#please does someone want this ticket!

[critical-rolewithit]

D20 MSG front row ticket! for sale!!

I’ve had many a plan change and I can’t go to MSG D20 anymore (help I’m devastated 😭) so I need to sell my ticket! It’s front row (!!!) (Section 3, seat 5) and I’m selling it for face value- I can do it through tixel and send any proof needed! Please take this from me! DM me if you’re interested :)

[ratatatastic]

or alternatively dweeb meets other dweeb more news at 11

LIGHT. LIGHT IN HIS EYES. LOOK AT EM BIG OLE EYES. LOOK AT HIM TOUCH HIS JERSEY.

GLORY BE TO THE MIKKSY SIGNED JERSEY RAAAAAAAAA

CanesWear Signing | 7.1.24

[fingertipsmp3]

So the shift went fine but my weed cupcakes STILL aren’t here because royal mail decided not to leave them in my enclosed porch or my greenhouse or with my lovely, trustworthy neighbours

[norikuna]

BED CHEM— geto suguru minors dni. art by to00fu !

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (b) and let the show begin !

prologue. → ditching your friend's christmas condo party for your scrumptious, needy boyfriend? yes please!

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. geto suguru x afab!reader

warnings+. awful usage of brainrot slang to weird geto out (mission successful), making out, messy sèx, crèampiè, nothing crazy !

word count. 5k! song inspiration. bed chem — sabrina carpenter

a/n. happy 1 month birthday to this blog!!!!!! 😭 kind of fitting that i celebrate with a geto fic <3

mp3. where art thou? why not uponeth me? see it in my mind, let's fulfill the prophecy !

"hey," you say, holding up the dress and crinkling the red satin in your fingers, "what'd you think of this one?"

it's a gorgeous number, a sheer, corset bodice with a daring thigh-high slit, all set to softly drape off your shoulders. the kind of dress that screams 'sexy without trying too hard' and 'television heroine vampire heiress'. your goal in life.

geto doesn't even glance up from his latest obsession, crouched by the kitchen counter. he's eye level with a pavlova, drizzling raspberry glaze over it like he's performing surgery. without missing a beat, "it's cool. for someone desparate in witness protection," he deadpans.

you scoff, clutching the gown like the aforementioned television heroine, "you just say weird shit sometimes. what does that even mean? and a day one hater, didn't even look up..."

"and yet," geto mutters, still hyper-focused on his dessert, "i know i'm right."

you throw the dress onto the couch dramatically, "suguru, you bought this dress for me."

that gets your boyfriend's attention and he looks up, catching the gleam of familiar red satin, and visibly gulps, "oh. my bad. it's, uh, hot you'd look hot, i mean."

"nice save, baby," you arch a brow.

he tosses his inky black hair back, some of it falling right back into his face, "what's it for?"

you sigh, propping your legs up on the worn couch, "that big party, remember? my friend who got married and had a kid last year, y'know her right?"

geto hums, popping a fresh blueberry into his mouth, without taking his eyes off the pavlova, "mmph," he says through a mouthful, "the one who married the guy who cheated on her like thrice?"

you grin, delighted he remembers the gossip you've spoon fed to him over time, "yeah, well, apparently he tried making it up to her by buying her an entire condo."

geto wrinkles his nose in disgust, "tacky. ya' just can't buy class."

"totally," you sigh, "but it's so nice in there. and when she hosts parties there, i can't really complain. it's like, so gorgeous."

then, you glance back at your focused boyfriend, watching as he artfully arranges more berries atop the meringue, "mhm, speaking of gorgeous, are you gonna stand there making love to the pavlova all night, or are you gonna help me accessorise this thing?"

geto glances at you, his violet eyes narrowing playfully, "why so needy? jealous of whipped egg whites and sugar?"

you flop your arms to your sides with a dramatic sigh, "what if i am?"

geto exhales as though you are his most tiresome, and favourite thing in the entire world. grabbing a silver spoon from the cutlery rack, and dipping it into the sticky-sweet raspberry glaze. he's striding towards you, and there's that signature air of both exasperation and amusement, "open."

you comply, simply because dessert trumps dignity, and not before biting down on the spoon with unnecessary force just to mess with him. the glaze simply melts on your tongue, and you smack your lips, "mmm. wait, this shit's really good. what's it for?"

geto laughs, stepping closer to swipe his warm thumb across your bottom lip to catch a stray bit of glaze, "for us, jus' us. thought we'd have something sweet for christmas."

you clutch your chest like a damsel, "i thought i was your sweet thing for christmas."

your dear boyfriend rolls his eyes, swatting your arm lightly with the sticky spoon, leaving a smear of glaze, "tch, what am i gonna do with you?"

you gasp in mock outrage at the sensation, but geto's expression shifts, softening as he swings a knee up onto the arm of the couch, "wan' me to come with ya?"

you blink, thrown off from his hauntingly beautiful features that you'll never get tired of, "come with me where?"

"that party, love."

your jaw practically hits the floor, "wait, really? you actually want to? thought you hated these things?"

geto's lips quirk upwards, shrugging a shoulder, "the things i do for my pretty girlfriend."

cue the squeal. exaggerated just enough to irritate him, just a bit. you clutch his arm, bouncing slightly, "aw! you really do love me!"

geto's exasperated look cracks, softening into something far more quiet and fond. he places a hand on your head, ruffling through your hair just enough to make you scowl at the mess, "don't push your luck," he warns. but his tone betrays his amusement, "i just feel bad i haven't gone to any of the others with you."

"i'm glad you said that, though, suguru," you start, already scheming as you lean forward and rest your head on his knee like its the most natural pillow in the world. he lets out a soft puff of breath, almost instinctively leaning down to press a kiss to your temple.

"remember those high-waisted pants i said would look really good on you?"

geto frowns, "the ones you said made me look like a...and i quote, a slutty mushroom?"

"bingo. you should wear them. the world deserves to see your delicious gyatt —"

your baiting words are accentuated by a pinch to the back of his dark sweatpants but cut off by his sharp exhale, and the way his fingers, which had been lazily tracing the curve of your ear, freeze mid-motion.

"my what, love?" geto asks, his tone a mix of suspicious and the kind of dread reserved for people who know they're about to regret asking a question.

"gyatt," you repeat, completely unrepentant, no shame nor misery, "it means —"

"i know what it means," geto cuts in, deadpan with a faint and tell-tale blush creeping onto his tan skin, "i'm cutting off our wifi. all our electricity actually."

you laugh, patting his muscular thigh lightly before squeezing it again for good measure, "oh, so you do know what it means. that's embarrassing for you, babe."

"and yet, somehow, i still have the moral high ground," geto grouches, pinching the bridge of his nose, "and you say that i say weird shit. now you're bringing gojo's tiktok fuckery into my own home."

"first of all, it's our home," grabbing the red dress and standing, almost knocking him off the couch's arm, "second of all, my big and tall and beautiful boyfriend is such a cutie patootie when he's embarrassed."

geto groans, tilting his head back, "stop. you're emasculating me."

you pause in the doorway, "you cry everytime we watch strawberry shortcake. you do that shit to yourself."

"that was one time!" geto protests, but you can hear the smile colouring his voice.

"two times."

"the mermaid episode was emotionally poignant. power of friendship and moral honesty despite the promise of treasure," he calls after you, "you wouldn't get the timeless themes!"

well, mission accomplished. the dress fits you like a second skin, hugging all the right places. and you're not even ashamed of how long you spend admiring yourself in the mirror. the way the corset lifts your chest, well, it's definitely giving hot and sexy vampire now.

you delicately pat a glitter bomb compact over your skin, letting the soft shimmer catch the light on your collarbones and shoulders. it's a fine balance, you think, but you know there's a fine line between 'faintly glittered-up' and looking like 'fenty beauty just projectile-vomited rosé rave' all over you.

"suguru!" you call out, expecting a snarky reply but hearing nothing. typical. "suguru!" you yell again, just because you can. you wander out of the bedroom, only to find him already in position: stretched across the couch, legs draped lazily over the armrest.

and fuck, he looks good. wearing those wide-legged pants you suggested, and obviously, you were right about them. a crisp white top with the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off his forearms. geto's hair is pulled back into that high, slightly messy knot he's so fond of, but a rogue and choppy strand has escaped, brushing against his cheek.

the whole look screams 'effortlessly hot' and you can imagine how smug he'd be if he knew what you were thinking.

"oh. hey, love," he greets casually, scrolling through his phone and still draped over the couch like a catalog model who knows all his angles. but then geto looks up, and the phone nearly slips out of his hand.

"uhhh, hey," he says, his eyes widening as he takes you in, and his rosewood lips part, as he says it again, clearly dumbfounded, "hey."

you laugh, crouching down next to him, amused by the way he's visibly short-circuiting, "not bad yourself," you tease, "what were you looking at?"

before he can stop you, you lean in to peak at geto's phone, pressing yourself against his side. glitter from your collarbones transfers onto his skin, but you're too busy laughing at his dimly lit screen to notice.

"suguru!" you gasp, your shoulders beginning to tremor, "fuckass yahoo answers, of all places. wait — i can't believe people still use that. stop moving your phone, let me read!"

is it good or bad if my girlfriend says i have a gyatt?

geto's ears turn deliciously red, and he locks his phone with an exaggerated click, "okay. nosy mcgee," and he's grumbling, "makin' me sound like a loser."

you pat his cheek lightly, grinning like a cheshire cat, "it means i think you're scrumptious," you say with mock seriousness, "like top-tier snackish. like, as in, i like your ass."

geto huffs, his lips twitching despite himself. and then, leaning forward, he presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. you wrinkle it instinctively, thinking of all the concealer and powder you had layered earlier.

"well," he says, as he brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear, "i think you're pretty too."

you sigh dramatically, "just pretty? why did i end up with a nonchalant man?"

geto gasps, his mauve eyes widening in mock offence as he juts his lip forward, "hah, 'scuse me. i'm not nonchalant. i'm like the total opposite of nonchalant. i'm like...chalant."

you snort, catching his stray fingers as they linger close enough to your lips for you to playfully nip at them, "yes. you are. my very chalant boyfriend. what a hero."

geto rolls over to his side, so he's facing you. absolutely wrinkling his white shirt, "thank you for recognising my efforts."

but then his tone shifts, his gaze running over you, "but seriously, you look hot. like crazy hot. like wow, my girlfriend is insanely hot," and he leans in slightly, "and i jus' can't stop looking at your two, beautiful, perfect..."

it hits you that his gaze has dropped to the swell of your chest.

"suguru! my eyes are up here, you dog."

"shit, been caught." and he's still laughing at your grumbles, grabbing your wrist and gently pulling you up in one swift motion, dragging you alongside him towards the bedroom.

"hey!" you protest half-heartedly, trying to dig your heels into the carpet, "the front door's the other way, genius. we're gon' be late."

geto doesn't stop his stride, glancing back at you with a pleading look that's also smug at the same time, "yeah, but you're the one who looks like that. don't think i can function. i need a minute."

"geto suguru, everybody. one-minute wonder. all he needs to finish."

you hear your boyfriend's scoff, as a teasing laugh escapes him, "hah, can't help being like this, can ya? got a gold medal when it comes to pissing me off."

you smile sweetly, "it's because i love you."

geto rolls his rich-plum eyes, his hand guiding you towards the bed as he shakes his head, "you know i love you too, right?"

"duh."

"good," geto says, and with that, he's leaning in. pressing a hot kiss to your jaw, then moving to your waiting mouth. it's messy, sloppy, the kind that makes your pussy clench a bit. sue you, eh? it's just the effect that geto suguru has on you.

you let out a soft whine as his tongue smears across your satin-finished, ruby lips, perfectly lined not ten minutes ago. but then geto's pulling away, circling his finger lazily in the air. a wordless demand that leaves your thighs clenching in anticipation.

you playfully huff, but spin yourself away from him. planting yourself on all fours, hearing geto grunt as he seems to appreciate the view. tsk, your predictable, eager boyfriend.

his large hand is running slowly down your spine, like he's savouring the way the satin clings to you. it's sending shivers down your body, and you're certain that if geto were to push your dress up and cup your core with a large hand, he'd pull it away wet and dripping.

"ah, pretty. so pretty, aren'tcha?" and his fingers are tugging taut at the ruched dress, like he can't quite believe you're real and his. despite three smooth years of professing your love to one another.

"suguru," you protest, "y'know 's not a cheap dress, babe."

you can hear the amusement tinging his smooth voice, "i know. i bought it, remember? don't want you worryin' your pretty lil' head over it."

you let out a soft sigh as you feel him entirely lean his weight over you, enveloping you in that heady scent of leather and cardamom. scooting your ass back, so tight satin would faintly drag across his very pronounced erection.

"f-fuck," and geto's laugh is sharp, disbelieving. half a huff, and half a chuckle, but entirely in awe. broad, warm hands are gliding over you before the gentle press of his palms come to rest on your hips. he's sliding your dress up, letting satin rustle with a soft, whispering sound. leaving your skin exposed to the sudden and sharp kiss of the christmas air.

"wow," geto whistles quietly, appreciatively. he seemed to be enjoying the sheer red thigh-high tights that clung to the plush of your thighs like a second scarlet skin, and you gasp as he hooks a long finger underneath the lace border, snapping it once briefly in a mild sting.

his hands are so close to where you need them most, and it's so utterly infuriating. he's practically dancing his finger tips over your inner thighs, ghosting so close to your underwear. panties that were surely languid, weighty by now. you could feel the damp cotton growing far more slippery and tacky as geto suddenly ran a finger over your clothed cunt.

and you can hear the elation in his voice as he lifts a finger up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around your syrupy taste, "hah, you're practically a super-soaker. that's pretty cool."

you scowl, fighting the urge to swivel around and pounce him in retribution, "y-yeah, thanks," but the bite in your words is tempered by the lazy heat that coils in your stomach, "but you're taking too l-long, baby. can't you jus' -"

and you're deciding to take matters into your own hands, as geto seems fascinated by how thin, clear strands create small bridges between his fingers. you reach for the waistband of his high-waisted pants, running your own hand down his absurdly slender waist, right over a godly chiselled torso.

"y'got impatient, didn't you, love?" and now geto's scowling, hauling your wrist back to pin it behind your back like you foretold. but not before planting a soft press of lips to your inner arm, gentle and tender.

but you flex your fingers behind your back, stretching them out, groping at the air. your boyfriend must have noticed, almost immediately because of course he does, and you can hear a soft, knowing coo from behind you.

"ah, 's what you want, right?" he teases, sliding his cool, slender fingers over yours, intertwining them effortlessly, "just wanted me holdin' your hand, how cute."

"maybe i was j-just stretching," you huff, but squeezing his hand tighter.

geto hums, unconvinced, as his thumb brushes lazily over the back of your hand, and you can hear the sound of fabric rustling behind you, "sure. totally not begging me to hold your hand like some lovesick, little dove."

but any retort falls away from your tongue, right when you feel something heavy, and hot smack against your tailbone, leaving a faint, moist kiss that feels cold when it patters off, "now pay attention."

you muffle a small, desparate whine, as geto has one hand tangled with yours and the other being used to hold and smack his thick cock once more over the base of your spine, "hope s-she's ready f' me now."

you feel as though all the air has been utterly pushed out of you, just from geto practically splitting you in two. you don't even have to look at geto to know that he's absolutely wrecked already, just from the throbbing, curved tip of his cock pushing past your tight walls, snagging with only the mildest resistance.

you can almost see it in your mind's eye, picturing it all just from his low curses and gasp.

how his chin must have tucked low enough to kiss his sternum, feathery strands of hair spilling over his forehead. those inky lashes fluttering in disbelief and surrender over hazy mauve eyes.

"s-she's always so eager to take me," geto croons, and his eyes are practically glued to the way your puffy folds bulge and drool over his shaft slowly feeding inches into you, "almost there, love."

"look at, hah, t-that," your boyfriend drawls, but you can hear how entirely undone he is, that tremour cutting off the end of his words in a sharp gasp as you arch yourself into him, letting that stretch take you so deliciously.

"keep your back arched like that, love," geto murmurs, and his hands are guiding you, pulling your hips back in a gentle, rhythmic push-and-pull over his cock. leaving you to feel his girthy shaft rummage and jostle around your insides, leaving a hefty divot at the edge of your cervix in a way that has you suddenly keening out a faint moan, "doing s-so well for me."

and fuck, the sound of his groin smacking wet kisses against your ass has you feeling like your head was going to explode, and your heart was going to give out, pressing right up into your throats. but you can tell geto is pleased, ruined even as he slowly drags his cock out of you at a filthy, slow pace.

if only to make you feel every throbbing vein on him, and how it imprints on your gummy walls.

there's something just so right about him being in you like this, having his pretty love bent over and absolutely stuffed full of his cock, something that just makes sense.

and right now, nothing else in the world matters save for you, and geto can't bring himself to even care about deadlines, or a decent and sensible christmas dinner, or some stupid party. not when he's letting his weighty, drooling tip loll out of your folds.

thick and heavy like a heated rod in the cool air of the evening, as he pushes two long fingers to spread open your syrupy folds, running the angry-red tip over your gloss, before finally pushing himself back inside.

"i w-was gonna say it was this dress, love," geto stammers, swirling his hips around, trying to rustle right into you, "but i think it's just you. ya know w-what you do to me right, hah, don'tcha, pretty?"

oh you are more than aware. and that heightened sense of perception is only exacerbated by how the thick curve of his cock is bruising into you. slamming into you with a heavy smack!

geto's world tilts, leaving him teetering on the edge of an embarrassingly early orgasm. but he feels little shame, not when his head is so heavy and his lips sting, caught under the desparate press of his teeth. every shallow breath he takes feeling like it's just unravelling him further, circling the tips of his fingers over your clit, just so you can whine and arch yourself into him more.

geto decides to play that card more, wrapping a thick arm around you to pull you into the air slightly. that faint increase in angle making you buckle as his weeping tip pulls symphonies of thick, angry squelches from your sensitive cunt. each jostle of his sharp, staccato hips feeling more and more shaky.

"not too much, r-right?" geto's breath hitching in uneven bursts, caught somewhere between delirious laughter and incredulous, overstimulated sobs.

that sweet, and unsteady wheeze results in tears pricking at geto's eyes from the delicious heat of your pussy, falling over the feverish nape of your neck, "know you wanted to go o-out, wanted to wear this pretty dress but i think 'm gonna d-die if i stop now, 's okay with you, yeah?"

"not t-too much, suguru," you hiss, feeling crystalline tears pool in your own lashes, just from pure please, "f-fuck, 'm already so close."

and you truly are, he's drilling himself into you at a beastly place, jostling a large hand over your chest, brushing over the lace lining the corset bodice, as if he's desparate to get his hands into your dress, to brush his thumbs over sensitive nipples.

his cock leaving searing trails of precum against your drooling, fluttering walls, leaving behind a wet trail that almost burned you. the force of his crashing hips leaving stamps in their wake, and geto's gasping and groaning at the faint cling of your dewy pussy, snatching him in quick, forceful bursts.

you shuffle precariously, still jostled against him, as you push down the bodice of your dress. probably damaging the framework a bit, but it's so worth it to hear geto almost sigh in relief, letting his hands run over the fat of your tits. pinching, swirling his fingers over the soft skin.

geto thinks he might just collapse over you in a weak heap when he hears your whine, "wan' more, s-suguru."

yes, more. that's exactly what geto wants to give you. he wants to see you milk him dry from the heavy balls swinging against your skin, wants to see you heave breaths of air as his seed drips out of you. wants to have you pressed against him for hours on end, to flip you over so your ankle lock behind his neck.

his imagination must have been working overtime. for like the peak specimen of male virility that he is, geto suguru just ends up cumming instead.

and with an embarrassing, heady grunt from him, geto's pulling his pulsating cock out of your folds, doing his best to keep himself steady enough to use his other hand well.

to keep running his fingers in tight circles around your clit, while he lets his spurting cock pump load after load of translucent, white fluid paint your spine a pretty pearly sheen. coming right on you.

it's so messy, it's so filthy and geto feels mildly numb as he decides to push his still throbbing cock, one that is still spurting right back into you, as he pushes his weight onto you, taking care not to force you too harshly against the crumpled sheets.

and geto just can't help himself, can't stop himself from leaving sloppy, wet kisses to the back of your neck, to your cheek. can't help himself from tilting your face back so his mouth can meet yours, and he can taste that raspberry syrup from earlier on your tongue, sweet and tangy.

and geto doesn't even care that he sounds ruined, raw and brittle. absolutely tattered as he whines, "we d-don't have to go to that party, right? hnngh, jus' need to hear you say that we don't have to, i think 'm gonna need some more of her. milking me so w-well."

he doesn't hear much apart from your gasps, your short cries like a mantra of "ah, ah! suguru!"

you weren't even sure how much time had passed, an hour even. or more. and you vaguely wondered if your friends were still there. sitting at some christmas party in some luxury condo, whispering over flutes of champagne, wondering about where you were. unaware that your adonis-esque boyfriend had been pounding himself into you, stretching you out over his cock until you were seeing heavenly stars.

until you were feeling thick ropes of white paint your insides once more, and streaks of dark dimmed your vision, and mauve and violet flashed behind your eyes.

you're tugging at the hem of your dress, still laughing fondly as you watch geto. his tousled, choppy hair falling out of its knot, and his eyes half-lidded and blissed out. his crumpled white top clings to his lean frame, and he's propped up lazily against the headboard with his other thick arm slung back behind his head.

"give me another hour, and we can do it again, love," geto huffs, his voice still a little raspy from earlier.

you shake your head in amusement, despite the mildly uncomfortable feeling of slick sticking beneath your thighs, splattered over your beautiful dress, "mhm, what a nice way to spend christmas, huh?"

geto stares at you adoringly, and his eyes are heavy with contentment, like he can't quite believe that you're here, and for a second, you think maybe the world would stop right there, in this perfect moment.

he runs a thumb over your face, pressing down on your lower lip, "i think it's better than some party," and geto's tone is dreamy, lazy, "no offence to your friend."

you snicker, thinking about whether you're going to need some well-thought excuse for your dear friend. or whether you're going to spill the whole truth for her.

but just as you're about to pull geto's plush mouth into another lazy kiss, his brow furrows. a sudden, concerned shift in his expression.

"hey," your boyfriend mutters, reaching to find his phone, "what's the humidity like tonight?"

you blink, caught off guard, "humidity? what's it matter?"

well, your skin feels unusually sticky, like the air itself is clinging to your sweat-dampened skin. despite the cool air of the december night. and there's that sweet, pleasant tiredness settling into your bones.

geto's suddenly sitting up, his eyes wide with realisation, "wait, love. fuck," he's muttering, scrambling up to his feet, "the kitchen!"

before you can process what's happening, he's racing for the door, and you stare at the empty spot on the rumpled sheets where your broad boyfriend was sitting not ten seconds ago.

"what is wrong with that man?" you murmur, but you hear a panicked cry from the kitchen, something about that damned pavlova going limp and soft with the heating on.

you bite back a small comment about something else going limp and soft, deciding to save that one for later when he's back in bed.

[harrysfolklore]

I DESPERATELY NEED THEM PIASTRI FICS 💳💳💥

FIRST OSCAR FIC 🥺 i know this concept has been done before but i loved how this one turned out and i hope you do too ! lmk your thoughts

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by madisonbeer, oscarpiastri and 2,574,339 others

yourinstagram GUTS has been out for a week !! what’s yalls favorite song? 🤧

view all 15,965 comments

ynfan1 DONT MAKE ME CHOOSE

mtv definitely get him back!

ynfan2 choosing a favorite guts song is like choosing a favorite child

dualipa STUNNING ANGEL 🤩

oscarfan1 can oscar reply to this i want to know his favorite song

↳ oscarfan2 wbk he has this album on repeat

chappelroan lacy oh lacy 😩

oscarpiastri Love is embarrassing or logical

↳ oscarfan1 THERE YOU HAVE IT

↳ oscarfan2 whatever you do don’t picture oscar singing love is embarrassing like a teenage girl

↳ ynfan1 crying bc i bet yn has no idea of who he is

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 287,689 others

oscarpiastri F1 race winner has a nice ring to it 🧡

view all 7,773 comments

oscarfan1 FINALLYYY MY WINNER

landonorris Congrats mate ! Deserve it 👊

↳ oscarfan2 LOMLS

mclaren YES, YES IT DOES! ���� So good today, Oscar. 🧡

longansargeant So proud of you mate 🙌

oscarfan3 do you think his crush will acknowledge his existence now that he’s a winner?

↳ oscarfan1 wait who’s his crush im out of the loop

↳ oscarfan3 singer and actress yn lol

↳ ynfan1 i love this lore so much

//

liked by oscarpiastri, arianagrande and 2,740,727 others

yourinstagram tickets for the GUTS tour are on sale now who’s cominggggg🥶

view all 16,725 comments

ynfan1 LETS GOOO

chappelroan i can’t wait for thissss💜

ynfan2 tour of the decade already

mtv pop princess is coming

oscarfan1 do you think oscar woke up for the fan pre sale and got into the queue and all

↳ oscarfan2 you BET

oscarpiastri Count me in ♥︎ by author

↳ oscarfan1 HEEEEELP

↳ ynfan1 yn liked his comment 😭

↳ oscarfan2 somebody check on oscar please

//

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 288,293 others

oscarpiastri Days off 🌊

view all 7,238 comments

oscarfan1 this is the hottest man alive

mclaren 🙌

oscarfan2 not him posting this right after yn followed him 😭 we know what you’re doing sir

ynfan1 yn likeddd

↳ ynfan2 i love how both fandoms are rooting for them now

landonorris Looks dope 👊

yourinstagram niiiiceeee 😃

↳ ynfan1 HELLO????

↳ oscarfan1 now he’s for real going to pass out

↳ oscarfan2 i bet he’s staring at his phone wondering if this is real or if she was hacked

↳ ynfan2 i know this woman SHES FLIRTING

↳ ynfan3 come on girl give him a chance

four months later

//

liked by ynfan1, oscarfan1 and 17,397 others

f1gossip Oscar Piastri with singer and actress YN in Los Angeles today 👀

view all 3,028 comments

oscarfan1 OMFG

oscarfan2 no way…

ynfan1 YALL, HE GOT IT

oscarfan3 i cannot believe my eyes, oscar has been simping over her on the internet since 2020 and how we have THIS

ynfan2 i really need to know how did this happen

oscarfan4 okay but THEIR SMILES !!!!

ynfan3 finally a guy who’s not a loser and/or an old ass

liked by oscarpiastri, sabrinacarpenter and 2,836,473 others

yourinstagram pastry boy clearly didn’t wait until i finished sneezing to take this picture 🤧

view all 17,826 comments

ynfan1 IS SHE TALKING ABOUT OSCAR??

oscarfan1 PASTRY BOY AS IN OSCAR PIASTRI ?

conangray love me a soft launch 🧐

↳ ynfan1 OMFGGGGGG

ynfan2 i can’t believe she’s potentially dating someone her age and with a job FINALLY

oscarfan2 oscar is proof that persistence is key and manifestation works

landonorris Typical pastry fashion

↳ yourinstagram idk how you deal with him all the time

↳ oscarfan1 ALSJAO THIS IS TOO MUCH

↳ oscarfan2 i need her to befriend the entire grid ASAP

oscarpiastri But it made it to your Instagram, so you’re welcome

↳ yourinstagram well thank you you’re very humble

↳ oscarpiastri Anytime 🤍

↳ oscarfan1 I’VE DIED DEAD

↳ ynfan1 stop flirting in front of us HELLO?

after the date

//

liked by oscarpiastri, chappelroan and 2,027,933 others

yourinstagram the GUTS tour takes tokyo today !!! this is going to be one of the most special shows ever 🥺

view all 25,736 comments

ynfan1 AHHHH

ynfan2 huuuhh is she planning something ??

conangray that’s my best friend 😍

oscarfan1 oscar dating a popstar is the best thing ever look at herrr

landonorris Can’t wait 🙌🏻

↳ landofan1 HUHHH?

↳ oscarfan1 is he going ?? WITH OSCAR ??

sabrinacarpenter 💗💗💗

oscarpiastri Please sing deja vu tonight

↳ yourinstagram you got it

↳ oscarfan1 AH I CANT BELIEVE WE MIGHT HAVE OSCAR (AND LANDO??) ATTENDING HER SHOW

//

liked by landonorris, yourinstagram and 538,299 others

oscarpiastri I had the best time ever in Tokyo 🙌🏻

view all 8,626 comments

oscarfan1 BABYYY

oscarfan2 i love him so bad

mclaren 🧡

ynfan1 oh we know why he had the best time

logansargeant Little boy in love

↳ oscarfan1 HWEEELP ME

landonorris Why are you posing like a five year old?

↳ landofan1 HEEEEEELP ME

↳ oscarfan1 i love them bad

↳ yourinstagram I SAID THE SAME THING !!

↳ ynfan1 man i love this

yourinstagram no picture credits ? really ?

↳ ynfan2 AHHH

↳ oscarpiastri 📸 credits to Miss America

↳ oscarfan3 WHY AM I CRYING

liked by oscarpiastri, madisonbeer and 2,197,499 others

yourinstagram night version. 📸 by vroom vroom guy

view all 17,836 comments

ynfan1 OMFG???

oscarfan1 VROOM VROOM GUY?

mtv 🏎️ & 🎤 together was the best thing that happened to us

ynfan2 it’s actually so refreshing to see her dating someone her age who she can have fun with and not some pretentious old ass man who mansplains her

landonorris My children 🫶🏻

↳ landofan1 lando is the biggest shooter for this relationship

oscarfan2 oscar really bagged his biggest crush by being on her comments all the time that’s persistence

alexandrasaintmleux Belleeee 💕

↳ yourinstagram aleeeex i loved hanging out with you let's go out without the boys soon

↳ charlesfan1 LET ME IIIINNN

ynfan3 and when yn writes a song for him

logansargeant I can’t wait to meet you!

↳ yourinstagram pastry is sooo wrong for not introducing us yet

↳ oscarfan1 oscar wdym you haven’t introduced your gf to your best friend

oscarpiastri 😍

↳ oscarfan1 OSCCCC

↳ ynfan1 he’s down bad i get him

//

liked by oscarfan1, ynfan1 and 18,826 others

ynupdates YN and Oscar out and about tonight !

view all 3,022 comments

ynfan1 OH LOOOORD

oscarfan1 I CANTTT

ynfan2 i can’t stress how good it is that she’s dating someone her age enough

oscarfan2 KING OF MANIFESTATION

ynfan3 i mean we already knew they were together but seeing them with all this pda is so cuuuuute

oscarfan3 IM SO JEALOUS

liked by oscarpiastri, troyesivan and 2,965,278 others

yourinstagram 5 new tunes for ya !!!! GUTS (spilled) out friday!!!

view all 25,926 comments

ynfan1 WTFFF I DIDNT SEE THIS COMING

ynfan2 CLAIMING SO AMERICAN

dualipa YEEES ❤️‍🔥

oscarfan1 i’m pretty sure there’s an oscar song there i just KNOW IT

ynfan3 more angsty breakup songs IM READY

landonorris 🙌🙌🙌🙌

oscarfan2 ready for oscar to annoy lando with those on repeat

mclaren We can’t wait to hear all of them 🧡

↳ oscarfan1 MCLAREN INTERN ARE YOU OKAY?

↳ ynfan1 she’s the people’s princess

oscarpiastri I can confirm those songs are amazing

↳ ynfan1 he already heard them IM SO JEALOUS

↳ oscarfan2 spill the tea are any of those about you

//

liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 869,044 others

oscarpiastri I laugh at all her jokes and I say she’s so American. So I might just be in lo-lo-lo-love 🧡

view all 9,725 comments

oscarfan1 LAJSIAHAUAB

oscarfan2 I 😭 CANT 😭 BELIEVE 😭 THIS

ynfan1 she’s wearing a friendship bracelet for him MY HEART

charles_leclerc I’m happy for you, son ❤️

↳ charlesfan1 CHARRRR

ynfan2 this is so cute i can’t also when did that sneaky shit go to his race

ynfan3 YN LOVER ERA YN SIMP ERA YN WAG ERA

oscarfan3 long story short: never give up on your celebrity crush

logansargeant ❤️❤️

landonorris Young love, so adorable

ynfan4 THE LYRICS REFERENCE

francisca.cgomes 🥺🥺🥺

↳ ynfan1 she’s already so loved by the wags

yourinstagram love youuuu, pastry 🤧

↳ ynfan2 i love all the nicknames he uses for him

↳ oscarfan1 pastry, vroom vroom boy. she’s just so romantic

[cranberry-writes]

Dating Headcannons for The Boys characters!

Please send requests, i need motivation

Characters listed; Hughie, Butcher, M.M, Frenchie, Kimiko

Warnings; Mentioned drinking and cannon typical violence/language. Also i’m barely on season 2 please bear with me

Hughie;

- He’s so so sweet about your relationship

- He gets you flowers for no reason other than he saw them and thought you’d like them

- He has thousands of reminders so he won’t forget anything, from a drink you liked to your anniversary he will have it written down.

- Later on in the series he gets protective and cautious about the relationship, scared someone (homelander) will mess it up by hurting you

- He’ll probably push you away a bit to try and protect you but after you knock some sense into him he’ll be back to normal

- Loves park/library dates, going on a picnic during the summer and to the library when it’s to cold out.

- He will do so much for you (flowers, gifts, dates etc) and insist it’s nothing but will cry (happy tears) if you do the same

- Don’t get me wrong tho, he’s still a bad ass (sometimes). He just dosnt want you to think differently of him because of it, he’s hurt people, killed people, and he honestly isn’t too keen on focusing on it. Even if you two are in the same line of work.

- And if you two don’t work together he tries to keep his ‘work’ life and dating life separate, very separate.

“You’ve never told me what you do for work, maybe i could stop by and meet your co-workers.”

“Uh, actually, i don’t think that’ll work.”

“Why not? is everything ok there or something?”

“I-, uhm, work alone, so i don’t even have coworkers for you to meet really, it’s really boring infact you’d probably fall asleep just from me talking about it hahaha.”

- You find out like two days later

Butcher;

- Little shit

- I mean that affectionately

- His pet names will range anywhere from “Darlin’” to “Fucker” and i WILL stand by it

- He’ll probably introduce you to his work before he does his dog

- But his dog is the big ticket, you meeting Terror is essentially his way of proposing before proposing

- He’s protective but not in the “i’ll watch your every move” more in the “im teaching you how to use every weapon to ever exist” way

- Honestly work would probably come before you for a while before he sucks it up and actually makes an effort

- Dates will be at the most shity bar imaginable, unless he’s apologizing for something then he’ll take you to the nicest place he can and put on a suit. (it’s the Cheese Cake factory and he’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt under his jacket but he’s trying)

- Unlike Hughie he will introduce you to his work at some point, granted it would still be a while before he did but he would at some point.

- He’s sweet in his own way

“Darlin’, look what i got ya.” And it’s a Garfield shirt a size to big but you still wear it anyways

MM;

- Definition of husband material

- remembers anything and everything after being told one time

- makes you baths with rose petals and candles and all that stuff if you mention you’ve been tired lately

- Takes you out to the movies and a nice restaurant at least twice a month

- Good gods he’s sweet to you

- He knows how to cook/bake and will make stuff for you all the time

- My guy will make a meal from your culture and practice making it almost daily just to give you a taste of home.

- He really loves back massages and cuddling after a long day

- Put on some crappy reality show for background noise and nap together

- He wants you as far away as humanly possible from his work, will literally say shit like “everyone at work has the plague you can’t visit” as a joke to try and change the subject

- Chances are you won’t find out

- His favorite flowers are tulips and nothing will change my mind about it

“Baby what are these?”

“Tulips, I bought them from a street market on 11th today. They’re your favorite, right?”

“Gods, sweetheart you’re perfect.”

Frenchie;

- When you two meet you both think it’s just going to be a one night stand

-…then it’s two nights, then three, then a week, then you start spending more time at his place than your own. One day you guys just realize you’re moved in and dating

“Are we dating?”

“…Was there anything else we could be mon cœur?”

- honestly i don’t think you two would get together if you weren’t working together, or at least you were also into some shady shit

- But overall you guys have a strong relationship, one gets hurt the other kills someone, someone is hungry the other is already cooking, stuff like that

- He also cooks but it’s only french food, it’s like a super power. He can cook any french food effortlessly but literally anything else he messes up

- If you are french he’ll be super happy someone else will appreciate the same stuff in a similar way

- If not then he’ll be happy to share stuff with you, teach you some french words and tell you about stuff he grew up with

- Honestly he’s just happy someone (other than Kimiko) will listen and take an interest

Kimiko

-I have a confession to make, Kimiko is my favorite and i have a very blatant bias towards her

- Kill anyone you want bby i don’t care ill always like you

- Anyways, It probably takes you a while to get close enough to her that she’ll consider dating you

- Once y���all get to that point i don’t think you could break it tho

- I think she would like constant minimal physical contact, like hand holding or leaning on each other

- I think she’d be pretty protective over you, like someone looks at you wrong and she wants to maul them

- Learn sign language with/for her she will love it

- Draw with her, get her supplies, like those alcohol markers i’m sure she’ll love them

- Honestly i don’t think she’d be big on pet names, she wouldn’t object to it but i don’t think she’d give you one first

- Cook for her, i just think it would be sweet and she deserves it

“I got you some of those markers you’ve been looking at for a while.”

Thank you, this is nice

- Please she’s perfect i love her

[ma1dita]

Hiiii! can i get one ticket for the graveyard smash starring Spencer Reid with a pretzel and a hot dog please? :):) this is so cooool

somebody’s watching me

[STARRING: SPENCER REID x reader ; “Don’t…move.” “Please just play along.” ] wc: 1.5k whoops warnings: MDNI —post-prison reid, bff!fem!reader, exhibitionism/voyeurism, mirror sex (kinda), dubcon?, p in v, creampie :)  kinda inspired by 8x3 and other eps i cant be bothered to remember, title from the rockwell song

monster mash-terlist

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Spencer always does what you want him to.

It’s a bad habit he’s picked up after a decade and a half of being your friend. You’ve been through it all together��� after a few shitty breakups, navigating your twenties, several mid-life crises, health problems, and even him getting wrongfully sent to prison for a few months, sometimes he wonders how you’re still here, and still just as stubborn as him. 

But he’s not sure he can listen to you this time around. 

His eyes flicker around the underground bunker the both of you are locked in and the all-knowing Dr. Reid is stumped and there seems to be no other logical option than—

“Spence?”

The red laser beam pointed at you almost traces the curve of your jaw like someone’s drawing the shape from memory. And then it situates itself directly over your quickly beating heart.

“Don’t move,” he breathes, reaching out for you when your lips fall into a whimper, a slight sheen of sweat over your skin. You’re sat on his lap with your top off and maybe that’s the reason why he can’t focus on figuring out a profile for your psychotic ex-boyfriend who’s definitely watching every move you make through the two-way glass that's across from the bed.

“I think it’s because we’re not moving is why…Fuck, Spence, we have to do it.” The TV screen imbedded in the glass flashes red again to catch your attention, asking—no, demanding you two to humiliate each other in the most carnal way.

And sure he’s imagined you in this before, way more times than he’ll ever admit, on lonely nights on the jet, even when he scrolls through your Instagram profile (you’re the only account he follows and the sole reason he tolerates the app), and especially whenever he hears the lilt in your voice that you reserve only for him, but it wasn’t quite like this in his mind. 

“I can’t…I’m not gonna do that to you,” he swallows thickly, licking his lips and catching the way your eyes follow the movement. You’re… actually contemplating this, he realizes as he recognizes the sureness in the furrow of your brows, “Don’t. My team will find us and we’ll get out of here,” Spencer’s voice is hoarse and his eyes widen at the feeling of your fingers undoing the buttons on his purple dress shirt. You’re quick with it, and by the time you reach his midsection, he knows you’ve made your decision, “I don’t want to die, Spencer Walter Reid.”

“We’re not going to die!” he scoffs frustratedly, and the rest of the air in his windpipe escapes him as you press kisses down his exposed chest, “M’gonna…God. I’m gonna get us out of here, okay?” Your tongue darts out to lick at his skin, trailing back up towards his neck as you start to rock against his growing erection and he tries not to like it too much. Spencer’s large hands slap over the fat of your hips—the sound echoes in the quiet of the room; with the force he’s grabbing your skin, it's sure to leave marks.

“Think my way’s faster. You should multitask or something then.”

Your best friend’s nails dig harder into the fabric of your dress pants as he tries to stop you again, “We can’t do this.”

“I want to,” you nip at his Adam’s apple, “Come on, we’re adults. There's no one else I'd even entertain this thought with. Plus your team’s coming, right?” Your nose nuzzles at a sensitive spot behind his ear, and the kiss you leave there is tender, for him—not the camera in the corner of the room, “Please just play along.”

“You want this? Swear on it.”

Spencer’s pinky raises in the air, his other hand patting around the top sheet to try to find yours, and when he does it’s trembling. He holds it tight, for the audience inevitably watching and in an effort to calm you down—because the last thing he’d ever want to do is hurt you. But your eyes flicker to the screen that starts counting down from 10, and then back to his espresso ones that remind you not to show any fear, so you lock your pinky with his and clear your throat.

“I want you to fuck me, Spencer. I really do.”

Honestly, it’s an offer even he can’t refuse.

It’s awkward at first, clothes fumbling off of each other’s limbs and then he’s laying back just watching you stretch yourself out on his cock. Spencer doesn’t know where to put his hands—they’re rubbing soothing circles into your thighs that are wrapped around his waist. He’s just…watching you watch him, his eyes fluttering shut and your belly contracting as you start to move, stamping your feet onto the worn mattress to push and pull yourself on his pulsating length. The sound of skin against skin and the embarrassing squelch of your pussy almost shatters through the air and it makes you self-conscious, gripping onto his shoulders to anchor yourself back to reality. You’re seriously fucking your best friend in front of your ex-boyfriend and god knows who else, and it’s hard to catch your breath as tears begin to cloud your vision, the humiliation starting to catch up with your confidence.

“Fuck,” he hisses, clenching his jaw at the sound of your little cries, cunt swallowing him whole when you almost lose your footing, “Spence…I can’t…” He peeks an eye open to see you…feel you quivering on top of him with your gaze focused on the glass, “I’m sorry, I’m just scared,” you sniff. Spencer’s hand cups the soft of your jaw, wrapping around the junction of your neck soothingly, “It’s okay. M’here. It’s just me.”

He’s trying so hard to focus on consoling you, but you’re so tight and tense and it’s bad that plunging into you feels so good.

"I know. S'why I'm scared," you mumble, bottom lip pursed in a pout and then a strangled noise rips its way out of your throat. Spencer realizes he’s fucking up into you when he hears you wail again, palms against his chest as he drives up into your weeping cunt, “You can take it, right baby? M’gonna take care of you.”

Fucking you was like nothing his brain could’ve ever dreamed to imagine— the way you’re writhing above him, broken calls of his name asking for him to slow down. But now he’s made his decision too, that no matter how this ends, even if you both die or walk out of here and never speak again there’s nothing that can take away the divine image of your body going limp as you cum for the first time with a “Yes!”

The screen still flashes red in your peripherals a while later signaling the end of the session. Neither of you pay it any mind with you face down almost eating the stuffing from the lone pillow on the bed and his eyes fixated on the globes of your ass as they almost have a gravitational pull, vibrating along his dick when he yanks your hips back to meet his. A whine slips past your lips, your eyes meeting the glass and watching your best friend ruin you in the reflection. His hair is wild with his efforts, pressing down the small of your back and yes, maybe for once it’s nice to let Spencer make the decisions for the both of you. 

Especially if they make you feel this good.

“Eyes on me, baby. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

You wonder when the BAU will get to you both, and if they do, you selfishly hope there’s a chance Spencer will get to cum too. 

He’s really breathy as he instructs you to look at him again, the smell of your combined musk in the air, sweat and slick being shared between your naked bodies. His voice is a low timbre you’ve never heard before, but your eyes are still busy watching him thrust into you with intention as if this already isn’t a memory you’ll forget. You find yourself extra pretty when he makes your tits swing like this, half-caught in a daydream of Spencer hitting a particular spot and how happy you look to get fucked while being watched by a psychopath, the grin on your face fitting someone who deserves to be institutionalized. You’re enjoying this more than you should, reveling in the attention and arching your hips so he can hold onto them better.

“You’re shaking so hard...” he breathes, noticing the uncontested bliss that’s taken over your face, “You like this huh? Like watching us?”

Nodding your head and biting your lip, you moan, “Like ‘em watching you fuck me. Your cock feels so good…” Your words are invigorating, making him tighten his hands around your neck as you go dizzy with pleasure.

"That's my girl," he smirks.

By the time your eyes roll to the back of your head for a second time, neither of you notice the number of lasers pointed at your bodies increasing, or the sound of the sirens outside the locked door. Spencer’s too far gone, hands interlocked around your throat to pull your head up towards his, moaning into your mouth as his cock stutters, stuffing you to the brim just as the door bursts open.

Came right in time.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

ma1dita's monster mash is open for requests until 10/12 :)

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Jin "Jiji" Enjoji relationship headcanons

warnings: fem!reader, spoilers beyond the Cursed House arc, OOC, tooth-rotting fluff.

Special thanks to @miaurieee for beta-reading this draft before I posted it :3 I am caught up with the Dandadan manga series up to Volume 10, which somehow I was able to acquire over the Christmas break by nothing short of a miracle given to how my local bookstore keeps running out of stock 😅 So if you don’t want to be spoiled, it’s probably not a good idea to venture any further.

For those who have chosen to stay, I hope you’ll enjoy these headcanons~!

Although he is a flirty and weird-ass drama queen by nature, Jiji is the sweetest guy that a girl would love to have as a boyfriend. Not only is he charismatic, funny, easygoing, he is also loyal. Once he knows he has found that special someone, he is in it for the long haul. And he knows that it’s you because…well, he’s got great instincts! :3

He would definitely walk you to and from school.

Do you want a drink from the school cafeteria? No problem! Just give him a few and he’ll be right back~! He might seem a little flighty, but Jiji has a really good memory. Remember how he knew Momo preferred Pompy even when it’s been years since he’s seen her? Yeah, he’ll have your likes and dislikes memorized in no time.

Dates with Jiji would be spontaneous; ranging between cozy and quiet, like window-shopping around the city and then grab something at the coffee shop, adrenaline-pumping like playing against each other at the local arcade to see who can win the most tickets or going on all the rides at the amusement park, it’s honestly the luck of the draw. But please don’t feel obligated to do everything in one day just to make him happy, okay? If you’re feeling tired and want to go home or if you’re hungry, he’ll totally understand.

Communication and honesty are important foundations in your relationship, so bottling everything up inside is not a good idea and might cause Jiji to second-guess himself or think he’s doing something wrong.

Now, in regard to the whole Evil Eye scenario: he will insist that you stay away from the Ayase residence until the exorcism is completed. He has a mountain yokai inside of his body, and it was his own fault for inviting him inside. The last thing he wants is something to happen to you and there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening. This would happen if you two started dating right after he transferred schools or continued dating until he left town for the city after his parents’ hospitalization.

Flash forward to Okarun making a deal with the Evil Eye and fighting the yokai on Tuesdays after school, with the cursed underwear being safely kept at Manjiro’s shrine. Once he knows that the Evil Eye will not break his promise, especially after accidentally transforming a few times at home, Jiji will feel a little more at ease being around you. Just don’t go around splashing anything cold on him, just in case. Room temperature is fine. His chi training is paying off, so in the unlikely event that it does happen, he can revert the transformation and go back to normal. He might be a little tired afterwards, though.

If you two weren’t already together prior to the Evil Eye situation, Jiji would definitely be falling head over heels for you as time passed. He would see you as someone who is amazing in their own way, even if you had some glaring flaws and were a bit of a weirdo too :3 Brownie points if the Evil Eye actually doesn’t call you a turd and is semi-well-behaved when he’s around you at school or in public.

Treat this eccentric dude right, and your relationship will definitely be one heck of a rollercoaster ride that will be full of firsts, maybe some scary things, but he’ll be by your side through it all.

Taglist: @bdudette @hoodiepandaninja16 @napbatata @karai-frost @kazudare @myduality @shidousprincess @sleep-all-day-everyday @taesy-miranda-lee @osarumi @satorousgf @cherie-soup @skwunkler @melodiblues @anonymity-222 @cumbersome-robes @zero-in-kyoto @h0undd0gzw0rld @decay-1 @justamegafan @minnie-1-3 @bumblebeebutter @theofficialfem @sadprimrose @bigbodycity @daniiixoxo @silentbreathss @skelletonscloset @mira-belcul18 @thatstrangesheep @thewindigo

[cheriladycl01]

Billion Dollar Baby - Grid x Billionare! Reader x Lewis Hamilton (Rom) Part 1

Plot: Girlie loves Formula One, but she also loved Chaos and Drama so she offers the FIA/ the F1 Teams 300 million to do a race … for her under her rules!

As a billionaire with a net worth of over 90 billion pounds to your name and your name alone and having multiple stable corporations and investments in loads of different sectors and having donated overly generous amounts to charity, you couldn't help but start to find more interesting ways to invest your money.

You had 7 homes, all around the world completely paid off with about double the amount of cars, whether they were super cars, vintage cars or personalized cars. A private jet, 3 vacation homes and an island.

You lived a lavish life but you worked extremely hard for it, there wasn't really a moment you weren't working.

But you had your hobbies, the theatre (specifically WestEnd), travelling (when you had time away from work) you'd been really getting into sport.

Particularly F1 was an interest of yours. You'd put forward money into McLaren and given them upgrades from your various companies both tech wise and team wear wise.

But you were so intrigued with the sport and the difference from F2.

In F2, the cars were pretty much all the same and it was fully on driver capability. Whereas in F1 you could be a cracking driver but depending on the team you were in you were in a shit box car.

And that's why you were now currently stood in the paddock at Silverstone.

You'd proposed ... to the FIA a race, where you'd pay for driver - team switches that you could choose and run it as a charity event so any tickets sold went to charities chosen by the drivers.

And everyone loved it. I mean why wouldn't they. It wasn't like the teams were loosing out on money because you were paying them to build another car and for the drivers it was just a bit of fun to experience another car.

So here you were, in front of 20 drivers, 10 team principles, some CEO's of the teams, some FIA representatives and some media personal.

"Hello everyone!" you smile awkwardly. Even though you'd done presentations in front of many many people this felt really daunting to you.

A chorus of mumbles and hello's back to you occurred before you stand there awkwardly. Someone was supposed to introduce you, that's what you were told when you first got here but no-one was attempting to come up on stage to help you so you just laugh.

"So apparently no one is coming up to introduce me... so erm if you don't know who i am I'm Y/N Y/L/N and I've proposed money to each of your teams and the FIA to create a charity race where I switch drivers into different cars... Formula 1 really intrigues me to see how you all are naturally talented drivers and that the car really does matter... and i think it will be really interesting for the fans. It's a great opportunity for the teams and drivers to make special merch and special helmets and I just think as drivers it will be a really great experience for all of you!" you grin and there was mumbles questions thrown at you till you PR manager came up next to you to calm everyone down.

"One at a time please!" he says in his gruff masculine voice.

"Are you choosing which teams we go to?" Lando asks first, and you nodded.

"Are teams making a different car? Or?" he asks and you shake you head.

"Teams will rebuild the exact car that they have now. It will just be other drivers inside the car. Do you guys want to hear where you'll be?" you ask and a chorus of agreement flows through the room.

"Okay, so first up our two Red Bull Drivers. Current Champions of both Constructor and Drivers. Max Verstappen, you will be going to Williams. And Sergio Perez you will be going to Haas!" you start and gasps surround.

"So we aren't staying with our current team mate?" Lewis asks looking over to George.

"Okay, as for the current Ferrari Drivers, Charles you will be going to McLaren and Carlos after your announcement of joining Nico in Sauber for 2025 i thought it would be fun to give you a ... test run so you are going to Sauber!" you cheer and they both nod.

"Okay then for my McLaren boys I got Oscar to Ferrari and Lando to ... Red Bull!" you grin and Lando looks down with a laugh and shake of his head. Being a McLaren sponsor meant you spent a lot of time around the paddock with the pair of them.

"Next our Mercedes men, Lewis will be joining Max in Williams" you smirk making Lewis shake his head, you'd always liked teasing Lewis having had a relationship at one point and ending on good terms due to work stresses and struggles.

"And George will be in Aston Martin!" you smile and he nods.

"As for Aston Martin, Fernando you'll be driving alongside Carlos as a Spanish Duo in Sauber and Lance well your dad offered me money to put you in Red Bull but thought that wasn't the spirt of the charity event so Alpine for you!" you grin and you can tell some of the drivers, including Lance are trying not to laugh.

"Visa Cash App Racing Bulls, fuck me that's a mouthful erm Dani Ric you my friend are going to ... Aston Martin nice one and my favrioute driver ... sorry Lando and Oscar but he's literally my son ... Yuki my love you'll be in Red Bull with Lando!" you smile and he fits the air happily before nodding at you in thanks.

"Nico, Kevin Haas hasn't actually been all that bad for you guys this year. You've had great drivers however ... Kevin to Mercedes and Nico to RB!" you smile.

"Williams duo. You guys will be moving up. Logan i think you'll really really suit Ferrari red and Alex you better like Papaya coz you'll be joining Charles in McLaren!" you smile and Logan's face lights up being in a top team. This was really his opportunity to prove himself and that he was a great driver.

"Alpine ... not been an easy season for you guys unfortunately ... Pierre you'll be joining Mercedes and Esteban you'll drive for Haas"

"And finally our Stake Sauber whatever your team name is called will be moving ... Zhou to Alpine and Valtteri to Racing Bulls!"

"I hope this interests you all and you are all excited for the race in two months!" you say and you stay behind talking to some of the drivers until one is left.

"Hey baby" you smirk at Lewis as he leans against the door frame.

"I don't think I'll ever get over you calling me baby" he smiles softly and you smile back.

"Of course you wont ... baby" you grin.

"I'm excited for this race but I can't believe you .. put me in a Williams!" he exclaims and you just laugh before flattening out the lapels of his blazer before looking up at him.

"Cant make it easy for you, I wanna see you fight. You've lost your spark Lew!" you sigh looking over him.

Yours and Lewis relationship came to and end in 2021, just after he'd lost the championship. Said he needed to be more focused on his career. Baring in mind you'd been dating for 5 years before that.

"I-I know, it's not been the same since ..." he trails off and you nod.

"Since Max won... I know!" he smile at him, rubbing his shoulder, but after hearing you he takes a step back.

"No, since we ended things!" he sighs and you look over him in confusion.

"Lew..." you start and he shakes his head.

"I know it was mutual, but you were it for me. You ... you still are Y/N. I want you back and I know you aren't ready right now but you are the one thing i will and always will continue to fight for, fuck another championship ... fuck even another race win. I want you back though and I promise you i'll prove it!" he says looking over you, tears filling in your eyes as he pulls you into his chest, hugging you while stroking your hair.

"Ohhhh Lewis, what are you doing to me..." you laugh, because if you don't you'll cry.

"I'll see you in two months Lew!" you smile and walk out the door. He looks a little gutted your leaving but you need him to prove that he'll try.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[sixosix]

PLASTIC FLOWERS | LYNEY

i. summary the great magician lyney wooing nine-to-fiver reader

ii. tags 1.8k words, fluff, reader is a little slow but hey that’s what 9-to-5 does to someone, pining lyney, awkward flirting, and a lot of wilted flowers im sorry…

You’ve heard of Lyney and Lynette in passing before. You might’ve rushed past one of their street performances once or twice, or maybe you stumbled upon flyers promoting their grand shows fluttering past. However, today, they are the center of every discussion, particularly Lyney, from your gushing coworkers. They swoon about how charming the young man was to them, and how exceptionally talented twins are.

You start to feel a little left out. You want to witness what all the excitement is all about, too. Your nine-to-five has you rushing back and forth the streets of Fontaine like there’s no tomorrow—and to your defense, with all the rumors and prophecies floating around, it might as well be that case.

Afternoon. Nearly evening. Your legs feel like water, liquid, and unable to keep themselves upright. You’re like a zombie walking back to your humble abode, drained of human life from too much human interaction.

A round of applause has you slowing your steps, your attention pulled towards a small crowd as if struck by a magnetic force.

A young man stands at the center, grinning devilishly as the crowd once again erupts into gasps of awe. He clutches a deck of cards in his hand, the classic image of what comes to mind when you think of magicians. Yet, you find yourself unable to move. It might be your water-legs; it might be how the man has everyone spellbound.

“Thank you, everyone!” he says, and the spell is broken at once. Was it a spell? It felt like one. “Be sure to come next week to Lynette and I’s performance at the Opera Epiclese, alright?” So he is Lyney.

Witnessing his elegance and heart-stealing smirk, you at least now know that your coworkers were certainly telling the truth.

The crowd filters out one by one. You do the same, wondering how much the tickets would cost. Hopefully no more than your usual dinner; that would mean you’d have to eat frozen bread for an entire evening.

“Wait, wait!”

You turn at the frantic exclamation, startled when Lyney is looking directly at you and rushing toward you. Panicked, you quickly scan your surroundings, only to find that there’s no one else he could possibly be referring to.

Just you.

“Hello,” you murmur begrudgingly once he’s at a close distance.

“Hi,” he says back, a little breathless. “You missed the show earlier.”

“I—I did.” Is he seriously talking to you? “But don’t worry! I saw enough. It was really cool!” Really? It was really cool?

He relaxes, his smile turning pleased. Lyney’s gaze feels heavy when you’re the only one holding onto it. “That’s a shame. I’ve seen you around before, zipping through. I won’t let you slip through my fingers this time around.”

His voice is smooth. You find yourself liking the lilac of his eyes.

At your stunned silence, Lyney continues, “Here, watch my hand closely, alright?”

You nod obediently, mostly to conceal how flustered his presence is making you feel. It feels as if his voice is right beside your ears, or it might just be how it seems like the world quiets down for this moment.

He closes his palm. You hear him huff a sweet laugh. You get distracted and glance up, though it seems it was a mistake. He grins at you knowingly, eyes twinkling—his stupid, dark eyes. You look back down, and a flower has magically appeared square on his palm.

It’s a flower you’re unfamiliar with, but it’s beautiful and smells sweet so you find yourself uncaring of whatever it could mean.

He stares patiently.

You blink, dumb-struck. “For me?”

“Of course,” he says with a dazzling grin.

“Oh, thank you, but I— I really don’t know how to take care of these things, and I’m so busy, I don’t know if I should—”

You reject it. Which, in hindsight, was most rude.

Lyney tilts his head, smiling like you’re some cute cat he found passing by—and that gaze has your words dying on your tongue. “I’m not giving it to you for you to feel burdened with the responsibility of taking care of it. Trust me, I just want you to have it.”

You look at him, uncertainty flashing in your expression. “You don’t want to give it to someone else…?”

“Why would I? I saved this one especially for you,” the sweet talker says.

You highly doubt his words, but it’s nice to hear nevertheless. With a bashful smile, you take the flower and vow to yourself to take care of it as much as you can. It’s the only flower you’ve received your entire life.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

He lights up impossibly, standing out so easily against the crowd. Just like that, you’re captivated.

The next day, Lyney reappears in your life. You're beginning to suspect that his hat conceals an infinite stockpile of these roses, and maybe that's the true magic: the enigma of Lyney's never-ending supply.

This time around, he’s loitering the streets without plans for any performances, however small. Though, he still entertains you in different ways.

“My work’s not too nice,” you tell him when he asks why you look tired, all too aware of your sore feet and cheeks from straining smiles all day. “I don’t know how you performers do it non-stop. I feel like I could just sleep on this sidewalk.”

“It might be helping that I love doing what I do,” Lyney supplies after a thoughtful hum. It’s still a little surreal having the man printed in posters and pictures all over The Steambird is now casually walking alongside you, but it’s nice. You feel your world has just brightened up a little—the new change of pace painting over the dull back and forth you’ve been living through for a while.

“Hey,” Lyney starts, as your eyes flick up from the ground to him. He’s holding another flower.

You smile as you gingerly take it from his fingers, skin brushing against his glove-free hands. “You’re helping the flower shops thrive, that’s for sure.”

“What can I say? I’m wonderful like that.”

You laugh, but it quickly dies down when you catch a glimpse of how Lyney is staring at you so openly with a bit of awe.

You clear your throat, looking away.

Lyney does the same as you find your face heating up. “Sorry.”

“Um,” scrambling for a change of topic, you say, “Are you trying to get me to watch the show you and your sister are holding next week?”

“What?” Lyney blinks, caught off guard. He smiles lopsidedly as you await for an answer. “No, I’m talking to you because I like you. And here I thought I was making myself obvious.”

“Sorry, I’m a bit slow,” you say, in a daze at his blunt confession.

That was nothing (that has to be). That was probably just your imagination, honestly—fantasizing about a handsome face, a small braid, and a mischievous grin. And you definitely don’t find yourself lying awake at night thinking about it.

As always, Lyney comes with a flower in hand. And you find out that he wasn’t lying when he said he saves a special flower for you.

You’re not sure how it seamlessly became a routine with him. At times, you wonder if he’s actually keeping track of the roses if you haven’t been throwing them to the trash. You wouldn't be able to deny it; you eventually would have to discard a once again graying rose, no matter how heartbreaking the parting is.

This time, you’re prepared. You've been studying up, like a lovesick high school student devouring dating magazines during your spare moments at work. The rose will still most likely wilt unfairly fast with how you’re barely a presence in your own home; sleeping soundly as soon as you arrive.

Lyney is smiling softly as he gives this one to you, silent. Though that’s probably because you’re raving on about how you swear that the next ones he’ll give will live longer if you figure out how to do it right.

He likes doing that—staring at you like watching a film play even though he’s the one on stage more often than not.

“Do you know what all those flowers I gave you mean?” he asks as you’re twirling it around and counting the petals. They’re still bright pink, fading to yellow at its tips. You shake your head. It could mean anything, really. You haven’t gotten to that part of the book yet. “My feelings for you,” he says. “I give them to you every day so you’re reminded of it.”

Your finger catches on one of the petals, your skin burning. “…Is that what you think? I feel horrible; the flowers you’ve given me all die in a day or two.”

Lyney laughs. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“How else can I show you I’m not just casting your feelings aside?”

You turn to Lyney, wondering why he suddenly went silent. Only then, you see how he has his face buried in his palm, a dazed smile peeking out from what’s visible. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“...Sorry.”

He recovers fast. “Don’t be sorry.” Lyney holds your jaw in a precise grip, keeping your gaze focused on him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It’s only the next morning do you realize that the petals haven’t changed at all. You’re not sure why you haven’t noticed earlier.

Then again, you should’ve realized when he brought up what they mean so suddenly, that slick bastard.

Lyney sees you around the afternoon, and immediately he sees something new around your collar, probably because he keeps staring at it.

Lyney pulls you closer with a hand on the small of your back, and the other inspecting your brand-new necklace. “Is this…?”

It was a bit difficult to craft your own accessory, but you tried nevertheless. If Lyney goes out of his way to purchase different kinds of flowers, the least you can do is show him that each one makes you as happy as the first one did.

“You said they’re kind of like your feelings, right?” you say, unsure as to why you’re whispering. Lyney’s expression looks a little fragile. “So I made them into something to remind me of you every day.”

He presses his face onto your neck, and you nearly lose balance, holding onto the back of his head to keep yourself upright. “You’re too cute, amour. My heart can’t handle all of this,” he weeps dramatically.

( “Close your mouth, Lyney. You’re drooling,” Lynette says as she follows his gaze, watching you flutter past.

Lyney’s mouth snaps shut, wiping at his lips. He frowns. “I wasn’t even drooling.” He shakes his head. “Nevermind that—do you know who that was?”

“No,” Lynette says simply. “But I’m sure you’ll find a way to figure out eventually.” )

lyney went back to giving you real flowers after that btw

this was inspired by me daydreaming about lyney’s character quest and remembering that he literally gave us that flower accessory

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter 4 - Runaway

<<First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized reader, female reader, Poorly thought out action sequences, Guns, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though I might even tell y'all her name.

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

You wake in the morning with your nose buried in a thick patch of chest hair, and strong arms around you. Your legs are hooked around one of his thick thighs, and something hard digs into your stomach. You start to inch away, but his arms tighten, and his hips cant against you, a thick, sleepy groan rumbling in his chest. It would be a nice way to wake up, if not for the circumstances. It’s been ages since you slept beside another person, let alone someone that feels as comfortable as John does.

“John,” you say softly. You don’t want to fully wake him up, just get him to let you go. “John, please let me go.”

He hums, one hand sliding to your waist, and then down to your hip, pulling you closer, grinding you against his thigh. You squeak in protest, becoming aware that you’re already wet, like you’ve been unconsciously humping his leg in your sleep for some time. You push your slightly freer top half away a little, so you can look at him. He’s still sleeping, a little frown on his face as he’s pulled unwillingly toward consciousness. He really is handsome, especially like this, all his defences down, grumbling like a hibernating bear.

“Don’t wake up,” you tell him, as if it’ll make any difference. “I just have to pee.”

One of his blue eyes cracks open, a little unfocused. “You comin’ back?” His voice is rough from sleep, rasping like sandpaper.

“Sure,” you say, even though you have no intention of doing so. Your body seems as eager as his is for something you’re sure is dangerous. Maybe he smells good, like tobacco, warm, boozy spices and something undeniably male, and maybe he feels warm and solid against you, but you don’t want to encourage this. You just want to enough space to clear your head. His admissions last night still have you spooked, John’s words not tempered by a night of surprisingly good sleep. “I’ll just be a minute.”

He loosens his hold on you enough that you can wiggle free, his eyes opening a little more so he can watch you slip out of bed. He rolls over onto his back, and starts snoring gently before you’ve even made it to the bedroom door. You take the opportunity to snag one of the bags stacked in front of the closet and your purse off the dresser and bring both to the bathroom with you. You’re not sure what’s in the bag, but you know the larger suitcase has things from your closet in it, so you’re hoping this one has more from your dresser.

You get dressed, glad that most of your underthings and a comfortable pair of jeans and a thick sweater are inside and pack your toothbrush and makeup bag into the larger one, and creep downstairs carefully. One of them is snoring gently on the couch, but otherwise, the house is silent. You carefully fish a set of keys off the hooks by the door and sneak outside. You don’t know where any of your shoes are except the red heels, so you just leave in your sock feet, and pile your things into the pick-up truck. You’ll drive it into town and leave it there, buy a ticket on a train or a bus, and get the hell back home.

It sucks to have to leave everything you own, beyond the clothes in the one bag and the contents of your purse, but maybe you can call the cops— Well. Probably not. Better to just start over anywhere else. You have digital copies of a few pictures of your parents, and that’s better than nothing, even if their wedding album is sitting on a shelf in John’s living room, along with all the family photos that your parents took of you and them while you were growing up. Your mother’s sketchbooks too, and her camera, and your dad’s guitar.

You bite your lip, holding back tears, and start the truck.

No sense mourning things. The memories are in your head and your heart, not trapped in the pages of books or twisted into the strings of the guitar. You don’t need them.

You haven’t driven in a long time, and the truck, unfortunately, is a manual, which you haven’t driven in even longer, but you manage to pull away from the house without revving the engine too hard, and pick up speed once you get to the road, only just remembering to hit the clutch with your left foot before you change gears. You’d feel pretty pathetic if you only made it to the road before stalling out the pickup.

You’re not sure which way town is, but you figure the road has to lead somewhere no matter which way you choose, so you navigate blindly, turning onto a bigger road a little ways down the gravel one that leads to John’s house. Bigger road means more people, although the hour is still so early that there’s no one around yet. The sun is barely up, and it’s still shadowy in the woods on either side of the road. The woods give way to fields suddenly, the sun making a too-bright debut, shining right into your eyes. You flip down the visor and adjust the rear-view mirror, wincing when you see a blue car a ways behind you, approaching fast.

You didn’t notice the car when you were leaving— It must have been parked behind the bigger van that they’d used to move all your things— but it looks sporty and fast, and judging by the way it closes the gap, there’s no question that it’s them. You push the truck harder, squinting against the light, heart hammering. The car’s engine roars, loud enough that you can hear it over the blood rushing in your ears, and pulls into the lane beside you. Gaz motions for you to pull over from the passenger seat.

You slow up enough that they pull ahead a little, and you yank your steering wheel to the side and stomp down on the gas and the clutch, shifting into third gear and nailing the side of the car, shattering a tail light and making it spin, stopping just shy of the ditch.

For a moment, you’re still close enough to see the shock on their faces, but you’re moving fast and leave them in the dust, at least momentarily. It won’t take them long to recover and catch up again, and if they hit you with the same maneuver, there’s no way you’ll be able to get the truck under control. There’s not enough weight in the bed of the truck to compensate, and you’ll wind up in the ditch for certain.

Funny, how it comes back to you. Learning to drive along mountain roads way outside Aberdeen, either in your dad’s little car or your mom’s old truck (usually the car, which was the easier one to drive. Your dad was the safer driver too, the better parent to learn from), and you can almost imagine your mother in the passenger seat, laughing her head off at the insane circumstances, encouraging you to throw caution to the wind, to get a feel for the road under the wheels and the way the old truck handled. She always laughed when she was under stress, but it’s comforting to think of. Your mum would never let a couple of thick-headed military assholes get the better of her.

The car is catching up again, so you floor it and smash through a fence gate into a muddy field, where the car won’t handle as well, and speed your way across the stubbly remains of wheat, already harvested. The car follows, and, predictably, struggles, the low frame too close to the muck, bumping unhappily over the soft, uneven ground.

Laughter bubbles up in your chest, relieving some of the built-up anxiety. You smash through a segment of the fence on the other side and yank the truck back onto the road, giggling when the truck fishtails a bit, mud slicking the tires on the pavement. There’s so much adrenaline coursing through your system that you feel like you might be sick the moment you let any of this catch up with you. So you keep driving, and pray that it doesn’t.

The car gets close again when you reach another wooded section of road. Through the rearview mirror you can see Gaz pop out of the window, gun drawn, but you don’t hear the crack when it fires, you only feel the impact when the bullet strikes one of the rear tires. You shriek, slamming on the breaks as the truck spins out of your control and off the road, slamming into a tree head on.

The lurch forward as the airbags deploy, your body hitting them hard, knocking all the air out of your lungs as you’re slapped back into he seat. The seat belt bites into your shoulder painfully. You unbuckle yourself quickly, ears ringing too loudly for you to hear the screeching tires of the pursuit car. You fall to the ground when you try to get out, head spinning.

You stumble into the trees, still blinking away double vision. If you can find a good spot to hide— Maybe you can double back and take the car while they chase you blindly through the trees. You cast about, feeling every rapidly forming bruise, wishing desperately that you had shoes, and dive into the underbrush, scooting forward on your belly, brambles catching in your hair as you curl up, out of sight.

“Please come out, doll,” you hear Gaz call out, boots crunching through the woods, closer than you would like. “It’s okay, we’re not mad. Just come out and we’ll take you home, yeah?”

Johnny is yelling further off, his voice incomprehensible but sing-song, mocking. Gaz moves further into the woods. You wait until his voice grows a little more distant before you drag yourself back out, sweater streaked with mud, leaves in your hair, and quickly sneak back to the road. The car is still running, the driver door left open. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“There you are, bird.”

You scream. A gloved hand drops over your mouth, cutting off the sound, and an arm loops around your waist, picking you right up off your feet.

Fuck.

"Look what you did, bird. Wrecked up Price's truck. 'E's not goin' to be 'appy about that." He turns so you can see the slightly smoking truck, the front half of it crumpled beyond repair.

You shake your head until he pulls his hand away from your mouth. "Its not my fault I crashed. Gaz shot the tire out. I wasn't even going to steal it, just leave it in town once I'd gotten to a bus stop."

He hums. You hear the slight crackle of a radio. "Got 'er, lads. Come back to the car."

"Rog."

"Aye."

Ghost shoves you into the back seat. "Stay put," he says sternly. "You're already banged up, don't want to 'ave to tackle you."

You sigh, all the fight leaving you. You feel awful, bruised and shaken up and trembling, and you do nothing but watch as Ghost gathers your things from the truck and puts them in the boot of the car. You slump back in the seat, inspecting the scratches on your hands idly. Your head hurts, and your shoulder aches, and you feel a bit like you've been stepped on, but nothing feels broken, just bruised and tender. You got lucky.

Well, not lucky. There's very little about any of this that counts as luck. Especially considering the look on Johnny's face when he jogs out of the trees. At first he looks stormy, but he grins when he sees you and opens the back door to crawl onto the seat and on top of you.

"Steamin Jesus, where'd ye learn ta drive like tha'?" He asks. "Didnae ken ye were a racer."

"Outside Aberdeen," you reply. Your ribs hurt. Soap’s weight makes every little ache more acute.

"Price isn't gonna be happy about his truck," Gaz says, tossing himself into the driver's seat. "What were you thinking, doll? You could've been hurt."

"You didn't have to shoot the tire." You try to push Soap off, but he wraps himself around you, a bit tight, but bearably so. You’re trembling, and he’s trying to help, in a thoroughly unhelpful way. "I was just trying to get home."

"That's the wrong way. Your home's with Price now." Ghost gets into the other front seat, and Gaz reverses back out onto the road.

You sigh, leaning your head against the window, watching the countryside flash by. It takes an embarrassingly short time to get back to John's house. You didn't get as far as you would have liked, hardly got anywhere at all. Your eyes prickle with tears, but you don't want to cry in front of them. You want to go back to bed, maybe back in time to the morning. You would have been wiser just to curl up next to John again.

Soap drags you from the car, hands a bit rough on your bruises, and pulls you back to the house. John rushes out, worry creasing his face, blue eyes sweeping over you and turning furious. "What happened?" he barks, not at you, but at his men.

"Bird was makin' a run for it," Ghost says.

"Wrecked your truck," Gaz adds.

"That's not my fault!" you protest. "You shot at me!" You glare at him, frustrated tears overflowing down your cheeks. It’s like they have no idea what kind of stress they’ve put you through.

"Woah, woah, c'mere, doll." John pulls you against his chest, wrapping strong arms around you, stilling some of the tremble in your limbs. "You broken?"

You shake your head, leaning into him, gripping his t-shirt tightly. You breathe in raggedly, trying to steady yourself.

"Lads. Why did you shoot at her?"

"Trying to stop the truck."

"She's a civilian you muppets. I take it that the truck's in no shape to drive, or you would've brought it back. You could have killed her." He pets a hand over your head, plucking out a few leaves. "You should’ve let her go."

"She stole your truck!" Soap protests.

"So what? It's wrecked now anyway, innit?" The silence behind you speaks volumes. "Alright, doll, why don't you go get cleaned up? " he murmurs against the top of your head. "I need to talk to the lads, and what I have to say is not fit for a lady's ears."

He gently ushers you into the house and closes the door firmly behind you. You trudge upstairs, feeling utterly pathetic, and lock yourself into the bathroom. Still sniffling, you comb sticks and leaves out of your hair with your fingers and put yourself into a hot shower, where you give yourself the freedom to cry your eyes out, hoping that the sound of water drowns your stifled sobs.

The house is quiet when you shut off the shower and dry yourself off. You wrap the shirt you'd slept in around you and poke your head out into the hallway. John is right there, holding out a bundle of clothes. "Here, sweetheart," he says softly, like he's worried a sharp word will set you off again. He must have heard everything. "I sent the boys to deal with the truck and that tail light, so it's just us. Just come on downstairs when you're ready."

You open the door wide enough to accept the clothes, and he turns to leave again, content to leave anything else to be said when you make it downstairs.

He'd obviously taken his cue from what you'd been wearing already, because he gives you a sweater and jeans again, comfortable worn in things. You go downstairs carefully, every joint and muscle in your body aching, even after the shower.

"How do you take your coffee?" he asks. "Or do you prefer tea?"

"Coffee, please. I can make it. I'd feel better if I did, honestly." You skirt around him to the cupboard where you'd seen Gaz take mugs out, recognizing your own nestled among John's mismatched ones. You put milk and sugar in your favourite mug, and pour in coffee, stirring it throroughly. The clink of the spoon is loud, and so is the pan he sets on the stove top.

"Eggs and toast okay?" He asks.

"Um, yeah. That would be nice. Over easy?"

"Yes ma'am." He looks at you over his shoulder while butter melts in the pan, blue eyes all worry. "Did I say something to you last night? Maybe the sort of thing that made you feel like you needed to steal a truck and run as fast as you could away from here?"

"Um. Yes." You hold onto the mug with both hands. "Some stuff about wanting to start a family. With me."

His ears turn pink. "I see."

"I suppose this is where you tell me it was just the whiskey talking, right?" you ask hopefully. You like him, even if it’s ill-advised, maybe even dangerous to do so.

"Wish I could."

Your stomach twists. “Oh.”

John turns around fully, guilt and sadness written all over his handsome face. He steps closer and touches your arm gently. “I’m so sorry about what my boys have put you through, sweetheart. None of this has been right.” He sighs, brushing a few tendrils of still-wet hair away from your face, studying you, those intense blue eyes focused on you intently. “But there’s something special about you, doll. I really do want to keep you forever. Not if you’re scared, and not if you feel forced— It’s just, the thought of you leavin' and never wanting to speak to me again is— I don’t want that.”

You swallow nervously. “This is just really overwhelming.”

“I know. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have let this happen. Soap really could have just given you my number.” The smile he gives you is hopeful, and you can’t help but return it, just a little. “Now go sit down, doll. Let me take care of breakfast, hm?”

You nod and move to the table, sitting where you can watch him, and peek out the window too. The car is gone, but the van is still there for the moment, sitting idly to the side. You consider making another run for it, but your aching limbs protest even the thought. There’s not enough fight in you, and you’re not even sure you want to fight John, not the way you do the other three. His only crime has been wanting you to stay, and being a bit overzealous about it. You can’t be mad at him for that, can you? It isn’t really his fault.

Well, it might be his fault, in a roundabout way. He trained them, taught them how to ruthlessly pursue an objective. It’s just not his fault they can’t keep it from coming home with them. That’s a clear failure of whoever does their mental health assessments.

You sip your coffee and watch John crack eggs into a pan. He keeps glancing at you, and his smile flickers on a little longer each time that he catches you looking back, until he doesn’t stop smiling, and just looks happy, glad to have you there, even if you’re just keeping a silent vigil on the other side of the room.

It's not like you have anywhere to go. It'll take days at least to feel like you haven't just been in a car crash, and days more to locate everything to pack it back up. So long as you don't have to share a bed with John again, you think you could live with this, for at least a week. It can't be that terrible, so long as the others leave you alone. You rather hope they just leave. If you asked, would John send them away?

"John," you say as he sets a plate with buttered toast and a couple of eggs on it in front of you, and sets a couple tablets of paracetamol beside your plate. "If I stay… Will they be staying too?"

"I'm going to have them leave this afternoon. That alright with you? We can go for a walk to the neighbours while they pack up, if you're up for it. Maybe dr-- Well, not drive." He sets his own plate down and sits next to you, handing you a knife and a fork. “Have to get that sorted out. But the neighbours-- Rob and Melissa-- Their dog just had puppies a few weeks ago. Do you like dogs?”

You nod, breaking the yolks of one of the eggs with a corner of toast. "My parents had a dog when I was growing up. Some kind of German shepherd cross. Best boy. His name was Rob Roy, because he was a wee outlaw. Mam found him digging in the trash and--" you stop and give John a baleful look. "Sorry. That was more than you were asking."

"No, that's the most you've said at once this whole time. I'd listen to you talk all day, doll. Don't ever apologize."

"Sorry I-- Oh, shit, sorry--" you press your fingers to your mouth, cutting yourself off. "Force of habit."

"I'd like to see you lose that one. You have nothin' to apologize for. Not one damn thing, and especially not talking. I think you have the prettiest voice I've ever heard."

You roll your eyes, but you can't help smiling. "You're just saying that."

He touches your arm lightly. "You don't know me too well yet, doll, but I never just say anything."

Yet hangs in the air, heavy and deliberate. He wants you to know him, wants you to stay with him, wants you to like him. Even if it makes no sense, the offer is tempting. It's been a long time since you've let someone get close— You've had the occasional fling, and the odd reunion with an ex that you’d stayed friends with, but grief is like a canyon you can't bear to cross. What if you love someone and you lose them, the way you lost your parents? How could you live with that all over again?

Still, there's something that feels like warm sunlight in his smile, and you can't help but incline toward him, slowly but surely reaching for the light. No one can live in the shade forever. There’s no nobility in suffering.

So you let yourself talk, at least a little. And he listens, hanging on to your words like they're precious, gazing at you with something unfurling in his expression that you can't name. You're almost afraid to try.

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Never Give Up

Pairing: Rockstar!Jensen Ackles x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: complete fluff, getting blood drawn so needles and blood

Summary: Jensen is in town for his next concert and visit you for a check-up before performing. You two have known each other for your whole life since his sister is your best friend, and he never fails to ask you out every time he sees you. You’ve always said no. It’s his mission to get you to say yes.

Square Filled: rockstar!jensen (2022) for @spndeanbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You grab another vial of blood and mark down in the system which patient of yours this belongs to. Afterward, you place it inside a medical plastic bag and set it off to the side for the lab to pick up later. Today has been non-stop tending to patients, drawing blood, and taking vitals. You’re only halfway through your shift and you feel like your head is going to explode.

“Did you see his post?” another nurse asks as she and her friend walk into the office. “God, he looks so hot. I can’t believe he’s single.”

“I bet he’s fucking random fans every show he does. I could be one of those fans if I got tickets. Can you believe even the nosebleeds are two hundred bucks?”

You don’t need to hear his name to know who they’re talking about. There is only one artist that is big enough in the news right now. He’s been on a steady incline to fame ever since he left Texas for California.

“Do you think he’s good in bed?”

You roll your eyes at that but don’t comment on it. You just want to do your job and go home. You can’t be sitting here thinking about your best friend’s brother and how much of an arrogant bastard he is who thinks the world revolves around him. It doesn’t help that he has a major crush on you, and he isn’t afraid to show it. Besides him telling you every time he calls you how much he likes you, he’ll always try to show you either with flowers, dinner, or other small presents that he has mailed to you.

There isn’t a time that goes by when he’s with you that he doesn’t try and ask you out on a date. If he was just your best friend’s brother, you would consider it. It’s the fact that he’s an up-and-coming rockstar who isn’t near his peak that has you on the edge. You know rockstars. You dated a few of them. All they care about is music, money, and sex. They’ll get it anywhere from any woman who is willing to spread her legs for them. You’re not saying Jensen is like that, but you don’t want to be a notch on his belt.

Still, that doesn’t stop you from using your vibrator and fantasizing about him.

A few days pass without incident when you’re inputting patients into the computer. The same two coworkers who were talking about Jensen before come strolling in with big smiles on their faces.

“What’s got you two looking like that?”

“Jensen is in town for his concert.”

“Did you two get tickets?”

“No, but I know of a way inside. I have someone working security.”

You’d rather not sit here and watch them fangirl over him so you decide to finish your paperwork later and check on the patients. Your best friend, Sabrina, pulls you to the side as soon as she sees you.

“I need you to take the patient in Room 15.”

“Why? That’s your section.”

“Please? I can’t do it.”

“Why?” you ask, your eyes narrowing.

“He’s my brother. They won’t let me work on him.”

Jensen is here. You think about what it might mean if he sees you entering the room and think it’s better than sending the fangirls in there with him.

“Fine. You owe me.” You start to walk away from her with the blood draw supplies and pause. “Don’t tell the other girls. They’ll cause a riot.”

You walk to Room 15 and knock twice before entering. Jensen is sitting on the small table with the paper lined for people’s safety even though half the time, it gets crumbled and tossed out of the way. He is scrolling through his phone but it’s not that that has you staring in awe. He is wearing a tight black shirt that really shows off his muscles and tattoos and dusty blue jeans that you know hug his ass so nicely, all with a backward hat on. His hair peeks out the back of his hat. It was shorter than the last time you saw him.

There’s a new image for your fantasies.

“Growing out your hair, huh?”

Jensen’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice, and he gives you a thousand-watt smile. He immediately puts his phone away so that he can give you all of his attention.

“I was hoping Sabrina would send you in here.”

“Oh, you’re lucky it’s me and not the two fangirls out there. I’m pretty sure one of them wants to have sex with you.”

“What about you? Do you want to have sex with me?”

You smile shyly and grab two latex gloves to start the blood-drawing process. “You wish.”

“Yeah, I do.”

You wrap a tourniquet around his upper arm before grabbing his arm and rubbing the area with an alcohol swab to sterilize the area. Don’t think about his big muscles. Focus, Y/N! You open a packet that contains a new needle and place it where you need to. Without counting down, you stick the needle into his vein and start to grab blood samples.

“So, come here often?” he flirts.

“I work here,” you giggle.

“I know. I just wanted to hear your giggle. So, when am I gonna take you out?”

“Hmm, how about never?” you tease.

“Don’t do that to me, sweetheart. Throw me a bone or something.”

“I’m not even going to comment,” you laugh.

You take out the first vial and shove a new one into the case for more blood.

“I’m serious. When are you gonna let me take you out to a nice dinner? I’ll pay.”

“Oh, you will? How generous of you,” you say sarcastically yet playfully.

“Does that mean yes?”

“No.”

“I’m not gonna stop asking you.”

“You’ll turn blue in the face if you continue that.”

“It’s okay,” he shrugs. “I look good in blue.” You roll your eyes and try to hide your smile knowing he sees it. You finish getting four blood samples before patching him up with a Hello Kitty bandaid. You were just treating two twin little girls and this is all you have. “Nice band-aid.”

“It’s all I have. I can get a different one if you want.”

“No, no, I happen to like Hello Kitty.” You trash your gloves and the needle packet before standing. “Come to my concert.”

“I have to work.”

“No, you don’t. It’s on Saturday and you don’t work the weekends.�� You silently curse knowing he’s right. “How about this? I will have a VIP and all-access badge with your name on it. Come if you want. It starts at seven. Are we done here?”

“Yeah, but--”

“Give my love to Sabrina.”

He hops of the table and kisses your cheek as he leaves. The two fangirls see him and fawn over his good looks but when he looks back, it’s at you. He only has eyes for you. He winks and turns to the fangirls who are practically tripping over the other to get to him. He signs what they want to be signed and takes pictures with them before leaving.

Today is only Wednesday but you can’t stop thinking about Jensen and his offer the rest of the week. Saturday comes faster than you’d like, and you find yourself driving with Sabrina to the concert hours before it even starts. There are already people lining up to get to the front of the pit but you bypass the entire parking lot to head to the back where the service entrance is.

“I can’t believe I’m going to this,” you say.

“So, when are you and my brother going to fuck?”

“Sabrina!”

“What? If anyone should be with him, it’s you. That boy is in love with you.”

“No, he’s not. He thinks he is because I don’t want him.”

“Does telling yourself that help you sleep at night?”

“Sabrina… He’s a rockstar. He’s a famous rockstar. He doesn’t want some rundown nurse. He could have anyone.”

“Yeah, but he wants you.”

You’re torn because you do want Jensen. He’s every girl’s dream. Even if he wasn’t a rockstar or famous, you’ve known him since you two were kids. You grew up together. You know who the real Jensen is, the one he doesn’t show anyone else. Still, there is that nagging feeling that he'll dump you once he gets bored with you. 

All of your exes did.

You show security both your IDs and he hands you and Sabrina your access badges before directing you where to park. After you two get out, you follow security to the back where the band is hanging out. You’ve gotten to know Jensen’s band a little over the years. They’re nice guys.

“Bean!” Jensen turns and grins when he sees his sister. His drummer has a major crush on your friend and has called her Bean ever since she told him she hated it. They’re in the “will they, won’t they?” stage but everyone knows they’re gonna be endgame. “Where’ve you been?”

“I told you not to call me that,” she rolls her eyes and hugs her brother. 

“And I told you I don’t care. I like how you blush when I do,” he smirks.

Jensen’s gaze goes over to you and he visibly relaxes at the sight of you. He walks over to you and takes off his hat so that his hair falls over his face.

“Hi, Jensen.” He smiles but doesn’t answer you. “What, cat got your tongue? I know I’m breathtaking but come on.”

“He doesn’t speak before a show to preserve his voice. He has breathing exercises to do,” Josh, the drummer, says.

“What a blessing,” you joke.

Jensen pulls you in for a hug, and you allow this minute to really feel him. His arms have always felt so safe around you, and you find yourself relaxing into his body. He pulls away and takes out his phone to text you since he takes his voice exercises seriously. Your phone pings and you look at the message he sent.

I love that you’re here.

You blush under his gaze and try but fail to hide your smile.

“You know I would have come.”

You and Sabrina leave for the VIP tent on the floor while the band gets ready. The opener comes out and does her performance which gives you time to enjoy the music and get some food before Jensen comes on stage. Since you and Sabrina are on Jensen and Josh’s social media, you’re both easily recognizable. Fans come up to the tent to chat and take pictures with you two. You never had a desire for fame but it’s nice to know you’ve made someone’s day just by saying hi to them.

The entire stadium goes dark and the intro to the concert begins. Immediately, the entire crowd cheers for Jensen. He walks on stage in a different outfit than when you saw him earlier, and you have to admit he looks really good. He’s wearing a classic muscle shirt that definitely shows off how much he’s been working out and his tattoos. Gone is his hat so that his hair can flop around freely.

His eyes immediately find the VIP tent, and he smiles when he sees you. You’ve seen his concerts over TikTok Lives and other social media platforms but nothing beats the real thing. He sings each song with passion like he means every word he’s singing. There is a long catwalk where he walks, and all the girls fawn over him whenever he gives them two seconds of his attention.

By the time he’s at the halfway point of his concert, your feet are hurting from how much you’re dancing and your ears are ringing from how loud it is, but you love it. Jensen is in the middle of a song when he suddenly stops and takes out one of his earpieces.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he pants. The band stops playing and everyone quiets down in confusion, including you. He’s never done this at any of his other concerts. “I’ll get back to the music in a second. I just want to say this is a very special concert because there is someone very special here tonight.”

“Oh, my God,” Sabrina gasps.

“Her name is Y/N and she’s right over there in the VIP tent.” The camera pans over to your shocked face so that everyone in the stadium can see. Sabrina can’t stop smiling. “You see, we’ve been friends since we were kids and she doesn’t know this but I am absolutely crazy for her.”

Cheers erupt throughout the stadium, and you shake your head at Jensen with a smile.

“Now, I’ve asked her this many times but she’s always said no to me. I don’t think she’ll be able to say no in a room full of eighty thousand people. Someone get her a microphone. I want to hear her answer.” Jensen waits for someone to bring you a microphone. “Y/N, will you let me take you to a really nice dinner date?”

You wait for the crowd to quiet down a bit before giving your answer.

“No,” you smile sweetly. “You just won’t take no for an answer.”

“You’re right. I won’t.” He drags one of the barstools to the middle of the stage and sits on it. “That’s why we’re not continuing until you say yes.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I am, sweetheart. I won’t sing another song until you say yes. What do you say, Los Angeles? Should she say yes to me?” Almost every fan in the stadium including Sabrina cheers for you two. “See? Even they think you should.”

“Well if they think we should…”

“Is that a yes?”

“No,” you grin.

“Alright.” Jensen sits and drums his fingers on his legs patiently. “I wonder what I’m going to do next weekend. I think I should take up fishing. My dad always brought me but I never appreciated it before.”

“You’re seriously going to sit there and not continue your concert?” you ask.

“Put everyone out of their misery and just say yes to the date. Come on, everyone. Y/N! Y/N!”

Everyone starts chanting your name, and Sabrina tugs on your arm to grab your attention.

“Has any of your exes done this for you? What are you scared of?”

She’s right. None of your rockstar boyfriends have ever stopped a concert for you. None of them even mentioned you were there. Jensen doesn’t have to say it but he is in love with you and you’re in love with him.

“Fine. Fine. Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.”

“Yes!” Jensen cheers. You hand the microphone back to the stadium worker, and Jensen puts the earpiece back in. “This next song is for you, sweetheart.”

And he plays the song he wrote for you in high school.

x

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[heartseungs-archive]

lucky strike | l.dh

word count: 2.3k | genre: arcade employee! haechan, high school au, (sort of?) f2l, mc and hc are very cute | warnings: none

Haechan notices you the moment you step foot into the arcade. After all, it’s not every day that his crush walks into his workplace, unaccompanied and teary-eyed. You stick out like a sore thumb amongst the neon red and blues of the pinball machines, pristine white shoes thudding against the cement floor which hasn’t been cleaned in years.

He hasn’t had the opportunity to speak to you much, considering the both of you are in entirely different social circles. However, he does know you’re a responsible class representative and someone who never hesitates to greet him with a smile in the morning, which he shyly returns. His friends have teased him endlessly for the way he seemingly becomes mute when you approach, his cheeks always heating up. Haechan is extroverted, but he supposes even he becomes withdrawn in the presence of your warmth and friendliness.

Which is why the unfamiliar sight of you crying immediately sends a pang to his heart, but he’s not entirely sure how to approach you without making the situation become uncomfortable. You likely want solitude, and it’s the least Haechan can do to let you have it, both as a well-behaved employee and an almost-friend.

It’s a quiet weekday at the arcade, and Haechan’s eyes follow you as you move from the token machine to a few different games, until you finally settle on the fishing one. Throughout, your expression remains unchanged, even though you occasionally sniffle slightly.

Fuck it, Haechan thinks. Before he knows it, he’s made his way over to you, and he knows how clear the difference is between the both of you. While Haechan wouldn’t call himself a delinquent, he’s definitely not the model student you are. He’s had one or two tardies this semester, and his red Converse is definitely not in line with attire rules. Still, you light up at the sight of him, a wobbly smile making its way onto your face.

“Oh, Haechan-ah. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Haechan wants to say that your appearance here is even more unexpected, but instead, he rubs the back of his head nervously. “I work here.” Your mouth drops open in a silent ‘o’ of understanding, and he can’t help but think it’s one of the cutest things he’s seen.

“You shouldn’t play at the same seat. You’ll have a higher chance of winning if you switch the player more often,” Haechan blurts out. He’s afraid of allowing the silence to become too awkward, and so he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously.

You raise your eyebrows at that. “Really? I didn’t think it made a difference. Thankfully you work here. Do you want to sit and play with me?”

“Huh?” Haechan’s eyes widen, slightly taken aback. You’re asking him?

“Sorry, I forgot that you must be busy considering you work here. Please don’t let me disturb you.” Your cheeks are red from slight embarrassment, and you’re mentally kicking yourself for even making that ridiculous request. He must have just wanted to say hello. Now you’ve put him in a spot, Y/N.

He shakes his head fervently, so hard that it startles you. “No, I’m not busy at all. I’d love to. Besides, if I play with you, we can get more tickets.” Haechan immediately pulls a chair over, and you pass him your stack of tokens. The both of you play a few games, enough for you to realize that Haechan is much better at this than you are.

However, when you remark on his skills, he shrugs nonchalantly. “I used to play this every day when I was a kid.” Your eyes widen, and you grin a little. “Really? Me too!”

“Well, you’re quite bad at it for someone who says she plays often,” he teases, and you roll your eyes. ‘Okay, whatever you say.”

It’s interesting how rapidly your mood lightened the moment Haechan appeared, a wide smile on your face compared to your previously glum expression.

He clears his throat then, eyes shifting around. “What is it?” You ask, looking around as well.

“I just…sorry. This might be a bit too nosy of me. You don’t have to reply or anything. But your eyes were a little red when you came in. Are you alright?” The genuine concern in Haechan’s voice is surprising to you, considering the nature of your acquaintance. However, his doe-brown eyes are earnest as they stare into yours, and you find your gaze escaping to your feet, which tap on the floor nervously out of habit.

A small laugh escapes you, and you nod. “Yeah. It was just a bad argument with my parents. You know how it is. I just came here because I needed a distraction.” Haechan nods, sympathizing with your situation. If anything, he finds his fondness for you growing. The way that you’re so kind and welcoming to everyone at school, and to him, even if you’re having a bad day.

“Well, feel free to drop by whenever. Though preferably on weekdays, since that’s when I work. The other guy, Jaemin, is really strict about tickets. I’ll throw in freebies for you though.”

Haechan’s words allow your smile to grow even brighter, and he feels a sense of pride in seeing the way your shoulders gradually become less sunken and a familiar twinkle returning to your eye.

Suddenly, he gets up from where he’s sitting, causing your eyes to fix curiously on him.

“I’ve got a place to show you. Come on.” You immediately get up to follow after Haechan, who winds past the claw machines and basketball hoops to a more isolated part of the arcade.

A faded wooden sign dangles above the capsule machines, neatly lined up in rows . The light barely reaches this side of the arcade, and Haechan turns on a lightbulb that flickers precariously in the smaller space. Compared to the almost-deafening noises outside, this feels almost therapeutic in some way.

“MBTI Fortunes? I haven’t seen this in a while,” you mutter in mild surprise.

“This is one of my favourite sections. Try it.” You immediately head over to the roller machine and turn the knob, stainless metal cool against your fingers. Barely seconds later, the familiar sight of a red ball rolling gently down the chute enters your vision, before it lands neatly in your hand.

You tilt your head towards Haechan. “You try it too,” you say, smiling. So he’s an ENFP, you think, as he walks over. It makes sense, you suppose. Haechan’s definitely extroverted from the way he acts with his friends, and he’s constantly the center of attention. If anything, you wish you had more of his effortless confidence. There’s no way you could ever approach someone like he did. But you’re impossibly grateful for his presence.

“Should we open it?” He says, throwing the red ball up and catching it smoothly as he makes his way back over to you.

It takes a while, but the both of you eventually manage to twist the capsule open, unrolling the tiny folded piece of paper. Haechan holds it up to the light, squinting to read the writing.

“Take a chance. It just might be a lucky strike,” he mutters, humming in thought.

However, your voice rings out much clearer than his and causes Haechan to pause. “A heart-fluttering event will happen to you today.” You clear your throat nervously, cheeks immediately reddening. Right now, there’s only one person in mind, and he’s standing right in front of you.

“Ah…don’t get too bothered by it. These are all just random anyways.” Haechan is perturbed by the slight stutter in his voice, the way his pulse is speeding up, and how he’s unable to look at you for too long. It’s just because you’re pretty, he thinks. It’s not good to look at pretty people for too long, or his ego will be hurt.

When the both of you make your way back to the main area of the arcade, the silence becomes awkward, but it’s an almost endearing sight. You fiddle with your fingers, but you’re unaware of the fact that Haechan is the exact same.

“Well, thank you for today. That was fun. I should let you get back to work. I’ll see you in school?” You mumble, a faint smile on your face. Haechan nods eagerly. “Yeah. I'll see you.” He wonders if he’ll be able to strike up the same conversation in school. He thinks this is the longest time he's ever interacted with you, and he hopes it isn’t the last.

Haechan can’t help but feel slightly forlorn as he watches you make your way towards the exit of the arcade, red capsule ball in hand. His work is going to feel much longer without your presence. His eyes inevitably drift to the piece of paper that he, for some mysterious reason, hasn't yet thrown away. Take a chance, it says. Haechan's a spontaneous person. The most spontaneous one he knows, actually. Still, he finds it a bit hard to make rash decisions when it comes to you. Maybe it’s because your work is written in neat, clean lines while his is more of a legible scribble. Or that your stationery is neatly categorized in the same color while Haechan’s is more of a haphazard rainbow.

Still, he hopes you’ll accept the slightly disorganized mess that is him.

“Jaemin’s going to kill me for this,” he complains, as he makes his way towards the area containing all of the redeemable prizes. Still, he thinks it’s a worthy tradeoff, facing the wrath of the grumpy blue-haired man who acts like he’s so much older than Haechan when he’s just a college student.

You’re just about to turn a street when you hear the thundering of footsteps on cobblestone behind you, and you’re quick to turn around, alarmed. Haechan almost crashes into you, out of breath and face flushed.

“Haechan? Is something wrong?” There is evident alarm on your face, and Haechan shakes his head vehemently. Just then, you look down at what he’s holding in his hands and let out a slight laugh.

“Did you run all the way here…for this?” You ask.

“Yeah. It’s…for you.” Haechan extends out the Cinnamoroll plushie to you, an expression of anticipation on his face. You take it from him, smoothing your hand over its fluffy ears. A certain sense of warmth fills you. Maybe this was the heart-fluttering event the paper mentioned. Because you’re quite sure that your pulse is now fluttering wildly as you look at Haechan.

“Thank you. But how did you get it? I definitely didn’t have enough tickets for this.” There's a curious glint in your eyes, and Haechan lets out a little scoff.

“Well, I have some benefits as an arcade employee, I suppose,” he says nonchalantly. What he doesn't tell you is that he's now in crippling debt to Jaemin, and will likely spend much more money winning the tickets to pay it off than if he just bought you the plushie.

Seeing the radiant smile on your face only encourages Haechan to make another rash decision. Maybe he’ll fall flat on his face, but he wants to at least try.

“My shift ends in an hour. I know a really good tteokbokki place,” he says, the words coming out of him in a rush, and then realises the abruptness of his statement.

You smirk slightly, and it’s an unfamiliar expression to Haechan to see you so playful, but he doesn’t mind it at all.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Your confidence is sudden, but you find that it comes more easily with Haechan around.

“It can be one. If you want it to be,” Haechan replies immediately. His gaze is much more determined now, and you’re almost intimidated by it. But you refuse to back down, especially when this is everything you’ve ever wanted.

“Okay. It’s a date.” You can’t hide your smile when you say it, and immediately saunter back in the direction of the arcade. Haechan, who still can’t wrap his head about the reality of the situation, automatically follows you. His crush agreed to go on a date with him. You, Y/N, model student and the girl who Haechan thinks has the most beautiful smile he's ever seen in his life, has agreed to eat tteokbokki with him. It's a small start, but a start nonetheless.

“Wait, actually? Also, why are you going back to the arcade?” He asks, confused.

You hold up the soft toy, not even looking back. “Apparently, someone’s in debt. I should return the favor, right?” Oh fuck, I said that out loud. You don’t bother to reply his first question, and Haechan’s quite sure he looks rather ridiculous with how big his smile is.

When the both of you are back, you immediately make a beeline for the fishing game again, looking even more committed to it than previously. The soft toy is placed gently in your lap, and you occasionally hug it unconsciously. Haechan's heartbeat has finally slowed down from it's breakneck pace, but he thinks the fondness he feels at the sight of you is an even more exhilarating feeling.

You’re his lucky strike, he thinks, and he'll gladly take as many chances as needed for you.

[wavypotatochips]

Elevator Mishap || Central Cee

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 : CentralCee x Female reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 : You find yourself trapped in an elevator with a mysterious stranger who turns out to be the famous rapper Central Cee in disguise. [FLUFF/ LIGHT TENSION]

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵  

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: HIIIII GUYS omg so much stuff has happened personally in my life but I am back and better!! Central Cee is so fine and I just always wanted to write something with him lol. Its been a while since I have wrote something, so bare with me c': I have no requests, so feel free to send some in! 

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ♥

"I find it hard to believe I'm actually here," you murmur under your breath, a mix of disbelief and disinterest coloring your tone as you wait for the elevator to reach your floor. While most girls would gush with excitement at the prospect of attending a Central Cee concert in the UK alongside their best friends, Stacey and Rosalina, you find yourself unable to share in their fervor. The trio, inseparable since middle school, practically dragged you along when they scored free tickets to the concert, complete with all expenses paid. Despite their infectious enthusiasm for Central Cee, you couldn't summon the same level of excitement, feeling rather indifferent towards his music. Meanwhile, your best friends are back in the hotel room, immersed in making TikToks while belting out Central Cee's tunes. You made an excuse about needing to run down to the convenience store on the ground floor to grab a snack, eager to escape the impending festivities. As the elevator doors finally slide open, you step inside, your mind already elsewhere, contemplating the potentially underwhelming night ahead, especially given your lack of interest in the artist.

Absentmindedly humming to yourself, you press the button for the ground floor before casually leaning against the elevator wall. A brief moment of panic strikes as you pat your pockets, realizing your phone must have been left behind in the hotel room. Before you can fully process this inconvenience, the elevator lurches upward, and a figure clad entirely in black, sporting a ski mask, shades, and a hat, enters. You brush off the peculiar attire, attributing it to the chilly weather outside, but a faint sense of unease begins to gnaw at you as the elevator door closes.

The person does not press any buttons, signaling they were also going to the bottom floor like you were. You tried not to stare at the person beside you, but the clothes they were wearing screamed wealth. You look at their shoes as the elevator begins to go down. Suddenly, the elevator comes to a stop with a shake. You widen your eyes as anxiety kicks in, confused on what is going on. You look over at the stranger, not being able to see their expression before walking over and pressing the first-floor button again. This time, the elevator doesn't seem to budge nor is it telling you what floor you two are currently on.

“There's no way,” noticing the elevator may be stuck, your heart sinks down. The stranger walks closer to you, giving them a try themselves to press the buttons. You step back to give them room. Noticing the buttons will not budge for them either, you sigh and press the red button that signals a representative. A few minutes pass before someone speaks, “Hello? Is everything alright?,” the statically voice states.

“Yeah, ummm I think the elevator is stuck. We also can’t see what floor we are on,” you respond.

“Okay, please remain calm we are sen-,” the voice cuts off.

“Hello?,” you question, “HELLLOOOOOO?,” spamming the button again.

“Lady we can't hear YOUUU!,” You state pressing the button.

“You should stop before you break it.” The voice of the person speaks with a deep British accent, you now know they are a male. You turn to look at him, continuing to press the button a few more times before stopping. You sigh, sitting down on the floor.

“Just great,” you mumble while lowering your head in defeat. You are not someone with claustrophobia, plus the elevator was a decent size so it's not as if you were scared you were trapped. Only annoyed. While your head is low, you hear clothes shuffling causing you to look back up. The man begins to take off his coat and hat, probably also realizing we are not going to be getting out anytime soon. You shift your legs so you are now sitting criss-cross on the floor, your back against the wall as you look up at the elevator's ceiling.

“Don't worry, I bet they will come soon,” the man speaks once again with a reassuring voice. You keep your head up, “I know, it just sucks. This is my first time in the UK and I'm spending my first night trapped in an elevator with a stranger, no offense.” You hear a chuckle, ”None taken. What are you in the UK for if you don't mind me asking?” You can tell he just wanted small talk, and you didn't mind. I mean after all, you are stuck here for who knows how long.

 “My Best friends and I are here for the Central Cee concert,” you respond, continuing to study the French painting that is plastered on the ceiling of the elevator.

“Are you excited to go?,” he questions, resulting in you shrugging,” I don't care too much about him. Nothing against him, but you know, not really my taste.”

Silence settles between you for a moment, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the intercom and the faint hum of the elevator's mechanisms.

"So, what brings you to the concert if you're not a fan?" he asks, curiosity evident in his voice.

You offer a half-smile, considering your response. "Honestly, I'm just here for my friends. Stacey and Rosalina are huge fans, and they practically begged me to come along. Figured it would be a fun night out, even if the music isn't really my thing."

He nods in understanding, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "Ah, the sacrifices we make for friendship," he muses, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. “Maybe after the concert you will be my fan.”

His unexpected comment catches you off guard, and you find yourself momentarily taken aback. With a furrowed brow, you glance down, your eyes widening and eyebrows raising in confusion. And there he stands, Central Cee himself, his presence suddenly filling the confined space of the elevator. His pearly white teeth glint in the dim light, a charming smile gracing his lips.

If your best friends were in your position, they probably would have passed out by now. But you? You simply let out a small laugh, shaking your head slightly. “Mmmmm I don't think so. Your music just isn't my type,” you reply, your tone casual yet resolute. You glance back up at the ceiling, your interest clearly elsewhere.

Central Cee seems momentarily taken aback by your nonchalant response. He had perhaps expected screams of excitement or frenzied fangirling – or perhaps even both. But your composed demeanor only serves to intrigue him further. He closes his lips, the smile still lingering on his face, his gaze lingering on you with newfound curiosity.

"Really now?" he questions, a playful glint in his eyes. "What exactly is your type, hmm?"

“Not you, so it doesn't matter,” you respond with a casual flick of your gaze, focusing on your nail as if it holds the answers to the universe. Impatience begins to creep into your movements, prompting you to rise from your seat and stride over to the control panel, where you futilely press the buttons at random.

"Well, I would like to know," he persists, closing the distance between you with a deliberate step.

"It doesn't matter," you retort, your tone edged with determination.

"Yes, it does," he insists.

"No, it doesn't," you counter.

"Yes, it does."

"No, it do—" You cut yourself off mid-sentence, the absurdity of the situation dawning on you. "Wait, why am I even going back and forth with you?" The question is more to yourself, but Central Cee decides to respond.

"Because you do like me."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I—" You catch yourself falling into the same cycle, causing him to chuckle.

"You know, you're cute when you get mad," he remarks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His words elicit a soft blush from you, prompting you to turn away and face the wall. "Leave me alone," you mumble.

"Awww, I'm sorry, love. Let me make it up to you," he responds cheekily.

"Make it up to me by getting this damn elevator to work," you grumble under your breath.

"If you can admit that I am your favorite artist, then I will make that happen," he confesses, catching you off guard.

You raise an eyebrow, turning to face him. "How?"

He tilts his head to the side, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Say it, and I will make it happen."

You exhale heavily, skepticism evident in your expression. "Why does it matter to you so much?" you question.

He shrugs, smiling. "Simply because."

You glare at him, his grin only widening in response. You decide to humor him, considering his celebrity status and the possibility of connections. "Fine. You are my favorite artist."

He raises his eyebrows, amused by your half-hearted admission. "I don't think that was sincere enough for me."

You let out another small breath.  Stepping closer to him, you meet his gaze head-on. "Oakley, you are my favorite artist. I love your music so much; you are so talented."

His demeanor softens, his eyes meeting yours with sincerity. Something about saying his real name seems to have an effect on him. Whether it's your beauty or simply the use of his name, it stirs something within him, making him feel... nice.

You find yourself studying his features, admiring the way his light tan skin complements the arch of his eyebrows and the depth of his chocolate eyes. His small smile draws your attention, and you instinctively take a step back, coughing lightly to dispel the tension.

"Uhm... okay, I said it. Now, do your magic."

"You're right," he responds, retrieving his phone from his pocket.

"YOU HAD A PHONE THIS ENTIRE TIME??" you exclaim, incredulous.

"Yes," he simply responds, unlocking his phone.

You sigh. "Why didn't you say something?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Who wouldn't want to be trapped in an elevator with a beautiful girl like you?"

You open your mouth to reply, but the fluttering sensation in your stomach leaves you speechless. Despite your indifference towards his music, you can't deny his charm.

For a few moments, you find yourself lost in thought, your gaze dropping to your shoes. His voice interrupts your reverie, causing you to lift your head.

"Damn. I don't have any service," he says, raising his arm in a futile attempt to get a signal.

You watch as Central Cee furrows his brow in frustration, tapping futilely at his phone screen in a desperate attempt to find a signal. Despite the annoyance of being stuck in an elevator, you can't help but feel a strange sense of camaraderie with him, a shared bond forged in the confines of this metal box.

As the seconds tick by, the silence between you grows heavier, the tension palpable in the air. You glance at Central Cee, taking in the way the dim light of the elevator accentuates the contours of his face, casting shadows that dance across his features. Despite your best efforts to ignore it, you can't deny the flutter of excitement that flits through your stomach at the sight of him.

"Anything yet?" you ask, breaking the silence with a voice that comes out softer than intended.

Central Cee shakes his head, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation. "Nothing. It's like this elevator is in its own little world, cut off from the rest of the universe."

Central Cee chuckles softly, the sound echoing in the confined space. "and here I thought being a famous rapper would exempt me from getting stuck in elevators," he remarks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You smile, appreciating his attempt to inject a bit of humor into the situation. "Guess even celebrities aren't immune to elevator mishaps," you reply, your lips quivering in a half-smile.

He returns the smile, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. "At least I'm stuck in here with someone interesting," he says, his tone laced with sincerity.

A blush rises to your cheeks at his compliment, and you quickly avert your gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny. "Thanks," you mumble, "I guess you aren't so bad yourself.."

Central Cee's smile widens at your response, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, I'll take that as a compliment," he says, his tone teasing yet genuine.

You chuckle softly, feeling a sense of ease settle over you as the tension between you dissipates. "Consider it one," you reply, meeting his gaze with a shy smile.

As the moments pass, you find yourself drawn into conversation with Central Cee, the topics ranging from trivial matters to deeper discussions about life, dreams, and everything in between. Despite the unusual circumstances that brought you together, you can't help but feel a sense of connection with him, a feeling of understanding that goes beyond mere words.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity but is likely only a few hours, the elevator lurches back to life with a groan of protest, the sudden movement catching you off guard. Central Cee reaches out a hand to steady you, his touch warm and reassuring against your skin.

"We're moving again," he says, a note of relief in his voice.

You nod, a sense of anticipation building within you as the elevator ascends towards the surface. “Finally,” you say, though a pang of reluctance tugs at your heart. Deep down, you wish the elevator would stay broken, prolonging the fleeting moments you've shared with him. In the brief interlude of confinement, you've come to appreciate not just Central Cee, but the person behind the persona, Oakley. As the elevator hums back to life, you resign yourself to the inevitable parting that awaits you both, returning to the separate paths your lives had veered from.

Central Cee begins to adjust his attire, meticulously covering his features with the ski mask and glasses, returning to his "disguise". “Don't worry," you assure him, offering a small smile, "I won't breathe a word of this to anyone. It'll be our little secret.” Before he can respond, the elevator doors glide open, ushering in a flood of light and fresh air. Eager to break free from the confines of the elevator, you step out quickly, wary of being trapped again.

“Hey,” Central Cee calls out to you, his voice laced with a hint of concern, “I’ll see you tomorrow,yeah?” A flicker of something indefinable passes between you, a silent understanding that transcends words. Though you yearn for a deeper connection, you suppress the urge, unsure of what you truly desire. With a small smile, you nod in acknowledgement, “Yeah.”

As you both walk away, your steps leading you in opposite directions, you can't help but feel a sense of resonance, a shared moment that binds you together in thought. Despite the divergence of your paths and the separation of your lives, in that fleeting instant, your minds are aligned, fixated on each other, entwined in a momentary bond that defies explanation.

[gatorbites-imagines]

In that case… Could I please request Killer Croc/Waylon Jones with a supringly really attractive boyfriend (like a male version Jessica Rabbit level hot, like it dosen’t even make sense for someone to be that hot) who no one understand how Waylon pulled. Waylon’s boyfriend is very sultry and alluring.

And Waylon roughly breeds his boyfriend doggy style 😇.

Thank u :)

Waylon Jones x Male reader

Headcanons

Guten Abend squad, how is everyone doing? Classes are still running at a max level, and I’m starting to think this is just how it goes. So, time to chillax with some Waylon.

Not as smutty as I would have wanted, but this honestly just built a life of its own and started running.

We see in the comics, or at least in one run, that Waylon does have game and knows how to pull somebody very attractive, so its not too surprising so could pull you. That’s what you think at least, since he’s a great guy, to you.

I imagine you two met after he left the circus, maybe you guys even left together. With Waylon being the circus’s “freakshow” and you only being there as eye candy to sell tickets. With you both being reduced to nothing but your looks, you two find solidarity with each other, and fall in love.

No one ever really took your love seriously back then, just thinking you were using Waylon for protection, since someone as pretty as you couldn’t be safe anywhere.

Insert the “seriously, what do you see in that guy?” “he makes me laugh” scene.

If we go with the verse where Waylon was in Halys circus, then the only ones that seemed to have some version of acceptance of your love was the Grayson’s. it was one of the reasons you two left the circus, having a strong feeling of what had truly happened to them and who caused it.

After leaving the circus, you couldn’t live in the sewers like Waylon. This meant you got an apartment, in the beginning in crime alley since it was cheapest.

You may have been so beautiful it would drive people mad, but you also had a head on your shoulders. So, in the end you set up a legitimate business, maybe you even become something akin to a designer. Mainly because your lover is so big, there’s no other way to get him clothes.

And maybe during your time in crime alley, you stumble upon a scrawny kid who, though he may act tough, still has a light in him. And maybe that kid ends up being batman’s second robin, who remembers how kind you were to him and everyone around you, so he doesn’t go as hard against Waylon.

The past you have with the Grayson’s also means that Dick takes it easier on Waylon, and they even settle down and talk at times. You’ll regularly find the two former robins hanging around your art studio, even years later when they aren’t robin anymore.

Your lover goes to Arkham, a lot. But you never hate him or even argue with him. You’ll just pull up to Arkham in your most beautiful outfit during visitors’ hours and hold Waylon’s hand as you two act like a new married couple, even if it’s been twenty at this point.

And it may have been twenty years, but you just seem to have become more handsome with age, aging like fine expensive wine. You don’t become shrewd or corrupted by the world around you, instead you stay kind and patient. You’re still in Gotham though, so you’ll turn violent if you have too.

No one really believes that Waylon purrs, until you show up and he becomes as meek as a kitten, ready to roll in your manicured hand.

Its no secret that you, one of the most famous designers around, and Killer Croc, are together. But its just such a normal part of everyday life now, that no one really questions it. your works never been dirty, you help those around you, and lift up poor and struggling artists whenever you can. So, what if your husband is tearing up the road trying to bite Batman to bits.

Theres a viral video in Gotham of you stepping out during one of Waylon’s rampages, and just scolding him, wagging a finger in his face and still looking so unbelievably gorgeous as you do so.

And yes, of course your design trademark is crocodile scales, or anything along those lines. You’ll never use real crocodile skin, but you do use the print or shape.

After all this time, people don’t fear Waylon as much as they probably should, all thanks to you. Its kinda hard to fear a guy when you know his boyfriend is unofficially titled the most beautiful man in Gotham, who’s also as giving and kind as the Waynes, whilst being more involved in the nitty gritty, since you still live in Crime Alley.

Someone has threatened Waylon with telling on him to you at least once too, which doesn’t stop him, but it does cause him to freeze and get an “oh shit” expression, long enough for people to run to safety.

Being one of the most skilled fashionistas around also means you have met the Waynes on multiple occasions.

The shared past with Dick and the circus, and Jason, though you don’t remember him as vividly, means you get called on more than most.

As you measure them out and start making designs, conversations flow, and Damian most likely ends up bluntly just asking you why in the world you decided to pair up with Killer Croc of all people.

You correct him in your answer, referring to your husband as Waylon, and then you just start waxing the poetics. Of your shared past, of the deep unshakable love you both share, and how under all his struggles, Waylon truly is an amazing man.

You’ve never confirmed that Dick was Robin, even though it was very obvious. Its not your place to judge how he, or his family, deal with their trauma or whatever they have going on. Your lover swims through the sewers, you can’t really say anything.

A few passing comments are made though, obviously. You tell the Waynes to “take it easy next time they see Waylon, wont you?” with one of your heart shaking winks before you saunter out, ready to start putting together your latest design.

Its kind of an accepted, not really a secret, secret. Its never put into words, and they know that you know, and you know that they know you know. Nothing ends up happening with it though, outside of you making some jokes and judging their hero outfits.

With age you’ve become less sultry and alluring, at least in the way the public can point out as obviously as before. You have simply mastered your field, and know just how to play people around you if you need too.

Though, you didn’t really learn to master it for the public. It’s mainly just for Waylon, so you like to see how his nostrils flare, and when he starts chuffing in the back of his throat when you saunter around in nothing but a silk robe.

The bats know that the first place Waylon goes when he gets out of Arkham is to you. But…they also all know to wait at least a day or two before they come for him. To allow you to spend some time together, but also because most of them have caught of glimpse of you… reunions…

Bruce wont admit it, but he’s at least impressed with you being able to take two of them at the same time, even after all these years. He might note down your many skills somewhere… just in case.

Reunions with Waylon are typically a hot and steamy affair. Or well, as hot and steamy as a guy whose as cold as a reptile can get. There are days where either of you may not be up for it, and then its just cuddles and having some nice domestic time together before he’s taken back to Arkham again.

But when it does get hot, then you are very happy you own the entire building. Waylon can get quite loud, but never as loud as he still makes you even after all these years.

Sure, you’ve learned to handle it more after all this time, but it still makes you squeal when Waylon fits both his shafts inside you at the same time, lifting and moving you around like a doll.

Where Waylon may be rough and violent in every other part of his life, Waylon is slower and much more careful in the bedroom. He doesn’t want to lose his senses and hurt you on accident. You have some very faded bite and claw scars on your body, back from when you first got together, and Waylon likes to remind himself of that.

Sometimes you do want him to be rougher about it, so you pull all the skills you’ve gained over the years. And Waylon is but a man, even with the scales and all, so he can’t resist you for very long. It always ends up with you writhing, face in the pillow that’s stained with your tears and drool or pleasure, as Waylon growls and snarls behind you, his big, clawed hands moving you back and forth with ease.

He always feels a bit guilty about it afterwards, especially seeing how much you leak all over the sheets. Expect to find yourself being pampered and loved on for the next couple of days. Even the bats seem to leave you to it, most likely having heard your cries. You get a feeling the people in the next building heard them too. But you honestly don’t care anymore.

You may have Waylon, and many others, wrapped around your finger, but so does Waylon with you. And neither of you really seem to mind anymore.

[jymwahuwu]

it's late at night and I am plagued with DUBCON THOUGHTS. No Capitano unfortunately, it's gonna be the man WHO EVADED EVERY SINGLE TICKET I HAD(79 at the time) YOU. ITS YOU, MOZE. YOU'RE THE CHOSEN ONE.

ignore my tiny rant, I will simply get him next time.

But thinking of Moze who wants you(afab reader!!) just..so desperately. He doesn't even care about the consequences anymore, the moment he saw you undress in order to change clothes, he was on you in a heartbeat.

He's invisible, you can't see the man. You can definitely feel him however.

After all, you're stuck gasping and whimpering in his hold, your legs held up by the back of your knees. He didn't even bother to bend you over your drawer, he just needed to have you this instant. You don't even know who is doing this but you..can definitely tell they weren't a pushover. Not from the way he was slamming you down onto his cock over and over as he held you up with his arms. You can feel his defined muscles from the way he's actively pushing your knees into your sternum. (I can't believe I'm using medical terms for smut. Please, professor, I can explain..)

You can't see him, he's completely invisible but..you can definitely see the way he's making a faint bulge in your lower stomach, right where..your womb is supposed to be at..through the body mirror in your bedroom. And he can see it too, from the way his eyes are trained on the sight of you.

Poor you who's an absolute mess in his grasp, unable to protest or even squirm against his grip. All you can do is..just take him over and over until he deems it enough. But it's never enough. He seeks to make sure you can't ever walk it seems. And you're just stuck taking every single inch of him, his keen eyes making sure you don't miss a inch every thrust. He does have to admit it's a pretty sight, your eyes glossy and face a mess from your tears as you drool mindlessly. And he especially loves it whenever he manages to make your squirt from penetration alone. It's his new mission now even.

I will now go back to bed after removing such thoughts, night nighttt

cw: yandere, non-con, break into your home, become invisible, masturbate

Hate you for keeping me awake (not really, don't worry) 😔😣😫💦 I was ready for bed but I couldn't sleep at the thought of Moze staying transparent and fucking us, so had to answer this to get a restful night.

Based on past history, Moze may rarely reach people. There are very few people he trusts and can socialize with. So he really didn’t know how to talk to you at first. He follows you to your house just to say hello and check if you have enough food in the refrigerator(?). Once Moze saw you starting to change…he was stunned. You lift up your clothes and take off your bra, skillfully taking off your pants/skirt and changing into comfortable pajamas. Moze witnesses you bending down and taking off your underwear, revealing the tempting and sweet place inside, and this Shadow Guard is right behind your back.

"Um…where?" You muttered, opening the cabinet and looking for the pair of underwear. Or go in to take a shower, casually wrapped in a bath towel, or walk out in comfortable cotton clothes, sit on the sofa, blow dry your hair and check your phone. You expose your skin casually, leaning on the sofa with your thighs, or curling your calves, shaking your arms, tying up some hair to expose the back of your neck (if you have short hair, it is always exposed!), and you don't pay much attention to the fabric on your chest. Some water droplets fall down your skin. Being ignorantly defiled - while you're checking your phone, someone is jerking off at you.

So, these are really doomed, sitting on the lap of an unknown transparent life form and being split open by his cock. You screamed, begged until your voice was hoarse, kicked and kicked, but didn't move an inch. Is the other side a solid, unshakable wall? His fingers dig into your hips and he lifts you up and puts you down repeatedly. Lift you up and put you down. "Please…please…who are you? Stop!" Is that a human? Can you push him away? But no. Unable to resist. It was a dizzying, dizzying pleasure and ecstasy. He'd bring up those electric feelings as he stroked your clit, those hands making sure there was no other way to pin you down on his thick cock, over and over again. He seemed to have muscles, and his warm and thick breath was completely transparent. He occasionally makes heavy breathing sounds and occasionally kisses your lips.

The mirror you use to change clothes somehow gets flipped over each time to reflect you sitting on something transparent, your vagina being squeezed and pushed open. You gasped with a cry, and your hands touched your abdomen in vain, trying to push it down, but there was no… the transparent one was still there, faithfully pistoning. Moze must admit, you are beautiful now. You're more beautiful than when he didn't touch you.

Every night, he looks at you holding some kind of exorcism charm, or some weapon, or even just a broom, thinking that he can stop him. You threw the exorcism talisman on the ground and breathed a sigh of relief, and the next second you were supported on your hips and started stroking and rubbing. Look at your momentary panic, as well as your chaotic tears and moans. You can never fight those desires. Really beautiful.

You don't know whether to lean on him or push him away.