dead- well at least they assumed- as nothing of (Name) could be found, no body, no remains… only some burnt clothing and hair- along with blood.

Bruce… was broken since that day- he’s been more rough and hard on himself, he’s been more violent to thugs and the rogues he goes against. Alfred was grieving a lot himself- the boy he trained and viewed as a grandson had died- and they had no corpse left of the boy… he was close to (Name), he was his first grandchild- one he helped raised- but on that day, he had lost two cheerful and bright boys. Barbara and Dick weren’t any better, losing both Jason and (Name) was just too much, Barbara looks over constantly to the seat the boy once sat in on each and every mission and crime fighting night they had, small post it notes laying around, and a picture of them all… it hurt Oracle to look at all of it- never once taking down that picture of them all together- and it only fuelled a hatred for the Joker, but also a determination to help guid the Batman as the boy once did. Dick… he wasn’t handling it the best, often finding himself venturing into either boy’s room, just standing in the doorway and looking inside, he missed them both.

Once Tim came along… he could feel the atmosphere and how much they all hurt, and he knows that they do- he knows how much (Name) and Jason meant to them… losing family was painful- especially your children. But Tim had to make sure Batman could function, Gotham needed him, more than anything else.

Once Damian entered the family, along with Stephanie, Cass and Duke- they never did speak much of (Name), a sensitive and touchy subject, so for the most part, they were left in the dark, but it does all come eventually come out once Jason returns to the Family. He had told Bruce that besides his time spent hating on the man and building himself up in the crime world as Red Hood, he mentioned how he had been searching for (Name)’s body, he knew his brother would have been revived just like he had if they found it, but he wanted to properly put his brother to rest, Damian however could overhear some of this- hearing about a (Name), so he would walk inside the room with the two men speaking and ask Bruce something simple. “Who is (Name), Father?” The boy asked, looking up at Bruce, a sigh escaping the man’s lips, looking… sad and weak- a new sight for Damian, he appeared so vulnerable as he spoke. “(Name)… was my first born son, your older brother- he lived in the manor and trained to help look after Gotham, though he would usually help on the bat computer, looking after us on the field… but he died the same way Jason did- we never found his body afterwards…” Bruce explained, he was fighting back some sobs and chokes- it hurt truly, to image his son dying again, he lost two boys in that day, and he didn’t want to constantly remember the pain and suffering he had to endure- but he had to carry on, not for himself, not for Gotham… but for his family.

———————————————————————

However, there was something that happened that day, (Name)’s body was dragged away, the boy was limp, the explosion had damaged him, but his death was through the debris, with them hitting and breaking his neck, something unrepairable. He didn’t know who dragged him away, after all, he was dead. But they did use his body- it would have been unbearable pain if he was still alive and had to go through the experience, but whoever it was… they changed his body, (Name) was no longer there. You were no longer yourself. You were now Kurogiri.

And quickly, Kurogiri would become a ‘goon for hire’- although he served one man, the man that paid for this entire process- Lex Luthor. Luthor was never there to drag the body, or knew the body to make Kurogiri was (Name), instead, he used his money to pay a couple of thugs to drag away a couple of bodies from Gotham, with the amount of crime and death there- it was easy to obtain a few for his latest project, creating a valuable asset that could create pathways anywhere he wanted or needed, not to mention how other villains or rogues and made men would pay to use this as well, an instant travel to wherever they wanted to be or needed- the only issues was the required knowledge of coordinates, but it was a small thing to know- especially due to (Name)’s original strength of easily remembering these and finding them out- which all translated to Kurogiri.

Though to keep the man made of a black fog safe and secret, he hid them away in a private bar if his- the mist not needing to eat or drink allowed them to stay there all he needed, having them run the bar- which created a small quirk for Kurogiri, his obsession on keep that bar counter clean along with the glasses, which was handy whenever the rich man wanted a drink, but there was another quirk- one that related more to (Name), to check his pocket watch, something found on his body and kept in the clothes even after his transformation- it was handy to keep an eye on the time for anything precise needing to happen. It also adds to his class.

———————————————————————

Yet this discovery would soon be uncovered by Batman and Nightwing. The father and son would be patrolling through the night, it was a surprisingly calm one for Gotham, just some small scale muggers littered through the streets, until they came across an operation, with the Penguin running it, it was a silent Job, of some henchmen of his pushing crates- one ir two open to reveal weapons- mostly guns but some smaller things such as grenades and ammo, but there was something else- someone else, a strange man made of black and purple mist, and a similar ‘gate’ that is just like this misty man, but it was clear what his purpose was- it was to help transport the goods, with the hired muscle pushing the crates and themselves through and disappearing, only to walk back through and continue, though Batman and Nightwing couldn’t just sit there, with the older using batarangs, throwing some at the henchmen before the Penguin and remaining few henchmen he didn’t initially attack, though multiple of those purple portals opened up and protected the Penguin and his remaining henchmen as the batarangs are sent flying back to the father and son duo, with the Penguin just smirking while the mist villain spoke. “Ah, if it isn’t a couple of intruders on our operation- I am Kurogiri, and pardon my rudeness to you Batman, but I will not allow you to ruin this.” He spoke, allowing the henchmen to run forward, using his powers to create portals and allowing the henchmen to jump through and around them, adding some unpredictability to their locations and where they end up with multiple portals popping up, leaving Batman and Nightwing to fight and note which portals connected a difficult task as some closed and more opened up- it was almost impossible to beat them if they kept this up, though Batman and Nightwing were catching up, able to throw a few punches to deal with the men jumping through the portals, though Batman’s eyes would land back to the man made of mist, seeing his hands pull out a a small pocket watch- having ‘Yui’ engraved on the back- his eyes were widened along with Nightwing’s, quickly picking up on the sight.

“Ah, pardon my rudeness, but is there a possibility you two could just go down?” He asked, looking at the amount of time that has passed, Bruce was shaken up… now that was listening even closer- he could hear the faintest tone of his son’s voice, he never forgot what they sounded like, and this thing… sounded so close- the pocket watch and even the way this villain dressed… it was all like (Name)- did someone bring his boy back like Jason?… but if that’s the case… than what have they done to him. “(Name)?” Batman asked, with Nightwing thinking the exact same thing- Kurogiri however looked a little confused, a small groan leaving his mouth- a sudden headache he just shook off. “I’m sorry, but that name doesn’t bring up any memories, was they someone close to that I have killed?- if so, than my apologies… though that does not change the fact that I am your adversary.” He spoke coldly. But Bruce knew, he knew this was his boy.

So after dispatching the two henchmen and delivering a blow to Penguin, it left just Kurogiri and the bats, with the man made of mist launching a kick towards Batman, which was blocked, and leading to Kurogiri to get thrown towards the ground, and quickly pinned, the man made of mist could only grunt and growl, looking up at Batman as he attempted to use his powers, but was unsuccessful as he was quickly knocked out.

———————————————————————

Once the Penguin and his men were tied up and taken in by the authorities, Batman and Nightwing had brought back Kurogiri, using a straight jacket and cell to lock him to ensure his powers cannot be used. Bruce would look on at the uncious man made of mist, a sigh leaving his lips. Whatever it took, he’ll bring his son back. He need (Name), he cannot fail his son again.

[vampishnes]

Sanguine Hunger: About Time

Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five, Chapter six, Chapter seven, Chapter eight, Chapter nine, Chapter ten. Pairings: Platonic!Thunderbolts & Fem!Reader, Bob x FemThunderbolts!ExAvenger!Reader Summary: Movie night with the Thunderbolts leads to old memories. Tags: No use of ‘Y/N’. Female reader. Slow burn! Found family, 'slice of life', Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Graphic depictions of a panic attack, vague descriptions of vomiting, references to past trauma. Word count: 2.4k A/N: There is now a chapter count for this work. There will be 10 chapters in total. Thank you for all the love on this; it means the world to me.

The common area couch was large enough to fit all of you, but somehow never felt spacious enough when everyone squeezed together. That was how you found yourself on the floor in front of the couch instead. Your shoulders were crushed between Bob and Walker; your back slumped uncomfortably on Bucky's knee. He was lucky enough to grab a spot on the couch first.

Yelena’s bleached blonde hair obscured your view of the screen slightly. You stifled a sigh; mentioning it started another bickering session.

“What are we watching?” Bucky asked, his leg dug further into you. The remote lay abandoned on the couch’s arm, waiting for someone to claim it. Alexi reached for it before anyone else could grab it.

“Hand it over,” Walker demanded, setting his plate down and lunging across you and Bucky. Alexi yanked the remote away, holding it out of reach. “Please, you’re gonna make us watch some old Russian movie.”

You used one hand to lift Walker’s elbow away from your plate and the other to stuff a bite of food into your mouth. Your left side dug into Bob as John fell further atop you. You hissed in discomfort, your body twisted awkwardly to avoid Walker’s armpit.

“Children, please,” Bucky grumbled, yanking the remote from Alexi’s grasp. “Let’s just see what they have.” Walker reluctantly sat back, dropping his hand from your knee, which he had used as leverage. Bucky flicked through titles with the intensity of someone personally offended by bad movie covers.

“Jesus, can you just pick something?” you spat, dipping your soft taco in sauce. Bucky kicked you in reply, just enough to annoy, not hurt. “Fine. What if we close our eyes and see what we land on?” you suggested, placing your empty plate down. Surprisingly, the room went silent.

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Yelena said, flopping her head back and covering her eyes. One by one, the rest of the group followed suit, mostly begrudgingly and with heavy sighs.

“Ava, count to ten, then Bucky hits select,” you directed, slapping a hand over your own eyes. Ava began counting, theatrically slow at first, until ten seconds suddenly felt too long. Her voice sped up until—“Now.” A soft click followed, and you opened your eyes to see what fate had chosen.

“About Time,” Bucky announced, his tone confused. The title screen appeared, the Netflix ‘bad-dum’ barely audible over the team’s collective groan.

“No way,” Walker protested, immediately reaching for the remote. Yelena smacked his hand down before he could start another wrestling match.

“Rules are rules, Walker. We agreed to this system.”

“I’ve never seen it,” Bob admitted, his body relaxing beside you. You tilted your head toward him, close enough that your whisper wouldn’t carry.

“Me neither. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Bob tipped his fries your way with a smile. You grinned and grabbed a handful. “If it’s not, though, it’ll be good to point and laugh at.”

“Shut up,” Ava hushed, surprising you with her sudden interest. “I can’t hear it.” You raised your eyebrows in amusement before settling your eyes on the screen.

As the movie progressed, the team's reactions went from protest to enthusiastic engagement, filled with the occasional chime in from someone asking ‘why doesn’t she just kill him?’ or ‘I hate this man,’ which was immediately met with a unanimous hush. It wasn't until the credits rolled that the trance seemed to break.

Alexi was sniffling, desperately trying to hide his face behind a throw pillow. No one spoke; the room was blanketed in a thick cover of sad tension.

“That was…” Ava began, scratching her head as she tried to think of the right words. Bucky nodded beside her, head settled low.

“Terrible.” Walker finished, his voice trembling despite the clenched effort to steady it. Yelena furrowed her eyebrows upon hearing him, snapping her head around.

“You’re literally crying.”

“There’s something in my eyes.” Walker swiped at his face with a rough, hurried gesture.

“Yeah, tears.” You added, turning to the side to see Walker's reddened cheeks.

You were just as affected; love had never been kind to you. Before the snap, when the Avengers still felt like home, there were more chances. You had been so close to Bucky for the few years you spent together in Wakanda that if Thanos never erased everything you once knew, a fragile almost could’ve bloomed.

Those five years alone transformed you, hollowed you out entirely. You swore never to kill again after the night your powers first manifested. Fate had other plans, and you found yourself covered in blood, clawing animalistically at anything that got in your way: alien gore and sweat sticking to your tainted skin.

Maybe if you had won the battle, you could have justified what you did, who you’d become. Then Bucky crumpled to dust in your arms, and whatever remained of your old self went with him.

You tried to reconcile after the final battle with Thanos. You held Bucky so tightly that your nails dug their own crevices into his skin, carved out where home used to be. But watching Tony, the only father you had left, sacrifice himself for the betterment of the world solidified the truth into you: you were always meant to be this. 

Bile swarmed in your cheeks as the thoughts poured out of you, from the deepest pits you shoved them down. You jolted up, standing shakily like a newborn deer. You placed one foot in front of the other, tiptoeing through the symphony of limbs.

Bob lightly tugged at your arm, and you found yourself leaning into it, but the comfort itself was what terrified you. How easily you could depend on it. How easily it could be taken away. You jerked away with more vigour than intended, immediately regretting it when hurt flickered across Bob's face. How could you explain that you were terrified of the possibility of loss that came with caring?

“You ok?” he asked, his blue eyes piercing into yours. He looked so small on the floor, body huddled into himself, as if trying to curl himself into a tiny ball no one would notice. You nodded, mouth tightly wound together. You stumbled out of the room, hardly noticed by anyone else now that conversations had started again, but you could feel his eyes still following you.

The room spun around you, and blood pounded in your ears. You could feel your heart drumming beneath your ribcage, as if begging to be let out. You gripped tightly at your shirt, hand shaking relentlessly; your heart continued pounding painfully against you. Am I dying? You thought, vision narrowing as you stumbled down the stairs. I must be dying. 

A drop of sweat crept down your spine; the air blew against it, and the clash of heat and cold stung painfully. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you needed to leave. You continued down the empty hallway, hands stumbling for anything to ground yourself. You clutched against the door handle for the bathroom, pushing it in with the rest of your body. You pulled yourself up against the bathroom sink, facing your bitter reflection in the mirror.

Acid crawled up your throat again, and you couldn’t stop the influx of sickness that washed over you, a wave of shame and rot. You could hear his voice in your ears, Tony's voice. You wound your eyes tight; you could almost see the blue hologram playing in front of you, his voice clawing at your skull. 

‘You’re not the monster they made you.’ The thought slipped from your grip as you hurled yourself over the sink, lungs spasming as you heaved, body violently punching each breath from you. Warm tears slipped down your face, creating a rhythmic tapping against the porcelain sink.

Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white. You could taste the faintness of blood and were unsure if it was yours or just the memory of it. A soft knock on the door broke through your thoughts. “Hey,” you tried to respond, but your throat constricted. The tears came faster now, and you pressed your palms against your eyes. Another knock, this one more insistent. “Can I come in?” 

You turned on the sink, letting the cold water shock your system; you splashed your face once, then twice, until the reflection in front of you didn’t look so wrecked. Your eyes were still red, bloodshot. How many times had you seen this face staring back at you? How many nights had you spent washing blood from your hands, wondering if you'd ever be clean again?

“I’m fine,” you said, voice cracking in a telltale quiver. Not even an idiot would believe you. Your knees crumbled from beneath you; you fell down into a squat, using the sink to keep your weight up.

You couldn’t face Bob. You knew he’d see right through you. There was no reply other than silence, a part of you was relieved, but that familiar sting of loneliness nipped at you. Your brain ached, a sharp headache furrowing its way into your skull. You took a deep breath, holding the heavy air in until it burst out of you like a dam. With shaking hands, you quickly tugged the door open.

Bob stood across from you; when he saw you, he didn't crowd you. He just remained there, offering you the choice to come closer. You stood in front of the closed bathroom door, arms crossed. Your legs gave way beneath you, and you slid down the door, crumpling to your knees with a humiliating surrender. 

Bob surged forward, hands outstretched to catch you, but you stopped him with a trembling hand. Unable to lift your head, your body folded in on itself, and you sank further to the floor, the bottom half of your back pressed against the cold bathroom door. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, stepping back and slinking back onto the wall in front of you. You shook your head, waving your hand vaguely.

“I’m fine.” You swallowed hard, throwing your head back, resting it against the wall. You felt the steady thrum of your pulse begin to calm. He gave you a closed-mouth smile, one that said, ‘I don’t believe you.’ “I don’t need your pity.” You spat, rolling your eyes. You pushed your hand against your forehead, trying to will the headache away.

“It’s not pity.” The words came slowly. “I’m not good at this. Saying the right thing, finding the right words.” He took a shaky breath. “But you, you’ve been there for me, even when I hurt you. You still chose to save me, so let me do this. Let me care.” His words lay heavy between you, a desperate plea—no, a vow.

“It’s stupid.” The silence stretched, your hands trembling as you pressed them firmly into your lap.

“It’s not stupid,” Bob said gently. “It’s not stupid if it hurts.” You let out a hollow laugh.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not supposed to be hurt. I’m supposed to be stronger than this. I’ve been alive for a century, but I can’t handle a stupid movie?” Bob watched you with those gentle eyes of his, peeling back every lie you’d told.

“It wasn’t about the movie, was it?”

“Tony. It made me think of Tony.” The name felt foreign on your tongue. “And Bucky. And everything I lost. Everyone.” Bob nodded, giving you the space to continue. “That whole time during the Snap, I…” Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat. “I became someone I swore I’d never be again. I killed, Bob. I killed so many. I hunted them down like animals.” Bob’s gaze didn’t waver.

“You were lost.”

“Stop,” you shook your head, words tearing out of you. “No. I had a choice. I could have stayed with the Avengers. I could have helped people. But I was so angry, so empty.” You ran a trembling hand through your hair.

Your fingernails dug into your palms, anchoring you to the present as the past threatened to drag you under. Your jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. Bob shifted his weight, the soft rustle of fabric against the wall echoing in the empty corridor. His patience was another form of torture, giving you time to reveal the inhumanity hiding beneath your skin. You shut your eyes. Faces flickered. Strangers. People you’d ended because Valentina pointed and said guilty. Because you’d stopped asking why.

“I mean… we all suck.” Bob said, voice low. Your eyes snapped to his. “But we’re trying.” The hallway light flickered above, casting shadows across his face.

You’d seen it personally: his regrets, his past, all the cruel truths that made him who he was now. You could still feel the way his skin felt gripping tightly on your throat, how the floor felt as your body collapsed on it. Now those same hands dried the dishes beside you, offered you comfort and warmth when you needed it most.

Those hands weren’t the Sentry’s, nor were they the Void’s. They were Bob’s, cracked and scarred. Just like the rest of you were.

You’d all killed; none of you denied it. None of you had the luxury of pretending to be anything other than what you were: broken things trying to be better. You both sat in comfortable silence, the Tower quiet around you except for the distant sounds of the team still gathered in the common area. “We should go back,” you said, though you made no move to stand.

“We could,” Bob agreed, equally still. Somewhere above, a muffled crash echoed. “Or we could just… not.” Another beat of silence passed before you spoke again.

“We’re starting the garden.” He hummed, gaze drifting to the dust swirling in a sunbeam. “Is there anything else you wanted to do?” Bob thought for a moment.

“Yeah.” He admitted, a small smirk flickering. “I’ve never been camping. I’ve been homeless, though, so yeah… I’d probably hate it.”

“Glamping, then?” You offered. “Or a remote cabin, make it a bonding exercise with the rest of the team.”

“That sounds amazing, but we’d never have the time.” He snorted, but his eyes softened.

“You’d be surprised.” You pushed yourself up from the floor, offering a hand to help Bob. He took it, his grip solid and warm. For a heartbeat longer than necessary, you held on, feeling the rough calluses of his palm against yours.

[iznyangwoni]

EASY TO LOVE | jungwon smau!

SYNOPSIS: Y/N is the so called queen of Decelis University; rich, pretty, smart, a bit mean and oh so bossy. She has one rule and one only, no one can touch the guy she claims. At least not until she gets bored. But what happens when she finds out that Yang Jungwon, the newest guy at school, is actually way easier to love than she thought?

GENRE: smau, crack, might become angst but mostly fluff

FEAT: enhypen, illit moka, ive wonyoung, &team nicholas and more...

WARNINGS: cursing, drinking and smoking mentions, suggestive, ass humor (sorry i'm trying my best 😞)

TAGLIST: CLOSED

STATUS: COMPLETE

———————————————————————

PROFILES 1 | 2

ONE - skill issue

TWO - scared?

THREE - EW

FOUR - vip tickets

FIVE - win win

SIX - the party

SEVEN - dont get too hard

EIGHT - poop head

NINE - someone is going to die today

TEN - tiny girl jail

ELEVEN - this is hell

TWELVE - good girl

THIRTEEN - the video

FOURTEEN - groceries

FIFTEEN - i wont eat you

SIXTEEN - is it over?

SEVENTEEN - after all

EIGHTEEN - talk

NINETEEN - finally mine

TWENTY - you.

[eclipseberrycake]

Poly! MoonBerryCake x Reader Pt.11

AN: The WEEK I have had omg. I was in the hospital then my partner was in the hospital and now I'm exhausted and the mental illness is coming back an bro I just wanna write about my funky lil guys.,

Part One -> Part Two -> Part Three -> Part Four -> Part Five -> Part Six -> Part Six 1/2 -> Part Seven -> Part Eight -> Part Nine -> Part Nine 1/2 -> Part Ten

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, canonical references to harmful treatment of the other toons, mentions of smoking but no actual smoking, approximately two dirty jokes (Who makes them may surprise you)

☁ The air is cool tonight. It chills his cheek as he leans on the balcony, the once chilled stone of the railing warm under his arms as a reminder of how long he's been out there.

☁ He wants to go back. He can hear your soft breaths and Cosmo's grumbles as he rolls back and forth a few times, but something in his gut curdles at the thought, crawling up his stomach and threatening to choke him.

☁ How can he go back to the group, to you, knowing what he knows now. It runs rampant in his brain he's sure he's almost dislodged his leaves by the number of times he's pulled at them.

☁ Him and Astro have since made it a habit of going through the old records of Gardenview, as it's both nostalgic and bittersweet, reading through the memories of things previously lost to him. Seeing the video of him and Cosmo baking, or the screenplays written for adventures between the four of you, or even just the letters the Toon Handlers had written concerning them all make his chest ache. Just the thought the four of you had previously been close before all of this is both a solemn thought and a warm comfort.

☁ He wonders what could've been prior to the breakout. What could've come from...well, all of it, really. There's a sinking feeling that nags in the back of his head at the thought, knowing if things had continued the way they were, there was a good chance he never would've gotten the chance to be with you and Cosmo.

☁ Him and Astro had the benefit of consistently being in each other's company, but since going through the old records, he's come to the disheartening realization that it was because of the breakout he was gifted with the opportunity to get to know the other commons, you especially. He knew Cosmo previously, even if his Handler attempted to minimize the contact between the two, but he truly didn't know you beyond the cute delivery toon and the minimal scripts that had you and him interacting for no more than a few minutes.

☁ While the ichor breakout was an awful thing, and he would never wish it to happen again, a part of him is grateful. It granted him a freedom he didn't know he was starving for.

☁ That being said, freedom doesn't come without it's cons. He's gotten on Rodger's case before for investigating areas he has no right to do, but those are mostly far more personal matters rather the general history behind Gardenview. Unfortunately for him and Astro, this lack of restriction has led to a few startling discoveries over the treatment of the toons that weren't mains.

☁ Recently, the Christmas toons had started making their own appearances on floors, so in the pursuit of getting Dandy research, you had also made it a personal mission to get them back too. So far, you had successfully gotten Ginger and Coal back, with Rudie evading you at every turn and the Bobette research slow going. They, Ginger and Coal, were stand-offish to begin with and while he didn't understand it, he gave them their space and left them to Cosmo and Pebble.

☁ After reading what happened to them after the Christmas season, however, he understood and worked with Astro to get Ginger's room an assortment of nightlights as to minimize the reminder of the old closets they used to remain locked in. Additionally, Shrimpo and Finn had been able to carve out a sizable doggy door in the wall beside the door for Coal to come and go as she pleased. Rudie's future room and Bobette's as well were both being fitted with similar things as well and- to his chagrin, as he looks back to check on you all- your room will need one too as he watched Coal's tail thump quietly, Pebble by her side and Blu on top of her.

☁ He blames Blu in all honesty. The lovable little shit had a way of making everyone love her, despite the circumstances of her appearance.

☁ Which was another thing entirely and the source of his current bout of restlessness. He groans lowly, rolling his shoulders back. His fingers itch for a smoke, but he promised himself he'd quite. It started when he was younger as a rebellious act against Sam, taking one from their packs and hacking at it until he got the hang over it. His own way of previously taking back his freedom. However, with it now freely granted, it wasn't needed and he, for the most part, quit it easily. It was mostly just a stress response at this point.

☁ He'd consider himself stressed at this point though. The most recent set of files had been...off. They'd been reluctant to open the file, as it was sealed with wax and stamped with all sorts of red warnings- very unlike the other files they'd gone through previously. They'd opened it anyway, reading through various employment records for an individual neither he nor Astro have heard of before.

☁ It was going on and on about an individual named Ciara, her start date of employment, her pay rate, her credentials and especially her role in Gardenview. It was written in black, bolded lettering, all caps to ensure there was no confusion. He can see it now, every time he blinks, flashing behind his eyelids as a reminder. "Ciara [Redacted]: TOON HANDLER"

☁ The only problem is he couldn't even begin to remember any other main besides the five of them, Dandy and Bobette. A part of him thought she was Bobette's Handler, but the employment date didn't line up with the holiday season. Astro had tried to hypothesis that she could've been a temporary replacement for one of the other handlers, but Sprout has a feeling he knows better. In fact, he's sure the room behind him, where the rest of you are fast asleep, was hers. It was the only one without a placard.

☁ He never doubted you ever. He knew this intricately, believed it to this day. No, his theory was that you didn't even know about it really, but too many things lined up for him to ignore it. It was little things that only meant something in hindsight.

☁ Things he never would've spotted previously coming back as he thinks all the way back to when he was first recovered. He remembers watching you outrun Twisted Pebble, managing to keep up in a way he knew the other common toons couldn't do when they were distracting. You had gotten hit during the retrieval run, but kept in front of him for the majority of time they needed to finish machines. Hell, he doesn't know how many times you've nearly sent him into cardiac arrest just by how...easily you're able to distract. It just comes naturally to you.

☁ Pebble, also, was right away practically attached to you at the shins, following you everywhere you went with a happy little tail wag. That originally is why Sprout figured Dandy hated you, but the further he thought about it, the more he thought there was a different reason. One he just didn't know yet.

☁ The biggest indicator literally slaps him in the face every morning. Blu's appearance, while was instigated by Dandy's interference, was still something he couldn't understand. Normal, common toons very rarely could interact with the magic within the tapes. There's only one he knows of, and that's Teagan. And even then, it's limited to influencing her own person. She cannot extend that magic to anything beyond herself. That is something exclusive to mains.

☁ They all use it to a degree, just not in the same way he does. The magic is everywhere, contrary to what most of the commons think, it's just strongest in the tapes, which is what he uses for his own ability. But the others call on it in different ways too. Vee uses the general area of tapes and where the magic is strongest to get a general sight on twisteds in the area. Shelly weaves it through into the machines to make them fill faster. Astro himself uses just a bit to rejuvenate someone's stamina. Hell, even Pebble uses the magic in the tapes to make himself appear like a larger target to twisteds after he barks. It's why they can't do it all the time, they need to let the energy stabilize. Recharge.

☁ Which is why he can't get over you doing it at all. Even with Dandy's interference, you shouldn't have been able to interfere with the magic unless you were....made with that ability.

☁ His eyes widen as he whips his head to look back into the room. Astro's not there, but Sprout can vaguely remember him telling him that he was going for a short walk. You and Cosmo are wrapped around each other, burrowing into the other in a heaping mass of legs, arms and tails.

☁ His eyes immediately dart to one of your hands. It's curled around Cosmo's shirt, flexing slightly before your fingers stretch out as you gently shift, the rest of your arm stretching out as well. There, in all their glory, are your paw pads. He moved off it too fast last time, but now it's all he can focus on. For all the times he's held your hand, felt you cup his cheeks, watched you do anything with your hands, not once did they stick out to him because they were something you aways had.

☁ Something you always had.

☁ Your hand curls back around Cosmo as he burrows into your neck, mindlessly hiking your leg further up where it's hooked around his side.

☁It wasn't momentary. It was all right there, in front of him, in front of them, and they'd all been blind to it. Even your twisted had shoved itself in his face, steps heavy and purposeful and audible. Your twisted even had an ability. While it wasn't a debuff like Shelly's or Astro's, or even incredibly fast (to a degree) like Pebbles, it was like his twisted. It could influence the environment. It charged and took away cover, took away any form of safety those who ran into it had.

☁ Falling against the railing, Sprout's eyes are stuck on you. If you were a main, what happened? Why were you practically wiped from the records, meant to remain a forgotten background character? Did it have to do with Dandy's distaste towards you? Did you have a passive ability that they just weren't aware of? Did you have any idea whatsoever?

☁ The door to the bedroom slowly opens, Astro slipping in before closing it just as silently as it was opened. He looks to the bed, nodding his head with every mental count he does before pausing. One of his hands physically points at both you and Cosmo, coming up empty for the third. Sprout smiles despite the current thoughts he's having, gently knocking on the balcony loud enough for the celestial to hear.

☁ He looks over at the noise, visibly relaxing before moving to join. He deters to the bed for a moment, bringing the blanket further up yours and Cosmo's shoulders before walking out to the balcony. Two of his hands reach for Sprout's cheeks, thumb running over the seeds. "You're cheeks are chilled. How long have you been out here?"

☁ Long enough." Sprout mutters, laying his forehead on Astro's. "I've been thinking."

☁ "About Ciara?" Astro questions, and feels Sprout nod. "I-...I think I know who's handler she was."

☁ Astro remains silent, but he knows the other is still listening. Lifting his head, he looks back into the room, watching over you and Cosmo once more. Cosmo's rolled onto his back, mouth open as his breaths turn into damn near snores. You're on his chest, drooling onto his shirt. Both of you look content and peaceful, Astro surely ensuring your dreams are just so as well.

☁ There's silence between them before Astro is humming softly, his tail giving a gentle sway. "I thought so too, honestly." He sighs. "Too many things add up for it to be otherwise, I'm afraid."

☁ "...Do we tell them?" They have no method of confirming this short of turning this entire place inside out, which they have neither the time, patience or energy to do so. But it makes that earlier feeling rot in his stomach further and the idea of not telling you makes him nearly lose his supper.

☁ "I think we can bring the possibility and our concerns up to them." Astro hums, ever so calm. He always is, levelheaded and soft, consistent with his needs and open with what he expects from them and himself. While they all try to remain open with communication there are times where Sprout is so lost in the need to care and protect you three he forgets to express his worries out loud, or Cosmo is so wrapped up in his own anxieties that he refuses to try and push them onto the rest of you; even you've been known to break down in your own frustrations every now and again, simmering in your own little nest of pouty huffs and scoffs under your breath. But never Astro. The celestial has always been straight with them, even if he's grinding his teeth or wringing his hands as he does.

☁ And there is nothing Sprout appreciates more, especially in instances like this where he himself can barely think straight, but is quickly reoriented by the other. "Do you remember?"

☁ Astro falls silent as he comes up with a response. Sprout knows he doesn't need to expand on the question, but enjoys watching the other's thought process anyway. "I...can't say that I don't." Astro says carefully. "I have memories of running scenes with them, but I can't pinpoint if I knew they were a main or not. Just that they were...there. They always were." His lips spread into a small content smile as he looked over to where you and Cosmo where still sleeping soundly.

☁ Upon further glance though, it didn't appear as sound as it once was as you were now the victim of Cosmo's grappling, huffing as he rolled to lay on top of you. Sprout knows from first hand experience that if you aren't prepared for Cosmo's dead weight, it's like a punch to the gut. He only semi-pities you.

☁ "C'mon, you need some sleep." Astro huffs, moving to shove Sprout forward into the bedroom. "And we need to possible save Y/N."

☁ Sprout gives a chuckle at this before conceding, crawling into one side of the bed as Astro crawls into the other, the latter taking on Cosmo, who immediately wraps himself around the celestial while Sprout is allowed to wrap himself around you.

☁ The feeling in his gut is somewhat satiated, more so when you eagerly burrow into his chest with a content little purr. It makes his chest ache in a way he's not too sure is positive or negative just yet, and instead chooses to hold onto you anyway. His hand blindly grabs for Astro's and squeezes it the second he cans. He hopes the presence is enough to sooth his dreams for the night.

☁ Morning comes faster than you expect, but you pay it no mind as your attention is kept rapt and forward. Your brows are furrowed as you play with your fingers, tilting your head when no immediate change happens. "Do you think he's dead?"

☁ "Don't you manifest that." Cosmo hisses from where he's trying to pull away from Astro. His butt waggles in the air, which does in fact catch your attention and makes you smirk as you watch it, as he uses his legs to try and pull back, but Astro's grip is ironclad; you would know.

☁ "It doesn't make sense." You huff, having half a mind to take a picture so it'll last as long as you need it too. Cosmo's tail unfurls for a second to give a harsh little whip before he groans. "You could help!"

☁ You ignore him, instead returning your attention to what caught it in the first place. "He's always awake first though."

☁ Cosmo gives one final pull, practically cheering as he tumbles free only to tumble right off the bed. Once more, you could've helped and caught him, as you're sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, but you only grin at him from his place on the floor. He shakes his head before shooting you a glare, using the bed to help himself up. "Thanks, my loving, and oh so caring partner who is supposed to love and help me in sickness and in health-"

☁ You shush him and his sarcastic tirade, forcing his chin to look at the duo on the bed. Astro immediately turns to lock onto Sprout, but the flicker in his tail tells you he's slowly waking up and probably listening to your bickering.

☁ "He's still asleep." You repeat, as if this is some big thing. Cosmo rolls his eyes with a scoff. "Astro is always-"

☁ "Not Astro."

☁ Cosmo looks over and as if it dawns on him for the first time, his eyes widen at the sight of Sprout. His leaves are messy with bed-head, but he's still sound asleep, shoulders rising steadily with every cute little breath.

☁ Cosmo's jaw drops and suddenly he's right next to you, watching Sprout as if he were another exhibit in the museum. "Is he dead?"

☁ "Oh, so when you do it, it's funny, but when I do it-"

☁ "It's still just as loud no matter which of you ding dongs do it." Astro huffs, startling you both. Cosmo slips back down to the floor with a thud and you nearly follow him, if not for Astro's tail whipping out to catch your hand. The celestial blinks awake, eyes darting to the two of you. "Are you both done?"

☁ "Sprout's still asleep!" You exclaim, as if this explains everything. Astro raises a brow, looking at the berry asleep on his chest, raising a brow as if to ask 'so?'.

☁ "He's never asleep this long!" You explain, gesturing wildly. "That's not our Sprout!"

☁ "I promise he's our Sprout." Astro easily reassures you both, watching Cosmo crawl back onto the bed, sitting far enough on the bed he wouldn't go tumbling for a third time.

☁ Sprout nose scrunches and he shifts and the three of you tense at the action. It's quiet enough you could hear a pin drop before Sprout is settling once more and you let out a sigh of relief

☁ "Not dead." You breath at last. "That's good, I was not looking forward to learning Ichor necromancy to bring him back if only to kill him myself."

☁ "I feel like this is a rare occasion. Like...Christmas." Cosmo adds, watching Sprout as well. "Or my birthday. Or maybe his birthday. Though, for future reference, if it was my birthday I would expect more. Maybe an early birthday gift." The diva shrugs, even if you shoot him a glare.

☁ "I have an inappropriate name to call you." You jokingly shove him before your perking up. "Hey! You know what this means?"

☁ "I don't think I want too." Astro huffs, furrowing the space between his brows.

☁ "Nothing bad!" You quickly reassure. "Or dirty." You add, shooting a look at Cosmo, who sticks his tongue out. "Kitchen's open." Is what you say at last, a devious grin spreading over your features.

☁ "Sprout'll kill you." Astro pipes in.

☁ "Uh, not if you take one for the team." You shoot back. "I'm not saying Gigi was in charge of inventory this time, but I am saying my record is 40 pudding cups and the chance at fifty bucks."

☁ "Fifty whole dollars. Wow- that's- Just woowww." Astro rolls his eyes sarcastically. "How did you know I've always wanted a sugar daddy?"

☁ Cosmo snickers even if you lean into the part, crossing your arms and puffing out your chest. "I'll get you the finest pops that I find on the ground, baby, don't you worry."

☁ This time Astro snickers, as if despite himself. "You're impossible."

☁ "Not yet, I'm not." You grin, moving to slide off the bed, but Pebble is right there, glaring up at you as if daring you to do so.

☁ Your jaw drops at this, once more foiled by this silly little creature who seems to have the ultimate vendetta against your kitchen escapades. Cosmo peers over your shoulder to see what make you pause before letting out a burst of giggles, only to clap a hand over his mouth before they have the chance to truly escape.

☁ "Remind me to give him a treat later." Your attention turns back to where Sprout is comfortable laying against Astro, letting the celestial play with his leaves, even if his eyes are locked on you. You have the audacity to give him a sheepish grin.

☁ "Heyyyy, youuu-" You begin, knowing you've been caught before you could even really truly leave.

☁ Sprout levels a look at you. "Well, now I know what you've been trying to do lately." He huffs before sitting up at last, rubbing his eyes before leaning back to press a kiss to Astro's lips. Cosmo eagerly crawls forward to be next, tail wagging behind him, and though you pout at being last, you accept your own good morning kiss.

☁ "Good, now Sprout's awake and we know he's not dead, about that early Birthday present-" Cosmo leans over, only for you to shove him by his face.

☁ "Actually," Sprout cuts in, looking back at Astro who nods. "We were hoping we could...talk?"

☁ You and Cosmo both settle, immediately sensing the shift and responding accordingly. You both sit side by side, watching Sprout with your full attention.

☁ He takes a breath, sitting forward as he plays with his fingers. "...What do you know of someone named Ciara?"

[ageingfangirl2]

Ran's Little Waitress (Tokyo Revengers - Bonten)

RAN HAITANI X FEMALE READER

CHAPTER TWO: SPECIAL EVENT

ONE THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE

Tonight, a special event was being held at the club, and everyone was busy getting ready behind the scenes. The club buzzed with anticipation. Tonight’s event was invite-only, full of power players, Bonten executives, and some of the wealthiest scum in Tokyo. The decor had been upgraded—black crystal chandeliers, imported flowers, and red velvet rope lining every inch of the VIP sections.

You’d been asked—no, summoned to work it.

The floor manager himself handed you the schedule, practically choking on the words as he told you you’d be handling VIP Section A. Ran Haitani’s section.

Nervous? A little. But mostly focused. You arrived early, hair done with extra care, uniform tailored to fit like a second skin. Your tray was spotless, your notepad tucked securely into your apron, and your head held high.

But in the back room, not everyone shared your professionalism.

Behind the bar partition, out of guest view, a cluster of waitresses and bartenders huddled around a stack of bills on the table.

‘I say she spills something by midnight,’ one bartender smirked, lighting a cigarette.

‘She gets too close to one of the Bonten guys and Ran flips,’ a waitress laughed, ‘ten says she’s gone by tomorrow.’

Another one snickered, swirling her drink, ‘We could speed that up. Swap her order cards. Add a little extra to a drink—see how long she lasts before someone complains.’

Ran was passing the hallway just outside. Casual. Unhurried. Just on his way to check the guest list, and he heard every word. He didn’t stop walking right away. Just slowed. The amused comments continued behind the door, too caught up in their petty little game to notice who’d just passed.

By the time he pushed the staff door open, silence fell like a dropped glass.

Ran stood there, gaze heavy, the air thick with danger, ‘go on,’ he said, eyes sweeping over them like a blade, ‘Don’t stop on my account.’

No one moved.

He tilted his head, slow and deliberate, ‘What’s this? Betting on staff performance now?’

One waitress tried to laugh it off, ‘It’s just harmless fun, Haitani-san. You know how it is around here.’

He stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him with a click, ‘sabotaging a new girl to what? Keep your tips steady? Make yourselves feel better?’

No one dared respond.

Ran’s smile was sharp, humourless. ‘Tell you what.’

He reached into his coat, pulling out a thick wad of bills—black chips tucked in between. He dropped it on the table, ‘Here’s your severance. Take it and don’t come back.’

Three jaws dropped. One bartender opened his mouth to protest, but Ran’s hand lifted slowly, a single finger raised, ‘Say one more word,’ he said calmly, ‘and I’ll have the bouncers carry you out the front door.’

They scattered. Fast. Ran straightened his jacket, and walked back out like nothing happened. He had a business to run, and everything had to run smoothly.

The event kicked off without a hitch once word got around that Ran wanted everyone to be on their best behaviour or there would be severe consequences. You were mid-order when you caught Ran watching you from the corner booth again. This time, though, he looked different. Calmer. Like he was making sure everything stayed the way it should.

You didn’t know what had happened behind the scenes, but you could feel the shift. No more side-eyes. No more whispering. The air was… quiet now.

When you finally brought Ran his drink—neat, no garnish, perfectly balanced—he met your eyes, ‘You’ve got a clean path now,' he said, low, ‘Don’t waste it.’

You nod, quietly grateful, ‘I won’t, sir.’

Ran took the drink and, for once, gave you something that almost looked like a real smile.

The night moved on. The music pulsed low through the velvet-draped walls, just loud enough to remind everyone that luxury came with rhythm. Laughter mingled with the clinking of ice and the soft pop of expensive champagne. The energy in the VIP section was different tonight—brighter, more alert, like the wolves in silk suits could sense something new among them.

You were moving table to table, tray balanced on your palm with expert precision. Each guest got their drink exactly how they liked it. Names remembered. Preferences noted. Smiles warm. You were doing well, really well.

But pressure always waits for its perfect moment. As you weaved past a low couch to deliver a vintage scotch to a real estate mogul with wandering hands, your heel caught slightly on the edge of a plush rug. Your tray wobbled. Time slowed. You sucked in a breath, heart stalling—but you moved fast, steadying the tray with both hands, catching the glass just before it could tip. Only a drop spilt. A single drop.

The VIP stared at you, wide-eyed for a moment…before barking out a sudden laugh, ‘Well damn,’ he grinned, ‘Most girls would’ve taken a nosedive. You? You saved the drink. I respect that.’

You straighten back up, cheeks flushed but smile intact, your voice light and playful, ‘I wouldn’t dream of wasting good whiskey, sir.’

Another laugh. A louder one this time. Even the VIPs around him chuckled.

‘Adorable and professional,’ someone quipped, ‘Keep her around, Ran!’

You give a small, practised curtsy and move on quickly, your heart still racing beneath your ribs. But you kept your pace steady, your balance perfect from that moment on.

From the far side of the room, Ran had seen the whole thing. His gaze had flicked up the second you’d stumbled—just a subtle tightening of his jaw—but when you caught yourself, charmed the VIPs, and kept going without missing a beat, his expression shifted.

The corner of his mouth curled. Not quite a smirk. More like… approval. 

You didn’t know he was watching, but you could feel it again. And this time, it didn’t rattle you. It grounded you. You belonged here. Even if no one else believed it yet, you did.

And by the way, Ran Haitani leaned back in his booth, drink untouched, eyes still on you—Maybe he believed it too.

The private lounge above the main floor was quieter, reserved for the top-tier only—Bonten’s core, their inner circle. Rindou leaned back against the sleek glass railing, drink in hand, watching the swirl of luxury and liquor below.

His gaze flicked down to the waitress—the one his brother had been watching all night. Again.

She was working the VIP section with smooth confidence, a soft smile here, a laugh there, her tray never tipping once. Efficient. Charming. And completely unaware of the conversation she’d just sparked upstairs.

Rindou smirked, elbowing Ran, who was seated comfortably on the low couch, legs crossed.

‘You gonna keep staring at her all night or just go ahead and marry her?’ Rindou joked.

Ran didn’t even look up, ‘You’re imagining things, brother.’

Rindou took a sip of his drink, his grin widening, ‘I’m imagining you practically laser-focused on some new waitress with bedroom eyes and a perfect pour? Nah, don’t think so.’

Ran’s gaze finally lifted, one brow raised lazily, ‘It’s hard to get decent staff nowadays.’

‘Oh sure. And she’s just ‘decent,’ huh?’ Rindou chuckled, ‘C’mon, Ran. No one’s that good at their job unless they’re trying to impress the boss.’

Ran scoffed, brushing an invisible speck off his sleeve, ‘I haven’t made a move on her.’

Rindou blinked, mock surprise painted on his face, ‘Wait, seriously? No move at all?’

‘No,’ Ran said coolly, ‘because if I do, every other high-rolling pervert down there will start second-guessing whether it’s safe to flirt with her. VIPs don’t like uncertainty, and I don’t like losing their tips over something that can wait.’

Rindou let out a low whistle, ‘So she’s that good, huh?’ 

Ran didn’t answer right away. His eyes drifted back down to you again—you were laughing at something a guest said, graceful even as you leaned in to adjust a tray, the very image of hospitality. Controlled, clever, and somehow still soft in a place full of wolves.

‘She’s…profitable,’ Ran finally muttered.

Rindou grinned into his drink, ‘Yeah, I’m sure that’s all it is.’

Ran shot him a sideways glance but didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t need to. Because even if he hadn’t made a move, even if he claimed it was all business, Rindou could see it in the way Ran watched you.

The interest was already there. And in a place like Bonten’s world, interest was the first dangerous step.

[1-800reki]

Sweet like Strawberries! (ON HIATUS TILL FURTHER NOTICE)

In which... Y/n and Kusuo are dating but no one knows! Kusuo hates attention so he'll do everything to make sure his 'friends' never find out! Will his plan backfire?

Featuring... Kusuo Saiki, Y/n L/n, Shun Kaidou, Riki Nendou, Kokomi Teruhashi, Chiyo Yumehara, and Aren Kubyoso!

Pairing... Kusuo Saiki x GN reader!

Type of fic? A mix of a smau and a regular fic! It's mostly writing and tweets though !!

accounts!

Chapter One: Prolouge!

Chapter Two: Gulps!

Chapter Three: Who??

Chapter Four: Bro.

Chapter Five: You are NOT Shakespeare

Chapter Six: Oops?

Chapter Seven: Big Problem 😨

Chapter Eight: ts pmo 💔

Chapter Nine: Bro is NOT nonchalant

Chapter Ten: Are we deaduzz 💔

Chapter Eleven: Greetings Kuzz! (Kusuo Huzz)

Chapter Twelve: WHAT

Chapter Thirteen: This CANNOT be real (last chapter)