#GETTING BETTER DOES NOT HAPPEN IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE

[here-for-fanart]

JINX REMEMBERS THE TIME LOOPS!

I'm probably gonna get a lot of nay sayers on this, but I don't care. I believe Jinx was fully aware of Ekko rewinding time. Here's why:

We know Jinx is medically enhanced with Shimmer. It has become fully integrated into her system, as we've seen her use it multiple times to move at super fast speeds (especially during a fight).

But it gets even better: She appears to actually glitch through time, when using it. She's THAT fast. Here's a few screenshots that show her partially glitching through time. In a few of them, she almost disappears entirely.

Now, I'm not saying she's physically travelling through time (yet). This isn't teleportation or rewinding; this is simply acceleration. But remember, Ekko himself said he was playing "with inversions on Jayce's acceleration rune", when he discovered the Z-drive. So, Jinx and Ekko's powers are connected, as they are complete opposites of what the other is doing.

So, how does Jinx manage to negate Ekko's travel backwards when she's travelling forward? Well, Shimmer is a substance made for adaptation and survivability during transitions. Hextech (which Ekko's Z-drive and her monkey bomb both use) has been known to have unpredictable results when combined with Shimmer. It's possible the shimmer in her system counteracts the Z-drive naturally, or it adapted to it to prolong Jinx's survivability during the first explosion.

The first time Ekko rewinds Jinx's explosion, she is zipped backwards just like the first time the Z-drive was used. But in the aftermath of this rewind, Jinx looks somewhat confused (indicating she has at least a noticeable case of deja vu, even if she does not fully remember the events).

One might think this is surprise in response to Ekko calling her name. But we know it's not, because she quickly dismisses his presence and goes back to blowing herself up. This is her way of saying, "Okay, my mind is doing a weird thing again but back to business."

NOTE: We don't get to see her initial reaction to the second explosion, but I think the second explosion is where she finally understood something was seriously off.

Because the next time we see her,

She's in experimentation mode. And the fact that she's watching Ekko, means she suspects he's the cause.

If you watch her micro expressions, during the third explosion, you'll see: default curiosity; a narrowing of the eyes, indicating suspicion (right before she pulls the pin); she keeps her eyes open and on Ekko during the explosion and does not blink; then when everything is set back, there's a slight widening of the eyes; her eyebrows raise; then her eyes narrow; before they dart downwards, noticing Ekko's blood and charred state.

[Before you start berating me for "reading too much into it", this is animation. Every single twitch is purposely added.]

After she sees the condition he's in, she knows this is his doing but that he can't keep it up forever. That's why she says "You're too late, Ekko" and goes again. It's too late for talking out her problems anymore. She's just gonna weedle him down, until he gives up.

But then, he says, "It's always a dance with you". Well, now, she's just curious about what the heck THAT means. So, she gives him a second to see if he'll tell her.

That's when Ekko says he's gonna sit there a minute, to see if he can talk an old friend out of blowing them up. And when it's clear he's waiting for her to say something, her mind focuses back on dying. "I'm tired of talking." But! She tries something new again. If he can stop an explosion, maybe he can't stop something else. She falls over the edge.

After this reset, we don't see her expression, but I can only imagine she's thinking through her slowly dwindling options. Then, he says, "Ya know, I learned from someone..." and suddenly, she's back to curiosity. How is Ekko doing it? Is he finally going to tell her?

"No matter what happened in the past, it's never too late to build something new". And that's when she notices the Z-drive and the monkeys. That's not Ekko's style. It's hers.

The next sentence actually doesn't make sense, grammatically, unless you follow it up with the previous sentence. "[It's not too late to build] Someone worth building it for."

And having just been given evidence that there is a good version of her, [There's no good version of me.] one who did fix things [It was something I could fix.], and who made it possible for Ekko to save her [big fat hero], she decides to try one last time.

It's curiosity that keeps her pausing over and over again. Even trapped in depression and suicidal ideation, she's still the girl with a brilliant mind and an inventive spirit.

It's my opinion that Ekko would not have been able to save Jinx, if she was not aware of the time loop situation. It was her curiosity of Ekko's new toy, combined with the realization that she helped build it, that led to her giving life another chance.

Lastly, remember when I said she's not capable of physically travelling through time yet?

Unless Warwick let go of her before the explosion, yes, yes she is. Or at least, she's come as close to it as she's physically able to. Either way, our girl is alive and on her way to a new life.

############################

[Thanks for reading, but don't take this too seriously. It was just some thoughts in my head I needed to get out.]

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Metanoia ;

Aemond targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader

>> Chapter V : The Epiphany.

Summary: Aemond's been taking care of you since you fainted, at last you finally wake up.

WARNINGS: mdni, smut, unprotected p in v sex, canon typical incest, nothing too crazy, mentions of purity culture and customs, hymen breaking (reader's transmigrated body, this isn't specified for the body outside of the world), blood mentions, Aemond becomes a softie ig (cherish him y'all), + not proofread, please let me know if I forget anything else!

A/N: it's back!!! divider credits @cafekitsune

<- prev // masterlist // next ->

You blink open your eyes staring at the openview outside of the window, the sky beginning to darken.

It seems you've passed out once again. It's probably been a few hours. This body is extremely weak, you needed to do something about it.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't hear the door open so you jump slightly when it slammed shut. Looking up, you see Aemond whose eye widened as he rushed over to you, dropping a rag of cloth and the bucket in his hand, causing the water in it to pour out. “How are you feeling?” He questions, grabbing your hand, checking your temperature and pulse.

“I am alright, how long have I been asleep?” You ask him.

“A week.”

That reply made your heart stop.

A week?

That long?

“Are you serious?” You ask and he nods, “Yes, we were all concerned and I thought—” He cups your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I thought you went into a long slumber again, but I thank the heavens you did not.”

Perhaps the last encounter with Aemond really pushed the limits.

“Did.. anything happen while I was asleep?” You ask once again, wanting to know what happened during your absence of consciousness. Aemond sighs. “Your mother and siblings have all returned to Dragonstone as there was an urgent matter at hand, they were unable to take you with them.”

“I see.” You furrow your brows, wondering why Viserys hasn't died yet. It has been a week, was his death gonna occur at any moment now? There was a deep feeling in your gut that something would happen soon.

Aemond sits on the bed, before pulling you into his embrace. “I apologise.” He mutters into your ear. “What for?” You ask confused, hugging him back. “It was because of me that you had fainted.” You could feel his breath hitting against the back of your neck as he spoke.

You pull away from the embrace, giving him a smile. “I am just weak.” You reply, in an attempt to tell him that it was not his fault. He smiles at you. Your eyes fall to the bucket on the ground before you look at him. “Have you been taking care of me?” You question and he nods, which makes you feel embarrassed.

“Why bother? The maids could've done it.” You shrug but he shakes his head. “I do not want anyone I do not trust near you when you are vulnerable.” He replies.

You just simply nod at his reply, feeling the silence fall between you two. The air turns cold causing shivers to travel up your spine. Aemond continues to stare at you, taking in your features.

Since your apology, it seems the environment and the atmosphere around you and Aemond has changed, you could feel it. The way his face blanketed on a worried expression, the longing in his eyes, you could see it. Something has definitely changed in him. And you did not know if it was for the better or worse.

He leans closer and you look into his eye, your heart accelerating as you anticipate him to lean. He does exactly that, he leans in, capturing your lips with his moving them in a slow manner, contrary to the first time you both shared a kiss.

Aemond seemed to have significantly warmed up to you now, it was one thing that you had fixed after coming into this world.

His hand travels to the back of your head as he pushes you further into the kiss, wanting to get closer to you; to seek your warmth. You couldn't help but melt into his hold, reciprocating the kiss as your hand reaches up to rest on the bend of his elbow.

He pulls away, panting heavily as he takes you in, the sight of his saliva glistening on your lips, the light of the candles around you bouncing off of the shine. He couldn't help but crave you more.

But he knew, he had to stop himself before he lost control, he shouldn't be taking your maidenhead without getting married, cause it is a part of your dignity. He respected you enough to consider this fact.

Yet, you were so irresistible, he felt like a feral animal, trying to lock his own desires in a cage. You do not know the effect you have on him. You couldn't help but notice that the environment had indeed turned a little tense and you knew exactly what he was thinking, his eye failing to hide his desire and craving for you.

And so, you took the initiative, not liking the way he was restraining himself from you. Had this been the Aemond from a week ago, he would've taken your maidenhood without mercy as a way to teach you a lesson, because he was a cruel man. But now that man is no more, replaced or rather, reformed into his younger self who loved you a lot.

You pushed him onto the bed, straddling him. His hair was sprawled out behind him like a halo, making him look like an angel that has descended from the heavens above.

He was taken aback by your bold move. His hands grabbed onto your hips for leverage as he felt you straddle him, your thighs on both sides of his legs as you sat on top of his crotch.

He felt embarrassed, feeling you shift on top of his crotch, his breeches meekly trying to conceal his hardening shaft like a lone leaf holding onto its branch against the strong wind.

It was futile, because you feel the outline of his cock quite clearly.

Your hands moved on their own accord, your body taking the lead like it always did. Perhaps the owner of this body is still inside somewhere, yet you could feel no one else's consciousness in your brain except yours. Maybe you are the—

The sound of clothes ripping cut you off from your thoughts and you realised that Aemond has ripped your nightgown by pulling it off your shoulder before he grabbed it with both his hands and tore it down the middle, exposing your breasts.

He grabbed onto them, his movements becoming bolder each second, as if he's slowly releasing the beast yet still trying to keep it tamed. His thumbs caressed your nipples, pressing against the hard nubs before he sat up, taking one of your breasts into his mouth.

He breathed out in satisfaction, suckling onto your areolas, his tongue swirling around the nub and flicking against it continuously before he'd suck on it, repeating this in a loop.

You felt yourself getting wet down there, so you rub yourself against him, trying to ease the ache in between your legs, but he holds you down, grunting before he lets go of your breasts with a pop.

He shakes his head lightly, “Are you sure about this?” He asks, and you nod desperately, your mind filled with the thoughts of just wanting his cock inside you, pushing out any rationality left in you.

“Please— Aemond.. I want you..” Those words leave your mouth voluntarily as you grab his shoulders tightly, indicating that you really mean it. You cup his cheek before catching his lips in a searing hot kiss.

Those words that left your mouth set the forest inside his heart ablaze, the fire of desire engulfing him in its warmth. The feral beast broke free and took control immediately.

He flipped you over, pushing you onto the bed, getting on top of you. He begins kissing your neck, sucking your sweet spot, leaving his marks, his teeth biting on your flesh as a way to claim you as his own.

He pulls away, panting heavily, immediately scrambling to undo his breeches, freeing his cock from the confines of the material. He pulled off his leather suit as well, the tunic following along with his tunic, hating the way the sweat was sticking to him.

You wouldn't help but admire the view in front of you. You spread your legs before he could say anything, hiking up your nightgown to reveal your cunt. Aemond's eye widened in surprise at your bold move, driving him crazy even more.

Aemond grabbed you by your thighs, pulling you forward as he lined himself against your entrance as he slowly pushed in. You winced when you felt a sudden heat of pain down there. His length penetrates you slowly.

He wanted to pull out the minute he saw blood, yet the darker side of him only felt motivated, knowing that he's taking your maidenhead. It drove him further off the edge.

You on the other hand only felt slight discomfort but your eyes widened when you saw blood.

Ah right, the hymen of women in this era is still intact as they're not that active for it to break off due to physical movement. So even the slightest penetration would lead you to bleed.

Basic biology, you shrugged it off, if only they knew. You felt annoyed, not agreeing with the custom this era practices.

Aemond settled fully inside you, his cock throbbing inside, the way your walls felt warm around him. Without a warning he began moving, which cut you off your thoughts when you felt yourself being jolted up and down, his thrusts starting off rough from the beginning.

‘That's right, focus on him for now.’ You tell yourself internally, gripping onto his shoulders, staring into his eye. Your hand reached upwards towards his eyepatch and he flinched away a little before he realised what you were doing.

You took the eyepatch off, revealing the sapphire that rested in his eye. You sat on your elbows, cupping his cheek as he leans in. You kiss him on the eye before kissing his cheek and finally kissing him on the lips.

He pushes you back onto the bed, not breaking the kiss and neither stopping his thrusts as he supports himself on his elbows kissing you with thirst desperately wanting to be quenched while simultaneously ramming into you.

You gasped when you felt him hit your sweet spot, making way for his tongue to slip past your lips, his tongue challenging yours in a battle of dominance.

You were losing it, of course, because his tip kept ramming and grazing against your gspot, pushing you to the edge. You gripped his back in desperation, your fingers leaving bites on his flesh.

And then, you felt it, the sudden shot of immense pleasure up your spine to the point it made you push your head back into the mattress as you gasped loudly into the kiss, whining directly into it. The pleasure blinded you temporarily as you convulsed around him.

He felt you clench and grip him tightly, which pushed him off the edge as well, he grunted, finishing inside you with a soft call of your name, it felt erotic, it felt comforting all at once.

Aemond wouldn't stop with just this one time, after all, he finally got the taste of what he craved the most. He continued all night, taking you all positions known to mankind, leaving you a moaning mess beneath him.

The night was wonderful, it was only when the sky began to turn into a lighter shade than darkness that he'd stop, collapsing next you and allowing you to rest in his arms.

You fell asleep soundly in his embrace. It was peaceful.

But, the peace wouldn't last for long.

The knocks on your chamber door were hurried and loud. Aemond grunted in his sleep, annoyed at the disturbance before waking up, you had woken up as well. He wrapped a cloth around his lower body before he went and opened the door, to find a panicked Alicent.

“Y/N— Aemond?” She's surprised to see Aemond, so many questions arise in her mind as she's processing the sight before her. She wanted to reprimand, but she could not because a lot was on her mind already.

“What is it, mother?” Aemond asks cooly, not bothered by her reaction. You hold the blanket to your chest, leaning sideways to try and catch a glimpse of Alicent, yet you only catch a sight of her dress and her dishevelled hair.

“Aemond your father— is dead.”

The words that left her mouth made your blood run cold. Aemond seemed just as shocked, remaining silent as he processed the information before he blinked. “And Aegon, he's gone.” She finishes.

Aemond immediately returns back into the room, putting on his breeches with haste before throwing on the tunic and rushing out of the room. Leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Viserys is dead.

Aegon is gone.

Fuck.

TAGLIST !!

@gabriella-aesthetic @delaynew @idonotknowenglish @dixie-elocin @intheheartoftheking @dracaryxzs @ladyoffandoms @zoleea-exultant @saturnssrings @uniquecutie-puffs @aleemendoza2425-blog @marvelita85 @feelingfaye @sylvievil @cypherpt5fttaehyung @ttysmfwna @void21 @technicallystrangereview @feyresqueen @evergreen9083 @mirandasidefics @org12 @blorbo-brainrot @thisishwrworld @shadowqueen09 @watermel0nsugarhigh @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @madislayyy @the-hufflebird-girl @hiatuswhore

[black--sun]

Ichigo wants to argue. Fighting to keep words from coming out is like trying to swallow a rock. It feels wrong. It twists his stomach. How could he not look? That's like telling him not to care. That's not even what Shiro wants. Ichigo lowers his voice, because he’s not trying to start a fight. “You’re so full of shit. When something bad happens to someone you care about, it’s not better just because you didn’t watch. You know that.” That time Ichigo got a stomach full of glass and went missing from the city for a few days made that clear. 

He tries to look as innocent as possible in the face of that sour expression, but he’s definitely not managing it. He likes the idea of Shiro jumping him more than any smart person should. There's definitely something wrong with him. He smirks. “You’re the one that’d have to reimburse the store to pay for the damage if you want to keep shopping here. And we’d just end up screwing around on a pile of clothes somewhere anyway.” They don’t fight because Shiro doesn’t trust himself, not because Ichigo is opposed. He’s never been afraid of getting hurt. But his brain is still riding that imagination train hard enough that Shiro’s threesome idea doesn’t have any trouble sparking and flaring to life behind his eyes. He blinks and catches his toes on a table leg, knocking his knee and hip into the corner edge. He grunts at the sudden stop and hisses a curse, still nonplussed and thinking of bare skin and bloody knuckles. He’s not even sure what to say to that. His tongue feels thick in his mouth as he straightens and steps around the table like it didn’t just nearly take him down. But there’s heat creeping up the back of his neck. “You think that suggestion would make him less mad or more?” Which isn’t a no, because he’s not stupid. But also, “Since when are you interested in Grimmjow?” Is that a thing now? Ichigo’s asked about it before. Shiro’s answers never made it sound like it happened, but he also never directly said it didn’t. Probably on purpose. He looks over in spite of trying to be nonchalant. “Are you and Grimmjow fucking?” 

The key’s tag has a number on it, which seems pointless since there’s only two doors, and the small lock wouldn’t stop anyone if they wanted inside. He uses the key and pushes the door open, dropping it and the stack of clothes onto a chair. He glances back to Shiro and his empty hands. “You didn’t find anything?” It’s the first time it occurs to him that he might’ve dragged Shiro here just for himself and not because Shiro wanted to shop. He closes the door, because it won’t stop Shiro if he decides to come along, but it will keep someone from unintentionally seeing his gun as the distressed sweater comes off. He doesn’t need to try on the sweatshirt, but he does.

An expression somewhere between tired and unimpressed flickers across his features and he shakes his head slightly. "Probably not." It's moments like this that he misses when his crew was smaller. Not everyone that came and went through the warehouse crew was loyal, but it sure seems like he was more respected back then.

That makes him laugh. Still smirking and a little sheepish, he says, "In your defense, I'm good at not lettin' that distract me." At least not in so far as getting his ass handed to him because of it. It was certainly a deciding factor on why Ichigo walked away from his attempted murder, that and because Shiro's opportunistic. Ichigo was strong and a good fighter and couldn't sell him out because Shiro knew his dirty secrets. It was really a win-win for Shiro. Ichigo's response to his comment about his drug use sends a flash of stung anger through him. Ichigo's not around to see anything. Hell, if Ichigo had been around, he might have had the support he needed to keep from using again to begin with. Part of him knows it's not fair to pin his relapse on Ichigo, but he's got it in his head that it wouldn't have happened if things had turned out different between them. "You don't have to look." It's muttered because any louder and he wouldn't be able to keep the hurt from his voice.

He turns a sour look in Ichigo's direction for that, but yeah ok, fine. Not only would it not be smart to get between them, but it probably would be good entertainment too. Still. "You're about to find out how well I can still fight." He arches a brow, "If I were you? I'd totally defend my friend and then make out with you. Then maybe invite Grimmjow for a threesome." Ok all of that might be true except the first part. He'd watch first too.

This store is distracting. He's not even trying to shop for himself but he finds himself idly pushing hangers aside and shuffling through stacked clothes. Every time he's ever been here he's found something he looks great in. He stops his casual perusal to follow Ichigo to the counter, not surprised when there's no real acknowledgement from the clerk. Shiro can't blame the kid, he'd hate a job like this too.

[happyyyandcrazyyy]

love and tattoos (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: in which jesper has a theory and kaz might be the matching tattoos kind of guy.

or

it’s two small words, a raven and a crow, a broken lock and a key, and a band around their ring finger.

or

“He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.”

warnings: brief panic attack (not detailed), mentions of wounds and blood (not detailed, canon typical), set in the future, kaz has worked on his touch aversion

kaz taglist: @the-tpd-bau @ellievickstar @thestudiouswanderer | soc taglist: @ancientbeing10 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist just dm me!)

a/n: here i am, once again, because apparently im incapable of stopping myself from writing for kaz brekker. i have so many wips but kaz always calls to me😭😭 this one was so much fun to write, it just flowed, and i hope you enjoy it just as much as i did!!

i. a band of ink around his ring finger, part one.

Jesper must be hallucinating, he has to be. He blinks once, twice, looks down at the drink in his hand, briefly wonders if it’s been laced with some sort of drug powerful enough to have his brain imagining things— because Jesper does not have the imagination to be making this up, he wishes he did —and then looks back up. The ink remains in place. Nope, no way. He shakes his head, presses his eyes shut. He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.

It’s not the tattoo itself that shocks Jesper. Although, maybe it does freak him out a bit, a band around the ring finger can only mean one thing, and Jesper has never believed Kaz to be the marrying type. (Then again, he never thought him to be the matching tattoos kind of guy, and the last couple of months have had him discovering that Kaz very much could be.) No, what makes Jesper spiral is that he’s seen that exact same tattoo on (Y/N)’s own ring finger.

ii. you break, i mend.

Jesper has seen the tattoo on the inside of (Y/N)’s left wrist more times than he can count.

The word ‘mend’ in all lowercase, the typography delicate and elegant, the font somewhat rounded. Jesper has never asked what it means— because everyone in the Barrel has been branded, either by choice or against their will, and Jesper knows the black ink carries memories, promises and pain, he knows better than to ask —but he thinks it’s fitting for her, both the word and the style. Because (Y/N) is a gentle force, someone who provides emotional care to those close to her, a fixer. She loves proudly and deeply, and Jesper has never met someone in this wretched place that is so unafraid to be kind. He doesn’t know what she does to remain untainted, to keep her soul so pure in spite of their line of work. He envies it, sometimes. But then he’ll hear muted sobs through the thin walls, wake up at the sound of screams caused by nightmares, and he’ll wonder if feeling and caring that much is even worth it.

Jesper doesn’t think much about (Y/N)’s tattoo— it’s pretty and it suits her, and, yeah, he gets the desperate need to ask for a backstory whenever he catches a glimpse of it, but never does. There’s nothing more to it. That is until he spies a word on Kaz’s own wrist.

He only sees the tattoo because Kaz takes his gloves off. That doesn’t happen very often, if at all. But it’s the hottest day of summer they’ve had in Ketterdam in years, and they’ve been out in the sun all day, so Jesper is only mildly surprised when they reach Kaz’s office and he takes the black gloves off. What does take him completely off guard, however, is the inked word on his right wrist, partially hidden by the sleeves of his shirt.

‘BREAK’. In uppercase, with jagged and fragmented lettering. Jesper only catches a glimpse before Kaz twists away and the ink is completely sheltered by his clothes, but he’s almost sure the tattoo has some sort of optical effect, makes it seem like the words have been shattered, all sharp and angular lines.

Kaz is saying something and Inej is responding, and it’s probably important and he definitely should be paying attention, but Jesper’s mind is elsewhere because (Y/N)’s delicate tattoo suddenly comes to mind. The similarities are just right there and now all Jesper can think about is how odd of a coincidence it is that (Y/N) and Kaz have mirror tattoos. Same place, but opposite wrist. A single word, one neat and elegant, the other harsh and precise. Jesper does not believe in coincidences, but it can’t be anything else— because believing it to be something else would mean believing Kaz to be a matching tattoos type of person and Jesper would bet his guns against that —so he simply ponders over the possible coincidence, just for a quick second, before Kaz is directing questions towards him and Jesper is forced to shove the information in the back of his mind.

He ends up forgetting about it. Not forgetting forgetting, more so in the way he forgets his debts until there are collectors knocking on his door. The information is there, stored in some corner of his brain, ready to be brought back into his consciousness with just the right push.

The right push comes a Saturday night, two months after he first notices Kaz’s tattoo.

(Y/N) is out on a job. Jesper doesn’t know any of the details— not the target, nor the entry and exit routes, nothing at all —but he knows something is wrong because Kaz has been pacing for the last half hour.

“She should be back by now,” is all Kaz says when he asks. He doesn’t really need to say more. Jesper feels the way his chest constricts, panic slowly building. (Y/N) is never late.

Just as Jesper feels like he’s about to start pacing himself, the door of the Slat opens. She’s got her hood on, doesn’t look up from the floor when she walks in. There’s a certain drag in her limbs, something that tells Jesper that something is wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Where the fuck were you?” The words aren’t directed towards him, but Jesper cannot help but flinch. Kaz doesn’t get like this often, cold and harsh because he’s worried, so the job must’ve been important, high stakes, the type where survival isn’t assured.

(Y/N) looks up, and it’s only then that Jesper notices the blood. It’s everywhere. It drips down the slope of her nose, it trails down her lips. She walks closer and with the change of light he notices that it’s also embedded in her clothes. The most disturbing thing, however, are her eyes. Glassy, distant, unseeing. She’s shaking. Full body tremors.

By his side, Kaz deflates completely at the sight of her. He’s already moving towards her when she whispers brokenly, “I’m sorry.”

The apology goes ignored, “Where are you hurt?” Kaz asks. He reins his panic well enough, but Jesper can still taste the traces of it, they float around in the air.

(Y/N) doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge Kaz as he comes to stand right in front of her, trying his best to assess for injuries. It’s hard when all there is to see is blood.

“I’m not hurt,” she responds, and it’s like she’s in a trance, capable of responding but not truly present. Jesper furrows his brows, catches the concerned look on Kaz face. Does she not realize she’s covered in blood? She raises her hand to gesture at herself, and it’s only when she does so that Jesper notices the blade. She waves it around. It’s stained red, all the way to the handle. “Blood’s not mine.”

Jesper freezes. Kaz stops dead on his tracks, too.

Kaz looks back at him and understanding passes through them. She snapped. Something made her snap.

It seems like she’s just processing it, too, because a second after she mutters those words the knife falls from her hand and her knees wobble. It’s like Kaz had been expecting the sudden crash, because he’s quick to help her down. He grabs her by the sleeves of her tunic and sits her on the floor, back against the wall.

Her breathing begins to come out hard and labored, she clutches at her chest, hard.

“Look at me,” Kaz instructs, but she’s not here anymore. Jesper cannot help the way fear courses through him at the sight of her faraway eyes and the sound of her disordered breaths. He’s only ever seen (Y/N) like this once before, and even then, it hadn’t been this bad, she’d been responsive to Kaz, and very much able to breathe properly. Right now, not even Kaz’s words are cutting through the haze.

The wheezing becomes louder, more intense. The more she panics, the less she breathes, the more Jesper feels like he, himself, isn’t capable of getting air into his lungs. Kaz keeps talking, but she doesn’t seem to hear him.

“I can’t—” Her lips are slowly losing color.

Jesper is still frozen in place, and he can tell that Kaz is also beginning to panic by the way he grabs her clothed hand and presses it against his own chest.

“Breathe,” he orders. Insistent, firm. Kaz’s words leave no room for argument and (Y/N) reacts accordingly. Like it’s instinct to do as Kaz says, she takes in a deep breath, ragged.

“Good girl.” Kaz’s hand, the one that isn’t on top of (Y/N)’s own, pressed against his chest, hovers over her cheek. He ends up grabbing the end of the hood that still partially covers her face. “One more time.”

She repeats the action, another deep breath, interrupted by a brief coughing fit.

“You’re okay, match my breaths.” She nods weakly and does as best she can, eyes shut. The hand that is on Kaz’s chest has become a fist, rumpling his shirt. She holds onto him like a lifeline.

“I’ll get her water,” he finds himself saying.

Kaz doesn’t turn to look at him, “Bring a wet cloth, too.”

Jesper nods and slips out of the room and into the kitchen. He feels like he’s having an out of body experience, his body working automatically on pouring tap water in a glass, on finding a clean cloth. His mind is miles away.

Saints.

It’s disconcerting to see someone as serene and put together as (Y/N) so rattled and distraught. He feels disoriented, like the world has shifted off his feet. He’s never seen her snap so badly that she ends up spiraling into a panic attack. Jesper doesn’t know much about her past, but Kaz had once mentioned something about a complicated upbringing, about being raised as a weapon not a child. He doesn’t want to begin to imagine what he’d meant.

The soft murmur of words brings him back to reality, grounds him and guides him once again into his body.

“Are you with me?”

No response, but Jesper imagines that she must’ve nodded because he hears the soft sigh of relief that Kaz lets out.

It’s quiet for a little while, Jesper focuses on the sound of water flowing through the cloth in his hands, the feeling of it getting damper.

“I’m sorry.” The words come out soft, filled with emotion and embarrassment.

“None of that.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know. It’s okay.”

The silence lingers before being filled by quiet noises. Jesper has heard her sobs through his wall enough times to identify them. His heart tightens painfully.

“It’s okay,” Kaz repeats, softer this time. It’s a tone Jesper has never heard him use with anyone else.

“There were children, Kaz,” Jesper has to strain to make out the words, they’re muffled by something, “little kids. And it just reminded me of… I couldn’t...”

“I know.”

A sniffle, “I’m sorry,” followed by a broken laugh, soft and sad. “I’m a mess.”

Jesper turns off the faucet, twists the cloths to remove any excess of water. He grabs the glass of water with one hand and the cloth with the other and then, just, waits. He knows this conversation is not one he should be present for, he doesn’t want to be present.

It’s a good thing, too, that he doesn’t make his way towards them, because he’s pretty sure he would’ve stumbled and dropped everything at the next words that fall out of Kaz’s mouth.

“If you break, I mend, remember?”

(mend

BREAK)

Jesper places the glass of water on the kitchen counter and blinks once, twice.

Saints be damned.

Kaz might be the matching tattoos type of person.

iii. a raven and a crow

The matching tattoo theory, as Jesper likes to refer to it, remains just that, a theory. Because Jesper has no real way of proving it, not unless he finds the will to ask (Y/N)— which he just can’t do, she’s so open about everything that prodding just feels unfair —or unless he brings his curiosity to Kaz— which might just end up with him losing a finger, and Jesper likes his limbs just as they are, thank you very much. So, for now, it’s merely speculation, something that could be played off as a coincidence. And he thinks it must be a coincidence, right? Matching tattoos are too sentimental for someone like Kaz. (Then again, he has always been different when it comes to (Y/N), so maybe Jesper shouldn’t be that surprised.) And they aren’t matching tattoos, not really, they are more like, well, mirror ones. It’s different. Probably nothing. He might be connecting dots where there’s absolutely nothing to connect.

He can’t help the way he begins to observe more, trying to find anything to sustain or disprove his theory. It’s only natural, he tells himself, Jesper is nothing if not a curious man.

It’s only because he becomes so attuned to them, and whatever that thing is that they have going on, that Jesper notices little things.

“Inej?”

“Good.”

Kaz keeps on making roll call, making sure all of them are there and unharmed.

“Jes?”

“Very much alive,” he grunts in response, letting himself flop into the haystack. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, but at least it’s still beating. He cannot believe a blizzard of all things is what saved their lives.

He looks to his left. Even Inej looks slightly winded. She pats the pocket of her coat, sags in relief immediately after. Jesper does the same, touches his inner pocket, feels the edges of the glass key, and sighs.

The goods are safe.

“Nina?”

“Here.” Her cheeks are rosy. Jesper isn’t sure if it’s because of the dreadful cold or the exertion.

There’s silence after, the room filled by only harsh breaths. Jesper snaps up, looking around frantically, because Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name and that can only mean that she’s not there or she’s…

His mind quiets down when he takes in the sight in front of him.

Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name because he already has eyes on her. Probably always did.

And that’s when Jesper sees it, a little thing, something that tilts the scales in favor of his theory; the softness in (Y/N)’s face as she listens to Kaz.

(Y/N) is always kind— with battered gang members and hungry street urchins, with the loud customers and even with those who dare gamble against her —but Jesper is just now realizing that there’s a different gentleness when it comes to the way she takes Kaz in. The look in her eyes becomes quieter, more intimate, delicate. She says something, much too quiet for Jesper to hear, and smiles. Kaz shakes his head fondly, responds with a hushed whisper. It’s tender, precious, private. It makes Jesper feel like he’s intruding.

And then something Jesper has never seen before happens. Kaz takes (Y/N)’s chin with his gloved hand, thumb and index fingers holding her. He moves her face around, looking for any visible injury.

There goes another detail in favor of the matching tattoo theory.

Jesper thinks he might’ve just entered some sort of altered reality because what is he even looking at right now. He looks around but Inej and Nina aren’t paying them any mind, too engrossed in their own conversation.

Great, he’s all alone in trying to figure this thing out.

“I’m okay,” he hears (Y/N) reassure.

For the most part, Jesper thinks to himself, because he doesn’t miss the way she’s pressing her hand to her abdomen. Apparently, it hasn’t slipped past Kaz either, because he hums and raises his eyebrows, eyes pointedly trailing down to the wound.

She rolls her eyes at him, even that action looks fond, “It’s not deep.”

Kaz is more tactile with her, Jesper realizes with a start. It’s not a word he would ever use to describe Dirtyhands, but it’s the only one that comes to mind. (And Kaz has gotten better over the years, he has. It’s been gradual, and Jesper has no clue as to how or what he’s done, but he hasn’t missed the way Kaz doesn’t cringe away from the Crows anymore, how he doesn’t pale when someone brushes against him. He doesn’t seek touch, but he doesn’t lose all semblance of control at it either. Still, tactile is farther from what Kaz is, and this? This is huge. This is the greatest display of touch Jesper has ever seen him do.)

“You’ve got it?”

“Yeah, I’ll stitch it.”

His gloved thumb brushes her skin, briefly, before he taps the bottom of her chin gently, in approval, and lets her go.

“I can help you with that,” Nina pipes up.

Jesper turns around, immediately catches the look in the Heartrender’s eyes. Seems like he might not be the only one noticing things.

(Y/N) nods in agreement and Nina follows after her. Jesper decides, after taking only two seconds to ponder on the thought, to trail behind them. He wants to listen in— because he knows Nina won’t be able to keep herself from commenting or questioning and he’s aching to know —but he’s also hoping the Heartrender will take pity on him and heal some of his bruises.

“What do you want?” Nina asks him as they settle on a small corner of the stable. (Y/N) leans against a wooden post as she begins to undress, untucking her shirt.

Jesper simply points at the bruise he can already feel forming on his cheekbone, offering a cheeky smile.

“I’m not a nurse, Fahey.”

“You’re gonna stitch her up!” (Y/N) is watching with amusement and when Jesper points at her she raises one hand in surrender, the other still pressed against her wound.

“Yeah, well,” Nina shrugs, needle and thread in hand, “She’s my favorite.”

(Y/N) chuckles. There’s a broken-down iron chest and she sits on it as well as she can, leaning back so that Nina can work. She winks at him, “Privileges, Jes.”

He pouts.

“Saints,” Nina mutters when she catches a look of him. She’s decided that kneeling by (Y/N) side will be the most comfortable position for her to work. She cleans the wound, pours water over it, and doesn’t turn to him as she says, “If you stop doing that face I’ll see what I can do about the bruise.”

He smirks to himself, “You’ve got it, boss.”

Jesper can’t see it, but he’s sure she rolls her eyes at him.

“Try not to move,” she instructs (Y/N), voice gaining a softer, less teasing edge. The needle pricks the skin.

It’s not a deep wound, (Y/N) had been right about that. It bleeds, but the flow seems to be slowing down. It’s a little bit over her hipbone, but not quite on her abdomen. Judging by the injury, if Jesper had to guess, he would say it was probably caused by a straight back blade.

He had sort of expected Nina to immediately fire away, to start unabashedly questioning, but she doesn’t. She moves her hands in a repetitive motion, closing the skin. Then, she casually comments, “That’s not a crow.”

It’s only then that Jesper notices the ink; just over (Y/N)'s hipbone, only visible because she’d pulled her trousers a bit down to give Nina more skin to maneuver around.

“No, it isn’t,” (Y/N) confirms. She’s got her eyes closed, looks a lot more like she’s sleeping and not like she’s having her skin stitched back together. Either Nina has an amazing ability or she’s somehow managing to dissociate from the pain.

“A raven?”

“Yeah.”

Jesper leans away from the wall to get a better look at it. It’s small, simple, just the silhouette done in thin black lines. He has no idea how Nina managed to identify the bird.

Nina stays quiet for a split second, musing. She keeps her hands steady, thread pulling skin. Apparently, she decides she does not care about decorum— just like Jesper had expected —because she ends up stating, matter-of-factly, “Kaz calls you that.”

Jesper sort of forgets how to breathe. That’s why Nina hadn’t gone on a tangent regarding the touches and the glances, he realizes in that moment. She’d been distracted by something much more interesting.

And she hadn’t identified the bird, she’d just made an informed assumption. Because Kaz does call her that, raven, and sometimes, when he's feeling particularly fond, little raven. He uses it interchangeably with her name and often enough that when Jesper had initially joined the Dregs, all those years back, he’d assumed it to be her name. He’s not quite sure how Nina, who’s been with them for a shorter period of time, managed to make that connection quicker than him.

(Y/N) lets out a breathy laugh, “That he does.”

Instead of further grilling (Y/N) about the tattoo, as Jesper had expected, Nina changes the line of inquiry.

“Why?” She stops sewing and looks up at (Y/N), eyes filled with curiosity.

Oh, she’s insane, Jesper thinks to himself. He sort of wishes he’d have the audacity to ask such direct questions.

(Y/N) doesn’t seem bothered by the prodding, only mildly amused. She chuckles, “You would have to ask him that.”

Not even Nina is insane enough to dare do that. Probably. Nina is sort of a wild card, Jesper can never get a complete read on her.

She proves her sanity by taking the easier route, she whines and pouts, “C’mon. Tell us.”

(Y/N) laughs, louder this time. The reaction is immediate, the wound oozes more blood, and she flinches, moving her hand towards the injury and managing to stop herself millimeters before touching it. It makes Nina get back to stitching.

“You’re bold,” (Y/N) opens her eyes and looks straight at Jesper. There’s something in her eyes, a glimmer that passes quickly, like she knows something that Jesper doesn’t and it amuses her. “Jes would never dare ask.”

“Hey!” He pretends to be offended but isn’t really. She knows him too well.

“You know it’s true.”

He only grumbles in response, hates that she’s right.

Nina is suddenly tense, as if she isn’t quite sure if (Y/N)’s words are meant as a compliment or a reprimand. (Y/N) closes her eyes again, rests her head against the wall and reassures her, “I like that. Your boldness.”

And Nina preens, subtly, but she does. Jesper understands. (Y/N)’s approval somehow comes to mean everything to those around her. She’s like an older sister you’re always trying to impress.

Jesper thinks she won’t be saying anything more, but (Y/N) does.

“Ravens are softer than crows, more playful,” she mumbles quietly. Jesper, who isn’t even far from her, strains to hear, “Gentler, too.” And it’s like she knows exactly where the ink lays on her skin, like she has it memorized, because she manages to avoid Nina and the needle and trace the outline of the tattoo, eyes still closed, “And yet they manage to survive in the same brutal world that crows do.”

The words sink in. Jesper blinks once, twice, shifts on his feet, somewhat uncomfortable. It feels like he’s just gained insight on something much too private, into the feelings and thoughts of Kaz Brekker. Because what she just explained, vaguely and in simple words, has a much deeper meaning, and Jesper doesn’t miss that. It’s how Kaz sees her, an equal. Someone as strong as a crow, as fierce and resourceful and capable, but softer, gentler. That’s (Y/N) to him.

“That’s it?” Nina sounds perpetually unimpressed, but she doesn’t get it. She hasn’t been with the Crows long enough to understand.

(Y/N) smirks, like she knew the words wouldn’t mean much to her, and that tells Jesper something. There’s even more to the meaning of the nickname and she won’t be sharing.

“If you want more you can just ask Kaz.”

Nina huffs and pouts, pulls at the thread a bit harsher than necessary in retaliation. It probably doesn’t even sting, but (Y/N) plays along.

“Ow!?” The smirk remains on her face.

“Sorry,” Nina says, not sounding the least apologetic.

(Y/N) only chuckles, “I really do like your boldness.”

It isn’t until later that night, as Jesper sleeps in the haystack and shivers from the cold, hoping to the Saints that the smell of horse can be removed from his clothes, that realization strikes him. His eyes snap wide open.

The image of a letter R inked in Kaz’s forearm flashes through his mind.

R.

A Raven.

No fucking way.

He has no evidence of it, no evidence that those tattoos might be complementary, but something in his gut tells him they are, and he decides to listen to his instincts.

Great, that’s yet another circumstantial piece of evidence in favor of his theory.

(Jesper doesn’t know, will never know, but he gets it both wrong and right. The letter R that is permanently etched on Kaz’s skin means something else entirely, but he does have the small silhouette of a crow, different from the one on his arm, over his ribs.)

iv. a broken lock and a key

Jesper and (Y/N) stay behind. It’s Jesper’s fault, he’d landed wrong when they jumped off the cliff, too busy on firing his guns to focus on the landing, and the resulting sprained ankle made it hard to keep up with the rest. (Maybe it was sort of Kaz’s fault, too, because who even decides on an exit route that includes free falling off a cliff. Jesper should be used to Kaz’s antics by now, but the man keeps on outdoing himself.)

(Y/N) had quickly offered to match his pace, to keep him company while the rest went ahead.

After a quick discussion Kaz had agreed to it. Jesper hadn’t missed the way they’d said goodbye. Their pinky fingers interlacing with one another.

He might not be completely sure about his matching tattoo theory— denial, really, he’s in denial, and he’s man enough to admit that to himself —but he has absolutely no doubt there is something going on between them. Jesper hasn’t put a name on it yet, he’s not even sure they have, but one would have to be blind to deny it.

Wylan had volunteered too, but Kaz needed him for the next phase of the plan, so he wasn’t really an option. A shame, really, Jesper would’ve enjoyed some alone time with his boyfriend, but he can’t complain, (Y/N) is good company. She doesn’t whine about how slow they’re going, doesn’t mention the fact that, by now, they’re probably two days behind. She keeps the air between them filled with light chatter and that makes it more bearable, makes him feel less of a burden.

On the third day of their journey Jesper wakes up alone. He’s not immediately filled by dread because he’s a light sleeper, he’s sure he would’ve woken up at the sound of any commotion, and he’s even more certain that (Y/N) would’ve had any attacker down on the floor with a gun to their temple before they even had the chance to breathe too close to them.

So, he’s not worried, but there’s something about not having (Y/N) within his line of sight that feels wrong, partly because he’s got no idea where she is, and mainly because Kaz had given him a cautionary glare when they’d ventured ahead, an easily interpreted warning to keep her safe or else.

It’s only when he begins to look around that Jesper notices her knapsack is also missing. He closes his eyes and focuses. Somewhere in the distance he can hear running water. He follows the sound before he can think too much, limping along the way.

Jesper finds her easily. He sort of wishes he hadn’t found her. Because she is showering in the lake and she is completely naked.

“Saints!” It’s a knee-jerk reaction to turn around, eyes screwed shut. “I am so sorry.”

(Y/N) snickers, unbothered, “Relax, Jes. It’s okay.”

And she’s saying that, but Jesper is pretty sure Kaz would gauge his eyes off is he found out he’s just seen her completely nude.

He shakes his head, over and over. Ah, Kaz is going to kill him. He is a dead man walking.

She must be watching him because she lets out a laugh.

“Oh, please.” There’s amusement in her tone, “Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she teases, and Jesper regrets every single thing he’s ever told her about his sexual encounters.

He huffs out a laugh. It’s got nothing to do with that, Jesper isn’t a prude, he’s just trying to process the fact that if Kaz ever finds out he will more than likely lose a finger, or his life. But he can’t say that, that’s a conversation he’s not ready to have, so he settles for, “You’re like my sister, it’s not the same.”

“Fair enough,” she responds. Jesper catches the affection in her voice. He doesn’t think he’s ever told her how she sees her as family and she must’ve known, their bond runs deep, it goes unspoken, but maybe it’s different to hear it out loud.

“It’s my fault anyways, I shouldn’t have left without telling you where I was going,” she disrupts his thoughts. “But you were finally sleeping.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. Obviously it wouldn’t slip past her that in between the pain on his ankle and the cold of the night he’s been having a hard time falling asleep.

“You shouldn’t be standing for long,” she points out, and Jesper agrees. His leg is beginning to ache and if they’re going to travel long today, he must rest as much as he can. But the idea of walking back to camp and leaving her alone doesn’t sit right with him— even if he knows she’s capable of defending herself, she would probably do a better job than him, given his state —so he limps towards a big rock, back still towards her, and sits.

“You’re gonna keep me company?”

Jesper hums in response, “Talk so I know you haven’t suddenly been kidnapped.”

She doesn’t talk, instead she sings. It’s an old Kerch song, Jesper knows because of the mournful feel. It builds up slow and steady, flows with the morning air. She's got a nice voice. Jesper never gets tired of hearing her.

It’s as he listens, slowly being lulled into a peaceful mindset, that the memory of the ink flows through his mind. It’d been the thing his eyes had zeroed in, the black mark on the back of her neck.

Maybe it’s the soothing music, or maybe he’s slowly becoming more daring, but the words slip out of his mouth without thought, “Is it a key?”

(Y/N) stops midway through the bridge of the song.

“What?” she asks, confusion permeating the lone word.

“On the back of your neck,” Jesper clarifies, gesturing to his own neck.

There’s silence, long enough for Jesper to start thinking that maybe this wasn’t the best idea, before the air is filled with laughter. She chuckles as if he's just said the funniest thing.

She’s still giggling when she says, “I can’t believe you caught sight of it.”

He’s confused by her reaction and settles for responding with a teasing, “I’ve got a great vision.”

“That you do,” she replies. "It is a key," she confirms and then the singing starts again, more of a humming this time around, a much brighter song.

And Jesper must be really really losing the filter between his mouth and his brain— he blames the pain and the lack of sleep —because he finds himself asking, “Does Kaz have a lock, by any chance?”

He’s teasing, but not really. It’s a good enough question, not truly invasive. It gives her room to answer as she wishes.

To his surprise, she says, “Yes, he does.”

His head snaps towards her, momentarily forgetting that she’s naked and that Kaz will definitely kill him for seeing her naked twice. To his luck, (Y/N) is already getting dressed, water dripping down her hair and staining her shirt.

“What?”

There’s a sharp glint in her eyes, knowing, almost playful. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, just enough hint of mischief to make Jesper doubt the truthfulness of her words.

“Yeah,” she repeats in mock seriousness, “he’s got a small lock around here,” she points the area around her collarbone, close to where her heart is. “It’s very pretty.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

(Y/N) snickers, “Maybe I am.” She ruffles his hair as she walks past him.

Weeks later Jesper realizes that she had been fucking with him, but not lying. Kaz’s shirt rips during a heist and Jesper catches the briefest glimpse of the image of a broken lock, inked right above his heart.

v. a band of ink around his ring finger, part two.

As if summoned by his thoughts, (Y/N) materializes by his side. She takes a look at his face, follows his line of sight, and snickers.

“Did you finally figure it out?”

He turns to her. Blinks once, twice.

“What?”

She looks highly entertained by the evident confusion on his face.

“I caught you staring at my tattoo sometimes,” Jesper follows the movement of her fingers, watches as she rubs the mend on her wrist absentmindedly. “And then you would get this constipated look on your face.”

Jesper sputters, “I do not look constipated.”

“Only when you’re thinking too hard,” she teases, her smile bright. “So, I figured, well…”

“That I might be losing my mind trying to figure out if Kaz is the matching tattoo kind of person?”

“Yep, something like that,” she takes a sip of her drink. “He is, by the way.” (Y/N)’s not looking at him anymore, her eyes have drifted. He follows her sight and isn’t surprised to find her looking at Kaz. She softens immediately. “All the tattoos were his idea.”

Jesper feels like he’s really entered some other reality. He can’t believe she’s just telling him all this. Does this mean that he could’ve known months ago if he’d just asked?

“And,” he dares ask, because apparently (Y/N) is in a sharing mood, and apparently he's grown bolder. It must be the alcohol. “You’re married?”

He doesn’t miss the way she rubs her thumb against her ring finger, the one that contains the exact same band of ink as Kaz’s.

“Yeah.”

“Actually?”

She pulls her necklace. A wedding band lies there. It’s anything but traditional. Black, probably forged from oxidized steel. Sleek, unadorned and somehow still elegant. There’s something engraved on the inside. Jesper just catches the letter R.

“Got the documents to prove it, too.”

Jesper sighs, astounded, “You never said a thing.”

“We didn’t really keep it a secret, just private.” It sounds like an apology somehow. “It's just, in a place like this," she gestures around, "some things you have to keep to yourself."

Jesper understands.

He shakes his head, still somehow feeling like he’s drugged.

Kaz Brekker, a matching tattoo and marriage type of person. Who would’ve guessed.

“Lovers, huh?”

(Y/N) smiles, before she slips away and makes her way towards Kaz, Jesper hears her whisper.

“‘Lovers’ feels too small a word for what we are.”

[tempfrangit]

doe-eyed

Johnny x F!Reader, 1.4k, 18+ smut summary: You're going to let some alpha fuck you because you're broke and just happened to get the call. Thank you for your service. inspired by @syoddeye's rut kinktober fill cw: a/b/o, breeding kink, technically dubcon because heat/rut? banners by @/cafekitsune

The alpha’s scent sends a tingle straight down to your pussy. It was clean and sharp, like pine, but charred at the edges in a way that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end deliciously. Your pre-heat is finally settling.You'd been able to smell him from the first moment you stepped out of the SUV, totally thrown off by your surroundings.

Like a fox let loose for the hounds to chase.

Of course, you'd been prepared for this, even if it was your first time being called. You'd willingly chosen to sign up for this job after your degree left you in debt past your means, even after graduation, while you worked two jobs.

Still, you don't expect the door to rip itself open as you approach the cabin, spine stiff as an iron rod. A gasp escapes as you freeze. The entire speech you've been coached through leaves your head in an instant as you blink up at him owlishly.

He's big, stocky like a rugby player with a surprisingly straight nose for the energy he exudes. A real alpha, not like the ones you'd messed around with in uni, testing the waters but never taking the plunge, not wanting to be just some omega. Part of you wants to run. But most of you can't help how your heartbeat quickens. How you can feel yourself get wetter.

You don't even know when he'd slung you over his shoulder, trudging back to the cabin like this was the same shit every day. And for all you knew it was.

Once the door's shut, you're set onto your feet and pressed against the hard wood. He grinds against your clothed pussy like a beast, hot breath puffing against your protective collar with an edge of distaste as his hands snake up the skirt of your dress.

An ice rock of unexpected shame forms in the pit of your stomach, and you've never been more embarrassed in your life. You’d assumed you’d been chosen because you were close to your heat, but the lack of approval cut deep.

“Off,” he snarls, and before you can even to offer to remove your panties you feel the pinch of them being pulled and digging into the soft meat of your hips before the fabric tears.

This time you stop yourself from gasping, swallowing it back. You force yourself to lean against the door, bracing against your forearms, doing your best to present like this, deep arch already making your back ache dully. To be the perfect little submissive omega.

His approving rumble of a purr makes you shiver, pressing your cheek against the cool door as you ease back into situation. Or maybe that's your heat finally rearing it's head, as his scent washes over you. Vaguely, you hear the rustling of fabric, but even the thought of the sound leaves your brain as you feel the tip of his cock slide against your slit. Your slick helps the glide of his next thrust. The feeling of his thick cock fucking between your pussylips has you shudder. A soft whine leaves your lips, properly needy as you grind against him.

That earns you a swat, a slight growl of appreciation. "Tha’s right, doe. Ya want it, don’t ya?"

And you nod, face burning at the admission. Of course, you can't turn down the opportunity to peek over your shoulder to get a better look at the guy who's gonna be fucking you.

If you'd run into him at a club, you would have let him take you home. His eyes are the prettiest blue you've ever seen, thick dark lashes framing them, and near feverish with his rut. Thick dark hair shaved into a mohawk, stubble growing on his jaw. Part of you kinda hopes he’ll knock you up. Oh — oh you’re definitely thankful your heat's hitting you but you do not want to entertain that. Still, you can feel slick dribbling out of you, know that your scent flares.

A sharp inhale is your only warning before he tilts his hips, notching the thick head of his cock against the opening of your pussy and burying himself to the base.

The air leaves your lungs in a rush, brain blue screening as you try and fail to comprehend how utterly full you are suddenly. When he begins to thrust without giving you a moment to adjust, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming his hips back into yours like a rutting beast, you can’t help the sound you make. Something guttural, animalistic in response as your body is rocked into the wood.

He wasn’t holding back at all, warm breaths huffing against your neck as he fucked into you. Again, you're trying to tilt your hips but this time it's to get him to thrust against just the right spot. He was good. He had to know he was good, because holy fuck.

You don't even realize the high pitched whining sound that you'd been hearing was coming from you, until another crack of pain on across your ass shocks you back into your body. You'd been too focused on all the places he'd been hitting inside you, as he jackhammers his hips, and your face is burning.

No, you were burning up in general. The delicious heat that licked through you each time he thrust into you entirely made your legs feel weak. The hot breaths panting against the base of your neck, the wispy curls hairs there, sends electricity down your spine. The edge of a tooth presses against your jaw and it startles you so much you come.

And even spasming on his cock, he doesn't stop.

“Johnny, call me Johnny and tell me to knock yer cunt up,” Johnny growls into your ear, thrusts turning urgent.

You're pretty sure you follow his orders as he keeps fucking you.

You know you beg him for his knot, and that earns you a snarl. Pain rips through your pleasure as you feel the soft skin of your back break. Just below your collar. Your thighs are shaking as you come again.

You're too hot.

Blinking awake groggily, you realize you don't remember making it to the bed last night.

Johnny had fucked you against the door upon your arrival, then on the floor after he caught his breath, cradling you on your side as his knot had kept you close to him. Then he'd seemed to have calmed down enough to come to his senses. He'd gulped down water, pressing his lips against yours to force some into your own mouth, and keeping yourself hydrated hadn't even occurred to you. You hadn't realize how thirsty you were as your heat ebbed slightly, still feeling like you were warm to the touch as you panted against his chest. Then he'd fucked you over the arm of the couch. Which you'd surely ruined after squirting down it. You hadn't even known you could squirt like that.

At the thought of water, you untangle yourself from the human furnace that's wrapped around you. Prying his fingers off your arm as gently as you can before you practically fall out of bed.

You're not too proud to drink out of the bathroom faucet, too relieved by the cool liquid pouring into your mouth to care. Blinking at yourself in the mirror, you twist slowly, trying to get a good view of your back. Your collar was still safely in place, but the skin around the edge was decorated with marks, nips where he'd buried his teeth in you.

Why did that make you so wet?

You don't even notice him in the mirror, before thick arms are wrapped around you and you squeak, jumping but being held firmly in place by the alpha you'd spent the night getting your brains fucked out by.

“Fuck, you smell better than I remember,” his breath tickles your ear as he sniffs at you, rumble in his voice as he begins to rub his stiffening cock against the fat of your ass.

“Better?” You breath the question, spreading your thighs enough that you can grind back against him. While you don't fully understand, you're not about to let the warmth that's sparking in your belly.

“When I picked you months ago,” Johnny breathes between tracking kisses along your jaw, “knew you were it fer me when they gave me yer scent sample. Take this fuckin' thing off, bonnie, lemme bite you 'n' breed you 'n' give you everythin' you want.”

Maybe you are like every omega, pleased to be chosen by a big alpha who can pick you up like you're nothing, fuck you full. What's wrong with that?

You're fingers pull at your collar, working it loose.

[a-whispering-echo]

Dust wasn’t expecting this.

Sure, he’d had a lot of strange shit happen to him in his life. But getting hit by a car? That wasn’t on his bingo card. It wasn’t even on the fucking board.

Lying on the cold asphalt, the world feels like a thousand broken pieces scattered across a canvas, all melting and bleeding into one another. The sky is upside down, a swirl of violet, green, and black, and his mind - his oh-so-broken mind - is trying to make sense of it. But it doesn’t make sense. The shapes behind his eyes are bouncing around like fireworks in a bottle, red and blue, dancing like little ghosts he started to see after the first hundred resets.

He giggles.

It’s not a laugh, not really. It’s a fractured sound, escaping from a place inside him that doesn’t care about the pain in his ribs, or the sharpness in his neck. It feels funny - the way his thoughts don’t quite line up, the way the world is bending at strange angles. Like a Salvador Dalí painting, all melting clocks and twisted perspectives.

People are screaming. They’re calling his name, but it feels distant. Far away, like a forgotten echo in an empty room. Dust.

Is that his name? Yeah, it is. Right?

He should answer, he should be more responsible, he should tell them he’s fine - tell them he’s just… giggling at the shapes. That everything is going to be fine, it always is, because it always is, right? But his tongue is like dead weight in his mouth, and his neck? Oh, his neck. It hurts. He tries to turn his head, but it’s as if someone put a metal vice around it. It’s odd, he thinks, and then he giggles again, louder this time, at how strange it all is.

Somewhere above him, Cross’s voice breaks through the noise. “Dust! Dust, can you hear me?”

It’s that high-pitched, worried tone. The kind Cross only used when he was too scared for his friends teammates - when the anxiety got the better of him. Normally, that tone of voice would have Killer or himself giggling at the poor monster like hyaenas, just to take comfort in the fac that someone cared enough about them to make that tone of voice at them. But Dust can’t feel the usual comfort of that voice right now. Instead, it sends a little pang of guilt through his chest.

I should answer him, Dust thinks.

Another voice, low and controlled, a bit calmer but no less urgent, joins in. “Dust, don’t move. Stay still. We’ve got you.”

The sound of shoes scraping across pavement. Hands, tentative but firm, wrapping around his shoulders. Horror. Dust can tell even without seeing his face - Horror’s got that quiet strength, the kind that’s always been there, holding them all together. Dust can feel his presence, even with his mind slipping and sliding away from him.

“Dustbin, hey, stay with me,” Killer’s voice cuts through next, that familiar playful edge still hanging in his tone, but it’s tinged with concern. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging, yeah? You gotta be alright. Don’t make me come down there and drag you back to reality.”

It’s so loud now, the cacophony of voices, and Dust can’t focus, can’t make sense of what’s happening, except that everyone sounds so damn worried, like he’s some fragile thing that might break at any moment.

Oh, right. He’s broken, isn’t he? Broken inside and out. The pieces of his mind are always scattered, like the pieces of this world that are spinning in front of him. There’s something comforting about it, though.

The pain. The shapes. The people calling his name.

He wants to laugh again, but the sounds inside his head are louder now. The world spins faster, and he has to blink hard to keep from losing it entirely.

Then, Cross’s voice, more desperate this time, seeping through the cracks of his scrambled brain: “Dust, please. Please, open your eyes. We need you.”

Something about that - something in the way Cross says please - makes his soul flutter, makes the world slow down for a second. It makes Dust want to answer. He really does. He wants to tell them he’s fine, he wants to tell them he’s used to this, that it’s just another one of those fucked up days.

But instead, Dust just squeezes his eyes shut tighter, trying to keep the world from floating away completely.

It’s too loud. Too much. Too -

His neck hurts.

No, no, no. He’s fine. His body isn’t moving, but his mind is, slipping away into the dreamspace. His body’s gone numb, and he can’t tell if he’s awake or asleep. He tries to hold on to that part of himself that’s still Dust - the part that’s real - but it feels so far away now.

But they’re here.

They’re all here. Even though they’re shouting at him, even though they’re pulling at him, even though they’re worried that he’s slipping, they’re here.

So maybe he can let go. Just for a second. Let the shapes take him wherever they want. Let the voices be muffled.

He’ll be fine. He always is.

Dust lets out another breathless chuckle, his chest fluttering as the world blurs.

It’s not the end. Not yet. Not today.

At least, he hopes not.

[obeymefanfiction]

Kiss or Dare: Leviathan

Obey me! Fanfiction (July 2020) see masterlist Featuring: Levi X Neutral Reader Word Count: 1800 Disclaimer: Characters are the rightful property of NNT Solemare Inc. “Shall We Date” Warnings: Kissing fluff/Angst Note: adapted from an old fanfiction of mine. “Hey Levi. What’s wrong?” You and Levi were playing video games during a lazy afternoon. Usually Levi loved times like this, but your question made him jump. Crap! You noticed? He’d been trying to keep you from noticing how anxious he was! “Ah nothing, I’m just… off or something today.” Levi lied rubbing the back of his neck in agitation. He didn’t want to tell you about what happened earlier. About how Mammon promised to return his money if he… er… well… k-kissed you.

When he was talking to the big dummy of a brother of his he thought at the time it wouldn’t be that big of deal. You two were close so you wouldn’t take it the wrong way or anything… right? You’d be cool with one… k-kiss. You knew his heart was totally set on Ruri-Chan and… and even though he loved it when you leaned close enough for your hair to brush against his cheek—selfies were a must now between you—or those times when he wondered why you smelled better than a new game arriving in the mail. Not to mention he’d observed your lips appeared particularly soft and appealing. He was certain if he touched— No. This was a bad idea. What if you did get offended? Or if you did take him seriously? He didn’t know if he could handle that. At first he thought he could just explain—but that never went well in all of the magna he had read! What if you took it the wrong way and he… lost you? That’d be worse than losing Henry 2.0. He wasn’t sure he could handle that. It was bad enough that he had to share you with his brothers so much of the time. You’d become like his side kick the past few weeks. He’d come to just expect you to stick around and… He couldn’t lose you. Levi jolted to attention when your hand reached up and pushed back his bangs allowing your fingers to brush against his forehead. The sudden contact with your gentle warmth left him speechless as his eyes widened and turned to search yours for an explanation. “Nope, you don’t seem to have a fever. Do you need some water or something? Are you feeling dehydrated? Hungry?” Levi blinked at you. Oh. You touched him to check his temperature? Wow. He liked that. He really liked that. In fact his face was suddenly burning hot and he wanted to go take a swim with Henry. He released an unsteady breath before attempting to talk to you. “I’m not sick. Mammon just said something that upset me.” “Oh no! Why didn’t you tell me Levi? I’m sorry. Maybe we should be watching a Ruri Chan movie instead to help you feel better?” Oh you were the best human in the entire world, weren’t you?

Levi cut that thought off mid “beam” and tried to focus on now. “No, it’s fine. He just talked me into something when I should have said no. I hate it when he does that. He’s such a—” “What is he making you do?” You sigh sympathetically. With those big beautiful eyes looking at you and your kind smile and you sitting so close he couldn’t help feeling how much you cared about him. “He said he’d pay me back all of my money he owes me. I just have to do one thing first.” “Oh Mammon.” You groaned. “Levi, you shouldn’t have to do anything to get your money back. It was yours to begin with.” “I know, but what he asked me to do didn’t sound so bad. I thought it’d be fine. Then I thought about it some more and how so many things could go wrong and I’m not sure I can do it now.” Levi gave a defeated sigh to the controller in his lap. “What did he ask you to do? Maybe I can help?” You volunteered. Oh no. He couldn’t tell you. Uh oh! Levi began to panic. This was going to go wrong. He knew it was. He just knew it. “Nothing. I’m-uh-not going to do it. I’ll just figure something else out. So, forget it.” His face felt like it was on fire as he turned his back to you. “Leeeeeeviii! I can’t help if you don’t tell me what it is. If it’s too ridiculous I volunteer to go yell at Mammon for you and get your money back.” “You… you’d do that?” Levi felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe you wouldn’t have to get mad at him? Maybe he could just explain how dumb he thought it was and you’d laugh? Maybe— “He told me to kiss you.” The words just came out. As soon as they did Levi wanted to clap his hands over his mouth and flee the room. You went perfectly still. Well except for your eyes of course. Those went wide and seemed to be getting wider the longer he looked at you. He realized he needed to say something else. He needed to tell you all the reasons this was upsetting him so you wouldn’t think he was—well—as dumb as he felt at the moment. Nothing happened. He couldn’t get any words out. Not with you staring at him like that. Oh no. How could he say anything to you now? Crap crap crap crap crap!! “Levi… um… I can tell you’re uncomfortable with this. Is that because you wouldn’t… want to?” “Wouldn’t want to?” He echoed your words. “I—uh—wouldn’t want to if you didn’t want me to __. That’s why I’m upset. If it made things weird between us. I didn’t want to do it. Even if it did convince Mammon to give me back my money.” “So… you were nervous because you didn’t want to upset me? Awe Levi! You are so awesome.” Your expression softened and wave of relief washed over him. You weren’t mad? You understood why he was so upset over this? Oh he felt so much better now. Especially because—oh wow—you were now hugging him. It was too much but not enough and his heart was pounding and you smelled so good and— “I’m not sure how I got so lucky to have you as my otaku. I’m the luckiest human ever.” Your words made him blush harder and he tried to think of something to say. Compliments were obviously out because he’d mess them up. Maybe he could suggest the two of you could watch that Ruri-Chan movie and turn this afternoon around? He gulped and found the courage to hug you back. Your hair brushed against his cheek summoning a smile, and the words finally started to come. “You’re just really important to me. I feel like you’re the only normie that gets me and if I made you upset over something like this…” Levi shrugged. “Thanks for understanding. I’ll just go tell Mammon to give me my money back and we can forget about this.”

“Oh. So, you didn’t…” You pulled back and your gaze dropped. Wait, why did your gaze just drop away from his? Did you want to? Nah. Not with a yukky Otaku like him. So what was bothering you? “__? I thought you weren’t upset about this?” “No, I-I’m not. You’re right, Mammon shouldn’t have suggested it. I just thought… I thought it was really sweet you cared about how I felt. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t---well want—um—to kiss me.” Wow. Levi didn’t know you could turn that shade of red. “I was thinking you might, I guess, and I was really happy that you might. That’s all.” “Wait… you’re saying you’d want me to?” You shrug still blushing fiercely. “Not necessarily because Mammon told you to. But if you did because you wanted to I… I’d like that. I just never thought you’d want to, so when you sounded all upset that I might get upset over it I thought—maybe that was because you might like to kiss me too?” Too. Too? As in you would want him to kiss you… also. He didn’t think he could possibly blush to death but just now it felt like it might happen. “So, you would…” “Only if you would… but yeah.” “And it wouldn’t be weird?” “Not weird at all.” Huh. It certainly felt weird already. Would kissing you just make it worse? Or worse would not kissing you make you think he lied about wanting to kiss you? Oh man! Why did he ever agree to this? He was never speaking to Mammon again once he got his money back. “Levi you don’t have—” You broke off when his gaze crashed into yours. You were already so close and looked so confused. As confused as he felt. He wasn’t sure how it happened—if you leaned in or he did—but the warmth of your mouth against his was… it was… wow. Levi’s eyes slid closed and he couldn’t resist leaning closer. Allowing his lips to brush over yours in a gentle caress that you echoed. Your mouth tasted so sweet and soft and… wow you smelled even better when he was this close to you. When he felt your tongue brush curiously against his lips his mind seemed to go haywire. He couldn’t resist moving closer. Holding you against him, feeling your warmth, letting his tongue seek out yours and tangle with it in a heated dance. Then you moaned and he nearly lost all sense of reason as he rolled on top of you. Laying you back so he could kiss you more—taste you more. He wanted to kiss you until he knew every sensitive place in your mouth, every curve of your tongue and your lips. The warmth of your hands cupped his face and you whispered his name against his lips. “Levi?” His eyes opened slowly. Taking in your beautiful expression. Your smile and the warm glow in your eyes. “I guess I wasn’t the only one who wanted that.” “No, you weren’t.” “Are you going to tell Mammon?” You raised an eyebrow teasingly and he felt the burning heat run up the back of his neck at the thought. At last he shook his head. “No way. I’m not dealing with him right now. Not when I could be here with you.” “Good answer.” You leaned up and captured his mouth again with yours. Soon he was too encompassed by the warmth of your kiss to think of anything else.

[anonymouscentral]

everyday i wish for v!anon to stop getting bullied😞

[chuluoyi]

✎ a birthday to remember

- gojo satoru x reader

what is the so-called grand surprise does your husband prepare for your birthday?

genre: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—massive fluff, comfort, pregnant!reader, (cough) pregnant sex

note: hi peeps it's been ages since i last wrote gojo :') and love entries on that matter *sobs* but here it is... my birthday has passed too but here's to any of you whose birthday is near!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

“Sensei— happy birthday!”

This year, your birthday happened to fall on a workday.

If it were up to you, you would have taken the day off. However, Satoru had been assigned to Osaka and wouldn’t be returning until weekend, so taking leave and staying at home would most likely make you feel lonely.

Not only that, with you entering the fifth month of pregnancy, you figured it was better to stay active. And by the end of the day—you didn’t regret coming in at all. The students were all so sweet, they even chimed in to get you a pretty maternity dress to wear. You couldn’t wait to tell Satoru about them tonight.

You skipped happily toward the parking lot, but right when you turned the corner, suddenly—

“Wifeeeey!”

“Oh my god!”

You let out a loud gasp and took a step back, taking in the view. A sea of colorful balloons, with a man in suit standing right in the middle of it—

Your husband. In flesh. You blinked once, twice— thrice.

“Satoru...?”

He poked his head out of the string of balloons, a beaming, million-dollar grin lit up his face at the sight of your shocked expression. “Wifeeey! Happy birthdaaaaay!”

Before you could even process his sudden appearance, he had you in a chokehold, engulfing you in a bear hug and nuzzling his face against yours with childlike enthusiasm, the faint scent of his cologne filling your senses.

“What are you doing here?!” you half-shrieked, the surprise spilling from your voice.

He pulled back, frowning dramatically. “Ehhh? You don’t want me to be back?”

“Yes—”

His eyes widened as if you’d just committed the gravest betrayal. “You big meanie!”

“No,” you quickly retracted, trying to hold back your own smile at how comically dejected he was. “I mean… aren’t you supposed to be back on Sunday?”

“Heh heh, nope! I lied~” Satoru chirped, his grin returning in full force. “It’s my wifey’s birthday—how could I not come back for you?”

In that moment, your heart fluttered. He was probably saying it for no reason, but the fact that he really did fly back from Osaka just to meet you for your birthday meant a lot to you.

His big, warm hand then gently caressed your visible baby bump, his grin widening when he got a kick. “Ah, right… Hello to you too, baby! Did I startle you too? Sorry~”

You rolled your eyes, retorting, “He is terrified.”

Satoru leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper directed at your belly. “Don’t worry, baby. Papa’s here now, and he’s got balloons. That makes everything better, right?”

“...how long have you been standing here with these balloons?”

“Hmmm, not long. About an hour, maybe?”

“You shithead—why didn’t you just come inside?”

Satoru’s gasp of mock offense made you laugh despite yourself. “And ruin the surprise? My wifey deserves the full dramatic effect!”

Being Gojo Satoru’s wife certainly came with its fair share of patience-testing episodes, and sometimes you wanted to return him to Yaga for additional lessons of discipline.

But it was candid, over-the-top acts like this that reminded you just how lucky you were to have him.

Satoru brought you to a high-end restaurant for your birthday dinner before the two of you finally returned home.

And the moment you opened the door, you were greeted by countless balloons floating on the ceiling and the ground, the fairy lights illuminating the room in a cozy glow.

You were taken aback, mesmerized by the sight. “When did you even have the time to decorate the house?”

He grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “I have many little helpers—”

“Don't tell me it's Ichiji and Nanami? Satoru, you—!”

“I promised Nanami I wouldn’t make him blow up balloons! Though I might have heard him grumble something about being above this…”

"You're unbelievable..." You let out a resigned sigh, yet still smiling as you stepped further into the living room, now bathed in the soft, golden glow.

Satoru observed you with a quiet smile. His pretty wife, and the small life within you. He adored you the most out of everyone else in this twisted world.

Click! Click!

"Huh?" You turned to him when you heard the distinct sound of a camera shutter.

Satoru was holding his phone, an amused glint in his eyes. “Just capturing the moment, you know. You, the lights, and baby. It's perfect.”

You giggled. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

He shrugged, that signature grin returning. “What can I say? You’re beautiful.”

Later, you'd find out that one of the photos would be his lock screen from now on. It would be the first thing he saw every time he unlocked his phone.

Satoru brought out the box he had prepared, handing it to you with a sly grin. “Look, sweets, before we go to bed, I have one more gift for you—and you have to wear it now.”

You arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued, as you took the box from his hands. The moment you opened it and pulled out the contents, you froze.

“—?! Satoru!”

A scarlet lingerie set. The bra features intricate lace trim along the edges, and the matching panties are equally bold, with a sheer lace overlay. Your cheeks flushed as you glanced at Satoru, who was watching you with an winning grin, clearly pleased with his choice.

“What?” he challenged. “They'll suit you, c'mon.”

“You're absolutely shameless.”

“But you love me anyway~”

You let out a defeated sigh, glancing up at him, already realizing there was no way out of this now.

“You’re lucky I’ve hit my head somewhere and married you.”

. . .

He was right. It fit you perfectly.

The moment you got out of the bathroom, Satoru could feel himself getting hard already. You looked like a vision, the deep red seemed to highlight your every curve, turning you into an effortless seductress.

And not only that, you were adorable too— fiddling with your fingers and touching your rounded belly, barely hiding how self-conscious you were.

"Don't just stare at me..." you mumbled, glaring at him.

He reached out, gently brushing his fingers against your cheek, his touch tender despite the fire in his eyes. “You’re making it hard to look away, you know.”

His hands then trailed down, skimming the sides of your body, each touch lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. It was almost as if he was unraveling you, piece by piece, and you weren’t sure whether to pull away or pull him closer.

And wait... was it just you or were the space between your legs indeed getting hotter and wetter?

As if reading your mind, suddenly two of his fingers touched your barely clad pussy, and you gasped. That's right— there is indeed a hole in this freaking lingerie!

"Are... we...?" you swallowed, your gaze meeting his.

"Can I?" he asked back, voice husky. His crystal clear eyes burning with lust as he assessed you— from your eyes, lips, and then the inviting sight of your cleavage.

Did you want this?

Of course you were. Your birthday was still far from over, and you missed him too.

In response, you pushed his already hovering fingers inside you, making you hold your breath. From that point on, Satoru knew what you wanted.

Without another word, he rubbed soft circles around your clit, and you let out an unabashed moan at the contact, clinging to his shoulders for support. "Ahh..."

He teased you for a while, before slowly entering his fingers into your throbbing folds, and you were close to collapsing if it weren't for his secure hold over you.

"You're so, so damn naughty..." he whispered lowly in your ear. It was taking everything he had not to lose it right then and there. He wanted you to be as comfortable as possible, but the sight of your writhing face and that baby bump was damn distracting and ignited the beast inside him.

He made you pregnant already, but there was just this primal desire— wanting to mark you more...

His fingers slowly pumped in and out of you, dragging them deep but just not deep enough—

"Please..." you scratched his back unwittingly, frustrated at his shirt that got in the way. "I-I... want... you..."

How sweet. Satoru relished in your titillating breaths and chuckled, vigorously continuing his dirty ministrations.

"Say it louder," he growled in your ears. "Can't hear you."

The bastard. You yanked his hair and made him catch your teary gaze. "I... want you..."

Sinful desire flared to life at your words. "Your wish is my command, missus."

Satoru suddenly pulled out his fingers—ignoring the whine you accidentally let out for being empty all of a sudden—and admired the sheen, sticky whiteness on them.

"I barely did anything and you're this wet already," he snorted, tasting it. "They're right about the pregnancy hormones."

He placed his hand on your waist, pressing a kiss on the firm skin of your belly, before undoing his belt and trousers and pulling out his hardened member.

The sight made you actually gulp, especially when he pumped it. He pulled you to his lap and guided his pride to your sopping entrance. The moment he inserted himself, he let out a groan of relief, while you arched your back and hissed, "Ngh!"

Satoru captured your lips, his hand pressing against your aching spine. He pulled you closer, urging you to take him completely.

"Ahh— ugh... mrgh!" you sighed against his neck as soon as you did, trying to even your breath. This was something you had done so many times before, but why was this time felt like an awakening of some sorts?

"Most beautiful," he breathed in your ear wickedly. "Don't worry, leave everything to me."

He rocked his hips against yours, one hand on your back and the other gripping your thigh. With each salacious thrust, you mewled and he panted, keeping you steady all the while.

He could feel your baby bump rubbing against as his toned abs, going along with the rhythm. Satoru grinned proudly, noticing how much it had grown over the past few months. The baby must be healthy in there, huh?

The relief somehow spurred him into pick up his pace, thrusting you more deeply than before. You almost squealed.

"You know what?" he grunted, mind hazed. He didn't really realize what he was saying to you, to be honest. "You're the prettiest when you're like this— round and full, with my kid."

You only caught the lewdness in his words, but you weren't able to ponder about it as he suddenly buried his face into your supple breasts.

"Look at them, getting bigger too— these days..." He sucked on the sensitive skin and you gasped in pleasure, crying out afterwards when he fondled them with both hands.

Your senses were overly heightened and you knew you wouldn't last long. Satoru too knew he was nearing his orgasm as he tore your new bra and sucked on the mound, furthering your never-ending moans, causing your eyes to roll back as the blinding pleasure overtook you— pushing you to cum right then and there.

In the next second, he pushed you into him impossibly deeper, and his hot release gushed inside your womb. You writhed at the sudden fullness, before getting limp and collapsed into him, not even realizing that you had squirted all over his lap and dress shirt.

Your husband glanced at you, in disbelief himself at the messy scene, but utterly satisfied as his bright eyes twinkled. "Heh..."

You were awoken at three in the morning, and the first thing you noticed was that you were in Satoru's warm embrace.

His arms were wrapped around you securely, holding you close as if he were protecting you even in his sleep. You must have passed out afterwards, as all you recalled was the numbing exhaustion.

Yet you knew for certain that Satoru had cleaned you up, dressed you in your pajamas, and even placed a heat pad on your hips to soothe you.

(He remembered the one time you woke up with cramps right after a raunchy night before)

Your husband was a cheeky shit, but for you, he was willing to go extra miles. It was an overlooked fact sometimes due to how unserious he was, but each time he did and you were reminded of it, your heart always soared.

Looking up, you found his peaceful sleeping face, and not for the first time, you couldn’t help but marvel at how truly handsome he was. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you gently caressed his face.

"Hmm...?" he frowned adorably, and you almost giggled. But when he cracked his eyes open, you almost regretted it—oh yes, he is a light sleeper.

"Sweets...? Can't sleep...?" He turned to you, voice thick with sleepiness. "Anything wrong?"

"No, I'm just watching you." You smiled, poking his cheek. "Go back to sleep."

"Really? Nothing's amiss?" His hand gently slid to your belly, giving it a reassuring rub. "You have to tell me if anything’s not right..."

"Hush, I'm fine."

After making sure you were indeed fine, Satoru tightened his arms over you and pressed his eyes shut. You wrapped your arms around his back in response, feeling his steady warmth. Right in this moment, you were overwhelmed with this gentle, soft feeling— love, the kind he gave you so freely and candidly.

Your birthday had passed, but if there was one wish only he could fulfill, surely you could still ask him, right?

"Satoru..." you muttered, feeling the cool breeze of the air conditioner lulling you back to sleep. "Will you stay with me... forever?"

A smile curled on his lips at your question, his eyes still closed. "Silly girl, it's your bedtime, so why ask that?"

You thought he wouldn't answer it as he didn't say anything more. But right before you drift into deep sleep, he pressed a sweet kiss to the crown of your head, giving you his promise— one that felt truer than anything else he had said to you before.

"I will... so you must stay with me too, got it?"

[mostly-imagines]

The Venus Drug

jason todd x afab!reader

aka the side effects of a run-in with poison ivy

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), sex pollen so its inherently not strictly speaking consensual, oral (f & m receiving), free use, overstimulation

A clattering in your living room has you blearily shifting awake. The dark of your bedroom takes your eyes longer to adjust to than usual, it feels like. You peer at the time, finding it only just past midnight. Even on the good nights, midnight is pretty early for him to be coming back. 

Though, there’s really little concern of the noise-maker being anyone but your boyfriend, he’s set up too many security measures and failsafes around your apartment for anyone to get lucky waltzing in. It does worry you though that he is making such a clamor when he’s usually so careful about entering silently as to not wake you. 

You’re about to climb out of bed to investigate when the door creaks open, though light doesn’t flood through the crack like you’d expected.

Jason stumbles into the doorway, falling into a lean against the wall for support.

You sit up quickly, instantly on alert. “What’s wrong?”

He takes one glance at you and immediately averts his gaze to the floor like he saw something he wasn’t supposed to.

You look down, thrown by his behavior, only to see your usual nighttime attire: one of his shirts over underwear.

You blink back up at him, furrowing your brow. “Jay?”

You can vaguely make out a sigh from him, “Fuck…” he squeezes his eyes shut. “Ivy..”

Ah. This has happened before to the others, but this is the first time you’ve seen him affected by it. You’re prepared for it, though you hadn’t anticipated that it would be so seemingly debilitating.

“What can I do?” You try not to look as concerned as you feel but you can’t say with confidence that it’s working.

He slowly pushes himself off the doorframe, heading wearily towards the bathroom. He tugs his shirt off with difficulty, tossing it to the side. “Nothing, nothing..I jus’ need to…” he takes a deep breath, “Get it out of my system..” He’s trying to be comforting but the pain in his voice rids it of all believability.

You frown, watching him linger. “That seems like the exact kind of thing I could help with.”

His eyes close helplessly as his head falls back, “You can’t, baby.”

“Why not?”

He sighs, “I’m not…as in control as I’d like to be right now.”

Your pout deepens. This is something you’re working on with him—trusting both you and himself with vulnerability. Especially when it comes to situations where he feels like he’s putting you in a vulnerable place too. But you trust him with your whole being and you want him to know it. “That’s okay.”

“No,” he shakes his head vehemently. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you say resolutely. “I trust you.”

He wavers, “No, I…No. I can’t.”

He says that, but he’s still not retreating to the bathroom. Instead, he loiters awkwardly, like he’s caught between decisions.

You feel a twinge of heartache in your chest, “Does it hurt?”

He’s quick to answer, “I’m alright.” Though he doesn’t try his hardest to sell you on the idea. 

Your face pans, “That’s not what I asked.”

“I—” he huffs, conceding. “Yeah. Yes.”

You extend your arms out, beckoning him towards you. It clearly goes against his better judgment but he can’t help himself from moving closer to you. An evident testament to the strength of Ivy’s work.

You take his hands in yours, looking up at him with begging eyes, “Let me help you? Please?”

Up close like this you can really see how labored his breathing is and how pained he looks. You sit up onto your knees, pulling his hands closer. “I wanna take care of you. Let me help my boy out. He deserves it.”

He steels his jaw, trying to replenish his rapidly weakening resolve. He exhales heavily before grabbing your chin, eyes serious. “Look at me,” he says sternly. “You stop me if I’m too rough.”

You nod adamantly, “I will.”

You fidget with the loop of his belt, waiting for permission. 

He squeezes your hands slowly, head bowing. “Help me, sweetheart.”

You’re instantly up on your feet, maneuvering him to switch places with you and sit down on the bed. You kneel down in front of him, undoing the clasp on his belt.

You tug his belt off, letting it clatter on the floor before freeing him the rest of the way. To your surprise, his eyes remain on you rather than your actions. He brushes your hair out of your face haphazardly, murmuring, “Pretty fucking girl..”

You keen at his words, fighting the urge to pause and rub up against him. Instead, you busy yourself and lick a line up his cock, immediately feeling his body stutter. You lick another stripe, this time adding a kiss afterwards.

His hands squeeze at the comforter under him, “Baby, please.”

You give a short nod before taking him in your mouth completely. He groans like it’s automatic, body practically vibrating in place. You rest your hands over his and he’s quick to turn his own over to hold onto yours.

It only works as a momentary distraction, as one of his hands leaves your grasp to move your hair from blocking his view again, petting your head nicely as you suck him off. “Oh, good girl. My good girl.”

He babbles when he gets overwhelmed during sex, though it doesn’t happen often. And especially not like this.

“Fucking—” he stammers, “God, you’re so—”

Frankly, the image of you on your knees in front of him, so willing and eager to help him out…it’s killing him. He’s putting absolutely all of his remaining restraint into not taking over and fucking your mouth the way he wants to—and it shows—so you’re doing your best to take as much of him in your mouth as you can and using your hand to compensate for the rest.

His head bobs back as his hand falls to a rest atop your head. His breathing is deep and heavy and you can see the way his abs flex through his restraint. His hand briefly fists up before stuttering back to lay open-palmed on your head.

“Oh, baby—” he lets out a gravelly moan and his arms nearly give out from holding him up as he comes.

You happily collect it on your tongue and he audibly groans when you swallow.

He’s quick to pull you up off the floor and place you on the bed so he can clamor over you. You fall back to have your arms hold you up as he finds your lips. 

“Take your shirt off,” he tells you breathlessly. “Please.”

You oblige without hesitation as he kisses and gropes along your torso. You don’t realize what he’s doing until he’s at face level with your underwear, fingers dipping under the band.

You sit up onto your hands, “Jay, you don’t have to—”

He shakes his head, “‘M not gonna hurt you,” he mumbles, very adamant. “Not doin’ it.”

It’s been a long running personal requirement for Jason to thoroughly prep you in some way before fucking you, and he’s right for it—you would definitely get hurt if he didn’t.

You feel conflicted about it now though, like it’s not fair of you to let him pay such mind to you when he’s quite literally in unprecedented pain.

But he slips your underwear down without hesitation, not wasting any time in getting to work. He doesn’t start with his usual teasing and build-up, instead he goes straight into licking at your core, eyes closed and strands of white hair stuck to his forehead. 

He hooks one hand around your knee and the other wraps around your thigh, pulling you closer. He used the newfound proximity to lap at you with more concentration and purpose, quite literally devouring you. You struggle to keep your breathing in tune with the rest of your body, not having been prepared for so much so quickly.

He’s eating you out like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, not giving himself any time to breathe or even think about anything else. You’re about to push him away so that he’ll take a breath or two when he moans into your cunt, instantly veering your brain straight off course.

He breaks from licking your pussy only to change course in favor of sucking on your clit, leaving open-mouthed kisses every few seconds. You thread your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him as best you can.

This is a new experience for both of you in terms of intensity and desperation and it has you feeling like you were injected with the same toxin he was. It throws you so completely out of your senses that you don’t even notice that he’s rutting into the bed as he kisses you. Though, odds are he doesn’t realize he’s doing it either.

His grip on you tightens as he gets more fervent, the dig from the indents of his fingers promising to bruise. His eyes flutter as he makes out with your pussy, little mewls making their way through periodically.

“Jay—” you cry, tugging harder than you’d meant to on his hair. He hums in response, letting you know that he’s here, he’s with you, he’ll take care of you. 

Even high out of his mind he can still read you like a book, and can tell that you’re nearing your peak. He gets meditated and precise with his actions, leading you right up to the edge. You whimper again and he begins to rut harder.

It takes only a few moments of this repetition for you to briefly tense up before you start to tremble, heat flooding through your body. The saccharine new taste of your cum motivates him to reach his own end, moaning into you and sending a second wave of rapture over you.

You exhale heavily as his forehead drops against your stomach, catching his breath. It doesn’t take him very long. 

You can just start to realize the persistent trembling in your thighs when he licks another stripe down your pussy. You whine, sitting up on your elbows and squirming higher up on the bed.

He pulls back murmuring, “Sorry.” He kisses the inside of your thigh, “Sorry.”

You watch as he pushes up on his forearms to look at you proper, seeming almost dizzy. “I need..I need…” his shoulders drop. “Please.”

You just nod, giving him permission to do whatever he needs. 

He pulls you up by the waist and tugs you into him as close as he can, kissing you hard. You move to hold his jaw in your hands, stroking your thumb across lightly. He leans you backwards to lay you down flat, head just below the pillows. He folds over you easily, kisses becoming less and less intentional in placement as his hands stroke and squeeze up your sides. 

He pulls away only to glance down as he lines himself up with you, pushing in slowly. He peers back up at your face as he does, watching carefully to make sure it doesn’t hurt.

You hold onto his shoulders as you take him, the stretch feeling significant but familiar.

He kisses your cheek once he’s fully inside and begins to rock in and out of you slowly. The pace picks up quickly as he continues to makeout with you.

A particularly intense thrust has you wrapping your arms fully around the frame of his shoulders, hugging him close to you. He immerses himself in the crook of your neck, fucking you with deeper and more punctuated strokes than you can remember.

“Jay,” you gasp as he places firm kisses across your jaw like he’s trying to hammer it into your head that he fucking loves you.

His thrusts gradually get faster and while it’s perfectly overwhelming for you, it doesn’t seem to be enough for him. 

He huffs before pulling out of you without warning. He untangles your arms from around him so he can flip you over to lay on your stomach. He pulls you back up just as quickly, arm wrapped around your torso, leaving you to hold yourself up by your hands and knees as he kisses on your neck messily.

This time when he reenters you he continues on with his previous pace, taking you by surprise once again. Your mouth is practically hanging open as he ruts into you, successfully sending your thoughts straight out of your head.

He lays kisses down your spine murmuring, “I love you.” He moves in and out of you without falter, “Thank you, thank you..”

His hands hold your waist in place, keeping you steady for both of your sakes. Multiple times his grip tightens only to loosen the second he realizes how hard he’s squeezing you. You don’t mind though, you’ve never had any trouble revering marks left behind by him before. 

“It’s—” you pant, “It’s okay—” you reach back to put your hand over his, pressing down.

His brash hold returns upon the permission, more assured. “Good girl, good—” he praises, “So fucking good for me, baby.”

He reaches around and dips his free hand below your hips, beginning to rub circles on your clit.

Your arms shake and you worry that they’re nearing buckling, but, attuned with you as ever, his arm wraps tighter around your middle, pulling you up a bit higher so that you barely have to mind any of the work of holding yourself up.

He makes sure to support your weight nicely, holding you in a way that he knows won’t be uncomfortable for you. His circles never cease, never falter from that just right pace he’s come to know like the back of his hand.

You’re brought to your high by the arrival of his, struggling to keep your head upright as you come.

He thumps down over to the side to lay on his back, chest heaving. You pick up your head to look over at him, finding that he doesn’t look nearly as exhausted as you’re sure you do. Still, he breathes heavy, pupils blown out and sweaty.

You notice how his fists clinch up and loosen a couple times over, trying to convince himself that he’s done, he doesn’t need any more from you, he’s all better now. 

But you also notice that he’s still hard. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, dead set on not looking at you and having to confront that he really, really does still need you.

So you force yourself to sit up, placing a hand on his chest for balance. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to relax for your sake but that’s the last thing you want him to do.

You push yourself up and over his waist, perching over his abs and brushing his hair back from his forehead. You press a kiss to his head before sitting up on your knees and reaching down to line his cock up with your entrance.

You plant a hand on his chest as you sink down onto him with a deep breath.

“You’re okay,” he rasps, watching in mesmerization as you start to lift your weight up slowly off of your thighs and sink back down.

“I’m okay,” you confirm, guiding his hands to your hips. The presence of his hands on you feels like reassurance and works wonders to help you pick back up some of your energy.

The pace you latch onto feels good, for both of you, but you realize fairly quickly that you’re not going to be able to go as fast as he needs you to.

His hands slip down from your hips to your upper thighs, helping you bob up and down. It doesn’t take long for this to give way to him grabbing your hips and moving you entirely himself.

You watch his arm muscles flex as he shifts you around, leaving you awed with the way he shows virtually no struggle while shifting the majority of your body weight up and down over and over again. Just being completely manhandled by him has you letting out an involuntary moan, letting your head fall back.

“There you go, there you go,” he coos, motions without cessation.

He has you riding him faster than you ever have before and it becomes overwhelming quickly. But Jason, ever the caretaker, coaches you through it, encouraging your every movement.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, watching the way your breasts bounce. “Perfect fucking thing.”

The acclaim in his voice makes your eyes shut and your diaphragm shake, all while he continues to fuck you senseless. 

Your body stutters above him, hands flying onto his for support. He comes only moments later, seemingly the only thing that could break his concentration for ragdolling you. The following release of your hips has you slumping over onto his chest, face laying in the bend of his neck.

He turns his head wearily to you, rubbing a hand up your back. “‘R you okay?” he slurs out.

You hum feebly, eyes unable to stay open.

“Can I…?” It takes hearing the words for you to realize that somehow he’s still hard.

You try to nod hard enough that it can be distinguished against the heaviness of your breathing, though you can’t be sure you were successful.

He sighs, “Baby…”

His hangup is immediately clear to you, even through the haze of being post-three orgasms in less than thirty minutes. It takes real, measurable effort to get this singular word through, but you manage.

“Yes,” you breathe out. A ‘yes’ is going to have to work for him because you don’t have a shot at stringing together anymore syllables.

He places a gentle hand on the back of your head, his other landing on your lower back. He slowly starts to fuck you again, this time much softer than before. It’s calm enough that you can settle into the fatigue in your bones and start to feel the exhaustion sweep over your consciousness.

In between kisses laid sweetly upon your neck, He murmurs affections to you the whole time, though you lose almost all of them to sleep. He moves you around a bit more as he goes, though careful to be gentle enough that he doesn’t disturb your peace anymore than he has to.

By the time he’s done he’s bordering on completely out of it and can’t do anything but collapse atop you, nuzzling into your neck.

There’s a pretty consistent pattern that can be found when helping him deal with post-patrol aftermath. Scarecrow’s never any good, his pop-ups tend to end in winding Jason down from panic. There’s always injuries after Bane and invariably there’ll be a mess from Clayface. Half the time he has to get an entirely new suit after a run-in with Killer Croc. So as far as Gotham’s problems go, Poison Ivy isn’t the worst. 

the morning after epilogue

✨ oh you don’t reblog? that’s…no, that’s totally fine for you! im so happy for you…i mean its just been out of fashion for like three seasons but yeah, that shows a lot of…confidence! ✨

[bi-writes]

cw: protective!ghost, allusions to civilian!reader being (physically) assaulted at work (18+)

"l-lieutenant?"

ghost is nearly startled by the little voice that practically squeaks behind him. he's been huddled in his office for too long, driving himself mad with paperwork and sergeants too stupid for their own good. he blinks, turning around, and he blinks when he sees you there in the doorway, hands shaking as you try and collect yourself.

when he looks carefully under the fluorescent lights, he can see there are tears in your eyes. it's then that he notices how you look, really look. there's a bruise blossoming on your jaw, the skin swelling a bit where there's a cut on your lip. your shirt is askew, and you're panting and sweating, like you've been running. he's never seen you this way. fuck, he barely sees you at all, except when he goes out during drills, and he's only ever spoken to you once or twice, just to receive some papers or to excuse himself as he tries to get around you in a crowded hallway. you are always quiet, always shy, smiling at him if you are near and trying to keep out of the way.

he doesn't know why it enrages him to see you in this state, but it does.

"the fuck happened t'ya?" he rasps, and he realizes it comes out harsher than he means. he isn't used to being nice.

the slamming of a door against a wall keeps you from answering. just like that, you're moving, about to scramble away, run, when ghost reaches out and grabs your wrist. he tugs you towards him, just quick enough that whoever is coming for you skids into the doorway.

it's a sergeant he recognizes. cocky, full of shit, who never hits his target. he's big, but not as big as ghost. he pauses when he realizes where you are and who you're with, skidding backwards as he tries to contain his anger.

"wot the fuck is goin' on?" ghost snaps, and you sputter, not able to make out your words properly.

"'m sorry, lieutenant," the sergeant huffs. "i'll take care of this."

when he lunges for you, ghost shoves you behind him, tilting his head to the side as he stares down at the little shit.

"did i fuckin' tell ya t'move?" ghost growls. "this how ya answer ta y'r superior, you fuckin' knob?"

"no," he spits back, but his eyes flash when ghost puts a gloved hand against his chest and pushes him back far enough to put appropriate distance between them.

"did y'hit this civilian?" ghost asks, a humorless laugh leaving him. when the sergeant doesn't respond, ghost turns finally, looking at you, and he clicks his tongue to get your eyes on him. "did he put his hands on ya?"

you tremble a little, moving the back of your hand over your eyes before nodding. you don't really register what happens next. you see blood on the tips of your kitten heels one moment, and you cover your eyes the next.

in the bathroom later that evening, ghost is careful as he dabs at your lip gently with a cool cloth. he has taken the gloves off (they were soaked with blood), and you try not to shiver as he holds your face with one big hand and cleans you up with the other. you can see the shadow of tattoos peeking out from under his sleeve.

"why'd y'come t'me?" he asks after a few minutes. you blink up at him, swallowing hard, and he stands back a little to get a better look at you.

"i've read your file," you whisper, looking down, a bit ashamed. "i just thought...you'd understand."

or maybe you wondered what he would do if he found out.

he hums a little, and you miss the feeling of his touch as soon as he lets go of you, washing his hands at the sink. you fixate on his stature, his size. the thick of his thighs, how the holsters there bulge and stretch to try and hold onto him.

just as he starts to leave, you stand from your seat, making your way to him. he hears you, stopping, and you hold onto his bicep gently as you get on your toes to kiss his cheek. he flinches a little, but he relaxes finally, leaning in for you to kiss him there again. when your eyes meet again, you think you see something there.

he kicks the door closed with his boot, trapping you in the room with him. you smile when the lock clicks.

[kalims]

he's a ten but he...

premise. sometimes certain bad habits of theirs make their overall rating just a tad bit lower—besides the fact that they keep doing it.

characters. dorm leaders

content. gender neutral reader

malleus (doesn't have a sense of space)

"look beastie, that flower is a native of ours,"

"I agree mal, but I didn't think you taking up the entirety of my seat will make me see it better,"

he blinks, then shrugs.

like i said, has NO sense of space.

if an average person would make an excuse to constantly be in physical contact with who they admire, then malleus is the complete opposite. well, not entirely but he doesn't even bother to construct an explanation as to why he's literally sat over your seat when you coincidentally get put in a table together.

if you start questioning him about it the most you'll get in a very outright 'because he wanted to.' it's not even one of those sarcastic replies he's 100% serious!

cause he believes there's no use in lying about things to be honest.. to further emphasize that, if he ever acts like he does hold fondness for you that surpasses the platonic meter but doesn't mention it he probably hasn't realized yet.

if he did he'd already walk over and bluntly tell you about it.

(I wish I could be that unbothered.)

lilia thinks it's the cutest thing though. you swear you see flashes of light for a split second from the ceiling but when you look up there's only a suspicious swinging chandelier.

^ totally has his own album full of pictures.

if malleus ever discovers it he won't even be disturbed, probably would ask for a copy 💯

since human lives, and their bodies are so fragile he'd taken it upon himself to protect you from harm. even if it means trailing behind you everywhere way too close for comfort, or standing a bees wing away.

while he is respectful most of the time, he's encouraged if you don't comment. if anything, he seems pleased you dont seem to be bothered! (and it'll get harder to tell him to stop when he's so happy the more you let it happen..)

"child of man, have you slept?"

*starts leaning his body forward, to squint at your eyes.* practically right in front of your face.

"WTF."

not even a warning or anything! but atleast he's concerned?

idia (won't even show up for anything and insists a 'virtual' date is better.')

user: where tf r u??

ghoul666: WDYM? at the dorm?

user: IVE BEEN WAITING HERE FOR 20 MINUTES

unintentionally stood you up 💀

you literally have to tell him that you're waiting for him to arrive at the specified area you discussed where your date would take place but would end up vastly irritated when he questions if you guys even did.

ghoul666: we do??

user: I'm taking my minecraft bed away from urs.

ghoul666: NO PLS

ghoul666: HELLO????

next time you log in minecraft it's probably because he begged you to play, you WILL end up seeing some kind of structure that probably took days to make. that's not even the entire thing cause the inside is entirely decorated to your taste.

in short: he constructed some kind of venue for a wedding.. even changed his skin to wear a tuxedo 😭

though he has sparked your pettiness, hence the ignoring him period. even you have got to admit that it's freaking adorable...

big sign, emphasis on please: Im sorry pls put ur minecraft bed back I can't sleep w/o u and I have to wait entire days for it to turn into morning :(

with what he's built you're sure it's 65% true.

if you do end up forgiving him, few weeks later attempting to schedule another date will only end up in naught.

ghoul666: can we not go there

user: 😐

user: you are testing my patience love

ghoul666: 😓 (he is screeching about the term of endearment part btw KABSJAJSAJA ortho would enter his room very concerned.)

ghoul666: how abt

ghoul666: mimic together? call

user: sighs

user: I'm only agreeing cause I want to spend time with you

queue more screeching from his end that you're completely oblivious to.

the only screeching you're gonna hear though is when you guys do get into call as you play, and it's mainly out of terror when his soul gets sent to the void ascending when the entity pops out of a corner and starts chasing him.

"I GOT THIS. ILL CARRY U THIS IS FINE" *screams again* but really wants to impress you so he pushes through.

unsurprisingly does carry you.

asks to match avatars right after (idia love languange)

vil (frets over you way too much.)

"vil, did you see the chocolate in the freezer?"

"oh, that? I noticed that you've already gone through the ideal number of bars this week so I took it upon myself to make sure you don't go sick on me,"

"I love you but please give it back—"

"I love you too, and no."

disclaimer: he does this for your own good 😜 (average mom excuse.)

looks out for you more than he does for his own dorm residents. everyone is wondering where he ran off to after class, especially since he's the one that scheduled the pomefiore meeting every fridays!

and to think he was the one getting irritated over the more newer first years for being late..

*shows up literally half an hour in*

why you ask? you simply shouldn't have texted him about abandoning your daily walk together through the gardens in favor of catching sleep since you called in sick (you're suspicious if crewel really did go in to check for proof, and not concern.)

vil's really feeling the absolute regret of not checking his phone during classes.. well, he only saw the message which was coincidentally sent like somehow ONE minute after the lecture started and he's only seeing it 59 minutes later.

oh you poor thing!! though the lunch break is short, he has about 5 minutes for a trip to the mirror chamber..

you'd think the 'seen' icon below your message was a weird omen for something you're not sure but it must be doom cause vil is right at the front porch of your crappy dorm. at his own expense?! looking more disheveled than you've seen him before.

if a few stray hairs was disheveled at all. more importantly, he still looked drop dead gorgeous!

you probably looked quite terrible with the blanket draped around your shoulders looking like you just crawled out of your grave, because he looked absolutely mortified at your state.

"oh great sevens.." he looked like he was faint, huffing and fanning himself with his hand. "look at you, why didn't you tell me sooner, darling?"

you blink, swallowing to make your throat less dry but your voice still comes out raspy. "I did, like an hour ago—" without your invitation whatsoever, he steps in. promptly shutting the door behind him (which surprisingly still stands sturdy.)

vil takes a hold of your shoulders before reaching his hands upwards to tilt your face around. "you should have sent earlier," he says. you keep in the comment that you were sleeping during it, and you told him about it during second period so.. "your face is so pale."

you sigh.

"yeah, I just saw. I know, I look hideous right now."

vil frowns at you, stopping to angle your face at him. "don't ever say that. I always find you beautiful even if you are.." he glances at you from face to toe, then back up. "sickly."

"... I feel offended."

"hmph, shush now. let me draw you a bath then I know something that will boost your system."

after much coaxing in his end, you reluctantly take a warm bath in the hopefully hygienic bathroom. true to his word, vil did... concoct something. though it looked pretty the random steam that flew from it was really suspicious.

the residents don't dare to question, except rook of course. who already knew what transpired! :)

epel: 😃 (atleast vil wasn't around.)

"roi du poison~ tell me, tell me! is the trickster well? have you cured them with your love?"

"rook, you have 5 seconds to get out of my face."

rook giggles away.

kalim (thinks money will buy anything, including your forgiveness.)

"here!" there's a suspiciously bright smile on his face as he hands you.. some keys?

you deadpan, jingling it in your hands. it weighs heavy than the average, probably because of the fact that it's literally made of gold. "... kalim what is this?" you emit a sigh, from suspicion and concern.

"a gift!"

"wait why does it say lot 111--"

as you can already, that was an actual, literal house. which you imagine would probably be a lots more grand, and new compared to your old baby ramshackle.

but you do love it despite it's love for falling apart at the most inconvenient of times..

fighting with kalim was rare but it was hard to even argue with him because the notion of disagreements are so bizarre to him that he unintentionally doesn't treat you seriously with your concerns, accidentally downplaying them aaaand now you're upset.

after the ranting to jamil about how you must be busy with a lot, since you haven't even talked to him in the past 2 days. all it took was a side glance to his friend in denial and jamil immediately knew.

"what do you mean they're mad!? D:"

"just.. go apologize, I don't want to get caught up in this."

if his definition of an apology is buying you an entire house...

( ^ it is btw.)

kalim really doesn't mean any harm. he just really wants to sate whatever anger you held for him <- maybe he's overthinking it but it's kalim so he's 99% sure it's his fault! even though it hasn't even been confirmed from your end he'd probably accept it whole heartedly.

he wanted you to talk to him again so badly that he wouldn’t mind showering you with houses... since your living situation doesn't live up to your kindness (sorry ramshackle love u xx)

you know what. he wouldn't even notice he's the reason you're upset at first even though he's been asking around on who put you in that mood. despite himself being the perpetrator but he didn't really know that did he?

the only reason he does is because he assumed you were just because you avoided him like some sort of.. cockroach! (he dislikes those.) and he couldn't take it anymore.

was probably 1 sec away from barging into your dorm which wouldn't take a lot of effort since one ram to the door would probably break it.

bless jamil for jailing all the carpets so kalim doesn't find them.

even if said carpets fling him off when he's riding them.

"kalim, why would you buy a literal house... and you also got a rare address paid--"

"for them! ;D"

"... you do know they'd be more offended by the fact that you'd try to replace that.., ahem. dorm, right?"

"oh... should I buy them a vehicle then?"

you only promise to forgive him once he takes back the keys, and the house entirely...

(grim begged you to keep it, 'house for him apparently.')

azul (keeps trying to offer you discounts thinking it's a good excuse to have you over.)

"I assure you. you'll find no deal better than this."

"I'm not even that hungry for sea food, actually I'm craving some--"

"you're in luck then! ahem, it's 26% off due to a special event for today."

pro tip: keep insisting to eat at other places cause he's gonna keep increasing the discount by 2% until you eventually relent. once, you made him go to the point of 75% off, it's almost hilarious if not for the fact it only worked once.

now he won't go last 50!

ahem. if you look closely you can almost spot tiny cracks accumulating with each denial you respond with, and each increase of his discount. he's grown to be wary about the bullshit 'lucky' promos you just happen to stumble on.

last time you did he practically lost a week's worth of the presumed income he's predicted cause you actually went around and told your first year friends about it... who.. in turn told some, other friends of theirs about it and you could guess.

love must hurt.. and unfortunately it's his wallet wailing.

but azul is not so easily swayed by this! for you have swayed him first! *wink wonk*

but azul has another trick up his sleeve... keeping on roping jade and floyd into it; whom are far too enthusiastic cause finally— something fun to do! someone to bother! not only have you got the most stubborn octopus having frequent suspicious 'deals' but here are his equally suspicious lackeys.

who keeps.. talking about fried octopus..

yeah, you're not sure if preaching about azul’s species is the job they were assigned.

they're fairly easy to point in the right direction anyways. the tweels have always associated you with the word 'fun' so just a little, friendly suggestion from and they were off to their merry way. mortifying every single person you come across with their sudden attachment.

one of their tricks? following you around. and just somehow, every single place you enter is just mysteriously full even though you peered inside and there was like 7 tables empty. what are they hosting? ghosts? spirits?

...

they do look like they've seen some though..

jade rn: "a shame indeed, you must be hungry. why don't we escort you back to monstro lounge?" :)

long story short you can't even reply cause the sleek eel is already guiding you around by the use of his hands on your shoulders. just to make sure you don't stray away from the destination, he says.

"didn't you say that yesterday's promo was like, a one day thing?" you quirk a brow, and you almost fool yourself into thinking he flinched.

azul clears his throat. "well—today is.. the month before you've graced octavinelle with your assistance—"

he praises himself for his quick thinking.

COME ON! it doesn't matter if you're sick of eating stir fried shrimp, or the butter one, or every single dish they serve that includes shrimp! (also do not mention that you ate somewhere else before you just decide to visit his dorm because that establishment just mysteriously got filed a non-legal business report.)

then you've got floyd chasing you around with a fork. which is more terrifying because he's holding it in a notion that would seem like he'd just stab down at you when he catches up with your little goose chase.

it's just.. you're not sure if your stomach could take another bite of the poor food he stabbed into, and is now chasing you around with.

you screech. "JADE PLEASE."

the man shrugs. "it's a free taste."

"AZUL."

"... only on a condition of course."

frankly. it took all the balls he had to actually sputter out the most simplest sentence ever, cause during the time he rehearsed that in front of his mirror it just plagued him with embarrassment but he's getting desperate.

'I'd like to take you out to dinner, somewhere else of course.'

actually, maybe obliterating any possible craving for the food of his lounge just might've been part of his plans to ask you out..?

leona (prevents you from actually being productive via dragging you down to 'nap' every. single. time.)

"I will literally fail if you don't let go of me right now."

"hmph. so what? it's not like failing a grade killed anyone."

"leona just because you've lived through a lot of fails doesn't mean I have to, we're not all rich enough to not finish school."

to which he'd retaliate that all you'd need is to marry him and you'd be set for life.

there is no winning an argument with leona when it comes to his naps. if he states that you're to be next to him as he sleeps, its final. no buts, no retaliations, cause apparently they're all invalid according to him even if you drag him to court.

rhetorically of course, that if its a comical court scene his only statements are; 'well you're wrong', 'who cares', and 'i dont care'. one way or another he's still gonna win you over and now you're fit snugly in his arms, lamenting.

and if crowley chastises you for not doing the errands (via leona's common interference.) the only thing you need to honestly do is to complain to leona about it and suddenly crowley has the kindness to forgive you for your 'laziness' then says something about enjoying your time together?

leona's work no doubt.

you suppose he does has its perks. even if most of it isn't exactly ideal.

if you're being smart then you should give him an ultimatum or something, or bribe him. but... that really has no guarantee to work either cause you're ending up defeated, or just defeated and flustered since he's somehow unconsciously flirty.

at the end of the day you can't really hate him cause the following day you find out he sent an already sleep deprived ruggie to do your work. 'so you can shut your fussing up and let me enjoy you.' he says, and you quote.

it goes something like;

"if i finish my work i'll stick by you all day."

a stready flow of confidence keeps your voice firm as you glower down at the blank-faced leona sat on the grass. he merely tilts his head, raising a brow at you and seemingly pondering from the way his eyes fly to the sky.

you'd think that maybe your plan actually worked but he merely grunts and flops backwards, holding the back of his head with his palms as he laid. and! he ignores you.

...this little greedy man... "why should i care whether or not you finish your work?" he huffs, like the evil, arrogant spawn he is but you can't really defend yourself cause said evil spawn bewitched you so much that you actually still like him.

"because you care about me?"

"...fine," he scowls, releasing a breath you'd mistake for irritation. "then, do you really think i need you to finish your work when i can just keep you right here?"

you sulk. "i'll do anything you want?"

he deadpans as if you said something stupid. "i don't need you to anything else but sit still and be pretty."

...

...

see what i mean about him eventually winning you over? yeah.

next morning there's a rebellion in savanaclaw about overworked residents and ruggie is the head of them.

"he said that he doesn't need you today." <- ruggie, steering you away.

"really?" <- you, confused

riddle (overthinks TOO HARD.)

“I'm just a little busy.”

“I understand,” riddle says.

“I'm just a little busy.” he understands.

“a little busy.” its just… a small thought…

“I'm just busy.” his mind is a hazard at this point. 

for someone as supposedly maintained as riddle—you'd think his mind is as composed as it is organized. like the pens you'd perfectly align in correlation to order of colors, or the neat pile of clothing folded neatly, tucked in some corner in your closet that is farther in since it's used less.

that's just how he is, or at least seems to be. a bundle of organized thoughts, every thought connected to another. a mind too clean to be going on haywire (when he isn't in a particular mood, that is.)

you're just busy. he thinks. you said it yourself, with that agonizingly nice smile that must be sprinkled with some kind of spell from the way it just eradicated all the protests in his throat upon sight. he isn't one to question it, he wants to help but not if you don't ask.

he can only stare with resigned acceptance at your insomnia induced eyes.

but when the curtain of darkness befalls night raven college, even in the comfort of heartslabyul is he still thinking about that thought–and he can’t help but wonder; why exactly are you busy? its not that he’s suddenly hyper aware of your lack of presence since you’ve been attached to the hip the previous week and now you’re just.

…busy…

riddle likes to think of himself as a level-headed, private person. like the boy he raised himself to be and therefore proud of. but its way past 10AM. which is usually the time he sleeps, and let me tell you that he’s never once broke the cycle for years. yet here he is, a frown of frustration present on his face as he wills his mind to sleep.

somehow closing his eyes felt forced, he immediately snapped them open once his mind decides to conjure an image of you even in the darkness his lids offers.

“THIS IS ABSURD.”

and the yell promptly woke up the entire dorm from the ferocity of his scream. (and of course gave them the flashback of their year.)

that night was one of the worst he’s ever had because he woke up with red rimmed eyes and a pounding headache that ensured his bad mood the rest of the day.

everyone noted to steer clear.

and he unknowingly steered clear of yours since you were ‘busy.’

“why are you sulking?” a voice queried, spoken as though they were eating something as they asked. a reprimand rises in his throat, but it all just dies down once his sharp eyes settle on you, slipping into the seat in front of him then raising a brow and the traces of irritation practically evaporates from his eyes.

he feels the need to cough–so he does. “i’m– i’m not.” he clears his throat, avoiding your eyes but still sneaking in glances, something he notes is that you’re still looking everytime he does. (and boring an unimpressed face because he knows you don’t believe him at all.)

guilt rises in his mind, because he feels a slither of annoyance and its the presence of pettiness that bothers him. riddle knows you’re not at fault, just his mind at convincing that you just somehow decided in the span of a day that you might not like him anymore–so he can’t help the bite. 

“why are you here?” a glance not intended to look mean.

“i thought you were busy.” he adds.

your brows raise, he spots your teeth holding your lips back from showing your grin and he feels warm. “what?” he hisses defensively, despite you not even having replied to him yet.

he leans backwards, straightening up in his seat when your chin leans forward, resting on your intertwined fingers. you flash him a smile. 

“mr. rosehearts, are you perhaps… sulking because i’m busy?”

“no!”

silence.

“no.” he repeats, weaker.

“well,” you continue, beaming. “i heard from ace that you were awake the entire night, and that you kept him awake too. are you alright?” 

he sputters. “it wasn’t because of you!”

you snort. “i didn’t even say anything about me.”

so you incline to following riddle around, poking fun at him and still trailing after the seemingly enraged red head because despite his angry protests, demanding you to go away because you’re annoying he keeps glancing back to see if you’ll follow,

so cute…….

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Vegas Baby | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Summary: After winning his fourth world championship, Max Verstappen stuns the world with a live radio proposal.

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A/N: This was inspired by this post by @altxanna idea so good it made me get over my writer's block and write this 4.2k monstrosity.

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check out my other works: Masterlist

Max Verstappen crossed the finish line in fifth place, but that didn’t matter. The entire world was fixated on the fact that he had just won his fourth World Championship.

“AND MAX VERSTAPPEN DOES IT AGAIN! FOUR WORLD TITLES!” David Croft shouted, his voice teetering on the edge of hysteria. The Las Vegas skyline lit up like a fireworks display on overdrive, the crowd roaring in approval.

“Forget where he finished—he’s a four-time world champion!” Martin Brundle yelled, equally excited. “This is history!”

Max, however, barely seemed to notice he’d crossed the line in fifth. He was just… Max. Calm. Collected. His voice came through the radio, steady as always, but with a hint of amusement.

“Thanks, guys. It’s been an incredible season. I’m so proud of the team. Huge thanks to GP, Christian, everyone.”

“You’ve done it, Max! Four-time champion, man!” GP screamed, clearly unable to keep the excitement in. “This is massive, mate! You’ve earned this!”

“Yeah, I know,” Max said, his voice deadpan. “But listen, there’s one more thing.”

The radio went quiet for a second.

“Uh… What’s that, Max?” GP asked, his tone suddenly cautious.

Max didn’t respond right away. Then, he casually dropped the bomb.

“Y/n, a bet’s a bet. We’re getting married tonight.”

“WHAT?!” GP exploded. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?”

Max’s tone didn’t change. “We’re getting married. Vegas chapel. Tonight.”

The entire Red Bull garage froze. Even the other engineers looked around in total confusion.

Max continued, his voice as if he were discussing the weather. “It’s been planned. I won the fourth title, she agreed to the bet, so… wedding time.”

GP sputtered. “Max, you—WHAT? No, no, no. You can’t just say that on the radio! You can’t just—”

“I’m doing it,” Max said, already tired of the conversation. “It’s happening. Vegas. Tonight.”

The radio was dead silent for a long moment, then GP finally spoke, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and dread. “Max, I—What in the world did I just hear? Are you seriously making your wedding announcement over the team radio?”

“Of course, I’m serious,” Max replied. “She said if I won my fourth title in Vegas, I could pick the wedding date. So, I picked tonight.”

“Max, you can’t—you—what the hell is wrong with you?!” GP spluttered.

Back in the commentary booth, David Croft could barely hold it together. “Did Max Verstappen just announce his wedding on live radio after winning his fourth world championship? Is that what I just heard?!”

“I think that’s exactly what you heard, Crofty,” Martin Brundle said, voice dripping with astonishment. “This is pure, unfiltered Verstappen.”

David Crofty just stared at the screen, blinking in disbelief. “Honestly, I can’t even process this. We’ve seen some wild moments in F1, but this... this might just take the cake.”

“Yeah,” Brundle said with a chuckle. “You can’t script this stuff. Not even in Vegas.”

Meanwhile, in Red Bull’s hospitality area, Y/n was standing stock-still, her eyes wide as she stared at the screen. The radio call still blaring in her ears.

“Did—did he just announce our wedding? Like… right now?!” she hissed, her hand gripping the counter in disbelief.

A Red Bull mechanic standing nearby looked just as stunned. “Uh, I think he did, yeah.”

“He’s lost it,” one engineer muttered under his breath, his face pale.

“I don’t even know what’s happening anymore,” another whispered.

The others weren’t any better off, most of them looking like they might faint. A PR rep came over, trying to maintain professionalism but clearly in shock. “Y/n, um… Max just… did he just announce your wedding?”

“Don’t look at me,” Y/n groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t even… He’s the worst.”

“Vegas, baby!” another joked, only to get smacked in the arm by Y/n as she stormed past.

Back on the track, Max, utterly relaxed, parked his car in parc fermé and stepped out, throwing his helmet in the air before catching it like it was no big deal.

“So, yeah,” Max said, grinning at the cameras. “Got my fourth title, and now I get to marry my girl. Vegas chapel, let’s go!”

The reporters and photographers surrounding him stared at him in utter confusion.

“Wait, what? You’re—what?!” one reporter stammered.

Max smirked. “Yep, Vegas. I won, she lost, and now we’re getting married.”

He tossed a thumbs-up to the camera as if it were a completely normal thing to say.

“Max,” one reporter finally managed, “you’re serious about this, right? You’re really getting married in Vegas?”

Max’s grin widened. “I’m serious. A bet’s a bet. No turning back.”

Back in the Red Bull garage, chaos had officially set in. Christian Horner, who had been pacing for the last five minutes, finally stopped and glared at a nearby mechanic. “What am I supposed to do with this now?!”

“I don’t know, Christian,” the mechanic said, holding up his hands in defeat. “Maybe we start picking out flowers?”

“Someone get me a drink,” Christian muttered, walking off, leaving a sea of confusion behind him.

Y/n stormed through the paddock like a woman possessed, her face a mix of disbelief, panic, and barely contained rage.

She spotted Max leaning casually against a barrier in parc fermé, looking like he had no care in the world—despite having just announced their impending Vegas wedding to the entire world. He was surrounded by Lewis, Fernando, George, and Carlos, who were all still there congratulating him and clearly trying to comprehend what had just happened.

“MAX!” Y/n screeched as she closed the distance.

Max turned, his smug grin stretching even wider. “Oh, there she is! The future Mrs. Verstappen. Took you long enough.”

Y/n planted herself directly in front of him, glaring. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

Max blinked, his expression far too innocent. “What? I kept my promise.”

“Your promise?” Y/n echoed, incredulous. “You hijacked the championship celebration to announce a fake wedding! On LIVE TELEVISION!”

“It’s not fake,” Max said matter-of-factly. “A bet is a bet.”

Carlos, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, wait, wait. You bet your wedding on the championship?”

“Of course,” Max said with a shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m a man of my word.”

George choked on air. “You’re a menace.”

“Exactly,” Y/n said, throwing her hands in the air. “Max, this is insane! You can’t just—”

“Relax, schatje,” Max interrupted, his tone annoyingly casual. “It’s Vegas. This is what people do here.”

“Not normal people!” Y/n snapped.

Lewis, still dabbing at his face with a towel, gave a bewildered laugh. “I’m sorry, are we actually talking about a real wedding right now?”

“Yes,” Max said confidently. “Tonight.”

“No,” Y/n shot back.

“Yes.”

“MAX!”

“Yes, Y/n,” Max said, leaning forward slightly. “We are getting married tonight, and that’s final.”

“Final?!” she spluttered. “How is this final? There’s no plan, no venue, no—”

“Vegas has plenty of chapels,” Max interrupted smoothly.

“I don’t have a dress!”

“You’ll look great in anything,” Max countered.

Y/n groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even have someone to walk me down the aisle!”

Max tilted his head, clearly unbothered. “Oh, that’s easy.” He turned to his left, where Lewis stood mid-sip from his water bottle. “Lewis! Can you walk Y/n down the aisle tonight?”

Lewis froze, the bottle halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Can you walk her down the aisle?” Max repeated, as if this were a completely reasonable request.

“I—” Lewis blinked, looking between Max and Y/n. “Uh… sure?”

“What?! No!” Y/n shouted.

“Why me?” Lewis asked, baffled.

Max shrugged. “You’re a world champion. She deserves someone of high status.”

Before Y/n could combust, Fernando Alonso stepped forward, a sly grin on his face. “Hold on,” he said, raising a hand. “If anyone is walking her down the aisle, it should be me. I’m the most appropriate for the role.”

Lewis turned to him, visibly confused. “How do you figure that?”

Fernando gave a dramatic shrug. “Experience. I’m wiser, more distinguished. A father figure, if you will.”

Y/n groaned, “Oh my God, Fernando—”

Lewis snorted. “Father figure? Please. More like grandfather figure.”

The group exploded into laughter. George doubled over, wheezing, while Carlos clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his own cackles.

“You wound me, Hamilton,” Fernando said, his tone mock-offended.

“Yeah, but I’m not wrong,” Lewis quipped, smirking.

“This is not happening,” Y/n muttered, covering her face with her hands.

Max leaned closer to her, his grin pure mischief. “See? Problem solved. You have two excellent candidates to walk you down the aisle.”

“This is NOT solved!” Y/n screeched.

George finally spoke up, still chuckling. “You know, for the record, this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen”

“Agreed,” Carlos said, shaking his head with a grin. “But I can’t look away.”

Max clapped his hands together. “Alright, then. We’re all set! Lewis or Fernando—it’s Y/n’s choice.”

“I CHOOSE NEITHER!” she yelled, clearly on the verge of a breakdown.

Max leaned back, entirely unfazed. “Suit yourself. But one way or another, schatje, we’re getting married tonight.”

Y/n turned to the other drivers, her eyes pleading. “Can someone PLEASE talk some sense into him?”

Lewis shrugged. “I don’t know, Y/n. He seems pretty set on it. You might just have to roll with it.”

Fernando smirked. “And let me know when you decide. I’ll be practicing my ‘giving away the bride’ speech.”

George buried his face in his hands again, mumbling, “This is a fever dream.”

Y/n, meanwhile, was contemplating her life choices as Max grinned at her, utterly pleased with himself. This was going to be a nightmare—and she was the star attraction.

Suddenly, Lando came sprinting out of nowhere, practically skidding to a stop in front of Max. His curls were a chaotic mess, and his face was split into an ear-to-ear grin that made him look like an overexcited puppy.

“MAX!” Lando yelled, throwing his arms up. “FOUR-TIME WORLD CHAMPION! YOU LEGEND! Also mate, what the hell?! Are you really getting married?!” 

Max turned, his ever-present grin widening. “Obviously.”

“I thought it was just a rumor!” Lando said, flinging his helmet onto a nearby table. “I mean, come on, you say insane stuff on the radio all the time! I figured this was one of those things.”

“Nope.” Max popped the “p” for emphasis. “It’s happening. Tonight.”

Y/n, who had been pacing nearby in a futile attempt to process her life choices, groaned audibly. “I hate all of you. All of you.”

Lando glanced at her, then back at Max. “Wait, so this is real? Like… actually real?”

“As real as it gets,” Max replied, clapping Lando on the shoulder. “And since you’re here…”

Lando squinted. “Since I’m here, what?”

Max’s grin turned sly, his hand still on Lando’s shoulder. “How do you feel about being my best man tonight?”

Lando froze, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” Max said, still looking far too pleased with himself.

“Me?!” Lando gestured wildly at himself, his voice rising an octave. “Why me?!”

“Why not you?” Max countered smoothly.

“I don’t know!” Lando threw up his hands. “You could ask your trainer, your engineer—anyone! We’ve been rivals this entire year!”

Max tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “Exactly. We’ve had a lot of ups and downs this year, yeah? Fighting for the championship and everything. But at the end of the day…” He paused, his grin shifting to something more genuine. “You’re a good friend, Lando. One of the best. And I’d like us to bury the hatchet. Tonight.”

The sudden sincerity hit Lando like a truck. His eyes widened, his lip quivering just a little as he stared at Max. “Max…”

The group went quiet—well, as quiet as it could be with the chaos of the paddock swirling around them. Even Y/n stopped pacing to stare, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You really mean that?” Lando asked, his voice thick with emotion.

“Of course,” Max said, giving Lando a firm pat on the back. “You’ve been there through all of it, mate. Who else would I want standing next to me tonight?”

Lando’s hand flew to his face, his bottom lip wobbling. “Oh my God. I think I’m gonna cry.”

“Don’t cry,” George mumbled, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. “This is ridiculous enough already.”

“Shut up, George!” Lando snapped, though it lacked any real venom. He sniffled, blinking rapidly. “Max, you big idiot. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Max smirked. “Well, don’t get used to it.”

Y/n, watching this entire exchange with her arms crossed, muttered under her breath, “I cannot believe this is my life right now.”

Carlos, standing nearby, leaned over to George and whispered, “Do you think Lando will actually cry at the altar?”

“Oh, 100%,” George replied without hesitation.

“I’M NOT CRYING!” Lando shouted, wiping furiously at his eyes.

“Sure, mate,” Carlos said, grinning.

“Shut up!” Lando whirled back to Max, pointing a slightly wobbly finger at him. “Fine! I’ll do it. I’ll be your best man. But only because that was the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Good.” Max nodded approvingly. “We’re gonna have a great time. Bring tissues, though. You’ll need them.”

Lando groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re emotional,” Max teased, clapping him on the back again.

“Can I leave now?” Y/n interjected, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Nope,” Max said cheerfully. “We’ve still got wedding planning to do. And Lando needs to rehearse his speech.”

“Speech?!” Lando exclaimed, his face paling. “No one said anything about a speech!”

“Oh, come on,” Carlos said, grinning. “Just wing it.”

“This is a nightmare,” Y/n muttered.

“See, schatje?” Max said, turning to her with a mischievous smile. “Everything’s settled”

“Kill me now,” she groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

“Not before the wedding,” Max quipped. “I need my bride alive, schatje.”

Carlos, grinning, nudged George. “Do you think she’ll kill him before they even make it to the altar?”

“I actually might” Y/n snapped, making everyone laugh—except her.

Max clapped his hands together, cutting through the lingering laughter. “Alright, boys, fun’s over. See you after the podium, yeah?”

Carlos snorted, throwing an arm around George. “Come on, hombre. Let’s get out of here before they decide to do something crazier.”

Max turned to Carlos, his grin turning devious. “Speaking of you, Carlos, I need another groomsman. What do you say?”

Carlos blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Me? Really?”

“Obviously,” Max said, rolling his eyes. “You’re good at standing around looking pretty. Perfect for the job.”

“I’m honored,” Carlos said, puffing out his chest dramatically.

Y/n, standing a few feet away, raised her hand. “Dibs on George for my side, then.”

George’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what?”

“I called dibs,” Y/n said firmly, crossing her arms.

“That’s not how this works!” Max exclaimed, glaring at her.

“It is now,” she shot back, grinning.

Max groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You are impossible.”

“You’re marrying me,” she said sweetly. “This is your problem now.”

Before Max could argue further, he grabbed her hand, tugging her away from the group. “We need to pick more people. Properly.”

As they walked through the paddock, Max started listing names under his breath. “Alright, I want Charles on my side.”

“No way,” Y/n said immediately.

Max frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I’m picking him,” Y/n declared, speeding up her pace as soon as she spotted Charles standing by his car.

Max groaned. “You can’t just steal all the good ones!”

“Watch me.”

By the time they reached Charles, Y/n was already stepping in front of Max, her grin wicked. “Charles! You’re going to be my maid of honor.”

Charles looked up, his face blank with confusion. “Wait, what?”

Max shoved Y/n aside, scowling. “Ignore her, Charles. You’re going to be one of my groomsmen.”

“No, he’s not!” Y/n snapped, stepping back in front of Max.

“Yes, he is!” Max shot back, sidestepping her.

Charles blinked between them, his brows furrowing. “What is happening right now?”

“You’re gonna help me with my wedding,” Y/n said, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “It’s happening tonight.”

Charles just stared at her, still not sure if he was in a dream or being pranked. “Uh… are you serious?”

“Charles, listen to me,” Y/n said, grabbing his hands dramatically. “I need you on my side. You’re the only one who understands how insane Max is.”

Max pulled her back by the shoulder. “He does not understand that! He’s my friend, not yours.”

Charles raised a hand. “Guys, what—”

“Do you really want to stand next to Max?” Y/n asked, cutting him off.

Max glared at her. “Do you really want to be stuck with her?”

“I feel like I don’t want to be stuck with either of you,” Charles said cautiously, his confusion growing.

“Charles,” Y/n pleaded, gripping his arm. “Please. You’ll get to wear something cool”

Charles blinked, still completely befuddled. “I… I don’t know what’s happening. Am I even invited to this wedding? Because you’re asking me to do a lot without any context.”

“Don’t listen to her!” Max interjected, gesturing wildly. “You’ll have more fun on my side. I’ll let you hold the rings.”

“No we’re letting Yuki hold the rings!” Y/n shouted.

Charles blinked again, looking between them like they’d both lost their minds. “Are you two seriously fighting over me right now?”

“Yes!” they yelled in unison.

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Say yes to me, Charles,” Y/n said, batting her eyelashes.

“No, say yes to me,” Max countered, practically growling.

Charles threw his hands up. “Fine! I’ll be on Y/n’s side. But only because she asked first.”

Y/n cheered, sticking her tongue out at Max. “Suck it!”

“I feel like I should be insulted,” Max muttered as Charles smirked at him.

The wedding was somehow happening. In the span of a few hours—thanks to an intense series of last-minute phone calls, frantic text messages, and a team of Red Bull employees being worked to the bone—the ceremony was set to begin. And despite the fact that no one really knew how they’d gotten here, the whole thing had turned into the weirdest Formula 1 event in history.

Y/n stood in the back, adjusting her dress, eyeing the people around her in disbelief. Max had somehow managed to throw together an entire wedding in record time, which was somehow both impressive and terrifying. She was walking down the aisle with Lewis and Fernando—two of the most iconic figures in F1. She couldn’t decide between them, so she’d invited both to walk her down the aisle. Because, why not?

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Lewis asked, smoothing out his jacket. His suit was impeccable, of course. He was an icon of style, so a last-minute wedding wasn’t going to stop him from looking good.

“I’m just trying to survive this,” Y/n muttered

“We’re in Vegas. Anything goes,” Fernando quipped, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “At least the wedding's got personality."

“You both know I’ll never live this down, right?” Y/n said, shaking her head. "This whole thing is so Max, I feel like I should apologize to everyone for being part of it."

“You’ll be fine,” Fernando added with a smile, adjusting his cufflinks. “It’s Max. You know he doesn’t do anything half-heartedly. He’s probably already planned the honeymoon.”

Y/n laughed nervously. “I’m pretty sure he has. You’ve both seen what happens when Max gets an idea in his head. And somehow... this is actually happening.”

“You’ve got this,” Lewis said. “We’re here for you.”

Before Y/n could respond, the doors swung open, signaling that it was time. The aisle was a bit too short for a proper procession, and the whole thing had a sense of hurried chaos as they started walking down toward the altar.

At the front, Max stood there waiting, looking like he was about to burst with excitement. His best man, Lando, had been fighting tears all night and was now sniffling into a tissue. "I swear this is the happiest day of my life," Lando muttered to Carlos, wiping his eyes.

Carlos, looking slightly concerned, just shook his head. “It’s their wedding Lando, not even your own. stop bawling.”

“Yeah, but it’s their wedding,” Lando said, eyes still damp. “There’s too much love in the air.”

Max had his hands tucked in his pockets, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. When he spotted Y/n, he gave her an exaggerated wink, as if to say, “We made it.”

“You good?” Fernando asked, glancing at Y/n as they reached the front.

“I’m questioning every life choice I’ve made,” Y/n muttered under her breath, feeling the full weight of the absurdity of the situation.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Max said, grinning.

At the back of the room, Oscar and Franco stood with baskets of flowers, both looking thoroughly confused in their roles as flower boys. Oscar had been dragged into this because of his unwillingness to protest. Franco, on the other hand, was too amused to care about the situation and just went along with it.

“Oscar, why are we doing this again?” Franco whispered, furrowing his brows as he sprinkled petals on the floor.

“Because Yuki said we had to. And I’m not arguing with him,” Oscar muttered, holding his basket as if it were a grenade about to go off.

“Who cares? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience! Attending Max Vertsappen’s wedding?,” Franco said with stars in his eyes, “I’ll tell my grandkids about this.”

Yuki, holding the rings, couldn’t contain his excitement as he gave them instructions. “Guys, you’re doing great. Just, uh, try not to look confused. I need this to look professional. Oscar throw the petals properly! more passion! more energy! more footwork!”

“I’m already questioning my entire existence,” Oscar said, looking at Franco for solidarity. Franco just smiled and threw a handful of petals into the air.

The Elvis officiating the wedding was already in full swing, not entirely sure of the gravity of the moment but having a blast nonetheless.

"Y’all ready to get hitched?" Elvis said, his voice more vibrant than Y/n could’ve imagined.

Max, barely containing his excitement, looked over at Y/n. “Ready for this, love?” he asked, his voice low, though it carried a hint of playfulness.

Y/n smiled, glancing at him for a moment. “More than ever.”

Then, in front of everyone, they exchanged their vows.

Max spoke first, his voice unwavering, but there was an undeniable tenderness in his words. “Y/n, you’ve turned my world upside down. You’ve made every race, every moment, better just by being there. I promise to keep being the person you’ve decided to stand at an altar with, the person you love—even when I’m an absolute nightmare. I’ll always fight for us, for this. I love you.”

Y/n could feel her heart in her throat as she spoke. “Max, you’ve always been… Max. But you’ve shown me that you are a person with the biggest heart. You’ve made me laugh, cry, and love harder than I thought I could. You’re my best friend, and I can’t wait for the next chapter of this crazy life with you. I love you.”

There were no grand gestures or over-the-top theatrics; instead, it was just them—raw, honest, and completely present in this moment.

Max smiled at her, the kind of smile that made everything feel right, before turning to the officiant.

“Elvis, hit me with that ‘you may kiss the bride’ line,” Max said, giving a wink.

And so, amidst the madness, they kissed, sealing their vows with a moment that felt right in all its simplicity. The crowd cheered, some clapping and others, like Lando, wiping away happy tears. It wasn’t the wedding anyone had expected, but it was exactly what Max and Y/n had needed.

As they pulled away, Y/n’s gaze met Max’s, and for a brief moment, it was just the two of them, everything else fading away.

As the ceremony ended and the newlyweds turned to leave, the crowd of friends and teammates erupted into applause, some of them still trying to process what had just happened.

Lando was grinning, wiping his eyes. “This is so perfect. I’m still not sure how we managed to get here in two hours, but it’s amazing.”

Charles was smiling too, giving Y/n a thumbs up. “Congrats, both of you. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Max is married now.”

Lewis patted Max on the back. “She’s got you now. Good luck with that.”

Y/n smiled at him, a little breathless. “So, are you planning to annoy me for the rest of our lives?”

Max grinned back, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Absolutely. You’ve signed up for it, so no turning back now.”

Everyone laughed, but there was a deep sincerity in the air. This was their moment—imperfect and hurried, but beautiful in its own way.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[tender-rosiey]

How do you think sukuna would act with a baby girl?? The same as his son? Maybe a bit more soft since he reminds him of reader?

troublesome — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: i have something else in store for geto <3

sukuna never planned on becoming a parent, but then you became pregnant. he had two choices: kill the kid from now or let you give birth to it.

he spent a good couple of days deciding on what to do, until he finally made his mind and headed to your room, swiftly. there you were in all your glory, eyes snapping to your husband the moment he entered.

you smiled, standing up, “hey, sukuna.” then walked to him and placed a small kiss on his cheek.

he, however, said nothing and simply kept staring you down then he said a simple phrase, “the kid.”

your eyes widened, your thoughts jumbled, and your nerves were all over the place. still, you manage to get out a response, “what about it?”

he stayed silent, and it drove you over the edge. you needed him to say something—anything. will he let you have it, or will he kill it? he was never fond of kids, always killed them first in his raids. will your own child with him bear the same fate as the others he had slaughtered and even eaten?

is this a joke from the universe? you married the king of curses, and, therefore, your punishment is never getting to experience the joy of having kids? but even if he does end up choosing wanting to kill it, how will he—

“I will let you keep it.”

you never thought a simple sentence would induce so much happiness in you. you cup his face and  start showering him in kisses, and you unceasingly thank him, “thank you, sukuna! thank you so much!”

he grunts, hand resting on your waist, “just don’t cause me trouble, and it better be a boy.” he takes hold of your chin and makes you lock eyes with him, “I don’t want a whiny, slimy little girl.”

and because the world loves him so much, he was indeed graced with a whiny, slimy little girl.

the moment the woman announced that it’s a girl, your face paled, and your husband’s frown could’ve never been deeper. his eyes traced every action that happened from the cleaning of the baby to the little girl being nestled cozily in your arms.

she starts calming down when she feels the warmth of your skin against her own. slowly, her breathing evens out, and she falls into a deep slumber.

the servants rush out of the room, leaving you, your husband, and your newborn daughter.

you don’t know what to do: do you speak first or do you wait for him to do it? you keep searching his face for any positive emotion, something that would give you hope and make you forget about his sharp scowl.

he puts a hand out and orders, “hand her to me.”

your heart fell to your stomach. there’s nothing you could do. whatever he decided on was what will happen. you desperately wanted to hold her for a bit longer and to feel her comforting weight in your arms.

though, your husband got impatient, eyes sharply looking you in the eyes, and he glowered, “y/n.”

despite your heart screaming and trying to resist ever letting him touch a single hair on your baby, you shakily put her in his hand. she starts huffing, puffing, and squirming in his hold. fearing the worst, you squeezed your eyes shut.

you simply won’t be able to take witnessing your daughter’s slaughter with your very own eyes.

you expect to hear a slash, a little thud, but you’re met with nothing, just a groan from your husband as he mutters, “she is small.”

you blink owlishly then stare at him. he is slowly raising and lowering the hand—an attempt to rock her maybe—that has your baby in it. then, he situates her against his chest.

he looks up to you and states, “she is also ugly.”

frowning, you retort, “that’s because of your genes.”

your husband quirks an eyebrow, “you’re balantly insulting me even after I spared it?”

“her.”

“same difference.”

sukuna shuffles until he is seated beside you and silently pulls you into his embrace.

you just took notice of how he is trying to avoid touching her with his nails and how his hold on her is rather gentle. the little girl lets out a small sigh then snuggles into his chest. her dad copies her with a sigh of his own then he grunts, “not a single word.”

a small giddy giggle escapes you, and you nuzzle into his chest in turn. he squeezes you lightly, before scoffing, “or a sound.”

later on that day, after you were transferred into the master bedroom along with your daughter, you’re left to rest in the expansive bed with your daughter napping in the crib right under the window.

you thought the light might give her some sort of comfort—call it a mother’s instinct. you wanted her to grow up in the light, not to be sheltered and hidden in shadows. who knows if these shadows will devour whole or not.

but you will try your best to provide her with a normal life.

as you start to drift off to sleep, you take note of a large figure standing in front of the window. he is blocking the light from sky—at least the one from the window above her crib. quickly, you are able to define its features and identify that it’s—thank god—your husband.

he has this sort of contemplating look on his face, a solemn look, maybe a bit troubled too. he keeps staring at the sleeping baby as she takes small and slow breaths.

she is fragile, he knows. he also knows that a flick of his finger will end her right then and there.

but he finds his hand only capable of gently caressing her cheek, and a wave of shock is sent through him when his daughter leans toward his touch. his daughter. he heaves a sigh and a frown is etched onto his face.

this is going to be a troublesome journey.

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[darklinsblog]

Dating Rafe would include… (realistically speaking)

Inspired by the fact I actually, after years of stalling decided to start watching OBX-currently just started S3-and we all love a psycho lol

Rafe it’s absolutely all or nothing, so for starters you had to catch his eye somehow

Mf couldn’t get you out of his head and wanted to know every single thing there was to know about you.

If you’re a Pogue his obsession went over the fucking top, like a guilty pleasure he couldn’t get enough of, but hid away because there was no way he could’ve been seen with a Pogue.

If you’re a Kook, he goes full cassanova, charming, smooth asf talker, he wants to absolutely woo you because he wants you to be his and to have everyone know that.

Deep fucking staring from across the room.

Touch starved, literally if he doesn’t have his hands on you somehow he can’t be at ease.

Lots and lots of love bites

Contrary to popular belief, Rafe would NEVER cheat, he wouldn’t be dating someone he isn’t obsessed with.

Can’t fucking stand men trying to hit on you, literally gets on fights almost every time you go out.

You can’t go out to parties without him, non negotiable.

Aggressive speaker, would throw a compliment within insults.

“I wouldn’t have to fight some fucking dickhead if you wouldn’t dress like that!”

Not even kidding Rafe Cameron is the CEO of lovebombing.

Stupid fights turn into literal yelling and him hitting the wall.

When he’s high it’s literally all lovely dovey and needy or aggressive as shit and throwing shit at you.

Screams in your face for the most part.

Immediately regrets it whenever he does it and apologizes like his life depends on it.

“Shit, baby… I’m so sorry, I- I swear i didn’t mean to”

Showers you with love afterwards.

MAKE UP SEX

Workships your body every time you’re in bed

“You’re so fucking beautiful…”

Man loves to get his face in between your legs and munch.

Is terrified of you leaving him and when you try to he humiliates himself for you to forgive him

Literally falls to his knees and clings onto your knees.

“Please, please… don’t leave me Y/N you’re all I have”

Would literally throw hands if something happens to you on a blink.

“Who was it?”

“Rafe, don’t-“

“Give me names”

Would kill for you

…but could also be likely to kill you too

Needs a lot of reassurance.

You’re practically his therapy and the only thing keeping him on a half decent mindset.

Asks you for help because you’re the only one to ever listen to him.

Promises you he will drop his drug addiction over and over again.

He wants to do better for you, just doesn’t know how to.

Ultimately, he does love you, but in the only way he understands love.

[pucksandpower]

Free Fucking Country

Max Verstappen x First Daughter of the US!Reader

Summary: the FIA needs a reality check — you’ve known this since they decided to punish your grown ass boyfriend for daring to say “fucked” in a press conference — and what better way to do this than by taking full advantage of your First Amendment rights … live on camera?

The Texas sun beats down on the circuit. You’re standing off to the side, watching the race from a monitor, arms crossed. There’s an edge to your stance, a tightness in your jaw that no one’s missed, least of all Nico Rosberg.

“You look like you’re going to murder someone,” Nico says, chuckling under his breath. “Who’s the unlucky victim?”

You shoot him a sideways glance, not quite smiling. “Not someone. More like the entire FIA.”

Jenson Button raises a brow from his spot beside Nico. He’s been fiddling with a microphone, but now his full attention is on you. “Ah. Still upset about Singapore, then?”

You roll your eyes. “Still upset? I’m livid, Jenson. They punished Max for swearing. Swearing. Like, are we adults or are we running a kindergarten here?”

Nico and Jenson exchange a look, trying and failing to suppress a laugh.

“They’ve done worse to other drivers, to be fair,” Nico says, playing the diplomat despite the thirst for drama you know is itching to escape.

“I don’t care!” Your voice rises a little, and you realize you’re pacing now, hands flying around in frustration. “They target Max like he’s public enemy number one, and I swear it’s just because he’s honest. They can’t handle it when someone actually tells the truth!”

Nico nods, clearly amused by your rant but trying to stay neutral. “True. Max does have a ... blunt way of putting things.”

“He shouldn’t have to censor himself. It’s not like he was even that bad. They act like he threatened to burn down the paddock.” You huff, coming to a stop in front of Nico. “It’s just so stupid.”

Nico leans back, crossing his arms. “So, what are you going to do? You’re not exactly on the FIA’s Christmas card list either.”

A slow grin spreads across your face, and Nico’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh no. I don’t like that look. That’s trouble.”

Jenson smirks. “What’s she planning?”

“I need a favor,” you say, eyes glinting with mischief. You glance over at the camera setup behind them. “Can I borrow your camera for a minute?”

Both men stare at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“You want to go live? On Sky Sports?” Jenson asks, blinking in disbelief.

You shrug. “Why not?”

Nico shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “You’re something else.”

But he steps aside, making way for you to take his place. “Alright, have at it. Just … maybe don’t get us all banned from the paddock, yeah?”

You wink. “No promises.”

Without missing a beat, you step in front of the camera, and within seconds, you’re live. Your pulse quickens, adrenaline buzzing in your veins. The weight of the moment hits you, but it only fuels your determination.

You clear your throat. “Hi, everyone! It’s me, your friendly neighborhood First Daughter, coming to you live from the US Grand Prix. Now, before we get back to the race, I have something I need to get off my chest.”

Nico and Jenson are barely holding back their laughter behind you, but you ignore them, fixing your gaze on the lens.

“Max Verstappen got punished for swearing during a press conference last week. Punished. For swearing. And you know what? That’s bullshit.”

The words fly out of your mouth, sharp and unfiltered. There’s a moment of stunned silence around you as people start to realize what’s happening.

You keep going, voice rising with every sentence. “The FIA is out of control. They’re so focused on micromanaging everything that they’ve forgotten what this sport is supposed to be about. Racing. Competition. Passion.”

Nico’s eyes widen as he leans toward Jenson. “Oh my God, she’s really doing it.”

Jenson just grins, watching in awe. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

You don’t let up. “You want to punish someone for being honest? For being real? Then punish me too, because I’m about to say a hell of a lot more.”

You can see people gathering around, eyes glued to the monitors. You’ve got their attention now, and you’re not backing down.

“The FIA is so far up their own asses, they can’t see what’s really going on. Drivers are out there risking their lives, pushing the limits, and all they care about is how polite they are in a press conference? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You wave your hands around, the frustration boiling over. “I’m sick of this shitty double standard. Max gets penalized for cursing, but the countless times that the FIA has done something much worse? Silence. It’s ridiculous.”

By now, there’s a crowd forming around you. You see a few FIA officials watching from the corner, looking like they’re trying to figure out what to do. You don’t stop.

“If the FIA wants to keep policing language, they should start by looking at themselves. They’re a bunch of fucking hypocrites who don’t know the first thing about what it takes to be a real racer. They’re killing the spirit of the sport.”

Just then, you spot one of the stewards marching toward you, followed by two security guards. You flash a grin at the camera. “Oh look, here they come. The fun police.”

The steward, a stern-looking man with a clipboard, stops right in front of you. “Ma’am, you need to leave immediately.”

You laugh, leaning into the camera, making sure everyone’s still watching. “Really? You’re gonna kick me out for talking? Last time I checked, this is a free fucking country. First Amendment, bitches! Try to shut me up, I dare you.”

The steward’s face reddens. “You need to leave, now.

But before the security guards can even move, your Secret Service detail materializes out of nowhere, surrounding you. They stand tall, arms crossed, ready to intervene.

You laugh again, this time louder. “Oh, you didn’t think about that, did you? You can’t kick me out. What are you gonna do, arrest the President’s daughter on live TV?”

The steward looks like he’s about to explode, but there’s nothing he can do. He steps back, clearly out of his depth, while the camera continues rolling.

You take a deep breath, calming down just enough to finish your rant with a flourish. “So, FIA, if you’re watching — and I know you are — get your act together. Start treating the drivers like adults, and stop with the petty bullshit. Or I swear, I’ll make it my mission to drag you on the broadcast every single fucking race.”

Before you can say anything else, you feel a presence beside you. You turn just in time to see Max walking up, eyes wide, clearly catching on to what’s happening. He looks from you to the cameras, then back to you, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Without a word, he steps forward, wraps an arm around your waist, and pulls you in for a kiss. It’s sudden, unexpected, but it’s the kind of kiss that makes time stop, the kind that speaks louder than words.

When he pulls away, there’s a smirk playing on his lips. “You always know how to make a scene.”

You shrug, a mischievous grin on your face. “Someone’s gotta stand up for you.”

Max laughs, shaking his head. “Well, you sure did.”

Nico and Jenson are clapping from behind, both of them thoroughly entertained. Jenson leans into the camera, grinning from ear to ear. “Ladies and gentlemen, Y/N Y/L/N, everybody.”

You step back, still grinning, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. The steward looks like he’s given up entirely, and the crowd is buzzing with energy.

Max leans in close, his voice low. “You know you’re going to get a lot of hate for this, right?”

You shrug, glancing up at him. “Let them try. I’m not scared of a little backlash.”

He shakes his head, eyes shining with admiration. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I’m just getting started.”