#hes not straight either.....................

[moonlightwritingf1]

Unspoken Desires | LN4

🎀 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N had been friends for some time, having met through mutual friends. Lando had been attracted to Y/N from the moment they met, and his admiration for her only grew over time—particularly for her breasts. He thought no one knew about his fixation, but Y/N had figured it out. Once she realized Lando's obsession, she started wearing more revealing tops whenever she knew they would be in the same place. One night, when they ended up alone, Y/N began teasing Lando with her breasts. It was then that she confessed she knew about his attraction.

🎀 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

🎀 word count ━━━━━━━ 2.8k

🎀 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

Lando shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to avert his gaze as Y/N walked into the room. She had chosen one of those tops today—the kind that seemed designed to test the limits of modesty. The fabric clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination, and he could feel his pulse quicken as his eyes instinctively drifted downward.

Her boobs. He swallowed hard, cursing himself for being so obvious. Focus, Lando. Just focus. But it was no use. Every time she moved, the material stretched, teasing him with glimpses of what lay beneath. He wondered if she noticed his ogling. Surely not. He prided himself on being discreet, on making sure his admiration stayed hidden behind a veil of casual indifference.

Y/N sat down across from him, crossing her legs in a way that made the hem of her skirt ride up just enough to keep him guessing. "Hey," she said, her voice smooth and inviting. "You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind."

"Uh, nothing," he stammered, quickly glancing away. "Just… just thinking about work, I guess."

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Work? Really? Because you’ve been staring at my chest for the past five minutes."

His face flushed instantly. "What? No! I wasn’t—"

Y/N leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. The movement caused her top to dip slightly, revealing just enough to make his breath hitch. "Relax," she said, her tone light but laced with something deeper. "It’s not a crime to appreciate a good pair of… assets."

Lando felt his throat go dry. Was she messing with him? Testing him? Or was she really this nonchalant about it? Either way, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Her confidence was intoxicating, and the way she toyed with him made it impossible to think straight.

"I… uh… I wasn’t staring," he mumbled, though the words lacked any real conviction.

She chuckled softly, leaning back in her chair. "Sure you weren’t. And I suppose you haven’t spent every night since we met fantasizing about them either?"

His jaw dropped. "How—how do you know that?"

Y/N’s smile widened, and she tilted her head ever so slightly. "Let’s just say I’m observant. And you’re not exactly subtle, Lando."

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he felt heat rising to his cheeks, his heart pounding in his chest. She knew. Somehow, she knew. And instead of being freaked out or angry, she was… playful. Teasing.

"Listen," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It’s okay. You don’t have to hide it anymore."

Lando blinked, unsure if he was hearing her right. "I don’t?"

"No," she replied, her tone confident yet inviting. "In fact, I kinda like it. It means you’re paying attention."

Her words sent a jolt through him, and he felt his resolve slipping. There was something in her demeanor, in the way she held herself, that made him want to lean in, to close the space between them. But he hesitated, unsure of how far she was willing to take this.

"Look," she continued, her hand reaching out to gently brush against his. "Why don’t we stop pretending? You want me, and I… well, I want you too."

Her admission hung in the air between them, heavy and electric. Lando’s mind raced. This was insane. They were friends. They had always been friends. But now, with her so close, her touch so warm, the lines blurred.

"Y/N," he began, his voice shaky. "Are you sure about this?"

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stood up and rounded the table, her movements slow and deliberate. When she reached him, she placed a hand on his shoulder, her fingers tracing small circles against his skin. "Positive," she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.

Lando shivered at her nearness, his body responding instinctively. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, but he was afraid—afraid of ruining whatever this was, afraid of pushing too far.

"Don’t overthink it," she whispered, her lips brushing against his earlobe. "Just let yourself feel."

And then, without warning, she stepped back slightly and pulled her top over her head, tossing it aside. Her breasts were exposed now, ripe and full, the pale curve of her nipples begging to be touched. Lando’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes fixated on her form.

"Y/N…" he muttered, his voice barely audible.

She smiled again, stepping closer until her hips were pressed against his lap. "Go ahead," she urged, her hands moving to guide his own. "Touch them. Adore them. Let me feel how much you’ve wanted this."

Y/N’s fingers curled around Lando’s wrists, her grip firm yet gentle, guiding his hands toward her breasts. His palms were sweaty, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst through his chest. He wanted to pull away, to tell her he couldn’t do this, but the weight of her confidence and the undeniable thrill of finally being allowed to touch her paralyzed him.

Her skin was so soft.

His fingertips brushed against the underside of her breast, and she let out a small, breathy moan that sent a shiver down his spine. She didn’t stop him, didn’t scold him for moving too slowly. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her head tilting slightly as if she were savoring the sensation.

“Lando…” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “You’ve been dreaming about this for so long, haven’t you? Don’t hold back now.”

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and nodded dumbly. Her nipple grazed against his palm, and he almost jerked his hand away in shock. But she tightened her grip on his wrist, anchoring him in place.

“That’s it,” she whispered, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Feel how perfect they are. Tell me what you think.”

His mouth moved, but no words came out. All he could do was stare at her chest, at the way her breasts jiggled ever so slightly with every movement, at the rosy tips that seemed to perk up under his hesitant touch. He didn’t know what to say, how to articulate the chaos of emotions swirling inside him. Desire, guilt, disbelief—it all crashed together in his mind, making it impossible to form coherent thoughts.

“I-I don’t know what to say,�� he stammered finally, his voice cracking.

She chuckled softly, a sound that was both comforting and intoxicating. “You don’t have to say anything,” she said, her tone warm and inviting. “Just show me how much you’ve wanted this. Show me how much you’ve thought about my body when you’re alone.”

Her words were a dare, a challenge, and Lando found himself unable to resist. With a quiet groan, he cupped her breast fully in his hand, his fingers tightening instinctively as if afraid she might slip away. The feel of her weight in his palm was surreal, something he had fantasized about countless times but never dared to believe could be real.

She was real.

He could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the rapid flutter of her heartbeat as it pressed against his palm. And then there was the taste of her name on his tongue, the way it rolled out of his mouth as if it belonged there.

“Y/N…” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

She rewarded him with another soft moan, her eyes fluttering closed as she pressed herself more firmly against his hand. “Yes, that’s it,” she whispered, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Touch me, Lando. Let me feel how much you’ve wanted this.”

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his composure. Every stroke of his fingers against her skin felt like a spark igniting aflame within him. His other hand rose tentatively, mirroring the movements of the first, until both of her breasts were cradled in his palms. He kneaded them gently at first, marveling at their softness, their weight, the way they filled his hands perfectly.

And then, without warning, his thumbs flicked over her nipples, catching them between his fingers and rolling them teasingly. Y/N arched her back immediately, her head falling backward as a gasp escaped her lips.

“Oh…” she cried out, her voice trembling with desire. “Lando, yes… just like that.”

He could feel her pulse quickening beneath his fingertips, her body reacting to his touch in a way that made his own arousal impossible to ignore. His cock twitched against the fabric of his pants, aching for release, but he couldn’t tear his focus away from the woman in front of him.

Her breasts were even more magnificent up close, their pale perfection streaked with the faintest blush of pink. He marveled at the way her nipples hardened under his touch, the way they seemed to beg for more attention. And when his fingers circled them again, pressing lightly before releasing, she whimpered softly, her hips shifting against him.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, her voice breathless and urgent. “Please, Lando… I need more.”

Her desperation sent a surge of triumph coursing through him. For so long, he had been the one craving, the one yearning for her attention. Now, she was the one begging, and the power of it was intoxicating.

With renewed confidence, he changed his technique, sliding his hands up to cup her breasts more firmly. His thumbs dragged slowly across her nipples, teasing them until they stood proudly, begging for more. Y/N’s moans grew louder, her hands gripping his shoulders for support as she pressed herself closer to him.

“Harder,” she demanded, her voice breaking slightly. “Touch me harder, Lando. I want to feel how much you’ve wanted this.”

Her words were a command, and Lando obeyed without hesitation. He pinched her nipples between his fingers, twisting them gently but firmly, eliciting a sharp gasp from her lips. She bucked her hips against his lap, grinding against him in a way that left no doubt about her arousal.

“Ah! Yes!” she cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders. “God, Lando… I knew you had it in you.”

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. His own need was growing unbearable, his cock straining against his zipper as he continued to explore her body. Each moan, each shudder of her body against his, only served to fuel his desire further.

“Y/N…” he muttered again, his voice hoarse with longing. “I can’t… I can’t take much more of this.”

She opened her eyes, her gaze smoldering as she looked down at him. “Then don’t,” she said simply, her tone daring him to push further. “Take what you want, Lando. Stop holding back.”

Y/N smirked, her eyes locking onto his as she slowly slid off the couch, her movements deliberate and confident. She knew exactly what she was doing. Lando watched her with wide eyes, his breath hitching as she dropped to her knees in front of him, her face level with his crotch. The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken desire that neither could deny any longer.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, though there was no real question behind it. He knew exactly what she was doing.

“What do you think I’m doing?” she replied, her tone playful but laced with something deeper—something that made his heart pound harder in his chest.

Her lips curled into a wicked smile as she reached for the zipper of his jeans, her fingers brushing against his skin as she pulled it down slowly, deliberately. His cock twitched at the sensation, already hard and pressing against the fabric of his boxers. Y/N hummed softly, a sound that sent shivers down his spine, as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants and tugged them down just enough to free his aching erection.

“You’re so eager,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing as she wrapped her hand around his length, giving it a slow, firm stroke. “I can feel how badly you want this.”

Lando groaned, his head falling back against the couch as her touch sent waves of pleasure coursing through him. “God, Y/N…” he muttered, his voice strangled as he tried to hold himself together. “You have no idea.”

She laughed softly, a sound that made his stomach tighten with need. “Oh, I think I do,” she said, her tone dripping with confidence. “I think I know exactly how much you’ve been dreaming about this.”

Before he could respond, she leaned forward, her lips brushing against the tip of his cock, teasing him mercilessly. Lando’s hips jerked involuntarily, his hands fisting in the fabric of the couch as he fought to stay still. “Please…” he begged, his voice cracking. “Don’t tease me like this.”

“Hmm, but I thought you liked it when I tease you,” she said, looking up at him through her lashes as she took him into her mouth, her warm, wet tongue swirling around the head of his dick before sliding down his length.

Lando groaned loudly, his body arching off the couch as her mouth worked its magic on him. She sucked gently at first, her lips tight around him as she bobbed her head up and down, taking him deeper with each movement. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain, framing her in a way that made her look even more irresistible. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, his fingers tangling in her hair as he tried to steady himself. “You’re killing me…”

She pulled off him with a pop, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she looked up at him. “Am I now?” she teased, running her tongue along her lips as if savoring the taste of him. “Well, maybe I don’t want to kill you just yet.”

With that, she shifted her position, kneeling up slightly as she cupped her breasts in her hands, pushing them together to create a perfect shelf for his cock. Lando’s eyes widened as he realized what she intended to do, his breath catching in his throat as she guided the tip of his dick between her cleavage.

“Do you like that?” she asked, her voice sultry as she began to rock her shoulders, using her tits to fuck him. “Do you like feeling my boobs wrapped around your cock?”

“Yes,” he choked out, his hands gripping the edge of the couch as he struggled to stay upright. “God, yes…”

Y/N continued to move, her breasts slick with the saliva from her mouth as she pressed them tightly around him, squeezing him with each thrust. Lando’s vision blurred with pleasure, his whole body trembling as she worked him over, driving him closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re so good at this,” he managed to pant, his voice hoarse with need. “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me…”

She grinned wickedly, her eyes locking onto his as she quickened her pace, her tits bouncing with every movement. “Believe it,” she said, her tone sharp and commanding. “And don’t you dare come until I tell you to.”

Lando groaned, his head falling back again as he tried to obey her command, but it was nearly impossible. Her tits felt so good around him, so warm and soft and tight, and the way she moved only made it worse. He could feel the pressure building in his balls, his orgasm threatening to spill over at any moment.

“Y/N…” he warned, his voice strained as he opened his eyes to look at her. “I don’t think I can hold back much longer.”

She smirked, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Good,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Because I want you to feel every second of this.”

With that, she tightened her grip on her breasts, forcing them even closer together around his shaft as she rocked her hips, her movements becoming more erratic as she pushed him toward the edge. Lando’s breath came in short, desperate gasps, his body tensing as he felt the climax begin to build.

“I’m close,” he admitted, his voice barely audible as he struggled to hold on. “So close…”

Y/N didn’t say anything, just kept moving, her eyes never leaving his as she drove him closer and closer to the brink. And then, finally, he couldn’t hold back any longer. With a loud groan, Lando came, his release spilling out over her breasts as she continued to milk him until every last drop was gone.

Panting, he collapsed back against the couch, his body limp and spent as he stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. Y/N, meanwhile, sat back on her heels, a triumphant smile playing on her lips as she looked down at him.

“Told you I knew what I was doing,” she said, her tone smug but undeniably sexy.

Lando couldn’t help but laugh weakly, his body still buzzing with pleasure. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice rough. “You definitely did.”

[multipleoccupancy]

"I suspect her dad sees things differently," he agreed without knowing he had confirmed Samantha's thoughts too. Killian was protective of those he loved and while he was very young, he would grow and apparently he would have children one day. He would change. "I know how I feel about it." He mused and glanced at Samantha, worried for Violet and hoping they could persuade her to stay in the dorm room.

Sloane watched as Killian took his shot and sure enough was not surprised either. He'd been practicing over the last year, the need to be able to aim and do so well had been imperative to learn despite not being old enough to actually own his own gun. He wondered what the laws were on crossbows. Violet took another shot and as he was beginning to see he should expect, she hit the can straight through too. "We really need to make sure she feels like the crossbow in the dorm room is the best plan." He whispered.

Theo meanwhile was in some way delighted that a cowboy version of him existed as opposed to the cultist and had actually taught her to shoot, along with her father apparently. He was sure to applaud Violet's second bullseye, smiling to her and chuckling at her fighting talk. "I can see that." He praised as he took the crossbow.

How could he make this cooler without risking a miss? Theo tested the weight of the crossbow again, too heavy to do anything fancy with, not that he had the first clue what he could do with a crossbow and a flourish. Maybe dropping down as if ducking for cover as he shot? For his second he decided to just keep it simple, aiming and taking his shot to another success. He playfully gloated with a pull at his shirt, smug grin and wide stride as he turned back to Violet, playful and now too engrossed in their competition to worry about anything else.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Violet was indeed very happy about Sloane's praise too, smiling in his direction. It seemed she had impressed the people she needed to impress, and hoped it would be enough for them to trust in her abilities. She of course had no idea that they were planning on having her locked inside a dorm room, aiming at the monster through a window.

"She sure is," confirmed Samantha in a whisper. She could see that Violet being a stealth archer was going to work in their favor. "I wonder how her dad feels about it." If they found her to be a valuable asset, then surely her dad had come to the same conclusion. And while she knew that their Killian was excited about her joining the mission, she had a feeling that an older, wiser Killian -and a father, too- wouldn't be too thrilled about his daughter being a perfect little agent.

She focused on Killian as he got ready to shoot, and so did Violet. Neither of them was surprised when his arrow landed right inside the soda can.

Violet took the crossbow he was handing her with a happy chuckle. "Well, yes," she replied, grinning, "the cowboy version of you taught me. My dad, too." She added a little wink. "I knew you wouldn't be easy to beat, but I never back down from a fight."

Yes, Samantha was starting to see that. And she was worried about it. She glanced at Sloane, barely hiding her grimace. Violet was too busy aiming at the can, anyway. Another shot, another bullseye. She let out her own little exclamation of happiness as she gave Theo the crossbow again. "I'm not going to be easy to beat, either."

[baby-yongbok]

Come Back Soon

Bang Chan × afab!reader

✮ Genre: Smut, Sex Worker!Bang Chan ✮ Word count: 5k ✮ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors DNI), sex work (Like a sexy host club kinda?), oral (m rec.), nipple play, unprotected sex, Reader is called pretty (a lot..) ✮ Summary: Who's the cute guy with the white jacket and the thick accent? ✮ A/N: Bang Chan + Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter as requested by this anon! Enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡

✮ Masterlist✮

In your defense, it’s not a brothel. It just kind of operates like one.

You heard about Railway from a friend of a friend. It’s a hole in the wall club that she swears is a gem. You looked it up and found close to nothing. There was only a small reddit community of people in your area asking questions about this mystery place. Here’s what you gathered:

It’s a club where women can meet men and pay for attention. Whether or not that attention includes your clothes being ripped off in a private room or a tongue down your throat is up to you. 

You decided to visit one Thursday when your Tinder match was being flaky and you were sick of waiting for replies from men who were either a catfish or can’t find the clit. 

The place was hard to find. You walked passed it twice before you realized that you needed to go down the sketchy staircase next to the hotpot restaurant. 

You expected a place packed and run down with women all over the men working there. You expected a mess and you were met with the opposite. The space was clean, pretty and not nearly wild enough to be considered a club. There are red curved couches and lounge nooks all around. A fully stocked bar and music playing loudly but not so loud that you need to yell. This is not at all what you imagined. 

You learned that night that the only guys in the club were the ones working there. They come up to you, charm you, and only stay if you want them to. If you decline they’re onto the next. 

You spent some time there, got some attention but it wasn’t until your eyes met his that you really felt like you were getting the attention you desired. He was in a suit, no shirt underneath the jacket and looking damn good while doing it. He walked into the room like he was six foot two even though he’s just about average height, it doesn’t matter to you though - he’s hot. 

Once he saw you he went straight for you, walking over like he had all of the time in the world. You sat pretty on the couch, sitting up a bit straighter and sipping your drink like you didn’t even notice him. He thought that was cute. 

“Excuse me.” Oh? Is that an accent you hear? You hum, looking up at him like he didn’t have your attention from the moment he walked in. “Is this seat taken? Or can I join you?”

That’s how you ended up meeting Chris. 

The two of you sat and spoke for at least thirty minutes before his cautious touches turned into much more and a make-out session in one of the lounge nooks. 

He pulled you into his lap, hands on your hips and pretty sounds clashing with yours. You considered taking it further for a second, just a second before your phone rang and your friend effectively cockblocked you. Chris thought it was funny. He smiled while you pouted about having to leave but he didn’t let you go without another kiss - deep and lingering. His tongue on yours and those pretty hands on your hips.

“Come back soon, yeah?” He smiled up at you, his eyes turning into gleaming crescents and you were hooked. Unfortunately, the soon that you promised him wasn’t as soon as you wanted. 

Work has been hectic, your friends have been messy and you’ve just been busy. Every plan that you had to return got canceled until tonight, Christmas Eve. You threw on a red sheer dress and put your phone on Do Not Disturb. When you get to the club this time there’s a guy at the door, a cute blonde with a deep voice and pretty accent. He gives you a card with some instructions for the night. You look it over and turn to him.

“Wait, how does this work?” He smiles - fuck, he’s hot - and points out the QR code on the card. 

“You can scan this to get the clubs app. Then you go to the event tab, press the holiday party chat and it will match you with a random guy from the club. You chat anonymously and if you like him you can take it further. If you don’t like him you can unmatch the chat and try again.” You nod, half entranced by his voice and half listening. 

You nod at him, smiling sweetly but his smile has got you beat. Is he on the app? Gosh. 

You head over to the bar and order a drink then scan the code. You open the app and it’s surprisingly smooth. You follow the instructions that the hot blonde gave you and go to the holiday party chat. A button pops up with big pretty letters reading “Spin”, so you do. Two seconds pass and the bartender is sliding you your drink while you get connected to a chat. This is interesting. 

So, the guys are nice. Really nice, but there’s no spark. You’re on your second drink and you just unmatched your second chat. You look around the club, the men are dressed in sexy, festive all white outfits with their main charming point on display to lure attention. 

 You scan the room looking for that familiar face you made out with a month ago but there’s no sign of him. You sigh, deciding to try your luck and press the pretty button on your phone again. You get connected to someone new and they start off the conversation just as the others did, sweet.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here alone on Christmas eve?”

You sip your drink, typing a reply and waiting less than a second to get one back. 

- You think I’m pretty? You don’t even know who I am yet. - “Let’s play a game then, yeah? I’ll guess.”

Oh? This is getting interesting.

- And if you guess the wrong pretty girl? - “Then unmatch me.”  - “If I don’t recognize you then I don’t deserve your time.”

Wait… did he say recognize? Like he knows you? Knows what you look like? You look around again, searching for Chris. You’d recognize him in a heartbeat but he’s nowhere to be found. You turn your attention back to the app to see that your match has texted again. 

- “Deal?”

You hesitate but agree. You wait with bated breath as you watch the little chat bubble pop up.

- “By the bar? Sinful little red dress.”

You stare at his answer then look around again. What the hell?

- “You didn’t unmatch. I knew I had the right pretty lady.” - Lucky guess, I’m not the only pretty girl in a red dress. 

You scoff, getting ready to unmatch when he texts back.

- “But you’re the only one here tonight that I was hoping to see again.” - “The only one here that I’ve had my eye on for far longer than I should.” - “The only one I was hoping to match with so I can kiss those pretty lips again.”

Oh fuck, it’s him. Thank the heavens.

- Oh? Is this the guy with the cute accent? - “Pretending that you don’t remember my name? I’m hurt.”

You smile, finishing your drink and texting back. Suddenly you’re having a good time. A very good one. 

- Remind me of it. - “Oh, I plan to”

The chat is ended before you can text back and your heart drops. What happened? Did you actually hurt his feelings? What does he mean he plans to? The bartender interrupts your flurry of wonder before you can go any deeper. He slides you a shot and you furrow your brows. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t order this.” The bartender smiles at you and nods to the other side of the bar. “It’s from him. On his tab.”

You turn around and your heart drops to the center of the earth. Chris is there. White fur jacket, white pants and no shirt. He’s leaning against the bar with a grin that you’d like to kiss off of his stupidly handsome face. How could you forget to look behind you? 

You lock your phone and turn your bar stool to face him. He’s sipping on something while his eyes roam down from yours and over the curve of your neck then the swell of your chest. He’s practically eye fucking you and you have no idea what to do about it. So you take the shot. 

The burn of the alcohol along with the desire bubbling in your core is enough to steel you for the moment that Chris pushes back off of the bar and makes his way over to you. You get a full view of him as he walks over and part of you starts foaming at the mouth while the other part of you has to hold down the fort and act normal about this. 

“Excuse me.” His thick accent rings through your ears and you grin. “Is this seat taken? Or can I join you?” 

“Is that your pick up line or something?” The dopey smile on your face gives Chris all the confirmation he needs to take the empty seat next to you. “You should come up with something new.”

“Is that right? Any suggestions?” Damn it, he’s still as hot as you remember. “I could just tell you how stunning you look in this dress instead.” 

You feel a flush creep up your neck at his compliment. "That's a start," you manage to say, trying to keep your cool. "But I've heard better."

Chris smiles leaning in a tad bit closer. Just enough for you to notice, "Oh? Then I'll have to up my game." His eyes sparkle with mischief. "How about this - I've been waiting to see you again every night for a month. I was starting to worry I'd lost my touch. What good am I if I can’t get the prettiest woman coming back to see me?"

You laugh, the tension easing slightly. "Maybe I was just playing hard to get."

"Were you now?" Chris raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "And here I thought you forgot about me."

"Trust me, it's impossible to forget about you," Your mouth was moving before you could stop yourself. We’ll blame that on the alcohol. 

“You’ve thought about me then?” He asks with a smile that’s much sweeter than any other that you’ve seen tonight.

Fuck it, let loose, It’s Christmas eve. 

“Maybe I have, but the details are classified.” That takes his sweet smile and turns it into a blush real quick. You can’t help but mirror him since you just indirectly admitted to thinking of him while you had some solo play over the past month - which is one hundred percent true.

“Classified, hm?” He speaks up, nodding. “I’ve thought about you too. And those details are free to the public. If you ask for them.”

Your heart races at his bold admission. That was unexpected. You lean in closer, your voice lowering to a sultry whisper. "And what if I did ask?"

Chris' eyes darken ever so slighty. He leans in too, his breath hot against your ear. "Then I'd tell you how I've imagined your soft skin under my hands, the taste of your lips, the sound of your moans as I..."

He trails off, pulling back slightly to gauge your reaction. Your breath catches in your throat, heat pooling low in your belly.

"As you what?" You breathe, unable to look away from his intense gaze.

Chris grins, hoping that he has you hooked. "On second thought, that information is classified. The rest you'll have to find out from experience."

You swallow hard, your mind racing with possibilities. "And how exactly would I do that?"

He reaches out, his fingers trailing lightly over your hand that’s resting on the bar. 

“Come with me downstairs.” There’s a downstairs to this place? “I’ll get you away from the noise and then we can make some of our own.” 

Your heart races as you consider his offer. Every bit of you is screaming at you to take his offer and bring your lingering fantasies to life but you still try to play hard to get. At least you were going to before the alcohol and desire coursing through your veins drowned everything out and had you nodding in a quick second. 

"Lead the way" You say, your voice huskier than intended.

Chris' eyes light up with a mix of surprise and excitement. He stands, offering you his hand before you could even dare to change your mind. You take it, relishing the warmth of his skin against yours. As you slide off the barstool, you take him in and realize just how little justice your memory of him does for his insane body.

He guides you through the semi-crowded club, his hand on the small of your back sending shivers up your spine. You follow him down a narrow staircase, the music fading as you descend. The basement level is dimly lit, with plush velvet sofas and private alcoves tucked away in corners.

He leads you over to one of the private spaces, very few of them are free but he leads you to the one in the corner like it was reserved just for him. “After you.” You step into the cozy space. There’s a couch on one side, a semi-sofa on the other with a small table next to it, then there’s nothing but a bare wall.

Chris slides the door shut behind the two of you as he steps in and it’s almost like you’ve entered your own soundproof barrier.

He almost looks sheepish when he steps forward to close the space between the two of you. His hand finds its way back to the small of your back, his touch gentle and warm. You turn to face him fully, his proximity making your heart race.

"Now where were we?" He whispers, his shy smile turning into a more sly one. You look up at him, unable to tear your gaze away from his. 

"I like your coat." You comment, changing the subject to buy yourself time to calm down but the desire thick in your tone lets you know that there’s little that you can do to calm yourself. "It looks good on you."

He grins, "It would look better on you." Before you can protest he's shrugging the long white fur off of his shoulders, leaving his broad build open on display for you. You stare, taking in each dip and curve of his chest and stomach. How could you not?

He drapes the coat over your shoulders and you smile in a nearly futile attempt to stop the moan clawing up your throat when you realize that the warm fabric smells like him. You slip your arms in the sleeves and Chris hums in approval.

"Now..." He brushes your hair back, his gaze shifting into something more possessive now that you're wearing his coat. "Where were we?"

"Right about here, I think." 

Before he can react your lips are on his in a hungry and demanding kiss. We'll blame this on the alcohol too.

 You melt into him, your hands indulgently taking in the soft skin of his bare shoulders while he returns your passion. His tongue traces along your bottom lip and you part them, allowing him entry. 

He groans into the kiss, his hands finding purchase on your waist for just a second before he lets them trail up under the fabric of his coat and over the sheer of your dress. Every inch of you that he takes in is better than anything he could've imagined in the month that you've been on his mind.

 He pulls you closer, his desire getting the better of him. He has to know what you feel like against him. He just has to.

 You can feel his erection pressing into your hip and a rush of arousal floods between your thighs. 

Your hands explore his chest, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. He pulls back slightly, his breathing heavy as he looks down at you, his eyes dark with need.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmurs, his accent sending shivers down your spine. "This is part of those classified details, ya know."

"Mine too." you admit, biting your lip. "So don't stop."

With a growl, Chris captures your lips once more, his hands sliding further up your back just to slide back down to your waist. You press yourself against him, craving every bit of him you can get your hands on. The proximity deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth, leaving you breathless.

His hands cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing them through the fabric of your dress. A soft moan escapes you and he swallows it, his lips trail kisses along your jaw and down to the sensitive spot on your neck. You squirm against him, his touch driving you crazy.

"Fuck, Chris," You gasp, gripping his shoulders tightly.

"Say my name again," He breathes, his teeth grazing your skin.

"Chris," You whimper, his name slipping from your lips without a second thought.

His hands leave their exploration of your curves and trail their way up the backs of your thighs and over the curve of your ass. He lifts you up, bypassing both sofas to pin you against the wall. Your legs wrap around his bare torso, pushing his pants down lower on his hips. Once he has you settled he begins to work his way down your neck, his lips setting off a blazing trail of fire across your skin.

"So soft," he mumbles, his accent thicker now, betraying his growing desire.

His mouth trails back up to yours, stamping a hot kiss against your lips and pulling away right after. You whine, chasing his lips with yours. 

"Impatient, are we?" He chuckles, his hands pushing the bunched up fabric of your dress further up your thighs. You shiver, goosebumps forming where his fingertips brush against your skin.

"You're doing everything right, how could I not be." 

"Oh? Is that so?" He hums, his lips brush over yours teasingly.

"It is." You breathe, your hands moving over his shoulders to tangle in his hair. This time you kiss him, it’s deep and indulgent but then you break it to kiss over his jaw. 

"You're a fucking tease, you know that?" He groans, his thumbs stroking the smooth skin of your thighs. It’s taking all of his self control not to absolutely rip you apart.

"Me?" You breathe, smiling against his skin as you place another kiss. "I'm not the one whose been flaunting around the club half-naked all night. And now you’re here teasing me."

Your teeth graze over the shell of his ear and his cock jumps in his pants. He moves swiftly yet gently, turning to lay you down on the sofa. 

“Am I being a tease?” He asks, staring down at you with those dark brown eyes while his hands work on his belt. You watch the way his fingers move so strategically. The veins in his hands alone are enough to get you feeling hotter. “How can I make it up to you?”

He’s diving down to attach your lips before you can even answer. His hands smooth over your curves hurriedly until he reminds himself to take his time with you. His hands are back on your breasts, pulling down the red fabric of your dress to expose you to him. He catches himself, stopping and pulling back just a bit.

“Can I see you? Is that alright?” You nod, whimpering a hasty “yes” then crashing your lips back to his. He moans against you, pulling down the last of the fabric containing your breasts until they’re resting in his palms. He groans and you swallow it. 

Chris lighty pinches and pulls at your nipples, the buds rise at the attention and you moan in response. "You like that?"

"Yes," Your fingers tangle in his hair and tug. "How about this?" He rolls one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper, your head falling back.

"That's it, baby. Let me hear you." He dips his head down and takes one of the stiff peaks into his mouth. The sound it pulls from you is unbecoming but you ignore the embarrassment lingering in your chest and let the pleasure spread further. 

Chris on the other hand, is in love with every sound you make and he’s determined to hear more. His teeth graze over your nipple. Your grip tightens, a louder moan escaping you. "Just like that."

His hands trail down, pulling your dress further up your thighs until the black lace covering your soaked sex is in full view. His hands stroking the underside of your thighs, teasing you further and you nearly fall apart at the seams.

"Chris," You moan, grinding up into him. Begging for him to touch you where you need him most.

"How wet are you, pretty girl?" He coos, his hand slides up between your legs. You gasp and he groans when his fingers trace over the lace of your panties. "Fuck, you're soaked."

"Please," You beg, bucking against his hand. "You’re driving me crazy." His thumb circles over your clit and your hips rock in time with his movements. You're already so close, and he's barely touched you.

His tongue darts out to lick over your neglected nipple. You shudder, your nails dig into his shoulders and he hisses at the sweet sting.

"I want you," you plead, trailing a hand down the expanse of his back. He continues his ministrations, kissing and nipping at your sensitive bud while his fingers work smooth circles over your clit. 

Your legs are practically shaking with desire but your needy whimpers are nothing compared to all that Chris is holding back while he strokes himself on his knees in front of you. You’ve hardly noticed that his hard cock is in his hand, leaking and angry red at the tip but that’s only because he’s swallowing every moan that he possibly can just so that he can hear you clearly. He wants to remember this.  

"Chris," you moan, grinding up against his touch. He pulls back, letting your nipple go with a faint pop.

"What is it, love?" His face is twisted in pleasure as he pants, trying desperately to keep himself in check.

"I need you," You whine, grabbing and rubbing over his bare chest until you grab hold of one of his chains.

"Tell me what you want." He wants to hear you say it. He needs to.

"Fuck me." You breathe, your cheeks flushed. "Please."

Chris doesn't need any further encouragement. In a swift motion, he's standing and lifting you up again. His lips find yours in a hungry kiss and you melt against him.

He turns around and sits down with you straddling him. His bare cock rests against the soaked lace of your panties and he can’t help but to make a sound that he didn’t know was possible. 

His hands grip your hips, digging in like you're the only thing grounding him to reality. "You're sure about this?" 

He asks, his voice low and rough. You nod, reaching between you to move your panties to the side and sit your bare cunt over his length. He hisses, his breath catching in his throat "Oh, fuck." His head falls back against the sofa.

"Let me ride you," You whisper, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his neck. Chris’ face is red, blushed crazy with desperate desire and restraint. You lift up and pump his cock, spreading your dripping slick and getting him nice and wet before you sink down. 

You two are a splitting image of each other. Faces twisted in pleasure, fingers digging into the other and choked moans spilling over your kiss swollen lips. 

"Fuck, you're so wet." He groans, holding his breath just to make sure he doesn’t bust too fast. "So tight."

“You’re fucking big. Oh god.” Your head falls back, eyes shut tight as you take in the stretch of him. 

Chris hisses, his hips instinctively bucking up into you. "Shit, sorry. Are you okay?" 

He holds still, his hands massaging the swell of your ass. You nod, adjusting to his size. "Yeah, just please move. Don’t stop." 

You're impatient, rocking your hips against him. Chris is quick to give in, rocking his hips up slowly until he loses it and starts snapping his hips up into yours. He drives his cock deep and hard into your fluttering cunt and you clench around him wildly, fucking down onto him like he’s the last man you’ll ever touch. 

You can feel every inch of him, his length dragging along your walls and hitting every spot inside you. It's like the two of you are a perfect fit. Chris' hands roam over your body, mapping every inch of exposed skin. 

"So fucking beautiful," he mutters, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he watches the way your tits bounce in his face. "Look at you, taking me so well." He holds your hips still, keeping you in place while he fucks his thick length up into you. You cling to him, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he fucks into you. 

Chris' eyes flutter shut, a string of curses falling from his lips. His fingers dig into your hips with each bounce of you on his cock. 

"Is this what you wanted, pretty girl?" He grunts and you clench, driving him closer to the edge. “Is that what you thought about?”

The sounds coming from the both of you are filthy. Pornographic in nature and incessant. 

"Y-yes," you manage to gasp, your fingers digging into the muscles of his chest, surely leaving marks to remember you by. "Just like that. Oh, oh fuck, Chris. You're gonna make me cum." 

Your words send him reeling, his thrusts faltering slightly. "Do it, baby," he rasps, his eyes burning into yours. "Cum all over my cock." 

The coil in your belly snaps, his name spilling from your lips as you cum. Your release has his head spinning. The tight squeeze of your cunt and the sounds he has vibrating from your chest drag him closer to his own blinding release. He holds back, fucking you through your high with a sloppy rhythm. 

"Fuck, I'm close." You pry his grip from your hips and lift up off of him, sinking down to your knees. You look prettier than Chris can handle, on your knees with his fur coat pooling around you. Your lips wrap around his throbbing cock and he moans, his hand finding purchase in your hair immediately.

"Shit, yes, oh god." He breathes, his hips rocking forward. "So good, jus’ like that." A deep, guttural moan escapes his lips and his hips stutter. "Fuck, oh fuck." 

His eyes shut tight as you bury his cock deep in your throat, swallowing around him and milking his chest dry of every last ounce of oxygen he possessed.

You hum, reaching down between your legs and rubbing your throbbing pussy while he makes such pretty sounds above you.

"’M gonna cum," He groans, his accent thick and his grip on your hair tightening. You keep your pace, bringing your hand up to stroke what can’t fit into your mouth as you suck and lick him like you know everything that drives him crazy - because somehow, you do.

His jaw clenches, his abs tense and the muscles in his neck strain and suddenly you wish that you were still on top of him, letting him fill you full of his sticky seed but that will have to wait until next time. 

Chris tenses above you, a loud groan erupting from him as the first spurt of hot cum falls against your tongue. 

"Fuck, oh, fuck. Just like that, baby. ‘M cumming for you, take it all." He shudders, rambling as his body jerks as he spills himself down your throat. You swallow him greedily, his sweet taste lingering on your tongue. 

Chris' breathing is heavy, his chest rises and falls rapidly while he watches you. You pull up off of him, kissing the head of his twitching dick while his heart races.

You smile at him, "Good?" You ask, wiping the corners of your mouth. “Are you kidding me?” Chris huffs out a breathy laugh. "So fucking good." 

"Come here," He mumbles, lifting you up and bringing you to his lap. His coat drags behind you and he runs his hands up under the furry fabric and over your back. “You look so good in this.”

He fixes your dress, bringing it up to cover your exposed chest and smoothes the fabric over your thighs. “Do you say that to every girl you let borrow your clothes?”

Chris smiles, shaking his head and running his greedy hands up your thighs. 

“You're the only girl I’ve ever let wear something of mine. And I’ll keep it that way under one condition.” You smile, resting your own greedy hands over his chest and leaning into him. 

“What would that be?” He cups your cheek bringing you in for a soft kiss, much softer than what’s in his job description. In his defense, he’s never felt this much chemistry with any other lady who’s walked through the front door of this club.

“Come back soon, okay?” He smiles against your lips and kisses you again, whispering this time. “And I’ll make sure that you’re the only one wearing my clothes both inside and outside of the club.”

You mirror his smile, kissing his lips with a tenderness you didn’t foresee when you first met him. 

“Deal.”

Thank You For Reading! 💕

Divider credit to @bunnysrph

ALSO, please follow my back-up acct. @minniee-verse 💕

Perm. Tag List:

@dreamingaboutjisung @nxtt2-u @kayleefriedchicken

@compersian @kibs-and-bits @lixiluvs @armystay89 @lghtdarling

@teddy-stay , @baconcupcakes123, @moonchild9350 ,

@krayzieestay, @soulsbbg , @stay-bi , @yzsqu , @lghtdarling

[rottenfyre]

Who do you think would cry/throw up/MURDER first if Pervert!Spider Reader tried rizzing up Thalia or Rhas Al Ghul?

1. Damian: Murder Mode Activated

Damian would 100% be the first to lose it. Seeing you even remotely flirt with his mother or grandfather would flip his already short fuse.

If it’s Talia, he’d go full-on angry bird mode, glaring daggers at you while sputtering, “YOU INSOLENT WOMAN! HAVE YOU NO SHAME?!” before likely drawing his katana.

If it’s Ra’s, he’d genuinely threaten you, saying something like, “You’ve gone too far. I’ll end this madness myself,” while trying to intimidate you with his deadliest glare (which you’d probably find adorable).

No amount of kisses or teasing would calm him down immediately. He’d probably need Jason to hold him back.

2. Jason: Punches a Wall (and Maybe You)

Jason would go straight into rage and denial mode, particularly if you started sweet-talking Ra’s. You jokingly tell Ra's, "You've got a whole 'silver fox with a kingdom' vibe going on. Very attractive," and Jason snaps.

"Oh, hell no. This wrinkly bastard doesn't get to breathe the same air as you!"

He'd unload an entire clip at Ra's while dragging you behind him protectively.

“You’re flirting with the Demon’s Head?! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!”

If it’s Talia, he’d be equally furious but also extra petty. “Oh, so you’re into hot assassins now? Great. Guess I’m not enough for you,” he’d grumble while trying not to visibly sulk.

Despite his anger, there’s a 50% chance Jason might step in to challenge Ra’s directly, because he refuses to be shown up.

3. Dick: Throws Up in the Corner

Dick would probably cry and throw up first, especially if you flirted with Talia.

He’d be heartbroken, looking at you with those big, sad puppy-dog eyes. “Why would you do this? I thought we had something special,” he’d say dramatically, clutching his chest like he’s in a soap opera.

If it’s Ra’s, he’d look physically ill. “You’re flirting with a literal centuries-old warlord?! What’s wrong with you?” he’d exclaim, pacing in disbelief while the others try to calm him down.

4. Tim: Overthinks Himself into Oblivion

Tim wouldn’t react physically but would go into full mental meltdown mode. Poor boy is so emotionally fragile when it comes to you. Seeing you openly flirt with either Talia or Ra's would break him completely.

He’d probably mutter something like, “Wait, are you doing this as a joke? Or do you actually like them? Is this part of some elaborate plan I missed?” while spiraling into paranoia.

You casually compliment Ra's on his tailored robes, and Tim, who's watching from the Batcomputer, starts hyperventilating. "She... she doesn't mean it. Right? She's just messing around. RIGHT?!" Then he bolts to the nearest bathroom. If it was Talia? He'd straight-up faint from the stress.

Tim would definitely research ways to counteract the Lazarus Pit just in case you’re actually serious.

He’d also probably cry a little, but only in private.

5. Bruce: Quietly Contemplates Murder

Bruce wouldn’t react immediately. Instead, he’d sit there in silence, arms crossed, radiating pure disappointment.

“Ra’s Al Ghul? Really?” he’d say in that deep, gravelly voice, making you laugh even harder.

If it’s Talia, he’d rub his temples and mutter, “I’ve dealt with a lot from you, but this… this is a new low.”

He wouldn’t say anything outright, but the tension in the Batcave afterward would be suffocating.

The Aftermath:

Damian would sulk for days and try to “punish” you during training by going extra hard.

Jason would get over it by pretending it never happened, but he’d glare at Ra’s every chance he got.

Dick would be clingier than ever, needing constant reassurance that he’s still your favorite.

Tim would probably never trust you around the League of Assassins again.

Bruce? He’d just pray to whatever deity he believes in for patience.

[shybluebirdninja]

Takeout Trauma

Summary: Logan orders food but can't understand the concept of “spicy” and now he's drinking milk straight from the carton.

Pairing            : Logan Howlett x Gf!Reader Note                : fluff

The smell of takeout fills the air—a mix of savory spices, fried goodness, and that unmistakable kick of heat. You’re sitting at the kitchen counter, casually scrolling on your phone, when you hear a low, irritated grumble from the other side of the room.

Logan’s standing by the fridge, his flannel sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that are probably a little too perfect for their own good. His jaw clenched, lips tight. He’s holding a takeout container in the other, glaring at it like it personally offended him.

“Babe,” you call out, raising an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “Are you okay?”

Logan doesn’t respond at first. He just stands there, staring down at the now very suspicious-looking food on his plate. Steam rises lazily from it, the scent of peppers and something fiery hitting your nose even from across the room.

He finally moves, his shoulders tense, and with a growl, he slams the takeout container down on the counter with a heavy thunk.

“This—” he motions to the food like it's an enemy in a bar fight, “—is too damn spicy. What the hell is 'mild' supposed to mean if this burns like the damn sun?”

You stifle a laugh, biting your lip. “Didn’t they ask you if you wanted spicy?”

Logan glares at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, they did. And I said no. They asked if I wanted ‘mild.’ Thought that meant something normal. Not... this.” He gestures angrily to the food, nostrils flaring like he’s about to start a war with the takeout place.

Oh, yeah. He’s suffering.

You lean against the counter, folding your arms across your chest. “Well, babe, I told you before. Spicy food here isn’t like what you had back in the cabin. This is, like, next-level stuff.”

He lets out another frustrated grunt, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “It’s ridiculous. I’ve fought wars that were easier than this.”

You can’t help it anymore—you laugh, and Logan shoots you a look, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something close to amusement. Still, he turns away from you, yanking open the fridge door with more force than necessary. The cold air hits him in the face, but it doesn’t seem to cool him off. He grabs the carton of milk, pops the cap, and without any hesitation, brings it straight to his lips.

You raise an eyebrow, watching as he guzzles down half the carton, milk dripping down his chin in the process. His Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow, and for a moment, you’re more distracted by that than anything else.

“Really?” you say, trying to sound exasperated but failing because you’re still half-laughing. “Drinking it straight from the carton?”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, still scowling, but you can see the corner of his lips twitching. “What? It’s milk. Does the trick.” He slams the carton back in the fridge, letting the door close with a solid thud.

You shake your head, walking around him to inspect the food on the counter. The takeout container is practically glowing with how much red pepper oil is slicked across it.

“This,” you say, poking at it with a fork, “is what happens when you think you can handle the spice.”

Logan grunts, stepping closer to you. His hands rest on the counter on either side of you, effectively trapping you between him and the plate of dangerous food.

“It wasn’t marked like that on the menu,” he mutters, his voice low, like he’s trying to justify the whole situation. “False advertising.”

You tilt your head back to look at him, grinning. “You’re just mad because food kicked your ass for once.”

Logan’s eyes darken, and he leans in just slightly, his breath warm against your neck. “Keep talkin’, darlin’. You’re gonna end up eating this stuff just to prove a point.”

You laugh, pushing against his chest playfully. “I’m not the one trying to win a food fight, babe. But seriously, next time, just ask for plain. Or, you know, let me order. I’ve mastered the art of not burning my face off.”

He straightens up, crossing his arms, and the look he gives you is pure Logan—half-annoyed, half-amused, but mostly trying not to laugh at himself.

“I can handle my food,” he insists, but there’s no real conviction in his voice.

You arch an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

You turn to grab your own takeout container from the counter, opening it carefully and taking a small bite. It’s perfect—just the right amount of spice. The food’s warm, savory, and doesn’t set your mouth on fire.

 “How’s yours?” he asks, but you can see the wheels turning in his head.

“It’s great,” you say casually, popping another bite in your mouth. “Not too spicy.”

Logan stares at you for a beat, then sighs, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “Swap with me.”

You laugh, holding your container out to him. “Admitting defeat?”

“Call it what you want,” he grumbles, grabbing your container and handing you his. “But I ain’t about to waste perfectly good food.”

You take his container gingerly, half-expecting it to burn your fingers just from the heat. “You sure you don’t want me to grab you another drink?” you tease, watching as he digs into your much milder meal.

Logan shrugs, chewing thoughtfully. “Nah,” he says after a moment, wiping his mouth with his hand. “This is better. But next time, babe, you’re ordering.”

You grin, leaning into him. “Deal. But, babe?”

He looks down at you, raising an eyebrow.

“You might wanna clean up the milk you spilled everywhere.”

[liaracooper]

I’m not complaining. I know it sounds like it, but it isn’t really. I just love him so, so much. In all honesty, I don’t want him to be straight, I love him as he is and if he was straight (or even bisexual, tbh), it wouldn’t be the same. I just love him so much that sometimes I tend to express it in the way of wanting to romance him, but I really just live him as a friend. Even if I could romance him, I probably wouldn’t. I’m a little too in love with Cullen.

And I do not disrespect anyone. Real or fictional. Gay or straight. At least I do not intend to, and I’m very sorry if I ever have or ever do.

In the end, I view Dorian as my Inquisitor’s closest and best friend. I have never pictured them together romantically because they wouldn’t not get along romantically. Their personalities are too similar, that they would just end up having a relationship like Dorian’s parents. And I don’t want that. For either of them, especially not Dorian.

So in conclusion, I am sorry if I disrespected offended you in anyway. I truly did not mean to and I am truly, truly sorry.

Oops I drew Dorian again.

[iris-qt]

𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚎 / 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔

ꜱʟʏᴛʜᴇʀɪɴ ʙᴏʏꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛ

I. Mattheo Riddle

Mattheo freezes mid-bite of his chocolate frog, giving you the kind of look someone reserves for a talking cat. "You can’t pay the what now?" he says, mouth still half-full.

When you repeat it, his eyebrows shoot up so high they practically disappear into his curls. "Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you’ve been paying the rent this whole time? Babe, what rent? Where are you sending this money? Do I need to send the lads to go 'talk' to someone?"

You insist you’re serious, and he bursts into laughter so loud it echoes around the room. He’s clutching his stomach, tears forming in his eyes. "Oh, this is rich! Next, you’ll tell me you’ve been working overtime at Flourish and Blotts to afford my ‘extravagant lifestyle.’ What’s next, huh? Selling cauldron cakes on the side?"

When you try to keep a straight face, he leans forward, his expression deadpan now but his voice dripping with sarcasm. "No, seriously, though. Should I sell my broom? Start knitting scarves for a Galleon a pop? Maybe I can busk on Diagon Alley…play the ukulele or some crap. People love that."

By now, you’re wheezing with laughter, and he just shakes his head, smirking. "Merlin, Y/N, if your acting career doesn’t work out, at least we know you’ve got a future in comedy. But seriously…rent? That’s cute.”

By now, you’re gasping for air, struggling to hold it together, and Mattheo’s smirk only grows wider as he watches you. He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping to a softer, almost teasing tone. "You know," he says with a glint in his eye, "If you really need help with the rent... maybe I could offer you a private lesson in how to make some extra Galleons."

II. Theodore Nott

Theo looks up from the chessboard he’s been meticulously studying for the last half hour, an eyebrow raised in mild confusion. "What do you mean you can’t pay the rent?" he asks, his tone calm but with a dangerous edge of skepticism.  

You repeat it, adding a dramatic sigh for effect.  

He blinks slowly, as if trying to process whether you’ve gone mad or if he missed some critical detail in your relationship. "You’ve... been paying the rent? Since when? Because I distinctly recall handling all of that."  

When you insist, he leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers like he’s analyzing a particularly tricky potion. "Alright, either you’ve been scammed by an exceptionally creative con artist, or this is your latest attempt to distract me from beating you at chess."  

You pout, staying in character, and he sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N, do you even know where the rent money comes from? Because I can assure you, it’s not your side gig selling those questionable potions on Etsy.”  

The corners of his mouth twitch as he fights a grin. Finally, when you can’t hold back your laughter anymore, he rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Honestly, I need to start charging you rent for all this nonsense. At least make it worth my while.”  

As you finally break into laughter, Theo sets his chess pieces down with a dramatic sigh, his eyes softening just a bit. He leans in, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. "You’re impossible," he mutters, his voice a little quieter now, though there’s still a teasing glint in his eyes. "But you know, I wouldn’t have it any other way."

He gives you a small, almost shy smile, then leans back in his chair, his usual cool demeanor returning. "Now, let’s see if you can distract me enough to win this game."

III. Draco Malfoy

He would look at you like you’ve gone MENTAL

“Haha funny joke, y/n,” he rolls his eyes, going right back to reading his book and munching on his green apple.

When you reiterate it, Draco squints at you, lowering his book slightly, the crunch of his apple freezing mid-chew. "Excuse me? You what?" he says, a hint of incredulity creeping into his voice.

When you repeat it again, this time with extra drama, he sits bolt upright, his apple rolling forgotten onto the table. "Wait, wait, wait…you pay the mortgage? Since when? Did I suddenly get amnesia and forget we’re Muggles now? Because last I checked, the Manor doesn’t even have a mortgage!”

He grabs his wand, waving it theatrically. "Accio sense, because clearly you’ve lost yours!”

You keep the act going, insisting you’re serious, and he just gapes at you like you’ve declared you’ve taken up dragon wrestling as a hobby. Finally, he narrows his eyes.

“Y/N, love, if this is about that handbag you wanted last week, just say so. No need to concoct elaborate tales about rent payments. Merlin’s beard, you're ridiculous.”

When you burst into laughter, he leans back in his chair, scowling but unable to hide the faintest smirk. "I’m marrying a lunatic," he mutters, reaching for his apple again. "At least the lunatic has good taste in handbags."

IV. Blaise Zabini

Blaise looks up from his cup of espresso, one perfectly arched brow lifting as he tilts his head at you. "I’m sorry, darling. Did I hear that correctly? You can’t pay the rent? You mean the rent that I, Blaise Zabini, the man with seven vaults at Gringotts, didn’t even let you look at, let alone contribute to?"

You double down, trying to sell your story, and he exhales slowly, setting his glass down with the exaggerated care of a man trying to keep his composure. "This is new. Tragic, even. Shall I sell the antique Italian sofa to keep us afloat? Or, Merlin forbid, cut back on the imported silk sheets?"

When you keep insisting, he leans back, crossing his arms and giving you a slow once-over, his lips twitching with amusement. "You know what? You’re right. It’s all gone. We’re destitute. Better start knitting socks and selling them on Knockturn Alley. Maybe I’ll start charging Draco for advice. He’s overdue for paying his mate tax.”

Finally, when you burst into laughter, Blaise smirks, shaking his head and snaking an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "You’re lucky you’re cute, Y/N. If anyone else tried this nonsense, I’d have them banned from my flat and my life. But you? You get away with everything.”

V. Regulus Black

Regulus doesn’t even look up from his book, clearly too absorbed to even register your words at first. But when you repeat it, his eyes flicker briefly to you, a quizzical expression crossing his face. "Wait, what do you mean you can’t pay the rent?"

You try to explain, going for maximum drama, and he sighs, setting his book down with a soft thud. "Y/N, darling, I pay the rent. I handle everything. You’re telling me you’ve been struggling to pay it all this time?" His tone is flat, not even slightly concerned, just bemused. "I’ve already transferred the payment for the month. Did you forget?"

You continue the joke, and Regulus glances at you again, narrowing his eyes. "Are you seriously trying to convince me that you…you…have been paying the rent? Did you somehow think I’d believe that, or did you just want an excuse to create drama?"

He picks up his book again, unfazed. "You’re lucky you’re charming, because if anyone else tried this, I’d seriously reconsider their grip on reality." He sighs with exaggerated patience, "Don’t you remember? I’m the one who handles the bills. The whole thing is already sorted. No need to panic, love."

When you can’t keep it going anymore and laugh, he glances up once more with a slight smirk, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, Y/N, your attempts at theatrics are as bad as your cooking. At least make the drama more believable next time.”

As you laugh, Regulus's serious expression softens just a touch, and he leans over, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You’re impossible, you know that?" he mutters, but there's a warmth in his voice. "If you ever do run into a problem, though... just tell me."

You smile, and he sighs, shaking his head with a hint of affection. "I swear, you’ll be the death of me." But there’s a small, barely noticeable smile tugging at the corners of his lips, the kind he only gives when he’s not trying to be all stoic and mysterious.

VI. Tom Riddle

Tom Riddle doesn’t even flinch when you announce that you can’t pay the rent, simply pausing for a moment before his sharp, calculating gaze turns to you. "What are you on about?" he asks, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of annoyance. "You’ve been paying the rent? Since when did you even have the opportunity to pay it?"

When you repeat it with exaggerated seriousness, he leans back in his chair, narrowing his eyes, clearly trying to make sense of it. "I’ll admit, you’re certainly creative...but no. I’ve always taken care of the bills. I don’t recall a single instance where you were involved in such matters."

You continue the joke, and he chuckles darkly, though it’s clear he doesn’t fully buy it. "If this is your attempt at gaining attention, it's a poor one, darling. Do you think I’m so easily fooled?" His tone softens just slightly, a flash of something that could almost be affection in his eyes.

He stands and steps toward you, leaning in just close enough to make you feel his presence, but not too close to be truly comforting. "Next time you need a distraction, don’t go around pretending to pay rent," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear ever so slightly. "It’s beneath you. If you need something, ask. But don’t insult my intelligence."

When you finally start laughing, Tom smirks, his eyes glimmering with something softer, though it’s well hidden behind his usual cold demeanor. "You’re insufferable, Y/N. And that’s probably why I... let you get away with it."

A/N: Thank you to @fanfics4ever for this idea ♡

[nlvrr]

GOAL OF THE HEART | jude bellingham

summary: a joke about being terrible at football leads to a flirty one-on-one session with jude, where teasing turns into something more.

warnings: none!

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

it started out as a joke. during a group hangout, you’d admitted—half embarrassed, half amused—that football and you simply didn’t mix. you told them that you might actually be the worst player alive, no exaggeration needed.

jude, who’d been sipping on a drink nearby, nearly choked when he heard you. his eyes immediately lit up with playful disbelief, that signature grin spreading across his face like he’d just found the world’s biggest challenge.

“the worst player alive?” he repeated, leaning closer as if he needed to double-check. “nah. you can’t be serious.”

“dead serious,” you replied with a shrug, though you felt your cheeks heating under his gaze. “i’m a lost cause. don’t even try.”

he leaned back, crossing his arms with an air of smug confidence. “oh, we’re not letting that slide. i could coach you in, like, an hour. easy.”

“that sounds like a waste of your time,” you said with a laugh, but jude’s grin only widened.

“you scared?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing in mock challenge.

and that was it. somehow, you ended up agreeing to a one-on-one training session, and now, here you were at the park, standing awkwardly on the grass while jude twirled a football like it was part of his hand. the late-afternoon sun hung low in the sky, bathing everything in golden light.

he set the ball down in front of you, already smirking. “all right, superstar. let’s see what i’m working with.”

you shot him a look before kicking the ball… straight into your own shin. it bounced pitifully off to the side, and you winced. jude, meanwhile, doubled over with laughter.

“oh my god,” he gasped, hands on his knees. “okay, that was worse than i thought it’d be.”

“shut up,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

“no, seriously,” he said between chuckles, walking over to grab the ball. “you’ve got, like, negative ball control. i thought you were joking!”

“do you want me to leave?”

he bit back another laugh, stepping closer until he was face-to-face with you. “you’re not getting out of this that easy.” his grin softened into something more encouraging. “but don’t worry, i’ve got you. you’re in good hands.”

“debatable,” you muttered, earning another laugh.

jude spent the next twenty minutes attempting to teach you the basics—emphasis on “attempting.” he showed you how to dribble with the inside of your foot, how to balance, how to aim. but every time you tried, you either tripped, kicked the ball in a completely wrong direction, or sent it rolling barely two feet in front of you.

“this is hopeless,” you groaned, throwing up your hands after yet another failed attempt.

“nah,” jude said, walking back over with that same annoyingly cocky grin. “you’re just… how do i say this nicely? really bad.”

you smacked his arm lightly, glaring at him even though his laughter was contagious.

“okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “maybe we need a new approach.”

before you could ask what he meant, jude stepped behind you. his chest brushed against your back as he rested his hands on your arms, guiding them downward.

“relax,” he said, his voice dropping a little lower, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “you’re way too tense. just focus on the ball.”

it was impossible to focus when his breath was warm against your ear and his hands were moving so gently yet firmly.

“you sure this is about football?” you shot back, glancing at him over your shoulder.

his lips curved into a smirk, and he leaned in just slightly closer. “why? is something distracting you?”

“you’re so annoying,” you muttered, cheeks flushing.

he only chuckled, his hands still resting lightly on yours. “keep telling yourself that.”

after what felt like a century, you finally managed to kick the ball into the makeshift goal. it wasn’t exactly a highlight-worthy shot—it rolled awkwardly into the bottom corner—but it counted. you turned to jude, expecting a teasing remark, only to find him lying flat on the ground, arms stretched out like he’d been dramatically defeated.

“you win!” he groaned, clutching his chest like he was in pain. “the student has surpassed the master.”

“oh my god, get up!” you laughed, walking over to nudge his side with your foot.

“i mean it,” he said, grinning up at you. “i’ve been absolutely humbled. what a performance.”

you rolled your eyes and plopped down on the grass beside him, both of you flushed and out of breath.

“admit it,” jude said after a moment, turning his head to look at you. “you had fun.”

you tilted your head toward him, raising a brow. “fun? with you? never.”

he grinned, shifting so he was leaning up on one elbow, his face suddenly a lot closer to yours. “nah, you love it. you love me, actually. go ahead, say it.”

“keep dreaming, bellingham,” you shot back, but the way his gaze dropped—just briefly—to your lips made your heart skip.

“for real, though,” he murmured, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face, his hand lingering for just a beat too long. “you did good today.”

you bit back a shy smile, pretending to brush it off. “well, what do i get for being your star player?”

he tilted his head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “how about dinner? you earned it.”

your heart raced, and before you could argue, he added with a smirk, “plus, someone’s gotta keep the coach company.”

rolling your eyes, you laughed. “you’re unbelievable.”

but you didn’t say no.

[aesthetically-dying101]

Not you.

A/N: yeah so atp this is basically a nanami account idk man, ive been mulling over this idea and just.. couldn't not write it.

warnings: she/her usage, mostly fluff and all, rival to lovers? kinda. Things aren't what they seem. i used a bunch of jargon, but idk what the hell it means so... usage of one or two of Y/N

Nanami Kento was a figure who commanded respect the moment he stepped into any room. As the head of the Financial Department, his reputation preceded him. A man of few words, Nanami always carried himself with a certain gravitas, his sharp suit and perfectly styled hair giving off an air of authority.

He was stoic, often leaving the office before anyone had a chance to catch up with him, and in all the time that anyone had worked with him, Nanami had never once mentioned his personal life.

There were rumors, of course—whispers about his wife, about how he was always so distant and so professional. The office was filled with speculation.

Who was she? What was she like? Why did he never speak of her? The only thing anyone knew for certain was that Nanami Kento had no patience for distractions, and his world revolved entirely around his work.

And then there was you—the head of the Operations Department, responsible for overseeing the company’s logistics, product development, and strategic planning.

Your department was vital to the company’s success, just as Nanami’s was, and your work ethic was practically legendary. You were efficient, meticulous and well-put-together—your image just as carefully crafted as Nanami’s.

But unlike Nanami, you didn’t just command respect, you earned it through your quiet authority, your quick intellect, and your ability to get things done.

You rarely discussed your personal life either, but that wasn’t for the same reasons. The office gossips had often speculated about your marriage, or rather, the lack of concrete information about it. You spoke of your husband in passing—always vague, always careful. When asked about him, you would smile softly and say, “He’s a wonderful cook,” or, “He's the best thing that happened to me,” but you never mentioned his name.

To the other employees, you and Nanami were like opposite ends of a magnet—both incredibly powerful in your respective positions but always repelling each other in public.

It was simple, you hated each other.

Allegedly.

*-*

The conference room was filled with the soft hum of hushed conversations as the remaining members of the board filtered in, the meeting about to begin.

The room, with its glass walls and sleek wooden table, seemed to swallow the light, the air thick with unspoken energy. The usual quiet before a presentation had taken on a different tone today—a sort of heavy, expectant stillness.

Everyone knew what this meeting would be like. The air was thick with anticipation, the feeling of two titans preparing to clash.

At the head of the table, Nanami sat with his usual impassive expression. His eyes, sharp and cold as always, scanned over the presentation materials before him, making quick, methodical notes in the margins of his tablet. His hands, large and steady, moved with precision, his posture impeccable. Despite his composed demeanor, there was a slight edge to his usual stoic appearance—his jaw set tighter than usual, his gaze flickering over the documents in front of him but never staying too long in one place.

Across the table, you did the same. Your posture was straight, your fingers tapping lightly against your own tablet- though your eyes remained focused on Nanami as if assessing him.

The subtle tension between the two of you could be felt by anyone in the room who dared to glance between the two of you. You had worked with Nanami for long enough to know how he functioned, but still, there was something about this moment that made you feel the familiar bite of competitive energy.

This wasn’t just business. It was more than that. This was your rivalry—your game.

“You two ready?” The CEO’s voice broke the silence, and everyone turned their attention to him, but all eyes remained glued to you and Nanami.

A brief, almost imperceptible glance passed between you and Nanami before you both nodded.

Nanami spoke first.

“I’ll start with the financial outlook,” he said, his deep voice calm and unwavering. His tone was confident, measured—his usual professional self. No one could ever accuse him of overacting or raising his voice unnecessarily.

That was his strength. Efficiency, precision.

You watched him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you mentally prepared yourself. You knew exactly what he was going to do—reel off the statistics and the metrics, the numbers that made sense but lacked the full scope of the opportunity you were about to present. You weren't going to let him walk away with this meeting.

You wouldn’t let him win.

Not today.

“Based on the projections, our current approach remains sustainable,” Nanami continued, pointing at his presentation slides, his finger steady. “We will continue with conservative growth, minimizing risks while maximizing short-term profitability.”

The numbers slid onto the screen with ease, each one perfectly in place, each calculation undeniably sound. You couldn’t help but appreciate his work. His plans were always tight, methodical—there was never a flaw. But there was also no room for expansion, no room for daring leaps.

That’s where you came in.

With a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, you leaned forward, picking up where he left off.

“I agree with the numbers,” you said smoothly, your voice carrying through the room. “But sustainability doesn’t always mean profitability. If we’re talking about the long-term viability of the company, we need to look at diversification.”

You let the words hang in the air for a moment, then continued, your eyes never leaving his.

“You’ve kept it safe, Nanami. But we’re not here to play it safe. We’re here to grow, to expand. You can only play it safe for so long before the market overtakes us. I say we invest in new international markets, even if it means taking on a bit more risk upfront.”

There was a slight shift in Nanami’s demeanor. A tightening in his jaw. A flare of something in his icy blue eyes. But his expression remained unreadable as he flipped to the next slide.

“And what about the supply chain issues in the Southeast Asia region?” he asked, his voice steady, but there was an edge to it. He wasn’t backing down. “Any suggestions for how we mitigate that risk?”

“More diversification,” you shot back without hesitation, your tone smooth, but firm. “We can’t afford to rely on just one region when there are so many variables outside of our control. What we need is a more global approach—one that doesn’t put all our eggs in one basket.”

The tension in the room was palpable now.

Everyone could feel it. The subtle undercurrent of animosity, the way your words were calculated to provoke, the way Nanami’s responses were sharp, measured, never losing his composure.

There was a reason everyone in the office avoided the two of you when these meetings happened. The air seemed to hum, charged with an energy that made everything else feel distant.

A low murmur swept through the room as Nanami gave his final response.

“Diversification is too risky at this point. We don’t know enough about the regions you’re suggesting, and I don’t intend to make decisions based on speculative information.” His voice was calm but firm. “Without concrete data, we can’t afford to gamble the company’s future.”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly.

“And I’m saying we won’t have a future if we don’t take risks. Sure, we can stay on this safe path, but it’s the same one we’ve been on for years, and it’ll eventually stagnate.” You leaned forward, pushing the point. “We need to be ahead of the curve, Nanami, or we’ll get swallowed up by the competition. The world doesn’t wait for us to get comfortable.”

There was a long pause. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Nanami’s counterattack.

“You’re assuming the worst-case scenario,” Nanami replied, his voice still calm but with a subtle bite to it. “I don’t deal in worst-case scenarios. I deal in facts. And the fact is, our company is thriving just fine as it is.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you smiled slightly, leaning back in your chair with a controlled breath.

“That’s because of people like me, Nanami. People who know that thriving isn’t enough. We need to evolve.”

It was a quiet challenge. A call to the very heart of his cautious nature, the kind of challenge that stirred something deep in both of you.

For a moment, the room was silent. No one dared to speak, sensing the standoff between the two of you. You both knew the stakes. Your points were valid, and his were just as solid. But in this game, it wasn’t just about who was right—it was about who could bend the other to their will.

And with that, the meeting continued, but the energy in the room never quite settled. The board members watched in silence, accustomed to the tension between you and Nanami by now, though none of them fully understood the true nature of the competition, of the rivalry between you two.

It wasn’t just about the work.

It never was.

And as the presentations came to an end and everyone began to file out of the room, Nanami gave you one last glance—his eyes not cold, but something else. Something unreadable, but familiar.

“Good work,” he said, almost as if he were conceding a point, though his tone remained neutral.

*-*

The day had been long—longer than usual, filled with presentations, sharp glances and the undercurrent of competition that was familiar but still exhilarating.

As the office began to empty, you found yourself walking down the hallway, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. It had been a long day, but the tension that lingered between Nanami and you after the meeting was… intoxicating. And, as always, you had a feeling you’d be running into him soon.

And by "running into him," you meant, of course, you were about to collide on purpose.

As if on cue, you turned a corner and found yourself standing in front of the conference room. The door was slightly ajar, and you could see the faint outline of Nanami’s figure inside.

You paused, your heart picking up pace, knowing what was about to happen.

This wasn't just a coincidence, it never was.

You pushed the door open, slipping inside with a barely noticeable smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Late-night work, Kento?” you asked, playing it cool, but the mischievous glint in your eyes betrayed you.

Nanami didn’t look up right away.

He was leaning over a set of papers, reviewing something quietly, and for a brief second, he gave no indication that he had even noticed you’d entered.

But you knew he had.

You always knew.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice steady but with a certain edge to it, “-didn’t expect you to be so punctual after our little ‘debate’ today.”

You took a slow step forward, your heels clicking softly as you closed the gap between you.

“Oh, I’m always punctual. You know that.”

Nanami glanced up, his gaze narrowing slightly as his eyes met yours. That familiar, teasing tension was already swirling between you. You could practically feel it crackling in the air. And, just like every time before, it was like you were the only two people in the world.

You leaned against the table, crossing your arms casually.

“So, what’s the verdict on my very risky ideas from earlier? Did I win, or are we still battling it out?”

His lips quirked slightly, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stood from the chair with slow deliberation, locking eyes with you as he did. There was a dangerous, playful glint in his gaze now.

“We both know you’re stubborn,” he said softly, a challenge laced in his tone. “But you do make a good point every now and then.”

Before you could respond, Nanami turned and locked the door behind you, the soft click of the lock reverberating through the room.

You raised an eyebrow, the realization hitting you like a slow wave. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, Kento,” you teased, but your voice softened.

He didn’t reply at first. Instead, Nanami took a step closer, closing the distance between you until there was only a whisper of air separating you. His hand reached up, fingers grazing your cheek, his touch delicate but firm. The tension between you felt so thick it could’ve suffocated anyone else in the room, but not you two.

You thrived in it.

“You know,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to your lips, “I do love how much you push me.”

“And I love how much you push me,” you whispered back, your voice low and steady, heart pounding in your chest.

His lips curled into a smirk, and before you could fully register what was happening, his hand was on the back of your neck, pulling you toward him with a force that sent your pulse racing. Your lips met in a sudden, heated kiss.

No words. No preamble.

Just pure, undeniable fire.

The kiss was a clash of desire and frustration—a mingling of rivalry and affection. You could feel his hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer, and you responded by tangling your fingers into his shirt, tugging him even nearer.

Between kisses, Nanami murmured softly against your lips, each word barely audible but intense.

“You were right, you know. Your presentation was damn good. Risky as hell, but good.”

You could feel a smile tugging at your lips even as you kissed him back.

“Yeah? I know. I did well.”

He chuckled softly, the sound deep in his chest. “You always do,” he muttered, his voice soft and warm despite the heat of the kiss.

His hands moved to your face, cupping it gently as he deepened the kiss, his thumbs tracing the curve of your jaw. The intensity of the moment was enough to make you forget everything around you. In this room, there was no competition, no rivalry—just you two. Just him. Just the way you were always meant to be.

And then, between frantic kisses, his voice dropped into a breathless whisper. “Marry me.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, blinking in confusion. “What?”

He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you with the same affection that always made your heart skip a beat.

“Marry me again,” he repeated, his voice thick with sincerity. “You already have my heart, but I want to do this all over again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and joyful. “You already asked me, Ken.”

He grinned, his hands pulling you closer again. “Then let me ask you again. Marry me.”

You held up your hand, showing him the ring that already glimmered on your finger. “You really don’t need to ask. I already said yes.”

Nanami pressed his lips to yours once more, his kiss warm and tender this time, as if every part of him was soaking in the quiet joy of the moment. In between kisses, you heard him whisper,

“I don’t care. I want to ask you every day.”

And as the kiss deepened once more, you couldn’t help but think that, despite all the competition, all the tension, all the heated moments between you—they were all just a reminder of how much you really loved each other.

And in the end, that was all that mattered.

A/N: yeah so idk my brain just couldn't not think of this. i might remake this into a longer fic bc I LOVE this premise so much

Masterlist

:)

[subcultureblues]

When I Feel That Something (I Want To Hold Your Hand)

T | Steve Harrington / Eddie Munson | tags : Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship | cw : Period-Typical Homophobia, Discussions of Homophobia

———

It’s late and it’s been a long but lazy day. Eddie and Steve decided to go to that one diner in town that’s open late.

Eddie was drumming along to a nonexistent tune, his fingertips tap tapping away on his lap. He looked over at Steve very studiously reading the menu.

“You’re actually getting something different?”

“Nah.” Steve said without looking up. Eddie grinned. He figured as much. Steve was a creature of habit. Eddie was pretty sure he’d anyurize if they came here one day and they were out of strawberry ice cream for his milkshake.

And then he felt it. The slick bastard…. Without taking his eyes off the menu Steve had slipped his hand onto Eddie’s lap and tangled up their fingers.

He’s tenacious. Eddie’ll give ‘im that. Of course one glance around the diner and Eddie was elbowing Steve between the ribs.

“Hey.” Steve held the same hand against where Eddie had jabbed him as if it actually hurt, the big baby. “What was that for -“

“Heya. I’m Mylene. What can I get y’all tonight?” Eddie gave Steve a fabulously vindicated, ‘I told you so’ look as their waitress materialized.

She must be new or something because Eddie’s never seen her working here before.

Eddie let Steve order for him, because he too, is a creature of habit and Steve knows what he likes. The waitress hadn’t seen anything, clearly - considering she’s definitely flirting with him.

She’s pretty too. Soft, delicate face. A real Miss Indiana.

Eddie pretends to study his rings and Steve pretends not to notice her overtures.

And that’s as good as it’s ever gonna get.

As soon as she walked away Eddie could feel Steve scooting closer.

“Sittin’ awful close there, Stevie.” Eddie teased, smiling casually and looking straight ahead.

“Yeah, yeah…” he heard Steve slide back a few inches down the seat. Eddie snuck a glance and chuckled.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty when you pout.” Eddie whispered, nonchalantly stretching to rest his arms over the back of the booth. For just a second, he let the tip of his thumb brush the back of Steve’s neck.

Softly, Eddie hummed that one song Steve put on when he was feeling corny. I wanna hold your hand-a-aand. I wanna hold your hand. Because Eddie did. Really did.

Steve smiled ruefully, but - He was smiling. As good that was ever gonna get either.

When they get their separate checks, and no she didn’t ask, Steve’s had a number scribbled on the bottom. Next to the waitresses name and a little heart. Eddie huffed dryly, like maybe it was funny.

Steve reached past him and crumpled it. Left it there with the discarded napkins as they got up to leave.

“Can you believe her?” Steve muttered after they had stepped out of the diner and into the dark and cold. Eddie shoved his fists in his pockets to keep them warm.

Steve looked back at Eddie expectantly.

“Can’t fault a gal for good taste.” He shrugged. She didn’t do anything untoward. Eddie knew that. Steve did too. Still he was high strung, his shoulders tensed as they walked up to the van.

“You gotta get your head in the game, man.” Eddie said, opening the driver side door.

“What are you talking about?” Steve said, pausing in front of the open passenger side to look up and bite the inside of his cheek. When they were both inside they closed the doors and locked out the night chill.

“Come on, Stevie.” And then more reluctantly, almost apologetic he said, “You know what I’m talking about…”

“Yeah.” Steve pouted. God, what an adorable, majestic labradoodle of a man. Eddie never stood a chance…

Steve crossed his arms, uncrossed them. Crossed them again. “This sucks.”

“Yeah.” Eddie shrugged. “Doesn’t matter though. No, I’m serious. Stop with the face. I’m not gonna risk you getting - “ Eddie huffed. Obviously, Eddie wasn’t upset with him. But honestly… would it so hard for Steve, just once in his life, to not be quite so brave and shining and true. Just once.

For Eddie’s sake if not his own.

“You.” He said, “Do not get to get hurt over this shit. Capiche?” Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie saw Steve mouth the word Capiche back to himself. Eddie valiantly resisted the urge to roll his eyes back into his skull. The two of them actually do have to take turns being entirely juvenile or nothing ever gets done around here. “I’m not - fucking letting that happen, alright? It’s just not worth the risk. So yeah. It sucks. But you gotta stop - “

“What?” Steve raised a bitchy eyebrow.

Eddie laughed, a bit startled at how just fond that look makes him feel. “Being cute.”

“Being cute?” Steve scoffed.

“Mmhmm.” Eddie said pulling out of the parking lot. “Cute.” He nodded definitively.

Steve rolled his eyes. He quietly waited for Eddie to finish fiddling with the radio, til he found a compromise worthy station, before speaking again.

“Ok, well.” Steve looked around. The roads were empty. It was dark. “What about, now….?”

Eddie lolled his head to look the opposite direction as Steve, biting his lip to hold back a ridiculously satisfied smile. Only then could he bare it - to glance at his boyfriend.

He was so sure Steve could see the big cartoon hearts in his eyes. It was annoying, when he was trying so hard to give Steve the ‘I told you to quit it’ eyes.

Steve put his hand over Eddie’s on the stick shift and locked their fingers together. Made a petulant noise, as if he was in active defiance.

“You’re one to talk about being obvious…”. Steve muttered

Eddie laughed. Steve had him dead to rights on that one.

“You know usually you’re meant to look at the road when you’re driving.”

Yeah usually. But then there was Steve in his car. Which, made it hard. And Eddie was a weak, weak man.

“God Steve Harrington... I love you so much sometimes it makes me sick.” He said smirking. Shaking his head at himself more than anything.

Sue him. He’s got Steve Harrington (yes that one) on his arm. He’s gonna be a little bit love struck for the rest of his life.

But now Steve was just slightly pink and biting his lip. Trying to contain himself, struggle against the upward tilt playing at the corner of his mouth. Still playing at mad while giving Eddie the ooiest, gooiest of eyes.

“Shut up…”

“Yeah. Because you fell in love with me for my strong but silent demeanor.”

“Yeah.” Steve looked out the window and huffed a laugh, squeezing his hand. “Something like that…”

Eddie still has no idea what about his ‘wet rat on the run from Johnny Law’ look had managed to charm Steve, but he refused to question it.

Eddie shifted the car in a higher gear, but Steve hand stayed right there on his. Didn’t move the rest of the way home.

When they got back to the trailer, they puttered around in easy silence. It was familiar. Eddie kind of loved it. That Steve didn’t even ask before raiding his pack of beers. That he had shirts in the dresser and a toothbrush next to Eddie’s and that he left his ridiculous shampoo here even though he knows Eddie’s been siphoning from it.

Hell, at this point he knew what drawer they kept the spatula. It was downright domestic.

That’s right folks. Eddie Munson had officially gone soft.

They were hanging out in his bedroom, Eddie playing his guitar at the head of the bed, one leg hanging off it and the other bent at the knee. Steve crisscross on the foot of the bed tossing a baseball of unknown origin up and down.

“I wish I could hold your hand.” He said, catching the ball just to stare at it.

“Steve.”

“No. It’s - I should be able to. It’s messed up.”

Eddie shrugged. Because such is life, amright? No point getting bent up out of shape about shit so, so very far out of your control.

Steve just sighed.

Because Eddie was used to the uh, - sociological blue balling. Whereas Steve, was not. Because Steve was new to all this.

“You can hold my hand now.” Eddie offered, but then he looked down at his guitar and thought about the riff he had almost perfected. “Ok, well not now.”

He stuck up his leg in the air and offered it in Steve’s direction.

“Here take this.” He said. Steve gave him an unimpressed face. Or maybe he could just smell Eddie’s socks and that look was judgement. Eddie wiggled his leg around in front of him a bit until Steve relented and pulled Eddie’s foot into his lap. Eddie grinned satisfactorily.

The baseball ended up rolling onto the floor and under the bed. Likely from whence it came. Steve barely even noticed. Still looking the wrong side of forlorn.

“Maybe I just don’t know what I’m missing out on.” Eddie shrugged, going back to running scales.

“I wish you did…”

“You wish I knew what I was missing out on so I’d suffer the more for not having it?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty fucked up, Stevie.”

Steve rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall.

“I want - fuck, man… I wanna just kiss you whenever I feel like it. Put my arm around you when I feel like it. And you know what? Yeah, maybe I want you to know what it feels like to get shown off a little. You… you should be, deserve to get shown off, you know…”

Eddie looked up at Steve. He was staring into space looking wistful. Sad. His hand still vaguely holding Eddie’s ankle. Eddie gently set his Baby down on the floor, propped up against the nightstand. Refocused his attention on his other Baby. Steve turned his neck to face Eddie, head tilted against the wall.

“It sucks. When you’re sitting right there and it can’t be like how I want it to be.”

“How do you want it?” Eddie risked indulging the hypothetical.

“I want em to know you’re mine.” Steve shrugged, picking at loose thread on Eddie’s thread bare jeans.

Eddie flopped back onto the bed, head sinking deep into his pillow. Sometimes it was like Steve was trying to stop Eddie’s heart in its tracks. He glared at Steve down the bridge of his nose.

“I thought I told you to stop being cute.” He pretended to grouse.

Steve’s lip twitched up but it didn’t clear the upset on his face.

“Can’t help it I guess…” Steve said quietly. Distracted.

“No. I guess you can’t.” Eddie agreed. He outstretched his arms, raising them and leaving them suspended in the air. Beckoning for his sweet prince. Waiting for his Steve to come fall into them. “Come on.” He encouraged, with a begrudging tone -one he’s sure was deeply unconvincing.

Steve crawled up the bed, and sunk down on top of his chest. Christ, he was he heavy. And warm. Like the sexiest, most suffocating sleeping blanket to ever hit the market. The last blanket Eddie’d ever need.

Eddie really did love the way Steve used his chest as a pillow. Steve settled so he was mostly not crushing Eddie’s lungs. He snuggled his cheek against his usual spot. Right over where Eddie’s got that screaming face tatt, just getting comfortable.

Eddie ran a hand up and down his shoulder, hoping it did something to soothe this something in Steve. Squeezed his arms around him. Snuggled his own cheek against the top of Steve’s head.

“You think I wouldn’t be running around town screaming about, Steve Harrington, man of my dreams if I could.” He said eventually. He could hear Steve rolls his eyes. “Here ye, here ye! Thine King has the tightest, hottest, most fuckab-“

Steve pushed him away with a hand on his cheek.

“I’ll show you fuckable…” Steve mimicked, muttering nonsense. He looked up at Eddie from his chest. Eddie looked down at him, with a positively lecherous eyebrow.

A look that said, Oh baby. You already are.

And yet… Steve wasn’t preening. Usually he loved how Eddie could lighten the mood. Made light of things because sometimes it did start to make them feel lighter. Said it helped when he got too in his head. But Eddie got the distinct feeling Steve wanted to… talk.

Perhaps counterintuitively… Eddie’s not the best at that. He can never seem to shut the hell up, until something important comes along and his silver tongue leaves him like a filthy deserter.

“This comes with the territory of being little Missus Munson, hey stop it! Stop it! Hmph. Ow…”

Steve did stop trying to poke him to death with his pointer finger. Eddie sighed.

“It does though… It comes with the… me.”

“Eddie. S’not like it’s your fault.”

“Yeah… Doesn’t mean I can do anything to change it.” He said quietly. Staring at the ceiling so he didn’t have to look at Steve. “I remember you in highschool. You always had some girl on your arm.” He said, eyebrows raised and sounding detached.

Steve poked at him again which made Eddie wriggle but it didn’t shut him up.

“You’d be… holding hands in the hallway. Making out against your locker. Under the bleachers… In the lunchroom...”

“Eddie.” Steve frowned. Eddie shrugged the shoulder Steve wasn’t lying on, resigned.

“I - can’t give you that, Steve.” He said simply, though words rose like bile in his throat. “This is… You can take it or you can leave it. But if you ever want to just,” Eddie felt too big for his skin. Felt sick and warm. Felt like his heart suddenly forgot its easy, devil-may-care rhythm. Which is why he tried not to think about it. This. Not to dream of things so far out of his reach. His eyebrows drew together. “You ever want to just - hold hands and walk down the street again… I’m not the person for that. You’re gonna have to um, your gonna need to, uh, find someone else.”

Someone like Mylene, Eddie thought numbly.

“Eddie.” Steve’s head rose from his chest. His face all twisted up. With that unconscionably cute pissed off little frown of his, the one he puts on when he gets all serious. The one for which Eddie had no earthly defense.

God, Eddie hated when his heart did this. Ached.

“Stop it. Don’t - I want to hold your hand. Show you off. Kiss you. Kiss you whenever I feel like it.” He scoffed. “Not just like for the fuck of it. What’s the point if it’s anybody but you, stupid.”

Eddie managed to smile. It was small and sad and he still couldn’t look at him. But it was there - and a lot more earnest than Eddie lets himself be a lot of the time.

Steve moved up his body and pressed his forehead to Eddie’s temple. Grounded them both at that point of contact.

“Hey.” Steve whispered. Eddie did finally face him. Prayed his eyes looked less scared than he felt. Steve put a warm open palm on the side of his neck. Slid it up to rest on his cheek. Stroking his thumb back and forth purposefully. He nosed at Eddie’s other cheek. “Hey. I love you. I really - I really need this. You.” He could feel the warmth of his breath in the shape of the words. Eddie dragged his nose down the bridge of Steve’s. He loved the way their skin on skin felt. Loved the way it made him feel, how it transported him somewhere simple and safe.

Like those ruby slippers from Wizard of Oz. Press them together, and suddenly… you’re home again.

Like magic.

“It kind of scares the shit out of me when you talk like that.” Steve said, quiet and pretending it hurts less than it really does.

Eddie closed his eyes and squeezed Steve in his arms.

“M’sorry.” Eddie mumbled into his neck. “…You know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Right?”

“I better be.” Steve ribbed gently.

“We’ll uh,” he cleared his throat, but it still felt like there were like, rocks stuck in there or something. He tried again. “You won’t ever be able to get married… can’t have kids - s’illegal and all.”

“So what? Ya know? So what. I get to have… this, right?” He grinned, reverently running a hand through Eddie’s mess of hair. Scratching his fingernails softly into the back of his neck. “And I’d like to see them try and take that from me. I have a pretty scary bat, you know.”

“I heard about that.” Eddie murmured.

“Yeah? It’s all covered in like, nails and demon blood and everything.” He laughed softly, pressing his face into Eddie’s hair.

“You’re very metal, baby.” Eddie said, placing a kiss on his neck.

“And don’t think I won’t use it.” Now it Steve trying to unsuccessfully lighten the mood.

Eddie uncurled and laid back, just staring at the ceiling.

“You want it though. You’ve always wanted that…”

“Well. Yeah…”

Eddie’s eyes start to sting and somewhere in the back of his head his dad’s voice is there telling him to stop being a pussy, that he’s being a real baby about this, that he’s always been a fucking idiot. He’s too loose limbed and sedated to bother toughen up. Too tired to be impenetrable.

Steve kissed him. On the cheek, softer than anything else in Eddie’s life.

Eddie’s been slowly trying to wisen up to the fact that uh. When he and Steve are all pretzeled up like this, their whole bodies a tangle. When it’s dark and quiet and just them. It’s actually fine to feel like a pussy, and a total baby, and a fucking idiot. It just makes Steve kiss him like that. Squeeze a little tighter. Makes him want to stay folded up like this longer, as long as they can. Even when Steve like really, really has to pee.

Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck he’s gonna do with himself when he looses this too. Steve nuzzles up against him, make a small sound. If, he tried to remind himself. If he looses it.

Pretty please, Jesus fucking Christ - Please be an if.

“I wanna marry you Eddie.”

“Ok.” Eddie shrugged, disaffected. He wants to marry Steve too.

He also wants a million dollars, a 84’ Flying V, to be trapped in an elevator with Gary Gygax for like 30 minutes, because he’s got some serious ideas about the rules alright?

He wants to be a rock star. He wants Wayne to be able to retire.

The wanting is the problem. It’s an indulgence that doesn’t do anyone much good. That just precedes a dull, drawn out ache.

Steve sat up very suddenly, straddling Eddie’s hips. And God, if Eddie’s not a boy because he’s way too easily distracted by Steve sitting on his dick. Steve stretches an arm out to reach over Eddie. He puts his hands on Steve’s hips to steady him as he goes to grab something off the nightstand.

Sweet. So they’re gonna fuck it out. Eddie won’t complain about that. Simple ecstasy? A carnal pleasure? That’s the #1 Munson Recomended method to treat self pitying bouts of despair, baby.

He was great with the words that didn’t matter, really not so much with the ones that did. And Steve always was and would be a man of action. And ok, maybe Eddie was even a little relieved to forget this conversation, this hole in his chest. Just, not have to think about it.

But then Steve didn’t present Eddie with a bottle of lube. Instead he was carefully holding one of Eddie’s rings pinched between two fingers. Eddie had slipped them off and put them on the nightstand (because as cool as they make him look on stage they’re clunky and obtrusive and practicing with them on his fingers gets on his nerves.)

“Marry me.” Steve said, presenting Eddie’s very own ring to him.

“Uh - “ His eyes crossed looking at it held up in front of his face.

Steve huffed.

“Fine. I Steve Harrington, ask thee, Eddie Munson, for your hand in marriage.” Steve said, gently picking up one of Eddie’s hands. He was just staring at Steve trying to figure out the punchline.

“Maybe not today, alright? But like, someday, right? There’s gotta be a a someday. And then I’m gonna marry you. First day they’ll legally let me do it.”

“Sure. We’ll probably be like, a hundred.”

“Ok.” He shrugged. Like for Steve it was that simple. It came that easy for him. “Would you want…?”

“Fuck you. Fuck you, man.” Eddie rolled them over so he was curled on top of Steve. Steve put up a struggle, slowly suffocating under him.

“I want it so bad it’s like a bullet to the chest.” He said, holding the love of his life down in an illegal wrestling move.

“You’f suz a drauma queen.” Steve mumbled under him. Eddie rested his weight his on his forearms, one on either side of Steve’s head, releasing the petulant creature from it’s confines. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“And you’re… something else, Harrington.”

“It’ll be Munson won’t it.” And there’s a second round, a clean shot to the heart. He hides his face in Steve’s neck, pretending he’s not squealing on the inside like a teenage girl with a bad case of Beatle-mania.

“Fuck off.” He sighs. “You’re gonna kill me one day, Steve Harrington.”

“Steve Munson.” He sputtered a little, mouth open like he was trying to get a stray hair out of it.

Eddie made a sound like he’s dying.

“God that sounds awful actually.” Eddie said, as if he’s not gonna be writing it in little hearts in the margins of his notebooks. “Just. Does not roll off the tongue. Like at all.”

Steve’s fingers were trailing featherlight up and down his spine. “Yeah.” He agreed. And Eddie could hear the smile on the bastards face.

“Robin can be our incubator.”

“She agreed to that?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Steve snorted. “But I’ll wear’er down. She’s a total sap.”

Eddie snorted. She was a god awful hopeless romantic.

“You’re gonna force that poor lesbian to pump out 4 little Harrington’s?”

“Little Munsones. Munsonses?”

“Munsons?” Eddie raised a condescending eyebrow.

“Besides I don’t need 4, I’ll already have one giant fucking baby waiting for me at home.” He digs his nose into Eddie’s cheek accusatorially.

“You get one.”

“Three.” Steve bargained, eyes squinting in challenge.

“Two.” Eddie said, grinning widely.

“And a dog.”

“You get a hamster.” Eddie said, feeling warm all over. “Final offer.”

Two little tikes running around the house, screaming like banshees. He could read them The Hobbit when they’re all tuckered out and tucked in, to put them to sleep. Use all his silly voices.

He could teach them D&D and they could all giggle and create chaos together as a family, sat around the dining room table.

They could play princes and princesses and Eddie could be the big mean dragon - that they then vanquish in glorious combat. He would fall to his knees and ‘die’ oh so dramatically. He knows he would.

When they’re real little, he could bounce them on his knee like a cowboy. Do stupid shit like play peek-a-boo and blow raspberries on their tummy’s til they barfed themselves laughing. All the stuff he doesn’t remember but had wanted anyways.

He pictures himself up at 2 am with Steve standing behind him, pressed against his back. Having finally gotten the wailing little beast in his arms to fall back asleep; and he gets to hold something small and fragile and full of so much living potential and do it better this time around.

Damn.

He was crying, wasn’t he?

He just noticed. Steve had noticed too. He was quietly kissing up Eddie’s jawline, into his temple. Running those magical hands through his hair in a way that made him want to pur like a cat.

“Eddie?” He spoke softly.

Eddie sniffed. He grabbed at the fist Steve was still holding the ring in. “Gimme.” He said, frowning.

“Hey.” Steve warned. He took Eddie’s left hand by the wrist, slowly coaxed his fingers open. Carefully slid the ring on. Stared at it on Eddie’s hand. Smiling just, way too smugly.

Eddie flexed his fingers, testing his grip. It’s literally the ring he wears on his left ring finger almost every single day.

And isn’t that something. The way Steve can take something that should be entirely mundane. And make it mean everything to Eddie, make it mean the fucking world.

A very serious expression crossed Eddie’s face, then he reached over to the night stand and grabbed a handful of the rest of his rings.

He opened his palm and sorted through them by size. “What are you doing?” Steve asked. Eddie shushed him. Steve clicked his tongue but he went easily when Eddie reached out to grab his left hand.

“Oh.” Steve said, as Eddie went about trying a few different rings on his fingers. Steve’s hands were a lot meatier than Eddie’s. Steve was a fit guy, you see. Even his hands were bigger, more muscular. Eddie had slender guitar player hands. But eventually he found one, a simple silver band with a fleur-de-lis that fit like Cinderella’s glass slipper.

“Mine.” Eddie said, hugging Steve’s forearm tightly and trapping it possesively against his own chest. Steve looked at the ring on his finger. He turned his hand around in Eddie’s grip to press it flat against Eddie’s heartbeat. Then Steve kissed him, rested their foreheads together.

“You’re such a brute, you know that?” Steve said, kissing him again.

“I’ll show you a brute.” Eddie raised his eyebrows suggestively. They kissed and kissed and kissed.

“Have you heard about what’s going on in New York? And like San Francisco and stuff.”

“The big gay revolution? Sure.” Eddie shrugged. Kissed him again. Lots of tongue.

Does it still count as premarital sex after whatever that was? Eddie’s gotta be honest, he’s a little disappointed at the idea of their sex life getting even the slightest bit less actively sinful.

“What do you think?”

“Hmmm? It’s a nice dream. I’ll give em that.” Steve gave him a look. Eddie scoffed.

“I want to… I can’t just sit here, man.” Steve said. Because Steve was a man of action. Because when Steve sees a monster he just starts swinging. He held Eddie’s hand in his own, looking at the ring that was next to meaningless 10 minutes ago and it just wasn’t anymore. “I’m not kidding. I am gonna marry you. I want to be out there. Doing that. Until they have to let me.”

“I dunno, man…. I’m more of a rebel without a cause.” Eddie said, because activism’s an idealist’s game.

“Oh, come ooon. Fighting the power. Sticking it to The Man. Riots in the streets. You gotta admi-t. Pretty metal….” He grinned, knowing each and every one of Eddie’s weaknesses and exactly how to tempt him.

“Yeah. Ok, yeah it kinda is.”

It would be nice. Knowing there’s others people like them is different from actuating knowing other people who are like them. It’s crazy just how much Eddie’s life changed from having two people in the world who could get him the way Steve and Robin got him. They could drag her out there with them. Hit up the lesbian bars, ‘find her Eddie’ as she and Steve refer to it sometimes.

The music scene there is actually… existent. Unlike here. Eddie could… he try and make a name for himself.

They could… it sounds like a fucking pipe dream. That things could ever change. That people could ever change. That some day people like them wouldn’t have to be afraid.

But… fuck if Steve’s optimistic smile wasn’t convincing him of something. Convincing Eddie that hey, it’s at least worth a try, right?

“I wanna hold your hand.” Steve said quietly, even thought he was already holding it.

“That’s not very metal at all.” Eddie teased.

“I dunno… Feels pretty metal to me.” He said, absently playing with Eddie’s fingers.

Eddie huffed a laugh.

“Yeah… Yeah I guess it really is.”

[havinganidentitycrisis]

☆ | SOUL EATER ◇ PROJECT ARCANA | ☆

1. Lord Death as Death

- Meaning: End of cycles, new beginnings, new life.

- Reversed: A reversal of the Death card suggests one is resisting change or a significant transformation. Holding on to old perspectives or beliefs from the past could hinder progress and leave you feeling stagnant.

• Interpretation: The effect Death has on the world and everything in it, his place as not only as a god but existing in nature as well, his legacy as the first guardian and passing it on to the next, the passing of the torch, and knowing that while his time is running short, he trusts those who will lead after him.

[hellothisisangle]

Would cae theoretically be into nail art? Either just something simple or full on nail jewels and charms and stuff?

I love painting my nails but I have to keep them short and I’m so jealous of his natural stilettos 😩

He would! As long as the color/decor was metallic and sparkly. I’m sure he’d have fun with dangly charms and the like too

Because he does rigorous activities with his hands (acrobatics, playing instruments, carving, straight up biting his nails when he’s worried) anything overly decorated wouldn’t last long. And then he’d feel bad if someone had helped him do them up

I imagine if the party came across nail polish in a color he fancied that he would paint them periodically and just keep piling it on after chipping happens. Without removing the old, resulting in really messy/flaky looking nails

I feel you, I can’t keep my nails long either 😩

[vermillyons]

You always have at least a part of Shanks’ attention, so the way you shift uncomfortably and curl slightly in on yourself is not going to go unnoticed.

The cause of his sudden and very dire lack of you is that very same newcomer.

you write shanks so endearingly here, the way he's so head over heels for them 🥰. it's almost childlike in how unabashed he is about it but it also juxtaposes with how insightful he is with him paying attention to reader's moods.

Shanks tucks you in sweetly (well… sweetly to a drunk; in all reality you kinda flopped in, but he did make sure you were shoeless and properly under the blankets, and he even shuffled back in to put water, crackers, and medicine where you could reach).

ok but shanks tucking you in is so sweet 🥺💖. bc im a sap im going to imagine he gave you a kiss on the head and a little pat after that.

your mihawk jealousy headcanon made me think too much about how he'd express his jealousy before and during a relationship that it's gonna end up being its own post 😭✌️ (no im not biased whattt)

At first he tries to discourage this lingering with his mere presence. He knows he’s capable of pumping out enough sheer displeasure into the air to knock out a squadron, so he keeps it to his other tools: body language that makes him feel larger than the room and a glare sharp enough to split hair.

mihawk really is the embodiment of “he’s just standing there! menacingly!” you did a really good job at describing mihawk’s body language and mood. i can’t help but smile at the image of mihawk staring daggers at the ex (poor marine).

Mihawk can tell that his mood is setting you on edge too - almost anyone would with the perturbed looks you’ve been sending his way - but that isn’t technically taking your joy, so he doesn’t back off.

You would have never guessed that his aim with his nitpicking and praising is to make sure your ex knows for a fact that you are out of their league. They don’t deserve you. But he could.

the implication of mihawk being so aloof towards reader that they can’t even figure out why mihawk’s so pissy like please 😭. mihawk you did this to yourself. also me going 👀 at the second quote’s wording “They don’t deserve you. But he could.” like the implications… the usage of “could” instead of “does” when it comes to mihawk deserving you.

Mihawk is simply delighted to see your attention going to its rightful place, on him. You should be looking at him with such interest and joy. You should be seeking his approval; not some simpering swine’s.

he is so cringe (affectionate)

His full height set strongly in sharp shoulders and straight spine cuts a devilish figure behind you. Your ex’s first impression was that he is haunting you, but there’s some little whisper in their mind that, no, Mihawk is protecting you.

good ass imagery. i love the contrast between mihawk being ominous and protective, the way his possessiveness seems to take physical form here. it’s bad news for the ex but not necessarily for reader.

also:

“I usually have to pour my own wine from the kitchen’s rack. What’s the occasion?” Mihawk takes a sip and the comfort of one of his favored wines coming over his senses coerces him into loosening his tongue. “You’ve been good.” Another sip and he thoughtfully adds, “I could give you more rewards.”

im going to hold back from saying anything too incoherently horny. anyways, i hope they makeout sloppy.

crocodile strikes me as the type of menace to sabotage any dates that you’d try to go on if it’s with anyone else but him. reservations get mysteriously canceled, transport breaks down, that kind of stuff. in true mr. 0 fashion, he’d pretend he had nothing to do with it.

since this reader is his assistant, i can see them being smart enough to figure it out. either their reaction can be indifferent (all those red flags just look like flags when you’re a criminal lol), bothered by the lying, or amused (like, wow, he didn’t have to do all that if he wanted them so bad).

It only irritates him even more that you don’t notice him until you’re swallowed by his shadow. You even have the audacity to look surprised when you turn to him.

(point and laugh) he liiikes them!

And thus begins the interrogation. You can only watch perplexed as Sir Croc tugs every bit of information he could want out of your ex, making sure to cut off anything he didn’t care to hear. That frustrated look and tone become more bored by the second. Every tone tells your ex that they’re barely worth the breath to speak, causing them to shrink even faster than Sir Croc’s anger did.

this captures his condescending and imperious apathy so well. it’s like it’s beaming a picture of crocodile directly into my brain. giving the same energy when crocodile went “idgaf about your plans” to blackbeard. he’s the worst 💖💖💖

the metal isn’t cold like you thought it would be. It must be warmed from resting on his thigh. You shake away the thought of warming it further.

ok ok ok 😳👉👈 what a nice, subtly sensual detail.

Noting how deep your draw to Croc is, you already feel that that would be a dead end. Well, maybe some time rekindling things would help your daydreaming and wishing for Sir Croc finally start ebbing away.

crocodile is going to be so insufferably smug once he finds out why reader’s been reconnecting with their ex.

When he reaches for his awaiting drink, he notices Daz Bonez come back into the room, wiping his hands off on his pants. Their eyes meet and Daz Bones gives a firm nod before heading back to his other duties for the night.

daz bonez, being an assassin, has definitely killed for pettier reasons but he really just killed the ex with no questions asked. unmatched loyalty! give this man infinite paid vacation days even if he’d never take them.

jealousy headcanons and scenarios r my kryptonite! especially for emotionally constipated characters lol. for shanks, mihawk, and crocodile seeing their crush interacting with someone that turns out to be said crush's ex? there's chemistry between the exes and are those lingering looks he's seeing?! 🫢

OOOOOOOO GOOD CHOICES GOOD CHOICES 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 I must say I am weak for some jealousy too 💀 why does it have to be so hot in fiction huh??? Or make me feel wanted????? Rude 😤

Three jealous DILFs coming right up 🫡

Jealousy from Shanks, Mihawk, and Sir Crocodile

Your ex comes back into your life and stirs up some feelings - How are these men taking it?

Form this took: started as a bulleted headcanons but then became a scenario/ficlet for each ahsdjajskdajs

Word count: Shanks - 1.1 k, Mihawk - 1.2 k, Croc - 1.2 k

Shanks

The clinging and diverting type

This mf tries to be sneaky about it

Key word: tries

It’s no secret that Shanks is the jovial sort and that his welcome and cheer extend easily to newcomers. However, something curious happens when the next one joins your large table.

You always have at least a part of Shanks’ attention, so the way you shift uncomfortably and curl slightly in on yourself is not going to go unnoticed. You catch yourself and relax back into your usual posture, but Shanks knows you well enough to see there’s a posed touch to all your expressions. It tames them from the genuine displays of your thoughts and emotions that Shanks so loves into something more suited to a diplomat seeking favor. Now that had him wary.

It took no genius to notice that each time a great laugh broke out your eyes would sweep to that newcomer to take them in, or how your would flicker your gaze over to them every time you had the spotlight, as if seeking approval.

Gods Shanks hopes that isn’t the case

Driven to seek comfort in your presence, Shanks leans into his affectionate nature to keep close to you. You can’t think too long on someone else with him constantly leaning into your space to whisper dumb jokes and silly observations. He made those laughs and he gets to enjoy them up close and personal. You may look to others but you always look back to him when he ventures to lay his hand on your shoulder or hand or thigh and give a happy, hearty squeeze before retreating. He relishes in the fact that you had been uncertain of his touch when you first met yet now you trust and even welcome his hand on you.

Shanks is burst right out of his bubble of avoidance when you suddenly jolt and sit straight, separating yourself from his side.

The cause of his sudden and very dire lack of you is that very same newcomer. The newcomer, who is leaning in so close to you. The newcomer, who now has all of your attention. The newcomer, who is giving you a smile that Shanks very much does not like. It’s very charming and holds a twinge of remorse that Shanks knows from experience would strike straight and true right to your heart

“I’m glad to see you in happier times. You look good,” they have the audacity to say, the words even seeping with honesty. Shanks isn't sure he focused on anything in his life as hard as he does on your reaction in this moment.

Your smile is breathtaking, one he isn't sure he’s seen before, all affection and understanding and a dusting of yearning. It turns his heart to goo right before it clamps it tight and squeezes, because that smile isn't for him. He needs that smile to be for him. His mouth is moving before the thought even sinks in.

“We do like to keep things cheerful here!” Shanks chuckles to the newcomer. He turns to you, making sure to catch your eye. “Life’s too short to anchor yourself to your sorrows.” Now back to the newcomer. “And this one-” an arm slips around your shoulders, hugging you to his warm side, “-helps keep it that way.”

The smile you give him isn’t quite as overflowing with emotion as the one you gave the newcomer, but he loves it all the same.

Unfortunately, that’s not the end of it and the newcomer actually sits down on your other side and insists on catching up. Shanks is a damn charmer though, and he knows it, so he’s not one to give up on keeping your attention through the night.

He stays in the conversation easily, not deterred by the newcomer outsider bringing up shared memories with you, even though they squeeze at his heart and lungs tighter and tighter. He uses it to get to know more of you, a part of him truly enjoying the new insights. However, a much larger part is simply set on keeping the reminiscing light instead of romantically charged.

As the time and drinks flow, his and the outsider's tactics get more obvious yet you get more oblivious, simply cruising on the comfy fuzz everything had taken on and enjoying the company. Your unintentional refusal to pick a favorite has both of them getting desperate and daring.

Try as they might, the outsider is clearly outmatched

By the end of the night you’re wearing Shanks like a perfume, he’s stuck to your skin at the heart of your body, chest always tight to your back or side, chin often hooked over your shoulder or on top of your head. His slight scruff tickling at your ear when he moves and talks is exceedingly distracting. So is the softness of his hair on your neck when he turns his head to bed his cheek into your shoulder and pull you a little tighter to him, saying its just 'cause he's a little sleepy and trying to get comfy. He unearths himself from his resting place only to seek it again every few minutes.

His arm is always around you when he wasn’t using it to drink (of course) or toy with you - tugging at your clothes for attention, tickling your sides to interrupt you, sweetly scratching your scalp to derail your train of thought, teasingly rubbing a thumb into your hip or thigh to feel you squirm.

Shanks is a handsy motherfucker (ironic right-), so you don’t take any of this as a proclamation of his love. The most you think is that it has just hit that point in your journey together where his vast appetite for partners has finally swept its way to focus on you.

You end the night giggling the whole stumbling way back to the ship, tucked into Shanks’ side. You manage to stay there despite being at the mercy of both of your swaying, constantly blending who’s supporting and who’s slipping. Your ex is far from your mind when Shanks tucks you in sweetly (well… sweetly to a drunk; in all reality you kinda flopped in, but he did make sure you were shoeless and properly under the blankets, and he even shuffled back in to put water, crackers, and medicine where you could reach).

Shanks does however have a flash of your ex in his mind when he's happily gloating to himself that he had won.

His last blurry thoughts are of how to make sure you and everyone else unquestionably knows that you are off limits. The unspoken claim understood by the crew while he works at winning you over doesn't seem to be enough anymore. Especially if that pesky ex comes sniffing around again. Maybe they just need a lesson in what staring down Conqueror’s Haki truly feels like.

Mihawk

The intimidating and biting type

Mihawk would likely be the most covert of these three, at least as far as your notice goes

Your ex has no questions about Mihawk’s dislike for them. With his reputation as emotionless and solitary, it’s not guaranteed that your ex will put two and two together to realize that Mihawk's dislike stems from their previous relationship with you. Even if Mihawk hints at it, they'll tell themselves that they're imagining things. It’s much more likely that they’ll think it’s because Mihawk is that way with all but the Few Exceptions, and they have definitely not made the cut.

It definitely didn’t help that they were a marine

Mihawk is already unhappy to see a marine on his doorstep, no doubt sent to yip at him about some nonsense or other that the admirals were in a twist over. That unhappiness quadruples when he hears you tentatively call to this marine by name, and then it multiplies again when the marine responds by breathing out your own name with shock and hope

This pest needs to be out of his castle quickly

Yet he can't bring himself to simply throw them out when you come over so disgustingly happy to see them. There were a few times where he'd interrupted or snuffed out your joy while adjusting to you joining his home, and he found the feeling it gave him insufferable. That's what forces him to let the pest in and guide them with you to the smaller dining room.

He’d simply have to find what the pest needs fast and expedite whatever catching up you two apparently must do.

That's easier said than done; you and the pest are insistent on taking time between flustered pleasantries to share uncertain smiles and lingering looks of longing in charged silence.

It's giving him the worst mood he'd had in years.

At first he tries to discourage this lingering with his mere presence. He knows he's capable of pumping out enough sheer displeasure into the air to knock out a squadron, so he keeps it to his other tools: body language that makes him feel larger than the room and a glare sharp enough to split hair. Both make the pest cringe and shy away, but the chance to gain your favor makes them push through it. Even though he hates it, Mihawk can't blame them.

Mihawk can tell that his mood is setting you on edge too - almost anyone would with the perturbed looks you've been sending his way - but that isn't technically taking your joy, so he doesn't back off.

In fact, he decides it's time to push even more.

He begins interjecting in your conversation, mostly with little insults to take the wind out of the pest's sails.

You aren't yet tipped off that there's something hiding behind his mood; he was never fond of braggarts so it isn't so out of the ordinary for him to humble someone. Of course, you wouldn't exactly call what your ex is doing "bragging" so much as filling you in on their growing career. They are actually relatively humble about it, clearly just excited to fill you in and not phrasing things to seek your praise.

Then Mihawk starts complimenting you.

Mihawk is not one to dish out praise. You've had to fight tooth and nail to get the mere drops of it you'd tasted so far, so his sudden highlighting of your positive traits trips your sensors. It isn't exactly alarm bells ringing, more it makes you feel like there's something you're missing. You figure it's the sudden disruption and old instincts from his Marine Hunter days cropping up.

You would have never guessed that his aim with his nitpicking and praising is to make sure your ex knows for a fact that you are out of their league. They don't deserve you. But he could.

No matter the reason though, you certainly relish in Mihawk calling you things such as "necessary for [his] castle", "smarter than those inane marine trials", "finally proficient and needing no distractions to ruin that", and "better company than a bunch of sea monkeys". Sure, from most anyone else they'd feel slightly insulting, but from everything you've so far seen of Mihawk that's a glowing review.

The uncanny nature of this whole interaction, from Mihawk's tank in mood to the sudden praise, keeps your focus away from your ever shrinking ex.

Mihawk is simply delighted to see your attention going to its rightful place, on him. You should be looking at him with such interest and joy. You should be seeking his approval; not some simpering swine's.

He figures he's been patient enough (it's been almost a whole ten minutes after all) and it is time to end this farce.

Mihawk stands from his spot and goes to sift through the wine rack. He returns with an above average vintage (even by his tastes) and two glasses. He sets them at the corner of the table so he can deftly open the wine. The silence as you both watch him work elates him.

The first glass is placed in front of his seat and swiftly filled. You watch the action with admiration for his fluid and confident motions. The pest watches with growing envy.

The second glass is filled while still sat in the corner, keeping its owner ambiguous.

The bottle leaves one hand and that glass enters the other, coming with Mihawk as he moves to stand behind your chair.

His full height set strongly in sharp shoulders and straight spine cuts a devilish figure behind you. Your ex's first impression was that he is haunting you, but there's some little whisper in their mind that, no, Mihawk is protecting you.

That whisper gets stronger as Mihawk leans forward over you, getting much too close to be polite while he places the wine glass down directly in front of you. His eyes hold the pest's with an air of warning the whole time.

Mihawk settles back upright, placing a hand on both carved corners decorating the back of your chair. The act seems clearly possessive. But surely Mihawk couldn't have found some special fondness for you?

You are none the wiser to Mihawk's antics behind you, too enraptured by the closeness of his reaching arm then too distracted checking out the color and aroma of your gifted wine.

Having at least enough pieces of a functional brain to pick up on that cue, the pest begins rushing out some excuses and makes to leave.

Kind as you are, you tell them they don't have to rush off, but they're adamant. You're a bit sad to see this chance meeting end so quickly, but your mind quickly settles on thinking it's for the best. Your memories of them are distant enough to be cherry picked and seeing them scamper off so easily reminds you that there are reasons you parted.

Mihawk chases escorts them out and returns to you looking much less belligerent and much more at ease. You figure it best to not risk ruining the positive turn by questioning it, yet you can't help but ask one thing.

"I usually have to pour my own wine from the kitchen's rack. What's the occasion?"

Mihawk takes a sip and the comfort of one of his favored wines coming over his senses coerces him into loosening his tongue.

"You've been good." Another sip and he thoughtfully adds, "I could give you more rewards."

Sir Crocodile

The assertive and analytical type

Despite Croc being a plotter, I see him as being quite direct in this situation

Ok yeah maybe he insists it’s because you can do better and you’re definitely above crawling back to an ex (“you broke up for a reason didn’t you?”)

But maybe he also takes this as his opportune moment to get you into his clutches.

Who could blame him when he feels the threat of such an unworthy little nobody working so hard to catch your eye.

Croc always keeps an eye on you, no matter what else demands his attention. Sure, there's an obsessive edge to it, but he just needs to know what you're up to - has to know you're safe near for when he needs you. You are the best assistant he's ever seen after all, and he's been through an army's worth. He's sure his new organization would've crumbled if you weren't there to balance out the clown and his circus monkeys constantly shooting themselves in the foot (sometimes literally).

Many of those circus monkeys were even stupid enough to try and approach you themselves. Luckily for him, you seem about as enthused on the idea of you having a partner as he is.

Which brings us back to his irritation that you haven't swatted that bug away from you. No, instead you seem to be rather tolerant of their buzzing. Maybe even fond.

That just won't do.

The crowds at this schmooze-fest, thrown to entice more pirates and criminals alike, part easily for his beeline to you.

It only irritates him even more that you don't notice him until you're swallowed by his shadow. You even have the audacity to look surprised when you turn to him.

And you truly are surprised - as far as you know there's no reason for Croc's usual grimace to turn into something so stormy, especially directed at you. It quickly jumps to your ex however and focuses that torrent there.

"I don't know you," Croc states gruffly.

"I'm-"

"Your name doesn't matter," Croc interrupts. "What do you do? Why are you here?"

And thus begins the interrogation. You can only watch perplexed as Sir Croc tugs every bit of information he could want out of your ex, making sure to cut off anything he didn't care to hear. That frustrated look and tone become more bored by the second. Every tone tells your ex that they're barely worth the breath to speak, causing them to shrink even faster than Sir Croc's anger did.

You catch their eye and send them a sympathetic smile, and then Croc moves on to you.

"And you," he starts roughly. He lets you sit in suspense while he drags those hooded purple eyes from the crown of your head to the toes of your shoes and back. "Why are you here?"

You're taken absolutely aback by the question, mouth flapping from a mix of shock and offense. You have quite a list of things you keep your eye on at these parties; did he want you to go down the whole thing? After a deep breath, you try, "To gather informationof and from possible allies and help build relationships?"

"Wrong."

Well, at least he let you finish your sentence. Time to try again.

"To make sure the night runs smoothly," you say much more surely. It's an apt description of your overall job.

"Wrong again." Yep, that grimace is now definitely a smirk. One that only widens when you purse your lips and stare him down. You notice the genuine amusement shining in Croc's eyes and relax a touch, content to let him guide this to whatever destination he has planned.

"Then please, Sir, tell me," you relent. "Why am I here?"

He takes a deep puff of his cigar before pulling it from his lips and watching the smoke swirl out with his exhale. You watch it too - admire how handsome he looks reappearing through the haze. Enjoying how small you feel as he leans over you through its last remnants.

He rarely touches you with his golden hook, always using his hand (you've yet to realize it's because he prefers to feel you on his skin). Now, though, he raises it towards you. You're surprised yet again when the curve touches beneath your chin to tilt your face just a little higher; the metal isn't cold like you thought it would be. It must be warmed from resting on his thigh. You shake away the thought of warming it further.

He takes his time assessing you, giving you your own time to look over his breathtakingly chiseled face, admire his striking scar, forget everything else but his eyes on you.

Without intention, you gravitate towards him, leaning forward enough into him and that golden hook drawing you that you have to catch yourself with a stumbling step. The fond chuckle he gives in response resonates deep and rich and feels like a reward flowing over you.

"You, my dear," Sir Crocodile says with unfamiliar mirth, "are here to keep me happy."

"And how would you like me to do that, Sir?" you whisper back.

At first, that just earns you a smile. Then he's drawing his hook along your jaw, tickling the tip around your ear, drawing it gently across your cheek. It ends its journey on your lips, ever so gently pulling your bottom lip down before letting it flick back up when he draws his arm away. You watch the glimmering gold retreat. He's greedy for more of the longing he sees in your eyes. He leans slightly lower and gives you back that hook, this time in the form of an offered arm.

"With your company, of course," He finally answers. The warmth you hear in the drawl of his voice is beautiful.

You slip your hand into the crook of his arm, happy you can feel his body heat through the soft fabric of his shirt.

Halfway back to his previous spot, you realize that you'd become so distracted that you hadn't even said goodbye to your ex. You had wanted to exchange numbers, maybe truly get back in touch and feel out if things would be better this time. Noting how deep your draw to Croc is, you already feel that that would be a dead end. Well, maybe some time rekindling things would help your daydreaming and wishing for Sir Croc finally start ebbing away.

"Did you see where they went?"

Croc has to hold in his smile at your question. "They scurried off on you. It's for the best though; they were exceedingly unimpressive."

You couldn't help but snort at his assessment.

After guiding you to your chair and pushing it in, Croc settles down himself. When he reaches for his awaiting drink, he notices Daz Bonez come back into the room, wiping his hands off on his pants. Their eyes meet and Daz Bones gives a firm nod before heading back to his other duties for the night.

Sir Croc smirks and takes a heavy sip of scotch.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

There you are sweet anon, I hope you enjoyed and that it properly scratched the itch❣️ Thank you for the ask 🤍 Sending much love!!!

Part of a little celebration

[ltash]

HAUNTED

SimonGhostRileyxfemalereader

Smut warning

The city's towering silhouettes blurred past as your crimson Ferrari tore down the deserted road, its engine a throaty roar slicing through the quiet. You gripped the wheel with white-knuckled desperation, the lines between prey and predator blurring in your mind. A spy on the run, from him. The Ghost. A relentless specter of vengeance chasing you down.

Glancing into the rearview mirror, your heart seized as his black Hummer loomed larger, a hulking shadow gaining on you. You slammed the pedal to the floor, coaxing every ounce of speed from the Ferrari's frame. The engine screamed in protest as the car surged forward, but it wasn't enough. With terrifying precision, his Hummer closed the distance and rammed into the Ferrari's side, the impact sending a shockwave through your body. The sleek red machine swerved violently, tires screeching against the asphalt. The chase was no longer a game, it was a battle for survival.

"Fuck!" you hissed through clenched teeth as the Ferrari lost control, spinning wildly before screeching to a halt. The world tilted for a dizzying second, and when it righted, you found yourself face-to-face with the beast, his black Hummer growling like a predator ready to strike.

Heart hammering, you slammed the gear into reverse, the Ferrari lurching backward at full speed with his Hummer following inches apart. Your hands gripped the wheel with brutal force, knuckles pale under the strain, as the deserted road blurred into streaks of shadow and light. But he followed, relentless. The Hummer's headlights bore down on you, twin orbs of menace cutting through the dark.

Then you saw it, his face, or what little of it he allowed. Beneath the skull mask, his eyes burned with an unholy intensity, and that smirk... It was as if the chase thrilled him, as if this was all a game he intended to win. The sight sent a chill racing down your spine, a visceral reminder that you weren't just running from a man, you were running from a hunter.

Your mind raced as fast as your car trying to maintain your distance from his Hummer. You couldn't outrun him, not like this. Ahead, the road curved sharply, a wicked hairpin turn that could be your salvation, or your doom. Teeth gritted, you made your choice. With a sudden push of the pedal, you stopped the Ferrari. The decision was made. Now, instead of running, you were charging straight at him.

The Hummer didn't flinch, nor did the man behind the wheel. He held his ground, his smirk deepening as though daring you to try. You braced yourself, adrenaline roaring through your veins as the Ferrari roared forward. At the last second, you swerved hard, the Ferrari sliding past the Hummer in a hairbreadth maneuver, its side grazing his with a metallic shriek.

You didn't look back. The road stretched ahead, and you gunned the Ferrari, praying the maneuver had bought you enough time. Behind you, the Hummer roared like an angry beast, and you knew the chase wasn't over, not by a long shot.

The Ferrari tore past the Hummer in a blur, but your victory was short-lived. The road narrowed ahead, hemmed in by sheer concrete walls on either side. Your breath hitched as you yanked the wheel, trying to avoid slamming into His Hummer as it roared past, its taillights burning like embers in the dark.

But it was too late. The Ferrari skidded, tires screeching, before the side of the car collided with the wall in a deafening crash. The impact jolted through you like a lightning bolt, and the airbag erupted, slamming into your face and cutting off your vision with a blinding burst of white.

For a moment, the world was silent but for the hiss of the deflating airbag and the pounding of your heart. When you forced the door open and stumbled out of the crumpled Ferrari, the Hummer had already stopped, its reverse lights glowing ominously as it began backing up toward you.

Instinct screamed at you to move. You took off, legs trembling beneath you, and sprinted toward the only cover in sight, a decrepit, abandoned building looming in the shadows. The sound of the Hummer's engine drew closer, a monstrous growl hot on your heels, but you didn't stop.

Inside the building, it was dark and cold, the air heavy with the scent of dust and decay. Your heels clicked against cracked tiles as you bolted up a crumbling staircase, every step echoing like a gunshot. You didn't dare look back, but you could hear him, the sharp clink of his boots, the low rumble of his breath, the relentless cadence of his pursuit.

You reached the second floor, lungs burning and heart racing, and ducked behind a broken pillar. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint creak of the stairs beneath his weight as he followed. You pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling the sound of your ragged breaths, your eyes darting to the shadows, searching for a way out.

But you knew there was no escape. He wasn't just a hunter, he was the ghost who always caught his prey.

You tossed your heels aside and darted up the crumbling staircase, your bare feet barely touching the cold, cracked tiles as you raced to the top floor. The building groaned under the weight of your frantic ascent, but you didn't stop. Finally, you burst through the door to the rooftop, the open air hitting you like a slap.

The city stretched before you, its sprawling lights shimmering like stars, but they offered no solace. You stumbled toward the edge, your palms pressing against the low concrete barrier as your eyes darted wildly, searching for a way out. The wind whipped against your skin, tugging at the red silk slip dress clinging to your frame, the hem fluttering like a flame in the night. Your hair danced in the breeze, strands brushing against your face as you gasped for breath, heart pounding like a war drum.

Behind you, heavy boots thudded against the rooftop. The sound froze you in place, and your pulse quickened as you sensed him drawing closer.

"Nowhere to run..." His voice cut through the night, low and husky, each syllable dripping with a dark promise. It sent shivers down your spine, pooling dread and something else entirely in your chest. You turned slowly, the city lights framing you against the abyss, as he stepped forward, his imposing figure silhouetted against the moonlit sky.

"You're right," you said, your voice trembling but defiant, carried away by the wind. "I have nowhere to run. Because everywhere I go, I find you."

You turned around slowly, the city lights painting your figure in sharp contrast against the darkened sky. Your eyes locked on his as you raised your hand, fingers gripping the cold steel of your gun. For a heartbeat, the tension hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

Then with a measured breath, you raised your trembling hands, palms open in surrender, the silk of your dress shimmering faintly in the moonlight. The wind tugged at your hair, but your gaze didn't waver, your expression caught somewhere between defiance and resignation as he stepped closer, the weight of his presence swallowing the space between you.

Your breaths grew shallow, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven intervals as he closed the distance between you. The air seemed heavier with each step he took, his towering frame swallowing the moonlight and casting you in his shadow. His presence was overwhelming, a force that seemed to pull the very air from your lungs.

You averted your gaze, biting your lip as you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat impossible to ignore. Your pulse thudded like a frantic drumbeat, a rhythm you couldn't control. Instinctively, you backed away, the dirt and debri clinging to the soled of your feet. Your back was pinned to the short wall of the edge now.

He followed without hesitation, his pace deliberate, predatory. When he finally reached you, his arms caged you in, hands braced against the wall on either side of you. With a calculated step, he took the gun from you before throwing away its magazine and discarding the gun on the floor. You froze, every muscle in your body locked in place as his eyes bore into you, an intensity that made it impossible to look away even though you wanted to. The wind swirled around you, but it couldn't carry away the weight of his presence, the unspoken tension pressing down like a storm about to break.

"Accept it... you are mine now," he murmured, his voice dark and commanding, sending a shiver through your spine.

With those words, he removed the skull mask, revealing his face for the first time. The moment you saw him, your breath caught. His features were sharp, intense, his eyes locking onto yours with a smoldering, almost predatory gaze. The man behind the mask was more than you'd ever imagined, and for a split second, you were speechless.

His hand found the nape of your neck, strong fingers tangling in your soft, silky locks. With a gentle but insistent tug, he tilted your head back, exposing your throat to the cool night air. A soft gasp escaped your lips, unbidden, and his smirk deepened, a flicker of triumph in his piercing gaze.

"Trapped," he murmured, his gruff, husky voice laced with a British accent that made your pulse stutter. "Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide."

His words sent a shiver racing through your body, but you mustered what little defiance you had left. "In your dreams," you retorted, though your trembling voice betrayed you.

His expression darkened, the smirk replaced by something far more dangerous. "It's not a dream, darling. It's reality," he replied, his voice low and intimate, wrapping around you like a velvet chain. "Now imagine..."

His other hand moved, sliding up from your ribs, fingers grazing the swell of your breast, then tracing a deliberate path up to your throat. The touch was slow, purposeful, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his hand finally settled on your delicate neck, his large fingers enveloped it completely, his grip firm but not crushing.

"Tsk, tsk," he chided softly, his thumb brushing against your pulse point. "You're a wounded bird. Fragile. Beautiful. It will be my pleasure to clip your wings, to cage you in, and keep you all for myself, love."

Your breath hitched, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive. His thumb lingered on the rapid beat of your pulse, his touch igniting a heat that spread through your body like wildfire. The closeness of him, the sheer, overwhelming presence, left you trembling, your body betraying your mind as it arched subtly toward him, drawn by a force you couldn't resist.

His thumb pressed lightly against your pulse point, his lips curling as if savoring your reaction. "Feel that?" he murmured, his voice like silk draped over steel. "That frantic little heartbeat. It's not fear, is it? No... it's something much sweeter."

Your breath came in shallow gasps, and you tried to look away, but his grip on your neck held you in place, his gaze unrelenting. "You're so defiant," he continued, his tone laced with dark amusement. "But your body... it's honest. It tells me everything I need to know."

"You're delusional," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper, though the tremor in it betrayed the truth.

"Am I?" He leaned in closer, his lips ghosting over your ear, the faint brush of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Then why aren't you pulling away? Why aren't you screaming for me to stop?"

Your lips parted, but no words came. His hand slid from the nape of your neck to cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward him. "You want this," he said, his voice dropping to a near growl. "Even if you won't admit it. Even if you hate yourself for it."

"I don't-" you started, but the words died on your lips as his thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, his touch electric.

"Shh, darling," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "Lying doesn't suit you. Let me hear the truth instead."

His hand tightened ever so slightly on your throat, the pressure sending a rush of heat through your body. His lips hovered just over yours, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.

"Mine."

The single word dripped with possession, sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart raced, caught in the tug-of-war between defiance and surrender, but it was his overwhelming presence that tipped the scales.

Before you could muster a response, his lips crashed onto yours, fierce and unrelenting. The kiss wasn't a question-it was a claim, searing through you like wildfire. His hand tangled in your hair, tugging you closer as though he couldn't bear even an inch of distance. The other hand gripped your ass, fingers digging into your flesh with an unapologetic need that made you gasp against his mouth.

The sound seemed to spur him on, his body pressing you against the pillar with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. His chest was solid against yours, his heat radiating through the thin silk of your dress. Everything else, the danger, the chase, the fear, melted away, leaving only the intoxicating fire between you.

His kiss was dizzying, a heady mix of hunger and dominance that left you reeling. His tongue explored your mouth with a fervent need, tangling with yours, your breaths mingling as your saliva mixed. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, like being drunk on a potent cocktail of adrenaline and desire.

Your knees buckled, legs turning weak beneath you. As if sensing your faltering strength, he shifted, his thick thigh sliding between yours, parting them effortlessly. The action left you straddling his leg, his firm grip anchoring you as he pressed even closer. The pressure was maddening, his body a force you couldn't escape, and didn't want to.

"You feel that?" he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. "That's what surrender feels like, love. Don't fight it."

Your only response was a shaky exhale, your body betraying you as it arched into him, every inch of you ignited by the raw, undeniable power he exuded.

You felt his massive hardness poking into your pelvis, your core, thinly covered by the fabric of your thongs, rubbed against the fabric of his jeans as your hips bucked forward. You couldn't stop the moans of pleasure escaping your mouth.

"You have no idea how bad I want to fuck that pretty little cunt of your." His words set your body ablaze.

With ease he hoisted you up on his shoulder and started taking you downstairs, the building was eerily silent saved for his deep measured breaths and the thudding of his boots and your maddening heartbeat.

You were dizzy, intoxicated, still reeling from the sheer force of his kiss until you hear the door of his Hummer opening.

You were thrown on the back seat. The door closed behind him as he climbed on top of you.

It all happened so fast, your head spinning from the intensity of the moment. His lips had been on yours mere seconds ago, possessive and unrelenting, leaving you breathless. Now, here you were, sprawled on the cool leather of his Hummer's backseat. The faint scent of leather and his cologne filled the enclosed space, mingling with the heat of your desire.

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the silence. His massive frame loomed over you, every movement deliberate and calculated as he climbed in, his predatory gaze locked on yours. The dim light from the street lamps outside filtered through the tinted windows, casting shadows on his angular face.

"You've no idea how long I've wanted this," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver racing down your spine. His hands found your thighs, rough palms sliding up and under your skirt, brushing against the edge of your lace thong. He gripped you firmly, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he spread your legs apart. The sound of your breathing filled the small space, quick and uneven, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself.

"You're mine," he growled, leaning down until his lips were at your ear. "Body and Soul."

The heat of his breath sent waves of anticipation coursing through you, and you could feel his body pressing against yours, the weight of him intoxicating. The fabric of his jeans rubbed against your bare skin, teasing, torturous. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, but it escaped anyway, a small, desperate sound that only spurred him on.

He tugged your thong aside, his movements firm but unhurried, as though savoring the moment, the anticipation building between you. His hand slid lower, his fingers brushing against your wetness, and you gasped, your hips arching into his touch. The look in his eyes was feral, dark and dangerous, and it sent a thrill of both fear and exhilaration through you.

"Let me hear you," he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Don't hold back."

The moment his glove hit the floor of the Hummer, your pulse quickened. His now bare hand was rough, calloused from years of work, and it felt electric against your delicate, slick folds. Every touch was deliberate, every stroke sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your head fell back against the cool leather seat, exposing the delicate curve of your throat, your breaths coming in soft, trembling gasps.

Without warning, he pushed two thick fingers inside you, the sudden fullness making your back arch off the seat. A sharp cry of pleasure escaped your lips before you could stop it, the sound echoing in the small space. You bit down hard on your lower lip, trying in vain to muffle the cries that bubbled up from deep within you, but the sensation was too much, too overwhelming. His fingers curled just right, hitting a spot that made your vision blur.

"You can't hide from me," he murmured, his voice like gravel and honey. His free hand came up to grasp your jaw gently but firmly, pulling your face toward his. "I want to hear every sound you make. Don't you dare hold back."

Your lips parted, and a soft, desperate moan spilled out, your body unable to obey your mind's feeble attempts to stay quiet. His fingers pumped steadily, each movement calculated to drive you closer to the edge. His thumb brushed over your swollen clit, sending a jolt of electricity through you, and your hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the pleasure he so effortlessly gave.

"That's it," he growled, his eyes locked on your face, watching every expression you made. "Good girl."

With a low growl of impatience, he tugged the thin straps of your dress down your shoulders. The delicate fabric slipped, pooling at your hips, leaving you bare before him. His gaze roamed over your body, dark and hungry, devouring every curve, every inch of exposed skin. A wicked smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned down, his breath warm against your chest.

His mouth found your hardened nipple, his tongue swirling around it in slow, teasing circles. The sensation sent shivers racing down your spine, a breathless moan slipping from your lips. He sucked gently, his lips tugging at the sensitive bud, before releasing it with a soft pop and moving to the other, giving it the same devoted attention. His teeth grazed the delicate skin, nipping at the underside of your breasts, his hot tongue soothing the sting.

All the while, his fingers remained buried inside your soaked core, curling with precision, hitting a spot that made you see stars. His thumb brushed against your clit, the pressure sending jolts of electricity coursing through your veins. Your body was alive, every nerve ending alight with sensation, your hips bucking in time with the rhythm of his hand.

You writhed beneath him, your back arching off the seat as you chased the release that hovered just out of reach. Your fingers clawed at the leather, your breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps, the heat pooling low in your belly threatening to consume you.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his lips brushing against your flushed skin. "So beautiful, so needy. I could watch you like this forever."

His words only fueled the fire burning inside you, your movements growing more frantic as you rocked against his hand, desperate for the sweet release he controlled so effortlessly. "Please," you whimpered, your voice barely more than a whisper, the plea escaping your lips without thought. "Please..."

His dark chuckle sent a shiver through your already trembling body. "Please what, love?" he teased, his voice a dangerous mix of amusement and raw desire. But you couldn't answer, couldn't form a coherent thought as his relentless fingers drove you closer and closer to the edge.

Your back arched off the seat, toes curling as your body tensed in anticipation of the release that was just within reach. The pleasure coursing through you was all-consuming, a tidal wave threatening to drown you. And then, just as you were about to tip over, he pulled his fingers away, leaving you gasping, desperate, and aching for more.

Before you could even protest, you heard the metallic sound of his zipper, the anticipation sending a fresh jolt of need straight to your core. He moved swiftly, one arm slipping under your waist, lifting you effortlessly as his other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you open for him.

Without warning, he thrust into you, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke. A scream of pure pleasure tore from your lips, echoing through the confined space of the Hummer. He was massive, stretching you in a way that was almost too much, yet exactly what you craved. Your walls clenched around him as he filled you completely, his girth hitting spots you didn't even know existed.

He didn't hold back, his pace brutal and unrelenting as he slammed into you, his hips meeting yours with a force that left you breathless. Each thrust drove him impossibly deep, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body. Your hands clawed at his back, your nails digging into his skin as you tried to anchor yourself, but the overwhelming sensation left you spinning out of control.

"Fuck," he growled, his voice strained as he watched your every reaction. "You're so tight, love. Taking me so well."

Your eyes rolled back, your head pressing into the seat as his relentless rhythm pushed you closer and closer to the brink. Each thrust, each movement, was pure bliss, and you felt yourself unraveling, your body surrendering entirely to his. The world outside disappeared, leaving only the two of you, tangled in a storm of passion and need.

You tried to grasp at the leather cushioned seats but in vain. Your hands fell your sides as you completely surrendered. Body arched I pure bliss, mouth drooling from the sheer magnitude of pleasure his thrusts brought. His cock hit your cervix in a painful yet delicious way sending you to the oblivion.

The Hummer shook with the intensity of him thrusting into you, the fabric of his jeans hitting the inside of your thighs, your juices destroying his clothes. He lifted you up arching your back more.

The coil became tighter and tighter in your core. Your breaths shuddered, your moaning intensified as his pace become more brutal.

Your release crashed over you like a tidal wave, your whole body trembled, toes curled, with a groan he released his essence into you filling you to the brim.

His hands rested on both side of your head as you laid beneath him unable to even respond, your body writhing with the aftermath.

He slowly pulled out, his cum dripping out of you flowing down your thighs as you squeezed them shut.

"You are delicious." He whispered in your ear. "And now I got a taste of you, and I want more and more."

He chuckled darkly before he zipped back his jeans and took the drivers seat. Behind him you slowly sat, tugging the straps of your dress up again.

"Clean up." He threw a box of tissues your way.

You took the box with your trembling hands.

"Fasten your seatbelt sweetheart, it's gonna be a rough ride." He said as he started the engine. The Hummer coming back to life.

You looked at your crashed Ferrari desperately.

"Don't worry. You will get it back. As long as you are a good girl for me." He teased.

The Hummer roared to life as he accelerated, the wheels screeched on the asphalt as it raced, disappearing into the night.

[sagesbard]

What song the crew would play while ✨shaboinking✨

CW: NSFW MDNI I do NOT condone any of Jimmy's actions this is an AU where the crash never happens and pony Express is just a regular shipping company.

Curly

Dark red by Steve Lacy

Something about the beat just gets him going yk?

It's not to the point where every time he hears it he pops a boner but it definitely does something to him.

He doesn't normally have music playing in the background when y'all shaboink but sometimes he does it it's already playing.

There have been times where instead of telling you he's horny he just plays that song and you already know what's coming. (Him, he's cumming)

As you go up and down on him his moans echo in the room, bouncing off the walls as the song plays in the background. He's thrusting up into so you can't think straight but in reality he's doing to to the beat like Jimmy does.... The second he slips into you his brain goes on autopilot, the only thing mattering to him at the moment is you.

Seeing red by Dustin Lynch also kinda gets him going but not in the way Dark red does. (I'm just now realizing they both have red on the name what a cawinkydink.

When he listens to it it just makes him think about the two of you.

Daisuke

Redbone by childish Gambino 100%

He likes the slow beat of it but the part near the end turns him on like no tomorrow for some reason.

Probably because by the time that part comes on both of you are messes by that point, your moans paired with that song makes him go absolutely FERAL.

Similar with me and your mama by the same artist except he's a bit rougher with this one.

He actually plays music pretty often when y'all shaboink.

He's used to using music to cover up sounds.

When the base comes in it's almost like clockwork when he bites your neck or something along those lines.

Anya

Moonlight by Kali Uchis

Kinda like Daisuke she likes the slow aspect of it.

It's very relaxed and makes her feel calm in a way.

There have been times where she just needs to unwind so she puts on that song and you automatically know that she's either horny or stressed, both end with you eating her out.

Your fingers slowly going in and out of her as the music continues.

Jimmy

A little bit harder now by she wants revenge

He doesn't catch himself but when he's playing that song he ends up fucking you to the best of it.

His hips grinding against yours as you whine and moan until you realize it's the same speed as the fucking song. Nothing wrong with that though, you didn't mind as long as you got fucked dumb. Which you were every time.

Animal attraction is also on there. But he just plays that to kinda tell you he's in that type of mood ykwim?

The way his heavy breathing matches the beats and knocks of the songs is making your head spin. Each thrust burying himself deeper into you until you can't think straight.

A/N: OMG hiiiiii I haven't posted any head canons in a while so I thought I'd treat y'all to something while I work on my next one shot. Since exam season is over and I'll be spending the holidays with my family the posting schedule will probably be a little iffy. Anyways I love y'all and happy holidays 💗💗

[jelly-fish-wishes]

Now I know why I really love Reclusa. Because he reminds me of the original little shit of my childhood.

These two would be best friends enemies. They’re basically the same character.