#failed miserably and obsessed over it instead

[ruinme-please]

love for the first mask ❤︎

reference

[foxtrology]

bette davis eyes (2)

harry castillo x reader

series

word count: 9.1k

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader, fluff, smut.

Harry Castillo still didn’t know her name.

And it was driving him insane.

It had been three days.

Three days since he sat on the steps of The Met, seething over Lucy’s engagement only to stumble into a conversation with the most aggravating woman he had ever met.

Three days since she stepped out of his car.

"If you find me again, maybe I’ll say yes."

He had taken it as a challenge.

Of course he did.

He had spent years making impossible things happen. He had turned himself into one of the richest hedge fund managers in the country. He dictated the movement of money on Wall Street with a flick of his wrist. People waited months to get a meeting with him.

When he wanted something, he got it.

But he still didn’t know her goddamn name.

He had spent hours.

Hours, going through his friends’ Instagram followings, convinced that she had to be in there somewhere. She had been outside that party on those steps. That meant she knew someone.

Right?

Wrong.

Instead, all he got was accidentally following half a dozen people he didn’t even like and no clue how to unfollow them.

"You could just Google it," Danny had suggested, watching as Harry scrolled through Instagram with the confusion of a man trying to defuse a bomb.

"I shouldn’t have to Google basic fucking technology," Harry snapped.

Danny had just laughed. "This is why Lucy did everything for you."

Lucy.

Right.

Harry shut his phone off and tossed it onto the table like it had personally offended him.

He needed to let this go.

She was just a stranger.

A nobody.

But...

She wasn’t.

She was somebody, at least to him. Someone who had looked at him like he wasn’t some billionaire hedge fund manager but just a man sitting on the steps of The Met, sulking about his ex.

And that was risky.

Because for the first time in a long time he wanted to know more.

She was balancing a tray when she spotted him.

Harry Castillo.

Sitting at the corner of the high end Manhattan restaurant she was currently serving at, looking like he would rather die than be here.

Her grip on the tray tightened. No fucking way.

She had spent the last three days assuming she would never see him again.

Rich men didn’t go looking for strangers they met outside of parties. Not unless they had some weird obsession or a savior complex. And he didn’t seem like the type.

Yet, here he was.

Dark suit. Sharp jaw. Brooding like the miserable, wealthy asshole she suspected he was.

And worst of all—he didn’t see her.

Not yet.

She had to get out of here before he did.

Her name tag was visible.

If he saw it, if he recognized her—

"Table six, go," her manager barked, pointing toward the very table Harry was sitting at.

Fuck.

She briefly considered quitting her job on the spot. Just throwing her apron at the nearest wall and storming out.

But unfortunately, she had rent to pay.

So with a deep inhale, she straightened her shoulders, gripped the tray tighter, and walked straight toward him.

Harry wasn’t paying attention.

Not to the menu. Not to his surroundings.

His mind was still back in his office, replaying every attempt he had made to find her.

And failing.

His phone buzzed. Another news notification. Probably some article about the market or a New York Times op-ed about billionaires ruining the economy. He didn’t care.

Then—

A shadow passed over him.

Someone setting a drink down.

And before he even looked up—before his brain even processed it—he heard her voice.

“Whiskey neat.”

His head snapped up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

And there she was.

Standing right in front of him.

His breath hitched.

Her.

Her.

His eyes flicked to her name tag, sharp and laser focused.

Finally.

She saw where he was looking and immediately reached for it, ripping the tag off with a sharp tug before shoving it into her pocket.

“Not a chance,” she said, shaking her head.

His lips twitched.

“Afraid?”

“Of you?” She snorted, shifting the tray in her hands. “Not even a little.”

He exhaled, leaning back in his chair.

“You work here.”

She raised a brow. “Clearly.”

“You were at the Met party.”

“I was working the Met party.”

Realization dawned.

She wasn’t a guest. She wasn’t friends with anyone there.

She was a server.

A server.

Harry’s fingers tapped against the edge of his glass.

He didn’t know why that made something settle inside him. Maybe because it explained why she hadn’t given a shit about who he was. Maybe because it meant she wasn’t part of his world, wasn’t another socialite or heiress looking for an investment banker to marry.

Maybe because it meant that night was real.

“You’ve been looking for me.”

It wasn’t a question.

His eyes lifted to hers.

She was smirking.

She was amused.

And he hated how much he liked that.

Harry exhaled slowly. “Maybe.”

“Well. Now you found me.”

He studied her.

The restaurant bustled around them. The clink of glasses, the low hum of conversation, the scent of expensive wine and seared steak filling the air.

But none of it mattered.

Not when she was standing in front of him, arms crossed, head tilted, watching him like he was the one on display.

He reached for his drink, swirling the liquid before taking a slow sip.

Then—

“Have dinner with me.”

She blinked.

Paused.

Then laughed.

Again.

Like he had just told the funniest joke in the world.

Again.

“You really don’t like being told no, huh?”

His jaw ticked. “That’s not an answer.”

She tilted her head. “What do you think I’m gonna do? Take off my apron and sit down at your table? I’m working, Castillo.”

The way she said his name made something tighten in his chest.

Harry leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Then when do you get off?”

Her lips twitched.

“You gonna wait here all night?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

She exhaled, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

A pause.

“Fine.”

Harry’s brows lifted.

Her eyes flicked to the clock on the restaurant wall before settling back on him.

“I’m off in an hour.” She turned, already walking away. “Let’s see if you’re still here by then.”

He watched her go.

Watched as she weaved through tables, balancing drinks, chatting with customers, completely at ease.

And for the first time in three days—

He felt at ease.

Because this time, she wasn’t getting away.

Harry wasn’t a patient man.

He had built an empire on control, on precision, on the ability to anticipate movements before they happened. That was how he stayed ahead, how he won.

Yet here he was, sitting at a table in an upscale Manhattan restaurant waiting for a woman who barely spared him a second glance.

A woman whose name he still didn’t know.

He leaned back in his chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass, watching as she moved effortlessly through the restaurant.

She was good at her job.

Efficient, quick on her feet, balancing trays with ease.

And she smiled at customers.

Not the way she had smirked at him earlier. Not with that sharp edged amusement that made something itch beneath his skin.

No, these smiles were polite. Professional. A little forced, maybe, but nothing that suggested she was even remotely bothered by his presence.

It annoyed the hell out of him.

Because he was bothered.

She had been stuck in his head for three days.

And here she was, acting like their encounter meant nothing.

Like he meant nothing.

It was infuriating.

And intriguing.

And maybe—just maybe—exactly what he needed.

His fingers tapped against the rim of his glass.

An hour.

He could wait an hour.

Hell, he had waited longer for board meetings that didn’t even matter.

So he settled in.

And watched.

She could feel his eyes on her.

The weight of his gaze followed her everywhere.

She ignored it.

Or at least, she pretended to.

Because if she acknowledged it, if she met his gaze, if she let herself wonder why he was still sitting there—then she would have to admit that she cared.

And she didn’t.

Not really.

Not about Harry Castillo.

Not about his perfectly tailored suit or the way his dark eyes followed her every movement like she was some kind of puzzle he was determined to solve.

Not about the way her heart had kicked up just a little when she realized he had actually been looking for her.

Nope.

Didn’t care.

Not at all.

She refilled a wine glass at table twelve, smiled at a group of finance bros who didn’t deserve it, dodged her coworker carrying a tray of desserts, and did not look at the man still sitting at table six.

But she could feel him.

And it was driving her crazy.

Harry was losing his mind.

Every time she passed his table without sparing him a glance, something inside him tightened.

This was ridiculous.

He didn’t wait for people.

People waited for him.

He could leave right now. Get up, walk out, and be done with this whole thing.

But he wouldn’t.

Because she had said one hour.

And he was going to make sure she kept her word.

His phone buzzed.

He ignored it.

Buzzed again.

Danny.

Danny: Why are you ignoring my texts?

Danny: Did you figure out how to unfollow people yet or are you still stuck?

Danny: Are you seriously still looking for that girl?

Danny: …You are, aren’t you?

Danny: I hate you.

Danny: Text me when you’re done being pathetic.

Harry rolled his eyes and slid his phone facedown on the table.

The hour crawled by.

And then—

Finally—

She walked back toward his table.

Apron off. Jacket on. Bag slung over one shoulder.

Her shift was over.

And Harry sat up a little straighter.

“You actually waited.”

She didn’t sound surprised.

More amused.

Like she had expected him to wait but still found it funny.

He lifted a brow. “You said an hour.”

“And you’re a man who listens?”

“I can be.”

She huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Dangerous skill.”

Harry smirked. “You have no idea.”

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched.

It wasn’t a no.

Wasn’t a go home, Castillo.

It was something else.

Something better.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “So?”

“So.”

“What now?”

Harry exhaled, watching her carefully.

She was testing him.

Waiting to see if he was serious.

If he was worth the trouble.

And Harry Castillo never backed down from a challenge.

“Dinner,” he said simply.

She arched a brow. “You just ate.”

“You were working. I don’t eat alone.”

She crossed her arms. “That’s a dumb rule.”

He shrugged. “It’s my rule.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

Then—

“Fine.”

A single word.

But it sent something sharp and victorious rushing through his chest.

He stood, pulling a few crisp hundreds from his wallet and tossing them onto the table without a second glance.

She eyed the money but didn’t say anything.

Just turned on her heel and walked toward the door.

Harry followed.

The wind cut sharp against his skin as they stepped out onto the Manhattan sidewalk, the world around them alive with the hum of the city at night. A taxi honked a block away, a couple laughed as they passed, and the crisp scent of winter curled into the air.

She shivered, pulling her coat tighter around her body.

Harry didn’t shiver.

He barely felt the cold.

His eyes flicked toward her, noting the way she huddled into herself slightly, as if suddenly self conscious. She had been confident inside the restaurant sharp, unbothered, teasing—but now, beneath the glow of the streetlights, something in her had shifted.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She scoffed. “You think I’m just gonna tell you that?”

His jaw twitched.

She was impossible.

And yet, somehow, he found himself waiting for her answer anyway.

She sighed, exhaling into the cold air. “It’s just…I just got off a shift. I’m not exactly dressed for whatever expensive place you’re about to drag me to.”

Harry blinked.

Then looked her over.

Dark jeans. A fitted black sweater. Scuffed up ballet flats.

She looked fine.

Better than fine.

She looked real.

She looked like her.

And that, he realized, was the problem.

She didn’t belong in his world.

Didn’t fit into the mold of women he was usually seen with.

She wasn’t draped in designer. She didn’t have a last name people recognized. She didn’t float through life with the quiet, effortless privilege of someone born into money.

But she was still the most interesting person he had met in years.

And that was dangerous.

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I don’t care.”

She blinked up at him.

“What?”

“I don’t care what you’re wearing.”

She hesitated.

Her eyes searched his, looking for—what? Lies? Pity? Some hidden agenda?

She wouldn’t find any of those.

He had none to give.

Instead, he tilted his head. “Are you hungry or not?”

She rolled her eyes. “I just worked a ten hour shift. What do you think?”

His lips twitched.

Without another word, he turned and started walking.

And after a beat—she followed.

To her surprise, Harry didn’t take her somewhere suffocatingly high end.

No pretentious Michelin starred establishment. No reservations only steakhouse with white tablecloths and chandeliers worth more than her apartment.

God, her roommate was in for a treat when she gets home.

Instead, they ended up at a cozy, tucked away bistro on a quiet side street. The kind of place that didn’t have a dress code. The kind of place where people actually talked instead of posing for Instagram photos.

She narrowed her eyes as she followed him inside. “How do you even know about a place like this?”

Harry didn’t answer.

Of course he didn’t.

Instead, he pulled out a chair for her like some old fashioned gentleman and waited for her to sit.

She hesitated, lips twitching in amusement. “Wow. Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

He ignored that too.

She sat.

He took the seat across from her.

A waiter appeared almost instantly.

Harry ordered whiskey.

She ordered a glass of wine.

She knew her wine, he'll give her that.

And then—for the first time since they met—there was silence.

Not uncomfortable silence.

But silence nonetheless.

She leaned back in her chair, watching him.

Harry was hard to read.

Brooding. Intense. Reserved.

The kind of man who looked like he had a thousand thoughts running through his head but no intention of saying any of them out loud.

The kind of man who could crush someone with a single, well calculated decision in his office during the day and then sit across from her in a dimly lit restaurant at night like none of it mattered.

She tapped her fingers against the table. “So, are you gonna ask me anything? Or are we just gonna sit here and stare at each other?”

Harry’s brow lifted slightly.

“I don’t ask questions I don’t care about the answers to.”

She blinked.

Then huffed out a small laugh. “Jesus. You’re insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of wine.

He watched her over the rim of his own glass, studying the way she moved.

She wasn’t nervous.

She wasn’t trying to impress him.

And he hated how much he liked that.

She started talking first.

Not because he asked.

But because she wanted to.

“So, what do you think I do?” she asked, resting her chin on her hand.

Harry took a slow sip of whiskey. “You’re a server.”

She smirked. “Wow. Good job, detective.”

His jaw twitched. “That’s not a real question.”

“Fine. How long have I been doing it?”

He studied her.

Noticed the way she held herself, the way she had moved through the restaurant earlier, the way she hadn’t hesitated when her manager snapped at her.

“Years,” he said simply.

Her smirk faltered.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Since I was nineteen.”

Something flickered in her eyes.

Something he didn’t understand.

Didn’t push.

But still—he noticed.

She exhaled, rolling her wine glass between her fingers. “It wasn’t supposed to be permanent.”

Harry’s fingers drummed against the table. “It never is.”

She lifted a brow. “You say that like you know.”

He didn’t answer.

Because he did know.

But he didn’t talk about it.

Didn’t talk about the nights he spent as a kid listening to his mother cry in the next room because she didn’t have the money for rent.

Didn’t talk about how she had worked three jobs just to keep food on the table.

Didn’t talk about how she got sick.

How the bills stacked up.

How money would have saved her.

But he didn’t say any of that.

He never did.

She watched him for a moment, like she was trying to figure him out.

Then she leaned back in her chair, lips curling slightly. “You don’t talk much, huh?”

Harry exhaled. “Not if I can help it.”

She grinned. “Well, lucky for you, I talk enough for the both of us.”

And she did.

She told him about the worst customers she’d ever had. The ridiculous things people asked for at restaurants. The way rich men treated servers like they were invisible.

She didn’t include him in that category.

And for some reason, that mattered.

She laughed at her own stories.

Harry didn’t laugh.

But he listened.

More than he should have.

More than he ever did.

She didn’t push him to share.

Didn’t ask him about his life, his money, his past.

She just talked.

And it was the first time in a long time that Harry didn’t mind someone filling the silence.

When their food came, she didn’t pick at it like the women he usually dined with.

She ate.

Finished her entire burger.

Made a satisfied noise as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

Harry’s lips twitched. He wanted to smile. But he didn't.

By the time they left the restaurant, it was late.

The air was even colder now, the city quieter.

She shoved her hands into her pockets. “Alright, big shot. Where’s your driver?”

Harry exhaled, glancing down the street.

James was waiting, parked at the curb.

But for some reason—

For some stupid reason—

He didn’t want the night to end yet.

So instead of answering, he met her gaze.

And said, “Let’s walk.”

She blinked.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

And just like that—

Harry Castillo found himself walking through the city with a woman he barely knew.

And, for once, he didn’t hate it.

The streets of Manhattan were quieter at this hour.

The usual chaos—the honking taxis, the chatter of impatient pedestrians, the ever present hum of a city that never slept had settled into something softer. The streetlights cast golden pools of light on the pavement and every now and then, a stray gust of wind sent a flurry of dry leaves skittering across the sidewalk.

She walked beside him, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, her unhurried.

Harry had no idea where they were going.

She was talking again, the words flowing effortlessly, her voice filling the quiet space between them like it belonged there.

“I don’t know how people live alone in this city,” she mused, her breath visible in the cold air. “I mean, sure if you’re a billionaire hedge fund guy, then yeah, easy. But for the rest of us mortals? Forget it.”

Harry glanced at her. “So you have a roommate.”

She huffed out a small laugh. “More like a personal angel disguised as a roommate.”

His brow lifted slightly.

She kicked a small pebble across the pavement as they walked. “Her name’s Maya and she’s the only reason I can even afford to be in New York. She’s an artist—one of those ridiculously talented people who’s always sketching on napkins or leaving paint stains on everything.”

Harry hummed, tucking his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. “And she sells her work?”

“Oh, yeah. To people like you,” she teased, smirking up at him.

His jaw flexed slightly. “Like me?”

She shrugged. “Rich. Intimidating. Definitely the type to spend five grand on a painting because some gallery curator convinced you it was ‘evocative of the human condition.’”

Harry let out a sharp exhale, something just short of a laugh. “I don’t buy art.”

She gave him a pointed look. “So you just have blank walls in your penthouse?”

He hesitated.

She gasped, dramatic. “Oh my God, you do!”

His jaw twitched. “I don’t see the point.”

She groaned, shaking her head. “That is actually the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”

Harry smirked slightly. “Maya sounds lucky to have you as her publicist.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not her publicist. Just her number one fan. And her unpaid assistant, apparently, because every time she has a gallery showing, I end up playing bartender.”

“You work events for her?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, I mean... I don’t want to be useless.”

Harry frowned slightly at that. “You’re not useless.”

She blinked up at him, something flickering behind her expression like maybe she wasn’t used to hearing that.

She recovered quickly, exhaling through her nose. “Try telling that to the people who snap their fingers at me when they want a refill.”

Harry’s jaw tightened.

There was something about that, about the idea of her being treated like she was nothing, about people looking past her like she didn’t matter.

That irritated him more than it should have.

But he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he glanced over at her, taking her in.

Her hair was slightly tousled from the wind, strands curling around her face. The dim glow of the streetlights softened her features, casting a warm hue against her skin. She looked…

Gorgeous.

Pretty.

She caught him staring and arched a brow. “What?”

Harry looked straight ahead. “Nothing.”

She huffed a small laugh, bumping her shoulder lightly against his. “You’re weird.”

“Good to know.”

She grinned but didn’t push it.

They kept walking.

They hadn’t planned on stopping anywhere, but when she spotted a small, hole in the wall coffee shop still open, she made a beeline for it.

Harry watched as she pressed her hands against the glass, peering inside like a kid outside a toy store.

She turned back to him, eyes bright. “I need something warm.”

Harry exhaled. “You could’ve just said that.”

She grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He sighed but followed her inside anyway.

The shop was small, filled with the comforting scent of coffee and fresh pastries. A tired looking barista was wiping down the counter, clearly ready to close up for the night but she bounced up to the register without hesitation.

“One hot chocolate, please.”

Harry stared. “Hot chocolate?”

She flashed him a look. “What?”

“You’re a grown woman.”

“Wow, ageism?” she gasped. “How very hedge fund of you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Hot chocolate is for children.”

She smirked. “And yet, I bet I’m gonna enjoy my drink way more than whatever depressing black coffee you’re about to order.”

Harry clenched his jaw.

Then turned to the barista.

“…Make it two.”

She lit up.

Not a smirk, not a teasing quip...just a genuine, unfiltered grin. “See? You’re not completely soulless after all.”

Harry huffed but said nothing.

They sat by the window, watching the street outside as their drinks cooled.

She took the first sip and sighed dramatically. “Oh my God."

Harry lifted a brow but took a sip of his own.

It was…warm. Smooth. A little too sweet.

Not terrible.

She grinned at him over the rim of her cup. “You love it.”

He set his cup down. “I tolerate it.”

She snorted. “Liar.”

Harry exhaled, shaking his head.

He was lying.

But he wasn’t about to admit that to her.

By the time they finally made it to her place, it was late.

The entrance to her building was old but well kept, tucked into a quieter side street. The kind of place that probably had thin walls and a temperamental landlord.

She stopped at the door, turning to face him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then—

“You gonna be weird about this?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Harry tilted his head slightly. “Weird about what?”

She smirked. “You look like the kind of guy who doesn’t walk a woman home unless he’s expecting to come up.”

His jaw clenched. “I wasn’t—”

She grinned, cutting him off. “Relax. I’m messing with you.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Hilarious.”

She stepped back, pressing her shoulder against the doorframe. “But hey…thanks. For dinner. And the hot chocolate.”

Harry held her gaze.

She was looking at him like she wasn’t sure what to make of him yet.

Like she hadn���t quite figured him out.

And that, somehow, made him want to see her again.

Before he could say anything, she yawned, stretching her arms above her head.

“You gonna try to find me again?”

His jaw tightened.

But his lips twitched.

“I already did once.”

She hummed, tilting her head. “Then maybe next time, I’ll let you find out something about me.”

Harry exhaled.

He should have left.

Should have walked away.

But instead, he lingered just long enough to watch her disappear into the building, just long enough to hear her footsteps fade.

And then, finally—

He turned.

And walked away.

He still didn't get her name.

But he knew where to find her.

Harry had gone back to the restaurant.

But she wasn’t there.

Two days.

Two entire days of walking into that overpriced Manhattan restaurant, sitting at the same damn table, ordering the same damn whiskey neat, only for some random server—not her—to take his order.

It was infuriating.

He didn’t know her name.

Didn’t have her number.

Didn’t know anything except where she lived.

And that made something settle in his chest that he wasn’t ready to examine.

Danny noticed.

Of course he did.

“You’re sulking,” he said, lazily swirling his cocktail at their usual bar.

Harry scowled. “I don’t sulk.”

Danny smirked. “Right. You just glare at your drink like it owes you money.”

Harry clenched his jaw.

Then exhaled sharply. “She’s not at work.”

Danny blinked. Then grinned. “Oh my God, you are sulking.”

Harry resisted the urge to throw his whiskey at him.

Instead, he pulled out his phone and stared at her building’s address for the fiftieth time.

Danny sighed, tilting his head. “You know, if you really wanted to, you could—”

“I’m not hiring a private investigator,” Harry muttered.

Danny huffed. “I was gonna say Google it. Jesus, man.”

Harry scowled.

But he did Google it.

Or rather, he, Danny, and James—his driver, the only person in his life with more patience than a saint—spent two hours tracking down any lead they could.

It was a long, painful process.

But finally—Maya.

Maya Klein.

Her roommate.

Her best friend.

Her very online best friend.

It wasn’t hard to find her art portfolio.

Okay, maybe it was a little hard.

But after squinting through three different Instagram accounts, a Tumblr page, and a very outdated LinkedIn profile, they found it.

And in bold, clean font on her website—

GALLERY SHOWING TOMORROW.

TRIBECA

8PM-11PM

Harry leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against his desk.

“She bartends for her friend’s events,” he murmured.

Danny’s brows lifted. “And you’re planning on showing up.”

Harry exhaled. “I want to see her again.”

Danny smirked. “Wow. You’re down bad.”

Harry ignored him.

He stuck out like a sore thumb the moment he stepped inside.

Danny, of course, fit right in. Already drifting off into the crowd, chatting up a woman in a fringed leather jacket holding a glass of something overpriced.

James had stayed outside, leaning against the Maybach with a cigarette between his fingers, avoiding any part of this ridiculous endeavor.

And Harry?

Harry stood in the middle of an art gallery, surrounded by people who clearly hated him.

The walls were filled with abstract pieces. Raw depictions of capitalism and greed, of money and power and the corruption that came with it.

A statement.

A big fuck you to billionaires.

A big fuck you to him.

And here he was—one of the richest men in the country—standing in the middle of it.

He definitely stuck out.

Eyes flickered toward him.

Some curious. Some amused.

But most?

Judgmental.

Harry sighed.

Danny was gonna love this.

He scanned the room.

And then—

He saw her.

Behind the bar.

Her hair pulled back in a clip, sleeves rolled up, effortlessly balancing bottles and glasses, moving like she had done this a million times.

His jaw unclenched.

Something settled inside him.

Something he didn’t have the time—or patience—to name.

He walked over.

She didn’t see him at first.

Not until he was standing right in front of her.

Then—

Her eyes lifted.

And froze.

Her fingers stilled over the cocktail shaker, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

Then, slow and deliberate...

She smirked.

“You again.”

Harry exhaled. “Me again.”

She hummed, setting the shaker down. “Didn’t peg you for an art guy.”

“I’m not.”

Her smirk widened. “So you’re here for the free drinks?”

He tilted his head. “No.”

Her lips pressed together, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Then why are you here?”

Harry held her gaze.

And then—

She sighed, shaking her head.

“You really don’t like answering questions, do you?”

He exhaled. “You weren’t at work.”

Her brows lifted slightly.

Harry leaned forward, resting his hands against the bar. “I noticed.”

Her expression softened just for a second.

Then she sighed, rolling her eyes. “My legs gave out.”

His jaw tensed. “What?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “It happens. I overworked myself too much. I needed a break.”

His fingers curled against the bar.

Harry didn’t like that.

Didn’t like the idea of her pushing herself until she physically collapsed.

Didn’t like the fact that she was still working tonight.

Didn’t like any of it.

She noticed.

“You’re brooding.”

“I don’t brood.”

She arched a brow. “You definitely brood.”

Harry exhaled sharply.

She smirked.

Then casually, she grabbed a napkin, scribbled something on it, and slid it across the bar.

He frowned. “What’s this?”

She smiled.

“My name.”

His fingers brushed the paper.

His jaw flexed.

Finally.

Finally.

Then—

Across the room, a conversation caught his ear.

Loud. Purposeful. Like it was meant for him to hear.

It definitely was meant for him to hear.

“I don’t understand how these people live with themselves.”

Harry’s fingers stilled.

He turned slightly, gaze narrowing at a group gathered near one of the paintings.

“They show up, throw their money around, act like they’re saving the industry when they’re the ones who ruined it in the first place.”

Another voice chimed in. “It’s capitalism at its finest.”

Harry exhaled through his nose.

Same conversation. Different setting.

Nothing he hadn’t heard before.

He should have ignored it.

But then—

Then, he heard her.

Her voice.

Sharp. Defiant.

“You do realize the only reason these paintings are selling at all is because of the people you hate, right?”

Silence.

Harry blinked.

His gaze snapped back to her.

She wasn’t looking at him.

She was facing them, eyes narrowed, jaw set.

The guy—some twenty-something in a turtleneck—sputtered. “That’s not the—”

“No, go ahead,” she said, tilting her head. “Explain to me how you think art survives without the rich. Who do you think is buying these paintings? Who do you think is keeping galleries open? I’ll wait.”

The group shifted uncomfortably.

Harry smirked.

The guy scoffed. “That’s not the point.”

She arched a brow. “Then what is the point?”

More silence.

She exhaled. “Look, I get it. The system’s fucked. But if you really hate capitalism so much then maybe don’t take a paycheck from a company that thrives on it.”

The guy’s face turned red.

Then, huffing, he spun on his heel and walked away.

Harry exhaled through his nose.

And when she turned back to him—

He was looking at her.

Really looking at her.

She raised a brow. “What?”

Harry’s jaw ticked.

Then, slow—steady—

He reached for the napkin with her name.

Folded it.

Slipped it into his pocket.

“Nothing,” he murmured.

And, for the first time in months—

Harry Castillo smiled.

Actually let out a smile.

It was a rare thing. Unpracticed. A little uneven.

And it caught her off guard so much she forgot to breathe for a second.

That smile.

The real kind, not the smirk, not the polite billionaire press photo kind. It was all quiet softness and amusement, like a secret between the two of them. It was the kind of smile you could fall into if you weren’t careful.

“Wow,” she murmured, recovering. “You do know how to do that.”

Harry’s smile didn’t falter, but he said nothing.

Typical.

The gallery began to thin out as the night wore on. Coats were retrieved from racks, the sound of shoes echoed across the polished concrete floor, and people began floating toward the exit in clumps, cheeks flushed from wine and conversations.

Harry stayed.

He didn’t know why he stayed.

He could’ve left after thirty minutes like most of the other well dressed nuts in the room. But something about the way she moved behind the bar—tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, laughing quietly when Maya came over to whisper something in her ear—held him in place.

She kept sneaking glances at him too.

Never long. Never obvious.

But enough.

He stayed perched in a corner, away from the art critics and the performative intellectuals with their wine sick grins and disdain for everything they secretly wanted. He watched her wipe down glasses and stack them methodically, her body moving slower than usual now, more deliberate. Her energy was dwindling down.

She was tired.

Exhausted, actually.

He could see it in the way her shoulders sagged when she thought no one was watching.

Around midnight, the final few stragglers filtered out. Maya was surrounded by compliments, champagne, and laughter as she waved people goodbye. She was magnetic.

But Harry’s focus was only on one person.

Her.

She was drying a wine glass with a rag that had seen better days when he approached the bar again.

“You’re still here?” she asked without looking up.

“I tend to see things through.”

She scoffed. “That doesn’t sound exhausting at all.”

Harry didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his coat and placed something on the bar. A lemon ginger lozenge.

She stared at it. “What is this?”

“You’ve been clearing your throat for the last hour. Thought you might be getting sick.”

She blinked.

And then quietly, “Thanks.”

He nodded once. “You ready to go?”

She furrowed her brows. “Go?”

“You were going to walk home, weren’t you?”

“I—” She hesitated. “Yeah. I was.”

“Not happening.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Harry—”

“Maya said she’s having people over.”

Her mouth opened. “She what?”

As if on cue, Maya bounced over, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. “There you are! Just wanted to let you know we’re having a tiny get together back at the apartment. You’re coming, right?”

She forced a smile. “Yeah…totally.”

Maya beamed. “Perfect! I’ll see you there!” And just like that, she twirled away in her silk pants and heeled boots like a whirlwind of chaos and charm.

Harry looked at her, quiet.

“You don’t want to go,” he said plainly.

She paused. “No, I mean—I don’t mind—”

“You need rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re exhausted.”

She made a face. “Thanks.”

“It wasn’t an insult.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t sound like a compliment.”

“It was. You’ve been on your feet all night and still managed to argue with an entire table of art anarchists without flinching.”

She blinked. “You were listening?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m observant.”

Something warm crept up her neck. “That’s actually…kind of sweet.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Still is.”

He exhaled, glancing toward the door. “Let me take you somewhere quiet.”

She looked at him carefully. "Okay." She nodded.

Harry smiled. “Come on.”

As they walked toward the exit, a low whistle echoed across the room.

“Ooooh, look who’s leaving together,” Danny called out, arm slung lazily around a girl wearing metallic eyeshadow and an alarming amount of lip gloss.

Harry cringed visibly. “Ignore him.”

“Oh, I planned on it,” she muttered, quickening her step.

Outside, James was leaning against the Maybach, his cigarette burning low between his fingers.

He straightened when he saw them. “Evening,” he said coolly, holding the door open without a single question.

Once inside the car, she leaned her head against the window, legs tucked beneath her. The car purred beneath them as it slid through the streets like a shadow.

“You always have a driver?” she asked after a moment.

“Yes.”

“Even when you’re just, like…getting groceries?”

Harry looked at her. “Do I look like I get groceries?”

She snorted. “Fair.”

He glanced at her again. “Do you want me to take you home?”

She paused. Her apartment would be loud. Crowded. Too many people, too much laughter, and she was tired.

Bone tired.

“I…wouldn’t mind going somewhere quiet,” she said softly.

Harry didn’t reply. Just gave James a nod. And James didn’t need to be told twice.

The car ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. The city lights flickered through the windows as they sped through Manhattan, the hum of the engine steady beneath them.

She was curled up in the passenger seat, head resting against the cool glass, eyes flickering between exhaustion and quiet thought.

Harry didn’t say anything. Didn’t push.

He liked the silence with her.

When they finally pulled up to his building, James barely looked surprised. He simply put the car in park, gave Harry a knowing look and muttered, “Have a good night, sir.”

Harry ignored him.

She hesitated when the elevator doors opened, glancing up at him.

“You sure about this?” she murmured.

Harry met her gaze. “You need rest.”

She exhaled. “You’re really committed to this whole taking care of me thing, huh?”

Harry didn’t answer. Just stepped into the elevator.

After a beat—she followed.

The penthouse was quiet when they entered.

It was huge.

Dimly lit, the skyline of Manhattan stretching out before them through the floor to ceiling windows. She looked around, taking in the sleek design, the impossibly neat kitchen, the pristine furniture.

Then—

“You really don’t have anything on the walls.”

Harry exhaled. “We’ve been over this.”

She smirked. “Still depressing.”

Harry ignored her, shrugging off his coat before turning to her.

“Go take a bath.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

Harry huffed. “You need to relax.”

She scoffed. “I’m fine.”

He raised a brow. “You’ve been on your feet for how many hours straight. Worked so long your legs gave out.”

She rolled her eyes. “I said I’m fine.”

Harry’s jaw clenched.

Then, slowly, pointedly, he turned and started walking toward the bathroom.

“What are you—”

“Follow me.”

Against her better judgment—she did.

The bathroom was nothing short of luxurious.

A massive tub sat beneath a soft glowing light, marble countertops lining the space. The air smelled faintly of something expensive, probably whatever soap billionaires used.

Harry turned on the water, letting the tub fill, steam curling into the air.

She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “You really think I’m about to take a bath?”

Harry gave her a look. “Yes.”

She scoffed. “Why?”

“Because you deserve to rest.”

Something flickered in her expression.

Soft. Unreadable.

Harry stepped back, nodding toward the tub. “Take your time.”

She hesitated.

Then—finally—sighed. “Fine.”

Harry nodded once before leaving the room.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the tub, at the ridiculous luxury of it all.

Then—she caught sight of the robe hanging by the sink.

A man’s robe.

His.

She swallowed.

Slowly, she peeled off her clothes, stepping into the warm water letting the heat soak into her muscles, melting the exhaustion from her bones.

She leaned back, closing her eyes.

And then—

She caught the scent of something in the air.

His shampoo.

His body wash.

Without thinking, she reached for the bottle, pouring a small amount into her palm before lathering it into her hair.

She didn’t know why she did it.

Didn’t know why the idea of smelling like him made something tighten in her chest.

But she didn’t stop.

Not until the scent of Harry Castillo was wrapped around her.

The warmth from the bath had seeped into her bones, leaving her skin flushed, her limbs loose.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt good.

Not just better—good.

Rested.

Weightless.

And wrapped in the scent of him.

She exhaled slowly, fingers dragging through her damp hair as she stepped out of the tub. Water dripped from her skin, soaking into the thick, plush bath mat beneath her feet.

She reached for the robe hanging by the door.

His robe.

It was heavy, rich, expensive fabric, meant for a man built like Harry.

She pulled it on anyway, wrapping herself in it, feeling swallowed whole by the warmth of something that belonged to him.

Something about that made her stomach twist.

Not in a bad way.

Not in a way she could name.

She let her fingers toy with the fabric as she padded quietly out of the bathroom, stepping into the dim glow of his penthouse.

Harry was waiting.

Not in a way that was obvious, but in a way that was distinctly him.

His posture was casual, leaning against the back of his couch, one hand resting lightly on the armrest. He had changed, too—no longer in his suit jacket, just his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the veins in his forearms, the carefully restrained tension in his body.

His gaze flickered over her, slow like he was taking his time, committing every detail to memory.

She knew what he saw.

Bare legs peeking out from beneath his robe. Damp hair curling against her collarbone. The softened edges of her normally sharp expression.

And for once—

For once, she let him look.

She watched his throat bob slightly, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes before he exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Come here.”

Her lips twitched. “Bossy.”

He didn’t deny it. Just waited.

She crossed the room, bare feet pressing against the smooth floor, stopping when she was just a few inches away.

Harry’s hands curled into fists against the couch for a second, like he was fighting the urge to touch her.

Then without a word he turned, disappearing into his bedroom.

She blinked, startled.

Then—

He came back.

With clothes.

A pair of sweatpants.

A plain black T-shirt.

Things that were clearly his, judging by the size of them.

He handed them to her, jaw tight. “Put these on.”

She took them, amused. “You actually own sweatpants?”

Harry exhaled through his nose, running a hand along his jaw. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t sleep in a tux.”

She grinned. “Shocking.”

He said nothing.

Just watched as she took the bundle of clothing and walked back toward the bathroom to change.

His sweatpants hung low on her hips, the waistband tied in a loose knot to keep them from slipping. The shirt was too big, drowning her frame, the fabric worn in and soft against her skin.

It felt like being wrapped in him.

Warmth lingered in the cotton, in the faint scent of his cologne. Something expensive.

She padded barefoot through the penthouse, fingers fidgeting with the hem of the shirt. The city glittered outside the floor to ceiling windows.

Everything about this place was so immaculate. So clean. So structured. It screamed of control—of a man who ruled his world with precision.

But the moment she entered it some of that control seemed to slip.

She could feel it in the way Harry watched her, the way his fingers twitched when she walked past him, as if resisting the urge to reach out and keep her close.

She stopped in front of the window, arms crossing over her chest, her breath fogging slightly against the cool glass. “You can see everything from here.”

Harry was behind her, watching her quietly. “You like it?”

She exhaled, eyes scanning the skyline. “Yeah. But…”

His brow lifted slightly. “But?”

She hesitated. Then with a small teasing smirk, she turned to face him. “It’s kinda depressing that you live up here all alone.”

Harry’s jaw twitched. “I’m fine.”

She huffed. “That’s what all lonely people say.”

His lips curved just slightly, something almost amused flickering behind his sharp gaze. “And you’re an expert on loneliness?”

She shrugged, moving closer, the fabric of his shirt swaying against her thighs. “I know what it looks like.”

Harry watched her approach, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “And what do I look like?”

She tilted her head, scanning him playfully. “Like a very, very rich man who doesn’t know what to do with himself outside of work.”

Harry huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Accurate.”

She grinned, victorious. “Told you.”

For a moment they just stood there.

Him watching her.

Her watching him.

The silence between them wasn’t empty.

It was heavy. Charged.

Harry’s gaze flickered to her legs, to the way his sweatpants hung off her frame, the fabric pooling at her ankles. Then to the curve of her hip, the way his T-shirt stretched over her body, swallowing her whole.

Something deep and dangerous stirred in his chest.

She looked good like this.

Too good.

Her chin tilted up, eyes meeting his. “You really don’t talk much, do you?”

His hand lifted, brushing her damp hair back behind her ear. His touch was light, barely there, but it made her breath catch.

His fingers trailed lower, down her jaw, grazing the edge of her throat.

She swallowed.

His voice was deep when he finally spoke. “I say what matters.”

Her lips parted slightly, something unspoken hanging between them.

She felt it before she realized what she was doing.

The way her body leaned into his.

The way his fingers skimmed over the fabric of his shirt against her skin, so close, yet still too far.

His touch was careful.

Like he was memorizing her.

She exhaled shakily. “You keep looking at me like that.”

Harry’s thumb brushed over her hip. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure something out.”

“I am.”

She blinked. “What?”

Harry’s hand slid lower, fingers teasing along the edge of his sweatpants on her frame. His voice was softer this time, almost dangerous.

“If I can control myself.”

Her breath hitched.

She wasn’t sure who moved first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was her.

But suddenly—

They weren’t talking anymore.

His lips crashed against hers, urgent and deep, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him. She gasped into his mouth, fingers tangling in the fabric of his dress shirt as he devoured her.

The world blurred.

She barely registered the way he picked her up, his hands firm around her thighs as he hoisted her up, murmuring quietly against her ear, “Jump.”

And she did.

Wrapped her legs around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He carried her through the penthouse with effortless strength, like she weighed nothing, like holding her close was something he’d done a thousand times before.

And then—

He walked her backward towards his bed, his mouth never leaving her skin, breath warm against her jaw.

The mattress hit the backs of her knees, sending her falling onto it in a slow, melting sprawl of limbs and want.

The soft silk duvet caught her, cool against the fever of her skin, her hair spilling across his impossibly expensive sheets. The room was dim but warm, the city humming just beyond the glass windows, the skyline glittering like a thousand secrets no one else would ever know.

Harry stood above her, his breathing deeper now, his eyes locked onto her like he was trying to memorize the moment. Like she was a painting he hadn’t expected to fall in love with.

She propped herself up on her elbows, staring back. Waiting. Wanting.

Harry’s fingers moved to his collar first. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time, revealing inch after inch of warm, lived in skin beneath it. He wasn’t carved like marble—wasn’t the chiseled fantasy that Hollywood sold in glossy posters.

He was real.

His chest was broad, his arms strong but not perfect. Age spots dotted his skin like constellations, a faint scar ran along the side of his ribs, and when his shirt slipped off his shoulders, she saw the slight softness of his belly.

A pouch.

Honest. Natural. Human.

And when her eyes lingered there—he froze.

She could tell.

The way his breath caught. The flicker of hesitation in his brow.

He was used to being looked at like a power figure. A man in suits. Behind desks. Holding titles and leverage.

But being seen like this?

Like a man—just a man—baring everything? That was different.

She sat up slowly, still watching him. She didn’t say anything, didn’t tease, didn’t fill the space with false comfort.

She just reached for him.

Her fingers skimmed across the skin of his abdomen, soft and warm beneath her touch, and she whispered, “Come here.”

Something in him shifted.

Like maybe he believed her.

That she wanted all of him.

He slid out of his slacks, slow and deliberate, leaving him in nothing but his briefs for a moment before they, too, joined the pile of fabric on the floor.

Then he reached for her.

She let him.

His hands were careful when they peeled off her borrowed T-shirt, pulling it over her head and dropping it aside. Then her body lifted instinctively as he slid the sweatpants down her hips, revealing soft skin, flushed and ready beneath him.

Now they were skin to skin.

Warm and real.

Harry hovered over her, the muscles in his arms flexing slightly as he held himself above her, his gaze moving slowly down her body.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Just like that.

No flourish. No performance.

Just a truth that had been sitting in his chest since the moment he first saw her.

She reached up and cupped his jaw, her thumb brushing just beneath his lip. “So are you.”

His breath hitched.

And then he kissed her.

Not rough. Not greedy.

Deep.

Warm.

Slow.

The kind of kiss that says I see you. I feel you. I’m here.

His hands roamed her body like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to touch first—her ribs, her hips, the soft curve of her breast beneath his palm.

And then—

He began to slide lower.

Kissing down her neck.

Dragging his lips across her collarbone.

Sinking further and further until he was kneeling between her thighs, the backs of his hands brushing gently along the insides of her legs, coaxing them apart like he was opening something sacred.

She was already breathing heavy, already undone just from the look in his eyes.

He settled between her legs like he belonged there.

And maybe—he did.

He didn’t dive in like a man with something to prove. He took his time.

Let her feel his breath first.

The heat of his mouth pressing gentle, almost shy kisses to her thighs.

Then—

He licked a slow, deliberate stripe up her center, groaning low when he tasted her.

Like she was the answer to a hunger he didn’t know he’d been carrying.

Her hips jerked. Her fingers scrambled for the sheets.

He pressed his palms to her hips, grounding her, murmuring something too quiet to make out.

Then his mouth opened on her again.

Tongue.

Lips.

Heat.

Every part of him focused on unraveling her.

She moaned, soft and choked, as his tongue circled her clit, slow at first, then faster with just the right amount of pressure.

He adjusted when she squirmed.

Groaned when she whimpered.

Moved with her, not against her.

Like this was a language only he spoke.

She looked down once—just once—and saw him watching her.

Eyes locked to hers.

Dark. Hungry. But more than that...captivated.

Like he could spend the rest of his life right here, on his knees tasting her like he needed her to survive.

His mustache scraped lightly against the tender skin of her thighs, a delicious burn. His fingers dug into her hips as his mouth worked in steady rhythm, not relenting even when she gasped, Harry, please—

Especially then.

He moaned against her like her begging was the most beautiful sound in the world.

And then—

She broke.

She came with a soft, shattered gasp, her body buckling as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. Her hands found his hair, her legs trembled, her hips rolled up into his mouth.

He held her through all of it.

Licked her through it.

Didn’t stop until she was whimpering from overstimulation, her fingers tugging weakly at his hair.

Only then—only then—did he lift his head.

His mouth was slick, his jaw tense, his chest heaving.

He crawled back up the bed, lips brushing her cheek, her neck, the corner of her mouth.

He kissed her slowly.

Didn’t try to speak.

He just laid beside her, naked and warm and quiet.

Letting her curl into him.

Letting the silence stretch.

Letting himself feel.

And when she finally caught her breath, when she looked up at him and whispered, “You okay?”

Harry gave her a look so full of tenderness it nearly undid her all over again.

“I am now,” he said.

And she believed him.

They laid there, skin to skin, her fingers tracing slow, thoughtless shapes against his chest while his hand rested on the curve of her hip not wanting to let go, grounding them both in something quiet and real.

For the first time in months, Harry hadn’t thought about Lucy.

Not once.

Not her laugh, not the space she left behind.

He only thought about the girl breathing softly in his arms, asleep against his chest like she belonged there.

And when his eyes finally closed, he felt safe.

Maybe for the first time in his life.

[neochan]

Jisung sucking tits pls🙏🏻😭

jisung is obsessed.

you can tell by the way he stares, his wide eyes flicking down to your chest every few seconds like he’s trying to be subtle but failing miserably.

“you’re staring,” you tease, tilting your head.

his ears turn pink instantly. “no, i’m not.”

“baby.” you reach out, fingers curling under his chin, tilting his face up so he’s looking at you instead. “yes, you are.”

jisung swallows hard, his lips parting, his hands twitching at his sides like he wants to touch but is too shy to make the first move.

“can i?” his voice is quiet, hesitant.

you don’t make him ask twice.

his hands barely graze your the swell of your boobs before he lets out a shaky breath, his fingers tracing over your curves like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

he starts slow, tentative, his lips ghosting over your skin before his tongue flicks out, testing the waters. when you sigh—soft and sweet, your fingers tangling in his hair—something in him snaps.

he latches on properly, groaning as he sucks, warm and wet.

“fuck,” you breathe, arching into him.

jisung makes the neediest sound, his hands squeezing at your sides as his tongue flicks over sensitive skin, his teeth scraping just slightly before he soothes it with his lips again.

he’s obsessed, fully lost in it, sucking and kissing and licking until your breath is coming faster and your fingers are pulling just a little harder at his hair.

“you’re so greedy,” you murmur, half-laughing, half-moaning.

jisung whines, pulling off with a lewd little pop, his lips pink and swollen.

“can’t help it,” he admits, looking utterly wrecked. “they’re perfect.”

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Platonic Yandere Jason w/ Batsis darling

A/N: This is supposed to be post death and all that.. Like he's just trying to integrate back into his family and society but it's been hell. His batsis is the one thing that is actually helping him through it thus becoming over attached. He's obsessed with being normal again..for you. (Any Jason Todd)

Warnings: Rather soft yandere actually. but i guess obsession and possessive tendencies.

Requests: always open. please read pinned post which is the masterlist

Masterlist

Yandere Jason Todd who finds an immeasurable amount of comfort and stability in his Batsis. He doesn't particularly understands or even knows why he does but he does.

He still feels awkward and out of place with the rest of batfam. He feels anxious, judged and annoyed around them. It overwhelms him and stresses him to the point of mental breaks. But you ground him. You don't make sudden movements or loud sounds. You don't ask invasive questions or bring up past memories. You're gentle and mindful of him.

The others try bonding but they never fail to eventually overstep boundaries and cause more wounds. He's appreciative of you.

Yandere Jason who cannot help but get possessive over you. He hates when his other siblings command your attention over his. It boils him. I like to think he's constantly comparing himself to them. How normal and fun they are in contrast. He wants to be just like them and do fun things again...but he just cant...not yet. He especially despises Dick and just how pretty and perfect his older brother is. This often causes fights between the two. You and him have tons of inside jokes, secret handshakes and hangouts often. Jay wants that too.

Jason is fearful of going in public with you. He's been craving that local diner spot and love to treat you as a thank you but he doesn't want the stares. He's riddled with scars and looms over everything. He really don’t want his sis to be ridiculed and questioned on his behalf.

Jay tries his best to keep you locked in the house with him. He tries pulling you away from them as much as possible but he feels guilty. This is a miserable life and he doesn't want that was misery on you too, but he just cannot bear you being with them instead. Sometimes he'll offer to sneak out late at night and hang on rooftops with you, but he knows it's nothing compared to the arcades and parties you're missing out on.

He does try very hard to come out of his shell on your birthdays or times like Christmas ect.. He wants to be a good brother and give back how kind you've been towards him. Whatever will make you happy, he'll power through it.

Yandere Redhood who goes after the people that make you cry or feel unsafe. He knows what he promised Bruce but it's to keep is sibling safe. Bruce would understand if he went through even half of the traumatic experiences he did. You have to cut off potential threats at the roots. That's how you prevent lunatics like the joker and to keep souls like you pure.

Yandere Jason Todd who is adorably obsessed with your room. He hasn't done much decorating to his. It's boring and bland, he doesn't remember much of what he liked as a kid before everything happened. But yours is covered in personality. Books, figures, plushies and tons of posters...it's cute. He likes it a lot. Sometimes he just sits in there, even when you're not home because it makes him feel nostalgic? In a good way, it gives him a warm glimpse into what his life could've been as a teen/young adult. Plus it's filled with all the things you love which by default he loves it too. I like to think he steals trinkets from your room that you love the most when he's anxious.

Like you've come home before to him in the corner of his room with one of your big plushies in his arms during an episode. It smells like you it grounds him back into reality. Whatever he's seeing in his head isn't real, but you are. You signify safety.

Yandere Jason who mimics anything you do to learn how to act normal. He doesn't mean to but he spends so much time either with you or lurking near by. Your food options are a major thing is copies. He's often overwhelmed by the many choices in store so when he's hungry, he'll just pick up anything he's remembered you eating. Even if he didn’t like it much.

He doesn't realizes these habits are a bit strange. enviably, one of the other siblings poke fun at him for how his face scrunches up at the taste of your favorite snack. They laughed how he should just get things he likes instead of trying to copy you all the time. They weren't trying to be cruel, just playing like siblings do but it made his world crumble. Was that really strange? Jason didn't mean to make you feel weird. Did you feel weirded out by it, have you been telling the other siblings how bothered you were by his antics?

"Jason, its okay. It's seriously not a big deal, it's slightly odd but i don't mind." You tried reassuring him but it just confirmed his thoughts.

You did think it was weird. That he was weird. You laugh about him behind his back all the time, don’t you?

He knows he's a bit off the drum. He knows he's an embarrassment but a deluded part of him thought maybe the difference wasn't as big as he made it out to be. It was just paranoia. guess..not. He's shattered. His one safe space wasn't real. He wasn’t good enough like the others….yet.

Yandere Jason has to become like a normal brother for you. He needs to be like Dick and Tim. He needs you to think he's cool and fun to be around. He needs to be a good brother...one you're not weirded out by.

[puckinghischier]

Jealous Nico

i struggle with this one bc can he get jealous? yes, extremely so. does he often? i wanna say no.

i feel like he’s just so trusting and obsessed with you that the thought doesn’t even cross his mind half the time, because you never pay people any mind. he knows he holds your attention, so why would he ever get jealous?

but sometimes…just sometimes, when you’ve had one too many drinks and your attention starts flitting around the room, looking for anyone who will entertain you to have a conversation with? he wants to scream “i’m right here!!!” at you. but he doesn’t want to be that guy, so he just lets you wander and mingle. never too far, though.

and as much as we wants to, the feeling that settles in his stomach when he sees you laughing with some finance bro over at the bar when you’re getting a refill is something he can’t really ignore.

maybe it’s the way you’re giving him so much excitement, clearly passionate about whatever topic is pouring from your lips. or maybe it’s the way this douche is looking at you, like you’re the brightest light in the room and he’s a moth that can’t escape your glow. whatever it is, it has him walking away from his conversation mid sentence, warm eyes turned dark in dislike of what he was witnessing.

as he makes his way through the crowd towards you, he realizes he can’t even be mad at you, because you’re just being the social butterfly he knows you are. all you want to do is converse and enjoy all the liveliness in the building, you’re not purposefully ignoring him. you were actually trying to talk to him a few minutes ago, but he was trying to listen to what jesper was saying before he got lost in whatever topic you deemed so important. so really, he thinks to himself, this is his fault, and he shouldn’t even be jealous in the first place.

but when you start jumping up and down slightly, clearly excited with whatever response you were just given, and douchebag’s eyes go straight to your chest instead of your ear to ear grin and bright eyes, he realizes yeah…maybe he can be jealous and a little bit of an asshole right now.

“müsli? did you ever get your drink, sweet girl?” he tries the sweet approach, not wanting to be overly gruff in front of you.

his chest puffs out at the way all of your attention is focused on him the second you hear his voice, forgetting all about the stranger in front of you.

“nico! hi! i feel like i haven’t seen you in….in….like…thirty minutes ago!” your words make no sense, a small hiccup making you giggle out an “excuse me” as you turn towards him.

he smiles down at you, your glossy eyes focused on his own, just how it should be.

“oh! frank, this is nico!” you turn back around to the stranger, his gaze raking down your figure, making nico see red all over again. you lean in closer to the man, cupping your hands around your mouth to try and whisper, but failing miserably. “he’s my boyfriend!” you giggle out, acting like a school girl talking about her crush.

turning back to nico, you miss the hard gaze he was throwing your new friend. “nico, frank and i were just talking about how fun it would be if there was a slip’n’slide in here!”

nico’s demeanor involuntarily softens a bit at your enthusiasm over the random topic, amused at how excited you are over the thought of a slip’n’slide in the middle of winter in new jersey.

but when he looks back up at your new friend frank, he can practically see the thoughts running through his head, and why he’s also be enthusiastic about the idea. if it wasn’t him ogling your tits earlier, it was the way he was checking your ass out while nico is standing right there.

“oh yeah?” nico speaks to you but keeps his attention on the man too lost looking at your ass to realize he’s being summoned into the conversation.

“yeah! tell him, frank! tell him what you said about making sure i’d be able to take as many turns as i wanted! that no one else would be allowed on it, because it would be my own special slip’n’slide!”

it’s endearing, really, the ideas you get in that smart head of yours when you’ve been slamming vodka crans all night. nico always loves to find out what theories and plans you come up with everytime you two have nights out. he’s thought about writing them down a time or two, because you never believe him when he tells you about the the next day, always claiming you “would literally never say that,” because you’re “a college educated woman, thank you very much.”

but this one? the one that has frank all but salivating at the thought of seeing you repeatedly have a wet t-shirt contest of one on a theoretical slip’n’slide? this one is just pissing him off.

“hmm?” frank’s attention is finally snapped away from your body and back to the conversation at hand.

“she was just saying how you told her how wonderful her own, special slip’n’slide would be, considering you wouldn’t let anyone else on it,” nico answers, letting his voice lower.

“oh yeah, dude. wouldn’t that be the hottest thing ever?” frank, so stupidly, decided to respond.

nico’s dry chuckle is the only response frank got. and either frank was smarter than nico gave him credit for, or he looks a lot more menacing than he thought, because the sound wiped the smug, disgusting smile right off of his face.

“frank…buddy….just walk away, yeah?” nico suggests, not used to being the scary boyfriend type but hoping it does the trick.

and much to his surprise, it works, frank nodding and walking the other direction, but not before you call out a sweet “bye, frank! it was nice to meet you!”

grabbing your hand, nico leans down to suggest it’s time for the two of you to leave, because he’s “tired of sharing you with everyone tonight, schatz. need my daily dose of hiding you away so i can get all of your attention,” while nipping playfully at your ear.

and, get all of your attention he does, considering you don’t stop talking to him from the time he gets you in the car to drive you home to the time he gets you settled in bed, behind closed doors, soaking up every second of not having to share your sweet voice. he drank it in like you were his own personal oasis in a dry and vast desert, just how he liked it.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗠𝗜𝗗𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧, 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗬𝗢𝗨 - seven, finale mafia! charles leclerc x wife! reader ( angst -> fluff ) series summary . . . after preparing your whole life to be married off to a mafia boss, you now have the difficult task of figuring out your new marriage and life, ensuring they don't turn out to be miserable.

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THE SHARP STING of Max’s grip on your arm felt secondary to the roaring in your ears, your mind a whirlwind of panic, grief, and fury.

Your body moved on instinct, twisting in his grasp, yanking yourself free with a strength fueled by desperation. You stumbled back, breath ragged, before you spun and bolted toward the glass doors.

Your hand flew to your holster as you ran, pulling out your gun in one smooth motion. Without thinking, you raised it and fired. The gunshot rang through the room, but the bullet only left a faint smudge against the glass. It was bulletproof.

Your stomach twisted with panic as the realization hit you. Of course it was. You had ordered for it to be reinforced, to be bullet proof. You were the one who had insisted on the security measures. How could you be so stupid?

A sigh sounded from behind you, almost amused.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Max’s voice was infuriatingly calm.

You didn’t answer, fumbling for the door handle instead. Your fingers trembled as you wrenched it open, just about to bolt outside, but Max was faster.

His arm snaked around your waist, yanking you backward with ease. You struggled, clawing at his grip, but it was useless. He was stronger, more composed, while your panic was consuming you.

“No, no, no—let me go!” Your voice cracked as you thrashed against him, your eyes darting to where Charles had fallen.

You had to get to him.

You needed to get to him.

Your breath hitched, coming in short, sharp gasps as the walls seemed to close in around you. Your lungs felt tight, your vision tunneling. Everything blurred into flashes of movement—Max’s hands, the blood outside, the reflection of your own horror-stricken face in the glass.

Your knees buckled.

Max’s grip loosened, shifting from restraint to something softer. His palm smoothed over your hair, a quiet hush leaving his lips as he tried to steady you. “Breathe, schatje,” he murmured, voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Just breathe.”

His touch should have burned. His concern should have been meaningless. But your body was betraying you, collapsing into his hold as if he were your only tether to reality. Your hands curled into his jacket, struggling for air, your mind screaming at you to move, to fight, to—

The weight of the gun in your hand grounded you.

With whatever strength you had left, you lifted your arm, pressing the barrel firmly against Max’s chest.

“Back. Off.”

Max gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening as he stared you down, unflinching.

You didn’t hesitate. You turned the gun, aiming past his shoulder, and fired.

The vase behind him shattered on impact, shards of glass exploding across the floor.

Max didn’t even flinch. His lips pressed together, something dark flickering behind his blue eyes.

Then, his composure cracked.

“Why are you fighting me?” he snapped, stepping closer, forcing you back a step. His presence was suffocating, overwhelming. “I could give you everything, Yn! Charles already failed to protect you. You think he’s the better choice? You think he can keep you safe when he couldn’t even save himself?”

Your grip on the gun tightened. “I don’t need to be saved, Max. I need to be free to make my own damn choices!”

He let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “Then choose me!” His voice was raw now, anger laced with something desperate. “I love you, goddammit! I’ve always loved you—”

“You don’t love me,” you spat, eyes burning with fresh tears. “You’re obsessed. With me. With the idea of us. With what we could have been. But you don’t love me—”

Max cut you off the only way he knew how.

His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your words with a kiss so fierce, so consuming, it left you breathless.

But you didn’t melt into it. You didn’t.

Instead, you shoved him away, scrambling back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand like his touch was poison. Your fingers trembled as you lifted your gun again, this time pressing it firmly against his head.

Max exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “We both know you won’t do it,” he muttered.

Your jaw clenched. “You know me well enough to know that I hate guns. But maybe, just maybe—” Your voice cracked, tears spilling down your cheeks as you pressed the barrel harder against his skull. “Maybe I’ll give myself a free pass.”

Max raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Just to return the favour,” Your breath shuddered. “Because you shot my husband.”

For a moment, he laughed. A low, humorless chuckle.

Then—

BANG.

Max’s body jerked violently as the bullet tore through his right hip.

He let out a sharp, pained grunt, staggering back as his hand clutched at the wound, blood soaking through his pants. His face contorted with shock, then anger, then something else—something almost impressed.

But you didn’t stay to see what else he had to say.

You turned and ran.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you burst into the next room, your feet skidding against the floor as you found Charles.

He was on the ground, slumped against the wall, his white shirt stained crimson, but—

He was breathing.

Your knees hit the floor beside him, hands immediately pressing down on his chest to stop the bleeding.

“Charles,” you gasped, your vision blurring. “Stay with me. Stay with me.”

A weak chuckle rasped past his lips. “Merde, you’re loud.”

You let out a half-sob, half-laugh, shaking your head as you fought to keep the pressure firm. “Don’t joke right now, Charles. You were shot—”

He exhaled, his free hand reaching up to brush your hair back from your face. “And yet, I’m still here,” he murmured, a lazy sile playing at his lips. His thumb stroked your cheek. “I must be lucky.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks. “I thought I lost you.”

His fingers curled weakly around your wrist. “I’d never leave you, mon amour. Don’t worry, I’ll live.”

Your heart clenches, a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you.

Then—because only Charles could do this in the middle of bleeding out—he looked up at you, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“You know,” he rasped, “I was so close to death . . . and I’ve never tasted my wife’s cooking.”

Your brows furrowed. “Charles, what—”

His lips curled into a teasing smirk. “I’m just saying. A near-death experience should at least get me a homemade meal.”

A breathless laugh bubbled past your lips.

He was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

And yet, as you looked at him—alive, breathing, yours—you couldn’t help but smile through your tears.

THE MEN WORKED in silence, their quiet efficiency doing little to erase the chaos that had unfolded. The house was a wreck—shattered glass glinting under the dim lights, streaks of blood smeared across the floors, and, most notably, a passed-out Max Verstappen sprawled across your living room like some ridiculous war prize.

Outside, beneath the vast stretch of midnight sky, Charles lay with his head in your lap, his freshly stitched wound stark against his pale skin. You hadn’t moved him from where he’d fallen in the grass—too shaken to let go, too afraid to lift your hands from the proof that he was still here, still breathing.

His eyes were half-lidded, weighed down with exhaustion, but his lips curled into that infuriatingly familiar smirk. "You know, mon amour, the least you could do is handle things for me, considering I was shot."

You scoffed, threading your fingers through his hair, letting them linger just a little too long to sell your irritation. "Right, because getting yourself shot was such an ordeal."

"It was," he murmured, tilting his head into your touch like a spoiled cat. "I had to take a bullet, fall dramatically, make sure you were sufficiently distressed... Très difficile."

You rolled your eyes, but despite yourself, your free hand moved instinctively, waving one of the men over. You whispered instructions, giving orders in Charles's place, and he hummed in amusement as you did. Even half-conscious and bleeding, he found a way to be entertained.

Eventually, the villa emptied, the weight of the night settling over you both like a heavy quilt. The air was thick with humidity, the scent of damp earth mixing with the lingering tang of blood. Somewhere in the distance, the world carried on—frogs croaking, waves rolling in, the faint hum of cicadas. Above you, the stars stretched wide and endless, like silent witnesses to the wreckage of the evening.

Your fingers never stopped moving, tracing slow circles against his scalp. Charles let out a quiet sigh, a sound of deep, aching contentment, as if this moment—just you, just him—was enough to wash away the pain.

Then—

BONG.

The sharp, eerie toll of the grandfather clock cut through the stillness.

You both jolted like startled children, eyes snapping toward the house. For a second, neither of you spoke. Then, Charles groaned.

"That stupid clock—"

Laughter bubbled up before you could stop it, light and breathless, and then Charles's followed—low and raw in his chest. It was absurd, all of it. The blood, the bodies, the sheer ridiculousness of getting spooked by an old clock after everything that had happened.

You wiped at your eyes, giggling. "Scared of the clock now?"

Charles huffed, though the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away. "I don’t like surprises, ma belle."

You leaned down, brushing your lips against the hollow of his throat, your words murmured against his skin. "This is no surprise, Charles. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be."

The clock struck again.

And again.

Twelve times in total.

Midnight.

Your laughter faded, but the warmth lingered as you gazed down at him. Charles met your eyes, the teasing edge in his expression softening into something quieter, something deeper. Slowly, he reached up, fingers ghosting along your cheek, and you leaned into his touch, your own hand finding his jaw.

And then, you kissed.

Midnight. The stars. And you.

[rizzanon]

childhood friend! Shinichiro Sano

part 1 | part 2 (here)

childhood friend! Shinichiro who matures quite significantly by the end of highschool, no longer asking out girls at school anymore much to your surprise

"Woah, look at you."

"Hm??"

"It's been months since you last asked out some random girl. What happened to the women obsessed Shinichiro I know?"

"Shut up, it was just a phase. Besides, you made me open my eyes in a way."

"How so?"

"I guess... I'm just waiting to ask the right person out now."

childhood friend! Shinichiro who invites you to witness the disbandment of the first generation of Black Dragons, despite you not being associated with his gang at all

"Why do you even want me to go? The people I know are only just going to be Takeomi, Waka and Benkei."

"Because I want you to be there. Is there any better reason other than that?"

"I suppose not..."

"And maybe it's also the fact that I need someone to watch over Manjiro haha..."

"I knew it."

childhood friend! Shinichiro who gets upset frustrated when you chose to ride with Takeomi instead of him on the day of the final gathering (he couldn't complain about it to you though, you made a fair point)

"Hey come on! Why are you going to ride with him? Takeomi's a worse rider than me y'know."

T- "Fuck off Shin. You don't worry about me stealing your girl from ya'."

"But you are a reckless rider-"

"Come on Shin, you can't expect me, you and Manjiro to be able to sit in one bike, can you? One of us is surely gonna fall off. I'll be fine with Take-chan, okay?"

"Fine..." (He was not fine with it)

childhood friend! Shinichiro who you make fun of when he comes over to you after the disbandment of the first generation of Black Dragons bawling his eyes out (you were prepared for this outcome)

"Glad to know you're still the same crybaby Shin I know."

M- "Haha! I'm gonna tell Emma you're such a crybaby."

"Cut it out you two! This—sniffs—is a special moment...!"

"You're lucky I brought tissues to wipe your tears away."

"I can't believe you know me that well."

childhood friend! Shinichiro who gets used to you coming over to the Sano household unnanounced whenever you pleased, not that anyone minded, since they all loved your presence

"Emma, be a dear and wake up Shin? Smack him if you have to."

E- "Okay!!"

"Woah, woah, there's no need to smack any—yawn—one. And why are you here?"

"Emma wanted me to teach her a new recipe to make for breakfast. So here I am!"

"And you decided to come over this early??"

"It's 7am Shin. Besides, don't act like you don't like seeing my pretty face the first thing in the morning~"

"Shut up." (Spoiler, he does)

childhood friend! Shinichiro whom you never grow apart from even after highschool, and you both started going on different paths, him opening up a motor bike shop while you started going to college and applied for a part time job as a cashier near the vicinity

"Wait, the shop you're working at is the one down the street, right? Just a few blocks away from my shop?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Great, looks like I can go say hi to you whenever I want."

"Don't you dare do something stupid to get me fired, Shin."

"No promises, ma'am."

childhood friend! Shinichiro who after miserably failing 5 times asks you for your help to bake a cake for Emma's birthday

"And what is this supposed to be?"

"Clearly, it's supposed to be Ariel, y'know, the princess mermaid??"

"That's your best attempt at making an ariel themed cake?? Now I know why you were begging for me to come over when you called me."

"I blame it on Manjiro for ruining the frosting."

M- "Hey! It was you who ruined it."

"So not true."

"I think the both of you should just shut up and help clean up this mess first."

childhood friend! Shinichiro who's gotten used to his siblings asking him where you were whenever you weren't seen with him and getting teased about it

E- "Neh, Shin-nii, where's [name]?"

"Probably stuck in another class, why do you ask?"

E- "I miss her."

M- "Idiot, we already saw her this morning."

E- "Hey! Don't act like you don't want her to come and play with us too!"

"Seriously you two, sometimes I wonder if I'm your older sibling at this point, with how much you ask for her."

M- "Shinchiro, we all know you love her as much as we do, maybe even more~"

"Shut your mouth Manjiro 💢"

childhood friend! Shinichiro who always shows up to your workplace when your shift is almost going to be over, always claiming that he was hungry and wanted to buy something, when in reality, he's there to send you home

"So..."

"And what the hell could you possibly want from this humble store, Shin?"

"Woah, woah! Can't a customer walk around the store to see what they want to get?"

"The last time you were here you knocked down a stack of cans on display, the manager almost reduced my paycheck because of that."

"In my defence, I didn't see the stack of cans."

"Suree you didn't."

"Hey, come on now! You know I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize your job.. on purpose at least...."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Now, would you be so kind to get me a pack of cigarettes, y'know, for a very dear friend of yours?"

"The only think you'll be getting from me is a pack of gum, rotten breath."

"Rude... now come on, when does this shift of yours end anyways? Let's get dinner on the way back."

childhood friend! Shinichiro who becomes your gossip and vent buddy whenever he sends you home after your shift, with him hanging onto every word you say, and hating on whoever you hate even if he doesn't know who the hell they are

"Argh, goddamnit, won't she just give me a break already?"

"Who? Wait—no, let me guess. Is it that girl from your econs class? What's her name again? Ka—Ka something..."

"Kazumi. Wow, didn't think you'd actually remember, well somewhat remember at least."

"With how much you complain about her, who wouldn't? But let me guess what she did to aggravate you this time."

"Go on. No guarantee that there'll be a prize for that though."

"She ditched a group project discussion again? Or she claims she's too busy to complete her part of the project when in reality she's going on parties and all that?"

"Mix of both actually, so congrats! No prize for you though."

"Aww. And here I thought you'll reward me for being a good friend."

"Argh, I should ask Takeomi or Benkei to intimidate her into actually taking this group project seriously or something..."

"Why ask them when you have your number one ride or die partner next to you to do so?"

"What'll you do? Intimidate her with the 20 rejections you've gotten? Pfft, she might even make that 20 become 21 before you intimidate her."

"I thought we swore to never talk about that ever again 💢"

childhood friend! Shinichiro who's grateful to you for bringing him his lunch to his shop whenever he leaves it at home and enjoys groans whenever you nag to him about the importance of not skipping any meals

"Guess some things will never change, huh?"

"Huh? Oh, is that my lunch?"

"No, no, it's my supper."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny [name]."

"I deserve more credit for making sure you don't skip your meals."

"Is that so? Would you like me to get on my knees and thank you? I can certainly do that."

"You and your cheesy lines... when will you learn to remember to bring your own lunch to work? You're pulling off the same shit you did back when we were in highschool."

"Maybe I just like your meals better than mine..."

"...??!... That... That still isn't an excuse for you to not bring along something to eat, dumbass. What would you do if I decide not to check in on you, hm?"

"Probably starve to dea-"

-smacks his head-

"Oww??? Alright, alright, sorry I guess, 'mom'. I won't purposely skip my meals ever again..."

"Good... next time, just... ask if you want me to cook extra for you."

childhood friend! Shinichiro who notes how you start to stand one arm's length away from him whenever you're with him, and when he asks you about it, becomes visibly distraught to hear you say he reeks of cigarette smoke

"Hey... why're you standing so far away from me? Don't tell me you came over to my shop just to see me work from a distance now.."

"You just stink, that's all."

"What??!? I definitely don't stink. I took a shower this morning, and I'm not covered in grease or anything..!!"

"It's that smokey smell that's always lingering around you. Y'know, because you like to smoke every now and then.."

"Huhh?!? What're you saying!!"

"Don't tell me you don't reek of cigarettes Shin. It's blatantly obvious, I can probably even smell you from a mile away like this."

"WHAT?!? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THIS EARLIER???"

"Because I didn't want you to make you self-conscious, stupid! Besides, it's not like I can force you to stop smoking or anything.."

childhood friend! Shinichiro who slowly stops smoking as much as he used to, especially around you so that you wouldn't be disturbed by his smell and stay close to him

"Huh?"

"What is it?"

"Eh... it's nothing important."

"Oh come on, you clearly have something to say. Cat got your tongue or something? Taken aback by my good looks?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever you say. You just... smell different, that's all."

"Is smell all you care about? What are you, a dog?"

"Fuck you."

"Yes please."

"Wha-?!?!"

"I'm joking." (He wasn't really)

"And I probably smell good because I put on this new cologne I got."

"Pfft, to mask off the fact that you're a smoke addict?"

"Hey! Might I inform you that I haven't picked up a cigarette for the past two weeks now."

"Really? Wow, I'm surprised. What made you stop?"

"You. Well, more precisely, you avoiding to get close to me because I stink."

"...?!?" (You were speechless and flustered)

childhood friend! Shinichiro who gets jealous upset when his friends flirt with you right in front of his face, not knowing that they're doing this to get him riled up enough and grow balls to finally confess to you

T: "Say, [name], you got a boyfriend or anything?"

"..?!?! Wha- Why're you asking her that-"

T: "What? Can't a man be curious? Besides, no boyfriend would be pleased if their girlfriend is hanging out with her 'guy' friend and his siblings 24/7."

"Very funny Take-chan. If that's your logic, then I believe you already have your answer."

B: "That's suprising. I was sure a pretty girl like you would have many guys chasing for you."

"...! I'm flattered, Keizo-kun. But I doubt that's the case, haha."

"Oi, you guys, stop bugging her like this..."

T: "Ya'know, I'm pretty sure most girls like strong guys, right? Shin's pretty weak to stay by your side."

"Oi-"

T: "But, he makes it up with his charm and caring side, so I guess you have it good [name]."

W: "Well, that's Shin-chan for ya, so you don't have to worry about him not treating you right, [name]. But if he doesn't, you cant count on us to beat him up for you."

"I.... wow, okay...?"

"?!? Oi, you guys!!? Now you're scaring me!!"

childhood friend! Shinichiro who confronts you one day, telling you all about how his friends and family keep on teasing him about how you and him should date and how he also really liked the idea of that

"Hahaha! Really? Manjiro did that?? I can't believe I missed that!"

"It's painful y'know! Can't believe he's only 12 years old and pulling off roundhouse kicks like that. And to my face too!"

"Well, what'd you do this time?"

"Wha-?!? I can't believe you're so quick to take his side. Both you and Emma."

"What can I say? Both him and Emma are my favourite Sanos after all."

"Gasp After all these years, you're choosing them over me?!? I'm disappointed, [name]. I thought you knew better 😔"

"Cry about it then."

"Mean..."

"But he must have a reason for doing that to you though, right?"

"I mean... it's kind of stupid, really."

"Oh? Do tell whatever the reason for the 'invincible Mikey' to roundhouse kick you. And for Emma to take his side on the matter."

"Ah... they're just mad that I apparently haven't made you my girlfriend yet."

"Huh??"

"I know, stupid, isn't it? They both have been bugging me about this for years now, claiming that they 'want you to be their actual sister'. What's worse is that gramps has the same sentiment as them too."

"Seriously? Sano-sensei as well?"

"Yup. He says he doesn't mind having you as his "granddaughter-in-law" and that you're the only person I ever truly listen to. Bullshit by the way."

"Is it it really though?"

"That's not the point. Hell, even the guys are teasing me for not making it official with you yet. Bugging me about it whenever we hangout, saying that if I don't act soon, they'll steal you away from me."

"I-.... wow... I guess that explains what happened the last time we hung out."

"Yeah, sorry if their words bothered you."

"No, no it's fine. But I'm just wondering... what do you think about all this?"

"Huh?"

"Like.... with everyone bugging you, and well me about this, what are your thoughts on us dating?"

"...?!?... I guess.... I don't mind that..."

"Really? I'm glad then."

"Huh? What do you mean."

"I guess I don't mind us dating as well."

".....Wait..., so are you saying I can be your boyfriend?!?! Really?!?"

"Yes! I'm saying you can be my boyfriend, and I can be your girlfriend, idiot."

"I'm actually so happy right now I could literally kiss you."

"Then do it, Shin. Who's gonna stop you?"

a/n: i love him so much oml, thinking about writing longer fics about some of these scenarios

m.list

[metranart]

His Mate, finally someone to call his…

ft. Hawks centered, Hawks x reader, Slight! Bakugo x reader, Slight! Dabi x reader.

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 3)

-

Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut.

-

“Tell me,” Hawks’ voice sounded deeper, raspier almost feral, as it you were facing a darker self of the same man, and the next words that came out of his mouth made you realize how affected he was, for you have never EVER, had such a raw response.

 “...May I fuck you as your way of thanking me for saving you?”

“...W-what?” You stammered, shock dripping down your tone, an eyebrow raising almost comically. 

“Whaddya say, kid—” Hawks purred, closing the distance so much that you found yourself upholstered against the cold wall behind you, the broad chest of the winged hero pressed flush against you as your shaky hands latched onto his black, hero shirt. “You said you could handle me...”

Wrapping one of your hands in his, he guided it down so you could feel his hard rock cock through his pants, a hoarse moan accompanied his next words as the hero guided you to start to pump him. “I can't assure you that I'll be gentle....” the speed of his hand increased, letting you feel every ridge and swelled vein in his fat erection, “but I can assure that you will LOVE to give that tight, warm cunt to me.” 

The golden around his eyes was gone, completely eaten by the blown pupil, anxiety starting to take its toll on you, this was too much.... never in your life have you had such a reaction from anyone you healed... and suddenly Recovery girl's words echoed in your head again. The lack of control from your quirk can have adverse results on the wounded, especially on persons who have animal traits... don't use it at that level until you are one hundred percent sure you can master it... 

Hawks had animal traits, even his fucking hero name was one of an actual animals.... you screwed up, HARD.

“Hawks, S-sir, I...” You didn’t find it in you to move. Every single fiber of your being screamed to listen to his advice and run, but you couldn’t. 

The heat was suddenly too much when you could clearly feel his cock twitching on your palm, and lively snatching your hand, you pushed Hawks away with all your force, a wicked smile stretched his mouth, even so, scooted over so you could attempt to run to a secluded corner next to a dumpster, to catch your breath. 

His step faltered just a second before he felt compelled to trail behind, slumping beside you, unceremoniously. His head lolled, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw, like he didn't care in the slightest, that you were trying to get away from him. 

A warm hand rested over your shoulder, and you felt yourself shiver. “Usually, I don’t fancy brats,” Hawks said, and without breaking a sweat, grinded you against the wall without contemplation, “But you are sooooo cute, I´ll make an exception.” 

“Hawks, Sir!” it was so weird to call Sir someone closer to your age than that of your cousin’s, yet, your voice seemed looped on it, “you are being influenced by my quirk...it is-it is based on energy that–” He didn't let you finish when you were being caged between his arms again, soft lips peppering your face with invasive kisses. 

“—I don’t care, brat, I warned you.” The hero spatted, and a tear threatened to peek at the corner of your eye, yet you inhaled sharply and instead set your mind in hero mode, you weren’t some damsel in distress, you were a hero in training… perhaps there was still a chance for you to complete the healing loop, and satiate Hawks enough for him to come back to his usual self, at least for a moment to be able to talk him out of fucking you raw. 

Slowly, you started to wiggle out of his arms, but then paused for a second to tilt your chin up, and press a tender kiss to his lips to which he responded eagerly, flushed and awfully anxious you tried not to get distracted from your task when he mmphs low in his throat and his hand snaked up to cradle your jaw, holding you there for just a bit longer than you originally planned.

You tried to low his libido down, but your resistance instead urged him to grind his hard rock erection against you, so ready for you to take care of it. And there was when you saw your way out, this was the chance you were looking for, the winged hero was already too lost in his hormonal brain, too affected by your quirk, too deep into his own instinctual behavior to listen to reason....so, you needed to plunge him out by force.... hard and fast, an explosion of pleasurable release.... you were going to have to make him cum, and preferably, without raping you in the process.

The first thing was to separate him a bit from you, but right now that seemed to be the most difficult... since the dirtiness of the things he whispered devilishly against your ear were paralyzing you...

“I´m gonna stuff you with my chicks, you are gonna look soooooo pretty all swelled and heavy...” he breathed into your mouth. His voice teasing, yet again, held undertones of something deeper, something similar to devotion.... almost too caring. This man groping you wasn't the hero persona you’d seen on the news; this was the man behind the mask asking you to bare his children and become utterly his. 

“I can barely wait to come home to my pretty little wifey, waiting for me—” one of his hands dipped under the rim of your skirt, slowly worming his fingers to snatch your shirt up until the skin of your belly was exposed for him to place his big, calloused palm on top—reverently—as if you were meant to be his most prized person, “...round belly, full of my chicks and big, pretty smile on your face,” he kept daydreaming, “-SO ready for me to fill you again.”

Even using all your strength, you weren't able to move it off of you one inch, and worry spiked up when his advantageous palm keep traveling down your lower belly, dragging closer and closer under your panties—you knew what he was after, so you reduced to use a lamer approach. 

“Let me-let me do something first...” you pleaded, and thankfully it caught his sporadic attention, cocking his head to the side quizzically to then dive his face in the hollow of your neck, and breath the next words out. “Sorry, kid, I like to take the lead—”

“That´s okey!” you hurried, “it’s just- it's my... my first time... please, just let me—” you prayed for this to work, desperation really turning your voice into a pitiful sound.

Hawks thought about it for a moment, and grinning more to himself, gift you some space to do whatever you wanted to do –of course under his supervision– it would be embarrassing, and honestly, you didn't know if you would make it work but you had to try, because you refused to have a teenage pregnancy.

“Your show, kid.” Hawks spilled, sassy grin firmly on his face. 

Oh! How you wished he weren't looking so attentively.

“Could you close your eyes—”

“No.”

Well, that was fast, but expected. 

Arming yourself with courage, carefully fixed your disheveled shirt and to the best of your ability stood straight in steady legs, but then stopped for an entirely different reason. 

“Can you please.... —can you please unbuckle your pants?” The words rushed out of you, embarrassment eating you out, painfully. 

“Good girl.” He praised, nimbly unbuckling his belt, and without you having to ask, took himself out.  

Your orbs almost popped out of its sockets, you had seen a dick before but none this big, Hawks was massive, long and thick with a very pretty pink shade, and a dusting of blond hairs nesting on top. “As you can surely see, I’m pretty big, baby,” he cooed in a low rasp, “We better prepare you first, or it’s gonna hurt—like a lot,” you swallowed, thickly. 

And the moment you saw him smearing precum all over the head of his length, and dip two fingers inside his mouth to let his drool cover them to then lick his lips while wiggling the after mentioned digits at you—you didn't know what came over you. Perhaps you truly were possessed or just too determined, but you rushed towards him, and your hand reached between his thighs.

Hawks exhaled sharply leaning into your touch, letting his hot breath wash over your face and you felt him widen his stance to accommodate closer to you. Experimentally, you pumped him once and felt him brace an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the solid wall as your fingers began to slip, treacherously slow, up and down his reddened cock.

He choked out a strangled sigh when you gripped him from the base and began to coil your hand to then cup his heavy balls. His head lolled once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat.

You felt your own breath quicken, felt yourself getting bolder, nevertheless, the uneasy feeling of being jacking off a total stranger in the open, never leaving your mind.

You meshed your other hand into his golden locks and pulled him closer, pressing your body flush against his. Hawks moaned, keening, his arm now firmly around your waist. You shushed him quietly, tightening the hold on his shaft while gaining speed and precision with each stroke. 

In this position, you looked as though you were only consoling a Hero who had a rough week, simply hugging in the dim light of the lonely alley. The shadows hiding you both, that feral Golden gaze reserved only for you. 

“—Is the pressure, Okey?” You sighed into his cheek.

“Please don’t stop...” Hawks whimpered. “God, don’t fucking stop—”

You didn’t, but it wasn’t enough, your touch felt naughtily good, but he was accustomed to experienced partners, even hand jobs needed certain speed and pressure to be fulfilling. The frustrating feeling of not getting what he wanted, edged him to wrap your hand with his and pump your fist faster- it wasn’t as tight, or warm or heavenly as your virgin cunt should feel- but it did scratch the itch, ever so slightly. 

Pressing his face flush against your neck, inhaling deeply. Your scent helped him get closer. He made you jerk him faster, harder. He needed more, more accurate, you, moaning and screaming for him to breed you—mate you. 

His Mate, finally someone to call his… that precious thought and your warm hand achieved the goal a little, just a few drops of pearly cum squeezed out, but enough to grant him a second of coherency. 

“I know what you—what you are trying to do.... kid,” His voice was deep, yet it wasn't the rut speaking, this was actually Hawks.

“Hawks...?” you called out. 

“In the flesh-...ngh!...” he attempted to joke but his voice cracked as he moaned, “This was—FUCK—it was very smart of you...” you could see the struggle in his features, it sounded like he was in pain, “—but I need more....much, much, muchMORE....” he smiled at you, apologetically, “-to be able to tame this fucking rut.”

He knew what he was asking, and even when hated to do it, knew as well that you would prefer that than carry his children and having him strapped to your hip for the next eighteen years, only letting you go once your offspring was able to be autonomous. 

“I-…I can´t…I´m sorry, Hawks—” you trailed, shame curling your lips down, at the knowledge that all of this was your own fault. 

“I know-... sweet girl, its fine...” He cooed, narrowed eyes locked in you cum stained fingers, “I understand… but I need you to understand as well—” 

His voice sounded more strained with each passing second, the winged hero could feel himself slipping away again, he didn’t want to ask, but sure as hell, would hate a lot more to end up taking you by force. 

“—I can’t control myself…” He confessed, “not when in rut and—” 

“I understand.” You muttered, quietly. 

“You do?” 

You nodded, unable to look him in the eye, yet you felt his hand when gently caressed your cheek once, before it latched on to your nape and yanked, hinting you. 

“Then please —please, don’t make me ask.” 

You wondered if he had ever had to beg someone before, of course not, he could have whoever he wanted. Quit stalling, your mind scolded and you felt the pull of his hand again, a little more demanding.

Taking your hand, like a true gentleman, help you to your knees. It was the least he could do, and shame reflected in his eyes when you looked up. Hard and heavy cock throbbing with need in front of your face, ready to be swallowed down. 

Your mouth quivered and before you could set your mind to engulf him, his knuckles gently traced your jawline tenderly, pampering the skin before dip a thumb into your mouth, smearing it with saliva and moistening your dry lips.

You looked as ready as you could be, for someone about to give a blowjob to the number two hero. 

COMING SOON PART 4....

⭕️ In my PATREON LINK you will find NSFW art of this chapter and more spicy MHA NSFW art and exclusive smut fanfiction.... Plus 'Tier reward' like: voting poll privilege for the exclusively Patreon one-shot stories where you can choose the couple pairing and kinky mood for the story and NSFW art, along with some naughty animation like THIS ONE ....and my eternal and vast gratitude for your support!!!

[redphlox]

Shouto's ruined character arc in the epilogue

Edit December 2024: my opinion about Shouto's ending has changed after 431 was publised when vol 42 came out on Dec 4, 2024. I'll have to rewrite this. But still, my stance that ending was riddled with toxic positivity and hollowness still hands

The epilogue’s toxicity-positivity message about smiling ruined Shouto’s characterization and undoes the growth and purpose of his arc because he’s not allowed to mourn the imminent death of his brother Touya.

Shouto partaking in these tone-deaf, festive activities with his friends in chapter 429 feels out of character, feels cheap and shallow, and is a slap in the face to his family. In the past Shouto declined school-related activities and prioritized spending time with his mom at the hospital. Now the narrative is trying to sell the idea that he would NOT spend every remaining minute alongside his family with his dying brother, who he has always wanted to know, the brother he practically begged to confront and said, "Our paths will cross whether you want them to or not" to. Shouto spent all this manga reconciling his feelings about his family and reconnecting to them to just... not be with them when they’re about to experience loss AGAIN? 

I'm not saying I want Shouto to be miserable, but realistically (since readers are so obsessed with realism in this superhero manga), he wouldn’t be wasting the limited time he has left with his brother by going to a farewell party, or any party. Damn, can the author let him mourn? Despite all the celebration the kids are doing, Shouto didn’t get a happy ending. While the rest of their community is rebuilding and making sense of what happened, the Todoroki family is still going through their crisis. It’s not over for them. At least let them cry.

This is a regression for Shouto’s character because the concept of allowing heroes to cry was first presented through Shouto, literally through his own words. The narrative then picks up this concept again during Ochako's speech at the UA shelter civilians, and then... Shouto isn't allowed to cry in the epilogue, and is forced to fake a smile so his friends don’t worry about him.

It’s not like Shouto has cried in this manga. He cried during the sports festival, during the Dabi reveal, and after Dabi escaped to Gunga to go after Endeavor because he knew this meant he had failed to reach his brother -- so no, it doesn’t make sense that he wouldn’t cry now. Instead, he's the one fake smiling, and only Ochako is allowed to be shown crying and being comforted. The double standard and retcon is astounding.

You can literally see the light not reaching his eyes in this panel from 425 when Deku asks if he’s okay. And yes, Shouto is prioritizing his family in this panel, but like I said, Touya doesn't have much time left... why waste it?

Shouto doesn’t want anyone to worry about him, so he’s putting on a brave face. And yet Deku and the other classmates reaching out to Ochako in 429 is selling the opposite message - don’t cry alone, let us be here for you, etc. Why isn’t Shouto granted the same support, especially from these classmates he claims are there for him?

If Horikoshi was aiming for a happy ending where people smile, then Touya’s grimdark, cruel, second and final death doesn't fit because Shouto has to mourn. You can't have both fake smiling and off-screen assumed mourning… it makes no sense for Shouto’s arc, or for the epilogue’s message about reaching out for help or to help. It doesn’t make sense in any context.

Shouto's characterization feels so off in this epilogue. He’s a shell of the person he was becoming. The story starts out by saying that this character is supposed to process the trauma of childhood and a dysfunctional family that he always wished was different, but now he has his found family in his classmates instead. And I'm not saying he can't have both - I'd say the support from his friends is imperative - but, it doesn't make sense that he has seemingly moved on because the fact is, his family situation was his entire start. 

It's not just Shouto that feels off, but his family too. Their once-considered-dead brother/son is alive, but now is dying in front of their eyes for real this time and they just… don’t try to spend as much time with him as possible? Even the sentiment that Shouto gave the family more time to talk falls empty because Touya can only endure a few minutes of conversation at a time, and it’s not like he’s slowly improving and that time will increase. It will only decrease. And yet, the family doesn’t seem too concerned or heartbroken that they’re witnessing someone they love die a second time, this time slowly. He can’t even communicate with them, and he’ll most likely have many things left unsaid when he dies.

The Todoroki family plot was set up to be about reconciliation, but they’re not reconnecting even with Touya’s upcoming death. This scene of Touya and the other siblings kicking a ball while Shoto looked on from the second story of the house begging his father to allow him to play with his siblings has been addressed like four times, and yet in the end he doesn’t get to spend happy moments with his siblings. His reward for his heroism is Touya’s slow march toward death and the knowledge that he has the same favorite food as the brother who his father neglected to death twice. 

Instead of being shown mourning or connecting, the family is acting cold and distant - only Natsuo is acting with a semblance of his normal self. I know some readers attribute the family’s aloofness to Japanese culture not being very affectionate or open with their emotions, but that doesn’t mean Japanese people are devoid of feelings. That’s so fucking racist. We’ve seen parents express love and concern for their children in this manga, and yet the Todoroki family continues to say “we’ll talk, we’ll talk” but we’ve never seen any follow-up. It’s ironic because Shouto’s whole mentality is “actions speak louder than words”.

For a family that became unstable because of misunderstandings about feeling loved and wanted, the family continues to feel devoid of caring. No one comforts Shouto, no one talks about how they feel except for Endeavor. Shouto isn’t allowed to grieve in front of his friends because Ochako takes priority because the narrative is pushing this toxic positivity message about smiling that works on the surface but fails to address any systemic changes. 

This ending doesn't fit the hopeful tone of Shouto's arc.

RIP Shouto’s arc. We loved you. 

[officialspec]

can you pleeeeease post your dm sexuality/gender hcs on here.... 🥺 i don't have a twitter but i wanna know. it's like a pandora's box to me now i'm like scratching at the door. let me in

heres the link 2 the thread (mild spoilers btw) ill post a transcript under the cut for ppl who dont have twitter

first off i think laios relationship to sex is super removed for like 50 reasons without even getting into his actual sexuality

he grew up in a place with very repressed ideas about sex and has a lot of fear about asserting his presence in situations

his special interest takes precedent over any social interactions he has and the level of closeness he feels towards people

he has a hard time figuring out his feelings towards other people both bc hes autistic and bc he has freaky deviantart fetishes that make sex in his mind a very abstract concept <- this one is me projecting mostly

that aside, i feel like gender-wise hes attracted to ppl so infrequently it may as well be entirely case-by-case

the idea of him being gay appeals to me from the 'raised with traditional values he Does Not fit into/hasnt begun to question it yet' perspective, i lauve characters who put a lot of stock into performing a role thats expected of them and fail miserably for unknown (gay) reasons

from his perspective tho i dont think he would ever really label himself anything. hes going to pride parades in the shirt+shorts Ally Fit to clap for his friends

hes also 'cis by indifference' imo... i love tmasc laios hcs it just doesnt mesh w his personal history to me. i do think hes got some kind of therian gender thing going on (not trans or nb but a secret third thing) but i cant see him changing anything abt his appearance/pronouns to accommodate that post-canon. hes just doin his thang

falin is in a similar boat for gender. i LOOVE tfem falin but the village repression thing has been bugging at me so i dont think i subscribe to it anymore (canon purist sorry) BUT if u hold that hc i am clapping and cheering regardless

instead i was propagandised to a while back and i LOVEEE the idea that being fused w a male dragon and the residual traits she has after being revived have given her a type of gender euphoria she didnt realise she was missing. a little boygirl swagger if u will

sexuality-wise i also dont think she would care to label herself, shes a lesbian by virtue of only being interested in One woman and zero other people. without marcille i do think shes still exclusively attracted to women, and i like to imagine she might experiment around a bit during her travels post-canon (pre-relationship). hearing abt it might put marcille on the news though

marcille is very simple That is a transfem lesbian. she cant get pregnant, shes obsessed w being femme and all that combined w her half-tallman struggles to be seen as 'properly feminine' by elf standards reads very transfeminine to Me. also her bookboy crush REEKS of comphet its not subtle

i think a more comfortable marcy might have the space to experiment w being elf butch like her manga boys but thats mainly self indulgence for me. utena could have saved her

senshi is gay his whole thing is abt not being able to perform dwarven masculinity to a proper standard (soft hearted, not as strong or rugged as his peers) which is like gaycoding 101. also hes a bear. homosexuality be damned by boy can work a grill

adding onto this i rly think senshi got some type of euphoria from being an elf in the changeling chapters. he was feeling himself so much i think he was using it as an outlet to have fun being a little fem and fruity without needing to justify it. do u understand

i dont have any particular opinions abt him gender-wise beyond that. his bulge is an essential part of his character design but i also saw a transmasc senshi a couple days ago that made me nod my head thoughtfully so i could go either way

chilchuck is cis and bisexual this is just canon. not even just his old man crush on senshi altho i do think thats very funny but they put his ass on a cover themed like hes in a dating sim with all the men and women in the cast and then slapped it in front of a chapter called "bicorn". i simply cant pass up that kind of overt signaling. its so fucking funny what else is there to say truly

izu to ME is a transmasc aroace lesbian (this one has the least basis in canon i just know it to be true) shes a little genderfluid with it nd uses he/she i think. i like to imagine she consistently uses masculine personal pronouns to refer to herself either way tho (boku, ore)

i think izutsumis gender/sexuality is entirely secondary in priorities to her body dysphoria. she has a lot of learning and acceptance 2 do before that kind of self discovery is on the docket and in my mind eschewing gender on some level is part of that. get sillay

shuro is cishet but at least he feels bad about it. next listen listen to me i dont think he would ever actually examine this but i need u to put on ur tin foil hat with me for one second. i think estrogen could have saved her. i have more thoughts on this but im not gonna propagandise too much on this post just know that im right

kabru is a transmasc bisexual this is also practically text. his whole thing of being treated like a doll by milsiril to put in pretty dresses, plus i think it would be pretty easy for him to stealth in the west since tallmen are seen as inherently more masculine than elves

(i also think changing genders is just more common for elves. theyre androgynous enough that it wouldnt be hard and like who in their right miiiiind would be the same gender for 500 years. dwarves too)

i think he started presenting as male socially in the west but didnt need to consider medical transition until he moved to a more mixed culture where other races might see him as a woman

i dont have to explain the bisexual part. have u seen him

namari is a butch bisexual this is just canon straight up. shes not transmasc but i think the default settings for dwarven women is like 4 years of T regardless. shes a hit at all the local cruising spots despite her renfaire nerdisms i know this

and just bc im thinking abt em kiki and kaka are identical and kiki is tfem :} theyre both attracted to women but kaka is a sub so i forgive him

THATS ALL 4 NOW theres a lot of characters so i cant have thoughts abt all of them at once but i hope this was good. im right about everything forever as per usual

[ducksido]

Scottish!Yuu

General Reactions

Grim:

“I dunno what half the things yer sayin’ mean, but I like the way ya talk!”

Tries to mimic Yuu’s accent but ends up sounding like a strangled cat.

Loves when Yuu calls him “wee beastie.”

The NRC Student Body:

70% of the time, they have no idea what Yuu is saying.

“What do you mean ye ‘pure dingied’ someone?”

“Why did you just call that guy a ‘weapon’? Is that good or bad?”

Confusion intensifies.

Crowley:

Tries to use Scottish slang to be relatable. Fails miserably.

“Ah, Prefect, ye are quite the mad rocket, aren’t ye?”

Yuu: “Crowley, that’s not how it works.”

Individual Reactions

Riddle:

“STOP CALLING ME ‘WEE MAN.’”

Gets mad when Yuu calls him a “roaster” but doesn’t understand what it means.

Is personally offended when Yuu calls tea “boggin’” if it’s not made properly.

Leona:

Absolutely lives for Yuu’s casual insults.

“Ye absolute tube.”

“Heh. That’s a new one.”

Once Yuu explains what a “bam” is, he immediately starts calling Ruggie one.

Azul:

Hears Yuu use three different slang words in one sentence and short-circuits.

“What... what does any of that mean?”

Secretly loves that Yuu takes their food very seriously.

Jade:

“Ah, Prefect, you have quite a fascinating dialect.”

Purposely mispronounces things to watch Yuu get mad.

Lowkey interested in haggis just to see Yuu’s reaction.

Floyd:

“Hahahaha! Shrimpy sounds so funny when they’re mad!”

Purposely winds Yuu up just to hear them rant in full-blown Scottish fury.

“C’mon, say ‘pure raging’ again!”

Kalim:

“Wow, your accent is so cool! Say something else!”

Is fascinated by kilts. “You guys just wear skirts and own it? That’s awesome!”

Jamil:

Watches in horror as Yuu drinks Irn-Bru instead of water.

“That’s not healthy.”

Secretly finds Yuu’s stubbornness admirable.

Vil:

Deeply offended by Yuu’s casual approach to fashion.

“You call that an outfit?”

“Mate, it’s freezin’, I’m no wearin’ fancy clothes.”

Nearly dies when Yuu rolls up to class in a football (soccer) jersey and trackies.

Epel:

Finally, someone more incomprehensible than him.

“HAH! Now ya know how I feel!”

They just insult each other in thick accents, and no one knows if they’re fighting or bonding.

Rook:

“Ah, mon ami, your language is truly an art form!”

Recites Scottish poetry randomly just to mess with Yuu.

Calls them “my fierce Highland warrior.”

Idia:

“Wait... your country just randomly has huge men throwing logs for fun?!”

Is terrified when Yuu describes the Highland Games.

“And that’s normal???”

Ortho:

Scans Yuu’s speech patterns and still can’t understand half of it.

“Would you like me to generate subtitles for you, Prefect?”

Malleus:

Delighted by Yuu’s old folklore stories.

“Tell me more of these ‘kelpies’ and ‘selkies.’”

Is weirdly happy when Yuu calls him “big man.”

Lilia:

“Och, I love Scottish music!” Proceeds to play the bagpipes terribly.

Tries to cook haggis. Fails horribly.

“LILIA, THAT IS NOT HAGGIS.”

Sebek:

Screams. Yuu screams back. They have a shouting match for no reason.

“WHY DO YOU TALK LIKE THAT?!”

“WHY DO YOU TALK LIKE THAT?!”

Staff Reactions

Crewel:

Impressed by Yuu’s bold attitude.

However, if they call him “mate” one more time, they’re getting detention.

Trein:

Interested in Scotland’s history.

Lucius loves that Yuu calls him “wee man.”

Sam:

Immediately starts selling Irn-Bru at his shop.

“Got some Scottish snacks just for you, my friend~”

Event Character Reactions

Neige:

“Wow! You’re so passionate!”

Tries haggis. Regrets it instantly.

Chenya:

Loves Yuu’s chaotic energy.

Steals their scarf and disappears into the night.

Rollo:

“Your people do what for fun?!”

Faints after hearing about deep-fried Mars bars.

Meleanor & Lilia (when younger):

Meleanor thinks kilts are amazing.

Young Lilia fully supports bagpipe music.

More Random Scottish Yuu Moments

Crowley bans Yuu from using slang because no one understands them.

They start a full-on war over who makes the best whiskey.

Jack learns about sheepdogs and becomes obsessed.

They have an iron liver when it comes to strong drinks.

Punches the first person who insults their football team.

[mattsblue]

tw/cw: fingering, usage of petnames (sweetheart).

⎯⎯⎯⎯

these rings. these rings, that make you head spin when you look at them; these rings, that have you literally speechless every damn time. these stupid rings.

you would sell your soul just to feel them against your burning skin, digging into your soft flesh and leaving light, allow unnoticeable, marks. you would do anything, at this point.

and matt isnt planning to make everything easier. otherwise, he seems to know about your little obsession. the guy would flex his hand occasionally everytime you're around, causing the metal shine in the light of the room. he literally has you wrapped about his ohgoddamnso- long finger. almost infuriating, you would say.

and this day isnt different from other ones. you both sitting on the couch, matt's hand on his knee, tapping mindlessly while you're trying to pay your attention to some tv show on the screen, failing miserably. oh, to feel his hand gripping your knee, his fingers tapping your thigh, moving up, and higher, and—

"ya okay?" his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, causing you to look up at matt with surprised expression like you weren't almost drooling over his fingers a moment ago

"yeah.. yea, why?" voice strained, but you cleared the throat quickly, trying to remain calm in front of your best friend, even though you dreamed about him in a such wrong direction.

"you seem off," matt shrugged nonchalantly, but deep down he know. and he wants to play a little, to see, how far you can go. "you were doin' this thing, y'know," the guy flexed his fingers once again, a stupid habit of his, "called starin' at my fingers for too long"

cheeks flush a little when you look away, getting clearly embarrassed with your obvious ogling. you're not supposed to think about your best friend in such way, you're not—

a shifting motion from matt causes you to look at him again and you almost jump on your seat as soon, as the feeling of his hand gripping your knee softly washes over you. gaze darts down to the way his fingers pressed into your skin softly and you swallow thickly, clearly unable to speak at that moment.

"as i thought," a smirk appears on his face, the corners of his lips twitch up and he lets out a soft scoff, amused by your statement. these flushed cheeks, wide, almost doe-like eyes. if he knew the effects he has on you, he would do that earlier. his hand starts to make its way higher to your thigh, reaching the hem of your oh so short shorts. "what? cat got your tongue?"

but you cant bring yourself to answer. instead, your hand covers his own, guiding its closer and closer to the zipper of your shorts. the atmosphere in the room is heavy, air filled with thick desire and unspoken feelings. you dont know how it lead you there, but here you are, on your best friend's couch with his hand getting rid of the annoying denim.

not a single word leaves your parted lips, but your ragging breath is telling matt everything he wants to know. you want him just as much, as he does, it not more.

as soon as your shorts lands on the floor, matt isn't wasting any time, his hand's getting closer and closer to the waistband of your underwear, tugging on it.

you can read a silent "can i?" in his eyes, your head nods almost on its own, leaving you with empty brain and completely speechless. matt smirks devilishly as he knows what's going on inside the little head of yours.

brunette, with a swift motion, leaving you completely bare in front of him, your panties lands next to your shorts with a soft sound. matt's gaze hungry, full of desire, causing you to shiver slightly and press your thighs together in an attempt to hide yourself.

"tsk," he clicks his tongue and quickly grabs your thighs, spreading you open in front of him, a mischievous smile on his face, "god, you're drippin'," he chuckles in amusement, studying your flushed face, "fantasize about these hands of mine too often, dont you, sweetheart?" he speaks in a sweet, almost mocking one, tone of his.

you softly curses under your breath before nodding slowly again, your gaze locks on his face as you are unable to look away from him. not in this moment, when all you want is memorize everything, to get this sight of matt tattooed on your brain.

and matt, with a swift motion, presses one of his calloused fingers against your clit, causing your body to jolt from the unexpected feeling, a soft sigh escapes your parted lips and you grips the armrest of the couch.

"please—," a soft plea, that almost impossible to heat, leaves your mouth as you stare at the man, "dont f—kin' tease"

and this makes him smirk even wider. one of his hand rests on your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh as he tries to hold you in place, while the other one makes it's way to your dripping entrance. you can feel the cold metal against your skin that makes yout head spin and eyed almost roll to the back of your head, you whine softly before bucking up your hips up in an attempt to get more friction from him.

"shhh, be patient," he coos mockingly, taking his time with you. his finger teases you, matt plunges it in and leaves you with a swift motion, amused by your reaction: little gasps escape your lips, your grip on the armrest tightens with each passed second

without a warning, brunette quickly shoves one of his fingers deep inside you, making your body tremble and arch your back. "god, s'tight," he mumbled, starting to move his fingers in and out, wet sounds fill the room, mixing with your gasps and his ragged breathing. matt adds another fingers, now his rings, on the pinky and index fingers, press against your skin. the cold metal causes you to gasp for air, you cant wrap your head about the thought that your best friend is fucking you with his hand right on his couch. but you're too deep in thoughts to care about it in that moment.

his hand was quick, fucking you in right places. you feel the knot threatening to snap in your stomach and a soft, trembling, "c— close" leaves your lips, making matt only grin and keep fucking you with ruthless pace.

"let go f'me, pretty," he mumbles and leans closer, his lips presses against yours as he swallowed all your little whimpers and gasps. his tongue tangles with your own as you let go around his fingers, loud wet squelch sounds only can be heard in the room.

matt breaks the kiss, he pulls away and looks down at you. a proud smile on his face as his fingers leaves your entrance with a pop, he brings his hand to his mouth, tongue swirling over his fingers as he tastes you.

"so f—kin' delicious," his voice rough, still filled with need, "we're just gettin' started, sweetheart"

⎯⎯⎯⎯

a/n: not proofread. english isnt my first language.

© mattsblue

[andcars]

# 𝗚𝗥𝟲𝟯 ─── STUPID IN LOVE WITH YOU BON APPETIT FICS . . . MASTERLIST . . . TAGLIST . . . AO3

GEORGE RUSSELL IS HOPELESSLY in love with you. a few headcanons on how he acts when he's with you. this is part as an extra of the bon appetit series but can be read without reading it.

TAGS . . . # female reader, pining george, reader may or may not be oblivious TYPE OF FIC . . . # headcanons, imagine, bon appetit; extra LENGTH . . . # ten headcanons/imagines, 779 words

pining!george where he tries to act casual when he invites you out, saying that he's bored and you're free. he's attempting to be real subtle about the way he texts, 'Yeah no, I don't have anything to do :/ Wanna hang?' but really he's pacing back and forth seeing if you've responded

pining!george saying that he's not needy or clingy. but it's in the small things like brushing up against your shoulder. guiding you by the shoulder when walking somewhere. random pictures or texts in the middle of the day; sometimes it's his wheels and the other times the helmet's marks. he can't stand not talking to you.

pining!george always tries to learn everything you like. 'What's your favourite band? Oh, the Cannons? Oh I'm pretty sure I've listened to their songs a few times before' and lies for a little bit about not remembering the song and is glad when you autofill the information for him. the next day he tells you he listened to them again and you talk about their music. it's these things he always want to impress you.

pining!george invites you out for the race weekends. weekends. multiple. he invites you to practically each one that everyone calls you the newest wag on the paddock. he never denies the rumour, just saying that it's not the media's problems to meddle in your relationship. but he lives for that attention, for people thinking you two look great together. he never brings it up in fear that you would think it's weird.

pining!george isn't the best guy at DIYs. however, friendship bracelets have been all over his feed lately and you've liked them all. he's never seen you with one on despite your interest. he buys an entire kit and with it multiple trinkets of different designs. when he gifts you your first friendship bracelet, it spells out his nickname for you designed with trinkets that resemble racing. he's obsessed with making them when your reaction to that one was absolutely golden.

pining!george is a fashion icon, everyone knows that. but when he's with you he's learned to adopt to your style instead. grunge? he's sporting a beanie and a spiked belt for the first time in his life. dark academia? bring back the long dark brown coats and sweaters. rockstars? you don't believe your eyes when you see george russel wearing a low tank top and patterened pants. he expanded his closet just to match your taste

pining!george is very much interested in your job. it doesn't matter whether or not you really like it, he makes it so that you enjoy it and is in awe of the things you do. oh, you travel around for catering services? he asks you to come over to cater for mercedes instead, saying that your cooking is probbaly the best thing that could come into the paddock.

pining!george of course loves your cooking. it doesn't really matter how good your cooking really is, it's like you make everything taste good. he feels like eating in your presence just makes everything taste like it's a godsent meal. no restaurant compares to you, though. he keeps saying it after he tasted your food, 'They added too much salt into this one. I ordered it because you cooked this for me before but it's a shame they can't really cook it like you do.'

pining!george 's favourite date location is probably yours or his house. he invited you over to his hotel room on a media day because the hotel was swarmed outside and he wasn't really thinking about going to papparazi. so you and he hang out there and honestly, it was fun. the both of you cook together, him miserably failing and you're effortlessly amazing. he watches local tv with you, nevermind if you don't know the language. it's entertaining to see a woman yell and slap a man across the face while everyone else is shocked. drama doesn't need a language barrier, after all. he even invites you to stay in his bed while he goes to the couch. you want to retaliate but he's already making himself comfy on the couch. you feel bad but oh well, you give him a blanket for his effort.

pining!george doesn't know that you are very amused by his behaviour. whether or not you are actually aware of his flirting, it makes you laugh everytime. you watch him change clothes, buy albums, make friendship bracelets, complain about restaurant food all with a smile on your lips. he doesn't really see himself in your eyes, and he looks so good loving you.

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . did this during classes and i only got to make a few TT. but i plan to do a smau or a fic on the weekend, so look forward to it! and lmk any feedback on the graphic if you have any. i'm always never satisfied but god i just want a template to be able to use when i'm quickly posting ˎˊ˗ ᝰ.

──── 📨 @delululeclerc @coconut-dreamz

you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡

[sissylittlefeather]

If You Talk In Your Sleep

Chapter 4

A/N: I'm sorry this took me so long! Work has been a STRUGGLE lately. But I managed to get this one out and I'm lowkey obsessed with it. I hope you love it!

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, this is definitely for adults only, there's lots of smut (blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie) but also DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. Elvis is not violent, but reader's husband is.

Word count: ~3k

It hangs there for a second like smoke before you whisper your response.

“I'm in love with you too.”

******

After the night at the Palomino Club, your life becomes a series of stolen hours with Elvis separated by the daunting reality of your life with Carl. You know Carl can't find out what you're up to, but you're so happy with Elvis that it's hard to care if he does. A fantasy of telling him and him letting you go easily consumes you every time you're forced to be around him. Still, the risk that he'd kill Elvis is still too great for you to take that chance. Instead, you sneak away as often as you can and spend your nights wrapped in satin sheets and Elvis's arms.

He doesn't go home to Priscilla, despite her constant begging and the Colonel’s insistence. They know he's probably messing around, it wouldn't be the first time, but they never dream he's in as deep as he is with you. And he is in deep. Every stolen night with you only pulls him deeper, the rest of the world fading into something distant and unimportant. He’s known love before, or at least he thought he had, but nothing has ever gripped him like this. Nothing has ever felt quite so undeniable.

A little over a month has gone by when Carl tells you that he has to go visit the bosses back East for the weekend. You're surprised he's not making you come with him, but he seems to have gotten over his suspicion. When it dawns on you that this means you'll have a whole weekend to spend with Elvis, you have to try to hide your excitement.

“I'll call to check on you every evening around 5. Make sure you're home.” If the right person said it, it might be sweet. But coming from Carl it sounds like a threat.

“I will be. It's not like I really have anywhere to go.” You're laying it on a little thick, but you want to make sure he doesn't suspect anything. In truth, your insides are positively buzzing with giddiness. He grunts and then kisses your cheek before disappearing through the door.

You wait an hour to make sure he's really gone before throwing some clothes and toiletries in a bag and heading over to Elvis's hotel. He doesn't know you have the whole weekend to spend with him, you wanted to surprise him, so you hope he'll be pleased.

When you get to his door, you knock and wait, fidgeting with the strap of your bag. He opens it and a warm smile spreads across his face.

“Hey doll. Missed you.” He wraps his arms around you and kisses your forehead as you melt against him. “What's in the bag?”

“My stuff.” You try to contain your excitement and fail miserably.

“Stuff for what?” He raises an eyebrow mischievously.

“Carl’s out of town. You mind if I stick around for the weekend?” You giggle as he brightens almost instantly and picks you up, spinning you around.

“A whole weekend?!” He laughs and carries you inside, kicking the door closed behind him. You giggle as he plops your feet on the floor and then takes your bag, tossing it to the side. Without any kind of warning, he wraps his arms around your waist and throws you over his shoulder. You squeal with delight as he takes you straight to the bedroom. The sound echoes off the walls and gets caught in the thick carpet while he drops you on the giant bed. He growls as he climbs up your body and presses himself against you. “We're gonna be in this bed for hours, little girl.”

You run your fingertips down the side of his face gently and kiss the end of his nose, whispering. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Something about the way you look at him makes a lump form in his throat and the thought that he wants you forever, just like this, is almost overwhelming. He carefully presses his lips to your cheek, and then the other one, your forehead, eyes, chin, and finally your lips. He'll never have enough of you, but he intends to try this weekend.

You revel in the feeling of his soft kisses on your face, your hand drifting up to the nape of his neck and tangling in his hair. What wouldn't you give to have him like this all the time: slow and gentle and so full of love that it feels like you might burst. His lips continue their journey down your jawline to your neck and he sucks on the skin there gently.

“I'm gonna leave a mark.” He says it playfully, nipping at you with his teeth.

“Fine by me. It'll be gone before Carl gets home anyway.” You moan as you feel him suck a little harder. Then, he pulls back to admire his handiwork.

“I'm glad you're okay with it because I definitely did.” He chuckles and kisses the spot softly, whispering. “Mine.”

“Yours.” He backs away and looks into your eyes.

“You mean it?” You nod, never breaking eye contact.

“Always.” And then his lips are on yours, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he rolls his hips against you. You whimper with the intensity of the kiss, your blood beginning to rush in your ears while your fingers make quick work of the buttons on his shirt. He shrugs out of it, letting you throw it to the side as he runs both hands up your thighs under the hem of your dress. The cotton bunches around your waist before he sits you up and yanks it over your head, diving back in to kiss you deeply. You can feel his chest hair tickling you, the cold metal of his belt buckle on your tummy making you shiver. Your breath hitches when you feel his member where it strains against the fabric of his pants. He whimpers as you run your hand up his shaft and squeeze a little. You put your other hand in the middle of his chest and push gently. “Get on your back, baby.”

He looks at you a little surprised, but complies nonetheless, settling onto his back with you straddling his hips. You run your hands up his body and then lean forward, pressing your lips to his skin. He groans as you run your tongue around his nipple and then move to the other one, nibbling gently. Your fingertips roam over parts of him you've never noticed before: the indentions on his shoulders, the way his hips curve down into his pants, the little trail of hair that starts at his belly button and continues south to the part of him you really want to see. You lift yourself off of him and back up, undoing his pants and hooking your fingers into them to pull them off. He looks down at you with his mouth open a little, not used to being treated with such care. You kiss up his thigh to the top of the patch of hair between his legs, his cock bumping into your chin as it twitches.

“Fuck, honey.” Your hands move down his torso to his hips and then back around to his ass, squeezing softly. You kiss his inner thigh again and then look up at him, a cheeky little smile on your face.

“What?” You coo, moving over to the other thigh as your hands massage his ass cheeks.

“Nobody’s ever… fuck… why?” You move down and kiss his balls and he gasps.

“Because you deserve it.” He whimpers as you lick up his shaft. “You deserve to be worshipped, adored, revered.”

“No… I don't…” The words get caught in his throat and he looks at you with more vulnerability than he's ever shown another person. You sit up a little and look at him.

“Yes. You do. And I'm going to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.” He lets out a sound somewhere between a strangled sob and a deep moan as you lean forward and take him fully into your mouth. The way you move up and down on him is more than sex, it's an act of devotion. His heart pounds in his chest and his fingers tangle in your hair, not as a show of dominance, but as a demonstration of his affection for you. He's never felt so connected to another person.

You lick and suck and pull him deep into your throat, pressing your nose into the hair at the base of him. Every ounce of love in your heart is evident in the way you take care of him, giving him more pleasure than he's ever experienced. He looks down at you, your eyelashes fanning over your cheeks as you close your eyes in reverence. It's an image he'll never forget.

“Love, I don't want to… finish… like this.” All of a sudden the other words seem so crude. He strokes your cheek lovingly as your eyes flutter open. “C'mere.”

You move back up his body and he lays you down next to him, holding the side of your neck as he looks at you. He carefully removes your bra and panties and drags his fingertips over your skin.

“The way I love you… it's so… much more, much deeper, than anything…” He shakes his head, trying to find the words. “I’ve been lost for my whole life. You found me and brought me home.”

He presses his lips to yours softly and pulls your leg over his hip, lining his cock up with your entrance. “I never wanna be anywhere else.”

You gasp as he pushes into you slowly, his hips rolling forward to meet yours. Words are unnecessary as he begins to pump into you, holding your hip to steady you. No phrase would be enough to convey the depth of your feelings for him, so instead you press your forehead to his and close your eyes while he makes love to you. You revel in the beautiful simplicity of being connected to him so intimately. Both of you get lost in the sensation, the reality of where he ends and you begin fading into a symphony of mutual being. You are the universe, complex and overwhelming and breathtaking all at once.

He pulls you even closer, holding on like he's afraid if he lets go you'll disappear into a dream. But it's not a dream. The two of you are real and as the pleasure builds between you, the sound of your breath mixes with skin against skin.

“Oh, God, Elvis.” You moan in his ear and he hums in agreement.

“Gonna cum soon, doll.” He says it almost regretfully because he doesn't want the moment to end. He'd hold you against him like this forever if he could.

“Me… too…” You sigh breathlessly as you dance on the edge of ecstasy.

And then you both reach the peak of your pleasure at the same time. Your body shudders and pulses as he twitches and releases deep inside you. When he finally lets go of you, you look up at him with tears in your eyes and he pulls your fingers to his lips, kissing them affectionately.

“You're the love of my life, Elvis.” You whisper, a single tear sliding down your cheek. He brushes it away with his thumb and smiles.

“And you're mine.”

It should be a moment of pure contentment, but it's not. Reality hangs over both of you like a heavy cloud. There's a storm on the horizon, but for now you choose to ignore it. You'll worry about that tomorrow.

******

You spend the next hour or so in the bed just talking and laughing and touching each other in a way you've never been able to before. Then, you settle into a bath together where you make love again with the warm water making tiny waves that crest and break against your bodies. When you finally settle in to sleep, the sun is creeping up on the horizon, but you think nothing of it, knowing that you have all the time in the world tomorrow.

The next day is spent in a haze of bliss. You order room service and spend all day in bed, making love two more times.

Finally, it approaches 5pm and you know you have to run home to talk to Carl when he calls. At the door, Elvis kisses you deeply, trying to convince himself that you'll be back in about an hour. But there's a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he just can't ignore. You feel it too, but you're convinced it's just nervousness about talking to Carl, so you make your way home without concern.

When you get home, you slide your key into the door and then freeze.

It's unlocked.

All of a sudden it feels like someone has filled your veins with ice water and you try to tell yourself that you just forgot to lock the door. But you didn't. For a second, you consider just leaving and going back to Elvis forever. You know that's impossible, though, so you prepare yourself to lie and push the door open.

Sure enough, there sits Carl. His gun is on the table and you try to get a handle on your heart that's beating like a rabbit’s. You decide to take the offensive and try to throw him off.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in Chicago.” You try to say it with confidence, challenging him to contradict you.

“Got an interesting call from Marco.” Your heart stops. Of course he would have men watching you. But you're not ready to roll over just yet.

“Yeah? And? I went out with–”

“I called Holly. She's been in Los Angeles for a year now.” More ice in your veins. You try desperately to think of another person you could've been with, your heart racing and your head getting light. For a second you feel like you might pass out, so you grab the back of a chair and Carl stands up, walking to you to steady you.

And then he sees it.

There, on your neck, the hickey that Elvis left, confident that it would never be seen.

Carl doesn't hesitate. He backhands you across the face hard and you stumble backwards.

“YOU FUCKING WHORE. I KNEW IT.” He hits you again and you hit the floor. The blinding pain rushes through you from your cheek to the rest of your body and back again. You lay there still and pray he's finished.

But he's not.

He drags you up and slams you against the wall with his hand around your throat. You whimper and claw at his hand as he chokes you.

“WHO IS IT?!” But you wouldn't tell him even if you could get a word out. You'd rather die than give him reason to hurt Elvis. When you don't speak, he slams you up against the wall again. “Fucking bitch.”

He squeezes your throat even tighter and you start to see stars. Just as you think you're going to pass out, he carries you to the front door and drops you on the floor in the hallway. You try to stand up and he hits you one last time. That's all it takes for you to drop to the ground and not get back up.

******

You wake up to someone carrying you and immediately panic.

“Woah! Woah, shhh, honey, you're okay.” For a second you think it might be Elvis, so you stop struggling and open the eye that's not swollen shut. But it's not Elvis. It's Jerry.

“What’re you doing? Carl will kill you!” You wriggle and fight to get free, but he's stronger than you expected.

“Carl left you for dead. That's a risk I'm willing to take.” He carefully puts you in the front seat of a car and then runs around to the driver's side.

“Where are you taking me?”

“The hospital. I'm under strict orders to make sure you're okay.” You scoff and try to get out of the car, but he's already driving.

“I don't need a hospital.” He looks at you for a second and then just flips the visor down, opening the mirror for you to see yourself. You gasp at the image. Your eye is red and purple, the bruise spreading down your cheek, and there are dark marks around your neck where he choked you.

“If I take you to Elvis like this and don't stop at a hospital, he'll kill me before he kills Carl.” You shake your head, the image of Carl’s gun on the table floating in front of your good eye.

“Elvis can't see me like this.”

“You're not thinking clearly. Of course–”

“No. Jerry, you have to promise to take me home after the emergency room. If I'm not okay, you can tell Elvis, but if I am, he never needs to know about this. Got it?” Jerry purses his lips, obviously contemplating your request.

“Not sure I can do that.”

“Do you want Elvis to die? Is that what you want? Because that's what'll happen if you tell him.” He sighs deeply and runs his hand in his hair.

“Emergency room. If it's bad, I'm tellin’ him.”

“Deal.”

You ride in silence the rest of the way to the hospital. It takes a while for you to get back to an exam room and be looked at. A police officer takes Jerry, who says over and again that he didn't do this to you and he's not your boyfriend. He insists that he's just a friend who found you like this and is trying to do the right thing. Eventually, they decide that he must be telling the truth and let him come back to you. He walks in with a nurse who looks at him nervously.

“Miss. I have some… results…” You assume she must be talking about the concussion test they did and nod your head.

“Yeah? And?” She bites her lip and looks anxiously at Jerry again. You look over at him and back at her and your stomach turns over. “You can just say it. He's a friend.” She takes a steadying breath and nods. Then, she opens her mouth and utters a phrase that changes the course of your life forever.

“Did you know you're pregnant?”

******

Ahhhhhhh!!!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy @angelriley222 @iloveelvis2

[babylacedream]

I'll throw my heart out to the ocean tonight

pairing: merman!rafayel x f!thalassophile reader

warnings: suicidal attempt & ideation, mini panic attack, cancer patient, angsy

summary: recently, you were diagnosed with cancer in your heart that would soon take your life. you have been obsessed with the ocean ever since you were a child, and when all hope was lost, you decided to give your heart out to the ocean.

note: inspired by pinkpantheress unreleased song called ocean. i recommend listening, its a beautiful song.

The beeping sounds of your heart monitor and the occasional sounds of nurses passing by were starting to bother you. Even the stench from your hospital room gave you a headache. The bitter-like smell of chemicals made you feel nauseous.

You started feeling breathless, as your chest pain was too unbearable to handle. Tears streamed down your cheeks. You couldn't scream for help nor rid yourself of this ache.

You tried calming yourself by grounding yourself by looking around your room. Many seashells hung up on the white walls. Pictures of whales, dolphins, and turtles.

The throbbing pain in your heart stopped. You breathed with exhausted exhales and inhaled.

You weaky reached for your phone, playing your playlist you kept especially for moments like these. The sound of the waves of the sea, and the moans of the whales carried you as you soon fell asleep on your hospital bed.

The next day was like every other miserable day in this place, getting chemotherapy, having to join therapy groups, and occasional greetings from doctors who have failed you.

Your parents made sure that you were taken good care of and observed carefully after your recent attempt. Their influence reached even the deadliest parts of your life. The life you wanted control over.

You wanted to see the ocean before your inevitable end. You wanted to give the ocean, the most bruised part of your body that failed you. In hopes, that it would make a beautiful seashell that twinkled and basked under the moonlight and stars.

You would hope that it would live on for years and years to come to preserve the ocean.

"Wishful thinking."

One night when the night seemed too quiet and long, you ripped out the IV out of your inner elbow, and blood dripped down your arm. You placed your feet inside your slippers and changed out of your hospital gown to a pink-laced nightgown. Soon, the blood on your arm would stain your nightgown almost as if foreshadowing your doom.

These past few months, you've studied the nurse's scheduled time off making sure when they left, you timed it on your phone. You were able to easily slip by their suffocating watch.

The automatic doors opened as you reached the door of the hospital entrance. A relieving sigh escaped your lungs as you walked out of the place you called, purgatory.

The night sky was darker than the other nights. You requested beforehand a taxi. As you sat in the back looking out the window reminiscing about your life. You knew you would not have regrets.

Your parents? The one time you've ever asked them for anything, you even begged your parents to release you or see the ocean but they refused, deeming it idiotic and selfish.

But, instead of loving you, they used you to gain pity from their supporters to gain an upper hand as a candidate in their political standings. You left a note on your hospital bed, hoping that this would be your last and final way of getting your revenge against them.

Your friends? They became bored when they realized you lost your parent's favor after being diagnosed with heart cancer. Back then, you cried so much but now all your tears have dried out for those people.

"This is your stop."

The driver called out, slipping you out of your reminiscing. You stepped out of the taxi and closed the door.

You turned around to face the ocean, hearing the sound of the waves crashing felt liberating. As the wind was howling, it made your nightgown and hair move against the winds.

At this point, you were losing a lot of blood but you didn't let that stop you. You took off your slippers as if the sand were holy ground, stumbling in the progress as you stepped on the sand.

Your eyes trickled with tears as adrenaline pumped through your body erasing the throbbing pain in your heart. Your feet reach the cold ocean water, and you let your feet get used to the feeling as your toes shift under the sand.

You let out a breathy puff as you felt tears forming yet again. You weren't in tears for your miserable life but for your pass over to the ocean.

"I'll throw my heart out to the ocean tonight. I hope you'll accept me as I am, bruises and all."

You gloomily softly spoke into the wind before walking deeper into the water. Your nightgown became drenched in water as the waves splashed on you. Your nightgown became heavily engulfed by the water.

Your heartbeat pumped so loudly that the sound of the waves was too low to hear. Irritated, you drove under the water completely submerged under the water.

The water filling your ears felt good, for your heartbeat was silenced. Holding your breath, you swam further. You wanted to rest where not even the filthiest hands could ever reach you.

You ascend to breathe before weakly submerging again. When you were far from land, you ascended again to catch a glimpse of the moon and stars above the sky.

"How peaceful."

You thought the waves would be rough, but it was surprisingly calm. Could this be a sign? A sign that the ocean accepts you as you are?

The calm waters and the oceanic smell of salty air consumed you even more; it felt like something was pulling you in, like the current.

It felt alluring, almost like the deep sea lily that hypnotizes and captivates with a sweet smell to only drown its prey with its venomous blooms.

You were starting to cough up blood and grimace at the feeling; it was affecting your blood vessels and spreading to your lungs. Though you were violently coughing, the oceanic waves receded gently.

You had to hurry; you were running out of time. You swam even further in; the surrounding sea was dyed with bits of your blood. You took one last look at the moon and stars and drove underwater holding your breath.

Gravity usually pulls you up, but gravity seems to keep you down. When you were completely surrounded by nothing but your thoughts. You close your eyes, letting yourself float as you sink even deeper.

'Please, make my heart into a beautiful, pleasing seashell that can live on for days and days to come.'

Your nightgown and hair were floating with you as you descended. You hoped that the waters would carry you to a peaceful place. As water filled your lungs, you struggled underneath the hold death held on you.

You never wanted this, never wanted death, but if death meant ultimate peace, you would surely let it take you.

Unbeknownst to you, a certain merman heard you. You, a poor, sicky human, have been accepted by the Sea God himself.

You heard a siren-like voice sing in an ancient language. It was pleasing to hear. You opened your eyes, hoping to see a whale, but it was hard to see as your vision started getting blurry, but you could see the outline of a fish... or a tail? A merman...

You thought you were only hallucinating; how beautiful to see a merman at your approaching death. You closed your eyes again, letting yourself be consumed by the sea.

You felt a pair of hands cupping your cheeks; you wanted to look, but your eyes felt so heavy. The hands caressed your cheeks almost lovingly. Then, it went to your lips, rubbing them with its thumb. A kiss that felt soft and good gave you the gift of breathing underwater.

But you were still dying.

The hands slowly went to your neck, caressing it, and lowered down to your chest in the direction of your heart. You felt the string of fate mend your heart to perfection.

You opened your eyes to see a merman with dusky purple hair and bluish-pink eyes. The merman had iridescent light blue scales surrounding his skin and fish-like ears that you were sure would sting you if you touched them.

You looked down weakly to see an iridescent light blue tail that looked more beautiful than anything you'd seen in your life. You were sure, the merman was about 8 feet. The attracting tail swayed back and forth as you followed its movements.

The merman smiled, seeing how you gazed at his tail. He gently supported you in his arms, lifting your body and wrapping your legs around his waist. The merman didn't want to be apart from you.

His smooth fingers gently raised your chin to look at him. Then, he grabbed your wrists, placing them around his neck so you would feel more secure in his hold.

"I heard your cry. Oh, weary human." A melodious voice spoke with a lamentable expression cascading his ravishing face.

"I have accepted your heart, as is." The merman looked towards your now healed chest, gone from any scars on your body. It's almost like he knew of your suffering. Your miserable life.

"Now, won't you be my bride, mm?" He waited for your answer as he slowly glided his hand down your leg.

"Won't you be mine?" You were trembling; being affectionately cared for by an oceanic ancient creature was transcending.

You simply gave him a slow and unsure nod as you pulled him in for a hug, hiding your face away from him. You heard chuckling escape the merman.

The merman started rubbing your back in soothing motions. This merman saved your life, took your pain away, and mended it into something beautiful.

"This is your home now."

[purrlockswatson]

Phantom of the Opera (1990), you did Erik proud

Alternate title: Christine, we have beef!

(Meme inspired by this post.)

I have not a bad word for this Erik (and not just because I can feel a certain friend of mine holding a chandelier over my head). The 1990 adaptation made some big changes to the story, but it perfectly captured the childlike soul of Leroux's Erik that is often lost in translation but vital to him. (When I was explaining POTO to someone outside the situation, i. e. my mum, two things I kept using as comparisons were a child and Gollum - not because he's a chaos gremlin, I was trying to describe how he has a skewered perspective of the world that isn't evil but doesn't follow the accepted moral system. But that's for another time.)

I found myself trying very hard not to resent Christine - a first time for me. I will defend her choosing the Compte de Chagny over Erik, she doesn't owe Erik love, no matter what he did for her. The problem is that she took on a responsibility she couldn't possibly carry.

Never, ever assume to fully understand someone. Especially someone like Erik, who thinks and exists on a different pane as most people. Christine was wrong, terribly wrong, to assume she 'knew his heart.'

When faced with a person so sensitive, so particular, when you are the one person trusted by someone who trusts no one, don't make huge gambles like that. She shouldn't have assumed she knew what Erik needs better than he himself does - if he told you he is happy with where they were, then stay there with him! Instead, she pulled the 'I can fix him' and shattered him completely. I don't hate her for being unable to catch Erik when he falls, I hate her for blindly promising to catch him and failing him.

(I do realise how much of the above describes myself and my worries about how people treat me, so fair warning, I may be a bit biased.)

An opinion: in most versions of the story, Erik emotionally manipulates Christine, but here, Christine is the one who is emotionally manipulative. ('Manipulative' may sound malicious, but manipulators aren't always aware of what they're doing.)

In the second part of the series, she said at least three times 'If you love me...' Now, that is one of my least favourite sentences to see and hear in the best of times, but this is somehow even worse because Erik DOES do everything because he loves her. In other versions, there is the question of possessiveness against love when it comes to their relationship; in that context, I would accept her saying this, to remind him that he should love and not obsess over her. But here, Erik is not possessive.

As for Monsieur Carrière, I have beef with him, too. It's an even bigger, tougher slice of beef. He is irresponsible: not once, but twice, he got in relationships and then left his partners when they have children. The first time could be a mistake; the second time, especially when kept Erik's mother in the dark about his marriage, is inexcusable. Yes, he stayed with her till the end, but then left their son in a basement. Yes, he reached out to Erik in the end, but too little, too late. If Erik is emotional and irrational, it's because Carrière never gave him the guidance he should have.

Christine and Carrière love Erik, I don't doubt it. But it's still painful to see Erik fall down through everyone and everything that should have caught him: his talent, his parents, Christine.

If you'll excuse me, I need to cry in the catacombs and draw something miserable.

I talk about several other adaptations here!