#the second one is someones da

[cruelsister-moved2]

i love how they had literally every masculine man on earth to choose from literally billions of human beings but they still chose three exceptionally ugly white guys

[ffc1cb]

i’ve always found it peculiar how during meeting the chargers cutscene the game just assumes your character automatically understands what krem is talking about when he mentions binding (though, granted, it’s all very unsubtle). like, this is a roleplaying game. what if i want to play a character who just doesn’t get it

[seithr]

OUUGGHH

[danielnelsen]

i forget it’s not canon that hawke’s just roaming around skyhold with his definitely-not-shapeshifted-husband cat, it’s just how things are

[the-acid-pear]

Glad I'm aro so I can fucking say some other aros out there are so fucking annoying.

[finely-aged-dragons]

i was today years old when I connected St. Sebastian being shot with so many arrows he looked like a pincushion, with Sebastian Dragonage2 being an archer.

I am probably late to the party but my immediate reaction to realising this was wanting to throw something out the window

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

lot of morons on this website don't understand the concept of resource allocation.

[julymusings]

simplicity

out there they're afraid even of the killer's shadow, and here i reside in his heartbeat like a home

or; the big bad red hood has a soft spot only for you [3.4k]

jason todd x fem!reader; tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff; aggressive unwanted advances, implied roofie attempt, violence & blood, slut-shaming; Jason “my girl can wear whatever she wants I can fight” Todd; in da clerb, we all fam ⎯ based on this !

A humid, crowded, upscale club isn’t the most ideal way to spend your Friday night, and Jason knows this. Frankly, it’s not his either, but as the owner of the humid, crowded, upscale club, he had to make some appearances at his own business.

“It’s a night out,” he had said. “Let’s make the most of it.”

If you’re being honest, it’s also not the worst way to spend your Friday night. Not when Jason dressed up so deliciously, in a fitted t-shirt, jeans, and his leather jacket. Not when he took you to a booth in the corner of the club and had them bring over your favorite drinks and snacks with the order to keep them coming. Not when you got to wear that cute little black dress that’s been hanging in your closet for months with your favorite strappy heels, the ones with ribbons that wrapped around your ankle and tied into a bow in the back. Not when Jason sat you on his lap and settled a large hand on your thigh, where it stayed the whole night.

All in all, you would say you’re making the most of it. 

You’re sipping on your drink, chatting about something or the other with your boyfriend. He’s half listening, half drawing circles on your thigh and pressing kisses to your shoulder when one of the employees finds you. She’s freaking out because one of the performers hasn’t shown up, and there’s no one else to go in her place.

Jason huffs. He lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the seat. “I’m sorry, baby, I just gotta take care of this. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be here.” You smile over the rim of your glass.

He looks around for a moment, then gestures to someone across the room. One of the bouncers make their way to you.

“Just keep an eye out,” he tells him. “I don’t trust these entitled country club fuckers.”

He gives a curt nod. Jason leans in close, smirking, and says, “Especially not when you look like that,” and gives you a quick kiss before disappearing into the crowd with the employee.

A couple minutes later, a crash snaps your attention towards the bar. A young, college-aged-looking man is berating a waitress while a mess of shot glasses litter the floor around them. The waitress looks about to cry.

“Jesus Christ,” the bouncer says to himself. Then to you, “Gimme a second.”

You move to the edge of the booth to watch as he goes over and tries to pacify the man, but that only seems to make him angrier. He shoves the bouncer, yelling about “shitty customer service.” 

You don’t get to see what happens next, though, because your field of vision is obscured by an enormous, very shiny, and very douchey silver belt buckle. You look up for its owner, and a greasy-looking, white-haired man looks down at you. 

“Hey there, sweetheart.” A fake gold tooth catches the flashing lights and it glints in your eye. Uninvited, he slides into the booth across from you. He places a drink on the table, sliding it towards you. “You look thirsty. Got this for you.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got one.” You hold your own glass up.

He rolls his eyes. “Pretty thing like you should be takin’ advantage of all the free drinks you could be gettin’.” His smile sends a chill down your spine.

“Again, I’m fine,” you say, a little harsher. “My boyfriend has brought me plenty of drinks already.”

He laughs. It’s a high-pitched, scratchy, wheezing sound. Like a kazoo. “I don’t see this boyfriend of yours anywhere. He should know better than to leave you alone. I’d treat you much better than him.” His eyes travel down your neck and stay there. You stand from the booth and take a big step back. It’s not entirely personal; no matter how much of a threat he may be, Jason is a worse one. And if he’s still in this neighborhood, never mind this building, you fear for this man’s safety much more than your own. But the man follows, bringing the cup with him. “Come on, honey, it’s a compliment. Show a little thanks. I don’t bite.”

You don’t have to be the world’s finest detective to know that is most definitely a lie. Or to know to avoid that cup at all costs.

You could just rebuff him, walk away. But you’re willing to bet he’d just move on to the next woman. One who’s probably a little less sober, and a little less aware of her surroundings. You feign a stumble and knock the drink out of his grip. It tips toward him, drenching him with its contents. He chokes out a shocked gasp.

“Oops,” you deadpan, not at all trying to hide your indifference.

“You bitch,” he snarls. He lunges forward, snatching your wrist. You try to pull it back, but his grip is iron and bruising. “I was doing you a favor. Do you see anyone else here looking at you?”

You’re suddenly grateful you didn’t put up much of a fight after Jason came home from patrolling one night insisting he show you some self-defense moves. Far be it from you to cause a scene, but this guy isn’t giving you much choice. You employ the cardinal rule of women’s self-defense: go for the crotch. You shift your weight to your non-dominant side and launch your dominant knee right into his groin. The sharp metal edge of his belt buckle slices the skin just above your knee, but it shocks him enough to release your wrist and double over. The same leg used in your attack plants itself on the ground, and you use the momentum to pistol your opposite fist forward. It collides with his nose in a bone-cracking cross. Your stacks of studded rings didn’t do him any favors, either. He cries out in pain. His hands fly up to cover his nose, and the cup falls from his grasp and shatters on the floor, garnering the attention of some surrounding patrons. Blood seeps between his fingers.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for that.” His tone drips with poison. He reaches into his coat pocket and brandishes a switchblade (because of course. You’re not surprised, though. It is Gotham). You look around in a panic, hoping to find Jason towering somewhere over the crowd. He’s not there. A few guys who work for him, though, have since taken notice of the commotion and are making their way towards you. You know they won’t make it in time. You weren’t scared a moment ago, but you definitely are now. Jason only briefly covered disarming techniques, and you didn’t have his practice to stay calm in situations like these. He steps closer, shoes crunching over the glass shards, and you step back. You’re backed into a corner, literally. Your back is pressed against the table. His eyes are glassy and void of color.

There is a resounding pop when the man’s knife-wielding hand is yanked to the side. Too fast for your brain to register, he thuds against the table next to you and the knife clatters to the ground. You look over and see Jason, one hand pressing his face into the table and the other twisting the man’s arm behind his back. 

When his men finally reach you, Jason is seething. They look almost as afraid as the man, whose whimpers are muffled by the pressure with which he’s flattened against the table.

“Who the fuck let this happen,” Jason glowers. Uncomfortable glances are shared between the men, all sharing the same sentiment; we fucked up big time.

Jason’s livid gaze flits back and forth among them. His veins flex against his forearms, rippling with effort. It looks like he’s putting all his strength into incapacitating the man, but you know better. He’s putting all his strength into restraint. The look on his face is cold and steely, with hardened, venom-green eyes and a clenched jaw. This isn’t Jason, the sweet boyfriend, or Jason the easy-going yet respected club proprietor. This is Jason the crime lord. Jason the anti-hero. This is the Red Hood. Who makes his own rules and kills anyone who breaks them. It’s a bit off-putting for you to see him like this; he’s never like this with you. He’s always just…Jason. Your Jason.

One of his men speaks up. “We’re sorry, Boss, we were keepin’ an eye like you asked, but there was trouble up at the bar.”

Jason scowls. “Trouble that required all of you?”

At their silence, he rolls his eyes. “Idiots,” he says under his breath. He jerks the man up to stand, the hand that was pressing him to the table now gripping the back of his shirt collar. “Someone take care of this.” He shoves the man in their direction. Hard. One of them catches him. “And for fuck’s sake, check him for anything else.” 

While they’re busy patting him down, Jason turns back to you. You get whiplash from how quick his demeanor changes. Though still tense, the rigidity of his expression is long gone, replaced with tender concern.

“Are you okay?” His wide eyes scan you up and down, searching for any signs of injury. You manage a nod, still a bit stunned by his apparent shape-shifting abilities. “I’m so sorry, honey, this is my fault. It’s my fault for leaving you alone.” He pulls you close for a hug and kisses the top of your head, murmuring further apologies into your hair.

You pull back and cup his face in your hands. “It’s okay, Jay, I’m fine. I promise.” You lean in to kiss him and feel his shoulders relax.

“Jesus, man, sorry! Wouldn’t’a come on so strong if I knew she was your whore. How much did ‘ya pay for her, anyway?” His voice rings from behind. Jason tenses up again. When he pulls back from you, he’s gone. He’s like Jekyll-turned-Hyde when the combatant that lay dormant inside him reassumes his body.

He turns around, but his large frame shields you from seeing the scene unfold. You place a hand on his arm, a silent message of support, and you can feel him vibrating with anger. His hand comes to rest over yours and gives a reassuring squeeze.

“You know what?” You can’t be sure who he’s speaking to, but you can hear the eerie smile in his tone. “I’ll take care of this.” He faces you. “Can you give me a minute? Is that okay?” His voice is calm.

You know he would stay if you asked him to. And you never would, but you know he would go outside and kill that guy if you asked him to. And maybe you’re feeling a tad vindictive after the whole ordeal, so you just say, “Okay.”

He kisses your forehead, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ll come find you,” he says, stepping away, and you nod.

“Ross,” he commands. “Take her to the office. Get her whatever she wants.” Jason then speaks to all of his men. His tone drips with disdain. “Tomorrow we’ll talk about who’s getting fired for this.” You catch some of his men flinch.

He grabs the man by the collar once again and stalks towards the exit, dragging him along.

You’ve met Ross once or twice, though never exchanged more than a few words. He smiles at you. It’s amiable, if not slightly nervous. You know where the office is, but you’re still grateful for the guide. The mesh of moving bodies under dim lights makes all four corners of the room look the same. With the adrenaline wearing off, your hands ache and you become acutely aware of the stinging shock that shoots up your knee when you walk on it but, persevering, you follow him to the back. He holds the door that reads ‘RESTRICTED - DO NOT ENTER’ open for you, and you smile in thanks.

Various employees, servers and performers alike, mill about in the back hallways. You know some of them, having met in passing during other visits to the club, and offer polite greetings as you walk by. When you arrive at Jason’s office, Ross unlocks the door for you and you step inside.

It’s a nice office, noticeably homier than it was when you and Jason met. The first time he brought you back here it was just a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. You perched yourself on his desk while he sat in his chair and you teased him for not having a place for guests to sit, saying something about ‘men and their awful interior designing skills.’

“It’s not ‘bad skills,’ it’s cost-effective. ‘M runnin’ a business here, baby. If you need a place to sit that badly, you can sit right here.” He joked, patting his lap. And he said it with such conviction you believed him, but the next time you visited there was a brand new, plushy suede couch pushed against the wall.

You find a seat on said couch and try to get comfortable despite your protesting joints. From here you can spot a framed photo on Jason’s desk; the two of you smiling while bathing a shelter dog at the Wayne Animal Sanctuary. But while you smile at the camera, his gaze is trained on you.

 Ross stands in the doorway, stoic as a bodyguard should be. “Do you need anything?” He asks you.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“‘Course. I’ll be outside. Just yell if you need anything.” He moves to exit, but pauses. “Look,” he says, “We’re all really sorry about what happened. It was our fault. You have every right to hate us.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “God knows the boss does.”

You purse your lips, unsure how to respond. Technically Jason did instruct them not to leave you alone. But really, the only person at fault is that horrible man, and he was currently getting what he deserved.

“It’s okay, Ross,” you say, and you mean it. “I don’t blame you. And Jason’s not gonna fire any of you, okay? I won’t let him.”

He exhales. “Okay, you—yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He loiters awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. “Listen, Todd’s always been a great boss. But it’s no joke when it comes to you. Don’t know exactly what happened, but after meeting you, he’s just…different. Not sure if I believe it, but after the first time you were here, one of the bartenders swears they heard him whistling. Anyway, just mean to say…we’re glad he has you.”

His sincerity warms your heart. You thank him, and he assumes his post outside, closing the door. 

At last in decent lighting, you take the time to examine yourself. Your knee, knuckles, and wrist are splotchy with bruises. A small scrape rests just above your knee from you were scratched. There’s a splattering of blood on your knuckles and on the rings you’re wearing. You grimace, the reality of what just happened settling in. Someone pulled a knife on you. If Jason hadn’t been there…the thought leaves you cold.

There are voices on the other side of the door, then receding footsteps. After a few seconds, a knock.

“Baby? Can I come in?”

“Yes,” you call out. Jason enters, locking the door behind him. There are some smatterings of blood on his hands and face, and he’s holding a first aid kit. Your immediate instinct is that he’s the one who needs first aid.

“Are you okay?” You ask as he kneels on the floor in front of you. “Did he hurt you?”

Jason tilts his head like a confused puppy, eyebrow raised. Just like that, The Red Hood is gone. He’s Jason again. He speaks softly, with a hint of his usual boyish charm. “Should I be insulted by you asking me that?” He picks up your un-injured leg and places the foot on his thigh, beginning to unravel the ribbon wrapped around your ankle. He removes the shoe and places it to the side, then repeats with your other foot. But when he moves it, your knee twitches and you wince. He frowns but doesn’t say anything. He sees the way your eyes travel between all the spots of blood. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, none of it’s mine.”

You sigh in relief. “You didn’t…kill him, did you?”

He chuckles, lightly massaging your foot. “Nah…did you want me to? ‘Cause I can still—”

“No.”

He smirks at you, before leaning down to press a kiss to your bruised knee. It’s so gentle, so loving, it completely contradicts the bloodstains that adorn him. As his hands move up to your calf, your hand moves to his hair, fingers threading through the white streaks and pushing them back so you can get a better view of his eyes. They’re a silky teal, bordering on sea green. They remind you of lake trips in the summer, and ice skating during the holidays.

“How bad is he? Like, on a scale of ‘he can walk it off’ to ‘he needs to go to the hospital.’”

Jason pauses his movements, looking thoughtful for a moment.

“He…he’s walking himself to the hospital.”

There’s not much you can say to that. After all, you gave him to okay to go fuck that guy up.

From the first aid kit, he retrieves a box of Band-Aids. They’re the children’s ones, decorated with cartoons and various characters. A specific one catches your eye, and you pick it out of the carton.

“Robin? Really?”

Jason breathes out a small laugh. “One of my guys’ daughter loves him.” He unwraps the bandage and sticks it over the scratch. You admire the small red plaster. Jason traces a finger over the emblem in the center, a black and yellow ‘R’.

He moves from your leg to your hand, gingerly laying it in his palm. One by one he slides each of your rings off. They’re not particularly special, but you still like them and you try to protest when he tosses them in the trash. He’s quick to assuage you with promises to buy you new ones with, hopefully, less blood.

"Did you see how good I got him?" You suddenly feel shy asking such a question. Like a child seeking validation.

"I did see," Jason says. And there's not a hint of condescension in his tone. "I'm proud of you. You remembered what I taught you."

You beam under his pride.

He uses a sanitizing wipe to remove the droplets of blood from your knuckles, kissing each one along the way. He reaches your wrist last. There’s a purple hand-shaped mark that wraps around it, and he stares at it. You can see his thoughts race at sixty miles an hour, and you know he’s beating himself up about it.

“Hey.” The hand in his hair moves to stroke his cheek. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I promise. I love you.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to your wrist. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.” He places gentle kisses on the purple skin. “I’m sorry. I love you.” He moves to the scratch above your knee, pressing more kisses, repeating the words like a prayer. Your hand is still enclosed in his hands, and his cool fingers soothe the throbbing swell. You pull his head up, holding his chin in your fingertips. His eyes close as he soaks in your warm touch.

You reach for another wipe and begin wiping the blood from his face. Some of it has dried, so you press the wipe a little harder, and blood rushes to his cheeks to give him an adorable flush. You repeat the process on his hands. Blood erased and wipes discarded, you pull him up to the couch to lie down with you. He stretches out, so large that his feet hang over the armrest. You snuggle up to his side and your head rests on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. It’s surreal, how utterly soft he is, and just for you. How no one else gets to see him like this. He goes out at night as a fighter, a crusader, a deadly threat. And then he comes home to sleep in your arms. In your bed.

You place your hand against his chest, right over his heart to feel it thrum beneath your palm. It beats simple and steady, and just for you.

am i the only one who likes the whole jason owning the iceberg lounge storyline (aside from the whole penguin prisoner thing but i only write according to canon that i like and leave out the things i don't! whoops🤷‍♀️);

the feminine urge to write more fics that take place within the universe of this one...

divider is from here

[no-144444]

Hiyaa there!! Can I pls request a scenario with Oscar. Reader never had her first kiss (and that makes her nervous) and they talk about it and he's being really patient and gentle with her like hugs her closer kisses her and it's really cute and fluffy😊 that would be adorable and it's so Oscar. Thank youu!!!

first kisses- o.piastri

summary: being jack wolff's nanny is a pretty sick gig, especially when your old friend is an f1 driver and is interested in you...

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! reader

part one part two part three

⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

23 with no romantic prospects probably should’ve made you feel worse about yourself than it actually did. Yes, you occasionally wondered what it would be like to have someone to love and cherish, but you knew it wasn’t exactly realistic. You were extremely busy, like, all the time. Being Jack Wolff’s live-in nanny was quite the chore, despite him being only one child. Don’t get me wrong, he was well-behaved and sweet, but he still had a packed schedule of going to F1 races every now and then. When he wasn’t spending his weekends in the Mercedes garage, he was busy spending them in his own garage. Jack was in the beginning stages of his karting career, and he was damn good at it too. He loved the rush of trying to go as fast as he possibly could through every corner, every chicane, every straight. When he took his helmet off after a race and ran straight to you, it was one of the best feelings in the world. You loved Jack like a little brother, he adored you like a second mother. 

⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Why did we have to get up so early?” he yawned as you walked through the Harry Reid airport, just after landing in Las Vegas. Due to the fact that Jack was two public figures’ son, you two always got the craziest flight times to avoid crowds. 

You smiled, picking him up and placing him on his suitcase so he could sit while you pushed him. “Because your mom and dad missed you,” you explain. “And they want to see you as soon as possible.”

“I could’ve waited a little longer,” he mumbled. 

“Das ist nicht nett,” (that is not nice) you chuckled. “They miss you, and you haven’t exactly been very good at texting them back.” 

“But we could’ve had a race this weekend,” he whined. 

“We do, you’re just not racing in it,” you smirked as he rolled his eyes. All 7 year olds really were sassy. 

“Do you want me to ask your dad if we can go to a track for a little bit of the weekend?” you offered after watching his sad face.

The frown on his lips instantly turned into a smile. “Yes please! You’re the best!” 

The kid knew how to play you, you’d give him that. 

⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

It was 7am when you finally got checked into the hotel, and it was finally time for Jack to go see his parents. As much as he pretended he didn’t, most nights than not he would sneak into your bed and ask you to call one of them, so much so that you’d just made a time where you called each of them so he could talk. He had been getting better at the whole ‘long distant parenting’ but it still hurt him sometimes. Sometimes, he just wanted his dad, but his dad was 3,500km away at a race where their car was a piece of shit. 

You knocked on the door of their hotel room and it immediately opened to reveal a very excited Susie. “Jack!” she cheered, picking him up in his arms and hugging him tight as he giggled. Toto wrapped his arms around the both of them as they all reunited. 

You 4 have breakfast together where you popped the question about going to a kart track at some point over the weekend and they begrudgingly agreed, upset that they’d miss out on precious ‘Jack time’, but understanding of his want for more track time all the same. You had agreed to join them in the garage for the morning though, since seeing everyone again was nice. 

⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“God, I’ve created a monster,” Toto joked as you both sat and watched Susie showing Jack around the garage. 

You chuckled. Jack was obsessed with anything to do with cars. He loved his kart more than anything, and h e couldn’t wait to move up into single seaters. He also had a mechanical engineer as a nanny, which probably didn’t help all that much. “We’ve created a monster. I’m the one teaching him about tire temp and degradation,” you chuckled as Toto just put his head in his hands jokingly.

“How are you?” he turned to you. “Any news?”

“Nothing new, just Jack’s news, I guess,” you shrugged. To be honest, you loved your life. You loved nannying Jack, you loved living in Monaco, you loved being at a kart track every single weekend, but you knew that wasn’t the typical experience of every young adult. 

Toto squinted his eyes. “How are your friends?” 

“They’re good, we went over to London the other week to go see them, since Jack had a race there on the weekend,” you explained, knowing what Toto was trying to say. “Don’t worry about me, I’m taking care of myself just fine.” 

He nodded. “We worry about you too,” he shrugged. “You’re like another daughter to us, we want you to be happy.”

You smiled. “I am.”

“And any boyfriends-?”

“Shut up!” you playfully hit him to stop the awkward conversation that would follow. “Enough Toto.”

“What?” He feigned innocence. “I can’t be interested in your dating life?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “No you can’t.” 

“Y/n!” Jack shouted as he ran over to you. “Can we go to the track now please?” 

You looked to Toto, who nodded, then off you went to go grab Jack’s things and get into the car. When you pulled up to the track and got him stretched and warmed up, you watched as he circled the track while Toto and Susie went over strategies for the weekend in the cafe of the place. Toto had booked it out for Jack (mostly so he or you wouldn’t get papped, but also because that’s how Jack likes tracks when he’s practising), or so you thought. About 40 minutes into you being there, half of the McLaren garage showed up in papaya, apparently ready to race.

“Hey Toto,” Zak smiled. “Jack’s looking fast out there.”

“Hi Zak, what’re you doing here?” 

“Racing,” he chuckled. 

“We’re supposed to have it booked out for the day,” Toto argued. 

You came in as the two men started getting heated (which didn’t take much) and pulled them away from each other as Susie went outside to keep an eye on Jack. “What’s the issue?”

“We have the track booked out, and they want to race,” Toto scoffed. 

“We also have the track booked out,” Zak explained. “Also hi Y/n, nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too,” you smiled at him. “So just let Jack go until they’re done getting ready, they do a session, Jack does a session, and so on. We need to get out of here at 3 anyway, and you and Susie are leaving earlier.” 

They both pondered the deal, feeling rather stupid for not being able to compromise on their own. 

“Sounds fair,” they both said at the same time, then they went back to their respective groups. 

You went out to tell Jack, who agreed quickly, wanting to watch what the F1 drivers would do in a kart. You two watched at the sidelines as they went around the track, Jack literally taking notes beside you as you watched one kart only. Oscar Piastri. 

Oscar and you had been friends in boarding school, and you’d always had this inkling he liked you, but he never acted on it before you left school, so nothing ever came of it. You had definitely liked him back though. He was so nice to you, so sweet, so funny. He was just… Oscar. 

As Jack got back on track, Oscar came over to sit with you. “Hey,” He smiled. 

“Hi,” you smiled back, scooching over so there would be more space for him. On track was Jack v Lando, and Jack was winning. 

“How are you?” he asked. 

“I’m good, thanks, you?”

“Great,” he smiled. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

“It’s really nice to see you again.”

“I thought I’d seen you around the paddock but then I realised how strange that sounded so I just chalked it up to my imagination, which is an even weirder thing but, yeah. It’s nice to know you’re not just a figment of my imagination,” he chuckled, awkward and shy, just how you remember him. 

You laughed. “Yeah, not a figment of your imagination, just Jack’s nanny.” 

“Cool,” he nodded. “He’s a good driver.”

“He’s very good,” you agreed. “Every weekend we’re at tracks, it’s madness.”

“Where are you living now?” he asked. 

“Monaco,” you explained. 

“Me too,” he smiled. “We should meet up sometime.”

“I’d like that,” you nodded, and you couldn’t help but feel the charged air between you two. 

“I’d like that too.”

⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Asking for a night off was a nightmare. Both Susie and Toto had their noses stuck into your business no matter what, so they begged and pleaded to be told why, but you somehow kept your kind-of-date-not-really-a-date under wraps until you got to the restaurant. 

And it was nice. Oscar was just as sweet and funny as he was when you two first were friends. He even walked you back to the apartment, stopping before you went upstairs so as to not be seen by Toto or Susie. 

“I really had fun tonight,” he smiled, the cold Monaco air making his cheek red. 

“Me too,” you smiled. “It was really nice to catch up.”

He stepped closer, a nervous smile on his face. “Tonight was a date, right?”

“I-I’m- I don’t- I…” you trailed off, looking away from him as you both chuckled. 

“I’d like it to be,” he admitted. 

You nodded. “Me too.”

“So I can kiss you, right?” He smiled. 

Your heart slightly stopped, you’d never been kissed before. How did you even do it? Would he think you’re awful? Would this end the entire relationship?

“I don’t have to, I’d just… I’d like to,” he smiled understandingly. “If you’re not ready for that then that’s alright.”

“I just… I’ve never been kissed,” you admitted, deeply embarrassed. 

His jaw dropped. “You’ve never been kissed?” He asked despite himself. “Sorry, that sounded rude I-“

“It’s alright Oscar,” you shook your head. “I get what you mean.”

“No, I mean I’m just shocked, you’re so amazing and… yeah. It’s just surprising,” he chuckled. “I’m kind of honoured that I get to be the first.”

You chuckled. “Shut up.”

He chuckled. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded, much too nervous to actually speak. He placed a hand on your cheek and leaned in, his lips softly meeting yours. 

And it felt good. It felt really good to kiss him. His other hand circled your waist as you tentatively placed your hands on either side of his face. When he pulled back you felt your heart stop once again. 

“You’re sure that was your first time?” He teased and you laughed. 

“Pretty sure,” you chuckled. 

“When can I see you again?” He asked, bashfully smiling.  

“I’ll be at the next race, or here,” you explained. “So whenever it works for you.”

“What about-”

“OSCAR?! You picked Oscar?!” Toto shouted, making both of you jump apart. “Absolutely not! Y/n get up here!” 

You sighed. “Text me about the date? Yeah?”

He nodded, laughing (trying to hide his terror of Toto) as he watched you go upstairs and start trying to explain to Toto.

⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[gurorori]

hope i die

[pretty-little-mind33]

dbf Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Summary: Your dad sends Logan over to help you build some furniture in your new apartment, unaware you'll end up with Logan's head in between your thighs.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: swearing, mean!logan, dom!logan, sub!reader, possessive!reader, fictional age gap (reader is early twenties), praise, degradation, unprotected sex, mentions of not being on the pill, oral sex (f and m receiving), power dynamics, kinda dubious consent in the beginning but not really lol, sweet aftercare

~ i have no clue what i'm doing with his character 🥲 be kind pls ~

LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

"No that's what I told him," you chuckle, holding your phone to your ear as you struggle to open one of your moving boxes with the scissors in your other hand. Your friend on the other line returns your chuckle and continues to ask her nosey questions. 

You're interrupted by a sharp knock. "One second, my dad's here! He's helping me move some of my furniture around and also assemble them—" you say and leap over some other moving boxes to your front door. 

"Hi Da–" you exclaim, holding the door open only your voice suddenly becomes stuck in your throat when you see that this certainly isn't your dad. Your eyes round and your hand falters on your phone. The man before you is one of your dad's closest friends.

"Logan," you whisper, which earns a questioning remark from your friend in your ear and you press your hand over your phone's microphone.

Logan pulls his dangling cigar from his mouth, a cloud of smoke escaping his lips and heading for you. You cough and he smirks. He's towering over you, dressed in a casual pair of dark denim jeans, a thick gold-trimmed belt, and a white tank top that accentuates his muscles. You look away in an attempt to ignore that familiar stirring in your stomach.

"Your Daddy sent me." Logan's voice is hoarse as he looks you over. You feel exposed in the baggy shirt and tiny shorts you're dressed in. "I was in around anyways and he mentioned you needed someone's help with some furniture," he peers in behind you at the mess you'd made of your new apartment.

"Mm. Came round' to help a lady out—" he reaches over and hangs up your phone for you. He shakes it and smirks, "Rude to be on the phone when you have visitors, honey." 

You stare at Logan again, taking him in. Your stomach fills with familiar butterflies from your schoolgirl crush but if your dad trusts Logan, you should too. "That's very kind," you say honestly and let him inside, taking your phone and setting it on the counter. You pull up your shirt to cover more of your shoulder and curse your choice to go braless this morning. 

You point to all the boxes and the array of furniture in the living room as you walk. "Well, this is all of it," you say and turn to him, watching as his knuckles flex.

Logan hums as he looks around and then down at you. "Now why don't you fetch me a cold beer, sweet girl, so that I can start on this," he moves an Ikea box with his foot, "pink vanity," he smirks. 

You feel warmth in your cheeks but don't argue with him as you walk to the kitchen. You aren't gone for long as you come back with his beer. Logan stands directly in front of you, a screwdriver in his palm.

His lips curl upwards and you pray he hadn't heard you. "D'you have any more screws, honey?" he asks you simply, tilting his head.

You nod, looking through a drawer to find him some more screws.

Overall, it takes Logan only two hours to set up your vanity, desk, and some other shelves as well as move your furniture around just how you want it. You're sitting curled up on your couch, trying so hard not to stare at Logan's arms as he wipes some sweat from his brow, and finishes the last touch-ups on some of your shelves. 

"Shit," you suddenly jump up, "I'm late! It's Cam's house-warming party! I-" you're interrupted by a strong hand suddenly wrapping around your arm, causing a shiver up your spine, and your breath hitches when Logan roughly pulls you into him.

"Is that all?" he whispers, his lips near your ear, and you whimper. That only makes Logan tighten his hold as he leans down, his face in your hair as he inhales your scent and chuckles darkly, "I come here on my own time, to help you and you don't have the decency to say a simple thank you? Tsk, how disappointing."

"T-thank you," you say instantly, squirming as your cheeks warm and your heart pounds in your chest. You feel him pressed up behind you as he keeps you still. It's intoxicating and you're slightly scared. 

He knows it too. He can smell it on you.

Logan spins you around, his hand coming up to your cheek as he looks you over. 

"Has your dad never taught you any manners?" he asks calmly as he observes your reaction to his words. You feel small under his gaze. Logan looks so intimidating now as his hands find your hair and he pulls it back, smirking when you whine in pain. 

"No," he hums, "you're not leaving this apartment yet. Someone has to teach you a lesson in respect, you fuckin' brat." 

Your heart is pounding, staring at him with those round glossy eyes he loves so much. You feel your arousal pool in your stomach and shame consumes you. Logan's lips curl cruelly and he shifts closer, his body pressed to yours as his other hand crushes the sides of your mouth as he sees the tears stream down your cheeks. "You look much fuckin' prettier like this—with your eyes all glossy and dumb," he smirks and continues, "Now why don't you sit down like a good girl and tell me exactly how much cock you've taken." 

Logan drops your jaw and pulls out a chair for himself as you sink onto the couch again. He straddles the chair from behind, crossing his arms, and fakes a pout as he leans his chin on his forearm. "I wonder just how much can your pussy take, huh? Six inches? Seven?"

It feels mean. "Why are you doing this?" you ask, shrinking into the cushions. 

Logan smiles. "Because I can, and I want to," he shrugs, "And I think you want this too. No, I know you want this too."

"I don't want this, whatever this is! I'm telling my dad—" 

Logan chuckles darkly, "Your threats don't scare me," he tilts his head, "and do you know why, honey?" 

You glare at him, refusing to shake your head so he continues, "Because I know your cunt is dripping right now, am I right? I can fucking smell you from here," His words travel to your core and you squeeze your thighs on instinct. Logan sees this motion and smirks, "You can pretend all you want, but I know that look in your eyes. I've seen it enough times to know you're just like all the other girls; horny and desperate."

You feel overwhelmed as his words make you feel so good, your chest heaves as you watch him. Logan stands, smirking as he walks over and unbuckles his belt. He wastes no time, making a clicking sound to indicate that he wants you to unzip him. You just continue to stare at him, unable to wrap your head around that this is happening. 

"Hurry up, sweet girl, I don't have all damn day. Thank me properly."

"Logan—"

"Don't you pull the virgin bullshit, Y/n. I know you've been fucked. You're too much of fucking dirty slut not to have had someone's dick inside you," he chuckles deeply and earns a small whimper from you as embarrassment settles in your stomach. "Now make me feel good."

You sink to your knees, eyes still glossy as you fumble with his zipper. As much as you wish this wasn't hot to you, your pussy is screaming at you that she needs Logan. Logan seems to know because he smiles. 

"Your poor cunt needs me, huh?" he teases and takes himself out of his pants, stroking himself as pre-cum beads at his tip. "I'll reward her if you're good for me."

You lean forwards and he smears his cum on your lips, enjoying the look of you on your knees for him as you service him. He's impressive and every time he pushes into your throat, you cough a little and pull away, your eyes becoming watery. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper after a while, succumbing to him just like he wants as your voice quivers. 

Logan pets your hair, soothing his large thumb across your forehead. "Shhh, my sweet girl, I'll take care of you." 

And he means it because he wastes no time in having you sprawled across your new couch, legs spread wide as his tongue flicks across your clit, lifting the hood. He's enjoying the way you wail behind your hands, tightening your thighs around his head. He pushes your thighs apart, bruising them to his liking as he laps at your cunt. 

"L-Logan," you whimper, your eyes rolling back in your head. You need him. "Please," you say and attempt to sit up, your makeup smudged from his rough kissing and your hair a mess. Your mouth tastes like Logan's cum and your pussy is aching for his cock inside it.

"Fuck, you're such a mess," Logan smirks, licking your juices from his lips. "Thank me again."

"Thank you for helping me," you whine, arching up. "Please, need you."

Logan stands and strokes himself again, caging you in with his muscular arms and the tip of his cock glides over your clit and then your entrance. You mewl, nails gripping his arms as you cry from both the overstimulation and also the restraint he's shown. 

He grunts as he pushes inside, going inch by inch so you can feel all of him. He peppers kisses across your jaw andwhispers sweet nothings into your ear. You're a whiny mess, drool falling from your lips as your mouth is perpetually open as you moan, feeling the delicious stretch of Logan's cock.

How can something so wrong feel so right?

"Your Daddy will kill me, honey," he whispers as he kisses behind your ear, his thrusts starting slow and precise. "Defiling his baby girl like this—fucking her perfect cunt," he grins, "only you aren't his baby girl anymore, hm? You're mine. All mine." He sinks his teeth into your neck, grinning as he marks you.   

"Mhm, yes, I'm yours, all yours."

Logan's thrusts become deeper and harsher. "Fucked the brat right out of you."

His kisses continue as he's fucking you roughly, enjoying the sound of your small whines because he knows he's making you feel so good. Finally, you come around him and wrap your arms around him, tears staining your cheeks as you tremble. Logan follows, emptying himself inside you. 

"I'm not on the pill," you sniffle, too hazy to truly think of the consequences. 

Logan can't help the way his heart leaps with excitement at this information but he pushes it down. He can't do that to you. Not now at least.

He pulls out, thinking of the mess you'd both made later as he kisses your lips. He's tender this time and he strokes his hand in your hair again. "I'm going to run to the store and get you a plan B, m'okay?"

He sees how fucked out you look and he grins, caressing his knuckles down the apples of your soft cheeks. "My sweet girl, look at you, so messy."

You frown, eyes droopy. "It's your fault," you whine. 

Logan chuckles deeply and removes himself from on top of you, picking you up effortlessly in his arms. "I know, sweet girl, I know. You made your bed, hm?" he whispers and you snuggle instinctively in his arms. You nod. He kisses your forehead again, his body relaxing with yours.

"I'm going to take care of you now, honey—" he promises, "—you're mine. All mine."

[eupheme]

Not to be the little gremlin obsessed with Chappell Roan BUT… reader thinking Logan is too cool to want a proper relationship with them, so when things get physical they insist things are just “casual” in order to protect themselves from getting hurt. But secretly you’re in love with each other, so honestly, neither of you want things to be casual at all… (mutual pining my beloved) please & thank you!! Love you!

ahh hi hi avo I LOVE this song, and this request, and you - I could so see this being a situation that Logan and reader find themselves in. I had so much fun writing this, I hope you like it! (I added a couple winks to the lyrics as well.) 💖 thank you so much for sending this to me!!!

casual | variant!logan howlett x f!reader

1.2k | posessive!logan, fwb(???), use of alcohol, mutual pining, references to oral sex and PiV.

It doesn’t matter that your heart flips when you look at him. It’s Logan. It’s just casual.

It certainly feels like a dream, watching your worlds collide.

The heft of Logan’s palm fitting into your friends as he shakes their hand - the five of you squeezed into your usual booth in the corner of the bar.

You’d say the past couple weeks had seemed that way, as well. A late-night dose of bravery spiraling into something so raw and intense and real, that you feel like you could choke on it.

Even now, there’s heat in your cheeks as your eyes flick his way. Something stirring in your chest at the way his other arm slings across the back of the booth almost possessively.

But like all dreams, there comes a moment where you have to wake up.

Because you know it’s not.

Because you know your feelings aren’t requited. How could they be, when it’s Logan you’re talking about?

A legend.

A lone wolf.

Someone important, someone whose name carries a weight. Who saved the world, from what Wade tells you.

And you’re - you.

So even if you know what he looks like beneath that flannel, know what his mouth feels like when it presses against yours - what he sounds like, when he comes - you know that this is nothing.

It’s casual. A distraction, for both of you.

And if that’s how it has to be, then you’ll do your best to show him you’re cool with it.

You just hadn’t expected this moment to come so soon. It had been a genuine offer, your “you wanna come with?” when the hour rolled around for your weekly trivia night.

Not thinking his head would cock to the side. The look he’d give you - that arched brow, as his fingers splayed out across your bare hip. Still crowded together on your couch, sweat-dewed.

The “sure, sweetheart” that slipped out.

And now you’re introducing him as your friend - that quick history you’ve perfected - rattling off the “you know, Wade from work’s roommate” even though Wade didn’t work at the dealership anymore.

He had made enough of an impression that none of your friends had forgotten.

And you ignore the bitter jolt in your stomach, when all Logan does is hum.

You think you must have assumed right.

He doesn’t correct you.

Logan quickly solidifies himself as an asset to the team. He gets a lot of the history questions that you’ve always struggled with. A shy quirk of his lips when your friends cheer, and you get swept along with it.

His hand ending up on your thigh along the way. Squeezing, when you chime in. Almost as if forgetting - it’s easy to, when you’re having fun like this.

A low rasp in your ear, when the host takes a break.

“Lemme get you another.”

You can only nod, as he eases out - taking your glass with him.

It only takes a second, before MJ’s hand slaps down on yours.

“That’s Logan?” She hisses - leaning forward, “The one who-”

“Yes.” You cut her off, ignoring the sideways glance her boyfriend gives you.

You never should have told her about that.

Had a hard enough time climbing into your car without thinking about it, yourself - the way he had man-handled you in the passenger seat. Thighs thrown over broad shoulders.

Fingers twined in his hair, as he made you moan in the dark parking garage. Too eager to make it up to your apartment.

She frowns, the words petering out, “But I thought-”

Your teeth worry at your lower lip.

“Yeah. Me too.” You sigh.

MJ knows how much you like him.

Really like him - butterflies, and everything. How it’s been years since you felt this way - slipping from you during that rushed phone call at 6 am the morning after your first night together.

Her eyebrows raise, and it’s a look you know well.

“It’s, you know.” Your hand waves, “It’s casual. It’s-”

It’s easier, this way.

Maybe if you keep repeating it, it won’t hurt as much when he moves on.

The look she shoots you is one of pity, just as a drink is set down in front of you.

Your teeth clicking against each other as the words are swallowed. Forcing a smile as Logan slips back in the booth next to you.

The next round starts a moment after, and it’s a welcome reprieve.

You miss the way his eyes narrow, as yours fix firmly on scorecard in front of you.

But you don’t miss the way his hands stay folded on top of the table, for the rest of the night.

You suppose he must have remembered where he was.

“You wanna come up?”

He lingers outside your apartment door, hands jammed into his pockets. That look from the bar is back - all dark, narrowed eyes.

A low sound in his throat, close to a scoff.

“That what you want, sweetheart?”

Your eyebrows raise, “Well, yeah. I mean-, that’s what we usually do, right?”

He’s spent just about every night at your apartment. His things still scattered across your room. A leather jacket slung across the chair that’s tucked against your vanity.

Logan’s lips twist at the edges, eyes dropping.

“Suppose we do.” Those hands slip from his pocket, crossing over his chest, “Back when I thought we knew what we were doing. But now…”

His head shakes. A tick in his jaw.

Your stomach drops.

“What do you mean?”

Logan huffs, “The bar, baby. Is that how you really feel?”

A step closer, until he’s caging you in. Voice dropping, rough and low - near gritted out.

“Does this,” His fingers flick between your chest and his, “feel casual to you?”

Your heartbeat gallops behind your ribs.

“I thought-,” You manage, “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

He’s too close, now. The dip of his head, those eyes burning in their shades of brown and gold.

“Now, why would you think that?”

You swallow, “Because you’re you, and I’m-”

“You’re?” He prompts, but you go silent.

A sigh, when your head dips.

Unable to say it out loud.

“Driving me crazy all night, you know that?” He rasps, “Giving me those looks. Calling me your friend, when we both know your mouth was around my cock this morning.”

A low rumble in his throat, “When I still taste like you.”

Your breath hitches, as his hand thumbs at your jaw, tilting it up.

“Lemme ask you again.” His mouth is close enough now to ghost against yours, “Is that how you really feel?”

Your head shakes.

“Wanna be yours.”

It’s breathed out, just as he kisses you.

His body pressing flush, as your hands twine around his neck. A palm around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he deepens it.

Desire thrumming to life inside you, washing out the dregs of insecurity that you’ve been carrying this whole time. Melting them away completely with the hungry sweep of his tongue, the way he swallows your soft moan.

There’s a flash of white when he finally leans back, with the curve of his lips.

“Good.”

His hand closes around the knob. A rough twist, as his another arm wraps around your waist.

Walking you backwards, into the dark.

“Then let me show you exactly how I feel.”

thank you so much, again!! 💖

[secretlypeerless-cucumber]

JiuYuan plot bunny

Shen Yuan transmigrates/reincarnates waay before the plot even begins, as a somewhat rich second or third son of a merchant family (cliché or clasic background? You decide) not specially sick nor a priority for his family as he's not likely to inherit almost anything he is send to cultivate to a small sect. Because who else will want their unremarkable son?

Turns out ranting about poetry in the street with a vendor is a sure way to make someone important want their unremarkable son.

Enter the current Lord of Qing Jing who saw a gremlin with taste and opinions and immediately wanted him. Also the immediate moment when Shen Yuan finds out where exactly he was reborn in (pray for him). So Shen Yuan gets to join directly into QJP if he passes the other test and well, the story wont go on if he doesn't so let's say he does.

His dumbass tries to make everyone believe he's lazy to avoid work like he did back home but Aha! Shizun is on his bs so in no time he's made head disciple. Natural teacher, excellent memory and talented swordsman (This nerd got too excited by swords and practiced so much he now is the best of his generation and he desperately wants you to know he didn't want for this to happen) it's like he was made to lead QJP!

Side note: LQG will be made head disciple of BZP in a year or so, that's why SY is the generation's best, currently.

Here comes the boy! Absolutely traumatized feral kitten Shen Jiu gets into CQM and QJP out of season and with his general attitude immediately gets enemies everywhere. Not problem! Da-Shixiong will show you around and- Oh? You don't want Da-Shixiong to speak with you? Alright. Just remember to get to dinner and sleep well, goodnight!

And just like that you get an oblivious Shen Yuan respecting a hesitantly curious Shen Jiu who, in turn, decides that the best thing to do with this interest is to find blackmail on SY and take his place as head disciple.

Cue shenanigans and hijinks with stalker SJ and unsuspecting SY. And them getting closer by basically respecting SJ's space and time and being a decent human?! What?!

So like bonding with a cat. Slow, respectfully and with lots and lots of treats. Once Shen Yuan figured out Shen Jiu's weakness is just sweets it's all over. Now hes SJ's shixiong and no one else's. No, shut up A-Yuan, they are not worth our time.

Does he trust SY unconditionally? He's getting there. Nighthunts and being saved like a damsel in distress once in a while helps, even if he gets hissy and pretends to not like it. More so when SY immediately turns to him for both counsel on investigations and to make sure he's safe while in the hunts. Also Shixiong spends almost all his time helping him in fixing his cultivation and teaching him the arts, even when no one else would give a shit, so he gets extra points by being a good boy to his A-Jiu.

Shen Yuan? He thinks he's being a good bro and helping SJ fix whatever made him such an ass in PIDW. He doesn't know what happened before SJ went to CQM nor his past as a slave, only thought he looked like a feral cat and acted accordingly. And yes, calling him A-Jiu is absolutely necessary to that recovery.

In the middle of this SY tries to make contact with TLJ to help him either run away with SXY or take out the OPM so the tragedy doesn't happend. But shit hits the fan and SY gets outed as a demon sympathizer when the sealing under a mountain still happens but he tries to reason with the CQM's sect leader that the demon was innocent.

No one can prove that he was a traitor but under the added presure of public sentiment he's punished severely. Sect leader gives him two choices; He either leaves and retrieves a mega ultra rare mcguffin that'll take him 20 years to get or gets banished immediately and losses any standing he has with the sect.

In simple terms: Prove your loyalty with this very difficult quest or leave.

As a pseudo-compromise sect leader promised no one will take his place if he leaves for the quest nor will they banish SJ for being so close to a posible traitor. SY, naturally, accepts the quest with all the spite and grief of someone who failed his true quest of saving his best friend and the world too he supposes.

But QJP cannot be without a Head disciple nor a Peak Lord! Because plot twist, the lords are preparing to ascend in the next like 5 years. Sect leader knew this, and this is his way to force QJ's peak lord to appoint a different head disciple when SY is away anyways. If that happens SY will lose everything anyways, even if he comes back.

So the strategists get together and make a plan.

Shen Yuan will leave in his quest but before that he'll marry someone trusted that can be acting peak lord in his absence but will not usurp his place. Doble plot twist! That person is Shen Jiu because just as SJ got mellower with SY's influence so did SY get more paranoid. He only trust his dear shidi and no one else but oh how could he force his shidi into- Oh? You'll do it? Why do i have to be the wif-

And they marry in semi secret, taking a small moment for SJ to make him doble promise to come back for him and to give his own doble promise to wait for his return. SJ doesn't like this, not one bit. But this time he's safe, in a position of power and tentatively ready to trust again. He'd rather have his husband with him at least for their wedding night but oh well, they don't get that. They make arrangements for SY to send letters to the WRP so SJ can know how he's doing even if he can't receive any in exchange. It'll be a lonely 20 years.

Shen Yuan leaves and Shen Jiu gets appointed acting head disciple and then acting peak lord. With his silks and his husband's name as a shield (Qingqiu is SY's, but he can use it because they married) he rules QJP much more detached than in PIDW, almost completely ignoring the disciples. This is his A-Yuan's work after all and if he wants it done he better hurry and come do it himself. They've always joked that SY would teach while SJ would govern the peak, even before ever discussing marriage (It didn't matter that A-Yuan didn't know they would eventually get married. They would have regardless)

And Yue Qingyuan you didn't ask? He's in the background wanting to talk to Xiao-Jiu constantly but SJ doesn't need him nor want him. SY's therapy helped him let go if not forgive YQY, he's at the point where he can just ignore him. YQY on the other hand is guiltily ecstatic SY is out of the picture and Xiao-Jiu can be peak lord and rule at his side. Just like he wanted!

Like that 15 years pass. SJ still gets a reputation of going to brothels even if its to read his hubby's letters and sleep. And at this point all other peak lords either forgot he's technically just acting peak lord or never knew there was another Shen-Shixiong who should be peak lord instead.

At this point I'm not sure how to proceed. It'll have to be either:

a) Shen Yuan comes back during the demon invasion or

b) He comes when they are having a peak lord meeting for conveniences sake

Let's do invasion for dramatic purposes.

So you have a supremely pissed off SJ dealing with the demons and watching as the runt of his peak desperately tries to beat his opponent while making a mockery out of their QJP fighting style (LBH is actually doing pretty good, SJ is just Like That™) when suddenly a sword only he recognizes flies faster than a bullet to stop the defeated demon from attacking the little beast and the whole place falls into silence. SJ can hear his pulse in his ears, he almost can't breathe.

The disciples are looking at him for instructions but he can't think of anything as the most beautiful face he has ever seen slowly walks out of the trees into the improvised arena. His hair is finally long now, but not even close to well cared for. His clothes dusty and well worn but not threadbare nor stained with ink like it usually was in their disciple days. His A-Yuan is glorious as he makes the demons run like the pathetic bugs they are.

LQG has come too but there's not more fighting to be had, only a couple reunited at last. SJ sends decorum through the window and yanks his A-Yuan into a long awaited kiss in front of basically every disciple and an enraged and flustered LQG (Man is having the weirdest awakening)

SY is surprised at first but quickly reciprocates, finally at peace with his feelings. Because guess what, 15 years of pinning + letters that slowly become romantic without the fear of retribution will do just fine for him to admit he fell in love with his husband at some point. He was scared shitless of SJ reaction to him coming back and it was only that promise what made him go home regardless. A-Jiu can hate him, but he is NOT breaking that promise. He even made it 5 years earlier, isn't he such a good husband?

Later in the emergency meating LQG is still screaming at them for shameless and inmoral and how could this be the first thing Shen Yuan does when he comes back when they could've just spared

And everyone else (minus YQY, SQH and the beast peak lord) are just like What? Who's this? And SY looks at YQY disapprovingly (He knows YQY covets his wife and purposely didn't tell them) and explains he's the QJ peak lord and SJ as his husband has been ruling QJ in his stead for the past 15 years. And yes, that's why SJ is sitting in his lap.

When the whole story comes out everyone is more surprised to know they are married than the fact SY made the last sect leader so angry he was basically given a suicide mission (Not even YQY knew that) but don't worry! He has absolutely no inclination of taking his A-Jiu's position away. He'd rather teach his little disciples and let his wife to berate their martial siblings as is his right (Someone said they'll be happy having SY instead of SJ in meetings from now on and He Did Not Like That) So they'll share the name Qingqiu as QJ has two peak lords from now on.

Now if they'll excuse them they have a wedding night to finally enjoy.

[cherryswisherz]

neva end

toxic!paige x fem!reader

warnings: smut, dom paige, overstimulation lowkey, choking, paige manipulative as hell, they both nasty as shit

"ou boy you make me so mad, but i just come right back, it's like i can't get over you."

neva end (future ft. kelly rowland, 2012)

-

this is not why i came here. i came to end this... whatever this is. i came here to return her ipad and go about my business.

and now, here i am, ipad in hand, her front pressed to my back, her hands braced on the desk in front of me.

"y/n?"

her fucking. voice. soft and deep in my ear.

i didn't say a fucking word. i didn't move an inch. i only stood there as paige's hands moved away from the desk, now tracing her fingertips down the front of my thighs.

"you can leave." she reminded me, running her hands along the hem of my leggings that i for sure no longer found necessary.

did paige give me full range to leave? yes. am i going to? fuck. no.

i nodded, my eyes still closed, "i know."

"so we both understand what's about to happen."

"i mean there's no alot to misunderstand in this situation.." i trailed off. who would i be without my smart ass mouth?"

paige only hummed in amusement but nothing was funny right now. not with her body pushed even closer against mine. not with her fucking hands slowly pushing my skirt up.

her actions were all slow and calculated as she pushed the material to pool at my waist, exposing the poor excuse for underwear i have on.

i blinked my eyes open and looked down, noticing paiges hand sliding around over my hand that held her ipad. which she slid out of my hand in a matter of seconds.

i silently gasped when sh grapped both my hands and pulled them behind my back and bent me over the fucking desk.

my body burned as the ache between my legs grew damn near impossible to handle. especially when paige drew my feet apart with one of hers.

"if you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask." she said, her voice was almost unrecognizable, all rasp and something else i couldn't describe.

as she drew one of her hands up the inside of my thigh, i knew she had the upper hand, which just couldn't stand. "i don't." and we both knew it was a bold faced lie, given that she quite literally had me bent over a desk. but i still couldn't let her think she won. she wins everything. she doesn't get to win this.

"oh?" she questioned, running her hands over my damp underwear. "this is for someone else? because we're the only ones here mama."

i drew in a deep breath, feeling that ache between my legs grow as she moved her fingers back and forth over my clothed pussy.

"literally anyone else. " i forced.

paige only hummed, painfully fucking slowly, sliding my panties to the side and exposing me to her. then she bent over so her lips were a centimeter from my ear and said "tell me it's for me, and i'll treat it like it's mine."

bro.

in that moment i was supposed to be thinking a bout every tear i had shed because of her. every time she made me wear someone elses jersey because she didn't want people to think we were together. i was supposed to be thinking about literally anything other than her fingers inside of me.

in that moment where i was supposed to be fed the fuck up. where i was supposed to be done with the toxicity of our situationship, she had to say some dumbass, stupid ass, sexy ass bullshit like that.

i was supposed to win this time.

but fuck a W.

i want an orgasm.

"it's for you." i mumbled, hating the fact that i was boosting her ever-so-large ego.

paige didnt move. "i didnt her you baby." she said, obviously trying to prove a point.

its always about points with her ass.

"it's for you." i said a little louder this time.

i felt her hand cup my pussy, applying as little pressure as possible. "who?" she asked?

she must be one of them deaf hoes.

"you paige da-" i was cut of my my own gasp when her fingers began to rub my clit in circles. it was enough for me to raise my head a little bit before she gripped the back of my neck putting be back where i was.

"how do you want it mama?" she asked, slowing down the pace of her fingers.

"yknow how i want it p." i moaned softly, trying to remember that she hadn't even really started yet and i was acting like this.

all she said was "i do." and that put a little fear in my chest because paige never shuts the fuck up.

but that fear quickly dissipated as she slid a slender finger in me, forcing a louder moan to tumble out of my lips.

"why you wanna leave me?" she asked, hand still moving slowly, sliding in and out of me as she angled almost perfectly into my spot.

"because you treat me like shit." i bit out, deciding that honesty was probably the best policy in this situation. but then she slid a second finger into me, pissing me off, because i was trying to be mad at her. "god. i fucking hate you." i cried into the desk.

she only curled her fingers perfectly into me, making a tremor run through me. "say it like you mean it." she said, releasing my neck and gripping my hips all to deepen her strokes.

and deepen them she did. with each stroke, she guided my hips deeper and rougher onto her fingers.

i was gripping the desk under me as curse words and some more shit fell from my mouth, practically vibrating as she hit that spot over and over again.

"you're dripping." paige said almost matter-of-factly. fucking me even rougher as she stopped the movement of my hips all together and just held them still, forcing me to take everything she was giving me.

and i knew she was right. i could feel the wetness she always caused, allpwing her fingers to move in and out of me with ease.

"fuck" i forced out, trying to take deep breaths as i tightened around her.

"you still leaving me ma?" she asked moving the hand on my hip to my clit, rubbing circle that maxed the speed of her fingers.

her voice was so annoyingly sexy but i couldn't fight the shivers it sent down my spine.

"answer me or you don't cum." she ordered, slowing her pace slightly.

"paige-" i cried out, begging her to let me have this one thing.

she only pinch my clit, which made me jolt forward. "FUCK!" i screamed. "no. no i'm not leaving you. never p, i wont ever- fuck!" i cried as she sped up her pace faster than before and the knot in my stomach unraveled and all i could feel was bliss.

my eyes rolled shut and my jaw dropped as she moved her hand to the front of my throat, pulling me so my back was to her chest, fucking me with her fingers in way that can only be described as villanous.

paige wouldn't stop. she kept going as i trembled against her whispering in my ear.

"you thought you were boutta leave me? huh? you thought i was gonna just give you up?" she asked pulling her fingers out of me, sliding them between my parted lips.

"you taste that baby?" she slid her fingers against my tongue making me moan at the taste of myself. "you wanted to take that away from me?"

she removed her fingers from my mouth and moved them to my clit this time, rubbing fast circles.

"sh-shit! paige wai-" i fell back against the desk reaching back to push her way.

"nah you wanna leave people and shit." she practically growled, gripping my arm so i couldnt push her. "take it." and she continued until i came again, leaving me as nothing but a pile of skin and bones on this godforsaken desk.

and as i tried to come back down to planet earth, all she did was put my panties and skirt back in place and pat my ass.

"i don't even know you tried me like that."

this. bitch.

niyah speaks i wrote this listening to one direction

taglist: @patscorner @theriyshow @mattslolita @thaatdigitaldiary @1onescu @mrsengstler @kmoneymartini

[l1tw1ck]

a jealous boss

dom bottom ftm boss x top masc reader

think: ghost, joel miller, enji todoroki, gallagher hsr, miguel o'hara, thor, etc

a man without a hairy pussy is like an angel without wings 😞🙏🏾

cw: cunnilingus, squirting

"You were pretty popular last night." Your boss looks at you as you close his office door. "Almost made me think you were going to leave the party with someone else."

"You know I don't have eyes for anyone other than you, sir."

"With the way you were letting those horny bastards feel you up, I thought otherwise." He pushes his chair back. "I still do. Maybe you should prove me wrong."

And prove him wrong you did.

Your face is buried in between his hairy legs, your tongue desperately lapping at the precious spring of slick in between his healthy bush of hair. "Yes~!" He moans.

You pull away, your head pressing against his soft thigh. Your fingers fill in for you and scissor his wet cavern. "How could I ever think to replace you?" You kiss his t-dick. "No one has a pussy like yours, boss." You dive back in, eating him out with even greater passion.

"Da- damn right-" He bites his lip. "Oh fuck~!" He cries out in pleasure, quickly approaching his climax. You, directly in the splash zone, grin as you anticipate the wave of slick that will soon pour over you. He grinds against you for a few seconds and soon enough, he squirts. It's like being given a glimpse of heaven.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nikolai's appetite disappears over night and Price smells a rat.

cw: mention of body shaming, damaged relationship with food.

Nik loved food.

Not in the way that Johnny did, slamming an entire packet of Maryland cookies and then descending into a sugar coma, or the way that Gaz did, by seeing it as fuel to maintain a powerful and efficient body, so every macro counted. But in the way a wine taster did; there wasn't a city on earth where he couldn't steer John to the very best restaurant, be it tiny back alley taverna or sprawling five star hotel.

He loved sampling different cuisines, sourcing exotic dishes and sharing them with John (who had drawn the fucking line at sea urchin and puffer fish, because while he had never considered a rule about eating shit that could kill you in seconds, he made an ardent one in that moment). John reckoned it was a leftover from his army days when he would have had to survive on rat packs and mess food like the rest of them. He was enjoying it now he could.

So, when Nik suddenly stopped eating, it was bloody noticeable.

He'd still take John out, filling his plate and excitedly watching his face as he tried it, but he wouldn't eat himself. And if he did, it was some poxy salad or plain chicken that looked like it hadn't even glimpsed a spice rack. There were empty tupperware containers stacked in the co-pilot chair of the Black Hawk and Nik remained completely sober during a post-mission arse squeak celebration. (Where they had - in Ghost's words - bum squeaked their way through; Price wasn't sure it was technically an idiom, but he let it pass.)

"You watchin' yer figure, Nik?" Price asked finally, reclining in the wicker chair at the little café they'd stopped in. They were just outside Florence, and the tourists were just beginning to slither groggily into the sun.

"Da," Nik tapped his stomach, "I am, what do you call it, spreading?"

"You look fine t' me. More n' fine."

"I have lost some. But I still have more to do." Nik tugged at his sleeve, a self conscious gesture that John had never seen him do, and it set his teeth on edge.

"Did someone say somethin'?"

Nik swallowed and John wished he'd take those bloody aviators off so his eyes were visible. "Not recently."

"Well, this has been goin' on for months," John said, gesturing at the black coffee that comprised Nik's entire breakfast, while John had polished off the continental version of a Full English. "So out with it. Who said what?"

"I..." Nik cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. "I was not wearing a shirt on a beach in America, visiting Laswell, and a group of young women advised me to go to the gym."

"You can olympic press Ghost."

"Da."

"You can bench press over twice your own bodyweight."

"Mm, da."

"I think you go to the gym plenty."

Nik went silent. He wasn't looking at John, which meant he was embarrassed and not sure how to recover. Whatever this was, whatever had been said, he would have retaliated with his usual bolshy dismissal at the time, but up there in his Heli it would have buzzed around in his head in the quiet until it got its barbs in.

"Fer a smart bloke, you 'n' 'alf thick sometimes."

"That is what I am trying to fi--"

"Not what I meant, Nikolai." John sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard as he considered Nik's slumped shoulders. "You're good-lookin', fit, hotshot pilot with yer gold chain. This is the first time some horrid cow has said somethin' cruel, I bet."

"I might have let myself go."

"You're fifty. It's allowed," John said. "But you haven't. Yer just as built as when we first met."

"I was thirty, John. That is not possible."

"I don't think I stuttered there, but I might be wrong..."

Nik tsked at him and wrapped his arms over his chest. He tried to make it look nonchalant but it was absolutely a barrier. "I am feeling self-conscious. It will pass. I do not wish to talk about it."

"Tough shit, Nik. We're talkin' about it." John scraped his chair loudly around the table and crowded into Nik's space, leaning down with his elbows on his knees to look up into the forlorn expression on his lover's face. "If - and I mean if - I thought your health was at risk, or you were lettin' yourself go, you not think I'd get you runnin' laps with my new crop until you were fit to run missions with my team again?"

"Da, I would expect nothing less."

"Yer part of my task force, Nik. I don't accept anythin' but the best. No exceptions. Tell me I'm wrong."

"I cannot."

"And has my performance between the sheets been any less enthusiastic?"

"Nyet..."

"Right, so, engage that mensa level intelligence of yours and compute the obvious bloody conclusion."

John reached forward, continuing even when Nik tried to recoil, to run his hands beneath his shirt. Nik's belly was warm, the hair on it soft, and John wanted nothing more than to rub his damn face into it.

"I know it's gonna take time to rebuild yer confidence, Nik. Not sure yer tellin' me the whole story but whatever they said, they're wrong. Women like that, they're cruel for sport. You could look like, uh... whathisname, Chris Hemsworth, 'n' they'd still say somethin'. Gives 'em a way to cover up their own insecurity, right?"

There was a small smile of amusement and Nik's arms fell away, letting John run his hands a little higher. "I am impressed you remembered the name of an actor, captain."

"Yeah, I watched a whole film the other night..."

Nik smiled. "A whole film. Impressive."

"Cheers." John lifted his hand to cup Nik's jaw, one hand on his knee. "Still wet my knickers for you, Nik, but tell me what else I can do t' help."

"Nothing, I am... I will be fine."

"Not like you to let some bird get under your skin like that. Sure there's nothin' else?"

Nik cleared his throat, looked to the side and then finally at John's face. "You do not wish to trade me in for a newer model?"

"Jesus fuck... waiter, il conto, per favore."

"Where are we going?"

"Back to the hotel room."

"Why?"

"'M gonna shag your brains out, since they're not functionin' particularly well on the inside. Up. Double time."

Nik reached for his wallet to pay but John had already slapped his credit card on the scanner by the time he looked up. He grabbed Nik's hand and dragged him down the few blocks to their hotel, where he intended to spend the rest of the afternoon making Nik feel like the hottest piece of arse on the planet.