#all those curses have got to go Somewhere after all!

[windyengel]

Wip Wednesday

Phantasmagoria was the fic that received less votes in my poll for what to write next, so I did a bit of a first chapter.

Phantasmagoria

Tim stumbled into the manor just past three in the morning, cold, soaked, mud-caked, and cursing the Gotham transit system like it personally offended him. Which, to be fair, it had. Three train delays, one power outage, and a pigeon with a death wish had all conspired to make him miss dinner. Again.

His boots left a trail of questionable slush across the floor as he headed for the only thing keeping him from setting the city on fire: a hot cup of coffee waiting patiently on the study desk.

He didn’t question how Alfred always knew. That way lay madness.

But tonight, the study had a vibe. Not the usual warm, book-scented, mahogany-and-leather vibe. This was more... haunted library meets freezer aisle.

Tim paused, mug halfway to his mouth. The shadows in the corner shifted. Something white and wavy hovered near the window, glowing faintly like a nightlight having an existential crisis.

Then it sneezed.

Loudly.

Tim blinked. “Come on,” he said flatly, not even lowering the mug. “Hallucinations with allergies? That’s a new low, even for me. Can we keep the volume down? Some of us are trying to caffeinate our trauma.”

“Sorry,” the thing sniffled. “I caught a cold. Ghost immune systems are a myth, turns out.”

That made Tim pause.

“You talk,” he said slowly, eyeing the... entity. It wasn’t just mist anymore. A white-haired teenager stood shivering, slightly see-through, dressed like a radioactive ski patrol dropout. Black suit, white gloves, green glowing eyes.

Tim squinted. “Are you a ghost or just a very committed cosplayer?”

“Uhh...” The ghost winced. “Yes?”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “Great. I get stuck in traffic, miss dinner, and now I’ve got spectral visitors with stage fright.”

“Hey,” the ghost protested weakly. “I was trying to be spooky, but you looked like you’d punch me if I breathed wrong.”

“No offense,” Tim said, “but I’ve seen scarier things in my inbox.”

There was an awkward pause. The ghost sniffled again and hugged his arms. Despite the whole ‘being dead’ thing, he looked... nervous. Shy, even. And very green.

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Alright, Casper. Why are you here?”

“I’d tell you,” the ghost said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but you’re kind of—what’s the word—ah yes: hangry. And if I explain now, you’ll just assume I’m lying or trying to eat your soul or something.”

Tim sighed dramatically. “First of all, if you're trying to haunt me, you're doing a terrible job. Second, I don't eat after nine. Third, I already assume you’re lying, but I’m curious enough to let you keep talking.”

The ghost gave a nervous little bow, somehow managing to look both embarrassed and theatrical.

“Well, in my defense,” he said, “ghosts are just as freaked out by light as you are by the dark. So maybe let’s not judge?”

“Welcome to Gotham,” Tim muttered. “We judge everything. Start talking, ecto-boy.”

The ghost smirked faintly. “Ecto-boy? That’s new. I think I like you.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see if the feeling’s mutual, but heads-up—if you drip any more glowing slime on Alfred’s floor, you’re getting exorcised with holy espresso.”

Tim leaned against the desk, coffee cradled in both hands, his expression somewhere between I’m too tired for this and this better not be a gas leak-induced hallucination.

“No offense,” he said flatly, “but ghosts have the ultimate ‘walk in uninvited’ privileges. Meanwhile, I get judged for showing up five minutes late to a Zoom call.”

The ghost scratched the back of his neck, which shimmered faintly at the edges. “Okay, yeah, fair. But in my defense, you looked like you were going to throw that mug at me. I thought maybe you were one of those aggressive haunt-ees.”

Tim raised a brow. “I am aggressive. Doesn’t mean I’m not also curious. Now, are you here to rattle chains or pitch a multi-level ghost marketing scheme? Because I will slam the door in your face. Metaphorically.”

The ghost floated over and sat cross-legged midair like it was the world’s saddest meditation session. “I’m here on official spooky business, actually. Haunting logistics. Property maintenance. You know. Ghost stuff.”

Tim blinked. “Haunting logistics.”

“Yeah.” The ghost grinned, revealing fangs—tiny ones, kind of adorable if Tim were into that sort of thing. “See, houses are sort of… zoned by ghost population. Class A through E. Based on how many dead guys you can fit between the walls without alerting the living.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Tim said, sipping his coffee. “And I live with people who think dressing like a bat is a mental health treatment.”

The ghost shrugged. “Hey, I don’t make the rules. I just... haunt by them. Anyway, this place is classified as a ‘One-Ghost Dwelling.’ The last guy was a Spectre, real traditional—chains, wails, making faces in your mirror while you shave. Real old-school.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “I’ve lived here a year. This is the first I’m hearing about a roommate with a death certificate.”

“Yeah, he bailed. Third floor. Around September. You stopped getting cold spots, right?”

Tim paused. “...I thought that was just the insulation finally working.”

“Nah, he moved on. Didn’t file the proper exit paperwork, though, so no one told the registry you were available. We only found out because someone in afterlife admin spilled their coffee on the wrong form. Classic bureaucracy.”

Tim stared. “There is ghost bureaucracy?”

“Unfortunately. I’m here to evaluate the vacancy and figure out what kind of spirit you qualify for.”

“Hold on.” Tim held up a finger. “You mean there’s a haunting assignment process? Like some kind of supernatural roommate lottery?”

“Yep. Normally, Spectres get first dibs—they’re the old-money types, really snooty, lotta unfinished business. Then if they pass, it goes down the line: Phantoms—me—then goblins, elves, sprites, and if it’s really slim pickings, the nicest Ghoul available.”

“I cannot believe this is happening,” Tim muttered.

The ghost nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, neither could I. The Spectres apparently blacklisted your address because—and I quote—‘the guy has zero fear response and keeps serving bad wine.’ So now they send in the lower tiers to check out the scene.”

Tim blinked. “You’re telling me I got skipped over by professional haunters because I serve bad wine?”

“And because you live like you’re daring someone to try and scare you,” the ghost added. “But the coffee? Top-tier. That’s why I volunteered.”

Tim snorted. “So you’re here on the recommendation of a roast?”

“Exactly.” He beamed, a little too proud of the pun. “It was grounds for a visit.”

[seleneprince]

"A pawn shop. A pawn shop in Chinatown. You expect me to believe that you walked into a pawn shop and bought a Red Lantern ring off like it was a toaster?"

"It was a really shady pawn shop, okay? Smelled like incense and my ancestors' dissapointment, but it had killer discounts. So I got it. End of story."

"That is not the end of the story. There are protocols for this, (Name). There are Guardians, who should've known if a Red Lantern Ring was just...lying around carelessly in Earth! You have no idea what you've done!"

"Well, looks like those smurfs aren't doing their damn job. Besides, it's mine now. What are you going to do about it?"

"Do you have any idea how dangerous a red ring is? You even know what it takes to become one?!"

"Yeah, to be angry. And I am, all the time. Comes with being your daughter, you know?"

"You think this is a joke?"

"Yes. This whole converstation is a joke. I've had this ring since I was fourteen, and it's not like I hid it in my hand. Not my fault you never paid attention."

"Since you were—You should've come to me! You should've told me then! I could've helped you—"

"Help me? Like you help me by dropping me at your brother's house without looking back? Or how you help me by forgetting I exist? Yeah well, forgive me for not wanting your help."

The red energy around her flares, strong and burning, her eyes glowing behind her mask like embers of lava.

His expression softens. "(Name)...I'm trying."

She scoffs.

"I don't think you ever tried. Not when it comes to me. So spare me the chat, you won't change my opinion. This ring is mine now, I made it mine, and I'm keeping it."

"You can't keep it. It'll—"

"I don't care! Look, I didn't ask for it, okay? I didn't ask for any of this, this cursed family and the weird galactical drama, and I sure has hell didn't ask for this powered ring to end up in my finger. But it's how it is. And you know what? I love it. This ring is the only thing that has ever made me feel strong and like I'm capable of everything."

"It makes you angry, (Name)! That’s the whole point of it. It feeds on your rage, on your resentment. It consumes your mind and leaves nothing behind!"

"Yeah, and I got a lot of that. Thanks to you, by the way."

"Don't you dare put this on me. I'm not to blame for every bad decision you make in your own damn life! God, where the fuck did I go wrong with you—"

"Everything."

Heavy silence.

"You're not keeping it."

"You can't stop me."

"Yes, I can. And I will, if you make me."

She clenches her fists, the energy growing. But then...it dims. Just slightly.

"Fine. Go ahead. Play the concerned father for once, ease your guilty conscience. Whatever makes you sleep better at night."

He lets out a deep sigh, rubbing his face.

"We will fix this, (Name). We have to."

"I'm happy like this."

"I didn't raise you to become a rage-possessed killer."

"That's the thing, Dad. You didn't raise me at all."

And before he can get the last word, she leaves with a furious burst of red light, tearing through the sky with a trail of burning crimson behind her.

He stands there, staring after her, feeling the hollow ache of realising a huge mistake he made, not knowing if he can still fix it...or if she's already lost to him.

And somewhere, in the Sinestro Corps' domain, a woman feels the urge to laugh at his suffering.

A little something I wrote about my new au. I can't focus enough time for essays but I can write shit like this in less time. Wow. Anyway, feel free to guess what it's about 👀

[chiropteracupola]

"...but the stairs are grand underfoot."

[superhoeva]

awkward!simon/pharmacy au part two | part one

"i never got to thank you for your help."

simon jumps out of his lean against the side of the building, cursing under his breath when the cigarette tucked between his fingers falls dumbly to the ground. gulping, he glances at you before averting his stare to settle somewhere on your cheek.

not your eyes, but close enough.

"s'not a problem," he nods slowly, mind blanking on what else he could say. he catches how you shift, unsure of what to do with the silence he's forced to let linger. biting the inside of his lip, simon clears his throat. "'uh, yeah. glad i could help."

you give him a small, bashful smile in return of his words and the man nearly stops breathing. he feels his face flushing once again, and he's lucky you're nice enough to not say anything about it.

more silence. you and simon squirm when you accidentally make eye contact before quickly looking away to the nearest anything. his stare lands on the bag in your grasp, filled with those damn pills and the few other items he saw you pluck from the shelves when you'd caught his eye at least ten minutes before reluctantly asking him for help.

the nerve's rattling simon soon grate into a prickly annoyance. god, you having to waste your money on something like that for someone that simon's certain is sticking it in someone else is nipping away at his sense. chest puffing as he takes in a sigh, his index finger scratches a random spot as the back of his head as he grumbles.

"wish there was somethin' i could do t' help. gorgeous thing like you shouldn't suffer over some bloke like that..."

gorgeous. did he just say gorgeous? he must've based on the gobsmacked fucking look on your face.

shit. he's fucked–and not just because his insides flutter at how wide your eyes are and how satisfying your lips look when they're parted in surprise.

simon blinks at you, eyes reading of horror and a hint of panic. when you open your mouth to sputter out a reply, the man turns and makes a b-line for the side door of the pharmacy that's a few feet away.

employees only is plastered across it and you need to know the code to press on the keypad to unlock it and get in, so there's no way you can follow after him and his red cheeks. great.

what's not so great is how foolishly simon's fingers mash into the buttons as he attempts to escape. it takes two times of the buzzer letting him know he's wrong before he can finally think slowly enough to remember the correct order of the four numbers.

simon sends you one last breathless glance and already knows that the dumbfounded look still plastered across your face–the look that has all his blood rushing downward–is going to haunt him for the rest of the day. he slips back into the pharmacy's supply room, the door clanging loudly behind him.

the man collapses back-first against the metal with a huff, one of his hands reaching to wipe at his eyes.

nice. you think he's nice?

"fuck," he whispers thickly to himself, glancing down and grunting at just how noticeable his bulge is becoming as his mind floods with the thought of you; your lips. your watery eyes. your sweet words. all of you. squeezing at his cock through his pants, he hisses at the throb it generates.

glancing at a nearby clock, simon's thinks. whether the six minutes he has before john will probably come looking for him are enough or not, simon couldn't care less.

he doesn't even bother unzipping his pants, slinking a hand into his waistband with little shame. his eyes roll at the way his palm slicks right over his head, and simon grinds into the feeling with a pleased huff.

good thing he skipped wearing underwear today. and thank fuck he threw on his darker jeans.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[nottswitch]

i miss drummer!mattheo

꒰ drummer!mattheo gets an ‘i miss you’ text from you ꒱

cw: 18+ mdni, masturbation (m), nudes, cursing, mentions of smoking

a/n: you just sent this, and i immediately got the idea. missed writing for this chaotic slutty man too, so i hope you enjoy this little thing i came up with !! <3

⋆˚꩜｡

if mattheo cared, it would have been embarrassing, how quickly you can turn him on with a simple ‘i miss you’ while he’s all alone on tour, in a dimly lit hotel room. but he didn’t. the guys were all off somewhere with girls that usually clung to the band after the show; not him, though. perched on a windowsill, letting the smoke from his cigarette drift away into the crack in the window, he stared at the city laid out below.

paris. beautiful, brightly lit, alive. but he didn’t feel like he was. touring had been delightful, truly – deafening crowds every evening, his muscles pleasantly aching after two hours spent behind his drum set. but in the silence of the night, when the only sound around him was his own breathing, he missed you too. a lot.

he stared at the screen for a few seconds before his fingers quickly found the keyboard.

‘ft now?’

‘sorry babe, i’m with the girls :( still miss you tho!’

fuck. mattheo groaned, tightly clutching the phone until his knuckles turned white. he was already anticipating the call, he was already half-hard under his sweats… before he fathomed the idea of not being able to see you tonight, another notification came in. not expecting much, he opened the text, and next thing he knew, he was staring at your beautiful body, the one he’d been craving like a madman lately… completely naked.

‘have fun babe! love you’

you little tease. what an absolute devil you were, but god, he was ready to sin for you any time. barely able to type out a ‘love you more’, mattheo carelessly threw the unfinished cigarette into the window and moved to the bed, impatiently tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants. his cock throbbed in his hand as he practically threw himself onto the mattress, his hungry eyes zeroed in on your naked chest. those tits, fuck… he wished nothing more than to have one in his mouth right now, and the other one against his palm.

mattheo started stroking himself, and he duly tried to go slow at first, wanting to savour the moment of pretend closeness. but with the way your tits were pressed together just right, and the skin of your neck looked so damn inviting, just begging for him to bite into it… he knew he wouldn’t be able to last. his hips rutted into his fist, his cock easily gliding back and forth with his precum nearly dripping all over his fingers. ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous what you could do to him even from miles away, but god, it felt better and better each time.

mattheo gripped his length tighter as a loud moan escaped his lips. he couldn’t care less about the room next door, where his temporary neighbours could probably hear everything he was doing to himself. he only cared about your hips and waist, all bare and on display for him on the screen of his phone. he imagined coming back from the tour, finding you waiting for him in your bed, looking exactly like you did in the picture. he would push you back, press his heated body flush against yours and just take, take, take until the only word you remembered would be his name. he’d make you scream and cry from pleasure, he’d mark you up wherever his lips and hands could reach, he’d–

“ahh, fuuuck!!!”

he couldn’t hold back the sound, it simply tore from deep in his chest as he came, thick spurts of his release landing on his abs, his sides, dripping onto the hotel sheets. mattheo laid there for a moment, catching his laboured breath, his mind still reeling from the fantasies he was so absorbed in just seconds ago. finally, he found some strength in him to lift up his hand and snap a picture of his body, white cum covering his stomach, his still stiff and flushed cock resting in the mess he made of himself.

‘had fun, darling. can’t wait to come back’

au. more.

[worstgenerationloser]

,, First time? '' (2)

Shanks x GN! Reader

Summary... how does your first time with Shanks go?

Contains... Shanks is sickeningly horny, Shanks has a filthy tongue, penetrative sex, creampie, shanks may or may not have developed a certain kink at the end… he WILL NOT stop talking either

Word count... 0.8k

A/N: oneshot for shanks taken from "Indulgence" read here! Not proofread!

Shanks grunted, plowing his hips forward, driving them deeper into your body, his entire weight shifted ontop of you, his red hair had fallen across the back of your neck, and his arm was wrapping itself around your waist, his heavy, wet breath more than hastened after each lewd plap of his hips meeting your ass. He had barely had anything to drink, for once, he was just a little tipsy, was all.

"You want this so bad— Fuck yeah, you want me?"

Those words whispered in your ear, in a tone of voice that sounded as if he were trying to convince you, as if he wasn't spot on with his accusations. Another string of erotic lines spilled through his teeth, cramming their way into your brain. Oh, how dirty he was, managing something like this could only be achieved by him and him alone, his voice was just so sweet, slipping your shirt off to give you a simple massage, and that was supposed to be it! A massage? Well, technically he was massaging something... Your insides, that was. A filthy mewl escaped your lips with every breath you took, the scent of sex was almost sickening as it was being carried through the air.

Because your voice was so quiet, he could barely make out the soft words of confirmation from you, but he was entirely sure he heard them when you practically screamed them when he adjusted himself, spreading his legs a little wider, his throat bobbing as he swallowed the pooling saliva in his mouth. He pushed himself deeper into you, so deep it practically burned, but it was a pleasant one, atleast.

"Come on... A little more, babe."

Had it been an hour? You sure it has, the evidence of your previous orgasms was splattered in liquid form across the sheets, a pout dawning on his face when he realized he couldn't taste you when he was balls deep inside of you, Shanks compromised by fucking you for as long as he could until you couldn't handle it. Shanks couldn't believe himself, falling in love like this, and maybe he felt a little bad for allowing his hand to go somewhere it definitely shouldn't have, but with such a heavenly result, he was overjoyed.

He panted, hand desperately pawing at you to hold onto something, upon finding your throat a momentary panic settled in, before being washed away by the loud sob of pleasure elicited from your lips. An easy grin took over his face, the grip on your throat firm but not tight, he wouldn't be able to do that with you for just your first time.

"Shit– Gonna cum. Want me to cum inside you? Or should I pull out?"

Although he wasn't gonna disobey you if it just so happened that you, in fact, did not want him to paint your insides white, he was silently begging you to let him, and with a few more deep thrusts he was sure he would start growling like an animal in heat. There wasn't a moment of hesitation in his movements, and he felt like he was on fire, the same adrenaline rush he got during his legendary duels which many had remembered as horrifying to see was eminent now more than ever, a new rush coursing through his veins. A breathy chuckle escaped his lips upon hearing your words of confirmation which you screamed, and now he was really fucking you.

A string of incoherent words which you think were curses somehow managed to slip out of your brain, you couldn't feel anything other than your bare skin pressed into the mattress, a white overtook your brain, sounds you weren't sure you would have ever made echoed into the room, the wet squelching of his cock sliding into your hole with a bit of your own cum smeared across your thighs was practically humiliating, but not necessarily in a bad way. Did it hurt? It stung, you think, he was impossibly deep inside of you and he was already raring for more; the way he was digging inside of you was despicable.

"Wanna be pumped full already, don't ya? Are you getting off on the fact that you got me wrapped around your finger, huh? I waited so, so long for this... Fuck— I'm not stopping after cumming just once; I spoiled you so much already..."

Runny and sticky cum flooded inside of you, both of your thighs shaking. Shanks pushed deeper into you, savoring the feeling of your hole; He didn't care much that his wasted semen was spilling out from where you two were connected, he was just gonna fuck it back into you, anyways.

He couldn't wait until next time, he wondered if he could get even deeper next time he came inside you?

[sunflowerwinds]

sugar, sugar | v.a

summary: a week after isha’s birthday party, you tell vi it’s time to take the night on to make some blueberry cinnamon rolls. the two of you open up to one another in the midst of your baking session; your feelings for her somehow festering even more but maybe those feelings aren’t as one sided as you believe.

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: modern!au, mila & jinx side-plot (that’s barely touched on), awkward and adorable tension, pining, fluff, talks of parental deaths on vi and reader’s end, possible incorrect depictions of baking (i love baking but im not an expert </3)

word count: 4.5K

a/n: i think i got one more part for you guys and i can’t wait for it :) i love love all of the overwhelming support for this little series; i cannot express it enough!! the reblogs & comments really help me keep going. i hope you guys enjoy this part!!

— THREE

“What are you doing?”

You hear from behind you as you were frantically wiping down the stone top island in the kitchen, making sure it was squeaky clean for Vi’s arrival.

After attending Isha’s birthday party, another week had flown by before you were able to have everything prepared. Okay, you had most of the materials at home already.

You felt you needed to mentally prepare to have Vi here in your childhood home; a place you go to for comfort at the end of a restless day. You had sent her messages with your address and what time she should make her way over to yours.

You hold back the eye-roll threatening your eyes at Mila’s judgemental tone. You were as ready as you could be, wearing a simple pair of striped sleeping pants and a dark gray sweatshirt that hung slightly off your shoulder with a back tank underneath. You were home so you wanted to be cozy yet cute. Your hair was up in a simple ponytail, a few flyaways escaping from your vigorous cleaning.

“Cleaning. What does it look like I’m doing?” You sarcastically respond to your sister, sucking in a deep breath as you move to another spot.

“I can see that but I mean, why are you scrubbing so damn hard? You’re going to carve the stone, dude.”

You close your eyes as you try not to snap at your sister. Your grandma had given you the day off so that you could spend as much time with Vi as you could. Even after insisting to her that it wasn’t necessary, she made sure you weren’t on the schedule and to not leave the house unless it was with Vi.

‘I need a daughter-in-law,’ were her words as she left the house to go to the bakery. She was very hopeful for you.

“I’m… a little anxious, okay?” You admit, ready to hear your sisters mocking.

She snorts at your words as she rounds the island to look at you. “Yeah, no shit.”

“Okay can you keep that to yourself, please? I-I don’t need this right now,” you wipe back some of the flyaways as you put the rag in the sink.

You wash your hands in silence, hearing your sister shifting behind you.

“Look, what I was going to say was that you are going to be fine. Clearly, she already likes you or else she wouldn’t have agreed to come over to help you,” Mila quietly tells you, tilting her head to try and find your eyes. “I know this doesn’t happen often for you but I don’t want you to screw it up.”

You take that in, ignoring the dig at your antisocial skills and lack of dating experience. You knew this was your sister's way of trying to comfort your scattered mind.

“Thanks… I think,” you squint your eyes at her, drying off your hands.

You hear your phone ding on the countertop, leaning over to check to see who it was. To your demise, it was Vi telling you that she had arrived at your house. You mutter a curse as you turn to your sister getting ready to tell her to go somewhere that wasn’t here. You hadn’t even heard the car rolling up the dirt driveway.

“You’re welcome. Now, I’ll be doing you a favor and leaving so you can have the house to yourselves.”

Your brows furrow at her words, questioning your sister’s whereabouts.

“Wait, where are you going?”

Mila grins at you before shrugging one of her shoulders, seeming sheepish. “Hanging out with a friend. I’ll see you. Have fun with Violet.”

She drags out Vi’s full name to tease you as she throws her brown suede purse over her shoulder. You practically shove her out of the house as you peek out the window once she shuts the front door. You knew your sister didn’t have a car, and she was not using yours, so you wanted to see who the hell was picking her up. Your eyes squint to see a streak of light blue hair in the driver’s seat and Vi walking up to your front door.

Vi passes your sister and gives her a slight nod and wave, telling her something that you couldn’t quite hear due to the fact that she was outside still. It took you way too long to realize that the head in the driver's seat was Jinx. Mila and Jinx were friends? And she just forgot to tell you?

Absolutely shocked by this news, you tug open your front to reveal Vi with her hand raising to knock but eyes widening at your confused expression as you look behind her at the car reversing and leaving the dirt driveway.

“Hey, uh,” Vi shoved her hands into the pockets of her zip-up, tilting her head at you, “is everything okay?”

You blink as your attention switches to Vi’s awaiting expression. You shake your head, an embarrassed chuckle leaving your lips.

“I’m sorry. Hi, Vi,” you grin at her before opening the door wider for her to step in.

“You’re okay. It’s Jinx and Mila, right?” Vi questions, an amused smile forms on her lips.

You nod slowly as you allow her to step further in, asking her to take off her shoes before nodding with a shocked expression as you shut the door and lock it.

“Yeah. They’re… friends?” You press, wanting to know your sister's business.

Vi pries off her shoes near the door and places them next to the small line-up of you, your sisters and your grandmother’s shoes.

“Yeah, I guess Jinx went to the bakery on her own and your sister was there and they started talking after that,” she breathed out a laugh.

“That’s crazy. I love my sister but she is cranky as hell at work,” you chuckle.

Vi shrugs her shoulders, her laughter fading to a small grin. Vi’s bright eyes dart around the interior of your grandmother's home, curiously examining every inch of the house you grew up in. You linger behind her as you try to compose yourself over the fact that she was here. You fiddle with your rings in an attempt to ease your bouncing mind.

“It’s so… cozy here,” she voices her thoughts as she smiles at a photo of you, your sister and your grandma when you were younger that was sitting on a shelf underneath the living room TV.

Her light gray zip up was slightly falling off her shoulders to reveal the inch strap of her black wife pleaser underneath. The sight distracts you for a moment before you cringe at your younger portrait but Vi merely admires how much you’ve grown yet somehow look the same.

Beautiful, nonetheless.

“Everyone says that when they come over. My grandpa actually helped build this place with his friends when they were younger. He really loved my grandma.” You explain softly, looking at the back of Vi’s head.

Vi turned her head to look at you, nodding as she glanced around the room wondering how long it must’ve taken to do this.

“It’s really beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you accept the compliment on your grandmother and grandfather's behalf. “Oh, and I did make the dough last night because it needs to rise overnight so it can be all light and fluffy.”

Vi slowly nods at your words, furrowing her brows as she motioned towards the kitchen area that was adjacent to the living room.

“So what more do we have to do other than, you know, assembling them?” Vi questions as she waits for your response.

You hold your hands behind your back as you tilt your head towards the fridge, an eager smile spreading onto your face.

“Do you want to listen to music while we bake?” You question.

Vi’s eyes flicker to your elated gaze and she can’t help but smile at your question. When you look at her like that, she thinks she would do anything for you. She watches your movements as you scurry over to a side table that was next to the living room couch to undo the clasp of a vinyl player that was disguised as a leather brown suitcase.

You kneel down to tug out a crate that held around 50 records, humming to yourself as you pick up a record that satisfied you. Vi couldn’t see from where she was standing but was hesitant to move forward. You carefully remove the vinyl from its paper shell to place on the spindle, moving the tonearm to rest it on the song of your desire.

“This is just a bunch of different blues and R&B songs,” you inform Vi, your back still turned to her. “I thought it was fitting.”

Vi nods in understanding even though you weren’t able to see her. You stand back up to your feet once adjusting the volume, walking back over to Vi’s awaiting figure. You take her hand in yours and motion for her to follow you into the kitchen.

“Is this going to be messy?” Vi asks, distracting herself from how much she loved feeling your hand in hers.

“Mmm, I would be lying if I said no so you either roll up your sleeves or take off your jacket so you don’t get it covered in anything,” you suggest as you release her hand to tug open the fridge to retrieve what you needed for the filling.

Vi, to your wonderful surprise, zips down her jacket and lets the cotton roll over her toned shoulders. You stand frozen near the fridge for a moment at the sight of her back nearly covered in ink. You had to thank whatever or whoever sent her to your grandma’s shop because how the hell is she real?

Standing here in your kitchen looking like that?

Vi sets her jacket aside on one of the chairs that was pulled up to the island, her hands finding their place on her hips as she awaits further instruction.

“Okay so, what you’re going to do is sprinkle a bit of flour onto the island. Just all over it,” you motion to the bag of flour and use one of your to make a spreading motion to the lengthy surface.

Vi nods in understanding at your instruction, clearing her throat as she reaches carefully into the paper bag to grab a good handful as does exactly as instructed. You hold back your glee as you watch her lean over a bit to even out the flour. She glances at you through her peripheral to make sure you seemed satisfied with how that looks.

“How’s it look?” She hums, dusting off her hands over the spread.

“Perfect. Now, take the dough and just give it a few kneads to press out the air bubbles.” You point to the metal bowl full of dough, stepping to the side to move out of her way.

Following your words once again, Vi takes the malleable tan dough into her palms to plop it down onto the surface. You turn your head to cough at the gust of powdery air that blew upwards. She, too, waves a hand in front of her face to brush the puff away from her nostrils.

When Vi had said you only wanted her there so she could do all the kneading, you didn’t expect to actually be gawking over her doing it. She digs her palms and fingers into the dough, leaning her chest forward to press it into the flour. Her triceps tightened at the motion, readjusting the blob to spread the flour evenly throughout. You swore you heard a grunt of struggle leave her lips as the dough was a bit thicker than she was expecting.

You raise a hand to your mouth to push back the infatuated smile that was tickling your lips, just watching her knead the dough.

“Is this good?” Vi asks through another press into the surface, another light grunt leaving her mouth.

“Yeah,” you say without thinking, lost in your lust-driven daze.

Vi looks up at you from her kneading as she stops with her hands still buried into the dough, no longer sticking to it as it was covered in flour. You dart your gaze away from her as you shake your head, chuckling and muttering ‘right’ to yourself.

“I’ll get the, uh, rolling pin so you can flatten it out.”

You suck in a deep breath as you turn your back to her, shutting your eyes as you internally scold yourself to pull it together. Had she noticed your lingering almost creepy stare at her arms?

If she did, she hid it very well.

“Do I need to wash my hands?” Vi questions from behind your back as you kneel down to retrieve the rolling pin from the cabinet.

“No, not yet. After rolling them, you can. I’ll put the filling and roll them if you want,” you offer from over your shoulder as you grab the wooden object.

“Okay. You’re the boss,” Vi chuckles.

You stand back up on your feet, blinking harshly from the sudden rush to your head. Change the subject, you begged internally as you handed her the rolling pin. As you flicker on the stove and try to think of something else to talk about, you can hear Vi humming along to the song currently playing as she rolled the dough as instructed.

You smile to yourself as you begin to make the filling as quickly as possible.

“You know this song?” You question the red-haired woman, turning to her slightly as you watch the filling simmer in the small pot.

Vi seems to be caught off guard at the fact that you could hear her humming to herself along with the song's lyrics, pausing her movements for a second.

“Uh, yeah,” she clears her throat as she takes one glance at you before looking away flustered. “My… mom would sing it all the time. She was obsessed with it.”

“You know, you’ve never talked about your mom,” you state carefully. “Not that you have to. It just hit me.”

Vi shook her head, muttering a ‘no, it’s okay.’

“I guess I never really had a reason to but I don’t mind,” she reassures you to glance at you once again with a small smile.

You send her one back as you stir the filling slowly, watching the ingredients dissolve over the heat.

“What was she like?” You question.

“She was… loving. She, uh, passed when I was 11 and Jinx was 6. She gave us home hair cuts that were just so terrible,” Vi shook her head with a chuckle as she recollected on her childhood. “I mean, seriously. I mean, it looked like we had cut them ourselves but my dad claimed that we loved the look. I think it was because it was the fact that it was her cutting our hair instead of some stranger.”

You can’t help but smile at her words. Her voice had softened the second she had brought up her mom, signaling to you that her mom was a gentle soul. You could feel how much that transpired within Vi.

“Were her and your dad together for a while before they had you and Jinx?” You hum.

“They were never together. They were actually friends but my mom got knocked up by some random guy twice that they never knew about and my dad kind of took that position of being, well, a dad.”

Vi explains as she sucks in a deep breath, seeming as though she was composing herself. You furrow your brows as you are afraid that you’ve pushed it too far with the questions.

“Well, when did Isha come in?” You ask in hopes to distract her.

This Vi freezes at, releasing the rolling pin to turn to you with a soft sigh.

“She came out of nowhere. My dad told us one day coming home from school that someone had left a baby on our doorstep. We thought that kind of stuff only happened in the movies so we thought it was a joke,” she leaned her back up against the counter top, folding her muscular arms across her chest. “But then we came into the living room and there she was wrapped up in a little blanket in a bassinet. Jinx was more excited than I was because she got her own little sister.”

“You have a very loving family. It’s obvious, honestly. I can tell you have a good heart, Vi,” you tilt your head to make eye contact with her to show the sincerity behind your words.

Vi’s eyes hold contact with your own, pupils dilating to the point where the blue of her eyes was a mere ring. She exhales a soft breath as she just stares at you.

“What about your parents? Are they…?” Vi blinks and reroutes the attention to you now.

“Uh, no. My mom and dad died when I was 6 or 7 and Mila was just 1. They weren’t the best parents from what my grandma has told me. They tried but they were… angry and overworked,” you shook your head as you turn down the heat on the stove lower before looking at Vi with a shrug to your shoulders. “I guess they thought having kids would bring them closer but it only seemed to push them further apart. They had dropped Mila and I here one day and just never came back. My grandparents found out a week later that they had gotten into a car accident and died on the way to the hospital.”

You wince to yourself at the silence that had fallen over the two of you. The soft crackle of the record switching songs and the soft bubbling of the blueberry filling in the pot were the only sounds in the house.

“But I’m okay. My grandparents raised me and my sister and I can guarantee it was the better choice,” you attempt to make a joke but Vi simply looks at you with a genuine expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry too.”

You clear your throat, a strained chuckle leaving your lips as you clasp your hands together.

“Sorry, the filling’s ready. I didn’t mean to get all– Well, to bring that subject up.”

Vi shakes her head to reassure your frantic mind, reaching for your hand. You allow her to do so, heart leaping into your throat when her thumb wipes over the back of your hand.

“I said it was okay. I meant that,” she persists.

You look at her with a hesitant expression, opening your mouth about to apologize but she gives you a pointed look as if she was testing you to try it.

“Okay, okay, let’s roll these.”

Vi seems content with that and releases your hand to let you bring over the pot to the counter of rolled out dough. You ignore the bothersome want to grab her hand right back as carry it over and rest it on a crocheted pot holder so it wouldn’t burn the surface. You two stay in a comfortable silence as you take a wooden baking spoon to scoop it and carefully spread the blueberry-cinnamon filling across the flat dough. Once everything was properly rolled up and placed onto the baking sheet, you popped it in the oven for its designated time period.

About 20 minutes passed of sharing soft words to one another in the kitchen, the timer on your phone went off. With the rolls fresh out of the oven, you started to make the cream cheese frosting to wrap it all together. You could see Vi lingering over the delectable smelling pastries out of the corner of your eye, seeming to be examining them.

“You really do have a knack for this, cupcake. These look incredible,” Vi praises you as you plop the ingredients into the bowl.

You tuck a flyway piece of hair behind your ear as you bashfully smile in her direction.

“Well, you did all the kneading. They wouldn’t been made without your help,” you switch it around to the pink-haired girl.

“I knew you were staring,” she teased as she took a few steps forward so her shoulders were a few inches apart from your own.

The close proximity made your stomach flip but you simply continued to whisk in the bowl. You gradually add the milk, careful not to add too much or else it wouldn’t be thick enough.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie through your teeth. “I was making sure your technique was good. I’m the baker here.”

“If you say so,” Vi held her palms up in defense, that annoyingly attractive grin on her face.

You shake your head before vigorously whisking the frosting, watching it turn into the perfect texture. You sigh as you dip your finger into soft white glaze and hold it up to Vi’s mouth, wiping it on her bottom lip without thinking.

Your eyes widen as you realize what you’ve done, watching Vi’s eyes match yours. She licks her lips to taste the frosting regardless, raising her fingers to her lips when yours just was.

“I’m so sorry. I—When I bake at home with my grandma or my sister, we usually just do, well, that because we’re the only ones eating it,” you cover your mouth with both of your palms, shaking your head. “I’m sor-I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” Vi raises her hand to wave you off, a weird chuckle leaving her lips. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

You sigh, the embarrassment still clinging to your skin as you replayed in your mind how easily you did that.

“It’s good, though,” Vi adds through the silence.

You can’t help but let out an amused laugh at the way she immediately tries to assure you that what you did was in fact very normal. You knew it wasn’t… by any means but she attempts to make you feel better regardless.

“What?” Vi asks through her own soft laughter.

You shake your head as you motion to the fresh cinnamon rolls.

“Can we frost these, please? I’m trying to save myself from embarrassment.”

Vi simply grins at you as she reaches two fingers into the glaze to gather a bit on her pointer and middle before sticking it in her mouth. You stare at her, unable to utter a word. What the hell is wrong with her?

“See? It’s good.”

Instead of humiliating yourself further, you shove her back with one arm as you scold: “Did you even wash your hands?”

“I did, actually.”

“Then get to it,” you point to the cinnamon rolls and hand her a spatula.

Vi glances down at the bowl of frosting and the wooden spatula with a soft blue rubber before taking it from her hands to do as you had asked. You watch her step around you to take a good scoop of the glaze to spread it over the warm treats. You spoke quietly to one another, asking her random questions to pick at her mind a bit more; to get to know her better.

“You think you could teach me how to kick box?” You question as you are now sitting in your living room.

Two small ceramic plates that were in the style of pool balls on the coffee table in front of you; Vi’s being the 6 green ball and yours being the 8. Cinnamon rolls sat on either one; yours being less eaten than Vi’s. She had mere crumbs left as she nodded into her last bite.

“Oh yeah. You can let me know and I’ll clear out some space for you.” Vi grins as she licks her lips to be rid of the cinnamon from her lips.

“I will definitely,” you chuckle as you take another bite.

“Hey, uh, speaking of that, I have this kickboxing tournament coming up in a few days. I… want you to be there,” Vi looks at you with an awaiting expression; hope glimmering over her eyes.

Your eyes meet hers as you chew your food, a hand hovering over your mouth so you don’t drop crumbs. I want you to be there, her voice rang through your mind.

“You’ll be competing?” You wonder.

“Yeah and a few of my older students,” she confirms.

You’d be an idiot to say no. A stupidly giddy smile spreads onto your face as you set the last quarter of your cinnamon roll back on the plate.

“I’d love to be there. I’ll cheer you on from a distance.”

Vi tilts her head from next to you, bumping her shoulder with yours.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. I’ll embarrass you with a huge sign that says ‘Go Vi’ in rainbow glitter,” you lean closer to her face as you tease her.

Vi eyes flicker down to your lips for a split-second as you lean in. You notice the action but brush it off as the closer proximity.

“You’ll be my cheerleader?” She questions, a smirk forming.

“Always,” you whisper, sucking in a deep breath as you shift yourself so that your body is facing hers.

Your answer sends a shiver down Vi’s spine, her heart leaping into her throat. She lifts her hand to take one of yours before she opens her mouth to say something. A loud knock fills the house causing the both of you to jump.

You mutter a curse to yourself as you excuse yourself to Vi to walk over to the door to unlock it to see your sister and Jinx standing on the welcome mat. They both held cheeky, suspicious grins.

“Hey guys,” you furrow your brows at the two. “Back so early?”

“Early? It’s been three hours,” Mila states with raised brows, stepping into the house.

Vi must’ve heard Mila’s voice and appeared behind you at the door, cursing to herself as she did not realize how much time had passed. She checked her own phone before looking at her sister.

“Shit, I gotta go. I promised I would take Isha to the park before it gets too dark,” Vi runs to grab her zip-up, sadly shielding her toned arms once again. When she walks back over to you, Mila and Jinx, she wraps her arms around you to give you a warm hug. “I’ll text you all the details, I promise. Thank you for letting me come over. I had a good time.”

You hold onto her tightly, discreetly inhaling the cinnamon-blueberry scent that was clinging to her skin.

“Yeah, me too. Let me know everything, Vi,” you pull away to see your sister and Jinx giving each other weird looks.

Okay, their friendship was going to drive you up the wall.

“See you, cupcake. Bye, Mila,” Vi grins at you and waves at your sister.

“Bye, Vi. Bye Jinx. Text me!” Mila calls after Jinx as they both walk away to the running car.

Jinx turns her head to send your sister a knowing smile, calling back: “I will, Mils!”

You and your sister watch the two open their designated sides of the car, leaning against the door with a long sigh.

“God, could you act like you’re not in love with her?” Mila teases before walking over to the kitchen to probably devour the pastries you had baked.

You shake your head to yourself as you think that no, you really can’t.

previous part -> next part

TAG-LIST: @strawberrykidneystone @lovinglynny @kylorey25 @loserbaby66 @eddiesdrummergf @jokermoonie @ranxiaolong @morphids @gayandcurious @oatmatchalatte @iamastar @saviourcomplexgf @vihxh7 @jinxjinxjinx12 @krilara @unear7hly @magical-rush @winchestergirlspn @naponiac @alex-thegiraffeboyy @fallingstarsburn @nombreuxx @16novvs @laviannasfanfics @kitty-kei

[merlucide]

THE MIYA SIBLINGS…

Oh your absolutely insufferable, stupid, annoying brothers (..that you guess.. you kinda love..) drive you freakin’ bonkers! Life as a first-year with two obnoxious third-year brothers isn’t easy, and yet, somehow, every day is its own brand of chaos. So, what does an average day in the Miya household look like? Well… here’s a glimpse.

pairings: Miya twins x youngersister!reader (NOT SHIP)

type: Headcannons/blurbs + SMAU (texts, twt)

genre: crack, fluff, comfort

key: y/n = your name n/n = nickname

warnings: cursing, the twins embarrassing reader, reader has no friends lmao, shit/piss mentions, the twins being pervs (yk that tho)

—————————————————————————

Everyone at Inarizaki knew the Miya twins. And then they found out about the Miya siblings.

When you first came to Inarizaki, walking around with their man (aka Atsumu and Osamu), the Miya fangirls immediately took notice. At first, they thought you were a girlfriend—until they learned the shocking truth: the Miya twins have a younger sister?!

That’s when the befriending attempts began. They’d wait outside your classroom, invite you to lunch, and you honestly thought they ?? just really wanted?? To be friends you?? It felt really nice!

But the moment they opened their mouths, it was all, “Eeeeeek! Your brothers are soooo hot!!!”

And you were just like, ‘oh’ ‘🧍‍♀️😑’

 Yeah those ‘friendships’ did not last very long… 

—-And obviously you were popular with amongst the boys. The Miya curse I fear. Samu did nawt approve of your new popularity lol. Tsumu was jealous that people were talking about YOU and not HIM lmao— tho tsumu LOVES bragging about you/showing you off. He’s like ‘oh yeah my baby sister can do this!—‘ ‘welll MYYY sister can do that better than YOURRR sister’

Anywho the twins love having you at the same school!!! Atsumu always stops by your class during breaks either to talk to you or just piss you off lmao. Osamu ends up being your unofficial walking schedule lol (not that surprising tbh) ‘Ain’t ya supposed to be in the library?’ ‘Didn’t ya say ya had a quiz today?’ ‘Why are ya here? Don’t ya got PE?’ He flicks your forehead (affectionate) and is like ‘get to class’ 🙄+😐

(You got him his bowl)

When it comes to typical overprotective older sibling behavior, Osamu takes the crown. He’ll literally insert himself into any conversation you have with a guy—every. single. time. It’s actually the worst. He will embarrass you and terrify the guy. One time a guy came over, all confident trying to talk to you. Before you could even react, Osamu literally stepped in front of you, staring the guy down like he was an inconvenience to his entire existence.

Then with the most uninterested, deadpan expression ever, he just like ‘no’

He won’t let anything start 😒 you def ignore him after he pulls shit like that. He dgaf tho lmao

Atsumu, on the other hand, is like your wingman, sorta.. He hypes up your crushes, encourages the flirting… but the second things actually start progressing (ex:lovey-dovey texts, potential boyfriend territory, lingering touches), he’s suddenly all up in your business—and the poor guy’s too. He’ll casually throw an arm around both you and the guy, all smiles, and go, ‘So, how’s it goin’?😁’

you’re glaring daggers at him your eyes screaming ‘Tsumu, istg I’m gonna kill you’ and the guy’s practically slithering away while you whisper-scream at Atsumu while he acts all innocent. Oooooor he’ll just shriek and yank you away saying how ‘yer too little for boys’, while glaring at said guy.

But if you ever wanna hang out with anyone he’ll try to set smth up for ya!! (As long as he approves of who)

Osamu is nawt good at trying to show his love 🧍‍♀️ his love languages are quality time, acts of service, and physical touch (sorta, he’s not rlly good at it but wants to be close yk?). Like he won’t initiate (most the time) but if you hug him he’ll hug you back. He just like asks if you want him to take you somewhere or smth. He shows his care for ya n tsumu by making food all the time, it’s what he’s good at and loves, and loves that you both love it. He also always wants to be there for ya. Samu is great emotional support, he doesn’t say a lot but says EXACTLY what you need to hear. Will just sit with you and let you get what you need off your chest. He’ll put his arm around you and rub up and down. 

Atsumu is very unique at showing his love 🧍‍♀️ his love languages are physical touch, words of affirmation, and quality time. When you were little Atsumu and Osamu would both hold your hand when you would walk around, and when you got older and wouldn’t hold his hand anymore he was so sad 😭🙏 he’s a hugger, but he’s still your older brother, so he’ll like mess your hair up then hug you lmao. Always asks if you wanna practice with him, he always feels cool teaching you something new :)

Atsumu is also your number one hype man like if you ever feel like you can’t do smth tsumu has a whole list of just exactly why/how you can. He’s not even trying to make you feel better it’s what he genuinely believes :)

Oh and they are both way too invested in any drama you’re involved in/even just aware of. The second you run into the room and announce, “I’ve got tea,”they’re already locked in, heads propped on their hands, eyes wide like you’re about to deliver the most important news of their lives.

‘Spill NOW’

—————————————————————————

tags: @sharkissm @someprettyname @fishii28 @shrii-kk

well this is all I have for Miya siblings rn 😔😔 tumblr will only let me upload 30 images, I had more 🧍‍♀️🙏

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I do!! I love Miya siblings so much ughhhh I wish they were my older brothers sooo bad it HURTs

lemme know what you think!!!! I LOVE FEEDBACK!!

—————————————————————————

made February 11th 2025

[yunjardi]

STRICTLY BUSINESS [18+]

[JAKE SIM DRABBLE]

--------------------------------------------------------

/pairing: boss!jake x fem!assistant/

/content warnings: smut [18+ mdni], semi-public sex, unprotected sex, oral [m receiving], dirty talk, spanking, making out/kissing, nail marks, pls lmk if i missed anything!!!/

/wc: 1,296

/author's note: i know i said this would be more of a drabble, but i got a little carried away lol. i'm super glad to be back after over a year <3 thank you to those who have been here and also those who are just stopping by :) ily <3

p.s. this is not proofread at all oops

--------------------------------------------------------

you found yourself wondering how you managed to get yourself into this position.

that said 'position' being on your knees between jake's legs as he sat back in his office chair.

you didn't think that this was something that actually happened in real life, fucking your boss that is. it seemed so unreal until a few short months ago when you were hired to be jake's personal assistant- something that would ultimately lead to you keeping a dirty little secret.

jake is smooth talker, so you assumed that he spoke in a flirty manner to everyone. that was until the two of you began building a closer relationship which was natural due to the nature of your job, but you didn't think that it would go this far, you didn't think that you two would end up being this close.

flirting turned into dates (that jake referred to as simply 'treating my assistant for being so great at her job'), dates turned into late nights together, late nights together turned into sleepovers, and those sleepovers soon became a regular occurrence. i mean, waking up and already being by your boss's side first thing in the morning makes your job a whole lot easier, right?

right.

whatever way you tried to dance around it doesn't (and won't) change the fact that you are, indeed, banging your boss.

"just like that," jake breathed out as you let his tip hit the back of your throat, "such a good girl."

a constant string of praises, moans, and curses fell from jake's pretty lips as you mercilessly teased him with your tongue, unable to stop yourself from getting wet in the process.

jake smirked and raised an eyebrow as he noticed one of your hands gently slipping into your panties. he watched as you pleased yourself whilst simultaneously pleasing him which was bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

"is my princess getting riled up?" jake cooed as he looked down at you, being sure to focus on the way you touched yourself. you couldn't help but look away as your face began to heat up at the sudden confrontation, but jake was quick to tilt your head up so that you had no choice but to look him in his pretty eyes.

"so cute," jake chuckled sexily as he brushed your hair away from your face, "now, be a good girl and sit on my desk, yeah?" naturally, you followed his orders (mostly out of habit at this point) and sat yourself up on his desk, ready to fulfill his every request.

he looked gorgeous standing before you, his hair slightly messy from having run his hands through it and his shirt halfway unbuttoned. it was impossible for anyone in their right mind to not be attracted to him in some way, shape, or form.

jake gently leaned in, giving you a tender kiss on the lips before moving down to you neck. his hands wandered from your lower back down to your thighs as he continued to kiss all over you, causing your breath to hitch. he made sure to hike up your already short skirt as the gap between your bodies became slimmer and slimmer.

you instinctively brought your hands up to further unbutton his shirt, wanting to see the entirety of his toned body. jake followed suit, beginning to slide the thin strap of your top down your shoulder before fully discarding your shirt somewhere in his office, leaving you in the lacy bra jake had gotten you as a gift for 'being such a great assistant.'

it drove him crazy to see you wearing the pretty bra he bought just for you, and it made him crave you even more desperately.

he couldn't resist you any longer.

he pulled you into a passionate kiss before teasing your entrance with his tip, causing a little gasp to get caught in your throat at the sudden rush. once again, he tilted your face upward, making sure to meet your gaze before slowly inching his throbbing tip into you. you gripped tightly onto his forearm as his cock went deeper and deeper inside you, your walls squeezing every inch of his length.

"jake-" you moaned out as you loosened your grip on his forearms, your hands now holding onto his as he slowly began to move his hips. your eyes rolled back as you let a string of moans leave your lips, his thick tip hitting your sweet spot with every single one of his strokes.

"your cunt is so tiny and small, yet you take me so well," jake smirked as he brought one of his hands down to your clit, beginning to gently rub circles around it as you struggled to keep your legs apart.

your moans became increasingly desperate as jake began to pick up his pace, his hands now gripping at your thighs as he pounded your sweet spot. you could only manage to let out little whines and begs for him to not stop as you felt yourself leaning closer and closer to your climax.

jake promptly picked you up from his desk and sat you down on his lap, guiding his length back inside you as to not waste any precious time that he could be spending fucking you.

the two of you moaned in sync as you sunk back down onto his cock, his tip immediately poking at your spot once again.

after he fully bottomed out, you wasted no time grinding your hips against his, still desperate to reach your high.

jake let his head fall back in pleasure as he left harsh spanks on your ass and thighs. "my good girl," jake moaned deeply into your ear as he left kisses on your neck, "you're all mine, yeah?" you barely managed to nod your head through the extreme pleasure. "mhm, all yours," you moaned breathlessly as he fucked his cock into you from underneath you.

a familiar burning sensation bubbled in your core as jake took control again, being rougher with you than he was before. all you could do was moan uncontrollably about how good he felt being this deep inside you.

"feels good, yeah?" jake teased as you snaked your hands around his shoulders, leaving your nail marks on his skin, "you haven't managed to let go of me since i put my dick inside you." he chuckled as he let caressed all over your body. you pouted at his teasing, but that only prompted him to grab your face and kiss you before pounding into your pussy again.

you could barely warn jake before you inevitably came all over his hard cock. all you could do was let out pathetic moans and hold onto him as you reached your high which jake found oh-so cute.

"you did so good for me, princess," jake praised you as he gently rubbed your clit, his cock still buried deep inside you, "i won't last much longer either." he sighed breathily, flashing his pretty smile before giving you a few more strokes. soon enough, jake finished alongside you, his deep groans penetrating your ears as he let his seed leak into you.

the two of you sat catching your breaths for a bit before jake helped you get cleaned up. you ruffled his hair as he turned to hand you his suit jacket. jake draped his suit jacket across your shoulders, adoring the way you looked wearing his clothes before the two of you exited his office.

a co-worker of jake's stopped to say hello and commented on how lively he seemed today.

jake couldn't stop the cheeky grin from forming on his face.

"well, what can i say? i've got a really great assistant to keep me company."

--------------------------------------------------------

a/n: thankyouthankyouthankyou for reading <3 i've truly missed writing and you all so much ! i'll be back with another one soon my loves <3

main taglist: @axartia @jjhmk @jayroseyy @ayohahaha @asaheyow @bunhoons @red-xherry @duolingofanaccount @leeis @jaeyunologyy @green-orangeade @imbaeksbae @sunghoonmybeloved @leeheeheeseung (send an ask to be added + if you have asked to be on my permanent taglist and don't see your username, pls message me bc i removed blogs that were unable to be tagged!)

©yunjardi on tumblr

[livlaughloveluke]

DARK!LUKE CASTELLAN NSFW ALPHABET..

warning! this fic contains- a lot of nasty, dirty, dark nsfw headcannons, all varying, so read at your own risk. also a touch of angst and unrequited love? dark!dom!luke. afab/fem reader.

NOTE: this takes place after luke’s betrayal, and luke & reader don’t have an established relationship, it’s more of a sneaky link situation. reader is also definitely in love with luke. oki baii

personal note: i’m back!! kinda. just finishing drafts, so don’t expect me to post much more. sorry for making you guys wait a year 😭 i don’t even know if the luke fandom is still alive

A = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

even though his whole persona is this mean demigod who wouldn’t care about your feelings for more than a second, he’s not too shabby when it comes to aftercare. he likes to hold you until you fall asleep, and occasionally he’ll run a hot bath for you as a sort of apology for being so rough.

B = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

his favorite part of himself would have to be his muscles, specifically the ones on his arms. he loves how the veins pop out when he’s rutting into you relentlessly, grasping onto your hips to keep him stable. other than that, luke doesn’t look at himself often, partly because he doesn’t care and partly because it’s a reminder of what he’s been through, the choices he made. he’s more focused on you during sex, specifically the way your tits sway around, the perky nipple bouncing up and down. it’s hypnotizing, really. he can’t help but suck or grope on them from time to time, the tip hardening in his warm salvia.

C = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

surprisingly, he almost always pulls out and finishes somewhere else on your body. there’s just something so degrading about being drenched in cum that turns him on. it’s a nice reminder of who has control during sex.

D = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he’s had an embarrassing amount of wet dreams centered around you. hypnos must have blessed cursed him, because he can’t go a week without seeing you rutting against him in his dreams. if he wasn’t so ignorant, maybe he’d consider the possibility that he was in love with you, but he was never known for his bright ideas anyways.

E = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he’s well experienced. let’s say his body count is about 5, which is decent for his situation at camp. there’s very few girls of age, and even less straight ones. but i mean, he knows how to pull and charm girls into getting what he wants. he knows what he’s doing, how to make you squirm and beg.

F = favorite position (this goes without saying)

doggy, for sure. you’re his pillow princess, head always pushed down while mascara streams down your cheeks in black chunks. he’ll buy you the silk pillowcases, too, so it doesn’t mess up your hair. sometimes he’ll switch it up and go cowgirl, but don’t think that gives you control. he’s the one guiding your ass up and down on him, and he’s happy to manhandle you into a different position if you aren’t behaving.

G = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

not too serious, not too silly. he’ll crack a laugh every so often while you beg, or make a dumb comment about you getting desperate. although, he’s the only one who finds those funny.

H = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

not clean shaven to say the least. he’s got a decent amount of hair growing down there, but nothing unhygienic. he doesn’t mind it 🤷‍♀️

I = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

not big on intimacy. luke’s usually just down for a quick fuck and nothing more. although if he has time, he savors everything and it seems a little more romantic.

J = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he rarely jacks off, mainly because you’re always nearby and would get down on your knees with a snap of his fingers. sometimes he’ll make you masturbate in front of him to tease or see what you like, but that usually ends in him fucking you anyways.

K = kink (one or more of their kinks)

luke into a lot of shit. he loves to tease and deny your orgasms, to watch you beg for mercy as he pulls away completely. degrading words are also frequently thrown around in sex, although he never actually means any of the insults he spews out during the moment. bondage is iffy, but he likes to throw in some handcuffs here and there

L = location (favorite places to do the do)

his cali king bed on the yacht, your bed, the shower, basically anywhere he pleases. sometimes it’s in the privacy of his suite (although your moans can definitely be heard from outside), and sometimes it’s a quickie in the storage closet.

M = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

when you start training on the ship and sweat is beading on your forehead, your breaths shaky and muscles tense. he literally goes feral, like something primal in him snaps. don’t even get me started about when you lose a practice match and you get all bratty and snappy.

N = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

nothing really dirty like piss or vomit; it just grosses him out. as for other things, if you’re down to try something new, he is.

O = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he’s really big on oral, both receiving and giving. most of the time it’s you on your knees while he grips your hair and face fucks you, a mixture of precum and spit dribbling down your chin. he adores your beady eyes and how your eyelashes flutter as you take him down your throat. if he’s feeling nice, he’ll go down on you, messily licking and slurping your juices. and you bet he’s a fucking god at it, too.

P = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

luke’s definitely on the faster side, his thrusts quick and sharp. before he finishes though, he’ll switch it up to a slow and hard pace, every movement sloppier than the last.

Q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

oh he’s definitely down for a quick fuck. anytime, anyplace typa guy. you come up to him begging during training? he’ll fuck you in the equipment closet, metal banging around with every thrust. he has a meeting to attend to discuss his plans? he can multitask and make you suck him off in the shower.

R = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

absolutely. usually, he’ll pretend not to be interested as you slyly mention a new position or kink you want to try out. luke will brush it off, continuing on with his conversation like nothing happened. but when you get into bed later that night, he’ll initiate whatever idea you suggested earlier. just don’t mention it, or he won’t go so easy on you next time.

S = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

as long as he pleases, baby. it ranges, but it frequently consists of 3ish twelve minute rounds where he’s consistently fucking you. unless he decides to drag everything on and torture you, in which it’ll last a lot longer, although it’s mainly just teasing.

T = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he own a few vibrators for you and a pair of handcuffs in case you’re feeling bratty, but other than that he’s not really invested. if he can’t make you squirm with just his body, he’s doing something wrong.

U = unfair (how much they like to tease)

luke absolutely loves teasing you, for what feels like hours on end. it makes him grin when you beg, every plea from your lips going straight to his dick. especially in public, where he’ll run his hands up and down your thigh, drifting dangerously close to your core. he’ll whisper nasty things into your ear, knowing you won’t get to hook up until hours later. but could you blame him when you looked so sexy in that dress?

V = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he’s a grunter, loud and proud. although he definitely prefers your pretty sounds, he just can’t help letting out some noises of his own. contrary to popular belief, he rarely moans, unless he’s caught up in the moment and a few whines happen to slip.

W = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

when he’s feeling reallyyyy kinky, and if the moments right, he’ll pull out a knife during sex. he wouldn’t actually hurt you, at least nothing too serious, but he definitely teases it. luke will carefully drag the blade across your glossy skin, testing the limits as much as possible and watching your tense expression as he presses down every so often. you know he wouldn’t hurt you, but the look in his crazed eyes as he holds the dull side to your throat while pounding your insides tells you otherwise.

another completely different wildcard is that occasionally, he’ll stay up real late after sex, just staring at you and thinking. there’s something about your messy hair and puffy cheeks that captures his gaze for hours upon hours some nights. he knows you love him, he knows you wouldn’t put up with his bullshit if you didn’t care at least a little. and yet he still can’t find it in his heart to care for you. well, he can’t admit that he cares. he can’t admit that he makes sure you eat every day, he can’t admit that he leaves advil on his nightstand for when you sneak out in the early morning, and he sure as hell can’t admit that he knows all of your favorites inside and out. so instead, he’ll stay up all night and coddle you while pretending you’re just another warm body.

X = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

i mean…. he’s definitely packing. nothing insane, but a good 6-8in? he’s got a large build, so i wouldn’t be surprised.

Y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

holy shit, it’s pretty high!! i usually try to avoid unrealistic headcannons given to every character, but damnnnn this boy can go all night. he doesn’t usually, since he mostly uses all his energy for training, but even then, it’s still high.

Z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

if he’s not spending the night thinking of you (and questioning literally everything about himself) like i mentioned before, he’s out like a light. luke’s a busy guy and he gets sleepy, what can i say? he probably snores too, idk he just gives off that vibe.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Guide Me Home

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: While walking downtown, you inhale fear toxin. It's up to the Bats to find you before your heart gives out.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Scarecrow attack, (kind of) graphic hallucinations (only a small allude to blood though)

Fun fact: As I wrote this, 'quiet' started to not look like a word anymore.

You rub at your eye, muttering below your breath. Wind has been whipping through the Gotham streets all day, drying out your contacts to the point of discomfort.

The next time you blink, one flips up. Cursing, you cup a hand over the affected eye and blink until the stupid contact rights itself. Digging around your purse, you find your suspicions to be true: after the last time you needed to use your emergency backup contacts, you forgot to replace them. The small bottle of contact solution is missing, lost to the abyss of the purse or somewhere else. All you know is that it’s not here.

The only alternative is your glasses, and those are always a last resort. With an outdated prescription, uncomfortably heavy bridge, and scratched lenses, they’re far from ideal.

It’s fine. You’ll splash some water on your face when you get to the cafe and blink a lot. They’re fine.

Your friend is already sitting by the time you get there, but hasn’t ordered their drink yet. You haven’t seen them for several months, though you used to see each other every day during undergrad. They’re only here for a work conference. They live in Metropolis now, and are wearing an ‘I SURVIVED MY VISIT TO METROPOLIS’ shirt to show it. A couple Gothamites around them are actively laughing into their hands at the sight of it. After all, compared to this city, really nothing is worse.

After the usual greeting, hug, and exclamations over how long it’s been, you say, “Sorry, but my contact’s actually killing me right now. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll watch your stuff,” they say cheerfully.

The bathroom’s about as good as someone could hope for in Gotham. The remains of scrubbed-away graffiti lingers on the wall around the mirror, and a paper towel with a suspicious red stain hangs over the edge of the trash can. Not quite the vibe this place is going for, judging by the painted ivy around the walls and the hanging plants, but oh well.

You blink, squeeze your eyes shut, rub them, and open them again. Much better.

There’s a drink in front of your friend by the time you make it back to the table they found, pushed in the back corner where things are a little quieter. “They have seasonal syrups,” they say, sipping the drink. “Though a lot of them are named after supervillains.”

You scoff and shrug off your coat. “Please. Clayface is hardly a supervillain. He’s just a washed-up actor.”

“That must be nice,” your friend says wistfully. “Did I tell you I had to replace my car last month?”

“No!”

“Yeah! Some alien dictator had beef with Superman. A lot of cars were thrown in that fight.”

“Ugh,” you say wistfully. “We had some good memories in that car.” They’d had it since undergrad.

“Gone but never forgotten,” they say, holding their cup up for cheers, and you both remember that you haven’t ordered anything yet.

Even though you’re on a bit of a caffeine ban—boyfriend’s orders—you order a coffee. One a day won’t hurt you, not when you were averaging at least four during the recent busy season. The pathology lab you work at always has a huge rush of biopsies ordered between Thanksgiving and New Year’s. Now that it’s a little into January, you’re not scrambling quite so much.

With your drink in hand, you head back to the table to keep catching up. Your friend started a new job with a much better boss than their old one. They’re thinking about proposing to their partner of five years. Their dog got into their family’s big holiday meal and they had to order last-minute Chinese takeout instead. And they can’t decide whether to cut their hair or keep growing it out.

Then it’s your turn. You’re four years into your job at the lab, kind of feeling like you want a change, but the generous Christmas bonus is making you think twice. Your apartment is okay but not nice. Your cat is healthy and happy and extremely spoiled. Your family lives across the country, all with separate plans, so you stayed in Gotham for the (surprisingly uneventful) winter.

“What did you do for the holidays, then?” your friend asks, their drink long since finished. Judging by their eyes drifting back to the counter as you speak, they want another.

“My boyfriend’s family celebrates Hanukkah and Christmas,” you say. “Nothing too fancy, of course, none of us are terribly religious. But it was nice to see each other on a regular basis for a week straight.” Jason would disagree, but only out of principle. “We’re all busy people.”

“And your boyfriend? Jason, right? How is he? What does he do for work, again?”

Here comes the hard part. No matter what happens in your personal life, you can’t talk to anyone about it unless they’re in the know. Keeping Gotham safe requires a fairly large system; you and several other scientists or similar professionals are able to contact the Bats through Leslie Thompkins, Lucius Fox, and Commissioner Gordon, but of that number, only a fraction know their identities.

Working overtime at the lab as a new hire, you were the only one Leslie could reach at midnight when Black Bat came in contact with a mysterious substance through an open wound. From midnight to eight a.m., you collected blood and skin samples with hands that shook under the scrutiny of Batman’s white-lensed gaze. Your treatment was a gamble but a success, and after that, the Bats started to come to you more and more. So many of their rogues use biowarfare, after all. Still, it took over a year for Black Bat and Spoiler to take off their masks around you. At that point, you’d only seen Red Hood once, when he brought Robin in and ordered you to never tell Batman that he’d done so. Months after that, he took off his helmet around you, but only because of a nasty cut on his neck, and the domino mask beneath it stayed on. You’d known each other for a year and a half before he spoke more than five curt words to you at a time. Analyzing a new street drug was the first time you two ever worked together, and it was fun. After that, he just kept coming back.

It took so long to gain their trust, and you won’t risk it. But there are so many secrets. How can you explain to anyone else that not only is your boyfriend related to Bruce Wayne—yes, the Bruce Wayne of Gotham, billionaire, CEO, activist, and philanthropist—but he is, in fact, the man’s very publicly dead son?

So you can tell people about your boyfriend named Jason. You can’t introduce him to anyone from outside Gotham; the jagged scar on his cheek and glowing green eyes tend to raise more questions than answers. You can mention that he has a large family. You can’t tell them who his family is. You can tell them that Jason works flexible hours, usually at night, so the two of you see each other often despite your busy schedules. You can’t tell them what Jason actually does for work.

“He runs a not-for-profit community service organization,” you lie, the words familiar and tasteless from how often you’ve had to say them. And he sort of does, but with a lot more violence and criminal cavorting than most other not-for-profits. “He’s really passionate about helping Gotham’s kids that come from low-income households.” The foster system reform laws passed last year were lobbied by Wayne Enterprises, but it was the Red Hood showing up in politician’s houses in the dead of night that really sped up the process.

“I talked to Avery the other day,” your friend says. “They’re convinced you’re making him up.”

You sigh. Avery is another friend from college. You two were in the same friend group for years, but were never particularly close outside of it. “We don’t like to take pictures together, okay?”

Your friend eyes you with a faint air of dissatisfaction. “Well, if you say so. I was actually hoping to meet him while I’m here.”

You try not to let it show how your heart leaps into your throat at the thought. Around the lump, you say, “I’m sure he’d love to, but he’ll be stuck all day at the office.” Lie. He’s at home right now, baking muffins and wearing an apron with the words ‘Kiss the Cook.’ Damian and Tim scribbled over the two ‘S’s with Sharpie to make it ‘KiLL the Cook,’ but the sentiment is still there.

“Right,” they say slowly.

The meetup doesn’t last long after that. At the end of it, you hug and promise to meet up more often, even though it’s unlikely. With a wave, they head off for their conference, and you’re almost out the door when you blink wrong and—

Half the world goes blurry.

You feel the contact fall down your cheek and onto the ground.

“Goddamnit,” you hiss under your breath.

Glasses it is.

You’ve been wearing contacts for so long that you can take out the other one without breaking stride. The wind hasn’t let up in the slightest, and it makes your nose run.

Sniffling slightly, shoulders hunched against the chill, you don’t see the pumpkin until it’s too late.

They’re after you.

It’s not safe, not for you, not for anyone, they want you, they’re grabbing you, hands on your shoulder, people screaming—screaming at you—for you to stop—no—for—for something to stop?

Something is wrong. Dimly, in the back of your mind, you know something is wrong, but your hands are shaking and your bag is ripping, someone is clawing at you, screaming, desperate, they want you to fall back so they’re safe (from what?) and someone else shoves you and you go spinning out, bag in one direction and you in the other and—

They’re changing, the person clawing at you, turning into a monster, and you scream.

They’re after you

(who is after you)

They want to hurt you

(why)

(what is going on)

And you can’t see, something is wrong, you hear glass crunch and then the whole world goes out of focus.

You can’t see.

They’ll get you if you can’t see, and now you can see them, the dark shapes rising from the shadows, claws out and maws gaping, hungry, hungry, hungry for you and your marrow and your heart and they’re going to get you—

You run.

You trip over something (or someone; something like a bone crunches) and your heel slides and your hands catch you but not really, chin clipping the ground so hard your teeth click, and your hands burn, and your chin aches, but they’re still behind you, behind and getting closer—

You run.

You run and they get closer and you see the corner of something dark and blurry, and maybe it’s another monster or maybe it’s a building, and you skid to a stop and throw yourself behind it.

It’s not a monster. It smells awful—a dumpster—and the ground is wet, you hope from rain, but maybe it’s blood

(you’re sitting in a pool of it)

(you’ll be covered)

(the monsters will smell the blood and come running and they’ll hear you shuffling, they’ll hear you panting, they’ll hear your heart pounding, pounding, pounding—)

You scramble to the farthest corner between the brick building’s corner and the dumpster—maybe their clawed arms will be too short to reach you—and hide your face in your hands—you need to stop breathing so loudly—you need to be quiet, quiet, quiet—

People continue to scream. The city, the city Jason and his family try so hard to protect, everyone is dying and you’re going to die and maybe they’ll die, too, or maybe they’ll survive, and maybe they’ll find your dead body and that would ruin Jason, or maybe they won’t and you’ll rot behind the dumpster, smelling just as bad as the trash inside it—

Quiet quiet quiet.

You can’t stop shaking, your teeth won’t stop rattling, and you have to be quiet quiet quiet.

But your heart keeps pounding, faster and faster. It hasn’t slowed down since the monsters came, it’s only getting louder and faster.

Dimly you think you might be having a heart attack.

Everything gets a thousand times worse when one of the monsters shouts your name.

How do they know your name?

Footsteps on the pavement and people have stopped screaming.

Dead, you think. And you’ll be next if you’re not quiet quiet quiet.

The monster shouts your name again. It’s louder—they’re closer. You curl into a tighter ball. They can’t find you.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Your chest hurts; your heart wants to jump out of it.

Jason, you think wildly. Jason will save you. If Jason finds you, he’ll keep you safe. Your hands fish at your side, but find empty air: your purse is gone. There’s no way to reach him, and he can’t even track your location through your phone.

The monster shouts your name again. It has a deep voice.

Another voice joins it, deeper, pitched lower. You can’t quite make out the words.

“They’re around here,” the first monster insists. “B, we don’t have long, this strain is strong—”

“They’re strong,” says the second monster. “Their heart can handle it.”

Something thumps and a third monster says, “Everyone else is clear. Signal had to take two people to the hospital, but they’ll be fine, don’t look so upset, B.”

“You have the antitoxin?” the first monster demands.

“Relax, Hood,” drawls the third monster. “‘Course I do. So you tracked them here?”

“Yeah, I just—” Again it shouts your name. It sounds almost upset. “Please, it’s me, I can help you. Come on. You’re safe. You inhaled fear toxin, I know you’re terrified, but it’s me. You know me.”

It’s trying to lure you in. You won’t fall for it.

You squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath. Let them move on. Let them search somewhere—

“There you are.”

A hulking figure is blocking the light.

The monsters found you.

“Stop it!” you yell, trying to sound brave. “Leave me alone or—or you’ll regret it!”

“Please,” it wheedles, “I’m just trying to help you. Don’t you recognize me?” It reaches out with clawed hands and you kick frantically, but there’s nowhere else for you to go.

“Hey, aren’t these their glasses?” asks the third monster. “What happened to their contacts?”

“Don’t come any closer! The Red Hood will get you, I know him, if you hurt me he’ll kill you! Stop it!”

“I’m really sorry about this, honey,” the monster says, and its clawed hand latches around your ankle and you howl. The sharp points dig deep through skin into muscle and sinew, and it hurts and you’re going to die—

“Jason!” you shriek. “Jason, help me!”

“I’m right here,” the monster lies. “Please, I’m right here, look at me—”

You won’t. You won’t do it. You can’t watch while it kills you. “Jason, please!” you bawl again, but it’s too late. The monsters have you, you’re surrounded, he’ll never forgive himself but what could he even do against them—

Sharp teeth dig into your neck.

You’re dead.

“There we go, darling,” the monster says. Strong arms wrap around you—it wants to crush you to death—and you struggle, but there’s no use.

Except—

You can hear now, kind of, the rush of blood in your ears is receding a bit, and something heavy lands on your nose. This time, when you blink your eyes open, the world’s edges have sharpened. And the monster in front of you—

Well, you recognize the dark hair with a shock of white, and the brilliantly green eyes would be visible if not for the white-lensed domino mask, and the jagged scar on his cheek.

“Jay?” you murmur, hand coming up to touch it. He doesn’t flinch away. It took so long for him to stop flinching when you touch his face. Over his shoulder, you see Batman and Spoiler watching with satisfaction and slight worry. “What happened?”

“Scarecrow,” he says grimly. “He gassed the street, but only about twenty people were affected. I was patrolling nearby, and when I saw your purse on the ground—” He grimaces, then fixes you with a hard look. His two hands can span most of your head, and he takes it to press a firm kiss to your forehead. When he pulls back slightly, without looking away, “I want their heart checked.”

“The antitoxin—” Batman starts.

“I don’t care,” Jason snarls.

Your hands loosely hold his forearms, still shaking a little. “How’d you find me?”

“I tracked you,” he says softly.

“But my phone—”

“Honey,” he says gently, “of course that’s not the only one.”

Well. You should have guessed that, honestly.

“I’ll go check on the victims,” Batman says suddenly. “Come on, Spoiler.”

“Glad to see you’re okay,” Spoiler says to you, then dashes after Batman. In a whirl of capes, they’re gone.

“I’m so sorry,” Jason says in a rush.

“Jay—”

“I should have protected you,” he grits out, white lenses turning to slits as he squeezes his eyes shut. “This should never have happened—”

“You couldn’t have known,” you say softly, letting go of his arms and wiggling beneath them to wrap yours around his torso. Your nose wedges against his chest kind of uncomfortably, but now you can smell him, the familiar gunpowder and a little bit of sour sweat, and the faint tremble in his bones that mirrors the one in your hands. He clutches you close, head buried in the crook of your neck.

He croaks, “I’m so sorry, so sorry, so—”

“You saved me,” you mumble into his armor. “I knew you would.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“Jay.” You pull back to look at him seriously. “Even when I couldn’t think straight, I knew you would come. I’ll always know that, no matter what toxin’s messing with my head.”

Judging by the twist of his mouth, he doesn’t quite believe that. He’ll beat himself up internally for days, you know.

But you also know that while Bruce runs his tests in the Cave to make sure there’s no more toxin in your system, he’ll hold your hand the whole time. You know he’ll hold you tight in the bed you share tonight. You know, as long as Jason lives and breathes, he’ll always protect you.

“I love you,” he says thickly. “So much.”

“I love you too.”

“Let’s get you checked out.” He helps you up and holds you close and you know that you’ll be okay.

Jason’s here, so you’ll be okay.

DC Taglist

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts @cliosunshine @fictionalwhor3 @bellathecatastrophe

Let me know if there's anything you want to see from me. Inspiration strikes at odd intervals, and I get lonely.

[starboye]

Kinktober Day 5

starring: stiles stilinski x ftm!male reader

request: Stiles Stilinski rough fucking ftm!male reader and talking about how much he want you to get pregnant

warnings: smut, breeding, mention of male pregnancy, cursing, pussy eating, ftm!reader, slight overstimulation

he couldn't just go one day without touching your fine body, the moment you came over to his house after not talking to him all day because of your studies he was kissing all over your face and picking you up to take you to his bed.

not hiding his intentions of what he wanted to do to you right now "stiles no I just got off school im tired" you slowly push him off but he doesn't budge and goes right back to kissing you "don't worry you won't have to do anything I'll take care of it all for you baby" stiles reassured trailing his kisses down your abdomen to your crotch.

he deeply sniffed the growing wet spot in between your legs making you subconsciously close them but stiles prys them open "just a taste y/n" he pulled your pants down and off along with your underwear, admiring your beautiful pussy that's dripping with glory, diving into eating you out, his tongue thrusting in and out of you with hunger.

your hands instinctively finding his head to inter lock your fingers with his curls, he lifts your legs over his shoulder to trap his head between your legs (somewhere he wanted to always be) so he could continue outing out this sweet sweet cunt "oh fuck stiles ngh I'm gonna..." you tightened your grip on his hair as you back arched and sprayed your delicious arousal over his face.

"so fucking good, I could eat this all day" stiles chuckles sitting up on his knees and pulling you into his now naked crotch, his cock layed perfectly over your pussy, he begins slowly rubbing up your back and over your body, silently trying to convince you to go further "if we do it are you gonna stop pestering me" you chuckle and you see his eyes light up.

"yes yes yes" he furiously nods his head leaning down to kiss you, his kisses leading down your neck all the way back down to your pussy, your slickness acting as lube for him to easily slip in, him throwing his head back to the tightness of you, listening to your cute moan at the feeling of his cock all the way in and in a matter of no time stiles starts fucking you with no stop.

the sounds of skin on skin slapping and moans filling the room instantly, stiles fingers digging into your plush thighs as he lets out husky grunts though his thrusts, it felt so good to be in you he could fuck you from day to night and trust with how high his sex drive is and how horny he is he could definitely do it.

he was thinking of all the things he would do to you if he could get the chance "y/n" he asked through raspy breaths "yeah" you whimpered gripping the sheets tightly as stiles slammed his cock into your gummy walls over and over "I wanna get you pregnant" stiles says in a moment of vulnerability "you know guys can't get pregnant right stiles" you snicker but those are quickly shot back into moans "but what could be the harm in trying right" stiles flashes a smile through his thrusts "id like to see that" you say but quickly regret as stiles immediately starts going harder.

gripping your thighs tighter and tighter as he felt himself pump his first load into your sopping cunt, it felt so euphoric as he didn't stop and kept going, you tightening around him wanting more of his warm cum in you "fuck yes stiles right there" you whine feeling him hit just the right spot in you again and again with his cock, he loved the sounds of your moans, they were like fuel to keep him going and hopefully get you preggo.

"get pregnant, get pregnant, get pregnant" he muttered over and over hoping it would come to fruition, he wanted to live the rest of his life with you (and hopefully get to fuck that beautiful pussy everyday) with kids and you loved he thought like that but realistically that can't happen but that still wasn't going to stop him from emptying load after load into you hoping a baby would form and while lost in thought he didn't realize him dumping another load into you.

after hours of fucking your legs were shaking and you were breathless while stiles still kept going and going "stiles please stop" you plead feeling every part of your body weak "just one more baby and I'm done i promise" he said feeling his fifth or sixth load coming up and soon pumping into you before pulling out of your ruined hole, it overflowing with all of his cum, his cock twitching watching you weakly try to keep it in but fail and it drips all over the bed, hopefully that was enough baby batter.

taglist:@mailmango@spermeboy@ghostking4m@gayaristocrat@addictedtomalepits@staarb0y@crispysoup318@its-ares@gargoylesworld09@kadenvatsune@fuckshft @wompwomp-1mh3re

[salaimoi]

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: GUYS THIS IS NOT A DRILL!! I finally wrote a fic that isn’t about GOJO?! whaaaaaaat is the world as we know it coming to an end? D:

Past lover Sukuna who originally took no interest in you being his wife, but eventually, your abiding love taught him to do so. But, it was far too late when you established that he was indeed capable of loving someone other than himself. Your demise caused him to lose the individual he held dearest in this world – replacing the affectionate sentiment that had been coursing through his heart with resentment.

Past lover Sukuna who had anticipated your fated return once more since the Heian Era, only for your rebirth to never arrive, even though millennia went by. The benevolent soul he eagerly waited for became ensnared in the depths of the underworld, unable to reincarnate into the mortal world.

Even then, he was more than certain that you weren’t at eternal rest because of the longing, the nostalgia, and the need to be together again that he felt. 

He knew your anima was among the 7 realms somewhere; all he had to do was wait for your return. Heaven could wait as long as it meant laying eyes on that precious face of yours once more.

Past lover Sukuna who noticed the spitting image of his deceased wife walking down the street that fateful day. He couldn’t pass up this opportunity to have you once more in this lifetime as well – even if it was borderline selfish. 

To bring back those good old times; to bring back what was his. 

To hold you. To own you. To conquer you. To possess you. To control your soul. To do whatever he wanted to with you. 

To be with you once again, reverting to a time when he could feel affection – the way he liked best.

Past lover Sukuna who gripped your arm vigorously out of the blue among the crowd, because Sukuna never knew boundaries – not when it came to his beloved. 

“You look familiar,” he said, “not only the uncanny face shape and the exact same expression… but also your scent.” His gaze unrelenting as he scanned every aspect of your being as if you were his property, to make sure it was you – and he was correct. 

You were the same woman Sukuna fell in love with 1000 years ago. Alas, his delicate swan had returned to him after eons of suffering, like he knew you would.

Past lover Sukuna who noticed you squirming under his grip and scolded you, sharp nails digging at your flesh. 

“You shouldn’t be acting like this; it isn’t decent behavior for the reincarnation of my cherished wife to act in such a manner.” 

But you didn't remember a life before this one, nor did you recall his name or even the fact that you were once his most prized possession. 

Past lover Sukuna who waited over a thousand years just for his beloved to reincarnate into a mortal. He knew he wasn’t capable of loving anybody nearly as much as he loved her. And now...now she's back.

When you left this world, you took all – if any – of the sense of compassion he had. No one in the history of sorcerers and curses alike could come close to comprehending the misery he endured with each passing day.

Time and time again, reliving his wife’s death in his subconscious. Powerless to intervene as he witnessed the life drain out of her and transfer onto his fingertips.

“I missed you all those years, and I can't have the same fate happening again. I'm not going to let you die the way you did in your past life, got it?" Never forgetting to conceal the anguish in his words, as to not let himself be too vulnerable.

Past lover Sukuna who was hellbent on evoking in you the sentiment of what it was like to be his spouse. Even if it meant having to recreate every single romantic scenario he ever experienced with you a second time.

“I finally have you with me again. All I need to do is make you remember the feelings you had for me in your previous life, and then you'll have your past self fully restored.”

To you, it would entail falling in love with him all over again; to him, it would be a refresher on what you once shared. A win-win scenario.

Past lover Sukuna who began to notice the essence of that past life slowly merging with your current self, fusing the two identities into one. The love she felt a thousand years ago was slowly reawakening. All while Sukuna stood there in awe of the magnificent sight he was witnessing; the sight of his beloved being reborn again. The reunion of two souls was happening before his eyes, and it was almost emotional to see.

Past lover Sukuna whose heart felt heavy from the weight of joy and relief that he felt. He finally reunited with his once-lost lover. The essence of her former life was fully restored once more as she was standing right next to him. It seemed unreal to see her with his own eyes – his beloved was back, at long last. The eternal years of hardship for the sake of his plan were finally worth it.

Current lover Sukuna whose fingers ran through the locks sprawled over his lap – calming the both of you to no bounds when his fingernails rake through your scalp. His free hand holding onto your wrist tightly, because he had to be sure no one would snatch you from his grasp a second time.

“I missed you so damn much…more than you could ever possibly imagine.”

Current lover Sukuna who finally admitted to his feelings for the first time in millennium, because he missed you more than anything in this infernal world.

Current lover Sukuna who admired you with a soft expression, shocked at how angelic you were even after a thousand years.

“You still look as gorgeous as you did a lifetime ago.” words dripping with genuine adoration as he gazed down at his wife.

Current lover Sukuna who wondered how that was possible in the first place. Surely, granting him access to a companion of your caliber – with such a pure heart and soul – was a mistake of some kind?

Current lover Sukuna who thought, “All is right in this world again.” to himself. Because it was. You were by his side once more – right where you belonged.

[nanivinsmoke]

✩ Love After War

♪ please forgive me, baby…..don't you love it when we fight?♪

✩ logan 'wolverine’ howlett x mutant!fem reader

✩ tags: a little angst, cursing, mentions of blood, makeup sex, degrading, rough sex, overstimulation, creampie, squirting, clawing kink (don’t judge me), mentions of breeding, face sitting, sadism, etc….

✩ note: had deadpool 3 wolverine in mind when making this, i love older men. listen to the song for added vibes

you slammed your glass down on the bar top, cracking it, causing your friends and him to look over at you. you could feel his deep brown eyes scan your face, and you quickly met them; eyes holding nothing but anger.

“uh oh, looks like someone’s on their period! anyone have a tampon?” wade joked, hoping to ease some tension, but you weren’t in the mood for him, not now.

“shut the fuck up wade!” there was silence but everyone’s face said it all. it was unlike you to curse and yell at wade, usually you would joke with him or egg him on; but tonight was different. you were pissed. pissed at logan.

you turned to look at the male, whom downed his shot of whiskey like it was water.

“how can you sit here, celebrating like you didn’t just try to sacrifice yourself and leave me behind?” your voice cracked at the end, making his hazel eyes widened. it had dawned on him that he had hurt you, he was going to sacrifice himself to save this universe; which would ultimately leavethe only person who cared about him all alone to reap in their sorrows.

he said nothing and got up from his bar stool, digging into his suit and throwing out a wad of cash on the mahogany counter top; before reaching over to grab your hand—leading you out of the bar.

“taking you home.” he muttered, pushing the bar’s wooden door open which slammed behind the both of you. wade was the first one to turn and speak, “oh those two are about to fuck hard!”

using his claws to unlock a random car, the two of you hopped in; with him in the driver seat and you in the passenger—silence simmering between the two of you. there was nothing more for you to say, you said everything, now the cards were on his lap.

on the way up to your apartment, you gave him the cold shoulder—your back towards him and he to notice to it. he couldn’t help his honey colored eyes from dropping down to your plump ass; loving the way the leather clung to your body. he watched your ass sway and switch with each stride you took as the two of you entered your apartment.

you kicked off your shoes and turned to look at him, still pissed off. how could he not say anything? didn’t he love you?

“so you’re just going to stand there? and—“ you were cut off as the mutant pressed his lips against your’s; the scruffiness of his mustache scratching your top lip while his musky scent flooded your nose, making you melt into the kiss. he held the back of your head, holding you while your body started to get weak—his tongue dominating yours once he slipped it in. the taste of the whiskey he downed minutes ago, warmed up your mouth.

and when he pulled away, you were breathless, “im sorry, I wasn’t considering how you felt in that moment—“ you held a finger up to his lip, silencing him. you were angry, that was a fact, but the way he just kissed you; had you feeling another emotion—one that surpassed the anger.

“you’re about to make it up to me, right now.” you slowly stripped in front of him, your eyes glued to his as you stepped out of your suit—tossing it somewhere across the room—before you reached behind you to undo your bra.

he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to put his hands all over you, have you say his name over and over again; he had to fuck you. logan sauntered over to you and pulled you into another kiss, this one more rougher than the last. in an instant he had you hoisted up into the air, your legs wrapped around his waist as he led you over to your black plush couch—siting down while you straddled him.

his huge calloused hands trailed all over you body, running up and down your smooth back; before finally resting on your ass. you could feel hard he was underneath his suit and that’s when you realized he was still clothed. you were beyond impatient and he knew it, he could smell how bad you wanted him; so he was going to give you exactly what you needed.

he held onto you as he laid down on your couch, pulling you by your hips, onto his face—he used his teeth to tear your panties aside; giving him full access to your needy cunt. you let out moan as he lapped up your juices, savoring your delectable flavor like he was a dog who had just gotten some water.

his mustache tickled your clit in the right way, mraking you slowly grind your hips against his face while you hands clutched your tender breasts. his tongue worked in overdrive, swirling your swollen bud against it; before he began to suck on it. your hands dropped from your breasts and onto his soft brown locks; gripping it tightly while your rode his face.

“fuck….gonna—shit—logan!” you exclaimed, orgasm hitting you hard while he continued to eat you out. your body was hot and your legs tightened around his head, before loosening as he pulled you off of his face. he gripped your neck and smashed his lips onto yours, your tongue immediately falling into his mouth—your juices sweet on your tongue.

using your powers you ripped off his yellow and blue hero suit, unable to take it any longer. you needed him inside you now.

“please lo….fuck me hard~” you begged, hand immediately griping his fat leaky tip—causing the older male to suck in some air. he was quick, pulling you onto his lap and pushing his leaky head to your sodden entrance; stretching you out to fit his cock and his cock only.

you grip his shoulders, bracing yourself as pushed himself all the way inside of you. “logan…!” you whined, eyes fluttering shut once he filled you up; slowly rocking his hips to get you used to his size. he gritted his teeth and kept one hand on the top of your ass; keeping you in place.

“you can take it, right doll?” his words made your cunt flutter and you nodded your head, moving your hips to match his rhythm—which made his dick rub against your spot. he was so big and the more you moved, the more you were getting addicted to him. his scent, the way he would grunt from time to time and how perfect he fit inside you—everything about this man drove you insane. no wonder you fell in love with him.

you were coming undone by the second and it was driving logan feral. he watched as your movements became faster, your noises becoming louder and you throwing your head back—it fueled him, he needed to break you. logan pushed your back down, making your torso meet his chest—closing the space between the two of you—before he proceeded to slide down and bringing his hips upwards, to pound you.

your eyes shot open from the impact and as you opened your mouth to speak, only whines came out. this is exactly what you wanted—no this is what you needed. you couldn’t help, but to bring your head up and kiss him. after all, he was fucking you so good.

“that’s it….take it like the slut that you are~” he praised once you pulled away, his hips still pistoning ferociously in and out of your cunt. everything about this was nasty, the sounds you and your bodies were making and how he was fucking you—had you cumming for the second time tonight.

“that’s my girl. cum all over it,” his voice deep in your ear while your orgasm shot through you. you felt like you were reaching nirvana and you were loving it.

logan slowed down his stroke, giving you a moment to calm down, however it gave you the opportunity to take control. you sat up and gripped his hair in a tight fist, catching him by surprise before you repeatedly moved your lower half up and down on his hard cock. due to the pain he received, his claws unsheathed, and it made you even wetter as an idea popped up into your nasty little head.

“fuck!” he growled, watching as you moved like a bunny, taking every single inch he had. “put them inside of me, lo~” you moaned, tugging on his hair and keeping eye contact with him.

he rose an eyebrow and chuckled, “not gonna happen, bub.” you whined and pulled on his hair some more, slowing down your movements as well.

“please…you know i deserve it—shit, im a big girl. i can take it” he stared at you with low lidded eyes, loving how sexy you looked on top of him. the way your body glistened with sweat and illuminated from the moonlight that shone through your apartment’s window; helped him realize something. he was a fool for trying to sacrifice himself and leave you all alone.

“alright, princess. you can take it, right?.” he didn’t hesitate to stick his claws into yours sides, causing you to gasp and pull his hair some more. it felt like you were being pierced with fire and you could feel the blood trickle out of you. but, you weren’t worried not bit. you were a mutant after all, your regeneration factor kicked in seconds after.

you looked down at him and smiled, a euphoric feeling taking over your body—you were going to cum once more; draining him in the process. he couldn’t help but chuckle, “crazy bitch.”

he kept his claws in place while you grinding your hips in steady pace, making him rub against that soft spongy spot. you were cumming, the stimulation from his cock and his claws were going to make you cum—hard.

“cumming! cumming so hard for you~” you whined, ass clapping against his pelvis while you started to bounce. logan grunted and pushed his hips upwards, halting your movements as you came—a clear stream of liquid shot out of you; shocking him.

“did you just squirt, princess?” his voice was panty wetting deep when he spoke and you let out a moan in response. he stuck his claws in deeper and began to pound you you, catching you off guard and making you scream. he closed his beautiful eyes and let out a primal growl, emptying his load into you with a few more pumps. the two of you stayed like that, his cock twitching while he panted your walls milky white.

he opened his eyes and pressed his lips against yours, your lips intwining with one another, before he parted.

“god I love it when we fight. im never leaving you, i promise doll.”

[redflowersociety]

Reacting to you getting hit on - Mouthwashing HC

Includes all characters. Pretense of you being their partner (excluding Swansea, though he is included).

Jimmy

He is beyond pissed off. Both at the person hitting on you for coming anywhere near what’s supposed to be his, and at you (as if it’s your fault for being perceived). He curses the person out, making it clear to them and everybody around that you’re HIS partner. He makes a show of it in front of this stranger to repair his ego after the event. He’s the type of guy to drag you away, and forcefully make out with you within eyeshot of the person. He made a point to push all the right buttons to get you melting into his touch and meeting all his demands. He knows how to get you subservient, and that fact reassures him of his control.

After this, though? Expect him to be extra insecure for the following days. He’s completely convinced that you’d try to wriggle out of his grasp given the chance, and he just couldn’t let that happen. So he doesn’t let you go out the house without him, and when you both *are* out, he’s always got a hand on you, never allowing you out of his grasp. He needs both you, and everyone around to know that you already belong to somebody: him.

Curly

Curly trusts you. For him to settle with you, he must have a connection strong enough to reassure him that he won’t be used for his kindness, so of course he trusts you. He watches as you gently turn down the stranger, standing by but never once moving his gaze off of you two (mostly you). If he notices the stranger doesn’t take the first no, he steps in. He doesn’t mean to make you feel like a damsel in distress in need of saving, but he can’t bring himself to stand by and watch you get harassed. He promised to himself he wouldn’t stand by instead of protecting those he cares for, so he won’t.

Overall, it doesn’t stick with him in a negative way. Instead, your handling of the situation reassures him that he’s your only interest.

Post Crash

Although he has the same mentality as pre-crash Curly, there is an extra piece: He is horribly insecure of his appearance, and all that it represents. He shared to you the events that transpired on the Tulpar as a way of holding himself accountable. Every moment that passes, the guilt and hatred of his body plants seeds of doubt into his mind: Anybody is more attractive and could provide for you better than him. His past with Jimmy doesn’t help these feeling either.

So, it’s safe to say that the situation sticks with him. It makes it harder for him to accept reassurance. It takes a long time, and a LOT of reassurance for him to move on from it.

Daisuke

Daisuke is completely trusting of your love for him, but not of his own abilities or accomplishments. So, when he sees a guy with expensive jewelry or a well-kept appearance trying to get your number, it stings his heart. It’s not jealousy, as he knows that he’s the only one you want: it’s shame. He feels shameful that he can’t the perfect guy for somebody so perfect (you).

It’s not hard to notice that he’s feeling down when you hurry towards him after the interaction. You pull him somewhere a bit more private and cup his squishy cheeks, asking him what’s got him so upset. He hesitates for a moment, but soon leaves his emotions in your hands with the tears in his eyes that he just can’t manage to keep back.

He’d spill his guts to you about his worries, how he feels inadequate. You would have expected this, seeing how hard he tries to impress Swansea for approval. With a whole heap of kisses all over his face and neck, and soft spoken reassurance and words of encouragement, he’ll be back on his feet in no time.

Anya

Anya struggles to accept that others may see her for more than her body. So when she sees a woman with a more conventionally attractive body or face than her own hitting on you… she can’t help but feel a twinge of fear. Watching you reject the stranger kindly, however, reassured her again: she knew you weren’t that kind of person. You were never that shallow.

If a man happens to approach you, and won’t leave you alone, Anya pretends to be your sister or something similar to try to drive the man away. Safety in numbers, as they say. She’ll pull you away, and when times get desperate, it’ll be the first time you found out Anya never leaves her home without pepper spray!

Generally speaking, seeing you hit on doesn’t make her jealous or anything! She just wants you happy, letting your actions do the job at reminding her why she decided to give her heart to you.

Swansea

Who you share time with isn’t Swansea’s concern, he’s not your dad (or at least that’s what he tells himself)! But, if he did catch a glimpse of somebody making you uncomfortable…? Yeah, he’s stepping in and intimidating the shit out of the other person. Like hell he’d let some creep treat you that way when there’s something he can do about it!

If he caught you flirting back with someone, knowing you’ve got a partner… he’d definately be dissapointed.

Unless your partner was Jimmy. If it’s Jimmy, he’s hoping this stranger plays their cards right.

[sargeteen]

𝒘𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒈 𝒏𝒐𝒘 ! ᵒᵖ⁸¹

i have a feeling you got everything you wanted .☘︎ ݁˖

𝒐scar piastri x 𝒆x-driver!male reader synopsis: oscar and reader were best friends and rivals in their years before oscar got pulled into formula 1. with a broken leg and a dream of diving an f1 crushed, reader watched from his couch as oscar rightfully wins his first grand prix. then, oscar reaches out.

genre: angst, slight hurt/comfort, texts, fluff warnings: career ending car crash, hardly any oscar x reader interaction (only at the end really), relationship not established.

author’s note: we hug now is literally my favorite song rn so i needed to write something for it.

masterlist.

WHEN HE CLOSES his eyes at night, he’s back in his Formula 2 car; he’s still a teenager with a normal leg and no limp. He’s still trying to live his dream of becoming a Formula 1 driver, and Oscar Piastri is still his best friend. As y/n lays in bed, eyes closed, and body as stiff as a board, he relives that race. That godforsaken race.

The track was wet and had been for the whole weekend. He should’ve been used to the damp track and concrete, but apparently, the curse of y/n—a joke created by f2 fans after his second f2 season where he did notoriously bad on wet races—lived on because going into turn 1 halfway through the race, his car skidded off the track. He flew into the barriers at top speed; the front of his car lodged into them.

Y/n was knocked out from the impact, and his leg was definitely broken. His radio was filled with frantic calls from his head engineer, which he sometimes heard in his dreams, despite being knocked out. A red flag was pulled, not because of the debris that flew onto the track, as there wasn’t much, but because of the emergency vehicles that had to rush onto the track.

It was the only time that track met silence during a race; all cars were tucked into their garages, except for y/n’s orange MP Motorsport branded car. The stands watched with dropped jaws and tears forming in the corners of their eyes as an ambulance rushed onto the track and towards y/n’s crashed car.

There were already marshals on the scene, but y/n was still in the car when the ambulance arrived.

Somewhere in the Prema Racing garage, Oscar Piastri bit at his nails as he watched the TV that showed his best friend passed out in his wrecked car. He shifted his body weight between his legs, never getting comfortable in any position until he knew his best friend was okay.

“Is he alright?” Oscar asked a question in the open for anybody in the Prema garage to answer. Yet, nobody spoke. Nobody knew the answer. They watched with bated breath as y/n was pulled from the orange car. His helmet was orange, too, with white designs, and the number ‘18’ in bright white plastered on the sides by his ears. The Australian swallowed hard.

Y/n doesn’t remember the accident. He remembers sliding off the track, then it goes black, and then he’s getting pulled out of his car. He doesn’t remember yelling out, crying, even, as he was pulled out of his car, but the numerous videos he’s watched of it showed him yelling and crying as his right leg was touched.

The race wasn’t finished and was postponed. They knew drivers wouldn’t be able to drive in those conditions, knowing their driver counterpart was in the hospital and hadn’t woken up after he yelled out and screamed bloody murder.

Y/n woke up a day or two after the crash. He doesn’t remember much from his first couple of times waking up, only that Oscar had glued himself to the chair at his bedside. The first day he fully remembers, he awoke with a start, a cry coming from his throat before he could stop it. Oscar was at his side already, worried eyes scanning his face.

“Hey, hey, y/n?” Oscar asked, his hand coming up to rest on y/n’s cheek, to calm him, of course, no other reason. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he repeated softly as y/n blinked repeatedly to get used to the bright lights that Oscar was trying to hide with his head. “You’re in the hospital,” Oscar said softly. His face was void of any emotion other than worry.

Y/n cleared his throat once he caught his bearings. His throat was dry, most likely from the lack of water he’d swallowed in the past day, so he weakly gestured at an abandoned water bottle that sat near the couch in the room.

Oscar glanced in the direction he was pointing it. He pointed over at the bottle, too. “Water?” He turned back to y/n to see him nod, so Oscar rushed over to grab the bottle and left y/n to squint at the light. “Oh, sorry,” Oscar mumbled when he noticed y/n squint. He passed the bottle to y/n before moving over to the light switch to dim the lights.

As the lights dimmed, y/n opened his eyes. He was back in bed, a dull throb coming from his leg that never fully healed. Y/n sighed and laid still for a beat before pulling his blankets off him. He swung his legs over the side of the bed as he sat up. When he slid off the bed, he hissed at his right foot as it made contact with the hard floor.

He limped towards the door and made his way out of the room. His apartment was very small, as he didn’t have a good income anymore, and his leg made it impossible to travel far without a crutch. Speaking of, y/n reached out to the right side of the doorway to his room and grabbed the crutch he always forgets to grab.

It was a Sunday, y/n's least favorite day of the week because it was race day for Formula 1. Last year, y/n watched as his best friend was brought up into Formula 1 without him. He raced in an orange car like y/n did in Formula 2, and his number 81 was bright on the front.

Oscar already had 81 when y/n picked the number 18. They were best friends when they had to pick their numbers; why shouldn't they have matching numbers, too? In hindsight, it was dumb as y/n watched number 81 prance around the Azerbaijan track and imagined it was himself if the numbers were just switched around.

Y/n lounged, albeit not comfortably, on his couch. His back was bent weird to accommodate a comfortable rest for his leg. His phone rested on his lap, opened up to the Formula 1 app. It was 3 am, yet he was still awake and waiting for the lights to go out in Baku. Maybe it was because he hasn't missed a race yet this season, maybe it was because he wanted to watch the driver he used to call a best friend, maybe it was because he wished it was him.

Oscar got everything y/n wanted: a Formula 1 contract and a great teammate. Y/n was practically wasting time with the physical therapy sessions he was forced to visit each week. His leg wasn't getting better, and he and his doctor knew it, but there wasn't much they could do. He was never going to touch a Formula car again, and that hurt.

The truth hurts, and it hurts even more when it's putting down the dream you've had since you were a young kid. As y/n watches the cars line up in their respective places, he purses his lips and sighs. He tries not to cry, he really does, but it's hard to stop the tears from coming when they're already building in the corners of his eyes.

The noise of car engines and commentary fills the room for the next hour and a half. At times during the race, he closes his eyes and lays his head back, resting it on the back of the couch. The noise overwhelms his head as he imagines being in a car, a real Formula 1 car.

It was surreal watching Oscar overtake Charles Leclerc and become a real Grand Prix winner. Y/n didn't know how to react; whether he should cry in happiness or jealousy, or even defy the pain in his leg and jump for joy. So, he settles for a smile and a couple of quiet claps. He knew Oscar wouldn't hear him from here, but it filled a void within him.

With a sigh, y/n turned off the TV and slowly made his way back to bed with the intent on sleeping for a couple of hours. And he did just that; he woke up hours later with a notification filled phone. Some from iMessages and most from Twitter. Confused, y/n reaches for his phone and pulled it off the charger. He pushed himself further up the bed do his back rested against the headboard.

His fingers froze when he saw a text from Oscar. It was horribly misspelled and there were one too many emoji’s, a dead giveaway that he was most likely a little drunk, or it wasn’t him at all seeing it was still fairly early in Baku. His fingers drummed the sides of his phone as he read through the messages and thought of one to send himself.

A smile plays on y/n’s lips as he reads back the messages to himself. He missed his best friend, but it’s odd how Lando Norris, Oscar’s McLaren teammate, knew who he was. He decided not to dwell on it as his phone vibrates with another notification, another Twitter notification. With furrowed brows, y/n moves over to bis Twitter app. The first tweet he sees is a video of an interview of Oscar after the ceremony.

He’s sat between Charles Leclerc and George Russell on the podium couch and there’s a smile on his face. The caption that comes with the video says, “OSCAR MENTIONING Y/N IN THE GREAT 2024???”

Y/n blinks a couple of times before pressing onto the video. It starts in the middle of a question asked by an interviewer off-camera. “—car. This is your second Grand Prix, but you seemed more excited for this one than the first. Were you performing for someone, or…?” He left the question trailing off, hoping to get an answer he and the fans wanted.

A small smile shows on Oscar’s face as Charles and George glance over at the winner. “No, I wasn’t performing for anybody. This race was one that I fought hard for,” he pauses, clearly thinking over the rest of his answer. Y/n can see the cogs moving in his mind. “Maybe…maybe there was someone I was, sort of, performing for. An old friend of mine; Y/n L/n,” Oscar smiles bright. “We used to race against each other in F2 and we were always so proud of each other when the other would win races. We would always find each other in parc ferme after, and I couldn’t help but think of him as I got that checkered flag.”

The room has gotten silent, everyone focusing in on what Oscar’s next words were going to be. The Australian is looking down at his knees with a soft smile as he looks back at the memories he and y/n used to share. Though, his smile faltered slightly.

“I looked for him, in parc ferme. He was the first person I searched for,” he sighed. Next to him, Charles smiles and pats his shoulder lightly, causing Oscar to glance over at him. Oscar cleared his throat and nodded as he lookdd up back towards the interviewer. “He got in a bad accident a couple of years back, and I just wish he was here to celebrate my win with me,” he smiles politely and nods.

Y/n noticed the breath of relief fall from Oscar’s lips as the interviewer moves onto Charles. The clip ends there and Twitter automatically scrolls to the next video on his homepage, but y/n scrolls back up to rewatch the video.

The video replays twice, the words Oscar says playing on repeat in y/n’s mind. He smiles. He missed Oscar, but maybe Oscar missed him more.

He mentions the video when he meets up with Oscar the next week. They found themselves in a small restaurant in the outskirts of downtown Monaco to talk about y/n potential future with McLaren.

“So,” y/n starts after there’s a lull in their conversation as Oscar takes a bite of his burger, “I watched your little speech about me after your win in Baku.”

Oscar chokes on his burger slightly before hitting his chest and swallowing the burger. He coughs. “Jesus,” Oscar laughs and coughs as he shakes his head. “Yeah, that,” his face heated up, showing off a pink flush on his skin.

“You looked for me first in parc ferme after your win?”

“I always look for you first in parc ferme, win or not.”

a/n: they make me sick

tags: @milessunflowers @lokisen @kevinlolwife @op-81-lvr-reblogs @kazanskied @481rosier @raizelchrysanderoctavius @mountainshuman