#this needs to be over and done with so i can get back to this blog

[allsteddie]

Steddie where Steve and Eddie find out their friends are running a betting pool on when the two of them are going to start dating.

Everybody is placing bets. Everybody.

(Hopper believes they’ll be together before Halloween, Joyce is betting on Thanksgiving. Karen Wheeler is betting on New Year’s eve.)

It’s Robin who lets the information slip, of course. Eddie is pissed, but Steve sees an opportunity there. What if they pretend they’re dating? Robin can place a new bet, they pretend they are a couple somewhere the Party can see them, then they get the money and split it between the three of them.

“How much money are we talking about?” Eddie asks.

“Last time I checked, five hundred dollars. But I think Erica, Nancy and Will placed new bets last week, so it’s probably more now. Dustin is the one in charge of the money.”

“Of course he is.”

Robin ends up placing a bet on Steve and Eddie getting together in less than a month. Dustin is surprised when she tells him that, and also suspicious about Robin’s change of heart; her last bet had been they wouldn’t be together until next year.

“They’re worse than ever, kid,” she justifies when Dustin questions her about it. “Last night we were watching a movie at Steve’s and he spent the whole night basically on Eddie’s lap. I thought he was gonna start purring because Eddie kept petting his hair like he was a giant cat. There’s no way they’re taking too long now; they are not that dumb.”

Dustin could argue but ends up accepting Robin’s excuse. The bet is placed and she gets back to Eddie’s to inform her friends her part on the plan is done.

“Now you have a month to decide how you’re gonna do this,” she says before leaving those two to their shenanigans.

But that’s not a problem, they already know how they’re gonna get that money.

There’s a carnival coming to Hawkins in two weeks, and there’s no way the kids won’t be there, stuffing their faces with enough greasy food that would make a normal person sick to their stomach and wasting their money on games.

Two weeks and a half later, Dustin tries to bully Steve into taking him, Lucas and Max to the carnival. Steve makes up a whole story about his parents being in town and throwing a dinner party they’re forcing Steve to attend. Dustin then asks Eddie and Eddie just says no, giving the kid no other excuse. It’s Jonathan and Nancy who end up taking the whole party.

It’s a Friday night when they finally put their plan into action. Steve picks Eddie up for their “date” around six, and they head to the carnival. If Robin’s info is right, the kids should arrive a little over half an hour later, so they have time to prepare before their little scheme starts.

They walk around for a few minutes, looking for a place where they can have a clear view of the entrance, so they can see when the kids arrive. They stay close to the food stall because it’s perfectly placed a few yards from the ticket booth, and Eddie can also stuff his own face with greasy food while they wait.

A corndog and half a funnel cake later, Steve catches sight of El and Max walking ahead of the rest of the group, the boys following.

“Come on, it’s time,” Steve says offering his hand.

Eddie takes it without a second thought, smiling with his mouth still full of cake. “Let’s do this, sweetheart.”

They stay a few more moments there as Eddie finishes off his food, until they are sure the kids have spotted them. Then it’s show time.

Hand in hand, the two of them explore the stands. Eddie spends a good fifteen minutes trying to win a prize for Steve, just for Steve to win it in his first try. They go on a few rides (the very cliché ones every couple always go when they’re on dates), stop by the food stall again so they can share some cotton candy. They do all this hand in hand, only letting go when they really need to.

The kids follow them around the entire time, just like Eddie and Steve knew they would.

After almost an hour of this, they come to the conclusion that they’ve been convincing enough and it’s time for them to get their money. Eddie pulls Steve towards a more secluded area, rounding some stands and walking towards the parking lot until they leave all the noise and light from the carnival behind.

When they are sure there’s no one else around, they stop and Eddie crowds Steve against the closest car.

“Can you see them?” he whispers in Steve’s ear, resting his hands on the guy’s hips.

“Yeah. They’re hiding behind the green truck. Dustin and Mike are shoving each other and arguing, but the others are paying attention.”

“Good.” That’s all Eddie says before he kisses Steve.

That’s a point in their plan they discussed thoroughly. How far did they need to go to get their hands on that money? How far were they willing to go? Eddie was okay with whatever, but he had no idea about Steve.

“Dude, Dustin is not giving Robin any money if we only hold hands or hug. Kissing is the safest way.”

Still, Eddie didn’t want things to be weird between them after everything. They talked a lot until they finally agreed on one kiss, just for show, so there was no doubt they were together. They’d hang out for a few days after. They’d show up together to pick up Dustin when the kid asked, Steve would make a point to visit Eddie at the trailer park so Max could see them too. Robin would get the money; they would split it between them. Then they’d break up amicably. And when the kids asked, they’d just say it didn’t work out, that they were better off as friends.

That’s the plan they came up with; a very solid plan in their opinion.

That is until the time comes and they finally kiss.

When Eddie’s lips touch his, Steve’s whole body comes alive. Goosebumps run down his arms, and he feels a spark right down his spine. Eddie’s hands on his hips feel like brands and Steve gasps, shocked, as his senses go haywire.

It’s too much and not enough. Steve’s heart is hammering, his brain working like crazy to process what the hell is happening there. But, then, Eddie is pulling him closer and deepening the kiss and Steve is gone, gone, gone; hands burying into Eddie’s hair as he kisses him back with everything he’s got.

Neither Steve nor Eddie sees the kids leave, cursing and complaining about their lost money. They’re just too busy to notice.

[faestunna]

❝ papa!clark kent ❞ [1/2]

WARNINGS: fluff, pregnancy/pregnancy complications, mentions of nausea/vomiting, labor/birth, hint of a breeding kink, very minor angst, no use of y/n

A/N: absolutely no idea if this has been done or not! we’re defying gravity some laws of anatomy and biology fs but anything for this man, right? i’m a lot more of a marvel girl than dc so if there’s anything here that’s inaccurate…pretend it isn’t. i’ve got some smut coming soon for this cutie so stay on the lookout ;)

masterlist

likes, reblogs, and comments are always and greatly appreciated!

clark kent who is wary of you being pregnant in the first place, especially if you’re human. he’s terrified his dna in the baby could harm you. if you were trying to conceive, it would take a lot of convincing. “we don’t have to do this, sweetheart, not if there’s any risk to you.”

clark kent who is speechless when you are pregnant. it’s your own little miracle. he’s still cautious but more elated than anything. he holds you for a long time. neither of you say anything—you just enjoy the moment knowing how beautifully your lives are about to change.

clark kent who is more aware of the pregnancy than you are. he can sense when a wave of morning sickness is about to hit before you even feel it. he’ll have saltines, ginger, a cold compress, water, and a bucket ready to go at your side. “shh, it’s alright, baby,” he rubs your back and holds your hair as it all comes out. “there you go, that’s it. i got you.”

clark kent who holds you close at night just the way you like. plays with your hair as you lay on his chest, his heart beating just under your ear. “you’re already doing so much, and it’s barely the size of a bean.” he’ll have so many of those fun facts, too.

clark kent who loves to see your bump once it starts forming. he’ll rub oil over it every night before bed since you’d complained about stretch marks. “love seeing you like this,” he murmurs against your growing stomach. “all swollen and full of me.” and he definitely loves to call you mama now that it’s fitting. “good morning, mama” and “how you feeling, mama?”

clark kent who talks in kryptonian to the baby through your belly. all you can do is watch with a soft smile as he whispers—and later translates—“now, you be good in there. your mama’s working real hard to take care of you. oh, we can’t wait to meet you. we’re gonna give you everything, just wait.”

clark kent who insists that it’s a girl, even when it’s too early to tell. “she’s gonna have your eyes and my smile.” “she?” “it’s just a hunch.” but he’s already dreaming about holding his little girl in his arms.

clark kent who will drop whatever he’s doing to get whatever you need. craving oranges? he’ll grab some from several different countries just to see which you like best. out of the tahitian body oil you like? he’ll be back in just a minute with a surplus of it. “clark, you didn’t have to go to another continent for peanut butter.” he just shrugs, “you said you wanted crunchy, and the corner store only had smooth.”

clark kent who doesn’t necessarily enjoy your jokes about ‘superman’s harem’…“well, you got me.” he furrows his brow, “what do you mean?” “and so the harem begins. who do you have planned next?” but your voice is dripping with lighthearted sarcasm, he only frowns. “that’s hilarious.”

clark kent who can’t bear to see you in pain. he was right to be worried about his kryptonian genes…when the baby kicks, it’s impossible to hide how much it hurts. and he’s instantly at your side, soothing it away. “she’s strong. just like you,” he smiles and presses his ear to your belly. uses his x-ray vision to check for internal bruising. “i’ll have to teach her to control it, just like i learned.”

clark kent who watches your body adapt to carrying his child and taking on some of his abilities (just a few) through the baby. you notice your senses are enhanced—your sight and hearing are better than normal and you start having almost prophetic dreams. “i think the bank’s gonna be closed tomorrow.” “why’s that, honey?” “not sure.”

clark kent who is more scared than you are once labor begins. he senses it too before you feel it. “your breathing changed.” he says while gathering everything for STAR labs, not the hospital. he’s calm on the outside, but on the inside, he’s a panicking, nervous wreck.

clark kent who refuses to leave your side once the contractions begin. he rubs your hand and insists you get an epidural. “it won’t numb all the pain, but it’ll be better than nothing, baby.” he x-rays periodically to check in to monitor the dilation and the baby’s position. “how is it?” you ask, trying to sound composed. “still a little more, hon. you’re doing amazing.”

clark kent who feels his heart twist each time you scream out in pain. naturally, complications arise mid-labor and there isn’t much to do besides wait. “she’s strong, i can feel it.” he wipes the sweat from your forehead. “but you’re stronger.” he’d do anything in the world to take this pain from you.

clark kent who breaks when you begin to push. he’s on his knees beside you now, as close as you’ll have him. you grip his hand and he winces—not because it hurts, but because you’re the one who’s hurting. “you’re doing it. you’re right there, baby.” tears stream down his face. he can’t block out your screams. “come on, sweetheart, one more push. just one more.”

clark kent who cuts the umbilical cord himself after you give your last push and a cry echoes through the room. his hands are shaking as they wrap the little baby up. he looks at you, tiredly but in awe. “it’s a girl.”

clark kent who lets you hold her before he does. puts her against your bare chest and watches the agony on your face disappear as you smile. he can’t make out what you mumble down to her, your voice slurred and exhausted. when they take the baby, he presses his forehead to yours, “i love you more than anything. i’m so proud of you, so so proud.”

clark kent who lets you sleep as long as you need to after. and while you do, he sits by the window with his little girl in his arms. she’s swaddled in a hospital blanket, eyes squeezed shut. “aren’t you perfect?” she smiles at his voice, having heard it for the past nine months through your stomach. “of course, you are. you’re just like your mama. we’ll give you the whole world and more.”

clark kent who thinks about his parents while he cradles his own daughter. his mother and father who sent him to earth. despite their true intentions, he loves them—they’re the reason he has you. he thinks of his ma and pa, who are already on their way, for raising him to be the man he is.

tags: @kentblvd @inbred-eater @sailor-moon-simp

© faestunna 2025.

[groovyangelkisses]

Clark liking readers pedicures too much,,,, I see you and raise you this:

ditzy! roommate reader who got her nails done but manages to mess them up on the way home and gets all teary eyed and upset about it when she sees the polish all messy, so clark offers to help redo them for her. So she's sitting on the sofa, lips still pouty and her foot resting on his knee while he's kneeling in front of her with one hand holding her foot and the other holding the nail polish

oh i love this so much— clark to the rescue <3

clark’s sitting comfortably on your shared couch, working on his newest article about superman, grinning to himself at how good he looks in the promo shots, and occasionally glancing out the window to see when you’ll come bounding by your shared apartment building, squealing and staring at your new set of nails.

granted, he’s told you before, “sweetheart, you need to watch where you’re going when you’re walking— what if you break a nail?” and that usually does the trick in making you pay attention. but today, as he peeks at you over the thick rim of his glasses, nothing will seem to help you.

he can hear your sniffles before he even sees you; a pathetic little breathy cry as you try and even your breathing before swinging open your apartment door.

he’s already up, placing his laptop on the coffee table in front of him (next to the stack of vogue magazines, never on top) and walking towards you before you even have the chance to speak. “sweetheart… honey, what happened? a-are you hurt?” with his hands cradling your face as his eyes drag over every part of your shaking form; looking for any signs of injury.

“cl-clark” you sob out, stomping your foot as you whine. “wh-what- what’s?” “look what happened on the subway!!! :(“ you gesture down to your sandaled feet, little golden toe ring shining in the mid-day light.

your biweekly pedicure was messed up. badly. smudged white toes and cracked top coat, your fresh paint must’ve gotten destroyed in the hustle and bustle of downtown metropolis on your way home.

“oh, it’s not so bad!” “not so bad?!” your voice, rarely ever reaching that upset shrill with clark, shakes while you cry out “clarkie, it’s so…. so…… like… bad!!!”. what follows is another round of sobbing in clark’s arms, as he leads you comfortably to the couch.

while most men would be annoyed over your hysterical wailing about polish (it was a $50 dollar pedicure so it’s deserved!) clark isn’t bothered in the slightest. he just wants to fix it for you, like everything that goes wrong, so you can go back to being carefree and small and asking him if if looks shinier in the daylight or nighttime.

he has you sitting calmly on the couch, with a whispered “hey, hey! breathe with me, c’mon… 1….2….3….” waiting as you catch your breath, fanning your face girlishly. once you’ve calmed your heaving chest, and clark has torn his eyes away from it with a quiet “gol-lly”, you pout and bite your pink lips.

there’s not really a clear distinction as to when clark starts to paint your nails for you— there’s knee kisses, calf rubbing and then eventually your sandals are off and he’s asking you about your day.

clark is always giving you foot massages though; after a rough date with a random man from work, or trying on new heels that were wayy too high for you, or even just feeling needy, clark is always massaging your ankles and feet and cooing to you.

so now, as he tuts up at you, “right, right baby, $50 is a lot for a seascrub pedicure” and “i know, gosh that’s frustrating, ‘m sorry honey, the subway stinks sometimes” and the occasional “still so pretty,” it seems natural.

it’s natural the way clark holds your foot, big hand sprawled across the top gently, as his other hand paints over your toes. it’s natural how his glasses slide down his nose, and you reach down to push them up for him. it’s natural how he kisses your palm as you pull away. it’s natural how he rubs his thumb gently across the top of your foot, leaning down to blow cool air over your newly painted toenails; drying them faster.

it’s all so good and freeing to be with clark. or… at least for now, being clark’s roomie <3

[raven-dor]

clark kent thinks you're avoiding him... you are - drabble #1

🩵💗 - i have never felt so inspired in my life (total lie but still - clark kent has me in a chokehold - SUPERMAN WAS SO GOOD) this kind of fic is my fav (i've seen it done so so soooo many times with spidey, and i wanted to write my own little bit for superman!!) corenswet!clark kent, miscommunication trope (im sorry), best friends (idiots in love) to lovers, yearning, MEDDLING LOIS, cursing (not from clark, obvi), secret identity reveal!! word count: 1.6k

"I know you're in there."

Five words that scared the living daylights out of you. You felt horrible, sick to your stomach. Lying to your best friend wasn't something you particularly enjoyed doing, but it had to be done.

For your own sanity.

You couldn't take it anymore, your friendship.

You loved him so much, too much, some (Lois) could say. It was obvious to everyone but him, apparently. You decided on a whim that the best way to get rid of this affliction was to avoid him (by saying that you were sick). From there, you would strategically miss his calls and texts with well-planned-out excuses. That idea alone would last you a month, maybe two.

Or at least you thought so.

You stared at the door, clutching a pillow close to your chest as if that would calm you down. It didn't. "How did you know that?"

"Well, for one, your lights are on." He sounded impatient, borderline nervous. "I can hear your nervous breathing from here."

"Whoever you're looking for isn't here right now." Smooth, real smooth. You could tell he was breaking; he was probably clenching his jaw right about now. "Come back later."

"I know you're not sick." Damn you, Lois. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Clark." Your plan for faking a cough was ruined. Most of your plans depended on your sickness. Shit. "I'm just tired."

"Tired?" You imagined your neighbors would be spying curiously at the conversation happening via yelling. "You've been tired for four days, sweetheart."

"You-" You screamed into your pillow, not caring if he heard you. He was horrible, mean without knowing. Mean, because he called you that nickname knowing the effect it had on you. "You're counting, I see."

"I need to see you." Again, was he aware of what he was doing to you, or was he truly so oblivious of his power over you?

"Fine." You muttered to yourself, stalking over, preparing your mind to become a steel trap, impenetrable to all, even those familiar with you. Especially those named Clark. You undid the many locks on your door (Clark's idea) and whipped it open. "Fine! Are you happy?"

God, he was gorgeous. His white button-up hugged his frame in all the right places, and his glasses were in his palm, as if he'd taken them off to nervously rub a hand over his face. "The happiest. Can I come in?"

You stepped aside, shutting the door behind him. "Well, you've seen me."

"What did I do?"

"What-" You frowned. "What makes you think you did something?"

You knew full well you'd given him more than enough to prove he was to blame for your disappearance. He raised an eyebrow, throwing his case and jacket on the couch.

It physically pained you to see him do that, to see him act so casually, like this was routine for him. Like this was home. "C'mon, sweetheart-" You tensed, and he gestured wildly toward you. "See!? You've never done that before. I did something." He stepped forward, his cologne weakening your resolve. "I need to know what it is, so I can fix it."

You walked around him, grabbing his coat and case off the couch, shoving them back into his hold. "You can't fix this."

"Yes, I can." He had the worst hero complex known to mankind. "I can because the alternative-" His voice cracked. "I can't lose you."

You didn't know what to say. You couldn't say he wouldn't lose you, because he was. He was actively losing you. "Clark-"

He opted to throw his things off to the side, their importance nothing compared to your friendship. Friendship. Just thinking the word made you physically nauseous. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" You tilted your head. "Sorry for what?"

"I should have told you." He looked crazed. "I should have told you immediately, but I didn't want to mess it up and-" Your hearing had gone, all your senses failing as your mind reeled with the possibility that maybe Clark, your best friend since high school, your partner in crime, was about to confess his feelings to you.

To you, who was wearing your comfy t-shirt and barely there shorts, whose face looked less than desirable, and whose blue light glasses were doing very little to curb the headache you'd developed.

"Clark, I feel the same-"

"I'm Superman."

Oh fuck. Your eyes welled almost instantly, stumbling over your words. "That's amazing!"

He looked suspicious, like he wanted to ask what you'd thought he was going to say. "Thanks, sweetheart."

You skirted around him, walking into your kitchen and rummaging through the fridge as if you hadn't just accidentally revealed your feelings to your best friend, who happened to be Superman. "So how long have you had these powers?"

"My whole life." He squinted. "What were you-"

"Do your parents know?" You grabbed a cucumber, angrily scrubbing away the germs before grabbing a knife.

"Yeah, I actually-" He tilted his head. "It's a long story."

"Well, I'm all ears." You sliced the cucumber slowly so you had longer to come up with more questions. "This is so exciting."

"What did you say, before I told you I was, y'know?" His arms were crossed, and you didn't know whether to cry or drool at the way the fabric fought against his biceps.

Suddenly, it all made sense, him being Superman. It honestly surprised you that you hadn't realized sooner.

"Sorry?" You grabbed a slice of cucumber, shoving it in your mouth.

"What did you say?" He stepped forward, gently peeling the knife out of your hand, reaching over you to place it in the sink. "Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"Please don't make me do this." Your eyes were wide. "Clark, it was nothing."

"Didn't sound like nothing." He let go of your hand, eyes desperately searching your face for answers. "You were missing for four days. Four days." His hand held your cheek, carressing it gently with his thumb. "I was a wreck. You wouldn't answer my calls or my texts. Even Jimmy was concerned."

"Well, that's sweet of him-"

"You know you've never kept a secret from me before."

"You don't know everything about me, Clark." Shit, that was low, even for you. "I- I meant to say, that..." You stepped out of his hold, grabbing a Tupperware to put the rest of the cucumber in. "Not everything has to be shared between us."

"Oh." His voice was tight, deeper than normal. Serious in a way you'd never heard. "If that's how you feel."

You nodded, too much of a coward to face him. "It is."

"Alrighty." He left the kitchen, grabbing his things from the floor. "Bye then."

"Bye." You watched as he walked out the front door, the door slamming loudly behind him. You would have jumped if you weren't completely numb.

Literally a second later, he burst back through, throwing his things on the ground again, stalking toward you. "Actually, I'm not done."

"Oh really?" You raised an eyebrow. "Because I think you are."

"No." God, he really was intimidating when he needed to be. Obviously, being Superman had its perks. "No, I'm not letting it end this way."

"It?" You scoffed. "There is no it-"

"Why are you being like this?" He looked like he did when you were younger, all flustered and angry, eyes wild and hands animated. "Why won't you just tell me what you said?"

"You really want to know?"

"Yes!" He yelled. "That's all I want!"

"I'm in love with you, you asshole." Tears were streaming down your cheeks in waves, dripping onto your shirt, well, actually, when you thought about it, it was originally Clark's. From high school, the lettering fraying from use. "I've been in love with you for years."

It was like you'd awoken a sleeper agent, because the next thing you knew, you were being picked up like you were nothing and placed on the kitchen counter. "Clark-"

He dove down, kissing you so passionately your eyes practically rolled all the way around. You gasped, grabbing his collar and pulling him even closer (if that was possible). His hands grabbed dangerously at your thighs, trailing up and down, sometimes pinching your hips, your waist.

It seemed like you stayed there for hours, letting out all those years of pent-up tension in one perfect, phenomenal, super kiss.

You were sure you could keep going, but Clark pulled back, smirking when you chased after his lips. "Sweetheart-"

"You can't just-" You huffed, chest heaving as the realization hit you like a punch. "You just-"

"Yeah." His forehead rested against yours, eyes bearing into yours. Well, you thought so. Somewhere along minute two of the kiss, your blue light glasses had fogged up. "You're so brave."

"Yeah?" You laughed. "Braver than Superman?"

"Much braver." He whispered. "I was-" He trailed delicate kisses across your jaw, laughing when your breath hitched. "I was trying to work up the nerve to tell you, and you beat me to it."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize." He found his way back to your lips, his nose resting against yours. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." You grinned, kissing his lips quickly, relishing in the fact that you could do that now for any and no reason whatsoever. "So how long have you been in love with me?"

"Gosh-" His eyes were black, the perfect blue lost below a sea of charcoal. "Give or take twelve years?"

"Twelve years?" You yelled, slapping a hand over your mouth, shocked at how loud you were. Clark peeled it away, kissing each knuckle gently as you whispered. "Twelve years?"

"M'honestly surprised you didn't figure it out."

You snorted, shaking your head at the way tonight had turned out. "You and me both, Kent."

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[starrymarie]

listening in | c. kent

Pairing: Clark Kent x reader! 18+ Tags/warnings: nsfw!!!, grinding, finishing in pants, fluffy smut if that can be a thing, misunderstanding, use of y/n, not proofread :( Clark Kent felt like a pervert. He didn't mean to, and he knew his ma would chastise him, but he couldn't stop. If he knew that this is what he would be reduced to, he wouldn't have become your roommate. Your disgusting, perverted roommate who can't stop listening to you masturbate. The first time wasn't intentional, he blames his supersonic hearing. He tried to tune you out, but your whines and muffled whimpers found home in his mind, replaying over and over. It felt like an intrusion of privacy to overhear, especially because you were trying to mask it with your hand clamped over your mouth. And yet here he was, hand wrapped around himself as he listened to you writhe in bed. Clark kept the pace slow, not wanting to rush into it. You set the pace, always, and he made sure you finished first.

But then he heard you moan his name, and suddenly he was cumming.

Instinctively his head fell back as a guttural, low groan started in the back of his throat. Finishing all over his stomach, the feeling curling his toes and clenching his stomach. When he came too he was out of breath and slightly dizzy. While you were still masturbating, blissfully unaware of what you've just done to your roommate, Clark was trying to wrap his head around what happened. A part of him felt embarrassed that he came just from that when he wasn't even close. His chest filled with want and need as he continued to listen, half hard even after the orgasm. Your gasps of pleasure that used to sound so sweet now sounded like torture to him.

He can't just go into your room, right? He tried rationalizing with himself, how could he justify telling you that he heard you? And on top of that he would be bursting into an intimate moment, it was unthinkable.

So Clark just laid there, listening to you get closer and closer to your peak. Maybe he will gather the courage to try to talk to you tomorrow and ask you out.

---

Your feet hit softly on the floor of your apartment as you headed to the bathroom. As you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, you felt slight embarrassment over last night. That was the first time you had moaned your roommates name out loud, and a deep embarrassment sat in your chest. Of course you had thought of your handsome roommate before, but to actually moan his name out loud? At the thought of it, you felt your face get red.

You know you were quiet, but you worried you may have been too loud with the way Clark was avoiding you. When he saw you he turned on his heel, murmuring about something he left in his room, or scurrying out the door for work or an “appointment”. It wasn't until a few days later that you confronted him.

3 short raps at his bedroom door shocked Clark out of his thoughts. When he opened the door, you stood there sweetly with a tub of ice cream and two spoons.

“Do you want to continue watching Love House with me?”

He wanted to say no. He wanted to tell you that it's hard to be around you without getting a hard on or hearing your moans in his mind. How much his body longed to pull you into his and satisfy you in ways you couldn't.

“Um…I don't…I think I have too…” he trailed off.

“Is something wrong?” You asked Clark, trying to meet his eyes.

“What? No! N-nothing, just super busy.” he let out a weak laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Have I done something wrong, Clark?” Your hands dropped as your shoulders slump. “It seems like I have, you've been ignoring me lately.”

“No! God's no, that’s not-” “It’s okay,” you interrupted, “we don’t have to hangout any more, I didn’t mean to push it.” You backed away from his door as you spoke, prompting him to open the door a little wider.

“No, y/n you haven’t done anything! I just, I just wanted some alone time.” He didn’t meet your eyes, the floor suddenly looking much more interesting.

Your mind raced to a million different places, too many that you couldn’t sort through them to find why he might be avoiding you. You thought out loud to try to organize your thoughts and get a reaction.

“Is it work? Maybe you have a big assignment coming up. Or maybe your parents, are they doing okay? Is it your health, or are you going through a big life change? Do you have a girlfriend-”

At this Clark’s head snapped up to meet yours, and your stomach dropped.

“O-oh! Of course, of course.” You let out a pathetic laugh as you backed down the hallway “right, of course I knew that one day you would. I’m so-” the spoons you were holding clattered to the ground “oh geez, um. I’m happy for you, you deserve someone in your life.”

“Y/n” Clark said your name like it pained him as he went towards you.

“Just make sure to let me know when you want the apartment to yourself and I’ll stay somewhere else for the night.” You said with a fake smile, even though you know you would have nowhere else to go. Clark knew that too.

“Y/n, just stop for just a second!” Clark quickly covered the ground between you two and grabbed your arms, forcing you to turn your body to his. “I don’t have a girlfriend!”

“It’s okay if you do, really I don’t ca-”

Your protest died in your throat as Clark kissed you, pressing his lips to yours to silence you. Your eyes stared at his closed ones, still in shock. Clark Kent was kissing you. Your roommate. Your handsome, talented, clumsy roommate who you have a massive crush on.

He pulled away but remained close to your face, eyes fluttering open to look into your shocked ones.

“How could I ever leave you?” He said with such sincerity it made your heart heart.

“What?” You whispered, unsure this is real life. You wish he would let go of your arms so you could pinch yourself.

“All I’ve wanted is you. Since I practically moved in. Maybe all I’ve ever wanted has always been you, even before I knew you. I must have been made for you.” Clark whispers. “I wish I could think of something more romantic to say” he smiles.

“You like me?” You whisper back, still in disbelief.

“So much so that I think I’m going crazy.” His eyes glance at your lips before meeting your eyes again. It washes over you in a second: lust, want, need, and love. You close the gap between the two of you, dropping the long forgotten ice cream. They hit the floor as your arms wrap around his neck, standing on your toes. His arms wrap around your waist and pull you up slightly, a groan escaping his throat.

Clark walks backwards, never disconnecting from you, and leads you back into his room. You let him lead you, trusting him and becoming totally engrossed in the moment. One hand wanders to his hair, feeling the curls weave their way through your fingertips. A desperate moan leaves his mouth at your motion, you feel heat in your stomach at the sound. Your other hand trails down his neck to his chest, feeling the hardness there before going to his shoulder and down his arm. You loved his arms, how they were strong but not overly muscular. They still looked warm and inviting, and on the many few times you accidentally slept on them, very comfortable.

Once inside the bedroom and near the bed, Clark spun you around and laid you on the bed. He stood between your open legs, looking down at you. He admired your red, swollen lips and your glossy eyes.

“You said I drive you crazy?” You teased, sitting up. Your hand reached up to his stomach where you felt him clench at your touch. He moaned as he watched you drag your hand up his body, as if you were staking your claim, touching all that is yours. And it is yours, he would tell you, it always has been. You grip the collar of his shirt and tug him down so he is laying on top of you. The motion causes him to press against your center, causing the both of you to moan at the contact.

“Yes, fuck, you drive me crazy.” He kissed your jaw gently, trailing kisses down your neck. “The way you laugh at my stupid jokes, the way you tease me for not buttoning my shirt correctly. How you never let me have the final say, how you walk around in those skimpy shorts.” Clark moans the last sentence, his hand finding its way to the hem of your shirt. He tugs on it, as if asking for permission, and you moan, lifting your torso up as you silently ask for more.

Clark’s large hand feels warm against your stomach. It moves slowly, reverently, as if he is afraid that sudden movement will cause you to spook. When he finally makes his way towards your bare chest he groans at the contact, grabbing a handful of your breast.

“You always walk around with no bra on, tempting me.” His voice rough “I always try to make you cold so I can see your perky nipples”

You whimper at his admission, heat pooling in your stomach. It felt like too much and still not enough as you tried to get closer to him. He pressed himself into you and grinded. He felt like a horny teenager, and yet he couldn’t pull away. He needed this friction, his cock straining to nestle between your legs.

“These walls are not thick enough for me to get away from you.” He pulled his head back to look at you, watch your face contort in pleasure. “I can hear it when you touch yourself, and - fuck” his hips stuttered against yours as he shivered. “I could hear when you moaned my name. Had me cumming in my hand.”

“Clark” you whine, grabbing his broad shoulders as his hips pick up the pace.

“D-don’t do that, you’ll make me…” His movements speed up, chasing more and more pleasure.

“Clark, don’t stop. Please Clark, I’m so close.” The idea of him listening in to you, of touching himself just to your noises has your toes curling as you think of the effect you have on your tall handsome roommate.

“Oh gosh, don’t - fuck, one more time sunshine, come on let go” his hands desperately grab at your hip, holding you into the bed as he continues to grind against you. The pressure of his covered cock against your thin sleep shorts has you dizzy as you can feel the size of him, the idea of taking all of that has you tipping over the edge.

“Clark!” You moan as your orgasm hits, chanting his name like a prayer. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you can feel him shake above you.

“Yes yes, fuck y/n, just like that.” You can feel his orgasm hit him by the warmth that blossoms between your legs. The more he rides out the orgasm, the more you can feel the wetness. You look down and almost moan at the sight. You, his roommate, just made him cum in his pants, and goddam is it a lot. You look up at him with a lopsided smile, energy exhausted.

“You really like me moaning your name?” You tease “Clark?” An almost painful sound comes from his throat as he stands back up, looking down at the both of you.

“Don’t think we are finished here sunshine. I want the whole apartment building to know my name.”

[mishappeningss]

Could we please see some protective Toto with driver!y/n please x

ohhhh girl, he doesn’t play when it comes to yn. do NOTTTT mess w her. that man would burn down the paddock for her if it meant that she’ll be in peace

more about driver!yn

Monza, Italy

YN was walking back to the paddock, helmet in hand, suit still half-zipped down. Her jaw was clenched. She’d just been shoved into P11 in the final seconds of Q2—blocked on her last flyer by a driver who very much should’ve moved.

And the media? Already swarming.

“YN, do you think your lack of pace in Sector 2 is the reason—”

“Was that final lap failure a driver error—?”

“Do you think maybe the pressure’s getting to you—?”

Her eyes were flat. She hadn’t said a word. Her PR manager tried to cut in, but the crowd was pressing forward, cameras flashing in her face. One reporter’s mic nearly touched her shoulder.

And then—

“Enough.”

One word. Calm. Deep.

The crowd parted. Toto Wolff stepped through them like he was entering war. Tall, suited, no sunglasses, and done with the noise.

“You think shouting at a young woman after a session like that is journalism?” he said sharply, voice low but cutting.

“She was blocked in a live lap, and you know it. So unless you want to talk about actual data, back up.”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t have to. Just one step forward and the press was scattering like birds.

Toto turned to her, tone shifting immediately.

“You alright?”

She nodded, stiffly. Still swallowing back the anger.

He gently took her helmet from her, hand resting on her back, and guided her away like it was second nature. Like he’d done it a hundred times.

“You don’t answer when people try to reduce you,” he said, quietly, once they were alone in the corridor. “You are not their story to twist.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“They’re just gonna say I’m being dramatic.”

Toto smiled, soft but fierce.

“Let them. They’ll still speak your name right when you’re on the podium next week.”

user: TOTO WOLFF SAID “ENOUGH” AND THE MEDIA PACK FROZE 😭😭😭

user: “you are not their story to twist” he’s not her boss he’s her father figure i’m sobbing

user: i need toto wolff to gently take my helmet and ask me if im okay

user: someone give toto a “girl dad” mug right now. RIGHT. NOW.

user: she looked tired, he stepped in. no questions asked. real leadership. real care.

Zandvoort, Netherlands

She had made it to the finish, somehow, after an early incident left her front wing scraped and her strategy absolutely ruined.

P14. No points. And worse—some comments flying around that it was “clumsy driving.” From him.

That driver.

The one who closed the door on her mid-corner like she didn’t exist. The one who’d already tried it twice this season.

She didn’t go to the hospitality. Just sat on the back steps of the motorhome still in her race suit, elbows on her knees, trying to breathe through the simmering anger.

Not because of the finish—but because everyone was acting like she was overreacting. Again.

Until a shadow fell over her.

Toto. No clipboard. No data sheets. Just him, looking down at her like he already knew everything without needing to be told.

“Talk to me.”

She didn’t look up.

“They’re gonna say I was reckless again,” she muttered. “And I didn’t even touch him. He just slammed it shut and—God, I’m so tired of defending myself for existing on track.”

Toto knelt. Knelt. In his white shirt and radio still clipped to his belt.

“You don’t owe them silence just because they’re louder,” he said. “And if they think they can bully you into shrinking, they’ve forgotten who you race for.”

She glanced up. His voice wasn’t angry—it was controlled. But his eyes? That glint? That was fury.

“I’ll be in the stewards’ office in ten minutes,” he said. “If they don’t review his mirrors, I’ll review them for him.”

“Toto—”

“No. You raced fair. You always race fair. And I won’t let them rewrite your races like they rewrite your quotes.”

He stood, extended a hand. “Come on, liebling. Let’s remind them who raised hell first.”

Later, in the post-race interview, one reporter poked. Too bold.

“Do you think YN needs to mature a bit more when it comes to racecraft?”

Toto’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’re talking about a driver who held P6 for twenty laps on worn hards, defended cleanly, and drove home a damaged car like it was still brand new.” He leaned in, voice slow. Measured. Dangerous.

“If that’s immaturity, then I suggest you re-learn what greatness looks like.”

The room went silent. No one asked about her again.

user: he knelt down. TOTO WOLFF KNEELED FOR HER like she was royalty. i’m unwell.

user: no because the way he said “she’ll shake the sport and they’ll hate her for it” ??? he’s SEEN HER DESTINY

user: “if they don’t review his mirrors, i’ll review them for him” TOTO YOU’RE INSANE IN THE BEST WAY

user. he didn’t just stand up for her. he stood with her. every step. every camera. every doubt. that’s a real one.

user. toto is the only team principal who’d bring you soup, hold your earrings during a fight, and then dismantle your enemies.

Suzuka Circuit – FIA Driver Meeting

She had barely sat down when it began.

A comment. Low blow. One of the more senior drivers made a snide remark about her “emotional overreactions” on team radio.

Laughter followed. Not from everyone—but enough. Enough to sting.

She stayed quiet. Tensed jaw. One hand squeezing her water bottle like it was the only thing anchoring her.

Then the door opened.

Toto. Not scheduled to be in the room. Not supposed to be there. But he walked in with the kind of energy that made people shut up without knowing why.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he said coolly, scanning the room. “Please, do go on. I’d love to hear more of these insightful critiques.”

The driver who made the joke sank a little lower in his seat.

Toto turned to the FIA rep.

“If this is what a ‘professional environment’ looks like, I have some concerns about how you define safety—because hostile isn’t safe. Humiliation isn’t safe. And if you let this continue, you’ll be seeing lawyers, not lap times.”

Dead silence. Every head down.

“Let me be very clear. If one more driver, team, or official undermines her professionalism, we will escalate it. You will not break what we’ve built because her confidence makes you uncomfortable.”

He turned, met her eyes. Said nothing else.

Didn’t need to.

Later That Night, Mercedes Hospitality Unit

She was sitting alone. Hoodie over her head, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeves. Still a little shell-shocked.

Not from the jokes—but from how easy it was for people to dismiss her. How quickly they turned.

Toto sat down across from her, quietly.

“I wasn’t trying to make a scene,” she mumbled.

“I know.”

“It’s just… sometimes I wonder if they’ll ever take me seriously.”

Toto tilted his head. Eyes kind.

“You think respect is something you wait to be handed?”

She didn’t answer.

“No,” he said firmly. “You take it. And you’ve earned it every time you’ve stepped into that car. Every lap. Every debrief.”

He leaned in slightly.

“Let me worry about everything else. You just keep driving like they can’t catch you.”

user. toto wolff said “you will not break what we’ve built” i’m CRYING he’s such a paddock dad it’s insane

user: not toto crashing the driver meeting like a protective mom who got the email 😭😭😭

user: “you think respect is something you wait to be handed?” I need this engraved on my soul

user: the way he sees through her silence??? he doesn’t just protect her career he protects her confidence

user: lawyer up. he literally said he’d take the fia to court. a MAN.

user: you know what? i want toto wolff to be disappointed in me. i want to be coached. i want to be protected.

[prentissangel]

STAY WITH ME — zora bennett x reader

summary – you and zora set out to collect a simple raptor sample, something you've done a dozen times before. but deep in the jungle, things go wrong-fast. when you're attacked and nearly killed, zora's forced to face the one thing scarier than dinosaurs: losing you.

warning(s) – wlw, injury/blood, near-death experience, emotional intensity, fear and panic, soft romance in extreme danger, protective! zora, mutual devotion, medical emergency, crying, desperate love confessions, established relationship, angst with comfort, happy ending

men/minors dni

The jungle was impossibly hot. Sweat beaded down your back as you adjusted the strap on your field pack, ducking under a thick fern frond. Birds—if you could still call them that—shrieked somewhere in the canopy above. Jurassic World may have been rebranded, reborn, regulated to hell and back, but out here in the deeper zones, nature didn’t give a damn about fences.

Zora walked ahead of you, a few steps off-trail, crouching every so often to analyze disturbed foliage or check the track monitor strapped to her arm. Even after years of dating her, you were still in awe of how focused she got on expeditions. Sharp, calculating, unshakably competent.

“You’re sexy when you’re tracking a raptor,” you said, just to hear her scoff and shake her head.

She shot you a sideways glance, that subtle curve of a smirk flickering across her lips. “You always flirt when we’re two kilometers from base and surrounded by prehistoric murder machines?”

“Only when I’m trying to calm myself down.”

Her smile faded slightly. “We’re close. Look.” She pointed to the display. “Three heat signatures up ahead. Looks like an adult with two subadults. The female alpha, if I’m right. If we can get close enough to get saliva or shed dermal cells, that’s all we need. Then we’re gone.”

You nodded, pushing through another layer of leaves. “Okay. You want me to split left and circle around?”

“No,” Zora said quickly, standing up. “We stay together this time. That last incident—”

“I’m not gonna get myself killed. I promise.” You stepped closer, brushing your hand across her arm, the way she always liked. “Besides, you’re here. You wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”

Zora didn’t smile this time. She just stared at you with something heavy in her gaze. “Don’t joke like that.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Okay. No hero stuff.”

“Right.” She glanced at the tracker again. “Let’s get this over with.”

⸻

You moved quietly through the brush, each step measured and tense. The buzzing of insects filled your ears, the kind of noise that made everything else sound like it was underwater. Then, just beyond a thicket of vines, you saw it: a fresh carcass. Some herbivore—small—half-eaten, jaw torn at an angle no animal should have endured. Slick trails of saliva shimmered in the light breaking through the trees.

Zora crouched beside it, unzipping the sample case. “This’ll work. Give me a vial.”

You handed her one and knelt beside her, watching as she carefully scraped a thick string of clear saliva into the container. You were just starting to feel relieved when she froze.

Then you heard it too.

The crunch of leaves behind you. Slow. Deliberate.

You didn’t even turn.

“Zora,” you whispered.

“I hear it.”

The breath left your lungs in a single icy gust as something massive moved through the trees—low to the ground, fast, but not running. Watching.

Your hand inched toward the tranquilizer pistol on your hip, but it was too late. A blur of striped scales and talons exploded from the side. It was so fast you barely registered the impact before it slammed you backward, the weight of it pinning your body into the mud with the crushing force of a nightmare.

You screamed. Not out of fear, not yet—but out of raw, shocked pain.

The raptor was heavier than it looked—strong, muscular, intelligent. Its golden eyes met yours, head tilted ever so slightly. Curious. Then it hissed, a low, rattling warning that rattled your teeth.

You shoved at it instinctively, your boot finding its ribs. It jerked, more annoyed than hurt, and slashed at your torso with a hind talon. You didn’t even see the blood at first—just felt the heat across your stomach. A deep, slashing line. Not fatal. Not yet. But the second wound followed an instant later. The claws hooked into your upper shoulder, and this time you felt the burn explode like fire through your chest.

“ZORA!” you screamed, your voice breaking into something ragged and primal.

You heard her yell back, heard movement, but your world narrowed to this moment: the raptor tilting its head again, then opening its jaws and snapping at your neck.

You raised your forearm out of instinct.

A terrible choice.

Its teeth sank in, hard and fast, and your body buckled. The sound was the worst part—a wet, ugly crunch as its jaws broke bone like a twig. You screamed again, only this time it was shorter, sharper—cut off by your own breath stuttering.

Everything blurred.

Pain blotted out everything. You felt blood gush down your arm. You couldn’t lift it. Your fingers were useless. The skin on your face was pale, and there was already blackness creeping in around your vision.

The raptor backed off for a half-second, cocking its head, considering. Your blood was in its mouth. Your blood was on its claws. You couldn’t even move anymore. Your limbs were shaking, not from fear now but from blood loss.

Then the sharp crack of a rifle exploded through the trees.

The raptor shrieked, stumbling as a tranquilizer dart embedded in its thigh. It turned toward the noise—but another shot hit it square in the side. It growled, teeth bared, and then bolted into the underbrush, snarling as it vanished into the trees.

Zora was running toward you.

She dropped to her knees, grabbing your face with trembling hands.

“Hey—hey, look at me, look at me—oh god, oh fuck, you’re bleeding—Jesus Christ—”

You couldn’t talk. Your mouth opened but only a breath came out.

She tore open your jacket, saw the gash across your stomach, the blood-drenched shirt. But it was your arm that really broke her. The angle was wrong. The bite was deep, purple and red and raw. She could see bone.

Zora’s voice cracked. “No, no, no—don’t you dare close your eyes. Stay awake, baby, please, stay with me.” Her hands worked fast, grabbing gauze and tape and applying pressure, but it was like trying to dam a river with paper. She took off her own shirt, wrapped it around your arm, tied it tight with her belt. “Don’t die. Don’t fucking die.”

You tried to smile, even as the blackness rolled in. “Didn’t… plan to…”

Your head lolled to the side, and Zora grabbed your face again, her forehead pressing to yours.

“You’re not going out like this. You’re not leaving me, you hear me? I love you. You’re everything, and I swear to god if you die—”

Your eyes rolled slightly. Her voice was the only thing anchoring you.

“You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Zora,” you whispered, barely audible.

“Yeah, baby. I’m here.”

“I’m… scared.”

She bit her lip so hard it bled. “I know. But I’m not letting you go.”

Then came the sound of the evac chopper thundering above. The comms had picked up her emergency beacon. Zora lifted you into her arms, your blood still spilling over her skin, and carried you through the trees with everything she had. Her legs shook. Her breath came in sobs. But she never once loosened her grip.

⸻

They stabilized you in the chopper, barely. There were three moments where your heart flatlined and came back. Zora didn’t move from your side. She held your hand through all of it, your blood still drying on her skin.

You woke up three days later in a sterile, white hospital bed with your arm in a cast and your torso wrapped in bandages. Your throat was dry. You felt like you’d been hit by a tank.

But then you looked to your right.

And there she was.

Zora Bennett, asleep in a chair, your hand cradled in both of hers like she was still terrified you’d slip away.

You whispered, hoarse: “Zora.”

Her eyes snapped open. And the second she saw you looking back at her, she made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. She leaned in, kissed your forehead again and again, fingers brushing the hair from your face.

“You’re awake. You’re awake. God, I thought—” Her voice broke. “I thought I lost you.”

“I heard you,” you murmured. “In the forest. I heard you yelling for me.”

“I’ve never been so scared in my life,” she said quietly. “I thought I was going to watch you bleed out in the mud. I couldn’t even feel my legs. I just kept running. I—god, I didn’t know if I’d get there in time.”

“You did.” Your fingers tightened weakly around hers. “You saved me.”

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t wake up.” Her jaw trembled. “You can’t ever do that to me again. I mean it. No more wandering off. No more solo samples. No more pretending you’re fine when you’re covered in blood.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Zora let out a breath. “Good. Because I love you. And next time a raptor comes near you, I’m body-slamming it off a cliff.”

Despite everything, you laughed. It hurt, but it was real.

Then she leaned in, and your lips met—gently, carefully, but full of emotion. Not passion. Not desire. Just need. Fear. Relief. Love.

When you pulled back, your eyes met hers.

“We almost didn’t get a next time,” you whispered.

“But we did,” she said. “And I’m never letting you go again.”

a/n – jurassic world rebirth was SO good. maybe im just partial because scarlett johansson had no business looking that good the entire movie, but still the movie was definitely worth seeing. i couldn’t resist writing a zora bennett fic after that, so i really hope you guys enjoy it! more fics coming soon hopefully <3

[mrsfudd]

Pure Jealousy

One day Paige had really pissed you off, you 3 live together so it was hard to ignore her, or so you thought.

Warnings, double penetration, slight anal, face fucking, degrading.

Sorry for typos 🙏

“Azzi!” You call out.

“Yea baby” She replies.

“Can you come help me with this” You ask referring to the glass in the top cabinet.

“Oh yea, of course” She says helping you.

Normally this wouldnt be a problem but Paige sitting on the couch, repeatedly asking if you needed help and you completely disregarding her definitely didn’t help.

Paiges mouth was wide open, she was in disbelief. She knew you were upset but not to go to this extent.

“Oh so you just dont see me right here” Paiges asks but you keep walking past.

It was only morning and you had a whole lot of energy left to give to Paige. As the day continued, you went out of your way to ignore Paige, you made sure your whole day was about Azzi, she loved the attention and loved spending the time with you but was a little confused.

“Baby, why are you being mean to Paige again?” Azzi asks

“Because she pissed me off” You answer.

“Over that shit she said, princess that was a week ago” Azzi chuckles.

“ I dont care, she really-” You get interrupted.

“Yo Az, can you come here real quick?” Paige calls out.

“Hold on mama” Azzi told you while standing up.

“Hi P, whats wrong.” Azzi asks in a soft tone.

“I dont get why shes still so upset, i apologized so many times” Paige vented.

“Yeah i dont know either, i think we should teach her a lesson you know? Show her whos in charge.” Azzi suggested.

“Shes not gonna like that. She thinks we’re stupid, I know shes trying to start another fight, ima show her something” Paige smirks.

10:36 pm.

You, Paige and Azzi just got done with dinner. For whatever reason Paige and Azzi kept giving each little looks, the table was painfully quiet. This didn’t stop you from ignoring Paige though.

“Az, do you want to get ice cream maybe?” You ask, sitting right in front of Paige, making eye contact.

“So you dont think I like ice cream?” Paige blurts out.

“I never said you didnt” You reply.

“Right, just like i cant reach the top shelf, and i cant help you make the bed, or help you with your shoes too right?” She ranted.

“I dont know what your talking about” You mumble.

“Go to the room, strip.” Paige demanded.

Your heart dropped, “what?” you ask cluelessly.

“Go.” She hissed.

As you stood up, you looked at Azzi, who for some reason had a smile on her face.

You did as you were told. For at least 10 minutes you sat there, nude, cold and nervous. You were on edge. You knew Paige was pissed but what did Azzi have to do with it. Slowly you started to regret your attitude towards her.

Paige slowly opened the door, she licked her lips as she looked at you up and down.

“Hey” You say, trying to lighten the mood.

“So you want to make me jealous huh” Paige argued.

“I don’t know what you mean” You lied.

“Stop, stop. The act is over, you won, im jealous. Now its time for you to learn what happens when you make someone like me feel like that okay? Paige chuckled.

You stay silent, nervous.

“Turn around.” Paige demands.

You do as you’re told, face down, ass up. At first you heard 2 clicks, then 4. You whip your head around to see Azzi. Chuckling and whispering with Paige.

Fuck.

“Hands and knees.” Azzi snapped.

You listen, arms trembling.

Azzi gets in front of you, cock sizing up to your face. Paige gets behind, dick sizing up to your ass.

You feel Paiges cold tip, teasing your entrance, your soaked, dripping all over her and she hasnt even touched you.

You feel Azzis hard tip, playing with your lips, wanting to be let in your needy mouth.

“Open.” Azzi growled.

All of her 7 inches slam into the back of your throat, you immediately gag trying to adjust. Without hesitation she starts fucking your throat and pulls on your hair. Slamming you down onto her cock, Tears stream down your face as you struggle to breathe. At the same time, Paiges 7 enter you. She starts at a punishing pace and never slows down. Harsh slaps to your ass as she wrecks your hole. You thought it was already too much just as Paiges thumb finds your other hole. Stretching you.

Your muffled squeals and cry go barley audible as all your holes are being fulled, already sore.

You were being treated as a ragdoll as they told you dirty words.

“You wanted this didnt you? Poor baby, all she wanted was some attention” Azzi cooed, pulling on her hair some more, causing your head to jerk back.

“Good slut, take this fucking dick. This is exactly what desperate whores get. Do you understand me?” Paige scolded as her tip kissed your cervix.

30 minutes. They did this for 30 minutes. You were on your fourth orgasm. Paige wanted 5.

Your face was soaked in spit and tears, your throat was red and sore. Azzi had the largest smile on her face, watching your face as you gagged and choked on her cock. Your pussy was going numb and ass bright red and your legs shook, Paige’s lower half was covered in your cum, Her face was extremely pleased.

You were reaching another orgasm.

“Come on baby, I know you can do it. This is what you wanted right?” Paige commented.

“Be a good girl for us mama. Let that shit out” Azzi added while giving you gentle taps on your cheek.

Your whole body violently shook as you let out your final orgasm. And just like that without warning you were empty. They both pulled out of you, you were stretched and sore.

You silently sobbing as they rushed to clean you, dress you, and comfort you.

“Shh shh, its okay baby we’re right here” Paige hushed.

“You did so good for us mama, im so proud of you” Azzi whispered, wiping sweat and tears off your face.

“Now, you know. Dont even try to turn me and Azzi against each other, its never gonna happen.” Paige told you, bringing you to her chest.

[formulafanfics13]

hey can I request a one shot where max or Oscar get hurt during the off season nothing serious obviously but where they have to rest for a couple days and reader takes care of them making them realize they have feelings for the reader

P.S can I be 🍓anon

yes, yes and yes!!

and then you touched me - MV1 🔥

Masterlist

Summary Max hates the off-season. He says he needs adrenaline, chaos, motion. So of course he goes too hard on an icy winter karting day and ends up with a busted wrist and bruised ribs. Nothing serious. Just enough to knock him down. You find out and show up at his place with groceries, meds, and zero patience for his stubbornness. He’s never been babied like this before. Never been touched so gently. Never realised how badly he wanted you to stay.

Warnings mild injury (bruised ribs, sprained wrist), caretaking, fluff, slowburn, pining, mutual tension, best-friends-to-lovers vibes, emotional intimacy, soft domesticity, Max is grumpy but completely in love and doesn’t know it yet, reader is nurturing but a bit chaotic, unspoken feelings finally coming to light, comfort-heavy

The knock on the door comes two hours after he tells you he’s fine. Max groans. He shifts on the couch, hissing as his ribs protest, then calls out, “It’s open!”

You walk in with a tote bag in one hand, paper bag in the other, and a face that already says don’t fucking argue.

“You’re not fine,” you announce.

He glares at you from under the blanket draped over his legs. “I said it’s not that bad.”

“Uh-huh.” You drop the bag on the counter. “You texted me at 3am saying you ‘ate asphalt like a bitch.’”

“That was before the ibuprofen kicked in.”

“Mmm.” You toss him a bottle of water. “How’s the wrist?”

Max lifts it slightly, the brace snug against his tanned skin. “Sprained.”

“And your ribs?”

He shrugs. Then winces.

You give him a look. “You’re a genius.”

He mutters something in Dutch that sounds suspiciously like piss off, but he’s already watching you unpack the bag. Sliced fruit. Soup containers. Painkillers. Some little bakery thing you know he likes even though he pretends he doesn’t.

You don’t ask to stay. You just do. You help him sit up straighter. Fluff the pillow behind him. Pull the blanket higher. He mumbles complaints the whole time but doesn’t stop you. Not once.

And when you tuck the blanket under his legs, your hand brushes his knee. You feel him freeze. You both pause. And then you just smile. “Eat. I’ll heat the soup.”

He stares at you for a second too long before nodding.

You hum to yourself while the microwave runs. Max watches you from the couch, silently.

Later, when you’re done forcing him to eat and you’re curled up next to him watching some shit movie you don’t even care about, Max speaks again. “You didn’t have to come.”

You snort. “You sent me voice notes at 3am begging me to marry you if your ribs punctured your lungs.”

“I was being dramatic.”

“You were being a baby.”

He grins. Then quiets. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

You glance over.

He’s not looking at you. He’s looking straight ahead. But his good hand is resting close to yours. His knees are still pulled up under the blanket. His breathing’s slow.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t answer. Not with words. He just shifts his pinky until it touches yours. It’s barely there. But it’s everything.

Your heart flips.

He finally turns to look at you. And in that moment, you know. He’s realising it too.

You make him tea that night. You tuck him into bed. He protests, obviously.

“I’m not a fucking toddler.” “I can pull the blankets up myself.” “Jesus, you’re treating me like I’m dying-”

But then you place your hand on his chest. And he shuts up.

“You’re not dying,” you whisper. “You just scared me.”

He swallows.

You hesitate. Then lean down and press a soft kiss to his temple. “Sleep.”

You move to leave. But his hand finds yours. “Stay?”

You pause. Look back. He’s watching you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You nod. “Yeah, Max. I’ll stay.” And when you crawl into bed beside him, careful not to hurt him, not to shift the pillow too much, not to touch his ribs or his wrist, he closes his eyes and realises something he doesn’t say out loud.

Not yet. But soon. Soon he’ll tell you. That you’re it.

[sweet-halsey]

Say it again

lando norris x reader (request by anon)

warnings: explicit smut, soft dom!lando x shy!innocent reader, praise kink and fingering.

You’ve been dating Lando for three weeks.

It’s new. Easy. And somehow the most overwhelming thing you’ve ever done.

He never pushes, never asks for too much too fast. But he looks at you like he’s already memorized every way you squirm. He talks to you like he already knows how you’ll sound when you fall apart for him.

And worst of all?

He’s usually right.

“You’ve been staring at me,” he murmurs, voice smug and sleep-soft as he leans against the terrace railing of your hotel suite, post-race sweat still drying on his neck.

“I haven’t.” you say maybe too fast, too obviously lying.

He just smirks and tilts his head toward you. “You kinda have.”

You roll your eyes, hugging your knees into your chest on the lounge chair. You’d come up here together after the race, just for a breath of quiet. He was still in his race suit, top half tied around his waist, curls damp, grin lazy. And you were still trying not to stare at the way his fireproof undershirt clung to him like a second skin.

“You look hot,” you say eventually, your voice small but honest.

Lando raises a brow. “Yeah?”

You nod. “In the literal and non-literal sense.”

He laughs, warm and unguarded, and crosses the space between you in two strides. “You’re cute when you try to flirt. Kinda makes me want to ruin you a little.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, leaning over you, arms braced on either side of your chair. “Not in a bad way. Just... y’know. A little.”

Your heart jumps and he sees it, of course he sees it. That’s the worst part: he notices everything. How your eyes widen. How your thighs shift. How your breath stutters when he whispers things that aren’t technically filthy but feel like it when they come from him.

“You always get this shy when I talk like that?” he asks, brushing your hair back, fingertips grazing your cheek.

You bite your lip. “You always say things like that on hotel balconies?”

He grins. “Only when I know you like it.”

“I didn’t say I liked it.”

“You didn’t have to.” His voice drops just enough to make your stomach twist. “You kinda gave yourself away, sweetheart.”

You look down, flustered, but his fingers are already under your chin, tilting you back up.

“Don’t hide from me,” he says gently. “You’re so fucking pretty when you blush like that.”

“I’m not used to this,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “Not like this.”

“Not like what?”

“Being looked at like… like you know exactly what I want even when I don’t say it.”

He hums, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your jaw. “That’s ‘cause I do know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His mouth brushes your ear now. “You want me to take my time. Go slow. Make you feel things you’ve never felt the right way before. Make you need me to finish what I start.”

Your breath catches again, sharp and shallow.

And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he adds in the softest, smuggest voice: “You want to be good for me.”

You can barely breathe. He hasn’t even touched you yet, not really, and your whole body is already coiled tight, heat simmering low in your stomach.

You’ve had sex before. This isn’t new. But somehow, with him, it feels new, like nothing that came before counts. Like he’s already found parts of you that even you haven’t explored.

He presses one more kiss to your temple and then straightens with a smile, like he hasn’t just scrambled your entire nervous system.

“We should go inside,” he says. “You’ll catch a chill.”

You don’t even try to hide your disbelief. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“You just said all that, and now you’re worried I’ll get cold?”

Lando grins as he holds the door open for you. “What can I say? I’m a gentleman.”

That night, you’re curled up in the center of his bed.

His hotel suite is warm and quiet. The TV is on, but neither of you are paying attention. Lando is lying beside you in sweats and a hoodie, one arm behind his head, the other resting dangerously close to your thigh.

You’re wearing soft cotton shorts and an oversized tee yours, but it still feels indecent somehow, the fabric riding high up your legs as you shift.

“You keep moving like that and I’m gonna think you’re doing it on purpose.” Lando murmurs, not looking at you, eyes still on the screen.

You freeze. “I’m not.”

“Mhm.” He finally glances your way, dragging his gaze down your body. “You know you don’t have to pretend to be shy with me.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“No?” He shifts, turning toward you, head resting on his hand. “You’re shy, but not scared. That’s the difference.”

You swallow hard. “Yeah.”

He leans closer. “Which means if I touched you right now, you'd let me.”

You nod slowly.

He hums. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you want me to touch you.”

Your breath stutters. His hand finds your bare knee, fingers brushing up your thigh barely, just a tease.

“Lando…”

“I won’t do anything you don’t ask for,” he whispers. “But if you do ask, I’m not stopping until you can’t even speak.”

Your thighs clench involuntarily. He feels it.

“You’re so sensitive already,” he says softly. “Can’t believe you’ve let me kiss you goodnight for the last two weeks and acted like you weren’t soaking through your panties every time.”

You let out a soft whimper, embarrassed and turned on beyond reason.

Lando leans in again, brushing your cheek with his nose, his breath warm on your neck. “You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? What it’d be like if I didn’t stop?”

You nod.

“What part do you think about the most?”

You try to answer but your mouth is dry, your brain fogged.

He smiles against your skin. “That’s okay. You don’t have to say it. I’ll figure it out.”

His hand moves up, resting just under the hem of your shorts. Not touching anything explicit yet. Just warm and heavy and there.

“I want to take my time with you,” he murmurs. “Let the tension burn until you’re desperate.”

“I already am,” you whisper.

Lando pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. “Say it again.”

You blink. “What?”

“That you want me. Say it.”

“I want you,” you breathe.

His mouth crashes into yours not soft this time, but needy. Tongue sliding against yours, his hand gripping your thigh tighter now, pulling you closer until your body is flush against his.

Lando’s mouth trails over your jaw, your throat, the sensitive spot just under your ear. His breath is warm and even, and his body is pressed against yours, both of you horizontal now, stretched out across the plush hotel bed. You’re in your cotton shorts, and he’s still wearing sweatpants, but the heat between you is suffocating.

“Been thinking about this since the balcony,” he murmurs, palm sliding up your bare thigh. “The way you looked at me when I said I’d ruin you slow.”

You swallow hard. “You really meant that?”

He hums a soft laugh, nipping at your earlobe. “Oh, baby. You’ve got no idea what I’ve been thinking about. But I’ll show you, yeah? If you let me?”

You nod, breath shaky. “Please.”

“God, I love when you say that,” he whispers.

His hand brushes over your clothed core and you twitch your body reacting before you even think.

“You’re soaked,” he says softly. Not mocking. Just… reverent. “All this from a few kisses?”

You can barely answer. Your hips shift into his palm, a quiet, involuntary plea.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs. “I wanna take my time with you. You gonna let me?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

Lando kisses you again, slower now. His tongue slides against yours in perfect rhythm, and his hand moves with the same energy just pressure, gentle circles over your panties, light enough to tease but firm enough to make you ache.

You whimper softly, your legs falling further open.

“That’s it,” he whispers against your mouth. “Just let me in.”

He keeps one hand on your hip to hold you steady, the other teasing higher, sliding beneath the elastic of your shorts and panties at once. He pauses just inside, fingers grazing your mound, and looks into your eyes.

“Still good?” he asks.

You nod quickly. “Please, Lando…”

His smile goes soft, almost affectionate. “Yeah, good girl. I’ve got you.”

He dips between your folds, spreading your slick gently, tracing slow, wet circles around your clit. You gasp, head falling back against the pillows.

“Oh my god—”

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans, eyes locked on your face. “This all for me?”

You nod desperately, hips jerking up.

“You ever been touched like this before?” he asks, voice low and teasing.

“Yes, but…” You struggle to breathe. “Not like this.”

He leans in to kiss you again, deeper this time. “Good. I don’t want you comparing me to anyone. I want you remembering this. Me. The way I take my time. The way I make you come just with my fingers.”

He presses one finger inside you slowly.

You gasp again, a high sound that makes his eyes darken.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers. “You’re so tight.”

Your hands grip his hoodie, eyes wide as he works it in, then out, slow and deep. His thumb brushes your clit in rhythm with each stroke.

“Doing so good for me,” he whispers. “Look at you.”

You’re moaning now softly, helplessly, your hips chasing every motion of his hand.

He adds a second finger and watches your face the whole time.

“Tell me how it feels,” he says. “I want to hear you say it.”

Your mouth opens but the words are slow. “It feels—so good. So deep. You’re—Lando, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he whispers. “You can. You’re doing perfect, baby. You’re fuckin’ melting around my fingers.”

Your walls flutter around him, tighter with every pass of his thumb.

“Lando—Lando—” Your voice is getting high and breathless.

“Shh. I know, baby. I know. You’re gonna come for me, yeah?”

Your nails dig into his hoodie as the pressure builds fast, sharp and hot and impossible to hold back.

“I can’t—I—”

“Yes, you can. Just let it happen. I’ve got you. Come for me, sweet girl.”

And you do.

Your orgasm slams through you like a wave tight and consuming, your thighs shaking, your moans muffled in his hoodie as you cling to him. He keeps his fingers moving through it, coaxing every last tremble, every last sound.

“Good girl,” he groans, kissing your forehead as you come down. “So perfect. So fuckin’ good for me.”

You blink up at him, dazed and glowing.

He smiles and leans in, brushing his nose against yours.

Still catching your breath. “I feel… amazing.”

He kisses you again, this time slow and sweet. “You are amazing.”

You give him a breathless laugh. “You’re dangerous for my health.”

He grins. “You’ve got no idea.”

Your skin is still buzzing.

You’re laid out on his bed in a soft, warm haze loose-limbed, spent, and soaked through your panties. Lando is hovering over you, fully clothed but flushed and tense, his lips ghosting over your jaw as you come back to yourself.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod slowly. “More than okay.”

“Good,” he breathes, kissing your cheek. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Your stomach flutters.

He pulls back enough to look at you properly. His eyes are darker now, needier, but still careful. “I’m gonna ask you one more time, and I need you to really think before you answer.”

You nod, heart hammering.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Your breath catches. Not because the word is harsh, with him it never is, but because it’s true. He’s not asking if you want to fool around. He’s asking if you’re ready to be his in a way you haven’t been with anyone else.

You meet his eyes. “Yes. Please.”

He moans softly. “Say it again.”

“I want you to fuck me, Lando. Please.”

He kisses you hard then deep and filthy and full of something like relief. “Fuck. I’ve been waiting to hear that since the first time you kissed me like you didn’t know what it’d do to me.”

He stands only long enough to tug his hoodie over his head, then drags his sweats and boxers down in one practiced motion. You can’t help the way your eyes go wide, you’ve seen him shirtless a thousand times, but not like this.

Not hard. Not flushed and leaking and thick.

He catches your look and chuckles. “It’s gonna fit, baby. I promise. I’ll go slow.”

You nod, cheeks heating. “I know. I trust you.”

He freezes. “Shit. Say that again.”

“I trust you.”

Lando groans, reaching into the drawer for a condom, his voice wrecked. “You have no fuckin’ clue what that does to me.”

He tears it open and rolls it on fast, then climbs back between your legs, guiding your thighs open with slow, reverent hands. His fingers dip between your folds again, just enough to make you gasp, before lining himself up and pausing.

“Deep breath,” he whispers.

You do and then he pushes in.

You exhale sharp, fingers curling into the sheets. He goes slow. Too slow, almost stopping every inch to let you adjust, pressing open-mouth kisses to your throat and cheek and jaw as you stretch around him.

“So fucking tight,” he murmurs, voice shaking. “You feel like heaven.”

You whimper. “You’re big.”

He chuckles against your skin. “You can take it. You’re doing so fucking good.”

Once he’s fully seated, he stills, letting you feel every inch of him, the fullness, the warmth, the throb of his cock buried inside you. You blink up at him, stunned at how good it feels to be filled like this, by him.

“You okay?” he asks again, brushing hair off your forehead.

“I feel…” Your voice cracks on the first word. “So full.”

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes. “That’s what I wanted.”

He starts to move slowly, gently, his hips dragging back just enough before pressing forward again. Every thrust is unhurried but deep, pushing into you with a rhythm that makes your thighs tremble.

“Look at me,” he whispers.

You do.

“I want you to remember this,” he murmurs. “The way it feels when someone takes their time. When someone fucks you like you’re more than a body.”

You reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair, whimpering. “I—I’ve never felt like this before.”

“Good,” he growls, hips grinding down with a roll that makes you cry out. “Because this is mine now. You’re mine now.”

Your legs wrap around his waist. “Yes. I’m yours.”

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

His rhythm falters, just for a second, as a groan breaks from deep in his chest.

“You’re gonna make me come so fast if you keep saying shit like that,” he mutters, panting. “And I want this to last.”

“Don’t care,” you gasp. “I want you to come.”

“You’re not even close to done, baby,” he whispers, hand sliding down between your bodies to circle your clit. “You’re gonna come again first. Want to feel you squeeze me when you let go.”

You’re already there teetering right on the edge, gasping and clawing at his arms as pleasure builds fast. Your body knows him now. It trusts him. It wants him.

“Lando—I’m gonna—fuck—I—”

“Give it to me,” he growls, fucking you harder now, still not fast, but deep, overwhelming. “Come on. Let go for me, my good girl.”

Your orgasm explodes through you, raw and loud and all-consuming. Your walls clamp down around him, and Lando groans, long and guttural, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it.

“Fuck, fuck—I’m gonna come—”

He buries himself to the hilt, his whole body trembling, face buried in your neck as he comes hard inside the condom, moaning your name like it’s a prayer.

You stay tangled like that for a long moment breathing in sync, skin sticky and burning, his weight warm and grounding on top of you.

Finally, he eases out, tying the condom and tossing it aside, then lies down beside you, pulling you into his chest.

Your face is still buried in his collarbone when he murmurs, “Still okay?”

You nod, eyes closed. “I feel amazing.”

“You are.” he says, kissing the top of your head.

“I didn’t know it could be like that,” you whisper.

He smiles, eyes soft. “You just needed someone to show you.”

You hum. “You wanna show me again?”

He laughs, the sound husky and spent. “Fuck yeah, baby. But not tonight.”

You grin sleepily. “Why not?”

“Because if I go again now, I’m gonna start saying some really unhinged shit about putting a ring on your finger and moving you in.”

You look up at him, flushed. “Would that be so bad?”

His smile softens. “Not even a little.”

He kisses you again slow, deep, reverent.

And you think, maybe, this is exactly what it means to be ruined in the best possible way.

•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•

Thanks anon for request! Hope you liked it. xo

English is not my first language and I don't want it to be. Any mistakes are made out of pure hatred and disrespect for this language. The English have taken enough from this world, I will not let them have my tongue as well.

Thank you.

[onlyywwon]

pretty little baby - p.js (mdni)

☆ ( 星星 ) ... "jay loves to take care of you, and it is his duty as your boyfriend to fulfill all your needs."  ‘ 连字符 ’ ♡ :

── ˙ ̟ ★ pairing: bf!jay + fem!reader ⟡ !

── ˙ ̟ ★ genre: smut (unprotected sex (don't!), f recieving, p in v, dom!jay, sub!reader, praise, jay has a oral fixation lol, implied breeding, nicknames: baby, doll, beautiful girl, love, angel, pretty girl...) ⟡ !

── ˙ ̟ ★ wc: 3.2k

╰ a/n: i'm back from the dead ! @hoonlubbylubr my love, this is for youu !! happy 19th to my fav girl isa ! i love you so much please :(( all my homies talking ab post 'fatal trouble' recording jay, so i had to :<

jay is a provider, he’s calm, responsible, and incredibly in tune with you, even before you say anything. and he takes pride in it, in making sure you’re cared for, safe and all your needs are well attended to — physically, mentally and emotionally.

he notices when you’re tired, even before you utter a word. you’re barely through the door, and he’s already pulling you into his arms, reaching for the bag on your shoulder, slipping it off for you and putting it on the console next to the door, his embrace never slipping.

“long day?” he’d whisper, guiding you to sit down on the couch and rest, while he goes to fetch you a glass of water and heat up something to eat.

his love language is acts of service. he’s the type to silently refill the snack drawer when all your favorite ones are over. he’s the type to shift you into a comfortable position and drape a blanket over your resting body, when you fall asleep on the couch. he’s the type to remind you to take your meds, or drink water, or to eat something, when you’re busy and get forgetful, whether it’s by text or in person.

“you don’t have to do everything alone, y’know?” he’d murmur into your ear when you’re overwhelmed, holding you close, one hand stroking your head, the other rubbing your back gently — embracing you like he wants to absorb the weight from your shoulders.

jay is the type to handle things even before you realize they needed to be taken care of. the umbrella in his hand is already open and over your head when you feel the faintest drizzle of rain. he’s already called up a taxi, when he notices you’re too tired to walk.

he doesn’t get angry often, but if someone disrespects you or makes you uncomfortable? his voice drops, expression sharpens, and his posture is rigid, jaw tense and fists clenched tight. “if you have a problem, talk to me, come to me, deal it with me. don’t bring my girl into this.” his blank stare is enough to silence anyone, and he will make it known that boundaries are being crossed.

jay knows you’re strong and independant. he knows you can do things on your own. even if you’re completely capable, it stirs something in him when you ask him to help with little things. carrying heavy bags? yes. opening tightly sealed jars? done. helping you reach for the mugs in the higher cabinets? absolutely. holding your hand when you’re nervous? you bet. he loves it when you rely on him. when you call him first for anything? he won’t say it aloud often, but the proud glint in his eyes, the light grin tugging his lips, his cheery tone that gives it out that he’s smiling even when you can’t see him, speak for him.

he’s at his desk now, in a casual white button up and black slacks, skimming through report folders, that’ve been driving him up the wall. you stood in the doorway of his study, slightly dishevelled from having just woken up, observing him. his oversized t-shirt hung heavy on your frame, one side slipping off just enough to bare your shoulder, the hem brushing your mid-thigh. you were craving his attention, his touch, his love, but you didn’t want to disturb him — not that he’d ever think that you were. really, all you had to do was look at him, with that soft, pliant gaze of yours, full of the yearning for his attention, and he’d comply. 

you looked at him at that moment, like you needed him to hold you together, take care of you — like being apart, even for this short moment, was already starting to fray you at the edges. 

jay hadn’t even heard your footsteps, but the second he looked up and saw your frame peeking out from the doorway, he smiled, his assumptions of your presence and unwavering gaze confirmed. the second he looked up and saw that look in your eyes — his chair scraped back without hesitation, as the slight crease on his brow smoothed out immediately, the frustration melting away like it was never there to begin with.

“come here love,” he said, already opening his arms, his gaze locked on you, the reports in his hand fell back on to the desk with a soft thud. because he knew that look, and he could never leave the love of his life waiting. you took a slow tentative step forward, “i didn’t mean to interrupt, but i missed you. i can come back later when you’re done-”

“no, it’s fine,” his voice was quiet, but resolute.

you hesitated, nervous fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your shirt, as you chewed on your bottom lip and slowly approached him. when you stood right in front of him, he turned towards you in his chair, as he eased back just slightly. one hand reached for your waist, the other steady against your thigh, as he gently pulled you onto his lap. 

jay’s mind was still befuddled at the sight of you now, his shirt draped loose on your smaller frame — how he loved seeing you this way; soft and needy.

but still, you didn’t speak. your heart was loud in your ears and you could feel the warmth of his hands on you, burning the barrier of your clothes — grounding, like he knew what you wanted even before you did. yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud, no matter how much your body reacted to his touch. not because he made you feel ashamed, but because he always saw right through you. every time he needed you like this, you found yourself wanting to hide, even though you knew that in the end he’d find you, like he always did, ready to oblige to your every command.

jay waited, watching you, studying the way your lashes fluttered and your lips parted in hesitation. he could feel your body tense, the way your thighs pressed together at the slightest of movements from him beneath you, and the way your hands trembled lightly against his chest.

“what is it love?” his voice was low and careful, coaxing you. “what do you want hmm?”

the words hit you with a quiet force, blooming heat through your chest — because you didn’t know how to say ‘i miss you’ or ‘i need you’ without sounding like you were asking for too much. but your body and heart ached at just the thought of him — his touch, his warmth, his attention, all of it.

“i need you jay, please,” you whispered, eyes cast down, embarrassed by how much you needed him, even now.

he exhaled slowly, shaking his head as a soft smile crept up on his face. his hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingertips brushing over the small of your back — slow and deliberate.

“yeah?” he asked, his voice teasing, but his eyes, his beautiful sharp eyes filled with the soft and proud affection he always displayed for you. your breath caught, and your fingers gripped his shirts tighter, afraid to let go, but also flustered at the endless endearment he held for you. he always said things like that, like he knew you better than you did. and truth be told, he did — he knows how your body betrays you before you could gather the words to bring your thoughts alive.

jay leaned closer, his lips ghosting over your temple, his breath warm as he whispered against it. “you want me to take care of you doll?” 

you nodded faintly, cheeks burning and breath shallow. his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, the heat in your gut pooling as you felt him grow hard beneath you. that gave you small surge of confidence, as you looked up at him, your forehead on his, noses brushing, “please jay, i need you to fuck me.”

he stilled for just a moment — not from surprise, but from the overwhelming tenderness in his chest at the sight of your blown out eyes seeking his acknowledgement. just those few words from you, were enough to undo him completely, the last thread of restraint in him snapping.

“fuck,” he breathed out, almost reverently, his hand curling around the back of your neck, and his lips crashing onto yours with a desire that made your whole body jolt. the kiss was deep and consuming, like he was pouring all his love for you through your mouth alone. his tongue slipped past your lips with practiced ease, swallowing every little sound you made as your fingers tangled in his hair, like you couldn’t let go.

you whined against him, your hips grinding down without thinking, desperate for any friction. jay groaned low in his throat, hands gripping your thighs tightly, guiding your movements over his lap, letting you feel just how hard he’s gotten for you.

when he finally pulled away from your lips, you gasped, eyes fluttering open only for him to tilt your head to the side, exposing your neck to him.

“you’re so fucking perfect,” he murmered against your skin, lips trailing down your jawline, then lower to the hollow of your clavicle, slow and worshipful. his touch was everywhere — hot and overwhelming, tongue licking over the blooming red marks he left, like an apology to soothe the pain.

jay marked you, kissing, biting, sucking, leaving marks of his love and devotion apparent on your skin. his hands roamed under your shirt, palms sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing over your ribs. your breathing grew ragged, hands fisting in his hair, head thrown back to give him more access to yourself. you could feel your panties soaked through and clinging to your core, the wet stickiness of it making you uncomfortable. he groaned against your skin, hips jerking up against you, causing you to let out a moan — the heat between you now unbearable.

“you have no idea what you do to me doll,” he muttered low, one hand trailing down between your thighs, teasing. jay let out a low noise when he felt the wet patch on your panties, your shirt bunched up from all the desperate grinding and humping. “jay, please,” you whimpered, hips rocking into his hand, and he smirked against your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses over every mark he made, as his fingers pushed your soaked panties aside.

“let me take care of you baby,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “i’ll fuck you just how you deserve to be.”

you whimpered when his fingers found you — wet and swollen, as he dragged two fingers through your slick folds, groaning low against your skin. “so wet already,” he murmured, voice strained with need. “you need it that bad, doll?” 

you nodded immediately, breath hitching, your hips still rolling against his hand, “please..”

he kissed you again — slower this time, your lips now more swollen and plump, before pulling back. his hand pulled away from your soaked center, and you whined at the loss of friction, as he brought his soaked digits up to his lips and licked them off, humming at the taste as his eyes never left yours. the sight before you turned you on to no extent, the wetness clinging to your folds increasing. 

jay leaned back in his chair, just enough to spread his legs wide, his hand that rested on your waist, tightening their grip on you, still balancing you on him. “take this off,” he said tugging at your shirt gently, but his hands are already on it, pulling it over your head and helping you out of the material. with the shirt thrown off somewhere on the floor, you’re left in his lap, bare, flushed, and breathless. his gaze drags across your body, hands sliding up your body, leaving a trail of blaze behind that burned your skin in the best way possible, cupping your breasts in his palms.

“fuck..” his thumbs brushed over your nipples, firm and aching, making you gasp as he softly pinched it. and then, without a word, he reached down, unzipping his slacks with one hand, the sound deafening in the quiet room. he pulled himself out, and your breath caught at the sight of him, hard and leaking, thick and flushed red at the tip. 

“look at what you do to me doll,” he muttered, one hand stroking himself slowly, as it stood proud against his lower abdomen, a bead of precum glistening at the head, and the other hand squeezing your thigh. “you see this? all for you, my love.”

you swallowed, heart pounding, and he lifted you with ease, guiding you to hover over him. one hand steady on your waist, the other gripping himself, he rubbed the tip against your soaked entrance, groaning ās your slick coated him.

“ride me doll,” he said, voice low and commanding. “i want to feel you.” 

you braced both your clammy hands on his shoulders, as you slowly sank down, inch by inch, the stretch stealing your breath. he filled you so deep, so full, you could barely breathe — his head falling back with a groan, fingers digging into your hips. you could feel his tip nudge our cervix as your walls clamped down on him.

“just like that,” he hissed, thrusting up slightly, making you cry out.

his hands slithered up your waist to your chest, cupping your tits, thumbs rolling over your nipples as you began to move — slow, grinding circles, taking him deeper each time as his tip kissed that one spot in you over and over. you moaned, your thighs shaking with every movement.

“you’re so perfect, my beautiful girl,” he moaned out, pulling you down onto him, his hands squeezing your tits roughly. “fuck, you feel so good. so tight. s’all mine.”

you gasped, clinging to him, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. your body trembled at the overwhelming fullness, eyes fluttering from the way from the way he filled every inch of you like he was made for it, like you were meant to be wrapped around him like this.

your thighs trembled as you tried to keep moving, hips rocking in slow, shaky circles, your hands now resting on his chest for balance. jay groaned beneath you, eyes locked on your face, drinking in every little expression you made — the way your lips parted, the little furrow in your brows, your breath hitching every time you lifted yourself, feeling him drag along your walls as you sank down on him fully.

“that’s it, baby,” he murmured, voice soft as his hands slid up your sides again, soothing and worshipping. “you’re doing so good for me. look at you.” he sat up slightly, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other wrapping around your waist, guiding your rhythm.

“so pretty like this,” he breathed, lips brushing over your jaw, your cheek, your temple. “my beautiful girl.”

his mouth wandered down your jaw, over your chest, lips closing around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth with a deep moan. his tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, teeth grazing gently, before he sucked harder, making you cry out as your movements on him faltered and you arched further into him.

your hands tangled in his hair, clinging to him, your body shuddering with each slow, deep thrust as he helped you ride him — letting you set the pace, but never letting go of his control. his other hand kneaded your other breast, fingers tweaking the hardened little bud, his mouth still latched on to the other.

you were panting now, overwhelmed, trembling in his lap, as he worshipped every part of you, showering them with his kisses, his touch, and his love, like he couldn’t get enough of giving you everything you wanted.

“jay, ‘s too much love..” you whimpered, voice barely coherent, hips stuttering.

“no, it’s not,” he whispered against your skin, voice soft and comforting, and muffled against your nipple. “you can take it, baby. you need this don’t you?”

you nodded desperately, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from how good it felt — from how much you needed this, just like he did.

“yeah, that’s it,” he cooed, releasing your nipple with a wet ‘pop’ sound, “let me take care of you, love. his hands moved to your hips again, holding you steady, guiding you up and down on him, helping you ride him just right. his cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the friction overwhelming.

“you’re squeezing me so tight,” he groaned, burying his face in your neck. “i could stay like this forever. just you on top of me, my pretty girl, taking all of me so well.” your body jolted with every deep thrust, your hands gripping him like a lifeline as whimpers spilled uncontrollably from your lips. “i’m close,” you gasped, voice cracking, body winding tighter with every drag of his cock inside you. “jay, i- i can’t-” “yes, you can,” he whispered softly, one hand sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow, tight circles, perfectly in rhythm with your movements. “come on, baby. come for me, let go.”

and with a cry, you shattered — body tensing, back arching, his name falling from your lips like a prayer as your release hits, wave after wave, crashing through you, overwhelming, blinding. jay groaned low, deep, as he felt you clench around him — hot and pulsing, and he lost it, thrusting up hard one last time, burying himself deep inside you as he came, holding you tight against him, every muscle tensed.

his voice broke into a soft, breathless moan, your name falling from his lips as he emptied his seed inside you, warmth flooding between your thighs as he held you still, grounding you both. you slumped against him, your head resting on his shoulder, as his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you close, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back.

“you okay?” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. you nodded, breath still shaky, your fingers curling in his hair, “yeah, ‘m okay. that was..”

“incredible,” he finished for you, smiling softly against your skin. “you’re always perfect for me.”

you stayed like that for a while, the room smelling of sex and sweat. his cock was still nestled inside you, softening slowly, but neither of you wanting to move. when your body finally started to relax, the after glow settling in, jay’s fingers tilted your chin upwards, his eyes glinting with something playful beneath the tenderness.

his voice was soft, but teasing, “you know, i think i have some stress to relieve.” you blinked, dazed. “what?” 

he glanced towards the desk, then back at you with a slow, wicked smile, “think i need a little help unwinding.”

you flushed instantly, mind catching up on the insinuation — but his arms were already tightening around you, lifting you up with ease, his length still inside you.

and with that, he set you down on the cool wood, spreading your legs slowly, purposefully, as he knelt before you for more.

“you ready, doll?”

taglist: @dollsette , @wonbyyou , @hoonlubbylubr , @karinasbaby , @intromortal

© onlyywwon 2025. all rights reserved.please do not copy, translate, or publish my works on any other sites.

[kentbot]

Been Like This

nightwing|dick grayson x fem!reader

𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 - 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺

wc: 3.7K

c/w: nsfw, 18+ minors DNI, yelling/toxic relationship dynamics, angst w happy ending, lowk pwp, jason todd gets cucked (sorry jason!)

a/n: Thank you so much for 50 followers!!! here's a celebration one shot for my favorite batfam member ;]

It’s cold and gloomy in Bludhaven when you arrive on the roof of Dick’s apartment, rain pouring down in sheets and casting the city in a shade so grey it rivaled typical Gotham skies. The rain cascades down in rivulets, drowning out sirens and making the city smell like metal and exhaust.

You think the weather matches your mood, arms crossed as you wait impatiently for the boy wonder to arrive.

Always like Dick to be late, after you’d both agreed on a time to meet. You think he’s doing it just to spite you - as if he hadn’t done that enough already.

You feel his eyes on you before you actually see him. You think he’d been watching from the shadows the whole time, making you wait because he’s a dick - no pun intended.

“You’re not fucking slick, Richard, get your ass out here.”

He waits a few beats, taking his sweet time before jumping off the awning he was hidden behind. He’s clad in his Nightwing suit, batons crossed behind his back, like he’d just come back from patrol.

“Hope I didn’t keep you long”. He’s smirking as he pushes the hair plastered on his forehead back with his hands, black curls wet and unruly. The characteristic whites of his mask are boring into you, his tense shoulders betraying the casual air of nonchalance he attempts to project.

You don’t smile back, crossing your arms as you size him up, him doing the same to you. He looks the same since you’d seen him last, still handsome and most definitely still an arrogant prick.

“You didn’t", you bite back, hoping he hears the venom in your reply. You’d been waiting for thirty minutes, but he didn’t need to know that.

He smiles like he knows you’re lying. You think he’s about to call you out on it, but you interrupt him before he can speak.

“Are we doing this or not?”, anger obvious and unbridled in your tone.

He shrugs like he doesn’t care and heads towards the entrance inside the building-his apartment building.

As you follow him down the stairs, you’re immediately pulled back to the last time you’d seen him, your last fight; his apartment upended, throats both raw from yelling at each other. You’d broken up a few times over the course of the relationship, tumultuous as it was, but you’d resolved to make this breakup the last.

You’d been trying to get the things you’d left at his apartment for weeks, setting up a time together, and then having him cancel last minute, each excuse more vague and unbelievable than the last.

When he’d cited “team-bonding” as the reason for his fourth cancelation, you had cursed him out. It was only after you’d threatened to break into his apartment and get your stuff yourself that he’d relented, finally agreeing to find time to meet you.

That’s how you find yourself with him on his doorstep at midnight, using the dark as cover to prevent any civilians spotting you both in your vigilante suits.

He pauses at his door, hesitating, hand hovering near the lock. “It’s a bit of a mess in there, it’s gonna take me some time to find your stuff.”

You bristle a bit, already irritated that this venture was going to take even more time than you’d wanted it to.

“You knew I was coming, why didn’t you just put my shit together beforehand?” You grit out, his back turned to you as he fishes out his keys.

“Too busy fighting crime, babe. The life of a vigilante”. He unlocks the door and steps inside, not waiting for you to follow him, knowing you always do did.

“I'm a vigilante too, asshole”, you say, stepping through the doorway into the familiar smell of his apartment, pinewood and allspice, with a hint of lavender underneath- still a bit you.

He ignores you as he moves further into his apartment, dropping his keys and mask on the table in the entryway.

You knew Dick was loaded, being on Bruce’s payroll, and later with what he was set to inherit from Alfred, but he still insisted on getting an apartment in the rundown part of town like he wasn’t a superhero nepobaby. You suspected he did this to pretend he was more like the people he saved, like cosplaying a poor person would absolve him of the fact that he’d attended private schools his entire life.

You ignore the feelings being in his space again brings up, opting to sit on a stool by the kitchen counter. Sitting on the couch would’ve felt too casual for the kind of visit this was. You needed to be detached, deliberate, distant.

“Get my shit Grayson”, you say, arms crossed against your chest as a defense against whatever is stirring in your heart.

He laughs like something about the situation is funny.

No hey, hi, hello?” he says, turning to face you. “It’s been months.”

You bring your hand up to your face and drag it down, feeling your irritation dissipate slightly in the warmth of his apartment.

“Dick, please. I don’t have the time or energy for this, just get my stuff so we don’t spend more time together than we have to.”

At your statement, you feel him tense, his mask of indifference falling when he addresses you again, “Six-year-long relationship, and that’s all you have to say to me?”

You don’t take the bait, leveling him with a hard stare. “We were on-and-off the entire time.”

He doesn’t flinch at your coldness, no reply on his lips. He leaves you in his living room then, heading into his room to gather your stuff before he says something he regrets.

You wait, frustration rolling off you in waves at the situation evident in your posture. He’s in there a while, almost having half a mind to follow him into his room and start grabbing your stuff yourself. As if on cue, he exits his room, hair dried and pulled back. He’s changed into a t-shirt and black sweatpants, a small box full of your stuff in hand.

So that was what was taking him so long. You bite your tongue to hold your retort back, not wanting to argue with him again.

He hands it to you and you place it on the counter, uncharacteristically quiet as he watches you rifle through it, checking to make sure everything was there, making sure you wouldn’t have to come back to this man’s apartment ever again.

“Where’s my knife?” You ask, hands continuing to search through the box.

He blinks, “What knife? You have, like, twenty”

He sounds tired and checked out, shoulders slumped in exhaustion. You almost felt bad, if not for the fact that he was the singular reason this was taking so long.

“The reinforced steel one. leather handle”, you don’t look at him as you speak, willing the knife to be in the box so you can be done with this whole ordeal.

He purses his lips as recognition crosses his face, knowing you’re not going to like what he says next. “Ah shit.”

You look up then, eyes narrowing as they meet his guilty ones. “What. What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t have it.”

“Where the fuck is it then?”

He pauses for a moment, watching you watch him, arms crossed again.

“At the Cave”

You groan loudly at his words, head tipping back in frustration.

“You can’t be serious. Why the hell is it at Mount Justice?”

He looks at you like you asked a stupid question. “It’s a weapon Vel. I wasn’t going to just leave it in my apartment for anyone to find.“

You feel your heart stutter at the use of your nickname, Vel, a shortened form of your longer vigilante name Velatrix. You don’t know what frustrates you more, the missing knife or the implication that he was having people over at his apartment frequently enough for it to be a concern.

So you latch onto what you can, lacing your tone with venom and spite to conceal your hurt.

“Don’t call me that”, you snap, the name ‘Vel’ sounding too much like a person who still trusted him.

“What the fuck else am I supposed to call you?” You feel more than see the mask of nonchalance slipping again, irritation evident in tone.

You scoff at his gall, biting back furiously. “You lost the right to call me that when you fucked your ex.”

Energized by your anger, he sheds the exhaustion previously written all over his form, his hands shooting up in ire. “You can’t be serious. We were on a break!”

You laugh bitterly, the same argument you’d had all those months ago replaying in your head like a tape.

Your rage fuels you as you reply. “So you figured the next best thing to do was to jump into bed with Barbara?”

He flinches, eyes wide for a split second before narrowing.

“I was drunk and you hadn’t spoken to me in two weeks! What the fuck was I supposed to do?”. He’s yelling now, too angry to keep his voice level. He was never good at hiding his emotions, not when it came to you.

“ANYTHING. ANYTHING BUT THAT!”, you yell back, eyes boring into his.

He scoffs and paces back into his living room, you already hot on his heels, like a self-fulfilling prophecy, turning back to you with a sneer on his face.

“Don’t act like you’re completely innocent in this situation either.”

“What the fuck are you talking ab-”

“I know you’re fucking Todd, don’t even try to lie to me.”

You freeze — just for a second. It’s quick, a flicker. But he sees it: the way your mouth parts, the way your eyes flash wide before they narrow again, fury rushing in to cover the guilt.

“We were broken up”, you say, voice tight, like you’re trying to push the guilt away.

It had happened that night. The night you’d stormed out of this very apartment, heart still bleeding from the fight that ended everything. Jason had just been... there. Rougher, quieter, easier in a way Dick never was. You’d told yourself it was just to prove a point, a final fuck you to the boy who’d irreparably broken your heart. But then it happened again. And again.

“He’s my fucking brother V”. His voice has quieted now too, hurt obvious and raw across his face.

“We. weren’t. together.” Each punctuated syllable like a punch to the gut.

Voice rising again, he shakes his head in disappointment.

“You could’ve picked literally anyone. Anyone. Why’d it have to be Jason?”

Your face twists, ugly and mean, and he knows you’re about to say something cruel.

“Would you rather it have been Wally?”

“Wow.” The smile on his face holds no humor. “Real mature V, real fucking mature.”

He continues before you can get a word in, scoffing. “You know I can own up to the fact that I fucked up when I slept with Barb, but at least it only happened once”

Your mouth drops open, shock and rage written across your face.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to take the moral high-ground in this situation”, you seethe, finger jabbing at his chest. “You don’t get to play the fucking victim here, Dick”

His hand comes up to grab your wrist, not rough, but firm, almost instinctual, something softening in him the second he makes contact with your skin.

He sighs as he looks at you, all the fight leaving his face on the next exhale.

You turn your face away to avoid the look on his, trying weakly to pull away from him.

“Fuck you Dick, let me go”, you say, exhausted, no fire in your voice anymore.

He’s silent as he has his free hand to turn your face towards him, thumb wiping away tears you didn’t know were falling.

“I hate you”, you whisper, but it sounds like a lie.

“No,” he says softly. “You don’t.”

And then he moves. One hand slipping from your wrist to the small of your back, pulling you toward him like gravity’s decided on your behalf.

He’s angling his head towards yours slowly, waiting for you to tell him to stop or push him away.

But you don’t, because you’re weak, and you missed him more than you would ever admit to yourself.

When his lips finally reach yours, he breaks, kissing you with the fervor of a man starved.

You kiss him back with the same intensity, fingers tangling in his now dry hair.

The warmth of his body is stark against the cool of your suit, still wet from the rain.

You shiver now, his warm hands traveling up your body with practiced precision, the action of a man who knows your body.

Dick moves first, maneuvering you both towards the couch without breaking the kiss; sitting and pulling you to straddle him.

No words are exchanged, just want and desperation, evident in the hardness of him against your thigh and the slickness between your thighs.

His hand moves from your hips to the hidden zipper at the back of your suit, kissing your neck as he frees more and more of your skin.

“Fuck, I missed you so much”, he mutters against your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise and sending a pang of heat right down to your core.

You don’t reply to him, but the moan you try to muffle with your hand is answer enough for him, mouth leaving your neck to get the suit fully off the top half of your body.

He’s on you again quickly, his hot mouth reattaching to your clothed nipple, tongue laving over the fabric.

You try to muffle your moan again, hand coming up again, but he’s quicker than you anticipate, grabbing your hands and keeping them in place before sucking again.

“Fuck”, it’s broken, low, and desperate, and you might have been embarrassed if he wasn’t making you so fucking horny.

“Grayson, touch me, please.” You try to move, but your hands are still pinned behind your back by his, mouth already working on the other nipple.

He releases you with a pop, blue eyes blown with lust, peering up to stare into yours.

“Ah ah ah, say my name princess.”

You try moving to spite him, attempting to get some friction against your clothed cunt, but he moves you again, leaving you wet and burning.

“Fuck you Richard”, you breathe, trying, but failing to break out of his hold.

He brings his face closer like he wants to kiss you, pulling away at the last second to make you follow him again.

“You will. If you say my name”

“Dick, please”, you say, voice hitching at the last word.

“That’s my girl”. He’s on you again quicker than your register. Kissing you again, with one hand on your breast, and the other slipping into the bottom half of your suit.

You gasp at the return of his touch, hips lifting to grant him easier access.

He groans into your mouth when he feels your wetness against his hand, bare against the tightness of the suit. “No panties?”

You ignore him initially, too focused on grinding against his palm while trailing your hands on his bare chest under his shirt.

“Shut up”, but your words are undercut by your kisses and your hands moving up to finally take off your bra.

Once your breasts are free, you realize you want him shirtless too.

“Wait”, you say, hands finding his hair to pull firmly, stopping Dick’s unhampered exploration.

You step backwards off his lap slowly, letting him watch you as you stand and finally shed your suit, now completely bare to him as you take your time resettling in his lap.

You help him shed his shirt next, your arms returning to his broad chest, full of scars and reminders of your dangerous line of work, subconsciously tracing the line and ridges you’d come to know so well.

His hands are back on you again once his shirt is off, one hand moving to the back of your neck to bear your throat to him, while the other finds your cunt again, thumb beginning to massage your swollen clit.

“Dick, please, I-”. You’re at a loss for words, feeling the pleasure jolt up your spine from how much you missed this, how much you missed him.

“What is it princess? tell me.” His other hand at one breast, kneading the soft flesh, while his mouth was on the other, sucking with intent to leave marks.

“I want-”, you swallow, shame in your mind clouded by the heat coiling in your gut, “I need you inside me”

He doesn’t hesitate—two fingers push inside you while your hips grind harder against his palm

You both moan at the intrusion, easy with how wet and ready you are, melting in his hand like putty.

“Fuck baby.” He’s thrusting his fingers up shallowly now, teasing you, as you ground yourself with your hands on his shoulders. “All this for me?”

You don’t respond, pulling his face up by his hair to trap him in a violent kiss.

Again, he reads you like a book, too emotionally raw to say what you mean, instead using your actions as a confession.

If that’s all you give him, he’ll take it gratefully, angling his fingers to thrust harder as he starts to hit the spot that will have you undone.

You whine into his mouth, taking your pleasure from him with your hand still wrapped in hair, and the other snaking down to his waistband, where you begin to palm him through his sweatpants.

You start to feel the orgasm build in your gut as he assaults your g-spot, thumb unrelenting on your clit. He’s whispering filth into your ear, making you wetter, needier, and more desperate. Years of practice made him skilled, working your body like it’s his own.

“Dick, I’m close”, you say, hips moving faster against his hand, “I’m so close.”

“Yeah?” He brings his face up to look at yours, eyes already screwed shut in pleasure from the pressure, already reaching your peak.

His thumb pinches your clit, mouth returning to your nipple to suck hard

“Come for me princess.”

And you do, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, knowing you’re already damned. He fucks you through it gently, waiting for you to come down from the high.

He pulls his fingers out of you, as you hiss at the emptiness. Popping the digits in his mouth, he sucks your arousal clean off him before drawing you in for a kiss. You taste your arousal on his tongue, sighing as he grinds your cunt against his clothed dick.

“V.” You wait a bit, feeling your pride chip away when he looks at you, icy blues wide and earnest, heart on his sleeve. “Can I fuck you, please?”

Your answer comes in the form of you pushing down his sweatpants to free his dick, not even bothering with fully taking it off.

Hands on your hips, he positions you to glide his length through your slick, moaning every time his tip catches on your entrance. “You’re perfect, V.”

His lips are on your neck again, adding to the superbloom of marks that he’d left there earlier with his teeth and tongue.

“I’m never letting you go again.” He says it sacred, vows whispered into your skin like a promise he intends to keep. It scares you more than you can admit.

You almost tell him that this won’t happen again, that this is the last time he’ll ever get to see and touch you in this way, feel you in this way, but your mind goes blank, mouth falling open as he finally, finally, sinks into you.

The feeling of fullness is heady and immediate. You feel him everywhere, burning up with the desperate need to be close to him.

“See, you were made for me.” He’s moving now, your hands digging into his shoulders as you fall into synchrony with his movements.

You can’t help but agree, especially when he was fucking you this good. He was your first in every way that mattered. Six years of history between you both, culminating on his dingy couch in his run-down apartment.

The only things that fill the space are the sounds of skin hitting skin, panted breaths and whispered admissions, reminiscent of so many nights you would spend in this very same place.

It’s hard to string together words or coherent sentences, subject to his touch and his alone. He changed his pace frequently, slowing down to tease you, speeding up just to watch your eyes roll in your head.

You don’t even bother hiding your moans now, too gone to even consider how you looked and sounded. He was getting you closer and closer to your peak, legs struggling to keep up.

He takes over for you, hand on your hips directing you to meet his perfectly timed thrusts, while the other is rubbing your clit in fast circles.

Pressing his lips to your temple, he whispers the softest “I love you,” stopping you from responding by capturing your lips with a brash kiss.

You come like that, hands gripping his shoulders so hard you thought you would break skin. You collapse on his chest, him desperate for his release as he keeps moving, fucking you through your orgasm, your core spasming tightly around him.

Dick’s orgasm hits him like a freight train, painting your walls white with ropes and ropes of his come. You still feel the aftershocks of your orgasm with every aftermovement, core heightened and overstimulated.

His lips find yours again, kissing you softly as you both come down, bodies sweaty and still connected.

“I love you too’”, the admission is quiet, between the two of you, but you know it’s honest. He’s looking in your eyes again, hands drawing shapes on your back, nervous tick he could never get rid of.

“Stay.” He takes a few beats, letting the word sit, breaths still coming hard. “Please”

You forgo answering for the last time, instead reaching up with your hand to hold his jaw instead.

And when you press a soft kiss to his lips, he knows your answer is yes.

a/n: find me on a03 at the same user, all likes, comments, and reblogs appreciatedddd

[aangtheairbender]

I don't know how to feel about the new avatar series.

I know there is a lot of people that just dislike it because it's not ATLA. It's not that. It would have maybe been more exciting to see the seven heavens if it felt like they were really done with LOK.

There's a lot more I want to see out of LOK, like the krew as young adults- saving the world and withholding piece in the world together.

Like, do Korra and Asami move in with each other???

Does Opal and Bolin marry and start to build their own family.

Does Mako find a wife and get kids??

Pabu and Naga??

The air bending family, more masters?? The air bending kids???

Do the infrastructure improve when the third portal was opened? How did that impact the rest of the world, not just Republic City. What with the former earth kingdom??

I think I'm going to watch it. But it just feel so sudden that the krew is gone. Like are they all dead since Korra needed to make the Seven Heavens to save the world? Did they escape and will they make an appearance in the new series? Will we meet some of their kids?? I think the Beifong will kind of make an appearances in some way and of course the Sato name is going to be dropped somewhere along the seasons.

I think if the krew doesn't make an appearance if the new series; it will be kind of good. LOK focused more than it should on the old gang, and with the seasons being half- it just took away a lot of time that could be used for the main cast.

I also think it's better that they have already planned two half seasons, because that was also a fault of LOK. Only the first season was planned, which is why they always move into a new arc and the characters are all over the place the next seasons. So having it planned will be good!

I know it will be a lot of back story for the new avatar. Where is her twin, how did she loose her leg?? How will they solve the main problem in this new world.

I kind of like that she is very young. I hope they keep her childlike in nature. Like she has the whole world on her shoulders; but that we can see that she is a kid and not some grown up in a small body. I also hope they don't focus on a love story (between any characters to be honest). Because LOK did not handle that well. And like the characters, it was all over the place and so unnecessary to take away from the main plot. I like how the love stories was done in ATLA. It made the characters seem like stupid teenagers while still guiding through and ending a war.

Anyway, that is my thought on it. I'm curious of it and want to watch it. Still wished they could have used a little more time on LOK comics to discover more of the characters.

"hello avatar" - korra and pavi

[ddejavvu]

pairing: azriel x reader

summary: azriel's shadows like startling you.

w/c: 2.2k / navigation / inbox / summer of series

a/n: record breaking 3 days after reading acomaf i was plagued with visions and binge-wrote this. more is on the way.

To anyone outside the city of Velaris, being a servant to the High Lord of the Court of Nightmares would be seen as a fate worse than death. To wait on him hand and foot, to see those violet eyes narrow lethally towards you at the slightest misstep- or worse, for them to not ever meet your figure; to be ignored, overlooked, treated as lower than low... most would choose to end their lives before stepping through the city gates. But of course, that's because no one outside of the city of Velaris knows it exists. In reality, staffing the House of Wind is much more pleasant than most would believe- Rhysand has people closer to him than you, of course, but you're not sneered at. He's kind to you; cordial, not overly friendly, but any dishes he dirties are handed your way with a 'thank you', and his Inner Circle are no different. Well- Amren doesn't thank you, because she doesn't dirty dishes. But she doesn't hurt you either, and considering her reputation, that's meant to mean she likes you well enough.

Tonight's dishes are caked in a thick crust of red sauce that tries with all of its might to stain the pristine dining ware. But this isn't your first time washing dishes; you'll get the stains off if you have to scrub for hours.

An icy twinge brushes against your leg, a muscle twitching and tricking your senses or the tickle of some imagined feather at your ankle. You ignore it, pumping more soap onto your sponge and attacking once more at the stubbornly-stained dishes.

The chill reappears, and you barely suppress the urge to reach your opposite foot up to scratch at its itch. Once it starts trailing up your leg, however, ghastly and mobile, you startle, nearly shattering the plate in your hands when you drop it into the sink. You frantically search your leg, finding nothing there though the echo of that touch remains. You feel it next against your back, but before you can make a fool of yourself, twirling this way and that trying to see it, it pops onto your shoulder- a shadow.

It's strange- it's something you can see, but it's something you can see through. It's swirling, black, formless and lighter in some places than in others. It almost whispers, but now that you've seen it it's the least of your concerns- there can be no wayward shadows without a shadowsinger to command them.

Azriel stands in the doorway, almost completely ensconced in shadows himself. He can stuff them away god knows where sometimes, but now they're billowing relentlessly around him, a cloak, a tapestry, a shroud.

He sinks into them so often that sometimes you forget he's not one of the staff. But no- with his relentlessly toned muscles and those Illyrian good looks, there's no mistaking him in the light.

He steps into it now, the barest of smiles gracing his face as one of his shadows continues to dance across your shoulders. When it brushes your ears they lose function, and sound pulses on and off until he calls the shadow back with a casual flick of his scarred finger.

"Rhysand wants to know if you're doing laundry tonight."

His voice is low and quiet to boot, meaning you scramble to shut the water off before it drowns him out completely. You dry your sopping hands on the towel draped over the counter, feeling meek in his presence. He's not aggressive, he's not loud- he's not Cassian. But he's terrifyingly quiet. He's the kind of quiet that makes you search desperately for something to say, even if silence is best.

"I'll do the laundry whenever he needs it done." You hum, your own voice meekly the same volume as his. You wonder why you're both nearly whispering, but you can't imagine speaking louder than him and shattering the atmosphere, "That's what I'm here for. What does he need done?"

"Sheets." He murmurs, "He wants to replace the sheets."

Rhysand cycles the linens when his Inner Circle stay the night. There are stretches where they stay every night for months, and times where they spend two nights a week. This week is one of the latter: they're all busy, and you haven't kept up with their laundry. Despite the sheets barely having been slept in since your last wash, you ignore the waste of detergent and add a resetting of the beds to your nightly to-do list.

"I'll have them fresh within the hour." You promise, "Is everyone staying?"

"I'm not." Azriel shakes his head almost imperceptibly, "Everyone else is."

You allow yourself a rather unprofessional thought: you wish you knew what was keeping Azriel occupied. He's the court's spymaster, so you doubt even the other members of the Inner Circle know what he's doing until they need to. Azriel doesn't often have personal business to attend to- any outings are for the Court, and it piques your interest every time. But it's not your business to wonder; you nod and promise it'll be done.

"Thank you." He disappears from the doorway, the clicking of his shoes against the floor the only evidence he hadn't sunk directly into the shadows trailing him.

You finish off the dishes with a lot of elbow grease and several conspiratorial glances towards the doorway, on the lookout for any other meddling shadows. But none appear, and the dishes all remain intact as you dry and replace them in their cabinets.

Stripping the beds down is the easy part- what gets difficult is remaking them. Stretching a fitted sheet across any bed is difficult, but a bed that's sized to accommodate large, leathery wings is no joke. You dread wrestling three sheets later, then decide that it's about time to wash Rhysand's linens as well, and begrudgingly add another to your list. The room that Azriel claims can be ignored, but-

There's something about walking away from the barely-cracked doorway that you can't do. It feels wrong, and you cringe as you envision Rhysand popping into the room one day and realizing you've been too lazy to touch it.

The bed is gathering dust. Perhaps you're not the greatest servant- a better one might have come in here every now and again to banish the stuff off of the surfaces. You decide you'd deserve to be fired if you ignored it, and bundle up his bedding as well. Tonight, you'll suffer five times over.

The washing cycles aren't long, nowhere near long enough to outlast Rhysand's Inner Circle and their drinking habits. You hear rowdiness from time to time but you mostly work in silence, swearing beneath your breath each time a corner of the fitted sheets snaps off of its place.

You feel like you're chasing it around Rhysand's mattress. You've done the guests' beds first, out of courtesy, and Rhysand's is the biggest due to his status. If you'd thought the others were tedious... you wish you had your own wings to pin each side in place.

Finally you manage to secure it, though you're worried it might give way and cocoon the High Lord the second he puts any weight on it. You cover it with sheets and a duvet, praying you won't be hearing a commotion from his chambers later.

The only sheets left in your basket are Azriel's, because even though he's a guest, he's one you don't have to worry about inconveniencing. You hadn't wanted to interrupt Mor or Cassian when they finally decide to retire for the night, but you're not worried for a second about Azriel coming in while you're bent halfway over the bed, butt in the air and rage in your blood.

Perhaps you should have been, though, because just after you muffle a scream into the sheets you feel something cold lick up the back of your calf.

Your next shout isn't muffled at all. It actually echoes around the cavernous chamber, but it doesn't startle the man in the doorway. He's got to stop doing that, letting the shadows envelop him from behind and make it seem like the room has no escape. The one that had been phasing into your leg skitters back towards him, gracefully quick and smooth.

"I told you I wasn't staying." Azriel reminds you, "You didn't need to do my sheets."

"They were dirty," You perform a sort of half-bow towards him, trying to puzzle out whether you're more embarrassed he'd seen your lower half on display, or heard what you'd shouted into his fitted sheet. If he won't mention either, you'll pretend it didn't happen. "I wanted to refresh them anyways." You consider his place, deep in the winding halls of the house, far from the communal space he'd been lounging in before, "Did you- want to stay?"

"I wasn't planning on it." He shakes his head again, the barest of movements, "I was just dumping Cassian in his bed- he found himself incapable of walking straight."

Azriel doesn't grin, but he flashes his teeth in an amused way before his face falls neutral again, "But you've gone through the trouble of washing my sheets, and you're clearly losing against them. May I help you?"

It's a strange question to answer. Practically, no. Because you work for Rhysand as part of his staff, and the guests of his court shouldn't be made to pitch in. They live lives of luxury, of status, and they're not meant to wrestle fitted sheets. But Rhysand has never been too stuck-up about pitching in. You'd found him waxing the floor once, in the dead of night, and it had nearly tipped you over in shock. You think he gets bored, but you won't tell anyone that. Let them think he's living the most enthralling life possible, if they want. Or that he's a creature of nightmares, made of the stuff that makes grown men cower in fear. Both are wrong; he's a midnight floor-waxer.

"You don't have to," You decide on, speaking carefully, "I'm just having a bit of trouble with the sheet."

"I heard what you called it." Azriel advances, and you fight the urge to skitter out of his way as he beelines for the opposite corner of the bed, "That's the kind of thing you say to someone in a bar when you want to start a fight."

"I heard it from Rhysand," You quip without thinking, and your cheeks blaze with embarrassment when he laughs. It's deep but not booming, something private and pitched low for only your ears to pick up. A hidden frequency, something you share with him in the shadows.

They slide across the sheets as his scarred hands grasp one end and pull it towards the corner of the mattress.

"He's foul-mouthed and foul-minded." Azriel remarks, "Get that corner."

You tuck your bit of the sheet beneath the mattress and move to the left as Azriel does the same.

"There," He hums when it's finished, "Can I help you with the rest?"

You work on edge while he helps you. He's kind, you've known that for a long time, but it feels distinctly wrong to help him fluff out his own bedsheets. When the bed is done you turn to gather your basket and flee, but there's a pair of shoes in the doorway that, for once, aren't shrouded in shadows.

What they're attached to is worse, perhaps, than a shadowsinger, because it's your boss.

Rhysand's mouth quirks into a smirk as one of his brows raises, but he keeps his badgering directed over your shoulder.

"Az, I take it you are staying the night?"

"I will." Azriel agrees, nodding once, "I don't want to waste Y/N's hard work."

"Nothing like a little company to tempt a night in," Rhysand winks at you, such a crass gesture that you audibly inhale, nearly choking on your own breath.

"Foul-mouthed and foul-minded." Azriel reminds you, his hand landing softly on your shoulder as shadows creep down your spine the way they line his, "Whatever he's paying you, it should be more. Thank you," He tugs against your shoulder briefly, turning you to face him though you dodge his eyes on instinct. When you gather the courage they're staring straight into yours, deep and alight with sincerity, "I appreciate your work. Enjoy your night."

He lets your shoulder go with nothing but a lingering squeeze, but he may as well have pushed you out for the way you hurtle towards the door. Rhysand is kind enough to let you slip away without further comments, but you can't escape the fallout as you rush down the hall and catch the tail end of the echo of his deep voice.

"-maid, hm?"

You stop short, clutching your basket to your chest and praying you won't be dismissed right then and there. But perhaps this is torture, perhaps this is the Court of Nightmares. Rhysand continues, his voice gleeful and catty, "Wouldn't have taken you for a dog like that, Az. What, was she stuck in the dryer?"

"You're crass." Azriel's response is calm, level, and low, but it only makes you flush harder, "Bent over the bed, actually. But you're crass. I helped her with the sheets, nothing more."

"You're supposed to mess up a bed with a woman," Rhysand presses, relentless as you decide running is your best option, and your feet pound against the stone as you flee for sanctuary, "Hurry, send your little shadows to fetch her back so you can ruin the sheets she just washed!"

[lilieilish]

{☆} ─ billie bossa nova. . .billie eilish

sypnosis: billie invites you over for a "surprise"...only to find out she's recording a video of you guys having sex.

warning: SMUTTTT, fingering, titty sucking, a bit of arguing (with the readers bf), semi-public sex (the window is gigantic and doesn't have any shades), oral (reader receiving, i would've said fem receiving but theyre both females so i didn't want to confuse yall ur welcome 💞), usage of "slut" and "cheating whore", aftercare at the end, dom!billie, sub!reader, etc

HAPPIER THAN EVER- WRITING MARATHON

you were just watching a reality dating show with your boyfriend when your phone rang. "hey, babe, i'm gonna take this. i'll be back," you said and he nodded, not even looking at you as you left the room. you didn't even need to look at the contact name and picked up, hearing billies excited tone through the speakers.

"hey, girl! how are you?" she asked you, making you chuckle tiredly. you yawned before answering, "not great. i just got done with this huge modeling job in los angeles, so i didn't much sleep last night," you said in a raspy voice, yawning once more before readjusting your hair clip.

"damn, should you get some rest? you sound like a dying witch," she jokingly said. you chuckled and mumbled, "shut up," before she continued.

"anyways...wanna come over to my place? i got a surprise for you," she said. her voice seemed more sultry and had...a hint of seductiveness? you couldn't tell.

"whyyy?" you said in an exaggerated tone before she said, "you'll see," and hung up. you sighed and threw on a sweater and a denim skirt before grabbing your phone and purse and before you walk to the door, your boyfriend asks, "where do you think you're going?" while leaning on the wall.

"i'm going over to a friends place," you replied, your shoulders slowly tensing up. "really? or is it a guy?"

you rolled your eyes and said defensively, "c'mon, baby, don't be like that. i would never cheat on you..! you know that,"

he grabs your wrists and says, "you're not going anywhere. you're staying right here with me,"

you broke free from his grasp and you said, "first of all, i am not a puppet you can control. i have a right to go out when i want to and you are in no position to keep me here. you are not my parents. i'm going out and you're not gonna stop me,"

"oh, really? you think you're all high and mighty now, huh?" he says, putting his hands on his hips.

"i don't think i'm anything ashen. i'm just defending myself. is that a crime?" you sighed and folded your arms.

"y'know what? i can't take your bitchiness right now. i'm going to the club with my friends, don't wait up for me, alright?" before you could respond, he pushed you aside and walked out, slamming the door in your face. that was it. that was your breaking point. you slumped down to the floor, back against the wall, and started crying. your life wasn't supposed to be like this. abusive parents, abusive boyfriend, and now you're crying in your apartment because of a stupid argument. maybe in the next life, your life wouldn't be this shitty. you doubted it. you had a crying session for 15 minutes before you got up and redid your makeup, putting on your best poker face and left to go to billies place.

her place wasn't that far from yours and it only took 10 minutes before you got there, only to be greeted with a note on the door that said, "it's open ;)". confused, you opened it to see a trail of rose petals leading to billies room. "okay, this is insane. billie! billieee! where are you?" you called out, but got no response. you were kinda scared now, because she mostly always was in the house or in her studio working on something. you finally got to her bedroom and there was a cirle of rose petals on the center of the bed before you saw a note that said "turn around ;)" and you said, "okay, billie this is crazy-" and saw her sitting there with a smug smile on her face and she stood up and pushed you on the bed, kissing you roughly. hungrily. like she wanted this for years. you pushed her off and said, "billie! i have a boyfriend! why are you kissing me?"

she chuckled and said, "oh please. don't act like you haven't wanted this for years. i've seen the way you look at me, like you want me but are too scared to say it yet," you looked at her and said, "you're craz-" before she kissed you again, this time it was bruising and heated. you then noticed the ring light and the tripod and the camera and immediately put two and two together. she was recording this.

"are you seriously recording this, billie?! what the fuck?!" you yelled. she shushed you and said, "c'mon. i'm not gonna show anyone. it's for my eyes and my eyes only," she promised. "you sure?" you asked, clearly skeptical. she nodded and you slightly calmed down afterwards, before she kissed you hungrily again. she ripped of your sweater and shirt before throwing them aside and she said, "no bra? you're such a slut," and she wrapped her lips around one of your nipples, making you yelp. she kissed her way down to your thighs and gripped your hips with a bruising force. she ripped off your thong and threw it aside, running a finger up and down your wet slit. "such a pretty little cunt...and all wet f'me."

you glared at her, but couldn't respond because of the thong in your mouth. "does your boyfriend know you're a cheating whore, hm?" and she gave you that smirk that made you blush. she stuck a finger inside of you and you couldn't control the moan that escapes your lips, and she smirks. she wraps her lips around the sensitive bud and you let out a yelp.

"please, bils..." you whimpered, grinding your hips against her as her tongue flicks up and down on your clit. "such a desperate little slut, aren't you?"

you glared at her and she smirked before inserting a second finger into your wet heat. you jolted and moaned so loud you're sure the entire neighborhood could hear it.

"so wet and perfect f'me, baby.."

"it feels so good, bils. faster, please," you desperately said, as you grinded against her fingers. she stops and goes slower, she's obviously torturing you.

"you take my fingers so well..what a slut," she said, obliging your wishes and going faster. she could feel you clenching around her fingers and she went harder and harder.

"i'm gonna cum, bils..!" you whined, gripping her hair really tight. "go on, cum f'me, you cheating whore," she said, increasing her pace.

those words were enough to send you over the edge and you screamed out her name loud enough for the neighbors to hear it. she pulled her fingers out and brought them to your mouth to suck them. "suck," she ordered. you sucked your own release on billies fingers and she pulled them away. she went over to the phone and turned it off. you went over to your clothes and put them back on. she grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around you, climbing onto the bed and cuddling with you. you felt safe..like there was a barrier that could protect you and her. like, you found home...

𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑 💌: hey chat, sorry if yall don't lkke this one, i feel like the smut part was kinda weird, maybe because i had never written smut before lmao. and sorry if it feels rushed 😭🥹

[7-wonders]

Can you imagine if something happened to his girl instead of the sister being in a car wreck.

If it was his girl and daughter who were hurt in a car wreck by a drunker idiot you just know Morpheus would be sending that drunk terrifying nightmares. Constantly.

We need protective worried loving badarse dad Morpheus. Maybe the order who had him for all those years came back and now they have taken his beloved and Caroline.

We need to see Caroline call him daddy again cause that part in your fic was so cute. Just the daddy! With the foot stomp and the banana and the manners and then Dream picking her up to cuddle her. Just so cute!!!!

Please I beg. More of this family.

omg omg omg you're so right.

(We deserve something sweet after the series finale so enjoy!)

not-the-step-dad-but-the-dad-who-stepped-up!Morpheus works here

•••

There are a few different ways you saw your evening going. Perhaps you would decide that grocery shopping wasn't worth all of the hassle and instead order takeout, or maybe you would end up loading Caroline in a cart and letting her toss items into the basket behind her. You could watch a movie tonight, or you might go on a long walk to the park.

Of all the potentials you envisioned for your night, none of them involved sitting in an ER bay with a multitude of injuries, your five-year-old perched on your lap and watching curiously as a doctor stitches up the cut on your arm.

"How does the skin know to put itself back together?" Caroline asks—her sixth or seventh question since the lidocaine was injected around the site on the wound. You're thankful that the doctor's a very patient woman, and that it's you with the injuries and not your daughter.

"You are just full of good questions!" the doctor commends, glancing up at you quickly with a smile. "Our skin is actually our largest organ, and when it gets hurt..."

A nurse coming into the room distracts you from the mini science lesson. "Okay, I've got your discharge paperwork started, so once doc's done stitching you up and gives you the final 'all-clear,' we can hopefully get you out of here within the hour."

"Awesome, thank you so much." You truly mean that, and will happily thank everybody who's helped you tonight a million times over.

She nods and makes to turn before aborting that movement. "Oh, I forgot! Your husband just got here, they should be showing him back any minute."

Your brow furrows, and you wonder if maybe you did hit your head. "My husband?"

Right as you're about to ask if they've got the wrong room, the door opens once more to reveal Morpheus, looking simultaneously beyond pissed and scared out of his mind. Right behind him is The Corinthian (2.0, you like referring to him as), his hands on the Dreamlord's shoulders to both guide him and, likely, to ensure that he remembers to stay human.

"Hi," is all that you can think to say, brain still trying to figure out the 'how' and 'when' of it all. From your lap, Caroline gasps.

"Daddy!" she greets excitedly, crawling over you so that she can reach Morpheus, who happily picks her up and holds her.

(The name is still fairly new; Caroline first felt brave enough to call him that about a month ago, and Morpheus was thrilled enough to continue letting her bestow the moniker upon him when she wishes)

You can see the relief on his face as he tightens his grip around her, the way that his shoulders relax as he takes in the both of you, in front of him and alive.

"Okay, that should do it," the doctor says, tossing out the used medical materials. "I'll go check on the status of your discharge, and then we'll be able to get you on your way."

"Thank you," falls from your lips as a reflex you're not entirely aware of while you continue to stare bewildered at Morpheus.

"Bye, Dr. Smith!" Caroline says, waving goodbye.

The door barely closes behind the doctor before you're speaking. "I have so many questions," you start, "but I guess my first one is...why is the Corinthian here?"

The nightmare grins, and you have a sneaking suspicion that his ocular mouths are doing the same. "I'm familiar with how to navigate hospitals," Corinthian explains. "Not going to lie, didn't envision my second chance involving getting my Lord through hospital security without causing an interrealm incident."

You can't fight the smile at the image of Corinthian holding Morpheus by the back of his coat to keep him from ripping a black hole into the waiting room as he charms the hospital staff into telling them your location.

"You are free to leave, Corinthian," Morpheus says without looking away from Caroline.

Corinthian makes it one step.

"Back to the Dreaming."

If he had eyes, Corinthian would be rolling them right now. "You forget, my Lord, that you recreated me without the desire to disobey your orders. But yes, back to the Dreaming for me." He looks your way. "Get to feelin' better."

Then he's gone as well, leaving you with your two favorite people. Morpheus tentatively sits next to you on the bed, bright eyes laser-focused on your bandaged arm.

"What happened?" he asks.

"We were hit by a drunk driver. I have some bumps and bruises and shallow cuts, as well as a cut on my arm from the glass shattering that needed stitches. Caroline is completely okay, just got quite the scare."

Rage builds on his face like thunderclouds. "Somebody's carelessness did this to you?"

"Yes, but it's alright. We're both okay, and the driver's currently in jail," you assure. "It's the best possible outcome, considering the circumstances."

You know that he doesn't agree with that statement in the slightest, and move to your next question in the hopes that it distracts him.

"How did you know something happened to us?"

"Caroline summoned me with her distress," he explains, suddenly a bit sheepish. "I arrived, only to see your car mangled and an ambulance pulling away."

The shock of the accident makes your memory of it already a little fuzzy, but you remember Caroline yelling and crying as paramedics worked to get you out of the car and look you over, the blood from your (mostly) surface-level cuts making your condition look a lot worse than it actually was. At the time, you thought that she was screaming for you. Now...

"Daddy said if I was ever in trouble and needed him, to just think about him and call for him and he'd come," Caroline recites before grinning. "And I did! I thinked really hard and now he's here!"

Morpheus watches you hesitantly, as though he thinks you might be mad that he's given your daughter another resource if she ever finds herself needing help.

"That was very smart of you, and I'm proud of you for remembering that," you say to Caroline. Then, you turn your eyes to Morpheus. "That must have been really scary, to see all of that and only be able to imagine the worst."

(Morpheus loses himself for a moment as he struggles with what to say. Does he tell you of the way that his unnecessary heart plummeted when he heard Caroline's shrieks? Does he pain you both by revealing the abject terror that gripped him when he saw the accident in the Waking and feared that he might have lost his family just when he had gotten them?)

When he remains silent, you lay your head on his shoulder and wait for it to ground him. Finally, he settles on a simple, "Yes. It was."

Oceans, you know, are hidden within this brevity.

Morpheus remains next to you as you get changed into the street clothes the hospital provided you with (your bloodied ones sit in a gift shop bag at your feet), and refuses to let go of either you or Caroline thereafter. Even as you go through and sign your discharge paperwork, it's all done with one hand.

"We're okay," you remind him again, gently, as you finally start to leave the emergency room.

"I know that," he assures you. "And yet...I find that I do not want to let you out of my sight."

"I'm more than alright with that." You smile, knowing there's only one question left on your mind. "Your place or mine?"

(The drunk driver, a man in his thirties named Anthony Thompkins, wakes up from a dead, drunk sleep, screaming for his life in his jail cell. When the night officer checks on him, he finds the man rocking back and forth on the metal cot and speaking of an unfathomable cosmos with stars for eyes that fed him to a rip in space and time with infinite mouths, laughing awfully as it did so.)