#it is the most natural thing in the world to care for and get to know and anticipate the needs of another person
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DPxDC Heritance
There's not much left for Tim in his parents' wills. Or, well, not much by his standards - the rest of the family, barring Bruce and Damian, think he is absolutely loaded and too full of himself to care. Which is maybe a little bit true; receiving about a dozen properties across the world, a trust fund and a wide collection of artifacts that his parents have accumulated through years of their archeological escapades is a lot by middle class standards.
But Tim knows how much money Drakes actually had, and a few old houses and an assembly of junk seems like not much in comparison.
In any case, it's all rather useless in Tim's position. He has no interest in traveling aside from when he has to for a mission, and he couldn't give less shits about archeology even if he tried. The trust fund is fine, he guesses, but it's not like he needs it, what with being the CEO of Wayne Enterprises and one of the Wayne Wards.
So, as morbid as it is, the best reaction he can muster at his inheritance is a shrug and a mention in his mile-long list of 'things I need to figure out when I have time'. Which basically means he'll maybe get to it when he's old and retired, and not any sooner, because Tim Drake the CEO and Red Robin the vigilante are both very, very busy people who never have time.
Naturally, his life has other plans, and it's only two or three months later that Tim finds himself breaking through the balcony window of his own apartment in Praha.
It's at that moment, when he's lying on top of a soft persian rug, surrounded by glass shards and wondering if this move was enough to lose his tail that he realizes his inheritance might be slightly more than just a few properties and some boxes with old things.
Because, through his own heavy breathing, he hears a thoughtful, slightly sarcastic voice from inside the room, "I guess the door was too hard to figure out for you, wasn't it."
He sits up, turning his head so sharply it almost snaps. His eyes immediately fall on a boy not much older than him, sitting with one leg thrown over the other on the dark red couch near the wall. He looks like he clearly belongs here: white, vintage collar shirt and black, high-waist trousers, a silver ring on his thumb that looks too old to have been bought in this century, dark raven hair and perfect porcelain skin.
And he is reading a newspaper. Like a slightly bleeding costumed guy in a domino mask breaking the window and falling onto the carpet is just another Tuesday.
Hold on, this is Tim's house! He double-checked the address, there's no mistake!
"Who are you?" He demands, frowning, as his hands reach to the birdarangs out of habit.
"Keeper of Doors," the boy answers, not looking up and flipping the page, "And you're the Drakes' heir, I assume."
Tim blinks. The response provides no actual answers, it only creates more questions. "What doors?" He asks because the rest of the points can most likely be addressed later. Like the issue of his busted secret identity, right.
The boy sighs and closes the newspaper, folding it in half and uncrossing his legs to sit a bit straighter. "Doors, capital 'D'. The ones that lead everywhere you want."
"The what?.." Tim repeats, dumbfounded and lost in this unexpected nonsense. The boy gives him a truly unimpressed look, his eyebrow twitching. Then, he stands up - Tim's fingers close around the birdarang again - and steps towards the nearest door, grabbing the handle. His feet make absolutely no sound.
"Drake manor," the boy announces and pushes the door open. He doesn't step through, however, instead just standing in the doorway and turning back to Tim, gesturing for him to look.
Tim does.
Seeing the familiar hall, the one he's seen so many times, the one he walked through every day before he moved out, makes him realize a few things at once. One, he needs to revise the list of houses he inherited since it looks like they are not just properties but a map of teleportation points, most likely. Two, his parents knew full well he didn't need the trust fund, it wasn't for him, it was probably for this boy, who may or may not be the, well, gatekeeper. Three, if the first part of his inheritance turned out to be this, he is going to need to call in Zatanna to sort through the collection of his parents' artifacts lest something turns out to be actually cursed in there.
Four, he's been staring at the boy and gaping like a fish for longer than its socially acceptable.
"...What's your name?" He asks, suddenly conscious about the fact he was kind of rude before. The boy snorts, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he closes the door back.
"Danny," he introduces and snaps his fingers. The glass shards around Tim move all at once, rising from the ground and going back towards the window, like a reversed video recording. A second later, the balcony window looks as good as new, not a crack in the glass. "And you?"
"Red Ro-" Tim starts, but then pauses. Fuck it, he might as well, "Tim."
Danny waves his hand in the air, like snatching something out of nowhere, and, just like that, there's a box that looks suspiciously like a first-aid kit in his hands.
"Nice to meet you, Tim. Now, get over here and stop ruining my carpet with your blood."
#danny phantom#dpxdc#dc x dp#tim drake#batfam#batman#ancient of space danny#theres gotta be a monsters inc joke somewhere here#i just dont know where#keeper of doors#dead tired#um its implied okay#tim x danny#cork prompts#inheritance
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tbh i think it’s entirely unhelpful to classify an entire ethnicity as white or not white because really there are two different definition of “white”, at least in america, which is where i feel like the majority of the “are jews white” conversations are happening.
1. there’s the individual level of, will someone looking at you assume you to be white? this is tenuous because different people have different assumptions about what white people are supposed to look like. some people are going to look white no matter who’s looking at them. people can actively put effort into “passing” as white by doing things like straightening their hair, getting a nose job, avoiding the sun or bleaching their skin, etc. or they can put active effort into not “passing” as white by doing things like wearing their natural hair, not avoiding the sun, wearing cultural clothing that is not associated with institutional whiteness. which is the second level.
2. institutional whiteness is based in white supremacy. it doesn’t care if you look white. it cares about your pedigree. it doesn’t matter if you can pass as white if you have non white people in your lineage — which in the framework of white supremacy absolutely does include jews, and in the most extreme forms includes “non aryans.”
so if you’re a progressive person looking at a jew you think is white, you have to remember that you are not the only person looking at them. congrats, you’ve broadened your horizons on what “normal” (aka accepted by society) means but not everyone has. that jew with an aquiline nose and curly hair and fairly tanned skin might not stand out to you, but they will to someone who doesn’t consider those features to be “normal.” they might not get harassed by the cops or assumed to be an illegal immigrant, but that doesn’t mean they won’t experience antisemitism based on the way they look and it certainly doesn’t protect them from institutional oppression.
because on that institutional level, there is no world in which jews are allowed into whiteness. white supremacy is inherently exclusive of jews. full stop. white supremacy considers us to be a different race, regardless of what we look like because this is not an institution that operates on an individual level.
so yeah. i really need ppl to think beyond “well i think the jews i’ve seen look white” because 1. you are not the entire world, and 2. your individual opinion means less than nothing in the face of institutionalized white supremacy.
schrodinger's jew: jews are and are not white until an antisemite makes up their mind about which type of antisemite they want to be.
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Thread: Things Boyfriend!Jungwon Does That Make You Feel So Loved
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Jungwon always holds your hand in his pocket when it’s cold. He doesn’t say much, just tugs you closer and keeps you warm like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He sends you voice notes instead of just texting because he knows you like hearing his voice. Sometimes, he sings softly at the end without realizing it.
When you fall asleep while studying, he quietly marks your textbook so you don’t lose your place, then drapes his hoodie over you like a blanket.
Always the type to say, “Eat well, sleep early, take care,” but then stays up late just to call and make sure you actually listened.
Laughs at his own jokes and gets pouty when you don’t laugh with him. But when you finally break and giggle, he just grins and says, “Knew you’d find me funny.”
When you get a little sad or stressed, he doesn’t force you to talk. He just pulls you into a hug, pats your back, and says, “I’m here, okay?”
If you wear his sweater, he won’t ask for it back. Ever. But he’ll definitely tease you about how good you look in it.
Stares at you like you’re the only thing that matters. When you catch him, he just smiles and says, “What? Can’t I admire my favorite person?”
Acts all confident, but if you randomly hold his face and call him handsome, his ears turn bright red.
No matter how busy he is, he always makes time for you—because to Jungwon, love isn’t about big gestures, it’s about showing up, every single day.
Bonus: If boyfriend!Jungwon was real, we’d all be in trouble.
Happy Bday Jungwon my love<3. I'll make something for his bday, please wait ^^
#enhypen jungwon#jungwon fluff#jungwon x reader#jungwon scenarios#yang jungwon#enhypen au#enhypen scenarios#enhypen x reader#enhypen fic#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen fluff#kpop#kpop au#kpop fanfic#jungwon x you#jungwon x y/n#jungwon au#jungwon
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˚⟡˖ ࣪. ʚ 💌 ɞ who said that I hate you? - OO2
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˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Synopsis: Where Y/n, in an attempt to escape from Charles, her rival, fails because Charles keeps getting closer, and Y/n starts to like it.
˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Charles Leclerc x Female Reader! Red Bull Driver
˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Warnings: Cute, Charles has improved from his foolishness, nothing too serious in this one, just fluff 🤍
˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Author’s Notes: I didn’t really like this story, it feels like I couldn’t develop it very well, but I hope you like it! English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes.
˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ part one here ! 🤍
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You couldn’t deny how Charles’ proximity brought several consequences, like: the media. Everyone was speculating so many things that happened between you two, theories totally out of reality. You tried to avoid him as much as you could or push him away, but he was always there, and that irritated you.
When you thought the wave of bad luck had ended, the universe conspired against you again.
This time it wasn’t your fault. It was finally your chance to make it to the podium, you were in second place, and because of a mistake from your team, you ended up in sixteenth place. After the race, you didn’t want to talk to anyone, and everyone knew it.
Then you hear a knock on the door but completely ignore it.
“I know you’re in there,” Charles says, and you just ignore him again.
After a while, you hear another knock. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.
“Go away, Leclerc,” you say straightforwardly.
After your response, there’s a deadly silence, then you just close your eyes and sigh. But within a few seconds, you get startled when your door opens.
Clearly, Charles hadn’t left, so he decides to check and see how you’re doing, then opens the unlocked door.
“Are you crazy, you idiot?” you say, irritated as he enters, still recovering from the shock. Charles smiles and leans against the doorframe.
“Before anything, I need to know. Are you going to break something? Because if you are, just let me know and I’ll leave,” Charles asks calmly, making your blood boil.
“I’ll break you, idiot!” you say, throwing a pillow at him, which he just catches.
“Look how bold you are,” Charles laughs, and you huff.
“Go to hell.” Your voice is quieter now. “What kind of idiot enters someone’s room uninvited?”
He ignores the provocation and gets closer, throwing himself on the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Stressing yourself out alone won’t help anything, you know?” You squint your eyes at his words.
“Since when do you care about what I do?” He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches you, like he’s analyzing every expression.
“Since when did you stop hating me?” Charles says, and in that instant, you freeze.
And Charles notices.
His gaze locks on you for a second that’s too long, and for the first time, there’s something beyond rivalry there.
You look away, feeling your heart race in a way that annoys you deeply.
“Go screw yourself,” you say, still not looking at him, and Charles laughs softly.
“You’ve said that before, Y/n.”
He stands up and walks towards the door. But before leaving, he throws one last provocation:
“Try not to think too much about me, Y/n.”
And then, he leaves, leaving you even more confused and furious than before, not knowing what to respond.
( . . . )
The tension between you two grows to an unbearable point. Everything explodes in a tense practice, where Charles makes an aggressive move, and Y/n nearly hits the wall.
When you both get out of the cars, she goes straight to him in the pit lane, pushing him in the chest.
“What’s your problem?! You could’ve slammed me into the wall!”
Charles grabs her wrists, stopping her from pushing him again.
“You’re shaking. Are you scared, Y/n?” he asks, almost choking on the words.
You pull your arms forcefully, your face burning with anger.
“I will NEVER be afraid of you!”
He leans in slightly, closing the distance between them.
“Then why is your heart beating so fast?”
You pale.
Charles smiles.
You’re so angry that you almost punch him right there. But instead, you just glare at him with hatred and walk away.
But, for the first time, that hatred doesn’t feel so simple.
( . . . )
After that fight, Charles pulls back a bit. He stops provoking her so much, but Y/n misses it. This deeply irritates her.
Until one night, before an important race, she finds him alone in the pits, sitting with his arms crossed, staring at the car.
Without thinking, you approach him.
“So, you think sometimes too. I thought you only talked nonsense.” You say, stopping beside him.
Charles smiles, but doesn’t make a joke.
“Hey, what’s up, idiot? You’re way too quiet.” Her question makes him sigh.
You frown.
“Tomorrow’s gonna be tough,” Charles murmurs.
She frowns.
“You always say that, and in the end, you go speeding like there’s no tomorrow.” You respond, rolling your eyes, stating the obvious.
He lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his face.
“This time it’s weird. I’ve been feeling bad since yesterday, like I have a fever or something.” His words make you worry, but you don’t show it.
“What?”
“If they find out, they won’t let me race. So you’re the only one who knows, and if you tell anyone, you’re done.” He says jokingly, and you cross your arms, skeptical.
“So you’re gonna hide this until you pass out in the car? Great plan.”
Charles gives a slight smile.
“I thought you’d like the idea. If I pass out, you can finally get first place.” You roll your eyes, but inside, you feel a strange tightness in your chest. He was really sick. And still, he was there, ready to race.
You sigh. You didn’t understand why this feeling of worry, especially since, above all, you hated each other, right? Of course, you hated each other, and could never be friends.
“You’re an idiot. But a fast idiot.” Charles turns his face to Y/n, surprised by the concern.
“That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Charles says sincerely, and you just roll your eyes as if you hadn’t said anything, but the truth was that you were really “kind,” and you didn’t understand why.
“Don’t get used to it,” you say bluntly.
But when you leave, you hate admitting that something between you two has changed.
And you didn’t know what it was.
( . . . )
The heat inside the car was suffocating, and Charles felt the sweat trickling down his neck as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. His body felt heavy, the fever draining his strength, but he couldn’t back down.
On the radio, the voice of the team sounded distant.
“Charles, how are the conditions?” The engineer asks, as usual.
He presses the radio button, trying to sound normal.
“Everything’s under control.”
Lie.
Nothing was under control, and Charles knew it, but he couldn’t admit it. The race seemed to last longer than expected, every corner demanding more from him than he was used to. His vision seemed blurry at times, but he was already here, and there was no way to quit.
A few laps later, Y/n had already noticed something was wrong. She saw Henrique in the rearview mirror, struggling more than usual to keep pace. He wasn’t driving with his usual aggression.
“Shit, he’s worse than he seemed yesterday,” you think to yourself, growing concern building up.
You grip the steering wheel, frustrated with yourself. Why were you worrying about him?
On lap 38, a mistake. Small, but enough.
Charles brakes too late in a corner and ends up sliding, losing position to Y/n. You pass him, but, when glancing at the car beside you, you see his hand trembling on the steering wheel.
He won’t make it through the entire race.
Y/n’s engineer’s voice comes through the radio:
“Good job, P2 now. Keep pushing the leader.” Your engineer says happily, but you weren’t on the same level of happiness.
You should be satisfied. But, for the first time, you weren’t.
When the race ends, Charles can barely get out of the car. As soon as his feet hit the ground, his legs give out. The fever, the exhaustion… everything hit him at once. He stumbles a little, trying to hide it, but before he can fall, someone catches him.
You.
You hold his arm firmly, preventing him from collapsing right there.
“I knew you were gonna do this shit,” you say, irritated.
Charles lets out a weak laugh.
“And I knew you’d catch me if I fell.” Charles says, cocky, making you roll your eyes, but you don’t let go of his arm.
The journalists notice the scene and begin to approach with cameras and microphones, sniffing out an interesting moment.
Before anyone can ask anything, Y/n steps forward, blocking Charles from their view.
“No questions right now. He needs rest.” You say firmly, but the journalists don’t leave.
Charles looks at you, surprised by the attitude. He didn’t expect this from you, not really.
You look at him.
“Come on, before I regret helping you.” You say, helping him again, making his body lean against yours.
Charles smiles lightly, liking the idea of being close to you.
“That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
You sigh, impatient.
“I swear, if you say that again…” you say, impatient, but a slight blush creeping onto your face. Thankfully, you could say it was because of the race.
Charles laughs, but inside, he feels that something between you two has changed.
( . . . )
The deafening roar of the engines had faded, replaced by the cheers and applause of the crowd. You had won. Your first victory in Formula 1.
It was a dream come true, beyond just proving your ability and strength to everyone. You were radiant like never before, a genuine smile on your face.
You were on the podium, holding the trophy, champagne dripping through your fingers. Max and Lando, beside you, were smiling, but you could barely process anything. The world seemed like a blur of emotions and adrenaline. Your first victory after racing against rumors and trying to prove you were capable. And even more so, you were beside people you could trust and count on forever.
It was so rewarding.
The podium ceremony and trophy presentation, you couldn’t have been happier. Lando and Max, without excitement, sprayed champagne on you, celebrating.
When you were finally ready for interviews, you felt someone pull you by the wrist to a secluded spot.
You had seen this scene before, and your heart sank.
“Lando, please don’t tell me it’s another fake news about me,” you murmur sadly, and when you turn, you see Charles.
He says nothing. He just looks at you with an intensity that makes you forget all the confusion around you.
“You did it.” His voice is quieter than you imagined, but there’s a genuine smile on Charles’ face. You laugh, sighing.
“I did it, didn’t I? This is crazy. Doesn’t even feel real!” you say, like a child who just got a candy. You’re so happy, and it captivates your rival.
Charles hesitates for a second. You notice he wants to say something else, but at the last moment, he just smiles and pulls you into a tight, unexpected hug.
This time, you don’t resist and hug him back.
You both pull away from the hug, and the adrenaline runs through your body. Until you hear someone call your name, you quickly say a “see you later” to Charles and leave him there alone, thinking.
Charles’ heart hurt when he saw your fear that there might be more bad news about you.
It was clear Charles had been a jerk to you since he entered Formula 1, but he really didn’t understand why.
Maybe it was because pretending to hate you was easier than saying he loved you.
But he felt guilty instantly when he saw you broken, crying on Lando’s shoulder, when he saw you more vulnerable than ever.
He hated everyone who made you cry, and from that day on, he made a promise to himself: he didn’t want to be that kind of person.
The team decided to celebrate the win with a dinner. Everyone was there – the engineers, the drivers, even some members of the media. You were sitting next to Lando, listening to some nonsense joke he was telling, but you could feel a gaze on you.
When you looked up, there he was.
Charles, across the table, holding a glass, watching you like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
His eyes didn’t shift, not even when you raised an eyebrow, challenging him to say something.
And then, he smiled.
Small, discreet, but the kind of smile that made something inside you tremble.
You swallow hard and look away.
Damn it.
You turn back to Lando to hide it, but soon laugh at a completely absurd joke, laughing the same way Lando did at his own joke.
Later that night, you were outside the restaurant, enjoying the fresh air. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and the muffled sound of the celebration still echoed from inside.
“Running away from your own party?” You jump, startled, as soon as you hear someone behind you.
But as soon as you recognize the familiar voice, your heart skips a beat. You slowly turn around, and Charles is there, hands in his pockets, that intense look again.
“I just needed a moment.” You reply, looking away from Charles, now staring at the ground.
He nods and steps closer, stopping beside you. The silence between you two feels different now. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not easy to ignore either. When you look up again and look at Charles beside you, your heart skips.
Then, he extends his hand and, without warning, brushes a strand of hair from your face.
Your body stiffens. The touch is brief, but the skin where he touched feels like it’s burning. You see when Charles notices. You see when he finally understands.
And then, he smiles again.
“This might be a problem,” Charles says, looking at you with a smile. You just breathe deeply and nod, now looking away at the view in front of you. You can feel Charles staring at you.
( . . . )
In the next race, everything seemed normal. Or at least, it should have been.
You were talking with Lando and Max in the paddock, laughing at some silly thing Lando had just said. The atmosphere was light and relaxed, until you felt that gaze again.
Charles.
He was just a few meters away, arms crossed, listening to an engineer speak, but clearly not paying attention. His gaze was fixed on you. You did everything to hide the nervousness he caused, but your cheeks flushed slightly, and once again, your heart was faltering. You tried to focus on the conversation between the two drivers in front of you, but you failed miserably.
When your eyes met, something shifted. Your breath stopped in your throat, and time seemed to slow down. The only thing you could hear was your heart racing.
He squinted his eyes, as if irritated, leaving you confused. You raised an eyebrow and turned back to your friends. After a few minutes, you felt someone tap your shoulder.
You turned around and saw the person you really wanted to avoid.
“Y/n, can we talk?” Charles said, sounding irritated. You were confused and choked on your own saliva. Max raised an eyebrow, surprised by the interruption. Lando looked at you, puzzled, then looked at Max.
“Now?” You asked, suspicious.
“Now,” Charles said firmly, and you nodded, with no real option.
You said goodbye to the others and followed him to a more secluded spot. Charles took a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words, but in the end, he just blurted out:
“What were you doing with them?” He said bluntly, and you blinked, surprised. You opened your mouth and closed it, not knowing what to say.
“Excuse me?” You responded, still in shock.
“What were you doing with them? Max and Lando,” Charles repeated, moving a little closer to make sure he heard you right. You laughed in disbelief.
“Talking? Laughing? Ever heard of that?” You said, obviously crossing your arms.
He didn’t laugh. He remained serious.
“With Max? With Lando?” He asked again, and you tilted your head, still a little lost in all of this.
“Yes. What’s the problem?” You said innocently, and Charles thought it was cute, but then remembered why he was there.
Charles ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.
“The problem is that…” He stopped in the middle of the sentence, closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again, now with a determined glint.
“Forget it.” The driver in front of you took a step forward. Now, you were so close that you could smell him, a mix of fuel and expensive cologne. Charles turned around to leave, but you grabbed his wrist, freezing him in place.
“What’s wrong, Charles?” You whispered, your voice softer than you intended.
He hesitated for a moment. But only for a moment.
Then he murmured:
“I don’t like seeing you with them, I don’t know.” Charles shrugged. Your heart raced.
And for the first time, you saw in his eyes what you had only suspected before.
And you stood there for a while, just looking at each other. You sighed, half enjoying the confession, but it made you even more lost.
Then, without warning, Charles stepped closer, and again, you smelled him. You were only a few centimeters apart.
“C-Charles?” You called him.
“Yes?”
“What is this?” You asked, but completely lost in the proximity.
He didn’t answer. He just took a step forward, closing the distance between you. His hand found your face, hesitant at first, but firm enough for you to feel the warmth against your skin.
And then, without waiting any longer, Charles kissed you.
It wasn’t a rushed or uncertain kiss. It was something intense, charged with everything that had been hanging in the air for so long—unspoken teasing, glances that lasted a little too long, words never said but always felt.
You kissed him back without thinking. One of your hands grabbed his shirt, as if you needed something to hold on to. The other found his neck, feeling how he leaned in even more toward you.
The world around you disappeared.
It was just him. Just the two of you.
And when you finally pulled away, your faces still close, your breaths mixing, Charles smiled. That crooked, teasing smile, but now it was different—there was something more there now.
“Now tell me… are you still going to pretend this means nothing?”
You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you didn’t look away. With a small smile, he gently ran his thumb across your cheek before adding, almost like a whisper:
“Because I can’t, I can’t pretend and deny what I feel for you, Y/n.”
( . . . )
The tension between you two had only grown since that conversation, that kiss. You couldn’t deny your mood had undoubtedly improved.
Now, minutes before the race start, you were on the grid, mentally reviewing the strategy, trying to concentrate. But your mind kept drifting back to Charles.
Then, he appeared. The red suit, the determined eyes, but at the same time… different.
He approached without hesitation.
“Good luck, Y/n,” you loved the way he said your name.
You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Do I need it?” You asked, laughing, and Charles smiled.
He shrugged.
“No. But I needed an excuse.”
You furrowed your brow.
“An excuse for what?” You asked innocently again, and Charles smiled.
And then, again, without warning, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth.
Not a full kiss. Just a touch, a test.
But it was enough to take your breath away.
Before you could react, he was already pulling away, putting on his helmet, and heading to his car. He turned to you and winked.
You stood there, frozen.
Lando, who had seen everything, whistled. You looked at him, lost, your face turning as red as a tomato.
“That was interesting,” he said, crossing his arms. You hit his arm.
Lando laughed and raised an eyebrow. “When were you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what, Norris?” You said impatiently.
“That you two are… like this,” he pointed to you and then to Charles.
“Like what?”
“Like this!” Lando said, and you rolled your eyes. “Come on, Y/n, you used to hate each other, and now he comes and kisses you in front of everyone, not even embarrassed.”
You couldn’t respond, just shrugged.
Because, in that moment, one thing became absolutely clear.
This was no longer a game.
( . . . )
You won.
Again.
But this time, the only thing you wanted wasn’t to lift the trophy or spray champagne.
It was to find Charles.
And he knew that.
As soon as the ceremony ended, you felt a hand on your wrist. He pulled you into a corner, away from the cameras, the journalists, any distractions.
His eyes were shining, but it wasn’t just from the race.
“How many more times are we going to pretend this isn’t happening?” Your chest tightened because you knew exactly what he meant.
You exhaled, a small smile forming on your lips.
“I think it’s already enough, right? You kissed me in front of everyone, I don’t think we need to pretend anymore.” You said, smiling like a happy little girl.
His smile grew, full of something new—certainty.
“Good.” And this time, when he leaned in, there were no doubts, hesitations, or teasing.
This time, it was real. And you knew there was no turning back, so you continued.
Charles pulled back and kissed your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, looking at you with love.
“I want to hear that from you.” Charles said, holding your hand.
“Hear what?” You said, pretending not to understand, and Charles groaned, throwing his head back.
“If we’re going to be like this, I’ll say it first. Before anything, I want to apologize for being such a jerk. I thought pretending to hate you was easier than telling you how much I like you.” Charles sighed, and you felt like you were floating. Your heart leaped with joy, and the only thing you could do was hug him, so you did.
“It’s okay, Charles. This can stay in the past.” You said, still hugging him. Charles let go of you and held your waist firmly. You wrapped your arms around his neck.
“And besides, I think I like you a little too.”
“A little?” He complained, pretending to be offended.
“Yes, just a little.” You said, showing with your fingers how small the amount was. Charles laughed and gave you a quick kiss.
“You’re going to be my downfall, Y/n.” Charles said, and you kissed him.
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#charles leclerc x reader#formula one x y/n#formula 1#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#charles leclerc x female oc#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc#fanfic#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen imagine#lando norris x reader#lando norris#max verstappen#carlos sainz
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"How dare you talk about my future husband like that…"
Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort
Summary: Clayton is feeling self conscious about his eye since his injury, you are not having any of it.
Notes: I've been noticing that Clay's still got some bloodshot and damage to his eye and just wondered if he feels a little self conscious about it (even though he shouldn't because he's so handsome.)
Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)
Writing Masterlist
Clayton is staring at himself in the hallway mirror when you get home from running some errands. Turning this way and that, long fingers pulling at the skin around his left eye where it’s still somewhat bruised and swollen. The eye that is still bloodshot and damaged from the puck he took to the face a few weeks ago. It’s been a slow to heal problem, one he seemed to not be bothered by, until now.
When he lets out a rough, heavy sigh and glances over at you with a frown, you know somethings wrong before he even starts to speak. It’s all in the set of his shoulders, in the downturn of his mouth, the way he’s not smiling at seeing you back home.
"I look fucking awful right now."
The comment has you dropping your shopping bags to the floor, not caring too much about your shopping, hands falling to rest on your hips as you glare at your boyfriend. Your handsome, wonderful boyfriend who had just dared to call himself anything but.
"Take that back right now." Clay rolls his eyes at you, at the harsh tone of your voice and the way you’re standing like a disapproving parent. He knows he looks awful and doesn’t want your pity, his eye looks like someone’s burst it and the skin around is all weird mottled colours, sickly yellows and greens. It’s ugly. Disgusting. He’s surprised you’ve been able to stand looking at him the past few weeks and he doesn’t want your pity, your false reassurances.
"But, I do, my eye is so fucking messed up still...fucking ugly." The words are spat out, like they taste bad and they certainly leave a bad taste in your mouth as you close the short distance between the two of you, hands falling to his wrist, landing over his bracelets as you tug until he looks at you. Your thumb brushing against the delicate skin of his wrist.
Some of your anger, your bite is gone the moment he looks at you because he’s so…so sad, you can tell that Clayton genuinely feels like his eye is ugly, like the bruising, the bloodshot nature of it all, makes him any less wonderful. You’re not used to him being self conscious or sad, he’s always so level headed. It’s usually you in his spot and him in yours.
"How dare you talk about my future husband like that…" Your voice doesn’t have any of the bite that it might have done a few minutes ago, in fact your voice is quiet and soft as you look up at him. Your hand slips from his wrist, fingers twining with his to hold his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
"Y/N..." He groans low in his throat, deep and scratchy, head tilting and falling to his shoulder. He doesn’t believe you, you can tell, he thinks you’re just trying to make him feel better and that’s just not on.
A strand of his hair falls forward from where it had been slicked back, you reach up with your free hand to push it back and out of the way, taking the opportunity to cup his face after, fingers rubbing at the skin around his eye gently.
"I mean it. You're not ugly, it's not possible. The only thing I think when I see your eye is that I hope you're not in pain..." That’s all you’d been concerned about for the past 3 weeks, that Clay was comfortable, that every time you kissed him you weren’t causing him more pain. The idea that he wasn’t as handsome had never even crossed your mind. You’re not actually sure it’s possible for Clay to be anything but handsome.
“You don’t have to say stuff to make me feel better, baby…it’s okay, it’s ugly and it’s fine.”
“Clayton John Keller.” You snap out, hand cupping his cheek more firmly and turning his eyes to look at you, really look at you as you step further into his personal space, “Stop assuming i’m lying. I have never lied to you, not once.” It’s something you’ve never felt the need to do around Clay, even when you first started dating…it didn’t matter how bad the situation, you knew that Clay wouldn’t judge you or yell at you, so you’d never felt that panic, that need to hide anything from him and you certainly weren’t going to lie about this. “You could lose an eye, you could have bruises across your entire face, a broken nose, split lip, and I would still think you’re the most handsome man on this planet, Clayton Keller and I am not lying about that.”
“C’mon, baby, you can’t seriously tell me that this,” Clay gestures to his eye, to the big red blood spot across his sclera, “is attractive?”
“Why not? I…” He raises an eyebrow at you when you stop yourself short and you work up the bravery inside you to admit something you’ve kept quiet, “I actually think…this makes me a terrible person by the way and I'm sorry, but I actually think you look hotter injured.” You close your eyes tight, scrunching up your features, before opening one eye to check his reaction.
“What?” He’s stumped, looking at you like you just told him the president was an alien or that chocolate was actually made from insects. Clay’s mouth is open, jaw dropped just slightly, brows furrowed, blue eyes confused and it’s adorable, even if you feel embarrassed about your confession.
“Look, I know it makes me a terrible person but there’s something about you covered in blood and bruises…”
A smirk starts to grow on Clay’s face once your words sink in, the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from him since walking through the front door. His blue eyes gleam with a sort of twisted delight, a mischief that makes your stomach buzz with butterflies, as his dimples start to show on one side of his mouth.
“...Is that why you practically jumped me after the Winnipeg game, sweet girl?” You don’t even realise he’s corralling you, moving you until your back hits the hallway wall and he’s leaning over you, forearm pressed against the wall beside your head.
“Shut up…” You murmur it, unable to do much more as your body fills with giddy, nervous energy (the good kind), as your face warms and your toes curl because of how he’s looking at you, all half-lidded eyes and a toothy smirk that makes you want to scream like a teenage girl. How he ever thought he was ugly you can’t comprehend when he makes you feel like you’re combusting right now.
“...You still think I'm handsome?” It’s teasing, mischievious as he leans ever closer, until your only response is a high pitched giggle that gives you away because fuck, he’s so hot…you’re not sure how you nabbed him, what made him pick you of all people, but you’re thankful for whatever convinced him you were the one.
“Baby? Do you think i’m handsome?” He asks again because apparently your giggles aren’t enough of an answer or more accurately because he hates you and wants to torture you even as he smiles down at you all dimples and teeth.
“I always think you're handsome…especially when you smile like that.”
“C’mere,” It’s silly how he always says that, but he’s the one that moves towards you. Clay’s quick to close the distance between you, slanting his mouth over yours into a sweet but firm kiss, it lasts longer than you expect, long enough for your hands to make their way into his shoulder length strands, long enough for him to practically press you into the wall, “Thanks for keeping me in check, baby,” He’s practically murmuring it against your lips, not pulling away any further than necessary and you consider this an achievement. That you’ve taken his mood from self conscious and dower, back to teasing and sweet, back to standard Clay.
“You’re welcome.”
“Just know I'm never going to forget that you’re a little freak who thinks I'm hotter when I'm bloody.”
“Clay, I swear to God!”
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get it over with
sukuna x reader
you break down, and he holds you together, no questions asked.
masterlist
wc: 1.6k
love letter to the emotionally stunted girlies <3
content: established relationship (sort of), hurt/comfort, nothing explicit, reader breaking down, he loves you so bad, soft sukuna
+++
i’m wondering why it keeps thundering
it’s late.
sukuna expects to find you in his bed, buried in his clothes, curled up like you always are. his apartment doesn’t feel right when you’re not here—when he doesn’t see the shape of you sprawled across his mattress, dreaming in the space that somehow became yours without either of you saying it out loud.
if you are awake, you’re waiting for him. lights dim, a movie playing, stretched out on the couch like you own the place. you always greet him the same way—some lazy remark about how long he took, how you almost fell asleep waiting, how he should be grateful you stayed.
(he never says it, but he is.)
but the apartment feels wrong tonight, like it’s holding its breath.
he almost trips over your bag, your shoes, abandoned in the entryway. the lights are off, the city casting long shadows through the windows.
he pauses in the doorway, gaze sweeping over the space, something tugging at his chest. at first, he doesn’t see you.
then he finds you. on the living room floor.
small, curled in on yourself, arms around your knees, head bowed low. your jacket is still on, halfway down your shoulders, like you meant to take it off but didn’t get that far.
he watches.
you’re never like this. you hold things together better than anyone he knows. you walk through hell without flinching, without showing anything but that sharp, steady ease you wear like armor. he’s seen you pissed, triumphant, reckless. he’s seen you exhausted, on the edge of something dangerous, close to breaking but never quite there.
but this is different.
he stands there, his arms loose at his sides, breath even. it’s not hesitation, just unfamiliar ground. he doesn’t know what to do with the way your shoulders shake, the way your whole body folds into itself like something’s crushing you from the inside.
(you look like you’re trying to erase yourself. he hates it.)
something heavy settles in his chest. it’s not pity. not discomfort. some other nameless thing.
without a word, he moves. he crosses the space, lowers himself to the ground beside you, and pulls you in. his arms slip around you, steady and certain, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
won’t you just rain, and get it over with?
you don’t move.
your weight against him is hesitant at first, like you’re not sure if this is allowed. like you’re deciding if you can take this from him. he notices it in the way you hover, how your body stays tense, how you brace for something that never comes.
(you’ve never really asked sukuna for anything that matters. would you, if you knew he’d give you whatever you wanted?)
his arms stay firm around you, one hand resting at the back of your head, the other wrapped around your waist. it’s not cautious, not careful, just solid. like this is normal, even though it’s never happened before.
you smell like yourself, but also like the cold. like wind on skin, like you’ve been outside too long and the night air is still clinging to you. he knows you do that sometimes—wear yourself out on purpose, walking for hours, chasing exhaustion, outrunning whatever’s clawing at you.
it didn’t work.
because now you’re shaking, breath coming too fast, whole body trembling against him.
he feels it hit all at once. the sharp, shaky inhale you take before your body caves inward, the sudden weight of you collapsing against his chest, the way your fingers twist into his shirt, searching, clinging. like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.
you’re sobbing. hard.
sukuna doesn’t know if you even realize it. he doesn’t know if you care. you never let yourself break like this, not in front of him, not in front of anyone.
he waits for it to pass. hoping it does.
when you exhale—shaky, uneven, tired—he presses you closer, fingers curling into the fabric of your jacket like you might slip through his grip if he doesn’t.
something in his chest loosens when you don’t pull away.
he exhales too, slow and steady, trying to regulate you, trying to get you to follow. breathe with me. he doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. you always match each other this way.
you do now, too.
without thinking, he nudges his chin against your temple. a small touch. nothing, really.
but you feel it. he knows because you react—just barely, a fraction of a shift, but enough that he notices. enough that it does something to him.
he leans back against the couch, pulling you with him, guiding you down until your weight is fully against him, your head burrowed in his chest, his arms holding you steady, no space left between the two of you.
(anyone else seeing this would think they were hallucinating. you, breaking. sukuna, holding you together. sukuna doesn’t care.)
you need him. he knows, even if you never admit it.
i see you rolling it, let’s get it over with
your breathing slows first.
it’s not steady, not even—just less broken. the sharp, gasping sobs soften, unraveling into something quieter, tired, worn down by their own force. your tears still soak through his shirt, warm and damp, but they come slower now.
your body follows.
slowly, gradually, exhaustion dragging at your limbs, pulling you under like a tide. it’s like your bones have gone heavy, like you fought it as long as you could. you’re sinking further into him without even realizing it.
(you’ve been holding your breath for years. he remembers when you started. he should’ve seen this coming.)
sukuna stays still, patient in a way no one would expect from him. he doesn’t move, doesn’t risk disturbing the way you’ve practically melted into him. just lets you stay, lets you breathe. lets himself hold you like this.
the room is silent except for your breathing, the occasional hiccup from your chest.
your body loses its tension, but his mind won’t stop running. it won’t stop cataloging everything—how small you feel, how he should’ve known, how he should’ve done something before it got this bad.
this is the first time you’ve ever let him see you like this. the first time you’ve let anyone see you like this. he wonders if you’ve ever been like this at all.
eventually, you sag against him fully, exhausted, the last of your resistance slipping away.
sukuna exhales too, low and steady.
something about it feels like a truce.
he doesn’t let you go.
even though your sobs have quieted and your breathing has evened out, even though the room has settled into silence. he keeps his arms around you. not tight, not restraining. just there.
he’s not good at this kind of thing.
he doesn’t know what people are supposed to say in moments like this. doesn’t know how to string together the right words to make any of it better. doesn’t know what you need.
so he leans down, murmuring against your hair, lips brushing your temple.
“’m here.” it’s not meant to comfort you, not exactly. just to ground you. to remind you.
you shift slightly, your face still against his chest, your breath warm through the fabric of his shirt. when you finally move enough for him to see you, your face is flushed, eyes red and swollen, lips parted like you’re still catching your breath. his heart squeezes hard.
(he can see the wheels turning in your head. you’re already trying to stitch yourself back together. he wants to tell you not to bother.)
he doesn’t comment. doesn’t smirk, doesn’t mock. he just looks at you.
for once, he doesn’t have anything to say. for once, you don’t either.
it’s rare, this silence between you. he’s not sure if he likes it.
then, after a long moment, voice quiet—
”you done?”
a beat. room to say no.
it’s alright, we can roll in the clouds
you pull back first.
slowly, carefully, like you’re testing the movement. you sniff, avoiding his gaze, wiping your face with your sleeves.
sukuna lets you go, but not completely. his hands slide down your arms, slow and deliberate, settling at your wrists. his fingers don’t press, don’t hold. they just linger.
you clear your throat, shifting like you’re trying to find a normal that doesn’t exist here. “we can get up now.”
he doesn’t budge.
he just gives you this soft smile, looking way too comfortable, leaning back against the couch, watching you like he has all the time in the world.
“you first.”
silence.
neither of you move. you stare each other down for a moment.
you sigh, rolling your eyes, but you don’t pull away. instead, you settle back into him, easy, instinctive, like it’s nothing.
he feels it—the weight of you against him, the way your body relaxes back into place, the quiet trust in the way you let yourself stay.
it does something to him, the lack of hesitation.
you wouldn’t do this with anyone else. he knows that much.
(you let him hold you like this once. a lifetime ago. laughing against his throat, warm and careless and half-asleep, burrowing into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. he almost forgot what it felt like.)
he tilts his head down, presses a kiss to the top of yours and lingers there, breathing you in. he stays there longer than he means to. when he speaks, his voice is quiet, soft in a way he’d never admit.
“crybaby.”
“asshole.”
but you’re smiling now.
#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fanfic#jjk x you#jjk au#jjk hurt/comfort#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna#sukuna ryomen#jjk sukuna#jujutsu kaisen sukuna#sukuna hurt/comfort#jujutsu sukuna#fanfic#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x y/n#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#jjk drabbles#jjk fluff#hurt/comfort#Spotify#jjk ryomen#ryomen x reader#jujutsu kaisen ryomen#ryomen x you#jujutsu ryomen
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revel, i am bowing down before your feet, asking so very nicely for scavengers content...
Sure!
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A Lifeless Ordinary Pt 19
Scavengers x Reader
• “Spin treat you right?” Misfire asks as Spinister shifts against you, sitting up. And you’re painfully aware that Spin had chucked your clothes over the edge of the berth as you squirm upright, twisting so your back is to Misfire. Watching the Seeker over your shoulder when he goes over to the Medbay sink, back to you and wings up as the water runs. Spin leans to brush his jaw against the top of your head before he’s mass shifting and going after the energon. Watching him drink, you almost shriek when Misfire hook a servo against your thigh and turns you.
• Head lifting on an uncertain growl when Misfire slides a damp cloth between your thighs and you smack his hand, Spin reaches to pin his friend’s hand flat to the Medbay berth, rotor blades flicking. “Don’t.” Letting go of the cloth and holding up his hands in surrender, Spin turns his attention back to you, taking over cleaning up his mess as you just groan and lay your head against his hands.
• “Hey, didn’t mean to overstep, big guy,” Misfire says and he’s grinning when you turn your head to scowl at him. Head tipped to watch Spin drape the cloth over a servo and stroke it against you despite your efforts to shove him away because Misfire is still watching. “I’m just trying to help care for our little human.” You don’t buy that for a minute. “I mean, you heard Swindle. Humans have needs. What if you’re off the ship and Tiny goes into heat, hurting for a spike and you’re not there? I’d hate them to suffer.” Is he serious? ‘Humans don’t go into-’ you begin and Misfire presses a servo against your mouth as Spin hesitates.
• “You know, us Scavengers, we’re brothers really. Right?” Misfire grins as you shove at his servo, his head tipping when Spin removes the cloth. And you immediately try to cover yourself with your hands. “We share everything. Weapons. Engex. It’s only natural we’d share caring for Tiny here.” Hears your little exasperated huff, but Spin is listening. Or at least, doing a lot of serious frowning. Sometimes it’s hard to tell what’s going on in that damaged processor. “You want Tiny fully under all of our protection, right?”
• Misfire is using the voice. Knows that voice. It’s the one that talks him into things that usually upset Krok. But he does want you safe. You’re the most important thing to him right now. A bit of calm in the confusion of his processor. “Right,” he mutters as Misfire removes his servo and you smack him again. Because it sounds reasonable when Misfire says it. Like it’s foregone that they’d share you. You’re one of them.
• Nose scrunching to tell Misfire off, his optics dip and you tuck your thighs together, twisting so you’re not just on display. And hating that you like the way he looks at you. Fulcrum had been curious and embarrassed, but Misfire is just interested. It’s not like anything can come of anything between you and them except some harmless pleasure. Something you desperately need amid all the chaos you’ve been drowning in since ending up on that dead world. And it’s not like there are any repercussions if you did get to spend time with all of them. So you keep your mouth shut kind of hating your greedy little self.
Previous
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I figure out the story as I go with these, so they act like my drafts. Not every story will go that way, but I don’t really know which ones will until I get there if that makes sense.
#transformers x reader#scavengers x reader#idw fulcrum#idw misfire#idw krok#idw spinister#idw crankcase
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YOURS TO HOLD WILLIAM EKLUND
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Summary :: William Eklund doesn’t get jealous—not until he decides it’s necessary. One conversation, one too many laughs, and suddenly, he’s all possessive touches and dark looks. You should tease him, but maybe you like it too much. (REQUESTED)
Warnings :: small amount of jealousy (& possessiveness)
Word count :: 1.8k
William Eklund is, by all definitions, a golden retriever boyfriend—the kind of guy who radiates warmth the second he steps into a room. He’s sunshine personified, with an easy, boyish grin that never seems to fade and eyes that light up like he’s genuinely thrilled just to see you. There’s an effortless charm about him, something so naturally magnetic that it draws people in, but the way he looks at you? That’s something else entirely. It’s different. It’s devoted.
He’s always finding a way to make you laugh, whether it’s cracking a joke at his own expense, sending you goofy selfies from the locker room, or pulling you into his chest and murmuring something ridiculous just to hear you giggle against his hoodie. He thrives on your happiness, basking in it like it’s the most important thing in the world. No matter how long the day has been, no matter how exhausted he is after practice or a brutal road trip, he never hesitates to wrap you in his arms the second he sees you. And when he hugs you, it’s not just a fleeting embrace—it’s the kind where he holds you close, burying his face into your neck, letting out a deep breath like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.
After a win, it’s even more intense. The second the final buzzer sounds, before the adrenaline even has a chance to fade, he’s already searching for you in the crowd. His hair sticks to his forehead, damp with sweat, his cheeks are flushed from the effort, but none of it matters. The moment his skates hit the ice after the handshake line, he’s making a beeline for you, shoving his helmet halfway off as he grins like a little kid. His excitement is infectious—he’s breathless, exhilarated, but all he cares about is getting to you.
And when he does? He doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you in, strong arms winding around your waist as he crashes his lips against yours, completely unbothered by the cameras, the crowd, or the teasing chirps from his teammates. The only thing that exists in that moment is you. You can feel his smile against your lips, feel the way his fingers tighten just slightly like he never wants to let go. When he finally pulls back, forehead resting against yours, there’s a look in his eyes—pure love, pure adoration—like you’re the best win of all.
He’s not the jealous type. Or, at least, not usually.
William Eklund is easygoing, warm, the kind of guy who trusts you implicitly. He’s never been one to get possessive, never the boyfriend to hover or make a scene. He knows where you stand, knows that you’re his, and that’s always been enough.
But every now and then, something flickers behind those warm blue eyes. Something a little darker, a little more primal. A reminder that while he’s all golden retriever grins and easy affection, there’s a part of him that isn’t so laid-back when it comes to you.
Tonight is one of those nights.
The event is buzzing with energy, post-game adrenaline still lingering in the air as players and their significant others mix with fans, sponsors, and team staff. It’s nothing out of the ordinary—just another night of polite small talk and congratulations. You find yourself in conversation with one of the team’s new PR guys, discussing something lighthearted, your laughter slipping into the noise of the party without a second thought.
The guy’s charming, sure. Confident. But you’re just being friendly, the way you always are. What you don’t realize is that across the room, William is watching. And he doesn’t like what he sees.
His jaw tightens. His normally relaxed posture stiffens, his grip on the sweating beer bottle in his hand growing so tight that his knuckles turn white. He’s trying to be rational. He knows you love him. He knows you wouldn’t entertain anyone else. But watching another guy lean in—just a little too close, just close enough that William’s mind starts spinning—makes his patience run razor-thin.
Then you laugh.
It’s nothing more than a casual, friendly sound, but it sets something off in him. Because that’s his laugh to pull from you. His closeness to have. His spot at your side.
And then the guy leans in just a slight bit more, probably just to hear you over the music, but it doesn’t matter. Because William sees red.
Before you even register his presence, he’s there. An arm slides around your waist in one swift, decisive motion, pulling you back against a solid chest—warm and steady, yet unmistakably tense. The sudden presence sends a jolt through you, but the familiar scent of clean cologne and the faintest trace of hockey gear immediately tells you exactly who it is.
“Hey, babe,” William murmurs, his voice low, smooth, but tinged with something unmistakable—something territorial.
Your breath catches as you blink up at him, caught off guard by both his sudden arrival and the possessive energy radiating off of him in waves. His blue eyes, usually so full of light and mischief, are darker now, locked onto the PR guy with quiet intensity.
“Hey, William,” you say softly, tilting your head as you search his expression.
His grip on your waist tightens just a fraction, a silent warning as he finally turns his attention to the guy in front of you. His expression is calm—too calm—but there’s an unmistakable tension in the way his jaw is set, in the way his fingers flex slightly against your side.
“And you are?” William asks, his voice smooth and polite, but carrying just enough of an edge to make it clear he’s not in the mood for pleasantries.
The PR guy, still oblivious to the shift in energy, introduces himself with a casual ease, but William barely acknowledges it. He doesn’t shake his hand, doesn’t offer his usual friendly grin. Instead, he moves with deliberate slowness, dipping his head and pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his lips warm against your skin. He stays there just a second longer than necessary, long enough to make a point, long enough to let the other guy see.
You almost laugh. William Eklund. Jealous.
It’s ridiculous, really—this is the same guy who once tripped over his own skates mid-drill because he was too busy winking at you from across the rink. The same guy who always insists on carrying you on his back when you’re tired, who buys you stuffed animals from airport gift shops just because they remind him of you. The guy who gets chirped endlessly by his teammates for being so whipped. And yet here he is, standing tall, broad, and possessive, making it very clear that you’re off-limits.
The PR guy finally starts to catch on, his posture shifting slightly, eyes darting between you and William. He clears his throat, an awkward chuckle slipping out. “Well, I should probably—”
“Yeah, you should,” William cuts in smoothly, his voice lighter now but carrying an unmistakable finality. His golden retriever energy is nowhere to be found, replaced by something sharper, something almost wolfish. He doesn’t bother softening the words. He doesn’t need to. The message is clear.
The guy mutters a quick goodbye and excuses himself, disappearing into the crowd. As soon as he’s gone, you turn in William’s arms, crossing your arms over your chest as you peer up at him, your expression caught somewhere between amused and exasperated.
“Seriously?”
William doesn’t even try to hide it. He doesn’t stammer or deflect. Instead, he looks down at you, eyes warm but smug, his grip on your waist still firm, still possessive.
“What?” His lips twitch like he’s holding back a smirk, like he knows exactly what he just did and isn’t remotely sorry for it.
“You’re jealous.”
The words slip out easily, laced with amusement as you stare up at him, waiting for his reaction.
William scoffs, rolling his eyes, but the soft pink creeping up his neck betrays him. It’s barely noticeable in the dim lighting, but you know him too well—you see the way he shifts slightly, the way his fingers twitch like he’s debating whether to defend himself or just own up to it.
“I’m not jealous,” he insists, voice light, but you can tell he’s lying.
You tilt your head, giving him a knowing look. “William.”
He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair in a mix of frustration and reluctant confession. “Okay,” he mutters, dropping the act, his voice quieter now. “Maybe a little.”
His blue eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up, holding your gaze with an intensity that sends warmth curling in your stomach. His grip on your waist tightens just slightly, like he’s making sure you’re still right there, still his.
“Can you blame me?” His voice is lower now, rougher around the edges. “Some guy’s getting all close to you, making you laugh like that…” He trails off, shaking his head, jaw tightening again for a brief second before he forces himself to relax. “I don’t like it.”
You bite your lip, trying—really trying—not to smile, but the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible to hide.
“You know I’m yours, right?” you murmur, your fingers grazing over the collar of his shirt, lightly tracing the fabric before sliding up to rest against the back of his neck.
His gaze softens at your words, but the possessiveness doesn’t fade. If anything, it settles into something deeper, something almost reverent.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, forehead dropping to rest against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “But I still don’t like it.”
A quiet laugh escapes you, and you shift on your toes, tilting your chin up just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to his jawline. You feel the way his muscles tense for a second, the way his breath hitches slightly before it evens out again.
“Well,” you hum, barely above a whisper, “if it makes you feel better…” You pause, letting your lips graze his skin before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes again. “I like it when you get a little jealous.”
A deep, rumbling chuckle escapes him, low in his chest, and just like that, your golden retriever boyfriend is back—his lips quirking into a smirk, his arms tightening around you like he has no plans of letting go anytime soon.
“Oh yeah?” His voice is teasing now, playful, but there’s still a hint of something darker lingering beneath it.
You nod, grinning. “Yeah.”
His hands slide lower, his touch firm but slow, deliberate. He leans in, so close that his lips just barely brush against yours, teasing, waiting.
“Then maybe I should remind you who you belong to,” he murmurs, voice just above a whisper, sending a shiver down your spine.
And just like that, the rest of the room fades away.
#nhl#nhl imagine#nhl x reader#nhl x you#san jose sharks#san jose sharks imagine#san jose sharks x reader#sj sharks#sj sharks imagine#san jose sharks x you#william eklund fluff#william eklund imagine#william eklund x reader#william eklund#william eklund x you#777bae’s requests#777bae#we72 imagine#we72 x reader#we72#we72 x you
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what do u think about romance abolition? i recently discovered that i dont think romance actually exists as in i think every relationship every person has with anyone is unique and different. the concept of romance is rooted in a lof of our opressive systems and aphobia is inherently tied to it. i think these labels of being in a "romantic" relationship endanger everyone due to a percieved wrong clearness of what their relationship boundaries and expectations are and it also devalues "platonic" (and a lot other) relationships.
i also recommend the aromantic manifesto blog on here to kind of get part of the concept im talking abt
this comes from the mind of an audhd aroace trans person, if thats of any relevance!
thank u for ur blog an your opinions ⭐
I am fairly receptive to the idea that romance as we currently conceive of it is a recent cultural invention that is pretty ahistorical, and that is used to further the isolation of individuals from community. but also, I don't think we are going to get anywhere as a social or political movement in denying the feelings that a majority of people have, myself very much among them.
Even if it is all born of cultural conditioning, the cat is kind of out of the bag, and a great deal of us experience a romantic drive, romantic longings, close attachments that are romantic that we experience as distinct from non-romantic attachments, and view romance as a meaningful fount of inspiration in our art, sexualities, and even spiritualities.
I am all for a move away from amatonormativity and the primacy of the monogamous, legally committed relationship, but I do think there is something emotionally real going on there for those of us who experience it. I used to care a lot more about straightforward rationality, and after that about justice, but now I care a great deal about the emotionally felt reality of things, and the realms of life that are not easily categorized or known. I can't explain why the idea of romance is important to me, only that it is, and I personally have no desire in doing away with it.
perhaps I feel some of the resistance to the idea of romance abolition that some instantly feel when they first hear of family abolition-- The idea makes them uncomfortable because of what it sounds like, which is a threat to something that they are very bonded to.
I think on an institutional level it would be very beneficial to not tie social benefits or legal status to a person's romantic relationships. but in terms of my personal life? I draw very firm boundaries between relationships that are romantic in nature and those that are not, that is a distinction that is very important to me and I often feel really trampled upon by people who believe that no one should see a designation between those things. in most of the world writ large that's a very small problem, but I mostly run with polyamorous queer people who tend to see many of their relationships is a big mishmash of affection and commitment and friendship and that can get real fucking messy real fast in addition to being beautiful or revolutionary or what have you.
I think ultimately I'm a little bit more interested in providing the social supports and physical infrastructure that would make it more possible for individuals to form community in whatever ways that means for them. I think a lot of beneficial social changes and liberation would flow from that, rather than moving to abolish romantic relationships first.
and I really do get uncomfortable when a certain subcategory of relationally radical polyamorous queer people try to push against other people's romantic or sexual boundaries in the name of liberation; I understand if that sounds like a totally ridiculous complaint to you, the way a person complaining about veganism being forced on them almost always sounds like a overreacting cry baby, but I've been in enough toxic fucking communities since I was an 18-year-old to feel like I'm owed this grievance, and kind of want to give voice to it because I have seen people be abused in the name of otherwise really understandable ideals like these.
I think it is okay for a person to draw distinctions between their types of relationships, and to want certain forms of attachment with only certain people... there has to be a way to square this with a desire for greater community ties and interreliance. I need there to be, or it would not be a ideology I could really find myself safely within to be honest.
All that uncomfortable hand ringing aside, as a member of the asexual community and a person who does not form connections in a typical way, I have so much respect and care for my aromantic comrades and I do recognize how supremely excluded from basically every social practice and institution in the world you are, and how difficult it is for anyone to make family or build community for themselves in a world that prioritizes exclusive romantic relationships over everything. and I do really believe that fighting against that is a worthy and necessary project. I am perhaps just ultimately a bit less enlightened in terms of what I personally need and aspire to.
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the primarchs as dom/sub
sorry if this has been done before, I just couldn't get it out of my head. based this on my more dark view of the lore/universe and how I write them. there is a secret third (sixth?) option, vanilla.
nsfw, 18+ below the cut. mostly pre-heresy
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the lion: dom. top of the charts. in his everyone is there to serve him, and you are no different. into all that humiliation and degradation, thoroughly enjoys the way you writhe under him and beg him so desperately. he'll hold your face towards him and ask you if you really deserve him in that way. makes you beg until you're crying. he just looks at you lovingly and finally gives you what you want, not before he makes it agonisingly slow for you. will still please you just to prove a point and he's surprisingly good at it, especially with his huge hands and his tongue. loves you deep down, but truly believes its his place to be above you and telling you what to do. gets you to clean him up afterwards and maybe lets you lay with him.
fulgrim: switch. it's too easy to say he's into everything, but I do believe he would try everything at least once, and is happy to indulge anything he likes. sometimes that's putting a collar on you and admiring his view as he tells you step by step what you'll be doing next. sometimes it's being held down to the bed with the softest of ribbons as you pour hot wax over his chest. he wants to explore what there is to offer and if you're open to it, so is he. so that does mean odd things as well, unexpected little kinks and treats along the way. admires the marks left on both your skin and his, as long as its not permanent.
perturabo: soft dom. doesn't like giving up his control to you, but doesn't reach the hard limits of dominating you fully. his touch is soft and his words and commanding, but only because he is usually like that. probably prefers to not treat you like another one of his men behind closed doors... but still doesn't want you telling him what to do. most probably tried it once and hated it (secretly didn't mind it but he struggles with actually acting submissive, as much as he wanted to be babied some more). there's not many kind words, just pulling your hair where he wants you, grunting as a return of satisfaction, pushing your face into the mattress but giving you enough room to breathe. its a personality thing, really.
the khan: soft dom. he would explore with you, try many things to understand what they are and how they feel, but ultimately he wants to take care of you. the natural result of that is someone who's stroking your cheek and hushing away the tears as you choke on his cock for the seventh minute straight. calls you his baby (or like, something equivalent) as he watches you use him to get yourself off, whimpering and moaning his name, something which genuinely warms him. can make any day better for you, loves to whisper to you how much he cares for you, loves to make you forget anything bad happened with those hands and fingers of his. tucks you in afterwards, protects you with his whole being. aww.
leman: vanilla. my most controversial take. my feeling is he craves connection and someone who understands him, and he's a passionate lover. that isn't to say he wouldn't try being dominant or submissive (probably the latter less so) but his preference is vanilla. something pure filled with emotions. he's so caught up in the moment that he doesn't have time to stop and thinking about telling you to what to do and how to do it. he just goes with whatever happens. maybe externally he puts on a gruff and domineering persona but actually, that doesn't matter to him. he just wants to see you happy and whatever that takes he will do - so he'd happily try any of the kink stuff you wanted. just don't expect him to want to be called daddy/master/etc or submit to you.
dorn: switch. thought about him being vanilla but I don't think he would be. its an interesting world to explore. he's perceptive to whatever you need, but understands that one person has to take a submissive role, and one person a dominant role. maybe that goes to extremes sometimes and he's telling you to call him sir, or he's presenting himself to you tied up (because you may have enjoyed that), but mostly its just the soft things. likes it either way and lets you take control most of the time. only thing he's precious about is giving head, he will always do that in the most submissive way, like he's feasting on nectar from the gods, blessed with each move of his tongue. an interesting experience, to say the least.
curze: soft dom. thinks it is his place to be in control but isn't precious about it like some of his brothers. not as gentle or as caring as he could be during sex but he certainly takes the lead and has something to show about it. wraps his fingers around your neck, holds your hands down against the bed so you can't move, leaves bite after bite over your neck and chest until you're covered in a reminder that you are his. in the same vein, quite possessive, and his more dominant tendencies seem to come out of that is threatened. would probably overstimulate you to let out his frustrations and remind you again that you are his. greedy is the word. wants all of you, to himself, forever and ever. kinks is a different story, but is holding your head underwater until you cum a really dominant thing..?
sanguinius: sub. sorry but like, the first ever thing I thought about with him was calling him a good boy. a very soft lover in general, he lets you take control and thrives off being told how well he is doing, that he's the one who makes you feel this good. isn't afraid to whimper for you, lay down all his strength just so you can tie his pretty arms to the frame of a bed and stroke him over and over again until he begs for it. endures it all just so he can see you ride him. lets you push him around test him. oh, he loves it when you tease him. cockwarming. rubbing him through his clothes. whispering to him that he needs to wait, but doing everything in your power to make him cum there and then? would do absolutely anything for you.
ferrus: soft dom. a bit vanilla at first, with actions and feelings not being his strongest selling point. a man of practicalities seeks to understand everything about you and learn your interests. but of course strength and perfection is key to him. everything he does is dominant. it starts with seeking you out, pushing you against the wall, lips ghosting your ear as you feel how much he needs you. the smirk when he feels how wet you are from just... the thought of him. every movement is precise, and equally intense. you feel all of him, and he makes sure you understand that he is in control here. making up with him in this manner may result in more dominant, hot tempered moments, telling you exactly what he's going to do, and you're going to like.
angron: vanilla. maybe a bit controversial as well. was thinking soft dom but then changed my mind, he's just naturally imposing and domineering but not dominant. when he had the capability to understand love and relationships in that way, I feel it was very personal to him. he wanted to feel the truth, not arbitrary words of praise or command. so therefore it does not steer in a particularly dominant or submission direction for either of you, it's a moment of you being truly together. probably the least kinky as well imo. as time progresses it becomes more feral, more of an untamed desire, which is still unmatched to either side. personality wise he is probably more dominant though so take that as you will.
guilliman: soft sub. but like close to vanilla. he doesn't need to be told what to do or pushed around, but just a little guidance. someone to kneel beside him, stroke him slowly, maybe play around with him to test his limits, really learn to understand him. very eager to please you especially when he's between your legs looking up at you with his eyes wet and eyes devious. just tell him he did well, you enjoyed it. makes him come back for more. almost a bit timid, afraid he may hurt you in some way, shy as well. of course by the time he is resurrected he's just baby boy™ but also a regent so the second he has some time away from, you know, being the regent, he just wants forget everything else going on and get lost in you.
mortarion: dom. how could he be anything else? at first its just letting out his frustrations but then it's something more. primal. there's no maybes with him, no suggestions. he tells you what to do and you do it. sometimes he would be a bit softer, but its rare and usually when he's tired or his mind is elsewhere. he's in control of everything, he tells you when you can cum, he tells you when you can move, and god forbid you don't listen to him. if he hasn't given you permission well... its a week of edging and desperation for you. likes seeing you helpless before him. but when it's all finished and his needs are dealt with, he's got his arms around you and he won't let go. a weird way of registering his feelings.
magnus: switch. thought about this one too long. sometimes he'd love to be cared for, have his hair stroked as you praise him. other times, he's got you up against a wall and using all that size to his advantage. kind of like exploring what their is to offer, but his preferences do not lean towards dom or sub individually, maybe just a very small amount towards sub because he feels utterly useless without being told just how well he is doing. doesn't mean he's not smug about it when he finds you alone thinking about it. that's when his more dominant side comes out. if we are talking about demon form though it's definitely dom all the time.
horus: soft dom. it's not that he can't be fully dominant. he can. but why do it when he can be taken care of with soft kisses and making you happy too? hence the soft bit. likes to watch with his hand in your hair as you suck him off. tells you to take a little more of him and softly encourages you, never forces you. it's like a subtle hint, one you will get, or he'll just add a touch more dominance for show. discovers the daddy kink by accident and is fascinated with it. show daddy what a good girl you've been. holds your hands down as he's behind you. praises you gently and rewards you for small things during the day. probably loves going down on you as well as a reward for bigger things. but he'd never take it too far, he just enjoys the simpler things.
lorgar: sub. so eager to please. wants to be rewarded. he'd be on his knees for days if you'd let him, begging, wanting a small taste. even just your scent makes him hard. would wait for your command to do anything - touch himself, touch you, etcetc. whines and whimpers until you finally let him cum each time. at first its seems like he hates it but he does very much like it. any time you don't tell him what to do he looks lost and needs your guidance. based on this he would always let you be on top and especially likes it when he can look at you and worship you. every part of your body is divine to him. any time you're apart he's thinking of you and wondering when he will next get to hear your voice command him around. whipped.
vulkan: soft dom. super protective of you and isn't afraid to show it. has you take about your day as he goes down on you. tells you not to stop and looks to you curiously when you can't get your words out straight. is always so gentle though he could never reach the level of dominance like some of his brothers, its barely even soft dom - it's gentle, passionate, but every single one of his movements means something. tells you how well you are doing as you take his whole length and holds you close. likes hearing every sound you make and still asks permission to do everything, uttering things like may I? as his lips and tongue finds your body. really cautious of hurting you.
corax: dom. nothing soft about him. maybe to everyone else he looks like he would not value anything physical, but really, he's an absolute...menace? has you over his knee letting out his frustrations one spank at a time. likes it when you cry his name. rubs you through your clothes and laughs when you're an overstimulated mess on the floor. master/slave dynamic at some points. and it feels like it goes on and on for hours with him, he plays out fantasies in his head, has you on your knees then in his lap making you watch in the mirror as you cry and beg. but afterwards he would clean you up every time and fall asleep with you between his arms because he's quietly, and a lot less obviously, devoted to you too.
alpharius: soft sub. though he could be anything. i like to think one twin is soft sub and one is soft dom, which would technically make the single entity a switch. is it too late to change? considering I see him as a bit of a yandere it may be a bit of a surprise, but his darker side is outside the bedroom. inside, he is sweet and innocent, he's begging for praise and to be held. has you straddling his lap with your fingers in his mouth making him wait patiently for you to be ready to actually please him. handsy, touches you everywhere, barely contains himself around you. you'd get suspicious when he tells you to stop, throws you onto the mattress and takes you from behind... but hey, they don't know what each other are like. daydreams about you though. has a little notebook with hearts around your name but no one can see it.
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I know not everyone will agree but I hope I at least made you think!!
#primarch x reader#primarch x oc#lion el'jonson#fulgrim#perturabo#jaghatai khan#leman russ#rogal dorn#konrad curze#sanguinius#ferrus manus#angron#roboute guilliman#mortarion#Magnus the Red#horus lupercal#lorgar aurelian#Vulkan#corvus corax#alpharius omegon#hmm should they have been tagged?? idk#I feel like such a fucking boomer on here now#lua.blrb
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Finding You
Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader
Summary - The night that You and Bruce first laid eyes on one another.
Warnings - Pre-Relationship, First Meetings, Dancing, Alcohol, Age Gap, Older Man/Younger Woman.
A/N - Same 'verse as Sippin' on Sunshine and Morning Glory. As always, this fic is a standalone and does not require any previous fics to be read in order to be enjoyed.
Word Count - 2.2k
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d3867cd0d00c21e8ad3a577a84317387/ecfd2ccf485aa798-32/s400x600/db42195dce2872d74984953806af8114fbef5c53.jpg)
From the second that you entered the room, Bruce has been unable to take his eyes off of you. It’s not the half a million dollar jewels hanging from around your throat or the matching set of earrings. Nor the designer dress that is way too scandalise for an event like this that has him staring.
Sure, they drew his eye to you to begin with, but that’s true of the whole room. While most people have returned their attention back to what had hold of it before, his eyes keep coming back to you and he’s really doing his best to not appear like a leering old man.
In all honestly, he couldn’t care less about the jewels or the dress. He can certainly appreciate an attractive woman, but it’s not the sole reason he’s watching you. What has him enchanted is the way that you carry yourself.
You’re what? Half his age? At the very least? Yet you don’t bat an eye at the gossiping or the remarks that everyone has about you or your dress. One too many people bringing up one of those playboy shoots you’ve done in the past, rather loudly at that, but you don’t care. In fact, you’re smiling about it. Thriving off of it even, but not in a narcissistic way.
Bruce isn’t a betting man, but if he was he would be willing to bet half of his fortune that his was the sort of rise that you wanted out of these people tonight.
The only thing he can’t figure out is why. What do you get from all of the negative attention you’re drawing toward yourself? Most people try to avoid that, but here you are embracing it.
And there’s the way that you hold yourself with such grace. A grace that most of his own kids still haven’t learned, but not for the lack of trying on Alfred’s part.
The woman in front of you has no idea that you tuned her out ages ago. Your ability to keep up the look that you’re listening, with a nod here and an “oh I know what you mean,” there is impressive. Your smile is perfect. It’s practised and one that Barbie would be jealous off. Not an ounce of boredom to be seen anywhere on your face or in your posture. You know every step to this boring dance and you haven’t drunk a single thing. At least nothing alcoholic. Even Bruce, every once in a while, finds that he needs a drink to deal with it all, but you appear to be completely unaffected.
There’s two ways how he knows you’re feining interest with the woman.
The first one being because, unbeknownst to everyone here, he’s the World’s Greatest Detective. Noticing such things is second nature to him. The second one is because, more than once, you have met his gaze. You’re not glaring daggers at him like you have at every other man here tonight. No. The look you have for him is one of curiosity.
One of the men he’s talking to starts to laugh, snapping Bruce’s attention away from you and back toward him. The rest of the men are either smirking or looking at him like they’re all in on a joke that he isn’t. It has his skin pricking with irritation.
“Oh, I wouldn’t look her way, Wayne,” he says. “Girl’s more frigid than that man in the icebox! You would have an easier time getting into the Queen of England’s bed!”
All of the men around him laugh loudly. As if it’s the funniest thing that they have ever heard. While Bruce has to take a deep breath and remind himself not to cause a scene by clocking someone. That doesn’t stop his tongue from lashing them, weaponised with the things that he had observed from these men early on in the evening.
“Or, perhaps, she just isn’t interested in lecherous men that touch women without their consent.”
It’s satisfying to watch as as their faces drop and they all fall silent at his response. Eyes filling with realisation that he’s not one of them as their stomachs drop because he’s heard and seen the things they have said and done tonight. Bruce could truly ruin them. Have their names and companies’ reputations smeared for all time and make sure that no one ever does business with any of them ever again. He is a Wayne after all and when he speaks the world holds its breath and listens.
Hell, he will do exactly that. Perhaps even throw Batman into the mix. Right now though that’s a matter for another time. One for when he isn’t in the middle of a ballroom.
Bruce doesn’t stick around to hear any of their retorts. If there are any retorts to be had to begin with.
He downs the rest of the champagne as he walks away and places the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray. He decides that he needs something stronger than the champagne being served. Batman’s off duty tonight, his responsibilities entrusted to his eldest son and youngest daughter so he can afford to have a stronger drink.
If he’s standing by the bar, it might also make him more approachable than being surrounded by a group of men that you have a very clear distaste for.
As he crosses the room, Bruce can’t stop himself from looking in your direction. Once more, your eyes meet his. You’re still looking at him with that same look. Like you’re not quite sure what his game is at. You’re trying to read him like he’s trying his best to read you. He quirks an eyebrow at you, a small yet genuine smile playing on his lips. He only holds your gaze for a moment before he’s turning away again.
Once the bartender has poured him a glass of whiskey, he decides to stay at the end of the bar. It’s quieter and he has had enough of mind numbing conversations with men whose names he can’t fully remember no matter how many times he meets them.
He really is hoping that this will make him more approachable. Anything so he can have a conversation with you.
It’s strange. He hasn’t wanted anyone’s attention like this in a very long time. Not since Selina…
Yet, here he is. Hoping like a schoolboy that this works.
As he sips on his drink, he’s all too aware of the women and men around him. All of them desperately trying to get his attention. They’re batting their eyelashes and trying to lean close to him to strike up a conversation. Some even going as far as to grab ahold of him and calling out “Brucie!”.
Bruce pretends that they aren’t there. His eyes glued to the dark amber liquid in the crystal glass. Fortunately they all give up quickly, some muttering under their breaths about him being stuck up, as they walk away.
The sound of heels approaching him catches his attention and he perks up. Suddenly his drink is no longer as interesting as all of his focus now zeroes in on you. The sound of your heels is quickly followed by your voice.
“Mr Wayne, right?”
“Depends on who’s asking,” Bruce replies. He turns to face you, pleased that his plan has worked. “You can just call me Bruce.”
“Well, Bruce, did you know you’re the only person who hasn’t once stared at my boobs tonight?” you ask. An older woman nearby chokes on her drink at what you ask.
He chuckles softly. “Well, that would be rude. I don’t even know your name.”
For a moment he wonders if he has misread things and has gone a little too far because you fall quiet. That quiet doesn’t last long though as, before he knows it, you’re laughing. Even going as far as to step into his space briefly, your hand gently gripping his arm. Which, for the first time tonight, he doesn’t mind.
Already he can see the articles and hear the shit the vultures will have to say about tonight. Even from this one small interaction, but since when has he ever cared what they think?
“I’ve heard a lot of one liners, but not one that has actually made me laugh.” Your eyes shine with amusement, like it’s the funniest thing you have heard.
The corners of his eyes crinkle as he returns your smile. You introduce yourself to him and he repeats your name, testing it out on his tongue.
“That’s a pretty name,” he tells you. “And I have a bunch more one liners that you’ve likely never heard.”
“But?”
“You’ll have to agree to go on a date with me.”
He, honestly, doesn’t even know why he wants a date with you so badly. He had sworn off dating anyone ever again. Happy to spend the rest of his life alone, considering what he had lost. But here he is. Doing his best to get a date with you.
You raise an eyebrow at him. “That’s it? All I have to do is agree to go out with you?”
He laughs softly. You’re good at this. “I mean, I would like it if you did go out with me, but you don’t have to if you really don’t want to. I won’t hold it against you.”
You look at him for a moment. The gears in your mind turning. At the same time the music in the room changes. It’s the sort of tune that’s perfect for dancing. Something that you don’t miss as you look away from him for a moment, your eyes searching for something in the room.
You hum softly, looking back at him. “How about this instead. You dance with me and I give you a date?”
A quick glance to toward what should be the dance floor shows no one dancing, but you don’t seem to care about that. You want all eyes on the two of you and he’s happy to oblige.
Bruce sets his drink aside and takes you by the hand, leading you toward the dance floor. Your eyes light up at him actually taking you up on your counter offer.
You already know the steps, easily settling into rhyme with him as he moves you around the dance floor. All eyes are on the two of you, but he honestly doesn’t even notice them. You don’t appear to either.
All of his focus is on you and all of your focus is on him.
As you dance, the dancefloor doesn’t remain empty for long. Other couples join in. After all, if dancing is good enough for him, why shouldn’t it be good enough for them?
Even with the dance floor filling up, the two of you remain the focus. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see women, both older and younger, leaning in close and gossiping as they watch you and him glide across the dance floor.
You and Bruce are going to be the talk of the world and he hasn’t even taken you out yet.
Has that been your plan all along? To get him out in the open with you? You want the attention, that much he’s figured out already. And this is going to come with a lot of that. A lot of it negative from the journalists that hate his guts. The rest of it, he can’t figure out. You are completely unreadable to him. It’s a good thing he has always enjoyed a good challenge.
The music ends far too soon for his liking and you are stepping away from him.
“Can I have your phone?” you ask him. “I want to give you my number.”
“Of course.” Bruce doesn’t hesitate as he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out his cell. He unlocks it and hands it over to you.
"You'll text me the time and place?” you ask him, your fingers moving like lightning on the keyboard.
“Of course,” he replies. “I’m looking forward to it.” And he really is. For the first time in a long time, he’s actually looking forward to a date.
“As am I. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a very early start tomorrow. It was nice to meet you, Bruce.”
“It was nice to meet you, as well.”
He expects you to just walk away. Leaving him waiting and wanting more.
Instead you step back into his space and press a kiss to his cheek. As quickly as you entered his space, you’re gone again, this time turning around and walking away. He can feel himself blush and he’s sure that there’s lipstick staining his cheek now.
The men that he had been talking to early are looking in his direction, their jaws almost on the floor. It really wasn’t the aim, but Bruce can’t help feeling a little smug over it. Since he wil likely make more of mess trying to wipe it off, he leaves the mark there and returns to the bar for a fresh drink.
He can’t wait until the next time that he gets to see you.
#bruce wayne x reader#batman x reader#bruce wayne x fem!reader#batman x fem!reader#bruce wayne imagine#batman imagine#bruce wayne x you#batman x you#age gap verse
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NOWHERE GIRL
PART SEVENTEEN
kang sae-byeok x fem!reader
synopsis: sae-byeok has been ignoring you for a couple of days and you have to find a way to confront her.
wc. 3.6k
warnings: none
(nowhere girl masterlist)
During those two weeks you didn’t face, Sae-byeok had a lot of time to—think. Properly think. Not just about the outside worries of the world like her all consuming debts, but about who she is. At first, she used to immediately kill the idea of exploring her sexuality. She didn’t have time for such things, it’s not of her. But ever since you abruptly barged your way into her life, she keeps getting pulled back down to face this idea.
Sae-byeok didn’t care about love either. She was content being by herself and the idea of having to bear another person’s responsibilities is too much. But with you it was so easy. Too easy. She has seamlessly embraced you so many times now and has held your hand—all like it was a natural instinct.
She’s getting new feelings and emotions she can’t pinpoint nor has a clue how to act upon them.
Sae-byeok bites the inside of her cheek. She’s looking at you now after days of trying not to, and the answer became clearer.
She thinks you’re a wonderful person. The brightest thing in her shitty life. She likes how much more kinder and wiser you are than her about life, yet still have a form of resilience even if you act upon them recklessly. The fact that you chose to leave your comfortable world behind to find more meaning in yourself in a country that’s against you—it inspired her to think about herself in that aspect. The world was also against her, but she didn’t willingly leave everything she loved behind like you did. However, you both did it for the freedom. But you aren’t naive for leaving—you are an optimist…meanwhile she’s on the other end of that coin. A pessimist.
Today you both came back to the apartment around the same time, you were ar work at the gallery whilst she pickpocketed. Because Sae-byeok lost her most stable job ever and she isn’t sure what will happen once you leave for the summer—she’s tirelessly going from city to city almost everyday trying to collect as much as she can from people’s pocket. Life is becoming uncertain again. It’s scarier now that she has Cheol to take care of. She’s terrified the closer the date of your departure creeps up.
But what scares her the most is what will happen when you come back. You could potentially meet new, more interesting and stable people meaning you’ll forget all about her. Sae-byeok turns bitter just thinking about it.
That’s why she refuses to speak to you. Because realistically, you won’t come back knocking on the apartment door and you’ll just be a lingering ghost trapped in her mind forever. A faint memory.
It was hard at first, avoiding you. Especially since you come to her so bright and full of optimism. She learned to just reply to you with a head shake and walk away. It pained her at first, seeing the obvious hurt in your eyes and your lower lip twitch but one day you’ll thank her. And she will come out of this without a broken heart.
In the kitchen, Sae-byeok is waiting for the water on the pot to boil for her instant ramen. Her phones currently in her room charging—the only form of entertainment she has is watching you.
You, of course, were sitting on the couch with your legs in a crisscross position while you jot down things in your tiny notebook. She was curious to know what possibly you could be writing down. Maybe you were writing a list of items you need for your Italy trip—or spilling your feelings like a journal. Either way, you are deeply concentrated on writing something down. It must be important.
But after a while, your neck and wrist need a break. So, you stretch your limbs and in the process of that your head tilts to where Sae-byeok is standing looking at you. Your face lit up when you caught her because it’s been days since you two made eye contact.
However, her expression hardens and she swiftly spins back around to check up on the boiling water. She concentrates on the feeling she gets in her chest—the rapid thump of her heart. That was something new. And it only took you to look at her for her heart to react this way.
She mentally curses at herself when she hears you shuffling. You had to be making your way to the kitchen. It was hard to avoid you when you keep trying your best to approach her.
“Hey,” she hears that soft voice creeping behind her. Sae-byeok stiffens when you stand next to her. “I was thinking what if I bring back pastries back from Italy. Seeing as you worked at a bakery I think it would be nice to get you sweets. Do you know any Italian sweets?”
Sae-byeok nods no and silently pours the boiling water into the ramen cup.
“Okay, well see if you can find something that peaks your interest. I’m making a list and I want you fill at least half of it.”
There you go again—being the wonderful selfless person, she thinks.
Sae-byeok knows she doesn’t deserve even a quarter of your kindness. You can do so much better than this, she’s sure of it. She’s just waiting for the day you realize that your life could be so much more fulfilling if she wasn’t in the picture.
Sae-byeok just darts to her room with the ramen cup in hand. Dealing with the guilt of giving you the cold shoulder was hard, but she knows she’ll have a harder time dealing with the grief of you forgetting about her.
It’ll be better this way. You both will come out less hurt in the end.
⊹ ✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿
The thrift shop felt like it was part of a ghost town. Only you, Ji-yeong, and a singular visible employee are situated within these four walls currently. Although most of the clothing and shoe racks were filled to the brim, you could only afford to come for the one thing you need. A suitcase. And Ji-yeong swore by this place.
“Ah, well this isn’t much. Not like last time.” Ji-yeong pouts, crossing her arms and looks disappointed at the fact that there’s only three suitcases in the entire shop. “But that’s what we get for shopping last minute right before June.”
You reach over to inspect each of the suitcases. However, most have huge stains on the inner lining and one doesn’t even have a zipper attached.
“I guess these are the ones people didn’t want.” you sigh and roll them back to their previous spot in the corner of the shop. “I probably have to break the bank a little and buy one in a market.”
She scoffs. “Nonsense. Let’s come on a Monday morning that’s the day they get the best stock out.”
“Where are you going?”
“Shopping obviously.” she chips and scrolls through the endless rack of women’s tops. You send her a look. “What? I need new clothes for the warmer weather and it seems like you do too.”
“I can’t.” you say. It’s true—although it wasn’t the original plan at first. If you didn’t insist on paying Sae-byeok’s rent this month you would’ve been able to get new clothes for your trip. But you’re not going to cry over it.
Sae-byeok. Even just thinking about her makes your chest pang. You couldn’t deny the crush you have on her anymore—not after she confessed something so personal to you.
Now, you think about what more she could be hiding from the world. Her smile. You wish to see her smile sincerely and not in the sly manner like she usually does. A genuine one. It would be nice if you could be the one to make Kang Sae-byeok crack a smile. But that won’t happen in a while because she has been avoiding you for the past week or so.
It’s eating you alive not knowing the reason as to why that is. Or could you possibly just be paranoid? You think you might’ve scared her in some way shape or form. But one can only assume so much before losing your mind. And you know you’re starting to turn crazy.
Sae-byeok has always been a wildcard. A candle in the wind especially when it comes to being vulnerable. And she’s been so vulnerable with you in the past but flipped the switch after her confession. It’s all so confusing.
You didn’t notice you were spacing out until Ji-yeong shoves a shirt in your face. You blink back to reality.
“What do you think?” she asks you. “It’s a basic plain shirt but I think the color is nice. And it’s only two bucks—score!”
“Yeah. Pink looks nice on you.” you hum. Ji-yeong grins and tosses the shirt over her shoulders to keep on searching. “Hey, Ji-yeong.” you say after more thinking.
“Hm?”
“I think, Sae-byeok is avoiding me.”
She pauses shuffling through the racks and turns to look at you with a hardened expression.
“What makes you say that?”
“When was the last time you saw her speak to me this week?”
She winces. “Shit. When you put it like that—it definitely seems like she is. Do you know if you’ve done anything to upset her? I know that’s a hard question to answer since she pretty much gets upset about many things.”
You press your lips into a thin line and think back to Sae-byeok’s confession. “No. Everything’s been normal.” you somewhat lie.
“The only way to find out is to directly ask her.” Ji-yeong advises. “She’s so stubborn I’m certain that she will hold a grudge against someone to the grave. But if you just cut the bullshit and ask her—boom! There’s a ninety percent chance she will tell you—not in the nicest way of course.”
Confrontation. You’re very familiar with it but it’ll be hard for you to confront Sae-byeok amidst the revelation of your feelings for her. You could choke up or even worse accidentally stare straight at her plump lips. It’s already happened once or twice it’s a shocker she hasn’t caught you in the act.
“This top just screams Italy.” she gasps, pulling out a white eyelet tank and measuring it on your upper body.
“I told you I can’t spend money.” you frown. It was hard for you to decline such a pretty item of clothing though.
Ji-yeong wriggles her eyebrows. “I’ll buy it for you, silly. You gave me this beautiful necklace—this will be my gift to you.” she pulls the necklace out from her shirt.
“Thanks.” you mutter with a shy smile. “I’m glad you’re actually wearing it.”
“I’m not one to wear jewelry but I like that this one isn’t heavy. I don’t even feel it most of the time.”
Ji-yeong spends another hour or so browsing through the thrift shop. You just trail behind her to be her judge but you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about the stone faced girl. If her best friend agrees with you, then she’s certainly avoiding you. And you will do something about it.
The sun was threatening to fall into the depths of the night by the time you and Ji-yeong make it back to the apartment. The days were getting hotter now that summer was approaching, you could barely walk without feeling heat exhaustion. It might just be you though because Ji-yeong merrily enters the apartment with a new bag of clothes.
Her outburst broke Sae-byeok’s trance from the phone call she was in. She was currently sitting on the couch, posture slumped and currently eyeing her roommate while avoiding eyeing you. She blinks back to stare at the floor and waits for the person on the other end of the call to speak. Your jaw clenches slightly—it was so obvious now.
“Oh, here before I forget—or before I purposefully keep it for myself.” she snorts and tosses you the white tank from her bag. She leans to reach the shell of your ear. “Good luck and remember—confrontation.” she whispers and whisks away to her room.
You stand there, staggered and with a shirt on hand. The hardest part might actually be walking over to the couch rather than the talking. Her presence seems more intense than usual—like any tiny thing someone does or says will receive a major outburst from her.
But if Ji-yeong is right, she will tell you the truth. So, you suck it up and plop down on the couch leaving a great amount of room in between you and Sae-byeok.
She’s still looks unfazed by you and doesn’t shift her eyes anywhere other than the ground. It might be nothing but it still makes your chest tighten. What made you feel more hurt was the fact that you don’t know what you’ve done to get the silent treatment from her.
“If you haven’t found her why bother call me? You’re wasting my minutes.” Sae-byeok retorts on the phone. Her voice was loud and demanding, it made your muscles tense. “I know it’s—I’m getting there…Just call me when you get actual information next time. Fucker.” she mutters the last part after hanging the call.
“Is everything alright?” you ask right after.
Sae-byeok went poker face on you the second you spoke. But you caught the way she faintly bit the corner of her bottom lip. She perhaps was contemplating something before she stood up from the couch. This is the part where you know too well—where she runs and hides.
You get off the couch as well and walk around her tall stature to prevent her from secluding in her room. Her eyes went round for a brief second, like she wasn’t expecting you to stop her.
“You’re avoiding me. Why?” you say, demand in your tone.
Sae-byeok’s dilated eyes turn malevolent and she straightens her shoulders. When she finally looks at you that’s when her expression turns even colder. “What are you talking about?” she scoffs.
She bumps past your shoulders to her room. It left you so bewildered—her sudden change. Your jaw went slack.
Then she reappears back from her room with her coat that she aggressively throws on, her way to the entrance door. It leaves you appalled.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.” she responds coolly.
“Out? Just like that?” you ask and she slams the door behind her as a response.
You were the ten percent.
“Did you guys fight?” Cheol’s voice appears briefly after you stood there to process what just happened.
Your nostrils flare up but you try to remain calm in front of Cheol who slips out of the room timidly.
“She looks mad…and she always leaves the house when she’s mad.” he murmurs before yawning.
“No, we didn’t fight…But I’ll go talk to her.” you state. It was hard not to choke up and you aren’t sure if Cheol is buying your lie with the odd look he is giving you.
“Okay...” he says, unsurely.
“Don’t worry we’ll be back soon, okay?”
When Cheol reluctantly goes back into his rooms the tears you held back were start to brim your eyes. You didn’t want to talk to her anymore in fear of ending up more hurt. However, you still rummage through your basket of clothes to find your light weight jacket. A small part of you has hope and that might just be enough to confront her.
So, you run after her. When you step outside the complex, you could barely make out Sae-byeok’s stature in the shadows of the young night. She is already two blocks ahead and is about to make a corner turn. You did a lot of running this year, but you never expect to run after this girl.
You feel an immense adrenaline rush when you finally see her after running like your life depended on it. However, she kept up her fast pace.
“S…Sae-byeok!” you are barely to say across the other end of the block.
After hearing your faint cry she stops dead in her tracks but doesn’t make a move to turn around to look at you. Your adrenaline sparks even higher when you sprint closer to her.
Now that she was at arms reach, you yank her by her arm.
“What the fuck!” she hisses when you pull her to the direction of a alleyway corner. However, she doesn’t fight back.
You pin her to the back to the alleyway and take a couple steps backwards to properly catch your breath.
“What is wrong with you?” she snarls, her voice is shaking. It could be mistaken for anger but there was a hint of concern that seeps through her aggressive tone.
When you finally blink your eyes open, you straighten yourself up to face her fully. The alleyway was dark. The shadows cover Sae-byeok’s freckles and you could barely see her sharp eyes and grimacing lips.
All the anger, hurt, and sadness you were feeling whisks away. Now, you were full of determination because she has no choice but to face you. You don’t feel your body movements, however your mind is blurry with thoughts of her.
You grab her by her collar pull her closer to clumsily crash her lips into yours. It was a quick impulsive kiss that ended as soon as it started. You know Sae-byeok isn’t a person who trusts someone by their words, she needs to see their actions. Even if it jeopardizes everything, it was the only way you were able to express it to her.
Her glistening eyes search yours the moment you pull away. You couldn’t possibly tell what she was feeling, but your actions must’ve flustered her by the flush that crept her face.
“I’m sorry.” you breathe, releasing your grip from her. The pull you had on her jacket exposed the lengthy scar on her neck she quickly tries masking with her hair. “But you won’t even listen to me I didn’t know what else to do to make you…”
Sae-byeok remains speechless by your earnest action. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish above water trying to search for the words needed to be spoken but ultimately flounders. To you, it was a sign to bury away your feelings deeply.
“Are you going to say anything?” you ask, your voice oozing with desperation. But she keeps on being quiet. “Fine, if—if you don’t feel the same way I’ll get over it…But if I knew you’d act weird like this then I promise you I would’ve never done what I just did!”
Sae-byeok was never a woman of words. You know that.
She doesn’t say anything at all when she reaches to cup the sides of your face to kiss you again. Now that you both know this affection is mutual, the second time is more gentle and lasting. This new sensation of intimacy was still so new to both of you, so you gave each other time to savor and test out this long felt kiss through feathery movements of each other’s lips and hesitant touches.
By the time you both pull away, both your arms are all over each others. Her hands gripping your waist, while yours were entangled in her short raven hair. Your faces were still inches away from each others as you both catch your breaths. Goosebumps trail Sae-byeok’s arms when your fingers absentmindedly traces the scar on her neck.
“Why were you avoiding me?” you ask, your eyes sparkly with tears.
“I’m…” is all she was able to say.
You push her away, causing her back to get pushed against the wall once more, and you wipe your tears. What was worse was the fact that you could still feel the ghost of her lips on yours.
“Wh—What did I do…?” you press further, still aggressively wiping off crystals of tears. When all the teardrops were gone you look into her guilty eyes. “Tell me, Sae-byeok!”
Her lower lip trembles and she faces down to her shoes. It was faint but you could hear her muffle to hold back sobs.
You reach to tuck the strands of hair on the sides of her face and gently make her face you. Her red eyes make your heart clench. “This isn’t just about me is it?” you whisper to her. “Tell me what’s wrong? Please.”
“I’m sorry.” she croaks. She tries to regain her composure by straightening herself up but you could still hear her sniffling. “I’m…just scared.”
You sigh and lean back against the wall beside her. It might be easier for her to talk if you weren’t directly looking at her.
“Scared of what?”
“You leaving.” she replies. You gulp. “Because you can. And you don’t have to burden yourself with me or my shitty life again because you have the opportunity to—to do great things in life. I don’t.”
“And you thought avoiding me would…hurt less.” you finish.
She barely just nods. And you just wonder how many more people in her life have left her in the past for her to want to cope this way.
“That won’t ever happen—“
“How do you know?” she cuts off, trembling. “People change.”
You go to take her hand and wait for her to look at you. “I know because what I feel for you won’t change after one stupid trip.” you say and watch the way her bites her bottom lip. “Sae-byeok, you’re so brave—and just…the love you have for Cheol and your mom it’s so beautiful. I get why you put on a hard front but I know you deeply care for your people. I see it everyday. Every sacrifice you’ve made was for love. And tomorrow, you will wake up at five in the morning like you always do because of love. Not many people in this world can do that, but you do. That’s why I really—truly like you…”
Sae-byeok immediately goes to wrap her arms around you. Her breathing relaxes through your touch.
“I really like you too.” she mutters shyly. “And I’m sorry again for avoiding you.”
“I forgive you. But please never do this again.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise me.”
“I solemnly promise.”
When the hug is mutually broken, the intense and high emotions is long subdued. Leaving you two to awkwardly stand there and reflect on this moment. When you and Sae-byeok make eye contact after this awkward pause, neither of you glance away. Instead, you share a small moment of laughter—also sharing blush cheeks and racing hearts.
“So…” you mumble.
“So…” she repeats, continuing to smile bashfully at you.
“Does this mean you are also a lesbian?”
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#kang sae byeok#kang sae byeok x reader#squid game#squid game fanfic#kang sae byeok squid game#fanfic#kang sae byeok x fem!reader#wlw#wlw fanfic#kang saebyeok#kang saebyeok x reader#sae byeok#saebyeok#squid game x reader
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ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴍʏ ᴇᴀʀ
…𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭
angst, smut (mostly descriptive), friends to lovers, unresolved, no happy ending, suggestive, making out, heartbreak, emotional manipulation, self-destructive behavior, toxic dynamics, fluff if u squint, romance, intimacy, friends with benefits, betrayal, unrequited love?, slow burn, self-sabotage
listen to the song that inspired this fic while reading!
word count - 3k
Matt has a scar on his temple. She’s always liked to run her hand over it. The first time she tried, he flinched, batted her hand away, mumbled something about personal space.
She stopped after that. Until one day, he caught her staring.
"You wanna hear a story?" he asked, grinning like he had a secret. "Got mauled by a bear once. Barely made it out."
She almost called his bluff. Almost.
Instead, she smiled, seeing it for what it was... permission. To touch him. To know him in ways he wouldn’t always say.
Maybe she loves that he never tells the truth straight. Maybe she loves that she doesn't really understand him.
Maybe she just loves him.
It was not always a thing. Her… curiousity. Affection. Desire.
When they were very little, she used to follow him and his brothers around. It was easy to. Not to mention that people liked them, because they were charming, and funny, and genuine. She stuck by Matt's side through school, feeling safe and protected under his wing like a small bird. He teased her, sure, even back then. Always sitting beside him, walking directly behind him, looking out for his reaction when she told a joke or shared a story.
Eventually, they reached that age where it was only natural for her to distance herself slightly. Things became less ritual, less assumed, and she found herself asking for permission, looking for his affirmation, seeking out his validation.
Sometime after 10th grade, she started spending the night again. Mostly in Matt’s room. He let her in. And she took what she could get. They didn’t ever cuddle or anything. Mostly Matt would talk, and she would listen. She absorbed everything, every word, every silence. The care she had for him ran so deep she felt it inside sometimes, to the rhythm of her heartbeat, spreading through her like oxygen. He asks her questions sometimes, questions that a part of her finds silly and stupid, his boyish brain not quite at her contemplative level. She forced herself not to mind. To appreciate it.
When she does talk, in those late hours, staring up at the ceiling, she can tell he’s not really listening. He’s too… wrapped up in himself. It’s not that he doesn’t care. He’s probably just stressed.
She hopes Matt cares. Maybe he does, just not as much as her. He likes the safety of the distance between them. But just enough, sure, maybe he cares.
That night, they end up in his room. He always lets her stay when the world gets too loud. Everything feels too quiet, too intimate here. It’s a comfortable space, familiar in a way that makes her want to curl up and stay forever. She rests her head against his pillow, the soft fabric of his sleeve brushing against her forehead as she stares at the ceiling.
When she wakes, they’re the closest they’ve ever been. The sunlight manages to shine directly into the corner of her eye, so she squints. And then she sees him. Feels him. He’s holding her, his arm draped over her waist, hand grazing her stomach as her back leans against him. She sees him so clearly. Pulling her toward him in the most innocent of ways.
She feels the goodness radiating off her bones and she becomes fearful. That he’s probably known all along, even when she hasn’t. That she likes him. Really, really likes him.
The heat doesn’t overcome the fear then, it doesn’t pool in her stomach until much, much later. It’s not till they’re eating cereal, all of them together, and someone is telling a story, and all she can do is watch as Matt suppresses his laughter. She can’t help but see the little boy in him, always. Nothing about him is malevolent to her. Even when he smirks, teasing or mocking her, she feels nothing but warmth.
She goes to parties, tries to find another guy, another boy to kiss to avoid even thinking of Matt like that. It doesn’t work of course.
She gives away her virginity to the boy in her math class. The one who didn’t mean any harm and therefore, doesn’t cause her any. He doesn’t make her feel good, but she holds him close to hide his face so that she can tug on the brown hair and pretend all is well.
And then one night, when she finally admits to herself that none of it is working, she allows her mind to wander. To truly contemplate, what it might be like. To be loved like that. By him.
She doesn’t drift for more than mere seconds before she finally feels the warmth return. In her mind, her thoughts recall how Matt's lips hover above her ear at parties just before he leaves her alone in the corner. She could come already, it’s pathetic.
The fantasy is shattered when she remembers him kissing another girl right after.
She’s not jealous. She doesn’t need to, doesn’t want to feel special. He lets her in and that’s enough.
She touches herself to kill the emotion, replaying the scene from an outsider’s perspective. His lips on her ear. His lips on her ear. His lips on her ear. It rewinds and distorts but it’s no matter. She’s already sticky and shameful, childlike.
She doesn’t dare to do it again, she already regrets it and can’t look him in the eye anymore. It’s almost like he knows about the sick fantasy, and he's constantly trying to catch her with his eyes like a hunter.
It’s only because of this that she pictures him beneath her. His eyes so wide and disconcerted, like a deer in headlights. Just like a baby animal, and her fear dissipates to the rhythm of her touch, pretending, praying that the emotion will die once more if she gives the fantasy just enough room to breathe.
And then one night they’re talking about love, true love. Their beliefs, hopes and truths, and she lies, she lies like she loves him and wants to protect him. Treats herself like the one in the wrong. She knows that this conversation is only happening because nothing will ever happen between them. She hopes that that's true because she can’t handle the end of her love, not in the way he can.
Sometime between their complete and utter closeness, they both find comfort in others. She still searches for Matt though, always, always, always.
Sometime between the external comfort, they find their way back to his room, his bed. And he holds her again, more and more these days and she wonders why.
And it’s sick and twisted because it happens. In his bed. His lips hovering on her ear, expressing his shallow gratitude. She can’t help it, she gasps lightly. It’s the best she can manage without taking advantage of his closeness.
Unfortunately, Matt notices it, and he whispers again.
“Do you like it baby?”, she feels his warmth breath coat her like the sun, “My mouth on your ear?”
Something shrivels up and dies inside her then, the reluctance, the pre-emptive disappointment, and she nods, squirming in his grip. “Mhm,” she whines. They fall asleep like that, cuddling like lovers as Matt whispers in her ear, sending her into a beautiful trance.
In the morning, they don’t speak of it. He’s there, a vessel of her comfort as always. Days pass, and she touches herself again, thoughts of Matt creeping in as always.
They remain who they’ve always been to the outside world. Friends. Good friends. But back in his room, as she leans against the wall his bed touches, she doesn’t feel anything like that.
He’s sitting at his desk, back to her.
“Matt,” she says, her voice quiet, but he turns around as the silence hangs in the air between them, sharp and fragile. “Do you ever think about... us?”
He looks at her, his brow furrowing slightly, and for the first time, she sees something flicker in his eyes. Uncertainty. He chuckles, but it’s not his usual carefree laugh. It’s tight, almost defensive.
“What do you mean, ‘us’?” he asks, trying to mask the tension in his voice with the ease he’s perfected over the years.
She takes a breath, the weight of her own words heavier than she expected. She knows this is risky, but it’s impossible to hold it in any longer. “I mean… us, as more than just…” She gestures between them, frustrated, unsure how to finish the sentence without sounding foolish. “More than just… how we are. What we are.”
He shifts, his posture stiffening. His hand tightens against the armrest, his jaw set. “We’ve always been like this,” he says, and there’s that familiar nonchalance, the wall he’s always built between them. “Don’t need anything else. It’s enough.”
Her chest tightens, the words falling flat even as she tries to smile. “Maybe,” she whispers, but her voice shakes. “But what about me?”
There’s a pause, a heartbeat that lingers too long in the air between them. And for the briefest moment, she swears she sees something flicker in his eyes. Something softer, something afraid.
But then it’s gone, hidden behind that same smile that’s never quite reached his eyes.
“I’m not looking for a relationship,” he says, more to himself than to her, his voice a little too calm. “You know that.”
She nods, the weight of his words sinking in. She’s heard this before… just never to her. She should know better, shouldn’t she? But it feels different this time. It feels like a denial, not just of her feelings, but of something they could have shared. Maybe she’s been fooling herself all along.
“I know,” she says, her voice small, barely audible over the noise. “I know.”
It's still not over after that conversation. She’s still completely at his mercy and she can’t bring herself to walk away, to shatter. It’s like she wants him to hurt her. For it to be his fault, and not hers. She tells herself she can move on, that she can bury the feelings that have only been growing with each passing moment. She’s had enough of the games. Enough of the waiting. Even edging herself and relieving herself does little good.
It’s just not that simple.
The next few days pass in a blur. She tries to keep her distance, but something keeps drawing her back to him…like a magnetic pull she can’t escape, the years, the way he’s always been there. And then there’s a moment, late one night, when everything just cracks. They’re in his room again, the same room that’s always felt like home and a cage at the same time. She’s sitting on the edge of his bed, talking about nothing and everything, and then he’s there, too close again.
And before she even knows what’s happening, his lips are on hers.
It’s not like the kisses she’s had before, quick and careless, stolen moments that never meant anything. This one is different. This one makes her feel like she’s floating, like she’s finally found a place she’s meant to be. She’s shocked, clawing at the air for a second. Then his hand cups the side of her face, and she presses closer, her fingers gripping the back of his shirt, pulling him in.
It’s a moment that feels like everything. Like it’s all been leading to this. And for a little while, she forgets about the rules he’s laid down. She forgets about the distance he’s kept between them. She just lets herself feel it, the heat, the intensity, the way his lips move against hers like they’ve done this a thousand times before.
He groans into her mouth, and pulls away abruptly. But she’s desperate, kissing him again as they fall down onto the bed, their chests pressed against each other.
Somehow the moment is passionate, the way he undresses her, caresses her, tells her she’s beautiful. He whispers in her ear as he moves within her and she whimpers, closer and closer to the high she’s been yearning for.
His mouth trails over her chest as she arches her back away from him. He cups her breast with his warm hand, kneading it and massaging it. “I love how you respond to me, to my touch.”
He enters her slower, deeper, “I want you to feel it baby. I want you to feel good. Feel loved.” She moans at his words and looks back staring into his eyes, the innocent gaze of a friend she’s known for as long as she’s known her own name. They both come with a final rough movment from him and collapse onto each other.
It feels loving, like devotion, and when he eventually pulls out, she feels full of bliss.
He gets on his knees pulling on his shirt before glancing back at her. She pours all of her love into her post-orgasm stare. He smiles, shy, before looking back down and kneeling down to kiss her core. Slowly but surely, he overstimulates her, making out with the most private part of her, cleaning her, loving her.
She smiles, content. Empty, but newly joined. Hopeful.
But the next morning, everything is different.
He’s distant again, almost like nothing happened. His eyes avoid hers, and the silence stretches between them like an ocean, too wide to cross. He doesn’t mention the kiss. Doesn’t acknowledge what happened after.
This time, it’s different though. She knows it, and he knows it. The unspoken tension hangs in the air between them, undeniable. They don’t say the words, but there’s a shift. A silent agreement in the way he watches her when he thinks she's not looking, the way she can’t stop looking at him, even as she tries to pretend like it doesn’t matter.
Eventually, after days of this unspoken tension, Matt says something. Casual, almost teasing, like they’re joking, like nothing matters.
“You think we could do this... and whatever? A compromise?” he says, voice low but eyes still holding hers.
She knows what he means. And she knows that this isn’t the kind of thing that can be taken back. It’s an offer, a dangerous one, and she’s so close to refusing, but instead, she finds herself nodding. She’s done pretending. She’s done with the half-truths.
“I’m fine with it,” she murmurs. “Don’t need much more.”
Matt looks at her, eyes sharp. “We can make this work,” he promises, but the words are hollow. She knows that. The question hangs there between them, a fragile thread strung across a chasm of things unsaid. He knows it too. But he won't say it.
They’re tangled together in the silence that follows, a pact neither of them can take back. It’s something they’ve both tried to avoid for so long. But now, in the wake of everything they’ve built up and torn down, it feels like the only thing left to do.
The bed feels too small for both of them, a tight coil that she can't escape. She lies back, her head sinking into the pillow, the weight of the room pressing down on her. Matt’s silhouette stands over her, a shadow she can’t shake off. The space between them is thick, suffocating. She breathes in, and the air feels heavier, as though every inch she takes toward him is another step toward the inevitable.
She tells herself it’s fine, that it’s just for now, just something to fill the space between them, to fill the gaps in the way they’ve always existed. No expectations. No pressure.
But as they fall into each other again, the boundaries blur, and everything shifts. The kisses feel deeper, the touches linger longer. He holds her. He holds her. His mouth over her ear.
She’s still scared, still bracing herself for the inevitable crash, the heartbreak she knows will come when it’s over. But right now, she can’t bring herself to care.
She should feel anger, or sadness… maybe both. But instead, she feels something worse: a sick, hollow longing. It's the kind of want that gnaws at her, the kind of want that tells her that even knowing this will hurt her, she would still do it. She would still step forward. Because for the first time in too long, something feels real, even if it’s doomed..
She’s already made her bed. She might as well lie down with him.
She’s always known this would happen. She’s always known Matt would leave her wanting, never giving enough to truly stay, yet always giving just enough to keep her hooked. But now, with the decisive touches, the silence, the empty space between them, it’s different. The fear she used to feel…fear that he might hurt her, might break her heart, is gone. There’s no surprise in it anymore. There’s only a cold certainty, a sharp knowledge of how deep the hurt will run.
And somehow, she feels it before it even happens… the ache of knowing this will end badly. But there's a strange warmth in the hurt. The promise of it. A twisted comfort, like preparing for a storm you can't stop, but somehow want. The thought of it burns, and she lets it.
She knows how it will feel when it all unravels, but she can’t help the thrill that shivers up her spine. She can’t help the way her chest tightens with anticipation, knowing just how bad it will get.
She’s looking forward to the kill.
She’ll lie in this bed she made, her heart tangled in him, and she’ll let it consume her, because it’s the only thing that’s ever felt true.
creds to rose @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers!!!
+ thank u @cowboylikenat for ur feedback <3
a/n: i swore i'd never write smut yet here we are.
taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturnshood @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart comment to be added to my main (non-au) taglist!!
till next time!!!!
#inez˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🌿:✧˚#inez ff ˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🌿:✧˚#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#the sturniolo triplets#sturniolo#matt sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo x you#matthew sturniolo fanfic#sturniolos#matt x reader#matthew sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo angst#matthew sturniolo angst#matthew sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo imagine#sturniolo triplets x reader#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#sturniolo x reader
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What are your gifts and abilities?
Likes , reblogs and feedbacks are very much appreciated 💗
Disclaimer: this is general reading . It may or may not resonate . If reading doesn't resonate let it fly and choose another pile or simply there were no messages for you through this reading 😊 Take the reading lightly as nothing's set in stone until you believe so 🕊️
Thankyou for stopping by let's dive in ☄️ Choose the pile you feel most drawn to 🧸
Pick a piles \masterlist
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Pile 1 Pile 2
Pile 1
pile 1 : Hi pile 1 , let's see what's there for you through this reading:) you're good at thinking out of box ,you've open mindset ,ready to accept new things , you've broad horizons , you're also good at praying so like in the sense of sprituality you can get your wishes granted by doing prayers . I'm also getting hopohopono prayer . You're also good at fighting be it verbal or physical means you just have a good body built or you could have air signs dominancy in your charts even mercury too . You also have a great gift of instropection which makes you shine among others . I also feel your throat chakra could be very active too if not you should work with that chakra . You also have the ability to come out of the saddest situations . No matter how much hurt you have been you alsways come out through it breaking all the walls and face it all with great responsibility without being embarrassed about your life's situations. I also feel you have an amazing ability of leading things innately . People may also get hypnotize by you when they see you . People may also like to do what you say without questioning it . You have ability of creating a mind map for the things in your brain like those people who will think it all in their brain first from zero to end and then put it down on paper . This is giving solving a biggg equation in your mind and then just writing a single line answer . I feel people may get happy after they see you like you've this vibe to yourself that changes the air of the room you enter in . It's your aura that does it . You're also the one who don't likes to take advice from others and just do whatever their heart truly desires . You don't run from problems . You fight them with the swords in both hands . When life throw lemon at you ,you make lemonade Outta them . That's all pile 1 I hope you enjoyed the reading . Bless you 🍪 see y'a soon🖤
Pile 2
pile 2 : Hi pile 2 ,let's see what's there for you through this reading :) you have this magical ability in yourself through which you can see through dark and be the light for others . You're also kinda magic stick that helps others to find the magic within themselves. I feel you may also have good physique without working out or you may have a strong gut with fast mukbang metabolism. You're the person who likes to be in their world . If you're alone it won't bother you at all but you're most likely to create something when you're alone like you can get mind-blowing ideas when you're in your own world. You're for real super innovative. You're also definition of live more lives dance more dances . You also got thid motherly nature to you regardless of genders .you maybe the mama bear of your friend group . You're also the one who can protect everyone . You're people's rock pile 2 .You're also super passionate. You've this constant fire to move forward in life doesn't matter if people stay with you or not . You're constantly levelling up all 4 seasons but you also take care of yourself which sometimes people forget . You're someone who doesn't get swayed away . You've very strong supportive system build for yourself whether it's you alone or people around . You can also be your strongest support system. It doesn't always need to be people around us . Sometimes they're the one who breaks it . That's all pile 2 I hope you enjoyed the reading . Bless you 🍪 . See y'a soon🖤
I hope you liked the reading . Thank you so much for letting me read for you . Wishing you best ahead . 🎀Bless you and have a nice day🌸🐰
Loads of love , jam\gem
Exchanges : open , collabs for paps : open
#jamreadstarot#vedic astrology#astro community#astro notes#astro observations#astro placements#astrology#future spouse#intuitive readings#moodboard#horoscope#matrix of destiny#divine feminine#divination#tarot deck#valentines day#paid readings#psychicreading#pick a picture#pick a photo#pick a pile#pick a card#intuitive messages#oracle cards#witch community#witchblr#tarot reading#future spouse reading#tarot cards#tarot
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yandere!jay headcanons!
Yandere!Jay who will pepper you with love—gentle kisses all over your face, soft whispers about how much he adores you, arms wrapped around you so tight it’s almost suffocating. He treats you like you’re the most precious thing in the world, like he can’t believe you’re his. “I love you so much, you know that? You’re my everything.” But the second he finds out you went out without telling him? That sweetness fades instantly. His jaw tightens, his smile drops, and his eyes darken. “Oh? You thought that was okay?” His voice is eerily calm, but the tension in the air is suffocating.
Yandere!Jay who suddenly gets cold and distant, leaving you to sit in uncomfortable silence as he processes the fact that you dared to go somewhere without his permission. His usual affectionate nature disappears, replaced by something much more dangerous.
Yandere!Jay who grabs your wrist just a little too tight, pulling you closer so you can see the sharp glint in his eyes. “Tell me, sweetheart. Who were you with?” He asks, his tone dripping with fake sweetness. The way he tilts his head would be charming—if it weren’t for the jealousy radiating off him.
Yandere!Jay who plays mind games, making you feel guilty for ‘hurting him.’ He sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair as if he’s deeply wounded by your actions. “I just worry about you, you know? What if something happened? What if someone tried to take you from me?”
Yandere!Jay who won’t let this slide easily. If you don’t apologize properly, expect him to ignore you, leaving you desperate for his warmth again. And once you do apologize? He pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Just don’t do it again, okay? I don’t like being mad at you.” But the warning in his voice is crystal clear—he won’t be so forgiving next time.
Yandere!Jay who spoils you like a princess—buying you expensive gifts, cooking your favorite food, and whispering sweet nothings in your ear while he holds you close. He loves seeing you happy… but only when it’s because of him.
Yandere!Jay who completely switches up the moment he finds out you went out without telling him. His fingers tighten around his phone as he reads your text. "Oh, so you went out?" His jaw clenches, and suddenly, his whole mood darkens.
Yandere!Jay who calls you immediately—his voice is eerily calm, but you can feel the tension through the phone. “Where are you? Who are you with?” His usual sweet tone is gone, replaced with something much colder.
Yandere!Jay who doesn’t believe your excuses. “You forgot to tell me? That’s cute. Try again.” His chuckle is low and humorless. He’s pissed, but he’s not going to explode just yet. No, he wants to see you squirm first.
Yandere!Jay who tells you to come home immediately. He doesn’t care if you’re in the middle of something—he wants you back where you belong. And if you take too long? Expect him to come get you himself.
Yandere!Jay who waits for you at the door, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The moment you step inside, he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You must really enjoy testing me, huh?” His voice is low, his fingers just barely digging into your skin.
Yandere!Jay who suddenly pulls you into a suffocating hug—but it’s not comforting. It’s possessive. His lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “Do you have any idea how much I hate being away from you? How much it kills me when I don’t know where you are?”
Yandere!Jay who makes sure you learn your lesson. Maybe it’s keeping you trapped in his arms for hours, refusing to let go. Maybe it’s taking away your phone for the night so you “won’t be distracted.” Or maybe… it’s a quiet, lingering punishment. He won’t kiss you, won’t touch you—he’ll make you beg for his affection again.
Yandere!Jay who eventually forgives you—but not without a warning. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re mine. You know that, right?” His lips ghost over yours before he finally kisses you, slow and deep, reminding you exactly who you belong to.
Yandere!Jay who smirks when you nod, pleased that you understand. “Good girl. Don’t make me do this again.” His tone is playful, but you know better. It’s not a request—it’s a threat wrapped in sugar.
[ @teddybeartaetae]
#enhypen#enha#enhypen fanfiction#enha x reader#kpop#enha ff#enha fluff#enhypen ff#enhypen fluff#yandere enha#enhypen yandere#enhypen jay#park jongseong#enhypen angst#jay angst#jay x reader#jay park#jay enhypen#enhablr#enha angst#enha headcanons#enha imagines#enhypen imagines#enhypen scenarios#jay headcanons#jongseong x reader#enhypen jongseong#enha jongseong#enhypen headcanons#enhypen drabbles
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being Grayson’s wife?
♡♥︎ Being Grayson's Wife ♥︎♡
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♥︎ Being Sheriff Grayson’s wife means living under the watchful, protective gaze of a woman who commands authority even in the quietest moments. She always has an eye on you, whether you’re in the same room or across the city.
♥︎ You get to witness the duality of her nature firsthand—the stern, composed officer that the world sees and the softer, more affectionate partner that only you are privileged to know.
♥︎ Grayson is a firm believer in structure and routine, which means she brings a steady, grounding presence into your life. She’s dependable to the core, always keeping her promises.
♥︎ She’s incredibly protective of you, though she never smothers. Instead, it’s a quiet sort of protection—walking on the side of the street closest to traffic, scanning a room the second you enter, standing just a little in front of you when tensions rise.
♥︎ She has a habit of resting a reassuring hand on your lower back in public, a subtle reminder that she’s there, that you’re safe.
♥︎ Her voice is low and smooth, and when she calls you “darling” in that measured, authoritative tone, it sends a shiver down your spine.
♥︎ She’s a soft dom through and through—she doesn’t need to bark orders or use force to get what she wants. A look, a slight shift in tone, and you’re already falling in line.
♥︎ She comes home late more often than not, exhausted from long shifts, but she always makes time to sit with you, unwind, and listen to you talk about your day.
♥︎ Grayson isn’t the most physically affectionate person in public, but in private? She’s all about slow, deliberate touches—fingertips tracing your knuckles, arms wrapping around your waist when she thinks you aren’t paying attention.
♥︎ She has a deep chuckle that she reserves for when you make a particularly clever remark or tease her just right.
♥︎ You are the only one who gets to see her let her guard down completely—hair down, uniform discarded, shoulders relaxed as she leans into you.
♥︎ When she’s in uniform, she looks downright untouchable, but when she strips down to just a button-down and suspenders, lounging at home with you? That’s when she’s at her most enticing.
♥︎ She smells like leather, polished metal, and something subtly smoky—something uniquely Grayson that lingers on your skin whenever she holds you.
♥︎ If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, she doesn’t need to say a word—her mere presence is enough to make them rethink their choices.
♥︎ She’s slow to anger, but the one thing that will set her off without fail is someone disrespecting you.
♥︎ When she scolds you, it’s not loud or harsh—it’s low, deliberate, and makes your stomach flip in ways you’ll never admit out loud.
♥︎ She has a way of gripping your chin with just enough force to make you look at her when you’re being stubborn.
♥︎ She takes pride in providing for you, ensuring you’re always well taken care of. If that means using her authority to pull a few strings for your benefit, so be it.
♥︎ Grayson is a natural caretaker—she wakes up first, starts the coffee, and ensures everything is in order before you even step out of bed.
♥︎ She leaves little notes for you before heading to work—sometimes reminders, sometimes just a simple, “Be good for me.”
♥︎ If she’s particularly exhausted, she’ll just pull you onto her lap at the end of the day and hold you, forehead pressed to yours, taking in the comfort of your presence.
♥︎ She absolutely melts if you run your fingers through her hair, especially when she’s had a rough day.
♥︎ If you ever get injured or put yourself in danger, expect a lecture, a long, lingering kiss, and then another lecture.
♥︎ She has a tendency to grip your hip when standing beside you, a subtle display of possession and protection.
♥︎ You tease her about her hooked nose, knowing full well how much you love it (especially for reasons best kept between the two of you).
♥︎ When she takes off her gloves and traces your skin with her bare fingers, you feel how gentle she truly is.
♥︎ She teaches you self-defense—not because she doubts her ability to protect you, but because she wants you to feel safe even when she isn’t around.
♥︎ She’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but when she does something sweet, it’s always deeply thoughtful and entirely for you.
♥︎ If you try to push her buttons just to see her reaction, she’ll simply raise a brow, smirk, and wait for you to realize you’ve only played yourself.
♥︎ She’s an expert at making you squirm with nothing but a slow, deliberate look.
♥︎ She absolutely adores watching you get flustered—whether it’s from a well-placed compliment or the way she murmurs in your ear when no one else is listening.
♥︎ Grayson is rarely rattled, but the first time she saw you in something particularly stunning, she actually forgot how to speak for a second.
♥︎ You get the rare privilege of seeing her sleep in—face soft, breathing even, utterly at peace in a way few ever get to witness.
♥︎ If you ever fall asleep before she gets home, she always makes sure to tuck you in properly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before settling beside you.
♥︎ She has a way of making you feel utterly secure—whether it’s in her arms, in her home, or just in her presence.
♥︎ You are the only person in the world who can make her truly, genuinely laugh—the deep, warm kind that makes her eyes crinkle.
♥︎ If you ever call her “Sheriff” in the right tone, she will give you that look, the one that makes you weak in the knees.
♥︎ No matter how chaotic or dangerous her job is, at the end of the day, she always comes home to you—her anchor, her love, her reason to keep fighting.
Ahem...nsfw:
♥︎ Grayson is a master of control, and that extends to the bedroom—she knows exactly how to handle you, how to push you to the edge, and how to keep you there until she decides you’ve earned your release.
♥︎ She has a slow, deliberate way of touching you, as if she’s savoring every reaction, mapping out what makes you gasp, shiver, and beg for more.
♥︎ Her voice is already deep and commanding, but when she leans in close, murmuring filth in your ear in that smooth, authoritative tone? It ruins you.
♥︎ She loves restraint—not necessarily tying you up (though she’s more than capable), but keeping you still with just the weight of her body, pinning your wrists down with a firm grip while she takes her time with you.
♥︎ She’s an expert at teasing. She’ll ghost her fingers over your skin, drag her lips across your neck, and let her breath fan over your core without giving you exactly what you need—until you’re desperate enough to beg.
♥︎ If you try to rush her, she’ll just raise a brow and smirk, taking her time even more because you’re squirming.
♥︎ She’s patient, but she expects obedience. If she tells you to keep your hands to yourself, and you can’t help but reach for her? Expect a punishment—a delicious, drawn-out one.
♥︎ Speaking of punishments, she prefers the kind that leave you aching for her rather than anything harsh—denial, overstimulation, making you hold still when you want to move.
♥︎ Her hooked nose? Perfect for grinding Your clit against you when she’s between your legs, pinning you down while she takes her time devouring you.
♥︎ She’s a giver—your pleasure is always her priority, and she won’t stop until you’re completely spent, trembling beneath her.
♥︎ But when she does let you take control, watching you ride her thigh or grind against her abs, she’s all smirks and firm hands guiding your movements.
♥︎ She has a habit of gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at her when she’s wrecking you.
♥︎ She’s big on eye contact—if you look away when she’s fucking you, she’ll gently but firmly correct you: “Look at me, love.”
♥︎ Loves hearing you whimper her name, but if you get too loud? A firm hand over your mouth, a low chuckle in your ear.
♥︎ She has a thing for leaving marks, but only where she decides—somewhere you can cover up, or somewhere you can’t hide, depending on her mood.
♥︎ After a particularly rough session, she makes a point of pressing soft kisses to the bruises she’s left behind.
♥︎ She adores teasing you in public—resting her hand on your thigh, whispering something filthy in your ear, watching the way you shift in your seat.
♥︎ If you act up in public, expect a knowing smirk and a promise: “Just wait until we get home, darling.”
♥︎ She’s strong enough to lift you effortlessly—pushing you against the wall, carrying you to bed, throwing you onto the mattress with ease.
♥︎ When she’s particularly frustrated from work, she’ll take it out on you—not in an unkind way, but in the way she grips you a little tighter, fucks you a little rougher, chases her own pleasure just as much as yours.
♥︎ But other nights? She’s slow and methodical, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every inch of your skin, making sure you feel how much she loves you.
♥︎ She gets off on control, but she also loves watching you fall apart for her—if she’s in the mood, she’ll make you Cum over and over until you’re too spent to move.
♥︎ Her hands are rough from years of work, and you love the way they feel against your soft skin, the way she grips your thighs, holds you steady, leaves bruises in her wake.
♥︎ She loves when you leave scratches down her back—it’s one of the few signs that she let herself go completely with you.
♥︎ She’s a bit of a perfectionist, which means she will make sure you cum at least twice before she even considers stopping.
♥︎ If you ever try to take control, she’ll let you—just to see what you do—before flipping the dynamic effortlessly, pinning you down with that smirk.
♥︎ She enjoys teasing you with her voice alone—calling you good girl in that low, amused tone that makes your knees weak.
♥︎ She adores watching you struggle to keep quiet when she’s got her fingers inside you, especially if you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be doing this.
♥︎ Her uniform? Oh, she knows the effect it has on you. If you beg her to leave it on, she might indulge you—just to see you fall apart for her even faster.
♥︎ She’s a menace with aftercare—completely doting, running a warm bath, massaging your sore muscles, feeding you small bites of fruit with that amused little smirk.
♥︎ If you’re too tired to clean up, she’ll handle it—she’ll always take care of you afterward, no matter how rough she was.
♥︎ She has a habit of tracing her fingertips over your body in the afterglow, absentmindedly mapping out your curves as she murmurs praises against your skin.
♥︎ When she’s feeling particularly possessive, she’ll fuck you slow, deep, keeping you on the edge until you can barely think—“You’re mine, aren’t you, love?”
♥︎ She loves when you beg. Not because she enjoys making you desperate (well, maybe a little), but because she loves knowing that you want her that badly.
♥︎ If she catches you touching yourself without permission, expect her to make you finish what you started—while she watches, arms crossed, amused but in control.
♥︎ She’s always composed, even when she’s wrecking you—but the few times she lets go, voice breaking as she moans your name? You live for those moments.
♥︎ She lives for watching you come apart under her, the way your back arches, the way you gasp her name—she never gets tired of it.
♥︎ No matter how many times she’s had you, she still looks at you like you’re the most intoxicating thing she’s ever seen—like she could ruin you all over again and still want more.
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