#seriously i just need a snippet

[alalalalaa]

i'd give anything to hear kevin and neil talk about riko's intricate and endless daddy issues

[hidey-writes]

six sentence saturday

The streets are half-familiar now, as Gu Yiran walks backward down the path he’d run each day to work. Here is the intersection where the pedestrian light never seems to come on, and Gu Yiran glances quickly both ways and crosses against a red light. Down that street is the corner of the park where if Gu Yiran cranes his head to look in the mornings, he can see the elderly folks of the neighborhood gathering for tai chi. And this shop he’s walking past, closed now, is the one Zheng Bei had taken him to buy a jacket at, the first weekend after he arrived. Gu Yiran had only worn that jacket for a few weeks before the weather changed. He’s not sure if he’ll ever have much use for it in Huazhou, heavy as it is.

a snippet from chapter 4 :3 i'm sloooowly working my way through the revision and hopefully returning to public accountability will help

[bikananjarrus]

officially outlining what i've been calling the resurrection fic aka the post-rebels s4 sequel fic aka the ghost crew working through all their grief fic etc etc. and oh man. when i get this written.......

[snarkythewoecrow]

okay, so writing update, i have been doing it! headway is being made on the hob/dream fic, you know, the one with all the tropes and hurt/comfort and shit

words are definitely flowing and shit is tightening up, coming together, the mess i puked into these various docs is now congealing into something pretty fucking great if i say so myself

working through older sections atm and trimming and shaping things to tell the story, now that the word vomit phase is mostly over

(i tend to make the absolutely most disgusting mess in my docs, all the ideas, before coming back later and trimming the overgrown shit into something pretty)

And speaking of pretty things, take a look at the a bit of the second draft of the Dream meeting with Calliope again scene, seeking her advice regarding how to help Hob.

@thefangirloutof-time @kydrogendragon @buckybeardreams @psychiccatpanda

No warnings for this snippet

Her presence in the Dreaming once again ached—their love had left a bruise that would likely linger until the last dreamer stepped into the sunless lands.

Fiddler’s Green seemed uniquely suited for this reunion, as a place they’d forgotten themselves, and occasionally, neglected to remember, sentient and prone to modest notions—his creation had once even lengthened the soft grass just to better conceal their bodies.

Calliope stood beneath a lone tree, an oddly placed bald cypress standing tall on a knoll amongst the wildflowers, entirely out of place in the scenery. The enormous base more a cluster of roots than simple trunk, each tendril pressing against the next before diving into the earth. Above, Spanish moss swayed from its branches in great heaping clumps, while its feathery, frond-like foliage stretched to the sun on irregular limbs.

His eyes followed her delicate fingers as they skimmed over the hills and valleys of the base that nearly dwarfed her.

And no, the symbolism hadn’t been lost on him—that of all things that could have appeared beside her here, it would be an ancient cypress that had taken root--a species that carried many meanings—most markedly, a symbol of death and the grief that followed it.

It was no secret why she stood within its graces now, as it reached for the skies of the Dreaming, weeping for them both.

The sight had an old--yet never forgotten--not even for a moment--pain lodging in his lungs, making his breath hitch, forcing his jaw to clamp tight before he cleared his throat, choosing not to face those particular memories right then.

Seeming to have heard him, Calliope turned. Some of the tension easing in his chest at seeing the light had returned to her eyes.

Then with a soft, indulgent shake of the head, she smiled. Just as stunning as always.

[elegyofthemoon]

tbh i think i just need to get into a media thatll shake me to my core the way me revisiting p//andora hearts at a crucial time shook me

[wexhappyxfew]

cant wait until i finally have the time to talk about more of my original novel idea i’m experimenting with. because reverie godfrey is a menace and alek youngvigor is a golden retriever and they are an absolutely chaotic duo and i love them

[blade-liger-4ever]

Why I think Miko Nakadai is arguably the best human character in TFP

Don't misunderstand, I know Miko was handled haphazardly throughout the series' run. That said, aside from her skipping off into the battlefield, she was actually a great character - and, in my personal opinion, the actual audience surrogate character in TFP.

Now, let me explain.

Although Miko's backstory is told and not shown - a rich daughter who had everything she could ever want, up to and including two pure-breed cats and piano lessons from age three onwards (which, coincidentally, tells us she's brainy despite her antics) - much can be inferred from what snippets of her past we get, along with her interactions with the Autobots. For one, she obviously can't stand most adult supervision, which is likely because of a few things. For one, back home in Japan, Miko would have had to be proper and polite, always restrained, and had to do what she was told. While this is normal (to an extent) in the West, in the East this is etiquette that needs to be obeyed, especially if you're as well off as she is; her actions, specifically in Japan, will reflect on her parents, but to a far lesser extent in America. Thus, when presented with the freedoms of the USA, Miko not only jumps at the chance for an exchange program that will give her the mobility she craves, she also chooses the place that has the least amount of glamor. By extension of choosing to settle in Jasper, Miko's also displaying two other traits: she's not afraid of going to a place vastly different from her home, and she isn't disgusted by a small town with very little monetary value to it.

Secondly, Miko's disregard for authority from adults but deference to the 'Bots teases us with an insecurity - namely, an insecurity that no adult ever gives her a chance to make her own decisions.

Just think about it: All the times Miko's blown off the human adults, it's when they've tried to decide her life for her. Miko has, from what we can see, had her whole life dictated, up to and including those piano lessons. She may be a prodigy at almost everything, but her preferred instrument is the guitar - and yet, she wasn't given lessons in that from the time she was a toddler. Therefore, she feels confined and controlled by the authority of her elders. And so, while Miko may be able to sway Bulkhead into getting her out of detention and consistently slip past the watchful eyes of the 'Bots, it's out of a desperate motivation to control her own life. Now, she does hold too much interest in the battles and getting to watch them, but wouldn't you have that same eagerness if Gundams or Jaegers came to life before your eyes? Yes, she knows their lives are in danger, that they couldn't come home, but there's still a fantastical element to all of this about the Autobots. And it remains so because while she loves them all, Bulkhead is the only one who, while giving her life advice and trying to keep her in check/alive, lets her make her own decisions and take control of her life and her actions.

And that's why she keeps going to the field. That's why she only listens to the reprimands with half an ear and why she recovers so fast from Optimus' near death experiences, as well as Raf's close call with death.

And that's why Miko's world shatters when Bulkhead is left in a half-dead coma from his fight with Hardshell. Because the one person in the universe who gave her freedom and care without deciding her life for her was not just seriously injured, but possibly on death's door.

That's why Miko runs around without a care until the S2 episode "Hurt": because she wants autonomy to decide her life, even if it's stupid choices that could get her killed.

And after "Hurt", we see a new Miko. Yes, she remains gung-ho and fierce, but she stops running onto the battlefield. She takes less enjoyment from the War. Because now, with the reality of war fresh in her mind, she knows the risks and the stakes involved, and she will never take that or her friends for granted anymore. This is further proved when Miko 'sneaks' along for "Chain of Command", but with a twist: she asks Wheeljack if she can come along - and if memory serves, this is the first mission Bulkhead's been on with herself present since the events before "Hurt". Clearly, Miko is still worried about losing Bulkhead - only, this time, she values the words of the 'Bots, and now seeks permission to join a mission, though she wisely asks Wheeljack for this blessing.

This is the beautiful part of her arc, crowned by her battle with Starscream and his Seekers (which is also just straight up awesome.) When she's kicked the afts of everyone, and Starscream tries to intimidate her with his usual "I killed Cliffjumper" speech, Miko's response is this calm, slightly rough, retort:

"Big whoop. I snuffed Hardshell."

In this moment, Miko Nakadai is shown to have grown from an excitable child into an unyielding, but mature, adult warrior. She no longer treats the War and the 'Bots like a game, or a release. She treats them as her friends who she will gladly risk her own life for.

And that, in my opinion, makes her the best human protagonist in all of Transformers: Prime, and Transformers media in general.

As for what I said earlier about her being the true audience surrogate, be honest with yourselves: If any of us were given the chance to meet the Autobots, wouldn't you be just as irrepressible as Miko, as eager to help as she was, and tempted to go to the battlefield to see the action/make sure your 'Bot wasn't going to die? That's what I mean when I say she's the audience surrogate - Miko acts like we would, and learns as we would about the War and the 'Bots if we suddenly came across them.

That's my two cents on Miko, and why she's the human character I respect the most in Transformers...probably of all time. If you liked it, I'm glad; Miko deserves better, and I hope I explained why well.

Til next time, folks!

"Autobots, transform!"

[seleneprince]

Snippet of my Neglected! Family x Yandere! Batfam au (I really need to find a name for this au already)

Wife! Darling has known of the Batcave's existence for years already, and so do her children.

She found out by pure accident. Her oldest daughter was doing her usual computer stuff she didn't understand, and said she found a weird signal coming from under the manor, in the underground...only they didn't know there was anything down there, not even a basement. Alfred never mentioned it.

The girl went to check, tracing the mysterious signal with her phone, and found a hidden compartment behind the pendulum clock. Before her mother could tell her to stop, she went down there.

Cue to Wife! Darling following her daughter to make sure she didn't get in trouble or hurt herself, because who knew if Batman even bothered with basic security measures for his vigilante stuff. From what she's seen of him as Bruce Wayne, she doubted it.

And that's how they found the Batcave. By the time Alfred found out and met them there, the daughter had already tinkered with half the equipment and replicated part of the Batcomputer's code in her tablet for fun, while her mother explored the whole place with a critical eye. Alfred expected them to be angry, to ask a lot of questions, but instead:

Wife! Darling!: "Who takes care of this place?"

Alfred: "Mostly me, Mistress (Name)."

Wife! Darling squinted her eyes, gaze darkening: "Just you? Does no one help you?"

Alfred: "It's part of my job, Mistress (Name). Don't worry, I can handle it perfectly well on my own."

She scoffed. "Well, this has to change. You're just one man, Alfred, and you're not getting younger with the years. The fact that they let you do so much already by yourself is infuriating, and you also have to clean after their crime-fighting bullshit? The nerve. I'll take care of this from now on"

Alfred blinked: "Mistress (Name), I can't possibly ask you that. You already help me more than enough around the house-"

Wife! Darling: "Nonsense, Alfred. You do way too much already. At this rate, it'll only affect your health for worse. I live here too now, so technically it's also my responsibility."

And that's how she ends up handling the maintenance of the Batcave along with Alfred, even taking over his tasks entirely. She starts off with the excuse of helping him, which it's true, but eventually she always takes care everything so the man has no option but rest.

And because she's such a perfectionist, she doesn't spare any efforts in the task. Cleans all the surfaces, fixes the suits, rearranges the weapons after cleaning them and creates a system to organize their gadgets so they're much easier to find. Even the Batmobile is left spotless, inside and outside. She goes as far to feed some of the bats casually roaming around the edges of the cave.

(And if her kids had naps inside the batmobile sometimes when they were down there, only she and Alfred are witnesses. Well, the bats too, but they're not snitching)

This way she takes some work off Alfred's shoulders. She finds it enraging that a man his age has such a heavy load of work with little to no help, so she takes over some of the house chores for him so he can have breaks. Plus, it helps her unwind and relax a bit from her usually stress-fuelled life.

She also begins to leave snarky notes about the shameful state of their gear when she finds it in particularly bad shape. And feels even worse that Alfred has had to take care of all of this at his age until she came.

"This blade is duller than your sense of self-awareness. Fix it"

"Blood is not a fashion statement. Grow up"

"If you die in this crusty suit, I’m not cleaning your corpse"

"Are you fighting villains or rolling in garbage?"

Seriously, the richest man in Gotham can't even afford a bit more of staff? But of course, she reminds herself he's the same man who forgot to use protection when fucking a random woman, so she shouldn't expect too much from him.

To avoid uncomfortable encounters, she specifically schedules her cleaning times for when the whole team is out, so she can work peacefully without being having to be in the same room as them. So far, it goes well. Alfred even warns her when they're coming back, and the Batcave is actually a pretty nice place to enjoy time for yourself when it's empty. Just the beeping of the computers as background noise, or her children messing around when they go down there to do their things.

It becomes part of her routine, one she even looks forward too during the day. Until one day.

The Batcave has been left spotless, as usual. Weapons polished. Suits lined up by height and damage level. Even the Batmobile has that new-car shimmer. It smells faintly of citrus-scented cleaning spray and frustration. There are also four sticky notes scattered across the table already, complaining about the state of their things again.

She is crouched near the weapon rack, holding the Batman suit with one gloved hand and a lint roller in the other, glaring at it like it personally offended her.

She mutters under her breath in Spanish, something about how "ni siquiera una máquina de coser podría salvar este desastre de traje, Dios mío." (Not even a sewing machine could save this disaster of a suit, my godness)

She’s in sweats, hair tied back in a messy bun. An apron over her tank top that says "KISS THE COOK (or don’t, I’ll stab you)". She's so deep in the cleaning zone she doesn’t hear the footsteps.

"Well, this is a surprise. I could get used to this."

Her entire body freezes. It feels like her blood turned ice in her veins instantly with the voice. That irritating, familiar voice.

Her head turns slowly, and there he is. Bruce Wayne in the flesh. Her husband in paper, father of her first child, owner of this cave, and responsible for half of the stress she deals with.

She could be annoyed or even embarrassed that he caught her like this, handling his suit no less. But instead, her mind is focused on what he said, and the tone in which he said it.

She arches a brow at him.

"Excuse me?"

He steps closer, clearly taking note of her work there. His eyes drifting to the Batmobile, the weapons, all she's taken care of already.

Bruce: "Me, coming back from work to find you cleaning my stuff. It’s so… domestic. It’s almost like we’re a married couple."

There’s a beat. A dangerous silence.

She blinks at him. Once. Twice. Processing the fact that he really said that. Out loud. To her. And in a completely serious tone.

Then he looks at her, and she notices the ghost of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. Oh, that filthy little-

Her eye twitches.

Wife! Darling: "...........Oh, absolutely."

WHACK.

She chucks a batarang at his head with a speed and accuracy that would’ve made Deadshot whistle. He barely ducks, and it slams into the metal behind him with a THUNK so loud the Batcomputer flinches and some bats burst out from their spots.

Bruce: "That could’ve taken my eye out."

Wife! Darling:"I was hoping so."

He stares at her, and then shakes his head, letting out a low chuckle. A chuckle. Since when is this man capable of that? Before she gets her answer, he pulls out the batarang with ease and places it back on the rack (Good, she would've murdered him for real if he left it anywhere else).

Bruce: "I meant it. I think I like this sight of you. Suits you well. You look like the ideal housewife."

Without looking, she reaches for another batarang and throws it at him. This time, he catches it mid-air, cool as ever, before setting it down on the table like he isn’t one second away from getting stabbed.

Bruce: "Was that really necessary?"

Wife! Darling: "It was either that or shoot you. You're lucky I'm generous today."

He watches her, barely concealing his amusement now, but there’s something else in his expression too, something he's never had when looking at her: Curiosity.

She doesn't like it.

Unbothered, as if he didn't just activate her kill switch, he starts to walk to the table and peels off one of the sticky notes, reading it aloud with a deadpan tone.

"Blood is not a fashion statement. Grow up."

Bruce: "You know I beat the shit out of people in this suit, right?"

She replies without sparing him a glance, wiping down a grappling gun with unholy aggression: "Yeah? Well, do it without staining it with their blood. You look like Gotham’s dirtiest raccoon."

He leans against the Batcomputer, arms folded. "How long have you been doing this, exactly?"

She scoffs, going back to adjusting the suit like she isn’t being interrogated. "Long enough to know that you leave your weapons in a shameful state. Honestly, it’s a miracle your stupid gadgets still function. Do you ever bother to maintain your own things, or do you just throw them around and hope Alfred fixes it?"

He watches her for a moment longer before finally speaking.

"And you’re doing this because...?"

"Because unlike some people in this godforsaken house, I actually care when an old man is running himself ragged taking care of things that none of you seem to appreciate."

Bruce pauses. He glances at the Batmobile, cleaner than it’s ever been. At his weapons, neatly arranged, polished, functional.

At the post-it notes stuck to the Batcomputer, scrawled in Rosa’s angry handwriting.

He actually huffs a quiet laugh. Again. It's unsettling her.

Then, almost as an afterthought, she mutters, "Besides, if you die because your equipment fails, it’s only a matter of time before you try to drag me into this circus. And I refuse to wear spandex."

He raises an eyebrow. "You’d look good in spandex."

Silence.

She throws the batarang at him again. This time, it actually clips his shoulder.

"Go get that treated before you stain anything, or I'll wipe the floors next with your face."

.......................

...........

Suddenly, Bruce starts to "casually" come to the cave early more often.

Now she has to adjust her schedule AGAIN to avoid him. And in the meantime, her children start betting on how many batarangs it takes before Bruce gets critically injured. Or dead.

[revelboo]

begging for the next knockout and breakdown part, the snippet from bottom feeder has me curious LMAO

Sure!

My Favorite Accident Pt 15

Knockout x Reader x Breakdown

• Dangling from Breakdown’s hands, trying to squirm loose, you swear at him, at Knockout, and yourself for getting involved in this alien stupidity. Getting abducted by Knockout’s buddy, maybe boyfriend all because you like hanging out with Knockout, like his attitude and his snark. Getting hauled into their ship. And he’s striding into, what? That looks kind of like a medical table in the center of the room and seeing gleaming tools laid in organized rows in trays on the counter against the wall, makes you sure this must be their alien version of an ER. Knockout had said he was a medic, hadn’t he? “Are you really going to ignore me because I messed with your little squishy pet?” Breakdown growls and you glare up at him.

• “I’m no one’s pet,” you seethe from Breakdown’s hands and Knockout isn’t really surprised when the bigger mech dumps you on the exam table. Watching you from the corner of an optic as you stumble and nearly fall, before looking up at him as soon as you recover. “And as fun as watching you two have a domestic dispute is, I need to go home.” Venting at your anger, his lips twitch. Because you talk big especially when you’re scared and right now? Knows you must be terrified, but you aren’t showing it.

• Bumping the Medbay berth to send you staggering to a knee, Breakdown grins down at you as you glare right back. His smile falters when he notices Knockout staring at him, a scalpel in his servos as he examines the blade. “Unfortunately for all of us, you have an uncanny knack for finding yourself in danger if unsupervised,” Knockout says, dancing the blade over his servos. “Though, it would seem Breakdown’s volunteered to help look after you.”

• Stiffening as the bigger mech’s mouth falls open, your eyes narrow at Knockout when he smiles. “I never said I’d watch your pet,” Breakdown growls, waving a big, dismissive hand at you. ‘Didn’t you?’ Knockout asks, that scalpel he’s playing with a shining blur, reminding you of that cold fury he’d shown before when he’d found you in Breakdown’s hand. Because this Knockout isn’t the conceited, arrogant mech you’d thought he was. Right now, he’s intimidating. ‘Then why did you carry my human all the way to the Nemesis if not to take care of them?’ Knockout asks, voice sweet and sharp as that blade.

• “I’m not staying in alien central,” you protest and Breakdown ignores you to focus on Knockout because he can’t be serious. “Seriously. I’ll end up getting stepped on or something.” Thumping a hand down on the berth, he’s surprised when you don’t fall again, flinching but staring defiantly up at him. To be so small and yet so stupidly brave. Is that Knockout’s fascination with you? That you seem to have no survival instincts whatsoever ‘What a pity that would be,’ he growls, startling back a step when Knockout leans across the berth to corral you with his hand. And you grab onto his servo, turning to face Knockout and ignoring him completely. “I’m not staying here,” you add, the words a demand as Knockout just smiles indulgently and that bitter jealousy burns a little hotter. Because you’re absolutely right about being too small to be on the Nemesis. Anything could happen to one little human.

Previous

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[impyssadobsessions]

Here's a comic depicting a snippet of a story Idea I have. >w<

(Link to Reference Art I made of Danny) Danny comes across Clockwork's lair, see's some visions of a past he wasn't quite sure of whose, before being dropped down a hole where CW cryptically fills him in as to why he had summon him. Thus dropping Danny into this new world with only knowing he has to save a guy name Dante- and defeat Pariah again. He falls through a roof of a thrift store- fights some skeleton demons with the racks after learning something is weird with his powers as he cannot change into phantom and his body feels weird. His clothes get ripped and tatter thus him "borrowing" clothes and walking out to see the extent of what Pariah has already done.

Which causes him to run into a big bull demon and fights him one to one- while learning the new limitations on his powers/how they work in this world. Spoiled below more ideas that are very rough and not set in stone. That I copied and pasted from my word document- which was just hastily written down as to not forget.

Danny is summon for another favor for Clockwork- CW isnt in the tower but screens of timelines are playing around the room. Danny thinks some of them are cool- wondering when and where that is- until he see one of a woman running with a baby in her arms. Cut back to danny who falls through a hole in the ground and winds up falling into a thrift store. His form has changed and his powers don't really work how they were suppose to. Maybe instead following Pariah into the demon world- finding himself in same scenario. Maybe CW gives only cryptic word help dante. But dante supposedly still gone so meets nero instead. Nero over time realizes Danny might not be human- doesn't think ghost- but assume Danny might be Dante's son... for various reasoning. ---Maybe CW is split in two reason Danny was able to live on the other side. (because of legend of Pariah having been banished to in between because he was feared by demons- only for him to take over new world and being sealed there. Chronos was part of the reason he got banished. ) -Pariah Dark being big bad. But once Danny wins title of king the curse tries to bind him. Then Clockwork stabs him to the ground with his staff- essentially winning the title and being sealed away with Pariah. Danny is rescued by Dante, and he uses the staff to slow the closing of the portal. Everyone safe and rescued. Danny stands where the portal was and cries. Overwhelmed by information and also realizing he has no way back home.

--- Also thought of an idea for a sequel idea- where Danny is in a comatose state but it is revealed after a seemingly heartwarming scene of Dante and Danny watching the sunset peacefully as father and son. Then Nero arrives to pick up Danny. Dante reveals that they know where the guy who did this to danny is and how to get Danny back to normal. (Vergil having scouted ahead) Dante leaves to help clear out the problem leaving Nero with literal dead weight as Nero has to take Danny's lifeless body to the lair- Danny slowly regaining some motion as he gets closer to his-self. Nero at first saying Danny owes him big time- but as it goes on Nero like- hey don't pay it back all in one go- I still need at least one favor so I could spend a nice night with kyrie. (Because Danny uses his blood to help Nero fight back the ghosts- and then him phasing them through a collapsed ceiling while still in a coma like state) Very Nero centric taking care of Danny- and whose been taking the most care of Danny. So very much him just talking one sided to Danny but seriously hoping for the best. And to clock the guy who did this. Which my idea that it be actually Dan ;3 who split Danny apart.

[beardedjoel]

pretty little wife | better now

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 summary: 3.9k words, a snippet of a day in the life of husband! joel and his lovely housewife | no apocalypse au, no use of y/n warnings: 18+ MDNI! pre-established relationship/dynamic, unprotected piv, rough sex, free use kink, sub/dom relationship, cum play, spit kink, exhibition kink, dirty talk, pet names for reader, brief mention of alcohol, generally extremely submissive reader so if you're into that this is for you! a/n: not pretending this is anything other than some little fantasy i had that i needed to write out. i'm really excited about this one shot series for husband!joel though, i have some really fun (and depraved) ideas planned for these two for future blurbs so stayed tuned if you like this one! reblogs + comments are always loved and appreciated! ♡

i've decided to start a kofi in case anyone wants to consider a small donation to support my work! ♡

How’s my pretty little wife today?

The words you look forward to each day, falling from your husbands lips in some form or another, whether it’s rasped tenderly in your ear, from between your legs as he smirks up at you, or from over your shoulder as he slams his cock into you, sending you to heaven and back down as soon as he can after walking in the door after work.  

Joel asks the question today after walking up behind you in the backyard, his mouth already next to your ear, warm breath tickling along your skin there as he brushes your hair over your shoulder. The wiry texture of his beard nuzzles right into your neck, sending a thrill down your spine as his arms slide around your waist and hold you tightly to him, swaying you back and forth. The motion is soothing, reminding you that you’re right where you’re meant to be.  

You can smell the workday on him - sweat and dirt and the outdoors, and the lingering scent of the cologne you’d given him this past Christmas. He’d sprayed it on this morning, as he does every morning since you bought it for him. Makes me think of you all day, he’d remind you while you’d watched from your bed with a teasing smile, sheet disheveled and draped over your naked body.

You breathe all of it in, savoring this scent unique to your husband, before touching your hand to where his rests around your belly and stroking it gently.

“Better now,” you answer. More times than not, that’s your response to his routine question, knowing it drives him wild, makes a long day of work ache a little less when he hears you say it.

“S’what I like to hear,” he says, a kiss on your neck leading up to your lips - a long, deep, ravenous kiss that already leaves you breathless. He pulls away so suddenly you nearly have whiplash, your head falling slightly into nothing, missing his lips.

“Smells good out here,” Joel comments, turning his nose up in the air slightly. “Usin’ the new pizza oven already?” 

When you’d made a passing comment about wishing you could make wood fired pizzas at home, just like the ones a restaurant in town serves, Joel seemed to take it seriously, as he did with most things involving your wishes and desires. The next weekend, he’d hauled in bricks and began his work. You’d stepped out into the yard when you heard all the commotion, giving him a quizzical stare, and he’d simply grinned and shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world that he should be building his wife a pizza oven. You’d nearly teared up, feeling grateful and giddy with excitement at your new toy to experiment with. 

Within a few weekends, Joel had finished his new project, always seeming to need one to have around the house, wiping the sweat off his forehead and gleaming with pride at it as he showed you the final product. You’d practically jumped for joy but settled on flinging yourself into his arms to show your appreciation. When that had turned into him fucking you on top of the kitchen counter moments later after he went inside to fetch a cold drink, you hadn’t minded one bit.

“I couldn’t wait,” you say with a grin. When Joel nuzzles your neck again you start to lose your train of thought. His lips press a gentle kiss right on your pulse point, and you sigh into it. “T-trying out margherita today,” you manage to squeak out.

“Hmm,” Joel says, seemingly contemplating the flavor choice in between latching his lips on your neck and sucking, marking you over and over. You’re sure the ones from mere days ago haven’t faded all the way, a smattering of them going right down to your tits, but Joel always needs a fresh mark on you as soon as they start to fade, a way for you to always remember you’re his. He grinds his hard length into your back on the next touch of his lips, and you arch into it a little, your cunt starting to ache more needily for him. 

“F-fresh basil… from the… gar-” you gasp as he pulls you completely flush against his cock, letting out a little, devious laugh.

“Sounds fuckin’ delicious, baby,” he replies. His fingers reach down and toy with the front hem of your dress, delicately sliding his calloused fingers up your thighs, bunching the fabric as he goes. The warmth of his hands on your bare skin blazes a trail up to the apex of your thighs, finally cupping a hand around your warm heat. You instinctively grind into the heel of his hand, and can practically feel Joel smirking behind you. His fingers brush the outside of your panties, starting to rub circles on the wet fabric. He lets out a low growl, deep and needy in the back of his throat feeling the evidence of how much you’d anticipated him coming home. 

“So wet for me already, huh, doll? Couldn’t wait f’me to get home ‘n take care of ya, I bet,” Joel taunts in your ear before sucking on the lobe, and you’ve gone breathless now, nodding your head. His fingers tease the edge of your panties again, finally slipping one underneath the fabric, feeling the obscenity of your wetness directly, and he lets out an impressed tut, sucking in air between his teeth. You nearly moan out at the smallest touch he’s giving you, the way his rough, worn fingers gently brush over your clit for just a split second. 

“She’s so needy, ain’t she?” Joel coos in your ear, swiping a finger to your entrance and back to your clit. You can feel how slickness quickly gathers on Joel’s digits as he teases you. You squeeze your eyes shut and lean back into him, letting your head drop to his shoulder as pleasure wracks your body already.

“Mhm… needs you,” you murmur, turning your head towards his where he meets your lips, continuing steady strokes on your aching bundle of nerves. His lips are softer than you’d think, looking at the hardened grump behind them, but like so many parts of Joel, they are only soft for you.

“Needy, needy girl… good thing I’ve been thinkin’ about gettin’ my cock in that little cunt of yours all day.”

“A-all day?” you say with a little smirk, rutting your ass back into his throbbing length, and Joel groans with the friction.

“Second I pulled out of it this mornin’,” he replies, low voice drumming against your skin, and you shudder, desperate for what you know he’s about to do.

Another routine of yours - Joel comes home from work, and more days than not, he fucks you. And you enjoy every second of it, basking in the attention and his cock filling you up in the way nobody and nothing else can. You crave him night and day, never having gotten your fill, wondering if you ever could. His hunger for you in return only fuels the fire, a vicious circle the two of you seem to have no intention of breaking.

Your weakness lies completely in the man standing behind you, burying his fingers in between your legs and making you moan out wildly before he’s even had his way with you.

“Fuck, gotta get this cock in you, baby, split you open f’me so good, fuck you stupid,” Joel grunts suddenly, interrupting your swirling thoughts, withdrawing his fingers in a flash and leaving you whimpering. It’s not fair, the way he affects you. 

Nobody should have this power over you, but the minute you’d met Joel, you couldn’t deny the way he’d made you feel. Masculine and warm, rough hands and broad shoulders that you’d clung to that same night you’d met him in a bar, fucking mere hours later in the bathroom. Even in your drunken haze you’d submitted to him fully, Joel having no problem ordering and throwing you around the bathroom like you were just a toy to play with, his little doll. You’d found that you could never look back after that night, the safety he represented to you, the adoration he showered you with, the way he fucked you like it was his last time every time. When Joel saw how willing you were to be his in the way he craved from a woman, there was no stopping the insatiable beast he became, hellbent on never letting another man feel your touch again. Joel promised you a good life, an amazing life, even, and in the last few years, he had more than delivered for you. 

“Hush now, you’ll have what you want in a second,” he says, running a quick stroke of his fingers through your hair, giving it a tug. On principle, you let out a little mewl at the sensation, too many instances of your hair being tugged and pulled with Joel involved to not recall those memories with the pain of it. You hear the jangle of his belt as he frees himself from his jeans, the familiar sound of Joel’s thick, heavy cock slapping against his hand as he fists it. You’re already cock drunk without having seen the damn thing yet, and it’s nearly laughable how pliable you are when Joel’s involved. It’s always been that way - you’ve been happy to oblige his every desire, no matter when, where, how he wanted it, or the frequency. You were his to use, to pleasure, to fuck senseless, and you got off on the way all of it steadily built his need for you just as much as it did with your need for him.

“Please…” you whine, trying to slip out of his grasp and start for the sliding glass door to the house, making the assumption that he’d be taking you inside at any moment to take what he needed from you. 

Joel immediately tightens his hold on you, a dark tut in your ear that goes straight to your clit.

“Not so fast, little doll,” he croons, hand grabbing your cunt through your dress again to hold you to him. “Right here,” he adds on, turning your body towards the outdoor dining table in the backyard. 

“J-Joel… right here?” you question, knowing you shouldn’t. It won’t matter anyways. “The… t-the neighbors…” you whimper quietly as Joel crowds you against the table, tearing your dress up over your ass, revealing your lacy little thong to him. He groans at the sight of your bare ass ready for him to claim before roughly shimmying your underwear halfway down your thighs. He places a rough hand on your back, pressing you down into the table so that you’re completely bent over, your hands splaying out into the wood to support yourself. 

“Let them see…” Joel says quietly, a heady murmur as he slips his cock between your thighs and notches himself at your weeping entrance. “Let them see how much I love fuckin’ my wife.” He pushes in on the last sentence, and you gasp at the stretch and burn of his girth. Your vision goes white for a moment with the mix of pure pain and pleasure, and your mouth hangs open, panting in delight as he fills you inch by inch. 

“Mmm… such a sweet little pussy, honey…” Joel says quietly once he’s seated fully inside of you. He’s just as lost in the bliss of it as you are. “Know I’d fuckin’ live right here if I could.”

You give him a little moan of satisfaction, wiggling your hips to give yourself any sensation of movement from his cock. He places his hands on either side of your hips, squeezing his grip tightly enough to bruise before starting to thrust himself into you. You cry out in a yelp, the noise passing though your lips before you can even control it. 

“Yeah…” you whimper, face pressed against the table, trying to peek up as Joel looms above you, like some higher being that has the power to decide your fate, to decide the pleasure or pain you’ll have to endure in this moment. And truthfully, you do worship him. The way he moves inside of you, makes you crumble underneath even the lightest of his touches. The way he spoils you in every regard - you’ve never wanted for a single thing for as long as you’ve been Joel’s, him vowing to take care of everything you ever need, and in return, you take care of everything he needs. 

To some, it might seem like there’s a lack of balance in the way you do things, but fuck do you love it, you think as you desperately cling onto the table, manicured nails digging into the wood as Joel’s cock rams back into you, pressing so deep inside of you that you see stars.

You let out a low, strangled sound, whining as Joel begins to press against your cervix, the front of your thighs bumping into the table with every new thrust from him. He grunts with the exertion, fucking into you hard, taking what he wants, leaving you both breathless with the need for more of each other. You let Joel take and take and take because of how much he gives in return - while he loves to use you, he always makes sure you get every bit of pleasure you deserve for being so good to him.

When you continuously moan louder as Joel fucks you towards your high, you glance around, the small sliver of your brain that’s still rational worried about you two getting caught by your neighbors. The thought is equally mortifying as it is thrilling, but you decide you’d rather not deal with the embarrassment today if you can help it.

“Still worried about the neighbors, hm, pretty girl? I’ve got an idea,” Joel says, responding to your sudden nervousness. Before you can even answer, his hands are wrapping around your shoulders, urging you up from the table. You follow along, breathless and dazed, letting him move you as he wishes, too deliriously starry eyed for him to care about anything else other than what Joel is gearing up to do to you next.

He accidentally slides out with the movement of your body, and immediately he’s grasping at your hips, practically clawing his way back to you as he pulls you tight to his body again. His throbbing, dripping cock slaps periodically against your ass as he shoves you forward, pushing your body towards the house. 

“Here,” he grits out, suddenly crowding your body from behind to press you against the sliding glass door. “That better?”

“I- yes,” you say, eyes wide from the way you’d been roughly handled by him the last few moments. Your cunt aches almost painfully, having been getting so close to your climax only to have it ripped away suddenly when Joel decided to move you.

“Good,” he snips quietly. “Couldn’t stand to keep this cock out of you much longer’n this.”

With his words he brings his lips to the back of your neck again, just his heavy breathing fanning across the skin there, making you wild as he repositions himself and nudges your legs apart with his knee. You feel the length of him tease between your legs, sliding up to your entrance again. He groans loudly, letting you know how badly he wants you, so you try to pop your hips up at just the right angle you know he’s looking for. 

He slides in effortlessly and with a renewed vigor, hips snapping into you, pressing you further into the sliding glass door with neither of you seeming to be worried about the way it’s suddenly shaking on the frame. It’s completely lewd, the way you imagine the two of you - your entire body against glass, tits being pressed out the top of your dress and bouncing, palms spread against the smooth surface, nails clawing and unable to grasp at anything.

Your body is shaking in his hold now, Joel’s cock hitting inside of you in all the right places. You can feel yourself tensing, almost like every cell is going taut, your core pooling heat deep inside of you with molten pleasure from Joel hitting the spongy bit inside of you. 

“Fuck, love it when you sound like that f’me, doll,” Joel punches out as he hears your moans becoming louder and more desperate the longer he continues to thrust against your g-spot. You can’t respond, only continue your lustful noises with a renewed vigor as you try to bounce your hips back into his thrusts, getting him deeper than what’s even possible, the length of him already burying up to the hilt each time he drives himself into you.

“Know you wanna come for me, baby,” he says right in your ear, voice hoarse with need, and you whimper in response as his hand snakes around your hips and in between your legs, circling a gentle pressure on your clit. 

You feel your hold on reality completely break, your eyes squeezing shut as you melt into the way your entire body is tingling with pleasure now, waves of it turning into spasms as you go practically limp with shaky knees. Joel’s hands hold you in place, his warm strength keeping you upright as you push down onto his cock, riding out your climax and screaming for him. 

When your movements start to slow and your body relaxes, Joel thrusts into you even harder, loving the way you’re so compliant and soft after climaxing, letting him move in you however he needs as you ride out the sensitive aftershocks with a few quiet yelps.

“This little pussy is all mine, y’know that, right?” Joel reminds you through clenched teeth, giving your ass a firm slap. You nod vigorously, eyes still half lidded and mind scrambled from the way he’d shattered you mere moments ago.

“Y-yes, Joel,” you say when he slaps your ass again, demanding an answer. Your breathy answer is enough to get him to his own climax, and he surprises you by pulling out suddenly, leaving your body lurching back into nothing, missing the fullness of him already. Before you can protest, say anything, Joel’s hands grip your shoulders and spin you around and push down, forcing you onto your knees in one fluid, swift motion. You watch, wide eyed, as he fists his throbbing cock, shiny and coated in your own slick arousal as he spreads it along his shaft in jerking motions.

“Be a good girl and open up,” he commands, and you submit to the words immediately, mouth hanging open, even sticking your tongue out for good measure. Joel smirks at that before giving himself another swift tug, and you watch in renewed wonder as he begins to spill himself all over your face, ropes of cum hitting your skin. You taste him on your tongue immediately, savoring it. Your eyes are glued up on Joel’s face, watching his glazed gaze taking in the scene below him as he groans in pleasure, trying not to tilt his head back and get lost in the moment so he doesn’t miss a beat of your beautiful surrender to him.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he watches the last bits of his release hit your tongue. “Don’t you dare swallow that, yet, doll,” he adds on quickly, eyes fluttering for a moment before he tucks himself back into his slacks. He continues to tower over you for a prolonged few seconds, looking down in satisfaction at the image of your glowing, angelic face coated in something so sinful, the milky substance starting to drip down your face, your tongue trembling slightly with the need to swallow.

“Hold still,” he says needlessly since as the words come out of his mouth he grabs your chin, tilting your head upwards and gathering spit, letting a long, tortuously slow drip of it fall into your open mouth. It lands on your tongue, combining with his cum and Joel smirks again, releasing your chin.

“Swallow, my little doll,” he says, voice starting to go soft, an indication that he’s feeling satisfied and finished with his enjoyment of you. You close your mouth, smile, and swallow obviously for him, licking your lips for good measure. 

Joel holds out a hand, helping you stand, your legs buckling slightly as you try to get your bearings. He carefully smooths your disheveled dress, flattening the bottom half and tugging the neckline back into place before fixing the straps to sit perfectly square on your shoulders, eyes roaming over quickly to examine his work with pride. His hands then move to your hair, brushing his fingers gently to put it back in its place, leaving every part of you like none of this had just happened besides your face, still dripping with his spill. Your smile widens, seeing him watch a particularly large spot of it sliding down your cheek. You see his composure fail for a moment before he strokes your cheek gently, avoiding any of the mess there, giving you soft, affectionate eyes.

“Good girl,” he says quietly, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “Pizza’s probably ready,” he adds on, the casual tone taking you aback for only a moment before you blink yourself back to reality and nod dutifully.

“Of course,” you say, a genuine smile plastered on your face as you look at your handsome husband, admiring the way he’s looking at you with stars dancing across his eyes, the deepest love for you tucked away in his deep brown irises.

“After you get that, go clean yourself up, doll,” he says, and you nod again, the smile not leaving your face. You see out of the corner of your eye Joel settle onto one of the chairs at your outdoor table, leaning back casually as if he hadn’t just had you bent over that exact table, fucking you for the entire neighborhood to possibly see and hear.

You gather everything you need, serving utensils, plates, and two cold beers before bringing it to the table along with the pizza and a freshly tossed salad you’d made to accompany it. Each time you drop something off, the smirk on Joel’s face grows, watching the way you work with the evidence of his obsession with you still lingering on your flushed cheeks.

Once the table is set and your face cleaned off, you join Joel outside to enjoy the beautiful spring evening, and see he’s already served you two generous slices of the margherita pizza. 

He reaches a hand onto the table, taking yours delicately into his palm, dwarfing it with the size of his thick fingers as he absentmindedly runs his thumb along your knuckles, stopping to play with the large, gorgeous diamond on your ring finger. Another reminder to him that he has you all to himself, his pretty little wife.

“Thanks for dinner, baby” he says, eyes locked on yours as he uses a free hand to pick up the pizza and take a large bite, letting out a little noise in satisfaction at the flavor.

“Anytime.” You smile, genuine and tranquil, a fresh appreciation and love for the life you’ve found yourself so grateful to be living.

tysm to @jupiter-soups @huffle-punk @rensraptor for so much help with ideas and writing this fic! love u guys x

[valentinedrifter]

Snippets with Ningning: Pink

Ningning x Eunha

~2.8k words

A/N: Prompt by @woollypoison, Thanks for hosting, much love!

Enjoy.

Yizhuo doesn’t know why the fuck you’re dating that stupid bitch.

Like, seriously? Out of everyone, you’re in bed with her? The fucking pink-haired bitch with the most kissable Goddamn lips, thighs that could pass off as fucking earmuffs, and tits she could just squeeze like lemo-

Okay, so maybe she sees what you see in the bitch, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. And what the hell does the slut have that she doesn’t?

She’s got a pretty good pair of lips that she knows could take your soul away if she ever got the chance to go down on you—nine out of ten recommended—and while her tits aren’t as big as the bitch has it, Yizhuo still has quite the set that can most definitely wow you when you get a hold of them. Oh, and her ass, her fucking ass can honest to God choke you out if she ever decides to sit on your face.

Shit, she had pink hair too for like, two months, so why didn’t you try anything with her? 

If she tried hard enough, she can be the cover girl for some fashion brand out there. She has class. Standards. Self-respect, dignity if she wants to push it, not like the bitch that everyone wants to bend over their desk.

Yizhuo’s smarter than the stupid idiot that can’t even do inferential statistics to save her life. She gets As on average, and she can talk your ass off about anything that wasn’t just about getting fucked on the daily.

She helped you understand what derivatives and limits are for calculus. And where was Barbie from Temu? Getting railed in the clinic, that’s where the hell she was.

Like, damn, she can cook real food. Not the instant noodle bullshit at the local convenience store or the quick sandwich that doesn’t even count. Yizhuo can cook the good shit. Hot pots, grilled pork, she can make salmon if you were into that. Food that’s made with love. Food you damn well deserve.

So what in the fuck is she missing?

Did she need to go back to dying her hair pink just so you can notice her? Did you like bigger tits? A fatter ass? Did Yizhuo need to make you lunch every damn day?

Was it because the free prostitute won the genetic lottery, because damn if the slut didn’t need makeup to look that fucking hot. 

It was bullshit. She should be the one bragging all over campus, not the dumb bitch that stole you under her nose. Stupid whore doesn’t even treat you right, because if that wasn’t enough, she’s also a toxic piece of shit.

Yizhuo knows the rumors. About how the slut sleeps with practically everyone, from the math nerd, the volleyball star, the history professor, the fucking janitor. The campus mascot even got lucky, while wearing the fucking suit. She doesn’t know how the logistics of that would even work.

Yizhuo heard from Lia that a teacher caught Pinky and the Dean with the door open. Not closed, not locked. Open. Judging from the fact that nothing happened, she probably slept with the teacher too.

There’s even that one time where the dumbass set off the fire alarm in the middle of a quickie. How the hell does that even happen?

Speaking of alarms, Pinky’s a walking red flag, a red alert, a tactical nuke type of danger that screams typhoon siren sounds out of her ass, and she wears it like a medal. Why she’s proud of it, Yizhuo will never know. She gives props for confidence though.

And don’t even get Yizhuo started on all the exes that the bitch got bored of, or cheated on, or destroyed a perfectly happy relationship for a quick fling. Bitch is playing eenie-meenie-miney-mo at this point with how high her body count is. She’s a certified cum dumpster that’s free Twenty-Four-Seven.

She’s surprised that the slut hasn’t gotten a disease from the amount of people that’s gotten in and out of her. 

You know all about it when she asked—totally not because she isn’t curious as to why you would try and date the walking condom—and all you had to say was-

“I don’t think she did all that.”

What the hell do you mean you don’t believe them, Yizhuo thinks, because everyone and their mother knows about what the hell the tramp’s done. Shit, the motherfucker has most likely fucked a mother too, if the rumor about her and the librarian was true; It probably is.

Was that it? Were you into bad bitches? Did you have that ‘I can fix her’ kink that always went wrong because this isn’t some movie that gives you those silly happy endings. 

Then again, you were optimistic like that. So innocent, so sweet, Yizhuo could just pinch your cheeks because of how cute you are-

Hold on, does she need to do that too? Start wearing tight tops, start fucking everyone she sees in a five meter radius, holy fuck does she need to fuck the janitor?��

She sure as shit wasn’t petty about it. Nope. Nada. No ma’am. She just doesn’t understand why you would look at someone like Pinky and not like her. 

She’s been with you throughout everything, the highs and the lows, the in-betweens, the break ups—which, your relationship with that bitch will definitely end up on—yet, you don’t even see Yizhuo as something more.

She’s trying to be supportive about it like she always did, but that whore is really making it hard for her to root for the both of you. But as your best friend, your confidant, she would endure.

But if she sees you with that bitch one more damn time, she’s getting a flamer somewhere—she’ll make one herself if she has too—and turn this campus into a fire hazard.

Truth be told, it needs the cleansing after everything the human fleshlight has done on every surface imaginable. Desks, doors, public benches. She probably needs to burn the statue in the middle of the main hall too.

Okay, so maybe Yizhuo’s going off the deep end, but she swears that this is an extremely reasonable crashout, cause at this point, the campus wants to be burned. After everything its witnessed, she can consider it consensual arson, and she’s just there to get it started. 

It would be so easy too. That Gauel chick from chemistry made some sort of homemade project last year, and she could probably make a copy-

“Hey!”

The shout made her snap her head so fast she got whiplash. Her mind’s still mentally noting all the things she needs before it registers who called her.

You. Standing there, all cute, that cheeky smile filling your face that makes her want to squeeze your face out because of how adorable you are. 

Yizhuo has to dig her nails into her notebook to stop herself from just grabbing you and shoving her tongue down your throat.

And you don’t even know that you’re using that smile as a weapon because damn does that make her filthiest fantasies overwrite everything that she was thinking of from the last ten minutes. Shit, that smile’s enough to get her in the mood when her thighs unconsciously press together.

It would be so damn easy to just, like, take you right here, in the library where anyone can hear and everyone can look. Yizhuo sees the vision forming inside of her mind. 

The way you’d wrap your lips around her pretty little fingers, throating two, no, three of them down and you’d fucking take it like the throat GOAT she imagines you are.

Then she would fuck your mouth with them while you’re on your knees, and you’d have your hands on her thighs, tears and spit spilling down your chest, messing up that snug little t-shirt you’re wearing.

God, Yizhou would suck the life out of you. First with your mouth after it's been thoroughly used by her fingers. She’d explore every single inch of that mouth, and she’d get sloppy with it too. Nip at your plump fucking lips, lick the spit that’s dripping down your chin. 

She’s getting wet at the thought of you moaning out her name.

She’d bend you over the table and spank that absolute dump truck of an ass you’ve got. Yizhuo wonders how much that juicy flesh would ripple every time she’d give each cheek a hard slap. 

She would even get a handful of it, and she’d burn the feeling of that big, fat ass into her memory if she could.

She’d yank those jeans down your legs, give you another hard slap on that bare ass, and she’d go to town on you. But she’d go slow. Use her hands to get you all worked up, make you beg for her to use her pretty little mouth. And when she does, Yizhuo’s gonna savour the look on your face-

Wait. Since when did you have pink hair?

That threw her out of her daydreams, because last she checked, you had blonde hair. Now suddenly it’s this light pink that’s oddly similar to the slut you’re dating.

You’re still looking at her. Blinking, smiling, like you don’t have a fucking clue what was going on in Yizhuo’s mind, full of intrusive thoughts and debauchery all because of two completely different women.

“Eunha!” Yizhuo tucks a strand of hair back, giving you—her—a timid smile. “I…thought you had class.”

Jung Eunbi. Eunha, to those who know her. Yizhuo’s best friend. Also known as the love of her life.

“The prof got sick, so I got some time to kill.” Eunha plops down the chair in front and crosses her arms. “And you have been avoiding me.”

“No I haven’t.” Yizhuo lies, smooth as hell, cause she’s done this too many times in the past few weeks, fiddling with the pen on the desk that she was supposed to be using to write math equations. “Professor Roh’s been swarming us with work. I swear she’s at that time of the month.”

Eunha laughs, giving Yizhuo those tingles on her stomach that she seriously cannot be having right now. “Everyone’s swarming us with work. Even professor Myoui, and she barely gives anything out.”

For a while, it was normal again. Yizhuo and Eunha, messing around as always. No problems, no avoiding, no reminders of who Eunha was meeting at the end of the day.

Well, except for her pink hair which-

“When did you dye your hair?” Yizhuo pretends to be curious but she’s really just fishing cause she knows that Pinky’s involved in it somehow.

“Like a week ago.” Eunha’s twirling the ends of her curls, and fuck if Yizhuo really just wants to tell her that she really shouldn’t be doing that in front of her, because even though the color’s a stark reminder of the slut she’s dating, she looks even prettier with it.

And Yizhuo really shouldn’t be imagining the things that she wants to do to Eunha again.

“I would’ve asked my best friend,” Yizhuo can’t help but look to the side for that. “For help but she hasn’t been responding to my texts lately.”

“Your girlfriend might get angry.” That was the shittiest excuse she could’ve given, Yizhuo lets the stray thought cross through her mind, but she might as well commit to the bit. “I was trying to give you space.”

“She doesn’t care.” Eunha says, shaking her head, chuckling. “She knows that nothing’s going on between us. And she knows we’ve been friends for like, forever.”

It felt like Yizhuo got shot and left dead in a ditch somewhere when she heard those words. Nothing, Eunha says. Friends since forever, Eunha says. Yizhuo’s been trying to get something going but she keeps pussying out of it.

Her fault, really. She’s let so many chances slip by and now this happens. Eunha taken away from one of the worst people Yizhuo can imagine.

The bitch not caring really did sound like her, to be honest.

Yizhuo was about to say something along the lines of ‘Why she’s still with her’ again but she didn’t have to, because the stupid idiot decided to do it for her.

“Baby!”

And there she is. The Queen Bitch of the campus strutting into the library, dressed like a cheap whore. Boxy glasses that had no lens, ponytail held up to the side, the school girl outfit with the short skirt and the top that showed off how big her tits are. That same shade of pink coloring her hair, just a bit darker than Eunha’s.

Uchinaga motherfucking Aeri. Giselle, to those who know her. And everyone fucking knows her.

“Gigi!” Eunha stands up, giving Aeri—Yizhuo is not going to call her Giselle for fuck’s sake—a hug.

Aeri wraps an arm around Eunha’s waist like it was supposed to be there, like she’s done it so many times. And she has. Just not with Eunha.

Yizhuo did not feel her eye twitch. 

Not at goddamn all.

“Miss me already babe?” Aeri leaves a kiss on Eunha’s temple, and Yizhuo really hates how it’s making Eunha blush.

“Just a little bit.” Eunha lets out this shy giggle that makes Yizhuo want to bang her head on the desk. “I-uhm, I dyed my hair pink.”

“Looking like a snack.” Aeri pulls back, enough to get a good look at Eunha, who’s looking down on the ground, cheeks becoming rosy. “Pink suits you.”

Yizhuo’s resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“I wanted to try something new.” Eunha replies, glancing up to Aeri, quick, hidden. That one little gesture was enough for Yizhuo to realize why Eunha dyed it.

She looks away, her own cheeks reddening from anger, shame, insanity. Were they seriously flirting in front of her? It’s like she wasn’t even there, and the fact that she feels replaced by Aeri is like a punch to the damn gut.

What she wouldn’t do to be in that bitch’s place.

And suddenly Yizhuo hears alarm bells go off.

At first, it was a glance. Aeri’s eyes move away from Eunha to her, then her entire head turns, and she hears those sirens go off louder in her head.

Because now Aeri’s eyeing her up like a snack, licking her lips, eyeing her from head to toe. It is seriously making her feel unsafe in the quiet working environment she calls her second home.

She is not thinking what Yizhuo thinks she’s doing right now. Hell no. She’s seeing things.

Aeri’s gaze stays on her, tilting her head, bedroom eyes landing on her chest. Yizhuo should’ve worn a jacket.

Please, do not let her be serious, Yizhuo is hoping, praying that any deity out there can answer her. She knows it’s useless, but it’s worth a try anyways.

“Hey, Yizhuo.” Aeri starts, lips tugging upwards, slow, predatory, unsafe. “Can I call you Ningning? Eunha always calls you that.”

No. “Sure, I guess.” Yizhuo knew that was a mistake pretending to be friends with this bitch because Aeri’s smile got wider. 

She sees Eunha smile too, leading her and Aeri to sit down on the table, completely oblivious to the fact that her best friend is being eye fucked by her girlfriend. “Found Ningning here studying for Professor Roh’s exam and figured we could catch up.”

“Is she now?” Aeri drawls, hand on her chin, still giving Yizhuo that fucking look. 

“Lots of things to do, you know.” Yizhuo replies, looking down at her notebook, really hoping that Aeri can fuck off. Her prayers were…not answered.

“You think she’d be down to help tutor us?” Aeri asks her girlfriend—that’s so gross to think about—but her eyes are staying with Yizhuo.

Oh fuck no, is what Yizhuo would love to answer, but Eunha, sweet, innocent Eunha, makes that response impossible. 

“That’s a great idea!” Eunha beams and nods at her, excited at the prospect.

“I know, right?” Aeri grins. “I think it’ll be very educational.”

No it will not, Yizhuo thinks, but the words don’t come out. What does come out makes her want to throw herself out the window because she’s a sucker for making Eunha happy. The pout Eunha’s sending her way is killing Yizhuo inside too.

“I think I’m free on the weekends to help you guys out.”

Eunha starts going off about where they’re all going to meet up, what food they should get before studying, after studying. Yizhuo’s stomach is doing backflips at how adorable she is.

And Aeri? She’s smiling, joking, playing along, all while looking at her with this dangerous glint in her eyes. Yizhuo’s stomach wants to throw up at the idea of what Aeri actually wants to do during that day.

Yizhuo feels like she just got locked into a route inside of a dating sim. And she did not like where it was going.

Yizhuo also needs a shower. A long, cold, soapy shower.

And a very lengthy, in-depth discussion with Gaeul about fire.

[tathrin]

@kittyhawk717 makes a good point: #so fucking amazing #i could read a million fics in this universe i #am OBSESSED

Honestly, same. Clearly. So obviously the only thing to do is for more people to jump into this sandbox and start playing to...

Pretty please?

Oh no help, why is my brain suddenly full of an RAF (or RFC) AU where Legolas is a pilot who gets the nickname “Greenleaf” because of how lightly and acrobatically he flies (and also he should probably be Irish or Scottish so the Brits can be derisive about his “more dangerous and less wise” people hmm? ooh or Indian! doesn’t really matter as long as he wears a lot of green so the nickname makes sense lmao) while Gimli was too short for the army but is a fucking amazing mechanic and basically single-handedly responsible for how amazing this unit’s planes are and how no matter how wrecked their planes are if they can get them back to base at all he can fix them, and Legolas fell in love basically the first time he saw Gimli work his miracles with that wrench and Gimli is not in love thank you, he is very very annoyed by this chipper pilot who keeps getting holes shot in his fucking wings and he definitely doesn’t like him at all and certainly doesn’t go out of his way to tinker with Legolas’s plane all the time and make sure it’s the absolute best machine in the air oh no nope definitely not dammit and he certainly doesn’t fret every time Legolas flies off into battle or comes back with his engine smoking again that fucker oh how Gimli loathes him! until one day he finally hops out of a just-barely-landed-successfully plane that is literally on fire Legolas what the fuck you idiot and oh and he stumbles what’s wrong oh no is he hurt oh no and Gimli runs over to help him up and instead they kiss right on the runway oh fuck—!

And the whole unit has been taking bets on this forever, so Commander Strider has to come break up the fistfight between Éowyn-who-definitely-isn’t-using-her-brother’s-ID-and-the-whole-unit-doesn’t-know-she’s-secretly-a-girl-NOPE and Boromir over who now owes whom money before Boromir’s little brother, the only one in the unit who hasn’t figured out that Éowyn is a girl yet, does something stupid trying to stop his brother fighting with “the fellow” he definitely doesn’t have a crush on Boromir please—!

Strider is so tired. He didn’t sign-up for herding idiots in love, he’s just trying to win the damn war, do you lads MIND???

Lord Mithrandir is sitting in his office watching the show from the window and laughing so hard, he fucking loves his deranged pilots so much. He has pulled  so many blatant cover-ups for their hijinks, and everybody in high command knows that he’s tossing aside regulations left and right, but his units are the most successful pilots in the damn skies so nobody can do anything about it dammit. (He’s also definitely in cahoots with General Galadriel, who pulls his ass out of the fire every damn time somebody tries to bestow some kind of reprimand or punishment, and who gets regular “briefings” about his pilots that absolutely aren’t just gossip in disguise, and which she certainly doesn’t pass along to her granddaughter who’s engaged to Commander Strider, who definitely isn’t royalty in disguise, nope nope and also nope.)

[lilbluustar]

Hii

I read your Yushi fic and the writing: amazing. Could you write something similar to that with Mark and he has a cute petname for the reader like sunshine orsomething? No worries if u don't want to! Thanks! 🩷

helloooo<3 omg anon! thank you for your wordssssss<3 i rlly appreciate them sooooooooooo much, thank you so much🩷🩷

and of course! here it is :)

mark as a boyfriend

if Mark were your boyfriend, he would be the cutest, funniest, most genuine guy in the world, because he would always find ways to make you smile and support you in your every dream. he would sing you songs (sometimes with lyrics made up just for you), tease you with affection, and hug you tight when you needed it most. with him, every day would be special, because his love would be felt in the simplest and most sincere details.

✧ he's the most adorable and clueless boyfriend, but incredibly thoughtful in his own way.

even though he sometimes forgets small details, he always tries his best to make you feel special.

his favorites are "sunshine", "baby", "cutie", but sometimes he gets to make up random ones like "squishy" or "my lil' star", and even though they sometimes sound funny, he says them with so much affection that you can't help but love them.

✧ from the first day you became boyfriend and girlfriend, he gave you a lot of cute nicknames.

“sunshine, how is it possible that you look prettier every day, it's like i glow more when i'm with you, seriously...”

whether it's sending you audios with his guitar in the middle of the night or writing you snippets of lyrics inspired by you.

✧ he dedicates songs to you all the time.

"i don't know if i already told you, but i wrote something today and i feel like it's very ‘you’... can i sing it to you?"

and when he does, he gets all red while looking at you with that shy smile.

“ba-baby... e-eh, it's just, ah... i don't know how to tell you, but... i love you, so much.”

✧ when he's nervous or embarrassed, he stammers and stutters, but that only makes it more adorable.

if he can't respond quickly, at least he leaves you a:

✧ even though he has a super busy schedule, he always finds time to send you little messages.

"thinking of you, sunshine ☀" or a "miss you, baby."

"i don't want to detach from you... just five more minutes, please, sunshine..."

✧ when you are together, he keeps hugging you. he loves to wrap his arms around your waist and hide his little face in your neck.

sometimes he inadvertently looks at you with that expression of complete adoration, like you're his favorite person in the whole universe. and when you catch him looking at you, he gets nervous and smiles embarrassed.

“have you eaten yet little baby, are you sure, because if not, you let me know and i'll bring you something, anything you want.”

✧ Mark in protector™ mode is the cutest. even if he's not the most intimidating, he's always looking out for you, making sure you're okay, comfortable and safe.

“b-baby, stop saying nice things, I'm going to melt...”

✧ every time you praise him, he laughs all shy and covers his face with his hands.

✧ loves to make you laugh. he goes into clown mode, making funny faces, silly dances or imitating others.

"sunshine, i don't like seeing you like this... do you want me to hug you? or we can watch your favorite movie, whatever you want."

✧ if you're ever sad, he stops everything he's doing to make you feel better.

as soon as he sees you, his face lights up as if you brought the sunshine with you. he grins from ear to ear and runs to hug you, wrapping his arms around you as he rocks you back and forth.

✧ when he sees you after days of not seeing you.

“god, sunshine, i missed you too much...” he murmurs into your hair, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead.

he always puts you on the safer side of the sidewalk without even thinking about it. If you cross the street, he holds your hand firmly.

✧ when he protects you on the street.

“let me take care of you, baby.”

and if someone gets too close to you on the subway or in a crowded place, he unhesitatingly pulls you against him, putting his arm around you.

he watches you silently and, without a word, takes off his jacket to put it over your shoulders.

✧ when he notices you're cold.

“i don't want you to get sick, baby.”

and if you protest, he just smiles and squeezes your nose gently with his fingers.

"no argument, sunshine, i'm fine. i want you to be comfortable."

he's not an expert chef, but he puts all his effort into making something special for you.

✧ when he cooks for you.

"okay, maybe the pasta is a tiny bit overcooked, but.... made with love, baby!" he says with a coy smile. and if he sees you enjoying it, he sighs with relief and smiles proudly.

“it's not that i'm jealous…but i just want to remind you that I'm the only one who can call you like that.”

✧ when he's jealous without wanting to admit it.

he purses his lips and averts his eyes when someone else tries to flirt with you. he tries not to be obvious, but it shows in how he squeezes your hand tighter or how he leans a little closer to you. when you're alone, he mutters under his breath,

“no way…how can you be so precious, baby?”

✧ when he finds you adorable without meaning to.

every time you do something cute, like laugh with your eyes closed or puff out your cheeks in anger, Mark looks at you like you're the cutest thing on the planet.

and sometimes he doesn't even say anything, he just watches you with that goofy, lovesick grin.

"five more minutes? i promise i'll let you go later…" but in the end, he always stays a little while longer because he just can't stay away from you.

✧ when he doesn't want to part from you.

after a perfect date, when it's time to say goodbye, he's left holding your hand, with a wistful expression.

mark can be shy at times, but when he really kisses you... wow. gently at first, but with an intensity that takes your breath away. one of his hands rests on your waist while the other caresses your cheek. and when he breaks away, he just stares at you, with that expression full of pure love.

✧ when he kisses you with more intensity than usual.

“tell me you're real, because I feel like i'm dreaming of you.”

he's embarrassed at first, but when you encourage him, he starts playing the guitar and his voice sounds so soft and sincere that it almost feels like his heart is speaking directly to you.

✧ when he sings you something special:

"this song...reminds me of you. always."

mark is the type to say "i love you" with his soul. he says it with a special sparkle in his eyes, with an emotion that trembles in his voice. and when he says it to you in a whisper, while holding you close, you feel as if those two words are the most important thing in the world.

✧ when he tells you he loves you.

"that's cute…although i think i'd like to see you better without it…and that i'm the reason."

✧ when he jokes about ruining your makeup.

you look gorgeous, made up and ready to go, but Mark looks at you with a playful smile and says,

✧ when his voice deepens.

Mark already has a beautiful voice, but there are certain times when he naturally lowers his pitch, almost hoarse, especially when he's too close to you. and if you notice the change, he smiles mischievously. "do you like the sound of that? because i like the way you react too much."

there are times when Mark looks at you with those bright eyes full of tenderness... but there are also other times when his gaze is darker, deeper. he scans you up and down, and his tongue subtly flicks across his lips before he smiles mischievously.

✧ when his gaze changes.

“don't look at me like that, baby, or i won't be able to control myself.”

mark as a boyfriend is the sweetest, most protective and loving guy. he looks at you like you are his whole world and tries his best every day to make you smile.

OKAY.... after writing this I need a boyfriend like mark 😭 or mark being my boyfriend?....

[willowsnook]

the lion and the golden retriever

a/n: same AU as this snippet

lance stroll x driver!reader

Lance stroll x driver!reader

—---------------------------------------------------

Wild child of the paddock

If you had a dollar for every time an article mentioned you as that, you wouldn’t need to race in F1 anymore. It really didn’t bother you, though; you knew that being a woman in F1 alone would bring tons of scrutiny, so you might as well have fun with it. 

Skimpy outfits out, excessive partying, attitude in interviews, you name it. You were young and you were enjoying life. It’s not like it affected your racing, either. You were halfway into your first season for RB and fifth in the WDC standings. Essentially, you were the female version of Lando Norris, who had quickly became your closest friend on the grid. Plenty of people online thought you were dating, and he certainly wished you would give him a chance, but you didn’t see him that way. You didn’t want to date someone just like you. 

“If I let you have a turn will you go out with me?” Lando yelled at you over the sound of the club. You were both in the DJ booth, his arm slung around you as he manned the table. 

“I’m out with you right now,” you yelled back, grinning as he rolled his eyes. 

“You know what I mean,” he grumbled. You threw your head back, moving to the beat of the music, letting the number of drinks you had control your body. “We do need to leave soon, padel, tomorrow morning, remember?”

You pouted, giving him your best puppy dog eyes, “do we really have to go?” 

“We promised Lance and Max remember,” he reminded you and you nodded carelessly, looking around. 

“You mean Lance, who is right there?” You asked, pointing to your fellow driver talking to Esteban at the bar. Lando grabbed your hand and dragged you along to reach them. 

“What’s up?” Lando asked, slapping his hand against the two guys. You pulled Esteban into a tight hug and did the same for Lance, who stiffened. If you thought about it, he was kind of your complete opposite, which meant that the two of you really hadn’t interacted much. You eyed him up and down once you pulled back, and it was like you were seeing him for the first time. 

“Since when were you hot?” Your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up and Esteban laughed loudly while Lance's cheeks flushed deep red, and he cleared his throat, eyes darting anywhere but at you. "Um, thanks, I guess."

"Jesus, Y/N," Lando groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Maybe time to cut you off."

"I'm perfectly fine," you insisted, still eyeing Lance with newfound interest. The usually reserved Canadian was wearing a fitted black button-down that accentuated his shoulders in a way his racing suit never did. "Seriously, have you been hiding under those Aston Martin caps this whole time?"

Esteban was practically doubled over with laughter now. "This is gold," he wheezed. "Lance, man, say something."

Lance finally met your gaze, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. "You're not so bad yourself," he offered, voice barely audible over the pounding music. You grinned widely. 

You leaned in closer, the alcohol making you bold. "Are you any good at padel, Stroll?"

"I'm decent," he replied, shrugging his shoulders casually.

“Okay then you’re on my team,” you declared and he let out a chuckle. 

Lando pouted, pulling you into his body, “You promised we’d be on the same team.”

“You’ll survive babe,” you told him. “Plus we are both going to be so hungover in the morning it will even out the teams.” 

You were correct in predicting what the following day would be like: you and Lando were miserable. A big pair of sunglasses covered your eyes, but you still managed to look hot in a short black tennis dress. Lando had thrown up outside of the courts which did not go unnoticed by Max, who had his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Are you guys serious?” He asked sternly. Lance said nothing, looking over at the two of you, his eyes mainly lingering on you. 

“We’re fine Maxey,” you chirped, causing both you and Lando to wince. “Ready as ever.” 

"You two look like death," Max scoffed, tossing Lance a padel racket. "I'm with Lando. Lance, you can babysit the disaster over there."

Lance caught the racket with ease, a small smile playing on his lips as he glanced your way. "Fine by me."

You feigned offense, placing a hand dramatically over your heart. "I'll have you know I'm an excellent padel player, even hungover."

"We'll see about that," Lance murmured, his voice carrying a hint of challenge that made your stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with last night's tequila. You followed him to your side of the court, admiring the way his athletic shorts hugged his thighs. How had you never noticed Lance before? 

The four of you made your way onto the court, the morning sun beating down mercilessly. As your head pounded rhythmically, you adjusted your sunglasses, grateful for the protection.

"First to seven?" Max suggested, already bouncing a ball up and down in front of him. 

“Fine by me,” Lance called out and you got into a stance that made Lance snort. 

To no one’s surprise, it turned into a match between Lance and Max; you and Lando were useless. Halfway through, Lando wandered off to the side to sit down and you followed, laying down with your head into his lap. The other two kept playing, honestly glad that you guys gave up. 

“Lance is kind of hot, right?” You asked Lando and he smirked down at you, his hands still massaging your head. 

“Why? Going to corrupt him?” He teased and you gave him the finger. 

“There’s just something so hot about him to me,” you admitted. “I need him.” 

“You’re insane,” Lando said. 

“You love me,” you said back and he smiled. 

“Unfortunately.” 

Half an hour later they finished up and trotted over to where you had drifted off. 

“We’re done and going to lunch, which you two are paying for,” Max said, pulling you up.

“Unfair Maxey,” you muttered, and he shot you a look that shut you up. 

“There’s a good place a couple of blocks away,” Lance offered and you pouted towards him. 

“I don’t want to walk, I’m tired,” you complained. 

“Not that far,” he said amused. 

“Fine, you can carry me then,” you suggested and he chuckled looking away. He didn’t see you mauever behind him and startled when he felt your hands on the back of his shoulders. He started to stay something but you were off the ground, jumping on this back and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Instead of pushing you off, his hands found the bottom of your thighs and your skin tingled. 

"Onward!" you commanded, resting your chin on Lance's shoulder. He shook his head but adjusted his grip on your thighs, securing you against his back.

"You're something else," he murmured, but there was a smile in his voice as he started walking.

Max rolled his eyes dramatically. "You're enabling her, Stroll."

"I'm just being a gentleman," Lance replied, and you could feel the rumble of his voice against your chest. You tightened your arms around his shoulders, breathing in the clean scent of his cologne mixed with fresh sweat from the game.

Lando jogged to catch up, giving you a knowing look. "Comfortable up there?"

"Very," you purred, making Lance's ears turn pink. You leaned closer, your lips nearly brushing his ear. "Your shoulders are even more impressive up close."

“Thanks. I’ve been training a lot,” he replied, and you giggled at his obliviousness to your flirting. You slid off his back once you guys reached the cafe, already sad at the lack of contact. 

Per usual, you carried most of the conversation, with Max and Lando. Lance shifted back into his reserved versions of himself, watching quietly and occasionally chiming in. 

"Earth to Lance," you said, waving a hand in front of his face. He blinked, realizing he'd been staring at you while you told a story about your last race.

"Sorry," he mumbled, taking a sip of his water.

"You're so quiet," you observed, leaning forward on your elbows. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Lance shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. "Just thinking."

"About?" you pressed, ignoring Lando's knowing smirk beside you.

"Nothing important," Lance replied, but his eyes lingered on you a beat too long.

Max cleared his throat. "So, Lance, how's the car feeling after the upgrades?"

You pouted as the conversation shifted to technical talk. Boring. Lando shot you a smirk and you kicked him under the table, causing him to yell out. 

On your first day in Zandvoort, you made an unusual move to your routine. You stopped by the Aston Martin garage on the way to your own. Lance and Fernando were deep in conversation when you approached, both looking at you in confusion as you got closer. 

“There’s my favorite mistress,” you greeted, smiling at Lance. Both men furrowed their eyebrows, which was adorable, and Fernando cleared his throat. 

“Lance?” He asked, motioning to his teammate. 

“Yes, Nando, haven’t you heard? I’m cheating on Lando with Lance,” you told him, and he smirked.

“Ah yes, I saw the pictures,” Fernando said while Lance still looked confused. 

“What pictures?” He asked. You pulled out your phone to show him. Someone had seen you on Lance’s back after the tortuous padel session, and it definitely looked romantic. You were looking at each other, smiling, his grip on your legs very visible. 

“Hmm,” Lance said. “You aren’t really dating Lando right?” 

Fernando barked out a laugh and your jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged, “Kind of assumed.” 

“Oh my god, no,” you rushed out, flustered. “We’re just friends.”  

"Oh," Lance said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I guess that makes sense."

Fernando glanced between the two of you with amusement dancing in his eyes. "I think I need to check something with the engineers," he said, backing away with a knowing smile.

Once Fernando was gone, you leaned against the Aston Martin garage wall, studying Lance more carefully. "So... you really thought Lando and I were a thing this whole time?"

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you were beginning to find endearing. "You're always together. He's always got his arm around you. I just assumed."

"He's like my brother," you clarified, watching Lance's reaction closely. "An annoying, clingy brother who happens to be my best friend."

“Hmm,” he said awkwardly. “Well I have to get ready so…see you later I guess.”

He left you in silence as you were trying to process what had just happened. Was he really playing hard to get? That’s fine! You were good at that game. 

The next two days you showed up at the Aston Martin area multiple times. One time claiming they just had better coffee, another time insisting that you left your hat there, even before qualifying, mentioning that you wanted to ask Fernando something about the track. 

As you headed back to your garage, Lance watched you with his face scrunched up, thinking. 

“She’s been coming here a lot this week,” he commented to Fernando who snorted. 

“Yeah, no shit,” the older man replied. 

“It’s weird,” Lance said and Fernando looked at him with shock on his face. 

“You’re kidding me right?” He asked and Lance looked at him in confusion. “She’s into you mate.” 

Lance scoffed, “No she’s not.” 

Fernando rolled his eyes dramatically. "For someone so good at racing, you're terrible at reading signals."

"What signals?" Lance asked, genuinely confused.

"The girl comes to our garage five times in two days, stares at you like you're the last bottle of water in the desert, and is always gravitating so that she is as close to you as possible," Fernando counted off on his fingers. "She's interested, my friend."

Lance's face flushed. "She's like that with everyone. You've seen her with Lando, with Max..."

"Not the same," Fernando said firmly. "Trust me, I've been around long enough to know when someone is interested."

Lance leaned against the workbench, processing this information. "Even if that were true—which I'm not saying it is—she's not really my type."

"Your type?" Fernando laughed. "And what exactly is your type? Quiet and shy? So then you can go on dates that are full of silence. Someone like her might be good for you.” 

Lance didn’t say anything further, just pondered what his teammate had said. Honestly, he had never really thought about you that way, partially because he was so sure you didn’t look at him like that. But it made a little sense; you did seem to chill out a little bit when he was around and he found himself talking more around you. Maybe it could be a good thing. 

You and Lance started to see more of each other. Never alone, he wasn’t going to make a move until he was sure about it and you were being a pussy. 

“I wish he’d just ask me out,” you muttered, irritated as you pulled your clothes out of your suitcase. Lando lounged on your hotel bed, scrolling through his phone while he listened to you complain. 

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” He asked and you scoffed. 

“He’s the guy!” You exclaimed. 

“Okay, Ms. 1950s,” he teased and you threw a sock at him. “How much longer do you have? Don’t you have a stewards meeting?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethed at him and he just smirked. You had gotten into a minor altercation during qualifying today with George that unfortunately, featured a lot of expletives. George being the suck-up that he was, complained about it to the FIA so now you had to meet with the stewards to discuss a potential punishment. 

Why were you so sure a punishment was coming? Well, you didn’t really hold back from the press afterward. 

“What happened between you and George after that last lap?”

"What happened is that George Russell needs to learn how to use his fucking mirrors before cutting across the racing line," you'd snapped, not caring about the cameras. "If he wants to act like he owns the track, maybe he should try qualifying higher than P7."

Now you were definitely going to pay for that comment. You grabbed your team jacket and phone, checking the time.

"I gotta go face the music," you sighed. "Wish me luck."

"Don't call anyone else a dickhead this time," Lando called as you left the room.

The stewards' meeting was exactly as tedious as you expected. After thirty minutes of stern faces and thinly veiled disappointment, you were slapped with a five-place grid penalty for the race tomorrow.

Austin was one of your home races, so starting P15 was not ideal, and things just never seemed to get better. You were frustrated being stuck in the middle of the pack and not being able to easily overtake because of the traffic, and you ended up in a mere P11, which was not good enough for you. 

You were dejected to say the least and your team had never really seen you like this before. The usual spark you had in interviews wasn’t there, the media taking notice along with some of your fellow drivers. 

“Come out with us tonight, it’ll make you feel better,” Lando pleaded as you walked towards the car he had driven to the track. 

“I don’t think so Lan,” you sighed. “I just want to be alone.” 

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed; he had never seen you this sad and he didn’t know what to do. Oh, what would he do even to have you make fun of him, the silence was killer.  

"Fine, I'll leave you alone," Lando conceded, looking genuinely concerned. "But text me if you change your mind."

You nodded absently, pulling out your phone to scroll through social media—a mistake. The comments were brutal. Wild child finally getting put in her place. Maybe she should focus on racing instead of partying. Too busy flirting to drive properly.

Lando went his separate way when you made it back to the hotel and you took a long hot shower before ordering something off of Doordash. Dressed down in baggy sweats and a tank top, you headed down to the lobby to pick up your food. The delivery guy was already there holding two bags; someone else clearly had the same idea as you. 

"Thanks," Lance said, taking one of the bags from the delivery person just as you approached.

Your eyes met, and for once, you didn't have a witty or flirty remark ready. You simply nodded at him and reached for your own order.

"Bad day, huh?" Lance said softly, lingering even after collecting his food.

"The worst," you admitted, surprising yourself with your honesty.

Lance shifted from one foot to the other. "Do you... want some company?"

You blinked, caught off guard by his offer. The usual you would have made some flirtatious comment, but tonight you just felt raw. "I'm not exactly great company right now."

"That's okay," he shrugged. "Sometimes it's nice not to be alone."

You studied him for a moment, noting the genuine concern in his eyes. "Fine. But I'm not changing the channel of the movie I’m watching.” 

“That makes me a little scared,” he chuckled, following you into the elevators. 

“You should be,” you teased lightly, already starting to feel a little better. “What’d you get?” 

“Just a salad from some place down the block,” he said and you tsked. 

“So lame,” you said. “I got Taco Bell.”

“That’s going to kill you one day,” he chastised and you laughed. 

“I think the cars we drive will first,” you joked and the smile he gave you had your insides turning to jelly. A comfortable silence took over and you were aware of how quickly he had managed to turn your mood around. 

Once you were back in your room you picked up the thrown pillows so that Lance could lean against some on the bed. You both settled in with your food while you turned the movie back on. 

After five minutes, Lance’s face was scrunched up. “What on earth is this?”

“It’s called My Fault London,” you informed him. “Absolute cinema.”

“But they just made out and they’re stepsiblings?” He questioned and you giggled. 

“Yeah.” 

He didn’t say anything for another minute until the scene of the main girl street racing in the parking garage came on. 

He snorted, “this is so unrealistic.” 

“Oh yeah?” You teased. “Don’t think you could beat me in a street race like that?” 

“Look how tight those pillars are, there is no way anyone could race in there,” he complained. “But if they could, I would beat you.”

“How many times have you beaten me this season again?” You asked, pretending to ponder. He rolled his eyes before taking a bite out of one of your burritos. 

“Your car is better,” he muttered and you laughed. 

"For now," you teased, nudging him with your foot. "Next year's a whole new game."

As the ridiculous movie continued, Lance smiled, settling more comfortably against the pillows. You found yourself watching him more than the screen, his jaw clenched when he tried not to laugh at the absurd racing scenes, how he unconsciously licked his lips after taking a bite of your food.

"You're staring," he said suddenly, not taking his eyes off the TV.

"Am not," you lied, quickly looking back at the screen.

"You know," Lance started, setting his food aside, "Fernando thinks you've been flirting with me."

Your heart skipped a beat. "And what do you think?"

Lance finally turned to face you, his dark eyes studying yours. "I think Fernando's usually right about these things."

"Smart man," you murmured, flickering your eyes down to his lips. His eyes darkened and he leaned closer, reaching out his hand to cup your jaw, caressing his thumb against your cheek. 

“I like this side of you,” he said softly, and you tilted your head.

“Do you not like the other side, then? " you asked, suddenly insecure. You knew that you could be a lot, and for some reason, you so badly wanted him to be okay with that. 

He smiled, “I like all of you y/n; I’m just glad you let me see this.” 

Your heart melted and he finally brought his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. His lips were soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the way your heart hammered against your ribs. You leaned into him, your hand finding his shoulder as the kiss deepened. When you finally pulled away, you were both slightly breathless.

The movie continued playing in the background, completely forgotten as you shifted closer to him. "So, does this mean you've been thinking about me too?"

Lance laughed softly. "Hard not to. You've been practically haunting the Aston Martin garage."

"I was being subtle!" you protested, making him laugh harder.

"About as subtle as Max's complaints on team radio," he teased, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent shivers down your spine.

"I get nervous before races,” you admitted. “I’m sure that would surprise a lot of people since I mask it with being overly energetic. But being around you that first day calmed me down, so I kept coming back.” 

“Hmm so you only came back because I’m a calming presence,” he prodded. 

You huffed, “And you’re nice to look at.” 

Lance laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I guess I can accept that."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, suddenly feeling lighter than you had all day. "So what now?"

"Now?" Lance shifted, wrapping an arm around you. "Now we finish this ridiculous movie, and maybe tomorrow I take you on a proper date."

"A proper date," you repeated, smiling against his shoulder. "I like the sound of that."

The next morning, you woke to the sound of your phone buzzing incessantly. Groaning, you reached for it, squinting at the screen. Fifteen texts from Lando, all variations of "ARE YOU OKAY?" and "CALL ME."

Beside you, Lance was still asleep, his face peaceful in the early morning light. You smiled to yourself before putting your phone down, snuggling back up to him, and drifting back to sleep. 

[max-nicoxfandom]

A little snippet based off this post

Tim and Stephanie would both like to preface they know what they're doing is a bad idea. They do not need Duke, who is also listening in, to repeatedly tell them how terrible of an idea this is. He still does anyway, just to make sure he can rub it in when this all backfires later, but really, Tim and Stephanie already know.

They have both just decided to ignore that silly little fact in the name of information gathering.

So here sits Steph and Duke, huddled up in Duke's bedroom in front of Tim's laptop. Tim, meanwhile, is disguised as some random blonde haired, brown eyed kid. His fake backstory is vaguely based off one socialite or another, because even though he can change his tone or his accent, he just can't seem to hide the wealthy sounding lit in his voice.

In the back of his head, Jason and Stephanie's voices overlap. Once a rich boy always a rich boy, they say. Tim shivers.

"The Baby Bird has landed in The Nest." Duke sighs over Tim's com. "I still don't understand why the codenames are necessary."

"You know why they're necessary."

"Ow!"

Tim may not be in the same room as them, but it's not hard to figure out that Stephanie gave Duke a good punch on the arm. If Tim was there himself, he would've done it too. Duke knows that saying Peter's name within a miles range of the manor will cause the entire family to appear.

Duke himself wasn't even originally part of the plan! The only reason he's here is because Steph said Peter's name while they were talking, and then Duke just happened to wander one of the empty rooms in the manor! Seriously, what business did he even have in there?!

"Landing in the nest." Tim whispers. "Muting now."

"Roger that."

He mutes their side of the com, so they can hear everything he hears, but he can't hear them. It can be overridden by the two still at the manor if the need be, but Tim has faith that he at least won't fuck up that bad. Not bad enough for any help Steph can offer to be useful, at least.

He steps inside the coffee shop Peter frequents, oddly enough, it's actually called The Nest, and Tim's favorite cafe. It's the only place he can get their liquid death special, and he's pretty sure the only reason they keep it around is because he always tips at least $200 when he comes.

It makes sense that Peter would also frequent the place since he's his future nephew. Though, it's probably because Tim passed down his coffee habits. A fact that he will elect to keep from Dick so the man doesn't kill him before Peter's born.

Speaking of Peter, he just sat down in the far corner booth. The one that still has ink stained in the old wood, from that time he got a little too frustrated working on a case here. The one that has Dick's lightly carved initials in the side of the table, because when he wants to spend one on one time with Tim he likes to bring him here, knowing he can't say no to their coffee.

It makes him warm, knowing they probably continued the tradition with Peter when he was old enough.

Currently, Peter is tinkering with a futuristic looking watch. His coffee sits a good distance away, an obviously learned behavior, because Tim does the same thing after many many many drinks lost to an unrefined sweep of his arm. He's pulling other pieces out of a good sized black backpack next to him, quickly covering the whole booth in random looking machinery, completely engrossed in his project.

So Tim does what any other self respecting uncle whose nephew doesn't know he's his uncle, would do. He buys his favorite coffee, adjusts the blonde wig by running a seemingly innocuous hand through it, tips the barista, and sits across from his nephew with a smile.

He calls it a win when Peter wearily returns it.

"Sorry if I'm intruding." Tim starts, throwing a little rasp in his voice for the sake of his cover. "I was just curious about what you're... Working on... Looks complicated."

"Oh, it's a uh-- personal project. For my mentor. I'm under strict NDAs."

Tim nods. He wonders if Peter's telling the truth, and if he is, he's sure the NDAs are from WE, it's just a question on who he's referring to as a mentor.

"Ah, that's too bad. Do you mind if I just sit and watch? For curiosity's sake, I mean."

Even to his own ears that sounded suspicious, but he's never been good at improv. That's more Jason and Dick's thing.

Peter, at the very least, doesn't seem to care. He just shrugs and sips his coffee.

In that case, whatever he's working on probably can't be replicated at this point in time. There's probably some big discovery that hasn't been made yet, which makes Tim wonder who made the discovery. He'd bet $50 on himself or Bruce.

Conversation doesn't continue after that, so Tim just sits and observes.

Peter is clearly skilled. He moves with an assured elegance only to be competed with by himself and Jason, since both of them are the most skilled engineers of the family, though in two different fields. It's especially impressive with the eyebags that pull heavily on Peter's face, which he's sure he got from Bruce and not him no siree. Peter did not learn to overwork himself to death from him, that would be unacceptable.

The exhaustion leaks into his whole body. Low shoulders, slow movements, heavy slouching, small periods of zoning out and coming back to himself. He looks a little bit like shit, if Tim were to be fully honest.

At least it will be easier to get information out of him this way. The quicker they get information, the quicker they can send him home, the quicker his family can bundle him up and let him sleep for a week.

"So," Tim cannot help but break the silence. He's an anxious talker. "Your mentor? Is he cool?"

Peter pauses, his eyes slowly dragging up to meet Tim's brown contacts. "He's the best. I spend basically all my time with him nowadays."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He's kinda hard on me, but it's just cuz he cares, y'know? He thinks he's this like- manipulative genius that has somehow fooled me into liking him, but honestly, he's giving himself too much credit. He just doesn't want to accept the fact that he's a good person, or that he's gone soft."

Peter rambles and Tim listens, nodding along as he talks. He's sure Duke and Stephanie are tuned in as well. Between the three of them there's no way they don't at least get some information on how to help him.

"I'm sure your parents are thrilled about that." Tim puts implication in his tone. He's not sure what he's apparently implying, but insinuation tends to make people defensive, and getting defensive makes people talk.

Peter does not get defensive.

"I wouldn't know." He shrugs. "They're not here for me to ask."

"Oh, where are they?" Tim asks, like an idiot.

"Dead."

Tim's whole world may have just crumbled before his eyes. He feels like somebody just crushed his lungs with their barehands, and then stuck them back in, sideways.

The first thought that comes to him is he cannot tell Dick. Under no circumstances can Dick find out. Hell, Tim kinda wishes he hadn't found out.

"I'm sorry for your loss." His throat is dry, the coffee isn't helping.

"Nah, it's alright. They died when I was little, so I don't have a lot of memories of them anyway."

"I-It's still unfortunate." Tim coughs. "So who raised you then? If you don't mind me asking."

A smile overtakes Peter's face. It's warm, loving, and wistful. It makes Peter look five years younger, and that makes Tim's heart clench.

"My uncle and aunt did."

"You look very fond of them."

Peter looks more awake than has this whole time, just the slightest bit bashful. "I am. They're the best."

Tim is having a hard time grasping how utterly crushed he feels, he can only hope it doesn't show on his face as he talks. Maybe he can play it off as being overly sympathetic.

"So it was just you guys then? No other family?"

"Nope." Peter shakes his head. "My uncle didn't really get along with any of them, and after he took me in, my aunt went no contact like he did."

So it was probably Jason who took him in then, which is somehow exactly something he would do and nothing like him at the same time. Tim has to wonder where Bruce was, or himself. And which aunt? Tim bets on Stephanie, but it could've been Cass.

"It sounds like you've lived an interesting life."

"Yeah. I wouldn't trade it for the world though." The truth in those words aches Tim's chest, he feels so winded... Lost, maybe. He almost forgets to listen when Peter continues reminiscing. "My aunt definitely did her fair share to make it interesting. She's basically the fiery redhead stereotype, but she cares a lot about everyone..."

Whatever Peter says next gets lost as Tim sinks into his own thoughts. The aunt is not Cass or Steph, unless one of them has been repeatedly dying their hair for years. Steph might still be on the table, maybe. More likely is Barbara, or possibly even Kori, maybe Roy is trans and hasn't told anyone yet. He'll have to ask Jason when he gets the chance.

Tim regrets his coffee, he thinks he's gonna be sick.

"Are you okay?"

Clearly, Tim is doing a bad job at hiding it.

"Yeah, sorry I need to get back home now, but thanks for keeping me company."

He could have stayed. Probably should have, even. But Tim doesn't think he can stand another moment with that old ink stain in eyesight.

"Oh yeah, it's no problem. I didn't mean to ramble to you like that."

Peter rubs his hand on the back of his neck, his eyes trailing off in the distance. He's embarrassed, he knows it for sure because Dick makes that exact same expression.

Tim walks out, and the chime of the bell above the coffee shop door sounds more far away than it should.

He can distantly hear Stephanie's voice in his ear say, "Well. Fuck."

Tim couldn't have put it better himself

I wrote this at 1am and it's barely proofread so don't @ me if there are mistakes. Who would've thought this would be my first piece of writing posted on this blog, huh

1) the watch. It's the universe hopping watch from spiderverse, figured that'd be a good explanation for how he got here and for what he's doing at the coffee shop

2) complete coincidence that it was that coffee shop fyi, he just needed a place to work

3) he chose that booth bc it's the booth that overlooks the entire cafe. It's vigilante 101 about seating choices.

4) thank you to @magicpiano for the original post. I have so many more thoughts about it but I doubt I'll write another piece... Maybe <(͡⁠°⁠‿⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)>

Send me an ask, if you want /⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\