#data glove

[posthumanwanderings]

[moritashie]

I HAVE A FIC IDEA vol#9

• Peter Parker has never been to a doctor, never had his DNA analysed, fingerprints scanned or blood taken. His medical/biological footprint is nonexistent.

• Spider-Man however, has given everyone plenty of occasions to get his DNA. SHIELD, the government and even Avengers know plenty about the organism of a young hero. And yet no one can pinpoint who said young hero is.

• All the more reason why Peter can never leave New York or go to the doctor. Now all he has left to do is explain that to his Aunt without letting on his secret identity.

Bonus; Include the kidnapped bio-dad trope. Imagine if Tony knew his kid was Spider-Man and could not get a hold of him for weeks/months.

[ednaeflowers]

omg i am translating stuff from the zesty JP script, and edna's default outfit is literally named "a girl who loves her brother" in the og japanese text 😭😭

i want to make it into a headcanon that she wanted to wear flower motifs into her attire to represent how she loved collecting flowers when e.izen took her outside to play when she was a kid 🤔 the other reason, i want to think, is maybe that flowers are elegant and ladylike, therefore tying quite nicely into her desire to be visually presented like a lady. i enjoy playing with the idea that she wanted to be like a lady in the first place because ladies are graceful and composed, something that she wanted to invoke in order to steel her own heart from being too vulnerable or open after e.izen left home. it was her own way of being emotionally stronger.

[yourlocalmushroom]

All Seeing

DpxDc

Bruce Wayne had been many things in his life: billionaire, businessman, vigilante, father. But a long-lost uncle? That was a new one.

The SOS from a small town in Illinois had sent him racing against time, but he had been too late. An accident had taken the lives of an unknown distant cousin and their entire family—except for one. The sole survivor was a boy named Danny, left blind from the incident. When Bruce had arrived, he saw no other option but to take him in, to give him the support he needed.

Months passed, and Danny quickly found a place within the Wayne family. He was kind, gentle, and an overall bright presence in the manor. But grief had its way of clinging to people, and Danny was no exception. He had his sad days, times when he retreated into himself and let silence be his shield. Even so, the Batfamily took to him, each in their own way.

There was just one thing about him that none of them could ignore: he gives out cryptic warnings.

It had started small. He would mention the weather, and it would turn exactly as he said. He would casually hand someone an item—a band aid, an extra set of gloves, a lucky charm—and say, "Be careful." And without fail, later that day, they would end up needing it. It might have been coincidences at first, but the pattern grew undeniable.

Danny could see the future. Or, at least, something close to it.

The family, skeptics that they were, had tried to prove otherwise. They set up small tests, all of which Danny passed without even realizing he was being tested. Eventually, they stopped trying to disprove it and started trying to understand it instead. Bruce, being Bruce, documented everything. Tim, ever the investigator, compiled data. Damian remained skeptical but watched his cousin with a hawk’s eye.

Then Danny was kidnapped.

It had been a random act—a desperate group of criminals seeking to ransom Bruce Wayne’s newest ward. They had no idea what they had walked into. The moment Danny went missing, the Batfamily mobilized. It was Red Robin who found him first.

Tim had worked swiftly, dismantling the criminals with precision, tying them up before they even had a chance to process what was happening. He had moved quietly, intent on assessing Danny’s condition before alerting the others. But before he could even speak, Danny, bound and blindfolded, tilted his head slightly and murmured, "...Tim?"

Tim froze.

It wasn’t a confident statement; it was uncertain, questioning. But Danny, who should have had no way of knowing, knows.

[flwrkid14]

The Case of the Phantom Lipstick

Tim Drake is many things: a genius, a detective, a vigilante, a caffeine-dependent insomniac with abandonment issues and seventeen backup plans for every imaginable outcome.

What he is not, however, is delusional.

Which is why when he finds a kiss mark—an actual lipstick kiss mark—pressed to the inside of his favorite hoodie, he does not panic. He calmly, rationally, pulls the hoodie off, examines the fabric, and blames Steph. Probably Steph.

Except… it’s neon green. Not Steph’s color. Not Cass’s style either. Babs doesn’t do lipstick. Kon doesn’t own lipstick. And the only people who’ve been in his apartment recently are Bruce (definitely not), Damian (God, no), and Alfred (crime).

He throws the hoodie in the wash. Industrial cycle. Hot water. It should come out.

It doesn’t.

It doesn’t even fade.

It glows slightly under UV.

Okay. Fine. One hoodie. Maybe it’s old. Maybe he forgot something. Maybe he bought it that way.

But it happens again.

And again.

And again.

Old hoodies. New hoodies. Hoodies buried at the back of his closet that he hasn’t worn since he was sixteen. A hoodie still in the packaging, tags attached—he opens the bag and there’s a green kiss mark on the inside sleeve, like it’s been waiting for him.

They’re always placed differently. Sometimes hidden in the seam of a cuff. Sometimes pressed on the back hem. One tucked into the folds of a sleeve. One directly on the chest, over his heart.

He checks for tracking devices. Hidden ink. Sensors. Spoilers. Anything.

Nothing.

And it doesn’t stop with the hoodies.

One day, after a long patrol, he peels off his Red Robin gear and catches a glimpse of green near the collar of his suit. He freezes.

Another kiss mark. Same color. Right on the inside lining.

There’s one on his glove. One hidden under the fold of his utility belt pouch. One on the lining of his cape.

What’s worse? The Batcave scanners pick them up. There’s residual ectoplasm. Babs runs the data three times before looking at him like he’s either cursed or dating something from the beyond.

(He’s not. He’s pretty sure.)

Every attempt to investigate it fails. The cameras glitch. Video footage loops or scrambles. Laser grids are bypassed by something moving through walls. Magical wards short-circuit. Even Constantine shrugs when Tim reaches out.

“Strong liminal energy,” Constantine says, puffing a cigarette. “Someone’s got their spectral claws in you. Not a curse though. Feels like... courtship.”

“Courtship,” Tim repeats.

“Yeah. Spectral wooing. Ghost smooches. Congrats on your engagement, mate.”

Tim hangs up.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

Meanwhile, Gotham is experiencing what can only be described as “mild haunting.” But by Gotham standards, it’s barely a blip.

There are no mass possessions. No destructive battles. Just… ghosts. Hovering. Watching. Whispering things when Tim walks by. They show up at patrol spots. Float past his apartment. Some even drop cryptic notes: “May your union be fruitful,” and “Blessings upon the Chosen.” Occasionally they throw gifts at him. One leaves him a glowing thermos full of ghost flowers. Another—a floating knight in spectral armor—bows low while handing over a box of what Tim can only imagine is their version of chocolate, before vanishing with the words “For the chosen consort.”

Tim’s furious.

He’s not dating a ghost. He doesn’t know any ghosts. He doesn’t want to be courted by one.

...Probably.

Except.

Except sometimes, when he’s alone, he swears he feels someone there. Not threatening. Just present. A warmth in the air. A flicker in the corner of his eye. A soft sigh on the back of his neck. A whisper:

“Mine.”

And Danny Phantom—Protector of the Ghost Zone, King of the Infinite Realms, 100% a disaster bisexual—floats outside his window every other night with his face pressed against the glass like a cat trying to figure out if the human inside likes him.

Because Danny’s not trying to scare him! He’s just following tradition!

See, ghosts mark their chosen with energy. They ward off rivals. They court with gifts and blessings and acts of devotion. And yeah, maybe leaving lipstick marks on someone's battle gear is a little extreme, but Danny’s working with ghost etiquette, okay? And from where he's standing, no one's stopped him.

(Though Jason did try to stab him once. Danny considered it a bonding experience.)

Now Danny just needs Tim to say yes so the full wedding rite can be completed. The lipstick marks? Those are just... engagement placeholders.

The problem? Tim doesn’t know he’s essentially dating a ghost.

The bigger problem? Gotham’s ghosts do.

And they’re ready to throw hands with anyone who thinks they’re a better match for Tim Drake than the literal Ghost King himself.

Tim? He just wants one hoodie without magic lipstick on it. He’s not even asking for peace anymore. He just wants answers.

He’s so tired.

[zephyrchama]

Lucifer looked overly pleased. He turned the present in his hand over for the fifth time with an incredibly smug, self-assured smirk on his face.

"This is for me, is it?" It was neither his birthday nor a holiday. He had been quite surprised when you burst into his office and laid the decorative bundle on his desk. It was taped poorly and the wrapping paper was a recycled brown paper bag, yet the simple fact that you were thinking about him made his pride swell to dangerous levels.

"Yes," you told him. "Please make good use of it. Please."

With an arrogant little "heh," he opened the gift. Inside was a long length of thick rope, freshly purchased from a hardware store that morning. It was sturdy and a little coarse. It looked like it was made for boating purposes.

"What is this?" Lucifer examined it by tugging at the ends until it was taut. He looked ready to whip the next person to walk into his office. "Is this your way of asking to spend more time with me? I always thought you were more of a silk ribbon perso-"

"No!" You interrupted his detailed speculation by slamming a hand on the corner of the desk. It stung a little. Of course Lucifer would misunderstand your intentions, but that was exactly why you had to clear things up. "I need you to stop tying Mammon up with the ethernet cord."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. You didn't like the way he was gliding his gloved thumb over the rope.

"You leave him tied up for hours," you continued, "and the WiFi stops working. I have to go to the observatory when that happens and stand by the windows and wave my D.D.D. around for data to work. So, Lucifer. Please? Won't you use this instead?"

You put your hand on top of his in a bold power play. Maybe he would feel your sincerity. Combined with big puppy eyes and a little head tilt, you felt this plan had a 65% chance of working.

[itsnesss]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | max has been leaving signs for you all along—hidden flowers, colors, and initials

warnings | fluff, romance, intimate moments, emotional intensity, subtle symbolism

word count | 1.2 k

🖇️ more mv1 🖇️ f1 masterlist

You don’t know exactly when it started.

Maybe it was after that race in Monaco, when you stayed late in the paddock helping him organize a few things and ended up talking for hours. Or maybe it was before, when you lent him your jacket under the rain in Spa, and he returned it with a smile that lingered with you longer than you were willing to admit.

The truth is, one day, without warning, you started noticing the little things.

The flower came first.

It was tiny. Just a brushstroke along the bottom edge of Max’s helmet, almost imperceptible. A lavender. No one else would’ve noticed it—except you. Because no one else in that paddock knew that was your favorite flower. Because you were the only one who wore lavender perfume. The only one who left dried sprigs on your desk, like a charm.

You recognized it instantly.

You didn’t say anything. You just watched him from the edge of the garage, pretending to study the tires or check data that wasn’t even your responsibility. It was easier to act like you didn’t know. Like your heart hadn’t started racing over a single gesture.

Because… how do you explain it?

How do you explain that a flower on a Formula 1 driver’s helmet can make you feel so much? How do you justify that, in the middle of roaring engines and the chaos of the paddock, something so small could cut so deep?

The first time, you thought it was a coincidence. Max had thousands of fans, and his helmet design changed from race to race. You couldn’t jump to conclusions over a tiny flower.

But then came the blue.

Not just any blue. Yours. That shade somewhere between sky and mist you wore on your nails, your favorite sweater, in the notes you left Max when he forgot things. A blue that began to show up in the details of his gloves, in a stripe on his suit collar, in the curve of a signature. Subtle. Intimate.

And that’s when you started to suspect.

Then you saw the initials.

Three letters painted inside the helmet, right beside the protective foam. Where no one would see them. Where only he could look before stepping into the car.

They were yours. Your initials.

Small, precise, etched with care and intent.

And that’s when you knew. You knew it wasn’t a coincidence. You knew he was speaking to you in another language—one without words, one of symbols and details the world ignored but you understood.

And something in you melted.

You spent weeks saying nothing.

You didn’t know how. How do you tell someone you found out they carry your essence beneath a layer of carbon fiber? How do you face a silent, hidden confession with trembling hands of "me too"?

Because you knew. You’d known for a while. That Max looked at you differently. That his tone changed when he talked to you. That his smile was softer around you. That when your eyes met amid the press chaos, there was something between you that couldn’t be explained or denied.

But he never said anything. And neither did you.

Until now.

That morning, you woke up with your heart racing. There was no race, just testing and simulations, but you knew Max would be there. Like always. Like you.

You grabbed your backpack, got ready with more care than usual, and left before you could talk yourself out of it. You couldn’t keep pretending you didn’t see what he put on his helmets. You couldn’t keep acting like you didn’t feel what you felt every time you saw him laugh, or quiet, or just being so genuinely him.

You had to face it.

And not just for him. For you.

The paddock was nearly empty when you arrived. The mechanics were focused, the air smelled of hot tires and coffee. You walked quickly, ignoring curious glances, until you reached the Red Bull box.

And there he was.

Sitting on a stool, helmet on his lap, cleaning it with those calm movements he used when he was nervous. His fingers ran a microfiber cloth over the design again and again, like he was trying to polish more than just paint.

“Max,” you called his name, firm but soft.

He looked up.

And for a second, everything stopped.

His expression shifted. From surprise to recognition, from recognition to nervousness, and from nervousness to something else. Something dangerously close to hope.

“Hey,” he said, lowering the helmet slowly. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

“Neither did I,” you confessed, walking toward him. “But I needed to talk to you.”

He nodded, swallowed hard. Waited.

You stopped in front of him and looked at the helmet. A new flower decorated the edge. A gentian. Your second favorite after lavender. The one you mentioned once, in Austria, while walking through the Alps.

It wasn’t a coincidence anymore.

“How many more are there?” you asked, gently touching the edge.

Max fell silent. Then he sighed.

“All of them,” he replied. “Since that time in Silverstone. When you stayed with me after the crash. Since then I started to… I don’t know. Keep you there. Carry you with me.”

Your breath caught.

“Why?”

Max looked up. His eyes were intense, but there was a tenderness that broke you inside.

“Because you make me feel stronger.

Because when I drive, when I’m going 300 kilometers an hour, you’re the only thing that calms me. And… because I want you close. Even if it’s like this. Even if you don’t notice.”

“I noticed, Max.”

He went still.

“For weeks now,” you added, with a trembling smile. “I just… didn’t know how to tell you I feel the same.”

And that’s when his eyes widened.

Like you’d activated something in him.

Like finally, the truth could come out without fear.

“Really?”

You nodded. Stepped closer. Took the helmet from his hands and set it aside. Then cupped his face with your palms, soft and slow, afraid of breaking something sacred.

“Really.”

And you kissed him.

It was slow. It was warm. It was everything he’d been waiting for, everything you’d secretly wanted for months. His hands found your waist like they’d been searching for it all along. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and for a moment, the world stopped spinning.

No cheers. No flashes. No ovations.

Just two people, and a tiny universe of silent love.

When you pulled apart, Max rested his forehead against yours, wearing a goofy smile you’d never seen on him before.

“I knew you’d see it one day,” he whispered.

“I didn’t just see it,” you said softly. “I felt it. In every race. In every hidden message. In every detail.”

He laughed, quietly.

“I guess now I’ll have to redesign the helmet. Add something bigger.”

“Like what?”

Max raised an eyebrow, that mischievous little-boy look on his face.

“I always wanted you to find out like this. Not in a press conference. Not with some big announcement. Just you and me. Here.”

“And a helmet full of secrets,” you joked gently.

He smiled, laughter shaky.

“You know me too well.”

“I watch you with my heart. What did you expect?”

He closed his eyes for a second, breathing deeply.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“I want you to come with me to the pit wall.

Be there next time I go out.

I want to race knowing you’re watching. That you know.”

You held his hand tightly.

“I always knew, Max. I just needed the courage to come say it.”

[nurse-floyd]

See You at the Finish

Lando x reader request “If you could, could you possibly write a Lando x best friend!reader. she’s also a driver (you can choose which team) and gets into a pretty bad crash.”

A/N: Please request - my inbox is open again and as always please consider donating to my sick cat's vet fund - we are currently waiting a surgical opinion for the wound under her arm that hasn't healed.

@callsign-swan @ice-man-goes-bwoah @vroomvroomcircuit

This was often how you spent your pre-race, the banter, the laughing. Just like you’d done since you karted every Sunday morning together. But this wasn’t just another karting race, the stakes were bigger and the cars you drove were far more dangerous. Under all the bickering and joking, you both gave each other the same look before you hugged and parted ways to your separate garages. Be safe. Drive safe. Come back in one piece. 

“See you at the finish line Norris,” you yelled over your shoulder, “I’ll be sure to save you some champagne.” 

“In your dreams,” he yelled back. 

*** 

The garage was filled with the usual pre-race chaos, tires being warmed, engineers getting last minute data and you talking to your race engineer as he helped you with your gloves and helmet. 

“Remember, the race isn’t won in the first lap. Keep it on track today, stay in the points,” he told you. 

“Alright, alright,” you replied, “as long as I finish ahead of Norris, the day will be good.” 

Your engineer said your name in a warning tone but you just giggled, sliding the helmet over your head and grabbing another engineer's arm as they helped you climb into the cockpit. 

*** 

The race was going well. You’d managed a few good overtakes, kept within DRS and were keeping up a good pace. It happened on lap 38. 

Lando was in the front, fighting Charles for position when the yellow flag flashed across his steering wheel. His engineer came over his earpiece, “red flag Lando. Red flag.” 

“Who?” he asked. 

Lando’s blood ran cold as his engineer said your name. He gripped the steering wheel tighter as he got the order to return to the pit. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt sick. 

“Are they okay?” 

“We’re not sure.” 

Lando was out of his car before he’d even been fully pulled into the garage. He caught sight of the carnage on the screen. Your car was crumpled against a barrier, smoking and Marshals were already surrounding it with extinguishers in hand. The medical team showed up quickly, not quick enough in his mind but they were helping you out of the car. He exhaled shakily as the crowd cheered and you gave them a small wave. He could tell you were hurt though, the way you were leaning on the medics as they ushered you towards the medical car told him you hadn’t fully escaped injury. 

Lando wanted nothing more than to run to the medical centre to be with you. To make sure you were okay with his own two eyes, but there was still a race to finish whether you’d be a part of it or not, duty called. 

He was barely holding it together by the time the race ended. P3 didn’t matter, the points towards the drivers and constructors championship didn’t matter. He mumbled through interviews, disinterested and focussed only on getting to his best friend. 

He’d asked his engineer for updates and even his team principal but they had no information for him yet. Finally his phone screen lit up. 

A picture of you, in a cut up fireproofs and a goofy smile on your face. “Concussion, broken ribs but no internal bleeding. Yay!” 

He shook his head. He got the information he needed about where they’d taken you and as soon as he was done with debriefing he was climbing in his car and speeding towards the hospital. 

Despite your reassurance and the proof of life, he still drove in silence. No music and no talking. Just the sound of the engine roaring as he sped his way through the streets to find you. He couldn’t get the image of your car out of his mind or the thought that he could have lost you today. 

*** 

He froze in the doorway for a moment. You were surrounded by motors and IV’s and looked so small but you were alive. It took you a few moments to realise you weren’t alone anymore as you sleepily opened your eyes and met his. You held your hand out to him making a grabby hand motion. 

“You look like shit,” you whispered. 

He exhaled, part choked sob and part laugh. He crossed the room in three quick strides before he was crouching at the side of the bed. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said, not even bothering to hide his panic. 

“Did I win?” 

Lando rolled his eyes, “how much morphine have they given you?” 

“Mmm,” you paused in thought, “dunno. A lot. Feel good.” 

Lando sighed, his eyes watery, “your car was in pieces. Thought I’d lost you when I saw the wreck on screen.” 

You blinked sleepily, “‘m okay.” 

“You’re not,” he bit back a little more harshly than he’d intended to. “You’ve got a concussion and broken ribs. That’s not okay.” 

“Coulda been worse. Coulda died.” 

“Not funny,” Lando replied. 

“Not joking.” 

He let out a sigh as he sat back into the chair next to your bed. He didn’t say anything, just watched you breathe, watched you drift in and out of sleep to reassure himself you were okay. 

“I don’t know what I would have done if today was worse than it was,” he admitted quietly. 

You slid your hand across the bedsheet and reached for his. 

“I’m still here,” you reassured. 

He nodded, his jaw clenching tightly. “Don’t do it again.” 

“Don’t plan on it Norris.” 

Your hand stayed in his until you drifted off and even after you had, Lando kept tight hold of you. Afraid that if he let go he’d lose you.

[kannady]

v i a g r a

pairing: sylus x reader

summary: you worked in a pharmaceutical company that had recently developed a libido-enhancing drug. however, it had only been tested on the average people. it needed to be tested on someone with an already high libido. who could be a better test subject than your boyfriend?

an: i dont knowwwww. this is my first time writing smut. lemme know if you feel the knot-in-your-stomach typa feeling. bet you cant tell this was inspired by innocent birdcage ;). and btw this is NOT related to my other sylus fic im working on, its a oneshot.

genre: sylus, love and deepspace, smut, p in v, cunnilingus, creampie, reader is a researcher, established relationship, slight degradation, 18+ content

The lab was quiet at this hour, the glow of screens illuminating the sterile surfaces. You tapped a finger over the data pad as you scrolled through the latest results. Perfect efficiency, zero side effects. Your company had managed to create a libido-enhancing formula that promised to provide pleasure and only pleasure—nothing else. However, there was one small issue. The formula had only been tested on ordinary people, and there was still one variable left untested: the effects of the revolutionary drug on someone already with a high libido.

And that was how Sylus ended up sprawled across your exam table, looking far too pleased with himself. “Remind me again why I’m the ideal subject?” He knew exactly why, but he needed to hear it from your lips. Again.

“We needed someone with a high baseline stamina, rigor, and elevated natural response,” you replied confidently, refusing to let your voice waver.

He smirked at your response and repeated the word elevated like it was an inside joke, stretching just enough to make the fabric of his shirt rise, revealing his toned abs. Not now. But you couldn’t help yourself and stole another glimpse. He was truly beautiful everywhere.

He noticed your gaze. “Like what you see, kitten? Or should I say doctor?” You ignored that—or at least tried. But he knew exactly what he did to you. You adjusted the sensors on his wrist and walked to the monitor to check his vitals. His pulse was steady, strong. Like he knew where this was going.

“Administering the dose now,” you said, handing him the pill with your gloved hand. Sylus took it slowly, his fingertips brushing yours with deliberate intent before popping it into his mouth. He swallowed, never breaking eye contact.

“How long until it kicks in?”

“Approximately twenty minutes.” You turned back to the monitors, determined to focus on the numbers and not the way he was watching you.

���So, we’ve got time to kill.” His voice was a low purr. You knew what he meant. Knew exactly where this was going. But professionalism was a flimsy shield against Sylus when he got like this.

The first alert chimed on the monitor. Elevated heart rate. Pupil dilation. You didn’t need the screens to tell you what you could already see—the way his breath deepened, the way his fingers flexed against the table like he was holding himself back.

“Interesting,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “This feels faster than usual.” His gaze dropped to your lips. You caught him wetting his own, you weren’t mistaken.

“You should take notes, doctor.”

Oh, right. You hastily reached for your journal and started scribbling. You needed to record the exact time the dose was administered and when the effects began. But your attention snapped back to the monitor when it buzzed. You frowned. The sensors were going wild. Panic set in as you turned to Sylus, and the sight alarmed you. His face was flushed, bangs stuck to his forehead from sweat. He was panting.

“Oh, shit! Shit!” You ran to him and placed your hands on his shoulders, but his body heat seared through the fabric. The drug had worked fine for everyone else, but this was the first time you’d seen this. You racked your brain. You’d studied for this. Now was not the time to panic. Apply the knowledge!

Okay, follow the protocol. You dashed to the cabinet for diazepam. He needed sedation and close monitoring. Just before you could inject him, he grabbed your wrist. Just enough to make your breath hitch and sat upright.

“You’ve been so thorough with your research.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “But don’t you think it’s time for a more hands-on approach, doctor?”

You opened your mouth to protest—this was supposed to be professional, controlled, but his lips grazed your neck, and the words dissolved into a gasp. His hands slid down your hips, gripping hard as he lifted you onto the exam table, knocking aside vials with a careless sweep.

“Won’t you help me, kitten?” His eyes flashed with feral hunger. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he closed the scant distance between you.

He kissed you like a man starved. His lips molded against yours in a hot, demanding kiss, tongue delving into your mouth to claim it. One hand fisted in your hair, holding you in place, while the other gripped your hip, yanking your body flush against his. He nipped your bottom lip, soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue before diving back in.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned against your lips. His hands slid down to palm your ass, squeezing as he pulled you tighter. You could feel his thick, rigid length straining against his jeans. The sensation made you moan into the kiss.

He released your hair, grabbed your hand, and pressed it against his hardening bulge. “You feel that, kitten? You made me so fucking hard.” He lightly bit your lip. “Been thinking about how good I’d fuck you, make you come all over my cock.”

His words were filthy, incredibly arousing. You couldn’t help but imagine him taking you raw, making you feel so good. But he’d read your thoughts.

“You want it too, right? Say it, kitten. Beg me to fuck you like the little slut you are. Hmm?”

All he’d done was kiss you, but you felt like you were floating. You didn’t care about the experiment anymore—you just wanted him.

“P-Please, Sylus…”

“Please what? Use your words, kitten.” He rocked into you, letting you feel how much he wanted you, how hard he was already.

“I want-want you to f-fuck me, Sylus.”

“Good girl.”

His hand slid under your shirt, calloused fingers skimming your stomach. He paused at the underside of your breast, thumb teasing the edge of your bra. “You wanted data? Let me show you exactly what your little experiment does to me.”

He yanked your top off and latched onto your neck, pressing sloppy kisses and bites into the sensitive skin, marks that would linger. The drug’s effects were evident in his movements: impatient, relentless. The monitors were a mess of erratic beeps, but neither of you cared.

With an expert flick, he unhooked your bra and latched onto your breast, his free hand sliding down your stomach, fingers dipping beneath your skirt to tease the wet heat between your thighs.

“Fuck,” he growled against your chest, voice dripping with lust. “Already soaked for me, kitten?”

You gasped as his fingers pressed against your clit, circling just enough to make your hips jerk.

“S-Sylus—the experiment—”

“Oh, we’re still experimenting,” he purred before kissing up your throat and capturing your lips again. His tongue plunged deep, mimicking the filthy rhythm of his fingers as they slid inside you, curling just right to make you cry out. “Maybe not in the way you planned.”

Without warning, he plunged three fingers into your dripping cunt, making you gasp and arch off the table.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, pumping his fingers in and out. “So fucking ready for me.”

Sylus knelt, his tongue lapping at your clit as his fingers curled inside you, stroking that spot that made your toes curl. He suckled hard, fingers speeding up, fucking you with ruthless intensity.

“That’s it, baby. Soak my fingers. I want to feel you dripping all over my cock when I split you open.” His voice was a filthy growl against your skin.

You could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, your body tensing as you neared the edge.

“Come for me, sweetie. Come all over my fingers like the desperate little slut you are.”

His thumb pressed hard against your clit, rubbing tight circles as he finger-fucked you wildly. The obscene sound of your arousal filled the room. His eyes met yours, wicked gleam in their depths as he waited for you to shatter.

The orgasm crashed over you, your back arching as Sylus wrung every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body. Your thighs clamped around his head, fingers tangled in his hair.

But Sylus wasn’t done. He licked you clean until you were a squirming, overstimulated mess.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your thigh, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin before pulling away. His lips glistened with your arousal, and he licked them slowly, savoring the taste. “So fucking delicious.”

You were still catching your breath when he stood, unbuckling his belt with deliberate slowness. His eyes never left yours, dark with hunger.

“Now, where were we?”

The leather slid free, and your pulse jumped. He smirked, letting the belt drop before popping the buttons of his jeans. The denim slid down, revealing his thick, straining cock, already leaking at the tip. He palmed himself with a groan, stroking slowly as he watched you.

“I hope you’re taking notes, doctor.”

Your mouth went dry. The drug had amplified everything. His scent, the heat rolling off him, the way his muscles flexed. Professionalism was long forgotten.

Sylus stepped forward, yanking your hips to the edge of the table. His cock brushed your soaked folds, making you shudder.

“Tell me you want it,” he hissed. “Tell me you need me to fuck you.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I need it. Please, Sylus-”

He didn’t make you beg again.

With one brutal thrust, he sheathed himself inside you, filling you to the brim, drawing a sharp cry from your lips. He was huge, stretching you impossibly full.

“So fucking tight,” he hissed.

For a moment, neither of you moved, overwhelmed. Then Sylus pulled back and slammed into you again, setting a relentless pace. The exam table rattled, monitors beeping wildly, but the only sounds that mattered were the filthy slap of skin and your ragged gasps.

Sylus’s hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he drove into you, each thrust hitting that sweet spot.

“That’s it. Take it,” he growled, voice strained. “Take every fucking inch.”

You could feel another orgasm coiling fast. Sylus sensed it too, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles as he angled his hips just right.

“Come for me,” he ordered. “I want to feel you squeeze my cock like a good little slut.”

The command shattered you. Your walls clenched around him, pleasure erupting as you came with a broken cry. Sylus fucked you through it, his control fraying, thrusts turning erratic.

“Fuck, you’re milking me so good,” he snarled, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. “Gonna fill you up, kitten. Pump you so full of cum you’ll feel me dripping out for days.”

The filthy promise sent another wave of heat through you. Sylus’s rhythm stuttered, his cock twitching as his release tore through him. With a guttural groan, he slammed into you one last time, hilting himself deep as hot ropes of cum painted your walls.

You whimpered at the sensation, oversensitive body pulsing weakly around him.

For a moment, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the wet slide of Sylus’s cock still lazily thrusting, spreading his release. His forehead dropped against yours, breath uneven.

“Fuck,” he panted, lips brushing yours. “That was-”

The monitor let out a shrill beep. Sylus didn’t flinch.

“Turn it off,” he growled, nipping your lip.

You slapped at the buttons until the noise stopped. Sylus chuckled darkly, hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing your stiff nipples.

“Good girl.”

His cock was still hard inside you. You gasped as he rolled his hips, dragging against your sensitive walls.

“S-Sylus--”

“Mmm, not done yet,” he murmured, lips trailing down your throat. “That little drug of yours? It’s got me fucking insatiable.”

His teeth grazed your collarbone. “And you’re not walking out of here until I’ve had my fill.”

Before you could process the threat, he flipped you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up until your ass pressed flush against him. One hand tangled in your hair, forcing your head back as the other guided his cock back to your soaked entrance.

“Can you take it?” he demanded, voice dripping with lust.

You whimpered, already aching.

“Y-Yes--”

Sylus didn’t wait. He slammed into you in one brutal stroke, sheathing himself to the hilt. The force knocked the breath from your lungs, fingers scrambling for purchase as he set a punishing pace.

“That’s it,” he growled, grip tightening in your hair. “Take it like the fucking slut you are.”

The filthy praise sent sparks through you, your body responding eagerly even as pleasure bordered on pain. His free hand found your clit, rubbing rough, relentless circles.

“Gonna make you come again,” he promised, voice dark and sinful. “Gonna make you scream so loud they hear you in the next lab.”

You couldn’t hold back the broken moan as his fingers worked you in time with his thrusts, the dual stimulation pushing you toward another dizzying peak.

“Sylus-!”

“Say my name like that when you come,” he ordered, hips snapping forward hard enough to make the table creak. “Let me fucking hear you.”

You shattered with a cry, body clamping around him as pleasure ripped through you. Sylus swore, rhythm faltering as your tight heat milked him through his own release. He buried himself deep, grinding into you as he came, groan muffled against your shoulder.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your heavy breaths and the soft drip of sweat and cum onto the floor.

Sylus finally pulled out, hands smoothing over your trembling thighs.

“Well, doctor,” he purred, pressing a kiss to the small of your back. “I’d say your experiment was successful.”

You collapsed onto the table, boneless and utterly ruined.

You looked around. The lab was a disaster.

Sylus chuckled lowly, taking in the wreckage—overturned vials, scattered papers, blinking monitors. His gaze drifted to you, still sprawled and trembling. A smirk tugged at his lips, but his eyes held something softer.

“Looks like we made a mess, kitten,” he murmured, brushing a damp strand from your forehead.

You groaned, weakly swatting his hand. “You think?”

Sylus laughed, offering his hand. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You hesitated, but his fingers curled around yours, warm and steady. Your legs wobbled, and he didn’t miss your wince as your feet touched the floor. Without a word, he slid an arm around your waist, pulling you against him.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple.

You wanted to protest, but your knees threatened to give out. So you let him guide you to the sink, where he wet a cloth and gently wiped away the sweat and stickiness.

“You didn’t have to-”

“Don’t,” he cut in, thumb tracing your jaw. “Just let me take care of you.”

No teasing, no smugness. Just quiet sincerity.

Once you were steady, Sylus turned to the lab, righting equipment and gathering papers with surprising efficiency.

You watched, lips quirking. “Since when are you so domestic?”

He shot you a smirk. “I have hidden depths, sweetie.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest felt strangely warm.

By the time the worst was cleaned, exhaustion weighed on you. Sylus noticed immediately, his arm slipping around your waist again.

“Let’s get you home,” he murmured.

You leaned into him, too tired to argue. “You’re not carrying me.”

Sylus grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Wouldn’t dream of it, doctor."

[loneworldgazer]

"his mutt."

pairing: Harley Sawyer X toy!reader

cont: You, his assistant gave up your parts oh so willingly to him. Why are you surprised that you've been turned into a toy, did you think you were special?

a/n: this was crazy, I'll dissappear again for a year trust!!! Seriously tho, writing is fun but my lifestyle is so busy now brahhhh. Edit: closing my eyes as I post this cause I'm not sure if I went on a tangent writing all of this or it's actually good AHHHHH

tags: reader IS AN ADULT, nsfw, groping, degradation, sadism, delusion, fingering, no sex (unfortunately), no specific gentilia mentioned guys, first time writing slight smut??? Idk man Harley is not a good man obviiii, I also want to make it clear that THIS IS NOT BEASTILITY

๑ ~⁠♪

"L/N, would you give yourself up in the name of science?"

That snapped you out your daze from the whirring of the water faucet sanitizing the bloody scalpels. The blood turn to clouds and made your eye twitch back to Harley who had his hand on a VHS tape ready to record another log. That prompted you to reply quickly.

You straightened up, wanting to give a lengthy answer that would somehow impress the Doctor or at best, make him bat an eyelash at you. Experimenting was the reason why you decided to be a scientist, Playtime Co. was where it was home for a job like yours. Going into the unknown required some unethicality and pushing past morals, too much of it is too far that you don't even notice. In the long run, you had smeared blood that wasn't yours all over yourself without realising. Research was the hook, the line were your meticulous gloved hands on a body and the sinker was the Doctor acknowledging the labour that you do.

This place was a house that echoes off with tormented residents and you're simply one of the owners that bang at the walls so they can keep quiet, the smudged handprints had been painted over with a new coat. In this place where you sit at your appointed seat in the family couch, your eyes look around for him.

Would it be plain dreadful to admit that the praise one man could give had you licking and cleaning up the dirt of his sins until he told you it was enough? It was not said but his precense was a mantra that you obedientally chant.

He was a needy man, quite funny to describe someone assertive as him but he depended on you. Or should you be careful with a mind as dangerous as his; an intelligence that leaves you choked up for air. It's bad to dream that he treats you differently but his eyes would linger more on you before he tells you to pass the data.

The voices of everybody you talked to had been a blurry memory ever since you were holed up in this cold, pristine hell of machines and sanitizers. The exhaustion of pushing out the next new toy was the thrill you enjoyed from work, pain and anguish from failure that was simply a query to overtake. It was exhilaration to you. But that wasn't it either.

In conclusion, you had no answer. You couldn't outwit a man who shifted the system of a factory that was close to beggary not because this joyous, welcoming environment of a toy company kept people away but because of the risks that he so challenged. This sole place was pitiful, money was a topic that never left anybody's tongue; the people were reflected like the experiments, scurrying around like rats before the only light that reaches them is the glow of a scalpel.

Perking up, you blinked back the sleep that threatened to overcome you; fingers automatically popping open a bottle of melatonin.

"Yes, Dr. Sawyer. I'd do it in a heartbeat if you were to ask of me."

You didn't notice such a desperate, deprived answer came out of you before the pill dropped from your fingers. The clatter made you drop your head sharply at the ground before shakily putting down the bottle. You swallowed the bile in your throat, wanting to correct yourself, extinguish a bit of that idiocy that you just spouted but what comes next make you gingerly look at him.

It was a short chuckle at your statement, he never did turn his head while talking to you. It was unclear if it was a humourless chuckle or he found you amusing or slow-witted. From many words you could've picked out, why did it have to be those words? Your heart rate starts picking up that you gripped your chest. Maybe, there was an implication to what was uttered, a deeper meaning on how you truly felt for the Doctor.

---------------------------------------------------------

Harley Sawyer removed his gloves before he inspected what he had worked on alone. No scientist remained in the room with him, only you. He takes out a tape before he sits down next to the motionless experiment. He starts, his fingers tapping against the table.

"Experiment 1352, Pet Archetype. Responds to sound and light at best. Standard for experiments who are freshly experimented on"

He continues, his eyes flicking at the experiment.

"This experiment will be different, the style choice separate from actual toys in production. This one, will have a humanoid body. Though, it is far different from Miss Delight."

His fingers brush against the experiment's arm. He articulates his next words slowly.

"The idea is nothing short of obscene, a human with dog features. One that will sweep up this company's mess as it intends to do, it's a form of hybrid."

He nearly loses himself, this company was a pain in the ass; his humourless laugh turning almost insane. He could order the scared scientists under him to bow wow for him with a flick of his wrist since he had the ability to but he holds back, remembering what he planned to say. The bark of laughter he let out made the toy squirm, squirming to breathe, to move or even live. Its chest heaves so heavily and Harley stares down at it.

This log was becoming more and more unprofessional, it tickles him. This is why science was more suited for him since creative thinking led him to dig deep into his desires instead.

"It'll be a part of security alongside the other toys. If other results please me then I may move 1352 up a rank."

He writes on the report, his hand writing faster than the pen as this adrenaline he had in him, it was anticipation for this experiment to succeed. You haven't uttered a word ever since the start of the experiment but it was quite alright, he'll wait. Oh, he will definitely wait.

----------------------------------------------------------

He heard the certain germ quietly pattering to and fro in this sanctuary he deems his, his vessels moving in place for the finale.

Guess Yarnaby couldn't keep them away for that long, it was quite predictable. He must've met his end already, considering the fact that this employee was anything but normal. He almost run out of toys to set upon the intruder, letting his vessel rest beside the machinery where his brain was.

But there was one, one he kept away from the company for so long, clenched hands to let this keepsake stay hidden.

This toy, the one kneeling on the ground where wires were sprawled all over the floor. It kept their head down resting against the knee of his vessel. Their fluffy tail thumping against the ground, still with energy even if there wasn't much meat to chew on anymore. His eye creased in satisfaction at how this one was still alive only because they were under his rule.

His call on making a hybrid sated his hunger but only by the tip of the iceberg. They were hopelessly mopey at times, it was delightfully pathetic. He traced the tape, the final log he managed to do before he was made into this lamentable piece of metal and sparks. He puts it into a nearby television, watching the pup's ear perk up to his voice and crawl towards the table.

"Experiment 1352, Pet Archetype. In relation, this one's cognitive function had worked terrifically but it can't speak. It's quite ironic, seeing that it reflects the person whom I experimented on."

The clinking of the surgical instruments could be heard with the scribbling of paper. He rasps on lightly, he should call this mutt by a name; a special one. One he never said before followed by a dark chuckle.

"Isn't that right, Y/N? Best get farmiliar with that name, I've made an effort to remember your name and it'd be a shame if you forgot."

You yipped, scratching against the table with your ears flattened against your head as he scoffs. You were moved to Playcare like he intended to. He only thought of moving you to work alongside before he got turned into organs, it was a terrible fate considering he was close to the fun part.

He wasn't surprised when you survived the Hour of Joy, you were supposed to. Being his assistant and working aside such dilligence steered you to the right path, that big brain of yours still working in this different body. Even if you looked human, the plastic on your limbs didn't make you struggle; you scoped out this graveyard like a trained dog. It was surely a struggle to make you a human who just had dog features or one who had actual hind legs because either way,

You just look much better kneeling before him.

The other scientists would always be talking behind his back or give him weary looks to what he wanted next, not that he cared much. It was an observation that became a repetitive cycle that it bored him more than experiments that turn out to be failures but you, you stoked a dangerous flame of interest in his soul.

You come close, passing notes and scalpels and touching skin to skin. It was delectable having an assistant that was so predictable and an oddball that only stuck close to him like a pet.

When Yarnaby had found you, hiding up high in the vents; you accidentally peeked out at the wrong time. This mass of yarn was dragging you by the nape kicking and screaming. The lion growls, knowing it shouldn't harm you but your kicks were deathly. He throws you down infront of the Doctor's feet and you growled, ears flattened from aggression.

He kneels, extending a hand and your demeanour changes so quickly.

"Here, pup. Remember me? I'm sure you'd recognise me even if it's just my voice?"

You struggled up to your knees, your chest heaves like crazy to the realisation then bowed completely on the ground.

Incredible, such quick response like you've realised who you were supposed to worship. He stepped close before he pulls you up by the hair and you whined so prettily.

"You do remember what to do, respect me and I'll reward you. Isn't that exciting?"

Utterly demeaning were the words spoken to this pup who stared up at him like he hung the stars, it was like there was only one thing on its mind. That word, reward. Harley never gave away any strong praise or anything, it could be anything and you were bursting at the seams. It was like you never changed.

The vessel's head snapped at the television as the tape ends and the dog bow wowed for more. He was aware that his form now was nothing compared to when he was a human. He thought of something that made him come close to you. Did you ever fantasies about him?

He hardly thinks about these type of things but everything that comes to unnervingly stroke at somebody's weak spots were accounted for and he was quite intrigued at the thought that you were a little perv if you ever were.

Those quick glances, soft sighs to continue focusing on the projects and the furrow at your brows when you think about how you've started at him so much were all noticed by him. Do they go more than that? He didn't go beyond experiments so he doesn't know if somebody like you were to imagine him in such a scandalous manners.

He touches your thigh, rubbing it and you nearly short circuited. He ran his hand up and down teasingly, nearing your private regions that you flinch away from.

"Come now, mutt. Don't you want to feel me?"

He does it again but now holding you close to him. Metal was what you felt but that heartbeat of yours was audible against him. Harley didn't know that you were disappointed. You wanted to feel the real deal, the intimacy you both would have if you two were still... Human.

His hot breath would be aimed down your neck while his warm hands would make you grip the bedsheets, the eye contact with this man would leave you breathless. But you weren't opposed to the pleasure because he was still him, the Doctor you'll follow till the end of the road; till the ends of hell.

He rubs his palm down your chest then his thumbs press against your stomach down to your hips. You salivated, it was detestable and flattering. These desire of yours should've been a reward from the very start but he only thought to commend your actions, wrapping your head around his words. Nevertheless, this was rewarding for him anyways since this was a discovery he will enjoy from his sweet assistant that was so on edge.

His cold steel hands was felt, proding at the inner most deeper parts of you. His hands go even lower which makes you slightly jump but he tutted, smacking at your thigh though he wasn't completely turnt off by it. He let your sensations go haywire as his hand rubbed between your legs, cupping your nether regions and making you yip pathetically.

Harley held you in his lap, holding both your thighs apart while he stroked at his creation. Those late nights which he remembered where he drawn out the details of your genitals, envisioning how it look when he creates every bit of your new form. Those pencil strokes of pure perversion lingers in him when you drip on his hands, it was wonderful of how he planned out everything even the synthetic juices you'll spurt when you feel ecstacy.

He wished he could taste it, his vessel tapping at the glass where his mouth would be; it would fill him with such bliss to lick it all up. Just seeing you tremble from his fingers make him feel powerful, you were just so easy. He had you from the start.

He touched the juices, slipping it in your hole and feeling you react to his fingers and clench tightly. He tried fixing your vocal cords when your body was still in testing. Moments where he dared to cut open your throat and inspect again and again but to no avail. He marvels at the thought of you actually speaking in this form, pleading and calling out his name but he settled with putting his hand around your neck and feeding off the vibrations your throat does.

He hits deep, his fingers thrusting against your inner walls that he watched in awe and how you squirted all over his fingers, he chuckled and turned his head before you clumsily get it all over his TV face. He didn't stop there, caressing the tip of your senses and making you scuffle your feet at the floor like you're asking him to stop.

Overstimulation was a part of every experiment to push past boundaries, it was his way of knowing whether the experiment was made for pain and ready to handle forces against it and you did so well not to fall apart.

"Doctor!"

He nearly falls onto you in exhilaration, your voice so garbled and loud with pleasure and pumped deep into your G-spot. That's it, come again for him and he'll feel something else other than joy. All you needed was a push before these expectations of his were met. He felt you grab at his robe, clenching it in your hand. You swore you saw stars other than the headiness of the Doctor being so intimate with you, this body of yours might shatter at the all consuming ache if being bent to his will.

"Come for me once again, mutt."

A scream ripped apart from you that you do what he says, exhaling every bit of your desperation before falling faint. Limp body lay against his lap, head lolling out for air and consciousness as he steadies you and moved you to the floor. Your fluffy tail thumped tirelessly against the ground. With an inhale, the Nightmare Critters pop up to his whistle and they moved you to a more comfortable position and he moves for the final showdown.

He can't help but scoff, even if it came out empty. There was a dark smirk on his face and he smoothed down his robes, he mayhaps pushed your reward for too long.

He walks away from you and didn't look back, now he continues his long term mission. He'll be expecting bigger things from you now, much more.

[hotdigitallegend]

astro observations ☿⌁ // neural downloads

1. mercury in gemini 🧠⚡

these ppl are working with 8 mental browser tabs at once and still hit you with the funniest line you’ve ever heard. humor is their weapon & it’s laced with data. don’t try to lie to them, they saw the glitch in your sentence before you finished it.

2. ♄ saturn in the 8th 🕳

emotionally mature but deeply suspicious. won’t let you in unless you pass 17 internal audits. their trust is sacred code. once you’re in you’re encrypted into their soul forever. betrayal? system wipe.

3. ♀︎ venus in pisces ☁︎

in love with the ghost of someone who might not even exist. writes poetry to memories that haven’t happened. you don’t date them, you step into a dream where boundaries dissolve and nothing is as it seems.

4. ☽ moon in aquarius 🧊📡

they feel like wi-fi signals; subtle, everywhere, kind of cold but you need them. emotions processed like code: “analyzing… uploading… archived.” they care, just not the way you’re used to. love feels like space.

5. mars in libra ⚖︎🗡

fighting you with charm and calm logic. conflict is art to them. they’ll seduce you mid-argument, serve justice with a velvet glove, and have you apologizing for starting it. beautiful, terrifying, diplomatic assassins.

6. neptune in the 1st 🫧👁

you look at them and forget what you were saying. people project fantasies onto them like screensavers. they shapeshift in real time, and sometimes even they forget who they are underneath the projections.

7. chiron in the 5th 🎭🕯

childhood wounds covered in glitter. pain woven into performance. they turn trauma into theatre and applause into medicine. healing comes through creation, when they laugh, cry, dance… they’re rewiring the past.

8. uranus in the 11th ⚙️👽

never part of the group, always above the group. an update to whatever room they enter. brings revolution in casual conversation. weird? yes. necessary? absolutely. the alien.

9. sun square pluto 🔥☠️

that constant internal death & rebirth cycle. .yeah, it’s personal. ego forged in disorder. always on the edge of either total destruction or pure transformation. you never meet the same version of them twice.

10. 6th house stellium 🧼📋

hyper aware. skin always smells like eucalyptus. thrives on routine but hides an existential crisis under their to-do list. self-worth tied to how much they can fix, even if it means breaking themselves first.

11. mercury retrograde natally 🔁📉

think in spirals. their voice bends time, memory, and meaning. misunderstood as kids, prophetic as adults. when they speak, listen again - it’s layered.

12. jupiter in cancer 🫀🌊

empathy is their mother tongue. nourishment as a worldview. they want everyone to be full - emotionally, spiritually, and physically. loves like soup simmering all day, comforting, warm, made from scratch.

[jocelynellie]

Half a Step - KA¹²

Kimi Antonelli x Wolff!reader

Summary - Kimi and the daughter of Toto Wolff find themselves enamoured with each other from across the garage.

Contains - pure fluff, awkward teenage love

The sun hung low over the paddock, casting everything in golden light. Race day was winding down, and the buzz of engines had given way to the softer sounds of crew laughter and debriefs. The clamour of the crowd was gone, replaced by something more intimate, the quiet hum of a team catching its breath.

Y/n Wolff leaned against the railing outside the Mercedes hospitality suite, sipping on a melting strawberry smoothie and watching the bustle below. She’d grown up around these tracks, the daughter of Team Principal Toto Wolff, but it never got old, the energy, the thrill of it all.

And lately, it had gotten even harder to ignore one particular part of the scenery.

Kimi Antonelli

Mercedes’ newest young driver. Barely 18, full of raw talent and the sweetest smile the Wolff girl has ever seen. Kimi had joined the Mercedes academy years ago but his presence in the garage became more prominent in 2024 as he prepared to step up to formula one.

Y/n had to pretend her heart didn't stutter every single time he entered the garage, she had to pretend that him simply walking past and giving her a friendly wave didn't make her cheeks flush and head spin. And now with the boy being in the garage full time, she was finding it harder and harder not to fall hopelessly in love with the boy.

And she had no idea that, across the garage, Kimi Antonelli was doing exactly the same thing.

Kimi sat perched on one of the low pit wall barriers, boots dangling, helmet resting beside him. His hands twisted the strap of his gloves absentmindedly as he tried — and failed — to focus on the technical debrief happening a few metres away.

His eyes kept drifting.

To her.

Y/n was a vision in the fading light, her hair catching the last strands of sunshine, her laugh — even when faint and tucked into a private conversation with one of the mechanics — sending an ache straight through his chest.

He knew he shouldn't stare. She was Toto’s daughter, practically paddock royalty, and Kimi was just the kid. The rookie trying to prove himself worthy of the same seat greats had sat in.

But it was hopeless.

Every time she was near, it was like the whole garage shifted, the world blurring at the edges until there was only her.

She was sunshine. And he was a boy who wanted to be worthy of standing in it.

From her spot by the railing, Y/n felt it — the weight of his gaze.

It had been happening more and more lately. Little glances from across the garage. Half-smiles traded over laptops and telemetry sheets. A kind of silent conversation neither of them was brave enough to voice.

Her father wasn't strict, but she knew he watched everything. And if Toto had noticed the soft way Kimi’s eyes lingered on her, or the way her laugh brightened whenever Kimi was around, he hadn’t said anything yet.

At least, not out loud.

Because Toto had noticed.

He'd caught the way Kimi looked at his daughter once — when she wasn’t watching — a gaze so open, so careful, it had stopped him mid-sentence. And he'd seen it in Y/n, too — the way her face lit up the moment Kimi entered a room, the nervous twirling of her fingers when Kimi was nearby.

Toto had seen it in both of them, separately, quietly.

And while a part of him was protective — would always be protective — another part of him, the part that understood how rare it was to find something real in the high-speed, high-stakes world they lived in, was quietly, secretly rooting for them.

The garage lights buzzed on overhead, casting a cooler glow over everything now that the sun was sinking fast.

Kimi slid off the barrier and tugged at his race suit sleeves. He should go. The engineers would be waiting for him. There was data to review, meetings to attend, future races to prepare for.

But instead, he found himself walking toward the hospitality suite.

Toward her.

Y/n spotted him immediately, her stomach flipping in that stupid way she couldn’t control.

He slowed when he reached her side, a little breathless — maybe from the walk, maybe from the nerves that always prickled under his skin around her.

"Hey," he said, voice softer than the background chatter of the packing crew.

"Hey," she answered, setting her smoothie down and turning fully toward him.

For a moment, neither spoke. They just stood there, a few feet apart, the world busy around them but somehow silent between them.

"You were amazing today," she said finally, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Kimi flushed — not from the compliment itself, but from the way she said it. Like she really meant it. Like he wasn’t just some rookie. Like he was hers to be proud of.

"Thanks," he mumbled, a little shy. "I... uh... I saw you watching."

Y/n laughed under her breath, biting her lip. "Busted."

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, gloves still twisting in his hands. "I always... I mean, I always look for you. After."

Her heart stuttered.

"Oh" she whispered, not sure what to say as a pink blush spreads across her cheeks.

The air between them stretched and tightened, sweet and terrifying all at once.

Kimi took a half-step closer, so close now she could see the faint freckles dusted across his nose, the nervous flutter of his lashes.

"I don't really know what I'm doing," he admitted, voice barely above the breeze. "But I... I like being around you. I always have."

Y/n smiled, slow and wide and aching.

"I like being around you, too."

A long, full moment passed — the kind of moment that feels like the edge of something big, the kind you only get once if you’re lucky.

From a distance, tucked into the doorway of the hospitality suite, Toto watched them.

He saw the look on Kimi’s face — the one he’d caught before — and the way Y/n smiled back at him, unguarded and full of something too bright to be anything but real.

He shook his head with a quiet smile, already resigned.

Maybe he couldn’t protect her from everything. Maybe he didn’t even need to.

Maybe sometimes, you just had to let good things happen.

Kimi swallowed hard. "Maybe we could, um... hang out sometime? Outside the garage?"

Y/n’s heart swelled, almost painfully.

"I’d like that," she said. "A lot."

He smiled, a real one, bright and a little crooked, and more beautiful than any trophy.

Their awkward smiling and blushing moment was interrupted as Kimi was approached by Bono for a debrief. They stood staring at each other unsure of what to do but as Bono called for Kimi again he gave her a wave and a smile, backing away still looking at her until he hit a wall.

She giggled softly at his clumsiness and his blush only grew, he had to reluctantly turned around following Bono into one of the meeting rooms, leaving Y/n planted in her spot.

Her trance was broken by the sound of someone's voice clearing, that someone being her father as he passed her by on his way to the meeting room following after Kimi and Bono. He looked at her with a knowing smirk and a wink before he disappeared into the meeting room.

Y/n's eyes widened and her cheeks grew impossibly redder.

Oh shit.

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Word count: 1.3k

[mcrdvcks]

Dumb & Poetic

Summary: You like Logan, but he likes Jean. Right?

Word Count: 6k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: honestly, this isn't one of my favorites, but i just needed to write it to get it out of my head.

also, this is after the sabrina carpenter song, but this story has no relation to the lyrics whatsoever, i just thought the title was fitting

reader's powers are manipulating atoms (it'll make sense when you read)

warnings/tags: some uses of y/n, pet name (princess, sweetheart), miscommunication, light violence, blood, implied age gap

Even after going on ten missions and counting, you always found yourself nervous. Especially when you were getting onto the Blackbird, clad in your matching suits. The hum of the jet’s engines filled the air, but your mind was on Logan. He sat across from you, legs spread out, arms crossed over his chest, that usual scowl on his face. It was the way he always looked before a mission, but you couldn’t help but glance over a little too often.

Ororo slid into the seat next to you, her sharp eyes catching your lingering stare. “You know,” she said softly, leaning over slightly, “if you keep looking at him like that, you might as well say something.”

You blinked, face heating up. “What? I wasn’t—”

“Oh, please, Y/N,” Ororo chuckled under her breath. “I’m not blind.”

You sighed and slouched back into your seat, fiddling with the straps. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s Logan,” Ororo shrugged. “Everything about him is complicated. But that doesn’t mean you should hold back.”

You cast another glance across the cabin at him. Logan was still quiet, staring out the window now, completely unaware of the butterflies flipping around in your stomach. You didn’t want to admit it, but Ororo was right. There was something about Logan that made you pause. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to be in his own world, like he was still holding onto things from his past. Or maybe it was because of the way he looked at Jean sometimes, like there was still something unresolved there.

“I don’t think he’s over her,” you murmured, feeling the familiar weight of doubt settle in.

“Jean?” Ororo raised an eyebrow. “Please, Jean and Scott are practically married. Logan isn’t hung up on her anymore. If anything, he’s just... Logan.”

You nodded, but the doubt still lingered. It was hard to let yourself hope for something that seemed impossible. Besides, Logan saw you as the kid, didn’t he? He always called you ‘princess’ or ‘sweetheart’- terms of endearment, sure, but you figured he used them with everyone.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, Hank’s voice came over the intercom, snapping everyone to attention. “We’re approaching the target. This should be a routine recon and hopefully data extraction but keep your guard up.”

Logan stood, moving to the front of the cabin. “You heard him. We get in, get the intel, and get out. No heroics.”

You stood with Ororo, adjusting your gloves and trying to ignore the fact that your heart rate had picked up. It wasn’t the mission that had you on edge, but Logan’s presence, the way he effortlessly took command of the room. You hated how easily he affected you.

The Blackbird landed with a soft jolt, and the team moved into action. Logan gave you a nod as you passed, and you swore you saw something in his eyes—concern? Or maybe you were just seeing what you wanted to see.

As the team fanned out, you stayed close to Jean and Scott, your senses heightened. You were supposed to keep it simple, in and out. But things rarely went that smoothly.

A flicker of movement caught your eye just as Jean’s telepathy brushed against your mind. Y/N, we’re not alone. Be ready.

And then all hell broke loose.

Explosions rocked the compound as enemies swarmed in from every direction. You threw up your hands, quickly manipulating the air around you, converting oxygen molecules to corrosive acids to fend off the attackers. Beside you, Scott fired his optic blasts, and Jean’s telekinesis sent debris flying.

You ducked behind a large pole of concrete, peeking out at the attackers behind you. “Alchemy, think you can get to the data room and get what we came for?” Hank asked over comms, as he and Logan fought a group of attackers.

You took a deep breath and peeked out at the attackers. "I’ll do my best, Hank," you responded, scanning for a clear path to the data room. The explosions and gunfire made it difficult to focus, but you knew you had to move.

“Cover her!” Logan’s voice barked out, and you felt a small surge of determination. He was counting on you. The team was counting on you. It was almost too much pressure to bear.

Ororo and Jean moved to provide cover as you darted toward the entrance of the data room. You manipulated the chemicals in the air around you, creating a thick fog to obscure the attackers' vision, but it wouldn’t last long.

You slipped into the room and immediately went to work on the computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. The download started, but it was slow, and you could hear the chaos outside intensifying.

“Hurry it up, Alchemy!” Scott’s voice came over the comms, tension clear in his tone.

“Almost there,” you muttered, eyes glued to the screen. The progress bar crept forward, painfully slow. You glanced over your shoulder, half expecting an attacker to burst through the door at any moment.

A loud crash echoed through the room as part of the hallway imploded, sending dust and debris flying. You ducked, covering your head with your arms as the force of the blast knocked you off balance. The data was still downloading—just a few more seconds. But the chaos outside was getting worse.

"Y/N!" Logan's voice crackled through the comms, barely audible over the noise. "Get out of there, now!"

"Almost done!" you yelled back, heart pounding. The progress bar was at 95%. You just needed a little more time.

Another explosion rocked the compound, and you heard Logan shout something to the others. You could hear gunfire and the clash of metal against metal as the team fought off the attackers. Every second felt like an eternity.

"Got it!" you exclaimed as the download completed. You yanked the USB drive from the computer and turned to make your escape. You entered the open area where the rest of the team was fighting, just as part of the ceiling fell. Instinctively, you raised your hands and quickly converted the falling cement into water, which drenched you from head to toe.

You grimaced, pushing your wet hair from your face, but there was no time to focus on the discomfort. The fight was still raging, and Logan’s voice crackled over the comms again, "Princess, get out of there. Now."

“On my way!” you shouted, breaking into a sprint to rejoin the team. You dodged debris, your heartbeat in your ears, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

As you rounded the corner, Scott called out through comms, “everyone get dow- ”

Before you could react or shield yourself, a blast came from all around you, an explosion of some kind. You watched as Logan tackled Jean to the ground, shielding her. It was instinctual, he was only protecting a teammate, and Jean was the closest one to him. At least, that’s what you told yourself to feel better.

You hit the ground hard, your body skidding across the concrete before colliding with a pile of debris. Pain exploded in your side as you groaned, gasping for breath. Dazed, you tried to push yourself up, but your vision swam.

Your hand came down to your side, fingers grazing the sticky warmth on your glove. It wasn’t the water from earlier—you knew that now. The sharp pain spreading through your body confirmed it. You blinked, vision blurring for a second, but your focus quickly snapped back as your instincts kicked in.

"Princess, come in! Y/N!" Logan’s voice crackled over the comms, but it sounded distant, like he was yelling from the other side of a tunnel.

“I’m fine,” you groaned, struggling to push yourself to your feet. Your side screamed in protest, but you forced yourself to ignore it. You couldn’t afford to be down for long. Not when everything around you was falling apart.

You looked up to see Logan pulling Jean to her feet, his eyes scanning the battlefield before locking onto you. For a split second, his eyes widened, and then his expression darkened.

“Stay where you are,” Logan barked, already moving toward you, cutting through the debris and chaos like a force of nature. His claws were out, gleaming even in the dim light, but it wasn’t the enemies he was focused on. It was you.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though the words felt weaker this time. The pain was growing worse, and you stumbled as you tried to take a step forward.

Logan was in front of you in an instant, his hands on your shoulders, steadying you before you could fall. “You’re not fine,” he growled, his voice low and rough. He looked down at your side, and his lips pressed into a tight line. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch,” you lied, even as the pain in your side flared again, making it harder to breathe. You tried to step back, to shake off his hands, but Logan wouldn’t let you move.

“You are not fine,” Logan repeated, his eyes dark as they focused on the piece of metal lodged in your side. His hand hovered over it, the blood seeping from the wound making his jaw clench.

“Logan, seriously,” you breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

You tried to brush him off, to act like the sharp, burning pain radiating from your side wasn’t there, but Logan’s hands didn’t move from your shoulders. His grip was firm, almost like he was grounding you.

“Stop lying to me, Princess,” he growled softly, his eyes flicking from your face to the metal in your side. “It’s not nothing. I can smell the blood.”

The way he said it made your face flush, and for a second, you didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t just annoyed; he was worried. It was written all over his face, in the tension of his body, in the way his claws were still out, ready to strike at anything that came near.

“Logan- ” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice low but commanding. “I’m getting this out.”

He knelt down in front of you, his large hands gently holding your waist. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine despite the situation. You bit your lip, trying to focus on something- anything- other than the way his hands felt on you.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned, glancing up at you. His eyes softened just a bit, as if he was trying to reassure you.

“I’ll be fine,” you muttered, though the knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. It wasn’t the pain you were worried about.

Logan gave you a quick nod, then, with a sharp tug, he pulled the metal shard from your side. You bit down on a groan, your vision blurring for a moment as the pain shot through you. The wound was deeper than you’d realized, and the blood quickly soaked through your suit.

“Damn it,” Logan muttered under his breath, pressing his hand against your side to try and stop the bleeding. “We need to get you back to the jet. You’re losing too much blood.”

“I can handle it,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to stand up straighter. “We still have enemies out there. I’m not leaving the fight.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “The hell you aren’t.”

You tried to argue, but the pain flared again, and your vision swam. You stumbled, and Logan caught you easily, pulling you against him.

“Stubborn,” he muttered, his voice close to your ear now. “You’re as bad as me.”

“I learned from the best,” you said, trying to force a smile through the pain. But it was hard to keep the act up when your body was screaming at you to lie down, to rest.

Logan’s grip tightened on you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him. His body was solid and warm, and despite the chaos around you, there was something comforting about his presence.

“We’re getting you back to the jet, sweetheart,” Logan said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re not staying out here like this.”

“But- ” you started to protest, but Logan cut you off again.

“No ‘buts,’ princess. You’re hurt. Let the rest of us handle it.”

Before you could argue again, he gently but firmly hoisted you up into his arms. The movement made your side burn, but you were too stunned by the fact that Logan was carrying you to care.

“Logan, put me down,” you said, your face heating up in embarrassment. “I can walk.”

“Not happening,” he grunted, his arms strong and steady around you. “You can yell at me later if you want. Right now, we’re getting you patched up.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. His face was set in that familiar scowl, but there was something else in his eyes. Concern? Maybe even fear?

“Logan, I’m fine,” you tried again, but your voice was weaker this time. The truth was, you were exhausted. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain was becoming harder to ignore.

Logan didn’t respond, his jaw tight as he carried you through the debris and chaos. You caught sight of Ororo and Scott still fighting off the last of the enemies, and Jean was using her telekinesis to hold back another explosion.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Jean’s voice cut through the noise, her eyes widening as she saw you in Logan’s arms.

“She’s hurt,” Logan said, not stopping as he headed for the jet. “I’m getting her out of here.”

Jean looked like she wanted to protest, but she gave a quick nod, her focus shifting back to the battle. “Go. We’ll finish up here.”

As Logan carried you back to the Blackbird, you couldn’t help but glance up at him again. His face was still set in that determined, protective expression, and your heart did another flip.

This wasn’t just about the mission anymore. There was something else between you two, something you had been too scared to admit to yourself. But now, with Logan holding you close, the weight of his concern for you pressing down on your heart, it was impossible to ignore.

So, for now, you let yourself enjoy the warmth of him around you, lingering in it for as long as you could. Because you knew this is the closest you were ever going to get to him holding you like he cared.

---

You blinked, hearing muffled arguing coming from outside the medbay, Jean coming over to your side. “Hey, there. You’ve been out for a day.”

“A day?” You asked, your voice hoarse.

“You sustained significant blood loss, but luckily the metal didn’t hit any organs, or it would be a much different story,” Jean said gently, her eyes watching you with concern.

You blinked a few times, your head still foggy from the whole ordeal. “A day? I’ve been out for a day?”

Jean nodded, giving you a reassuring smile. “You’re tougher than you think, Y/N. You just need to rest.”

You sighed, glancing around the medbay. The arguing from outside caught your attention again. Jean seemed to notice it too, her expression turning slightly more serious.

“Logan’s been a little... on edge since you were brought back,” she said carefully.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Logan. You tried not to let it show, but you’d always been bad at hiding your feelings. Jean gave you a small, knowing smile.

“Don’t worry about him. He just- well, you know Logan.”

You chuckled softly, though it hurt to do so. “Yeah, I know Logan.”

Jean gave you a sympathetic look, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “He’s been worried. More than usual.”

You raised an eyebrow. “More than usual?”

Jean nodded. “You know how he gets. All gruff and ‘I don’t care,’ but it’s just a front. He was pacing outside the medbay the entire time we were patching you up.”

The idea of Logan pacing, stressed about you, felt both strange and oddly comforting. It was hard to imagine him being that concerned over anyone—let alone you.

The door to the medbay creaked open, and Logan’s familiar, rugged form stepped inside. His eyes immediately locked on you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the set of his jaw that told you he was angry. And worried.

Jean gave you a quick smile and a soft pat on your arm before standing. “I’ll give you two some space.”

As Jean left, the room fell into an awkward silence. Logan stood by the door for a moment, arms crossed, not moving. His eyes scanned you, probably taking in the bandages, the way you were still propped up on the medbay bed, looking a little worse for wear.

“Hey,” you said quietly, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Logan muttered, walking over to your bed with heavy steps. He didn’t sit, just loomed at the foot of the bed, arms still crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked up at him, trying to push past the discomfort. “I’m fine, really. Jean said I’m tougher than I think.”

“Yeah, and you’re also reckless,” Logan shot back, his voice rough. “You almost got yourself killed out there, Princess.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, and you looked away, fiddling with the blanket. You liked it when he called you that, but at the same time it almost felt like he still saw you as a kid. “I didn’t mean to. I was just doing my job.”

Logan let out a sharp breath, and for a second, you thought he was going to start yelling at you. Instead, he sighed and finally sat down on the chair next to your bed. He rubbed a hand over his face, looking tired.

“I know you were doing your job,” Logan said, his voice quieter now. “But you gotta be more careful. I thought—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching as he stared at the floor. “I thought I lost you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, like the very idea of you being gone was unbearable to him. You swallowed, unsure of what to say. You’d never seen Logan like this—so raw, so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Logan glanced up at you, his eyes softening just a bit. “You scared the hell outta me, sweetheart.”

The nickname sent a familiar warmth through your chest, but this time it wasn’t just the usual flustered feeling. There was something more behind it, something deeper that you’d never allowed yourself to believe was possible.

“I didn’t mean to,” you repeated, feeling small under his gaze. “I just... I wanted to do my part.”

Logan’s expression softened even more, and he leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “I get that. You’re tough, Princess. But you’re also important. To the team... and to me.”

You blinked, your heart pounding. Did he just say that? Did Logan—Logan, of all people—just admit you were important to him? Your mind was racing, trying to process what he meant, but before you could say anything, Logan stood up abruptly, like he regretted letting those words slip.

“You need rest,” he said, his voice gruff again as he turned toward the door. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

Logan left the medbay, leaving you alone with the beeping machines.

---

A few days later you were released from the medbay and told to take it easy by Jean. Which you took to heart, perhaps a little too much.

You stayed in your room, only leaving at abnormal times to get food and water since you didn’t want to run into Logan. After all, you were young, practically a child to him, and all you wanted was for your crush on him to fade away like so many others did before.

That’s what you kept telling yourself. It didn’t make the ache in your chest any easier to handle. Your crush on Logan had always been this quiet thing, something you never intended to act on. But now, after everything, it felt like it had grown louder, more noticeable. And that scared you.

You sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed, idly fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Maybe you just needed to... talk to him. Be normal again. You’d been friends before, hadn’t you? It wasn’t like he knew how you felt, anyway.

Just as you were considering going for a walk to clear your head, there was a knock at your door. You froze.

“Y/N?” Ororo’s voice came from the other side, soft but steady. “You in there?”

You quickly got up, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Ororo stood there, arms crossed, giving you that look—like she knew exactly what was going on with you. It was unnerving, how she always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone emotionally.

“Hey,” you greeted, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt at nonchalance. “You’ve been hiding.”

You blinked. “I haven’t been hiding.”

Ororo gave you a look. “Please. I haven’t seen you at meal times, and Logan’s been extra grumpy. It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

You felt your face heat up. “Logan’s grumpy all the time.”

“He’s more grumpy than usual,” Ororo said, stepping into your room and closing the door behind her. “He’s been asking around. Wants to know why you’re avoiding him.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “He said that?”

Ororo nodded, leaning against your desk. “He won’t admit it’s bothering him, but it is. What’s going on?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you sat back down on the bed. “I just... I don’t know, okay? Things got weird after the mission, and I needed space.”

“Logan didn’t do anything wrong,” Ororo pointed out gently.

“I know,” you mumbled. “It’s not him. It’s me.”

Ororo tilted her head, studying you for a moment before sitting beside you on the bed. “You’re worried about how he sees you, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “I mean, kinda of. He doesn’t see me in the way I see him, y’know?”

Ororo gave you a knowing look, her lips quirking up slightly. "And how do you see him?"

You hesitated, feeling your face heat up again. "I... I don’t know. It's just... he’s Logan. He’s been through so much, seen so much, and I’m just… me. The kid who got lucky with mutant powers and likes chemistry too much."

Ororo smiled gently, shaking her head. "You’re selling yourself short, Y/N. You're a lot more than that. And Logan sees it."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Ororo held up a hand. "I’m not saying he knows exactly what he's feeling, but he's not as oblivious as you think. And trust me, the way he’s been acting lately, it’s clear you’re important to him."

You sighed, flopping back on the bed. "Maybe, but it’s not like that. It can’t be. He’s Logan—he doesn’t do the whole feelings thing."

Ororo chuckled softly. "You’d be surprised. He’s more in tune with his feelings than he lets on. He’s just… not used to showing them."

You frowned up at the ceiling. "Then why does it feel like I’m the only one getting all messed up over this?"

Ororo stood up, crossing her arms as she looked down at you. "Because you’re thinking too much, Alchemy. Maybe you should try talking to him instead of hiding."

"I’m not hiding!" you protested weakly.

"Uh-huh," Ororo said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, hiding or not, he’s not going to let this go. Logan’s stubborn like that."

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. "Great. That’s exactly what I need."

Ororo chuckled again. "Just… talk to him. It might help. You can’t avoid him forever."

You sighed, peeking out from under the pillow. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it."

Ororo smiled softly before heading toward the door. "Good. And Y/N?"

You looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Give yourself a little more credit," Ororo said gently. "You’re not just some kid to him. He cares about you. Maybe more than either of you realizes."

Before you could respond, she slipped out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the knot of nervousness growing in your stomach.

---

The next day, you were wandering through the mansion’s empty halls after lunch. You weren’t hiding per se, but you were definitely avoiding a certain someone. Ororo’s words kept echoing in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was right. Talking to Logan was probably the only way to clear this weird tension between you, but the thought of actually doing it made you want to curl up and disappear.

As you turned a corner, lost in thought, you almost walked straight into him.

"Whoa, easy there, Princess," Logan’s gruff voice startled you as he steadied you with a hand on your arm. "Where you off to in such a hurry?"

You froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I-I wasn’t—uh, just wandering."

Logan raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical but amused. "You’ve been ‘just wandering’ a lot lately."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. This was it. The moment you’d been dreading. He was right here, and there was no avoiding him now.

Logan sighed, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. "You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart."

There it was. The thing you’d been trying to dodge. Your heart raced, and you shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. "I haven’t been avoiding you."

Logan huffed, his expression softening a little. "I ain’t stupid, Y/N. You haven’t been around much since the mission. What’s goin’ on?"

You swallowed hard, feeling your palms start to sweat. "It’s nothing. I just... needed some space. That’s all."

Logan narrowed his eyes slightly, studying you. "Space from me?"

You looked down at your shoes, suddenly finding them very interesting. "Not exactly. I just... things got a little weird, okay?"

"Weird how?" Logan’s voice was still rough, but there was a hint of something gentler beneath it. Concern, maybe?

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. How were you supposed to explain that the reason you’d been avoiding him was because your stupid crush had spiraled into something much more confusing and intense? You couldn’t just blurt that out. Could you?

Logan’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, and he took a step closer, his voice low. "Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on?"

You felt a lump form in your throat as you glanced up at him. He was so close now, and the familiar warmth in his eyes was making it hard to think straight.

"I just... I didn’t want to make things awkward between us," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing. "Why would things be awkward?"

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Because I... I care about you, Logan. A lot. And I know you don’t feel the same way because you still like Jean- ”

Logan's frown deepened, and he shook his head almost immediately. "Jean? What’re you talkin’ about?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you bit your lip, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "I mean, I just assumed... everyone knows you used to have feelings for her, and it’s fine, really. I get it. I just didn’t want to make things weird by—"

"Y/N," Logan cut you off, his voice firm but not unkind. He stepped closer, his gaze locking with yours. "I ain’t thinkin’ about Jean like that anymore."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You’re not?"

Logan shook his head again, a hint of frustration slipping through. "No, sweetheart. That’s done with. It’s been done with for a while."

Your mind raced, trying to process what he was saying. If he wasn’t still hung up on Jean, then... What did that mean? Why had he been acting so tense around you?

"Then why have you been so... distant?" you asked softly, your voice wavering. "You’ve been acting weird too, Logan. It’s not just me."

Logan looked down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck—a rare sign of discomfort from him. When he spoke again, his voice was a little gruffer. "I’ve been... tryin’ to figure some stuff out, alright?"

"Figure what out?" you pressed gently, taking a step closer to him now. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, but you didn’t back down. "Logan, just talk to me."

He sighed, his eyes meeting yours again, and for a second, you saw something vulnerable flash through his expression—something raw. He was quiet for a beat before he finally spoke.

"After that mission," he said slowly, his voice low, "when I saw you get hurt... somethin’ in me snapped. I couldn’t... I couldn’t handle it, Y/N. The thought of losin’ you like that—" He broke off, his jaw tightening, and you could see the tension in his shoulders. "I’ve been through a lotta shit in my life. Seen people come and go. But you? The idea of you bein’ gone—it messed me up more than I thought it would."

You stood there, staring at him, trying to absorb what he was saying. He wasn’t just talking about the mission anymore. This was more than that.

"Logan..." you whispered, feeling a knot form in your throat. "I didn’t know you—"

"I didn’t know it either," he interrupted, his voice rough but sincere. "I didn’t know I felt like this ‘til it hit me. I care about you, Princess. More than I care to admit, sometimes. And I ain’t exactly good at this... feelings thing, y’know that."

Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, you were convinced you’d misheard him. Logan cared about you? Like that? It felt surreal.

"You... you care about me?" you asked cautiously, your voice small.

Logan huffed, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. "Hell yeah, I do. I’ve been tryin’ to push it down for a while now, but it ain’t workin’. Not anymore."

You stared at him in disbelief, your pulse racing. "But... I’m just—"

"Don’t even start with that ‘I’m just me’ bullshit," Logan cut you off again, his tone more serious. "You ain’t ‘just’ anything, Y/N. You’re smart, tough as nails, and you’ve got a good heart. You matter to me. And not in some ‘kid sister’ kinda way either, if that’s what you’re thinkin’."

Your cheeks flushed, and your heart skipped a beat. He was being so direct, so honest, and it left you completely speechless.

Logan shifted a little closer, his gaze softening even more as he looked down at you. "I don’t know when it happened, but it did. You got under my skin, sweetheart. And as much as I tried to ignore it... I can’t."

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. This was really happening. Logan—gruff, stoic Logan—was telling you that he had feelings for you. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like a kid around him. You felt like someone who mattered, someone he saw.

"I..." you started, your voice shaking a little. "I didn’t think you’d ever... I mean, I’ve had feelings for you for a while now, but I just figured—"

Logan chuckled softly, his hand reaching out to brush your cheek gently. The touch was gentle, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "You figured wrong, Princess."

You blinked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he was looking at you—it wasn’t just teasing or friendly banter. It was something deeper, something real. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. “I thought I was just… I don’t know, bothering you or something.”

Logan’s hand lingered near your face, his thumb brushing your cheek softly. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the sincerity in them, the raw emotion he wasn’t hiding anymore. “You ain’t a bother, sweetheart. Far from it. And if I’ve been actin’ like I don’t care, that’s on me. But I do care. A lot.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His touch, his words—it was all too much, too overwhelming. You’d been crushing on Logan for what felt like forever, and now he was standing here, telling you he felt the same way. It didn’t feel real.

“Logan, I…” You started, but your words trailed off as his hand slid down to your neck, his rough palm warm against your skin. The way he was looking at you, the intensity in his gaze, made it impossible to think straight.

“Stop thinkin’ so hard,” Logan murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just… be here. With me.”

Your heart pounded as you met his eyes, your stomach doing flips. You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath until you let it out in a shaky exhale. “Okay.”

For a moment, everything felt like it slowed down—the air between you humming with tension. Logan leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, and you could feel his breath warm against your lips. It felt like time had stopped, like nothing else in the world mattered but this moment.

Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the small distance between you and pressed your lips to his.

Logan responded instantly, his hand moving to cup the back of your head as he kissed you with a kind of intensity that made your knees weak. It wasn’t slow or hesitant—it was rough, urgent, like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t anymore.

You kissed him back, your hands finding their way to his chest, gripping his shirt as you melted into him. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, and the way he kissed you sent a shock of electricity through your entire body. It was everything you’d imagined and more.

Logan’s free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him until there was no space left between your bodies. You could feel the strength in him, the raw power that he usually kept under tight control, but there was also a tenderness in the way he touched you, like he was afraid of hurting you.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, you lost yourself in him—in the way he tasted, the way he smelled like leather and pine, the way his hands moved over your body like he couldn’t get enough of you.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Logan’s hands were still on you, one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he didn’t want to let go.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “You really are somethin’, Princess.”

You laughed softly, feeling a little dizzy from the kiss, from everything. “You’re not so bad yourself, Wolverine.”

Logan smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “Could’ve told me sooner, y’know. Saved me a lotta trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “Yeah, well, you could’ve said something too. You had me thinking I was crazy this whole time.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Guess we’re both idiots then.”

You bit your lip, still trying to process everything. You’d kissed Logan. Actually kissed him. And he’d kissed you back. It felt like a dream, like any second now you were going to wake up and realize none of this had happened.

But it had. He was still here, his arms around you, his eyes on you, his lips still tingling from the kiss. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel nervous or uncertain around him. You felt… right.

[iydiamartinx]

PROFESSIONAL BOUNDARIES

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @iydiamartinx word count: 1.6k synopsis: They’ve kept their relationship buried beneath professionalism and protocol, but when someone else starts to flirt with you, Batman’s jealousy slips through the cracks—and so does his control.

The Watchtower’s central command room hummed with quiet conversation, the low murmur of the Justice League echoing beneath flickering lights and the soft whir of the holo-display. The briefing was nearing its end, though you barely noticed. You were seated between Wonder Woman and Batman—though “seated” might’ve been too generous a word. Half-slouched in your chair, one boot propped on the edge of the table, fingers absently twirling a knife you’d snuck in just for the habit of it.

Batman was the one leading the meeting today.  The holo-display behind him rotated rapidly through surveillance footage, shifting maps, and streams of encrypted data—all of it moving too fast for the average eye to track. But you weren’t average.

And besides, none of it was news to you. You already knew the plan. You’d helped him write it, not that the rest of the team were aware of that little tidbit.

Which was why you didn’t feel the need to hang on every word as he droned through it again like a stiff-backed schoolteacher.

“Metahuman conflict in Markovia is escalating,” he said, voice low and smooth, as if carved from granite. “We’ll be dispatching teams in rotation.”

Your fingers stilled.

The knife paused mid-spin as he began to list the assigned units. You weren’t paying close attention—until he reached your name.

You blinked. Then slowly sat up, chin coming to rest on your palm as you leaned forward. Your gaze sharpened. You hadn’t been paired with him in the original draft. That… hadn’t been part of the plan.

But he didn’t so much as glance your way.

You leaned forward lazily, elbow propped on the table, chin in your hand. Your voice was a purr of silk and smoke.

“Aww, Batsy,” you drawled, letting the nickname curl like a tease on your tongue. “I knew you couldn’t get enough of me.”

Across the table, Flash blinked twice.

Diana’s brow rose, amused but unsurprised.

Superman coughed—though whether it was to cover a laugh or his disapproval, you couldn’t quite tell.

“You’re a strategic fit for the mission,” he said coolly as he moved to begin typing on the holopad. “Everyone else—meeting dismissed.”

You smirked knowingly.

“Mhm,” you murmured, stretching back in your chair as the rest of the League began to rise. “If that’s what you want to call it, sweetheart.”

You slinked in closer as the others filtered out—Flash already halfway through a joke to Diana, Superman nodding a polite goodbye. You waited for everyone to leave before you dragged a finger across the exposed skin of his jaw, just beneath the edge of the cowl.

“You know,” you said, your voice dropping into a velvet whisper, “if you miss my company that much… you could just ask for it. I’m very good at entertaining.”

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even turn to look at you.

But you saw it—the subtle tension that rolled across his shoulders, the slight grind of his jaw beneath your touch, the way his gloved hand flexed once before his knuckles cracked sharp in the hush between you.

“Dismissed, Y/N.”

That only made your smile stretch wider.

You straightened with a slow roll of your spine, gave him one last smirk, and turned to leave—your steps unhurried, hips swaying with unapologetic purpose. The door hissed open as you passed through it, but not before tossing a final glance over your shoulder.

Oh, you were going to get it later for that one.

You hadn’t made it twenty feet from the briefing room before a voice slid in beside you.

“Alright, I gotta ask—how the hell did you get away with that?”

You shrugged, your voice light. “He doesn’t scare me.”

Hal Jordan let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “No kidding. You’ve got more nerve than most of the League combined to talk to Spooky like that.”

You offered a slow, sideways smile. “You call him that to his face?”

He grimaced immediately. “God, no. I like having all my teeth where they are.”

A quiet snort escaped you. Hal’s grin widened, clearly encouraged.

“So…” he began, scratching the back of his neck like he was trying to seem more nonchalant than he was. “You, uh… got plans after this?”

Before you could answer, you caught the shift of movement at the edge of your vision. A shadow approaching.

“Lantern,” Batman’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and cold. “You’re needed in the lower hangar. Now.”

Hal blinked. “What—now? I haven’t even—”

The air turned colder. Something in Batman’s tone left no room for negotiation, and Hal, to his credit, picked up on it fast. He raised his hands in exaggerated surrender and took a few steps back, though not without flashing you a cheeky wink.

“Rain check, sweetheart.”

You didn’t respond, just offered a lazy shrug and watched him walk away.

The door hadn’t even hissed shut behind Hal before Batman was on you.

Two long strides and you were pinned—back against the cool metal wall of the command deck. One gloved hand braced near your head, the other found your waist—firm, grounding, possessive.

Your lips curled. “Someone’s jealous.”

“I’m not—” he began, but the words barely made it past his lips before your fingers found the centre of his chest plate, tracing the outline of the bat symbol.

You tilted your head, brow arching. “Oh? So if you aren’t… maybe I’ll take him up on his offer for drinks.”

His grip on your waist tightened immediately, fingers flexing through the layers of tactical material like he was resisting the urge to give into his baser desires. Instead, he stepped in, close enough that there was no space left between you two. His voice dropped to a low, razor-edged growl.

“Don’t forget who you belong to.”

You arched up into him, your lips just shy of his, gaze dark with challenge. “Maybe I need a reminder.”

His mouth crushed to yours with no hesitation, no warning—just the surge of everything he kept buried under armour and silence. His gloved hand tangled in your hair, the other holding your hip in place like he could anchor you there forever. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. This was your Bruce—letting his iron clad control slip.

You kissed him back with equal force, your hands fisting in his suit, mouth parting for him without hesitation. His body pressed flush to yours, heat radiating through armour you both wore.

You could feel the tremble in his control—the rigid lines of muscle taut beneath his suit. He was a man who was always controlled. Always composed.

Except when it came to you.

A soft sound escaped you when his teeth grazed your lower lip—sharp and possessive, leaving behind a faint sting that only made your blood rush hotter.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath ragged against your cheek.

“Is that enough of a reminder,” he growled, “of who you belong to?”

You smiled, slow and wicked, eyes still half-lidded, lips kiss-bitten and tingling. “If you admit you were being jealous,” you murmured. “You know I was just being polite.”

He leaned in again, lips brushing your ear. “You were teasing.”

A shiver danced down your spine at the sound of his voice—low, frayed, barely clinging to composure. You’d pushed him on purpose. And you were still pushing.

“You know if you keep kissing me like that again while we’re in public,” you whispered, “and we won’t be a secret much longer.”

His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you in until your bodies aligned perfectly—fitting together like puzzle pieces “Then stop giving me a reason.”

You tilted your chin, daring him. “Make me.”

His hand moved, slowly smoothing down the curve of your spine and then he was yanking you back to his lips.

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you walked into the hangar bay—Batman as his usual cold and professional self. And you, the picture of casual ease, sauntering in like your normal self. Both of you acting as if nothing had happened.

Except it had.

Your lips were still a little too pink. Your hair, despite a quick fix in the mirror, had that artfully tousled edge no amount of finger-combing could completely smooth out. And the faint shadow beneath your jaw—a whisper of a bruise blooming—that told its own story.

You were halfway to the transport when Hal spotted you.

He was leaning against the side of a ship, mid-conversation with Green Arrow before he suddenly paused. His gaze found you first, sliding over your face with idle interest. But then it lingered and his eyes narrowed as he clocked the mark on your jaw.

Then the lips.

Then the hair.

Then—

His gaze shifted past you to where Batman emerged behind you, the cowl shadowing his expression but not hiding the ice behind his stare. 

They were locked on Hal giving him the infamous bat glare.

Hal stiffened. His attention bounced between the two of you. You gave him a faint, knowing smirk. The tilt of your head that all but dared him to say something.

And he gulped.

“…Right,” he muttered under his breath, already stepping back. “Yeah. No drinks. Got it.”

Batman didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

Hal was gone in two seconds, leaving nothing but the echo of retreating boots and a poorly veiled sense of self-preservation in his wake.

You didn’t look at Bruce—not until the ship’s ramp sealed behind you both with the soft hiss of pressurized air, sealing you both inside away from the outside world.

Then, at last, you turned and in amusement—you said, “I think he got the message.”

Batman didn’t respond but a faint smug smirk ghosted at his lips.

[batsandbirdbrains]

I’m half asleep so have a half baked idea that’s keeping me awake

The one where Dick and Bruce troll everyone

Set during season one of young justice. Dick is just an overall menace who loves to make everyone question everything they know. His favorite topic to cause mass confusion amongst unknowing Justice league members and every member of the young Justice team? His relationship with Batman

There are days where he insinuates Batman kidnapped him off the streets of Gotham.

“He saved me from Killer Croc eating me like a chicken wing.”

“I was supposed to go with the nice CPS lady but then Batman showed up and shoved me in the Batmobile and now I’m here!”

“I was walking home from school one day and he snatched me out of the shadows (he was hiding behind a dumpster).”

Sometimes they act like brothers who can’t stand each other half the time

“You’re such a buttmunch I hate you!” “Literally all I’m asking you to do is shower after training before you come home. You stink, Robin. You’re smelly.” “You’re smelly! Did the bats crap on your cowl before you came here?” Batman’s sigh is long, drawn out, and dramatic. He turns on his heel. Robin sticks his tongue out at him.

“Hey if I get this training sim completed at 100% will you get me Batburger on the way home?” “Fine. Don’t tell Agent A.” “Only if you also promise to get me a milkshake.” “Fine.”

“Yes.” “No.” “Yes!” “No!” “YES!” “NO!” This goes on for three full minutes. They’ve forgotten what they were arguing about. They’re not sure who wins.

Sometimes Batman is such a dad it feels like they’re not supposed to be watching even though it’s in the middle of Mount Justice where anyone can see.

After a particularly tiring mission and the subsequent debrief, Robin leans against Batman and definitely doesn’t close his eyes. He’s just resting them. It’s a slow blink, nothing more. Batman has a hand very softly carding through Robin’s hair, and he’s basically carrying him to the zeta tubes a couple minutes later to go back to the batcave.

Sometimes there’s a new video game out or something that Robin really wants, and he’ll whine and hang off Batman’s arm until he weasels Batman into buying it for him. He has to pinky promise. No take-backsies

They’ve absolutely heard Batman call Robin “chum” in a soft, proud voice that sounds nothing like the big bad Bat they all know.

Sometimes he just says wild shit to send them way off base:

“I dunno Conner, maybe you’re not the only clone around here.”

“He made me by mixing his own DNA with an actual bat, that’s why I’m so acroBATic. Haha, get it? Acro-BAT?”

“He stole me from the circus.”

“He’s actually a cryptid. He asked lady Gotham for light and hope and she gave him me!” “Does that make you a cryptid too?” “I dunno, maybe!”

“I’m his love child with justice.”

He’s only said the circus one exactly once because Bruce told him off for it being too close to the truth, but they did both get a laugh out of everyone’s reactions.

And then one day someone just straight up asks Robin, in front of Batman, if they’re related. And Robin blinks once, twice.

“He’s my roommate.”

It’s said so matter of fact, Robin just shrugs, and goes about whatever he was doing. Batman grunts in a confirmation sort of way, busy looking at a data pad.

Artemis, standing a little ways away behind Conner (who the rest of the team elected to go ask the question), shoves her face in a couch pillow and lets out a muffled scream. M’gann and Conner are confused. Wally is laughing. Kaldur tries to remember different surface customs in when children move out and get roommates.

“Wait but so how old is Batman then?” Wally’s question makes them all now wonder if Batman is even that much older than all of them.

In the other room, away from curious, prying eyes, Dick is smothering a giggle behind a gloved hand and shoving his face in Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce lets his lips quirk up just a little.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

PAIRING: (un)burned!vader x f!reader (I haven't decided)

SMUT ❦

Knowledge wasn't your strongest side. It was rather obvious when you settled yourself on his lap, whining about how lonely and needy you were. Vader had simply given you that look—calm, unwavering, superior. Like he was humoring a child. But then, with an indulgent sigh, he had lifted you without much effort, spreading you open over his cock, sheathing himself to the hilt with ease.

That was twenty minutes ago.

Now, you were still there, still with your body trembling, still stuffed to the brim with his cock while he barely acknowledged you—one arm wrapped lazily around your waist, the other flipping through data files on his holopad as if you weren’t sitting fully impaled on him, whimpering against his throat with pity.

"Be still, little one," he murmured against your temple, voice deep and endless like the void outside the Death Star. "You're making a mess off my lap."

That was a fact. There was a slick, embarrassing wetness pooling between your thighs, soaking the fabric of his black uniform pants, but how could you not? He was so big, thick and heavy inside you, stretching you beyond comfort—refusing to move.

Your breathing hitched when his cybernetic hand ghosted up your thigh, before curling at your hip in a form of a warning "Did I not tell you to be patient?"

You whimpered again, sound becoming like a habit. Your walls clenched involuntarily, and felt everything—the sheer girth of him twitching inside you, him filling you so utterly, so perfectly. A breath stopped in your throat, turning into a broken, silly sound as your fingers clawed at his chest, pressing into the sturdy muscle.

"Vader," you gasped, rolling your hips the tiniest bit; just to seek friction, seek relief.

That was a huge mistake.

His hand tightened instantly, fingers digging into the plush of your thigh as he stilled you with an iron grip. You felt the power in his hold, the quiet, restrained discipline. He could break you if he wanted. But instead, his lips found your shoulder, pressing a deceptively soft, almost reverent kiss against your skin.

"You're testing my patience, little one."

Your head lolled back against his shoulder, a whine escaping your swollen lips. "Please, I need—"

"Shhh," he silenced you with another kiss, this time trailing up your throat, nuzzling the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. "I know what you need."

You bit your lip, body trembling with both hunger and frustration. Yet, he wasn’t done toying with you at all. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, voice turning all low and teasing.

"You're my sweet girl, aren't you?"

You nodded frantically. "Y-yes—"

"My obedient girl?"

"Yes!"

His lips curled into a smirk against your skin. "Then behave. I have work to finish."

Oh, how you wanted to protest. How you wanted to beg, to plead him to move, to let you ride him like you needed to—but you knew how he played this sick game. The more desperate you got, the more he enjoyed it. The more you obeyed, the sweeter the reward.

So, you slumped against his chest, breathing shaky, thighs quivering with exertion as you fought to remain still. Which, apparently, was enough for him to finally reward you.

Gloved, leather hands glided down your hips, slow and appreciative, adoring, before lifting you—just a small fraction—before letting you sink back down onto him with a wet, obscene sound.

A choked sob left your lips. Whole body momentary clenched, eyes rolled back as he spread you all over again, splitting you open on his cock in a way that made you see stars. Such beautiful stars

"There’s my good girl," he purred, voice emphasized with approval, fingers caressing the curve of your belly, pressing right where he knew he was buried the deepest.

Then, in the calmest, most infuriating voice imaginable; "Now, be silent while I finish my work."

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