#Just a guy with a cool name. That's it. They were just Some Guy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seitmai · 1 day ago

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Many thoughts

Hangman stretched, “Where’s your pilot?” He shrugged. “Phoenix isn’t a morning person.”

Fair, i get that

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Hangman teased. “Shut the fuck up, Hangman. It’s too early for your bullshit.” She groaned, making the rest of them laugh. Only she would cuss like a sailor at five in the morning.

He was asking for it 🤷🏻‍♀️😅

“Why on earth would you guys want to do this?” Hangman chuckled, “Figured you of all people would like it. You look like you would’ve gotten your lunch money taken in Back to the Future.” That made Rooster let out a laugh heartily enough to capture the attention of the staff, and Bob rolled his eyes. But he couldn’t help the smile. Okay, fine. That one was good. More original than his usual quips.

Credit, where credit is due 🤭

With his heart beating out of his chest, he stammered, “B-bob. It’s just Bob.” He wished he could give another answer. He wished that his call sign wasn’t as simple as it was or that he had some sort of cool name like ‘Dagger’ or ‘Striker’... But he couldn’t even pretend like Bob didn’t fit him perfectly. She laughed. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

He never liked his callsign better than in this moment 🤭

“Oh, so like a WSO?” She knew what that was? This conversation was just getting better and better, even with Hangman’s attempts to embarrass him.

Probably could not care less about Hangman’s antics rn

That wasn’t his call sign, and if it was, it would’ve been more embarrassing than just Bob. But having the beautiful waitress call him Baby? He could leap out of his skin. The massive blush that spread over his face was uncontrollable.

Love a blushing man 🥰

“Jesus, Floyd. I’ve never seen you so whipped. And you usually are by most people.” Hangman smirked, leaning back. “And she matches your dorkiness,” Hangman added. Bob shook his head, but he had that feeling, too. Their interaction had been so limited, yet he had a feeling they’d get along perfectly. He was already completely and totally captivated by her.

🥹🥰🤭

“You’re here before me, Phoenix?” He asked, confused. Phoenix chuckled even through tired eyes, “Couldn’t miss the Bob yearning show this morning.”

Worth the watch 🤭

Hangman, Rooster, and Phoenix would all watch him stumble and smile up at her. His face lit up like a Christmas tree. And they would all tease him or even subtly try to hype Bob up to her. The three noticed how she seemed to pay special interest to Bob, even though he remained oblivious. They noticed how she always complimented him or would point out his glasses. There were little things- like her making his paper plate of ketchup a winky face or a heart, while the rest got stars or smiley faces. The fact that she always addressed him as Baby was more than enough to convince them. It wasn’t Bob or Baby on Board. It was just Baby. But Bob was oblivious. He was completely convinced that she was just being friendly because she was being paid to be. He figured that a girl like that would already have a partner, and he didn’t want to be a creep. It wasn’t like him to hit on a girl while she was working. His mama taught him that it wasn’t appropriate.

Oh sweet Bob 🥹🥰

“Jesus Christ, Bob, this is torture.” Rooster groaned, leaning his head back. He looked at him, confused with furrowed brows. “Look, Bob, I was a whole proponent of the whole don’t ask her out at work thing, but this is getting ridiculous,” Phoenix said, grabbing her menu.

Haha they're not wrong

Phoenix exchanged a look with Hangman… That couldn’t be good. Those two could barely stand each other, so if they were joining forces, something was up. Bob saw their stares. “What-what are you guys doing?” Bob asked. Phoenix turned to him, “If you don’t ask her out, I’m gonna have Hangman kill us in every dogfight this week. 200 push-ups each.”

Phoenix and Hangman ganging up on Bob? They really mean business

Walking out, Bob’s legs felt like jelly. It was like he was on the aircraft carrier for the first time, and he couldn’t get his bearings. He fully wore the bashful smile now, unable to resist it.

He took a deep breath before spitting out, “I was just wondering if you’d like to… go out sometime. I- I know this isn’t appropriate when you’re working and all, but-” “I’d love to.” Her face was the brightest he had seen it. It didn’t seem like forced hospitality. She seemed genuinely enthusiastic. “God, Bob, I was waiting for you to ask.” He blinked and shook his head in disbelief, “You were?”

Finally 🥳🥰

So cute 😍

B-A-B-Y (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: On a Monday morning, Rooster and Hangman bring Bob and Phoenix to a local diner, and Bob’s instantly smitten with the waitress singing along to the jukebox. Next thing he knows, “Diner Mondays” become a squad tradition… and so does watching Bob fall harder every week while the rest of the Daggers try to get him to finally ask her out. WORD COUNT: 2.7k WARNINGS: Fluff. Tooth rotting fluff. Reader wears glasses. NOTES: Yes. Like Baby Driver. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

It was an early Monday morning, and Bob was awake and ready earlier than he would’ve anticipated. He always woke up early for work, and on the weekend, out of habit. But that day, he had to wake up even earlier. Rooster and Hangman insisted on going to this diner with Phoenix and him. Bob wasn’t gonna turn down the idea of a real proper breakfast before their shifts, though he knew Phoenix was gonna be grumbling the whole time.

He pulled up in his baby blue truck to Dot’s and Joe’s, a stout metal and red building not too far from base. The sun was just rising, and it painted the sky that sleepy light blue. Spotting Rooster’s Ford Bronco and Hangman’s Jeep, he pulled up next to them right as they were getting out.

“Mornin’ Bob,” Rooster said. They were all dressed in their khaki uniforms, knowing they would change into flight suits once they arrived at training anyway.

Bob nodded with a small smile. “Mornin’ guys.”

Hangman stretched, “Where’s your pilot?”

He shrugged. “Phoenix isn’t a morning person.”

As if on cue, her black version of Rooster’s Ford Bronco pulled up and parked next to Bob’s truck. They watched as she got out of the car, grumbling and rubbing her eyes.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Hangman teased.

“Shut the fuck up, Hangman. It’s too early for your bullshit.” She groaned, making the rest of them laugh. Only she would cuss like a sailor at five in the morning. “Why on earth would you guys want to do this?”

Rooster started walking towards the doors of the place, and the rest followed. “They’ve got quite literally the best pancakes I’ve ever had. It’ll be worth it.”

They all walked in, and Bob looked around the interior. It was like they had hopped into a time machine. The classic 60s look was clean and colorful, even if the outside of the building seemed a little worn down. Red leather seats and silver table tops. Warm fluorescents wrapped around a countertop bar. Old movie posters and pin-up art hung up on every wall while a jukebox played oldies by the kitchen door.

Rooster and Hangman led them to a nearby booth, and they scooched in.

“It’s nice,” Bob said, nodding with a small smile.

Hangman chuckled, “Figured you of all people would like it. You look like you would’ve gotten your lunch money taken in Back to the Future.”

That made Rooster let out a laugh heartily enough to capture the attention of the staff, and Bob rolled his eyes. But he couldn’t help the smile. Okay, fine. That one was good. More original than his usual quips.

At the sound of Rooster’s laugh, the kitchen door swung open by the jukebox. A soft voice rang out. It was quiet enough for almost nobody in the diner to notice… But Bob sure did. A beautiful voice sang along to a song he didn’t recognize playing on the juke.

“B-A-B-Y. Baby. B-A-B-Y. Baby.”

His head turned over to see a waitress in a pink uniform and a little paper hat. In most cases, he’d just see the waitress and be excited to dig into some food. But for some reason, at the sight of her, his heart flipped in his chest. She was beautiful. In knee-high socks and glasses that were similar to his, though they weren’t nearly as big and awful-looking as his own. She swayed her head to the song without a care in the world as she held a notepad and pencil.

He didn’t even notice the rest of the squadron trying not to laugh at Bob’s obvious gawking.

“See something you like, Floyd?” Phoenix asked with a smirk.

Bob’s head whipped back around. “What? What do you mean?” He asked quickly, making the rest of them laugh harder.

When the waitress spotted the table, she smiled and walked over.

“You two again.” She said, stopping by and looking at Hangman and Rooster, “And you’ve brought friends.” She smiled at him, and Phoenix and Bob could’ve sworn his heart stopped.

“Yeah, well, we had to share how good this place was,” Hangman said casually.

Bob looked at the nametag pinned on her top. Y/n. God, he was practically melting, and he was trying to resist the wiggly Charlie Brown smile that wanted to appear.

She tapped her pencil. “What were your call signs again? I remember thinking they were cool, but I can’t for the life of me remember what they were.”

Rooster nodded and pointed to himself first. “Rooster. Hangman. Then those guys over there are Phoenix and Bob.”

She tilted her head with a smile as her eyes landed on Bob properly. “It’s Bob? What’s your real name then?”

She laughed. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

She liked his name.

Hangman cut in, “We’ve made it stand for Baby on Board. He’s a backseater.”

“Oh, so like a WSO?”

She knew what that was? This conversation was just getting better and better, even with Hangman’s attempts to embarrass him.

Bob nodded, barely able to speak.

“That’s pretty awesome. My dad was Navy, so I like seeing ya’ll pop up here since we’re so close to North Island.” She explained, “Well, Rooster, Hangman, Phoenix, and Baby, what can I get started for ya?”

“Just four hot coffees to get us started, will ya, Y/n?” Hangman said

She didn’t even write it down. “Simple enough. I’ll be back.”

Bob watched her walk away, completely mesmerized. Especially as she jumped back into the song.

“Just one look- in your eye. And my temperature goes sky hi-” And the kitchen door swung closed.

There was a silence as the three pilots watched Bob, surprised as he sat there with a dreamy look on his face.

“Jesus, Floyd. I’ve never seen you so whipped. And you usually are by most people.” Hangman smirked, leaning back.

Once again, he was sadly snapped back to reality by Hangman. A common occurrence. “N-no. No, I’m not. She was nice.” He cleared his throat, pretending to look over the menu, “Really nice.”

Rooster made a little ‘Aw’-ing noise. “Buddy, it’s okay! I get it. She’s super cute.” He said, trying to be supportive, but Bob quickly shushed him, horrified at the prospect she might overhear.

“And she matches your dorkiness,” Hangman added

Bob shook his head, but he had that feeling, too. Their interaction had been so limited, yet he had a feeling they’d get along perfectly. He was already completely and totally captivated by her.

They left the diner an hour later to make it to work on time, but Bob couldn’t shake the thoughts of her that graciously occupied his brain. The whole day, even as he was driving or flying or doing push-ups, he’d hear her calling him ‘baby’. Or he’d think about how, when he put in his order for strawberry french toast, she winked at him and said that was her favorite. It was both horrifying and the best distraction he could ever ask for.

Wanting to make it a tradition, Rooster dragged the three of them back to the diner the following Monday. It was a nice thought. Start the week out with a great breakfast and end it with a Friday night at The Hard Deck.

Bob got out of his truck and looked over at Hangman, Rooster, and Phoenix, who were already there.

“You’re here before me, Phoenix?” He asked, confused.

Phoenix chuckled even through tired eyes, “Couldn’t miss the Bob yearning show this morning.”

He practically choked on his own spit. “What?”

“Yeah, we’re surprised you weren’t the first one here to say hi to your little girlfriend.” Rooster teased.

He let out a little exasperated breath. “Can we go in now?”

Hangman walked towards the door, “Whatever you want, Baby.” He teased back, emphasizing the name the waitress had called him last time.

For the next few weeks, they had the same routine. They would sit down in their booth, and like clockwork, Y/n would strut out quietly singing along to whatever song was on the jukebox. It was like she had a Rolodex of 50s/'60s hits. The Supremes. Marvin Gaye. Aretha Franklin. Tom Jones. Even the songs he didn’t recognize sounded like his new favorite song coming from her.

But Bob was oblivious. He was completely convinced that she was just being friendly because she was being paid to be. He figured that a girl like that would already have a partner, and he didn’t want to be a creep. It wasn’t like him to hit on a girl while she was working. His mama taught him that it wasn’t appropriate.

So even as the rest of them egged him on to ask her out, he didn’t. He stayed comfortable with the small talk and stammering banter he’d make with her on those Monday mornings. It got to a point where even the rest of the squadron knew about this. Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote wanted to come with and see for themselves, but for the first time- Bob vehemently rejected them from coming. It would be obvious if suddenly there was a crowd watching him try not to turn red in the face while talking. And she deserved better than that.

One Monday, Y/n came back out singing that Carla Thomas song again. And when she reached the table, Bob couldn’t help himself.

“What’s that song playing? You’re always singing it.” He asked

Her eyes widened, “Oh goodness, I hope it’s not too cringy that I sing while working.” She said with a nervous smile.

All of them shook their heads, looking up at her. Rooster and Hangman went back to their menus with smirks while Phoenix looked down at her phone, as if they were all letting him have his moment. His favorite part of the week.

“No. No. I- I like your voice. I’m just wondering what the song is.” He said with his typical bashful look.

Her nervous smile upturned to a genuine one. “Oh, well, it’s Baby by Carla Thomas, but the title is spelled out like B-A-B-Y… Hey, that’s like your call sign, isn’t it?” She asked excitedly.

Bob nodded. “Kinda. Kinda yeah.”

“Guess, I’ll be listening to this song even more then, Baby.” She said, which made Hangman and Rooster look at each other with raised brows that said ‘it’s so obvious’, “I’ll be right out with your guys’ coffee.”

As she walked away, he heard “Whenever the sun don’t shine.”

The kitchen door swung shut.

“Jesus Christ, Bob, this is torture.” Rooster groaned, leaning his head back.

He looked at him, confused with furrowed brows.

“Look, Bob, I was a whole proponent of the whole don’t ask her out at work thing, but this is getting ridiculous,” Phoenix said, grabbing her menu.

“I don’t know what you guys mean. She’s just being nice.” Bob said, looking around at his friend’s exasperated faces.

Hangman dragged his hands down his face, “And calling you ‘baby’.”

Bob shook his head. “She thinks that’s my call sign.”

“So… she’s going to ‘listen to the song with your call sign more now’ because…?” Rooster added.

He couldn’t deny that. It was probably the most forward thing she had done besides smile and point out they were matching every Monday because of their glasses.

Bob shook his head. “I shouldn’t.”

Phoenix exchanged a look with Hangman… That couldn’t be good. Those two could barely stand each other, so if they were joining forces, something was up. Bob saw their stares.

“What-what are you guys doing?” Bob asked.

Phoenix turned to him, “If you don’t ask her out, I’m gonna have Hangman kill us in every dogfight this week. 200 push-ups each.”

He immediately groaned and put his head in his hands. The idea of that was pure torture. Not only did that mean he’d barely get to fly because he’d be tagged out every time they did, but 200 push-ups daily for a week. Look, Bob was strong… but his shoulders and biceps shivered at the thought.

“You’re evil. You’re literally evil.” He said, looking over at Phoenix.

Rooster tapped the table. “You’ll thank us later.”

After they all paid, Rooster, Hangman, and Phoenix all walked out, leaving Bob still lingering behind inside. He felt awkward. Like he wasn’t supposed to be there anymore because it was outside of this routine. When Y/n came back out, his heart beat so hard he thought it might stop. It had gone from zero to sixty at just the sight of her.

When she spotted him, her eyes brightened and she walked straight towards him. He swallowed anxiously.

“Hey, Baby! What are you still doing here? Need something?” She asked smiling

Oh god. Oh dear god.

“No, no, I was just uh, I was just-” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his friends not so subtly watching him from outside the window. He scratched the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say thanks.” He nodded.

OH GOD WHAT WAS HE DOING? THANKS? A little confused, but still smiling, she nodded. “You’re welcome. Any time.”

He took a deep breath before spitting out, “I was just wondering if you’d like to… go out sometime. I- I know this isn’t appropriate when you’re working and all, but-”

“I’d love to.” Her face was the brightest he had seen it. It didn’t seem like forced hospitality. She seemed genuinely enthusiastic. “God, Bob, I was waiting for you to ask.”

He blinked and shook his head in disbelief, “You were?”

“I was worried you never would.” She said, “I’m free this weekend if you are.”

It felt like he was melting into the floor. “Yeah, yeah, I am. I’ll uh- here.”

He reached over to a table and grabbed a napkin, quickly scribbling his number on it. Handing it to her, he added, “And if you change your mind, I won’t be mad.”

She took it and folded it neatly before putting it in her pocket. “I would never.”

They stood there for a moment just looking at each other. She smiled, and Bob let out a nervous laugh. This felt like a dream, and he was still waiting to wake up. She didn’t have a boyfriend. She didn’t seem creeped out. And she had been waiting for him to ask her, despite being at work.

“I’ll let you get back to work. I’ll see you.” He said, nodding.

“See ya soon, Baby.” She waved before going back into the kitchen.

Walking out, Bob’s legs felt like jelly. It was like he was on the aircraft carrier for the first time, and he couldn’t get his bearings. He fully wore the bashful smile now, unable to resist it.

“So?” Phoenix asked, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk.

“She said yes.” He said breathlessly.

1K notes · View notes

luvvjayk · 2 days ago

Text

𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩 - 𝙟𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙠𝙤𝙤𝙠

PART 1

pairing : fratboy!Jeon Jungkook x reader genre : angst, secret situationship, fboy-to-loverboy, slow-burn, university au, smut word count : ~5k warnings! : alcohol, party setting, drinking, suggestive tension, emotional manipulation, light dom energy, explicit kissing, build-up for smut, fboy!Jungkook, mentions of hookups, reader is not innocent, slow-burn attraction, explicit language.

(MDNI) - contains mature themes!

Rule 1: What happens with us stays with us.

The frat house thrummed like a living beast, its heartbeat a bassline that shook the night, vibrating through the soles of your heels. The backyard sprawled wild, red Solo cups scattered like petals after a storm, cigarette embers flickering like fading stars, beer bottles catching moonlight in sharp glints. Fairy lights hung loose above, their amber glow brushing soft halos across sweaty faces lost in the music’s grip. The air was thick with tequila’s sting, the pool’s chlorine bite, and the sweet curl of weed drifting from dark corners. Bodies danced, shouted, laughed, a restless tide chasing a high only nights like this could weave.

You stood by the pool with your girls, Mia and Lila, your laugh sharp enough to cut through the noise. Your black dress hugged your curves, bold but not desperate, its hem teasingly short, your hair spilling in waves that caught the light like liquid starlight. You weren’t the queen of this scene, and you wore that like armor. People knew you, your quick wit, your unshakable confidence, the way you held a room without begging for its gaze. Mia was mid-rant about some poli-sci boy’s failed pickup line, her voice loud and biting, while Lila, eyes alight with gossip, egged her on. You were a name, not a crown, respected, not worshipped. Guys tried their luck, but you parried with a smirk and a line, your walls built high. You weren’t here to fall, especially not for him.

Jeon Jungkook was a myth spun in ink and shadow, a name that lingered like a half-whispered warning. Across the patio, he leaned against a makeshift bar, a bottle of Patrón dangling from his fingers, pouring shots into a fishbowl with careless ease. His black shirt hung open, revealing tattoos that traced his chest, secrets inked in skin no one was close enough to read. His dark hair fell into his eyes, damp with sweat, and his lip piercing caught the light as he flashed a smirk at a girl leaning too close. He was the university’s golden boy, DJ, party-thrower, frat star with a reputation that burned bright. Every girl craved him. Every guy envied him. And Jungkook? He wore it like a crown, bold and untouchable, with rules to keep his heart caged and his nights free.

You’d heard the whispers: situationships that ended in tears, hookups that flared like comets and burned out just as fast, rules he set to keep things clean, no strings, no feelings, no chaos. He was trouble, the kind that sank into your bones and left you marked before you knew you were bleeding. You didn’t want trouble. You thrived on challenges, exams, debates, late-night bets with your girls, you lived for the rush of proving yourself. But Jungkook? He was a game you weren’t sure you should play.

Yet his eyes found you, a slow burn across the crowd, like a flame licking at dry wood. His gaze was sharp, deliberate, peeling back your walls as if he already knew the shape of your soul. You didn’t flinch. You sipped your soda water, tilted your head, and let a small, defiant smirk curl your lips. You weren’t some wide-eyed freshman. If he wanted to play, you’d make him earn every inch.

Mia nudged you, voice low, “He’s staring again.”

“Let him,” you said, eyes on your cup, voice cool as moonlight but your pulse quickening.

Lila grinned, mischief sparking in her gaze, “That’s Jeon Jungkook, party god, heartbreaker. You sure you want that smoke?”

“I’m not chasing smoke,” you said, sharp but playful, “He’s just a guy with an ego bigger than this house.”

Mia laughed, sipping her drink, “A guy who hasn’t spent a night alone since freshman year. Good luck dodging that bullet.”

You smirked, but his stare clung to you, heavy and warm, like a secret you weren’t ready to share. The night unfurled, the party growing louder, wilder, someone dove into the pool, sparking cheers, a couple slipped into the shadows, their giggles swallowed by the bass. You danced with your girls, the music sinking into your bones, your laugh sharp and free. You weren’t trying to shine, but you did, your confidence a quiet fire, your movements a challenge to the night.

Jungkook didn’t approach right away. He moved through the crowd like a shadow, circling but not striking. You saw him, pouring shots, tossing back his head to laugh with his boys, his presence pulling eyes and whispers. Each time his gaze hit you, it was a spark, a silent dare, Step into my world. You didn’t. You weren’t here to be another name on his list.

But later, when the crowd thinned around the bar, you went for a refill, weaving through bodies and spilled drinks. He was there, leaning against the counter, fingers tapping the tequila bottle, eyes glinting like trouble waiting to happen. The crowd parted, and it felt like the night had set you up.

“You’re dodging the spotlight,” he said, voice low, rough from shouting over the music. His eyes slid over you, slow, deliberate, lingering on the curve of your hips, the hem of your dress, before locking on yours, “Scared it’ll burn?”

You poured a soda water, keeping your movements steady, “I don’t need a spotlight to own the room, Jungkook.”

He smirked, leaning closer, his breath warm with tequila, “Funny, cause you’re stealing it anyway.”

You arched a brow, unfazed, “You always this full of yourself, or is the tequila talking?”

His laugh was deep, raw, like you’d surprised him, “Most girls would’ve blushed by now.”

“I’m not most girls,” you said, voice sharp but teasing, eyes locked on his, “And you’re not as smooth as you think.”

“Oh, I’m smooth enough, Doll,” he said, the pet name laced with a bold edge, grin flashing, all teeth and danger, “But you’re not like them, are you? You’re…” He paused, eyes on your lips, then back to your gaze, searching. In his mind, he thought Trouble, the word a flicker he didn’t dare speak, “You’re something else.”

The word hung between you, heavy and alive, lighting a fire in your chest. It wasn’t just a line, it was a challenge, and you were built for challenges. You lived for the rush of proving yourself, and Jungkook was looking at you like a game he was dying to play.

“Something else?” you said, tilting your head, smirk sharp, “That’s the best you’ve got?”

He laughed, softer, eyes darkening, “Oh, I’ve got plenty, but you’re not ready for it yet.”

You stepped closer, close enough to make him tense, voice low, “And you think you’re ready for me?”

His grin was slow, bold, but there was something else, something that saw you, not just the chase, “I don’t just keep up. I set the pace.” He leaned in, voice a low drawl, “Question is, can you handle it?”

Your heart kicked, but you held your ground. You loved this, the push and pull, the thrill of a challenge, “You might not like losing, Jungkook,” you said, voice dripping with defiance, “Careful.”

“Oh, I never lose,” he said, eyes burning, “And I’d make you love every second of it.”

The air was electric, the space between you humming with tension. He didn’t touch you, didn’t need to, his presence was enough, a heat that sank into your skin. You held his gaze, refusing to break. This was a game, and you played to win.

He poured two shots, sliding one toward you, “To trouble,” he said, voice low, eyes locked on yours, thinking My Trouble but not saying it.

You hesitated, your drive to win flaring. You could walk away, keep your guard up, stay safe. But his gaze, bold, daring, with a hint of something real, made your blood sing. You grabbed the shot, clinking it against his, “To winning,” you said, and tossed it back, the tequila’s burn sharp against the heat in your chest.

He watched you, eyes unreadable, then downed his shot and slipped into the crowd without a word. You stood there, pulse racing, the taste of tequila and his challenge lingering like a promise.

The night spun on, the party a haze of music and laughter. You danced with your girls, threw your head back, let the bass carry you. But Jungkook was never far, a shadow at the edge of your sight. You caught him watching, by the bar, across the yard, his eyes dark, a smirk curling his lips as he poured drinks or laughed with his boys. Each glance was a move, a silent dare to see who’d break first.

You didn’t give in. You weren’t here to be another conquest. But the tension grew, a tightening coil, every look a spark threatening to ignite. Hours later, as the crowd thinned, the air cooler, you found yourself by the pool again, laughing with Lila about some drunk guy’s failed dance move. Jungkook appeared, his presence cutting through the night, but he didn’t pounce. He lingered, leaning against a table nearby, watching you with that same dark gaze.

“You’re still here,” he said, voice low, stepping closer, “Thought you’d run by now.”

You turned, crossing your arms, smirk sharp, “Run? From you? You’re not that scary, Jungkook.”

He laughed, low and warm, stepping closer, close enough to smell the cedar of his cologne, the faint tequila on his breath, “Not scary, huh? Then why’re you keeping your distance?”

“I’m not,” you said, voice cool but your pulse betraying you, “I’m just not falling for your crap.”

He grinned, eyes glinting, “Oh, this ain’t crap, Doll,” he said, the pet name smooth and deliberate, “This is a chase, and that fire in you, the way you move, it’s making me work for it.”

You hated how he got under your skin, how he pushed every button with precision, “You think I’m that easy to catch?” you said, stepping closer, your body brushing his, daring him.

“Not easy,” he said, eyes darkening, his voice a smooth whisper, “But damn, that spark in your eyes, the way you carry yourself, it’s got me hooked.”

Your heart raced, a warmth spreading through you at his words, but you kept your face stern, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you said, voice sharp, but the heat in your core was undeniable.

“Flattery?” he said, leaning closer, breath brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, “I’m just telling the truth. You’re a storm, and I’m dying to get caught in it.”

The air was thick, the space between you alive with tension. Your skin prickled, your heart pounding, but you didn’t back down, “You’re gonna have to do better than that,” you said, voice low, teasing, eyes locked on his.

His grin widened, a flash of hunger in his gaze, “Oh, I will,” he said, leaning closer, breath brushing your ear again, “That wit, the way you push back, it’s driving me wild. You think you can keep me out? I’m already in your head.”

You swallowed, his words sparking a rush of heat, but you kept your face stern, “You’re dreaming,” you said, but your voice was softer, the fire in your core betraying you.

“Then why’s your heart racing?” he said, voice a low growl, stepping so close his chest brushed yours, “Why’re you looking at me like you want me to do something about it?”

Your breath hitched, the air heavy with want. You could feel him, his warmth, his desire, the hard lines of his body so close you could barely think, “You think you’re irresistible?” you said, voice low, daring him, your eyes burning into his, “What makes you think you can handle me?”

His eyes flashed, hunger and desire mixing in his gaze, “I don’t just handle a storm like you,” he said, voice rough, “I make it rage. And you, with that fire, those curves, you’re gonna want me.”

Your heart pounded, a shiver running through you at his words, but you kept your face stern, “You’re so full of it,” you said, voice low, but your body betrayed you, leaning closer, your lips inches from his.

“Prove me wrong, Doll,” he said, voice a smooth whisper, and then he kissed you.

It was fire, raw and consuming, his lips crashing into yours like a wave breaking on a shore. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him, fingers digging into your hips as he backed you against a tree, the bark rough against your skin. You kissed him back, just as fierce, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. He tasted like tequila and spearmint, sharp and intoxicating, and when he bit your lower lip, just hard enough to sting, you gasped, your body arching into his.

“Fuck, Doll,” he muttered against your mouth, voice rough as he kissed you deeper, his tongue sliding against yours, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second, “Your lips, the way you move against me, it’s fucking perfect.” His hands roamed, one sliding up your side, thumb grazing the edge of your dress, teasing the bare skin beneath, the other gripping your thigh, pushing the fabric higher, his fingers hot against your skin. You pushed back, flipping your positions so his back hit the tree, your hands on his chest, feeling the hard muscle under his open shirt, your nails scraping lightly across his skin.

“You think you’re in charge?” you said, breathless but stern, and kissed him again, harder, your lips bruising against his. He groaned, the sound vibrating through you, and pulled you closer, his hand sliding to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. You could feel him, hard, wanting, his body a promise of everything you were fighting not to crave.

His lips moved to your jaw, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, making you shiver, “This spark in you,” he whispered, voice rough, breath hot against your collarbone, “The way you fight me, it’s gonna be my ruin, and I’m fucking addicted.” His words sent a rush of warmth through you, your heart racing, but you kept your face stern, refusing to let him see how much he affected you.

“You’re not getting to me,” you said, voice low and fierce, and kissed him again, all teeth and fire, your body pressed so close you could feel his heartbeat. His hands gripped your hips harder, pulling you tighter, and you moaned softly, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing yours in a dance that left you dizzy.

His kisses turned hungrier, messier, his lips claiming every inch of yours, his hands exploring, one sliding up your thigh, fingers brushing the edge of your underwear, the other tangling in your hair, tilting your head to kiss you deeper. You matched him, refusing to yield, your hands roaming his chest, slipping under his shirt, feeling the taut lines of muscle, the warmth of his skin. He hissed when your nails dug in, his grip tightening, his kisses turning desperate, a collision of want and defiance. You pushed your hips against his, feeling the hard evidence of his desire, and he groaned, low and deep, his lips stuttering against yours.

“Fuck, you’re unreal,” he said, voice raw, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead against yours, eyes dark and wild, “That fire, the way you kiss, you’re gonna drive me insane, and I’m here for it.” His praise sent a shiver through you, your heart pounding, but you kept your face stern, refusing to let him see the effect he had.

“You’re still not getting to me,” you said, breathless but firm, your lips swollen, your body humming, “I’m not falling for your crap.”

He laughed, rough and low, and kissed you again, softer but still intense, his lips lingering like he was memorizing you, “You’re already falling, Doll,” he said, voice smooth, eyes glinting, “You just don’t know it yet.” He stepped back, adjusting his shirt like nothing had happened, pulling out his phone, typing with one hand, “We’re doing this again, no strings, just us, my rules.”

You smoothed your dress, heart racing, body still on fire, the warmth of his words lingering but your face stern, “Your rules?” you said, raising an eyebrow, voice skeptical, “You think I’m that easy to pull in?”

He grinned, eyes glinting, “Not easy,” he said, leaning in, voice dropping to a smooth, heart-racing whisper, “But that spark in you, the way you kiss, the way you fit against me, you’re gonna want this again. I’m the best you’ll ever have, and you know it.”

You laughed, sharp and dismissive, but his words sparked a rush of heat, “You think you’re irresistible?” you said, stepping closer, your voice low, daring, “What makes you think you can resist me?”

His eyes flashed, a mix of hunger and surprise, “Oh, Doll,” he said, voice rough, “I’m not even trying to resist. I’m gonna make you crave this, make you come running back. That fire, those lips, you’re my kind of trouble, and I’m gonna prove it.” His words sent a shiver through you, but you kept your face stern, refusing to give in.

“Keep dreaming,” you said, voice cool but eyes blazing, “You’re not that good.”

He grinned, slipping his phone back into his pocket, “We’ll see,” he said, turning, disappearing into the shadows, leaving you with the echo of his kiss and the weight of his words.

Back in your dorm, the silence was jarring after the party’s chaos. You kicked off your heels, your dress pooling on the floor, and checked your phone. A new message from an unknown number.

Unknown: Rule 1: What happens with us stays with us.

Your breath caught. You hadn’t given him your number, but Jungkook had his ways, probably charmed it out of someone at the party. You stared at the message, heart pounding with something you wouldn’t name. He hadn’t shown you, but he’d saved your number as My Trouble, a vow, a warning, a secret locked in his phone, a name that burned with the promise of you.

You typed a reply, fingers steady despite the fire in your chest

You think I’ll play by your rules? Cute.

You hit send, a smirk curling your lips. You should’ve deleted it, blocked him, walked away. He was trouble, the kind that could set your world ablaze. But you were never one to back down from a challenge, and Jungkook was one you couldn’t ignore, a game you weren’t sure you’d win but couldn’t stop playing.

The next morning, your phone buzzed. No text, just a photo, a grainy shot of a vinyl record spinning on a turntable, his tattooed hand adjusting the needle, the room dim and intimate. No caption, no explanation. Just a glimpse into his world, a silent dare to step closer. Then, another message, timed to make your heart stop,

Next party, I’ll be waiting. Don’t make me hunt you down.

Your stomach twisted, a mix of dread and thrill. Another party, another chance to face him, to play this dangerous game. You didn’t reply, but your mind was racing, picturing the crowd, the music, the way his eyes would find you in the dark. You didn’t know that across campus, Jungkook was sprawled on his couch, staring at your message, a grin spreading as he traced My Trouble on his screen. You didn’t know that he was already plotting his next move, something to push you past your limits, something to test the rules he’d set.

author’s note :

hi, i’m rie ♡

this story's been sitting in my drafts for a few weeks now and i finally decided to set it free. honestly? i like it… but i kept feeling like it could hit harder. maybe it’s just me being in my head about the framing or the pacing,i don’t know. but i’m trusting the slow burn, because it’s only going to get more chaotic, messier from here.

part two drops in two days—so stick around. feel free to drop a 💌 in my comments or in my inbox if you wanna be added to the taglist!

reblogs + thoughts in the tags/comments keep me alive fr 𓂃 𖥻 ⋆｡˚ 𖦹 ⁺‧₊˚✩彡 ⊹

MASTER LIST

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psin314 · 3 days ago

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some of murat's exes and "exes???". nico, ines and fargiz. (info and little pics under the cut)

nicole (or nico) de riva, 24 yo (murat's 22-23). elf, mage, healer. after the fights young murat run to her to heal his wounds, especially he cared about the ones on his face. murat still sometimes visits her. friends but not close, mean to each other as a joke. she has seen murat naked so many times and is not proud of it. yes, they slept together. she immediately said to murat that he's not her type. but ovulation leads you to places you wouldn't even go with a gun. + a bottle of wine, and they made out a couple of times. she healed not only his wounds but also hey i have this weird rush on my well yeah... someone had to treat his stds... alive in datv. still see each other sometimes.

ines, 19 yo (murat's 22-23). murat's nice ex. there was a real romance, like in books. he saved her from some bad guys in an alley, she gave him something in return, they went separate ways and then met by chance. they started talking, falling in love, all that stuff. everything was very sweet. then ines started noticing that murat was kind of downcast, sad and decided to find out what was troubling him. she really wanted to help him. in the end, murat got scared that she would find out that he's a crybaby, that he doesn't know who he really is, and that this charismatic cool guy is just a mask and inside he's just a loser. (murat's mental stability was very questionable.) so he lied to her. like i'm a crow this is very dangerous i love you and i want everything to be okay with you so we need to break up although i don't want this but i'm very sorry blah blah. they said goodbye to each other very tearfully. ines believed that she could be in danger because of him and let him go. murat then went on a drinking binge for a week as usual. in datv ines is happily married, 3 children, a nice house, everything like that. and she sometimes remembers her wild youth with a smile. she doesn't hold a grudge against murat and hopes that at least he's alive and everything is okay with him.

fargiz (his real name is fargat, likes -iz more), 27 yo (murat's 25). half-elf, but looks very human, bard, assassin, sometimes pirate. originally from rivain, spent half his life until adulthood constantly moving back and forth across antiva. plans to move to orlais (dreams of a luxurious life), but before murat hung out in antiva. murat fell in love with him as soon as he saw him. fargiz was playing and singing somewhere at the market. after the performance, murat offered him a drink. that's how they started talking. all murat did was confusing fargiz with his behavior towards him. murat was a big ass red flag here, but fargiz didn't want to notice it cus he fell in love too. murat stated at the very beginning that he's not into guys, he's just "quirky" and very passionate man. but murat kept flirting, casually touching and drinking with him. so fargiz thought murat was just joking. they probably kissed drunk, but murat added no homo after each time. they were "friends" like that for several months. then day x happened, they were drunk af again and it seemed like things were heading towards s e x. but at some point murat stopped it, said he's not like that, joked and left. fargiz got fucking mad at murat and the next day he yelled at him for hours on the street and then stopped talking to him. and a few days later he left treviso. murat learned from their mutual friends that he had sailed away to some other antivan city port with the first morning ship. murat didn't look for him cus well fuck him i dont need this *** anyway. the next week he drank, cried and hated himself. 🗿 in datv he lives in orlais, married a lonely rich widow. he holds a grudge against murat and hopes that at least he's dead and if not he hopes that murat is a drunkard with a miserable life and his dick has fallen off.

#dragon age #my oc #not tagging them cus im not sure if i'll draw them again

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bananabreads · 2 days ago

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Dad!lads with their children after their kindergarten classes (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

A short one shot of each lads guy with their child ♥︎ Dad!Rafayel, Dad!Caleb, Dad!Sylus, Dad!Zayne, Dad!Xavier.

| I may or may not have a slight favoritism towards Seraphina.... | Dad!Rafayel and Filo!Caleb short one shot will be posted tomorrow or later! (>ᴗ•) !

RAFAYEL — ice cream after school

The low sound of a luxurious sports car engine echoed down the quiet kindergarten street. Rafayel had just pulled up, one arm resting on the wheel, sunglasses perched on his nose, wearing a casual white button down and rolled sleeves.

Inside the classroom, Seraphina perked up immediately at the familiar sound. Her big, curious eyes darted to the window, and within seconds, her tiny body was rushing toward it. She pressed her face against the glass, cheeks adorably squished as she waved both hands with all her might.

“Daddy! Daddy!” she cried out, her little voice muffled behind the glass.

The other kids gathered around her, a mix of awe and disbelief on their faces.

“That’s your dad?!”

“He has a cool car!”

“He looks like a prince!”

Even the teacher chuckled softly, gently ushering the kids away. “Alright, class, let’s give Seraphina some space. Her daddy’s here.”

The door opened and Seraphina ran out like a rocket. Rafayel had just stepped out of the car when she flung herself into his arms. He caught her easily, scooping her up and lifting her high.

“There’s my little guppy,” Rafayel murmured fondly, placing a soft kiss on her temple. “How was school?”

“I drew you today! But I accidentally gave you blue hair 'cause I ran out of purple,” she giggled.

“blue's not bad,” Rafayel said thoughtfully. “I might have to try it sometime.”

She nodded very seriously. “You’d look like a wizard.”

He chuckled at her response, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He helped her into the passenger seat, custom fitted with a booster seat that matched the car's plush leather interior. He even buckled her in himself, tightening the strap with care before tapping her nose gently.

With a smooth start, the car glided away from the kindergarten as Seraphina swung her legs and hummed her favorite melody, making up silly lyrics as she went. Rafayel glanced at her through the rearview mirror, one hand on the wheel and the other extended back just enough for her to hold his pinky.

“Mommy’s still at work,” he said. “So how about we steal a little time together?”

Her eyes quickly perked up, “Does that mean... ice cream?"

Rafayel smirked. “Of course. But only if you tell me what kind of secret mission you were on today.”

“I was on the Princess Operation. I had to build a castle out of marshmallows and glue.”

He chuckled at her enthusiasm “Sounds like hard work.”

“I got glue on my tongue,” she whispered.

He laughed, low and genuine. “You’re braver than I thought.”

The two ended up at a quiet, beachside gelato place—Seraphina’s favorite. She sat across from Rafayel on a high stool, her tiny feet swinging while she dug into a cup of bubblegum ice cream with rainbow sprinkles.

CALEB — nonstop story teller

The second the kindergarten doors opened, she bolted.

“DADDYYYYY!”

Caleb barely had time to turn before his daughter hurled herself into his arms, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, little sneakers dangling in the air.

He caught her with ease, chuckling as he spun her in a circle. “There’s my princess. Missed me that much, huh?”

Her voice was filled with excitement, “Yes! Daddy, SO MUCH HAPPENED IN SCHOOL!”

She barely let him buckle her in the car before the words began pouring out, nonstop, back to back, no punctuation in sight.

“So first we made paper puppets and I made mine a sky princess named SKY like a cloud and she can fly so high she touches the stars and then she has a pet bird named birdy and a baby hawk named hawky and they can talk, Daddy, they TALK—”

Caleb listened, eyes flicking from the road to the rearview mirror just to catch the wild hand gestures she was making.

“Then we played Freeze Dance and I WON and everyone said I was the best at the silly moves and Teacher said I was like a shooting star because I moved so fast! And then at snack time—”

This continued. All. The. Way. Home.

And once they were inside, it didn’t stop. Not while she was taking off her shoes, not while she was drawing sky, birdy, and hawky on the living room floor, not even while Caleb was heating up her after school snacks.

“And then Seraphina said my puppet looked like a cloud but I said ‘No she’s a sky warrior, sera!’—and I showed her the backstory I made. Do you wanna hear it, Daddy?”

“I would love nothing more,” Caleb grinned, already bracing himself for Act II.

She stood on the couch and posed dramatically, arms outstretched like wings. “Sky was born on top of a storm cloud and raised by swallows and her bird has glowing feathers that light up when danger is near and—”

He watched her with nothing but awe. Like she was the only thing in the world worth watching. And to him, she was.

By the time you came home, exhausted but smiling, the first thing you heard was your daughter gasping like she’d just discovered treasure.

“MOMMY!!!” she shouted, racing to the door and nearly tripping over her sock. “You’re home!!”

You barely had time to drop your bag before she took your hand and started dragging you into the living room. “I have to tell you something! A lot of somethings!”

Caleb, sitting on the couch now with crumbs from her snack still on his shirt, gave you a smirk and mouthed, "It’s starting again."

“I made a puppet named Sky—wait no, I’ll start from the beginning!”

You sat down beside Caleb, already pulling your daughter into your lap as she flipped open her sketchpad to show off the drawings of Sky, birdy, and hawky.

“And THEN she saved a village from a sky fire, and hawky the hawk flew super fast and brought her water from the stars—are you listening, Mommy? Because this is the best part!”

You quickly reassured her, “I’m listening, baby.”

And you were. Every word.

Because watching her glow like that, retelling her sky high adventures with her whole heart, was its own kind of magic.

And Caleb? He just leaned back and watched the two of you, arms folded, heart full, thinking

This. This is everything he would ever wish for.

SYLUS — She's shy around people her age (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)

Most of the kids sprinted out, laughing and loud, bouncing around in little clusters. Sylus stood near the gate, quietly observing from behind dark sunglasses, hands in his pockets.

And then, there she was.

His daughter.

Quiet. Small. Lingering near the door, watching from the corner with those soft eyes that reminded him of you.

But not today.

Today, she spotted him and immediately lit up, her entire face brightening as if someone flipped a switch in her chest.

“Daddy!” she squeaked, voice full of excitement and joy.

Sylus barely had time to take a step forward before she ran straight into him, her tiny arms flinging around his legs.

He bent down instantly, gathering her up into his arms in one smooth motion.

“Well, there you are,” he said, his voice warm, his expression softer than anyone else ever got to see. “You missed me?”

She nodded furiously against his shoulder, giggling. “So much!”

Sylus smiled into her hair. “You had fun today?”

She leaned back in his arms, breathless and glowing, eyes wide with excitement. “I won!”

“You did?” he asked, adjusting her backpack so it didn’t slip.

“Musical chairs!” she beamed, holding out her hand. A golden star sticker shimmered slightly against her skin. “I won the whole game, Daddy! And everyone clapped for me! Even Teacher said I was fast.”

Sylus blinked, surprised, but proud.

“You’re usually not one to rush into things,” he teased gently.

“I know!” she grinned. “But I really wanted to try today.”

He opened the car door, setting her down in her seat, and she kept talking—quieter now, but rapid, nonstop.

“and I didn’t even fall when the music stopped, and I got to sit next to jasmine, and she said I was good at dodging the chairs, and Teacher gave me a star, look! and I wasn’t scared today, not even when I talked to someone new—”

She paused as he reached over to buckle her in.

“And I wanted to tell you first,” she added in a whisper, eyes shining. “Before I tell Mommy. Because… daddy picking me up is my favorite part of the day.”

Sylus stopped for a second.

His hand rested over the buckle, fingers still.

Then he leaned forward and pressed a quiet kiss to her forehead.

“You’re mine too, little one.”

ZAYNE — future doctor

Zayne’s office was its usual haven of calm, clean, softly lit, and scented faintly of lavender from the diffuser he’d placed months ago after Jasmine said hospitals “smelled like alcohol spray.”

But it wasn’t just a doctor’s office anymore.

Tucked into one corner was a child sized desk, light wood, rounded edges, and a tiny matching chair. The bottom shelf of Zayne’s bookshelf now held coloring books, a few storybooks, a worn olaf plushie, and a box of crayons organized by color. Nothing too loud. Nothing too flashy. Just enough to say, this space is hers, too.

Jasmine sat at her desk now, feet not quite touching the floor, her tongue slightly poking out in concentration as she worked on her school assignment:

“Draw who you want to be when you grow up.”

Her crayon gripped tight, she looked up occasionally, brow furrowed, gazing at her father across the room like an artist studying her model.

Zayne was seated at his own desk, reviewing a medical file. He’d taken off his coat but was still dressed in his usual neat shirt and slacks. His sleeves were rolled just once, pen in hand, posture perfect.

“Daddy,” Jasmine said suddenly, holding up her sketchpad. “Do you think this looks like you?”

Zayne glanced up.

In her drawing was a small figure with a stethoscope, tiny glasses even though he didn’t wear any, and neatly parted dark hair. Beside him was another version—shorter, with pigtails and the same coat, the same serious expression. Herself.

Zayne walked over, crouching beside her to get a closer look.

“You drew me with glasses again,” he noted gently and lightly chuckled.

“You just look smarter with them,” Jasmine replied like it was a matter of fact. “And I want to be smart like daddy.”

He paused for a second.

“You want to be a doctor?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Jasmine nodded slowly. “I want to fix people like you do. And have a desk. And drink coffee.”

Zayne tilted his head slightly, eyes softening. “Do you want the paperwork too?”

Jasmine blinked. “uhm..… Maybe just the healing part.”

He chuckled under his breath.

She gave a bright smile, “Daddy, when I grow up.. I’m gonna have a desk like yours. But mine’s gonna have stickers.”

Zayne glanced at her tiny desk, already decorated with a snowflake shaped sticker and a crooked cat drawing taped to the side. “Looks like you’ve got a head start.”

Jasmine giggled, leaning over to carefully draw a lanyard around the neck of her little doctor self.

“That’s your ID badge,” she said, showing it off. “I’m gonna have one too. And mine’s gonna say Dr. Jasmine!”

Zayne crouched again beside her, resting his hand on the edge of her tiny desk. “I think it suits you.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “When I’m big, can I still sit here in your office sometimes?”

He nodded without hesitation. “As long as you want to.”

She didn’t say anything after that. She just smiled again, sleepy this time,and went back to coloring in the soft gray floor under her characters.

XAVIER — a new friend

It was quiet when Xavier arrived at the school gate.

Most of the kids were still running around the yard to get to their parents, some playing tag, and some laughing at who knows what. And in the middle of it all, at the waiting area of the kindergarten, sat his son, legs tucked neatly underneath him, small hands resting in his lap, gaze pointed toward the trees.

He wasn’t lonely.

Just… still. Observing. Like always.

Xavier approached with his usual slow stride, posture relaxed but eyes trained on his son.

“Hey, buddy,” he greeted gently.

His son looked up, that familiar face lighting up instantly with a small smile, the kind he reserved only for the people he felt safe with. “Hi, Daddy.”

Xavier crouched down in front of him, brushing a stray leaf off his shoulder. “Good day?”

The boy hesitated… then gave a tiny nod.

Xavier raised an eyebrow. “Just ‘good’?”

Another pause. Then..

“I made a friend.”

Xavier blinked.

You could’ve told him the moon fell out of the sky, and he might’ve had the same reaction.

“…A friend?” he repeated, this time softer.

His son nodded again. A little firmer this time. “Her name is Seraphina.. she has an ariel lunchbox. We sat together today. She gave me one of her cookies.”

Xavier felt something pinch gently at his heart.

His son wasn’t loud or bold. He didn’t climb fences or scream across the yard like the other kids. He was the type to watch the sky and ask questions no one had answers for yet. Sweet. Quiet. Thoughtful. Not shy, but rarely first.

So for him to say he made a friend? That was everything.

“That’s awesome, kiddo. Mommy's definitely going to be excited to hear that,” Xavier said, running a hand gently through his son’s hair. “You proud of yourself?”

His son shrugged, but he smiled. That small, bashful, almost secret kind of smile. The one that meant yes.

“Did you talk a lot?”

“Some,” the boy replied. “She likes mermaids and says that she's a mermaid... and also like stars. I told her about the moon rocks you showed me"

Xavier gave a hum of approval, standing up and offering his hand.

“Well then,” he said, “you ready to go home, Mr. Social?”

His son giggled quietly and slipped his hand into Xavier’s without hesitation.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, just the two of them, fingers gently laced.

Xavier didn’t press for more. He didn’t need to.

Because his son didn’t chatter.

He shared.

And today… he shared something big.

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meiyokbf · 3 days ago

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under your spell | megan x g!p!reader | part four

author's note: sorry for the delay babes, been moving places and my life has been insane. alsoooo, thoughts about “beautiful chaos”? my top favorites are gabriela, gnarly and mean girls!! lmk if you guys are enjoying UYS, my asks are always open for ideas, questions or thoughts regarding the UYS universe :) hope you guys like this chapter xoxo

warnings: mdni. stripper!megan x g!p!reader, slightly manon x lara. smut, dry humping, p in v, fingering (megan recieving), dirty talking (ish), smoking, idek megan being avoidant and pookie coded again, lara also being avoidant.

word count: 6,8k.

🏷️: katseye, megan x reader, megan skiendiel x reader, katseye x reader, katseye smut, megan smut, manon x lara, marz, daniela avanzini.

masterlist. | prev. I next.

you’d read the text so many times your screen had started to feel like it might file a complaint.

(y/n): my favorite jacket smells like you now. it’s kinda yours by law.

(y/n): you should come and reclaim your prize.

it was supposed to be funny. casual. something someone cool would send without immediately regretting it. and yet, by sunday morning, it had transformed into something too sharp to touch.

you sat curled on the end of the couch, wearing the hoodie like armor, knee bouncing like it had somewhere more confident to be. your annotated copy of pride and prejudice sat abandoned on the coffee table, open to a page you weren’t reading. you hoped that mr. darcy could wait; existential dread had RSVP’d early. and then you heard the sound of the door burst open.

— don’t ask me about rehearsal, i will cry or commit arson. — daniela’s voice rang out as she kicked the door closed with her heel.

you blinked up at her.

— oh. i didn’t know you were coming over.

— well, i needed to steal manon’s vegan protein bars and complain. and now i walk in and find this. — she gestured to your slumped posture, the haunted expression, the pride and prejudice trauma pile. — did someone die, or did you finally fall in love with a walking red flag?

— okay. both feel a little targeted.

she tossed her bag to the side, iced coffee in hand, and dropped into a squat next to you like she was assessing a casualty.

— talk to me, nerd.

you groaned, rubbing your face. — manon dragged me to that velvet room place on friday.

— the one that looks like the personification of a vanilla vape?

— yes. that one. and i… may have hooked up with someone.

daniela raised an eyebrow. — and i’m just hearing about this now?

— manon caught me doing the walk of shame. i told her. haven’t had a chance to-

— breathe? process? confess to your best friend?

— well, actually manon is my bes-

— to your best friend, daniela avanzini? betrayal. — she rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee. — who was it?

you hesitated. — her name’s megan. dances under jade. she’s… something else.

daniela blinked. — wait. the dancer with the pink bangs?

— yeah.

— and you didn’t think this was worth a single text?

you cringed. — we went back to her place. it was… a lot. but then the next morning she was distant. weird. and last night i sent this.

you handed over your phone to daniela. she read the message, then looked at you like you’d just handed her a handwritten will.

— “yours by law”? what are you, emily dickinson with attachment issues?

— i was going for fun flirty with a hint of possessive chic.

— you landed on please haunt me. congrats.

you let your head fall back against the cushion.

— i don’t know what i’m doing.

— do you like her?

you hesitated. the pause said more than anything else. — i don’t know. but i can’t stop thinking about her.

daniela sighed, setting your phone on the table.

— okay. step one: you’re a disaster. step two: you’re a hot disaster, so it might work in your favor. but don’t let some emotionally stunted stripper turn you into a sad gay meme. you know you deserve more than this.

— i already am a sad gay meme.

— yeah, but now you’re main character sad. that’s a health hazard.

— thanks. i think. — you managed a laugh. soft, but real.

— always. now let’s hope she texts back before your pride files a missing person’s report.

as if on cue, the door cracked open again. manon shuffled in with a brown tote bag, dark sunglasses, and a drink in each hand. went straight to the kitchen and gasped as if she just found out that her husband had a 7 year old affair with her sister. — who stole my protein bars?

daniela raised a hand. — guilty. emotional crisis. you get it.

manon pulled off her glasses, eyes landing on you. — okay, you look like you just got ghosted or blessed. which is it?

— they texted their emotionally damaged girlfriend. — daniela supplied helpfully.

manon nearly dropped her drink. — you sent her the jacket text?

— yes. i panicked. it felt funnier in my head.

manon plopped down next to you, tucking her legs under her. — fuck. you’re such a loser, i love you for that. has she replied?

you shook your head. — okay. then we wait. like soft lesbians with too much time on our hands.

daniela leaned forward. — is she stringing you along, or do you think she’s just scared?

— maybe both. she’s so hard to read.

— then stop trying to read her and let her spell it out. — she paused and cringed at herself. — bad metaphor. ignore that.

you snorted. your phone buzzed. everyone froze.

you reached for it slowly, already bracing.

megan: if i come over, it’s not for talking.

you stared at it. your heart thudded so loud it was embarrassing, even for you.

— holy shit. — manon said softly. then you typed back.

(y/n): wasn’t planning to talk.

the reply came a beat later.

megan: that’s good.

a hush fell.

daniela stood. — well. that’s one way to break tension.

manon handed you the last of her stolen protein bars. — chew on something before you do anything dramatic.

you nodded. still staring at the screen.

whatever this was, it wasn’t nothing. and somehow, that was both terrifying and kind of thrilling.

what was meant to be playful had become this jagged thing you couldn’t stop prodding. you sat at the edge of the couch, your favorite leather jacket; megan’s scent still lingering, laying next to you, knees bouncing like they were trying to escape.

the rest of your apartment felt cluttered, to say the very least. you spent the afternoon waiting for megan trying your best to keep your mind off of her. a couple piles of comic books alongside uni stuff, your laptop still open to this morning’s quiet reading of your favorite the picture of dorian gray review, half-empty coffee mugs scattered. this was your world today: soft and rife with longing.

manon had left twenty minutes earlier; went to dinner with another friend of hers and gladly used it as an excuse to make you get laid. while daniela promptly texted you a “if she fucks you up, text me a knife emoji and i’ll take care of it.”

when the knock came, your heart jolted so hard you nearly dropped your phone.

you stood, straightening your outfit while preparing yourself mentally to open the door.

and when you finally did, megan stood there, silhouetted half in the hallway light, half swallowed by the doorway. makeup smudged, sweat dampened the ends of her hair; she looked unsteady in the best possible way. beautiful as ever.

— you look tense. — she said, voice low. observation, not accusation.

— i’m… holding up. — you managed, stepping aside. she came in without a word, scanning your place; the english lit books, the star wars and batman posters, the carefully labeled-by-a-label-maker hard drives by your desk.

her eyelids flicked over a shelf where your dungeons and dragons figurines stood, miniature warriors poised for battle. you thought you saw a familiar curve of nostalgia cross her eyes.

— god, you’re a nerd. — she said, half-smile playing on her lips.

— guilty as charged. — you replied, matching her tone. the room hummed with unsaid weight. you both sensed that something raw was coming.

— couch? — you offered, voice steadier than you felt.

— sure. — she said, shrugging off her jacket. you sat on one side, her settling five feet away. distance felt safe but electric.

you tried to look casual. watched her as she wiped her palms over her jeans, every motion deliberate. your eyes flicked to her boots, the way her fingers flexed, the faint sheen where the late-afternoon light caught her skin.

— so… — you began. — …you said you weren’t here for talking.

— i meant it. — she said, gaze fixed on the table. — not today. not right now.

— then we don’t talk — you said softly. — we do something else.

she shifted. the couch creaked. your heart stumbled at how close she’d moved, now two seats away. you smelled her: sweat, faint spice, heat that stayed with her.

— what do you have in mind? — she asked, voice careful but curious.

— you tell me. — you said, finally looking at her eyes. — you’re the one that despises casual conversation.

she exhaled sharply, then leaned back. your heartbeat thundered.

— you’re such a tease, (y/n). — she muttered. — tell me, is this couch worth getting ruined?

you moved one arm to rest on the back of the couch. your knee brushed hers, you didn’t pull back.

— only if it gets you closer. — you almost whispered. her breath hitched, and then she cracked an edge of a smile. the most beautiful smile you could ever lay your eyes upon. megan’s eyes flicked up, tracking the movement carefully like a tiger analyzing their next prey.

she swallowed, then leaned forward, pressing her palm flat on the couch next to yours. invitation, you thought. and so you closed the gap, hand grazing hers in a casual, deliberate way. that small electric spark hummed louder than the world outside.

— so… — she whispered, dragging a fingertip across your jaw. — i’m here. now what?

you took a breath, chest tightening at how deliberate she sounded. she was testing you. measuring the room. measuring you.

— show me what you came for. — you teased.

— challenge accepted. — she muttered under her breath.

her fingers curled around your jaw, thumbs brushing your lips as her gaze dropped to your mouth. you parted, inviting, and she slipped in: kiss deep and greedy, mouth warm and real. your hands found her waist, chest gliding between ribs. the weight of her presence filled every corner of your mind. she pulled away, just enough to murmur while feeling your breath against hers.

— that couch’s gonna regret it. — you said while she leaned in again, harder. you wordlessly let her climb into your lap. the furniture creaked under her weight. she pressed you down, knee on the cushion, hands tangling in your hair. everything felt sharp; her skin, her breath, your thoughts.

— you’re such a nerd. — she whispered, voice rough with desire. — this is going to be hilarious.

— only if you laugh. — you shot back, grinding into her.

the friction made both your breath hitch. her hands tightened in your hair, head tipping back as she moaned. the contrast of your nerdy persona and raw lust sent heat flaring through her chest.

— tell me something filthy. — she demanded.

— you want truth or dare? — you teased.

— truth. — she hissed.

— i want… — you said, carefully, swallowing your nervousness. — i want to wring moans out of you until your throat hurts.

she inhaled sharply, then slammed your head forward, kissing you again. lips rough, teeth grazing. your hands roamed up her back, over her tank top, tracing the curve of her spine. at this point, the knot below your belly button only felt tighter and tighter. an itch that only megan could scratch.

— you’re fucking insane. — you said, breathless when you pulled away. — and totally hot when you’re trying not to feel anything.

she froze. for a second. then laughed, harsh and joyless.

— god, don’t you dare feel fucking sorry for me. — she muttered, grinding herself into your lap. — feel this instead.

her body rolled with yours, every movement fierce. you slipped your hands under her top again, dragging it up, feeling her ribs, the arch of her stomach. she sighed, leaning back so you could slide it off. no bra, obviously. skin gleaming where your fingers passed. she smiled once she saw your reaction to it; you knew you probably looked like a boy seeing a pair of breasts for the first time.

— damn. — she muttered. — you’re glad i didn’t wore anything underneath?

— fucking glad. — you breathed, and then she cupped your cheek, with a fierce look on her eyes.

— then let me fuck that out of you. — she whispered.

she crushed her lips to yours again, one arm braced on your shoulders to hold her steady, the other pulling at your shirt. you helped her, half-pulling, half-yanking the fabric until it tore free. you tossed it across the room. skin met skin; a shock of heat and urgency. she grinded into your thigh, voice thick and needy. she wanted you more than she was ready to admit. your cock was already rock hard, trying its best to free itself from the fabric of your pants; failing miserably.

— you’re so hard. shit, you’re hard for me.

you smirked, sliding your hand to her thigh, squeezing. — turns out i get like this around you.

— around me? — she paused mid-motion and breathed, as if she was holding it back for ages. — god.

then she leaned forward, pressing her forehead to yours. your bodies moved, friction building. you slid your hands under her jeans’ waistband, brushing skin. her hips lifted, another invitation.

— want this?

— yes. god, yes… — she groaned, her voice filled with need, making you smile. the way her defenses went down every time you got her like this made you feel like the biggest person on the planet.

you kissed her collarbone, hands fumbling with her buttons, pulling her denim pants down. your fingers decided to put her underwear only to the side; something about fucking her while she wore it kinda drove you insane. her pulse pounded in her neck, then she caught her breath.

— you’re so fucking cute when you’re desperate. — she whispered as she tugged her jeans free.

— so are you, when you’re trying not to feel feelings. — you teased.

she laughed. soft, close to tears maybe.

— shut up and fuck me. — she snapped, voice rough with need.

you slid a hand between her legs, fingers teasing. she gasped and bucked, pressing against you with no shame. you adored seeing her act like a complete bitch upon you.

— damn, megan, you’re soaked… — you said, fingers slick.

— yeah? — she whispered, closing her eyes. — turns out i get like this around you.

— then make me yours tonight. — you whispered, without even thinking about what you said.

— i don’t do that. — she moaned softly, pressing her mouth to your temple.

— maybe you just forgot how. — you said, pulling her closer. she froze. your words landed, the air shifted.

— fuck, (y/n). — she hissed. — stop doing that.

— what did i do?

she never answered to that question. though, you already imagined the answer. you kissed her temple as you rubbed slow circles on her swollen clit, while her back arched with need upon you as she tried to get as friction as possible. the couch groaned under pressure as bodies moved, the world shrinking to each moan, each breath. neither of you held back; both pushed, fought and surrendered. you slipped two fingers inside her, slow, deliberate, and she trembled and instinctively bit your shoulder.

— oh, fuck… — she rasped. — you’re deep, so deep.

— want more? — you asked softly.

— yes, (y/n). — she murmured. — fuck, yes…

you moved, slow at first then harder. you ground up, her body wrapped around yours. the movement was instinctual, feral. the way it was supposed to be.

— you like it when i fill you up like this, huh? — you asked rhetorically, voice low.

— it feels so fucking good… — she moaned, making you smile once more. maybe, just maybe, you could never get enough of her. and accepting that was one hell of a task. you picked up the pace, matching her rhythm. every thrust hit her g-spot as if your fingers were meant to be inside of her.

— please, don’t stop. — she whispered, her grip tightened in your hair. you felt the shift, the trembling of her body ready to break. her pussy swallowed your fingers as if it wanted to crush them, to trap them inside and never let them go. she was close, you could tell. and now it was you that wanted to give her something she would never forget.

— let go for me, baby. i got you.

her head fell back, silent whine rising to a scream. her body trembled as if an earthquake took over her, nails gripping on your skin painfully but it was definitely a pain worth feeling; seeing her like this, for you and because of you, was absolutely priceless. she collapsed into you, and you followed not far behind, arm circling her waist to keep her steady. when it ended, you both froze, chests rising and falling, heads touching, skin slick and electric.

— we can do this again. — she whispered after a while, voice small. for some reason, the tables were turned. you, being the loser that you always were, felt protective over her for reasons you failed to understand, with a wave of confidence hitting you every time you felt that the people you cared about showed their most vulnerable side. and megan, of course, promised herself that she would never let those types of feelings take over her mind again. and yet, here she was. small and sweet, scared and wounded.

— we can. — you said softly. — and we will.

the room around you flickered with late-afternoon light, but everything narrowed to the heat between your bodies, the slick of sweat, the taste of salt and fear and something more tangled. the place was quiet but for the faint hum of the city outside, reminding you both this was sunday afternoon, again. but neither of you spoke of time.

megan’s fingertips traced the stretch of your shoulder, light and tentative, like she feared your skin would crack. you swallowed when she leaned closer, breath grazing your collarbone. your pulse hammered at how close she dared to be, then pulled back.

— you feel so… intense. — she murmured, voice low like she was scolding herself. you’d kissed her temple; your hand drifted to her face, your thumb caressing her cheek slowly.

— intense works. — you teased, voice thick. — you like it raw, right?

her nails dug into your arm, reflex, and she shook her head.

— i like control. — she said soft, barely letting it out.

you smirked, palms sliding up her sides. — control’s overrated.

she stiffened, but didn’t pull away. her eyes flicked closed when your hand hooked into her underwear’s waistband.

— maybe… but i like knowing i can stop it. — her voice trembled, not with fear but drive.

you didn’t dare to remove her underwear, so you slid your hand between her legs once more, fingertips brushing her wet pussy. she gasped, body tightening.

— control’s overrated until it comes undone. — you whispered.

she didn’t respond, just let you guide her down onto your bare chest. her skin landed warm and damp; your cock brushed against the middle of her legs. she froze for a heartbeat.

— go slow… — she murmured, voice low, far from certainty.

you braced your hand on the couch, steadied your breath. — slow it is.

your fingers pressed into her back to hold her close as she shifted. your member pressed at the denim, friction rippling through both of you. her hips rolled against your lap, trying her best to get a single drop of your touch.

— fuck. — she whispered, voice thin. — you feel so… real.

you curled your free hand into her hair. — so do you.

her head tipped back, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. she bit her lip to still a moan, but failed.

— don’t. — she breathed. — don’t get soft…

— maybe i don’t do soft easily. — you replied low.

her hips ground again. just gentle, teasing. her gaze dropped to your throat, then shot up to meet your eyes; searching, afraid to trust.

she swallowed hard and moved again, humping her cunt on your cock with mastery; slowly, but surely. you pressed her closer, hands sliding over her ribs.

her hands gripped your arms as she kissed you, soft at first, then hungry. her fingers decided to tangle in your hair while the rest of the world dropped away.

— say it. — she murmured mid-kiss. — say you want me.

your breath caught and you pulled back slightly. — i fucking want you, megan.

she pressed her forehead to yours, lips parted. — good. don’t make me regret it.

— regret what? — you asked, necessity in your voice.

— letting you keep kissing me. — she bit out, voice raw.

you kissed her again, slow and deep. her hands ran down your chest, over your cock pressed against your denim. goosebumps rose along your skin, as if it wanted her more than you did.

— i need to be inside you. — you whispered, voice thick.

megan’s breath hitched. — then fill me up again. — she said, firm.

you unbuttoned your jeans, sliding them down with your own underwear; megan stilled as your cock spilled free, dripping with arousal and pre-cum.

— fuck, you’re still so hard. — she whispered, eyes on you.

— your fault. dick. — you answered, voice husky, remembering your last conversation.

she left your lap so she could lay down on the couch, then snapped her fingers against your chest. — come here.

you moved upon her, cock sliding along her thigh. she guided your hands on her torso, letting you explore her ribs, her waist. she seemed smaller now, vulnerable; and it broke your chest wide open.

she closed her eyes and turned into your touch. your cock slid between her pussy, slick sound where she was wet. neither of you flinched, bodies locked.

— let me feel you, baby. — she said.

you pressed forward, just your tip. she inhaled sharply, legs squeezing reflexively. for a moment neither of you moved. then you pushed inside her slow; nothing rushed, it felt sacred.

— holy fuck, you’re so big… — she gasped as you stretched her open. her walls held you tightly. your hands braced on her hips to guide the rhythm. her arms wound around your back, nails trailing across your skin.

you moved deeper, slow and deliberate, letting her absorb every inch. her breath caught each time you shifted. when she finally started moving; gentle hills of motion, your heart hammered.

— shit- don’t stop. — she murmured.

you slid out halfway then back in. — not stopping.

she cried out, pressing tight against you. the room echoed with soft sounds: skin, breath, low gasps.

you flicked your hand to her clit, grinding gently. she groaned as she rolled her eyes again. — fuck, i want to be loud.

— you want to make noise? — you asked, voice teasing, which she promptly denied.

— i want you to make them hear me. — she snapped.

you increased pace; push in, pull out, fingertips flicking her bud. her back arched, nails dragging down your chest. her cries grew louder. raw and unfiltered, just like her.

— you like that? — you asked, voice low and charged.

— yes! fuck, yes… — she choked out, body trembling. for you, and you only. and that was enough for tonight.

letting your intrusive thoughts win, you slapped her clit, hard enough to sting. she almost cried, it seemed. but the smile on the corner of her lips assured you that everything was fine.

— god, you’re such a tease. — you grunted, giving more.

she groaned, bucked, pushing harder. you rattled between control and abandon.

— fuck, yes… i’m so close. — she screamed, voice raw and shaky. — (y/n)…

you pressed your hand underneath her navel, feeling the bump of your own cock going in and out of her; the action making her body tremble almost instantly. — go ahead. cum for me again, megan.

her body spasmed, cry tearing through her throat as her pussy swallowed your member and her orgasm took over her entire body. you followed right after you rode her through it, making sure to cum on her stomach this time around. you both trembled, breath ragged, locking together in sweat and shadows.

you lay there tangled; skin slick, bodies still humming from everything. her leg draped over your hip like gravity hadn’t decided which of you to pull harder. the room smelled like sex and your shampoo. it was the kind of quiet that felt heavier than the silence that had settled between you, like neither of you knew what to do with the tenderness left behind.

megan stared at the ceiling like it was trying to tell her something she didn’t want to hear.

your fingers traced the dip of her spine, slow, careful. she didn’t flinch, but she didn’t lean in either. that was the thing you noticed about her; she let you close, just never close enough.

— you good? — you asked, voice soft.

— yeah. — a beat passed. — just… thinking.

you waited, but nothing else came. her hand curled against your chest like she didn’t even know it was doing that. you counted the seconds she stayed there. one, two, three. then she pulled away.

she sat up and swung her legs off the couch like she couldn’t get dressed fast enough.

your chest tightened. — you leaving?

she nodded, already reaching for her shirt, her pants.

— is this about what i said earlier? — you tried. — you don’t have to-

— it’s not. — her voice was clipped, but not cold. she yanked the shirt over her head, then paused, fingers trembling for half a second before she covered it by tying her hair up. — i just… i don’t do well with this.

— this?

— staying. the aftermath shit.

— you don’t have to stay here. but you don’t have to run from me, either. — you sat up.

— i’m not running. — she said it fast; too fast.

you didn’t call her out. you just looked at her. and she wouldn’t meet your eyes.

she zipped her jeans. grabbed her jacket. then she hesitated, thumb brushing the leather like it was trying to say something she couldn’t.

— megan… — you started, she shook her head.

— don’t. — softer now. — don’t ask me to stay. it’s easier if you don’t.

your throat tightened. — you think i’m gonna break if you leave?

— no. i think i am.

and there it was. the crack. the jagged edge behind the bravado, the flinch under the smirk.

— you’re not gonna break. — you half-whispered.

— i will. — she said it like a fact. — i’m good at sex. i’m good at pretending i’m not scared shitless of people. but i’m not good at… this. whatever “this” is.

you stepped forward, slow. not touching her yet.

— i’m not asking you to be good at anything. i’m just asking you not to disappear.

her laugh was dry. it cracked in the middle. — i’ve already disappeared, (y/n). that’s the only thing i’ve ever been good at.

your heart broke a little. you could see how much she wanted to stay. how much it scared her to even consider it. you reached for her hand, she let you take it.

— then just… text me tomorrow. or don’t. — you said, letting the words fall gently between you. — but don’t pretend this didn’t mean something. even if you don’t know what it meant yet.

she squeezed your hand, eyes burning like the sun through smoked glass.

— it did. that’s the fucking problem. — she said.

then she dropped your hand, turned and walked to the door. you didn’t follow. didn’t beg.

she looked back once, only once, her expression unreadable. then she stepped out into the hallway and let the door shut behind her. you stood there aching, watching the spot where she’d been like she might reappear if you stared hard enough.

she didn’t.

you sat back on the couch, the fabric still warm where her body had been. the smell of her lingered. so did the ghost of her fingers on your jaw, her voice in your ear.

this time, she’d left slower. softer. maybe that meant something, maybe not.

but you knew one thing for sure. you’d wait. just a little longer. just in case.

the sidewalk glinted under the streetlights like it had something to prove. megan walked with her jacket half-zipped, her work lingerie already on her body to spare her the change, hands shoved into the pockets, and eyes fixed forward. while lara trailed a step behind, absently thumbing at her ear, scowling like the missing earring owed her money.

— okay, this is not happening. — lara muttered, voice sharp like she could intimidate the universe into fixing her problems. — i swear i put them both in here.

megan glanced over her shoulder, uninterested. — the earring?

— yes, the earring. the hoop. the gold one that makes me look expensive and emotionally unavailable.

— well, one of those is accurate. — megan offered.

lara didn’t laugh. her fingers kept raking through lipsticks and receipts and an emergency knife. no second hoop.

— this is a crisis. i can’t show up asymmetrical. it’s bad luck, i’ll get haunted.

megan grabbed her lighter and pack of camel’s and lit her cigarette, inhaled deep like she needed the smoke to ground her. — maybe the ghost will steal your exes and save you the trouble.

— or maybe the ghost will remind me of my worst decision in the last six months. — lara snapped, louder than intended.

megan didn’t reply. just kept walking. the silence stretched between them, thin and electric.

lara clicked her tongue and broke it. — so. are you gonna talk about it or just keep vibrating with internalized panic until you spontaneously combust?

— about what?

— about the fact that you went over there. — lara said, quick and sharp. — that you saw them again. that nerd from friday with that tight lord of the whatever shirt and the haunted eyes.

megan exhaled. the smoke curled out of her mouth like a sigh she hadn’t earned. — it wasn’t supposed to be anything.

— and yet here you are. smoking like you’re in a noir film and brooding like it’s your full-time job.

megan stopped walking. traffic hummed in the distance, a car horn echoing from some other life. lara watched her for a second, then fell into step beside her. took a long drag of her cigarette in an attempt to smoke her feelings away.

— you know i’m not judging you, right? — she said, tone lighter now. — you feel things harder than most people. you just don’t know where to put it.

— says the girl who ghosted a woman because she offered to watch a movie with you. — megan quipped back, lips twitching despite herself.

lara grinned. — it was the way she said the word “we”. gave me hives.

they started walking again in silence for a few beats, boots hitting pavement in time with passing headlights. megan’s shoulders looked too high, like she hadn’t stopped bracing for impact since she left your apartment.

— you liked them. — lara said, voice soft.

megan didn’t reply.

— i mean, fuck, you like them. don’t even try to tell me it’s not still happening.

— i saw them twice. — megan muttered.

— you fucked them on a couch for hours today and then ran away like your life depended on it. — lara corrected. — that’s not “twice,” that’s a limited series.

megan’s hand twitched in her pocket.

— you don’t get it.

— no, you don’t get it. — lara shot back. — you’re out here trying to convince yourself you’re incapable of being loved just because you’re scared of what it feels like to stay.

megan flinched, but it was small. her lips parted like she might say something, but lara beat her to it.

— and before you go all “i’m a broken person, it’s safer this way.” — lara air quoted. — don’t. i’ve used that speech. it’s bullshit and it’s fear wearing lipstick.

they stopped at the corner. the velvet room’s neon glow flickered just up ahead, violet light bleeding into the cracks of the sidewalk like spilled ink. lara turned to her, finally still.

— i left manon’s because she smiled at me like we’d already made a memory. — she said plainly. — and i couldn’t handle it. i can’t handle it.

megan’s brows rose, barely, while lara looked away, scowled at the traffic like it offended her. — she’s… she’s loud. in color. not scared to want something soft. and i’m not wired like that. i break shit just for the noise it makes. you know that.

— so why are you telling me this?

lara looked at her, dead in the eyes.

— because i’m not gonna let you become damaged like me. you want them. and they want you. don’t fuck it up just because your fear’s louder than your hope.

megan looked down at her boots, then threw the rest her cigarette away. her hand stayed clenched around the edges of her jacket. silence pressed between them, heavy and crackling.

— you gonna text them? — megan didn’t answer. — what’s the worst thing that can happen? they don’t reply?

— no. — megan shook her head. — the worst that happens is they reply, and it means something. and then i have to figure out what the fuck to do with that.

lara nodded slowly, like she got it in her bones. then she pulled a stick of gum out of her jacket and shoved it into her mouth.

— feelings are messy. — she said, popping the gum. — but silence is worse.

they stood there for a minute, letting the streetlight hum over them like the city was waiting for a verdict.

megan’s phone burned a hole in her pocket. she could feel it. the small text thread. the way she would left things hanging like a half-finished poem. the way your hands had felt against her skin. careful. present. wanting her even when she didn’t know how to be wanted.

she pulled the phone out. unlocked the screen. the chat thread glowed, still open. no messages since that morning. megan stared down at the small message thread, thumb hovering, heart stupidly loud.

it had been hours.

the jacket text still sat there, ridiculous and sincere and somehow still soft in her chest. like a bruise she hadn’t meant to earn. she typed. deleted. typed again. then eventually, she hit send.

megan: just so you know, i didn’t hate today.

sent. no emoji. no follow-up. punctuation, even. like a breath she let out mid-sentence.

it wasn’t an invitation, but it wasn’t not one.

she locked her phone too quickly. like it might burn her.

lara clocked it instantly. didn’t say anything at first. just gave her that sidelong look; the one that meant megan was being obvious again.

— smooth. — lara muttered under her breath.

megan scoffed, pulling her jacket tighter around her ribs. — shut up.

her thumb grazed her phone screen like she didn’t mean to check it again, like she wasn’t hoping. like she hadn’t just handed someone else the thread to something sharp inside her chest and dared them to tug.

you hadn’t texted yet.

that was fine. she wasn’t waiting.

they reached the velvet room’s entrance. music thumped from behind the doors, muffled and wild. lara went to grab the key to her locker as she entered the club, hand brushing her bag, and stopped; something hit her once she put her hand back in her purse.

megan clocked it instantly. — what?

— i didn’t lose it. — she whispered.

megan raised an eyebrow. — and?

lara stared at the earring like it had just told her a secret she didn’t want to know.

— i left it there. — lara said, annoyed. — i wore them last time on friday and i went to manon’s that night. fuck.

the realization hit like a punch to the gut. and for the first time in a long time, lara looked terrified just for the idea of having to talk to manon again.

while that happened, right across the city, you were on your couch, the light from your phone glowed faintly in the dark.

you hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. hoodie still on. there was some random episode of the big bang theory in your tv but you refused to give it enough attention; like something might change if you stared at it long enough.

your phone buzzed. a soft, single sound.

you didn’t check it right away. you didn’t have to. fingers trembling slightly, you turned the screen over.

megan: just so you know, i didn’t hate today.

that was it. no joke. no wink. no plans.

but something about it made your stomach twist up with hope. you curled tighter into the couch, a flood of excitement coming through you, slightly. whatever this was; it was still happening.

so you texted back, quiet.

(y/n): i didn’t either.

then you locked your screen. exhaled slow. didn’t smile. not exactly. but your chest felt a little looser. your heart, a little steadier.

she’d texted first. and that had to mean something.

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lazy-ahh · 3 days ago

Note

OH THEY WAY YOU WRITE SHIESTY MARK IS INCREDIBLE

Please please could we maybe get something like shiesty x male!reader that’s like enemies to to enemies (lovers). Like they love to hate each other and hate to love each other, inseparable in the worst possible way

eeeeeeehehehe thanks

HATE TO LOVE YA

pairing shiesty! mark grayson x (rival superhero) male reader

mark grayson is your rival. at least, that’s what the headlines say. what the fans chant. what you snarl at each other between bloody lips and broken bones. but the truth? the truth is in the way he hovers too close during fights, how his hands twitch when you’re hurt. the way you both pretend this—whatever this is—won’t ruin you in the end.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro , @cynvia

your first encounter: the start of something awful.

the first time you see him, you’re mesmerized.

not in a wow, he’s so cool way—okay, maybe a little—but more in a what the hell is this guy’s deal way. he moves like a hurricane, all brute force and swagger, no finesse, no grace, just pure, unfiltered confidence. his suit’s sleeves are too loose, sagging around his wrists like he couldn’t be bothered to tighten them or roll them up, his hands exposed like he doesn’t even care about hiding his knuckles. that full-face mask makes him look like some kinda shadowy menace, a hooded phantom with a bad attitude. or a thug. or maybe both.

you watch from the sidelines, arms crossed, as he plows through a group of thugs like they’re nothing. he doesn’t fight clean—no fancy flips, no calculated strikes—just raw power and a cocky smirk you can feel even under that veil. he throws a punch that sends some guy flying into a dumpster, then turns like he already knows you’re watching.

and for a second, just a second, you’re caught. the way he moves, like he’s never doubted himself a day in his life. the way he owns the fight, like the whole damn world is just his personal playground. it’s reckless. it’s stupid.

it’s kinda impressive.

but then he opens his mouth.

"yo, you just gonna fucking stand there lookin’ stupid, or you gonna help?"

and just like that, the sparkles in your eyes vanish—replaced by the kind of scowl that could melt steel. your nose wrinkles, lips curling into a sneer as your fingers twitch at your sides like you're already imagining punching that stupid veil right off his face.

"help?" you snap, arms crossing tight over your chest, shoulders hunching like a pissed-off alley cat. "you're the one who crashed into my fight, dumbass." your voice drips with enough venom to drop a rhino, jaw clenched so hard it's a miracle your teeth don't crack.

behind that stupid veil of a mask, you know he's grinning—can practically hear the cocky bastard's smirk in the way his head tilts, all lazy confidence. he rolls his shoulders like he's stretching before a workout, loose and easy, like this whole thing is just entertainment for him. "yeah, 'cause you were handlin' it so well," he drawls, voice thick with sarcasm. one hand gestures toward the groaning thugs at your feet. "looked like you were 'bout to get your ass handed to you."

your eye twitches.

(oh, it's on.)

"i had it under control!" you growl through gritted teeth, hands curling into fists so tight your gloves creak. your brows knit together in that trademark scowl—the one that usually makes rookies back the hell up—but this asshole just tilts his head like you're some kind of amusing stray cat.

"uh-huh. sure." that infuriating lilt in his voice makes your eye twitch. even through the veil, you can picture exactly how his stupid face looks right now—that cocky half-smirk, the way his eyebrows probably lift in mock surprise. "what's your name, anyway? 'cause i ain't ever seen you 'round before."

"wouldn't you like to know, weather boy," you mutter, lip curling in disgust at your own stupid joke. your cheeks feel weirdly warm, which just pisses you off more.

then he laughs—this loud, unrestrained sound that shouldn't be charming but somehow is, all rough edges and genuine amusement. it's obnoxious. it rattles in your chest in a way that makes you want to both punch him and hear it again. what the hell is wrong with you? you hate this guy. you definitely hate him.

"alright, mystery boy." he's still chuckling as he adjusts his stupid saggy sleeves. "keep your secrets. just don't get in my fucking way next time, duke of the north."

"next time? and who the hell are you calling 'duke of the north'?" you scoff, before turning on your heel with an exaggerated wave-off that would make any drama teacher proud. "there won't be a next time." the lie tastes bitter on your tongue as you stalk away, painfully aware of his eyes on your back.

oh, how wrong you were.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

daily life: rivals, somehow friends, definitely something worse

turns out, the universe has a sick sense of humor—and it’s laughing right at you.

because now, no matter where you go, he’s there, like some kind of obnoxiously persistent shadow you can’t shake.

on patrol? he drops out of fucking nowhere like some overgrown, obnoxious bird of prey, boots slamming into the pavement with way more dramatic flair than any sane person would ever need. before you can even land your own punch, he's already stolen your damn takedown like the fight was his personal birthright, leaving you standing there like an idiot with your fist still mid-swing. and just when you're about to rip him a new one, he has the audacity to turn his stupid masked face toward you, tilt his head like he's savoring your rage, and wink—like this is all some private joke between you two. then he's gone, launching himself back into the sky with a cocky little salute, the wind from his takeoff ruffling your hair like even the air is laughing at you. you swear you can hear his stupid laugh echoing behind him, and it makes you want to strangle him.

at school? oh, it's so much worse. he's in half your classes, slouched in his seat like he fucking owns the place, legs stretched out into the aisle like he's just waiting for you to trip over them. he chews gum like it's a personal attack against you, popping bubbles at the most inconvenient times just to watch your eye twitch. and the worst part? he knows exactly how much it gets under your skin. you can tell by the way his stupid mask does nothing to hide the smirk in his voice when he leans over, close enough that you can smell the cheap mint gum on his breath, and murmurs, "you good over there, your grace? look a little... tense." his voice is all lazy amusement, like he's enjoying some secret you're not in on. you clench your jaw so hard your teeth ache, gripping your pen like you're imagining it's his throat.

(you are. but you also notice the way his stupid hoodie rides up when he stretches, revealing a sliver of skin at his waist, and—fuck, you hate him. you hate him.)

(you don't.)

(you really don't.)

you are this close to throwing hands in the middle of algebra.

(but you don’t. because somehow, against your better judgment, you’ve started saving him the seat next to you. and that might be the most infuriating part of all.)

"you're staring," he mumbles one afternoon, pencil scratching lazily across his notebook without even glancing up. that stupid veil he wears is nowhere to be seen, exposing the curve of his smirk, and it makes your fingers itch with the urge to smack it off his face.

"i'm plotting your demise," you correct, voice dripping with venom, elbow propped on the desk as you glare at him like he’s the reason the world sucks.

he snorts, finally looking up, and—god, his eyes are stupidly bright, even in the dim classroom light. "cute."

you hate him. you hate him.

(you don’t.)

it’s the little things that get you. the way he slides the last slice of pizza toward you at lunch, acting like he didn’t just spend the last five minutes eyeing it like a starving dog. the way he pretends not to notice when you’re favoring your left side after a fight, but then his stupid masked face is at your window at 2 AM, tossing a stolen first-aid kit at your head with a gruff, "don’t bleed out, dumbass." before climbing in and patching you up. the way he talks endless shit during training but is right there when you stumble, his grip firm and steady before he shoves you away like he didn’t just save you from eating the floor.

it’s infuriating.

what’s more infuriating is the internet. forums, articles, tweets—everyone’s talking about the two of you. "invincible’s reckless fury vs. [your hero name]’s calculated precision—who comes out on top?" they call you rivals, opposites, two forces constantly clashing. but the truth is, you complement each other. where he’s all brute force and chaos, you’re strategy and control. where you hesitate, he charges. where he falters, you catch him. it’s disgustingly poetic, the way you fit together in battle, like two jagged edges that somehow lock into place.

and then there are those fans. the ones who don’t just see rivals—they see... something else.

"the way they fight together… it’s kinda hot." "did you see how he grabbed his waist mid-air?? soulmates." "enemies to lovers arc when??"

you grimace, cheeks burning, and slam your head down on the desk.

(oh, fuck you, universe.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

"why the hell do you keep doing this?" you spit out, blood dripping from your split lip as you both collapse onto some grimy rooftop, the cold concrete biting into your bruised skin. the fight had been brutal—not with each other (this time), but with the kind of enemies that leave you both panting and wrecked. your ribs are one giant bruise, your vision swimming at the edges, but none of that hurts as bad as the way your chest seizes when you catch mark's expression.

because the whole damn fight, he'd been watching you. not the enemies, not the exits—you. every time you took a hit, his stupid masked face snapped toward you like he'd felt it too. when that bastard with the metal arm and space tech came at your blindside, mark had abandoned his own fight mid-swing just to put himself between you and the blow. and now, even as you both collapse onto this shitty rooftop, he's hovering too close, one hand twitching like he wants to reach out, his stupid loose sleeves fluttering every time you sway.

"doing what?" he grunts, fingers grabbing his mask and yanking it off before he smears the back of his hand across his busted lip. the movement pulls his suit taut across his shoulders, and you can see every tense muscle through the torn fabric. his knuckles are a mess of split skin and drying blood, that fresh gash above his eyebrow still leaking red down the side of his face. he looks like absolute shit—hair matted with sweat, breathing ragged, one knee pressed into the gravel like he's seconds from collapsing.

you hate that you catalog every injury. hate that your eyes keep catching on the way his throat works when he swallows.

"this." your hand slashes through the air between you, fingers curled like you want to strangle the tension itself. your voice comes out shredded, not just from the fight but from something deeper, something that claws at your ribs whenever he's near. "the constant goddamn fighting. the shit-talking that never fucking stops. the—" your teeth click shut, cutting off the words before they escape.

the quiet that follows is suffocating. no distant sirens, no rustling of his stupid loose sleeves—just the too-loud sound of your own heartbeat in your ears. and his face—fuck, his face does something complicated then, all the usual swagger wiped clean. no smirk. no teasing glint in his eyes. just this unreadable intensity as he stares at you like you're a puzzle he can't solve, his jaw working like he's chewing through a hundred things he won't let himself say.

his fingers twitch like he wants to reach out. you both pretend not to notice.

"‘cause i don’t know how to stop," he finally grits out, voice so low it barely carries over the distant city sounds. there’s a roughness to it that wasn’t there before, like the words scraped his throat raw on their way out. his fingers tighten around his veil, knuckles going white under dried blood and fresh bruises.

your breath stutters. it’s not what you expected—not the usual cocky deflection or vulgar remark. this is something stripped bare, something that makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with broken ribs.

you scoff, sharp and jagged, because if you don’t, you might do something stupid—like reach for him. "that’s the dumbest shit i’ve ever heard." your voice cracks halfway through, betraying you.

"yeah, well." he leans back against the rooftop ledge, the movement slow like every part of him hurts. his head tips up toward the smog-choked sky, throat bared in a way that feels too vulnerable for someone who fights like a feral thing. "doesn’t make it less true."

the tension between you is suffocating. you want to scream. you want to hit him. you want to—

"people think we shouldn't even be near each other," you mutter, the words slipping out before you can bite them back. your voice comes out quieter than you intended, almost lost in the hum of the city below. you pick at a loose thread on your glove, just to give your hands something to do besides reach for him.

he lets out a sharp breath through his nose—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. "since when do you give a damn what people think?" his voice is rough, but there's no bite to it. just something tired. something that sounds too much like understanding.

you don't. that's the fucking problem.

because if you keep this up—the fights, the snarls, the way you shove each other away like the touch burns—then maybe the universe won't notice. maybe it'll look the other way, fooled by the gritted teeth and clenched fists, and let you stay like this. close enough to watch his back in a fight. close enough to feel the heat of him when you're both bleeding out on some rooftop. close enough to pretend you don't care, even when every cell in your body screams otherwise.

it's a stupid fucking plan. but it's all you've got.

the thought lodges in your throat like a knife, twisting deeper when you risk a glance at him. his jaw is set, his fingers flexing like he's imagining wrapping them around something—maybe your neck, maybe your hand. you'll never know.

(you're too scared to ask.)

"i don’t," you force out, the lie tasting like ash on your tongue. your fingers dig into your own thighs hard enough to bruise, like physical pain might distract from the way your pulse jumps when his eyes snap to yours.

for one terrifying heartbeat, he just stares. his gaze burns through every defense you've ever built—past the snarls, the shoves, the carefully crafted indifference—and you swear he sees it all. the way your breath catches when he's too close. how your hands ache to grab him instead of push him away. that stupid, traitorous part of you that wants this—wants him—despite every reason you shouldn't.

then he huffs, shaking his head like he's decided to let you keep pretending. "good." he pushes himself up with a wince, the movement rough but still somehow graceful. "'cause i don’t either."

his hand hangs between you, palm up and streaked with dirt and blood. it's not an olive branch—it's a challenge. a dare. prove me wrong, that calloused hand seems to say. prove we're both liars.

you stare at it like it might bite. like touching him might finally be the thing that destroys you both.

(you take it anyway.)

(your fingers slot against his like they were made to fit there, and that's the real fucking tragedy of it.)

(you always take his hand.)

(and one day, that's going to ruin you.)

okay so. enemies to enemies (lovers)? not sure if i nailed it, but god did i have fun trying. these two idiots really said "we could be toxic but in a 'i’ll gut anyone who touches you' way" and ran with it. term break’s supposedly coming up, which means i should be focusing on assessments—keyword: should. instead, i wrote 2.6k of shiesty mark being a little shit and reader being an even bigger shit (affectionate). we love our emotionally constipated kings! <3 listen. if i don’t finish this now, my brain won’t let me focus on anything else. that’s just science. anyway. hope you guys enjoyed this mess! i adore this gremlin variant of mark so much, and the way he and reader just. vibrate with unresolved tension. with lack of communication. i wish i could write more for him (and the other variants of course), but alas. responsibilities or whatever.

#NEED THAT INVINCIDIH #are you sure?#lazy-ahh #invincible #invincible variant #mark grayson #shiesty invincible #shiesty mark #male reader #invincible x male reader #invincible variant x male reader #mark grayson x male reader #shiesty invincible x male reader #shiesty mark x male reader #invincible x reader #invincible variant x reader #mark grayson x reader #shiesty invincible x reader #shiesty mark x reader

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aismoker · 2 days ago

Text

Gar Bros

Josh and Xander were visiting the City with another couple during Pride. On the evening before the parade, the other couple wanted to have some "quality time", so Josh and Xander were on their own exploring the City. As it was quite a hot evening, they were getting thirsty. After a while, they stopped in front of what seemed to be an old, run-down bar.

"You really think it's a gay bar?" Josh asked. "There hangs a rainbow flag," Xander answered. "It looks so not gay," Josh said, "nothing like the gay bars at home. And what's up with the name... 'Gar Bros'?" "I don't know, maybe they just wrote the word 'gay' wrong and decided to go with it?" Xander said jokingly. "Look, we can just go another bar, if you don't feel comfortable with this one," he continued more seriously. "No, let's try this one, Josh sighed, "we are in the City after all. If we don't like it, we can always leave and maybe, we will have a good story to tell the others."

The moment they stepped in, they wanted to turn around and leqve. The stench of stale beer, sweat, cigar smoke and booming laughter welcomed them. They wanted to back out, but they already had been spotted. "Hey, lads, come sit with us!" They both froze on the spot. They looked at where the voice had come from.

At the far end of the bar sat a rowdy group of men in leather, all smoking thick cigars. They all looked intensely -but not hostile- at them. One of them, who seemed to be the leader of the group, shouted at them: "Come sit with us, lads, and have a drink on the house!" Both Josh and Xander felt more like running away, but they knew they couldn't. They quickly glanced at each other and then walked slowly towards the men.

The men made some space for them on both sides of the table. Xander and Josh squeezed in. They looked at each other nervously.

As they sat down, it was silent for a moment. Beers were set in front of them. Xander and Josh both preferred to drink a glass of Chardonnay, but they didn't dare to ask for it, besides, the bar didn't look like it had a wine cellar. The men all raised their glasses. Josh and Xander followed suit. They both took a sip. The beer was bitter, but not too bad. In fact, it tasted quite good.

Then one of the men spoke up: "So, you lads are here in town for the Pride parade, eh?"

"Y-y-yes," Josh stammered. Shit. He shouldn't have said that. He should have made up something else. Those guys looked so much like a bunch of homophobes. This was definitely a trap to lure gay men in, to be beaten up or something. He looked at Xander, who had turned pale like a ghost, his eyes big in fear.

"Cool!" another guy chimed in, "we are walking also in a group in the parade!"

"S-so, that means you are also... gay?" Xander asked carefully. The guys at the table started laughing loudly. "Of course we are, lad. Never heard of the Gar Bros, haven't you?" Both Xander and Josh admitted they had never heard of the group.

"Well, we are just a group of men, brothers, who never really fitted into the stereotypical gay scene," one of them explained, "so we decided to create our own niche, to fight the stereotypes. We found out that a lot of men are like us, they just need a little nudge, to embrace their inner Gar Bro."

"Gar Bro?" Josh asked, while taking a gulp of the fresh beer that had been put in front of him. He hadn't even noticed that he already had finished the first one. It tasted really good though.

"Yeah, man, gar, like cigar," one of the guys chuckled, "they are kind of our trademark." "Ahhhh, cool," Xander replied, his voice slightly slurring, "we thought it was a typo for 'gay', but that makes more sense."

All the men laughed. Xander and Josh laughed along. Even though they had been apprehensive at first, they now felt really comfortable. The beers helped too.

After a few hours, one of the men leaned towards Josh offered him a cigar. "Hey bud, you wanna try a cigar? You would be a great Gar Bro. Josh flushed. It could be the atmosphere, it could be that it was pre-pride parade gitters, or simply the alcohol, but it was as if something was awakening inside him, something telling him to accept the offer. He tentatively took the smoldering cigar. He studies it. It felt so light in his hand, but at the same time it felt so masculine... so appealing...

He looked for approval to his boyfriend Xander, worrying what he might think if he would take a drag. He always nagged, whenever he smelled smoke. Curiously enough, he hadn't hear him say a word abouy it, since they had entered the bar. His worries were for nothing, however, as when he looked at his boyfriend, he saw that he was looking at him, grinning with a cigar in his mouth himself. He looked different though, Josh thought. More masculine, more like a Gar Bro. He had never noticed the tattoos on his arms before either. Josh shrugged it off, he was probably way too drunk, but he didn't care.

Suddenly Xander spoke, his voice at least an octave lower than normally: "Just give it a try, Bro, it is really great.

Josh took carefully a small puff. As the smoke entered his lungs, a warmth started to spread through his body. His skin started to tingle. It was as if something deep inside was waking up. Something strong. Something masculine. "Fuck," he grunted, as he took a second, more confident, drag from the cigar, "this is good." "I knew you would like it, bro. The Gar Bro in you is coming out already," he said as he pointed to Josh' arms, where tattoos started to appear. Josh looked at his arms. He wasn't alarmed, it felt somehow like it should be that way.

"Yeah, you are right, bro," he said as he took another drag from his cigar and exhaled the smoke playfully into the guy's face. The guy grinned. "You know, there is a way to get the Gar Bro out completely, he whispered, as he put his hand on Josh' ass. Josh quickly glanced at Xander, but he saw that he was already on all fours with two of the Gar Bros taking care of him. "Yes, bro, let's do it, he said as he opened his pants.

The night was long and hot and at the end Josh and Xander had both become members of the Gar Bros.

_____________

THE NEXT DAY, AT THE PRIDE

Josh received a text from the other couple they had come along with to the City. "Where are you, guys? We've not seen you all day. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, everything okay. We met up withbsome great guys and spend the night with them. We're walking in their group at the Pride."

"Oh, really? ;-) That must have been some great guys indeed."

"They are the best! And theybreally want to meet you guys too, so let's meet at Gar Bros after the parade!"

"Gar Bros? Is that a typo?"

Josh showed the message to Xander. Xander grinned, took his now ever-presented cigar out of his mouth and planted a wet kiss on bis bros lips. The bros around them cheered.

#smoking men #ai smoke #cigar #cigarsmoker #cigarman #story

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elzifelzi · 23 hours ago

Text

PHANTOM

CHAPTER TWENTY

Chapter 20:Haunted Hallows part 5.

Sam looked everywhere for Dan but he wasn't anywhere to be found, her mind ached with worry at the thought that something bad had happened, that he mightve been captured from right under their nose or worse. She ran around the entire complex screaming his name until finally, she got a response. She looked up and saw Dan sitting idly on the roof, hugging his legs to his chest. Ever since learning to fly he began to prefer higher places he recalled how when he first met ember it was also on a roof.Maybe it was just something ghosts enjoyed, he thought to himself. Unsure that it was actually him she called out to him.

Sam:”Danny!!!”

He gave Her a halfhearted grin before waving.

Dan:”sup?”

Sam:”how did you even get up there??”

He let out a mild chuckle

Dan:”You do know that I can fly right?”

Sam:”Oh right.... “

Dan:”you wanna come up?”

Sam nodded.

Dan stood up ,and proceeded to do a small stretch before diving from the roof and scooping up Sam. He held her delicately as if she was an antique doll that he was scared of breaking. He flew her up to the roof and gently placed her down before taking a seat beside her.

Sam:”That was actually kind of cool!”

Dan:”thanks…”

Sam:”So,what were you doing alone up here?”

Dan:”Just thinking about everything that's happened, me getting my powers, meeting you, skulker and the Else Awareness.”

Sam:”Do tell?”

Dan:”A few months ago I was this nerdy college guy fascinated about ghosts and now I'm some kind of Half ghost superhero…it's trippy.”

Sam:”yeah I get what you mean,a year ago I didn't have any family outside of my grandma and now I got you…”

Dan:”yeah u do”

Sam gave Dan a cheery smile which he returned.The genuineness of his smile managed to get a blush out of the goth girl causing her to immediately turn her head.

Sam:”and Tucker too”

Dan:”Yeah and Tucker.”

Sam:”you know that's the 1st time I've ever seen you genuinely smile since I met you?”

Dan:”really?That can't be true,I'm sure I've smiled alot of times hanging with you and Tucker.”

Sam nods

Sam:”You have but before it always seemed like you were forcing yourself to,like you don't feel like you should be happy…but this time…it feels genuine.”

Dan sheepishly rubbed the back of his head.

Dan:”oh,uh thanks…”

Sam:”Which is gonna make me feel bad when I tell you why I was looking for you…”

Dan:”What is it?”

Sam:”Your phone rang, it was your dad.. He wanted to apologize.”

Dan turned forward and hugged his legs closer to himself, his smile fading back into his typical emotionless frown.

Dan:”oh”

Dan:”Well…thanks I guess…

He did make a promise to Tucker that he'd try to be more receptive to his parents efforts but it still wasn't something he was fully ready to do.

Sam:”I really don't get it, what happened to you guys!?”

Dan:”It's not something I like to talk about..”

Sam placed her hand on his shoulder.

Sam:”please Danny....”

Her face was genuine,her features softened and in that moment,just in that moment it felt like he could unload all of his secrets onto her,so he decided that he should finally let her know.

Dan:”fine... It happened 3 years ago, I was 15 and My parents were on my case as usual.. They always nagged at me to be perfect "why can't you be more like your sister" they always said..

Sam:”Your sister? You mean Jazz?”

Dan shook his head.

Dan:”I'm not talking about Jazz”

Sam:”... What do you..”

Dan:”Just let me continue the story..”

Sam:”alright”

Dan:So yeah, I had another sister. Her name was Danielle but we called her Elle. My parents had her about 3 years after me.She….she was their favorite in their eyes she did no wrong. She had perfect grades, was kind, loving and was overall the perfect kid. I was always compared to her And I hated it. I know that my folks probably didn't mean anything negative by it but it stung. It's pretty pathetic isn't it ?A 15 year old being jealous of a preteen.. But to me it stung because she was a constant reminder that I was the disappointment of the family. Jazz was the genius and mature one and Jenny was the child they always wanted.. But what was I?”

Sam:”..Danny.”

Dan:”I was the kid who was never picked for sports teams because I sucked at it, I was the kid who was constantly bullied, the kid who couldn't do anything right, the kid who'd used to think that whether he existed or not didn't make a difference at all. The kid who could never please Expert scientists Jack and Maddie Fenton. I was the guy who failed no matter how hard I tried…”

Dan”:It got to the point where it was almost as if I didn't exist,I stopped trying to talk to my parents about things that happened to me in school,I figured with them being so focused on Elle they wouldn’t care anyway.I remember this one time I came home with a broken arm but they couldn't take me to the hospital because Elle had a dance recital and they had already left..but Jazz took me.If anything Jazz was a better parent to me than they ever were...but she had her own life and she couldn't always be there for me....”

He squeezed his legs even closer to his body.

Dan:... “So I started hanging around Tucker's house alot and I came home less and less... It's not like they'd care, they hardly noticed when I was gone anyway.. Sometimes it felt like the only reason they acknowledged me was because Elle looked like me so much they'd mistake me for her on occasion.. It hurt so much.. I hated it, I hated them and I hated Elle..”

Dan's eyes began to shift to ghostly green for a moment after he said that, but reverted to their usual color quick enough that Sam didn't notice..

Dan:”I know, it's wrong to hate her for it but I couldn't help myself everytime I looked at her…. I saw what my parents considered to be the better version of me... So I began avoiding her as often as I could; until one day I couldn't avoid her anymore.One day My parents left me and Elle home alone, which is something they usually never do but that day they didn't have a choice.. I was outside playing ball with her. At the time ghosts frequently appeared in Amity Park and that day was no exception.. While playing ball a random ghost appeared out of nowhere and spooked both me and Elle..... And I…”

Sam:’You dropped the ball?”

Dan:”yeah....”

Dan said choking up

Dan:”It rolled into the street and....Elle... She ran after it.. And then a Truck....”

Tears slowly began falling from Dan's eyes and he had an expression of horror on his face almost as if he was reliving that day right then. Sam wrapped her hands around him and pulled him in close.

Dan”:I tried to run after her but I was too late, the truck…”

Dan:...”The truck hit her and she was gone...“

Dan:”my parents came home and when they heard what had happened... They blamed me.. They told me it was my fault, that if I'd never dropped the ball their daughter would be alive, and well they were right,she would be. I guess that's why being Phantom holds so much weight in my heart, cuz it feels like every person I save is Elle. Every life that I save from a ghost is like I'm preventing the ball from dropping again.”

He took a deep breath ,the air rushed into his lungs and he was certain that they would burst under the pressure then he continued.

Dan: “After her death I-I I just couldn't stay in the house anymore, cuz I looked like Elle. It felt like it disgusted them that they had to live with me. I didn't go to the funeral.I stayed in the house less and less, and for my last year of Highschool.. I practically lived with tucker.. Until graduation that is, they never came looking for me so I assumed they probably preferred it that it was for the best anyway

.they were grieving. After I graduated from high school my parents seemed to have forgiven me.. But by that time the damage was done.. I didn't care anymore... I did think they really changed though.”

Sam:”And then you told them what you wanted to study in college..”

He nodded.

Dan :”yeah as soon as I mentioned ghosts they brought it all back up again.. How I was horrible for wanting to study about the thing that took their daughter and their best friend away from them, and how I was wasting their forgiveness by ruining my life…

Dan :”At the time I was numb to my emotions so it didn't bother me... It only started hurting after the year of them ignoring me.. And now it's like the pain never stops.”

Dan:”It was so hard watching everyone's parents drop them off for orientation while mine seemed to want to stay as far away from me as possible. It was so hard turning 18 and not getting so much as a happy birthday text Or anything!!Before I got these powers the pain hurt so much that I wanted to disappear…and well I guess I got my wish. I'm half ghost now so at least now they have a reason to hate me.”

Sam:”Dan don't think like that!!

Dan:”why shouldn't I!!?”

Dan snapped at sam

Dan:”Why should I live knowing that the people who gave birth to me think my life's a waste!!?? ! Why should I live knowing that after 3 years they still value the spirit of their dead child over me!!? It took Jazz going missing for them to finally call me after a year!! I could've died and still Noone cared So Why should I !!?

Dan screamed clinging in the fabric of his shirt, tears rolled from his cheek to the galvanize of the roof like a dying waterfall. Sam grabbed him and pulled his head into her chest and began petting him.

Sam:”because we love you Danny Fenton, you're a hero, you risked your life against skulker to save me a person who you've only known for a few months, you jumped out of an apartment building to save tucker from dying even though you could've died too, time and time again you risk your life for other people even if those people don't deserve it.The reason you deserve to live is because, you aren't scared to die for the right thing.”

Her words echoed in Dan's skull; he never thought his life held any real meaning so he was unbothered whether he lived or died, but in that moment he realized that he had something to live for now. These friends who cared for him more than anyone else ever did was all the reason he needed to keep living. He wrapped his arms around Sam and the warmth of her body enveloped him and finally for the first time In years, he felt complete peace.

Dan released her and dried his eyes before giving her a weak smile.

Dan:”I never thought telling you this would make me feel better... Thanks Sam, you're the best!!”

Sam smiled back.

Sam:”glad I could help.”

Together they leaned back and looked at the gleam of the setting sun and in that moment Dan realized that no matter what burden may come his way.. He'd be able to face it as long as he has his friends by his side.

Dan and Sam continued to gaze at the sunset until it disappeared into the horizon signaling the start of night. Sam inched herself closer to him, trying to do so as quietly as possible, Luckily for Dan did not notice,he was too busy gazing at the now clearly visible full moon. He was finally knocked to his senses by the sudden activation of his ghost sense. The air went cold and it felt almost as if time itself had stood still, the birds in the sky had been frozen in mid air and the trees no longer moved in the breeze. Dan turned to Sam and instructed her to get behind him but she too was left frozen by this strange phenomenon.To add to the eerie vibe a figure suddenly appeared clad in a purple hood, welding a scythe. The figure had skin as blue as the sky and eyes which burned red. Dan took a battle stance and prepared to engage the creature in what he could only assume would be a fierce Battle.

To be continued..

New Chapter out, more lore and sad things hope you guys enjoy it.

READ the other released Chapters here.

#danny phantom #going ghost #go ghost again #danny fenton #dp fanart #dp fanfiction #danny phantom au #creative writing #DP FANFIC #dp fanfic

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thelizardburt · 3 days ago

Text

Falcon and the Winter Soldier, as told by Luis

So, first off, Sam Wilson—aka Falcon—he’s chilling post-Endgame, trying to live that low-key life, ya know? Flying around, doing the good deeds, helping vets, and rocking those slick wings that make every airport security line a personal vendetta. Meanwhile, Bucky Barnes—The Winter Soldier—is on his own weird redemption tour and therapy, trying to ditch the brainwashing and not murder anyone today. Basically bro with a dark past and a metal arm, but a soft heart hiding somewhere under all that angst.

Then WHOOSH! Enter the big question: Who gunna be the new Captain America? Because Steve Rogers retired like a boss and passed that iconic shield to Sam. But the world? They’re not quite ready for a Black Cap, especially some old white dude named John Walker who gets dumped the job and tries way too hard. Like, dude, chill. You’re not the Cap, yo the Capitol’s Captain. Like, Bro, John Walker is like the awkward new kid at school trying to run the football team and failing HARD.

Meanwhile, Sam’s out there wrestling with what being a hero means in a messed-up world. Is it about the symbol? The shield? The history? Or just doing the right thing? Deep stuff, man. And he's trying to help his sister Sarah with their parents boat, cuz it's old and if they sell it, Sarah could get some money to help her kids.

Sam introduces Bucky to Isaiah Bradley, who is like "nah bro, never was a Captain America. They made me out to be a bad guy." then Bucky gets arrested for missing a therapy session!

So in the therapy, Bucky reveals to Sam that he wasn't happy that he gave away the shield because that was the only thing he had left of Steve, and Sam's like "bro, Hakunamatata, it means no worries, let the past live in the past, it's you and me, bro"

And then bam! Baron Zemo returns, that dude with the purple mask and zero chill, scheming and shaking things up like he’s the ultimate party crasher. Plus, these super-soldier freak team, the Flag Smashers, shaking the status quo and throwing punches at everyone. It’s chaos with a capital C.

And then Sharon Carter is there in Mardipoor saving their butt's, like, "hey boys! I'm totally a good guy, but SHIELD fired me because of the Civil War, so I'm gunna help you." And Sam is like "sure homie. But if you help us, I'll get SHIELD to get yo job back"

So she helps them get to the evil scientist that recreated the Super Soldier serum, which Zemo kills and Bucky and Sam ar like "why, bro? We needed him!" and Zemo is like "don't worry, bro, I know some people back in this other place"

So they go the place Zemo was talking about, and Buckys like "I'll catch up" and finds a kymoyo bead and Ayo shows up and is like "hey homie, so we need to lock up Zemo" and Buckys like "I know bro, but we need him. You can have him later" so Ayo leaves and Bucky arrives to where Zemo and Sam were.

And the audacity, John Walker shows up! He's like "you stooping as low to get help from him?! That's low, man." and he calls Sam a SIDEKICK. The disrespect. And then Sam and Bucky reluctantly let the two come, and they find a base. Then the Dora Malaji come and beat up John and Lemar!

Some time later, they get to the flag smasher base. Sam tells them to stay there while he talks to Karli. And he was so close, but John with him impatient self, RUINS IT AND RUNS IN! Karli gets away, with the other flag Smashers try stopping John, Lemar, Bucky and Sam. One of the Flag Smashers kill Lemar and John snaps. He runs after the dude and murders him. With the shield. In PUBLIC!

HE DIDN'T EVEN WIPE THE BLOOD AWAY! LIKE, BRO!

Sam and Bucky go after him and are like "not cool bro! Hand over the shield!" and John is like "no! I am Captain America!" so Sam and Bucky beat him up and broke his arm and take the shield back.

Later, Sam and Bucky go to Sarah's place, where the two help Sarah fix the boat to sell, and Bucky starts trusting his own mind again, so he let's kids hang off his metal arm, and when Sam is practising with the shield and the two have a heart to heart.

Then Karli and the Flag Smashers strike again, taking people hostage and trying to kill these important people, that WHOPSIES, don't go to plan, thanks to Bucky and Sam. Then Sharon SHOOTS Karli! Where's the girl code there?!

Oh, and Sharon is given her job back (as Sam is Captain America), and turns out to be a total traitor!

#marvel #mcu #as told by luis #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #falcon #falcon marvel #sam wilson #sam wilson falcon #winter soldier #white wolf #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #sambucky #john walker #us agent #lemar hoskins #lemarjohn

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sincerely-sofie · 2 days ago

Note

Giving Nuzleaf a name is actually really cool bc in Celtic mythology giving someone your Real Name is like giving them your name, address, and credit card information. Also, being named given will make you more Powerful, because someone thought you were important enough to be referred to.

crisp high fives,

@team-polaris

It’s a bit of worldbuilding I love to cook into my PMDverse! Species names are used as formal address and like honorifics, and given names are used for indicating familiarity and connections. There’s so much potential for insights into characters and their relationships with it! Just a few examples I love especially:

Kip asks Twig directly for a nickname when they first meet. That’s a big social faux pas that helps reveal how desperate Kip was to have a close friend as well as showing his social inexperience.

Ark gets PEEVED when Skuntank referred to him by name without even giving him the courtesy of a personal name to refer to him with in turn. It’s a fun showcase of Ark being a stickler for proper etiquette and Skuntank not caring about it whatsoever.

Nuzleaf (and Spindle too tbh!) goes by his species name almost exclusively because he wants to avoid the chance of anybody from his past being able to find him— but that’s for pragmatic reasons, and if it were up to him alone, he would be telling even the mailman to refer to him by name, because he’s a pretty laidback guy who enjoys connecting with others where he can, despite not being all that social.

And Banette, meanwhile, uses every given name he learns despite most people not wanting or giving him permission to do so. Does he do this to be disrespectful and upset people, to pretend at having close bonds with those around him, or some secret third thing? Only time will tell :>

#pokemon super mystery dungeon #pokemon mystery dungeon #psmd #pmd #the present is a gift au #pmd explorers #pmd eos #pmd2 #pmd sky #pmd Nuzleaf #pmd skuntank #pmd partner #pmd darkrai #pmd ocs #banette #sofie answers asks

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maraudereestauderelb · 2 days ago

Text

You Wreck Me (Slash x Reader)

You dragged your best friend to the Strip to see a rising band. Half for the music, half for the guitarist you definitely weren’t done with. A night soaked in sweat, smoke and shared history...

“You remember what happens when I take the lead?” He nodded, but it wasn’t enough. “Say it.” “You wreck me.” “That’s right.”

Warnings:

Explicit sexual content, power play & dominance (consensual), alcohol use, strong language, mentions of fame, nightlife, and band life dynamics

18 +

Side note: My bestie requested this💕

“They’re good, aren’t they?”, you shouted over the music, leaning toward your best friend so she could hear you.

“Amazing!”, she shouted back, eyes wide, a real smile on her face.

“Told ya!”, you grinned and threw your arm around her shoulder for a second before you both went back to dancing. The band on stage was killing it, and even though it had taken you a decent amount of convincing to get your best friend to come here instead of following your other band members to the Troubadour, it was pretty clear you had made the right choice.

After everything you’d been through, a world tour, the sleepless nights in recording studios, the pressure, the fights, the high highs and the lowest lows, it felt damn good to be back here. Just the two of you, drunk in a dark, loud, half-crumbling club on the Strip. No spotlights, no obligations. Just music. And the two of you. Like it used to be.

The two of you didn’t stand out here. Not really. To the rest of the crowd, you were just two girls dancing up front, having a great time. Well, except maybe to the people who really paid attention. The local bands and musicians all knew each other, in that incestuous Strip scene kind of way. Everyone had played together at some point, partied together, crashed on the same floors.

Honestly, that was half the reason you were here tonight.

Slash -the guy on lead guitar- had been in a different band a while back, and he’d been to one of your trailer parties. You remembered the way he had looked at you back then. And he had been very fun in bed. So, when you heard he was playing in a new band and that they were close to getting signed, you had two very good reasons to drag your best friend out.

“You gotta check them out! Heard they’re fuckin' good”, you had told her.

What you hadn’t mentioned at first was that you fully intended to get laid tonight. Your friend had figured it out eventually. She always did.

But now that you were here, you could tell she didn’t regret it. She was smiling. Laughing. Moving like herself again. You’d missed this version of her too.

And you weren’t wrong about the band either. They were seriously tight. You caught her watching the singer with a squint, like she recognized him from somewhere.

“Yo, what’s the lead singer's name again?”, she asked, leaning close.

“Oh, that’s Axl. Hollywood Rose, remember?”, you shouted back.

“Oh yea, right!”

The crowd was packed, but you’d managed to get the two of you right up by the stage. You stayed through the end of the set, dancing like maniacs.

When the music finally stopped, some generic rock playlist kicked in and the crowd started to shift. You turned to your best friend.

“You gonna head backstage or wait here?”, she asked you.

This place didn’t exactly have a backstage, not really. Just a glorified closet for gear and a shitty mirror. You knew how it worked; you had played here before. And Slash? He’d definitely seen you in the crowd. You were in fact wearing his shirt for God’s sake. He’d come to you.

“He saw me, so trust me, he’s gonna come to me”, you said with a smirk.

And sure enough, he did.

Slash pushed through the crowd a few minutes later, all sweat and swagger, grinning like he’d just won something. He pulled you into a hug and greeted your friend too. Polite, cool, friendly. Congratulated her on the album. She returned the favor and told him he was a sick guitar player. Which, to be fair, he really was. Perhaps even better than you, you had to admit.

But you could see the moment she realized it was her cue to bounce. You’d done this dance a million times. She gave you a look and started heading off, probably for another drink or to spot someone she knew.

That was the thing about her: she could walk into any place like this and make it feel like home. You both could. But tonight was yours. And you were on a mission, including the infamous guitar player.

Your friend melted back into the crowd and you turned your full and undivided attention to Slash.

He hadn't changed much since the last time you'd seen him. Maybe a little more swagger, a little more confidence now that Guns 'n' Roses was finally gaining traction. The curls were still wild, untamed, cascading past his shoulders. His black tank top clung to his body, soaked in sweat, showing off the tattoos that snaked up his arms and disappeared beneath the fabric. His eyes were dark and hooded beneath the brim of a worn leather top hat and his grin was lazy, dangerous, like he already knew you were planning on going home with him. And you so definitely were.

“You still got the shirt”, he said, nodding to the faded band tee you’d knotted over your hips, accentuating your curves in the perfect way. It had holes in all the right places and still smelled faintly like smoke and whiskey. His shirt. From the last time you had done this.

“Thought it might bring you out of hiding”, you said, licking a drop of Crown from the corner of your mouth. You saw his eyes follow the motion, slow and shameless.

“Worked, didn’t it?”, he said as he stepped closer.

The air between you was thick with sweat, cheap cologne and your unfiltered memories of the last time. Your heart beat faster; not from nerves, but anticipation. You were in for a fun night.

“You were good up there”, you admitted, your hand casually grazing his arm as you leaned in. His skin was warm, slick from the show. He didn’t flinch, instead he leaned into your touch like he’d been waiting all night for it. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

His laugh was low, gravelly: “Bullshit. You knew exactly what I had in me.”

Your mouth twitched into a smirk. He wasn’t wrong but you surely enjoyed teasing him.

A song with a slow beat started pulsing through the speakers, and before you could say anything else, his hand found your waist. Rough fingertips, calloused from guitar strings and cigarettes, slid just beneath the hem of the shirt. You didn’t stop him. You leaned into him, let your body press against his, let the friction start to build.

Damn, you had it bad for him.

You were moving now, not dancing, not really, just swaying, breathing in sync. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. There was a familiar heat curling low in your stomach, the kind that came with knowing exactly how this night would end.

“I’ve missed this”, he said in your ear, his voice a ragged whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

You tilted your head back to look at him. You weren’t this easy to shmooze. “You say that to all the girls?”

He grinned again: “Only the ones who make me forget lyrics mid-set.”

God, he was smooth. And you were so, so ready.

You tugged him down by the front of his tank top until his lips were at you neck, and when he didn’t hesitate, just kissed the skin there like he owned it, you knew you were done for.

“I’m not dragging you to my place again”, you murmured confidently, breath hitching as his hands slid further down, fingers curving around the back of your tattooed thighs.

“Good”, he said, his voice thick: “Because I’ve got a bottle and a couch five minutes from here.”

He didn’t have to ask twice.

You grabbed his hand and pulled him through the crowd without looking back.

The second the club door slammed behind you, the air changed. It was thick. The scent of alcohol and smoke still clung to your skin, but you didn’t care.

Slash moved to speak, but you were already in front of him, pushing him back with a single hand pressed flat to his chest.

“You had your turn onstage”, you said, your voice low and steady: “Now it’s mine.”

He grinned. “Knew you missed me too”

You didn’t answer. You turned, slow and deliberate, giving him a look over your shoulder that dared him to follow. Of course he did.

His apartment was a hole: floor covered in old vinyl sleeves and half-crushed cigarette packs, posters peeling off the walls, a guitar case cracked open like a relic on the floor. You stepped over a broken drumstick and dropped your purse onto a milk crate that passed for a table.

Slash leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you. Still that shit-eating grin on his face.

You peeled off your jacket, letting it fall with a heavy thud. Then your fingers went to the hem of your shirt, lifting slow, just enough to tease the skin beneath. You watched him watch you. You saw the shift in his posture, the way his cocky smirk twitched when you didn’t break eye contact. Oh yeah, you we're in charge here.

“You remember what happens when I take the lead?”, you asked.

He nodded, but it wasn’t enough.

“Say it”, you demanded.

“You wreck me.”

“That’s right.”

You crossed the room in two strides, grabbed him by the front of his jeans and dragged him inside, slamming the bedroom door shut with your foot. The back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he went down hard.

“Don’t move.”

You stood over him, shirtless now, breathing heavy. His eyes were locked on you like you were the last thing on earth he’d ever see. You unzipped your jeans and stepped out of them slow, watching his hands twitch. They wanted to touch but knew better.

You kicked the pile of clothes aside and crawled onto the bed, straddling him, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand.

He tried to sit up, but you pushed him back down, hard.

“Still think you can outplay me?”, you asked.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

You kissed him then, deep and punishing. You bit his lip hard enough to make him hiss. His hands strained under yours, but you didn’t let go. He’d get what you were willing to give. Nothing more.

Your hips rocked against him, slow and torturous, enough to make him whimper. You kissed down his throat, licked a line across his collarbone, left a mark where you knew it would show under his shirt tomorrow. You loved the idea of marking him as yours. Even if just for a night.

“You taste like sin”, he breathed.

You whispered against his skin: “So do you.”

You let go of his wrists and sat up, rolling your shoulders, owning every second. Then you tugged at his jeans, dragging them down just enough. He reached for you, but you slapped his hand away with a sharp glance.

“Touch me when I say.”

He nodded, panting now.

You dipped down again, mouth trailing fire down his chest. His back arched. Your nails scraped across his hips. He was shaking under you, lost in it.

And that’s exactly where you wanted him.

He was fully hard now, twitching beneath you, breath short and ragged. You dragged your tongue down his stomach, slow and deliberate, tracing the faint trail of sweat and skin with the kind of precision that made him groan.

He lifted his hips, desperate for more, but you pinned him down again with your hand flat against his hip bone.

“I said wait”, you growled.

He froze obediently watching you through half-lidded eyes.

You liked him like this: wild and wrecked but under your spell. Rockstars were all the same - loud onstage, cocky off it - until you got them alone. Then it was all begging.

You took him in your hand first, squeezing just enough to make him suck in a breath.

“Still with me?”, you asked teasingly.

He nodded, voice gone.

“Use your mouth.”

“Yes”, he choked out.

“Good.”

You wrapped my lips around him then, slow at first, pure torture. You worked him with precision and rhythm. Spit on your chin, fingers digging into his thighs, mascara smudged and falling into your dark lashes. He writhed beneath you, one hand clenching the sheets, the other grabbing at his own hair like he didn’t know what else to do with himself.

“Fuck, Y/N...fuck-”

You pulled back, eyes dark and filled with lust: “You gonna come already?”

He looked wrecked. “Please.”

“Not yet.”

You climbed back up his body, kissed him rough, let him taste what you’d just done, then lined yourself up and sank down onto him in one long, slow, punishing motion.

He cried out with his head back and his eyes rolling. You moaned, low and filthy, grinding down until he was fully inside you.

There was no rhythm, just pure, animalistic heat. You rode him, hard and relentless, nails dragging down his chest, fingers tangled in his curls, using him like he was yourd. Because tonight, he was.

The headboard slammed the wall, again and again, in time with your hips. The room ranked of sweat and sex and old cigarette smoke. He was a mess beneath you. Slash was panting, shaking, cursing.

“Y/N, baby...gonna -fuck- I’m gonna-”

You grabbed his jaw, forced his eyes open. “Look at me when you come.”

He did. Pupils blown wide and then he fell apart with a strangled moan, hips jerking, mouth spilling half-formed words you didn’t care to understand.

You didn’t stop. Not until you were done. Not until you ground yourself over him, clenched around him and dragged every last drop of control back where it belonged: your body, on your terms.

When it was over, you slid off, stood up, and grabbed his tank top from the floor to wipe yourself clean.

He was still catching his breath, lips parted, hair a mess, completely destroyed.

You lit one of his cigarettes, blew the smoke toward the ceiling, and glanced back at him.

“If you make me late for soundcheck tomorrow”, you said, voice flat: “I’ll fuck your other guitar player instead.”

He laughed, wrecked and dazed.

-> MASTERLIST

And if you wanna know what happens when her best friend stumbles into Duff... you can find it here.

#slash x reader #slash smut #slash guns n roses #slash gnr #slash x y/n #slash fanfiction #gunsnroses #guns and roses #guns n' roses #guns n roses #saul hudson #imagine #selina writes

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lura-valentine · 19 hours ago

Text

Hint

Set in the world of My Hero Academia / Boku no Hero Academia

OC lore Story

All characters belong to Kōhei Horikoshi, except for Rain and Kaji, they are my OCs

Ship – DabiHawks × fem!OC

–> To Rain's Profil

–> To Kaji's Profil

Please note: English is not my first language, so there may be some small mistakes

Concept of this fanfiction

Since the final war with the League of Villains, Touya has been dying. The doctors gave him only a few weeks, if at all, a few months, but the stubborn son of fire surprised everyone when he was still alive after 16 years.

He was only a shadow of his former self, trapped by vital machines, but something was keeping him alive, as if there was something else he needed to know...

Overview

Part 1 ☆ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ☆ Part 4 ☆ Part 5 ☆ Part 6 (W.I.P)

I had to protect him.

Her words echoed in Hawks' head, pounding against his skull without their full meaning immediately sinking in. His body felt heavy, as if she'd paralyzed him with her words.

He blinked slowly, as though someone had suddenly immersed reality in a layer of fog, making everything seem vague and unreal.

His thoughts raced back a few hours to the fight for Mr. Fischer – to that man with the ice-cold flames that froze Shoto's fire.

"Wait..." Keigo took a step back, his brow furrowed, his expression sharp and hurt. "You mean... him? The man with you earlier... is that the reason?"

Rain frowned, surprised by the sudden change in mood.

"The reason... Why did you just disappear back then?" Keigo continued in a raspy voice, his gaze darkening. "You had someone else? Another... third? And I thought it was just about us. About me and Touya."

Rain sucked in a sharp breath.

"Keigo, no. Please stop—"

"How long did this go on?!" His words were like sharp blades — cold, hurtful. "Was this before Touya? Or later? You just left, Rain! And I... I wondered if you were dead. If you were lying injured somewhere. And then... after all these years... you just stand here. And say: I had to protect him. Who?! Your new guy?!"

Rain closed her eyes, fighting the burning in her chest. He had every right to be angry. And yet each of his words cut deeper than the last. But she didn't respond with anger. Only with a quiet, vulnerable voice.

"No, Keigo. It was never anyone else. Never."

He wanted to say something, but she raised her hand and approached him slowly – her movements calm and controlled, just as they had been then, as if she were trying to keep a cool head in a burning chaos.

"I left then because I had a personal mission. None of it had to do with you two. It was something from my past – old debts and old names. I thought I'd be back in a week."

Hawks snorted softly, a bitter laugh that carried no hint of amusement.

"A week?"

"Yes." Rain nodded. Her voice grew quieter, almost lost in the sound of the rain hitting the windows. "But then... everything changed. The war broke out. The world descended into chaos. And I knew that if I returned, I'd have to choose. For you... or for Touya."

She was silent for a moment, and her gaze wandered past him, out into the rain-soaked darkness beyond the window.

"But fate decided before I could even take the plane back to Japan." Rain placed a hand on her lower abdomen – a gesture that said it all.

"I was pregnant, Keigo."

The words fell softly, like snow on frozen ground, but they echoed deep within him like a clap of thunder. He stared at her, his mouth opening, but for a moment, no sound came out.

"I..." He gasped for air as if she had just pulled the world out from under him. "I don't understand... that is, the child..."

Rain nodded slowly, and there it was – the truth she had kept locked away for sixteen years.

Hawks staggered back half a step. As if the air around him had become too heavy, too thick, too full of memories. The eyes. The flames. That feeling, as if he were seeing Touya's shadow.

"He has his eyes," he murmured.

Rain smiled sadly, full of guilt. "And my wings."

Keigo slumped back against the dresser. His shoulders slumped, as if they were suddenly carrying a burden he'd never expected. His hands dug into his hair, as if that would prevent the truth from seeping further into his mind.

The man was her son, not her lover, as he'd first thought.

Their son. Hers and Touya’s.

The shame did not come from his belief that she had had a lover. No, the shame grew from knowing he'd yelled at her. From the pain of believing she'd replaced him and Touya. And all she'd done was – to protect.

"So you stayed in Europe to protect your child," he said tonelessly.

Rain approached cautiously. "I was alone, with only my brother by my side. And I couldn't make contact. Everything was monitored. Every step, every movement. If anyone had found out whose child was growing inside me..."

She broke off, swallowed hard, and looked him in the eyes.

"She would have taken him away from me, Keigo."

Hawks looked up, his expression blank, his features frozen like marble, but beneath the surface a storm raged. Questions flared up like a fire no water could extinguish. Anger, disappointment, a bitter ache in his chest. But there was one question above all, a question that surpassed all others.

"Where…" His voice almost broke. He forced himself to calm down, then spoke again, more quietly, but unmistakably. "Where is he?"

Rain took a deep breath, her face was marked by sadness.

"In the hallway," she answered. Her voice was quiet, almost apologetic. As if it were a revelation for which there were no good words.

Hawks turned his head to the side. Slowly, as if he had to move through an invisible wall of doubt and fear. The hallway was dark, black as ink, and at first he couldn't see anything – only shadows, silence, perhaps a hint of movement that might just have been his imagination.

But then...

A faint, barely perceptible glimmer. Two turquoise-blue eyes illuminated by the dim light from the kitchen.

His breath caught in his throat.

Those eyes, they bored into his soul like needles of ice and memory. It was as if he were looking into a mirror of both past and future. He didn't say a word, couldn't. He saw the boy standing dimly in the shadows. The outlines were hidden, the face in darkness, but those eyes... They weren't just Touya's. There was something else in them, too. Something that was frighteningly familiar.

"Keigo." Rain stepped closer to him, knelt down, and placed a hand on his arm. The touch tore Hawks from his thoughts and his gaze fell on her face, her expression tired as if she had relieved this moment many times in her mind.

"His name is Kaji," she said calmly, almost in a whisper, but each word cut through the thick air like a knife.

"He..." She hesitated. A small breath, a pause, a swallowing of guilt. "He's only known he's Dabi's son for a few hours."

The words fell like drops on a hot stone – sizzling, portentous, and final.

"He knew nothing. Nothing about the three of us..." Her voice wavered. "I told him today because I had to. Because there can be no more secrets."

Keigo slowly lowered his head. His brow furrowed as he looked back toward the hallway. The shadow there didn't move. Kaji stood there like a statue, motionless, silent, and waiting – but with a gaze that pierced through everything.

Hawks's hands clenched into fists, not in anger but in overwhelm. The emotions raged through him like a storm that knew no direction – loss, memory, longing, and reality.

He wasn't his son, he knew that. And yet, there stood someone he would undoubtedly have protected for a lifetime if Rain hadn't had this mission and stayed.

Keigo took a shaky breath through his nose, the pressure in his chest becoming almost unbearable. Everything else was silent – the rain outside, the ticking of the clock on the wall, even his own breathing suddenly seemed muffled, as if heard through water.

"Are you coming out of the shadows, boy... so I can see you?" His voice was shaky, a fragile attempt at composure.

Nothing stirred in the darkness. Not a word, not a movement, only the eyes that briefly darted to Rain. She gave him a barely visible nod – a small, encouraging gesture.

Then, after a moment of paralyzing silence, Keigo heard it – the soft rustle of feathers, heavy, damp from the rain, and the muffled sound of cautious footsteps on the wooden floor. So quiet they were almost not there – and yet they echoed in Keigo's head like drum beats.

Slowly, Kaji stepped out of the shadows. Step by step, almost hesitantly. First, his face became visible, sharp features that immediately took Keigo's breath away.

The shape of his chin, the way his brows lay over his eyes, that almost tired glint in his gaze – everything about this boy reminded him of Touya at first glance.

But at second glance?

The black hair, smooth and wet from the rain, that lay heavy against his cheeks belonged to Rain, but a single white strand ran through the middle of his dark hair. Not dyed, but natural – Touya.

The way his eyes moved – calm, controlled. His posture, though casual and self-assured, betrayed discipline, like a fighter concealing his strength until he needs it.

And then his wings – black and powerful. Definitely wider than Rain's, and when he moved, they shimmered bluish.

Hawks was transfixed. Not a word came from his lips. He couldn't move, couldn't think – only look. So he sat there, petrified, his eyes wide, his hands clutching the fabric of his trousers as if he were afraid that any movement would tear the illusion apart.

Kaji stopped just a few steps from the living room entrance, his shoulders tensed, his gaze cautiously scanning his surroundings, then settling back on Hawks.

The older man finally scrambled to his feet, as if only now someone had given him the command to breathe again. Keigo slowly rose from the floor, his legs heavy, his knees still numb from the shock. Without a word, he took a step forward, then another. His gaze always remained fixed on the boy.

Kaji, in turn, immediately stiffened. His shoulders pulled up almost imperceptibly, his wings stretched slightly – not defensively, but cautiously, almost instinctively. His eyes flicked to Rain, as if seeking support, an explanation, reassurance that this was safe.

Rain answered him with a single look. It wasn't a command, not pressure. It was a silent plea, imbued with trust and a deep desire: Please don't put up your walls right away.

Kaji swallowed, his fingers moving restlessly, as if he were fighting with himself, but he stayed. No retreat, no step back into the shadows.

Hawks remained standing just a few feet away. He looked at Kaji as if he had just found the answer to every question in his life... and, at the same time, had no idea how to deal with it.

His gaze slid slowly over Kaji's face, over the striking features, over the proud, cautious twinkle in his eyes. And then – the slight frown, the mistrust he knew so well. A smile crept onto Keigo's face, faint, almost sad. He tilted his head slightly to the side and murmured:

"Not only do you look like your father, but you also have that grim expression like him. Like a real Todoroki."

Kaji blinked in confusion, as if he had to replay the words in his head. The seriousness in his face didn't completely fade, but his eyes widened slightly, surprised by the tone – the contrast between the heavy air and Hawks' almost casual remark.

"Actually..." Kaji began, his brow furrowing again, "...my name is Black—"

In a split second, Hawks stepped closer – not aggressively, not impulsively, more like someone who needed to touch something to believe it. And before Kaji could realize what was happening, he felt two warm, strong hands slapping against his cheeks.

"Oof."

The sound left Kaji's mouth involuntarily, his wings twitched uncontrollably, and his eyes widened as he saw Keigo right in front of him. Closer than before — almost too close for someone who hadn't even known him five minutes ago.

Hawks' thumbs rested on the sides of his cheekbones, his fingers on his jaw, and it was as if he needed to feel that this boy was real, not a dream, not a shadow.

"Black, huh?" Keigo whispered, his voice barely audible. "Maybe, but still. I see him... I see her, and damn it, I see you too."

His voice was rough, almost brittle, and his eyes shone slightly as he looked at Kaji, as if looking right through his face – into a past that never had a chance to become the present.

Slowly, with a breath that sounded more like an inner letting go than real calm, Hawks took his hands off Kaji's face. He took a step back, not hastily but deliberately, as if he wanted to give him back his space. This space, which for a boy like Kaji, was more than just the air between two bodies. It was the protection he had built for himself, brick by brick, with walls of mistrust and caution. Hawks didn't want to tear them down or force them.

Rain hadn't moved. Her posture wasn't tense, but it wasn't relaxed either. Her arms were loosely folded across her chest, her shoulders lowered, her black wings tucked close to her body like a protective cloak. But her face betrayed everything. It was the honest expression of a woman who felt betrayed – not by someone else, but by life, by what she had to do, by what she had to give up.

She watched, said nothing, did nothing. She let Keigo and Kaji circle each other cautiously, like two alien planets, unsure whether to collide or enter the same orbit.

"I'm sorry it turned out this way," Hawks said finally, his voice barely more than a hoarse murmur. He turned away slightly, not out of weakness, but because he sensed that any glance could be too much.

"I wish I'd known you existed sooner." He looked back at Kaji, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly. "But there's nothing we can do about it now."

The words struck Rain like a punch. She sucked in a sharp breath, instinctively placing a hand over her mouth – as if that could stifle the sobs building like a storm in her throat. Tears welled up in her eyes and pooled in the corners of her eyes without flowing.

It was this moment – not when she saw Keigo again, not when she revealed to Kaji who his father was – but now, when she heard the disappointment in Hawks' voice, this painful resignation. She had known he would accuse her of something. But that tone. That silent pain, that unlived life. It cut deeper than any accusation ever could.

Kaji, however, remained motionless. Not a muscle in his face twitched, but his eyes were fixed on Hawks like a scanner, observing every gesture, every little movement.

"I know I can't take anything back." Hawks continued, his voice becoming clearer, firmer, yet remaining softer. "But maybe... maybe we can take back some of what was taken from us." He raised his hands slightly, as if bearing the weight of his own words. "Make up for the lost years. Or at least a piece of them, if you two let me."

His gaze slid back and forth between Kaji and Rain, cautiously searching for a sign, a spark, or a reaction, until he finally settled on Kaji. There was no urgency or expectation in his eyes, only hope. Hope that perhaps, somewhere in all the uncertainty, anger, and chaos of this moment, a door lay open. He hoped not for a gate or a breakthrough, only a crack – something that wouldn't shut him out again.

The silence that followed was heavy as lead. Kaji stood there as if he were carved from stone. His eyes widened slightly, seemed awake and full of unspoken questions. His mouth was slightly open, a mixture of wonder and confusion wrestling within him, as if he couldn't comprehend what was happening.

He finally took a cautious breath, but before a word could leave his lips, a sudden, quiet sob broke the tense silence.

Both men turned immediately, and their eyes found Rain. Her shoulders trembled under the weight of all the emotions she had bottled up inside her. Tears streamed down her face in thick streams, mixing with the remaining wetness from the rain. Her whole body felt as if it were about to collapse, and as her knees threatened to give way, Keigo was suddenly there. He didn't hesitate for a second, not even a heartbeat, and wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close. Her forehead pressed against his chest as her hands clutched the fine designer shirt as if it were the only thing keeping her from breaking at that moment.

She wept bitterly, honestly and from the very core of her being. There was a pain in her heart, made up of guilt and things she could never make right. All the years of loneliness, of decisions, of escape, and of renunciation burst out of her.

And despite it all, Keigo held her tight, let her cry, and showed her that he was there, even after all the lost years.

Kaji's face changed, slowly. At first, there was irritation, this strange intimacy between his mother and the man who was so close to her. Then surprise, and finally an unfamiliar mixture of sadness and the beginnings of understanding that showed in his features. He had always seen his mother as strong and self-confident, like a rock bracing against the surf, who always had her emotions under control.

But now, for the first time, he saw her shattered, and amidst this chaos, he slowly, more and more with every second, realized how much this man, Keigo, was a part of her – not just of her past, but of what had made her who she was today.

And he understood that she hadn't hidden him away to lie to him or Keigo. She had protected him, from a shadow she had carried alone, from a story that would have torn Kaji apart if she had drawn him into it.

He swallowed hard, his wings drawing back slightly, as if he were trying to lower his own walls a bit. Because seeing so much pain, so much love in one room made him realize that maybe he didn't understand everything – but he wanted to start.

The sobs slowly subsided. Rain's shoulders stopped shaking, her breathing becoming calmer and more regular. Her fingers had crumpled the fabric of his shirt, but they were now gradually loosening as the tension left her body.

After a moment, she moved slowly, as if every movement was painful. Her eyes, red and glistening with tears, lifted to him. He smiled weakly, placed his hand on her cheek, and gently stroked the wet marks on her skin with his thumb.

"Do you feel better?" His voice was soft, almost a whisper and full of concern.

Rain inhaled, trembling slightly, and nodded. A weak, barely audible "yes" escaped her lips, as fragile as glass.

Keigo gave her a moment of silent eye contact before pulling her close again, and holding her protectively in his arms. No longer because she was about to break, but because he simply wanted her near.

"You're welcome to stay here," he finally said quietly, his chin lightly touching her hair. "I have two guest rooms that you can both use."

Rain barely moved, but he felt the slight twitching of her fingers on his back.

"Besides..." Hawks continued, his gaze sliding past her to Kaji, who was standing in the background with cautious reserve, "...it would calm my nerves a bit to know that you're not sleeping in some dark hiding place somewhere, but that you're here. Where you're safe."

He pronounced the word safety emphatically, almost as if he were swearing to it, as if it were something he was trying to prove to himself – that he was there, that he would look out for her.

Rain slowly raised her head and looked at him. Her lips trembled, but she didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Because her eyes spoke for her – the quiet, sincere thank you in them was clearer than any words.

Last Part <– | –> Next Part W.I.P.

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balorscitygvns · 2 days ago

Text

𝗪𝗪𝗘 𝗪𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗹𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱

𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝: Alex Shelley, Chris Sabin, CM Punk, Cody Rhodes, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, JD McDonagh, Karrion Kross, LA Knight, Penta, Rey, Alexa Bliss, Chelsea Green, Dakota Kai, Liv Morgan, Scarlett

alex shelley [ 42 & 25 \ 17 year age gap ]

۶ৎ The Hesitation

❀ At first, Alex really tried not to catch feelings. He noticed you, sure — who wouldn’t? But once he found out your age, he quietly pulled away.

❀ He’s hyper-aware of optics. “I don’t want to be that guy,” he told Sabin once, running a hand over his face.

❀ It’s not that he thinks the age gap means anything bad — just that he knows people talk, and he’s already a niche name with enough weird online rumors.

۶ৎ The Admition

❀ You probably have to make the first move. Gently, but clearly.

❀ Even then, he double-checks. “You do know how old I am, right?”

❀ He’s not insecure, but he’s cautious. He doesn’t want you to wake up five years down the road and resent him for “stealing your twenties.”

۶ৎ Conversation Types

❀ He asks, often, “Are you sure?” Sometimes about the relationship. Sometimes about the future. Sometimes in bed.

❀ You’ll reassure him, then tease, “Dude, you’re not a hundred. You’re hot and you quote Nietzsche when you’re sleepy. I’m good.”

❀ He once got moody after a fan said, “Damn, Alex’s new girl is young enough to be his student.” He laughed it off — but you could tell it hit something deeper.

۶ৎ Love Language

❀ Alex is quietly intense. He listens when you talk about your passions like they’re sacred texts. He buys you weird indie books and writes you playlists.

❀ He keeps you grounded when you spiral, and you pull him out of his tendency to emotionally isolate.

❀ He calls you “kid” sometimes. Not to be condescending — more like a soft nickname he doesn’t realize he says.

۶ৎ In Private

❀ You make fun of him when he says “tape” instead of “stream” and don’t know the bands he grew up on.

❀ He makes fun of your generation’s slang and refuses to learn TikTok.

❀ He once joked, “When you were in kindergarten, I was working Ring of Honor tapings.” You didn’t think it was funny. He apologized. You made him watch your favorite cartoon in revenge.

۶ৎ The Worry’s

❀ He sometimes worries he’s holding you back. That you’ll want kids when he’s done thinking about that. Or that someday he’ll be 50 and you’ll be 33 and feel trapped.

❀ You told him one night, dead serious: “I didn’t fall in love with your age. I fell in love with you.”

❀ That was the first time he cried a little after a kiss.

۶ৎ The Long-Term

❀ He doesn’t broadcast the relationship online. Not because he’s ashamed — but because he knows how fast people judge when they don’t understand.

❀ You both have an agreement: stay strong privately, and let the world think whatever it wants.

❀ When he finally calls you his partner in an interview — not “girlfriend,” not “someone I’m seeing” — it means more than a ring.

chris sabin [ 43 & 23 / 10 year age gap]

۶ৎ The Hesitation

❀ Chris didn’t even think of you like that at first. You were just “the kid” around the locker room — cool, talented, kinda dorky, kinda hot, way too young.

❀ He clocked the age gap the second he learned it. “Jesus. Twenty-three?!” He laughed — nervously — like it was the punchline to a joke about his own mortality.

❀ “I’m closer to your dad’s age than yours.”

❀ He avoided flirting even though he definitely wanted to — didn’t want to be that guy.

❀ But then you kept showing up. Being kind. Being funny. Quoting his matches. And suddenly he wasn’t laughing anymore.

۶ৎ The Admition

❀ You probably had to call him out first. Something like: “You always act weird around me, but I know you like me.”

❀ He stammered, said some dumb crap about “protecting your innocence” or “trying not to be a midlife crisis meme.”

❀ But when you told him, “I like you, not your birth year,” it broke something open in him.

❀ Chris finally gave in with a sigh and a soft smirk: “Okay, kid. Just don’t tell anyone I was still using LimeWire when you were in diapers.”

۶ৎ Conversation Types

❀ “Are you sure about this?” — said at least once a week, especially when you do something thoughtful for him.

❀ You reassure him often, teasing: “Dude, if you make one more AARP joke, I’m gonna put you in a headlock.”

❀ He calls you “kid” or “rookie” affectionately, but only in private — not in a patronizing way, but like a pet name.

❀ You argue about music, movies, and which generation had the better cartoons. He always pretends to win, even when he’s wrong.

۶ৎ Love Language

❀ He flirts by giving you hell. You flirt back by calling him washed.

❀ He does little things for you like charging your phone for you, carrying your bag, wrapping your wrist before a match. He’s quiet about it, but deeply present.

❀ He lets you borrow his gear hoodies. You “accidentally” never return them.

❀ Sometimes, when he’s feeling it, he pulls you into his lap and says, “God, how’d I land someone like you?” You tell him: “Because you still got it, Sabin.”

۶ৎ In Private

❀ Chris is softer than he lets on. At home, it’s warm hoodies, Star Wars reruns, and your legs tangled up on the couch.

❀ He’ll rest his head on your chest like he’s hiding from the world, and you’ll stroke his hair and say, “You’re not old. You’re golden.”

❀ You once caught him looking at old TNA clips of himself, quietly. You didn’t say anything. You just kissed his shoulder and held him tighter.

❀ He keeps your photo — a printed one — tucked in his wallet. No one knows but you. (And Alex who accidentally saw it)

۶ৎ The Worry’s

❀ Chris worries all the time that you’ll regret choosing someone older. That you’ll wake up and want someone who matches your timeline.

❀ “What if I can’t give you all the things a 25-year-old can?” he asks one night.

❀ You look him dead in the eye: “They can’t give me you.”

❀ He’s afraid people will see him as some washed-up guy clinging to youth. You’re afraid people will see you as naive.

❀ So together, you just choose to block out the noise. You make your own rules.

۶ৎ The Long-Term

❀ Chris takes his time going public. He wants to protect you. Not from being seen with him — but from what people might say.

❀ But once he’s sure you’re serious? He’s all in. Brags about you in interviews like it’s nothing.

❀ You end up being the one who pulls him back into the spotlight in a new way. Younger fans know him now because of you.

❀ “She thinks I’m cool,” he says once in a podcast. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but I’m not gonna question it.”

❀ And when people ask how the age gap works? He just smiles and shrugs: “She keeps me young. I keep her grounded. Works out.”

cm punk [ 46 & 33 / 13 year age gap ]

۶ৎ The Hesitation

❀ Punk didn’t take you seriously at first. Not because he didn’t like you — but because he absolutely did, and that scared the hell out of him.

❀ The age gap wasn’t just a number to him. It was an entire lifetime of baggage, headlines, Twitter threads, and burned bridges.

❀ “You’re too young to know better,” he muttered once, when you looked at him like he hung the stars.

❀ He told himself you’d move on. You didn’t. You stayed — and it wrecked every wall he’d built around himself.

۶ৎ The Admission

❀ It happened in a quiet moment. He didn’t plan it. No speech, no dramatic gesture. Just a sigh and a soft, almost embarrassed, “You make me feel human again.”

❀ You didn’t need declarations. You just needed honesty. So when he added, “I think I’m falling for you,” it was enough.

❀ He apologized for the age gap like it was a flaw — like you should’ve picked someone younger, someone less him.

❀ You told him, “I didn’t fall for you by accident. I chose this.” He didn’t say anything, just pulled you into his arms like a man who hadn’t been held in years.

۶ৎ Conversation Types

❀ Long, winding talks at 2AM — about the business, the bullshit, the people who used him, and the parts of himself he lost along the way.

❀ He listens when you rant, and gently tells you when you’re being too hard on yourself.

❀ “You’ve got time to figure yourself out,” he’ll say. “Just don’t lose your soul doing it.”

❀ You challenge him sometimes — ask the questions no one else does. And he likes that more than he’ll ever admit out loud.

❀ And yeah, he lives for your sarcasm. He once told you, grinning: “If I was 20 years younger, I’d still lose an argument with you.”

۶ৎ Love Language

❀ Protection masked as indifference. He acts chill, but he’d absolutely torch the earth for you.

❀ Physical touch. He doesn’t do PDA, but in private? He’s always touching you — your back, your hair, your hand.

❀ Acts of service — making your tea, downloading your favorite playlist on a flight, carrying your bag when no one’s watching.

❀ He doesn’t say “I love you” often. But he says “Get home safe,” “Wear your seatbelt,” and “You okay?” every single day.

۶ৎ In Private

❀ The public gets the punk rock rebel. You get the quiet, hoodie-wearing softie who quotes books and reads old comics in bed.

❀ He lets you trace his tattoos when you’re lying on the couch. He doesn’t say anything. He just closes his eyes.

❀ You once caught him watching an old match and mumbling his own commentary. He got embarrassed. You thought it was beautiful.

❀ He writes notes and leaves them around the house. Not love letters — stuff like: “You’re not a kid. You’re the only one who sees me.”

۶ৎ The Worry’s

❀ He worries constantly that he’s taking something from you — your youth, your time, your chance to grow without his shadow.

❀ “You should be doing dumb 20-something things, not babysitting a bitter old man with joint problems.”

❀ He’s scared that you’ll wake up one day, realize you want something easier, lighter, safer — and walk away.

❀ But you remind him that love isn’t about convenience. It’s about who makes you feel alive. And no one does that like he does.

۶ৎ The Long-Term

❀ He’s hesitant to go public. Not because he’s ashamed — but because he knows what people will say.

❀ But the first time someone talks shit online and you clap back? He sees it, chuckles, and reposts your comeback with the caption: “That’s my girl.”

❀ In private, he calls you his peace. His anchor. His home.

❀ When he finally proposes — and he will — it won’t be flashy. Just the two of you, a quiet night, and a simple, “I want to spend however many years I’ve got left with you.”

cody rhodes [ 39 & 27 / 12 year age gap ]

۶ৎ The Hesitation

❀ Cody’s first reaction to finding out your age was surprise — not in a gross way, but in a “wait, what?” kind of way.

❀ “You’re 27?” he asked, brows raised. “I’m literally pushing 40.”

❀ He didn’t flirt right away, even if he was into you. Too much respect. Too much awareness.

❀ Deep down, he was scared you’d just see him as some overpolished, walking PR poster with baggage and a legacy complex.

❀ But then you laughed at his dumb jokes, teased him about his entrance being longer than your attention span, and called him out when he tried to hide his nerves. You saw him. That’s what changed everything.

۶ৎ The Admission

❀ It happened slowly — soft confessions built on mutual glances and quiet loyalty.

❀ He didn’t come out and say it at first. But one night after a rough loss, when you hugged him and told him he didn’t have to prove anything to you, he broke.

❀ “I think I’m in love with you,” he whispered.

❀ He expected you to freeze. You didn’t. You kissed him. You held him like you’d known forever.

❀ “I already knew,” you said. “Took you long enough.”

۶ৎ Conversation Types

❀ You talk about pressure, about legacy, about who you want to be when the spotlight’s off.

❀ He listens when you rant about your own stuff. He doesn’t interrupt — just nods and takes it all in.

❀ Sometimes he brings up Dusty when he’s feeling vulnerable. You don’t say much. You just sit closer and hold his hand.

❀ He tells you, “You’re not a kid. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve met.” That’s how he sees you.

❀ And when you tease him? He loves it. “Okay, Grandpa,” you once said. He nearly choked laughing.

۶ৎ Love Language

❀ Physical touch. Forehead kisses. Hand on your back. Arms wrapped around you while you sleep.

❀ Words of affirmation. He tells you you’re brilliant, brave, and better than you know — because he means it.

❀ Buys you little things that remind him of you: notebooks, coffee mugs, a hoodie with your favorite movie quote on it.

❀ Always introduces you proudly, no hesitation in his voice.

❀ Will hype you up before anything important like you’re about to main event WrestleMania.

۶ৎ In Private

❀ He’s calm. Softer. You see the guy behind the suits, behind the pyro.

❀ He loves having slow mornings with you — coffee, half-asleep kisses, curled up in his shirt.

❀ Talks to you about fears he doesn’t let anyone else hear. You’re his safe space.

❀ He lets his guard down with you, and that trust means everything.

❀ Once whispered “you’re the dream I never knew I had” when he thought you were asleep.

۶ৎ The Worry’s

❀ He worries about how people will see you — that they’ll assume you’re chasing fame, or that he’s trying to look young.

❀ He never wants to make you feel like you have to grow up faster just to “match” him.

❀ Sometimes he overthinks — “Am I giving you enough?” “Am I too intense?”

❀ You always bring him back with simple, steady reassurance: “You’re not too much. You’re exactly right.”

❀ And when his mind spirals, you remind him: “I’m not with Cody Rhodes. I’m with you.”

۶ৎ The Long-Term

❀ Cody doesn’t do anything halfway. Once he knows you’re it, he’s in it for the long haul.

❀ He pictures you in his future — beside him at events, backstage at big moments, slow dancing in the kitchen.

❀ He keeps it private at first, but when he posts a soft picture of you on IG with a heart caption, it breaks the internet.

❀ He doesn’t care what people think anymore. You make him better. You make him whole.

drew mcintyre [ 40 & 29 / 11 year age gap ]

۶ৎ The Hesitation

❀ Drew didn’t even think about the age difference at first — you were just you, and that was enough to rattle him.

❀ When he found out your age, he paused and gave you this deep look like he was doing silent math in his head.

❀ “You’re 29?” he said slowly, like it wasn’t a big deal but also kind of was. “Damn… I’ve been wrestling longer than you’ve been legally allowed to drink.”

❀ He kept it respectful. Protective. Almost distant at first — not because he didn’t want you, but because he didn’t want to overstep.

❀ But the way you looked at him — like you saw the man behind the muscle — made him start to rethink everything.

۶ৎ The Admission

❀ It slipped out after a long night on the road, when you were curled up in a hotel room watching dumb TV.

❀ “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone like I want you,” he said, eyes heavy but honest.

❀ You kissed him and said, “So stop fighting it.”

❀ He didn’t answer right away. He just held you tighter, like he finally gave himself permission to want this.

❀ From that moment on, he never made you question how he felt — not once.

۶ৎ Conversation Types

❀ Deep talks. The kind that happen at midnight after long drives or after matches when adrenaline crashes into honesty.

❀ He tells you about growing up too fast. About failure, redemption, and how heavy the sword sometimes feels.

❀ You call him on his brooding when it gets too intense: “Alright, Braveheart, come back to Earth.”

❀ He listens when you talk about your own dreams — and never once makes you feel small for them.

❀ Occasionally gets overwhelmed by how much he loves you and just stares. You tease him for it, but secretly melt every time.

۶ৎ Love Language

❀ Physical protection. He always puts himself between you and a crowd, instinctively holds your lower back, opens doors, watches your surroundings.

❀ Quality time. Long walks, long talks, late-night cuddles with his giant arms wrapped around you like a fortress.

❀ Surprises you with flowers, quiet gestures, and sometimes ridiculously dramatic romantic stuff — like lifting you bridal-style just because he can.

❀ Soft forehead kisses, especially when you’re anxious. He leans in slow, and it always works.

❀ Loves when you wear his shirts — not even for the look, just because it means you’re his.

۶ৎ In Private

❀ Behind closed doors, he’s quieter. Gentle. His voice drops to this soft rumble that only you get to hear.

❀ Reads with his head in your lap. Lets you braid his hair when you’re bored. Grumbles about it, secretly loves it.

❀ He has a playlist full of songs that remind him of you but won’t admit it unless you catch him.

❀ You once caught him looking at rings online — he shut the tab fast, but his ears turned red.

❀ At home, he’s just Drew. No sword. No scowl. Just the man who loves you like it’s the only truth that matters.

۶ৎ The Worry’s

❀ He worries you’ll get tired of the road, the spotlight, the grind that comes with dating a WWE guy in his 40s.

❀ “You should be with someone who hasn’t already broken every bone,” he joked once. You didn’t laugh. You kissed his scarred knuckles instead.

❀ He fears holding you back — that you’ll want something easier one day.

❀ And even though he never says it out loud, he sometimes wonders why someone like you would choose someone like him.

❀ You make it clear every single time: “I didn’t fall in love with the wrestler. I fell in love with you.”

۶ৎ The Long-Term

❀ Once he knows you’re it? He’s already mentally planning a future. A quiet place in the Highlands. Peace.

❀ He talks about having dogs. Maybe a cabin. Maybe more — but he lets you bring that up first.

❀ He takes your relationship seriously from the start — no games, no half-measures.

❀ When he finally proposes, it’s private. Gentle. On one knee with tears in his eyes and both of your hands shaking.

finn balor [ 43 & 23 / 20 year age gap ]

۶ৎ The Hesitation

❀ Finn clocked the age gap the second you told him your birth year. “Two thousand what?” he blinked, half-laughing, half-spiraling.

❀ He kept his distance at first — not because he didn’t want you, but because he absolutely did, and that terrified him.

❀ “You’re just getting started,” he told you. “You don’t want to be dragged into my mess.”

❀ Deep down, he thought you’d eventually realize he was too cold, too damaged, too old.

❀ But you stayed. Even when he tried to push you away. That was when it hit him: you saw through the mask.

۶ৎ The Admission

❀ It came out during an argument — not loud, but tense. You asked him why he kept pulling back.

❀ “Because I’m scared you’ll wake up and see me for what I am,” he said. Quiet. Honest. Raw.

❀ You told him, “I already see you. That’s why I’m here.”

❀ He didn’t say “I love you” right then — he just kissed you, slow and deliberate, like the words lived in his mouth and couldn’t come out yet.

❀ When he finally said it weeks later, it was whispered into your hair at 3AM, after a nightmare. “I love you. That’s real. That’s not going away.”

۶ৎ Conversation Types

❀ Deep, layered talks — about loyalty, pain, reinvention, and what it means to survive in a business that eats people alive.

❀ You bring out the version of him that still laughs. The version that cares. The one that isn’t just Fergal underneath all that war paint.

❀ “You’re not scared of me,” he once said, almost like a question. You smiled: “Should I be?”

❀ He lets you tease him — even when you call him “grandpa” for not knowing a meme.

❀ He’ll playfully roll his eyes, but nothing makes him melt more than hearing you say, “You’re my favorite part of all this.”

۶ৎ Love Language

❀ Quality time. He doesn’t need fancy plans — just you, a couch, your legs over his lap, and music playing low.

❀ Physical closeness. He always has a hand on your thigh, your waist, the back of your neck — like he needs to know you’re real.

❀ He buys you black leather or plum-colored things that match his gear — and loses his mind when you wear them.

❀ Forehead kisses. Slow hugs. That rare smile he only shows when he thinks no one’s watching — except you always are.

❀ When he’s anxious, your voice centers him. No one else calms his pulse like you do.

۶ৎ In Private

❀ You get the softest version of Finn — hoodie up, socks on, lying with his head in your lap, asking what you’re reading.

❀ He lets you trace his tattoos. He says nothing, but his breathing slows every time.

❀ He listens to your music playlists even if he pretends to hate your taste — secretly has three of your songs saved.

❀ At home, he lets you call him “baby.” If anyone else tried that, they’d get a death stare.

❀ You once caught him building a Lego Rose Bouquet just for you, so that you can put on display.

۶ৎ The Worry’s

❀ He worries people will see you as naïve. That they’ll think he manipulated you, or worse — that you’ll believe them.

❀ He’s not scared of judgment from strangers. He’s scared of letting you down.

❀ “You deserve someone with less history,” he says sometimes. You always respond, “You are not your past.”

❀ He wonders if you’ll want kids someday, or a stable, slow life. He wonders if he’ll be enough.

۶ৎ The Long-Term

❀ He’s cautious about showing you off publicly — not to hide you, but to protect you.

❀ But once he knows this is it, he stops hesitating. Posts a picture of your hand in his, dark red nails and all. No caption.

❀ He talks about retiring differently now — less like an end, more like a beginning. “Maybe one day… we’ll get a place near the sea.”

❀ He’s already imagining growing old with you. Not dramatic, not loud. Just quiet mornings and knowing glances.

jd mcdonagh [ 35 & 21 / 14 year age gap ]

۶ৎ The Hesitation

❀ JD didn’t hesitate because of your age — he hesitated because of his own mind.

❀ He was more worried about what it meant to let someone in. Especially someone as alive as you.

❀ “You’re 21?” he asked once, not judging — just calculating. “That’s not young. That’s formative.”

❀ He watched you for a while, never pushy — just observant. Waiting to see if your energy would burn out or turn serious.

❀ And when you didn’t flinch at his darker thoughts? That’s when he knew.

۶ৎ The Admission

❀ He didn’t confess it. He implied it. JD is the kind of man who wraps vulnerability in riddles.

❀ “You make everything sharper,” he told you one night. “Most people dull me. You don’t.”

❀ You figured it out, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you?”

❀ He didn’t say yes. He just smiled — not with his mouth, but with that cold fire in his eyes.

❀ And later, when things got quiet, he whispered against your neck: “It’s not love. It’s obsession. That’s much worse.”

۶ৎ Conversation Types

❀ You two speak in code — private jokes, unfinished thoughts, looks that say everything.

❀ He rants about philosophy, violence, the psychology of fear — and you engage. Not just nod along.

❀ “You’re disturbingly smart,” he once said after you countered one of his arguments. “It’s infuriating.”

❀ He’ll ask you questions mid-match, backstage — just to see if you’re watching closely enough to keep up.

❀ Your banter could destroy planets. Everyone else is confused and maybe a little afraid.

۶ৎ Love Language

❀ Mental stimulation. He needs your mind more than anything else. You challenge him. That’s rare.

❀ Unhinged protection. Someone talks down to you because of your age? JD’s smile gets sharper — and you know he’s about to say something that’ll haunt them forever.

❀ Sends you bizarrely specific gifts: a rare book on body language, a vial of black sand, a charm that “wards off liars.”

❀ Touch isn’t constant, but when it happens — his hand on the back of your neck, his fingers tracing your spine — it’s electric.

❀ He memorizes your habits. Doesn’t just know what you like — he knows why.

۶ৎ In Private

❀ The JD people see in public? That cold, calculating tactician? That’s not who you get.

❀ Behind closed doors, he’s still intense — but soft-spoken. Introspective. Clingy in weird ways.

❀ He’ll read aloud to you, but only if you sit in his lap. He doesn’t like distance once he’s decided you’re safe.

❀ You’re the only person who’s ever been allowed to touch his gear before a match. He pretends it doesn’t matter — it does.

❀ He once said, “If I had met you when I was your age, I wouldn’t have survived you.” And he meant it.

۶ৎ The Worry’s

❀ He doesn’t worry about being older — he worries about corrupting you.

❀ “You’re so… pure,” he says, like it’s a threat. “It’d be a tragedy if I ruined that.”

❀ He’s convinced he’s too far gone sometimes. That you’ll realize he’s a project, not a partner.

❀ But when you say things like, “I know exactly who you are — and I’m still here,” he looks at you like you just rewired his entire belief system.

❀ His biggest fear? That he’ll make you like the chaos too much. That he’ll turn you into a version of him. And somehow… you’re okay with that.

۶ৎ The Long-Term

❀ JD doesn’t plan for forever. He plans for outlasting.

❀ He talks about time like it’s malleable — like maybe the two of you can bend it, break it, make it yours.

❀ “We don’t need a picket fence. We need a fortress,” he once said. “One no one gets into but us.”

❀ Marriage isn’t off the table — but he’d want something symbolic, something ancient, something no one else understands.

karrion kross [ 39 & 28 / 11 year age gap ]

۶ৎ The Hesitation

❀ Kross doesn’t fear judgment — he fears fragility. And at first, he assumes you’re too soft for the world he lives in.

❀ When you first connect, he keeps his distance. Cold, unreadable. Always watching.

❀ “You’re 28?” he asked once. Calm tone. But there was a flicker in his eyes — like a warning to himself.

❀ He doesn’t like feeling drawn to someone. Doesn’t trust that kind of pull.

❀ But when you look him dead in the eye, no fear, no hesitation… that’s when his walls start cracking.

۶ৎ The Admission

❀ He doesn’t do grand confessions. His love shows in actions, not speeches.

❀ But one night, after a match that left him battered and bloody, you sat beside him in silence, gently cleaned his wounds, and said, “You don’t have to fight alone.”

❀ He took your wrist, kissed your palm, and said, “You already fight with me.”

❀ Later, you asked if that meant he loved you. He didn’t answer — just pressed his forehead to yours like it was a vow.

❀ The next day, he wore a chain around his neck with your birthstone in it. No one had to ask why.

۶ৎ Conversation Types

❀ Conversations with Kross are deep, intense, often layered in metaphor. He doesn’t do surface talk.

❀ He’ll randomly ask, “If the world ended tomorrow, what would you regret not saying to me?” — like he needs to hear your truth.

❀ You talk about power, fear, pain — and your ability to hold space in a life that’s anything but normal.

❀ He listens more than he speaks, but when he talks, every word is heavy — and meant.

❀ Sometimes, in rare moments of softness, he’ll whisper things like, “You calm the monster. You know that?”

۶ৎ Love Language

❀ Protection. He walks with you like a shadow. Always watching. Always alert.

❀ Silent touch. A hand on your waist. A brush of his knuckles across your back. A grip on your thigh beneath the table.

❀ He doesn’t give you typical gifts — he gives you keepsakes: a knife he’s carried since his first match, a ring from his father, a piece of his history.

❀ His version of “I love you” is “I’d burn the world down for you.”

❀ You once joked he was your villain. He said, “I’m your sword. Not your savior. Not your villain. Yours.”

۶ৎ In Private

❀ He’s quieter. Softer. Less armor, more skin.

❀ You’ve seen him sleep with his hand resting on your hip like a tether to reality.

❀ He reads dark poetry out loud — but only to you. His voice low, steady, magnetic.

❀ His favorite thing? You curled against him post-shower, his hoodie swallowing you, his name soft on your lips.

❀ Once let you trace the scar on his chest and said, “Every one of these marks meant something — but none meant more than you do now.”

۶ৎ The Worry’s

❀ He doesn’t worry about the age gap — he worries about what being with him means for you.

❀ “You don’t get to have normal,” he told you. “Not with me.”

❀ He’s terrified you’ll wake up one day craving a softer life. A safer man. A younger man.

❀ He doesn’t beg. But the night you told him, “I don’t want soft. I want you,” he exhaled like it was the first real breath he took in years.

❀ His greatest fear? That his darkness will one day swallow the light you bring. So he keeps a piece of you — a note, a photo, your scent on his pillow — with him always.

۶ৎ The Long-Term

❀ Kross doesn’t plan for the white picket fence life — but he plans for you. Always.

❀ Talks about leaving the chaos behind someday. Buying land. Raising wolves. Living quietly — with you as his peace.

❀ When he proposes, it’s not with a ring. It’s with a blade. Ancient. Silver. “This is yours now. Like I am.”

❀ You’re not his weakness. You’re his tether. His center. The only thing he’d ever kneel for.e

la knight [ 42 & 29 / 12 year age gap ]

The Hesitation

❀ LA Knight isn’t shy about flirting, but the moment he found out you were 29, he gave a raised brow and a low whistle.

❀ “Twenty-nine? Hell, I’ve got sneakers older than you,” he said with a smirk — but the moment lingered longer than he let on.

❀ He wasn’t worried about what you thought — he was more surprised at how fast he started caring.

❀ He tried to play it cool, calling you “kid” or “rookie” to push you away, but you gave it right back.

❀ That mouth of yours? Yeah, it caught his attention. But your brain? That’s what kept him coming back.

۶ৎ The Admission

❀ It wasn’t some deep, dramatic moment. He said it like it was fact — mid-argument, eyes locked on yours.

❀ “You think I’d let anyone else talk to me like that? Nah. I’m in love with you, that’s why.”

❀ You blinked. He kept talking like it wasn’t a big deal.

❀ “Don’t make it weird now,” he added with a wink — but his thumb brushed your cheek afterward, soft like the moment actually did matter.

❀ That’s the thing with him: all bark in public, but his bite is only ever gentle with you.

۶ৎ Conversation Types

❀ Constant teasing. Pet names. Arguments that start with sass and end in kisses.

❀ “You keep acting like you know everything ‘cause you’re 42,” you said once. He just grinned. “You’re damn right I do.”

❀ Beneath the banter, though, he opens up — late at night, when the cameras are gone and his guard’s down.

❀ Talks about regrets, second chances, and how nobody really expected him to get this far.

❀ You call him out when he hides behind the gimmick. He secretly loves that.

۶ৎ Love Language

❀ Words. Compliments, flirtation, jokes — but laced with real meaning.

❀ “Nobody’s lookin’ at me when you’re in the room, baby. You make me look like a warm-up act.”

❀ Physical affection. Constant touch — arm around your waist, hand on your thigh, tugging you close just to feel you laugh against him.

❀ Shows you off every chance he gets. Posts pictures with you on his lap, not the other way around.

❀ Buys you flashy stuff — not because he thinks you need it, but because he wants you to feel like the prize you are.

۶ৎ In Private

❀ Offstage, he’s quieter than most expect. Still cocky, but with less bark, more realness.

❀ Wears sweats, lounges against you, lets you play with his hair while watching reruns of old wrestling shows he was barely in.

❀ You once caught him listening to your favorite playlist when you weren’t around. When you asked, he just shrugged. “Had to see what kind of chaos raised you.”

❀ Lets you wear his jackets — doesn’t say it, but seeing you in them? That does things to him.

❀ When he wraps his arms around you at night, he always says, “You good?” — and never falls asleep till you say yes.

۶ৎ The Worry’s

❀ He pretends he doesn’t care what people think, but part of him wonders if folks assume he’s just using you to feel younger.

❀ Once said, “You sure you don’t wanna be out clubbing with someone who doesn’t ice his knees after a workout?”

❀ He’s not insecure — just aware.

❀ You never let that nonsense fly. You ground him with reminders that he’s the only one who makes you feel seen.

❀ His real fear? That you’ll outgrow him, or move on when the spark fades. So he keeps it burning like it’s day one, every damn day.

۶ৎ The Long-Term

❀ He acts like he doesn’t plan, but he’s already imagined what it’d be like to wake up next to you for the rest of his life.

❀ If you mention houses or kids or long-term anything, he doesn’t panic — he just says, “If it’s with you? Yeah.”

❀ He wants a life full of noise, heat, passion — and peace that only you bring.

❀ He’ll still be calling you “kid” when you’re 40 and he’s grey at the temples.

penta [ 40 & 22 / 18 year age gap ]

۶ৎ The Hesitation

❀ Penta doesn’t say much when he realizes your age — he just nods once, slow and unreadable behind the mask.

❀ He doesn’t judge, doesn’t panic. But something shifts in the way he moves around you: quieter, more careful.

❀ The age gap doesn’t bother him in theory — it’s what it might mean in practice. Different life stages. Different needs.

❀ You challenge that fear without even trying. You match his fire with your own.

❀ It’s not your age that changes him — it’s your presence. You’re the first person who treats him like a man, not a myth.

۶ৎ The Admission

❀ It’s unspoken for a while. Lingering touches. Heated glances. A stare that lasts just a few seconds too long.

❀ He tells you in Spanish first — soft, low, intimate: “Te amo.”

❀ You ask him to say it in English. He cups your face and says it like a vow: “I love you. That is real.”

❀ You kiss him. He exhales like it’s the first breath he’s taken in months.

❀ After that, he never hides it. Doesn’t downplay it. Doesn’t let the age difference become a wall between you.

۶ৎ Conversation Types

❀ He’s a man of few words, but what he says matters.

❀ Conversations are layered — some in Spanish, some in English, some just eye contact that speaks louder than anything else.

❀ He tells you stories from lucha days, about loyalty, brotherhood, pain, pride.

❀ You talk about the future. About healing. About creating something powerful from something violent.

❀ You ask questions no one else dares to. He answers all of them — eventually.

۶ৎ Love Language

❀ Acts of service. Fixes things before you notice they’re broken. Carries your bag. Adjusts your necklace clasp without you asking.

❀ Gift giving. You’ve got more skull-themed jewelry now than you know what to do with.

❀ Paints a mini version of his mask just for you, in your favorite colors.

❀ Holds your hand under the table. Always lingers behind after matches to find your eyes in the crowd.

❀ Doesn’t say “I need you” — he shows it in every motion, every glance, every still moment between chaos.

۶ৎ In Private

❀ No mask. Just Penta. Real name. Real voice. Real touch.

❀ You see his scars, both old and fresh. He doesn’t flinch when you trace them.

❀ You sleep wrapped in his arms — the only place he truly lets his guard down.

❀ He teaches you Spanish with lazy whispers and kisses between syllables.

❀ Once woke you up at 3AM just to say, “This… this is the peace I never thought I’d earn.”

۶ৎ The Worry’s

❀ He doesn’t fear what people say. He fears the weight this life might put on you.

❀ Wonders if you’ll grow tired of the mask, the flights, the silence.

❀ Sometimes asks, “Are you sure?” even when you’ve already proved it a hundred times.

❀ He’s scared of loving too hard — of giving you all of him and still losing you to time.

❀ You never let the gap become a gap. You meet him in the middle, every time, no hesitation.

۶ৎ The Long-Term

❀ He builds a future in quiet pieces — a home, a place for your shoes by the door, a shelf for your books.

❀ You talk about kids. He listens like the idea has never been spoken aloud to him before — and then he starts picturing it.

❀ Keeps your photo in his travel bag, tucked beside his mask. Always.

❀ Plans to retire in Mexico one day — and you’ll be there with him, sun on your skin, his last match behind him, peace ahead.

alexa bliss [ 33 & 21 / 12 year age gap ]

۶ৎ The Hesitation

❀ Alexa didn’t flinch when she found out you were 21 — she just tilted her head and gave you that signature smirk.

❀ “Twenty-one?” she teased. “So you just stopped being jailbait, huh?”

❀ On the surface, she played it like she didn’t care — but deep down, she was nervous. Not about you, but about herself.

❀ Her life’s been fast, messy, glittery chaos. She worried it’d overwhelm you.

❀ But then you showed her you weren’t some wide-eyed kid — you were the only one who didn’t expect her to play a role.

۶ৎ The Admission

❀ It started as harmless flirting — playful touches, eye rolls, Instagram comments that made people assume.

❀ One night after a match, when you helped her take off her boots and she saw how gentle your hands were, she just said it.

❀ “You know I love you, right?” Like it was obvious. Like it had always been true.

❀ You smiled. “Yeah. I know.”

❀ She kissed you with glitter still on her face and said, “I don’t want to pretend I don’t.”

۶ৎ Conversation Types

❀ She talks fast when she’s excited, jumps topics like stepping stones — you never lose track.

❀ Late-night convos include trauma dumps between giggles, mental health check-ins, and debates about which horror movie villain is hot.

❀ You keep her grounded; she keeps you on your toes.

❀ She opens up in DMs and voice notes at 2am more than in person — but you always respond like it matters. Because it does.

❀ She’ll vent, then panic-text “Sorry, that was a lot.” You always reply “You’re not too much. Never.”

۶ৎ Love Language

❀ Words of affirmation. She’s always hyping you up — “Look at you! You’re literally so hot I could punch a wall.”

❀ Touch. Constant clingers. Hand-holding, sitting in your lap, braiding your hair (or demanding you braid hers).

❀ Buys you cute matching gear, little keychains, and trinkets that “reminded me of us.”

❀ Posts the softest photos of you with captions like “my favorite distraction 💖”

❀ Hates PDA with anyone else — but with you? She’ll kiss you mid-promo if she feels like it.

۶ৎ In Private

❀ She’s a homebody more than people expect — curled up on the couch in fuzzy socks, watching horror movies with you and her pets.

❀ You’re the only one who sees her when the lashes come off, the glitter wipes away, and she just needs to cry.

❀ You once found her old diary from her early WWE days. She let you read it — then burned it together in the backyard.

❀ She loves lying on your chest, tracing your skin with her fingers like she’s memorizing the safe place she never had growing up.

❀ If you fall asleep first, she takes pictures of you. Not to post — just to keep.

۶ৎ The Worry’s

❀ She’s insecure about the “former starlet” thing — worries you’ll want someone newer, shinier, less baggage.

❀ “You’re 21,” she whispered once. “You could have anyone. Why me?”

❀ She knows she can be intense — high highs, low lows, mood swings like a rollercoaster.

❀ You never make her feel like she has to shrink to be loved. That’s what scares her the most — that your love feels real.

❀ She’s terrified of being your phase. You prove every day that you’re not going anywhere.

۶ৎ The Long-Term

❀ She never saw herself settling down. Then she met you.

❀ You talk about buying a weird little house with pink decor, a horror movie room, and a space for her ridiculous collection of Disney items.

❀ She jokes about eloping in Vegas in full cosplay. You joke back — but she’s halfway serious.

❀ She’d be a chaotic wife, an overprotective partner, and a damn good forever.

chelsea green [ 34 & 20 / 14 year age gap ]

۶ৎ The Hesitation

❀ Chelsea didn’t act shocked when she found out your age — she just smirked, tilted her head, and went, “Aw, baby… you’re practically fresh out the cradle.”

❀ It wasn’t a dealbreaker, but it was a red flag in her mind — not because of you, but because she knows people, and she knows how they talk.

❀ “They’re gonna think I’m corrupting you,” she said with fake horror — while adjusting your lip gloss.

❀ But then you stood your ground, teased her right back, and she realized: you’re not fragile. You’re formidable.

❀ That’s when she stopped seeing the age gap as a risk… and started seeing it as her favorite scandal.

۶ৎ The Admission

❀ It came out of nowhere, during one of her dramatic spirals over a broken heel and a late Uber.

❀ “I swear, I’m cursed, and I’m in love with the only person who’ll probably outgrow me in five years.”

❀ You blinked. She froze.

❀ “Wait—nope, too honest, don’t look at me.”

❀ You just kissed her and said, “You’re lucky I like crazy.” She’s never blushed that hard in her life.

۶ৎ Conversation Types

❀ Endless voice notes. Chaotic FaceTime calls. Long, late-night texts that bounce between, “ugh I hate everyone” and “do you think I should dye my hair for us?”

❀ She opens up slowly, wrapped in sass and sarcasm, but you hear the hurt between the jokes.

❀ You remind her she doesn’t have to perform around you. Th

❀ She loves your opinions — about her outfits, her promos, what shade of pink you should match on nails.

❀ “You’re smarter than me,” she said once with no humor. “That’s hot. I hate it.”

۶ৎ Love Language

❀ Gift giving. Custom jewelry, spa dates, and matching lingerie sets that she insists you model only for her.

❀ Physical affection. She clings. Always touching — hand-holding, back-of-the-neck kisses, lying across your lap while scrolling Instagram.

❀ She buys you things just to see them on you — hoodies, rings, sunglasses — all “borrowed” by her the next day.

❀ She’ll post you every chance she gets: mirror selfies, blurry candids, captioned “mine 💋” or “get you a girl who looks like this.”

❀ And when you’re quiet or distant, she knows. Instantly. She’ll crawl into your lap, pout, and go, “What’s wrong, baby?”

۶ৎ The Private

❀ She’s wild on TV, extra at brunch, but at home? Cozy pajamas, messy bun, barefaced and tucked under your arm.

❀ She hogs the bathroom and the blanket but will scream if you’re not touching her constantly.

❀ Sometimes she breaks down for no reason. You hold her, rub her back, and remind her she’s safe. That she’s not too much.

❀ You two cook terrible meals together, dance in socks, and prank each other with fake bugs.

❀ She once cried because you brought her flowers “for no reason.” You told her, “Because loving you isn’t hard.”

۶ৎ The Worry’s

❀ She jokes about being your “older, unhinged sugar mommy” — but deep down, she fears not being enough.

❀ “You’ll wake up one day and realize you want someone calmer. Less… all this,” she says, gesturing to herself in glitter and chaos.

❀ She overthinks your quiet days. Gets nervous when you don’t answer quick.

❀ She’s terrified people will see her as a phase you went through in your twenties.

❀ You’ve said it more than once, loud and clear: “I don’t want safe. I want you.”

۶ৎ The Long-Term

❀ She already calls you “wifey.” Half as a joke, half as a threat.

❀ Plans your life in Pinterest boards: wedding themes, tropical vacations, matching dog collars.

❀ She says she wants to grow old with you — but still be wearing 6-inch heels at 60 just to “keep it dramatic.”

❀ She’s ready to build a life of chaos, glitter, and forever. As long as it’s with you.

liv morgan [ 31 & 19 / 12 year age gap ]

۶ৎ The Hesitation

❀ When Liv first realized you were 19, she blinked, laughed, and said, “You’re literally a baby… like, Gen Z-Z.”

❀ She wasn’t grossed out — but she was cautious. She’s been hurt, misread, underestimated.

❀ “I don’t want to be a lesson,” she told you honestly. “And I don’t wanna teach you anything either. I’m not trying to be your big heartbreak.”

❀ But then she saw how steady you were. How you didn’t idolize her, didn’t put her on a pedestal — you just got her.

❀ The age gap didn’t scare you, and that scared her more than she wanted to admit.

۶ৎ The Admission

❀ Liv’s the type to accidentally say “I love you” when she’s drunk on cotton candy at the fair.

❀ She said it mid-laugh, cheeks flushed, your hand in hers, and then froze.

❀ “Oh my god, wait—was that too much?”

❀ You said it back without even blinking, and she pulled you in so fast she knocked the lemonade out of your other hand.

❀ After that, she’d say it in every way except straight up: “Drive safe, okay?” “I saved you the last bite.” “You make me feel like maybe the world doesn’t suck.”

۶ৎ Conversation Types

❀ Chaotic, half-finished thoughts. Tangents. You fill in her blanks without her asking.

❀ She opens up about her childhood in weird moments — in drive-thrus, under blankets, when you’re painting her nails.

❀ “Sometimes I think I’m too much,” she says softly. You always say, “Not to me.”

❀ You ground her, and she energizes you. She loves that you listen, but also challenge her when she spirals.

❀ Her favorite thing? Your random compliments. She’ll write them in her notes app like little lifelines.

۶ৎ Love Language

❀ Touch. All the time, everywhere. Holding your hand, leaning on you backstage, falling asleep literally on top of you.

❀ Words of affirmation. “You’re so hot it’s offensive.” “I’m obsessed with your dumb little face.”

❀ Sends you selfies with no caption just to see how fast you respond. Gets pouty if you take too long.

❀ Always matches her gear to something you’re wearing — it’s subtle sometimes, but it’s for you.

❀ You’re the lock screen. She pretends it’s no big deal. She stared at it for five minutes after setting it.

۶ৎ In Private

❀ She’s loud and soft all at once. A firecracker in your lap.

❀ Loves curling up with her head in your lap while you play with her hair and watch trashy reality shows.

❀ Leaves her clothes everywhere but gets mad if you misplace one of her earrings.

❀ Breaks down sometimes — too much attention, too much pressure, too many expectations — and you’re always there, arms open, no questions asked.

۶ৎ The Worry’s

❀ She worries she’s stunting your growth — that you’ll look back and feel like she pulled you too fast into her chaos.

❀ “You should be out partying with college girls, not laying in bed with me watching conspiracy TikToks,” she mumbles.

❀ She’s insecure about being messy, emotional, dramatic — but you never flinch.

❀ Sometimes she worries she’s just your first — not your forever.

❀ But you tell her over and over, “I’m not here for the experience. I’m here for you.”

۶ৎ The Long-Term

❀ She dreams big. Road trips. Matching tattoos. A farm in the hills with a dumb little white dog.

❀ You once said you weren’t sure where you’d be in five years — and she immediately said, “With me.”

❀ She talks about getting married in the woods, barefoot and wearing glitter.

❀ Liv is chaos, but you’re the thing she never wants to lose — her home, her person, her safe place.

scarlett [ 34 & 23 / 11 year age gap ]

۶ৎ The Hesitation

❀ Scarlett clocked your age immediately. One look and she knew: young, fearless, probably trouble.

❀ She didn’t run — but she did keep you at arm’s length for a while. She’s had people fall in love with the fantasy of her, not the woman underneath.

❀ “You’re 23?” she said once, eyebrow raised, lips smirking. “Baby, I’ve got corsets older than you.”

❀ What she didn’t expect was how disarming you were — calm, grounded, yet just as intense in your own way.

❀ It wasn’t your youth that caught her. It was your clarity. The way you looked at her like she was real.

۶ৎ The Admission

❀ It wasn’t planned. It never is with her.

❀ One night, after a match that left her furious and bruised, you found her backstage. Sat down. Said nothing. Just held her hand.

❀ “You don’t flinch,” she whispered. “Everyone flinches. But you don’t.”

❀ Then, under her breath, eyes on your fingers tangled with hers: “I think I’m falling for you.”

❀ You just leaned in and kissed her palm — no words, just presence. She’s been yours ever since.

۶ৎ Conversation Types

❀ Sultry on the surface, deep underneath. She’ll start a sentence with a flirt and end it in vulnerability.

❀ She tells you things she’s never said aloud — what power costs, what loneliness feels like when the lights go down.

❀ You don’t talk over her. You listen. You ask real questions.

❀ “You don’t try to save me,” she said once. “You just see me. Do you know how rare that is?”

❀ Her voice is quiet with you. Almost reverent.

۶ৎ Love Language

❀ Touch. She’s tactile — always adjusting your jacket, brushing lint off your shoulder, fingers under your chin to tilt your face toward her.

❀ Quality time. Candlelit rooms. Silk sheets. Wine glasses with lipstick on both rims.

❀ She buys you lingerie — for herself to unwrap.

❀ Always makes sure you’re looking at her when she walks into a room. She likes the way your gaze softens.

❀ Sends you little notes in your bag before flights: “I miss you already. Come back dangerous.”

۶ৎ In Private

❀ She’s softer than anyone would expect. Slippers instead of heels. Oversized robes instead of corsets.

❀ She rests her head on your chest, lets you brush her hair, lets herself breathe.

❀ She doesn’t need to be dominant around you. With you, she’s equal. Real.

❀ She’ll cook, burn it, swear, and order takeout — and you’ll both laugh till you cry.

❀ She has a playlist called “for her” — it’s all slow, sultry songs she imagines dancing to with you in low light.

۶ৎ The Worry’s

❀ She’s terrified she’s just a chapter in your youth — a beautiful blur you’ll remember fondly but leave behind.

❀ “You’ll want simpler one day,” she murmured once. “And I’ll still be… me.”

❀ She doesn’t fear age. She fears being replaceable.

❀ You’ve had to remind her more than once: “I don’t want simple. I want you.”

❀ She believes you. Mostly. But she holds you a little tighter every time you say it.

۶ৎ The Long-Term

❀ She sees forever with you, even if she pretends not to dream.

❀ “If we moved to Paris, I’d never wear pants again,” she jokes. Then she looks serious. “Would you come with me?”

❀ She wants passion, ambition, and a partner who matches her flame — and you do.

❀ Marriage? Maybe. Matching tattoos? Definitely. Growing old in black lace and eyeliner? Absolutely.

#alex shelley x reader #chris sabin x reader #cm punk x reader #cody rhodes x reader #drew mcintyre x reader #finn balor x reader #jd mcdonagh x reader #karrion kross x reader #la knight x reader #penta x reader #rey fenix x reader #alexa bliss x reader #chelsea green x reader #dakota kai x reader #liv morgan x reader #scarlett x reader

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