#Sneaker Catalog

[snkrbonbon]

Reebok Footwear Spring 1994 Dealer Product Catalog.

[sneakerhistory]

Finish Line Catalog, 2003.

[thisisrealy2kok]

link to pic 1 // link to pic 2

[ogindex]

CO.JP (Concept Japan) Nike AF1 (2001)

[vansfriend]

Vans original 1998 catalog

[horrid-phantasm]

Nike Quantum Force High

[hurriane23456]

Trading Spurs for Sneakers

Tyler and James had always thrived on their shared sense of adventure, but this time, they were about to push the limits in a way they had never done before. When Tyler invited James to stay with him for the week, they came up with a challenge: not only would they swap clothes, but they’d wear full-body silicone suits that made them look exactly like each other. They’d go out in public as each other, and for the entire trip, they would live in each other’s skin—literally.

Tyler’s style was straight out of a western catalog. His wardrobe was filled with rugged denim, thick leather boots, and plaid shirts, all carrying the earthy scent of the outdoors. James, on the other hand, was all about streetwear. His clothes were sleek and oversized—designer hoodies, joggers, and fresh sneakers that gave off an urban, stylish vibe. The idea of stepping into each other’s style was thrilling enough, but the bodysuits took it to another level.

When James arrived, Tyler showed him the silicone suits. They were disturbingly lifelike, each one a perfect replica of the other, right down to the tiniest details—skin texture, hair, even the faint freckles on Tyler’s arms. The suits were smooth, soft silicone that would cover them completely, with zippers running down the back, meaning they’d need to help each other into their new bodies. Attached to the suits were masks, just as detailed, transforming them from head to toe.

“So, you ready to become me for the next few days?” Tyler asked with a grin, holding up James’s suit.

James ran his hand over the suit’s smooth surface, already feeling a shiver of excitement. “Only if you’re ready to rock some streetwear,” he teased back.

They headed to the bedroom, and that’s when things got interesting. Tyler helped James first. He unzipped the back of his own silicone replica, and James stepped inside, sliding his legs into the suit. The silicone was cool against his skin at first, but it stretched perfectly, molding to his body like a second skin. As Tyler pulled the suit up, James slipped his arms into the sleeves, feeling the soft material hugging his muscles, creating the illusion of Tyler’s broad, rugged physique. Tyler tugged the mask over James’s head, adjusting it carefully so the silicone fit snugly over his face. The cool sensation of the mask pressing down, forming around his nose, cheeks, and forehead, was strangely comforting.

When Tyler zipped up the back, James couldn’t help but admire the feeling of the suit fitting him perfectly. It wasn’t just wearing Tyler’s skin—it *felt* like Tyler’s body. Every movement was smooth, every gesture natural. His hands, now Tyler’s rough, calloused hands, flexed as he stared at the mirror. It was like he had become his friend, in every possible way.

“Your turn,” James said, voice altered slightly to sound like Tyler’s.

Tyler grinned and stepped into James’s bodysuit. The experience was just as surreal for him. The silicone slid smoothly over his legs, pulling snugly against his skin, transforming his usually broader build into James’s slimmer, leaner form. Tyler could feel the cool material warming up as it molded to him, turning him into an uncanny replica of James. When James tugged the mask over Tyler’s face, the sensation of the silicone wrapping around his head was exhilarating. The mask fit like a glove, sealing him into James’s identity.

Tyler moved in front of the mirror, marveling at the transformation. His own reflection was gone, replaced by James’s face, his tattoos, and his slim frame. The bodysuit moved fluidly with him, and he could feel every part of the suit stretching and flexing like real skin. It wasn’t just a costume—it felt *real*.

“Man, I think I could get used to this,” Tyler said, his voice now identical to James’s.

James laughed, admiring how weird and amazing it felt to see Tyler’s face reflected back at him. “Same. This is wild.”

Next came the clothes. James reached into Tyler’s closet, pulling out a pair of well-worn jeans. They were thick, stiff, and smelled faintly of leather and dirt. He slid them up his legs, the denim feeling tight and rugged, a stark contrast to the soft joggers he was used to. The jeans clung to him in a way that made him feel powerful, like the sturdy fabric was wrapping him in strength. He fastened the heavy belt with its oversized buckle, feeling the weight of it pressing against his stomach. Next came the plaid shirt. The material was rougher than anything he usually wore, but it felt good as he buttoned it up, the tight fit making him feel more grounded, more solid. The cowboy boots were the final touch. As he slid his feet into them, he felt a satisfying firmness, the boots hugging his feet in a way that made every step feel strong and deliberate.

Tyler, meanwhile, was having the opposite experience. He pulled on James’s oversized hoodie, and it felt like slipping into a cloud. The fabric was soft, almost silky, and it pooled around his body in an effortless way. The joggers came next, sliding over his legs like butter, loose and relaxed. He pulled on a pair of James’s sneakers—lightweight and cushioned, like he was walking on air. The sensation was completely different from the structured feel of his boots, but it was freeing in a way he hadn’t expected.

Dressed in each other’s clothes, they both admired themselves in the mirror, reveling in the strange thrill of looking and feeling like someone else. It was more than just a swap—it was like stepping into each other’s lives, fully embracing the new persona.

Now it was time to go out. They headed into town, each fully committed to their roles. Tyler, now dressed in James’s streetwear, strolled down the sidewalk with a casual swagger, loving the way the loose hoodie swayed with his movements. The soft material brushed against his skin, a constant reminder of the freedom and ease of James’s style. It made him feel relaxed, like he could blend into the city’s energy without trying.

James, on the other hand, was adjusting to the ruggedness of Tyler’s outfit. The jeans were stiff but in a comforting way, like they were made for hard work and adventure. Every step in the cowboy boots felt strong, as if they grounded him with each clomp on the pavement. The belt buckle pressed firmly against his waist, a constant weight that made him feel solid and secure. The plaid shirt hugged his shoulders in a way that gave him a sense of confidence he didn’t usually feel in his streetwear. As they walked, he felt powerful, like he was embodying the spirit of Tyler’s lifestyle.

They hit the streets, walking into coffee shops, browsing stores, and even stopping at a park. Everywhere they went, they marveled at how natural it felt to be each other. Tyler loved the lightness and ease of James’s clothes, the way the hoodie made him feel like he was gliding through the day without a care. James, meanwhile, relished the weight and structure of Tyler’s outfit, feeling every bit the part of a rugged cowboy.

As the day wore on, the bodysuits felt less like costumes and more like their real bodies. The silicone had warmed to their skin, moving naturally with every gesture. The masks clung comfortably, fitting so snugly that they forgot they were even wearing them. There was something liberating about the whole experience—the idea of fully stepping into someone else’s shoes, literally living as the other person for a day.

By the time they returned home that evening, they were laughing, still fully enjoying their swapped identities. They helped each other out of the suits, peeling the silicone away, but even as they returned to their own bodies, they both knew they’d never forget the thrill of being someone else.

“That was insane,” Tyler said, wiping sweat from his brow, but still smiling. “I think I could do that all week.”

James grinned, tossing the bodysuit aside. “Same. Let’s do it again tomorrow.”

[pin-k-ink]

wolf’s den // sakusa kiyoomi & miya atsumu (pt. 1)

tw ⇢ incest(reader is sakusa’s little sister), dark content, possessive/obsessive behavior, male masturbation, voyeurism, implied age gap, ‘brother’s best friend’ but darker, sakuatsu if you squint

wc ⇢ 5.2k

Atsumu let out a low whistle as he stepped into Sakusa's pristine apartment. Every surface gleamed spotlessly - as if belonging in an interior design catalog rather than a living space.

"Nice place ya got here, Omi-kun," he drawled while shrugging off his coat. "Though I guess I shoulda expected nothing less from Mr. Neat Freak himself."

A muffled grunt echoed from what he assumed was the kitchen area. "Just don't track dirt everywhere. Wipe your feet properly."

Rolling his eyes, Atsumu made an exaggerated show of stomping his sneakers against the entry mat with excessive force. "There, happy? Should I roll out the sanitizing mat too while I'm at it?"

The familiar sound of Sakusa's irritated sigh reached his ears, prompting Atsumu's signature shiteating grin to spread across his lips. He opened his mouth to volley another playfully needling jab, already anticipating Sakusa's prickly clap back.

But the snarky retort never came.

Instead, a sweet, melodious voice - utterly at odds with the pristine environment's severity - pierced through the air like a windchime's gentle chorus.

"Kiyoomi! You didn't tell me we'd have a guest!"

Atsumu turned towards the hallway just in time to witness you practically flounce into the living area on a pocket of bubbly, effortless energy. You moved with the unbridled exuberance and grace of a rambunctious puppy, arms carving unselfconscious arcs as you ambled inside.

Despite your modest, unassuming stature, that snug school uniform skirt shamelessly rode up with each unhurried stride - teasing at the prospect of those long, tempting legs disappearing beneath the fabric. Atsumu felt his throat go statically dry as you gravitated straight towards Sakusa with a radiant, adoring beam.

Without preamble, you looped those deceptively slender arms around one of his in an unmistakably childish, clinging manner. Sakusa's spine stiffened ever so subtly at your overtly tactile invasion of his personal space. But rather than recoiling or deterring your brazenly cuddly behavior, his posture seemed to...settle in resignation as you peered up at him through your lashes with naked affection.

"You should've told me we'd have company!" you mock-pouted in that same lilting, sweet tone. "I would've put on something cute just for your friend!"

Friend. The innocuous word detonated in Atsumu's hindbrain with all the force of a thermal detonation, setting off a searing chain reaction of dark hunger he couldn't quite put a name to. His focus remained utterly honed on the way your pursed lips quivered with each whimsically petulant syllable.

Before he could even begin processing the sordid spiral of his thoughts, you surged up on your tiptoes to plant a sweet, lingering peck against Sakusa's cheek. Atsumu watched with morbid fascination as his notoriously touch-averse teammate remained utterly impassive. No visible discomfort or revulsion danced across those typically severe features - despite your cloying, touchy display of pure sisterly adoration.

"There, all better!" you giggled in that tinkling melodic timbre. As if openly doting upon the prickliest germaphobe Atsumu had ever known was the most natural thing in the world.

For the briefest of instants, the world around them may as well have evaporated into irrelevance. All that existed was the image of you beaming up at Sakusa with all the radiant innocence and unaffected openness of a sunflower following the day's warmth. Atsumu felt his pulse throb thickly as you drank in that beatific sight hungrily - as if witnessing something sacred and pure in a way he could never recreate or taint.

Then, the moment fractured.

It was as if an unseen switch had been flipped, igniting the relentless inferno of territoriality that governed Sakusa's every action where you were involved. The muscles in his bicep tensed like braided steel cables as his arm remained unnaturally rigid within the circle of your embrace.

But it was the infinitesimal slide and flex of Sakusa's other hand snaking around the supple curve of your lower back that sent aotectic surge of unease ricocheting through Atsumu's core. His splayed fingers spasmed possessively, inexorably drawing you flush against his side as those obsidian eyes drilled into Atsumu.

The silent warning blazed with searing clarity, a wordless edict burned straight from Sakusa's very marrow: this creature currently basking in your affection belongs to me...and me alone.

In that moment, Atsumu felt incredibly small - as if he were an intruder bearing witness to something intensely personal, sacred...unhinged. As if an unfurling new reality sat perched at his core, waiting to sink in its bloody talons at the slightest provocation.

You, meanwhile, remained entirely blissfully ignorant of the undercurrents surging between the two men as you beamed up at Sakusa. With another windchime peal of girlish laughter, you disentangled yourself just enough to bestow that radiant, effervescent smile onto Atsumu.

"Well hi there!" you chirped, that brilliant beam of innocent curiosity fixing onto Atsumu. "I don't think we've had the pleasure of being introduced yet."

With a sway of your hips, you sidled closer until you were openly invading his personal space. Atsumu felt like a deer stumbling into the scope of a hunter's crosshairs as your sugary floral scent and radiant warmth washed over him. Up close, he could make out the dusting of faint freckles spanning your features and the way your tongue instinctively wet your lower lip.

"I'm Kiyoomi's little sister!" you trilled with windchime sweetness.

A dainty hand extended towards Atsumu in polite greeting, bracelets jingling softly with the motion. He blinked dazedly for a heartbeat, utterly disarmed by your proximity assaulting his senses. But the instant your palm met his in a fleeting clasp, it was like a match lancing through the thickening miasma of distracted arousal clouding his thoughts.

The first lascivious flare of heat blazed low in Atsumu's gut as his gaze instinctively dropped to trail down the plunging vee of your uniform blouse. In his haze, the buttons seemed to strain teasingly over the subtle swells of your breasts rising and falling with each guileless inhale. He swallowed a torrid pulse at the glimpse of silky cleavage peeking out from that dangerous neckline.

Focus, dammit, he growled internally even as his hungry stare continued roving lower. He tried and failed to tear his eyes away from the way your skirt clung to those generous hips, the inviting flare before tapering down into a pair of thighs he suddenly longed to—

A sharp exhalation - more animal than human - punched from between Sakusa's gritted teeth like a battlefield canon. Atsumu jolted bodily back to reality, head swiveling to find his closest friend's expression had mutated into something thunderously unhinged. All traces of sardonic neutrality had evaporated from those flinty eyes, replaced by a roiling, nearly feral darkness Atsumu had never witnessed directed at him before.

Sakusa looked positively unraveled in that moment, posture coiled tighter than a cornered viper ready to strike. The slackness of his jaw and the chilling, predatory gleam slicing through the shadows beneath those hooded lids spoke to an unraveling far more visceral than mere irritation.

It was...possession. Carnal, all-consuming ownership seared through every synapse behind that smoldering glower.

A shiver of unease raked Atsumu's spine as that wordless message finally pierced his lustful daze. You were so much more to Sakusa than just a "baby sister" in the platonic sense. He looked at you - guarded you - like a feral beast sheltering its most precious cache, willing to eradicate any perceived threat with extreme prejudice.

The severity of Sakusa's lethally possessive energy managed to momentarily derail Atsumu's spiraling descent into distracted lascivity. That hazy inferno of forbidden desire calcifying behind his bellybutton banked down to a steady, smoldering ember of begrudging acknowledgment.

Message received, whether he liked it or not: this was Sakusa's territory. His dominion to control and shelter as he saw fit. Atsumu had simply been granted a fleeting glimpse behind the curtain into that darkly covetous world - one he very clearly wasn't welcome in, despite how tempting the glimpses proved.

You, meanwhile, seemed to remain utterly oblivious to the perilous exchange billowing out around you. With a tinkling giggle, you squeezed Atsumu's hand once more.

"I'll let you boys get reacquainted!" you beamed with sun-drenched warmth. "But we'll have to swap embarrassing stories about Kiyoomi soon!"

With a conspiratorial wink, you finally disentangled yourself to sashay deeper into the apartment - leaving a deafening silence and the lingering vapors of your floral aura in your wake.

For several electric moments, a weighted tension thick enough to choke on cloaked the room. Sakusa's brooding presence loomed with all the untamed peril of a powder keg awaiting an errant spark. Atsumu swallowed hard, struggling to find the normally glib words to ease his friend's visible unraveling.

"Omi-Omi..." he began slowly.

But the instant that nickname fell from his lips, Sakusa's granite facade shattered in a hailstorm of livid snarls.

"Don't you dare, Miya," he bit out with terrifying lucidity. "Don't even think about slithering an inch further into her orbit."

Dark eyes blazing with that same primal fire bored into Atsumu from across the room. Each enunciated syllable felt like its own scalding rebuke.

"She's off limits. Completely. No exceptions, no matter how...tempting you may find her."

Sakusa's jaw twitched as that last phrase grated forth - a muscle clenching behind his cheek with each guttural delivery. Atsumu understood the implication with frightening clarity. His friend might as well have declared a scorched earth policy on anyone who dared make a play for the most exquisite, corruptible treasure jealously guarded in his possession.

Because whether Sakusa explicitly stated it or not...that was precisely the nature of whatever unhinged obsession smoldered between him and the dazzling little force of nature roaming these halls. You were his undisputed territory - a coveted keep to be carefully curated and insulated against any encroachment whatsoever.

Even from Atsumu himself, it seemed.

Atsumu barely had a chance to decompress from Sakusa's scorching gauntlet before his solitude was again disrupted by the melodic lilt of your voice.

"Oh good, you found the guest room okay!"

He turned towards the open doorway to find you leaning against the frame with hip cocked at an angle that somehow elevated your air of casual, girlish insouciance into something utterly transfixing. The tight little cotton tank top you wore skated along the gentle curves of your figure like a second skin. Those delectable legs seemed to stretch for miles below the frayed hems of your tiny lounge shorts.

"I was just about to come find you to see if you needed any...assistance getting settled," you continued, tone dripping with an exaggerated sweetness that paradoxically raised the fine hairs along Atsumu's nape.

His mouth worked fruitlessly as he drank in the vision you presented - all tousled bedhead radiance and gloriously minimal clothing. The thin cotton did absolutely nothing to conceal the outline of your nipples. Something about the nonchalant, almost childlike manner in which you carried yourself in that immodest getup made the visuals that much more dizzying.

"Actually, I could use a little help getting unpacked," he heard himself murmur before his brain could catch up.

One sleek eyebrow arched in muted surprise, but you didn't seem remotely taken aback by the fraught undercurrents bleeding from Atsumu's stare and tone. If anything, your full lips only curved higher at the corners in silent welcome.

"Well then, lead the way," you purred in that same saccharine-laced timbre.

As you brushed past to sidle into the room, the delicate citrus bouquet of your natural scent washed over Atsumu in another searing wallop to his senses. His focus lasered onto the inviting dip of your waistline above those criminally tight shorts. The inseam fabric strained indecently, leaving very little to the salacious imagination about the feminine musculature cradled within.

"You'll have to let me know if you need anything else to make this room feel...homier," you murmured without preamble, settling onto the foot of his bed with a whisper of cotton against skin.

Atsumu suppressed a violent shudder at the implication dripping from your every languid syllable and hooded glance. The sheer wattage of your playful, inviting aura crackled through the air in an electric current sparking directly against his receptive nerve-endings. You looked every inch the sultry pinup - all effortless sexiness and sticky, girlish temptation wrapped into one intoxicating package.

More importantly, you seemed acutely aware of the flustered effect you radiated. Each coquettish bat of your lashes and glimpse of glossed lips carried the giddy vibration of a naughty secret dangling in the air. Atsumu was utterly transfixed and out of his depth in the best way possible. How could Sakusa's own flesh and blood emit such brazen, corrupting effervescence without even a hint of self-awareness or shame?

Then again, maybe this was just your way. Maybe you thrilled in weaving these delicious snares of temptation and watching men like Atsumu helplessly flounder within their silken, unassuming grasp.

He coughed roughly into his fist, determined not to wilt so easily beneath your charming assault no matter how feverish his thoughts spiraled. "I'll let ya know if I need anything...extracurricular," Atsumu rasped in what he hoped passed for an assuredly casual deadpan. "After all, it'd be rude not to sample the full hospitality while I'm a guest here."

Your easy laughter feathered across his exposed forearms in an electric trail of goosebumps. "You're too much, Atsumu-kun. But how generous of you to allow me to spoil you."

With that and a final inscrutable look smoldering through the fans of your lashes, you rose fluidly from the mattress before slinking out the same way you entered - like a vaporous siren fading back into the safety of obscured corners. Atsumu remained rooted in place, heart thundering against his ribs as the memory of your gaze dissipated like smoke through his fingers.

"Don't forget - dinner's in a few hours!" your windchime cadence trilled faintly from the hallway. "I hope you like the menu I have...whipped up for tonight!"

Atsumu groaned from deep in his chest, scrubbing one palm over his flushed features. If tonight's activities were anything akin to this "preview" appetizer, he feared whatever twisted fixation first sparked inside him earlier would only continue roaring out of control.

All because you seemed determined to gleefully pour accelerant on those smoldering coals of obsession every chance you could.

By the time Atsumu emerged for the evening meal, you and Sakusa were already seated at the small kitchen table amid a modest spread of grilled fish, steamed veggies, and fresh rice. Despite the humble fare, you'd somehow managed to elevate the presentation into something straight out of a rustic wilderness home and living photoshoot.

Tea lights flickered in tinted glass votives scattered artfully across the gingham tablecloth. An uncorked bottle of crisp white wine stood at the ready, already having bestowed a delicate rosy flush to your cheeks and a giggling effervescence to your mannerisms. Not that your mood needed any extra buoyancy tonight.

"Atsumu-kun, you finally decided to join us!" you sang out in that windchime timbre as he approached.

Sakusa's spine visibly stiffened like a plank in his seat at your cheerful greeting. But you seemed oblivious to the simmering thundercloud radiating off your sibling, too busy patting the empty chair between the two of you pointedly.

Atsumu felt rooted in place, torn between the instinctive longing to drink in your radiant proximity and the nagging chill of Sakusa's silent disapproval trying to dissuade him. For one wild moment, he fleetingly envisioned flipping the wooden table between you in a childish tantrum of frustration - shattering those artistic place settings and flickering flames while disrupting whatever sordid tension hummed around you in this space.

But just as quickly as the unbecoming thought manifested, you broke the spell with an easy laugh and shooing wave of your hand.

"Oh come now, no one's going to bite!" The words dripped from your plush lips like warmed honey, thick with the promise of being anything but innocuous.

That lilting beckon was all the encouragement Atsumu's id required. In three strides he'd covered the distance to drop heavily into the seat directly between you and Sakusa's brooding silence, close enough to make out every flirtatious flutter of your lashes and sip of wine flushing the exposed swells of your bosom a deeper rose hue.

Proximity, it seemed, only amplified each sinewy contour and fragrant enticement wafting from you in dizzying waves. Atsumu momentarily forgot how to breathe, much less speak or look anywhere beyond the brazen strip of cleavage winking at him through the deep plunge of your top's neckline. Even from his peripherals, he could make out the sloping feminine curves of your rib cage tapering into those tantalizing dips and valleys of warm skin.

Thoroughly entranced, Atsumu watched in a trance-like stupor as you leaned forward to reach across his lap for the bottle of wine - completely oblivious to the lewd vista you were broadcasting. His mouth flooded with saliva at the up-close tease of lace brushing against his thigh, the unobscured view plunging straight into tempting shadowed depths he desperately yearned to plunder like a conquering sailor sighting land for the first time.

"Let me top you off, Atsumu-kun," you purred in a mellifluous tone thick with suggestion.

Atsumu felt his pulse skyrocket as a few rogue droplets of condensation from the dripping bottle spilled over the curves of your exposed chest in slow trickles. Your breath caught in a soft gasp at the cool rivulet skating between your breasts while Atsumu sat utterly transfixed, paralyzed by the urge to lean in and chase that beaded path with his ravenous mouth.

This sinful torment dragged on for an infinite heartbeat, the three of you frozen in this torrid tableau like a renaissance-era fresco. Then Sakusa deliberately cleared his throat with the gravelly force of a tectonic grind.

"My sister's careless manners aside," he seethed in a tone of molten, barely-contained rage, "perhaps you should exercise a modicum of self-control at the dinner table. Miya."

The rebuke sliced through Atsumu's lustful trance with scathing clarity. Stomach churning, he quickly tore his gaze away to settle on the flickering candle flames between them - trying and failing to purge the debauched hunger clawing through his sinews.

You remained blithely unaware of the silent exchange crackling with tension, too busy delicately dabbing an embroidered napkin to the moisture stain darkening your sternum.

"Always a little spill here and there," you sighed airily without a hint of reproach. "But that's half the fun, isn't it?"

As if to punctuate the rhetorical, you pointedly dragged the napkin along the curves of your breasts in an exaggerated swipe - the picture of saccharine girlishness coupled with the most lurid self-indulgence. Atsumu wasn't certain if you truly grasped the weight behind your actions, or if you merely basked in deliberately stoking the smoldering torment clearly gripping him.

Regardless, he already knew with sinking resignation that this meal would prove nothing short of an agonizing marathon in temptation and wanton torture.

All while Sakusa looked on, hawk-eyed and seething, ready to swat away any perceived line-steppers with vicious territorial backlash.

Long after the dry husks of their dinner plates had been cleared, Atsumu remained haunted by the sights and scents of that tantalizing evening. He tossed fitfully atop the guest bedroom sheets, body thrumming with a familiar restless ache born from deprivation and obsession.

A soft rap at the door made him jolt upright, sheets pooling around his bare torso. Atsumu opened his mouth to call out, but the teasing lilt of your voice purred through the cracked entryway first.

"I'm not disturbing you, am I Atsumu-kun?"

You sidled into the dim glow with all the breezy elegance of a lingerie model - barely ensconced within a negligee of filmy lavender lace that skated along every lush curve. Strands of silken hair framed your face in a tousled, inviting halo as you regarded him through hooded lashes thick with bedroom promise.

Atsumu swallowed hard against the sandpaper roiling of his tongue, hyper aware of the way his athletic shorts tented obscenely. You didn't seem to register the offense, too busy trailing your fingers along the door frame with calculated idleness.

"I wanted to bid you a proper goodnight..." you husked, gaze roving overtly along the taut musculature of his abdomen. "And perhaps get your thoughts on tonight's dinner?"

Teeth sank into your plump lower lip - whether subconsciously or not, the act radiated the most decadent allure. Atsumu felt the first insistent prickles of perspiration bead along his hairline as you dipped your chin with a conspiratorial giggle.

"I'll admit, I may have been quite the...sloppy hostess with certain...spillages."

The husky timbre dripping from your lips conjured phantoms of the sinful vista you'd broadcasted earlier that evening - all smooth swells of exposed breasts and dabbing towelettes edging ever lower in indecent tease. Atsumu rasped out a withering groan before he could swallow it back.

That seemed to be the unspoken cue you were awaiting. With footfalls light as shadowdancing whispers, you crossed the room's threshold to perch yourself on the foot of his mattress. Slippered feet swung idly as you leaned in with the subtlest teasing sway of lavender lace.

"Did I...overstep any boundaries tonight, Atsumu-kun?" you asked in a honeyed murmur that bespoke far more than mere propriety. "I do hope I didn't make you too...uncomfortable at dinner."

The sweet scent of your perfume and shampoo enveloped Atsumu in a stiflingly floral gauze. His pulse thrummed a dissonant rhythm at your shameless proximity, roaring like a riptide against his heightened senses. What he wouldn't give to seize you by those tiny wrists and simply haul you beneath him until the last remnants of that guileless, flirty mask evaporated beneath his ravenous assault.

But he realized with a dawning sense of strangled defeat...the choice would never be his to make.

The heated brand of Sakusa's possession weighed too heavily in every languorous glance and coy mannerism. A brand seared so deeply into your marrow, it was written into your DNA's very architecture to seek permission and validation at his altar. Intentional or not, you were his avatar of temptation and desecration.

It was Atsumu's sworn duty to simply endure each new provocation and descent into lascivious obsession without intervention.

So when those full lips pursed into an anticipatory 'o' - clearly awaiting an answer about being too untoward - he released a shredded sigh of equal parts starvation and resignation.

"No...ya were just bein' yerself," Atsumu rumbled, voice graveled from the strain of restraint. "Nothin' for me to get uncomfortable about with that sorta sweet...hospitality."

Whether he imagined it or not, a flickered glinted behind those molten eyes at his capitulation. You eased back with a throaty chuckle before uncoiling from the sheets in one lithe, sinuous motion.

"Sweet dreams, Atsumu-kun," you bid with a breezing air that brought your perfumed aura wafting across his over-sensitized senses once more.

Long after your teasing presence retreated down the hallway, he remained upright and rooted in place - haunted by the sordid fantasies playing out like firelight dances across his psyche. Atsumu clutched the sheets in knotted fists as his jaw ground with escalating torment.

Until finally, the fraying restraint he still desperately clutched at snapped under the weight of his all-consuming fever pitch. With a shredded growl tearing from low in his chest, Atsumu surrendered to his roiling arousal, one fist flying to the throbbing erection tenting his shorts.

The friction of callused skin against the sensitive organ was a delicious form of self-flagellation. He stroked himself roughly, gritting his teeth against the pleasure-pain. In his fevered imagination, that hand belonged to another - one who watched his depravity from beneath hooded, knowing lashes.

You.

The forbidden vision of you - naked and panting and eager to please, all doe-eyed innocence and lascivious curiosity - flashed like a lightning bolt behind his eyes. The fantasy morphed, twisting into something far more perverse as he imagined you sprawled in an obscene splay of feminine limbs, lips swollen and cheeks flushed - but not from any pleasure he'd bestowed.

In his mind's eye, you remained impaled upon the unmistakable contours of a cock. Your thighs quivered as you struggled to accommodate the length splitting your pussy apart. But the angle of his imaginary thrusts wasn't one of pleasurable indulgence, or even of animalistic rutting. No, it was the brutal, selfish gouging of a feral beast claiming his territory.

The possessiveness radiating from those shadows behind you was unmistakable - an ineffable, unhinged energy radiating pure ownership.

Sakusa's.

The realization of whom you truly craved above all others sent Atsumu careening into the abyss, hips pumping and teeth bared in a snarl. The orgasm was a scouring, cleansing agony as thick ropes of cum spurted forth to spatter across the sheets in sticky stripes.

With a ragged grunt, he collapsed onto his back amidst the mess of cooling sweat and jizz. The aftershocks of pleasure pulsed through his veins, eclipsing his surroundings in a haze of endorphin-fueled oblivion.

When he finally came to, he was suddenly aware of the disturbing fantasy that had gripped him in its clutches. Atsumu groaned, scrubbing his palms over his face with a mixture of disgust and shame.

"What the fuck was that?"

The question echoed into the darkened room, a chilling portent he refused to acknowledge.

Long afterwards, the hazy vestiges of his indulgence refused to bring any sense of true sated release. If anything, Atsumu's thoughts only spiraled deeper into darker, grimmer obsession as the sweat and shame cooled from his brow in the guest room's dim shadows.

Restless paces resumed as his desperation escalated to an almost maddening degree. Perhaps some water would—

Wait. What was that sound?

Atsumu instinctively stilled, ear tuning to an indistinct rhythm bleeding from the far side of the apartment. As if being guided by a wraith's bony fingers, he found himself slipping into the hallway and trailing that siren summons. Deeper and deeper through Sakusa's apartment until he drew up outside a door slightly ajar - flickering shadows and indistinct

The muffled cadences echoing down the shadowed hallway felt like tendrils of insistent smoke curling beneath Atsumu's skin - intangible yet insidiously inescapable. Each indistinct murmur and rhythmic whisper carried the unmistakable undercurrent of something intimate, something meant to be experienced only by those within the sanctum's threshold.

He knew beyond all doubt that he should retreat. Put as much distance between himself and whatever blasphemous activities awaited discovery behind that slightly ajar door. Atsumu's baser survival instincts screamed for him to flee before his curiosity dragged him across the point of no return.

But that same poisonous undertow of obsession you had awakened within him during your siren song of innocence and corruption sang a far more compelling chorus. With each featherlight step forward, the suggestive refrains woven through the hushed gasps and creaking mattress springs sharpened into haunting clarity.

"...so good for me, sweet girl. Taking it so beautifully..."

Sakusa's low rasp punched through the heavy air with spine-shocking potency. The sheer, unapologetic undercurrent of unholy reverence scorching beneath each guttural intonation made the hairs along Atsumu's nape prickle to rigidity.

Scattered flashes of movement filtered through the cracked veil - just enough to paint a vivid mental portrait of what he was overhearing. Sakusa's massive, powerful frame loomed like a demon king. The bedding beneath him rippled with the force of his movements, the violent undulations punctuated by the telltale slap of flesh against flesh. Iron corded forearms flexed and bulged as hips pistoned in an unhinged, animalistic pace. His focus zeroed in on the obscured yet hauntingly familiar slender limbs twining amidst the obscured sheets and eddies of tangled fabric.

You. That was unmistakably you - spread wide and moaning beneath his punishing rhythm, utterly pliant and receptive to his every demand. Breasts bouncing with the force of each ruthless thrust and a litany of filthy endearments falling from kiss-bruised lips.

"My precious girl..." The entreaty dripped from Sakusa's lust-thickened vocals like hot wax burning along Atsumu's feverish nerve endings. "Made for my cock, weren’t you..."

The barest lilting of a giggle - your giggle - trickled through the veil in response to his sacrilegious edict. But there was a husky, strangled underpinning to the sound that hollowed Atsumu's core with reflexive disquiet. It was the wounded whimper of an innocent, wild thing enduring its domestication against its basest instincts.

Yet the muffled sighs and keens emanating from your prone figure spoke to a far more twisted, deviant truth: that you enjoyed being pinned and conquered. That you longed for someone to tame your wanton desires and bend you into submission, no matter how perverse the demands. A transfixed, horrified voyeur, Atsumu catalogued every sharp intake of breath and arched silhouette as you careened towards your orgasm.

Until finally, your cries crested in a single, visceral peaked that echoed like a gunshot down the empty corridor. Atsumu flinched as your lithe frame bowed bowstring-taut off the bed in convulsing release - translucent liquid dripping from the apex of your quivering thighs in an obscene torrent.

"Yes, just like that..." Sakusa murmured in a sibilant purr dripping with gratified menace. "Cum for me, sweet girl."

For several suspended heartbeats, only your residual whimpers and the steady drip of Atsumu's perspiration disturbed the weighted stillness. Then, the other man finally roused beside your pliant form with the predatory grace of a beast savoring its fresh kill.

Sakusa's imposing silhouette filled the doorway's thin sliver of illumination. Moonlight glazed his heavy-lidded gaze in lurid onyx, rendering those eyes as glinting obsidian pits exuding a feverish, singularly covetous hunger.

Some primitive instinct screamed at Atsumu to retreat before that searing, predatory stare pierced the concealing veil and transfixed him like a butterfly pinned to velvet. But he found himself inexorably magnetized, unable to tear away from the primal force radiating off Sakusa in insistent waves.

One suspended moment seemed to stretch into a sweating eternity, the air thickening with unspoken danger and forbidden temptation. Then the spell shattered - Atsumu gasped as if surfacing from deep waters, staggering backwards in a blind panicked escape.

Sakusa's unvoiced promise of merciless retaliation lapped at his heels like a starving beast while the hallway seemed to constrict around him with every frantic stride. That rapacious, all-consuming pull remained an oppressive miasma nipping at Atsumu's senses until he collapsed against the guest room door, shaking hands sealing him inside.

Only in the safety of smothering blackness did Atsumu allow his rigid composure to fracture. He had been offered an inseverable glimpse behind the veil into your and Sakusa's shadowed world - one of devout obsession and unrestrained carnal possession.

The illusion of your teasing innocence was forever shattered, replaced by that lurid, feverishly blooming allure no sane man could resist gravitating towards in abject fascination and disgust. Atsumu's fixation had been irrevocably seeded, taking root like a devouring parasite festering in the darkest recesses of his psyche.

As his hammering pulse gradually steadied in the gloom, Atsumu could have sworn the shadows themselves seemed to slither with silent, unnerving promise. Prickling awareness ghosted across his nape - carnal tendrils of Sakusa's possessive madness creeping through the ether to beckon Atsumu back towards the ravenous, unknowable depths of his unholy obsession once again.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Ok well i had the brief thought “what about an ER nurse Eddie au?” and then this popped fully formed into existence so fuck it Friday pt 2.. warnings for smoking and vague references to critically injured kids

“That doesn’t seem very healthy.”

Smoke curls up from the cigarette held loosely in Eddie’s hand. “It’s not, particularly.”

Buck’s hands are in his pockets as he strolls away from the glass doors out into the ambulance bay where Eddie is doing the mature, professional equivalent of playing hide and seek. He comes to a stop barely a foot or two away from where Eddie leans against grimy concrete. “Didn’t know you were a smoker.”

“I’m not,” Eddie sighs, “Particularly.” He looks over Buck’s face as he takes a drag, cataloging bruises and cuts. He hadn’t been the one to look him over before he was discharged, probably because he was out here avoiding having to do so. “Only when it’s- only after the bad shifts.” And only once a month, even if the bad shifts come again and again. He bought this pack in January, it’s stale as shit.

Buck’s eyes follow the smoke as it drifts skyward. “Rough one today?”

Eddie thinks he probably doesn’t have to explain to Buck that it’s sometimes better when a kid is dead on arrival so he doesn’t have to try his best to administer care he knows will be useless. He doesn’t have to explain a day where nothing goes right and he loses more people than he can save and he still has to walk away from someone’s parent or wife or sister, left behind forever in a waiting room on the worst day of their life, and go on to lose the next person too. Doesn’t have to explain why he’s out here, and not in there. “Mm. We’ve got this repeat customer, always hate to have him back.”

Buck’s eyes flick to his face before they settle somewhere around his elbow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He seems like a nice guy. I worry about him. He’s here too often.”

Buck doesn’t look up. “What was he in for this time?”

“Minor concussion. Bruising. Lacerations.” Eddie sucks cancer into his lungs. “Heard a house fell on him.” Exhales it into the night.

Buck does look up this time, eyes a darker blue out here in the shadows. “Part of a house. Just a staircase and the- like, the balcony, really.”

“Maybe he should stay away from those.”

“From houses?” Buck asks, half his mouth twitching into a smile.

Eddie rests his head on the wall behind him. “Guess that’s not really practical.”

“No.” Buck is quiet for a moment, one hand slipping out of his pocket and running through his hair. Eddie wonders what he looks like, when he’s not here. He’s more styled, sometimes, when things aren’t very bad. He wonders if he’s usually all gelled up and neat. Eddie kind of likes the loose curls. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Making your day worse.” Buck looks genuinely apologetic, and Eddie shakes his head.

“The guy made it out okay this time.” Buck is just close enough that Eddie can kick at his boot with his sensible orthopedic sneaker. “You didn’t even need stitches.”

“That’s good.” Eddie’s left foot is pressed along the inside of Buck’s right, and Buck is staring down at them. “His favorite nurse was on break. I would have missed you if someone else had to do them.”

Eddie laughs, just a few bursts of soundless oxygen. “You gotta find new ways to see me before something happens that I can’t fix.”

Buck moves, taking the few steps necessary to lean against the wall beside him. Carefully, he takes the cigarette from Eddie’s hand, holds it between two of his own fingers, and takes a drag. Eddie watches it happen like he’s monitoring somebody’s pulse ox, and when Buck coughs he laughs again, louder this time. “Fuck,” Buck says, laughing too. “Thought that would be cooler than it was.”

“Smoking isn’t cool, firefighter Buckley,” Eddie says, taking the cigarette back and pulling from it again between smiling lips.

“Hm,” Buck says, grinning out into the night. Then he sighs, and rolls his head along the concrete to look at Eddie. “I think there’s nothing you can’t fix.”

They’re very close. “There’s lots I can’t fix.”

Buck shrugs like he disagrees. “I also think I’d like to find other ways to see you.”

Buck’s eyes are even more in shadow at this angle, and they’re the color of the lake back in El Paso that he and a bunch of kids went to after graduation, drunk off beer somebody’s cousin got for them, skinny dipping with breathless terrified delight under bright constellations. “Then ask me.”

Buck inhales as Eddie exhales. “What time’s your shift end?”

“5:30 AM. So, probably 6:15.”

Buck traces the two fingers he’d used to hold the cigarette down Eddie’s arm. “You wanna get breakfast with me?”

“Yes. I would.”

Buck smiles, and Eddie snubs out the cigarette on the wall between them. “I’ll meet you here?”

“Alright.” He takes a step forward, then a step to the right so he’s standing in front of Buck. “Two hours.”

“Uh huh.”

He should really get back inside. They’re understaffed, as always, and there are too many patients, as always, and not enough beds, as always. “See you then.” He doesn’t make any move to leave.

“See you then,” Buck almost whispers. He leans forward, and Eddie still doesn’t move, so he presses a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth for just a moment. His lips are warm. Eddie hadn’t noticed it was cold outside.

Buck pulls back and leans against the wall again. Eddie smiles, puts a hand in his pocket, and walks back toward the doors.

[commsroom]

eiffel and lovelace have approximately 80% similar personal styles, which would delight him and horrify her. like, tank tops, cargo shorts, flannel jacket, same kind of old sneakers and sandals, etc. lovelace's fashion sense is just a little sportier; some basketball shorts, jerseys, and new york liberty logo tanks in place of eiffel's walmart discount rack selection of pop culture tees. that kind of thing. if hera could dress the way she wanted to, she'd have a very... folk festival woman at a farmer's market type of vibe. colorful, flowy, nature-y patterns. but minkowski is so much harder to imagine in casual clothing. a big part of it is how much she's separated her work life from her personal life, but even then... she just feels like someone who is practical about it to a fault. she doesn't dress badly, she's always put together, she just dresses. kind of like a mom in an old navy catalog.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Seven Deadly Sins pop-up event.

Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma'am

Prompt: Envy | Word Count: 666 | Rating: M | CW: Talk of Off-Screen Sex, Recreational Weed Use, Period-Typical Objectification of Women | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Off-Screen Gareth/OFCs | Tags: Gareth's on a Hot Streak, None of the Rest of Them Can Understand It, At All

Eddie thinks it's a fluke. A random hot-streak that's gonna end as fast as it started. 

But it doesn't. 

Gareth picks up one, three, then a dozen girls. Nearly every stop they make, Gareth finds a way to get laid. It's honestly getting impressive. For a kid that got no action in high school, he's sure hit his stride once they hit the road. Goddamn.

"Are we gonna talk about it?" Jeff asks, flicking the lighter, flame burning bright, as he holds it up for Eddie to get the joint going. 

"I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. It's a travesty," Goodie says dryly, and Eddie and Jeff both laugh at him.

Gareth's gone, out for the night, or at least well into it, and the three of them are hanging out in the van, because they don't need another angry motel manager whining about the skunky smell upon check-out.

"He's a little twerp, this's unholy," Goodie continues and Eddie leans into Jeff, cackling.

"I wish I had that kind of confidence," Jeff admits, passing the joint back to Eddie. "To get shot down, and just move along to the next one."

"I mean, if you get enough nos you're eventually gonna get a yes," Eddie reassures, "It's just if you're willing to accept all the rejection first."

"Clearly he'll get rejected all day and all night to get some pussy," Goodie snarks.

They all laugh.

When this all started, Eddie gave Gareth the safe sex lecture, loaded him down with condoms, and told him to have fun, but be safe. The last thing they need is…well, anything that could come from not wrapping it up.

Mama Jones would kill Eddie if anything happens to her boy while they're out here. It's his job to keep all of them safe and in line, at least somewhat. 

"How is he even doing it?" Jeff asks.

"Confidence," Eddie answers, "Charisma. Charm."

Gareth has an easy way about him, a swagger and smile that he's learned to work. Eddie watched it evolve. The kid was never told he couldn't do something, so now he thinks he's god's gift to women, and for some reason, the women are believing this.

It's a pretty great trick he's got going, Eddie's not gonna lie. 

"Cockiness," Goodie adds to the list, interrupting Eddie's thoughts.

They all burst out laughing, and are still cackling when there's rhythmic pounding on the side of the van, making them all jump and then laugh louder. Gareth.

Eddie slides open the door to let Gareth climb in. He reeks of perfume and sex, and they all wave their hands around, like the smell of him is stronger than the skunky weed cloud they're sitting in.

"That was fast," Jeff says.

"Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am," Gareth answers. 

"Got your dick wet, so now you're good enough to hang with us," Goodie says dryly.

"Don't be jealous," Gareth says, snagging the joint right from Goodie's fingers. He gets kicked for his trouble, but doesn't seem to mind.

"That was fast," Eddie echoes, "Did you even leave the parking lot?"

"Nope," Gareth says, and passes back to Eddie. 

"Well, I'm sure she enjoyed the quick encore you gave her," Goodie goads.

"I know what I'm doing. She left with no complaints," Gareth answers, but digs in his pocket, "But I did leave with this, though."

Gareth tosses a bra onto the floor of the van. It's pink, and lacey with a tiny bow.

"Classy, kid," Eddie says, while Goodie toes at it with his sneaker.

"Bras are expensive, she's gonna be pissed," Goodie says, and they all turn to look at him.

"How do you know how much a bra costs?" Gareth asks. 

"I know things. I read."

"Yeah, you been reading the lingerie pages of the Sears catalog," Jeff teases, and Goodie flips him off.

Eddie realizes that's probably exactly where Goodie's gotten this info, and he tosses his head back, laughing. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: Before there was the internet, there were the models in the Sears catalog. 👙

[gabessquishytum]

Naked Chef Hob

Hob has a cooking show that started on YouTube where he cooks in the nude with just an apron on -- depending on what he was cooking the apron was either around just his waist or a full apron (splat-ery things are going to splat!).

Every time he bakes, with just his (small) apron around his modesty, and gets flour or sugar streaks on his chest he goes viral. (The gifset from the episode where he frosted a cake & pink frosting got smeared near his nipple for the last 20 minutes of the show gets reblogged constantly.)

Hob is actually a very good chef and he started the YouTube thing when he lost a bet - it's not his fault the interwebs like to catalog his tattoos and his manbun broke the internet that one time. 😎 Despite his viral fame, he still cooks at his small restaurant.

The youtube thing was never supposed to be anything other that a forfeit, a lark. Well now, HFGTV wants Hob to take his "show" to tv. Being naked on YouTube is different than being naked on a channel that used to host Alton Brown,,,,and now hosts Dream d'Endless.

Hob doesn’t know if he can be in the studio, where Dream talks very seriously about fresh ingredients and food history, with nothing more than a branded apron covering his bits.

Of course, the pilot is a hit; of course, after his 2nd taping when Dream accidentally (on purpose) swung by to watch him work,,,,he kept. stopping. by. to watch Hob cook (hopefully, sexily) covered in the sauce of the day. Only problem, Dream never stays long enough for Hob to talk to him - it was all just smolder-y eyes. Hob is really glad the aprons are thick or he would be cooking on pornhub.

NAKED CHEF!!!! This is so good.

The show is a hit, which is great! Except that people keep recognising Hob in public now. It's great for the restaurant, they're booked out every night. But not so great when Hob is just trying to go grocery shopping, and gets accosted by fans. His YouTube show was never THIS big. He actually has a small breakdown about the whole situation in the studio bathroom (dressed only in his apron and sneakers because he may cook naked but he always wears shoes, he is NOT going to drop a knife on his foot AGAIN).

Anyway. Bathroom breakdown. Naturally, Dream comes in and sees him naked AND snotty. It's a nightmare.

But Dream is... very very nice. He wipes Hob’s face for him, and wraps his arm around his shoulder. He comforts Hob with the knowledge that the novelty will soon wear off, and people will stop bothering him. Dream solemnly says that anyway, people only notice Hob because he's so sexy. He could always try being less sexy?

Hob finally laughs and leans against Dream because this is his one opportunity and he's not going to miss it. Dream starts rubbing little circles into the small of Hob’s back, and it's like the dam finally breaks.

Hob just about makes it through making his Malaysian curry (artfully splattered in his chest hair, as always) and when they wrap up for the day, Dream is still there. Waiting, this time. He diligently swipes the curry off Hob’s chest with his finger, and his eyes are even more smoldery up close.

It's probably inevitable. But Hob still can't quite believe it. Dream sucks him off in the bathroom where he was just crying!! He ducks underneath Hob’s apron and stays there until he's done, and Hob just knows that the apron will smell of sex and Dream forever now. He might have to take it home with him, actually.

Or maybe he'll just take Dream home instead. It's his night off, and he can always get a table for two at the restaurant. He won't be naked, but it only seems fair to finally give Dream something to unwrap!

[sneakerhistory]

Nike Zoom Flight 95

[nico-di-genova]

One Day

Written for @somethingsomethingwords’s and their request for:

Once again, this one was written in my notes app in a frenzy. Apologies in advance for any typos.

It is raining when Lance enters Aston hospitality on Friday afternoon, the misty sort of rain that’s cold and irritating and glazes the steps in a fine layer of water that he’s busted his ass on once before. He’s not looking to repeat the humiliation, so he’s careful when he makes his way up the steps and into the building. Which is maybe why he doesn’t notice Fernando until he’s already through the doors and scuffing his shoes against the entry mat to dry them.

AirPods in, music playing, he’s doubly distracted - until a baby’s laugh pulls his attention up from where he’d been kicking loose dirt from his sneakers. There’s a lot of noises he’s come to expect from the paddock, but the gurgling giggle of an infant is not one of them.

He glances up with a confused expression, half expecting to see an engineers happy family crowded around one of the tables. Instead it is Fernando that greets him.

“Lance!” He hoists the baby higher in his arms, angles the kid so Lance is making mutually befuddled eye contact with the newborn. “Look!”

Lance looks. The baby looks back, chubby cheeked, bit of drool dripping down their chin, gripping one of Fernando’s fingers with a twitchy little hand. They’re wearing headphones bigger than their own head, green, Aston Martin logo branding the side.

Fernando’s smile is wide enough that Lance can see his dimples, the lines that form with the crinkling of his eyes. It’s wide enough that Lance’s heartbeat is thrown off kilter.

He swallows.

“Come say hello,” Fernando commands, and Lance listens. Shoes squeaking across the laminate flooring, water slicking off his raincoat and leaving a trail. There’s a couple standing next to Fernando who look a little too much like the kid. They’re wearing matching Aston merch and the lanyards that mark them as guests, fans.

“Uh, hi,” he greets them first, waving awkwardly even though he’s standing right in front of them. They don’t seem to mind, seem excited enough that he’s talking to them in the first place.

He asks them how their day has been as he slides off the raincoat and throws it over the back of a chair. Asks if they’re enjoying themselves as he puts his AirPods back in their case. Trying to be friendly in the way the socials team always hopes he will be. It’s easy to do when there’s no camera in his face and pre rehearsed talking points he’s supposed to hit.

Fernando elbows him in the ribs with the arm that’s not holding the baby, but is attached to the index finger the kid is holding tightly.

“Look at him,” he coos, in a voice Lance has never heard from him before. Something new, soft, similar to the way he talks to Chloe’s dog when he visits Lance during breaks, but different enough that Lance has to catalog it away as something new. His heart thuds again.

He has to lean to get close to the kid, close to Fernando, brushes a finger along the top of the kids fist that’s tight around Fernando’s knuckle.

He hasn’t interacted with babies much. Being the baby of the family himself and all. He had a cousin twice removed that he’d held at a family reunion once when he was fifteen, but that kid had been squirmy and crying and Lance had quickly passed him back to whatever distant aunt had handed him over in the first place. This kid seems much more mild mannered, maybe it’s the headphones muffling the noise around them, or maybe it’s just the effect Fernando has.

Fernando who keeps smiling, who’s looking over the top of the baby’s head to direct that smile at Lance. Both of them, Fernando and the kid, looking at him with big brown eyes and-

Oh.

Lance figures it’s probably a good thing he lacks the productive means to give Fernando a child. Figures he probably would have been willing to try the moment Fernando passed the baby back to his actual parents.

“He’s cute, no?” Fernando asks, shifts closer to Lance so the baby starts to reach for him instead. Lance offers his own finger, lets the kid grab it with his chubby little hand. His other hand rubs awkwardly at the kids back, a pantomime of behavior he’s seen from parents before. The baby grins at him, gummy and slobbery and babbles something.

Fernando, nonsensically, babbles back. Makes a string of noises that pulls the baby’s attention back to him and then they’re both giggling at each other.

Lance feels suddenly warm, flushes through with pure yearning and blames it on the constricting fabric of the Aston polo around his throat.

“His name is Presley,” Fernando says, turning back to Lance, like he wasn’t just speaking in senseless sounds.

It shouldn’t make Lance’s stomach do cartwheels, and yet he finds the feeling in his gut anyway. Whatever, he’s twenty-five, blame it on his ticking biological clock and the paternal nurturing he’d been comfortably raised in.

Fernando keeps smiling, and yeah, it’s not a new expression but it almost is in the way that his eyes go soft and his nose crinkles when he goes back to baby-talking with Presley. Lance can’t stop staring, can’t seem to make his heartbeat go back to normal. Can’t stop seeing a future where Presley isn’t Presley, but instead a kid of their own.

And oh. Oh. Oh no.

“Do you want kids?” He asks later, in the hotel, when they both naked and sharing the covers.

Fernando’s fingers stall the dance they’d been doing along Lance’s side pausing at his tattoo and then tracing along the Hebrew there.

“Why?” He asks, as Lance shudders at the touch, “you are pregnant?”

Lance scoffs, “Yep. Pissed on the stick last night actually. Congratulations, you are the father.”

Fernando laughs, pauses where he’d been mouthing along the line of Lance’s neck, his breath hot when he says, “Lucky me.”

In the muted light of the singular lamp they’ve left on this is simple. Lance is warm, sated, the press of Fernando’s body solid against him.

“I���m being serious though,” he presses, turns his head enough that Fernando is forced to pull away and make eye contact with him.

“Do you?”

Fernando shrugs, “Eventually, yes. Maybe.”

“Oh,” Lance says, lacking the ability to think of anything better. Something heavy settles on his chest. Fernando’s hand is quick to replace it, palm flat over his heart.

“But not now. We have time.”

We. Lance swallows. Fernando must feel the way his heartbeat thuds, mistakes it for apprehension when really it is relief at the realization that Fernando does not mean for him to be a stand-in. Realization that Fernando intends to keep him, put the comforting weight of a ring on his finger one day, maybe, build a home with him. Lance realizes he maybe wants that.

“If you want to. If not then, no, I will be okay without. I just want you.”

Lance thinks of Fernando’s smile when he’d held Presley. So raw and honest, open in a way that Lance is only used to seeing when Fernando looks at him. Or when he looks at his sister, a look reserved for family. For people he loves.

“I want to,” he says, and means it. “Eventually, yeah. You’d be a good dad.”

Lance would know, he’s somewhat of an expert in the fantastic parents department - got the team and the boyfriend to show for it.

Fernando smiles, soft, fond. His hand comes up to cup Lance’s neck in a way that is familiar.

“One day, then,” he promises.

Lance smiles back, “One day.”

After the rings of course, after he beats Fernando in a race, after tomorrow and the day after that, because they have time. Lance is, of course, already thinking about the wedding band he’s going to slide onto Fernando’s finger though. He’s always twenty steps ahead like that, drivers instincts and all.

Fernando is probably thinking the same thing.

When they kiss it is with the hint of the future. A wedding, and a shared home, and a baby’s laugh all caught up in the hotels ac kicking on. Present and future entwined with Fernando’s quiet deceleration of, ‘I love you’ that gets lost somewhere in the space they share.

[ogindex]

Vintage Japan Nike ad, Street Jack mag January (2001)

[t4tails]

In universe, there must be a Riddler subredit full of alpha grindset finance bros who idolize him. It is mostly inspirational quotes plastered over pictures of Edward, people's medicore Riddler cosplays, and the type of insipid pseudo intellectual discussions you would expect from this type of guy. Edward hates them because they use images of him he hates , buy cheap, ugly looking polyester suits, do not know how to knot a tie properly, and sometimes wear sneakers while doing so. At least the women who photosop flower crowns onto his mugshots, write questiable erotica about his person, and cataloge the minutia of his criminal career send him their underwear to Arkham.

the idea that theres a group of people that idolize the riddler and would probably do whatever he asked but he doesnt take advantage of this because he thinks they suck is really really funny