#jab helmet

[mymusicbias]

[sunnythesecond]

One of my favourite bits of the Clone Wars is in the Innocents Of Ryloth arc. I'm talking about the bit where Numa hugs Waxer an Boil and how differently they react to the hug. Waxers reaction is mostly, slight surprise with a facial expression of "you poor child" and then he pretty quickly hugs her back and softly strokes her lek (head tail) to try to comfort her. Meanwhile Boils reaction is just to tense up with a look of "wtf is going on" on his face and then gives her an awkward pat on the back.

Then they cut to Cody and Obi Wan confused about where they are because they should've checked in by then. Then they cut back to Waxer, Boil and Numa and Boild still isn't really hugging her back. Like... he really had no idea what to do and I just find that so very funny for some reason.

[saintobio]

RIDE OR DIE .ᐟ

in a world where horsepower meets heartstrings, and bookstore meet-cutes lead to motorcycle mishaps, you soon realize that opposites do attract in ways that blur the line between fiction and reality.

▞▞ PAIRINGS. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

▞▞ GENRE. fluff, smut, established relationship, biker boy x book girl au, 18+

▞▞ TAGS. biker!kuna, backpack!reader, profanity, reckless driving, mentions of violence (not to reader), bruises, police, fellatio, cunnilingus, protected, explicit smut, sukuna being a cute bf

▞▞ NOTES. 8.3k word count. my biker!kuna fics are unstoppable atp 😮‍💨 and as an irl writer gf to a biker bf, this is a very self-indulgent fic. got lazy with the smut so i copied bits from my other gojo oneshot. reblogs are highly appreciated <3

▞▞ INSPOS. my fav biker boys on biketok: that10r, dylan.r.one, raven.coop, onyx_r7, senor_torque, blacchornets, aushendrivessafe, tiiidddooo, bongo & takaro 🖤🏍️💨

After dating you for six months, Sukuna realized that nothing in the world could capture your attention like your cherished collection of fictional books—except, of course, him. But before he entered the picture, you were always immersed in solitary bliss at the cafe or library, lost in the intricate worlds of your latest literary fascination to the point where it was almost impossible to pull you out of it. 

Yet, it became an unspoken understanding between you both; he respected your need for uninterrupted reading time, allowing you to lose yourself in stories populated by your favorite characters, while in return, you supported his desire for a thrilling experience of riding his bike despite the inherent risks that came with it. 

He vividly remembered the first time he saw you while riding his bike through the city. You were crossing the street then, carrying a bag of books you had just bought from Barnes & Noble, and the sight of you in a cute sundress had him completely distracted from the road. So in an attempt to catch your attention, he revved his bike to ‘flex’. But in his effort to impress, he missed the red light and had to brake abruptly, causing him to lose control and drop his bike to the ground. 

That was the very first time he had ever dropped his precious R1 after a year of riding it. If it had been his old R7, he wouldn’t have cared as much, but his R1—his expensive, still-on-the-loan, matte black, fully customized R1—hit the pavement along with him. For bikers, these kinds of things hurt.

Now, talk about embarrassing. You even stopped to look at him in concern that day and if only you could see his blushing face behind his helmet. But at least, looking back at your meet-cute, he could tell you that he did, in fact, fall for you. Literally.

And there can’t be anything truer than that.

“Aww, she’s cute,” Choso remarked, gesturing his chin towards you with a teasing grin as they dismounted their bikes at the parking lot. You were there sitting in a cafe with a book on your lap, unaware that you were being conversed about by these two men right outside.

Sukuna jabbed him on the side and motioned for him to stop staring. “Fuck off. She’s mine.”

As Choso lifted his helmet, a group of girls outside the cafe couldn’t help but swoon over the two bikers, whispering and commenting on how hot and attractive they looked. And being the fucker that he was, completely absorbed in the attention from the girls, Choso had momentarily forgotten about Sukuna as he swaggered towards them with a confident smirk, glancing back at his friend and playfully raising his eyebrows.

“You go ahead. I’ll go check out the scenery,” Choso said in his usual mischief, “Unless you want to join me?”

Sukuna, still sporting his helmet, smugly showed him a picture of you as his phone’s home screen. “Sorry, already got my hands full with my princess.”

“Whatever. Tell Y/N I said hi,” Choso replied with a chuckle, before turning his attention back to the admiring group of girls.

You sat in your customary corner of the cafe, near the window, with a barely touched cup of coffee before you. Your attention was still and all riveted to the pages of your current book, remaining oblivious to the world around you as it looked like you were just getting to the good part of the storyline. Sukuna decided it would be a charming surprise to approach you as he entered the cafe, his arrival catching the eye of another group of girls who noticed him immediately, but he ignored their glances when he made his way towards your small area.

In his usual black leather jacket, Sukuna pulled a chair backward and straddled it, casually resting his arms on the backrest. With both legs on either side, he settled in, observing you intently behind his black helmet. A faint smirk played on his lips as he quietly watched you absorbed in your reading, and for now, he said nothing and enjoyed the moment silently.

He gave it a minute or so for you to realize. 

5… 4… 3… 2… “L-Lovey?” By the time you finally noticed his presence, you saw your widened eyes at his reflective visor when you looked up at him. 

“Hey, baby girl.” Sukuna pushed the button to lift his visor, revealing his narrow eyes that were locked onto yours. He had that boyish grin sitting handsomely on his lips.

As for you, you looked like you were blushing. That, or perhaps there was some sort of fluttering happening inside your heart at the unexpected sight of him. It was probably taking you a moment to separate fiction from reality, because not long ago, you were too fixated on the fictional boy written on the pages of your book. Now, your very real and actual boyfriend was here. For you. “Um… How long have you been there?”

“Not that long,” he assured in his usual low, velvet voice. “I just arrived, actually. Didn’t wanna disturb my baby.”

Your curious eyes fell on the red tribal decals on his black Nexx SX100r helmet, reminding you of the same face tattoo designs he had mentioned wanting to get, but you were refusing to let him have. “New helmet?”

Sukuna nodded, smirking as he tapped the headgear with his gloved hand. “Yeah, you like it?”

“I do,” you replied, smiling. “It’s very you.”

“Thanks, baby.”

You glanced at his sleek black Yamaha R1 outside the window and immediately closed your chosen book for the day. “Okay, well…” You met his gaze again. “I have backpack duties today, don’t I?”

He was quick to dismiss it. “No, no. You can finish reading. I don’t mind just sittin’ here and watching you for a while.”

But, being the stubborn girl you were, you were already packing your book into your bag. You didn’t even listen to a word he said. “Did you bring my helmet?”

“‘Course, princess. Your helmet’s right there strapped onto the backseat.” Your boyfriend leaned in closer and pointed to his sportbike. Just as he took your bag from you, his eyes lingered on your lips for a moment. “So, you’re gonna be my pretty little backpack today?”

You mustn’t have realized it, but the two of you had become the subject of envious stares in the cafe. Most of the girls who looked your way were clearly jealous. Yet your cute, clueless self didn’t even seem to notice as you clung to his arm. “Yes, lovey. I miss being your backpack.” 

Did you know? Sukuna always melted from your enthusiasm. And he couldn’t even resist pinching your cheeks. “Alright, then.” His hand moved to squeeze your nose. “I'll be your personal chauffeur, and you’ll be my cute little backpack who’s clinging tightly to me the whole time. Sounds good?”

“Yessir,” you answered with a playful salute. 

“Good girl.” He then took your hand in his, leading you out of the cafe and onto the parking lot when he all of a sudden felt a tug on his arm. 

You had a visible pout displayed. “Lovey, wait!” 

“What is it, baby?” The question came out of him softly, tilting his head when he looked at you. 

“My kiss,” you said sweetly, making Sukuna feel like Cupid shot an arrow to his heart. “You forgot.”

How can one person be so unbelievably adorable? Just how? How on Earth did he land the cutest girl on the planet? The cuteness aggression was certainly urging him to fall on his knees right now. With the weakness he tried to restrain inside, he was trying his hardest to laugh it off on the outside. “Oh damn, you’re right.” He pulled his helmet up, leaning in forward to place a warm, tender kiss on your soft lips. He could hear the hearts of the surrounding girls breaking at the sight. “Can’t believe I forgot to give my baby the most important item of the day.” 

Satisfied with the kiss, you followed your tattooed boyfriend like a shadow to meet his bike, ‘Fury’, as he affectionately named it. The sportbike rocked a midnight black wrap and the cool customizations he added made it a standout even more. Of course, what kind of person would think Sukuna would stick with a boring base design? One of the best things about his R1 was its front light, infamous in the bike community, as it resembled a menacing face that added to its aggressive allure. It was also equipped with a powerful 998cc inline-four engine, leaving no questions why ‘Fury’ roared with a throaty exhaust note that echoed through the streets. Sukuna chuckled inwardly at the thought. He hoped you wouldn’t mind, but this big bad boy would have been the love of his life if you hadn’t come along. 

“Love, I was thinking,” you interrupted his trance as he slipped the smaller helmet over your head, deftly securing the straps under your chin, “Do you think we can swing by the bookstore on the way?”

His lips curved into a smile. “Sure, we can. You wanna pick up more books to read?”

“I do,” you confirmed, yet hesitated at the end of your tone. “Well, there’s this book I wanna read, but… it has eighteen plus stuff.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow in intrigue, his visor still up as he effortlessly lifted you onto the back of his bike with one arm. “Oh, so it’s a spicy book, huh?” he teased, recalling the discussions he had seen on ‘biketok’ where he went by the username r1.skn. His TikTok account was an unexpected blend of motorcycle enthusiasts and book lovers, and that unique intersection of interests amused him endlessly. “Think my followers would love to know what my backpack’s gonna read next.” 

Even with your helmet on, he could sense the shy smile behind it. “No, please don’t film our ride today!”

“Hmm… What kind of spicy book are we talking about, baby?” he asked, settling onto his bike and revving the engine. When your arms were securely wrapped around his torso, he took that as a go signal to hold the throttle and smoothly shift from first to second gear. “Is it very naughty?”

You hugged him tightly from behind. “Um, it’s about this biker guy and a bookish girl,” you introduced the plot coyly, “And yes, it has some steamy scenes.”

He glanced at you through the bike’s mirror, ensuring that you were safe and secured behind him. Sukuna then shifted into third gear as you entered an empty road, gradually picking up speed. The roar of his bike was louder than his voice. “Really? I bet the biker guy is a dominant one.”

“Yeah.” Your grip tightened on his compression shirt, almost as if you were trying to feel his abs through the fabric. “He’s got tattoos, too.”

What a tease. “You better picture me as that biker guy when you read that book, princess,” he playfully warned, “You’re mine, both in real life and in your fantasies.”

“Yes, but my lovey is hotter.” 

“Good response, baby. You have taste.” 

As you reached the stoplight in the city intersection, Sukuna slowed down and adjusted the small camera mounted on his bike to make sure it still had the perfect angle of you two. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he now had evidence of how touchy his cute, little backpack could get. You sensed him filming your interaction, but instead of pulling your hand away, you leaned further against his back and playfully touched his toned chest. He was surprised and amused at the action, gently pulling your hand down when your silly hands squeezed his chest, but you remained undeterred by placing them near his crotch the next. Your boyfriend hoped to God that none of the surrounding cars were recording you two for your affectionate display in the middle of the traffic. 

“Brat,” he teased back with a shake of his head. “A brat who always gets what she wants, especially in bed.”

Your whine followed, along with a light slap on his arm. “Hey!” 

Why was this red light taking too long? He was getting all bricked up the more he could feel your tits pressing against his back. Although, he considered it a blessing and curse, because the only distraction that was served to you two was when another bike pulled up ahead of cars lined up behind you. It was a white Kawasaki ZX-10R. And its owner? A jerk who had a clear death wish. 

“Hey there, sexy,” catcalled the rider of the 10R, stopping exactly where he could see your rear. “Cute helmet.” 

Sukuna knew you well enough to know that you were offering an uncomfortable, yet polite smile underneath the helmet. But it was the tug at your boyfriend’s shirt that made him glance over the biker with a hint of warning in his eyes. “What’d you say?” His voice carried a menacing edge. While he hadn’t been in a brawl in a while, he definitely didn’t mind the idea of one now. “Back off my girl or I’ll smash your head on the ground.” 

The ZX-10R rider chuckled, hands in the air like an idiot. “Alright, man. No harm meant.” 

“Shut it.” 

“Okay, jeez! How about a little race to settle things? See who’s got the faster ride?”

Sukuna scoffed, finding it hard to believe that a random guy, especially an obvious amateur, had the audacity to challenge him to a race. Didn’t he know? Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t nicknamed the King of the Streets for nothing. He had been riding motorcycles for twelve years now, starting with a modest 300cc and graduating to his current 1000cc superbike. His riding experience was unmatched. He also knew every biker in the area as it was his turf. Yet this ZX-10R rider had appeared out of nowhere with such laughable confidence. 

Thanks to him, your boyfriend’s competitive spirit was ignited. “You’re on.”

“Cool,” the other biker replied.

Meanwhile, you tensed behind Sukuna and gripped his shirt tighter than before. “Love, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He turned his head, gently held the top of your head, and gave you a sweet ‘helmet kiss’. “I’ll keep you safe,” he reassured, “Just hold on tight for me, okay?”

As soon as the light turned green, best believe the street became a racetrack. All the cars were left behind to dust with the roar of motorcycles as both bikers increased their speed, side by side, in a fierce race. Sukuna shifted into third gear as he passed the next intersection, then into fourth gear when the ZX-10R caught up to him. He could feel your hold around him tightening more than ever as the rush of the wind blew through your helmet’s visor.

He thought you might hate it, but you were surprisingly loving the thrill of the scene. 

“Go, baby!” you cheered, holding onto him for dear life. Cute. 

“Not bad, man!” the other biker shouted over the wind, pulling ahead slightly at Sukuna’s moment of distraction. “But try harder!”

Tch. Sukuna gritted his teeth and focused all his senses on the road ahead. He weaved through traffic, maneuvering his bike skillfully and taking advantage of every opportunity to gain ground. In no time, he caught up with the ZX-10R rider, and they soon raced neck and neck. They exchanged glances as they sped between cars, with the other vehicles blurring around them in motion. The thrill of the competition fueled their adrenaline, while you, as the passenger, felt your heart pounding with excitement.

Both bikes continued to zoom down the road. And it was also during that time when Sukuna locked his mind and body into analyzing the situation. Let’s see, he thought, should I push Fury to its limits?

He calculated his next move, feeling the strong breeze on his face and the vibrations of the powerful engine beneath him. The ZX-10R rider was good, but Sukuna knew he had the skills and the bike to outpace him. He just needed to time it right. Between a ZX-10R and an R1, a quick Google search would tell you that the 10R pulls faster than an R1 engine wise. While both bikes were top-tier, high performance vehicles with a 200 horsepower and a top speed exceeding 180mph, the 10R’s disadvantage is being 7 kg heavier, which instantly gave Sukuna an edge in this situation. Being the lighter bike between the two would certainly make him marginally better at handling and acceleration. 

With that, your boyfriend capitalized on his bike’s strengths and shifted into sixth gear at the next intersection, surging ahead and crossing the finish line just as the ZX-10R was left stuck at the last stoplight.

Sweet, sweet victory. Sukuna sped onto the freeway, shouting triumphantly into the air. “Woohoo!” He could feel the jolt of adrenaline satiating his need for a thrilling ride. 

“B-Babe.” You, on the other hand, tugged at his shirt in worry. “Babe, we’re going too fast. The cops—!”

The sound of the siren snapped Sukuna back to reality in an instant. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, frustrated by the abrupt interruption. “Can’t even have a minute to celebrate my win.” 

While he could have engaged in a high-speed freeway chase if he wanted to, especially having already escaped the police once, having you with him now made him opt for better judgment. His promise to keep you safe was his foremost priority here. So, swallowing his pride with a tightened jaw, he slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road as the police car trailed behind.

The officer swiftly exited his vehicle and approached you two. “Evening, folks,” the stern voice of the elderly officer broke the tension. “License and registration, please.”

Sukuna retrieved his wallet and handed over his license and registration, then turned to you, placing a protective hand on your thigh. He could tell his poor little backpack was feeling anxious. 

The cop then glanced between you and Sukuna, his gaze lingering on you with concern. “Ma’am, are you alright?” he asked, his focus more on your well-being than on the biker himself.

You nodded, trying to appear composed despite the adrenaline still coursing through you. “Yes, officer. I’m fine.”

The officer soon directed his attention to the R1. “What’s the fastest you’ve been on this thing?”

Sukuna couldn’t resist a cheeky reply. “Speed limit.”

“Very funny,” said the unamused officer, who retreated to his vehicle to run Sukuna’s information while leaving you and your boyfriend to exchange glances once more.

His expression softened. “Sorry about this, babe. I didn’t mean to get us in trouble.”  

“It’s okay.” You reassured him with a squeeze around his waist. “I trust you.”

Interrupting the tender moment, the officer returned and handed back your boyfriend’s license. “Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked, receiving a shrug in response. A lecture that Sukuna heavily hated soon followed. “You were speeding back there. I clocked you going 20 miles over the limit. It’s always you fellas with the 1000cc bikes who think they’re invincible. Even 600cc guys are scared of the police. You need to slow down, especially with a passenger.”

With your insistent look, Sukuna nodded to the cop, apologetically. “Understood, sir.” 

The officer studied Sukuna for a moment before releasing a sigh. “Look, I get it. It’s a nice night for a ride. Just remember, it’s not just your life on the line. You’ve got someone else to think about.” He pointed at you while handing your boyfriend a ticket. “You’ve gotta take good care of her.” 

Only then did Sukuna’s cold mien soften up with the cop. “I’ll be careful next time, officer.”

“Right. I’m letting you off with a warning this time, but I’m writing you a ticket for speeding. Slow down, alright?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

The officer returned to his car, and Sukuna pocketed the ticket with a mixture of relief and frustration etched on his face. “We didn’t get to pass by your bookstore,” he lamented, giving you an affectionate caress on the back. “I’m sorry, princess.”

You touched your headgear to his, sharing a helmet kiss. “There’s always next time,” you reassured him with a smile in your voice. “Besides, this is a real-life experience that no book can ever give me.”

~~

By the time you arrived at your apartment, darkness had already settled in, leaving a cozy glow from the distant cityscape as you switched on the lights and placed your helmet on the nearby console table. Immediately, your British shorthair cat dashed toward you with a loud meow, his pretty auburn eyes gleaming with excitement at seeing his mom.

“Hi, Casper,” you cooed at the feline, but his attention swiftly turned when Sukuna entered your apartment a few minutes later—someone he clearly wasn’t fond of.

Upon spotting Sukuna, your cat hissed, expressing his displeasure toward your boyfriend, who playfully stuck his tongue out in response. “I’m back, asshole.”

“Don’t call him that!” You chuckled, attending to Casper by mixing up his food in his bowl. “He’s probably never going to warm up to you at this rate.”

Sukuna smoothly removed his jacket and flopped down on the couch. “Boo! Casper sucks,” he hooted, cupping his hands around his mouth, “He’s just jealous because you love me more.”

It had been a while since Casper had seen Sukuna since you were the one coming over at his place more often. Still, the cat’s disdain for your boyfriend persisted, and you suspected it was because Casper could detect the scent of Sukuna’s dog, a large Doberman, whenever he was near. You can only imagine how crazy your household would be should you and your boyfriend move in together in the near future. 

For now, his occasional visits sufficed. Although, there were days when his presence in your apartment stirred more thoughts in your mind than just simple cuddles and movie nights. How could you help it? He was oblivious to the thoughts running in your head as he sat lazily on your couch, his legs spread wide, lifting his compression shirt just above his sweaty chest. His toned abs were impossible to ignore, especially as he ran his fingers through his hair, breathing heavily.

“Babe, it’s so hot,” he said, fanning his face, completely unaware of the chaos inside your head. “Wanna shower before bed?”

His suggestion was innocent enough, but your immediate agreement was driven by a different kind of excitement. “Okay,” you replied with a sheepish grin, “I’ll see if you have any clothes left in the closet.”

You see, you and Sukuna had just started dating a few months ago—precisely 6 months and 3 weeks to be exact, so the relationship was definitely still fresh and vulnerable. But needless to say, while he was indeed a sweet and dreamy boyfriend that you could only ever read about in your stash of fictional books, there was also a side of him that awakened the more mature side of you. 

If it wasn’t obvious enough, Sukuna was more experienced in the intimacy department than you. And him being your first did bring in thoughts of inadequacy in terms of your performance in bed. You haven’t done it enough to call yourself a pro, but you also did it enough to say that you already knew what, how, and where to please him the most. You owe that experience to the multitude of smut scenes you had read about on Tumblr and AO3, because those exact stories provided essential insights that guided your actions on your first time.

Now, whenever the sexy beast within you was unleashed, you didn’t even hold back anymore. 

The shower was already running when you stepped inside the small space, your boyfriend letting the cold water fall on his naked tattooed body in rivulets. Each drop of water sounded like rainfall, and with him pulling you closer by the arm, he began kissing you with a passion that made it feel like you were caught in a rainstorm.

“Lovey!” You giggled, pushing your palms flat against his chest. “You said we’ll just shower.” 

“You know what I meant by that, baby.” 

The water continued to cascade down your skin, your hair now damp and your body now wet. Sukuna’s eyes darkened in lust as eyed you up and down, his hands tracing the curves of your body, before crashing his lips back onto yours once more. This time, his kisses were more aggressive as he bit your lower lip, and took the opportunity of shoving his tongue inside your mouth. He was devouring you with rough and wide movements, allowing your tongue to roll around his in a playful tangle. And with his fingers now grabbing a fistful of your hair, and his other hand sliding down your chest to squeeze your breast, you felt a stretch on your scalp when he pulled you by the hair to look up at him. “You think you’re so innocent, don’t you?” he teased, kneading your right breast before his hand moved south to palm your dripping cunt, “Deep down, you’re just as naughty and wicked as me.” 

“N-No.” Your breath hitched when his lips traced light kisses around your neck. But it wasn’t just his kisses and touch that made your knees weak, it was the feeling of his hardened member pressed against your stomach, fully erect and ready to be inside you. “Mmh… You’re the naughty one.” 

Sukuna went in for another open-mouthed kiss before he nibbled on your earlobe. “I don’t deny that, princess,” he pivoted your body around, and made you lean against the glass wall so he could get a better view of your buttocks. While you, you could see your tits pressed against the glass from your reflection in the mirror, a sight that your boyfriend went absolutely crazy for when he looked up. “Ah, fuck. That’s so hot.” 

You could feel his fingers playing with your entrance from behind, and you watched him bite his lip through the mirror, his eyes dancing in lust as he wantonly stared at your body. “Ngh,” you bit back a moan, the feeling of his fingers teasing your entrance making you curl your toes, “I… I-I like that.” 

“I bet you do, baby.” Good lord. His voice was deep and raspy, and the sexiness of it was enough to make you wet. He even showed you evidence per se, when he pulled his digits out, spreading two fingers apart to show you the clear, slimy substance that coated it. You were already a blushing mess when he showed you your cum, and felt the heat in your cheeks worsening as you watched him, eye-to-eye, suck your juices from his fingers. “Aww, my baby tastes sweet.” 

“It’s the pineapple juice,” you joked, allowing him to cup your jaw and place a sloppy kiss on your mouth. “Mmm—I forgot to tell you.” You pulled away to look at your boyfriend. “I’m ovulating.” 

Sukuna tilted his head, squeezing your bum tenderly as he replied, “Are you suggesting I get you pregnant?”

“No, silly!” You chuckled shyly while he positioned himself behind you. “I was trying to say that I get extra horny when I’m ovulating.” 

He smiled, aroused more than ever as he heard you say those words out loud. “Too bad, I was thinking of creampie-ing you.” 

A gasp flew out of your lips when Sukuna’s long, slender fingers performed circular motions on your clitoris, stretching your labia apart so he could insert two fingers at your entrance. “B-Babe!” Your widened eyes were in great contrast to his lust-filled ones as he found entertainment at your submission to pleasure. You gripped his wrist and tiptoed when he started scissoring his fingers inside, forcing you to raise your leg so he could continue to move his hand in and out of your sopping cunt. “Ahh—ah! S-Sukuna!”

He hadn’t heard his name from you in awhile and he found that amusing. “Hm, baby? Saying something?” 

You squeezed your legs together to hide the clench that you were feeling inside, looking up at his crazed brown eyes and tracing his pectoral muscles with your fingers. You couldn’t hold it anymore, you were a willing slut ready to be pounded on by this tattooed man. “Please, f-fuck me.”

He reattached his lips back onto yours and pulled away just enough to keep your foreheads connected. “Not yet, baby girl.” A sly smirk spread off his lips. “That book you were reading earlier at the cafe,” he began, pulling his fingers away to turn you around, “It was smut, wasn’t it?” 

Feeling a wave of embarrassment as he brought it up, you responded with a coquettish smile. “Maybe.” 

Sukuna then pushed you down on your knees, letting you kneel down in front of his hard, veiny cock. He had stroked himself a few times—his other hand lifting your chin up—before he slapped his length against your lips. “Think you can show me how they did it in that book?” 

“Why…” you trailed off, wrapping your hand around his cock, pumping the long, meaty shaft before placing your tongue on top of the swollen tip. He was all crazed and aroused when you kept eye-contact and started putting his member inside your mouth.

“Damn.” Your boyfriend threw his head back, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Let’s make all your fantasies a reality, baby.” 

Well, he was sweet for that. But also mischievous, too. He knew you could be just as naughty as him because he had seen the books you were reading and most of them were definitely far from innocent. Could he blame you? Sometimes, reading about it was better than experiencing it. Yet with your boyfriend’s ego, he wasn’t one to allow your fictional men to be better than him in all aspects. Physically. Emotionally. Sexually.

You let him guide your hand into stroking his shaft before you ejected spit on the pink head, using it to lubricate his aching member while you lowered yourself further to fit his firm balls inside your mouth. It gave you utmost pleasure to hear his guttural moans when you swirled your tongue around his bollocks—tasting the same flesh that carried all of his sperm, and releasing it from your mouth to give his cock the same attention. At first, you kissed his swollen tip and treated it like a lollipop, then you started sucking every inch of his length by bobbing your head at a stable rhythm. “Mmm.” You could hear curses leaving his pretty lips as he held your head in place, snapping his hips forward until you were gagging from the intense penetration on your throat.

You learned all these after a single read at your favorite 18+ book.  

“That’s a good girl.” His praise rang in your ears like a sweet melody.

Even without a reflection to look at, this was the most erotogenic exchange you two had ever done as a couple. And along with that, his half lidded eyes were staring down at you, judging you and your every move. 

You did your best to give him a stellar performance, did your most at pleasuring his member, and did everything that he liked whenever you were sucking his cock. And just like that, thick ropes of cum were sent straight down your throat. The musky, metallic taste didn’t stop you from swallowing all of his seed and you had to show your tongue to make him know that you did a good job at taking all of his semen. Nothing was wasted.

Not even time, because as soon as you finished giving him a blowjob, he was already carrying you out of the bathroom without drying yourselves off. You were thrown into your double bed, manhandled into spreading your legs apart before your animalistic lover plunged his face onto your pussy.

“S-Sukuna—! Mmm—fuck!”

He had your back arching because of how deep his tongue was going inside, tasting your walls and kissing your cunt like he would do with your mouth. He was smooching off your labia like a hungry beast, eating you out as if he wasn’t satisfied by the juices that he was sucking from you. You were already in your seventh heaven, unable to think straight when he added his middle finger to the movements of his tongue. If fingering your pussy and lapping your clitoris weren’t enough to drive you crazy, maybe grabbing a fistful of pinkish hair was a sign for him to stop before you could truly lose it. You could feel fire pooling on your lower abdomen and your legs were already shaking uncontrollably, your toes curling wantonly—with the suction he was doing on your cunt, you ended up screaming for his name and engulfing his mouth with your Earth-shattering release.

“Haah! ‘Kuna, p-please…”

As he detached his mouth from your entrance, he started climbing up, visibly pleased with the way he ravaged your cunt. He was wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb, pressing his lips down on yours to make you taste your own fluid. A string of saliva connected your mouth to his before he grabbed ahold of his erect member once again. It hadn’t even been more than two minutes and you were already being hauled into another position. “Let me fuck you from behind.”

“Lovey, w-wait.”

“Ass up, baby.” His patience was growing thin when he dragged your body by raising your hips close to his crotch and pressing your head down against the mattress. Your boyfriend cared none for the embarrassment that settled on your heated cheeks when he spread your buttocks apart so he could ogle at the exact hole that he was about to enter. 

“No, wait!” you begged, looking up at him with a plea, “Condom, please.” 

The realization hit his face. “I think I’m all out, baby. Let me check,” he said, pulling away and stumbling towards his discarded pants on the floor, hoping desperately that he would find an unused packet of condom. Just to his luck, he had one more packet hidden between the folds of his leather wallet. “Got it!” 

He hastily ripped the packet with his teeth, taking the rubber out, and rolling it slowly to cover his entire length. You remained on all fours, watching him as he ejected spit on his fingers, which he soon used to lubricate your entrance. 

Did he give you any time to adjust? That word didn’t even exist in his vocabulary when he sunk all seven inches inside of your cunt, wrecking you open to the point where you could feel a stinging sensation on your entrance after being stretched by his fully erect cock. “Best pussy in the entire world.”

You were suppressing your moans from coming out too loud while you bit on a pillow, nails digging on the sheets as your lover penetrated your tight vaginal walls. “Ahh! M-More… More.” He was treating you like a fleshlight as he continued to rut your sopping cunt with his fat cock, absolutely enjoying how your warm pussy was milking his full length.

“Can your fictional boys fuck you like this, baby?” he breathed, all deep and velvety as he gave you the most rhythmical skin-slapping thrusts. He was so deep in your cavern that you could feel the base of his cock slamming against your ass. You didn’t even notice the hand that was snaking on your front to massage your bouncing tit because you were far too lost in the shockwaves of sexual gratification. “No other man can fuck you this good.”

It was like he was riding his own bike. With how fast his pace was increasing, you were already too limp to feel his hard thrusts.

Your brain was short-circuiting from the amount of sensation that was entering your body, intoxicated by the waves of libido in your system that was heightening more and more as he continued to satisfy your insatiable heat. You could barely think straight. You lost your sanity. All the modest parts of you had completely dissolved into a bitch in heat. Like a needy little whore. You didn’t even have any control of your own words when you started telling Sukuna, “I… want… you to keep… fucking me… like this.” Another forceful slam elicited a mewl out of you. “A-Aah! Haah!”

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” Your boyfriend held a tighter grip on your hips, your moaning face leaving an imprint on his mind as he propelled your body forward and raced towards his ecstasy. After yet another thrust or two, or three, or four… Spurts of warm seed started exploding into the rubber. Sukuna’s thrust had become unsteady, his body falling down on the bed but his member still remaining inside of you. “I can’t get enough of your pussy, baby.” 

You were catching your breath after he broke your mind into becoming this sex-obsessed freak. “Lookie! My bed’s all wet now.” 

He smiled and finally pulled out, only to lean down again and plant a soft kiss on your forehead. “Let me carry you to the couch,” he offered, but first he had to pull the condom out of his cock to reveal a cum-filled rubber. “Christ. I came a lot.” 

In other words, his cum would have been dripping out of your pussy for days.

You extended your arms, awaiting to be lifted like a princess by your lover. “Carry me now, please!”

“I will, baby.” Without hesitation, he scooped you up in his tattooed arms. He, too, was heavy breathing, but he still effortlessly held you. “I’ll take care of cleaning your sheets while you sleep.”

He was already walking towards the living room as you kicked your feet in the air, giving his cheek a gentle squeeze. “Can you clean out Casper’s litter box, too?”

Sukuna made a face of disgust, glancing at the cat before gently setting you down on the couch. “Only if he stops being an asshole,” he joked, but your pleading expression melted his resolve. “Alright, fine. I’ll take care of your bed, your cat’s litter... what else? You’re lucky I love you, you know.” He moved to the window, drawing the curtains closed to shield you from prying eyes. “Do you think your neighbors saw us fuck earlier? I forgot to pull the curtains on your bedroom.”

You laughed, pulling the sheets up to cover yourself. “Well, there’s this couple that’s been giving me strange looks lately, so it definitely isn’t the first time they’ve seen us do it.”

“It’s like that movie we watched,” Sukuna mused, trying to recall the title.

“The Voyeurs!” you both exclaimed in unison, sharing a laugh before you gestured to him. “Get dressed, lovey!”

Sukuna returned to tuck you in under the thin sheets, leaning down to give you a peck on the lips. “And you get some rest now, baby.”

~~

The morning sun filtered through the curtains as you woke up, stretching lazily in bed to find Casper purring next to you. That’s strange, you thought. Your cat normally wouldn’t go near you when your boyfriend was around, so you turned to your side, expecting to find Sukuna still sleeping beside you, but the spot was empty. Confused, you glanced around the room, noticing that his motorcycle gear was also missing from its usual place. 

“Lovey?” you called out through the empty apartment. “Where are you?” 

With no response received, you walked towards your bedroom and found the sheets had been changed and everything was tidy. Searching the bathroom yielded no clues to Sukuna’s whereabouts either. And a quick trip downstairs to check his usual parking spot confirmed your suspicion—he had left without a word. 

You frowned, reaching for your phone to send him an annoyed text.

YOU: love, where are you? 

YOU: i’m not some kind of booty call that you can just leave the next morning without a say

The minutes ticked by as you waited for a reply, feeling a mix of frustration and worry because of his absence. Were you overthinking this? Perhaps he was just out to get you lunch. Or maybe he had an emergency. You tried to calm yourself down by breathing deeply and thinking of any possible explanation other than the worst-case scenario. Maybe his phone died, or he got caught up in something urgent. But after an hour of no response, worry began to gnaw at you. Did he just ghost me? 

“Oh, God.” You paced back and forth in your apartment, checking your phone repeatedly for any sign of a message or call from Sukuna. “Oh, God. Oh, God! I’ve read about this a lot. Why are guys such jerks?” 

You tried to rationalize his absence, hoping for a reasonable explanation, but your mind persisted racing through various scenarios, with each one more disheartening than the last. Maybe he’d gotten tired of you, or perhaps he was scared of commitment. The frustration and confusion were almost unbearable. Was the sex last night not good enough for him? 

That situation lasted the entire afternoon. And you wanted to rip your hair out at the fact that your boyfriend had been gone for hours, his phone unreachable, and his friends having no idea where he was.  

So as the evening approached and your anxiety grew, you decided to call Sukuna again. It was the 47th missed call. But just as you were about to dial his number once more, you heard the familiar roar of his R1.

“What the hell.” You rushed to the window and saw your boyfriend pulling into the parking area. Relief flooded your system as you watched him switch off the engine, dismount his bike, and walk leisurely towards your apartment building’s lobby like he didn’t just leave an anxious girlfriend without a note the morning after he fucked her brains out.

You waited for him to arrive at your doorstep, your heart calmer but still ticking with anxiety as the clock rang in your ears. You were ready to give him a lashing for being unresponsive to your texts and calls. But as the door swung open, your boyfriend knowing your passcode by heart, you didn’t expect that your anger at him would end up being for a totally different reason. 

Because there he was, standing by your door looking slightly disheveled but with a sheepish smile on his face. He held a Barnes & Noble bag in one hand.

“Hey, baby—”

“What the heck happened?” You rushed to him, noticing the scrapes and bruises on his face. “Are you okay? I was worried sick!” 

Sukuna removed his helmet and winced slightly, the corner of his lower lip was smeared with dried blood. “Sorry, my love,” he spoke softly, going in for a comforting hug, “I wanted to surprise you, but things got a little complicated.” 

You pulled away to touch his bruised cheek. “You’re hurt. Why aren’t you answering my texts?” 

“Phone’s dead,” he answered, showing you his lifeless phone before handing over the bag. “And this is for you, my beautiful princess.”

Taking the bag, you said, “You didn’t have to do this.” Then your eyes scanned his face for any sign of serious injury.

“I wanted to,” he insisted, his voice filled with affection despite his exhaustion. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

You eyed the Barnes & Noble bag, realizing that the book inside was the exact one you had mentioned wanting yesterday. Your emotions swirled in a mix of frustration and tenderness. Should you lecture him for being so reckless, or cry because of how romantic it was that he went out of his way to get the book you had been searching for?

But first and foremost, how and where did he get all those bruises?

Before you could ask, he already had an answer prepared. “Long story, baby. Let's just say I had a little run-in with another biker who had the same idea as me.”

You grabbed his hand and guided him to sit on the couch while you hurriedly fetched your first aid kit. As you tended to the scrapes on Sukuna’s face, Casper the cat approached cautiously, sniffing his scent before surprising both of you by leaning against your boyfriend’s leg.

“Meow~”

“Casper!” Sukuna exclaimed joyfully, picking up the cat with a playful flourish like how Rafiki carried Simba in The Lion King “Babe, he finally likes me!”

You rolled your eyes affectionately and joined Sukuna on the couch, gently tilting his chin to examine his bruise. “Tell me exactly what happened,” you asked with a hint of sternness, “You went all over town just for this book?”

Your boyfriend carefully set Casper back down and nodded. “Yeah, it’s the last one they had. Had to fight for it, though.” He then rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I don’t even get a kiss or a thank you?”

At once, all your defenses crumbled. You let go of the gauze in your hand and pulled your boyfriend into a tender kiss, wrapping him in a warm hug afterward. “You’re insane, you know that? I was so worried about you, and now I find out you spent the whole day looking for this book.” You sighed, overwhelmed by the rollercoaster of emotions the day had brought. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of love for the man who had gone to such lengths to make you happy. “But thank you, lovey. That’s really sweet of you.”

Sukuna, now grinning broadly, held you closer around the waist. “Always welcome, my baby.”

“Now, tell me about that biker,” you began, taking a q-tip and some ointment, “How’d you get into a fight?” 

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it,” he recalled, amused at the thought, “He was going to get the book for his girl, too. But I got there first, and he wouldn’t let me have it.” 

Jesus. You couldn’t decide whether to laugh or sigh at the absurdity of two bikers squabbling over a book in a bookstore. “You should’ve just let him have it.” 

“But baby!” he protested like a child, “I couldn’t come home empty-handed. I already feel bad we didn’t get to pass by the bookstore yesterday.” 

What a stubborn boyfriend you have. “I already told you it’s okay, lovey. You’re the best boyfriend already. I appreciate the effort and I’m even more in love with you now than ever,” you reassured, placing a light kiss on the tip of his nose, “Now, is there anything I can give you in return? As a thank you?” 

Oh, boy. You already assumed he would request for something concerning activities in bed. But his face suddenly lit up as if a lightbulb just appeared above his head. His idea was surely not what you had in mind. 

“How about I teach you how to ride my bike?” 

~~

The sun hung low on the horizon as Sukuna stood beside his Yamaha R1, patiently explaining the basics of riding ‘Fury’ to you. He seemed to be heavily enjoying this whole thing. Meanwhile, you, donning a helmet and gloves, were fully geared up, nervousness evident as you cautiously swung your leg over the bike.

“Ah, dammit.” Your boyfriend was grinning like an idiot as he saw you sitting on his bike. “You’re gonna be one hot biker girl. I can’t! You’re mine. Don’t let them see you like this, babe!” 

“Stop exaggerating!” you retorted, your voice tense with nerves as you gripped the handlebars tightly. “This bike feels… big.” 

“Like my cock?”

“Stop it.”

Sukuna erupted into a chuckle before proceeding to move closer to you. “Alright, babe. Remember what I showed you about the clutch and throttle control,” he encouraged, “Take it slow.”

Nodding, you started the bike and felt the powerful engine rumble beneath you. With your boyfriend’s guidance, you eased out the clutch and gave a tentative twist of the throttle. The bike lurched forward, causing you to panic and squeeze the brakes hard. 

“Oh, my God!” You let out a squeak of surprise. “Oh, my God! I’m gonna die.” 

“Easy there.” He held your waist protectively. “Let’s try one more time?” 

You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the intimidating power of the machine beneath you and instead focus on Sukuna’s instructions. Even with his guidance, you found yourself repeating the same mistake where this time, you braked too hard again, causing your body to jolt forward dangerously. You would have fallen from the bike if not for your boyfriend catching you right on time.

“I can’t do this…” You shook your head, frantically. “I’m not cut out for this.”

Sukuna held you steady, his hands firm yet reassuring. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, looking into your eyes. “It takes time, alright? You’re doing fine. Maybe we should start with something smaller.”

You let out a heavy exhale as Sukuna carried you off his bike. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Like a lower cc bike?” he suggested, giving your helmet a playful tap. “Let’s start you off on a 150cc bike. Yuuji has a CBR150R we can borrow.”

“I wouldn’t want to wreck your nephew’s bike,” you teased, watching from the side as Sukuna effortlessly mounted his own bike.

He revved the engine and reached out for your hand, helping you settle in behind him. “Then, you can just stay being my backpack princess for now”

With your arms securely around his waist, the bike accelerated, the wind whipping against your helmet visor. The view of the sunset was perfect for this ride. “So, does that mean I’m not your ride or die anymore?”

Sukuna took your hand from behind, lifting it to his lips for a kiss. “Nah. You’ll always be my ride or die, baby.”

[itsgodepi]

First Loser | MV1

Summary: In the wake of a disastrous race, you're caught under the media's unforgiving glare. Your every move and word being dissected for days on end as you simply try to navigate your rookie year in Formula One. It is just your luck that your opponent in this fiasco is none other than the famously outspoken Max Verstappen, whose relentless jabs only add to your frustrations.  Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader Word Count: 8k Warnings: accident, anxiety, enemies to lovers Also on AO3

The air rushes into your lungs with ragged intensity, each inhale a searing burn that seems to set your chest aflame. The tight straps of the safety belt only exacerbate the struggle, constricting your breathing while your hands uselessly claw at the buckle. Muscles so unbelievably stiff that every movement make it feel like needles are digging into your skin.  

You force your eyes open, vision swimming in a blur of unrecognizable shapes and distorted shadows. Blood is surging through your veins like molten lava, pooling into a searing knot at the center of your chest. It pounds furiously against your ribs, each thunderous beat reverberating through the tempest of thoughts that swirl uncontrollably in your mind. 

You’re out. Done. Everything you worked for, everything you hoped for, slipping through your fingers like sand. 

Frustration boils over, erupting into raw, unchecked rage. You slam your foot down on the pedals with every ounce of strength you can muster, your fists pounding against the nearest surface with resounding thuds. The sounds are deafening in the confined space of the cockpit, a violent release that leaves your hands stinging and a wave of dizziness washing over you. 

A sigh slides through your lips. What are you even doing? You are too out of it. 

You slump back into the seat, your resolve crumbling as fatigue overwhelms you. The battle to keep your eyes open only intensifying the pounding in your head. What’s the point anyway? The scene before you is devastating —barriers looming over your side, a twisted wheel perched precariously on the hood of your car, and just ahead, a dark Formula One car buried in the gravel. 

That fucking Red Bull. 

Tears begin to pool in your eyes as the adrenaline that once chased the away slowly drains, leaving behind a trembling mess. It’s done. The pressure in your chest tightens with each passing second, the fabric over your cheeks dampening with disappointment. In yourself, in your choices, in everything that led you to this very moment. At least this stupid helmet shields you from the outside world, from the screams of the crowd and unattainable promises. The only thing protecting you as you break down. It was so close. 

The sound of a revving engine slices through your tears, yanking you back to the harsh reality of the moment. To your fate. Your hand instinctively grasps the wheel as the static in your ears begins to fade.  

“Are you okay?” the repeated message crackles over the radio, each time louder than the last, ringing in your ears. The race engineer’s voice is tinged with urgency, and you realize he must have been asking this since you first grazed the track limits. 

You struggle to articulate a response, your jaw muscles aching from being clenched so tightly during the crash. “Yes, I... Yeah, it’s okay” the faint voice that escapes your lips barely recognizable, even to you. Blame your laboured breath or the tears sliding non-stop down your cheeks for making you talk like you haven’t pronounced a word in months. 

The radio comes alive once again, interferences cutting into the race engineer’s words, though his relief is evident. More time than you expected must have gone by; silence is never a good sign in these situations.  

You can't quite decipher his exact message over the noise, but you push past the fog in your mind to respond “I’m alright, the car started—” 

However, your train of thought is abruptly interrupted by the sight of the other protagonist of the crash. Seeing him climbing out of the wreckage of his car, seemingly unscathed despite the severity of the collision, filling you with profound relief, momentarily silencing your racing thoughts. 

The sight of Max approaching your car pulls you further from the fog of your own distress. Your gaze locks onto him as he changes direction, his stride purposeful as he heads straight toward your car. A flutter of disbelief mingles with the tension in your chest —is he coming to check on you?

As he draws closer, the corners of your mouth curl into a small smile, a reaction you can’t suppress despite the circumstances. He must have noticed you still seated in the car, frozen, while the marshals were still nowhere to be seen. 

When he is close enough to the vehicle, you manage to stick a hand out of the halo, giving him a thumbs-up to signal that you’re okay. “I’m so sorry, guys. I tried, I promise I really tried to...” your voice trembled with raw emotion as you are back to speaking into the radio, each word laced with a mix of sadness and desperation. 

You take a moment to collect yourself, eyes closed as you breathe deeply, when suddenly, you feel your hand being slapped away. Startled, your eyes snap open, looking to where your hand was a moment ago as your crawl it close to your chest.  

You see Max looming over your seat, a hand gripping the bar of your halo while the other waves angrily through the air. You watch him, open mouthed, his angry yells muffled by both your helmet and his, making his words unrecognizable. But it is as if you knew exactly what he was saying. 

Max’s anger and the frustration of the moment collide within you, a storm of emotions that bursts out uncontrollably.

"What the fuck? It was your fault, you fucking asshole,” you yell at him with all the force you are lacking “And now you dare to come here to intimidate —!” 

The fury in your voice, the sheer anguish of what you had lost, reliving it sends a shiver down your spine. If you lift your eyes to the screen behind the journalist, you can also watch the exact moment the communications with the team were cut. That’s it, you spring from the seat, completely enraged by Max's audacity to come reprimand anything after the manoeuvre he had pulled on you, and the radio’s cable goes flying in the air by your side.  

A perfect shot. 

And finally, some privacy for one of the worst moments of your life. They had enough with the video being played on every single screen of the paddock. If only you had managed to hit that damn button again and shut off the microphone. 

You let out a sigh, gripping the steel barricade between the interviewer and you, trying to release some of the emotions still coursing through you. “It’s no one’s fault really, these things happen... I was just overwhelmed by the situation and said the intimidation thing, just completely drunk off adrenaline. Like Max probably” 

The statement might not align with your true feelings., but when hundreds of interviewers are knocking over each other to get your statement and the images are being endlessly replayed, it is what you have to say.  

This is how you justify your reaction, not only on the day of the accident in the media pen, with trembling hands and a still-thrashing heart, but also throughout the following week in Belgium. The same questions are repeated time and time again, your words are played in every medium of communication interested in Formula One and beyond, yet your response remains the same. 

A car crash like that would drive anyone to their wits’ end. 

It got easier to say after every new interview, your body finally pushing out of that shock state after the crash, the fear of jumping into the car gone after the first practice at the Spa-Francorchamps Circuit. Although you could not say the same about your state of mind, not with the constant taunting. 

Max had only given a few interviews the day of, looking the least bit apologetic but acknowledging his part in the incident and lamenting that both your races had come to a sudden end. When asked specifically about his outburst, he gave curt, regretful answers—no apology in sight, of course. Yet, later on, and probably advised by his media team, he aligned himself with your ‘drunk on adrenaline’ statement. It was a convenient alignment, indeed. 

Nonetheless, the effect of his media team’s nagging did not last long. 

“Max, the stewards have just issued the resolution for impeding Perez in Q2. The Haas will receive a three-place grid penalty. Any thoughts?” someone asks as Max is making his way out of the paddock, backpack slung over his shoulder. 

“To thirteenth?” Max wonders, sipping from his bottle with a curious look, slowing his pace so the interviewer and camera can catch up. 

“No, she’s dropped to fourteenth” the interviewer corrects, glancing at the press release on his phone and pointing the microphone back at the Dutch driver. 

Max tilts his head to the side, his lips pursed “That’s... okay, seems alright”. It’s almost inaudible, his head turning back to open the car’s door, as though it’s a simple reflection.  

You know full well it isn’t. This is not his first time being caught in a drama, and it’s clearly not his first fight. 

“That’ll make for a calm race, isn’t that right?” the journalist pokes, a smirk evident in his voice, and Max’s response is a laugh. 

He laughs. 

And, that’s it, what might seem like just another trivial reaction, in the wake of last week’s drama, turns the media storm. 

You can’t keep track of the times you are tagged in the video, the headlines it makes or the messages you privately receive about it. It’s everywhere, inescapable. All you can do is bite your lip and grimace every time the topic arises in the media pen. 

If you were being completely honest, the media frenzy had not come as much of a shock. Max Verstappen's reputation for his bluntness precedes him, and you know it firsthand since it has been directed at you quite a few times. Your history with the Dutch driver has always been a complex mix of distant acquaintances and unspoken rivalries. The latter includes his offhand remarks when you first joined the sport or the critics to your start in Bahrain, which had not been exactly pleasant but also not unexpected. 

Those digs had been easy enough to ignore; you did not care what he had to say, so the controversy died a few days later when you didn’t throw a jab back. It’s just your luck that, out of all the drivers, you had impeded his teammate's fast lap. 

Looks like it wasn’t enough having such a hard penalty thrown at you. A small error by your race engineer cost you the opportunity to climb up the grid and put you in Verstappen’s crosshairs. 

It’s all you can think about as you ride the truck during the driver’s parade, the crowd’s cheers and waves a distant blur. Their enthusiasm should have lifted your spirits, should have reminded you of the dream you were living. But instead, you find yourself retreating inward, pulling away from the others and slipping into the far corner of the truck, leaning heavily against the railing.  

A small bubble of isolation in the midst of a roaring celebration. 

A huge banner in the crowd catches your eye —a splash of color with your name and number framed with lots of glitter and hearts. You can't help but smile at the gesture, a genuine one that breaks through the storm inside you. The woman holding the sign notices your gaze and waves it enthusiastically. Her mouth moves, likely shouting words of encouragement, but the roar of the crowd drowns out her voice. 

You wave some more, grin stretching wider as you catch her excited reaction. In your moment of distraction, your shirt shifts, revealing a large bruise that snakes across your side —a nasty reminder of the crash back in Hungary. It has now become a deep mix of purple and yellow, sprawling across your ribs in a way that’s hard to ignore. 

And it doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Hey, what happened there?” Daniel’s voice cuts through, his concern evident as he leans in the railing, eyes wide with concern. 

You glance down, momentarily startled by the sight of the dark, ugly bruise. “Just from the crash last week,” you mutter, instinctively pulling the hem of your top down to hide it, but not before Daniel's concerned gaze catches it fully “It’s taking ages to heal”. 

His eyebrows furrow in alarm. “That’s not just a bruise! I didn’t know it had been that bad” His hand hovers near your side, filled with an instinct to help “‘You sure you should be racing?” 

Before you can respond, the exchange draws the attention of a couple drivers nearby. Alex and Lando wander over, their curiosity piqued by Daniel's reaction. 

Lando’s eyes narrow as he takes in the bruise. "Shit, that looks bad" his blunt remark gaining him a nudge from Alex. 

You let out a small, tired laugh “Thank you? I guess” 

Alex steps closer, peering over Lando’s shoulder with a look of genuine worry. "Did you talk to the doctors?" 

Daniel, glancing at where the bruise hides with a sympathetic frown, quietly adds “And the mechanics too...” 

“Yeah, I’m cleared, looks worse than it is. And trust me, I’m not missing this race” you state, the discomfort in your ribs and the sudden attention making you shift uncomfortably. “Got some extra padding in the seat now, though.” 

The group doesn’t push any further, only giving you tight-lipped smiles and exchanging a few glances between them, though you can tell they’re not entirely convinced. You’re relieved when the truck starts moving toward the pitlane, signalling the end of the driver’s parade and allowing you to escape the spotlight, if only for a moment. 

As you step down from the truck and head towards the garage, Verstappen suddenly falls into step beside you. You glance at him, eyebrows knitting together in confusion and irritation. 

“Hey,” he says, eyes flickering down to your side “You alright?” 

The question feels loaded, more than just concern for your physical well-being. It’s the first real acknowledgment of what happened between you two, and the tension crackles between you like static. 

You tense, your anger simmering beneath the surface. "I’m completely fine" you say, a little sharper than intended, still raw from the incident and everything that has transpired since.  

"Look, I’m sorry you got hurt.” the Red Bull driver sighs, hand coming up to scratch his cheek. “But, you know, there was nothing I could do. You left me no space and— " 

That makes you stop in your tracks, fists clenching at your sides as you spin to face him. A forced smile is plastered across your face, though your eyes are burning with frustration. You are fully aware of where you are, can feel the eyes trained on you, the people discreetly gathering by your sides but not daring to approach. You are right at the entrance of the pit lane, under the gaze of spectators in the grandstands and the guests hanging balconies over the garages. 

“Oh, so this is what it’s about?” you snap, voice laced with venomous sweetness. “You want me to say you did great, that ‘oh poor thing, I wasn’t letting you race’?” 

Verstappen’s expression hardens, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment, clearly not expecting the bite in your tone. "No, that’s not—" 

“Watch the fucking video, Max,” you interrupt his explanation, your smile still in place but your words sharp. “I was right there. You turned in like I wasn’t even racing you!” 

Max’s face reddens, his anger palpable as he tries to defend himself. “I’m not going to let you just blame me for everything,” he retorts, voice deep “You knew you couldn’t hold up and yet, you kept blocking me. You know better than that!” 

“I know better?!” you repeat incredulously “It’s you who drives like a maniac, pushing every fucking limit and expecting everyone to get out of your way!” 

“That’s not fair, and you know it." the Dutch’s eyes narrow, clearly stung by your accusation." I came to apologize, but it looks like you’re too busy playing the victim to actually have a normal conversation.” 

“Go fuck yourself, Max,” you say, the smile on your face a strained mask of anger for the cameras capturing every second of this standoff “I shouldn’t have saved your sorry ass. You came to intimidate me then, and now you’re just trying to do it again.” 

Everyone is waiting for a reaction, something they can replay and dissect for days on end. That is what they want, what Max wants, but you are decided not to give it to them. Not here, not ever. 

The word ‘intimidate’ hits Max like a punch. His eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something else—maybe hurt, maybe disbelief— but before he can respond, someone else interrupts the scene. 

Daniel saunters over with his signature grin, throwing an arm around Max’s shoulders and pulling him in like they’re just two friends hanging out before a race. The casualness of the move feels jarring against the heated tension between, but Daniel’s intentions are clear. 

“Alright, alright, let’s cool down, kids,” Daniel says, his tone playful but cutting the tension immediately. “We’ve got a race ahead, yeah?” 

There’s an undertone of urgency in Daniel’s eyes as they flick between you, practically begging you both to play along. Verstappen stiffens under Daniel’s arm, the anger still radiating off him in waves, but he doesn’t push him off. Instead, he also forces a tight-lipped smile, letting the older driver guide him towards the garage. 

Daniel looks back at you from a few meters away, his eyes full of unspoken questions. You meet his gaze and offer a slight nod, hoping he’ll understand you’ll be alright. You hope so. 

That day, Verstappen is crowned the winner of the Belgium Grand Prix, lifting his trophy amidst a blur of celebratory cheers and flashing cameras. The dominance of his Red Bull had been undeniable, easily overtaking Lewis Hamilton in just a few laps and maintaining a consistent five-second lead. It was a victory that felt almost inevitable. The superiority of the machine, and his skill, had made this race his from the start. 

“Well, sometimes you have to be smart and know when to pick up a fight” Verstappen states with a shrug during the post-race interviews, still sticky with champagne, adjusting his cap with nonchalance. His words were casual, but the undertone of superiority was clear. “Simple as that” 

Then came the voice, sharp and loud enough to turn heads in the press room: "Some people love wasting everyone’s time." 

The crowd of reporters fell into a hush. Everyone knew what that comment referred to—your battle with Max earlier in the race. Though it only took Max half a lap to pass you, the ferocity with which you defended your position had been the talk of the week. Some praised it as spirited, but most agreed it was just a roadblock for the Dutchman. 

Max could have ignored it. He could have chosen silence. But instead, he picked up the microphone again, leaned back in the chair, and added, “Yeah, clearly,” with the same detached tone, fueling the already smoldering flames of controversy. 

You weren't there to hear the smug remark firsthand, but it found you soon enough, as these things do. He doesn’t have to worry about that. 

“Oh, he said that? Really?” you muttered bitterly, your eyebrows knitting together in a mixture of frustration and disbelief. You couldn’t help the anger bubbling up. Not only had he made a snide comment, but he’d doubled down on it when a journalist baited him. He had to be joking. “Well, you know what? He should know how to fight without ending in the curb. He’s not a rookie anymore” 

And with that, the story exploded.  

The media ran with it, fuelling the narrative of a growing rivalry between you and Verstappen. Headlines, articles, social media—all of it revolved around your comment and Max’s subtle digs. The situation escalated when Red Bull’s team principal chimed in, defending Max and throwing more shade your way. His comment about "drivers needing to be aware of their surroundings" felt like another knife in the back. You couldn’t watch more than a few seconds before turning off the interview, letting the media team handle the backlash in your stead. 

At the peak of it all, as if on cue, a video is posted online, flooding every social media platform within hours. It was footage from a Grill the Grid challenge, recorded months ago, back when you were still settling into your Haas gear. You had guessed Max’s childhood photo in an instant, smiling softly as you held the picture up to the camera. 

“Max! That’s easy,” you had said, the smile lingering. “He’s always had such pretty eyes... I’ll give him that.” 

You never expected that line to make the final cut. They usually cut those videos down, especially with the newer drivers. But they ran with it —probably hoping for this exact reaction from their followers. 

Alongside it, Verstappen’s reaction to your photo also rises to the top of the searched videos. It is similar to yours, instantly guessing your name despite your hair being hidden underneath a woollen beanie, which would be the instant give away when compared to the rest of the men. Of course he recognized you, he’d been there when the photo was taken, back in the early karting days, probably messing around with his sister, Victoria, while waiting for his turn to race. 

It was one of the first few races you participated in, and although it was also one of the last ones Victoria raced in, you clicked pretty well. You might think it was a given for the only two girls in the sea of boys, but it was nice nonetheless. You often wished she had continued racing alongside you, sharing this difficult journey. Perhaps it would have been Victoria's printed photo in the stand. 

But Verstappen didn’t mention any of that. He just spends a moment longer than necessary looking at your picture, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

At the Dutch Grand Prix, the weight of the media storm becomes almost palpable. Every question during the weekend seemed to circle back to him. No matter how much you tried to redirect attention, the media kept poking, fishing for another soundbite. 

You manage to end the weekend unscathed. Verstappen had probably been advised, once again, to ignore the topic and avoid the snide comments. You are glad he is listening to them this time —not like the people in his team, but that’s another a whole different story. He has not even reacted to your remark last week, publicly that is, and kept his focus on the race all throughout the weekend. 

Well, it is easier to forget about the press when winning left and right. Even more so when he is bringing home such an important win, his home race’s trophy.  

Meanwhile, you trudged back to the Haas garage, yet another disappointing race under your belt. Your name getting comfortable hanging near the back of the grid, the sting of failure settling in. 

Emma, your PR minder, intercepted you on the way to the media pen. Her expression was strained as she handed you a tablet. “There’s a new video making the rounds” her voice cautious as she gave you the news. 

Your stomach clenches as the clip starts rolling. The shaky video captures some unseen footage from the day of the crash, probably filmed from the edge of the track. It shows you, huddled against a barrier, knees pulled tightly to your chest. Your helmet is off, and you're crying uncontrollably, shaking like a leaf caught in a storm. Marshals gather around, gently trying to lift you, but your body hangs limp, like a puppet whose strings have been cut, utterly broken. 

After several long seconds, the video cuts to your arrival at the garage, your face a mask of composure. The tears are gone, then. No trembling, no visible sign of the emotional breakout you just had. You simply walk in towards the screens of the pitwall, face blank. As if nothing had happened. 

Emma glances at you, trying to gauge your reaction.  

“So, what do we do?” your voice is slow, forced, as you blink away the tears. 

Emma’s voice drifts in and out of your mind as she tries to explain the plan for handling the press, but you can barely focus. All you want is to be done with this day—this race, this stress, this constant barrage of questions. Your mind is still reeling from the latest disastrous race, and now the video. 

“Just stick to the script, try to pivot the attention” she concludes, voice carefully neutral as she keeps a steady pace, moving you through the paddock with a hand in your back. 

“I just want to be done with this...” you whispered, your voice cracking. Your chest tightens as the video plays again in your mind, the rawness of it suffocating you. 

Emma gives you a sympathetic look, though there’s a hint of firmness in her tone. “I know. Let’s answer a couple question and we’ll be gone in no time, I promise” 

You nod absently, barely taking in her advice as you try to steady your breathing. 

The background hum of the paddock turns into a dull roar, your focus too scattered to notice it at first. It’s only when the noise grows louder—cheers and loud laughter—that you snap out of your thoughts, realizing the celebration has crept right up to you. 

You look up just in time to see a sea of dark blue pouring through the paddock. The Red Bull team, still riding the high of his victory, is coming down the main street. One of them tosses the trophy in the air with a triumphant whoop, cameras clicking wildly around them. You instinctively step aside, shrinking into yourself, hoping to stay out of sight. 

But then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, Verstappen’s locks onto yours. He takes a deep breath before he breaks away from the group, approaching you cautiously. 

“Hey,” he says, his voice tentative, unusually soft. “Can we talk for a second?” 

His approach catches you completely off guard. The last thing you need right now is this conversation —especially with him. The weight of the bad race, the stress, everything that’s gone wrong today. It’s too much. “Not now, Max,” you say, sharper than intended, trying to push past him. 

Max’s expression tightens, but he steps forward, his hand catching your arm gently but firmly, halting your escape. “Wait—just, hold on. I know things have been rough, but I wanted to check on—” 

You whip around, eyes immediately flicking from his hand on your arm to his face, complete and utter shock flashing through you before anger takes over. You see red, your pulse pounding in your ears, drowning out any attempt to understand what he’s trying to say. 

“What the hell, Max?” your voice is low but laced with fury, each word seething. “Do you really think now is the time? That this is what I need right now?” 

His grip loosens, his eyes widening as if he hadn’t expected your reaction, but you’re not even close to being done. 

“You’re keeping me out here again for what? So I can make a scene?” you gesture toward the photographers, already poised with their cameras trained on the two of you, eagerly awaiting the drama. Your words spill out, venomous but restrained. “To give them exactly what they’re hoping for—more shots of me losing it? Is that what you want, Max?”  

The look on his face is as if you’ve physically struck him. His mouth opens slightly, something akin to a “Sorry” slipping out of his lips. But the damage is already done.  

With a harsh breath, you yank your arm away and turn on your heel. You storm off, adrenaline surging through you, blurring the cameras, the people, the stares. Everything fades into a dull hum, swallowed by the chaos you’re desperately trying to escape. 

The media frenzy surrounding the crash had mostly died down by the time the United States Grand Prix rolled around. The headlines shifted, and the cameras no longer swarmed your every move. Maybe the world found a woman broken down and crying at the side of a track a less than interesting topic to critique. Ironically, the overexposure had granted you some much-needed breathing room. 

And in that quiet, you focused on what really mattered: the racing. 

It feels contradictory to reach the first milestone of your Formula One career on a circuit you have always despised. The Circuit of The Americas was a harsh, undulating track that challenged even the most seasoned drivers. Its aggressive turns and long straights had never been kind to you, a place where any minor mistake could leave you battling the car just to stay on track, let alone compete. The Texas heat didn’t help either, soaking into the tarmac and the air, making everything feel heavier, harder.  

Yet, despite your earlier misgivings, the track had offered you a chance to prove yourself. And this time, you seized it. 

Your car, against all odds, held up perfectly. The upgrades to the car, though minor, made it feel more responsive and alive beneath your hands. And the strategy calls had been spot-on. This time, everything clicked.  

When you crossed the finish line and scored your first points in Formula One, the emotion hit you like a wave. It was a small but monumental victory, a validation of your skill and perseverance in a place which often seemed like an insurmountable obstacle. 

The media circus, which had been a constant presence throughout the season, faded in the background. As if it had never been there. 

As you coasted back to the garage, your face locked in a smile that refused to fade, the team met you halfway, erupting into celebration. Cheers filled the air as they lifted you, waving the position board with "P10" scrawled beside your name as though you had taken a podium finish. Their joy wasn’t just about the result; it was about everything that led to that moment—your hard work, their dedication, and the culmination of a long, arduous season. 

The party continued in the garage, where the team gathered for photos and the popping of a small bottle of champagne that you were drenched in. The atmosphere was electric, filled with laughter, cheers, and a sense of collective pride. Hugs, handshakes, and nods of respect flowed not just from your own team but from drivers wandering in from their garages, their congratulations laced with a new-found respect. For you, it all was confirmation that you were here to stay. 

Amid the flurry of congratulations, you noticed Max approaching. His presence, initially unexpected, was met with mixed emotions. You had become accustomed to the tension between you, a simmering rivalry that played out both on and off the track. But today, was different. 

Max gave you a small, hesitant smile as he walked towards you. The usual competitive edge in his eyes softened. “Congratulations,” he said quietly, extending a hand. His tone sincere as a small chuckle slips off his lips “You really earned it.” 

In that moment, the weight of the day’s emotions, combined with the unexpected kindness from the rival, overwhelmed you. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the events of the day hit you all at once. Without thinking, you step forward and wrap your arms around Max in a spontaneous hug. A gesture of relief and gratitude, expressing emotions that words couldn’t quite capture. 

Max seems taken aback by the embrace, but he returns it with a reassuring pat on your back. There’s a brief, shared moment—one filled with the weight of everything you’ve both endured this season. The conflicts, the tension... It all melts away in the hug, replaced by a silent acknowledgment of the challenges faced. It’s as if you both silently agree: whatever the future holds, you will handle it differently. You’ll treat each other better. 

With a final nod, Max turns and walks away, blending into the sea of people celebrating around you, leaving you to bask in the moment with your team. You wipe at your tears, laughter bubbling up as your team drags you back into the celebration. 

The Brazilian Grand Prix was always a spectacle of unpredictability, and this year was no different. The warm atmosphere at Interlagos crackled with anticipation and nerves, heightened by your surprising performance in qualifying. The car felt responsive, dialled in for the twists and turns of the circuit. 

This was the highest position you had achieved all season, and the weight of expectation mingled with excitement as you lined up on the grid. The lights overhead blinked to life, the engines roaring in unison and the adrenaline starting pumping though your body. 

Launching off the line, you navigated the opening corners with precision, maintaining position amidst the frenetic battles of the midfield. You kept focus, managing your tires well, everything clicking into place just enough to keep you in a high enough position. Things were finally working in your favour. 

The decision to pit early came as a calculated risk, a move to capitalize on the clear track and exploit the potential of fresh rubber. The pit crew executed flawlessly, the stop seamless in its precision. Emerging back onto the track, the new tires gripped the asphalt with renewed vigor, propelling you forward into the heart of the race. 

As expected, the field began to thin out with the inevitable cycle of pit stops not much later. With each passing lap, your focus sharpened, pushing harder to maximize the advantage. You found yourself gaining ground on the cars ahead, the gaps closing with every lap. 

A Red Bull appeared ahead, its familiar livery standing out against the asphalt. A crackle of static brought your race engineer's voice to life over the radio: "Verstappen ahead". His firm tone coupled with a tint of urgency, almost a warning. 

The Dutchman was struggling, clearly executing a different strategy while others succumbed to a change of tires. His car was losing grip with every corner, the acrid scent of burnt rubber lingering in the air as your opportunities of overtaking loomed closer and closer. 

Adrenaline surged through you as you moved forward. Max wasn’t your main rival today—he’d undoubtedly regain his pace after a pit stop, surging with a speed you couldn’t even hope to match. But you needed the few seconds you could grab on the nearly empty track. 

All you needed was patience, a clean pass, and you’d be on your way. But that’s the thing about this sport —it’s never that simple. 

You line up your move. DRS wide open, your car gaining on his down the straight. It was a textbook overtaking maneuver: inside line into the braking zone, clean, fast, and decisive. But Max, being Max, wasn’t going to let anyone by without a fight. He moved just enough to defend, squeezing you towards the inside of the track. Not illegal, but aggressive, forcing you to rethink your approach.  

You held your ground, refusing to back off, the story repeating itself –if only with a bit more space to move. 

Then comes the corner. It’s tight, both of you pushing each other to the absolute limit. For a split second, you are wheel to wheel. And just when you think you’ve made it past, it happens. A small touch, barely enough to register, but at these speeds, it was all it took. Your rear end twitches, your car snaps sideways, and before you can react, you’re spinning off the track. 

“No, no, no!” you shouted into the radio as the car careened off track and into the gravel, the engine dying and warnings flashing on the steering wheel. Race over.  

Yet again, your gaze locks on the Red Bull in the distance, but this time as it rolls out of your field of view. 

“Are you okay?” came the concerned voice from the pit wall. 

“Yeah,” you muttered, already climbing unfastening the harness, trying your best to push down the surge of frustration. Another DNF. Another race ruined. 

The walk back to the garage is a haze of exhaustion and anger. It all hit you at once. It wasn’t just the race —it was everything. The months of pressure, the crash, the constant questions, and now, this. By the time you reached your driver’s room, you could only collapse into the sofa, still in your race suit, helmet discarded. You stared blankly at the wall, reliving every second of the race over and over. Trapped in it. 

A knock on the door breaks your thoughts. You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there. 

“Hey…” 

The voice is soft, almost hesitant, but unmistakable.  

You glance up through blurry vision, blinking in surprise when you confirm your suspicions. Max is standing there, awkwardly leaning in the doorway. He isn’t in his race suit anymore, dressed down in a hoodie and jeans, looking more like some random guy than the potential next world champion. Clearly, he had come after things had settled, hoping not to attract attention. 

The race must have ended already, the post-race conference too. You are glad to have finished your interviews before heading back to the garage. 

You sigh, too tired to even muster anger. “Max, it’s okay,” you say, the exhaustion seeping into your voice. “I don’t want to talk about it. You can go.” 

Max stands there for a second, as if weighing his options. You half-expect him to launch into some explanation, to try and defend what happened on track, but he doesn’t. He’s learned as much. Instead, he steps forward, quietly placing something on the table beside you —a small bag of candy. 

For a moment, you are confused, your mind too fogged to register the gesture. But suddenly, it clicks. Your mind flashes back to years ago, when you were both still clawing your way up the ranks. Max, already on his meteoric rise, and you, still fighting your way up. 

Victoria’s smile shines brightly in your memory. Her full cheeks and radiant aura would light up your day as she brought little treats to ease the tension when things went awry. It was normal, you would go toe to toe against the boys, some twice your size, both on and off the track without a care in the world.  

The competition was fierce, but so were you. 

You and Victoria would often find solace away from the prying eyes and relentless pressure, chatting about everything and nothing as you stuffed your mouth with gummies. Back then, those sweet candies were more than just a sugary distraction, they were a reminder of the warmth and encouragement that surrounded you amid the intense battle for the victory 

In those early days, Max had been more of a shadow on the periphery of your racing life. Your interactions with him were fleeting—brief greetings exchanged in the pit lane or terse words during on-track incidents. He was a quiet kid, focused on his future and nothing else. 

But as you looked at the small bag of candy on the table, a new question surfaced in your mind. Had Max noticed those sweet moments with his sister? Seen your younger self as the laughter mingled with tears over those simple, yet comforting, treats? 

As the nostalgia washed over you, a sense of empathy began to emerge. Max’s gesture, though simple, carried a depth of understanding that you hadn’t anticipated. Now, here he is, all those years later, standing in your driver’s room after a crash and offering peace though candy. 

You take a deep breath, the tension of the harsh season and the DNF felt heavy, but his silent apology softened the edges of your frustration. If only a little. 

Without uttering a word, Max gave a faint smile and quietly turned to leave.  

And for now, that is all you need. 

Months later, everything feels different, yet somehow familiar. The paddock is alive, roaring with the sounds of celebration, laughter, and the rush of an unforgettable season. The final race has come to an end and the highs and lows of the season hang in the air like the last whispers of a storm 

You find yourself moving through the chaos—staff, photographers, and fans all clamoring for a piece of the moment. Your heart swelled with pride as you saw the joy on his face, the weight of months of pressure and competition lifting as he basks in the victory. The World Champion. 

“Congrats, Lewis!” you shout, your voice barely cutting through the cacophony of cheers and fireworks exploding in the distance. He grins, pulling you into a hug. The cameras are snapping away but, for once, you don’t care. 

You step back, giving him a playful shove towards his team, watching as he disappears into the throng of engineers and mechanics. The confetti starts to fall, the air shimmering with silver and gold as fireworks burst above. Lewis collapses into his team, arms raised in victory, and it’s a scene you know will be replayed everywhere for years to come. 

The ending ceremony and final interviews come and go in a blur—everyone’s thoughts about the season, the excitement, and exhaustion all blending into one. The adrenaline is fading, leaving a strange, peaceful silence in its wake. 

Slipping away from the noise, you head back to your driver’s room. The door closes behind you, and for the first time in hours, the world is still. You peel off your race suit, changing into something more comfortable, savoring the moment of peace. Outside, the paddock slowly quiets as the celebration winds down, leaving behind only the hum of the circuit at rest. 

You decide to step out onto the pit lane one last time, onto the long shadows casted by the lights and the soft breeze that stirs the warms air of Abu Dhabi. Only a couple marshals and mechanics are still working and talking outside. The night is settling in, and you take a deep breath, taking it all in. 

That’s when you see Max. 

He’s standing near the edge of the pit lane, still in his race suit, though the top half hangs loose around his waist, leaving only the fireproofs underneath. His face is cast in a soft light, the tension of the race gone, but a lingering weight still present. He doesn’t notice you at first, his gaze somewhere far away, lost in thought. 

You hesitate, unsure if you should approach. The rivalry, the tension between you two—it’s all been part of the narrative this season. But something in the way he stands there alone, in the quiet aftermath of the race, pulls you forward. 

“Hey,” you say softly, breaking the silence. 

Max glances up, surprised to see you. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, maybe relief? He gives a small nod. “Hey.” 

You shift awkwardly, leaning against the wall next to him. The weight of the season and everything that came with it lingers in the air. "I, uh… just wanted to say congrats," you finally manage, your voice tentative. 

Max raises an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “For what?” 

“You know," you begin, the word hanging off the tip of your tongue “How was it called?”  

“The first loser?”  

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Oh, shut up! I meant the runner-up,” you correct, giving him a light slap on the shoulder. 

“I guess.” He shrugs, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. But there’s no sharpness in his voice this time, just a weariness. He looks out at the grandstands, his voice quieter now, the weight of the season clearly pressing on him. “Feels like the first loser to me.” 

“How could that be the first loser? I’m the first loser,” you quip, half-joking although the events of the season hang heavy on your mind “Got a couple of points and went home.” 

Max opens his mouth to correct you, but you quickly shoot him a look —one that says, see?— daring him to argue. He catches your meaning and closes his mouth again, letting out a soft sigh instead, though his eyes shows that he disagrees. 

A beat of silence passes before you speak again, quieter this time. “I know one day you’re going to win so much, you’ll get bored of it.” 

Max looks down, his expression hard to read. There’s no smirk, no witty comeback. Just a silence that stretches between you. He kicks at a pebble on the ground, then after a while, glances back up. 

“Know anything about next year?” he asks, his voice low. Despite all the rumours swirling around the paddock, no one really knows what's going to happen with the Haas lineup. Contracts hang in limbo, as do the futures of several drivers.  

"Yeah, Mick’s out…” you sigh, looking down at your feet “and I’m probably next." 

Max shakes his head almost immediately, a frown forming on his face “I don’t think so, you did well this year.” 

“Yeah, well… at the back of the grid,” you reply, the words slipping out with a bitter edge. 

He looks at you seriously “You have to know what car you have. You did more than enough this year, got your first points, even. Nobody expected that.” 

You huff out a small laugh, but there's no real joy in it. "I'm a headache, Max. You’ve all seen that. I have to know what team I'm in, they can’t risk it" you repeat his words back at him, eyebrows knitted in discomfort. 

Max goes quiet, his gaze fixed on the ground in front of him. The weight of your uncertainty seems to settle between you, an invisible burden neither of you can shake off easily. After a beat, the Red Bull driver stands upright, and silently invite you to walk back to the garages with a tilt of his head. 

“So, are you going to Lewis' party?��� 

You hesitate, unsure. “I don’t know yet,” you admit. While part of you wants to go and live what could be your last moments in this bubble, another part just wants to finally hide from the noise that’s been suffocating you all season.  

You clearly have not gotten used to this, and probably won’t ever. 

Reaching the door to his garage, Max studies you for a moment as he leans on the wall, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, if you feel like it, you should come to the first loser’s party.” 

He shrugs, the faint glint in his eyes reflecting the lights of the pit lane. “Well, not everyone can be the winner.” His voice is gentler now, expecting your exasperated sigh, and he smirks “At least I’ve got pretty eyes.” 

You blink, caught off guard, a grin creeping into your face despite yourself.

“Again with the first loser?" you shake your head, Max simply shrugs “You sure know how to sell a party, Max.” 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the callback to the viral video that had stirred up so much media buzz. “Oh, please,” you say, though a smile manages to break through as you give a light shove to his shoulder “You’re such an asshole.” 

Max doesn’t flinch, his smirk growing wider. His gaze lingers on you for a beat longer than necessary, and in that quiet moment, the circuit seemed to fall even more silent, as though the world around you both stilled.  

And, before you could think twice about it, you whisper the words “But yeah, you sure do”. 

Author's note: this has been in my drafts for ages, didn't even have a title, just stupid to lovers so I guess that explains a lot. This idea was also supposed to be part of If I lose my mind but I just had to many things in my head. Hope you liked it, its my first time writing for Max so that's that.

Thanks a lot for reading! And, as always, any kind of interaction is greatly apreciated.

[spaceistheplaceart]

when the trailer for HL2VRAI first came out ppl were hoping for Mira to play alyx and while i dont really care who plays her, ive always wanted to animate something for the idea :)

Audio Source

ID UNDER CUT

BEGIN ID:

A black and white sketchy animatic.

Gordon looks down apologetically.

Gordon: "I-I dunno. I'll like, do something to make that up to y'all. Like, in real life-"

He looks up and smiles nervously.

Alyx shoves him. She has a bandana across her forehead, fingerless gloves, a short vest, and a ripped sleeveless hoodie. She grins deviously at him and pokes his chest.

Alyx: "Give me that flashlight! Drop it! Right now!"

She tries to yank the front panel off the HEV suit, shown through her vibrating rapidly as he fingers are curled under the plating. Benrey comes in from the left and puts a hand on Gordon's shoulder, staring at him. Benrey does not have a helmet and his shadow/hair covers half his head. He is wearing a jumpsuit and has a sparse mustache.

Benrey: "Yeah, give me everything you have.

Gordon bursts out laughing, causing Alyx and Benrey to fall back. Alyx grips the ladder next to them for balance. The camera zooms out to show they are in an alleyway with posters on the walls, the ladder, and a dumpster. Bubby is sitting on the dumpster.

Gordon puts his gun arm over his face like a facepalm and hands Benrey his crowbar.

Gordon: "Yes, sir!"

Gordon gives Alyx a pistol, which is shown through him 'holding' it out with his gun arm and a menu above them that shows his arsenal. He gives her the pistol, then a grenade.

Gordon: "Yes, sir!"

The grenade drops and explodes, resulting in an ear ringing sound effect. Bubby has his hands over his face and exclaims in pain. Coomer pokes his head out of the dumpster.

Gordon puts his head against the wall, bracing himself against it as Alyx laughs. Benrey is rubbing his eyes. There is an explosion mark between Alyx and Gordon, where the grenade dropped.

Cut to a little later. Alyx shoves Gordon to the ground.

Alyx: "Jump him! You got any change in your pockets?"

She looms over him then leans down, grinning and tauntingly cocking her head.

Alyx: "CHUMP? BITCH?"

An image of Pepe the Frog on the floor of a McDonalds, all his food spilled out pathetically with his eyes tearing up is shown- but edited so that it's wearing glasses and the HEV suit to resemble Gordon.

Gordon: "No-"

The Pepe image is gone, replaced with a drawing of Gordon on the ground, looking up as Alyx and Benrey's shadows come into view. His mouth is wobbly and he's got big wet pathetic eyes.

Alyx kicks Gordon while he lays down, Benrey smacks him with the crowbar. Laughing and hitting sound effects are heard.

The screen goes black for a second.

Alyx points forward, yelling with her hand on her hip.

Alyx: "HEY, GOON!"

It's shown that Alyx is speaking to Gordon, who has his arms dangling in front of him and looking up at Alyx wimpily. They are in a junkyard. Alyx jabs her thumb to the right.

Alyx: "Go find me some scrap!"

Gordon sulks off.

Gordon: "Yes, ma'am."

Alyx crosses her arms with a smug smile as Coomer laughs in the background.

END ID

[katebishopsbow]

HEAT EXHAUSTION • OSCAR PIASTRI

pairing: oscar piastri x driver!reader

summary: the heat was unbearable in the qatar gp, and after completing 57 dreadful laps you ended up fainting on broadcast television. knowing that the media was going to exploit your little incident and turn this into an issue of why women do not belong in motorsports, you were engulfed by guilt and self-hatred, and oscar was there to comfort you.

tags: enemies to lovers (kind of), angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of misogyny

word count: 2.6k

(image is not mine)

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

“That’s P3 and the third podium of the season. Great work out there today.”

Coming into the Qatar Grand Prix - with the sweltering heat and the suffocating humidity of the desert - you had already known it was bound to be a difficult race, but nothing could have prepared you for how grueling it actually was.

Feeling as if your entire body was engulfed in flames as you sat in the cockpit, sweat dripping down your face while your body overworked itself to withstand the g-forces at every high-speed turn. It was utterly torturous, and with each passing second during the race you felt like you were getting closer and closer to collapsing.

When you finally completed all 57 of those dreadful laps, you just barely managed to pull yourself out of the car with your wobbly arms and trembling legs. Your entire race suit and fireproofs were soaked in sweat, and each breath you took was like inhaling fiery hot air. Your chest hurt from the deep breaths you were struggling to take, every muscle and joint screamed in pain, and your brain felt completely fried by the scorching heat.

Glancing around the circuit, the world suddenly seemed to be made of squiggly lines and distorted shapes, and you had to lean on your car for support as you desperately attempted to recompose yourself. You absolutely could not faint right now, you told yourself. Not when all your fellow drivers were beside you, and especially not when the media would be scrutinizing your every move, dying to see you make a mistake so that they could exploit your vulnerability and convince the world that women were too weak to be in motorsports.

So you forced yourself to straighten up, kept your head high – at least as high as you could with how lightheaded you were feeling – and tried your hardest to put on a victorious smile. In your peripheral vision, you could see a figure slowly approaching you, and your smile immediately disappeared when you turned to see the one and only Oscar Piastri.

The man was just as drenched in sweat as you were, sandy hair all messy and disheveled from his helmet as he said to you, “Congratulations on getting P3, y/n.” You scanned his expression skeptically, finding his sudden friendliness rather unusual considering the fact that all the previous exchanges between you two were always snarky remarks and backhanded compliments. You were about to answer him with a quick “thank you” before he cut you off and continued on with a smirk, “Too bad you still finished below me.”

Ah – there was the Oscar you knew and the lame, dry-humored insults you were used to. The smug grin that tugged on his lips made you wish you could just punch it straight off his handsome face. No wait – he wasn’t handsome, this was simply your overheating brain speaking. 

You normally would retort with a couple of witty insults and take a few jabs back at him, but with how nauseated you were as well as the pulsating ache wrecking through your brain, you just didn’t have the energy to deal with his antics right now.  When you simply walked away from him in silence, Oscar’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, and he wondered if he had accidentally stepped over the line with his teasing and made you genuinely upset.

Lando, who was standing nearby and watching the whole interaction between you two, side-eyed his McLaren teammate as he failed to suppress his loud chuckle, “You finally pissed her off, mate?” Oscar shrugged his shoulders, putting on the most nonchalant expression he could manage and replied briskly, “Whatever, man.” He didn’t care if he pissed you off or made you upset. He didn’t care about you, period.

At least that’s what he tried to tell himself, anyway.

Upon walking away from the two papaya drivers, you stumbled to the table and grabbed yourself a bottle of iced water, finishing the whole thing in a couple of seconds. It did make you feel refreshed and slightly better, but then all you could feel were waves of nausea when the liquid settled into your stomach.

Panic surged through you, you felt worse by the second and nothing seemed to be making you feel better. The loud music and boisterous cheers of the celebrating spectators around you did nothing to help with your situation, and the deafening cacophony was making you feel severely overstimulated. 

That’s when David Coulthard showed up with a microphone in his hand, ready to interview the podium sitters and get some insights on today’s race. You tried to subtly dodge the cheery man, hoping to hold off being on camera for as long as you could. To no avail, the man sauntered straight toward you with the biggest smile on his face and all of a sudden, a microphone was handed to you and you were being broadcast on the big screens.

“Congratulations on getting on the podium today! What’s it like getting your third podium in only your first season in F1? Do you feel excited, overwhelmed, or pressured to perform well? And what are your expectations for future races?” The bombarding questions were too much for your overworked body to handle, and the words falling from his lips sounded more like incoherent nonsense than actual words with meaning. 

“I – I, uh,” you wracked your brain to come up with an answer, you really tried, but nothing came out of your mouth apart from the constant stuttering. “Umm, you okay there?” David asked with a worried smile, clearly noticing your distressed state – bless his heart – but his question only managed to attract people’s attention to the two of you. As if things couldn’t get any worse, you could feel so many pairs of eyes on you. All the other drivers, journalists, crew members, spectators, everybody was staring at you.

Oscar’s eyes never left you since the second you had walked away from him quietly. He never seemed to be able to take his eyes off you anyway, albeit he would never admit it out loud. And it didn’t take long for him to notice that something was clearly wrong with you. From your indifference to his teasing, your fatigued body stumbling around the pit, to the way your face gradually became paler and paler underneath the flashing lights of the camera.

There was an unfathomable feeling gnawing at his chest as he studied you cautiously, one he couldn’t pinpoint, but this unpleasant feeling propelled him to walk towards you two and interrupt the post-race interview.

“I’m really… thankful for…” your slurred words came to a halt when Oscar leaned into your microphone and said with an apologetic smile, “I think she needs some rest now, perhaps we can continue this later.” David nodded understandingly, knowing just how physically demanding F1 races could be. But right before the cameraman could pan the shot to the next driver, your vision became consumed by black spots and your body felt like it was sinking into quicksand.

You tried staying upright, but you failed to fight the darkness that engulfed you and the next second your limp body was collapsing into the embrace of the boy next to you. Right before you slipped into unconsciousness, you could hear the worried callings of your name and a pair of strangely comforting arms wrapping themselves around you. 

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, trying to blink away the disorientation as you glanced up at the blinding ceiling lights. Every fiber of your being still ached with exhaustion, but the previously unbearable throbbing in your head seemed to fade into a dull pain instead. “Look who’s finally awake.” You turned toward the voice and your tired eyes landed on your fellow driver, sitting beside your bed in his papaya race suit. “Why are you even here, Oscar?” you sighed exasperatedly, and your headache was already starting to return when you slowly recalled what had happened to you on broadcasted television.

The Australian driver shrugged again, feigning nonchalance while he mumbled something under his breath. You didn’t bother asking him what he had said because your mind was already preoccupied with something else – something that could potentially jeopardize your career in F1 and women’s positions in motorsports.

You were so angry, so disappointed in yourself for fainting in front of the crowd while a camera was pointing directly at your face. You could already imagine all the patronizing headlines about you tomorrow, chastising you and taunting you for fainting after the race. 

“F1 female driver fainting – Is it the weather conditions or a sign of women’s physical limitations in motorsports?”

“Y/n L/n passes out after Qatar GP: Do women have what it takes to handle the harsh conditions of being an F1 driver?”

It didn’t matter if the heat was torturous or the humidity was unbearable, it didn’t matter even if you finished P3, because all the world could see was that you, a female driver, fainted. The only conclusion they would be able to draw from this incident was that you did not have what it takes to be in F1. You were too weak, too physically incapable, and you never deserved your seat nor the opportunity your team had given you despite the effort and sacrifices you had made to be here.

Before you even noticed it, your eyes were beginning to sting from the unshed tears of frustration, self-deprecation, and guilt. “I should have known better… If only I had stayed awake for a little longer or fainted in a hidden corner somewhere.” 

Oscar’s head snapped up instantly, shocked at the sheer vulnerability lacing through your shaky voice. You were never one to show much emotions as a racer, always keeping a cold exterior in all circumstances, so when he saw your glassy eyes he found himself speechless. He had no clue what to say or how to react, and so he just sat there with the most clueless look on his face.

His face was so meme-worthy that you almost wanted to laugh at him if it wasn’t for how shitty the current situation was. The ever-so-stoic and level-headed Oscar Piastri was at a loss for words because you were crying in front of him. But the humor was quick to fade and replaced by the self-blame and guilt for disappointing your supporters and your team, and the damned tears were biting at your eyes again.

You hurriedly covered your eyes with your palm, rubbing at your eyelids as if doing so could somehow force the tears back into your eyes instead of having to cry like an idiot in front of Oscar. You felt so stupid, so embarrassed, so pathetic – and all of a sudden all your thoughts became blank because you could feel a hand wrapping around your wrist. 

Oscar’s fingers were delicate, his gentle feather-like touch causing the slightest flurry of tingle to blossom on your skin when he slowly pulled your hand away from your face. “Don’t rub your eyes. They’ll get swollen,” he whispered ever so softly and released his grip on your wrist, only to reach for your cheek and wipe away a stray tear that cascaded down. 

The way your heart quickened its pace at his slightest touch is a secret you will never mention to anyone, one you will take to your grave. The clueless, confused expression on his face had long disappeared, and his eyes were instead clouded with a mixture of emotions you struggled to decipher. 

Perhaps the heat had really messed your head up, because suddenly you found yourself wanting to lean into his touch and give into his comforting warmth. There was something about the way Oscar was gazing into you, watching you with such sincerity and tenderness that it made your resolve break, and you couldn’t help but allow yourself to open up to him for the first time ever. 

“You don’t understand… they’d give me so much shit for this. They’ll take every chance they get to make me seem weak and undeserving of my place here. I worked so hard to be in my position now, to perform well in races and get on podiums, but my effort will never be good enough for the world.”

Oscar knew what you had meant. It was a cruel sport where people could only remember your last race and every little mistake could cost you your career. Every driver is under constant pressure and scrutiny, especially for women fighting for their places in a male-dominated field. 

“Perhaps I’ll never be able to understand your struggles, but if there’s one thing that I know, it’s that you deserve to be here more than anyone,” he said to you with so much certainty that it made all those awful thoughts in your head fade away momentarily, and you watched him in silence as you awaited for him to continue.

“I know that you trained harder than any drivers on the grid to get your seat here. You keep a smile on your face despite people’s constant doubt and judgment about you, and you fight hard to prove them wrong. You carry the weight of the entire world on your shoulders, but you don’t have to be perfect to be deserving of the things you have.”

You wondered if Oscar somehow was gifted with mind-reading abilities because there was no way he could have said all that you had needed to hear so badly without reading your mind. 

The constant pressure to be perfect, to excel in each and every way, or else you would be seen as inadequate for the sport. All the sleepless nights you spent reliving your mistakes again and again, wondering what you could have done differently to avoid it because you knew the media was going to have a field day with your errors. And the smiles you forced on your face despite facing the criticism of others as you pretended to be unaffected by their words, but then you go back to your hotel room in tears because a part of you was beginning to believe in their words – you would never be good enough no matter how hard you tried.

“You are worthy of the things you worked hard for,” Oscar whispered hushedly, just loud enough for you to hear and for you to remember. He was unsure where all those words came from – all he knew was that he looked into your crestfallen eyes and just spoke his mind, pouring his entire heart out while wishing he would never have to see you cry again. 

It was the first time you had seen Oscar acting like this, without his annoyingly funny teases and inside jokes that only you two seemed to understand. It was the first time Oscar had seen you like this, not putting up that tough facade that only Oscar seemed to be able to look through. You two were simply being you, no lies, no fronts, just you. The silence that hung between you and Oscar was strangely comforting – no words needed to be said.

Oscar would never admit it out loud how much he had wanted to kiss you at the moment, and you would never admit out loud how much you had wanted him to kiss you. He pretended that he wasn’t looking at you with such fondness, and you pretended not to notice the adoration swimming in his eyes. He acted like his heart wasn’t beating out of his chest when you reached for his hand, and you acted like your head wasn’t fuzzy with tingles when he silently intertwined your fingers together. 

“Don’t get all sappy with me now, Piastri.” “Oh please, you know I would never.”

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP fic idea: Cave Boy

Danny Fenton is a lot of things, but good under pressure is not one of them. He didn't mean to be stranded in an unknown universe after playing around with his parents' Specter Speeder in the Ghost Zone and losing control of it. He didn't mean to find shelter in the strange cave systems under the city Danny crashlanded in. He didn't mean to step on any bat and bird costume-wearing toes.

All he was trying to do was fix the ship he arrived in with stolen and repurposed technology from all across the city. He also didn't take anything that wasn't in a garbage can so he couldn't even be acussed of thief.

Danny barely even allowed himself to be spotted, only going out at night to avoid regular citizens. Danny was a very considerate dimensional visitor compared to the Ghosts that came to Amity Park.

He spent hours exploring the caves as a human, but whenever he felt like it was time to go back, he shifted into his ghost form and floated upwards until he was above the ground. Sometimes he find himself far away from city limits othertimes he be right under a bank or a apparement complex.

It was an exciting, if a little rough, life. He occasionally found food in the garbage, and while it was disgusting, it was better than nothing. Thankfully, his halfa status allowed him to go longer without meals, sleep, and even breathing. It's just a bit hard to keep track of time since he rarely sees the sun, and he doesn't exactly have a clock nearby, but he sure it's been at least three months when he finds the bat and bird costume wearing people.

Danny is minding his own business, having just found a primarily intact toaster that would have the perfect wiring for the Speeder's temperature-controlling unit, when he mistakenly take a right on the third turn instead of a left.

It wouldn't usually be a problem, as he could just float to the topside and find his way to his little shelter/shop, but he had unknowingly tripped motion detectors. Danny had continued on his merry way, just starting to realize he was lost, when out of the shadows a man in a gaint bat costume leaped at him.

He yelp, barely dropping out of a nasty-looking jab, bending his back from the elbow aimed at his face and only through his ghost reflexes able to jump over the leg swipe.

"Who are you!?" The man growled "how did you find this place?"

"Dude, I live here!" Danny gasped, throwing himself to the ground to avoid what he knew was a jujitsu grab. "What you doing here?!"

He doesn't get a answering seeing as a bo staff of all things slams into the back of his head. He hits the ground just as his attacker says.

"Good job Red Robbin"

"Yummmmm" Danny mutters word association too strong not to.

When he wakes, he finds himself tucked in a medical cot inside a glass cell. He is still inside the caves but somewhere he's never seen. It's filled with technological advances that has his mouth watering just looking at them.

His hands twitch with the urge to break everything apart and tinker. He's a Fenton through and through.

He would have enjoyed the scenery- especially the gaint computer that was just calling his name- except various people in costumes were standing around his cell studying him like a animal in a zoo.

"Oh, ugh, hi," Danny says to the man in the giant red helmet. He gets no response so he tries to get a reaction from the others. It yields the same results. "Okay. So ugh is this a cult thing? Cause I really don't want to be part of whatever is happening here"

"What is your name?" The man dressed like a Bat demands and well crude if this is a cult thing Danny doesn't want them knowing his name. Either as human or as a ghost.

So he thinks of the most boring name he can think of, wrestling his ghost to make his body language as human as possible as he says "my name is Bruce"

There is a sharp intake of breath to his left, which causes Danny to look at a man wearing blue. That man has his face pressed against the glass, staring at Danny with a wide, manic smile. Even though the white lens of the blue man's mask hides his eyes, he knows they are drinking in Danny's features.

"look at him! He's adorable!" The blue man gushes and the other teenagers all nod in agreement.

"Super cute," the girl in purple agrees stepping closer to peer at Danny.

"A bit odd to see so much emotion on that face but he really is cute." the one holding a bo staff adds.

"He is weak." A boy sneers, "Hardly deserving of the blood in his veins."

"Lay off Demon Brat" The guy with the red helmet says, "He's just a civilian."

Now, Danny did not like those comments.

What if this is a cult thing but not a ghost cult like he orginally thought? What if it's a creepy sex thing? Or Cannibals? Or a secret fight club where they would force him to partake in death battles?

Whatever the case may be, they could not know he's from a different dimension.

"Bruce," the man dressed as a Bat cuts into the chatter. He levels a hard stare at Danny, who flinches away from it. The man's face softens just a bit. "We know that you from a different dimension"

"We tested your blood and have means to detect travelers from alternate universes" a guy in yellow helpfully says. "We also sort of figured who you were before that"

Seriously how?

"What?" Danny asks and the man in the Bat costume removes his masks. He's left staring at someone who look oddly familar but for the life of him he can't place it.

"Ughhhhh"

"Bruce, I'm also Bruce Wayne and in this universe I'm Batman" He says

Who?

"We will help you get home" Bruce tells Danny unlocking his cell. "I'm sorry about the ambush"

Now, this is where Danny should come clean and tell this man the truth, but he panics because he is not good under pressure and instead says, "Okay,"

And that's how Danny is mistaken for Bruce Wayne's civilian dimension traveling counterpart. He tries to roll with it, he does, but it's a little hard to when he's surrounded by weirdos who dress up like clowns to fight crime.

What even is his life.

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : MATCH-DAY : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff and gore?

 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Graphic Violence: Includes detailed descriptions of physical combat, injuries, and bloodshed

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: Logan and you engage in a fierce, bloody battle in the forest, showcasing your powers and playful rivalry. Amidst the chaos and mutual taunting, the fight deepens into a tender display of your love and connection.

THE FOREST WAS ALIVE WITH THE CRISP SCENT OF PINE, the soft rustling of leaves, and the hum of nature's quiet symphony. Logan's motorcycle roared to a halt, and you hopped off the back, brushing the wind-tangled hair out of your face. Logan, ever the gruff and rugged presence, took off his helmet and shook out his wild hair, his trademark smirk already in place as he glanced over at you.

"You sure you wanna do this, bub?" Logan asked, his voice dripping with amusement. The way his eyes sparkled, he clearly didn't believe for a second that you could take him in a fight.

You rolled your eyes, playfully punching his shoulder. "Oh, come on, Logan. You can't tell me you haven't been waiting for an excuse to go all out. Besides," you added with a mischievous grin, "you need to be taken down a peg or two."

Logan snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "You? Take me down? Not in a million years, sweetheart."

Your grin widened, and you cracked your knuckles, a playful light in your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Logan chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. "Alright then. But don’t say I didn’t warn ya."

The air was thick with the scent of challenge and excitement. Without warning, you teleported behind him, your small knife already slicing through the air toward his side. Logan barely had time to react, spinning around and catching your wrist with one hand, his claws unsheathing with a familiar "snikt."

"Nice try," he growled, but you just grinned and vanished again, reappearing a few feet away.

"Not bad, old man," you teased, twirling the knife between your fingers. "But you're gonna have to do better than that."

Logan lunged at you, claws flashing in the dappled sunlight. You met him head-on, your knives clashing against his adamantium claws in a shower of sparks. The force of the blow sent you both skidding back, but you were on him again in a flash, teleporting around him in a blur, landing small cuts and jabs wherever you could.

The air grew thick with the metallic scent of blood. Logan snarled as your knife bit into his shoulder, cutting deep before the wound closed just as quickly. He didn’t hesitate, driving his claws into your side, feeling the resistance as they punctured your flesh. You gasped, but the pain only fueled the adrenaline surging through your veins.

You teleported behind him, but Logan anticipated your move this time, slashing backward without looking. His claws raked across your stomach, opening a deep wound that sent blood spilling onto the forest floor. You gritted your teeth and drove your knee into his ribs, feeling the satisfying crack of bone before you plunged your knife into his back.

Logan grunted, but instead of pulling away, he leaned into the attack, grabbing your arm and yanking the knife out himself. Blood poured from the wound, but it didn’t slow him down. He drove his claws upward, slicing across your chest in a brutal arc. The pain was sharp, blinding, but you welcomed it, your own healing factor already working to close the gashes.

"You’re gonna have to do better than that," you growled, a wicked grin spreading across your face as you spat out blood.

"Oh, I intend to," Logan replied, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the fight.

You both moved at the same time, a blur of claws, knives, and teleportations. You got in close, too close for Logan to effectively use his claws. You managed to stab him in the side repeatedly, the small blades slicing through muscle and sinew. Logan snarled, grabbed you by the throat, and lifted you off the ground. You gasped for air, the pressure building as he squeezed, but you didn't stop, plunging your knife into his side again and again, each stab more vicious than the last.

Logan didn’t even flinch. He threw you to the ground, his claws aimed directly at your heart. You rolled at the last second, feeling the claws graze your ribs as they pierced the earth where your chest had just been.

With a snarl, you teleported behind him, driving both your knives into his back, right where his kidneys would be. Logan roared in pain, the sound echoing through the forest. He twisted, ripping one of the knives out and throwing it aside before driving his elbow into your face, breaking your nose in a spray of blood.

"That all you got?" he taunted, blood dripping from his lips as his wounds began to heal.

You wiped the blood from your face and grinned, your nose already snapping back into place. "Not even close."

The two of you clashed again, a brutal dance of death and regeneration. Logan's claws tore through your flesh, slashing across your arms, legs, and torso. You responded in kind, your knives finding their mark again and again, stabbing into his chest, his abdomen, anywhere you could reach. Blood soaked your clothes, your skin, the ground beneath your feet. The forest around you was splattered with crimson, the trees and leaves bearing witness to your savage battle.

At one point, you managed to get the upper hand, pinning Logan to the ground with your knife at his throat. He looked up at you, a mixture of pride and affection in his eyes despite the blood streaming down his face.

"Looks like I win," you panted, grinning down at him, your own body a patchwork of cuts and bruises.

Logan’s lips twitched into a smirk. "Don’t get cocky, bub."

In a flash, he flipped you over, his claws grazing your cheek as he held you down, your knife slipping from your grasp. "Damn," you muttered, catching your breath as you looked up at him, your eyes still bright with challenge. "You're stronger than you look."

Logan smirked, leaning down so that his forehead nearly touched yours. "You know me. Full of surprises."

For a moment, the only sounds were your mingled breathing and the quiet rustling of the forest around you. Logan's eyes softened, his hand moving to brush a strand of hair from your face, the earlier brutality of the fight melting away into something warmer.

"You know," he murmured, his voice low, "I could get used to this. You keepin' me on my toes."

You laughed softly, your hand coming up to rest on his chest. "Good. Wouldn't want you getting bored."

Logan leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was both tender and fierce, a reflection of the battle you had just waged. When he pulled back, that familiar smirk was back on his face. "Next time, though, I ain't holdin' back."

You grinned, your eyes flashing with mischief. "Neither will I."

The two of you lay there for a moment longer, the adrenaline of the fight still buzzing through your veins, but now tempered with the warmth of your shared connection. Even though you'd just tried to tear each other apart, there was no denying the love that bound you together.

Logan finally stood, offering you a hand up. "C'mon, let's get outta here before the wildlife gets curious."

You took his hand, wincing slightly as your body finished healing. "Fine. But next time, I’m bringing bigger knives."

He chuckled, pulling you close as you walked back to the motorcycle. "Whatever you say, bub. Whatever you say."

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8 @birdy-bat-writes

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

[thankskenpenders]

At long last, the trailer for Sonic movie 3 is here, giving us our first look at Shadow! It looks like a fun time, though my excitement is probably more tempered than a lot of peoples' due to a few things I have mixed feelings on. Here are my off-the-cuff thoughts about it.

Shadow

Yes, it does seem like they've really nailed Shadow here. Fowler's attachment to the character clearly shows. The action looks cool and really sells Shadow as a serious threat. He's got his bike, he's doing Chaos Control all over the place, it's great. Keanu is very much just doing his regular voice, but it fits well enough. The backstory from SA2 seems to mostly be there, though I'm sure some details will be adjusted. Mostly I'm still just amazed that we're getting a major tentpole blockbuster movie this Christmas starring Shadow the fucking Hedgehog that treats him as a serious character worthy of respect. We've come such a long way...

I mean, just... what an image to see on the big screen.

I also really like the way they're setting Shadow up as a foil for movie Sonic, kind of his dark mirror image as a Mobian hedgehog whose family life on Earth ended in tragedy and turned him into a vengeful antagonist. It's pretty straightforward, but it works well.

Robotnik(s)

Welp. They put Jim Carrey in a fat suit. I suppose we knew this day would come eventually.

I guess a small part of me is glad that movie Eggman finally actually looks like Eggman in every way that matter, but they're completely playing it as a joke at his expense here. And, yeah, the Sonic franchise isn't immune to fat jokes, the early years of the franchise (particularly Western adaptations) gave Sonic tons and tons and tons of jabs about Eggman's weight. But I thought we'd moved past that. But here we are with a depressed movie Robotnik binge eating and gaining a lot of weight like Fat Thor and the other characters think he's so GROSS and look his clothes don't even fit him anymore, haha! There's so much of this crammed into the trailer. I can only pray they don't do this in every fucking scene he's in in the movie.

I do like the plot of Sonic reluctantly teaming up with Robotnik to try and stop Shadow, though. It's very different from SA2, but we knew it would be, and I think that gives the movie some potential for Sonic to have kind of a dark turn of his own that mirror's Shadow's. I have a feeling that Sonic will try to get back at Shadow for something he does - maybe hurting Tom or something like that - and in the end Sonic sympathizes with Shadow and decides they have to stop their cycle of revenge, teaming up to stop some final threat.

Oh, and, of course... Jim Carrey is also playing Professor Gerald. Who might still be alive? Or maybe it's a hallucination on Ivo's part? I don't know, but either way, I'm here for it. Everyone joked about them doing it and then they went and did it. Yes, it risks playing him as a joke character, but the shot of him and Shadow mourning Maria while surrounded by GUN soldiers makes me believe he won't be a total joke. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the true final antagonist of the film, which would diverge a lot from the games but would work as its own version of the story.

And again, WHAT an image to see on the big screen lmao

Everyone else

The human cast is VERY downplayed in this trailer, but let's not forget that they're still going to get a lot of screentime one way or another. The Sonic 2 trailer barely showed anything from Hawaii. Where oh where is my best friend Wade?

Speaking of the Wade show, Knuckles... frankly still seems to be mostly a comic relief character heavily influenced by MCU Thor here, getting some jokes in the trailer but immediately getting Worfed by Shadow when it comes time to fight. Tails seems to be flying the gang around in a real-ass helicopter, and his big pilot's helmet is funny, but otherwise he doesn't really do anything here aside from getting stomped by Shadow. I really hope they don't get sidelined too hard, but frankly I fully expect them to, Tails especially.

And, of course... I can't help but think about who isn't here. Namely: the girls. Yes, three movies and one streaming miniseries into this film franchise, exactly zero of the female (animal) characters from the games have made the jump to live action. Please allow me to bitch about this.

Despite her being both 1) a main character in the game this movie is loosely adapting and 2) my fave, I suppose I can understand why Rouge isn't here. Paramount took one look at that bat cleavage and went "nope," cowards that they are. There was some speculation that Kristen Ritter could be playing Rouge, but we now know she's just playing someone at GUN. But, again, I at least get why they'd be hesitant to include her.

But Amy... Amy is such a glaring omission at this point. There's no excuse. She's the female lead of the franchise. She's one of Sonic's closest friends. (Honestly, these days it's more accurate to say Team Sonic is Sonic, Tails, and Amy, not Knuckles, especially in the comics.) And she's also a key player in Shadow's arc in the game. Shadow has his change of heart because Amy reminds him of Maria! And yet, she's nowhere to be seen. It sucks.

(I know some fans are still holding out hope for Amy, but the toys for the movie already leaked and she didn't get anything, so I have to assume she's not in it.)

It's not like I really expected either of them to be in this movie, but that doesn't make it less disappointing that they set up the film franchise in a way that makes it logistically difficult to include 90% of the characters and conveniently managed to leave all of the girls in the "low priority" pile. Yes, I know everyone points to how much Tails was downplayed in the third act of Sonic 2 as evidence that it's just so impossible to introduce more than one new Mobian character in each movie and give them the focus they deserve. Yes, I know having to come up with a story excuse to bring more characters over to Earth is an obstacle, especially when they're gonna have to devote time to Shadow's backstory. But these are excuses. It's a writer's job to figure out solutions to problems like this. They could make it work if they really wanted to. I'd take Amy having a suboptimal amount of screentime over her not being in it at all. It's just not a priority for them. That's what disappoints me. You can justify these absences from a logical perspective, but I just care way more about Amy and Rouge as characters than I do about Shadow, so there's no way for this to not sting.

But, at the end of the day, for what the movie is actually trying to do, it seems to be pulling it off well. Aside from the fat jokes. I don't like the fat jokes. But the Shadow stuff is good. As always, this live action version of the franchise is never going to be my ideal version of Sonic, but it's turned out far better than it had any right to, and I'll probably have fun when I go see this in theaters and hear Live and Learn.

[nahoney22]

Hold Me For The First Time*** 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Echo X Female!Reader

word count: 4.3k

Prompts: none

When a late night chat in a shared bed leads to Echo discussing his insecurities, you can’t help but wonder if he could use his insecurities to his advantage.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. self indulgent fic. Explicit sexual content and lanaguage, share a bed trope, Inappropriate use of a scomp link, p in v sex, friends to lovers, squirting, oral sex (reader receiving) scomp used as a vibrator, cum eating, finger sucking, multiple positions ie riding and missionary, creampie, pillow talk, aftercare, dirty talk. Light angst, insecure Echo.

🌊 Please Reblog to support your fellow writers and creators. A like is not enough 🌊

“Well, they didn’t mention there’d be only one bed.” You huffed, collapsing against the doorframe after trudging up ten flights of stairs, fully equipped with your armor and supplies. The elevator was out of order—of course. The day had already been grueling enough, and the sight of this rundown hotel was a small miracle in itself.

You and the squad had scraped together what few credits you had, which meant sharing rooms. You didn’t really mind sharing a room—especially with someone you knew didn’t snore too loudly. But you hadn’t quite expected the sleeping arrangements to be so...cozy.

“I’ll take the floor, don’t worry.” Echo’s voice broke through your thoughts as he set his bag and helmet down on the dresser, turning to face you. He noticed your slight frown and tilted his head.

“Echo, no.” You shook your head firmly, letting your own gear clatter to the floor. You crossed to the bed and flopped onto it, sighing with relief as the surprisingly soft mattress crinkled under the weight of your armor. “There’s enough room for at least three people. We’ll share.”

Echo seemed taken aback, his expression shifting as if he was searching for the right words to protest. You couldn’t help but grin. “What?” you teased, eyes gleaming. “Do I smell terrible or something?”

“Of course not,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just... I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, that’s all.”

“We’re friends, Echo. It’s fine.” You tucked your arms under your head, relaxing into the mattress. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

But Echo’s concern wasn’t really about your comfort in sharing a bed; it was about his cybernetics. He worried about accidentally jabbing you with one of his mechanical limbs in the middle of the night. He kept those thoughts to himself, though, letting the room fall into a companionable silence.

After a moment, you sat up and stretched. “I’m going to take a shower before bed,” you announced. “Who knows when we’ll get hot water again.”

The small bathroom was stocked with tiny bottles of body wash, and you made the most of them. Stepping under the warm spray, you lathered up, savoring the rare luxury. You let the water run through your hair and down your back, briefly closing your eyes as the stress and exhaustion of the day washed away. For a moment, you considered sitting right down on the tile and letting the water pour over you until you forgot about the relentless grind of finding work and scraping by. But you knew better than to waste the water—or the time.

Reluctantly, you shut off the shower and dried yourself off. Pulling on a pair of shorts and an oversized training shirt (which was more than likely Echo’s given the size) that you had stolen as a nightshirt months back. You ran a towel through your damp hair and stepped back into the room. Echo was still by the window, staring out with an expression that suggested his mind was miles away.

“Everything alright?” you asked softly, padding over to him. He blinked, snapping out of whatever thoughts had taken him so far away.

“Yeah, just... thinking,” he replied, his voice just as soft.

You gave him a small smile and squeezed his arm lightly. “You can think all you want, but get some rest too, okay?”

He returned your smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You too.”

With that, you both settled into bed, the quiet hum of the city outside lulling you into a sense of peace. It didn’t take long for sleep to pull you under.

Echo eventually joined you in bed, lying stiffly on his side as if unsure how to relax. Despite the unfamiliar softness of the mattress, you quickly drifted off. But the comfort was almost too much—after spending so long sleeping on hard ground or cold ship floors, it was strange to sleep somewhere so cozy.

About two hours later, you stirred awake, blinking in the dim light filtering through the window. You noticed a faint glow from the corner of your eye and turned over, slightly frowning when you saw Echo still awake, his face lit by the pale light of a datapad.

You hesitated, not wanting to disturb him. But your mouth was dry, so you carefully slipped out of bed to grab a glass of water. When you returned and snuggled back under the covers, sleep was elusive. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, you quietly asked, “Echo… you still awake?”

He shifted slightly and rolled onto his back, his eyes catching yours. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Can’t sleep either.”

You smile and switched on your bedside light, casting a small but warm glow over you and half of Echo

“What are you looking at?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you lay comfortably on your side and look up to him..

He was silent for a moment, as if debating whether to tell you. “Rex sent me some old holopics; from back when I was with the 501st.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow. “Can I see them?”

He hesitated, but then passed you the datapad. You looked down at an image showing Rex, Cody, Fives, and Echo—back when Echo was…himself. But different. His features were softer, a thick head of hair, his expression more carefree, with no trace of the weight he now carried.

“You look so…” you began, but you struggled to find the right word.

“Normal,” Echo finished flatly, his tone laced with bitterness. You winced at the irritation in his voice, though you knew it wasn’t directed at you.

“No, I wasn’t going to say that,” you said gently as you handed him back the device. “You look fine.”

He sighed, eyes dropping to the scomp link on his arm. “I don’t feel fine. It’s stupid, but I used to imagine life after the war. Maybe I’d find a wife, maybe even have a family.” He shook his head, his voice tinged with regret. “But that feels impossible now.”

“Why?” you asked softly as you looked up at him, though you already knew the answer. His gaze dropped to the scomp link again, the metal gleaming faintly in the low light.

“This,” he said simply, gesturing to his cybernetics. “Who would want someone like me?”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. “Echo, I think you’re handsome,” you say earnestly. When he scoffed in disbelief, you pressed on. “I’m being serious. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still here, still fighting. That’s strength, and it’s something anyone would admire. Besides,” you added with a small smile, “I always feel calm and safe around you. That’s rare.”

Echo looked at you, the skepticism in his eyes giving way to something softer, more uncertain. “You really mean that?”

“I do,” you assured him, your voice steady. “You’re more than just what’s happened to you. And one day, you’ll find someone else who sees that, too.”

Echo’s gaze softened, but there was still a shadow lingering in his eyes. “Can I tell you something?”

You nod for him to continue.

“I miss… being able to hold someone,” he confessed quietly. “To just feel close to someone like that.”

The ache you felt for him was real, but a memory stirred in your mind. “You’ve held me before,” you said softly, offering him a small smile.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

You chuckled, recalling a specific mission. “Remember that op where I got hit hard? You carried me all the way back to the ship. I was out cold, but I woke up in your arms.”

A short laugh escaped him as he shook his head. “I guess that does count… in a way. But it’s not really the same thing.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the distant hum of the city filtering through the window. Yet, his earlier vulnerability lingered in your mind, tempting your curiosity. Before you could second-guess yourself, you blurted out a question that had been simmering at the edges of your thoughts.

“So… have you ever used your scomp… like that?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you tried to clarify. “You know… for, um, pleasuring someone?”

Echo shifted beside you, clearing his throat awkwardly. You quickly reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and offered it to him. “Water?” you asked, trying to play off your embarrassment.

He shook his head, giving a soft, disbelieving chuckle. “No, thanks,” he murmured, but then his expression grew more serious. “And no, I haven’t. The opportunity hasn’t really come up.”

The idea intrigued you, and you couldn’t help the curiosity bubbling up. “Could you… show me what it feels like?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “On my arm, I mean.”

Echo watched you carefully, his gaze searching your face for any sign of hesitation. When he didn’t see any, he slowly raised his scomp and gently placed it against your forearm. At your nod, he activated it, letting the subtle vibrations pulse against your skin.

You gasped softly at the sensation—not painful at all, just ticklish and almost soothing. “See?” you said with a smile. “That’s not bad at all. Any lady would be lucky.”

Echo’s gaze remained fixed on you, a hint of surprise in his eyes. But the playful teasing between you shifted into somewhat deeper. A moment of soft silence lingered, charged with something new. The warmth in the room took on a different tone as you looked into each other’s eyes, both of you aware of the tension hanging in the air.

Your thoughts strayed, and you felt your body respond in a way that left you breathless. Your voice was small, almost hesitant. “You could try it out on my thighs too. If you want.”

Echo’s eyes darkened slightly as he considered your suggestion, his jaw clenching as he weighed the idea. He finally nodded and he waited for you to roll onto your back, his gaze never leaving yours as he reached out again, his scomp moving under the shared duvet and hovering just above your leg.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I think so.”

The moment the vibrations touched your skin, a shiver ran through you. The sensation was smooth, surprisingly gentle, and far more electrifying than you’d imagined. Your breathing hitched, and despite your best efforts, a quiet moan slipped past your lips. Your eyes closing and head leaning back comfortably on your pillow. “That feels nice.” You gasp.

Echo’s gaze grew more intense as he watched you react, his own expression shifting as he absorbed the effect his touch had on you. The air between you grew thicker, the boundary between curiosity and desire blurring.

You swallowed, your voice unsteady as you whispered, “Echo, if you want… you could please me, you know? I’d like that.” The words came out before you could overthink them.

Echo’s eyes darkened further, a new tension in the set of his shoulders. Slowly, he nodded, his voice a low rasp. “If that’s what you want…” His gaze flicked down, watching as you slid down your shorts beneath the covers, your legs parting slightly.

He moved closer, the mattress dipping as his focus remained entirely on you. He watched every subtle shift in your expression, his own breath growing heavier as he prepared to explore this moment with you. Whatever it was.

Echo’s hand hovered above your thigh, his scomp poised just inches from your skin. When he finally lowered it, the vibrations moved between your folds with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The sensation was like nothing you’d ever felt before—gentle but intense, the subtle pulses sending waves of warmth through your core. “That’s.. oh - fuck.” You moan, eyes intense as you lock eyes with him.

“Do you like that, beautiful?” He cooed, a faint smile on his lips as he watched you react to the compliment.

“S’good,” you whine, toes curling as his scomp presses down and vibrates against your swelling clit. Every time he adjusted the pressure, your breath hitched, the tingling pleasure building as his scomp dipped lower, gliding along your slickness.

Your body responded instinctively, hips rising to meet the movement as the blanket tangled around your legs. In the haze of growing desire, you grabbed the fabric and threw it aside, exposing yourself fully to him. The cool air brushed against your heated skin, but it was nothing compared to the thrill of letting Echo see exactly what he was doing to you.

His eyes blown wide, gaze dropping to the glistening sight between your legs. A low, needy sound escaped him, a mix between a groan and a sigh. “You have such a pretty pussy,” he rasped, his voice rough with barely contained lust as he licked his lips. The simple, honest words made you clench, a wave of need rolling through you that had your head spinning.

The vibrations increased, pressing directly against your sensitive clit, and you cried out, your voice breaking into a moan. “Oh, Echo—I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, the pressure building to a dizzying peak. Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire, the relentless rhythm of his scomp pushing you closer and closer to that edge. You grabbed harshly on his arm, holding his scomp exactly where it needed to be. “Baby, d-don’t stop.”

Echo’s gaze stayed locked on your swollen, slick flesh, his breath coming in rough pants as he watched you writhe beneath him. “Let me feel it,” he urged, his voice rough with desire. “Let me see you cum for me.”

The moment his words hit you, everything snapped. Your body arched off the bed, back curving as the pleasure surged through you in powerful waves. You cried out his name, trembling as the release tore through you, the sensation almost too much as his scomp kept pulsing against your now overstimulated clit.

He held you there, watching every twitch, every aftershock that rippled through your body. His eyes were wild, dark with hunger as he savoured the way you came undone beneath him. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, almost as if to himself, as if he couldn’t believe how perfect you looked falling apart for him.

When the vibrations finally eased and you could catch your breath, you met his gaze, still reeling from the intensity of the moment. “That was pretty damn good.” You gasp breathlessly, legs still twitching every so often.

“And you looked it, too,” he rasps and you realise how close he was to you now, his face a few inches from yours. You didn’t want this to end.

A soft giggle escapes your lips as you take his scomp in your hand, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. Slowly, you bring the metal to your mouth, letting your tongue glide over it, tasting your own slick. The mixture of your warmth and the cool metal sends a shiver down your spine. Echo watches in stunned silence, his eyes fixed on the sight of you licking yourself off his scomp. His breath catches as he murmurs your name, almost reverent, “You don’t realise how much I wish I could feel that…”

You tilt your head, grinning mischievously. “You have another hand, don’t you?” you tease, your voice light. His eyes widen slightly at the suggestion, and after a moment of hesitation, he nods, waiting for you to give the go-ahead. You answer him with a small, encouraging smile.

His fingers are careful as they slide over your folds, still tender and sensitive from your climax. He moves gently, massaging with a touch that’s reverent and exploratory, collecting your slick on his fingers. You gasp at the contact, the mixture of pleasure and overstimulation sending jolts through you.

Without breaking eye contact, he brings his fingers to your lips, offering them to you. You eagerly take them into your mouth, sucking on them with a slow, deliberate rhythm, savouring the taste of yourself while his eyes darken even more.

But you want to return the favour—want to see him fall apart just as he did for you. As you release his fingers with a soft pop, you notice his hand shifting to palm himself through his pants. There’s a tension in his jaw, a hesitation, as if he’s too shy to ask for what he needs. You decide to take the lead.

“Echo,” you said softly, brushing a hand over his cheek. “Before we do this… can I see you?”

He blinked, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features. You could see the doubt creeping in, his usual guardedness returning. His gaze dropped as he began to mumble, “I’m not exactly—my legs, my body… I know it’s not what—”

You cut him off, gently taking his face in your hands. “No. You’re beautiful, Echo,” you insisted, your tone firm but tender. “Every part of you.”

The sincerity in your voice made his breath hitch, and after a beat, he nodded, his eyes meeting yours.

You helped him slide out of the rest of his clothes, taking in the sight of him fully bare to you. The scars, the cybernetics—everything that made him who he was. And as you gazed at him, there was no judgment, no hesitation. “You’re perfect,” you whispered, letting the words sink in as you ran your hands over his chest, tracing every line and curve. His heart hammered in his chest, and you could see the way his eyes softened, that lingering insecurity slowly melting away.

Quietly, you shift onto your knees and slowly peel off your top, letting it fall away as your breasts bounce free. His eyes widen, unable to hide the awe in his expression. “Woah,” he breathes out, his voice tinged with disbelief, as though he can’t quite process what’s happening. Your cheeks heat up as your hand caresses over his erection, thick and hard, the sight of him making your mouth water.

“Do you want me, Echo?”

He swallows hard, eyes locked on yours. “More than anything,” he rasps, voice thick with need. You position yourself over him, guiding the head of his cock between your folds, letting him feel the heat and wetness before you take him in.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you lower yourself onto him, feeling him stretch you wide open as you sink down onto his length. A moan slips from your lips at the sensation, the delicious stretch of him filling you completely. His grip on your waist tightens as he groans deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest.

The feeling of him buried deep inside you is overwhelming, almost intoxicating. The heat between you builds, your bodies starting to find a rhythm that leaves you both breathless.

Every thrust, every slide, is filled with a raw, desperate need, as if neither of you can get enough. Echo’s hand roams over your body, his touch reverent and hungry all at once, while you take him deeper with each roll of your hips. The way he looks at you—like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—was enough to almost make yoh tumble into another quick orgasm. “Fuck,” you whisper, feeling the tension build again. “You feel so good inside me, Echo.”

He groans in response, his grip tightening as he thrusts up into you, desperate to keep that connection, to prolong the pleasure that’s surging through both of you. “Yes baby, that’s it. You're riding me so good. Take me.”

With a sudden burst of intensity, Echo flips you onto your back, his eyes wild with desire. He climbs on top of you, pressing the length of his body against yours, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. “Hold me,” you beg breathlessly, needing the closeness, the comfort of being wrapped in his arms as he takes you. But you see the panic flash in his eyes—he doesn’t know how, isn’t sure he can do it right.

Sensing his hesitation, you act on instinct, lifting yourself slightly and guiding his scomp beneath your back, the cool metal settling against your skin in a strange but oddly comforting embrace. “Like this,” you whisper, your voice full of reassurance as you take his free hand and hook it under your thigh, anchoring you in place.

With renewed confidence, he adjusts his grip, holding you steady as he begins to thrust into you with a deep, yet tender rhythm. Your forehead rests against his, your breaths ragged. You don’t think you’ve ever been made love to before, but you were pretty certain this is what it was like. In the midst of the frenzy, you both suddenly pause, realising that despite everything, you still haven’t kissed. The thought hangs in the air for a split second before your lips come together, the kiss charged with all the pent-up passion that had been building between you. At first it’s soft, tender before you whine for him to go faster when it becomes messy, almost frantic. Tongues tangling as you both lose yourselves in the moment.

The bed shakes beneath you, the frame creaking with each powerful stroke as he pounds into you. You can’t hold back—your voice cracks as you pant his name over and over, each plea more desperate and needy than the last. Your legs wrap tightly around him, urging him deeper, while the raw heat of his body and the delicious friction sends sparks through your every nerve.

When you pull back for air, his gaze is intense, admiration and hunger shining in his eyes. “You look so good like this,” he groans, his voice low and thick. “Do you want me to cum inside you, beautiful? Want me to stuff you full of my cum? I want to make sure you feel me inside you long after this.”

His words send you spiraling, your fingers digging into his back as you cling to him, desperate for more. The sound of his balls slapping against your slick, sweaty skin fills the room, every thrust harder and deeper than the last. The pressure builds rapidly, your body tightening around him as you feel yourself teetering on the edge.

“Echo—I’m gonna—” The words barely escape your lips before your release crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your back arches off the bed as you find yourself squirting all over him, the intensity of it leaving you trembling and gasping for breath. The slick warmth of your release covers his cock, dripping down his thighs as he continues to pound into you, chasing his own release.

His rhythm stutters, hips jerking as he reaches his peak. With a deep, guttural groan of your name, he buries himself inside you, filling you with his warmth as his cock throbs within your walls. You feel every pulse, every spurt of his cum, until he’s spent, panting heavily above you.

As he collapses into your arms, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all, there’s nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing and the soft, shared smiles that linger between you.

As the intensity of the moment faded, Echo’s hand found yours, fingers intertwining as you both tried to catch your breath. The warmth of his body pressed against yours brought a comforting stillness. He was still, resting his head on your chest, your hearts beating in sync as you gently stroked the back of his neck.

“You okay?” He asked softly, his voice tender and laced with a bit of concern as his thumb brushed along your knuckles.

You smiled, nodding as you looked down at him. “More than okay,” you whispered. “That was amazing.”

A shy grin tugged at his lips, a little bit of that old insecurity trying to creep in. “I never thought—I mean, I didn’t know I could make you feel that way,” he admitted quietly and you can’t help but feel your body warm up at the fact you had squirted, something that had never happened before.

“Yeah,” you giggle breathlessly, “it was definitely new to me too. But it was perfect.”

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke, just enjoying the peaceful silence that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. But you could feel the tension that still lingered in his muscles, the weight of everything he’d been carrying for so long.

“Hey,” you murmured, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hesitated, then finally opened up. “What if this doesn’t last? That I’ll wake up and realise it was all a dream. It feels too good to be real, you know?”

You shifted, cupping his face with both hands so he’d look directly into your eyes. “It’s real, Echo. I’m real. We’re real. And I’m not going anywhere.” Your voice steady, full of conviction.

The way he looked at you then, with those wide, hopeful eyes, made your heart swell. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for being patient with me. For seeing me.”

You leaned in and kissed him softly, letting the tenderness of the moment speak for itself. “I see you, Echo. Every part of you. And I want it all—the good, the complicated, the messy. I’m here for all of it.”

His eyes closed as he rested his forehead against yours. “You’re more than I ever thought I could have,” he whispered, his voice so low it was almost a breath. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You do. You deserve to be happy. To be loved. And I’m going to make sure you never forget that.”

The vulnerability in his gaze softened into something warmer, more secure. “I think I’m starting to believe you.”

A quiet laugh bubbled up between you as you settled back into the pillows, arms wrapped around each other in a comfortable tangle. The tension had fully melted away, leaving behind only the gentle, reassuring warmth of being with someone who truly understood.

“I’m so lucky I have you,” he murmured sleepily, his head nestling into the crook of your neck.

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

🌊 Masterlist is pinned 🌊

🌊 Echo pic by @starqueensthings 🌊

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri i @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari i @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix x @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @lulalovez @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @photogirl894

[chaotic-birds]

strong for you || j.pt

Jason comes home injured, prepared to patch up and rest with you, but he soon realizes something isn't right.

❤️‍🩹 Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

❤️‍🩹 Genres/AUs: Action, some angst & fluff, established relationship

❤️‍🩹 Warnings: Use of guns, mentions of killing, hostage situation, blood, injuries, reader referred to as girl

❤️‍🩹 Word Count: 2.3k

❤️‍🩹 Author's Note: Just felt like writing more Jason 🥰

masterlist

Jason uses the rest of his strength to lift open the window. His panting grows louder after he tumbles inside, feeling a bit safer in his home. He doesn’t have to worry about people hearing him in pain and taking advantage of his weakened state.

He knows you’ll be by his side in a matter of seconds. He hates how he came home injured since it always worries you, but he rather be hurt here than anywhere else.

His eyes shut tightly as he tries to calm down. It’s becoming harder to breathe under his helmet. He feels suffocated. He needs fresh air.

With a shaky hand, he begins to raise it to unlatch his helmet. However, an all too familiar click makes him halt; his eyes open wide and he forces his breathing to slow so he can hear better.

It’s then he realizes you should’ve been tending to him by now. You should be easing him out of his suit as you comfort and scold him simultaneously.

He lowers his arm as slowly as he can, worried whoever it is will act irrationally if he moves too quickly. Maybe if he was somewhere else and not injured, he would’ve leaped up and snatched the weapon from their hand.

But he can’t.

He’s home. He can’t put you in any more danger.

In slow motion, he turns his head to assess the scene.

There are five men in total. Each has a rifle in their hands, accompanied by a handgun on their hips. You’re seated on one of the dining table chairs that’s been moved, hands and feet tied together. You’re staring at him with big eyes—a mix of worry and panic.

Jason curses to himself mentally.

You’re already fearful of being held captive, but now you’re fearful of his wound too.

He already knows what questions are floating in your head: How deep is it? How much blood has he lost already? Are there any more injuries?

Jason hates that he was stupid tonight. He hates how out of all the nights to have fucked up, he fucked up tonight. But that doesn’t stop his determination. He’ll power through the pain if it means you’ll be safe in the end.

You turn your head to the man on your right. He holds himself to a different status than the others. The amount of confidence this man must have makes Jason want to gag.

“I’ll give you the files if you let me tend to his wounds,” you bargain.

Macho Boss smirks down at you before moving his sight to Jason.

“Well, you’re surely an unexpected guest. Didn’t think one of the bats would come to rescue a mere civilian when there are bigger crimes out on the streets,” he observes, then glances at you. “I guess this one’s special, huh?”

Jason suspects that this guy thought he could get away with his act since he’s not committing a big crime, compared to others in Gotham. Illegal activities happen all the time here, right? Jason almost snorts at his bad luck. 

Macho Boss nudges your shoulder with the barrel of his gun. The cold metal touches your bare skin exposed by your cardigan, making you shiver. It must’ve fallen in your scuffle earlier.

Jason narrows his eyes at him even though his glare is hidden by his helmet. He’s grateful he etched a permanent scowl on it now. He wants your captors to know that despite being injured, he’s still got enough strength to incapacitate them.

“Please,” you grab the captor’s attention again. “Let me help him.”

“Why should I let you? His injury means he’s weak. I can’t let him stop us, now can I?” he questions, slightly mockingly.

“You can tie him up after I’m done.”

“Like hell you will,” Jason gruffs and the other person holding a gun to his head jabs him with it.

You send him a glare—signaling it isn’t the time to be snarky. Jason rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything more.

“Do you want the files?” you ask Macho Boss.

“You’re going to give us them whether we let you play nurse or not.”

“Perhaps, but you’re wasting time. Why take the hard way when I’m offering to give them up so easily?”

The man hums in thought. Finally, he nods at the man to your left.

Within seconds, your ropes have been cut. You gesture to the bathroom.

“First aid is in there,” you inform and carefully make your way to the room.

One of the men follows you, gun pointed to your head. You expect nothing less.

If they weren’t here, you’d be rushing to the kit, but any sudden movements will get them trigger-happy.

Your movements are slow as you retrieve the first aid along with a wet washcloth. You make your way to kneel beside Jason. Blood continues to seep through his fingertips, creating a pool of red beneath him. You fight back the worry consuming you.

You gently guide his hand from the wound so you can begin cleaning it.

Jason watches you for a second before shifting his gaze to the others. They’re staring at you both, weapons aimed. They seem impatient and ready to fire.

“You should be making a run for it,” Jason says to you lowly. Though it doesn’t matter the volume of his voice, it’s so quiet that everyone will hear him regardless.

“And get shot in the back? No thanks,” you argue, setting the bloodied rag to the side to start patching him up.

Jason wants to reply he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d have his hands on his guns, shooting everyone before you could get hurt. But he doesn’t want them to know how much he cares about you. Perhaps that’s a fruitless wish since they’ve probably already gauged their affection from their body language.

Jason grunts when you touch a certain area. He’s been trying to keep his cool—for the sake of seeming stronger than he appears to his captors, and for the sake of your sanity.

Your eyes move to his helmet, and there’s a silent “sorry” in your expression. He can tell you’re trying to appear strong, too.

All Jason wants to do is fill these guys’ heads with lead, then snuggle you in bed.

As you continue attending to his wound, he asses his options. He could quickly shield you with his body while he took out the men, but even then, he wouldn’t be able to move and risk the potential of you getting shot. The thought about tossing you out of the window since there’s a fire escape there is strong—get you out of harm’s way so he doesn’t have to worry about you in the crossfire.

Jason’s thoughts get interrupted when you lean in. He watches quietly as you kiss his helmet softly. His lips twitch in an immediate response, but then he feels something slip into his palm.

Clever girl.

With one hand, he slips the small knife you gave him up his sleeve; with the other, he caresses your back. He hopes his action distracts the men from the quick exchange.

You pull away carefully as Macho Boss grits out, “Touching. You done now?”

“Yes,” you reply.

The second the word leaves your lips, a pair of hands are pulling you from Jason roughly.

Jason quickly begins to stand but a heavy boot stomps on his fresh wound, forcing him down again. He breathes in a sharp inhale at the impact, head tilting back and fists clenching.

“Red!” you gasp, struggling against your captor’s hold. More so for his health and safety than yours.

“Relax, love,” Macho Boss coos, but it’s nothing close to soothing. “You can’t expect us to trust your buddy here.”

Then, he turns to the person who’s pinning him down. “Tie him up.”

“You better be treating me to dinner after,” Jason huffs.

Suddenly, Jason’s hauled up and shoved into a nearby chair. His arms get pulled back, forcing a grunt out of him because of his injury. His feet are then secured.

“What a charmer,” Macho Boss scoffs. “Now, the files.”

Your gaze lingers on Jason to make sure he’ll be okay before walking to your bedroom where your laptop is.

“Put me in that room,” Jason demands as he watches you leave.

“Not a chance. You can sit pretty with me right here,” the man behind him says.

Jason clenches his fists as you disappear from view. There are only three of them in the room now. Two went with you.

Easy.

Jason shimmies the blade low enough to reach the rope around his wrists. He waits a few minutes for everyone’s focus to dim before beginning to slice at the material.

“So what’s Red Hood doing in some rando’s apartment, hm?” Capture Two says.

Jason shrugs, subtly cutting the rope as he speaks, “Would you believe me if I said I have a magical power that lets me sense trouble? Because wow… My inner crime detector was blaring.”

Captor Two huffs in annoyance. “Yeah right. You probably got cameras set up around here.”

Jason catches on to the man’s agenda: Find the location of the cameras so they can take them out next time. 

“There’s even one over there,” Jason says with a nod to the left. 

“There is?” the guy questions and turns. 

The second he does, Jason breaks through the rope and disarms and knocks out the man behind him. Gunfire erupts and Jason quickly takes cover in the kitchen nearby. 

“Fucking liar,” Captor Two growls. 

Jason laughs. “Sorry, man. Let me make it up to you.”

Jason peeps around the cabinets and aims with proficient precision. Two down, one to go. 

Upon hearing the scuffling in the living room, you quickly retrieve the gun that’s taped under the desk. For once, you’re grateful for Jason hiding guns around the apartment.

Before you can second guess your actions, you shoot Macho Boss in the kneecap before ducking and shooting the second man in the same place. Once they’re both down, you take away their guns in case they try anything on the ground.

Jason rushes into the room hearing the gunshots, both pistols raised. He pauses in his trek when he sees you—seemingly unharmed—standing between the two men on the ground.

The men are groaning, blood soaking the carpet he vacuumed yesterday.

“Next time come when the carpet is already dirty,” he says before slamming the heel of his gun onto his head—knocking him out. He walks to the second guy and does the same. It’s tough for him to do so since he really just wants to shoot them instead, but he told Bruce he’d attempt his no-killing rule. It’s day four, and he already feels like giving up.

“Nice teamwork,” you comment and place the guns on the desk.

Jason stuffs his pistols in his holsters before he unlatches his helmet. He tosses the item on the bed, then pulls you close until his mouth captures yours in a heated kiss.

You yelp in surprise into his mouth. Jason smiles at the sound and squeezes your body tightly against his armored one.

When you pull back, you’re looking at him with a silly smile.

“Don’t tell me all this is what gets you hot and bothered?” you tease, fingertips gliding down his chest gradually.

Jason grins and pecks your lips with a proud grin. “Can’t help it. You’re sexy when you’re in action.”

You laugh, pushing at his chest until he’s loosening his grip reluctantly. “You’re sexy too.”

Jason can’t resist but lean in again, although this kiss is shorter.

“You okay?” he asks, mood turning serious. He holds you at arm’s length to examine your body.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”

“Nothing but a flesh wound,” he beams.

You shake your head and glance around the untidy room.

“Can you call Dick or someone to clean this up while we go to a safe house?” you plead, too lazy to help with the cleanup. You just want to sleep with Jason next to you.

“We don’t need him. I’ll take care of it,” Jason informs and bends to pick up one of the men.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself more, Jay,” you sigh, words meaningless as he throws the second body over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“I’ll be fine, babe. Give me ten then we can cuddle. I know that’s what you want.” He smiles knowingly.

You roll your eyes playfully at his light tone. He isn’t wrong, but you wish he wouldn’t exert all his energy now when he’s injured.

But this is Jason.

Stubborn ass.

Jason takes two trips to carry the men out. You rest your elbows on the window seal, watching him drag the unconscious men in a small circle with their backs to each other. He takes a chain and secures it tightly around them. You think he’s done but he pulls out a paper. You squint, leaning a little out the window.

Sprawled in black ink is:

BAD GUYS FOR PICK UP

Jason steps back to admire his work, then turns to look at you. Although you can’t see his expression due to his helmet, the two thumbs up he gives you indicate there's a smile adorning his handsome features beneath.

Chuckling, you shake your head playfully and return the thumbs up before nodding to come back inside.

Your gaze follows the tall man as he struts back toward the building. You tuck yourself inside, shutting and locking the window as you stare at the silly paper with his handwriting.

He wouldn’t be your Jason if he wasn’t mischievous. After all, it’s one of his many talents.

©️chaotic-birds // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[thorougly-melted-brains]

Soap has had too many head injuries. Funny, how that works. The more you get, the worse they are, and the less you remember how many you’ve really gotten.

He fucked up on a milk run mission in the stupidest way he could. Missed his cue, didn’t put on his helmet, slammed his head in a metal door. He had to limp to exfil through nausea so strong he was surprised he didn’t give up his meager breakfast.

He gets put on leave by default, some flag on his record telling the doctors, “one more and his brains’ll drip out his ears.” They find him a reasonably nice flat nearby, send him off plied with painkillers and orders not to look at anything to long. A trained soldier, a demolitions engineer, with orders not to use his eyes or brain too much for a month.

They let him cook, thank god, and clean some. Something about conserving motor, he’s just glad for something to do. Normally on time off he’d go to a park, or maybe a museum, maybe even sketch. Not an option. He can’t even read, and the audiobooks he can find are shit.

Ghost shows up at his door a week into his penance with a few bags in hand. Soap had just been jolted away from a dozing nap (how he’d spent most of the past week.) He’s sleep rumpled and hasn’t talked to anyone for longer than he has in years. So sue him if his first response is, “Fuck you doing here, Lt.” Ghost stares at him like he’s trying to read his thoughts, then gestures to his bags, “Brought food.” He holds one up, for good measure. Soap stares back at him, “Price sent you?” It wasn’t a question. “Welfare check, and it’s not just for him.” With that Ghost shoves past him.

The food is decadent, at least after a week of just Soap’s own cooking. He isn’t bad by any means, but he only knows so many recipes. Once Soap is plied with food, they talk—or rather, Soap does. Tells Ghost every little annoyance and boredom he’s had to deal with. Ghost listens patiently, eyes glinting some when Soap mentions audiobooks.

A few days later Ghost sends him recordings, voice recordings, reading the books he’d been talking about. The quality’s kinda shitty, phone mic and compression leaving a staticky edge to them, but to Soap they’re balm to the itch of boredom that’s been building.

Ghost doesn’t just read though, he lets little comments slip in. Jabs at characters he dislikes, chuckles, mumbled words when something surprises him. Soaps favorite are the little fumbles Ghost curses his way through before trying again.

They drive Soap insane, make him crave a man he’s only seen glimpses of through the veil of Ghost.

(It’s takes him an embarrassing amount of time to remember how Ghost learned he liked his voice. Something about too much cheap booze and Gaz’s encouragement [and his shit eating grin that's much easier to spot in sober retrospect])

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: A debt owed, a debt repaid

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“Who are you?”

Veshmal looked across the holographic table at the armored female human who stood stoically at the center of his war room. He was unsure of who the human was but they certainly not who he had requested a meeting with.

Three hours ago he had sent a communication to the human warship holding high anchor and demanded the leader of the human contingent come to his command bunker and explain his forces recent actions. Three hours of being kept waiting within the bustling noise of his command bunker until finally a human arrived only for it to not be the leader.

“I am Sarah Noron, Herald of the Order.” The human spoke through their helmet. The audio broadcasters gave their voice a robotic overtone causing several passing aides to react startled. “The master regrets that he could not be present, but wishes to pass along his sympathies as other matters took precedent.”   

“Other matters took precedent?” Veshmal repeated in a snide tone as his anger swelled.

Raising his hand to an elaborate pin on his uniform depicting two serpents devouring a giant bird creature Veshmal announced “I am the Supreme Commander of this invasion! At my command are millions of warriors spread across this entire planet and thousands of ships in orbit comprising the largest military this quadrant has ever seen!”

Unimpressed, the human warrior looked down at Veshmal. “I assure you that I speak with the authority of my master-“

“That is not the point!” Veshmal interrupted. He strode across the holographic table projecting numerous offensives across the world at came before the human. His sabre slapping lazily against his leg as he stood before them and jabbed his clawed finger against their armor. The taloned finger was not enough to pierce the dense metal but left a small scratch as he continued his beratement. “I asked for your master, not his mouth piece!”

The human warrior made no response but those watching could see as well as hear as they clenched their fists tightly.

“What do you wish to speak of?” the human finally spoke; their voice thick with restraint.

With a snap of his fingers one of the waiting military staff approached the table and entered in several keys. The charts for ongoing operations slowly vanished one by one to be replaced with a single operation dated to have happened earlier.

“Earlier today you broke off your pursuit of retreating enemy forces along the hemlock ravine. A full battalion of motorized and armored vehicles were able to then safely retreat across the only bridge to span the divide before they blew it up behind them.”

Turning to face the herald, if they showed any embarrassment they gave no sign of it.

“Why did you ignore your orders and let the enemy escape?”

“For clarification,” the human began, “they were not “Order’s” but a request made to my master to which he agreed.”

The sheer disrespectfulness of the human’s blunt response stunned several of the gathered officers and made Veshmal turn a shade of green of anger as the human continued.

“For repairing one of our warships some time ago your people earned the gratitude of the Order of the Fallen Sun, and we have come to answer that debt by aiding you here in this campaign. That does not mean however that we are your lackies to be ordered about.”

Before Veshmal could reply with a no doubt harsh insulting remark one of his underlings stepped in.

“To which we are grateful for your assistance,” they said hastily, “but can you still explain your actions?”

To the gathered onlookers the human nodded and pointed to the hologram.

“Acting on the intel you provided, our forces converged on the enemy and hounded their rearguard as our mobile units sought to overtake them and cut off their approach to the bridge.”

The hologram indeed showed human forces isolating and obliterating several rearguard formations that had broken away from the main body to slow down the order’s pursuit while several prongs of airborne vehicles carried infantry detachments to secure the bridge.

“As we came within visual range of the main body of the enemy forces however we soon discovered that the majority of the contacts were civilian vehicles in nature.”

“They were most likely stolen by fleeing soldiers to make up for their own loses in machinery.” Veshmal remarked, but the human shook their head.

“Had that been the case we would have continued with our mandate and obliterated them; but upon further scanning they were shown to be occupied by women, children, sick, and injured who are not designated as combat effectives.”

Tapping their own headset a small projection emerged from the human helmet and overlapped the table’s to show a live feed taken from one of the approaching aircraft meant to cut off the bridge. Several vehicles were largely open top cabins showcasing that there were indeed mostly women and children present. Several other vehicles had been marked with large strange glyphs that signified “Medical” in the enemy’s native tongue indicating they were noncombatants.

“Upon learning of this the information was relayed to my master who canceled the attack order. We then broke off and shadowed the retreating forces until they detonated the bridge.”

No one said anything as the human finished their summary. They were too afraid to incur their commander’s wrath as Vashmal rounded on the human.

“So you admit to ignoring your orders!?”

“Again,” the human began to correct, “they were a requ-“

“Silence!”

In a swift motion Veshmal drew his saber and swung it in a wide arch across the breastplate of the human’s armor. Unlike the taloned finger the weapon carved a small grove across the armor and deformed the Order’s symbol that had adorned the armor.

No one was surprised or sought to intervene with the supreme commander’s action, as it was customary for a supreme commander to kill a subordinate who had failed them. What was strange was that the human made no move to defend themselves. Many had seen firsthand that the human’s reaction time and combat efficiency were well above the standard soldier so they had expected for the human warrior to dodge or even shatter the saber outright with their bare hands. Yet they did nothing as Veshmal continued.

“I did not care that there were civilians present, I wanted that armored battalion destroyed! Annihilated! Vaporized! Do you not understand!?”

Veshmal waited, with saber still in hand, for the human to answer but none came.

The room was now silent as all ceased their activities to watch the unfolding dramatics as the human tilted their head down slightly and brought up an armored hand and felt it over the fresh grove. They ran their fingers across the entire length of the grove that had been churned from their armor before looking back up at the still fuming Veshmal.

“So you admit that you knew there were civilians present when you requested us to attack?”

“Of course I knew!” Veshmal retorted loudly. “There isn’t a single action on this world that does not happen without my-“

It was Veshmal’s turned to be interrupted as the human warrior Sarah reached into a combat pouch and withdrew a metal disk and casually threw it to the ground. The disk clattered loudly before expanding three times its size and hummed with energy.

From it a projection sprung a blue hologram of a warrior easily twice the size of Sarah sitting atop an equally large throne. They wore no helmet and for those watching few could look on for long as this human’s face was horrific to look upon.

Bands of iron stapled themselves across scars while a portion of their lip was missing revealing the teeth behind. One eye shun with the glow of a misty morning’s dew while the other was that of burning embers of a dying flame.

Veshmal straightened himself as he finally had gotten what he had requested; an audience with the human order’s master.

“What news my herald?” the warrior’s voice boomed. “Has the matter been resolved?”

Hands emerged from off screen handing the master datapads of which the master scanned the contents rapidly and gave either a nod or shake in response before handing them back. “I must admit I long for the days when I was youthful and full of fire.” He chuckled as he continued reading datapads. “Oh to feel the breeze of a shredder round nearly splattering your head would be such a fine sensation compared to the monotony of paperwork.”

As if noticing something finally the master held up a hand and the datapads withdrew as the master turned his full attention to the projection.

“Why is your armor damaged?” they said. “It was not there when you left the ship. Has the command center come under attack?”

Before Veshmal could interject Sarah answered her master.

“The Supreme Commander struck me with his weapon after I relayed the reasons for our cessation of attack on the armored battalion.”

She turned to look directly at Veshmal. “Reasons the Supreme Commander was well aware of beforehand but neglected to inform us of.”

“That is entirely-“ Veshmal began before being silenced when the master held up a hand.

Reclining back into their throne the master cusped his forehead in thought as he contemplated what had just been said.

“Herald…” he finally spoke as he continued to stroke his head.

“Yes master?” Sarah replied without hesitation.

“Order all of our forces to cease operations and prepare for embarkation back to the ship. We are done with this war.”

“Now wait just a minute!” Veshmal finally spoke up. “You owe us a debt and you swore to assist us! This war is far from over!”

“Indeed we did.” The master replied as he turned his full attention to Veshmal who took a step back when the pair of human eyes stared at him with pure malice from the projection.

“It is against our order’s tenants to attack the defenseless intentionally and by knowingly lying to us on this matter you have broken the trust of our pact.”

“Therefore our debt has been paid as we will not seek retribution for this deception.” The master finished.

“It is done.” Sarah confirmed as she rejoined the conversation. “All units are disengaging and returning to rally points now. We shall be offworld within the next two hours.”

The master nodded but kept his gaze fixated on Veshmal.

“Now, regarding the matter of your attempted murder of my herald..” the master continued. “I would suggest everyone listening to this conversation to remain where they are and do not interfere. It would be wise to not let your hands drift to your weapons with what is to come.”

Not fully understanding what the human leader was saying, they watched in confusion as the human warrior placed her weapons on the ground and cracked her knuckles in ear splitting fashion.

“Make it quick and then return.” The master addressed his Herald. “The foulness of this war is now a stench I find most…..infuriating.”

With that the projection ceased and the room was left quiet once more.

“What did he mean-“ Veshmal had just began to utter when Sarah’s fist grabbed hold of the saber and snapped it in two.

The Supreme commander had just enough time to look bewildered before she brought the shattered remains of the saber still clenched in her fist straight through his chest and out his back.

Vashmal collapsed like a puppet whose strings had finally been cut, grasping fruitlessly at the wound as he watched the human herald retrieve their weapons and stride out of the command center.  All those present frozen in fear and horror at the swiftness of their leader’s death refusing to even treat the wound medically until the human had finally left the room; but by then their leader was beyond any means of treatment and those who remained now were left the ponderous task of what to do next.

[dindjarindiaries]

Wounds Unseen

summary: You and Hunter help each other through the fallout of Omega’s capture on Pabu.

pairing: sergeant hunter (tbb) x reader

tags: season 3 spoilers, angst, injuries (incl. blood), trauma, hurt/comfort, fluff

rating: T

word count: 3.298k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

You bit your cheek to try to keep yourself silent as you limped over and over on your injured leg. The skin hadn’t stopped burning or bleeding since the blaster bolt caught it, but that didn’t stop you from walking on it and ignoring the pain as you tried your best to find Crosshair.

You had seen it all happen. The distraction, the attempted shot, and the long arc the tracker made before it ultimately missed the ship created an image within your mind that was hard to get rid of. The way your heart had fallen into the pits of your stomach was even harder to ignore.

It had broken you, but there was no doubt you weren’t nearly as broken as Crosshair was. That weight was sitting firmly on his shoulders. And Hunter…

He didn’t even know.

Neither did Wrecker, who was still unconscious in Shep’s safe room. You tightened your jaw at the thought of it. He would be devastated, but he would keep himself strong for the sake of Omega and his brothers. He had done it before for you and Hunter. You could only hope that he had taken the time to process it—and that he would do so again.

Chaos was still ensuing all around you, but you were set on your own mission. The pain hiding at the edges of your senses threatened to creep in and drown out everything else. You pushed it back, intent upon focusing on your family instead. You weren’t far from where Crosshair had made the shot.

The closer you got, the more you began to realize you weren’t the first one to find him.

Elevated voices got louder as you picked up your pace as much as you could manage. There was no mistaking the sound of Hunter’s rage, which bit through each word he spoke—or yelled. Crosshair’s responses were full of his own venom, but it was undoubtedly aimed towards himself.

Either way, they were taking their devastation out on each other, and you couldn’t sit by and let it happen, especially not when you thought of how Omega would react to it. You winced as you went even faster, never stopping until Hunter and Crosshair were in full earshot.

“Whose fault is it now?” Hunter snapped at Crosshair as you struggled down a nearby staircase. He gave Crosshair’s armored shoulder a rough shove. “Who’s the one that let her go?”

“Hunter!” You called for him from where you had just stepped off the last stair. You swallowed back a cry of pain and made your way over to them.

“This was your choice, Hunter,” Crosshair snarled in response. “You were the one who left her to me. I did the best with what you gave me!”

“My choice?” Hunter scoffed and tightened his fists at his sides. “My choice, my order, was for you to stay with her and Wrecker! It was one simple order, Crosshair!” Hunter pushed off Crosshair’s chestplate that time. “And you couldn’t even follow it!”

“Hunter!” The adrenaline thankfully helped in hiding your pain as you stood close to the two of them. Crosshair had kept his helmet on, but Hunter’s was off, and his gaze was sending his brother threatening daggers. Both their armored shoulders heaved with visible anger. You set a hand on Hunter’s and held it tight. “Stop.”

“We’ve never been keen on following orders.” Crosshair’s tone was almost smug, but you read it well. He was masking his own pain. “What else did you expect? Stormtroopers would have found us there eventually. Omega decided to focus on the bigger mission.”

Your lips tightened at the slight waver in his voice. When you looked at Hunter, he lacked any of that same sympathy towards his brother.

“Not only did you let her do that, but you also didn’t hold up your end of the plan.” Hunter stepped closer to Crosshair and jabbed a gloved finger into the center of his chestplate. “You are the reason she’s there, now, and I won’t ever let you forget that.”

“And how did getting that shuttle go?” You tensed as Crosshair began to deflect his unbearable pain. “I wasn’t the only one who failed. We all did.” Crosshair pointed his finger towards Hunter’s head. “That’s what you should remember.”

Hunter’s anger boiled over. He reached an arm back and you leapt forward without thinking. “Don’t—!”

At the same time you leaned onto your injured leg, Hunter stepped forward with his, causing his leg to hit yours just inches from your wound. You cut yourself off with your own cry of agony as your leg gave out underneath you, and you fell to the stone at Hunter’s boots.

He immediately knelt down at your side, his hands holding your shoulders before one of them cupped the side of your face. “Hey, are you okay?” He was breathless in his worry, all the anger having fled from his gaze as concern poured over in the warm depths of his eyes. Hunter gave you a worried once-over, his hand moving from your shoulder to your leg. “I’m so sorry.”

There was a hand placed on your shoulder from behind, and you looked briefly to see Crosshair knelt behind you with his helmet tilted in his own concern. Despite the pained furrow in your brow, you nodded at him and turned back to Hunter. “It wasn’t you.”

You exhaled and shifted, biting back a growl as you showed Hunter your wound. His eyes widened to double their usual size before they snapped back to your own gaze. “You got shot?”

“Barely.” You gritted your teeth as you sat up more. Hunter’s gaze fell back to your injured leg as his thumb brushed mindlessly over your cheek. “It looks worse than it feels.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re lying.” He sighed, a worried crease still knit in his brow as he put his helmet back on and began to help you up. “We need to get that patched up while it’s still fresh.”

Crosshair stood with the two of you, but he refused to look at Hunter as he spoke solely to you. “How can I help?”

You offered him a small smile. “Can you stay with Wrecker? I don’t want him to be alone when he wakes.” You deflated and let your gaze fall away from Crosshair’s visor. “Especially with…”

You trailed off, and silence sat between the three of you for a long moment. Crosshair eventually nodded and shuffled away, heading back the way you first came. You closed your eyes and leaned more into Hunter, who took the extra weight with ease. His helmet looked over at you. “Are you sure you can walk?”

You nodded, offering him the same smile you had just given Crosshair as he started to crutch you to a safe place. The most reasonable place for you two to go would have been where Wrecker still was, but Hunter clearly had no desire to be anywhere near Crosshair—and you wanted the privacy to get through to Hunter, anyway.

Hunter’s hand tightened on your side when you winced while going around a corner. “How did it happen?”

You tightened your jaw and considered your words, but the truth was what he deserved. “I was laying down cover for Crosshair.” Hunter physically bristled at your words. “I was too focused on looking between him and the ship. I missed the trooper who was hiding in my peripheral.”

Hunter sighed and gave your leg another glance. “Looks like they got you good.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “They still partially missed.”

Hunter huffed in amusement at that. “True.” He brought himself closer to your side. “Let’s just be glad it wasn’t the Imperial shadow going after you.”

Silence fell over the two of you for the rest of your journey. The chaos returned the closer you got to the homes of the Pabu islanders, causing your stomach to turn in guilt. You couldn’t imagine how it must have made Omega feel. It was no wonder that someone like her would turn herself in to make it stop.

You and Hunter eventually arrived at one of the unoccupied homes that Shep had made available to you. When you stepped inside, your chest lit aflame with anger at the sight of everything being turned over. There was no doubt the Empire had searched this place, just as they had with everyone’s homes.

It no longer felt like the secret safe haven you and Hunter got to sneak away to. Just like the Marauder, a loss you weren’t close to processing yet, this had also been taken from you. And Omega…

That was a void you refused to acknowledge just yet.

Hunter moved away from your side to lift a chair up from where it had been knocked onto the floor. He then held you by the shoulders and eased you down onto it, urging you to keep your injured leg straight before he knelt down in front of it. Hunter was swift in removing his helmet and his pack. He sifted through its contents and pulled out the medpac.

As Hunter began to work, he tightened his jaw and spoke in a low voice. “I should’ve been there.”

You shook your head at him. “You were doing your part.” When Hunter didn’t respond, you set your hand over his, which had been offering him stability. “Crosshair didn’t mean what he said.”

Hunter gave you a quick warning glance, but it wasn’t threatening. The devastation in his gaze spoke for him.

“And I hope you didn’t mean what you said to Crosshair.”

Hunter continued his work on your wound even as he distanced himself from you. His hand slid out from under yours. “So, you’re taking his side?”

You sighed heavily. “There’s no side to take, Hunter.”

Hunter gave you an incredulous look. “He let her—.”

“He didn’t let her do anything.” You circled your jaw at him, conveying your severity. “Omega was going to turn herself in no matter what Crosshair said. She was set on it.”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “You say that like you were there.”

“I was.”

Hunter froze where he was, and a flash of betrayal lit up his brown gaze for a moment. It struck your heart, but you didn’t let that show. It was only after a long, tense pause that Hunter spoke in a chilling voice. “Then you let her do it, too?”

“I was with Wrecker, and they were also there. Like I said before, Omega was going to do it no matter what.” You glanced down at your lap, remembering that last embrace you had given her. “She wanted to get the coordinates to Tantiss. Not for herself, but for all the clones who are trapped there.” You scoffed and picked at the material of your pants. “She’s braver than any of us.”

When you gained the faith to look at Hunter again, you were devastated to see him kneeling there with his head hung low. His eyes were closed as if he was in pain. “There wasn’t anything we could have done?” His voice was hushed.

You lifted a hand to the side of Hunter’s face, urging him to look at you again as you caressed his flushed skin. “No, there wasn’t.” Hunter leaned into your touch and closed his eyes again. “Crosshair tried to talk her out of it. He was just as reluctant as any of us would have been.” Hunter reopened his eyes at that, and you ran your thumb over his cheek to soothe him. “And then he alone had to be responsible for the last part of the plan.”

Hunter’s gaze began to dart around the room as he cursed under his breath. He was gentle in holding your wrist to drop your hand from his face. “He’s already been worried enough about his shot with his hand.”

You nodded, grimacing with him as he processed everything. Hunter brought his hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, his armored shoulders rising and falling in a deep, heavy breath. He then shook his head.

“I messed up.” Hunter scoffed at himself. “Again.” You pulled the corners of your mouth tight in sympathy for him as he went on. “He’s already blaming himself, and I made it worse.”

You brushed some of the tufts of hair away from Hunter’s face, making him glance up at you again. You offered him an encouraging smile. “It’s not too late to make it right.”

Hunter returned your smile, but only for a moment. “Right. But first,” he turned his attention back to the medpac, “I have to make this right.”

You chuckled at that, just to wince when Hunter began to clean the wound. He let you hold his wrist while he worked, and you squeezed it any time the pain was too much. He would pause and give you time before trying again.

It reminded you of the times you would patch him up on the Marauder, both during the war and after. The thought of the ship made your heart sink yet again. It wasn’t just a ship to  all of you, or even just a temporary home.

It was one of the last pieces you had of Tech.

“I can’t believe the Marauder’s gone.” Your voice was a haunted whisper as you spoke.

The genuine sadness in your tone earned Hunter’s gaze. “I know.” He set a comforting hand on your non-injured leg. “It’s gonna be an adjustment.”

Sudden emotion began to well up in you. “I just… it always made me think of…”

Hunter’s eyes glazed over in understanding as he rose to his feet. “I know.” He repeated the words in a softer tone than before. Hunter held you against him for a long moment, your cheek pressed against his armor as he set a gentle kiss on your head. “At least Omega kept his goggles safe.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and willed the tear that hung on your lashes not to fall. Your voice was a broken whisper as you went on. “I miss him so much, Hunt.”

Hunter held you closer. “I do, too.” His own voice wavered, a rare occurrence for the one who always made himself so strong for the sake of his squad. “Things would be very different if he was… still around.”

You heaved a deep breath and stayed close to Hunter until you gained the strength to break away from him. He knelt back down to your level and wiped away the single tear with his thumb. You noticed he wasn’t far from shedding a tear himself. You shifted your focus onto him as you held his face between your hands. “How are you feeling about it?”

Hunter’s brow wrinkled together. “About what?”

You resisted the urge to scoff. “All of it.”

Hunter parted his lips to speak, then stopped. His gaze fell, and he circled his jaw the way he often did when he was struggling to maintain his composure. You ran your thumbs across his cheeks and waited patiently for him. His voice was a shattered remnant of himself when he spoke. “It feels like we just got her back.”

You eased your forehead against his and nodded. “I know,” you repeated Hunter’s own words from before. “But it was only a matter of time until they caught up to us.”

Hunter closed his eyes and held your wrists like he would fall away from the galaxy if he let go. “I can’t believe we have to do this again.” He shook his head, minding yours that still rested against his own. “We have to live this nightmare again.”

You sat in silence for a few moments before you dared to respond. “Omega’s strong, Hunter. She’ll be okay in there.” You took a deep breath. “But we have to make good on the plan. It’s not too late, yet. We can still find Tantiss.”

Hunter opened his eyes and looked at you with defeat. “How?”

You offered the most encouraging smile you could muster. “We’ll find a way. We always do, somehow.”

Hunter’s gaze searched yours as he tried to convince himself of your words. Eventually, he began to break into the smallest of smiles. “This is why you’re Sunny.” He lifted a hand to brush his thumb over your lips. “Our bright light in the dark.” He leaned closer at the same time as you, his mouth nearly on yours as he whispered one last thing. “My Sun.”

He closed the gap, letting the two of you indulge in the sweetest possible source of relief, comfort, and love. It was always those moments that allowed the two of you to escape the cruelty of the galaxy for even just a small sliver of time, where all you had to conceive of was one another and the affection you so deeply shared. It had taken a long time to get to that point, but now that you were there, neither one of you would ever take it for granted.

You pulled away with lingering lips, reluctant to let go of the moment as you faced reality once again. “We need to get back to Wrecker and Crosshair.”

Hunter exhaled softly and nodded to agree with you. You brushed a fallen piece of hair out of his face as he went back to finishing the dressing on your wound. He worked quickly with the clarity that your brief display of affection had provided, and soon, he was crutching you back to Shep’s. 

Some of the chaos had died down, with the Imperial forces having abandoned the island—and leaving it to burn. You scoffed to yourself at the mere thought of it. The livelihood of all the islanders was destroyed, and the Empire couldn’t have cared less. Knowing Omega was in their “care” made you sick.

When you got to Shep’s, you were disturbed to see that Wrecker still hadn’t woken. Crosshair rose from his place at Wrecker’s side, his helmet removed and his gaze fixed on anything and anyone except for Hunter. You shared an understanding glance with Hunter as he set you down beside Wrecker. He nodded and gently squeezed your non-injured thigh before turning to his brother.

“Crosshair.” Hunter cleared his throat as Crosshair met his gaze. “Can I speak with you, outside?”

Crosshair gave you a quick look, and you nodded in reassurance. He repeated the gesture to Hunter and let him lead the way outside. Hunter didn’t take them far, and they were only partially out of your view from the doorway. While you couldn’t hear what they were saying, you watched to see how it all would go, your hand resting on Wrecker’s boot for comfort.

Their rapport looked much calmer than before, and your chest began to warm when Hunter set a hand on Crosshair’s shoulder. You were shocked when that gesture turned into something more, with Hunter offering his brother a comforting embrace. You couldn’t help smiling to yourself as they stayed there for a while.

You all had lost a lot that day, but there was no one person to blame—no one except the Empire. Now that you were united once again, they didn’t stand a single chance, and you were relieved that you helped Hunter to understand that. Hemlock could watch his back, but that wouldn’t be enough. None of you would stop until Omega was free, once and for all.

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

[wrathkitty]

Short Debts Make Long Friends - OMG we hit 1600 kudos! Here, have a snippet

Mando pockets the memory chips, straightens, and makes a swift, sharp jab with his elbow, aiming straight for Dee’s optic. The lens pops and shatters, sending a small explosion of glass to the ground. 

“Mando, stop it!” You shove yourself between him and D-5, horrified. “What the fuck!”

“I’m sorry,” he says pleadingly. He ducks down, trying to catch your gaze, and starts talking fast. “We’re close to the entrance. But you cannot know how to find your way back here, either of you. D-5 is continuously recording audio and visual, and I don’t know if the Mandalorians will give me enough time to explain that they can trust you.” 

“Okay, but –”

“I’ll fix him,” he interrupts. “I promise.”

“Fine,” you huff, relenting. “What do you need to do, blindfold me or something?”

Mando shakes his head and removes a small object from his belt. 

“It wears off after a few hours,” he explains, showing you a tiny vial of amber liquid. “It will be just like falling asleep and then waking up.”

“I don’t care how adorable you are under the helmet,” you answer, speaking through set teeth. “Getting roofied by a Mandalorian was not in the brochure. Try again.”

“Eleanor – ”

“No!” You stomp your foot, livid. “Did it not occur to you that we should have discussed this, oh, I dunno, back on Tatooine?”

“I swear if I could do this any other way, I would,” he implores. “Putting you to sleep is the only way I can keep you safe.”  

The frustration is audible in his voice — frustration at himself, you realize, for his own oversight, and at the impossible situation he’s placed you in. 

“Jesus fucking Christ — fine.” You snatch the ampoule out of his hand, scowling. “How fast does this work?” 

“Seconds,” he answers readily. “It’s tasteless.”

You throw him a scornful look, grouchily unscrewing the top of the little vial. “Is that supposed to be some kind of selling point?”

“Thank you, mesh’la,” he says simply. 

You lift an eyebrow, unmoved. Mesh’la normally inspires at least a shiver or two, but not today. 

“You know the first thing I’m doing when I wake up is asking someone to tell me what that means, right?” you inform him. “And all the other nicknames you have for me?”

This is intended as an empty threat, until you hear the tell-tale strangled gulp from his helmet. 

Yeah, he’s toast.

Short Debts Make Long Friends - An over-educated, underpaid millennial finally gets to go on her first adventure.

(Reblog and get a snippet from chapter 22 because bribery.)

@last-of-cheese

@ababysupernova

@onlydrawnbad

@myswficlist

@mariwinns16

@mandindjarin

@coffeebeforewater

@terecord

@leithatnight

@lokiofstoriesalwaysthemselves

@djarins-cyare

@shsoba05

@sleepingghoule444

@sjdraws-00

@dontletyourchildrenwatchthis

@moondirti

@teehee-47

@jbarness

@cecilyjmorgenstern

@reileth

@mareebird

@essence-stealer

@itchyfly

@stagerightlauren

@jackieblogsstuff

@camishadjarin

@ellenmunn

@xoxo-lyss

@princessofclovers

@ezrasleftarm

@onlydrawnbadreads

@brighterthanlonelywords

@caffiend-queen

@dindenimchicken

@harriedandharassed

@everythingiwanttoread

@nightlore106

@senassn

@greensabereyesforcevictim

@chickenshit03

@anniet852

@dinnerisserveddjarin

@sixhours

@littlemisspascal

@din-djarins-spouse

@thedoctorknits

@smollucy18

@roughdaysandart

[m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s]

DUCKY! I love the idea of Crosshair calling his beloved Ducky. Not to project myself or to give a plot idea, I was chased by a duck when I was tree years old. It's a core memory of mine. Anyways, I just came to formally request something along the lines of Crosshair calling his female S/O Ducky because it feels like it would just be so cute!! ❤️✨

YES THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS YESSSSS

also did i like finish this and then forget to post it.

yes.

does it matter?

no.

also, let me know if you guys would be interested in a part 2, because i really want to, and it would be so cool if someone requested it okay anyway here is the fic :)

—

Crosshair x F!Reader, pt. 1

Word Count: 1,637 words

Warnings: N/A, besides use of nicknames

Genre: Angst & Hurt/Comfort, but there’s no comfort at all, it’s just hurt

Description: An argument with Crosshair leads to a ducky conclusion.

—

Lucky Ducky

—

You had to be an idiot to think this mission was going to go well. Idiotic. Out of your mind.

Magically, your alarm hadn’t gone off this morning. You knew for a fact you had set it last night, you even remember wishing Tech a “good night” before setting it. It was set, you were positive.

Funnily enough, the gear you had set out for yourself the following morning was also gone, strewn randomly around the ship. The rest of the Batch didn’t appreciate the messily placed gear, even though you knew for a fact you had set it all up for yourself.

Oh, and your pillow.

Warm.

Both.

Sides.

You knew exactly what had happened to your alarm, the gear, the pillow. Or better yet, who.

Who was also paired with you during this mission.

What Hunter was thinking, you’ll never know. Pairing you with Crosshair was a choice. A very, very, very idiotic choice.

Crosshair and you had never gotten along. For as long as you had been with the Batch’s chaotic family dynamic, Crosshair was an estranged member. Extremely estranged from you.

From the start, he had been pushing your buttons left and right, up and down, side to side. Jamming, breaking, everything he could do to annoy you, upset you, anything at all. Even though you could jab back, he still annoyed you to no end.

Like right now.

“Hurry it up, sweetheart. You’re holding me up,” Crosshair declared, paces ahead of you.

You had been trapezing with Crosshair through the grassy landscape. Mossy green trees towered above you, poppy reds, baby blues, and sunset oranges decorated the grass in the shape of flowers. The sun was high, clouds cradling the energy source. It should have been extremely relaxing.

Peaceful.

“Holding you up, or holding you back?” You grumbled, trampling through some brush Crosshair had failed to hold back for you. You were positive he had done that on purpose.

“Both.” He responded, still walking ahead of you.

“Get over yourself, princess.” You commented, mood souring from how annoying the sniper could be.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever, princess.”

An irritated sigh escaped Crosshair’s lips, helmet removed in the short spout of insults.

Maker, you couldn’t stand him.

Luckily, you were fast approaching the hillside you needed to keep eyes from while the rest of the Batch snuck into a base. It housed some tech thing you needed, and you and Crosshair were to “get along and keep watch”.

You could keep watch, but get along? That would be a stretch. Yet now, finally up here, it was a perfect time to confront him.

You two approached the top of the hillside, Crosshair preparing to settle in for the watch.

This was the time to strike.

“I know you messed with my stuff,” you mentioned nonchalantly, turning towards the sniper. He was getting his weapon ready, eyeing you with that annoying smirk he had.

“Not sure what you mean there, sweetheart.”

So annoying.

“I know you messed with my stuff! I know you turned off my alarm, and you moved my gear, and both sides of my pillow were warm!” You exclaimed, spinning to face him.

Anger was beginning to simmer in your blood, aggravation tickling the nerves of your already short fuse with Crosshair. A fuse that could spark at any moment, yet you knew if you reigned your emotions in for long enough, you could spark him when the time was right.

“Still not sure what you mean, sweetheart,” he sneered, body now turning to face you in response. His demeanor remained unchanged, but his eyes were starting to narrow.

“I know you messed with my stuff, Crosshair,” you remarked, the springy green landscape suddenly becoming interesting. If you played it right, you would be successful.

He just had to take the bait.

“You know, it’s wrong to frame people,” he answered, walking forward for a better scope on the hillside. You could give up now, but you felt persistent today.

And he had taken the bait.

“Well then I guess it’s wrong to say I’m a better shot than you.”

It was like his breathing stopped.

“What.”

Time to push his buttons. Revenge for him messing with your morning.

“Well, I mean, it’s true. My shot has gotten better at the range. I would say it even rivals yours,” you commented, acting as if it was the simplest thing.

He spun to face you. A fiery flame burned within his eyes. Hell was waiting for you in those eyes.

Too bad hell didn’t scare you.

“What did you just say,” he snarled, weapon being abandoned. He strode up to you, yet you stepped back in sync.

You realized he wasn’t asking either.

He was demanding.

“Oh, just that my shot rivals yours, princess,” you repeated. A huffing growl broke through his teeth. He continued to prowl toward you, the fire dancing wildly in his eyes.

It was a strange tango you were doing. You, the prey, pushing buttons to no end, wanting to see the outcome. Crosshair, the predator, ready to rip you a new one.

Maybe if you just pushed a tad bit more…

“I mean, you just have to accept I might be a better shot, princess.”

“Stop. It.”

“It’s alright, it happens to the best-”

You never got to finish your sentence. Instead, you were screaming.

You had fallen off the hillside.

Or better yet, Crosshair had pushed you.

Instantly, you were tumbling down the hill at full speed, unable to stop yourself.

Splash!

“Shit,”Crosshair mumbled, racing to the bottom of the hill.

You were no longer in a grassy landscape, you instead had landed in a bright cerulean blue pond. Blooming pink and white blossoms decorated lily pads along the edge, pond moss floating on the surface. A couple of reed bushes were hanging over the edge as well. Behind you, flourishing trees extended leafy arms out over the pond, providing shade.

It would’ve been a much more pleasant view if you weren’t wading in it.

Literally.

Crosshair reached the edge, a strange sort of panic and concern plaguing his face.

For some reason, your heart twisted at the look on his face. Almost like it pained you.

Like he hadn’t meant to push you at all.

Quack.

You waded closer to shore, sitting up in a shallower portion of the pond. Water pooled around you, and somehow the anger you were holding onto burnt out.

His expression didn’t make sense to you.

Quack.

How could he look so… sorry?

Quack. Quack. Quack.

Your mind halted, eyes searching for all the noise. A quick look around you showed you the answer.

All around you, golden creatures had surrounded you. They were tiny, orange webbed feet paddling around you. Soft, fuzzy, cute. As you leaned your head down, it occurred to you what the adorable creatures were.

Baby ducklings.

Quack. Quack.

You almost hadn’t noticed the laughter that rang through the air.

Crosshair. Laughing.

The sound caught your ears by surprise, heart twisting once again. Strangely, the twist felt different.

“What’s so funny?!” You demanded, the little ducks still swimming around you in glee. Your eyes darted between the laughing sniper and the cute creatures, as if you couldn’t believe which was crazier.

“Nothing. It’s just- well…”

His eyes glistened with joy.

You had a feeling you weren’t going to like his next words.

“You’re just one lucky duck, aren’t you?”

Quack.

You groaned, earning another round of laughter. You couldn’t believe it. Not only did he have the audacity to push you off the hillside, but now he was standing here, laughing at you.

“Hey!”

A shout rang out from behind you, suddenly allowing you to be greeted by the sight of the rest of the Batch.

“What are you two… doing?”

Hunter had lost his yell halfway through, confusion clouding his expression at the sight. The rest of the Batch looked just at shock, all of them at a loss for what to say. They weren't sure what to question first, Crosshair laughing, you being surrounded by ducks, or how keeping watch had turned into this.

Quack. Quack. Quack.

“Well, Ducky here decided she needed some swimming lessons with her new friends,” Crosshair snickered, face plastered with that stupid smirk.

Oh, now he had really done it.

“Ducky?! You’re joking! Not only do you push me off the hillside, you laugh at me, and you give me a nickname?!” You screamed, shooting straight up. Your anger had suddenly returned, nerves fried with anger and pond water.

Quack.

Crosshair’s smirk disappeared, laughter dying with it.

His face changed, becoming unreadable, yet his eyes held an unfamiliar guilt

“I’m going back to the ship,” you muttered angrily, eyes piercing Crosshair’s gaze.

Quack.

You stumbled out of the pond, dripping like a wet towel. Pushing past Crosshair, you started trekking back towards the ship. Protests rang out from the others, but you ignored them.

Hunter was out of his mind for pairing you up with Crosshair, you were an idiot for thinking this mission could have gone well, and you were certainly idiotic for pushing his buttons just to get at him. Even if it had made you feel like you had the power in your court for once.

You weren’t idiotic enough to miss the guilt in his eyes though. That in itself made your heart do that ugly twist again.

Your mind was like the pond, splashed with confusion, guilt, and uncertainty. You were too distracted to even realize you were leading a line of ducklings behind you. It wasn’t even until halfway back to the ship that you noticed, eyes scanning the tiny line of creatures.

Quack. Quack. Quack.

You closed your eyes, sighing in exasperation.

Quack. Quack.

Some lucky duck you were indeed.

—

taglist: @padawancat97

also tagging the lovely @moonstrider9904, as well as a few others who I think would like to see this! @hellothere-generalangsty@nahoney22 @eyecandyeoz @baddest-batchers @ladysaturnsdust @leenabb104104 @snowlotr @thora-sniper @dalu-grantkylo

If any of those tagged, or anyone else is interested in being on my taglist, here is the form to fill it out, or leave your interest in the comments. You can also find my taglist form on my pinned post!

Taglist Form