#no luck with the other two though...it is what it is :(

[flowergirl1243]

soft launch season - [part four]

SUMMARY: when Lando Norris' notorious party boy reputation may be too far out of control to save, you step in to save his image (and maybe his heart).

PAIRING: lando norris x fem!reader

part one part two part three part four part five part six

ACT 4: GRID SHOW

Liked by lando, oscarpiastri and others ynusername first grand prix, kinda nervy

lando didn’t know spectators could make the drivers more nervous than the track tbh

user22 her debut. their debut. our debut.

user23 what is life. i may have passed away

They found a corner.

Not a glamorous one. Just a sliver of shade behind the motorhome, out of sight from cameras and engineers and the constant hum of nerves. The sun was already high, bouncing off the asphalt, casting sharp lines across the ground. The sound of zippers, tools clinking, voices through radios, all of it was beginning to rise around them like pressure.

But here?

Here it was still quiet.

Lando stood in front of her, half-dressed in his fireproofs, race suit peeled down to his waist. He smelled like sunblock and heat. His hair was still damp from the ice towel they’d thrown at him earlier. She reached out and fixed the collar of his base layer, even though it didn’t need fixing.

“You good?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. You?”

He gave her a look, boyish, crooked, transparent. “Lying.”

She smiled. “Okay, a little nervy.”

He leaned in, pressed his forehead against hers.

“I’m the one strapping into a car that could turn me into a crumpled soda can,” he whispered. “You don’t get to be more nervous than me.”

Her hands stayed by her sides, like she didn’t want to make a scene, even here. But he didn’t care.

He brushed his nose against hers. Breathed her in.

This close, she smelled like summer and and that hotel shampoo she always complained about and everything right in life. He didn’t want to step away. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

“Be safe, okay?”

“I always am.”

“You’re not, though.”

He smiled, a real one this time. Tired and a little fragile.

“I will be today,” he said. “You’re here.”

She didn’t kiss him. Didn’t need to.

Just held his gaze for a second longer than anyone else ever did. And then let him go.

He turned away first, but only after she squeezed his hand.

Then let go, slowly, like it hurt, and walked away.

But he didn’t stop feeling her, not for the rest of the day.

She didn’t scream when he crossed the finish line.

Everyone else did, the garage erupted, people grabbing each other, radios blaring, team gear flying into the air, but she just stood there, hands to her mouth, eyes wide, frozen like her heart couldn’t catch up with what just happened.

He won.

He actually won.

The final lap had felt like a dream. Like something too fragile to touch. The way he held off the Ferrari, the precision of every corner, every braking zone, she’d never seen him like that. Sharp. Focused. Ruthless. Untouchable.

And then the radio crackled in the background, Lando’s voice hoarse and disbelieving:

“Monaco, baby!”

“P1, mate. That’s a win. That’s a win.”

It hit her all at once. The noise, the relief, the tears she hadn’t even realised were welling up in her eyes. Her fingers were shaking. Her throat ached.

People were yelling, hugging, climbing the pit wall.

And then, through it all, she saw him, helmet in one hand, suit half unzipped, running.

Not walking.

Not smiling for the cameras.

Running. Straight past every mic and mechanic, eyes scanning the crowd like he couldn’t breathe until he found her.

And then he did.

He didn’t slow down. Just pulled her into his arms with a desperate kind of urgency, like he was trying to hold onto something real before it slipped away.

His body was warm against hers, solid and steady, grounding him. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart, thudding like a drum beneath her hand.

His forehead dropped to her temple, breath ragged and uneven.

“You’re my luck,” he whispered, voice thick. “I needed you here."

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice low and trembling just a little.

She looked up, searching his eyes as if she was measuring the truth behind the question.

“Yes,” she breathed.

His hands moved gently, one slid from her waist up to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading into the loose strands of hair there. The other settled on her hip, steady and grounding.

He leaned in slowly, letting the moment stretch between them, the noise of the crowd fading to a dull hum.

Their lips met, soft, tentative at first, before the quiet urgency beneath it pulled them closer. His touch was careful but certain, his hands holding her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

When they finally parted, his forehead stayed pressed against hers, breath mingling.

No words were needed. Everything they hadn’t said was there, in the lingering warmth of his hands, the steady beat of their hearts, and the way they fit together like something real finally taking shape.

Liked by mclaren, maxverstappen1 and others lando monaco 📷

ynusername there's no peace like you 🤍

user24 they're GONE. they are in LOVE.

user25 i need what they have desperately

The city outside was quiet now. Monaco’s usual hum of traffic and distant laughter had faded into soft whispers carried by the cool night breeze. Inside his apartment, the low light cast golden pools across the room, softening the edges of everything.

She was curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies, the one with the faint smell of leather and motor oil that somehow smelled like home. The sleeves swallowed her hands, and she kept pulling them tighter around her fingers, like holding onto the fabric might hold back all the noise and chaos of the day.

He stood in the kitchen, absently stirring his tea, but his eyes never left her. The way she sat there, small and a little vulnerable, made his chest tighten with something he wasn’t ready to name.

He took a slow, deliberate step toward the couch, the quiet creak of his shoes barely noticeable, but in this stillness, it felt like thunder.

Sitting down beside her, he let his shoulder brush against hers. The contact was small, but it made her still. His fingers twitched, almost like they wanted to reach out but were waiting for permission.

When he finally did, his hand slid over hers, thumb brushing her knuckles softly. She didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers curled around his, tentative at first, then firmer, as if she was afraid to let go.

“You were incredible today,” she said, voice soft, almost a whisper, like she was telling a secret just to him.

He chuckled quietly, the sound low and warm. “I only raced hard because I wanted you to see it.”

Her eyes met his, wide and shimmering in the soft light. “I saw everything. You were...unstoppable.”

The way she looked at him, like he was the only thing she’d been waiting for, made his throat tighten. He shifted just enough to wrap an arm around her, pulling her a little closer without breaking the fragile calm.

She leaned into him, her head resting lightly against his chest, breath warm and steady. He could feel the rise and fall of her breathing, a quiet rhythm that somehow slowed the pounding of his own heart.

For a while, they sat like that, wrapped in the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. The soft glow of the lamp, the faint scent of her shampoo mixed with the leather on his jacket, the comforting weight of her body against his, all of it made everything else fade away.

She lifted her head just enough to look up at him, eyes full of something that made his heart catch.

“Stay with me,” she whispered.

He didn’t hesitate. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb tracing the line of her jaw with infinite care.

“Always,” he said, voice low and sure.

He leaned down slowly, brushing his forehead against hers, savoring the small heat between them. His fingers tangled in her hair, gentle and possessive, holding her close as their lips met in a kiss that was soft but full of everything they hadn’t said yet, hope, fear, promise, and something dangerously like love.

When they finally parted, they stayed close, foreheads touching, breaths mingling in the quiet night.

And in that stillness, surrounded by the calm after the storm, they found a kind of peace neither had been expecting, but both desperately needed.

I actually can't, I had to redo this at least ten times. But anything for the grind. Essentially, I never sleep! Anyways, as always, let me know if you have suggestions or requests for anything else! Also, if you want to join the taglist, as well!!

taglist

@sol3chu, @charlesgirl16, @motorsp0rt, @imdyinghelpplease, @vampgege, @angeltroian, @ceekokocee15, @esw1012, @charlottes-ngvot, @janonymus0

[33forthew1n]

ᯓ✦∘˙ mini me ᯓ✦∘˙

🏎️❣️ oscar piastri x wife!mom!reader 🏎️❣️

🏎️ oscar piastri x daughter!celine piastri 🏎️

written ff

fluff

synopsis: you had told your husband you and your daughter would be missing out of his home grand prix. little did he know, you two were a lot closer to him than he believed.

WARNINGS: N/A

a/n: simple fic since im currently torn on how to write two other ones :))

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Notoriously very private, Oscar Piastri kept his personal life close to his chest. Heck, years ago he'd even described your relationship as "private, not secret".

Little did the paddock know that you two had eloped just after Oscar debuted in 2023 and subsequently had a child together last year.

Celine Nicolette Piastri who was now one was the sparkle in her father's eyes. She was so similar to Oscar it often scared you. Physically, she had his eyes and cheeks. Even personality-wise, she was quiet and calm. You often thought you'd lucked out with such a peaceful kid.

Yet, even in all his privacy Oscar couldn't wait to have Cece visit the paddock. He wanted her to see where he spent his days away from her. He wanted to introduce her to Lando and the guys at McLaren. Most of all, he wanted to have both parts of him, the racer and the family man, come together for just a weekend.

And you were going to make it happen.

Without him knowing, of course.

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It was the first week of February when you had come up with this surprise in your head. A silly little idea snowballed into you calling Oscar's manager, Mark Webber, to coordinate all the details of your surprise.

Two days before Oscar had to leave for the Grand Prix, he suddenly became much more hesitant. He would take small breaks from packing to go into Cece's bedroom and longingly look at her in her crib.

On one of those breaks, you caught him in action. "Osc, baby?"

Caught like a deer in headlights, he murmured, "Yeah?"

"What's going on? You've been weird all day, hun", you asked as you inched closer to him and wrapped your hands around his bicep.

"Nothing. Well, not nothing. It's just the first weekend I spend away from the two of you in months. I don't want to miss anything. What if I miss her first word or she does something adorable? I just don't know how I'll do it this season, Yn", he said with a look in his eyes that could only be described as dejected.

For a minute, you were unsure of what to say. It felt impossible to open your mouth and not tell him of this weekend's surprise. But, you held on and simply hugged him and said, "I know, baby. It's rough. But, it's your dream and I'll follow you to the ends of the earth for you to achieve them".

That Thursday, Oscar left with tears in his eyes and a desire to get back home in his heart.

Though for you, the second Oscar left it was the start of "Operation: GPS (Grand Prix Surprise)".

You hastily packed yours and Cece's bags and got everything ready to leave on Saturday.

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As you were leaving your family home, you got a phone call from Nicole, Oscar's mom.

"Hey, sweetie. How are you and Cece doing?", she cheerfully asked you.

"Oh, you know. She misses Osc but overall, we're doing pretty well."

Her volume suddenly lowered and she asked, "When will you two get here?"

"It's a two hour drive to Sydney, so...in three hours."

"Alright, you two. Keep me posted if anything changes, love. Bye", she said as she promptly ended the call.

As you arrived at the back entrance of the paddock, you sent Nicole a quick text letting her know you had arrived.

Cece, sensing she was in a new environment, eyed her surroundings curiously.

"We're gonna see Daddy. How about that, baby?"

At the mention of Oscar, she excitedly babbled.

Once you entered the McLaren hospitality, you looked around for Mark.

He suddenly appeared behind you and reached for Cece who jumped into "Webby's" arms.

"So, where is he?"

"It's the middle of Qualifying and he has an hour of media afterwards so you won't see him for a while. Want to go to his driver's room?"

You accepted his offer and set Cece's bags down.

Once Mark texted you that Qualifying was over and that Oscar had finished his media duties, you and Cece headed to Oscar's garage.

Before you even found a spot to hide in, he spotted the two of you and made his way towards you.

"Wha- What are you two doing here??", he questioned, already hugging Cece like he'd last seen her years ago.

"Surprise!"

He chuckled fondly and listened to you as you explained how you'd spent weeks planning this special little weekend. All for him to enjoy his home race with his little family.

Out the corner of your eyes, Lando looked at Oscar questioningly.

"Mate?", he asked Oscar once he'd made his way towards you three.

"Yes?"

"Who are they?"

"Oh. Lando, meet me my wife, Yn. And my daughter, Cece", Oscar explained.

"Wife? Daughter? Since when?", Lando said with his eyes bulging out of his head.

"Wow, Osc. This is exactly how you described he'd react", you whispered to Oscar and Lando went around the garage telling everyone that little Oscar Piastri was a family man.

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After the "big reveal" as Lando called it, you and Cece spent the weekend watching Oscar race with the rest of Oscar's family by your sides.

Cece in her mini OP81 was the cutest thing at the paddock and gave her the official name of "Oscar's mini me".

[nakylvr]

— DREAMER GIRL ✧ M.S

summary જ⁀➴ general hcs with lacrosse player!megan

warnings/tags જ⁀➴ hcs, lacrosse player!megan, sports medicine major!f!reader, fluff, suggestive, established relationship

part one | part two

• lacrosse player!megan who is on a athletics scholarship, and is nearly failing all her classes except physical education for obvious reasons

• megan who was known as the "literal player" of the lacrosse team despite never actually playing any girl before, she would just get scared and do something stupid to piss them off and stop talking to her

• megan who is actually terrified of being loved unconditionally, dealing with coaches, her mom, and school in general, she grew used to people loving her cause she was convenient, not cause they actually loved her – or they wanted something from her

• megan who watched you from afar in every class you two were in together, but never saying anything cause she was too scared to go forward with her first real crush in her life

• megan who learned info about you through daniela which was through chaewon, literally writing it down in her phone notes to remember the little things

• megan who opens up more the longer she's with you. even if she's slow, it's progress. she's still afraid of loving someone, thinking she isn't good enough for you, but your constant reassurance helps her a little bit

• megan who still texts some girls that are obviously trying to hook up with her, cause she doesn't realize that's what they want. you caught her one day and it caused the first real argument in your relationship, and it made her realize that she didn't want to lose you, not to anything or anyone

• megan who watches cooking videos to surprise you with something new if you're having a rough day or just cause she's bored and wants to do something nice

• megan who teared up when you showed her the custom jersey you got with her last name and number on the back, but grins widely when she sees you wearing it at a game

• megan who brings you to every practice and game, claiming she does better when you're around – and she is, actually to your surprise

• megan who is the chaos to your calm, she may be dramatic about everything, but she always ropes you into it and giving you the time of your life you never would enjoy by yourself or with others

• helping megan with leg exercises cause she's worried she might tear something again, coming up to you and quietly asking if you can help her out so she doesn't do something stupid and hurt herself (she has before)

• also helping megan study for tests and classes, leaving video/audio notes of everything in case she misses a class or doesn't understand it in class and needs it better explained, though sometimes it ends with her dragging you to your bed cause she "thinks you're hot when talking all smart"

• megan who buys the most random things when she's at away games, telling you it reminded her of you so she immediately got it, it ranges from cute little trinkets to some...other things

• megan who goes all out for your birthday every year after you start dating. she makes a cake, food, buys presents, or takes you out to some expensive fancy restaurant that she can barely afford, doing it cause she wanted to spoil you

• megan who always asks for a good luck kiss before a game and a victory kiss when her team wins

• cooking her favorite food when she's stressed and she just looks at you like you're her whole world (you are)

• megan who gets terrified whenever you two fight, worried that she'll say the wrong thing and lose you forever

• and when you do fight, she always takes the blame even if it isn't her fault. she can never stay mad at you, and will be the first to break the silence majority of the time.

• megan who hosts movie nights every saturday night for you both, making popcorn and buying a ton of snacks and drinks, setting up a fort in your living room and watching any movie you pick

• megan who kisses you like it's the first time every time, her hands shaking trying to find your waist and pull you closer, and her face bright red when you pull away

• megan who says "i love you" for everything, if you do something for her, when she's leaving for practice, or sometimes for no reason when you're cuddling in bed. she just wants you to know she loves you, more than anything else

[twd-bee3]

Engine Repair

Summary: You are keeping Daryl company while he works on a car, and seeing him working hard never fails to turn you on.

Warnings/Tags: purely smut, 18+ mdni, praise kink, teasing, slightly dom!daryl, oral (fem receiving), car sex, established relationship, female reader (she/her), season five, no use of y/n

Word count: 1.6k words

A/N: The prompt for this piece was created by @dixondisease. I'm still learning how to write smut and explore different dynamics, so this was a fun one to write. Y'all ate my last smut piece up, so I decided to write another one. Daryl is a switch in my eyes, so that's why I didn't make him submissive in this one. Please send me more requests for smut, angst, or fluff works. Also, some of these descriptions make it painfully obvious that I don't know shit about cars lmao.

With the hood popped open, Daryl was leaning over and working on the engine. The heat in Virginia had peaked, and sweat had mixed with the motor oil slicking his arms. He was focused on his task, but he could still feel you watching him. You'd had some free time and decided to keep him company while he fixed up the truck.

You knew nothing about cars, but you were enjoying the show. A cigarette dangled from Daryl's lips, and his brows furrowed slightly as he inspected one of the car parts. His biceps flexed slightly every time that he turned the wrench, and you were mesmerized by the sight.

It was no secret that the two of you had a high sex drive. You complemented each other perfectly in that aspect. As he finished tightening one of the bolts, he finally looked over at you and raised an eyebrow.

“You've got a starin' problem, sweetheart.”

“Ain't my fault. You look good like this.”

“Covered in motor oil and sweat? You've got some weird kinks, baby.”

His tone was teasing, but the slight flush of his cheeks made it obvious that he appreciated your words. You caught on and playfully mocked him.

“Am I makin' you blush, Dixon?”

“Fuck off.”

Not wanting to give in, Daryl rolled his eyes and turned his focus back to the car. There was no real malice behind his words, though. He always gave you what you wanted at some point. He was just being stubborn today. You picked up on this, and you were already worked up, so why not push your luck?

“Is the backseat still functional?”

“Seriously, baby? You're gonna start this now?”

“Just a question.”

Losing his already fragile sense of self-control, Daryl let out a low groan and looked at you again. He tossed his cigarette and let his gaze roam your body. His eyes were slightly hazy, and his tongue traced over his lower lip. You were about to get your way, and it brought a smile to your face. You feigned innocence and raised an eyebrow.

“Why're you lookin' at me like that?”

“Stop talkin' and hop in the back.”

As soon as the two of you were situated in the back of the car, Daryl lay you on your back. He wasted no time pressing searing kisses down the side of your neck and towards your chest. Your need had been building out in the heat, so this felt like he was just torturing you. You wanted nothing more than to feel him inside of you.

“Daryl, please. You're- you're not bein' fair.”

Pulling back slightly, he smiled and looked at you expectantly. “Use your words and tell me what you need.”

You groaned and whimpered softly. He was killing you, and he knew it. At this point, he was completely stiff, and you could feel him through his jeans. That only made you more restless, and your hips instinctively jutted towards his. You were so fucking desperate for some relief.

To your surprise, Daryl used one hand and pressed your pelvis back against the seat. He was unusually dominant today, and it was a pleasant surprise. You were getting frustrated, though, and you kept whining. He responded by grabbing your jaw and making you look at his face. His movements were rough, but he was careful not to hurt you.

“Stop fuckin' whinin' and tell me what you need. I ain't gonna do shit 'til you listen.”

“Okay. Fuck. Just touch me. Please.”

“Where? Where do you want me to touch you, baby?”

“Use your fingers or somethin'. Just fuck me. Please.”

Seeing his girl beg and watching her smaller body squirm beneath his, Daryl was pleased. You were being so good for him, and he was going to reward that. His expression softened, and he kissed you lightly.

“That's a good girl. I'm gonna give my baby what she needs, okay? You just lie back and keep quiet.”

Eager to get some relief, you nodded quickly and waited for him to continue. Daryl was still being gentle as he worked your denim shorts down your thighs - not bothering to undo the button. He saw the damp spot on your underwear, and he pulled his lower lip between his teeth. He could never get tired of seeing you like this. He pressed his fingers and applied pressure to your already swollen clit through the fabric.

“Is this all for me, baby?”

“Just for you. Only you.”

Your response satisfied him more, and he smiled softly. Holding eye contact, he slid his fingers past the fabric and swiped them against your wet core. He pulled them back and brought them to his mouth, but didn't touch them just yet.

“You want me to taste you, sweet girl? Want me to see how good my girl tastes?”

Slightly annoyed, you squirmed beneath him again and groaned. He was just being mean at this point, and you were getting desperate.

“Daryl, baby, you're just bein' mean. Please- please touch me. I've been good.”

With one hand, he sucked on his two fingers and held you still with the other. You were trying to listen, but fuck were you getting impatient. He'd teased you before, but he was going above and beyond today.

“Stop fuckin' movin' and you'll get what you want.”

You whimpered again and looked up at him through your eyelashes. You were used to getting what you wanted, and he usually gave it to you. Fortunately for you, you'd never been above begging, and that always worked with Daryl.

“Please. I'll listen real good and keep quiet. Just touch me.”

Another small smile graced his lips, and he nodded. Your obedience and begging reminded Daryl that he was in full control. His cock strained against his pants, but he was more focused on pleasing you. That was more than enough to get him off.

“There we go, sweetheart. Thank you for using your words.”

After a few agonizing seconds, he slipped off your panties and roughly pushed two fingers into your core. He started stroking you with languid motions - purposefully not allowing you to reach your peak prematurely. Pleasure pooled low in your belly, but you were careful not to move. You didn't want to do anything that would cause him to stop.

“Fuck, that feels so good. Don't stop, Daryl. Please.”

“Ain't gonna stop, baby. Not when you're bein' so good for me.”

You'd been compliant, so he increased his pace. He used his thumb to graze your clit as he used the other two to pump in and out of your cunt. Daryl could feel your walls pulsating around his fingers, and your bottom lip was tucked between your teeth in an effort to remain quiet.

“You like that, baby?”

Stifling another whine, you quickly nodded, and made sure that your eyes stayed locked on Daryl's. Your stomach felt coiled tight, and you knew that you were getting closer. Suddenly, he paused and twisted his fingers sharply before pulling them out. You gasped and felt something akin to panic. You had been right on that edge.

“What the fuck? Why'd you stop?”

“Easy, sweetheart. I want to taste more of you.”

With that, he lifted your legs and rested them on his shoulders. Daryl leaned forward and used his fingers to slowly spread your folds open. He flattened his tongue and lapped at your seam. The warmth of your pussy against his mouth made a low moan reverberate in his throat. The attention was almost too much, and you instinctively cried out.

“Daryl, oh fuck. I-”

You were cut off by his large, rough palm being clamped over your mouth. He pulled back and made eye contact again. “Sh, sh, sh. You said you were goin' to be good and quiet. Can you handle that?”

Wanting him to keep going, you nodded and quieted down. While the car wasn't the most public place to fuck, it was parked in your front yard and any loud noise ran the risk of attracting nosey neighbors. Once Daryl was assured that you'd stay quiet, he lowered his head back to your entrance and resumed his ministrations. His hand remained covering your mouth, as a precaution.

As the pleasure continued to build, you whimpered against his palm and your thighs squeezed around the side of his head. This encouraged Daryl, and he increased his pace with a fervor. The man was fucking devouring you. It bordered on being overstimulating, and he could feel your legs start to tremble. He lifted his hand from your mouth and gave you the chance to speak.

“You gonna come for me, baby? Right here on my tongue?”

“Can I? Please?”

“Come for me. You've been such a good girl.”

Not having to be told twice, your muscles tensed once more before releasing, and your body trembled. You were dizzy as Daryl kept going and worked you through your orgasm. Tears streamed down your cheeks, and your chest was rapidly rising and falling. Finally, he let up and sat back on his haunches. He wiped his damp beard and beamed at you.

“Atta girl. You were so perfect for me, sweet girl.”

He praised you softly and began kissing the tears from your face. It was a miracle that he didn't come in his pants watching you fall apart like that. He would find his release soon enough; this was about you.

As Daryl held you and rubbed your back while you came down, there was a sudden knock on the window. Thank God they were tinted so whoever was out there couldn't see what was happening inside. Your boyfriend groaned and let his head fall against your shoulder. Maybe the person would just give up and go. Rick's voice rang out, and you sighed softly. Apparently not.

“Daryl, you in there?”

“Hold on.”

Daryl groaned and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. Your time was officially finished. The two of you were into many things, but having sex in front of his best friend was not one of them.

“You were perfect, baby.”

[deansbestfriend]

just close enough 𐙚 dean winchester

dean winchester x gn!reader

tags and warnings: another dean drabble. fluff, angst, unspoken romance, TOUCH STARVED!DEAN (my baby) dean feeling undeserving, you feeling otherwise.

summary: cleaning up dean after a hunt leads to a side of him you had never experienced before.

The motel room reeked of antiseptic and exhaustion.

A pale bulb swung from the ceiling, casting its weak light over the cracked linoleum floor and a man who refused to sit still.

"Dean," you warned, clutching the first aid kit in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. "Stop moving."

"I'm fine," he muttered, jaw tight as his green eyes darted anywhere but at you. Blood streaked his cheek, smeared and half-dried, blending into the stubble along his jaw. Neither of you sure if it was his or someone else's.

"You're not fine," you snapped, more forcefully than you'd intended. You softened your tone, getting closer. "Just let me help, okay?"

"I've had worse, this'll heal on its own." He smirked, but held a weariness in his eyes.

"Yeah? And what's your plan for the dried blood? Gonna wear it like a badge of honor?" You fire back.

He huffed a laugh, but when you reached out, he didn't pull away. Instead, he let you stand between his knees, close enough to feel the heat of him, close enough to notice the way his breath hitched as your fingers brushed his chin.

"Hold still," your murmured, your voice softening as you tilted his head towards the light.

Dean's gaze flicked up to you, and you could feel the intensity of his eyes even though you focused on cleaning the blood from his face. His expression was unguarded, vulnerable in a way he rarely let himself be.

"You're gonna fuss over me no matter what I say, huh?" he asked, his tone more fond than exasperated.

"Pretty much," you said lightly, dabbing at the dried streak. "You should be used to it by now."

He chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm. He was comfortable. "Yeah, I guess I should."

You worked quietly, your touch gentle as you cleaned the wound on his cheek. Every so often, your fingers would graze his skin, and you felt him tense. Not from pain though, from something else entirely.

"There," you said, stepping back to admire your work. "Good as new. Well... almost."

Dean's lips quirked into a small smile. "Thanks, Doc."

"Don't get use to it." You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the grin tugging at your own lips.

"Too late," he said, his voice softer now.

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the world outside the dingy motel room didn't exist. It was just the two of you, too close, sharing something unspoken.

"You should rest," you said, breaking the moment but not moving away.

Dean tilted his head, looking upwards to you still, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "What, you gonna tuck me in too?"

You swatted his arm lightly, laughing. "Don't push your luck."

But as you turned away from him, you heard him mutter, almost to himself. "I wouldn't mind if you did."

Your heart skipped a beat, and by the time you went to look back at him, his hand had gently wrapped itself around your wrist pulling you close to him.

You stood there, hovering above him, his arms snaking itself around your waist while the side of his head rested against your stomach. His breathing evened out, the tension in his frame finally began to dissipate.

Watching him from above, your chest ached in the best possible way. Though you didn't say it, you knew you'd stay right here, as long as he'd let you.

He nestled into you further, now one of your hands ran through his brunette head of hair, aimlessly.

"You don't have to do this," he said gruffly. His voice was low, laced with something unsaid.

"Yes, I do." You focused on the task, dabbing away the blood with care. "You never take care of yourself. Someone has to."

His arms tightened around you.

"You shouldn't have to," he murmured after a beat, so quiet you almost missed it. Almost.

"What does that mean?" You pause, your breath hitching. He looked up at you, his hands on both sides of your figure now. Your eyes locked with his finally.

"It means," he shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. "It means I don't deserve it. Any of it. This."

Your chest tightened in protest. "Dean."

"Don't," he said, a note of desperation breaking through his usual bravado. "Don't make this harder than it already is."

Your heart stuttered, torn between his pain and your own. You wanted to reach for him, to smooth the lines of worry etched into his face, to tell him he was wrong. But you couldn't, not with the way his walls shot up the second you got too close.

"Why do you do this?" he asked suddenly, voice hoarse.

"Do what?"

"Care," he said simply.

"Because I do."

He didn't look away this time, and it was almost unbearable, the intensity of his gaze. "You shouldn't."

"And yet, here I am." You replied softly, a single hand of yours gently touched the side of his face. His eyes fixated on you, longing for you as your gaze lingered.

"Thank you." His lips twitched, almost a smile. He didn't let you go however, he pulled you back in. The two of you stayed like this for longer than you could remember, but for him you'd stay like this forever. Just close enough to him.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Sink to Swim

Fandom: The Pitt - Undeserving Universe

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x F!Reader

As requested by @ahopelessromanticwritersworld : For Jack realizing his feelings, how conflicted would he be? Maybe we could see some of his therapy sessions where he reconciles these new emotions and the therapist reassures him that it’s ok.

Undeserving | Star A New (Final) | The Pitt Masterlist

Jack tried to deny it for a long time—his feelings for you. It had been building up. After the accident that killed your husband and his wife, you two depended on each other. You were each other's life lines. Then you had Evie and things started changing for Jack. He started seeing you differently. You were a wonderful mom, despite you always saying you didn't know what you were doing. You were funny, kind, sassy, witty. Jack always had inklings of thoughts: what if he did have feelings for you? What if he could really be a dad to Evie? What if?

But then he’d remember his wife. He’d remember your husband, Andrew. And the feelings and thoughts he’d have would be pushed down deep inside until he couldn't take it any longer.

_____________________________

It'd been almost three years since the accident and Evie was now two. The past few years had been a whirlwind. Jack had you move in with him so he could help you with Evie. It felt so...domestic. Every day, he'd wake up to you and Evie. He'd greet you with a smile and greet Evie with a kiss to her head. You both would smile at him and there was always a fluttering in his chest.

You'd make him his lunch, even though you knew he probably wouldn't have time to eat it and then wish him good luck on his shift.

He started really loving the domesticity...then came the guilt.

It started eating away at him so he eventually brought it up to his therapist.

“So last week you mentioned you felt guilty about your growing feelings for Y/N. Let’s unpack that more.”

Jack squirmed in his seat across his therapist, Diane. She was ten years older than Jack, but had experience working with people who had served in the military. She took no shit and could see right through Jack.

He clears his throat, “Well, I mean, she was my wife’s best friend, someone close to her. And she had a husband, has her daughter now from that husband. I just-it feels wrong to have feelings for her. To be living this life that her husband should be living.”

“Don’t you think your wife would want you to be happy?”

“Yeah, but…it’s too soon.”

Diane sighs, “And how long are you gonna keep using that excuse, Jack?”

He swallows hard, “There’s a lot going on. I-I can’t add more to her plate. She lost her husband, has a kid. She’s having a hard time. It took me a while to get her to move in with me so I can help her take care of Evie.”

“That so?”

He clenches his jaw, “I promised I’d be there for her no matter what. If she’s struggling and I can do something about it, then I will.”

“And you know you can’t just bury these feelings.”

“I’ll tell her, when it’s a good time. But right now, she’s still figuring out how to be a mother. I just wanna make sure her and her daughter are taken care of.”

Diane leans in, "Jack, grief isn't a linear process. It has it's ups and downs. So it's okay for you to be feeling this way, however, you can't let it get in the way of you moving on. You have a tendency to self-sabotage when things start looking good. You relish too much in that dark cloud of yours."

He clenches jaw in frustration. He knows what Diane is saying is true, but still. He's always been a stubborn bastard.

"When things aren't as hectic, I'll tell her."

Diane hums, seemingly unconvinced of Jack's reasoning.

_________________________

Jack hears you scream in the living room and he rushes out of his room, "What happened?! Are you okay?!"

You look up at him from your spot on the floor. Your eyes are red and watery, "She walked to me."

His fight mode diminished immediately, "She-She walked?"

You sniffle at him and smile, "Yeah. Here. Sit over there," you point to the opposite side of the carpet.

Jack does as you say and he smiles at Evie, "Hi, honey! Come here! Come to Uncle Jack Jack!"

Evie breaks out into a smile and you have your hands hovering around her waist as she takes steps towards him.

"That's it! Come on! Almost there, sweetheart!"

Evie giggles as she topples over into Jack's lap and Jack pulls her into his arms, "Oh my God! You're walking!"

You crouch beside him and he pulls you into his arms as well, "She's walking!"

"My sweet girl," you kiss your daughter's head, "You're growing up too fast!" You press kisses all over her face and Evie's laughter fills Jack's ears.

He watches you two with a soft smile on his face, that fluttering and sense of yearning filling his chest.

He almost tells you right then and there. He almost confesses that he loves you, but he stops himself.

Flashes of Andrew and his wife, Anna, fill his head and he buries down the feelings again.

______________________________

"I almost told her a few weeks ago," it's the first thing he says as soon as Diane shuts the door.

"Who? Y/N?"

His leg is bouncing after he settles into the sofa chair across from Diane's, "Evie learned how to walk. She walked to me and Y/N and I were cheering. She was in my arms and I was just watching her shower praise and kisses to Evie. I felt that...that feeling in my chest again and I almost told her that I love her. But I didn't."

"What stopped you?"

"Images of her husband and wife flashing in my head." he leans in the chair and sighs, "I'm trying not to feel guilty. I don't want my love for Y/N be associated with guilt. I want it to be associated with sunshine and light. She's brought light back into my life. Her and Evie. But...But I'm scared that if I say those words, I'll lose them. And I can't lose them. I fucking can't. I don't know what I'll do if I lose them."

Diane shakes her head, "You won't, Jack. It's clear that you and Y/N are very important to each other. If anything, you two just want the best for one another. So whatever happens, it's because it's what best for you."

Jack just sits there and nods, taking in Diane's words. He hopes she's right. He lost his wife and broke him. If he lost you and Evie...he doesn't know what he'll do...

[gali-la]

i watched kpop demon hunters the other day and i have like. two things i wanna say because theyre making me cackle

1. obviously i loved it. amazing work. gorgeous. the name made me giggle first but it was a lovely movie id watch it again

2. however. before i watched it, i only saw 2-second clips being reposted, and i had NO idea what the plot was, other than it involved kpop and demon hunting. a couple gifs/clips stuck with me and led me to guessing the plot wrong:

in the end, it was the cat and the pot that convinced me to watch the movie.

before that, though, I was relatively convinced that the plot consisted of:

3 badass combo kpop artist demon hunters who are awesome at their jobs (all of them). their main job is hunting demons but they're awesome and are also, for unrelated reasons, kpop idols

1 demon cat pet who is spared from the slaughter because it is adorable (and a little dumb) and can do no wrong

1 demon bird, spared because it's too cool. look at that hat. it's definitely planning world domination tho

1 human, normal boyfriend who is supportive of his badass demon hunter kpop artist girlfriend who also gets pulled into the demon things by association but is not a hunter in the least and happily leaves all that to his awesome girlfriend and her other hunter friends. damsel in distress boyfriend who has now adopted and is a dad to the demon cat and is tolerated by the demon bird. he's okay with all of this except sometimes he sees demons much more than he wants to and they're really scary and he is not magic-y enough or mentally prepared to fight them. he didnt know demons existed until he started dating his awesome girlfriend but by god he's taking it well. he gets smushed to death by a massive cuddly demon cat while he sleeps but it keeps him safe so it's okay. the demons interrupt his and his girlfriend's dates but he skedaddles with a "good luck girlfriend i know you'll win ill have the cat walked and fed some rat souls by dinner love you BYEEEE" and when she's done he wipes demon goo from her face and gives her a kiss on the cheek and takes her to dinner (again, without interruption this time)

and yeah i love the movie but damnit this was also awesome and i want it

[ilium-ilia]

kiss the skin that crawls

john price x fem!reader | the surrogate au | masterlist

Part Six: resubmission

cw: light angst, smut, breeding kink | requests: mirror sex, plugs

Thick chagrin fizzes in your stomach as you hold your negative pregnancy test. 

A single line in faded blue—you stare down at it with tight lips as you fight to keep your disappointment manifesting in frustrated tears at bay. Really, you know it was silly to allow yourself to get your hopes up so high. A single round of sex can easily lead to conception just as easily as it can lead to nothing. Still, you have people waiting on you, and you try not to think of this arrangement too different from any other job you’ve ever held. 

You like doing your work well. Punctual and reliable—resubmissions are always a pain. 

Sighing, you set the test on the counter with the fleeting hope that a second line will magically appear before you scrub your hands clean in the sink. Once the scent of lavender has sufficiently soaked into your skin, you exit the bathroom where you find John in the living room covered in inky soot and dried pine needles. His usual rosy, freckled cheeks are marred with streaks of grey as he pulls his head out of the chimney with a huff. Dead leaves weave between the strands of his hair which he quickly shakes out with his fingers before offering you a tired smile. 

“Any luck?” you ask with a poorly hidden giggle. 

Nodding, John wipes his hands off on his shirt, staining the cotton with faint charcoal before he rests his hands on his hips. The strong taper of his hips still makes your mouth water, especially when coupled with the memory of how they rolled so sweetly against you a few weeks back. 

“You had two nests shoved up there. Unoccupied, mind. Happy to say you’ll be able to survive the winter without smoking yourself out this time,” John informs with a grin. “Now all that’s left is to clean up the floor.” 

It’s a simple task—at least, when compared to the cleaning of a chimney anyway. John allows you to lead the way as you sweep up dust, soot, and various tree materials into neat piles, though he still insists on holding the pan for you so that you don’t mark up the hem of your dress. Kneeling on the floor, hand holding the metal steady, he watches you carefully as the bristles push the mess into the dustpan. 

“Any luck on your end?” he asks after a moment. 

Your brows crease. “My end?” 

“The pregnancy test.” 

You swallow. Suddenly, all the chaff wafting through the air catches in your throat, making your eyes water. “Oh, no. No, it was negative.” 

John stands to his feet with a hum with the dustpan in hand. He reaches out to brush his thumb against your face, but when he catches sight of the state of his skin, he decides against it. “Well, there’s always next time.” 

Everything feels stiff as you follow John into the bathroom. He makes a beeline for the sink where he gratefully washes his hands to rid himself of old soil and rusty brick, but all you can stare at is the stick next to the basin. The paper has become discolored now, sitting much too long while wet, and still the results haven’t changed. 

Attempting to divert your focus, you instead watch as John cleans himself up. Hands scrubbing up over his forearms, palms pressing side by side to cup water before splashing it in his face, fingertips rubbing away at particularly stubborn stains—when he’s finished, he leaves the water running before motioning for you to go next while he dries his hands. 

“You’re quiet, darling,” John notes as he places the hand towel back on its rack. “What are you thinking about?” 

For the type of relationship you and John have—something bordering on textbook professional and painfully romantic—he’s impressively keen and intune with your emotions. It’s as if he’s split your skull open, viewed every turning cog in your brain, memorising every fleeting beat of your heart and what makes it continue to tick. 

“Oh just… I dunno,” you admit with a shrug. “Guess I’m a little upset about the test is all.” 

He’s standing behind you now, hands wandering to your hips, thumbs rubbing at you through the thin fabric of your sundress. The butter yellow cotton wrinkles beneath his touch, but it’s nothing compared to the heat emanating from your body that threatens to melt it right off of you. Teeth digging into your bottom lip, you try to keep your focus on the sink. 

“I’m sorry, love,” John murmurs as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “These things take time. We’ll try again soon.” 

The water shuts off with a squeak before you’re drying off your hands with the damp towel. Not even the scent of the soap can overpower the musk that rolls off of John. He smells of sweat and hard work—sunkissed skin glistening on the rooftop and long stagnant dirt. It muddles the vetiver of his cologne until your mind is left spinning. Your eyes rise from your hands and it’s all over. Mussed hair, his nose against your neck as he places a reassuring kiss.

Now that you think about it, the first time the two of you had sex wasn’t the right moment. Off in your cycle, body not quite ready—you’re certain that’s changed now. It’s been building up the last few days, this insatiable desire that growls in your lower stomach like a starving beast. You’ve tried to satiate it at night with your fingers shoved inside of yourself and anamneses of John playing on repeat in your mind, but it’s not quite enough. 

“Soon?” you repeat. “Like, right now?” 

Every muscle in John’s body hardens to stone. “Eager, aren’t we?” 

“Why not?” you shrug. Then, in a quick moment of what is either bravery or uncontrollable ovulation hormones, you rock your hips back until your rump is bumping into him—flaunting. “We’ve got a job to do, don’t we? Besides, I recall you promising to… how did you word it? Get me plump?” 

Your words lure a groan from John as his hands wander up from your hips until he’s cupping the expanse of your stomach. “Nice and pretty carrying my kid,” he concurs. 

The speed at which the skirt of your dress pulls up over your rump leaves you pixilated as your hips hit the counter, bones digging into the enamel. Fingers curling into the fabric, you feel John grind into you, rubbing his coarse jeans against your floral panties as if there wasn’t a barrier there at all. 

By the time he finally works your underwear down your arse, you’re embarrassed to admit how wet you are. Body begging and anticipating something like this for days, you’re nearly dripping with a glistening sheen that sticks between your thighs. He curses as he swipes a finger along your sex, dipping between your labia and coming dangerously close to skewering. 

“Fuck, that thought really got you going, huh love?” he hums in awe. 

“Please, John,” you whimper. Your legs are quivering so bad you can hardly stand. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll do it right this time.” 

He slides into you so easily—so deliciously—and you drink him up. Parched, and lost in the midst of a desert. John keeps hold of your crumpled skirt while his cock pushes into you through the mere hole of his fly. This angle pushes your organs aside. You feel the way it zaps your clit from the inside out, pushing taut through your walls, forcing you to move to his will the way waves erode ancient palisades into dust. 

John’s pace is slow but firm, dull slaps padding against the back of your thighs as his hands begin to wander upwards until he’s cupping your breasts. When the floral pattern of your dress is deemed too much distance between you and him, he pulls at the fabric until you’re bare and spilling free. Cerulean eyes meet you in the mirror as he cups the fatty tissue, rolling your nipples between his forefingers and thumbs, sending your back arching. 

“Can’t wait to see how big you get. I’ll rub out every ache for you, darling,” he swears between grunts. When you place your hands over his to hold yourself steady, his pace picks up until you’re gasping for breath. “Look at you, such a pretty girl. So perfect already, but you’ll drive me mad when your tits begin to swell.” 

When your legs begin to shake, John offers you a little reprieve by allowing you to bend forward until your palms are flat on the counter, supporting your weight as his hips roll into you. His words have you staring at yourself in the mirror—at all the features you once thought were so plain. He’s already building you up. Igniting a fire until you’re glowing. 

“Yeah, we’re gonna do this right this time, aren’t we darling?” John continues. “Not gonna let a single drop spill out of this pretty cunt.” 

Eyelashes fluttering, it takes all your strength to keep your eyes from rolling into the back of your head in ecstasy. “I-I—John—I can’t,” you babble. “Not like- not when we’re—ah!—standing!” 

Seeing the sense in your words, he slows his pace until he’s made a full stop. Your breathing comes so ragged and hot that it fogs up the lambent mirror, obscuring your vision and the small knowing smirk that pulls at John’s lips. 

“I think I’ve got a solution for that.” 

It isn’t long before you’re stumbling into your bedroom, dress shorn clean from your body like abloom wool left to litter the ground. John has you at the edge of the bed with the orders to keep your legs spread wide as you lay on your back, hands hooked beneath your knees and pulling them far apart until the cold makes your pussy shiver. He stands over you, stained shirt and pants still sticking to his body as he examines what you think must be a small cone of some sort. Cylindrical with a flared base, the lilac silicone squishes beneath his whim. 

“What’s that?” you question, knees wavering as sweat builds up on your skin. 

“A plug,” John replies simply. “Laswell thought it might come in handy.”

Your cheeks burn at the thought that Kate and Lottie know more about your intercourse with John that you previously thought. Offering him toys; tools. There isn’t much time for you to linger on the idea before John’s sinking into you again, forcing your toes to curl as he quickly finds his way home. 

“It’ll keep you nice and full of me until it takes. It’ll take this time, darling,” he promises. 

Then, it’s back to work. Unrelenting strength that you’ve seen so often from him in the way he helps around the house or lifts your groceries for you. Biceps swelling as he pulls himself toward you, fingers digging into your hips, body rolling against you. That heat swells as he blankets over you, beard tickling the side of your face as he presses wet kisses against your cheeks before his lips wander towards your ear, breath warm on your skin. 

“Gonna look so pretty being so full of me, aren’t you darling?” he whispers. “My pretty girl, such a pretty mum. Who knows, maybe the Laswells will want more than one, hm? Maybe I get to fill you over and over again. Fuck, you’re getting tighter. You like the sound of that, do you? Like the idea of carrying my kids?” 

Your orgasm swells within an instant like bread finally proofing, dough expanding until it’s ripe and full with bubbling yeast. Unable to hold onto your knees any longer, your hands snap out towards John until you’re pressing against his chest as if to push him away but your heels say otherwise as they dig into his lower back in a pitiful attempt to keep him locked against you. But John is a raging fire that you have no control over as he chuckles breathlessly against your neck. 

“Yeah you fucking do. Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he says in a near growl. 

John’s quick to chase his own pleasure all while barreling through the rest of yours. Bordering on near overstimulation—wires rubbing raw together, leaving you exposed and open, tender to the touch—he comes with his lips latched to the side of your jaw while buried as deep as you can manage to take him. You’re pawing at his back now, nails digging into the sordid t-shirt as you feel him twitch inside of you, feeding your womb exactly what she’s been begging for. 

The two of you stay like this too long for you to count. He grinds against you as if attempting to massage his cum against the aching muscle of your cervix. With closed eyes you focus on your breathing and the thumping in your chest; wild horses running free, or small creatures skittering across the floor of a forest. 

When the dust settles, John pulls out of you—carefully. Strategically keeping you full of him until the last moment, you gasp when something else intrudes. He shushes you with a gentle pat on your stomach before a tame cold presses deeper inside of you, leaving your cunt clenching around something foreign and squishy. 

“Just the plug, darling,” he reminds. Once he’s satisfied, John collapses next to you where he wraps an arm around your torso, burying his face in the side of your neck once again. “Did so well. Didn’t even spill a drop.” 

Buzzing, you allow yourself to melt into John, body sublimating to be soaked up by the duvet below you; something sings within you. 

“I hope it works this time,” you sigh quietly. 

“If not, we’ll try again,” he assures. 

“Really?” 

John takes your hand into his own before pulling it to his lips. “As many times as it takes and more.”

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | get early access to chapters here

*I am now accepting non-plot changing and non-OOC requests for this story through my ask box. I will write your requests into the story if it gets the worms wiggling in my brain!

[b3ach-bunn7]

that shinsou 3 pt fic was SO GOOD. you're GOATing so hard. begging sobbing and PLEADING for more shinsou nsfw 😣🧟

IN A GOOD WAY

You and Shinsou's mission is an easy one. Get into the building, package up the mysterious chemicals, and leave. Of course, knowing your luck, nothing goes the way it should.

NSFW warning, accidental aphrodisiac, slightttt dubcon since they're both drugged but they were gonna bone regardless A

—————————————————————————-

When you were assigned to go on a collection mission, you had no idea it would be this boring.

Thus the life of a hero. Not everyday can be filled with adrenaline-filled fights and putting away villains that wreak havoc on society. Some days, you have to pick up classified chemicals from a laboratory in the middle of nowhere. And it’s fine. Somebody had to do these things. It’s sort of exciting in a way. The abandoned rooms, the empty hallways. You’re trying to make the best of a bad situation. Shinsou, however, is not.

“Oh my god. It is so hot in here.” He groans.

Shinsou does not agree with your sentiment. Since the moment you’d both walked in, he’d been complaining, that low drawl echoing across the empty halls as he walks beside you. He’s got reason to complain, to be honest. It’s a beautiful, warm day outside, the sun shining and the sky a wonderful blue. And you’re both stuck in here. There’s nobody else in the whole building aside from the two of you.

“Take off some of those scarves then.” You say, peering through the little glass windows in the doors you pass by.

“If you want me to take my clothes off you can just ask.” He murmurs and you roll your eyes.

“Be professional, Mindjack.” You chide, but he only huffs.

“I told you to call me Shinsou.”

“And I told you that’s unprofessional.”

Shinsou sighs heavily. “You take everything too seriously.”

You laugh. One side of his long scarf trails behind him as he idly wraps the other end around his fingers. You always wonder how they feel. They always look so soft until they’re wrapped around a villain's throat.

“We’re on the job!” You exclaim, “I can’t call you Shinsou.”

“Sounds so pretty when you do, though.”

You don’t dignify that with a response, and instead speed up a little so he can’t see the blush forming on your face.

Shinsou is a shameless flirt. Which is a surprise, because upon first meeting, he seemed so quiet. You’d both started at the same agency, and for the most part you two had kept your distance from one another. Shinsou works in more undercover fields, and you tend to be on the front lines during missions, so you never had much overlap.

But then one day, you and Shinsou did have a mission together, and it was one of the best ones you’d ever been on. He wasn’t as shy as you’d thought. His humour was dry and sarcastic and funny, and he was also a very good hero on top of it all. You thought his quirk was amazing, despite his own qualms about it, and he was good at what he does.

And you saw each other around work more after that. And then he started all his flirty little comments, and things sort of just went up from there. 

It’s not like you have a crush or anything, It’s against the rules to date another hero in the same agency, anyway. You’ve checked. You just like Shinsou. And you think he's quite attractive. The big arms and soft lavender hair, that teasing smirk. What’s not to like?

You know why you guys were both assigned this job today. Mina loves to get involved in your love life, and seems to think a mission of all places will bring the two of you together. Wishful thinking, you say. 

The big case you’d been given to carry the chemicals is starting to get heavy. You shake it at Shinsou. “Hold this.”

Shinsou decidedly doesn't. “Say please.”

“Please hold this before I beat you over the head with it.” You smile sweetly.

“So polite. How could I say no?” He slips it out your hands, his fingers brushing against yours.

You clear your throat. You look at the file you’d both been sent, stopping outside a sleek white door. “Okay, so the stuff should be in this lab, and one on the upper floor.” You gesture ahead.

You pull out a keycard from your pocket. The door beeps, echoing in the empty halls, and you hold the door open for the two of you.

You’re not exactly sure what happened here. The place has been searched through, clearly, and there’s been enough destruction near the entrance to tell you there was a fight of some kind. The lab looks relatively untouched. It’s sort of split into two rooms, a main one with a few desks and shelves of books, and a smaller section inside. That part is blocked off by another door, and you assume, judging by the equipment you can see through the glass wall, is where your chemicals are going to be.

“It’s probably in there.” Shinsou hums, and you nod.

You start to make your way inside. He takes to searching around the desk, peeking through the files. The room has that smell all scientific rooms do. Sterile and like things you shouldn’t touch. You feel Shinsou’s presence behind you.

“It smells weird in here.” He muses.

“Right? We probably shouldn’t touch anything.” You say, gesturing towards the line of chemicals stacked in little glass bottles around the room. 

Shinsou nods. “What are we looking for again?”

You grab your phone to pull up the file. “Some stuff. It says it should be in a closed beaker. And it should be red, and glossy. Whatever the hell that means.”

“Like that?” He points to something you can’t see.

You walk to him, peering over his shoulder. And it does look pretty accurate to the description in the file. It looks a little shimmery, and like it’d taste like strawberries. You’re a little tempted to taste it, but you’re not that stupid.

“Oh, yeah.” You say. “It looks kinda delicious.”

Shinsou huffs a laugh. “I wouldn’t recommend drinking it.”

You pretend to mope as he starts opening the case. You fiddle with some empty glasses, when Shinsou suddenly exclaims. Your head turns quickly.

“What?” You gasp, and he holds out his hand. You peer a little closer.

And there is a spider on his hand.

You squeal, moving backwards. “Get that away!”

Shinsou laughs. He waves it in front of you. “Aw come on, it’s only little.”

It’s a little embarrassing. You’re a pro hero. You’ve fought terrifying people and suffered horrible injuries while doing so. But you are deathly afraid of spiders. Which, you might add, Shinsou knows. 

“Come on, put it away!” You squeal.

“This is psychology, Y/N-”

“Unprofessional, Mindjack.”

“It’s called flooding. It will help you break that phobia.” He teases.

He inches a step closer, and you rush back. “Mindjack-“

But, luck is not on your side, because as you move back you accidentally step on loose piece of paper. Your foot skids against the floor, and before he can catch you or you can catch yourself, you collide sharply into the desk behind you. The corner digs into your side, but you don’t have time to complain about the pain because your collision causes a few of the beakers on the desk to fall over, and roll onto the floor. Some beakers are empty, but the others are full of that soft red liquid you and Shinsou are supposed to be putting in the sturdy cases you’ve been given. Instead, said liquid is now spilt all over the floor, and the glass in pieces everywhere. 

It’s silent for only a second before the panic sets in.

“Shit.” You curse.

Shinsou grabs your hand, and you hop over the glass. He nods, eyes quickly scanning the situation.

“This is fine.” He decides.

“It is?”

“It is. We can- I’ll find something for us to clean this up.” He points to the table. “There’s still two more on the table, so we’ll package them up.”

You nod. “Okay. Do you-“

Your voice trails off as the panicked look on Shinsou’s face worsens. You follow his eyesight to the weird red stuff on the floor, and you both watch in horror as the liquid on the floor turns to mist, disappearing into the atmosphere. You’re too shocked to move, but Shinsou luckily isn’t. He grabs your hand, dragging you both away.

“Cover your face, don’t breathe in.” He urges.

You both rush out the little room and into the main area of the lab. Shinsou shuts the door behind you both, and you run a hand through your hair.

“What the hell was that?” You ask and he shakes his head.

“No idea. Did they say anything about what that stuff was?” He asks.

“It just said we should have no contact with it whatsoever.” You mumble.

You now wish you did a little more reading about what happened here. What if you grow another arm, or something? Kneel over and die because you inhaled some toxic chemicals.

You feel a little prickle of fear in your chest. “Do you think it’s dangerous? Are- Are we going to be okay?”

Your voice sounds a little weaker than you intended it, and Shinsou notices almost instantly. He reaches out, hand on your shoulder reassuringly.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

His eyes are looking straight into yours, the prettiest shade of purple. And you don’t remember Shinsou’s hero costume looking this good on him. The tight black shirt that hugs his waist, revealing the shadow of the hard muscles of his stomach and chest. Those soft tufts of hair, and the scarf that’s wrapped around his neck. And you imagine him grabbing them, tying your hands together and-

Woah. 

You take a step back, hoping he can’t read the thoughts that are currently swimming through your head. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. Yes, you have a little crush on him, but he’s never made you feel like this before. So hot and bothered. 

“Right.” You clear your throat. “We should. We should probably get masks before we keep going.”

Shinsou nods. You both start walking your way back to the entrance of the building. 

It’s getting really hot. Your fingers dip between the collar of your shirt to pull it back, trying to get some air, and find that you’re sweating. 

“God, it’s- Do you feel that heat at all?” You mumble. 

You glance at him, and find that he’s already looking at you, and his face is flushed red. So he probably does feel that heat. There’s a brief moment of eye contact between you, and you feel a coil of something in your stomach. You look away, trying not to focus on the emotions Shinsou is bringing out in you right now, and more on getting the fuck out of this place.

“I tried to tell you before, sweetheart.” He smiles weakly.

You think he’s trying to joke around, lighten the mood. But all you can focus on is the pet name that splits easily from his lips. He’s never called you that before. He seems just as surprised as you do, because he promptly shuts his mouth and looks away.

A heavy silence falls between the two of you. The only sounds are your footsteps on the floor, and your heavy breathing. You try to focus on staying calm, still nervous about whatever the hell you and him inhaled in there. Your skin is nearly itching with it, and you absentmindedly pick at the sleeve of your costume.

Sweetheart. You liked hearing anyone call you something so sweet, but from Shinsou’s mouth? Shinsou, whose lips always look so soft and plump. You think of his face flushed, and you mind moves before you can control it, to him towering over you, those deft hands holding you down as moves inside you-

You can’t help the whimper that leaves your mouth. Your hand braces yourself against the wall, and it’s then you realise how wet you are. That heat flares, spreading down and you realise it for the emotion it is, arousal, dark and dangerous. You’ve never felt like this before, this horny. 

And it’s like with the realisation that something’s wrong, the feeling settles on your skin, and your body throbs with the need to touch. To quell the voice in your head that screams for something to stop the sensation.

“Oh, fuck.” You whimper.

Your hand itches to reach lower, to soothe the ache in your core. And then you remember that you’re not alone.

Your head darts to Shinsou and he looks just as gone as you do. 

He’s standing opposite you, and he looks wretched, breath ragged, the flush dipping down past his collar and spreading across his face. Judging by the obvious dent in his pants, he’s just as aroused as you are right now. And instead of feeling humiliation at the fact you are openly ogling his crotch and he’s caught you doing it, you just feel wetter.

You stand straight and he steps away, back hitting the wall. 

“Shinsou-“

He groans, head falling back. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“I- Fuck, I need-“ 

“Don’t.” He practically growls. “We can’t.”

You take another step forward. “I can’t, Shinsou, I feel so hot. You need-“

He shakes his head, holding a hand up. But it doesn’t do much, because it only makes you imagine that hand and what else it could be doing.

“This is highly unprofessional.” But his voice is already wavering, his resolve weak.

“You’re always telling me to be less professional.“

Your hands slide up his chest, rest on his shoulders. You watch the bob of his throat as he swallows.

“I want you.”

“No, the weird chemicals we inhaled want me. You don’t.”

The hint of hurt in his eyes makes your heart clench and you shake your head furiously. “No. No, it’s not just that. I want you. Me.” You demand.

It’s quiet. Your hand grips his shoulder tighter and tighter, and you feel the threat of tears. “Please. I feel like I’m on fire.”

His hand cups your cheek, finally, and you lean into his touch, eyes slipping shut. You’re half a second away from grinding on his leg if he doesn’t do something.

“So needy.” He murmurs. “You sure you want this?”

You think you might throttle him if he asks you one more time. A voice in the back of your head, the one that’s still reasonable, thinks it’s sweet he’s making sure. But the feral part of you that’s about two seconds away from ripping both your clothes off, doesn’t love it.

“Yes. I don’t know how else you want me to say it. Yes, Shinsou, please-“ 

Finally, finally he’s kissing you. Kissing is putting it lightly. Shinsou is trying to devour you, his lips moving frantically against yours as he makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat. You haven’t kissed anyone in ages. Being a hero sort of means an infinite dry run, but Shinsou doesn’t seem to care, because he’s moving your face how he sees fit, licking into your mouth.

His legs slides between your own, and you make an embarrassing noise as he presses his knee into your heat, and you grind yourself down on him.

You can feel the smirk on his face as he kisses a path against your face, whispering in your ear. “Fuck, look at you. So needy.”

Your hands fumble with his clothes. There’s way too many zippers and buttons and your brows furrow, frustrated.

Shinsou grins at the look on your face. “I’ve never had someone so eager to undress me before.”

You don’t dignify him with a response. His hands start working at your costume, which is much easier to take off. One zip on the side and your skin’s almost cold as it exposes to the air, and your nipples poke through your bra. He fumbles with his own costume and your mouth almost waters at the sight of his chest, the delicious outline of his abs that you’ve ogled far too many times before.

His knee presses against you again, and you whine. “More, I need more.”

You’re sure you both look ridiculous right now. Your costume lays uselessly at your feet, his half off as he palms at your chest and you kiss at his neck. You’re in the middle of a random hallway in a building you’re supposed to be working in. This is not something you have ever even dreamed about doing. And you couldn’t care any less.

Shinsou grabs your wrist. “Come.”

He pulls you into the lab you were in before, pushing you against one of the tables. He lifts you with no effort, pushing your legs open. You’re so wet. It’s sticking to your thighs, soaked completely through your underwear. Your hand slips between your legs and rubs against the material. Your mouth drops open, but you can’t enjoy it for long because Shinsou is pulling your hands away.

“No.” Shinsou scolds. “Let me.”

“But-“

Shinsou drops to his knees, hoisting your leg over his shoulders. And he’s impatient, ripping your panties and tossing them over his shoulder, and licking a wide stripe over your cunt. Your head falls back at the feelings, your body almost falling limp in relief.

“Look at this pussy, baby.” He kisses the soft skin of your thigh, sucking marks into your flesh.

He looks up at you, eyes darting across your features. “Gonna get you ready for me, okay? Gotta taste this pretty pussy.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, which is good, because the only thing coming out of your mouth is gasps and broken pleas for more. Shinsou presses open mouth kisses against your folds, tongue fast and skilled as he eats you out. It’s messy, and the sounds are so filthy, but it feels so good. One hand reaches up to squeeze your nipples, the other tangling in his hair to tug him closer. 

It takes little to nothing for you to get close, your heels pressing into his back as his tongue flicks against your clit. All it takes is the press of his finger into your folds, longer and thicker than yours, for you to tighten your thighs around his head.

“Oh, fuck.” You moan. “Shinsou, I’m gonna cum.”

His second finger slips in easily, and he thrust them in and out. “Yeah? Want me to fill you up?” He teases.

Your nerves are alight, and you almost sob. “Please, Shinsou, please. Need you.” 

You feel no embarrassment at your begging. You feel like you’re going to die if you don’t come now. Shinsou only nods, the stubble on his chin grazing your legs as he hits that sweet spot inside you, sucking your clit into his mouth. And you come, thighs clenching around his head. He doesn’t let go, works you through it, his hand snaking down to palm at his clothed cock.

It registers very faintly that the heat in your body has only barely lessened, and you whine for more. Luckily, Shinsou doesn’t give you a break. He clambers to his feet and in one swift motion he’s pulling you off the table to spin you around and press you against it. Your chest hits the surface, cool against your hot skin. He grabs both your wrists in only one hand.

“Oh, fuck. Look at you.” Shinsou rasps. 

His hand smooths over your ass, and you yelp as he slaps it. You can hear the buckle of his belt clink as he pulls it off . You try to turn around, but he pushes you back down easily. You whine and he tuts.

“Behave, Y/N. Don’t make me tie you down to the table.”

It seems all your fantasies might be coming true tonight.

You can’t see Shinsou, but you can hear the sound of him pumping his cock. He pulls your legs apart roughly, fingers running a line from the bottom of your cunt to your clit, rubbing it. Your back arches at the sensation and you grit your teeth.

“Stop teasing.” You whine, and he only chuckles.

“What do you need, baby?” 

“Need you.” You mumble, face heating. You push back against him but a big hand easily holds you back.

Shinsou leans down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. And you feel him line himself up, and fuck, the head of his cock feels big itself, pushing against your entrance. And when he begins the slow push into you, your hand grips the edge of the table. He is big, bigger than anything you’ve ever had inside you. He slides in easily, seeing as you're wet enough for it to be dripping out of you.

He makes a delicious sound next to your ear, almost a whine, as he bottoms out. “Fuck, you’re so tight. So good. How do you feel?” His voice is strained, the hand on your hip squeezing.

You’re impossibly full, and you push yourself onto him. “Move, Shinsou.”

And he does. You’ve already come once, meaning the effect of the chemicals has eased just slightly. Shinsou has not, and so the bruising pace he immediately starts pounding into you with is not surprising, but definitely welcomed. You moan, loud and uninhibited. Shinsou fills you more than you’ve ever been filled your whole life, and your body is practically screaming its praises as you finally get that pleasure you’ve been chasing.

Shinsou is louder than you thought he would be. Whispering praise in your ear, practically purring as he drills into you. It’s overwhelming, but it feels so good, and it’s all your brain can focus on.

“That’s it, baby,” He groans, teeth nipping at your neck, “You feel so good, don’t you?”

You nod your head frantically. “Yes, Shinsou.”

“Hitoshi. Call- Call me, Hitoshi.” He breathes out.

And you do. You chant his name like a prayer, tears on your face as he pounds into you. His movements are getting more erratic, and judging by the way he’s twitching inside you and the way his words are starting to slur, you think he’s close.

“Shit. Want you to come all over my cock, okay?” 

He reaches down and starts rubbing tight circles against your clit and at the same time angles his hips just right, so he hits that spot inside you the next time he moves. And it’s like your mind blanks, your cunt clenching around him as you cum. You think you’re drooling on the table, voice broken as you moan. And Shinsou finishes just after you, fucking you through his orgasm and your own.

It takes him entirely too long to finish. He pulls out, his cum dripping down your thighs. He curses at the sight, turning you around to grab your face and kiss you with a hunger you thought he had fed. And you look down then, and once you get over the shock that something that big had been inside of you, you realise Shinsou is slowly getting hard again. 

Your mouth parts with words that can’t get out. He groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry, baby. I need- fuck, I still need you.”

He’s more gentle now, not as erratic as before. You don’t say anything, just loop your arms around his neck to try and brace yourself as he pants, lining himself up with you clumsily. And he presses into you again, the stretch familiar now, both your mess oozing around him. He moans, guttural, his hand toying with your nipple.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl. You can take it for me.” He breathes.

He kisses up your shoulder, biting into the sensitive skin of your neck. Shinsou, or Hitoshi, now, looks so worn out. Face still red, mouth slack and panting heavily, chest covered in bright red marks you’d left there. Strands of hair stick to his forehead, eyes shining as presses another kiss to your mouth. Your thighs twitch with overstimulation as he begins to move again, your body torn between pressing against him and pulling away. But he’s right, you will take it. 

Your mind drifts, only for a moment to Mina, and her shit-eating grin at assigning the two of you together on this mission. You definitely should definitely thank her for this.

—————————————————————————-

Shinsou take ur clothes off PLEAAAAAAASE. There is such a lack of Shinsou on ao3 and tumblr and every site ever crying for crumbs of him.. thank u sm for this ask 🙏

hope u all enjoyed!

[winningmymind]

(Wholesome twinyards, slight kevaaron, slight neilaaron reluctant besties) Aaron sleepwalks and cuddles people part 1

Aaron's always had an infrequent sleep schedule.

He grew up never really having a bed time be enforced on him. He grew up being in a drowsy drugged state where days blissfully and perplexingly blurred like nonsensical dreams.

Sometimes he'd pass out like the dead whether from exhaustion as an exy player or a pre-med student or both.

Other times the paranoia would keep him up all night, body itching with no amount of scratching nails satiating the greedy hunger, the fiending for his monopolozing addiction like it's the first callous day of his withdrawal.

Then, of course, are the nightmares when he finally realized the lengths Andrew will go to make sure Aaron is the Minyard twin worth achieving his potential.

So, it comes as no surprise that all of the burdens and the habits that make Aaron, well, Aaron manifest into an outlet none of the Foxes are prepared for during finals week.

Sleepwalking.

On the cusp of Christmas break and tail end of the semester, Aaron is sleepwalking.

"Shit." Matt says when groggily returning from using the bathroom in the middle of the night. He spots the empty bed on side of the dorm room and a snoozing Nicky on the other side.

Instantly, Matt checks the time and sees its almost two in the morning. He puts on slippers and tries to hunt Aaron's trail before anyone finds out the secret the Foxes backliners have been hiding from the rest of their teammates.

Matt scans the kitchen and common area. No signs of Aaron. Their dorm door leading directly to the hallway is wide open, though. Matt zooms out, looking left and right, hoping Aaron hadn't gone far. To his luck, Matt spots a slow paced blond in a hoodie that's stolen "borrowed" from Andrew's wardrobe, heading toward the ding of the elevator.

Matt tries to channel his inner striker, envisioning Kevin or Neil's running legs as his own, and charges the hall. The elevator doors ease open in a creaky slide, revealing Andrew, Kevin, and Neil as its passengers coming back from night practice.

Kevin and Neil are busy debating over future game plays while Andrew stalks behind them in silence. They all stop dead in their tracks, instincts taking over, when seeing Aaron approach them and a barreling Matt closing the distance between the backliners.

Matt's about to reach Aaron, arm outstretched, hand grasping for probably a sleeve or hem, when Aaron unexpectedly sidesteps out of the way. Is it luck or a sixth sense? They don't know, but Matt ends up crashing into one of the hallway garbage bins, knocking the contents everywhere, but thankfully breaking his fall.

Aaron's sleep self takes advantage of Matt's fumble, continuing his walking without missing a beat. Kevin blinks rapidly, for once Wymack's features dominating Kayleigh Day's genes, as the Queen of Exy tries to process what he's just witnessed. Neil's observing poker face quickly melts into concern for Matt's wellbeing. Andrew, slightly mirrors Neil, except his eyes are only for Aaron who seems very off to the goalie.

The noise Matt made should've stirred a few dorm residents awake, it being quiet hours in Fox Tower because more unfortunate sports teams had morning practice. They hear a muffled "shut the fuck up!" from a dorm room door Aaron strolls by.

By now, Kevin, Neil, and Andrew have stepped off the elevator. Kevin stays in place, unsure of what to do while Neil immediately speedwalks to Matt and Andrew stalks after to Aaron.

Problem is, Neil is naturally faster than Andrew and has to get around Aaron to get to Matt, and the closer the shortest striker on the team gets to the shortest backliner on the team, the more details sharp blue eyes take in on the unexplained situation.

Aaron's eyes are completely shut. His face is slack. Dried drool connects the corner of his mouth to the edge of his chin. The bedhead is distracting, yet overpowered by the literal soft snoring escaping from Aaron. Oh and despite wearing a hoodie, Andrew's twin is outside in a public area wearing only his boxers and one sock from the waist down.

"Wait! Neil! Don't!" Matt warns, too little, too late.

Just like earlier, when even though Aaron's back was turned to Matt and he evaded capture, Neil watches in slow motion Aaron's innate slumbering ability to know when someone has breached his personal space.

Neil is fast. Aaron is faster.

In one swift swoop of fanned out arms, Neil is halted, sleepwalking Aaron blocking his twin's not-boyfriend mafioso in a bone crushing hug.

He presses Neil to him with zero chances of letting go. Neil struggles against Aaron's embrace once the initial shock fades to no avail. He's trapped having Aaron's arms around him like a kid squeezing the stuffing from a teddy bear. Neil frowns when Aaron buries his head in the crook of Neil's shoulder and snores louder in his ear.

It's weird and not on Neil's bingo card. Getting treated like a body pillow to one of his least liked people. It's also fascinating that Aaron is still 100% unconscious and still standing up straight.

"Oh, man." Matt jogs to them at the same time Andrew makes it to them.

"What the hell?" Neil whines, disturbed and irritated that Aaron can be this strong.

"Uh, yeah, about that?" Matt nervously gulps. "You guys weren't supposed to know."

Wrong words to say as Andrew's eyes flash with rage. The more volatile Minyard twin absolutely hates not knowing what's going on with his twin.

"Explain." Andrew demands, one eye on Matt, and the other examining the hold Aaron has on Neil.

Kevin's presence doesn't add any value. "Did you see how he stopped Neil? His reflexes are better asleep than awake? We need to figure out how to get him to do that on court!"

"Not now, Kevin." Neil grits through teeth. If he could turn his head, he'd glare daggers at Kevin, but the way Aaron has grappled him pisses Neil off so bad.

Matt sighs, rubbing the back of his neck and talks.

"It's finals week. Aaron's stressed out over taking back to back science shit. He's been studying like crazy, drinking energy drinks, and running on fumes. Katelyn told Nicky and me to be on the lookout if he starts sleepwalking. Aaron, I guess, does this now. He slept walk when staying overnight in Katelyn's dorm or when he's taking a nap in his study group at the library."

"You've been keeping secrets from the team." Kevin growls.

"You've been keeping secrets from us." Neil is more hurt that Matt wouldn't tell all of the Monsters, specifically him over Kevin or Andrew.

"You and Nicky are deadmen walking." Andrew didn't give a shit about Honor Among Backliners, this seemed to vaguely be considered a medical condition, and Andrew would've preferred Aaron had seen trained professional Abby rather than Matt and Nicky winging it.

"Whoa, dude, c'mon." Matt put up placating hands in front of him at the threat. "I was just following Nicky and Katelyn's lead. He should be back to his normal factory resetting when finals are done. No harm, no foul."

"I'll be the judge of that." Andrew leans in to survey Aaron. His brother looks peaceful and is now drooling on Neil's shoulder without abandon.

"No harm he says, I'm losing years of my life here." Neil demonstrates when fighting against the hug warrants, again, Aaron to squeeze tighter to keep him in place. "This is torture. Aaron's spit is seeping through."

"You'll live." Andrew hushes him and is about to shake Aaron awake, hand going for the shoulder, when Matt blurts out "It's bad to wake up a sleepwalker."

Andrew pauses his movement to narrow his eyes at Matt. "Why?"

"Well, um, I just heard it is. Like, the person could become disoriented or panicked. He would definitely be both of those things if he sees Neil's pretty face instead of his alarm clock or ceiling, y'know."

Andrew's jaw ticks and he clenches his open palm to a fist in frustration. Neil's getting tired of supporting Aaron's weight, his muscles still sore from night practice. He's so close to Aaron that he can smell the same shampoo and conditioner all the Cousins use. Neil just wants to go to bed, maybe have a brief hookup with Andrew as Kevin does his 17 step skin care routine before calling it a day.

"What do you do then? When he gets like this?" Andrew finally asks Matt.

"Usually he doesn't get this far. He just stands in our room until Nicky or me herd him back to bed."

"Fine. We herd my needy half." Andrew orders. Matt is about to steer a conjoined Aaron and Neil to the backliners' dorm when Andrew grunts, "No. You idiots lost Aaron privileges. He's moving back in with me, temporarily."

"Andrew, for real? We have it handled." Matt argues and Andrew isn't hearing it.

"Had your chance. Failed with flying colors. I'm watching him until finals are over."

"But you don't understand. Aaron has no idea he sleepwalks."

And there it is, clicking into place for both Andrew and Neil. Nicky must've not wanted Aaron to know about this strange habit of his. Not during this crucial time. He just admitted honestly to Bee that he hasn't had nightmares about Andrew and Drake in months. He doesn't need a new issue to worry about.

"Okay. I'll deal with it." Andrew stares Matt down in challenge and arches a brow. "Anything else you and Nicky have been hiding from Aaron and me or is the rest a surprise?"

"No. That's it."

"Good. Go away now."

Matt hurries off, giving an apologetic look to Neil first. Andrew guides Aaron and Neil to their dorm door so Neil doesn't trip while walking backwards. Aaron, clingy and a force apparently when out like a light, follows after Neil's backpedaling scarily easy. Kevin unlocks the door and they all enter inside. Andrew guides them to the beds.

"Don't make me sleep with him, Andrew." Neil begs, eyes latching to Andrew's impassive and unblinking hazel.

"Aaron has a 7am final in cell biology. His 3rd ranked hardest class. Needs at least a C average to pass. You will not move an inch so he gets all the rest he can get. Got it, runaway."

"Your investment in Aaron's future is impressive for someone allergic to books." Neil blankly responds.

"I like what's mine to be taken care of."

"I don't feel very taken care of, right now."

"Stop flirting and let your twin cuddle Neil in peace. We have finals too." Kevin interrupts, already undressing and putting on his expensive silk pajamas.

Andrew grabs a discarded pillow and aims it at Kevin's face, headshot successful. The men try their best to settle down. Neil awkwardly lays on his back with sleepwalking Aaron snuggling into him affectionately, the effort to change into a different shirt or in a pair of jogging pants impossible. Neil's used to Andrew's solid and comforting form draped over him, not the twin that thinks he doesn't deserve Andrew. What if Aaron wakes up and starts choking him to death out of a mix of embarrassment and anger?

Neil cocks his head to the side, his disgruntled gaze catches on Andrew's scrutiny with no intentions of sleeping, sitting on the bottom bunk to smoke in the dark like a discount Batman scanning Gotham, the window cracked to air out the smoke.

Andrew's calm facade shields his whirling thoughts. He has a lot of emotions brawling for top priority. His possessiveness is kicking up, a trait Bee would lightly scold Andrew for entertaining. No one should be sharing a bed with Neil besides him. Also, Andrew never knew Aaron was a subconscious hugger. His identical copy always scowled at Nicky's overly sentimental physical contact. Andrew's seen Aaron clack racquets with Kevin or Matt, accept a pat on the back or shoulder from Wymack, and be disgustingly cutesy with Katelyn. Aaron's never hugged Andrew, not since the incident at the Hemmick's.

Besides, Aaron isn't technically consenting. He isn't aware of what he's doing. Still, Andrew wonders if he had gotten to Aaron first before Neil, would it be him lugging around his adhesive of a brother? He's mad at himself for not picking up that Aaron was stressed enough to develop this problem. He's furious at Matt and Nicky and don't get Andrew started on Katelyn. They all knew and didn't mention a peep to him or Abby. Bee is going to get an earful from Andrew as soon as daylight breaks.

On the top bunk, Kevin tosses and turns. He should be able to turn his brain off. He should've poured himself a night cap. Nope. He is preoccupied on why having Aaron and Neil glued to each other bothers him so much. For a laughable second, Kevin thinks he's leveled up in empathy, but dismisses the idea instantly. He turns on his side and stares below, seeing Neil look imprisoned and ready to bite off his limbs like a wounded animal in a bear trap with every sigh of content Aaron breathes on his neck.

Kevin's confused. He wouldn't mind having Aaron's grip on him. A Raven would jump at the opportunity with glee. But Kevin's not a Raven, he's a Fox, and according to that nature documentary he binged about The History of Forest Animals, foxes enjoy nuzzling in the same manner as Aaron.

In the end, the guareented Exy Court hailing from PSU's Foxes pulled an all nighter due to the presence of Aaron. The tension and anticipation of Aaron's reaction had Andrew absently smoke his last few cigarettes, Kevin curiously baffled at his desire to switch places with Neil, and Neil obeying Andrew by not moving an inch. The birds chirp and the sky remained sunless. It's 6am and if Aaron doesn't get ready for the day, they'll draw straws on who wakes him up.

Luckily, Aaron twitches into the living, blinking lethargically and yawning his morning breath into Neil's scrunching nose. It stunk of Redbull and leftover pizza. Kevin would have a fit at the poor diet. Aaron finally releases Neil, sitting up to rub at his eyes and wipe the drool from his mouth.

"Mrghrnf." Aaron speaks gibberish, groggily climbing over Neil to stand.

For a moment, they all think Aaron's sleepwalking again, but it turns out he's not a morning person. They watch Aaron make his way to the bathroom and maybe it's muscle memory because this did use to be Aaron's room once upon a time ago. When Aaron returns, he is more cognizant.

"Why are you guys in my dorm?"

"You're in our dorm." Neil retorts.

"Huh?" Aaron tilts his head, squinting. "What the...?"

Andrew takes over. "You sleepwalk. You came here. Eat breakfast. Drink coffee. Leave."

"I what now?" Aaron widens his eyes and Andrew wastes no time herding his twin.

"Talk later." He drags Aaron to the kitchen counter and shoves a protein bar in his hands.

"Andrew wait - "

"Talk later." Andrew emphasizes and Aaron shuts up. He does as he's told and leaves for his own dorm.

Andrew texts Bee. Then, he texts Abby.

Kevin and Neil spy on him through the bedroom threshold.

"You think he'll pass?" Neil asks, not wanting his sacrifice as Aaron's plushie to be in vain.

Andrew scoffs. "It's Aaron."

Kevin confidently nods in agreement. "He is the brains. But only because history majors don't get the deserved respect as doctors in training, mind you."

Neil and Andrew share a look, wordlessly communicate in record time, and since Andrew isn't close Neil subs for him and smacks Kevin the back of the head.

This is, sadly, just the beginning. Finals just started. They have a week of Aaron plausibly sleepwalking. He was fortunate to run into Andrew, Kevin, and Neil when he got pass Matt and Nicky. The three of them weren't willing to risk Aaron running into a stranger with unsavory musings.

Andrew won't let anything happen to his brother. He'd burn the building and up his body count if a single hair got touched on Aaron.

Bee and Abby couldn't come fast enough.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

miss Raven!! ik you keep up with the jp server stuff but have you heard about what’s going on with the en server? they’re rerunning like ALL the b7 cards (which is like 15 charas) in one month plus two main story updates :(

xhskwbkwjw Oh yeah, I heard about the “let’s rerun ALL the limited book 7 cards to Ruggie this month” and double main story updates debacle 🙂‍↕️ Good luck to EN players, you’ll need that to survive…

I think?? Maybe EN is cramming book 7 stuff in because they’re trying to finish it before the anime launches in October 2025? (This is assuming the other Heartslabyul update(s) drop next month, then the final wrap up in September). That way, if the anime attracts new players, they can have a fully realized main story to experience. Not saying it’s a good decision though, it definitely doesn’t seem popular with current Twst players.

I heard there were other issues with the recent EN update too, like how they accidentally used the 2.5 banner instead of the 3.5 banner for an announcement (which I wasn’t able to get a screenshot of; think it was corrected). Leona’s birthday banner notif went out 4 weeks early, and so did an announcement that Sam’s store had reset (it wouldn’t be for another 4 hours).

There’s also multiple typos in official posts/news announcements, like these:

This is nothing new, but I continue to be surprised by the typos persisting in Twst. I can excuse technical errors; these happen a lot among other gacha games—but you’d think companies as huge as Disney and Aniplex could afford better quality control?? But I also doubt the team working on the localization is paid enough or given enough time/resources for this project 💀 so I can’t blame them…

[not-quite-normal]

Hii! First of all, how are you? I would like to ask you what path you took to get to where you are now: working in the world of animation for big production houses. I’m very curious! Thank you so much if you will answer! 🙏🏻

hi, thanks! currently enjoying my canada day off from work weirdly in the middle of the week (had to work yesterday haha)

i feel like i've talked about my career journey before but i can't find it in my animation question tag, so sure! i'll start by saying that no one's path is the same; everyone that i've ever talked to has a different journey so best not to compare yourself to others and instead focus on being the best you that you can be.

for school, i went to capilano university's two year 2D animation program. when i graduated in 2010, the industry was in a big lull (similar to now) with not many jobs available. a few months passed without being able to find any work, when i got an offer from one of my previous teachers for a job a 3D show at bardel, a studio in vancouver that he worked at. i went to school for 2D so i didn't really know how to use maya haha (i had dabbled with it a bit in high school) but i went for it anyway. they let me learn in the office on my own time with help from a couple of the leads there and it was very overwhelming!! i was having severe doubts, that i was in over my head, i didn't know what i was doing, etc. but once i got into production, i had the most patient lead that helped me through my shots and i eventually made it to the end of the show. they kept me on for the next show as an anim revisionist, and then the next show after that was TMNT 2012! i didn't think they'd want to keep me on for such a cool show because i was still so inexperienced but i understand now it's because i was cheap labour lol (i think i was earning something around $600 a week at this point).

i worked on TMNT for about 5 years. working on a show like that for so long really let me do a lot of growing. every episode was a chance to look back and go 'okay, what can i do better this time? how can i set shots up to make my life easier when i animate them? how do i set this up in case i get notes about the action here? which shots can i choose to spend a bit more polish time on and which ones are more filler shots?' as with anything, getting good at stuff just requires a lot of practice! and TMNT gave me a loooooot of practice haha.

during my last year of TMNT i wanted to get more into feature animation so i took an iAnimate online course where i learned a lot about acting, working from reference, and developing an eye for more feature level polish.

from there i moved on to work at a couple of other tv studios in vancouver while i worked on my reel, but i ended up back at bardel for dragon prince. i only worked on a couple episodes of that before getting into sony though. i've never wanted to leave vancouver and i didn't want to work in vfx, so sony was really the only goal for me, even though at the time the most recent movie that sony did was the emoji movie ahaha, at that point i would have been stoked to be hired for emoji! i kind of lucked out that we ended up doing all these amazing and groundbreaking projects. i was hired to work on smallfoot, which was being done alongside the first spiderverse so the world didn't really know what imageworks was cookin at that point.

i was happy to just be an animator and had no ambitions of a leadership role. i ended up being pushed into it even though it was outside of my comfort zone, but as with my very first job, that feeling of being overwhelmed went away with practice and i love it now 8)

[angeliteeyes]

Platonic Yelan + Sibling Reader Headcanons

Inspired by a comment from @loveliyuelesbians . Thank you for this lovely idea!!

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

- Prepare for trouble... and make it double! Being her partner in crime—or whatever it is your jobs are—naturally leads you to having an air of mystery and mischief around you at all times. Random citizens of Liyue may not know who you are exactly, but they're well aware that messing with you is probably not the smartest idea.

- Like her, you've got a glorious array of identities in which you often disguise yourself as. Even those close enough to exchange words with both you and Yelan rarely notice your shared bloodline. It's for the better, you suppose, seeing how much of an advantage it offers during investigations.

- Her lackadaisical attitude towards work unfortunately seems to have rubbed off on you. At least, that's what you two let people think. Admitting to others about your hereditary health issues wouldn't exactly fit your images, you know? In the end, you two often only have each other to truly sympathize with your shared troubles, sharing knowing glances when a mission's dragged out far further than either of you would like.

- It's true that, by nature of your profession, you've gotten rather skilled at keeping secrets. Unfortunately, she's gotten even better at figuring them out. You can't seem to hide anything from her, even if you try desperately to for the sake of avoiding embarrassment or potential teasing. It's a good thing that she takes so many naps, at least. That way, you still have a minor shot at setting up surprise birthdays for her and the like without being caught red-handed.

- Archons help anyone who's foolish enough to play games with you two. Whether it's dice, cards, or any other measure of "luck" (you'll let your opponent believe that's all it is for now), time and time again, you both always seem to come out on top.

In the event that your opponent is one another, though? Now that's where things really get interesting. Just like a scripted battle, you two wind up neck and neck, attracting the attention of any who are lucky enough to watch from the sidelines. Who wins in the end? Well... that depends. How far are you willing to go—or, should I say, cheat?

- Despite her often oppressive persona, when it comes to you, her vibe tends to soften quite a lot. If you're lucky, you might even catch her acting childlike. Things like her pouting over losing a game against you, being caught off guard by sudden birthday celebrations, or even her getting misty-eyed when you take a little too long to come back from a dangerous mission.

Of course, if you ever try to draw attention to any of those temporary bouts of weakness, she'll just shrug and play the whole thing off. It's convincing, too, so much so that if you were any less used to her clever tongue, you might actually believe her. Good thing you don't. It's wonderful ammo for teasing.

- You know how uneven her haircut is? Yeah, that's your doing. A long time ago, she suffered the misfortune of getting some gum stuck in her hair (also your fault) and well... There wasn't exactly time for her to sit down and let an actual professional take care of it, so you two did your best with what you had. Thankfully, if how long she's kept it like that is anything to go off of, she doesn't seem to mind.

- Yelan's not afraid to give you tough love sometimes. Of course, you are special and important to her, so she doesn't wish to go too far. Still... She knows better than anyone else just how much danger your line of work puts you in. If she catches you trying to overdo it—or even worse, already having done so—be prepared for her to chew you out. It hurts to see you upset afterwards, but hey, better than not seeing you at all.

- The weight of the blood that runs through your mutual veins is not lost on either of you. Its history, troubled yet heroic in equal measures, shapes each and every action you take. Each twist of fate feels predestined, as if your DNA simply will not allow you two a simple, peaceful life. That's alright, though. As long as you have each other's company, you can confidently say that whatever your future holds won't be boring.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Summer prompts

That's right! We finally have all four seasons done!! Meant to get this out sooner bu7uuuuuuut I kept forgetting! Whoops!

As always for pre made prompt lists, 3 prompts max and 1 character per ssk!! It makes masterlist stuff easier!!

Other than that... so long as requests are open, go ham!

Beach- oh boy! A beach episode! What are you two doing together? Do they like being at the beach or do they prefer something else? Do you swim? Play games?

Ice cream- or really any cold treat! Homemade, store bought... would they bolt after an ice cream truck... for their own sweet tooth or for yours...?

Summerween- are they interested in celebrating by being a little spooky? Is it a big event or do they keep it simple, if they participate? Or are you the one pushing for it?

Vacation- do they prefer to stay home or go somewhere with you? If you can convince them to go out somewhere where do they want to go and do?

Camping- do you guys like camping together? Or do one- or both- of you despise it the entire time? Bugs can be a nightmare! Would they call it quits or be hyped? Would they suggest "camping" in the backyard?

Barbecue- who's cooking and who's eating... more importantly is the food any good? Hopefully someone knows their way around a grill! Bonus points if it's a gathering, pot luck or not

Pool- beaches aren't for everyone... are they more of a pool person? Though... pools can be more restricting... do they get in trouble with the life guards? Would they send you to fetch you snacks? Who knows!

Sunburnt- uh oh! One of you is sunburned! Would they take care of you, or would they be whiny if they're the one hurting? ...would they go out of their way to fetch you aloe?

Smores- camping or not p, summer is never complete without smores! Do they'll keep smores or despise the sticky treat with their entire being?

Road trip- of course adventure during the season is a given! Can you convince them to take a ride for you, even if it's just somewhere in town? Would they make a good driving companion?

Water fight- balloons or toy shooters or simply spraying you with the hose... are they down to get soaked with you in the yard? Are they competitive? A sore loser? How far do they take it?

[forresttfirre]

— a game of chance (dick grayson x reader)

Summary: Luck is your thing, charm is Dick's. So it's not a surprise when you get paired together for an undercover mission at a casino. But it seems your luck isn't enough to cover two people, and his charm can only go so far. Warnings: fictional drugs (power enhancers), mentions of religion + something being sacrilege (it's very minimal), french because it's set in monaco (feel free to correct my french, most of it i wrote on a hope & prayer), pining & tension, dick gets hurt, reader gets hit on. Word Count: 2.4k — Notes: reader has the power to manipulate luck & is a member of the JL.

Casinos are nothing new to you. After you got a handle on your powers, you spent your down time in disguise, always dressing older than you were. You'd enter with a fake ID in between your fingers and a decent amount of money you'd exchange for chips. You always won, always knew when to fold or what to bet. Every casino you went to grew suspicious but with no actual evidence to prove you cheated, you always went home with your earnings.

When you enter the Casino de Monte Carlo, you can feel the different levels of luck that fill the area. A lot of bad luck stains certain areas. It's always the areas that the casinos rig to the high heavens.

The com in your ear crackles as it turns on. "No getting distracted. Focus on the mission." A teasing smile grows on your face. You glance at Dick when you speak, trying to cover up who you're actually talking to. "I'll be focused in a minute or two, darling." You can hear how Batman bristles at the pet name through his little hn. Dick just smiles and laughs, his cheeks a little rosy.

He's got on a pair of thick, black glasses that obscure the features that make him recognizable as Dick Grayson. You never would've thought they'd actually work.

Everything else about him feels normal: his jawline is still sharp, his hair is still perfectly styled, and even his suit is a deep Nightwing blue.

"I need a drink." Before you can move, his hand is on the small of your back guiding you over to the bar near the middle of the room. Strings of crystals hang down alongside the exterior of the bar, extravagant mirrors decorate the walls behind.

The bartender gives you both a judging look as you sit at the bar. You position yourself with your back to the side of the building Dick can visibly see, and vice versa. Dick orders two drinks in practiced French as you scan the room for anything suspicious.

From the intel Batman was able to gather, illegal dealings of power enhancers have been going on in the backrooms of the casino. You've stumbled upon the drug before, during your nights as a vigilante. They'll be concealed well, but once you uncover one, all the other stashes will be easy to find. They can hide them in jars or water bottles, but they can never get rid of the shimmer the drug holds, even if it's not bright blue like the first formula.

The meta power enhancers are illegal around the world and are not meant to be sold or even made in the first place. But people always try to be sneaky.

Batman was able to discover that the dealers here aren't trying to hide that they're selling; it's the electric blue formula you're used to, stashed in small, clear tubes. Apparently, they're also not even trying to hide where they're doing their dealings.

A man guards a door a couple feet away from the bar, burly and muscular, wearing a suit and dark sunglasses like he's a caricature of a bodyguard. Though he does wear a blue beaded bracelet — the group's signature.

Your lips curve into a sultry smile and you lean toward Dick, lips almost brushing against his ear as you whisper, "Behind you, to your right." As you pull away Dick raises an eyebrow, his tone faux teasing as he says, "Oh, really?" You roll your eyes and pick up the drink you haven't touched. When you take a fake sip, Dick locates the door via one of the mirrors and you mentally remind yourself of the 'secret password' to enter the hidden room.

Sacrement, because apparently the people who take the enhancer treat it like it's holy — as if an addiction to power is anything but sacrilegious. You repeat it in your head with a heavy French accent to take your mind off the deeper meaning. Might as well try to enjoy the mission just a tad.

"The bartender looks antsy. Max amount of time before he approaches is approximately five minutes." You can barely contain your snort at Batman's formal tone. Dick leaves his barstool smoothly, extending a hand to you when he's got his feet on the ground. "Shall we?" He asks with a blinding smile. A little laugh leaves your lips, and you take another fake sip of your drink to ignore the warm feeling in your stomach.

You place your hand in his and step down from your barstool. Dick puts more strength toward his arm then he needs to, as if you'll stumble and fall from the chair. He probably just doesn't want to abort the mission just because you happen to roll your ankle.

You both put on a graceful walk, trying to exude the wealth needed to gain some respect here. As you approach the guard, you bend luck in your favor. Though you can't see it change — you never have — you can tell it's worked with the way the air around you feels. Like it's lighter.

When you stop in front of the guard, you can barely get the 'secret word' out of your mouth before he's allowing you both in. Dick looks at you a little shocked, like he knows what you've done but not how you've done it. "Merci, monsieur," you say to the guard with a kind smile, and he nods stiffly before closing the door behind you both.

"Mind if we join?" Dick places his hand on an empty chair, causing the men in a game of poker look up. They all wear the signature blue beaded bracelet, but the oldest at the table wears a bracelet of smooth, clear crystal beads. The boss.

He gestures toward the two empty chairs. His voice is gruff as he speaks, "Asseyez-vous." You both comply, sitting down at the table and accepting the cards you're dealt. "Steer away from the cards if you can. We want to get this over with before more guests join." Dick shoots you a look, making you sure you heard Batman's orders. You give him a subtle nod while placing your cards on the table.

"We're not just here for cards, you know," Dick comments as one of the boss' men adds a few chips in to the betting pile. The boss seems surprised at how forward he is. "Ah, j'sais. J'sais," He waves it off, raising the bet just as casually.

"How much for one unit?" Dick inquires as he matches the bet. The boss laughs as he points a finger at him. "You are nosy, aren't you? You did not get your information before coming here, huh?"

"Are you a meta, monsieur?" He continues. Dick straightens at the question — looking visibly unprepared. "Il ne l'est pas, monsieur. Mais, moi si." You catch the boss' eye as you throw your chips in to match the bet. His grin grows, showing yellowed teeth and age lines.

You hold his gaze as his eyes scan you, like he'll see your power through your body language. Beside you, Dick's jaw clenches, feeling uncomfortable for you. He places a hand on your thigh as if he's saying I'm here for you. The placement isn't anything scandalous, but the table hides most of his arm, leaving room for curious eyes.

"Careful." You'd like to be able to tell Batman to shut up. You know what you're doing. So does Dick. "Are you an enchantress, mademoiselle?" You force a flattered look and a soft laugh.

"I wish— Do your exchanges always include flirting with your clients, monsieur?" Dick cuts you off with a bitter tone that leaves you stunned. The boss and his men laugh as Batman's voice sounds through both of your coms. "Fallback, Nightwing. Focus on the mission."

"Ah, I guess we will start the exchange then." He stands from the table, placing his hands against it to help him up. His men stand along with him, revealing the guns holstered on their belts. Both of you notice them immediately. "Ici."

One of the men pulls a black cloth off a non-descript object revealing a set of crates. Very original.

The boss grabs one of the small tubes from a top crate, holding it between his thumb and pointer finger. He holds it up near the bulb on the ceiling, showing the glimmer that the power enhancers always hold. "It's high quality. You will enjoy it, chérie." You hold out your hand as he walks back over to you, and he places the tube on your palm. When you close your fingers around it, the tube is ice cold, but you can feel the power within it.

Dick gives you a worried look before speaking. "How much do we have to pay? You never said." His words are stilted, like he's trying to bury his emotions and focus on the task at hand. He's not doing the best job. "Don't worry, you'll get a discount. It's not often we get a pretty face in this room." He and his men laugh again as Dick lets his anger show through clenched fists and a small twitch in his jaw.

"Listen, man—," Dick takes a step forward, hand extended just as a gesture, nothing more. Yet all the men pull out their guns and point them at him. Everything goes silent, and you use the moment to bend the luck in the room. The air doesn't feel as light as it used to be.

"Listen? Ah, funny. You want me to listen, yet you don't let me speak."

"It's alright. I don't need to speak either." Dick shrugs off his suit jacket and drops it against a nearby chair, then swiftly undoes the buttons on his wrists to make his movements easier as he punches the boss. You place the tube on the table before joining the action. As Dick fights the boss (he's down in a few hits) and his right-hand man, you focus on the others.

You grab one trying to get to Dick by the shoulders and send him into the table, crushing it under his weight. There's two others; one charging at you and the other is busy turning off the safety on his gun.

He stumbles after the first punch then blindly throws a punch toward you. Because he misses you completely, it makes it easier for you to push him on the ground next to his friend. As he collapses against the ruins of the table, a gunshot pierces through the room.

You turn around in a hurry and are met with the sight of Dick holding his side, where blood is starting to seep through his white shirt, while his other hand quickly disarms his assailant. When the gun clatters to the ground, you grab it, backing him into a corner. Your eyes frantically scan the room around you for something to tie him up with, when Dick walks by you, undoing his tie.

You snatch the tie from him, sending him a glare that says what are you doing. "Go grab a few tubes and put them in my bag. And maybe grab one of their shirts or something to help stop the bleeding?" You give him a sarcastic smile that makes him cringe like he's in trouble.

As he does what he's told, you tie up the guy's hand with Dick's tie, then gag him with another tie, courtesy of his now unconscious boss. Hurried footsteps begin to approach the door.

"Are you gonna be safe to leave?" All he does is nod before he pushes open a back door. A padlock falls from a lock and clangs against the ground. Guess that's where your luck went.

The suite the JL had rented has only one bed since you had to stick with your cover as a couple for your entire stay. So, once Dick was able to get stitched up, you gave him the bed. It was only fair.

After lots of arguing from him before he eventually relented.

Now, Dick sits awkwardly slumped on the bed while you lay on the couch, feet kicked up on the opposite arm rest. Every few seconds you glance up from your book to check on him. He's clearly antsy but unable to sleep, trying to distract himself with something on his phone.

"Dick?" He hums in acknowledgement. "You okay?" That gets him to look up from his phone, which reveals the exhausted look in his eye. Not just tired from the mission, but also his emotions.

"Yeah, it's...B's just a little annoyed about how the mission went. You know him." You freeze at that. Because you could agree, say that makes sense, but is that what he needs to hear right now? "Mm, well the mission, for him at least, was during the day. I'm sure he's just tired from missing his afternoon nap. Being a bat, and all." It's a bad attempt at a joke but it still gets a small huff of laughter from Dick. Worth it.

"You should get some sleep too." His head tips back toward the headboard, a bored look on his face. "I don't think sleep wants me right now."

You don't know what compels you to get up from the couch — your luck making its own decisions or how sometimes you don't want everything to be playful, and rather have it be real — but you make your way over to the bed, book in hand. Dick blinks at you in surprise as you sit down next to him cross-legged.

"Ever read The Great Gatsby?" That gets a little smile on his face. "Yeah, in 10th grade English, maybe."

"I'll give you a refresher then." You open the book back to where you stopped and clear your throat. As you start to read, your words trail off when Dick shifts closer to you. After a minute long staring contest, where both of you seem to have an internal war on what's happening, you begin to read. Next to you, Dick visibly relaxes.

As the sun starts to rise over the Monaco skyline, Dick falls asleep. He's closer to you now that his limbs are all loose.

It takes you longer to fall asleep — you swear you heard birds chirping right before your head hit the pillow — just because of the way your heart races because he's in proximity to you.

You wake up, your limbs are all tangled with your copy of The Great Gatsby bent between you. Neither of you acknowledge it beyond a few apologies, just like how you've treated every other accidental (or purposeful) display of affection.

Though you'd never bend your luck to win him over, you can only hope your natural, non-superpowered luck can take over.

i have so many other ideas for these two so i might make a collection of some sorts? let me know what you think! i had so much fun writing this so i'd love to do more! + also, maybe i'm overthinking this but i feel like the JL wouldn't do a lot of undercover missions? or at least the members of the batfamily, considering their civilian identities. ex: it's different for marvel characters because most of them have their identities public so there's not as much to lose, you know? anyway, even though i considered this i still wrote it 'cause i liked the idea :) (they've definitely done undercover missions i just don't know why some members would do that)

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hubris Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Hondo Ohnaka x Fem!Reader

Summary: You owe Hondo a hefty sum of spice. It was hubris to travel through the Sertar Sector. You doubt you’ll make it out alive—not after what happened last time.

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ for tit-sucking, fingering, cunnilingus, PiV sex, and Hondo being a general pompous ass.

Word Count: 3.7k

Notes: I just wanted to write something that felt "Clone Wars" era. I think I succeeded. Yes, there is a bit of humor in the mix.

Ao3 link

You should have known better than to travel through the Sertar sector. Your own hubris was to be your downfall, unable to activate your ship’s hyperdrive as it had been caught in the tractor beam of one Corona-class armed frigate. Try as you might, your little HWK-290 could not escape its magnetic pull.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you lamented to no one, being the light freighter’s sole occupant, giving the Corellian ship’s ion engines one more push. It was to no avail, as the saucer-shaped craft had you in its clutches. You thought you could hear that damnable Weequay’s laughter already, though it was not possible through the reinforced durasteel hull.

You sighed as your shoulders slumped, releasing the lever that would have thrown you into hyperspace on any normal day—but your luck had just run out. You waited, somewhat impatient, curious what the pirate would do next, speculating on the price you'd have to pay for crossing into his jurisdiction. You didn’t have the goods you owed him, after all.

There was a sound: a hiss, followed by the clank of metal. He planned to board, not just drag you back to Florrum. It was then you knew he had sealed off the airlock with a docking tube, hearing the suction somewhere off behind you. There was nowhere for you to run; your ship was small. Unfortunately for you, you were at Hondo Ohnaka’s mercy.

“Well, well, well! Look at what I have found all de way out here, en de vast reaches of space. A flighty little bird who thought she could escape.”

You visibly cringed, turning your head as you remained seated inside the cockpit, finding that two other men had joined the scoundrel, hanging back with blasters at the ready should you try anything unwise.

“Hondo,” you said, your voice lacking enthusiasm. It caused the brigand to place a hand over his heart as if he were wounded.

“My dear, du mine ears deceive me? Et sounded as ef you are not happy tu see me.” The pirate feigned a pout, coming closer as you forced yourself to stand and face him head on.

“Get on with it, Ohnaka. What do you want?”

“Ut-ut-ut, so rude you are. Can we not exchange pleasantries?” The devil had already been smiling, such was his way, yet now his grin seemed to spread from ear to ear. You knew your defiance would only rile him up.

“Ah, but business es pleasure, I always say. I like your style,” he admitted, coming to a stop at the toes of your shoes. “Let us … cut tu de chase.”

You glanced behind him. Hondo’s cronies glared at you from over their bosses shoulders. You rolled your eyes. “Do they really need to be here?”

“A bit of insurance,” he began, in what you had to admit was a charming drawl, “for ef you decide tu misbehave, nu?”

“I thought you liked it when I was naughty,” you teased, playing the role of flirt for however much it might appease him. If you were fortunate, he’d buy into your game, and you might walk away from this alive.

The Weequay’s gray eyes narrowed, all hints of mischief fleeing from his person. You gulped down your spit as he gazed at you through half-moon slits, one ring-laden finger rising to tip up the end of your chin.

“What I like,” he started, his words spoken low and with gravitas, “es tu be given what es owed me.”

“I don’t have it,” you returned, knowing you may have just signed your death warrant.

“Hmm…” The interjection came out as a rumble, having edged its way up from the back of Hondo’s throat. The sound remained behind closed lips as the Weequay released your chin, tracing the back of a finger along the curvature of your jaw—it had been deeply resonate and sent shivers down your spine.

“I am not leaving here without. my. spice.”

“Then you shall remain here forever,” you brazenly retorted. “The ship is empty. I have nothing to give you.”

“Nothing?” Ohnaka moved to squeeze your face, his thumb and forefinger pressing into opposing sides as he stared you down, your own gaze reflecting back at you through the dark transparisteel panes that were inlaid within his swoop goggles. “I beg tu differ,” he countered.

A flick of the wrist, a snip-snapping of gold bedecked fingers, and his men were gone, sneering on their way out as they turned to exit through the docking tube, though they dare not offer a complaint. Your eyes widened as Hondo’s remained transfixed, the pirate failing to blink as he trailed his gaze along the column of your throat, down the arch of your clavicle, and toward the shape of your breasts.

“I tink maybe dere es someting of value here,” he muttered, his warm breath smelling of mint and savorium. Your own eyes traveled up the slit in his tunic, exposing the intricate striations of his scales. You desired to toy with the necklace that lived at the base of his throat, but would not move, finally coming to rest at the pleasant shape of his mouth.

“I am just a woman,” you explained, wondering what he might have to say to that.

“And I am but a simple man, ef you care tu indulge me,” he proffered, your lips mere millimeters apart.

“What about your insurance? Your spice?” you asked, unable to break away, nor desiring to.

“I tink I can handle you … alone,” he claimed, releasing his grip on your face to stare at you squarely. “I am looking at my spice. A rare sort indeed,” he purred.

“I thought you were through with me after last time,” you demurred, closing the space between you that he had just vacated.

“I am a firm believer en second chances, my dear.”

Something pressed against your thigh, a small smile creeping across your face. You were tempted to laugh; Hondo was a funny man, knowing that he had chosen that particular word for effect.

“Then lay your claim,” you audaciously returned.

It was all Ohnaka needed in the form of invitation, though he would endeavor to make this quick. His men were waiting on him after all, though Hondo would be the only one to get booty this day—the others would just grin and bear it.

“Yes, I will put a very large … stake en et, ah?”

You did laugh then, throwing your head back, the sound rising up from deep in your belly before you dipped your chin back down to face him.

Hondo did not wait for what else you might have to say, if anything, smashing his mouth against yours. The feeling of something warm and wet being driven past your teeth was welcome—that something exceptionally long. You had nearly forgotten what it felt like, after all these years.

“Mmn..” you hummed, recovering momentarily to push your body against the pirate’s, your own tongue now joining in to twist and wind around his. Hondo palmed a breast, a lever of your ship’s console digging into your rearend. A warning alarm sounded, forcing you to break away.

“Wait—” You pressed a series of buttons without so much as looking, effectively setting the airbrake so that the ship would stay put, no matter that Hondo still had his docking tube attached. That was all you needed—to be sucked out into space—your mouth attempting to rejoin his once more, though his had begun to travel down.

“How long has et been …” Hondo whispered against the smooth expanse of your throat, blunt teeth raking your neck. Then, he found the curve of your clavicle, trailing over to just above your sternum and the scant amount of cleavage exposed from the cut in your top.

“Two cycles,” you whispered back.

The pirate smirked against downy flesh, “so long you have managed tu avoid me, hmm?”

“I knew—I knew I couldn’t—”

Pay you, is what you meant to say, though Hondo had lifted both his hands, prying at either side of your blouse to tear it open, paying no heed to the buttons that bounced off in either direction, a small gasp being emitted in surprise.

“That was my favorite top!” you exclaimed breathily, lightly pushing against his chest.                             

Your complaints were silenced as Hondo dropped down onto his knees, ignoring you, reaching around with one hand to unfasten your brassier like a professional, not at all fumbling to find it like some lovers since past had struggled.

As soon as it was discarded, Hondo would be found kneading one tit as he suckled on the other, your sensitive nipple becoming erect in his mouth.

“Scoundrel,” you scolded; Hondo chuckled around your pliant flesh, nipping you lightly to swirl his tongue, sending sparks of pleasure like electricity through your veins.

“But of course,” he said, as if he could be anything else, Hondo continuing his gentle suckling as his hands roved downward, one cupping the dip in your waist as the other adeptly unfastened your pants.

“You made quick work of that,” you remarked, unable to help yourself—you ran your fingers along one of Hondo’s well-oiled plaits, coming around to usher your palm under the curve of his jaw. You dared to cradle his cheek, taking pleasure in stroking the point of his closest frill.

“But not tuu quick,” the pirate quipped, giving a small shiver, flicking your nipple one last time with the point of his onyx tongue. Then, the freebooter began plucking his many rings off one by one, focusing on the first two fingers of his left hand—fore and middle—smiling up at you with an impish twinkle in his eye.

“Hold dese, won’t you?” he asked, passing off the rings to you. You held out your hand to take them, weighing them in your open palm. Your focus was momentarily diverted away from Hondo, as the gold bands were fascinating, wondering how much each one might be worth.

Something warm and wet brushed your clit as another something slipped inside you; you gasped, though it devolved into a moan. Hondo had slid his tongue between your soft folds, his now ringless fingers sneaking inside you to curl, their reptilian tips pushing against that squishy, sensitive spot that resided against the underside of your spongy walls.

“Hondo,” you breathed, trembling. You placed his rings onto your own fingers for safekeeping, then tilted your head back as you spread your legs wider, allowing yourself to firmly sit against the console.

“Mm, for me?” he inquired, appreciating how eager you were for him to delve deeper, the Weequay’s fingers slow to press against you, and slow to slide back out. Hondo craned his neck, a hum rising up from the back of his throat as he painstakingly sucked at the little pink pearl nestled in its shell, the noises he produced somewhat vulgar, though you were beyond caring.

“I must, how you say, sample de product, ah?” Even now, the pirate could not be serious, referring to the lost shipment of spice he was now replacing with you. His fingers retracted so that his tongue could enter, that long, thick, black muscle disappearing as his mouth pressed against your lower lips, Ohnaka hungrily lapping at your cunt like it was a second mouth.

The kiss between your hips was languorous, sensual, the pirate’s nails digging into the soft meat of your thighs. Your breath exited in ragged gasps as you moved to hold the back of his skull, stroking him with the undersides of your fingers.

“Mnn, just like that,” you coaxed, lifting your legs to lock them around his shoulders. You pulled him forward, Hondo releasing a muted yet sonorous growl, eating you as if he were a man starved, deprived of sustenance for eons.

“Pure. Uncut, unrefined,” he whispered, the hot outbreath from his nostrils tickling the flesh of your lower belly as the Weequay finally snaked his tongue back out of you, instead focusing on your neglected clit. He once more embedded his fingers with a delightfully wet squelch, sweetly, rhythmically bringing you toward orgasm.

“Yes, yes,” you cooed, your body undulating in small waves, slow and precise, riding out the feeling for as long as you could.

Hondo, being the expert that he was in all things coital, only withdrew from you once you were spent.

“So sweet, you are. So much tastier dan spice.” The pirate leered up at you as he inserted one finger after the other inside his mouth, licking them clean, the sticky residue that stayed behind evidence that he had once more left you satisfied, and at a moment’s notice.

“Now for de main course,” Hondo said, perhaps more casually than he had meant to, Ohnaka pushing off one knee to stand.

“Are you prepared?” he asked, staring into your eyes; his gaze could be so provocative, penetrative—it was hard to break away. You found yourself lost in storm clouds as you heard the clink of his buckle, looking down just in time to see his holster, his belt, hit the duralloy floor of your ship.

Then, the sound of a comm, and the harsh, scratchy voice of another Quay on the line breaking the sexual tension that hung in the air, Hondo’s face dropping as he narrowed his brow. This one had an accent unlike your pirate king, reminiscent of the lower levels of coruscant. “Boss, hey boss—what’s taking so long? We got another ship comin’ in, bigger—gotta have loads of cargo.”

“Excuse me, my dear,” Hondo turned partway to the side, leaving your legs spread and your pants down with your breasts hanging out of a shirt that was beyond repair.

“Soon. Be patient. I am almost finished here,” he informed the man, clucking his tongue. “And nu more interruptions! Five—ten minutes! Two! Just wait!” he snapped, cutting off communications to reface you.

“Et appears someting else may have sprung up, besides me of course—but aldough I am not leaving you high and dry, I will leave you wetter dan before,” Hondo claimed, pressing his erection against the flesh of your thigh, proving to you that he meant what he said, though some people thought all he did was talk.

“Is that so?” you asked, taking it upon yourself to palm his cock through his trousers, your fingers eagerly dipping down to withdraw his prick—it was stout, thick, and just the right size, ribs of varying intensity lining his shaft all the way to the bottom. “You can try.”

“Tr—try?” Hondo’s voice caught, either offended at your choice of words, or surprised at the coolness of your touch, though he did not move away but instead pressed into you, his hand finding your cheek, your ear, giving the curve of your lobe a gentle tweak. “Hondo does not try—” he purred, “dere es nu such ting,” he offered, “only doing.”

You smiled mischievously at him, then scooted forward along the console. This time, you wrapped your legs around his hips. Hondo lifted you up—stronger than he looked—as you guided him inside you, the pirate carrying you aloft to the only chair in the cockpit: the captain’s chair, a soft moan spilling off his lips at the unique feeling of your plush, welcoming insides.

“A seat fit for a king, ah?” he jested, though lacking his usual rigor, his tone subdued as he relaxed, the sensation of your walls squeezing him tight seeming to throw him off his usual game, though not by much.

“So privileged I am to join you,” you said, playing off your coupling, the languid vacillation of your hips as you began to ride him leaving the pirate’s mouth hanging open.

He swallowed his saliva, then lifted his head to look you dead in your eyes.

“De honor es mine,” he replied. You felt he meant it, all haughtiness and pseudoregality being set aside for an air of sincerity to take its place. He tilted forward, seeking you out for something peculiar; Hondo would boop your nose with his.

So silly and adorable the gesture, you snorted. He pulled back to frown, though you apologized by leaning in to kiss him as you rolled your hips, moaning softly into his open mouth.

For once, he was speechless, though his quiet grunts, his little sounds of pleasure, was like music to your ears.

Your pace was unhurried, though not too slow—sheathing him to the deepest part of your sex before gliding back up, bouncing lightly up and down, over and over. You pressed your breasts against him, and Hondo finally found the wherewithal to gather one into his mouth, his tongue circling your nipple before his lips latched on to suck, however brief.

“Use me,” he whispered, “entu oblivion—leave nothing, you would take everyting, only my bones remain tu tell de tale—here lies Hondo—lover, marauder—having succumbed tu de greatest vice of all.” He spoke all this against your breast; it surprised you, though you were not close. Romantic sentiments poured out of his mouth like fragrant, full bodied wine regardless, causing your heart to involuntarily ache for something more.

To say it had no effect on you would be the most blatant of lies. You flounced just a bit harder, just a bit faster, as Hondo diligently sucked your flesh—his gold and ivory teeth biting down ever so gently. The pain, mingled with pleasure, shot up from your loins branching out toward your nipples, the fluidity between your legs increasing as the head of his cock aided in the release of another orgasm.

“Hon-Hondo,” you spoke aloud, clawing at the back of his head and pressing his face—goggles and all—against your chest. His teeth were still latched, still sending sparks through your body as you threw yourself back, Hondo’s arm having encapsulated you to hold you off the edge of his lap.

A wet suckling noise, then came his voice again, his free hand moving to caress the bud housed between velvet folds. “Sing you for me, a pretty song.”

There was no controlling it; his fingers worked magic as your voice soared—at first quiet, then more loudly—your back arching in the throes of a third pleasurable release.

At the same time, your little squirms and the convulsions of your cunt around his cock caused Hondo to cum, his seed coating your walls, his prick flexing inside you with every pulse. You clung to him as if for life, hugging the Weequay to your chest—desperate to keep him in that moment, daring, even, to love him.

Finally, there was nothing but your breath—heavy and sluggish—as you both recovered from what had just transpired, though Hondo did so sooner than you would have liked. To stay with him like this, in silence, for just a moment longer—there wasn’t much more you would have asked for. But he was the one to break it into so many shards.

“And fun was had by all,” he commented offhand, standing with you so that you were forced to lower your legs, placing all your weight onto your own two feet. You gazed up at his face as he tucked himself away. You could already feel yourself dripping, knowing that a trip to the refresher was in order.  

“Excuse me,” you uttered softly.

---

Five minutes later, you joined the pirate back inside the tiny cockpit of your ship. The toilet was just down a short, narrow hall off to the right—right next to the cot you slept on.

Hondo was waiting for you, presently dusting off his coat of any debris, though you kept a tidy place. You supposed it was just something to do, and that Hondo was careful to keep himself clean and neat, for a pirate.

“Dat, I tink, was a fitting repayment,” he joked. He was already planning to leave—you could see it in his stance, in the way he hovered near the docking tube, one foot already inside.

“Leaving so soon?” you asked, disappointment present in your tone. Hondo gave you a smile, then curled his arm toward his chest, bowing his head slightly.

“A pirate’s call es tu treasure—and dis treasure I have already found,” he chuckled.

You were less than amused.

“Onto bigger and better things, then,” you concluded somewhat bitterly.

“I am afraid so, en your case,” he remarked without remorse. “But not before you return what es mine.”

You had to think about it; he already knew you were fresh out of spice. It took Hondo snapping his fingers at you like a dog for you to realize he meant his rings. Something inside you gave—that was the final straw.

“Ef you would so kindly return tu me my property, I will be on my way,” the pirate said. You gazed at him a moment, long and hard.

“Ded you hear me, my dear, or ded your own screams of pleasure deafen you?”

Something occurred behind Hondo. A sudden release of pressure had him stumbling backward, for you had manually released the airlock with the push of a button just off to your left.

Quickly, you wrapped your arm around a power conduit, the metal encasing the fibers strong enough to bear your weight. It kept you secured as Hondo was sucked toward the rear of the ship and out into the tube, his voice calling out to you as he disappeared.

“A woman! After! My own heart!”

You swiftly reset the lock, closing off the chamber from the rest of your ship. It being so small, it had taken seconds for you to rid yourself of the pirate.

Looking out the closest viewport, you saw that Hondo had been escorted safely aboard, much to your relief and your chagrin.

No longer caught in the blasted Weequay’s tractor beam—and with all common sense thusly returned to you—you threw the HWK-290 into hyperspace, wondering if, the next time you and Hondo Ohnaka crossed paths, he would be so inclined to test your patience, or if he’d finally realized he’d met his match.

You lifted your hand and gave the rings a once-over. They were too big, loosely held in place. What a shame, you mused.

There was nothing left to do but sell them, barring you were too sentimental.