#why isn’t there a barrier? why?

[heyclickadee]

Me: Oh hey! It’d be fun to drive out on this mountain road and find a hike!

Me, an hour later: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[rooolt]

Not to like say “everyone should listen to naddpod” again, but everyone should listen to naddpod. I know it’s a more rules based dnd podcast with combat in honestly probably every episode, and that’s not some people’s thing, but it just doesn’t drag at all because 1) as I’ve said Brian Murphy is an encounter design god and 2) the players clearly love the game and are having so much fun throughout and it’s just such a joy to listen to and it just helps me fall in love with it all over again. For me, it has the perfect mix of knowing they’re an entertainment podcast and what that means in terms of pacing and in character decision making, while it still being clear that these people aren’t just doing this because it’s a hole they dug themselves into, but because it’s a genuinely enjoyable thing for them

[donnyclaws]

I was gonan make a post apologizing for lack of regular art but I feel like jts already clear im sporadic and in and out of it bc chronic pain and circumstances. So for now I'm gonna hibernate, get my health steady again, deal with money issues, and art will happen when it happens.

[mycological-mariner]

One thing I find deeply frustrating is whenever you go “This piece of medía looks really good and like something I would enjoy however when I tried to get into it, I found it contains a great deal of things that I find extremely triggering which sucks because it otherwise sounds like something I’d really enjoy” and someone goes “Oh that sucks, I’m sorry you’re missing out it is REALLY GOOD and you WOULD love it!”

[stayathome-ts]

I don’t know what’s worse, having a bunch of little things to do, or three larger things.

[fuzzyunicorn]

My genuine reaction when everything I knew was going to happen is currently happening

[snallavanta]

i love svt so much like not in a hehe haha way anymore

[sodacowboy]

fan is on three feet away from me and I can still hear the fizz of the energy drink like a foot and a half away from me

[skipppppy]

No offence but I feel like some people got a little too comfortable with telling people to touch grass and swung all the way round to just straight up shaming anyone who might have a less active social life than them to feel better about themselves. “She should be at the club” was a really funny meme until people started acting like fucking middle school bullies towards people who don’t go out with their friends a lot. All those drinking/drugs/sex milestone polls were fun to engage with until it became a wierd circlejerk making fun of people who haven’t done those things before. People on twitter are once again dogpiling someone for wanting queer social spaces that don’t revolve around alcohol or loud music and telling them it’s their own fault for not having friends.

Like I get that nightclubs and sex have strong ties to queer culture and are often the first targets in the hellscape of respectability politics. It’s important we remember our roots and protect these spaces from conservative scrutiny. I mean that. They are important. But just on a surface level it seems like people are starting to see having an inactive social life as some kind of moral failing which…it’s not. I feel like an insane person for feeling like I have to say this on the fucking queer autism website but like. You aren’t inherently a bad person if you don’t have friends. You aren’t “falling behind” if you haven’t had your first kiss in your 20s or never done drugs. The real world isn’t a movie. And if you see someone who doesn’t go out much and instinctually think “wow what a terminally online loser. I bet their social life sucks because they’re a sheltered creep and not because of systemic barriers beyond their control” you need to have a long hard look at why you feel that way.

There are very real barriers that prevent isolated people from finding community and connection. Do you think you’re superior for being able to breach them? Time, money, sobriety, accessibility, none of those factors were a problem for you, so it shouldn’t be for them, right? Right?

[tojipie]

toji x crybaby reader <3

content: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, smut under the cut !

˚ ✧ ───────────

toji is a flawed man. 

short-tempered, married to his money, slow to show affection. but the one thing he does excel at is comforting you.

he knows you’re a sensitive girl, knows just how easy it is for you to get teary-eyed and red in the face over comments that otherwise seem like nothing to the untrained ear. 

you have a kind heart is all, too giving to a world that only knows how to take. he tells you that every time you break down in his arms, thick hands rubbing circles into the small of your back.

his father would have slapped him across the face for crying. called him soft, whiney like a girl. put him to work for the rest of the day to shape him into a man.

he wasn’t his father though, and you weren’t a zenin.

you were soft in the best way, tender-hearted and too trusting. a daisy among weeds, swaying idly in the too-strong wind. nothing like a zenin, nothing like him. 

he hadn’t the faintest clue what to do the first time he’d seen you get upset, standing there in the kitchen like a fool while you babbled on the phone with his bank.

it was a fraudulent charge, small, maybe only 10 dollars. probably dropped his card while paying for gas again, not the end of the world. the customer service rep assured you that much.

it was the principal, you sobbed. you’d lost his card and hadn’t even noticed. why wasn’t he upset with you?

he doesn’t know why he didn’t just tell you it was okay. that he didn’t have it in him to ever be cross with you, be it a ten-dollar charge or a thousand-dollar charge. 

instead he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling your body flush with his to press soft kisses to the crown of your head.

you were warm there, warm everywhere really. the thrum of your blood heating your skin from the inside out. toji liked that about you, how you offset the perpetual cold of his much larger hands. 

physical touch was something he knew well. toji wasn’t—still isn’t good with words, opting to stay silent and just hold you while you sniffled into the receiver. he got the message across, he always does.

his methods are unorthodox for that very reason. he doesn’t comfort you with his tone, he does it with his body. whether it be thick arms squeezing you until you get your breathing under control, large hands tracing shapes into your tummy until you stop spluttering, or toned legs splaying wide to let you crawl into his lap, resting on him until your bodies reach the same temperature.

toji fucks you on your good days, likes to tease you, get you squirming. the key difference is that he makes sweet love to you on your bad ones. holding you flush to his chest while he rocks into you under the safety of your shared blankets.

you feel like a furnace under him every time, heat radiating off your body and into the deeper parts of his soul. 

he gets mouthy once the feeling of you wrapped around him flicks that little switch in his brain. turning off the mental barrier between him and his inability to use his words. 

“sweet girl,” is what he calls you, eyes never leaving yours. 

“gotta stay close to me, gotta keep you safe, huh?”

and keep you safe he does, tucking your face into the curve of his neck so you don’t have to look anywhere but him. letting you moan, and pant, and sigh into his skin while he rocks against that special spot situated deep in your core.

he goes harder when you ask him to. not faster, but harder—he knows the difference, letting the resistance in his hips subside so he can sink to the hilt over and over. 

the juxtaposition makes his head spin. how do you manage to sound so sweet while asking for something like that? able to melt his heart even on the brink of orgasm.

you kiss him when he fills you up, letting him sink on top of you with a huff and a shy laugh. he listens as you open up about the good parts of your day, his soft hums of agreement spurring you on.

toji wishes he was taught to articulate himself better. he’s trying, he really is. though the “i love you” he says into your skin seems like his best shot at a start. 

[iifishizzleii]

“simon riley would put you in a headlock” “simon riley would be so mean during sex” “simon riley would spit on you and-”

NO, HE WOULD NOT. DON’T LIE. YOU’RE LYING TO THE PUBLIC BECAUSE HE ABSOLUTELY WOULD NOT BE ANYTHING LIKE THAT.

you know his backstory right??? you know his trauma right??? how he was physically, mentally, and sexually abused right??? and we all can assume the number of walls this man has built around himself is astronomical RIGHT???

which is why there is no way on god’s green earth that i believe simon could ever be that cruel with his lover. like, EVER. you broke down every barrier he had, proved every bad thought and insecurity wrong, made him feel strong without his barriers. after that, he wouldn’t be able to even lift a finger against you.

once simon is yours, he is YOURS. there is no question about it, no second thoughts. you fought this hard for him, so he’s giving it all to you. he would never actively try to hurt you. how could he even think of ruining his own piece of heaven?

to me, he isn’t a “i’ll burn the world down for you” kinda guy. he’s a “the world could be burning, and i would still choose you” kinda guy. you’re his ride or die. if he were dying, he would want it to be with his head in your lap, your fingers in his hair, and the only thing in sight being your smile.

and that isn’t to say simon’s a saint. you most definitely still get his sarcasm and dark humor to the MAX, but you get so much more as well. you get his laughter, his gentle touch, his whispers of adoration. you get his back to you as you spoon him from behind, because he’d built a habit of never turning his back to someone. you get to rub moisturizer on his scars, you get to wash away the black paint on his eyes and kiss his weary face whenever he returns from a long mission.

in no life— this or the next— could simon riley ever be cruel to his lover.

but if you asked Ghost for it? completely different story.

[augustinewrites]

“pleeeease, shoko? as my best friend–”

“hold on,” shoko sputters, choking on her drink. “who said i was your best friend?”

“do you think i’d pay for lunch if you weren’t?”

the woman sets down her chopsticks, sending him an unimpressed look. “that’s what this is for? to bribe me into being your best friend so i can tell my actual best friend to go out with you?”

satoru leans forward in his seat, grinning from ear to ear. “i’m not asking you to tell anyone anything. i’m just saying, plant a few seeds here and there. maybe mention how devastated i was to get friend-zoned and that i’m way too hot to be strictly friendship material.”

“that’s way too unbelievable, coming from me. maybe you should ask nanami…”

“no, it has to be you. you think anyone would believe nanamin if he said i was a total smokeshow?” he asks, shaking his head.

“well, no one would believe him because it’s not true.”

“you’re being mean,” satoru pouts. “you’re supposed to be my best friend–”

“friendship isn’t how you’ll get me to do your bidding,” shoko interrupts. “i like whiskey.”

_____

“this is really good,” you hum in approval as you take another sip. it’s smooth, sweet, and strong. much better than any whiskey you and shoko have shared before. “how on earth did you afford this?”

“a friend bought a few bottles for me,” she waves off, settling herself into the opposite end of her couch. “so…how was your date on saturday? with that guy from the kyoto school?”

“it was okay. but i don’t think i’ll see him again,” you tell her honestly. “he just wasn’t…” 

“wasn’t gojo?” 

“what?” you ask. the idea that you didn’t enjoy your last date because he wasn’t gojo was downright ridiculous, but the quickened beat of your heart is trying to tell you otherwise. “why would you– you think i like gojo?” 

satoru gojo, whose second job seemed to be roping you into his nonsense back in your school days (and taking the fall when yaga eventually caught you). who showed off during missions and always yelled for you to watch (he has a small scar on his cheek from a failed infinity barrier projection). who now routinely showed up to your apartment uninvited to watch a film with you (and always left with a few rolls of your toilet paper).

“you don’t have to like him,” your best friend says, pulling you out of your thoughts. “you just have to sit on him.”

“ieiri!” you shout, horrified. “we’re friends. friends don’t sleep with friends.”

“what? i slept with him once - in a moment of complete weakness - and we’re still friends.”

“but now you no longer sleep with men,” you point out. 

she seems taken aback by that for a moment, but eventually shrugs it off. “true, but it’s different for you guys.”

“how?”

shoko fills the bottom of her glass with a heavy pour. “because he’s actually in love with you. he may be stupid and annoying, but maybe he does the things he does around you because he likes making you laugh, even if it’s at him.”

_____

satoru stumbles backwards into the wall, using his grip on your waist to pull you flush against him. you’d barged into his apartment, ignoring his questions and immediately pulling him in for a kiss.

“i thought–” he tries to get out between kisses. “–you didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

you draw back to look at him, smiling. “i have other friends.”

[t-tomuras]

㊋ ─── • 𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭

Pairing: Dabi | Touya Todoroki x F!reader

Wordcount: 3.1k

Warnings: Band AU, fingering, creampie, teasing, kinda mocking, dubcon (to be safe), semipublic sex, slight nipple play, use of 'daddy'.

Notes: Repurposed writing, and who doesnt love a good romp in the public restroom?

“If I would’ve known being in a band would get me pussy this easy,” Touya pants between pointed thrusts, grabbing a handful of your breast to appreciatively knead at the soft tissue. Yanking the scoop of your low cut tank down before long for your tits to spill free for him to pinch at a pebbled bud. A satisfied sigh and mean spirited laugh leaving his lips when you keen at the sting, “I would’ve learned to deal with these losers sooner.”

He’s got you pressed into some dingy, sharpie and dying ballpoint pen graffitied men's room stall of the venue his band was set to play at tonight. Crowding your space and overwhelming your senses with ease but what else could you expect of the more dramatic member of Caustic.

Certainly not that he’d be buried to the hilt in you literal moments before they were supposed to play, using up the time he should spend warming up while the opening act, True Damage, warmed up the crowd.

Normally, meet and greets were after the show; and you’d been sure to purchase your VIPticket and backstage pass just for the chance to meet your favorite band and members, Touya being one of them. 

And imagine your elation as you’re waiting in line to have your barcode scanned and ushered in to your designated area as the tour bus arrives. Tomura, their manager, stepping off first followed by Spinner and Himiko, Twice, Compress then last, and by uncertain terms the least, your absolute favorite Touya. 

Scores of fans of all genders cheering and clamoring to the dividing rails as they walk in a line into the side entrance of the venue. Himiko slapping at every hand extended out to her with a broad smile, pointed fangs on full display only causing the raucous cheering to grow louder. Tomura waved with his barely there, practiced smile, chastised time and again that, despite being the manager he still had to seem moderately approachable. Compress and Spinner signing autographs between Twice’s impromptu photo shoots, joined by the giddy Himiko, with passing fans and Touya? 

Touya spots you. 

Brow raising in curiosity with his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he trails behind his other band mates.At first, he thinks you actually have no real interest in their appearance at all, he’s seen many an unwilling tag-along to their shows but it isn’t hard to surmise quickly this wasn’t the case. 

A man adept at reading body language, Touya sees quickly how you clutch tightly at your pass while even the employee that verifies tickets' attention is stolen by the excitement. Scrutinizing you further as he nears to see you haven’t taken a breath either, the rise in your chest in your thin excuse of a tank top stalling for a beat and it makes the man chuckle to himself. 

Sharp cerulean gaze flitting to each of his band mates to take stock of them all, figuring that if they were all absorbed with their fans why couldn’t he be? Lopsided grin splitting his features as he widens his stride, closing the distance between you both before you even realize he’s actually approaching you. Leaning his elbow against the wooden barrier and crowding your space nonchalantly, tilting his head as he ignores the unsubtle gaping of several other fans waiting in line. 

Delighting internally, as well as with external microexpressions of his face, in how your eyes widen before you look to either side of you as if it weren’t blatantly obvious who Touya’s attention was set on. Lids falling to half mast but the entertained smile on his lips never falls away, only widening further when you finally realize that yes, his attention was on you. 

Chuckling to himself when your lips part but no words form on your tongue, watching with rapt attention as you flounder without another friendly soul at your side to possibly remedy the situation. Are you really going to sit here, in front of your celebrity crush no less, and not have a single thing to say? Watch as his handsome features, accentuated by shining silver studs in his nose and left brow, relax and you worry they look to be growing disinterested. 

“You don’t have to talk,” he finally says, fingers reaching towards yours as he lifts at your tight grip. Encouraging them to fold away and lessen the tension on the poor laminate pass that accompanies your wristband for him to take a peak. Head tilting for a better view and only serving to look more catlike in nature as one corner of Touya’s full lips pulls upward in satisfaction, at least he’ll have an easier excuse than simply picking out a pretty face to scratch an arising itch. 

Everything felt like a blur from the moment he helped you over the guardrail to where you are now. Pawed at and panting for breath with appreciative growls and grunts sounding against your skin or directly into your ear. 

Pitchy keen ripping from your throat before bleeding into an unabashed moan at the feel of a sudden, harsh pinch to your hardened nipple, neglected until to this point followed by another dark chuckle, “sorry, that hurt?” voice a teasing lilt of velvet sin, “just wanted to make sure you knew you weren’t dreamin.”

Earning a pathetically cute whine and you’re increasingly growing certain he likes the sound of it by now with how often he does something to elicit one. Panting for breath as you shift to turn your head to glance at him while you arch your back, chest pressing against the sharpie laden wall for stability. Adjusting yourself subtly to set the curve of your ass against his pelvis and rolling your hips backwards to grind into him in the hopes for even a modicum of alleviating friction. Worrying the already bitten flesh of your swollen lower lip between your teeth at the feel of his hard cock beneath the layers of clothes that separate you. 

Blood warming at the sound of Touya’s hiss as his fingers grip at your hip to aid in the movement. Following the rhythm you haphazardly set, rutting his hips into yours as he dips forward to draw in a steadying breath when he finds himself nosing at your temple. Inhaling the smell of your shampoo in a wide berth, letting the intoxicating scent invade his senses before exhaling in a near shuddering breath, hot against your skin before he releases your sensitive nipple. Opting to let the web of his palm fit perfectly to the column of your throat, pads of his thumb and index fitting just around the junctures of your jaw but he applies no real pressure. 

Touya only uses it for a guide, pressing his thumb in an urge for you to turn your head so his lips can meet yours. The contact is an awkward brush at first in your surprise before you tilt further, dipping your chest and pushing your hips further into him as you adjust to a more comfortable position, eager to accept him. Sighing as the kiss seals properly, the sound you emit is something caught between a satisfied hum and a slight whimper but it's nothing less than tantalizing for him. You can feel him smile against your lips accompanied by an out of sync fan of warm breath against your skin because of it, as his broad palm and lithe digits previously settled at your hip dips lower to grip at the hem of your skirt. Bunching the material up in two easy handfuls to reveal your pair of lacy panties so his fingers can tease over the fabric. 

The pad of his middle and ring fingers tracing along the seam by your thigh, pulling at the fringe of the intricate lace as he coyly ventures towards your center. Lust addled gaze widening minutely when your thighs twitch, feet turning inward as your knees bow slightly to create a gap in the plush flesh for easier access. 

“Well aren’t you sweet,” breathed against the shell of your ear as his chin rests on your shoulder, head tilting the slightest bit so he can watch your pretty face contorted in pleasure the moment he gives you what you’ve likely dreamed about. 

Finding your clit easily over the fabric as he rubs teasingly over the garment, earning a gasp that allows Touya an opportunity to seize. Wet muscle embedded with yet another piece of surgical steel quick to taste you and you hope his hum is from the comforting flavor of your hot chocolate flavored gloss and not simply the way your thighs reflexively clenching at the stimulation before he forces his hand lower; though, regardless of the reason, the reaction itself was a confidence booster nonetheless.

As is hearing the way Touya groans appreciatively at the damp patch from just a little fevered pawing and well placed pinches, his ring and middle fingers stroking against your clothed slit, the tips of his index and pinky digging into the soft meat of your inner thighs to keep you spread as his tongue hungrily slides over yours. 

You get so lost in the kiss and feel of his fingers that you don’t notice him pulling the lacy fabric to the side until there’s uninhibited contact to your sensitive bundle of nerves. Touya presses and rolls his skilled fingers into the puffy nub so expertly that it rips a pitchy keen from your throat, so raw that he felt the beginnings of it vibrate against the skin of his palm which allowed him enough time to part from the dizzying kiss so he won’t swallow the sweet sound whole. Relishing in it as well as your breathless pants of his name as your hips twitch into his hand before he hastens in pace. 

Leaning away from you for a moment so he can simply watch you with a lidded gaze as your forehead lays over the back of your hand against the stall wall, appreciating how you react to the onslaught of pleasure he so effortlessly supplies. Whimpering pathetically before you roll your swollen bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt to quiet yourself some as your climax builds, as the coil in your lower abdomen winds so tightly you teeter on the precipice of euphoria when a jolt of pain rockets up your spine. 

A yelp sounding in time with the disapproving tuts from the man behind you, “we’re at a concert, you’re supposed to be loud here. They won’t hear you over the opener.” 

And even if they did, what was anyone going to do? Take pictures? Call security? He wishes. 

“Make some noise,” Touya teases, mocking tone as the fingers at your bundle of nerves glides lower to tease at your entrance. Laxy prodding quickly turns into tentative stretching only to cascade further into vigorous pumping until you can’t even pretend to contain every rewarding noise he earns, his name falling from your tongue like a prayer and he was only using two measly fingers. 

Two thick digits that work you to the edge with ease, fingers that have you bucking desperately into his hand at his encouragement while the heel of his palm grinds into your clit, “keep going. You’ve got it, good girl, you’ll get there.”

Skin hot from the attention, mind reeling as the tension builds and you’re almost there, you’re so close before, suddenly, you feel soberingly empty. Disoriented as you turn back to see what happened.   

“Aah, fuck it. I can’t wait anymore,” a strain to his voice as he flips up your pleated skirt, thankful to your friend that taught you to roll the waistband once for it to sit higher. Uncaring of how he’d certainly ruined your favorite pair of fishnets at the sound of popping nylon with how lost in the throngs of pleasure you are. Slightly edged from his impatience and Touya chuckles when you adjust to worsen your arch, ass lifting higher at the sound of clinking metal as he unbuckles his belt and undoes his jeans. 

The height difference is awkward even with Touya’s hand at your ribs for support but he doesn’t seem to mind. Touya pressing against you once again as he fists his cock, thumb rolling over the weeping slit to work the beading pre down his shaft along with your wetness still coating his fingers before guiding himself to your entrance. 

Nudging awkwardly in his haste until you feel that satisfying stretch once more, the sensation leagues better now than his fingers alone; girthier and it sends a shiver coursing down each nodule of your spine, head lolling back to rest against Touya’s collarbone as he grabs at the underside of your thigh to lift it. 

You adjust your footing easily, supporting yourself by bracing your forearm against the wall while he presses his body into yours as Touya fully sinks into you with a throaty, relieved groan. 

And, to your surprise, he even takes a moment just to revel in the feel of how you take him. The heat of your welcoming walls raises his already elevated temperature only to worsen the moment he drags his hips back to push back into you again. Finding a rhythm that leaves you shuddering in his hold, thigh trembling beneath his fingertips and your cunt convulsing around his cock deliciously.  

“Fuck,” the simple curse all he can manage for the moment as he works you both in tandem, wet slaps and lewd squealching echoing against the tile walls drowning out the whirr of the overhead fan. The roaring crowd sounds far away now, too lost in the salacious symphony you both orchestrate now to care about anything else but you and him. 

Muttered curses, hissed growls and choked whines mixed with honeyed cries for more Touya, faster daddy fast, so so close please. 

Skin tacky with sweat worsening the clap of his pelvis against the fat of your backside, worse so when he heeds your pleas. Angling his hips and bending his knees slightly more to drive deeper into you, nudging perfectly against that spongy spot inside of you with the new angle with each thrust. Leaving you seeing stars, your hands coming back to grab at something anything besides the flat surface of the metal before you. 

Nails raking at Touya’s scalp before he hurdles you to your demise and seals his own fate to follow soon after you. Broad palm resting over your lower belly, just above your mound to press down in a way that steals your breath away. A gasp leaving plush lips before you tug harshly at soft ivory locks before fisting it all together. Arching in his hold as you finally reach your peak, wholebodied trembles telling of your euphoria if the throaty moan that vibrates against your sternum isn’t sign enough. 

He does well to work you through it for as long as he can, prolonging the feeling by rolling thick digits over your clit again until you’re gasping for breath. Setting his jaw despite his lopsided grin in an attempt to keep the pace he’s fallen into, “Where do you want me?” 

Asking you that as if you’re any more clear headed in the moment, like you aren’t currently aren’t experiencing a mind numbing pleasure only top of the line toys have provided this far is almost laughable. Velvet walls clamping rhythmically around his sensitive cock so well you’re very quickly about to lose the option of choice at all when you muster your voice.

“Don’t– don’t pull out. Inside, please daddy.” 

Works for him, “inside it is—“ carrying the last letter as he grits his teeth and finally experiences sweet rapture. Every muscle in his body untensing as he fills your cunt with hot sticky ropes. Ruts of his hips slowlinh to even rolls in time with each twitch of his cock, jerking with a tired laugh when the squeeze of your walls gives him a taste of overstimulation. Enjoying the feel of you and giving you some semblance of time to recover. Supporting you loosely while you slump against the stall wall as a quiet falls over the small area. 

Only to be ruined by Spinner bursting through the swinging doors of the restroom with an exasperated sigh just as Touya considers withdrawing his spent cock from you, “Touya, Shigaraki is looking for you.” 

“When isn’t he?” Touya rolls his eyes, tone clipped as thick digits paw at the swell of your ass so his fingertips can pull at the slick lips of your abused slit to watch his cum already beginning to leak from you. 

Tilting his head with his bottom lip rolled between sharp canines to watch as his middle and ring fingers plunge back into your sopping hole. Lewd squelching and slick clicking sounding in time with his amused chuckle along with your barely muffled moan with your cheek still pressed against the cool metal stall. Hardly recovered from the quick tryst and still oversensitive but Touya revels in that fact. Uncaring of his band mate but you’re hyper aware of the click of his heels on the tiled floor. 

Whining at the intrusion but, begrudgingly, you attempt to collect yourself, palms flat on the wall in front of you only to find yourself pressed against it once more. Touya’s chest to your back in order to keep you in place, chin resting on your shoulder as his huffed sigh fans humid breath against your damp throat. Skin tacky with sweat despite the cool air of the space, “where’re you going? I’m not finished yet.” 

Tentative smile gracing pretty features before your body jolts with a yelp as Iguchi’s broad palm slaps against the stall door and rattles it on its hinges despite the minimal force, “you are Touya. You don’t want to piss him off again.” 

But really he did, always does but he doesn’t feel like further killing his buzz by listening to Tomura’s overzealous chastising. Withdrawing his fingers from your tight cunt as you hiss at the loss, letting your foot rest flat on the floor once more and finding yourself needing to still lean against the wall but for support now. 

“Too bad,” cooed coyly as Touya pops his soaked digits into his mouth to clean them off, slapping your bare ass before flipping down your rumpled skirt. Lewd pop filling the space before he slips from the stall and around his band mates stocky frame, “maybe could’ve kept you around to blow off some steam again.”

And even as the door swings behind him as they make their way to the collective dressing room to prep for the show Touya thinks he’ll be sure to search for you in the crowd.

[pastryfication]

Can you pls do an Oscar x driver reader fic where the reader is Landos sister and she has a pretty bad crash at a track and it’s Oscar and Landos reaction to her crash 🩷

this is more than anything i’ve felt before

pairings: oscar piastri x f2 driver!reader, lando norris x sister!reader content warnings: mentions of a crash and ambulance. note: i have such a hard time writing driver reader idk why but i hope you like this!! might be the only driver reader i’ll finish sorry to everyone else who’ve requested it it’s just so difficult for me to get it right.

the day it happens is one of those days where everything feels right—your lines are sharp, your pace is blistering, and every turn brings you closer to victory. you’re in control. you can feel the car, every bump, every shift, every breath you take inside that helmet.

you know lando and oscar are watching from the mclaren garage, their eyes glued to the screens. lando, your older brother, forever protective even when he tries not to be, always torn between pride and worry whenever you race. oscar, your boyfriend, the reigning king of calm on the track but never quite able to mask his nerves when it comes to you.

they’re your constants. you can almost picture lando’s anxious frown and oscar’s quiet focus, hands clasped together as he watches you drive. the media loves to joke about you being the apple of mclaren’s eye, caught between the team’s two golden boys. but those headlines don’t bother you. for you, this is where you belong.

as you approach the next corner, the race intensifies. there’s another driver fighting you for position, pushing you to the edge. you hold your line, confident and unafraid. but in an instant, it all goes wrong. the car beside you swerves just a touch too far, clipping your rear wheel.

everything spins out of control.

the car whips violently, tires screeching as you slam into the barriers. you feel the impact reverberate through your body, the jarring shock of metal against metal. the world around you blurs as the car crumples, and for a moment, everything fades.

———

oscar watches, heart pounding in his chest, as your car smashes into the barriers. the noise of the crash echoes in his ears, drowning out everything else. he doesn’t even hear the commentary, the frantic radio calls, or lando’s shout of your name beside him. all he can see is you, trapped in that twisted wreck, and you’re not moving.

oscar has seen crashes before—hell, he’s been in more than a few—but this is different. this isn’t just another driver, another car. it’s you. the girl who turns his world upside down, the one who’s always been his calm amid the chaos. and now you’re motionless, surrounded by smoke and broken carbon, and he’s never felt so terrified in his life.

beside him, lando’s pushing through the crowd, his face ashen, eyes wide with panic. “we have to get to her,” lando says, but his voice is shaking, the fear cracking through his usually steady tone.

oscar doesn’t move. he’s rooted to the spot, watching the screen like it’s his lifeline, praying for any sign that you’re okay. he feels sick, his stomach churning, every second that you’re not moving like a knife to his chest.

“she’ll be fine,” oscar whispers, more to himself than to lando. but the words sound hollow, and his voice wavers. because he doesn’t know. he doesn’t know if you’re okay, if you’re hurt, if you’re—

“i should’ve been there,” lando mutters, his voice thick with guilt. “i should’ve been able to protect her.”

oscar shakes his head, trying to keep himself together even though he feels like he’s breaking apart. he’s used to being the calm one, the steady presence on and off the track, but now he’s unraveling. it’s not just the crash—it’s the terrifying realization of how deeply you’ve entwined yourself into his heart, how much of his world revolves around you.

he thought he knew what it was to love you, but this feeling—this bone-deep fear, this raw, overwhelming need for you to be okay—is something else entirely. all he can think about is you—the way you laugh when you beat him in a stupid game, the way you scrunch your nose when you’re deep in thought, the way you find his hand after every race, holding on like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he’s always known he loves you. but this? this is more than love. it’s a kind of need that’s woven into his very being, and it’s terrifying, how much losing you even for a moment rips through him, leaving him hollow.

when the medics reach you, they work fast, extracting you from the mangled car with careful precision. oscar’s eyes are fixed on you, his chest tightening with every second that you’re unresponsive. the ambulance arrives, and they load you onto a stretcher, still no movement, no sign of you waking up.

“please, please, please,” oscar whispers, his voice cracking. he doesn’t care about the cameras capturing every moment of his raw fear. all he cares about is you, and he’s never felt more powerless.

lando’s shoulders slump, his hands shaking as he stares at the ground. he looks at oscar, and for once, they’re not just teammates or rivals—they’re two people who love you, and right now, that’s all that matters.

minutes feel like hours. oscar’s world narrows down to the screen, to the updates that aren’t coming fast enough, to the endless questions that nobody seems to have answers for. finally, lando’s phone buzzes. oscar watches as lando answers, the tension etched into every line of his face.

“she’s awake,” lando says, his voice thick with relief, tears shining in his eyes. “she’s bruised up, but she’s awake. they’re taking her for checks, but she’s okay.”

oscar lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and without thinking, he pulls lando into a hug. they cling to each other, relief and fear and everything else pouring out as they try to steady themselves. it’s messy and raw, but they need it. they need to feel that you’re going to be okay.

oscar pulls back, wiping at his eyes and trying to find the words. he’s never been good at this—at showing how much he cares, at letting himself be vulnerable. but he knows one thing for sure: he’s never letting you go without making sure you know just how deeply he loves you.

as the ambulance speeds away, oscar watches, feeling that familiar surge of love and fear. you’re tough—tougher than anyone gives you credit for—and you’re going to be back. you’re going to be alright.

and when you are, he’s going to be right there, holding onto you just a little bit tighter, because you’re everything to him.

for now, though, all that matters is that you’re still here, still fighting. mclaren’s favourite girl, his heart’s safe place. you’re the reason he races, the reason he loves, and the person he’s willing to hold onto with everything he has.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

hii, I‘ve already made two requests and you‘ve written them so so beautifully <33 Your work is really amazing and I think I would consider you one of my favorite blogs💞💞 I do have one more idea :)

Reader and Jason are in a relationship, yet they don’t know about his vigilante identity. Reader works the night shift as a barista.

One night, the café gets robbed during reader’s shift, but Jason isn’t there to take care of the robber since he went on patrol only later, meaning the GCPD is the first on the scene.

When Red Hood passes the café and see’s all the police lights, his heart drops. He comes to check up on reader, but they’re so shaken up that jason scares them.

It’s all fluffy in the end, and perhaps Red Hood reveals his identity 😚

Promises

Hi, nonnie! Thank you! ~1.8k words

There was a gun to your face about ten minutes ago. Well, it might have been ten minutes ago, you're not exactly sure how long it was now. The idea of time seemed to phase out when two masked robbers stormed into the little Café you worked at.

Who even robs a coffee shop? You had maybe thirty dollars in the till, everyone uses cards or just taps their phones anyway. That point didn't seem to get across to the men as they waved their pistols in your face and shot off rounds into the air.

You showed them the safe, and a few hundred dollars seemed to calm them down. They took the money, took your wallet and phone. But none of that stopped them from shoving you to the ground as they ran off. You just sat there– dazed, scared, and overwhelmed– until a patrol car from the GCPD and an ambulance rushed to park outside.

No one was hurt, maybe some bruises from being pushed around, but you and the two unfortunate people who wanted coffee half past midnight were more than a little shaken up.

You stumble through the questions the cops ask you and let the paramedics guide you to sit on the back of the ambulance. They drape a shock blanket over your shoulders as you murmur about needing to call your boyfriend.

Someone presses a hot drink into your hands, and you barely register the quiet conversations over this being the fourth small business to get robbed this week. Your eyes only leave the spot in the distance you're fixated on when gasps resonate throughout the air. Your gaze shifts up, and your breath leaves your lungs. Red Hood. Red Hood is stalking towards you like lives depend on it, avoiding the medics and cops that try to talk to him, to get his attention.

You're proud of the fact that you don't flinch when his gloved hand meets your face, carefully tilting your chin up to observe your face. His body is rigid, you can tell something's wrong even through the muddled, shocked state of your mind.

He's crowding over you, a barrier between you and the rest of Gotham. You know he's a vigilante, you know that he helps. But the moment frays the last of your nerves and tears fill your eyes.

You just want to go home. You just want to feel safe. You want your phone back and you want to call your boyfriend and have him make everything okay again.

Red Hod freezes and you can audibly hear his breath hitching. His fingers twitch against your skin before dropping, but he doesn't step away, "Sorry. I'm sorry– Did I– are you hurt?"

That only makes you want to cry harder. He's apologizing to you. This stranger hasn't done anything, but check if you're okay, and you're crying all because he looks big and a little scary. You shake your head, trying to find the words to apologize back, that you don't know why you're crying.

You shift back, even if there's no room to go anywhere. Your heart is pounding and you're scared even if you shouldn't be because there was a gun to your face and you could have died and the man that smells like gunpowder and leather can't fix that.

His head doesn't move, you know his eyes haven't left your face. You don't know why. He doesn't gain anything from lifting his hand to catch the tear that spills down your face. "You're okay. You're safe," he murmurs, steady and full of promise, "tell me what you need. Let me make it better." He says your name, says it softly and gently and damn near yearning.

"I need– I want my phone. I want to call you boyfriend," You answer shakily, blinking back the rest of your tears and trying to figure out why a vigilante knows your name.

His head turns, presumably looking for your phone, "Is it still inside the Café?"

You shake your head, voice heavy with emotion, "It– they stole it."

"They?" He questions, mask tilting back towards you.

"The robbers?" You answer weakly, Isn't that why he's here? To get information? To catch them?

His hand finally leaves your face, and you exhale softly in relief, "I'll take care of it."

He wavers in front of you. Another thing that doesn't make sense. You don't get another word out before he's disappeared into the shadows.

Your shoulders slump. You're so tired and so, so drained, and not even the hot drink in your hands is making you feel more in your body.

Someone calls your name. Jason. You stand up on shaky legs, nearly spilling the cup in an attempt to put it down quickly. Jason's here. You don't care why or how, but he's here. He has you wrapped up against his chest and face buried in your hair before the cops can even try to stop him.

He says your name over and over into your hair, and you try to ignore the way your tears stain his shirt. "I've got you, you're okay. You're okay, baby. Promise. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you," he murmurs, arms tightening around you.

He feels safe. He smells like– he smells like leather and gunpowder. He's big and warm and a barrier between you and the rest of the world. And it all clicks.

"Let's get you home," he says softly, gently, so careful with a voice full of yearning and love. You recognize it. And you know.

Jason knows your shift ends in forty-seven minutes. But patrol has been slow tonight, and he's going to walk you home even if it wasn't. So why not show up a little early and keep you company? Spoiler seemed eager enough to cover his territory for a few hours, anyway.

He'll go back out after he sees you home safe and watches you fall asleep. Jason's idly trying to decide if you're going to be too tired to shower with him, when the flashing lights outside the Café catch his attention.

He thinks his heart might have stopped. He doesn't even think to call Oracle or text you, he just knows his feet hit the pavement and he's running.

There's only one ambulance, only one cop car. His eyes dart. Where are you. Where are you?

He's barreling towards you as soon as he finds you. He doesn't have a plan. Doesn't need one until he knows you're safe. "Move," he snaps at the medic that tries to stop him, never stopping his path towards you.

His hand is tilting your head up before he even considers the possibility that it's a bad idea, that he's just a stranger in a mask armed to the teeth with knives and guns.

He can't help himself. He needs to touch you, needs to ground himself and make sure you're not hurt. He doesn't manage to get his words out before you're tearing up.

Jason's heart breaks at the sight, bile rising in his throat. He removes his hand, even if every instinct he has goes against it. He thinks he chokes out an apology, but he's too busy looking at every inch of you for injuries.

You shake your head and a piece of his soul shatters. He reaches up to wipe your tears, as if he could do anything else, "You're okay. You're safe," he murmurs, and wills it to be true, "tell me what you need. Let me make it better." He wants it to be better. He wants your tears to stop and the tension to leave your body and the anxiety to disappear from your eyes.

"I need– I want my phone. I want to call you boyfriend," You answer, and he wants to drop to his knees when your voice shakes.

Your phone. He can do that. His eyes dart from you, looking for the familiar phone case, "Is it still inside the Café?"

"It– they stole it," You answer and his focus snaps back to you.

"They?" He questions, doing his best to keep the anger from dripping into his voice, to bite back the threats on his tongue for whoever scared you.

"The robbers?" You answer weakly. Robbers. Robbers. Robbers did this. He files that away for once you're home, once he knows you feel safe.

He pulls his hand from your face reluctantly, "I'll take care of it." Jason doesn't want to step away from you. All he really wants is to wrap you up against him and promise everything will be better. But you don't need Red Hood. You need Jason Todd.

He forces himself away from you, moves faster than he should, struggling to shed his armor and mask. He drops his guns to the roof, anything recognizable left in a pile for someone else to deal with.

He's back on the ground and rushing back to you. He says your name. You look up at him and he sees the relief flood your face.

Jason catches you when you step towards him, arms wrapping around you to keep you close.

He whispers promises against your skin, tightening his grip on you. He can feel you crying. It makes concern and anger and the overwhelming desire to protect you twists in his stomach, "Let's get you home."

Jason– Red Hood– talks to the police for you. Insists that there's no more questions for you to answer as he hooks his arm firmly around your waist. He guides you home. You barely process a word he says.

All you can really focus on, as you watch him unlock the apartment door, is that he's Red Hood. How did you miss it? Why didn't you know?

You feel disoriented. But Jason's perfect, exactly what you need in the moment. He doesn't ask you questions, doesn't press or make you move too fast as he helps you change. He nods and gets you water when you say you don't want to shower, that you're not hungry.

He lets you curl against his chest and he kisses the crown of your head when you finally crawl into bed, "I was scared," You admit quietly into his skin.

"They'll never scare you again," he promises. Your stomach swoops. It's the truth. You know it's fact. They'll never scare you again. They'll never scare anyone again. He'll make sure of it.

You fall asleep to his comforting whispers and vows, the feel of his fingers tracing your skin. When you wake up, he's still next to you, still holding you flush against him. Your wallet and phone sit on the nightstand next to your bed. Neither of you mention it as the sun begins to shine on the familiar leather jacket folded over your chair. Neither of you mention it, later, when the news reports that two bodies were found in Gotham Harbor.

[hanaonesflower]

“Princess, can I ask you something?” He speaks, breaking the silence of the long, uneventful car ride. “Sure, anything!” You chirp, unsuspecting of what is to come.

“Why don’t you ever let me do anything for you?” Ushijima says, his eyes remain fixated on the long stretch of roads ahead. The fog heavily roll down the sides the hills on your either sides, lowering visibility. His hand tightens around the wheel, while the other grips yours.

“What do you mean by that?” You sit back, eyes wandering his features, looking for any sign that he’s just cheerfully asking you. Knowing Ushi though, he’s sometimes not as light hearted as you’d think.

“You are always so insistent on doing everything yourself. You won’t let me help you, like earlier, when you refused to let me tie your shoes. That isn’t the first time you refused my help.” He goes on a spiel, his thumb reaches to the toggle and lowers the volume, making his breathing more prominent than ever. It has occur to you that you have always been doing everything by yourself despite his looming figure always by your side. The hyperindependence is slowly starting to bother him. He wants to help you, wants to give you the fullest extent of a princess treatment yet the only thing really holding him back from that is, you.

“It’s just something that I could easily have done for myself, you didn’t need to bother with that, don’t worry, baby,” you try to comfort him, hoping some words of affirmation can help. It really isn’t a big deal, it’s some shoe laces that came undone, not a heavy errand.

As soon as the car is pulled into a parking spot at a rest stop, quickly shifting the car in “park”, turning to you and he sighs. A real sigh. One so full of frustration and… hopelessness. “I’m not bothered. It has never mattered how big or small anything is, I want to do everything for you. Why are you holding yourself back from me?” He is starting to put things into perspective for you. After going through a useless ex-boyfriend, then a man who gave you hot and cold attention, lastly a guy who gave you princess treatment to fill his inflated ego before meeting Ushijima, learning to only rely on yourself has been the protector of your heart, your soul and your sanity. You find that by depending on your good ol’ self is the only way to prevent yourself from throwing your body off a bridge.

“Ushi, it’s not—,” before you can finish your sentence, truthfully you don’t really know what to say. He’s right, you are holding yourself back from him. Holding yourself back from the hurt that you’ve known all too well, he interrupts, holding both your hands in his, “baby, you’re my priority, my everything, your well-being, happiness and comfort are my main concerns and I want it to be that way,” he stops, taking a breath. Reminiscent of the times where Ushijima offered to go so out of his way to help you but being kindly turned down has left him feeling absolutely useless and uneasy. Ushijima’s love language is act of service and because he hasn’t been able to do the bare minimum for you, he feels it eating him alive.

“I am aware of your past, I know that I can’t change what was, but I’m here to make a difference now, I mean it!” You are moved by his words, he means what he says and you know it. You’ve seen it. He’s a big man of his words, always keeping promises, has never ever disappointed you in any way. Yet the walls have been reinforced many times again that it has cemented itself in your life, creating a barrier between the two of you. “I want to open doors for you, pull out chairs for you, pick you up from a friend’s house, drop you off at the airport, all of that, please, baby, please just let me.” You have to say, it is like he is begging for you to allow him in, allow him to integrate further into your system, a system you’ve built to keep you from going down a slippery slope time and time again.

“I’m so grateful for you, Ushi, you’ve done so much for me, you really have. I just feel like I can’t be asking for anymore than what you’ve already given me,” before you can inhale a full breath, he branches his body over to your side of the car and kisses you deeply, so deeply that you melt. “I’m at your disposal, you are my world, let me in, don’t keep shutting me out,” he says, breaking away from the kiss.

You chuckle, “yes, Wakatoshi, I accept your offer,” and you’ve never seen him smile wider. A big, toothy grin coming from the infamously stoic dude. He kisses you again, “thank you, baby.”

He unbuckles your seatbelt, hastily running from his side to yours and opening the door for you, and just like the universe is rooting for the both of you, your shoe laces come undone, again.