#and makes them promise to never make him do that again

[lymtw]

Movie Night

(Toji and His Shy Girl)

Friday night is unofficially movie night for you and Toji. You always go back and forth on what you should do and options are tossed out, like a nice dinner or trying food from someplace new or going to a view and sitting in the trunk of his car with blankets and some snacks. Most of the time, all of those options are thrown out the window and you just end up sitting in your bed or his bed and watching movies together. It doesn't matter what you do, it's always good, and the sleep overs make it even better.

A knock on your door signals Toji's arrival. Though you haven't had any caffeine since the coffee you treated yourself to earlier in the afternoon, you feel jittery. You grab the surprise you have for him and walk over to answer the door. As soon as you pull the door open, there he is, looking handsome as always, even when he's donning a simple t-shirt and some sweatpants. He gives you that smirk of his—the one that makes your chest feel all warm and fuzzy, and wakes up the butterflies in your stomach. He has a bag in his hand, filled with the snacks he promised to bring.

"Aren't you gonna say hi? Did you even miss me?" He teases, loving the way you gently nod as he speaks, like you're ready to prove that you did in fact miss him.

"Hi, Toji," you say, a smile spreading on your lips when you become overly aware of his focus on you. "I missed you. Come in." You move aside and let him into your cozy home, a place he's all too familiar with. He steps out of his slides and leaves them behind next to a pair of your shoes, his gaze never leaving you as he waits for you to lock the door after you shut it.

"What's that, doll?" Toji asks, when you approach him with full hands. There's a soft smile on your lips and your eyes shine like the stars that speckle the sky, as you extend the neatly folded pair of pajamas towards him. You have the most precious look on your face, as if you're showing him one of your most prized possessions—something you're proud of.

"You don't have to wear them if you don't want to. I still have the receipt. I just thought it would be nice to wear matching pj's."

You're not asking for much. Toji knows this. This is nothing—you're not asking him for anything. All he can think as he takes in the adorable look on your face, is that it would be an absolutely disgusting, heinous crime, to deny you of something so simple, something that would make you so damn happy. He can't bring himself to destroy you like that. In doing that, he would be chipping his own heart.

"What are you talking about? Let me see them," he says, laying his hands out for you to place the clothes on. You carefully place them in his hands and watch as he unfolds the articles. You don't know what he's thinking as he inspects the shirt, but the hum he lets out is nerve wracking. The shirt's design is minimalistic. It's a black t-shirt with three little stars on the left side of the chest and a small crescent moon on the back, a few inches beneath the collar, and then the bottoms are in the same plaid style as yours, just dark green instead of red.

"Is this why you asked for my clothing sizes a couple days ago?" He asks, pulling down his pants out of nowhere. You can't even try to hold back your laugh as you look away after getting a glimpse of his boxers, the sound just slips out. "What are you laughing at? Nothing you haven't seen before," he says, grinning amusedly at your giggles.

He unfolds the comfy pair of pants and slides them on. Immediately after, his shirt comes off, and it's as if he wants you to notice—to ogle him—because he takes his sweet time getting the new shirt on. He catches your eyes trailing down his torso, and then, he hears it, the flustered giggle that tumbles off your lips, the sweet sound he was waiting on. He smirks as he puts the new shirt on, and once again waits for your reaction. The shirt is a thicker material and fits perfectly, so do the pants. You're now matching, just like you wanted.

"How do I look?" Toji asks, doing a simple hands in his pockets pose.

"Handsome and comfy," you respond, warmth reaching your face as you take in the sight.

"Yeah? You think so?" He asks as he picks up his previous outfit and drops it on the arm of your couch. He hears your affirmative hum and catches your little nod as he steps towards you.

"Hey, where's my kiss?" He asks, a sly little smirk curling his lips. His hands rest on your lower back, gently pulling you closer. "I've been waiting hours and hours," he murmurs, green eyes absorbing the pretty smile that begins to form on your lips. "I want my reward."

You know that it won't be just a quick kiss with Toji, but still, you stand on your tippy toes and tilt your head upwards, waiting for Toji to meet you. He leans down, holding eye contact with you, as his lips come closer and closer. Once his nose is right next to yours and you feel his lips ghosting yours, he stops. He just loves the way you can't hide your fluster and how whenever you can't take it anymore, you resort to something you should have some sort of award for, by now—giggling.

"You're precious, ma," he says, his voice low. Dark eyes scan and re-memorize, for the nth time, every inch of your joyful expression, before finally he leans in the rest of the way, closing the distance between you and him.

His hands grip the back of your shirt as he feeds off your soft lips. Kiss after kiss, each one gentle and patient, demonstrating how much he truly longed for you. You feel butterflies in your stomach when you focus on the warmth of his body pressed against you and the way his lips chase yours for another kiss when you think he's finally going to pull away. His hands dip beneath your shirt to feel the bare, soft, and warm skin of your back. The simple touch is enough to spread goosebumps all over you.

The final kiss is long. Your lips lock, but Toji stops there, not going with the usual synchronized flow of the previous kisses, and when you don't expect it, he lets out deep hum and releases your lips with a more audible smack. He gives you a dumb grin in response to the stars that returned to your eyes.

"Do the thing, baby," he says, rubbing your back while he waits for you to snap out of your minor daze. He stays in the same slightly leaned position and waits for the softness of your lips to meet his skin. You press a kiss onto the smooth scar on the corner of his lips for an equal amount of time as the long kiss you shared before and smile softly when you pull away, your feet flat on the ground, again.

His hands come out of your shirt and he grins at how bashful you've become, despite the amount of times you've done this. You wouldn't immediately know what "do the thing" means, if you weren't so accustomed to doing it.

"Got your favorites," he says, nodding towards the bag he set down on your couch. "Did you keep up with your end of the deal?" He jokes, expecting a proud nod from you, because you've never let him down.

"Lemon-lime or Cool Blue Gatorade, right?" You ask, walking towards the kitchen.

"That's right, doll," he confirms, following behind you.

After the wine incident, he chooses to stay sober with you. It's not that he doesn't want to experience drinking with you and see you be more laid back and playful, it's the fact that he knows that that version of you is altered by alcohol. Sober you isn't that way, and while he loves every version of you, your natural way of being is his favorite.

He could spend hours flustering and teasing you, watching the way you coil in on yourself when he stares at you for too long. Feeling the way your body melts against his when he holds you is one of his favorite things. He likes being able to coax you into voicing your thoughts, wants, and needs. Maybe you're a little more honest about deeper matters when you're inebriated, but Toji is smart enough to know that it's practically involuntary. It's like your secrets are being spilled without your permission and while he's glad to know these things in the moment, he would rather hear them from you when you aren't drunk.

"I got you both. I didn't know which you liked more, so I just got both of them," you say, grabbing them off one of the shelves in your fridge. You turn and hand the cold drinks to Toji before going back to grab the one you got for yourself. You step back and shut the fridge door, smiling at him when he just stares at you.

"What?" You question.

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds. Just silently observes you standing in your small kitchen, in comfy, baggy pajamas that match his own. You're shifting on your feet, under his gaze, waiting for a response, but the response that he has in mind is a little too much for the lightness of the night. Something about wanting to spend the rest of his life with you, something about coming home to you every day, something about putting a shiny rock on your finger. Something big, because his feelings for you are big.

"Nothing, ma," he says, tucking both juice bottles between his forearm and his side, so that he can rest his hand on the back of your neck as you walk back out to the living room. You grab the bag of snacks off the couch and head to your bedroom together.

You set the bag of snacks on the bed and sit down on your side. Toji has a designated side on your bed, which is, of course, the other side.

"Light on or off?" Toji asks, shutting the door.

"Off?" You say, with a questioning tone, leaving room for him to object. Shortly after, the room goes dark. Only your TV, which sits idly on its home screen, creates light that illuminates the walls. Toji walks around your bed and settles into his side.

"What are we watching, this time?" He asks, reaching for the pack of sour gummy bears.

"It's your turn to choose," you say, offering the remote to him. "Last time we watched a bunch of Disney movies. I don't know if you wanna do that again," you say, smiling sheepishly.

"You doubt your taste in things too much, ma. Those Toy Story movies were pretty good. Show me another one of your favorites."

"Alright," you say, in compliance. You go to the Disney+ application and search for another favorite. Nothing too sing song-y, because you feel like you're on thin ice already in playing these animated movies for him. You got away with Jessie singing "When She Loved Me" in Toy Story 2, because even he thought the poor cowgirl got a rough deal when she was abandoned.

"Ratatouille?" He reads. "What's that about?"

"We're about to watch it," you say, briefly turning over and smiling.

He hums as he looks over the caption beneath the title that explains the synopsis of the movie.

"The rat's gonna cook? This should be interesting."

Lo and behold, he's hooked. Neither of you has made a peep and you're both mindlessly snacking on candy and chips, sipping on Gatorade, while watching the crazy things in this rat's life unfold. Him and his brother survived being struck by lightning and being shot at by an old lady with a shotgun. That part seemed to amuse Toji plenty.

Towards the end of the movie, Toji turns to you with sour sugar unknowingly speckled on his lips from the candy he's been feasting on, and leans in to press kisses to your temple and cheek.

"Watch," you say, smiling at the softness that meets your skin.

"I'm watching," he murmurs, continuing on with his sticky kisses.

"Look, they're stealing food from the kitchen," you explain, shocked despite already knowing what's going to happen.

"Mm," Toji hums, seemingly interested, but continuing on with his affectionate, sugary pecks.

"Look, you're gonna miss it," you say, giggling as you gently push his face away. It completely backfires on you, because he just grabs your wrist, and pulls your hand down to continue on with his kisses.

"Come here," he says, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you so that you're sitting right beside him, your thigh touching his and your shoulder pressed into his side. With a few more pecks to your cheek and a couple to the top of your head, he faces forward and continues watching the movie.

"Damn, they got shut down?" He says, in disbelief.

"Mhm," you hum in response, unable to answer verbally due to the chips in your mouth.

"Oh shit, they're back," Toji says, taking in the remainder of the movie. "And Remy cooks without controlling Spaghetti?"

"Linguini," you correct, with a laugh. "But yeah. Linguini's a waiter, now, and Remy's a chef."

The artistic end credits begin to appear and you turn to look at Toji.

"So... what did you think?" You ask.

"That had more action than The Terminator," he jokes. "The old lady with the shotgun was trying take out Remy and his brother and then she tried to hit the entire colony of rats with gas."

You giggle as he goes in depth of what he remembers, as if to prove to you that he was watching.

"I liked that one too," he says, with a smirk. "Would definitely watch it, again."

"Good," you chirp, internally proud that you were able to show him something good. "Your turn," you say, offering him the remote.

"You go again," he says, grabbing another sour gummy to dodge the remote.

"Toji," you mumble. "You should choose something you like. I wouldn't mind watching something new, too."

In truth, Toji doesn't want to watch explosive, gore infested, action movies when he's with you. It's the only genre he's thoroughly explored apart from some comedy, so he leaves you to do the choosing of the movies and shows you watch together. It's a great way for him to give new things a chance, because even though it seems like he's always the one showing you how and loosening the tight grip you have on the shell that obscures you, he's constantly learning from you, as well.

"How 'bout this, baby... If you choose the next one, i'll choose the next three," he offers, squeezing the plush of your thigh.

"You promise?" You say, eyes darting from where his enormous hand rests on your leg, to his face.

"'Course. I don't lie to you," he says.

"Okay, then," you say, moving onto a different platform to find another movie.

"While I wait..." he mumbles, a soft smile curling on his lips. His hand moves from your thigh to your waist as he wraps his arm around you. He goes back to kissing the side of your face, soft, wet little smooches planted along your cheek and your jaw.

"Gorgeous girl," he hums, his voice a soft breath against your skin. "I'm dying to kiss those pretty lips."

Your lips curl as you continue skimming through the section of recommended movies. You can feel his eyes on you, tracing over the features of your face.

"Just a quick one and then i'll stop bugging you," he requests. "Please? You're teasing me without even trying."

"But I'm not even doing anything," you argue, with a small laugh.

"That's what i'm saying," he says, in agreement. "You're not even trying. You're just pretty like that. Makes me wanna kiss you 'til you can't breathe."

"What? You said a quick one, just a few seconds ago," you remind, your smile widening at the way he changed his mind about wanting the minimum of your affection.

"Yeah, but you know how greedy I am about you, mama. I want more and more of you, all the time." His gaze flits between your coy smile and the softness that lingers in your eyes. You haven't paused your skimming of the movies, but he knows you're staring at the screen, mindlessly, feeling his attention. "You want me to beg?"

"No," you instantly respond. It's the one thing you never allow him to do. He's too good to you, for you to make him beg. "You don't have to do that."

"So, kiss me, sweetheart," he says, shifting positions so that he's lying down on his side. He pats the pillow that cushions your lower back, signaling for you to lie down. Like the obedient thing you are for him, you click play on the random movie you landed on and set the remote aside, before lying down on your side, facing Toji.

"What movie did you decide on?" He asks, dragging his knuckles tenderly over your cheek.

"I didn't look at the name," you answer, softly.

"We can skip the intro, right?" He murmurs, smirking when he feels the warmth that reaches your face beneath his palm. His thumb strokes the skin of your cheek, back and forth as he keeps up with your gaze, even when it derails from his due to the tension in the moment.

"Mhm," you hum.

"Come here," he instructs, his voice low, almost a whisper. His leg goes between your legs, just sitting there to achieve more physical contact with you. It doesn't go further than the desire to be innocently caught up in you and feel you pressed against him.

The first kisses—if they can even be called that—are tentative and teasing. Lips merely ghosting each other, barely grasping contact. It's enough to have your heart thudding rapidly in your chest. You hear a warm, rumbled chuckle coming from Toji.

"Closer," Toji hums, his hand splaying on your back and pushing you forward into him.

Finally, your lips connect. The feeling is warm, like you're being held, securely, without any intention of being released. The sound of the movie in the background is a mere whir, unheard through the imaginary force field created around you and Toji. It's just you and him, close as can be, living like nothing else matters as long as you have this love. Through gentle caresses, one unsteady heartbeat and an even unsteadier one, things are good.

Toji swears he will never feel this content and at peace anywhere else. You have a way of making him feel like he is everything. The way your eyes twinkle when you see him, the way you bare your soul to him every time you smile—it's love. It's pure, unadulterated love. He's your friend, your lover, your confidant, and he will never settle for being anything less than those things.

With one more brush of your lips, you both put the kissing on hold and lay there, just a little bit breathless. His hand rests on your lower back, playing with the hem of your shirt.

"I love you so fucking much, doll. You know that?" He murmurs, his attention bouncing between your lips that won't stop calling for him to kiss them and the warmth in your eyes. "Fridays aren't just another day, anymore. Same for every day I get to see you or even just talk to you on the phone if we can't be together." A soft sigh escapes his nose, followed by a very brief pause. "You just know how to make things better, and I wish you would believe it because you feel that way too, not just because i'm telling you."

"I'm sorry," you mumble.

"No. I don't want that, baby. Tell me something else."

"I love you, Toji," you say, ensuring that you speak clearly so that he gets the important words you need him to hear. "I like being around you. You'll never know just how safe you make me feel, but I do want you to know that it goes past the physical aspect."

He smiles, the expression soft, not telling of the giddiness that just spread throughout his body. A soft hum, followed by a somewhat frustrated sounding groan, precedes you being pulled into his tight embrace. You can't help the giggles that eventually evolve into laughter that just spills from you when he bombards your face with kisses. His lips press against your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corners of your lips before he actually leaves a rapid barrage of pecks on your lips. Deep chuckles slip through his affectionate assault when you plant your hand on his chest, weakly pushing at him through the joyous sound of your laugh.

"T-Toji!" You squeal, your entire body shaking through your nonstop laughter. Despite it being nighttime, Toji feels like he's kissing and cuddling with the sun. His cheeks almost hurt from smiling so much.

With one final, elongated kiss to your forehead, he relents and lets you catch your breath. Soft giggles continue to flow past your lips as you work on composing yourself.

"You drive me crazy, doll," he says, grinning at how your chest still slightly heaves. He could do this every night with you, in a shared bed, that is in your shared bedroom, in your shared home.

"Alright, let's see what this movie's about," he mutters, flipping onto his back. "Come here." By now, the two words are a staple to Toji's conversations with you, because he always wants you attached to him. He outstretches his arm, and waits for you to scooch over and lay your head on his chest. Once you settle in, his arm wraps around you, tightly.

As you both try to catch up on what is going on in the movie, you realize none of it is making sense. You think it might be futile to try and understand what is happening when it may have been explained during the intro, but neither you nor Toji mind it, and just continue watching through the confusion, because the intro to this movie was never going to be as good as the moment you shared during it.

[zimmbzon]

I was in this job where there were lots of employees from different departments all sharing one big open plan office with a hot-desking situation. Well I struck up a friendship with Peter from Finance (full name: Peter from Finance but not actually an Accountant). We never worked together but we liked sitting next to each other. Peter from Finance was maybe 30 years older than me, had a very impressive broom moustache and always dressed in a professional button up shirt and trousers. He was also very quiet, polite, and quite shy and reserved. I am, on the other hand, one of those I-bring-the-fun kind of adhders. I have tattoos and wore jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers everyday.

We bonded over how annoyingly noisy some of the other department’s employees were and that Peter from Finance had definitely been to prison (he hadn’t) and that he had learnt to make shivs from toothbrushes whilst in prison (where’d he never been) and that if this particularly noisy department didn’t quiet their mouths soon he was going to show them all the other things he had learnt is prison (again this man had never seen the inside of a jail cell). Basically all of our conversations where absolute nonsense and lies generally instigated by him (but no one ever believed that).

Well my boy Peter from Finance had never had a bubble tea, so I explained the concept to him and promised to bring him one at 1pm sharp. I delivered the bubble tea to his desk but he was not there and I had to jump into a meeting myself.

I wrote a little post it note and left it beside the cup and straw with the instructions: “stab the bear in the face!”

I poked my head out of the meeting just in time to see Peter from Finance holding the cup in one hand and the straw in the other, contemplating the violence he was being asked to commit. He looked up at me, I solemnly nodded, his face changed from that of a confused questioning look to one determination (and a little bit of defiance) and he stabbed that mother fucker hard in the face!

We went out for bubble tea together shortly before I left the job (a big deal for our socially anxious lunchtime loner boy) and got double serves of bobas. We planned on getting actual lunch as well but Peter from Finance discovered with both delight and shock that after eating that many bobas he didn’t need lunch!

On my last day I discovered that his government name was also a lie because the damn man was and always had been a full certified actual accountant, but had for well over a year been letting me call him “Peter from Finance but not actually an Accountant”.!

I did at least do him a solid and change his documentation to “Peter from Finance but not actually an Accountant but ACTUALLY an Accountant” before I left.

i was drafting a post that said “a single boba tea can replace up to two meals if you are pure of heart” and the reason i didn’t post it is because as i was typing those words i got so dizzy i felt like i was being abducted by aliens

[adverbally]

Intention

Written for the @stmarchmm prompt “courting rituals” | wc: 913 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: Steddie, Steve & Wayne, omega Steve, alpha Eddie, alpha Wayne, early relationship, asking permission to court, non-traditional relationship dynamics

———

Steve hesitates on the Munsons’ front porch. The trailer is familiar and comforting with its worn screen door and peeling paint, the warm light and organized chaos he knows to be hidden inside. This place has become more of a home to him than the house he grew up in.

He doesn’t want to lose that now.

But he thinks about Eddie nervously asking him on their first real date, hiding his grin behind the lock of hair he tugged across his face when Steve said yes; the way Eddie’s eyes had sparkled in the glow of the streetlight outside Steve’s house when he dropped him off after dinner, just before he leaned in for the best first kiss Steve has ever had; how Eddie had carefully brushed his wrist along the cuff of Steve’s sweater so he could still smell Eddie’s smoky ginger scent for the rest of the evening.

Steve wants that, all of that and more. The promise of that has to outweigh the fear of screwing everything up.

He knocks on the door.

It feels like an eternity before Wayne answers, already dressed in his work clothes for that evening’s shift. He seems surprised to see Steve, but he pushes open the screen door between them and waves him inside anyway. “Did Ed not tell you he has band practice? He should be home soon but you’re welcome to wait.”

“No, I…” Steve takes a deep breath and stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets so he doesn’t start fidgeting with his jacket zipper. “I wanted to talk to you, actually, if you have a minute?”

Wayne looks even more baffled now but gestures for Steve to take a seat in one of the mismatched chairs surrounding the small dining table. He doesn’t join him immediately, instead going into the kitchen and silently filling two glasses with water from the tap. When he returns, he sits in the seat across from Steve and slides one of the cups over to him.

“Thanks.” Steve’s mouth is so dry that his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, but he’s not sure he can take a drink without spilling or choking on it. Not until he says what he needs to say. Keeping his gaze on the scratched tabletop, he begins, “I think you probably know why I’m here.”

“I think so,” Wayne agrees. “And I think you know I need to hear you say it anyway.”

Steve nods, thinking of Eddie’s spicy warm scent to steel himself. “Eddie said you’re not very traditional. Your family, I mean. He offered to do this because he thought I wanted to do it, and I know he would’ve, but my dad…” He cuts off his rambling with a shake of his head. “Sorry, I’m nervous. Eddie said I shouldn’t be–”

“Steve. Take a breath.”

He does, then sips from his glass. Wayne doesn’t say anything while Steve gathers his thoughts for a long moment. Finally, he speaks again, deliberately. “Eddie is incredible. I care about him. I want to be with him.” It’s a gross understatement but if he starts elaborating, he might never stop. “I don’t give a shit what my dad thinks, but it matters to me what you think. Because it matters to Eddie. You’re the most important person in his life. He’s an adult and he can make his own decisions, so I’m not asking for permission, but… I wanted to inform you of my intention to court your nephew.”

Wayne nods, a slight tilt of his head acknowledging Steve’s declaration. “I accept it.”

“Okay.” He nods back, taps his fingers along the side of his water glass, listening to the quiet ping of his nails on its surface. “Thank you.” It’s almost disappointing how anticlimactic this was. He had stressed over it for days, and Wayne just… accepts him, just like that?

Like he can read Steve’s mind, Wayne leans closer. “You’re a good kid, Steve. You saved Ed’s life, you make him happy, you take care of that pack of kids. I think you’re good for him. Mellow him out some.”

“Yeah?” The compliment makes him warm from head to toe. Steve grins down at the table. “I think he’s good for me too.”

Wayne drains the last of the water in his glass. “I’d’ve given my permission, too, if you’d asked. Not that you need it.” He rises from his chair with a groan. “I gotta head to work now, but you’re welcome to wait for Ed. Make yourself at home.”

Steve stands as well, accepting the handshake Wayne offers him. “Thanks again, sir, I appreciate it.”

“Call me Wayne, son.” His mouth twists in a wry smile. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder, then shrugs on his coat. “Make sure you’re being safe, now. I’m not ready to be a granddad yet.”

Wayne can surely see him blushing as Steve stammers, “No, we— I mean, we haven’t, I’m not—” When he realizes Wayne is fighting back his smile, he sighs, embarrassed but relieved to be in on the joke. “Okay, laugh it up.”

He waves to Wayne from the doorstep, watches the beat-up old truck kick up dust until it turns onto the asphalt outside the trailer park. The alpha’s scent lingers in the trailer, more woodsy than Eddie’s but still warm. Familiar.

Steve thinks he could get used to it.

[be-xkyy]

Yandere Platonic Twin Brother (a bit of yandere friend in love)

Warning: violence, blood, a broken nose, overprotective brother, a friend in love, a clueless reader but with strong character, This is PLATONIC and a little ROMANTIC but not with the brother.

(By the way, I was going to be inactive this month, but it's quite the opposite, why does inspiration come to me when I have so many things pending😰? I'm juggling the blog and school 💀)

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★ @minshookie29 ★

Divider credits: @cafekitsune ★ @bernardsbendystraws ★

Yandere Twin Brother who was already attached to you from the womb; when your parents went to their appointments with the OB they always saw him by your side even in an ultrasound (that your mother framed) it looks like you are holding his little hands.

Yandere Twin Brother who when he was born (just five minutes before you) cried at the top of his lungs and his cries only calmed down a little when you were born and he heard you cry.

Yandere Twin Brother who shared the same crib with you (although your parents bought one for each of you) when you were babies since he always cried if they separated him from you.

Yandere Twin Brother who comforted you when you cried on the first day at daycare because you missed your parents and you were scared; he hugged you rubbing your back with his little hand and promised you with his pinky that he would always take care of you.

"Don't cry sis! Everything will be okay, I'm with you. I promise I'll scold our parents for doing this to you! Please don't cry..."

Yandere Twin Brother who never let anyone bother you or get close to you at daycare; one day a boy pulled your pigtails making you cry and your upset brother pushed him to the ground and another boy approached your bully and bit him (two teachers had to make him let go)

Yandere Twin Brother who only had one exception to the rule and allowed him to get close to you; that exception was Jamie a boy his age who seemed enchanted with you and became friends with your brother after biting the boy who bothered you.

Yandere Twin Brother who from that day on basically spent all his time with you and Jamie; They were the three musketeers, as you grew up you became even closer (if that was possible) and Jamie's feelings for you became more obvious (to everyone but you) your brother liked to tease Jamie.

"Maybe my sister doesn't like you because of your idiotic face, she has good taste you know?"

"Oh shut up! I'm really handsome and she's just shy, plus we all know you're the ugly one of the group"

"EH?!—"

Yandere Twin Brother who like you and Jamie was quite popular at university; although he was surrounded by girls he never put them above you and always spent time with you; also he and Jamie were howling at your suitors constantly (much to your annoyance)

Yandere Twin Brother who got furious when he saw Jamie flirting with another girl and even kissed her, how could he do this to you?! (it's true that you don't even know that he loves you, but it's still wrong, okay..?) He approached angrily, when Jamie saw him she greeted him only to receive a strong punch in the face.

Yandere Twin Brother who started a fight with Jamie when he recovered from the shock of the blow, both began to punch and hit each other while yelling at each other, some students ran to separate them.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! YOU THINK YOU CAN TELL ME YOU LOVE MY SISTER AND THE NEXT DAY BE WITH A BITCH?!"

"IT WAS JUST A THING! WHAT DO YOU CARE ABOUT IT?! SHE AND I ARE NOTHING YET!"

"YET?! YOU THINK YOU'LL HAVE SOMETHING WITH MY SISTER AFTER THIS?! I'M GOING TO FUCK KILL YOU!"

Yandere Twin Brother who tried to break free to hit him again but they both held him firmly; a teacher arrived and they were both taken to the infirmary, a smile slipped across your brother's bruised lip when the nurse said that Jamie's nose was broken.

Yandere Older Brother who looks at you embarrassed when you enter the infirmary with judging eyes asking you both what happened but you don't answer and you end up asking them if they fought over a girl and they both answer at the same time exalted.

"NO!"

"NO!!!"

Yandere Twin Brother who ends up making up a random excuse for why you two fought and Jamie nods his head agreeing with him; you on the other hand look at them unconvinced before sighing and rolling your eyes; after being treated you both are called to the dean's office and end up being suspended for two weeks.

Yandere Twin Brother who when you leave the office approaches you along with Jamie who tries to joke a little about the situation (to calm the waters with your brother) but your brother ignores him taking you by the arm and leading you towards the exit while Jamie follows them.

"Well, it's not so bad we can spend more time together, right?"

"Shut your mouth Jamie, don't talk to this idiot sister."

"Hey, wait for me, don't leave me!"

[fairyhaos]

❖ kiss your heart // xu minghao

minghao x f!reader, 1.1k+ words

tags: established relationship, both xmh + yn are RICH rich, fluff, kissing, marriage/proposal talks, minghao is literally so in love omfg

warnings: pet names (angel, sweetheart)

notes: literally me rambling about rich + devoted minghao with absolutely no direction planned and i think it's super obvious HELPP but it does not matter !! ur honor i luv these 2 theyre so sassy smitten and it devastates me

“you’re actually the worst person i’ve ever met.”

you glare at your boyfriend as he gets out of the driver’s seat, walks around the front of the parked car and opens your door for you. he’s still smiling that faintly smug smile that’s been on his stupidly handsome face ever since you left the restaurant, and you hate it.

“sweetheart,” minghao says, taking hold of your hand and helping you out of the car, “it’s really no big deal.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. releasing minghao’s hand, you deposit your purse into his waiting palm and flounce away, across the car park and to the apartment building doors.

minghao struggles to hold back a laugh as he trails after you. “y/n. you’re not truly mad, are you?”

“of course i’m truly mad,” you huff. “you said i could pay for our date this time.” 

during the five years you’ve been dating minghao, he’s taken you on a whole variety of incredible dates. from the impromptu long weekend to paris to the days where you just go to the restaurant down the block for dinner, minghao has never failed to take care of you and always pays for your meal.

any other person would be flattered to have such a rich and devoted boyfriend. and really, you adore that about him, too.

but, well. you’re rich also. and sometimes, you want to be the one to dote on your boyfriend.

you punch in the building code unnecessarily hard and stomp through the automatic doors before minghao can catch up with you. from behind, you can hear him laughing, and it makes you whirl back around to look at him, pouting extravagantly.

“i don’t see why that’s so funny. you promised, hao,” you whine, and minghao just laughs again.

that night had been just a normal date night, nothing more than the two of you dressing up to go to that one upscale chinese place that you both love. and so, it seemed like the best day to finally start paying for your dates—if it was any big occasion, minghao would’ve definitely protested against the idea, insistent that he wanted to treat you on such a special day.

and at the time, it seemed like it would work.

minghao had smiled at you, adjusting the pearls around your neck, and agreed.

you’d felt ridiculously satisfied, excited at the fact that finally, you’d have a chance to pay for your boyfriend. but oh, how wrong you were.

“i’m sorry, angel,” minghao says now, brushing a finger over your cheek fondly before pressing the ‘up’ button for the elevator. “it just so happened that i’d already paid for our meal before we’d even got there. i didn’t want to burst your bubble by telling you so, but i guess that made it even worse, hm?”

you whine again in frustration. “hao, that’s not even a thing! you can’t pay for a meal in advance!”

“i can when i know exactly what we’re going to order,” minghao grins.

“what?! i swear, that must go against restaurant etiquette! that's actually crazy behaviour. i can't believe you did that."

the elevator arrives then, and minghao gestures for you to get in first. you do, still arguing with him over restaurant rules and whatnot. even as you do so, supposedly very upset over his behaviour, you still hold onto his arm and lean against him to take off your heels, and then pass them over to him once they’re off your aching feet.

minghao smiles amusedly, terribly smitten. 

“—going to get you back for that stunt one day, xu minghao,” you say, stabbing an accusing finger into his shoulder. “gonna book out the entire restaurant. no, wait, the entire street! we’re going to venice one day, and i’m going to close down a whole road for us only. just you wait.”

the elevator doors open with a ding, and he trails behind as you continue talking, dreaming up big plans on how to treat your boyfriend sometime in the future.

it’s devastatingly endearing. he knows it was maybe a tiny, tiny bit mean to advance-pay the bill tonight, but in his defence, he does that most nights anyway. plus, he likes seeing how pouty you get over it, knowing you're not actually upset, but still insisting you are because you can pay for your own meals, without minghao's card, thank you very much.

and you very much can—he hasn’t run the numbers in a while, but he’s pretty sure you’re richer than him right now—but he likes paying for you. likes taking care of you like this.

he inputs the keycode to the apartment, chuckling as you continue to rant.

“okay, alright,” he finally concedes, opening the door and letting you enter first, taking off your wool coat for you and hanging it up by the door. “in which case, how about a compromise? i pay for our ordinary dates like these, and you can pay for special occasions.”

your eyes light up at his words. “wait, really?”

minghao laughs. “yes, really.” he puts your purse on the dresser by the door, your shoes in the shoe cupboard and then takes off his own. “except for valentine’s day, white day, our anniversary, and your birthday. i’ll be paying for those.”

“what?” you complain. “hao, you’re leaving me with nothing!”

“you can pay for my birthday.”

“come on, that’s a given. i would do that anyway.”

you’re giving him those big, sad eyes again, and minghao can’t help but smile even wider. lord, you’re just so pretty and you love him so much and he’s never been more grateful for that because he loves you so much too.

“well,” he says, pretending to think, “we don’t have an engagement or wedding anniversary yet. so if those things ever happen… then maybe…”

your eyes widen, little sparkles appearing in your irises even as your entire face softens, gentle and hopeful. “you’re… you want to marry me?”

minghao can’t take this anymore. he walks over, takes your face in his hands and kisses you, once. and then again, deeper, softer, for good measure. just to get his point across.

“of course,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away. “i love you.”

you lean in and peck him on the lips once more. “i love you too,” you say, and then pull away so he can see the mischievous glint in your eyes. “hey. if i propose to you, then i’ll definitely get to pay for every engagement anniversary we have, right?”

minghao laughs, pulling you back into his embrace. “sure, sweetheart. that’s only if you propose to me first, however.”

“are you trying to start a proposal race, minghao?”

“maybe. will you join in, y/n?”

you laugh, looping your arms behind his neck and bringing his face close to yours again. “oh, it’s on.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit @dokyeomkyeom @hopeless-foolery

[satocidal]

Where Suguru Geto is a Man who has lived around all women<3

tw: i am not trying to thrust any stereotypes here 😭 just thought these are cute lil thoughts

Geto Suguru, who has mastered the art of being one of your "Girlie-Pops" - it is his every-day routine now, and Suguru Geto makes sure to live through all different personas of being your “girlie-pop”, huge believer of go big or go home.

There is the usual Gossip-Girly, every night Suguru plops beside you, acting as your personal pillow while you go on one of your typical tangents - and he knows all his cues. At every bated pause he’ll gasp and at every undulated twist he’ll throw in a - “oh no, she didn’t” or a little, “that bitch”. The gossip girl never disappoints, nor forgets - you can pick up any story from anywhere and he’ll just flow along, often even adding his own comments and/or facts from his research.

The second most-spotted is the The Mom, a key feature to the days when you skip breakfasts (that he meticulously made) or come home hours later than expected. The Mom never lets any detail skip, throwing in little jabs while taking care of you at the same time - he makes sure you’re rested and living in full guilt for making him worry for you. Dramatic muttering under his breath, such as while he works in the kitchen are NOT off the table.

There is always space in Suguru’s week to pull-off a little "The Fangirl" for your sake. These could range from simple pick-me-up moments to just a midnight-spur-off-the-moment thing. Suguru will sing through each one of your favourite songs along with you (and get most lyrics wrong, sometimes purposefully to tease you) - at the top of his lungs. He will stay up with you till however long if your favourite band was announcing something new, or to get tickets, or just to watch a marathon of youtube videos about whatsoever pleased you.

Although Suguru may seem like a totally chill guy on surface, somehow he stresses almost as much as you during your exams, with you - giving rise to The Nerd. The first time he pulled out his glasses and messy bun, and pulled out the look better than you, you were offended. But, he does try his best. Flashcards? He’ll even decorate them all pretty, questionnaires? He’ll come up with games to help you get  eased with them, he will wake you up at whatever ungodly time you beg him to, and sit with you through revisions, with all his drowsy might. And best of all, he will confuse you if you try and get help from him with a subject regarding science because poor baby struggles with basic addition </3 (he does call Satoru for the help though)

However right after your exams are over, Biker Bae takes over and he gets wild (The Mom inside him does not approve), but he will take you on long drives on his bike - he will get you drunk because he finds your babbling adorable and he believes you need all the escape from stress you can get, this Suguru does not care. He will break rules, he will urge you to do the same.

Sometimes, a wild Sassy Susan is also spotted in the wild, especially during fights. This Suguru will make you shut up, even if just for a moment, and is all about eye-rolls and sly little comebacks that you notice all too late. Do not assume for a second that you are safe, he will call out all your bull-shit and also flick his hair, will do all the storming away and point all his fingers at you.

And this finally gives rise to the Boyfriend Suguru , who then begs after you and apologises for hours and promises to bury Susan somewhere deep (it will happen again). Suguru now has to perform all the previous tasks all together but he enjoys all of it so it is a win-win, isn’t it?

All of this work is original and entirely my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

[strwberri-milk]

hello ! Could you do lad boys reaction to reader having a nightmare about them dying? Thank you!

You wake up clinging to him so tightly he makes a sharp noise of pain before finally seeing the look in your eyes. His hand reaches behind you to turn on a soft light, highlighting the glassy sheen on your eyes with tears that are sliding down your face.

He soothes you, holding you against his chest and gently cooing at you. He asks if you're alright, wanting to know what you saw in your dream that upset you so awfully. It doesn't matter how long it takes you to talk to him - he'll just hold you and comfort you as much as he can before figuring out what the problem is. When you confess that you had a nightmare about him dying he feels even worse, knowing that this anxiety has to be based in fear from his job or something that happened to him at some point.

He promises you that he's not going to leave you. He loves you and he does everything he can to come home to you. Rafayel and Zayne don't have as dangerous a job on the surface but he's not going to brush off your fear by telling you that you're overreacting and he's safe. He's going to validate your emotions, telling you that he promises he's okay.

Sylus and Xavier fall silent as he processes, knowing that he is honestly in a lot of danger. Rafayel too - even if you don't know the true extent of it. He'll hold you tighter, promising that he does everything he can to come home to you - nothing matters if he can't hold you in his arms at night. He swears it to you time and time again, and will do so every day before he leaves for work. He'll stop saying bye and instead say something along the lines of see you later, trying to soothe your fears by reminding you he never breaks his promises.

[hivemuthur]

Hii! Thank you for replying. I've read five things and loved it so much I wanted to send another ask, and somehow managed to forget to send it, but never mind here it is now.

I was thinking a viktor×reader who were eachother's first everything (early academy days?) but than the reader had to move away for schooling/work, whatever, but now they're back (sometime after the beginning of hextech) and have to work with jayce and viktor. How would that dynamic look like? They didn't breakup over an argument or because they fell out of love but because that's the way life took them. I'm imagining them knowing eachother so well inside and out to the point people just assume they're dating. (Reader making viktors coffee even better than he can himself, viktor making something to fix a problem reader has but never had a solution for, anything really). And I don't know, maybe, possibly, somehow the tension gets to be too much for both of them and they're both more skilled now and whatnot... (I could live without that part tho, is you feel like it doesn't fit)

Sorry if the ask is too complicated, I've just been thinking about it for so long.

I know it's gonna be a while before you can write it but I can't wait to read all of the other requests in the meantime.❤️

~🍒

Dear sweet 🍒 Janna, hello again! Here's your fic!

Same As It Ever Was

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! a bit of everything - fluff, angst (light), smut

word count: 5,6K

author’s note: this is very freeform, an experiment, kinda? A story told in vignettes, little scenes between Viktor and Reader since the moment she came back to the Academy interwoven with their past, sex included. For this to work, I've written current events in Present Tense and the flashbacks in Past Tense.

artist on X (obsessed at this point)

—

You brace yourself with a deep breath—just as you did all those years ago. With lungs full of air, you cross the threshold, and memories come crashing back. Heimerdinger’s lectures, suspicious cafeteria food, noise complaints from your neighbours when Jayce laughed too loud in your dorm. Your dorm itself—its lumpy bed, not enough cabinet space for your books, scattered notes, and long night study sessions with Viktor.

As promised, he and Jayce are there, waiting to pick you up in the entrance hall. Jayce is as giddy as ever—stretching, chattering, busying himself with the announcement board, occasionally pointing at something to get Viktor’s attention. He looks almost the same.

Viktor, on the other hand—nearly still. He leans on a… crutch? It’s a crutch now, huh. You wince at not knowing sooner. An extra brace on his leg as well. His form is more hunched than you remember. He nods at Jayce’s remarks absently, craning his head toward the door, and his face—oh. It lights up when he sees you, just as it used to. Your heart travels all the way up to your throat.

You have to force yourself not to skip. Jayce reaches you first, nearly crashing into you with his embrace. He’s stronger than before, his shoulders broader. Either he’s gotten taller, or Viktor looks shorter. He pats your back and chuckles a mumbled hi—but your eyes are already on Viktor.

He opens his arms in an inviting gesture, and you slide right in. He still fits. He still smells the same, though there’s a lingering trace of oil on his collar. His hair is longer, and his clothes hang looser on his frame, but he feels the same. His neck is just as pretty, his hands just as strong. They go where they used to—one to your back, the other cradling the nape of your neck. You take one last inhale before he pulls back, a familiar spark playing in his eyes as he says, "Welcome back."

***

You stared at the schedule board, squinting as you tried to make sense of the messy list. You muttered under your breath, crossing out dates in frustration when the door behind you creaked open.

A voice spoke from behind, calm and precise. “Do you need assistance?”

You turned to see him—tall, neat, with a cane at his side. Pretty hair falling boyishly over his forehead, eyes the colour of liquid gold, two freckles decorating his upper lip and a spot under his eye. His voice was thickly accented, and you suddenly felt dumber than ever.

“What gave me away?” you huffed, managing a smile. “Groaning or furious scribbling?”

“Eh, a little bit of both,” he said, leaning in slightly to point at a part of the board. “Let me help?”

You handed him your notebook, and he made quick work of explaining the confusing schedule. “Looks like we’ll be seeing each other,” he hummed, studying your timetable.

Thank the gods, you thought. Feigning surprise instead of relief, you raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He nodded, the faintest smile pulling at his lips. “I’m looking forward to having class with you. I’m Viktor.”

In response, you muttered your name in one breath.

Without another word, he pressed the notebook into your hand, making sure your hands brushed, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, momentarily dumbfounded.

***

You follow Jayce and Viktor through the lab, eyes wide as they show you around. The space is far more impressive than you remember—equipment gleams, wires stretch across the ceiling like intricate veins, and the hum of machinery fills the air. Jayce is practically bouncing with excitement, narrating every little detail with an energy that nearly has you dizzy, while Viktor stays quieter, his gaze focused, occasionally glancing at you as though checking for your reactions.

You’re still trying to wrap your mind around everything when the tour finally ends, and Viktor turns to you with a small smile. “Is there anything you need?” he asks, his voice as smooth and calm as ever.

You consider it for a moment, then sigh dramatically. “I would kill for a coffee.”

Jayce snorts a laugh, “Things don’t really change, do they? Do you want to make it yourself as usual?”

“Of course, as you mentioned—things don’t change, which means I still don’t trust any of you with your coffee-making skills, Jayce,” you reply with a smirk, stepping past him toward the kitchenette area. Viktor watches you closely, but you don’t pay him any mind as you start pulling out the necessary ingredients. “Do you want one?” you throw over your shoulder. And Viktor nods with a smile.

You fall into an easy rhythm, just like old times. Your hands work quickly, grinding the beans, adjusting the water temperature, adding the perfect amount of milk—exactly how you know he likes it. It’s almost like your body remembers, and you can’t help but feel a strange sort of nostalgia as the familiar process comes naturally.

The sound of Viktor clearing his throat breaks your focus, and when you turn, he’s standing a little closer than you expected. His eyes are fixed on the coffee mug in your hands, and the way he’s staring at it almost makes you laugh.

You hand him the cup with a raised brow. “Did I get it right?”

He takes a slow sip, his expression unreadable at first. Then, after a long pause, he sets the cup down carefully on the counter, still looking at you, and says quietly, “Perfect.”

The fact that you remember how to make it, that you remember him—how he likes it, what he’s used to—has him speechless. You watch him for a moment, unsure of what he’s thinking, and the quiet fills the space between you both.

“Just like before,” he says, as though to himself, and you can't help but smile.

***

“Okay, coffee or death,” you whined, pressing your forehead to the desk with exaggerated dramatics. It had been your fourth hour of studying, and the letters on the page began to blur.

“I guess it’s coffee then,” Viktor stretched his legs in the chair before scrambling up to the kettle. “I have no idea how I would explain a corpse in my room.”

“I do not care what motivates your actions, I’m just in dire need of something keeping me alive, or I will fail this class,” you mumbled, still buried in the notes resting under your face. A cup set firmly by your left cheek made your eyebrow quirk, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ah, sweet salvation,” you hummed, grabbing it and taking a sip. And then—

“Viktor. What is this?”

Viktor’s voice was light as he shrugged. “It’s a coffee strong enough to keep you awake until morning.”

You winced, shaking your head slightly. “It’s so strong, it could actually solve the dead body problem you’ve mentioned before.”

He chuckled at that, his gaze still on you. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”

You huffed in frustration. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

Viktor only grinned, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself out of your chair and crossing the room to the counter. “Alright, move aside.” You grabbed the ingredients with a practiced hand, preparing a new brew. “This is coffee, not the motor fluid you made.”

Viktor leaned back in his chair, watching you as you worked. “That’s very thoughtful. I suppose you can always become a barista if you fail the class.”

You turned, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Just wait, Viktor. You’ll see. If I fail, I’ll open my own shop. I’ll call it ‘Professor Coffee’—I’ll make sure the brew is strong enough to wake the dead.”

Viktor’s laugh was soft but genuine. “It seems you’ve got it all figured out.”

***

You reach out, barely muttering, “Could you pass me…” before the tool is already in your hand. You glance at Viktor, who hasn’t even looked up from his work.

“How did you know?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing in surprise.

He taps his temple, a small smile playing beneath his goggles. “I have a good memory.”

***

You frowned at your workbench, trying to put a name to the tool you needed, but your mind blanked.

“Can you pass me the…” you began, unsure, your voice trailing off. You made a small gesture with your hand, hoping Viktor would somehow understand what you meant. Without hesitation, he handed you a wrench.

“No, not this,” you said, waving it off. “The other one?” You gestured again.

Viktor stared at you, brows furrowed, before passing you a screwdriver.

“Not that one either!” you huffed, frustration creeping in—not with him, but because your mind had suddenly decided to fail.

The ritual continued, with Viktor visibly amused as your hand hovered over the various tools he’d passed you. Wrenches, pliers, a hammer, and a couple of screwdrivers littered the workbench. You glanced down at your notes, trying to remember.

Viktor hummed, looking from your desk to your notes. His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a knowing smile. “Ah. This one?”

Before you could respond, he was standing behind you, lowering the tool into your hand. His arms brushed the sides of your face, and you felt the press of his stomach against your back. For a moment, you froze, breath catching in your throat.

“A calliper,” you whispered.

“Well done, lásko,” Viktor muttered into your ear.

***

The clock announces an hour way past when you’ve expected to be home already. “Should we call it a night?” you ask Viktor, who sits opposite you, a soft smile curling on his lips.

“Some things have changed, then,” he says, tapping his crutch lightly against the floor. “You used to work until figurative death back in the day.”

“Well, I guess I’m getting older,” you reply with a grin, your tone light but laced with a touch of weariness. “What about you? Any big changes?”

He knocks on his brace playfully, lifting the crutch with a small gesture. “Besides the visible?” He chuckles softly. “Not much. Still working to the death.”

Your smile falters for a second, your gaze softening as you roll closer to him on your chair. You rest your hands gently on his knees, studying his face for any signs of deeper discomfort.

“Are you well, though?” you ask, your voice quiet, careful.

Viktor looks at your hands for a moment, then props the crutch on the desk beside him. He squeezes your palms, his grip firm but tender.

“I am now,” he replies, his voice low, almost like a confession. “Haven’t been for a while, but now I’m well. As well as I can be.” He pauses for a beat, then adds with a small smile, “And now that you’re back, I’m even better.”

You brush your fingers gently through his hair, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence, the intimacy of the gesture. Viktor hums softly, his eyes fluttering closed in response. So familiar, you think, a wave of nostalgia washing over you.

You swallow before speaking again, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’ve missed you.”

Viktor’s eyes remain closed, his expression softening, and when he speaks, his voice heavier now when he sighs. “I know.” He pauses, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ve missed you too.”

***

You and Viktor lay in bed together, tangled in the warmth of each other’s embrace. His arm was draped around you, and the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek was a steady comfort. The room was quiet, unbearably so, when you nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. His scent—rich, familiar, like the warmth of him—filled your senses, and you clutched him tighter, as though trying to memorize the feeling of him.

"I'm going to miss you so much," you whispered, your voice muffled against his skin, your breath shaky with the weight of the thought.

Viktor hummed softly in response, his fingers tracing small circles on your back. "I know. I will miss you terribly too." His words were gentle, but there was a deep sadness in his voice that you could feel even without looking at him.

He nudged your face with his nose, his palm warm as it cupped your cheek. His touch felt like a promise, though you weren't sure what to expect. "If it's meant to be, we will meet again," he said, his voice low, the words wrapped in the quiet certainty.

A pang in your chest tugged at you, and without thinking, you leaned up, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was soft, but your heart ached with the knowledge that this might be the last time you felt him close. It tasted with bitter acceptance, as you poured every bit of feeling you had into it, hoping it would somehow last, somehow hold you both together despite the distance that would come.

When you pulled away, your heart felt heavy, like it was breaking in your chest.

***

You both sit on the couch in your apartment, papers and notes scattered around you, a quiet hum of frustration bounces between you. Viktor’s hair is dishevelled, falling into his eyes, and his shirt has found its way half-out of his pants, a few buttons undone. He stares at the pages in front of him, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and determination. You glance over at him, hoping for a breakthrough.

“Any ideas?” you ask, your voice tinged with a hint of desperation.

Viktor groans and rubs his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “You know what… I think I’m getting old too,” he mutters, dropping his hand to your lap. “Can we get back to it when I’ve had at least two hours of sleep?”

He looks at you, his hand settling on your knee absentmindedly, his fingers warm through the fabric of your clothes. You stare at his hand for a moment, before looking up at him. He seems so tired, but also so… beautiful. His rumpled clothes and tousled hair remind you of the boy you loved.

“Sure,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You look at him, really look at him. He’s always been handsome, but tonight you can finally see how much time has passed. The wrinkles carving his face deeper, jaw stronger, singular grey strands shining through the chestnut hair. Eyes the same. He doesn’t look like a boy anymore.

Wordlessly, you move closer to him and his gaze doesn’t falter. You cup his cheeks and brush your thumb over his lip. And then, your mouth comes close to his, into a soft brush, trembling and tentative. And Viktor responds with a hand sliding up your thigh and a tilt of his head. He cranes his neck and closes the little distance left between you with a sigh of relief.

His free hand slides up to your neck, pulling you in as his mouth parts and tongue joins to wrestle with yours. He gasps when you bite his lower lip and hums, as his palm slides behind to cup your ass. Fully in his grasp, he press yourself more onto him, fingers tangling into his hair, coaxing small sounds out of his throat. It’s wet and slow and when you peek through your eyelashes his brows are scrunched and a blush blooms down his neck to his chest.

He doesn’t kiss like a boy anymore, you think to yourself. It comes unbidden and warms your insides up.

The taste of him lingers on your lips as you pull away just a fraction, your breaths mingling. You barely have a moment to think before Viktor kisses you back, deeply, hoarse inhale taken straight from your lungs leaves you dizzy.

***

Viktor had walked you back to your dorm after a late-night study session at the library. His pace was slow, almost reluctant, as if he was trying to figure out what to say before you parted ways. You were too tired to wait for him to find the words, your mind still foggy from hours of studying.

“I guess this is goodn—” you started, but before you could finish the word, his lips were on yours. The kiss came out of nowhere, abrupt and clumsy, pressing you back into the door behind you. For a moment, you froze, your tired mind scrambling to catch up with what was happening.

Then, the realization sank in, and the sound that left your lips transformed from startled surprise to a soft moan. You responded without thinking, hands sliding up Viktor's sides, feeling the warmth of his body as you kissed him back.

He dropped his cane, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His touch was urgent, hands cradling your back and drawing you in as you ran your fingers through his hair. Feeling your response, he grew bolder, shut his eyes and concentrated on drawing deep breaths through his nose to not have to part from you.

Hands everywhere, as if he couldn’t decide what to do. You nearly laughed when she squeezed your butt quickly, only to go back to your waist, slide into your ribs and then to the small of your back. So feverish.

When the oxygen run out, he broke the kiss but still kept you close. “I wanted to do this for the longest time,” he chuckled into your mouth.

***

He gives himself a good-willed push off the couch’s armrest but ends up trapping your hip beneath his. His face scrunches in worry when you hiss, but the sound quickly transforms into a laugh. When your stomach shakes beneath him, Viktor feels a strange swelling in his chest. This is so familiar.

He looks at you longingly, sliding his fingers into your hair. Your laughter dies into a moan when his groin presses between your legs. His tongue grows more eager now, as if he remembers just how much he used to want you. “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he breathes against your lips, and you respond by fisting his shirt, nearly tearing it. You try to say you’ve missed him too—fuck, how much you’ve missed him every day—but you can’t, because your mouth is full.

You brace yourself on your elbows, meeting him halfway. You’re not sure you can bear to part long enough for him to take your clothes off, so instead, you take his hands and press them to your ass. He accepts, of course, kneading your flesh in rhythm with his breath.

When you finally straddle him, your fingers move to undo the rest of his shirt. That’s when he stills. His palms come up to wrap around yours, and a quiet plea escapes him. “Wait,” he says weakly, his cock already hard—you’re sure this costs him a lot.

“Whatever for?” you ask, nosing at his face before pressing kisses to his cheeks, his closed eyelids. You untangle your fingers from his and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I should show you something first,” he murmurs, and begins to undo his shirt. You lean back to give him space to sit up, but your hips never leave his, and your eyes never look away from his face. You give him the room he needs, and feel unbearably not close enough.

***

You fought with the doorknob to your bedroom for a hot minute. Viktor, being very distracting, had completely derailed your brain from this simple dexterity task with continuous neck-licking and ear-kissing. He kept smirking against your skin, all cocky and pleased with himself, ever since the moment you’d asked, “Do you want to come in?”

You stumbled into the room together, and his fingers immediately shot to your vest. You hadn’t even blinked properly before it was undone, his hands cupping your breasts through your shirt, his cane hooked over his forearm.

Laughing and snorting at his clumsiness, you’d steadied him by the waist and let him walk you backward toward the bed.

Your hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, but they were small and stubborn, and you were too impatient. With a frustrated huff, you abandoned the effort and slid your hands over his shoulders instead. “Arms up,” you ordered, and Viktor chuckled as he complied.

He lifted his arms obediently, but as you dragged his shirt over his head, it caught for a moment, tangling around his face. He let out a muffled laugh, flailing slightly as you tugged it free, and the moment he was loose, he lost his balance. He tumbled backward onto the bed with an oof, propping himself up on his elbows as he grinned up at you.

You stepped between his legs, watching as his expression softened, turning almost reverent. His hands found your waist, fingers brushing deliberately over the fabric of your skirt before he slid it down, letting it pool at your feet. His lips followed the motion, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach before he rested his chin there, gazing up at you.

He cradled your hips, thumbs stroking lazily over your skin. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful.

You nodded, eager, and leaned down to kiss him, pouring every answer he could ever need into the press of your lips.

***

“There is both more and less to me than there used to be,” Viktor says, rubbing slow, thoughtful circles up and down your thighs. His expression is pensive, and an apology lingers somewhere in his voice. You hate that he feels the need to apologise in the first place.

Your touch slides across his chest, down—down the leather ridges of a brace you’ve never seen before. It screams Jayce Talis with every bolt, every stitch, and your heart aches at the thought that you weren’t here when this was happening.

Your eyes dart between his chest and his lips before you finally nestle deeper against his pelvis, wrap your arms back around his neck, and crush your mouth to his in a kiss that weeps remorse. “You beautiful, beautiful man,” you whisper, pressing your face into his. “How are you so brave?”

You cup his cheeks, and he only smiles, covering your palm with his.

“I’m not brave. I just… survived,” Viktor says with a small shrug. Then, after a pause: “Would you like to help me take them off?”

You nod, eager, and lean down to kiss him, pouring all the fragmented pieces of yes into the press of your lips.

***

Viktor rolled with you across the sheets, his hands skimmed up your sides, warm and eager, fingers pressing into your skin like he was trying to memorise the feel of you. Your mouths met again, lips parting, tongues teasing—lazy and deep, now that you had each other finally.

He pulled you closer, your thighs bracketing his hips, and when you reached down, fingers curling into the waistband of his trousers, he let out a shaky breath. You grinned against his mouth, tugging them lower inch by inch, letting your nails drag over his skin just to hear the quiet little sounds he made in response. Finally, with one last playful yank, you pulled them off entirely, giggling when they got caught at his ankles for a moment before slipping free.

And then you saw it—his brace.

Viktor stiffened immediately. His hands twitched at his sides, and he turned his head slightly, as if he wanted to look anywhere but at you. "It’s nothing," he muttered, voice quieter than before. "You don’t have to—"

You reached out, your palm settling gently on his leg. "Viktor," you said softly, your touch firm but tender. His gaze flicked back to yours, guarded, unsure. "You are so beautiful."

He gasped, a sound so quiet you might not have caught it if you weren’t so close. His lips parted slightly, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right.

You didn’t give him time to argue. Instead, you leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his thigh, just above the brace. He shivered beneath you. Carefully, you undid the clasps, your fingers working with quiet reverence, peeling away the brace as if unveiling something sacred.

It left behind faint indentations in his skin—lines and ridges pressed deep from the whole day of wear. You kissed each one, your lips trailing over the marks with the same care you’d give any other part of him. Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers threading into the sheets, gripping tight.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, barely above a whisper, he breathed, "You undo me."

***

You set the last metal part of Viktor aside, and now, finally—after years of longing—you see him. His legs are parted, eternal bruises marking his thigh and knee, the toes of one foot cramped closer together than the other. His ribs bear pearly little scars where the chest brace has caught against his skin.

His cock rests idly in the crease of his thigh, beautiful as ever—pink at the tip, his navel scattered with curly hair that meets in a neat line just below his belly button. His hips are sharp angles, his belly rising and falling with each breath. You take in this adult man’s body and compare it to the boy you fell in love with. And you are sure now—there is only more to him than there used to be.

You step between his legs, and his arms reach out, fingers tracing a scar on your lower abdomen. He hums, “This is new.”

“You should see the other guy,” you murmur playfully. “A machine malfunctioned at the lab. One of the energy conductors went unstable, and before I could shut it down, a piece of metal sliced me open.” You pause, watching his face tense. “I got lucky.”

Viktor brushes his thumb over the scar tissue before lowering his lips, pressing a kiss to it—slow, reverent. “My brave girl,” he mutters against your skin. Your head lulls back on your shoulders, fingers threading into his hair and you let out a sigh.

You shudder when he presses a delicate touch between your legs. His hand, more calloused than you remember, gathers the curve of your inner thigh—but oh, his fingers still feel the same. The same timid swipe across your core, the same quiet hum of approval at the wetness you've gathered for him. Then, his free arm comes to wrap around your hips, pulling you closer as he presses his ear to your belly and slides two fingers inside you.

More skill, you notice. A pang of jealousy coils in your chest—ugly, unnecessary—but you don’t let him see. He kisses your stomach, and his eyelashes tickle your skin as he moves his hand up and down and his fingers hit the spot that has you moaning out his name. “As tight as I remember,” he hums, and it lances through you how infinitely hotter he has become.

You tug at his hair to make him look at you. Two gold gems drill right through you when you say, “Viktor.” A sigh, then, “I think I really need to fuck you now.”

He smiles sweetly and kisses your stomach again. “Then it seems we are on the same page.”

***

After a lot of fumbling, adjusting, and whispered curses, you finally found what worked. Viktor propped his knee up with a pillow, his other leg hooked under yours, grounding you together. His weight pressed you into the mattress—not crushing, just enough to make you feel him everywhere, warm and steady.

He rolled his hips into you, slow and measured, his arm caging you in as he kissed you through it. The heat of his breath spilled over your mouth, his lips parting just enough to let out the quietest of moans. And even in the haze of pleasure, you could see it—the determination tightening his brow, the concentrated press of his mouth against yours. He was on a mission, and that mission was you.

One arm wound snugly around your neck, cradling you into him, while his other hand worked between your legs, fingers slick and diligent. He timed each stroke with the snap of his hips, coaxing you closer, closer—

“Oh—Viktor—”

The sound of your voice shattered something in him. His rhythm stuttered, his forehead dropped to yours, but his fingers didn’t stop, circling, pressing, working you toward your peak. You dug your nails into his back, rocking up to meet him, and then—

It rushed over you like a cresting wave. Your thighs tensed around his waist, your breath caught, and the pleasure crested so high it stole all thought. He moaned softly, watching, feeling every pulse of your release around him.

His movements became less controlled, needier, a touch more frantic. He groaned against your shoulder, muttered something in a language you barely caught, and then followed you over the edge. His body trembled against yours, hips stuttering, breath shaky as he spilled into you, his lips still parted against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds in the room were your slowing breaths, the faint creak of the mattress, and the heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then, Viktor finally lifted his head, flushed, sweat-dampened curls clinging to his forehead. He swallowed hard, his expression abashed but glowing with something warm and dazed.

“I hope that at this point, it is merely a formality,” he said, still breathless. “But… may I be so bold as to call you my girlfriend from now on?”

***

Your hips slot back together as if no time has passed. He fills you the same way, stretches you perfectly, and the expression he makes as he sinks in—God, it’s the same. Crushingly fucking gorgeous. Relief and bliss war on his face, his lips parting around a shaky groan as his hands seize your ass, pulling you down fully with a sharp slap of skin against skin.

He nuzzles into your neck, breath heavy and warm, licks up the column of your throat before sinking his teeth into your tendon. You gasp, moan, and pull at his hair, and the low, satisfied hum he gives in response shoots straight through you. His grip on your hips tightens, thumbs pressing into your skin as he guides you into motion, dragging you up before urging you back down. A faint roll of his own hips meets yours with every descent, his restraint slipping as the pleasure builds.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice—he’s changed. There’s more confidence in the way he moves, the way he takes from you, the way he talks to you. His voice is deeper, richer, words curling into your skin like smoke.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dark and approving. He drags a hand up your spine, settles it at your nape, tilting your head so you do look—so you watch the way he devours you with his eyes. “You take me so well, lásko.”

Heat spreads down to your toes. You try to bite back a whimper, but he sees it, hears it, and smirks. Smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Oh, he’s so much bolder now. And you’re falling apart because of it.

It starts with the way he tilts his hips just right, the way his grip on you tightens like he knows exactly where you need him. His free hand glides down your spine, tracing sweat-slick skin before slipping between your bodies. Two fingers find your clit, and your breath stutters. He circles once, twice—slow and deliberate—before pressing down, firm and unrelenting.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, voice like silk, like sin. He rewards you with a deep thrust, dragging a broken moan from your throat. “Let me feel you.”

You do—oh, God, you do. Pleasure overtakes you, crashing through your body in waves, pulling you under. Your thighs shake around him, your hands fly to his shoulders, nails sinking into muscle as you arch and shudder and keen his name. He groans, eyes dark and reverent as he watches you unravel in his lap.

Yet still, there are things that haven’t changed. The way his breath hitches when you clench around him. The way his moans turn desperate when you lean forward and suck at his throat. The way he starts to chase the pleasure once he gets close, gripping you tighter, rutting up into you with a fervour that makes your head spin.

And the way he comes—the same shudder, the same deep, gasping moan, the same way his arms crush you against his chest as if he could pull you inside him. His release spills deep, his body trembling beneath yours, and you realise it then, as you always have.

He is grateful for this. For you.

Your noses brush as he catches his breath, and his hands smooth over your back, grounding himself in the feel of you.

“Still with me?” you murmur, running your fingers through his damp curls.

Viktor exhales a breathless laugh, lids heavy, lips parted in something like awe. He nods, shifting just enough to press a lingering kiss to your collarbone. “Always.”

[houseofaegon]

SKINNY DIPPING pt. 2 ✩ Wally Clark

Pairings: Wally Clark x Fem!reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. very slow burn. semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, teasing, heavy sexual tension, explicit dirty talk, praising, degradation, skinny dipping in a public pool, possesiveness/jealousy, light choking, rough gripping & mandhandling, overstimulation, wally being a cocky little shit and very possessive, kinda dom!wally, risk of getting caught, begging, breeding kink. wally whimpering???? (god have mercy)

Summary: For what feels like an eternity, Y/n and Wally have been nothing more than just friends. but that changes one reckless night when they decide to cross skinny dipping off their "100 things to do before crossing over" bucket list. Teasing and meaningless flirting turn heated, and the tension that has been simmering between them finally snaps. Under the moonlit water, boundaries blur, and their friendship is completely wrecked, in the best possible way.

Author's note: this is part 2!! Part 1 is linked below <3 And part 3 soon! I had to take a moment to breath and relax while writing this cause hello????? god jesus have mercy I'm literally gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. Also, thank you so much for the love on part 1!! it made me soooo happy to see you guys liked it <3333 it means the world to me!

Word count: 4043

Song choices: lose control - teddy swims, tear you apart - she wants revenge, closer - nine inch nails, flawless - the neighbourhood, do i wanna know? - arctic monkeys, TiO - zayn, again - noah cyrus.

masterlist. part 1. part 2. part 3

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"So...Skinny dipping?" his lips brushed against your ear, his voice now a low whisper.

"Skinny dipping," you repeated, lips curving into a playful grin. "Just don't get all excited to see me naked, Clark," you teased, pushing him lightly. "And hands to yourself," you added.

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes darkening a little. He couldn't help but smirk as well. He was excited at the thought of seeing you like that.

"I make no promises," he replied with a teasing grin, his raspy voice sending shivers down your spine.

"I mean it, Clark," you huffed, rolling your eyes, though the warmth you felt bubbling up inside you betrayed the annoyance you were trying to fake.

He leaned in again, his face mere inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Can you blame me, though?" his voice dipped lower, rougher, almost a whisper. "You look so damn pretty, I can't help but flirt a little."

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to let him notice it. You pushed him back again, keeping the smirk on your lips. "Yeah, yeah," you drawled, tilting your head. "Am I the first girl you've ever said this to? Or the fourth? Or ninetieth?"

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. The truth was, Wally had a certain reputation, and everyone knew it. His charming smiles, teasing grins, and how he made girls feel like they were the center of his world… He never meant any of it. None of the girls he flirted with ever came close to you, to how you made him feel.

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. His gaze held yours, unwavering.

"None of those girls were you," he said quietly. "And none of them meant anything to me."

With a dramatic sigh, you place your hand over your forehead, pretending to swoon. "Oh, Wally! How you make my heart race!"

His laugh was loud, unrestrained, the kind of laugh that made your stomach flip every single time you heard it. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he nudged you in the stomach. "Oh, shut up," he said, grinning. "You're such a dork, you know that?"

"And you love it," you shot back, tilting your chin up in defiance.

Wally didn't answer immediately. Instead, his smirk faded slightly, and it made your chest feel too tight. He took a step closer again.

"Yeah," he admitted, voice just above a whisper. "I do."

The teasing had completely vanished now. Your throat suddenly felt dry, your pulse hammering in your ears. Something in his eyes told you that he wasn't playing anymore.

Your mouth opened, but before you could say anything, he lifted a hand, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered just a second too long, his touch light, but it managed to burn right through you.

He knew exactly what he was doing. The way he spoke, the way his gaze bore into you, the slight grin on his lips—it was all too deliberate, too calculated, and it made your pulse quicken. His eyes didn't lie, it was pure desire that clouded them and his judgment too. Wally had always been a flirt with everyone, and you were no exception. There had always been playful and flirty banter between you, but it was nothing more than a game. Nothing more than playful teasing. This? This felt different, it felt real. Lines were getting blurry, and your body was reacting in a way you never thought possible.

"You're trouble, you know that?" he murmured, his thumb grazing your jaw.

Your breath hitched. "Takes one to know one," you whispered back.

His eyes darkened, and for a second, you thought he was going to close the distance between you completely. Your heart slammed against your ribs, anticipation running through every nerve in your body.

With a smooth, effortless motion, Wally pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside like it was nothing. He knew you were watching him, and you did. You watched him, you couldn't tear your eyes away, hypnotized by his every movement, by the way the moonlight caressed his skin, his body gleaming under the soft light. You had seen him shirtless plenty of times before–he loved to work out and flaunt what he'd earned. But tonight? Tonight felt so much different. 

Your heart skipped a beat as you let your gaze travel down his chest, the way his abs tightened as he took off his shorts, kicking them aside, leaving only his boxers on. "You coming?" his voice was casual. But the way his eyes roamed over you, the way his smirk depended as he noticed the way you couldn’t keep your eyes off him, it was anything but innocent. "Go ahead," he added, nodding toward the water. "Get in first. I'll be right behind you."

You folded your arms over your chest, tilting your head as you arched a brow. "Oh, I see what you're doing," you mused, propping yourself on your hip. "You want me to strip first so you can get a show, huh?"

Wally's grin became bigger, shameless, and cocky. "And if I do?" he murmured.

"Then that makes you predictable," you shot back, tilting your head trying to feign disinterest.

His smirk didn't waver. If anything, it grew bolder. "Or just a man with very good taste," he countered smoothly, stepping closer. "But, hey, if you're too shy—"

Before he could finish, you grabbed the hem of your white shirt and pulled it over your head, letting it drop carelessly onto the ground. His smirk vanished. It was only for a second, but you saw it, the way his throat bobbed, the way his gaze dropped, drinking every inch of you. Satisfaction curled in your stomach.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. That cocky smirk? Gone. Replaced by something you couldn't quite place, something darker, deeper. Something raw.

You stepped toward the pool, your back to him, deliberately ignoring his presence, pretending you didn't feel the heat of his gaze burning into you. "You were saying?" you teased, sliding your skirt down inch by inch, slowly, letting it slip past your thighs and pool at your feet before stepping out of it. "What was that about me being too shy?"

A smirk tugged at your lips as you tilted your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him over your shoulder. Victory. He wasn't smirking anymore—his mouth slightly parted, eyes darker, stance tense like he was barely holding himself together. You had him right where you wanted him.

But you weren't done. If he wanted a show, he was gonna get one.

Keeping your gaze locked on his, you let your hands drift behind your back, fingers working the clasp of your lace bra with infuriating slowness. You could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling faster.

The straps slid down your shoulders, the cool night air hitting your skin, making your nipples harden instantly. And still, you watched him, letting his gaze devour you. Letting the bra drop, you let yourself bask in the way his pupils dilated, the way his hands clenched, every single vein and muscle in his arms tensing like he was fighting every instinct to move towards you and touch you.

And he was. God, he was fighting it, hard. Every demon inside him was telling him to grab you, to pull you close to him, to feel your skin against his, to claim you.

With a wicked grin, you toyed with the waistband of your lace black underwear, sliding it down, teasing him slowly. "Cat got your tongue, Clark?" you chuckled. Before he could answer, you turned your head and slipped into the pool.

When you submerged in the water, disappearing from his view, he let out a sharp exhale, the sound more like a whimper. As you resurfaced, he could've sworn he stopped breathing. You were everything he had ever wanted, and to see you there, bare, wet, and exposed? It was almost too much for him to handle.

His hands clenched into fists, his entire body trembling with the effort to restrain himself. His gaze didn't waver—it never left your body, exploring every inch of you.

You looked mesmerizing, the way the moonlight made your wet skin glow underneath it. He was desperate to touch you, to run his hands over your perfectly soft skin.

You ran your hands over your wet, slicked-back hair, your gaze on him. Wally stood there, frozen, eyes dark and fixed on you.

It was intoxicating, the power you had over him.

"What happened to all that smooth talk, Clark?" you teased, tilting your head, a playful smirk on your lips. "You suddenly forgot how to speak?"

That did it.

Wally's jaw locked, his hands clenched at his sides like he was physically restraining himself. For a second, you thought he might actually fight it—might crack a joke, roll his eyes, brush it off like he always did, return to his usual cocky self.

But then, without hesitation, he shoved his boxers down and kicked them aside. His eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He stood before you, the hard lines of his body tense with restraint, every muscle in his stomach flexing as he fought for control. And then there was the unmistakable evidence of his arousal, thick and hard, a blatant display of everything he wanted—everything he wanted from you.

A shiver went down your spine, heat pooling in your stomach as your eyes slowly flickered up to his.

He didn't say a word. He just stepped forward, smoothly, deliberately, like a predator hunting its prey, before dipping into the pool. The water rippled as he disappeared beneath the surface. And then, he surged back up, breaking through the water right in front of you, so close that droplets splashed on your face, so close that his lips nearly brushed yours as he exhaled a deep, slow breath.

You inhaled sharply, instinctively swimming back, but his hands were already on your waist, locking you in place. Holding you right there, right where he wanted.

“What happened to all that smooth talk, sweetheart?" he repeated your exact words, the term of endearment making your stomach flip. His voice low, almost teasing. "You suddenly forgot how to speak?"

Your pulse hammered against your ribs. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to smirk even as every nerve in your body buzzed with anticipation. This was dangerous, you knew it, and he did too.

But neither of you seemed to care.

"You think you're real cute, don't you?" his voice was low and rough, every word seemed to vibrate through your chest as his lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. His voice made your knees weak.

You grinned, hands sliding up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. "I don't think," you whispered. "I know."

A low growl rumbled in his throat. And suddenly, you weren't smirking anymore. There wasn't a single hint of playfulness in his eyes. They were filled with pure and raw heat. Dangerous, Hungry. His grip tightened, pulling you flush against him. Beneath the water, skin met skin, heat against heat. It was undeniable now, impossible to ignore, impossible to run away from. Everything you tried to ignore, every line you'd both tried so hard not to cross.

Everything was collapsing in on itself.

This was happening.

This was real.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me." His voice was thick with frustration, like he was holding back every ounce of self-control. Every inch of him trembled beneath your hands, his chest rising and falling too fast, his fingers digging into your waist. The struggle was written all over his face. He wanted you. You could see it. Feel it. He was trying so hard to hold back.

And God, he wanted to. You could feel it in the way his body tensed against yours, in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his lips hovered right there, barely an inch away, like he was dying to close the distance. Dying to taste you.

You inhaled sharply, your heart slamming against your ribs. What the hell were you doing?

Stripping in front of him? Letting him see you like this, bare and exposed? Teasing him? Knowing exactly what it would do to him?

It wasn't like you at all.

It wasn't like either of you.

This wasn't the playful banter you'd always shared. It never got further than simple jokes and meaningless teasing. This? This was territory neither of you had ever ventured into. There was a thin, fragile line. You wanted to cross it. You needed to. But the fear... the fear of losing everything you had—the fear of losing him—kept you hanging on, just barely.

Wally swallowed hard, his fingers tracing slow, agonizing patterns against your skin. "You're dangerous," he whispered again, lower this time, rougher, as if the words were ripped straight from his chest. His hands tightened against your hips beneath the water, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for hesitation—begging for it, for a reason to stop.

But there was none.

The words slipped out of your mouth before you could even think. "Am I?"

His breath caught a subtle tremor in his jaw. "Don't tease me," he growled. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

But you did.

And so did he.

His forehead dipped to yours, his breathing uneven. Your hands slid up, curling around the back of his neck, fingers threading through his wet hair. His eyes squeezed shut like he was trying—really trying—to fight it.

But there was nothing left to fight.

You’d both lost this battle a long time ago.

"You know this changes everything," he whispered, his voice raw, breaking over the words. His thumb brushed your skin, so painfully slow, like he was memorizing you, like he was savoring this moment.

Your chest tightened. You knew he was right. You knew this was it—the point of no return.

But it was too late for second thoughts.

Your lips parted, breath shaking. His eyes darkened at the sight of your open mouth, the sounds of your shaky breath making his pulse quicken. He was undone. Completely undone. All his hesitation, his willpower, his good intentions. Gone. He was drowning in you.

"Maybe it should," you whispered.

A sharp inhale. His hands gripped you tighter, and his forehead dropped fully against yours. "You have no idea what you're saying."

You let out a soft, breathless laugh. "Oh, I think I do."

His head lifted just enough for your eyes to lock, his pupils blown wide, lips slightly parted. His mouth was right there. Just a little more...

"You don't fucking get it," he rasped, his hands sliding up, thumbs brushing the underside of your ribs. "If we do this—if I kiss you—I won’t be able to stop. I won’t be able to just pretend it didn’t happen. You know that, don’t you?”

Your pulse slammed in your throat, and you nodded, barely breathing.

His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your skin, like he was trying to soothe himself, trying to keep his composure. But you could feel it—the tension radiating off him, the heat rolling off his body even beneath the water.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" you whispered.

His eyes darkened, the grip on your waist tightening, pressing into your skin, making you groan. You were sure he was going to leave bruises, but you didn’t care. 

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking as he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. "You think this is a fucking game?"

“A little," you replied, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

Wally let out a strained, bitter chuckle, but there was no humor in his eyes. No playfulness was left in the smile that painted his face. “You wanna keep playing?” he murmured, his voice rough, teasing, but there was an edge to it now, something deeper, dangerous. “Because I can play, sweetheart. But you better be ready for what happens when I stop holding back. When I stop pretending, we can go back to how things were. When I stop fucking pretending we're just friends.”

With a growl, he pushed you through the water until your back hit the edge of the pool. The impact and the feeling of the cold tiles sent a sharp shiver down your spine, making you gasp. The way he mandhandled you with such ease, his grip so possessive, the way his body caged you in completely, it made your head spin. 

His lips brushed yours—just barely. But it was enough to make your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, like he was the only thing keeping you standing.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against your lips, pleading. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

You should say it. You should push him away, laugh it off, pretend like this was just another game, another moment of playful teasing between best friends who had spent years toeing the line.

But you didn’t.

Because you couldn’t.

Instead, your fingers crept up his neck, nails tracing the hard line of his jaw, tightening in his wet hair, pulling him closer, your body pressing against his beneath the water. You felt the way his breath stuttered, the way his fingers dug into your ribs, his thumb caressing your breasts, like he was barely hanging on.

Your lips brushed against his as you whispered, “I dare you.”

A sharp inhale. His hands tightened. "Don't," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "I swear, if you keep looking at me like that—"

"Like what?" you interrupted, faking innocence as your fingers trailed down his chest, nails scraping over his hard muscles.

His breath left him in a shaky exhale. "Like you want this."

Your lips curled. "Who says I don't?"

A low groan rumbled from his chest, his restraint hanging by a thread. His hands slid down slowly, gripping, teasing, like he was testing himself—testing you. “You don’t get it.”

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I do," you whispered, your mouth just barely on his, so close he could feel your words on his skin. "You're the one who doesn't."

His jaw ticked. "Don't push me," he warned, his voice a painful growl. 

You tilted your head, dragging your nose against his. "Why? Afraid you'll give in?"

"Afraid I won't be able to stop."

A wicked smile danced on your lips as you leaned in, your mouth grazing the corner of his. Not a kiss—just a taste. "You know what I think?” you murmured, your teeth just barely scraping against his lips, leaving the most devastating kiss there. “I think you’ve thought about this. A lot.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you taunted him, your voice nothing but a breath, a challenge, a plea. "Just tell me I'm wrong, and we'll stop, we'll forget any of this happened, we'll just—"

His patience snapped.

His hands slid down your waist, gripping your thighs before he hoisted you up, forcing your legs to wrap around him. A choked gasp escaped your lips as you felt all of him, thick and hard, pressing right against your soaked core. A groan tore from his throat, guttural and desperate, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, bruising you. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered. “You keep grinding on me like that and I fucking swear–” His words cut off into a sharp inhale as you grinded against him again. 

You rolled your hips against him, dragging your slick heat over the hard ridge of his cock, and his entire body tensed.  

A sharp, wrecked groan tore from his throat, his grip turning bruising as he slammed your body harder against the cool tile. His mouth was on you in an instant—biting, licking, claiming—his teeth scraping your jaw, his tongue lapping at the spot he just marked, soothing it just to do it all over again. 

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped. 

You swallowed hard. The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say them.

Stop.

No, you wouldn’t. You didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to keep going, to touch you right where you needed him the most, to make you his, to claim you, to possess you. You wanted to feel his lips on yours, on your entire body. You needed this, the release–you needed him. 

“Say. It.” His groan was raw, wrecked. His hands ghosted up your thighs, slow, teasing, so agonizingly close to where you needed them. “Tell me to fucking stop.”

You stayed silent. 

His lips curled into a dark smirk. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

His hands flexed, gripping your thighs tighter, dragging your hips flush against him, grinding against your core so hard and deep it made your breath catch.

“Fuck, you feel that?" he groaned, his voice rough dripping with need. "Feel how hard you make me? You did that, sweetheart. You."

His lips brushed your jaw, teasing, before his teeth sank into your skin—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you whimper. His tongue soothed the spot, only to bite again, harder this time.

"You don't think I've noticed? The way your eyes are on me when you think I'm not watching? The way your whole body reacts to me?"

His fingers dug into your hips, hard, making you gasp, dragging your body against him once more, letting you feel every single inch of how much he wanted you.

Fuck.

"You've been playing a dangerous game, baby," he growled. "Playing dumb, acting like all those little teases, all those flirty smiles, all those times you touched me without meaning to—like they didn't mean anything."

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest.

"But we both know that's not true, don't we?" His grip became stronger by the minute, his fingers slithering lower, teasing the edge of your stomach, dancing along your skin with agonizing precision. He knew what he was fucking doing, he wanted to drive you insane, the same way you drove him to the brink of insanty.

"You know it's not true. Deep down, you always knew exactly what you've been doing to me."

And he was right.

Every glance, every touch, every smile, every almost—you’d been testing him, taunting him. Watching, waiting, wondering how far you could push before he snapped.

And now? He was breaking apart.

His fingers inched lower, making your entire body arch against him, desperate, aching, starving for more.

Please, please, please.

A gasp tore from your throat as his fingers finally found your aching clit, pressing down in slow, agonizing cirles.

Oh, fuck.

Your head fell back against the cool tile, your breath coming out in ragged pants. This was different. He was different. This wasn't the Wally you were used to—your best friend, the sweet, flirty, cocky, Wally who loved teasing you just as much as you teased him.

This was someone else, a completely different version of him you'd never seen before. Dangerous.

"I think you know how much I fucking want you," he groaned, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes dark, desperate, completely feral with need. "And you've been pretending you don't feel it, too."

You swallowed hard, but no words would come out. What could you say? That he was wrong? That this was just another game?

It wasn't. Not anymore.

You'd crossed every line, and there was no going back.

Your entire body trembled as his fingers moved harder, faster, making your entire world narrow to the feeling of his fingers against your aching core.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your breath coming in gasps, but you didn’t answer.

You couldn’t. Not when you were falling apart in his hands.

Not when you felt so good pressed against him.

So fucking good.

"And now, baby?" His tongue brushed over your lips, slowly. "Now you're gonna find out exactly what happens when you push me too fucking far."

[imagineyourworld]

Captain America's Birthday

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Stark!Reader

Summary: When you're all alone at the party, Joaquin comes to your rescue

Warnings: Mention of parent death, mention of a drink being spiked, suggestive content

You should have known better than to accept Sam's invitation to his birthday party. It's not that you didn't like Sam, over the years he had become a good friend, he had helped you more than you could express after your father's death. Maybe that was the reason you accepted his invitation despite knowing you'd be out of place at the party.

Sam was an Avenger, but first and foremost he was a soldier, who of course invited other soldier to this party.

Sarah Wilson had opened the door when you first arrived and greeted you with a smile and a quick hug. "How are you doing, honey?"

You had opened your mouth to tell her that you were fine, that you liked your new job, saw your family more often now that you had moved back to New York, but before you could say any of that Sarah was called away by one of her sons. That was the last you saw of the only familiar face at the party other than Sam, who was surrounded by people he hadn't seen in ages.

That's how you found yourself alone in a corner, nursing the same drink you had picked up an hour ago, glued to your phone.

Bucky had promised he'd show up and he had yet to do so. You texted him nonstop, trying to get him to hurry up, but to no avail. You let your eyes wander the room, watching the people who all seemed to know each other. Most of them were friends Sam had met in the army, some politicians. Not your crowd. Despite growing up around a team of superheroes, you weren't one for crowds.

You looked down at your phone again. Still no reply from Bucky. You weren't mad at Sam for basically ignoring you except for a wave in your direction and a sympathetic smile every now and then, it was his birthday and he had to be a good host. Besides, there were people here he hadn't seen in ages, as well as those he had to suck up to due to his job.

"C'mon, Barnes," you mumbled to yourself, vowing that if he didn't show up in the next 30 minutes you'd leave. Sam would understand and Bucky could take your place in the corner if he ever did decide to make an appearance.

"Would you like a refill?" An unfamiliar voice interrupted your thoughts of murdering the ex-assassin.

You looked up from your (still black) phone screen to find a man roughly around your age standing in front of you. He was cute, dark hair becoming unruly from the heat in the apartment, kind dark eyes. You had seen him before, though you weren't quite sure where.

"You do realise that women are taught basically from birth never to accept drinks from strangers, right?" Though you meant it mostly as a joke, this was something you lived by ever since a boy had put something in your drink at a school dance when you were 14.

"I'm Joaquin," the man said, holding out his hand for you to shake. It took another moment but then you realised where you knew the man from.

"You're Joaquin Torres, Sam's friend."

He put his hand in his pocket once he realised you were not going to shake it and sat down on the ground next to you.

"The one and only." He leaned his head against the wall, turning to face you. "And you're Y/N Stark, Sam has told me all about you."

You looked at him, trying to figure out whether the things Sam had told him were good or bad. The two of you had the kind of relationship where it could go either way; either he had told Joaquin that you were smart and pretty and capable and pretty much the best human being in the entire world, or he said you were a monster. "All good things, don't worry." He paused for a moment. "Though nothing he said could live up to the real thing."

There was a certain earnestness around Joaquin that made it hard for you to tell whether he was flirting or just generally a very nice and polite person. And to be honest, you weren't sure whether you wanted to find out. This was the first actual conversation you had had in days. Sure, there were the occasional texts and Pepper had called earlier that day to ask how you were, but that had been a quick three minute call before she had to attend to some emergency.

"Has Sam told you anything about me?" There was a hint of vulnerability hidden behind the carefree smile on his face. This was a man who wanted to impress, not just you but the people he met in general.

"Not really, sorry." You couldn't lie to him, not when he looked at you like that. God, you wished you had lied because then the conversation would have continued instead of the awkward silence that now hung between you.

"Hey," he suddenly said. "Would you rather have three arms or two mouths?"

The question caught you off guard. Who was this man asking such random things?

"Three arms for sure. Imagine all the things you could accomplish." Joaquin crossed his (two) arms across his chest. "But what would you wear? You'd have to have all your clothes special made."

You shrugged. "Or I could just not wear a top."

He looked at you in shock, eyebrows raised almost up to his hairline. "You can't say things like that! It'll give people ideas."

The corners of your lips lifted in the tiniest of smirks. You leaned closer to him, just a little bit, but enough to be in his personal space. "Oh yeah? What kind of ideas?"

A shadow was cast over the two of you, stopping Joaquin from saying anything more.

You turned away from the man next to you to face whoever had interrupted you to give them a piece of your mind, but the words got stuck in your throat once you realised who it was.

"Bucky!" You exclaimed as you jumped up from your spot on the ground.

The super soldier gave you a tight hug and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "Hello, doll."

He took a step away from you to really look at you. One thing far too few people realised was that James Buchanan Barnes was secretly a fashionista who loved to dress up whenever he had the chance and wouldn't miss an opportunity to judge your outfit.

"You look great," he finally said after letting his eyes roam up and down your body.

"I know I do," you replied. You had spent more than enough time getting ready earlier this evening, making sure you looked near perfect for Sam's big birthday party.

"And I see you're talking to Torres." Bucky looked between the two of you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. For the past couple of months he had made it his personal mission to set you up with basically any living, breathing person he came across and finding you next to Joaquin must have delighted him.

"Sergeant," Joaquin was quick to reply as he got up as well. He held out his hand for the other man to shake, who did so using more pressure than necessary if Joaquin's expression was anything to go by.

"How long have you two known each other?"

You rolled your eyes at Bucky's question. This was neither the time nor the place to set you up with anyone.

"We only just met," Joaquin replied. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea the two of you were together." The tiniest hint of a blush crept up his cheeks. So he had been flirting with you, only now he thought you were dating one of your closets friends, the man who had become something like a brother.

"We're not together," you quickly said, wanting to get rid of any misunderstandings as quick as possible.

You avoided Bucky's gaze, knowing that he was looking between you and Joaquin, trying to figure out what was going on.

"I'm not interrupting something, am I?"

You were quick to shake your head. "You're not." If anything you were glad Bucky had shown up. In the few minutes you had spent talking to Joaquin, you had begun to like him, which was not something that was int he cards for you right now.

"Are you sure?" Bucky asked once more, this time looking straight at the other man.

You followed his gaze, looking at Joaquin as well. Did you want him to say that Bucky was interrupting something? Did you want him to be flirting with you? It's not like you were looking for anything serious, but he was cute and nice and you'd be lying if you said that you couldn't see yourself ending up in his bed tonight.

"No, Sergeant Barnes, you're not interrupting anything, sir." Joaquin's eyes moved from Bucky to you and you felt a hot shiver running down your spine due to the intensity of his gaze. "I simply wanted to get the know Y/N after I've heard so much about her."

Bucky nodded. There was a tiny smirk on his face, an expression you had become somewhat familiar with whenever he was joking around with Steve and which, ever since Steve had gone back in time, he sometimes wore around Sam.

"And what's your verdict so far?"

You were quick to place a hand on Joaquin's arm. You could feel the warmth of his skin and his hard muscles through the thin shirt but did your best to ignore it, not to imagine those arms wrapped around you in all sorts of different scenarios and positions. "You don't have to answer that."

But he just ignored you, as if he hadn't heard you, as if you hand on his arm didn't bother him in the slightest. He looked straight at Bucky as he talked.

"She seems like a smart and accomplished young woman." Joaquin now finally turned to look at you. "And I look forwards to getting to know her better."

You felt warmth rising to your cheeks. He really was the cutest man you had met in a long time.

If it weren't for the fact that this was Sam's birthday party (and that you wanted to make a good impression on Joaquin) you would have punched that shit-eating grin out of Bucky's face. You knew he could read you like an open book and that it was impossible to hide your thoughts regarding Joaquin from Bucky.

"I better leave you to it then," he said, throwing another grin your way before he turned around, leaving the two of you alone in the crowd.

"I'm sorry about him," you said as soon as he was out of earshot. Joaquin shook his head. You could have sworn you saw a hint of colour rising to his cheeks as he scratched the back of his head. "Don't be," he said. "You're cute when you're flustered."

You took a step closer to him, your confidence amped up by his statement. "You think I'm cute?"

It seemed like your reaction pushed him, made him realise that there was no need to be nervous. He nodded.

"Is that all I am?" It was a bold move but there was just something about Joaquin that made you want to tease him, while it was nice to be called cute, you wanted him to call you all sorts of other things as well. Things you knew you'd have to work hard for him to say at Captain America's birthday party.

"You're funny as well," Joaquin said. "Clever. Beautiful."

You took another step closer and leaned forward even closer until you were in his personal space. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell his intoxicating cologne and the tiniest hint of his natural scent underneath. It made you long to run your tongue along his skin, to touch, to feel, to taste.

"Anything else?"

Joaquin visibly swallowed. "Way out of my league."

You shook your head and looked him straight in the eyes. "I don't think so." And you moved even closer, impossibly closer. Your chest almost touched, making your nipples harden from anticipation. "I think we'd make perfect sense together."

Joaquin's eyes drifted to your lips for a split second. He wasn't able to hide how much he wanted you, you could see it in his eyes, read it in his body language.

"Your dad would rise from his grave if I dared to touch you," he tried to protest. But you were having none of it. You placed a hand on his chest, feeling not only the hard muscles but also the rapid beating of his heart.

"C'mon, Falcon, are you really scared of the man who sacrificed himself to save the world?"      

Though you wouldn't admit it, you knew Joaquin had a point. Not that your dad would come back to haunt him but back in the day he had always been incredibly protective of you. The first time you brought a boy home, he had interrogated him for close to an hour. Interns were never allowed close to you, though you did recall one brown haired boy who had become your friend over time.

"No," he finally said. "But there are other people who'd rip my head off if they knew what I was thinking about right now." His voice was low as he spoke close to your ear.

You knew he was probably talking about Bucky, could practically feel the super soldier's stare on your back, but that didn't stop you from rising to your tiptoes until your lips almost touched Joaquin's. "Maybe we should continue this conversation elsewhere," you whispered in what you hoped was your most seductive voice. It seemed to work because Joaquin wetted his lips with his tongue, making you want to taste those lips yourself. It had been ages since you last found yourself attracted to someone the way you were now attracted to Joaquin and the fact that he took things as slow as he did drove you crazy.

"Let me say goodbye to Sam, it'd be rude to just leave." You ran your hand up and down his chest, lower and lower with each trip. He wanted you, you could tell as much from your reaction. "Or you could text him from the car," you suggested. Joaquin thought about it for a while but he finally nodded. "Alright, hermosa, let's get out of here." 

-------------------

I might write a part two if I have time and you guys would want to read it

[pepper-potts-in-charge]

Pepper had known the moment Tony walked in. It wasn’t the loud entrance, or the way the room seemed to shift when he stepped through the door. It was that feeling, deep in her chest—the pull that never quite went away.

She'd been doing this for weeks now—pushing away the ache that came with seeing him again, trying to fill the spaces between them with work and distractions and anything but the truth. But tonight, standing in this ballroom, it felt like that truth was impossible to ignore.

Tony hadn’t spoken to her yet, but she knew he was watching. She always did.

It had been a few weeks since the engagement ended, and it still felt like they were tiptoeing around each other. Pretending. They both were. They still loved each other. She could feel it, just as she knew he could feel it too.

But the words had been said. The engagement was off. The ring, once a symbol of promises they both wanted to keep, had been tucked away, and there was no easy way to bring it up again. Not here. Not like this.

She forced herself to smile and engage with the people around her, but it wasn’t easy. Her gaze wandered, just a little, to the side of the room where Tony stood. His eyes were already on her, sharp, calculating. She could tell by the way his posture shifted, the way he moved through the crowd like he was on a mission, yet still, the pull between them was undeniable.

For a second, she almost thought she could pretend it wasn’t there. Pretend it didn’t hurt. But she knew better. She’d never been able to pretend with Tony for long.

He hadn’t turned into someone she didn’t recognize. He was still the man she knew—the one with the jokes, the bravado, the impossible confidence. But there was something else, something different about him tonight. Maybe it was the way he held the champagne flute between his fingers like he was trying to ground himself, or the way his eyes lingered on her without saying anything. She wasn’t sure.

It would have been so easy to go to him. So easy to break the distance between them, even for a moment, just to hear his voice and feel that magnetic pull they’d always shared. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to let all the old emotions resurface, not when they hadn’t even had the chance to fully process what had happened between them.

Instead, she focused on the conversation in front of her, though it felt like she was just going through the motions. Every word, every gesture, every smile—it all felt distant compared to what was happening in her chest.

She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. They weren’t together anymore. That was the choice they had made, together and apart, because they couldn’t get it right. The timing had never been right, not for them. And yet... here they were. Both pretending. Both doing everything they could to avoid facing the fact that the engagement may be over, but everything they shared still lingered.

Pepper could feel her heart rate quicken as she caught his gaze across the room. There it was again—the unmistakable weight of Tony Stark’s attention. It wasn’t just that he was looking at her. It was the way his eyes held hers, as if there were a hundred unspoken words passing between them. Words neither of them was willing to say out loud.

For a moment, she wanted to reach out to him. To break the distance. To say something, anything that would make this easier.

But she didn’t.

She could feel the room around her moving, the people shifting in and out of focus, but all she could think about was how much she wanted to turn around, to go to him, to collapse the space between them. But she wouldn’t.

Because no matter how much she still loved him, no matter how hard it was to breathe when he looked at her like that, she had to protect herself. She had to protect both of them. They’d been down that road too many times, and she wouldn’t go back to it.

Instead, she turned her attention back to the crowd, but not before she saw the flicker of something on Tony’s face. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was regret. Maybe it was nothing at all.

But whatever it was, it left her breathless.

And for a moment, Pepper wasn’t sure if it was worth pretending anymore. But she held on. She smiled, kept talking, kept pretending. Because this was their new reality.

It was complicated. It always had been. And maybe that’s why she had to keep walking this tightrope. Even when she wanted to fall.

SATURDAY OPEN RP! GOLDEN GALA CHARITY EVENT HOSTED BY EMERSON ENTERPRISES CEO!

The atmosphere within the main ballroom is spectacular with all the golden accents on top of black table clothes. The room is decorated to the nines with everything that could ever be done. James has his staff to thank for that.

The guests start to trickle in slowly but surely. The splendor of it all actually makes some of them gape in awe.

James knows he's going to have to go around the room talking to each one throughout the night, and maybe they will talk to each other. Tonight is about making connections and possible friendships with the people of the city. They have to band together to fight what could possibly come. This is his strategy.

This is just one step of many to take down HYDRA.

But they aren't on his mind tonight.

He greets everyone with a smile when he walks up to them. And they greet him in return when they want to speak with him.

The auction will be towards the middle of the event followed by dancing. He's pretty sure the ones with children won't stay for that.

Mingle and have fun.

Even though there are Anti-Mutant protestors threatening to show up at any moment.

At least Rumlow isn't going to be here.

//OOC Instructions: Mingle, have fun, and make some chaos happen.//

@luna-draven-barnes @wilsonfisk-thekingpin @under0-0s @the1-and-only-peggycarter @thund3randrain @thebestmerc-1 @the-daily-bugle-official-blog @nearthewaters @theoldcapsicleicle

If I missed your tag, I'm sorry, I can't remember everyone that I talked too for some reason (probably fibro brain fog) and anyone is welcome to join!!!

[xoxochb]

“mhmmm what time is it?” your voice comes out muffled within the pillow as you roll over onto your tummy.

but percy rolls you back over onto your back and you whine. you reach out, eyes closed, until you at last feel your boyfriend beside you. you hit him with the utmost force you can muster in your current sleepy state. which isn’t much but you try.

“time, please.”

your hand slides off his chest as percy slides to the side to find the bedside clock. you leave your arm outstretched until you feel him lay back down and his cold skin is back beneath your fingertips.

“three-fourteen.” he smiles and takes your arm into both of his hands, beginning from your fingers and peppering them in light kisses.

you whine a second time. “‘s too early, perce.”

“I can’t sleep.” his mouth works its way up your wrist and beginning over the expanse your arm.

“‘course you can’t…” you inhale before sitting up alongside him, taking the blankets with you to bear the coldness over your bare skin.

you watch as his lips travel higher. you turn on your side facing him so once reached your shoulder he is allowed easier access. soon, he does. percy’s mouth falls upon your shoulder, your neck, and remaining there like a leech.

his hands rest sprawled along the skin of your back, while your own drape around his neck, twirling his hair lazily. you feel his smile between kisses. it makes your own lips turn upwards.

“percy, what’re you doing?” the smile is oh-so prominent in your voice it brings such a pink flush to your cheeks.

he finds your jaw quickly, then your chin and your cheeks and your temples and your forehead and your hairline and the bridge of your nose and the tip of it then your top lip and your bottom lip and each corner of your mouth before at last, finally connecting his lips with yours.

it’s there and gone too quickly for your liking it was at the very least ten seconds. when he pulls back you exhale.

“you’re dodging my question.”

“oh.” anyone else may have believed it was sincere ‘oh’ but you knew better. you also knew his smirk all too well. he shrugs and begins pecking your neck again. “just wanna kiss you, sweet girl. that okay with you?”

you roll your eyes. yet your smile never does falter. “it’s three in the morning— you couldn’t wait until at least six?”

percy nips at your neck. breaking your nonchalance, you giggle softly. his smirk is exchanged for a smile, to unbearably wide he’s no longer able to kiss your skin. he settles for resting his face on your shoulder instead.

“I think you know the answer to that, sweet girl.”

he was right. but you suppose it was still nice to hear his voice.

“touché.” you nod and place a tender kiss to his forehead. “do i get to go back to sleep?”

“also no.”

of course. might as well get comfortable.

you sigh and tangle your legs with his. he is cold in comparison to your warmth and you’re sure nothing has felt better. or maybe an exaggeration percy would never let you get away with saying but the point is still understood the same.

“do I at least get to go to bed early tonight?”

“I’ll think about it.”

you lightly tug at a strand of his hair. “there’s nothing to think about.”

“there is. it depends—” you can hear the smirk. “are you planning to wear that new blue dress you got the other day?”

“I was but now I’m having second thoughts.”

“pleaseeeeee wear it, you look so good in blue, sweet girl.”

you recall when you had bought it. a rare occasion when you had been able to leave camp with percy. typically mr. d did not trust the both of you together. but just this once you had gone shopping for summer clothes. percy had found the dress himself, actually.

you had allowed him to enter the changing room with you as you had tried it on. his plan from there, the sight of the pretty blue sundress on you, was to drop every social moral he owned as he dropped to his knees before you.

you told him no but promised to wear it sometime during the week. honestly, you had been dying to wear it yourself.

“I suppose I will.”

like presumed, you had not gone to bed early the following night.

༯ “love you to the moon and to saturn neptune” - seven, taylor swift, folklore.

[typhoonquixol]

What do you mean they can see everything?

Tim: Jason. You have your tumblr profile set to public. People can see who you follow, and what you've liked.

Jason: No.

Tim: Yes.

Jason: So then everyone can see...?

Tim: Yes.

Jason: How many people know about my account.

Tim (smiling wickedly): Enough.

Jason: How to I make it private?

Tim: Why would I tell you that?

Jason glares at Tim with the hatred of a thousand suns.

Jason: Even if I deleted the account you'd recreate it by hand wouldn't you?

Tim: yep.

Jason, hands clasped together, leaning forward: I will pay you.

Tim: I could take over Wayne and Queen industries in a week if I wanted to, money doesn't matter to me.

Jason: Then what do you want?

Tim reaches behind the couch and picks up a black motorcycle helmet. He'd planned this interaction. Sonofa-

Jason: No.

Tim: no? Alright... Damien is going to love scrolling through so many-

Jason: FINE. Fine. Fine. You can use my bike.

Jason digs into one of his dozen breast pockets, pulls out his keys, and tosses it to Tim.

Tim: Cool. I'll give it back Friday night after I take Bernard out. You have until then to delete the account or set it to private.

Jason: Can't you just... hack the likes away?

Tim: That many? Not a chance. So either suck it up or delete it.

Tim walks away, satisfied and looking forward to driving the infamous Red Hoods bike into a brick wall.

Jason watches him go with pure hatred and respect. He opens his phone and checks. Sure enough he can see other peoples likes. He flicks back to his page and scrolls through his likes. 10,000 in just one month. How long had he stared at his phone on patrol?

He was never going to understand technology again was he...

Tim walks Bernard out of his apartment, promising him something really special. They finally get outside to the curb and Tim dramatically points to... nothing.

Bernard: Uh, cool. So are we walking to the surprise?

Tim: I left it right there what hap- I need to check Tumblr.

Bernard: Tumblr?

Tim: Yes.

Tim opens his phone and looks at Jason's page. He's posted a photo of himself driving in the middle of the street laughing like a maniac.

It is then followed by re-posts of several cutesy photos of animals hugging each other. Specifically of wolfs curled around their cubs, carrying them by their scruffs, and so on. Damian has already commented on seventeen, demanding why Todd would hide this from him.

Tim: That petty little...

Bernard: So what was the plan?

Tim: I blackmailed my brother into giving me his bike but he chose to expose the himself rather than let me use it.

Bernard: You mean that brother?

The six foot tall brick house that is Jason Todd appears behind Tim and slaps his brothers shoulder.

Jason: I said you could use my bike little bro. Not which one.

Jason sweeps his arm towards a vintage 1983 Honda Shadow he'd parked a few spots down.

Tim: Your kidding.

Jason: I'm not

Jason, leaning in closely to whisper: Because I know you wouldn't dare crash this one.

Jason, loudly chuckling: Have fun on your date. See you Bernard

Bernard: See you Jay.

Jason walks off cackling. He gets a ping on his phone. It's Grayson.

Grayson: Why didn't you tell me you liked wolves??? I could have been sending you wolf memes daily.

This is then followed by a tidal wave of adorable wolves.

Grayson: See? See i can give you memes. Jason let me make you happy!!!

Jason already regrets his decision.

[eringobragh420]

ᥫ᭡ CODY RHODES dating headcanons ᥫ᭡

♣️ Pairing — Cody Rhodes ♥︎ f!Reader (no use of y/n) ♣️ Word Count — 900 🛑 Warnings — NSFW. Mention of dacryphilia, cockwarming, unprotected p in v, plugs and toys, Sir/Daddy kink, anal, cum (18+) ♣️ Taglist — If you'd like to be added, please click here! ♣️ MASTERLIST

➵  𝒞ℴ𝒹𝓎 likes coming home—or to the hotel room, or the bus—to find you waiting for him. Naked. Ready to be used any way he sees fit. You change your position and location often—on the bed in the master, on your knees in the living room, splayed across the dining table. You’re his favorite surprise.

➵  𝒞ℴ𝒹𝓎 drags the golden chain from his vest down your nude body—between your breasts, dipping into your belly button, and he licks his perfect lips when the jewelry slips along your glistening folds.

➵  𝒞ℴ𝒹𝓎 never even considered cockwarming until he met you. Now it’s all he thinks about. Making you sit on his lap, thick cock buried so far in your cunt he’s positive it’s entered your stomach, and you’re not permitted to move, not allowed to distract him as he peruses schedules and itineraries, signs contracts and even makes business calls. You always fail—hips swiveling, pussy clenching, cumming without even realizing it was about to happen—and maybe that’s his goal. Because then you try extra hard next time.

➵  𝒞ℴ𝒹𝓎 cums a lot. You have to swallow twice—three times if he’s been gone for an extended period of time—when he shoots in your mouth. His facials are literal showers. And his load starts leaking out of your pussy before he’s even finished giving it to you.

➵  𝒞ℴ𝒹𝓎 keeps your panties in his pocket. Pants pocket, suit jacket pocket, vest pocket. During interviews, meet-and-greets, even while he’s in front of tens of thousands of people cutting a heartfelt promo. You’re always with him.

➵  𝒞ℴ𝒹𝓎 is a voyeur. He’ll sit in the chair a few feet from the bed, puffing on a King of Denmark cigar, lazily massaging the lump in his pants as your fingers slip and slide along your exposed clit, as they pinch your nipples and fondle your breasts. A cigar that costs almost $5,000—he purchases ten at a time, along with the $9,000 humidor to keep them in—bought for the sole purpose of enjoying while watching you make yourself cum, his name on your lips.

➵  𝒞ℴ𝒹𝓎 likes you to wear plugs or toys when you’re out with friends. Sometimes during work. He’ll squeeze a cute, bejeweled plug into your ass before you head out to dinner—watching you squirm and roll your hips to find a comfortable position. Or if there’s a function that might keep the two of you apart and engaged with other people, he’ll instruct you to insert a toy in your pussy that he can control via an app on his phone. From across the room, with the tap of a button, your cunt will flutter to life, and Cody smirks as he sips his drink, watching you fidget against the secret vibrations.

➵  𝒞ℴ𝒹𝓎 has a dacryphilia kink. He’ll intentionally hurt you—spank your thighs a little too hard, choke you a little too tightly, bury his thick cock in your ass too soon—so he can hear you weep, so he can press his forehead to yours and watch with electrified eyes as tears drip down your cheeks. And then he apologizes, lying through his perfect teeth that he didn’t mean to, that he got carried away, that he won’t do it again. You believe him every time, willingly or otherwise, and he breaks his promise. Every time.

➵  𝒞ℴ𝒹𝓎 has a Sir Mode and a Daddy Mode in the bedroom and there’s no in-between. Sir is usually the one who comes home after a particularly trying or dissatisfying—to put it lightly—night at work. Sir demands obedience from you, respect, adoration. Sir doesn’t smile, or laugh. Sir takes what he wants from his filthy little slut. Daddy, on the other hand, encourages your bratty side. Daddy wants the back talk, and hearing you giggle at the playful, “punishing” swats to your ass. Daddy loves to kiss you and tell you how pretty you are.

➵  𝒞ℴ𝒹𝓎 wishes you didn’t want to watch his matches from the front row, but there’s not much he can do about it. He’s caught you biting your nails until they were nearly non-existent, crying (and not for any reason that he enjoys), clinging tightly to whichever unfortunate friend you’d chosen to bring along that night. You’ve had to be physically restrained from jumping the barricade on more than one occasion, security threatening to move you to a different section altogether if you didn’t behave.

➵  𝒞ℴ𝒹𝓎 remembers every holiday and every anniversary—first kiss, first date, first night spent together—and he showers you with extravagant gifts on each one. Diamonds, trips to tropical islands, a new wardrobe, front row tickets and backstage passes to your favorite artist.

➵  𝒞ℴ𝒹𝓎 loves your thighs. His favorite hobby is watching you walk around in your underwear, his blue eyes mapping the backs of your thighs into the perfect swell of your ass. The lines above your thighs and below your hips—he thinks they’re called thighbrows—turn him into a savage. He has to touch them, play with them, kiss them, lick them.

➵  𝒞ℴ𝒹𝓎 is a cuddler. His heart soars when you crawl into his lap for nothing other than to be held—pressing your face into his neck, sighing dramatically. His smile is uncontrollable as you tuck yourself under his arm and wrap your own arms around his waist and simply hold him while you wait to board a plane, or in the moments before his music hits, or in the first class seats on a flight across the country.

TAGLIST: @southerngirl41 @femdisa @riverina69 @rollinssection @paramedicnerd004 @mandmilovehim @brianochka @yourmommyagone22 @sweetmoonlove0214 @partypoison00 @missbmc94 @lils2795 @aureliacorvina @magicalbuttertarts @madimcg14 @thealliasylum @lov3rla03 @plaidpajamallama @princesstiti14 @damianpriestfangirl82

[panvnsleake]

rocking back and forth over this. this has affected us permanently

got some stuff to say. do note im like the most illiterate person ever so its likely none of these speculations are right 🤑🤑🤑

long post ahead brace yourself -🍞

the part 30 seconds in with charlie and airy. i mean airy created his world yaknow. but much like a kid he doesn't have much experience with being whats basically god. this airy is pre season one (jessie, julien, oscar, max, sandra and thomas). he's testing out his abilities and stuff yaknow

38 seconds in where airy is like. a monster's silhouette for one frame. i think this shows how um. 1st batch of s2 saw airy as a monster. he's one solid color because they never see his face or know him any deeper than "guy who kidnapped me and forced me to compete in his show and caused trauma in the process". ya

50 seconds in he looks confused when he pulls up the awesome roots. maybe like uh. him trying/failing to understand his power and impact over people. in the show he almost/actually kills someone and he's just like "woops. sorry." because. he doesn't understand how powerful he is. he's playing god and yet to him this is all just him having fun

atom not having the same amount of electrons as protons (which means he's probably not a stable isotope) makes me a teeny tiny bit upset im sorry its so dumb. we're not mad at you franklin promise

58 sec the roots are consuming him the show is consuming him the plane is his everything

1 min 7 sec. the plane, which he created for fun, ends up being his and others' demise. or something

1 min 13 sec this has to mean something. do you see how Darker Airy has like. horns. and is cracked unlike Lighter Airy. maybe LIghter Airy is like. past airy and Darker Airy is present airy, or lighter is how he really is and darker is how the contestants percieve him??? dunno :(

1 min 25 sec "everyone else is like me" yeah dude you're right. when i got here airy was also here and i started noticing him and i aren't really that different. the contestants have similarities to him. some have more than others but you can compare and contrast everyone to airy. also we like how stone's eyes are open. and how airy's crack is the sun. do you guys remember that the sun was missing after airy died in one 18. Yeah.

1 min 32 sec and any other scene with the Plants And Roots on contestants/airy. Yet again the show took over their lives some way or another. It had an impact on them. liams job, relationships, dignity and existence were all thrown away because of ONE.

1 min 35 sec lightning because 1. ONE 13 2. airy's power is causing harm to him. i think maybe

1 min 46 sec OH MY TRILOBITE THIS IS WHEN BRYCE REJOINS HOW DID WE JSUT REGISTER THAT. and. there's a daffodil in the background THOSE MEAN REBIRTH WE SEARCHED IT UP FOR AN OC!!

1 sec later we SHOUTED because of this oh my TRILOBITE. we just love this part so much the main 4 are much more similar to airy then they'd enjoy knowing. stares my source (charlotte) down

THE WHOLE ANIMAL SEGMENT IS SO PRETTY. OH TRILOBITE... okay ummm i think this represents airy's control over stuff and also his disconnection from society. yeha. notice how all (i think. maybe the bunny and bugs dont count but shhh) these animals are wild. there's not one that's a typical domestic animal. and i think thats so awesome

2 min 24 sec thats probably an actual compound but i cant figure out which one 💔💔💔 uhhh this means something too probably but like im getting cramps and im moody right now soryg

last scene. like. 2 min 30 sec. liam is like. i dont think hes pretty a-oj guys. haha. maybe this hints at like. cycles. moon cycle. everythings a damn cycle. liam becomes the next airy 🤑🤑🤑

that white flower that pops up on amelias arm and liams shoulder probably has symbolism too but i cant identify it....oughhhhh

okay thanks for coming to my ramble. you're free now -🍞

go see https://youtu.be/3w_HJduFh5o?si=owL4eEGnLXf7wX9J

[violetasteracademic]

A little birdie told me the Elriel tags were in desperate need of some good vibes and unhinged smut, so dropping by to sprinkle a slutty lil one shot!

Summary:

Elain escapes to the Dawn Court for one evening, hoping to ease the pain of her broken heart with the distraction of a ball. But Azriel, the very shadowsinger she has sworn to forget, has followed her. And he isn't too keen on letting other males put their hands on the Night Court seer.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Rough sex, exhibitionism, mild pain/power dynamic kink, orgasm denial, breeding kink, garden fucking, yes literal hedge maze fucking, unhinged jealous possessive Azriel and Elain loves it, it's basically just kinky. But very beginner friendly! (er... in my opinion. I guess let me know if I'm wrong about that lolol)

This fic was inspired by Deep End by Ali Hazelwood for @yourstarsmyscars and all the girlies who went insane for Lukas Blomqvist as a modern day Azriel.

Read the fic here

Preview below the cut.

“Elain,” Azriel called after her, but she didn’t slow down. Not until she managed to shove her way through the crowded ballroom and burst out into the garden for a breath of fresh air. “Elain, stop.”

“You’re giving me orders now?” Elain spun on her heel. “What are you doing here, Azriel?”

Azriel’s nostrils flared. “I’m making sure you’re safe. Someone obviously needs to.”

Elain’s jaw fell open, then quickly snapped closed. She was right, then. He’d been sent after her. It stung more than she cared to admit. “I am perfectly safe. Not that it is any business of yours. You can tell my sisters there is nothing to worry about.”

Azriel’s gaze briefly flickered in confusion at the mention of her sisters, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by an icy rage. “Oh really?” Azriel moved in on her, forcing her to retreat until the stone wall halted her movements. “Damon Thatcher is a sniveling creep. There is no way in hell I would let you accept a drink from him.”

“Let me?” Elain’s chest heaved. How dare he? “You don’t control what I do and don’t do Azriel. I will dance with whoever I want and drink champagne with whoever I want, and you don’t get to say a damn word about it.” 

She shoved at his chest, but he snatched her wrists in his hands and pressed her into the wall.

“Not him,” he said, so low and quiet her breath hitched. “Promise me it won’t be him. He’s an ass.”

Elain took a deep breath, trying desperately to clear the fog from the heat of his body and the light, heady buzz from the champagne. “Why does it matter to you?” 

Azriel’s pupils blew wide and his breath sawed through his chest. But he didn’t say a single word.

Elain’s heart was caving in. She couldn’t stand to be this close to Azriel. To breathe in his scent and feel his eyes boring into her, as if he would die if he couldn’t touch her. But he had already proven that wasn’t true. It was a mistake. He never wanted her in the way she thought. So why was he doing this?

“You don’t want me, but no one else gets to have me either? Is that what this is?” She shook her head and turned away, desperate to keep him from seeing the tears forming. “It seems like the only ass here is you, Azriel.” This time, he didn’t stop her when she shoved him away.

It broke something in her. After all this time, she still held on to some fragile hope that she hadn’t imagined everything between them. That the crazed and desperate look she sometimes saw in his eyes wasn’t just… Well, whatever it was. She had no idea anymore. But it hurt too much to try to understand.

“I won’t accept a drink or another dance from Damon,” Elain said over her shoulder. “I… I didn’t like the way he made me feel. But I am not leaving here alone tonight, Azriel. I can’t bear another night alone. So, please. Don’t interfere again.”

Her hand had just barely begun to reach for the knob when darkness swarmed around her.

She landed hard against a cold stone wall, and gasped for breath when the shadows faded and revealed a small fountain surrounded by hedges. Elain had seen the large hedge maze in the Dawn Court gardens, and briefly considered how romantic it would be to sneak quietly away if she indeed found someone she could attempt to distract herself from Azriel with. But it was Azriel himself gripping her wrists and looking like a half crazed animal.

“Azriel,” Elain hissed. “What are you doing?”

“No,” he choked out. 

“No what?”

“No, I don’t want anyone else touching you.”