#and then he gets a look in his eye and goes quiet

[oikarma]

look me in the eye | pt.2

pairing: max verstappen x rbr!engineer!reader

summary: the rb21 is unfixable but that's definitely not the only reason max verstappen wants you around.

a/n: "who cares what they think" bf and overthinker gf are my roman empire

part one / part two

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Max doesn't give you much of a choice.

One minute, you're wrapping up post-race debriefs with your teammates, pretending that you're not reeling from his reaction to your possible departure. They're very polite and do not pry into the conversation they all obviously heard. The next, he's standing by the garage exit, jacket in hand, waiting.

"Dinner," he says. It’s not a request.

You hesitate, glancing around. "I mean, I don't think-"

"I need to talk to you." His words are softer but still determined. "Properly. Not in the garage. Not with twenty people listening."

Your stomach twists. You should say no. You should.

Instead, you find yourself sitting across from him in a dimly lit restaurant, the scent of freshly baked bread and seared steak filling the air. It's nothing fancy. Fancy means attention. It's quiet, tucked away, the kind of place he probably picked because he assumed no one would bother him here.

But Max Verstappen is not someone who goes unnoticed.

Right now he's focused, barely glancing at the menu. It feels more like a business arrangement than a catch-up. That's how it's meant to be. Max is, in the hierarchy pyramid, somewhere a few diagonal triangles above you.

"Tell me what you need," he says as his fingers tap restlessly against the table. "More support? More control over the car setup? I'll talk to Christian."

You sigh, setting your menu down. "Max, it's not just about that. It's-"

A hushed voice at a nearby table. A phone camera clicks and, judging by the kerfuffle that follows, the person who pressed the button didn't expect it to be so loud.

Your stomach drops. Max's gaze flickers over your shoulder, jaw tightening as realization dawns.

"Shit," he mutters.

You don't turn around. You don't need to. The whispers are getting louder, the occasional giggle or gasp confirming what you already know-someone recognized him. And worse? They recognized you.

Your chest tightens. This is exactly what you didn't want. Attention. Speculation. The internet dissecting every detail of why Red Bull's star driver is having dinner with one of the team's engineers. Especially after that interview. Two things that should not be happening in quick succession.

Max leans forward and his voice is low. "Hey."

You shake your head, gripping your napkin like it's a lifeline. "I need to go."

"If you leave now, it’ll be worse."

You know he's right. Storming out will just make it look more suspicious. But that doesn’t stop the anxiety creeping up your spine.

Max studies you for a moment before making a decision. He leans back, body language shifting, a small smirk curling at the corner of his lips. Then, loud enough for the nearby table to hear-

"You're overthinking. Just enjoy your food."

It's so casual, so normal, that for a split second, it throws you off. And judging by the way the whispers fade just a little, it throws everyone else off too.

Max is playing it cool. Acting like this is nothing, just a casual dinner, nothing worth speculating over.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to match his energy. You pick up your menu again, even though you're too tense to focus on the words. "Fine," you sigh. "But if this ends up all over Twitter, I'm blaming you."

His grin deepens. "I'll take full responsibility."

Under the table, where no one can see, his fingers graze against yours. It's only for a second. It's probably an accident, you tell yourself.

You look into his eyes and you know it means so much more than just that.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You wake up to chaos.

Your phone won't stop buzzing. The messages, missed calls, and notifications stacking up faster than you can process. At first, you think it's just another race week frenzy. Then you open Twitter.

Max Verstappen on a dinner date with Red Bull engineer. Garage romance?

Attached is the photo. A little grainy, taken from the next table over, but unmistakably you and Max. He's leaning in, smirking, looking far too comfortable across from you. You're gripping your menu like you were ready to bolt.

There are too comments to keep track of.

user1 she's been in the garage w him all season user2 Bro is dating his own engineer to fix the car 💀💀💀 user3 i fear they look GOOD together user4 is she the one he slipped up about in the interview??

You barely register the rest before Christian Horner is calling you. You pick up immediately instead of letting him go to voicemail. This is bad.

"Do you know what's happening online?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I just saw it."

He breathes loudly-you can hear it over the phone. "Look, we don't comment on personal lives, but if anyone asks, we stick to the story. It was a casual team dinner, nothing more. Max's team is probably already handling it."

Max.

As if on cue, another message flashes across your screen.

Unknown It's Max

Unknown Don't look at twitter

Too late.

By the time you get to the paddock, the damage is done. Journalists are already circling, cameras flashing whenever you so much as breathe near Max's side of the garage. You stick next to Liam's car. You don't know what you're doing there, but he kind of does and pretends to talk with you about something he doesn't understand either. Good lad.

You keep your head down, pretending not to notice the murmurs. When you step into the engineering office, Max is already waiting.

He's scrolling through his phone. You can't see anything behind those startling blue-green eyes of his. You still can't when he looks up. "They're making a big deal out of nothing."

You exhale. "I'm trending on Twitter."

He shrugs, completely unfazed. "And?"

You blink. "And? Do you know what people are saying? That I'm-” You lower your voice. “That I'm sleeping with you for my job. That you’re-”

"Using you to fix the car?" His lips press together. Now his eyes darken, the sky before the storm. "Bullshit. Do they not know how engineers work? They fix the car anyway."

You shake your head. "It doesn't matter if it's bullshit. It's out there."

Max crosses his arms. "So?"

"So?" you echo, incredulous. "I don't want this. I don't want my name attached to you like I'm some stupid tabloid headline!"

He seems to read you. "Do you think I wanted it either? I just wanted dinner. I wanted to talk to you, convince you not to leave. Not...this."

Your anger deflates. You can't be mad at him. People are people.

Max pushes off the desk and steps closer. "Tell you what. If you want, I'll shut it down. Tell them all it's nothing, that it was just a stupid meal. That you mean nothing to me."

The words sting even though you know he doesn’t mean them.

You swallow hard. "Would you?"

His jaw tightens. "If that’s what you want."

You should say yes. You should. But he's the one waiting for you to make a choice-the choice-and you're frozen.

"I don't know," you whisper.

Is that relief you see on his face?

"Then we don't say anything."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The orange army has risen, and it's not McLaren's. The checkered flag waves, and above the screaming engines and the crackling of team radios, one thing is clear: Max Verstappen has won again.

Against the odds, against the struggles, against a car that has fought him all season, he has done what Max Verstappen does best.

He has won.

The Red Bull garage erupts. Engineers shout, mechanics throw their arms around each other, and the pit wall slams their hands down in victory. You barely register the chaos because your eyes are glued to the screens, watching as Max slows down on his cool-down lap, his voice breaking through the radio.

"YES, LET'S GO!" His laugh is breathless. "That was so, so good. Thank you, guys. Thank you."

You exhale. He did it. You don't even recognize the warm feeling going through you because suddenly, he's there.

Before you can even process it, Max is sprinting toward the garage, helmet ripped off, his fireproofs half-unzipped and clinging to his sweat-drenched skin. There's no hesitation, no second-guessing-shouldn't he be out there?-as he skids next to you.

Your heart lurches.

You don't even have time to move before he reaches you, before his hands find your waist and he pulls you in.

"Max-" Your protest dies in your throat because holy shit he's so close. His breath is warm against your skin, adrenaline pouring off him in waves.

"You," he pants, eyes wild and utterly alive. "You made that happen."

You shake your head, flustered beyond belief. "Max, you-"

But he cuts you off, hands tightening like he's afraid you'll slip away. "No. You fought for this car. You never stopped." He swallows, chest rising and falling. "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

You feel every nerve in your body short-circuiting.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Just static.

Max searches your face. He looks at you as he does his father, after a race is over. Like this win doesn't mean as much if you aren't part of it. There is one person in the world he cares about making happy...might there be a second?

You’re completely, utterly speechless.

"Lost for words?" he teases.

You shove at his chest, but your laughter betrays you. "Shut up, Verstappen."

You untangle yourself from his grasp and motion for him to greet some other of the team members. The media must be having a field day. And after the entire PR talk, too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The celebrations are still in full swing when Max is pulled into an interview. The champagne drips from his hair as a permanent grin is stretched across his face. He's still breathless, still buzzing, still high off the win.

The reporter from Sky Sports barely has to ask the first question before Max is already talking.

"Max, that was an incredible drive. How does it feel to take this victory after the struggles you’ve had with the car?"

Max laughs easily. "Yeah, it wasn't easy. The car still isn't perfect, but today, it worked. And that's not just me, that's the team, that's the people who keep pushing-"

His words cut off for a second, his mind catching up to his own excitement. His tongue is loose, his filter nonexistent.

And then-

"-that's her."

The interviewer blinks. "Who?"

Max doesn't hesitate. "My engineer."

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Your stomach drops as you watch from the back of the garage, eyes wide as the cameras zoom in on him. He's still grinning, still glowing, and either he doesn't realize what he just said or he does not care.

"She-" he stops himself, shaking his head like he can't find the right words. "She works harder than anyone. Every problem with this car, she's been on it. I mean, I was nowhere at the start of the season, and now, we're here. If anyone deserves credit, it's her."

The reporter raises an eyebrow. "That's very high praise. Would you say she's been a crucial part of your season?"

Max tips his head back in his laughter, and it's so obvious now, the way he's still running on instinct, how he's still in the moment.

"She's been-" He stops, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. And then, softer-too soft for someone who's just talking about an engineer-he finishes:

"She's everything."

The interviewer's eyes widen slightly, and there’s a second-just a second-where you see the exact moment he realizes what he just let slip. Max's lips press together, like maybe if he stops talking now, the words will somehow erase themselves. But the damage is already done.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

Max turns his head like he can see you in the garage. He's searching, looking for you.

You panic. You run.

But the world has already heard him. You're not just another engineer.

You're Max Verstappen's everything.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The second you step back into the Red Bull garage, cheeks flushed from your bathroom pacing and breakdown, you know you're screwed.

The looks. The whispers. The way people pretend not to be staring but are absolutely staring. Because, of course, everyone saw the interview.

The moment Max Verstappen, three-time world champion, winner of the race, decided to open his mouth and say-

"She's everything."

You could kill him.

Scratch that. You will kill him.

Your heart is still hammering from the moment you heard it, from the way he looked for you afterward, like he wasn't even the slightest bit embarrassed about saying something that made it sound like-like-you don't even know what it sounded like, but it was definitely not normal driver-engineer talk.

And now, here you are, trying to avoid eye contact with every single person in the garage while searching for the idiot responsible.

It doesn't take long.

Max, being Max, doesn't bother hiding. He's standing by the monitors, still in his fireproofs, arms crossed over his chest, looking completely unbothered. He should be celebrating. Why is he not out celebrating?

He's still waiting for you.

The moment he sees you, his expression shifts. Something smug, something amused, something that makes you want to strangle him.

You grab his arm and yank him into the nearest private space you can find.

"Max," you hiss, barely able to contain yourself. "What the hell was that?"

His brows furrow. "What?"

"What?" you repeat. "You-on live television-you called me everything."

Max blinks, looking so utterly relaxed that you want to shake him. "Yeah."

You stare at him, waiting for him to realize the problem, to acknowledge that he just threw you to the media wolves with zero warning.

Nothing. Just calm, slightly confused Max Verstappen.

"You do realize what that sounded like, right?" You press, feeling your face heat up. "Everyone's losing their minds. Twitter is exploding. Horner gave me a look. Do you know how scary it is when Christian Horner gives you a look?"

Max’s lips twitch. He's fighting a smirk and he's not winning. "I mean… was I wrong?"

"What?"

He tilts his head, like he's considering his words. "You are everything. To this team. To the car. To-" He stops himself, but it’s already too late.

He knows exactly what he said.

"Max-"

"Tell me I'm wrong."

You can't, because he isn't. Maybe you've known it all along. Maybe this is why you can't leave the stupid team, even though it's causing hair loss and severe lack of sleep.

So you don't. Instead, you grab him by the collar and pull him down. Max lets out the softest, most relieved exhale before he crashes into you.

It's not a soft kiss. It's not careful, or hesitant, or anything close to restrained. It's desperate. It's months of tension snapping all at once.

You make a soft noise-half surprise, half something else entirely-and that's all it takes.

Max groans, deep and low, like he's wanted this for as long as you have, and suddenly it's worse, because now he's tilting his head, deepening the kiss, pressing you back until you hit the nearest surface.

You don't even know where you are anymore. A storage closet? A backroom? It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is him. The way he tastes like champagne and adrenaline, the way he kisses like he races. All-consuming and with only one thing on his mind.

You should stop. You know you should stop. The entire garage is just outside. Someone will notice. Someone will hear.

You thread your fingers into his hair, tugging just slightly, and Max shudders.

"Fuck," he mutters against your lips, utterly wrecked. His eyelids flutter, long lashes too. Max runs a finger down to your chin, forcing you to look at him. "You're overthinking again."

He's completely right. But you don't stop then. You relax and just let Max Verstappen take over every single thought in your mind.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: i just need a man who's bad at emotions but also so good at them

[rosenclaws]

Okay—don’t know if this fulfills the type of prompt you’re looking for but: Marie asking Logan to play Barbie’s with her. He somehow ends up wearing a princess crown

Babysitting || Worst!Logan x Reader

warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns are used and the reader is referred as mom

a/n: Man I just love writing Wolverine being a dad omfggg anyways I hope you enjoy!!!

"You promise you don't mind?"

You're rushing around your apartment trying to get ready for work. Just your luck you got called in for an emergency and your babysitter wasn't able to come on such short notice.

In the midst of your panic Logan knocked on your door like a knight in shining armor. Though this knight was caring an empty tupperware that you had given him leftovers in.

Logan had heard you talking to yourself in a panic. He tries not to eavesdrop but you were being louder than usual so being the good...uh boyfriend? Friend, Neighbor? You haven't really figured that part out yet.

Anyways being the good person that he is he came down to see what was wrong.

"I'm sure, she's a nice kid how hard can it be?" He says with a shrug and you resist the urge to scoff. He was doing you a huge favor afterall.

"Pick up is at 3pm, I'll be home by 6 and I'll grab dinner." You grab your bag and hurry out the door.

Logan glances at the clock. It's almost 3 so he better get a move on. Maries school was a short walk from the apartment. He can't but notice just how much he stands out among the other parents here for pick up and drop off.

He winces when he hears the shrieking laughter coming from the playground. Parents come and go, collecting their kids and listening to them talk about their day. He glances to the side and sees a little boy staring at him with wide eyes. In his hands was a wolverine figurine. Logan just smirks, putting his finger up to his lips telling the kid to keep quiet.

"Kitty!" Logan looks up to see Marie running towards him.

"Hey kid, your mom had to go to work so it's just me and you for a couple hours." He lifts Marie up into his arms.

Taking her backpack and slinging it onto his shoulder. The damn thing fit just a little too tight around his biceps and shoulders. As he walks home she rambles on about her day. Logan listens as she plays with the collar of his shirt.

"And then we wrote about our favorite animal and we got to draw it and Ms. K put all of our drawings on the wall."

"Yeah? What's your favorite animal?" Logan asks as he digs around for the key you gave him.

"Kitty cats!" Logan flinches as she practically shouts in his ear.

"Oh yeah? I couldn't tell." As he opens the door he sets her down, placing her stuff near the door as she goes running to her room.

Logan sits on the couch and stretches out, pick up is done so now he just has to make sure Marie doesn't die or get a tattoo or do anything stupid. As soon as he reaches for the remote he hears the little pitter of her feet.

She pokes her head around the wall and looks at Logan with those puppy dog eyes. He groans, knowing she was about to ask him something he won't be able to say no to.

"Will you play Barbie's with me? Mommy promised me she'd play today." She asks. Pulling two dolls from behind her back. Logan just sighs, putting his hands in his head.

"Wouldn't you rather color or something? Or we can watch that show with that annoying blue dog." He tries to bargain but Marie stands firm. She wants Barbie's. It's that or nothing. So Logan just nods his head.

"Okay fine. But only for an hour. Max."

An hour max his ass because Marie wouldn't let him leave. Every time he tried to end Barbie dress up her little eyes would fill with tears and Logan would quickly promise to keep playing. Just the threat of her tears was enough to make him fold. So here he is. At the will of a 6 year old.

"Logan? Marie? I'm home!" He hears your voice and your footsteps get closer.

"Mommy!" Marie yells.

"I brought pizza it's on the counter..." Your voice trails off as you appear in the doorway.

Marie runs past you straight to the bathroom to wash her hands before dinner. Logan is sitting on the ground, having broken the small wooden chair Marie insisted he sit on at firs. A plastic princess crown sits on his head and he has pink glitter nail polish messily painted onto his nails.

"Barbie tea party?" You ask, trying to hide your laughter.

"Yeah. You've raise a very manipulative child you know that?" Logan says as he stands up.

"All you have to do is say no Logan." You reach over and fix the crown so that it rested evenly on his head. His hair tuffs sticking out of the crown just above the fake jewels.

"Well she's very convincing." He hums.

Your hands fall back to your sides but you don't move from the doorway. Something about seeing him so willing to spend time with Marie, to entertain her silly games and even let her paint his nails.

It just means a lot. Logan...he didn't sign up for all of this but he's willingly brought himself into your life and you don't want him to leave. But is he here for Marie? Or would he stick around for you too?

"How do I look?" He asks, snapping you out of your question sprial.

"Huh?" You ask. He shrugs and crosses his arms, his biceps bulging out of his flannel shirt.

"You're staring at me sweetheart, thought I'd ask if you like what you see." He purrs.

Your eyes widen as he slowly backs you against the wall. Even with the pink nails and the plastic crown Logan was all consuming. There's just something so attractive about his paternal instincts.

"You look good." You squeak out.

"Just good?" He asks and you swear your brain starts to short circuit.

"Mommy! I'm hungry." Marie's voice makes Logan jump back, his cockiness fades away as he reaches up and takes the crown off.

"I'll be right there baby. Just go sit down." You say with a smile. You glance back at Logan for a moment, a beat of silence as you stare into each others eyes. Your heart is still racing. He gently places the crown on Marie's bed and walks past you to the kitchen.

"Fuck." You whisper. What was that?

You pretend like you weren't pressed up against the wall by Logan just moments ago and serve everyone a slice of pizza. You listen as Marie tells you about her day and playing with Logan. It's so utterly domestic. But soon Marie's bedtime comes around and it's time to say goodbye.

"Kitty can you pick me up from school tomorrow?" Marie asks sleepily.

"Oh baby Logan's very busy-"

"I don't mind" Logan cuts in.

"Gives me something to do during the day. As long as you don't mind." he adds on the last part quickly. Before you can answer Marie does it for you.

"Yes!" She squeals.

"Marie wait!" You call but she's already gone to her room.

"Are you sure Logan? I know it's a lot. That we can be a lot."

"Sweetheart, I like spending time with her, with you." Logan says softly.

He's really grown to care about Marie and you. A lot. More than he's willing to admit out loud right now. The two of you aren't a lot to Logan. In fact you're just what he needs. This normalcy and kindness. Being around the two of you makes him feel like he really can be more than the man he used to be.

"Okay, thank you Logan. You don't know how much everything you've done means to us." You place your hand on his arm, squeezing it gently.

"See you tomorrow sweetheart." He throws you a wink as he shuts the door.

He stays for just a moment. He hears your footsteps get farther away and he lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding. As he heads back to his apartment he starts to feel dread creeping up his throat. Who is he kidding? Can the Wolverine really go and play babysitter? He's not...he's not good for you or for Marie. But he cares about the two of you and he's too selfish to let you go now.

"How was your date with the hot mom downstairs?" Wade asks as Logan steps into the apartment.

"It wasn't a date I was just helping out." Logan mumbles as he opens the fridge and searches for a beer, only finding a root beer instead.

"Hey we listen and we don't judge. Everyone has a type. Yours just happens to be MILFS."

Logan shoots daggers at Wade as he pops off the top of the bottle.

"Shut the fuck up." A surge of jealousy hitting him like a truck at the idea of Wade even thinking of you like that. Wade just smirks, loving just how easy it is to push his buttons.

"Man you're just racking up those father figure roles aren't you Hugh." Wade sighs. Logan choose to ignore whatever nonsense Wade was spitting from his mouth and head right to bed.

Closing his eyes he just wonders how far he'll let himself sink into your lives. A small part of him hopes forever.

[dckweed]

tiktok made me do it gf! vs tf141 bf (hurt/comfort edition)

i was spat on and essentially physically threatened by a man over a foot taller than me today, and if my husband was with me i know i would’ve been safe because NOBODY does shit to me and gets away with it when it comes to him and it got me thinking about how the tf141 boys would act in situations like this soooo I typed all of this with one hand (still in a splint) because I needed some fictional comfort even in the arms of my husband

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE: "A fuckin' death wish!"

He’s parked just across the lot, watching you through the windshield like always—cool, relaxed, unbothered—until he sees some lumbering fucker square up to you.

You don’t even get a word out. The guy spits on you.

And John is out of the truck like a shot.

Door doesn’t even fully close behind him. He’s marching, beard twitching, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the guy like a trained predator.

"Oi," he barks—sharp and low enough to stop everything in the lot. "You got a fuckin’ death wish?"

The guy barely turns before Price grabs him by the front of the shirt and slams him against the nearest wall. Calm. Efficient. Terrifying.

"You spit on her?" he asks. Real quiet. Real dangerous. "Call her that again. Go on. I dare you."

You don’t even realize you’re shaking until he’s at your side, big hand cradling the back of your neck, checking you over like he’s memorizing you from scratch.

"Y’alright, sweetheart?"

You nod, watery.

He kisses your forehead. "Get in the truck. I’ll be right behind you."

You don’t ask what he does next. And you don’t see that man in town again.

KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK: "shitting enamel for a week!"

He’s in the truck FaceTiming Soap when he sees it—your walk, that cute little bounce in your step—and then?

Spit.

Your whole body flinches.

And Kyle goes silent.

Just disappears from the screen.

You don’t even see him until the man’s being yanked backwards and shoved hard into a parked car.

"You wanna say that shit again, bruv?" Kyle growls, barely keeping his voice low. "You think you're hard, spitting on a girl half your fuckin’ size?"

You’re frozen, arms crossed, tears stinging.

"Move," he snarls. "One more step near her and I'll knock your teeth so far down your throat you’ll be shitting enamel for a week."

The guy stumbles off, humiliated.

Kyle turns to you, jaw tight, eyes scanning you top to bottom.

"You okay, love?"

"Y-yeah—"

"No," he murmurs, pulling you into his chest, hand on the back of your head. "You’re not. But you will be. I’ve got you."

And when you slide back into the truck, his hoodie ends up on you before you can even buckle in.

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY: "BURY YOU"

He’s in the driver’s seat, hood up, skull mask pulled down, watching the door like a hawk.

He sees the guy step in front of you. Hears the shout. Sees the spit.

He doesn’t even blink.

You try to sidestep and the man blocks you.

But then—

A voice. Right behind him.

"Back away from her."

Simon’s just there, looming, deadly, still as a statue. The man turns and sees death staring him in the face.

"Move. Now."

The guy scoffs.

Simon grabs him by the collar, yanks him off his feet, and slams him into the pavement so fast the air leaves your lungs.

"You ever even look at her again," he says, low and gritted, "I will bury you where you stand."

He turns to you like nothing happened. Gently takes your shaking hands, pulls you into him.

"You alright, lovie?"

You nod, but the sob breaks free anyway, and he just wraps you up in those massive arms, silent, safe.

You ride the rest of the way with your seat leaned into him and his hand on your thigh the entire time.

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH: "SHES FUCKIN' MINE!"

He’s parked up front, phone out, ready to record a stupid TikTok with you and Gaz about your sauce order, when he sees it go down.

Spit. Words. Your whole body freezing.

He’s already out the door and sprinting before your brain even catches up.

"Oi!" he roars. "You fuckin’ DAFT?!"

The guy has no time to react before Johnny’s got a fistful of his jacket and slams him into the side of the building.

"You touch her? You spit on her?!" His eyes are wild. Voice cracking. "She’s fuckin’ mine!"

It takes Gaz and a stranger to peel him off.

He’s still breathing heavy when he rushes to you, hands everywhere, checking your cheeks, your arms, your eyes.

"You okay, bonnie? Did he hurt you? Say the word and I’ll go back over there—"

You just shake your head and throw yourself at him, and he catches you like he was born for it.

His voice breaks a little when he whispers into your hair, "Nobody does that to you. Not ever. Not while I’m still breathin’."

He drives with one hand clenched so hard the wheel squeaks and the other holding yours like a lifeline.

[livingincolorsagain]

omg wait okay a second one bc i couldn't help myself fjdkdk 💕🫶

"if you asked me to marry you tomorrow, i’d say yes." "what about today?"

prompt from list 1: sacred romantic moments

“Y’know, if you asked me to marry you tomorrow, I’d say yes.”

Buck stops— more like freezes, really— and turns to where Eddie is about to start brushing his teeth.

The bathroom is a bit foggy, the hot air still high in the confined space. They probably need to turn the vent on, but neither of them really like the loud noise.

Buck blinks, then blinks again, as he stares at Eddie’s profile.

“Is this…” he says, slowly, “is this about the call?”

With the toothbrush hovering right before his mouth, Eddie meets Buck’s eyes in the hazy mirror then looks away, says, “Well, yeah.”

And Buck’s heart goes into an overdrive, because Eddie is just brushing his teeth, the foam starting to peek out through the corners of his mouth. His hair is still wet from the shower they just took, dripping down his back, the t-shirt he has on is clinging to his skin just a little too tight. He’s watching Buck through the mirror, fleetingly, small, abrupt looks, and it’s only then Buck realizes he might be gaping at him a bit.

Eddie frowns, leans over and spits the toothpaste out, then he turns to Buck, some toothpaste still sitting at the corner of his mouth.

Without any conscious thought, Buck reaches out, using his thumb to wipe it off. Eddie’s eyes flutter shut then open again, heavy lidded and dark.

“I just,” he says, so quietly, then pauses, wraps his hand around Buck’s wrist, because Buck’s thumb is still pressed into the dip of where his smile would be. “They weren’t on the same page, and everything went wrong. I just want us to be on the same page.”

Buck’s lips twitch, fondness making his stomach swoop. “And that page is that I should propose?”

Eddie’s eyes brighten, cheeks getting pinker, a strand of hair falling over his face. He looks like a dream, always, but especially like this.

“It was hypothetical,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Right,” Buck replies, thumb digging deeper into the dimple of Eddie’s smile before he rubs it back and forth against the bottom lip, just where the scar starts and ends.

Eddie steps in closer, making Buck’s hand drop away from his face, and he nudges Buck’s nose with his own. “I would say yes,” he whispers, so simple, like his words aren’t turning Buck’s world upside down. “Would you?”

Buck can’t help it, he leans in, stealing a kiss. Eddie tastes minty, and sweet, and so much like Eddie it’s the best thing Buck has ever tasted every single time.

“You know I would,” he whispers into Eddie’s lips, because yeah, of course he would, and Eddie hums, like yeah, he does know, so Buck kisses him again.

It’s so quiet, just the drip of the faucet that they need to fix and their mingled breath and the very real possibility of a future together. The promise of nights like this forever, Eddie in his arms, his lips tasting like the toothpaste they both like. Christopher in his room, probably still awake. Mornings like tomorrow, waking up wrapped around one another, Eddie holding tight because just five more minutes, baby, making breakfast together, driving Christopher to school.

And it’s still new, all of it, and they’re both so tentative, still getting used to having everything they’ve ever wanted, but Buck knows it in his bones, this is it, this has always been it.

It’s been Eddie long before he has even known who Eddie was.

So he says, “What about today?”

[dakusan]

Under the weather, under their care.

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, sick day fluff

🌙 synopsis: you’re sick. your head hurts, your throat’s sore, and your body feels like it’s made of led. lucky for you, the boys don’t take your sick days lightly. from dad-mode chan to chaotic nurse han, here’s how each member would react to you being under the weather.

💌 a/n: I made this upon request, @cybergracie, she's sick, I HOPE U GET WELL BESTIE 🥺. this is a fluff-heavy, comfort-core piece. each member is written with personality accuracy in mind—not just idealized bf fluff, but the actual way they’d show care in their own unique ways. also: please imagine han beatboxing your fever away. thanks. ps. reblogs = love

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the divider

🎶 Now Playing: "Still With You" — Jung Kook

Bang Chan // 방찬

The second he notices something off—your voice a little hoarse, your body a bit sluggish—he’s on it. Doesn’t matter how tired he is, he’s clocked it. You barely get a chance to brush it off before he’s already adjusting his schedule around you. If he's on tour or at the studio, he’ll be checking in constantly with messages like:

“Did you eat anything yet?” “Are you resting properly?” “Don't make me come home early, I will.”

When he is home, though? You’re not lifting a single finger. He’s all over the place—running to the pharmacy, heating soup, fluffing your pillows, and making sure you’ve got water within reach at all times. He’s quiet about it too, not making a big deal, just subtly doing what needs to be done because taking care of the people he loves is second nature to him.

You try to tell him you’re fine, and he just raises an eyebrow.

“You’re literally shivering. Don’t argue with me.”

He doesn't smother, but he's present. Keeps a calming hand on your back while you nap, plays soft music in the background to soothe your headache, and watches over you without making it feel overbearing. He reads the room well—gives you space when you need it, but never strays too far.

If you get emotional or frustrated about being sick, especially if it messes with your routine or makes you feel helpless, he gets it. His voice goes softer. He cups your cheek with a warm hand and murmurs:

“You don’t have to be strong right now, okay? Just rest. Let me take care of you for once.”

He will pull out the dreaded herbal stuff his mom used to make him drink when he was sick—“it tastes like sadness but it works”—and insists on staying up to monitor your fever, even if you beg him to sleep.

He keeps your hair out of your face, wipes your forehead with a cool cloth, and kisses your temple like it's instinct. Being with Chan when you're sick doesn't feel like being a burden—it feels like you're being wrapped in care, in love, in quiet devotion.

He won’t let you thank him too much either.

“You’d do the same for me. And besides, this just means I get extra cuddles when you’re better.”

Lee Know // 리노

He notices immediately. You don’t even have to say anything—just one look at your slightly pale face, the slower blink, the off rhythm of your breathing, and he’s narrowing his eyes like:

“You’re sick, aren’t you?”

When you try to deny it, he just stares you down until you give in with a sigh. You’d think he’d tease you, but no. Lee Know becomes uncharacteristically serious when it comes to your health.

He's not dramatic about it, but he’s efficient.

The moment you admit you’re not feeling well, he’s already on his phone checking what’s in the pantry, planning what you can eat, and quietly adjusting his day to make sure you’re not alone. He doesn’t announce it. He just does it.

He shows care through actions—not babying, but making sure you’re comfortable. Your favourite blanket suddenly appears around your shoulders. The heating pad is already plugged in. He hands you medicine without saying a word and watches to make sure you take it properly.

He cooks for you—but don’t expect anything fancy. You’re getting classic, warm, nourishing meals, exactly the kind of food that won’t upset your stomach. And yes, he’ll roast you a little:

“It tastes bland because you’re sick. What, you want Michelin-star when your nose is running?”

He absolutely will not cuddle you while you’re contagious. He’ll stay close, sure—sitting at the edge of the bed, folding laundry nearby, occasionally brushing his fingers through your hair with a sigh—but full-on snuggles? Nope. Not until your fever’s gone and you're cleared.

But he doesn’t leave the room either.

He stays just far enough to keep from catching whatever you have, but close enough to monitor you. He keeps one earbud in to give you peace but always pulls it out the second you shift or wince.

And when you wake up coughing at 3AM? He’s already by your side, handing you water before you can ask. His voice low and gentle, like:

“Don’t talk. Drink first. Breathe.”

If you start crying or feeling weak, that’s when he gets quiet. He won’t overwhelm you with comfort, but his gaze softens. He tucks you in tighter, hand lingering just a little longer against your forehead.

“You’re allowed to be sick. Stop trying to act like you're okay all the time.”

Later, when you’re getting better and a bit more dramatic than necessary (maybe asking him to fluff your pillow again), he smirks and rolls his eyes.

“You’re milking this. I know you.”

But he still does it. And when you're fully recovered, that's when the affection comes back in full—teasing kisses, long hugs, and a quiet,

“Don’t get sick again. I don’t like seeing you like that.”

(And maybe a whisper when he thinks you’re asleep:

“You scared me a little, you know.”)

Changbin // 창빈

The moment he finds out you’re sick, he goes from 0 to 100. Like, you text him “I think I caught something” and five minutes later he’s blowing up your phone with:

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOMETHING??” “How bad is it??” “Do you need me?? Should I come over?? I’m coming over.”

When he does show up, he’s carrying way too much. A full bag of random groceries, multiple drinks (some contradictory—like, why ginger ale and sports drinks and vitamin C packets?), tissues with lotion, and something pink and fluffy that you’re not even sure has a purpose.

And he's breathless, out of breath from rushing, still in his hoodie and slippers like he didn’t even stop to fully change.

“Okay—okay, first things first—do you have a fever? No, wait, let me check—no, you don’t check, I check—”

He's definitely the type to Google your symptoms while sitting next to you, holding your hand like you’re dying. You cough once and he’s already deep into “early signs of pneumonia” and quietly panicking.

But here’s the thing—under all that chaotic energy is someone who really, really cares.

He wipes down surfaces, makes you take medicine on time, and paces while you nap because he can’t sit still when you’re unwell. If you so much as shift in your sleep, he’s immediately next to you.

“Do you need something? Water? Blanket? Me? I mean—I’m here—just say the word.”

He tries to cook. Like really tries. Follows a recipe video step by step, but ends up making the kitchen look like a warzone. The food is edible, and honestly, it tastes way better than you expected—but it comes with a sheepish smile and a “Don’t die, okay? I put my soul in that rice.”

He’s the type to encourage you to laugh through the misery, even if he knows you feel like crap. He’ll pull out his silly voice impressions, make faces, or randomly do aegyo just to get a smile out of you.

And when you’re too tired to respond? He quiets down. Holds your hand gently. Tucks the blanket up to your chin and just stays close.

“Rest, jagi. I’ll stay right here. I promise.”

And if you thank him too much, he gets all bashful and dramatic again:

“Stop being cute when you’re sick! I’m trying to focus on taking care of you, not falling in love all over again!”

Hyunjin // 현진

When you tell Hyunjin you’re sick, he gasps like you just confessed a tragic secret.

“You’re what? Sick? You?!”

He's immediately distraught. Not because he doesn’t know what to do—he actually does—but because he hates seeing you like this. His empathy is through the roof. If you're miserable, he's basically miserable by osmosis.

He shows up in a long coat, scarf, and a tote bag full of oddly curated items: a sketchpad, multiple fancy drinks, a candle he claims will help “cleanse your aura,” and a tiny stuffed animal “to guard your bed.”

But once the theatrics die down, he’s incredibly gentle.

He speaks softly around you, like he’s scared to disturb your peace. Brushes your hair back from your face with his knuckles. Gets you tissues and cool compresses and rubs your back when you cough. He doesn’t make a fuss out of helping—you just look up and he’s already kneeling next to the bed, adjusting your blanket with care.

“I don’t like this. You should always be glowing. You’re supposed to be warm and smiley and annoying me with your weird jokes.”

He doesn’t necessarily cook full meals, but he’ll cut fruit for you like a seasoned Korean mom. Brings you sliced apples and pears with toothpicks and arranges them in little patterns. He lights the candle (of course he does) and hums softly while you rest.

And when you fall asleep, he doesn’t leave.

He curls up at the foot of the bed like a quiet cat, sketchbook in his lap, drawing you as you sleep—not in a weird way, just a soft “I want to remember you like this, even if you’re sick” way. His lines are delicate. Thoughtful. Honest.

If you start crying out of frustration or exhaustion, he immediately drops everything to cradle you, whispering into your hair:

“Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to hold it in. Let me carry it for you.”

He’ll cry too, but quietly. Not to take the attention off you—just because it genuinely hurts to see someone he loves in pain.

And when you finally start to feel a bit better, he brightens like the sun peeking out after rain.

“You’re healing,” he says, brushing his knuckle under your eye, “and when you’re fully better, we’re going to go out and celebrate your immune system.”

Because of course he would.

Han // 한

Han freaks out immediately—but it’s not super helpful at first. You text him something simple like “I’m feeling kinda sick today,” and within ten minutes he’s calling you with a full-blown gasp:

“OH MY GOD YOU’RE DYING—okay no you’re not dying BUT LIKE—ARE YOU OKAY???”

He’s definitely pacing back and forth in his room, still in pyjamas, with a headband holding his hair back and zero plan on what to do. He panics first, then pulls himself together. His love language is chaos-then-action.

He shows up at your place with a bag that makes no sense: two different kinds of ramen, a random juice box, cough drops, chocolate, three stress balls (“in case you’re bored”), and a neck pillow. No medicine. No actual meals. Just vibes.

“Okay okay, hear me out—I panicked. But I brought snacks and love.”

Despite the scattered brain, he pulls it together when it really counts. He’s attentive. He’ll sit next to you while you rest and hold your hand loosely, thumb brushing over your knuckles. He won’t say anything for a while—just watches you with those big, warm eyes full of concern.

If you’re curled up and miserable, he’ll adjust the blanket for you and say in a surprisingly soft voice:

“I don’t like seeing you like this. I’d rather be sick instead.”

(He means it. But also, if he got sick, he'd be 10x more dramatic than you. Bedridden. Needy. Demanding forehead kisses every five minutes.)

He makes you laugh without even trying. The moment your fever breaks a little and you can sit up, he’s already putting on dumb videos, doing weird impressions of your doctor, or lip-syncing to ballads with way too much emotion.

He’ll also say stuff like:

“If you die, can I keep your hoodie collection? Not because I want them, just so no one else gets them.”

Followed by:

“Wait, no, don’t die. You’re the only person who laughs at my weird jokes.”

He’ll write you a freestyle rap while you nap. It’s bad. It’s so bad. But it’s from the heart. And you wake up to him beatboxing quietly next to you, working on rhymes like “She’s sick but she’s slick, with tissues so quick—uh, what rhymes with thermometer?”

And even if he makes light of it, he doesn’t leave. Not until you’ve eaten something. Not until you’re tucked in. Not until he’s made you laugh at least once.

“You’re not allowed to feel gross. You’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen—with or without the sniffles.”

Felix // 필릭스

Felix immediately switches into guardian angel mode the moment you tell him you're sick. His brows knit together with concern, and he softly goes:

“Oh no, darling… Are you okay? What hurts? What do you need?”

His voice somehow gets even softer than usual, and that’s saying a lot. He doesn’t waste time—he’s already got a mental checklist going. He shows up at your place like a quiet storm, arms full of carefully selected things: your favourite tea, fresh fruit, his cosiest hoodie (the one you steal all the time), and a little handwritten note that just says “rest well, lovebug 🤍” tucked into a book.

He moves around your space like he’s done this a thousand times. Lights a soft-scented candle. Makes you tea—ginger, lemon, honey, everything—and hands it to you with both hands like it’s sacred.

“Sip slowly, yeah? It’ll help your throat.”

He speaks in a hush, like he’s scared to be too loud and disturb you. But even more than that, he listens. He watches your cues. If you don’t feel like talking, he sits quietly and rubs your back in slow, rhythmic circles. If you’re cranky or frustrated with how you feel, he’s patient. He doesn’t dismiss it. Just murmurs,

“It’s okay to be upset. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

He won’t let you feel guilty for needing help. He doesn’t even think twice about it—it’s just natural to him to care for you. He’ll spoon-feed you porridge if you’re too weak to eat (with a soft, teasing “open up, baby~”), fluff your pillows, and offer to braid your hair to keep it out of your face if it’s long.

And when you’re really out of it, in that floaty feverish state? He hums lullabies to you. Soft, low, breathy melodies while running his fingers through your hair, grounding you like an anchor.

He’s physically affectionate but gentle—he won’t cling if you’re uncomfortable, but he’ll press a kiss to your forehead with reverence when your fever starts to come down.

“You’re getting better already. That’s my strong baby.”

When you start feeling a bit better and try to apologize for being so out of it, he just shakes his head and smiles that soft, dimpled smile:

“I’d take care of you a hundred more times if it meant I get to love you this much.”

Seungmin // 승민

You text him: “I think I’m getting sick.”

His reply:

“Wow. Weak.” “Do you want me to come over or are you going to survive this incredibly tragic cold on your own?”

He teases you endlessly, even when he’s already halfway out the door with a tote bag full of essentials. He’s not the kind to show up flustered or chaotic—he’s cool, collected, and annoyingly prepared. He stops by the pharmacy like it’s a casual errand, picks the right kind of medicine, and shows up at your place with soup containers labelled with the exact heating instructions.

“Because I know you’re going to ignore me when I leave. So I made it idiot-proof.”

Despite the constant roasting, he’s weirdly good at caretaking. Like, scary good. He’s probably done this for the other members a million times. He doesn’t hover, but he keeps you on schedule—meds on time, hydration checked, food warm. He sets timers on his phone like:

“Every 4 hours, you're drinking something. I don’t care if it’s water or juice. Just not coffee. Don’t test me.”

He definitely sits at the edge of your bed or couch with a mug in hand, watching you like a judgmental hawk while you eat something.

“Chew slower. You sound like a vacuum cleaner.”

He’ll bring over one of his own hoodies and act like it’s no big deal when you snuggle into it—but there’s a flicker of fondness in his eyes when you do.

If you’re really sick and end up crying or feeling gross, Seungmin’s whole vibe shifts. His voice softens. His teasing fades out, and he looks at you like you’re fragile—but never in a pitying way. Just... attentively.

“Hey. Don’t do that thing where you bottle everything up and pretend you’re okay. You're sick, not invincible.”

He sits beside you, holding your wrist gently and checking your pulse like he knows what he’s doing (and honestly? He kinda does).

When you’re asleep, he doesn’t leave right away. He stays long enough to make sure you’re breathing evenly, your fever’s down, and that your glass of water is full. He’ll tidy your space a little—nothing crazy, just enough so that you’ll wake up feeling a bit more at ease.

And if you ask him why he’s being so sweet the next day?

“Because I don’t want you to die. Who else would I bully?”

And then under his breath, as he's walking away:

“…Plus, I care about you. Obviously.”

I.N // 아이엔

Jeongin freezes when you tell him you’re sick. Like—deer in headlights, soul leaving his body—kind of freeze.

“You’re… sick?? What do I do?? What am I supposed to do?? Do I call Chan-hyung?? Is there a number for this??”

He genuinely panics at first, not because he doesn’t want to help, but because he doesn’t want to mess anything up. He’s never fully confident in these situations, but the second he realizes you need him, he pulls it together real fast.

He shows up at your door with the most random collection of items: yogurt (he read online it helps), a bag of cough drops (he bought 3 kinds just in case), a warm scarf (that he knitted, sob), and a tiny teddy bear he won at a claw machine a week ago.

“He’s here to keep you company when I can’t. Don’t get attached, though. He’s still mine.”

Once inside, he’s constantly checking with you—nervously, but sweetly.

“Do you want porridge? I can try making it… it might be weird though.” “Do you feel hot? Like fever hot, not hot-hot. Not that you’re not hot—okay never mind—”

He’s flustered. So flustered. But he puts 200% effort into everything. He follows tutorials to make you soup and burns his tongue taste-testing it (“worth it”), tries to fluff your pillows in just the right way, and keeps offering you water every ten minutes.

He might pace a bit when you're napping, muttering to himself like:

“Okay, don’t forget the medicine at 2. And check the temperature. And don’t forget to smile when she wakes up. But not creepy. Calm smile. Natural. Chill. I'm chill.”

If you’re too tired to talk, he’ll just sit nearby, playing quietly on his phone, occasionally peeking over to make sure you’re okay. He doesn’t leave until you force him to rest too. And even then, he sets an alarm so he can wake up and check your temperature in a few hours.

And when you’re finally feeling better, all the tension leaves his body in a big sigh of relief—and he gets shy.

“You’re okay now… That’s good. I didn’t really do much but… I’m glad I was here.”

Then adds with a soft, sheepish smile:

“Next time, let me take care of you before you pass out trying to act fine, okay?”

He’s your little protector in disguise—nervous, thoughtful, and quietly proud of himself for stepping up when it counted.

[villainmirabelmadriga]

(New content for this hope you like it)

Now Tim knew that things got serious when he saw Stephanie impaled by a by a plant from that large being called Undergrowth

They were all already freaking out all but Ra Al Gual he seem to know a lot more about this place than he was let him go on and it was starting to get on Tim's last nerves

But right now is mattered was trying to come himself and everyone else down about Stephanie's death Bruce seemed to have his Batman mask one about the situation, Jason looking murderous as he turned himself at Ra, Cass who is normally quiet looks like he was about to start crying, Damian had to look for the spear on his face as he held on to her purple the hood

Which makes sense Damien was right next to her when she got impaled he saw exactly how it happened and her bleed out as Stephanie died immediately after it happened which was incredibly suspicious to Tim but something called his eye it was a green glow like kryptonite but the shade of Lazarus pits

When it started to get more solid Tim decided to get it everyone's attention " guys I think something is about to attack us or it might be another encounter with Phantom" Tim watches all of them got into position when the growing light fell down revealing Stephanie

All of them are in shocked in that moment but Ra Al Gual he walked over curious and sophisticated as he hoped to get up but immediately look to her stomach where Tim knew she got stabbed at he quietly listened as Ra spoke way to calmly for the situation

"Seems like I was right about how death works here you have a sticker which childishly say 'what a spookably terrifying injury boo carefully now " as Ra said that Tim walked over and what he said was right it was a purple sticker with a carton ghost on it on top of Stephanie stomach exactly where she was impaled at

Was concerning but that would matter later would matter was debriefing what happened to her and making sure Steph was okay as all of them hugged her especially Damian and Cass which was a bit surprising but they did watch her die since they were right next to her

Tim watches Bruce finish hugging stuff as he goes right back into Batman mode as he asks "Spoiler. Debrief what happened when you died also can you remove the sticker?"

Tim watch this Stephanie moved one of her love hands to her stomach and tried to to touch and peel the sick of it from Tim's point of view it looks stuck on her like someone super glued in onto her costume

Tim after watching her do that for a while then looked at her took a deep look at her actually it looks like her costume was fixed with some green yarn and she had a deep confused look on her face as she answered Burce " Well B after I'm stabbed do the stomach all I remember is waking up and seeing some kid with black hair and blue eyes and a hospital bed with a sticker book in his lap."

Tim Damian and Cass had helped Stephanie sit down next to them as she continued talking she seemed a bit dazed and out of it that she had just died and came back so she got every right to be and every right to stop if she wanted to but Tim watch the Steph continued "And you have to understand send me some my the stop won't do my stomach it was still open it wasn't bleeding just open but It like had a hole in me empty but not really hurting. "

"The kid in the bed took a deep look at me but he was trying to look into my soul then he beckoned me to come by him and gently put a ghost sticker on my face before smiling at me next thing you know breathing again back here."

Tim and the rest of the bats sat there in silence not only was this place incredibly dangerous had beings that they didn't really understand it also seemed to have no concept of death. When Tim realize that even looked over at Ra he had to know he's been here longer than all of them

Tim couldn't lie he was truly angry warning like that would have helped them sooner for them not to use that as a plan if they were here for too long Tim got up and walked over to Ra with the Livid look on Tim's face he yelled and hollered " You knew and you didn't warn us. You could have told us that hey we're stuck here weather the chance of escape cuz if you die you'll be brought back it was just like the stupid box things. "

Tim couldn't lie he knew it was wrong to mostly take off his anger on Ra he was mad and he needed someone to blame we're getting them caught in the situation and right now it was Ra because he knew the man was more than willing to trick people for his own gain

As Ra stayed silent Tim was getting angrier he was this close to doing something that he was going to regret that was when Cass walked up and calmed him down she got giving him a look that meant they could be angry at each other when they got out and that they needed to keep going through more doors to get to the exit

Little did Tim know as they walked into the next room that all that anger and heavy emotions of guilt and sadness ran through all of them was about to be used by a conniving despair eating therapist

(that's right if I update this again it's going to be with Spectra because I would find that very angst also I cannot write fighting things that will)

Danny's for laughs and giggles has been actually haunting Ra al Ghul in Nanda Parbat in his new electric ancient of space form also he might be trying to dissociate from the fact that his parents tried to kill him for a third time

So Danny's doing like a Spook's haunted Mansion type except with 2,000 doors along with the help of a few Ghost and the spirit of the Lazarus pits

Here's when it starts to turn bad Danny trauma kinda kind starts forming as actual monsters in the house of Spooks so now Ra al Ghul actually has to escape from

Of course Batman and his posse finding about Phantom's House Of Spooks end up going there and because of that Ra al Ghul being taken away all the way back to the start because the bats are there and the game must restart

So the bats are now trying to escape from a little supernatural haunted house and help a half dead teenager with their trauma

The idea of Danny at first using like cardboard boxes and like childish things to try to scaring the Bats and they believe it's just a supernatural child not knowing better but Ra al Ghul know is the deeper they go in the more terrifying it becomes

omg the Bats being forced to work with al Ghul and he’s just so tired he doesn’t mind too much. They can be meat shields if things turn out for the worst lol. He knows Batman and his posey are competent for the most part, so he would be at least somewhat glad for their help…if things weren’t reset when they showed up.

[ifwdominicfike]

when matt gets a little loud you have the perfect way to silence him

── .✦. ──

“mommy- fuck please please ple-“ your hips come to a halt, your nails dig into his chest as you hear him hiss at the sting. “fucking be quiet, y’want your brothers to hear you? huh?” you give his cheek a light slap, his face turning to the side at the hit.

he looks at you with big eyes while mumbling, “n-no, no mommy.. pl- need you t’move..” he pouts, his blunt nail dig into your hips while trying to move you up and down. “nuh uh, y’dont get to control this when all you’ve been a desperate slut. hands behind your head, now.” you demand. “b-but mama.. promise i’ll be a good boy f’you-“ you huff and roll your eyes, your hips beginning to grind down onto him.

“just shhh baby, jus’ take it. yeah? you’re gonna be good for mama?” he doesn’t hesitate to nod head his head vigorously, letting out small pleas and cries about how much he needs you.

“y-yeah yeah fuck! oh shit- mommy please, PLEASE-“ before he could let out another sound your hand goes to cup his mouth, completely shutting him up. “yeahh, y’like that? need to be quiet baby.. fucking keep that mouth shut.” you grin as you watch his eyes widen at the sudden gesture, you hear him mumble something under your hand.

you remove your hand and decide to grip onto his jaw, the stubble scratching you but you don’t mind. “what was that? one more time f’me.” you smile while watching him try to form a sentence, “ma- mama — mmm’ more! please, m’so close.” he pleads, you laugh at laugh him and slip your fingers into his mouth. “make me come first, then, we’ll see about you.. alright?”

- avery’s note ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡-

just noticed that i always have sub!matt bottoming and reader is ALWAYS riding him.. oops (if this is bad, shhh)

taglist - @http-bellaa @chrissv4mp @jetaimevous @chrisbrowser @submattenthusiast @flouvela @sturniolosiphone @chrislova @sophand4n4 @mattsfavoritestar @mattslolita @y3sterdaysproblem @strnilolover @cayleeuhithinknott @cherrynflowergarden @sturnsmia @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @chaossturns @emely9274 @sturn777 @sturns-mermaid @st7rnioioss @whore4mattsturniolo @courta13 @pip4444chris @amyiasturnl @tezzzzzzzz @mattsstarlet @matts-wife @theyluvivi @raysmayhem-72 @mattybsgroupie

[rafedarling]

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐲

pairing: drew starkey x fem!reader

summary: a headache sends you reaching for drew, but his phone goes unanswered as you struggle to get to the hospital alone. at the pharmacy, you find him there with odessa.

warning(s): english is not my native language. angst, mild language, jealousy and mistrust, mention of health a scare.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @issabellec7 @alexxavicry

notes: i actually write the reader’s emotions and behavior based on how i personally react when i’m mad. i tend to have this i don’t give a fuck attitude. hope all you drew!angsty hoes out there love this one-shot! goodnight :).

“Hey, Drew, it’s me again,” you say into the phone, voice strained as you clutch it to your ear.

Your head’s pounding, a vicious ache that’s got your vision blurring at the edges, and you’re pacing the living room, waiting for him to answer.

It rings, then cuts to voicemail. Again.

“My head’s killing me, and I need to get to the hospital. Please call me back.”

You hang up, staring at the blank screen, willing it to light up. Nothing.

The pain surges, and you wince, pressing a hand to your temple. You’d wanted Drew to drive you, to be there, but he’s MIA. With a shaky breath, you open the Uber app, fumbling to book a ride. The hospital’s close, but every minute feels like torture when your skull’s splitting open.

The driver doesn’t talk, and you’re grateful, slumping against the cool window as the streets slip by. You try Drew once more, just in case.

Voicemail.

“Whatever,” you mutter, shoving the phone into your bag.

You’re on your own.

At the hospital, the ER’s a chaos of noise and weary faces, but they see you fast. The doctor’s steady, jotting notes as you describe the headache, sudden, brutal, unlike anything before. Tests and a scan later, he calls it a stress migraine, writes a prescription for pain meds, and tells you to rest. It’s something, but the relief’s overshadowed by the sting of Drew’s absence.

You’re still unsteady when the Uber drops you at the pharmacy. The bright lights inside jab at your eyes as you head to the counter, prescription in hand. That’s when you see him, Drew. He’s by the cold medicine aisle, smiling faintly at Odessa, who’s holding a basket and saying something that makes him nod. They look comfortable, like this is normal.

Your chest tightens, a mix of exhaustion and something sharper. You don’t move until he notices you, his eyes widening slightly.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” Drew asks, stepping toward you, his tone surprised but soft.

Odessa lingers behind, watching with mild curiosity.

You don’t answer, just hand the prescription to the pharmacist, your fingers trembling a little. The silence hangs heavy, and Drew shifts closer, frowning.

“Are you okay?” he tries again, voice laced with concern now.

“Almost died,” you say, clipped and cold, avoiding his gaze as you wait for the pills. It’s an exaggeration, but it’s how it felt, and you’re not in the mood to sugarcoat it.

He goes quiet, then exhales. “What happened?”

You turn, meeting his eyes briefly.

“Bad headache. Called you a bunch. You didn’t pick up. Took an Uber to the hospital instead.”

Your words are flat, matter-of-fact, but they land hard.

His face shifts, guilt flickering there.

“I didn’t know, babe. My phone was in the car. I was…”

He glances at Odessa, who’s now pretending to study a box of tissues.

“Helping Dess with something.”

You nod, just once, and grab the bag from the pharmacist with a muttered thanks.

“I need to go,” you say, heading for the door.

Drew hesitates, then follows, leaving Odessa behind.

“Let me drive you home,” he says, catching up outside. His voice is gentle, almost pleading.

You’re too tired to fight, so you shrug, letting him lead you to his car.

The ride’s silent.

You stare out the window, the pharmacy bag crinkling in your lap, the headache dulled but still gnawing. Drew grips the wheel, glancing at you every few seconds, but you don’t give him anything.

No words,

No looks.

Just the hum of the engine and the weight of what’s unsaid.

When you get home, you kick off your shoes by the door and head straight for the kitchen. Drew trails behind, closing the front door softly. You grab a glass from the cabinet, fill it with water from the sink, and pop the pill bottle open, all without a word. The pill slides down your throat, bitter and cold, and you set the glass down, staring at the counter.

“Y/N,”

Drew starts, his voice low as he leans against the doorway.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that.”

You don’t look at him, tracing a scratch on the counter with your finger.

“You weren’t there,” you say simply, and it’s not loud, but it cuts.

“I know,” he says, stepping closer.

“I should’ve had my phone. I didn’t think… I didn’t know you needed me.”

You turn then, eyes meeting his, and the hurt spills out before you can stop it.

“Why is it always her, Drew? Why’s Odessa always around, and I’m the one who can’t reach you?”

He blinks, caught off guard.

“She’s just a friend. She needed a ride to the clinic today, that’s all.”

You laugh, short and sharp.

“A friend. Right. She’s always needing something, and you’re always there. Meanwhile, I’m calling you, scared out of my mind, and your phone’s in the car because of her.”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking down.

“It’s not like that. You’re my priority, Y/N. I swear.”

“Then why doesn’t it feel like it?” Your voice rises, trembling a little.

“I needed you today, Drew. Not her. Me. And you weren’t there.”

He steps closer, hands out like he wants to fix it.

“I messed up. I get it. I’ll keep my phone on me, I’ll be there next time. Just… tell me how to make this okay.”

You shake your head, turning back to the counter, gripping the edge.

“I don’t know if you can. It’s not just today. It’s every time she’s around, every time I feel like I’m second.”

“She’s not more important than you,” he says, voice firm but quiet.

“You’re my girl. I’ll talk to her, set some distance. I didn’t see how much this was getting to you.”

You don’t respond, just stand there, the pill kicking in, numbing the ache in your head but not your chest. Drew waits, shifting his weight, like he’s hoping you’ll turn around, say something to close the gap. But you don’t. You grab the glass, rinse it out, and set it in the sink, moving past him to the living room.

“Y/N,” he calls softly, following a step behind. “Please.”

You pause, half-turning, but your eyes don’t meet his.

“I’m tired, Drew. I just need to lie down.”

He nods, slow and uncertain, hands dropping to his sides.

“Okay. I’ll be here if you need me.”

You head for the couch, curling up with a throw pillow, and he lingers by the doorway, watching. You close your eyes, pretending to rest, he doesn’t push. He just stays there, a shadow in the corner, and you’re not sure if he’s close enough to reach or too far to try.

[written-and-readen]

imagine your making out with anaxa and your brother (Mydei or Phainon your choice not mine) walked in at the worst time?

Interrupted at the Worst Time

Anaxa x reader

Summary: Phainon is becoming a nuisance to Anaxa. First, interrupting his date with you and now...

a/n: Getting caught has to be one of my favorite things to write

"Kiss?" You tap your lips with a finger. Anaxa raises a brow at your signal.

"No, we're in public." He continues walking. Indeed, the two of you are strolling through Marmoreal Market, but it's not that busy. Despite knowing Anaxa isn’t the biggest fan of PDA, you thought he might give you a quick peck if you asked nicely.

"Awww, fine." Anaxa takes your hand in his as some sort of compensation. His eye watches the way your lips pout, already letting his imagination run wild with how they’d feel against his. Of course he wants to kiss you. The problem is he might want it too much. He’s not about to draw everyone’s attention just because he can’t hold back and ends up making out with you in the middle of Okhema.

A shout of your name diverts your attention, and you're searching around for the familiar voice.

“Phainon!” You spot your brother in the crowd, waving at the snowy haired Chrysos Heir.

“Ah, there you are! And with Professor Anaxa…” Phainon’s tone goes flat upon seeing your hands locked together. He’s always been protective over you. After the destruction of Aedes Elysiae, the only thing you have left of your hometown is each other. At the same time, Anaxa’s hold on you tightens.

“Where are you headed?” You ask, hoping to ease the animosity somewhat.

“I was going to see if Theodoros has any new antiques.” His voice is cheerful again once he turns to you.

“Sounds fun!” You reply in a nearly identical chipper tone.

“Yeah, have fun with that,” Anaxa deadpans, peeved at having his time with you interrupted. Just as the conversation has started he's already pulling you away. For a scholar, he’s stronger than he looks, and you’re forced to stumble after him.

“I’ll see you later I guess!” You say over your shoulder to Phainon who’s back to glaring daggers at your boyfriend.

“What was that for?” Anaxa says nothing, continuing to string you along until you reach a more secluded alley in Okhema. You find your back hitting a wall and the scholar's hand placed next to your head.

"What...?" The words die in your throat when you realize just how close he is as he leans towards you.

"You said you wanted a kiss, right?" You can feel his breath against your lips.

"Yeah..." You affirm before he closes the distance. The insistent press of his lips has your knees weak, but when you go to lean back against the wall, Anaxa's hand catches your waist, pulling you into his chest instead. It's not the kiss you had imagined when you requested it, but you're certainly not complaining. When you part for air, Anaxa takes a good look at your flushed face, faintly smirking at his handiwork.

"Did you want to take this somewhere more private?" You ask, once again becoming cognizant of where you are. It's clear you both want more from the way you tug on the edge of his jacket and how his hands still hold your hips against his.

It's a desperate run through the streets of Okhema back to your house. You slam the door to your room seconds before Anaxa claims your lips again. You manage to slip his jacket off, tossing it aside to a chair before he backs you into the bed.

As you fall into the mattress, the kiss is broken, and Anaxa climbs on top of you. You think he's about to say something with the way his eye takes you in, seemingly studying every feature of your face with quiet contemplation. Instead, his lips collide with yours again.

You smile as his hair hangs down to brush against your cheeks, hands going to card through the turquoise strands. For someone who didn't seem interested in kissing you at all earlier, he's pretty eager once you're alone, effectively stealing your breath over and over.

The two of you don't even notice how you fall into a rhythm until it's broken by the door being flung open. Phainon was probably checking to see if you'd returned from your date with his professor, not expecting to find you beneath said professor. Your eyes are just as wide as your brother's at his intrusion. On the other hand, Anaxa is sending a glare equivalent to pointing his gun at Phainon's forehead.

"Out," You and Anaxa say at the same time, you more understanding yet insistent and him more commanding but both equally breathless. Without a word, your brother does as told and closes the door. Your body relaxes once it's shut.

"Annoying," Anaxa scoffs. You rub soft circles into his shoulder as if that's going to soften his anger (it does).

"We'll lock the door next time," You assure him with a smile that has him wanting to kiss you until he goes stupid. So, he leans down to reconnect your lips, and you melt underneath him again. With how lost both of you become in one another, neither of you remembers to lock the door.

[damiansgoodgirll]

can you please make soft smut with roman where reader is a wrestler and she’s shy and quiet and sometimes she feels insecure about herself ❤️

roman reigns x reader

‼️soft roman, insecure reader, smut‼️

LOVIN’ YOU

the locker room was buzzing with energy, the usual pre-show chaos of crew members rushing around, last-minute promos being filmed and wrestlers getting into the right mindset.

you sat on the leather bench in front of your locker, lacing up your boots with precision, trying to block out the noise around you.

you were never one for the loud, chaotic nature of the wrestling world. it wasn’t that you didn’t love it - because you did, with everything in you - but you had always been different from the rest. where others thrived on the adrenaline, the banter and the aggressive energy, you preferred quiet moments, a soft presence in a world that was anything but.

and yet, somehow, roman reigns, the tribal chief, the man everyone feared, had found you.

you felt him before you saw him. a deep warmth settling over you, a magnetic pull you had long since stopped questioning. roman had a presence that demanded attention and even when he wasn’t trying, the air shifted when he was near.

“ready for tonight?” his voice was low, wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

you looked up, meeting his dark eyes. he was watching you with that intense gaze that always made your heart melt and warm. you nodded, offering a small smile “yeah, just… mentally preparing.”

a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he crouched down in front of you, resting his forearms on his knees “you always do that…” he murmured, tilting his head “get all quiet before a match. what goes on in that pretty head of yours?”

you felt your face heat up under his scrutiny. roman had this way of making you feel completely exposed, like he could see right through every wall you put up - like he knew you more than you knew yourself.

“just… making sure i don’t mess up i guess…” you admitted softly.

his expression softened instantly, and he reached out, brushing his knuckles along your jaw “you never mess up, baby” he said, his voice firm “you’re too damn good for that.”

your chest tightened at his words, at the sincerity in his tone. roman had always been your biggest supporter, always believing in you even when you struggled to believe in yourself.

before you could respond, a crew member called for him, letting him know his segment was up next. he sighed, standing to his full height, towering over you as he always did.

“i’ll see you after?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

you nodded, and before he walked away, he leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. it was such a small gesture, but it left your skin tingling, warmth blooming in your chest.

roman reigns was not a gentle man to the world. but with you? he was something else entirely.

later that night, after the show had ended and the exhaustion had settled into your bones, you found yourself in roman’s hotel room. it was always like this after big matches - just the two of you, away from the chaos, seeking comfort in each other.

you sat on the edge of the bed, playing with the hem of your oversized hoodie, while roman stood near the window, his back to you as he scrolled through his phone.

he must have sensed your nerves because he glanced over his shoulder, his brow furrowing slightly “what’s wrong?”

you hesitated, biting your lip “nothing.”

he turned fully at that, setting his phone down on the table before walking toward you “don’t lie to me, sweetheart” he murmured, standing between your legs, his hands finding your waist “talk to me.”

you sighed, leaning into his touch “i just… sometimes i wonder if i fit in this world…”

his grip on you tightened slightly, his expression darkening - he definitely felt wasn’t expecting that “don’t do that” he said firmly “don’t doubt yourself.”

you swallowed hard, looking up at him “but i’m not like the others, roman. i’m not loud, or aggressive, or…”

“you’re you” he cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument “and that’s exactly why i want you. why i love you.”

your breath hitched, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

he exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping to rest against yours “you have no idea how crazy you make me…” he murmured. “the way you are, so sweet, so fucking good, it drives me insane.”

his lips found yours then, slow and deep, stealing the breath from your lungs. he kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to savor every second.

you melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

roman guided you onto the bed with a quiet groan, his body pressing against yours, warm and solid.

“you sure?” he asked, his voice rough, his lips trailing along your jaw.

you nodded, arching into him “yes.”

his hands moved with deliberate care, peeling away your clothes, his touch reverent. his hands slid beneath your hoodie, pushing the fabric up slowly, exposing inch after inch of skin. he traced his fingers over your stomach, your ribs, his touch light but deliberate. you gasped when his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts, your back arching instinctively. he pulled your hoodie over your head, tossing it aside before his lips found your collarbone, kissing and nipping his way lower. he unclasped your bra with practiced ease, groaning softly as he took in the sight of you.

“perfect…” he muttered, his hands cupping you, his thumbs circling your nipples before his mouth replaced his fingers.

he kissed every inch of exposed skin, worshiping you like you were something sacred.

you gasped when his lips trailed lower, when he settled between your thighs, his dark eyes locked onto yours. he sat back for a moment, dark eyes raking over your now bare form, his expression shifting into something possessive, something primal. “roman…”you breathed, your fingers tightening in his hair.

he hummed in response, his mouth finally finding where you needed him most. the first swipe of his tongue had you gasping, your hips jerking, but roman held you still, his grip firm.

he took his time, unraveling you piece by piece, pushing you to the edge and pulling you back until you were begging for him.

he worked you open with his tongue, his fingers joining in, stretching you, preparing you. you were trembling beneath him, your body taut with pleasure, every nerve ending alive and burning “let go baby…” - and you did.

roman didn’t stop. he licked and kissed you through it, drawing out every aftershock, until you were trembling, overstimulated and breathless.

only then did he move back up, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“ready for me, baby?” he asked, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

you nodded, still hazy, still floating.

when he finally pressed inside you, it was slow, deep, his forehead pressed against yours, his breaths mingling with yours.

“mine…” he murmured, his fingers lacing with yours “always.”

“oh fuck…” - you were sensitive. you clung to him, moaning into his ear, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

the slow build of pleasure started again, coiling deep in your stomach, and roman felt it.

“come for me again…” he murmured, his hand slipping between you, his fingers finding that sensitive spot.

your body obeyed, pleasure slamming into you, your walls tightening around him as you fell apart for the second time.

roman cursed, his movements stuttering as he followed right after, burying himself deep inside you with a guttural groan.

and as he moved, as he loved you with every part of himself, you knew, without a doubt, you belonged to him just as much as he belonged to you.

“i love you…”he whispered, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

you smiled, your eyes heavy with exhaustion and contentment “i love you too.”

roman sighed, wrapping you in his arms, holding you against him like he never wanted to let go.

and in that moment, you knew, he never would.

———————————

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

[81pastrys]

Hi pls could u request a dad Lando fic where Lila is about 17/18 and she gets a pregnancy scare (she's not actually preggo obvi 😭) but she goes to her mum about it cuz she's so scared on what to do and Lando overhears but they're both rlly supportive in case it does come back positive and when it turns out to be negative they're relieved but then he goes full dad mode if u get what I mean 😂 have a grt day hope ur doing alright 🫶

Waiting Game

Summary— Lila worries she messed up big time, but when it’s a false alarm she gets another ‘talk’

Warnings— teen pregnancy scare

A/N— I have more in the works 🫶🏻

Dad Lando List

Part 2 ; Part 3

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws

Lila was a good kid, always had good grades, no bad influences. Lando never worried about her well being if she went out to party and such, but what did worry him was Carlo.

Yes, Lila and Carlo had been dating for almost 3 years, but he hated the fact they were. Don’t get him wrong, amazing kid, great even, but Lando knows too much for his own good about teenagers and relationships.

He brought these worries up to his wife when it all started, walking in the two making out, but she blew him off with a, “They’re just kids Lando, bring this up in a few years and I’ll agree.” Well. The timer ran out and he overheard the two talking.

He could tell Lila was anxious, nervous, and scared. All by her tone of voice and stuttering. “Mum, I-I’m scared.” She started off with. Her mum was now concerned, what could be worrying Lila?

“What’s the matter sweetheart?” Maybe Carlo broke her heart, maybe she was just having a rough time with Lando being away while she hits milestones and such. Her mum couldn’t tell.

“Well, I talked with Carlo already and he told me not to worry but-“ Lila was cut off by Lando’s entrance, his worried manner appeared smiley and normal dad Lando.

“Hey my sweetheart.” He said, kissing her head. She shot him a nervous smile and he could see her tapping her fingers like he taught her when she got anxious. “Is something wrong?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing while he looked to his wife.

Lila hesitated and let out a quiet whine before blurting, “I think I’m pregnant.” She gasped at her own words and covered her mouth. Tears started forming and Lando immediately pulled her into a hug. “I haven’t taken a test, but I’m late and I-“

“Shh, it’s okay Lila.” Lando cooed looking to his wife. She got the message and walked to her bathroom. Not that her and Lando were trying, but she had pregnancy tests on hand in case. “Whatever happens, we’ll be right here with you.” He assured her they would not shut her out for a mistake.

Lila wiped her tears, trying to hide the emotions from her dad as he let her loose. “Please don’t kill him, it was an accident.” She whispered. Lando couldn’t give two shits about Carlo right now, not when his daughter needs him.

“Here sweetheart, me and your dad are going to talk for a little okay, we aren’t going anywhere okay?” Her mum returned with the test and Lila nodded, hurrying to the bathroom. She looked to Lando and sighed. “She is almost 18 Lan.”

Lando didn’t know how to respond, Lila would have her world turned upside down is she was pregnant. Her scholarships, her career, all of that required her full attention. “She’ll be okay my love.” He nodded and hugged his wife. “Whatever the test says is okay, she’ll have us either way.”

Lila followed the instructions and took deep breaths as the test lines faded into appearance. Not pregnant. She took another deep sigh and immediately told Carlo. She returned to her parents and showed them the negative test.

Lando likes trying to lighten the mood, maybe not in the best ways but he said, “I think I see a second line there.” He smiled big and Lila’s eyes nearly popped out her head. She looked back at the test.

“He’s joking.” Her mum said, hugging her teenager. “Now, we need to talk about using protection.” Lando’s smile faded and he crossed his arms. Why wasn’t this even a scare?

“Why was this even possible?” He asked. Not that he had the talk with her, but he knew his wife surely did. “Condoms, is she on birth control?” Lando asked. His wife shook her head and Lila took the reprimands.

“Lila we talked about this, we can get you on birth control, but for the time being.” Her mum added, looking to Lando. “We can buy condoms or give you money to buy them, but we want you to be safe.”

Lando doesn’t want her sexually active at all, but that’s just his fatherly instinct. “He should be buying them.” He mumbled. “Besides the point, you can do what you want, as long as you are safe while doing it.” He said.

“It was a one time thing, we weren’t thinking right, but I think he’s more scared than I was.” Lila said. “You might get a call from his dad.” Lando sighed. Of course Carlo would go running to daddy if his girlfriend had a pregnancy scare.

“If Carlos calls me freaking out, can we prank him?” Lando asked his wife like a giddy child. His wife rolled her eyes and Lila loved the idea. Carlos ended up not calling and Lando was bummed he couldn’t prank his best friend.

Why wouldn’t Lando want to prank Carlos 😭

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @itznotsophia @chertik-007vvv @kallanfiona

[twovialsofamortentia]

james’ birthday goes from giving him one kind of surprise to another 🎂🎁

🎧 angel- massive attack

warnings: smut. 18+, MDNI. oral (m receiving), rough oral sex, severe emetophobia warning, slight dacryphillia (tears), facefucking/throatfucking, james being spoiled in more ways than one, everyone is 18+, and a piss poor attempt at banter because it’s 1am

“Merlin, I’m getting sick of this birthday lark, now.” Sirius huffed, creeping up the stairs. “Moony first, then James, you next. S’never ending!”

“Don’t be such a twat.” you hissed, conscious of the fact that you were all sneaking up the echoey staircase at six in the morning to surprise James, marauders style, for his birthday.

“I am very sorry that I decided to be born in the same month as James.” Remus whispered, his sarcasm carrying up the staircase in hushed tones until you all got to the bedroom door separating you and the rest of the marauders from a sleeping James.

“Should be.” Sirius yawned. He poked you, who was at the front of the small pack. “You go in first. Check if he’s awake.”

“Why me?” you hissed.

“He won’t shout at you.” Remus explained on Sirius’ behalf.

You rolled your eyes. It was true, sure, but James was such a beautiful sleeper that you always felt a little bit guilty waking him up. Most of the time, he slept with one arm behind his head, lips parted- almost as if he were waiting for you to crawl in next to him, give him a kiss, and then lay on his chest.

Maybe it was something he picked up since he started dreaming about you, maybe it was just how he slept. The only thing you knew for certain was that he slept like an angel. Sometimes, in the early morning, when stray beams of sunlight infiltrated the gaps in the bed curtains and landed on James’ sleeping frame, you found yourself wondering whether or not James really was an angel.

That was by the by, now. You pushed the door open gently, creeping into the room. “You awake, darling?”

A quiet and muffled groan came from the bed, and if James’ face wasn’t smooshed into his pillow, you would have been able to tell that he had called out for you. If he were in a state of consciousness, he would have asked for you by your name, or a cheeky ‘alright, darling?’, but the other thing you loved about half-awake, hazy James was that he had a special pet name for you, reserved only for when he was in that limbo between awake and asleep, and he knew that all he wanted was you whether or not he woke up to feel you, or drifted back off to see you.

“Baby?”

“You awake?”

“Am now.” James rolled over onto his back, looking up at you, and a smile spread across his face instantly. He was topless, his hair messy, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Even though you were just a fuzzy blob, he smiled at the sight of you, because he knew without looking that you were beautiful. He didn’t need to see you to know that you looked like heaven on Earth.

If he had been able to see you, James would have clocked you smiling right back, because he looked so ridiculously sexy that you were debating shutting the others out of their own dorm to have your way with James then and there.

“Happy birthday.” you giggled, crossing the room to James’ bed, second furthest from the door.

After putting his glasses on, James sat up and swung his legs over the bed, before reaching out to grab your wrist so he could pull you to stand between them. “Thanks, darling.”

“Give us a kiss, and then I’ll let the others in.” you whispered, taking James’ face in your hands.

“Only if it’s a proper one.” James smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling your body closer to his.

You nodded, beaming down at James as you leaned in to crush your lips against his, kissing him deeply. ‘A proper snog’, as he called it, not just a chaste peck of your lips against his.

James hummed and grinned against your lips, amused that you were humouring his request for a proper snog, since usually you protested when he asked out of the blue.

He leaned back, slipping his tongue into your mouth and snaking his hands up under your shirt, grasping at your tits, because above all else, James was a man, and that was what men did. He was lucky you liked it.

“Can we come in yet?!” came a voice from outside, one that you knew was Peter.

Remus piped up, not long after. “You can shag all you want later, but these bastard presents are heavy!”

Sirius chimed in finally, and you could tell that he was trying to speak in a hushed whisper, but Sirius was incapable of speaking to people he cared about at a low volume.. He just ended up whisper-shouting, sounding as if he had a sore throat.

“Well, give ‘em here then!”

“No, you just want to carry them!”

“Moony, you just said-”

“This is such a childish thing to be arguing-”

“Piss off, Pete.” “Leave it out, Wormtail.”

“Fuck you both, then.”

Eventually, the boys stopped trying to whisper and started arguing fully, which meant that eventually, they’d be waking everyone else up. You sighed, shaking your head as you stood up straight, pressing a final kiss into James’ hair.

“You can come in, you bloody idiots!”

“Happy birthday!” they all chorused as they burst through the door.

James just laughed. “Cheers.”

You giggled, sitting down on the bed next to James. The other boys crowded around it too, Sirius cross legged at the foot of the bed, with Remus and Peter on either side of him.

You leaned forward to seize the box of croissants that you had made that morning, stuffing one into your mouth while they were still somewhat warm.

“Go on, then.” you said, mouth full. “Someone start dishing out presents.”

James spent the next hour opening presents. That’s how long it took him to get through them all, because not only were there so many (James, funnily enough, ended up being the most spoiled one of you all, even though he was the most minted), but also because every present meant something, or had a little story attached to it. Those were James’ favourite type of presents.

Remus had found him some old clothes from a couple of London charity shops, of which James was most excited about the pair of red trainers. Remus knew that would be the case.

Peter had gone to Diagon Alley and bought James a shitload of prank supplies- enough stuff that begged the question of whether Pete had just bought the whole shop. James had flicked an exploding snap card at you, and you had to duck and roll off of the bed to get away from it, which caused a diversion of another ten minutes, because then all of the boys started flicking exploding snap cards at you.

Sirius, who sat and eagerly explained every single gift in intricate detail, had bought James four records, two Rolling Stone magazines, and a poster of Debbie Harry, much to your dismay.

“Nice.” James laughed, when he opened it, prompting a smack upside the head from Remus. James winced, turning towards you. “Also, just peppering in the fact I love you very much. And it’s my birthday.”

“I was going to enchant it to move,” Sirius explained. “Didn’t really want you to get magically castrated, though. So I left it.”

“I’ll bloody castrate you.” you mumbled at Sirius, arms folded.

You had forbidden anyone else, even Fleamont and Euphemia, from buying James anything remotely Quidditch related for his birthday. That, you announced, was your department.

Which was why James ended up opening a new Quidditch jumper, two new jerseys, a Chudley Cannons flag for his bedroom wall, and-

“No way!” James gasped, when he took the lid off of a little red box that was tied up with a golden ribbon. “Oh, I really wanted a new snitch, as well!”

“Press it.” you insisted.

James looked at you quizzically. “Well- I don’t want it to fly away..”

You laughed, nodding along to James’ words, because you knew what the gag was with the snitch. “Just press it.”

James shrugged, still confused, but he did as he was told, and squeezed the snitch between his fingers, either side until the wings popped out. It fluttered in James’ hand, and he winced, expecting to never see it again, but it stayed put.

James’ jaw dropped, and his gaze snapped to yours. “Is it one of the ones-?”

You nodded. “Yeah, s’got a password. Won’t fly away till you say it, so if you- hey!”

You were cut off mid sentence when James dropped the snitch and launched himself at you, arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders and sending you flying back onto the bed. His voice was muffled against your shirt, face buried in your shoulder, but that made no difference, because James was speaking so fast it all came out as a blur anyway.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyoudarlingyou’resuchabloodyangelit’sperfectyou’reperfectIloveyousomuchyou’resoamazing-”

“James, calm down, it’s just- Mmph!” you were cut off because James, seemingly forgetting to give a fuck that his three best friends were in the room, grabbed the sides of your face and kissed you, hard.

Your eyes widened at first, and you went to protest that all of the boys were still sat on James’ bed, but then you realised that you didn’t really care.

“Merlin- mate-” Peter protested. “Bit graphic for six o’clock, innit?”

You laughed, nodding along to what Peter was saying. “Yes! Very much a bit graphic, while everyone’s in the room.”

James shrugged, sitting up as if he hasn’t just snogged your face off in front of all your best friends. The thing about James, and you supposed it was quite a sweet thing, really; was that he loved you, and he didn’t care who was around, he was going to show you anyway.

To you, and probably a few dozen others as well, James was sunshine. He always had been, and he always would be. That meant he had an abundance of sun-rays to share, and the first person he always thought to shed them on was you. No matter when, no matter where.

“Right, here is your prior warning,” James began sarcastically, holding his hands up precariously, sarcasm oozing from his tone of voice. “That I intend to make physical contact with my girlfriend in approximately-” he glanced quickly at his wrist, even though he wasn’t wearing a watch. “20 seconds.”

“I don’t want to know what physical contact you’re making. I’m going downstairs.” Sirius insisted, standing up off of the bed.

“Breakfast in an hour, you two.” Remus instructed, his gaze pointed mostly at you, because you were the one in charge of any further surprises for the day.

“Please keep all of said physical contact to your own bed.” said Peter sarcastically. That prompted a stupid look from you, one that meant obviously, dickhead.

The boys left one by one, leaving you and James; sat on his bed, surrounded by scrunched up wrapping paper and that presents that went with it.

James looked around the piles of wrapping paper that was scattered across the room, before reaching out and snatching the little red present box that used to house his new snitch, shaking the golden orb out into his hand.

“Love, this is amazing. It’s all so- You’re bloody lovely.” James couldn’t quite find the words, partly because he was so overwhelmed with gratitude for all the presents he had received, and partly because he had caught your eye, and remembered that you were beautiful, and you were his.

“You like it?”

James shifted closer to you, resting his palm on the side of your face so he could tilt your head up to look at him.

“I love it. Love it all. Love you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, because you knew you had done a good job. James didn’t necessarily need spoiling in the material sense, but when it came to his birthday, you felt even more of a need than usual to make him feel as loved as he made you feel, every second of every day.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” James laughed, in such disbelief that it was physically possible to be so beautiful on the inside and outside simultaneously, even though he thought you were living proof.

As soon as James leant down to kiss you, you were smiling too, and you were leaning back on the bed until your head was in James’ messy stack of pillows, at which point you draped your arms over his shoulders.

James’ wandering hands were fast, so you had to be faster- before he could lift up the waistband of your pyjamas, you were sliding off of the bed, standing up. You kept a hold of James’ hand so that he followed you to the edge of the bed, and kissed him a final time before dropping to your knees in front of him.

The sight of it made James’ whole body twitch, and within seconds, he was so hard that it hurt.

“Oh, Merlin.” he huffed, and his voice cracked as he said it. “You’re a bloody angel.”

“I know.” you giggled. “You gonna stand up ‘nd fuck my face, birthday boy?”

“Fucking hell, love…” James groaned, and so appeared the whine you had hoped for in his voice. Like music to your ears. With one hand still gripping yours, he reached down to thread his fingers through your hair, tugging on it just enough that your head tipped back to look at him.

That just made you smile. Without a word, you looked up through your eyelashes at James, hands resting neatly in your lap as you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out. Waiting.

James actually, genuinely whined, although he tried really hard not to, and his eyes fluttered shut as he shoved a hand down his front and pulled his dick out.

You gagged when James hit the back of your throat, naturally, but there was one thing you weren’t, and that was a quitter, so you blinked away the tears welling in your eyes and hummed around him, closing your lips and eyes at the same time.

James let a loud moan escape this time, finally able to feel you, and his hips involuntarily bucked into your mouth. It was the sound you were waiting for, and you could practically feel all the tension in his limbs melt away.

“Feels, fuck-” he groaned, already struggling to form proper sentences. “So good, my girl-”

James barely got those words out, and you had only just started, but it wasn’t exactly easy to string together a sentence when your throat was so tight and his head was swimming with a mess of sensations. He pulled on your hair in a way that was slightly more painful than usual, but there was no malicious intent. You knew James well enough to understand the difference, and well enough to know he’d never dream of hurting you.

The hand that James had in your hair gripped a little bit tighter, and you knew what that meant, so you took a deep breath as James started to shift his hips backwards and forwards, sliding in and out of your throat.

“Fuck.” he tried to huff the word out, but it came out as a squeaky whimper, James’ voice cracking in the sexiest way possible.

His other hand came to grip your hair, too, scraping it up into an impromptu ponytail, so that he could snap his hips upwards, starting to actually fuck your throat.

You gagged once, and then twice, giggling around James’ dick as tears stung the corners of your eyes again. You let them roll down your flushed cheeks this time, instead of blinking them away.

“Feels so good, angel.” he gasped. “So good, so pretty-”

James’ head was spinning, and he was panting with the effort it took to not immediately spill himself down your throat. He pulled at your hair again, wanting to look at you, wanting to see the tears streaking your face as you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

Sometimes it shocked you to see James look so completely filthy, because it was stark contrast to his sunniness, his laughter, and his flirting. Sometimes, though, when you were like this, you remembered times that James had taken you, bent over, against a wall, or falling totally to bits underneath you, and that was a reminder of just how dirty James Potter really was.

“I love you-” James managed to gasp out, but his words were quickly replaced by a moan, because of the way you were gazing up at him. “Love you, angel, I’m gonna come.”

James’ breaths were coming in ragged and uneven, his chest heaving like nobody’s business, and it was until you had swallowed it all that you registered James jerking his hips forwards a final time and coming right down the back of your throat.

You gasped, smirking as you pulled yourself of off James’ dick, sitting back on your knees. You stayed like that for a moment; drool all around your mouth, tears running down your cheeks, hair a tangled mess.

“I wish you could see yourself.” said James, staring intently down at you, and even from the floor you could see his pupils were like saucers.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” James echoed, nodding as he reached down to grab your chin, tilting your head up. “So filthy. So beautiful.”

“Hm. S’cause it’s your birthday, love.” you mused. “If you think that’s it, you’ve got another thing coming.”

[pukefactory]

also if i may, i'd like to request black sapphire cookie x gender neutral tsundere!reader pretty please! we need more tsundere content (and black sapphire teasing) >///< 🙏

✦ ─ ˗ˋ MIDNIGHT RENDEZVOUS ˊ˗ ─ ✦

⬨ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Black Sapphire Cookie X Tsundere Reader

⬨ Character(s): Black Sapphire Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

⬨ Genre: Headcannons, SFW

⬨ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

⬨ Image Credits: @yukiexpress

★ Black Sapphire Cookie is a menace when it comes to teasing you. He knows exactly how to press your buttons, and oh, does he have fun doing it. “Oh dear, why the pout? Surely, you don’t have a crush on little old me, do you?” he coos, all sly grins and twinkling amusement. You turn away with a huff, arms crossed. “As if! You’re so full of yourself!” But he just chuckles, eyes glinting. “Hehe… You’re adorable when you’re in denial.”

★ He loves watching you squirm. Every time you react—whether it’s a flustered glare, an indignant scoff, or a hasty retort—he eats it up like it’s the juiciest gossip he’s ever heard. He’ll lean in close, voice dropping to a low purr, just to see you panic. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle a little attention, sweetheart?” You shove him away, face burning. “Don’t call me that!” He only grins. “Oh? Would you prefer darling instead?”

★ You’re his favorite mystery to unravel. Black Sapphire Cookie is a master of deception, a connoisseur of facades—but you? You’re different. You act all cold and dismissive, but he sees right through it. “You say you don’t care, yet you always seem to listen to my broadcasts. Interesting, don’t you think?” You nearly drop the radio you were totally not tuning into. “It’s just background noise, okay?!”

★ When you actually compliment him, it throws him for a loop. He’s so used to teasing you that when you quietly mumble, “You… You actually looked kinda cool back there,” it’s his turn to freeze. “Oh?” His smirk falters for just a moment, but then it’s back, sharper than ever. “You must really like me to say something so sweet.” And just like that, the moment is gone as you yell, “Forget I said anything!!”

★ He knows exactly how to make you crack. You try so hard to keep your composure, but he’s relentless. Casually resting his chin on your shoulder? Check. Whispering things in your ear just to fluster you? Double check. One day, he catches you staring at him, and instead of teasing, he just smirks and holds eye contact. “See something you like?” You nearly combust. “I WASN’T LOOKING!!”

★ He absolutely uses his radio broadcasts to mess with you. He’ll drop just enough hints to make you panic. “And tonight, dear listeners, I’ve got a very special topic—a certain Cookie who insists they don’t like me, but their actions say otherwise.” Your face goes up in flames as you shout at the radio, “STOP SPREADING LIES!!” Somewhere, Black Sapphire Cookie is laughing himself silly.

★ He lives for catching you being soft. The moment he sees you fussing over him—adjusting his cravat, fixing his hair, muttering a quiet “Be careful, okay?”—he knows he’s won. “Oh, darling, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re worried about me.” You immediately retract your hands. “Shut up before I change my mind!”

★ You’re the only one he lets see his unfiltered side. To the world, he’s the ever-charming, ever-smug host of deception. But with you? He’ll let his exhaustion slip, just for a moment. He’ll lean against your shoulder, sighing. “Even I get tired of playing the part sometimes…” And despite your usual prickliness, your hand finds his, squeezing just once. “Yeah, well… You’re pretty good at it.”

★ He loves making you jealous. Oh, the sheer joy he gets from watching you fume when he flirts with others just to get a reaction. But when he sees you looking genuinely upset, he dials it back. “Now, now, there’s no need for that adorable pout. You know you’re my favorite, right?” He laughs when you shove him. “Oh, don’t be mad, sweetheart! You’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

★ At the end of the day, he adores you. As much as he teases, as much as he pushes your buttons, there’s no one else he’d rather have by his side. And when you finally, finally muster up the courage to whisper, “I… like you, okay? So quit teasing me for once,” he simply smiles. A real, genuine smile. “Well, well… Took you long enough.” And for once, he doesn’t taunt—you’ve already given him the sweetest secret of all.

[mx-pastelwriting]

Fragile

Haymitch Abernathy x GN! Reader

Summary: Alcohol not allowed in District 13 you look after Haymitch as he goes through the withdrawals.

Warnings/Tags: Established Relationship, Mention of Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdraws, Depictions of Withdraws, Depictions of Gagging and Vomiting, Angst & Fluff, Cuddling and Snuggling, Cheek Kissing, Smell of Vomit

Washing away any remaining vomit with the cold sponge you held, Haymitch, sitting in the tub, breath labored going through painful withdrawals. Remaining by his side through all of it, beginning when you both had found out about Thirteen’s ban on alcohol, remembering Plutarch’s look of pity as all the color from Haymitch's face drained.

Using the other side of the sponge to drip some of the cold water onto his neck, revealing its hot surface. Watching as his body shook with sweat rapidly coating his skin. Clothing only in sleeping shorts, knowing a new shirt would only be vomited on.

Eyes barely open, head resting against the shower wall, whispering weak pleas under his breath for the banned liquid. Breaking your heart even further as he started to beg your name, needing you to make it all go away.

Dipping your hand in the cold bucket of water before running your finger through his hair, taking it out of his face. Feeling his hot scalp against your cool fingertips hearing him sigh at the temperature change, but the relieving moment was cut short as Haymitch started to gag.

Quickly grabbing the trash can next to you that was halfway filled, looking away to not watch as he vomited again, hearing as only spit and stomach acid came up.

Only looking back as you hear him groan, head once again resting against the tiled wall. Dark bags hung from Haymitch's eyes as he looked at you, barely catching the weak nod he gave you. Helping Haymitch's weak body up, patient as his knees worked to stabilize.

Laying your fragile man on the shared twin mattresses you both had pushed together a day prior. Placing ice packs on his neck and sides to fight his hot flashes before tucking him in. Watching as he shook in place, body overwhelmed by the differing temperatures.

As you sat next to the bed, Haymitch's eyes never left you, looking into the blue helplessness of his eyes, fighting to not rush his weak body back to the medical bay. Having been there an hour ago as Haymitch's symptoms started to worsen, only able to check vitals and discharge him with multivitamins that help ease the withdrawal symptoms.

Moving closer, taking his clammy hand hearing his rapid breathing, the air between you kept quiet to spare him from a worsening headache.

Noticing the absence of the trash can, standing to grab it quickly from the bathroom, only to be stopped as Haymitch, with the little strength he had left, pulled you back. Looking back at his panicked face, breath now labored.

"I'm not leaving. I have to get the trash can from the bathroom," you explain, causing his grip to loosen a little. "I'll only be a minute," you reassure him, finally letting you go to grab the trash can.

Tying up the very used trash bag, taking it out. Setting the trash can next to the bed before putting the used bag next to the door for it to be taken out once Haymitch drifts off to sleep.

Replacing the trash bag, ready for Haymitch's next wave of nausea. Back to sitting by his side, propping him up with an extra pillow to drink some water while feeding him bits of crackers and small spoons of warm soup.

Stopping when he shook his head at the offering of more, removing the extra pillow, letting him get some rest. Watching as he drifted off just to be woken by tremors, waiting for them to calm before falling back asleep only to wake abruptly again from the tremors. Minutes of this, Haymitch finally looks to you for help, though not sure what you could do but crawl into bed with him.

Wrapping an arm around his shaking body, feeling as he relaxes in your warm hold. Kissing his stubbled cheek before resting your head atop his pillow, trying hard to block out the smell of vomit, to put his comfort over yours.

Seconds go by before soft snores sound from Haymitch, sighing with relief knowing the hours of struggle have come to an end for the day. Breathing and tremors come to a slow as he sleeps away the evening after spending the early morning and afternoon fighting withdrawals with you by his side through all of it.

Even as he tried many times to eat, drink, and clean himself on his own, you were there when his body failed to follow through. Knowing this would only get worse, but you lay there next to Haymitch, moving away strands of wet hair from his sleeping face, telling yourself you'd be ready for it.

I got heart burn from just writing this, sorry everyone!

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

Taglist: @bfintaks @callsignwidow

[joostabernichtklein]

based on instagram live: reader is in a secret relationship w joost. they’re on the tour bus in his bed and she’s trying to take off his makeup from the night before. he’s being an ass and keeps looking at/showing her instagram reels until he accidentally goes live and can’t figure out how to turn it off until apson joins. lol i thought this was a silly idea it can be fluffy or kinda nsfw idc

-Here you go anon!!

˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅Not so secretive⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚

-Joost Klein x fem!reader

-warnings: none

-word count: 2k+

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The hum of the tour bus was almost soothing, the gentle rattle of wheels on the road as it coasted along the winding highway, the soft creak of the metal as they rolled through the night. Inside, it was a different world altogether.

You slowly opened your eyes winking for a bit, It was early in the morning, almost too early for your liking. It was the kind of early that made everything feel like it was in slow motion. You hadn't planned waking up this early let alone getting up only if your bladder didn't have other plans. You slowly sat up as you rubbed your eyes looking around. The faint light creeping in through the bus window was a soft reminder that you were far from home — on the road with Joost, your boyfriend of almost 2 years, and the rest of his crew.

You didn’t even remembered falling asleep the night before. It is a blur of flashing lights, the screaming crowd and the euphoria of the performance. You’d barely had a chance to let your head hit the pillow before the movement of the bus lulled you into an uneasy sleep. But here you are, awake now, in a quiet, dimly lit space.

You reached for your phone that was laying beside you in your shared bed, the weight of sleep still tugging at you. You opened your phone squinting your eyes as the bright light hit them, the time read exactly 6:42 am. You exhaled deeply turning your phone off before you looked around the small room, until your eyes landed on your boyfriend still sleeping soundly next to you only in his boxers. His blonde hair was a mess and all over the place, his lips slightly parted in his peaceful sleep, and there was something about the way he looks. He doesn’t always show this side of himself. On stage, he’s always so put together, full of energy, a million miles a minute. But here, like this, he’s just Joost, your Joost.

You always appreciated these little moments yet you never really told him, mostly because you weren't that good at talking about how you felt. It was easier to let the silence speak for itself. It had taken months of convincing from Joost before you agreed to go on this Europapa tour with him, and even now, the fact that you were actually here — with him — felt surreal.

It’s strange, this life you share together. You’ve been dating Joost for almost two years now, but no one knows, not anyone out of your close circle of friends. You didn’t start it this way, didn’t plan for it to go like this. But over the course of your relationship, it had just become easier to keep things private. You loved him, of course, but the thought of the paparazzi, the fans, and the pressure of public relationships just didn’t sit right with you. He understood, and as his career began to soar even higher, it became an unspoken agreement — the quieter, the better.

You think about it for a moment, your heart swelling with a kind of bittersweet ache. The brief touches when no one is looking, quiet kisses when the world is still.

You slowly got up letting your toes hit the cold ground of the tour bus. You were moving carefully towards the bathroom making sure not to wake up anyone in the bunk beds. As you stepped into the tiny bathroom, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror realizing that you didnt take your makeup off from yesterday . You sighed and grabbed a makeup wipe, gently rubbing your face to clean up the mess. You needed to get it off before the day fully started. You remembered that Joost also didn't take his eye makeup off from yesterday, being too tired to even care about it, so before heading out of the bathroom you grabbed some makeup wipes along with you.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻

Again you found yourself in the arms of the man you loved so much. He was of course still fast asleep when you came back, you really weren't expecting him being awake. As he snuggled closer to you he mumbled something agains your shoulder. You reach over, gently brushing his hair out of his face. He stirs slightly, his arm tightening around your waist in his sleep as if trying to pull you closer. You don’t try to fight it. In fact, you let yourself sink into the warmth of him, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne. You can’t help but smile. Joost’s eyes then flutter open, squinting against the dim morning light

“What time is it?” He asks his morning voice thick with sleep, his eyes barely open as he looked up at you.

You glance at him “It’s early,” you reply softly, feeling your lips twitch into a smile. “You’re up too early for someone who’s supposed to be on tour.”

Joost groaned, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand “Uugh, I haven’t had a real sleep in weeks.” His hand lingers on your arm, and when you look at him, he raises an eyebrow. “How long have you been awake for?”

“Not that long...i think i woke up like 30 minutes ago” you said turning to your side resting your chin on your hand. He rubes his eyes one more time before snuggling agains your chest one more time. It makes you chuckle.

“You should've gone back to sleep.” he mumures agains your chest before placing a soft kiss in the middle of it while his hands found your waist one more time. He looks up at you with his blue eyes a smirk tugging on his lips. His hand already moving from your waist lower until it founds your ass, squezing the soft meat uderneath his hands. Joost moved a little bit upwards kissing your jaw and slowly moving toward the neck to find the sweet spot of yours. You already knew what he's thinking. Its almost like you can see right through him.

You chuckled as you playfully pushed him away “You're such a dog Joost” you said as you turned to the other side so you wouldn't have to meet his puppy eyes that he always made whenever you said no.

“Please baby i would be quick I promise” he whispered almost begging you by kissing on the back of your neck. You rolled your eyes as you quickly sat up looking down at him.

He exhales dramatically “Whatever you are just mean” he said rolling onto his back. You just chuckle. You watched him reach for his phone.

“Love there are also other people in the bus if you actually mind....plus you look like a racoon” you joked as you grabbed the makeup wipes, opening the package taking one out.

“Here lemme help you get cleaned up” you said softly

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻

You now sat cross-legged on Joost’s bed, bent slightly at the knee, as you gently swipe the makeup wipe across his face. Joost laid sprawled out beside you, his eyes now glued to his phone screen. you glanced over at him, annoyed but amused at the same time. His finger swiped lazily through Instagram, bouncing from one reel to another, all while he shifted his body to get comfortable, half-buried in a mess of blankets. The faint hum of his amusement didn’t escape your notice, but it didn’t help that he was acting like an absolute child.

“You can’t be serious,” you mutter, not even looking up as you continue wiping at his face.

Joost doesn’t answer right away. You glance up, and sure enough, his eyes are still glued to his phone, his thumb rapidly flicking through Instagram Reels.

“Joost,” you say, exasperated, as you swipe the makeup wipe across his cheek a little more firmly than you intended. “I’m trying to clean your face here. Can you at least pretend to pay attention for five minutes?”

He looks up for the briefest moment, his lips curling into that familiar mischievous grin. “You can multitask, right? You can clean my face and watch funny cat videos. It’ll make your life easier, trust me.”

You sigh dramatically, already knowing what’s coming. “I don’t need cat videos, Joost. I need you to stop staring at your phone for two seconds.”

But of course, he doesn’t listen. He flips his phone around, showing you the screen, and despite your best efforts, you find yourself chuckling at the sight of a cat doing its best attempt at jumping onto a table and failing spectacularly.

“See?” he says smugly, clearly enjoying the fact that he’s distracted you. “Told you it would make you laugh. Cats make everythin better“

You rolled your eyes, trying to refocus on the task at hand. “You’re impossible.”

“Don’t lie. You love me,” he teases, nudging your shoulder turning his phone towards himself only for him to turn it back towards you in a milisecond, showing you another video of cat almost the same one as before, only this time playing with a string.

Joost chuckled while looking at you turning his phone towards himself one more time, but then suddenly his phone fell from his hands hitting his bare hairy chest. Joost's fingers must've slipped on the screen, because you heard the familiar sound of Instagram's live feed starting up. You froze in your moves. You hands with the makeup wipes still resting on his face.

He picked his phone up as he panicked. His finger hovered above the screen as he scrambled to stop it, but of course, his panic made things worse. He kept swiping in the wrong direction, trying to press the button to end the stream but he accidentally started pulling up the Instagram filters, then comments, then a live video of an old cat meme.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Joost cursed under his breath, desperately fumbling with the phone, his panic rising with every second that passed. “How do I turn this off? What the fuck, it’s live! What do I do?! How did I even do this?!”

He kept swiping in every wrong direction possible, flipping through screens and even accidentally pulling up Instagram’s live-streaming features. The fans of course started flooding in quick. The comments also came flooding in faster than you could read them. You still managed to get a little glimse of them.

“Who's hands are those?!” “Joost’s live? What’s happening?” “Joost’s panic attack, part 1 😂” “Is she his girlfriend???” “OMG ARE THEY DATING??!”

You tried to grab the phone from his hands, but he pulled it away, too caught up in his frantic struggle. “I can’t turn it off! What is happening?!” His voice cracked slightly, and you could tell he was spiraling.

Your hands quickly came up to your body to rest againts your side as you relized that the people in the live could still see them on Joosts face. You sat still watching Joost getting redder by every second passing by. It felt like your stomach did a whole flip. You started to stress out already a bit. You were aware of what his fans were capable of and it scared you a little.

And then, as if the universe itself was playing a cruel joke on you two, Joost accidentally tapped the “Invite to Join” button. The screen flashed with the message: “Appiemussa has joined the livestream.”

You placed your head in your hands trying to calm down. “What the hell is going on?” you then heard apsons voice throught the phone, he also sounded like he just woke up.

Joost froze in terror, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “Apson, help! I didn’t mean to do this, man! How do I turn it off?!”

Apson blinked, clearly just waking up, his disheveled hair and sleepy face now live on the screen for all to see. “Bro, how’d you even accidentally go live? You’re killing me,” Apson said already grinning at the screen and you could hear the amusement in his voice.

Joost let out a frustrated groan, holding the phone as if it were an alien object. “How do I stop this?” Apson now literally exploded with laughter “Dude you just gotta click on the button on the top left” he said before adding “Wait did people see you and—” and before he could finish the sentance with your name, Joost finally tapped the right button, and the stream abruptly ended.

Silence

For a moment, there was just silence, everything felt quiet again. Joost sat back on the bed, staring at the phone in his hands like it was a grenade that had just exploded. His chest rose and fell rapidly with his shallow breaths.

You finally looked up at him and also leaned back against the pillows, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. “Well, that was fun. Wasn't it?”

Joost slumped beside you, covering his face in embarrassment. “I swear the next time im throwing your phone out of the window” you chuckled trying to lighten the mood.

Joost let out a long sigh. “Great. Just great. I can’t believe I almost accidentally made you public. Sorry...I'm so sorry”

You placed a comforting hand on his thigh as you looked him in the eyes "No, no, it's fine, really. I mean, they only saw my hands, right? A small mistake has never been the end of the world… am i correct?"

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

-Thanks for the ask!

-This actually took something within me so I hope you enjoyed!

-Not proof-read

-Don't forget to send more asks we are slowly working on all of them (>ᴗ•)

[crimsoncandy04]

It's ya girl. Back at it again with the smut no one asked for but I'm doing it anyways because the world needs my thoughts.

Anyways since we're not selfish lovers here and I already wrote about Wanderer and his variants eating your cunt and making you scream...

Here's how I think it would go if you said you wanted to suck their dicks in return.

Kabukimono (my baby I love him he's so sweet and he's not gonna survive)

He’s the most innocent of Wanderer's variants, so he’d blink in confusion at first, honestly not understanding what you mean and why that part of him seems so special to you.

He'd let you but would be hesitant and nervous.

"Okay. If you really want to."

Then he notices the way your lips curl into a sly little smirk. You kneel down and start trying to undress him. And then? Immediate panic.

Because now he realizes that you're serious and weren't just joking. (He's excited but also this is a first for him so the poor guy is just a mess. Be gentle with him)

His face erupts into red, and he nearly faints once he feels your lips around his cock.

He is NOISY too. Moaning wildly at just the slightest touch and maybe even tearing up and crying a bit when you take more of him in your mouth and start to move a little faster.

Don't tease him. You might make him malfunction somehow. (Kabukimono.exe has stopped working)

Wanderer (he likes playing hard to get so you'll have to beg a little for it)

He’s not letting you off easy. His gaze flicks up from his clothes dick, and his smirk is dangerous. He slowly, deliberately reaches a hand down into the confines of his shorts and strokes the length of his manhood, watching your reaction the entire time.

“Oh?” he muses, voice dripping with mock innocence.

“That’s funny, because you look like you want something else instead.”

(He's actually very excited at the idea but he's not really as vulnerable as he used to be so he's going to try and distract you rather than just admitting he's kinda nervous. You'll have to be sweet but adamant)

He'd tease you and maybe try to drag things out but once he's balls deep in your mouth? He'd start to lose it. He'd groan softly and maybe whimper a little but at some point he goes completely feral and grabs your head before starting to thrust into your throat and fucking your mouth.

(He's still careful not to hurt you though. And if you make any sign of discomfort or sound like you're distressed he'd stop immediately.)

Scaramouche (Bro is hella quiet. And he's not moaning for you in a million years. It sucks but his actions speak of his secret desperation and honestly maybe getting him off could calm him down a little?)

Do you want to die?

Because you’re dead. Absolutely dead. He stops mid thought, narrowing his eyes at you with a look that’s equal parts suspicion and amusement.

Then, ever so casually, he leans in his lips brushing your ear.

“Say that again.” His voice is low, dangerous, daring you to repeat yourself. If you do? Oh, he’s making you regret it. He’d smirk, slow and taunting, before undressing himself and exposing his hardened cock to you before forcing you onto your knees and ordering you to pleasure him.

If he sees you hesitate after his response he'd taunt you.

“Hah. Not so bold now, are you?”

And he's rough too. Grabbing your hair and forcing his entire dick deep into your throat as he makes you take it as far as it can go. He loves watching you suffer. If your eyes start tearing up or he hears you make any kind of noise, it'll just arouse him further. He wants to see you slobbering and sucking on his cock in the filthiest, most obscene way possible just to make you suffer for wanting him in such a vulnerable position.

You played with fire. And now you’re burning. But the flames have never felt so good.