#for those who are curious glint is talking about how he wants to ask the traveler for a digestive system so he can eat spicy ramen LMAO

[admirationandromantics]

Camping Date

So cute, so adorable, it's great! I love date ideas, whether it's a spa night, or going out. Already being an established couple takes out the awkwardness and uncertainty of it all, I think. My writing is not top notch at this time, so I have to apologise for that, but the fact that you still like stuff is absolutely marvellous. Thank you all for requests, and the fact that you read what I write. It's incredible, and I appreciate it so much!! <3

Word count: 1,8k (Unedited)

🍋‍🟩Hello skilful writer, imagine briefly mentioning in a group setting (around Josh) that you haven’t ever been camping before because your family wasn’t that type of family to go and you’d never got the opportunity and you get an invitation to the lodge during the summer just for a casual hangout thinking nothing of it. You are welcomed by Josh at the door and you’re surprised by the fact it’s so quiet and he said he just wanted to hang out with you, he covers your eyes with his hands while he leads you out to the back garden and there’s a lovely tent (not huge but enough space for sleeping bags, a fridge as well as a tv and console and you guys game and stuff, you’ve never felt so seen and he admits he has never felt what he feels with you (delusional, I know) -@b3rryb3t

“Yeah, I love mountain climbing, camping comes natural with that as well” Sam explains, taking a sip of her drink. I’m sitting on the floor, using the edge of the couch as back-support. Josh is sitting on the cushions next to me, occasionally reaching out his leg for me to give him some attention. 

“You know, setting up camp on a wall, looking out into the abyss, it’s gorgeous!” 

“Sounds a little too much like extreme sports to me” Jess chimes in. 

Everyone was sharing some types of camping stories, Josh and his family, Sam when climbing, Jess and Emily who were basically forced out because they needed family time. Mike told us about that one time he and the rest of the boys went, and we all listened with curious ears. 

“Well, Josh was the only one who really knew what to do, so while he fixed everything, we made the fire” 

“Wow, they made the fire like real men” Ashley whispers sarcastically to the other girls, and we all laugh. 

“Tell us, how much time did you use to get it going?” 

“Well…” 

Josh interrupts him with a scoff, leaning back on the couch as everyone’s eyes fall on him. 

“They didn’t manage, when I was done with setting up, they had at least used forty minutes, and weren’t even close blazing it up” 

Everyone starts laughing while Matt, Mike and Chris silently look down on the floor, not daring to say anything else. I shift my gaze upwards, leaning back against Josh’s leg. His hand comes down to stroke my hair, fingers tangling down until he reaches my neck. Thumb rubbing soft, warm circles as I lean my head back. 

“And what about you? Got any good camping stories?” 

I think back, but I can’t remember. My family never went, and usually my friends have gone on family holidays, so they couldn't exactly invite me. 

“Never gone camping before” 

“What?” Josh exclaims, a bit shocked. His fingers stop their attack, and I nudge his leg, urging him to continue. 

“Lucky” Emily says, letting Matt wrap a hand around her. 

“Why have you never gone?” Sam asks. These people really couldn’t imagine it. I keep my explanation short, urging them to keep talking about something else. 

“Never had a family like that, and most of my friends didn’t go either. Those who did went with the rest of their family” 

Everyone hums in reply, understanding the situation, and Josh finally resumes the massage. I turn my head, giving his knuckles a small kiss and smiling before turning to the others again. Sam suddenly gets a glint in her eyes, sitting a bit up and exclaiming. 

“We should go camping with the whole group sometime!” 

“No!” “Yes!” People shout out at the same time. Then everyone starts yelling at each other, explaining why or why not this would be a good idea. My hand finds its way to Josh’s leg, slithering around him and using it as a pillow while I sit beneath him. 

***

We’re walking up to the lodge, the path being much easier when there isn’t a bunch of ice and snow in the way. He invited me over for a “summer getaway”, the complete opposite of what we usually do. It’s still cold here, it’s a mountain after all, but we don’t need gloves nor huge jackets. Instead of dark pine trees and white ground, the surroundings are blooming in greens and flowers. The trees look much more lively when the sun shines down and brings their dark colours forth. 

“Okay, we’re here” Josh exclaims, stopping in front of the lodge. 

“The mountain is easier to climb in the summer” I state, looking around. I can’t get enough, the colours and atmosphere. Occasionally seeing a small animal, which normally would have frightened me, but now, feels completely natural. 

“It is, sorry to say, but you’ll not be able to see for a while” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You need to put this on” he says, holding a black piece of fabric in front of me. Usually, I would oblige at once, but considering we’re on a mountain with a bunch of wild animals. 

“Josh, I know I look good, but do you really think this is the place?” 

He laughs, rolling his eyes as he comes closer. His lips meet mine, caressing them with such tenderness, I can’t help but blush. It’s nice to know that even though we’ve been together for so long, he still makes me all giddy and flustered. As we kiss, I feel something heavy in front of my eyes, his hands making their way to the back of my head, fiddling with a knot. He tightens it, luckily not too tight, before leaning away and taking both my hands in his. 

“Okay, you need to trust me on this”

“Famous last words” I joke, and he snickers, walking backwards in front of me. He leads me away, a couple of turns and swings, occasionally having to tell me if there’s a road block. 

“You know, this is what people do when they’re about to kill someone” 

“Or take them very hard against a tree in the middle of the forest” he adds. 

“Hmm, wouldn’t be opposed to that idea” 

“Then I’ll keep it in mind” 

“Shit” I blurt out, leg walking into something which stumbles me. Josh is quick, letting me fall on him while one hand goes around my waist to hold me up. 

“Sorry, should’ve told you about that branch” 

“I hate being blind” 

“I’m kinda into it” 

“Of course you are” 

We continue a bit more, being even more careful than before. He keeps saying we’re almost there, and I can’t wait to see what he means. He explains each step, making sure that I’m prepared for everything. 

“Okay, this last one is a bit tricky, but you need to sit down” I nod, bending my knees before sitting completely down on the mossy ground. My feet are hanging down, signalling there’s a drop here. I wonder how far. He lets go of my hands, and I call out. 

“Yeah, I’m right down here, I need you to jump” 

“Josh, I can’t jump if I can’t see how far or where I’m going” 

“Yes you can, just trust me, come on” 

“Fuck” I mutter, the idea being terrifying. I take a breath, hands gripping the edge of the rock, scooching from the moss to the hard, stone edge. I jump, hands letting go and body in the air. I’m caught almost immediately, Hands going to my waist, slowly putting me down on the ground. I let out a breath of air, the thought was scarier than the fall. 

“You made me think it was much further down” 

“I didn’t say anything about the height” he laughs with a bit of a cocky attitude. I know he can’t see it but I roll my eyes. Gosh, were we almost there yet?

“Okay, we’re here” 

He moves behind me, hands on my waist, keeping me steady. I take off the fabric, the sunlight immediately blinding. A couple of seconds later, I’ve finally adjusted, and am met with a cozy tent. In the middle is a small fire, not lit yet, with a bunch of pillows and blankets all over. There’s a huge dark one between some trees, set up like a screen, with a projector set up right by it. Consoles are beside it, and a small portable ice-bag is laid next to the tent. 

I can’t even muster up words, everything being completely perfect and fixed. 

“Oh my god” 

“Do you like it?” 

“Josh I love it”

I turn to him, a loving smile on his lips as I capture them in mine. He did all of this for me. 

“Is this why you wanted to come up first?” 

“Well, had to set everything up” 

“I love you so incredibly much” 

He deepens the kiss, hand coming behind my head, pulling me closer. My arms fall around his shoulder, hugging him tightly. What a wonderful guy, I must be the luckiest girl on earth. 

“You said you’ve never been camping before, and I know having all this tech-stuff here is not quite traditional, but-”

“It’s amazing, I can’t believe you did this for me” 

I give him another small kiss, taking his hand and leading him into the area. Everything is planned out, the daylight slowly giving out already, making the projector visible. We sit down, and he opens a drink before handing it to me. The clearing is beautiful, rocky moss ground and trees. A little squirrel climbs up, curiously looking down at us. 

“How did you get the idea?” I ask, curious about his creativity. 

“Well, you told me you never had been camping before” 

My heart melts at the memory. A small thing, really, but he remembered it, and did something about it. He wanted me to have this experience, and he wanted to have it with the both of us. He walks up, turning on the projector and grabbing a couple of consoles before sitting back down beside me. 

“So, have you done this with a lot of people?” I ask teasingly, leaning against him as he takes a sip. 

“Nah, none have been that special. I’ve never quite felt before what I have with you” 

“Neither have I” 

He puts the drink down, hand going to my arm, urging me to do the same. I oblige, letting him lead me down, back pressed against the moss. His lips find mine, capturing them in a passionate manner. I open my mouth, letting my tongue roam over his lip. His hands wander over my body, groping and massaging every tender area. A small moan escapes my lips, and I feel him smile against me, slowly moving down to my exposed neck. 

I open my eyes a bit, seeing the squirrel watching intently. I almost let out a laugh from the sight, and use my fingers to nudge him in the side. 

“Josh…” “Mhmmm” he mumbles, continuously attacking my neck. He’s focused, working his mouth with magic. 

“Someone’s watching us” 

“What?” 

He stops immediately, looking around worriedly. I laugh, pointing up at the animal. He looks in the direction, a foul expression on his face as he notices. 

“Damn that thing” 

“You know, you have made so much ready here, let’s play a couple of games before spending the night in the tent” I tease, sitting up and taking another sip of my drink. 

“I promise you, no one sleeps well when camping” 

“Then it’s good we’re not planning on sleeping”

[wanderingibon]

actually baffled that I've never drawn my favorite character(s) of all time on here so I had to remedy that immediately!!! ft. crow & glint

[eu-nicola]

the finish line part 4

and final

summary: you are the girlfriend of Lando Norris, Max Verstappen's rival with whom the tension between the two is undeniable.

warnings: nothing

word counter: 4264

author's note: english is not my first language

tags: @a-beaverhausen @maluzets55

The last few days of vacation had been anything but peaceful. It wasn't just Max's attention that weighed on you, but also the curious glances of others. Every time you went out, whether alone or in company, you felt like everyone was watching you, as if they suspected something beyond what was evident. Although you tried to remain indifferent, the pressure was beginning to affect you.

Max, for his part, seemed to handle everything with the same confidence with which he drove on the track. However, not even he could escape the public eye. When the vacation finally ended and the drivers returned to their routines, the questions at the press conferences began to take on a more personal tone. Instead of focusing solely on his recent championship, the journalists wanted to know more about his life off the track.

"Max, after your victory, you were seen celebrating intensely. Can you tell us more about that?" asked one of the reporters with an insinuating smile.

Max, sitting with his usual confident expression, just raised an eyebrow. “I celebrated like any champion would. It was a special moment for me and my team. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

The answer was direct, but not enough to divert attention. Another journalist intervened, this time with an even more incisive tone.

“There has been a lot of talk about a certain company during those celebrations. Any statement on that?”

Max smiled, although his eyes showed a glint of irritation. “My private life is just that: private. I’m here to talk about racing, not rumors.”

While Max dealt with the media pressure, you faced your own battles. Social media had become a minefield. Comments about you began to appear, some insinuating that you were too close to Max, others criticizing you for not always being by Lando’s side at the most important moments. There were those who said you were seeking attention, that you liked drama. The words hurt more than you wanted to admit. You tried to ignore them, but it was hard when every time you opened your phone there was something new waiting for you.

Lando, oddly enough, seemed to enjoy it all from a distance. Even though he had been your boyfriend for so long, his attitude was almost indifferent.

“What did you expect?” he said to you one night while you were talking on the phone because he had called you. “You’re in the public eye now. This is what happens. You should get used to it.”

His tone was so carefree that it infuriated you. Get used to it? To people questioning your loyalty, your feelings? While you dealt with the pressure, he seemed to enjoy his freedom, attending events and meetings without worrying about what they said about him.

“You know what, Lando? It would be easier if you at least seemed to care a little because you caused all of this,” you finally blurted out, your voice thick with frustration.

“I do,” he replied with a sigh. “But I also know that you can’t control what people say.”

The conversation ended, but it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Max, on the other hand, seemed ever-present, even if it was silent. You knew that if you texted him, he would respond immediately. But after everything that had happened, you resisted.

One afternoon, though, after a particularly rough day on social media, your phone buzzed with a message from him.

“How are you? I’ve seen what’s going on online. Don’t let it get to you. People always have something to say.”

His message was simple, but comforting. For a moment, you felt like you weren’t alone in all of this, that someone actually understood what you were going through.

The days followed, each bringing their own set of challenges. You tried to focus on your own things, but it was impossible to completely escape the whirlwind that had formed around you.

The weight of exposure began to become more than just an inconvenience; it felt like a constant burden you couldn’t let go of. Every time you opened your phone, every notification, every comment, every message seemed to add a new layer of self-doubt and anxiety. No matter how hard you tried to focus on your own life, your own projects, the shadow of social media and criticism was still there, haunting you.

One night, as you sat on the bed in your hotel room in Spain, you stared at your reflection in the dead screen of your phone. How had you gotten to this point? What had once been exciting—standing next to one of Formula 1’s most promising drivers—now felt like endless exposure to judgment and misunderstanding. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to breathe deeply, but even the air felt heavy.

You and Lando had officially broken up a few weeks ago. It had been an inevitable breakup, a step you both knew you had to take. There were no big arguments, no shouting, just a mutual recognition that things were no longer the same. Lando, for his part, seemed to have moved on without looking back. His social media showed photos of him at events, smiling with friends, enjoying his uncomplicated life. And you... you felt trapped in limbo.

Your relationship with Max, on the other hand, was in uncertain territory. There were no clear words, no labels that could define what you had, but there was something palpable between you both. Every message from him, every look, every conversation was imbued with a latent tension, a connection that seemed to go beyond the physical. You were on the verge of something, and you both knew it.

Your phone vibrated on the nightstand, breaking the silence of the room. You took it without looking, half expecting another critical message or a sensational article, but seeing Max's name on the screen, something in your chest momentarily eased.

Max: "Are you okay? I saw Lando uploaded something new, but he didn't mention anything about you. Do you need to talk?"

For a moment, you stared at the message. How did he always know when you were at your limit? You didn't know if it made you happy or upset. With shaking fingers, you started to type a reply, but you deleted the words before sending them. You didn't want to seem weak, even though deep down you knew Max was probably the only person at the moment who could understand what you were going through.

Minutes later, another message came through.

Max: "I'm here if you need to vent. You don't have to carry it all alone."

That simple statement broke down your defenses. You felt tears build up in your eyes, but you refused to let them out. You had endured so much, trying to be strong, but the emotional exhaustion was too much. You finally wrote:

You: “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Max. It all feels too much… The pressure, the comments, the exposure. Sometimes I feel like I’m falling apart.”

Max’s response was not long in coming.

Max: “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You’re stronger than you think, but I understand that this is all a lot. I want to see you. Let me help you carry this.”

Your heart was pounding as you read his words. There was something about his way of saying things that always managed to calm the storm inside you. The thought of seeing him, of being able to talk face to face, felt like a necessary balm. But there was also fear. Fear of what it would mean to take that step, to cross a line that already seemed so tenuous.

After a long silence, you finally wrote:

You: “I’m not ready for everything that comes with this, Max. But I want to see you too."

A little while later, you received a call. It was him. You hesitated for a moment before answering, but finally swiped your finger across the screen.

"I knew you would answer," Max said in his calm, confident tone. "I'm going to Spain this weekend. Because of you."

"Max, I don't know if that's a good idea," you whispered, though your voice betrayed your true feelings.

“It is,” he replied without hesitation. “Because this isn’t just pressure or exposure. It’s about us, about who we are when no one else is looking.”

His words resonated with you. Maybe you didn’t have to face it all alone after all.

The weekend came quicker than you expected. Max had kept his word and was in Spain, ready to see you. The first time you met him was in the lobby of your hotel. He was dressed in his usual laid-back style: a simple t-shirt and jeans, but there was something about his presence that always managed to capture your full attention.

When his blue eyes met yours, the air seemed to stand still for a moment. Max walked toward you with a determined stride, without any hesitation. Before you could say anything, he wrapped you in a firm hug, one that offered not only comfort, but also a silent promise: You are not alone.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice deep but gentle. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You stayed in his arms for what seemed like an eternity. All the weight you had been carrying, all the pressure, slowly began to fade away. When you finally pulled away, Max looked at you with an intensity that made you feel seen, completely.

“Max…” you began, but he shook his head before you could continue.

“I don’t want you to worry anymore about what people say. We don’t owe them anything,” he stated, his tone firm. “Let me carry some of this burden with you. I won’t let outside pressure get to us, I won’t let this tear us apart.”

The determination in his voice made you feel a strange mix of relief and apprehension. You had been so used to dealing with everything alone that the idea of ​​allowing someone else to carry some of your worries seemed almost foreign to you. But Max wasn’t just anyone. There was something about the way he spoke, the way he was present, that gave you a security you didn’t even know you needed.

“What if we can’t handle it?” You asked, letting out one of your biggest insecurities.

Max took your hands, his fingers intertwining with yours. “We can,” he replied with unwavering conviction. “Do you know how many times I’ve been told I couldn’t accomplish something? Every time I’ve gotten in the car, I’ve had to prove them wrong. This is no different. We’re no different.”

His words stayed with you, offering a hope you hadn’t allowed to blossom until now. The idea of ​​facing all of this with him, together, suddenly didn’t seem so impossible.

For the rest of the day, Max remained by your side. Every time you saw a phone being raised to take a photo or heard a murmur as you passed, Max squeezed your hand lightly, as if reminding you that it didn’t matter what the world thought. He was there, with you.

That night, as you both sat in your room, Max leaned back on the couch, watching you with a calm smile.

"You know, as much as I love winning championships, being here with you feels like a different victory," he said, his tone lighter now.

“I didn’t know you had such a romantic side,” you joked, trying to lighten the tension in your chest.

“Only for you,” he replied, his gaze sincere. “And if you let me, I’ll prove it to you every day.”

You couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in weeks, you felt safe.

Days had turned into weeks, and your relationship with Max seemed to grow deeper with every moment shared. He was your refuge, your calm in the midst of the storm that continued to rage on social media and in the media. Yet as hard as you tried to stay strong, the persistent criticism was beginning to wear you down. Every article speculating about your life, every cruel comment you unintentionally encountered, made you feel more vulnerable.

The stress was building up. There were nights when you could barely sleep, your mind stuck in an endless cycle of questions and doubts. Was it all worth it? Could you continue to face constant scrutiny? Even though Max was doing his best to reassure you that you were in this together, a part of you was starting to wonder if it would be better for both of you if you stepped away.

One night, after a long day where Max had had multiple media engagements, you found yourself alone in the hotel room in Bahrain where you had flown to join him. The city lights shone through the windows, but they offered no comfort. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you stared at your phone. Notifications kept coming in: messages, social media mentions, articles with sensational headlines.

You sighed and turned off the screen, setting the phone aside. You couldn’t go on like this.

When Max returned, the first thing he noticed was your expression. He immediately came over, sitting next to you. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You looked up at him, and in that moment, the words began to come out unfiltered. “I don’t know if I can go through with this, Max. The pressure, the media, the comments… It feels like I’m losing control of my life.”

He frowned, his eyes reflecting both understanding and frustration. “I knew this was hard for you, but you don’t have to face it alone. I’m here, and you know that.”

“I know, Max,” you replied, a lump in your throat. “But I can’t help but feel like by being with you, I’m only making things worse. I don’t want to be a burden on you, or your career.”

Max took your hands, his grip firm but comforting. “You’ll never be a burden on me. And if you think walking away will solve anything, you’re wrong. People will always talk, no matter what we do.”

“What if I decide to walk away?” you asked quietly, fearing his reaction.

Max took a deep breath, processing your words. “If that’s what you need to feel better, I’ll respect that,” he finally said, though his voice betrayed his internal struggle. “But I want you to know that I’d rather face this hell with you, than be without you.”

His words brought tears to your eyes. He always found a way to break down your defenses. But the doubt was still there, fueled by fear and insecurity.

That night, as Max slept beside you, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The decision to walk away wasn’t easy, but perhaps it was the only thing that could bring you some peace. Could you give up what you had to protect yourself? Or could you find a way to endure together, like he wished?

The night progressed slowly and silently. Even though Max slept beside you, you lay awake, caught in a whirlwind of thoughts. The dim glow of the city dimly illuminated the room, but offered no comfort. You turned slightly, watching Max's relaxed face as he slept. There was something almost innocent about his expression, a calmness that contrasted with the storm inside you.

You tried to close your eyes, but the weight of your doubts was still present. You didn't know how much time passed before you felt a slight movement beside you. Opening your eyes, you realized that Max was also awake now. His blue eyes, still heavy with sleep, looked at you with a mix of concern and tenderness.

"Can't sleep?" he asked quietly, his tone laden with a care that only he could offer at this hour of the morning.

You shook your head, unable to find the words. Max sat up slightly, propping himself up on one elbow as he watched you closely.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" he insisted, gently caressing your cheek with the back of his hand.

You took a deep breath, trying to contain the flood of emotions. But his eyes kept searching you, offering a reassurance that only he could provide. Finally, you decided to speak up.

“Max, I don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “This whole world, the constant attention. And the last thing I want is for it to affect you, too.”

Max remained silent for a moment, processing your words. Then, he sat up fully, turning to face you.

“You know something?” he began, his tone firmer now. “Ever since I started in this sport, I’ve always been surrounded by people who admire me for what I do on the track. People who celebrate my victories and forget about me as soon as the season is over. But you… you’re different.”

You were surprised by the intensity of his words, and he continued before you could respond.

"You're the only person who truly sees me, beyond the driver, beyond the titles and the races. With you, I can be myself. I don't have to prove anything, I don't have to win to feel like I'm worth something. And that, to me, is everything."

Your heart skipped a beat, and Max moved a little closer, taking your hands in his.

"Without you," he said with an honesty that took your breath away, "this all becomes meaningless. Every time I cross the finish line, every trophy I lift, even before you were with me, before Lando stole you from me... it wouldn't mean anything if you weren't there for me."

The tears you'd been holding back began to fall silently, but Max didn't look away. Instead, he squeezed your hands tighter, as if to assure you that he wasn't going to let you go.

"I need you by my side," he confessed. “Not just because of what we share, but because you are my balance. You are the person who reminds me why I do what I do, and who I really am when everything else shuts down.”

You stayed silent, letting his words sink in. You had underestimated how important you were to him, how much you meant beyond the insecurities and doubts that plagued you. Seeing him like this, so vulnerable and honest, made you realize something: you weren’t alone in this. It wasn’t just your struggle; it was both of ours.

“Max…” you began, your voice shaking slightly. “I need you too. But this is all so hard. I don’t want the pressure to destroy us.”

“It won’t,” he replied determinedly. “Together we are stronger. It doesn’t matter what people say, what they think. The only thing that matters is what you and I feel. And I feel like we can handle this. If you’re willing to try, I’m not going to let anything or anyone tear us apart.”

You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and hope. Max pulled you close to him, wrapping you in a warm, protective embrace. You stayed like that for a long moment, finding comfort in each other's closeness.

The next day was not really just any other day, after weeks of preparation and nerves, the first race of the year was finally here. Nerves ran through the paddock, and the usual bustle of competition filled the air, but there was something different this time. You had come, as always, to support Max, but this time you would do so in an even more visible way, closer to him than ever.

Max, with his relaxed but focused attitude, was ready to prove that, despite the rumors and criticism, nothing could stop him. He had told you about how he wanted to start the season with a win, not just for himself, but also to show the world that he was at his best, that nothing the media said or speculated could tarnish his success. He looked at you before getting into the car, his eyes shining with fierce determination, but also with a special warmth just for you.

The race was action-packed, as you would expect. Max stuck to his strategy, fighting for every position with that mix of precision and bravery that characterized him. Every lap was a mix of excitement and anxiety, not just for him, but for you, who were watching from the pits. You knew how much this victory meant to him, and as you watched him outpace each opponent, the tension took hold of you.

Finally, the checkered flag fell, and Max crossed the finish line in first place. The sound of the engine fading as he celebrated the victory made your heart skip a beat. As soon as the race was over, all eyes turned to him: the champion, the favorite, the icon.

You ran to him as soon as you could see him, where you found him surrounded by his team. You couldn’t help but smile in happiness for him, but also at the feeling that, in that moment, everything that had happened between you had come to this point, to this victory. When Max saw you in the crowd, his face lit up. There were no words needed; he just ran to you, wrapping you in a hug so tight you almost felt like he was lifting you off the ground.

After the anthems and champagne, trophy in hand, Max stepped up to the camera for an interview that was, of course, going to be broadcast live. What happened next surprised everyone. Instead of going on with the typical answers about the race, Max took a moment, with a smile full of pride, to talk about you.

"I want to dedicate this win to someone very special," he began, his words laden with sincerity. "To my amazing partner, who has been with me through the toughest times, when I needed it the most. I want everyone to know that without her, this win wouldn't have the same meaning. She is my support, my strength, and my love."

Your heart was pounding, but what touched you the most was his next statement.

“She’s the person who makes me feel the happiest I’ve ever been, and I can’t imagine my life without her. My love, you’re the love of my life.”

The cameras focused on your face, and even though a torrent of emotions washed over you, you couldn’t help but smile shyly, a little embarrassed by the sudden attention, but deeply grateful for his very public support. Max hadn’t just won a race; he’d done something much bigger: he’d opened his heart in front of millions of people.

The moment became more intense when the crowd applauded, and some began to cheer for you as well. Even though you knew that not all of Max’s fans would be happy with his statement, something in the air had changed. The media had tried to paint you in many ways, but in that instant, it didn’t matter. Max’s victory, the way he had publicly defended you, was a clear message: you were together, no matter what anyone said.

As the days passed, something unexpected happened. Amidst the criticism and speculation, you began to notice a change. The comments started to become kinder. At first, some of Max's most loyal followers were still hesitant, but as time went by, their support for you began to grow. Photos of the two of you, the photos that Max shared of you, in which you looked so happy and peaceful together, began to appear on fans' profiles, and words of support began to outweigh the criticism.

You were surprised to see how many people were willing to embrace your relationship, to understand that behind the image of a successful driver, there was a real person, someone who also had the right to be happy and to love. Some of the fans, even the most skeptical, began to comment positively on the posts, talking about how beautiful you looked together, how genuine your relationship was.

One night, after a race, while you were sharing a quiet moment with Max, you received a message from one of Max's most loyal followers. They said something simple but profound: “We are glad to see you so happy with Max. You deserve all the good that is to come.”

That night, as you went to bed, Max came to you, smiling with that familiar calm, and whispered in your ear: “See? The rumors don’t matter anymore. What really matters is what we have built together.”

And finally, after so much effort, so much sacrifice, you knew that you were both ready to face the future, not just as a couple, but as an unstoppable team. Together. And perhaps in the future, as a family.

[meanbossart]

So we know Drow and Orin were a thing, but what was Drow’s relationship with Gortash and/or Ketheric like? Asking because I did a little post about my Durge Dude’s relationship with the other chosen recently, wondered what your Durge’s were, and I don’t think you’ve ever told us what Drow’s dynamics and/or history with them so I’m curious

I talked about this a long, long time ago, I think Gortash has a tag in my archive if you want to dig up those old posts. However, while my ideas have remained more or less the same I do think they require some comprehensive updating! So here we go.

Ketheric:

Their relationship might as well have been nonexistent, which kind of seems to be the pattern here for Ketheric among the chosen seeing as he was in this plan for vastly different reasons. DU drow rarely saw the general if not to strategize alongside the others or strut around moonrise towers finding things to scoff at.

Unlike Gortash, Ketheric didn't care for networking or keeping things amicable - he remained cold and uncaring through DU drow's occasional attempts to get a rise out of him, expressing discontent in the lest amusing way possible if nor outright ignoring him. He never extended him a hand or an invitation for brunch, he never spoke a word about himself lest it be used against him - as it happened with the little that had to be shared. The only time DU drow ever saw Ketheric flinch was whenever he expressed his strong desire to go pay Isobel his respects.

Gortash:

DU drow and Gortash were "friends" in the most strained and flimsy sense of the word. Gortash strikes me as a the kind of guy who will forego all dignity if it favors him on the long term, for both practicity's sake and possibly an ingrained penchant for self destruction. DU drow saw this, and the moment he caught onto the fact that he was indispensable for Gortash's plans, he started to pick at him ever so subtly to see how far he could be pushed before breaking. He insulted Gortash's appearance, choices, faith, background, family, he destroyed his property and made a bad job of covering up his tracks on purpose, he sent followers to kill his men in the hopes of seeing him be stressed out about it the next day. It never worked. Gortash still invited him to his dinners, still shook his hand, still remained unambiguously smug - it would be infuriating if it wasn't impressive. Respectful, even.

But even if they were amicable, even if they were on "acceptable terms" and the closest thing each other had to a real, equal friendship, DU drow always saw Gortash as a sniveling child trying to play grown-up; lacking in any real free-will of his own because his pursuits were motivated entirely by a sob-story of a past. Gortash did not fit the britches that he was trying to wear, and DU drow had a sneaking suspicion that if he ever got to the top, to the place where he was trying to be - commander of the world and killer of the universe, side by side with him - that then, then he would finally break; once he realized that all he had accomplished was isolating himself with the most cruel man in the world.

And he dreamed of this day. He fantasized about it. He eagerly awaited to see Gortash's face drop the second he got everything he ever wanted - he got a glint in his eye picturing it whenever they toasted or shared a laugh about their brilliant futures. He loved Gortash like a butcher loves a fat cow that's going to keep in alive during the coming winter. It's still a kind of love. It's always a kind of love with him.

[lemongrasstea1677]

Jin Kamurai x Clingy!MC/Reader

||•||

"how'd you like your new playmates huh? must be nice for you." Jin asked them as he walked them back to their dorm, they fall behind and he expected an answer not the complete moment of silence of their staring at his back

He noticed how he they looked upset recently, so he arranged a tea party for them to have socialization with other general students so they could lean back and relax for a bit, it's also because he saw them once being completely alone with no one to talk to in the room filled with people when the the two brats or the other ghouls are not with them.

Shit, maybe he shouldn't have planned that tea party with his dorm members at all, they must've been sulking with their staring and silence. those boot lickers promised to play nice and they did, it's not something he expected those stuck up would do, not to mention he didn't hear a single degrading remark about the Honor Student he kept at his side

"...They were nice, thank you for inviting me today Jin" they mutter probably still looking at him weirdly making him want to turn back to them to properly look at them but did otherwise

"I see--" after rushed footsteps a force suddenly heaved his back that bend him a little interrupted him, two arms enclosed near his neck so are two legs slotted the gap of his arms

"...What do you think you're doing servant?" he irritably muttered before craning his head at them

"Ah, you see i kinda do this to Luca and Kaito whenever i see them to get their attention." They say with enthusiasm raising themself and shaking Jin a little

"What?"

"it's a force of habit that i do to my friends!" they say while giggling seemingly bemused by his confused reaction

"What kind of nonsense are..." he halts again as he feels them leaning in deeper to him, he can feel their heartbeat and calm breathing at his back, thumping, beating at the peace around them

their arms enclosed tighter on his neck and face hid in his shoulder before rising up again and meeting him eye to eye

The gaze they held at him is of pure adoration and love-- that can't be it, he made them promise after all.

"Promise me you won't take me for granted, because i won't." he tells them coldly as they fold his remaining pristine white shirts

"What a weird promise... but alright, I, the honor student and most utmost loyal servant of Jin Kamurai, promises that i won't take him for granted or whatever that means." they plainly stated holding out their hand before returning back to their work at hand, but he didn't fail to see the saddened look in their eyes when he basically made them promise to never love him romantically

how he would love to return that look back. but he couldn't, not when a lot of circumstances are preventing them to love each other.

"Hey, Jin"

"..." he doesn't answer, this time letting them speak instead. they raise their head from his shoulder and beamed at him

they nuzzle in further at his back, clinging on to him like a unfortunate lover who got hurt and have to be carried by their gentlemanly loverman

"If i can't love you like that, can i be your friend instead?" they ask him, this time he was the one who's quite

he doesn't answer still, what is he supposed to say? he doesn't know.

"silence means yes you know" they grumbled at his quiteness yet there's a curious glint in their eyes waiting for anything he says; whether its outright rejection, disgust, or if theres one in a million chance he says yes.

"...tch." Instead of answering he hooked his arms behind their knees and carried them properly in a piggyback and started walking towards the direction of the cathedral they call dorm

they snickered, before humming to themself finally knowing his answer

"I hope I'll always be your friend."

||•||

This is inspired by the Shoujo Kakumei Utena manga chapter 18, when Anthy suddenly back hugged Utena and told her she loves being friends with her (i just used it as an inspiration for this one hehehe)

[crowsongcaws]

Jimmy and Tango looked happy together.

Scott couldn't look away from them.

He'd been the one to tell Jimmy it was okay to visit the Hermitcraft server without him. Jimmy had asked him a million times if he was sure, and each time, Scott had told him yes because he trusted Jimmy and trusted everyone on the Hermitcraft server. What was a relationship without trust?

Jimmy was leaning against Tango. They were sitting on a picnic blanket looking out across the bay, occasionally talking about Grian, who sat at the other side of the bay. The two of them watched as Grian reeled in a pufferfish, and together they laughed at Grian's misery. It was only once their fit of giggling died down that Tango spoke again.

"I'm glad you're here, Rancher," he said.

Scott didn't need to see Jimmy to know how he looked in that moment—his pink-flushed face split by a wide, fond smile.

"So am I. I love you," Jimmy replied in a tone so soft it made Scott's heart flutter even if the words were directed at another.

Scott felt his throat close up.

He needed to break the moment, but he didn't want to. Scott was suddenly somehow glad that Joel was there. When he'd hopped into the Hermitcraft server, Joel had been the one to help him search for Jimmy. Now, Joel had a surprisingly comforting hand on his shoulder.

"If you don't say something now, you're just gonna go back and beat yourself up about this," Joel murmured to him.

He knew Joel was right.

"I just..." Scott trailed off, the words getting caught in his throat as he heard Jimmy and Tango laugh again—Grian reeled in a leather hat across the bay.

"Go get 'em, Scott. You deserve to be happy," Joel eventually told him, catching Scott off-guard yet again. He managed to weakly smile at Joel, and then he started walking towards the two.

It was pleasantly warm despite still technically being Winter, approaching the beginning of Spring. A slow breeze drifted through the air, the sun just now beginning to set. The bright blue sky above them was tinted orange, fluffy clouds lazily crossing above.

Scott couldn't believe that this was going to happen.

Neither Jimmy nor Tango heard Scott marching towards them until he was within feet of them. Only then did Tango turn around, the sun glinting off his circular red glasses. The motion caused Jimmy to turn around, and within seconds, the confusion on his face morphed into surprise.

"Scott?" Jimmy tried to say, "I thought you said you were busy—?"

"I was," Scott interjected. "I was busy, but I..."

Tango was just looking at him equal parts curious and confused. His mouth was parted ever-so-slightly, the sharp tips of his teeth barely visible. His golden-blonde hair looked somewhat messy as if he'd gone on a run recently. Scott swallowed hard.

"...I just wanted to say that both of you are very important to me," Scott finally managed to say, forcing himself to muster up the usual confidence he suddenly found himself lacking.

Taking a deep breath, he reached a trembling hand into his pocket and pulled out a box. He barely managed to hear Tango say oh under his breath as he dropped down to one knee.

"I've known of both of you for years, but I never really got the chance to know you until Grian's games started," Scott said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "I know those games have caused so many nightmares, but if I could go back and change it, I'd keep it all. Meeting both of you was the best thing to ever happen to me."

Jimmy's hands were cupped over his mouth, tears already streaming down his sun-kissed cheeks. The wings on either side of his head flapped in shock, no doubt beating just as fast as his heart. Tango, on the other hand, looked almost blank to just about anyone else, but Scott saw his hair sparking to life and the way his tail flicked here and there. His attention was on Scott, and the look in his eyes made Scott feel revered. He forced himself to keep speaking.

"3rd life was hard, but moving on after it ended was harder. I hadn't seen you for you until 3rd life, Jimmy, but how could I forget after it all? People joked that you were only dragging me down, but no one saw just how much I depended on you. You made each day brighter and easier, you made me confident, you gave me the strength to make myself strong. When I thought we were done for that game, you saw another chance, and you always convinced me to get back up and try all over again because giving up just wasn't for you, and it never has been." "Stop it, Scott, you—" Jimmy cried, his face already flushed and tear-stained. "Oh, Hun—" "Petal, you're going to make me cry, and I'm not even done yet," Scott said with a watery grin, and then he faced Tango. "Tango, lovely, double life was hard. The circumstances were difficult, and every single day was a struggle with Pearl and Martyn. Seeing Jimmy so happy without me used to make me so, so jealous, and then double life ended. I never would've expected you to come to me and ask if I was okay after I... well, after double life ended. But I'm so glad you did. The moment you did that, I saw what Jimmy saw. Kind, thoughtful, and just as resilient. None of it was a mistake. I would go through the hurt all over again for the love you've shown me afterwards." At that, Tango's blank expression shook to keep his composure. His hands were trembling, almost like even his own body wondered if he should dare to accept the praise and affection. However, all Scott had to do was smile at him, teeth and all, and a few tears began to slip down Tango's face. One long second passed, and Scott realized he needed to open the box. Inside it, two rings sat side-by-side, both with rose-gold bands designed to look like twisting vines dotted with the occasional miniscule gem. Though both had identical bands, one had an oval-shaped sunstone while the other had a similarly-shaped moonstone. "Sunstone for you, Jimmy—bright, reliable, and charming. Moonstone for you, Tango—resourceful, clever, and persistent," Scott explained, and then with another pause, he added, "There's no one else I'd rather be with than you two. Will you marry me?" "Yes—" "If you take my last name—" Jimmy and Tango both glanced at each other, and before any of them knew it, they were all laughing. "Scott Tek?" Scott asked with a grin heavy in his voice. "Better than Tango Major!" Tango cried out. "Jimmy Tek has a ring to it..." Jimmy murmured. "Wait, wait, why aren't either of you taking my last name?" And the cool breeze swept their good-natured bickering into the air all while crickets chirped and people across the server worked and laughed and haggled for supplies. It would be just another day for anyone else, something that would turn into an event that happened a few weeks ago, then last spring, then a few years back until all that was left was the memory of the warmth Scott felt in his heart and the way Jimmy and Tango laughed together like a melody only they knew in that moment, but wasn't that enough? More than enough, Scott thought to himself. And it was the truth.

[skateordiebitch]

HIT ME UP || D.F. x reader

‘and i'll waste my time if you pursue me, i'll let you know, if you ever hit me up'

summary: dominic fike, the one night stand who won't go away.

and i’ll eat up dominic being the biggest yearner everytime!!! i love writing him as someone who’s just head over heels😭 also can we talk abt how hot he looks in these photos? GOOD LORD. PLEASE JUST ONE NIGHT.

anyways enjoy! requests are open too <3

The bar was loud, packed with people, but somehow you managed to carve out a little oasis at the corner, clutching your drink and scrolling mindlessly through your phone. 

It was one of those nights you weren’t even sure why you were out; you just knew you didn’t want to be home. 

Your friend had bailed on you last minute, but the lure of a Friday night was still enough to get you out the door and into the smoky, neon-lit crowd.

That’s when he caught your eye.

Not intentionally—just a glint of movement in your peripheral, followed by a cocky grin aimed at anyone and everyone in his path. 

This guy was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark eyes and that kind of look that screamed trouble.

His confidence was unmistakable, bordering on the absurd, as if he was used to people looking at him, fawning over him. You rolled your eyes at the mere sight.

It wasn’t long before he zeroed in on you, and despite the fact that you were clearly uninterested, he strutted over, a grin on his face like he’d already won you over.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the bar beside you. His voice was low, smooth, a little too self-assured for your taste.

“Hi,” you replied, barely looking up, hoping your tone would convey your lack of interest.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Bad night or something?” he asked, his voice low and smooth.

You raised an eyebrow, finally meeting his gaze. “And you’re assuming that, why?”

He laughed, a deep, easy sound. “Just a hunch. You don’t exactly look thrilled to be here. This a party, if you couldn’t tell. Where you’re supposed to be having fun.”

You shrugged, tilting your glass in his direction. “Maybe I’m just avoiding guys like you.”

He let out another chuckle, clearly enjoying the challenge. “Ouch. So, I’m already a ‘type,’ huh?”

You gave him a once-over, taking in his relaxed posture, the way his eyes sparkled with barely-hidden mischief.

“You look like you know your way around this place,” you quipped. “Or at least like you think everyone else here should.”

“Guilty,” he said, unfazed. “But I have to say, you seem different from everyone else here.”

“Oh really? And what makes you think that?”

“Well, for one, you’re talking to me, but you haven’t batted an eyelash since I walked up,” he said, flashing a grin. “Most people here usually fawn over me, at least a little bit.”

You smirked, unimpressed. “Maybe I just have high standards.”

His grin widened, intrigued. “Good. I like a challenge.”

You sipped your drink, meeting his gaze over the rim of your glass. “So, does the mysterious charmer have a name?”

“Dominic,” he replied smoothly, extending a hand. “And you?”

You paused, weighing whether to indulge him. Something about the sparkle in his eye, the cockiness tempered by an unexpected warmth, had you curious despite yourself.

“Nice to meet you, Dominic,” you said, finally shaking his hand, “I’m Y/N.”

“Beautiful,” he replied, holding onto your hand a beat longer than necessary. “So, tell me, Y/N. What brings you out tonight?”

You shrugged. “I guess I felt like a drink. Or an excuse not to be home.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, interest glinting in his eyes. “Mysterious and straightforward. I like it.”

You rolled your eyes, amused despite yourself. “I get the feeling you say that to everyone, Dominic.”

“Maybe,” he conceded, leaning in with a sly smile, “but I mean it more this time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” he said, mimicking your shrug, a playful gleam in his eye. “But I’d argue I’m a good time… Care to find out?”

Against your better judgment—and perhaps the unexpected thrill of being genuinely intrigued—you left the bar with him, his arm around your shoulders as he steered you out into the cool night air. 

You walked through the streets, your voices carrying in the quiet night, the conversation flowing easily. You found yourself laughing at his witty quips, surprised by how disarmingly charming he could be without even trying.

“Are you always this confident?” you asked as you strolled along, barely aware of where you were going.

Dominic chuckled, flashing you a sideways grin. “I don’t know. Are you always this skeptical?”

“Touché,” you replied, nudging him with your elbow. “But yeah. Actually, I am.”

“Fair enough. I like a girl who keeps me on my toes.” He paused, glancing over at you with a sly smile. “But don’t worry. I’m not one to back down from a challenge.”

Maybe it was the way he looked at you, as if he were genuinely intrigued by the fact that you hadn’t fallen at his feet like everyone else.

The night spiraled from there.

You didn’t know exactly what happened—there were blurry memories of shared laughs, whispered secrets, a lot of eye contact, and even more drinks. 

The next thing you knew, you were back at your place, barely registering how late it was.

As you stepped into the elevator to head up to your place, a tension settled between you both, charged and unspoken. You could feel his eyes on you, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as if he was daring you to break the silence.

The moment the elevator doors opened on your floor, you felt his hand graze yours, sending a flicker of warmth up your arm. The two of you walked side by side down the dimly lit hallway, each step closer to what you couldn’t deny you both wanted. 

When you finally reached your door, you fumbled with your keys, suddenly hyper-aware of every second that ticked by.

“Need some help there?” he asked, his voice a low murmur behind you.

You shot him a sideways glance. “Only if you’re as good with all these locks as you are with lines.”

He let out a soft chuckle, stepping close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the intoxicating scent of his cologne filling the space around you. 

With a deep breath, you finally managed to get the door open, stepping inside with Dominic following, his hand brushing yours as he closed the door behind him.

“Nice place,” he remarked, glancing around, but his eyes quickly settled back on you. “Though I have to say, I was mostly interested in the company.”

You rolled your eyes, though a grin betrayed you. “If I wanted flattery, I’d have stayed at the bar.”

“Good thing you didn’t,” he replied, stepping closer, his gaze now locked on yours. 

There was a pause, the air between you thick with something you couldn’t ignore. And then, as if by some silent agreement, he reached out, his fingers brushing the side of your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you held his gaze, refusing to let him see you flinch. He seemed to appreciate it, his smile turning softer, almost reverent. And then, slowly, he leaned in, his lips barely grazing yours, teasing, as if waiting for you to close the gap.

You did.

The kiss started soft, but quickly deepened, his hands finding your waist, pulling you against him. You could feel the strength in his arms, the urgency in the way his fingers pressed into your back, as if he couldn’t get close enough. 

His mouth was warm and inviting, tasting faintly of whiskey and something inherently him.

Each touch, each kiss, felt like it was stripping away the layers you kept up, the armor you wore around people like him.

Without breaking the kiss, you backed toward the couch, your fingers tugging at his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor without a second thought, his focus completely on you as he guided you down onto the cushions, settling beside you with a grin that was half amusement, half something darker, more intense.

“Comfortable?” he murmured against your lips, his hands wandering over your sides, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt.

“Depends,” you shot back, your voice barely a whisper. “Are you going to keep talking?”

He let out a laugh, low and husky, his breath warm against your skin. “Fair enough. I’ll let my actions speak louder, then.”

With that, his hands moved with a practiced ease, gliding over your skin, finding ways to make you gasp and forget any lingering doubts you had. For once, it was easy to be completely in the moment, to let yourself get lost in the way he seemed to know exactly where to touch, where to kiss, it was like he knew your body before even seeing it.

You felt your heart pounding as his hands traced along your skin, each touch lighting a fire that was hard to ignore.

As you lay back, you felt the warmth of his body against yours, his weight grounding you in a way that felt unexpectedly intimate, like he was somehow peeling away your defenses, bit by bit, with each kiss, each brush of his fingertips. 

His lips traveled from your mouth to your jaw, down to your collarbone, lingering in ways that left you breathless. There was something different about the way he moved, a gentleness mixed with unspoken intensity, like he was savoring every moment, every inch of skin he touched.

“You’re good at this,” you whispered, unable to stop yourself, though you half-expected him to respond with another cocky remark.

Instead, he looked up at you, eyes filled with a warmth you hadn’t expected.

He stayed silent. He only gave you a soft smile, his lips tracing your jaw as he spoke, his words melting into your skin.

The night unfolded in ways that left you surprised and, admittedly, a bit vulnerable. 

His hands and mouth moved in sync, guiding you both through a rhythm that felt almost surreal. And, between the breaths and stolen glances, there was a tenderness—a softness—that you hadn’t anticipated. It felt more like slow unraveling than a quick spark; each moment, each touch, felt deliberate, as though he was trying to memorize you in some quiet way.

At some point, you’d shifted, trading the couch for your bed, the journey between blurring in a haze of laughter and kisses that grew more urgent, more intense, with each passing moment. His words were soft, with a hint of challenge, and in that moment.

Eventually, after what felt like both hours and seconds, you lay side by side, his arm draped around your shoulders, your head resting on his chest.

The two of you were quiet, your breathing still a little heavy, but your hearts were slowing to a steady rhythm. You found yourself tracing gentle lines along his arm, your mind still reeling from the night’s unexpected intimacy. You couldn’t quite remember the last time someone had left you feeling so alive, so out of control yet comfortable.

Finally, as you lay tangled together, the early morning light beginning to creep in through the window, you found yourself smiling despite yourself. 

He was lying beside you, his arm draped over your waist, his eyes half-closed but alert, watching you with that same mischievous glint.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep, “I have to say, you were worth the chase.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you stretched out beside him. “You make it sound like I was a conquest.”

He shrugged, giving you a lazy grin. “Only because you put up a good fight.”

“Hmm,” you replied, stifling a smile. “Don’t get too comfortable. I’m not exactly looking for a repeat performance.”

He smirked, his fingers tracing idle circles on your shoulder. “Who said anything about repeats? Besides, I have a feeling you’ll change your mind.”

You let out a scoff, but his confidence—however misplaced—was weirdly endearing. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Guess we’ll see,” he said with a wink, leaning over to give you one last kiss before slipping out of bed.

And sure, it was good—he was cocky for a reason, apparently—but as soon as the sun started peeking through your blinds, you felt the sting of regret and a slight headache creeping in. 

—

The next morning hit you like a freight train. You rolled over, remembering that he left before you even fell asleep. Perfect. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, thinking how that was probably the last you’d see of Dominic.

That is, until you looked over at your nightstand.

“Of fucking course,” you mumbled to yourself, staring at his wallet.

It was lying on your nightstand, his name in embossed letters on the black leather, practically taunting you. You sighed. Of course, he’d be the kind of guy to leave something behind. 

He’d left a piece of himself behind, almost as if he’d known you’d want—or need—a reason to call him again.

Gritting your teeth, you picked up the wallet, rifling through the cards inside. There was an obnoxious number of credit cards, a couple of VIP passes to places you’d never heard of, and an California licenses with an all-too-familiar face staring back at you. 

Dominic Fike. 

You do a little more deep diving into the man who was in your bed all night— Seriously? you thought, staring at his face on the card. This guy is famous? 

His face, his music, his relationships, personal drama—all of it filled pages and pages of search results. Tabs upon tabs of articles, concert photos, and screaming fans filled your screen, confirming what you’d already suspected.

You had a one night stand with a literal celebrity—and had no idea.

Annoyed and a little embarrassed, you tapped on the number he’d saved in your phone the night before, dialing him with a deep sigh.

He picked up on the second ring, his voice smooth and somehow infuriatingly amused. “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”

“Not exactly,” you said, already irritated. “You left your wallet.”

He chuckled. “Did I now? Look at that. What a coincidence!”

You narrowed your eyes, though he couldn’t see it. “Yes. Would you like it back, or should I just keep it as a very expensive souvenir? Something to remember you by?”

“Alright, alright,” he said, still laughing. “I’ll swing by in like, twenty. Wouldn’t want you holding it hostage or anything.”

You barely had time to regret your decision before he arrived, grinning like he’d won some kind of prize as you opened the door.

“Well, well,” he said, looking at you up and down, clearly amused by your less-than-enthused expression. “I knew you’d call.”

You held his wallet out at arm’s length, not letting him get too close. “Here.”

But Dominic, of course, was not the kind of guy to make anything easy.

He took the wallet, but instead of leaving, he walked right into your apartment, looking around like he was touring a museum.

“You have a cute place,” he remarked, sinking down onto your couch without waiting for an invitation.

“Thanks. Maybe, I’ll see you around,” you replied, crossing your arms, nodding towards the door.

“Oh, come on,” he said, flashing that aggravatingly charming smile. “Is that any way to treat a guest?”

“Guest? You’re barely an acquaintance,” you scoffed, leaning against the wall with a look of utter disbelief. “You could’ve told me you were like, famous, by the way,” you said, still crossing your arms.

He shrugged, leaning back as he flashed a smirk. “And miss out on the chance to see your genuine reaction? No way.”

You rolled your eyes. “Is everything a game to you?”

“Only the fun things,” he replied, watching you with a spark of amusement. “Come on, admit it. You’re glad you didn’t know.”

You exhaled, fighting a smile. “Maybe a little.”

“You definitely would’ve have invited me over if you knew. You definitely wouldn’t have been screaming my name—”

“Dominic!” You exclaim, not wanting to recall any of last night.

“Geez, Y/N! There you go again,” Dominic laughs, “Should we just hit the bed now or something?”

You groan loudly, not even connecting your response before speaking, “No… No!” You say, “That’s not what I meant. Be serious. Can you last longer than a minute? Or is that impossible?”

“Oh, you know I can last longer than a minute.”

You plop down on the couch, giving up when you realized that you were practically writing his remarks yourself.

But, Dominic’s gaze softened, as if he saw through the veneer of irritation you were putting up. “Well, in all seriousness, most people don’t look at me like you did last night.”

“Disappointed?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” he replied, a bit more serious this time. “Like I was just some guy at the bar.” He smiled, something genuine glinting through the playful mask. “It was nice.”

There was a beat of silence, an unspoken understanding that lingered in the air. But then, with a smirk, he broke the moment. “Besides, I wasn’t ready for our little game to end.”

“Oh, and what game is that?” you asked, fighting the slight flutter in your chest.

He grinned, standing up as he approached you. “You, trying to resist me. And me, making sure you fail.”

Something shifted in his expression—maybe it was the challenge, maybe it was just your indifference. But whatever it was, he clearly wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

“I won’t fail,” You say, probably in the most confident tone he’s heard you, “I know how to protect my peace.”

The next hour passed in a bizarre back-and-forth as he casually overstayed his welcome, making himself at home while you threw every jab and sarcastic remark you could think of his way. 

You half-expected him to get fed up and leave, but instead, he only seemed more amused.

Every time you shot him down, he came back with a quip, grinning as if he were winning some game only he understood.

It was infuriating. But it was also… a little fun. 

Against all reason, you found yourself laughing at his jokes, even as you rolled your eyes at his bravado. There was something oddly compelling about his relentless charm, even though he was the exact type of person you couldn’t stand.

By the time he finally left, you were exhausted—annoyed, sure, but also strangely energized, like you’d just run a marathon you hadn’t expected to enjoy.

As you watched him go, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—you hadn’t seen the last of him. And part of you, despite everything, didn’t entirely mind that idea.

—

The day after Dominic’s unexpected reappearance, things settled back into their normal, peaceful state. You returned to your regular life, or at least tried to, even though your mind kept drifting back to the chaotic encounter that morning. 

It was supposed to have ended after one night, but there he was, strolling back into your life as if he had never left.

A few days passed without incident, and you almost convinced yourself it was over—until you spotted him again, completely by chance. 

You were waiting for a coffee at the counter of your favorite café, scrolling through your phone, when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Let me guess—no idea who I am?”

You turned, and there he was, looking as smug as ever, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. He looked both out of place and totally in his element among the crowd of early-morning patrons. 

“Hey, stranger,” Dominic says with a cheeky smile.

You raised an eyebrow, half amused, half exasperated. “Are you stalking me, or do you actually have a purpose here?”

He grinned, shrugging. “Coincidence, I mean, you’re at a very popular spot, you know. Or fate, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“You wish,” you muttered under your breath, though you couldn’t keep the small smile off your face. You gestured at the counter. “Coffee first. Then you can do your charm routine.”

He chuckled, sliding in beside you as you placed your order. 

There was a comfortable silence as you waited, but it was laced with an electric energy that made you all too aware of him standing there, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

As you turned to pay, you noticed him handing over a bill, waving you off. “My treat,” he said, his tone casual.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m capable of buying my own coffee.”

“Come on,” he said, leaning in with that infuriating grin. “Consider it my way of saying thanks for not selling my wallet on eBay.”

“Very funny,” you replied, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck as he continued to look at you with that playful spark in his eye. 

You both took your coffees and walked toward a table in the corner, where he slid into a seat across from you, leaning back in a way that was far too comfortable.

You took a sip, studying him over the rim of your cup. “So, why are you here? Couldn’t resist a second dose of my sparkling personality?”

“Not exactly,” he replied smoothly, a little too quickly. He paused, his eyes catching yours with a hint of something serious beneath his usual carefree demeanor. “Actually... I was curious.”

“Curious about what?”

“About you,” he said, and for the first time, there was a flicker of sincerity in his gaze, as though he was trying to get past your defenses. “I meet a lot of people. But it’s refreshing to find someone who looks at me like... well, like I’m just some guy they met at a bar.”

You leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “Hate to break it to you, but you are just some guy I met at a bar.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You know, that’s what I’m talking about. Most people that see me in a bar, wouldn’t say that.”

You took another sip of coffee, letting the silence settle, wondering where this was going. Finally, you set your cup down, crossing your arms. “So, what exactly do you want from me, Dominic?”

He hesitated, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe... I just wanted to get to know you.”

You studied him, searching for any trace of a joke or a punchline, but his expression remained open, almost vulnerable.

Against your better judgment, you felt yourself softening, intrigued despite yourself. You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

He grinned, looking relieved and a bit triumphant. “Alright, let’s start simple. What do you do?”

You rolled your eyes, smirking. “Oh, I thought you were a fan of the ‘mysterious stranger’ vibe.”

“Consider it character development,” he said with a wink, but you could tell he was genuinely curious.

“I’m in marketing,” you said finally, “for a non-profit.”

His eyes lit up, and he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand in a playful imitation of your posture. “Wow. Look at you, making the world a better place. And here I thought you were just another mysterious stranger.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his playful tone. “Yeah, well, not everyone spends their days living like a rockstar.”

“Ah, so you do know who I am.” He pointed a finger at you in mock accusation, but his grin was warm.

“Barely,” you replied, holding his gaze. “Not a fan, if I’m honest. It’s just not my type of music.”

That seemed to amuse him even more, and he laughed, shaking his head. “Ouch. Wounded.”

“Hey, just keeping it real.” You took another sip of your coffee, realizing that, despite yourself, you were starting to enjoy this.

“So… what’s your favorite type of music?” Dominic asks, as you chuckle, “What, you wanna write a song about me or something?”

“Who says I haven’t already?” 

You could feel the heat creep towards your cheeks, and you bet that he saw it, too, “My music taste is kind of all over the place. I’m really into rock music, like 90s rock. Blink-182. Red Hot Chili Peppers.”

You see Dominic’s face light up with a joy you haven’t quite seen from him before, “You do know like, all of my music is inspired by that, right? Those are some of my favorite bands.”

You shake your head, “You’re just saying that.”

He holds up his left hand, and you realize it’s John Frusciante; The guitarest of said band. Of course, is it.. “Am I, now?”

You stared at his hand, taking in the tattoo of Frusciante’s face, a bit faded from time, yet still unremarkably impressive. Your jaw dropped. “Okay, maybe… I believe you now.” 

Dominic grinned, pleased with himself. “Told you.” He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head.

You shook your head, amused and slightly exasperated. “So, you're telling me that your whole ‘cool guy who doesn’t care’ vibe is just you trying to live out your childhood rockstar fantasy?”

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Maybe. What can I say? I like to lean into it.” He paused, watching you closely, his smile softening a little. “But you know, it’s not just for show. I’m not playing a part for anyone. It’s who I am.”

You narrowed your eyes, intrigued despite yourself. There was a moment of quiet between you two, but it wasn’t awkward.

It was the kind of silence that existed between two people who were really starting to connect.

"Okay, then," you said, leaning forward with a raised eyebrow. "If you’re so real, then how about you prove it?"

His eyes glinted. "Prove it how?"

You shrugged, sipping your coffee. "Let’s see if you can keep up with me outside the ‘rockstar’ image. Ditch the cocky lines for a minute. Show me the real you.”

Dominic didn’t hesitate. He leaned in closer, his voice low. “You wanna see the real me, huh? Alright. I’ll play along."

You had to fight to keep from grinning, but something in the air shifted. 

The banter was still there, but it felt less like a game now and more like two people actually trying to understand each other.

“I’m not here for a show,” you said, your tone steady. “Just, you know… a genuine conversation. No flash, no pretense.”

Dominic watched you carefully, his gaze softer now, but there was still a glimmer of that cocky charm.

“I think I can do that. But fair warning,” he said with a grin, “I’m not sure how good I am at keeping the ‘real me’ in check for too long.”

You smirked, eyes narrowing slightly. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

The two of you continued to talk, the conversation slipping into more personal territory as you discovered more about each other. 

Dominic opened up in ways you hadn’t expected, sharing bits and pieces about his life, his rise to fame, his time in jail, the constant pressure, and the sacrifices. 

And as much as you were tempted to tease him, you found yourself listening—really listening.

He, on the other hand, seemed fascinated by you in a way that made you almost uncomfortable. The way he’d pause, studying your expressions, as though trying to figure you out, kept you on your toes.

“So you really don’t care about all the ‘fame’ stuff?” You asked after a long stretch of conversation.

“Not really,” He replied. “I think it’s just... a distraction. People focus so much on what you do, not who you are.” He shrugged. “It’s easy to get lost in that. I, obviously, get lost in it sometimes.”

“Yeah, trust me, I can tell… But, I also get that. I really couldn’t imagine having fans, or followers, or any of that bullshit,” You say, watching him run a hand through his hair, staring down into his coffee. 

“It’s kind of like, I’m good at being who people expect me to be. But sometimes... I forget what it’s like to just be me, you know?”

You nodded, sensing the vulnerability in his words despite his usual bravado. “I get it,” you said softly, “You wanna be normal guy sometimes.”

Dominic looked up at you then, and for a moment, it wasn’t the cocky, charming rockstar sitting across from you. 

It was just Dominic. 

The man with flaws, with dreams, with struggles. The man who, despite everything, was still trying to figure it out.

“And what about you?” he asked, voice quieter now. “What’s your real ‘you’ like?”

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. You had a tendency to keep your guard up, to keep people at arm’s length. But for some reason, something about Dominic made you feel like it was okay to let that wall slip—just a little.

“Me?” You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I’m just trying to make a difference. To not get too lost in all the noise. I want to do something that actually matters.”

Dominic watched you with quiet intensity, as if he could see through the surface-level responses, reading between the lines. “And you think you can do that?” he asked, his voice serious now.

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure yourself. “I don’t know. But I have to at least try.”

He sat back, taking that in. His eyes softened again, and for a fleeting moment, he looked like a man who wasn’t concerned with the world’s expectations or how many fans were waiting for him outside. 

It was just him and you. 

And in that moment, you could tell he wasn’t in a hurry to leave.

The tension between you shifted, growing more comfortable, more familiar. There was still a playful spark in his eyes, but now, there was also a sincerity that wasn’t there before.

“I’ll be honest,” he said, leaning in just slightly. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s a line I’m sure you use on a lot of people.”

He shook his head, the smile never leaving his face. “No, really. You’re different. And I’m not talking about your, uh, lack of ‘fan-girling’ over me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“Just a little,” he teased. “But it’s cool. It makes you way more interesting.”

“Glad to know I’m not just another fan to you.”

Dominic leaned back, his expression turning thoughtful. “Yeah. You’re not. You’re someone I’m actually starting to care about. And for the record...” he added with a grin, “I think I’m getting pretty good at this ‘real me’ thing.”

“Better keep it up,” you teased, trying to hide the soft flutter in your chest. “Because I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.”

He leaned in a little closer, voice barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

And there it was again—the chemistry. 

The spark that had been there from the start, now igniting with a slow burn. You didn’t know where it was going, but you knew this conversation, this connection—it wasn’t something you could ignore. Not anymore.

As you finished your coffee, you both lingered, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. Neither of you seemed in a rush to break the moment. 

Maybe this was the start of something unexpected. Something that neither of you had planned—but both of you might just need.

You spent another hour talking, exchanging stories and teasing banter. 

He was funny, charming, and surprisingly down-to-earth when he wanted to be. 

For someone so confident, he had a certain openness that was hard to ignore, and despite your initial annoyance, you found yourself drawn to him. 

By the time you left, you almost didn’t mind when he suggested meeting up again.

“Alright,” he said as he walked you to the door. “How about a deal? You let me take you out again, and I promise I’ll try my best to keep my rockstar tendencies in check.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “Why do I feel like that’s a promise you can’t keep?”

He grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

And before you could think of a clever comeback, he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. The warmth of his lips made your heart skip a beat, and as he pulled away, he looked at you with a quiet intensity that made it hard to breathe.

“See you soon, then?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, unable to find the words, and as he walked away, you realized that, despite everything, a part of you was already looking forward to it.

—

The days that followed Dominic’s confession were full of anticipation, but also of hesitation. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were standing on the edge of something, something you couldn’t quite define.

Every time you saw him, every time he looked at you like he was seeing the real you, you felt your resolve weakening.

It was confusing—after all, you’d spent so long keeping people at a distance, convincing yourself that you didn’t need anyone, that you were fine on your own.

But Dominic… he had a way of breaking through that wall, bit by bit, in a way that scared you and exhilarated you at the same time.

You spent the next few days trying to focus on your routine, but it felt impossible. Every small thing, like the sound of your phone buzzing or catching a glimpse of a song you both liked, reminded you of him.

But you weren’t sure if you were ready to dive into whatever this was between you. It was so new, so unexpected, and you didn’t want to risk getting hurt.

But then, just as you were trying to push those thoughts away, the text came.

"Hey, what’s up? Want to grab some dinner tonight?"

It was casual, like everything between you had always been. But beneath the surface, you could feel the weight of what had been said the night before. You hesitated for only a second before responding.

"Sure. What did you have in mind?"

A few minutes later, he sent a suggestion, and you agreed.

There was something about the way he made everything feel easy—like there was no pressure, no expectations, just the two of you figuring it out together.

When you met him at the restaurant that evening, it was almost like nothing had changed.

You greeted each other with that familiar teasing banter, a lightheartedness that had become the foundation of your interactions. But this time, there was a quiet undertone to the conversation, something deeper.

It felt like you were both waiting for the right moment to say something more, something real.

As the meal wore on, you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t expected.

Talking about your dreams, your fears, your past—things you usually kept buried beneath the surface.

And Dominic, as always, listened.

But this time, he didn’t just nod along or offer some flippant remark. He responded with sincerity, sharing his own struggles and insecurities, the parts of himself that were rarely seen by the public.

For the first time, you began to understand the weight of his life—the constant scrutiny, the expectations, the pressure to always be someone he wasn’t. And you could see the toll it had taken on him, the way he tried to push it all away with jokes and arrogance, but there was a tenderness beneath the bravado.

A part of him that was tired of playing the part.

After dinner, as you walked out of the restaurant, Dominic turned to you, his expression thoughtful.

“Do you ever wonder if we’re just two people who are too afraid to let ourselves get close?” he asked, his voice quiet but serious.

You stopped walking, looking at him. His words hit you in a way you hadn’t expected. You knew you’d been keeping your distance, but you hadn’t realized how much he had been holding back too.

“I don’t know,” you said after a pause. “I think we’re both scared of what could happen if we let ourselves feel too much.”

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah. I get that. But maybe… maybe we’re both ready to stop pretending, even if we don’t have it all figured out yet.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words sink in. Could you really let yourself be vulnerable like this? Could you trust him enough to let your guard down?

Before you could respond, he took a step closer, his hand brushing against yours. It was a simple gesture, but it felt like a promise. Like he was saying, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.

For a moment, everything else faded away.

The noise of the world, the uncertainty, the fears you had about being hurt—it all melted into the background. You didn’t need to have all the answers. All you needed was to be in this moment with him.

You finally spoke, your voice soft but steady. “I think… I think I’m ready. But you have to promise me something.”

Dominic raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“That you won’t disappear on me. That you won’t make this about your fame or your image. I need to know that the real you is what I’m getting.”

His expression softened, and for the first time, you saw the full depth of his sincerity. “I promise,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “The real me, that’s what I’m offering. No pretenses. No games.”

The promise hung in the air between you, and in that moment, you believed him. You didn’t know where this would lead, but you knew you couldn’t keep running from it. The connection you shared was too strong to ignore, too real to pretend it wasn’t happening.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of laughter, late-night conversations, and moments of intimacy that felt genuine and raw.

There were still moments of uncertainty, moments where you questioned whether you were making the right choice, but every time Dominic showed up, every time he made you feel seen and heard, you couldn’t help but believe in it a little more.

You still held onto your independence, still made sure to focus on your work and your own dreams, but something in you had shifted. You were allowing yourself to let him in, to trust him in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

One evening, as you were walking together through the city streets after another spontaneous dinner, Dominic stopped in front of you, his face serious. You turned to him, your heart racing.

“I know we’ve been taking this slow,” he began, his voice quiet, but full of conviction. “But I need you to know that I’m all in. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had always feared that this would be a fleeting moment in time—something that would fizzle out as quickly as it had ignited.

But Dominic’s words, the sincerity in his eyes, made you believe that this was something worth holding onto.

“I’m in too,” you said, the words coming easier than you had expected. “I don’t know where this is going, but I want to see it through.”

Dominic smiled, and for the first time, there was no uncertainty in his expression. No bravado. Just a man, standing before you, with his heart on his sleeve.

“Then let’s see where this takes us,” he said, his voice low and full of promise.

And with that, the uncertainty between you began to fade. The connection you had was real, and though the road ahead might be unpredictable, you knew that, together, you could face whatever came next.

[ddejavvu]

I finished watched Top Gun yesterday, and I promised myself I wouldn’t fall in love with a certain cocky dirty blond guy with beautiful eyes but I did 😔

So can I ask for ceo au with Jake Seresin who hits on secretary!reader each single day since she started working for him? Please 💕

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

we all say we won't fall for hangman but we all do <333

--

"What can I do for you, sir?"

Every day you ask Mr. Seresin the same question, and every day, he gives you the same answer.

"Sit there and look pretty, darlin'." He grins, the expression welcoming despite the teasing glint in his eyes, "Was wonderin' when you'd show up today."

"I'm here on time, sir." Your palms sweat as you rub them against your pressed pants, glancing nervously at the clock on his wall. 7:30 AM, not a second late.

"Yesterday you came early," He muses, and you set your bag down on the floor beside your desk, "You were here before me, and I saw you yawning even after two cups of coffee. I'm glad you slept in today."

"I'm sorry, sir." You cringe at the mention of your less-than-stellar presence the day before, "It won't happen again. I'll be more alert from now on."

He groans lightly, "Can't you see I'm not berating you? You think everything that comes out of my mouth is a criticism."

You're only made more nervous by his harsh tone, and you peer nervously at him, "And that's... not?"

He seems to recognize the hypocrisy he'd spoken with, chiding you for feeling chided; "That was the one and only time I've ever criticized you, Y/N."

"You said I was too tired yesterday."

"I said I'm glad you got enough sleep today."

"You told me my shoes weren't office-appropriate."

"I asked you how you could manage walking on heels all day without breaking your ankle on the stairs."

"You told me not to wear a skirt."

"I told you it was casual Friday, and you could swap it for a pair of sweatpants if that would make you more comfortable."

"You told me I park too close to the building."

"I said it would be nice to have more time to talk with you when I walk you to your car."

"Sir," Your shoulders slump in defeat, "I can't do anything right."

"You can't do anything wrong," He insists, leaning forwards across his desk, "Y/N, you really think I was insulting you all those times? Getting on your back? Bossing you around?"

"That's your job," You supply meekly, shuffling papers around so as not to have to look him in the eyes, "You're the boss."

"Then I order you to look at me." He decides, and your chest seizes up at the command. You do so, throat running dry as you try swallowing with it.

"I've never meant any insult towards you," His eyes pierce you where you sit, stuck tight on your face, "I meant them all as compliments. I meant for you to understand that I cared about you. That I wanted you to like it here. That we were friends, Y/N, are we not friends?"

"You're the boss," You repeat, "Bosses aren't supposed to be friends with the people beneath them."

"Says who?" He raises a brow, "The boss? That's me, Y/N, and I decide who I'm friends with."

"And you say you're mine?"

Jake nods, holding your curious stare with an intense one of his own. The apprehension on your face is equal parts heartbreaking and flattering to him; he doesn't want you to be scared of him but he's almost proud that you are. Heartbreak wins out, and he adds; "I'm not gonna bite your head off, darlin'. You can relax a bit."

You let out a sigh as you follow his instructions, shoulder tension leaking out of your muscles as you settle into your seat. You drop your eyes to shuffle more through files you're supposed to attend to, but this time it doesn't feel evasive on your end, it feels comfortable. He's not sure whether you feel his prolonged stare even after you've glanced away, but you don't re-engage your own, if you do.

Jake takes it as a personal win when you check your phone in front of him an hour later. It's only for a fleeting moment, but before you'd have the device stashed away like he was going to rip if from your hands, and now you'd had the confidence to glance at the screen in plain sight.

However, Jake takes it as a loss that you grin at the screen, the smile lingering even as you turn back to the computer. His fingers itch to look at the device himself - maybe he really would rip it from your hands - just to see who'd made you smile like that. He makes it his personal mission to produce the same expression on your face twice before the end of the day, just to prove himself better than whatever bore had your attention for that split second.

He won't ever find out that you'd been grinning at a picture of your newborn niece, but you'll enjoy laughing at his cheesy jokes three times before noon.

[chironshorseass]

Imagine an AU where Percy never remembered Annabeth. It would’ve been heartbreaking

girl hi this is what spiraled me into looking at my docs and finding this wip that I may never finish but it's got that concept only I never finished it but here it is:

It starts with rain. The water pelts down on the ground, droplets piercing his cheeks like pinpricks. 

He remembers nothing as the ground trembles and as the wolves come out of the foliage.

He remembers nothing when that she-wolf, that goddess Lupa, trains him. 

“You will need this,” she says, sword against his throat. “To survive.”

“What,” he asks, “get murdered?” 

He’s perfectly still, knowing full well what would happen if he even moves an inch. His skin is iron, sure, but he still prefers not to get cut; there is something about caution that calls to him, like the snare to a fox. He can pretend, for a second, that he is fully mortal. 

Meanwhile Lupa’s eyes give away nothing. Her grip on her sword doesn’t falter. “The Romans won’t take kindly to a son of Neptune. A son of Neptune with a Greek curse.”

“If it’s a Greek curse, then why am I—“

“You shall be trained like any Roman soldier,” she says evenly. Finally, her arm falls to her side. “You cannot be seen as a weakness. A weakness of a pack can be the key to demise.”

“You must be fun at parties.”

In a flick of the incoming lightning, her form is changed to that of a wolf. She curls her lip, something he knows is the equivalent of a sneer. “Do not play games with me, Perseus. I do not like it either, but you are a soldier of Rome, now. This is what the Goddess wishes of you.”

“You know,” he says, scooping Riptide from the ground. “For all this talk about destiny and about how some goddess ordered you to train me or whatever, you’ve never once mentioned who this ‘Goddess’ is.”

She levels his stare with her ice-cold eyes. Like the brutal wind. Her fangs glint in the dimming sunlight.

“Patience, demigod. All in due time for those who wait. Besides, you must follow your instincts to find those lost memories of yours. That is what you want, is it not?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Lupa regards him, the space between them filled with howling gusts. Then, she looks up at the sky. The clouds are darker than before, heavy with rain and anticipation.

After some time like this, she finally meets his eyes. 

“There is little that I can say.”

She leaves him there, as rain pours down like cries calling for the earth. Perhaps he’s going insane, but he hears a whisper.

“Percy.”

It’s the voice of a girl. Desperate and earnest. But it’s gone as soon as it came; the voice is replaced by the breaths of air that brush past his ears. 

.

A few days pass before Lupa sends him on his way. 

All roads lead to Rome. 

So he follows those instincts she’d mentioned, trekking across California. Really, it’s the call of the sea that keeps him going. 

He remembers nothing as he cleans his shirt in a fountain. And he remembers nothing as he fights countless monsters on his journey, many of which claim that they’d fought him before. It’s no matter. 

The goddess Juno, whom he carried across the Little Tiber, promises him that his memories will return. Someday. Ignoring the gawking campers and the praetor with a face made of stone, he holds onto that hope. An invisible rope is there; he grasps it with all his might, fingers laced together in a death grip while Reyna, the praetor, interrogates him. She tells him of grand adventures and near-death experiences. How, because of him, she was swept away from her sanctuary and into the hands of pirates.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For whatever I did. I’m sorry.”

She raises her eyebrows, eyeing her metal dogs. “You seem to be telling the truth. Strange, though,” she muses. “Clearly, you remember nothing—didn’t know what I was talking about—and still, you apologize. Not very Roman of you.”

He can only shrug. “Just want to make amends.”

Her lips become a thin line, head tilted in a quizzical manner. “I’m curious to see, as a son of Neptune, what will become of you in the legion.”

She didn’t ask, but he’s sure no one knows about the Greek Curse. 

.

He finds friends soon enough. Hazel and Frank. Two kids fighting for their worth just as 

hard as Percy, and yet they do all that is possible to promote him to the Fifth Legion.

He also finds enemies. Octavian. Augur. Every time he addresses Percy, there’s a strange light in his eyes—similar to that of Lupa when she’s about to go for the kill. The hate is mutual, really.

So, his dreams are blank, and the day is bleak. He falls asleep to the sound of Frank’s snores and wakes to the sound of kids preparing for War Games.

.

He remembers nothing, but at least his skin remembers not to bleed when blades crash against him. 

To hell with mortality, he thinks, as he grabs a girl’s knife with his bare hands. 

Her eyes widen. “What the—”

She never finishes that sentence, because he kicks her away and blocks someone else’s blow. Second after second passes, and people hesitate, now. Hazel throws metallic weapons in the air with just her mind, and Frank shoots arrow after arrow with deadly accuracy.

And Percy? Well, the Romans don’t fear Neptune for nothing. 

.

“Some team you made, you and Hazel and Frank.”

He meets Reyna’s eyes, though he’s not sure what he sees there. “We’re a good team, yeah. But the victory was for the Fifth Legion. They deserve it.” 

“No arguing about that,” she says. “But there’s also no arguing that you three were the key players.”

“Why am I here?”

Aurum and Argentum growl in response; Reyna quiets them down with a pat to the head. She glances at Percy. “Right to the point, are we?”

He shrugs, leaning against his leather chair. 

It takes her some time to respond. She swishes the jellybeans at her table. Delicately, she plucks one into her mouth, the chewing slow, with control. Deliberate, he might say.

“It’s not because of the exploded water cannons, is it?” he finds himself asking. “Because that was for war strategy; you of all people should appreciate it.”

Her mouth curls into the hint of a smile. “No, Percy, you’re not here because of that.” Again, she eyes him, up and down, and not even the metal dogs make a sound. “When were you going to tell me,” she begins, “that you carry the Curse of Achilles?”

The dogs stare at him, baring their teeth, surely waiting eagerly for him to lie. Something tells him that one wrong move and he’d end up alone in the streets again, surrounded by monsters that would turn to dust and seconds later reform, over and over. He has to choose his words with precision.

“I didn’t…plan to tell you. Obviously, there’s a reason for that, though. Lupa told me I couldn’t say anything.”

Reyna raises her eyebrows, looks back and forth between her dogs and Percy. “Well. You seem to be telling the truth. Again. Any idea of when this happened? The curse, I mean?”

Pain. He tries to remember, and all he feels is pain pain pain. First, burning his lower back, and then traveling to his throat and to his brain. 

This happens in just a second, because his mind pops like a bubble, and he anchors himself to Reyna’s dark-brown eyes.

“No,” he whispers. “I don’t.”

She hums. “There are many mysteries about you, Percy Jackson.”

“You can say that.”

“I know you don’t remember anything.” Here, her face opens up to reveal a smidge of sympathy. He stupidly wonders how Reyna would be like as just a regular teenage girl instead of a child soldier in charge of an entire child army. “I can tell that you’re hurting. But the other Romans, they don’t care about that. They care that you’re a threat—Octavian, especially. And believe me, people have noticed how you can’t bleed. You fight like no other demigod, Percy.”

“So? What do you want me to do? Fucking take away the curse?”

She crosses her arms. “Playing dumb with me doesn’t work, you know. Mars issued a quest; Frank Zhang, as you well understand, was made a centurion to lead it, to free Thanatos. Rome is in more danger than you think.”

He can see the toll this is taking on her. The toll of leading alone. The hunch in her shoulders and her cracked lips and the bags under her eyes. But he can also see that she won’t take any pity from him. 

Then it dawns on him—the hidden request behind her reminder about all that’s at stake.

“You want me to go.”

“Of course I do. Not to feed on your ego, but you’re one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. And I’ve watched the Amazons fight. There is also something else: you have to build the Roman’s trust. They already see you as an unreliable weapon—a son of Neptune with a Greek curse is not a good combination. So, you have to earn their trust. If you accomplish this…I have an offer for you.”

Praetor. In all honesty, he might as well go with it.

.

As Reyna promised, all eyes are on him the next day. Ignoring the hushed comments and the stares and the sneers, he goes straight to Frank and Hazel’s table. 

“So it’s true,” Hazel says, studying him. “You carry the Curse of Achilles.”

“How do you know it’s true?” Percy says, sitting next to her. “Those are only rumors.”

She shrugs. “Curses are a bit of my specialty. Also, I watched you fight. I saw how you didn’t bleed.”

“Everyone saw, apparently,” he mutters.

But she doesn’t deserve his jab; Hazel is anything but malicious. Her eyes are big and her face is open—in awe, maybe. To her right Frank fiddles with his medal claiming him as a centurion. Dakota and Gwen—the girl who came back to life just yesterday—merely eye him in wariness. Nico di Angelo, on the other hand, acts as if Percy doesn’t exist, puncturing the act once in a while with stolen glances. The ambassador of Pluto. He’s the strangest of the bunch, and not just because Percy swears that they’ve met before.

Percy decides to only focus on Hazel and Frank, for his sanity. “Yeah,” he tells Hazel. “My skin’s kinda made of metal. Kinda. I don’t know how to explain it, but…”

He takes Riptide, still in pen form. Everyone is watching his every move, he knows. Not just the people on his table. He rolls the ballpoint pen in his hand, feeling the slick coolness of such an innocent object. These Romans, they had never seen a weapon like his before.

Then, he uncaps it; in seconds the innocent pen is transformed into a sword.

Some gasp. The ones sitting with him flinch, except Nico. Percy points his sword down, toward his hand, and his eyes connect with the son of Pluto’s. They are dark as obsidian, glittering, like he knows of an inside joke only he and Percy share. Finally, Percy’s gaze lands on Octavian. Even from this distance he can see that the augur’s jaw is clenched, and so is his fist that grasps onto a teddy bear, knuckles as white as the pillars. He is one of the many standing, ready for whatever trick Percy is about to pull. Even the fauns are gawking.

“Here’s a trick.”

His eyes never leave Octavian, not once. Slowly, the fingers curled around Riptide’s hilt lower down to the sharpness of the glowing bronze. Some cry out; others murmur in wonder once his hand squeezes into the blade and no scarlet comes gushing out of his palm. His other hand is ready, laid out on the table with a serene calmness, even if his palm faces the end of Riptide, point blank. Even if everyone knows he intends to cut himself. 

Frank starts, “Percy, are you sure—”

Hazel shushes him. Percy winks at Octavian before the impact comes, rattling the table. He slams Riptide down, into his waiting hand, again and again and again and again. The pain is dull compared with the satisfaction of seeing everyone’s faces.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sword bounces off his skin—again and again and again.

“See? Nothing can pierce my—”

“Enough!” comes a voice, laced with anger and authority. Reyna. “Enough! That is enough!”

She pushes past the crowd, her eyes wide. Percy stops his little show. She’s right; it is enough, because Octavian’s nose flares and his face reddens like a ripe tomato. Percy bites down his smug smile.

“Everyone,” Octavian calls, but his voice wobbles. He clears his throat. “Back to your tables.”

Reyna doesn’t reproach him for taking over her duty as a leader. She only holds Percy’s stare and disperses into the crowd, purple cape billowing behind her. In his table, Frank begins to clap, slow and appreciative. Percy turns to him and shares his smile. 

“That was,” Frank says, mouth wide open, “I mean—”

“Pretty awesome, huh?” Percy grins.

“Fucking priceless,” Hazel corrects, then pauses, her lips pursed. “Um, sorry.”

Percy nudges her. “Why’re you sorry? It’s true; Octavian’s face was priceless.”

“Oh, um.” She waves her hand around. “It’s nothing—just sometimes forget that I’m—”

“Hazel.” Nico gives her a look, stopping her mid sentence. 

What that is about, Percy has no clue. He has no clue about many things. 

“Catholic school,” Hazel says quickly. “I’m not used to swearing.” 

Her tone is too thick, however. Too nervous. Again, he has no clue about many things. 

“Anyway,” Dakota drawls, pointing a finger toward Percy, “the one that should apologize is Jackson, ‘cause he spilled my koolaid all over the table, see? All because he’s a masochist, or something.”

They all share a laugh, and maybe the Romans aren’t so bad.

[yanderecrazysie]

may I request some hc’s/oneshot (?) for a yan! Korekiyo with a shsl debater! Reader who doesn’t let anyone push them over and always speak their mind

Of course you can! I couldn’t resist making this a oneshot.

Title: Debatable

Pairings: Korekiyo Shinguji x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, mentions of murder and death, spoilers for Danganronpa V3

Summary: Korekiyo has finally found someone who understands him- he’s sure of it.

debatable

adjective

open to discussion or argument:

You were different- that much anyone could see. 

When you fell out of that locker next to Korekiyo, you hadn’t panicked, nor had you panicked at the sight of Rantaro’s bloody corpse. You, instead, put on a puzzled, thoughtful expression and began to investigate alongside Shuichi and Kaede.

You didn’t find Korekiyo frightening or weird. You simply talked to him like a normal person. That small sliver of normalcy was what Korekiyo lived for. 

But there was a problem.

You grew closer to Shuichi after Kaede’s trial, comforting him to a point that anyone could see that you were completely and disgustingly in love with him. The fact made Korekiyo’s blood boil.

You hadn’t appreciated the second trial, when Korekiyo placed the blame on Shuichi’s shoulders. You were so painfully fast to debate the living hell out of him and make him feel stupid.

Yet, he loved you.

He looked to you even as the elevator descended to his doom. If he had his way, it would be your doom too.

His sister had wanted to be joined in death, but Korekiyo hadn’t killed those two silly girls for her. No, he did it for the girl he had fallen deeply and utterly in love with. You.

And when the spotlight fell on him in the third trial, Korekiyo smiled behind his mask.

“Do not let emotions hasten your judgment,” he spoke up, “There may be two killers.”

The others began to murmur, unease spreading like wildfire. Your eyes narrowed as you looked at Korekiyo and the smile under his mask only grew.

“That isn’t the case,” you countered. Your voice was steady and confident, “Both murders were committed by the same person. We already established that fact. There’s no evidence of a second killer.”

You stole a look at Shuichi and he gave you a nod of agreement. It made Korekiyo want to reach out and gouge his eyes out.

Korekiyo’s eyes shone with delight as he began to muse, voice dripping with malice, “Ah, but isn’t it possible that the second killer has been hiding in plain sight? Perhaps someone we would least expect?”

“What are you getting at, Korekiyo?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Isn’t it curious, everyone,” he addressed the entire courtroom, “how (Y/n) has been so calm and collected this entire time? Even when faced with gruesome murder scenes… she didn’t react like the rest of us.”

The room fell deadly silent and all eyes turned to you. Your eyes widened and you gaped at Korekiyo, unable to believe what he was suggesting.

“And then,” the tall male continued, his voice persuasive, “during this trial, she was quick to defend Shuichi. Almost as though she knew for a fact he was innocent. But she would only know that if…” his eyes glinted sinisterly, “She committed the crime.”

Gasps rang out across the room and you reacted immediately, “What the hell are you talking about? That’s not true and you know it!”

Korekiyo remained eerily calm, as though he’d rehearsed this moment a million times, “Why are you so defensive? Are you afraid the truth will come out?”

Shuichi was firm for once when he spoke up, “There’s no evidence to support what you’re saying. You’re just trying to shift the blame!”

“The truth is, (Y/n) and I worked together,” Korekiyo announced, eyes gentle as they fell on the fuming Ultimate Debater, “We’re so alike, you and I.”

You couldn’t contain your fury, “I didn’t kill anyone! Stop twisting the facts to suit your sick fantasies!”

Korekiyo chuckled, “You don’t need to lie anymore. I know it must be scary, facing the truth, but you’re not alone. I’m here with you. We can face this together.”

The suspicious stares of the others fueled your rage. You must have realized by now that Korekiyo had sown the seeds of doubt and, if you didn’t shut this down immediately, it would spell disaster for you.

“He’s lying, and the facts prove it,” you said firmly, forcing a calm demeanor, “This is all a ploy to save himself. He’s cornered.”

“Am I?” Korekiyo asked softly, tauntingly, “Or am I revealing a truth that everyone has been blind to? That girl,” he pointed at you with a bandaged finger, “has been playing all of you from the start. She has used her debating skills and sharp tongue to manipulate you all. But now, her true colors are there for all to see!”

He could tell you were seething through your forced calm. When you spoke again, it was slow and measured, “If I were the killer, why would I have spent so much time disproving Shuichi’s involvement? Why would I have helped uncover the true evidence that, mind you, points to Korekiyo as the killer? Your argument doesn’t hold up.”

Korekiyo felt frustration building up inside of him, “A clever ruse, you knew aligning yourself with Shuichi would make you seem innocent.”

You shook your head, “The truth is, you’re the one who killed Angie and Tenko. You did it for whatever twisted reason and now you’re trying desperately to drag me down with you because you can’t stand the fact you’re being exposed alone.”

Korekiyo felt his panic start to rise. Everyone was nodding, agreeing with you.

If they believed you…

“You’re lying!” he hissed, “You’re deceiving them to save yourself!”

But it was too late, Shuichi’s stand moved forward and he laid out the facts of the murder case in chronological order. The room went silent as everyone realized the extent of what Korekiyo had done.

He couldn’t stand to see the sad, disgusted look on your face.

Korekiyo turned to you, moving his mask down his face to reveal his lipstick-stained lips, his eyes filled with a twisted sort of longing. “You could have been with me,” he whispered regretfully, “We could have been together in death, forever…”

You didn’t respond, turning your eyes to look at the floor.

“I love you, in life and death,” Korekiyo continued, “And I promise, my death is not the end of me.”

You believed him.

[muiitoloko]

Typecast Hearts

Summary: In the midst of an actor's frustration with typecasting and industry expectations, Mrs. Rickman offers unwavering support and lighthearted moments, creating a sanctuary from the challenges they face.

Pairing: Alan Rickman × Fem! Reader

Warning: none.

Author's Notes: Thanks for the 80 followers! 🥳

"Didn't know I married a pervert," Alan commented with a smirk, attempting to inject some light-heartedness into the room. However, you, never one to let a comment slide, set the book aside, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Alan glanced quickly at his wife, you, who was sitting on the bed, patiently waiting for him. Your eyes, peering over the edge of a book, followed him as he towelled off, a subtle amusement in your gaze.

"Hey! Wasn't it you who played a perverted judge looking at his ward through a hole in the wall?" you retorted, your tone teasing. "Or maybe the teacher who slept with his students?"

Alan's amusement quickly turned sour, irritation replacing the brief smile on his face. He tossed the towel aside with a flick of his hand and went to the wardrobe, his movements reflecting the building frustration within him. You, curious and somewhat puzzled, watched him with a questioning expression.

"Why are you so angry, Al? Did I say something wrong?" you inquired, your voice carrying genuine concern.

Alan, now rifling through the drawer to find a pair of underwear, sighed deeply. "No, love, it's not you," he reassured you, his tone softer. "It's just… annoyed at how I always seem to get offered these types of characters."

Your confusion lingered, and you approached him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "What do you mean? Characters like what?" you asked, genuinely curious about the source of his frustration.

Alan, pulling out a pair of underwear and avoiding eye contact, elaborated with a tinge of exasperation. "Characters that are perverted or morally questionable. It's as if the industry can't see beyond those roles for me. I've had enough of being typecast."

Understanding dawned in your eyes, sympathy replacing any traces of playfulness. "I see," you said softly, squeezing his shoulder. "That must be frustrating for you."

Alan, grateful for your understanding, nodded. "It is. I want roles that challenge me, not ones that perpetuate the same tired stereotypes. But it seems the industry has a limited imagination."

As Alan slipped into his pajamas, you couldn't help but comment, "I thought you enjoyed playing those roles. You always seemed to revel in being the 'mad dog' or the morally ambiguous character."

Alan scoffed, a bitter edge to his tone, "Well, there's a difference between enjoying a challenge and being pigeonholed into it. I don't want to be the bad guy all the time."

You, sitting on the edge of the bed, tried to lighten the mood. "Maybe they just can't resist that sexy voice of yours," you teased, a playful smile on your lips.

Alan shook his head, unamused. "It's more likely because of this big, horrible nose of mine," he remarked, a self-deprecating tone seeping into his words.

Your playful expression turned into one of protest. "Alan, we've talked about this. Your nose is not horrible, and you're not ugly. I've told you countless times that you're beautiful just the way you are."

Alan, dismissively pulling the covers over himself, muttered, "Well, you're biased. You're my wife."

You, now standing beside the bed, scolded him gently. "That doesn't make it any less true. You need to stop making those self-deprecating comments. It's not healthy, and it certainly doesn't make you any less appealing."

With a sigh, Alan sat up, meeting your gaze. "It's just frustrating, sweet. I want roles that showcase my range, not ones that keep me stuck in the same rut. But it seems the industry only sees me in a certain light."

You, your tone filled with empathy, reassured him, "You're more than the roles you play, Alan. You're a talented actor with depth and nuance. Maybe it's time to challenge the industry's perception of you."

As Alan pondered your words, you approached and gently cupped his face in your hands. "You're not defined by the characters they offer you. You have the power to shape your own narrative, both on and off the screen."

Alan, appreciating the sincerity in your eyes, offered a small, grateful smile. "You always know how to bring me back to reality, don't you?"

"That's what partners do," you replied, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. "Now, let's forget about the industry for a moment and enjoy a quiet night together."

Alan, the weight of frustration momentarily lifted, nodded in agreement. As you settled into bed, your presence served as a comforting anchor, providing solace amidst the challenges of the industry that sought to confine him to a predetermined mold.

In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the couple embraced the warmth of their shared space, navigating the complexities of an industry that often struggled to see beyond superficial roles. As you drifted into the quietude of the night, Alan found solace in the unwavering support of his love, a respite from the relentless expectations of the film industry.

As you began your familiar ritual, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on Alan's forehead. "You have the most captivating eyes," you murmured, your lips tracing a path across his face. "And your voice, Alan, it's like velvet – deep, resonant, and utterly enchanting."

Your words lingered in the quiet room as you continued, "Your hair, with those silver strands, is a testament to the wisdom and experience you carry. And that nose of yours," you teased, a playful smile forming, "it adds character, a distinctive feature that I find absolutely irresistible."

Your fingers gently brushed through Alan's gray hair as you spoke, emphasizing each compliment. "Your hands, strong and comforting, have held me through both joy and sorrow. And your body," you whispered, "is a canvas that tells stories of resilience and passion, etched with the marks of a life well-lived."

Alan, though attempting to maintain a facade of indifference, couldn't help but crack a smile at your genuine admiration. He listened intently as you continued to shower him with praise, your words creating a soothing melody in the quiet room.

"You're not just beautiful on the outside, Alan," you said, your voice filled with sincerity. "Your depth as a person, your kindness, and the way you navigate the complexities of life – that's what truly makes you irresistible to me."

As you concluded your ritual, you looked into Alan's eyes with unwavering affection. "You are a masterpiece, Alan Rickman, and I'm grateful to share my life with you."

Despite Alan's attempt to remain indifferent, he was touched by your words. "Enough of the cheesy compliments," he grumbled, attempting to deflect the sincerity in your praise. Shouting at you to stop being corny, he turned to the side, supporting himself with his arm, and reached to turn off the bedside table lamp, hoping the darkness would hide the blush creeping onto his cheeks.

As you continued your heartfelt admiration, Alan couldn't escape the warmth spreading through him. Accustomed to compliments from fans, colleagues, and the media, there was a unique vulnerability in receiving such words from you. He found it endearing yet struggled with the embarrassment that accompanied it.

With a mischievous gleam in your eye, you provoked him, "Come on, Mr. Rickman, don't be embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed," he insisted, though his tone betrayed a hint of amusement. "Stop calling me Mr. Rickman," he added, playfully rolling his eyes.

Undeterred, you stood up beside him, your eyes glinting mischievously. "Come on, Mr. Rickman, don't be a grump. Embrace the love," you teased, reaching out to give his shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

Alan let out a theatrical sigh. "Fine, fine. But keep it reasonable, will you?" he replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You, sensing an opportunity, decided to lighten the mood further. "Reasonable? Mr. Rickman, your charms are beyond reason," you declared with a theatrical flourish.

Rolling his eyes, Alan retorted, "You watch too many romantic films."

With a playful smirk, you launched a surprise tickle attack, your fingers expertly finding those sensitive spots you knew so well. Alan, caught off guard, couldn't help but laugh. "All right, all right, you win," he conceded between laughter, trying to fend off your tickling assault.

As the room echoed with your shared laughter, Alan couldn't deny the joy that radiated from the simple, playful moments with you. Despite the complexities of the film industry and the challenges he faced, your unwavering support and lighthearted antics provided a sanctuary where he could momentarily escape the weight of expectations.

Eventually, you relented, allowing Alan to catch his breath. With a triumphant grin, you looked down at him. "See, not so bad, was it?"

Alan, still chuckling, shook his head. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

You leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. "And you love me for it."

With a resigned smile, Alan admitted, "Guilty as charged."

They were silent for a moment, hugging each other in bed until Alan broke the silence, his thoughts veering towards the inevitable passage of time. "Do you ever worry, love?" he pondered, his deep voice resonating in the quiet room. "About what the future holds, especially when I'm not the dashing young man I once was?"

You, sensing the weight of his thoughts, looked into his eyes with a reassuring smile. "Alan, you'll always be handsome to me, no matter how many years pass. It's not just about the exterior; it's about the incredible person you are."

Alan, appreciating your sentiment, couldn't help but inject a hint of humor into his musings. "Well, what if I lose all my teeth and become a toothless wonder? Would you still find me irresistible?"

You faked a dramatic sigh, your eyes widening in playful exasperation. "Well, I suppose if you become a toothless wonder, I'll have to invest in some dentures for my dear husband," you teased, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "And who knows, with those dentures, you could finally fulfill your destiny as Count Dracula. Imagine the dramatic flair you'd bring to the role with those fake fangs!"

Alan, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief, responded, "Count Dracula, you say? I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended. Are you implying I'd make a good vampire, dear?"

You, leaning in with a sly smile, replied, "Absolutely! With that deep, velvety voice and your penchant for intense stares, you'd make the perfect brooding vampire. Just imagine the cape and the whole theatrical entrance. It would be legendary!"

Alan chuckled, the idea of himself as the iconic Count Dracula amusing him. "Well, if I must become a vampire, at least I'll have you as my eternal companion, my dear Mina."

You grinned, playing along with the playful banter. "Oh, Count Rickula, I'd be your eternal bride, forever immune to your toothless bites. We'd rule the night with denture-clad elegance!"

The two shared a moment of laughter, the absurdity of the imaginary scenario lightening the mood. In the quiet of the night, their playful exchange served as a reminder that, no matter the challenges or frustrations, the bond they shared could always find a moment of joy and humor.

[yoitsjay]

Voices

Pairings : Hunter x Gn!reader

Summary: your angelic voice brings you lots of credits, you and sid both have a mutual agreement on that. One day a new group of men, clones walks into cids parlor. And one takes an immediate fascination to you

Warnings: some teasing, your basically a god/goddess (not really u just sound like it), Hunter likey

Word count: 1,380

You had been working with Cid for years, during the clone wars from a teenager to now in the present time, you were singing while she had her meetings with the Jedi, and you made good money for her and yourself. At first her proposal wasn't very good, not for you anyway, but after a few shows and seeing just how many credits you wracked in for her you managed to convince her to make the cut even, 50:50. Business at Cids parlor boomed for years because of you, and it was a good time too, Cid fed you, and let you have your own room in the Parlor, all thanks to your voice, the one thing that could sway people not only to dance, but to hang onto every word you said and listen with such intent. You were a good strategist too, especially when it came to betting games like Dejarik or even sabaak, more things that earned you and Cid money.

Today was like any other day, however you had just bought a new outfit and were in the midst of putting it on for your next performance, humming to yourself only to get interupted by a knock on your bedroom door. “yeah Cid?” you called out, already familiar with the way she knocked. Cid opened the door and offered you a very slight smile, unnoticeable to anyone else, but you've known her for so long that you know what she tells, and when she's in a particularly good mood. “We have a full house tonight, especially since you announced some new songs, but there's a particular group that just walked in asking for me, go see what they want, and if you like their vibe bring em to my office.” She requested, and you nodded as she left.

You quickly finished your routine, putting your hair up before you walked out to the main room of the parlor, you scanned around, seeing people playing games, drinking and dancing to the pre show music, but you quickly noticed the new group, boy they stuck out like a sore thumb, not just because of their armor, but because of the child that they had with them.

You let out a soft huff before making your approach, getting stopped by some fans of yours with markers held out, and you quickly signed whatever you needed to sign before finally reaching the group, their attention already focused on you, one of them however seemed to be more curious about you than the rest, this must have been the reader. “I hear you're looking for Cid?” You questioned, having to speak up over this crowd just so this group could hear you. who you assumed was the leader stood up and turned to you fully, nodding his head. You noticed he had a tattoo that covered half of his face, the details resembling a skull, which you found interesting, and yet attractive all the same.

“yea, that you?” He asked, and you giggled, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe, what do you want with her?” You questioned them, the glint of the leader's vibroblade catching your eye. “You won't get nothing if you flash those weapons around, not in this full house.” You added, crossing your arms over your chest. The leader cleared his throat, and raised his hands just slightly, which put you at ease for now. He then spoke up, glancing back at his group. “We heard that Cid was an informant for the Jedi, and were hoping we could talk with her.” He explained, and you looked him up and down before studying the rest of the group. You sighed, but nodded and gestured with your hand for them to follow. And they did without a second thought as you led them to the back part of the parlor, opening Cid's office as you stepped to the side, gesturing for them to walk in. “Good luck, and after you're done, maybe stick around for my performance, I could always use some new ears.” You said before walking to the stage back in the main room.

Cheers then flooded Hunter's ears and he winced slightly at the sudden anterage of voices, but once the door shut behind him and his brothers- and Omega- he relaxed a bit, turning to look at the green Trandotian who had now spun to face them.

Meanwhile, you started up with a few of your most popular songs, credits already being thrown on stage, soon Hunter and the rest of his family walked out with Cid not far behind, all having already decided that they were hired, and really they didn't have a choice. But the minute his senses and thoughts calmed, your voice was the only one that flooded his ears, he looked over at you, seeing you on your knees on the stage with the microphone clasped in one hand, while the other was extended in front of you, with many patrons hands reaching out for you. Whatever you were singing hadn’t even registered in his head, only that your voice just calmed every feeling in his body, his eyes wide and his lips slightly gaped. Just then he felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned quickly, calming again when he noticed Echo standing by his side. “You okay Hunter? you kinda froze for a second.” He said, glancing up at the stage towards you.

Hunter cleared his throat and nodded but as his brothers and omega turned to grab a booth, however Hunter paused and he turned to look at you again, and this time you locked eyes while you sang a pretty inappropriate line from one of your songsm running your free hand down your body as you sent him a wink before turning away. After an hour or so you said your goodbyes and left the stage, disappearing in the back as you headed towards your bedroom, once in the peaceful atmosphere of your little space you undressed, and changed into something more casual and definitely more comfortable, sliding your own little viroblade into its holster secured on your thigh, just a precaution. You let your hair down and gave yourself a minute to decompress, sitting on your bed staring at the ceiling when you heard a knock on your door, and this one wasn't from Cid.

You slowly moved towards the door, opening it just a crack to see who was standing there, and low and behold it was the man from earlier, with the half skull tattoo. “hello” You greeted softly, opening the door fully as you smiled up at him. “I hear you're officially working for Cid, congrats.” You spoke playfully, noticing that his eyes flicked up and down a couple times, which made you smirk. “Yeah..” He muttered for a moment before his eyes snapped to yours, he was a lot taller than you were, basically a foot taller, but you always did love your men tall, you cleared your throat and it seemed to snap him from his little trans as he stood up a little straighter. “I wanted to introduce myself, Im Hunter.” He explained, sticking his hand out for you, you grinned, and took his arm in a firm handshake. “I know�� You stated, Cid having already told you after your performance. “It's a good name, strong… hot.” You teased, letting your touch linger for a tad longer than it should have before letting his arm go.

You told him your name, watching something flash in his eyes before seeing his slight smile. “That's a beautiful name, suits you.” He stated, looking away for a moment as you giggled. Just then you stepped out of your room, placing a hand on his armored chest, pushing him back just ever so slightly so you could close your door. “Buy me a drink Hunter, and we’ll see where the night takes us, I always do like an adventure.” You teased, slipping past him as you walked towards the bar. Hunter shook his head, and followed not too far behind. You already had him in this transe, it was like he couldn't take his eyes off of you… he wasn't sure if he even wanted to.

He'd just have to see how this night went…

[rhettabbotts]

first and foremost! congrats on hitting 1.2k shelby!!! you deserve all of those and so many more followers!

you and i have been talking about dilf!rhett and his reading glasses recently. so i'm here with a request.

the smut dialogue prompt of "how do i look" but it's dilf!rhett after he gets his glasses

wired frames - dilf rhett abbott

pairing: dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

summary: rhett achieves the highest dilf status.

warnings: suggestive language. babysitter’s horny thoughts. pre-relationship. age gap as always.

Rhett hated calling you in on a Friday.

Fridays were always your days off. Unfortunately, it was the only day the eye doctor could get him in and he couldn’t take Grace and Ellie with him. You didn’t mind to come in. Silencing Rhett when he promised that you could leave as soon as he was back.

The girls were elated to see you when they came down for breakfast. Grace demanded you fixed blueberry pancakes because “yours were way better than daddy’s.” Ellie rambled on about her new stuffed bear, insisting Mr. Fuzz-a-lots sat at the table while they shoveled in their food.

They were filled with so much energy, chasing each other with the water hose, trying to stave off the early summer heat. You sat with a book in your hand, catching yourself daydreaming about a certain cowboy - who also happened to be your boss.

You tried to shake the feeling, tried everything to rid your mind of wandering thoughts of Rhett but you couldn’t help it. Not when you had to see him nearly every day. As some sick joke from the universe, Rhett’s truck came roaring up the gravel road. The girls screeched as he stepped out, your heart doing the same.

Wired frames now adorned his face. The silver glinted in the scorching sun and your breath caught in your throat. Holy shit. It’s like they were magic and made his hair appear silvery as well. Your whole body was set ablaze.

You averted your eyes before he could catch you staring but that didn’t stop him from making his way to you, barely escaping the two drenched children.

“So…” Rhett said in a curious tone, causing you to look up to the man standing before you. “What do you think?”

Your mouth dried as he preened, posing and wiggling the glasses that were perched on his nose. His perfect nose that you’d give anything to feel against your-

“About what?” You asked nonchalantly, calmly. As if you weren’t actively trying to beat your brain with a baseball bat.

“The glasses. How do I look? Look too old?” He inquired.

So handsome. Sexy. Like I want to kiss you until they fog up.

“They look good,” you stated, keeping your responses short in order to save yourself some embarrassment.

“They look good, she says. You really know how to compliment a man, honey,” Rhett joked before making his way inside. Leaving you a sweltering mess on the porch.

You ended up staying for dinner - on behalf of Ellie getting on her knees practically begging you. You could never say no to her. Rhett made his “signature pasta” which was just spaghetti but you indulged him. It was rather good.

As he put the girls to bed, you helped wash up. You were drying the last dish when you heard his footsteps descending down the stairs. He wasn’t even in the room yet and your heart rate spiked. Damn him and the unknowing hold he had on you.

Rhett saddled up behind you, reaching up to grab a whiskey glass. His broad chest pressed against your back, heat radiating from his body that you could feel through your t-shirt. You couldn’t breathe. When you did inhale all you could smell was him.

“Want a drink?” He questioned, warm breath washing over you, tightening your throat in a vice grip. All you could do was nod.

He poured two glasses of the amber liquid, his new frames seated on his face once more. You were certain he put them back on just to tease you. Just to make you go mental - if the way his thin lips quirked up at the corner were any indication.

“What do you really think about these?” He asked after a beat of silence.

You were on the spot now. It was just the two of you. You had nowhere to hide. No book to stick your nose into.

“You look - you look very handsome. Smart. They bring out the blue in your eyes,” you stuttered with shaky breath. He hummed in response, a strand of hair falling out of place and onto his forehead. You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and tucking it behind his ear, pulling away swiftly.

It really did bring out the grey in his hair. You wanted to run your fingers through it and-

“You’re real sweet, honey.”

“I should - I should get going. It’s late,” you whispered.

“Yeah… have a good weekend, Tillerson. Thanks again for sticking around today.” Rhett fumbled with his wallet for some cash, brushing you off when you tried to tell him not to worry about it.

“I’ll see you Monday.”

“Bright and early.”

You couldn’t rid your mind of the image of Rhett in his glasses all weekend. No matter how much you tried.

[mercillery]

ZOGRATIS SIBLINGS…

SFW + SPOILERS ⚠️ + RANDOM HEADCANONS + VERY RANDOM + MOSTLY ME RAMBLING

Very random hcs sorry if it’s too random for you. Anyways, I love them.

♤ You know, even though these four are utterly heartless and insane, I get the impression that they all care for one another… in their own way.

♤ Obviously, this hasn’t been confirmed, and no one truly knows, but episode 167 backs this up, kinda! Sure, Zenon only came because he was concerned about the magic fluctuation and only came to check. But he still saved Dante; he fought for Dante, and that’s enough for me to know that Zenon at least cares enough to rescue Dante from his defeat.

♤ Unfortunately, we have yet to see Vanica rescuing or being rescued. But I assume that since Zenon rescued Dante, he’d do the same for Vanica, no?

♤ Then there’s chapter 344, where we can see Lucius resurrecting Dante, Vanica, and Zenon. If this won’t convince you that they at least somewhat care for each other, I don’t know what will.

♤ Another thing I like to think about is that when Lucius used to be in a wheelchair, Vanica probably always wanted to sit in his lap. I could definitely picture her talking Lucius’ ear off while she pushed his wheelchair around to who-knows-where.

♤ Dante was most likely a constant witness to this, watching with an amused expression on his face as Lucius only hummed in response to whatever nonsense Vanica chattered.

♤ And Zenon? Probably somewhere else doing his own thing. Zenon strikes me as that one sibling who’s just locked up in their room all day with little to no contact.

♤ The most extroverted sibling in the family is Vanica, which I think is something most can agree on. Well, somewhat. It’s clear that she’s always excited and talkative when a strong opponent is in sight, with the intent to fight them. So just imagine how much worse she was when she was a child.

♤ I can picture Mini Vanica going around and getting lost with no worries whatsoever; the only thing occupying her eager mind was whether she was going to pick a fight today or not. In truth, she’s most likely been in numerous fights during her childhood, whether as a witness or as the fighter herself.

♤ In the case where she was a witness, she always watched eagerly, that is, only if the fight was good enough to be watched at all. If she did happen to find the fight interesting, she’d watch with a glint in her eyes.

♤ In the situation where SHE was the one fighting, she’d go all out with zero concern for any future consequences she'd face. She is Vanica, after all, recklessness may or may not run in her blood.

♤ Dante probably watches all this happen with amusement, only stepping in once he gets bored. Zenon has grown too tired of her impulsive nature to care at this point, and Lucius is probably the one to get Vanica out of whatever mess she got herself into.

♤ Lucius is a good storyteller, no matter the theme—horror, thriller, or adventure. Not romance, though. If he’s asked for romance from his siblings, he’ll resort to the usual, “Once upon a time, there was a princess and a prince...”

♤ Of course, story-telling was more common throughout the Zogratis’ childhood. Even then, romance wasn’t an option that was picked too frequently—or at all. But I like to think that maybe one of them got curious one day and chose romance. Unfortunately, Lucius made sure to end it with the most horrifying ending. For the giggles.

♤ For those confused, let me elaborate…

♤ Do you know any stories from the Brothers Grimm? Or the way certain Disney films were altered from their original, ominous endings because they were deemed too disturbing? Let's just say that knowing the real endings to these "romantic" stories from Lucius has given them nightmares.

♤ They never again asked for romance. But looking at it now, Dante and Vanica find it amusing how they used to get nightmares from Lucius’ so-called “romance” stories. Minus Zenon. Zenon rolls his eyes at the memories of the days where he too was given nightmares.

♤ Anyway, besides Lucius being mischievous and scaring his siblings into bed with a seemingly sweet love story that ends terribly, I bring this up because I like to think that during their childhood, a way they used to bond was by storytelling, with Lucius being the usual pick to tell a story.

♤ Around the time Lucius left to go to Clover Kingdom, I imagine he didn’t say goodbye to Dante or Vanica, but only Zenon. I feel as if Lucius sympathizes most with Zenon, so he left him with a few last words before he departed.

♤ Though I can't quote exactly what Lucius would have said to him word for word, I'm going to presume that it would have been something along the lines of "Continue fighting for the Spade Kingdom" or something similar. As for Dante and Vanica, they probably weren’t too affected by Lucius’ sudden absence. Although I can see Dante being pleased that he was in charge now.

♤ They all listen to classical music, especially Dante. Dante listens to classical music when he has the time, when it’s a time where he can just relax and enjoy his favorite piece playing. His favorite classical song is “Dies Irae” from Verdi's Requiem.

♤ The strong and ominous tone of this composition would resonate with Dante, reflecting his imposing presence and unrelenting pursuit of power. Like Dante's complicated webs of power and control, which he orchestrates and manipulates inside the Dark Triad, Dias Irae is a frenetic piece full of action.

♤ Vanica listens to “In the Hall of the Mountain King" by Grieg. Being known for her impulsive and chaotic nature, Vanica embodies the energy and unpredictability of this composition.

♤ Just like the music's frenetic pace and playful melody, Vanica thrives on the adrenaline rush of her impetuous actions and loves the unexpected turns life takes. She leaves a chaotic and exciting path in her wake.

♤ Vanica might also listen to “Danse Macabre” by Camille Saint-Saës. The piece's eerie tune with a hint of playfulness could possibly be a reflection of her erratic and unpredictable personality, which makes it an appropriate fit for her taste in music. The name "Danse Macabre," which means "Dance of Death," may also play to Vanica's interest in bloodshed and devastation.

♤ Zenon would probably like “Valse Sentimentale” by Pyotr Tchaikovsky. I say probably because I feel as if Valse Sentimentale is a song too. hopeful and happy sounding in the middle of it, like it’s out of a fairytail, if that makes sense. But then I realized something...

♤ Given the entirety of the Allen incident, its graceful yet melancholic tune may communicate his complex feelings and the weight of his past. In moments of solitude, the piece may provide brief solace, allowing him to ponder his past with a sense of solemnity and contemplation.

♤ Lucius, being the eldest and most sinister sibling, would enjoy the good old classical “Dance of the Knights” by Prokofiev. He is drawn to this song because of its menacing mood and imposing orchestration, which reflect his own intense and dominant nature.

[ladyryukyo]

outtake: kyoben flirt prompt

this is the first outtake i have which was written for the flirt prompt i did uhh more than three years ago now?? omg time flies DSLGHAGAD i was really struggling with how to enter into the scene i had in mind and wrote multiple beginnings for it. this is the longest one (and also probably the longest outtake i have rn)

“Have you ever been in love?” Demure asks, apropos of absolutely nothing at all.

Kyoya looks up from where he has been sprawled on the couch for the last hour, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. Nile, in a similar position as Kyoya but with a thick book, about gardening of all things, in his hands, slowly lowers the book in his lap and closes it. They exchange a puzzled look.

“Of course,” Benkei chimes from the kitchen.

He walks into the living room with a full tray of still steaming cookies, big oven mitts on his equally big hands. As soon as he puts the tray down on the coffee table, Nile, Demure and Kyoya simultaneously reach for a cookie but hiss and pull their hands back when they burn themselves on the treats.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Benkei says cheerfully, and evidently too late.

Demure is cradling his burnt hand against his chest but his gaze is fixed on Benkei and his expression is expectant and curious. He is obviously thinking about Benkei’s confirmation to the question Demure just blurted out to their group.

Kyoya can’t say that he isn’t intrigued as well. He has known Benkei the longest out of all of them and he doesn’t remember Benkei ever talking about someone he liked. Granted, during their earlier days, Kyoya wasn’t exactly the most approachable person and even Benkei had a hard time getting close to him but after that? After the Face Hunters, after the Dark Nebula, after they joined Gingka and his whole friendship is magic schtick? He is surprised to feel a twinge of hurt at the thought that Benkei’s silence on this topic might stem from a lack of trust.

Or maybe he is surprised about how not suprising his reaction is. They have come far, the two of them, from the boys they once were. The leader of the most dangerous gang in Metal City and his lackey, a bully. To partners, companions, friends.

Equals.

“I didn’t know you were in love with someone,” Kyoya says.

Everyone turns to look at him, the surprise on Nile and Demure’s faces openly displayed. Benkei stares at him for a second too long to casually brush off, then grins sheepishly and looks away from Kyoya.

“Oh, it was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter.” 

Kyoya frowns. “Was it someone in the gang?”

Benkei hesitates which is as good as confirmation.

Kyoya knew there were a few boys in the Face Hunters that Benkei was close with. He just didn't know that they were close enough for those kinds of feelings to develop between them. Maybe he doesn’t know Benkei as well as he thought he did. Maybe he misinterpreted how they stood to one another. It’s not like Kyoya is an expert on friendships. 

“Where is this even coming from?”

Nile breaks the tension by questioning Demure. Demure shrugs and scratches his cheek absent-mindedly. 

“I don’t know. Just curious, I guess,” he explains. “I wanted to know if you guys have ever been in love and how you handled it. It’s interesting.” 

Nile throws Demure a skeptical look. Demure returns that look with raised eyebrows and a meaningful glint in his eyes, obviously trying to convey something to Nile. Kyoya furrows his brows in confusion. Demure may not be the most subtle person in the world but whatever his reasoning for this nonsense is, it won’t reveal itself to Kyoya. 

Finally, Nile breaks the tense stare-off and nods slowly. “Right,” he says although he looks like not anything is right. “Okay. So, Benkei. What did you do after you realized you were in love?” 

Kyoya looks at Nile in disbelief, then at Benkei, who also looks at Nile in disbelief. It feels like they just witnessed Demure do some voodoo magic on Nile to get him to pursue his line of questioning. It feels a little bit illegal. It definitely feels illegal. 

“Well?” Nile prompts him when Benkei doesn’t answer. 

“I didn’t really do anything. What do you two want from me?” Benkei complains, a bewildered expression on his face. 

“What do you mean, you didn’t really do anything?” 

“You should have tried to flirt with the person you loved,” Demure suggests. 

Benkei turns red. The blush fills his cheeks instantly, one moment he looks like always, then Kyoya blinks and the Benkei he knows is a stuttering mess. 

“I could never, uh. I don’t know how, uh, how to f—flirt.” 

It doesn’t slip Kyoya’s attention how Nile’s eyes light up with sudden understanding and how he indiscreetly throws a thumbs up at Demure.

Then something weird happens. Well. Something even weirder. 

Demure takes his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and stares hard at the display. Then he declares loudly: 

“Oh no. I didn’t realize how late it was. Me and Nile have to go. But don’t worry, Benkei, I’m sure Kyoya can teach you about flirting.” 

Benkei’s eyes are wide and his mouth half open in betrayal. Kyoya is beginning to feel like someone told a joke and Kyoya is the only one not in on the punchline because Benkei definitely realized something in the last few seconds, if the way he is staring at Nile and Demure’s quickly retreating backs is any indication.

[bimrsadler]

could you do an f!reader who is wealthy and actually decides to become patron to the gang, letting them stay at their manor on the outskirts of Saint Denis? she asks for a personal guard in turn, which she asks High Honor Arthur to fill the role of. She's tiny, petite even (like 4'9"-ish) and very femme but with a sharp, elegant tongue.

she likes to hang out with Arthur and show him the wealthy side of life while he shows her the lifestyle of being out in the country. All the tensions and staring of a rich, unmarried lady out with a rugged outlaw of man? Perfect bait. 👀

Fluffy or NSFW or just sexual tension is okay! Feel free to go all kinds of ways with this if you do take the rq, ty!! Love your work!!

Fortune Favors the Bold

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader

Word count: 4,600

Warnings/tags: nsft, use of guns/light violence, high honor Arthur, fluff, mutual pining, unprotected piv, dirty talk, size difference, use of pet names

Notes: you gave me a lot to work with anon so I decided to just have fun and make this a longer one, sorry it took a bit but I hope it’s what you were looking for!

Walking around Saint Denis it was hard not to feel eyes on you wherever you went, you were an odd couple after all.

Couple. It wasn’t a word you ever thought you’d use to describe you and Arthur Morgan. Truthfully you weren’t an actual couple; not in the literal sense anyway, but you did enjoy a partnership of sorts and it felt comfortable enough to call him your friend.

As you explored the streets together your differences could not be any clearer, the sun glinted off the gold around your neck while the only gleam on Arthur was off the cold steel of his revolver.

An air of grace and elegance followed you wherever you went, wealth represented in your high end dresses.

The man at your side the complete opposite.

An air of intimidation and ruggedness followed Arthur, worn clothing indicative of his rough lifestyle.

And of everything about him you found yourself inexplicably drawn to, it was the fact that he towered over you that was most alluring.

Being of high status and short stature — you were an easy target. Meeting the Van der Linde gang for the first time was nerve wracking to say the least, knowing that if they wanted to harm you they could in no time.

But the man who introduced himself as Arthur Callahan with the badge on his vest was clearly not a real deputy, and knowing of the Grays and Braithwaites; you weren’t particularly upset at their scheming.

Before Arthur and Dutch could warn you not to tell anyone — you proposed working together instead.

While they were no doubt dangerous criminals, they were more understanding than you expected and most of the gang fun to be around. Leery of you at first, they knew it was advantageous to have someone of your status on their side, and found there was more to you than how you presented on the outside.

While your family was away, you offered the manor as a safe-house for the gang and they gave you Arthur in return. It would take a lot of bold stupidity to make an attempt on you when a man like him was by your side.

It wasn’t unusual to get curious men asking what a woman like you was doing with a man like Arthur, to which you would warn them to mind their own business. And if they were more brash than curious? Well it didn’t take long for them to learn their mistake when Arthur came over.

Not everyone looked at Arthur like he didn’t belong though. Outlaw or not, he was arrestingly attractive; pulling in wandering eyes from the upper and lower class alike.

People always seemed pleasantly surprised at how well mannered he was as well, greeting passerby’s with a hat tip and a “ma’am,” listening to strangers stories and stopping to pet street dogs. Really since you’d met — he was primarily only a threat to those who were a threat to you.

The two of you grew curious about each other, with your lifestyles and upbringings being so different. Everything about the gang was exciting to you and you cautiously wanted to explore it. Arthur had a harder time admitting he was interested in what your side of life had to offer and felt uncomfortable with how foreign it felt.

But you caught him eyeing the beautiful things in your home, letting his fingertips glide along the piano keys, smirking at the expensive weapons mounted and fine whiskies.

It was the art that he took a particular interest in however. He was shy about it at first, gazing at the framed paintings on the walls wanting to know more about them but too nervous to inquire.

So you would stand beside him and tell him the history of it, of the artist, as he stood scratching his beard intently listening.

“Hmm,” he’d mumble dryly — trying to downplay his curiosity but giving himself away by quickly pointing to the one beside it, “and how ’bout this one?”

Arthur never felt fully comfortable in fancier settings but you loved bringing him to dinners and plays with you. When he lost himself in the dishes and dramas meant for the higher class, he fully enjoyed himself.

You never felt at ease in those situations either though, always needing to show a performative smile and appear proper was exhausting. So after the parties you would surprise Arthur by asking him to take you to a saloon or maybe just a stroll in the woods, and he was more than happy to oblige.

Arthur was hesitant when you asked to take trips with him however; worried you didn’t understand what you were getting into.

“No offense Miss but I don’t think ya know what yer askin’.”

“I may be rich but I’m not dumb — Mister.” You said with a sarcastic hiss. “I’d like to learn.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and agreed reluctantly, clearly assuming you would just be deadweight.

But you were a quick learner, and you enjoyed it.

It was exhilarating learning to shoot and skin, and much to Arthur’s surprise you had no qualms about looting with him or being the lookout on a job.

Your favorite nights however were the ones under the stars and beside the crackling fire. You would take the sounds of the slow moving river and rustling pines over the ramblings of relatives whose only talking points were property prices and fine China, any day.

A truth you were anxiously coming to terms with was the fact that you also loved all of this because of Arthur. You could spend hours listening to the husky timbre of his voice excitedly tell you the stories that only a Hell-raising outlaw could.

And yet he was just as enrapturing while sketching quietly or baby-talking his horse as he brushed and fed it.

This evening in Saint Denis was the culmination of all of those nights of curiosity and company.

You had woken up early that morning, Arthur journaling on the couch as you approached him.

“I have an idea cowboy.”

He closed his journal and raised an eyebrow.

“You guys still need money right? Well you and I could make a killing in Saint Denis…”

Arthur sighed and closed his journal, “meanin’?”

“Without you on my arm I’m an easy target in the wrong part of town. You could hang back and I could just draw them out,” you raised your eyebrows excitedly.

Arthur stood up waving his arms in the air, “absolutely not. You crazy woman?!”

“First of all, we would make a good team. Second, do not call me ‘woman’.”

Arthur seemed to take your scolding to heart, shoulders slumping slightly. “Sorry…”

Walking over to you with a softer tone he continued, “just wouldn’t forgive myself if somethin’ happened to ya. I know yer capable but…these things can be unpredictable.”

“Maybe so, but I trust you. Now c’mon Arthur, live a little,” you teased with a wink.

That was all it took, though he continued complaining about going against his better judgment.

Dolling yourself up in your finest that evening, you stood in front of the mirror — scared and excited.

Arthur came in slowly after a delicate knock. In the reflection you caught him pausing at the sight of you, eyes roaming and expression softening.

“You uh…ya ready?”

“Almost, I just…can’t get this necklace to clasp,” you laughed nervously.

“Oh uh…well lemme help then…”

Arthur’s boots were heavy on the floor but his approach was slow and considerate. Handing him the necklace, he draped it around your front, cold metal brushing against you.

The combination of his warm and broad chest hovering against your back with his calloused fingertips ghosting along the skin of your neck, brought forth goosebumps you hoped he wouldn’t notice.

Watching in the reflection, a slight tremble kept him from joining the two sides of the necklace. “Damn fingers are too big,” he chuckled bashfully.

“It’s okay,” you spoke quietly with a reassuring smile.

Finally it clasped together, the emerald jewel coming to a rest at the swell of your cleavage. Before Arthur stepped back, his knuckles lingered on the nape of your neck as he dragged a fingertip along the golden filigree.

“So…would you steal this from me Arthur?”

“Well, you’d definitely catch my attention,” he said warmly before stepping back.

Trying not to read into Arthur’s response, you absentmindedly adjusted in front of the mirror. “Haven’t worn this dress yet, wasn’t sure if I liked it…”

“Why? Y’look beautiful,” Arthur stated.

You felt a flutter spread in your chest and stomach while watching him fumble with his gunbelt in the mirror.

“I uh,” he cleared his throat and motioned toward the door, “we should get goin’.”

All eyes were on you as your large bodyguard walked protectively by your side. You meandered through the city waiting for nightfall, listening to the street performers and perusing the shop windows.

As the sun dipped below the horizon you and Arthur made your way behind the saloon.

“Now you catch someone’s eye ‘n bring ‘em out here,” Arthur pointed to the dark of the alleyway, “I’ll be right down there.”

Clasping your shoulder with his bear paw of a hand he implored, “please be careful.”

“Always am Mr. Morgan,” you winked with a confident smile though your heart was racing.

You watched as he concealed the lower half of his face with a black bandana, leaving only his eyes to be seen under the wide brim of his hat.

Only in the faint light of the streetlamp did you realize that Arthur’s eyes were the same shade as the jewel around your neck. Your heart was pounding for more reasons than one.

The night wore on with the usual bothering from drunk and foolish men — mostly harmless, buying you drinks (that you only pretended to sip) and asking why you were alone.

You fiddled with your necklace and purse, making sure to draw any attention from types you wouldn’t want noticing.

And it did. A dirty and angry looking man in the corner caught your eye. He wasn’t drunk and he had been watching you closely for most of the night.

As the music and clamoring picked up in pace and volume you headed toward the swinging doors in the back; sure enough he followed in your peripheral.

Each second as you made your way into the alley became more and more urgent, heart pounding and sweat dripping while you kept your hand close to your purse — should you need to use the knife Arthur gifted you.

The man closed in quickly, not touching you yet but attempting to intimidate with his presence. “Better stop right there girl…”

Turning around slowly you looked at your mark. He was big — but not as big as Arthur.

“Ain’t anyone teach you not to be alone in places like this?” He sneered with an air of superiority.

You watched Arthur’s bulky frame come into view from behind the shadows, “who says I’m alone?”

The gun in Arthur’s hand pressed to the man’s temple, “ain’t anyone ever teach you to be a gentleman?”

Arthur chuckled darkly, “now…I’m gonna hand that gun in yer holster to the fine lady,” he pressed the revolver harder into the man’s head, making him flinch. “— an’ if ya try anything I’ll blow yer goddamn head off.”

Arthur’s voice was deep and dark and almost made you feel bad for the man, but mostly it stirred something within you.

After the gun was given to you, Arthur began rummaging through the pockets to find money and trinkets.

You knew what the two of you were doing wasn’t right either and Arthur was a bad man, but he was good to you and there was goodness inside of him.

And at that moment? Electricity surged through every inch of your body with exhilaration and you had trouble finding sympathy for a man who would corner a woman by herself.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” The reality of the situation hit hard as a police officer stopped at the end of the alleyway — clearly seeing that it was Arthur robbing the man.

“Oh thank God you’re here officer!” You threw a shaking hand up to play the victim, “please help us!”

You felt terrible for the brief panic in Arthur’s darting eyes as he seemed unsure if you were betraying him.

It didn’t last though. Using your other hand you quickly pointed the gun you kept hidden from view and fired above the officers head.

Arthur understanding that it was a way to buy time, hit the man with the butt of his gun in an attempt to knock him out.

Swiftly grabbing your wrist he pulled you through the saloon, the drunk and confused patrons slowing down the cop in pursuit.

“The hell was that?!” Arthur demanded under his breath.

“Me trying to save our skins — you’re welcome!”

“I’ll thank ya if we make it outta here alive,” Arthur taunted as he found the closest horse to steal. He pulled you with no effort at all, your feet leaving the ground in the blink of an eye.

You wrapped an arm around Arthur’s tight core and pointed the gun behind you with the other, the galloping horse keeping you from a steady aim.

“Arthur where are we going?!”

“Jus’ hold on I’ll figure it out!”

Approaching a bridge you noticed that the view was partly obscured by willow trees, making it a good time as any to throw off the lawman.

Aiming to the best of your ability you shot behind you again, hoping to stall and not harm him. At that moment Arthur took a hard right into the grass and through the trees.

A proper lady’s place was not on the back of a horse with a wanted man, nor was it in a seedy alleyway with bad intentions. But there was nowhere else you wanted to be.

Nestling the gun in the saddlebag, you clung tightly to Arthur’s midsection and buried your face between his shoulder blades.

He was warm and strong and the wind in your hair cooler now, every sense heightened from the rush surging through you.

Slowing to a trot Arthur pulled to a grassy clearing and stopped. “Think we made it…”

He dismounted and grabbed you by the waist to help you do the same, bodies flush as your feet hit the ground.

“Wasn’t exactly a perfect heist but…you handled yerself well sweetheart.”

Arthur’s arms still hovered around you loosely as he spoke beneath his bandanna. His eyes searched yours as you brought your fingertips to his face.

Slowly, you removed what kept his lips from you and ran your thumb along his stubbled cheek. You admired the chestnut locks that fell carelessly along his brow and the way his broad chest heaved at your touch. All you wanted to do was kiss him and never stop kissing him.

“I feel like I could do anything right now Arthur…”

A smirk formed at the corner of his lips with an expectant raise of his eyebrows. Standing on your tiptoes your brought his face to yours for a slow, delicate kiss.

Though he looked dumbstruck and returned the gesture, he pulled back for a moment. “I want this but…I’m no good for ya girl. I’m only good at fightin’ and robbin’…you know that.”

“Bullshit Arthur.” The look on his face was priceless, seemingly more shocked to hear you swear despite just seeing you shoot at the law.

“Bullshit. You have goodness in you too and I’m a grown woman who knows what she wants.” Arthur watched you in disbelief.

“You’re good at protecting me and the way you touch me is kind and it makes me feel safe. I want you to keep touching me like that Arthur…”

A flicker of pride flashed on his face. The only time you could tell Arthur felt good about himself was when he helped others and he especially took a shine to helping you. Being a protector let him realize he was capable of being good at more than just robbing and fighting.

“Fair enough,” he said bringing you back in his embrace. “But I need to hear ya say it.”

“I want this Arthur, you have no idea,” your words were breathy and impatient.

His grip on you was tender but somehow still powerful despite not using any of his real strength. You felt positively tiny in his arms.

His mouth opened more for you, allowing curious flicks of your tongue on his; light whimpers combining. Hands began moving more hungrily — yours down his chest and his up your thigh.

Months prior you might have felt shame at the ache between your legs and the desire urging your hips forward; but now all you cared about was Arthur dousing that fire.

“Sweetheart it shouldn’t be like this…”

Your heart dropped, unsure of where he was going with that statement. “Wh— what do you mean?”

“Well I—look…” Arthur stuttered, trying to find the right words with a reddening face. “You deserve better’n layin’ in some grass in the woods like this.”

He paused to think and fiddle with his suspenders before continuing, “least lemme take ya back to the manor. Wanna make it, y’know…proper.”

You considered telling Arthur that you wanted it here, still riding the high of the night; being outside after barely escaping would only add to the thrill.

But Arthur didn’t want that. He wanted to treat you special and give you comfort and patience. He didn’t need to be the rugged outlaw anymore that night, he just needed to be your suitor.

You already got to play cops and robbers, maybe it was his turn to play the gentleman.

Sighing with relief you took Arthur’s hand, “well just so you know, here would be just fine with me.” Planting a reassuring kiss on his cheek you headed toward the horse, “but you can take me home.”

Arthur took a longer, more secluded route through the woods in case someone was still looking for you.

It wasn’t easy being patient, the tension palpable and the anticipation exquisite.

As you lurched forward with the horses gait you replayed the kiss and wandering hands in your mind.

You couldn’t wait to unbutton his shirt, to feel the curve of his muscle, to make him whine with the touch of your fingertips, and God you couldn’t wait to feel his on you.

You wanted him to squeeze you and mark you in every intimate place that was usually kept hidden. To thrust and curl and fill all of you.

Positioning yourself higher on the saddle you let your hands roam along his waistline and kissed the curve where his neck met his shoulder.

Arthur leaned his head, allowing you to kiss and nip at more of his sensitive skin. He responded with his rough hand grasping your calf. Ever so slowly it pushed up your dress and glided along your thigh.

Your hips instinctively rolled forward to the small of his back, Arthur kneading the fat of your thigh as your wetness grew.

It really wasn’t easy being patient.

You keened, “how much longer baby?”

“Jesus,” Arthur sighed while rolling his own hips at the air. “Gonna be there soon.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do to me Arthur…”

“’M’gonna take off that dress you look so goddamn gorgeous in and feel how soft y’are.”

“Gonna feel how soft I am everywhere?” You teased with a light bite to his ear.

Arthur grunted a yes, “gonna part them pretty legs and make ya feel good darlin’. You gonna be good’n wet for me?”

“Oh you could sink into me right this second Arthur.”

“My God girl,” Arthur said taken aback. “Never thought I’d hear ya talkin’ like that…”

“I’m full of surprises.” You snaked your hand down to his lap, lightly ghosting over his straining manhood. “And I see you’re ready for me.”

Arthur shuddered with a groan, “painfully so.”

Laughing together you continued teasing touches and lustful whispers until the manor came into view.

Arthur sent the horse off and though it was late, the two of you snuck in should any of the gang still be up.

As the doors of the bedroom closed behind you, Arthur lifted you up and wrapped your legs around his waist. Gently pressing you to a wall your kisses were passionate and rutting slow.

Carrying you over to the bed, Arthur sat you at the edge and positioned himself behind.

Though they trembled slightly with nerves, he moved with unhurried and adept hands; carefully untying and undoing each bit of your dress and corset.

Despite the prior buildup and desperation, Arthur worked with incredible consideration and care — making sure not to harm your dress and kissing and caressing all newly exposed skin.

As the last of the confines on your upper body fell down your shoulders, Arthur massaged a breast in each hand from behind, kissing your neck and whispering praises in your ears.

Moving to the floor he knelt in front of you, slowly rolling your stockings off each leg and kissing down your inner thighs as he did.

Bare before him you felt vulnerable and exposed in a way you never had been. But Arthur wasn’t like anyone else you’d been with.

Standing up he took you in with an awestruck smile, “how the hell did I get so lucky?”

Moving to unbutton his shirt you mused, “I could ask you the same question.”

Giving him the same affection and attention, your lips and hands explored with purpose — making sure he understood you loved his scars and the hair that dusted his chest and trailed down his abdomen.

You watched as he stepped out of his pants, eager to take his throbbing length in your hand. But before you could, Arthur gently layed you down, moving the pillow under your head as he did.

Running his hand through your hair he gazed sweetly, “feelin’ okay beautiful?”

You nodded eagerly, pulling him down. Settling beside you his hand dipped down to your heat, sliding along your wet folds before pushing a finger in.

A drawn out whine escaped from your lungs, finally getting the touch you needed.

Arthur let out an amused chuckle before bringing his mouth to your breast, twirling his tongue along the stiff peak and sucking it in his mouth. All while working your inner walls.

“Arthur,” you mewled, suddenly overwhelmed at all of the wonderful sensation.

“S’okay sweet girl,” sitting up slightly Arthur used his free hand to move one of yours to your mound. “Show me how ya touch yerself.”

You rubbed circles on your swollen nub, slick with the arousal from Arthur’s pleasuring. Even just the featherlight touch was enough to push you closer as you clenched around his large digits.

Arthur observed you with lust blown eyes, “that’s right sweetheart, let’s getcha there.” His breath was hot against your neck as he cooed in your ear, “be a good girl for me…”

That was all it took for your gut to tighten as Arthur made his way back down to your breast, eagerly sucking between praises while you came around his fingers.

He didn’t remove himself from you until the last of the quivers left your legs and your panting settled. “That’s my girl…”

Gathering your senses and coming back to reality, you gently urged Arthur onto his back and moved to get on top. Straddling his much wider lap was almost a strain.

But the feeling of the underside of his cock as your wet folds glided over the twitching hardness, quickly made any strain forgotten.

Arthur’s hands grasped your hips as you sunk onto him, taking him into your core with needy moans.

He let out a shaky exhale and a whisper of your name while stilling your hips from moving, “jus’…stay like this for a second.”

Reaching up to run his thumb over your lip he smiled warmly, “this has to be the closest to heaven I’ll ever get.”

“Quite the smooth talker there Mr. Morgan.”

He laughed sweetly in response, “nah I ain’t smooth. Jus’ sayin’ what’s true.”

“Well either way,” you writhed slightly, “I think I can get you a little closer to heaven tonight…”

Placing your hands on Arthur’s sturdy chest you began bouncing on his cock, watching as he became a beautiful, whimpering mess beneath you.

There was a pride and thrill in making a tough, some would say brutish man like Arthur melt for you.

“C’mere princess,” Arthur pulled you down flush to him, your breasts pressed tightly to his upper chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

Kissing you with fervor he bucked up into your heat, his much bigger frame completely enveloping you.

“How’s this darlin’?”

“So—fuck, so good.”

“Love hearin’ you swear fer me…”

“Maybe,” you choked out between thrusts, “you should fuck me harder then.”

A primal groan expelled hot breath against your ear as Arthur picked up pace, his hand palming the swell of your ass as it shook with impact.

His substantial hand moved to cover the back of your head, lightly pulling your hair. “You take me so well sweetheart — God, so warm ’n tight.”

Every pump of Arthur’s cock hit a spot that had scarcely been stimulated before, slick dripping down your thighs as he did.

Arthur placed his fingers around your soaked opening, feeling as he pistoned in and out. “We’re makin’ a mess outta these expensive sheets.”

He tenderly placed his hand on your jaw to move your face towards his, “but you like that…dont’cha?”

His gravelly drawl was sex and sin.

Taking his thumb into your mouth you simply moaned a response as your pussy clenched around him.

“Yeah you do…good girl…”

Talking himself into a frenzy, taut muscle twitched and stiffened as he grew closer, legs kicking slightly with shallow breaths.

“Christ m’close,” Arthur choked out as his grip on you trembled.

Swiftly sitting up you hopped off and pumped his pulsing cock as he swore and gasped and gathered the sheets in his tight fists.

“That’s it handsome,” you stroked his flexing thigh while hot spend dripped down your knuckles and shot onto his tight stomach.

Arthur made a good call coming back to the manor; the comfort of the soft linens and silks certainly felt heavenly to your spent bodies.

The sight of him nude and blissful in your bed was something you’d carry with you as well, and you hoped he enjoyed the rare indulgence of comfort.

Propping himself on his elbow, Arthur eyed you with admiration. “Hell of a night.”

“Oh? That’s not just a regular night for you?” You joked with a light giggle.

“Robbin’ an idiot in an alleyway? Sometimes,” he shrugged playfully. “But this?” He leaned down to press his lips tightly to yours. “This ain’t.”

“Ya know darlin’, you ain’t gonna be able to show yer face around them lawmen again,” he realized with a laugh.

“To be honest, I think I’m growing weary of Saint Denis. Was actually hoping I might explore a little more of the world,” you paused to look at Arthur with a coy smile, “ya know?”

“Hmm, I might be able to help ya with that.”

Whether you really could leave and whether Arthur would trust your judgment in making that choice remained to be seen.

But he was happy in that moment and so were you. The two of you together was a paradox, and despite this — or maybe because of, it worked.

All that mattered was Arthur’s strong presence above you as he played with your necklace; the only thing left on your body.