#i started exit/corners. by the way

[i-love-klim]

Ink Greer is a youtube poop name

[lonelyangelonlyangel]

.

[wasteland-lover]

i had another dream with ochoa in it

[bruciemilf]

Okay. But when Bruce discovers Talia knew Jason was alive? That she knew his child was the man under the red hood. His boy.

Oh.

Jason’s met and memorized every facet of Bruce Wayne. He knows Bruce by the way his eyes melt when he looks at him, to the hard lines of his cowl. He knows where Bruce starts and Batman ends.

When Bruce rips off his cowl to give her the deepest glare Jason’s ever seen, he’s reminded there’s no difference. Fear hits his stomach when he swallows,

“Hey, old man, don’t fucking blame HER. She has NO obligation to you—“

Bruce’s eyes are unblinking, wide, jumping from her frozen form to him. And Jason’s suddenly 10 again, running from hungry stray dogs cornering him in a place with no exit.

Bruce’s voice is shadow and whisper, “Quiet.”

“…Okay.”

“Damian,” he rasps, pointing at the small figure with dark hair and green eyes, who looks at neither of them. He looks at Talia. Jason thinks it’s fair. He’s never seen her scared, either. “Car. Cave. Stay. “

There’s something incredibly bitter in Jason when he just does. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t rebel. He wants to, with every fiber and matter and crumb in his body. And his body says no.

He grabs Damian like he’s an angry cat, not the small assassin he knew since he was born. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t want to, he realizes.

“Did you know?” Bruce asks, such a deadly calm to him, too calm for the winter in his eyes. Talia would’ve preferred a blade to the neck.

She can’t meet his eye. Almost like if she doesn’t face his hatred, his disapproval, his disappointment, it doesn’t count. “I did. “

“…Whatever you do,” she’d take it as pity if he didn’t sound repulsed , “you’re still his daughter.”

[lynxgriffin]

Mightier Than The Sword

Gerson had one regret, but now Alvin has many. A fancomic about my thoughts and theories and who -and what- the Knight is!

While not directly connected, I'd say this one is in the same vein as the Deal With The Devil series! Hope you enjoy!

Alt text for this comic under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Wide shot of the interior of the Boom household. Several monsters are gathered in a clean-looking hall, dressed in somber clothing and talking quietly in small groups. The monsters include QC, Cat Mom, Toriel, Asgore and Mayor Holiday. Father Alvin stands waiting at a door in the hall as his sister, a red-headed turtle monster in a pink dress, exits through the door and speaks to him. “Alvin…he’s ready for you.”

Panel 2 - Mid shot as Alvin prepares to enter the room. Ms. Boom steps out of the way, and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Both of them look somber. 

Panel 3 - Alvin enters the room, mostly dark and lit by a few candles on a nearby desk. Gerson Boom is lying on a bed ahead of him, watching him enter. Alvin closes the door behind him and says, “Father, I’m here.”

Panel 4 - Alvin approaches his father, lying in bed. The bedroom has a few amenities, including a footstool set off to the side, a large rug bearing the delta rune, and a massive bookcase filling the entire back wall. A few books and papers litter the ground. Alvin bows his head, and says, “The hammer is ready for…for afterwards.”

Gerson just smiles, and responds, “Wa ha, is it? Well, it’ll do fine, I suppose.”

Panel 5 - Closer shot of Gerson extending his right hand towards Alvin. He’s smiling still, content with where he is. “Come here, son.”

Page 2

Panel 1 - Closeup as Alvin takes his father’s hand in his own, and clasps it tight. “Whatever you need…I’m here,” he says from offscreen.

Panel 2 - Alvin kneels by his father’s bedside, still clasping his hands. Gerson says, “Of course you are. Wa ha…you’re such a good and kind man, Alvin.”

Panel 3 - Closeup on Alvin as he just holds on to his father’s hand. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. 

Panel 4 - Focus on Gerson as he holds up a hand to conspiratorially whisper to Alvin. “And I know I can trust you with a secret, right?”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Alvin as he looks back up, face earnest. “...Of course.”

Panel 6 - Gerson holds up one finger as he speaks to Alvin. “I told your sister I had no regrets, but that was a BIT of a fib! I’m afraid I have one regret…”

Panel 7 - Side view of Alvin as he learns closer, his face now worried. “Father?...”

Page 3

Panel 1 - Focus on Gerson as he leans back on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling. “I wish I had started earlier. Writing stories, I mean. Seein’ you an’ your sister’s eyes light up whenever I read you a new chapter…and then seeing all that joy from so many young folks after those stories were published!” he says, looking wistful.

Panel 2 - Alvin watches on sadly as Gerson continues, “It was the greatest feeling in the world, Alvin. It’s what life’s all about, y’know. Helping the young folks grow.”

Panel 3 - Gerson closes his eyes and looks back towards the ceiling again, still wistful. “So, I wish I’d started writing stories sooner.”

Panel 4 - Closeup on Alvin as he bows his head, still holding Gerson’s hand. “I truly do cherish those times you read to us, father…” he says.

Panel 5 - Closeup on Gerson as he closes his mind with happy memories. “Me too, Alvin. It’s a shame…I’ve still got so many tales to tell! But–”

Panel 6 - Gerson is interrupted by a round of hacking coughs. His time is fast approaching.

Panel 7 - Gerson settles back in to his bed and says, “The Angel’s given me SO many good, happy years. Doesn’t seem fair to ask for more.”

Panel 8 - Closeup on Alvin as he continues to hold his father’s hand tight. “This doesn’t seem fair, either…” he says, tears still pricking at his eyes.

Page 4

Panel 1 -  Insert closeup of Gerson as he smiles at his son. “That’s life, Alvin!” He doesn’t seem bothered by his imminent passing.

Panel 2 - Side view as Gerson leans in closer to Alvin again, hand raised, back to sharing his secrets. “But, knowin’ my secret…there’s something I’d like to ask of you.”

Alvin faces his father with seriousness. “Anything,” he replies.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Gerson, as he looks hopefully at Alvin. “You have a good heart, Alvin. I want you to know this joy, too.”

Panel 4 - Gerson continues in the next panel: “Please try writin’ stories of your own, alright?” Closeup on Alvin as he looks shocked and a bit worried by the request.

Panel 5 - Mid shot as Alvin holds up a hand to Gerson in protest. He says, “Father, I…I have no talent for writing fiction. Not like YOU.”

Panel 6 - Closeup on Gerson as he refutes his son: “Hogwash! I know you can.”

Panel 7 - Wide shot as Alvin stands up, and looks around the room. “No, I…”

In the foreground, there’s Gerson’s desk, currently showing some lit candles, some paper, an inkwell, a notebook, and his favorite fountain pen.

Page 5

Panel 1 - Closeup as Alvin grabs two objects off of the desk: the small notebook and the fountain pen. Offscreen, he says, “If you just…”

Panel 2 - Back at Gerson’s bedside, Alvin pulls up the footstool and puts the pen and notebook in front of him, intending to use it. He faces his father, and says, “Tell me your ideas, I could write them down, and–”

Gerson interrupts him: “‘Fraid it doesn’t work that way, Alvin!”

Panel 3 - Gerson holds up both of his hands and smiles as he explains: “My tales are between my soul and the pen. You’ll need to make your own.”

Panel 4 - Gerson watches as Alvin, tears in his eyes, looks down at the notebook and pen in hand. “I–I cannot…” Alvin starts, looking despondent.

Panel 5 - Side view of Alvin as tears continue to stream from his eyes. He says, “Not without you!” In the background, in grayscale, there is a scene from Alvin’s memory: Gerson reading a book to his two children by the fire. Gerson looks happy, and both kids are enraptured, with Alvin clinging to a cat doll that looks like Seam.

Panel 6 - Closeup on Gerson, his face now more worried and pleading towards Alvin. Gerson says, “Y-you can… It’s all I ask…”

Panel 7 - Gerson turns away as he’s again interrupted by a round of terrible sounding coughs. Alvin stands holding the notebook and pen in the foreground.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Horror comes over Alvin’s face as his father continues to cough loudly, clutching his chest. He realizes that his father might be close to death now.

Panel 2 - Wider overhead shot as Alvin turns away from Gerson, looking frantically around the room. “No! Not yet!--” he says desperately. Gerson is still racked with coughs.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Alvin grabs the candles from the desk–

Panel 4 - And then pulls a book from the bookshelf, with the delta rune on the front –

Panel 5 - And then finally pulls out what appears to be a beaded rosary, with the delta rune made of beads at the end of it.

Panel 6 - Wider shot as Alvin places the objects in front of him, candles to the side, holy book in front of him. Gerson can only lay there as he does so, trying to catch his breath.

Panel 7 - Front view of Alvin as he clasps his hands together in front of his face, the rosary threaded between his fingers. He closes his eyes and bows his head in prayer. “Angel…Angel above! Please, heed your servant’s prayer!”

Page 7

Panel 1 - Closeup on Alvin as he continues to pray, the candles glowing around him. He keeps his eyes shut even as tears well in them. “I know you call back my father’s soul, but please! Please refrain!”

Panel 2 - Gerson desperately reaches a hand out towards his son, shaking, but unable to reach him. In the foreground, the fountain pen sits on the footstool between them. “A-Alvin…” Gerson’s voice is shaky now.

Panel 3 - Aerial shot as Alvin prays over the book, and Gerson is still confined to the bed, only able to watch. “This world still NEEDS his gifts!” Alvin says. “I pray to you, don’t take them from us now!” The shadows around Alvin start to grow strange, not matching the candlelight.

Panel 4 - Gerson continues to hold out a hand, now not looking well. “No…”

Panel 5 - Closeup on the candles as they spark to life, now glowing stronger.

Panel 6 - A strange bright glow begins to emanate from Gerson. Behind him, the books in the bookcase all rattle and shift as if in a localized earthquake. The colors of the room grow brighter and stranger.

Panel 7 - Still reaching out a desperate hand, Gerson lets out a soft breath. His soul, an upside-down white heart, comes up from his body. On the footstool in the foreground, the fountain pen also begins to levitate, as if by magic.

Page 8

Panel 1 - Front shot of Alvin as he continues to pray desperately, his head bowed and hands together. “Grant us the love shown between his soul and the pen!” Behind him, the colors have grown stark and bright, and a shadow resembling the angel looms behind Alvin.

Panel 2 - Alvin looks up to discover something amazing and terrible: Gerson’s soul has been drawn to the fountain pen, and begins to flow down into it.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Gerson’s soul is completely absorbed into the pen, hovering high over the bed.

Panel 4 - The candles turn strange blue and pink colors, and the books in the bookcase shake and rattle relentlessly.

Panel 5 - Extreme closeup on Alvin’s eyes as he sees this miracle; the light of his father’s soul reflected in his eyes.

Panel 6 - Closeup as the pen suddenly drops, and clatters back on to the footstool.

Panel 7 - Wide aerial shot as the room very suddenly goes completely dark and silent, the bright colors and lights now gone. Alvin stands up and backs away from the bed, still clutching the rosary, his face filled with horror. Gerson now lies unmoving in his bed, having passed away.

Page 9

Panel 1 - The same shot as the first panel of the first page, with the other monsters waiting in the hallway. No one says anything as Alvin emerges from the bedroom, leaning on the door for support, his head bowed. Everyone in the room knows that Gerson has just passed, although they don’t know the rest.

Panel 2 - An establishing shot of the forest and mountains surrounding Hometown…the skies are a dark, gloomy gray.

Panel 3 - Above shot of Gerson’s newly dug grave. At the bottom of a small pit lies Gerson’s hammer, covered in his dust. Politics Bear stands over the grave, holding a shovel. 

Panel 4 - Closeup as the shovel begins to dump dirt over the fresh grave.

Panel 5 - Another closeup of Gerson’s headstone, with bundles of fresh funerary flowers laid in front of it.

Panel 6 - Wide shot of Gerson’s funeral. Alvin stands over his father’s grave, reading last rites from one of his books. Lots of monsters are in attendance, including Alphys and Undyne, Napstablook, the Holiday and Dreemurr families, and more. A very young Kris, Noelle and Asriel are present, but Dess is not. Everyone is dressed in dark mourning attire.

Panel 7 - After the funeral, Toriel approaches Alvin and puts a hand on his shoulder. She says, “Beautifully said, Alvin. I know your father is watching proudly by the side of the Angel.” Alvin looks distant and mournful.

Panel 8 - A closeup of the fountain pen laying forgotten on the desk in Gerson’s room. Gerson is, perhaps, not actually with the Angel right now.

Panel 9 - Back at the funeral, Alvin bows his head, eyes closed. “You are too kind, Toriel,” he says.

Page 10

Panels 1-3 - We see the seasons pass through the changing of the trees…from the barren white trees of winter, to colorful pink blooms for spring, to the bright oranges and reds of fall.

Panel 4 - Sometime much later, Alvin again enters his father’s old room, alone.

Panel 5 - Much of Gerson’s room has remained untouched. The fountain pen still sits on his old writing desk in the foreground. Alvin steps inside, and carefully turns on the overhead light. “It’s been years,” he says.

Panel 6 - Alvin cautiously approaches the pen, which seems to loom large ahead of him. He hesitantly picks it up.

Panel 7 - Alvin places some blank pages on the writing desk. “Surely…”

Panel 8 - Alvin sits in front of the blank pages, still holding the pen cautiously. “Surely by now, I can do it.” He’s going to try writing.

Panel 9 - Closeup as Alvin dips the pen in the inkwell, and it comes away full of ink.

Panel 10 - Closeup as Alvin holds the pen over the blank page. The pen trembles slightly in his grip.

Panel 11 - Alvin tries to put pen to paper, but he’s still trembling. He looks down with great anxiety. “I…I…”

Panel 12 - Closeup on Alvin’s face as he looks more panicked, shaking and sweating. In the background, his memory of his father’s soul being absorbed into the pen plays back at him. This is still his fault.

Panel 13 - Closeup again as Alvin’s hand shakes uncontrollably, and the pen with it. Ink spots begin to dapple the blank page–

Page 11

Panel 1 - Alvin’s shaking hand accidentally knocks over the inkwell, and it spills black ink all over the blank page.

Panel 2 - Alvin picks up the ruined paper and folds it in half to try and stem the ink spillage. He quietly curses to himself. 

Panel 3 - Closeup as Alvin holds his head in his hand. It’s clear that this isn’t going to work. “I can’t…” 

Panel 4 - Closeup as Alvin puts the ink-stained paper back on the desk, and quickly grabs up the pen and inkwell.

Panel 5 - Taking the pen and inkwell, Alvin exits his father’s room again, head bowed and expression sad.

Panel 6 - Left behind, the folded paper slowly peels apart and unfolds…

Panel 7 - To reveal that the spilled ink has created a rorschach ink blot image of a titan. 

Page 12

Panel 1 - Wide shot as Alvin trudges down the streets of Hometown, alone. His head his bowed, and he’s still clutching the articles he took with him. It’s almost nighttime, and the sky is dark. “I cannot bear this kind of burden,” he says to himself.

Panel 2 - Shot from behind Alvin as he approaches the school building. It’s dark, and no students or teachers should be there. “Maybe you belong where you always have…”

Panel 3 - Now indoors, Alvin continues down the empty hallway towards a particular destination. “With the youth.”

Panel 4 - Alvin opens the door to the storage closet at the end of the hall. It opens with a soft creak. “Teaching. Telling stories,” Alvin continues to say to himself.

Panel 5 - Alvin places the fountain pen and inkwell on a small shelf in the storage closet. The closet is almost completely black. 

Panel 6 - The inkwell and pen are left on the shelf as Alvin closes the door behind him. His expression is mournful as he locks these reminders of his father away. “Inspiring someone better suited,” he says, hoping this is a suitable escape of his responsibility.

Page 13

Panel 1 - But in the storage closet, the objects are subject to something else already there: the grand Dark Fountain. The pen, ink and papers all fall into the darkness of the fountain–

Panel 2 - And start to change, the pen seemingly turning into liquid itself–

Panel 3 - As the pen falls deeper and deeper into the dark, the liquid begins to reshape into something new, something resembling a person–

Panel 4 - Until it lands on empty ground, now a person in knight’s armor, knelt over and holding his head in his hands.

Panel 5 - The Knight comes to, and starts to become more aware. He’s dressed in armor resembling the dark metallic sheen of the fountain pen, his mask resembling the pen tip. A bright deep red cape flows from his shoulders, and a single red-orange feather tops the helmet. “Where…am I?”

Panel 6 - The Knight again touches his helmet with both hands, as if not sure exactly what he is.

Panel 7 - Interior shot of the helmet, which reveals a figure much like Gerson…but much younger, more idealized-looking, with colors not matching his actual self. A Dark World interpretation. “WHY am I…?”

Panel 8 - A closeup of the Knight’s hand, slightly trembling.

Panel 9 - The Knight stares down at his own hands as realization begins to flood him, or at least something that looks like realization. “Wait. I see why. I KNOW.” he says.

 Page 14

Panel 1 - The Knight holds up his hand, and a sword appears in it in a flash of lights. The sword resembles the tip of a fountain pen, almost split neatly in two. “I serve the Lightners! That is my purpose!” Says the Knight. 

Panel 2 - The Knight draws the sword back with great fervor and determination. His thoughts echo around him in strong letters: “A purpose so bright, so clear…”

Panel 3 - In the final panel, the Knight drives the sword into the ground, causing an eruption of black ink-like material to spew from the ground…the creation of a new Dark Fountain. In the fountain itself, words reflect his purpose: “I EXIST TO GIVE THEM STORIES FOREVER.”

[lucylockets]

The Bat is in love! … with Mrs. Wayne?

summary: in which the Justice League notice that Batman is infatuated with Bruce Wayne’s wife, and need to help him get over her (impossible)

pairing: husband!bruce wayne/batman x wife!reader

warnings: none? maybe mentions of slight violence. fluff.

a/n: inspired by this fic by @ilianasbruce

dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

it started when batman and superman were at the watchtower together.

they were doing their own work silently, at opposite ends of the table.

superman was pretending that he wasn’t secretly writing an article for the daily planet that was due within the week (that he had completely forgotten about), and batman was pretending that he wasn’t secretly texting his wife under the table.

bruce: how is the opera, my love? i’m sorry i couldn’t be there, the league has demands.

a lie. he just had a headache earlier and felt like jumping out of a window at the thought of having to put on a smile for the folk and sit through an opera. he did feel guilty about you being on your own, though.

you: it’s alright. i actually know some people here, and they aren’t all bad, bruce.

bruce: you say that now, but wait until they each give you a rundown on each car in their garage.

you: like how you give me a rundown on each gadget you come up with in the batcave?

bruce: that’s different.

you: of course it is. i actually like listening to you.

the familiar ‘ping!’ of one of batman’s gadgets interrupted the silence.

superman looked up, eager to be doing something other than whatever paper in front of him that he wasn’t even focusing on.

“what is that?” his words came out immediately, and before batman could answer, he was speaking again. “robbery? alien invasion?”

“Poison Ivy in Gotham.” Batman is already standing, beginning his exit of the watchtower. Superman follows him.

“Can I come? Please?”

Batman turns, looking at him. “What?”

“It’s boring in here!” Superman gestures around. “And if I’m on my own it’ll be even more boring. C’mon, Batman, I can help you.”

Batman considers it for a moment before sighing. “Fine. But we’re going in the Batmobile.”

“But I can-“

“You are not flying me there, Superman.”

A few minutes later, they’re in the opera hall. Ivy seems to have taken over the stage, giving a speech on ways for the average person to decrease their carbon footprint.

Batman can see a few different people caught between her weeds. Long, thick plants have people in their grip. He scans the room quickly for you, breathing a silent sigh of relief when he sees that you are not captured, but instead just huddled in the corner with a group of others.

Superman doesn’t notice the way that Batman isn’t looking at Ivy, and begins his attack. Batman quickly follows. After a swift battle (turns out having Superman as an ally cuts down on battle time), Ivy is restrained and authorities arrive. The two start on recovering civilians before they both encounter you.

You’re comforting one of the women that was tangled in the weeds. You’re sitting beside her, nodding as she talked. You recognise the familiar pair of boots coming from the side of you. Your head lifts up slightly as you catch sight of the two men.

“Are you alright, Mrs. Wayne?” Superman speaks first, the familiar concern he has for everyone clear in his voice and expression. He recognises you from articles, and he’s heard enough from Cat Grant at the Daily Planet to know you’re married to Bruce Wayne.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you answer with a small smile. Your eyes move to Batman. “Thank you.”

Superman gives Batman a side glance as he hears Batmans heart skip a beat when you smile at him. He tries to not to make his suspicion obvious. However, he turns a little when he hears that Batmans heartbeat is now quicker than it had been five minutes ago.

However, nothing on Batmans mostly covered face gave away any feelings. He just nodded and said a quick: “Stay safe, ma’am.”

And Superman didn’t bring it up again. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. A heart skip doesn’t always mean feelings of infatuation, right?

The second time is with Flash and Green Lantern.

Batman is a stark contrast to the pair. Barry and Hal are close friends, and joke around when put together. Bruce will sigh, and tell them to be quiet, and then Barry tries to be serious, but Hal will mutter a sarcastic comment that makes him start laughing again and the cycle repeats.

So Batman is already tense from working with the two.

They’re investigating a case together, and encounter you somehow. (sorry that’s so vague i literally cannot think of a specific scenario here to save my life)

Flash asks you a few questions if you’ve seen or heard anything suspicious, and you shake your head and answer. Barry notices Batmans shoulders softening a little beside him.

It isn’t hugely noticeable, but Barry senses it. Batmans shoulders loose some of their tension as he talks to you, this civilian. And when Hal opens his mouth to make an implying comment, he tenses right back up again.

Barry’s eyes narrow. It isn’t often that the Bat actually feels emotions, so when he does, his friends take an interest.

On the way back, Barry nudges Hal.

“Hey, you notice the way Bats was acting around that woman earlier?” He whispers so the third man in front of them doesn’t hear.

“You mean that really hot one? Who wouldn’t act like that around her? Did you see her, Bar?”

Barry gives him a look, “yeah, but this is Batman. Brooding, stays-in-the-shadows, feels-nothing-but-rage-24/7, Batman.”

Hal ponders before shrugging. “I don’t know, maybe Spooky’s changed. Never underestimate the power of a beautiful woman, Barry.”

Barry thinks. “She looked kinda familiar, didn’t she? I can’t think of where I’ve seen her before.”

And when they see that the familiar face they were talking to was Bruce Wayne’s wife, they give each other an alarmed look before looking at Batman from across the room.

The third time was with Oliver goddamn Queen.

A charity gala. Bruce couldn’t go because he had intel that Scarecrow was planning on infiltrating the building while everyone was distracted, something about wanting to ‘test out a new gas’, and he had to be on watch as Batman for the evening.

You, however, decided to go. You had a nice dress and were getting close to some of the women there your age. It was nice to not be a total stranger in the room anymore.

So, as you filtered around the room, you met Oliver Queen. He sometimes teases Bruce on purpose by asking for a dance with you at other galas, but without Bruce he was simply a friend to enjoy a chat with.

When Scarecrow did burst in, you actually had been dancing with Oliver. A friendly turn around the room like the others were doing. By the time Batman had taken him down, and everyone emerged from the corners or hidden rooms, Oliver checked to see if you were okay. Lord knows Bruce would probably blame him if anything happened to you.

You were fine, thank God. Oliver’s sentence was interrupted by the Bat himself.

“Was anybody harmed?” the gruff voice asked, his gaze trying not to linger on you for too long.

“I don’t think so,” you replied. Oliver looked at Batman with a certain questioning that nobody seemed to notice.

“Good.” Batman was silent for a moment before speaking again. “Perhaps you all should start making your ways home. Scarecrow might return, or someone worse.”

You don’t miss a beat. “It’s a good thing we have someone like you to protect us, Batman.”

“Only a fool wouldn’t protect you, ma’am.”

Oliver blinked. Is Batman . . . flirting? With a married woman? Also, was that sentence a sneaky diss on him?

and Oliver could’ve sworn on his entire fortune that Batman’s lips were almost in a grin during his next sentence.

“Your husband is probably waiting on you, Mrs. Wayne.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows at your response. You laughed a little under your breath before speaking, “probably. I wouldn’t want to keep him up.”

Oliver looks between you and Batman. Perhaps he’s imagining things. You turn to him as if you’ve just remembered that he’s still there.

“Oliver, you have a safe way home, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll call my driver.”

He doesn’t bring it up the next time he sees Batman as Green Arrow. Batman doesn’t speak of it either. But his eyes narrow a little at the Bats whenever Bruce Wayne or his wife is mentioned.

Eventually, it comes up in conversation when Batman isn’t there.

They’re in the common room, and Diana is flipping through the newspaper. She’s on a page that features a picture of you at the latest event with a description of your outfit beside it. Beside her, Hal recognises you.

“Hey, Flash,” he begins, stabbing the page with his finger. “Isn’t that who we were talking to a couple days earlier?”

Barry is behind the couch in a second, nodding. “Yeah, we asked her a couple questions with Batman.” He looks up a takes a quick glance to see if anyone’s expression changes. “He seemed . . . different around her.”

Clark closes the book in his hand with a loud snap, looking at the three on the couch.

“You’ve noticed too?”

Hal laughs, “that Bats has the hots for a married woman? Yeah.”

Diana frowns a little. “That is unlike Batman. He’s known for his self-restraint. It doesn’t seem likely he would harbour a liking for someone else’s wife, especially Bruce Wayne’s. Doesn’t Wayne sponsor him or something?”

Oliver joins in. “Wonder Woman, you haven’t seen him with her. I mean, it was only a few seconds but he was a totally different person.”

“How so?” Diana asked curiously.

“He . . . relaxed a little.”

She raised her eyebrows. Barry cut in.

“Wonder, you need to see it to understand it. It’s like no one else even enters his mind when he’s looking at her. I think everything else sorta faded away, you know?”

“Like in those rom-coms I’ve been shown?” She suggests.

“Yeah!”

Clark thinks for a moment, wondering what to do to help his obviously hopeless friend. How do you break the news to an emotionally constipated Bat that he has to squash his feelings before anything terrible happens?

So, they organise an intervention. A very unorganised organised intervention.

Your name gets mentioned during a briefing. About how you could be potential target for a kidnapping due to your status.

Hal’s mouth works quicker than his mind.

“What about Bruce Wayne?”

“What about Bruce Wayne?” Batman asks in his low voice, his back still turned to the team.

“Just saying, he’s probably a potential target too, right?” Green Lantern points out. “He’s her husband, after all.”

Batman turns. They all seem to be looking for his reaction.

“Right, I was just getting to that.” He says stiffly. “So I think until Joker is tracked down again, a pair of eyes should be on them. Since Gotham is my city, I can-“

“Ohhhh, hold on,” Flash says, leaning forward. “Central City has been very quiet lately, so I’m free too.”

Wonder Woman joins in. “I’m interested too. I think the more people, the quicker we could get this done.”

Batman blinks. “Why the sudden interest in Gotham from you two?”

They both shrug, mumbling incoherent words that overlap each other. Something about “new environments” and “change of pace”.

Green Arrow smirks. “I wouldn’t mind accompanying. (Name) and her husband should get all the protection they can get.”

Batman isn’t showing it, but he’s confused. Less members have volunteered themselves for prison breaks. Why are three other members wanting to go to Gotham for an unconfirmed threat? And why do they keep looking at him like that?

“Yes,” Superman clears his throat. “Mrs (Name) is a kind woman who shouldn’t be in danger. And Bruce Wayne is similar in nature. He is valuable to Gotham City.”

Batman prepared his disliking-Bruce-Wayne act with practised ease. “Bruce Wayne is a spoiled idiot.”

“Of course you think that.” Green Lantern mutters with a smug smirk. Flash nudges him.

“What do you mean?” Batman asks, and Hal practically explodes.

“We know you’re attracted to (Name) Wayne!” He says, making Barry cover his eyes with his hands. Not how the conversation was supposed to go.

“Excuse me?” Batman is -frankly- appalled. Hal grimaces, instantly reminded of who exactly he’s talking to.

“You’re, uh . . .” he splutters before quickly mumbling, “you’re in love with (name).” He gains some of his confidence, and straightens up again, “and you were about to let Bruce Wayne get kidnapped, so you could swoop in and seduce her!” He tops it all off with hand gestures of the supposed ‘swooping’.

Batmans gaze sweeps the table. Nobody meets his eye except Diana, who just seems to be staring at him for his response. A few of them have to stop themselves from laughing at the idea of Batman ‘seducing’ someone.

“And what exactly gave you that idea?”

Barry is filled with a newfound confidence. “Oh, c’mon Bats, a blind man would see how you act around her!” He smirked a little. “You went a little . . . soft.”

Green Arrow snorts. “Sometimes I think you’re only protecting Gotham because she’s in it.”

Batman thinks. Has he been that transparent? He’s always careful about his expressions and body reactions. Maybe he is getting soft. He obviously didn’t take enough care.

A fleeting image passes his mind, where he declares his love for you to the team. How could he not show you off? He would love to tell them that you were with him.

But, of course, he doesn’t do that. He just blinks.

“I am not in love with (name), that’s ridiculous.” He scoffs. “Number one, I don’t fall in love with anyone. Number two, she’s married, so I think that means she’s out of the dating pool.”

Not one face looking back at him looks convinced.

However, a cold stare and a swift change of topic ensured that nobody tries to start the conversation again.

They do, however, take a bigger interest in Gotham nowadays. Whenever a mission includes you somehow, there’s always one of them volunteering to go. They all think that distance will make sure Batman goes back to his cold and steely ways of not having a crush on anyone’s wife.

Bruce crawls under the covers with a small groan, shuffling next to you. His arms go around your warm body as he rests his face near yours. He’s desperate to soak up your warmth after being out in the cold all night.

“Long night?” you ask, your voice still quiet from sleep.

“Long day,” he responds, tucking himself into you. You keep your arms around him. “The League accused Batman of being attracted to Bruce Wayne’s wife today.”

It takes you a moment to realise what he’s talking about. You breathe out a laugh. “Is Batman not in love with me?”

Bruce grins against your skin. “He might be.” He murmurs. “Just a little, though.”

You raise your eyebrows, turning to look at Bruce. “Does Batman know I’m married? And that I’m very loyal to my husband?”

“Oh, yes,” he responded, and sits up a little. he pressed his forehead to yours. “and Batman knows that there’s nobody else on this earth that loves you more than I do.”

You smile, your fingers in his hair now. he leans closer to press his lips to yours, an action that you return. Bruce keeps himself against you for a long time. He likes falling asleep with you in his arms. He likes feeling like the protector.

It’s why he needs to sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door. It’s why he needs to know where you are each night. It’s why he needs to know you’re safe. And if your safety comes along with each League member giving him looks because they think he’s harbouring a crush for another man’s wife, then so be it.

He’d do anything for you, anyway. 

[rosemaryhoney27]

MisDialed Hearts

inspired by this Prompt

Link

Tim Drake was cornered—again.

It had been one of those evenings, the kind that made Tim question every life decision that led him to being a CEO and a vigilante. Another gala. Another crowd of sharks in designer suits. Another round of well-meaning Gotham socialites asking about his dating life with a glint in their eyes like they were just waiting to pounce.

He needed out.

That’s when it happened. His phone buzzed with an unknown number. An escape hatch from the universe. A gift from the chaotic gods of Gotham.

Without hesitating, Tim pressed Answer and raised the phone to his ear like it was a lifeline.

“Hey, babe,” he said smoothly, walking briskly toward the exit, waving apologetically to the board members mid-sentence. “You’re calling now? I told you I was gonna be late—don't be mad. I'm on my way.”

There was a long pause on the other end. Then a confused voice said, “Uh. I think I called the wrong number...?”

Tim’s eyes lit up. Jackpot.

“I’ll be there in just a moment to pick you up,” he replied warmly, as if this was a normal thing, as if he hadn’t just started weaving a lie that would need more patching than a Gotham street after Scarecrow blew up half the block.

“Wha–?! Wait—what do you mea—”

Click. Tim hung up with a satisfied smile. He could already feel Babs and Dick squinting suspiciously at him from across the ballroom, probably comparing this situation to “that time Tim faked an uncle for six months.”

He needed someone real to make this lie work. Even if it started with a wrong number.

And he had the number.

— Meanwhile…

Danny Fenton blinked at his phone. He was sitting cross-legged on his twin bed in his Gotham University dorm, textbooks open in front of him, a microwaved quesadilla cooling by his side.

He'd been trying to call his physics lab partner, but either she changed her number or—

Or some random dude just answered way too comfortably and now might be on his way to pick him up. For a date.

“…Gotham,” Danny muttered, flopping backwards and groaning into his pillow. “I’m too tired for this.”

He considered texting the guy back, but he’d barely locked his phone when a black car pulled up in front of his dorm building.

A tall figure stepped out. a sinfully attractive man in a sleek black suit, tossing his keys to a valet who wasn’t even there five seconds ago, like Gotham just conjured them from the shadows.

Tim Drake.

“Are you Danny?” he asked, walking toward him with a smile that said, just go with it, please, but in the most polite, billionaire way possible.

Danny blinked. “Yeah…?”

Tim opened the car door. “Perfect. Sorry I’m late.”

“…okay.” Danny got in. He was too tired to fight this. Also? Tim smelled like expensive cologne and decisions that made bad ideas sound good.

“Just so you know,” Danny said as they pulled into traffic, “I have no idea what’s going on.”

Tim gave him a sideways glance, smirk playing on his lips. “You called me. I just answered.”

“You said you were picking me up for a date.”

“And I’m a man of my word.”

Danny stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you always like this?”

“Only when I’m being watched.”

Danny glanced behind them. Yep. That was definitely Nightwing in a very poorly concealed civilian outfit tailing their car. Robin was flying overhead. Batgirl’s silhouette was just visible on a rooftop.

“Oh my god,” Danny muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You dragged me into a Bat thing, didn’t you?”

Tim gave him an innocent look. “Do you want dinner? I know a place.”

Danny stared at him for another beat, then leaned back in the seat with a sigh.

“You know what? Fine. You’re hot, I’m tired, and I skipped lunch. Let’s go.”

Tim smirked again. “Excellent. Just don’t be surprised if someone tries to kill us. It’s Gotham, after all.”

Danny groaned. “That’s fine. I’m half-dead anyway.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Wait—what?”

Danny smirked this time. “You faked a boyfriend. I fake being alive sometimes. Let’s call it even.”

Tim laughed. “Oh, I like you.”

“I’m still charging you for gas money,” Danny deadpanned.

"But I'm the one driving"

"So."

They were a disaster already. Gotham might never recover.

[aethercoreheart]

caleb | 6:36 PM

"Can you come get me?"

Your voice cracks at the end of your question, and you have to stifle a sob. Before you even finish what you're saying, Caleb's voice speaks up on the other end of the line, resolute and firm.

"I have your location. I'll be there in five."

---

You don't say anything as you climb into the passenger seat of Caleb's car. He watches you put your seatbelt on wordlessly. You look out the window as he pulls out and starts driving, afraid that if you look at him, the tears would just start falling. Your eyes glaze over as the buildings pass by, and soon they start to become a gray blur.

Your hands are on your lap, and you hadn't realized how tightly you were clenching them until Caleb reaches over the console and takes one of yours in his. His fingers find their way between yours, and he tightens his grip on your hand, clasping it gently. He gives your hand a soft pump, and you return it, your chest suddenly feeling a little lighter.

You both stay silent as he continues to drive, one of his hands on the steering wheel and the other still holding yours.

Caleb breaks the silence first. "You want to talk about it?"

You keep your eyes trained on the buildings outside. You shake your head in response.

"Okay, that's fine," Caleb says simply.

The buildings disappear as Caleb enters the freeway, and your gaze shifts to the setting sun in the horizon. Your head is still clouded by troubled thoughts, but they disappear briefly when you notice that Caleb drives past the exit he was supposed to take.

You turn to look at him, but he just smirks, keeping his focus on the road ahead.

"Relax, we're just going to take a little detour. It won't take long, I promise."

---

You're not sure where it is that Caleb takes you, but you end up at an empty parking lot underneath the bridge spanning the city river. Caleb exits on the driver's side, and in a few seconds, he's opening the passenger door.

He extends a hand to you. "Come on, I have something to show you."

You take it, and let him lead you from the car to the stairs at the bottom of the bridge. You follow him as he heads up the stairs, and steps onto the pedestrian walkway part of the bridge. Soon, you are met with a spectacular view. The sun has sunk well below the horizon, but the sky is still a deep purple, dotted by the first few bright stars of the night. The moon has also started rising, its reflection becoming brighter on the surface of the river. In the distance, you see the city skyline, the city lights just blinking to life.

You can't help but gasp, entranced by the sights in front of you. Caleb watches you take it in, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. The both of you stay there, leaning over the railing, watching as the sky becomes darker and the lights become brighter.

You don't realize how cold it has gotten - in your rush to get Caleb to come pick you up, you had forgotten to take a jacket. You shudder involuntarily, the chill settling deeper into your skin. Caleb is immediately removing his leather jacket, and then drapes it over the railing. He then removes his hoodie, leaving him just wearing his shirt. He passes the hoodie to you, and you take it, immediately putting it on. You pull it over your head and take a deep breath in. The hoodie smells like him - slightly smoky and sweet, like cinnamon. He puts his jacket back on, and you lean against him, your head resting on his shoulder.

"Thank you," you whisper, suddenly feeling the lump in your throat again.

He takes your hand, his thumb rubbing gently strokes into it. You feel him press his lips against the top of your head, whispering into your hair.

"I'll come get you, no matter where you are, Pipsqueak."

[hearts4hughes]

COPIER ROOM TALK

clark kent x journalist!reader

“that color looks incredible on you,” the intern says, all charm and teeth. you glance up from the printer, caught off guard. he’s leaning a little too close, holding a stack of copies he clearly doesn’t care about.

“thanks,” you say, polite, distracted, already turning back to the jammed tray. somewhere down the hall, clark’s hands still. just for a second his fingers hover above the keyboard, shoulders stiffening the way they do when the world tilts wrong. he doesn’t need x-ray vision to know it’s you. doesn’t need super-hearing to catch the way your laugh trails faint and soft over the hum of the office. he hears it anyway. every word. every note. when you return to your desk a minute later, smiling absently, clark doesn’t look up. he doesn’t say anything. he just types a little slower than usual, jaw tight, and eyes fixed on the screen like it’s personally offended him.

“want to come over mine tonight?” the chair squeaks as you lean over. clark doesn’t respond. he just keeps his eyes fixated on the device in front of him. “we could get thai food.” you continue, raising your brows. he clicks once. then twice. still no answer. you blink at him—stare, actually. his jaw’s tight, his shoulders locked, and there’s a muscle ticking near his temple like he’s trying very hard not to say something he’ll regret. “…clark?”

his eyes flick to you, finally, but only for a second. they’re unreadable and darker than usual. “sure,” he says flatly. “whatever you want.” whatever you want? your mouth parts, confused. the smile you came back with starts to fade, just a little. he doesn’t meet your eyes again. you lean back into your chair slowly, watching him from the side. you’d seen him after earthquakes and explosions. literal end-of-the-world scenarios. but this—this strange silence, this shift in him—was worse. he only ever went quiet when something really got to him, and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out what it was.

“okay,” you hum, swiveling your chair back to your desk. your fingers hesitate over the keyboard, still watching him in the corner of your eye. clark doesn’t move. he just stares at the screen like it might answer for him. the silence stretches. you shift in your seat. start typing a few lines. erase them. type them again. you exhale deeply, already turning back towards him. “did something happen?”

he exhales through his nose. the sound slow and measured. he’s still not looking at you. “no.”

you frown. “did i do something?”

this time he does look. “no,” he says again, but it’s faster now. more certain. “you didn’t do anything.”

you nod, slowly. uncertainty lingers on your skin like a tattoo. it doesn’t make sense. your mind flicks back to his large hands typing a little harsher than usual. how he didn’t smile when you came back to your desk. “…okay,” you say again. you both go back to pretending to work. but something’s shifted in the air. you can feel it and so can he.

by the time the sky has darkened, casting shadows of the street lights, the silence between you is deafening. lois left an hour ago, grabbing her maroon jacket and rambling about some hit story she’s heading to. jimmy made a dramatic exit about ten minutes ago after some girl named eve called him. now, it’s just you and clark. it’s a standoff. who will propose leaving first? who will grab their bag? who will finally speak up?

you glance at him. he’s still typing…or at least pretending to. you know his writing cadence by now and this isn’t it. your bag is at your feet. your jacket’s still slung on the back of your chair. your stomach’s been growling since seven, but you haven’t said a word and neither has he. finally, you push your chair back with a soft scrape against the floor. that gets his attention. his head snaps up, eyes darting to you with that same guarded look he’s had all day.

you bend down, reach for your bag, sling your jacket over your arm. “i’m heading out,” you say, light as you can manage.

he nods once. “okay.”

but you don’t move yet. you look at him again, something tight winding in your chest. “are you…coming?”

he hesitates. then, finally, slowly, closes his laptop. the sound is soft but final. “yeah,” he says, standing. “yeah, i’ll walk you.”

you blink. “clark, you don’t have to-”

“i want to.” and something in his voice makes you pause. makes you really look at him. his eyes meet yours—quiet, stormy, unraveling. he’s not mad. he’s not distracted. he’s just…jealous, and it’s becoming increasingly hard to ignore the ugly, green pit in his stomach.

you nod, shifting your weight between your feet. his shadow envelopes you as he stands. your eyes ping-pong around the room while he gathers his things, moving a little slower than usual, like maybe he’s buying himself time. his tie’s loose, hair slightly mussed from running his hands through it one too many times. he doesn’t say anything as he slips his laptop into the worn satchel he always carries. doesn’t say anything when he shrugs on his coat. you hold the elevator door for him. he steps in without a word.

by the time you both hit the sidewalk, the chill has set in. there’s that faint city buzz—distant car horns, late trains, the occasional echo of laughter from a rooftop bar—but between you, it’s all static. three blocks pass like that. then he says your name. your steps slow. “yeah?”

he keeps looking ahead, like if he turns to you he’ll lose his nerve. “can i ask you something?”

you nod. “always.”

he swallows, hard, and shoves his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “do you…like him?”

you blink. “who?”

he finally looks at you. eyes sharp, but scared. “the intern.”

the laugh slips out before you can catch it. not mean, just surprised. “you’re kidding.” amusement dances in your eyes like a ballroom. he doesn’t smile…just waits. “no,” you say firmly. “i don’t.” something in his chest loosens, visibly. like you reached in and unhooked a wire. you tilt your head, stepping closer. “is that what this has been about?” his lips press together. “clark,” you say gently, “were you jealous?”

he exhales sharply through his nose. “i wasn’t thrilled.”

you bite back a smile. “you were sulking.”

“i don’t sulk.”

“you sulked so hard.” his mouth twitches. almost a smile—almost. “you could’ve just said something.”

“i didn’t want to overstep,” he murmurs. “i don’t know what this is. i just know that when he looked at you like that, i wanted to fly him into the sun.”

you chuckle. “jesus.”

“too much?”

“no,” you say, stepping into his space. “just very on brand.” he laughs, quiet and a little breathless. then, he reaches for your hand. your fingers intertwine with his like a puzzle. he squeezes your hand. you squeeze back. suddenly, his memory of the intern evaporates, along with all of his worries. it’s just you and him. how it should be.

taglist ~ @leynetto @illumoria @witchofswans @mauvesmax @kisses4rafey @jimmys-tiara @blushhbambi @sunnliqht @bugisastranger @whyistheskypink @soul-of-daises @take-it-on-the-run @hi346736 @iamthepawn @athenaluvsu @makiplan @replaythatrayrae @maralovescassianandmark @namgification @xsimbaaa @erisemptyskull @bangtanevermore @sugarplum444161 @ursogorgeous13 @rinakran @fran-the-man @mslflvrss @angel06babysworld @deafeningbearhottub @biancasisstuff @chamorunsmiles @fattynana @howiswhatawhy @kissmxcheek

[rafesangelita]

♡ when nerd!rafe finds explicit content of you on your laptop — aka a study session turned gooning session..

warnings: mentions of nude photos and videos, teasing, flirty banter, slight guilt, masturbation, suggestive ending

a/n: read more about nerd!rafe and bitchy!pogue!reader here !

rafe shook his head when he saw the glossy pink casing of your macbook staring back at him from the desk in the corner of his room, his phone buzzing just as he was about to send you a lengthy message about forgetting your laptop at his place for the thousandth time.

[3:57 PM] ♡ y/n : pls tell me i left my computer at your place, i was leaving the club this morning at like 3AM and couldn’t find it in my bag…

rafe sighed at your text. of course you’d be leaving the club at an outrageous hour.

[4:00 PM] Rafe Cameron : Yes, it’s here. Please remember you can’t be forgetting it all of the time, how are you supposed to do homework when you don’t have your laptop at home?

you rolled your eyes as you read over his message. ugh, he was always on your case about getting your assignments done and turned in on time.

[4:03 PM] ♡ y/n : whatever. i actually already finished everything i had to do but if you could please proofread an essay for me i’ll love you forever. i’m on my way over.

rafe let you know the front door was unlocked before opening your laptop, his cheeks burning red as a picture of you in a skimpy bikini illuminated the screen. if anyone was going to put themselves as their wallpaper, it’d be you. typing in your password, rafe went ahead and clicked on the ‘files’ icon, a frustrated groan leaving his lips when a storage notification popped up.

⚠︎ DUE TO MAXIMUM STORAGE USE YOU ARE UNABLE TO ACCESS THIS FILE. PLEASE DELETE LARGE MEDIA.

large media? what the hell did you have on here?

exiting out of the ‘files’ app, rafe opened your camera roll, his mouth going dry at the sight. scrolling up for what seemed like forever, rafe swallowed hard as his eyes took in the view of your naked form. someone seemed to be having a little too much fun with photo booth on here..

your pictures ranged from fully nude, to you posing in nothing but a g-string and other suggestive positions that all of a sudden made rafe’s pants feel ten times tighter. feeling the familiar ache in his groin, rafe looked down and cursed under his breath at the tent forming in his pants. he couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt at the whole thing. here he was, going through your private photos and getting hard while you thought he was checking your essay for any errors. surely, he wasn’t going to be getting the ‘man of the year’ award anytime soon.

clicking on a video that caught his attention, rafe leaned back in his chair as he kept his eyes trained on the screen in front of him. he watched as you flipped your hair over your shoulder, a teasing smile making its way to your lips before you scooted back, fluttering your lashes at the camera. rafe couldn’t recognize what exact song you had playing in the background, but he knew it had to be some kind of early 2000’s pop anthem by the way you had a very specific music taste for that era. you basically flirted with the camera as you unhooked your bra, the hot pink lace falling to the floor at your feet.

pushing his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose, he blinked when your tits came into view, the soft swells looking so perfect and plump as you rolled your sensitive buds between your fingers. you moaned, the sound shooting straight down to rafe’s cock. “fuck..” he wiped the sweat from his brow, not daring to miss a single beat of your ministrations. rafe wondered how someone could look so pretty doing such vulgar things, his hand seemingly having a mind of its own as he started palming himself in a poor attempt to relieve some of the pressure in his core.

he damn near made himself jump out of his chair at his own touch, his sensitivity flying through the roof as the video came to a stop. you were such a tease all the time, rafe felt like his current actions was a result of all the pent up sexual frustration finally rising to the surface, his skin hot and flushed as he unbuttoned his pants and took himself out of his undewears. he’ll feel terrible about this later, but right now he needed release more than anything else. with one hand fisting his cock, and the other clicking through your photos, rafe was a whimpering mess by the time you had walked up his driveway.

slipping your heels off at the door, you paused once you heard what sounded like a muffled whine come from upstairs. arching a brow, you quietly placed your bag down before tiptoeing to rafe’s room. you didn’t know what to expect upon peeking through the crack in the door, but seeing rafe cry out into his palm while cum decorated his stomach definitely wasn’t on the list. you gasped softly once you saw yourself on the laptop in front of him, his chest rising and falling as he sat hunched over at his desk. rafe was tugging one out to your pictures.. the thought alone made your head spin.

debating on whether or not you should interrupt his little moment, you thought about all the stuff rafe did for you without ever expecting anything in return. he was so cute and funny and somehow found a way to tolerate you and all your sassy remarks, it only felt right to express your appreciation. creeping up behind him, rafe spinned in his chair when his phone went off, his mind going completely blank as you stood over him with a glittery smile. “y/n—!” he choked, his eyes widening as his hands shot down to conceal his length. you took a moment to study him, your own arousal seeping through your panties as you took in his disheveled appearance.

unbuttoned shirt, chiseled abs, his glasses sitting crookedly on his nose, the flush of pink that dusted over his cheeks.. you needed him bad. taking a step forward, you reached out and ran your fingers through his hair, making sure to tug the ends in order to tease him. “i would’ve never forgotten my laptop here if i had known you’d be jerking off to me..” you said innocently, your acrylic nails raking down his chest before you moved his hands away to reveal his cock. “please forgive me, y/n! i’m not a creep, i promise, i—” you shushed him, muttering a small ‘shut up.’ before ridding yourself of your panties.

rafe blinked, his chest still heaving as you held onto his shoulders for leverage. “no need to be sorry,” you reassured him, swinging a leg over his lap, “i actually think it’s kinda cute.” rafe shuddered once you sat down, your puffy, slick folds enveloping the tip of his cock as he stared up at you, dumbfounded. “you know.. you’re always teaching me things, maybe it’s time i teach you a thing or two, yeah?” rafe swallowed thickly when you shifted your weight, your hips grinding against his own as his palms found their resting place on top of your thighs.

nodding helplessly at your words, you reached down and aligned rafe with your entrance.

“hopefully you do a good job, ray, because you’re getting graded for this one.”

[formulafanfics13]

Can you do one where reader is dating Lando but she isn’t famous or an influencer or rich so when she comes to the paddock she feels totally out of place and then overhears some fans talking about how they miss magui and wish Lando and magui were still together and then reader thinks that maybe Lando also feels that way so she starts excluding her self and it ends with Lando showing ( 🔥) that he doesn’t think like that? Thank you!

all mine - LN4🔥

Masterlist

summary: you’re not famous. You’re not rich. You’re just Lando’s girlfriend. And when you overhear fans wishing he was still with Magui, the doubt creeps in. What if he feels the same? What if you were never enough? But Lando sees it — and he knows exactly how to remind you who you are to him.

warnings: insecurity, overheard fan comments, emotional withdrawal, soft dom!Lando, praise kink, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, possessiveness, reassurance through smut, creampie, reader feeling like an outsider, comfort through physical intimacy

You’re not famous.

You don’t have a blue check next to your name. You don’t post curated selfies or promo codes. You don’t work in fashion, or beauty, or entertainment. You’re just... you.

And when you walk through the paddock holding Lando’s hand, you feel like you’re floating somewhere you don’t belong.

Everyone here is someone. Models. Influencers. Rich girls. Leggy and effortless. Girls who know how to pose when the cameras hit. Girls who laugh at the right volume and flick their hair on cue. Girls who look like they were built to belong to this world.

You try to smile. Try to stay close. Try to shrink into the background and not get in the way. Lando doesn’t act like he’s ashamed of you, he never has. But the whispers still catch you off guard.

Especially today.

It happens outside hospitality.

You’ve just stepped away to take a breather while Lando does media. You’re tucked in a quiet corner, sipping water, checking messages. Behind you, two girls linger by the barricade, whispering with phones half-raised and glossy lips twisted in mild judgement.

“I just miss Magui, you know?”

“She was so perfect for him.”

“They looked so good together.”

“Remember that one summer in Monaco? Ugh, I lived for those stories.”

The other hums. “This new girl’s cute but... I don’t know. Not the same.”

You freeze. They don’t even know you’re listening. You don’t think they’d care if they did. And that’s what hits hardest.

You start pulling away after that.

Not on purpose. Not all at once. But bit by bit, moment by moment. You stop reaching for his hand. You sit further from him during team dinners. You stop slipping into his driver room between sessions. You don’t wait at the exit after quali.

You keep smiling. Keep playing the part. But Lando notices. Because Lando notices everything.

It all comes to a head that night in the hotel.

He’s fresh out of the shower, curls damp, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, towel slung around his neck. You’re sitting on the bed in one of his t-shirts, legs crossed, pretending to scroll your phone.

He looks at you.

You don’t look up.

“Alright,” he says finally. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

You exhale. “It’s really nothing, Lando.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Your throat tightens. “I just don’t think I fit in.”

He freezes. “What?”

You laugh, brittle. “This whole world — the cameras, the girls, the fans, the money — I don’t belong here. I feel like I’m just tagging along. Like I’m boring compared to what you’re used to.”

He steps forward, slow.

“And then I heard some fans talking,” you continue. “Saying they miss Magui. That she was perfect for you. And maybe they’re right. Maybe you miss her too.”

Silence.

You don’t dare look at him.

Then you feel it, the heat of his body as he stands over you. The quiet inhale through his nose. The soft click of your phone being pulled from your hand and set aside. “Look at me.”

You do.

His eyes are dark. Dangerous. “You think I miss anyone that isn’t you?”

You blink. “I just-”

“You think I bring you into my world, let you sleep in my bed, kiss you before races, because I settled?”

You stay silent.

He leans in, voice low and sharp. “Get on the bed.”

“What?”

“Lie back.”

You obey.

Because his tone is serious. Fierce. The kind of tone that coils in your stomach and makes your skin burn. He kneels between your legs, lifts the hem of his own shirt up your thighs.

“You don’t belong here?” he says softly. “I’ll fucking show you how much you do.”

His mouth finds your cunt in seconds. No hesitation. No warning.

You gasp, back arching, fingers tangling in the sheets.

He devours you. Tongue dragging through your folds, lips sucking your clit like he’s starving. His hands grip your thighs, pulling them open wider, holding you down when you start to squirm.

“Lando-”

“Take it,” he growls. “Let me prove it.”

You come hard, legs shaking, eyes blurred with tears, breath ragged. He doesn’t stop. He fucks you slow. Deep. Spreads your legs over his shoulders and sinks into you like he’s claiming territory. “You think I miss her?” he mutters. “No one tastes like you.”

You cry out.

“No one sounds like you.”

He thrusts harder.

“No one takes me like you do.”

Your hands claw at his back.

“I don’t want some model,” he pants. “I want you. Your voice. Your smile. Your stupid oversized hoodies and the way you always steal my fries and fall asleep on my chest like it’s your fucking right.”

His forehead rests against yours.

“I love you,” he whispers. “So don’t ever pull away again.”

You come again, shattered and sobbing, body curling around him like you’ve finally come home.

In the morning, your legs still ache.

He makes you coffee in bed.

You post a blurry selfie of him kissing your bare shoulder, captioned:

“Still not Magui. Still his.”

[ghostsprincess]

I can't stop thinking about Ghost being such a gentleman when your boyfriend is an ass....

warning: domestic abuse, adult language

💀

You were mortified that it happened at work this time...

Your boyfriend was a brute of a man, made worse over the months by drinking alone at night while you bartended to help pay down your student debts from several years ago. He got a little rough with you, but only when he was plastered. And you forgave him, because he was decent the rest of the time.

But suddenly you had to start coming to the pub to pull pints with a little extra makeup on your face. The random patrons out for a casual drink wouldn't have noticed, but your regular boys did. You only knew them by Ghost and Soap. They were military and mean looking, but they laughed together like teenage schoolmates. It was always a good night when they sat at the bar, but you could often feel their eyes on you.

"Y' alright, love?" Ghost asked the first night you wore extra eye makeup and a bright red lipstick.

"Yes," you told him, not meeting his eyes. Your face hurt. Your boyfriend had slapped you two days ago. Your skin was puffy and bruised, and you were embarrassed and afraid to move out, so you stayed. "You boys need another round?"

They left you a sizable tip. They always did.

The next time you saw them, your lip was split open, and you were desperate for a way out of the mess your life had turned into. Trying to hide your face while you mixed drinks was a chore, and as soon as Ghost and Soap arrived, you knew it was useless.

When Soap disappeared toward the washrooms, Ghost leaned across the bar, his hulking shoulders taking up more than their fair of space, making you smile slightly. His voice was deep and soft, but his words made you shiver and freeze with your hand on a pint glass. "Y' know, a pretty little thing like you belongs on a pedestal. A man should touch you with reverence."

You stared at him silently as his eyes tracked the mark on your lip. When Soap returned, you didn't charge them a cent for their drink, but they tipped you well anyway.

When a confrontation happened at the bar, tears stung your eyes, and you wanted to hide. Your boyfriend was drunk and angry, and tonight he beckoned you from behind the bar to a dark corner near the hallway where he could have some privacy while he berated you and roughed you up.

"Please," you begged, running your hands nervously on your shirt. "Just go home. I'll be off work in an hour."

"How many of them have you fucked?"

"What?" you gasped, thinking he'd finally lost it. "What are you talking about? I need to get back to work."

He pushed you up against the wall with his other hand on your jaw. "How many of the men here tonight have you fucked?" His thumb brushed the spot on your lip that was nearly healed, and you flinched. "You have the guiltiest expression. So, tell me how much of a slut you've been. As your boyfriend, I need to keep you in line."

Then he was being hauled away from you as your legs shook. With wide eyes, you watched Ghost's massive bicep wrap around his neck like it was nothing. "Y' alright, love?" he asked you softly, and you nodded without saying a word. Then his face darkened, and his voice was an angry snarl as he told your boyfriend, "Ya' been relieved of your duties."

"The fuck?" he responded from his headlock, gasping for air.

Ghost sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fuckin' prick don't even know military protocol." Then he raised his voice a little louder. "I said, ya' been relieved of your duties. I'll take over from here."

Somehow, you found your voice. "Take over?"

Ghost's face softened again when he looked at you there against the narrow hallway wall. "With the boyfriend duties," he told you while Soap dragged your ex-boyfriend toward the exit. "Sound good, love?"

He was holding out his big paw of a hand, palm facing up, and you knew he'd be incapable of using it to hurt you. The softness in his gaze right now and every time he looked at you was proof enough of that. You didn't respond, but you smiled as you slid your hand into his grasp.

"That'll do for now," he grunted.

That was the night you came to know him as Simon.

💀

Part two

[yunalinwrites]

saja boys' sixth member is... a girl ? - first time seeing you in girly clothes | saja boys x reader

series summary: in this story, you are pretending to be a boy. not just any boy--a saja boy. but what will you do when not even your fellow members--the ones you now share a dorm with--can find out you're actually a girl? stay tuned for more!! (heavily based on you're beautiful kdrama + ouran high school host club)

scene summary: after having always seen you a boy, seeing you in your true form has them feeling some type of way… (lots of possessiveness + a teensy weensy bit of suggestiveness) / based on this req

It was a hot summer midnight in the Saja Boys’ dorm and you couldn't sleep. Between the faulty AC and the release of your guys’ new album coming soon, you found yourself restlessly tossing and turning.

At this point, you'd already come clean to the boys about how you're actually a girl, so you figured it wouldn't hurt to start wearing your more feminine pajamas. After all, if you had to constantly be playing the part of a boy during the day, you could at least stay in touch with your feminine side during the night. Although, it didn't occur to you that none of your roommates had actually seen you in your true form…

💪 Abs caught you on your way out of the convenience store. You had a craving for rice balls, so you threw on a cropped tank top and pajama pants and ran to the nearest corner store. It seems like you weren't the only one, though; just before you reached the exit–a bag-ful of goodies in your hand–the doors slid open with a chime.

“Abby?”

In front of you was none other than your pink-haired roommate, also wearing pajama pants and slides. On top of that–though he wasn't matching crop tops with you today–he had on a Saja Boys hoodie that somehow did little to conceal his muscles.

“Y/N?” he said.

“Abby!” you exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, I was on a jog and I got thirsty.” He shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie which--unbeknownst to you–was his “lying tic”. What actually happened is that he noticed you sneaking out late and, in order to make sure you were safe, followed you all the way here.

It was dark out, though, so he hadn't really seen you in the light. Until now, where the store’s flickering fluorescent light was shining on you.

To him, it was a beam from the heavens. You weren't wearing a binder--or a bra for that matter--to conceal your chest, and the crop top put the rest of your figure on display. And even though your face wasn't much different in the same sense, your outfit gave it a completely new context that he couldn't look in the eye without blood rushing to his cheeks… and elsewhere…

“You were on a jog at midnight…?” you questioned.

“Uh--yeah. I, uh… do midnight jogs. Along with my morning jogs. And also… afternoon jogs.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, not-so-subtly flexing with a cross of his arms.

You giggle. “Ah, I see. So that's your secret to a six pack?” With his hands out of his hoodie pocket, you take the opportunity to poke playfully at his abs.

At that, his face turns even pinker than his hair.

“Don't worry, I won't tell anyone,” you promise with a wink, bringing your pointer finger to your mouth in a shushing motion.

He doesn't say anything--which you don't realize is because he's still too occupied with taking you all in–so you take it as your cue to leave. 

“I should probably go now,” you say. “Make sure you stay hydrated on your… midnight jog…”

“Wait–” he objects, grabbing your wrist just as you make it through the sliding doors. He looks you in the eye with a serious gaze, but the words struggle to come out.

For a second, neither of you make a move, blinking at each other in silence. Before either of you can come up with something to say, you’re suddenly distracted by the feeling of something cold hitting your shoulder. Using it as an escape from his heated gaze, you take your eyes off of him. Looking up to the sky, you hold your palm out to the falling water droplets.

Suddenly, you feel your other hand being pulled. Before you know it, you're moving away from the rain and your face is colliding with his warm chest, his scent filling your nostrils.

“You should've told me you were going out,” he murmurs, his chest rumbling beneath your burning cheeks.

Your heart is pounding out of your chest. Given his stature as an athlete, you expect his heartbeat to be slower. But, what you hear and feel beneath your ear seems to be thumping synchronously with yours–maybe even more rapid.

“Everyone was asleep…” you manage to respond, a little muffled as you try not to be obvious about the way you're burying yourself into him.

He, on the other hand, doesn't care about being conspicuous. He hugs you a little tighter. “Tell me next time.”

You bite your cheek, now letting yourself snuggle into him without shame. “Okay,” is all you can get yourself to whisper.

You stay like that for a little longer--which is a little strange to the cashier--but you don't care. Even if you wanted to move, the firm embrace he has around the small of your back wouldn't allow it. Eventually, though, you work up a bit more courage to pull back enough to look up at him and ask something.

“Hey, Abby… what’s in your pocket?” you ask with wide eyes. This whole time, you had been feeling something hard, long, and cylindrical in between the two of you.

“Oh,” he says. He takes an arm off of your back to slide it out. “You know, you should at least check the weather before you go out.”

It's a Saja Boys branded umbrella. What did you think it was?

He slowly lets go of you, grabbing your shopping bag and stepping into the outdoors to open the umbrella. Then, he looks back at you expectantly.

You smile. “Thank you,” you say, catching up with him.

As you begin to walk back in the direction of the dorm, you can't help but form another question: “Can I ask you something?”

He swallows nervously. “What is it?”

“If you knew it was going to rain… why did you go out on your ‘midnight jog’?” you ask.

He just smirks, looking down at you. 

“That's my secret.”

💐 Romance had caught you on your way to the bathroom. You had stayed up watching make-up tutorials all night, which made you miss doing a proper face. You still wore makeup for performances and shoots and such, but it was mostly just contour and eyebrow pomade to make you look more manly. So, you decided to do a little pre-shower look before you went to bed.

It felt a little weird to get dolled up with no destination, but screw it. You even put on a cute little nightgown to match. You never thought you'd describe glitter eyeshadow and tinted lip gloss as “refreshing,” but it really did feel nice to look like a girl again. Who knew you would miss eyeliner and mascara so much?

Sitting at your vanity, you yawned with a stretch, already feeling your falsies come off--now that was something you didn't miss. So, you got up and began to tip-toe towards the bathroom.

You didn't expect anyone else to be up at this hour, so it scared you half to death when you saw a familiar head of pink hair emerge from the shared bathroom.

“Y/N?”

There shouldn't have been anything scary about your roommate in a T-Shirt and sweatpants, but you still had to cup your hand over your mouth to stop a scream from forming. Instinctively, you pull it back when you feel something sticky; the lip gloss formed a kiss mark on your palm. You feel your cheeks burn, suddenly realizing what you look like right now.

“Are you wearing makeup?” Romance asked curiously.

You stare down at your bunny slippers. “Um… yeah…” you admit sheepishly.

The nightgown itself was revealing enough, but somehow covering your face like this made you feel even more exposed. You prayed he wasn't seeing too clearly given that all the lights in the house were off.

Before you can take a step back, he switches on the bathroom light and grabs your wrist. 

“Come to the light so I can see you,” he tells you calmly, the dim glow coming through the doorway illuminating his soft smile.

Reluctantly, you step forward as he pulls you into the bathroom. Taking your chin in his hand and tilting your face side to side, he observes you carefully.

“Pretty,” he comments. He steps back, taking in the sight of all of you. His eyes trace the lace adorning your collarbone. The heat of his stare makes your cheeks flush bright pink--no product needed. “You should wear lip gloss more often.”

You bite your lip again. “Oh, I…” You laugh nervously. “You know I can't.”

“You can do it for our next concept,” he suggested, referring to the softer direction the Saja Boys were going to take for your next album. “Tell the makeup artists.”

“Or,” he began, grabbing your chin and pulling your face impossibly closer to his, brushing his thumb over your lips. “You can borrow some from me.”

He has you pinned against the sink, your back against the counter. You stare up at him through your lashes, fluttering them innocently… until one of them falls off. 

“I-I should probably take this off now…” you stutter.

You quickly turn around to face the mirror, trying not to look at him in your reflection. You try to keep your gaze downward, on the sink as you reach for your makeup wipes. But, as you do, you feel a hand instead of the plastic packaging.

He picks up the package and peels it open, the crinkling sound the only thing breaking the thick silence between you.

“Let me do it,” he instructs gently, grabbing your waist and spinning you around to face him. “Sit on the counter.”

You blink at him, the other eyelash falling off. “Oh… Um… Okay…”

You prop yourself up on the counter and allow him to slot himself between your legs. With the wipe in one hand, he tenderly holds your face in place with the other and begins to remove your makeup.

“Am I being too harsh?” he asks.

“N-no, that's ok…”

You sit in silence, staring at the floor and doing your best to focus on the cooling sensation. Every once in a while you look up, and each time he never fails to lock eyes with you. You hope he can't feel your face getting warmer through the wipe.  

“What I said earlier…” he starts, slowing down over your lips. “You look good in any makeup.”

He tosses the wipe in the nearby wastebasket and returns, placing his palms on either side of you on the counter and leaning towards you. His gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and then back up to your eyes.

“Without it, too.”

He leans even closer, and once again, your faces are inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, the warmth of his breath. He seems to only be getting closer and closer so you let your eyes drift shut, leaning forward like its second nature, and then–

You feel something fuzzy slip over your head. You open your eyes. Around your neck is a fluffy pink headband with two red plush hearts on it like animal ears. He pushes it up, onto your head, tucking stray hairs behind his ear.

He puts on one of his own–just like yours but with inverted colors–and reaches behind you again.

“Should we do aloe?” he asks, re-emerging with two kinds of sheet masks: one green, and the other pink. “Or rose?”

You take a second to process what just happened. “Um… rose…”

He smiles. “Good choice.”

He rips the top of one of the packages and places it delicately on your face. Then, he does the same for himself, moving away from you to use the mirror.

You watch him beside you. Even through the glistening pink mask, you're desperate to find his eyes. As the two of you wait for the serums to settle into your skin, you don’t realize how hard you’re staring.

“Do I look funny?” he jokes when he catches your gaze.

For a second you take your mind off your pounding heart to laugh. “Y-yeah, a little.”

He chuckles, finding his way back between your legs. After discarding his mask, he slowly peels off yours, inch by inch, as if he’s received a present so precious he wants to cherish its unwrapping.

When he finally sees your face, bare in its truest form, he does all that he can to commit the image to memory. It’s funny, this is probably the part of you that he saw the most–whether it be in recording studios or dance rehearsals or songwriting sessions, you never had so much as a dab of powder on your nose. But somehow, you feel like he’s seeing you for the very first time, and he’s savoring it like it’s the last.

You feel yourself heating up again, so you try to break the silence. “Do… I look funny?” you ask, eyes darting back and forth between his.

He shakes his head with the lightest of laughs.

“You look beautiful.”

🍼 You knew Baby was awake--you could hear him tapping away intensely on his gaming keyboard from your room as you changed into your cami and shorts. He seemed very engrossed in whatever he was playing, shouting heated insults into the mic of his headset as you passed by his room. So, as you were standing in front of the fridge trying to enjoy the cold air wafting over you, it scared you half to death when you felt your tank top strap snap against your back.

You shriek and whip around.

“Hey,” he says casually, hooking the strap under his finger again and letting it smack your collarbone. “What’s up?”

“‘Hey’ yourself,” you mutter, rubbing the spot. “I'm up because someone can't keep it down when he's playing ranked.”

You turn back around to the fridge with a huff, but you notice that the last can of Saja Soda Pop™ is gone. “Hey! How did you–”

“Quick hands.”

You crane your neck to glare at him, but your eyes instinctively drop downwards at the sight of skin. He’s using the hem of his T-Shirt to clean off the top of the can, revealing his lower abdomen. Through his open zip up and beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, you can see the brand name of his boxers.

Trying to ignore the sight, you force your eyes back to his face and lunge towards him, but he’s two steps ahead, and about half a foot above you. He looks down at you with a smug expression as he holds it up, out of your reach. You get on your tippy toes and reach towards it, your chest beginning to press on his.

“Ugh!” You retreat and cross your arms, giving up with a pout. He cracks it open and throws it back without shame. One hand gives you the finger, and in the other, you see his stupid face plastered on the bright pink can: “Baby's Blue Raspberry”.

“Whatever… “ you mumble, attempting not to focus on the way his Adam's apple bobs with every gulp. “Romance's flavor is better anyway. ‘Lychee Love Potion’ outdoes yours by a longshot.”

He finishes drinking with a swallow and a deep exhale, his expression growing uncharacteristically serious. He looks you dead in the eye, unamused, as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He keeps that eye contact as, without a word, he holds the can to your lips.

Before you can protest, he tilts it, forcing you to drink as you stare up at him, wide eyed. When the can empties, he pulls it back and uses his thumb to wipe the corner of your lips.

He leaves you dumbfounded as he goes to toss the can in the recycling.

As he makes his way back, you're finally about to stutter something out–until you're interrupted by his scent suddenly overwhelming you.

“Don't dress like this around the house,” he instructs, draping his hoodie around your shoulders. “‘Specially not around Romance.”

Your jaw hangs open as he then takes his phone out of his pant pocket and begins heading out of the kitchen. You watch his back in awe as he types away on it, acting as if nothing happened.

He's already halfway up the stairs by the time you shake yourself out of it and call after him.

“It's hot out, you know…” you protest weakly, contradicting the way you're pulling the hoodie around yourself. You try to put some bite into your voice. “I'm gonna, like, die of a heat stroke and it'll be all your fault.”

He looks down at you again from above the stair railing, wearing that stupid smug face again.

“There's a fan in my room,” he states matter-of-factly, resuming his walk up the stairs.

“When you come return my hoodie,” he starts, “you can wear whatever you want in there.”

❓ Mystery’s always had a strong nose. His sight is constantly dampened by his signature hairstyle, and as a result, his other senses have become strengthened. So, the chemical scent was particularly unpleasant to him--enough so to get out of bed to investigate.

Following the harsh odor through the hallway, he found himself in front of your bedroom door. The main light wasn’t on, but enough of a glow seeped through the cracks of the closed door to indicate you were awake; a lamp, maybe. Wanting to confirm this theory, he raised his knuckle just under the pastel sticky note with your charming handwriting and followed its instructions: “Please knock! - Y/N”

He stepped back, anticipating a greeting. But, even after a few minutes, the only response that would break the silence was the occasional clink of glass from behind the door. 

Now, he knew it was rude to come in. Especially at this hour, when you certainly weren’t expecting anyone, he considered. He also considered that you might not be decent. But, his curiosity got the best of him, and he figured he did technically follow the instructions the note had given him. So, he reached for the door handle.

He was met with the sight of you sitting criss-cross applesauce on your desk chair in an off-the-shouldee T-Shirt and shorts, elbows planted on the table, hands tasked with something he couldn't quite make out; the only lighting was a desk lamp–his theory was correct. What he could make out, though, was the thumping of the bass from your headphones. You hadn't noticed him yet, so he approached you, watching closely over your shoulder.

Your hands were trembling, your dominant one shaking a nail polish brush over the thumb of the other. You had your tongue peeking out and one eye shut, trying your hardest to guide the bristles above your cuticle.

Mystery took a small step back. So, that’s what it was. His one late night curiosity had been solved, and he should’ve been satisfied enough to go back to bed. But, in its place formed another: how long would it take you to notice him?

It looked like you had managed to make a shoddy swipe over your nail bed, which allowed you to start breathing again. Taking that as his window to approach you, he took a slow and quiet step forward. It was only when you went to dip the brush back into the bottle that you caught him out of the corner of your eye. 

Well, it didn't register as him at first. It seems late night delirium, dim lighting, and Mystery’s hairstyle are not a good combination.

“Ah!” 

You knock over the polish bottle as you flinch.

“Shit…” you mutter, frantically setting it right back up. You let out a sigh of relief--you caught it before it was able to spill. 

After returning the brush to the bottle, you move to take your headphones off, but--out of consideration for your wet nails--it isn't easy to do with just your palms. You struggle, the plastic slipping against your sweat, until you feel another set of hands cover yours. They're warm and careful as they move your hands out of the way, and still equally as gentle when they remove your headphones and place them on the desk.

You bit your lip as he stepped away to pick up an ottoman from the opposite corner of the room and set it beside you. The seat is much shorter than yours, but given his usually impressive height, it only lowers him to eye-level with you. Perfectly aligned with the light emanating from your desk lamp, he is no longer whatever apparition or monster you were imagining before; his features are softer than ever as you’re now able to see his smile more closely than ever before.

He also takes advantage of this vicinity. Whatever hairs were messed up by your headphones he strokes back into place. Tucking the strays behind your ear, he reaches over you and grabs a hair clip from the flower-shaped dish on your desk. He takes the bow he picked out in both hands and tilts it back and forth in the light. Smiling in satisfaction, he has to control his excitement as he pins your bangs back.

All you can do is stare at him in awe, your lips parted.

“Mystery…” you whisper.

He waves back at you, as if to say, “That's me.”

“Why are you here? Did I wake you?” you ask worriedly.

He points to the nail polish, and then to his nose.

“Oh… I'm sorry…” You trail off sheepishly. You reach to scratch the back of your neck out of nervousness but quickly retract your hand, remembering the state it's in.

He just shakes his head with a smile. “It's okay.”

He holds his hand out to you. You blink at him in confusion.

“Give me your hand,” he says, softly but aloud nonetheless.

“O-oh,” you stutter, hesitantly doing as he says.

Just like with the bow, he tilts your hand back and forth and smiles to himself. The color you had chosen was a translucent pink; as the bottle advertised, “Your nails but better!™”

Wearing nail polish was nothing out of the ordinary for all of you--so much so that the marketing team had released your own line of “Saja Sparkling Nail Lacquer™” for the “Lovely lion claws™” of “the Pride™” . Right now, in fact, Mystery had on his very own shade of magenta, courtesy of the cosmetics team's nail tech.

He'd seen much more elaborate designs--and much neater designs--done on his own fingertips. So, on paper, he shouldn't be impressed by the shaky brushstrokes of a simple clear pink. But on your hand--on the soft hand he was holding and never wanted to let go–there was something endearing. It wasn't something you’d get at a salon--it was more like the result of a girl's sleepover or hours at a vanity before a date. That image in his mind alone meant more to him than all the years that lady had spent at beauty school.

Though he himself had no such certifications either, he reached for the cap of the nail polish bottle. Bringing your hand closer to him, he began to sweep the brush over each nail.

You watched in awe as, with all ten fingers, he dipped the brush in the liquid and smoothed it over your fingers meticulously, holding your hand close to his face. With every replenishing of the brush, he would back up a bit, but when he resumed painting, you could feel his breath on your knuckles.

You feel it even harder after he finishes, blowing gently on your nails. It probably isn’t doing much to dry them given how hot and humid it’s been lately, but, contrary to the cool air he lets out, it doesn’t fail to make your cheeks burn.

With a third, final exhalation, he retracts his hold. Without realizing it, you leave your hand hanging in the air, right where he’d left it. Your body seemed to know what your mind didn’t have the courage to say: you weren’t ready for him to go yet.

But then, just as quick as his touch had left, it returned as he slid his palm under yours and pushed it so your hands were upright, like a high-five. He couldn’t help but breathe out of his nose a brief chuckle at how your fingertips came up a full joint shorter than his.

You hoped he couldn’t feel the way you were trembling right now–prayed that he wasn’t grossed out by how clammy your hands were getting. But he didn’t seem to care, and you didn’t have any thoughts left to think, when, slowly, he curled his fingers until his hand engulfed yours.

You bit your lip. You could feel his pulse under your touch, calm and steady, and you were sure he could feel yours thumping at twice the pace. But, despite your nervousness, you let yourself copy him, slowly lowering your fingertips until they slotted perfectly in between his knuckles.

On the back of your hand, you saw his beautiful pianist-like fingers resting. His flawless manicure wasn’t even a millimeter overgrown–filed unfathomably symmetrical, cuticles pushed back out of sight, and surface perfectly glossy, the light reflecting without obstruction. Meanwhile, on the back of his hand, he saw that, even with his and your best efforts, there were stray splotches of pigment here and there on your skin. In some places–where the light hit your nail beds wrong–there were unblended brushstrokes.

There was no competition. It was clear which one he preferred.

He squeezed your hand playfully. “Do mine next time.”

✨ “Jinu… Jinu, wake up. You shouldn’t fall asleep on the couch, you old man.”

With his arm over the back of the couch and his knees spread open, he continued to snore–a sound so loud it rendered the TV in front of him inaudible. You sigh, wondering how Derpy and Susie were able to stay snuggled up against him on that throw pillow. Really, with the drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth, it was comical how un-Saja-like this was–save for the lion’s roar that escaped him with every exhale.

You shake his shoulder. “C’mon, Jinu. I don’t want to hear about your back problems in the morning.”

“Hrrrgghh, shhhh… Mmm… Huh… Huh…?”

You watch as he goes from snoring to murmuring to mumbling and then… shrieking.

“Ahh! Intruder! Intruder! Derpy, there’s an intruder!”

Desperately, he yanks on the poor tiger’s blue fur. Derpy wakes up, but doesn’t share the same urgency. He recognizes your scent, so he opens his glowing eyes halfway only to side-glare at Jinu before drifting back to sleep.

“Y/N…?” he finally realizes.

You don’t respond. You just sigh and cross your arms. Unintentionally, you push your breasts up a bit as you do. You don’t notice but, as he continues to register what he’s looking at, he definitely does.

“Wh… what are you wearing…” he trails off.

Quickly, he darts his eyes somewhere else–anywhere else. Your satin button up and shorts set isn’t really by any means indecent, but he feels his cheeks get hotter with guilt for every second he stares. He turns his face away, but let's face it–at any angle, he’s red as an apple. 

“What? Four hundred years and you haven’t seen a PJ set?” you retort. 

You put your hands on your hips and weight on one leg, striking a sassy pose. “You might be, like, a gajillion years old, but you’re not my dad. I’ll wear what I like, especially when it’s hot.”

“R-right,” he agrees, not realizing you were referring to the weather.

“What are you watching, anyway?” you ask, turning around to the screen. “Oh, wait! I know this show. This is a good episode…”

You start going on about characters… or something–he feels bad for not listening, he really does, but he can’t help it. He hasn’t the slightest clue of what you’re talking about; he fell asleep in the first ten minutes of watching. It’s an easy fix; if he really wanted to, he could look at the screen and find enough context clues to put together a response. But then, he’d have to take his eyes off the real show in front of him.

The dim glow of the TV lights you up from behind like you’re an angel greeting him at the gates of heaven–something he thought he’d never see. He follows the glow around the edge of your silhouette, slowing down from the hem of your shorts to your waistband. He’s really not trying to make it pervy, he swears, but he still burns with shame–though, the feeling is somehow different than the sharp purple patterns Gwi-Ma sends through him; it has quite the pleasant side to it.

When his eyes reach the back of your head, he decides that’s the most respectful place he can rest them. It’s not any less of a sight than the rest of you–your hair has grown out a bit ever since your DIY pixie cut, enough so for you to tie the teeniest little ponytail to try and beat the heat. As it sprouts from the colorful little scrunchie, it reminds him of a pointed paintbrush. But in this form, he thinks, you should be a framed painting.

He’s snapped out of his trance when he feels the weight of the couch shift; Derpy crawls off the couch with Susie on his back, meowing a farewell.

“Get a room,” he seems to say.

Frantically, before you’re able to turn around, Jinu grabs the cushion they were on and holds it over his lap.

“Good night, Derpy. Good night, Susie,” you say with a wave. You turn back to the couch, making eye contact with Jinu.

“Sorry. I’m blocking your view, huh?” You apologize nervously, your eyes taking refuge on the empty spot Derpy left. You plop down next to Jinu, his arm still around the back of the couch behind you. But while you keep your eyes on the screen, he keeps his eyes on you.

“Wow… what a beautiful dress,” you comment, pointing at the wedding scene before you. “I wish I could wear something like that…

“Me too,” Jinu whispers, watching the way your eyes light up when you see it, lined by lashes he never realized were so long.

He flinches backwards a bit when you turn to him with a smirk. “I don’t think they make those in your size,” you joke. “Not if you’re eating enough for you and Derpy and Susie,” you say, gesturing to the empty family-sized bag of Saja’s Mild Spicy Shrimp Chips™.

“Th-that’s not what I–” he stutters, hoping you didn’t catch onto his stare. “Ugh, just shut up and watch.”

He feels you vibrate through your touching knees and shoulders as you laugh. “Okay, okay,” you surrender.

The both of you return your gazes to the screen. Jinu has to employ every muscle and nerve in his body to keep his head facing straight ahead and his mind on the plot. But a few minutes later, just as he thinks he’s able to squeeze out that last thought of the flowy satin draping over you, his aforementioned nerves detect an unexpected weight and warmth on his shoulder.

He looks down and finds your cheek smushed up against his shoulder; his ears–their tips now pink–pick up the most hushed of snores drifting from your plush lips. He thanks the stars above that your eyes are shut–putting your soft lashes on full display now–because now you can’t see how he’s blushing even harder than before.

He instinctively lifts the arm resting behind you, but just before it reaches your shoulder to shake you awake, he stops it above your head. It’s as if his muscles have a mind of their own–he tells himself–as his hand slowly lowers to your hair and begins to stroke it gently.

He immediately tenses up when he feels you stir, freaking out briefly until you snuggle closer to his chest. He lets out a deep breath of relief, but takes in a few more; he needs to slow down his pounding heartbeat right now, or else you might wake up, he worries.

When it’s as steady as he can get it, he lets his lungs go on autopilot. But, even so, he’s suddenly very aware of his body. He knows he’s not a lion, and he knows he’s not a tiger or bird. But, tonight, he doesn’t feel like a demon. Somehow, he feels strangely human. And he’s suddenly aware that he’s a man, and you’re a woman. And you are much smaller than him.

He takes his hand off of your head for a moment to pull slightly at the back collar of your shirt. Before the satin slips between his fingers, he’s able to catch the size on the label.

He’s an old man, as you like to tease him, so he’ll probably forget by the time he wakes up. But still, he leans his head on you and lets his eyes drift shut without a worry.

He’ll remember, he promises–and he hopes you can somehow hear that promise telepathically when his head meets yours.

He’ll remember when he buys you that dress.

***

erm idk how to feel cuz i kinda like what i wrote but i also somehow feel like i didnt go in the right direction in terms of whats expected from the prompt?? idk also sorry jinu's and baby's aren't the most developed i just wanted to get this out cuz it was taking so longggg

jinu is my fav but i struggle to write him :(

but anyways im so excited this was my first req ever so ty ty ty anon i luv u guys im gonna try to work on the other req i have asap but plz b patient w me :') dont b afraid to send in more req tho tee hee

masterlist

tags (open ^o^): @hornehlittleweeblet2 @foxta1l @prettylittlelavvy @ch1cky-093 @thoughtsfrom1985 @feelya @doodle-with-rhy @fries11 @katzline @iivantablackii

[mishappeningss]

MORE THAN A DRIVER

CHAPTER FOUR

more about driver!yn

formula one + female!driver!reader smau + irl

Drive to Survive -- Episode 2 🏎 Featuring: YN LN

YN starts her new journey in Formula 1 with Mercedes. But not everyone believes she belongs. Facing doubt, she stays focused — and proves she’s more than just a headline.

warnings: covers the topic of misogyny, foul language

The screen is black. You can hear the crackle of an old camcorder. Then — a blurry footage: a 10 year old YN in a dust-covered helmet, wobbling on a dirt bike that’s clearly too big for her.

YN’s voice cuts through, “They told my dad it was a waste of time. Said girls weren’t built for this.”

“He handed me the helmet anyway.”

Cuts to a grainy clip of her taking a corner too fast, sliding through the gravel, getting up, helmet cracked, grinning.

A fast paced series of flashes — YN at 12 racing Moto3 in the rain, visibly the only girl on the grid. Another clip of her finishing 6th after starting at 18th.

Her teenage years in MotoGP2 — footage of interviews with doubting tones, “Do you think you’re strong enough for this?” “Will the boys take you seriously?”

It cuts to YN sitting in the interview room, expression calm, “I don’t know if they took me seriously. But they took the losses seriously when I started winning.”

Cut to the present, YN walks into the Mercedes factory, black fleece zipped all the way up, no makeup, hair pulled back. The simulator room is cold and mechanical, humming with quiet.

Toto Wolff stands by the engineer’s desk, arms crossed.

“We knew she was talented. But talent is just a ticket. The question was: how does she use it when no one’s cheering yet?”

Inside the sim, YN’s focused. She pushes hard — the whine of the engine in the sim climbs in pitch. She exits a fake Turn 8 too wide.

“That’s P10. Two tenths off Sector 2.”

No emotion, YN says, “Again, please.”

“The hardest part wasn’t the car. It was the silence. No one said it directly, but I could feel it. The ‘why her?’”

“The ‘how long until she cracks?’”

Media Bay

Press swarms around YN. She sits between George Russell and Lewis Hamilton. A journalist smiles too sweetly.

“YN, how do you respond to critics who say Mercedes only signed you for… visibility?”

Staring at him, YN replies, “They’ll have visibility when I pass them on the track.”

Tension. A few in the room chuckle. Lewis gives her a proud glance.

Lewis Hamilton: DTS Interview

“I’ve that look before. The one where you’re tired of proving yourself but you have to anyway.”

It cuts to Red Bull’s hospitality area. Two mid-level strategists sip their espresso, watching YN’s lap data.

“She’s aggressive, almost reckless.”

“Toto’s playing the long game. PR now, results maybe later.”

Their smugness is real. They laugh. The camera pans to YN walking past them down the paddock later, headphones in, jaw clenched.

“I heard every whisper. I learned not to respond with words, my response was my time sheets.”

Toto Wolff: DTS Interview

“We didn’t sign her to make a statement. We signed her because she’s dangerous — in the best way.”

FP1. The screen is sharp, the camera glued to her onboard point of view. She takes the tight chicane without lifting. Her hands are still, her eyes cold behind the visor.

On the radio, her engineer’s voice fills her ears, “You’re up on George. Two tenths. Purple sector 1.”

“Copy, still more in it.”

Cut to the Mercedes garage. Everyone’s watching.

“She’s not tentative. That’s rare for a rookie.”

Cue to her pulling in the garage. Helmet off. She’s glowing — but quiet.

George Russell watches her data flash onto the wall. His brow furrows, “She’s got bite, I won’t lie. She surprised me.”

YN LN: DTS Interview

“I didn’t walk into this paddock expecting open arms. But I also didn’t come to hold anyone’s hand. I came to take positions.”

It’s the end of the day in the Mercedes garage. The team is wrapping up. Lewis is sitting beside YN, quietly reviewing data.

“Hey, don’t let them shrink you. You already deserve this seat,” Lewis whispers to her. She nods. She doesn’t cry — but her eyes shine with something raw.

“You’ll get tired of me quoting you.”

Lewis smiles in return, “You quoting me right back at me means I did something right.”

It’s night. YN walks out of the paddock alone, still in her suit. A few rival engineers walk behind her, one muttering under his breath, “She’ll be gone by mid season.”

She hears that, she keeps walking.

YN LN: DTS Interview

“They said that in Moto3. Then Moto2, then MotoGP. I’m still here and I’m not leaving.

The screen closes with a text on the black screen:

YN LN makes her Formula One race debut in Melbourne. Not one betting company placed her in the top five.

She placed third.

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username the caption, the stare, this woman. we are witnessing HISTORY

username yall acting like she won the title? it’s js p3 lmao

username Did well, but the media obsession is over the top

username not here to be liked, not here to be polite, just here to be FAST

georgerussell63 Can’t lie, you made that your own track today. congrats 👏

f1 First of many 🏆 Welcome to the elite

here is chapter 4 for u !!! what do we think about those leaked information, real or not? 👀 i hope u guys enjoyed this, there’s so many more to come :) if u want to know more about driver!yn place a message on my inbox !!! if you’d like to be added to the taglist, leave a comment or dm me !

likes and reblogs are appreciated, love lots !! x

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[kesujo]

The Convenience Store Princess

SORRY I DIDN'T EDIT THIS AT ALL THE REASON WHY, YEP YOU GUESSED IT, IT'S LATE AS I'M POSTING THIS. Sorry for any mistakes :D

Word count: 2k

All you needed was to go to the bathroom.

“Yes! More!”

Instead, you’re pounding this breathtakingly gorgeous woman against the counter of the deserted gas station convenience store.

“Yeah? You like that?”

The sound of your damp groin slamming against her juicy romp joins the thrum of the AC fighting the blazing summer heat.

“Yes! Fuck me harder!”

“What’s a beauty like you doin’ in such a place?” The woman’s face is pointed directly at a fan, her moans being distorted by it. Every thrust pushes her face closer to the fan, but with her eyes gently fluttered closed, she doesn’t notice. In the corner of your eyes, you can see how tightly she’s gripping the edge of the counter, her knuckles even more white than her already pale skin, her entire body rocking, responding to the ferocity of your thrusts.

“If I weren’t here, you wouldn’t be enjoying my pussy, would you?”

While that was certainly true, her respond didn’t give you any answers. Not that you particularly care anyway; she’s probably an employee at this location, but there’s probably no one here because it’s so far out of the way, and that is probably the very reason why she’s not wearing a work outfit. These are all things you’ve figured out in the first minute of stepping into the store, and the only thing that stopped you from quickly exiting after refreshing yourself in the bathroom is a warm smile and a friendly, “How do you do?”

So, being the polite guy you are, respond in kind. “Swimmingly.”

“Staying cool out there? Why not grab a drink?”

Her beaming smile crawled your pace to a standstill. You were in a rush, sort of … but that can wait a little, can’t it? “Wouldn’t want to fill up my bladder right after emptying it just now.”

“Is that so?” You nod, and before you can start to respond, she continues, “In a hurry, are you?”

“Goin’ home after visitin’ the parents over the long weekend.”

“Wife in the car?”

You shake your head. “No such woman to speak of.”

“I see.” There’s something magnetic about her. You can’t escape her pull, even with the remaining few hours still left in your drive home looming in the back of your mind. But this is refreshing—the hours spent by yourself, listening to the podcast you had downloaded for this specific drive was mind-numbing, so breaking it up with a pleasant conversation with an even more pleasant woman did well to break up that monotony. “Well, now that you’ve emptied your bladder in my restroom, why don’t you take the chance to empty your balls inside me?”

It takes you by surprise, so much so that you’re forced to do a double take, but the woman remains unflinching, maintaining that beaming smile at you. “Excuse me?”

“A nice, young, strong man like you, with no woman to take care of your needs, having held back from relieveing yourself for three long days due to the presense of your parents, I’m sure you’re backed up.” It’s true, but you’re frankly shocked to hear the words coming out of the otherwise pristine, proper, pure looking princess of the convenience store. “Do you want help with that?”

You let out a laugh. “Ma’am, are you asking me if I want to fuck you, right here and right now, against that—” you nod at the counter that she’s standing behind, “—counter?”

“Yes, I am.”

Bold of her to say, but you’re not one to say ‘no’ to such a delectable offering. “Well, if you’re offering, then…”

Which leads you to the current moment, with the woman’s shirt still on but her jeans and panties pooled at her feet, the chopped up sounds of her voice being filtered by the fan blowing into her face doing nothing to lessen the arousal seeping from her voice.

“You’re not supposed to be working?”

“I’m seeing to my customer’s needs, aren’t I?”

You laugh at that. “You certainly are.”

You can tell with your own eyes that the woman has a thin frame, but feeling just how small her waist is in your hands is another story. You feel like, if you really tried, you might be able to just barely encircle her entire waist with your two hands. It’s this quality of her waist that makes her ass, which normally might look small on any other woman, appear so good. It also has a springy quality to it that’s satisfying to smack against; in fact, her entire body is surprisingly sturdy for how skinny she is.

“And the cameras?”

“They don’t work. No one comes here, anyway.” She may not have much in the chest department, but she more than makes up for it in the tightness her pussy provides. You know you aren’t the biggest, but she certainly makes you feel massive; every moan she lets out deepens your arousal, and every expletive she lets out balloons your ego. “Fuck, you feel so big inside me…”

“Such a nice little pussy, shame to have it wasting away here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Why do you think they put me here?”

You don’t want to think too deeply about the revelation, so you say, “So you can whore yourself out to the first man that walks through those doors?”

“You have no idea how badly I’ve been needing this…”

The more you slam into her, the further in you are drawn into her. Her magnetic personality, how easy it is to talk to her, and now, her pussy that’s trying to keep your cock inside her as you’re pulling out and pulling you in as you shove your length back inside. And then, after a while, you realize how amazing the velvety-soft texture of her ass feels against your groin, and when you pause to grind against her, the woman lets out an even louder moan.

“Fuck, yes, just like that!”

“Have a name for me, babe?”

“Just call me IU.”

It’s a strange name, but you don’t question it. “You like it when I do that, IU?”

She nods frantically. “Yes, oh god, that feels so good!”

She’s arching her back into you, doing everything she can to grant you maximal access to her pussy, and you decide to take full advantage of that. Your hands lift her ass a little bit, leaving the only part of her feet touching the ground being the balls of her feet, and drill deeper inside her. IU lets out an even louder, higher-pitched moans, one that may very well put Ariana Grande to shame.

“Yes! Right there! Oh fuck! Yes! Please, more!”

You’re doing everything you can to obey her, but you’re feeling yourself reaching your limits.

“You love feeling my cock messing your insides up, don’t you?”

“Fuck yes, I love it so much!”

“You love it when I do this?” You thrust again, aiming for that sweet spot you just found, and the volume of her ecstatic scream tells you that you are right on the mark.

“Please! Oh god, I’m so close, I’m so close!”

You want to give IU her release, but you also feel your own coming up. In a convenience store, you’re sure you can probably find some condoms, but you weren’t so forward thinking when you were tearing your pants off to get into IU’s.

So, you instead elect to cheat.

“Fuck!” If you weren’t so incredibly close to the peak of your arousal, you might’ve found it funny, hearing such a high-pitched squeal filtered through the fan’s distortion. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

True to her word, almost as soon as she finished her warning, she came. Pretty violently, too: the first stream hit you right on the stomach, and as you continued to pump into her, the more her juices splash onto you, and the harder you have to fight your own orgasm. IU is certainly making it difficult, though; with how tightly her orgasming pussy is gripping your cock, with her head now tiled backwards and her voice no longer being filtered through the fan on the counter singing her ecstasy in all its natural, beautifully musical glory, with how hard she’s matching your every thrust by backing up into your crotch at the exact right moments, focusing solely on not exploding inside her is all you can do to stop yourself from doing exactly that.

When her climax finally subsides, you, with gritted teeth, pull out.

“Turn around.”

IU, hair dissheveled, half-basking in her post-orgasm glow, obeys, and when she sees you gripping your shimmering cock, bulging and red with anger, as if by instinct, she immediately drops to her knees.

“On my face or in my mouth?”

“You told me you’d let me empty my balls inside you.”

She grins, says, “good choice,” and then opens wide.

You don’t hesitate to stick your cock inside her waiting mouth, and it barely takes a few back-and-forth bobs of her head and swirls of her tongue before you erupt inside of her hot mouth, stream after stream of your hot semen hitting the back of her throat, filling her mouth to the brim and causing her slim face to bulge with your seed. When your orgasm subsides, you pull out and watch her swallow your load in one gulp.

“Hmmm…”

You had already began to reach for your pants, but hearing the hesitation in her voice and looking up to see how she’s eyeing your softening erection, you pause. “Hm? What’s wrong?”

“I was a bit disappointed when you pulled out, but partially relieved when you chose my mouth.”

“Is that so?”

“I did say I wanted you to empty your balls inside me, didn’t I?”

“I figured you didn’t want me to be cumin’ inside, is all.”

“Well, now you know.” It’s not a question what IU is trying to imply, especially with how her fingers are reaching for the hem of her shirt. You watch in awe as she brazenly throws her top off, and without a bra anywhere to be seen, IU is left in all her naked glory. “This time, you’ll cum inside?”

It takes some time to fully recover from your refractory period, but with much help from IU’s hands, and then her beautiful lips sealed tightly around your girth and her hot, tight mouth that attempts to harden your cock by pulling it straight out via suction, IU is on the counter, her legs wrapped around your waist while your cock is back inside her, buried to the hilt.

“Hmm, fuck…”

Her hands are resting behind her and her head is thrown back. You can see that she’s enjoying this as much as you are, but it doesn’t stop you from wanting more. Seeing those taut nipples sitting atop her modest bosom, you can’t help but bring your hands to them, first teasing the areola as you’re grinding against her, and then pulling and pinching at her nipples as your fatigue has been completely replaced with the full vigor of your renewed lust.

“God, oh my god, it’s been so long since a man has done this to me…”

Now that you have a better view of it, you can confirm what you’ve been picturing inside your head the first round: even IU’s sex face is exquisite in its beauty. Even with her toussled hair, with her gently closed eyes, with her parted lips, it all makes for a visual that would awaken desires inside the purest of men.

“In that case, I oughtta come by more often and give you the proper fuckin’ you deserve, huh?”

“I’d love that.”

You don’t think about the logistics of the proposal, how many hours it’d take just for a booty call, how you’re just fucking in public and just hoping that no one comes by to ruin the fun. All you can think about is IU’s pussy and her petit tits, in your hands and now between your lips, biting and pinching and pulling at the almond pleasure buttons on her chest.

“God, oh my god, that feels so fucking good.”

You can’t help but stare at her. You thought you preferred curvier women, but maybe you actually don’t. Maybe what you actually are more than willing to compromise that for someone so insanely beautiful that, even as she’s unabashedly drowning in pleasure, having released any inhibitions, if there even were any to begin with, and letting herself feel the ecstasy coursing through her body, she stays just as stunningly beautiful. And, the more you play with her tits, the more you realize how little of a tradeoff it even is: although they can’t fill your hands, they are still as pleasing to play with as boobs of larger sizes. What’s more, seeing IU’s reactions to your hands and your lips playing with her tits adds another layer of pleasure to it. Feeling her body rocking against yours, feeling her legs gradually tightening around your waist, feel her entire body tense as her climax approaches, you can feel your own body responding in kind.

“Yes! Fuck! More! I’m so close!”

This time, your climax hits first, but just barely. The feeling of your second, albeit thinner, load spilling inside her breaks her, and IU is sent tumbling into the chasm of her own orgasm.

“You wanted it, didn’t you?”

“Yes! Fuck, let it all out! Fill me with your hot, sticky semen!”

It takes a little bit longer for IU’s orgasm to subside, and when it finally does, the loosened grip of her legs around your waist allows you to pull out of her. You can see your freshly made creampie leaking out of her red, hot, bruised and battered hole.

“See? So much better, right?”

“Well, guess I gotta go visit my parents more often.”

IU smiles, resting peacefully atop the counter she’s supposed to be standing behind, completely unbothered by her nude state and by the cum trickling out of her pussy. “We’d all benefit from that.”

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the abandoned tie

a/n: this man... this man, this man. i've missed him so much. he has been on my mind all summer and now i finally snapped and wrote some yummy yum about him.

summary: It was terrible, you knew full well that he was your boss, but what had started as an innocent little crush the moment that you were hired as a secretary at Nelson and Murdock only grew and flourished the longer that you worked there. It didn’t help matters either that Matthew was a natural flirt, or at least was with you, always making you stumble over your words and blush like a damn schoolgirl. But even though it was the right thing to do, you just couldn’t find it in yourself to go on and actually quit, because if you did, then he wouldn’t get the chance to make your heart flutter on a daily basis anymore, bittersweet as it may be.

warnings: matt murdock x secretary!reader, smut, coworkers to lovers, kissing, office sex, clothed sex, ripping pantyhose, manhandling, oral, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, protected sex, alcohol consumption, foggy slutshames matt (as he deserves. he a hoe and we love him for it)

word count: 4144

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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“Okay,” Foggy huffed out a long exhale, “I can’t look at this anymore, I’m going all cross-eyed,” he slammed shut the laptop on the conference table before him, “I gotta call it a night,” and as he raised from his seat, your head tilted up from the intimidating stack of paper your nose was buried in, “any of you up for a round at Josie’s?”

“Uhm, actually, I think I might stay here a little longer,” your thumb brushed against the corner of the pile before you, a mountain of perhaps the most boring paperwork you’d ever given your time of day, but the small chance that some tiny nugget hid in there, something that could help the firm on their current case, convinced you to volunteer to take on the job, “see if I can make a bit more of a dent in this.”

“Alright, fair,” your colleague eyed the papers, then shifted his glance to his partner, seated on the stool directly beside where you sat, “Matt? Come on, man. Don’t let your best friend drink alone.”

“I’m sorry,” he shifted slightly in his seat, then uttered in a tone that almost made it sound as if he was just making up his answer to match yours, “but I think I’m gonna keep going as well,” though the hope that he had changed his verdict to sync up with your own was a dream you’d never truly let yourself believe.

It was terrible, you knew full well that he was your boss, but what had started as an innocent little crush the moment that you were hired as a secretary at Nelson and Murdock only grew and flourished the longer that you worked there. It didn’t help matters either that Matthew was a natural flirt, or at least was with you, always making you stumble over your words and blush like a damn schoolgirl. But even though it was the right thing to do, you just couldn’t find it in yourself to go on and actually quit, because if you did, then he wouldn’t get the chance to make your heart flutter on a daily basis anymore, bittersweet as it may be.

“Workaholics the both of you!” Foggy groaned light-heartedly, conjuring an airy chuckle to bubble out of you, “well,” he puffed as he bent down to grab his bag and stuff his laptop inside, “then I guess I’ll just see you guys in the morning.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Matt flashed his friend a smile as he crossed the threshold of the door to the conference room. 

Catching his eye through the windowed wall as he made his way out towards the exit, you waved, “night!” before he raised his hand to mirror your gesture. 

After silence had consumed the office once more and your eyes returned to their tedious scanning, a yawn soon forced its way out of your lungs. 

As your hand flew up to cup your mouth, Matt’s soaring fingers stilled over the braille on the pages before him and his head tilted up in your direction. 

“You sure you’re not done for the day?” he quietly asked. 

“No,” you uttered before the yawn was through, “I wanna stay.”

“Alright,” he breathed, “how about some coffee then?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, I can go make some–”

“No, no, stay, I didn’t mean for you to–… I’ll make it.” 

“Oh,” you blinked back at him, perhaps finding the role reversal a bit more staggering than you’d expected as you were usually the one making everyone else beverages, “y-yeah, that would be great,” before your gaze then shadowed him as he got up and crossed the small width of the humble office to the little kitchenette nook. 

You should have probably just returned to your reading as he stood there and waited for the water in the electric kettle to boil, but you just couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. 

When he returned with a steaming mug, he held it out for you to grasp, “here you go,” before he returned to his seat beside your own. 

“Thanks,” your fingers enveloped the warm ceramic before you took a small sip, one that was swiftly cut short as soon as the flavour enveloped your tongue, “wow…” 

“What? Is it bad?” 

“No, no, quite the opposite actually,” you glanced down at the coffee in amazement before your gaze flickered up to him, “it’s perfect,” you uttered, unsure if you were more shocked or just plain weak in the knees at the fact that Matt somehow knew how you took your coffee.

The evening however didn’t drag on for too much longer following the very last sip of your caffeinated beverage. You tried to return to your work, you truly did, but no matter how hard you tried to get back into the flow of things and make a proper dent in the colossal workload, you just couldn’t. 

You were too occupied staring at Matt. 

Gazing longingly at his burly forearms, exposed and framed by the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down, at his wide hands as they danced over the papers before him, nearly caressing them in the manner you always fantasised he would touch your goosebump-ridden flesh, and even at the slight furrow line that appeared betwixt his dark brows as his brain absorbed the texts he read, the little crease you so badly wished to soothe with a kiss. 

As your eyes continued to linger and your heart thumped in your chest at the way your mind ran wild, Matt’s right hand then extended in search of one of the items on the cluttered table, though before his fingers located the wanted folder, they first wandered so close to you that they grazed against your forearm resting there on the surface. 

Though the contact sent butterflies soaring throughout your stomach, the spark also managed to snap you out of your daze and jolt you back to your senses, though the realisation bolted through you so severely that in your haphazard and hazy attempt at both hiding any trace of what you’d let yourself do, as well as dive back into what you should have been doing all along, your clumsy ass twisted away in a manner that almost caused you to fall off your chair. 

Almost. 

You would have fallen face first on the cold office floor if a pair of swift hands hadn’t seized your waist. 

“Wow–, I’ve got you.” 

As your head tilted up, gratitude ready to drip off your tongue, it ceased and shrivelled as you realised just how close you now were to Matt. Your noses almost touched as his grasp didn’t move to unfasten their strong hold on you even though you were now completely out of danger. 

“You’ve got–…” you echoed hazily, “I-I–…”

As his breath fanned across your face, your eyes flickered down to his lips. You’d never been this close to him before, but now that you were, impulsivity swiftly seized your soul. 

Pressing your lips against his in a chased kiss, you soon sensed his grip shift as he kissed you back, his fingers gently digging into your sides to claw you even closer.

Though as you felt yourself melt away in the dream you’d always yearned for, a flash of sense sparked within you and caused you to plant your palms on his broad chest and push him back. 

“Oh my goodness…” your shoulders shot up towards your ears, “I am so, so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Please don’t fire–”

But no more fretful words managed to leave your lips as Matt then primally grabbed your face and shut you up with a kiss, a taste of hast tingled on his tongue as he let his own desire take over and rush for more instead of other civilised methods one could opt for in such a situation, he didn’t stop to put out the fire, only fanned the wicked flames and kissed you as if it was the last thing he’d ever do. 

It had caught you completely off guard and was only when he slowed his heated lips to smouldering pecks that you got the chance to catch up. 

“Oh my god…” you whispered slowly between kisses, utterly stunned and reeling in the reality. Your tone at first came out a bit timid as you still couldn’t believe what was transpiring, but as soon as his lips began to wander down the side of your neck and your eyes fluttered at the dizzying sensation, you felt yourself melt into the moment and echo, “oh my god…” though now in a completely different manner, one that dripped with the desire that you evidently hadn’t been the only one to keep bottled up for so long. 

As the lawyer soon rose from his seat, he dragged you up with him by the starved hold he had on your face, keeping you close and devouring your lips. 

Your fingers found his dark tie for support, the fabric of which had already previously been loosened slightly by his own fingers when they long ago drifted up to pop open the very top button of his collar. 

When his feet then shuffled and your backside bumped into the table’s edge, Matt’s palms coasted down your frame till they greedily swept over the pencil skirt you wore and cupped your ass, only letting himself cop a feel for a second before a small yelp bubbled out of you as he then lifted you up to sit on the conference table. 

As your fingers then untangled themselves from the silk hanging around his neck and swept up to the sides of his face, your eager touch bumped into his tinted glasses, which you swiftly removed and cascaded to the messy tabletop beside you where you sat. 

“Oh… Matt…” a small whimper rolled off your tongue as he then ducked down to plant sloppy pecks all along your neck, “please don’t stop…” 

His low voice then vibrated against your rapid pulse, “yeah?” 

“Uh-huh,” your head tilted slightly in a nod as your fingers stretched to weave in with his dark hair, “I–… I–…” you tried to fight through the foggy feeling he distilled in you, though ended up only offering him a short and desperate, “please.”

When you glanced down at him, fully expecting the lawyer’s lips to return to your own, you instead watched as they dipped down even lower, straying from your throat and wandering down to the sliver of skin on display in the neckline of your silky blouse. Your breathing was heavy as you watched your chest rise and fall beneath his hot pecks. Mouth agape, you stared intently as his kisses wandered even further south, his nose nuzzling against the soft material of your shirt as he dropped down to his knees. 

Planting your palms on the surface of the table for support as you watched Matt crack open your pantyhose-clad legs, his lips then dipped down to one of them as he plucked it up to rest it upon his broad shoulder, all the while a series of kisses smothered the sheer nylon clinging to your skin. 

Soon he had your skirt pushed up and bunched around your hips, fervently opening you up and peeling back your layers till he reached what he most desired. However when his touch finally did sweep up to graze against your covered centre, it didn’t continue on the journey up towards your waistband as you had assumed, but instead, his fingers pinched the sheer core of your stockings and tugged till a ripping sound rung out through the dark office. 

“Fuck…” he groaned as he finished tearing the hole, nearly making it huge enough for the nylon to just give up completely and split right down the middle, that’s how little he let remain intact before he moved on and reached for the underwear now accessible to him. 

His thumb stayed hooked in the soaked gusset of your underwear as he rushed to dive in for a taste of your divine. One of your hands shot down to gently grasp his hair as his tongue lavishly licked you up, making your whole body quiver from the way he made out with your cunt. 

Scooping a palm up to cup your tit through your clothing, Matt groaned, “shit…” his fervent rumble vibrating against your puffy pearl before he sucked down on it, “you taste so good…”

As you swiftly felt his kisses push you over the edge, your hips began to rock back against his efforts, grinding your pussy against the lower part of his face as he lapped you up, his fingers too raising to dent your thigh, both to keep your leg draped over his shoulder, but also to keep you steady through all of your squirming as you rode out your high. 

“Oh my–, fuck!” you gasped, catching your breath. Blinking down at him, you watched as he slowly rose back up, planting a few pecks in a sporadic pattern up your form till his lips again found your own. The taste of yourself was heavy on his tongue as you drifted a hand up to wipe your slickness from his stubbly chin. 

“Miss Y/l/n,” he smirked as you tilted away from his kisses to clean him better, addressing you with the same formality he only occasionally still withheld for you during your working hours together, “whatever would I do without you?”

Still in your haze, you thought too hard about the flirty comment and instead turned it into some kind of unnecessary riddle, “well, first of all, you properly wouldn’t have the evidence of what you just did all over your face, and second, then I also wouldn’t even clean it up because it wouldn’t be there, because I wouldn’t be here, and–,” but then, he simply cut off your words, frankly, as well as your brain, and pressed his lips to yours. 

“I fucking love how your mind works,” he grinned, a hand floating up to offer a feathery stroke through your hair. 

“Oh, I–,” a shiver ran down your spine as you blinked back at him, “thank you.” 

A gentle chuckle then rumbled in Matt’s chest as his fingers reached up to tug at his tie, “sweetheart, if you’re gonna thank me like that every time I pay you a compliment or talk dirty to you,” he yanked the loosened accessory over his head, “then I don’t know I’ll ever be able to stop,” and tossed the silky material to one of the dark corners of the dim room.

Tangling your arms around his neck, an amazed giggle bubbled out of you as you then settled on simply repeating, “thank you,” softly egging him on as your nose nudged against his own. 

Groaning lowly, “you little minx…” a smile tugged at his lips as he then leaned in to claim your lips once more.

As he kissed you once again, your legs snaked around his form, dragging up against his sides like a cicada in his arms.

And when he soon shifted a bit before you and extended an arm to something on the table, you breathlessly asked as your fingers floated down to undo his belt, “do you have a–,” but then you twisted your neck to see what he conjured from his bag, “oh,” you glanced down at the small foil packet in his hand, “you do,” you let out a relieved exhale, “good, because I didn’t, so here I was scrambling my mind for what other options we had.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirked, the sudden presence of his hands working at freeing himself caused your own to retreat, “and what did you come up with?”

“Oh, well…” you swallowed, conjuring enough courage to utter, “we could just touch each other…”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you hazily nodded, “or I could repay you the favour.”

“Yeah?” his hard length sprang free, “you’d suck my cock?”

Scarcely breathing at all, you stared as he swiftly rolled on the condom, “more than you know…” 

“But none of that’s what you really want right now, is it?” 

As his hand snaked around your hip to scoop you that much closer to the edge, you foggily shook your head, “no…”

“Tell me what it is then,” he uttered as he rubbed the bulbous head of his dick through your folds, making you squirm from the dizzying sensation, “tell me what you want.”

Though the mission of getting words out and offering him an answer seemed more difficult than you anticipated as his tip nudged against your swollen clit and made it near impossible for you to think, “I–… you. I want you,” your arms draped around his neck he inched back in for a kiss, “I-I–, Matt, please just put it in–”

Answering your prayer, he then slid his cock inside, slowly filling your dripping pussy up till his pelves pressed against your puffy pearl and the tip of him kissed a spot so deep inside of you that you felt as if you could scarcely breathe at all. 

“There you go,” his groan rumbled in your ear, “that what you wanted, huh?” though when you tried to respond, only whimpers flowed from your lips, “then be a good girl and thank me again,” he dared to request as he gently began to move, “tell me thank you for giving you exactly what you want,” and you moaned, eyes rolling at the way he dragged his girth out of you, so overwhelmingly slow that your cunt clenched around him so tightly that he had to carve anew when he finally thrust forward and filled you up once more, “come on, you can do it. Your pussy’s already doing it in her own incredible way.”

As his lips lowered to flutter against the side of your neck, you faintly murmured, “t-thank you–” 

Though the cocky lawyer only bucked into you harder, making you tremble in his grasp as he smirked against your goosebump-ridden skin, “what was that?”

“Thank you, M-Matt!” you successfully squeaked.

“Atta girl,” his hand slid up the column of your neck as your head began to lull, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

“Uh-uh,” you hazily shook your head as you clung to his broad shoulders. 

Lightly enveloping his fingers around your neck, just to keep you close, his other digits then reached down between your bodies to find your clit in a harsh rub as he dared to say, “then say it again…”

The words of gratitude then became like a mantra on your lips, incoherently flowing through your moans as he rocked into you so hard that the conference table rattled beneath you, fucking you till you both tumbled over the edge, though the simple phrase still kept rolling off your tongue even when he offered to walked you home afterwards and too when he pressed a soft peck to your forehead, whispering you goodnight before you disappeared inside your building. 

The cups of coffee you had nervously bought the very next morning were quite the task to balance in your hands. It would have been strange if you didn’t buy one for all of your coworkers, even though the brew truthfully had ulterior motives. 

It wasn’t just the regular kind and thoughtful round of coffee to start the day, but in truth was a thanks for the bang last night, oh, and by the way I am head over heels in love with you, I know I was too scared to tell you last night, but I’m terrified of fucking this up kind of coffee. 

It was a lot of pressure to put on a simple cup of coffee, you recognised that, but what else were you to do? 

Though when you managed to push open the door to the office without dropping or spilling any of the balanced paper mugs, Foggy was the first one to spot you.

“Oh, you bought coffee?” he grabbed one out of your arms, “thanks!” before he called over his shoulder, his voice flooding into the room to the left, “hey Matt! Y/n got a round of coffee!” 

It hadn’t been the suave delivery you’d hoped for, having Foggy force the mood in a purely platonic and professional direction as Matt appeared and casually seized the cup his friend caught from you and extended to him, instead of the fantasy that had tickled your mind all morning of effortlessly slipping into his office and sliding it across his desk with some clever line you hadn’t been able to come up with yet.  

Though Matthew still smiled and said as he raised the cup up to his lips, “thank you, Y/n,” and the mirroring echo of the words he’d made you repeat last night so many times that it lost all its meaning, caused your cheeks to heat up. 

“Uhh,” you blinked back at him, trying to shake the memory off of you, “y-you’re welcome…”

However, before you could part your lips, ask your boss for a private moment and finally make your move, Foggy opened his mouth once more and spoke. 

“Hey, remember how I put out feelers to Karen?” he began to saunter into the conference room.

As Matt began to follow his voice, you too shadowed them, all the while trying your best to keep the butterflies on your belly at bay as you returned to the scene of the crime, most of the papers on the table still in a mess from how little the pair of you had bothered to clean up afterwards. 

“Yeah,” Matt tilted his head, “she got anything?”

“Yup,” Foggy took a sip of coffee, “called me this morning and said she’d pop by later with the stuff she–, hey,” his sentence then took a sharp turn as his gaze found something on the floor that puzzled him enough for his brows to crinkle up. Bending down, he picked up a silky string of fabric and wrapped it around his fingers, “Matt, did you forget your tie here?”

“Uh, what?” the man beside you stiffened up slightly. 

“Your tie, this looks like the one you wore yesterday.”

“Oh, uhm, yeah,” he coughed, fidgeting lightly with the to-go cup in his grasp, “it just bothered me last night, so I took it off, must have forgotten to put it in my bag.”

As Foggy’s eyes scanned Matt’s reaction and too let his gaze wash over your flustered form and spot how the truth virtually poured out of your pores from the way your eyes grew, he simply hummed, “…uh-huh…” not believing his pal for a second. 

Sucking in a breath, Matt tried to extend his hand and asked, “can I have it back?” though his forced casual tone was utterly unconvincing. 

“Oh my god…” Foggy sighed before tossing the tie in his friend’s face, “you have a problem, man.” 

To your surprise, the man beside you caught it, though you were still just one step too far behind him to catch the way a smug smirk tugged at his lips, “what?” as he couldn’t for the life of him hide the pride of the discovery his friend had surely made countless of times throughout their friendship. 

“I leave you two alone for one night, one night!”

“…and to Matt for giving the closing argument of a lifetime and winning us this case!” Foggy raised his drink to the centre of where he, his colleagues and Karen sat around one of the small tables at Josie’s. 

“Oh, come on,” the dark-haired man beside you humbly tilted his head, “you were on fire as well–”

“Matt,” his friend cut him off by briefly planting his palm on his shoulder, “just shut up and take the compliment,” before he tilted his beer bottle back up and roared, “cheers!” 

“Cheers!” Karen, to the left of you, sang before the rest of you echoed, clinking all of your glasses together. 

“Thank you,” Matt gave in and smiled as everyone took a sip, “I couldn’t have done it without you all,” before he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “especially you…”

The sound of his low voice directly in your ear was enough to turn your knees into jelly, but as your eyes fluttered up to gaze at him, the personal space he had now eliminated betwixt you two caused you to positively melt. 

As you breathed out an audible smile, his lips stayed close as his breath once again tickled the shell of your ear, “so now that the trial’s done, I was wondering,” he uttered slowly, making you cling onto each and every syllable that flowed from his lips, “would you let me take you out on a real date?”

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