#SHE GOT THAT MOTHER'S INSTINCT

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

My Great Grandma who loved her babies very much

Reference that I used for the face!

[s0fter-sin]

fainting goat hybrid!ghost whose father and brother loved to scare him and make him faint; exploiting a weakness he didn’t understand and didn’t know how to stop. they took sadistic pleasure in watching his body lock up and fall to the ground with no hope of catching himself until he ended up with more bruises and scrapes from falling than from being beaten

that helplessness chafed at him and he forced himself through the drawbacks of his biology to secure a place in the military, even with the prejudice against prey animals. just for him to take a mission in mexico and find himself enduring the “hospitality” of roba who thinks his involuntary paralysis is a great deal of fun; especially when he learns he’s conscious the whole time

what haunts ghost most is his waking autopsy

not the pain of the incisions, not the trauma of watching roba reach into his body and play with his insides, but the knowledge that he couldn't get away because his own body betrayed him. he wasn't put under, no drugs coursed through his system. he didn’t have restraints fitted on him to lock him to the operating table. it wasn’t necessary

roba just had to make him faint first

after digging himself out of his grave, ghost puts himself on a dangerous cocktail of muscle relaxers and other medications; hormones that block hybrid instincts, vasodilators to increase blood flow and stop his muscles locking up, anti-anxiety meds to cut off his surprise response at the root. he puts his body through the wringer to the point that medical is constantly worried for his health and shocked that he isn't regularly OD’ing

but he will never let his body betray him again

[dirtytransmasc]

TW: VERY DARK AND SUICIDE ATTEMPT (kind of)

Prompt :

He was six

Norm found him with his wrist slit

“Why’d you do this kiddo?”

“I wanted to get rid of the demon blood”

Jakes reaction

Neytiri stitched him up with an unreadable expression

IF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMY

I UNDERSTAND, PLEASE DO NOT MAKE THIS IF ITS TO DARK!!!😭

oh my fucking god... it hurts so bad, but its so good. I love dark angst, there aren't many places I won't go, so have no worries anon.

head the trigger warnings above, I don't get super graphic, but I don't skid over any details either. disclaimer, mama!neytiri brain worms are liquefying my brain, so this is a little (a lot) neytiri-centric, cause I can't help it, its the worms I swear.

also, there are like 0 resources on na'vi medicine, so I'm just fucking winging it man, I'm gonna pull some shit out of my literal ass and we're all gonna have to just be ok with that. ~~~

norm wishes he could say he was shocked, surprised that this little boy wanted to hurt himself, let alone went through with it. he should have been gutted, more than he was at least, angry, put off, something. but not that its happened, he saw it from a mile away, he should have noticed, should have stopped it. all he felt was guilt, burning up his heart and knotting up his stomach as he put pressure on spiders tiny wrists, holding his lulling body in his arms. spider was just a kid, a baby, but he's muttering about 'getting rid of demon blood' and 'not belonging' and it being 'better off' if he was gone. it was somehow worse in his childish wording, his perfect innocence and naivety only just beginning to crack as the pain in his little chest began to swell.

it had been the odd quietness from spider's 'room' back in the cave marui's that alerted him to something being wrong. spider was quiet, in a way; when he was out playing with the kids he was loud, laughing, face filled with light and joy, even if something cold still glinted in his eyes. but when he was on his own, having been left behind or told off by some adult, human or na'vi alike, for getting in the way, he would sulk off to the little marui by the shack. but even if he would sit amongst himself, playing with the few figures someone had put time aside to make, attempting to weave a new piece of jewelry or basket, mending the sad little knife he wore on his side. he was always doing something, could be heard humming or sniffling, the sound of his knife on the wetstone or the clunking of wooden figures on each other were a constant. so when norm heard nothing but silence, his gut ticked up, the hair on his neck bristled, his legs carried him much farther they would on the average day until he was staring at spider and his little bloody arms and his little bloody knife and his sad little eyes.

it took only a split second for norm to come back to himself, to rush and pick the boy up before he had enough 'sense' to try and back away (spider never wanted trouble, never wanted to get in the way or be a burden, the fact he didn't try and hide worried norm more then it would of if he did, which was even more concerning in its own right).

he just held spider as tight as he could, his big blue hands easily covering his human wrists, trying to think of what he should do. he should say something, other then "its ok" but what does he say? what do you say to a six-year-old who just tried to kill himself, no, no, "get rid of the demon blood" coursing through his veins?

he wasn't going to lecture him, spider made it clear why he did it, comfort wasn't his strong suit. he could just look at his puffy little cheeks, one side of his mask blooded as he had attempted to wipe his cheek on instinct. so he just repeated a mantra of "I'm here" and "it's ok" and "your ok" until he reached the infirmary, trying to prtend he didn't feel spider slipping further and further away with each passing second.

in the flash of just a few seconds fueled by adrenaline alone, he knew he regretted everything. he was spider's caretaker sure, but he was no father, jake wasn't either, and the boy didn't have a single maternal figure to his name. no mother to kiss his brow at night or admire his accomplishments. he had no one, not truly, and norm allowed to happen, was not only complicit in it, but played a direct role in it. now he may not get to make that up, may not be given the chance to step up, to fix this.

he carried spider to the infirmary hut, knowing he would find someone, anyone, there who could help. part of him knew that mo'at had seen something in the child that brought some sort of pity from her, that maybe just this once, spider wouldn't be so alone in her presence.

when he entered the pod, he found mo'at showing neytiri something, explaining different herbs to her, though he didn't pay enough attention to it the lesson to pull out any identifying features of the herbs in question. both turned to look at him when they heard his rapid breathing, their gaze then shifting to the bloody boy in his arms, the ever-so-faint fogging of the glass that made up most of his exopack, and the ghostly parlor of spider's skin.

"put him down," mo'at commanded, before norm could even speak, clearing her pallet in an instant, "what happened to him?" her voice was firm, almost knowing.

"he...cut himself...intentionally...I don't know how long ago, but I found him in his pod alone and brought him right here."

"intentionally?" neytiri hissed, removing the boy from his arms when he couldn't get himself to comply with the order and holding him so she could listen to the weakening beat of his heart. she tied turniquotes around his upper forearm with the strands of clothing handed to her by her mother, absent-mindedly rocking the little thing where he rested held between her free-er arm and her chest, when the last bits of his consciousness were directed to fussing, no doubt from the pain. she couldn't bring herself to bind them too tight, just enough to control the bleeding, her hands and a bit of cloth could handle the rest.

(mo'at almost lectured her, but she saw that look in her daughter's eyes and knew it would be pointless, a mama bear gets what she wants)

norm had never seen the protective fire in her eyes, normally directed at her children, burn so bright for spider in the last few years she had known him. it scared him, it felt so unnatural that the very gaze he had learned to trust in most cases, froze him like a deer in headlights.

but that question, the tone of it, made his gut sink. how did he explain this, spider was just a baby, and he had slit his own wrists. that on its own was gut-wrenching, but the reason? Eywa have mercy.

"he said... he said he wanted to get rid of his demon blood, so he... he used his own knife and cut his wrists... its a common form of self harm back on earth, to cut yourself, but I don't even know how he would know to do that, why he would do it... I know why, but..." norm felt defeated. he should have seen something.

the look on neytiri's face made him want to tuck his tail between his legs and run off. she placed spider down as gently as one could, face scrunched up with pain and anger as she keeps pressure on both of spider's wrists.

"get jake, he is with the young hunters." she spoke quietly, her voice almost bitter. she didn't know if she blamed him, if she was angry with him, she barely understand how to feel about spider harming himself. all she knew is that he had just given her some of the most heartwrenching news she had heard in her life, so he was getting some of her mirth. norm nodded, racing off with his tail tucked between his legs, only hesitating to take another worried glance at the boy.

neytiri took a deep breath before turning to her mother. "he will need stitches, right?" she had never dealt with an injury quite like this before, the conscious effort in the wound made it clean and to the point, unlike a wound in battle. it strived to do quick, efficient damage, and now, either because she could barely let herself think straight, or because she genuinly didn't know, she couldn't think of the best way to treat it.

"yes, my daughter, but that is the least of his worries. he cut a large vein, those are very difficult to mend, stopping the bleeding will be difficult. he's already lost quite a bit of blood, so we need to be careful. the best thing would be to put a root paste to help clot the bleeding, wrap it up, and stitch it later." mo'at turned to her morter and pestle as she spoke, mixing different herbs, berries, and roots into a dark brown, almost purple, paste.

neytiri, nodded absently, while she picked through the basket at her side for bundles of lumped fibre and soft cloth to hold against his arms. luckily for him, while he did manage to do some damage and with the help of the tourniquets, one wrist had already stopped bleeding a fair bit, and the other was manageable.

in the silence of the hut, her mother working quietly behind her, turning every once and a while to check his breathing or giving her a tincture to clean his wounds with, neytiri was left to think.

demon blood.

he had done this because of the words she and so many spat at the sight of him. he had tried to rid himself of his sins, the sins of his father, the sins of his people; but were they really his to begin with? what had he done, in his six years of life, to have earned the hate he received? was the blood he carried in his veins enough to justify pushing a child to this?

no, she decided, no it was not.

seeing him so pale and lifeless in norms arms woke something in her, something deep in her gut, maternal rage coursing through her with something vicious, and even if she didn't deserve it after all she had done to him, pushed him to do, her heart was attempting to claim his as her own, and she didn't know what to do with that feeling. then she realized, that the maternal drive that prowled in her stomach like a thanator ready to pounce, not only saw the world as a threat, but saw her as a threat.

her mother handed her the salve and she was grateful for anything to do to take her mind off of the few revelations she managed to have while waiting.

"put more of the salve where the bleeding is stronger, then wrap it tight, be careful to not make it so tight it takes off his hand." the older woman guided, watching over her daughters work.

neytiri scooped it out bit by bit, slowing rubbing it onto the wounds while her mother blotted away the blood, her ears dipping whenever the boy his with pain or tried to pull away. she just wanted to make him better, to take him up into her arms and tell him it was alright like she would if he was one of her own children. but she knew she couldn't, he would wake up and see the monster who filled his little mind with such awful thoughts of himself, that he would be just as scared of her as he always was, and that she could bring him no comfort. so he was extra gentle as she finished off the paste, and held him like delicately as she wrapped the bandage around his wrists, gushing him gently each time he cried out, combing back his hair when she felt she was finished.

then jake came barreling in, breaking up the delicate silence that for a single second allowed her to believe it was just a normal day, that the new found fantasy of just being able to mother this child was true, that allowed spider to lay in peaceful sleep with her shawl over him. norm was trying to hush him, before he woke the baby, but there was no stopping jake, not when his face was full of pain and anger, looking as if he would plow down a titanothere just to get to spider.

neytiri knew jake had taken to spider more than he had let on, but the beast in her belly screamed that he hadn't done enough either, that he didn't earn the right to worry either. but she hushed it, knowing neither had the right to claim anything, not even over each other.

"ma'jake, quiet, or you will wake him and... he will be in pain. so let him sleep while he can," she attempted to soothe quietly, resisting every urge to just scoop him up when jakes loud entry did in fact stir him.

jake sat across from her, his hand resting on spider's chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of the boy's chest. "did he really?" he asked, eyes begging for her to tell him it wasn't true. she knew he would much rather hear of a freak accident over this, but she couldn't give him that mercy.

"yes, it would seem so." her voice was short, worn, despite barely saying a word this whole time.

jake crumpled a little, much more on the inside then he attempted to let show on the outside. neytiri was used to it, jake dealing with it all on the inside, bottling it up till he burst. she placed her hands over his, both of them being reassured by spider's breathing.

"but he is still here, we can and will help him. we will make sure he never feels this way again. I will right my wrongs, I will treat him as he has always deserved, and I hope one day he can forgive me. you will do the same. for now we just have to wait." she spoke gently, still worried about waking spider. she was partly talking to herself, making the promise she had worked her mind to final, she swore it on eywa. she saw jakes eyes finally close, knocking the tears he had been fighting to keep in down his cheeks.

he nodded, slumping into a lazy, defeated-looking, criss-cross position, talking spider's little hand in his, using the wet cloth from mo'at to clean the blood from his finger, the calloused palms of his hands, his muscle-toughened arms.

jake was no stranger to this, to harming yourself, even if he had never taken a blade to his wrists. trying to imagine that pain in such a little body terrified him. how was he supposed to wrap his head around little spider, the stray cat amongst the village, always smiling and laughing, always trying to help everyone, always up in trees or tussling with his kids, his blonde hair like streaks of the sun running about the village, battling such demons. he tried to imagine what he must have been feeling when he took his knife to his wrist. was he scared? relieved? confused? was he desperate and looking for a way out?

no, no norm said that spider wanted to get rid of his "demon blood" which as somehow more nauseating. it was their faults, him, norm, neytiri, The People. they hurt this child or they let it happen. they expected him to take every glare, every spit of acid, everything he was forced to endure, and to still remain a happy child. jake never once stopped to think what effect that may have on him, and now he was paying for it.

he ached, spider was small, he could fit in jakes hands even at 6 years old. he was drowning in neytiri's shawl even if on her, it would barely cover her upper arms, he had just started fitting his exopack a little less than a year ago. he was still just a baby, and they almost let his life end. had norm not found him, he would be dead, still and cold in his makeshift marui, in a pool of his own blood. the image that accompanied the thought that flashed in his made him feel sick. even with all that he denied feeling about the boy, no matter how hard he tried to push him away, no matter what he let him go through, the thought of spider dying, especially like that, alone and scared and in pain, terrified him. to have a child die for any preventable reason, was a disgrace on The People, especially their chief of all people.

chief.

he should have been the example. he should have led his people to find love for a defenseless child who wanted only to be loved and accepted. he had failed.

he let a finger caress the side of spiders face, along the edge of spider's mask, lightly pulling at the curly baby hairs that rested there,

"will he be alright?" he didn't know who he was asking, norm or mo'at. both would have very different opinions, norm more literal, mo'at more spiritual. he didn't know which he wanted.

"physically, yes. he is lucky, his blade was simple, his hand faltered, and he didn't seem to have a death wish. he didn't do too much damage, its manageable. emotionally jakesuli? time will tell." mo'at was the one to speak, the look on norms face spoke the his fear of setting neytiri off like he almost had earlier.

neytiri looked to her mother with a pain expression, her tail beating nervously where is laid near spiders head, ears still folded back.

"his mind is plauged with pain and desperation, things no child should even be aware of. he was driven to harm himself, in ways that will be permanent. it will be our actions going forward that determine his future. I fear if we do not undo the damage now, we will lose him in the years to come... what I fear more and that the damage has been done and cannot be undone. we can only hope for the former/"

neytiri damn near let out a cry, turning from her mother, eyes clenched as tears welled up in them. she found jakes arms, both leaning over spider like a makeshift shelter. just like they should have his whole life, they should have shielded him from the world, protected him from the hate of others. spider stirred once more, and this time jake couldn't resist the urge to scoop him up.

spider looked up at both of them, his little eyes tired and glossy, something small and painful in his gaze. he began to wiggle out of jakes hold, balling up nervously, but when neytiri grazed fingers through his hair, he stopped. this was the one thing he had ever wanted, deep down. not to be accepted, not to be one with the people, not even to be na'vi. he just wanted to be held, loved, by a mother, any mother. with his judgment too clouded by all his emotions, the desperation, the pain, even the blood loss, and maybe and even simpler reason being just being a child; spider let her hold him. he couldn't think about her years of neglect, the harsh words, and harsher glares, not in that moment, that could come later. right now, he needed a mother, and neytiri was willing, so he sunk into her hold, welcoming the embrace of either parent.

the road to spider's recovery would be long and hard. jake and neytiri had a lot to make up for, to apologize for, holding onto their guilt for years as they waited for spider to reach an age were their apologies would actually mean something to him. he would have to be watched constantly, habits would be broken, tears would be cried. things would never be 100%, there would always scars and phantom pain, but that was ok.

~~~

a note for my regulars; I'm back, maybe sorta kinda. I've hit a rough patch with my adhd, I can't do thoughts, or social interaction really, but I'm starting to bounce back, so more regular posting may return shortly.

[afurtivecake]

damn i got through 153 episodes not feeling any amount of sadness for anything that happens to any of the characters, but what got me in the end was hearing eric talk and realizing how much gerry resembled his father who he never even knew. they've both got that attitude that's way too casual for their situation and that sardonic sense of humour. just painfully normal guys who just happened to find themselves living a life of supernatural misery. maybe it's just how people trapped in the book are, but i like to think they were enough alike that mary had to try extra hard to stamp out any trace of his weak father from her son and still didn't succeed.

[xmaveria]

Come and GET IT!

Art trade for @doxiedreg and their pirate captain character Lukka

[marc--chilton]

(mgv) OAUUGHHH lawrence and adam rooming together out of the hospital because it's made VERY CLEAR that they need each other close and safe after the trap. like @lucradiss said, they had to be moved into the same room because even after the smell of blood and shit and fear were cleaned off of them, their distress scent -- raw and unfiltered "NEED, COME BACK, DON'T LEAVE, WHERE ARE YOU, NEED YOU" -- was palpable enough to send their respective floors into a state of unease. and adam's being evicted, and tensions are high between lawrence and alison right now, so....

their new place doesn't scream "doctor's salary" but it's not a shithole either. one floor, too. at first they're in separate rooms but..... lawrence hasn't slept alone in years, and not having adam as close as possible still gives him some unease (if he can't see him how can he be sure he ever came back for him, got him out of there, let him live). he doesn't even get a chance to wheel by adam's room before the man himself is slipping into his. "keep seein' shit in the shadows. think i gotta take the door off my closet."

lawrence grants him half his bed easily. he also learns fairly quickly that adam is a funny sleeper. he burrows and squirms relentlessly in his sleep until he's nearly sideways with his head on lawrence's ribs. one time he woke up to adam sprawled bonelessly across his middle, slightly crushing him but mostly just endearing himself to lawrence.

the point of no return for Feeling Something More for adam was when diana stayed for the weekend. they hit it off well in the hospital already, so he wasn't worried about that. no, it was simply how much adam worried about making her feel safe there, because it might be her dad's place, but her dad has a roommate now and they didn't meet under fantastic circumstances. he doesn't want her to see him like zep, like some stranger in a home that isn't his.

(it is his home, though.)

he's trying so hard for this eight year old who's been through some shit, he wants her to like him, to be okay with him being there, and it chokes lawrence up if he thinks about it too hard. it feels a lot like a binding point between his old life and his new one. he loves them. he loves him.

diana learns what a 'pup pile' is that night. she has no siblings to pile up with, so she never got to learn, which just Isn't Right in adam's eyes. so that night adam stuffs them into their bed with the pillows and blankets from his old room they'll convert to be diana's, says, "three's not much a pile, but we'll work with what we got, right?" and hustles them into something comfortable, twined and piled on each other.

and if lawrence cries a few happy tears that night, well, he's allowed some by now, isn't he?

[v1nsincl4ir]

"I should know, I delivered the baby. Well not delivered delivered. Handed it over." Is much funnier with the knowledge of our favourite midwife slash cobbler. Don't be so modest Crowley we know You pulled Adam right out of the ribs of Satan half-grown You wily old serpent /j

[l-tora-l-archived]

THE POWER OF PASILYO GUARANTEED ME A NAVIA HAVER ❕❕❕

[chryzuree]

nobody warned him that keeping his gf in check would be just as, if not more, difficult than keeping their children out of trouble ://

[newfeeling77]

i was thinking the other day about my middle school experience and i remember getting an award for having the highest scores in science in my grade and im not that great with anything that isnt reading/writing or art so it was odd. but i think its all because from what i remember i really liked the teacher n she never had the lights on in that classroom she only used the natural light from the window so it was always a little dark in there and i never got overstimulated by the horrible overhead lighting. so i think i was just really focused for once. my therapist also keeps her office extremely dark and i function so well

[astrangeriddle]

Just saved my mother from getting scammed out of 600€ how tf does this keep happening!!!!

[stellacendia]

Re: my last post about cis people just utterly failing to understand how I exist outside the gender binary cause I'm still thinking about it and it's still making me mad. One example of this is how much they buy into bioessentialism, cause it's never occurred to them that it's bullshit.

A couple months ago I was talking about how I think if I ever become a parent I'd want to be my kid's mother (as opposed to their father)- cause I'm not a woman but you can be a mother without being a woman- and my friend goes "Oh! Do you think it's because you have maternal instincts instead of paternal instincts?"

And I'm just like. Wtf are you talking about? No?

And she goes "oh yeah it's like a scientific thing they've observed even in animals! Fathers just feel no parental instincts at all until they have kids and then suddenly boom! They have all these parenting feelings!"

And then I was doubly like wtf because that's just. So stupid. I made a comment about wondering how much of that was actually societal and how boys are raised versus how girls are raised, and she was just like "no actually it's an unchangeable biological fact!"

And now it gives me such weird feelings every time I think about it like... I'm slowly coming around to the idea that maybe I do want to be a father but... Am I feeling that cause I'm getting more comfortable with masculine labels applying to me? Am I feeling that because she just made me feel so goddamn weird about maybe still liking a feminine label despite the fact that I don't identify with womanhood?

I love her so much, and I know she loves me. I know she supports me in my gender discovery, and she's been so helpful with it- helping me pick out new clothes, and being respectful of my pronouns, and being a listening ear when I need to talk about new feelings about my sexuality, and all that. And I know she's incredibly smart, and she's open to being educated on issues she doesn't know much about, and she's aware that she just doesn't know much about trans stuff. She knows she needs to examine some of her biases and assumptions.

But then she says stuff like this, and.... Idk. It just makes me feel so gross. And I have no idea how to talk to her about it. I want to be able to challenge her when she says things like this, and I want to be able to push back on these ideas and make her really question them but..... she just says it so confidently, and I am so bad at disagreeing with people even over totally trivial things, and I know as much as I want to I'll just never pluck up the courage to say anything to her in the moment. I want her to talk to other genderqueer people. I want her to read the things they write, hear the things they say, and maybe start to cross examine her views on her own, without me holding her hand through it all. I don't want to be the only one educating her on this stuff. It's exhausting, and emotionally painful.

I'm just.... tired

[flwrkid14]

Everyone Wants to Be Tim Drake’s Favorite Brother

Being Tim Drake’s favorite isn’t just about bragging rights—it’s about power, perks, and an almost supernatural level of protection.

It starts with the little things. Tim isn’t one for grand gestures, but when he cares about someone, it’s obvious. He listens—really listens—to the small comments, the things others might forget. That offhand remark about a snack you miss? Tim’s already on his way to get it for you. Complaining that your suit’s not fitting quite right? Tim’s hands-on with upgrades by morning. If you're Tim’s favorite, it’s a constant stream of thoughtful gestures. Gear gets upgraded, favorite books and gadgets mysteriously show up, and Tim’s always thinking of how he can make your life easier.

But being Tim’s favorite is more than just gifts. It’s the way Tim treats you, the way he prioritizes you over everything else. Tim listens when you vent, has your back during arguments, even when you’re wrong, and somehow—somehow—he gets Bruce to listen to you more than anyone else.

Bruce listens to everyone, of course. He’s the Bat. But when Tim speaks, it’s different. Bruce doesn’t just hear Tim—he acts. Whether it’s adjusting mission plans, reevaluating tactics, or considering Gotham’s crime trends. He’ll mention something, and suddenly, Bruce is shifting his approach. No one else seems to have that pull over him. Tim has a way of cutting through Bruce’s stubbornness that no one else can match. It’s not lost on anyone that when you’re Tim’s favorite, Bruce seems to listen to you more, too.

And then, there’s the most dangerous perk of all: Tim’s wrath.

Everyone in Gotham has learned to fear the consequences of hurting anyone Tim cares about. They all remember how Janet Drake, Tim’s mother, was exactly the same. Janet didn’t just love fiercely; she made people fear the consequences of betraying her affection. She’d build strong alliances and maintain an iron grip on them, ensuring no one dared to harm those she called her own. She had a reputation for turning the tables in ways that left lasting marks on Gotham’s criminals, so it’s no surprise that Tim inherited the same instincts. The last time one of his favorites got hurt in Gotham, the Rogue responsible learned the hard way that crossing a Drake isn’t something you do lightly. That night, the Rogue barely escaped with his life, and the damage he caused was felt across Gotham for weeks.

The rumors from that time still make the rounds. Red Robin hunted that Rogue down, dismantling supply lines and ruining their operations in ways no one else could, using connections no one could have anticipated for him to have. He sent a message—a warning—one that still echoes through Gotham’s criminal world. After that, the Rogues were far more cautious when it came to hurting anyone Red Robin seemed particularly attached to.

These days, the Rogues are more careful. If they can see who Tim’s favorite is, they back off. Patrols get easier. The punches are pulled. The threats don’t carry the same weight. It's almost comical. Once, Jason caught Riddler mid-riddle and swore he saw him glance over his shoulder like he was checking for something—and then mutter, “Not worth it,” before retreating.

Of course, everyone’s gotten a taste of these perks at some point.

Jason remembers his time as Tim’s favorite. When he first came back, Tim went above and beyond. His gear was upgraded constantly, his safehouses were restocked with his favorite things, and there were custom modifications to everything. Tim even managed to reclaim all his old safehouses from the GCPD archives with no problem. Jason never openly admitted it, but he savored every moment. It felt good to be cared for like that.

Cass had it too when she struggled to reconnect with the family. Tim stuck close, quietly offering his support—whether it was with training or just sitting together. She didn’t ask for a suit upgrade, just mentioned how bulky it was in passing, and Tim designed a new one for her the following week, fitting it perfectly to her style. And as for the Rogues? They couldn't run away fast enough when she showed up.

Right now, they all suspect Duke to be the favorite. Tim’s always inviting him to collaborate on tech projects or sharing valuable intel. And Duke has started receiving gifts that seem to show up at just the right moment—books, custom gadgets, and even the occasional throwback cereal he mentioned in passing. Tim’s also been there for him every step of the way, making sure he’s always in the loop, collaborating on projects, and taking the time to make Duke feel seen.

“You know,” Duke said one night, stirring his soup casually, “Scarecrow’s been weirdly quiet lately.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Jason said with a raised eyebrow. “What did you do?”

Duke blinked. “Nothing.”

Jason shot Tim a look. “What did you do?”

Tim’s smirk was all the answer Jason needed.

And that’s the thing—being Tim’s favorite isn’t just about attention or gear. It’s about something more. It’s about protection. Once you’re Tim’s favorite, the world seems like it can’t touch you. And everyone knows it.

They’ve all had their time as Tim’s favorite. Jason, Cass, even Damian had his moment. But once you’re no longer the favorite, it’s hard not to crave it again.

Jason lingers in the Batcave, pretending to talk about his gear but subtly hinting at upgrades Tim could add to it.

Damian scoffs at the idea of being prioritized, but Tim catches him comparing his gear to Duke’s own, new and improved gear, muttering to himself, “It’s adequate,” like it’s an insult.

Dick tries to remain above it all—he’s the eldest, after all. He doesn’t need Tim’s attention. But when he sees Tim working behind the scenes, tinkering with Duke’s gear or offering an unexpected assist to Jason, there’s that ache of longing for when he was the center of Tim’s world.

In the end, they’ll never say it, but every single one of them secretly wants to be Tim’s favorite. Because when Tim Drake decides you’re his favorite, you’re not just cared for—you’re protected and given an unwavering loyalty that makes you feel untouchable in Gotham.

And in Gotham, where danger is always close, nothing is more powerful than the protection and devotion of a Drake.

[nikovraskol]

crack baby ; prologue

wc ; 1572 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; death, neglect, brief mention of drugs, curse words

prologue, one, tbc..

Your death was completely preventable.

As you lay on the concrete floor of the cold alleyway, you can’t help but feel a sense of peace. Yeah, sure, you were shot 5 times and you’re currently bleeding out in some piss-smelling drug-ridden pavement. At least you’ve died in a somewhat honorable way, people will have a tell to tale, whether it’s good or bad, you’ll be remembered for a while.

Or maybe that’s wishful thinking, maybe the lack of blood is making you delirious. There’s no way you’ll be remembered as anything but the child that haunts the manor, that stalks around, staring at the residents of the Wayne manor with hopeful eyes. A child who doesn’t belong, who’s body isn’t able to fill in the cracks in the family, a child who wasn’t able to give anything, to devout anything.

A child of 21, but a child nonetheless. 

The way you got caught up in the shooting was so unbelievably stupid, you were too nice to refuse taking on an extra shift from your co-worker, working overtime for free because you didn’t know how to say no. You got caught up in a fight between goons on your way home. For a brief moment, that small child you had buried foolishly believed your father would swoop down and protect you.

Then you were shot, again and again and again.

You don’t want to die, you decide at the last minute. You want to go back in time, to tell your poor 16-year-old self that yearning for the love of a family who doesn’t have love to give is foolish. A foolish child dying a foolish death.

And then, your eyes shut for the last time, you can almost hear your mother’s low humming, the smell of the dingy, old apartment you used to live in with her, you can taste the cold food she worked to provide (you can feel her hands on your neck, can hear her apologies ringing over and over as she cries).

It’s peaceful, almost nice.

Until you wake up – and your first thought is; what the fuck?

Your hand instinctively moves to your lower abdomen where you were shot – you were shot! You remember the burning pain shooting through you, so why on earth are you unharmed and.. in your bedroom?

It’s strange, why are your old posters up? Trinkets you distinctly remember throwing out, clothes you don’t wear thrown about – and that’s when it happens.

Your eyes catch a reflection in the mirror, your reflection. Your reflection that isn’t yours, why is

your hair shorter? Why are you so small– why are you.. Sixteen?

“What the fuck?” You hiss, jumping out of bed – wobbling as you whip your head around, taking in every nook and cranny of the small room. “What the fuck?!” 

You jump towards the mirror, leaning in as you slap, pinch and stretch your face, awed by the youthful appearance, you had forgotten how cute you looked. No, that seems like the wrong word, you looked sixteen. Just an average sixteen year old, healthy and alive (somehow).

A few moments ago you were lying in a pool of your blood in a run-down alley, an unloved 21 year old – now you’re sixteen again, and you have a chance to change the inevitable! If you ignore the pit of dread in your stomach. Sixteen had been the worst year of your life, full of anger and hormones and teenage drama. Sixteen had been the year you struggled the most.

On the bright side, at least you had a trial run..?

“Young Master (Name)” A british, familiar voice calls out and you tense, whipping your head around to see Alfred. It had almost slipped your mind, Alfred is alive. He’s standing before you, as straight and proper as always, smiling at you as if nothing had changed. As if you hadn’t sobbed at his funeral, as if you hadn’t cursed your family for dragging him into their mess, as if you hadn’t spent countless nights at his grave, as if–

“Are you.. alright?” He asks, taking in the flabbergasted expression on your face – to which you straighten up, nodding with a shaken exhale as you ignore the churning of your stomach. You felt nauseous, everything felt too real in an uncomfortable way. A very uncomfortable way – the mix of emotions threatening to consume you.

“You didn’t come down for breakfast, I was beginning to grow worried.” He explains, taking in the way you nod blankly once more, his brows furrowing. “Is– everything alright”

“Y– yes, I’m just not hungry, I’ll– have something later.” You can’t keep your voice from trembling, you’re five seconds away from breaking down and sobbing before him, but you don’t want to worry him. You need to figure out a game plan, you’ve no time for stupid pleasantries like food, plus even if you tried to eat you’d probably throw up then break down sobbing.

“Alright, Young Master. But please, eat something before noon.” Alfred sighs, clearly worried by your peculiar behaviour, his eyes lingering for a moment too long before he leaves your room, shutting the door behind him with a resounding click. Oh fuck, how are you supposed to interact with anyone in this family if a two minute interaction is enough to have you trembling? Whatever, it matters not! You fumble around with your face for another moment before letting out a long sigh, your head already aching from the bewilderment of the situation. You shuffle over to your bed, plopping down with another huff. You had no idea what to do, no plan to go forward, but you had to figure something out. 

You couldn’t stay in the Manor, you couldn’t deal with the dismissive eyes, the fake words of reassurance. You couldn’t stand curling up in your room, listening to the distant sounds of laughter as everyone celebrated without you. You couldn’t stand being that child again.

“I need to leave.” You say with more firmness than you had intended, your eyes set on the mirror before you. Of a sixteen-year-old (Name), staring back at you with pitiful eyes, you’ll get them out, you’ll give them a future – you’ll give yourself a future.

“Okay. Now, where do I begin?” You mumble, staring up at your ceiling before reaching for your phone. Time to go house hunting at sixteen. Yipee.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Alfred was picking up your plate with a thoughtful expression, breakfast had always been your favourite time of day because it always gave you a chance to see your family. No matter how you felt, or how busy you were. How peculiar.

It’s unusual for you to so blatantly skip it, there’s also that whole thing with your demeanour. Something in you had shifted, and he didn’t like it – it felt as though you were slipping away, as though you had resigned, as though you had stepped back, content in living as a shadow lurking in the dark corners of the Manor.

That simply won’t do. 

He won’t give up on that smiling child, looking up at him with their front tooth missing, dirt staining their clothes as they ramble on about how they found a top secret hide-out, how they can’t wait to tell your big brothers their adventures. 

Well, he’s sure with a few clever strings pulled he can finally put you on centre stage, with the lights shining on you. He just needs to remember to reserve a front row seat, for himself, of course.

“What the fuck?” You grumble, repeating that sentence for the nth time as you angrily type on your phone – why is every apartment in this city and the city over so bummy? It’s either too expensive or overridden with rats or overtaken by gangs.

You never moved houses in your past (?) life, staying in the Wayne Manor was easy once you accepted the inevitability of chasing after a fruitless relationship. Plus, the housing in Gotham and Bludhaven has always been..

Well, it could be better!

“(Name).” Your heart jumps out of your chest as an strangely familiar voice calls out for you, dark, low, paternal. Who on earth?

Your heart sinks as your eyes shift to the figure at your door. Batman, Bruce Wayne, your father, is in your room? What the fuck? This had never happened in your life, certainly not at sixteen. You can recall every single time you’ve ever seen your family, so why? Your hand curls around your phone as you gape up at your father. This isn’t supposed to happen. The one thing grounding you through this crazy, disconnecting experience was the comfort that you were familiar with your future, that you had a grasp on what events are bound to go down.

You’ve been awake for about twenty minutes – how’s it already changed?! Inside you, a deep part of your soul shifts, the air in the room suddenly being sucked in by his overwhelming presence, his eyes – cold and calculating, sizing you up as if you were a specimen, as though you were a pretty piece of silver at an auction and not his flesh and blood, your breathing become uneven as you try to grasp at your memory, anything that might've slipped your mind regarding interactions with your father.

You draw a blank, this has never happened. It's not supposed to happen – what the fuck?!

“Let’s go for a walk.”

yall i feel like this sucks i havent written in like two years im so rusty omg im so embarresed ill die bye

[leona-hawthorne]

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 4th. theodore nott — kiss it better.

theodore nott x fem reader

summary ; he doesn’t mind using extreme measures to get you to put your lips on his. word count ; 2.6k warnings ; fluff, kissing, mentions of blood

navigation ficmas masterlist

Theodore never quite knew what to do with the attention you gave him.

There you were, sitting across from him in the library, your hair falling forward as you scribbled down notes, lost in thought. He should’ve been focused on his own work, on the potions essay that was due tomorrow, but he couldn’t help himself. His gaze kept drifting back to you. Every time your quill scratched the parchment or your lips pressed together in concentration, his chest tightened. You had a way of drawing him in, pulling him closer with every small, unconscious movement.

It wasn’t like he’d never noticed you before. You had always been part of the group, hovering on the edges of conversations, offering sharp comments when the boys got too ridiculous, but you never quite entered Theo’s orbit like this. Now, though? Now, he was starting to realize that he’d been wrong to overlook you. You were too… soft. Too gentle in a world that had taught him to be hard, distant. It made him feel things he wasn’t used to feeling.

Then it happened—something so small, so insignificant that it shouldn’t have left a mark on him, but it did.

A paper cut.

He didn’t even flinch as the thin slice formed on his finger while rifling through his notes. Theo muttered a low curse under his breath, instinctively moving to press his thumb against it, but before he could do anything, you noticed.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice warm, as though you had known him for ages. 

Theo blinked, unsure why you were even asking. “Just a paper cut.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you set your quill down and leaned forward. “Want me to kiss it and make it feel better?”

For a split second, he thought you were joking. He stared at you, unsure how to respond. That wasn’t the kind of offer people made to him. Kisses didn’t fix anything—not the way his childhood had been, not the way life worked now. But the way you looked at him, playful yet sincere, made something stir in his chest.

“That works?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

 You laughed lightly, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Sure it does. My mom used to do it for me when I was little. Worked like a charm.”

The mention of your mom caught him off guard. His own memories of his mother were hazy, distant, like an old photograph left out in the sun for too long. He couldn’t remember if she had ever kissed his cuts, couldn’t remember if anyone had ever cared for him like that. Affection had always been scarce in the Nott household. His mother had been gone for a long time, and the little acts of tenderness you described had died with her.

You stood and walked around the table. He didn’t know why he didn’t stop you, didn’t say something sarcastic or brush it off. 

“It’s no big deal,” he muttered, trying to pull his hand away, but you held it gently, your fingers warm against his.

“Let me see,” you said softly, and he couldn’t find it in himself to argue. He held his breath as you leaned down, your lips brushing over his finger in the softest kiss. The contact was fleeting, a whisper of warmth, but it sent his mind reeling. He didn’t understand why something so simple, so childlike, could make him feel… different.

“There,” you said, your voice light as you pulled back. “All better.”

He could only stare at you, his throat suddenly tight. “Yeah… thanks.”

You smiled, returning to your seat like nothing had happened, like you hadn’t just unknowingly changed something in him. Theo’s gaze lingered on you, the phantom of your lips still tingling on his skin. He didn’t know how to process it. No one had ever looked at him that way, treated him that way. 

But he knew one thing for sure—he wanted to feel that again.

The next day, Theo’s mind was still replaying that moment, over and over. It had awakened something inside him, something that ached for more, and before he knew it, he found himself searching for a way to feel it again. This time, though, he didn’t want a kiss on the hand. He wanted more.

Theo found Draco leaning against one of the stone walls outside. He approached him with a strange sort of determination, one that was equal parts reckless and desperate. Draco raised an eyebrow when he saw Theo approaching.

“Need something, Nott?” Draco drawled, clearly amused by the look on Theo’s face.

Theo didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Punch me,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Draco blinked, clearly taken aback. “What?”

“I need you to punch me,” Theo repeated, his voice steady despite the absurdity of the request.

“Alright, gladly, but why?”

Theo swallowed, his throat dry. He knew it was ridiculous, that this whole plan was absurd, but he needed this to happen. He needed you to kiss him again, to care again. "Just... trust me. I need a bruise, a cut, something that’ll make her—” He cut himself off, his face heating up.

Draco’s smirk only widened, a glint of realization flashing in his eyes. “Ah. Her.” He stood up straighter, clearly intrigued. “So, you’re finally doing something about it. You want me to punch you so she’ll fuss over you. Clever.”

“Just do it, will you?” Theo muttered, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck.

Draco shrugged, but there was a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “If you insist.” Without further warning, Draco’s fist came flying toward Theo’s face. He didn’t hold back either—Theo barely had time to register the motion before pain exploded in his mouth. 

He stumbled backward, his hand flying to his lip. Blood welled up immediately, the sharp sting spreading across his jaw.

“Merlin’s beard,” Theo muttered, his vision momentarily swimming. “I said punch me, not break my damn face.”

Draco stepped back, grinning like he had just done Theo the biggest favor in the world. “There. You’re welcome.”

Theo wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, already thinking about what would come next. He didn’t care about the pain. He didn’t care about anything except the idea of you seeing him like this—hurt, vulnerable—and caring for him again.

He found you in the common room later that day, sitting in your usual spot near the fireplace. You didn’t see him at first—too absorbed in the book you were reading, a small frown of concentration on your face. 

Theo hesitated for a second, suddenly feeling nervous. What if this was a mistake? What if you didn’t react the way he hoped?

But then you looked up, and your eyes immediately widened in shock as you took in the sight of him—blood smeared on his lip, a fresh bruise forming on his jaw.

“Theo!” you gasped, your book forgotten as you rushed over to him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He tried to shrug it off, leaning casually against the arm of the couch, though the pain in his mouth made it hard to play it cool. “Got into a fight. No big deal.”

You didn’t look convinced. Your fingers hovered near his face, concern etched into your features. “Does it hurt?”

Theo could feel his heart pounding, his mouth dry as the moment he’d been waiting for arrived. His voice was lower than he intended as he muttered, “A little… are you… are you not gonna kiss it better?”

Your expression softened, that same playful smile from the day before returning. “Again, huh?” 

You leaned in, your eyes flicking to his lips, and Theo’s pulse quickened. When your lips brushed his, it was soft, cautious, but this time there was something more to it—something that made the ache in his lip completely disappear.

And just like that, Theo knew he was done for.

Your lips lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and it was enough to set Theo’s blood humming. The softness of your touch felt like a balm, not just for the bruise but for something deeper—something buried in the recesses of his mind that he didn’t want to examine too closely.

When you pulled back, your gaze met his, a flicker of something unreadable crossing your face. Concern? Amusement? Theo couldn’t tell. But what he did know was that he didn’t want that moment to end. Not yet.

"You really need to stop getting into fights," you murmured, shaking your head with a small, exasperated smile. "What were you even thinking?"

Theo almost laughed at the irony. He couldn’t very well tell you the truth—that the whole thing had been orchestrated just for this. Just for the briefest chance to feel your lips on his. 

Instead, he shrugged, playing it off. "You know how it is. Slytherins and Gryffindors don’t mix well."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a softness behind it, something that made Theo’s chest tighten in that unfamiliar way again. “One of these days, you’re going to get yourself hurt for real, and then I won’t be able to kiss it better.”

That sent a jolt of warmth through him, stronger than the pain in his lip. He let the silence stretch between you for a moment, watching as you shifted nervously under his gaze.

"Maybe," he said slowly, his voice low, "I just like the way you kiss me."

Your eyes widened slightly at that, a faint blush creeping across your cheeks. Theo smirked inwardly, relishing the way his words seemed to fluster you. You always had a quick response for everything, but now you were quiet, your lips parting as though you weren’t sure what to say.

“I—” you started, your voice trailing off as you looked down at your hands.

Theo’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to reach out, to grab your wrist and pull you back in, to kiss you again but for real this time—not as some excuse to soothe a bruise or a cut.

Before you could speak, a voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“Well, look at you two,” Draco drawled as he strolled into the common room, clearly interrupting something he knew full well was important. “What did I say, Nott? You’re welcome, by the way.”

Theo shot Draco a glare, a deep scowl crossing his face. Of course he had to show up now, just when things were starting to move in the direction he wanted.

You, however, looked between them, confusion evident on your face. “What’s he talking about?”

Before Theo could respond, Draco answered for him, leaning casually against the wall with that insufferable grin. “Oh, nothing. Just that Nott here got himself punched on purpose. Quite the romantic, isn’t he?”

Theo’s heart dropped. He glared at Draco, fury bubbling up in his chest. “Shut it, Malfoy.”

But it was too late. You were already staring at Theo, your eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait… what?”

Theo tried to backtrack, scrambling for some sort of excuse, but he wasn’t fast enough. You took a step back, your brows furrowed in confusion as realization slowly dawned on you.

"You… you let someone punch you just so I’d…?"

The color drained from Theo’s face as he saw the pieces falling into place in your mind.

“I—” he began, his voice unsteady, “It’s not like that.”

You crossed your arms, staring at him like you were trying to decide whether to be angry, amused, or something in between. “Theo, what the hell were you thinking?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I just… I wanted—” He cut himself off again, feeling ridiculous. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

But you were still looking at him, waiting for an answer, and the weight of your gaze was too much to bear.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” Theo muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your expression softened, the confusion giving way to something else—something gentler. You uncrossed your arms and took a step closer, your eyes searching his face.

"You could’ve just asked," you said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

Theo blinked, thrown off by your reaction. He had expected you to be angry, maybe even laugh and walk away. But there you were, looking at him with something that felt dangerously close to fondness.

“You… wouldn’t have laughed at me?” he asked, his voice rough with uncertainty.

You shook your head, your smile growing. “No, Theo. I wouldn’t have laughed.”

Theo didn’t know what to say to that. For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at you, the words dying in his throat. He felt foolish, standing in front of you like this, bruised and vulnerable, all because he didn’t know how to ask for something he wanted so badly.

But then you reached out, your hand gently brushing against his bruised lip again, and all the embarrassment, all the uncertainty melted away.

“If you wanted me to kiss you,” you murmured, stepping even closer, “all you had to do was say so.”

When your lips finally met his, it wasn’t like before. This wasn’t a kiss to make anything better. This was a kiss because you both wanted it.

Theo’s hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. You responded instantly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed yourself against him, and Theo felt like he was drowning, lost in the feel of you, in the way you kissed him like you’d been waiting for this as long as he had.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together. “Yeah, I still don’t regret anything,” he muttered.

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips again. “Next time, just ask, Theo. No more getting hurt.”

Theo nodded, his heart still racing as he held you close, a grin tugging at his lips. “Deal.”

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[pha55ed]

Nonsense Christmas || F1/F2

type :: smut!

tw/cw :: smut!, hot women in minimal clothing!!!, sexual jokes,

contains :: carlos, charles, lando, oscar, max, ollie, paul, pepe

summary :: you get offered to do a photoshoot for christmas which is awesome! but the drivers then find out it's a lingerie shoot and lose their minds

xmas celly here! || f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist

Carlos Sainz | 55

yourusername : so excited to announce my collab with savage x fenty! this design is so cute and perfect for girlys to surprise their bfs (or gfs) in! which is what im doing rn! hi carlos 👋😊

→ user 01: OH MY GAWWWD??? JAW ON THE FLOOR

⎯→ user 02: Carlos gotta be able to fight or else imma snatch her away

→ carlossainz55: you look lovely! (answer the phone now)

⎯→ yourusername: thank you!! (no, im scared

→ user 03: her face card is so lethal

→ user 04: she's this generations it girl omfg

The second you answered his calls, Carlos was hyperventilating. It was like you could practically hear how feral he was going after seeing your photoshoot. You couldn't help but smile at the thought of him going crazy. Your surprise went perfectly!

"I'm coming home now," He says sternly, "Unlock all the doors, I'm running in."

"Well that doesn't sound very safe." You say, trying to joke with him. Thank god he couldn't see you in person or else he would see how wide you were grinning at his words.

"Oh shut up, wait for me on the bed" He says as he hangs up.

You did your job and now all you had to do was wait- Oh my fucking god he's at the door already. You can't even say anything before he's all up on you, getting ready to berate you for looking too good for the world's eyes.

"I missed you" He mumbles as he kisses your neck eagerly. His hands roaming down to your ass, giving it a squeeze which makes you laugh. But he's not smiling at all. You knew what was gonna happen and you didn't care.

Charles Leclerc | 16

yourusername : the victoria secret winter showcase was such a blast! loved seeing all my girls again and esp all you guys! i wouldn't be here without you <3 happy holidays to all

→ user 01: MOTHER IS BACK!!!!

⎯→ user 02: Literally the best walk in the whole show

→ charles_leclerc: i will go to war for you

⎯→ user 03: she awoken his primal instincts

→ user 04: will we see you again??? u were SLAYINGGG

⎯→ yourusername: duh! see you next year <3

→ user 04: she's beautiful, humble, and with a rich boyfriend? when is it my turn

The second you got off stage, Charles was doing his absolute best to compose himself. Seeing you still in your lingerie set, cute little hat and gloves made him pants feel so tight. You kept wanting to say goodbye to all the girls, thanking the staff, being your usual self. This is the one time Charles was wishing you would keep your mouth shut and rush home.

Once you both were out, he rushed you into the car. But not the passenger seat, instead he pushed you into the back seats. He quickly followed you, unbuckling his belt and staring at your body.

"Charles!" You say, shocked at how desperate this man was. "We can't! People are gonna see-"

"And?" He says as he rips his belt off and begins to unbutton his shirt. "My windows are tinted, amor, no one will see."

He's hands are quick, instantly getting your clothes off too. Once he saw the same white lacy set you were wearing earlier, he can't help but grin like crazy. He was worshipping the ground you walked on. Practically licking your footsteps.

"I'm so so lucky," He groans, his hands caresses your body with such care. "So so lucky."

Lando Norris | 04

yourusername : skim's winter collection is out!!! And I'm part of it! So happy to show off these sets to the world ❤️

→ user 01: body is TEAAAA

⎯→ user 02: the body of my dream fr fr

→ landonorris: but when i wear ur bras I'm a slut???

⎯→ yourusername: u got no boobs to deserve a bra

⎯→ landonorris: so ur calling me skinnyyyyyyy?

→ user 03: slayed so hard that dinosaurs r extinct

⎯→ yourusername: don't blame me for that :(

→ user 04: can't believe lando is just... joking around... do u think this is a fucking game? you think this is funny? i will steal your girl and propose and start a family of 5.

⎯→ landonorris: trust me, we're gonna be a family of 5 once i'm home

And he wasn't joking about that comment because you two have been at it for almost an hour at this point. He was flipping you from position to position just to make sure he got every single angle of you in this lingerie set. Doggy, missionary, cowgirl, all sorts of positions that even Sabrina Carpenter hasn't tried.

He already cummed once too, but he was so horny that he was instantly recharged. Thankfully he was sane enough to help clean you up before pounding you once again. But that was the only break you had. You couldn't help but just feel bad for your neighbors for having to hear you two go wild.

But Lando isn't a monster! He knows that it can hurt after going for so long. So while your whining, begging him to slow down or give you a break for minute, he simply just reaches for the bedside drawer. He whips out a fat tube of lube and squirts some onto his dick before quickly getting back to work.

"L-Love you," He mumbles as he keeps thrusting in and out "Love you so much, ahh"

Oscar Piastri | 81

yourusername: let my inner princess out for Victoria Secret's Santa Baby collection! every piece is so precious, just like all the crew members and girls 💋

→ user 01: literally a goddess

⎯→ user 02: blessed by aphrodite herself

⎯→ user 03: she IS aphrodite

⎯→ yourusername: don't curse me girl 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️

→ user 04: ur such a ball of sunshine UGHHHH

→ user 05: i pray this doesn't get on my bf's feed

→ user 06: can oscar fight?

⎯→ oscarpiastri: no but i can dox you

You know "Jealous" by Nick Jonas? That's exactly how he's feeling right now. Seeing everyone admire not just your body but how lovely your energy is was making him want to burn the entire building down. He was so supportive of your being a model, how could he gate keep your beauty from the world?

But now, oh god he hates this. He rushes you both home after the shoot and instantly lays you on the bed. His mind is racing yet he's not saying much to you.

"Oscar?" You ask him, looking up at him from the bed. Which instantly makes his dick throb, something you see through his pants. Even just saying his name might drive him to the edge.

"If I cover you in hickies, you can't work anymore, right?" He says, taking off your top and rushing to unbutton your jeans.

"Don't do that," You say trying to sound stern but you did love the idea. "You know I have another shoot soon!"

"You have foundation," He says as he begins to kiss down your neck and pressing harsh circles on your clit "You'll live." He says as he pushes your panties to the side. Your breathing hitches, knowing how good he was with his fingers.

"Unless," He pulls his hands away and looks down at you. "you really don't want to?"

But he knows you want it, he just wanted to hear you say it. To know you were as needy for him that he was for you.

Max Verstappen | 01

yourusername: i WOULD be freezing cold but thank god for the skims fleece bodysuits!! happy holidays to all! may ur pussys be warm and used ⛷️

→ user 01: (Y/N)?!?!?!1 THE CAPTION

⎯→ user 02: i need to know if kim's reaction to this 😭

→ user 03: literally like a barbie doll

→ user 04: looked at myself and sighed

⎯→ yourusername: stalked ur page and found ur facebook, GIRL u go to stanford, have a nice ass house, AND A LETHAL ASS FACECARDDDD hush ur mouth, ur lovely

⎯→ user 04: omg thank you??!?!?!?!! 😭😭

⎯→ user 05: she's the ultimate girls-girls

→ user 06: if max doesn't comment soon i'mma assume she's free for me

→ maxverstappen1: sorry i was drooling, im only commenting to scare user 06 away

⎯→ user 06: im gonna hex you.

You fully unlocked mad max at these photos. Although the shoot was simple and not even super suggestive: he was fuming and needed to get it out. He was joking in the comments, but he’s already jacked off once to the photos.

And once he gets home, it’s over for you. You’re pinned against the wall, his lips going all over your body. Not an inch of you is left unkissed.

“Unbelievable” he said as he sneaks a hand behind your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair. He tugs you downwards, you already know that that means.

Instantly you’re on your knees, looking up at him as if you had no idea why he was so angry. That just made him even more angry. Which may or may not have been your intention.

He unbuckled his pants quickly, throwing the belt to the side and letting his pants fall down to his knees. Your hands already know to do and pull his boxers down. And you’re instantly hit with the sight of his hard cock, a veiny and thick one.

You’ve seen it many times before, but you always can’t help but stare in awe of how something that size of a wrist is fitting inside you.

“Don’t just stare at it.” He tugs your face directly into his dick, smushing your face against it. “Get to work.”

Oliver Bearman | 87

yourusername: so so so happy to modeling the newest set for my bestie's brand! i'm wearing... nothing... 😉 the real sets come out in a week! stay tuned MWAH

→ user 01: my whole face is PINK omg

⎯→ user 02: my tip is RED

⎯→ user 03: oh...

⎯→ user 02: i'm a girl, dw

→ user 03: ... start an onlyfans... please.... please please please

→ user 04: oh my godddddd, i dropped the keys to my 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO, oh I'm so clumsy! (I'm 6'0 too) (and pretty funny)

⎯→ olliebearman: and i drive for ferrari, at 6'1, whilst cracking jokes

Ollie knows his worth, he knows he's a highly sought after man. But he's never felt more insecure than now, reading your comments filled with not just men but also girls?! He had to fight off both sides, which made him feel even more weary that his girlfriend is so desired.

So the only way for him to stop his insecurities was easy! Just fuck it out of his system, duh! So now, you're stuck bent over in doggy style in the shower. Why the shower? Because he knew he would make an absolute mess out of you.

He's pounding into you, making loud slaps against the walls. It echos throughout the entire bathroom. You're sure your neighbors can hear but there's not much you can do. You're stuck being a moaning mess while he's holding onto your hips for dear life.

As if that wasn't enough, he leaned forward to whisper into your ear. "Never, never again..." He says, breathing heavy from being so tired, yet his body was moving on his own. "No one can see you like this, ever."

Paul Aron | 17

yourusername: "angel?" set is out now! so proud to be part of the process for this🪽 i did, indeed, feel like an angel

→ user 01: mind you this is my first impression of you... and i'm following asap

⎯→ user 02: i was prepared to fight u for a second

→ user 03: LAWWDDD??? I COULD TAKE A BITE OUTTA UR ASS

⎯→ user 04: enough ass to feed a whole family of 5

→ user 05: paul... count your days

⎯→ paularon_: what did i do???

⎯→ user 06: u better worship the ground she walks on

⎯→ paularon_: of course i do, that's my whole purpose

→ user 07: perfect body, gorgeous face, hot ass boyfriend, GOD HAS FAVORITES

Oh he's livid. Not because you did the shoot, how could he blame you for simply looking good? He knew he picked a baddie and was ready to take all the repercussions alongside it. But he was livid because the fans were practically drooling over you. He's a possessive guy, it's basically his middle name.

He won't get off you at all, as if he needs you like air. His comment wasn’t a lie, he was worshipping you just like he should. Leaving hickies all over your neck, sucking on your breast, fingering you until you cummed at least twice. And he's not even done.

It's like he's trying his best to tease himself for as long as possible. You see how huge his dick is, how it's practically drowning in it's own precum. But he refuses to fuck you until he knows you're satisfied.

He's mainly doing this because he knows he's going to cum fast. Just from giving you pleasure makes him want to cum already. Being inside would only make him last one thrust, maybe two if he's lucky.

You're tired, fucked out from his fingers and sore from his hickies. But he simply kisses your cheek before bringing his head down to your cunt.

"N-No," you say, so overstimulated and wanting to see him get pleasure too. "Paul, just... Just f-fuck me already"

"Shhh" He says, not giving a single care for what you have to say. As he licks your cunt. You shiver from the touch, already knowing you're going to stuck in that bed for hours.

Pepe Marti | 21

yourusername: was i cold? ��� yeah, but it was so worth it! loved working with the crew to take these breath-taking shots, i've never felt prettier 💌

→ user 01: oh. my. GOD??????? THE BODY

⎯→ user 02: seeing her without a 10lbs hoodie hiding her is so weird but SO GOOD

⎯→ user 03: literally thought this was an entirely different girl

→ user 03: i'm putting u in my heart locket

⎯→ user 04: literally going to print this out onto my wall

→ user 05: pepe is so so SO FUCKING lucky

→ pepemartiofficial: my beautiful girl 😘

Although you were much more shy and reserved than others, seeing you do this shoot made him feel so proud of you. Every photo was stared at by him for hours, just loving every detail that makes you you. He can’t help but feel so lucky to have such a beautiful girl but see your confidence grow.

So now he’s fucking you gently, dick pushing against your stomach from how long he is. His head is in your neck while his hands are holding yours. Each thrust is slow and patient, making you feel each centimeter of him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he groans into your neck. “So so, proud” he barely mumbles that. Feeling the strong urge to cum.

Although fucking with him was gentle this time, you still came. He always made sure you were placed first. So now he’s basically just overstimulating you, going at an agonizing slow pace to just fuck with you.

“T-Than’ you.” You say to him, wanting to grab his hair or back. But you can’t, since you’re pinned down by his own hands that are interlocked with yours.

“Gonna cum,” he groans again into your neck also pathetically “Inside?” He begs “That’s okay right??”