#// MASSIVE EYEBROW WAGGLE

[iamgonnagetyouback]

can you please please please write more for mattheo riddle x potter!reader. maybe the family going to one of harry’s games, accompanied by reader and mattheo? (maybe featuring the marauders?) i’d love to read anything, it doesn’t even have to be this!! hope you have a great night :)

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Mattheo Riddle x potter!Reader

It was one of those rare, crisp days at Hogwarts where the skies were clear, and the breeze was just right. The perfect day for Quidditch—or at least, that’s what your brother Harry would say if he weren’t busy being a massive diva about the whole thing.

The stands were packed with students from every House, cheering, waving banners, and clapping in anticipation of the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff match. And to make the occasion even more dramatic than usual, your parents, James and Lily, had shown up, along with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, all seated proudly in the stands, ready to cheer Harry on.

Unfortunately for Harry, you had brought along a certain Slytherin boyfriend of yours—Mattheo Riddle.

“Merlin’s beard,” Harry groaned under his breath, glancing up at the stands where Mattheo had already worked his charm on the crowd. “Why did you bring him?”

You shrugged, a smirk playing on your lips. “Well, he wanted to support you.”

Harry snorted. “Support? Please, he’s just here to make me miserable.”

You glanced at Mattheo, who had somehow managed to get half the Hufflepuff supporters waving at him and even Remus giving him an approving nod. “He’s being perfectly nice. Maybe you’re the one being dramatic.”

Harry threw you a look that said he was this close to throwing himself off his broom. “Dramatic? I’m not dramatic. He’s just—ugh, why is he even waving at people?”

Sure enough, Mattheo was leaning casually against the railing of the Gryffindor stands, flashing a charming smile at anyone who passed by. Every few minutes, he waved, winked, or nodded at a student, causing a flurry of giggles and whispers.

“He’s not supposed to be the center of attention!” Harry muttered furiously, his grip tightening on his broom. “This is my game!”

You patted his shoulder in mock sympathy. “Don’t worry, Harry. Everyone still knows you’re the main attraction.”

“Barely,” he huffed.

Down in the stands, Sirius barked out a laugh, clapping Mattheo on the back. “You’ve got style, kid,” he said, clearly approving of Mattheo’s ability to woo an entire Quidditch crowd without even trying.

“Thanks, Sirius,” Mattheo replied, throwing an arm around you as you sat next to him. “Just here to support my favorite team, after all.”

Harry, overhearing from the pitch, yelled, “Gryffindor is not your favorite team, Riddle!”

Mattheo only grinned and gave him a two-fingered salute, causing Harry to grumble and fly off toward his team.

Remus leaned over to James and muttered, “He’s got quite the influence, doesn’t he?”

James laughed. “He’s a slippery one, that’s for sure. But if he’s got Lily’s approval, who am I to argue?”

Lily, who had been watching Mattheo’s interaction with you, gave a knowing smile. “I think he’s good for her. Keeps things interesting.”

Sirius waggled his eyebrows. “If Harry doesn’t throw him off a broom first.”

The whistle blew, and the game began. But the match wasn’t the only source of entertainment that day.

Every time Harry swooped in for a save, Mattheo would cheer—loudly. “Go on, Potter!” he yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. “That’s my future brother-in-law!”

Harry nearly lost control of his broom at that, swerving dangerously to avoid a Bludger. “Future brother-in-law?” he shouted, his voice shrill. “Absolutely not!”

The Hufflepuff Seeker zipped past him while Harry was distracted, and you couldn’t help but bury your face in your hands in secondhand embarrassment.

Sirius howled with laughter. “He’s really got Harry rattled!”

“Not to mention the Hufflepuffs,” Peter added with a chuckle. “Look at them. They’re more focused on Mattheo than their own game.”

It was true. Several Hufflepuff players kept sneaking glances at Mattheo, who was now waving at them enthusiastically, giving them a thumbs-up and shouting words of encouragement like he was their biggest fan.

“RIDDLE!” Harry’s voice echoed across the pitch, and he shot a death glare at Mattheo, who was absolutely thriving in the attention.

Mattheo leaned back in his seat, hands behind his head, and winked up at the sky as though Harry’s rage fueled him. “Doing great, Potter!” he yelled, entirely too pleased with himself.

When the match finally ended, Gryffindor won by a hair’s breadth, mostly thanks to Harry’s furious speed after seeing Mattheo charm his way through half the match. The second his feet hit the ground, Harry stormed over to you and Mattheo, his broom still in hand.

“You,” Harry said, pointing an accusatory finger at Mattheo. “You are the most distracting person in the world.”

Mattheo, unfazed, smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It’s not!” Harry spluttered, his voice rising to that familiar, high-pitched squeak of frustration. “You—you made the Hufflepuffs fall for your stupid charm! And you kept shouting things about being my brother-in-law!”

Mattheo shrugged, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Just manifesting the future, Potter. You know how it is.”

“No, I do not know how it is!” Harry snapped. “And stop manifesting things!”

You tried to hold back a laugh, patting Harry on the arm. “Come on, Harry, he was just cheering you on.”

“Cheering me on?” Harry repeated, looking at you incredulously. “He’s a Slytherin! He’s supposed to be evil and plotting things, not—this!” He gestured wildly at Mattheo, who was now sharing a victory fist-bump with Sirius.

“Well, mate,” James said, clapping a hand on Harry’s shoulder as he walked over, “he’s certainly got style. Reminds me of me back in the day.”

Harry looked at his father, horrified. “Dad, don’t encourage him!”

James just laughed, ruffling Harry’s already wild hair. “Relax, kid. He’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad?” Harry echoed, looking around at his family, all of whom seemed perfectly content with Mattheo tagging along. “Am I the only one who sees what’s happening here?”

Lily smiled warmly. “Harry, he’s good for her. You’ll see.”

Harry groaned, defeated, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t understand this family.”

Mattheo grinned, pulling you closer as your parents walked ahead. “You’re just mad because I stole your spotlight today.”

Harry glared. “No, I’m mad because you exist.”

Mattheo laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made you roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. “Get used to it, Potter. I’m not going anywhere.”

With a final groan, Harry shook his head and trudged off to join the rest of the family, muttering to himself about how this had to be some kind of cosmic joke. You couldn’t help but laugh as Mattheo, walked beside you, his charm having worked its magic on everyone except your very, very grumpy brother.

“Harry’ll warm up to me eventually,” Mattheo said confidently, as if it were inevitable.

You smiled up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Or he’ll keep trying to hex you every chance he gets.”

“Ah, it’s all part of the fun,” Mattheo said with a wink. “Besides, I’ve got the rest of the Potters on my side. What’s one grumpy Chosen One?”

Harry, hearing that from a few feet away, let out another dramatic groan. “Merlin, why me?”

Somehow, you knew life was only going to get more interesting from here.

thank you so much for requesting, love!!

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Celebrating Wins

Word count: 942

Pairing: Lando norris x girlfriend!reader

Summary: As a new couple landos girlfrined celebrates his polepostion with with a playful, intimate evening, marking the start of their relationship

Request are open

______________________________________________________________

The excitement from the day still lingered as we made our way back to the hotel. The buzz of the crowd, the thrill of Lando securing pole position in Q3—it was all still fresh in our minds. But now, it was just us, away from the cameras and the noise, and I had something fun and a bit silly planned for our own private celebration. I couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. We had only just gotten together, and this was my first chance to really show him how proud I was of him. I wanted to make the night special, something he’d remember—not just as a celebration of his pole position, but as a moment that marked the beginning of us.

As we stepped into our room, Lando immediately burst into laughter. I had covered the bed with orange and blue confetti—McLaren’s colors, of course. There were small, goofy trophies on the nightstand, the kind you’d find at a dollar store, with labels like “World’s Best Driver” and “Pole Position King” hastily scribbled on them in my handwriting. I’d even put out a cheesy plastic crown that said “Speed King” in glittery letters.

“Are you serious?” Lando asked, grinning from ear to ear as he picked up one of the trophies. “You really went all out, didn’t you?”

“Well, someone’s got to remind you how awesome you are,” I teased, reaching up to place the crown on his head. It was a bit too small, but he wore it proudly, striking a ridiculous pose.

“I feel like royalty,” he declared, holding out his hand for me to kiss, as if he were some kind of racing monarch.

Laughing, I took his hand and gave it an exaggerated, over-the-top kiss. “Your Majesty, the Speed King, shall we dine?”

He snorted, his eyes shining with amusement. “Lead the way, my loyal subject.”

We moved to the small table I’d set up near the window, where a simple dinner was waiting for us—nothing too heavy, just some of Lando’s favorite Italian dishes, including a massive bowl of pasta. I’d even ordered pizza, because who can resist pizza in Italy? And there, chilling in the ice bucket, was a bottle of his favorite champagne.

As we sat down, I grabbed a napkin and tucked it into his shirt collar like a bib. “Can’t have you getting pasta sauce on your royal robes,” I said, doing my best to keep a straight face.

Lando burst out laughing again. “You’re ridiculous! But I love it.”

We dug into the food, the atmosphere light and playful. Lando twirled his pasta dramatically, pretending to be a food critic as he took a bite. “Ah, yes, the perfect carbo-loading meal for a champion,” he said in a mock-serious tone.

“Only the best for you, your highness,” I replied, mimicking his tone.

As we finished eating, I brought out a small cake I’d hidden earlier. It was nothing fancy, just a simple cake with “Pole Position!” written in blue and orange icing, with a little toy car on top for good measure. I stuck a single sparkler in the middle and lit it, the tiny fireworks crackling and popping.

Lando’s face lit up with childlike glee as he watched the sparkler. “This is amazing. I didn’t think I could be this excited about cake.”

“Well, it’s not just any cake,” I said, grinning. “It’s the first of many celebrations this weekend, I hope.”

“Does this mean if I win tomorrow, I get another cake?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, you bet,” I replied, slicing into the cake and handing him a piece. “And maybe I’ll even throw in a victory dance.”

He nearly choked on his cake from laughing so hard. “Please tell me you’re not serious about the dance.”

“I’m dead serious,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “It’ll be legendary. You’ll win the race and I’ll be the talk of the paddock for my sweet moves.”

He shook his head, still laughing. “Now I’m even more motivated to win, just to see this ‘legendary’ dance.”

After we finished the cake, we collapsed onto the bed, both of us a little too full and a lot too happy. Lando was still wearing the plastic crown, and I couldn’t help but giggle every time I looked at him.

“You know,” he said, turning to me with a grin, “this has been the best celebration ever. No fancy dinners, no big parties—just us, being goofy.”

I leaned in, resting my head on his shoulder. “That’s because it’s real. And you deserve to enjoy every second of it, without any pressure.”

He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close. “Thanks. I needed this. It’s easy to get caught up in everything, but tonight, I feel like I can just be me. With you.”

I reached up and took the crown off his head, placing it on mine. “Well, tomorrow, the Speed King is going to show everyone what he’s made of. And McLaren is going to be that much closer to winning it all.”

Lando grinned and leaned in to kiss me, his lips warm and soft against mine. “I couldn’t do it without you, you know. You make this all so much better.”

As the night wore on and we finally started to drift off to sleep, Lando whispered, “No matter what happens tomorrow, this is my favorite victory.”

I smiled, cuddling closer to him. “Mine too. But just so you know, I’m ready for another cake tomorrow.”

He chuckled softly. “You better start practicing that victory dance then.”

[cameronspecial]

Let Me See You, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Talking about joining the Mile High Club

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Summary: Y/N has never been to first class and the privacy the seats offer is something new to her, but it is nothing new to Rafe and the only person he wants to see is his angel.

A/N: Inspired by this post.

Masterlist

Instead of taking his private jet home from Spring break, Rafe opts to give Y/N her first first-class experience. Rafe normally doesn’t get to the airport at the recommended three hours before his flight; however, with Y/N’s need for planning, he does not object to waiting in the first-class lounge for four hours if it eases her anxiety. The early time means her head rests against his shoulders, her eyes fluttered shut in need of some rest. The reclining chair of the lounge makes it comfortable for both of them to rest. Rafe can’t sleep though. His focus is on making sure they catch their flight and when the clock on the wall warns him it is thirty minutes until their plane is meant to leave, he wakes his angel up and leads her to their gate. He grins at the sleepy gaze over her eyes because of how adorable she looks. “I can’t wait to be home. I miss your bed,” she informs, snuggling into his side as they take a step forward in the line. His heart flutters at her referral that his bed is her home, “Me too. I love getting alone time with you, but I miss us being in the personal space of our room.” His lips press against her temple and he hands the flight attendant their boarding pass. 

They get onto the plane and he puts their bags in the overhead bins. Y/N’s eyes widen as she sees the miniature space that is dedicated just for her. It may be small, but it gives the promise of a personal space that isn’t typical for a plane ride. As she and Rafe both sit down, the divider between their seats blocks her view of him. It isn’t the end of the world that she won’t be able to see him throughout the flight even though she would’ve liked to. Her desires are answered by a tiny mechanical sound and the lowering of the thin wall. He enjoys the amazement that crosses her eyes. “Woah,” she states, finding the switch he used to do this. She is excited when she presses it and it goes back up. Rafe reverses her action. However, like a child who recently discovered how a car window works, she raises the partition again. 

This back and forward goes on for a while and ends when Rafe lets out a frustrated sigh. “Let me see you, Angel,” he pleads, done with the game she is playing. She giggles at the tone of his voice, hearing the pout in his tone. She gives in to his need and presses the button one final time. Her stomach flips at the massive grin that crosses his face when he sees her. The adoration behind his stare always reminds her how lucky she is to have found a man completely dedicated to her. “Being able to see you is always the best part of my day,” he informs, reaching out to take her hand. She squeezes his hand, “It’s my favourite part too.” Another switch reminds him why he picked this particular flight in the first place. “Wait, there is one more thing I want to show you.” He pushes the button and the half wall that was keeping them apart has now disappeared into the floor. Her mouth drops to the floor. He smiles, “The chairs can be put together and laid flat so it can be one big bed.” She giggles at the waggle of his eyebrows and gives him a little shove. “We may have doors but there is no roof, so you are out of luck,” she points out. He shrugs and kisses her cheek, “I guess we’ll have to join the mile-high club the next time we take my jet.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[konigs-left-pec]

- crush -

ᴬ/ᴺ: ᴹᵒʳᵉ ᴳʰᵒˢᵗ ˣ ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ˢᵒ ᵇᵃᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵐᵃⁿ ⁱᵗ ⁱˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᶠᵘⁿⁿʸ. ᴼᵇᵛⁱᵒᵘˢˡʸ 18+. ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵗᵒ ᵖᵘᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰⁱˢ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ˢᵉᵐⁱ⁻ᵖᵘᵇˡⁱᶜ ᵈʳʸ ʰᵘᵐᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᴵ ᵍᵘᵉˢˢ. ᴱⁿʲᵒʸ, ᵇᵃᵇᵉˢ! ❤️💀❤️

"So when are you and LT gonna, y'know..." Soap jabbed you teasingly in the ribs, eyebrows waggling suggestively as he crudely mimed a sex act. You socked him in the shoulder and pushed him into the wall before he could gesticulate more.

"Shut the fuck up, Soap." He cackles at that, rubbing his shoulder as he bounces up beside you. Your words held no malice, but you didn't need the Scot's help stirring up trouble. You'd done well enough on your own. The entire base knew. You and Ghost had been dancing around each other for months; brief, stolen glances full of longing and inside jokes in the caf had quickly morphed into heavy flirting and lingering touches in the sparring ring.

What was misery before was absolute torture now as you had to sit next to Ghost every day for the last week and a half, knees practically touching while you basked in the heat pouring off of him. He smells fucking fantastic, something woodsy and metallic and you briefly wonder if it's him or all the pheromones you're swimming in. You didn't know and you didn't care. Price's meetings kept dragging on, requiring you and the rest of the 141 to meet daily to review any slight trickle of intel, most of it fruitless, but it meant you got to see him.

"Just try to pay attention today, lass." Soap breezed past you to claim his assigned seat, "Cap's starting t'notice those puppy dog eyes."

You freeze in the doorway when you see Ghost already sitting where you expected, long legs spread wide and arms crossed over his chest. He tilts his head in your direction, gaze darkening noticeably and suddenly you feel like you're pinned to the wall with one of his knives. You rush to take your seat beside him awkwardly, a shaky breath leaving you when you realized everyone had been waiting on you.

"Intel... mumblemumble...terrorist... mustache...guns goats...mumble... mountains..."

The Captain was sure to rip into you later for not paying adequate attention. Every few moments as he'd round the massive conference table, his stern gaze would land on you while you fiddled with the zip on your flak vest, tapped your pen against your pad, looked anywhere but his disappointed, mutton chopped face.

"Knock it off." whispered Ghost beside you, eyes locked on the Captain as he passed in front of you both.

"We literally went over this yesterday." you hissed back heatedly, tugging your vest down for the umpteenth time and slipping down further in your seat.

From this angle you could clearly see Ghost's fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh, intermittently stopping to bother at his tactical holster. "You're going to piss 'im off." he muttered matter-of-factly, too much of a professional to even glance at you.

It gave you a terrible idea.

You could feel him glaring at you from his peripherals with warranted suspicion as you scooted a bit closer. Your chair scraped obnoxiously against the linoleum and earned you a weary sigh from Price, his back still turned as he chose to ignore your shenanigans in favor of getting through the final part of his briefing.

Biting your lip, you slipped your hand alongside Ghost's, fingers touching atop his sturdy thigh. You could feel his muscles tense as you traced the edge of the holster teasingly with one finger before dipping beneath it to glide over the rough material of his tac pants.

"Ghost." Price called from across the room, causing him to straighten even more in preparation to respond, "What are your thoughts on-"

Your hand was already moving before Ghost could even open his mouth. You weren't listening to anything they said, too focused on how powerful his thigh felt beneath your palm. You had to hand it to him - you were dragging your nails up and down, sketching lazy shapes with your fingertips and he hadn't even batted an eye.

Until you trailed your hand higher, rubbing your little finger firmly against the seam of his crotch.

The way his breath hitched made you feel dirty, euphoric; the Captain was still stooped over near Soap and Gaz reviewing tactical data and thank God for that because you couldn't stop yourself. You squeezed him gently through his pants, smothering the moan threatening to escape you at how hard he was already, his thick cock throbbing in your tight grip.

You smirked when, instead of pushing you off like any sane person would do, he placed his hand over yours and pushed his hips into the delicious pressure it created. Of course he would like this.

"Y/n, did you finish looking into that intelligence we received from Azar?"

You noticeably jolted upright in your seat. The Captain was staring expectantly at you, but your eyes were drawn to Soap who was leaning over behind Price, face alight with exaggerated disbelief as he mouthed unbelievable at you. You looked back at Price who couldn't have looked more displeased if you started belching God Save the Queen.

"I...uhm..." Ghost's hand was still pressed firmly over yours, cock distractingly hard and hot beneath your hands, "it's still in process, sir. My report should be ready by tomorrow morning."

Your superior seemed to accept your answer, if you could even call it acceptance. He let out another long suffering sigh, thin lips pressed tightly together in a deep frown as he pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly waving everyone out with a tired "dismissed." The team filed out uneventfully, with Soap being last to depart, staring at you with comically wide eyes and decidedly goofy double thumbs up. Ghost is as silent as the grave beside you, having released your hand when the meeting adjourned. The soft click of the door closing is deafening and for the first time you're fearful that you've crossed a line.

He's laughing to himself as you both stand, the sound sandpaper rough and creeping along your spine like a physical touch. You stretch your back a bit attempting to disguise the heat that rushes through you at the gravel in his voice, but truth be told your panties have been soaked since you decided to touch him. Quickly and decisively he crowds you against the table, palms planted solidly beside your hips so he can lean in close, breath tickling your ear and causing another shudder to roll through you.

"You really think you're going to finish that report tonight, yeah?" He husks meanly in your ear, cheek to cheek and it's all you can do to not tremble again as the vibration bolts through you. You have to close your eyes. Has he always been this much taller than you? You crane your neck, leaning back a little just to breathe and escape the heat radiating from him as he invades more of your space. He's so impressively massive and you don't waste the opportunity to map him up close, hands smoothing over broad shoulders and down the front of his chest. He clears his throat and you refocus; there's something mischievous in his dark brown eyes and you know he's smirking under that mask.

"Yeah, I do." You whisper, trying to keep your voice steady while you're practically sharing the same air, the undeniable arousal still tenting his pants pressing urgently against your belly. He's staring at you with heavily lidded eyes, following the play of your face, the way you're lingering on where is mouth should be under the mask, soft lips parted invitingly.

You don't know when he removed his gloves but suddenly his bare thumb is at your bottom lip, flattening the flesh, making it feel like you're guzzling air through a straw. A question. You yield immediately, taking the digit into your mouth and sucking, tongue slicking up the sides, tasting the ridges of his fingerprint faint with metal and gunpowder.

His reaction is visceral, lighting a fire in your belly when he hisses, eyes snapping shut as he leans further into you, the game you both have been playing for months finally breaking. He yanks up his balaclava with his free hand and then he's on you, teeth knocking with the intensity of the kiss as he groans into your mouth, maneuvering you to sit on the edge of the table so he can move freely between your legs. His other hand is wrapped around the back of your neck, keeping you pinned to his mouth until he finally speaks against your lips.

"Wait, not here-" he strains out roughly once he can pull away from you, followed by a desperate stop when your hand twists up, clutching the fabric at the back of his neck to pull the mask higher over his nose allowing you to resume licking hungrily into his mouth.

"Not here..." He says coolly like you both weren't just dry humping in the conference room. He's breathless; he's never breathless. You can't wait to take him apart. "Gonna do this right, yeah? Come see me tonight, lovie."

[petalsthefish]

The Good Witch

Day 4 of jily week (hosted by @sunshinemarauder and @kay-elle-cee ) prompt; role reversal

Read on A03

“Alright, Potter?”

James Potter glanced up from his essay to see Lily Evans leaning over his desk. Her shirt was unbuttoned just enough to be distracting, and he rolled his eyes as she fluffed her red hair for his benefit. There were three reasons she was the most popular witch in school:

1. she’s bloody gorgeous

2. She’s way too good at quidditch

3. She’s a massive show off with an affinity for mischief making

Despite these three things, James still avoided her like the plague. Especially after that incident in potions two weeks ago, where she’d tried to come to his defense after his best friend shouted a slur at him in front of the whole class. He didn’t know what had been more humiliating, Sev blowing up on him, or Lily Evans playing the hero.

James definitely didn’t need her swooping in to defend him. She irked Sev enough that her mere presence makes James’ old friend go blind with rage. James sometimes wondered if Sev actually liked Lily, but hated himself for it.

But then again, who didn’t like Lily and hate themselves for it?

“Do you deliberately go out of your way to find me?” he asked flatly. “You know I can’t stand you at the moment.”

“I think you secretly like me,” she replied, sitting on the edge of his desk.

“You’re insane.”

She was right.

”You’re the one who was staring at me during transfiguration.” She sang, “Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I caught the snitch in the match last night, so according to our bet, you owe me seven minutes in heaven.”

He really hated himself for giving into her goading at breakfast yesterday. They’d bantered back and forth about how good she actually was at quidditch. James found bantering with her to be a sport of its own, and she sadly excelled at both.

“You’re the only one who agreed to that.” He said, pushing at her to move. She stayed put.

”You shook on it.”

”You picked my hand up and forced me to shake your hand.” James reminded her, “I told you I didn’t want to bet against you.”

Her eyes sparkled mirthlessly, “I love when you accidentally compliment me without realizing it.”

”Go bother someone else,” he begged, “literally anyone else.”

“We’re already a minute in. Why waste time fighting?” She waggled her red eyebrows. “Pucker up, buttercup.”

James snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Don’t I know it.” She just giggled and kicked her feet. “I’ve got Petunia holding the portrait, so no one will walk in on us, don’t be embarrassed. One little kiss never hurt anyone.”

It might kill me, he thought to himself.

James looked around the common room and realized she had somehow cleared everyone out. He sighed and tucked his quill behind his ear. Lily smirked, swiped the quill from him, dipped it in the inkpot, and took his hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his face turning red as she guided his palm open.

“Reading your future,” she said nonchalantly, tracing the lines of his palm with the ink, creating intricate patterns.

James swallowed hard, the tickling sensation of the quill giving him goosebumps. “And why are you doing this?”

“Oh,” she clicked her tongue, “it says here that your lifeline is really short, which means you should kiss a hot witch before you die at the ripe young age of fifteen.”

James pulled his hand away. “Let me guess, you’re the hot witch in question?”

She grinned wickedly. “I am pretty hot, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” he muttered, “but your ego is really unattractive.”

She placed a hand on her heart, feigning shock. “Me? My ego? James, James, James.” She lifted his chin with a finger, her green eyes sparkling. “It’s called confidence.”

“Well, I’m confident I don’t want to kiss you,” he shrugged. “You might as well tell your sister to let people back into the common room.”

Lily’s shoulders slumped, her confidence faltering. “Did I do something to make you hate me so much?”

“You mess up your hair to look like you’ve just been on a broomstick,” he said, standing up so he was finally taller than her as she perched on the desk. “You make fun of people for sport. You’re an arrogant toe-rag, and I’d rather kiss the giant squid than make out with you.”

Her frown deepened. “Fine.” She pushed herself away from the desk, her feet hitting the floor with a pronounced thud. “I get it. You’re afraid you might actually like me, so you’re pushing me away. According to Witch Weekly, that just means you’re actually interested.”

James rolled his eyes. “Witch Weekly isn’t exactly where I’d look for dating advice,” he said, absentmindedly brushing imaginary lint from his robe. “That’s not the reason I don’t want to snog you.”

“Then give me a chance,” she insisted. “Go out with me and see if we’re a good match.”

“No.”

“Why not?” She challenged, her eyes narrowing. “Is it because I’m a pure-blood? Because that’s ridiculous. You know I’m nothing like those pure-blood elitists who look down on you or anyone else.”

“Your blood has nothing to do with it,” James said, smoothing down his robe with a dismissive gesture. “I just don’t fancy you.”

Another lie.

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Then why do you blush every time I walk past you in the hall? And why did you stand up for me when Snape called me a useless Quidditch player who’s overrated?”

James shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze. “Look, it’s not about what you think. It’s just not going to work.”

“Because your best friend Snape hates me and doesn’t want you talking to me?” Lily guessed.

James blinked in surprise. “You heard him?”

“Of course I did.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “You think I don’t hear what he and his Death Eater wannabe friends say about me? Or Sirius? Or Petunia? We’re all blood traitors because we defend you. I don’t know how you can still be friends with Snape. He’s such a prat.”

“We aren’t as close,” James admitted. “Not after he called me a—” He hesitated, “—a Mudblood.”

Her green eyes softened, and her voice took on a gentler tone. “I would never call you that, you know that, right?”

“Yes.”

He did. Despite her often inflated ego, James was well aware that Lily Evans was a genuinely good witch. If he could turn back time and rewrite his choices, he would have chosen to be friends with her rather than with Severus Snape.

Even though James had grown up alongside Sev, their friendship had become strained over the years. Sev had increasingly aligned himself with those who saw James as an outsider simply because he was the child of two Muggles. The bitterness that had started to poison their relationship had made him realize, too late, that he had been on the wrong path.

But he knew that pursuing anything with Lily Evans, Sev’s sworn adversary, would likely bring more complications than it was worth. Even though he secretly wanted to kiss her, he couldn’t ignore the potential trouble their relationship might stir up.

James was still dealing with the effects of the last encounter between the three of them. He had a feeling if Sev heard James was snogging Lily, Sev might actually kill him. He’d definitely see it as some sort of betrayal. After all, Lily had spent the last five years bullying Sev relentlessly.

As the common room began to fill up again, students weaved around James and Lily, but Lily remained firmly planted in place. She stepped closer to him, her hand reaching out and clasping his. The sudden, firm grip caught James off guard, and he instinctively tried to pull away, but Lily held on tightly.

“I’m a straightforward witch, Potter,” she said with a determined edge to her voice. “When I see something I want, I go after it. That’s why I’m such a good Seeker. And let me be clear—I don’t care if you’d rather kiss the giant squid than me. I still want you. So when you finally come to your senses and realize that Snape is toxic and manipulating everything around you, including who you’re allowed to snog, remember that I was the one who warned you. And I’ll be the one still waiting for you.”

James's face turned a deep shade of red, drawing curious glances from those nearby. “Lily, I—I…” he stammered, struggling to find the right words.

“Hey, Potter.” Lily’s sister appeared, her expression haughty. “Snape’s waiting outside the portrait hole. He says he’ll camp out there if you don’t come out right now.”

James winced at the thought of facing Sev after everything that had happened. Especially after Lily’s confession. “Perfect.”

Lily brushed her shoulder against his, a surge of warmth following her touch. “Give him hell for using that slur, or I will,” she said fiercely.

And James believed her.

[wheels-of-despair]

The Long Con Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Evil Woman brings Eddie a thoughtful gift... but there are some springs attached. Contains: A can of pretzels, a practical joke, a Wayne cameo. Words: 900ish

"Heads up!"

You tossed a can of pretzels toward Eddie when you stepped into his room. Instead of catching them, he ducked, and they fell into the gap between his bed and the wall. The Black Hole. Where things go to die.

He tossed his magazine to the side and rolled over, head disappearing into the abyss as he dug for the pretzels. He held the can up triumphantly when he found it, then twisted his body back around to lie on his back. He placed the pretzel can on his stomach and twisted the label to face him.

"Name brand? Is it my birthday?"

"Buy one, get one free at the grocery store. Mom got one for me and one for you," you explained, dropping onto the bed to lie on your back beside him. "Well, one for you at each of your dwellings, more like."

"That was nice of her," he smiled, watching the can rise and fall on his stomach with each breath.

"She's a very nice lady. Where do you think I get it from?"

"HA!"

You reached over and smacked the can off of him, and he turned his head toward you with a pout.

"Watch it, Munson. You couldn't handle my mean side."

"You mean this is ni--" A pillow found its way to his face, muffling the mistake he was about to make. You flipped over and swung a leg over him, straddling him for pillow-holding leverage. His hands tickled your sides in retaliation, and somehow, by the time the struggle was over, he was on top of you on his bedroom floor and your sides were aching from laughter.

That's alright, Munson. This is a long con.

Eddie ate his fancy name-brand pretzels slower than the massive value-sized bags he usually devoured by the pound. Personally, you couldn't taste much of a difference. It was all dry and salty to you.

But Eddie quite enjoyed them.

And you quite enjoyed planning the next step of your evil plan.

They really were on sale. Your mom really had bought them for him. But you'd been looking through a catalog of creative gifts the day she brought them home, and it had given you… ideas.

Every time he left his bedroom in the week that followed, you checked his pretzel progress.

When he got down to about a fifth of the can, you decided to make your move.

You waited until the phone rang. You were enjoying a lazy afternoon together; laying around and listening to music and maybe making out a little, sure to keep both volumes down while Wayne slept in the living room. Eddie rolled out of bed with a groan and went to answer the phone.

You darted toward your bag as soon as he stepped into the hallway, grabbing the twin to his treasured pretzel can and swapping it with the one on his bedside table.

You shoved his can into the bottom of your bag and returned to the bed, trying to remember how you'd been lying when he left.

"Telemarketer," he grumbled when he stepped back into the room. He closed the door quietly and reclaimed his place in bed, lying on his side next to you. "Now, where were we?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and you laughed.

"Right about…" you inched closer and kissed the tip of his nose, "here."

The events that followed made you forget about your master plan for a while.

Until the phone rang at your house that night, while you were making dinner.

"Hello?" you answered, cradling the phone on your shoulder while you stirred a pot of noodles.

"I'll get you for this."

"Who's calling, please?" you asked with a wicked grin, knowing exactly who was calling and why.

"You are so not funny."

You heard laughter in the background. Is that… Wayne? You'd never heard Eddie's uncle laugh like that before.

"Really? 'Cause it kinda sounds like I am."

Eddie growls, and you cover your mouth so a giggle doesn't escape.

"When did you do it?"

"When did I do what?" you asked innocently.

"When did you rig it."

"I assure you, I have no idea what you're talking about."

It's getting harder and harder to keep the laughter out of your voice.

"I nearly pissed myself!"

That's when you cracked.

You'd found a spring in a pile of stuff you'd cleaned out of the garage, sewed a piece of fabric around it, and attached a tiny plush teddy bear to the end. You shoved it down your matching pretzel can, waited until the time was right, and made the swap. Eddie had just discovered his custom-made snake-in-a-can prank. The entire project cost you about $1. It was worth every penny.

You heard Wayne's laughter get louder, too.

"I did not!" Eddie insisted.

"Did not what?" you asked.

"He screamed like a girl!" Wayne howled in the background.

"Did not!"

You roared with laughter.

When you finally composed yourself, Eddie was waiting patiently.

"You know it's on, right? I'm gonna get you back for this." You can hear the smile in his voice cutting through his angry façade.

"I'd expect nothing less, Munson."

"See you in the morning?"

"See you in the morning," you confirmed. "I'll bring snacks."

[aziraphales-library]

Hello 💕 do you have any truth or dare fics to recommend? X

We have some fics involving dares here. Here are some truth or dare fics...

A Question of Who Started What by lumosity (T)

Aziraphale finds out that Crowley started the Catholic church during a game of truth or dare. ------- “I really didn’t mean for it to go that far. I just kinda...yknow, made an eensy joke to some men at a bar and they, ah, took it too far,” Crowley said, tilting his head back to look at the scant clouds above. “What was that joke, exactly?” Aziraphale asked, trying his best to keep the tension out of his voice. “Something about putting saint’s body parts in the altars,” Crowley mumbled, tipping his face into his drink before taking a massive swig. “You’re the one who started the relics?” Aziraphale hissed.

Truth or Dare by JonsiGray (M)

It's a dark and stormy night, quite unlike the night Crowley delivered the anti-christ. Well, not delivered delivered. Aziraphale and Crowley are nestled on Crowley's sofa in their cottage under a thick blanket having a glass of wine. The power is out and Aziraphale lights an obscene amount of candles along with the fire in the grate. They are perfectly content until Crowley suggests an amusing, and frightful, way to pass the time. “I’ll be right back.” Crowley slid from under the cashmere blanket and ran off to the kitchen, the stone floor freezing under his bare feet. Crowley was quiet in there. Too quiet. Then suddenly Aziraphale heard whisking. Crowley ran back and slid under the blanket. "What is this?" "You have to drink it. All of it."

Truth or Dare by HopeCoppice (T)

It's Aziraphale's first time playing Truth or Dare. Crowley has a secret to protect, all the way from the Garden itself.

Truth or Dare by DarkRomance (E)

An AU where Crowley and Aziraphale are university students sharing a dorm room. It's Saturday night and Crowley is bored. Aziraphale is reading, but gets his book from him, asking if he wants to play a game. Aziraphale agrees. The game is "Truth or Dare"

Warmed from the Snow by PrincessDianaArtemis (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves snowed into the Bookshop and decided to play a couple of games to keep themselves entertained. One thing leads to another which leads to admissions, confessions, and some new experiences for them.

Truth or Dare by MirjamOmens (E)

“Let’s ask questions, like Truth or Dare!” Crowley burst out laughing. “You do realize what you are getting into?” he said, “I could dare you to all manners of sins, it's called tempting, I’m a professional!” “I’m not going to pick a dare, silly!” Aziraphale chuckled. “And you aren’t either, just the questions!” “It’s not the Truth or Dare then!” Crowley objected, still laughing. Aziraphale waved his hand to indicate something about not caring the least. “Do you not want to play then?”

The Tutor by tenandi (E)

Aziraphale is popular, outgoing, and one of the most accomplished students Holy Cross has ever seen. When he's tasked with tutoring the school's worst student he ends up getting schooled in a very different manner. (Waggles eyebrows). - “Aziraphale,” Crowley says thoughtfully, sounding out the name on his tongue. “You’re not asking me to corrupt you, are you?” The blonde doesn’t even bother to look embarrassed or uncertain. Instead, he affects one of his cockiest smiles. “Is that a truth or a dare?”

- Mod D

[mochegato]

Scarlet Polka Dot Bikini

Marinette poked her head around the changing room wall, cursing Alya for forcing her to wear these scraps of fabric that barely counted as a swimsuit.  Starfire might call it conservative, but it was more risqué than anything Marinette had ever worn in public before.  And, yes, Marinette knew it was her own fault for making the bet in the first place, but this was unnecessarily cruel, because now here she was in a triangle string red polka dot bikini, and not just any triangle string red polka dot bikini, an itsy bitsy teenie weenie scarlet polka dot bikini in front of all of her friends.

Well, some of her friends.  The friends with the most killer bodies.  Her superhero friends who all had washboard abs and defined pectorals or perky breasts.  And she was supposed to prance around the beach with essentially nothing on.  Not a single one of them would say anything negative, she knew that.  Hell, she could almost guarantee they would all say something encouraging.  But that fact only slightly reduced her mortification.

“Marinette!  I saw you!” Alya called.  She stormed toward the changing room.  “Get your pert, little butt out here.  You can’t hide all day.”

Marinette glared at her.  “I bet I could,” she huffed.

“Marinette,” Alya sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose, “just come out here, girl.  It’ll be fine.”

“It would be better if I had a little more…” she motioned toward her body as she tried to figure out the right word, “more, on.”

“You just need to get over your self-consciousness.  You look hot, girl!  And the rest of these idiots need to respect.  Hell, I might consider switching sides for you!” she cheered.  “Now come on, you’re missing all the fun.”

Marinette grumbled but obliged, taking her first timid steps past the wall only to immediately be met with Alya’s exasperated sigh.  “Really?”  Alya’s voice was as flat as a board but still dripped with incredulity at the large towel Marinette had draped over her body.  “Marinette.  Girl.  My Bestest Bestie.  My most annoying sister…”

“Hey!” Marinette objected.  “There’s no way I’m more annoying than Ella and Etta after they went to that concert and had caffeine for the first time.”

Alya raised an unimpressed eyebrow.  “Yes, congratulations, they were annoying once…”

“Once,” Marinette scoffed.

“… you’re annoying all the time,” Alya finished.  She motioned pointedly to Marinette’s body.  “You need to have more confidence, Mari!  It doesn’t even matter what your body looks like.  You need to have confidence in yourself.  You’re sexy.  Even in that towel, you’re sexy.  You’re sexy because you’re you.  Now, drop that stupidly fluffy, massive towel, and come have fun!  We were just about to play chicken.  How about it?  Me and Nino, you and…” she scanned the beach, “Wally!”

Marinette’s eyes widened.  “No!  I am not playing chicken in this.  It’s one strong wave away from washing away.”  Alya smirked and waggled her eyebrows.  “No!  No.”  Marinette let her arm escape her towel cocoon to point warningly at Alya.

“Well, that would be one way to get Jason’s attention,” Alya laughed.

“Alya!” Marinette gasped.  She jumped at Alya to cover her mouth, scanning the area for anyone who might have heard.  The towel almost dropped in the process and would have if she hadn’t backed off of Alya at the last second, valuing her modesty more than silencing Alya… for the moment.  “Someone could have heard you,” she hissed with a slap to Alya’s shoulder.  “And that is not how I want to get his attention.”

The sheer idiocy of the statement caused Alya to roll her eyes harder than she had ever rolled them before.  As though Marinette didn’t have his attention already.  As though Jason didn’t gravitate to her in every interaction.  As though Jason didn’t get even more hostile whenever Marinette volunteered for a particularly dangerous mission.  As though he didn’t start growling at anyone who indicated they might hit on her.

“Marinette, sweetheart, I didn’t want to have to do this but, by the… Look out!” Alya yelled as she dove out of the way.

Marinette whipped around to see a volleyball hurtling toward her.  There was no dodging it.  She had a split second to choose whether to just let it hit her or drop the towel.  She almost chose to let it hit her but gave in at the last second and released her strangle hold on the towel to hit the ball at just the right angle to have it bounce up and fall back to her much more gently.

Jason and Roy jogged up to her, Roy sporting a brilliant grin.  Jason followed a few paces behind him at a much more subdued pace, staring intently at Marinette.  Marinette almost lost the ability to breathe.  The sun kissed his body and hair, making him look like he was a dark-haired Apollo… until he tripped over a slight lift in the sand and had to cartwheel his hands to keep from falling face first.  He took a second to steady himself before shooting up straight, dusting himself off, and continuing his path as though nothing had happened.

Marinette reached for him but pulled her hand back at the last second and instead used it to secure the ball in front of her now exposed stomach.  She smiled awkwardly at Roy and Jason as they approached, but with each step closer, she hunched her shoulders and bent one of her knees, trying subconsciously to make herself into a ball that could be entirely hidden by the volleyball. 

“Looking good,” Roy complimented with a wink.  He held his hand out for the ball, but Marinette clutched it closer to her, her knuckles almost turning white with the force, which he pretended not to notice.  He turned toward the rest of the group instead and motioned toward them.  “You’re welcome to take the next game once we finish crushing Dick and Adrien, or you can get in on Wally’s frisbee game he’s playing with himself, or Tim, Steph, and Kon are playing in the water.”  He suddenly turned to her with a very serious look and leaned closer.  “Do not play any games in the water with Garth.  He cheats and doesn’t even realize it.”

Jason clocked Roy on the back of the head, feeling a bit better after getting it out.  “Stop scaring her, dumbass.  You’re being a creep.”  He smiled at Marinette, struggling to make it seem as easygoing as possible.  It seemed to have worked because while she didn’t let go of the ball, she did ease her death grip on it.  “Glad you could make it, Pixie.  Come cheer me and Roy on when you’re ready.  Dick and Adrien have Nino and Alya, which gives them a bit of an unfair advantage.”

Roy shot a knowing look at Alya, both fighting a snort at their oblivious idiots.  “Yeah, that’s why,” Roy muttered.

“Okay, honey,” Alya cut in with more than a hint of patronization, “let’s return their ball.”  She grunted as she wrested it from Marinette’s hands and tossed it to them with only a weak whimper from Marinette, who jumped behind Alya as soon as her shield was removed.  “We’ll be over in a few minutes,” she assured them.

Alya and Marinette watched them walk away, Marinette staring undisguisedly at Jason’s behind as it flexed under his trunks with each step.  She waited until they were at the court before smacking Alya’s shoulder.  “This is terrible!  He’s walking around looking like,” she motioned toward Jason with a groan and threw her head back in frustration.

“Yeah,” Alya answered.  “And you’re looking like,” she motioned toward Marinette.  “Perfect match.  Now come on.  Cheer for your man.”

“He’s not my man,” Marinette grumbled, but let Alya drag her.

“Yet,” Alya corrected, her eyebrows waggling yet again.  Marinette was starting to hate that waggle.

Marinette took a seat in the sand near the court, or what she thought were the bounds of the court.  She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.  It was far too hot to be balled up like she was and completely negated sunning herself, but even sweating like she was, she was more comfortable than she would be if she were showing off her swimsuit.

She and Alya cheered the players on for several rounds, laughing and joking with the players, just about everyone joining them at some point to choose sides and cheer.  Marinette relaxed a bit but kept her legs firmly set in front of her chest, until she couldn’t take it any longer.  She was too hot.  The sweat had worked into every crevasse, most of which also got sand into them, making even sitting still extremely uncomfortable, and she was sure she looked like a hot mess at this point.

She waited until people seemed distracted by some story Stephanie was telling and anxiously stood up.  She checked that nobody was looking and jogged to the surf, her arms crossed in front of her chest until she’d passed almost everyone, then moving to hang loosely behind her to shield her behind until she hit the water.  Her focus remained on the water as she moved, her sanctuary, her armor, missing the ball striking the sand mere inches from Jason, who’s focus was also on the water, or more precisely, the woman wading into the water, her bikini getting soaked as she moved.

Roy picked up the ball with an exasperated huff and lightly bounced it off of Jason’s head.  “Hey!  Head in the game.”

“Right,” Jason agreed instantly.  He shook his head and nodded to Roy as he got back into position.  His eyes darted back over to Marinette but snapped to Dick when he heard the slap of his serve.  He managed to keep his focus on the game with only the occasional glance toward Marinette until a massive wave came in and drew the water away from Marinette as the water surged to fill back up.

The movement left him with a clear view of Marinette, sopping wet in her itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie scarlet polka dot bikini clinging to every curve, and he thought he might not be able to breathe any longer.  He continued to stare, mouth agape, completely unaware of anything else around him, until his focus was jarred by a ball smacking him in the side of his head.  He blinked in the direction the ball came from but instantly returned his focus to Marinette.

“Come on,” Roy groaned, “what the Hell, man?”

Jason didn’t bother to look away from the water to acknowledge him.  “Think it’s time for a dip,” he said blankly.  “You guys continue without me.”

“Continue without… It’s two on two!” Roy yelled after him.  He turned back to Dick and Adrien with an exasperated huff.  “I know I asked for him to get off his ass and actually go for her, but this is not what I meant.”

“Yes, it was,” Adrien snarked.

“Yeah, it was,” he agreed reluctantly.  “Wally, stop playing with yourself and get over here.  You’re on my team now!”

“You’re going to turn blue if you stay here much longer,” Jason teased, easily wading closer, the water that covered Marinette up to her shoulders only coming to mid chest on him.  Even through the water, he could see her covering her chest with her arms crossed across her chest.  He furrowed his brow at her reticence.

He had been more than happy about her walking around in her swimsuit, well, no, he hadn’t been thrilled with everyone checking her out throughout the day, but he was okay with it because she was fine with it, and if she felt good who cared what anyone else thought.  It was clear now that she wasn’t.  Even after a few hours, she wasn’t comfortable in the swimsuit.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” he asked casually, looking off into the distance, squinting at the sun shining in his eyes.  “We can go get food or something, which would of course require getting dressed…” he let the sentence trail off, the picture of innocence.

Marinette blinked at him, timid hope appearing in her eyes.  Her eyes darted to the beach, the people wandering around between them and the car, and back.  “I don’t know.  I might… wait,” she said uncertainly.  “You know, until everyone is distracted.”

Jason narrowed his eyes at the people on the beach.  “Nah.  I’m hungry now.  Give me just a second.  Wait right here.”  Marinette snorted.  As if she was going to go anywhere.  Jason dashed out of the water and across the sand to his bike.  She could see him rummaging around and grabbing something out of a compartment.  He then made his way over to Roy, whispering something in his ear and making a sharp movement with his arm, before moving back to Marinette.

He shot her a confident grin and motioned toward the beach.  “Okay, Pixie, let’s go.”

Marinette’s eyes widened.  “No!  I’m not… They aren’t…”  Her sentence got cut off by a small explosion on the beach just beyond where everyone was playing.

“I saw two people over there!” Roy yelled at the top of his lungs.  He pointed toward the other side of the beach from Jason and Marinette and charged, the others following him significantly more cautiously.

“That’s my boy,” Jason grinned.  He urged Marinette out of the water and across the sand to the changing rooms.

“Jason,” she exclaimed.  “We have to…” she froze and stared at him incredulously as realization hit him.  “I know I asked you for a distraction, but that was not what I had in mind.”

“I know, genius, right?” he grinned, pulling her behind him until they reached his bike.

“That was not what…”

“Did you want to change before we leave or after?  I can let you borrow my shirt if you want to wait.”  He held out his shirt to Marinette, but his grin morphed into a smirk after a second.  “Honestly might be safer if you go without the shirt though.”

Marinette’s hand, which was just centimeters from his shirt froze, it dropped to her side as her head cocked to the side.  “Oh?  Why’s that?” she asked innocently.

He took a breath to fortify himself and stepped closer to Marinette.  “Because, if I have you in my shirt hanging on to me while I’m driving, I’m going to have a lot of trouble watching the road,” he admitted quietly.

Marinette’s lips split into a brilliant grin.  This was the first time Jason had given a definitive sign of interest.  There had been signs before but they always could be written off as innocent.  This was the first time, there was no way it could be innocent.  “Me in a shirt would be more distracting than me in this itsy bitsy teenie weenie scarlet polka dot bikini?”  Her voice had changed from the innocent tones a few moments ago to something more sultry and it was setting Jason’s body on fire.

“You’re distracting either way,” Jason corrected.  “But knowing you’re in my shirt?  Holding tight to me?  With just that underneath?”  He let out a long breath and shook his head.  “I’ll be honest we’ll be lucky if we don’t crash.”

Marinette giggled and looked him over slowly.  She closed the distance until her chest was almost brushing his, close enough that if he inhaled deeply, they would touch, and looked up at him from under her lashes.  “Just keep your eyes on the road and remember if you crash, you won’t get to kiss me tonight.”

A growl sounded deep in Jason’s chest as he wrapped his shirt around her shoulders.  “That is a very compelling argument.  No crashing, but food and kissing later.”

Marinette nodded, her eyes finally glinting with the happiness he was used to seeing in her eyes.  “Glad you agree.  But maybe…”  She cut off when they heard their friends start yelling.  They met each other’s eyes in mutual understanding, both jumping onto the bike at the same moment.  Marinette shoved her arms through the sleeves and wrapped them around his toned waist, barely able to contain the groan at the feeling of her arms on his bare skin.  Her ocean-chilled skin heated up instantly where they touched like a fire flooding her system.

She had to admit, she might never wear this bikini in public again.  But maybe, just maybe, if she would get the same results, she’d be willing to give Jason a private showing.

@maribatserver

[general-nerdy]

Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull NSFW Alphabet

I had a lot of fun getting these all down, and thank @sinfulwrites for being my editor haha! Go read her Asa NSFW alphabet. It's fantastic!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jesse couldn't care less about your comfort if you're laying in one of his coffins. He relishes in your discomfort. His camera gets a fantastic view of the tears streaming down your face, and your soiled body is a work of art. He'll go back and watch the footage again to see you squirm.

When you are someone he is closer to, Jesse is more of a gentleman. You are held in his massive tattooed arms, though you will be subjected to waggling eyebrows and suggestive, teasing messages about your time together. When you regain some energy you are free to use his elaborate bathroom, his multifunctional bidet and huge walk-in shower making it more than a pleasure to clean yourself. He will follow you in and watch. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He's not picky. Jesse can admire every part of you, though he has a weakness for thighs. Your face however is something he will watch intently. He loves to watch your expressions change through it all. 

Jesse loves every part of himself. He's great and he knows it. You don't need to tell him. 

After his incident at the market, he's much more sensitive about his face. But he took it like a champ after some therapeutic mental breakdowns and property damage. It's okay, he can pay to replace the mirror. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jesse has a bad habit of cumming inside. Why should he sacrifice his pleasure, after all? Does he not deserve it? He also loves to have you swallow his load, again watching your face as you do. Though if you're one of his victims he probably wouldn't risk putting his penis in your mouth. He doesn't want anything happening to Lil' Jesse. 

If you are a victim he might force your mouth open and cum inside, or just cum on your face. That makes a great phone background. Yes, he would do that. Your memory would live on in his home screen. At least until he finds another piggy. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Believe it or not, Jesse would love it if you played with his ass. If you topped or pegged him, even better. His late wife never indulged him. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jesse had quite a few partners, both men and women, before marrying his late wife. Even after the fact he had encounters outside of his marriage. So he's very much experienced. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Overtop of you with your legs in the air. That way he can see everything; his cock disappearing in and out of you, your body moving with him, and your face of course. His camera also captures more from there. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

When Jesse likes you he's quite the funny guy. He teases and plays with you in a humorous way. If you farted or queefed during sex he'd double over in his wheezing laughter. Jesse is here to have a good time. 

When you're a captive, he's brutal. He makes you look into his camera. He makes you look at yourself reflected in his mask, watching yourself be violated. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Jesse is completely bare, save for his eyebrows. After the incident at the market and his surgeries he doesn't even have those. He likes being hairless, and he's spent a lot of money to get laser removal done. Sliding into his satin sheets smooth as the day he was born is one of his great pleasures. 

He doesn't mind at all if you have hair, wherever it may be. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jesse's ability to take anything seriously is severely inhibited by what I'd call 'affluenza'. He has so much money he can do what he wants, when he wants. Sex is a fun time for him, sure, but most of the time that's just it; a fun thing to do. Unless you're someone he really, really cares about. Then he will make more of an effort to take things seriously and be more romantic. 

When he makes that effort, he goes all out. Expensive dinners. Trips to foreign countries on one of his private jets. Rose petals on the bed. New lingerie for you. He will spare no expense. You will be wined, dined, and dicked. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jesse loves to watch his tapes and jerk off. He basically has an addiction, but it's limited to his own recordings or live footage of you. Yes, he's always watching. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Filming: He's got a camera on his shoulder for a reason, and he saves every single tape. He makes backups too. 

Phone/Cyber/Video Sex: Jesse does all three. You're getting dick pics. He will ask for nudes and videos, even if he already has them. There is never enough in his collection. You will receive some in return. He will barrage you with dirty texts. He feels no shame. He doesn't know what it is. More than once he's FaceTimed you, only for you to open the call and see him with his dick out. It's a common occurrence. 

Mirrors: He has huge ones across the way from his bed, just so he can watch your face when you're in a position where he can't see it. Jesse also likes to make you look at your reflection, whether it brings you shame or pleasure.

Period Sex: Jesse does not fear Aunt Flo. Only cowards do. He'll eat you out too. He thinks it's fun to show you your blood all over him. 

Bondage: Keeping people trapped in his coffins watching them squirm is a huge turn-on. Jesse will get right up on the lid to watch through his camera screen. If he's riled enough he will grind against it. He will also use ropes to restrain those he's got his eye on. 

Public Sex: Jesse will shamelessly pull you away to bang. He'll reach under the table if you're at a restaurant. Is it a fancy one? Even better. His fingers will play with you as you try to order from the waiter. Sometimes he'll even reserve the place so you two can have your fun in peace. In the car? He'll unzip his fly, pull out his cock and gesture to it while he's driving. Or he'll just pull to the side of the road and throw you into the back seat of his Chrysler. Did someone see? Good, Jesse wants to show off. 

Necrophilia: IT'S TRUE. NO I WON'T CHANGE MY MIND. We all saw him lick Princess's corpse in the second movie. He was keeping the bodies all around. He humps coffins. Jesse will have his way with his victims just after killing them. The poor interns from his organization have to clean up the mess. It's not a great job, but it pays very well and the benefits are outstanding. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Jesse loves his mansion. He had it built to his own specifications, and his bedroom has a massive California king-size bed. He loves to show off himself and his affluence. Where else better to do it than there? His car is another favorite. Give him some road head or a handy and he's on cloud nine. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You exist. He exists. You have holes, he has a penis. That's really all Jesse needs. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Poop. He likes to be clean. Even psychopathic murderers have standards.

No vomit either. You can gag on his weiner, but please don't puke. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jesse loves receiving oral. He could sit there for ages and watch you suck his dick. It makes him feel like a king, which he is. 

If he likes you, he will more than happily attack you with oral. Being cute? Being a brat? Bent over? Spread those legs because he's going in. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jesse does not rush. He is slow and powerful. His size doesn't let him jackrabbit into you, but he doesn't need to. By the time he's done, you'll feel like you have no bones. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Of course! Jesse may be slow, but he is more than willing to whip out his cock and slip in and out. He knows just how to touch you, so making you cum quickly is easy. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Jesse fears nothing. He could buy off anyone if he got into trouble with you. He has public sex for a reason, and that reason is he doesn't give a single shit. He's willing to try most anything if you're down to clown. He's here to have a good time. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This man can go all night. No problem. He may need a break, but he'll pick right back up in no time. As long as you're willing he's ready. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Jesse has plenty, though not as many as other people he knows. He prefers quality over quantity. They're not competition. They're for enhancing the experience. He'll happily use them on you, and let you use them on him. He has a prostate massager that he loves. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jesse is actually not that much into teasing when he likes you. He'll do it playfully, but never to deny you pleasure. Though if you're being bratty he just might to teach you a lesson. He'd rather not wait to have his fun with you. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jesse can't speak. His vocal cords have suffered some kind of damage during his life and left him mute. The only noises he can make are raspy grunts and groans during sex. Though he is limited, Jesse is not shy about making these sounds when fucking you. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Jesse is good friends with Asa Emory, the Collector. The type of friends with benefits. Asa is more often than not the top, despite their size difference. Jesse doesn't mind at all. He finds it quite cute, but he'd never say that to Asa. 

He often helped to fund many of the Collectors endeavors. Jesse thought that Asa's traps were hilarious. 

Jesse is more than willing to have a threesome between you and the Collector, if Asa is feeling agreeable. He might even just sit and watch…

Jesse's late wife was a huge Karen. He hated every minute with her and dreaded becoming a father. 

If you do marry him, he actually is a doting husband. His late wife wasn't lying about that. 

He does not want children. Ever. He'd rather die. 

His aesthetic is very important to him. If there's something with skulls or skeletons, he wants it. Even better if it's chrome or silver. We all saw his cute little skull briefcase. He has cute skull slippers. Skeleton boxers. All of it. 

His late wife hated his aesthetic. She made him stop wearing a lot of it. Once she died Jesse had a field day putting back on all of his skull themed jewelry. The man has rings for days. 

Jesse has a difficult time going to places he considers low-brow or 'poor'. He was raised rich, so he was never exposed to such things. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Seven inches and uncircumcised.

Large low hanging balls. 

The tip of his dick is pierced with a Prince Albert. And yes, it has a silver skull on the end.

He named his penis Lil' Jesse. He will never stop calling it that. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jesse always wants you. All you have to do is look at him suggestively. Or just look at him. He'll ask if you're ready to bang. 

The epitome of "So we fuckin' or what?" 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jesse will fall asleep with you. He's not one to pass out as soon as he nuts. He's too proud for that. His ego couldn't handle the shame. 

[booksooks]

Dyed Hair and Inked Skin

Author's Note: I wrote this while in my feels and listening to Michael Buble. Idk what more to tell y'all.

Contents: Dyeing hair, tattoos but not in the conventional way. Kissing and confessions.

Word Count: 1924

Summary: You knew Dabi before, as Touya. And then Touya was gone, no matter how much you wished for him to come back.

You weren’t stupid, contrary to what the rest of the world thought of you.

When you were little, you knew Touya. He was your friend. Maybe not the best of friends, but you still hung out when you could. You didn’t know why he hung out with you, you were quirkless and a bit of a reject, but he insisted he stick by your side. He said it had something to do with his father, but you didn’t press it. Your mother didn’t exactly approve of him as you both got older, but his attitude towards you never changed. He was kind, in his own way, despite his rangy looks and quick tongue.

A “don’t stay up too late, stupid. You don’t need bigger eye bags,” as he left was enough to know he cared, deep down. You were tempted to pull on one of his piercings, just to fuck with him.

But you didn’t. And you walked him to his door, just down the road. He flicked your forehead gently before he went inside, and you just rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out. Neither of you talked much when you were with each other, the understanding for a need of silence heavy on both of your shoulders.

When you got to the end of his (massive) driveway, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You took it out and looked at the message, from Touya.

I meant it. Go to sleep soon

Yea yea. Night, Touya

Night

You were fifteen when he was declared missing, and then dead. You were devastated. Your mother was understanding, perhaps a little too much. “I think she loved him,” you heard her say to your father. They were outside your door, because you had locked yourself inside your room in a silent vigil. For Touya.

Who knew? Maybe you did love him. All you knew was that Touya was gone. Forever. And he wasn’t coming back.

How you had ended up working for the Shigaraki Tomura, you weren’t aware. Your parents had not approved of your decision to work with “the bad guys” as they had so maturely put it, but you were an adult. You could make your own decisions. And you were their child. They weren’t going to throw you under the bus.

You still called with them every week. You knew your mother would get worried if you didn’t.

You had, in the end, gotten a quirk. Bodily Control, it did exactly what it sounded like. You could control what happened to people, sensed their very breath. Stopped or slowed heartbeats. You could break ribs, paralyze people… you could kill. You had killed, in fact, but it had taken so much out of you that you had refused to work for the next week. You could barely get out of bed without toppling over. Toga took care of you for that week, and by Thursday the fat on your hips had returned, and you could no longer count your ribs. You recovered quickly, but while you were down, you were down and out.

Shigaraki was pretty pissed about that. But what could you do?

Mr. Compress was more understanding about it. You seemed to become Toga’s favorite after that incident, claiming excitedly that you “don’t have to stab the baddies to get them to bleed!” You had just smiled weakly at that and hoped she didn’t stab you.

And Dabi. The only thing Dabi had said when you shuffled into the lounge that Thursday evening was “if you can walk you can fight. Or at least go get some more Jack Daniels.” He held up the empty bottle, waggling his eyebrows lazily.

You had just rolled your eyes, but you grabbed the bottle anyway and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he muttered, already breaking the seal. You just nodded and left to go lay down again. By Sunday you’d be fine. Your hair would stop falling out by Sunday, and it wouldn’t feel like you were laying on crushed glass, either.

And by Monday, you were ready to go again. Maybe not on another killing spree (it took your body about a month to heal fully, but a week was good enough if you took it way easy). So life continued on.

But you weren’t stupid, as much as Dabi insisted you were. You saw the boxes of dye and bleach in the trash, the way his breath hitched whenever someone mentioned the name Todoroki, or how his body almost shut down when Shigaraki offhandedly mentioned “Father.” How he absolutely refused to call you by your name, the way he seemed to take a sip of whatever he was drinking when the both of you made eye contact. The way he subconsciously leaned towards you, just slightly when you were talking. The way his eyes would follow you for two strides, the flicker away like he was caught, even if you never said anything.

And so it was that you found yourself, somehow, walking up to the roof of the building you all had occupied, a blanket around your shoulders and a bowl of black ink in hand. You saw Dabi on the edge of the roof, leaning back and watching the traffic, the stars, nothing and everything.

“It’s a little cold to be out here in nothing but a tee-shirt,” you say quietly, draping an end of the blanket over his shoulders.

“I am my own heater, dollface.” But he didn’t move away from the blanket.

You held up the bowl of ink. Despite him avoiding you pretty regularly, this was something he let you do often enough. He shrugged the blanket off and pulled his thin white shirt over his head, discarding it next to him. You dipped a brush in the ink and hesitated over his back before deciding on a simple vine pattern. It was nothing like him and didn’t mean anything, but it was easy with the one brush you had. It started at the top of his spine, the vertebrae sticking out making it harder to paint properly, but it worked. It widened quickly, then tightened back up at the base of his spine. You added the leaves and a few thorns and finished the bottom with two ivy leaves facing each other. Then, using your quirk, you sank it into his skin, a tattoo for as long as he wanted it.

“Turn around. I have one more I want to do.”

Dabi looked at you oddly, but he complied, closing his eyes. You painted a capital “T” just over his heart, but didn’t let it sink in. The ink ran down his skin, and he shivered at the feeling.

“Why didn’t you sink it in?” he asked quietly, never opening his eyes.

“Do you really want to let him die completely?” You countered, just as quietly, watching his face for a reaction. You weren’t using your quirk, but if you had been, you were sure you’d hear his heartbeat elevate with that one question.

“I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about,” Dabi snarled, pushing your hand away.

“I’m not stupid, Touya.” You looked at him, eyes flickering from the T on his chest to his angry blue eyes.

“Don’t call me that. You have no right to go around saying that name.”

“Right. Sorry.”

You both sat in silence for a few more minutes before you picked the blanket back up off the roof and slung it around his shoulders again. He didn’t shrug it off this time, either. You both went back to looking at everything and nothing, the both of you unwilling to look at each other.

Finally looking up at Dabi, you decided to take a risk and lay your head on his shoulder. When your still-sensitive skin hit the cold staples of his shoulder, you both hissed in pain. But neither of you moved away. Dabi was right: he was warm, but he was almost as malnourished as you were. His shoulder was sharp and dug into your cheek, but the pain was worth the comforting heat his body radiated.

“I wish…” you started, not sure if you should finish. When you felt Dabi’s gaze on your face, you continued. For his sake. “I wish someone had gotten to you before all of this.”

“All of what?” He sounded hurt.

“Your death. Your want for revenge. I wish someone had saved you before then.”

“Someone was close,” he said, laying his head on yours. “They were nice to me, no matter what my attitude was, but they didn’t take my bullshit. I think in another life we could have been happy.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were quiet for a few more minutes, and suddenly you were eleven, he was thirteen, you weren’t Heartrender and he wasn’t Dabi.

Just Y/N and Touya, sitting on the rooftop of your old apartment building with hot coco and popcorn. Maybe you two would share a kiss, maybe not. You broke yourself out of those memories; they weren’t now.

“I’m not saying you should bring him back, Dabi,” you said softly, half-hoping he wouldn’t hear you. But the noise had died down for a little, so you knew he did. “But I am saying you shouldn’t throw him away altogether. There were some good memories, right?”

He sighed, long and low and drawn out, and you knew you were right.

“Put it somewhere else,” Dabi said, not looking at you but lifting his head once more.

“Where?” You asked, using the blanket to wipe away the ink on his chest.

Dabi finally looked at you and then his eyes flickered to somewhere around his waist.

“Your hip?” You suggested, dipping the brush in the ink. Dabi nodded, and you shifted so that you could tug the tight jeans he wore down a bit. “And I thought girls wore tight jeans,” you muttered.

“Hey, you’re not the one putting them on, dollface.”

You started painting the small “T” on his prominent hipbone, and when it was done, you sank the ink into Dabi’s skin. You let his pants snap back over the tattoo, and set the bowl of ink down. Dabi grabbed your hand and pulled it up to just barely hover over his face.

His eyes were clear of anger. Vulnerable. Sweet. Free and blue and beautiful, and then they were closed and he was gripping your hand tighter, almost painfully so. Almost like he was preparing himself for something, or debating an issue with himself, before he let your hand rest fully against his scarred face.

And then he leaned forward and kissed you.

Oh. Oh.

It was surprisingly soft, just a brush of his scarred lips over yours, and you could feel his breath puff against your mouth, but then you were pulling his face closer again for another kiss.

And another, and another, and another, all as gentle and timid and light as the first.

When you both (mutually, for lack of air and dizziness) pulled away, all you managed to breathlessly say was, “so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

Dabi nodded hesitantly. “If you want it to, then I’d like… this.”

“This being the – the kissing and stuff?”

“Yeah. If you,” his hand squeezed yours once more, “want to.”

“Hell yes, I want to.” You pulled Dabi in for another sweet kiss, mindful of the staples on his face, the few tears being shed, and the pain in your hand from using your quirk.

The pain was worth it.

End Notes: Thanks for reading! 💙

AO3 Link

ABSOLUTELY NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK TO ANY SITE.

[wolfawaycamp]

Rylan gets together during camp. After finding out, Chris gives Dylan a (very light) shovel talk.

🐰 turns out that I CANNOT be brief talking about these two but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. :3

The green rectangle of the swimming pool glowed like an emerald in the night, its undisturbed surface both tranquil and tantalizingly forbidden, as Dylan and Ryan made their way to the low brick wall surrounding it, to the the torn panel of the chainlink fence. It had taken Dylan the better part of three weeks to convince Ryan to give him a shot, but now that he finally had, Dylan was working on convincing him to bend a rule or two in the name of some harmless fun.

It was a sweltering July night, stuffy even at this elevation in the Catskills, and Dylan had floated the idea of a night swim without really expecting his new boyfriend to take him up on it. Ryan rarely did anything he thought might displease their boss. But even the camp-leader’s pet struggled to sleep in this heat, and perhaps Ryan was finding it difficult to resist the temptation of a little one-on-one time between the two of them. Dylan could flatter himself by thinking so, anyway.

He climbed easily onto the top of the low wall and held a hand out to Ryan, hauling his boyfriend up next to him. “Mr. H should really get this fixed,” Dylan said, grinning like a Cheshire Cat in the moonlight, “seems like an insurance liability for the pool to be this accessible. An attractive nuisance, I think they call it.”

“You’re an attractive nuisance,” Ryan teased, shoving Dylan off the edge of the wall and jumping down after him.

“Hmm, all I hear is that you think I’m attractive.” Dylan preened, winking over his shoulder at Ryan, who shoved him again, playfully, closer to the pool.

“The emphasis was on the ‘nuisance’ part,” Ryan countered, and Dylan shot him a fake pout. Ryan grabbed Dylan by his shirt, pulled him in for a kiss that was soft and warm and perfect—albeit entirely too short—and, fuck, he could really get used to that. “Of course I think you’re attractive, you massive dork. I’m dating you, aren’t I?”

Ryan could be pretty direct. Dylan was pretty into that. “Well, every time you say that, I end up pinching myself to see if I’m dreaming and, unbelievably, I’ve been awake every time, so I think the answer is yes.”

Ryan shook his head, but one of those cute little half-smiles tugged upwards at the corner of his mouth, even as he turned away in a failed attempt to hide it.

“So, how long d’you think it takes for the pool to cycle through enough fresh water so that it’s less than one third urine?” Dylan asked, staring into the deep end.

Ryan’s nose crinkled in disgust. “Okay, gross, you talked me into getting in there with you and now you’re talking about urine.”

“I’m just stating facts, man. You know the kids pee in there. They just do. That’s why the chlorine smell is so strong. Pure chlorine doesn’t even smell like that. It’s a chemical reaction between the chlorine and the ammonia in urine and sweat and stuff, gives off these chemicals called chloramines and that’s what you smell in the pool.”

“That’s enough professor, you’re ruining chlorine smell with your chemistry bullshit and it’s one of my favorite smells! Stop saying the word ‘urine’ and take your shirt off.” Ryan emphasized this by taking his shirt off and Dylan didn’t think he’d ever get tired of gazing at a shirtless Ryan for as long as he lived.

“Okay, yeah, I hear you, less chemistry,” Dylan pulled his own t-shirt off over his head, “more, uh, chemistry.” He waggled his eyebrows, hoping the feigned swagger was convincing enough.

Ryan ignored the quip and dove into the pool. Dylan followed, hurling himself gracelessly into the water with a laugh. The pool was still warm from the day’s sunlight, but getting wet made the air feel cooler when they back came up, at least.

“Keep your voice down,” Ryan shout-whispered, “Chris’ll freak if he catches us out here.”

“Oh, come on, what’s he gonna do, fire us?” Dylan flicked water at Ryan who splashed a little back at him. “We’re already understaffed. I’d like to see the old boy try to work the PA system, do all the scheduling, and teach all those sailing classes himself.”

“He probably could do the sailing,” Ryan reasoned, “he’s the one who taught me when I was a kid.”

“Yeah, but now he’s like 100, no way he could haul kids out of that lake like you do.” Dylan put a hand on Ryan’s upper arm and even this chaste contact sent a thrill running through his entire body. They hadn’t been together long and they’d barely ever been alone together. Getting to touch Ryan at all still felt like a privilege. “No way he has the upper body strength.”

“Stop talking about Mr. H,” Ryan said, “stop talking, period,” and Dylan might have taken offense if it hadn’t been clear from his tone and the look in his eyes, the way he’d come closer and angled his face upward towards Dylan’s, that Ryan had other plans for their mouths—better plans.

Dylan nodded, leaning in close, and then… a beam of blinding light landed on them from the other side of the fence. Ryan jumped away from Dylan as though he’d been electrocuted and Dylan ducked his head under the surface of the water as if he could hide, as if they hadn’t already been seen.

He surfaced to the sound of Mr. Hackett shouting, “Ryan, Dylan, out of the pool, please.”

Dylan risked a glance at his boyfriend and had to stifle a laugh at Ryan’s wide-eyed expression. As the chastened boys exited the pool and tried to quickly towel dry and wring out their trunks while still wearing them, Ryan whispered, “I told you we were gonna get caught!”

“Yeah, yeah, save it. You can gloat later.” Dylan whispered back, pulling on his shirt and cringing a little at how it stuck to his damp torso.

“I am not gloating! It’s not like I wanted us to get in trouble!”

Dylan clambered onto the wall and helped Ryan over again and Ryan immediately fell all over himself to apologize to their boss, who was standing there in his usual head-to-toe khaki ensemble as the two boys dripped miserably in front of him.

“I’m really sorry Chris, I…” Ryan began, and Mr. Hackett, flashlight in one hand, held the other up to silence him.

“I don’t wanna hear it. Ryan, you go straight back to your cabin right now, I’d like to have a word with Dylan.”

“Hey, no, it was my idea,” Ryan lied, and Dylan immediately corrected him, doing his best to ignore the warmth that spread through him at Ryan’s attempt to take the blame.

“It was definitely not his idea,” he said simply.

“Look, I don’t care whose idea it was, you both broke a rule and you’re in the same amount of trouble. And we will talk about it in the morning. Ryan, go to bed.”

Dylan and Ryan gave each other a nod, resigned to their fates, and Ryan headed back to his cabin. Dylan turned to face the camp leader, who had begun walking toward Dylan’s cabin on the far end of the circle near the radio hut. He wasn’t speaking now, so Dylan broke the silence.

“So, uh, am I… fired?”

“No, god no. Dylan, nobody’s fired! I haven’t fired Jacob or Emma for any of their antics yet, why would I start with you?” Mr. H asked and Dylan had to admit this was a fair point. “I wouldn’t even care about you two being in the pool,” he went on, “if I didn’t have to worry about the kids in your cabins needing something while you were distracted.”

“Oh, right. Okay. Then, uh, what did you wanna talk about?”

“You and Ryan, you’re obviously involved and I just… I want you to be careful, okay?”

Oh. Oh no. Oh no. Was Dylan’s boss trying to have a safe sex talk with him right now? Had he had it with Ryan already? Well, this was mortifying. He thought he might rather have been fired. Plus, what was the point if they kept getting interrupted before anything worth getting a lecture over could even happen?

“We’re not, I mean, we haven’t, y’know, not yet anyway…” Dylan floundered, his cheeks flushing, “we haven’t really had time, but if we ever did, I mean I’m sure we will and, when we do, then we’ll definitely be…”

“No, that’s,” Mr H. chuckled awkwardly, “that’s not what I meant, although you definitely should, uh, use protection. And, please don’t do… that when you’re on the clock. But what I meant was, be careful with his feelings.”

“His… feelings?”

Dylan blinked at him blankly. Of all the outcomes he’d imagined for this relationship, him hurting Ryan’s feelings had never even occurred to him. In fact, Dylan had thought the most likely scenario would involve his own heart getting pulverized in the end.

“I’ve known Ryan for years. He’s like a… close family friend at this point,” Mr. H said, and Dylan only realized when he finished the statement that he’d been expecting him to say Ryan was like a son to him, but he hadn’t. “I don’t know how much he’s told you about his family life.”

“Not a lot, actually,” Dylan admitted.

“Well that’s his decision, but I don’t think he’d mind me saying that it hasn’t always been easy for him. Feels like he’s maybe looking for some kind of stability. And that’s not always something you can get out of a relationship when you’re this young. I remember being your age, everything feels really intense. I just… don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“Mr. H., I—I really like Ryan,” Dylan said, feeling awkward as hell but being very earnest, “I’m trying my best not to fu—uh fumble this, okay? And you’re kind of… well you’re sorta freaking me out, actually, but I, um, appreciate the sentiment, anyway. I don’t want Ryan to get hurt either.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Because I think Ryan really likes you too.”

“You do?” Dylan swallowed. “What, uhh, what makes you think that?”

“Because,” Mr. H smiled, “he just lied to my face trying to keep you out of trouble. That kid never lies. He’s… really bad at it.”

“Oh. Yeah, he really is,” Dylan agreed. “Wait, Mr. H, is this the part where you tell me you know a guy who can make me disappear if I do anything to hurt him?” Dylan laughed, softly, at his own joke, but Mr. Hackett didn’t.

The camp leader let out a long-suffering sigh instead, clapping the young man on his damp shoulder. “Let’s just both hope it doesn’t come to that, Dylan, hm?”

[waltwhitmansbeard]

"You're shaking." Vax and Scanlan, CR or TLOVM (or any AU you can think of)?

21. "You're shaking." this one is set during s1 of tlovm!

It's a record for Vax, how fast things have gone to shit. He's used to fucking up his own life, and his sister's too, but to fuck up the lives of seven people in the course of just one dinner party—well. He's really outdone himself this time.

He paces the kitchen of the keep—their keep, if they can even call it that anymore—twisting this dull steak knife round and round and round between his fingers. Captain Jarrett took all their weapons, and now his hands feel itchy. Whatever. Not like he could do much with his dagger in here anyway.

Vex is lounging in a window, gazing down at the moonlit lawn, and Scanlan is on his second sandwich. Neither one of them is paying Vax much attention, so he just keeps pacing. Does he take his sister and run? He's done it before. It's not like Scanlan could stop them, even if he had his annoying lute, which he doesn't. He'd feel bad, of course, leaving the rest of Vox Machina to their house arrest, but they'll be better off. The last thing they need is some idiot rogue who can't even scope out a room, for heaven's sake—

"What're you thinking about?"

Vax stops pacing, finding a gnome suddenly in his way. It takes him a second to actually decipher what Scanlan said, the words garbled by the last bite of sandwich in his mouth. "Nothing."

"Mmm, I don't know." He nods to the knife. "You're shaking."

Vax looks down at the steak knife, and sure enough, it's trembling between his fingers. He tosses is quickly onto the dining table. "It's nothing. Low blood sugar or whatever. I skipped dinner, remember?"

"Right. You know, that was pretty cool, the way you just...did that for Percy, no questions asked."

Vax scoffs. "Yeah, some help I was."

"Uh, hello?" Scanlan waggles the stolen book he's been studying, which has some goopy white substance on the cover that Vax prays is mayonnaise. "You got this, didn't you?"

"Oh sure, and all it took was a vampire bite, a thirty-foot dive through a window, a massive fight in the sovereign's courtyard, the Briarwoods' escape, some teenager's fingers, and all of us on house arrest!"

Scanlan quirks an eyebrow. "Oh, so we're taking responsibility for each other's actions now, are we? Because if so, I have some questionable sexual exploits I'd like to pin on Grog."

Vax sighs. "Scanlan..."

"So the plan went to shit. When has one of our plans not gone to shit? You saw Percy in distress and you did something to try and help. You didn't make him explode at the dinner table, and you definitely didn't shoot half of a kid's hand off." Scanlan reaches up to gently punch Vax's hip. "Don't take credit for Percy's idiocy. Something tells me that before this is all over, you'll have enough of your own to worry about."

Vax blinks. "Was that supposed to be inspiring, or...?"

Scanlan's eyes narrow. "It was supposed to get you out of your own damn head." He spins around and tosses his hands up. "Whatever! Be miserable! I've got an evil book to read."

He starts to walk off, but Vax stops him by rubbing his head. "You're not half bad, you know that?"

Scanlan shoots a playful look over his shoulder. "Wait 'til you hear what my sexual exploits have to say."

Vax rolls his eyes and walks away. "Not enough therapy in the world, Scanman."

[freesia-writes]

Waking Up with The Bad Batch

[cheesy PG-13 fluff] Part Two: Wrecker

You fell asleep completely enveloped in the biggest bear hug of a cuddle that you had ever imagined, but you wake up on your own side of the bed, with that massive hulk of a clone sprawled out on his back next to you, arms and legs everywhere. He's still fast asleep, breathing through his mouth with the occasional closing/swallowing/lip smacking, and a smile creeps across your lips as you watch him for a moment in the early morning glow.

The sheets are twisted around his waist and legs but his torso and arms are free, one arm outstretched near your head. It's impossible to resist snuggling into his side, bringing the covers with you. You match the curve of your body to his, lifting your head to find the perfect pillow in the scoop where his chest meets his shoulder, and drape a leg across one of his.

You rest a hand on his chest, feeling it steadily rise and fall, soaking up his scent and warmth and the absolute peace of the moment. But it's soon broken by a quick twitch from him, muscles flexing under you, that both startles you and jerks him out of his sleep. With a tiny snort, he lifts his head a few inches, looking around the room quickly before getting his bearings and becoming aware of you.

"Ohhh, now this is what I'm talkin' about," he says, gravelly voice slightly rougher than usual. He wraps the outstretched arm around you, curling it around your back from its position under your neck, and brings his other hand behind his head, reclining onto the pillow and closing his eyes.

You trace your hand across his pecs, lazily marveling at the sheer brawn of his build, and nestle it in the tuft of hair sprinkled across the center, gripping it so gently for a moment and then releasing it. You continue your appreciative caress, drawing your fingers up the side of his neck, across the spider-leg scars on the side of his head, then back down to his nose, giving it a little tap. The dichotomy of brute strength and pure tenderness in one soul is magnetic, and you could spend all day exploring the two.

His stomach announces its hunger with an impossibly loud growl, and you have to suppress a laugh at the predictability of this man. His eyes open again, and he grins unabashedly, giving his stomach a fond pat.

"Sounds like it's time to get up," Wrecker says, rolling on his side to face you, freeing his arm from underneath your head, and propping himself up on his elbow. His free hand reaches over to give your rear a playful smack, and this time you do laugh. But instead of getting up, you lay back onto the pillow, never wanting to drag yourself from this warm, cozy little nest, and let out an overly-dramatic deep sigh.

"Fine," you admit, bringing a hand to his side before continuing, "Or... You can stay here, and I'll fetch us a snack..." Your thumb brushes across the sculpted little valleys between his muscle groups, following one side of a V from his hip down toward his thigh.

"Now you're talkin!" he replies enthusiastically, "But you'd better watch out with that hand, or you're gonna have some trouble." He waggles his eyebrows at you, giving a roguish wink before cupping your entire head with his hand and bringing it toward him, placing a slightly sloppy kiss on your forehead.

"And you hate trouble, don't you?" you laugh, tracing your fingers back up across the center of his stomach to rest once again on his heart. "I'll be right back."

As stated in my first one of these... I'm new to all this, so be gentle with me. ;) Hope you can enjoy some PG-13 fluff about our favorite boys. <3 Also, this one got way longer than the first because I'm currently stuck in the progression of my fanfic but still have to write. ;) I'm beginning to fear the potential length of the remaining three. ;)

Also, I have to share this in each post, but these were inspired by this disproportionately cozy and wonderful work of art by @shyranno:

Who next?? <;3

[narrativelysignificantturtleduck]

hi :) 12 or 13 for bakoda? :)

hi :) let's do both bc why not

12. Do they have many heated arguments? How do they smooth things over?

honestly, i don't think so. they have disagreements because they're different people (hakoda more outgoing and at times reckless, bato more reserved and cautious) but their friendship's lasted over the years because their differences complement each other and allow them to work as a team. as i imagine it, most of the conflict in their relationship is simply around initiating it. they've decided the other is off-limits for various reasons despite the fact that they have this very genuine loving relationship, and that hurts but doesn't really manifest as an argument.

they were a few moments things got heated, though:

after kya's death, hakoda shut down, barely did anything while bato and kanna kept the household running, and eventually i think bato may have gotten frustrated with that and snapped at him. see this post by @weaselwater who regularly makes bakoda posts that hurt me (complimentary)

after bato took the kids ice-dodging hakoda felt bad about it and then felt bad for feeling bad about it because if anybody else was to do it of course he'd want it to be bato. he can't resent his best friend who helped raise his kids! so instead of actually confronting his guilt over missing this important moment in his kids' lives he just says "of course you didn't overstep i'm glad they got to go 👍" and lets his feelings fester. eventually it bursts out and he gets angry at bato for being nice to his kids (???) but luckily bato figures it out pretty quick and says so and hakoda's like ohhhhh and just kinda. cries on bato for a bit

13. Who’s the bigger tease?

(massively shifting gears here lol)

you'd think hakoda because he's a more goofy personality but mostly he was just unintentionally torturing bato for years by being a charming handsome guy in an extremely open-chested shirt. like he didn't know he was being a tease, he just was. meanwhile once bato gets it through his head that hakoda finds him hot (it takes him some time to get used to it after decades of unrequited pining) he totally takes advantage of it. hakoda's idea of being a tease is waggling his eyebrows and going "like what you see? ;)" and bato's is to pretend it's all unintentional. sidle up behind hakoda to get something off a high shelf kind of thing

also they'll sometimes ramp up the teasing/flirting around the kids bc they're dads who think it's funny to watch their kids get grossed out :)

ask game

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

Priceless (Shoyo Hinata)

Shoyo hadn't been a big spender for most of his life. Despite his earnings as a professional athlete, he doesn't spend frivolously.

His car's not the newest, or the fastest, he just likes it. His house isn't the biggest, he just likes it in the garden, and the pool's awesome for cooling off after a workout.

If he really wants to invest in something though, he maxes out.

Pool too cold to use in the winter? He'll have it heated, cleaned twice a week all year round, even when he's not at the damned house for months at a time.

All of this to say, he's not opposed to spending money on what he thinks is worth spending money on.

Then, he met you.

You grew up counting coins, your independence came with the anxiety of money, and though you've worked your way to comfortable, you still can't bring yourself to spend big without thinking about it two, three...hundreds of times.

Shoyo fell hard for you, and he didn't realise just how deep that anxiety ran, until your first Valentine's day together.

You'd been together for a few months at this point, comfortable enough to be staying over at each other's places.

You wake up to the warmth of his lips, smattering affectionate pecks across your cheeks and nose, lovingly rousing you from the bliss of sleep.

'G'morning, gorgeous.' He purred as your eyes fluttered open, focusing on his sunny smile in the dimly lit room. 'There's those pretty eyes.'

'Sho...' Your voice cracked with sleep, body stretching under the covers, relishing the lingering warmth under the comforting weight of his body leaning over yours. 'S'sa sunday.'

'I know, sorry baby. But I gotcha somethin' and I couldn't wait.' He placed an apologetic kiss to your forehead, and then couldn't bring himself to pull away, lingering against your skin, rubbing his cheek against yours lovingly. 'Come to the living room with me, please?'

You groaned, reflexively draping your arm over him, just indulging in closeness while it lasted. Shoyo gives you no shortage of cuddles and surprise hugs, even in the oddest of places, he doesn't care. More than an hour without seeing you is reason enough to scoop you off your feet next time he does.

But this, quiet, simple, comforting intimacy, is what you cherish the most.

This, coupled with the warmth of the sheets and the cold of the last week's weather made you all-too-reluctant to move. In fact, you almost drifted back to sleep until Shoyo whined, pouting as he kissed you awake again.

'Come on, baby, please?! I promise it'll be worth it.'

You pouted, eyes glassy with sleep, and welcomed his next kiss to your lips, reluctantly wiggling your muscles back to life at your lover's request.

'Fiiine, what's so urgent anyway?'

'You know what day it is next Tuesday?' His eyes lit up, eagerly watching you scootch out of bed and slide into your robe and slippers, waddling out of the room behind him, his hand clasped between yours.

He's affectionately called this your "penguin mode" when you first crawl out of bed, too tired to care what you look like, wanting nothing but heat and coffee.

'The 14th. Why?'

'And the 14th is....?'

'Valentine's?'

He waggled his eyebrows at you, and you frowned, catching onto the scent that he's up to no good.

As soon as you enter the living room, you're overtaken with the smell of flowers, a massive, varied bouquet sits on the coffee table, beside a mug of warm coffee and a box of chocolates.

On top of that box, sit plane tickets, tickets that Shoyo picks up, and presents to you with a beaming grin on his face. 'How about spending Valentines in Venice?'

'Venice...' You parroted, still taking in the spread before you, eyes on the tickets your boyfriend proudly held out to you. 'Italy? As in...Italy Venice?'

'Yeah! You said when we met that you wanted to go.'

'I did but it's Valentine's week, the prices must be astronomical!'

Shoyo shrugged, and your stomach sank as you realised he hadn't even looked at the prices when he'd booked the flight. He's done it before, when he knows you want something, he gets it. No amount of decimal points will stop him.

And this...that happy smile on his face as he waits eagerly for your reaction, you can't help but sigh lovingly, wanting nothing more than to bury yourself in his arms and never let go.

'The money doesn't matter, in a few years I'd have no idea where those bills ended up, but I'll remember and cherish every memory I get to make with you. So, if you really think about it, the money doesn't mean much.'

It felt so self indulgent, part of you screamed that it was wrong, but your heart swelled two sizes too big in your chest and you clutched to his chest as if even a breath of air between you would be too far apart.

'I'm sorry, I'm just...not used to thinking like that.'

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, your nose, your lips, had you practically purring as his hands squeezed into your hips affectionately. 'I know baby, but what's the point of the numbers if they don't make you smile?'

'You make me smile, so I suppose that makes you priceless, Sho.'

[alwaysbethewest]

Kingsman fic: That's You for Me

Folks, you know that thing where you see a cowboy and you think, he's cute and all, but what if I wrote him as troubled and sad on New Year's Eve? Well—

Title: That's You for Me Pairing: Agent Whiskey/f!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 1.8k Content/warnings: alcohol, lingerie, a maudlin cowboy, established relationship, mundanity, softness, lap sitting, neither plot nor porn, kind of emotional hurt/comfort I guess? Reader is mostly blank slate but is described as having cleavage. Unbetaed but as always thank you to @mourningbirds1 and @fleetwoodmactshirt for being my sounding boards and cheerleaders 💞

It’s raining out, and the backseat of this car is a welcome refuge, warm and dry and clean. The driver has K-LOVE playing on the radio—quiet, contemporary love songs to Jesus after dark—and you wonder if he sees you as a soul in need of saving. You probably look the part—eye makeup overdone and smudged by now, and cleavage peeking out from under your coat. You’re buzzed on good champagne and mid-shelf vodka and you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror and give him a smile, because you can’t help it, because it’s New Year’s Eve and you’re filled with a sense of warmth and goodwill toward your fellow man.

Your own man had stayed home tonight, claiming a pile of work needed his attention, and the tone of his voice had told you it was an excuse, and the look on his face had told you not to push it, so you didn’t. The party was fun, even without him on your arm, but the want of him had been tugging you back home all evening and you’d bowed out well before midnight and summoned a cab.

The house is quiet, lit just enough for you to slip off your shoes and pick your way through the foyer and down the hall to the bedroom. You’re expecting him there, dozing already or relaxing with a book, ready to draw you in close and ring in the new year.

The bedroom is empty.

You wander through the house, making a detour to the kitchen for a glass of water and a plate of leftover iced sugar cookies from Christmas, and eventually you find Jack in the only place he ever could have been—his study.

It’s his favorite room in the house, the only one untouched by hired decorators or exes or you. It’s dark, and warm, and simple yet plush. His desk is massive, and he cuts an imposing figure behind it when he wants to. This room is designed to intimidate visitors as much as it is to suit himself.

Tonight, his posture is slumped in the sturdy desk chair, body half illuminated by the Tiffany-style table lamp to his right. The door is open, and you’re on bare feet, but he still catches you coming in and glances at his watch as he straightens upright.

“You’re back early,” he observes. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you.”

Under your feet, the carpet is soft. You dig your toes into the threads as you walk towards him, enjoying the sensation. You still have your coat on, and it makes you feel sexy, like showing up in nothing but a trench coat, even though you’re fully dressed. You pause by the side of his desk to set down your treats and make a show of slipping off the coat.

Jack pushes his chair back from the desk, leaning back, and looks you up and down. “Well, well, well. Those legs go all the way down to the floor, now don’t they.”

“Well, well, well,” you drawl, with a laugh, “where else would they go, honey?”

He waggles his eyebrows. “I can think of a few places.”

“Very clever,” you tell him dryly, but the champagne bubbling through your system must be impairing your judgment because you feel genuinely amused and can’t hold back a smile.

You slip in front of his chair, perching against the edge of the desk, and he swivels to face you head on, letting his gaze linger on your thighs where your hem is riding high. He’s taken by the sight, distracted from whatever he’d been at before you came in, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that you recognize, that you know won’t dissipate all that easy.

You cock your head, listening to the music he’s got playing quietly on the stereo system. It’s a woman’s voice, high-pitched and full of heartache, singing a song that you can’t quite place. It would sound sad even if you couldn’t make out the words.

“Tammy?” you ask. His eyes travel up to meet your own and he looks a little sheepish. He knows that you, more than anyone, can see right through him.

“She’s been keeping me company.”

You lift one foot and rub it against his ankle. He feels far away from you still, despite sitting right there.

“I would’ve stayed home with you,” you tell him.

He’s silent for a beat.

“I wanted you to have fun,” he says. He reaches past you to pick up the glass of whiskey on his desk, and then rolls in closer so you’re nearly touching.

You open your legs for him, making room for his knees between yours. He rests his left hand, broad and warm, on the bare expanse of your thigh, and takes a slow sip of his drink.

“Tell me about the party,” he says.

You brush your fingers over his knuckles, drifting your eyes down his body. He’s wearing a soft, dark blue cashmere sweater and well-fitting charcoal trousers. It’s an elegant look for lounging around the house, and for a moment you find yourself wishing he’d come with you tonight, just for the image you would’ve struck together, his subdued, clean lines and your sparkly, low-cut dress.

“It was fun,” you tell him. “Trace and Geri were there. They were sorry not to see you.”

He shifts his jaw, thoughtfully.

“I told them you had pressing work to take care of,” you assure him. “They understood. Geri said she’ll find a date to have us over for dinner soon. Just the four of us.”

He nods.

“Linda brought her new boyfriend,” you continue. “You would’ve hated him.”

Jack laughs, surprised. “Why’s that?”

You shrug. “Call it intuition.”

Call it the fact that the young man in question was clearly coked up all night, more like, but telling Jack that would ruin the good mood you’re trying to coax him into.

He makes a skeptical sound and slides his hand an inch higher, fingertips threatening to edge under the hem of your dress.

“What brought you home so early?” he asks. “I thought you’d be out past midnight.”

“The catering was no good,” you tell him. “And the music was too loud. And… I just thought—I would rather be here with you, anyway.”

He smiles, and shakes his head a little, like he doesn’t agree with your decision-making but appreciates the sentiment nonetheless. You reach your hand out to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb along his chin and up to the corner of his mouth, and you lean in closer, carefully, so he has nowhere to look but at you.

“Jack,” you whisper. “This is always where I’d rather be.”

He blinks, and you see something shift in his face—that tightness he’d been trying to mask momentarily relaxing away—a break in the self-punishing armor he’s put on tonight to keep everyone out. You’ve given him a statement of truth and he’s absorbing it now, reckoning with it, feeling the unhappy lies he’s told himself being tilted on their heads. He inhales, swallows hard, closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them again his face has gone a little softer, tension fading into relief, confusion turning to acceptance.

“Come here,” he murmurs, tugging at your hips.

He pulls you into his lap, straddling his thighs. Your dress rides up indecently and the space between you is shrouded dark and silky—his trouser fabric soft under your thighs and brushing through the thin layer of your underwear. His hands span across your back, holding you close and secure, and he tips his head up to press a kiss under your jawline before leaning forward and down to nose into the valley of your cleavage. He rests there for a long moment, just breathing in slowly, angling his head to arch into it when you scratch your fingers lightly into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Nice perfume,” he says, muffled slightly against your chest.

“You gave it to me,” you remind him.

He hums, a self-satisfied sound. “I guess I have good taste.”

“I guess you do.”

He pulls upright again to look at you, and opens his mouth to say something, then hesitates. You wait him out, fingers still massaging at the back of his head, and after a moment he has that sheepish look again, see-through, like he’s remembering there’s no use hiding if it is from you.

“Thank you for choosing me,” he says quietly.

You feel something deep in your chest, a swell of tender affection for him overtaking you.

“Thank you for being everything I need,” you say.

He doesn’t shake his head this time. He searches your face, seeing the truth of it, and gives you a small, sincere smile.

He glances at his watch again.

“It’s only eleven. You want me to help keep you awake until midnight?”

“Yes please.”

“There’s a catch,” he warns you. You raise an eyebrow. “You have to take off this dress,” he says disapprovingly. “You look—incredibly sexy, but—those sequins are scratchy as a briar patch. I want to feel you.”

You laugh and gesture over your shoulder. “The zipper is right there, baby.” His hands are reaching for it before your sentence is complete, and your laughter at his haste gets lost in the slinky fabric pulling over your head as he takes the dress off you. He tosses it onto the desk and runs his hands down your sides, giving you a low whistle.

“That’s much better,” he says. “I guess I have good taste in lingerie, too.”

It’s warm in the study, and surprisingly comfortable sitting astride his lap in nothing but your bra and panties. He wasn’t wrong about the scratch of the sequins and how much nicer it is to touch your soft, bare skin. You lean forward, experimentally, and press your body to his, enjoying the luxurious feel of his cashmere sweater. You can smell the whiskey on his breath, pairing with your own warmly scented perfume, perfect complements to each other.

“I have a proposition for you,” you say.

“I like the sound of that.” He palms your ass and squeezes with intent.

“I’ll trade you one of my cookies for a sip of your whiskey.”

“A cookie—” He shifts under you, glancing around to find your plate of Christmas cookies. “Sugar, this is a two hundred dollar bottle of liquor. That’s just not a fair trade.”

You pull away, shooting him a small mock frown. “Two cookies, then.”

He looks calculating. “One cookie,” he says, holding up a finger, “and two kisses.”

“It’s really two hundred dollars?” you ask, and he nods. “Alright,” you decide. “One cookie, two kisses, and I’m going to throw in another one for free.”

“You’re a terrible negotiator,” he observes, but he doesn’t seem to mind it when you lean in for your kiss, and you don’t mind it either that you only get your whiskey half a dozen kisses later.

(teensy tiny tag list for this one: @loversandantiheroes, @pedrostories, @littlemisspascal, @thirstworldproblemss, @knittingqueen13)