#circuit chaps

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

Both the Blorgons and Circuit Chaps have long viewed empathy as a fatal flaw.

So, why is it that they, the supposedly superior beings, are the ones who end up dead?

[travern]

Circuit-Guv’nor – Inspector Spacetime

Within the rigid Circuit-Chap social strata, Circuit-Gov'nors answered only to the Circuit-King. In the field, Circuit-Gov'nors commanded the factory-flagships which led the Circuit-Army's Digifleets. A Circuit-Gov'nor would serve as a regulator of the Circuit-Soldiers in the Circuit-King's absence and sometimes be accompanied and assisted by a Circuit-Butler. ("Five Inspectors, One Time Booth")

Most Circuit-Gov'nors were recognisable as leader by a tweed flat cap ("Reappearance of the Circuit-Chaps") or steel-wool handlebar moustaches ("Ennui of the Circuit-Chaps"). The rotory shaft–driven A. I. Varistor-Jones, a proto-Circuit-Chap, had a silver handlebar moustache and was addressed as "gov'nor" by his Circuit-Mutts ("'ello, guv'nor!", "blimey, guv'nor!", "lumme, guv'nor!", etc.). ("Alan Turing’s Test of Horror", "The Descent of the Circuit-Chaps")

[satorulovebot]

so scarlet it was, maroon | chapter one

✧₊⁺ pairing — satoru gojou x journalist!reader

✧₊⁺ chapter summary — you get the chance to meet the infamous gojou satoru while working on your journalism project at suzuka circuit. what could you possibly want from him?

✧₊⁺ word count — 6.3k

✧₊⁺ warnings — nsfw (minors dni), age gap, alcohol use, mature themes, mentions of cheating, substance abuse, themes of marriage and divorce

✧₊⁺ notes — hello everyone! i asked you awhile ago on a poll which series you would like to see after cursed seas and f1 gojo won the poll and then i posted the masterlist and everyone wants it so you get it now. so here it is. and NO its not happy NEVER expect happiness from me because im allergic to it. also the reader being nosy af is inspired by me and my parents telling me i should be a journalist with how nosy i am.

series masterlist // pinterest moodboard // general masterlist

next chap. the husband and his wife

You moved to Tokyo with your family when you were younger.

You grew up in a rural part of the country, surrounded by farmers and people either ready to retire or nearing the end of their lives. Your parents hated living there, and so did you—for one, there were hardly any kids to play with, and two, as your father would say, "too many old fuckers lying around."

When you moved to Tokyo, your family decided to celebrate by taking you to a Formula 1 race. Your dad thought it would be perfect for the two of you since fixing up old cars had always been your daddy-daughter activity.

You didn’t like the idea of racing at first—the noise was too loud, and the idea of people speeding toward a black-and-white checkered line seemed ridiculous. But the moment you heard the roar of the engines and watched the lights go from red to green, you were captivated, a fascination that would stay with you for years.

When you got your first computer, you began looking up videos of F1 drivers. One day, you stumbled across a video titled “The Biggest F1 Scandals in History,” and that was when you decided you wanted to go into journalism.

You were nosy, to say the least. So, it was no surprise to your parents when you announced to them that you wanted to pursue journalism as a career. Your father reminded you how you’d always been curious, listening in on others’ conversations and keeping up with the latest school drama.

When you applied for journalism school, you were accepted into one of the top programs in the world—Sophia University. Your parents were proud that you’d made it into such a highly ranked school for journalism in Japan.

You were now in your fourth and final year at Sophia, and enjoying your journalism class. Recently, your professor assigned a project: write a story about a major pop culture figure of your choice, and for extra credit, get an interview with them. Your professor knew it was damn near impossible, but he was always optimistic that one day, someone would get that interview and he could retire in peace.

That project led you here: Suzuka Circuit, Japan's main Formula 1 track. Your chosen figure was none other than Gojou Satoru—F1's biggest driver in recent years. He was your father's favorite among the new-generation drivers, known for his string of controversies since he started on top of the persistent rumors of his heavy drug use before races.

You had managed to snag a media passs from your professor when you mentioned doing an F1 driver for your project. He was able to pull some strings to get you into the media booth, getting you a closer look at Gojou Satoru in person.

You watched the pre-race preparations closely from the media booth, your fingers hovered above your notepad as you waited for the race to start. You were determined to get a good grade on this project, and that meant adding every single detail to your report about this race.

It was about time for the drivers to gather in their garages, each wearing headsets and ready for the pre-race briefing. The briefing typically covers the race start, various pit stop scenarios, and a detailed weather report. Before each race weekend, they usually spend time in a simulator of the track they'll be racing on, preparing them for the upcoming race.

After about thirty-minutes the racers came out of their garages in their respective cars. They each line up based on the results of a quaifying session that takes place before the race, slowest qualifier in the back, fastest in the front. Gojou Satoru was at the front of the grid, which meant he was one of the qualifiers who had the fastest time.

You waited around for a little while longer turning your attention to what was happening around you. Eventually, you made your way back to the front of the media booth as the race started, ready to report.

The engines revved as each driver began preparing for the start of the race, each car vibrating on the starting grid like a beast straining at its chains. Gojou sat at the front of the lineup, his hands loose on the wheel, fingers tapping in a steady rhythm as he waited for the lights to turn green.

The roar from the grandstands faded, becoming a blur of sound as the lights ticked down: red, red, red, red… green.

He slammed the throttle, feeling the raw force of the car’s engine kick him back into his seat as he tore down the straight. Other cars jostled for position behind him, all fighting to claim the inside line into the first turn.

Through his earpiece, he heard the voice of his race engineer, Shokou, calm as ever. “Clear on turn two, you’ve got five-tenths on Hayashi. Stay tight.”

But Gojou barley heard her. The car was an extension of him, responding to his every thought, every split-second decision. He pushed down the straights, his right foot heavy on the accelerator, taking corners at speeds most drivers wouldn’t dare attempt. The sound of his tires skidding against the asphalt, the blur of the track side barriers, the lights of Tokyo reflecting off his mirrors—it all blended into a single, perfect rush.

Gojou could see the next turn ahead, a tight chicane that could send the best drivers into the barriers if they weren't careful. He braked hard, turning the wheel with perfect precision to angle the car through. He could feel the back end wobbling, but he didn't flinch, drifting perfectly as he swung back onto the racing line, gaining another second on the pack.

He could almost hear the collective gasp of the crowd in his head as he slipped through the chicane. This was his playground. Every race was a chance to remind the world why he was the best.

“Coming up on a DRS zone,” Shoko’s voice crackled in his ear, grounding him, though he was already on it

He waited for the perfect moment, watching the rear-view mirror to see the faint outline of Hayashi's car. He pressed the DRS, and his car shot forward, the drag reduction giving him a temporary speed boost that had him pulling away, putting him in the lead.

The track opened up ahead, the second sector full of wide, sweeping turns. Here was where raw speed mattered more than anything. Gojou pressed down hard on the accelerator, the engine roaring in response. He leaned forward, watching the track fly by, the white lines blurring as he focused entirely on the road ahead.

For a second, the sound in his earpiece went dead, the faint sound of static filling his ears. Then Shokou was back. “You’ve got Yoshida closing in on your tail. He’s pushing hard.”

Gojou glanced up at the mirrors, his eyes catching the bright blue and orange of Yoshida's car looming larger. The familiar thrill sparked in him. So, Yoshida thought he had a chance, did he? Well, he’d show him otherwise.

“Copy,” he muttered into his mic, eyes narrowing as he took the next corner, barley touching the brakes. He felt the tires skid but he managed to control the drift, knowing any slip would open the door for Yoshida to slip past.

He whipped into another straight, his hands steady on the wheel as he hit a top speed.

His foot didn’t so much as twitch as the engine’s roar morphed into a high-pitched scream as the car closed the distance.

The curve ahead was brutal—a tight 90-degree bend that demanded precise timing.

In a split-second decision, he did something no one expected. He braked late, his heart pounding as he cut the turn at a speed that sent the back end skidding. The tires gripped just in time, allowing him to pull out of the corner without losing traction. He could almost feel the shock reverberating as he regained control, his lead still intact.

As the laps wore on, his body moved on instinct, every gear shift, every turn becoming a single, fluid motion. One lap. Two. Three, with two pit stops between. He counted them off one by one, his mind buzzing with the pure rush of speed and the heat inside the car, barely noticing the time passing. The crowd faded into nothing, the world shrinking down to the track and his car.

The final lap. This was it.

“Box this lap if you’re in trouble,” Shokou’s voice crackled again. “Tire degradation is high.”

But Gojou’s grip on the steering wheel only tightened. His front tires were holding out—barely. It would be tight, but he could make it. He’d run this last lap on sheer determination alone if he had to.

“Negative, Shokou. I’m taking it,” he replied, and then turned off the earpiece, tuning out everything except the track and the car in front of him.

He launched into the final lap, throwing caution to the wind. Yoshida was right on his tail now, close enough that he could see the gleam of his headlights in the mirrors. But Gojou didn’t back down. He took each turn aggressively, blocking Yoshida's attempts to pass, forcing him to fall back every time.

The last chicane loomed ahead, his final obstacle before the finish line. He tightened his grip, the wheel trembling under his hands. He took the chicane fast, too fast, almost feeling the wheels lift off the ground as he flew out of the turn. The car rocked, but he held steady, pushing the pedal to the floor.

The finish line was in sight, a faint white line at the end of the straight, and with one last push, he crossed it, the checkered flag waving in his periphery as he tore past.

It was only after he’d crossed over the line that the realization hit him—he’d won.

The cheers erupted in the stands, the roar of the crowd filling his ears as he slowed down, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He could hear Shoko’s voice crackling back in as she shouted, “You pulled it off, you insane bastard.”

Gojou grinned, leaning back in his seat, still buzzing. He’d done it again, just as he always did.

The moment he climbed out of the cockpit, Gojou was surrounded by his team. Shokou was the first to reach him, her usually composed face split by a wide grin. She grabbed his helmet and thumped him on the shoulder hard enough so he actually felt it though the layers of his suit.

“You reckless son of a—”

“Language, Shokou,” Gojou interrupted, grinning as he yanked off his gloves, waving to the rest of the Tokyo Jujutsu Racing team that swarmed him.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch you pull stunts like that? I’m gonna need a raise after today’s heart attack,” she muttered.

“Oh, come on, Shokou. That was just a little fun.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Where’s my confetti?”

“Coming right up, your royal highness." Someone handed him a bottle of champagne, still cold and slick, and he twisted the cap, spraying a wild arc of foam that showered his team and nearby fans.

His PR manager, Nanami, clapped him on the back. “You’re insufferable."

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said, lifting the champagne bottle in a mock toast, flashing him a grin. The media’s cameras clicked and flashed, capturing every moment as his crew continued their congratulations.

The crowd pressed close against the barriers, shouting his name, waving homemade banners with scribbled slogans and his number embellished with the colors red and black. He walked closer, one arm raised, acknowledging the fans, letting their cheers fill him up, louder and louder with every step.

But as he continued walking, his gaze caught on something—or rather, someone—just beyond the crowd.

At first it was just a hint curiosity, the way your gaze was fixed on him. A bit removed from the chaos, you leaned against one of the barriers with a media pass hanging around your neck, arms folded as you watched from a distance.

Gojou slightly narrowed his eyes, holding your gaze longer than he'd held any fan's tonight, as if he was daring you to look away first.

“What the hell is that about?” he muttered under his breath, gaze moving back to Shokou for half a second.

“Hm?” Shokou followed his gaze, but her eyes slid right past you, uninterested. “Press. You’ll get used to it. Come on, they’re all waiting.”

He forced himself to break the stare, clearing his throat as Shokou ushered him toward the media pen, where a lineup of journalists waited, all armed with recorders, microphones, and notebooks.

He fielded the usual questions—how did it feel to win, what was his mindset, what was he thinking on that last turn? His answers were always the same practiced ones, words sliding out like clockwork.

“Well, Mr. Gojou, what would you say to those who believe your racing style is a little… aggressive?” one journalist asked, a little smirk on her face as if she thought she was catching him off guard.

He snorted. “They can call it what they want. I call it winning.” He shrugged. “I don’t come out here to play it safe.”

A few reporters laughed at his remark, clearly interested in what else he had to say as a fresh wave of questions started.

Somewhere behind the flashing lights, he saw you again, lingering a few feet behind the crowd of reporters with that calm gaze fixed on him. You didn’t raise a recorder or a camera, didn’t even make an effort to push closer for a question. You just… watched.

It was disconcerting.

“Gojou!” Another journalist waved a microphone his face, snapping his attention back to the current situation. “What’s the next step for you this season?”

He forced a smile, eyes briefly looking back to you before he focused on the question. “The same as always,” he said. “Push harder, get faster, and give everyone something to talk about.”

The crowd laughed again, though, he barely heard them, too focused on the strange woman staring right into his soul. The two of you locked eyes and you have him a small nod, as if acknowledging that you were in fact staring into his soul.

“Well, I think that’s enough,” Shokou said suddenly at his elbow, pulling him out of his thoughts. “They’ll have plenty of time to hound you later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured, though he let her guide him away. Still, he couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of you.

But you were already gone.

Gojou slipped away from the crowd, weaving through the bustling garage and dodging the congratulatory slaps on his back, the endless rounds of handshakes, and the celebratory shouts. He ducked past a few journalists, ignoring the barrage of questions still hurled his way, his smile slipping as he finally found the door to the bathroom.

Inside, the cool, sterile silence was jarring compared to the noise outside, but he let out a sigh of relief, his heart hammering in his chest. He clicked the lock and leaned against the sink, running his hands over his face, staring at his own reflection in the mirror.

The victory high had worn off, leaving behind a familiar pressure he could not cope with. It settled on his shoulders like an old, unwelcome friend.

He hadn't realized how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders, how deeply it would itself into him when he was alone. The race had been perfect, his win flawless, but he could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him, a pulsing throb being his eyes. He clenched his jaw, glaring at himself in the mirror.

“Pull yourself together,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

But his words fell flat, swallowed up by the silence. In the mirror, his own eyes stared back at him, tired, almost hollow.

He reached into the pocket of his racing suit, fingers brushing over the small, familiar packet hidden in the inner lining. It was a stupid habit, a reckless one really, but it was one he hadn't been able to shake, no matter how many times he tried to quit. He could practically feel the temporary relief in the palm of his hand.

He closed his eyes, running his thumb along the edge of the packet before pulling it out, setting it on the counter next to the sink. He ripped it open tapping a small line onto the smooth counter top. It was like his fingers had a mind of their own, as if it was part of his routine of suiting up or gripping the wheel.

The powder glinted under the bathroom’s harsh fluorescent lights, almost mocking him with its simplicity. Just a quick escape, just enough to take the edge off. That’s all he needed.

He leaned down, closing one nostril and inhaling sharply, feeling the sting as the powder hit his nose. He straightened his back, blinking hard, the world around him sharpening as his mind cleared. A small, humorless smile tugged at his lips.

He leaned back against the sink, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat slow, the tension in his muscles fading away.

But it didn’t take long for the guilt to creep back in, that hollow feeling settling in his chest, a reminder that this wasn't the answer. He knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing to himself, how he was destroying his body from the inside out, how it could all come crashing down. And yet… here he was.

“Fucking pathetic,” he muttered to himself, his voice echoing against the tiles.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, jolting him back to reality.

“Gojou? You in there?” It was Shokou. “They’re waiting for you out here.”

He stuffed the empty packet back into his pocket, brushed the last of the substance off of the sink, and glanced in the mirror one last time to check his reflection, making sure there was no trace left of his momentary escape.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, forced a smirk, and unlocked the door.

Shokou was standing there, arms crossed, her gaze scrutinizing as he stepped out. She didn’t say anything, but her judgmental eye lingered over him for a split second too long.

“You good?”

“Never better."

“Right,” she said, clearly unconvinced, but she dropped it, gesturing for him to follow her.

As the celebrations continued, Gojou weaved his way through fans and team-members alike who were still wrapped up in their post-race celebrations. He scanned the crowd, hoping to find the strange woman from earlier who he noticed had a press pass, thinking you would be here.

And then he saw you, leaning against a stack of crates near the garages, observing the current scene with the same judgmental eyes that Shokou had. The media badge hung from your neck, swaying slightly as you shifted your weight, pulling out a notebook and flipping through it, seemingly absorbed in what you were currently doing.

He cleared his throat as he approached, the echo of his footsteps giving his presence away.

You looked up, your brow raised as he came closer, a hint of intrigue flashing in your eyes.

“Looking for something?” you asked, not moving as he stopped in front of you.

“You could say that,” he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets, his gaze darted to the notebook in your hands. “I couldn’t help but notice you earlier, off in the shadows. Didn’t feel like joining the crowd?”

“Not my style.” You shrugged. “I’m not here to cheer. I’m here to report.”

“Journalist, huh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “What’s your angle?”

“The truth,” you said, a little smile pulling at your lips as you studied him. “Not everyone’s a fan of that, I know.”

“Depends on what you call the truth. But I’ve got a feeling you’ve already got your version.”

"How perceptive. I’m doing a piece on your racing career, your achievements, but… the public wants a fuller picture, don’t you think?

“Not sure I follow. Everyone knows what they need to know.”

“Not quite,” you replied, flipping through your notebook. “There’s more than just racing stats when it comes to Gojou Satoru, isn’t there?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“People say you’re… unraveling. Your recent ‘questionable decisions’ are starting to paint a different picture, don’t you think?” you said, tapping your pen against your notebook. “The accidents, the fines, the constant change in pit crews—”

“Is this some kind of witch hunt?” he interrupted. “Because I’d hate to disappoint you, princess, but I’ve heard it all.”

“Maybe so.” You leaned in a bit, meeting his stare. “But what about the whispers that aren’t out yet? The suspicions about you cheating the drug tests, your team shielding you—” You paused. “There’s a lot of money on your success, Mr. Gojou.”

“Money and racing have always gone hand-in-hand, don’t you think? You’d have a hard time finding someone out here who hasn’t bent a rule or two.”

“True enough.” You titled your head slightly. “But even the most golden careers have a way of losing their shine.”

"Tell me—do you enjoy tearing people down for a living?”

“Only if it’s warranted,” you replied unfazed. “People aren’t interested in perfect stories. They want the flaws, the dirt. It makes it all more real. At least that's what my professor believes."

“You’ve got a wicked mind, I’ll give you that. But I hope you realize you’re not the first to come sniffing around for the ‘real story’.”

A pregnant pause settles between you before you asked, “And what about her?”

A beat passed before he answered. “Who?”

“Your wife. She’s been… noticeably absent from the press circuits. And rumor has it things aren’t exactly picture-perfect between you two.”

“Rumor has it,” he repeated. “Guess you know how it is in this business. There’s always some rumor or another.”

“So it’s just a rumor, then? All the time apart, the missed events, her name suddenly missing from every headline. You’re saying there’s nothing to it?”

“People are eager to make stories out of nothing. My private life is just that—private.”

“That’s interesting,” you murmured, not looking away. “Because the most recent stories about you and her—they’re awfully detailed. People are noticing, wondering why she’s suddenly… disappeared from the scene.”

“Let them wonder. Like I said, people will talk. And it seems like you’re more interested in gossip than journalism.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Journalism is about uncovering the truth,” you countered. “But it seems like you’re more comfortable brushing things under the rug than addressing them.”

His smile returned, his carefully crafted facade sliding back into place as he straightened up, glancing away from you, clearly bored of the conversation. "Maybe someday you'll get the truth you're so desperate for, but it's not going to be today."

Before he walked away completely, he gave you one last look, his tone playful but laced with a hint of warning. “Be careful what you dig up, princess. Sometimes the truth’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

And with that, he turned his back to you, disappearing into the crowd.

Gojou returned home after the long night of celebrations had died down, the adrenaline from the race long gone, now replaced by a gnawing emptiness that felt like it might hollow him out. His penthouse was in the hear of Tokyo—a sleek, modern apartment with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the neon-drenched skyline.

As he opened the door, the soft him of the city below was drowned out by the sound of footsteps, His wife, Hana, appeared from the hallway, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her eyes narrowed. She was dressed in a sleek black outfit, her dark hair pulled back, a looking a frustration etched onto her face.

“You’re late."

“Didn’t realize I was on a curfew,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair.

“Don’t act like that.” Her eyes flashed as she followed him into the living room. “You missed the dinner with my parents again. They’ve been asking about you, wondering why you’re never around.”

“Hana, I just won a race,” he replied, exasperated. “Sorry if I wasn’t in the mood to play the doting son-in-law tonight.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “Of course, it’s always about the race with you. Everything is about that damn career, isn’t it?”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you married me.”

“Maybe I didn’t know it would mean you disappearing for days, weeks sometimes, chasing whatever thrill you think you need to feel alive.”

“What’s your point, Hana? We’ve had this argument a hundred times.”

“The point is, Satoru,” she said, voice trembling with anger, “that you seem to care more about everything else than this marriage. I’m just a fixture in your life, something you come back to whenever you need to check a box or show face. But you’re never really here.”

He let out a harsh laugh, the bitter sound filling the apartment. "Here we go again. Hana, it’s not like you’ve been some shining example of commitment either. You’ve known what this is for months.”

“What this is?” Her voice rose, cracking slightly as she repeated his words. “What exactly is ‘this,’ Satoru? A sham? A partnership for appearances? I thought you loved me…"

“I can’t keep doing this,” she continued softly, her voice breaking. “The lying, the pretending. It’s exhausting.”

“So what do you want me to say, Hana? That I’m some perfect husband?” He gestured to himself, shaking his head with a smirk that looked almost pained. “We’re both guilty here. Let’s not act like this hasn’t been a slow-motion train wreck.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“What do you want from me, Hana?” he asked quietly, the fight suddenly draining out of him. “You want me to pretend I’m someone I’m not?”

“I want… I wanted the man I married. The one who cared, who had dreams."

“Then maybe,” he said finally, his voice almost a whisper, “it’s time to stop pretending.”

As Gojou stood there running a hand through his hair. Hana paused, her expression shifting from something resigned to something wounded.

“And there’s one more thing."

He looked at her, brow furrowing. “Fucking Christ Hana, what now?”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Satoru?” she asked, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I know what’s out there. The rumors. The whispers about who you’re with when you’re not here. Or maybe you think I don’t hear them.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hana, they’re just rumors. You know how the press is—they’ll twist anything for a story.”

“Twist what, exactly? Why do they have something to twist in the first place?”

“They don’t have anything. It’s just the media looking for something to make people read. Speculation sells.”

“Right. Speculation. But funny how it’s always about you, always linked to another woman.”

“That’s because I’m under a microscope. People love to create scandals, especially with someone like me. And you know that better than anyone.”

“It’s not just them, Satoru. People talk, and it’s not just baseless gossip. I’m not naive. I hear things from people close to you, people who actually know you.”

“You really believe them? You think I’m out there, risking everything for some—” He stopped himself, biting his tongue.

“Do I? I don’t even know my own husband anymore. Maybe I should ask them. Or maybe I should ask you directly, Satoru. Are you seeing someone?”

“Why are we even doing this?”

“Because I want the truth. Just once. I deserve that much, don’t I?”

“Believe what you want, Hana. I don’t have anything else to say.”

“Then maybe that’s all I need to know.”

Gojou stormed out of his apartment, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to shake off his frustration. He'd had enough for one night. His heart was pounding and the last thing he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. He needed to get out, to drown the anger with something that could at least help him forget.

The bar he found was tucked away down a dim side street in Shibuya. It wasn't anything fancy–a dark cry from the glitzy nightlife he was used to–but it was dark and quiet which was exactly what he needed. He slid onto a bar stool and motioned for a drink, not bothering to pay attention to what the bartender poured.

He sipped his drink in silence, trying to tune out the night and all the noise in his head. The alcohol burned down his throat, but it was a welcome distraction that numbed his anger and frustration. He was almost on his third drink when he noticed someone sitting in the corner of the room, hunched over a notebook, tapping her pen against her cheek in thought.

She's cute, he thought to himself. He squinted trying to get a better look at the young woman, and he immediately recognized, it was you.

Of all the places he'd expect to see you, this shitty bar wasn't one of them. You looked so absorbed in your work, like you were piecing together something for a story. Satoru's curiosity got the better of him, and he stood up carrying his drink as he made his way over to where you were sitting.

"Well, well," he said, leaning against the back of the chair across from you. “Didn’t peg you for a bar rat, but maybe I was wrong.”

Your head snapped up, and your eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Gojou Satoru. What a surprise.”

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already taking the seat.

“Didn’t think someone like you would end up in a place like this. Celebrating?”

He gave a dry laugh, swirling the glass in his hand. “Something like that.”

“So, what are you doing here, really? Figured you’d be at a fancy cafe, writing about some important news story.”

“Maybe I am. Research is research, even if it’s in a bar. Maybe it’s you I’m writing about.”

“So I’m your new project, huh?”

“Maybe. It’s part of this little journalism course I’m doing. We’re supposed to pick a public figure and write a profile. Someone who’s got a… colorful public image.”

“Colorful, huh?” He smirked. “Guess I’m your lucky target. Hope I make an interesting subject."

“Interesting is one word for it,” you replied, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “What’s got you so quiet tonight? I thought you’d be surrounded by fans somewhere.”

He shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink. “Not in the mood for fans tonight.”

“Tough race?”

He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. “Not the race. Just… life, I guess.”

“So,” he said, leaning in. “tell me about this little journalism course. You planning to make a career out of stalking poor drivers like me?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. We’re learning how to ‘uncover the truth’—or at least, that’s what they say. So far, it’s been a lot of digging through archives and learning to ask the right questions.”

“Right questions, huh?” He arched an eyebrow. “Let’s hear one. What would you ask me, if I were your ‘colorful public figure’?”

“Alright, Gojou. How does someone at the top of their game manage to keep it all together? All the races, the publicity, the pressure… don’t you ever feel like it’s too much?”

“Honestly?” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s not as easy as it looks, being the guy everyone thinks has it all together. But people don’t care about that part. They just want the show.”

“So you put on the show.”

“Guess that’s what it comes down to.” He laughed, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “People don’t want to see a guy crack under pressure. They want the image.”

“But what do you want?”

No one ever asked him that, as if what he wanted didn’t matter.

“What do I want?” he repeated, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he tried to dodge the question. “Maybe another drink.”

I’m serious. Behind all of that… what’s left?”

“Honestly? Sometimes I don’t even know anymore. It’s like I’ve been going so fast for so long, I can’t remember what it was I was chasing in the first place.”

“Maybe that’s what you need to figure out, then.”

He looked at you, and the faintest trace of a genuine smile broke through. “Maybe.”

The two of you sat in silence, and he found himself grateful for it. You didn't press or pry at him and he thought that he could just be himself, even if it was just for a little while.

“Alright,” he said finally, nudging your notebook with his finger. “So, future journalist, you really gonna write all this down? Make me sound like some tortured artist?”

You smirked. “I’ll try to be kind. Maybe I’ll even leave out the part where you go to bars alone and pretend to be mysterious.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled, holding up his drink in mock surrender. “Noted. But I expect a copy when it’s published. Autographed, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you replied, laughing as you clinked your glass against his. “But don’t expect it to be flattering.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the conversation continued, Gojou found himself leaning in closer. You both let the drinks keep coming, though it was less about how much alcohol you were consuming and more about the way the words spilled more easily between you two.

“So,” you asked, taking another sip of your drink, “what’s it actually like out there? Everyone sees the fame, the money, the cars, but… what’s it really like?”

He exhaled, tapping his fingers on the edge of his glass. “Honestly? It’s… intense. There’s this high to it, this adrenaline. Nothing like it. You’re pushing yourself and everyone around you to the edge," he tilted his head. “But sometimes, it feels like the line between winning and crashing out isn’t as thick as people think. You cross it once, and that’s it—you’re done.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“A little. But I’m more afraid of what happens if I stop. It’s like… I don’t know what I’d be without it. Guess that sounds stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t. I get it. When something’s all you know… giving it up is like giving up a part of yourself. Scary as hell.”

“Exactly. Guess we all have our addictions, huh?”

Shit. Did he say too much?

You didn’t push, just gave him a quiet nod. “So, what’s Tokyo Jujutsu like? It's one of the toughest team on the grid, right?”

“You know it. They’re tough as hell, no room for error. And they sure as hell won’t give you a second chance if you mess up.”

“Sounds brutal."

“Yeah, maybe. I guess I like the challenge. Or maybe I just like proving people wrong.”

“Enough about me," he continued. What about you? What’s the deal with this journalism project? Are you trying to make a name for yourself by exposing all my secrets?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Believe it or not, my goal in life isn’t to ruin yours. I actually think it’s fascinating, learning what drives people, what keeps them going, even when things get messy.”

“Messy? What makes you think my life is messy?”

“Oh, please. Gojou Satoru’s life is one headline after another. You’re practically the poster boy for drama.”

He feigned a hurt expression, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me. I’m just a guy trying to make a living, you know?”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just a guy who happens to have a dozen scandals and an equal number of speeding tickets.”

“Hey,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m a professional, okay? That’s all part of the job.”

The two of you continued to chat into the night. Gojou found himself relaxing, caught up in the rare comfort of talking with someone who didn’t expect him to play a part. He could just… be.

At some point, the bartender announced last call, and Gojou glanced at you, smirking. “Guess that’s our cue.”

You stretched, gathering your notebook and tucking it under your arm. “Thanks for the, uh, ‘research material.’ It was… enlightening.”

He laughed, standing and grabbing his coat. “Anytime. But don’t go making me look like a complete asshole in your little project, alright?”

“No promises."

Outside, the air was crisp as he faint hum of city traffic the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slid his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

Outside, the air was crisp as the faint him of the city being the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slide his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again."

“Only if you’re brave enough to handle more questions.”

“Oh, I’m plenty brave. But we’ll see if you’re as good at digging as you think.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you turned to leave, throwing him a casual wave. “Goodnight, Mr. Gojou.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, watching as you disappeared down the empty street.

In that moment he realized, he never did catch your name.

© satorulovebot 2024 please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[spidernuggets]

imagine red hood and the reader being friends. They helped patch him up one day and now he won't leave then alone.

Then jason todd meets reader somewhere and they bump into each other quite often.

Now imagine reader gushing to hood about how cute this guy is and how bad they want to kiss him/fuck him/whatever.

I know hood's face would be matching his helmet and he resolved to ask them out the next time they met in his civilian form.

Jason Todd x Reader

Pt. 2

"Are you for fucking real?" You grumbled, half asleep yet a bat in your hands, ready to swing at the predator who knocked all the trinkets of your living roon window sill.

Bright white eyes shone back at you, the giant figure just standing there, though his hand was clutching his side.

"Man, I told you not to come back here," you scoffed, throwing the bat to the ground and getting your first aid.

"I got sliced." The modulated voice replied nonchalantly, heading for your couch.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I see it." I muttered, kneeling in front of him, inspecting the wound. "It's not that bad, Red. Should have you fixed up in a couple of minutes.."

"There we are," you sighed, finishing the bandages, admiring your handiwork. "Do you not know how to do this shit yourself or..." You asked, packing away the supplies.

"I like the way you do it." He muttered, patting the bandages, a dumb smile across his face, behind his helmet.

"You staying the night, or do you have to head out again?"

"Go out."

"Don't get yourself hurt again. Okay?" You said, your expression softening as you stood back in front of Red Hood, cradling his helmet in your hands.

He just grunted, getting up and placing his hand on your head in silent assurance that he'll be fine.

The next afternoon, walking around the city as you stumbled across a quaint, charming book shop cafe that you haven't noticed before.

The atmosphere was comfortable when you entered as you walked around the narrow aisle of bookshelves. When you spotted a book that you've been meaning to read for a while at the top shelf, you reached up to grab it, when another hand beat you to it.

You turned to scowl at the person who took your book when you were obviously there first, when you were met eye to eye with a gorgeous stranger. His face was sharp, with jagged scars decorating his face. His nose was big and slightly crooked. His lips were chapped. His eyes were a beautiful mix of blue and green.

Your brain short-circuited, forgetting that you were going to scold the man for taking the book, but isntead, you stood there, looking like a fool as you stared at the man.

But when you realised how creepy you looked, your fight or flight responded with flight, saying absolutely nothing as you tried to walk away, mentally slapping yourself for the awkward interaction.

"You like Austen?" The gruff voice said. A familiar voice, but you couldn't put your finger on it. You turned back to the stranger.

"Uhm.. I guess.. I'm not much of a book person, but I've wanted to read 'Emma' for a while now," you sheepishly said.

He nodded. "It's good." He said, handing you the book.

You stared at it. "Are you not gonna.."

"I've read it a bunch of times." He said, taking your wrist and putting the book in your hand. "You take it."

"Oh.. thanks.." You muttered.

"Jason." He said, extending out his hand as you shook it back, giving your name in return. Jason held back from an accidental slip of an 'I know.'

"Sorry for taking it off, you," he said. "I was just a little too eager to see the book. Can I get you some coffee while we're still here?"

Your eyes widened. "Oh! You don't have to real-"

He took your wrist, taking you to the coffee shop. Honestly, you were beginning to think this guy was a serial killer from how eager he was. But it was free coffee that you weren't willing to turn down.

"I met this guy today at a book and cafe shop I ran into," you said as you focused on wrapping bandages around Red Hood's bicep. This information made his ears perk up, remembering the little meet-up the two of you had.

"Oh yeah? Gonna replace me?" He said.

You scoffed. "No. But he was pretty hot," you said nonchalantly. "He had scars all over his face. And a great nose..." You muttered as Red Hood tilted his head.

"His nose?"

You looked up at him, a suggestive glimmer in your eyes. Red Hood shifted on your couch, suddenly feeling hot and uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat. "Is the nose the first thing you notice in a guy?"

"Not usually. His was just very distinct. I might go again tomorrow to see if he'd show up again."

And he did. He was already there the second you stepped in. And once he saw you, he was already walking up to you, seemingly determined to get to know you.

"Oh my god, Red!" You squealed that night. "He's actually so fine, you don't understand!"

Usually, Red Hood stops by because, according to him, he 'likes the way you patch him up'. But he just dropped by, unharmed because he felt like it. Also, he knew you'd talk about this Jason guy and wanted to hear what you think of him.

"His thighs- ugh!! I need my head in between them now!"

"My thighs not enough for you, sweetheart?" He muttered.

You rolled your eyes. "If I knew what you looked like, then maybe. Anyway, don't interrupt me. His hands?? I need to suck on his fingers, oh my god."

Red Hood shifted in his seat, his pants feeling tighter than usual.

But you continued. "His lips were pretty chapped. Don't ask me why I was looking at his lips, but man! I actually need him to shove his tongue down my throat. I need him to put me in a chokehold in between his biceps, I need to suck on his pecs. I can go on about the absolute VILE thoughts of what I'd let him do to me-"

Red Hood stood up. "And I don't wanna be here to hear them." He said, almost stuttering. "I'll come back tomorrow night."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, I'd expect it."

When Jason got back to his safe house, running an extremely cold shower while his hand was tight around his cock, he tried getting those filthy images that you described out of his mind.

Jason was a slow pace man, so as much as he was on the verge of tossing his helmet off, giving you the fantasy of stuffing your mouth with his tongue, he wanted to do the least and ask you on a date first.

SORRY ANON I wasn't sure how to conjure up the whole date thing. I might make a part 2 if interested!!

[therealmylesmorales]

loser!vi first kiss?? would she just do it out of the blue and freak out cause she couldn't stop herself or reader kisses her first and vi short circuits??

Is it bad to say I think Vi’s lips would be chapped like 80% of the time

WC: almost 300

Vi wasn’t listening to you.

Not completely.

Yeah, you were talking, probably about something important. She knew how to read lips but the longer she stared at you— your lips, rather— words no longer made sense to her.

It was only your second date, it was probably too early. The last thing she ever wanted to do was to make you uncomfortable. But…you have known each other for a while before Vi asked you out. And you agreed, therefore you held some sort of attraction towards her.

“Vi!” Your fingers snapping in front of her face broke her out of her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…sorry, I’m listening.”

Fuck, what were you saying? Vi sighed to herself before giving you her full attention once more.

As Vi was studying your face, her eyes traveled down to your lips again and everything became white noise to her.

You knew Vi wasn’t listening. She made it very obvious. And the fact that her eyes dropped once again during your date solidified that.

So, you made the decision to finally give her, and you, what she had been silently asking for. You stopped yourself mid rant and leaned across the table to give her a kiss.

Vi wasted no time in reacting. As soon as she felt your soft lips, Vi melted into you. One of her hands gripped tightly onto your shirt to pull you in closer.

“Can you finally start paying attention to me, now?” You muttered, allowing some distance between you both.

Vi knew she immediately needed another taste. Her rough hands cupped your face to bring you back in.

It was at that moment, Vi knew she was obsessed with you.

[ricciardo133]

Winter Break 2025

maxiel, weight gain, body worship, pregnancy briefly alluded to

-

Daniel always loves the way Max looks during the winter months. As Max steps into Daniel's Monaco apartment, Daniel eyes the tight fit of Max's running shorts along his softening hips.

"So, you have new merch?" Max asks, oblivious to Daniel's ogling. Daniel snaps to attention and follows Max into the living room.

"Well, obviously. As your new sponsor, we gotta make a whole Verstappen collection," Daniel adds with jazz hands for pizazz. "And I wanted to get your approval before we send the designs to print and you're stuck wearing all this for a year."

"It can look like anything," Max says, unbothered.

"Oh, good. I'll tell them we're a go on the Enchanté-branded assless chaps."

Max laughs, eyes crinkling in mirth. "Yeah, perfect for Media Day. I assume there is a matching cowboy hat."

Daniel feels his cheeks flush, picturing Max actually wearing that combination and nothing else.

"Just try on the samples and humor me, Maxy."

Thankfully, he's now not the only one blushing. They've been friends for long enough to know how to edge the unspoken line without ever crossing it, neither ever making that final push to send them spiraling onto one side or the other.

"Yeah, alright," Max says. "I'll do a fashion show."

Daniel claps and leads Max over to the dining room table where an already-opened cardboard box holds an assortment of red, blue, white, and orange apparel. He holds up one of the pull-overs, assessing which to try first.

"They're just the rough drafts, so let me know if you think they look like ass."

"No, Daniel, they look very cool. I like the classic look. And the big "É." Very you."

Daniel feels his dick twitch in his pants, thinking of Max branded with his label, marked as his, for the world to see. He tosses the shirt into Max's arms and pulls out a pair of summery shorts to match. "Just give these a spin. I sent them your size, so they should fit."

Daniel has seen how deep the flush can go over the years, like an old-timey thermometer measuring of how flustered his younger friend can get. He bites his full lips as his neck turns pink.

"I, uh, might be a bit bigger right now. But they'll fit for Melbourne. I'll look better."

"You look great now, Max."

Max spins on his heels and into the adjacent half-bath, door closing, as if Daniel hadn't seen him almost naked before. Daniel sits on the barstool at the kitchen island.

Sometimes he hates gooning this fucking horny friendship line and wishes he could just buck up the nerve to say something. Anything. Maybe now that they're not somewhat teammates, it'd be okay? Or is it inappropriate for a patron to think about cupping their client's ass and spreading his soft flesh-

"Okay, remember, they'll fit better in a few months."

Daniel looks up and feels his body tighten as he takes in the sight of him. Max squirms in the pull-over, zipper done all the way up. The orange sleeves hug his full arms, and the white, soft fabric stretches tight along his chest. Oh God, his tits, Daniel thinks guiltily before trying and failing to think about the design aspect of all this and not how Max's soft stomach pulls the pullover's fabric taught. His fuller belly peeks over the top of the shorts. His hips, always seemingly begging to be held, curve and slope down to full thighs. Max shaved. His normally fuzzy legs smooth as he shifts his weight on one bare foot to the other.

"I know," Max says, voice nervy. "It happens every year. I'm on holiday, but I'll get better."

"Don't say that," Daniel gets up. He feels the line veering closer, like pushing too hard on a circuit he knows by heart. He stops just an inch beyond appropriateness. "You look great."

"Daniel." He can't parse the pleading note in Max's voice, something shaky.

"You always look so good this way," Daniel goes on, watching Max's big blue gaze get thrown in starker contrast as his cheeks flush again. Max even shaved his face. He looks so young, like when he was his teamma-

"Daniel," Max says again. "I just feel too big."

"You're perfect, Max. You normally don't wear these things zipped all the way up, though. More like this,"

The line. Daniel crosses it, fingers gently pulling the pull-over's zipper down at an agonizingly slow rate. He didn't realize Max was holding his breath until he shudders a shaky exhale.

"Does it feel good?" Daniel asks, hands trailing up the sleeves, feeling the soft fabric casing Max's biceps.

"Yes. It's good."

"And not too tight here?" Daniel lets his hands draw inwards along Max's chest. Seeing he's already blown past the point of no return, he lets his palms rest over Max's full breasts. "Is it okay?"

Max nods, fast. Through parted reddened lips, Daniel sees Max's perfect, glistening tongue against his straight teeth.

Daniel squeezes. Max keens, a note Daniel has never heard from the other man. He rubs, making gentle circles over hardening nipples.

"Oh, Daniel," Max whispers.

"Maxy," Daniel returns, hands trailing lower, feeling the full rise of his belly. "Breathe."

Max acquiesces, belly shuddering. Daniel relishes the soft, pliable skin below the warm fabric.

"You look so good like this, Max," he says, stepping even closer. He lets his gaze dip, feeling Max's head lower to rest their foreheads together as Daniel stares at his soft belly. He rubs gentle lines around it, dick hardening as Max lets his body go even softer. He could even look three months pregnant, how round and full he fills out the top.

Max whispers his name again and then again as Daniel pulls up the fabric and finally touches smooth skin and then once more as Daniel's fingers dip into the waistband of the shorts, exploring back as Daniel presses flush to squeeze his hands into Max's full, soft ass.

"You deserve to feel good," Daniel says into Max's ear, words falling on the red nape of his neck. "At every weight, you deserve to be so fucking worshiped, Max."

"Oh my God, Daniel."

Daniel squeezes again, more firmly this time as he traces up to hold his pillowy hips. They always look so bitable in his fireproofs, and now they're filling out even more in the too-tight shorts, begging to be gripped. To be used for everything Daniel has wanted for years.

"I know," Daniel says, suddenly self-conscious, "this is, uh, a lot."

"It's good," Max asserts, his own hands flying to Daniel's back as if to keep him in place. "If it's good for you."

Daniel snorts a laugh, letting his hips rut forwards. His stiff cock meets Max's soft thigh. Max whines.

"More than good, Maxy." He presses his lips into heated, soft skin at Max's shoulder. "You're perfect like this. So fucking perfect." He reels at Max pressing his own hard length into Daniel's hips. It's bliss. Max's body, warm and eager and full and, for now, his.

"Alright, so, should I try on the others?" Max asks, a gentle mirth in his tone.

"Yeah, let me help you take these off first."

[thebigbadbatswife]

Love and Hot Chocolate

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Summary - During a winter patrol, Bruce brings you hot chocolate and finally confesses his feelings.

Warnings -Love confessions, First kiss, Tooth-rotting fluff, Childhood friends, Cheesy, Requited love

Word Count - 1.6k

Patrol in the middle of winter was hell. At least, that was how you felt about it. Even with the thermal layers of your suit, it felt like harsh cold was penetrating through them. You were going to turn into a human icicle and it wasn’t even Mister Freeze’s fault this time around.

It likely didn’t help that you had stopped, for the time being. The streets were silent and empty tonight. It had been well over a couple of hours since you had last seen a car on the roads, let alone a person walking the street. You seriously doubted that anything was going to be happening tonight. There was no need for patrol tonight meanwhile your crime fighting partner disagreed.

You had no idea where Bruce was right now. He had vanished on you without saying a word as to where he was going. He was infuriating like that, but you loved him so you gave him a pass. You knew how much that he worried over the city he loved so much. If he had just the smallest inkling that something was wrong he would stay out until dawn, chasing down any and every lead he came across.

In turn you worried over him. Which was exactly why you were still out here instead of returning to the warmth of the manor. Even if you didn’t know his exact location right now, you still weren’t going to leave him out here alone. So you stayed up here, your legs dangling over the edge, on the top of Wayne Tower. He would come and find you soon enough.

Sooner rather than later, as it turned out.

Behind you there was the flutter of a cape accompanied by the sound of heavy boots landing on the roof.

“Took you long enough,” you said.

“Sorry. It took me longer than I thought it would to find what I was looking for,” he replied. 

Your brow furrowed as you pouted. You looked over your shoulder at him, to find him holding two takeout coffee cups. “Coffee? How long are we staying out here?”

“It’s not coffee.” 

He walked forward and handed you one of the cups, before he sat down next to you. As you raised the cup toward your mouth, the smell of chocolate hit you. Hot chocolate. Curious, you popped the lid off and discovered melting marshmallows. 

“Hot chocolate and marshmallows? You’re spoiling me.”

Bruce smiled at you as you took a sip, humming at the rich taste. It was that soft, tender, genuine smile that he only seemed to reserve for you. 

“You deserve to be spoiled.”

You looked up at him. There had always been something unspoken between the two of you. A past filled with unspoken words, longing gazes and hidden touches. Neither of you ever did anything about it. He was so wrapped up in his crusade and transforming his company in order to better Gotham, Bruce had made it clear he didn’t have the time for a proper relationship. You stayed because of how long you had known him and how much you cared for him.

You wanted him in your life, no matter what that looked like.

He pushed back his cowl, revealing that handsome face of his. The way that he looked at you had your heart picking up its pace. He had never looked at you like that before, but you didn’t dare get your hopes up. There was no way.

“I think I’ve been an idiot,” he started. “I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I haven’t been paying attention to what’s in front of me.”

He set his cup down while you looked at him wide eyed. Your brain was struggling to process what exactly he was saying. There was no way that this actually happening. Not to you. You wanted to pinch yourself, but the material of your suit was too thick for you to feel it.

Bruce leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. The feeling of his chapped lips completely short circuited your brain. There was no time for you to react. As soon as it had happened, it ended as he pulled away.

His brow was furrowed and he looked sheepish. Like he had done something wrong.

“I’m sorry. I thought…”

His doubt was enough to kick you back into gear. You set your own cup down and launched yourself at him. Your hands came up to cup his face as you kissed him. His hands came to settle on your waist as he caught you and pulled you onto his lap.

You weren’t sure how long you were there. Your lips locked together as his tongue caressed yours. It felt so right. Like you were made for each other. Designed to fit like two perfect puzzle pieces. It was long enough that the lack of oxygen almost had you feeling dizzy.

Unwillingly, you parted from him. Gasping to let oxygen circulate back in your lungs again. Your lips stayed close together. Neither of you were willing to put too much space between you. 

“Took you long enough,” you laughed. Bruce laughed as well.

“I know,” he replied. He rubbed his nose against yours. “And I know I have a lot of time to make up for and I will. Starting with dinner tonight.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah. We’re ending patrol early tonight and going back to the manor where Alfred’s preparing dinner. What do you say?”

“I’d love that, Bruce.”

You reached for your cup, but you were stopped by Bruce’s hands on your waist. You frowned.

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

“Nothing, I just…” He huffed and looked away from you. “I’m not very good at this, I’m afraid.”

With your fingers against his jawline, you directed him back to you. “What’s wrong?” you repeated.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He gazed into your eyes, searching your own like he was looking for something. What, you didn’t know. One hand came up to cup your jaw this time. His thumb smoothed over your cheekbone.

“You’re one of the only constants I’ve had in my life. One of the only people I know I can confide in. You don’t take any of my shit, but you’re always there when I really need you. Even when I presented my plan to save Gotham. I mean, you joined me when I was sure that you and Alfred were teaming up to have me locked away. 

You’ve done so much for me and I’ve been so blind to it. So caught up in my own stuff that I didn’t even realise…” 

He broke eye contact for a moment, closing his eyes again to take another deep breath. You opened your mouth to say something, but it died in your throat when he pressed a finger to your lips.

“Please, let me finish first?” he asked. 

You nodded.

“Thank you. I know I’m rambling and maybe not making much sense. Like I said, I’m no good at this, but I need you to know… I need you to know that I love you. I always have and I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to realise that. I’m such a—“

You silenced him with a kiss. You refused to hear him call himself an idiot again.

“If you’re an idiot, then so am I. I could have said something at any point, but I didn’t. Suppose that makes us pretty perfect for each other,” you laughed softly, which even got Bruce smiling. “I love you too, Bruce.”

He looked like you had just served the world to him on a silver platter. Unknown to you, in his eyes, you really had. His lips found yours again. Much like the first, this kiss was long and passionate. Blood rushed through your veins and all you wanted was more. But the bitterly cold wind sent shivers up both of your spines and reminded you of the sweet drink that Bruce had painstakingly searched a, for once, peaceful city for.

You stayed curled up on his lap as you both drank your hot chocolates. It was amazing what the warmth of the drink did to chase away Gotham’s cold. He had long since pulled his cowl back on. Despite being so high up off the ground, he didn’t want to risk someone potentially seeing him without the cowl.

Your comms crackled to life.

“I do hope you two are planning to come back to the manor sometime soon. Dinner will become cold otherwise.”  

Alfred’s voice filled both yours and Bruce’s ears. You shared a look and laughed softly.

“We’ll be home soon, Alfred,” Bruce replied. 

He responded with a hum and the line fell dead once more.

“It’s got to be said, he has great timing.” You held up your cup and shook it side to side. There was no sound of liquid sloshing. It was empty. “I’m all out.”

Bruce took the cup from your hand and set it along side his. “We should get going then.”

You moved off of his lap and he stood up before holding out a hand for you. You took it, letting him pull you up. He didn’t let go of it as he led toward the back of the building. 

When you got the edge, he pulled you close to his body. His arm wrapped around your waist and secured you against him. You had done this move together many times in the past, but this time it felt way more intimate. 

“Ready?” he asked, like he always did. He wouldn’t jump until you were completely ready to. 

“I’ve never been more ready.”

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

The long awaited pt2 to the pneumonia/intubation Whump post (this one)...

Caretaker's glad Whumpee's so out of it from all the meds they're on. If they were more aware, they'd likely be terrified.

After all, the equipment that the doctors are pulling over on carts, laying out on the sheets, is enough to make Caretaker feel nauseous- they keep eyeing the metal device the doctor checks over, the one that muted whispers have denoted as the 'laryngoscope'.

They sit beside Whumpee's bed (they're allowed to for the time being, until Whumpee's actually asleep and the real procedure has to begin), holding the hand that hasn't been invaded by a cannula site. A nurse is positioned at Whumpee's other side already pumping them full of drugs that have Whumpee drifting, eyes open but barely there. Caretaker strokes their hair, giving them a wobbly smile as yet another dose of something or other is pushed into Whumpee's cannula.

"I'm right here, whumpee. I'm right here with you, sweetheart. Just try to relax."

The latter message is more for themselves than Whumpee, if they're honest. They're the one with a racing heartbeat- Whumpee's is slower now, as indicated by the dull beep-beep of the monitor they're hooked up to. Their breaths are slower too, so shallow that if they weren't already due to be intubated, Caretaker would be slamming on the emergency button.

"Propofol's going in now." One of the doctors says. Caretaker knows enough to understand that this means sleep, for Whumpee, is imminent.

Sure enough, within seconds of the syringe's plunger being pushed down, a glaze enters Whumpee's eyes, the lids becoming heavy. They open their mouth, tongue darting out to wet chapped lips for a moment as if they want to speak, but Caretaker, unshed tears in their eyes, shushes them gently.

"Hey, just sleep now, alright? Everyone's looking after you. Sweet dreams, Whumpee. Night night."

Whumpee's glassy gaze fixes on Caretaker's, narrowing and narrowing as their eyes drift closer to being closed until...

Out.

Caretaker leans forward, lower lip trembling slightly, and kisses Whumpee on the forehead, just as the doctor steps up behind them.

"Alright, we're gonna get started now. it's probably easier for you to wait outside and-"

"No." Caretaker interjects, tears nearly spilling over. "Sorry, no, I- I need to be here. I won't... I won't get in your way, I promise, I just- I need to be here for them."

And so they remain. They remain when the doctors place the mask over Whumpee's face, murmuring to each other about sats and correct timings. They remain when the principal anaesthesiologist brushes a fingertip below Whumpee's eyelashes, checking for movement and finding none. They remain when the same anesthesiologist stands behind Whumpee's head, removes the mask and tilts Whumpee's chin towards them, gently pulling open their mouth and sliding the laryngoscope in.

The blade slips into place too easily, Caretaker thinks. there's too little resistance. Whumpee should be gagging, thrashing about, screaming for help, but instead they lay unconscious and unmoving as it's driven deep into their throat, pushing their tongue out of the way to give the doctors a clear view of their vocal cords.

"Tube." the anesthesiologist says tersely. That long snaking tube, already lubricated, is placed atop a gloved palm.

Caretaker is tempted to look away as it's inserted, but their eyes are fixed. They watch as it's threaded past the laryngoscope, through the opening of the vocal cords that only the doctor can see. They watch as it slots fully into place and the anesthesiologist adjusts it, leaving it to rest against Whumpee's lower lip for only a moment before the cuff is inflated and the ventilator is hooked up to it instead.

And as the circuit is completed, Caretaker would think Whumpee dead- their eyes are closed, everything is so still, and whenever the tube needs a slight adjustment, they're floppy beneath the touch of the adjuster. Only when Caretaker looks closer do they see the continual, regular fogging of the tube with each assisted breath Whumpee takes- a sign that they're living, at least.

The anesthesiologist glances over at the screen, which to Caretaker looks merely like a smattering of numbers and wave forms.

"We've got N tidal CO2. Everything's connected. Secure the tube and continue to monitor."

With that, they step away, their primary task complete, and a nurse steps in instead- already equipped with an ET tube holder. Caretaker watches them gently press one of the sticky pads against Whumpee's cheek, then moving to the other cheek to apply the other pad. Between them, the tube is secured in place, and at last Whumpee is... Whumpee is...

Caretaker doesn't even realise they've moved to the bedside until they shakily lower themselves into the seat there, listening to the wooshing of the ventilator and the beeping of so many monitors.

Whumpee is... sick. really sick.

They've known it for a long time, of course, but seeing Whumpee intubated, sedated in an intensive care unit, their cheeks pale, sweat beading on their brow... it hammers reality home even further.

Home.

Whumpee isn't going to be going home for a long while yet.

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

Have you ever noticed how when the Blorgons or Circuit Chaps (or any other adversary) shoot at someone or something,

the ‘laser beams’ they emit take an awfully long time to reach their targets?

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt 13

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series

A/N: I am so sorry for the long hiatus because my laptop died and I have to get it fixed. About You will be in consistent updates starting next week every Wednesday and Thursday. I am actually planning to extend the chapters of About You up to Chap 18 because I messed up the pacing. I hope you enjoy this and let me know your thoughts

Taglist: @spideybv28@randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife @skywalker1dream @vicurious28 @khaylin27 @0710khj @its-elias-world @vizzzashley @allisonwoods @taytaylala12 @miarabanana @ceciii-b @lindsayjoy444 @mploopssek @snakelore @toldyouitwasamelodrama @lordpercevalcharles

2013, Marina Bay Street Circuit

Sebastian was on an all-time high, he was winning on and off tracks. The championship was within his reach with each race he wins and his personal life is flourishing. He had felt the championship euphoria before but being in that podium and seeing Y/N proudly looking at him from below is something else.

Despite the energy burst, he opted to stay out of the Singapore night life and return to his hotel room. He didn't feel like mingling in sweaty clubs or the taste of intoxicating drinks tonight. Besides, he has a dinner at a skyline restaurant with a very beautiful girl so he has to change quickly.

Whistling down a happy tune as he texts a message to Y/N. There was nothing in this world that could ever ruin his happiness and that was a word spoken to soon.

When he turns the corner, there was someone that Sebastian didn't want to see.

"Oh Sebastian, thank God. I have to speak to you and its really important-"

"Hanna? What are you doing here?"

Sebastian's voice was mixed with confusion and anger. The past few meetings with Hanna was not a good memory for Sebastian and he could only feel as if trouble follows whenever he meets her.

"Are you stalking me?"the driver asked

The woman in front of him went red in embarrassment. She could understand why Sebastian would think that way but she was in a desperate attempt to talk to him.

"I know this looks bad but I had a friend here who told me where you would be staying and I needed to talk to you. I wouldn't have done this if it wasn't important"Hanna rambled.

"Didn't I make myself clear last time that Hanna I do not return any feelings for you and I'm really sorry if you thought a relationship could blossom between us because its never going to happen"Sebastian stated.

It would be a lie if Sebastian didn't notice how Hanna winced by the directness of his voice but he has to keep his boundaries. He doesn't want anything more to jeopardize what he is working on with Y/N. He will not be a man that will be unfaithful to her.

"But Sebastian, you have to listen. This is something big and this is something that I can't do alone"Hanna was begging.

"I'm sorry Hanna but whatever that is, I'm sorry but I couldn't be of any help"Sebastian ended the conversation.

He passed her by and shut the door in front of her. It was painful for Sebastian to hear the cries of his once childhood friend at the other side of the door but she has to learn that Sebastian cannot return her feelings back.

"You're not even listening to me Seb. You didn't even give me a chance to tell you about us"Hanna thought silently cradling the bump on her stomach.

2013, Suzuka Circuit

It was Y/N's dream to go to Universals Studio Japan to see the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. She mentioned this a couple of times but due to the distance between the circuit and Osaka, she always missed the opportunity.

"I still can't believe that you are taking me to Harry Potter"Y/N squealed, excitement was evident on her face.

"We still have a long way to go, they told me its a 2 hour drive" Sebastian noted "You can still grab some sleep"

"I should be the one telling you that, you just finished driving for the weekend and now you are driving at an ungodly hour of 7 in the morning"Y/N voices her concern "Don't you ever get tired of driving?"

"For you? Never"

Sebastian's hand found its way to Y/N's and he placed a gentle kiss. His eyes were still focused on driving and the road but he could see in the mirror the red tint on her cheeks.

For some it would be tiring to go on long drives. Sebastian thinks otherwise, he feels like he is the luckiest man alive to be able to go for long drives when she is at the passenger side.

"Do you have a list of which part of the Harry Potter world are we going first?" Sebastian wondered.

"Well maybe we could go and get some of those butterbeers and then we can explore the whole park. I wanted to try that rollercoaster that looks like Hagrid's bike and then the castle. I also want to buy some candies for Mick"Y/N listed down.

She looked up from her phone and she felt like she was being selfish not asking Sebastian about what he wanted to do. She wanted to do a face palm.

"That is if its alright with you? Maybe you want to go somewhere specific in Universals?"Y/N offered.

"Oh no, its alright. I'm good wherever you are happy. This is your day and I want you to enjoy the whole Harry Potter experience"Sebastian insisted.

Y/N thought he couldn't love Sebastian even more but she just did. She knew how Sebastian was not that big of a fan of Harry Potter, he didn't even know the names of the golden trio in the beginning. He just started to get into it because she was rambling all the time about it.

"Speaking of the Harry Potter experience, you can check the backseat because I believe there is a surprise for you there"Sebastian chuckles.

At the backseat, Y/N found two boxes. One has her name on it with a big black bow ribbon while the other had a scribbled vettel on it. She picked it up confused to what is Sebastian plotting now.

"Since when did you get all fancy?"

"I asked my Mom about it"Sebastian admits "Go and open it"

Once the bows were untied and the lid was lifted, there was a rustle of wrapping paper. Y/N couldn't believe her eyes upon seeing the emblem on the cloth.

"You got me robes?"Y/N can cry "And you got my house right!"

Sebastian will admit that he researched a couple of days ago about how to make this experience really special. Some said that the school robes was a good outfit to make the person feel like they are attending Hogwarts. He made some few calls here and there then tada he acquired some of the Hogwarts robes just like what was seen in the movies.

"So did you get a Slytherin robe?"Y/N asked, she often teased Sebastian that he could be F1's Draco Malfoy.

"Well I think I had to surrender, my Pottermore results said that I was a Slytherin"

"You took a Pottermore quiz and you didn't tell me right away?"

2013, Buddh International Circuit

The Taj Mahal looks exquisite with the sun setting at the back of it. Everyone was on their phones or their cameras to capture the moment but Y/N prefers sitting at one of the benches and preserving it in her head. There was something really peaceful to just live in the moment but she doesn't blame if people wanted something physical to commemorate this moment.

Maybe Y/N wanted to savor this moment of peace because by tomorrow she will be back in the paddock with all the different noises. She knows that there will be a lot of questions in the next few days following Mark's decision of leaving Formula 1.

She did not blame Mark, she understands that he has been doing this for quite some time now and he was bound to be burned out. She has also been thinking about retiring from this job but that would be happening in a few more years. The thought of retiring scares her because her life basically revolved around Formula 1. There was this idea that maybe if she doesn't have a job here then maybe she will lose everything that she have right now.

A heavy sigh escapes her mouth as she zoned out once more with the view.

"Mind if I join you?"

Y/N looked up and she saw the familiar grin of Sebastian Vettel. She gave a nod and gestured at the empty space at the bench.

"How did you know I was here?"Y/N asked.

"I didn't. We are doing some team video and then I spotted you here then I went ahead to say hello"Sebastian grins.

From behind Sebastian, she sees a filming crew at a distance. They seem to be distracted with Mark and the reserve driver Sebastien Buemi. Y/N acknowledges it with a smile then she proceeded to looking at the scenic view in front of her.

"You know when they told me about the Taj Mahal, I got reminded of us"Sebastian opened up "The two met when they were young and its love at first sight then they got married"

The thought of the very first time that Y/N saw Sebastian and the first time they talked to each other, crossed her mind. It seems like it was just yesterday but its been a really really long while now.

"And I don't believe in coincidences, I think some things are meant to happen"Sebastian stated "When I saw you here, I was given the sign of the universe and maybe a sign from Taj Mahal that its really you that I would like to spend the rest of my days with"

Y/N felt overwhelmed by the direct confession. This was usually how Sebastian is, he was very vocal about his feelings but the implication in his tone is different. Y/N felt like they are moving a bit too fast but maybe she doesn't mind at all.

A small box was placed in her hand.

"This was my Mother's. I carried it around with me since we started to tell each other how we feel. I am not asking you to marry me but I just wanted you to have it because someday I'm planning to marry you."Sebastian concludes.

"Seb, I can't.. This is too much" she was speechless.

"There is no other woman that I see myself ending up with" Sebastian insist "Its yours just like how my heart is also yours"

The silver band with a pearl in the middle stares at her. She ponders about it even after Sebastian left her side. This was technically not a marriage proposal but rather a promise ring.

She prayed for a sign in the weekends whether she deserves to place it on her finger or not.

Needless to say, it was a very eventful weekend for Sebastian. He crossed the finish line with a World Championship. Even after winning all these years, he was still amazed by the winning feeling.

The crowd chants his name as he shows his praises to his winning car. He managed to find his way to the podium with the congratulations littering everywhere he go and every face was a blur.

However, he had to do a double take as he saw Y/N on the barrier. She was wearing a proud grin and pointing at something in her finger. Sebastian didn't have to be a genius to recognize the familiar ring on her finger.

It was a memorable weekend.

 2013, Yas Marina Circuit

It was rare that Y/N gets to hang out with girls. Being surrounded by a lot of male bravado and testosterones can be a little too much which is why when there is an opportunity for her to meet another girl friend then she will make time.

Post qualifying sessions was a good opportunity as Jenson chooses to rest while the Red Bull boys are stuck in strategy meetings. Therefore, this was Y/N's window time to accommodate Hanna's request for dinner.

She couldn't wait to tell Hanna about the recent happenings with Sebastian or the latest gossip in the paddock. She was pretty sure that she might shock Hanna with the development of her love life. However Y/N was the one with a jaw drop when Hanna waddled in with a pregnant bump.

"Oh my God Hanna! Why didn't you tell me your pregnant?"Y/N was shocked "Are you okay or are you tired? Did you need to sit down?"

Hanna gives a weak smile, "just a little water"

"Of course,here. Sit sit."Y/N fuzzed "If I had known you were pregnant then I would have made reservations closer to your hotel"

"Y/N you're already treating me dinner"Hanna said

"I should be because I think I have been late in congratulating your little one"Y/N replied.

Hanna held her bump protectively. She was suddenly reminded the reason why she asked to meet Y/N. She was doing this to help her little one because she cannot afford that her child will grow up miserable.

"How far along are you?"Y/N wondered.

"About six… six months"there was an unease in Hanna's tone.

Hanna knows what she did and she knows what she is about to do. It plagues her mind how she could wipe the smile Y/N has right now with the bombshell of news that she has. Hanna blanks out as Y/N ramble about how she is so happy for her and the guilty feeling sinks even further.

"Y/N I have to talk to you"Hanna cuts her off.

It was better to rip the Band-Aid early than prolonging the agony.

"Oh we can talk later,lets get you some food first"Y/N dismissed. "I don't want you or your little one getting hungry."

The way that Y/N cares so much about Hanna makes the pregnant woman even more uneasy. Hanna noted how Y/N was so caring in asking her preference and she wonders if she would still be like that if she finally learns the truth.

Dinner went on smoothly with their chitchats of how life has been and how they are dealing with the changes. As time goes on, Hanna felt the gnawing guilt eating her even more which is why the minute the tables were cleared and the desserts were out, it was now time.

"I really need to talk to you about this Y/N"Hanna gestured at the bump.

There was a glee in Y/N's eyes, maybe she was thinking that Hanna is making her a godparent. Hanna tried her best to avoid her eyes because she cannot handle when her eyes starts crying.

"Now what do you want to talk about?"Y/N questioned.

"Im pregnant Y/N"it was now or never for Hanna.

If she could just change how things were then she wouldn't have been so stupid. She wouldn't have been in this situation right now and she wouldn't lose such a great friend like Y/N. However, this was a consequence of her selfish actions and now she will pay for it.

"I am well aware of that Hanna"Y/N grinned "and congratulations by the way. You should totally let me help you find some cute baby stuffs and-"

"The father is Seb"

[zhongrin]

to be yours

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, al haitham, childe, ayato, thoma, kaeya, wanderer, diluc

◇ tags ◇ minors dni, fluff, collar, nothing explicit is happening but it's very suggestive, diluc is so soggy in this but i’m not sorry

◇ a/n ◇ "but rin didn't you already write something similar to this with zhongli?" sHUT UP. SHUSH. SILENCE. /j

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

when you called his name so excitedly and said that you had something to show him, he didn’t think he would see you with a collar…. and is that his initials?

… oh.

oh.

zhongli tries so very hard to be a gentleman, but you can feel the urgency, the impatience in the slight bite of his fingers against your skin as he pulls you into a searing kiss. the loud purrs rumbling from his throat a telltale sign that your majestic dragon is exceedingly happy at your little present… maybe a little too happy, judging from the hardness pressing against your thigh...

hmm.

yes, the cor lapis gem on it is a nice touch, indeed.

“ah- apologies, my dear. how ungentlemanly of me… but i simply must express how much adoration i have for you at this present time.”

childe has a silly grin on his lips as he admires the accessory with his fingers. his blue eyes are hooded when he finally meets your gaze and his chapped lips persistently attack yours, an invitation to a heated battle of dominance; one you wouldn’t certainly mind losing, but you know the way you fight against him will turn him on even more.

you suppose you can indulge him... for now.

let’s see how he fares when you bring out his collar with your initials.

“y-you-for me? fuck… o-of course i’ll put it on, baby…. but won’t you help me wear it? please?”

al haitham snorts and folds his arms in front of his delicious treat of a chest, one of his eyebrows cocking up in mock arrogance, a contrast to your sweet demeanor.

he wants you to explain your choice of accessory, he says - nay, demands. and yet not even a minute into your horribly awkward speech, it’s his fingers that hook onto the leather to drag you onto his lap, right on the edge of your shared bed. there’s a certain glint in his eyes, and only then it clicks to you. he’s in that kind of mood today, it seems.

oh dear. you might want to prepare yourself to call in sick tomorrow…

“oh no, continue with your explanation, don’t mind me. i am capable enough to multitask between listening to you and leaving more… direct and indisputable versions of my marks on you.”

ayato has to blink a few times to make sure it wasn’t his sleep-deprived brain causing hallucinations after working for nearly thirty-two hours straight.

but when it sinks on him that you’re actually wearing a collar, with the kamisato clan’s sigil and his initials embellished proudly on the high-quality material - just like a loyal puppy waiting for praise from their owner - it’s like he just woke up from the most satisfying power nap he’s ever had his whole life. you find yourself pinned onto his desk seconds later, your master cooing over how adorable you look in your new outfit and how you’ll look even more the part with all your clothes off and stuffed full of his cock.

“what a good pet. my good little pet…”

thoma erupts into a thomato billion shades of reds that complement his outfit.

his brain is short-circuiting. his tongue fumbles like a three years old trying to speak words. his hands are awkwardly hovering in the air as he tries to make sense of everything.

when he finally gets his wits back, he launches into his mother-hen mode. not exactly the result you wanted, but you can work with it. you have your precious boyfriend wrapped around your fingers after all.

“d-does it not hurt? it’s not too tight, right? if it’s hard for you to adjust the length, i can help you to- what?! no, no, you misunderstand- wait, no! i don’t mean that i didn’t want to put it on you, i just- arghh, s-stop teasing me!”

kaeya blinks once, twice, and the third time is accompanied by a sultry smirk spreading over his kissable lips. he chuckles, a deep vibration that sends shivers down your spine as he eyes you like a hungry panther scouting a potential feast.

before you know it he’s had you pinned against the wall of his office, and his fingers are teasingly rubbing your jaw and under your ear, his hot breath mingling with yours as his cologne overwhelmed your senses. a knee slides between your legs and rubs against your clothed crotch, and your lover eagerly swallows your yelp with a deep kiss that speaks volumes about what he plans to do with you.

“ah, perfect. a distraction from work. lord barbatos must have seen me toil over these boring paperwork and took pity on me by giving me such a nice present. all wrapped up so nicely with a name tag to match, too…”

wanderer stares at the initials in disbelief for a full ten seconds before glaring at you. scathing words leave his lips like a fully loaded revolver, but you’re made of the thickest steel and you’re more perceptive than most - well, at least when it comes to your beloved puppet lover - so you can see the indicative ways of his joy: the slight nervous shifts of his legs, the way he’s scratching his arm for grounding himself, and most of all, the way his eyes looked at anything but the said ‘vile object’…

he’s so silly, you think fondly.

guess it’s time to play the ‘which buttons to push to break his act’ game yet again.

“you’re so embarrassing. a fucking collar, really? what are you, some kind of a mutt? and with the initials of that stupid name you gave me? what, you wanna tell the world that you’re my pet or something? hah! why don’t you bark for me then? …. w-wha- s-stop barking, idiot! what is wrong with you?!”

diluc takes a full minute to fully understand. his brain is failing to connect the dots even though he’s literally staring at the accessory.

it’s only when you point out and explain it all to him that his breath hitches. redness as bright as his hair creeps onto his cheeks, and he has to cover the lower half of his face-

wait-

are those tears in his eyes?!

“it’s… nice? i suppose. i know you will look nice in whatever you wear, beloved. your sense of fashion is impeccable in my eyes, and i- hmm? ….. oh…….. OH. i-ahem-i see. i-ah-no! no, these aren’t- they’re just…. i’m sorry, dear- i just.... feel so…. so…. loved…”

© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @thestarsofenkanomiya | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @diebischesther | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ladylofspades | @sup-zfam | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @nachotrash | @algrimmammon | @sassy-cat-in-town

[bullet-prooflove]

5500 Follower Bingo Celebration: Love Letters - Mitch Keller x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dolphs-darling @watermeezer @queenslandlover-93 @lostinwonderland314

When Mitch was away on the rodeo circuit, he used to write you love letters. They weren’t much, scribbled lyrics, places he’d wanted to take you, how much he was missing you at the time. He would always address them ‘To my sunshine’ before sealing them up in an envelope with a kiss and placing them in the mailbox.

You never wrote back, there was no point, he would already have moved on to the next town by the time you did. Instead you sent him voice notes, snippets of you singing his songs and Mitch he would been on top of the world when he went out into that arena, because the sound of your voice was music to his ears.

Now it’s a decade later and Mitch is sifting through a shoebox filled with memories that had long since been forgotten. The two of you have gotten a little house near The Buck, one with a yard for the dog you’ve been begging him to consider. It’s going to happen, he knows it is, he just likes to pretend you haven’t gotten him wrapped around your little finger.

“I didn’t know you still had these.” Mitch says as he studies the postage stamps.

Mississippi, Nevada, Kansas and many more. He hadn’t realised he’d gotten around so much back in the day.

 Your chin comes to rest on his shoulder as you raise up on tip toes to survey them.

“I used to get them out from time to time when I was missing you.” You confess, your arms wrapping around his waist, holding him close. “I could play those songs in my sleep by the time I got back to Tulsa.”

Hearing that, it does a little something to Mitch. He’s had his troubles over the years, the injury, the drugs, his incarceration, he thought he’d fucked things up for good after that second stint in rehab but the two of you, you were always inevitable, like the sun raising in the east and setting in the west.

“Do you think you could play one for me when we get home?” He asks you, the stubble on his jaw grazing your skin as his cheek comes to rest upon yours. “See if we can still find a little of that magic?”

“That depends.” You tell him, your hands coming to rest on his belt buckle. “Do you still have the hat and chaps?”

A filthy smile crosses his features as he says/

"Why Sunny, I actually think I do."

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[cr4yolaas]

blue spring — remember to be patient!

prev: caving in | masterlist | next: until we’re old and wrinkly

𝜗𝜚 this is really a filler chapter in my head

𝜗𝜚 hoping and praying on my knees that someone notices the omori references i've littered throughout this smau

𝜗𝜚 i love omori sm. genuinely my favorite game of all time, alongside the entire loz franchise (i love loz sm)

𝜗𝜚 also about a month has passed since the last chapter if u couldnt tell (yn's exhibit went on for all of may) and since kageyama's confession they've been very stagnant (for the reasons yn and kags explained). for the past month yn has been attending her exhibit every monday, catching up with her late work (which resulted from the exhibit), and studying for her finals (which is going horribly. never double major in two completely unrelated things)

𝜗𝜚 speaking of yn's double major the reason why she's majoring in both art and environmental engineering is because she knew she needed a career to fall back on in case her art career didn't go very well. so she picked stem (she's an academic weapon)

𝜗𝜚 anyways kags did tell her he'd wait but he's slowly and surely losing patience he wants her so bad </3 hence the title (which is an omori ost reference)

𝜗𝜚 sorry guys i just love omori sm yn is so omori coded to me

𝜗𝜚 all of their friends genuinely did think they were already a couple and were just keeping it on the dl but in truth they're in a "talking stage" sort of thing

𝜗𝜚 a while back (between the events of last chap and this chap) yn realized she didn't know kag's full name. she liked the way tobio sounded more than kageyama so she changed it and gave him a cat pfp (in reference to one of the earlier chapters). he may or may not have short-circuited in response

𝜗𝜚 yachi does use yn's achievements as a means to get everyone to hang out but she really does just want to congratulate her friend LOL

taglist: @mfcherry @eggyrocks @scxrcherr @yuminako @girlkissersco @diorzs @causenessus @kyo-kyo1 @k0z3me @shironagi @lovingvi @bunninio @hisfuture @lilchubbyyy @gsyche @ghostreader0307 @fiannee @minimarkive

[sinning-23]

Net Pt.2 (Shanks x Siren!Reader)

someone asked for part two and it blew up so uhhh here part two for my shanks loving bbgrls!

warnings: definelty pron with plot lol, tension, kissing, intense touching, p in v, never been touch, slow and gentle smeggs. uhh yeah, loss of virginity? Sorta?

Pt.1 Found Here

You gasp, feeling his hands slide under the fabric of your shirt. Cold. You huff at the feeling, breathless at his touch. Your lips don't stop, the two of you just barely separating for air before going back to being stuck like glue.

"Will you?" He asks, eyes soft and pleading desperate.

Stay with him? Live this life of piracy and be protected and loved by him? Be held and kissed and touch in places you'd yet to discover on yourself? Youd be a fool to say no.

Like clumsy young adults you sprint with one another to his quarters, the door locking before he's back on you, whimpers and moans just as musical as the creaky floorboards when you're backed against his bed.

Fear settles in your heart, well no, not fear, anxiety. He can see it and only kissed the top of your head, slowing his pace.

“Slow. Okay guppy?” He smiles, seeing you nod.

He scoots you back, your body upright but comfortable against then pillows. Shanks opts to work his way down, making sure you knew just how precious you were to him. Soft and slightly chapped lips brush over your scales and the flesh of your necks, praises fall from his lips like a prayer.

It makes your tummy turn, a wave of emotions flooding your mind and body like you’d never felt before. For someone who’s lived their whole life in the ocean you were almost too sure this is what it felt like to be seasick, a loved, nervously, excited mess.

“Focus.” He hums, seeing the emotional roller coaster your conscious had gone on.

And you did, finally letting yourself just relax. His hands aren’t cold anymore, and they slide down the fabric of your shirt, exposing your chest to him. It’s only a little embarrassing but the embarrassment is soon overpowered by pleasure.

Your back arches into him when he takes one into his mouth, sucking and licking the sensetive bud while his free hand bust barely grazed over the other. A moan slips past your lips and you feel him grin as he unlatches and decides to kiss down your stomach.

“I-I don’t, how do we even-I’ve never-“ You gasp, the feeling of his fingers over your wetness making yoo shirt circuit.

“I do remember saying we’d go slow, right? We’ll work out way up love.” He explains, just barely circling your clit, enjoying how you unraveled before him.

“I- please.” You beg, not sure of what you were asking for.

Maybe for him to not stop, to stop teasing and let you feel his fingers fill you up. Desperation is what that was. Pure, horned up, desperation.

“I know love, I know. Are you okay for me to-?” He doesn’t finish, only pushing your folds open slowly as your head lols back an your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“Yea, please keep touching me. Dont stop touching me.” You whine, curses in your native tongue rolling off your swollen lips. You’re now gripping his forearm, nails leaving indents in the flesh there.

Your eyes lock, yours glossy, his desperate, and promising.

"Oh honey when you ask like that I’ll touch you whenever you want for as long as you want I promise." He sighs, connecting your lips again as he begins to pump two fingers in and out of you, your wetness making the process a bit easier.

He’s gently, knowing that you've never touched or been touched like this. He knows its rather overwhelming and the last thing he wasn't to do if make you feel, uncomfortable.

You cling to him, letting him suck and lick the flesh of your neck, spots of purple being left in his wake. You do the same though, marking him as yours with a smile. You gasp when he hits that softer spot inside you, your head falling onto his shoulder.

He knows your close, velet walls fluttering around his fingers as he used his free hand to rub circlesover your sensitive nub. It feels so much hotter than before, your legs feeling like jelly when he takes the initiative to fold them a little more and guide you to wrap them around his waist.

“That’s it, let yourself feel good. Let me make you feel good.” He whispers, pupils wide as he watched you pall apart from his touch.

You can feel your body squeeze, muscles feeling tight as he speeds up a bit, the sound of your squelching only filling you with embarrassment. It didn’t last long though, because before you could warn him of this feeling of pleasurable impending doom, you snap.

And alll he does it smile, slowing his back as you two your head back, squeezing him as if he’d suddenly disappear.

Shanks is back on you, kissing you through your damn near earth shattering orgasm with a smile. He knows you’ll feel empty when he pulls his fingers out of you so as a sort of courtesy he doesn’t stop, still keep that agonizingly slow pace.

“That’s it my love. Gods you look beautiful like that. So pretty cumming over my fingers.” He hums, finally removing them from you and raising them to his mouth.

“Shanks!” You gasp, trying you tug his hand away but it’s too late, the action making you burn up.

He doesn’t respond, only pressing his lips to yours, sliding his tongue between your teeth as you moan into him, further relaxing. It’s somehow bitter and sweet.

“Just wanted you to see how good you taste.” He chuckles, placing his hat atop your head.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up, hm?” He finishes, kissing your forehead before turning to find something to clean you with.

He’s soft, pulling you into one of his shirts which is far too big for you. He kisses the top of your head, your eyelids, your nose, and finally your lips. The silent agreement of sleep written over your faces.

Yeah, you’d be a fool to say no to this.

Tag list: @gingernut1314 @commanderfreethatdust @justrandom20

[mistressemmedi]

"The tall chap in yellow clothes, I believe his name is Machine Gun Kelly? He has left the circuit" TED. PLEASE 💀

[sirhamburrger]

CHAPTER TWO: grow some facial hair

basket case - h. chigiri x f!reader (band!au) || divider by @roseraris wc (written portion): 377 || tags/cw: 'kys' joke at the end, kaiser is an asshole, oliver is down bad for reader, chigiri is afraid of rejection :((( prev. chap || introducing manshine! || introducing x-gen! || next chap

she’s practically beaming at her phone when hyoma walks in. reo is look over her shoulder from behind the couch, eyebrows raised.

“what’s got you so happy tonight?” hyoma teases.

reo locks eyes with him, wide-eyed. it’s nothing, he mouths.

“it’s nothing,” she giggles. then she covers her face with her hand, squealing. 

well, it’s clearly not nothing.

she hands him her phone. she’s texting oliver aiku, the leader and bassist of the ubers. his name is saved as ‘grrr bark bark bark’, and recent texts show they’ve been… flirting.

him, flirting with her. her, flirting with… him.

it’s like his brain short-circuits, and it’s not until reo tugs on his sleeve hard that he comes back to reality. a reality in which she’s staring up at him, clearly giddy with the unadulterated flirtation in aiku’s words. waiting for a reaction he’s not sure he wants to give. 

because the way she’s feeling isn’t for him, not one bit, and that really stings.

“well?” she prompts, looking at him expectantly, seemingly unaware of his discomfort. hyoma can’t even bring himself to look a concerned reo in the eyes. it just makes him feel so much worse. he doesn’t need pitying. the lead singer of manshine schools his expression into something displaying mild interest - or at the very least, neutrality. 

“he seems nice.” he forces out the words like he’s trying to throw up something foul-tasting. “good for you.”

“he is nice,” she hums, taking her phone back. their hands brush, and he tries his hardest not to jerk away at the contact. “thank you.”

hyoma smiles tightly, walking past her to his room. reo follows, a knowing look of melancholy in his eyes.

“hey, man, i’m sorry about that -”

“don’t be.” hyoma smiles his tight smile again. he loathes it. “it’s not your fault, it’s not her fault, or his, or mine. it’s no one’s fault.” and as he says it, he thinks he might almost believe it.

almost.

he doesn’t know what to do now, as he sits on his bed, twisting a lock of his hair around his finger. but as soon as the feeling of hopelessness comes, it disappears. 

his friends might be across the globe, but still - they might know what to do.

a/n: no words sorry chigi :( (bachira is the ultimate yn defender) (chigiri did NOT find their advice helpful, except for isagi’s but he’s not gonna do it anyway)

taglist: @narcjsistx, @nyxlai, @n0ah-hal00, @kawoala, @chuuyalvover, @ih8geography, @lorisheaven, @hqnge (open, comment on any post in this series to be added, preferably here at the series masterlist)

bllk masterlist || general masterlist

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