#it’s called overtake btw

[lavender-rosies]

so when was someone gonna tell me there’s A MOTORSPORT ANIME COMING OUT ?????

[trollbreak]

Anyways now that I’m actually putting thought into my current fleet guys I wanna clink em together with other folks but all my energy just vanished which is honestly a tragedy

[gumy-shark]

.

[sillysillygoofygoose]

Helloooo can I request single dad Toji living with his son megumi but then neighbor reader moves in and yk HAHHAHAH anyways love ur works

Hi!! Okay, okay, okay SOOOOO cute 🥰 I LOVE this trope sooooo much. Thank you smmm anon 💕💕 I have the smexiest ask in my inbox rn, so I thought I would start with some innocent fluff 🤭

Toji is like... super down bad in this one btw

One and a Half Men □○

Toji swore off of dating the day he became a single father. Never again, he told himself. He was too busy. Too preoccupied. Too grown to be playing a twenty-something year old's game. It was evident by his whisps of gray hair, earned over the three and a half challenging years of fatherhood.

When Megumi was first born, Toji found him and his bundle of joy a nice enough apartment, conveniently next to an uninhabited one so Megumi's cries wouldn't wake up any neighbors. Toji kept his head down and focused on what he needed to do. He worked, he took care of his baby boy, and he just kept moving forward.

And he kept good on his promise... very good. Until you showed up.

"Oh, good morning Megumi! Hi Mr. Toji, how are you guys doing today?"

There you were. A beautiful, shining sweetheart, kind and angelic down to your very core. A college student, roughly twenty years old, full of life and hope and love. And the Fushiguro's neighbor of six months.

"I told ya' a million times doll, don't call me Mr. Anything. Makes me feel older than I already am." Toji can't help the way his heart pulses in his chest everytime you flash that bright smile his way. He wishes he could.

"Okay, Mr. Toji." You giggle him off, shrugging away his gruff tone as Megumi let's go of his dad's finger and starts waddling over to you, the smallest smile parting his chubby cheeks.

"Hi y~y/n. M'mmorning. I have new shirt." Megumi makes his way over to you, grabbing your hand with one of his while the other stretches the fabric of his yellow and blue t-shirt towards you, showing it off.

"Oh wow! I see! You look very dapper this morning, Megumi!" Toji watches as you crouch down in front of Megumi, absent-mindedly patting down the raven strands of hair protruding out of the little boys' scalp

Hm, Toji thinks, watching as you blabber back and forth with the little man, smile widening more and more with every word Megumi stumbles out.

A buzzing notification from his phone distracts him from the heartwarming scene. Fuck, graveyard shift tonight.

"Well, I'm very glad you like it, you look suuuuper handsome, just like your daddy." Toji's ears perk up when he hears that. He let's a smirk slip when he realizes you're already looking at him, holding little Gumi's hand.

Hearing Megumi's quiet giggles reminds him of his current conundrum. He doesn't have anyone to look after Megumi tonight.

"Um hey, y/n, are you busy tonight?" Toji scratches the back of his neck, keeping a cool composure as his heart picks up speed.

"No, I don't think so! Why?" You stand up, caressing Megumi's head when he clings to your legs.

"I don't like asking for favors, but could you watch Megumi tonight? I'll pay ya." Toji ignores Megumi's excited squeal at the mention of spending the night at your place, knowing at this rate, he would probably have the same reaction.

"Oh my god, I'd love to! You really don't have to pay me, it would be my pleasure. He's such a little gentleman." Almost as excited as Megumi, you agree, softly squeezing the toddler's tiny shoulders.

You say your goodbyes, explaining how you need to run to the store and that Toji can drop Megumi off whenever.

As you wave goodbye, Megumi turns back to his daddy, huge smile overtaking his dumpling face.

"Yay, tank you dada! I wuv y/n, so nice and pretty." Toji has never seen his little boy so excited.

"Yeah, me too, little guy." Toji mused, walking down the apartment building's hallway, distracted by confirming his shift with his boss.

"Dada wove y/n too?" Megumi mumbles to himself, looking up at his dad with bright, hopeful eyes.

"Uhm, huh? Uh she's a very nice young lady, Megs." Realizing what he said, he backtracks, distracting Megumi with under chin tickles.

"Okay Dada." Megumi giggles, scrunching his chin to his chest, trying to stop the tingles infecting his little body.

...

Megumi was quick to warm up to you when you first moved in. It was just something about you. Maybe it was the same thing that had Toji head over heels the moment he first talked to you.

You were so refreshing to be around. Both Toji and Megumi were so used to only having each other. A young, smiling, motherly woman was such a fulfilling person to have around. Like a missing piece. Your presence was magnetic to the small family, both of them adoring you, only in different ways.

Everything about you was so beautiful. It almost made Toji nervous...

"Dada... knock knock." Megumi pulls Toji's hand towards your door, reminding him of the task at hand.

"You got it bud." Toji picks Megumi up under his armpits, letting him do the knocking.

Immediately, the door swings open, revealing a smiling you, clad in a flimsy tank top and baggy sweatpants.

"Megumi!!" You exclaim, laughing as the little boy grabs your neck and transfers himself into your arms.

"Yayyayayay, y/n!" Megumi squeezes you before turning to his dad.

"Bye bye, dada. Night night." Megumi immediately waves to his dad, almost kicking him out.

"Hold on, little man. Let me talk to y/n for a minute." Toji huffed a laugh as you smiled, moving to the side to let him in.

Toji declined coming in, explaining that he didn't want to intrude. He began explaining that Megumi was due for sleep, saying how it's already way past his bedtime. You point to your room, assuring him that Megumi would be sleeping like a king and that you were drowning in school work, too much to worry about sleeping on the couch.

Toji nodded along, beginning to tune your melodic voice out as he observed the way a sleepy Megumi snuggled into your neck, and the way your hand cradled his head, carding through his messy hair.

"Okay, well, I don't want to keep you too long, Toji! Megumi is safe and sound, and will be asleep verrryyy soon." You tease the little boy, knowing that he's already fighting sleep, dozing off on your shoulder.

Toji smiled when he didn't hear an honorific before his name. Your body froze up as he moved unbelievably close to you, face rubbing against yours as he cups the back of Megumi's head, kissing him goodnight.

"Thanks again, text me if you need anything. Be a good boy Gumi, love ya." Toji waves goodbye as you close the door, turning in your place to take a deep breath, feeling your heated cheeks with the back of your hand, pulling yourself together. What a man.

Your fan-girling subsides when you feel a yawn against your neck, reminding you of the exhausted little boy in your arms.

"Let's get you to bed, buddy. We can have fun in the morning, okay?" You feel a mumble on your skin as you walk to your room, taking in the little boys matching pajamas, little toes covered with fluffy socks. Your heart melts in your chest. How cute.

"Alright, there we go. All set, bud?" You smile down at Megumi tucked in your pink bedding, little head resting on your memory foam pillow.

"Back rub, please?" Megumi pleads, instinctively rubbing his scalp with flat hands. That's where the messy hair comes from.

"Okay, bud." You soften your voice as the boy rolls around in your bed, laying on his chubby little tummy.

He hums happily when he feels the weight of your hand on his back, making grabby hands at your unoccupied one, asking to hold it.

"Dada woves you. He said so to me." Megumi smiles softly, squeezing you hand.

"Oh! Um... oh! He said that?" A wave of shock and flush runs through your body, chest and face heating up.

"Mhm. He thinks you're pretty. I think he wants- marry you." Gumi goes rouge as sleep clouds his little mind, cutting into his own sentences.

"Allrrighhtt Megs... let's focus on bedtime, okay?" You giggle out, feeling like a schoolgirl after hearing the unreliable narrator's thoughts.

"Mmh, okay. Night night, Mama."

...

You didn't get a lick of sleep. How could you? Piles of work was banging at your brain, but the only thing you could think of was Toji and Megumi. Mama.

Pulling at your face, you snap out of your panicked thoughts when you hear a door open and the weight of a tiny body running to your couch. Looking up, your heart breaks in half.

"Y/nnn, bad dreammm. I had bad dream." Megumi sobs out, hands seeking comfort in his hair rubbing his head in agony. His face is puffy and red as tears run down his chubby cheeks, sniffing and crying.

"Oh Gumi, I'm sorry baby... here, come here honey." Climbing onto the couch, Megumi rushes into your arms, holding onto you like you would disappear. Sighing, you stand up with the little boy koala bear-ing you, pacing back and forth as you hush him.

Gazing at the time displayed on the oven, you see that it's already four in the morning. Megumi burrows himself into your body, getting as close as possible to you, seeking the maternal comfort your provide.

"M so sleepy. Don't wanna be by myself." Megumi eventually sighs after tiring himself out, fidgeting with the strap of your tank top.

"Let's sit down, okay bubs? Let's just take some deep breaths." You feel like a nervous wreck, hoping you're comforting Megumi well enough, not fully knowing what to do.

Sitting back down, you pat his back, resting your head on the back of the couch. The weight of Megumi's tired head on your chest grounds you. As you begin dozing off, you feel Megumi's grip on you relax, signaling his sleep.

Exhaling, you rest your arms around the resting lump, finally letting sleep overtake you.

...

Bright and early, you're awoken by the sounds of cabinets opening and closing. You freak out, thinking someone was ransacking your apartment before you open your eyes to see a little body wandering around your kitchen.

"Thirsty." Was the only explanation you get from the messy haired boy as he continued look for a glass.

Pouring him a glass of water, you place him on a chair in your small kitchen, starting his breakfast.

Megumi mumbles to himself as you prepare his scrambled eggs, keeping himself entertained. As you sit across from him, placing his plate in front of him, he smiles and thanks you quietly before digging in.

You drink your coffee, enjoying the peace and quiet provided by Megumi's preoccupied mind...

"Y/n?"

"Yes, Gumi?"

"Do you love dada?"

Megumi brings it up again. Great. Nosey little boy.

"Because I want a mommy. And you're good at it. I think you should be my mama."

"Hey, Gumi, what's your favorite dinosaur?" You blurt out, stopping the conversation as soon as possible.

The little boy glares at you, too smart to be tricked, but giving in anyway.

"T-rex."

...

"Dada! Y/n took good care of me!" Megumi sung the highest of praises when you opened the door to an exhausted Toji.

"I'm sure she did! I hope he didn't give you too much trouble." Toji teased, seeing the dark bags manifesting under your eyes.

"No, not at all, he's a very good boy." You smiled giving Megumi one last hug before he grabbed onto his dad's thumb.

"Thank you so much again, really it means the world to us." Toji reminded you, pulling a fifty out of his pocket, almost begging you to take it. You insisted on him keeping it, joking that the economy is too tough to be stealing his money. Saying their final goodbyes, Toji and Megumi left you alone with your thoughts.

Oh my god. Toji looked so good. His sweatshirt made his already huge frame look unbelievably broader, looking so protective as he held onto his little boy at your door.

You needed him. Bad. And it freaked the shit out of you.

Hope you enjoyed! Xoxo

*PART TWO IS NOW UP!!!!!* https://www.tumblr.com/sillysillygoofygoose/740703539826917377/one-and-a-half-men-one?source=share

[skamenglishsubs]

Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 3, Episode 2

Episode 2 starts days or maybe a week after episode 1. The curfews and phone ban is in place, so Wilhelm and Simon make the most of their one hour of phone sex talking.

Blink and you miss it: Wilhelm snapped a quick instant picture of himself and Simon at the palace in the last episode, using the camera we saw on his desk. The heart is still on his hand, so maybe it's the next day, or maybe he's been filling it in every day.

Cinematography: Intense red light typically symbolizes their mutual love, and this scene is overflowing with it.

Lost in translation: They both finish the phone call with "puss", which means kiss, but not exactly. It's more platonic, something you can say and do with your parents, or your kids, or end phone calls with. The other word for kiss, "kyss", is more romantic/sexual, and would be super weird to end a phone call with. Simon is using that word when he says he would kiss Wilhelm's collar bone birth mark.

Subtext: Of course Vincent doesn't believe anyone was bullied. He's the biggest bully, but what he does is just a joke, or the other guy deserved it. This is gonna be a recurring theme™ in this episode, how various characters look back on and remember, or choose not to remember, what happened to them.

Subtext: If you didn't pick up this meaningful glance, you're blind. The initiation porno was totally real, and Nils and August clearly remember it, and weren't as flippant about it as Vincent.

Culture: In Sweden, inner city schools are typically better and have richer students than the poorer schools out in the suburbs. This is the exact opposite of the typical US school demographical pattern.

Subtext: Wilhelm avoids Farima's question by evading it. Note that it does make sense that she doesn't know what's going on at these schools since she's an employee, she's not upper-class herself. Wilhelm's parents know though since they attended Hillerska, but they would of course never admit it either.

Culture: Ironically, this is exactly how the real-world Danish royal family handled the Herlufsholm scandal in 2022 involving prince Christian. Only when the media storm in Denmark got too intense did they pull him out of the school, while furiously denying knowledge of the abuse or that he was involved in any way.

Cinematography: We're in the cursed music room, but the light is soft and golden, and the scene is just cute. No fight this time.

Subtext: We're touching the theme™ again, but from Simon's perspective. He has the same outsider perspective we have; speaking up about abuse is always good, and if the school's closing because of it, that's an obviously good thing. There's plenty of scenes in this episode showing that most Hillerska students don't share this perspective, they really love their school, as fucked up as it is.

Subtext: Although it sounds like a rehearsed PR line and Felice is thinking about her girl group here, it's gonna come true for her and Sara.

Subtext: Yuck. No further comment.

Cinematography: The immediate cut to Felice getting her aggressions out in gym class shows us exactly what she thought of what the principal said and how much it pissed her off.

Blink and you miss it: Simon audibly sniffs Wilhelm's hair.

Blink and you miss it: Micke made dinner for both of them, but in her depression, Sara ignores the cooked food (Pyttipanna, btw), and makes herself a cucumber sandwich instead.

Subtext: Micke is a man on a mission, and he is constantly steering the conversation towards helping Sara get her driver's license. For him, it's a way to make up for having been a shitty parent.

Culture: Sweden has long been a holdout of stick-shift cars, and if you don't do your practical test in a stick-shift, you'll get a restricted license, so it's not out of the ordinary for Micke to be teaching Sara how to drive one. However, automatics have seen a sharp rise in the last decade, and in 2024 automatics will finally overtake them.

Culture: The green ÖVNINGSKÖRNING sign is compulsory in Sweden if a car is being driven by someone on a learner's permit, with a parent or friend as the instructor. There's also a red version of the sign, which indicates it's a student driver with a professional instructor in a dual control car.

Cinematography: The room is filled to the brim with things to do, there's a bazillion board games, they have books, magazines, fidget thingies, they're drowning in stuff, and yet the girls are still soooooo boooored just because they don't have their phones. Except Madison, who is knitting.

Subtext: Here comes the theme™ again, and Fredrika is firmly in camp denial. Everyone else is just lying and exaggerating! The wheels are starting to turn in Felice's head though.

Subtext: Nils and August are finally talking about the initiation without Vincent being present, and they can finally be honest about what they actually thought about it. It happened, they didn't like.

Subtext: Their idea of fixing it however is not to go out publicly and talk about it, but to just quietly stop the tradition, hoping they'll be the last ones. (Since there are no second-year students in the show, we have no idea what happened to them, so we're just gonna ignore that.)

Subtext: And here comes the reason that August wanted to put a stop to it. He was completely humiliated by it, and he doesn't want anyone else to know that he was humiliated, because that just makes it worse. This is also the reason that traditions like this keep on going, no-one wants to blow the whistle on it, because everyone was abused, everyone was a victim, it's hard for abuse victims to speak up.

Cinematography: The talk with Nils triggered an anxiety attack for August, and being inside his small room doesn't exactly help. Him going so close to the camera that he almost bumps into it really shows how he feels like the walls are closing in on him.

Culture: This, kids, is a standard Swedish landline telephone jack. For the longest time I thought phone jacks looked like this everywhere, but it turns out that this particular design was only used in Sweden and Iceland(!?!). You won't find these in newer buildings because landlines are pretty much dying out, and if there are phone jacks they'll probably be using the much more common RJ-11 standard.

Culture: This, kids, is an Ericsson Diavox phone. The former government phone monopoly in Sweden, Televerket, only allowed certified and approved phones to be used on the network, and they only approved a very small set of phones, so everyone had pretty much the same phones in their homes. However, in the 1980's the market started getting flooded with "illegal" phones from other countries, so the monopoly simply stopped enforcing the rule, and you could finally, finally, plug in that novelty Garfield phone that you always wanted.

Blink and you miss it: Sara is studying for her driving test, and she's reading about driving in the dark.

Subtext: We're gearing up for the main plotline of the season, dropping more hints that maybe Wilhelm's image of Erik wasn't complete, and what August says sows some seeds of doubt in him.

Subtext: This song is objectively not very good, please don't kill me, but it is very sixteen-year-old-boy-just-singing-from-his-heart, not thinking about the text.

Subtext: Simon isn't wearing anything purple, but just after he posts his song video, he picks up a purple shirt, drops it immediately, and then the camera lingers on it. Colour theory goes brrrrrrrr. He thought about Wilhelm, and then stopped because his music is more important to him or something?

Subtext: Unlike Simon, Wilhelm immediately understands how problematic the text is for him, and how people will interpret it...

Subtext: ...but since he doesn't want to hurt Simon's feelings, he lies about why he thinks the song was a very, very bad idea. And he cushions it by telling Simon that he thinks the song is jätte-jätte-bra. Giant-giant-good.

Subtext: Yes, but also no, and someone from the court really should have given Simon some media training and explained to him why he has to be very careful about what he posts. But it's drama fuel, which is why this disaster is allowed to happen.

Subtext: A nice little throwback to season 1, this is exactly what Erik told Wilhelm in the first episode, about making sure that their public image is carefully curated.

Subtext: That's some on-the-nose foreshadowing there, since Felice is one of the main causes for the school ultimately closing.

Subtext: We're back to the theme™, Fredrika is saying pretty much the same thing as Vincent. It didn't happen, and if it did, it wasn't that bad.

Subtext: However, Felice isn't playing along this time, she's starting to speak up about the issues, and the result is a long, awkward silence, because her friends are not willing to do the same.

Subtext: Wilhelm and the rest of the rich kids are of course all wearing pretty expensive high-end hiking gear, in contrast with Simon who is simply wearing one of his usual hoodies and his usual winter jacket that we've seen before. That's a damn fine jacket from Fjällräven, btw, the same company that makes the weirdly globally popular Kånken backpacks.

Blink and you miss it: Henry is getting dragged for his actually quite reasonable objection to the tent groupings.

Subtext: Felice physically distances herself from her friends, and joins Simon and Wilhelm, in a nice little foreshadowing of the show's ending.

Blink and you miss it: Did you miss the line in last episode where Ayub said they were also gonna go camping at Talludden with their classmates from Marieberg? Well, here they are, because they pitched their tents nearby, and decided to go check out the Hillerska camp. It's not just Rosh and Ayub randomly walking through the woods.

Subtext: In season 2, we learned that Stella has a crush on Fredrika that she thinks is one-sided, but Fredrika sure has some kind of reaction to seeing Stella being close with Rosh. Jealousy, perhaps? Not clear at this point in time.

Subtext: Read the room Fredrika, for fuck's sake. At least Wilhelm has started learning to recognize privilege. The other rich kids probably recognize their privilege, but they're mostly just enjoying how much better they are than the poor regular kids.

Subtext: But Wilhelm's still got a lot more to learn. Yes, technically he is forced to spend his summer studying, and technically it is a kind of work, but the underlying reasons are completely different. If he skips it or fails, nothing bad will happen to him, unlike the Marieberg kids who rely on their summer jobs to have any sort of spending money.

Lost in translation: Wilhelm's dad says that the queen is going to be "sjukskriven", which is more serious than someone deciding on their own to take some time off or to use some sick days. It means that a doctor has evaluated you and decided that you are not fit to work, and that if you're a regular person, you are eligible for sick pay for the foreseeable future.

Cinematography: Yeah, mommy is really sick and Wilhelm is feeling the weight of responsibility, but take a look at that sunrise! It's so pretty! Wilhelm is completely in shadow because trouble whatever, but look at how that light just pops, with the sky and the water and the sun on the trees! Beautiful!

[ddejavvu]

hiii i love ur writing 🥹🥹🫶🫶 i have a james potter request if u feel so inclined!! a fluffy study date where he pretends he doesn’t know any of the answers so reader has to help him but then he ends up doing better than her on the test and shes like 🤔 i thought u were dumb HAHAHAHA tysm (btw LOVE the animagus reader series, had to say it xoxo)

James tries brushing the sleeve of his robes over the score marked in red on the top of his page, which seems like a sign that perhaps he won't be asking for your tutoring skills anymore. He grins sheepishly at you, scratching the back of his neck with one hand while keeping the other firmly covering his grade, "Hey, Y/N. How'd you do?"

"I got an O," You admit, hoping it doesn't come across as a brag even though he'd asked, "Should I be worried that you're covering up your score?"

His cheeks flush violently, and though the shade of pink is rosy and light, it overtakes his face quickly.

"Uh, not worried, no. I'm the one that should be worried, really."

"This isn't sounding good," You grimace, "Did you at least pass?"

"Yeah," He confesses, chewing guiltily on the inside of his cheek like he'd answered the opposite, "I passed."

"That's good," You nod, and your frown is born more out of confusion than sympathy for his strange mood, "So what's the issue?"

He moves his hand, staring disdainfully at the O at the top of his page.

"James!" You gush, wondering if all along this had been one of his famous pranks, "You- that's fantastic! Why didn't you tell me right away?"

He smiles ruefully at you, "'Cause I didn't want you to know I passed."

"Why not?" Your brows scrunch, "Isn't that the whole point of tutoring?"

"Well yeah, but," He hesitates, once more gnawing at his inner cheek, "It's just- that's it, isn't it? You tutored me, I got a good grade, and now it's over."

"Yeah." You nod, still unsure of what the pressing issue is, "I'm not putting the pieces together, James."

He groans, scrubbing a hand over his face, "Well- it's unfortunate for me, because I- well, I liked having you tutor me. And I want you to keep tutoring me. Even if I don't need tutoring."

Oh.

"Oh." You conclude.

Then after a beat of silence, "Hold on, did you even need me to tutor you in the first place?"

He pointedly averts his eyes to a smear of ink on the surface of his desk, and you take it as your answer.

"James," You sigh, but it's not complete exasperation - there's fondness present too. He cringes nonetheless, and you place a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention back to you.

"Let's call it a study group, then," You offer, a shy grin on your face, "Instead of a tutoring session. We can still meet."

Your offer seems to inspire some newfound confidence in James, and when he speaks, it's through a grin of his own, "Nah."

The single syllable destroys your own confidence, though, and your smile fades. Before you can lift your hand from his shoulder, he tacks on, "Let's call it a study date."

[femzai]

dazai fingering chuuya

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

“ see you in the hall like "hello, hello!" / up against the wall like "let's go, let's go!" ”

NSFW WARNING

tags ㅤᵕ̈ – fingering ofc, cooter having chuuya, spit kink >_>, me being silly lowkey

gee i wonder who requested this!? ^_^ ; (nikolai your sick and twisted and delusional but its okay i support you and your freaky endeavors!)

omgomg this time dazai is just dazai!! how surprising!??? and chuuya has a cooter becuz that man is not CIS sorry not sorry chat ♥︎ (he/him dazai, he/it chuuya btw!!)

word count — 1,164 words

“So cute.. aren’t you?”

Dazai held Chuuya’s face, looking at him intently. “You’re face is super flushed..” He muttered, head moving to kiss Chuuya’s neck. Biting and sucking at any piece of skin he can see, biting even harder whenever he hears a moan from the ginger. Moving one hand to grab Chuuya’s neck, and the other to gripped his waist.

“You asshole…” He gasped out, clinging onto Dazai’s coat. His legs spread apart from Dazai’s knee being right between him, rutting against his pant leg. “Fuck–” Chuuya whimpered, thoughts getting hazy each second. To think, poor Chuuya would be against his own wall, being kissed and toyed with by someone he hates. His grinding got more and more desperate, closely reaching its little climax just by humping. “You don’t know when to wait, do you?” Dazai sighed, frowning a bit upset at Chuuya’s neediness.

He hummed, moving his legs away from between Chuuyas. Its legs were shaking, and the denial of cumming was too much for him. “You… ASSHOLE..” He groaned out, contemplating whether or not he should throw out his dignity just to cum. “Aw.. Don’t worry..” He cooed, kissing Chuuya on the cheek. His hands slowly made their way to Chuuya’s thighs, grabbing his ass a little before picking him up.

Dazai walked him to the bedroom as fast as possible, tossing it onto the bed once there. It wasn’t long until Dazai was on right on top of him, holding his hips down and kissing. Practically spit on spit, purposefully as sloppy as humanely possible. Dazai made quick work of himself, removing his coat and unbuttoning his shirt. Throwing it somewhere that will be a pain to find tomorrow, but who cares right now? He moved his knee to tease Chuuya’s cunt through its pants, smiling a little as he heard his quiet moans.

“..Like some help, Chuu? I promise I’m good.”

He replaced his knee with his hand, rubbing through the fabric tauntingly. He shifted to move behind Chuuya, pulling the ginger to sit up between his legs. On the other hand, Chuuya let it happen. Quietly moaning while leaning into his chest more, hand covering his mouth. Dazai pressed down a finger onto Chuuya’s pants, hands knowing where his clit was and circling it quickly. Kissing and whispering sweet nothings into its ear, quickening his pace. “Do you want more..?” He panted, running his hands along the seam of Chuuya’s pants.

“ ‘Course you do, right? I’ll be nice to you this time, hm?” He began to hum, moving in to kiss more around Chuuys’s neck. Meanwhile, his rough hands busied themselves and unzipped Chuuya’s pants for him. Watching Chuuya kick them off desperately, taking off his boxers too in the process.

“Just.. get this over with, cunt..” He whispered, with gloved hands reaching to hold onto the fabric of Dazai’z pants. “Calling me names, already? How cruel are you?” “Only the worst–” Chuuya gasped loudly, being cut off by the feeling of rough fingers already circling its clit. Not a word could be said from the poor redhead anymore, holding onto anything it could while his clit was overtaking his senses. Dazai moved his other hand towards him, spitting on it as much as he could, before using it to mess with Chuuya’s folds; making it slicker with his spit and his pussy juices. He pouted, kissing Chuuya’s ear, and getting off to his bitchy moans.

Lord, was Dazai’s dick was getting even more harder by the second; the sounds Chuuya’s pussy made.. he just wanted to hear more thats for sure. After a while of teasing him, he decided to finally give Chuuya what he wanted but wouldn’t admit. He circled its hole for a little, listening intently to how Chuuya whined. Then, he put two fingers in with no hesitation, going in and out as fast as possible without a warning.

“Fuck! Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck!?” The feeling of both fingers immediately in him caught him off guard, with his back arched closer to Dazai. Speaking of Dazai, his hands worked overtime. One circling the gingers clit and the other with his fingers ramming into it. It was impossible for Chuuya to not close his legs, squeezing them as tight as he could to the sensation. “tsk, Don’t close your legs!” Dazai quickly grabbed onto his thighs, holding it back to give him room to work with while fingering him.

Chuuya was pushing its hips more onto Dazai’s hand, whining. His back arched, and his hands clawing onto anything it could grab. Dazai stopped for a second, feeling Chuuya shudder at the sudden pause. “Hold on, Chuuya..” He smiled, leaning over and spitting onto his pussy.

“..You’re fucking disgusting…” “Are you complaining?” “….Of course not.”

Dazai kissed the top of Chuuya’s head before slamming his fingers back in, smiling stupidly as he snuck a third in. Continuing to keep the same pace he had earlier, if not more sloppier. “..So.. fuckin’.. stuffed…” Chuuya whined, drool leaving his mouth. “Hm? You like that Chuuya?” He laughed, at this point Dazai was stupidly hard. He’s been rutting his clothed cock against Chuuya’s back without it knowing, hiding it behind his rough finger fucking. Chuuya’s needy whines were music to Dazai’s ears, mesmerized by him entirely.

Dazai picked up the speed quickly, seeing the familiar twitch whenever Chuuya was always so close. He whispered out more and more praises mixed with insults against its ear, just to get him to cum faster. He can’t always give Chuuya just praises during sex; the whore really needs to understand its little predicament. However, Chuuya now is just a poor, stupid, whimpering mess unable to even speak. It took Chuuya a few more seconds until he started to cum, shaking and giving a final loud whine.

Dazai waited until Chuuya stopped shuddering, carefully pulling out his cum covered fingers from inside of it. Dazai stared at his fingers, feigning curiosity. He waved his fingers around for a little, until he placed all three of his fingers in front of Chuuya. “Clean them.” That was all Chuuya needed to hear before lazily opening his mouth. Allowing Dazai’s fingers to be shoved into it before he started to suck. Its vision was refocusing as he cleaned off his own cum with his mouth, making sure to keep his tongue beneath all three fingers. Dazai moved his hand once he felt satisfied with Chuuya’s work, re-examining his hand and everything.

“..So what were you saying about me being gross?”

“..Shut… up.”

Dazai sighed, frowning dramatically while moving his hands hug Chuuya. The ginger didn’t fight this, sighing himself before try and calm down. They stayed like that for a moment, being in each other's presence until Dazai broke the silence. “…How about we do some more?” Chuuya scoffed upon hearing that, moving away from Dazai before turning to face him. “…I’m going to permanently shut you the fuck up.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Chuuya!”

a/n – smut. scares me sometimes. and this is one of those times LMFAOOO

[linooluvr]

𖥻𖥻 - attention! (teaser)

full fic posted! i can't put urls help me >-<

pairing - professor!bangchan x student!reader

genre - fluff [smut in the full fic] minors, dni.

teaser contents - reader is referred to as she/her, explicit language, pet names [pretty, baby, doll] mutual pining, power imbalance [not explicitly written], age gap [5 years, everyone is of age!]

teaser wc - 1k + [2 screenshots]

warnings - none

notes - this is extremely self indulgent (and my first time writing smut) don't mind me :D btw i don't condone this irl! this is purely fantasy. lowercase is intentional.

chris tried to keep his staring to a minimum, but it was extremely difficult. you decided to come to class in a short, flowy skirt and a matching blouse that showed your cleavage off just enough to still be appropriate for uni. your goal today was to finally make a move on mr. bang, your professor. you waited until a friday rolled around so in case things didn’t go your way, you wouldn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of seeing him the next day.

you two have always had an obvious attraction to each other. not obvious enough to draw attention, but more than obvious to each other. you’d come into class early just to have a small chat with him before the lecture started. he’d seem to enjoy your company; always happy and open when you two were alone and he would leave his classroom door cracked so you would know you’re welcome in. you’ve developed a crush on him to say the least, exiting his class with a fluttering heart and sodden panties just from your casual conversations.

twelve minutes. just twelve minutes until your peers begin to pour out of the lecture hall and you'd be all alone with chris. your heart is pounding, nerves and excitement flooding your veins. you occupy yourself with your phone so time seems to pass quicker. your confidence dissipates as the minutes count down but you decide to stick to your plan. you pull your phone out to open the group chat with your closest friends to help calm your nerves.

before you get the chance to respond, you hear chris dismissing the class. people get up at their own paces, tidying their space up before leaving. you watch as each of your peers leave one by one. you pretend to busy yourself with packing to not look suspicious to chris or your fellow classmates. you watch as the last person exits the lecture hall and silence fills the now practically empty room. you grab your black tote bag and stand, shakily walking over to chris's desk.

"good afternoon, mr. bang" you say shyly, unsure if your presence is currently welcome or not.

"good afternoon y/n." chris says with a smile. "you know you can call me chris, right?"

"y-yes, yes i know. i'm just. i don't know. nervous, i guess?" chris looks at you with a small head tilt, slightly confused and concerned by your nerves. he watches as you place your tote on the floor and rest against his desk.

"nervous? do you know why?" he asks looking up at you. your heart clenches at his words, not exactly knowing how to respond. you think and begin to realise feigning confidence is the best way to go about this.

"because of you" you say, not exactly sure how he'd react. you see one of his eyebrows raise for a second but he regains his composure.

"me? why? oh shit, i didn't do anything to make you uncomfortable, did i?" he asks as he gets up from his chair and stands in front of you, concern overtaking his features.

"no! no no, you didn't, it's just.. okay." you say before taking in and releasing a deep breath "so. i just wanted to know if… you were single?" you ask as you look up into his questioning eyes. the inquiry seems to calm his nerves as concern leaves his face and is replaced by a soft smile.

"why? who's asking, hmm?" he hums as he inches towards you.

"chris, don't tease okay?" you whine with a pout, but his answer seems to lean towards him being single.

"oh i'm not teasing, just curious. would the person asking happen to be the pretty girl standing in front of me?" he asks, his confidence growing when he notices how you react to his words; face flushed and cheeks tinted red as you nibble on your bottom lip.

"yes, i'm asking" you look away as he seems to be getting closer and closer, his cologne beginning to waft towards you. he chuckles deeply as he takes his hand and places it on your waist softly, giving you an option to push him away.

"and why are you asking?" chris asks looking down at you "is it maybe because… you want me y/n?" you look back up into his darkening eyes and nod slowly. his touch sets you ablaze and his gaze melts you from your heart to your core. "oh, so is that why you dressed so pretty today? trying to get my attention, baby?" you nod and this gives chris the green light to continue his teasing, his hand now softly gripping your waist as his unoccupied one reaches up to gently take your chin between his index finger and thumb, tilting your face up when you take a moment to respond to him. "i asked you a question, pretty"

"yes, you're why i dressed up. wanted your attention" your voice already seems to be softer than usual and chris takes note of that.

"but you already had it, baby. you just needed to ask" chris speaks softly as he searches deep into your eyes, already seeing how they're hazy and clouded with lust.

"can i kiss you, doll?" chris whispers, your faces mere inches apart. you whimper and nod rapidly, eliciting a deep chuckle out of chris before he closes the gap between you two. his kiss is so soft and tender, it makes your head spin. you bring your hands up to wrap around his shoulders as the kiss deepens slowly, the action causing your chests to press together.

notes - okay so, this is just a snippet cause i just wanted to see if anyone would.. wanna read this? 💀 this is my first time writing anything really so i'm a bit nervous to see how this will do. please give me any feedback, good or bad! if you'd wanna read the rest (i have some pretty nasty smut planned) please lmk ^^ thank you!~

©linooluvr 2024 | translation or reposting of the author’s works is strictly prohibited. author’s work is protected under copyright laws and policies. tumblr is my only platform! if you see my work posted elsewhere, please report it and let me know right away! please do not plagiarize my work! thank you :)

[vettelsdarling]

Ive seen alot of quote requests and I rly want a Leclerc x fem reader smut where they start out as enemies (example is like Ferrari and Mercedes or Ferrari and Redbull) pls and include these two quotes

“Youre so full of shit Ferrari boy”

“but you keep coming back”

Id be rly grateful if u could write this haha

Touch my rear wing, I dare you

➪I like the idea! Hope you enjoy what I came up with :)

➪(I’m assuming you mean Charles and not Arthur btw)

➪Also, this both follows and doesn't really follow a specific timeline. I’m just using my creative freedom for this. Some people are cut out of the story because of the reader insert!

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Driver!Reader

Warnings: (18+ content) smut, oral (both receiving), swearing

Word count: 5.6k+

Backstory

You had always loved racing. Your father was a retired Formula 1 driver and had always taught you and your brother the basics of it. You used to go watch him speed around for Ferrari, which shaped your dream to become just like him. Your brother and yourself were both determined to make it as great drivers. Your mother was a stay-at-home mom with a lot of time on her hands. Therefore, convincing her to take you and your brother karting was no big feat. Especially seeing as your father was a driver himself.

You rose through the ranks faster than your brother, despite having started later than him. Your mother was hesitant to let you race at first, but eventually allowed it. You were called a star and a prodigy. Seeing as you were the only girl there, it made sense. Especially because you hit every apex just right and your overtakes were near-perfect every time.

After karting, you moved further up the ranks, eventually being crowned regional champion in Formula 3 (regional) and moving on to Formula 3.

It was there you met him; Charles Leclerc. He was the only one who seemed to be faster than you. Not only that but the idea of it had gotten to his head. You never actually spoke to him, but you'd see a smirk creep up on his face once in a while after beating you. You wanted nothing more than to wipe it off with the sole of your shoe. You weren't superstitious, but there was sure to be karma coming his way sooner or later.

Luckily that karma came in the form of one George Russel and one Alex Albon. The two of them were just as competitive as you and Charles, eventually making the four of you gain a lot of attraction in the media. You were great friends with George. He always showed a tremendous amount of sportsmanship towards you. One time, he even helped you by letting you pass him, having you win the race. All the whilst Charles was left in the dust. You relished in it.

When Formula 2 came around, you were stuck, yet again, with Charles. That was also when you had your first real interaction. He went up to you before the last race and struck up a rather puzzling conversation. Puzzling in the sense that you had no idea why he was talking to you, or why he even wanted to.

“Hey, you're not a bad driver, but I would suggest you try to maybe stop sulking. People notice.” Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating.

“Maybe you should check up on that girlfriend of yours. I don't think she's into assholes. Maybe stop being one.” Even though you were in your own garage, you walked away. You couldn't stand being in his presence for a moment longer.

You were unlucky because Charles beat you and moved on to Formula 1 before you. You and he had been tied for the championship, but somehow he found his way around to beat you. It was then you realized you had to do something— anything to get into Formula 1.

Your luck seemed to only build after Charles left Formula 2, and you easily won the following championship, signing a deal with Alfa Romeo, which, to your surprise, was the worst thing to ever happen to you.

You'd somehow managed to place yourself in the same team as Charles, making him the only thing you couldn't destroy on the grid. You had to be a fair teammate to even be considered by your dream team, Red Bull. You'd seen Sebastian Vettel in his glory days, and you wanted the same for yourself. However, being in Formula 1 proved to be much harder than 2. You didn't really know what you had expected, because so many stars were competing for the championship.

It wasn't all that bad, though, because he never really said much and the two of you were somehow able to make it work. It was mainly due to the pressure of having to look good. You knew about the media and their swirling rumours. Many speculated that you were Charles’ side piece. It didn't matter to you, as long as you knew just how far from the truth that was.

After the 2018 season, you somehow managed to sign yourself with Red Bull for 2019, driving alongside Max Verstappen. He went on to become your best friend on the grid, as nobody really liked Red Bull and you had to stick together. Sebastian Vettel became a “father figure”, following the death of your father earlier in 2018. It hit you harder than any barrier had ever hit you, but you were able to get through it with the help of Vettel.

It was in 2019, that you finally started rising to the top and watching Charles start to lag behind. The feeling of watching him struggle was like a euphoric punch. Nothing made you happier. You and Max were a powerhouse of a team. He helped you, you helped him. He was more than happy with it, and so were you.

Everything led up to the 2022 season, where you started casually hooking up with none other than Charles Leclerc. It started at a party that Lando threw after the 2021 season had ended.

-Flashback-

You were dancing out on the floor. Your dress barely covered your assets and you'd had more shots than you could count on your fingers. Completely wasted. That's what you were. What made matters worse was that you continued to do increasingly risky things like doing a handstand, which almost made your dress pull down with gravity. Everyone seemed to cheer you on, as they were just as drunk as you, if not more. Well, all but one. Charles lurked in the corner of the room. He didn't drink. You weren't sure why, nor did you care. But his eyes had been on you all night. The increasingly provocative behaviours you exhibited fueled something carnal within himself. Something he wasn't so sure he could control. He hated you, but at the same time… he hated the thought of someone getting their hands on you. He couldn't understand his line of reasoning. He didn't even think he had one.

The line was crossed when you came down to do a split on the floor, which ripped your dress; putting your panties on full display. Nobody but Charles paid attention to the severity of the move, so he pushed through the crowd and picked you up like you were nothing. He wasn't in control anymore. His brain had just switched to auto-pilot. Nobody realized he took you. Nobody realized the two of you were gone.

The next morning, you found yourself in a fluffy white bed, which horrified you. Your sheets were deep green and silk. Nothing like the bed you were lying in. On top of that, your clothes were gone and you were lying in your underwear. Groggy, you pulled yourself up and realized you were alone. Next to you was a bedtable with a glass of orange juice with a pill next to it. There was a card too and it was addressed to you.

“I bet you had a nice time last night. I had to leave early for a meeting, but I left you some things for your hangover. Call me if you need anything and leave whenever you want to.

– Charles”

You were beyond shocked. You were at a loss for words. Had you really slept with Charles? Charles Leclerc? The one person you hated on the grid? You could barely believe the two of you had a friendly interaction, let alone slept together. You quickly chugged the juice with the pill and got out of bed. You couldn't find your dress anywhere, so you decided to go find Charles’ closet. Everything was too big for you, but after some digging, you found a shirt and a pair of pants that you were able to adjust to your own size. You didn't care about your messy hair. You just had to get out of that house. When trying to remember what had happened the night before, you only added to the already existing headache. The conclusion then was; you slept with Charles after getting drunk and you would never ever tell a soul or do it again.

You debated whether to ask Max to come and get you, or call an Uber. You knew Max would pick you up and not ask questions… well if it didn’t involve Charles. You ended up paying for an Uber to not let the secret spill. Max was a trusted friend but you didn’t even want him to know. Vettel would likely just give you any advice a dad usually would, which was why you decided not to bother him either. Besides, everyone would probably be too hungover to care about anyone and anything but their bowel movements.

“Miss, where to?” Asked the driver. You told him the address and he started driving. Unlike other Ubers you’d taken before, this guy was chatty. He told you about his dog, a golden retriever that he named Lila. He talked about everything and nothing at the same time. You had to be careful not to accidentally tune his talking out like white noise.

After a while, you were finally dropped off and you were left alone to soak in the painful false memory of sleeping with Charles.

- End of flashback-

*Still not present. First race of the 2022 season

You walked around your car, gliding your hand around it, feeling the smooth metal against your gloves. That’s when your peace was disturbed by a voice you hated all too much.

“Are you ready for 22?” You turned your head to see Charles with a smug look on his face. You hadn’t seen him or heard from him since the day you walked out of his apartment. It was simply too embarrassing for you.

“Don’t talk to me. Go bother someone else,” you huffed. Max was talking to Horner in the back of the garage. You had nobody to save you from having to talk to Charles.

“After the night we had? I don’t think so,” he said whilst walking closer and almost touching your rear wing.

“Touch my rear wing, I dare you.” The two of you shared a brief look after you said that. Charles then took the liberty of walking closer to you.

“You know what? I have a bet. If I win this race, you come home with me. I just want to talk, okay? If you win… you can ignore me and treat me like trash. Deal?” You contemplated for a while but realized it was in his favour.

“Hey, that’s not fair. I don’t want to go with you and I certainly don’t want the Bahrain curse looming over my head. What kind of deal is this?” You spat. He only seemed to be amused by that.

“Slipped my mind. Okay, then let’s do it like this; whoever places the highest— wins.” You immediately shook his hand harshly and started prepping for the race.

You ended up in P2 with Charles taking the risk of the Bahrain curse. You couldn’t wrap your head around why he would risk the championship just to sit and talk with you. It didn’t make any sense. You didn’t want to talk about that night. Why would he want to? It wasn’t like the outcome ended in a pregnancy. There was nothing to talk about.

After the race, an interviewer came up to you after having talked to Charles.

“—And hello, P2! You were amazing out there! Even avoiding pole position! How do you feel?” You felt like you’d lost everything. It was miserable. You hated losing in races, but you certainly also hated losing bets.

“I mean, I feel great! I was able to stay on top; and to me, it still feels like a 1-2 for Red Bull.” You lied straight through your teeth. It was a strike of sheer luck that you were born with such an amazing PR ability.

“Charles said that you might be upset for placing behind him, care to comment?” You looked at the interviewer with a puzzled look on your face.

“Uhhh, I’m not sure what that’s about. Maybe he doesn’t know about the Bahrain curse?” You chuckled and quickly tried to make your way away from her. She waved and you waved back with a short smile.

Upon arriving at the Red Bull motorhome, you saw Max sitting on a couch with Kelly. He looked satisfied with the win for Red Bull.

“Hey, congrats on P2. Max was telling me about it,” said Kelly. You never really liked Kelly all that much, but she was nice to Max so you didn’t bother her. Penelope, her daughter, was cute and you’d sometimes offer to babysit her for them.

“Yeah, it was a nice race.” You grabbed a juice box from the fridge and let yourself slump down in a chair.

“Why do you look so defeated? This is basically a 1-2 for us.” Max and Kelly made sure to look concerned. You didn’t want to talk about it, nor did you want to think about it. You had to meet up with Charles anyway, so you decided to give a short and vague response, before leaving,

“I guess I’m just tired. I have to go now, actually.”

You waited by Charles’ car, knowing that the paparazzi were taking pictures of you doing so. You tried your best to remain anonymous though, wearing a thick hoodie with no print along with a cap, sunglasses, and a mask. Your hair was tucked inside the hood of the hoodie. Nobody could really tell who you were, but they’d certainly speculate.

“You look like a serial killer; waiting by my car with that outfit,” said a voice coming up behind you. You saw the many fans screaming and the paparazzi wanting statements. Charles ignored them and opened the door for you. Still not wanting to actually converse with him, you decided to sit in the backseat instead. The Ferrari driver rolled his eyes, sighed, shut the shotgun seat door and got in himself. You were not going to sit next to him. You knew that only bad things would come of it.

“So, I’m your taxi driver now? Why didn’t you just get in when I opened the door for you?” He sounded a bit pissy and it was in all honesty pretty entertaining to sit and ignore.

“Hmm. Okay. So you’re only talking when it’s absolutely necessary?” You ignored him yet again. It was a mystery how the drunk version of you got to talking with him— even going as far as sleeping with him. Ever since that night, you’d had dreams about it. You believed they were fragments of memories coming back to you. It was haunting to relive. All those dreams about him; about Charles, they were just like any adult movie you’d seen before. It was embarrassingly detailed.

Luckily, the awkward car ride was short. The two of you arrived at his hotel and quickly got inside. The fact that the two of you were going to be alone in his suite was daunting to you.

“Make yourself at home, I’ll get you something to drink.” You took off your sunglasses, cap, and mask, and sat by the table in the room. Charles served your drinks before sitting across from you. It was like a fever dream; being in a hotel suite with your one true rival.

“I know you might not want to talk about what happened four months ago… but I think we should,” Charles began. You dreaded the atmosphere. It felt heavy. Too heavy.

“Look, I have dreams about what happened and I just— I don’t really know what to say,” you shot in before he could say anything else.

“You remember? I didn’t think you would. You were so drunk, you know?”

“I remember alright. I’ve dreamt about that night so many times now, I think I’m going to go crazy soon.” You buried your face in your hands whilst sighing.

“Yeah… I think I would be embarrassed too…” you looked up in confusion.

“Embarrassed…? I know we’re not exactly mates, but embarrassing?” At the very least, he could’ve tried to be more sympathetic. You’d been extremely drunk that night.

“Yeah, you were so loud. I got complaints from my neighbours.” Mortifying. Absolutely mortifying. He wasn’t talking about your body. He was talking about your moaning. You weren’t sure how you’d recover from that one.

“Shit… but you were technically also a part of it. You’re making it sound like it’s all me.” You scowled at him.

“How was I a part of that?”

“Well, for starters, you’re the one who fucked me. I told you. I keep dreaming that… so much of it… I want to throw up.” It was probably a bad idea to have admitted that, but you didn’t want to lose the dispute.

“Fucked? You think we fucked?” He sounded genuinely surprised. His face also matched the tone of his voice, with his eyes wide open.

“Yeah, against the headboard… as I remember it, we went at it hard. On top of that, I was drunk… so can you blame me for being loud?” His shocked face suddenly melted into a smirk and his signature smug face after rubbing a victory in yours.

“So you’re telling me… you’ve dreamt about me taking you against the headboard in my apartment? Going at it hard?” Was he toying with you? You couldn’t tell.

“You know… that’s not what happened. You were so drunk I had to take you to my apartment. You were yelling and crying the entire time for some reason. I had to change you out of your dress because you threw up on it and you also threw up on the floor. You passed out minutes after you did so…” when you came to that realization, you were beyond embarrassed. The most embarrassing thing was the dreams that you admitted to having. Dreams that weren’t actual memories, but just your imagination. Did you want to fuck him? Was that it? You couldn’t bring yourself to think about it,

“If I’m correct… you were having wet dreams about… me?” You didn’t answer him. You simply got up from your seat and made your way to the front door. You had to leave. However, before you could open it, Charles pinned you to it, trapping you between his arms.

“What are you doing, Leclerc?” You looked at him with doe eyes. His breathing was ragged and you could tell he had some bad intentions.

“I have a new deal to make. For the rest of the calendar, let’s have it this way: whoever places highest wins.” He took a moment to breathe and stare into your eyes somewhat intensely.

“What about the winner?” You asked. The air felt hot and heavy. A knee was pushed between your legs.

“The winner…” he hesitated,

“The winner decides whether to fuck or not.” You gulped at his words and saw the look in his eyes.

“Deal.” The rest was history.

*Present time

It was the last race of the season and you were more than happy to finally take a well-deserved break. You had placed podium plenty of times and won against Leclerc more times than you could remember. The arrangement the two of you had set up was flawed, however. You both knew it was a bad excuse to hook up with each other, as neither of you ever chose to not fuck.

“Fuck, we need to bring this one home. If you win this, you’re the champion! First ever female champion and it’s for our team! Go out there and drive like your life depends on it, yeah?” Horner’s pep talks always got you into your racing mindset. He was the only person besides Max who was really able to lift your spirits like that.

“I’ll be there to fend off anyone threatening your pole,” said Max, who was getting ready to step in. You smiled and went in for a tight hug,

“Thanks, Max. Let’s bring it home for Red Bull!” The two of you got into your positions with your cars. The lineup was in your favour, as you’d placed pole in the qualifying session. Max was in P4, but you knew he’d have no problem working his way right behind you.

As soon as the race started, you sped off. It was smooth, and you worked most apexes just right. The radio sounded and told you that Max was right behind you, which put your mind at ease. You had nothing to be worried about as long as Max was on defense.

“So uh, Max just took out Sainz along with himself. It’s all up to you now. Leclerc is a little under half a second behind you. Your heart sank. Not just because of Max’s sacrifice, but also because Leclerc was behind you. He had the power to snatch the championship from you and graciously hand it over to another driver. You couldn’t have that happen. You simply couldn’t. You didn’t want to let Horner down, and you couldn’t bear to live with letting Max down after his takedown.

“Fuck, okay. I’ll fend him off as much as possible. We’re in the homestretch anyway, right?”

“Yes, just 5 more laps to go.” You gave it your all. You saw red. Everything was just about winning and keeping the Ferrari car behind you.

In the end, you won, but you actually couldn’t understand how. Even though you gave it your all, you did have tiny lapses of moments where Leclerc could’ve snuck in and gone for the win… but for some reason, he didn’t.

You were met with tight hugs and huge roars from fans. Max immediately lifted you up into the air and brought Christian over to do a group hug. Your interview was breezy and you felt like you’d won at life. All throughout listening to your national anthem and spraying champagne on your fellow drivers, you couldn’t help but think about Charles and why in the world he let you win.

You met up with Charles after everything. You decided to go straight to the Ferrari motorhome. There he was. In all his glory. He was scrolling through his phone, presumably checking his emails and his socials.

“Hey, uh, Charles… could we talk for a minute?” You asked. The look he gave you when he noticed was unreadable. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling. He followed you outside and to a more secluded area where you were sure nobody would be able to hear you.

“You let me win,” you began.

“I didn’t. All I did was—“

“Shut up, okay? I know you did. I just… I want to know why,” you sighed and put a hand on your hip.

“I think you deserved the win. That’s all,” he smiled and crossed his arms.

“You’re so full of shit, Ferrari boy,” you spat and looked away. There wasn’t much around you, but a brick wall and a fence. Nobody would be able to spot you with Charles. The last thing you wanted was for the media to think the two of you were fraternizing.

“—But you keep coming back,” he replied. You slowly turned your head, only to be shoved into the wall behind you. The brunette had both of your arms locked by his hands. There was no escape for you. You had to confront whatever the two of you had been running around doing for the past season.

“Tell me, why is it such a bad thing for us to just fuck and actually feel things for each other?” He whispered. You wanted to deny it. You wanted to deny everything. He was foul, he was rude, he was reckless, but he was yours… he’d always been yours. Ever since he broke up with Giatti, the two of you had an eerie air around each other. One that couldn’t be explained with your past. One that made your heart beat faster.

“You remember the dreams you had about Lando’s party? That was all you. You must’ve felt something for me to have dreamt something like that,” he continued. Oh gosh, the dreams. He just had to bring up the dreams. You knew, however, that he wasn’t entirely wrong. Your stomach would churn with butterflies whenever you thought back to your dreams.

“Screw just fucking. Why shouldn’t we date? Tell me why we can’t be with each other.” He looked directly into your eyes, desperately searching for an answer.

“I… I just can’t— I mean I… I hate you,” you said,

“I fucking hate you, Charles!” He started backing off, and you started cornering him against the fence behind him.

“I hate how you make me feel all of these things I’m not supposed to feel!” You calmed down, and once again, were shoved against the wall.

“Tell me all about how I make you feel. My place or yours?”

“Yours… my room is further than yours,” you said whilst avoiding eye contact.

Charles immediately took you to his hotel suite. It was right next to Hamilton’s. As soon as the door opened— you threw your arms around his neck and he told you to jump into his arms. Your legs were wrapped around his waist and the two of you made out feverishly. There was no time to bring it to the bedroom. The two of you were used to doing it in all sorts of places. The Ferrari driver placed you on a counter and you started stripping each other. He was impressed by your effort to wear matching lace underwear. Whenever you did so, you always claimed it was for yourself, but he liked to beg to differ.

“Fuck, tell me.” Charles was buried in your neck, you couldn’t make yourself answer.

“Tell me how I make you feel,” he gasped before going in again.

“Good… you make me feel so good,” you sighed. His lips latched onto every part of your neck that made you feel like royalty.

“You know what I mean, baby. Tell me how I make you feel.” his demanding voice was enough to make you pant harder.

“You make my… My heart beat faster,” you moaned.

“—And?”

“I feel fuzzy around you.” He loved hearing your declarations of love, so much that he couldn't take the slow pace anymore.

In a flash, he grabbed you by the hips and helped you to the floor on your knees.

“God, you're divine. Can you be a good girl and suck?” you stared at him as you removed his boxers, letting his dick spring free. It twitched in appreciation for your touch. You traced your fingers against a particularly prominent vein and heard his sounds of pleasure. He groaned and bucked his hips, needing your mouth. You met his wishes; starting by licking from the bottom to the tip. When you wrapped your lips around him, he tangled his fingers in your hair and started bobbing your head on his cock. You couldn't take all of him, but he pressed on, making you gag.

“You take me so well,“ Charles sighed, throwing his head back. With the help of his hand in your hair, you went faster, feeling his tip touch the back of your throat with every bop of your head. He seethed through his teeth and after a few minutes, you could tell he was getting close. He was grunting like crazy and pulling your hair as if his life depended on it. God, when he looked at you— he almost came. Tears stained your face and your mascara was running.

“Fuck, baby, I can't hold it anymore,“ he moaned and rammed into your face a final time, releasing his cum down your throat. You swallowed everything. He was breathless and so were you, but even so— he still had more stamina left. Stamina that he needed to use up.

“I want to taste you.“ He sat you on the counter again, before roughly spreading your legs. His fingertips teased you, grazing your inner thighs; getting closer and closer to your cunt.

“Hurry, I need you,“ you sighed and grabbed his hair.

“Beg.“

“What?“

“I said to beg for it.“ The Ferrari driver had a lustful gaze and his eyes were filled with a certain need. The insatiable hunger for you.

“Please?”

“Not good enough.”

“Please, Charles.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“Please… Eat me out, Leclerc.”

“Good girl,” he said before diving in. With a thumb flicking your clit, he began sucking, his tongue messaged your folds in an unreal way. He slurped as if he hadn't eaten in days and you were his salvation.

“Oh fuck, Charles!” You couldn't help but squeeze his head between your thighs. With one hand, he clenched your thigh tightly, continuing to suck you for all you were worth.

Your moans and gasps motivated him to go faster and thrust his tongue deeper into you. Your vision was blurry with pleasure. He was too good, and you couldn't take it for much longer.

“I'm going to cum,” you half-screamed and pulled him closer. He pulled away for a quick second to get a word in,

“Cum on my tongue, baby. Give it to me,” his words mixed with the pleasure of his tongue pushed you over the edge, and you found yourself releasing all over his mouth. He licked you clean afterwards and cleaned his face with a kitchen towel.

Whilst he was walking back to you, you noticed his dick being fully erect again. How that was possible, was beyond you. Apparently, he saw you staring; because he chuckled before trapping you in a delicious kiss. You tasted a bit of yourself on his tongue. It was so erotic, you couldn't fathom it.

“You taste like heaven, babydoll,” Charles whispered. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I'm going in. You're still on the pill, right?” He asked before doing anything. You nodded swiftly and bucked your hips desperately.

“Please, Charles.”

“Please what?“

“Please fuck me stupid, Charles” He was caught off-guard by your bold response. It flipped a switch in him that made him go rogue. You were immediately swept off the counter and bent over it instead. He pinned your hands above your head and rubbed your cunt before stroking himself a few times, and then entering slowly.

“Oh fuck, you're so tight.” You heard him groan. When he reached as far as he could with your current position, you arched your back to help him reach deeper. He rested to let you get used to him. You'd had sex more times than you could count, but somehow, you were always tight. This time wasn't any different.

After a few moments, you told him to move; which he did. He almost pulled all the way out, leaving just the tip in. From there, he slammed into you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your back arched like a cat.

“Fuck!” You couldn't help but scream out. The stretch was beyond amazing. He was doing you just right. With every moan and every call of his name, he gained more confidence. The confidence fed him the energy and stamina to go even faster and harder.

You were an utter mess. Your hair stuck to your forehead due to the amount of sweat that clung to it. You were seeing stars and it felt like you were choking. You repeatedly screamed out his name like a holy mantra. It was unreal.

“Scream my name louder, sugar. Let the entire hotel know who you belong to!” You obliged. Your screams got louder and his thrusts— wilder. You felt your legs going numb, so Charles lifted one and it helped him reach even deeper than before. His hips rutted directly against yours at that point. It was heaven on earth.

“Fuck, I'm so close!” You finally yelled.

“Cum with me, okay?”

You went at it like rabbits for a few more minutes before you felt your knot begin to undo itself. Leclerc’s thrusts became more and more sloppy. It didn't take long before you came all over his dick, which pushed him to fill you to the brim. The mixture of your essence and his dripped down your thighs. You couldn't move. You couldn't feel your legs.

“Let's take a shower and go take a rest.” He lifted you from the counter and swung you over his shoulder, walking into the shower. When he turned it on, you felt the hot drops of water rain down on your skin. He helped clean you, as you couldn't stand on your own.

“I'm sorry if I was too rough,” He said whilst scrubbing your back.

“No, I'm fine. This was amazing, Ferrari boy.” He chuckled at your nickname.

After showering, the two of you headed straight to his bed. You cuddled into him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. Your legs were entangled with his and his arm was wrapped around you, pulling you almost fully onto himself.

“Did you mean it? Do you really have feelings for me?” He asked, looking at the ceiling.

“Did you let me win?” You asked.

”... Yes, I did,” he replied sheepishly.

“Then you have your answer.” With that, you found it hard to stay awake for a second longer; passing out whilst hearing the sound of his heart beating to yours.

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻...

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

©vettelsdarling

𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗱𝗮𝗽𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝘆, 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗲, 𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺— 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻.

[ineylesian]

CHANGE.

— JASON TODD X FEM! READER

— AO3 | MASTERLIST

— WORD COUNT | 3.1k

— WARNINGS | mentions of weapons, smut, unprotected p in v, oral asphyxiation, biting, scratching, handjobs, fingering, fingerfucking, mentions of blood, cumming inside, use of aphrodisiacs (sex pollen), dubious content, overstimulation.

— SUMMARY | disobedience is strictly off the field in the militia, and just one slip up could spell your end.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | had to wait all day to post this bc i got hit by a massive snowstorm. this is based off of arkham knight’s version of jason btw!

Steel. Smoothing coolness over your fingers and onto the metallic flow of your veins. Your eyes sweep frigid layers over the expanse below, narrowing down on one stranded wire amongst the mass.

Click.

“The main door’s open, Scarecrow. Ready to proceed on your word.”

Silence passes over the sea of crackles in the fuse box, dripping down to slither against the ground. Your eyes close at the breach of static in your ear, coiling three fingers against the box’s interior.

“Use the backup elevator on your way down. If it isn’t in working order, fix it.”

The call is lost to you. The world is dark and your senses are dulled by the residing pound in your head. Thick waves of raptured nerves pound against your skull, tightening against the surface and latching to the bone as a parasite would. There’s a muffled chorus scraping the barrier, forcing your eyes to shut tighter than you could ever imagine, fisting the other hand into your hair to—

“Stay focused.”

The illusion shatters, painting a revisited world of gloom and steady rain to your vision. Blood trickles from the inside of your cheek, running down to settle in your molars and paint your tongue with iron.

You brush his hand off of your shoulder without bothering to give a response, gums clasping together at the soft grunt that follows. The heavy clink of boots echo your descent into the abandoned mall, soft, yet lingering on your trail.

Just an hour had brushed past since Batman had destroyed the Cloudburst for good. Annihilated Scarecrow’s greatest creation and sent the Militia into complete turmoil in one hit.

You bite the corner of your lip, running a hand up your temple to soak up the light streak of sweat that had gathered there. The weight of such a rapid change of plans sits uncomfortable in your spine, weighing you down from the inside out. The Knight, on the other hand, seems completely unaffected by his own grave mistake. His stance is pin straight, pace overtaking yours within a matter of seconds.

And then he stops, reaching out to press the service button on the elevator in front of you.

You step into the elevator, gaze raking against dust and cobwebs as your hands grasp the railing supporting your back. The Knight almost mirrors your stance, only letting himself lean fully against the wall whilst his hands cross against his front.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

His voice is stagnant, devoid of the bark it usually carries. The very depth of it makes your skin crawl, and you’re hit with the feeling that it might sink into the bone. Slowly, your eyes trail upward, falling to rest on the LEDs that blaze back at you.

“You’re-“

“I’m not out of control.” He reads your mind to a tee, gloved fingers tapping rapidly against the arm they hold. “And I haven’t lost sight of the mission.”

Flashing, receptive, and unyielding. The scald of his mechanical gaze shoots daggers into your face, drilling a hole into the deepest parts that lurk within. You nearly flinch at the severity; his shoulders reel back in satisfaction.

There’s a tick in the back of your throat, latching onto your breath and spreading like wildfire throughout the rest of your body. The sight of him— acting so relaxed, so unbothered by the fact that he had compromised you all so effortlessly. Trapped you just as bad while he did it, and ended up in the same corner himself.

He was like a dog, thrashing against the leash bound to his neck. Always testing the limits at the expense of others. And when that post finally broke..

“You just wanted it so bad, didn’t you?” Anger. Your response comes through cold, throwing his guard off and allowing you a step forward. “You’ve lost sight of yourself ever since we got here.”

You’re standing right in front of him now, eyebrows furrowed together in a rivalry with the absentminded tilt of his head downward. Your chest swells with bile, held back by the sudden lurch of indignation that pushed you forward.

“Do you ever..” You pause, drawing a thick strand of breath from the bottom of your lungs. “..fucking think before you lash out? Do you even know why we’re going down here?”

Ding.

The pressure of your knife against his chest plate is swatted away in one swift motion. Tears threatening to keel over your eyelashes are held back with a rough tilt of your head, brushing away stray hairs and pulling your mouth into a tight line. The Knight’s arm is still extended towards the blade punctured through the wall, but he’s looking at you, and what was the threat to snap seconds ago is now confusion.

In the very last stretch of your peripheral vision sits Crane, behind him enough militia soldiers to kill you within seconds.

“The Hell..” He mutters, stealing a glance toward the mass of his men ahead. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

“We were afraid you’d run.”

Silently, you can’t help but feel the same. A sudden hesitation rising at the sound of Crane’s voice. There’s an edge to it that makes your skin prickle, and you glance back at the Knight. He’s looking straight forward, fists lightly clenched at the sides.

You turn away from him, stepping out of the elevator, and into the repurposed expanse that had become the Arkham Knight’s HQ.

He’s waiting for you with his fingers clasped, vials of fear toxin dragging at the cloth on his wrists. With a small nod, your militia soldiers disperse, heading for the other exit and leaving the two of you with him.

“Make it quick, Crane.” The Knight spits, crossing his arms to impose a threatening stance. “We have places to be.”

The modulator hides it. But you can see the way he’s placed most of his weight on the front end of his boots. Ready for something to let him off of his leash.

That was exactly why you were here. Crane knows it, you know it. The Arkham Knight had turned into something beyond the leader of the militia, and it was slowly costing you your chance at winning the war you waged. Snapping and snarling at everyone and everything for a chance to kill the Batman, with no clear sense of control. It was almost as if your commander had been replaced with a rabid dog.

He’d changed, and not for the better.

“You destroyed my greatest creation, Knight.” Crane’s tone blankets over you, condescending and twisting over your throat like a lethal serpent. “And you didn’t stop him.”

Your heart drops at his sudden change of direction, watching as Crane takes a step away from you. The Knight immediately reaches for his gun holster, and you’re quick to follow. Your attempt is simply laughed at, followed by the sudden intrusion of pitch darkness everywhere you look.

A sharp hiss simultaneously breaks out at your side, dousing your arms in a lukewarm breeze. You slap a hand over your mouth, but the substance is already sinking into your skin, leaving a trail of warmth as it spreads. The Knight swears from beside you, and it’s apparent that it’s reached him too.

The low flash of his modulator disappears with a zip, and you follow the noise with your own grapnel. Stumbling over a few railings and a staircase, you hear him stop, and light returns to your vision soon after.

The Knight breaks out into a coughing fit, and your eyes screw shut in reaction. What was once warmth is now an uncomfortable settling of balm throughout it the topside of your body, rendering your limbs pulsing and stiff.

“Fuckin- gas.” The Knight’s modulator rings out, muffled, bubbling with the crisp tone of his real voice underneath. “I feel like I’m on fire.”

Fire was an understatement. The sensation is unbearable, scalding waves of naught branching through your system to layer over, filling you with utmost dread at what Crane could’ve possibly dosed you with.

It’s worsening by the second. Another string of coughs from the Knight and it increases by what feels like tenfold, traveling down to settle in the pits of your stomach. You almost cry out when you hear him groan, burying your head into your arms and crossing your legs to lessen the heat.

And then you understand.

Crane knew he wouldn’t be vulnerable to any regular fear toxin. He knew the Arkham Knight was gullible when it came to seeing his mission through, and learned to reap the benefits in his own way.

That being, the violent shaking of his hands, back slouched and slid up against the wall to keep him up.

And you? What better way to test out one of his newest toxins with his partner right beside him? He could’ve used a sample that would’ve had you tearing each other’s faces off, but no, that was too simple.

This was worse. So much worse.

Your right knee hits the wall with a light thump, overturning one of the vials Crane had left behind into your hand. If there was any doubt in your mind before you raised the label eye level, it was gone within moments.

“Aphrodisiacs.” You scoff, tossing the empty glass into the distance. “I’m sure you know what that is.”

This was the worst way he could’ve punished you. Introducing fear in the loss of self control, sadistic rather than violent.

The Knight lets out a noise similar to the one that you had, pushing himself up against the wall before turning away from you.

“Great.”

There’s a strain to his voice that slithers into your ears, invasive and loud. It pushes its way past your esophagus, flowing down through your ribcage to pool at the center of your uterus. The sudden burn causes you to stumble forward, and by the time you’ve reached him, you’re nearly panting.

“Jason..” The call comes out dry, barren with a need to be washed away. “I can’t.”

You stop mid sentence, mustering a light groan as his hands latch onto the base of your armor, holding you firmly in place.

“I know, I know I know I kn…” His breathing is uneven, slurred words weaving around you in a delightful vibrato. “Take the helmet off.”

In that moment, your self control is ripped away completely. Your mind feels like it isn’t yours anymore, and you can only think about him, the Arkham Knight, Jason Todd. An animalistic desire erupts within you, begging for contact, for all of him at once.

Your fingers curl around his neck, index stiffly pressing down on the release button. As soon as the glass layer of his visor opens, you tug it off, clumsily setting it down on the table behind him.

The sight of him almost makes you lose it right then and there, twisting a knot of friction between your legs. Jet black hair coats his forehead in unruly strands, slightly damp along with the thin layer of sweat coating his face. And his eyes, iced over almost entirely with lust and mimicking a fatigued droop.

You’re interrupted by the sharp prick of his teeth, scraping skin off of your lips as they sink in. The breath you let out is cut off by the sudden intrusion of his tongue, shoved flat against yours and edging deeper still. It’s the aphrodisiac, wanting nothing but to consume you whole.

You can’t say you’re any different, as the loss of breath makes your hands work even faster on his suit. Pieces of armor are rudely dragged off and left to fall on the ground as you strip him of his outer layer, heading straight for the zipper once you’re done. Once you begin to pull, the Knight releases his hold over your mouth, gasping lightly at the wave of cool air washing over his exposed skin. You take his initiative of tugging your own zipper down to grasp his chin between your fingers, lifting up to dip your teeth into the center of his neck.

“Fuck, that’s it.” He breathes, running a hand under the lower portion of your bodysuit. “Don’t stop.”

The intrusion of metal against your pussy makes you gasp, front teeth dragging a rigid line down the Knight’s jugular. Spit paints sores of red and pressured white, covering his neck almost entirely before you move. Feeling his index finger run over your folds, you clamp down on the ridge of his collarbone. Tanged iron floods your taste buds, eliciting a muffled moan from the depths of your throat as you swallow greedily.

Blood streaks down the unshadowed part of the Knight’s chest as you retract, bringing a hand down to tug his glove off. Your spare reaches the end of his zipper, hastily clicking his belt off before dipping a hand under his waist. The inside of his thigh is searing hot, prickling under your touch. You can feel the pulse on the underside of his dick, unwavering and spilling beads of precum onto your fingers.

The stroke of your hand conjoins with the jerk of his fingers, causing the both of you to cry out in synchrony. You couldn’t feel any more full in the moment, yet, you need endlessly more. Your spare hand clutches a fist full of his hair, forcefully jerking his chin up to for another kiss. The scrape of your teeth against his makes you feel pyretic, the ignition of need on your body almost oppressive.

Your senses are almost lost to you as the Knight pulls away from your lips, leaving a deafening drum in your ears and your vision blurry. The only clear feeling is the shove of his fingers deep in your walls, twisting in a pattern that makes your head hang back. You can feel his cock throb violently in your fist, and the stretch of his fingers brings you right there. Your hand smoothes over the tip as he coats your stomach, feeling yourself gush over his fingers moments later.

Your panting is cut short by the abrupt shove of the Knight’s fingers in your mouth, lathering you in your own seed. The brush of his cock over your clit makes you whimper, biting down on his fingers to ease the scorch. Yet, you crave it all the same, tugging his fingers out of your mouth to stuff his own.

“Come on.” You cough, fingers curling against his tongue. “Fill me up, Jason.”

A brash moan cuts through the release of your fingers as he sinks down into you.

“Shit.” His breathing is nothing short of labored gasps, sliding you closer to his chest. “Need to feel all of you, sweetheart.”

You’d expect no less sweet talk from him even under such a nefarious high, words smoothing over you like a fresh douse of water. The pair of soft murmurs of how good you feel and the stretch of his cock fills you with a warm haze, evaporating in layers with each drag of him against your walls. Desire swiftly replaces the serenity, and you suddenly feel like the pace is too much. Your fingers run under his suit’s collar, nails digging into the plain of his back.

“More.” You mewl, dragging a course line through his shoulder blades. “Ah- give me- more.”

The Knight quickly obeys, picking you up by the plush of your ass and setting you against the edge of a table. Sultry invades every part of you as he burrows even further, and you feel like he might reach your intestines at this rate. He has you curled up against his waist, relentlessly pistoning into your cervix.

It’s all too fast— too much and too little all at the same time. The slap of skin against skin grows sloppier as your juices spill over his cock, winding the coil in your abdomen further than you thought it could go. You cry out as he practically manhandles you, curling your back further so you can take more of him. You can feel his skin cake under your fingernails at the pressure, and you’re forced to lick the salty trail of fresh tears as they trail helplessly down your face.

He paints your insides with ecstasy for the third time, and all you can feel is how full you are. Remnants of his seed drip out of your pussy and down your leg, something you’d certainly never felt before now. Even you knew the Arkham Knight wasn’t capable of holding you over the edge for this long— at least, not when his mind was his.

Over an hour had passed by now. You could feel desire being sucked from your body with each coming orgasm, eyes shut tight to prevent the tears from blurring your vision. The Knight had slowed down tremendously, having set you further against the table as he stretched you slowest he had all night.

“One more.” His voice is reduced to a complete rasp, eyes bloodshot and lashes dripping with tears. “It’s.. almost out.”

You nod, teeth grinding together as the adrenaline wears off and reality sets back in. The Knight’s fingers no longer burn your skin on contact, and he holds you still as he rides out his last orgasm.

The pounding in your head resides, and you’re left with nothing but the light chorus of your mixed pants and the soft squelch of his dick slipping out of you. Every inch of your skin is dewed with sweat, and a sore sits deep within the pits of your stomach, throbbing painfully in between your legs.

“Shit.”

You slowly zip your suit up, only managing to slide yourself off of the table before you’re sent tumbling over. The Knight feebly pulls you into his side, allowing the both of you to slide against the wall and onto the ground.

A glance is shared between you, and a sudden heat breaches your cheeks.

“Shit.” He mirrors, running a hand through dampened locks of hair shadowing his eyes. “Crane knew what he was doing.”

You saw it, too. The exhausted crease of his eyelids, the absolute agony running through your entire system. He’d planned this perfectly.

This hadn’t fixed anything, but you were too tired to shatter the peace you felt now, even if it was momentary.

“Hope you learned your lesson.”

He attempts to harden, scrutinize you with every ounce of energy he has left. The exertion leaves his head flush against your shoulder, and you run a hand over the scar on his cheek before you’re spent as well. His breath stalls at your touch, and only for a moment, you can feel the skin on his face tug upward.

“Maybe.”

[cheriiepies]

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, enemies to lovers

Note: This is my first fiction, and I know it is not perfect. But I will try to improve. Btw, big thanks for @papaya-twinks as she helped me with this fiction a lot!! SO THANK YOU POOKIE(((ＵωＵ｀ *)(* ´ＵωＵ))).

Since the karting days the relationship between you and Charles was sour. It felt like any opportunity for bonding or getting to know each other was filled with long arguments over stupid things, fights, battles (and stubborness)

It was a race weekend and you were walking in the paddock towards your team ready to do some media work and content for the fans with your *favorite* teammate, Charles. Those challenges you did for the youtube or instagram is always filled with passive aggresivness or extreme competition.

As you were reaching the Ferrari garage you heared a familiar voice calling you over:

-"Y/n! Charles! Here you guys are. I need to speak to you two , alone". Charles glanced at you briefly:

-"What did you do now?"

-"Well hello to you too, Charles. I am fine how are you? And for the record the last time we were called in his office was when you fucked our race up!"

"Oh, get over it. Not my problem that you cannot control a wheel". You rolled your eyes at that trying very hard to not bite back

They entered the office seeing a very serious Fred looking at them.

"I hope you guys know that I won't tolerate any crashes that happened between you because you were too stubborn to listen to your race engineers!"-he said his voice rising at the end as this was certeanly not a rare inCHident(got that?). "We have the ability to get the podium as the car is perfectly suited for this circuit. P3 and P4 are not a bad starting position. We have to get the most out of this opportunity. Understood?". Both of them agreed, trying to talk less as it would cause more arguments.

"I won't let you ruin my race again y/n" charles said as they were leaving the office for an interview that would start in 20 minutes. "Can say the same about you. You can not tolerate me being ahead of you. It seems to be hurting your ego. The only reason you can secure podiums is because of the team orders. " He could only chuckle at that finding the idea amusing. "Well, the reason is I am the better driver in this team, so you do as the orders say." "Fuck you Charles! You act like you are all that, when in reality, all you do is blame the car or me when something fucks your race up, but it is you. Maybe you should get your head out of your ass and realise that you are not as good?" Ypu knew he was a good driver. But you still liked pushing his buttons. Charles could only glare at you not wanting to say things he will regret later. It was just a silent walk after that as they all sat in their beloved places during the interview.

Timeskip: the race

-“Right, Y/N, we’re starting in P4, let’s see if we can optimise this position,” your engineer spoke calmly. You replied with a simple and calm ‘yes’, knowing fully well of your own motive. Beat Charles. He’d already been a right ass about having qualified P3, one spot ahead of you, by less than a tenth, and what you wanted? To wipe his filthy little smirk away.

And so the formation lap begun, your eyes fixed on the rear wing of your teammate’s car, watching as he drove round the circuit. Five lights. Out. Instantly, you tried, and failed, to overtake him, feeling the threat of the number four car behind you. “Fuck,” you hissed, pressing harder to get away from him, your eyes trained on Charles. Sure, the team HAD warned you two on how these constant fiery battles could end up costing you the win or points at the minimum, but you were not one to back down. And neither was Charles, apparently. After 40 laps the cars ahead of you were starting to pit. It was an easy overtake to p3 and charles p2. But you wanted more. So you tried to overtake Charles even if your race engineer told you not to, as it is not safe with the tyres and they did not want to risk anything. As you were trying to overtake the wheels touched and it sent the both of you out of the track ulitametly crashing each other.

"What the fuck was that!" Charles was rigtfully angry. It was the perfect moment to secure P2 or even get a P1. You both got out of the car. You wanted to apoligize for ruining his race.

"Hey, I am sorry it was an accident, I miscalucilated and- "shut the fuck up! You always do this, why couldn't you just listen?. And now we are both out of the race. Do you realise how dangerous your driving is? Maybe they were all right about you. You do not deserve your seat! It is a miracle you could even get out of F3 alive!" He kept going on about how undeserving you are of the seat. It hurt you more than you cared to admit. Even if you disliked Charles(or so you thought), his validation and approval was still something you craved. You admired him since the beggining of your F1 rookie season. You looked up at him trying to hide your tears- " I said sorry, mistakes happen. I hope you forgive me . I have to go". Charles felt guilty at his harsh words suddenly realising that you did not deserve all that shit. He wanted to apologize but you were already gone. He was zoning out while the reporters asked about the crash, replaying it on the screens. All he could think of is how sad you looked when he was lashing out on you. He did not see you all day, not on the paddock not,after the race. You where nowhere to be seen.

It was already late, he could not sleep. The guilt was eating Charles up, his harsh words replaying in his mind. The way you looked so sad. It bothered him a lot, he did not actually wanted to hurt your feelings, he wasn't thinking right saying those things. With out thinking much his worry carried him towards your hotel room. Charles slowly knocked on the door, not hearing anything he slowly opened it.

" y/n? Are you here? I am so sorry about what I said. I wasn't thi-". Charles stopped talking as soon as he saw you laying on your bed with red teary eyes. Hair disheveled, laying on your bed trying to wipe your cheeks. "Hey, hey. Are you crying because of today? " he instictively came closer to you, wanting to comfort you. "I am so sorry, I did not want to ruin your race! You were right about me , maybe I am a bad driver. You have all the rights to hate me"- you rambled, trying not to cry again. "I was mad and said things that weren't true. You are a great driver y/n even if I tell you otherwise. I was an asshole and it was unfair of me to say hurtful words like that. Accidents happen. And for the record, I do not hate you. " Not realising Charles was holding y/n close, hugging her, not wanting her to cry anymore. Charles denied his protectivness over y/n, though his actions spoke otherwise. It made her feel butterflies in her stomach even if she tried to deny it.

"I forgive you too. You had every right to be mad at me. And I do not hate you either. Not at all. " You suddenly felt shy at the position you were in. But he still kept you close, gently looking at you. There was something else happening at the way you looked at each other so softly. He slowly leaned in, giving you the chance to back away if you did not want this. But you both wanted this. His lips were soft and gentle as he held your cheek and carrased your hair lovingly. As you pulled away, he gently whispered, "I can never hate you."

[leclercskiesahead]

"couldn't race said future teammate wheel to wheel without dangerous and dodgy driving pushing said future teammate off the track moving under braking and cutting a chicane"

are you talking about Carlos Sainz because you just described Carlos. I can mention multiple races but I'm sure you have never watched them but don't worry I'll give it to you anyway

1. Monza 2023 - moving under braking and cutting chicane

https://x.com/f1mediafan/status/1699160908793057686?t=bLZ-3lay_6TmmAt1h5bo7A&s=19

(overtaking off track which is an illegal move and he should've given the place back)

2. China 2024 sprint pushed Leclerc off track risking damage to both cars

3. Spain 2024 pushing Leclerc and overtaking off track (damaging Leclerc's car)

Saying Charles has a weak and poor mentality when he agreed to sacrifice his own race starting on softs so he can overtake George and create a gap for your driver and hold them back in pits so Carlos will be free from pressure is definitely a choice but I should expect it because Carlos and his fans are always ungrateful. Singapore is not a track where you can overtake unless you have a massive pace gap so Carlos did absolutely no work he got the win served on the platter.

Now I dare you to refute any of these things but you won't because you're a coward and you don't know what you're talking about.

And if the win was as impressive as you claim Carlos would've been signed by top teams instead he was left begging the backmarkers can sign him. No top team was running after him so your elite mentality guy is a just something you have imagined in your head. Keep crying about click bait articles and fake fantasies you have created in your head

Oh wow I missed the part where Carlos is Charles’ ‘future’ teammate instead of his current one. Some basic reading comprehension is highly recommended but I’m not surprised. You chirlies all seem to lack it.

Charles pushed Lewis off track when defending and later did another dangerous move in Monza 2019. And he’d already been black and white flagged btw. He was extremely lucky not to be penalised. If everything you claim Carlos did in Monza was illegal (casually left out Charles’ own lockup) then Monza 2019 was a slam dunk Lewis win.

In China, Charles himself missed the apex so he can’t complain about anything anyone else does.

Fred himself refuted the so called “damage” in Barcelona that Charles claimed he got on his car from “contact” with Carlos. Charles was just pulling excuses out of his ass.

All 3 examples you want to bring up are just pure hard racing and it seems Charles can’t handle that because he complained about all of them except funnily enough, Monza. Maybe he knows he got lucky. Good for him! He’s not a hypocrite!

You can say Singapore is hard to overtake on but it’s not impossible even without tyre delta. Unlike your beloved Monaco. So if there was any win where the driver did not need to work for at all it was actually Monaco 2024. Especially with the lap 1 red flag. Which, guess who contributed to that. So your beloved guy doesn’t have to work for the rest of the race. Hmmmm.

And if Singapore is soooooo hard to overtake on then Charles’ volunteering to start on softs would have gotten him P2, already an improvement from his own qualifying. Wow what a sacrifice.

I actually praised him back then for volunteering to start on softs in Singapore. But doing that and being so hurt (not even disappointed at his own result - HURT by another driver doing well, so bad that his coach feels compelled to bring it up publicly) by the result shows that he can’t handle the realities of F1.

[kerubimcrepin]

LIVEBLOG: Wakfu Season 4, Episode 4 [PART 3]

Even though Brakmar is a hypercapitalist hellhole with slavery, genuinely, literally, YES. I feel like there's a very big difference between making the world a place where nobody wants to do these things — and making the world a place where nobody can do these things.

There's capacity for evil in everyone, but one of these things is an attempt to control human nature itself, in my opinion.

Once again, I am extremely sad we don't know what funny expressions Joris was making @ how bad this is going. He's so funny. Finally, he is snapping and just telling Yugo that he Fucked Up Majorly.

SFGJSDFOHGUIDFHGUISERBHVKSDJFFKHKSFHBDSFGFGSDJHDFG the Pout...

Here, Joris portrays what is happening as "leaders not appreciating being lectured", instead of a fundamental conflict of interests and ideology. You know why?

Because I think he agrees with Eliatrope fully.

To him, the leaders of the world are a bunch of bloodthirsty adult-children who never listen to the advice of those older than them— whether it is an immortal who has seen it all, or a god — to build a better world.

The only difference between him and Yugo is that he isn't naive about how these ideas would be taken by others — this naivety has been beaten out of him a long time ago. (But he does have a very clear picture that, if someone idealistic, like him, or Yugo, or Eliatrope, finally led this world — things would be finally wonderful. All that's missing is a strong leader who really wants to make the world a better place.)

Yeah, Eliatrope isn't lying about what she wants to do. Doesn't mean that what she is doing isn't exactly this, though. She is trying to overtake the control of this world, and be the one who calls all the shots. If she were a human being, there wouldn't even be a debate that what she is doing is completely unhinged.

Btw friendly reminder that I hate everyone in this meeting — especially Bonta and Brakmar. I'm just trying to look at what is happening without Yugo/Joris/Eliatrope's idealism-tinted glasses.

This picture is really giving

[sinnerenjoyer]

this race is why oscar will never be a number two driver btw. the defending, the overtake and how he managed his tires... just sublime. he's progressed so much over the last few races and it shows! THIS is what you call a future world champion

[ctimenefic]

utterly in shambles over three's a crowd. there has never been a more grander proof of devotion. i would truly eat up any lore about this verse, but i am so curious if you will, what was the thought process behind having "Outsider" as alex's superhero name? (and who is the new outsider. and how does george feel about them. IN FACT, is george even still in contact with the PIT (great name btw) agency?)

Thank you, dear anonnynonny! I've been truly gobsmacked by the response to three's a crowd (I must once again thank @latecomersprivilege who sat me down and with steel in her eyes stopped me scrapping the whole thing at the last minute - she is a queen).

So, the Outsider. I'll admit, the superhero side of things was rather thinly drawn in my head - it's mostly a means to an end to get us to the mad scientist trope, because a superhero setting lets us get a bit flexible with science and survival etc. It's also part of the deliberate fuzz of the Before Times.

But I did think quite a bit about what Alex's superhero name should be. (Largely because most superhero names are either 1) taken, or 2) extremely stupid-sounding. Like, Catman fits our boy, but it's not striking fear into hearts). in the end I based it on two things - real-world Alex's beautiful overtakes on the outside line, and his comments about how British media perceive him as "London-born Thai or not British at all". I can see Alex showing up for the first time, being dismissed by established roster, and making that a badge of honour and his whole heroic identity. He's the Outsider, but he doesn't need to belong to save the day.

Is George still in contact with PIT? Only in the sense that he maintains an artifice of an actual life to prevent anyone looking too closely at what he's really up to. So he sends them a few useful ideas if they come up in the course of the work and accepts precisely one call from his old deputy on the relevant anniversaries. They're a bit too light touch with monitoring him in return, in part because they saw his grief and are deeply sympathetic. A junior staffer is in charge of blocking his uranium orders though.

I have no headcanon on who the New Outsider is though! Pick your poison! (If I had to pick, I'd say Jamie Chadwick, but it really is up to each reader.) Regardless of who it is, George processes their existence about as well as he processes anything in three's a crowd. First he throws a fit, then he sends a petty cease and desist, and then- and then- he's gonna-

He's topside one morning fetching milk when they show up and ask for his blessing. White balaclava in hand. Wringing it out. Nervous. They're so young.

Alex was so young.

George is still using a cane, stiff from the accident with the third model - an idiotic mistake, not actively monitoring pain receptors - and they're slow and gentle as they walk back with him. Accept some nonsense about a fall down the stairs.

Despite his best efforts, the conversation drifts to the inevitable. They talk about the first time they'd seen him. When they realised they were like him. How that helped.

They're similar, George concedes. But not up to Alex's level, he doesn't say. He just heavily implies it. They roll their eyes and- no. That's too much alike.

"New," he suggests. Not the same. Not a-

"I couldn't replace him. Obviously. He's irreplacable."

Hm. Well. They'll see about that.

[newx-menfan]

NYX #3 Review!

*Spoilers!*

The issue starts with a phone message to Anole from Kamala, inviting him to the funeral of a recently deceased mutant.

Anole heads to the funeral- which includes Laura, Prodigy, Sophie, and Kamala.

(At the funeral is also Local, which Laura is totally eye-f***ing 😂🤣)

Some “truthseekers” (aka Marvel Universe’s version of “QAnon” 😂🤣🤣) are at the funeral as well; screaming them down Westborough Baptist church style.

Caliban shows up at the funeral with new digs while doing a whole ceremony ( Caliban had a major “glow up” and stopped talking in 3rd person) and Anole decides to follow him into the sewers….where he sees Caliban’s new version of “the Morlocks” and their spiffed up sewer/faux Krakoa. (Everyone is apparently obsessed with remaking Krakoa!)

Meanwhile Kamala’s brother, Aamir shows up at the funeral looking for Kamala with their “Trumper” cousin, who is in town (I guess we all have one lol) and gets a mouthful about the dangers of being around mutants.

Sophie loses her cool and flips out on Kamala’s cousin (#thekrakoanwasright).

(Also- OKAY Sophie….we INTERRUPT David’s carefully planned lecture….but don’t call out Kamala for not standing up for her friends or new identity more?!!) 

(Also- the panel with Sophie looks AMAZING!) 

As Kamala’s cousin and brother leave, Sophie then alerts Kamala that the truthseekers have followed Anole into the sewers and are planning to attack him.

Back in the sewers, we find out that apparently Anole is dating people on apps with “scaly fetishes” while he is asked to take off his shirt to make sure he’s not “wearing a wire” so to speak… 😳😂🤣

Anole verbally debates if he belongs more with the X-Men or the Morlocks and says that he’s done with the “X-Men life” and asks if they asked him to strip to make sure he wasn’t “in costume”… (this is basically a rip-off of Spyke’s arc in “X-Men Evo” btw…)

Anole’s internal debate is interrupted by the Truthseekers (apparently working in tandem with the Purifiers…it’s hard to keep track of all the mutant hate groups honestly), and Anole protects the Morlocks.

The calvary of Ms. Marvel, Sophie, and Wolverine then show up….(Prodigy interestingly nowhere to be seen!) 

(Kamala screaming random political slogans in battle IS admittedly funny!)

When they won, Laura debates about killing the truthseekers (damn Laura! Someone is backsliding with Krakoa gone! 😂🤣), but Sophie talks her out of it.

Anole and Laura chat, as Anole quips about being a former “Hellion” and Laura drags Kamala out to give Anole a minute with the Morlocks….(technically he was in “Alpha Squadron” but whatevs….)

Anole ultimately decides he doesn’t want to hide in a sewer OR be a bartender (tbh I wouldn’t want to bartend in NYC either!) and goes back to the surface with Caliban and co.

We also find out Prodigy is apparently the one tagging Mutant Graffiti, with paint stained hands!

And that Sophie is working for Empath!

Review:

This issue was OKAY….more or less it’s just a “filler issue”.

For being titled “Anole”…we barely got much of him (the one chink in the armor of this book is that I don’t care for how they write Anole- KYOST really wrote the best version of that character!)

I mentioned it’s a poor rip-off of Spyke from Evo in the summary and I would argue that the show at least built up to Spyke’s internal debate about being an X-Men or a Morlocks…this feels a bit left field for Anole…

The things fans WANTED- mentioning of Santo….Anole putting on the X-Dudes costume again…Northstar cameo…DOESN’T happen…and instead we get ANOTHER story about Anole having an existential crisis over having a physical mutation….(sigh…at least it WASN’T about his love life…)

This is definitely the weakest issue so far…and I think the main issue IS that Kamala is definitely overtaking the book a bit…which isn’t great, since this is an X-book, not a Ms. Marvel mini….(I’m saying this as someone who READ G. Willow’s run and likes the character!)

Hopefully the next issue with Prodigy will be stronger; it DEFINITELY seems like David is easier for this team to write than Victor….

The reveal of Sophie being the “traitor” is kind of boring…but it makes sense because it would be weird if she didn’t sense what her sisters were up to…(although I DO wonder now if there’s more than ONE…)

The ART is again SPECTACULAR!! This issue hands down had the strongest art!

Theories/Predictions:

I AM TOTALLY going to laugh if David painted a mural of HELLION! (the colors DO match!) 🤣🤣🤣

I kind of wonder if the Cuckoos are “sharing” powers with Hellion and that’s why they have telekinesis suddenly?