#in that way but uh. Unsure about the execution

[astranauticus]

inspired by this post by tumblr user @orphiclovers. the lines are direct quotes from the novel but the scene itself isnt a redraw of any specific novel scene, i just really wanted to draw black coat 1863 x white coat 1864 HSY lol

[bimrwolf]

The Christmas Arrangement (Part 2)

steve harrington x fem!reader words: 10,009 warnings: SMUT SMUT ALERT!!!!!!! 18+ minors dni :P summary: Steve Harrington thought asking his stubborn intern to play his girlfriend for the holidays would be simple. But "pretend" starts to get a little complicated when moments feel a little too real. a/n: sor maybe this will be more than 2 parts.... not betad and a little rusty on my writing still lmaooo i know...no real slow burn but steve and reader got a little impatient im sorry!!! Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

You woke slowly, the soft light of morning streaming through the curtains. The warmth of the bed was almost lulling you back to sleep when you noticed it—the weight around your waist.

Your eyes opened fully, and your breath hitched. Steve’s arm was draped over you, his hand resting lightly against your hip. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back, the soft puff of his breath against the nape of your neck.

For a moment, you froze, unsure of what to do. The room was quiet save for the faint creak of the house settling, and it struck you how peaceful Steve looked—his usual tension smoothed away in sleep.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. People shifted in their sleep all the time. But as you carefully slid out from under his arm, you couldn’t help the way your heart raced.

When Steve stirred, mumbling something unintelligible, you quickly turned your back, pretending to rummage through your bag. 

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. You hated how… adorable his voice sounded in the morning. 

“Morning,” you replied, keeping your tone casual.

He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair and glancing at the clock on the nightstand. If he noticed the earlier proximity, he didn’t mention it, and you weren’t about to bring it up.

“You sleep okay?” Steve asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Uh, yeah. Like a baby,” you said, pulling out a sweater from your bag.

He watched you carefully and you hated how he made you feel. You didn’t exactly hate that he was watching you. You peeked over your shoulder, and he pretended to yawn. “I’m gonna take a shower.” 

He grunted in reply, standing up, stretching his arms up. You hadn’t really paid attention that he had put on sweatpants and a cotton shirt. It hiked up just a bit, and you felt your cheeks burn from seeing a sliver of his happy trail. Jesus. You hoped the water in the shower was scalding to cleanse you from the thoughts swarming through your mind. 

This was all because of being close to him. It didn’t mean anything. It was like stupid biology that your lady parts were screaming for attention. 

After your shower, you came out and guessed Steve was downstairs because he wasn’t in his room. You were grateful. You had remembered how uncomfortable the bra you were wearing was, and since there was no sign of him, you made the executive decision to change. 

You stripped from your sweater and took off your bra, stuffing it back in the suitcase so you wouldn’t get it out again. You grabbed the one you wore yesterday. As soon as you went to put it on, the door to Steve’s bedroom opened. 

Steve walked in, shirtless, dripping in sweat. “Is the shower free—” Steve stopped dead in his tracks, eyes bulging out of his sockets. He quickly turned around. “Jesus Christ…” His tone was indecipherable. 

You squealed, quickly putting on your bra and sweater. You didn’t even protest that he hadn't knocked. It was his room. He probably didn’t think that you would be half naked in the middle of it. You stood there a moment to collect yourself. 

Your head tilted. Since when has Steve been so… toned? His back muscles glistened. It took everything in you not to step forward and drag your finger down the crease of his back. “Uh… it’s safe. Sorry about that.” 

Steve hesitantly turned around, not looking you in the eye as he scrambled to get into his bathroom. You almost laughed when you heard the click of the lock. 

You were downstairs for forty-five minutes until Steve joined you, still not meeting your gaze. You smirked. You had unintentionally gotten under his skin. The best Christmas gift you have ever gotten. 

“My mom is in town. Tomorrow is this big Christmas auction gala she organizes for the community.” He grabbed a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator. 

“Oh, so we have the entire house to ourselves?” You made sure your tone was suggestive. 

He looked up, already flustered. “Shut up.” 

You smirked. “Oh come on. I didn’t think you’d be so worked up about seeing boobs.” 

“You’re my employee. Of course I’m worked up about seeing your…” he trailed off, taking a sip of his orange juice. “Can we just drop it. I didn’t see much anyway.” 

Your face fell. “Geez. Way to make a girl feel insecure,” you mumbled. 

Steve ran a hand over his face. There was that small unintelligible word that sounded too close to your name which came out of his mouth. “Have you always been this obnoxious? Was I drunk when I hired you?” 

You reached over and patted him gently on the cheek. “I think I was wearing that skirt.” 

He didn’t like that because he stormed out of the kitchen, leaving you alone. 

The Harrington house was quiet after Steve stormed out, save for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway. You lingered in the kitchen for a moment, replaying the earlier exchange in your mind. 

Something about this morning had felt… different. Maybe it was the intimacy of waking up so close to him, or the way his voice had softened when he said your name under his breath. Either way, the air between you had shifted, and it left you feeling restless.

With no clear destination in mind, you wandered through the house, letting your curiosity guide you. The walls were lined with family photos, some faded and slightly crooked, others newer and perfectly framed. There were a lot of Diane—her vibrant smile unmistakable in every shot. But it was the few photos of Steve that caught your attention.

You looked at the one you saw yesterday. He looked about eighteen, wearing a Hawkins High basketball jersey and holding a trophy with an exaggerated grin. His hair was bigger than you thought humanly possible, curling in wild waves that practically defied gravity. You snorted, biting back a laugh.

The hallway opened up to a dimly lit room, the door slightly ajar. You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. It was an office—clearly one that hadn’t been used in a while. Dust clung to the edges of the wooden desk, and the faint smell of leather lingered in the air. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and old knickknacks that spoke of someone who had once cared deeply about appearances.

As you walked further in, your eyes landed on the desk. A single picture frame sat on top, the glass slightly smudged. You picked it up, the image of a younger Steve catching your attention immediately. He was maybe eight or nine, sitting on a couch with a man who had to be his father. The resemblance was uncanny—the same sharp jawline, the same hazel eyes. But where Steve’s gaze held an openness, his father’s was piercing, almost cold.

“Figured you’d end up in here.”

You jumped, nearly dropping the photo. Steve stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He wasn’t angry—if anything, he looked resigned, like he’d been expecting this.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, setting the photo back down. “I was just… exploring.”

Steve shrugged, stepping inside. “It’s fine. No one really comes in here anymore.”

You watched him carefully as he moved to the desk, his hand brushing against the edge like he was grounding himself. His eyes flicked to the photo, softening in a way you didn’t expect.

“Your hair used to have its own zip code.” You smiled. 

Steve huffed out a quiet laugh, his lips twitching. “Yeah. Mom called it my ‘fluff phase.’”

You grinned, leaning against the desk. “It’s impressive. I’m surprised you didn’t get recruited for shampoo commercials.”

“Missed my calling,” he muttered. Then he did something strange. He smiled at you. 

You glanced around the room, your curiosity piqued. “Was this your dad’s office?”

Steve nodded, his expression growing more serious. “Yeah. He spent most of his time in here when he was home.”

“When he was home,” you echoed softly.

Steve hesitated, his gaze dropping to the desk. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say anything more. But then he let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Christmas was… one of the few times he actually made an effort,” Steve said, his voice low. “I remember this one year—I think I was, like, ten. I’d gotten sick right before Christmas Eve. Just a cold or something, but I was miserable.”

You stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt.

“My mom wanted to cancel all our plans,” Steve continued, his jaw tightening slightly. “But my dad wouldn’t hear it. Said the Harringtons didn’t ‘sit out’ Christmas, even for the flu.”

You frowned, your chest tightening at the thought.

“But then,” Steve said, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips, “on Christmas morning, he came into my room. Had this stupid Santa hat on and everything. He brought me hot chocolate, sat on the floor, and just… stayed there with me. We watched movies all day. Mom kept checking in, but he told her not to worry.”

Steve’s smile faded slightly, his gaze distant. “I think that’s the last time I remember him actually being… present. Like he wasn’t thinking about work or his image. Just… me.”

The weight in his voice was palpable, and you found yourself wishing you could say something to take it away. But you knew better than to offer empty platitudes.

“That sounds like a good memory,” you said softly.

Steve nodded, his hand brushing over the edge of the desk again. “Yeah. It was.”

For a moment, the room was quiet, the only sound the faint creak of the house settling. Then Steve straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Anyway,” he said, his tone shifting back to something lighter. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You arched an eyebrow, folding your arms. “That sounds ominous.”

“It’s not,” he said quickly, though his tone betrayed him. “It’s just… usually today, I go to this Christmas party. My friends host it every year.” 

“And since Robin’s probably already told them about us… it’d be easier if I came.” You said matter of fact. 

He shrugged. “S’okay if you don’t wanna. I know that’s a lot more than you signed up for. And it’s more people we’d have to lie to. But my mom will wonder why you didn’t go and—”

“Okay.” You replied. A small smile fixed on your lips. You weren’t going to tell him that you were going to say yes once he brought it up. Nor were you going to tell him that him stumbling, avoiding your gaze, was cute. You stared at him for a moment. “What time?” 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Seven.”

You looked at the clock. You had plenty of time but you didn’t want to end up going empty handed. 

The kitchen hummed with the soft sound of the oven preheating, the scent of cocoa powder and sugar already wafting in the air as you pulled out the ingredients for brownies. Steve leaned against the counter, watching you with an amused expression, arms crossed. His guardedness had melted somewhat, replaced by a warmth that was… nice. Too nice, if you let yourself think about it for too long.

“So, what’s the plan here?” he asked, nodding to the growing pile of ingredients. “You’re just going to wing it?”

You shot him a look. “Winging it is an art form. You wouldn’t understand.”

Steve snorted, pushing off the counter. “Right. Because following a recipe is such a niche skill.”

You grinned, cracking an egg into the mixing bowl with exaggerated precision. “You’re welcome to help, Mr. Harrington. Or are you going to just stand there and look pretty?”

“Pretty?” he shot back, stepping closer. His eyes sparkled as he grabbed the whisk from your hand.

“I said annoying.” You tried to correct yourself. 

“No, I’m sure you said pretty.” He said in a sing-song tone. 

You looked up at him, gawking at how different the Steve Harrington was standing right next to you to the Steve Harrington you knew twenty-four hours ago. “You misheard.”

“Did I? Then why are you blushing?” He teased. 

“I am not.”

Steve chuckled, nudging you. “Move over. Let a professional show you how it’s done.”

“Professional? When’s the last time you baked anything?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve smirked, starting to whisk the eggs and sugar together. “Does it count if I helped Robin make cookies once? By ‘help,’ I mean I ate the dough.”

“That’s what I thought,” you said, nudging him aside with your hip. “Here. Hold the bowl steady.”

Steve did as you asked, holding the mixing bowl while you dumped in the cocoa powder. A small cloud of chocolate puffed up, and you both coughed, laughing.

“Great job, chef,” he teased, shaking his head. “Maybe next time, try aiming for the bowl?”

“Oh, shut up,” you replied, brushing a streak of cocoa off your wrist. “Mix it.” 

You tried not to stare at how his forearms flexed as he mixed the batter. ”You’re not mixing,” you said, stepping closer and pointing at the bowl. “You’re obliterating. Look at it—there’s no love in that batter. You’re supposed to fold it.”

Steve scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Fold it? How do you fold a liquid? That makes no sense.”

“It’s not a liquid,” you countered, sliding next to him. “And if you don’t fold it, the brownies won’t be fluffy. Here, give me the whisk.”

He pulled the bowl closer to his chest like a petulant child. “I’ve got this.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “No, you don’t. Let me—”

But before he could protest, you grabbed his hands where they gripped the whisk. He froze, the heat of his palms bleeding into yours as you guided him.

“Okay,” you said, ignoring the way your heart did a tiny flip at the closeness. “Watch. Around the edges, and then through the middle. See? Gentle. Like this.”

Steve tilted his head, watching your hands guide his through the motion. “You’re not even doing anything. This is the same thing I was doing.”

“Uh, no,” you said, glaring up at him. “What you were doing was creating batter soup. This is how you fold. It’s all in the wrist. Look—soft, smooth motions.”

He mimicked your movements hesitantly, his frown softening into something closer to concentration. “So… like this?”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “Just don’t overdo it. You want to mix just enough to combine everything without killing the air.”

Steve glanced down at you, his lips quirking into a reluctant smile. “Killing the air? You’re making this sound way more dramatic than it is.”

“Well, if you want good brownies…” you teased, not letting go of his hands.

“I didn’t realize baking came with a lecture,” he shot back, though his voice was quieter now, softer.

You looked up at him, realizing just how close you were. His face was mere inches from yours, and for a moment, you forgot what you were supposed to be doing.

“Got it?” you asked after a beat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steve cleared his throat, pulling his hands back carefully but keeping his eyes on you. “Yeah. I think I’ve got it.”

You stepped back, letting Steve take over the folding, but your gaze lingered longer than it should have. His hands moved with surprising care now, each motion deliberate, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

The soft light from the kitchen window caught on his hair, a mess of chestnut waves that managed to look both effortless and infuriatingly perfect. His jawline, sharp and dusted with just a hint of stubble, tensed with focus, and his lips—why were you noticing his lips?—were slightly parted, as if he was lost in the rhythm of the task.

He wasn’t just the boss who annoyed you at work or the guy with the quick comebacks and perpetual smug grin. He was… striking, in a way that made it hard to look away. 

The warmth in his hazel eyes when he glanced at you, the easy laugh he’d let out earlier—it all felt disarmingly genuine, and it left you feeling unsteady, like you’d lost your footing on solid ground.

What the hell was wrong with you? This was Steve. The guy who once called you “relentlessly stubborn” after a client meeting and smirked when you’d glared at him. You weren’t supposed to notice how his t-shirt clung to his shoulders or how the veins in his forearms stood out when he gripped the whisk. 

You weren’t supposed to think about how close his hands had felt under yours or how the faint smell of his cologne—something warm, woodsy, and distinctly him—seemed to linger in the air between you.

“Earth to you,” Steve said suddenly, breaking through your spiraling thoughts. He tilted his head, catching your eye with a teasing smirk. “You’re staring. Should I be worried?”

You blinked, heat rushing to your face. “No. I was just—” You gestured vaguely at the batter, your voice coming out higher than you intended. “You’re doing it wrong again.”

Steve raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. He just grinned, the kind that made your stomach do an annoying little flip. “Whatever you say, Chef.” He handed you the bowl back. 

As you poured it into the pan, Steve leaned against the counter again, watching you with a small smile. “You’re not bad at this,” he admitted.

“High praise,” you said, smirking. “From a guy whose contribution has been… holding a bowl.”

Steve stepped closer, picking up a spoon to taste the batter. He dipped it in, taking a bite, and hummed thoughtfully. “Not bad. A little more sugar, though.”

You swatted at his hand as he reached for the sugar jar. “It’s fine the way it is!”

He shrugged, stepping back to give you space, though his grin lingered. As you continued to pour the batter into the pan, Steve stepped forward, brushing past you to grab a towel. “You’ve got something,” he said, gesturing to your face.

“Where?” you asked, trying to wipe at your cheek.

“Here,” Steve said, his voice softer now. He reached out, his thumb brushing just below your lip, and you froze.

Before you could process the moment, he brought his thumb to his mouth, licking off the batter absentmindedly.

Your brain short-circuited.

Steve didn’t seem to notice, turning back to the counter like nothing had happened. He made a distinguished sound that embarrassingly made a spot in your stomach heat up. His eyes rolled back. “This is heavenly,” he said casually, tossing the towel over his shoulder.

You blinked, your pulse racing. “Uh… thanks?”

The moment hung in the air for a beat too long, but neither of you addressed it. Instead, you slid the pan into the oven, your movements more deliberate as you tried to regain your composure.

By the time you arrived at the party, the brownies tucked safely in your arms, the house was already buzzing with life. Warm light spilled from the windows, and you could hear laughter and holiday music drifting through the crisp night air.

Steve opened the door, ushering you inside. You barely had time to take in the garlands, twinkling lights, and festive decorations before a familiar voice called out.

“Harrington!”

Robin appeared, beaming as she made her way over. She grabbed Steve by the shoulders, shaking him lightly. “I knew you’d bring her!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve muttered, but there was no real annoyance in his tone. His hand casually fell on the small of your back. You smiled to yourself, leaning into his touch. 

Robin turned to you, her grin widening. “Glad you came.” 

”Thanks for having me.” You lifted the pan. “We brought brownies”

Robin smiled. “You’re a baker?” 

You opened your mouth to reply, but Steve interjected. “They are probably the best damn brownies I’ve ever had.” 

You rolled your eyes. “He hasn’t even had one yet. All he did was lick the spatula.” 

“Not true. I folded it like you asked.” 

“Barely, it looked like you were auditioning for The Great Destroyer of Brownies.” 

“But they came out perfectly fine. So I must have done something right.” 

It was like you two had even forgotten Robin was there. You were looking at each other. Your faces only inches apart, playing a silent game of whoever smiles first, lost. 

“Geez, get a room you two. I’ll take the brownies before you get freaky.” Robin’s face was twisted like she had eaten something sour. She took the pan from you, walking away into the house.

You thought Steve would take his hand off you, but instead he guided you further inside until you both were at the entrance of the living room. He must have seen how nervous you were at the sight of not only a couple of friends, but more than a handful. His hand moved across your back and rested on your waist. 

“Steve!” Everyone cheered in unison. Their eyes immediately drew to you. 

“I thought Rob was lying,” a petite girl with long brown hair said. “I guess she did. She said you were pretty but that’s an understatement.” She walked closer to you and you recognized her from a picture hanging at Steve’s house. “I’m Nancy.” 

You smiled shyly, introducing yourself to her. She then hugged Steve, and you couldn’t help but feel some sort of jealousy as he held onto her a little longer. She turned back to you. “Do you drink?” 

“Uh… occasionally.” You replied. 

Nancy linked her arm with yours, looking up at Steve with a toothy grin. “‘Scuse me, but I’m going to steal your girlfriend. Make yourself at home.” 

You gave Steve a look you had never given him before. A sad puppy dog face, eyes round, eyelashes fanning as you blinked. Steve’s smirk made your stomach flip as Nancy dragged you into the kitchen. Robin followed. 

They were talking about some person named Jane… and that she was eleven? You weren’t sure. All you picked up was she was in Indianapolis with a boy named Mike and the family was leaving after the auction to spend Christmas there. 

You hugged yourself, feeling overwhelmed. You listened, nodding along to the conversation. Nancy looked over at you, handing you a cold beer with a warm smile, tilting her head slightly as if to include you in their conversation. “Here.” 

You took it with a quiet “Thanks,” gripping the bottle just to have something to do with your hands. The kitchen was alive with conversation, Robin perched on the counter while Nancy leaned against the island. They volleyed stories back and forth, mentioning names you barely recognized—Jonathan, Jane, Hopper. Their shared history was palpable, a comfortable rhythm you weren’t sure how to fit into.

Nancy must’ve noticed, because she turned to you, her smile softening. “So, how long have you and Steve been together?”

You froze, fumbling with the bottle in your hand. The words felt too big in your throat, but before you could even attempt to answer, Robin cut in with a mischievous grin. “Fairly recent.” 

Nancy's eyes widened in surprise. “And he brought you home for Christmas? That wasn’t meant to sound rude. He just hasn’t brought anyone around since…” she trailed off, taking a sip of her drink. 

You bit the inside of your cheek nervously, unsure what to say. 

“Oh, you know Steve,” Robin said, kicking her feet playfully against the cabinets. “When he falls, he falls hard. I give it six months before they’re picking out curtains.”

Nancy laughed lightly, but her gaze stayed on you, curious. “You must be pretty special,” she said.

Special? That wasn’t exactly the word you would’ve used. You managed a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as awkward as you felt. “He’s, uh, full of surprises,” you said, which was at least half true.

Robin snorted into her drink. “Yeah, surprises. Like when he thought putting a bike together meant duct-taping it until it stopped rattling. Romantic and handy.”

You laughed, the tension in your shoulders easing a fraction. Nancy smiled too, and for the first time, the air felt a little less heavy. You took a sip of your beer, the coldness grounding you.

“So,” Nancy said, leaning in conspiratorially, “how did Steve get you to put up with him? He’s charming, sure, but that only gets him so far.”

Before you could think of a response, Robin piped up again. “I’ll tell you how—she’s a saint. That’s the only explanation. And a really good liar.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between you and Robin. “Liar?”

You opened up your mouth, but Robin interrupted. “That she isn’t totally in love with him.” 

You froze. In love? You barely knew him. “I—“ you couldn’t even disagree. I mean it would sound weird to say you didn’t like him while dating him. The entire lie would be for nothing. Your mouth went dry. 

Your heart stuttered at Robin’s words. The idea seemed absurd at first. You barely knew Steve outside the confines of work—and even then, most of your interactions had been steeped in teasing, bickering, and stolen glances. But the longer you sat with it, the less certain you felt about brushing it off. Because if you were honest with yourself, there had always been something about him—something you didn’t dare acknowledge until now.

You thought back to those late nights in the office, when the hum of the city faded and it was just the two of you, working side by side. How he always remembered the way you took your coffee, even when you changed it up without warning. 

The way he never let you leave without walking you to your car, muttering some excuse about safety as if he wasn’t the one watching over you. Even the way he poked at your stubbornness during meetings wasn’t cruel—it was almost… playful, like he liked seeing you riled up. 

And you remembered how, after every disagreement, he always found a way to smooth things over, slipping a comment or a smirk that left you reluctantly smiling despite yourself.

Maybe you’d been fooling yourself all along. Because in between the quips and banter, in the quiet moments where his guard slipped and you saw the person beneath the bravado, your feelings had crept in, unnoticed but deeply rooted. You’d just been too scared—or too stubborn—to admit it. Maybe you were in love. 

The three of you walked into the living room. Nancy walked over to an empty space between a lanky, short haired boy, and another man who looked strikingly similar to the boy. He smiled at Nancy, putting his arm around her. 

You noticed the ring on his finger and realized hers. You hated to admit the relief you felt that they were married and her and Steve were just good friends. Steve. He sat on a cushioned chair, smiling at you. 

You moved closer to him, handing him a beer you had grabbed before you left the kitchen. He thanked you and when you went to sit on the ground, he grabbed your arm and pulled you gently into his lap. “This okay?” He asked, low enough in your ear so no one else could hear. He was making sure, remembering the deal. You had final say in all PDA unless absolutely necessary. 

Why did you feel so shy? You nodded bashfully, looking away so he couldn’t see your face heat up. His arm snaked carefully around you, his palm resting on your stomach. It felt normal. But then again, this was exactly how it felt this morning.  

Except now, you felt heat grow in between your legs as he gently pushed you so your back was flushed against his chest. He took a swig of his beer, drunk on smugness. What an asshole. 

You wanted to kiss his smirk off his face. 

And you did. You gently kissed the corner of his mouth, like a whisper. He didn’t push you off. His eyes glimmered and sparked with a sudden firework exploding in his irises. His grip became tighter.

“Oh my god, Steve. You’re down bad.” A chubby, curly haired boy that looked the same age as the one on the couch with Nancy and her husband. 

“Alright man, tell us how you guys met.” A man with a buzzcut said. He was sitting on the ground criss-crossed. “I’m Eddie by the way.” 

You began, “Oh we met at work—”

Steve cut you off mid-sentence, his voice warm and teasing but laced with something that made your chest tighten. “Oh, come on,” he said, his arm shifting slightly around your waist. “That’s way too boring. Let me tell it.”

You glanced up at him, your brows knitting in surprise. His smirk was firmly in place, but there was a softness in his eyes that caught you off guard.

“Alright,” Eddie said, his grin wide as he leaned forward. “Let’s hear it, Harrington. Lay it on thick.”

Steve rolled his eyes but chuckled. “So,” he began, glancing down at you like he was gauging your reaction. “She came storming into the office on her first day, looking like she was ready to fight someone. Hair all windblown, heels clicking loud enough to wake the dead—”

“I was not storming,” you interjected, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You absolutely were,” Steve shot back, grinning. “And then she marched right up to me, handed me a coffee—black, no sugar, just how I like it—and said, ‘If you’re the guy who hired me, then this better be worth it.’”

Robin snorted from across the room, nearly choking on her drink. “She did not.”

“Oh, she did,” Steve said, nodding solemnly. “No ‘hi,’ no ‘nice to meet you,’ just straight to business. And, honestly? I was impressed.”

You felt your cheeks heat as everyone chuckled, their attention fully on Steve. “It wasn’t that dramatic,” you muttered.

Steve’s grin widened, his hazel eyes sparkling as he leaned closer. “It was. And she’s late, by the way. Not just a couple minutes late—fifteen minutes late.”

Nancy snorted from her spot on the couch, and Robin outright cackled from her perch in the corner. Eddie’s eyes were wild like he was watching the most entertaining movie. The other two boys were trying not to laugh. 

Steve ignored them. “Anyway we go to the conference room to begin her new hire orientation. She sits down, doesn’t even bother with the whole ‘sorry I’m late’ excuse. Just looks right at me, raises an eyebrow, and says—” he turned to you now, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “‘Am I in your seat, boss?’”

Laughter rippled through the group, and you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I did not say it like that.”

“Oh, but you did,” Steve shot back, his grin widening. “Like you were challenging me. And you weren’t wrong—you were in my seat. But I let it slide because, well…” He glanced down at you, his tone dropping an octave. “I couldn’t stop staring.”

The air seemed to shift with his words, the playful banter dipping into something deeper, quieter. The teasing smile faded from his lips, and for a moment, the room around you seemed to fade too. It was just Steve, looking at you like he was still that guy in the conference room, seeing you for the first time all over again.

“I didn’t stand a chance,” he admitted softly, his fingers tracing small, absentminded circles on your stomach. “From that first day, I was done for. And then, for the next few weeks, she basically ran circles around me—fixing my mistakes, arguing with me over every little thing, making me feel like an idiot in the best possible way.”

“Well,” you said after a beat, your voice quieter. “If it makes you feel any better, I thought you were insufferably arrogant.”

Steve grinned, the warmth in his gaze only intensifying. “Insufferably arrogant, huh? And now?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t find the words as the room seemed to blur around you. All you could focus on was the way Steve’s thumb had started tracing slow, idle circles against your stomach, his hold on you steady and unshakable.

Eddie groaned dramatically, breaking the spell. “Alright, lovebirds, we get it. You’re disgustingly into each other. Someone pass me a beer before I die from secondhand swooning.”

The room burst into laughter, and you shook your head, trying to ignore the way your cheeks burned. Steve just chuckled, pressing his lips to your temple in a way that felt too natural, too easy.

But as his hold on you tightened and his breath brushed your skin, you realized you weren’t sure you wanted him to let go.

Steve’s smile faltered slightly, though the warmth in his eyes didn’t waver. He hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the beer in his hand, as if weighing whether to continue. You tilted your head, sensing the shift, but he didn’t look at you. Instead, his thumb traced idle patterns along the glass bottle, his voice quieter when he spoke again.

“There’s… another reason I remember that day so clearly,” Steve said, his tone carrying an unexpected weight. The group quieted, their teasing falling away as they noticed his change in demeanor.

“It was…” He cleared his throat, finally meeting your gaze, his expression softer now. “It was the anniversary of when my dad passed.”

Your breath caught, the words settling heavily between you. Steve rarely talked about his dad—you’d picked up that much in the short time you’d spent with his family. And now, hearing it like this, you understood why.

Nancy’s face softened, her eyes flickering with something like recognition. Robin leaned forward slightly, her usual smirk replaced by concern.

“It was one of those days where everything felt… heavy,” Steve continued, his grip on the bottle tightening. “I didn’t even want to come into the office. But I knew if I stayed home, I’d just sit there, thinking about everything I couldn’t change. So I showed up. And then…” He smiled faintly, glancing down at you. “Then she walked in.”

You felt your heart twist, a strange mix of guilt and gratitude welling up inside you. Guilt for not knowing, for not realizing what that day had meant to him. And gratitude, because somehow, you’d been there—not knowing, but there all the same.

“She had this energy,” Steve said, his voice a little steadier now. “Like she didn’t care about anything or anyone, but not in a bad way. It was more like… she had her own gravity, and she didn’t need anyone else to pull her along. And for some reason, that made everything feel… lighter.”

Your cheeks flushed, the vulnerability in his words catching you off guard. You didn’t know what to say, so you stayed quiet, hoping he could feel the silent support in your presence.

“And yeah,” Steve added, his smile turning crooked again, “she spent most of that first week telling me I was wrong about everything.”

The tension in the room eased, laughter bubbling up around you. His gaze flickered back to you briefly. 

There was something unspoken in his eyes, something that made your stomach flip and your heart ache at the same time. 

And for the first time, you wondered if Steve’s words weren’t just about the past. If, maybe, he was talking about now—about how much you’d started to mean to him in ways neither of you were ready to say aloud.

***

Steve had to practically drag you out of Nancy and her husband’s (you learned his name was Jonathan after having to embarrassingly ask for his name. Along with his brother, Will, and their friend Dustin) house. You all talked and they all gave you embarrassing stories of Steve. 

You also learned he had dated Nancy at one point, but when the group told you, he held you a little softer. You tried to ask how they all became friends, but there was something in their tone of voices that let you know it wasn’t time for you to know. Maybe it had to do with the scar on Eddie’s cheek. 

Steve was silent, hands in his pocket as he walked with you to his car. He opened the door for you and you looked over your shoulder. You wanted to play the gesture off that he didn’t want it to be suspicious if they were looking out the window, but they weren’t. The only sound on the way back to his house was the hum of the radio. Steve’s arm rested at his side as his other hand was on the steering wheel. 

You kept looking at his free hand. Dangerous thoughts slipping into your mind as you wonder what it would be like to hold it. Or what it would feel like if he placed it on your thigh. Or if he touched you… good grief, get a hold of yourself. It was all pretend. Everything that you said and did was all fake. 

He pulled up to his house. His mother’s car was still gone. 

You barely had time to blink as he scrambled out of the car, shutting the door, coming to your side. He opened the door slowly, his body leaning against the car as you got out. Your breathing became slow as you felt the heat of his body when he reached to close the door. His eyes burned into you, only on you when he did so. 

You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming in your ears as Steve stepped back just enough to let you move past him. The heat of his gaze didn’t waver, and for a fleeting second, you thought he might say something—something that would shatter the fragile boundary you’d been clinging to all night.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he turned toward the house, his hand brushing your lower back as he guided you toward the door. The touch was light—barely there—but it lingered, sparking warmth that crawled up your spine and settled somewhere deep in your chest.

“You okay?” Steve asked, his voice low, almost tentative.

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your throat tightened. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Steve didn’t press further. He unlocked the door, holding it open for you as you stepped inside. The house was dark and quiet, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingering from the holiday decorations.

“You want something to drink?” Steve asked, flipping on the light in the kitchen as you wandered toward the living room.

You shook your head, dropping onto the couch and slipping off your shoes. “I’m good, thanks.”

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, his hand braced against the frame as he looked at you. The soft glow from the kitchen light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

“You were great tonight,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “With my friends.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “I… thanks. They’re great. And they clearly care about you a lot.”

Steve huffed a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. They’re like family. Dysfunctional as hell, but family.”

There was something unspoken in his words. You opened your mouth to ask, but he pushed off the doorway before you could, walking over to the couch and sinking down beside you.

“They like you,” Steve said, his hand resting on his knee as he leaned back slightly. “I could tell.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Even Dustin? He seemed pretty skeptical.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Dustin’s skeptical of everyone at first. He’ll come around. Trust me.” 

The way you both were talking… it put an ache in your chest. Why did it matter if they liked you? “I wish I could be real friends with them.”

He tilted his head. “I mean I don’t see why not.” He said it so innocently. 

“Because friends don’t lie,” you answered. 

He snorted, leaning his head back, whispering something about ‘If only you knew.’ His jaw ticked. If he wanted to say something else, he didn’t show it. Instead, he changed the subject. “Nancy said she invited you to get a dress for the auction.”

“Yes. Since someone forgot to mention it.” You elbowed him. 

His mouth twitched but didn’t fully give in to a smile. Silence settled between you, comfortable but charged, the unspoken things hanging in the air like static. Your gaze lingered on the slope of his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped absently against his knee.

“Steve,” you started, your voice hesitant, “about tonight…”

His eyes flicked to yours, something cautious but hopeful sparking in their depths.

“Thanks for bringing me,” you said, your words softer than you intended. 

The air between you felt heavy again, but not in a bad way. It was the kind of heaviness that came with possibilities—with things unsaid but understood.

For a moment, you thought about leaning closer, about closing the small space between you and finding out if his lips felt as warm as they looked.

However, it was like after spending so much time chiseling at the walls he had built, you watched his eyes harden in real time. “Don’t worry, it won’t be unpaid,” he said. 

You furrowed your brows. “That’s not…that’s not why I said it,” you finished, the words coming out quieter than you intended.

Steve didn’t respond immediately. His gaze flicked to the floor, his jaw tight, and you could see the way his fingers curled slightly against his knee, like he was trying to keep something in.

“I know,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “But it’s better if we keep things clear, right? No confusion.”

The words landed heavier than you expected, and the ache in your chest twisted into something sharper. “Clear,” you repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue.

“Exactly,” he said, leaning back against the couch and letting out a breath like he’d settled something. 

The sudden shift in his tone felt like a slap, and you couldn’t stop the sting that settled in your chest. “Steve—”

“It’s late,” he interrupted, his voice clipped. “You should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond. The vulnerability you thought you’d seen earlier—the warmth, the openness—was gone, replaced by a wall so impenetrable it was suffocating.

But you didn’t want to fight. Not when you were both exhausted and treading on thin ice. So you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you stood up. “Goodnight, Steve.”

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on some point across the room. “Night.”

The word was distant, almost hollow, and it lingered in the air as you made your way upstairs.

When you reached his room—the room—you closed the door softly behind you, leaning against it for a moment. Your mind swirled with everything that had been said—and unsaid—and the ache in your chest only deepened.

Why did it bother you so much? You’d known from the beginning this was a transaction, a temporary arrangement to get through the holidays. But the way he’d shut down tonight, as if the moments you’d shared earlier didn’t matter, made you question everything.

Steve followed in shortly. You noticed the way he looked at the bed and even glanced at you briefly, sighing. 

You didn’t want to fight. You really didn’t. “This is bullshit.” 

He was grabbing his sleep clothes. He turned around to look at you. His face was stony and emotionless. 

“You cannot just shut me out like that, Steve Harrington. You said you liked it when I put you in your place, and unless that was all a lie, I’m going to do just that.” You crossed your arms across your chest. 

Steve’s eyebrows shot up at your outburst, the sharp edge of his posture shifting into something more defensive. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, his voice low but steady, like he was trying to keep himself from snapping.

You stepped forward, refusing to let the heat in your chest falter. “I’m talking about you shutting me out every time I try to get close to you. Every time I try to show you that this—this thing—isn’t just about pretending for your mom or your friends or whatever. You’re the one who’s making this harder than it needs to be.”

Steve scoffed, tossing his clothes onto the bed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Oh, I don’t?” you shot back, stepping even closer, your arms still crossed tightly. “Then enlighten me, Steve. Explain why you go from being… whatever we were earlier tonight to acting like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Because it’s not real!” Steve snapped, finally meeting your eyes. The frustration in his voice was palpable, and the tension in the room thickened. “This whole thing—it’s fake, remember? You said it yourself, it’s all built on a lie. And it’s better if we keep it that way. If we don’t confuse what’s real and what isn’t.”

His words stung, but you didn’t back down. “So what?” you asked, your voice rising. “Everything we did tonight, everything you said—none of it meant anything to you?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he looked away. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying, Steve?” you demanded, your voice breaking just slightly. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re running away from whatever this is before it even has a chance to mean something.”

Steve let out a sharp breath, his hands running through his hair in frustration. “I’m not running,” he said, though the crack in his voice betrayed him. “I’m just trying to protect us from making a mistake, okay? From thinking this is something it’s not.”

“And what if it is something?” you countered, your voice softer now but no less firm. “What if this isn’t a mistake, Steve? What if you just stop shutting me out long enough to see that?”

The words hung in the air, a challenge, a plea. Steve stared at you, his hazel eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite read—anger, confusion, longing.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“And you’re a coward,” you replied, your tone sharp despite the ache in your chest.

Something in him snapped. He closed the distance between you in two quick steps, his hands gripping your face as he kissed you, hard and desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for too long.

Your breath hitched, and for a split second, your body froze in shock. But then your hands found his chest, clutching the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed him back just as fiercely.

It wasn’t soft or gentle—it was a collision of all the things left unsaid, all the tension and frustration and longing that had been building between you. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Your fingers slowly intertwined in his hair, tugging lightly, moaning when you heard a soft groan from the back of his throat. You hated to admit the amount of times you’ve wanted to play with his hair. 

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, making them part so he could slip his tongue into your mouth. His hands started to roam, squeezing your ass. 

You broke first, as if you were gasping for oxygen. But Steve didn’t stop. His mouth fell to your jaw, trailing kisses to your neck. It was like he already knew where the spot was on your throat that would make your knees weak. You grasped his hair tighter. 

“If you do that again, I might not make it to the bed.” He growled against your ear. 

“The bed? That’s presumptuous, Mr. Harrington.” 

If he wasn’t hard already, he was now. You whined as you felt his pants bulge against your stomach. You nearly choked out a laugh. “No shit. This whole time—”

He kissed you. “Shut up.”

You pushed him slightly away, his lips tried to chase after yours. You began to gently push him backward, leading him to his bed. “No wonder why you hate me calling you that. You’ve been getting turned on.” 

He sat at the edge of the bed, his hands grabbing the back of your thighs. “That’s presumptuous,” he mimicked you. His hands playing with the hem of your shirt, his eyes asking for permission. You lifted your arms, allowing him to take your sweater off. His mouth immediately fell on your chest. 

“I’ve been thinking about these two all day,” Steve admitted. His fingers threatened to unclasp your bra, but didn’t. Instead, he brought you down for another kiss. “Christ, I think about them all the time. But this morning, I couldn’t stop picturing you standing in the middle of my room with no shirt on. I felt like a fuckin’ teenager again.” 

You giggled against his mouth. “You did take an awfully long time showering.” 

He blushed. That was enough to tell you that your assumptions were correct. You crawled into his lap, bucking a little to feel him against your core. “Besides this morning, when was the last time you’ve thought about me?” 

You helped him strip off his shirt. 

He didn’t answer. His hands all over you again, soaking you up. “The other day when I kicked you out of my office.”

You put your hands on his shoulders, looking at him. You had imagined he had been on the other side of the door actually debating about firing you. You had even skimmed the “Help Wanted” section in the newspaper. You smiled at him, kissing him all over. On his mouth, cheek, and neck. Your hands splayed over his chest. 

“So, you do stare at me when I wear the skirt.” It wasn’t a question and he knew it. 

He rolled his eyes. “I told you. I do not stare.” His fingers finally unclasped the bra, letting the straps slide down your shoulders. “I look for an appropriate amount of time.” 

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate for the boss to be looking at all.” You batted your eyes at him innocently. 

His hands ran down your arms, sending a chill down your spine. “Oh, so now you’re concerned about professionalism? Convenient timing.” You would think that would make him upset but instead he continued to slip your bra all the way off.

He palmed your breasts gently before sliding a hand up to your throat, moving it to the back of your neck so he could gently tug your hair. You bit your lip as his mouth found that spot again, massaging your breast at the same time. 

Your nails dug into his shoulders. “There’s no telling how long you’ve been mentally undressing me. Your sweet and innocent intern.” 

“You’re kidding, right? Sweet and innocent my ass—“

“You talk too much,” you smirked mischievously. 

You yelped, giggling as he picked you up and tossed you on the bed. He parted your legs with his knee. And you nearly cried as it barely touched you. His fingers started to unbutton your pants. You never knew eyes could get so dark as he hovered above you. “You’ve been driving me crazy since I’ve met you,” he mumbled. “If you have any concerns, I can stop.”

“I wouldn’t want to ruin you living out your fantasy.” You arched so he could slip your pants off. 

He kissed your stomach, planting small kisses to the hem of your underwear. “I only said, I think about you. You’re making me sound like a freak.” 

You smirked, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze. "Oh, I don’t know, Steve. Spending all that time in your office, staring at me, imagining this moment? Sounds a little freaky to me."

He rolled his eyes, trailing another kiss along your hip bone. “Again, I never said anything about imagining. All I said was I think about you. That’s different.” 

“Different how? Enlighten me, Mr. Harrington.” You teased, brushing his hair back. 

“Well, for one, I’m very respectful in my thinking.” Steve chuckled, low and rough, his hands skimming down your thighs as he tugged at your underwear. "If I’m the freak, what does that make you? You’re the one letting your ‘boss’ take you apart like this."

You laughed, taking a deep breath once he pulled the cotton off of you. You tried to squeeze your legs together, but Steve pushed your knees apart, leaning back, taking you all in. His eyes scanned you, like he was trying to memorize every square inch of you. He seemed to love touching you because his palm started at your shoulder, slowly caressing it down, rubbing circles on your stomach with a finger. “None of this seems respectful, Mr. Harrington.”

A breath was caught in the back of your throat. His thumb found your sensitive area between your legs. Your back arched as he slowly rubbed it. You were embarrassingly already coming unglued. “You sure are complaining a lot about how I think about you.” 

You closed your eyes, moaning as one of his fingers entered inside you. “I’m not… complaining… Jesus…” You grabbed a fistful of his hair as his tongue made contact with your sensitive spot, curling his finger at the same time. “M’only… stating facts.” 

He lifted his head, and oh my god, you could burst right then and there. His lips were wet and swollen. His eyes were hazy, like he was drunk off of you. “Facts? I have one for you. I think about the way you argue with me during meetings. The way you glare at me like you’re seconds away from strangling me.”

“Sounds sexy,” you replied sarcastically, frowning. You had no idea where he was going. 

He nodded. “It is. Especially when you get that little wrinkle between your brows. Drives me crazy.”

“Oh my god, you’re a dork.” 

“Maybe. But you’re the one under me, letting me do whatever I want,” he shot back, his voice low and teasing as his finger curled, making you gasp. “So what does that say about you?” 

You smirked, gripping hair again when his lips brushed your inner thigh. “It says I make terrible decisions.” 

“Terrible?” His head shot up, eyes narrowed. “I’ll remember that the next time you attempt to proposition me.” 

“Next time?” 

He snuck another finger in. You bit your lip out of protest. “Confident, are we,” you asked, voice tight. 

“Call it intuition,” he hummed. 

“I call it arrogance,” you quipped. He went back down, his mouth back on your swollen heat, fingers pumping in and out of you. His other hand gripped your waist, holding you steady as you arched your back, thighs pressing on the side of his face. You cried out short whimpers. 

Then he completely stopped. 

His fingers and mouth were gone. It was so sudden you believed you had imagined it all. You propped yourself with your elbows, your breath still erratic. He looked at you with his stupid smug smirk. “Still have energy to complain?” 

Steve Harrington had finally cracked how to make you speechless. You didn’t have any remark. Your mind spun, trying to grasp for a shred of your usual wit, but it was as if he’d stolen the words straight from your mouth. Steve Harrington had done what you thought was impossible—rendered you completely and utterly speechless.

The air between you felt electric, charged with the weight of what just happened, of what he had made you feel. Your heart raced, your body still buzzing from his touch, and all you could do was stare at him, at that insufferable, cocky grin plastered on his stupidly handsome face.

You hated how much you loved it.

He looked so infuriatingly pleased with himself, like he had won some unspoken game between you two—and maybe he had. For the first time, you weren’t the one in control, and the realization was both maddening and exhilarating.

What made it worse was that he knew it. He knew exactly what he’d done to you, and the way his hazel eyes gleamed with satisfaction only made your stomach twist in the most frustratingly delicious way.

“Now who is mentally undressing the other?” He began to unzip his jeans. Slowly and tauntingly. There was no hurry as he climbed out of them, tossing them to the side. You sat up, reaching out. Your fingers hooked the waistband of his boxer briefs, dragging it down. 

He sprung out, making you let out a large breath. He was going to kill you, you thought. Once his underwear was to the side, he pushed you back on the bed, climbing on top of you. “Do you not need me to…” you trailed off. 

He shook his head. “I think we’ve had a year long worth of foreplay. I need you. And I need you now.” Honestly, he was right. He could speak to you and you think you’d break. His expression softened, and his hand cradled your face. “This okay?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” you whispered. 

He kissed you softly. 

After adjusting, Steve slid into you. His face melted into a pool, his groan intertwining with your shaky exhale.

His hips rolled slowly, getting used to you and how you felt around him. He had to keep pushing your legs as they instinctively wanted to close around him. 

It was warm and electric as the thrusts became more intense. Your nails dug into his shoulders, chests flush against one another. His hot wavering grunts stuck to your neck. He nipped and kissed your collarbone. 

It was like you were a different person the moment he entered you. “You feel so good,” you purred, dragging your teeth against his earlobe. 

It became more erratic. It was sexy as the sounds of flesh coming together blended with the dirty breaths of air escaping each other’s lips. “Everything about you is perfect,” Steve whispered. 

He pressed his palm just right at the bottom of your stomach. You felt a tear roll down your face as the electricity inside you pulsed. “Steve…” It was like a champagne bottle opened inside you, fizzing all over the place. 

“Christ, sweetheart…” he groaned, his thrusts getting sloppy. You could feel him twitch even as you came down from your high. He let out a sound that could only be made from the back of his throat and let go. 

He laid on top of you, placing soft kisses on your jaw. 

All of it felt unbelievable. Your mind was a haze. It was like a whirlpool of sensation and disbelief. Your body still trembled from the aftershocks of what had just happened. 

How had this happened? How had you gone from presumably hating each other to this

—his body on yours, his lips tracing soft, reverent kisses along your jaw like you were the most precious thing in the world?

The way he had spoken to you, his voice rough with need and unfiltered affection, played on a loop in your head. Everything about you is perfect. You could still feel the heat in his words, the way they'd wrapped around your heart and squeezed it, as if he'd been holding them back for far too long.

You hadn't expected this-any of it.

Not the intensity of his touch, not the way he unraveled you so completely, not the way he made you feel seen. 

And yet, the tender weight of his body, the way his breath brushed your skin as he whispered your name like a prayer, made it impossible to deny. Maybe you weren't just pretending anymore.

Maybe you never had been.

[n3ptoonz]

May I request headcanons of the MK1 Earthrealm Champions watching the reader practicing a dance she choreographed herself in a dance studio?

If you need music for the vibe of her dance, I got you:

sure can!

mk1 hcs: earthrealm champions with a choreographer girlfriend

no warnings, pre-blind kenshi, lowkey self indulgent as a dancer myself hehehe

Raiden

loves to just sit and watch you work. the intense focus on your face as you start and stop again when you change your mind or try to rework a move was so fascinating to him

when he watches you dance he sometimes relates it to how he trains. he finds similarities and differences when it comes to doing something properly or fixing an error

once he sees you fully get everything right and the way you wanted it to be executed, he's so proud of you. weeks, sometimes a month's work finally paying off had him grinning ear to ear FOR you. if you look close enough in the mirror, you might even see him doing some of the moves very slightly in his seat

Kung Lao

is so excited that you let him sit in and watch you. surprisingly he wasn't so distracting even while loudly hyping you up over the music, it really just fueled you more

dude thinks he's on the team, expect him to be like "wait isn't it this?" every 15 minutes. it takes one good glare to get him to shut it up 😭 but now he just hesitantly raises his hand like a scolded child when he wants to help

little did you know every time he went back home, he lowkey couldn't stop memorizing some of your moves. even the ones he suggested/helped correct. so when you fully go over it he's in the corner halfway in sync but still determined to do what you do since he admires your determination to be the best you can be. just like him!

Kenshi Takahashi

with how intensely focused he is watching you, you'd think you're boring him, but it's quite the opposite. he's so captivated and drawn in by how your body moves so cohesively. if you felt unsure about this and asked him what he thought so far, without thinking he's just like "you look amazing" but was that really the question? 🤔

i have a hc that he's only good at slow dancing and/or traditional dancing but otherwise the man's got two left feet. so he wouldn't be dancing along, but most definitely singing along. in and outside of your studio. like you'd be out at lunch and he's humming the entire song w/o realizing

when it's all done he cannot wait to see the full thing. i'm talking like his hands are clasped together and he has a full grin on his face, and when you start it melts right back into intense focus. anybody outside looking in would easily think he's hypnotized (he definitely is)

Johnny Cage

silly goose, did you think he wasn't gonna join you?? he simply cannot sit and watch you be cool as fuck. he could also use some pointers anyway. and he might wanna include something like this in a film (he definitely wants to)

he's more focused than you are. he actually contributed one and a half some moves himself! all the dramatics you could possibly imagine him doing, he's doing exactly that. "1 and 2 and- POW! Uh!" like okay chronic theatre kid syndrome is in full effect!

you have to try to manage to outshine HIM once it's all finished. he's been going full out since you were still figuring out the first eight count. he'd be dancing circles around you if you weren't such a professional, otherwise...let's just say does hollywood even need a newest star?!

[sulumuns-dootah]

25.12. Satan - Letter to Santa (18+)

    ��☆༻

A/N: We've finally made it to the kings! Two kings a day and a smut for each. This is my special treat for ya'll! ^^

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

₊˚⊹.* The Yule festival of Hell *.⊹˚₊

‎‧₊˚✧ 18+ Minors Do Not Interact‎ ✧˚₊‧

    ༺☆༻

'Y/N, can you come see me in my room? It's about your letter.' a message from Satan pops up on your phone and the blood in your veins runs cold. Not that letter. The letter that you wrote while shitfaced thanks to Paimon taking you out for a girls' night. The one that you thought was funny to address to Satan instead of Santa. Or at least you thought in that state that it was funny. The letter that you thought was somehow destroyed after you wrote it, but don't remember that happening due to your blackout.

So the letter made its way to him. This probably wouldn't be as horrifying if you actually remembered what you wrote in it. Or maybe worse. Either way he's read it and now you're considering surrendering yourself to angels. Angelification can't hurt worse than the embarrassment of facing Satan after he's found out your inner fantasies about him. What if they're too much even for him? Will you be cast out into Abaddon for being too kinky?

The whole walk to Satan's room is like being led to execution. It will most likely be like one too. The demons you meet along the way look indifferent.

Finally you arrive tot he doors into Satan's bedroom. You reach out for the handle but before actually making a contact with it, your hand stops. You're unsure. Maybe you can still run away to Paradise Lost and change your name. He surely won't be able to find you there.

“Oh for fucks sake, just come in. I'm not gonna bite your head off.” a voice from the other side booms. He knows you're here. So there is no way out of this other than to go forward. You take a deep breath and open the door.

Satan is sitting on his bed with the letter opened beside him. When his eyes land on you he's immediately sporting his smirk. So far so good. His legs are slightly spread apart. Definitely intimidating at all.

“So what did you want?” you meekly ask, not moving away from the door that's now closed even though you don't remember closing them.

“Yeah, about that. Come sit.” he pats one of his thick thighs and spreads his legs even further apart. A growls leaves him when you don't immediately respond to his request and he's quick to close the distance. Picking you up he returns to the bed and sets you on his thigh.

“Now, where were we?” he reaches for the letter next to him and holds it up with one hand while the other is around your waist as to ensure you don't run away. The letter is even worse than you've imagined. Your writing is messy and some of the words are just scribbles. There are also some lipstick kisses. You don't even remember wearing lipstick that night a all.

“So in your letter you wrote some interesting things-”

“Satan, I was drunk. Paimon took me out drinking and I must've drank way too much.” you cut him off, hoping to make him go easier on you.

“Oh, so you don't mean any of these things, then? Or did the alcohol only help you loosen up to admit to these fantasies?” his red eyes are mischievously glowing at you.

“It uh...” you don't want to admit, that it's the other option and you did want to do things with Satan. Why are you even so anxious? Knowing him he'd most likely be down. Coem to think of it, you've never seen him turn down steamy offers from other demons.

“Aw, too shy? Here, let me help you.” Satan chuckles and throws the letter to his side. His now free hand quickly grasps your thigh and makes you straddle his lap. You heart starts beating in your chest as well as somewhere else.

“W-what are you doing?” you squeak out and slightly instinctively wiggle your hips.

“I'm only doing what you've told me you want to do in your letter. Do you want me to read it out loud to refresh your mind?” he says holding your chin in his hand while the other moves who knows where.

“I... You don't mind it?” you whisper, being well aware your face must be red.

“No, in fact was about to jerk off to the scenario, but I figured you'd like to partake too. It's your fantasy, afterall. ” he shrugs and chuckles. His words go straight to your clit at this point.

You blink a bit to fully process what has just happened and Satan uses this as an opportunity to attack your neck with bites and kisses. The way his sharp fangs graze your neck make you dizzy and so you try to anchor yourself in his hair by tangling your hands in it. Soon enough your hands are near the base of his horns and you can't help but to tug on the hair around it, which makes him growl and grow inside his pants.

Your hips automatically start grinding down on him and he responds with small thrusts to meet you. His head rises from your neck and you can see how flushed he is. You tug his hair harder to tilt his face up and he moans only to be silenced by your lips. The hands which were previously on your hips now work on undoing your clothes.

You top is the first to go and you try to make him equal by undoing the zipper on his overall and taking off his t-shirt. His muscles are so perfectly sculpted underneath and now they're flexing underneath your touch and only for you. You can't help but scratch his pecks to mark them as yours and Satan moans in response. The red marks seem to get only redder and redder by the second.

“Nngh.. I can't wait anymore..” Satan growls and tears your pants clean off alongside your underwear. He's breathing heavily as he's sheds the sleeves of his overall and pushes it low enough to be able to free his cock. The shape and color of it is just so enticing. You're quick to position yourself and have it enter you. This has to be the best dick you've had and he's only pushed inside.

As if Satan can feel your excitement, he starts slamming you onto him with barely any work from your side. His hands envelop your waist and hold you close so he can bury his face in your tits and leave lovebites all over them.

Reaching back to your anchoring point, you return your hands into his hair around the base. This time you also dare to stroke the base itself, which makes Satan dig his claws into your body, giving you the most pleasant pain you've ever experienced.

Satan bites and sucks one of your nipples, making you squeal. If he wants to play like that, then why not. You reach higher from the base of his horns higher and start slowly stroking them. This causes Satan to howl and start slamming you onto him with even more force and at faster speed.

Neither of you are able to last longer with the others actions and so the two of you come almost simultaneously from the pain and pleasure. After a short while of the both of you catching your breaths Satan speaks up with a slight chuckle: “Now, about the other fantasies you've mentioned in your letter...”

    ༺☆༻

But wait, this demon also has a gift for you!

"Seeing how much you enjoy pain from me, maybe we should experiment and maybe I'll let you use it on me, hm?"

[tiredlilguy]

Two... Night Stand?

a/n: uh... i had a rush of adrenaline and I realized i haven't written for oda yet in a full fic... this is almost 4k words. for context: i was listening to "bad idea right?" by olivia rodrigo. enjoy :D [this is on A03]

pairing: Oda Sakunosuke X Mafia Exec!GN!Reader cw: NSFW 18+ (DNI if you are a minor. you will be blocked), possibly ooc, half-proofread, SB spoilers (just a character) desc: (takes place after the dragon head conflict, before dark era) it's been a couple weeks since you and your boyfriend have broken up. however, ever since then, you've been texting him back and forth ever since then. he moved into a new apartment and invited you over. ;)

You were currently in the middle of a job, when your phone vibrated from your side pocket. You were near to done and so you just let your fellow subordinates and coworkers handle it. You traveled out of the makeshift war zone with a bloody metal bat over your shoulder as you picked out your phone from your side pocket. Usually, you weren’t one to answer texts, especially in the middle of a job, but recently you’ve been really antsy the past couple of weeks…

That mean reason being your ex-boyfriend.

It’d only been a couple of weeks since you’ve both broken up, and you’ve been nothing but anxious.

Most of your time during work was spent reading over a file and then every few minutes or so checking your phone.

You had wanted him to answer you… for some reason, despite you both breaking up.

Every now and then you’d text him, and he’d text back, but the last two days (in counting) you haven’t heard back from him.

To say the least, this breakup wasn’t doing you any justice and the moment you heard the vibrations from your phone, you walked out. However, being a respected executive, no one would really bat an eye, less look at your direction. Needless to say, you picked up your phone, leaning against the wall and placing your bat aside.

Odasaku: Hey, sorry I haven’t been texting, I’ve been busy. I moved into a new place.

Odasaku: [attached: 1 pin]

Odasku: Here’s my new address. You should come by tonight. I managed to clean up the place.

You blushed at his invitation, swiping a lock of hair behind your ear. You quickly texted him back.

(Y/N): Yeah! Sure, sounds good! I’m off at 5.

Odasaku: Great. I’ll leave the door unlocked. :)

“ Oi! (Y/N)!!!,” a fellow redhead let out a loud exasperated sigh,” The hell are you doing running out like that?”

“ He texted me,” you responded.

“ No way,” Chuuya’s tone turned serious as he quickly gathered next to you, peaking over your shoulder. He was silent for a second as he read the line of messages. “ Did you say ‘yes’?!,” he yelled out as he pointed at your reply back. You leaned away, as he was practically yelling in your ear.

“ Y-yeah…,” you shuttered, hiding into yourself” Listen! It’s fine! We’re just going to hang out for a bit. Nothing more…”

“ (Y/N), you know that ‘texting your ex’ means that you’re both going to hook up, right?,” Chuuya seemed rather unamused as he joined you, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

“ It’s… not a bad… idea…?,” you sounded unsure as you continued on,” Yeah- Nothing bad, we’re just going to talk… like old friends.”

“ I do not believe you for one bit, (Y/N),” Chuuya replied sharply,” Are you kidding? That man was everything to you! I remember you practically sprinting out the door after executive meetings just because of him.”

“ We can be friends!,” you tried to convince Chuuya, but he seemed to not be taking any of it.

“ You’ve been texting each other ever since you broke up! He only stopped because he moved into a new place! He wants you to be the first one to be there!!!,” Chuuya was waving his arms about, pacing back and forth as he tried to point out the obvious to you.

“ You don’t know that,” you frowned,” Maybe he invited Dazai to see it first…”

“ Dazai’s been in Nagasaki…! For the past three days!!!,” he yelled back, before letting out another sigh, adjusting his hat,” You really stopped paying attention in the executive meetings, haven’t you?”

“ They’re boring! You know that too!,” you yelled back at him.

“ They are, but aren’t you supposed to be around Ane-san’s level of authority?!”

“ That’s Verlaine’s job! I’m doing like half of his goddamn work!”

“ Verlaine won’t leave the fucking basement!!!”

Chuuya let out another sigh, but this time, the tension seemed to leave his shoulders,” Anyways, regardless… If your head is full of rocks, he’s trying to hook up with you, idiot.” Before you could speak back, he placed a hand on your shoulder,” Don’t act like you’re not thinking that too! I just don’t like seeing you get hurt! It doesn’t look good on you…! Just tell him you have a change of plans.”

Normally anyone would feel a little bit upset at his words, but Chuuya’s intentions and what he was saying was right. He just had an awful habit of replacing that way that he cares with anger. You sighed,” Fine… I’ll tell him.”

“ Good. I mean- I don’t care!,” Chuuya crossed his arms,” Let’s go get ramen, I’m hungry!”

…

It was past lunch now and you were typing up a report on your computer. You hadn’t actually texted Oda… if at all. If anything, according to him, your plans were still on. As you were about to hit submit on a PDF, your phone rang again, and as if planned, you picked it up.

Odasaku: Don’t worry about bringing anything. I’ll take care of all of that, so you can just show up. How does 7 sound?

Yet again, you felt your heart beat fast… What did he mean by “bringing things”? Was he really going to hook up with you? Ah, fuck it, you thought.

(Y/N): I’ll be there!

“ (Y/N),” It was Chuuya… again,” Did you get that report so I can read over it?”

You quickly slammed your phone down,” Y-yup! I was just about to send it right now!”

You were hiding behind a pick monitor, so all Chuuya could see was your head from behind the large screen. However, it was pretty obvious to him that you were on your phone.

“ Have you been texting him?,” Chuuya frowned once more, leaning on one hip and crossing his arms.

“ Nope… All good. Mori called,” you made up a quick excuse, pressing down on your mouse to hit send.

“ I just saw Mori,” he raised a brow.

“ God! Stop being so good at figuring things out, Chuuya!!!,” you slammed your hands on your desk and stood up with an angry expression.

“ Hey, I’m just saying the facts here,” Chuuya sung,” I guess I can’t really tell you what to do, so here…”

Chuuya walked up to you, digging into his pocket to pull out his wallet. His fingers slipped in between the pockets and as he pulled them out, there was a condom in between his fingers. He handed it to you. A blush crept up on your face as you almost looked at it with disgust.

“ Hey, stop looking it like you’ve never seen one before,” Chuuya commented, shoving his hand more forwards for you to take it,” Take it.”

You did so, taking it front his hands and putting it in your front pocket,” I’m just surprised you have one… in your wallet.”

“ I just have it… just in case,” a blush also seemed to creep up on his face.

“ In case for what?,” you frowned.

Chuuya seemed not to answer you, as he quickly stammered out the door.

…

God this was such a bad idea…

Such a bad idea…

You really shouldn’t be here…

You were clutching the collar of your sweater nervously. You weren’t wearing anything different, though at least a little bit more casual. You had a white button up, tucked into some slacks and a black cardigan that was buttoned on top of that. It seemed casual, but underneath you made it a point to wear underwear that looked nice… and matched. Just as you were about to knock, Oda opened his door.

“ Oh- hey!,” you smiled shyly.

“ Sorry, my ability told me that you were here… I guess I’ve just been wanting to see you,” Oda greeted, running a hand through his hair. You missed his face… the deadpan expression that he always had, yet his eyes were always telling of what he was really feeling.

“ Yeah… I’ve missed you too,” you said, feeling happy that your feelings were being reciprocated. At least you weren’t the only one who was lying alone in bed, feeling lonely.

“ Come inside,” he opened the door wider for you to walk in. You looked around, seeing the nice fairy lights that were hung on the ceiling. They seemed to be the main source of light. The apartment was well furbished: instead of tatami, there was nice wooded flooring. The kitchen looked brand new, and most is not everything looked really clean. You looked over at a couch: there were two beer bottles there, though not pre-opened. Oda always made it a point to be respectful, and so you were thankful for that. You were glad this was all he meant by “bringing things”.

“ Sorry, it’s not much,” he sighed from behind you as you took your seat on the couch. He handed you a bottle opener and you corked open the bottle with a satisfying pop. He took a seat on the couch as well, across from you, but leaving distance.

“ No, don’t worry,” you reassured him,” This was pretty much all I was hoping for.”

Oda hummed, looking over at you with a rare smile. Although it wasn’t a very big smile, he usually never showed that to just anyone. You took a swig of your beer.

“ How’s work been?,” he spoke up.

“ It’s been good. Nothing too interesting I guess. You?”

“ Same as usual.”

It got quiet again, as the two of you were just watching whatever was going on the TV. Despite not talking, you didn’t feel the slightest bit uncomfortable. Maybe he just wanted to offer a calm space for you after work… nothing mo-

“ (Y/N)… ,” Oda’s voice seemed to boom in your ears, completely interrupting your thoughts. You turned over to see that he had scooted closer and was now leaning over you with a rather desperate expression. However, you let it happen as he leaned closer to you, his hot breathe fanning over your mouth.

“ I’ve missed you…,” he groaned. His beer was out of his hands, as his fingers gently traced past your arm to place yours on the coffee table. You leaned back, letting him do what he wanted.

“ I-I’ve… I’ve missed you too,” you responded shyly. Though, you couldn’t help but want to close the gap between the two of you, placing your lips gently on his. He returned the kiss, though not before letting out a groan in return. He kissed back passionately, taking in your scent as he leaned on top of you. You let out a moan as you felt his stubble scratch you. It was a familiar feeling, one that you often found comfort in, as you body started to relax.

Oda quickly pulled back, his face going red,” S-sorry�� I’ve just been desperate.”

“ I’ve been desperate for you too,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in once again,” I mean… I’ve been checking my phone all the time. I can’t get you off my mind.”

“ You… have…?,” he asked, a little breathless. You nodded,” Yeah… Just kiss me already, Odasaku.”

He quickly smashed his lips into yours, a lot more rougher than before. His tongue prodded at your mouth, and you gladly let him intertwine his own with you. You couldn’t help but moan again, your hips bucking to meet his. He pulled away from the kiss, a trail of saliva coming from both of your mouths. He gently trailed kisses on your jaw to your neck. You whined, leaning your head back to give him more access to your neck.

“ F-fuck…,” you had felt overly sensitive after not being touched in a while. His kisses felt so soft… so warm as he started on your neck. He sucked in, earning a moan from you. You felt his lips curl into a soft grin as he pulled away slightly, prodding his nose to the other side of your neck,” Let me mark you up, baby.”

“ Please…!,” you whined as he sunk his teeth into the other side. His biting was harsh, yet he seemed to be please as he watched the mark bruise into your skin. He kept marking you up until you were a moaning mess. The heat between your thighs getting hotter. Oda gripped under your lower back, as he left another mark, your chest being pushed into his as he placed a leg in between yours. He’d left a couple more before sitting up.

“ Let’s move to the bedroom?,” he asked, looking at you as you nodded. “ Are you… ok with that?,” he asked, seemingly unsure. You nodded again, but he shook his head, silently asking for your spoken consent.

“ Yes, I consent to this, ‘Saku,” you smiled. He couldn’t tell if it was from the way you looked so beautiful in your disheveled state: shirt slightly unbuttoned and untucked, hair a mess and a red flush on your face, but he couldn’t help but feel himself want even more of you.

He stood up, taking your hand and guiding you to his bedroom.

…

That was about an hour now… and it seemed as though the time before had been a blur as you were drooling, face pushing into the sheets as he was ramming his cock into you. His hands were roughly pushing into your hips as he pushing you further into the mattress.

“ Fuck… I missed your body,” he leaned down, his hips rolling as he stayed inside. He was so thick… and warm. You felt yourself feeling like you were being split open.

“ So pretty…,” Oda kissed your shoulder, his stubble leaving a a lovely sting to you,” So pliable and soft.”

“ O-oda… ‘saku- Ngh..!,” you moaned out,” A-ah!”

You felt… so full, and you couldn’t help but only feel yourself get more wet at the lewd sounds of skin slapping. His dick was pounding into you at this point, and you’d started to feel your sore spot being hit. That only increased the lewd moans that you let out as he slammed his hips into yours again. You felt fingers tilt your chin upwards, you were now looking up.

“ Open your mouth,” he demanded. You did so, sticking your tongue out. He spat into it, making you instantly swallow. You couldn’t help but only feel turned on from that. Soon enough, as he continued to desperately rut into you, your heat started to build up in your stomach. You racked your brain trying to think of words to say, but all you could let out was desperate syllables. Oda groaned at how cock-drunk he’s made you, speaking was so hard, and all you could think about was being a good cock sleeve for him.

“ ‘Saku…! Mm! Gonna cum…!,” you moaned, you hips bucking into his hips more, feeling his thick cock hit your sore spot once again.

“ Cum f’me…,” he demanded, reaching his high as much as you were. You were a complete mess as you reached your orgasm, your release leading you to shake under him. You whined as you finished cumming together, as you felt him pull out. He let out a soft breathe, as he took off the condom, tied it, and threw it in the trash. He rolled over next to you, pulling you into his chest.

You blushed as you felt his fast heartbeat thud against your hear. You gently pet your hair, calming you down from your high. You did so, taking deep breathes as you curled into his chest. He was warm…

“ You ok?,” Oda gently asked, taking a hand under your chin to look at you.

“ Yes. I’m alright,” you replied. You leaned up to kiss his chin, something you did often after intimate times like these. Oda hummed gently,” Ok, tell me if you need anything… Or if you want a round two.”

You chuckled, pushing his chest away jokingly,” I’m way too sensitive right now.”

“ Joking joking,” Oda’s voiced, as he pulled you closer to him once again. You leaned your ear back on his chest, closing your eyes for a moment.

…

The next day, you showed up to work in a turtleneck, which wasn’t in your usual work attire. You thought it’d be normal: considering that most mafioso wore heavy layers with dark colors. A turtleneck was nothing to bat an eye about, so it would’ve been fine.

Well… it would’ve been fine…

If you didn’t have an executive meeting this morning… and guess who so happened to come out of the basement.

… and it just so happened to be on this day.

You actually had no real qualms with Verlaine. You’d been away from most of the crises that involved him to even join the Port Mafia in the first place. All you knew was that you were given most of his work load considering that he never left the basement. Though, one things for sure, he had a rather stern stare. One that almost made you want to hide away forever: to put short, he intimidated you.

You were trailing behind Verlaine as you were crouched down next to Chuuya, practically hiding behind his shoulder.

“ Did he hear us back-talking him from all the way at the Port,” you muttered. “ Oooh~ someone’s in trouble~,” It was Dazai, who’d finally made his return from Nagasaki. He was creeping over you from your other shoulder.

Chuuya placed a hand on Dazai’s head, hitting him with some amount of force,” Can it, Dazai! He’s only here because we need him for something. It’s not like that.”

“ Eh…? I was talking about (Y/N) over here,” Dazai reached over to your turtleneck, pulling at the tall collar and taking a glance.

“ Hey!,” you slapped his hand away.

“ Oh…?,” Dazai’s smile seemed to turn into almost a cat-like grin,” So I see, (Y/N)’s been gettin’ around.”

“ Don’t look!,” you swiped Dazai away with an arm,” It’s none of your business anyways.”

Soon enough, the door opened, revealing Mori who’d had a long meeting table set up. Kouyou was already seated on Mori’s right side, and you and the others followed through.

“ It’s good to see you all,” Mori smiled, looking around as everyone had been seated. The doors closed behind them all and an ambient light shown above the table,” Verlaine, it’s good to see you come out to get some fresh air for once.”

“ I’m only here for information’s sake, nothing more.”

Mori nodded, about to continue, but before he did, his eyes scanned towards you.

“ Ah, (Y/N), a turtleneck? That’s new,” Mori seemed to intentionally say it as a compliment, but that didn’t stop Dazai from letting out a soft snicker under his breathe. Chuuya kicked him under the table however, the bandaged man letting out a yelp.

It’s times like this where you wish you weren’t here, being an executive… with this room of people… and these specific people…

God, maybe I’m not fit for being an executive, you thought, sinking further into your chair.

…

…

…

Well, if there was anything to make all of those stressful thoughts go up in smoke, it was Oda who was currently breathing heavily in between your legs. You were laying down into the comforter, the plush pillows supporting your back as you looked down at him. Oda’s lips gently kisses at your thighs. His warm lips continued to kiss up your thighs and eventually met at your entrance. He gently kissed there, looking up at your flustered expression.

His hot breathe pulled away before licking up your clothed entrance. You moaned,” Ngh.. Ah- ‘Saku please…” Oda seemed to grin a little bit as he licked a thick stripe once again. You shuttered under his hold, and he hummed, seemingly pleased at your reaction. Soon enough, his calloused but gently hands trailed up you legs, pulling down your underwear and leaving you naked from underneath.

“ So wet and pretty for me, already?,” he teased. You were about to respond before you let out a loud moan as he dived his tongue onto you. He licked you up and down, making you moan once more. One of your hands reached to grip onto the sheets as he proceeded to eat you out like a starved man. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes back further as you sunk into the mattress.

As he lapped at your lower half, you were slowly started to loose consistency in your breathe. Eventually he’d grown more desperate, the vibrations of his throat making you whine. His hand reached out to your empty one, and you took it as he intertwined his fingers with yours.

Your other hand that was gripping at the sheets covered your face as you moaned louder,” I-I’m gonna cum. F-fuck…!”

Oda only seemed to want more, licking up you even more desperately than before. Soon enough, you reached your orgasm. He groaned in response, taking in all of your juices as you squirted. He finished up, wiping his chin as he sat back up.

“ Already…?,” he grinned at you.

…

It was the end of another session, and you were pulled into Oda’s chest once more. The two of you were rather exhausted as you’d gone more than one round, and so you both fully relaxed into the sheets. You were now drawing patterns on his chest as he was slowly drifting in and out of sleep. He tried to keep himself up however, only wanting to shut his eyes when you were sound asleep.

“ Say ‘Saku,” you pouted, continuing to draw patterns,” What are we?”

“ What do you mean?,” he raised a brow, the sleepiness seeming to fall away from his mind.

“ Are we together… or are we just friends,” you seemed to be rather melancholy as you asked.

“ I thought we were together, already,” he answered honestly,” Didn’t I ask you?” “ Eh…?”

“ I asked you when I was on top of you just a couple minutes ago.”

“ I wouldn’t remember that when you’re ramming me into your own bed!!!,” you sat up, frowning.

Oda sat up as well, placing his hands up in defense,” I thought we’d made up already.”

You looked at him questionably. However, after a moment, you realized it was Oda Sakunosuke you were talking to. A question was a question… and if he happened to ask it at an odd time, well… his intentions were genuine.

“ Well- we did, but- Do you love me?”

“ Of course I love you,” he answered with no hesitation.

“ Oh, whatever,” you sighed, flopping onto him with no though. He fell back down on the bed, wrapping his arms around you. Once again, he was warm… and you started to feel sleepy.

“ Sorry if I asked at a weird time.”

“ You’re always like that, Odasaku… but, that’s what I love about you.”

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

I was reading some of the older hcs, in one of them you said that kits can be summoned by inexperienced summonner. What if someone decided they are above the rules and tried to summon a ghoul only to fuck up and snatched a small kit, and while the clergy deals with the person the kit was passed to one of the ghouls mates and they get attracted really fast. How would they react when their mate just shows up with a child? Like 'Oh yeah, this is mine now'.

This is so cute, I hope you don’t mind ghoul reader! :)

Ghoul Mate Reader

GN Reader

Era V Ghouls

The Ghouls Mate Adopts a Displaced Kit

For a quick recap, ghoul summoning HAS to be done by an experienced and supervised sibling of sin. Many botched summoning are done by new siblings who have no clearance to carry one out. Botched summonings can result in injured ghouls, stolen kits, or even pulling beings that are not ghouls into the clergy…

Aether: The guitarist ghoul was ready to keep the kit immediately when you told him what happened. His only hesitation is that you both could be in big trouble if you didn’t report it. The ministry is very strict on tracking these types of summons. But you were happy to know that Aether was already attached and wanted to keep the little one sooooo badly. Aether just wants to do it the RIGHT way. It’s how you ended up in Papa’s office, with your mate kindly explaining why you had to keep the kit. You and the kit were already attached at the hip, and so was he! Papa was VERY happy for you both and for the baby. “Well, uh, it solves where we must place the little one, yes? Uh… congratulations?”

Phantom: It takes an hour of convincing Phantom that you are completely serious about adopting this random kit. When you first got him and told your mate you wanted to keep the little ghoul he thought you were trying to prank him. Phantom literally thought you had borrowed a kit to try to get one over on him! But when he realizes this ISN’T relation for the prank he pulled on you last week, he’s very quiet. He stays quiet for a very long time and you get nervous this might be the end of your relationship… but he surprises you. “So, what do we name him?” He’s completely unsure of what to do, but he wants to make this work! Phantom insists this is awesome, because he can raise your kit to be a guitarist like him!

Cirrus: You were very nervous about bringing home your new kit. Cirrus hates when you both make big decisions without consulting the other. She was very curious when you brought home a tiny kit, asking why you were baby sitting. You carefully started to explain that the little ghoul was accidentally summoned. But before you could finish it Cirrus came over to take the baby. She immediately clutched the kit protectively, and you remembered the same had happened to her when Air adopted her… “We will protect her with our lives.” She declares before nuzzling into the little ghoul.

Cumulus: Your mate was so supportive when you brought home the kit. She was very confused at first, mind you, until you explained what happened. Cumulus quietly listened as she held the baby ghoul and eventually started rocking the kit to sleep. “Well… he already likes us. We can’t just give him back!” Cumulus’ main concern is that eventually she does have to work and tour. So you both have a big discussion of how your home situation will be when you are left with your kit by yourself. But if you are happy with the arrangement, so is she!

Mountain: To your surprise, Monty barely asked any questions. He just readily accepted that you made the executive decision to adopt. You personally know it’s from his home tribe, where spur of the moment adoptions happened. The drummer is more interested in picking out a name, figuring out the kit’s element, and getting the nest ready for the baby. Mountain already starts gathering spare curtains to make a kit sling for you both to carry her around. You barely have time to blink before your kit is slung against his chest comfortably and he’s out the door to go get supplies!

Swiss: Your kit? You mean OUR KIT!! Swiss loves kits so much, so when you brought one home randomly he had assumed you were baby sitting. The guitarist had the baby in his arms so fast to play and the small ghoul clung to him immediately. He was so wrapped up in playing he nearly didn’t hear that no, you weren’t babysitting! It took you a moment to get his attention and explain… you sorta… kinda just took this one after a botched summoning? Swiss stared at you for a long time before becoming emotional. “You mean… you adopted a family for us?” He’s SO excited and hugs you both. You know he wanted a family after the band but are just excited he’s excited for one a little early!

Rain: At first you thought you had made a mistake when Rain seemed a little sour at first. He had made a face when you told him what happened . But you quickly came to find that he just hates when humans do these vile things. Rain scooped the kit up with your permission and looked at you. “Do you really want to do this? I need to know we are both committed before I get too attached.” Neither of you had discussed starting a family before this. It was time for you two to talk about it and be 100% sure you both were ready for the responsibility. But when you saw the kit fall asleep on Rain, you knew it was meant to be.

Sunshine: They didn’t really know you could just… do that? I mean sure, in Hell you can adopt any kit you find abandoned. But wouldn’t the humans get suspicious if they saw you both with a baby out of no where? Sunshine doesn’t think about it too hard once the baby is in their arms. they’ll explain to Papa and Sister eventually! Sunshine is admittedly a little scared to raise the kit in the human realm. They are still super new to human culture and is scared of raising a kit outside of Hell. But they trust you since you were summoned for way longer! Sunshine wants to introduce the kit to the band as soon as possible!

Aurora: She takes to the kit almost as fast as you did! You both realize later that your kit has quintessence as their element. No wonder! You three bonded so strongly it would be impossible to separate your new family. Aurora is not shy to immediately go to Papa and have a long list of supplies and accommodations you will all need. Papa is bewildered but can’t find it in him to say no to the confident ghoulette and her demands. All you originally wanted was just for your mate to be ok with adopting. But you won’t say no to all of the perks! It’s how she got you both a bigger living quarters, kit supplies, and even new furniture! The only thing you two end up bickering about is names. So far you might compromise on an Opera inspired name.

Sodo/Ember: He’s mad at first. No. NO NO NO NO NO! You can’t just come home with a FAILED SUMMON KIT! You both can get in serious trouble and- one angry look from you kept your fire ghoul from arguing more. But he INSISTS this is YOUR issue, not his! …. Until he realizes the baby is a fire kit… and also really cute… and awww, look at how the kit likes you already. Fine. Sodo eventually relents when it’s his turn to hold the kit and the small ghoul falls asleep in his arms. When you try to take the kit back he pulls away protectively. Eventually you hear a “Fuck you, babe, if you think I’m changing diapers!!”

[zoros-bandana]

Flowers - A Valentine's Day Post

(SFW)

Fluff/slight angst?/innocently idiotic Zoro

Warning: arguments, miscommunication

Summary: With Valentines Day fast approaching, Zoro gets reminded of his deeply rooted crush, leading to a series of troublesome ideas to ask you to be his.

Word Count: 2,200

Zoro huffed, dragging his feet behind Luffy as they followed Nami through the markets, under strict orders not to touch anything.

Every now and then his ears would prick, straining his eye over to where Sanji stood, showing you some beautifully inscribed vase or necklace he insisted matched your eyes. Your voice and laugher was always stronger with the cook, annoying him just that little bit more seeing you with him.

His mind would often wonder whenever he looked to you, wishing that it was him you were laughing alongside, leaning against as you immersed yourself in your amusement. You would always look so beautiful, so perfect, curling your lips in a smile that he would tear the world apart just to see one last time.

“Oi! Zoro!”

Zoro turned, realising his friend had ventured on ahead of them, lost in his own wishes. Grumbling to himself he steered away from you, dragging Luffy away to carry on as Nami's protective boarder.

Once again she had stopped at a stall, glistening in jewellery and items that deemed expensive but classy to her taste. Ignore her entourage - except for times when it suited her - left Zoro in charge of Luffy, making sure he kept himself occupied, but not enough to start unwanted trouble. His job was a painful reminder he wasn't chosen to accompany you instead, wishing to venture with the cook for reasons unknown to Zoro.

With one hand constantly on Luffy and in sight of both himself and Nami, Zoro admitted he had earned his reward, constantly distracting himself with whichever way you walked; following the sweet scent of your perfume.

“Why don’t you just ask her out already?” Nami questioned, realising her friends distracted state; met with no word after repeating her previous question to him.

Zoro looked back at the navigator, confused. “Huh? Who?”

“Y/n” Nami said simply, picking up an old map to inspect. “It’s clear you have a crush on her and with Valentine’s Day coming up it seems the time to do so. Take her on a date for Valentine's Day, Zoro”

Luffy laughed, amused at the prospect of his friends together. "You and Y/n?"

Zoro blushed.

"What about us?"

Attention moved to you, interrupting the conversation. Sanji stood close to you, sharing the same confused pout, both flickering your eyes between the three for answers. Zoro knew he had to move fast, quickly cutting Luffy off before he blurted out his feelings; knowing a secret was never safe with him.

"We're the worst with directions"

"The idiot finally admitted it..." Sanji laughed, his voice low.

"Uh-huh..." you hummed, unsure how to properly respond to his statement.

Turning around you fell in tune with Luffy, who had easily slipped from Zoro's grip, listening as he edged Sanji for a peak into the food basket at hand, wishing for an early lunch. Zoro stayed behind, shrinking further away as you began to walk, wishing to space himself out of embarrassment.

Nami sighed, standing next to Zoro, disappointed in how the interaction played out. She understood her friend was hopeless with love, however, she never realised how much he needed guidance to kick things off.

"Don't listen to him" Nami shrugged off the captain "just ask her"

"All you have to do is something nice for her and she'll be yours; trust me"

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

A pinch of regret sunk Zoro's stomach, watching Chopper run away from him, crying and calling out your name. He followed behind, half stalling, knowing how easy it would be to get your attention this way. Executing his plan was easy, doing it every so often just to have you interact with him, knowing he wasn't good at initiating things himself. He didn't care you would be mad at him for scaring Chopper, half the time he wasn't listening to what you were saying, just how you said it.

There was a twang in your voice, even when mad, that was sweet and melodic, making it hard to take you seriously. Zoro was aware he was larger, stronger, so any attempt of a physical fight you were out of your depth; another reason for him to pursue this crazy idea. It hadn't occurred to him that he would ask you out this way, he didn't plan on extending things further than this, but now he had a motive and was more willing to do something about it.

Zoro stopped, watching as Chopper ran into your open arms, hypnotised by how sweet you were with him; as how you were with everyone.

Well, almost everyone.

"Again? Seriously, Zoro?"

Rolling his eyes, Zoro attempted to act annoyed, not wishing to sink to the level of the shitty ero-cook.

He wasn't a simp like Sanji was.

Even if your voice lit up the room, stopping everyone who was close by just to get a chance to hear your charm, your wit, your jokes.

So what if you showed the most class and elegance even on the battle field, weaving through enemies as if you could do it in your sleep?

He didn't care that the morning light would always hit your face first thing in the morning, radiating you in a halo of gold as you sat across from him at breakfast.

That every single feature of you was carved so ethereal he would swear he was dreaming if it weren't for the song-like call parting through a pair of beautifully plump lips-

"He got in my way, ya know how it is"

You scoffed.

A horrific sound to Zoro's ears, aimed directly at him.

"Actually, no I don't" you stood up, holding Chopper to your chest. His body hung tightly to you, like a suffering child against their mothers chest. "Chopper doesn't deserve your kind of insatiable behaviour!"

"I don't even know what that means" Zoro spat, getting caught up in the growing tension, more aggressive than he intended.

"It means you can be such an asshole, especially to those who don't deserve that treatment!"

"It's only because I-" Zoro fumbled for the right words, choking as his confession brimmed, losing his train of thought.

"What?" your tone stayed bitter.

He wanted to tell you, to let you know that he did it to talk to you, knowing you always came to Chopper's aid. He wanted to admit it was because he wanted to ask you out on a date, to be his valentine. But he also knew you were upset, caused by his action, and it was beyond his capability knowing if you would say yes like this.

Realising this wasn't the time, Zoro sighed. "Don't worry about it, Y/n, it's nothing to concern yourself with"

Before you could argue more, he turned, storming back to his post to nap, ignoring the growing heat in his face.

He needed to try something else.

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

Sitting across from you, Zoro smiled to himself, enjoying the scene as you chose the seat opposite him at the table; a few spare seats littering the table to chose from. He took your seat as a good sign, picking your view of him over the likes of any of your other friends.

You had calmed down from the brief argument shared a few days prior, softer around him, even dismissing the slight comments shared between him and the young doctor. Using your distraction of the sniper beside you to his advantage, he continued to look over at you, ignoring the cooks growing suspicion.

"Oi, Marimo, quit gazing at sweet Y/n-swan like that!"

Zoro could feel the room grow quiet, hearing Sanji's claim, averting their attention towards him. Even through his embarrassment he continued looking at you, unable to avert his eyes as you met him; sharing an embarrassed look of your own. He noted how sweetly the blush formed across your cheeks, making you seem innocently angelic, framing your face beautifully. He also noted how he had been quiet for a while, needing to come up with an excuse.

And fast.

"Ya know I don't think I will"

Your voice carried over to him, low and timid; curious. "And why not?"

"Because you're so..."

Think, Zoro, think.

"Impressionable"

"Impressionable?"

"My" Sanji snickered, "that's a big word for you"

"I mean..."

What is that other big word Robin said? A? Ap? Appeal?

"Appalling to look at!"

Shit, he didn't mean to say that.

Your face dropped, distressed from his choice of word, mute to his fumbles to collect himself. Somehow the room got quieter, everybody knowing he messed up, unsure of how to assist him out of this mess; and neither was Zoro.

Quickly dodging Sanji's leg attack, Zoro pulled back away from the table, quickly drawing his sword. He hoped to rectify his mistake, after shaking off Sanji, however the brief glimpses of your face caused immense shame. You had cowered away, hiding your face as Robin consoled you, her arm around you.

Maybe he would take Nami's advice after all.

Do something nice for you.

Something more than his poor choices of words could do.

But what?

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

Fluttering his eyes open at the sound of the door close, Zoro knew he was now in the clear. It was late morning, leaving the rest of the crew occupied with various activities, yourself included, Zoro able to rest against the railing situated opposite the flower bed.

He knew you and Chopper were proud of this feat, straining the growth against treacherous and unpredictable weather. And in turn leaving an array of vibrant spikes of colour drawing the crews eye as they passed. Even Zoro fell to their pull, smiling to himself as he passed, blindsided by their elating abilities.

Making his way over to the patch he quickly snapped into action, aware he could be sprung any moment. Grabbing his fist to the stems of the flowers, he yanked hard, ripping up the flowers complete with dirt and exposed roots attached.

Satisfied with his catch, Zoro ventured to the girls room, eager to place his confession for you on the end of your bed. He thought it was obvious what he was doing, overhearing your keen interest in flowers and Sanji's blabbering of spoiling women with bunches of flowers.

You were going to love this.

How could you not?

Throwing the bunch on your bed, he pulled the note from his pocket, marked with a simple 'Z' for easy collection once found. Confident with his plan he smiled to himself, knowing the two-bit chef would just have to find someone else to ardour over.

For Zoro had finally won.

He would finally get his date.

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

"What the hell, Zoro!"

"Huh?"

Zoro looked up towards you, confused of you sudden outburst into the crows nest. You had interrupted his training, to which he usually would not mind, however, there was something resentful in how you appeared; throwing him off.

"Flowers? Really? MY flowers? You know it really must be some sick joke you're playing on me, terrorising me these past days"

Zoro turned to face you, unclear at what you were saying; never expecting you to be ungrateful for his act of service.

"I thought girls liked flowers?"

"They do, Zoro, when presented as a gift not littered all over my bed like a dog ripping up the yard! You knew that I was saving those flowers for Chopper's medicine"

His voice dropped, realising his mistake, his body washing over in regret. To him, he had done the purest act of affection he could, hoping to persuade you over. But in reality he made the situation worse, only pushing you further away from him. Every attempt he made only rooted a deep loathing for him, twisting him up inside. He only wanted to do something different, something bold, unsure how exactly to act; new to these feelings he had for you.

Remorseful, Zoro's face grew an embarrassingly bright red. "I thought you liked flowers..."

"I-" you hesitated, realising the change in tone. "Why do you care if I like flowers?"

"Because"

"Because what?" you pressed. "And don't try and shrug it off again, Zoro, I need you to answer me"

"Because" he repeated, looking further away from you hoping it would give him space. "Because I like you"

Silence filled the room, making Zoro squirm, he hated that deafening sound not knowing whether it was good or bad. He needed to say something, more than just a bleak confession, something just to fill the gap between you both.

"I like you, and I wanted to ask you to be my valentine but I didn't know how"

Again, it was silent.

Clearing his throat he pepped up his voice, growing colder. "But I know you're going out with curly-brow, anyway"

"Sanji?"

You laughed, taken aback, a weird mix of relief and amusement of his confession and wrong accusation. "Why the hell would I be going out with Sanji? I like you, Zoro, despite your rather idiotic attempts"

Knitting his brows together, Zoro thought for a moment, collecting himself. If what you were saying was true, than that meant…

"So I still have a chance?"

"You always did, all you had to do was ask me"

Your words surged some confidence into the swordsman, a typical cocky smirk finding its way to his face. Standing up straight Zoro came towards you, strutting much more prideful, freezing you in place. As he reached you, his hands came out to scoop behind you, wrapping you up in one quick swoop.

"Well in that case..." Zoro pulled you close to him, letting his hard body press firmly against you. His hands fell wonderfully into the curve of your back, holding you comfortably, as if he had done this many times before. Your hands fell against his chest, feeling his heart hammer rapidly against your palm, exposing his growing lust. His face lingered just above you, studying your expression before continuing, knowing full well he had your attention; making his next move his most simplest yet.

"Will you be my valentine, Y/n?"

[eldritch-spouse]

So uh just finished story about how we met krulu and lud and i got a random ahh idea

What if when we got possessed by krulu, instead of being infatuated with them, we start acting as pink pearl (steven universe) when she was possessed?

Like, no opinion/feelings/etc. we're literally a shell of a person we were before who's only task is to be a perfect vessel and do their job

That would lead back to the husk scenario, which I'm unsure if you've read, but it's somewhere in Krulu's masterlist.

Indifference is not acceptable, it's about the same as directly disobeying Krulu. If this is your attitude, then Krulu has no use letting you be a person, you will become a true vessel, alive yet not living, a being who has a methodic routine and executes certain tasks automatically, then remains static in wait for Krulu to take it over.

It's almost verbatim what happens in the husk scenario, including the way he may or may not come to regret his decision.

[popstarbarbiee]

Drowning In the Shallows

<prev next>

Vought Tower loomed over the city like a monolith of power and corruption. Its glass walls reflected the sun’s light, casting long shadows across the streets below. Inside, everything was sleek and modern, polished to a mirror shine — the perfect facade for a company that made heroes look like gods while hiding the rot beneath the surface.

Logan had never cared for places like this, and the thought of walking into Vought Tower made his skin crawl. But this time, he had a reason to be here. A reason that had been gnawing at him for days, ever since that night when he saw The Deep again.

He had spent years running from the past, convincing himself that he didn’t need to look back. But seeing The Deep after all this time had shaken something loose inside him. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he couldn’t just let it end like that — not without at least trying to make things right.

So here he was, standing in the middle of the tower’s pristine lobby, feeling out of place in his worn leather jacket and battle-scarred body. The place smelled like bleach and money, and it was packed with people — executives, tourists, and hero-obsessed fans hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite Supes. Logan felt like an alien among them, his skin crawling with the need to get out.

He approached the front desk, his gruff demeanor earning wary glances from the staff.

“I’m here to see The Deep,” Logan said, his voice low and gravelly.

The receptionist looked up at him, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of him. She fumbled with her keyboard before finally stammering out, “Uh, The Deep is, um, in a meeting right now. He’s not taking visitors—”

Logan’s expression darkened. “Tell him Logan’s here. I’ll wait.”

The receptionist opened her mouth to protest but quickly decided against it, nodding and picking up the phone. After a moment of hushed conversation, she looked back at Logan, her face pale.

“Go on up,” she said quietly. “He’s in the executive suite.”

Logan grunted his thanks and made his way to the elevator, ignoring the curious stares that followed him. He didn’t care about the spectacle. All that mattered was getting to The Deep.

As the elevator doors slid open on the top floor, Logan stepped out into the hallway, his sharp senses already picking up the faint scent of the ocean that always clung to The Deep. He followed it until he reached a set of heavy double doors, the nameplate beside them reading, *"The Deep — Hero Liaison."*

Taking a deep breath, Logan pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

The office was large, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city below. The Deep stood by the window, his back to Logan, staring out at the horizon as if he hadn’t noticed him enter. But Logan knew better. The tension in The Deep’s shoulders, the way his body had gone still — he knew The Deep had sensed him.

“Deep,” Logan said quietly, stepping closer.

The Deep turned around slowly, and Logan’s heart sank at the sight of him. He looked tired, worn down in a way that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion. His face was paler, his eyes duller, as though something had drained the life out of him. But it wasn’t just that. There was something else — something dark lurking beneath the surface.

“What are you doing here, Logan?” The Deep asked, his voice flat.

Logan scratched the back of his neck, unsure how to start. He’d never been good with words, never been the kind of guy who knew how to express what he was feeling. But he was here now, and he couldn’t back out. Not after everything.

“I came to apologize,” Logan said gruffly. “For how things ended between us. For not… handling it right.”

The Deep raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s been years, Logan. Why now?”

Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because seeing you again… it made me realize that I never really gave us a chance. I was too caught up in my own shit to see what was right in front of me. And I’m sorry for that.”

For a moment, The Deep just stared at him, his expression unreadable. Then he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re too late, Logan.”

Logan frowned, stepping closer. “What do you mean?”

The Deep’s eyes flickered with something dark, something that made Logan’s gut twist with unease. “I’ve moved on,” he said quietly. “I’m with someone now.”

Logan’s heart sank. He had expected The Deep to move on, of course. It had been years since they’d last seen each other. But hearing it still hurt in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Who?” Logan asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

Before The Deep could answer, the door to the office swung open, and Logan’s blood ran cold.

Homelander.

The so-called hero strode into the room with an air of smug superiority, his white cape billowing behind him as if he were some kind of god descending from the heavens. His eyes narrowed when he saw Logan, a small, almost predatory smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, well, well,” Homelander drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. “If it isn’t the famous Wolverine. I’d say it’s a pleasure, but…” He smirked, glancing at The Deep with an almost possessive glint in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Logan’s fists clenched at his sides. His claws itched to break through his skin, but he held them back — barely. The last thing he wanted was to start a fight in the middle of Vought Tower. But the sight of Homelander standing so close to The Deep, so smug and self-assured, made Logan’s blood boil.

“I came to talk to The Deep,” Logan said through gritted teeth, his gaze fixed on Homelander.

Homelander’s smile widened. “Oh, did you now?” He stepped closer to The Deep, wrapping an arm around his waist in a show of dominance. “Well, whatever you came to say, it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s with me now.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to The Deep, searching for something — anything — that would tell him this wasn’t real, that The Deep wasn’t actually with *him*. But The Deep didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on the floor, his body tense under Homelander’s touch.

“Is this what you want?” Logan asked, his voice low and rough. “Is this who you’ve chosen?”

The Deep finally looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of shame and resignation. “It’s… complicated,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

Logan felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He could see it now — the truth written all over The Deep’s face. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t even happiness. This was something else entirely, something dark and twisted. It was the same look Logan had seen on the faces of people who had been broken down, controlled by fear.

“You don’t have to stay with him,” Logan said quietly, taking a step closer. “You deserve better than this.”

Homelander let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Oh, please. You think you’re some kind of knight in shining armor? Newsflash, buddy — he’s mine. And he’s not going anywhere.”

Logan’s claws slid out with a menacing *snikt*, his eyes burning with fury. “Get your hands off him,” he growled.

Homelander’s smile faded, replaced by a look of cold menace. He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. “I don’t think you understand how this works, Wolverine,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. You don’t get to tell *him* what to do.”

Logan was ready to lunge, ready to tear into Homelander, to rip him apart piece by piece. But then he felt a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“Don’t,” The Deep whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Please, Logan. Just… don’t.”

Logan’s claws retracted with a soft *snikt*, his eyes filled with frustration and pain. He looked at The Deep, his heart breaking at the sight of him — so broken, so defeated.

“You deserve better,” Logan whispered.

The Deep looked away, his eyes filled with unshed tears. “Maybe I do,” he said quietly. “But this is my life now.”

Logan stood there for a long moment, his chest aching with the weight of everything he couldn’t say, everything he couldn’t fix. He had come here hoping to make things right, but now, standing in front of The Deep, he realized that some things were too far gone.

With a heavy heart, Logan turned and walked out of the office, leaving The Deep behind. As he stepped into the elevator, he could feel Homelander’s eyes on him, could hear the faint sound of mocking laughter echoing in his ears.

But Logan didn’t look back.

He couldn’t.

Not anymore.

[scarletwritesshit]

Louis Guiabern x Will🐍One Last Dance

🐍 V. And we know that for those who love the Count all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.

"…A fellow king?" Will asked, tilting his head. "What do you mean by that?"

"In due time, the answer will be clear to you,” Louis said, sliding his hand off of Will’s shoulder. "But for now, our destination is what you should prioritize."

"Where are we going?"

Louis gazed out into the distance. From where Will was standing, all he could see were more hills and trees.

"Port Brilehaven. A most lovely stop for prestigious nobles, I’d say."

"Isn’t that the next stop of the race for the crown? I thought that you weren’t participating."

"I am not. I cannot be bothered with some frivolous nonsense."

"Yet you still want to be king?"

"The outcome of the race has no real bearing on who ascends to the throne. In the end, it’s the favorability of the people that determines who becomes king. As you know, I have yet to lift a finger, yet the support for me is overwhelming."

He unfortunately had a point that the amount of support he had was frighteningly overwhelming. All it would take for him to claim the spot of number one was one well executed move. Or one well timed assassination.

"Then, why are you heading to the port?"

"For nothing more than a bit of relaxation. A most grand soiree, to keep everyone’s mind off of the recent happenings."

"And to gain some more favor with the people, I bet."

Louis smiled and laughed. "You catch on quickly. But for the time being, we have yet to even touchdown, so preparations this early for something even on a grand scale would be rather pointless."

"So you uh, don’t need me for anything?"

"Nonsense! You’re an accomplice, not a housekeeper. Take this time to get to know your fellow compatriots."

"...Wont they spit on some stray elda aboard their ship?"

"Basilio and Fidelio have that taken care of. And if one of them so as much dares to look at you wrong, do not hesitate to give me the word."

Louis left Will’s side and departed with one final wave, presumably to return to his quarters. Will watched Louis carefully until he was out of sight, but instead of taking any sort of action, he stood around unsure of where to go next.

"That guy's got it bad for you," Gallica teased.

"W-what? You think so?" Will stammered, his face flushing.

"With the way he acts, it’s sort of hard to not think that. But don’t tell me that you-"

"I don’t! I wasn’t prepared for this kind of attention, that’s all!"

"I was joking, but for some reason, I feel like you aren’t."

"Never mind that. If we’re going to be stuck here, might as well try to get something good out of it."

"Leech him dry of his resources while he’s so enthusiastic about having you on board. I like the way you think."

Putting it that way, Will almost felt bad for exploiting such free reign. If Louis was the one playing foul, wouldn’t Will be no better?

Why should he care? Louis was offering up run of the gauntlet runner to him on a silver platter.

Before he could think about doing anything outrageous, he should first familiarize himself with the gauntlet runner and its occupants. It would do him some good to make himself be known as something other than “that elda the boss likes for some reason.” Maybe then, his presence would begin to feel more natural for both him and the other soldiers. And that’s when his window of opportunity would open up.

He wandered around aimlessly attempting to find an area of respite. Most of the guards were on duty, or at least acting like such in order to do as little work as possible.

"Maybe we should ask one of them for directions?" Gallica suggested after a while.

Will looked at one of the guards, then back at Gallica.

"You really think they’re going to respond to me?" Will asked.

"Well, if your Louis's new favorite little elda boytoy that he’s telling the run of the gauntlet runner about, then I would assume so."

“Only one way to find out,” Will said, walking up to one of the guards.

The man didn’t move nor did he respond to Will’s approach. It was a good sign that even if he wasn’t openly welcomed; at least he wasn’t shooed away on sight. What were they going to do to him? Throw him off of an airborne gauntlet runner?

Oh right. These were Louis’s troops. That wouldn’t be entirely out of character for them to do so.

“…Excuse me?” Will said, for lack of a better conversation starter.

The guard didn’t budge an inch, but Will could only assume that he glanced out of the corner of his eye to see who was speaking to him.

“You’re the new one here, aren’t you?” the guard asked.

“Did Louis at least make you aware that I was coming on board?” Will asked.

“All he told me was that he bought a little elda boy on board and to not skewer him on sight. Safe to assume that that’s you, because where else are you going to find the likes of you in this day and age?”

“Unless there’s a secret second elda that he slipped aboard, I do believe that he’s talking about me.”

“A witty one. No wonder why the boss has taken quite the fancy to you. Somewhere you’re looking for?”

That’s the thing. Will didn’t know what he was looking for.  He knew that he was looking for some manner of undoing the curse on the prince, or a way to slip by the king’s magic and assassinate Louis, but as for what he was doing in the present moment was still a mystery even to him. Gallica didn’t seem to have thought that far herself.

Will’s stomach answered that debate for him.

“The mess hall, I presume?” the soldier asked.

“Y-yeah.”

“Shoulda just said that. Not surprised you’d be starving especially after dealing with the handful that the boss can be,” the soldier said, pointing to a door. “Through there. It’s not easy to miss.”

“Much obliged,” Will said, waving as he and Gallica started towards the door.

“No need for thanks,’ the soldier said, “…especially if you really are the boss’s new plaything.”

The mess hall was somehow both what he expected and absolutely nothing like he envisioned. Soldiers gathered around to eat and chat, though lively, was somehow kept rather clean for what it was. And the food itself didn’t look half bad as well. No surprise that someone who could afford a fortress on wings could also have rather appealing food for all of his troops as well.

There seemed to be a line for food, so Will simply followed the others who were still waiting and waited alongside them. At least, he hoped he was doing things properly. Being in the personal gauntlet runner of a tyrant he was aiming to kill had him questioning every single movement of his, down to if he was standing properly. Much to his pleasant surprise, he was able to get himself a hefty serving hassle free.

The soldiers around him were probably thinking something along the lines of, “oh, it’s that damn elda boy the boss bought on board,” if he was going off of what the one guard said to him as he was seeking directions. They have been awfully quiet, and it felt a little too easy being able to simply be able to walk around without being turned away. Perhaps these people were of a much higher standing, and they had far more self-respect than to blatantly harass someone simply because of their birth. It was a hint of genuine proof towards the ideal future that Louis had been working quite hard to promote as part of his campaign.

Maybe there was a strange truth to his words after all?

No, there was still plenty of room to doubt a man who slew people for fun. Besides, how much could be gathered from a room full of hungry soldiers on their down time anyways?

“You there! The lil’ elda kid!” one of the soldiers shouted.

“Huh? Me?” Will asked, being snapped out of his daydream.

“Ya see any others like you lot around? You look a lil’ lost! Come sit with us! I promise we don’t bite!”

Will looked at Gallica for a second seeking out her silent approval. However, she seemed rather indifferent, and shrugged her arms. It would be rather rude to decline their offer at this rate, so Will sat down on the side opposite of two seemingly joyous soldiers.

“So you’re the new one among the count’s ranks, eh?” the soldier asked, sloshing around a cup of what Will could only assume was alcohol.

“Careful,” Gallica advised, “who knows how rowdy drunken soldiers could get.”

Will glanced at her briefly and nodded his head. “What gave that away?”

“Oh, I dunno. Your lack of armor? The fact that we ain��t got no elda for as far as the eye can see?”

“It is certainly…an interesting twist to see an elda being welcomed by Louis himself so openly, but I guess he’s serious about this whole ‘uniting the tribes’ thing,” the other soldier said, leisurely eating away at his food.

“It’s kinda bullshit,” the apparent drunkard said, “Spend my whole life bustin’ my ass for a chance for having him even bother to look in my direction, and he just picks up this little elda brat for shits n’ giggles.”

“In all truth and fairness, we don’t have any elda on board. Can’t act like you want to unite the tribes if you don’t got all of the tribes to unite.”

“Doesn’t that bastard value skill and usefulness above all else? Most that little brat has is pretty privilege. It’s a wee bit hypocritical if ya ask me.”

“He does seem to take unconventional measures sometimes. Besides, you did mention usefulness. Maybe this kid has some sort of other value to him?”

“Oh, and I don’t? The one that goes out to slaughter things on the front lines for him? Bullshit!”

“You…do realize we can still hear you, right?” Gallica said.

“I can’t even begin to guess with that bastard. You could go up and ask him for all I’d care, but he would probably give you some nasty ass laugh and shoo you away saying that the lesser have no business with such.

“I think that’s a no,” Will said, in response to Gallica.

His earlier theory had practically been disproven, at the very least. One less excuse to show empathy for his target, thankfully. Once the soldiers got started on their complaints regarding Louis and his leadership, they seemed to show no remorse for their words. Will couldn’t tell if that was how they truly felt, or it was just the alcohol distorting their thoughts about the count.

Some complaints felt directed more towards Will. Others seemed to be more open complaints about the Louis. Not like he could do anything about them regardless.

Will did continue to simply try and eat his food as he listened to the two soldiers run their mouths. As the drunkard went on and on, he couldn’t help but feel like his complaints were becoming increasingly directed towards Will.

“Oh, we work our asses off for years to try and hold some form of respectable position within that bastard’s ranks, but he picks up this little blue thing and decides THAT’S what he wants to dolt on?”

Just keep chewing your food like you don’t hear anything, Will thought.

“How many kills you got in the name of the count? None! I got plenty under my belt and I’m lumped in as as the same as everyone else!”

He doesn’t know about the countless monsters I’ve slain or the dragon I drove off. Probably best right now. Will thought, continuing to chew his food.

“Oh, I’ll get another kill for him right here and now!” the agitated, drunken soldier shouted as he stood up. “I’ll take out this piece of shit rat he left scurrying around!”

You’re gonna kill yourself? Will thought.

Trembling from the intoxication, the soldier unsheathed his blade with eyes focused on Will. Quietly chewing and vaguely listening to his troubles no longer was an effective means of keeping Will out of trouble. With a mouthful of food, he froze chewing, eyes wide and focused on the blade being clumsily raised above him. The soldier was about to shout his victory cry, but his attention was focused elsewhere behind Will for only a split second before he froze completely and dropped his sword.

Will could see a shadow looming from behind, but he had no interest in turning around to confirm who it was. He almost didn’t have to, as who else could enact such fear into a soldier so quickly?

“Mind repeating some of your kind words? I seem to have missed them,” Louis said.

“…S-Sir. I was just talking about you,” the intoxicated guard stuttered.

The other soldier, though partially an accomplice in this, leaned away to the side to disassociate himself from his supposed pal. So much for the concept of loyalty.

Louis leaned down just close enough as to where Will could see him out of the corner of his eye.

“Now, didn’t I tell you to not hesitate to call me if things go awry?” he said.

Will swallowed the half-chewed bite of food in his mouth that he had forgotten about.

“No need to be so nervous,” Louis said, smiling as gently as a snake could manage. “We are allies, are we not?”

“Y-yeah, we are,” Will said, despite the looming mission of having to kill Louis himself.

The count invited himself to inch closer, resting his head on Will’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around his small body. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the fear-struck soldier, as if he were a wolf protecting his freshly caught kill. Though Will was appreciative of his efforts to drive off the man that would have decapitated him if he were a moment too late, he can’t help but feel as if this was a little bit overboard.

“You want to take a strike at our beloved elda comrade?” Louis tempted.

Our? You mean your…Will thought.

The soldier shook his head and backed off.

“Precisely what I thought. Wouldn’t want such a pretty face to be ravaged by uncouth blood like your own,” Louis said, leaning closer into Will.

With the strangest tinge of sincerity in every whisper of sweet nothings, Will wondered if his words were twisted in such a faction to circumvent the skeletons he hid in his closet. But they were said with such truthfulness, and that was no touch of a man who was a mere liar and nothing more.

“There is no need to fear any longer, for I shall assure you that he will no longer cause you any inconvenience.”

Will blinked his eyes a few times as the reality of the situation began to sink in. Seconds away from getting his head sliced off from just minding his own business, and now the man he was driven to kill had his neck mere inches away from his hand. Most tempting to draw blood from, if the king’s magic were not at play.

The two supposed mortal enemies disregarded their theoretical hate for each other, as Louis glared at the drunken soldier with a ravenous smile. He hardly seemed insulted in any way. In fact, it was almost as if a treacherous idea came into his mind.

“You despise me that much, no?” Louis asked.

The soldier went wide eyed with fear.

“Then I shall do you a favor, and remove you from my ranks swiftly and promptly.”

Louis released Will from his hold and stepped up onto the chair, lunging forward at the soldier with such blinding speed. The sound of his blade being drawn cut through Will’s ears, but he could not see what was happening in front of him, for Louis’s cape shielded his eyes from the panicked soldier.

Though Will could not directly see what was unfolding in front of him, he still had some field of vision around the sides of his cape. Out of the corner of the eye, he saw the “accomplice” of the soldier falling off of his chair in utter terror and shock. And for a good reason too. Louis swiftly slashed his blade to the side, drenching those unlucky enough to be caught in the crossfire in blood.

[polyklok]

your first ask (Murderface x reader) was incredible and so sweet 😭 can I request another Murderface but this time kind of the reverse situation, with him comforting an s/o who's feeling insecure (maybe about their own appearance?) Thanks! ❤

I’m so sorry it took me forever to answer this!! Life has been kicking my ass, but after a couple weeks it’s done! Had a lot of fun writing this (also, I heavily assumed this was another female reader)

TW: More swearing, physically-insecure reader, Murderface pervs for a little bit, lots of crying, also I’m posting this like 3 minutes after finishing it so it might be a little messy

You were unsure whether to laugh or cry, staring at yourself in the mirror in a ridiculous excuse of a dress. It had looked bad on the hanger, it felt bad as you put it on, but this was just…horrendous!

Tonight was stressful enough. Dethklok was having a party to celebrate their latest album release. Well, it was formal, so less of a party and more so a gathering of big-name executives, celebrities, and plenty of press. Press that would inevitably take pictures and ask questions of everyone there. Including you, for tonight would also be your first public appearance of Murderface’s ‘new’ girlfriend.

Charles had already warned you; you’d be surrounded with cameras, you’d be asked a thousand questions, your every movement would be documented, and the next day, there would be a critique of your every aspect online. The whole thought made you nauseous but William was excited to show you off, so you went with it.

Or…you would have if it weren’t for the dress that had been picked for you. Never before have you doubted Dethklok’s stylists; they had already done your hair and makeup so well! But the little number you were in was atrocious, to say the least.

It was made up of black leather that clung to your skin, hugging your breasts uncomfortably. The torso was covered in metal studs and spikes, making it impossible to place your arms in any natural position. The skirt was had a strange tutu effect, and yet was so short it nearly flashed your ass for the world to see. It was tacky, awkward, and completely informal! Maybe it would’ve worked as some sort of cheap, sexy Halloween costume in a bag…fit for a little girl.

Muddy, black tears began to creep down your cheeks. You held your head up high, desperate to not let them fall. How could master designers make…this?! There was no way something could fail so badly. Was it…you? You let out a pained sob, deciding that there was no way in hell you’d be leaving this room tonight.

“Hey, babe!”

You froze. Not him. Not now. You wiped away your tears, smudging your makeup further onto your face, “Uh, yeah William?”

“Are you ready? I wanna schow thosch fuckersch my girl!” You could see the shadows of his boots shuffle happily from underneath the door, his tone was so optimistic, especially compared to how he usually was about social events. It broke your heart.

“I-I’m sick! I suddenly caught a stomach bug. I’m sorry, but-“

“WHAT?”

He turned the doorknob so hard, the lock broke. You cringed; it was easy to forget just how strong Murderface could be. You yelped, “William!”

He stared at you, slightly impressed at first. Your thighs and cleavage were on full display. But, as his eyes trailed up to your face, teary and smeared with mascara, his heart fell like a rock into his stomach, “Babe?”

You hiccuped, trying to keep up your lie despite the obvious, “I’m si-ick.”

Murderface stood for a bit, unsure on what to do. His instinct yelled at him to protect you…but from what? He moved close, taking your hand in his and looking into your watery eyes. His chest hurt, seeing you so upset.

“I’m sorry,” You said, “I just can’t-“

“What’sch wrong?”

His voice was so soft, so concerned. You broke down, shoving your face into the crook of his neck, “I look so fucking stupid, William.”

He squeezed your torso, wanting to tell you all the sweetest, sappiest things but unable to find the words to do so. “It isch kinda a schtupid dresch,” He managed, feeling the random spikes and stiff leather. He didn’t have a knack for fashion, but if he looked past all the skin that it showed, he could see that it wasn’t the most…flattering outfit.

His reply made you chuckle in between your sobs, “I’m sorry, Murderface. I can’t do it,” You pulled back, looking at him, “Its more than the dress, it’s all those expectations! I don’t want to go out there, looking like this and being stared at and ruining your reputation because I wasn’t good enough!”

It felt good to say, to let out all the pressure. And yet, the fear doubled once you reached the realization. You weren’t ready. You loved Murderface, but he came with a price and you weren’t sure you could pay it.

“You, not good enougch?” He gasped, taking a step back, “You’re…fuchkin’ wonderful! My reputation isch’nt schit-“

“William, don’t.”

“Compared to…Urgch, lischen, I don’t really give a fuck about the fuchkin’ presch or anything. They’re aschholesch. It doesch’nt matter how dumb your dresch looksch or how you anschwer their fuggin’ questionsch, they’re probably gonna hate you.”

You sighed, slumping down onto your bed. Several pops emitted from the dress, giving some slack from the fabric. “So I’m fucked?”

He sat next to you, eyes focused on the floor. “But I really love you. Like, a lot. Scho…yeah, shcrew the goddamn presch.”

His face was beet red, hands gripping knees. While, his affection towards you was obvious (especially considering how he treated most others) he has never said those three words before.

“Oh, William.”

Murderface tugged at his tie and kicked off his boots, “Fuchk it. Charlesch’ll yell at me later. I don’t wanna do this schit without you.”

“You don’t have to-“

“Schut up, I’m going to.”

You smiled, eyes still sore from all your crying and face sticky with makeup, “I love you too, Murderface.”

[josefavomjaaga]

Marshal Ney in Galicia

In 1902, an author named comte de la Bédoyère (I do not know if and how related to the la Bédoyère executed in 1815) wrote a book about Marshal Michel Ney, mostly about his trial and execution. But the appendix also contains several other documents, among them excerpts from the memoirs of a certain general Béchet, Ney's aide-de-camp. The part I translated is about the first months of 1809, Ney's time in Galicia, after Napoleon in January 1809 had quit Spain for France and had left the task of conquering Portugal to his subordinates.

Marshal Soult was put in charge of this operation, in which he was to be assisted by Marshal Ney. The Marshal had sent me to Marshal Soult to discuss with him the positions which the troops of our corps would occupy as his troops moved towards Portugal. I found him near the place of Ferrol, which had not yet been surrendered (it was surrendered the next day). He didn't receive me too well, not because he resented me or even knew me, but because he wasn't on very good terms with my patron. I thought I would starve to death in that unfortunate town of Ferrol, where I had great difficulty in getting a bite to eat, as Marshal Soult had not invited me to dine with his officers.

Bad Soult! Don't kill the messenger (or in this case, don't let him starve) just because it's a messenger from Ney...

I'm unsure what the two marshals had agreed upon with regards to the placement of Ney's troops, who, as Béchet says himself, had the task to support and thus to stay in contact with Soult's corps in Portugal. However, given the two marshals were "not on very good terms" with each other, Ney probably followed a primal instinct and tried to get as much distance between himself and Soult as possible, in going north to La Coruna, while Soult went south into Portugal. Communications soon were interrupted not only with Soult's expedition corps but also with Madrid. But it seems Ney & C. did not mind too much:

Our stay in this town was not without its pleasures. Sometimes we played whist at the marshal's house at one napoleon a card. One evening I lost twenty cards, I didn't have such a large sum with me and I asked the Marshal to give me credit; he sometimes demanded them back from me in jest, I replied in the same tone, and I ended up not paying him. The Marshal, who had only rare relations with King Joseph because the roads were interrupted by the guerillas, was regarded by the Spaniards as the viceroy of the province and had all the powers.

To which I have two remarks: 1) Some people were accused of wanting to make themselves king whenever they found themselves in a similar position. Just saying. And 2) Ney and his aides were not alone in regarding the interruption of communication by guerillas as a given, and to pay little attention to it. Joseph and Jourdan in Madrid, too, waited for an explicit order from an exasperated Napoleon before sending Kellermann to reopen communications with Ney in Galicia (with Soult in Portugal there was no contact at all).

And now comes a rather ... interesting story about what "viceroy" Ney was up to in this new domain of his:

He had the idea of visiting all the women's convents, and there were many, and of telling the nuns and novices that all those who had entered them against their will could leave if they wished. It was playing the role of the tempter, but such was the spirit of the time, and we thought we were doing a meritorious work by acting in this way.

I'm sure you did, you little prick...

In a convent where the nuns had the reputation of being very fanatical, a young novice, with a charming face, threw herself crying at the feet of the Marshal and addressed him in Spanish in a speech that we still only barely understood. Our hearts went out to her, and already more than one gallant knight was offering her his services, ...

Uh-huh...

... but our interpreter told us that, on the contrary, she announced to the Marshal that the Virgin had appeared to her that night, and warned her that that very day she would obtain the dispensation of age necessary to make her vows, and that she had no doubt that the Marshal was the envoy from heaven who had come to grant her the grace she was seeking. The Marshal replied that it did not depend on him, but that he would write to the court. So much for our tender feelings. In fact, I seem to recall that only one of these ladies took advantage of the freedom offered to her; she left the convent to marry an officer who took her back to France with him.

Must have been quite a blow to the self-esteem of all those "gallant knights" trying to free poor enslaved women, for utterly unselfish reasons, of course.

[thevanillerose]

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The Festival of Light…

It was more than a celebration; it was a tradition. Thankfully your journey happened to bring you here in time to experience it for yourselves.

Lanterns floated and swayed above the winding cobblestone streets like suspended stars, illuminating every corner with a warm glow, welcome in the cool night. The main square was utterly alive with color and sound: vendors shouting over one another to sell their wares, the soft hum of music played on stringed instruments, and the laughter of children weaving through the crowd with sparklers in hand.

You moved through the throng, trying to avoid bumping into anyone, taking it all in. Every turn you took showed something new and exciting—a stall laden with shimmering trinkets, another piled high with pastries dusted in powdered sugar, a pair of beautifully dressed dancers spinning gracefully in time with the live music. The smell of roasted chestnuts mingled with the sweetness of candied apples, and the sheer energy of it all had your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. It was well needed.

Trailing behind you, Stark was a bit overwhelmed. You could see it in the way his eyes darted between the stalls, his hands flexing awkwardly at his sides, unsure of what to do with himself.

“So…uh…this is a big deal, huh?” he asked in a mousey voice, almost drowned out by the din around you. He adjusted the strap of his axe, even though it wasn’t slipping.

You slowed your pace, looking on in some wonder, “Yeah, must be. It reminds me of the festival we used to have in my hometown. My father always used to take me.”

“Oh,” he said, his eyes flicking to a nearby stall selling lanterns shaped like animals. “That sounds… nice.”

“It was.” you beamed, nostalgia warming your expression, “I loved everything about it, but the best part was always the sparring competition. My dad loved it—he said it wasn’t a real festival until we watched at least one match.”

Stark followed your line of sight to the roped-off arena, where a small crowd had gathered to cheer on two fighters locked in combat. His brow furrowed slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching downward, as the sound of metal on metal reached his ears.

“Doesn’t seem very…festive,” he muttered.

Laughing softly, you shook your head. “I’m sure it’s more fun than it looks. And besides, I think there’s something inspiring about it—watching people put their all into a fight. Whether they win or not.”

Stark didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he kept his gaze on the arena, his jaw tightening. You could tell he was thinking—turning something over in his head with slow and paranoid care, overthinking as usual. When he finally spoke, his voice was a little too loud, a little too forced.

“Guess I should sign up, then.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? You don’t have to—”

“No, it’s fine,” he interrupted, puffing his chest up. “I mean, why not? It could be fun.”

His attempt at bravado was so transparent that it almost made you laugh, but the determination in his eyes stopped you. He wasn’t doing this for himself. The realization made your chest ache, a quiet warmth blooming in its place. You’d often wondered…

“Alright,” you said softly, your smile turning more genuine. “If you’re sure. I’ll be cheering for you.”

The effect was immediate. Stark froze, his cheeks going pink, and then he quickly turned away, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch. He marched toward the sign-up booth with all the grace of a man heading to his own execution.

You followed at a distance, biting back a grin as he scribbled his name onto the parchment. His hand was shaking so badly that the clerk gave him a puzzled look, but he didn’t seem to notice. When he turned back to you, his grin was painfully forced.

“All set,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Easy.”

The next competition began just as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of orange and violet, matching well with the cozy golden glow of the lanterns. You found a spot near the front of the crowd, wanting a good view, watching intently as the first two competitors stepped into the ring.

The matches were fast-paced and intense, more so than you’d been anticipating, drawing cheers and gasps from the audience. Fighters of all shapes and sizes took turns in the ring—some wielding swords, others axes, and a few even fighting barehanded. While you clapped along with the crowd, your focus kept drifting back to Stark. 

He was standing near the edge of the arena, his arms crossed and his expression carefully neutral. But you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped against his arm as he watched, his mind clearly whirring.

When his name was called—“Stark of Eisen!”—you felt your heart leap. The crowd erupted into cheers as he took a deep, heaving breath, and stepped into the ring. Clapping loudly, you hoped he could hear you. When he met your gaze for a brief moment, smiling awkwardly, you knew he had.

He straightened a little, drawing his weapon with a flourish that was more theatrical than practical, and paced forward to the center of the dirt ring.

From the other side of the crowd his opponent emerged; a towering man with his own axe, so massive it seemed almost comical. But there was nothing funny about it. When he swung, it was with brutal, surprising precision, forcing Stark to dodge and parry frantically, with every ounce of speed and strength that he had. 

At first, Stark held his own, landing a few solid strikes that drew cheers from the crowd. You cheered along with them, your voice rising above the noise. Confidence grew in him, and in you, as it seemed he might actually have this in the bag.

But as the fight dragged on, it became clear that the odds were against him. The other axe-wielder’s ruthless assault began to wear Stark down, his movements growing slower with each exchange. A near miss even clipped his clothes, tearing a strip out of his sleeve.

You clenched your fists, willing him to hold on, whispering his name worriedly, but when the final blow came—a heavy strike that sent him sprawling into the dirt—you couldn’t help but yelp with shock.

The match was over.

The crowd applauded the victor, but your focus stayed on Stark. He pushed himself to his feet, accepting his opponent’s hand with a forced smile, and then retreated to the edge of the square, his shoulders slumped. He didn’t look back as the next match began.

Pursuing, you found him leaning against a wooden post near an empty stall, his head bowed. His hands were clenched into fists, and his expression was a mix of frustration and defeat.

“Stark?” you called softly.

He flinched but didn’t turn. “Don’t bother,” he muttered. “I know I messed up.”

You stepped closer, frowning. “Messed up? Stark, you did great.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “I lost. First round. Doesn’t sound great to me.”

Sighing gently, you shook your head.

“You didn’t lose because you weren’t good enough,” you said firmly. “You gave it everything you had, against someone twice your size. That’s more than most people would do.”

He turned to face you then, his eyes searching yours. Momentarily, he was silent, a heavy pause settling between the two of you. But then, he spoke again.

“I just… I wanted to win,” he admitted quietly. “For you.”

Your breath caught at the confession, and warmth spread through you like the glow of the lanterns above. It was something you had been suspecting for some time now, but had never had the courage to confirm directly. Yet it had been so obvious…just how your companion felt…

Tentatively, shyly, you reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. He stiffened at first, but his grip soon relaxed under yours.

“Stark,” you said softly, “you don’t have to win to impress me. You already have. You always do.”

Eyes widening, for a moment, he looked like he didn’t believe you. But then his expression softened, and his stance relaxed.

“Thanks,” he murmured sincerely. “I… I needed that.”

You smiled, your grip tightening slightly. “Anytime. Now, come on—you owe me a lantern wish.”

His smile growing, cheeks flushing, he let you pull him back toward the square. For the first time that evening, or perhaps in his entire life, Stark looked truly at ease.

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[sullina]

The TC not wanting war did help with their reputation. The other clans now doesn't see the demon clan as cruel and mercilessly monsters.

It did help with the clans pov if it weren't for Dubs letting them watch the outside world. They were sure if they weren't watching the outside world for so long they would have wage war, kill Mel and Mel neglecting himself even more than before (Canon version)

Although I also think Dubs ACTUALLY didn't mean for this to happen. It wasn't even done, he rushed to make the seal after the goddesses order him to make it.

You know it would be cute if the demon children asked the TC to take care of Mel when they got out. They know the TC are the only demons who will get released from the seal as much as they don't like it. Which Zel nodded his head, giving them a fond smile, and gave the children a pat on their heads.

Mel: If you guys restart the war, I won't hesitate to-

Zeldris: CATCH HIM!

Mel: Eh???

Anyways when the TC were trying to catch Mel when he teleported to them like the game of tag or cat and mouse. Fraudrin was just watching in the distance sweatdropping with a dumbfounded face. Unable to comprehend what his leader just order him to do.

Cancelling the plan to get revenge on that traitorous bastard.

Fraudrin: I DID IT! NOW WE CAN GET REVENGE FROM THAT TRAITOROUS BASTA-

TC: Uh... yeah, so we decided we're not gonna restart the war and get revenge on Meliodas

Fraudrin: ...

Fraudrin: WHAT?!?!

The TC still didn't explain why they decided to cancel their original plan but they were able to fill it when TC explained it to Mel after they calm him down.

The realization hit him like a truck.

Fraudrin: My- my hard work...🥲

The TC give Mel a barebones explanation that still leaves way too many questions. They planned to have him at least take a nap while they hunted for food, but Mel was teleported back to the Sins thanks to Merlin. Although maybe the commandments that were touching him came with him? Or not? Still unsure about that one tbh.

As for Fraudrin, he definitely feels a tiny bit betrayed. He spent more than 10 years hatching and executing a plan to get his people free, so they could finally take what (in his eyes) belongs to them (Britannia and the magic that comes from it), only for the commandments to go "nah, changed our minds".

[perelka-l]

Do you have any HCs about Proton or Petrel? Weirdly, I have brainworms abt them today, akin to hurt/comfort shipping, but idk if I consider their relationship platonic or what. I definitely think of them as close. Proton is an evil little freak who’s gone through the wringer, and Petrel is so laid back + morally grey that he literally doesn’t care what an evil little freak Proton is. (Other people read it as Petrel being THAT dumb and unaware…but that ain’t it, he’s just consciously giving Proton a pass because Whatever)

I’ve been playing around with this HC that Proton lowkey hates Giovanni because he more or less wants to BE him (power-wise - like he’s just got so much rage in there, and subconsciously, he has decided that having MEGA-CONTROL will fix it), but it’s starting to..become apparent + difficult to suppress. Like he’s toeing the line of like bEEFING with Giovanni which is obviously incredibly stupid…but Proton may be incredibly stupid…like that is not going to work out well for him, but he’s such a spiteful dude that he can barely help himself

I like to think that if you squint, all Executives are at the very least platonic towards each other. They've been through some proper shit together and there is definitely some bonding stemming from that. Brothers in arms, so to speak. But you know. More mafia/yakuza-ish. They maybe wouldn't die for each other, but kill? Sure.

With Petrel, 100% of my headcanon about him stems from this fic on pokanon kink meme (which, as a side note, nicely matches Pokemas portrayal as well. I like his consistency). Well, ok, 80%. I have some more thoughts about him that stem from nowhere.

First thing is that I see him as oldest out of the bunch. Maybe not as old as Giovanni (maybe) but old enough to possibly even remember Madame Boss. I like to think him getting as far in the ladder as he did stems from survival instincts and capabilities but also that he just was in TR for quite a while, and his slow climb just happened over time. And yeah, he is very morally grey, he can be nice but it would be dangerous to assume he is nice.

And Proton is... yeah. Youngest of the bunch and I saw him once described as a both a rabid dog to sic at target and most spoiled little cat which both match him, I think. He does feel a bit spoiled, but I think it is tied with the fact that he can be quite violent (I also have a Formative Kink Meme Fic for that, but this one I will not link. It's Proton/Silver and ngl, it was one of the most uncomfortable things I have ever read for sheer amount of triggers. Formative but MAN was it uncomfortable. Feel free to ask me but. Uh. Yeah.) and TR serves him to satisfy that. In some other fic, don't remember which one now, I saw someone theorize that possibly Proton's loyalty sides more with Archer, since Archer know how to use him well, as well as after when Giovanni was gone.

By the way, what do you mean by "gone through wringer"? I know what it means but I am unsure what you mean by that.

Proton, in pokemas at least, claims that he admired Giovanni due to him being "ruthlessly decisive". But at the same time Proton is made a bit more into a joke which... I can see why they would do it, it's easier to make him funny than make him serious in that particular franchise, and I politely ignore that bit while nodding in understanding. Though OK, bootlegs is vile shit. But back to main point - I can see where you come from and I think following that line of thought that what would make Proton envious of Giovanni is his, in a sense, freedom.

Giovanni has plenty of responsibilities that, I would imagine, Proton wouldn't ever wish to shoulder (I like to think his executive task first things first is to be a scarecrow to keep grunts in check...) but at the same time Proton could burn for the way Gio has enough power to handle it all and control and decide freely what to use, even with Proton, and do so effectively. And Proton could probably wish to have that, freedom to do as he wished, to decide what to do. He is young (I wouldn't say he is older than in his early 20s), so he wants all the power without responsibilities coming from it (gah, sudden spiderman!). I could imagine that when Giovanni leaves, Proton is hit with injustice of it. Giovanni can just leave. Can just go, drop everything that Proton thought he desires and vanish into thin air. And Proton is tied to TR because this is his protection and this is where he can do what he wishes to do (as in, violence) and be protected for that from police and such. He wished for that. He can't ever have that.

Everybody being aware of Protons issues could be amusing, and Petrel being the one to keep him in line is a nice thought. Petrel seen it all, knows how TR works better than most, Proton being a bitch is honestly not the worst he's seen but he is aware what the result can be, maybe saw such a few times. And he likes Proton, he's a skilled kid, would be a shame to have him disappeared if Giovanni's amusement over his antics turn into anger (And that would probably fall to Archer and Petrel knows Archer likes Proton as well but Archer's loyalty overrules literally everything else and wouldn't even blink if Giovanni decided enough is enough). (Also, now I ponder on Giovanni personally manhandling Proton when he gets a bit irked a bit and whoa oh erm whoa)

Thank fuck Proton is as reliable as he is, dangle a task in front of his nose and he'd follow, a rabid dog eager to sink his fangs into something. Petrel though knows how to handle the leash so Proton won't bite the hand that feeds him.

[sylvarantii]

Alright, finally getting around to the 6th movie, The Phantom of Baker Street.

So, first off, wasn't expecting that twist of it taking place in virtual reality. That was kind of neat, but I feel like this sort of premise would've worked a tad better if it had been more like one where they jump through the different worlds offered rather than just focus on one.

I get it, it's Detective Conan, so the obvious choice is to go for the Sherlock Holmes themed one, but still, I don't know. Had a good idea, but I'm a little unsure about how much I liked the execution.

That said, I thought the characters were handled well in this movie. And even the snobby brats ended up having their merit. I do admittedly like those sorts of plots where children from a prestigious background go through something life changing and come out of it better. I much more prefer a moral story of, "You don't always have to end up like your parents and can become a better person despite your upbringing." It's nice.

The entirety of the Sherlock Holmes world within the VR game was pretty cool too. It made me giggle that since Shinichi's dad and Professor Agasa were the ones that developed the game, they made themselves Sherlock and Watson. It was cute!

And how sweet for Yusaku to make his wife Irene Adler. I don't know, it was just goofy in a, "I really love them being self indulgent" sort of way.

Also holy shit, we finally get some screentime for Yusaku??? No offense to Yukiko cause I love her dearly and enjoy both of Shinichi's parents, but I swear to god, we RARELY get anything with his dad. At least his mom has shown up a few times in the anime, but man, what a rarity.

And just like I hoped, the "sacrifice" scenes from each kid getting a game over were just as emotional as I wanted them to be. It's the feeling of Shinichi/Conan losing everyone around him (but not really). Ran's part was so heart wrenching, thank you to the team. It was every bit of a tear jerker as I wanted it to be. Giving me that good angst and I love it.

As usual, I unfortunately have to bitch about the fact that these movies have SUCH a slow crawl to the main part. Like I get it, this happens with a lot of movies because you have to fill up so much time, but sometimes it is just painful. At least the very beginning is very eye catching and gets you sucked into it.

Good news is I can say this movie felt more like a cinematic experience rather than just something that could've been put into episodes of the anime, so yeah, I appreciate that.

The, uh, twist at the end was a bit funny (to me anyway) I guess. Like, I don't know, sometimes the reasoning for the antagonists are just strange and this one kinda falls into that category as far as motives go. But you know, whatever. I don't hate it, don't love it. I'm just kinda shrugging my shoulders like, "Okay, sure."

So, let's see...Where to put this movie this time?

1.) The Fourteenth Target (2nd Movie)

2.) The Time Bombed Skyscraper (1st Movie)

3.) Captured in Her Eyes (4th Movie)

4.) The Phantom of Baker Street (6th Movie)

5.) Countdown to Heaven (5th Movie)

6.) The Wizard of the Last Century (3rd Movie)

4th place seems good. I still don't think I liked it as much as Captured in Her Eyes, but eh, feels more memorable than Countdown to Heaven. I've kinda forgotten already a lot of what happened in that movie.

My apologies once again to Wizard of the Last Century for still remaining dead last.

On a side note, almost up to episode 700. I'm more than halfway through the series now! Whoo hoo!