#Way too aggressive and easily frustrated though

[bring-forth-his-sac]

Not sure if this is too far but maybe some dads best friend mixed in with close calls and very rough stuff if ya know what I mean 😏

Stained

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings/Tags:  rough sex, degrading name calling (slut), mentions of a facial, cheating (soz Lucille), alcohol consumption, hair pulling, semi-public sex

It happened again.

By now, Negan knows the routine. Argue. Say shit neither one of them can take back. Lucille kicks him out or else Negan reaches his limit and storms out. Make up later. It’s their pattern.

But tonight is different. 

They were supposed to go to a friend’s house for dinner, which threw a wrench in their usual routine. A part of Negan still wanted to go. Sure, he dreaded the tension-filled conversation, Lucille throwing in her usual passive-aggressive digs, but there was a silver lining: he could vent afterward. He needed to. To someone who’d actually get it, without the sugar-coating.

Negan has been friends with your dad for years, long enough to know they could trade a few sharp words and move on without it turning into some dramatic scene. Sometimes, Negan could really use that kind of blunt, no-nonsense talk with another guy. 

But hell, he wouldn’t mind shooting the shit with you either. You always got his humor and honestly, you were the only one who could make him laugh without trying so damn hard.

Instead of your home, he finds himself at a bar. Lucille was quick to call dibs on going solo to your parents house, not wanting to deal with Negan in front of friends. 

He left without another word, driving to the local watering hole like a man on a mission.

The bar is the usual kind of dimly lit place that doesn't ask questions. Negan doesn’t need questions tonight. What he needs is a drink and a distraction.

He settles onto a chair by the bartop and orders a whiskey, the burn of it going down smoother than he expected.

Lucille’s parting words echo in his head, the sharpness of her dismissal stinging all over again. The way she had shut him down so easily, almost like telling off a child. Negan can feel the frustration creeping back in. He could’ve used a laugh tonight but instead, he’s stuck here. 

Alone, as usual.

On a typical night, Negan hates how quiet the bar is. He can’t stand silences, everything about it gets on his nerves. The patrons are too tight to even cough up a quarter to play a song on the jukebox. It always feels like the kind of place where the air is thick with nothingness and every minute stretches on longer than the last.

Negan doesn’t have the luxury to brood over that on this particular night. Instead, the loud chattering of a group of girls fills the bar, cutting through the silence like a chainsaw.

Just a handful of them crowd around a table, all bright-eyed and wide smiles, laughing as though the weight of the world hasn’t yet found them.

His brow furrows as he watches them out of the corner of his eye. They’re not doing anything wrong but the racket they’re making feels invasive in the normally subdued space. 

Every time they laugh, the sound hits him like a hammer to his skull, ringing in his ears. It’s like a constant, steady hum of disruption. Negan can appreciate a little noise and some new life in the place, but tonight?

Tonight, it’s too much. It’s frustrating him. He takes another swig of his whiskey but it doesn’t quite block out their high-pitched, frantic laughter. 

One of the girls spills a drink, and the others burst into a fresh round of giggles, the kind that seems to echo through the entire room. 

He’s about to look away when another girl quickly picks up the drink and continues to say something. She's sitting across from the others, leaning forward and talking animatedly, her hands flying through the air with each word. 

One of her hands subtly goes to her thigh and she tries to discreetly yank down her dress. 

Negan wonders if women know they don’t need to wear tight mini dresses or the crop tops to get laid. But he supposes that’s the joy of being a  youngster. They do stupid shit, wear stupid shit, drink stupid shit. Some grow out of it while others still say stupid shit and end up drinking alone at a bar.

His eyes flicker over her figure. Negan can’t see her face, the angle of her head and the way her body is half-turned away from him hides it. 

Negan doesn’t mind. He can still appreciate her thighs and the curve of her ass from his seat at the bar. Her hair and back covers most of her upper body too so Negan can’t appreciate any titty action just yet.

His fingers drum against the bar and he catches himself, realizing that he’s staring. He quickly looks away, taking another drink of his whiskey as if the liquid will wash away whatever was just stirred up inside him.

In a way, Negan’s glad you’re not like that. You’re pretty without all the extra shit. Since elementary school, you've never been the type to crave attention or stand out in a crowd. Yet you're not the kind of introvert who keeps completely to yourself either.

You fall somewhere in the middle, comfortable with who you are without needing to put on a show for anyone.

There’s been plenty of times you’ve been the most entertaining thing to Negan at your parent’s dinner parties. He loves the witty remarks you toss his way and how you both quietly poke fun at the evening while the others remain oblivious. Those little moments are the highlight of his night.

But, of course, there are also those other times. When a careless comment from your father or mother hits a nerve and you retreat into yourself, disappearing into the background. Negan can always tell when that happens; the sharpness in your eyes dulls and the sarcastic remarks you usually offer him vanish. 

He wonders if you’ll be disappointed tonight, when it’s only Lucille who arrives for dinner. You make the dinners bearable for him but surely you reciprocate that feeling. Both of you are as thick as thieves in your own subtle way.

The woman he’s been checking out stands, saying one more quick thing to her friends before she turns and heads for the bar.

Maybe it’s because you’re already clouding his thoughts that seeing you in person hits him even harder. He’s imagined you a thousand times, with your quiet demeanor and the casual clothes you wear that make you almost invisible.

The mental image of you is so vivid, it’s like you’ve been etched into his mind… yet here you are, so different than that.

You do the same action that you did earlier, yanking down the end of your dress as it threatens to ride up your thigh. Negan lets out a gulp, not sure how he feels at the fact that he’s been checking out his friend’s daughter.

Turning back to say something to your friends, you let out a laugh as you clog along in your high heels to the bar. 

This is exactly what you needed. A night away from all your worries and stresses… and your parents. 

Besides, you're an adult now. You’re allowed to have fun! Whether that be crazy golf, drinking until you need your stomach pumped or smoking whatever. No matter how much guilt or pressure your parents try to put on you, tonight is yours. You’re no longer bound by their expectations. You can take a break from being the person they want you to be and just be.

Maybe that’s why the words “Lydia found out her boyfriend cheated so everyone was going to go over to hers and cheer her up!” came out of your mouth when you told your parents you couldn’t stay for dinner instead of “We all want to go out and down tequila shots!”.

Whether your actual reasoning would’ve worked or not, it doesn’t matter because they let you out with no more than a remorseful look as you left to help your heartbroken friend.

“Get more salt sachets!” a giddy Lydia calls out as you clip-clop up to the bar. 

You’re so caught up in your own little bubble of excitement that you barely notice the guy at the bar. You wait beside him, leaning on the counter and waiting until the bartender comes over. When you feel his eyes linger, you glance his way, wondering if you’ve found some fun for the night. 

You look over, pre-emptively batting your eyes lashes everything seems to slow down. There, standing just a few inches away, is Negan. Your dad’s friend. 

You freeze for a moment, excuses caught in your throat, as you realize that it’s not just the familiarity of his face that’s throwing you off. It’s the way he's looking at you. Negan’s expression is unreadable but the way his gaze lingers has a weight that catches you off guard.

You try to swallow the sudden lump in your throat. What is he thinking? How long has he been standing there? And why, of all people, did it have to be him?

You hate it. On one hand, you want to ignore him. Maybe give him a nod of acknowledgment before pretending like you’re not in front of someone you’ve known since you were a kid. 

But on the other hand, you know what Negan’s like and the last thing you want is for him to loudly draw attention to your… friendship? 

Ushering yourself closer, you hurriedly whisper “What are you doing here?!”.

Negan struggles to maintain his composure, forcing himself to keep his eyes on your face instead of letting them wander. 

“What am I doing here?” His jaw clenches as if readying himself to barrage you with questions “What are you doing here, dressed like that? Are you drunk? Do your parents know you’re here? I swear….”.

You scoff defensively, glancing down at the glass of whiskey in front of him. “Oh so I can’t go out with friends but you’re allowed to drown your sorrows?”.

Negan doesn’t even entertain your question, immediately waving it off. “That’s not the damn point,” he hisses “I’m not the one with my tits out and stumbling around a bar!”. 

He shoots some other patrons a glare as they try to eavesdrop, making sure they keep their eyes to themselves. You gasp, putting a hand on your chest. Maybe your dress is a lower cut than what you’d usually wear but your boobs aren’t about to pop out of the thing!

“You— you can’t talk to me like that!” despite how your face flushes, you stand your ground. You’ve always known Negan to be raunchy but not once has he ever spoken to you like this before.

"Can't talk to you like what?” Negan doesn’t give you the time to ponder that rhetorical question, crossing his arms as he continues to lecture you.

“You think you look appropriate right now? You think your parents would approve of this outfit?" his eyes narrowing dangerously.

“I’m out with friends, not at dinner with my parents!” You defend, deciding to add in your own jab “Besides, I thought you were at theirs tonight, having dinner with Lucille… not drinking alone”.

Negan can’t keep still. He’s too antsy, wanting to shake some sense into you but trying to stay cool in public.

With an elbow propped up on the bar, Negan points a finger at you “Watch it, before I haul your ass outta here”.

This is the closest you’ve ever seen Negan to real anger. Whenever he’s been at your house, it’s always been the aftermath of it you’ve witnessed. His sullen mood and Lucille’s small comments at him whenever the conversation allowed; both of them handling their simmering frustration in their own way. 

To not only witness his anger first hand, but to have it directed at you… you’re not sure if you want to pout or get on your knees right then and there.

You scoff, trying to seem unbothered. “Enjoy your drink, I’m going back to my friends,” you say it with just enough sass, turning to retreat back to your table.

You know it’s a pointless endeavour. 

Negan won’t allow it. And you know it.

His hand snakes around your upper arm, his grip firm but not painful. "Oh no you don't,” he tugs you back, urging you to face him again “we’re leaving. Now”.

You were hoping for a little more time here, a bit more back-and-forth, rile him up before hopefully breaking down those stubborn walls. 

“You can leave, but I’m not!” you snap, digging your heels in.

He leans in close, his anger flaring back to life as his voice drops into a dangerously low growl. “I’m not asking you, sweetheart, I’m telling you” the pet name slips out like a command, making something tighten in your chest. 

“You’re drunk, you’re dressed like a goddamn slut and you’re not staying in this bar another second”.

Is it bad you can feel the heat between your legs as he degrades you? How is it your dad’s friend, someone you kinda considered your own friend too, is calling you a slut so easily? And why does he keep trying to steal quick glances at your chest?

Heh, well, you know the answer to that last question.

Still, you play your part and you slap his arm. “Don’t call me that! Jackass” you say with a defiant huff.

His eyes widen but Negan doesn’t acknowledge the slap in the way you wanted him to. Instead of continuing to bicker, he grabs his leather jacket from the back of his chair and throws it on, his movements sharp. 

“Jackass?” he repeats, clearly not amused.

“Yes! You’re acting like a major jackass!” you fire back, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in your voice. 

Negan grins, that mocking, almost wicked smile spreading across his face as steers you away from the bar.

“Yeah, and you know what else I am?” he asks “The one dragging your drunk, barely dressed ass out of this bar before you make a complete fool of yourself”.

He starts tugging you toward the exit. “I had like… two drinks!” you protest, stumbling slightly to keep up.

But just as he’s about to drag you out the door, you use all the momentum you have to shove him into the door right next to the exit. 

The ladies toilets. 

Your friends giggle as you both disappear from sight, assuming you’re hooking up with the stranger. They’ve always known you have a thing for older men but little do they know who he really is…

Negan stumbles into the bathroom, his mind still trying to process how he went from the exit to somehow ending up in here instead. His brow furrows as he takes in the situation.

Before he can say a word, you speak, your voice steady but firm “Negan, I’m not leaving”.

He steps closer “Yes. You. Are. We’re leaving. Right. Now”. His hand shoots out to grab your arm, but you’re already one step ahead. You sidestep him, narrowly avoiding his grip.

“No!” you exclaim, more forcefully than you intended. Hoping to get through to him, you soften your tone, offering a sliver of vulnerability. “My parents don’t know I’m here… they think I’m just at a friend’s place” you admit.

Your words hang in the air, a soft confession of rebellion. But Negan’s response is as expected—he rolls his eyes, the action exaggerated as if he’s heard this excuse a thousand times before. 

“I don’t give a fuck if your parents ground you for a year!” He snaps, his voice low but intense “You’re not staying here dressed like that and acting like this”.

“Acting like what? Having fun?”.

His jaw clenches. “By acting like you’re only worth a quick fuck in the backseat of someone’s car,” Negan replies, the words carrying a weight that makes your stomach sink.

The insult stings, but you refuse to back down. With a small scoff, you shake your head and tilt your chin up slightly. “You’re telling me you didn’t do that when you were young?” you challenge.

Negan’s expression falters for a split second, his lips twitching as if he’s about to crack a grin but he maintains his steely expression. 

He exhales sharply through his nose, his stance stiffening. “I did it because I’m a guy,” he mutters, his tone clipped “so it’s different”.

“That’s misogynist,” you point out as you cross your arms, unintentionally making your cleavage more noticeable.

For a moment, you catch Negan’s gaze flickering downward before snapping back up to your eyes, his face strained. 

His lips press together in a tight line, his eyes briefly closing in frustration as he fights to maintain his composure. “Fuck, can you just…” Negan gestures vaguely at you “Cover up or something?”.

Without waiting for an answer, Negan turns away, running a hand through his dark locks. 

You let out a quiet sigh. “I didn’t bring a jacket,” you say flatly, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

He mutters something under his breath, too quiet for you to catch. With a dramatic huff, he whips off his leather jacket. “Of course you didn’t. On top of everything else, you want to get hypothermia too” His voice drips with exasperation.

Negan turns back to you, holding out the jacket, his eyes briefly look to your chest again before quickly darting back to your face, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You catch the slight pause, the way his gaze betrays him, but you choose not to acknowledge it— at least, not directly. You stare him down, not hiding the smirk plastered on your face. Then, in one swift movement, he practically hurls the jacket at you. 

“Here,” he says, the word a little too resigned.

Instinctively, you catch the jacket, but you don’t put it on. Instead, you hold it in your arms, letting it drape over them as you roll your eyes at his comments. 

“I’m not some delicate little flower,” you tease, your smirk becoming playful “maybe I like it rough”.

The words slip out without thinking, a little too flippantly, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

Maybe those two drinks were enough to get you tipsy after all.

Negan’s eyes narrow at you and you can see the gears turning in his head. There’s a flicker of something in his expression. Maybe amusement, maybe disbelief, but before he can say anything, you catch the faintest hint of a smirk forming on his lips.

He steps closer, his imposing frame shadowing you as he leans in. “Damn, you’re something else,” he says, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the overwhelming presence he has, but for the first time tonight, you feel a small shiver run up your spine. 

“Rough, huh?” His words are like a threat, his tone smooth and dangerous.

Before you can respond, his hand shoots out, and suddenly, he has a firm grip on your hair, tugging it just enough to pull your head back. 

“Ow! Negan!!” You whine, your voice a mix of surprise and irritation. Good job at proving you like it rough.

He loosens his grip, but his fingers stay tangled in your hair, holding you captive in his gaze. He stares down at you, his dark eyes boring into yours. 

“You think I don’t notice how gorgeous you are?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost possessive “But this? Telling me you like it rough? Tsk, tsk, tsk”. 

Your heart skips a beat at the admission, and your eyes widen ever so slightly. The words settle in your chest, warm and electric, and for a split second, everything else fades away. 

Negan thinks you’re gorgeous. 

You can barely process it but you don’t get a chance to let the moment settle. His fingers tighten in your hair again, this time with purpose. 

“There’s a difference,” he growls, his voice rougher now, “between making eyes at some random guy at a bar and teasing a man who actually knows what to do with you”.

You swallow hard. His grip on you, the way he towers over you, his scent— all of it feels like a pressure you can’t escape. You can barely breathe.

“And you…” You pause, testing the waters “You know what to do with me?”.

And then, possibly the most un-hot thing happens. A toilet flushes. The sound is loud and sudden, causing you both to freeze. It comes from one of the stalls at the end of the room and it’s quickly followed by the drunken shuffling of feet and a zipping noise. 

Without a word, you and Negan lock eyes, an unspoken agreement passing between you in that single, charged moment. 

“Shit,” Negan mutters under his breath, his hand still tangled in your hair, but now pulling you toward the nearest empty cubicle with urgency. 

“Ouch!” you whisper, batting at his hand and making him untangle his hand from your hair. You barely have time to shoot him a glare before he’s guiding you into the small space, his body close behind you.

Just as the cubicle at the end of the room unlocks, the lock to your cramped cubicle slots into place with a soft click.

For a moment, you both hold your breath. You’re pressed together in the cramped space, his chest against your back, your bodies flush together.

You hear the drunken patron stumble, mumbling something unintelligible as they turn on one of the taps and start washing their hands. You both hold still, waiting for the heavy footsteps to move away. Negan holds you against him, one hand on your waist to keep you close. 

Although that’s not the only thing that’s touching you. 

It’s hard not to notice the unmistakable press of his semi-erect cock nestling against the curve of your ass. It feels firm yet pliant, a promise of things to come. 

Turning your head just enough to look up at him through your eyelashes. He doesn’t meet your gaze, too busy zoning into some spot in the stall door as he listens intently to the patron outside.

His brow furrows just slightly, the lines on his forehead deepening as he focuses. You can tell he's strategizing, weighing up different excuses in case he’s caught in the ladies room. Negan’s lips are pressed together, a slight tension around them, but it's not a scowl. 

Deciding you want some attention, you press your ass back slightly. You hear a grunt.

“You’re not making this easy on me,” he huffs. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he looks down.

Through the thin walls, you can hear the drunk go on their way, their footsteps slowly fading as they stagger out of the bathroom. The door swings shut with a final, echoing creak. 

As if to prove his point, Negan moves his hips forward, forcing his erection against your ass. He’s harder than you thought and you shudder at the mere size of the thing in his pants. 

He makes a quiet, pleased sound against your ear as his hand trails up your waist, teasing passing the side of your breast before settling on the back of your neck. 

“Fuck, you're responsive…” He pulls back slightly, making sure you can still feel him.

“Is that a good thing?” you ask softly.

He chuckles, his voice low and husky. “It's a dangerous thing, darlin,” he squeezes your neck teasingly “Nothing good ever comes from being too responsive... unless you're trying to drive a man wild”.

“Maybe that’s exactly why I’m trying to do” you push back against him again, this time bending your body slightly to really accentuate your ass.

Except all that does is encourage your dress to ride up your thighs again, stopping just before your ass. Grabbing his leather jacket from your arms, Negan tosses it up on the stall door before moving to your thighs.

Negan isn’t a one to waste time, especially when it comes to taking advantage of certain situations. Bringing both hands down to your thighs, he helps you dress by tugging it up in one swift movement. You let out a gasp as the cool, thankfully air conditioned bathroom making the skin on your ass get goosebumps.

“Negan! I-“ you move to turn away so he can’t see your ass but Negan’s one step ahead this time.

 Looping an arm around your torso, he makes sure you keep the squirming to a minimum. With his other hand, he brings it down between your legs and presses a finger against your panties.

He holds you in place, bent at the hips and ass against his crotch. You can feel the dampness of your panties against your heat. The wetness seeps into the fabric, making it stick to the lips of your pussy. 

“Fuck me, you are soaked!” with no qualms about modesty, Negan swipes the tacky panties to the side and gets a feel of your folds himself. 

You stop a moan from escaping, not wanting to be too eager. "Goddamn, you're a sticky little mess, ain't ya? All wet and sloppy, just fucking dripping” he teases your hole, momentarily pressing a finger to it but never dipping inside.

Hoping to gain some control, you go to stand up straight. The thoughts of looking into his eyes as he fingers you is more appealing than your view being the wall of a bathroom stall.

But Negan isn’t as fond of the idea. The arm looped around you quickly makes its way to your back, forcing you to stay bent. You let out a scoff as the side of your face smushes against the wall. 

“Negan, what the fuck?” You whine, blindly throwing one of your arms back at him “If you’re gonna finger me, at least let me enjoy it!”.

“Nuh-uh,” he grabs your arm and presses it against your back, restraining you before he continues his exploration of your pussy “I get to decide how the fuck we do this”.

You quieten down when you feel a finger trace your folds, spreading your wetness around. “You this much of a slut for every guy or am I just lucky?” He asks, chuckling at his own thoughts “Your friends were cheering like this is a usual thing for you”.

Before you can reply, Negan plunges two fingers deep inside your dripping cunt, his thumb grinding against your clit. “I— ah!” You mewl, trying to give a coherent response “N-no, never!”.

Negan picks up his pace, loving how you give in, basically slumping against the wall. “See, doll, I want to believe you. I mean, I don’t know that many sluts that get this fucking wet from just a little grinding… it’s shameful, really” he curls his fingers to hit the perfect spot, making your squirm.

“But in saying that,” Negan continues, his breath hitting against your neck as he leans closer “I don’t know that many modest gals that wear something like this”. 

Deciding you know better than to repeat your mistake and move again, Negan takes his hand off your back and paws at your chest instead. But in true Negan fashion, he needs to up his antics.

Tugging down the low cut neckline of your dress, you hear a ripping noise as he pulls at the fabric and forces it down past your bra.

“Huh… surprised your modest enough to wear a bra” he comments, quickly rectifying the situation. Without warning, Negan roughly shoves the bra cups up, freeing your tits completely. "Fuck, look at these," he growls, appreciating the sight of your breasts spilling out. 

The fingers he has working your hole pause and retreat, much to your disappointment. You take the opportunity to turn around to face him, starting to feeling a crick in your neck from being smushed up by the wall.

“Asshole, you tore my dress“ your voice is laced with frustration, although that may be from how much you want him to stop teasing and fuck you already. 

With an amused scoff, Negan goes to hold up his hands in surrender. His fingers glisten with your juices. “I’m trying to be a gentlemen here, doll” he chuckles as he defends himself.

You fight the urge to cover yourself, knowing that’s what he’s waiting for. He wants to see that shy side, to see you blush and get flustered. 

You glare at him instead “How is this being a gentleman?”.

“Well, I coulda just ripped it clean off, but I left ya some dignity,” Negan smirks, crowding you again. You’re left no choice but to back into the wall, holding your glare as you look up at him.

“And I've fingered ya before fucking ya which is pretty damn noble” he adds, seeing you battle between staying annoyed and wanting to blush. You open your mouth to complain but a loud moan comes out instead as Negan pinches one of your nipples.

He thumbs your hard nipples, chuckling as they perk up even more under his touch. “Damn, always knew you’d have a good pair on ya," he muses “fuckin’ perfect”.

Negan doesn't hesitate, leaning down to engulf one nipple in his mouth. He sucks hard, letting his teeth graze the sensitive bud as he kneads the other breast roughly. Groaning around your nipple, he switches to the other, assaulting it with the same fervent enthusiasm. 

With a grunt, Negan grabs your thighs and hoists you up, pinning you against the wall with his muscular body. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, arms going around his shoulders.

Negan grinds his still clothed cock against your bare pussy, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper. 

The rough denim of his pants provides no comfort, each thrust of his hips pressing his erection directly against your sensitive clit. "You feel that?" He asks against your tit “Want you to beg for it, gotta hear ya saying it”.

You have no hesitation. There is no reluctance to beg for him, not when you’re this close to getting what you thought would always be a wet dream. 

"Please, Negan, I need it!" you beg, your hips bucking against his pants in desperate attempts to get friction. “I’ve wanted you for so long, to fuck me in my bedroom o-or on the dinner table! Fuck, anywhere! I don’t care!”.

That seems to convince him. Reaching down and fumbling with his jeans, Negan has his cock out in record time. He grips the base, stroking it a few times as he lines it up with your soaked pussy. 

The head of his cock presses against your entrance, the tip barely peeking out from between your folds. Negan slowly eases in, allowing you to adjust to his massive size. 

You writhe and moan against him, trying to keep your body relaxed as he enters you. Trying your best to keep eye contact, you let out a string of whimpers as he fills you completely. 

"Damn, I actually fit," he says, stretching you out in a way you’ve never felt before. Negan pulls out carefully, as if testing the waters before plunging back into your needy pussy with vigor.

"Holy fuck, even tighter than I imagined. Built for my dick, aren't you?" he grunts, starting to fuck you hard.

Each brutal thrust of his hips drives his thick cock deeper into your pussy, stretching you wide open. "Fuck, you're so tight it feels like my dick is splitting you in half. Love it. Fucking love it" Negan rambles on and grabs your thighs, spreading them as wide as he can.

"Fuck, Negan... you're so..." you try to speak "ah!”. It’s all too much in the best way possible. That delicious ache of being so thoroughly penetrated, the feeling of absolute fullness with each deep thrust.

"More... fuck me more..." your hips arch up to meet his thrusts, trying to keep up.

Negan angles his hips upwards, hitting that spot inside you over and over as he pounds into you. "Look at me," He growls, "Look at me while I break you in half with my dick. You like that? You like feeling so stuffed?"

“I-I've never been this full before…” you say with teary eyes.

Negan notices your body tensing and shuddering beneath him, your pussy walls starting to flutter wildly around his thick cock. "Holy shit, there it is... Your cunt's squeezin' me like a fuckin' vice. You gonna cum on my dick?".

The pressure is building to an unbearable point, your entire body trembling as your orgasm approaches. Your mind goes blank, unable to answer his question as he hits that perfect spot.

Just as your orgasm hits, Negan feels your pussy clamp down around him like a silken fist. "Holy fuck..." you gasp, back arching as pure pleasure courses through your veins. 

Your entire body quakes, inner muscles milking his cock as you ride out your intense orgasm. You dig your nails into his shoulders, legs trembling uncontrollably.

Negan grunts, fucking you through your intense orgasm with deep, deliberate strokes. He can feel your pussy spasming wildly around his shaft, coating him in your slick arousal. As the last waves shudder through you, he finally pulls out, his cock glistening with in the light.

He lets you stand for a moment but you legs are so wobbly, it’s difficult to support your weight after that intense orgasm.

Before you can even catch your breath, Negan grabs your shoulder roughly and forces you onto your knees. Your body complies in an instant, unable to fight against such force.

Your knees ache as they hit the bathroom floor but that’s the least of your concerns. You look up at him in wide-eyed shock, lips parted as you anticipate him coming all over your face.

"Fuckin' hell, such a pretty face..." He strokes his throbbing cock with his fist, ready to explode.

But instead of aiming for your face, Negan aims his cock at your chest, unleashing a thick, hot load of cum all over your tits. He groans loudly as he paints your breasts with his seed, the warm liquid dripping down between your cleavage and seeping into the fabric of your dress.  

“Next time you’re either swallowing it or you’re getting a facial courtesy of yours truly” he informs you, although the only piece of information you truly savor from that is ‘next time’.

Doing the gentlemanly thing, he grabs some tissue from the toilet paper dispenser and hands it to you. You dab at your chest, knowing the dress is a lost cause and will probably have to be thrown out later. 

“Help me up?” You ask, somewhat shyly once you’re done.

Taking your arm in a much more gentle grip than before, Negan helps you up, subtly looking over your chest to make sure you’ve wiped off all of him. “You feeling alright?” he asks lowly, as if remembering the public place you’re both in. 

You blink, giving yourself a moment to calm, your body still humming with the aftermath. “That was…” you pause, collecting your thoughts, “...wow.”

A soft chuckle rumbles from his chest, and he slips his leather jacket off the stall door. “Well, that’s a better response than I expected,” he says with a smirk, draping the jacket around your shoulders and gently guiding your arms into the sleeves. Without a word about how the jacket nearly swallows you whole, he zips it up, pulling it snug to cover your chest. 

This is a completely different side to the Negan you’ve seen tonight. This is the Negan that gives you a small, reassuring smile after your parents throw some off handed insult your way. 

The two of you stand close, your breaths mingling. Slowly, the space between your faces narrows, as if drawn by some unspoken pull. You gently tilt your head, just enough to bring your lips into alignment with his. 

The kiss is a tender brush. Featherlight and hesitant. It’s the kind of kiss you’d expect before going at it like a bunch of animals… not afterwards.

The kiss lingers, still tasting of warmth and something unspoken. Pulling back just enough to rest your forehead against his, you can feel the soft touch of his lips still tingling on yours. You mutter against his lips, almost sheepishly “Can you drop me home?”.

His lips curl into a quiet smile, a slight glint in his eyes as he nods. “Considering I didn’t get to finish my first glass of whiskey, yeah I should be good,” Negan gives you a playful look.

Unable to help yourself, you give him a small smile. It’s not as seductive or teasing as the ones you have given him previously. In all honestly, it feels like Negan has fucked the seductiveness out of you– if that’s even possible.  

“... So this wasn’t some drunken mistake?” you ask coyly. 

Negan wraps an arm around your shoulders as he unlocks the stall door and carefully guides you out. ”Wear a dress like that the next time I’m at your parents for dinner and you’ll find out” he replies with a smirk. 

Besides his tousled hair, Negan still looks fine. He’s not dishevelled or out of breath or having trouble walking… all things you attribute to yourself.

Negan notices your state too, keeping his arm around you as you subtly leave the bathrooms and head for the exit. If it’s even possible, Negan pulls you closer, guiding you out like a drunk that’s had one too many. His presence is possessive in the gentlest of ways.

You give your friends a knowing look as you both leave, one that says you’ll explain everything later.

The sound of drunken chattering and laughter fades as you step out into the night, the streetlights casting a soft glow on the parking lot. 

When you reach the car, he opens the door for you with a small smirk, his eyes never leaving yours as you slide into the seat.  A few moments later, Negan slides into the driver's seat and the engine rumbles to life. 

The car doesn’t even get out of the parking lot before Negan’s hand finds yours. The ride home is quiet. He doesn’t say much, and neither do you, but the silence between you feels relaxed.

Every now and then, his thumb gently brushes across the back of your hand like a quiet reassurance. He doesn’t mention the contact, simply letting it linger. 

 The soft, rhythmic motion of the car becomes like a lullaby and with every mile, the weight of the night lifts just a little more. Every so often, you glance over at him, his face relaxed. When your eyes meet, he offers a smile and you sleepily return it.

Negan doesn’t pull up directly outside your house. Strategically stopping his car a little down the street, he sighs.

“Hate to say it but I’ll need that jacket back,” he gives you a once over, as if to memorize what his leather jacket looks like on you.

Fiddling with the zipper, you mumble “So I’m supposed to walk in there with a ripped up dress?”.

He laughs at that, shaking his head before reaching into the backseat. “Here, I know it’s dirty but it’s the best I can offer,” Negan hands you a sweatshirt. 

The sweatshirt is faded, its fabric softened from years of use. The sleeves are slightly frayed at the cuffs and a few small holes hint at its age. On the front, several dark oil stains mark where hands have wiped off grease, probably from Negan when working on his motorbike. 

But most importantly, it smells like him.

As you take off his jacket and put on the sweatshirt instead, Negan gives you some privacy and looks away. “Are you coming in too?” You ask, gently placing his jacket on his lap once you’ve changed.

Taking that as his signal to look, Negan gives you a sympathetic smile. “Not tonight, darlin,” he replies “think Lucille would chop my nuts off with your mom’s fancy silver if I showed my face”.

“You two are fighting that bad?”.

Negan shrugs “Same old, same old”.

You try not to fidget with the frayed sleeves of his sweatshirt, not wanting to pick at it right in front of him. 

“And… this?” You focus your attention at simply inspecting the sleeves instead of picking at them “I mean, I know you said it wasn’t a drunken mistake but still… I get it if you wanna pretend like it never happened”.

As much as you wanted quick reassurance, you’re met with silence. 

Negan leans back in his seat, taking his eyes away from yours and looking at the street. Up ahead, he can see the porch light on to your parents house. Although, he doubts Lucille will be leaving anytime soon. She’ll probably stay late, try to wait it out until Negan has drank himself silly and fallen asleep.

“Tonight shouldn’t have happened,” he says with little emotion “It ain’t right. I know it. You know it. Hell, anyone in a ten mile radius would call me all sorts of names if they knew about it…  fucking your friend’s daughter is a whole mess”.

You stay quiet, unsure whether you should just get out now.

“But shit, if you wanted to suck my dick right now, I wouldn’t say no,” he chuckles “it’s a fucked up thing to say but I wouldn’t mind something like this happening again”.

That puts a smile back on your face. Getting ready to leave, you say “Maybe if you come to dinner next time, I will suck your dick”.

Negan watches you with narrowed eyes. Of course you’d be able to make his dick twitch again, making him feel like a teenager that could get it up over and over again. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” he warns as you get out.

“Good,” you hop out of the car, giving him one last flirtatious smirk before going “I hope you do”.

Closing the door, you strut along the pavement, your heels clicking as you go to your house. Walking has never seemed so hard, not only because of your shoe choice but from the aching in your gut and your legs wobbling more than you’d like to admit. 

Still, you try to do your best to walk straight, knowing Negan is watching. 

When you get to the front door, you give Negan one last glance before disappearing inside. He wait a few moments before starting up his car and leaving. 

The first thing you hear is a chorus of polite laughter from the dining room. Great, looks like they’re still in the midst of dinner. Before you have a chance to debate if you could get upstairs without them hearing, you hear your father call out your name.

“Is that you?” He calls out.

Reluctantly, you walk in, lingering by the doorway. Your parents to turn in their dining chairs to face you. Whereas Lucille has you right in her line of view. She offers you a gracious smile as you enter.

“I thought you were staying at Lydia’s tonight,” you mom says, eyeing your sweatshirt and what appears to be a skirt. Thankfully she doesn’t comment on how short it is.

“Eh, Lydia talked things out with her boyfriend so they’re back together again,” you lie casually “you know how they are; fight, break up and make up”.

Lucille casts her gaze down slightly, as if your words hit a little too close to home for her. You shift uncomfortably. 

“There’s some leftovers in the kitchen if you’re hungry” your mom says, blissfully unaware.

“I’m ok,” you give her a smile “I think I might just shower and head to bed early”.

“Alright,” she already waves you off, turning back in her seat “if you’re sure”.

You don’t linger, giving them a polite nod before leaving. It’s only when you turn to leave does Lucille look at you again. 

She’s never believed in coincidences. And she’s never believed you to be into repairing cars. She knows the faint stains on your sweatshirt, mainly because she’s the one who spent hours trying to scrub them out… only for Negan to reward her with new stains on the damn thing. 

Nodding along with whatever it is your father is saying, Lucille’s mind strays further and further from the dinner and to Negan instead. 

Something’s happened. What exactly, she’s not sure. But you’re involved and so is her damned husband.

—————

Part 2 can be found here!!

A/N: thought I’d put in a quick note just to say thanks for reading and apologies for disappearing all month! My family almost got scammed out of 11k (it was insane) but!! More importantly!! I got seriously bad writers block so apologies if this fic is a little choppy, I’m still getting back into my stride!!

[fastandcarlos]

My Worst Nightmare : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

Your eyes went wide as you watched it all unfold.

Your heart beat faster than it ever had done before.

The feeling of your hand gripping his arm made Max jump beside you as you watched Lando’s front wheel clip against the front wheel of Charles. As soon as the incident happened you saw an aggression in Lando that you had never seen before, biting your bottom lip as he edges closer and closer to Charles’ car, almost inviting himself to get into some sort of incident against the other driver.

“What’s he playing at?” Max hissed next to you, eyes rolling at what he was seeing from his best friend.

“It’s like he wants to go crashing into the barriers,” you murmured, shaking your head in disbelief.

You could picture Lando getting frustrated in his car, eyes rolling, mouth tutting.

But he was the reason that he almost crashed out of the race. The only person responsible for any potential accident was Lando. The man who promised you every single race that he’d drive safe and that things would be okay.

Max’s eyes stay on you for a few moments as you carry on watching the race. He knows you worry and fret, but he could see frustration in you too. Frustration that your boyfriend was willing to crash so dangerously just because his front wheel got clipped, something you’d seen happen so easily in races plenty of times.

You hoped that would be enough to make him stop.

Lando kept on pushing though, every opportunity he tested the water, keen to try and scrape through whenever even a millimetre presented itself. You struggled to watch after a while, terrified that you’d ultimately end up watching your boyfriend get seriously hurt.

You’d never felt so relieved when the race was finished, watching Lando drive back into the garage in fifth. When he climbed out the car he expected to see you ready to enter his open arms, but instead you remained rather standoffish with him, shooting him a glare.

“Well done,” you told him, your face flat, taking him by surprise.

“Try and be happy for me, yeah?”

“Sorry,” you coldly sighed, “can’t help it.”

Lando walks across and presses a kiss against your cheek before being pulled back to get weighed. He wanted to play dumb, but Lando knew just from the tone of your voice why you were upset with him, and truthfully, he understood why.

He kept looking at you as he finished off race proceedings, hoping for something from you. A couple of times you offered him a weak smile, but other than that you remained with Max, struggling to listen to Lando try and make excuses in the media pen for his erratic driving. Eventually Lando headed off to grab his things, leaving you and Max alone.

Max poked your side to get your attention, “try not to be too hard on him tonight.”

“But he was being stupid Max.”

“I know, but I can tell he regrets it.”

A sign came from you, “what was he thinking?”

“Probably just adrenaline,” Max tried to defend, “maybe he saw something there that we missed.”

The ride home was pretty silent between the two of you, Lando tried to make small talk but you were still unimpressed. You headed back to your hotel room, Lando following just behind to give you enough space. As soon as the door shut and you were all alone, he finally cleared his throat.

He waited for you to sit down, throwing himself down beside you before you could protest.

“You might as well say what you want to say.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Lando chuckled, “I already knew that.”

You shot a glare across at him.

Lando’s attempts to lighten the mood fell flat as you silently scolded him. The tight corners and near misses were part of the job, but what happened today took all of that to the extreme.

“I wasn’t going to crash,” Lando told you, reading your mind and figuring what you were thinking.

“How do you know that?”

“We’re professionals,” he reminded you.

Your eyes rolled as he tried to brush off what you were saying, trying his best to reassure you in his own Lando way.

After a few moments Lando shuffled across the sofa, resting his hand against your thigh. “Maybe things were a little too close for comfort today.”

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day,” you hummed, “being a pro doesn’t mean being stupid.”

“I’m sorry if I made you worry about me.”

“I thought you were going to crash,” you sighed.

“I didn’t though.”

“My point is though, you could have,” you reminded him, keeping your voice firm. “That would be my worst nightmare Lando.”

Your admission took him by surprise, his eyes soften as he looks at you. The hand that was on your thigh moved to intertwine in with your own, Lando moved even closer towards you, nudging against your side. He could hear the hurt in your voice, terrified that your worst nightmare would end up coming true.

Lando squeezes gently against your hand, whispering your name. “Perhaps I let my frustrations get the better of me today, I should’ve been more careful and not risked anything dangerous happening.”

“I don’t ever want a repeat of Vegas Lan.”

“Me too, I don’t ever set out to do anything like that,” he assured you.

You nodded in reply to him. “I don’t know what I’d do if something ever did happen.”

“Hey, let’s not think about that.”

You went to speak but your voice faltered as Lando pulled you into his side. Luckily for you, Lando knew exactly what you were trying to say to him.

“I promise that I won’t do it again,” he whispered.

A smile of relief appears on Lando’s face as the corners of your mouth slowly turn up into a smile of your own. “I hate you for scaring me like that today,” you jokingly told him.

Lando’s head shook as you hit against his chest, trying your best to sound serious through the few giggles that escaped.

“You love me really,” Lando whispered, pressing a kiss against the side of your head.

You hummed back at him, “I do, that’s why I’d hate to ever see you get hurt.”

Lando cups against the side of your face, bringing you towards him for a gentle kiss as if to remind you one more time, he really was alright.

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[itoshiabi]

Red or Green flag (ft. bllk boys)

Ft. Rin, Shidou, Hiori, Kaiser

Pt. 1- here

Pt. 2- here

Itoshi Rin (Green flag with red emotional baggage)

Green flag tendencies:

Disciplined and Ambitious: Rin is extremely driven. His dedication to becoming the best striker isn't just about ego—it's about pushing himself beyond his limits. In a relationship, this kind of ambition often translates to someone who won't give up easily, who commits seriously to goals, and who's willing to grow. He leads by example and puts in the work.

Loyal and Protective: Though Rin may come off as cold, he doesn't fake relationships. If he lets someone into his world, that's a huge deal and he's not going to ever leave them. When he respects someone, he watches their back and protects them—sometimes without even admitting it. He's not flashy about his support, but it's there in quiet, dependable ways.

Deep Thinker with Strong Values: Rin doesn't waste time on meaningless things. That may make him seem blunt or harsh, but it also means he values authenticity. He hates betrayal, manipulation, or shallow behavior. He wants honesty—and if you're real with him, he'll eventually open up to you too.

Red flag tendencies:

Emotionally Guarded: Because of past trauma—especially the complicated relationship with Sae—Rin has trouble trusting others. He keeps his emotions tightly locked away and has difficulty expressing vulnerability. This can make relationships with him feel one-sided until he starts to heal and open up.

Can Be Cold or Dismissive: When Rin is frustrated, hurt, or threatened, he can shut people out fast. He uses harsh words or gives the cold shoulder instead of explaining what he really feels. That emotional immaturity can hurt a partner who just wants to connect with him.

Always Focused on Winning: While ambition is attractive, Rin can become consumed by it. If you're not aligned with his goals—or if you distract him—he might unintentionally make you feel like you're not important. He's the kind of guy who needs to learn the balance between ambition and emotional connection.

!Final verdict!

75% green flag, 25% red flag

Rin has all the traits of someone who could be an incredible partner- strong, loyal, ambitious, and fiercely genuine. But he's also a closed-off, emotionally complicated person who needs time and the right person to grow past his pain. He's not a walking red flag—but he is a green flag who needs a little emotional healing.

Shidou Ryusei (a dangerously attractive red flag)

Red flag tendencies:

Aggressive and Unpredictable: Shidou thrives on chaos. He's impulsive, aggressive, and often gets physical—both on and off the field. He's the type to flirt one second and start a fight the next. His unpredictability can be exciting, but it also means you'd always be on edge around him.

Lacks Boundaries: He doesn't respect personal space or conventional rules. Shidou pushes people's buttons just for fun and doesn't seem to care if his actions hurt or disturb others. In a relationship, this could mean crossing emotional or physical lines without him understanding why it's a problem.

Self-Serving: Shidou's world revolves around what feels good to him. His goals, his pleasure, his fun. While he might give attention freely, it often comes from a place of personal gratification—not genuine care. Loving him could feel like a one-sided game unless he matures.

Tiny green flag potential:

He's Brutally Honest: What you see is what you get. Shidou doesn't lie, fake his feelings, or hide behind masks. That rawness is rare and, for some, refreshing. If he says you're special, he means it—even if he says it in a completely unhinged way.

Loyal to His Desires: If Shidou wants you, he really wants you. He pursues what excites him with wild intensity. That passion can be addictive and flattering, especially for someone craving excitement or attention.

!Final Verdict!

20% green flag, 80% red flag

Shidou Ryusei is a classic "bad boy" archetype. He's the fire you know you shouldn't play with—but part of you wants to anyway. He'd make a thrilling fling and an unforgettable experience. He is a red flag. But if you like danger, he might just be "your" red flag.

Hiori Yo (a soft green flag)

Green flag tendencies:

Emotionally Intelligent and Empathetic: Hiori reads people well. He's observant and aware of emotions, both his own and others'. That emotional maturity makes him a supportive and calming presence in a relationship—someone who actually listens and understands without judgment.

Gentle and Kind: He doesn't thrive on chaos or attention. Hiori is soft-spoken, thoughtful, and genuinely kind. He wouldn't manipulate or disrespect someone he cares about. He treats others with quiet respect, which makes him feel safe to be around.

Honest and Self-Aware: Hiori has struggled with family pressure and expectations, but he's not in denial about who he is. He questions things, reflects deeply and chooses his path carefully. This self-awareness means he's likely to take relationships seriously and communicate openly.

Tiny potential red flags:

Emotionally Reserved: While not cold, Hiori can be hard to read. He keeps a lot to himself and might hesitate to open up completely. If you're someone who craves constant verbal affection or high energy, his quiet nature might feel distant at first.

Carries Emotional Baggage: His past—especially the pressure from his parents—still lingers in his mindset. He may overthink things or hold back for fear of disappointing others. While he's working on it, this emotional weight can sometimes lead to self-doubt.

!Final verdict!

95% green flag, 10% red flag

Hiori Yo is gentle, reliable, and emotionally present. He's the kind of person who values deep connections and would offer quiet but unwavering support to the person he loves. He isn't flashy or intense like Shidou—but if you want someone who will truly be there for you, Hiori is that kind of partner.

Michael Kaiser (a mixture of both)

Green flag tendencies:

Confident and Charismatic: Kaiser knows what he brings to the table. He's charming, stylish, and confident—without even trying. His self-assurance can be empowering to those around him. He's the kind of guy who makes you feel like you're with someone important.

Intelligent and Calculated: He's not just talented—he's clever. Kaiser sees through people, analyzes situations quickly, and always has a strategy. He's emotionally sharp, which means he could be a very attentive partner if he actually let himself care.

Protective in His Own Way: Though it's subtle, Kaiser shows a possessive streak. If he likes you, he'll want to keep you close and keep others away. He might act like you're just a "trophy" at first, but he protects what's his—and that includes the people he cares about.

Red Flag Traits:

Huge Egoist: Let's be honest—Kaiser is in love with himself. He craves admiration and doesn't take well to being ignored or underestimated. In a relationship, this could mean he constantly wants to be the center of your world.

Cocky and Manipulative: He knows he's beautiful and uses it to his advantage. He flirts to provoke, tests boundaries, and might manipulate feelings just to see how far he can push someone. If you're not careful, you could end up feeling like a game piece in his world.

Emotionally Guarded: Under the glitter and sharp tongue, Kaiser keeps his real feelings locked away. Getting him to open up for real takes time and patience, and he'll fight emotional vulnerability with sarcasm or dominance.

!Final verdict!

50% green flag, 50% red flag

Michael Kaiser is the kind of person who's a green flag if he chooses you—and actually respects you. His confidence, intelligence, and power make him magnetic. But without mutual respect and emotional honesty, he could easily become toxic. He just doesn't let people in easily. But if you do get through to him? You'd have one of the most loyal, protective, and romantic partners imaginable. Still dramatic, of course—but worth it.

[hellfiremunsonn]

I Don't Want To Be Mad At You. Eddie Munson x Reader.

I Don't Want To Be Mad At You.

I DO NOT ALLOW MY WRITING TO BE REPUBLISHED ANYWHERE OTHER THAN MY OWN BLOG WITHOUT MY CONSENT

Summary: Your date night gets postponed once again.

18 + IF YOU ARE NOT 18 OR OLDER DO NOT READ OR INTERACT WITH MY WRITING. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME.

Warnings: rockstareddie! I guess? ANGSTY ! fem reader, pinv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up idiots), fingering, male and female orgasm, reader has tits (all consensual though reader hesitates at first) (IF THERES ANYTHING I MISSED LET ME KNOW)

AN: not proof read!!!

Word count: 3k

You know it's not his fault. It truly never is his fault, but it doesn't erase how shitty it makes you feel. Corroded coffins up and coming success has often put a damper on your romantic relationship with Eddie, and although he tries his best, things still fall through. 

Another phone call cut short when he's miles away, or a dinner interrupted or cancelled while the two of you are sat at the table, and even worse, sleeping alone when he's still in the same city but called back to the studio. 

So when Eddies phone buzzes not even ten minutes after the two of you have sat down at a table at a restaurant you already know what's going to happen. 

He looks at you with a sheepish smile, but you can still see the reluctance behind his eyes when he speaks. "I don't know what's going on, Gareth is freaking out over some label bullshit, contracts they didn't sign or something... But I gotta head over to the studio babe, I'm so sorry"

With a sigh you nod, picking up your napkin off your lap and place it on the table before gathering your things and slipping on your jacket. 

Eddie frowns, he hates how this has become a sort of 'normal' for the two of you. "I know baby I'm sorry, this isn't how either of us wanted tonight to go, but once it's all sorted, I'll make it up to you okay? Maybe we can go away for the weekend, just the two of us; we can get out of town, and just completely unplug" he plants a soft kiss to your forehead before helping zip up your coat. With reluctance he pulls away from you, giving you a quick kiss to your lips you barely even feel it. "I'll call you later alright? love you" he says before heading out of the restaurant in a rush, leaving you standing there alone. 

You can feel your nose fizz with unshed tears but hold them back while you watch him walk away. Taking a deep breath and heading out of the restaurant and back towards your 'shared' apartment which has started to feel a lot less shared over these past few months. You could easily call an uber, or the driver Eddie has been 'assigned' since the fame started, but instead you decided to walk back to your shared apartment. It was only a few blocks away and you hoped the fresh air would do you some good. 

It helps in the sense that you feel a little refreshed, but it also gave you too much time to think, so when you make it upstairs to your apartment you're just all that and more frustrated than you were when you were at the restaurant. 

Unlocking the front door you trudged your way inside, locking the door behind you. You kick off your shoes and drop your bag and coat on the floor by the door, too emotionally tired to care and head straight for your bedroom. 

Walking into the closet you pull out some comfier clothes, peeling off the cute dress you had put on for tonight, staring at the fabric in your hands for a moment before catching a glance at yourself in the mirror.

 In a matching set of black lacy panties and a bra you frown, throwing the dress into the dirty laundry and pulling at the lingerie aggressively to get it off of your skin, ripping a few holes into the lace in the process. Annoyed at yourself when you feel the tears roll down your cheeks. 

you wipe them away quickly before rummaging through your drawers for a new pair of underwear before dressing yourself in pjs, washing your makeup off and then making your way into the living room, sinking down onto the couch and curling up onto a ball until you inevitably fall asleep. 

It's late whenever Eddie finally makes it home. Hours spent with the rest of the band trying to sort out some miscommunication so when he enters the apartment he's absolutely exhausted. He tries to keep his entrance quiet, but stumbles slightly on your jacket and bag that are on the floor in front of the door. He frowns and calls out "Babe? You here?" Obviously you have to be here, but it's unlike you to just leave your stuff at the door like that. 

Frowning again when you don't reply he moves further into the apartment, putting his stuff on the counter in the kitchen before heading towards the living room where he finds you asleep on the sofa looking small and sad. His heart aches at the sight of you. He gently sits down next to you, brushing some hair away from your face, thumb resting on your cheek. 

You stir slightly, blinking a few times when you feel the shift on the couch and Eddies gentle touch against your cheek. You give him a brief smile, before rolling over onto your other side, tucking yourself up against the back of the couch facing away from him now. 

"Baby come on... don't be like that" His voice is gentle but there's a hint of frustration in it. his hand reaches out to smooth up and down your back. "I know tonight didn't go as planned but... I'm here now aren't I?" he tries.

"M'just tired eds" you mumble sleepily. It's not entirely a lie, you are tired, tired from sleep, tired from fighting your own emotions, and tired of being mad at your boyfriend when you don't want to be.

Eddie sighs heavily, and runs his free head through his hair. "Well yeah, so am I. It's been a long fucking day" he pauses for a moment before speaking again. "Look I know you're upset about earlier, but ignoring me isn't going to solve anything..." He scoots closer to you on the couch, sitting near your feet he lifts them up so they're over his lap, pulling at your arm gently until your butt is between his legs and he can hold you against his chest. "C'mere. Let me hold you." His voice is softer now, almost pleading. He presses a light kiss to your temple. "Please, baby. I need you right now."

So you let him. You let him hold you, not really able to protest when he's able to manhandle you into his lap enough to cuddle him. But you let him, because despite the anger and the frustration you know this is hurting him to, and you know he needs to be held just as much as you do, even though you want so badly to push him away. You let out a sigh, playing with a loose thread hanging off of his shirt. 

Eddie wraps his arms around you tightly, savouring the scent of your skin, your shampoo, the way a bit of his cologne still clings to you. Burying his face into your neck, needing to be close, closer, closest. After a few moments he lifts his head to look down at you, pulling back to gently cup your face in his hands, tilting your face to look at him. His eyes search yours intently. 

"I love you so much baby, like more than anything, you know that right?" he whispers, thumb smoothing across your cheek. "I know this whole band thing has been a lot lately... and I haven't been handling it very well I'm sorry just..." he trails off, eyes closing tightly while his brows furrow, leaning forward until his forehead touches yours. "Just tell me what you need from me right now. Anything. I'll do it" his voice is quiet and pleading, and it almost makes everything hurt just a little bit more. 

"I don't want to be mad at you" you whisper slowly. Your voice is barely audible because you know if you speak any louder the words will get stuck in your throat, and the sobs that threaten to break through will stop them from ever coming out. "And I know it's not your f-fault"

He pulls you tighter against him, running his fingers soothingly through your hair. "Shh, hey, it's alright. I've got you." His voice is low and reassuring. He shifts so he can lay down on the couch, bringing you with him. He guides you to rest your head on his chest. One hand continues stroking your hair while the other rubs slow circles on your back. "I know, I know baby, none of this is fair to you" He murmurs against the top of your head. 

"But I'll make it better I promise, we'll figure something out, just tell me what you need from me" 

It makes you cling to him tighter now, built up emotions finally cracking through until you sob into him. Eddies arms tighten around you in response, shushing you quietly while rubbing a hand up and down your back. Between mumbled praise, he places kisses to your head, and anywhere else he can manage to reach. "You're okay baby I got you, I know it hurts, I'm so sorry, but we'll get through this together yeah? We always do"

You both hold each other for what feels like hours, while your sobs begin to subside and your breathing slows. When you finally lift your tear streaked face to look at him, he gently pushes your hair away from your face that's clung to your damp cheeks. "There's my girl" He says leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your lips. "Feel better?"

"Maybe" you nod and sniffle, sounding all stuffed up from the crying. You take one of his hands in yours, pressing a kiss to his palm before placing it against your cheek and holding it there. 

Eddie smiles sadly, holding your cheek with his hand. "Baby..." he cups your face fully now, leaning in to kiss your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose, and then your mouth. Each kiss saying more than he could get his words to.

"I hate seeing you like this... I never wanted to cause you pain baby" His brows knit together, and you can see the way his jaw clenches in attempts to keep his own emotions at bay. His arms wrap around you again, crushing you tightly against his chest while he buries his face into your neck once more. "Fuck, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry" His words are muffled, but the emotion in them is clear as day. You can feel him breathe in deeply, trying to compose himself. 

"I know teddy" you whisper softly.

He nods against your neck. "I know you do, but I still hate myself for putting you through this shit" he pulls back just enough to meet your watery eyes, cupping your face again. "You deserve so much better than all this bullshit" he mumbles softly. His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone, while his eyes roam over every detail of your face, as if he's trying to memorize it. "My sweet girl..." he whispers "What would I do without you huh?" He smiles then, only for a moment before he surges forward, pressing his lips into yours with desperate emotions. It's filled with apology and longing, with all the words left unspoken between the two of you.

You kiss him back just as desperately, clinging onto him like a lifeline while his hands grip at your hips possessively as he pulls you flush against him. A low groan escapes him as he slips his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss. 

He pulls away panting, resting his forehead against yours and looks at you with dark eyes that are filled with desire. "God I missed you so fucking much today" he rasps. "I wanna... wanna feel you" he says while one hand slides under your shirt, his hand covering the expanse of your lower back while the other gently tangles in your hair, angling your head as he claims your mouth in another deep kiss. 

Your brows furrow, and your lips part to speak, but you struggle to get the words out. Stuck between rationality and desire, you're unsure if engaging in something sexual right now is a good idea. "Baby I don't know if we should" You mumble out, just as breathless.

Eddie groans but it almost comes out as a whimper. His grip tightening on your hip. "Don't say no baby please" he breathes against your lips. "Please I need you" his other hand slips up your back, fingers digging into your skin possessively. Eddie has never been one to beg like this, and has never been one to try to convince you to do it when you've said no. But he needs that connection right now. When leans in to kiss you again, slower this time, but just as intense, you realize this is less about the actual act of sex, or cumming for him, and more about being close, as close as two humans can get. It's about being connected.

So you nod in understanding, the overwhelming desire to feel the same connection washing over you as well, letting out a small "O-okay" 

"Thank you" he pants against your lips. "thank you, thank you..." he repeats his thanks while his hands make quick work of stripping off your clothes, tossing them somewhere in the room without care. He takes a moment to appreciate your bare form, always in awe and mesmerized at the sight. He pulls you against him, groaning at the feeling of your skin against his. "Fuck you're s perfect" he groans between kisses. Trailing them down your neck and collarbone. 

Shifting he lays you down on your back on the couch, hovering over you and leans down kissing you deeply. His hands roaming everywhere they can reach along the curves and planes of your body he knows off by heart. 

He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your body, leaving a burning heat in their wake, as he leans forward to take one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling and nipping on it until he feels you arch up into him. "Love these tits" he mumbles around the sensitive nub before moving to give the other one the same attention. 

His hand slides down between your thighs, finding you already soaking, and he hums approvingly circling your clit gently "So wet for me already, baby- god you're such a good girl" using the same hand he slides it lower until he pushes it slowly into you, groaning at the feeling of you enveloping his finger. "Always so fucking tight" he groans, dropping his forehead against your chest as he begins to pump his finger slowly, curling it up just right to hit that sweet spot only he seems to be able to reach. 

You bite at your bottom lip to stifle the loud moan that wants to escape. Your brows furrow in both confusion and pleasure, knowing how badly Eddie needed this intimate moment, but weren't expecting the focus to be on you. 

Eddie slowly adds a second finger when he notices the twitch of your hips and the way your body writhes beneath him. Pumping them in and out of you steadily while he uses his other hand to rub soft and quick circles on your clit. "That's it baby" he nods. "be a good girl and cum for me" he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss once more, swallowing each whimper and moan he pulls from you, all while he continues to fuck you with his fingers. "Come on, I know your close, give it to me" he groans while quickening his pace, feeling the way your walls flutter around him while you let out a muffled "m'cumming!"

You let out a whine that turns into a needy moan as your back arches off the couch and your thighs clench around eddies hand that doesn't stop working you until you're trembling. "that's my good girl" he says slowing his movements, until slipping his fingers out of you and bringing them up to his lips to suck the juices off of them. 

Shifting so he can settle between your trembling thighs, the hard length of him nudges at your entrance. He leans down, bracing his weight on his forearms on either side of your head, caging you in as he gazes down at you with heavy lidded eyes. "Tell me you want this" he demands, his voice slightly more rough than before. "Tell me you need me" his voice trembles.

"Need it ed's, need you" you say cradling his face in your hands "always need you" you nod quickly.

He nods back, pressing himself into you slowly and groaning at the feeling of your slick cunt as it sucks him in. "F-fuck baby" he stills for a moment, basking in the euphoria of being connected with you like this. 

When he begins to move he starts a steady rhythm as he rocks into you, each snap of his hips driving him deeper and deeper, and fuels the fire in your stomach once more. "Missed this" he pants against your mouth "Missed you" he says while leaning down to press his lips to yours harshly. His hips increase in pace, and the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin echo throughout your apartment, which only spurs Eddie on more, quickening his pace as he chases his orgasm that's creeping up on him quickly. 

"Gonna cum soon" he warns, voice strained with the effort of holding back. "fuck baby you feel too good" He buries his face into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily as he empties himself inside you, groaning with each wave of pleasure as it runs through him. Your name falling from his lips like a prayer. 

When the aftershocks begin to fade he collapses on top of you, pressing kisses along your jawline, neck, cheeks, chest, anywhere while he murmurs incoherent praises and endearments. After a few moments he rolls onto his side, positioning himself beside you while his softening cock slips out of your slowly along with your mixed juices. 

He tucks a bit of hair behind your ear, studying your face, while looking uncharacteristically vulnerable, his usual confidence slipping away to reveal the lingering depths of swimming emotions he's been facing just as much as you. "I love you" he whispers.

"I love you" you whisper back. 

And for a long moment the two of you just hold each other like that. No speaking, no noises, just two people in love, holding each other and absorbing the raw emotion being shared between you both. You'll have a better conversation about everything in the morning, but for now, this is all the two of you need. 

[endofthelinegang]

Would Matt Murdock have hard time being around an emotional & sensitive person? Like, when someone raises their voice slightly or be mean to me, I'd be holding back tears.

alrighty let me crack my fingers here, whip out the keyboard, here are some headcanons and a little bonus fic

Matt picks up on every little change in your heartbeat, breathing. There is no hiding your sensitive behavior and feelings. He’ll know the second something is wrong and will gently nudge you to talk about it.

He’s used to dealing with intensity and conflict, but when it comes to you it is personal which makes him a lot softer. If someone raises their voice at you, Matt immediately steps in, positioning himself between you and the other person, voice low and steady. “Hey, that’s enough.” He doesn’t need to get aggressive, he is confident that his presence will do the job.

When he senses you’re on the verge of tears, he’ll make sure that he is properly handling the situation. He will either reach for your hand or if you are in a group, even a small one, he would guide you somewhere quieter. He knows how embarssing it can be to have a crashout moment or a cry in public. He is just the right amount of touch, not too brutish but not so soft it makes your skin tingle.

Matt’s seen the worst of humanity, he in fact has told you that humans are the worst monsters to ever exist. Your kindness and sensitivity? It’s a kind of a relief, I mean to see a human be human in a non-criminal way, happy heart moment. He never gets frustrated if you’re overwhelmed easily. Instead, he’ll talk you through it, using that soothing lawyer voice of his. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

If someone makes you cry, he interalizes it. He won’t lose his mind and go on a killing spree, but there’s a quiet, dangerous edge to him if you allow him to confront the responsible party and or person. He would not go out of his way to do that outside of your permission unless you were physically injured.

If you’re spiraling, he’ll do whatever you need him to do, of course he does not always expect you to be able to tell him. His go to is to take you anywhere that is away from everyone else and firstly try light touch and talking, if that is not sucessful then physical touch with your body as his guide, and if nothing else he will give you space and just sit with you.

He admires your ability to feel so deeply. He’s seen too many people become numb to the world, himself included sometimes. Loving you reminds him that softness isn’t a weakness—it’s a strength.

Matt hears it before you even step through the door—the unsteady rhythm of your breathing, the uneven thump of your heartbeat, the way your shoe pats against the floor like you’re quickly tapping, possibly shaking.

Something happened, something Matt knew he would not like.

He feels you, tracks the way your keys rattle to open the door. Then the door opens, and even though you don’t say a word, he feels the weight settle into the apartment with you, he hears the tiniest sigh escape your lips.

You linger in the doorway, hesitant, like there’s something pressing against your chest, something you can’t quite push down. You knew Matt already knew it was written all over the way he stood with his ear facing the door just listening to every single thing you did. You don’t even take off your coat, don’t put your bag down—just stand there, staring at your shoes.

Matt sets his cane aside as quietly as he can, stepping toward you carefully. “Sweetheart?” His voice is quiet, meant to coax, but you still flinch ever so slightly as you completely spaced out.

“Hey,” you say, and the sound of it makes his stomach twist. It’s thin, a ghost of your usual tone, fragile like brittle glass.

He waits for you to say more, maybe even start to sob or cry, but you don’t. You don’t move, don’t breathe properly, like you’re standing with a gun pointing into your back.

“Talk to me,” he says, stepping closer. “What happened?”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “It’s stupid.” The words slip out under your breath like they were not even meant to be spoken.

His brows pull together. “It’s not.”

You hesitate, your fingers twisting into the hem of your sleeve, you could feel your face heat up. A type of heat that would travel everywhere in your body that allowed you to move just with trickling pains. Then it all spilled out.

“I went to meet up with some people after work.” You pause, choosing your words carefully, like they might come out wrong if you’re not precise.. “I thought—God, I don’t know. I thought they were my friends.”

Matt’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak. He just listens.

“They weren’t mean exactly,” you continue, you could not stop playing little moments about that interaction through your head, it felt like it would never end. “It was just little things.”

Your breathing shudders, as you allow yourself to use more of your body to take steps, the sound of your shoes were just as loud to you as they were to Matt.

“They kept talking over me. Every time I tried to say something, they’d just—move on, like I wasn’t even there. And when they did acknowledge me, it was just—” You break off, swallowing hard. “Little jokes. Stuff about how I’m too sensitive, how I take things too seriously, how I always ‘look like I’m about to cry.’”

Matt feels a sharp, quiet anger coil in his chest, but he keeps his voice soft when he speaks. “Did you say anything to them?”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Yeah. And you know what they did? They laughed. Said I was proving their point.”

Matt closes his eyes for a brief moment, his jaw clenching hard enough that it aches. He knows—God, he knows—that kind of cruelty, the kind that hides behind lightness, the kind that makes you feel like you’re the problem.

You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, your breath hitching. “I hate this,” you whisper. “I hate that I can’tjust brush things off, that stuff like this gets to me so much.” Your voice breaks on the last word, small and aching.

Matt steps in without hesitation, if anyone knew how it felt to not be heard or understood. Though he did not interalize his feelings as deeply as you he knew how damiging to the mind not being understood could be. The closer he got to you the louder your heartbeat seemed to get, your skin looked red and angry especially your hands.

His hands find yours, gently prying them away from your face. His touch is steady, warm, careful. He cradles your face in his hands letting you keep your hands to yourself, his thumbs ghosting over your cheekbones, tracing the heat lingering beneath your skin, the tremble in your lips. His hands feel cool against your face, a nice soft cool.

“You feel things deeply,” he murmurs, voice low and sure. “That’s not a flaw.”

Your throat works, but you don’t speak, something about being able to smell his cologne and slight leathery smell from the couch made you feel okay to breathe.

Matt leans down, resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm and steady. “They don’t get to decide what’s too much. They don’t get to tell you that you’re wrong for feeling.”

You let out a shaky breath, and your hands come up, gripping his wrists, grounding yourself with him.

“But they made me feel so—” Your breath hitches again, and the words spill out before you can stop them. “So small.”

Matt feels that, too. A loss of a sense is enough to make freshly blind young Matt feel so tiny when he was a child and that is a very hard feeling to forget. To think about the fact that you felt this way so often shook him up. Something in his chest cracks, deep and aching. Because he knows. He knows what it’s like to be dismissed, to be talked over, to have the world act like you’re invisible. He knows how it rots inside you, how it makes you doubt your own voice, your own presence.

He slides his arms around you, pulling you close, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. He holds you like you’re something precious, he softens your hair down on your head as he feels you attempt to settle down.

“You are not small,” he murmurs into your hair, voice thick with emotion. “Not to me.”

Your body shudders, and then you break, your arms wrapping around him as you bury yourself in his comforting presence. He feels the damp heat of your tears against his collar, the way your shoulders shake as you let go, letting him hold you, letting yourself be seen.

Matt presses a slow, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his hands tracing slow circles against your back.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

And this time, when you grip him tighter, when you press yourself closer like you believe him—Matt knows you do.

[writer-freak]

Would you be willing to write some Frank Morrison x reader headcanons where the reader is the polar opposite of him?

He's aggressive at times and not patient with other people, getting angry at situations that get out of hand, meanwhile the reader is calm and rational. Could be a bit nsfw? In the sense that exploring this dynamic in a more spicy context would be quite interesting! Thanks for reading this and have a good day.

A/n: I love writing for Frank again as I haven't done it in over a year, thank you so much for this request. Also double upload today

Warnings: gn reader, not really explicit Nsfw part, but just in case I still separated them, reader is a bit of a tease

Frank Morrison x Opposite reader

Frank is very impulsive, aggressive, and always looking for a fight.

You, on the other hand, almost always think before acting, always keeping a level head even when things get completely out of control.

And That alone pisses him off sometimes, just how the hell can you stay so calm? It almost feels like you're mocking him without even trying.

Arguments between Frank and the rest of the Legion usually get heated quickly, and when he storms off to cool down, it’s not uncommon for you to be the one to find him.

You’re not scared of his temper, nor do you feed into it. Instead, you let him rant, arms crossed, nodding occasionally as he paces and curses under his breath.

You don’t try to tell him to calm down, you just let him burn out his rage, and weirdly enough, that’s what actually does calm him down.

He also kinda hates that you don’t get scared of him. You’re supposed to flinch when he raises his voice. You’re supposed to avoid him when he’s pissed.

But you don’t. Instead, you meet his glares with a completely neutral expression, asking if he’s done yet so you can actually talk.

It’s infuriating. But also kinda attractive. He doesn’t know what to do with himself when you are like this.

Frank can’t stand the delusional optimism that some of these people in the realm have, believing that one day they will be able to get out of here.

This is probably another reason why he likes you so much because you learned to accept the hell that you are now trapped in and try to make the best out of it.

You keep him in check, whether he likes it or not.

He’s reckless, quick to act on his emotions, and you’re the only one who knows how to pull him back before he does something he’ll regret.

“Frank. Breathe.” A simple phrase, spoken in that specific tone of yours, and somehow it works (though if anyone else told him that he would be even more pissed off). Not always, but enough times that he hates to admit he needs you.

He’ll rarely outright say he appreciates you. But you notice the small ways he shows it, like getting an extra cigarette for you, standing next to you without a word when you seem tired, “accidentally” leaving his jacket where you can take it when it’s cold.

He starts getting jealous in the most annoying ways.

You get along with most of the people in the realm, and that pisses him off.

It’s not even that he thinks you’re into anyone else, he just doesn’t understand how you can be so patient with people when they’re so damn stupid.

If he catches you talking to Dwight too much, he’ll suddenly appear behind you, throwing an arm over your shoulder and glaring at Dwight like, Yeah, they’re mine, fuck off.

Frank’s love language is very physical. Not in the soft, romantic way, more like grabbing your wrist and pulling you somewhere without explanation, resting his chin on your head when he’s tired, slinging his arm around your waist like it’s no big deal.

He’s not gentle, but he’s not rough with you either, just possessive.

Nsfw

Frank is very impatient, and you’re not.

This leads to some very interesting moments. He’s the type to get frustrated easily, to want things now, while you take your sweet time, teasing him just by staying calm when he’s anything but.

He also gets off on how collected you stay. It should piss him off more, but something about you keeping your cool even when he’s breathing heavy against your neck, hands gripping your hips like he’s about to lose his mind, it messes with him.

You’re not unaffected, but you make him work for it, and it drives him insane.

You have this way of keeping control without even trying. He’s rough, he’s demanding, but somehow, he always ends up following your pace.

You pull his hair, and he melts. You tell him to slow down, and he grits his teeth but obeys. He doesn’t even realize you’re the one in control half the time, it’s not until afterward that he’s like, wait a fucking second…

Jealous/frustrated in general Frank is a menace.

If he’s mad about something (or someone), expect him to take it out on you, in the best way.

He’ll have that look in his eye, with that you’re mine energy, pushing you against a wall, hands gripping your jaw as he growls something possessive against your lips.

But at the same time, you can ruin him with a single touch. It’s unfair how well you know him, how just dragging your nails down his spine can turn him into putty.

He hates it, he loves it. And he’ll make sure you pay for it later.

Frank talks a lot. He’s always running his mouth, always cursing, always vocal.

Whether he’s growling complaints about how you’re too fucking calm or moaning shamelessly when you do something that feels too good, it’s constant.

And you? You just smirk. Because you love making him eat his words.

[strangererotica]

INTENSITY

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Mean!Dom!Anthony Bridgerton x Reader • smut smut smut • this is my first Bridgerton fic; please be gentle with me (unless you’re Anthony Bridgerton, in which case go hard as fuck on my ass…) Includes: mean Anthony, rough sex, degradation, cum play, prostitution, oral & vaginal sex, spit

The moment you saw Anthony Bridgerton enter the room, your stomach dropped. His handsome features were sharper than usual, eyes colored black with an intensity you’d never seen before. He appeared to be in a state of rage, well past the usual harshness of attitude he normally presented.

Several of the ladies you ‘worked,’ with at the gentleman’s club flocked to Lord Bridgerton, though it was immediately clear that his interest lay elsewhere. Dispersing them with a wave of his hand, he moved through the women easily. His penetrating gaze refused to soften, growing even more severe when his eyes landed on you.

Bowing politely before him, you forced a smile to mask your anxiety. “Lord Bridgerton,” you greeted. “How good to see you a-.”

He abruptly took your arm, leading you towards the stairs. “Silence. You will not speak until I allow it-do you understand?” Lord Bridgerton’s words bit low at your ear. He guided you to the second floor, clutching you at his side. He reached for the handle of the first door you came too, yanking it open only to realize the room was currently being used. He glared at both its occupants, before pulling the door shut and dragging you to the one across from it.

When this second room proved to be unoccupied, Lord Bridgerton ushered you inside. He kicked the door closed with his foot, his hands busy loosening the white cravat around his neck. “Undress,” Lord Bridgerton ordered, speaking so low and quickly that you failed to hear him. “Very well,” he snapped, aggressively discarding his vest to the floor. Your pulse was racing, your heartbeat thrumming against Lord Bridgerton’s fingers as they slipped beneath the front of your bodice. He tugged your body into his, making you gasp. In his impatience, Lord Bridgerton had failed to notice how genuinely unnerved you were by him tonight.

The previous week had been a frustrating blur for Anthony, as he was busy interrogating interviewing women for marriage. He’d felt himself completely at the mercy of what society and his family told him he must do. Although he’d never admit it, the pressure of being Viscount Bridgerton was exhausting. It was even a bit frightening, in some ways, to have so many people depending on him. Tonight, that pressure would be removed from Anthony completely. He could transfer his nerves to someone else for awhile, allowing you to carry that burden for him.

Sinking his hand over your chest, Anthony felt your heartbeat kick rapidly against his palm. He almost pitied you in that moment, realizing what a fearsome creature he must have appeared to be downstairs. Then again, Anthony reminded himself, did the feelings of a whore really matter to him anyway? He would take what he needed from you, as usual, and move on. Just as he always did. This transaction had taken place between you countless times before. The only difference being that tonight, Anthony had come to you in a particularly dark mood.

His fingers began roughly working the laces of your bodice undone. “Since you seem to have forgotten how a whore behaves,” Anthony scolded. “I shall have to instruct you. Open your mouth.” You parted your lips obediently. Anthony’s thumb hooked between them, tugging your bottom lip downward. His eyes were like black pools, void of emotion as he spat inside your mouth. He closed his hand around your chin, prompting you to swallow, then forced your lips apart with his tongue. Anthony tasted like bourbon, the harshness of his kiss blended with the smooth flavor you’d now come to associate with him alone.

He suddenly pulled back from you, hurriedly undoing his trousers. “On your knees,” Anthony ordered. He felt ready to burst at the seams, both figuratively and literally. His cock was already leaking onto his fist as he worked himself out of his trousers. Anthony tapped the head of his cock to your cheek, satisfied with the way his precum was left smeared down the side of your face. “Why do you insist on painting your face with cosmetics, (y/n)?” Lord Bridgerton asked. “When you look so much better painted in this…?” He dragged his swollen tip along your cheek and lips, pausing there to press just slightly between them. With the head of his cock nestled at the front of your mouth, you instinctively began to nurse it lightly; but Anthony removed his cock and continued his strange, degrading little ‘art project,’ by smearing your saliva and his precum all over your face with his cock.

“Hmm,” he hummed condescendingly. “Perhaps my brother isn’t the only artist in the family?” He pressed the tip of his cock between your lips again, collecting more of your spit, and spread it along your other cheek. “Such a pretty canvas,” Lord Bridgerton observed. “I’ll certainly take great pleasure in ruining it.” He released his cock, letting his shaft rest thick and weighty against your chin. You gazed up at the gorgeous, intimidating visage of Anthony Bridgerton, grateful to see that while his words remained barbed as ever, his countenance had softened considerably. Whatever stress he’d entered the gentleman’s club with that evening, he’d apparently managed to release some of it between then and now.

You decided to test your theory by playfully inquiring “In what ways do you wish to ruin me, my lord?”

Anthony’s confident smirk returned. He lifted you onto the bed and settled between your legs, shoving your dress around your waist. Pivoting his hips over yours, Anthony rubbed his erection against your thigh. A slippery trail of precum wet your leg, the veins along his cock throbbing as he lowered himself over you. “Allow me to demonstrate,” he replied, settling his teeth over your shoulder just hard enough to sting. You winced, drawing in a sharp breath. Without giving you time to recover from the shock of his biting you, Anthony plunged his cock inside you. The air left your lungs at once, your eyes fixing on Anthony’s and the debauched look of ‘victory,’ on his face.

Regardless of how many times the viscount had made use of your ‘services,’ the impact of him entering you always felt like being split in half. Anthony was well endowed, particularly in terms of girth. You’d seen longer cocks before (not that Anthony was lacking in length) but his thickness was on another level entirely. Fitting him down your throat was almost impossible, and your ass?? That would have been unthinkable, had Anthony not spent a considerable amount of time (weeks, in fact) teasing you open with his fingers, working your tolerance up to the point you’d be able to take his cock.

Feeling his climax approaching, Anthony quickly pulled out of you and moved up your body till he was straddling your shoulders. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his cheeks flushed, black eyes wide and craving. Anthony fucked himself over you, his damp chest rising and falling with harsh breaths as the head of his cock bloomed white. Semen pulsed thick and warm onto your lips and cheeks as Anthony frantically tugged his cock over your face. Breathy, vulnerable groans escaped his lips as his orgasm consumed him. The former, fearsome lion of a man he’d behaved as earlier was now diminished to little more than a timid lamb.

Anthony collapsed backward onto the bed beside you, tilting his head to inspect his design all over your face. Semen coated your lips in a milky gloss, streaked in globs across your cheeks, pearly drops beaded on your lashes. Anthony used part of the bedsheet to dry your eyes. He then scooped his cum from your cheeks with his forefinger and fed it to you, guiding it onto your tongue. Planting a satisfied kiss on your breast, Anthony looked up at you with a humble, happy grin. You couldn’t help but chuckle, at this complete change in his character in so short a time.

“Was I that frightening?” he asked, and you nodded: “Very.”

Anthony tutted softly in self reproach, before swiping his tongue across your breast. “Then I should like to make amends for my incorrigible behavior, by apologizing,” he grinned up at you, kissing his way down your belly. “And although most apologies are spoken-.” Anthony lingered between your thighs, his breath dusting your clit, making you shiver. “-I prefer to use my tongue in more creative ways…”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

miscellaneous fellow honest headcanons

These aren't following any prompt in particular, these are just thoughts I had when I saw the guy hammin' it up and then turning on us.

Some of these headcanons are informed by fan art I've seen and discussions I've had with friends, while others are purely me.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

He calls people “little lads” and “little ladies”.

Fellow has a very noticeable laugh. Like, he grunts and snorts and has tears rolling down his cheeks. (He tends to laugh at others’ misery, thinking of it as “retribution” or “payback” for the injustices he has suffered himself.)

Bro shaves using a knife (yes, he shaves because he is a grown ass man) because razors are hella expensive.

He uses that cheap cologne and cakes it on THICK. This, in his mind, gives off the impression that he’s a well-off and put-together individual you should tooootally trust.

Also the type of person that lays it on thick with his words. If he’s trying to impress a date or something, he’ll shower them with so many compliments it almost seems fake. But no, he’s just the type to simp hard when he happens to be genuine 💀 most of the time he’s faking it though—

He’s very street smart, but in a way where he confuses hostile people by talking over them and acting overly friendly. They usually stuns them long enough for him and Gidel to skedaddle.

If he gets dumped, he'd be the pathetic whimpering boyfriend that begs for his ex to take him back. When they inevitably don't, he mopes all day about it.

He chain smokes and aggressively drinks as a coping mechanism on his bad days 😔 and sometimes he gambles (like, on those scratch-off cards) hoping that he'll strike it rich and buy him and Gidel a better life...

Basically, he generally does not have his shit together but tries his best to pass like someone who does (and usually succeeds at it).

Fellow appears in public wearing his full suit, but at home (ie whatever ratty temporary housing their boss found for them before they move on to the next place) he just wears a T-shirt and lounges around in boxers (and sometimes socks with holes in them).

He uses those disposable eyeshadow wands that snap in half at the slightest bit of too much pressure. Fellow acts like the Claire’s kid makeup he uses is the luxury stuff, but Vil can tell the pigmentation isn’t all there and there’s MAD fallout.

He may be broke AF and have his moments of emotional spiraling, but he has pretty decent budgeting skills. Fellow lives for sales and does extreme couponing to stretch their money as far as it will go.

He invests in other cost-saving methods like wearing shoes until the sole is literally flopping off and just adding water to residual soap in a pump bottle to make the soap "last longer".

Fellow is really good at cutting food (bread, beans) thin to conserve it. Yes, this is a reference to an old Mickey Mouse cartoon—

When he was younger, he had dreams of being an actor (and, more specifically, starring in musicals). That's why he's often humming, swinging around his cane, and/or whistling as he's on the prowl for idiots to sucker—they're remainders of his thespian days before his dreams were crushed into itty bitty pieces.

Man looks like he'd be great at tap dancing.

Before his current gig, he tried a bunch of other scams including a MLM at one point to get by. His signature spell came in pretty clutch in those days too.

Fellow’s not that good at reading or spelling—in fact, he was never a particularly strong student. (“I didn’t fail school!! The schools failed ME!!”) He’s easily frustrated by academics and thinks there should be more hands-on and practical skills taught in learning institutions.

I think it's a given that he and Ruggie would be besties since they both want to eat the rich but I also think Fellow would kiss ass to Azul and then rage about how shitty + entitled Azul is (Azul reminds Fellow of his boss)💀 Scammers hate other scammers because they're both competing to scam the same people--

Even though Fellow is an asshole to most others (well, when he’s not flattering them to lure them into a trap), he’s always nice to Gidel and puts him first. If there’s ever a situation where they’re short on something (clothes, food, etc), Gidel gets priority. This is why Gidel has a full outfit (even if parts are patches or mismatched) whereas Fellow himself has a glove that is so worn out there’s a hole in one of the pinkie fingers.

Fellow may not be blessed with a bounty of magic, but he’s quick on his feet and good with words. Because of these skills, he’s talented at spinning bedtime stories, which he often tells to Gidel to help him fall asleep on nights that are particularly cold and nasty.

Gidel still believes in Santy Claws and wishing upon stars, and Fellow doesn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. He’ll figure it out on his own one day, Fellow thinks. He just doesn’t want to be the one to ruin those childhood joys for him.

Playing pretend is another shared past time of theirs. It helps Fellow get into character before he goes off to swindle people, and it gives Gidel a way to express himself in spite of being mute. They have a routine they do together where Fellow pretends to be a doctor diagnosing a patient and Gidel takes down notes for him as his medical scribe. Yes, this is a Pinocchio reference—

They actually have many more games they play (mainly because they cannot afford other forms of entertainment). Some of the games are clever ruses conjured by Fellow to teach Gidel survival tips and tricks: the who-can-make-their-piece-of-bread-last-longer game, hide-and-seek (from the authorities), etc.

For special occasions, Fellow saves up some money on the side to grant Gidel little luxuries, like a box of crayons to doodle with.

Gidel hugs Fellow’s leg or waist to cheer him up when he’s upset. He also hides behind Fellow when he’s scared or feeling shy.

He’s just really attached to Gidel cuz they have no one else in this cruel world, just them against the world 😔 He sees a lot of his younger self in the little boy… the opportunities lost because of their circumstances… “It’s alright, Gidel. Leave it to Fellow-sama.”

[yawnderu]

Simon ''Ghost'' Riley - Character Study

Ghost mourns the death of Simon Riley to this day. When Simon Riley faked his death and switched his dog tags with the ones of the colleague who killed his entire family, he burnt his family home and Ghost was born. His arm sleeve has a tattoo of dog tags, which belong to Simon though the engraving is not visible.

Unlike some may think, Ghost isn't cold or rude. Throughout the entire campaign he remains polite and even cracks jokes with Soap to help both of them to calm down, something that certain spec ops do in real life as well during tense missions to ease the tension.

He doesn't enjoy killing, his voice lines in multiplayer show it. He's quiet, reserved, and gets the job done simply because that is the path that he chose.

Ghost isn't completely averse to touch despite his trauma, though touchy people could easily make him uncomfortable unless he knows them and feels comfortable around them. Pats on the shoulder, handshakes, and maybe even a quick hug are some of the things Ghost doesn't seem to mind.

Contrary to popular belief, Ghost/Simon would never lay a hand on you or be too rough during sex. Even Ghost, the rough around the edges soldier, would never slap you, degrade you, or even roleplay CNC/dubious consent scenarios with you. This man has been raped and sexually assaulted by men and women multiple times, and he literally has nightmares in which he's violent sexually towards women- he would never let those nightmares become true.

When and if he's ever comfortable having sex with someone, he'd be gentle, asking multiple times for your consent and testing your reactions to see if you're into it. At the first hint of hesitation, he'd stop. It would take him months and maybe even years to feel comfortable touching someone in that way, and it would never be just a random person- it'd have to be someone very close to him, likely a partner or a teammate.

Simon/Ghost is not aggressive. He'd never be abusive and quite honestly, it's frustrating seeing all the headcanons about this man possibly being abusive or putting his hands on his partner when he's mad. This man has been abused his whole life, both as a civilian and as a soldier- he'd rather die than become an abuser like his father or Roba.

Horribly afraid of losing the few people he trusts. His entire family was murdered, he's scared of getting close to anyone just for them to meet the same fate.

He knows how to stay calm extremely well, he's an experienced soldier and even when he's about to die- he manages to be calm and gentle, as heard on his voice lines in multiplayer.

Anyway. This man is a gentle and caring soldier, despite the fact that he's rough around the edges and extremely reserved, always keeping it professional. Befriend him and you'll find a loyal companion for life.

[qwimchii]

𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘴 (pt 3) — 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘤𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯!𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺. 𝘸𝘤 — 7.5𝘬

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘸𝘸 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘳𝘳𝘯𝘯𝘯, 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴 & 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘵/𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 (𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳), 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵/𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨??

note: next part... i liked writing this one 🤭 also for all those wondering: yes the blonde mildly passive aggressive alpha woman is kate laswell <3 i love her with my everything

you rubbed at the temple of your forehead, trying and failing to keep it all together as you watched Simon sew a patch of fabric against a hole in a little pumpkin costume.

biting back a sigh, you fought the heavy frustration on your tongue as you reached over to him, numb to the sensation of your hands brushing against his gloved ones after the past hour of close proximity.

“like this,” you said in an even tone, demonstrating the stitch slowly, and he nodded, taking the needle, looking impossibly small between his fingers, and copied your movements.

leaning back again, you mulled over the day with a bitterness. 

when you pulled into the parking lot of the cafe on smith and wellerstation, you had already been having a shitty day, hands clutched tight around the leather grip of the steering wheel. you had spotted Simon, early as ever, by the front window of the cafe, hunched over and enveloped in black, scrolling through his phone.

for some reason, the sight of him only irked you more. and then it mixed in with that muddled feeling of guilt. or sympathy.

you had realized that you didn’t really know what you were feeling as you stepped into the cafe, a soft chime filling the half-vacant establishment. ordering a drink from a barista at the front counter, you glanced over your shoulder to find him staring back at you, ducking his head a little in greeting.

with a flush, you just snapped your head forward again to pay before picking up the steaming mug on the counter and carefully walking over to Simon, perched in a spacious booth that he easily filled.

you exchanged few words and a sorry excuse for a how are you that boiled down to you look tired and you do too. though it wasn’t unkind, you noted, a bit mournful of the fact that you had seen him three times within one week. two days in a row, no less.

pushing the thought away, you brushed your hair back and sat by him to dive into his first sewing lesson. he picked it up quickly, thankfully, and soon enough he was trying it on his own with a long, charged silence that simmered between you.

then, you had picked up your own supplies and a boy’s pirate costume, restitching the seam along the collar of the costume. 

all was well and silent until he suddenly broke the silence with a blunt remark. “where do you work?”

you glanced up at him with a stale feeling. all his attention was trained on the tiny costume in his big hands, a look of determination pinching his face. you almost laughed at the sight.

“at my dad’s auto shop.”

he nodded slowly. “you fix cars?”

“no,” you said, returning back to the pirate costume, “i do the finances for fixing the cars.”

you cleared your throat. “what about you? what do you do in the military?”

you could see him glance up at you in your peripheral. “it’s classified.”

brows flying up, and your head snapped up to look at him. “really?”

he made a strange noise between a huff and a snort. “no. i’m special ops. sas.”

“oh.”

you gazed into his face, which betrayed nothing, and shifted in your seat. did Simon Riley just joke with you?

for some reason, you felt one-upped in a strange way.

“does your occupation require you to wear…” you stared at his mask. “...masks?”

his brow furrowed for just a second, and he glared down at the pumpkin costume, but the pinched look smoothed away almost immediately. oops. you didn’t mean to piss him off.

“no. i can take it off if you want.”

“no, no,” you spluttered, feeling embarrassed, “whatever you’re comfortable with is fine with me.”

he just nodded slowly, and from the way his shoulders tightened, you could tell the short conversation had effectively ended. you wanted to smack yourself in the face, but instead you just took a sip of your hot drink with a quiet sigh, looking out the window of the cafe.

it was already getting dark in the late fall hours, the street lights twinkling in the night, brown and orange leaves swirling in the breeze across the sidewalk. you jumped when a familiar girl, clutching at her purse, and scot, hands shoved into his sweatpants, were walking side by side toward the cafe, locked in a riveting conversation.

you watched them enter with a half-dropped jaw, their conversation loud, chattery, and bubbly as it filled the now empty cafe. when Sarah spotted you in the booth beside Simon, she waved with an excitement that had your stomach curdling.

you sent her a weak smile back, looking at her, then to the man beside her. they both strode up and Johnny, like always, gave you a, “hey, lass! how you been doin’?”

you withered into your seat. “good.”

you looked to Sarah with narrowed eyes, expecting a good explanation for this… coincidence. Simon had stilled beside you, looking as equally peeved as you felt, staring up at the two of them.

Sarah must’ve sensed the terse energy in the room because she turned between you and Johnny nervously. “i was just looking for you at your apartment, but you weren’t there, but i happened to meet Johnny in the hallway, and he happened to be kind enough to show me the way to where you are, and—”

eyes flitting to Johnny, you tried to conceal the bitter boil in your stomach that spilled out into your face. snitch, you wanted to hiss at the innocent smile on his face, remembering how he had listened with an intensity to the conversation between you and Simon the other day.

then, Sarah dug around her bag and pulled out her phone, waving it around at you with a weak look. “you weren’t responding to my texts…”

you pulled out your phone, scrolling through the notifications, seeing that she had called you twice and sent about ten texts. oops.

you felt a bit more sympathetic for the guilt dripping off Sarah. 

“sorry,” you said, reaching across the table to pat her hand. “i was a bit busy teaching this guy how to sew.”

at that, Johnny’s brows rose slightly, but the look of shock on his face melted off his face as soon as it had been there. you just eyed him with suspicion.

Simon cut in, seeming like he wanted to change the topic of conversation, and said in that gruff, flat voice, “what do you need? is it an emergency?”

Sarah shook her head quickly. “no, no, i just wanted to tell you guys about last minute party plans for tomorrow night. since it’s going to be the weekend…?”

you cocked your head. “party plans for who?”

“for the group,” she said, then added, “but we can invite plus twos. it’s a little fall function at Iris’s place.”

then she gestured to Johnny in a friendly manner and a smile. “so i invited Johnny as well! since he’s your neighbor,” she said, gesturing to you, and then to Simon, “and Johnny’s your coworker! so i thought that’d be fun. right you guys?”

Johnny just grinned at Sarah. for a moment, there was a tense silence, before you exhaled out between gritted teeth. “why didn’t you just text me?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “i did. but i wanted to bring you these.”

she dug around her bag for a moment before sliding a tupperware box of frosted cookies that looked like mini-ghosts.

“a sample for the bake sale. i wanted you to be my taste tester,” she said with a wink, sharing a grin with Johnny, who looked perfectly content with the tense energy of the conversation.

“thanks,” you chewed out, staring down at the sugar cookies. you really were grateful. but with Simon’s presence flush by your side, and Johnny’s eyes darting around the cafe, and flitting over you, you just wanted to shrink away.

“i’ll see you tomorrow then?” she offered, and you nodded, feeling like you were chaining yourself to another death sentence when you said, “i’ll be there.”

Simon nodded beside you, and usually Sarah wouldn’t think it was enough to take that for a yes, but seeming that he barely seemed to talk at all, she gave you both a curt nod of satisfaction before bidding her goodbyes. Johnny gave you a quick farewell, slapping Simon on the back, then turned on his heel and followed Sarah out the cafe.

you both sat in a long unmoving silence, before Simon sighed out heavy and long by your side, taking up the pumpkin costume again. he embodied exactly how you felt, and in a silent truce for peace, you nudged over the tupperware of cookies to him.

he took one, flipping down his mask to eat it before pulling it back up again, and you just returned to your sewing, chewing on soft sugar cookies, a comfortable silence filling the space between you.

it was mid-evening—the setting sun filtering through the foggy clouds above and a teeth-chattering cold falling over the city as you pulled up along Iris’s block. 

all you knew about your fellow group therapy member was that she struck gold in college—married a rich guy and lived in a big suburban home. the kind that had a big pool in the back. the kind that you had always wanted as a kid, but ended up more often than not in your dad’s greasy auto repair shop for a good night’s sleep rather than your own home.

you turned off the ignition, sighing out, and lurched out of your car in slow and sluggish movements, making sure to grab the dish of food you made from the backseat. a childhood favorite that your mom used to make.

walking up the steps, you knocked on the big front door, rubbing at your hands, trying to build a friction between them as you shivered at the front door. when no one answered, you reached out to ring the doorbell when—

“cold?”

you jumped with a yelp, jerking around to see Simon standing a step behind you and his hands shoved into the pocket of his jeans. he still had that black surgical mask over the lower-half of his face, but he was wearing one of those leather jacket with a fur lining that looked military issued, dirty blonde hair strewn across his forehead.

he cleans up nicely, you realized with a dry swallow, immediately shaking the thought from yourself.

“Simon, you scared the shit out of me,” you hissed, clutching at the fast thud in your chest.

his eyes flashed, and you could tell he was smirking under that stupid mask of his. 

“sorry,” was all he offered, reaching around you to ring the doorbell. his chest brushed against your back and you flinched away from him with flushed cheeks.

you both waited in silence, the wind whistling through your ears, and you could feel him curling over to peer at the dish in your hands. stomach knotted, you twisted away to send him a contorted look.

“what?” you asked, eyes narrowed, suddenly defensive of the tupperware family recipe in your hands as you concealed it from view.

he blinked down at you before stepping back, staring sightlessly forward. “nothin’. smells good is all.”

your mouth dropped open to make a dry reply before the front door finally swung open.

“hey!” Iris greeted with a smile, donned in a fine cashmere sweater and leggings, holding a champagne flute. her husband poked his head out from behind her shoulder, wearing a freshly pressed button up and khaki pants.

you suddenly felt very underdressed in a cheap, thrifted dress.

“come on in,” he said with a sparkling smile, and you thought with a bitterness that he must be one of those guys who does stupid whitening strips or something, which was entirely ridiculous because you had tried them once before, but nonetheless…

“thank you for having us,” Simon said, filling in your silence. 

you glanced over at him, wishing you could say that you didn’t need him to speak for you. his eyes flitted over to you, offering nothing but a roll of his shoulders. a motion that you discerned as a dry, sardonic, whatever.

looking back at the party hosts, your brow quirked when you noticed Iris eyeing Simon’s mask warily. and for some reason that irked you.

so you said for Simon, “he’s not feeling too well. don’t want others catching a cold, right?”

she just laughed, airy and long and pinched with unease, waving you off and mumbling something that you couldn’t really hear before she motioned for you to step into the entrance hall. you shucked off your jacket, thanking her husband when he took it, and walked into the house—ginormous and very well-decorated. too well-decorated. like they didn’t even live in their own home.

you hugged your own chest, rubbing over your arms, and startled when you felt Simon at your back. looking back at him, he just slightly raised his brows, before gesturing a hand to step further in the house. you shuffled forward, feeling strangely embarrassed from the close proximity, and followed Iris into the open plan of the living room and kitchen.

there were a lot more people than you recognized in your group, you realized with unease, all chattering loudly as you moved over to the kitchen to put out your dish of family food, taking in the wide-array of charcuterie boards and cocktail shrimp and glasses of pricey alcohol.

a group of men you had never seen before stood in the kitchen, sipping on wine, teeth sparkling, looking trim in ralph lauren and very fit. one caught your eye, sending you a smirk, eyes roaming down your body, then up, before taking a sip of wine.

at that, you bit back a shiver and promptly disappeared into the rest of the people. 

you practically deflated when you looked around the room, immediately noting the absence of the big blonde brute at your back—it seemed that he had disappeared just as fast as you wanted to at the moment. 

instead, you moved from group to group, giving meek greetings to the girls you recognized who pulled you into hugs. most of the girls were flanked by a male that you had never met before, and you would scurry away just as soon as you would greet them, till you finally came across Sarah and Maya… talking with a man you knew.

“i finally found you,” you said with desperation, clinging to Maya and Sara’s sides. Johnny gave you an amused look, sipping at a beer.

you found yourself uncaring for his presence when you asked them, “why are there so many men here?”

Johnny just laughed and Maya patted at your head, sending you a sympathetic look.

“apparently Iris’s husband was in a frat. they’re ex-college friends,” Sarah explained, her face twisting between amusement and pity, before handing you a wine glass from a platter perched on a table in the hallway.  “i would’ve told you if i knew, darling.”

you sighed out. of course. ex-frat boys. your absolute least favorite kind. 

“i know you would have,” you mourned, wrapping yourself around Maya’s arm, then took a large gulp of wine.

“i heard you came in with Simon,” Maya said quietly, sending you a look out of her peripheral. 

you froze at that, hoping Johnny couldn’t hear you when you whispered, “don’t worry, he’s all yours, Maya.”

she flushed deeply at that, shaking you off of her. “that’s not what i meant.”

you made sure that Johnny and Sarah were still engrossed in their own conversation when you retorted, “that’s definitely what you meant. you think he’s cute?”

wholly enjoying it when she avoided your gaze, you wiggled your brow suggestively at her with a smirk. “or do you think he’s hot? you think he’s sexy, huh?”

you nudged her shoulder. “huh? huh?”

she swatted at you and you laughed, taking more mouthfuls of your wine as the strangest lump sunk from your throat to your stomach. sticking by Johnny, Maya, and Sarah, you felt shielded from the rest of the… males in the room. yet you still couldn’t help but wonder where Simon had disappeared to. you ended up finishing two more glasses of wine with a nervous sort of tick in your stomach.

dashing the outlandish murmurs of thoughts in your head, you let yourself get swept away with the events of the evening… drinking, talking. talking and more talking. drinking.

by the time your group moved closer to the kitchen, you were unbelievable bored as you searched around for the familiar blonde brute, satisfied when you saw him sitting on a barstool at the island in the kitchen, a glass of bourbon in his hand and a couple girls you had never seen before chatting with him at his shoulder.

they were obviously curious, you noticed, rolling your eyes, a bit worried for Maya when she eyed the scene carefully.

as you neared the food spread out over the island, you could hear those same ex-frat boys, speaking obnoxiously loud, and that one who had ogled you earlier was poking around at the food—specifically, your food.

he was prodding at it with a fork, exchanging looks with his friends, choking back on laughter when he said, “who brought the granny food?”

you stilled at that, staring at them laughing at the meal you had cooked. 

“isn’t that yours?” Maya asked softly, wide eyes trained on the tense situation at the other side of the room.

when you didn’t answer, Sarah’s face twisted as she stepped forward, her jaw falling open with a pinched look of intent on her face, but you waved a hand at her before she could say anything.

“just don’t,” you said through gritted teeth, embarrassed that Johnny was witnessing the spectacle in silence.

you felt even more embarrassed that Simon, down and across the kitchen island, was staring at them too.

but then he suddenly stood, cutting through the conversation of the invasive girls at his shoulder, and put down his glass of bourbon. “i did.”

the boys down the table fell silent, and the one that ogled you earlier let out a soft oh. Simon snatched a plate from the island and prowled over, towering over the rest of them and loaded up his plate with your food. then, his eyes flit up to yours, dark and murky as he took a bite.

you just closed your eyes and turned on your heel, walked back down the hallway with a mechanic stiffness despite Sarah’s protest. from behind you, you could hear Iris chiding David for being so rude.

you didn’t know who David was, and you didn’t care, till you reached a place in the house where no one else was. a study or office of sorts with big windows and a desk strewn with materials, darker here where there weren’t as many lights, night falling fast.

rubbing at your temples, you tried to slow your breath, pacing around the spacious room. you were seething. Kate would tell you that you were living in a reactionary moment—prolonging a feeling of shock or anger. what really lied underneath that was grief.

or, what you deciphered from the bullshit was that you were being overdramatic. overreacting.

you felt stupid when tears welled up in your eyes. 

there were footsteps nearing the office and you quickly wiped at them, expecting to find Sarah or Maya or maybe even Simon but—

it was Iris’s husband.

“hey,” he said softly, clearing his throat, “i’m so sorry about that earlier. my friends can be…”

a sheepish look crossed his face as he scratched at the back of his neck. “...really stupid sometimes. i’m Leo by the way.”

you just gave him a curt nod, sending him a weak it’s fine, but even knew that you sounded entirely unconvincing.

his eyes darted around the room before he added, “i tried your food earlier. i thought it was fantastic. i’m sick of charcuterie boards and cocktail shrimp anyway.”

you laughed at that, thought it came out flat and dead.

when a silence ensued, he asked you, “is that a family recipe or something?”

you nodded, clearing your throat weakly. “my mom made it as a kid. a family favorite.”

he clasped his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels like he didn’t know what to do with the awkward tension of the room. “oh, nice. my mom used to make tuna casserole all the time. i hated it back then, but i love it now, but i can never seem to get it right. and you seem to be great at cooking and all—”

he waved at hand at you and you flushed, thanking him, before another silence followed. 

then, there was a new flint of curiosity in his eyes as he stepped towards you. immediately, you edged backwards, a new taste of apprehension coating your tongue.

“remind me of your name again?”

you gave it to him, slowly, and clutched at the hem of your dress, tugging it down further over your thighs.

“your name. it’s pretty.”

you practically squeaked, “thanks.”

he shifted a bit closer to you, so you were just an arm’s length from him now, and you shuffled backwards, panicked when the back of your thighs hit the desk.

“and your dress…” he said, staring down at your body for a long moment, before his eyes flit up over your chest and to your face. “it’s pretty on you.”

your voice was much more strained now. “thank you.”

he tilted his head, almost in a predatory manner. “why doesn’t Iris invite you over more? you seem like such a lovely girl.”

lovely girl. your skin was crawling, eyes darting around the room, terrified that the only exit meant walking straight through him.

“mhmm,” was all you offered, skirting to the side, but he stepped forward again, almost closing the distance between you.

his hand came up like he was going to play with the end of your dress, but it stopped just short, hovering over the skin of your thigh.

“i’m going to go back to the party now,” you whispered, a fear eating you inside and out that sent a dizzy, hazy spiral through your mind. you wanted distance from him. now. forever.

he leaned forward so that he towered over you, much bigger and broader when he was this close—

“so soon?”

his fingertips just barely brushed over the skin of your thigh when a thick, rough voice cut through the room. 

“Leo.”

Leo scrambled backwards, clearing his throat as he turned to the person who had just stepped into the room. you almost melted in relief at the sight of Simon by the door.

“your wife is asking for you,” he said slowly, voice low and rough. his eyes were darker now, brows furrowed, and he looked terrifyingly big in the doorway.

Leo just nodded, hands clasped at his back again as he hesitated, head flicking from you to the brute’s gaze that bores into him. “right.”

he strode out the room, not even sending you a glance as he squeezed around Simon who didn’t move an inch, stock still as he stared after Leo.

you almost crumpled to the floor, shrinking as you clutched at the desk for support, legs shaking with effort.

“are you alright?” Simon asked, though he didn’t move any closer to you. the relief in that was like cold water splashing over the panicked heat of your body.

“no,” you admitted, turning your head away when tears spilled down your cheeks.

screwing them shut, you felt a deluge of shame and embarrassment rush over you.

“i wasn’t trying anything with Leo,” you said between sniffles, “i swear i—”

“i know,” he said, cutting you off.

you crossed your arms over your chest, rubbing at your arms as you shook. you tried to stop the shaking, but you couldn’t. you couldn’t stop it.

“you’re shaking,” he observed, voice cracked open with a sort of awe that you had never heard before. maybe shock was a better word.

your breath came labored now, and the room went dizzy, so you slowly skirted around the desk, clutching the wall for support as the floor fell out from under you.

Simon called your name, but it sounded distant and muffled.

“i’m fine,” you said, not able to make out his words that only sounded like mumbles in your ears.

slowly, you slid down the wall, crumpling yourself into a ball and digging your nose into the valley between your knees, a wetness sliding over them from your eyes. you just cried as you rocked, unsure what to do with yourself, feeling like you were going to pass out from the rough breaths that ripped from your lungs.

another body slid down the wall beside you, still far, but their warm fingers hooking on your wrist gently. picking up your head, you shifted out of Simon’s touch, his stoney gaze a marginal distance from your own.

“look,” he said, voice soft, as he put his hand into a loose fist and rubbed in circles over his chest. “like this. calms you down.”

between labored breaths, your arms felt leaden and dead when you contracted your hand into a weak fist, drawing small circles over your chest with great effort.

“it’s okay,” he said, sliding his hand between you across the floor in an offering. you curled your fingers around his hand, your own dwarfed by the sheer size of him, and picked it up to press it to your cheek, feeling cool against the uncomfortable heat on your skin.

in your haze, you realized you had never seen him gloveless before, and his skin against yours felt… right.

you slid his hand over your shoulder and to your waist, feeling his fingers curl around the flesh there, gently tugging your forward, and you let him haul you into his lap, his other arm hooking beneath your knees as he nestled you right into his arms.

he buried you in a tight hold, your cheek pressed to his chest as you continued to rub circles into your chest, trying and failing to slow your breath. you clung to him, a hand curling into the material of his shirt. 

you should’ve felt scared, immobilized by a man like this, but you felt impossibly safe, like his arms were the one thing between you and every other dangerous thing in the world.

“listen to me breathe, love.”

his slow breath was grounding, and you tried to match it, forcing the stutter of your lungs to slow. soon enough, you breath was normal once more, and you pulled away from him, crawling off his lap to lean against the wall.

you wiped at the tears that stained your cheeks.

“better?” he asked, and you couldn’t look at him, nodding slowly.

your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, but your body was light and airy, like it was floating off the ground. like you were living in a different world from your own, mind far, far away from your own body. like you could say anything and it wouldn’t matter in the moment.

“it was one of my dad’s friends,” you rasped, voice raw and sore.

when he was silent, you pushed on, “my mom blamed me for it, but i was just a kid. i didn’t know what was happening.”

“my dad didn’t care.” you took a shaky inhale. “he sucked.”

Simon’s hands twitched by his side. “i had a shitty fuckin’ father too.”

you almost smiled at that, thudding your head back against the wall.

“i don’t think i’ll ever recover,” you admitted softly, your heart dropping into your stomach. “i’ll just hate men forever.”

“do you still hate me?” he asked, and you, without hesitation, said, “no.”

he shrugged. “seems like you’ll recover then.”

you stared into the side of face, for the first time, wishing you could look at the other half of his face under the mask properly. it was like you were actually seeing him now, and just how gentle the warmth of his brown eyes could be. 

“what are we gonna do?” you said with a mirthless laugh, trained on the softness in his eyes, “we’re so fucked up we can’t even function properly.”

you could tell he was smiling under that mask.

“maybe a support group could help.”

you snorted at that, knowing full well in the two years that you had been in the group, almost nothing had changed for you. at least, not until Simon.

he stood, offering a hand that you took, and pulled you up gently. you practically clutched at his side, glued to him as he led you back to the party that had swelled into full swing now—loud, spooky music from the surround sound in the living room burst forth, and into the late hours of the night, even more strangers filled the space. it was loud and rowdy and you resisted clutching at your ears, fingers wrapping around the cuff of Simon’s sleeve tightly as you squeezed between different people.

Sarah and Maya were still hanging out near the island, Johnny nowhere to be seen, and talking to some other girls in the group. when they noticed you, Sarah launched herself at you and wrapped you up in a tight, squeezing hug that knocked the air from your lungs. Maya regarded Simon shyly, edging around him before hugging you, too.

she whispered quickly into your ear, “we wanted to check on you, but Iris sent Leo to apologize to you. did everything end up being alright? did he apologize? he wasn’t an asshole, was he?”

you just grimaced in her arms, patting her back softly. “don’t worry, everything’s fine,” you reassured her, and the relief on her face was shattering, concern melting from her features.

looking to Simon, you half-expected him to slink away and disappear into the crowd, but he stayed flush to your side, hands in his pockets as he watched you.

you made steady eye contact with him, slightly rising your brows in question, glancing in the direction of the front door, and he just gave you a curt nod.

“we’re going home,” you shouted over the loud music, and Sarah was quick to take your hand.

“with…” her eyes darted over to Simon, leaning forward to whisper in your ear, “him?”

ah. you had forgotten that the girls in your group thought that you hated him. or beyond that, just all men in general.

“i’ll be fine,” you promised them, believing yourself for once. “you stay and have fun.”

“if you’re going, we’re going too then,” she said, determined, Maya’s head bobbing beside her in agreement, but you just shook your head.

“really,” you shouted, glancing over to the tall man beside you, who looked as though he wasn’t listening, eyes trained somewhere distantly into the throes of the party, but you knew he was. “i’ll be fine.”

they looked unconvinced but didn’t push you nonetheless. Simon gave them curt goodbyes that boiled down to a nod and a low grunt, and you waved at the other girls from the support group, grateful for their concern as you packed up your food with a wince, avoiding a pair of eyes from across the room—David or whatever his name was. he lifted his glass of wine to you before tipping his head back, downing the contents in a couple quick gulps.

you resisted cursing him out, avoiding making another scene at all costs, as you quickly strode out the house and shoved yourself into your jacket on the way, Simon just steps behind you.

you stepped out into the night, shivering immediately from the biting air against your thighs, and without a word, Simon strung his huge, heavy jacket over your shoulders.

“hey—” you began in protest, but he just casually walked past you and down the steps, sending a look of question over his shoulder.

are you coming or not?

the words went unsaid but you followed him anyway, digging around your bag for your keys and fumbling with them between your fingers once you located them.

once you neared your car, you stopped by the driver’s seat. he waited by the sidewalk, stock still as he watched you.

“i drank a lot,” you said with a grimace, and he just tilted his head.

“i just had a glass. i can drive.”

“no,” you snapped, immediately regretting the force in your tone when his brows just raised slightly. softer, you finished, “i can drive myself.”

he gave you a long look. “right. i’m a woman, and i just had one glass. i can drive, yeah?”

the words were so bizarre coming from him that you couldn’t resist the choke of laughter that escaped your throat, and you tossed your car keys over to him that he caught with ease.

“you fooled me, Simon,” you said with a deadpan, enjoying the way his eyes flickered with a playful gleam in the darkness as you switched places with him, sliding into the passenger seat of your car.

“does that mean i get the aux too?” he asked, voice even and blunt as ever, and you rolled your eyes.

“now you’re pushing your luck.”

you handed the cord to him anyways, and he just glanced at you from his peripheral, and something in your gut told you it was a look of victory. 

you ignored it with a smile you tried to smother. he was always one-upping you.

“fancy smashing pumpkins?” he asked, and you nodded weakly, feeling bashful for some reason.

he scrolled down the playlist on his phone and tonight, tonight came blaring through the speakers. you rolled down your window, reaching over to turn it up the volume more.

“feel like a teenager yet?” you shouted over the music, and he pulled down his mask with an amused look, shifting the gear and pulled onto the road. your eyes swept over the curves of his face with a greediness, taking in the strength of his jaw and tall nose because you were actually paying attention to the details of him for once.

“something like that,” he mumbled back, but his words were lost in the music, falling deaf on your ears because all your attention was trained on the small smile that twisted his lips.

by the time you reached your apartment, you had fallen asleep in the car, despite the blaring music. by the time he woke you with a gentle touch to your shoulder, the stereo was turned off, and you stretched up in your seat, shaking the blurriness from your head and blinking through the sleepiness.

you lurched from the car, stepping up onto the sidewalk in front of the townhouse with a yawn, Simon just behind you.

you turned to him with a weak smile. “thank you for driving.”

he nodded. “‘course.”

your eyes darted around, looking back to the entrance, then to him again, and you fumbled with your words.

“do you want to come inside?” then, you flushed deeply. “i know it’s late but—”

he cut you off, sounding almost uninterested. “sure.”

biting down on your lip, you nodded, turning on your heel and shouldering through the heavy entrance with a twist of your keys, making your way up the stairs and down the hallway by his side.

it was surreal that the same experience had occurred only two days prior, and yet a completely new feeling enveloped it. you weren’t scared. you weren’t anxious. you were just…

you looked back at him from over your shoulder, his bare face on display, and glimmering with a few scars you hadn’t noticed before. there was a silvery one slashing through his upper lip. 

he must’ve noticed your stare because he cleared his throat, looking away, and you pushed through the entrance to your apartment flushed with embarrassment.

flicking on the lights, you were eternally grateful you had decided to clean up a bit in the early hours of the weekend and moved into the kitchen, putting all your things down on the kitchen table. including Simon’s jacket, you remembered, getting embarrassed all over again as you laid it carefully out, careful not to crease the high-quality leather.

“make yourself at home,” you called out, poking your head through the entrance of the kitchen momentarily to see him standing with an awkward stiffness by the front door. you looked down to his leather boots. “and shoes off please.”

you turned to the fridge to card through its contents, hearing a shuffling behind you, before silence. in a last minute decision, you grabbed two beers and a packet of salted pistachios from the pantry.

“want a beer?” you offered, finding him splayed across your small couch, arm braced against the back.

warily, you sat beside him, curling up into the corner of the couch and pulling your dress further down over your thighs as you handed him a can of beer.

flipping the tab of your can open with a pop, the contents sizzling inside, you took a generous mouthful.

“thanks,” he said, blunt, as he popped open the can with just one hand, tipping his head back to down half of it in a few massive gulps, throat bobbing with each mouthful.

your eyes darted away from the sight, the proximity between you suddenly feeling unbearable, but not a bad unbearable, just…

hot unbearable.

heart thudding, you reached for the remote on the coffee table instead, and flicked on the television. it pulled up your tab on netflix and that most recent k-drama you were watching.

with a squeak, you flipped through the program quickly to get away from it, but Simon was too quick.

“k-drama?”

you eyed him from your peripheral.

“yes.” to take off the edge of your embarrassment, you teased, “why? are you a k-drama kind of guy, Simon?”

he shook his head. “i don’t like ‘em.”

your jaw dropped, spluttering, “you don’t like them? why?”

his eyes flitted to you from his peripheral. “they’re unrealistic.”

you rolled your eyes. “and that’s exactly why i like them.”

“have you never dated before?”

you almost choked on your drink, glaring at the side of his face, willing him to look at you, but he kept his eyes trained forward on the tv.

“yes, i have, actually,” you said, indignant. “have you?”

he turned his head to look at you, head tilting as his eyes flitted up and down your body. you suppressed a shiver, confused by the mixed sensations of your body.

“what do you think, love?”

when you were only silent, his lips twitched, eyes flashing with amusement. 

then he mumbled quietly, “i never like the male leads.”

you smothered a laugh, trying and failing to imagine Simon hunkered over in his free time, watching k-dramas on his phone.

“‘cause they’re not you?” you deadpanned, amused just at the thought of it. blonde, tall, and corded with thick muscle. he wasn’t much like any male k-drama lead you knew.

“no,” he said, leaning forward to set his empty can of beer on the coffee table, “‘cause they’re immature.”

your mind reeled at that, recounting the current k-drama you were watching, and finding him not half-wrong. 

“you into immature men?” he asked, voice dry with sarcasm.

mocking the deep timbre of his voice, you shot back, “what do you think, love?”

he huffed a laugh of dismay, and you just suppressed a smile, avoiding his eyes.

“you want to know what i think?”

the question had a dripping burn in it that made your skin prickle, insides sliding around with a foreign heat you weren’t accustomed to. when you just shrugged, feigning indifference, you knew Simon’s attentive stare sliced straight through the act.

“i think you just need a mature man who can take care of your needs properly.”

your whole body shuddered, thighs pressing together and stomach twisting with heat. you should’ve been irked by the proposition, angry with him even, but you just clutched tighter at the can in your hand, voice careful and poised. “and you think i can’t take care of my own needs?”

“no,” he said, without a second of hesitation, “but i think that you want to be taken care of.”

you bit down on your lip. “what makes you think that you know what i want?”

“doesn’t everyone want to be taken care of?” he relaxed further into the cushions, head falling onto the back of the couch, gaze lazy as it traced over you.

“do you want to be taken care of?” you asked, setting down your can of beer, uncaring that the hem of your dress had ridden up from the movement. but he didn’t even look down, half-lidded eyes on your face.

“sometimes.”

“do you want me to take care of you?” you asked, voice a whisper as you leaned forward onto your palm, and he was silent for a long moment.

“do you know how to take care of someone?”

your lips pressed together, jaw clenching. “i know enough.”

he gave you a lazy, lopsided smile. “do you even know how to kiss someone?”

at that, you reeled back a bit. was he making fun of you?

a resolute aching pang shot through your chest, and he blinked, sitting up straighter, like you were both just been pulled out of a heady haze that you weren’t supposed to be in. suddenly, this whole situation felt wrong, and not because you didn’t like it, but because it didn’t feel allowed.

“i should go,” he said, face stoney and voice void of anything perceptible. 

you quickly nodded, squeaking out, “yeah, you should.”

the words should’ve been sharp and cutting but they only came out strained and confused as you watched Simon stand from the couch. 

he strode over to the kitchen, snatching his jacket from the table and throwing it on while shoving into his boots once more. you pushed yourself up from the cushions, hands twitching by your sides.

he sent you a strange look from over his shoulder and jerked the door open with a roughness you didn’t know he could carry.

“bye,” you said weakly, and he hesitated in the entrance.

“thanks for…” he glanced towards the living room, and you sent him a confused look, looking back at the cans of beer and nuts on the coffee table.

“oh,” you said, turning back to him, “no problem—”

but the entrance was empty, and you stuck your head out into the hallway to see him already a marginal distance down the hall. cursing, you grabbed a random shoe from the rack by the doorway and shoved it into the crack of the door, rushing after him.

“wait!” you called, and he turned, slowing as you approached him.

your stomach a fit of nerves, you fisted the material of his nice jacket, uncaring if you crinkled the leather as you pulled him down, and stood on your tiptoes to press a brief kiss to his cheek.

when you slowly lowered back down to the floor, Simon only stared at you with that same stoney, blank look.

“thank you,” you said softly, and he just kept staring at you.

with a deep blush, you released him, and his footsteps were uneven when he turned and almost stumbled down the stairs. you yelped, heart clenched with worry, but he steadied himself against the rail and shot down the stairs with a speed that you didn’t know was possible, blonde head disappearing from view.

you stood there in the hallway for a long moment, fiddling with your dress. what the hell was that?

you gripped at the roots of your hair, suppressing a scream. what the hell was that?

turning and marching back down the hall, you kicked the shoe from the crack, slipping inside. but before the door shut, you poked your head out once more to see if Simon would reappear from the top of the stairs.

when he didn’t, you let out a strangled noise of frustration, and slammed the door shut, promising yourself you’d never let yourself slip like that again. promising yourself you’d never let yourself get that close in proximity to a man ever again. promising yourself you wouldn’t even look in the direction of another one of those things. not ever again. not even for Simon.

your honor... they’re flirting in their idk-how-to-interact-with-opposite-gender-way-bc-of-trauama 🌚 also i feel like soap is such a flat character in this series rn he's just kinda there 😭 but dw he gets more interesting later on (hopefully?)

taglist: @kenma-izhu @actuallyhiswife @froggielottiee @neenieweenie @delaynew @ilovehyperfixating @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @tomorrowseverything @moonlqths @ivybeeloved @babygirl-riley @keiva1000 @arminarlertssword @crowbird @jasonloveclub @karurururu

@embers-of-alluring @newsies-pape-girl @suhmie @amberpanda99@mystsee @cosmoscoffee @hunterofhonor @wawuwe @kunikku @corvusmorte @hearts4sky @aloudplace @justletmelivethanks @shadowdaddysposts @leclercdreams @ayanokomu @thedevillovesflowers @thisuserloveshalloween @soundsfunbutno @enfppixie @tired-bi-ass@http-paprika @xaestheticalien

[dioslesbianwife]

Hi! It’s nice to see your requests are open again and I hope your workload is cleared up a little more <3 I was thinking of a request w/ the joefoes reactions to accidentally hurting reader? It can a minor injury or something serious, up to you!

hii, tbh my workload is still pretty bad haha but thank you, i hope you enjoy and tyy for requesting <3333333

Dio

Dio freezes the moment he sees you clutching your side, blood staining your clothes.

He was sparring with you for fun and got way too aggressive.

He immediately drops to one knee beside you, his pride forgotten for a moment. "Stay still, my sweet one. I'll fix this. I'll make this right."

He physically carries you to safety, his hands so gentle it’s like he’s afraid you’ll shatter.

"Foolish of me," he mutters, frustration thick in his voice- but not at you, at himself.

When you thank him for taking care of you as he’s patching you up, he gets visibly emotional but masks it behind a low, shaky chuckle.

"Even bleeding, you adore me... I do not deserve you."

Kars

Kars hits you during a training exercise- and the second he sees your wound, his entire demeanor changes.

"Hold still." His voice drops low and serious.

He's immediately slicing a strip of cloth from his own clothing to staunch your wound, working with incredible speed and care.

For a second, he looks truly guilty- the perfect being, yet he injured you?

Afterward, he insists on personally overseeing your recovery. "You will not lift a finger until you are healed. That is an order."

Secretly very shaken up, even if he acts composed.

Yoshikage Kira

Kira’s heart sinks when he sees you bleeding.

His first thought is irrational fear- what if someone saw? What if someone tries to take you from him?

But once he sees you're stable, he kneels beside you, hands trembling slightly as he presses gauze to your wound.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, voice thick with genuine regret. "I...I was careless."

He insists on bandaging you himself, wrapping it perfectly neat with trembling fingers.

Afterward, he buys you a little gift to apologize, even though you tell him it's okay.

Diavolo

Diavolo immediately stops the second you get hurt, anger flashing across his face- but directed at himself.

"How careless of me." His voice is low and furious. "Unforgivable."

He handles the injury with ruthless efficiency, using his authority to summon the best medical help immediately.

You’re bundled in soft blankets with medicine and every comfort within the hour.

Diavolo doesn't forgive himself easily; he stays awake watching over you, tense and silent, until you wake up and tell him you’re alright again.

Only then does his expression soften, just a little.

Doppio

Doppio is horrified.

"Oh no, oh no, I didn’t mean to!! I'm sorry, please don't hate me!!"

He's frantically apologizing while trying to bandage you with tissues and bandaids he pulled from his pockets.

You have to calm him down so he doesn't hurt himself from panicking.

Once you’re patched up properly, Doppio insists on cuddling you, wrapping his arms around you protectively.

For days after, he treats you like you’re made of glass, helping you walk, feeding you snacks, everything.

Enrico Pucci

The moment he notices you’re injured, he’s rushing to stabilize you in an instant.

He's frighteningly calm, working like a surgeon- but inside, he’s aching.

"Forgive me. I allowed my judgement to be clouded."

He spends hours in prayer by your bedside afterward, quietly begging for your protection and forgiveness- even though you already gave it.

You reassuring him (even while you're injured) almost brings him to tears, though he hides it well.

Funny Valentine

Funny immediately summons somebody to help you- but he stays with you himself.

His hands are gentle and firm, applying pressure and murmuring soothing words as he works.

"You are far too precious to be marred by my hand."

Afterward, he grants you a special "security detail," surrounding you with protection until you heal- whether you want it or not.

For days, he brings you tea, pastries, even plays music for you to cheer you up.

Diego Brando

Diego yells. Not at you- at himself.

"Shit! No- ! You're not supposed to get hurt!!"

He's clumsily but fiercely trying to help, his hands moving fast but careful as he applies pressure to your wound.

He rips part of his own jacket off to use as a bandage, completely ignoring the fact that he's ruining expensive clothes.

After you're stable, he sulks at your bedside, arms crossed, kicking the floor like a moody child.

But the moment you look up at him and say something sweet like "You're still amazing, Dio..." he breaks into a crooked smile and kisses your forehead.

Tooru

Tooru is stunned at first.

"Oh shit-  I mean, Y/N-chan!! You're bleeding- !"

He's immediately by your side, rambling a bit, trying to apologize and patch you up at once.

He keeps muttering "I didn’t mean it, you're way too cute to get hurt, damn it- " while wrapping you up.

For days afterward, he is ridiculously clingy, always checking your injury, carrying your stuff, making jokes to cheer you up.

"You better milk this for all it’s worth, y'know. I'm basically your nurse now."

Secretly terrified he'd hurt your feelings more than your body.

[fxndxm-axg]

Low honor Arthur HCs? I know he's a big softy but I have needs😭

ִֶָ  𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

LOW HONOR Arthur Morgan NSFW Headcanon’s

     (GN!POV)

Sorry I haven’t posted in awhile, I’m depressed in uni so I hardly have motivation to do anything. But I wanted to write this for you tho ‘cuz you asked so nicely! ^o^  Sorry if these are rather uninspired, I’m not so fond of LH!Arthur but I did my best with characterizing him in bed, as I have many knickpicks with how the fandom does w/ LH in general, especially in smut. So, here’s my take on it >:)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

Is much more susceptible to his succumbing to his lust. Whereas Mid-HH!Arthur would practice celibacy unless falling in love once more, LH!Arthur pents up his desires and frustrations so much that, if given the chance, he would buy a prostitute to scratch his itch. In these cases, sex would only be used as such; to get off and (de)spoil himself, reclaiming a bit of agency for himself that he seldom has in his regular life.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

Impersonal sex positions are a must. Doggy style, reverse cowgirl/boy, prone bone, anything to not hold eye contact with his lover of the night. Not because he doesn’t want to, absolutely not. Arthur thinks they’re absolutely beautiful, the act of sex itself being as well. But if his guard is let down so much to even allow himself to indulge in such an experience with someone, regardless of if he’s paying them or not- it’s a dangerous game for Arthur. The way his lover surrenders under him, the symphony of whimpers and moans leaving them, and their eagerness of pleasing him back would make Arthur fall for them instantly. The eye contact just being the thing to fortify his impromptu crush further. So, to prevent this for both parties… Face down, ass up, preferably.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

Much filthier, and crasser in his dirty talk. Though it’s 1899, LH!Arthur is much less keen to be gentlemanly if it’s to no benefit to him or his time, and that extends to the bedroom. Proclamations of wanting to claim, to take his lover (“I’m gonna take ‘ya, use ‘ya up ’til ‘ya can’t fathom bein’ fucked by anyone else …”) seep easily from his lips. And once he does, his cock sinking into their hole with a strangled moan, Arthur spews a litany of borderline aggressive (“Gonna fuck this little hole ’til you’re beggin’ for mercy,”) borderline body-horror (“Gonna split ‘ya open on my cock,”) levels of promises of the things he wants to do to his lover. He hardly means any of it, though. He’s gentlemanly enough to not put his lover through sexual torture…

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get a little rough, intentionally or not. He’s much less cognitive of his strength, quick to use it to get his way as it’s been proven to be efficient to him all his life. This manifests during sex in a few ways, like his grip around his lovers hip being a bit too hard, his nails pressing welts into their delicate skin, holding them down against the mattress as he just keeps slamming his cock into them over and over again. His force is unknown to him, not until a cry of pain, or a plea for him to stop or slow down reaches his ears. It takes Arthur out of his state immediately, having to swallow down his annoyance to mutter out half-assed apologies, wanting to move on and get back into the blissful state of pleasure that was interrupted. He pretends to not feel guilt, but it sure lingers, permeating the rest of the sexual experience as he’s forced to face his violent nature during the last act a man would.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

There would be occasions where the weight of the gang, the weight of the world on his shoulders would be too much for Arthur. He can only bottle things up for so long. If he crossed paths with a lover, and they were just so sweet, so persistent in their pleas of letting them take care of him, Arthur couldn’t help but indulge. Or, if a lover so outdo’s his own need for dominance, especially using their physicality to get him to submit… He would without much more of a fight. In fact, LH!Arthur is quicker, almost more eager to submit, if given the chance. He wouldn’t mind being tied to the bed, once the embarrassment wears off, that is, simply panting and moaning out as his lover teased his cock, nipples, asshole, whatever. Arthur would never admit it, but being made to whine and plea for his pleasure, being faced with his own cruelty he does upon others both in his everyday and in bed (smacking, insults, what have you), it’s cathartic. A congenial experience that makes him feel that less bad about what he does to others, at least in the bedroom.

I hope this was a somewhat nuanced take on LH!Arthur. I think he’s so misunderstood (not in an apologist sorta way) in this characterization of him, and I hope to have done it some justice regarding the rather lewd subject matter.

[nekomuraaoi02]

I had this concept for a while, so i'm just going to yap abt it under the cut but... these three as wacky magical girls-

So, basically it's a Looney Tunes Magical Girl show starring Lola Bunny, Melissa Duck, and Petunia Pig. It would be a fun mix of classic slapstick, meta-humor, and magical girl tropes, where they're not their animal selves but anime girls with animal motifs. It's like a parody animated in japan, like PPGZ.

Looney tunes: Magical Mayhem

Lola, Melissa, and Petunia are just regular high school students in a futuristic city like in "rocket squad", one day they get called to be heroes by mistical mentor tweety bird, now they must protect their town all while dealing with their ridiculous daily lives. The problem? They are absolutely terrible at being magical girls.

Their Dynamics:

Lola Bunny (The Overenthusiastic Leader) -

bubbly, hyper, over-the-top, energetic, and way too into the magical girl aesthetic. She thinks she’s the perfect protagonist, but in reality, she’s an absolute disaster—reckless, overly dramatic, and easily distracted. Somehow, she also got classic bugs wits and "toon force" to defeat the villain.

Melissa Duck (The Snarky Rival) -

The "cool" one—or at least she tries to be. She insists she’s the "lone wolf anti-hero," but she’s just as chaotic as the others. She complains a lot, is a bit grumpy and acts above it all, but deep down, she cares about the team.

Petunia Pig (The Reluctant One) -

The shy, sweet one who just wants a quiet life but keeps getting dragged into magical nonsense. She loves sweets and tries to follow the "responsible hero" role but constantly gets overwhelmed by the other two’s nonsense.

Supporting Cast & Villains

Tweety Bird (The Sassy Mentor)

A tiny, floating, magical guide but super passive-aggressive and constantly roasts them for their mistakes.

Love Interests:

Bugs Bunny (Mysterious & Unbothered) - "Cool Guy in the Shadows"

Similar to tuxedo mask. Shows up occasionally, but refuses to join in on their nonsense. Might secretly know more about the magical world than he lets on. Often trolls them by pretending to be a villain.

Daffy Duck (Wannabe Villain?)

At first, he tries to be a magical boy rival, but fails spectacularly and ends up their biggest headache instead. Might actually a real villain by accident.

Porky Pig ( Dependable Gentleman)

Porky is a senpai petunia has a crush on, he is a sweetie but is completely oblivious to petunia's affections. So, that'd be a cute comedic romantic subplot.

Villains:

Elmer Fudd (The Clueless Big Bad)

a Mojo Jojo-style villain means he can have long-winded monologues, overcomplicated evil plans, and constant frustration when the magical girls (intentionally or not) ruin everything. He could even have a group of incompetent alien minions who constantly mess things up for him.

He just wants to catch a "mythical magical creature" but Keeps getting defeated in the most embarrassing ways possible.

And some aliens appear to be villains too, like in "space jam" and "duck dogers".

Having both the Martians and Elmer’s alien allies as villains will allow for a mix of recurring antagonists and one-off alien threats, keeping the story fresh and chaotic.

Marvin the Martian – The Straight-Laced Commander

Marvin is a soft-spoken but highly dangerous alien who always tries to destroy Earth with advanced weapons. Marvin could be the primary Martian leader, taking himself very seriously despite constantly being outmatched by the chaotic magical girls. He’d be the "straight man" to their slapstick antics, reacting with deadpan frustration while his minions fail him.

K-9 – Marvin’s Loyal Alien Dog

A big green dog-like creature who is extremely loyal to Marvin, though not particularly bright. He could be a giant, overpowered alien beast that Marvin treats like a cute little lapdog.

K-9 could secretly love the girls, constantly trying to befriend them even when Marvin commands him to attack.

The Martian Queen Tyr’ahnee – The Elegant & Dangerous Ruler

She’s the ruler of the Martians, regal and poised but with a sharp temper. She could be a major antagonist or a rival to Elmer, trying to conquer the Earth before he does.

Instead of being an outright villain, she might have her own mysterious agenda, sometimes helping the girls when it benefits her but remaining an unpredictable force. She might mock the girls for their childish antics while secretly enjoying their chaos and shenanigans.

The Martian Army (Generic Soldiers / Minions)

Small green Martians in Roman-style armor, extremely loyal to Marvin and the Martian Queen.

Martian X-2 – Marvin’s Rival

He’s a Martian general who competes with Marvin for recognition. He could be another villain faction, making things even worse for Marvin and Elmer by interfering with their plans.

Marvin & his Martians are a serious sci-fi empire, while Elmer is more of a goofy villain who constantly gets in their way.

Anyway, i might actually seriously draw this AU later. But i'd be over the moon if someone actually enjoys this idea and makes their interpretation/fanart for it, so.. feel free to and tag me so i can see it! ^^ and if you want to yap together send me an ask abt it!

[milkywaydrabbles]

Can I request a sencario with #37 (overetimulation) with souya for kinktober?❤️ nothing better than a super sensitive or needy souya.

Can't wait to see how you write him🥹

-🐇

A/N: I took my night night meds so I am falling ASLEEP as I write this omg but I think this turned out okay! This was the first time writing for him so I'm not sure if I captured him correctly or if it's wildly OOC. Please let me know how you feel about it! MWUAH (PS I had to go back and read the last chp. because TR wiki wouldn't just tell me what the gd twins did when they were older god)

Overstimulation x Kawata Souya

The twins had hired you months ago, when their ramen shop picked up in popularity and they found themselves needing extra hands around the restaurant to assist with front of house duties. They went through interview after interview, candidates either not fit for the job or those who were too scared of Angry to stay longer than a week. It was frustrating, he was trying--it wasn’t his fault he had a natural scowl. Angry would only try to help the newcomers, giving them helpful tips and tricks on how to do something easier, or learn all the soup bases. Everyone took it as scolding, not willing to look past his demeanor and listen. And then you came along. A bit quiet, but level headed and kind. You’d worked in an izakaya before this, needing something not as aggressive--your temperament couldn’t handle the drunks for long periods of time.

Nahoya liked you immediately, glancing over to his twin who said nothing a majority of the interview and just stared. He couldn’t help but snicker once you left, rustling his hair while he earned a glare from the younger twin. You were eager, starting off strong but noticing you needed some help with memorizing all the bases. Souya had hoped his brother would take over and just help you instead, he wasn’t ready for another runner. Instead, you had personally asked him for his help, wringing your hands together as you nervously waited for his response. He helped as normal, though his angry demeanor was still present it never scared you off. You listened diligently, smiling at him with each trick he had up his sleeve. After you learned your way around the shop easier, the conversations flowed easily between the two. Sure, Nahoya would give his input here and there--but he saw the way his brother would look at you. Really look at you. He’d tease him whenever he knew you weren’t listening and kept on his way. The twins would try to send you home early here and there, give you a break from the long hours of the restaurant, but you’d simply smile and shake your head. “I like it here.” You’d reply, turning over to Souya, eyes softening. “I’d rather be here.” 

He confessed to you a few weeks later, and the rest was history.

Now he had you under him, writhing in pleasure and whimpering his name. The room was filled with pants and the squeaking of the bed underneath you, air heavy with the smell of sex. Souya had filled you up with his cum earlier in the night, but he couldn’t help himself and keep fucking into you. “So-oouya, s’go-ood” You whimpered against the pillows, clawing at the headboard with each hump against you. Angry couldn’t help himself, not when you were working so hard at the shop today. You looked so good, diligent in your work, making sure everything was running so smooth with him today. Nahoya had to take the day off, feeling a bit under the weather. But you made sure everything was kept under control, dealing with all the customers and making sure Souya had help when he needed it. He was practically on you the second you both crossed his door. “A-ah, fuck, you feel so good, angel--fuckfuckfuck, pussy’s so good.” His arms were on either side of you, fucking into you harder, his cum squishing around him oozing on the sides. “Can’t--aah, can’t hold on-fuck” Souya clenched his jaw holding in a whine while he came inside of you again, stilling while he filled up your creamy pussy. He panted, catching his breath before pulling out and fucking into you again. You whined underneath him, already feeling so full of him. 

“Sososo good, honey, pussy so good” He was slurring his words together, fucked out and losing control. Souya was drunk off the feeling of your cunt, whimpering when you clenched around him with the praise. He knew he should stop, he’d already came twice and his cock was becoming sensitive. But he was still rock hard, and the way your ass rippled each time he pummeled into you looked too good for him to stop. The younger twin became noisy when he got like this--nothing else on his mind except his beautiful darling girl underneath him crying and full of his cum. “Feel so good, nngh, such a good baby” He whined, face relaxing enough for his nose to scrunch up and tears prickle at the corners of his eyes--his cock was aching, the feeling of your gooey walls overstimulating him in the best way possible. But he wasn’t done yet. Souya had pressed his chest onto your back, turning you so he could fuck you on his side. A hand snaked in front to rub your clit, fucking you from the back with vigor. You couldn’t help the sob that escaped your lips, tightening your core around his dick when he rubbed you like that. “S-Souya, g’na cum again, m’g’na cum.” You repeated, whining when you felt your orgasm come crashing over you. Your legs trembled, but his pace kept up just a brutal. You closed your legs, trying to retreat but Angry just kept fucking into you. “S’too muuuch” You whined, but he never let up. “Ca-haa-can’t stop, honey, feels good.” You knew he was just as overstimulated, you could hear it in his shaky voice, thick with tears and the sniffling behind you. His cum was sticky on your ass and the fronts of his thighs, webbing and sticking on your skin with each pull. It kept you connected to him, pulling apart each time his hips weren’t on yours. “Gonna cum again, oh fuck, gonna cum again.” Thick sob bubbled in his throat as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you down, grinding himself deeper into your cunt--you felt his tip kissing at your cervix, and it felt like he was in your throat. 

The two of you stayed connected, and sticky, nothing put panting messes until he swallowed and rubbing circles into your stomach. “Are you..okay?” He murmured, embarrassed. Souya really could never believe you were with someone like him, so it took a lot for him to acknowledge that you were still around after sex. He felt you nod against him, legs still quaking from the strength of your orgasm. “Mhm” you turned in his arms, feeling him slip out with more of his gooey cum oozing out. You hitched your leg onto his hip, uncaring of the mess below you. “Are you?” 

Bashful, his face turned a pretty shade of pink as he nodded in return, scowl slowly returning to his features. “I’ll clean you up, just stay here okay? Have to make sure you’re okay.”

Kawata Souya was a lot of things. But ‘angry’ was never one of them. Not with you.

[littleplantfreak]

Run my hands through - Umemiya Hajime

Made a post about how much i loved Ume with his hair down yesterday and ended up writing something entirely self indulgent //gestures at this official art too

-SFW (but almost wasn't I almost got super carried away but deleted it cause I leave smut to the professionals) so uhhh marking/hickeys, hair pulling, makin' out with Umemiya and slightly possessive behavior on readers part but in a silly way if that makes sense just in case anyone has problems with that stuff.

You're looking at him more than usual. Umemiya can feel your eyes boring into the back of his head while he's re-potting plants on the roof. He asked you about it before but all you do is hum and say you think you're staring a normal amount. Of course he doesn't mind, but it feels like he's under a microscope. When he asked Kotoha if she knew why you were acting weird, she shrugged and said you'd were looking at some old pictures at the children's home so maybe you'd just been noting how different he looked in his childhood pictures. She ended it with a look and tone that conveyed you'd already asked her to keep something secret.

-----

It's his hair again. The hair that's always gelled back in a slight wave keeping it out of his face completely. It's not hard to break it free from the glassy prison he molds it into though. There have been plenty of times strands fell forward from sweating, working or fighting, but you've never seen it fully down in person. That's why, when you saw a semi-recent picture of him with his siblings, long hair falling in his face, trimmed neatly with ends blunt, you started to feel a certain way about it. You innocently asked Kotoha if she had any more pictures of Ume like that.

"Like what?"

"Like with his hair down."

"Oho you have a thing for his hair now?" She teases and although you know she won't tell him if you ask her not to, you're still embarrassed at being found out so easily.

"He's my boyfriend! I have a thing for nearly everything about him."

"But anyone can tell you're kinda obsessed with it with how much you fix and touch it throughout the day. Just ask him to wear it down for you."

It's not that you hadn't thought about it, but the more you thought, the more you started getting frustrated. Why didn't he wear it down more often? It seems like he did in old pictures. If he hated it now you didn't wanna force him to change it

Your self control was pretty good, but once you'd started really looking it was impossible to stop. His most recent fight with Shishitoren had haphazard strands in his face dislodged by sweat and aggressive movement. Of course you were concerned with the wounds spanning across his face and body, but another part of you wanted to eat him alive with how good he looked. You're not quite sure you'd be able to stop yourself from jumping him if you saw him with his hair fully down. Sitting in a chair on the roof, you watch him and think about the feeling of running your fingers through his white locks unhindered by that damn tough gel he puts in.

"Pumpkin can you hand me the small pruning sheers to your left?" he calls over without looking over at you.

"Mhmmm," you barely reply still stuck in a daze.

Pruning sheers...

Right!

You snap out of the daydreams that'd been haunting you to stand and grab them. Just as you're about to hand them over, Umemiya grasps the wrist with the sheers and pulls gently but firmly to drag you down on the ground with him. He sets the sheers down before taking both your hands in his.

"Something on my face? You've been starin' an awful lot."

"Ahh dirt, if I had to guess," a halfhearted excuse while your brain continued to process things slower than usual.

"Sweetheart baby love of mine," he is all dramatics now stringing pet names together in a silly amalgamation. Once he starts making direct eye contact it's hard to look anywhere else, "you have got to tell me whats going on in that beautiful head of yours. I love the attention but if something's bothering you-"

"It's your hair!" You spit out in a panic, drawing your hands away to cover your face in embarrassment. You can tell he's a little worried and it makes you feel even worse for making a big deal about it.

"My hair bothers you?" He's confused. Of course he is. It isn't something you've brought up in the past after all. He thought you liked his hair since you were always fixing it for him and you do. Your voice is muffled by your hands but he can still understand to a point.

"It looks great and I love it, but I reaaallly wanna see it down," you can hear yourself whining the words instead of saying them normally. "You always have it up when you're at school," taking a deep breath as your hands come off your face to speak more clearly. "I was looking at pictures with Kotoha and they're pretty much all of you with your hair down." Taking a second you twirl one of his loose strands around your finger in lieu of staring again, sincerely embarrassed you let it get to you this bad. He finally puts the pieces together from his conversation with Kotoha earlier.

"Our date night's tomorrow right? I'll wear it down then," he says, letting you mess with his hair. He can see a jolt go through you at his words and you lock eyes with him immediately.

"Really? Really really?" You're just about vibrating in place, grabbing his face with both hands and squishing his cheeks.

"Rweawy rweawy rweawy!" His breath is coming out of his nose in amused puffs due to the quick shift in enthusiasm and your hold on his face.

"I'VE GOTTA GO PICK MY OUTFIT OUT OH MY GOD ILOVEYOUBYE!" A small peck on the nose and you're gone like the wind throwing open the door and running past Sugishita who was on his way up the stairs. The long haired boy looks back at Umemiya with wide, questioning eyes before letting the moment pass, his head dips in the usual greeting before he walks over to do the daily gardening tasks.

_____

“I changed my mind we can’t go out tonight.”

“Babe you’re all dressed up and you were so excited to check out that new restaurant near the park,” Hajime sighs exasperated. You’re in the foyer of his home, hands on both sides of the door frame blocking his escape.

“Not looking like that you aren’t! Do you want every girl in a 20 mile radius to fall for you? The men too? I’ll have to fight every single one of them and of course I’d win but imagine the casualties! The collateral damage!” you cry hanging your head in fake hysterics. Both Kotoha and their other siblings have been watching this two-part comedy special for about 10 minutes now, two minutes of which you just STARED at him. Then you began circling like a hawk looking at him from any and all angles as if to commit it to memory. Then you started laying on the compliments and pick up lines but he could tell you meant every one of them. “Who is this absolute knock out in front of me? Is my boyfriend a model now? Did it hurt when you fell because I’m staring at an angel.”

Which brought you both to the current scene and while you were (for the most part) joking, you also…weren’t. You could and probably are just extremely biased but GOD you think no one could pull off that hair quite so well. Usually it takes a lot to make Umemiya blush, but his face is currently stained red by how brazen you are at the moment. He’s smiling and trying to take it in stride but even Kotoha can tell he’s affected by your display and she's relishing it.

“No more arguing,” he picks you up by the waist and hoists you to him in a hug that leaves your face in his chest and feet off the floor. “We’re heading out now.” He sends a farewell back to your amused audience and the kids yell back a cacophony of teases and calls for their onee-san and onii-san to come back soon. You start muffling unrecognizable words into his shirt before he puts you down as he gets further down the street.

“It would’ve been one of the best ways to die if i’d stayed there a little longer,” you breathe and stumble back a bit.

“You are shameless today,” he laughs and goes to hold your hand. Anyone watching you both can tell you're grossly in love by the dreamy look on your face as you watch him while you walk down the street. You realize now that this is the first time in about two weeks you have him to yourself, which may be why you've been clingier than normal. Every time either of you tried to schedule date night with the other, someone or something came up and made you push date night back.

Going two weeks without any prolonged physical contact (save for hello and goodbye hugs or kisses) with your boyfriend has made you starved for him in every way your brain can fathom, which is why it isn't surprising that you end up dragging him through the park to an alcove you know isn't traveled to often. It also isn't surprising when you sit him down on the bench bracing a knee next to him, and pinning him loosely in place. He doesn't say a word, but tilts his head up slightly angled in favor of you closing the distance, daring you with those stormy grey eyes.

Your hands find their way easily to the soft ivory of his hair, delving deeper to twist and pull him in. Caught between a sigh and a moan, Umemiya Hajime is melting into you, lines blurring and nerves on fire. His hands fumble to grab the thigh closest to him as he moves you to straddle him. You haven't let up on your assault on his senses, fingers loosening their hold to rub small circles into his scalp.

Is this how you feel when he goes all out after stress starts to take it's toll on him? Now that he thinks about it he's always been the one to initiate this kind of thing, but god he would've asked you to take the lead sooner if he knew it felt this good. Heartbeat thrumming through his hands, he runs them in a soothing pattern from the top of your hip to you knee giving your legs the occasional extra squeeze.

A wave of calm shifts the clouds filling your head out as you have an idea. Parting from him briefly you start kissing and mouthing your way down to the collar of his shirt. He squeezes your thighs harder as your breath ghosts his neck and you give it a few experimental nips before cooling the spot with your tongue. He's trying to stifle a high pitched noise in the back his throat but once you hear it you latch on biting and sucking a single bright red mark. A soft breath over your work before you sit back to admire it. The mark peeks out just enough for you to see it right now but low enough that when he's wearing his furin jacket, he'll be able to hide it.

"That was-," you start, still breathless.

"Wow," he voice cracks at the same time. His eyes are a little wild but his hair is even wilder, sticking up in some directions and falling flat in others. Giving a small tap on his arm he releases the deathgrip he had on you before his eyes stick right to where he had been holding. Blue bruises are scattered over both legs where his fingers were, but they're just barely hidden once you fix your dress.

"Guess we're uh...even?" you're suddenly bashful at what was probably the same type of stare you've been giving him for a week straight now. Umemiya runs his own hands through his hair trying to catch his breath and make himself a little more presentable too.

"No way are we close to being even you little monster. After dinner I'm getting you back," and you can tell he's not bluffing.

"I'm shaking in my shoes Haji," you shot back feeling a bit more like yourself as you go to grab his hand. He moves towards you but you end up spun around and he picks you up for the second time that night, this time settled on carrying you bridal style.

"Put me down," you squeak in warning, the skirt of your dress no longer hiding the fresh bruises.

"This is part of your punishment sweetheart. Also, no one's coming after me if I carry you around like a princess right?" It was hard to argue with that logic and to be fair, despite your earlier boldness your legs ended up weak. He had probably seen the shaky steps you took towards him a second ago.

Both of you got to the restaurant in time despite the detour and the next day you were sporting a hoodie to hide the payback you took happily after.

[plushyparfait]

DEATH NOTE UNIVERSITY/COLLEGE AU (because why not?)

part one :: Near , Mello , L

Random headcanons & art

Near

1. Near is the president of the university’s robotics club.

2. He never attends lectures in person, only watching recordings.

• Near prefers solitude and finds social interaction draining. Watching lectures at his own pace allows him to stay focused and avoid distractions.

3. He plays competitive online chess between classes.

• Near enjoys mental challenges and chess offers a way to test his strategies and keep his mind sharp while relaxing.

4. Near’s dorm room looks more like you just stepped into a Toys R Us than a place where someone sleeps.

• His collection of puzzles, toys, and models are a source of comfort and focus, keeping his mind stimulated even when he’s not working.

5. He wears the same hoodie almost every day, claiming it reduces decision fatigue.

• Near simplifies his wardrobe to focus more on his studies and hobbies, seeing no point in making unnecessary daily decisions about clothing!

6. He never raises his hand in class but always gets the highest scores on exams

• Near doesn’t care at all about showing off or impressing professors; his only concern is understanding the material.

7. Near has a meticulous calendar and study schedule, but only he understands it.

• His methodical approach to everything extends to his study habits, though his system appears insanely chaotic to others, it works perfectly for him.

8. He’s known for sketching detailed robots during lectures instead of taking notes.

• Near finds doodling and sketching helps him focus on the lecture, as his mind works better with a hands-on task to accompany the information.

9. He orders takeout almost every day, refusing to cook.

• Near considers cooking an inefficient use of time and would rather spend his energy on intellectual pursuits or working on projects. (At least that's what HE says to hide the fact he'd probably find a way to burn water whilst boiling it)

10. Near loves to leave cryptic or downright weird messages on the dorm bulletin board for fun (or to freak people out since no one's figured out who the hell''s been doing it)

Mello

1. Mello has a part-time job at a trendy coffee shop/cafe, but he always brings his laptop to work on assignments.

• Mello thrives in fast-paced environments and enjoys the energy of the café, but he’s too ambitious to let work get in the way of his academic goals.

2. He takes pride in his motorcycle and often rides it to campus even if it’s impractical.

3. Mello constantly competes with classmates, turning everything into a challenge.

4. He studies late into the night, fueled by energy drinks and chocolate.

• Sometimes, Mello’s intense personality and desire to outdo everyone pushes him to work harder than most, even at the expense of his health, so I can see him always bothering L or A to root through their med stash on a bad day.

5. He has a secret stash of stress balls, even though he pretends he doesn’t need them.

• Despite preferring to act tough, Mello gets easily stressed/anxious, and stress balls are a discreet way to manage his anxiety. He rather keep his peace and not get his issues looked at.

6. Mello never misses gym days, using working out as a way to release his aggression.

• Physical activity helps Mello balance his high-strung self, giving him a productive outlet for his frustrations.

7. He writes essays/assignments at the last minute because he couldn't actually be bothered but always manages to get top marks.

8. He has a complicated love-hate relationship with Near’s success.

• Mello and Near attended the same high school since Year 8. Mello resents Near for his calm, effortless brilliance but also deeply respects him as his closest intellectual rival.

9. He’s notorious for bringing loud snacks (like Doritos or Lindt) into quiet study spaces, just to annoy people. People being Mikami or A.

• Mello likes stirring the pot and pushing boundaries, even in the smallest ways just for the giggles but will ease up if someone is actually super upset.

10. Mello refuses to share study notes with anyone, even his friends. He rather watch you bleed out or something. Fend for yourself.

L

1. L sleeps in the student lounge more often than in his dorm.

• His irregular sleeping habits caused by his insomnia mean he’ll nap wherever he is when he’s too exhausted to stay awake, and he values convenience over comfort. Mikami's sick of having him curl up in his shower every time he invites him over.

2. He has an entire drawer in his room dedicated to different types of sweets.

• He CLAIMS it HELPS him think faster and stay alert during long study sessions. Liar. He's just a greedy little fellow.

3. L uses his position as a teaching assistant/tutor to solve difficult academic problems instead of actually helping students.

• L is more interested in challenging his own intellect than in teaching, so he sees the TA role as a way to gain access to tricky questions for giggles. Some poor students are ready to stone him for it....

4. He refuses to wear shoes to lectures and insists that thinking requires “maximum comfort.” If you say otherwise you're committing a hate crime.

• L’s eccentric habits extend to his fashion choices, and he’s convinced that anything uncomfortable distracts from his ability to concentrate, hence choosing more minimalist-type clothing. Sometimes he gets bullied into wearing shoes by Mr. Wammy. Sometimes.

5. L often shows up to class with food stains on his clothes because he’s always eating something.

6. He writes all of his assignments in incredibly small, illegible handwriting, frustrating professors.

• L doesn’t care about neatness, only content, and figures if he can read it, others should be able to, too. Poor you if you can't.

7. L has a habit of texting weird messages to his friends late at night of whatever the hell comes to his brain.

• His thought process often leads him down really fucking strange paths, and he enjoys sharing odd observations or philosophical musings at random hours. Light's just learnt to ignore him but Mikami's a light sleeper and too people-pleasing so he succumbs to the peer pressure and listens to L's nonsense. At least it's interesting sometimes.

8. He never takes notes during lectures but still scores perfectly on every exam.

• L has a photographic memory and trusts his ability to recall important information without needing to write anything down.

9. L never shows up to social events but always seems to know what drama happened at them before anyone else in the friend group.

• He’s highly observant and picks up details from casual conversations or watching people closely, even without directly participating. We love a nosy king who stays on top of campus nonsense.

10. He likes balancing objects in lectures from books to erasers etc just to see how tall he can make his towers. Sometimes even the lecturer gets distracted when they get too tall and wants to see what'll happen.

NEXT: MATT , BEYOND/BB, A/ADAM

notes: i'm actually a bit pleased that my art's improving a little! aside from that, i wanted this au out my brain so bad and i finally did thank god. then i can probably start a mini series (???) we'll see.