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usercelestial · 1 day ago

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Forever Love

General Audiences | Words: 3,753 | TW: Sexual Harassment

Buck misses Tommy. He always misses Tommy. He misses him when he’s in the bathroom, when he’s at work, when he’s sat across the table and their feet aren’t touching. Buck is self-aware enough to know that he has a problem. But this time, it’s serious.

He’s drunk. And Tommy isn’t here.

And they’re fighting.

He’s just a little past tipsy in a gay bar where the music is too loud and the floor is too sticky but the rainbow flags in the window give him this fuzzy feeling in his chest. It’s nice, knowing he has a community, having a sense of belonging. Having something he didn’t know he was missing, being with people who are like him. It’s queerness and tacky rainbow tank tops and seeing color for the first time and breathing in and out without the weight of something missing sitting on his chest.

“Dude, this place is great!”

Oh, Eddie’s here too.

They started the night at Eddie’s house. Buck ran to Eddie the minute he slammed the front door of his and Tommy’s new house and jumped in his Jeep.

He doesn’t remember what the fight was about, not just because the alcohol was kind of making it hard to remember details, but because it was really about nothing in particular. Or maybe it was about everything. All the little things like Tommy leaving his shoes in the doorway and Buck forgetting to load the dishwasher. One bad shift, a few small jabs, and then suddenly they were screaming at each other. And then Buck ran.

They had moved in together three weeks ago. The first two weeks were bliss, but now a heavy storm cloud has settled over their home. Buck thinks about the honeymoon phase everyone was warning him about and he aches to go back to it. He remembers when he used to think Tommy had never done anything wrong and if he had, there were perfectly reasonable explanations for it. But now he’s seeing him in more varied colors than just rose-tinted ones. And he’s realizing Tommy is having the same revelation. They're more themselves, more adult, messier and complicated. And Buck’s terrified.

But he’s also pissed.

“Can you fucking believe he yelled at me for something so petty?” Buck had said, pacing around Eddie’s living room, “It’s like he wasn’t even listening to me.”

“Well, didn’t you also yell at him?”

“Who’s side are you on?”

A small, petty part of him was smug about getting to Eddie before Tommy did. The last few fights they had, Tommy had been the one to storm out and seek solace in the Diaz home. This time, Buck ran before Tommy had the chance. He had been happy to share his side of the story and Eddie was a kind enough friend to realize Buck needed to vent his very biased account of things, nodding along and giving support where it was needed.

Then came the beers. Then the bars. Then Buck spotted those rainbow flags in the window while stumbling along the sidewalk and told Eddie that if he was a good ally, he would follow him in and let him blow off some steam.

Except now, he’s kind of running out of steam. He misses his boyfriend and the guilt of raising his voice is starting to dampen his mood. He feels regret souring on his tongue and it’s diluting all the endorphins that were released from doing shots with Drag Queens earlier in the night.

Eddie’s still going strong though. His hair is kind of messy, glitter decorating his pink cheeks, a goofy smile plastered across his face. He lost the button up he started the night with so now he’s rocking a white tank top that shows off his arms nicely. Needless to say he’s getting a lot of attention- attention that he’s either ignoring or oblivious to.

“Dude, dude, why don’t we come here more often? Why do we go to the sad bar for straight people when we could come here instead? Everyone’s so nice!” Eddie is starting to shout in his ear a little bit.

“You can just come here on your own, you know,” Buck suggests.

Eddie shakes his head, “I don’t wanna… um-” he cuts off, snapping his fingers, “intrude! I don’t wanna intrude. Do you think if I ask Josh, he’d take me? He talks about feeling weird coming to bars alone all the time! OH!” Eddie gasps, like he’s had a great idea, “Should I text Josh? He could come down here, it’d be great!”

Eddie starts to take his phone out before Buck stops him, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Eds.”

Eddie waves him off before the song changes and suddenly he’s disappearing back into the crowd of swaying bodies. Buck should probably try to keep an eye on him but he’s busy silently mourning the quiet night in with his boyfriend he was going to have. Then he starts to mourn the night he wanted to spend distracting himself from his own grievances with said boyfriend, trying to drown out the voice telling him how badly he fucked things up. Now, he’s playing babysitter to giddy-drunk Eddie.

“Don’t you look lonely.” Suddenly there’s a body pushing against his side and alcohol-ridden breath wafting over his ear.

He reels back, cringing at the close proximity. He huffs and takes another sip of his beer.

“Oh, what, you’re gonna give me the cold shoulder?” The guy moves closer again. “Come on, what’s got you so down?”

He ignores him again, trying to turn his body away. The guy slides a hand against his side and fingers the hem of his shirt. Buck shoves him off.

“Fuck off,” Buck growls, and then for good measure, “I’ve got a boyfriend.” Who he misses. God, he wishes Tommy was here.

“Well, I don’t see him anywhere. Must not be a very good boyfriend, then.”

Buck starts to get defensive, opening his mouth to speak, before the words jumble in his throat. It’s a little hard to think coherently, but what comes to mind are images of Tommy making him dinner after a long shift, scrubbing his hands through his soapy hair in the shower, kissing his birthmark before bed every night. He’s not sure how to articulate it, all the feelings rising in his throat at the claim that Tommy isn’t a good boyfriend, a good partner, a good person.

“Buck! Buck, listen, man, you gotta try this drink- oh, who’s this?”

The guy scoffs as Eddie suddenly reappears from God knows where, “Really? This guy?” He points at Eddie.

Eddie looks behind him wildly, “Who?”

Buck thinks briefly about drowning himself in one of the bar toilets. Then decides he’d be getting out of this too easy, and this is probably karma for ruining the great thing he had going with Tommy.

“So you’re his boyfriend?” The guy is now directly talking to Eddie.

There are several looks that pass over Eddie’s face. He looks like he’s solving a puzzle for a second then there’s a little twinkle in his eye and then he straightens his back with determination and pride, “Yep!”

Buck chokes on his own spit, “What?”

“Hey, I’m Tommy, Buck- no, Evan’s boyfriend.” He looks immensely proud of himself, “So, bye. He’s taken. By me, Tommy, I’m a great pilot and subpar at Muay Thai. So leave us alone.”

The guy apparently has decided to double down on being an ass, though, “Really, you could do so much better.” He’s turned back to Buck now. “Why would you ever choose to be with a guy who can’t hold his beer and makes an idiot of himself in public?”

“He’s not an idiot!” Buck throws his hands in the air. He’s not sure if he’s defending Tommy or Eddie here, but they’re kind of blurring into one person right now.

“What do you have going for you anyways, bro? I’m a pilot!” Eddie decides to puff his chest out a little now, shoving his hands in his front pockets. Buck realizes he’s trying to mimic Tommy’s mannerisms, much to his own horror. Now is probably not a good time to mention that this guy doesn’t actually know what Tommy looks like, therefore he doesn’t actually need to pretend to be Tommy. But his heart clenches at how hard Eddie’s trying anyways. “A firefighter-pilot!” Eddie continues, “Those are like two of the hottest professions you can have. I also do Muay Thai, although not as good as my amazing friend, Eddie, but still very good.”

“Wow, self-obsessed much?” The guy tries to touch Buck’s arm, “Come on, don’t you wanna ditch him? Do you really think this guy is gonna give you what you need?”

“What do you know about what he needs? I’ll have you know that we live together, actually!” Eddie is starting to shout again, “It’s going great. Or well, it is, isn’t it?” He turns to Buck.

“What?”

“It is going great, right? Like we’re still happy, aren’t we?”

Buck thinks of Tommy at home right now, sitting on the sofa in his stupid, sexy reading glasses. He’s probably still fuming from the fight. Buck pictures him biting his nails, a habit he’s tried to kick. He whines a little in the back of his throat at the thought of being his point of stress. His bones ache to curl up in bed, head tucked into Tommy’s shoulder, feeling Tommy’s arm gently graze over his spine. He thinks about moving around the kitchen with him, seamlessly in tune with his every move. He thinks about coming up behind him and pulling Tommy back’s flush against his chest and kissing his hairline.

“Yeah, of course, we’re still happy.”

“Do you really have to ask?” The guy asks smugly, quirking an eyebrow.

Eddie’s still looking at him though, eyes searching, “I worry about that sometimes, you know? Like,” he breathes and makes a decision, “sometimes I’ll talk to our friend, Eddie. And I’ll tell him how much I love you, but how scared I am that I don’t make you happy enough. And it doesn’t matter how many times I-or Eddie tells me that you’re the happiest you’ve ever been, I’m scared you’re gonna wake up and realize there’s something else out there for you. At least, that’s what I tell Eddie. And I swore him to secrecy too, I made him promise not to mention that to you because I don't want you to think I’m a burden or anything. And because Eddie is such a good friend, he promised he wouldn’t say anything but I think now Eddie is getting tired of watching us both think the other one could do better. That’s how Eddie feels. Cause we’re both great, you know. Best friends he’s ever had.”

“Is that how uh- you really feel?” Buck asks, “You think I’m gonna find something better?”

Eddie nods, lips pursed, “Well, it's not like- I don't think you're gonna just walk out with some fuck-face you meet at a bar,” he gestures to the guy still standing there confused, “but I think I’m more worried you’re going to realize I’m not what you want. That it's too hard, I guess. And we've been fighting more and more recently and it's really getting to me, man.”

“I just feel like you keep shutting me out, though. It's not the little things that get to me, it's the fact that every time I try to talk to you about it, you just shut down.”

“Okay, I get that. But I think if I had to say why I do that, it's because I’m scared that if we really start to talk about it, you’ll come to the conclusion that you won't want to put up with me.”

“Tommy, I’m trying to build a life together, I’m in this, all the way. And don't you think I’m scared, too? It's like you’re not listening to what I’m telling you.”

“You talk about how you don't feel listened to, but it’s never really clear what you’re saying,” Eddie throws his hands up and clears his throat awkwardly, “I think.”

Buck stops to consider that. He’s tried to tell Tommy how he feels, how scared he is he’s gonna fuck it up. He still feels like he’s a guest in Tommy’s home, not because of anything Tommy’s done per say. He thinks maybe he’s still trying to walk on eggshells, not make too many waves. So he beats around the bush. He points out Tommy’s shoes in the doorway when he’s made a point to put his own in the closet, clearing his throat when he picks them up and puts them away. Tommy glances at him and hums, looking away.

It always made Buck feel like Tommy’s just tolerating him- putting up with his “clipboard” tendencies.

“Okay, I guess you have a point. I’m not actually that mad that you leave your shoes wherever you take them off, or how you leave dirty clothes on the bathroom floor, or that you always make the bed too tight. Like, I don't care about those things. I just- fuck, I don't know. It feels like it's still your house, and I’m still living out of a few drawers and an overnight bag.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows, “Do I make you feel that way?”

Buck sighs, “Not on purpose, I don't think. I think it's just a lot of other bad experiences with living with people I’ve dated and yeah, maybe, it feels like you keep erasing the mark I’m trying to leave. I keep trying to get you to put your shoes in the closet, and you just won't.”

“I thought you said you weren't really mad about that.” Eddie seems like he’s having a hard time following their relationship lore.

“It's not that. It's more that all of the little things I’m trying to do to make it feel like ours, you’re just not having.”

“Have you ever told me that? Like in those words? Cause from where I’m standing, I think I’m just trying to give you your space and stay close to mine.”

“I don't just want my space and then your space, I want our space. I want to have things we do together, systems we can agree on. Not just because it annoys me when you don't follow my rules, Tommy. I don't want you to feel trapped with me.”

“Well, I don't want you to feel suffocated. That's what I told Eddie.”

Buck breathes in a small sob. He’s always been an emotional drunk.

“I love you, all of you. Even your messiness. I just want to feel like you're in this too. I’ve had a lot of shitty relationships where I'm the only one putting anything into it. And you’ve always felt different. Like I could actually get attached to you. And it feels like you're pulling back.” Buck sinks in on himself, heart breaking at the idea that Tommy’s falling farther away.

Eddie looks pained, but enlightened, “I think I’m pulling back because I don't want to pressure you. I think I’m really, really into you, dude. And it's scary to put so much of yourself on the line. I think I’m afraid I was putting too much of myself into this, and you're gonna get exhausted.”

“Exhausted with what?”

“With how much I love you. With how amazing I think you are. With how I think I’ve decided I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” Eddie finishes.

“Okay, what the fuck does all that mean?” The guy is still just standing beside them.

“Bro, go away.”

“Like why are you even still here?”

The guy walks away, muttering something about them being exhausting and a waste of his time.

“He’s said all to you?” Buck ducks his head, not wanting to look Eddie in the eye.

“Some of it, yeah,” Eddie nods, wrinkling his forehead, “The feeling like you're too much of a good thing, wanting to spend the rest of his life with you, generally feeling like shit whenever you fight, yeah, we talked about all that.” He hiccups, “Some of it I improvised. I know both of you pretty well by now, and I’m tired of constantly going back and forth between you whenever you fight. Especially when you're saying the same thing. Do you know how frustrating that is?”

Buck waits for him to elaborate. Eddie rolls his eyes. “You guys are committed. It's just that you're both being really, really stupid about it. And living with another person is hard, especially when you’re trying so hard to keep so much of yourself in. You’ve got to open up a little, man. And so does he, but I think the first thing you gotta do is talk.”

“Hm. I should probably go home.” His head is starting to hurt and he feels like throwing up or passing out or crying, and he doesn't want to do any of those things outside of the comfort of his own home.

His and Tommy’s own home.

Eddie's eyes light up again and Buck had the exact same thought at the exact same time, “Uber!”

Eddie falls dead asleep on the ride to Buck and Tommy’s house. When they arrive, Buck profusely apologizes to the Uber driver for all the snoring and retching.

Eddie leans against his shoulder as they walk up to the door. Buck notices a wreath that wasn't there before and remembers talking about decorating the house for the holidays early. Tommy hadn't been completely sold on the idea at the time but there it was, displayed on their front door. It felt like a peace offering in of itself.

He fumbled with his key and accidently locked the already unlocked door, which Eddie laughed at for the full minute it took him to realize and then unlock the door again.

“Shhh. He’s probably asleep.”

“Evan?”

“Oh shit.” Then Eddie falls on the floor somehow. Buck isn’t really paying attention to whatever Eddie’s issues with gravity are. The moment he sees Tommy standing in the hallway in his sleeveless red top and sweats, he bolts and throws his arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry.” Buck mumbles into his neck.

Tommy sighs and hugs back, “I know, baby. I’m sorry, too.”

Eddie stands back up, celebrates quietly to himself for a second, and then redirects his attention to Buck and Tommy, “Hey, Tommy.” He waves politely.

“Hey, Eddie.”

“I don’t wanna be Buck’s boyfriend anymore. You can have him back. You’re both so complicated. Josh wouldn’t be so complicated.” Eddie starts mumbling to himself, swaying back and forth on his feet while fiddling with the leaves on the plant they have in their entrance.

Tommy seems to take a second process of what he just said and is doing mental gymnastics to decipher it, “What?”

“There was this guy, right? And he was kind of an asshole about it. So I pretended to be you, so he would leave Buck alone.”

Buck feels Tommy’s chest rise with jealousy, “A guy was messing with you?” Buck is man enough to admit that the heat in his voice does something for him.

“Mostly just being annoying.” Buck shrugs, arms still tied around Tommy’s neck.

“Hey, don’t worry. I defended his honor.” Eddie pounds a fist to his chest and then stumbles over to the couch.

Tommy worms his way out of Buck’s grip so he can close and lock the door and then turns back, “So, we’re good, then?”

Buck smiles, shoulder’s rising to his ears, laughing a little. He’s back to feeling giddy, a rush of love flooding through his chest, “Yeah, we’re gonna be great, Tommy, I promise.”

Tommy smiles and gravitates back to him, slipping an arm around his waist and kissing his collar bone.

“No funny business while I’m still here.” Eddie turns over on his side, tugging the throw blanket off the back of the couch.

“We gotta talk, though.” Buck traces a finger down Tommy’s chin, parking it in the little divot that used to taunt him. He has a cleft, Buck giggles again.

“About what?” Tommy goes still. His arm freezes up and the soft, gooey feeling in Buck’s chest gets a little chillier.

“I know about your annoying habits and you know about mine. We need to talk about ‘em to move past ‘em”

“And what if when we talk about it, we can’t find a way to move past it.” Tommy says quietly. For a second, Buck feels like he’s looking at himself. The facade of confidence cracks and suddenly there’s a lonely boy in a cold, empty house that starts to leak through. Buck’s chest hurts thinking about little Tommy. He was lonely and afraid. Buck remembers that feeling like a ghost whispering up his spine and he hates it. He hates that he ever thought this wasn’t something he could have. He hates that Tommy thought he’d be lonely and afraid forever. He hates that they both did.

He hates that Tommy feels like that right, standing in their home, in each other’s arms, where it should be safe from old wounds and lingering ghosts.

“Hey,” Buck’s finger on Tommy’s chin tightens and he brings his thumb up to force eye contact, “Don’t do that, please.”

Tommy shudders.

“Tommy, I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with you and you,” Buck grabs Tommy’s face with both hands, “Tommy, you are my forever love, okay? Your bad habits are not going to get in the way of that. You’re not getting rid of me any time soon.”

“Forever love, huh?” Tommy muses.

“If you let me, I wanna be your forever,” Buck places his index finger on Tommy’s lip, swiping. He wants to reach forward and never let go.

“Gladly,” Tommy leans over to bridge the gap, connecting their lips. They kiss for what feels like an eternity, with Eddie's snores as background music. Tommy slides an arm around Buck's waist and gently guides him to their bed.

Tommy kisses his birthmark and covers him with their warm cotton sheets they had picked out together. The bed is still too tight but he’ll tell him in the morning. They’ll talk, fight a little more, cry, and make up. They’ll fight for it, even when things get hard.

They fall asleep wrapped gently in love. Forever love.

#3000 feels like a lot for a tumblr post but ehhh i want it here too #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard

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aventurineswife · 1 day ago

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may I humbly request Aventurine with a reader who gets really easily scared by loud noises, yk like fireworks, lightning, doors slamming, balloons popping, etc? only if ur comfortable with it ofc!! also I love ur fanfics, hc's, whatever you wanna call them, HOW DO YOU WRITE SO WELL ;-;

Through Thunder and Silence

Summary: During a fierce thunderstorm, you seek refuge from the loud, chaotic noises that trigger your anxiety. Aventurine creates a game to distract you from your fear. As the two of you engage in a card game, you begin to uncover a deeper connection, with Aventurine revealing some of his own vulnerabilities along the way. Amid the storm’s fury, you find solace not only in his presence but in the unspoken understanding between you.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Comfort, Anxiety, Storm, Card Game, Emotional Vulnerability, Protective Aventurine, Slow Burn, Soft Aventurine.

Warnings: Mild Anxiety and Fear-related Themes (loud noises, thunderstorm), Emotional Vulnerability.

A/N: HEHEHE THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR KIND WORDS!! 🤭 I ACTUALLY HAVE POSTED ABOUT SOME WRITING TIPS IN MY ACC, YOU CAN CHECK IT OUT IF YOU'D LIKE! ;) HOPE YOU LIKE THIS!!🫶💖

The first crack of thunder tore through the sky like a gavel slamming down in a court of chaos. You flinched, instinctively curling into yourself as the storm outside began its deafening tirade. The grandiose room you shared with Aventurine, normally a sanctuary of quiet opulence, seemed to shrink under the sound’s oppressive weight.

A warm chuckle broke the tension, pulling your attention toward the man lounging across from you. Aventurine leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, swirling a glass of amber liquid with the kind of nonchalance that only he could muster.

“Well, well,” he teased, his voice smooth like a hand brushing velvet. “I didn’t think the storm would make such an impression. Should I offer it a seat at the table?”

You tried to smile, but another clap of thunder jolted you upright. Your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, you muttered, “I hate this…”

Aventurine’s eyes—unsettlingly beautiful—softened ever so slightly. He placed his glass down with deliberate care, the faint clink barely audible over the storm’s roar.

“Come here,” he said, motioning toward the plush couch near the fireplace. His tone, though playful as always, carried an undercurrent of sincerity.

You hesitated. “It’s just... the noise. It’s stupid, I know—”

“Stupid?” He stood, his movements fluid, almost predatory, as he closed the distance between you. “Do you think fear is stupid, my dear? No, fear is the cornerstone of survival. A finely tuned warning system. Even I—” He gestured grandly to himself, his voice tinged with dramatic flair. “—have my weaknesses.”

You gave him a dubious look, to which he smirked. “Ah, but I didn’t say I’d share them. That would spoil the fun.”

Before you could respond, another thunderclap struck, louder this time. You tensed, hands flying to cover your ears.

In an instant, Aventurine’s expression shifted. The facade cracked just enough for you to glimpse something raw, something unguarded. He stepped closer, his usual bravado tempered by an unfamiliar gentleness.

“Sit,” he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. You let him guide you to the couch, where the fire’s warmth began to thaw the icy grip of your nerves.

Without a word, he slipped off his overcoat and draped it around your shoulders. It was heavier than you expected, carrying the faint scent of sandalwood and the sea—comforting in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

“Better?” he asked, his tone light but his gaze sharp, studying you like a puzzle he intended to solve.

You nodded, pulling the coat tighter around yourself. “A little.”

“Good. Now, a game.” He snapped his fingers, and from seemingly nowhere, produced a deck of cards. “Nothing distracts the mind like a well-played hand of chance.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A card game? During a storm?”

“Precisely.” He shuffled the deck with practiced elegance, the cards a blur between his fingers. “But here’s the twist: for every hand I win, you have to answer a question. Truthfully.”

“And if I win?”

Aventurine’s grin widened, sharp and dazzling. “Then I answer one of yours. A fair wager, wouldn’t you say?”

It was impossible to say no to him, and maybe that was part of his charm—or his danger. You nodded, reaching for the cards he dealt.

The first hand was simple, a warm-up. Aventurine won, as you’d expected. “What frightens you most about the storm?” he asked, leaning forward, his chin resting on his interlaced fingers.

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. “The unpredictability,” you admitted finally. “It’s too loud, too sudden. It feels... out of control.”

Aventurine hummed thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing as if he’d just unlocked a new layer of your psyche.

The next hand, however, was yours. His surprise was brief, replaced quickly by a good-natured laugh. “Ah, a clever play! What’s your question, then?”

“What’s your biggest fear?” you asked before you could overthink it.

The room seemed to still, the storm outside momentarily forgotten. Aventurine’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes grew distant, shadowed.

“Ah, a bold question,” he said finally, tapping a card against his chin. “But a deal’s a deal, isn’t it?” He leaned back, his gaze fixed on the fire. “Losing everything. Again.”

The simplicity of his answer stunned you, and the weight of it lingered between you as another roll of thunder rumbled through the room.

This time, though, you didn’t flinch.

Aventurine noticed. His smile returned, softer now, almost imperceptible. “See? The game works wonders.”

As the night wore on, the storm continued its relentless symphony, but it didn’t feel as oppressive anymore. With Aventurine’s voice weaving tales and laughter between the cracks of thunder, the noise became background—less a threat, more a reminder that you weren’t alone.

And perhaps, in his own way, Aventurine wasn’t either.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #fluff #comfort #anxiety #storm #card games #emotional vulnerability #protective #soft aventurine #slow burn

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softshuji · 2 days ago

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𝟎𝟏:𝟓𝟔𝐀𝐌| 𝐇𝐀𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐊𝐎𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐈

Title: Moonlit Skies

Summary: Koko has always worked hard for your future, but what does that future mean if he's slipping away from you?

cw: fem! reader, some brief suggestive content but nothing explicit, pet names (princess, baby, my love) very brief angst, but it's very tame. Reblogs Appreciated!

There is never much noise in the house you and Koko share, never much of anything aside from soft footfall, the click of his dexterous fingers on the keyboard and the periodic whistle of the kettle as cup after cup of coffee is made and carried absent-mindedly to the office.

You’re not upset, you were under no illusions about the kind of man Koko was before you married a year ago, the kind of reservations he had, the kind of determination he put into work, the wandering of his beautiful mind that it seemed the criminal underworld wanted to exploit.

And you had known that at first it wouldn’t bother you, that marital bliss would be enough to buoy you on for the first weeks after your wedding, a short honeymoon and lots of sex that both of you (wrongly) thought was enough to keep it alive. You have him, he’s here and he’s chosen you and for a while the thought alone is a comfort enough.

And then you had returned and he had retreated into some place far off, nights spent hunched over the laptop screen, blue-light glasses perched on his nose (that you had insisted he wear) and the tell-tale sallowness of his skin had told you enough, had hurt to see. And then he had left in the morning for work again, day after day, a quick kiss lingering on your lips that had done nothing but remind you of how much you craved him.

And you love him. You know you do. He loves you too, you know that as well.

You know you’re lucky to find a man that loves you without you needing to beg for it, who loves you effortlessly, honestly, and that in this day and age, it is more than you could hope for considering how little you had when you met, how little you brought to the table.

But he’s been sitting in the office for hours now, and the clock has shifted beyond midnight, and it’s not that you’re needy or frustrated, even if it’s true, but only that you know he’s slipping further away, the both of you circling each other every day in the same space, a husband and wife who are both here and not. Maybe you should have seen this coming, the neglect that was never his fault, the touch of him that never lasted long enough, the absence that cut you even if you pretended it didn’t.

You miss him, it’s that simple. You reach for him at night when he eventually slips into the bed, some time after 3AM, the bed warmed by your skin and hair spilling over the soft sheets and it aches inside him somewhere to slip out again not three hours later, leaving a lingering look at you tucked into the duvet, where his heart is, still nestled safely in your warm palm.

‘Baby?’ You knock on the door and the light from the hallway leaks into the room, spills across the beige carpet now worn from his light tread, over and over, a line from the door to the desk and untouched in the places he never frequents.

He squints, glances in your direction and raises an eyebrow at you holding the blanket between your hands, dressed in an old shirt of his, yellow light shadowed by your silhouette dancing across the carpet, across the wall.

‘Yeah?’ He clears his throat, washes down the film coating his teeth with cold coffee and licks his lips, dry and dehydrated and cracked a little down the middle. ‘You okay?’

You gnaw at your cheek, purse your lips and step into the room, into this space that he has kept you out of willingly and unwillingly, the room that has stolen him from you, dried him out, snaked its way into his heart where something like joy should be.

Briefly, you feel the stab of pain in your chest at the fact that his first instance is to ask about you, to reach for you, to look at you and always with love, always with a softened glance despite the stresses, despite the tired bags under his eyes, shadowy sketch lines and graphite pencil that stands out on his opal skin.

‘Mhm, yeah I’m okay.’ You feel awkward standing in here, in this place he ventures to alone, adrift and isolated from the warmth of your house, the cold slipping in through the window, the darkness that swallows the room, and all of it makes the hairs on your arms stand on end as you shiver in the chill.

You shift on your feet, glance at the netting fluttering in the breeze and blowing inwards towards the sheaf and stacks of papers that he keeps held down by cups of coffee and paperweights and the bookshelf that has titles you hardly recognise, tacked up maps and graphs and charts and slides from presentations and all of it so foreign that it feels you’ve waded out to shore. Was it always so cold in here?

‘Sure?’ His eyes are aching, the pressure behind them is more akin to needles than anything else, and he squints against the hallway light that feels too strong, too aggressive, and involuntarily, against you and your shape silhouetted by a ring of yellow.

‘Y-Yeah.’ You step further into the room, pass over the threshold that separates you and only now do you see the bottles of water lying in rows by the desk, the dinner you left untouched now cold and coagulating on the plate. ‘Are you okay baby?’

He tilts his head and you hear a bone click as he does so, something in his neck that he bites on his lip to hide, the shuddering breath that comes from holding in the pain as he is prone to do.

‘You’re shivering,’ he says, and turns back to the laptop screen, the only light in the room aside from the hallway light trickling through the open doorway. ‘You should go back to bed Princess.’

It doesn’t surprise you that he’s dodged you like that, that he’s shrugged off your concern so easily, and turned back to the screen where the numbers pile on the spreadsheet.

Your thighs are level with the desk now, brushing against the edge as you twist the blanket in your hands. He feels distant despite the proximity, despite the fact that he’s close enough to touch. You can see from here, that his hair hangs lankly over a shoulder, the skin around his nose dry and sallow, tight with exhaustion, eyes dulled and lidded.

You’ve always thought he was beautiful, before you met and after and in the moments between, rare ones where he let the wall of his defences come down enough to let you look beyond, you would marvel at the simple beauty of him, soft and smooth and artful even.

But you’ve never been dense enough not to notice the makeup and gels and masses of product that piled up in the bathroom, subtler ways he assumed he could hide the tiredness that clung to his skin, caffeine pills, stronger narcotics even that you had pretended didn’t sit neatly next to your birth control pills and vitamins in the bathroom cabinet.

He is not nearly as good an actor as he thinks he is.

‘Come with me Haji, come to bed.’ You reach out a hand, skim his cheek with the pad of your thumb, dry and smooth all at once. He stiffens and a muscle flickers in his jaw as he resists the urge to lean into your touch, sink his chin against the palm of your soft and waiting hand.

‘I have work to do Love I’m sorry.’ He pulls back, swivels the chair to face the laptop screen again, dimming the brightness till it spills a faint blue glow, and your hand is empty and cold again, waiting in the air for the softness of his touch, the fine silk of his hair. ‘Go back to bed, you’ll catch a cold Princess.’

‘Come now, please.’ And he’s right. The chill has crept into your bones, licking at your skin. You catch a glimpse of the goosebumps flickering over his neck, the wispy hairs along his arms now uncovered, the pressed white of his shirtsleeves tucked at the elbow. The same clothes he came home in, now creased.

A few months back, a man had visited your house during the day. He was blond, tufts of hair sticking out from his cap, and the scar across his eye and forehead had tickled a memory somewhere, a picture perhaps, buried beneath the film of your past.

‘Hey,’ he had said, and shuffled awkwardly on his feet, rubbing his palms on the rough corduroy of his overalls. ‘Are you Mrs Kokonoi?’

You had frowned, and glanced at the street where a car should have waited, a kidnapping that you were almost certain was going to happen. How else would he know where you lived? Your tongue was slack in your mouth, the thick film of anxiety churning in your throat.

‘I’m not-’

‘It’s fine, I’m not here to hurt you,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to ask how Koko was doing.’ And his hand had come up to remove his cap and run over the spikes and tufts of blond hair. He knew how it looked, how the tools in his belt looked, the paint stains and oil spills on the fabric of his overalls.

You had frowned and stepped back, pursed your lips and looked down the lawn, at the bike that lay on its side, the helmet propped up against the brakes, the paint immaculate and fresh, a vibrant midnight blue that caught the midday sun.

‘Depends on who’s asking.’ You crossed your arms, searching for him in your memory, for the faint scar and his blond hair in waves, the clear ivory of his skin and jadeite green of his eyes that was tucked somewhere in your head.

‘Just…someone he used to know. A friend,’ he said. And maybe it was true once, that they were friends, more maybe, in a time that was dead and long buried, before adulthood, before the moment Koko had run down the path he couldn’t follow. ‘I suppose he’s fine then?’

And you shrugged, and it was an answer in itself and the blond man had nodded, slipped his hat back on and looked both ways before propping up his bike and racing off, leaving a plume of smoke and wind in his wake.

You think of it now, when Koko is so close to you, his skin and lips a breath away, his touch so achingly far that it splits you in two. You think of how loved he is, how needed, how hauntingly beautiful and yours.

He sighs and pushes the glasses further onto his nose, rolls his neck and flexes his tired fingers before clicking away again, washing the sourness of his mouth away with the last dregs of his once-hot coffee. ‘I promise I’ll come to bed in a bit Love, just let me finish this first.’

It would hurt less if you loved him less, if he wasn’t thinning and slipping before your eyes, retreating to the shell of what he knew, if it didn’t feel like you were being left behind and shut out while he waded out to shore alone.

‘Baby, it can wait, you can sleep for a little while. I’m sure it’s not going anywhere.’ You try, and you push the sprightly zing of energy into your voice, push a faint and what you hope is an encouraging smile.

But his eyes never leave the screen, and your voice thins under the tap of his fingers on the keyboard, dies somewhere in your throat when he pulls his chair closer to the desk.

He loves you, he does, but he’s stuck here now, swam too far out to shore to call for any help. He resists the urge to look at you, and your blanket bunched up in your hands, in his shirt that floats along your thighs. He knows he’ll cave if he does, that his resolve will crumble and he’ll taste the rewards of his weakness tomorrow when it’s not done, when it’s not enough.

It aches, in your chest, your stomach, in the place where his name lives, carved along your ribcage, the hidden parts of you only he has seen and touched and kissed and worshipped, the secrets he has left like painted marks on your skin.

‘I miss you,’ you say and it leaks from your lips like a plea, like a half-whispered prayer into the darkness, your lower lip trembling and the tears gathering on your lash line and the cold creeping along your bones. He feels so far out here, in this room with its dim light and leather swivel chair and a desk that has rings of coffee imprinted into the oak, and paperweights and sheafs and folders.

He stops, his fingers halting over the fluorescent keyboard and hangs his head. ‘Princess, don’t do this to me now, I promise not much more.’

‘You always say that Haji,’ you say and your voice thins and wobbles under the weight of your heavy slack tongue. ‘I miss my Husband, I haven’t seen him in so long.’

I’m doing this for us Love, for our life.’

‘I know, I do. But I love you, and it means nothing without you.’ And you reach over his desk and cup his cheeks in your warm and waiting hands, the blanket dropping till it spills over his lap and disappears into the dark.

‘If it’s not finished I-’

‘Love, just relax, it’ll be finished, just come to bed.’

‘I can’t, I have to work-’ And he almost flinches, almost pulls entirely back from you, resistance wilting under the warmth of your skin.

‘Shhh, just stay…here with me.’

And he sighs, draws in a starved breath and his head drops almost entirely into your palms, sinking till his lips meet your wrists and his eyes are fluttering against their will. He’s trying, he really is, to fight against sleep, to pry his eyelids open again and push away from your soft skin, the smooth and velvety touch of you that has him liquid in your hands.

‘It’s okay, it can wait, it can all wait.’ A whisper in the dark as you click save on the file and set the screen to sleep, watching as the room dims, cloaked in shadow.

You trace an arc over the apple of his cheek, his dry lips parted as he sinks into the chair, further on himself.

‘I’m so tired Love, so damn tired.’ It trails off somewhere, and his breath fans across the limp strands of white hair now falling across his forehead, eagerly awaiting your warm hands and the softness of your touch on his skin.

‘I know Baby, I know. You work so hard, it’s okay to rest, you know?’ You say, because it's true, because he’s yours and you love him so, because he’s thinning before your eyes, sucked dry and exhausted and drained and you’re reaching out to catch him as he falls. ‘Come on, let’s go to bed yeah?’

His eyes flutter weakly and he knows he’s been holding on so long, that it’s not nearly as noble as it sounds when his skin is this tight and his lips are taut and he’s watching you pull him to shore in his mind’s eye. Is it weakness that has him folding against you as you wrap your arms around him to lead him to the bedroom across the hall? Is it love that has him following you like this, across the threshold of that forbidden place, the laptop that is shut and the hallway light that you’ve flicked off as you pass with him, his hands in yours?

You seat him on the edge of the bed and move to undo the buttons of his shirt, the smooth ivory of his skin peeking out from the hair that falls over his shoulder.

‘Princess I can undress myself.’ He sways, his vision dazed and you, silhouetted in glory with your soft hands, pulling the shirt from his shoulders, his arms, running your hands on his chest, his sharp collar bones that swallow up the moonlight.

‘Shhhh,’ you say and your lips meet the hollow of his throat, a kiss here and there, on his chest, his bare shoulder, and he almost blushes, almost flushes crimson at the softness of your lips on his skin, at the care and attention that he loves and doesn’t deserve. ‘You spend so long fretting over other people, just let me take care of you for once.’

His heart makes a thud against his ribs, and he watches you smile, a warm and encouraging smile, and his, all his, and it hurts that he’s spent so long by himself and you have not complained, but have nurtured your hurt and grief and given it back to him as love and care.

He isn’t sure whether he believes in destiny or fate, only that if it’s real in any way, it’s you, in all your light and love and your waiting arms.

You pull his trousers off, his shirt and toss them into the basket. You run your fingers over his features, as if committing them to memory and he slips between here and there, his eyes open and then not, the hum of your voice a lilting balm for the ringing in his ears.

It’s funny, he never noticed the picture frame beside the bed, your wedding kiss in monochrome, him dipping you as his white hair spills over the black of his suit and you, smiling against his mouth. He’s never noticed the collection of battered paperbacks on the shelves against the far wall, the vanity that you had painted and repainted, the new throw, the new pillows, the new everything he had willingly ignored.

‘Supposed to be me taking care of you,’ he says, whispers even, as you pull back the duvet and gently push him into that space, the memory foam that remembers him, the indentation that refuses to forget the shape of his body as he slides in next to you, the two of you face to face and together.

‘You do, you take care of me so well Baby, so let me for once. I’m yours, I’m always yours.’ You bridge the gap and your lips meet his, your arms coming up to pull him to you. He fits, he always has, in that space between, his chest to yours, his lips to the bare curve of your shoulder and your hands finding a place at the nape of his neck and scratching lightly.

‘I’m sorry for this, for making you do this,’ he slurs, his voice soft and undulated by the sluggishness of sleep and you ache with a love so fierce that it makes your chest tight.

‘No one makes me do anything Haji, I do it for you, because you’re everything to me, money or no.’

‘I am?’

‘You are.’

You would let him drink you up forever if you could, pulling the light from you for the slimmest chance of staying that little while longer, for his lips to find yours again and for him to sigh your name against your neck. He belongs here, with you, just like this, in the safety of your bedroom with the heavy brocade drapes, and the moonlight spilling between the gap and the soft carpet and the worn paperbacks and the downy throw that you pull over him now as he slots his mouth against your neck.

‘I love you,’ he says on your skin, and paints it with his lips, your limbs heavy on his and sleep pulling at his eyelids and the temptation to let go so deliciously close. ‘I love you My Princess, my Love.’

And it hurts a little less when his sleepy murmurs fall away to soft snoring, his breath warm on your shoulder, your fingers tangled in the soft silk of his hair and running in smooth circles down his bare back.

It’s temporary, you know that. You know when tomorrow comes and he rises and leaves, he will fall back into it. And maybe he will kiss you a little longer, touch you a little softer, smile a little more for a time, but he is a man of habit and memory. No matter what happens though, you know he will never wade out to shore alone, you will always swim with him.

For now it’s fine to just exist, and sleep under a moonlit sky.

a/n : hi.......I think this is one of the best pieces I ever wrote ngl. I put everything into this one lol. Thanks for the love everyone.

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @burnishedcrown @nikokopuffs @mitsuwuyaa @haruwuchiyoo @mochimiyaas @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub @intheafterall @stargirlstabber @ljubimaya

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyorev x reader #hajime kokonoi #kokonoi hajime #tokyo revengers x reader

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sturnmeovr · 1 day ago

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♡‧₊˚ Neighbor!Matt x Brat!Reader - You Don't Deserve It

“Your total is one hundred and twenty-seven dollars and fifty-eight cents,” the cashier beams from across her register, a little too friendly for your liking. You never understood why or how some people went on about their day so happily, like the world wasn’t quite literally crumbling underneath them. That’s how it has always felt for you most days. You nod to the bubbly cashier, plastering a fake, toothless smile on your face as you swipe the credit card your father so graciously gifted you for all your needs and wants.

You were always your dad’s main priority in life, being the only child your parents had, it was easy for him to put you first. He never felt the need to remarry after your mom left, your dad wanted to raise you on his own, and he did just that until you were ready to fly the coop - with his help, of course. Your apartment was the first place you had ever lived alone, and while it wasn’t everything you expected it to be, emphasis on your obnoxious upstairs neighbors, you were grateful for what you had. Normally, your father would be on your tail about managing money correctly, not partying too late, making sure the doors were locked, etc. – Lately, you couldn’t help but notice your dad wasn’t checking in on you as he usually did the first few months of you being on your own. You weren’t complaining though, you didn’t miss his random surprise visits at all hours of the day. On second thought, it was kind of lonely without them.

Nearly a block away from your apartment building, you have your groceries bags laced around your arms as you follow your route home, quickening your pace as light raindrops pitter patter along the sidewalk. The rain starts to down pour with each long stride you take, almost like it was racing you to a finish line, “fuck!” you groan, stomping your foot in a growing puddle beneath you. Just your luck.

By the time you reach the front door of your building, you were completely soaked, little beads of water form at the ends of your sleeves as you dig in your bag to find your keys. That’s when it hit you – you didn’t have your keys that unlocked the security door to your building, you only brought the set of keys that went to your personal apartment door. You throw your head back in disappointment, letting another loud groan escape from your lungs, stamping your foot at the pavement below you, “this can’t be happening.”

There you were – soaking wet, shriveled to a prune, as you tucked your small frame and all of your bagged groceries underneath the patio awning, your back pressed against the wooden door, hoping someone would open it at any moment. You didn’t care if you went tumbling down the steep steps of your mediocre apartment building as soon as they did either, at least you’d be able to get up and go inside where it was warm. It had been well over an hour since the rain had started, your arms hug your chest as you shake violently, the cold breeze sweeping your hair thru the wind. It wasn’t the best week for you – you were late clocking in twice and last night you burnt your dinner, luckily the fire alarm didn’t go off. It was finally Friday, and you had plans to go out with a few friends, a few drinks were well deserved after this shitty week.

“Y'locked out?” the same familiar deep, husky voice from a few nights ago drags you from your daydream, making you look up to see the exact person you expected – your annoyingly loud, yet extremely sexy, upstairs neighbor. You sniffle, blinking away the tears that brimmed the waterlines of your eyes, ready to blame it on the harsh wind if he asked. As sensitive as you were, you hated it whenever someone saw you cry, it didn't matter if you shared a close bond with them or not. One thing you absolutely hated was other perceiving you as weak. You suck in a sharp breath as you examine the man in front of you; he was dressed in light blue jeans, a white t-shirt, steel toe boots, and a brown Carhartt jacket, all of which were splattered in some type of white paint, plaster, or saw dust. The umbrella he held kept his messy hair perfectly dry as he stared down at you with a set of furrowed brows, his gaze hardening once he notices your signature eye roll. If he was being completely honest, he thought it was the cutest eye roll he had ever seen, but he’d never tell you that.

You let out a huff, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear, “I forgot my key to the stupid security door,” you grumble, not wanting to make eye contact with him. Normally, you could give a fuck less if you were a bitch to anyone, but the events form a few nights before left you wondering if you should’ve been nicer to your upstairs neighbor. You had a bad habit of reacting off of your emotions. Instead of thinking things thru, you usually acted on the first emotion bestowed upon you. It didn’t matter if you were happy, sad, or pissed. When hade no problem letting people know how you felt, you weren’t one to hide it. It was a gift and a curse at the same time.

“Well,” he starts, a sly smirk pulling at his lips, “I’d let you in if you weren’t such a brat to me the other night.” You watch as he digs a hand in his pocket and pulls out a set of keys, nodding to you like wants you out of his way.

“I was not — just let me in, it’s freezing, and I’ve been out here for an hour,” your voice trembles as you attempt to get the words out. You watch as his eyes look you up and down, his smirk fading slightly before letting out a scoff, “a please would be nice — or I don't know, maybe an apology.”

Maybe apologizing to him wasn’t such a bad idea, who wants to feud with their upstairs neighbor? Looking up to see the scowl engraved deep into face, his eyebrows knitted together once again – it made you change your mind, only pissing you off more. You match his energy, folding your arms tighter against your chest, “you should be apologizing for disturbing my sleep every night of my life.” You try your hardest to keep your eyes locked on him, but his arctic blues stare right thru you, too piercing to let you take control. It was a challenge, and you loved a challenge. The air around you slowly decreases as he takes a step forward, so close your breasts are almost pressed against him. You can feel his chest vibrate as he lets out a low chuckle, “is that so?” you watch as he leans down to unlock the door, challenging the proximity even more than he already was, the smell of his cologne wafting over you. You couldn’t tell if you felt uncomfortable or too comfortable with him being this close to you. It nearly makes your heart jump out of your chest, you quickly sidestep him, no longer protected by the small awning; the cold rain pours down on you.

You watch his chest deflate as he lets out a breathy sigh, pulling the door open, and grabbing a few of your grocery bags that sat, soaked, on the welcome mat. Saving yourself from anymore embarrassment, you scoop the remainder of the bags up, holding out your arms for him to add on the ones he had, “I got it,” you tell him confidently. He threads the bags over your arms, weighing them down slightly. Another low chuckle escaping his lips, “y’sure you got it?”

His question makes you a bit irritated. Leave it to a man to think a woman can do a simple task such as carrying her own groceries up three flights of stairs. A light scoff leaves your lips as you sneak past him, “I got it – thanks,” you mutter before lugging the heavy plastic bags up the stairs. “Oh – kay,” he stretches out, following behind you quickly. You lean on the rail for some form of support, unknowingly giving your undeniably sexy upstairs neighbor the perfect view of your ass as you make your way up the three long flights of stairs. You can feel his eyes burning a deeper and deeper hole into your backside with each step you take. Little you know, he was in a mental battle, trying to stop himself from reaching out and claiming what he really wanted to. Once you reach your floor, you heavy foot your way to the stairwell door, fumbling to free a hand so you can open it. To your surprise, your neighbor comes to rescue once again, you can feel the warmth of his body radiating off of yours as he yanks the door open. You look up at him, his hypnotizing eyes staring down at you much like before, “uhrm – thanks.”

The same grouchy expression still stuck on his face, “no problem,” his sounds gruffly, his voice echoing off the empty hallway walls as he holds the door open for you. Stuck in the moment, it's like your feet are suddenly glued to the floor as you study him; his brown Carhartt jacket fits him nicely with a red and black flannel and white t-shirt layered underneath, the smell of his woodsy cologne makes you want to step closer to identify exactly what it was, his week-long scruff looks like it'd to justice tickling the inside of your thighs. You pull yourself away from your fantasies, nodding to him as you go on about your way.

Each step you take makes you regret not saying more. Maybe an apology was in order after the way you talked to him. Besides, you hadn’t heard a peep out of the apartment above you since you gave him a piece of your mind. He was nice enough to let you in when you were locked out in the rain, even after you cussed him out with no remorse. The trail of thoughts running thru your head convinces you to drop your grocery bags, sprinting on your feet to catch your upstairs neighbor before your chance was over. For some reason, you felt like you were chasing after a stranger you’d never see again. It was New York City, after all.

You push the door open, stumbling to the foot of the steps, only to see the shadow of his muscular figure disappearing around the corner. Your voice comes out louder than expected, “hey!” making your upstairs neighbor recoil his steps. His husky voice echoing off the walls again, sending shivering up your spine, “yeah?”

You keep quiet until you see him at the top of the stairs, the sunlight reflects off of his body, casting a large shadow over your small silhouette. The sight of him makes you tremble in all the good ways, a pool forming in your panties while you look up at him. You clear your throat, “gonna tell me your name?” batting your lashes a few times as you look up at him with narrowed eyes. A sly smirk makes itself known on his face, “Matt,” he states nonchalantly, looking more interest than ever at the same time. You bite back a smile, “well, Matt –,” flipping a section of your sopping wet hair over your shoulder, “thank you for letting me in.”

You could tell he was trying figure you out by the way he raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest, “still no apology?” Everything about him screamed he knew how to put you in your place. He had attitude, it showed more than anything. Not new news to you, considering the fact he called you a bitch in the first five minutes of knowing him. You lose the battle, letting your smile break thru. Your pearly whites beam bright, making Matt study you even harder than he already was, “I don’t think you deserve it,” you shoot back sarcastically before spinning on your heels and heading for the exit. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t know what you were doing because you knew exactly what it was that you were doing - you were reeling him in. Your seductive charm never failed you; it worked every time.

Wc - 2120

♡‧₊˚ Cheys Note - Sorry for the wait, I've been planning out how I want this au to go lol. I don't want to rush anything! Let know what you guys think <3

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chipika · 13 hours ago

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I Want To KI$$ you

PART 1. | PART 2.

It was another rainy night.

You were dressed in a black suit, holding a black umbrella, completely enveloped in darkness. The raindrops pattered urgently on the taut umbrella, creating a rapid and intense sound. The street lamps swayed in the rain, casting blurry shadows in the dim yellow light. You raised the umbrella slightly, observing the scene in front of you: a grey apartment building looming in the misty night. This was the salesman's residence.

Recalling everything you had experienced in the "Squid Game," your chest involuntarily tightened. You were just an ordinary assassin, accustomed to bloodshed, but the "Squid Game" was entirely different. Forced to engage in mutual combat with strangers, it was far more brutal than the simple tasks you were used to; your hands, which could never be cleansed, were now stained with more blood.

Ironically, it was precisely because of your experience as a killer and your cruelty that you survived these terrifyingly uneven challenges—where you understood better than those harmless people the importance of "striking first," and knew how to deliver the killing blow at the most crucial moments. And because of this, after going through countless brushes with death, you became the sole survivor and claimed the hefty prize money.

However, you were not satisfied, nor could you find peace. The fundamental reason that led you into this bloody battle was the man who had challenged you on the subway—the man with a smile that varied in intensity, who had revealed his true nature in defeat. He handed you a card, which was like opening the gates to hell for you; you did not consider yourself a good person, but he also had to pay the price, and you had some questions for him.

It took you several months, mobilizing all the information networks and contacts you could access, even at the cost of a hefty sum of money, to finally locate his whereabouts. So tonight, carrying the flames of revenge, you took the elevator to the fourth floor and finally arrived at his doorstep. Under the umbrella, you took a deep breath, focusing your gaze on the doorbell.

"Ding-dong—"

Before you could release the button, a mechanical echo sounded from inside the door in the vast night. No one answered. Annoyed, you pressed it again.

"Ding-dong—Ding-dong—"

This time, you heard faint footsteps coming from inside the door.

After a moment, a crackling noise came from beside the doorbell: "Who is it...?"

The voice was deep and male, tinged with caution, with a hint of playfulness detectable upon closer listening.

"It's me," you smiled slightly, "Thanks to you, I really hit the jackpot later on, and my debts are paid off… I thought we should catch up."

There was silence on the other side of the door. Perhaps he wouldn't easily open it, but you had made up your mind: even if he didn't open it tonight, you would find a way to get in and settle this old score.

Finally, with a click, the door slowly opened.

As the door opened, you caught a whiff of a dry woody scent, a stark contrast to the damp rainy night outside. The man appeared behind the door, wearing a casual shirt with rolled-up sleeves, revealing the veins on his forearms. You saw that face, equally repulsive as you remembered it—standard smile, with a professional mask, just like when you were drawing caricatures at the subway station.

"I never expected you to find this place," he said. You heard the calmness in his voice, devoid of any fear, as if everything was under his control. You couldn't help but clench your fist.

"Surprised?" you asked lightly, as if casually, but your gaze pierced into his eyes, carrying a cold murderous intent.

"Not really," he chuckled.

"Let me in," you said firmly, without unnecessary words.

He raised an eyebrow, quietly studying you for a moment with his inscrutable gaze, as if trying to discern your intentions. But in the end, he took a step back and made a gesture to enter.

His walls were adorned with a few abstract paintings, the wooden floor immaculately clean, the decor not luxurious but tastefully arranged, showing a sense of balanced taste even in simplicity.

"What would you like to drink? Coffee or tea?" he asked casually, closing the door, as if you were just an old friend dropping by.

"No need," you responded coldly, your gaze fixed on him. "I'm not here for coffee."

"Of course," he smiled, walking over to the sofa and gesturing for you to sit down. "So, tell me, why have you come to find me?"

You didn't sit down but remained standing, "You know why."

He tilted his head, a near-challenging curve appearing at the corner of his mouth. "You mean... the Squid Game?"

As those four words left his mouth, light and casual, it seemed like an insignificant matter. But this nonchalant attitude only fueled the fire of anger within you.

"You lured me into that game," you stared directly at him, your tone low but carrying restrained anger. "You knew what it was, that it was a dead end, yet you pushed me into it."

"Yes," he didn't deny, nodding almost casually, as if admitting to something trivial. "But you won, didn't you? 456 billion won, a reward sufficient to make one forget those unpleasant memories."

"If I knew that game would cost lives, I would never have participated," you said. "But you didn't tell me anything. Do you think that's fair?"

This time, he was speechless.

"But it doesn't matter now," you slowly drew out "Evanescent" from the back.

"Oh?" he leaned back on the sofa, tapping his knee lightly with his fingers, his tone teasing. "Are you planning to use that to kill me?"

"You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?" your voice was icy, the tip of the blade pointing in his direction, exuding a deadly pressure.

Yet he remained unmoved, devoid of any panic or surprise, just a faint smile, as if savoring a carefully orchestrated performance.

"Is that so?" he chuckled softly, a hint of challenge in his voice. "But to me, you seem more like you're testing me right now."

"Testing?" you coldly chuckled, your icy gaze locked onto his eyes. "I'm just giving you a chance to explain why you pushed me into that hell."

"That's true," he stood up, stepping towards you with measured paces, light as a hunter ready to pounce. "I did deliberately conceal the risks of the game from you."

"Wondering why I came to you?" he stopped a step away from the blade, looking down at you, a smile in his eyes carrying an indiscernible meaning.

"Because you're scum," he said softly, his tone low and slow, like a needle pricking into your nerves bit by bit. "If people like you, who kill for money disappear, no one gives a damn. So I found you to lure you into the Squid Game."

You lowered your gaze, seemingly pensive, making it impossible for him to read your expression. After a moment, you lifted your head, locking eyes with him again, a slightly enigmatic smile playing on your lips.

"I don't deny being scum; however, in the game, I encountered players who were raising money for their family's medical bills or to repay debts. Are they scum too?" you asked.

The salesman's smile stayed unchanged as he heard your words, but a slight twitch at the corner of his eye.

"But, aren't the real scum the ones at the top who exploit the lower class?" you continued, "Sure. No one forced these people to spend hard-earned money on gambling or investing in stocks. Their failures are blamed on their own stupidity, laziness, or greed, but who leads them to such predicaments? Whether they work hard or dream big, neither is a good way to escape poverty. However, regardless of the method chosen, failure is judged as not trying hard enough by those who have long climbed to the top. And you, like those at the pinnacle, casually pass judgments on others' lives, thinking you're doing good for the people?"

You sneered, your tone filled with disdain, exuding a challenging air. "That's hypocrisy."

"Are you here to lecture me?" his voice almost whispered, a hint of challenge in his tone. "But your victory indirectly killed those players who were raising money for their families' medical expenses, didn't it? Isn't that contradictory to your own statement?"

"You're right. Even though I didn't directly kill them, my participation in the game made me an accomplice to the system. However, unlike you, I don't shirk responsibility."

He laughed, a mocking gaze flickering over your face. "You've won, got the money, cleared your debts. Why not leave? Weren't you planning to go to Alaska?"

You furrowed your brow. "How do you know that?"

"When we were looking for participants, we conducted background checks on them," he explained. "You started looking up information on immigrating to the U.S. and Alaska half a year before going bankrupt, right?"

"...You people are disgusting," you said. "Who allows you to do these things? Exploiting people in dire straits, deceiving them to play ddakji. You've mastered that game before you have match with them, haven't you? There's no fairness in it. I really want to meet the upper class, ask them what they were thinking."

"Just tell me, and I'll pass on your message," he maintained that insincere smile on his face.

"You really think you can make it through tonight?" you tilted your head slightly. "As you spoke, you slowly raised the sword tip, pointing it directly at his throat.

He didn't step back but instead lowered his head slightly, watching as the sword tip hovered just a few millimeters from his throat, then he raised his head again.

"Well, go ahead," a smile crept onto his lips, a cunning grin resembling that of a fox. "Even if you kill me, what then?"

You locked eyes with him for a few seconds, chuckled softly, and said, "It won't change anything. I want to kill you out of personal vendetta, it’s not that deep."

The salesman's smile vanished completely before you finished speaking. His gaze quickly turned cold, like a dead pool in winter, revealing depths that were impossible to fathom. You sensed a shift in his demeanor, no longer the frivolous banter but an uncontrollable intent to harm, like a coiled beast ready to pounce.

You knew he wasn't an ordinary man; though he appeared harmless and refined, judging by the force of the slap he had delivered to you at the subway station, his skills were undoubtedly on par with yours.

Sure enough, he lunged forward suddenly, attempting to grab your wrist. You smirked, swiftly maneuvering your body to the side, the samurai sword slicing through the air, aimed straight at his shoulder. He reacted swiftly, tilting his body to avoid the blade, but in doing so lost his balance, stumbling slightly.

"Is that all you've got?" you sneered, taking advantage of his momentary stability to strike with the sword again.

His eyes narrowed, and he swiftly turned, evading your attack, then lunged forward, grabbing the hilt of the samurai sword with both hands. You felt his strength as your arms tensed instantly, struggling to pull the sword back from his grip. The two of you stood in a tense standoff, his expression stern, the veins in his forehead protruding.

"You have a sword, and I'm unarmed—doesn't seem fair, miss?" He managed a strained smile, a peculiar sight with his face contorted in pain.

"Oh? So you do know what fair means." you retorted.

Suddenly, he dashed to the side table, grabbing a metal tray to block your assault. The clash of metal rang out crisply.

"You’re pretty good," he remarked, blocking your strikes. "No wonder you're a professional assassin."

The situation began to shift. His strength gradually gained the upper hand, each collision causing your arms to numb. You realized you couldn't continue like this.

In a fierce clash, he finally found an opening, delivering a heavy blow that sent the sword flying. The blade spun and clattered as it landed on the ground, emitting a sharp sound.

Swiftly retrieving the sword, he subdued you before you could react, pressing the blade against your eyes, mere millimeters from your eyeballs.

"It's over," he flashed a victorious smile.

Yet, you smiled strangely. "Indeed, it's over."

He glanced down, only to find a dagger pressed against his heart. Unnoticed, you had drawn a concealed weapon from your suit jacket.

You stared at each other silently, as if thinking about something, yet also as if thinking about nothing at all, both pairs of eyes revealing none of their owners' thoughts. At that moment, a voice that belonged to neither of you suddenly rang out—

"Both of you, stop this meaningless fight."

The salesman looked up in astonishment, slowly raising the sword. Seizing the opportunity as the blade moved away from his eyes, you raised your chin, following the direction of the sound, only to see a masked figure standing at the doorway.

A/n:

I didn't really think much when I started writing this fic; I just thought Gong Yoo was hot as fuck when he swallowed that gun (can someone draw a yaoi about Gi-hun and him?). I have a vision in my head, but when I really start writing it, it looks like a big pile of messy shit.

#squid game #squid game x reader #the salesman x reader #the salesman #enemies to lovers #squid game x you

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crowsofdarkness · 2 days ago

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Arranged: Chapter Two

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: language, 18+ smut(ch 12 & ch 17), angst, fluff, mentions of death and violence. I will update the warnings with each chapter.

Summary: Reader would do anything to make her parents happy and that included agreeing to an arranged marriage. She never expected it to be to one of New York's most feared Mob Boss: Bucky Barnes. He is anything but loving towards Reader however when her parents are mysteriously killed, Bucky makes it his mission to find out who were at fault. And in the process, ends up coming close to losing Reader.

Authors Note:This was a story of mine on an old blog and I wanted to publish it on here. Since it's quite a long fic, I've decided to slowly updated it chapter by chapter. If anyone who is interested wants to be tagged, let me know!

The comfort of my new bed eased my tired bones as I laid peacefully, book open on my lap. After our quick conversation, I left Bucky’s office and decided that I would spend the rest of the night unpacking and settling in. All I had was my clothes and a few memorable things I had brought from my old place so it wasn’t a lot but I purposely took my time.

My eyes glanced away from my book to check the time and settled closer into the sheets when I realized that my plan had worked. It was nearing eight in the evening and instead of wearing the long dress Bucky had left for me, I decided on wearing a pair of sweats and a sweater.

Dinner was the last thing I wanted to do tonight; anything that dealt with Bucky I didn’t want to do tonight.

I was still angry and upset with him for assigning me a babysitter. I didn’t need someone watching over me, telling me where I can or can’t go. I had been independent most of my life, doing whatever I wanted without anyone’s permission.

There was a soft knock on my doorway, and I gave the man in the doorway a soft smile.

“Steve, hi.”

As upset I was about him being assigned to me, it wasn’t fair to him to get on the receiving end of my anger.

“Bucky wants to see you in his office.”

I scoffed. “You can tell him that if he wants to talk to me, he knows where to find me. He doesn’t need to send his lackey. No offense.”

Steve smirked and shrugged. “I’ll let him know. Need anything before I leave?”

“I’m fine, thank you Steve.

We shared a smile goodnight and Steve shut the door behind him, the quiet surrounding me once again, the book gaining my full attention once more. It was short lived because my door busted open, an annoyed Bucky now standing in front of me at the end of my bed.

I slammed the book shut before sitting up straighter in bed. “You’ve got some nerve, Barnes.”

“Did you forget about dinner?” He asked with clenched fists.

“Nope.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched as he tried to keep his anger in check. “Get dressed. We can still make our reservation.”

I was fast on my feet and stood my ground against him, chin raised up in confidence.

“You really think I’m going to go anywhere with you when you act like that? I’m sure you’re used to getting whatever you want because of your name and status. But that’s not going to work with me. We’re supposed to get married and live with each other, the least you can do is show me some fucking respect.”

On the outside I was strong and confident, not wanting him to realize exactly how I felt on the inside. My stomach had fallen to the pits and my heart was jumping against my chest. We were so close; however, I was afraid that he could hear how erratic my breathing was.

I knew his reputation and would be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid of him in the slightest, especially with how his left arm looked. Some of the rumors said that some rival mob boss cut half of it off as retaliation while other rumors said Bucky did that to himself, to appear tougher and stronger.

Regardless, Bucky had a metal arm, and it did make him appear tougher and maybe stronger.

My gaze left his arm and fell on his face again with my breath getting caught in my throat. Bucky was gazing down at me with a set of intensity that made my core burn, and in that moment, I realized how gorgeous he looked.

Electric blue eyes, plump pink lips, and the way his stubble brushed across his face made my fingers itch wanting to scratch his chin. His tongue rolled slowly over his lip when he noticed me staring, almost teasing me with how close he leaned in, his hot breath fanning over my lips.

“Your parents never mentioned how much of a spitfire you are,” Bucky mused.

I scoffed. “You’ve got no idea. Now if we’re done here, I’d really like to get some sleep.”

Bucky remained in place while I sat back in bed waiting for him to leave. I nodded towards the door, hoping he would get the idea.

He didn’t.

I groaned while pinching my eyes shut. “Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you the way that I did but you have to understand where I’m coming from.”

Bucky’s tough demeanor faltered a bit and gave me a small nod. “I know this can’t be easy on you.”

“It’s not,” I agreed. “But I’m sure with some time, I might get used to all of this.”

“I was only looking out for your safety by assigning Steve to you,” Bucky sighed.

He motioned towards the end of my bed and when I nodded, he continued. “I’ve got a list of enemies that will do anything to get to me or hurt me, that’s why I need someone I trust to protect you when I’m not around.”

With the look of exhaustion crossing his features, I felt guilty for how I snapped at him. I knew that he did this out of my safety and was only looking out for me, I had wished that he would have talked to me about it first.

“How about we start fresh tomorrow morning?” I suggested.

Bucky agreed with a smile. “Breakfast? I’ll meet you at the stairs around 10?”

“That sounds good to me,” my smile matched his.

We gazed at one another, and I felt something stir inside of me, down in the pits of my stomach the longer I drank in his appearance, studying it to memory. My parents could have married me off to any other eligible bachelor of New York, but they agreed to Bucky’s offer.

Why, I had no idea. I had hoped during our time together, I could find out.

Plus, Bucky wasn’t all that bad to look at.

“Can I make another rule between us?” I asked.

“Depends on what it is,” Bucky squinted his eyes.

I pointed to my open door. “I think it’s only fair that we have the same door policy.”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest and my heart warmed at the way it made my stomach flip.

“I can agree to that.”

We were interrupted by a throat clearing coming from the doorway and both of our eyes landed on Steve, who had a stern look on his face

“Sir, we’ve got a problem. It’s Dr. Banner.”

Suddenly the air around us thickened and gone was the smile that Bucky wore, it being replaced with a low scowl, his eyes leaving my face before looking at Chris.

“Get the car,” he ordered.

“Everything alright?” I questioned.

The two men ignored me and began to walk out before my voice spoke up again, fear slowly filling me.

“Bucky?”

His feet halted, momentarily, before turning to face me. “Don’t worry about it, doll. Get some sleep.”

The door shut with urgency, and I could hear their footsteps descending down the staircase, Bucky’s muffled orders echoing throughout the house.

#mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #mob!bucky barnes x yn #mob!bucky barnes and yn #mob!bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes and reader #sebastian stan

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mastermindmiko · 2 days ago

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Grimmauld ceilings

Pairing: Sirius Black + Reader Word count: 1k+ Warnings: none, I believe but lmk Summary: You escape from the annual black party to only face the person, you've been escaping from in the first place Hey! if you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist

City lights have always been my enemy, it's always the thought I have in mind when I stare up into the pitch black sky and see not a twinkle in sight. The light breeze wooshes through my hair and I’m slightly calm. I’ve never been up here before, but I can see why I’ve been told that it’s so calming.

I hear the creak of the rooftop door opening, and I snap my head to where it is. I’ve never been up here before, I wouldn’t know what excuse I would use if a muggle from Grimmauld 11 or 13 were to question why I (A random person) was on their property. Fortunately or rather unfortunately, it wasn’t a muggle that entered.

“Wouldn’t your mother mind you being here?” He questions with a clipped tone. I roll my eyes at his words, and turn back to lean against the very short railing and stare up at the empty sky. Footsteps approach and another question gets asked, “Aren’t you worried about how Regulus will fair without you?”

My anger bubbles but I take a deep breath, easy to be done with the breeze, and I feel it simmer down. The smell of the rain that stopped a few hours ago still hung in the air. He leans against the railing and I don’t look at him, but instead catch a glimpse of his informal leather boots with chains instead of laces, a very big contrast to my smooth black heels.

“Don’t you usually enjoy these sorts of festivities?” This question is more sincere a question than the others, but still with a teasing undertone. He was right though I do enjoy them, truly do, not because my parents want me to, something he finds very hard to believe.

I enjoy the act of getting ready, pinning my hair up, putting on an elegant dress with matching shoes. I enjoy the fancy dinner and the small talk, the drinks, and the food itself. Especially those divine, delectable, amazing apple tarts-

“At least you didn’t miss the tarts yet.” He says, and it's the first time I look at him all night. He’s wearing a black vest with a wrinkled white chemise, a crimson and gold tie wrapped haphazardly around his neck, mostly undone. I ask, “What does your mother think you’re doing right now?”

“Changing into something more appropriate.” He smirks, and raises a hand gesturing to his body. I didn't give him a response, just a hum, then looked out into the city once more. After the conversation we’d had before break, I was in no mood to be talking to him. He guesses, “You’re up here cause you didn’t want to run into me down there.”

“If you know that, why are you pestering me?” I snap, and I see what was left of his smile fall, I feel guilty, but I don’t let the feeling last, he’s the one at fault here. He sighs, “I’m sorry alright, I didn’t mean to hurt you like that-”

“Or you didn’t mean for me to overhear?” I cut him off, and he looked down at the floor ashamed. The agitation going through me, made the heels I'm wearing unbearable. I huff and toss them off my feet glad to have the pantyhose touch the ground and not my actual feet.

“I didn’t mean what I said, I was just so-”

“Just so annoyed by how bossy and uptight I am, right?” I say, quoting him from right before break started. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. I couldn’t believe it, Sirius wouldn’t ruin his hair like that, it’s the reason why he didn’t play quidditch, too much air, messes with his hair that he puts so much effort into. He seems to realise what he’s done because he winces.

I have no clue why I started spending time with him anyways, we never got along before. He hated my brother Evan and everyone in my house and my family. He hated his family, everything they stood for and he made it known. I don’t think I’d be allowed to talk to him, but I had to because of the stupid stupid charms project.

Countless hours of working together, led to me actually tolerating him, thinking maybe everything I was told about him wasn’t right, I even actually might’ve started to- He explains, “I was just so done with everything James, Remus and Peter were saying, I had to get them off my back!”

“I don’t care what your friends are up to! I thought we were-ugh at least some kind of pleasant acquaintances!” I shout, and he’s quick to reply, “We are! You don’t understand how annoying it was, them pestering me with…”

He trails off, and a bit of pink covers his cheeks, must be the cold. He looks down at his feet, shuffling in his boots, and the chains rustle. I press, “Pestering you with what?”

His eyes meet mine, and he takes in a deep breath before blurting out, “They seem to believe that I’ve developed feelings for you during our time working on the project.”

“Oh.” I breathe, and purse my lips. It feels as though someone stuck a sharp shard of broken glass, most likely from my broken heart, into my stomach. I conclude, “So, I guess all those words were just an explanation as to how you would like someone your parents actually would approve of, someone who’s in slytherin, a rosier too. You must’ve been appalled at the accusation.”

I wonder if he can sense the disappointment in my voice, I really hope he doesn’t. It would make it all the more embarrassing for me to think that I actually liked him. He admits, “I was more appalled by the fact that they were right.”

I snap my head up from the floor to look at him, and he’s looking at me with a sheepish smile on his lips, spinning the rings around his fingers like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He rambles, “I can’t believe that I like a girl that when I tell my mother about that she wouldn’t have an aneurysm. I think they might actually like me for it.”

He chuckles at the last part of his statement. His grin turns nervous as he’s waiting for me to respond, and I don’t respond. Instead, I simply press my lips to his. He hums at the contact, and is quick to wrap his arms around me, lifting me off the ground.

I find myself smiling wide when we break apart, not as much as he is, but a significant amount. I tease, “I’m still mad about what you said.”

“I already knew you’d say that.” He says, and pulls out something from one of his pockets. Wrapped around in a few tissues, and he unveils whatever he’s got in there. I exclaim when I notice, “APPLE TARTS!” a/n: Obviously I had to reference the apple tarts from Gilmore Girls that Lorelai loves so much.

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mostly-imagines · 7 months ago

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Moonstruck

jason todd x reader

aka sober thoughts and all that

warnings: intoxication

Jason has a thing about drinking around you. He’d kind of skirted around it for a while when you were first dating, but after a while you’d noticed he never really has more than a drink or two regardless of how much you had. The only times you ever see him drink more is when he’s downing whiskey as a pain mitigater when he needs stitches. You’d initially assumed he just wasn’t a big drinker, but eventually you’d come to realize it was more of a matter of not wanting to lose his inhibitions around you.

You know he’s still working on trusting himself, even sober, because he’s terrified of accidentally hurting you. But you have a hard time imagining him losing control like that in any state and you’re nearly certain he’s just being hard on himself.

You’ve been falling in and out of less than peaceful sleep for the past few hours, having trouble easing yourself while your boyfriend is still out. You at least attempted to get to bed earlier tonight because for once he isn’t out fighting crime and risking injury, though you haven’t found much more luck than usual.

You lie on your back, half ready to give up and turn on a movie while you wait.

You’re momentarily startled to hear Dick bellow out your name, no regard for the fact that it’s nearing three in the morning and you have neighbors. He’s not much of a shouter so you’re instantly on alert, worried that he or Jason are hurt.

You fumble out of bed and rush to the living room, surprised to find your fire escape empty. You turn, proceeding towards the front door, opening it cautiously.

“Dick? What—” You don’t need to finish your question because the second you take one good look at the two of them, the state of them is immediately clear. Dick, who’s barely standing upright on his own, supports your boyfriend's weight via Jason’s arm slinged around his shoulder.

“Hey!” Dick grins at you, far more lively than he has any business being this late at night. “Sorry, couldn’t remember which apartment was yours.”

You nod pensively, “Well the perspective’s different than when you’re coming in through the window.”

He continues on past that without thought, “I’ve come to deliver,” he says, gesturing up to Jason with a bit of a strain. You’re pretty sure there were supposed to be a couple more words at the end of that sentence but you understand well enough anyway.

You nod, eyebrows raised and try to hide a smile. “Thanks, Dick.” He shifts your boyfriend off of his shoulder to lean him up against the door frame, where Jason places a majority of his weight.

You eye him warily, not confident in his steadiness. He seems to hold well enough against the heavy door though, his eyes drifting around the tiled floor. Your attention shifts to Dick, who’s clearly satisfied with a job well done and ready to go.

You tilt your head, seeing him turn away. “You good?”

“I’m great!” He calls out with a thumbs up. You watch as he staggers away, nearly missing the exit.

You look back over at Jason, who’s already staring at you with a soft gaze. “You’re pretty,” he fawns, irises blown out and flickering all over your face.

“Oh you’re drunk drunk.” You grin, watching him stumble forward a bit.

He shakes his head, looking a bit dizzy after, “Shoulda seen Tim.”

You pause mid laugh, “…Who drove you here?”

He falters at that, gaze falling to the floor. “Uh…” He winces, “Damian…”

You nod slowly, eyes wide, “We’re gonna talk about that tomorrow.”

“He’s better than you’d think.” You’d hope so.

Well, at least he’s spending time with his brothers.

You sigh, straightening your posture in preparation for the job to come. “Alright, come on big guy,” you pull him up from his slant against the wall, hauling him into the same position he’d been in with Dick—though you’re struggling significantly more to hold him upright. “You gotta help me out here, Jay,” you grunt, trying very hard not to fold under his weight. You swat the door shut behind you, making peace with the fact that he’ll scold you in the morning for not locking it.

He presses an uncoordinated kiss to the side of your head as you try to shuffle him along, not interested in the least in easing your labor. His self discipline isn't quite gone, but his awareness of how big he is sure seems to be.

You wobble from the heavy weight of his arm around your shoulders, holding onto him by his waist. You manage to get him to sidestep your cat, narrowly, though Salem hisses at him all the same. Jason takes no notice. You stumble into your bedroom with only about 30% of his usual balance aiding your effort.

He collapses onto the bed the second his legs hit the frame, pulling you down with him. You lie, somewhat awkwardly, on his chest as he holds you tight—probably tighter than he would if he were sober. It feels nice though.

You lie your cheek flat on his chest, relaxing against him. “What’d you guys do? Thought you were just having an easy night.”

He takes a deep breath before answering, “Raided Dick’s liquor c—” he stops, mulling over his words. “...Bruce’s liquor that was in Dick’s cabinet.” He annunciates every word in that sentence very carefully.

You squint speculatively, “Didn’t take Dick for the stealing type.”

He grumbles, “He’s not. ‘Less it’s Bruce.”

You can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face, “Aw, you really do take after your big brother, don’t you?”

He scoffs at that, “I don’t. I’m the one who gave him the idea.” Yeah, that sounds right.

He taps on your cheek lightly and you pick your head up to find him looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“What’s that look for?”

“Can I kiss you?” his eyes drop down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you.” He’s nearly whispering and you feel your heart skip several beats at the feeling of his eyes on you like this.

You press a light kiss to his lips and he practically purrs.

You pull back, admiring the serene expression on his face. “You taste like whiskey.”

“I like whiskey,” he says honestly.

You smile, nodding. “I know. Don’t know why, but..”

He leans in for another kiss but you parry, only letting his lips meet your cheek. He frowns grimly, attempting to chase your lips.

“Lemme kiss you,” the pout on his face is adorable and while you hesitate to deny him, you retreat, resting your chin on his chest.

You smile wistfully, tracing his cheekbone, “You’re drunk, baby.”

“‘M not that drunk,” he tells you, though everything about him says otherwise.

Your hand falls flat on his shoulder. “Your eleven year old brother drove you here.”

He shrugs, “He can drive the bat…batcar? Bat…”

“Batmobile,” you finish.

“The batmobile.” he nods, as if he was seconds away from remembering. You suspect he wasn’t.

“Bruce lets him drive it?” you question, wholly disbelieving.

“No.”

Enough said.

“You’re gonna be hungover as hell in the morning,” you mumble, taking in his uninhibited demeanor.

He nods that off, “‘S okay. You’ll be here, right?”

You tilt your head, observing him chalantly. “Where else would I go?”

His arms snake tighter around you at that, giving you a little squeeze before relenting.

“I wanna marry you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it neatly behind your ear.

You blink rapidly a few times, “What?” You push yourself up on his chest, sitting up on his abdomen.

“Wanna marry you.” He repeats, eyes lidded as he breathes easy under you. “You’re m’favorite person…want you t’be my wife.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “..You want me to be your wife?”

His lips are slightly parted and his pupils are wide as he stares up at you, taking in your features carefully. “‘Course I do.” He brings his fingers up to your cheek, touching you softly with all the wonderment of a little kid. “You’re so pretty.”

You’re quick to return, “So are you.” Especially right now.

He shuts his eyes momentarily, shaking his head morosely, “You gotta stop bein’ so nice t’me,” he lets his hand fall to rest on your thigh. “Don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up,” you lour, “You deserve it more than anybody.”

“No. Not more than you,” his hands knead at your thighs like it’s an instinct. “You deserve everything.” He closes his eyes, tilting his chin up as his head sinks further back into the pillow. “Think I’d do anything you wanted.”

“Jay—”

He continues on, “Want you t’be happy. Wanna make you happy.”

Your face falls into an expression of dazed awe, “You do make me happy.”

He dwindles at that, “No, really happy. Take care of you. Build you a house, give you babies. Wha’ever you want.”

He paws at your thighs, trying to get you to come closer again to him. You lay back down on top of him and his hand instantly buries itself in your hair, stroking softly. “You’re just…you’re so perfect…” He turns his head to mumble against your forehead, “Feel like I dreamed you, sometimes.”

You breathe deeply against the crook of his neck, eyes feeling glassy. “I love you.” It’s all you can get out, and it’s not enough, but it’s all of it.

“I love you,” he says like he’s trying to turn it into gospel. “So much. I love you so much, so fuckin’ much.” His words start to get lost in his weary babbling.

Your chest feels full and you can distinctly feel every beat of your heart against it. Or maybe it’s Jason’s heart. But what’s the difference?

You press a tender kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re really sweet when you’re drunk, you know that?”

He hums lowly, head lulling against yours.

You still for a second, finding his breathing has slowed and his hand has seized its movement in your hair. His soft breaths fill the air as you press a kiss to his collarbone before settling in completely. “You’re gonna love when I tell you about this in the morning,” you whisper, letting your eyes shut too.

💗 likes are the poor mans reblog 💗

#jason todd loves his gf #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd/you #jason todd imagine #jason todd/reader #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x you #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction #dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x y/n

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fastandcarlos · 2 months ago

Text

"Will You Be My Dad?" : ̗̀➛ Lewis Hamilton

summary: where your daughter wants lewis to take on a new role in her life

“Come on, time for bed,” you smiled, scooping your daughter up off of the ground.

Amelia let go of a groan as she stood to her feet, looking across at you with a pout. You’d already let her stay up much later than you usually did, treating her seeing as Lewis had come around to visit, knowing how much she loved spending time with him. Lewis couldn’t help but smile as she huffed, calling out to you, begging for a few more minutes with the two of you.

It still felt like a dream for you sometimes as you glanced at Lewis, watching as he picked up some of Amelia’s toys and placed them back into her toy box. She was never too far away from him, practically glued to his side whenever he spent any time with you both.

Ever since you and Lewis had started dating, Amelia had relished in it. She was only young when you started dating, she didn’t really know life without Lewis in it, all she knew was that although he loved you, he wasn’t the man that she called dad, despite being the one to raise her.

As Amelia continued to groan, Lewis quickly stepped in. He scooped her up and carried her into her bedroom, throwing her down onto her bed as she giggled away to himself.

No matter what the situation, whenever you were struggling Lewis was there to step in. He saw Amelia as his own, he treated her as if she was. She was a part of the deal when it came to dating you, but rather than be an inconvenience, she was the greatest addition which made dating you even sweeter.

“Are you staying here tonight?” Amelia whispered across to Lewis.

“I think so,” he smiled, looking back to you to check. “That means I’ll be right here when you wake up in the morning, maybe we could eat breakfast together.”

Her smile turned up as you nodded in agreement with Lewis. “Will you cook for us? You always cook us the best breakfast Lewis.”

“I can do that,” he assured her, pressing a kiss against the top of her head. “Although I can’t promise that my cooking will be as good as mummy’s dinner was that she made tonight.”

You slowly stepped towards the bed, perching down on the end of it. “Lewis can only stay if you promise to get some sleep, we can’t have a tired girl at the breakfast table tomorrow morning.”

Amelia nodded as she sat herself up and cuddled into Lewis’ side. His arm immediately moved around her frame, pressing several kisses against the top of her head. Your smile was wide as you watched the two of them, wondering once again how you ever got so lucky with the two of them.

“Maybe soon we can live so that we don’t have to have sleepovers,” Lewis spoke, taking you by surprise. “I’ve got a couple weeks off soon, and I was wondering about asking you and mummy what you thought about maybe coming to live in my house instead.”

“In your house?” Your daughter, grinned, spinning out of his hold so that she was face to face with Lewis. “Would we stay in your house forever?” She quizzed, bouncing up and down as Lewis’ head nodded, his eyes glancing across at the surprise in your expression.

It was a conversation that you’d never really had, and never expected to have so soon either, but Lewis’ mind was made up and he knew exactly what he wanted.

He couldn’t imagine life without the two of you, he hated the feeling of returning home to an empty house. The feeling didn’t compare to the feeling he got when he walked through your front door, immediately showered with love and greeted by his two favourite people, filled with excitement.

“You’d be able to come up with lots of plans and make your room exactly how you want it.”

“With a big bed?” She grinned, “and loads of teddies in the room too?”

Lewis nodded, wanting to give Amelia anything she wanted and more. He spoilt her rotten, one of the perks of not being her parent, even if it did leave him in trouble with you time after time.

“Are you excited about us coming to live with you Lewis?” She asked him.

“More so than you could ever imagine,” he whispered, reaching across and taking a hold of your hand. “You two have changed my life, I love being around the two of you, annoying your mummy and tickling you until you’re begging me to stop, that’s my favourite thing to do in the world.”

Both of you wore wide smiles as Lewis spoke openly, letting you know exactly how big of a role you both had in his life. The sentiment didn’t quite mean as much to Amelia as it did you, your heart was full as he spoke, whilst she still daydreamed about the new, amazing bedroom she’d been promised.

“If we live together, would we be a proper family? Like mum, dad, and me?”

Neither you or Lewis knew what to say, looking at each other. Your heart raced, terrified as Lewis stared blankly across at you, not quite believing what he had heard from her either.

“You do everything that a dad does,” Amelia spoke up, feeling the need to explain herself a little more. “You take care of me, and mummy. You take me to school, help me fix my toys when they break, give me cuddles when I’m having a nightmare.”

“That’s because I love you sweetheart,” Lewis smiled across at her.

“I know,” she smiled, “do you think...maybe...will you be my dad?”

You were nervous for a moment, but luckily the corners of Lewis’ mouth soon turned up. He squeezed Amelia even tighter, scooping her up and sitting her in his lap, scattering a trail of kisses from the top of her head, down and all over her face.

“I would love to be your dad, if that’s what you want,” he whispered.

Her head nodded, pressing her palms together. “You’re the best daddy in the world,” she told him, already full of confidence that no one could do a better job than Lewis.

“Sorry,” you whispered across to Lewis as you met his eyes, Amelia cuddling closer into his chest, “I had no idea she was going to ask you that, I’m sorry if you feel a little put on the spot.”

“It’s alright, in fact, it’s better than alright,” Lewis quickly assured you, “it would be the biggest honour of my life, it makes us more of a family, doesn’t it?”

You nodded in agreement as Lewis laid Amelia back down in bed again. “Did you mean what you said about moving in? You really want us to live with you? It’s not something you can just change your mind about.”

“I’ve never been more confident about anything,” Lewis smiled, “I don’t want to have to sit around and wait to see you guys anymore, I want to see you every day.”

You stretched across and pressed a kiss against Lewis’ cheek, “thank you for completing our family, I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“You’re an amazing mum, with or without me,” Lewis smiled.

“And you’re an amazing dad too.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

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amirasainz · 1 month ago

Note

Hey, can write one where rbr!reader and Ollie prank the grid and tell them that Ollie accidentally got her pregnant. Maybe they all have different reactions. Pretty please♥️

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

I am currently obsessed with writing driver!reader, so maybe some requests for her or similar to this story.

-xoxo babygirl 💜

The greatest prank of all times

The sun had barely risen over the paddock when Y/N and Ollie, full of mischievous energy, hatched their plan. Both young, vibrant, and constantly on the lookout for some fun to break the tension of race weekends, they decided it was time to pull a lighthearted prank on their fellow F1 drivers. It wasn’t often the grid got to see the two of them in action, but today was going to be different.

Y/N, the youngest driver on the grid and a star for Red Bull Racing, teamed up with Ollie. They had been best friends for years, their bond often the source of harmless trouble. This time, however, they were aiming for something bigger—a prank the grid would never forget.

They booked a small, private room in the Red Bull hospitality area. It was cozy, with just enough space for a couch, a table, and a couple of chairs. Perfect for their "serious" conversation. Hidden cameras were expertly positioned around the room, capturing every angle without raising suspicion. They’d already tested the setup earlier in the morning, making sure every tear and every frantic gesture would be caught on film.

The story was simple yet effective. Y/N would pretend to be distraught, eyes puffy and red as if she’d been crying all night. Ollie would play the role of the nervous boyfriend, pacing the room, wringing his hands, and muttering apologies under his breath. The "problem"? Y/N was "pregnant," and they didn’t know what to do.

To make it believable, they sent text messages to each driver on the grid, tailored to their personalities:

"Hey, I really need to talk to you. It's serious. Can you come to the Red Bull lounge? Please don’t tell anyone."

One by one, the drivers were lured into the trap.

Y/N and Ollie ran through the scenario a dozen times before anyone arrived.

"Okay, so you’re crying, and I’m like, ‘I don’t know what to do!’ And then maybe I sit down and put my head in my hands?” Ollie suggested, pacing the room.

“Yeah, yeah, and I’ll be like, ‘I’m so scared!’ and then just stare at them for help. They'll definitely freak out!” Y/N added, barely suppressing a laugh.

----

The first text had already been sent, and the countdown began. Y/N dabbed her cheeks with a damp tissue, smearing her mascara slightly to complete the "crying" effect. Ollie threw on a hoodie and deliberately messed up his hair, making himself look as if he hadn’t slept.

"Alright, camera rolling?" Ollie asked, glancing at the monitor hidden behind a stack of Red Bull merchandise.

"Rolling," Y/N confirmed, grinning despite herself.

The door creaked open, and the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Showtime,” Ollie whispered, shooting Y/N a conspiratorial wink before slumping into character.

The first victim was about to walk in.

----

The door opened slowly, and Lewis stepped into the room, his presence immediately filling the small space. His usual calm and reassuring demeanor was evident as he scanned the room, his eyes softening when he saw Y/N with her head in her hands, shoulders trembling as if she were crying. Ollie, meanwhile, was pacing frantically, his hands running through his hair like a man on the verge of a breakdown.

"Hey, hey, what’s going on?" Lewis asked gently, closing the door behind him. He moved toward Y/N, lowering himself to her level on the couch. "Y/N, are you okay?"

Y/N sniffled dramatically, her face buried in her hands. She peeked at Ollie from the corner of her eye, who nodded ever so slightly, signaling her to go ahead.

“It’s— it’s bad, Lewis,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

Lewis immediately placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his tone soft and full of concern. "It’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. Just breathe, alright?"

Ollie let out a shaky sigh, his pacing picking up. "I messed up, Lewis. I really messed up."

Lewis glanced between the two, his brows furrowing. "What happened? You two are scaring me."

Y/N wiped her eyes dramatically, hesitating for a moment before blurting out, "I’m pregnant."

Lewis froze, his expression blank for a second as he processed the information. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out immediately. The weight of the news settled over the room like a thick fog.

Then, he took a deep breath, his face softening once more. "Okay. Alright," he said, nodding slowly. "First of all, it’s going to be okay. Both of you, calm down. We’ll figure this out together."

He turned to Y/N, his voice gentle and steady. "Y/N, does anyone else know? Your parents?"

Y/N shook her head, biting her lip. "No. We don’t know how to tell them. I don’t even know what to do," she mumbled, her voice cracking.

Lewis exhaled, leaning back slightly as he processed the situation. "Alright. Here’s what I think. You need to talk to them. They’ll be shocked, sure, but they love you. They’ll want to help."

Y/N gave a small, hesitant nod, while Ollie finally stopped pacing, standing awkwardly by the couch.

"But listen, Y/N," Lewis continued, looking her directly in the eyes, "this is your decision. Whatever you want to do, it’s your choice, and no one else’s. Don’t let anyone pressure you into anything, alright?"

She nodded again, sniffing.

Lewis then turned his attention to Ollie, his gaze serious but kind. "And you, Ollie. You need to ask yourself something important—do you want to be a dad?"

Ollie gulped, glancing at Y/N before muttering, "I—I don’t know. I mean, I want to be there for her, but I’m scared."

Lewis placed a hand on Ollie’s shoulder, grounding him. "That’s natural. But if this is happening, you need to be ready to step up. Support her. Be a team. This isn’t just about you anymore."

Ollie nodded, looking genuinely thoughtful, even as he fought the urge to crack a smile at how seriously Lewis was taking it all.

"Listen, both of you," Lewis said, his tone resolute. "Whatever happens, I’m here for you. You’re not alone in this. I’ll help you figure things out, no matter what you decide. You can call me anytime, alright?"

Y/N let out a small sob, hiding her face again to disguise her laughter. It was Ollie who couldn’t hold it in any longer. He burst out laughing, doubling over as the tension in the room snapped like a rubber band.

Lewis looked utterly confused. "Wait—what’s happening?"

Through her fake tears, Y/N managed to choke out, "It’s a prank! We’re joking!"

The realization dawned on Lewis, and he leaned back, his mouth falling open in disbelief. Then, he started laughing, shaking his head. "You two… are terrible. I was ready to call your parents!"

Y/N and Ollie were in hysterics, tears of laughter streaming down their faces.

Lewis stood, hands on his hips, a bemused smile playing on his lips. "I hope you know, you’ve got a prank coming your way now."

Even as they laughed, they knew they’d never forget how kind and supportive Lewis had been.

----

The door opened, and Charles stepped into the room, his brow already furrowed with concern. "Y/N? Ollie? What’s going on?" he asked, his voice edged with worry as his eyes darted between them.

Y/N sat curled up on the couch, her head down and shoulders shaking as if she’d been crying for hours. Ollie, meanwhile, was pacing like a trapped animal, muttering under his breath. The atmosphere in the room was heavy, and it immediately put Charles on edge.

“Y/N,” Charles said softly, stepping closer. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Y/N sniffled dramatically, peeking up at Ollie, who gave her a quick nod to go ahead. She hesitated, biting her lip, and finally whispered, “It’s really bad, Charles.”

Ollie stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair, letting out an exaggerated, shaky sigh. “We… We don’t know what to do, man.”

Charles’ expression shifted to alarm, his hands fidgeting nervously as he crouched down to be at Y/N’s level. “Okay, okay. Just tell me. What happened?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her voice trembling as she finally said, “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, it looked like Charles had been struck by lightning. His face went pale, his eyes wide as he stared at them in disbelief. “You’re… pregnant?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N nodded, her lip trembling, while Ollie looked down at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck like a guilty schoolboy.

Charles sat back on his heels, visibly struggling to gather his thoughts. He rubbed his face with his hands, exhaling shakily. “Mon Dieu,” he muttered. “Okay… Okay.”

After a moment of silence, he stood, trying his best to mask his panic with determination. “It’s… It’s not the end of the world, okay? It’s hard, yes, but we can figure this out. You’re both so young, but… we’ll make it work.”

Charles looked at Y/N with genuine sincerity, his voice soft. “If you need somewhere to stay, you can live with me. Both of you. My home is open to you.”

Y/N sniffled again, nodding while biting her lip to suppress a smile.

“And… And I can help, financially, emotionally—whatever you need,” Charles continued, pacing now, his hands moving expressively. “This is big, but you’re not alone. You’ve got me, okay?”

Ollie looked up, his face a picture of fake anguish. “Thanks, Charles. That means a lot.”

Charles stopped pacing and turned back to them, his eyes glassy with emotion. “Listen,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “I know this is overwhelming, but it’s also… it’s also something to celebrate.” He gestured between them. “New life. That’s something beautiful. Scary, yes, but beautiful.”

Before either of them could respond, Charles stepped forward and pulled them both into a hug, holding them tightly. “You’re going to be okay. Both of you. I’ll make sure of it.”

Y/N buried her face in his shoulder to stifle her laughter, while Ollie awkwardly patted Charles on the back, barely able to contain his own giggles.

“Charles,” Y/N finally said, her voice muffled.

“Yeah?” he replied, pulling back to look at her.

“It’s a prank,” she blurted out, a burst of laughter escaping her.

Charles froze, his jaw dropping as the words sank in. “Quoi?”

Ollie was already doubled over with laughter, and Y/N followed suit, tears streaming down her face—not from crying but from laughing so hard.

Charles stood there, his face a mixture of shock, betrayal, and relief. “Are you serious? You… You scared me to death!”

Y/N gasped for breath, still laughing. “I’m sorry, Charles! We couldn’t resist!”

Charles shook his head, a small smile breaking through his initial disbelief. “You two are unbelievable. I was ready to start building a nursery for you!”

As the laughter died down, Charles joined in, shaking his head at their antics. “You’re lucky I love you both. But you’d better watch out, because revenge is coming.”

-----

Oscar opened the door, his brow furrowing at the sight in front of him. Y/N sat on the couch, her head buried in her hands, and Ollie was pacing again, his face a picture of distress. The room was thick with tension, and Oscar could immediately sense that something was wrong.

“Oi, what’s going on?” Oscar asked, his voice laced with concern as he stepped in, looking between the two of them.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes red and her face a mask of fake sadness. She hesitated for a moment, waiting for Ollie’s silent cue. Ollie stopped pacing and gave her a nod.

Oscar stood there, completely bewildered, trying to make sense of what he was walking into. He looked at Y/N, who took a deep breath and said, “Oscar… I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Oscar just stared at her, his mind struggling to process what she had said. His face drained of color, and his eyes flickered over to Ollie, who was now standing silently, looking every bit the panicked figure.

“Wait… what?” Oscar whispered, taking a small step forward.

Y/N nodded slowly, and Ollie let out a shaky breath, as if the weight of the situation had just hit him all at once.

Oscar sat down on the arm of the couch, placing his head in his hands, clearly shaken. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the ventilation system, and it felt like time had slowed down.

“I— I don’t know what to say…” Oscar murmured, still processing the shock.

After a few moments, he lifted his head and looked at them both, his voice more steady now, though tinged with concern. “Look… whatever happens, everything’s going to be fine, okay? You two are family, and you’re not in this alone. I’ll help you. I’ll be here for you.”

Oscar’s voice cracked slightly, but he quickly gathered himself. “You don’t have to go through this by yourself. I’m here, I promise.”

But then, his expression softened as he looked at them, his eyes filled with honesty. “But... to be real with you, I’m not sure I know how to help. We’re all so young, and maybe... maybe we should talk to someone who knows what they’re doing. Maybe we should ask Mark for help, someone who’s an adult and can guide us.”

Y/N and Ollie both stared at him, and for a moment, the sincerity in Oscar’s voice seemed to bring them back to the gravity of the situation.

“But…” Oscar continued, his eyes softening as he looked at the two of them. “I’ll go with you. I’ll support you. We’ll figure it out together, okay? Because no matter what, we’re friends. And that means we stick together. You don’t have to face this on your own.”

Y/N was on the verge of tears, not from distress but from holding back laughter. She could see the genuine concern in Oscar’s eyes, and despite everything, it made the prank feel all the more heartwarming.

Ollie, too, felt a rush of gratitude for his friend’s unwavering support, even if it was all based on a huge misunderstanding.

“Oscar,” Y/N said softly, her voice full of emotion, “thank you. I swear we’ll make it up to you for scaring you like this.”

Oscar blinked, clearly still trying to make sense of everything, when suddenly the tension snapped. Y/N burst into laughter, and Ollie followed suit, unable to keep it in any longer.

Oscar’s face went from concern to confusion to disbelief. “Wait... What?!”

“It’s a prank!” Y/N managed to gasp between laughs. “We’re just messing with you!”

Oscar’s expression froze, and for a moment, he was completely still, trying to comprehend what was happening. Then, his eyes narrowed playfully, a grin slowly breaking through his initial shock.

“You two… I’m going to get you back for this,” Oscar said, shaking his head, though a smile tugged at his lips. “I was ready to become a dad! What are you doing to me?”

Y/N laughed even harder, wiping tears from her eyes. “We thought you’d be the one to react the most seriously, and we weren’t wrong.”

Oscar chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you got me. But seriously, next time you prank me, you better make sure it’s not something that serious. I almost had a panic attack.”

“I’m sorry, Oscar!” Ollie said, still grinning. “We promise we’ll make it up to you!”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You better, because I’m never trusting either of you again.”

The room was filled with laughter, the tension of the moment finally broken, and despite the craziness of it all, they knew their bond as friends was stronger than ever.

----

The next one who walked in was Carlos, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with concern as he noticed the tense atmosphere in the room. Y/N sat on the couch, head down, and Ollie was pacing, his hands nervously running through his hair. It was clear something serious was going on, and Carlos immediately felt a knot form in his stomach.

“Hey, what’s going on? You guys okay?” Carlos asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes red and tearful, but there was a flicker of mischief in them that Carlos didn’t notice right away. Ollie, on the other hand, was pacing with purpose, his face scrunched up as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Carlos…” Y/N began, her voice shaky. “I… I’m pregnant.”

Carlos froze in place, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His eyes widened in shock as he tried to process what he had just heard.

“Wait… what?” Carlos stammered, his mind struggling to catch up. “Y/N… you’re… pregnant?”

Y/N nodded slowly, her face a picture of fake sadness. Ollie stopped pacing, his eyes wide as he looked at Carlos with a mixture of fear and guilt.

Carlos began pacing himself, running his hands through his hair, trying to make sense of the situation. “This... this is big, Y/N. You’re so young, and Ollie too—this is really serious, you know? You guys… this wasn’t planned, right? It was careless.”

He paused, looking between them with concern, his voice rising with panic as he spoke. “You’re too young for this, both of you. What were you thinking?”

Y/N’s expression faltered, her lip trembling as she struggled to hold back a smile. Ollie, too, looked down, feeling the weight of the words as if they were truly being scolded.

But when Carlos noticed how devastated they looked—how broken and unsure they were—his steps faltered. He immediately stopped pacing, his hand lowering from his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos said quickly, his voice softening as he turned toward them. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m not mad. I was just… shocked. I didn’t know what to say at first. I didn’t know how to react.”

Y/N looked up at him, her expression vulnerable, and Ollie shifted uncomfortably, his eyes meeting Carlos’ for the first time in what felt like forever.

Carlos took a deep breath, stepping closer to them, his gaze softening. “Listen, I’m still shocked. You guys are so young. I wasn’t expecting this. But I will help. I will be there for you both.”

Y/N’s lip quivered as she looked at him, taking in his words. Carlos kneeled down in front of them, looking each of them in the eyes. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to help exactly. But I’ll be there. We’ll figure it out together. But…”

He paused, his face showing his own uncertainty. “I still can’t believe you’re pregnant, Y/N. You’re so young… this is a huge thing to take on. But… if you need anything—anything at all—I’m here. I’ll support you.”

Ollie let out a shaky breath, still looking down at the floor. “We’re scared, Carlos. We don’t know what to do, and we didn’t know who else to turn to.”

Carlos reached out, putting a hand on Ollie’s shoulder, then turning to Y/N with a reassuring smile. “You’re not alone in this, okay? You’ve got me. But seriously, maybe we need to talk to someone who can help us more. We’re too young to know how to navigate all this, you know? We need to talk to someone who knows more about this.”

The sincerity in his voice broke through the tension, and Y/N finally let out a small, relieved breath, though her face was still full of fake distress.

Carlos stood up and took a step back, wiping his hand over his face. “And I’ll help you talk to your parents if you need me to. We’ll figure it out together, I swear. But… I really didn’t expect this.”

Y/N couldn't hold it in anymore. She and Ollie both burst out laughing, and Carlos stood frozen for a moment, his mouth falling open in shock.

“Wait, what?!” Carlos exclaimed, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Is this a prank?”

Y/N wiped the tears from her eyes, still laughing. “It’s a prank, Carlos! We were messing with you!”

Carlos’ face slowly shifted from confusion to a mixture of shock and relief. He took a deep breath, shaking his head in exasperation. “You guys are unbelievable,” he said, the tension melting away as a laugh escaped him. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry!” Ollie said between fits of laughter. “We just had to do it to you!”

Carlos sighed dramatically, but a smile tugged at his lips. “You two are insane. But seriously… next time you want to pull a prank like this, maybe make it a little less… real.”

Y/N and Ollie just grinned, still laughing. “We’ll make it up to you, promise.”

Carlos shook his head, chuckling, though he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride. After all, the two had truly pulled off a masterclass in pranking him—he’d almost believed it.

“You better make it up to me,” Carlos said with a playful grin. “And by the way, when you two start planning your real life decisions, let me know. I’ll give you actual advice then.”

----

Max strode into the room, his sharp eyes scanning the tense scene in front of him. Y/N sat curled on the couch, her head buried in her hands, while Ollie was pacing frantically. Something was clearly wrong, and the heavy atmosphere hit Max immediately.

“What’s going on?” Max asked, his voice firm and direct.

Y/N sniffled but didn’t answer, and Ollie froze mid-step, turning to look at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

“Max,” Y/N whispered, her voice shaky and small. “I… I’m pregnant.”

The words landed like a bomb. Max’s face immediately shifted into a mixture of shock and disbelief. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out as he processed what he’d just heard.

“You’re what?” Max finally said, his voice sharp.

“Pregnant,” Y/N repeated, her voice trembling.

Max stared at her, his eyes narrowing as the weight of the situation settled in. “You’re kidding, right? This is some kind of joke?”

Ollie shook his head, his voice low. “No. It’s real. We don’t know what to do.”

Max took a deep breath, his hand dragging over his face as he tried to contain the storm of emotions swirling inside him. “You two are too young for this! How could you be so careless? Do you even realize what this means?”

Y/N flinched at his words, her lip trembling as she fought to keep her composure.

“You’re just kids,” Max continued, his voice rising slightly. “Do you even know what it takes to raise a child? This isn’t just some small mistake—it’s life-changing!”

Y/N let out a shaky sob, and Max immediately stopped. His harsh tone softened as he saw how devastated she looked. In an instant, he crossed the room and knelt in front of her, pulling her into his arms.

“Hey, hey,” he said gently, wrapping his arms around her and stroking her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

Y/N buried her face in his shoulder, her fake tears muffled by his jacket. Max’s hold tightened as he whispered, “It’s going to be okay. I’ll help you figure this out.”

He glanced up at Ollie, his expression hardening. “And you,” Max said sharply, his tone like a scolding parent. “You better be ready to step up, Ollie. You can’t leave her to deal with this on her own. She needs you to be there for her.”

Ollie nodded quickly, trying his best to look apologetic. “I will, Max. I swear.”

Max sighed, shaking his head. “Stupid teenagers,” he muttered under his breath before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead. He pulled back slightly, looking down at her with a mix of worry and determination.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” Max said softly, his hand still stroking her hair. “We’ll figure it out. But… I can’t believe you two let this happen.”

Y/N sniffled again, barely able to keep the giggles bubbling up inside her from escaping. Ollie bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing at the sight of Max in full protective mode.

Max looked between them, his brow furrowing. “What?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

“It’s a prank,” Y/N blurted out, laughter finally breaking free.

Max froze, blinking as the words sank in. “A prank?” he repeated slowly, his voice dangerously calm.

Ollie nodded, unable to stop himself from laughing now. “Yeah, Max. It’s a prank.”

Max pulled back, his expression a mixture of relief and exasperation. “You two are unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me? I was ready to adopt the baby myself!”

Y/N and Ollie were laughing uncontrollably now, the tension in the room replaced with giddy energy.

“I’m sorry, Max!” Y/N said between giggles. “We couldn’t resist!”

Max stood, crossing his arms as he looked at them both with mock severity. “You two are going to pay for this,” he said, though the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips gave him away. “And don’t expect me to believe you next time you cry wolf!”

Y/N grinned, wiping fake tears from her eyes. “We’ll make it up to you, Max. Promise.”

Max shook his head, his smile finally breaking through. “You better. And next time you prank someone, don’t make it about something that serious. My heart can’t take it.”

----

Lando strolled into the room with his usual carefree energy, a playful grin on his face. He immediately noticed the tension in the air, but instead of worry, his first instinct was humor.

“What’s going on? You two look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he joked, his bright eyes darting between Y/N and Ollie.

Y/N glanced at Ollie, who gave her a subtle nod. Taking a deep breath, she looked at Lando, her voice trembling. “Lando… I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Lando just stared at her, his grin frozen on his face. Then, he burst out laughing, clapping his hands together. “Good one! You almost got me there!”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a quick look before Y/N shook her head. “Lando, I’m serious. Ollie’s the dad.”

The laughter immediately died on Lando’s lips, his smile fading as he looked at them both. “Wait… what? You’re serious?”

Y/N nodded, her face the picture of fake distress.

Lando’s playful demeanor shifted in an instant, his brow furrowing as he processed the situation. “How did this happen? I mean, I know how, but… you guys are so young. What were you thinking?”

Ollie shifted nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “We didn’t plan this, obviously. It just… happened.”

Lando sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Tell me everything. I need to know exactly what’s going on before we figure out what to do.”

For the next few minutes, Y/N and Ollie stumbled through their fabricated story, trying their best to keep their composure as they watched Lando’s serious expression. Once they were done, Lando sat back in his chair, his arms crossed as he nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said, his tone surprisingly calm and measured. “Here’s what we’re going to do. First, tomorrow morning, the three of us are going to the doctor. We need to make sure everything’s okay with you and the baby, Y/N.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, not expecting Lando to take charge so quickly.

“After that,” Lando continued, “we’ll go to your parents. Both of you. I’ll come with you when you tell them. They’ll need to know, and you’ll need their support.”

Ollie opened his mouth to protest, but Lando raised a hand to stop him. “No arguments. They’re your parents, and they’ll want to be there for you—even if they’re mad at first.”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a glance, both trying to hide their surprise at how practical Lando was being.

“Once that’s done, we’ll find a place for you two to live together,” Lando said, his voice growing more determined. “Somewhere big enough for a nursery but close to me so I can help if you need anything.”

Ollie gaped at him. “Lando, that’s… a lot.”

Lando ignored him, already deep in thought. “We’ll design the baby’s room together. I’ll help you pick out furniture, decorations, everything. And I’ll go with you to every appointment if you want me there. I’ll even help with the baby when they’re born. Diapers, bottles, sleepless nights—you name it. We’re in this together.”

By now, Y/N was struggling to keep a straight face. Lando’s level of commitment and detail was far beyond anything she’d expected.

“Lando,” Y/N said, her voice wavering with emotion, “that’s… really sweet of you.”

Lando turned to her, his expression softening. “You’re my friend, Y/N. And Ollie, you too. You’re not doing this alone, not if I can help it.”

Ollie scratched the back of his head, looking both grateful and overwhelmed. “Wow, mate, I didn’t think you’d have a whole plan ready.”

Lando shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Well, someone has to keep a cool head in this situation. And honestly, it’s kind of exciting in a weird way. A little scary, yeah, but exciting too.”

Y/N’s lip trembled as she tried to hold back her laughter, but it was too much. She burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as the tension in the room broke.

“Lando,” she said between giggles, “it’s a prank! We’re not actually having a baby!”

Lando’s jaw dropped, and he stared at them both in disbelief. “Wait, what? You’re kidding me, right?”

Ollie joined in the laughter, shaking his head. “Nope. It was all a prank. We wanted to see how you’d react.”

Lando slumped back in his chair, letting out a groan. “You two… I can’t believe I fell for that. I was already planning your entire future!”

Y/N wiped away tears of laughter. “You were amazing, though! You had everything figured out!”

Lando sighed, shaking his head, though a small smile crept back onto his face. “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to go all out like that again anytime soon. You’ve officially used up your prank privileges.”

The three of them laughed together, the air now light and full of warmth. Despite the prank, Y/N and Ollie couldn’t help but feel touched by how quickly Lando had stepped up to support them, proving just how much he cared.

----

Fernando entered the room with his usual composed yet curious demeanor, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the scene before him. Y/N was curled up on the couch, "crying" into Ollie’s shoulder, while Ollie looked up at Fernando with an expression of guilt and desperation.

“What happened?” Fernando asked, his voice calm but laced with concern.

Y/N sniffled, pulling back slightly from Ollie’s hold to look at Fernando. “I… I’m pregnant,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

Fernando froze for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking between the two young drivers. His silence stretched for a beat too long, making Y/N and Ollie exchange a brief, worried glance.

Then, to their utter surprise, Fernando’s face broke into a wide, genuine smile. His entire demeanor shifted, radiating warmth as he stepped closer to them. “That’s wonderful news!” he said, his voice filled with excitement.

Before either of them could respond, Fernando leaned down and wrapped them both in a strong, reassuring hug. “Congratulations, both of you,” he said, his tone so heartfelt that it momentarily disarmed the pranksters.

When he finally pulled back, his expression softened as he noticed how “scared” they looked. Without missing a beat, Fernando sat down on the couch between them, motioning for Y/N and Ollie to sit closer. He gently pulled Y/N to his right side and Ollie to his left, placing a comforting arm around each of them.

“I know you’re scared,” he began, his voice soothing and steady. “But this is going to be one of the most beautiful experiences of your lives. A new life, a part of you both, is coming into the world. You’ll love that child more than anything else—more than racing, more than winning.”

Y/N’s “tears” slowed as she listened, her heart softening at Fernando’s words despite the prank. Ollie leaned in slightly, his nervous energy fading as Fernando continued.

“You’ll get to watch them grow up,” Fernando said, his eyes shining with a rare tenderness. “Their first steps, their first words, the way they’ll look at you with so much love and trust… There’s nothing like it. And you’ll give them the world because you’ll want nothing but the best for them.”

Fernando paused, smiling warmly at the two of them. “This isn’t something to be afraid of. It’s something to celebrate. A child will bring you joy, purpose, and a love you never knew was possible.”

For a moment, Y/N and Ollie could almost see the future Fernando was painting for them—a cozy home filled with laughter, the small hands of a child reaching for theirs, and the kind of love that could make anything possible.

Ollie cleared his throat, his voice quieter than usual. “You really think we could do this?”

Fernando squeezed his shoulder, his smile unwavering. “I know you can. You’re strong, both of you. And you won’t be alone in this—you’ll have each other, your families, your friends… and me. I’ll be here every step of the way if you need me.”

Y/N glanced at Ollie, her resolve wavering under the weight of Fernando’s sincere encouragement. Finally, unable to keep up the charade any longer, she let out a small laugh.

“Fernando,” she said, wiping her fake tears away, “it’s a prank.”

Fernando blinked, his smile faltering as he processed her words. “A prank?”

Ollie nodded, a sheepish grin on his face. “Yeah… we wanted to see how you’d react.”

For a moment, Fernando just stared at them. Then, a deep laugh rumbled from his chest, and he shook his head in disbelief. “You two are unbelievable! You had me going for a moment there.”

“We’re sorry,” Y/N said, her voice still tinged with laughter. “But honestly, your reaction was so sweet.”

Fernando chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “Well, when it does happen someday, you’ll know exactly what I think about it.”

Ollie grinned. “Thanks, Fernando. You were amazing, honestly.”

Fernando waved a hand, still smiling. “Just promise me one thing—when you pull your next prank, make it a little less heart-stopping for me, okay?”

The three of them laughed together, the warmth of Fernando’s words lingering long after the prank had been revealed.

----

Yuki walked into the room, his usual curious and slightly mischievous energy in full swing. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking at Y/N, who was hunched over, fake crying into her hands, and Ollie, who looked awkwardly guilty while pacing the room.

“Yuki, we need to tell you something,” Ollie began, his voice serious.

Yuki blinked, glancing between them. “Okay… What is it?”

Y/N sniffled dramatically, wiping her “tears” with her sleeve. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Yuki just stared, his head tilting slightly to the side. “Huh?”

“I’m pregnant,” Y/N repeated, trying to sound exasperated but sad.

Yuki squinted, his confusion only deepening. “Wait, like… for real? Or are you talking about some kind of food baby? You ate too much sushi or something?”

“No, Yuki!” Ollie interjected, his hands on his hips. “She’s actually pregnant.”

“Oh,” Yuki said, nodding slightly, but his expression was still blank. “Okay… so, um… what do you want me to do about it?”

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh, looking at Ollie for help. Ollie sat down beside her, trying to maintain the act. “Yuki, it’s serious. Y/N is having a baby, and I’m the dad.”

This only seemed to confuse Yuki more. He blinked rapidly, his eyebrows knitting together. “Wait, you’re the dad?”

“Yes, Yuki,” Ollie said slowly, as if explaining to a child. “I’m the dad.”

Yuki’s brow furrowed further as he processed this information. “Okay… but who’s the dad?”

Ollie groaned, rubbing his temples. “Me. I’m the dad, Yuki.”

Yuki looked genuinely puzzled, glancing at Y/N and then back at Ollie. “But… how? You’re, like, just… Ollie.”

At this point, Y/N let out a frustrated laugh, breaking character. “Yuki, what do you mean, ‘just Ollie’? How do you not get this?”

Yuki shrugged, looking completely unbothered. “I don’t know. It’s just weird. Are you guys pranking me or something?”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a glance before collapsing onto the couch across from Yuki, utterly defeated. “Yes, Yuki,” Y/N said with a sigh. “It’s a prank.”

Yuki’s face lit up. “Oh! Okay! That makes way more sense.” He stood up, stretching casually. “You should’ve just said that from the beginning. Anyway, I’m going to get a snack. Let me know if you need help with, uh, whatever.”

With that, Yuki walked out of the room, leaving Y/N and Ollie staring after him, dumbfounded.

“He didn’t get it at all,” Ollie muttered, shaking his head.

“Nope,” Y/N agreed, slumping back against the couch.

From down the hall, Yuki’s voice echoed back to them. “You guys are weird!”

----

Franco stepped into the room with a concerned expression, immediately sensing something was off. His eyes darted between Y/N, who was "crying" into her hands, and Ollie, who was pacing nervously with a hand in his hair.

“What’s going on?” Franco asked, his voice laced with worry as he moved closer. “Are you two okay? Did something happen?”

Y/N sniffled dramatically, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes—an excellent fake cry performance. “Franco… I’m pregnant.”

Franco froze, his eyes going wide. He opened his mouth to say something but immediately closed it again, clearly unsure how to react. “Wait… are you—like, seriously? For real?”

Ollie nodded solemnly, stopping his pacing. “Yeah, and… I’m the dad.”

“Oh, my god,” Franco breathed, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. He took a step closer to them, his nervous energy bubbling over. “Okay, uh… okay. Are you happy? Are you scared? Sad? I—I don’t know how to feel right now. What about you guys?”

Y/N hiccupped, pretending to be on the verge of another sob. “We don’t know what to do, Franco. We’re so young…”

Franco immediately crouched down in front of her, his hands hovering nervously as if he wanted to comfort her but wasn’t sure how. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said quickly, his tone soft and motherly. “Deep breaths, Y/N. Deep breaths. It’s going to be okay. You too, Ollie—deep breaths.”

Ollie blinked in surprise. “Franco, you’re the one freaking out.”

Franco ignored him, pulling a chair close and sitting down, his knee bouncing anxiously. He clasped his hands together, his knuckles turning white as he tried to gather his thoughts. “Alright, listen. This is big. It’s huge. But we’re going to figure it out. You’re going to figure it out.”

He glanced between them again, his gaze softening. “Look, this is scary, but it’s also… kind of amazing, right? A new life! But—wait, no, sorry, I don’t want to freak you out more,” he added quickly, shaking his head. “Are you happy about this? Or scared? Or both? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. Oh god, I’m not helping, am I?”

Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing, shaking her head. “No, Franco, you’re helping,” she said, her voice quivering with fake emotion.

Franco exhaled in relief, reaching over to pat her hand awkwardly. “Okay, good. That’s good. So, uh… first thing’s first: don’t panic. Take deep breaths. Have you thought about telling your parents? Or… no, no, wait, one thing at a time. I’m sorry, I’m just…” He ran a hand through his hair, visibly flustered. “I’m freaking out for you. But you’re going to be okay, I promise.”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a quick glance, barely holding back their laughter as Franco continued to fret over them like a worried parent.

Finally, Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. “Franco,” she said gently, reaching out to touch his hand.

He looked up at her, his face a mix of concern and determination. “Yeah?”

“It’s a prank,” she said, unable to hold back a laugh.

Franco blinked, his brain taking a second to catch up. “A… prank?”

Ollie nodded, his grin sheepish. “Yeah. We just wanted to see how you’d react.”

For a moment, Franco just stared at them, his jaw slightly slack. Then he let out a groan, leaning back in his chair and covering his face with his hands. “Are you serious? You two put me through all that for a prank?”

Y/N burst out laughing, reaching over to pat his arm. “Franco, you were amazing. Seriously, you were so sweet.”

Franco peeked at her through his fingers, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well, next time maybe prank someone who doesn’t care as much.”

Ollie clapped him on the shoulder. “You care too much, mate. But that’s why we love you.”

Franco groaned again, though his smile lingered. “You’re both lucky I love you too. But don’t ever do that to me again!”

The three of them laughed together, the tension melting away as Franco finally relaxed, shaking his head at the duo’s mischievous antics.

----

The press conference room was abuzz with the usual pre-event chatter. Reporters settled into their seats, armed with notebooks, voice recorders, and cameras, ready to pepper the drivers with questions. But the atmosphere shifted when Y/N and Ollie walked in.

Y/N’s eyes were red and puffy, as though she’d been crying for hours. Her shoulders were hunched, her body language radiating nervousness. Ollie, on the other hand, had an almost frantic energy, his leg bouncing as he sat down next to her. Yet, he kept a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles and leaning in every so often to whisper something comforting.

The other drivers on the panel—fully in on the prank—exchanged knowing glances, some biting their lips to keep from laughing. Lewis had to clear his throat and look away, Max pretended to be overly focused on his water bottle, and Lando barely managed to keep a smirk off his face.

It didn’t take long for the reporters to notice that something was off.

“Y/N,” one of them finally asked, leaning forward, “are you alright? You look upset.”

Y/N sniffled audibly, looking down at the table as though gathering herself. Ollie leaned closer, whispering something inaudible, which only seemed to make the situation more curious.

Another reporter jumped in. “Ollie, is everything okay with Y/N? You seem… tense.”

The tension in the room became palpable as reporters shifted in their seats, sensing a story. Finally, Y/N lifted her head, her voice shaky as she spoke. “We… we weren’t planning on talking about this today, but…” She paused, looking at Ollie, who nodded solemnly.

Ollie took over, his voice steady but filled with a faux nervous edge. “Y/N and I… we just found out she’s pregnant.”

The room erupted.

Gasps, hurried whispers, and the frantic clicking of cameras filled the air as reporters scrambled to process the bombshell.

“What does this mean for your career, Y/N?”

“Ollie, how are you going to support her through this?”

“Did Red Bull know? What’s the team’s response?”

Y/N buried her face in her hands, and Ollie leaned closer to shield her from the barrage of questions, murmuring fake reassurances like, “It’s okay, we’ll get through this.”

The other drivers played their parts to perfection.

Fernando leaned forward with a supportive nod. “We’re here for them, of course.”

Charles shook his head solemnly. “It’s a difficult situation, but they’re strong.”

Lando, biting his lip to keep from laughing, muttered, “Yeah, we’ll all be there for them.”

Max, perhaps enjoying the chaos a bit too much, smirked and added, “It’s a bit shocking, isn’t it? But these things happen.”

The questions only grew louder, reporters tripping over one another to get their takes. But then Y/N, who had been trying to “compose herself,” let out a small snort of laughter. Ollie followed suit, and within seconds, both of them were doubled over, laughing uncontrollably.

The reporters froze, staring in confusion. “What’s so funny?” one finally asked.

Lando couldn’t hold back any longer, bursting into laughter. Fernando chuckled, Charles shook his head with a grin, and even Max let out an amused huff.

Y/N finally managed to speak through her laughter. “It’s—it’s a prank! We’re not pregnant!”

The room went silent for a moment before an uproar of disbelief and groans erupted from the reporters. Some laughed along, shaking their heads, while others looked like they’d been played harder than ever before.

Ollie grinned, leaning into the microphone. “Sorry, we couldn’t resist. The reactions were too good.”

The other drivers laughed harder, with Fernando adding, “You should’ve seen your faces!”

Within hours, clips from the press conference flooded social media, from Y/N’s dramatic performance to Ollie’s earnest act and the reporters’ chaotic reactions. The prank went viral almost immediately, with fans and media outlets alike praising the creativity and humor of it all.

“Y/N and Ollie: F1’s Ultimate Pranksters” trended worldwide, with the prank cementing itself as one of the most memorable moments of the season. Even the reporters, though initially annoyed, couldn’t help but laugh at themselves once the dust settled.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #xoxo babygirl 💋#ollie bearman x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #oscar piastri x reader #max verstappen x reader #lando norris x reader #fernando alonso x reader #yuki tsunoda x reader #franco colapinto x reader #driver!reader

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inkskinned · 1 year ago

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in the time loop the only way out is to leave her there but you don't ever leave her there, never in the roughly one thousand years you have been in the same day. it is probably like "50 first dates" but you haven't stooped so low as to watch "50 first dates" yet. (but who is to say what another thousand years of the same media will bring to you, maybe you will develop a new taste).

you spent about 200 of these years sulking in a bathtub or on the couch or staring at the seaside. 300 of them have been spent slowly mapping the geographical distance you can actually get before the time loop restarts. you have a list of favorite places: one library in Western Massachusetts called "The Bookmill", which has weird hours and has never raised an eyebrow to you arriving out-of-breath and panting, asking to see a specific book on a specific shelf. There is one beach without a name in North Carolina; it is an accident of geography and ownership title disputes - and it is pristine, untouched, warm and cozy. you've taken her on a lot of picnics there. Acadia National Park. One specific birdhouse in the mountains.

you were stuck in the time loop with the money you entered it with: not enough to rent a private jet. you've robbed a bank a few times, you don't like the way it ends. maybe next century you'll get the hang of it. you don't like the look on her face when you say hang on i have to stop at the bank.

you just have to leave her, and you can go back to being a person again. you took 5 years just catching a flight and sitting in the Grand Canyon. if there's one thing you regret more than anything, it's that you hadn't gotten your passport renewed before this fucking time loop. maybe you should spend some time learning forgery - but also, like, you look like an english teacher. nobody is going to be cool about you asking to see their paper printing machines.

the world is very big. that is one of the things groundhog day gets wrong. there are no consequences, so you have literally all the time (or none of the time?) in the world. in groundhog day, he does a lot of very cool things, but in reality - your muscle memory never gets better. you can't necessarily learn how to play piano or sculpt ice, because your hands never remember the practice. but hey - maybe you'll try violin next. drums. synth.

you can open any door and walk into any conversation. money isn't really an object. you can try every meal off every menu, forever. take her on helicopter tours and into every museum and on every event that is happening right-now at-this-moment. parades and funerals and calligraphy classes.

but you are somewhat trapped by the limitations of your body. if you were reading a book, you still need to get up and go back to the library and find that book again when the day resets. (thank god for the internet). it still takes like 2 hours to board a plane, and then takeoff and landing and traffic. you've gotten off to run around on the freeway. one of the little thankful things: since your brain isn't actually developing (it's a muscle too), the days thankfully don't feel shorter to you. that would be agony.

all you have to do to leave the timeloop is let that man get away with it. that's all. in every version of yourself - forever - you have stopped him.

the problem is that this experience has convinced you of the existence of the human soul. after all, how else are you forming memories? your very cells reset. information has to be transferred somehow. and if timeloops are real, you can convince yourself other magic exists. so you have two choices here: this hell, or the next. there might be a millennia where you have been worn down to the point you can accept fate's decision. this is just not one of them. ironically - she is the one thing you have left.

and besides! if you can't always find something new in your partner, aren't you failing them? there is something new about her, every day with the same morning. every brutal day with the same orange sunset.

after all, you wanted to live with her in heaven, in eternity, and, well - isn't this second-best.

#writeblr #warm up

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witherby · 12 days ago

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The Littlest Wayne

Or, the one where Bruce brings home a baby, and your adorable little face wins the heart of your new, big brothers.

Platonic!Reader and Batfam

"Bruce."

"Don't freak out."

"Bruce."

"You're freaking out. I can see it in your eyes, but don't do it."

"This is a problem. This is an actual addiction and you need help."

"You're overreacting. I need everyone to take a deep breath, in and out, and not freak out."

Dick crossed his arms and glared at his father, narrowed eyes shifting up and down in an extremely pointed manner. Tim and Jason were wearing similar expressions, looking either at Bruce himself or the bundle in his arms.

Damian walked across the room and peered down at the bundle, expressionless.

"Father, come on."

Bruce carefully brushed the edge of the blanket away from your face. You scrunched your tiny nose, disturbed, then settled back down without issue. The billionaire had found you abandoned outside the garage doors of the Gotham Fire Station, left there by some overwhelmed mother no doubt. Unfortunately, that particular station was closed on the weekends, because of course this damned city couldn't staff a fire station 24/7, and if he hadn't found you on patrol, you would have frozen to death on the ground.

"They were in danger!" Bruce insisted firmly, but kept his voice soft so as not to frighten you. "Look — they don't have black hair or blue eyes. You can tell I didn't do it on purpose."

"Why not take the baby to the GCPD, then? Or a hospital?" Jason piped up, unamused. "B, cut the bullshit. You can't keep 'em."

"I brought them here first to ensure they didn't need any immediate medical attention."

"Which is something a hospital could do," Tim said.

"An overcrowded and understaffed hospital, that doesn't have the time to spare to give them direct and undivided attention?" Bruce argued. "The med ward in the Cave is just as efficient as an emergency room, if not more so."

"And the fact that you aren't down there with the baby — the baby you are not keeping," Dick chimed in, holding out his arms for you, "means that they're perfectly fine and can be transported safely somewhere else."

"They're sleeping right now," Bruce said, completely deadpan, and made no move to relinquish his hold over you. "We can't put them in a noisy car and upset them. We can drop the baby off in the morning."

"He's getting dangerously attached," Dick hissed to his brothers. "We need the big guns."

"I'll alert Pennyworth," Damian declared, already ducking out of the room. Bruce scowled, aware the battle was quickly turning against his favor. But he could play dirty, too.

He dropped his shoulders and the furrow of his brow turned slightly down, weary and forlorn. He stopped looking at his boys and instead studied all your tiny features, tracing a finger down the bridge of your nose, gently across your lashes, and over your plump little cheeks. You were absolutely adorable. He was already thinking of names for you in his mind.

"You know, I never got to raise any of you from infancy," he stated, not in any pointed manner, just as objective fact. Just quietly enough that they could think Bruce hadn't meant to say it out loud. "Not that I would've wanted to steal that experience from your birth parents. I would never. But...I don't even know what Damian looked like when he was this small."

Dick's eye twitched. The glare was still in place, but his frown was less severe. One down.

"I'm sorry, boys," he sighed, acting as though he were giving in. "The Mission has taken up so much of my time, it's hard not to wonder what I would have been like as a normal father. Just the formative things, like... like changing diapers, and doing Tummy Time, and helping you guys learn to walk."

Tim's eyes grew distant, likely thinking of his own parents and the loneliness he felt growing up in Drake Manor all by himself. He was no doubt recalling how much he wished his mom or dad had been around, to play or to talk to or just to physically be there with him, instead of off traveling the world and leaving him behind to fend for himself.

Two down.

But Jason, despite all that had happened over the years, despite the strain on his relationship with Bruce, had always been the most emotional of his children. He would not be hard to win over.

"This would be a mistake," Bruce stated, looking his second oldest right in the eyes. "They'd be happier somewhere else, somewhere normal. Maybe...maybe one of you could hold them and I can go start the car? I can feel myself starting to get attached, and that's not fair to you, boys. I didn't mean to stress you all out. I wasn't thinking."

Jason huffed, lowering his feet from where they'd been propped up on the coffee table, and stood from the couch to come take you from Bruce. His arms carefully held you to his broad chest, your weight settling against him pleasantly.

He made the mistake of watching you scrunch your face and whine softly, itty bitty hands poking out from your blanket and gripping onto his shirt sleeve with all the strength your small body could muster.

Jason's expression dropped immediately, and he practically melted as he tucked you closer.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Damian and Alfred walked into the living room to find Bruce, Jason, Dick, and Tim all cooing and fawning over you, and the war was lost.

Welcome home, Littlest Wayne.

#batfam x reader #baby reader #y/n wayne #batfam adoption au #littlest wayne au

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simpjaes · 22 days ago

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✘ WIP DIARY ── LAST NIGHT, I READ YOUR DIARY. (p.sh) ✘

Sunghoon has been trying be everything you need since your mother passed. A father, a friend, a therapist. You never really understood what your mother saw in him in the first place, if you’re being honest. He’s awkward, quiet, and typically used to keep to himself up until now. You’re impressed with his efforts by the time you’re entering into your senior year of college, though his entire demeanor towards you seems to have changed. or the one where your step-father grows obsessed with you minute by minute.

── step-dad /weirdo park sunghoon x afab reader

── minors dni

── tags: sunghoon is in his 30s, reader is in her 20s so, age gap, step-cest, heartbreak, obsession, manipulation, coercion, stockholm syndrome-ish, fluff if he manipulates you as a reader lmfao, angst, smut. don't read this if you are easily triggered. ── side characters: heeseung as reader's ex boyfriend, jay as reader's closest friend

── !WARNINGS!: this work contains non-con, dub-con, and stalking behavior. your mom isn’t alive in this fic. warnings will be updated as i write.

── a/n: this one is gonna be a wild ride, that's all i gotta say.

LAST UPDATED: 12.22.24

⨯ est wordcount: 20k+ ⨯ current wordcount: 6.2k ⨯ est release date: tbd ⨯ taglist: my tag list is now closed due to the length.

playlist ⨯ recommended song: last night i read your diary - gürl She's got me down on my knees I beg, I beg, I, I beg, I beg, please! I want it more than I need And I need it like I need to breathe Like I'm losing my- Choke.

PREVIEW (3.1k):

no warnings apply to the preview, it's just the first couple of thousand words for this fic. aka, the intro and the set up for what will inevitably happen later:

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Your first heartbreak is meant to be painful, but this? This is more painful than you could have ever imagined.

Heeseung was one of your only constants in life. From childhood to high school it’s like he was there more than your own mother was, and certainly more than your own father. Even when she passed, Heeseung was the one who held you through it, he’s the one who made you smile again, he’s the one who made you feel like it was okay to heal and keep going.

It’s the fact that it was a mutual break up that hurts the most because deep down, you couldn’t see yourself without him. Yet, still, you willingly watched him hop on the plane with a short kiss and long goodbye. It felt so final to you. You could have handled a long distance relationship, truly. But Heeseung didn’t want that. He wanted to explore the world, he wanted to try new things, be with new people.

Do things without you clinging to him all the time.

In a way, you understand that. After all, you’re the only girl he had ever been with up until now. Senior year of college. You think you knew your relationship was coming to an end by the time he announced he was going to be studying abroad for his final year without ever once even telling you he was applying to do so.

So, yeah, it was mutual solely because you want him to be happy and he’s made it clear that he believes that can only happen without you. Such is life. Painful, painful fucking life.

Just last year when your mother passed, you nearly dropped out and Heeseung had been your rock to make it through class after class with a grade barely high enough to pass. You’re certain some of your professors took pity on you and raised your grade just enough to move forward. You’ll forever thank them for recognizing how hard you were trying. But now? Without your mother, without Heeseung, you’re at a loss.

And there’s a difference between loneliness and isolation, you think. Loneliness to you always hits hard during small spaces in your day, like when you’d get into Heeseung’s car and he would close your door for you. The silence always hurt your ears while he was still making his way around the car to the driver’s seat. A shallow loneliness that you could feel right at the top of your gut, like it was squeezing inside of you and making you lose your appetite. Solely because that silence reminded you of what you always had, a lack of loneliness because of him.

But then there’s isolation. Where it feels forced upon you by other people. Your mother fucking died, Heeseung fucking left, and now you’re just here expected to wake up like you always do, go to class, study hard, sleep well, when the reality of it is– you’re genuinely struggling just to look at yourself in the mirror.

Then there’s Sunghoon. The only person close enough to you now that you can reach out to. The issue with that is– you’ve never actually been close. And that’s what sucks. The fact that he of all people is all you have now? May as well just assume you have nobody.

His regular calls mean close to nothing to you in the grand scheme of things. Despite him calling twice a week every week since your mother died, your step-father is just as distanced from you as you are him. You’re aware that it’s his obligation, not because he cares. And that hurts, because it’s all you have now.

Now, you have to try and find meaning in those short calls. After all, Sunghoon fell apart when your mother passed all on his own and you had only called him out of obligation too. You were already in college and stressed, falling apart yourself with someone to love beside you helping you through it. Calling him when it all happened felt empty because you knew both of you were trying to hold it together and save face.

It wasn’t like this before she died. In fact, he never called and you never cared for him to. You’d see each other when you were home, share awkward pleasantries, and that’s it. It’s hard to believe that now you feel like you need a father, after all those years of practically rejecting him as one. He seemed fine with that after you hit your teen years. He knew by then that he could never be the father you want, but at least he could be the husband your mother needed.

You have grief in common now though. Loneliness. Isolation.

You try not to think about how you were okay up until now though. Having Heeseung to fall back on to soften the blow of your loss, you guess Sunghoon didn’t have that. Maybe his monotone voice and empty words were his way of coping, his way of hearing a voice that wasn’t the one in his own head when he calls you.

It’s just you and a man you never considered family past the titles and obligatory respects. Finding meaning in his short phone calls does nothing to help your growing isolation, but you cling to them now that Heeseung is gone. You wait for the calls, you ask him to check in with you every day now, to the point Sunghoon starts to notice the difference in you.

No longer rushing to get off the phone. Now, you’re dragging on meaningless conversations. Now, he hears cracks in your voice.

“You feeling okay?” Sunghoon asks you, in a way that makes you wonder how he’s able to tell that you’re definitely not. The way his own voice has a bit of life to it when he asks it…strange too. Like he’s concerned.

“No–” You trail off in your meek voice, staring at your ceiling and mind swirling with all of the work you need to get done for classes already. “I’ve only been in classes for a week and I already feel like I’m drowning.”

Sunghoon sighs into the speaker, contemplating how to further the conversation with you in a way that isn’t too intrusive. After all, who is he to pry? Still, he never intended for you to feel neglected or like you couldn’t come to him. After all, you were too happy about his lack of parenting you throughout his presence in your life.

He finds solace in the fact that you’ve been accepting him now, though he hasn’t the slightest idea as to why. He’s checked in with you since the passing, but lately it feels to him like something more is going on with you. He may be somewhat estranged, and he may have his own problems to deal with, but you’re still someone he needs to be here for.

Plus, it makes him feel needed again, which is nice considering the circumstances. After living in this bustling house with you and your mom for so long, to it just being him and your mom, to now just him…all that remains now is dread, dissociation, and unwashed dishes in the sink.

“Did something happen?” Sunghoon keeps his questions short, offering more silence if anything for you to use this call as a therapy session if you need.

You pause for a long moment, realizing that you want to talk about your issues so badly but don’t quite feel the need to share it with him of all people. You’ve already ranted day after day to Jay. To the point you’re sure he’s about one rant away from blocking your number.

Probably because you’re not that close to him either. Not these days, anyway.

You sigh instead.

“No…” You trail off. “I think I just miss being home. My dorm mate is never here, class work is already piling up, and I can’t even find the energy to look at the assignments.”

Sunghoon can tell you’re feeling much like he does and he can’t imagine the weight on your shoulders dealing with these feelings while also in college. But, you have Heeseung, do you not? You’ve been fine for the most part until now, and you haven’t even brought him up. Not once in the past few weeks has his name been uttered by you. Which is strange, after all, the two of you were practically attached at the hip growing up, to the point of choosing the same college, working the same jobs, and even keeping that middle-school puppy love in full swing throughout highschool and college.

If anything, after your mother passed, Sunghoon felt okay knowing you had Heeseung there with you to help you through it. It meant he could focus on himself and getting through the day-to-day. He could barely handle his own mournful thoughts, let alone the daughter’s feelings of the woman he loved so dearly. He was forever grateful for Heeseung during this time.

He has his suspicions now though, and his heart aches for the voice he hears from you these days.

“Why don’t you come home for a while?” He lends a pause to see if you’ll jump for the opportunity before selling the idea to you. “I have the bills here covered and your campus is only a forty minute drive. I’m sure that’s inconvenient but you won’t have bills to worry about on top of everything else.” He doesn’t want to sound too desperate, of course.

After all, the loneliness he’s feeling is also becoming unbearable. Even if the two of you never were able to see eye to eye, or to form a bond together, you’re all he has left of your mother. He, arguably, is nothing to you, but there’s no one else in this world he’d rather heal the loneliness with outside of you. Only because you knew your mother on a level deeper than he did, and to have someone to share those memories with, or even laugh with, would help him tremendously too.

“I think being at home may do you some good.”

You think it over in your head, wondering if being home will help you at all. In reality, you know it may make you feel more trapped than you do now. All those memories with your mother, with Heeseung, with all of your friends that have since moved to different colleges.

But…you wouldn’t be alone. You’d be with someone who knows how to give you space because he’s never even tried to shrink your existence to that of your bedroom and your bedroom alone. You wouldn’t have to worry about rent, food, or anything aside from studies, gas money, and trying to heal from your heartbreak.

Your dorm is small, you note as you look around the room and wonder how long it would take you to pack your things up. Two hours, give or take. The longest part would be taking all of the little decorations off the wall, if you’re being honest.

You find yourself nodding before answering, solidifying in your mind that– maybe you’re not the only one who needs company in your space. Not too close, but close enough to not be totally isolated.

“Okay.” You mutter into the phone, for some reason feeling the tears well up behind your eyes.

You’re just a bit overwhelmed, that’s all. Knowing you’re going home feels like a relief you didn’t know you needed.

“Yeah?” Sunghoon confirms. “Just let me know when and I’ll drive up there to help get your stuff back home.”

You agree, sighing into the phone with a shaking voice. Sunghoon takes note of it, always remembering and quite frankly missing how loud and obnoxious you used to be. Hearing you like this pains him. He wants to help. Now more than ever is his chance to be someone you need, and he hates knowing he feels happy about it.

Getting to be your father now? It feels awkward, but at least it’s a feeling other than loss.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Sunghoon sighs at you through the speaker. “I know I’m not someone you like coming to but–well, I’d like for you to rely on me more, okay?”

You find a lot of comfort in those words, despite hearing him say them time and time again. This is the first time he’s ever shown that he means it through the offer of bringing you home, rather than just saying it and accepting whatever you say back to him at face value.

“I know…” You trail off. “I’m okay though, really.”

Sunghoon hates himself for never forcing you to accept him. Sure, there may have been some teenage defiance towards him, but eventually the two of you could have seen eye to eye. He could have been someone you needed. You could have relied on him too, rather than just Heeseung. That’s all he can really think right now.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?” The man nearly pleads in his tone, desperate to have someone rely on him again. “I’ve never heard you sound so exhausted before, I can’t help but worry.”

You’d tell him, but honestly, what grown ass man wants to hear about a first heartbreak? It would just get awkward again, he’d just feel obligated to do something about it, and worse, he might end up feeling like he’s supposed to dislike Heeseung now.

You choose to remain silent in the final straw that broke your back this semester.

“Really, I’m just tired.” You nod to yourself as you hold your phone loosely against your ear. “I might not go to class tomorrow and just pack instead. I’ll just call you when I’m ready, is that okay?”

Sunghoon smiles to himself, wanting to mean something to you in a way that can hopefully help you out of this slump. Your mother would be throwing a fit if she heard how you’ve been sounding, he can’t help but take over that role and try to make damn sure you are okay.

“That’s fine,” Sunghoon confirms. “I’ll call and let them know what’s going on so don’t worry about any of that. Just get yourself ready to come back home.”

You find yourself smiling, relieved that you don’t have to be the one to contact your school and tell them that…well, you’re breaking your student-lease, dropping your food plan, and need to be reimbursed for partial tuition costs since Sunghoon insists every semester that you purchase tuition insurance. You should no longer be charged to live on campus, or for the facilities within the dorm.

Knowing you’ll at least get back a couple thousand dollars is a nice change of pace, and already you’re feeling weirdly excited to go back to a space that will likely make you miss your mother more. It’ll hurt, but at least you won’t be alone anymore.

The forty minute drive to campus feels less horrifying now, and maybe your friends will still come and hang out with you in your actual home rather than a tiny dorm.

“Sounds good.” You say, as if to end the call before you mutter out again. “Thank you, by the way. Sunghoon, really.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Sunghoon knew he was spiraling further and further into his loneliness. He knew it wasn’t healthy either, but now. Oh, now he realizes just how bad it’s gotten as he demonizes himself upon picking you up.

You haven’t come home since your mother’s funeral, and even on that day he barely remembers what you looked like. Eye contact was never a thing for him, but looking at you now, he sees how much you’ve matured since you went off to college.

Your once bright, excited eyes have turned dull and empty. The bags under them are heavy from lack of sleep. Your lips appear to be in a permanent state of pouting, though he isn’t sure if you’ve noticed. You appear to have lost weight, which is concerning for him of course, but…there’s something else about you.

Something that sits in the pit of his stomach and rots.

“Uh–” You cough, noting the way Sunghoon looks at you as you try to hand him a large box. “Thank you for helping me move my stuff back…”

Sunghoon snaps out of his thoughts, grabbing a heavy box and then waiting for you to stack another on top.

“No big deal,” He mutters, feeling the weight in his hands double as he prepares to carefully carry your things out to his car. “You haven’t come home in over a year, but I’ve fixed up your room for you and went ahead and connected my gaming system in there.”

You nod quietly, feeling awkward for how fatherly he seems.

“Thanks…” You trail off, flopping a pile of your things into his trunk before stopping to look at him. “You look like shit.”

Sunghoon furrows his brows, noticing for a split second how that facial expression you made is very similar to one his wife used to throw at him when he’d have hair out of place, or a wardrobe malfunction. And then he smiles.

“You’re not looking too good yourself.” He jokes back.

You smile back at him, feeling a bit of the awkward air fizzle away.

“Well, I’m not doing well, so.”

You were continuing the joke, but his face falls before yours does.

“You can talk to me–” He starts.

“I know, I know.” You wave him off. “I’ll feel a lot better once we get back and I can settle in.

There’s a nod from him now, and then silence as the two of you continue to put the rest of your belongings into both his car and your own.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in a bit?” You say now, awkwardly.

Sunghoon nods, looking you over once again.

“See you in a bit.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Shame.

Pure fucking shame.

Sunghoon knew he needed another presence in this house but upon seeing you again, he knew it may have been a mistake.

He likes to think of himself as level headed. He’s never gotten into any trouble, never had a stray thought, never cheated, lied, or stole anything. He can’t think of a single thing that he’s done in life to be considered taboo. But looking at you feels…incorrect?

Indecent?

You’re his step-daughter for fuck sake but it’s the fact that you don’t feel like you are. When he looks at you, he just sees another person. He did this to help you, he did this to feel needed, to be your fucking father.

He did not do this to look at you this way or to feel his eye stray even without his intention.

Why do you look so much like her? Why do you do that thing with your pinky when you carry things like she did? You even have a similar smell, probably having picked up on your mother’s habits throughout childhood.

You being here…It’s like she’s still here. Except it’s you, and he can’t be thinking this way.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

This fic will be dark, very taboo, morally bad. Not a grey area, it is blatantly bad. sunghoon will do bad things. Please be aware of your own triggers once it's completed and posted. remember that I write within my own triggers, not yours. That being said! Please do show lots of love if this is a fic you're interested in reading! If you want to be tagged, I have a permanent tag list, there are not any separate tag lists for individual fics so keep that in mind. ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

#enhypen smut #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #wips

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minkoq · 21 days ago

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Hi 👉🏻👈🏻 I honestly craving to read some shower sex with Katsuki. He can be as rough as you want unless it us happening in the shower, do as you like!! 💚🫶🏻

🍓 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

shower sex with katsuki bakugou; fem! reader

warnings: nsfw, shower sex, dirty talk, backshots, unprotected sex, p in v, not proof read.

🍓 — he expected it to happen, but it didn't. is cozy morning sex too much to ask now? katsuki looked around the empty bedroom, the spot beside him empty but still lingering with warmth of his girlfriend.

🍓 — he groggily sat up, yawning as he did so. he huffed in annoyance. his gaze fell down to his loose boxers, a very obvious tent formed earlier while he was still asleep. and now you were no where to be seen to help him. were you making breakfast? probably not.

🍓 — he threw the blanket to the side, then he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stepped onto the heated wooden floor boards. he stretched his upper body and stood up, sluggishly walking over to the window and letting the gentle spring air waft into the bedroom.

🍓 — his ears perked up slightly when he noticed the soft noises of water hitting some tiles, katsuki turned around to look at the bathroom door, the running shower notifying him where you are exactly.

🍓 — in the shower.. without him. he turned his body to the bathroom and stalked towards it. he gently opened the door, he knew you wouldn't mind. he wanted to surprise you, he silently closed the door behind him.

🍓 — he opened the shower curtain gently, and it revealed you; having your back turned to him as you washed your face and hair. his crimson hues fell onto you body, onto your waist, and then down to your butt.

🍓 — he probably was gonna give you a heartattack now, but he was just a tad bit too horny to even care. his calloused hands reached out to caress your waist. you squealed as you quickly turned around, your heart pounding as he startled you.

🍓 — katsuki just gave you a cheeky little smirk, "showering without me?" he just whispered out, his deep voice sending shivers up your spine. the little droplets of water hitting his chest, he knew he also had to get in.

🍓 — he removed his boxers and tiredly stepped into the shower, his strong arms immediately wrapped around your waist, his hard length pressing against your butt. "this excited in the morning already?" you asked him with a soft giggle.

🍓 — katsuki just grumbled in response, his forehead pressing against your shoulder blade. he sighed when the hot water hit his muscular back, he loved the skin on skin with you. it felt intimate, especially with the hot water.

🍓 — he littered kisses onto your shoulders, brushing your wet hair away so he could get better access to your neck. it was soft, a stark contrast to his slightly chapped lips.

🍓 — he held his hard cock in his right hand, gently nudging your legs apart; careful so you wouldn't slip on the tiles. he whispered quiet praises to you, not in the mood to raise his voice to not disturb this silent intimacy.

🍓 — he slipped his cock between your folds, he moved his hips into the wet heat. he noted that you were already wet, maybe you played with yourself already? he didn't care right now, he just wanted to feel you.

🍓 — more heated kisses met you neck right now, his thick cock spreading your pussy so deliciously, you couldn't even complain.

🍓 — you leaned forward, your hands meeting the wet shower wall. his tip rubbed onto your clit, you let out soft moans at his gentle assault on your cunt.

🍓 — he leaned his body away from you, his gaze ran over your back then to your ass cheeks and then to his prized possession; your sweet pussy.

🍓 — his right hand massaged your back and gripped your right shoulder, you tried to look back at what he was doing but he quickly pushed your head back in place to eye the wall.

🍓 — his grip on your shoulder tightened for a second there but he let loose and caressed the spot gently. a silent apology.

🍓 — his left hand took his cock and pressed into your welcoming pussy, his mouth hung open when he finally entered. "shit," he cursed underneath his breath as he started thrusting.

🍓 — with each thrust he send you more and more into the wall, until at some point you were fully pressed into the wall. your hands still keeping in contact with the wall, but also your sensitive breasts and stomach.

🍓 — his left hand gripping your hip and his right hand, still, on your shoulder. you helplessly moaned. his cock always made you feel out of control, it was so big; it almost hurt. but the burn of the stretch always made you see stars.

🍓 — his movements grew rougher, his ball slapping against your clit. with each thrust your legs shook, you gasped as his right hand pressed your head onto the wall roughly.

🍓 — his raw cock continued to stretch open your cunt, the water made everything a bit slippery. he didn't want to be too rough and risk you or him slipping and hurting themselves.

🍓 — he hissed when the water hit his eyes, he squeezed them shut, and oh, just in time when your tight pussy tightened up even more.

🍓 — his hips stuttered, he felt his cock leak pre cum, he knew he was close. "fuck," now both his hands hugged onto your hips. fucking into you with deep, harsh thrusts. "fuck, yeah, i'm gonna cum." katsuki gasped out.

🍓 — his cock was buried fully into your puffy pussy, "not inside," was all you managed to whimper out in your submissive situation.

🍓 — he cursed underneath his breath and thrusted into your pussy for a few more time, to fully get everything out. then he removed his twitching cock and shot his load all over your ass and back. he watched as the water washed it quickly away.

🍓 — "now let's get you to cum, too, huh?" he rasped out and bit your shoulder gently. his hand finding his way down to your aching clit.

#bnha x female reader #female reader #mha x female reader #mha x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou smut

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sonarspace · 2 months ago

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⋆✴︎˚｡⋆STUDY BREAK (FT. GOJO)

꒰ synopsis. being in the same class as gojo satoru was bad enough; having him as the professor’s insufferably smug assistant made it worse. content. college au. nsfw. (teasing. slight praise kınk. fıngering. oräl. p in v. multiple ōrgasms.) wc. 5.3k. an. to clear up any confusion 😭.. satoru’s a senior student + the professor’s assistant in the course you’re both taking. (fic is kinda all over the place so idk if this works but let’s pretend like it does).

there’s something about gojo satoru that drives you insane. not in the fun, heart-fluttering way that comes with a secret crush or the thrill of banter. no—this is the kind of insane where you want to hurl something, preferably at his stupidly smug face.

“class,” he drawls, leaning lazily against the desk at the front of the room, his shirt slightly rumpled like he doesn’t give a damn—and he doesn’t. “these papers? a mixed bag. some of you really impressed me. others… well.” his lips curve into a smirk. “let’s just say the recycling bin was hungry.”

you groan inwardly, already sensing where this is going. he’s done this before, holding your work hostage like it’s part of his routine entertainment.

“and here,” he continues, brandishing a paper like a prop. your paper. “is a prime example of someone… almost getting there. strong ideas, decent execution, but the conclusion? oof. fell harder than my GPA sophomore year.”

a few students laugh. your jaw tightens, the heat in your chest bubbling up into something sharp and biting. he doesn’t have to name you; everyone knows exactly whose paper he’s waving around.

“anyway,” he finishes with a shrug, tossing the paper onto the desk like it’s disposable. “there’s potential. keep at it.”

you don’t even wait for class to end before your resolve solidifies: you’re going to kill him. maybe not literally, but metaphorically? absolutely.

you don’t plan on storming to his dorm room. it just… happens. one moment, you’re replaying his smug grin and the way his eyes gleamed when he mocked your paper, and the next, you’re standing outside his door, your fist raised to knock.

he answers quickly, and the sight of him makes you falter. his hair is damp, sticking out in soft tufts like he just got out of the shower, and his plain white t-shirt clings to him in a way that’s almost—no. you shake the thought away.

“well, this is unexpected,” he says, leaning against the doorframe with a grin that’s all teeth. “if you wanted private tutoring, you could’ve just asked.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you snap, brushing past him into the room without waiting for an invitation.

he whistles low under his breath. “feisty tonight. to what do I owe the pleasure?”

you spin to face him, your hands clenched at your sides. “what is your problem with me?”

he blinks, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second before returning full force. “problem? sweetheart, i don’t have a problem with you.”

“you humiliate me in class,” you say, your voice rising. “you make these comments, you single me out—what, are you that bored with your life?”

“humiliate?” he echoes, feigning a wounded look. “i think you mean ‘motivate.’ you’re one of the smartest people in that class. if i don’t push you, who will?”

“that’s bullshit,” you fire back, stepping closer. “you don’t ‘push’ anyone else.”

“because no one else is as fun,” he replies easily, his grin tilting into something sharper. “the way you react, the fire in your eyes—it’s addictive.”

your breath catches, the heat in your chest spreading to your cheeks. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, here you are,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to make the air between you feel heavier. “in my room. alone.”

“because you drive me crazy,” you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

his eyebrows lift slightly, as if he’s genuinely intrigued by your outburst. “good crazy or bad crazy?”

he takes a step closer, too close. the kind of close that makes your pulse stutter and your instincts scream at you to step back—but you don’t. instead, you stand your ground, your jaw clenched as he waits for your answer, his gaze steady and almost daring.

“what does it matter?” you mutter, your voice quieter now, the heat of your earlier anger ebbing into something more uncertain.

“it matters,” he says, his voice low as his eyes flicker to your lips. “because I need to know if I can do this.”

before you can ask what he means, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. but you don’t. his hand finds your waist, tugging you closer as the kiss deepens, his mouth hot and insistent against yours.

it’s like a dam breaking. weeks—months—of tension and unspoken words all come crashing down in a rush of heat and urgency. his other hand slides into your hair, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, and the sound you make in response is embarrassing and needy, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

you should stop this. you should push him away, tell him he’s crossed a line. but the way his thumb brushes against your waist, the way he tilts his head just right, the way he kisses like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have—it’s addictive. you can’t stop. you don’t want to.

but then reality slams into you like a cold gust of wind. what are you doing? your chest tightens as the weight of it crashes down all at once, the heat between you dissolving into something sharper, more terrifying.

you pull back abruptly, your breathing uneven. “i can’t.”

he blinks, his expression softening from one of heat to confusion. “what?”

“this—this is a mistake,” you stammer, backing away. your hands feel clumsy as they fumble behind you for the door. “i shouldn’t have come here.”

“wait.” his hand reaches out, almost instinctively, but you’re already opening the door, your chest tight and your mind racing as you step out into the hall. you don’t look back, even as the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin.

────

you avoid him after that. in class, you sit as far from him as possible, claiming a seat in the back corner, close to the door. the usual tension he brought to the room—his teasing remarks, his piercing gaze when he caught you rolling your eyes—feels conspicuously absent. he doesn’t call on you, doesn’t glance your way, doesn’t even acknowledge you.

it’s been weeks since that night in his dorm, and as the semester nears its end, the distance feels heavier with every passing class. his silence, once the thing you desperately wanted, now presses on your chest like a weight. you wonder if he regrets it, if he’s just as caught in the what-ifs as you are—or if he’s already forgotten.

the final project looms, deadlines creeping closer, but the distraction isn’t enough to stop the quiet ache that’s settled in your chest. you remind yourself it’s for the best. boundaries were crossed, a line you know you shouldn’t have stepped over. it doesn’t matter how he made you feel, how his kisses left you breathless and yearning. none of it matters.

and yet, every time you leave class, you rush, head down, praying he won’t stop you. and every time he doesn’t, the ache grows.

when class ends today, the air feels heavier than usual. your peers chatter around you, their voices blending into background noise as you pack your things quickly, eyes fixed on the door. if you can just slip out unnoticed, avoid another day of walking the tightrope you’ve been balancing on since that night—

but then a hand wraps gently around your wrist, warm and familiar.

“you’re avoiding me,” he says, his voice low and steady. there’s no edge to it, no teasing grin or smug undertone. just quiet certainty, like he’s stating a fact.

you freeze, your heart thudding in your chest. it’s been so long since he’s said anything to you that the sound of his voice directed at you feels foreign.

“i’m late,” you mumble, tugging your wrist weakly in an attempt to free yourself. “let me go.”

“you don’t have any classes after this,” he says, his grip loosening but not letting go. his eyes meet yours, calm but resolute. “i checked your schedule.”

your jaw tightens, irritation flashing through you. “you shouldn’t have access to my schedule.”

“probably not,” he admits with a shrug, a hint of the old satoru creeping into his voice, “but i’m me.”

you open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him to back off, but he cuts you off first. “come have coffee with me.”

you blink, caught off guard by the casual offer. “what?”

“coffee,” he repeats, his tone light, as if this is perfectly normal. “you like coffee, don’t you?”

“that’s not the point,” you snap, yanking your wrist free from his grasp. “what is this, some weird apology?”

“it’s not weird,” he says, his smirk faltering slightly now, his expression open and strangely earnest. “it’s just coffee. with me.”

you stare at him, struggling to find the right words. “gojo,” you begin, your voice heavy, “you and i are not friends.”

his face falls, the shift so quick and unexpected that it makes your stomach twist. you see the way his shoulders tense, the way his gaze drops for just a moment, but you force yourself to look away. without giving him a chance to reply, you turn and push past him, your steps quick and unsteady as you leave the classroom.

the ache in your chest grows with every step, and even as you round the corner, out of sight, the image of his expression lingers. there’s no relief this time. only guilt.

────

you don’t know why you’re here. no, that’s a lie—you know exactly why you’re here. the memory of his expression, the slight drop of his shoulders at your retort, has been looping in your mind, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

your feet carry you down the familiar path to his dorm, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step. before you can talk yourself out of it, your fist is already knocking on the door.

it opens almost immediately, and the sight of him steals the breath from your lungs. his white hair is a mess, sticking up in chaotic directions, and his glasses are perched crookedly on his nose. there’s a faint crease on his cheek, like he’d been leaning against a book, and his shirt hangs loosely off one shoulder, rumpled from sleep or hours spent working. he looks… soft. disarming. almost painfully cute.

“coffee,” you say, holding up the cups like a white flag. “can i come in?”

his lips twitch, a hint of a smile breaking through the haze of surprise as he steps aside. “bribery, huh? didn’t think you had it in you.”

his dorm is as cluttered as you remember—papers and notebooks sprawled across his desk, a blinking laptop shoved precariously to one side. you set the coffee down on the edge of the desk, your gaze catching on the scrawled notes and dense blocks of text.

“grading?” you ask.

“research,” he replies, dropping onto the edge of his bed with a tired sigh. his hand rakes through his already-messy hair, making it stick up even more. “finals prep. you know, glamorous TA things.”

you hand him a cup, your fingers brushing against his as he takes it. the simple contact sends a jolt up your arm that you stubbornly ignore. “thought you could use it.”

he hums as he takes a sip, his lashes fluttering briefly before he lets out a quiet sound of approval. the noise is so low, so soft, it makes your stomach twist. you glance away quickly, your grip tightening on your own cup.

“about the other day,” you start, the words quiet and tentative.

he glances up, the coffee still in his hands. his expression is unreadable, but his fingers still against the cup, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “you don’t have to explain,” he says, setting his cup down on the desk. “if you don’t want this—if i got it wrong—just say so.”

“it’s not that,” you blurt, the words tumbling out too fast, too raw. warmth floods your cheeks, creeping down to your chest. “i just… i don’t know what this is.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, doesn’t fall into his usual teasing deflection. instead, he stands, crossing the small space between you with deliberate steps. his gaze holds yours, steady and unguarded, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you can’t control.

“let me show you,” he says softly, his voice low, uncharacteristically serious.

he’s so close now, his hand brushing against yours, his touch light, almost hesitant. and then his lips are on yours, and everything else fades away.

this kiss is nothing like the first. there’s no uncertainty, no restraint. his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moves against yours, hot and insistent. your grip on the coffee slips, the cup hitting the floor with a dull thud as your hands find his shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

when his hands slide under your shirt, the roughness of his palms against your bare skin makes you shudder. he guides you backward, his body pressing into yours until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. you sink down, the weight of him grounding you as he follows, his lips trailing fire along your jaw and down your neck.

his hands are everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, brushing the underside of your ribs, exploring like he’s memorizing every inch of you. when he pulls back to look at you, his lips are curved in a wicked, breath-stealing grin.

“you’re infuriating,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as his eyes rake over you, drinking in every detail.

“you’re worse,” you manage, though your voice is barely more than a whisper.

his grin widens, and his laugh is warm against your skin as he dips his head, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “you’re already so worked up. it’s cute.”

“shut up,” you snap, though the way your hips arch into his touch betrays you.

“make me,” he challenges, his lips brushing against yours before descending lower, kissing down your collarbone and tugging your shirt higher with every inch. his hands roam greedily, tugging the fabric over your head and tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.

his mouth is back on you immediately, nipping and kissing along the swell of your breasts as his hands work the clasp of your bra. when it comes free, his lips part in a satisfied hum, his hands kneading your soft skin like he’s savoring every second of this.

“so fucking perfect,” he mutters, his voice husky as he leans back slightly to take in the sight of you. his gaze is heavy, filled with something dark and hungry that makes your stomach twist in the best way.

“stop staring,” you grumble, though the heat in your cheeks betrays the sharpness of your words.

“can’t help it,” he says, his grin tilting into something softer, more genuine. “you’re gorgeous.”

before you can respond, his mouth is back on you, his tongue flicking over your nipple as his other hand trails down your stomach, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of your pants. your breath hitches as he pauses, his gaze flicking up to meet yours.

“can i?” he asks, his voice quieter now, his expression serious.

you nod, and he wastes no time. his fingers hook under the fabric, tugging your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. the cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver, but the warmth of his hands is there immediately, coaxing you to relax under his touch.

“look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick as his hands part your thighs, his gaze drinking in every inch of you. “so fucking pretty.”

your cheeks flush, and you try to turn your head away, but his hand cups your chin, gently coaxing you to meet his eyes. “don’t hide from me,” he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “not tonight.”

his other hand slides between your thighs, his touch featherlight at first, teasing. when his thumb brushes over your clit, a jolt of heat shoots through you, and your hips buck involuntarily.

“sensitive,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a wicked grin. “i barely touched you, and you’re already squirming.”

“shut up,” you snap, your voice shaky as your fingers clutch at the sheets beneath you. but the way your body reacts—arching into his touch, chasing the pressure—makes it clear that his teasing isn’t far from the truth.

“you don’t really want me to, do you?” his voice is low, almost a growl, and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. “i think you like when i talk to you like this. when i tell you how good you’re doing, how fucking beautiful you look right now.”

your chest heaves as his fingers dip lower, sliding through your slick folds with infuriating slowness. every movement feels deliberate, calculated, like he’s savoring every second. when his fingers finally slip inside you, the stretch makes your head fall back, a gasp tumbling from your lips.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his thumb circling your clit as his fingers begin to move, slow and deliberate at first. “you feel so fucking good, baby. so perfect.”

your hands fly to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he curls his fingers, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. “oh my god—gojo—”

he tuts sharply, his fingers pausing inside you, his thumb stalling its maddening rhythm. your head snaps up, breathless and confused, to find him staring down at you with a dark look, his lips curving into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“no,” he says firmly, his voice low and commanding as he tilts his head. “say satoru.”

“w-what?” you stammer, your heart racing as his fingers remain perfectly still, the tension building with every passing second.

“not ‘gojo,’” he says again, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, his grin sharpening. “say satoru.”

you hesitate, your breath hitching as your body trembles beneath him. he presses his fingers deeper, curling them just enough to make your toes curl, and your resolve shatters.

“satoru,” you gasp, your voice breaking on the syllables.

his smirk widens, something dark and triumphant flickering in his eyes. “good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb resuming its slow, torturous circles on your clit as his fingers pick up their rhythm again, harder this time, deeper.

your head falls back against the mattress, your body arching into his touch as the pleasure builds again, higher and hotter than before. his name tumbles from your lips like a mantra, breathless and needy as he drives you closer to the edge.

“that’s it,” he coaxes, his voice dripping with praise as his free hand slides down your body, his touch possessive. “just like that, baby. let go for me.”

the coil in your stomach tightens to the breaking point, and when he curls his fingers just right, pressing against the perfect spot, it snaps. your orgasm crashes over you, white-hot and overwhelming, and his name spills from your lips in a broken moan.

“satoru—fuck—”

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough with approval as he works you through the waves of pleasure, his movements slowing but never stopping until your body goes slack beneath him, trembling and spent.

he pulls his hand away slowly, his gaze fixed on you as he brings his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a deliberate, satisfied hum. “even better than i imagined,” he says, his voice dripping with arrogance, his eyes gleaming as they roam over your flushed, trembling body.

you blink, your breath still uneven as his words settle over you. “wait—” you say, your voice catching slightly. “you’ve thought about this?”

his grin widens, slow and deliberate, and he leans down, bracing himself on his forearms so his face is just inches from yours. “oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “you really think i haven’t?”

your cheeks flush even hotter, your pulse racing as his words sink in. “you’re—” you stammer, at a rare loss for words. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculous?” he repeats, feigning offense, though the wicked glint in his eyes never falters. “i’d say i’m a man of focus. you’ve been in my head for weeks, driving me insane with that sharp mouth and the way you look at me when you think i don’t notice.”

“i don’t—” you begin, but his lips curve into a knowing smirk, cutting you off.

“you do,” he insists, his tone softening just slightly. “and every time you glared at me, every time you rolled your eyes or bit back some little retort, all i could think about was how much i wanted to shut you up. like this.”

his lips capture yours again, and this kiss is slower, heavier, laced with an intensity that makes your toes curl. his hands roam, sliding over your bare skin with a reverence that feels almost out of place against his words.

when he finally pulls back, his gaze is still on you, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “and now that i’ve got you,” he says, his voice dipping into something darker, “i don’t think i’ll ever get enough.”

the weight of his confession leaves you breathless, and before you can respond, his lips are trailing down your body again, his hands parting your thighs as he settles between them.

“what are you—” you start, but his eyes flick up to meet yours, and the look in them steals the rest of your words.

“relax,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a soft, almost mischievous smile. “i’m not done tasting you yet.”

his hands slide to grip your thighs, pulling you apart with ease as his lips descend, brushing over your inner thighs, teasingly slow. his tongue flicks out, hot and wet against your skin, and when his mouth finally finds you again, you feel your body arch instinctively, your breath leaving in a sharp, unrestrained gasp.

he’s relentless. his tongue drags up your folds in a languid stroke before circling your clit with maddening precision. his mouth is hot, the slick, wet sounds mingling with your soft moans, and his breath—warm and uneven—fans against your skin with every movement.

his hair brushes against your thighs, soft and messy, and your fingers thread through it again, tugging sharply enough to make him groan against you. the vibration of it sends a jolt of pleasure straight through your core, and your hips buck against his mouth.

“satoru,” you gasp, but it’s barely coherent, your voice breaking as he latches onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your toes curl. “oh my—”

the cold press of something against your inner thigh pulls you out of the haze, just barely. it’s sharp, unfamiliar, and you glance down—his glasses. they’re still perched on his nose, slightly crooked, the metal frame fogging faintly from the heat of his breath. he’s so lost in the moment, so focused on the way his tongue works against you, that he hasn’t even noticed.

your hand drifts down, brushing against the cool frame, and you slip them off without a word. the absurdity of it—the way he’s been eating you out with his glasses still on—makes you want to laugh. the corners of your mouth twitch, and a soft sound bubbles up in your throat, but then his tongue presses flat against your folds, dragging up in one slow, deliberate motion, and the laugh dissolves into a sharp moan.

your head falls back against the pillow, your hand tangling back in his hair as you toss the glasses onto the bed with the other. the noise they make as they hit the mattress is faint, drowned out by the obscene wet sounds of his mouth, the low hums of satisfaction he lets out as he devours you.

“fuck,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as his tongue flicks against your clit again, faster now, more insistent. your body arches instinctively, chasing the pressure, and his hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you even closer to his mouth.

he growls against you, the sound low and rough, vibrating through you in a way that makes your toes curl. his tongue dips lower, teasing your entrance before sliding back up, and the sharp scrape of his teeth against your swollen clit has you seeing stars.

“so fucking sweet,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your slick skin. “can’t get enough of you, baby.”

you can’t respond, can’t think. the only thing you can focus on is the way his tongue works against you, precise and relentless, building the heat in your stomach until it’s unbearable. your fingers twist in his hair, pulling harder, and the groan he lets out in response sends you spiraling.

“satoru—” his name falls from your lips like a prayer, breathless and broken. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his mouth dragging you closer and closer to the edge until you can’t hold on any longer.

your orgasm hits you hard, ripping through you in waves that leave your entire body trembling. your hips jerk against his hold, your moans loud and unrestrained as you ride it out. his tongue slows, working you through every aftershock until you’re left panting, boneless against the bed.

when he finally pulls back, his chest is heaving, his lips and chin glistening with your slick. his hair is a mess, strands sticking up where your fingers had tugged, and his eyes—those impossibly bright blues—flick up to meet yours, gleaming with satisfaction.

“twice,” he says, his voice low and teasing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

he sits back on his knees, his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs as he takes in the sight of you—flushed, panting, your chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. his grin is lazy, self-satisfied, like he knows exactly what he’s done to you.

“you’re staring,” you mutter weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“hard not to,” he replies, his tone low and full of amusement. his fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, his touch soft, teasing. “you look so fucking good when you come.”

your cheeks burn, and you want to glare at him, to tell him to shut up, but the words catch in your throat as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. in one fluid motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it to the side, the movement effortless and maddeningly confident.

your eyes follow the shift of his muscles, the way they ripple under his skin, lean and defined. a faint sheen of sweat glistens across his chest, catching the dim light, highlighting every sharp line and curve. your gaze drifts lower, down to the sharp ridges of his abdomen. the faint trail of white hair starting just below his navel draws your attention, leading your eyes further, until his hands move to the waistband of his boxers.

he doesn’t rush. he hooks his thumbs under the fabric, dragging it down slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation coil tighter in your stomach. as the fabric falls away, your breath hitches.

he’s fully bare now, and your mouth goes dry.

his cock is… breathtaking. thick and flushed a deep pink at the tip, already leaking beads of precum that catch the light as they drip down the length. it’s long, the kind of length that makes your thighs press together instinctively, wondering how he’ll fit, but the heat pooling low in your stomach burns hotter, overriding any hesitation.

his hand wraps around it, and he strokes himself slowly, his thumb swiping over the head to collect the wetness there. the motion is deliberate, almost lazy, and the soft groan he lets out sends a shiver down your spine.

you’re staring—you know you are—and he notices, his lips curving into a wicked grin as his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing as he leans forward, the head of his cock brushing against your folds, slick and hot. “i’ll make it fit.”

his words send a shiver through you, his voice low and dripping with confidence. the weight of his cock against your folds, hot and heavy, is enough to make your hips twitch instinctively, chasing the friction. but he doesn’t push in right away—of course he doesn’t. instead, he drags the head up and down your slick, letting it catch on your clit with every pass, teasing you until you’re squirming beneath him.

“satoru,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. you’re not above begging at this point. “please.”

his grin widens, his head dipping to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “what’s the rush, baby? we’ve got all night.”

“satoru,” you repeat, more insistently this time, and he groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his cock twitching against you.

“fuck,” he mutters, his voice tight now, losing some of that smug edge. “you sound so pretty when you beg.”

he lines himself up, his hand still wrapped around the base as he presses the head against your entrance. the stretch is immediate, a sharp, overwhelming mix of pleasure and pressure as he pushes in slowly, inch by inch.

“holy shit,” he breathes, his voice rough as his head falls forward, his hair brushing against your cheek. “you’re so fucking tight.”

your fingers clutch at his shoulders, your breath catching as he sinks deeper, the fullness stealing every coherent thought from your mind. he pauses halfway, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“you okay?” he asks, and there’s something softer in his voice now, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

you nod, your voice shaky as you answer. “yeah. just—keep going.”

his jaw tightens, and he exhales slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he starts to move again. every inch feels impossibly deep, your walls stretching around him, and when he finally bottoms out, you both pause, your breaths mingling as you try to adjust.

“fuck,” he groans again, his voice strained as his hips twitch against yours. “you feel so good. better than i ever—” he cuts himself off with a shaky laugh, shaking his head. “shit, you’re perfect.”

you can barely respond, the stretch and fullness leaving you trembling. but then he starts to move, pulling out almost entirely before sliding back in with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. the drag of his cock against your walls is enough to have you moaning, your head falling back against the pillow.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice rough and approving as he sets a steady rhythm. “good girl. taking me so well.”

your hands trail down his back, your nails scraping lightly against his skin, and the groan he lets out sends a fresh wave of heat through you. his movements quicken, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, and every thrust has him hitting that perfect spot deep inside you, making you cry out.

“satoru—” his name falls from your lips again, and he leans down, his teeth grazing your neck as he thrusts harder, deeper.

“you’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips tighter, holding you in place as he drives into you. “you feel so good—so fucking perfect for me.”

the coil in your stomach tightens with every roll of his hips, the pressure building higher and higher until it’s unbearable. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in tight circles that make your vision blur, and your moans grow louder, more desperate.

“come for me,” he demands, his voice rough and low in your ear. “let me feel you.”

the command sends you over the edge. your orgasm rips through you, your body arching into his as you cry out, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. your walls clench around him, and the sensation makes him groan, his thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release.

“fuck—” he gasps, burying himself as deep as he can go as he comes, the heat of him spilling into you, thick and warm. his head falls to your shoulder, his breath ragged against your skin as he rides out the last waves of pleasure.

the room is quiet except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the air thick and charged as he finally pulls back, his weight pressing into you as he collapses onto the bed beside you. his arm slides around your waist, pulling you against his chest as he presses a soft, lazy kiss to your temple.

“told you i’d make it fit,” he murmurs, his voice still rough, but there’s a hint of smugness there, his lips curving into a small grin.

you can’t help the laugh that escapes you, your body still trembling against his. “you’re such an asshole.”

“yeah,” he agrees, his tone light, teasing, as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “but you like it.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no heat to it, your lips curving into a faint smile as you bury your face against his chest. “shut up, satoru.”

“never,” he replies, and the warmth of his laughter vibrates through you, grounding you as your breaths slowly even out.

an. gojo with glasses... *hnnggghh*

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

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