#maybe Anon too I guess but barely

[riisume]

I started playing Blush Blush last night and I got a tk idea cooked up that I wanna draw… ‘-‘

[kakusu-shipping]

Hi, I would like to understand why do you ship Mario and Luigi? You don't have to answer if it's not comfortable for you. 🙂

This soooooo immediately reads as a bait question, but I'm trusting you here anon I'm trusting you asked this in genuine good faith which I don't know why you would but if you want to know;

The short answer is Because I Want To and I Like Them. Plain and simple, there doesn't have to be a deeper reason. Sometimes we just ship things because we want to. Understood? Okay cool.

A slightly longer answer would be because they're the kind of Ship Dynamic that brings me the most comfort. I love a ship where they are each other's other half, they understand eachother and support eachother and just get eachother in ways no other person ever could. Loving eachother, being together is all they've ever known, they can't imagine a world where they're not together, side by side.

Platonic or Romantic aside, Mario and Luigi are a perfect pair, that's their entire thing. Mario is Reckless and Headstrong, Luigi is Calculating and Sturdy. Mario charges forward, Luigi holds the line. Mario picks mushrooms out of his spaghetti, and Luigi eats them. They fill in the gaps the other leaves, they compliment and communicate and trust one another undoubtedly.

I love a love like that. Of course it's you. It was always going to be you. It could never be anyone but you. I am not me without you, and you are not you without me. They are eachother's everything

They are a bonded pair, do not separate.

[hpdfag]

You seem to not be feeling well at all from what I thought was night for you earlier for me, I really hope you’re feeling better now…you mentioned your therapist and I think you should try slowly, very slowly introducing this argument to them. I understand how hard it is to even share the thought of your FP to someone else, it is very hard; what I’d do is ask them to focus more on yourself than on him, really. If you try to tell them you wanna focus on helping yourself out better than hearing them ask you about your FP which could possibly be very triggering, maybe it could be more helpful? I just really really want you to get better in some way, it’s something I’ve been looking forward to! I don’t know what exactly is happening in your mind right now that’s torturing you so so much but I promise you that it’ll be over. You won’t have to grow old and being afraid forever, and trust me you’ll be proud of yourself if you do the steps now…they’re really hard though, I get it myself. But even just starting to communicate some of what’s hurting you, could really help; your therapist doesn’t mean ill, I promise. They just wanna be able to help you now! I hope you’re feeling better now, if you need to take a break from the world it’s okay too…just make sure to reduce as much harm as possible o yourself now, really!!! As always, I hope the best :}

- 🧶

thank you for the message, it means a lot. i do want to start unravelling it all, but its just so much. and i hate that it means i have to admit that im scared. i love hinata so dearly but im also. scared. and i dont want to admit that to someone ive barely told about hinata at all to this point. i dont want his first impression to be my fear.

im glad that youre looking forward to me feeling better, i am myself. i want this all to be over. i just want to feel peaceful. i want to look forward, to my future, but its hard when im not sure what shape itll take. i hate not knowing what my own ending will be, if that makes sense?

right now me and my therapist are working on bringing my mom more into the loop. we're planning family therapy sessions so i can tell her about everything. it gives me some time to plan how i want to bring this up to him, at the very least, which i'm thankful for. i don't just want to be eaten alive by my pain.

again, thank you so much, it helps hearing from someone i care about ^_^ i dont want to rot like this forever, but for a little while, im just gonna stare at the wall or something /silly

[pickingupmymercedes]

Happy you're home - Lewis Hamilton

request : "their son is like 2/3 y/o and reader obviously pays more attention to him, even after coming back from work, so lewis is a bit 'jealous' and very clingy, needy with his wife." - fluff anon ✌🏽(gonna call you that because you were so lovely even with the confusion)

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Wife!Reader!

wordcount: +2k

a/n: There's a bit of angst , I know the request was for something fluff, but I just had to. It's worth it though, promise😉.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

"So, special dates?" Lewis asked casually as he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Y/n stir the sauce simmering on the stove.

Y/n glanced over her shoulder at him, catching the hint of something beneath his tone. "Yeah, just little outings after I pick him up from nursery" she replied lightly, sensing where this conversation was headed.

"Outings?" Lewis repeated, pushing off the counter to walk closer, his eyes following her every move. "You make it sound so... exclusive."

"Well" Y/n teased, turning to face him fully "It was our thing while you were away. Just me and him. You know he's a little creature of habit."

Lewis crossed his arms, feigning nonchalance. "And what, he's not happy I'm home now?"

Y/n laughed softly, moving to grab a couple of plates. "He's thrilled you're home, Lew. But he's also two, and he's gotten used to our routine."

Lewis hummed, but there was a slight edge to his expression. "I just thought he’d be excited to see me. I mean, I picked him up, and he barely smiled."

"He's not used to you picking him up, that's all. Give him time." She set the plates down on the table and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "He missed you. We both did."

Lewis softened at her touch, pulling her closer. "I missed you too. I just feel a bit... left out?"

Y/n tilted her head, studying him. "Left out?" She smiled, though she could see the seriousness in his eyes.

"I mean…" he admitted, a bit sheepishly. "It’s like every time I turn around, he's glued to you. And I get it, you're his mom, but..." He trailed off, his hand resting on her hip, thumb brushing absentmindedly against the skin he found just below the waistband of her jeans. "I guess I'm just a little jealous."

"Of him?" Y/n raised an eyebrow, trying to hide her amusement.

"Maybe," Lewis muttered, his voice low. "Or maybe of the fact that you two have all these moments when I'm not around."

Y/n's smile turned into a gentle laugh, and she leaned up to kiss him softly. "You know, you could join us on our little dates."

"Could I?" Lewis' eyes sparkled with the challenge. "Because it seemed like he wasn't too happy about me crashing those special times today."

Y/n chuckled. "We'll make it our thing—all three of us."

Lewis seemed to consider this, his hands tightening around her. "I don't want to just be the guy who shows up between races, Y/n. I want to be part of all of it."

"You are" she reassured him, kissing the corner of his mouth. "And trust me, he adores you. He just doesn't know how to express it."

He sighed, nodding slowly. "I know. I just hate missing out."

Y/n cupped his face, making him meet her gaze. "You're here now. And that's what matters."

As the rest of the evening went by the tension from earlier slowly dissipated. But Y/n couldn't help but notice how clingy Lewis was, not just with their son but with her too.

Every chance he got, he was touching her, keeping her close. When it was time to put their son to bed, Lewis lingered, his hands on the small of her back as she tucked the little boy in.

As they got ready for bed themselves, Y/n couldn’t contain herself anymore. She slipped into her nightwear, watching as Lewis pulled back the covers.

"So" she began, trying to sound casual, "you’re a little... possessive tonight."

"Possessive?" Lewis looked up; one eyebrow raised. "Is that what you call it?"

"Handsy would be a better word" Y/n teased, slipping into bed beside him.

Lewis smirked, leaning closer. "Maybe I missed you more than I realized."

Y/n rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t suppress the smile forming on her lips. "Or maybe you're still a bit jealous of a toddler."

Lewis didn’t deny it, instead pulling her into his arms, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Maybe I am. But can you blame me?"

Y/n laughed softly, running her fingers tips on his arm. "You’re ridiculous, you know that?"

"Um…" Lewis murmured, his lips brushing against her neck.

Before she could respond, they were interrupted by the sound of their son's cries coming through the baby monitor. Y/n sighed, moving to get up, but Lewis held her back for a moment.

"Does he really need you every time?" he grumbled, clearly frustrated.

"He's two, Lewis," Y/n reminded him gently, though there was a hint of impatience in her tone. "And yes, he needs me because that's all he’s got."

The words were out before she could stop them, and she immediately regretted them. Lewis’s expression shifted, something like hurt and understanding mixed on his features. "Y/n..."

"I’m sorry," she quickly apologized, her voice softening. "That’s not what I meant."

Lewis nodded, though the sadness lingered in his eyes. "We'll talk later, okay?"

Y/n nodded, leaning down to kiss him briefly before slipping out of bed.

She hurried to their son's room, finding him sitting up in his crib, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks.

"Dada?" he asked through sniffles, looking around as if expecting to see Lewis behind her.

Y/n’s heart melted a little, and she leaned into the crib, brushing his curls back. "Dada's asleep, sweetie. Do you want me to tuck you in?"

But their son shook his head, determined. "Dada."

Before Y/n could respond, Lewis appeared in the doorway, his expression softening as he saw their son. "Hey, buddy" he said quietly, crossing the room to pick him up.

The little boy immediately settled against his father’s chest, his tiny arms wrapping around Lewis’s biceps.

Y/n watched as Lewis sat down in the recliner, cradling their son with a tenderness as she have them some space, slipping out of the room and back into bed.

When Lewis finally returned, his footsteps were soft as he approached the bed. He slipped in beside her, pulling her close and leaving a kiss to her exposed shoulder.

"Has he been waking up like that a lot?" Lewis asked, his voice tinged with concern as he settled into bed beside Y/n.

Y/n nodded, resting her head on his chest. "For the past couple of weeks mostly. The change in routine really got to him."

Lewis sighed deeply, his hand gently tracing circles on her back. "I should’ve been here for his first days at nursery."

Y/n lifted her head slightly, about to reassure him, but Lewis's hand on her back stilled her.

"Y/n, don’t" he began, his voice thoughtful. "It’s not just about missing his first days. It’s the time you’ve had with him, but also the time he’s had with you."

She looked up at him, her brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Lewis let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle. "I missed you, too. Not just the way I always miss you when I’m away, but I missed being a part of this routine. The bedtime, the little 'dates,' the way he clings to you... I missed seeing you with him, and I missed having you to myself after all that."

Y/n's heart softened at his words, a tender smile tugging at her lips. "Lew, you’re always part of those moments, even when you’re not physically here."

Lewis’s eyes met hers, full of emotion. "I know I was stupid earlier, but it's because I love being with you—both of you. And when I'm not, it feels like I'm missing out on so much. As his dad and as your partner."

Y/n’s smile widened as she shifted to lie more comfortably against him. "I missed you too. More than you know. And trust me, our little guy missed you like crazy, even if he didn’t show it."

Lewis chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. "He’ll come around. I just have to remind him that I'm part of this whole 'special date' thing too."

"You will," Y/n assured him, brushing a soft kiss against his neck. "And as for us, we’ll make up for lost time."

He kissed the top of her head, his voice filled with affection. "You’re stuck with me, Mrs. Hamilton."

And as Y/n began to drift off to sleep, Lewis leaned into her hear, whispering almost to himself "I really did miss you. And I’m not going anywhere. Not for long anyway."

______________________________________________________________

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[lcriedlastnight]

Lando calling reader his wife even though they’ve only been together for about a year

oh my god yes anon i love this idea!

tw: fem!reader, swears maybe, she's on the shorter side! lmk if you want me to add anything.

w/c: 944

lando was the perfect boyfriend. he was everything you had ever wanted in a partner. you liked to think he was literally made for you. how can someone be so perfect for you and not be? it was not possible.

you loved pet names and he loved calling you them. you loved touching him in anyway you could and he loved touching you ten times more. you loved doing things for him to show him just how much and how deeply you cared for and loved him and he loved sitting back and letting you help him destress from a busy race weekend. when you needed space? he would just go away to race for the weekend and let you realise that you could barely function without him and his love.

you had been out shopping with some of your friends for one of their birthdays. it had been nice catching up with them but your separation issues from your boyfriend had ended up kicking in and you could not wait to get home. you were itching to just sit on his lap and have him explain the plot of some dumb film that he had put on while waiting for you to come home.

when you trod back into lando's place, slipping off your shoes and leaving them by the door, the first thing you hear is lando's infectious laugh booming from his streaming room. it makes you smile as soon as you hear it even though it makes you realise you probably will not be able to sit with him for at least another hour, at least. your hands are still holding onto your shopping bags as you pass by his room as quietly as you possibly can, so as not to disturb him and his friends. you dump the bags in your bedroom and plan to head back into the living room to watch some tv and relax.

lando hears you this time and calls out for you, the door is creaked open a touch as you prepare yourself to be seen by millions of lando's fans. as you enter the room you hear one of the guys lando was streaming with (you were almost positive it was ginge) ask lando something you could not make out. lando's response almost kills you off though, his fans too.

"nah, the wife is just back home from shopping so i'll be finishing this game then hopping off." if you were holding anything it would have just fallen and shattered to the ground. you hoped your expression was hidden from his camera. you clear your throat and lando spins around mid-game to greet you. he slides his gaming headphones down to rest on his neck and reaches back to mute the stream but not before he mutters out in the warmest voice he can muster, a "hiya, honey."

you smile down at him as he shuffles his chair closer to you then sticks hims arms out like a child, practically begging for a hug from you. your mind is still stuck on the wife thing but you fall into his arms willingly anyway.

you straddle him on the big gaming chair, the tops of your heads at the only things that can be seen on the camera. lando presses a few kisses into your hair as he holds you close.

"missed you while you were gone." lando speaks into your hair, it makes you laugh.

"i was gone for three hours."

"ugh, don't remind me! i almost died from bordem." lando groans, head falling back against the soft material of the chair. you just laugh into his neck, nose brushing his throat softly.

"drama queen." you roll your eyes.

lando looks down at you with the biggest heart eyes you have ever seen and you feel your heart melt into a massive puddle in your ribcage, you feel it drip down to settle into your stomach.

"so i'm your wife then, huh?" you ask with a smile and a teasing tone. you feel lando tense up a little but he relaxes as soon as he feels your smile against his skin. his hand comes to splay out across your back to keep you supported. then he is smiling as he explains himself.

"guess i'm just so used to called you my wife when i'm with my friends that i accidentally did it on stream. sorry honey, didn't mean to embarrass you." lando says, almost shyly. his eyes peer down at yours to see your reaction.

"you call me your wife to your friends?" you smile back at him, hand coming up to run through his messy curls. the other resting on the side of his neck.

lando grins a stupid big smile at you as your hand rakes through his hair. "well you're gonna be one of these days right? might as well get the practise in. don't wanna slip up and call my wife my girlfriend now do i?" he is cheeky in his words and tone but you let him off. even though his logic makes no sense. you know it makes sense to lando so you let that go too.

"okay, sure. whatever you say husband." you did not think lando's smile could get any bigger. you were so wrong. he laughs and holds you close. little did either of you know that lando had missed the mute button and around three thousand of lando’s fans, plus all his friends had heard you both. lando would find out once he went back on his phone the next day, spending the rest of the evening and then the night with his girlfriend (wife).

[always-just-red]

Hi!

Can I request a fic where the reader starts realizing they have feelings for Sylus and gets so nervous around him that they can’t resonate anymore?

And Sylus thinks that the reader is scared/disgusted by him again so the reader is forced to confess their feelings to not create a bigger misunderstanding

Thanks!

- 🌻

The moment I got this request I was like HELLO— sunflower anon, you just get me 😌 Anyway! Am back from my break and I hope everyone’s ready for some Vulnerable Sylus™️, because I have got him hot to go!!!

A Gentle Touch

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You really can’t let Sylus into your head this time— he’s living there rent-free already.

Genre: Angst + Fluff (& some Luke and Kieran shenanigans because they were not feeling the angst)

Warnings/Additional Tags: f!reader, injury detail, mentions of possible trauma, humour, some intimacy at the end 😘, Luke and Kieran are having the time of their lives

| Word count: 3.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

If you asked, Sylus would tell you.

You catch glimpses: dark, sharp flickers of something monstrous, maybe even infernal. Blood, everywhere— thick in your mouth and your nose. All over your hands. You feel it, too: a yearning, so intense, and you couldn’t say whom it belongs to. Then there’s death. Searing white. Bottomless black. In the middle of all of it— crimson eyes like dying stars.

Every time you resonate, it envelops you, is laid out bare before you: a nightmare you’re caught in the centre of but forced to watch from outside. An other, a spectator. It’s a show, just for you, but it isn’t quite ready yet; someone’s still rehearsing their lines.

If you asked, Sylus would let you see it. It’s a power you have over him, a constant, self-sacrificial: you want it? It’s yours. So you don’t ask. You never ask. Like words mumbled in a haze of wine or sleep, you let him hold onto it. His hands are open, yes, but you don’t have to take.  

Besides, you have your own, world-changing little secret, and he’s going to see it too.

He’s slumped in front of you, blood sheeting down from two bullet wounds just below his shoulder. He catches his breath— one, two— before he peeks over this desk you’ve overturned for cover. You should be peeking over as well: should be counting your enemies, scouting your next move.

Instead, you’re looking at him and holding back. One minute ago you had no idea where he was, how he was, and it’d been eating away at you from the moment you got separated. Now he’s with you— he found you— and the relief is desperate, gushing; it has to escape somehow. It drips: forbidden daydreams, one after the other, like…

How you want to hold his face and urge him to speak so you can just hear his voice.

How you want to press a hand to his heart and feel the beat of it beneath your palm.

How you want to kiss him, want to taste the blood on his split lip, because this is your story, isn’t it? Messy. Violent. Defiant.

He looks at you, that same blood carving a thin line through the pale of his chin. It drops down onto his silk shirt. “What are you thinking about, kitten?” he grins. His best guess: “This is a fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, hmm?”

It’s a fine mess he got you into. “Yeah.” You make yourself look away from him, glancing over the desk to assess how much worse the situation is getting. The answer? Significantly. 

Sylus chuckles, drawing your eyes back as he reloads his gun. “Don’t say I never treat you to anything, sweetie.” He fires a few rounds towards the encroaching danger.

Voices go up across the room. Gunshots ring out, louder. Sylus slinks back down, wincing, holding his shoulder, and his fingers turn red. He deftly undoes the first few buttons on his shirt, peeling it back so he can examine his wounds. His jaw clenches; the punctures aren’t closing over fast enough. It’s too much blood, too quick, and he’ll—

He catches you staring. There’s a sheepish sincerity in the way he smiles, as honest and vulnerable as the holes in his shoulder. He holds out his hand. “Time for an energy storm, don’t you think?”

“No,” you snap. “Save your energy. We might need it later.”

“Oh?” An eyebrow perks up in interest, and it’s just like him to spot a double entendre in the midst of all this chaos.

But you’re staring at his chest through his open shirt and you’re such a hypocrite. “Things might get worse,” you explain.

“Worse?” he repeats as bullets fly over your heads, striking the wall across from you and scattering plaster over the floor. He watches it crumble. “Paint me a picture, kitten— what would worse look like?”

Even Rafayel might struggle with that particular creative prompt.

“Come on,” Sylus insists, using the excuse of your silence to push his hand closer to you. “Now’s not the time to play coy.”

“Sylus, I really don’t—”

He grasps your hand, his fingers locking with yours and squeezing tight. Your heart jumps at the touch. It strangles the protests in your throat and stays there, strung up by anticipation and dread.

You’re feeling so much that it takes you too long to realise nothing is happening.

Sylus’s eyes are fixed on your connected palms. He’s squinting, concentrating, and when that doesn’t work— when your hand is paling in the vice of his— he loosens his grip, his thumb feathering over yours as he mumbles a quick: “forgive me.”

He doesn’t let you go. You can still feel him, all of him, imploring to just let him in.

You don’t, and his eyes meet yours, for a moment— like another bullet has bitten through his flesh. Your mouth drops in fake surprise; you’re always so innocent when you pull a trigger on him.

This time, there’s no wound you can push your hands against in a guilty effort to staunch the bleeding. You have to apologise. Have to stitch it up with every word you’ve been guarding, saving, and it isn’t supposed to be like this. “Sylus, it’s not what you think. I—”

Something metal clatters across the floor behind you, bounces like a failing, stuttering heartbeat, then explodes.

…

“Good news, boss! We figured it out!”

Sylus groans, looking up from a report he’s not really been reading as two figures crash into his room. Not good, he thinks, as Kieran flings himself into the nearest armchair. Whatever this is, it’s not good. Luke settles on its arm.

With a sigh, Sylus removes his reading glasses. They stay, hooked on a finger, as he pushes his hair back like he can feel a headache coming on. His eyes flutter closed, and when they open, the twins are both leaning forward, bristling with excitement.

“Ask us,” Luke whispers in a way that makes Sylus think he might not realise he’s speaking out loud.

Another sigh. “What did you figure out?”

Kieran whips out a tired-looking notepad from behind his back. He clears his throat— “ahem!”— then starts to read: “Reasons why Miss Hunter was not able to resonate with you. Number one...”

“How did you find out about—”

“Sshhhh,” Kieran interrupts, putting a finger to where his lips should be. Sylus’s eyes widen in indignation, and Luke comes to his twin’s rescue, silently indicating Mephisto with a few tips of his head. The crow shrinks down on his perch.

“Number one,” Kieran repeats, matter-of-factly. “Your height.”

“My… height?”

Luke nods solemnly as Kieran continues: “humanityandconquer.com/power-dynamics describes tallness as a ‘natural advantage when trying to dominate a smaller individual.’ You are very tall. Try crouching when you speak to Miss Hunter.” He glances over the top of his notepad. “If you approach her at her level, she’ll know you mean no—”

“Nope. Next,” Sylus dismisses, waving his hand in a fast-forward motion. That headache is coming on.

“Reason two,” Kieran acquiesces, gaze falling, “your eyes.”

“Oh, for gods’ sake—”

“They’re red,” the twin pushes on, “and red means danger. In fiction, red eyes are symony—” he stops, spells it out— “synonymous with the supernatural. Vampires especially. Plus, lots of bad stuff is red.” He’s going off-script. “Blood. Fire. Sunburns.”

“Sunburns are pink,” Luke muses.

“No, like, bad sunburns, y’know?”

“Oh right, yeah.” There’s a shrug of agreement.

Sylus’s will to live is hanging by a thread, and they really don’t have a care in the world, do they? It must be nice. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “for your little investigation. If that’s all, I would—”

“Reason three!” Luke chirps, wiggling the same number of fingers, and Sylus’s head lolls back against the sofa.

“Miss Hunter is struggling to separate this version of you from your first impression,” Kieran says.

Sylus looks up. “What?”

Luke is rubbing his hands together eagerly, like they’ve finally gotten to the good stuff. “Well, you remember how you and Miss Hunter met,” his twin explains.

Words won’t do it justice, apparently, because the man begins to act it out. He reaches to grip Luke by the throat and Luke pretends to choke, fingers clawing at the grasp. Then Kieran stands up— throws Luke down into the chair and pins him there with his foot before snatching up his hand.

“See what I mean?” Kieran asks over his shoulder. “I mean, it must have been pretty traumatic. You kinda tore her away from everything she knew. Forced her to use her power, et cetera, et cetera.”

Sylus has gone quiet. He’s vaguely aware that the twins are moving, saying more, but he can’t hear it. He feels sick. Then he feels something different: someone poking at his arm. A hand is waved in front of his face, but he doesn’t react.

“Oh, we so got it,” Luke whispers conspiratorially behind him.

“Hell yeah we did!” Kieran whispers back.

There’s the sound of them high-fiving, and it spurs Sylus into action. He’s up out of his seat, out of their shadows, and then the door as well— long before they can stop him. He needs to breathe. He needs the cold night air and the quiet, and his strides drive him towards it, but not fast enough.

He’s about to use his Evol. To let himself evaporate so he can be whole again somewhere else, somewhere easier, but then he stops. He’s by an open door, glancing in at a decadent living room, where you’re sprawled over a black leather couch. This isn’t easier. This hurts, and it hurts more as he forces himself to close the distance between you.

You’re still asleep. You’ve been unconscious ever since that grenade went off, and it’s for the best, really; getting out of that place was… messy. Sylus’s shoulder still aches, the blood on his shirt now crusty and dark. Some of it’s his. Some of it’s yours.

He’s not sure why he’s still wearing it.

The twins did a pretty good job of patching you up, but— looking over you— he would have done better. It was his role, after all. His duty to you, or maybe just a reason to get close to you. He couldn’t do it today. Couldn’t touch you, no matter how noble the intention. And a little part of him was glad for the excuse; his hands always shake.

A blanket is half on your legs, half on the floor, and Sylus stoops to collect the edge of it. He draws it over your shoulder, adjusting it around your arms— at rest by your face. He’s close, now, and he…

He can’t help himself. When has he ever been able to help himself? He lifts his hand slowly; he wants to kiss you. Even though your blood is still drying on his shirt and it’s all his fault.

…

Someone’s hand is on your face.

The touch draws you back into consciousness, tender, careful, then suddenly sharp. “Ah,” you hiss. “Sylus?” Always first on your mind and your lips.

“Not even close,” quips the shadow above you.

“Kieran?”

“Bingo.”  

You use your hand to block some of the room’s light as you open your eyes— a birdlike silhouette taking shape through the gaps in your fingers. “Where’s Sylus?” you ask, teeth clenching as the twin applies a thin strip of surgical tape to a cut on your cheek. “Is he ok?”

“Sheesh, relax. He’s fine,” Kieran tuts, then seems to reconsider, “well…”

“He’s brooding,” chimes a voice from behind you. “Out on the balcony.” Luke.

You rub at your eyes, still drowsy with sleep. “Why’s he brooding? What did you do?”

“Told him he traumatised you,” they speak in unison.

“What?! Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s true,” Kieran shrugs. “That’s why you and boss couldn’t, you know…” He twinkles his fingers.

Resonate? Ugh. You slide your feet onto the floor, sitting up straight for a solid second before you bury your face in your hands, omitting a few, pained whines. This is such a mess, and it only got worse while you were asleep. First that stupid grenade, now the twins.

A hand pats at your back. “There, there,” Luke soothes.

You turn to glare at him. His hand retreats.

Forget it; you have to find Sylus.

…

You step out onto the balcony, head full of apologies you’ve had all of a minute to prepare, and it isn’t enough. It felt fitting, in the middle of a shootout— everything was allowed to be frantic and from the heart. Here it’s calm, and if you ruin something— break anything— it’s going to be obvious. There’s no other violence to blame.

Sylus must hear you join him, but he doesn’t turn. He’s leant forwards against the rail, one arm folded upon it, the other outstretched: sporting a glass of liquor that hangs from the tips of his fingers and that he swirls gently, his gaze far away.

The twins really weren’t kidding.

“Hey,” you greet, and it’s sort of pathetic, but you don’t know what else to say.

“Hey,” Sylus returns, “are you—” he looks back at you over his shoulder— “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you smile warmly. “I mean, the twins are giving me a headache, but that’s, like, standard.”  

He smiles back: a courtesy. You’ve seen him grin through almost every type of pain imaginable, but this one is new. Think about what Luke and Kieran said. What he must be thinking. “Sylus, I—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he stops you, turning his body towards you. “Honestly, I’d… rather you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he chuckles, masking a deeper hurt as he lifts his glass to his lips. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

You are; you hold his gaze as he takes a deliberately slow sip of his drink. He smirks, surrenders at once and admits: “I’m really not that strong, sweetie. That’s why.”

“What if I want to explain?”

The smirk falters, and his eyes make their own, sad, silent confession. If you want to explain? He’ll let you. He’ll stand here, listening patiently while you call him a thing of nightmares. While you break him, bit by tortuous bit, by reminding him just how frightening he is.

He turns back to the view, shrugs, but none of the tension leaves his shoulders. “Go on, then.”

“Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t scare me, you know.”

His hand tightens around his glass. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Pity me,” he grimaces. “I don’t need it. I know what I am. I’d just… forgotten what I was to you.”

Your captor. Your monster. Except that was a lifetime ago and he’s been so many more things to you since then. Tell him. “Sylus…”

“I felt it,” he snaps, because your voice is still so reluctant, and he’s going to save you the trouble. “When we tried to resonate, I felt it— your fear— just as deep as it used to be. I heard that same voice in your head, the one saying you wouldn’t let me in, couldn’t let me in, so don’t tell me I don’t scare you, sweetie.” The term of endearment tastes sour, you can tell. “I know how you feel. I know—”

“I like you, Sylus.”

“…What?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “I like you,” you say again, and your heart is beating too quickly for eloquence, so you just have simplicity. “You don’t scare me at all, Sy. I care about you. A lot.”

Sylus stares at you, his eyes wide. There’s no confidence. No smile or drawn-out breath of relief. He sets his glass aside on the railing, gaze leaving yours for a moment, and you get the feeling he needs that moment as much as he needed the drink itself.

Then he looks at you again. Asks in a way that makes you ache: “do you mean it?”

Look at him. Your throat stings. “Of course I mean it.”

“Say it again.”

“I mean it, Sylus. I care about—”

His lips are on yours and the rest of your words are lost in his mouth. You, you say with the way you kiss him back, soft and slow, like you’re relishing something that might slip away. You, you insist— your hand finding his face, his hair, as he kisses you deeper, and you, you, you, when he doesn’t stop.

“Is this alright?” he murmurs, his fingers around your chin and his thumb tugging at your bottom lip.

“Mmm,” you confirm, equally breathless.

He laughs as he withdraws a little, still caressing your face like you’re something of a dream. “You’re not making this easy, kitten.”

“Worried you might traumatise me again?”    

It's a low blow. He scoffs. “Luke and Kieran said—”

“Luke and Kieran once bought arts-and-crafts feathers for Mephisto because they thought the colours would make him, and I quote: more aerodynamic.” You pinch his ear playfully. “I can’t believe you let them get to you.”

“I know,” he groans, lifting your hand so he can press chaste kisses along the line of your knuckles. “Not my finest moment.” He guides your palm to his cheek— leans into it as he leans into an idea. “They said you hated my eyes,” he pouts.

You can’t help giggling. He frowns. “I mean— aww, no,” you scramble, but you’re still laughing. You can’t stop. “Your eyes are… yeah. So pretty.”

“You had to think about it?”

“There were just too many adjectives, y’know? I was struggling to—”

He kisses you again, saving you: crushing your laughter with his own, lightheaded smile. His hand finds yours as his lips move against you, your fingers interlocking as you resonate— chasing an instinct, a need to be impossibly closer— and you let him see everything. Feel everything.

It’s a mad tangle of opposites. Heaven. Hell. Life. Death. You don’t know what any of it means, but it’s yours and it’s his and it doesn’t scare you half as much as it should. Sylus breaks your kiss. He pushes his forehead against your own with a sigh of contentment, and it doesn’t scare him, either.  

Savour each second. Think of some better adjectives, while you still have the time.

He’s going to earn every single one.

…

✨Epilogue✨

Inside, staring out through the floor-to-ceiling windows that separate the room from the balcony, Luke and Kieran stand, looking awfully smug.   

“Mission accomplished,” Kieran nods, flipping closed his notepad, aptly titled: 101 Ways To Get Boss Laid! (There are only, currently, fifty-two.)

Luke’s arms are folded. “We’re like, the best wingmen ever.”

Kieran is silent. He repeats carefully: “Wingmen. Wingmen.”

The beaks of the crow masks gradually turn to face one-another. There’s a mutual epiphany, and both twins almost fall over laughing.

[murdrdocs]

repressed and desperately horny luke who has never seen a porn video vs new to camp reader who used to be able to watch it whenever they wanted but now can't even flick the bean in peace

oh and maybe reader who gives Luke a dirty polaroid or two they've been hiding before they leave camp for the fall

— 🦣

🦣 anon strikes again omg. this concept actually makes me all giddy i want it to be something Bigger hence the informal format but just follow me here okay.

just thinking about ya'll finding each other in a moment of need. fate, really, if either of you believed in the concept. you, grumpy and insatiable from lack of proper sexual satisfaction, and luke, knowing he's feeling something but he doesn't know how to expel the need. sure he jacks off sometime, but not nearly as much as a guy of his age usually would.

so there you are, grumbling about, eyes narrowed, mimicking the behavior of ares kids (your possible siblings but it's anyone's guess at this point) and luke just has to go and be the mediator, asking what's got you so down. of course, you're wound up so tight, and a little grateful that someone your age has asked the question because you can finally tell the truth.

out comes your dirty secrets. your longing for peace and quiet to get off. your slightly remorseful nature because you had no idea that you were that reliant on pornography to help you out. and luke is just standing there, ears reddening as he suddenly finds the trees behind you incredibly interesting.

but luke is a Problem Solver, so he awkwardly has a suggestion for you. "the showers right before the bonfire are usually pretty deserted. and for your ..." he scratches a nonexistent itch behind his ear. "other problem, my brothers have some old magazines i could lend to you."

you snort, arms folding as you pretend to be disinterested. but really anything would satiate you at this point. "what are they? women on motorcycles? maybe an old playboy mag?"

luke shrugs. "dunno. never seen 'em."

and it takes you a second. a really long, tense, and warm (for luke) second where you eye him up. noticing his stance, taking in his clipped words, how he said them. and it occurs to you that little demigod luke, having been at camp half blood since 14, has never seen what the world has to offer in the pornography department. or if he has, he hasn't seen the porn of today.

and unfortunately, it's impossible for you to fix his issue in naivety. there are no phones in camp and even if there were, you don't think the service out here would be all too good. which leaves you to improvise.

you do end up getting the mags from the hermes boys, critiquing their selection with a scrutinized glare at the pages, flicking through them with the edge of your shirt to avoid any remnants. and then you report back to luke, telling him to give them a look, prefacing it by telling him that things now are much more entertaining. slyly hinting at your ears being open if he wanted to give his opinion.

which, he does. standing awfully close to you at the bonfire one night, body turned just a little so he can speak lowly.

"there's ... things better than that out there?"

you nod, affirming his statement while attempting to hide a small smile. the magazines were barely pornography in your eyes, women in manufactured poses to appeal to men. skin artificially smoothed, their cunts shockingly dry, their poses so meticulous. it lacked the emotion and desire that you enjoyed to watch.

and poor luke didn't even know the half of it.

at least you do introduce him to what he could be consuming just before you leave camp that summer, sliding him two polaroids you'd managed to take.

one of you in the showers, body littered with clumps of suds. your skin shining from the overhead light which gleams from the water along your body. it's taken from a low angle, the side of your backside being the main focal point with your tits at the top just barely making the cut.

and then the other is much more lewd, showing luke what the magazines should have. you, on your back in a camp bed, wearing nothing but your standard issued shirt which is bunched up around the waist. your free hand is between your spread thighs, two fingers clearly singled out to spread your lips and reveal just how wet and shiny your cunt is. and after one of his many sessions of getting off over it, the post nut clarity manifests as hyper analyzing for luke.

he notices the familiar pair of shoes off to the corner, the pillowcase he had one of his brothers sneak in last summer, the stain he's never been able to get out of his fitted sheet.

and suddenly the picture has new meaning for him.

[bunnys-kisses]

How I have loved going to the Bakery. Have a small order myself, that I hope you will make happen 😍

Swiss roll, shortbread squares, savory pastry mocha coffee with a tonic water on the side. But where the girl is the older one. With Lando

bakery menu

want to submit an order? then hit up the menu! thank you for all of those who submitted orders, i am a really happy to be working with them! the prompts have been amazing, so thank you!! and for the lovely anon who submitted this order, i love your vision! while the age gap isn't massive between reader and lando, i do think it is interesting and thank you for specifying that, hahah. i hope you enjoy! <3

swiss roll: "everything you own, everything you wear i paid for. so i guess that means i own you." + savory pastry: "let your brother find out." + mocha coffee: breeding kink + tonic water: age gap served by lando norris (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, age gap (3 years), piastri!reader, cowgirl position, breeding kink, quiet sex, semi-public sex, couch sex

lando norris with an 'older girl' how scandalous. the age gap was just shy of three years and barely anything compared to some of the age gaps that happened in formula one. but, the press loved to make a scene of things that simply didn't exist.

you honestly thought they would've latched onto the fact that you were oscar piastri's older sister, but you guessed the tension between them would make that fact less of fuss in the media. so despite being twenty seven and working on your post-graduate degree, everyone had to be in your business about your relationship with the formula one driver.

when lando saw you on the track, he was all smiles as he practically raced to you, almost pushing your brother out of the way. you laughed and kissed lando on the lips when he got close enough. even though you were the oldest piastri, with oscar being second, you all looked around the same age. you once joked that you got that all from your mother and you were forever grateful for that.

you pecked your boyfriend on the lips before you slung an arm around your younger brother, you pulled him close and were all smiles. maybe you weren't the most demure of the wags/family of formula one, but the excitement of the track still coursed through you.

and when lando won, it was hard to decide if you wanted to be with your brother with his second place victory, or your winner of a boyfriend. you didn't didn't get much time to think it over, because very quickly, lando was pulling you into his driver's room.

"we can't do this here." you squeaked when he pressed you up against the door with his hands up your mclaren branded t-shirt. you moaned into the kiss he gave you, but tried to be quiet about it.

not everyone needed to know, even if it was implied that you two were intimate and quite often. the hickey-gate from the beginning of the season was still fresh in your mind.

"let your brother find out." he grinned against your lips, "hell, even your mom and sister too." he yanked the shirt off over your head and you bit your lip to keep quiet.

when he pulled away, he brought you with him and soon you ended up on the couch with your skirt hiked up. he had a hungry look in his eyes as he gazed down at you. you felt the quickening in your pulse as he got your skirt up over your hips and left your pink panties exposed.

"lando."

he looked at you with a stupid grin on his face. he could tell that you looked divine. beautiful in a way that it left him cock throbbing in his shorts, "i remember when i bought you this skirt. i thought i tore it right down the seam when we got home." he recalled.

you replied, "you've done that to about four of my skirts." the pouted at him.

"and i'll do it to four more." he grabbed at his clothed cock and beamed, "everything you own, everything you wear i paid for. so i guess that means i own you. which means i can rip what i want. when i want." and you felt the heat in your face.

"lando."

he laughed a little, for a moment he was loud before he quieted himself. as much as he would talk about letting your family know how good he fucked you. he was slightly afraid of mrs. piastri. a woman that nice would easily have lando's head on a plate and his balls as a side dish.

he got your panties off, "can you be quiet for me, babygirl?" his tone, quiet but still seductive enough to leave you feeling the heat from your head to your feet.

you nodded, "of course." then straddled his waist once he got onto the couch beside you and his cock was out of his jeans. little time to undress, you two could becoming more intimate with your nudes bodies at the hotel room. you sank down on him and arched your back a little from the feeling. you hated to admit it, but it felt very, very good. a stretch in the right way, not enough to leave you achy for days on end. but rather achy where your body yearned for it. till you had every last inch.

it was an erotic feeling. the sort of feeling that made the blood pump faster in your brain. lando had that kind of effect on you, he knew exactly how to make you feel good. after all, you only deserved the best.

'you like that, angel?" he asked quietly, "you like how i make you feel?" his voice was quiet and a bit strain from the shock of pleasure to the brain. he licked his top lip and beamed at you, "so pretty."

"lando. fuck."

"sounds like you love it." he chuckled. as the pleasure coursed through his body, the more erotic side of him took over. his lips became more loose and the words made your skin burn, "ah, like that, angel? like how i fuck you... next time, i'm gonna breed you." he panted a little bit, his eyes slightly hooded as the pleasure thumped in his brain.

"lan-"

"shh. shh." he said, "think about it. you, me, baby. you'd look really good with my kid. then our families will be together. oscar as my brother in law and uncle to our little peanut." he laughed a little bit.

you held onto his shoulders and kept moving your hips, "lando. fuck." the idea sounded nice, even when removed from the sexual context. but, not until you finished your masters. regardless you still worked yourself against his cock.

"you and i making a baby. make it a night you could never forget." he said with a big smile before you leaned in and kissed him deeply on the lips. he moaned against the kiss and you felt the pleasure criss cross up your back with an intense heat.

lando always made you feel good. you shifted a little to get a better pace as you rode him. you took him beautifully in lando's (less than) humble opinion. he wished he could hear your noises at that moment, but right now you two had to quiet. rutting against one another like animals.

"baby."

"i love you."

"not as much as i love you. fuck, angel." he groaned as he really continued to work your pussy. he could describe himself as drunk off the feeling of you. you came quickly and bit your inner cheek as you tensed up. you couldn't be too loud. the scandal that created.

"shit." you squeaked out, "lando."

he chuckled as he kissed your sweaty temple. his hands on your ass as he guided you up and down his cock. you gasped against him. the pleasure reverberated through you.

"i guess you can keep up with a young guy like me." he chuckled, "you start to slow down in your mid-twenties." his words were cheeky.

you took him by the shoulders and stared into his eyes, you replied quietly, "shut up." then kissed his lips, "i love you, but shut up." and lando pulled you into another kiss as he bucked his hips a few more times and came inside of you.

the moan rolled off his tongue while he kissed you as you both slowed your pace down. you remained in his lap for a moment, softly kissing as he leaned over to grab your panties.

when you broke away, you looked at him and smiled a little. you cupped his face, "i know what you're going to say. you get one last joke about my age, norris." you tapped his nose.

"you did so good for a woman your age." he beamed.

"that's it, couch tonight." you grabbed your panties, "i'm celebrating the rest of the evening with my brother." and when you tried to get away on shaky legs lando only pulled you back into his lap.

he smiled at you and said, "you know i like my women older." he held you tight and you kicked your legs. you panties tumbled out of your hand and onto the floor once more as lando pulled you onto the couch, "especially when they're so beautiful."

you flushed a little, and let your boyfriend grope your near bare breasts once more. you could hit him over the head, but quickly you melted into his kisses <3

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU ; — you can’t help but feel a little upset thinking that your boyfriend has forgotten your anniversary.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, none, fluff! although it gets a tiny bit hawt at the end! ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! an anon suggested this drabble idea literally like sometime last year + the new szn finally gave me some motivation to write it! i hope u see this!

3 years.. 3 years and gojo didn’t leave you with so much as a “happy anniversary” as he left this morning. you’d have even taken an extra smack on the ass during your usual morning makeout session, the taste of his two sugar’s too sweet coffee on his tongue as it twists with yours and his hands on your waist.. but that’s it, that’s all???

so now you’re here, angrily stomping back to your shared apartment after the few errands you had to run today because you took the day off to celebrate. but your dumb, stupidly handsome boyfriend doesn’t even know what for as he rambles on the other side of the phone.

“can feel you poutin’, what’s gotten into my sweet girl? hm?” gojo hums like hes thinking about something, his same sickly sweet tone dripping through you like honey despite the way you want to be mad at him right now— you would’ve ignored the call all together, just to be petty if you didn’t know he’d turn up at the door a second later.

“nothing. i’m just almost home that’s all.” you’re lying and you know he can tell, he always could. he could pick up every slight, little change in your attitude like he seen right through you.

“oh yeah? nothing at all on your mind?” gojo drawls again, there’s a teasing lull to his voice and it makes your pout puff out even more before he breathes out a low chuckle and sighs. “and here i thought you were mad at me. you almost made me cry at work— who would take me seriously then, huh?”

“you’re not funny.” you huff out, short and a little clipped as you finally come to a stop infront of your apartment door — fiddling with your keys in your hand while your pout still rests on your features.

“you sure?”

you really can’t be bothered playing gojo’s games right now and as amusing as he seems to find himself, it’s only making you burn hotter — making your stomach twist with the lump in your throat that you’ve been fighting to keep down all day. you don’t want to get upset, but it meant a lot to you.

you just wanted him to maybe put in a little effort on the one day that you guys really get to celebrate eachother.

“positive. so i’m gonna g—“ you can barely finish your own spiralling, upsetting thoughts before your snapped response through your phone fades on your tongue. but suddenly, the tears youd been fighting to hold back all day seem to come so ruthlessly, gathering along your lashes as you gaze onto the ocean of red that greets you as you open the door.

you’re not sure how many bouquets there are waiting for you there. hundreds? thousands? sitting pretty along the floor, decorating the shared space so beautifully that you don’t even realise that you’ve gone quiet. ofcourse gojo would do something like this, and suddenly you feel a little silly for even doubting him.

“ah, fine. i guess i’ll get the guy to come pick all of those back up then, huh, sweet thing?”

but the smooth tone that sounds from your phone speaker sounds a little louder, closer when it’s accompanied by a long arm wrapping around your waist from behind as kisses are pressed up the side of your neck.

“but, you—“ you try but you feel so overwhelmed, so full of love as gojo’s large figure drapes over you from behind. his face is stuffed into the crook of your neck and you can feel the way his crooked smile sits on his features as it presses against your skin. he feels warm, although you’re sure he’s more than smug right now when he pulls away with an exaggerated gasp that cuts off your sentence.

“as if you’re perfect, good looking boyfriend would ever forget. what do you take me for, hm?” you giggle at that despite the way he’s teasing you again, squeezing at your sides until you’re meeting his gaze and you’re sure you must look so in love when you notice the way his features soften slightly.

“happy anniversary, princess.” gojo grins as he leans into kiss you breathless, twisting into your mouth as his tongue pushes past your lips and you almost rock back with how dizzy he makes you feel. but his hands are on your hips, keeping you close against his chest with a stability that you’d always found in him.

another long press of his lips with yours and you whimper sweetly as he pulls away to look at you, pretty gaze glowing slightly from under the snowy peaks of his hair before he’s smirking again, maybe a little wider this time.

“you gonna laugh f’ me when i tell jokes again? i can feel the tears threatening to start again.” he’s like a professional when his cheeky grin twists into an exaggerated pout, making you laugh again— a little harder this time before you’re pinching at his cheeks playfully and bringing him in for another quick kiss.

“you’re such a dork.” you tease and gojo groans against your lips like he’s offended.

“mmm, no thank you? oh i’m hurt, sweet girl. what’ll i do with you now, hm?” the look he gives you as he pulls away is suspicious, a raised brow as his head falls to the side and he really looks like he’s considering it. until the next moment his large palm is coming down heavy on your ass before his next handful squeezes.

“satoru!” you squeal but that only seems to make him chuckle as he leans down to kiss you again, rougher this time despite the way you’re both smiling giddily into the shared, messy press of eachother. almost too quickly finding yourself pressed up against the wall in the hallway as he melts into you.

“let’s see! oh, i’ve got a few ideas.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Chemical Override (bonus chapter 5) - Never Have I Ever, Darling

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: what started out as a brilliant anon prompt turned into a potential minishot turned into this bonus chapter. Have at it, darlings.

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Set after part nine. Some of our beloved cast members (Phia, Tom, Liv, Emma, Harry, Bethany, Fabs, Matty, Ewan, and the reader) are in different cities so they decide to have a mini online reunion. And - you guessed it - chaos ensues.

Ewan leans back in his chair, watching the grid of faces on his screen. The reunion call had been predictably chaotic from the start, and now, with everyone several drinks deep, things are getting even more unruly.

“Okay, I’m bored of all your faces now,” Tom groans, leaning back in his chair in mock annoyance. “How about we play a little game?”

You roll your eyes at Tom’s theatrics, but your lips twitch up. “Yeah, why not? I can’t say I enjoy seeing your giant mug either.” This only prompts Tom to shoot back with, “What, this mug?” He then shoves his face into the camera until his nose fills the screen. 

Ewan’s smile widens as he watches you lean in to match Tom’s energy, scrunching your nose at the camera. His heart gives an involuntary lurch. He misses you, and all your sharp and witty retorts. You can make him laugh without even trying. His mind flashes to what you used to have together, and it stings more than he cared to admit.

But then his eyes dart to the tiny square beside yours – Matt. His smile is effectively dampened. 

Phia cuts in, her eyes glinting with mischief. “We were thinking... Never Have I Ever? So you have to say whether or not you've done a thing. If you have, take a drink. And elaborate if you want.”

She winks at someone – or maybe a few someones – definitely not Ewan. He frowns. Something’s going on here. 

“Oh, I don’t do that,” Harry jokes. “I’m too young and innocent to drink!”

Emma beams at him, “That’s my good boy.”

Without missing a beat, Tom slides in, smirking, “Do I lose cool points if I also want Emma to call me their good boy?” 

“When have you ever been cool?” Ewan deadpans, raising an eyebrow.

“Ouch,” Tom dramatically presses a hand to his chest, “You roasted me in the show, and now you roast me in real life? Cold, mate. Cold.”

Fabien chuckles, but Ewan barely registers it. His focus drifts to you, laughing at something Matt just said in the chat. His chest tightens, and he heads to the kitchen to refill his drink. It is always like this. He could never decide if he was more annoyed with Matt for being so… Matt, or with himself for letting it get to him. But how can it not?

When everyone is settled back in their seats, respective alcoholic beverages in hand, Phia announces, “Alright, drinks ready? Let’s go! I’ll start.” She pauses dramatically before delivering her line. “Never have I ever… embarrassed myself at work.”

Ewan freezes, already knowing he’s about to be dragged into this. Your eyes flicker toward him, an amused smile tugging at your lips.

“Oh, I know who! Mr. Ewan Mitchell please take the stage,” Tom prompts, his voice ever teasing.

Matt raises an eyebrow, leaning in closer to the camera. “Yeah, mate. Let’s hear it.”

Ewan feels a pulse of irritation, but he forces a casual grin, raising his glass. “Fine. Fine. There was this one time… during an interview… where I got... distracted.”

You raise an eyebrow, grinning wickedly as you catch his glance. “By what? A hard question?”

Ewan chuckles darkly, his gaze locked on you. “Nope. By a certain someone.”

The rest of the group catches on instantly, erupting in loud whoops and laughter. You laugh too, shaking your head, but the faint blush creeping up your neck doesn’t go unnoticed by Ewan.

“Ohhh, I remember,” Liv howls, her wine sloshing in her glass. “You'd go beet red! We even had a drinking game dedicated to those.”

"What?" Ewan asks, clearly confused.

"Nothing," Liv quickly mutters, but then she and Phia have to stifle their giggles.

You lean back in your chair, shaking your head. “By the way, I wasn’t distracting! I was just being professional.”

“Sure, love,” Matt chimes in, throwing a smirk your way. “You’ve always been very… professional.”

Ewan’s smile fades slightly as he watches the exchange. He tries to laugh it off, but there’s a knot forming in his chest that refuses to loosen.

Tom jumps in to keep the energy up. “Next one! Never have I ever... pretended to know something just to impress someone I liked.”

Matt and Ewan both freeze for a second. Tom’s eyes light up, knowing he’s hit something. Everyone else watches intently, waiting for one of them to crack.

Phia laughs, clearly enjoying the tension. “Oh, come on, boys. One of you’s gotta drink to this.”

Matt is the first to cave, lifting his glass with a sheepish grin. “Alright, guilty as charged.”

“Oh? And what was it?” Ewan asks, leaning forward, his tone sharper than he intended.

Matt shrugs, eyes flicking to you briefly. “Indie film. Thought I could impress someone by pretending I’d seen it. No idea what it was about.”

You snicker, rolling your eyes. “Points for trying, Smithy.”

“Cheers to trying too hard, I guess,” Ewan icily mutters.

Matt doesn’t respond immediately, but his jaw tightens as he drinks. 

Phia, loving the growing tension, grins wickedly as she leans toward the screen. “Alright, alright. This one might be for the silly boys. Never have I ever... gotten flustered because of someone I’m attracted to on set.”

Ewan’s heart jumps into his throat, and he catches your eye. The group goes silent for a split second before exploding in laughter.

“Oh, this is going to be good,” Tom says, rubbing his hands together in delight.

Ewan feels his face heating up, the alcohol loosening his control over his reactions. He tries to play it off, taking a deliberate sip of his drink, but he knows everyone’s watching him. Matt, unsurprisingly, is doing the same.

“Wait – both of you?” Emma teases, eyes darting between Ewan and Matt. “This is getting interesting.”

Bethany chuckles. “What’s this? A love triangle brewing? Well, I already know which side I’m on!”

Ewan can feel the weight of the question hanging in the air, even though it’s masked in humour. His heart pounds, but he keeps his face neutral. The laughter from the screen feels distant, his focus narrowing on you as you nervously sipped your drink.

Before anyone can linger on the moment too long, Tom jumps in with another devilish idea. “Next one: Never have I ever... met my celebrity crush.”

You sigh dramatically, lifting your glass. “Alright. Fine. I have.”

Matt’s smirk widens. “And who would that be?” 

You pause for a moment, glancing at Ewan briefly before you say, “Matt was my celebrity crush during his Doctor Who days.”

The group erupts into chaos – clapping, whistling, teasing jabs flying from every direction. Tom is practically falling out of his chair with laughter, clapping loudly. “Oh, that is brilliant! Drink up!”

Matt raises his glass, clearly enjoying the attention. “Well, can’t say I’m surprised.”

Ewan forces a smile, the jealousy burning under his skin. Just when he thinks it might cool down, Liv drops another bomb. “Alright, here’s a cheeky one. Never have I ever... had naughty public sex.”

The group’s reactions ranged from laughter to playful groans, but Ewan’s focus was solely on you. Your eyes went wide, and you quickly glanced at him, clearly panicking.

His phone buzzes on the table, while the rest of the group is busy answering – and attempting to avoid – the question. He looks down and sees a message from you.

My Darling: Don’t answer that.

- Why not?

My Darling: They’ll figure it out

- My love, hate to break it to you but I wasn’t celibate before we met

My Darling: You know how they think

-  It’s not a big deal.

My Darling: Come on. Please?

-  Say the magic word

My Darling: I just did.

- No you didn’t

My Darling: PLEASE don’t answer that.

- Not what I’m looking for

My Darling: Oh for fuck’s sake.

- What do you call me?

My Darling: Don’t answer, Mitchell.

- Nope

My Darling: Ugh. Ok.

My Darling: Baby, don’t answer that. I implore you. Baby, oh baby. 

Ewan can’t help but giggle to himself at your barely veiled sarcasm, just bleeding off the text message. His silly girl.

- And we have a winner!

My Darling: I hate u.

- Enough to fuck my brains out in a semi-public place

My Darling: Shut up, Mitchell.

- You love me

You glance up from your phone, eyes meeting Ewan’s on the screen. He’s grinning like the cat who got the cream, clearly loving watching you squirm. He leans back in his chair, keeping his glass lowered. “You know, I think I’m going to plead the fifth on this one.”

Tom and Fabien erupt into loud boos, but the rest of the group is laughing, already tipsy and entertained by the spectacle. Ewan feels a rush of satisfaction watching you blush even harder.

“Oh, come on!” Tom scoffs, clearly annoyed. “You can’t plead the fifth. This is a mostly British group call.”

“I’m in LA,” Ewan shoots back with a grin. “I’m allowed.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Harry interrupts, his eyes wide with confusion. “I’m sorry, what does ‘pleading the fifth’ mean?”

Emma responds, “I think that means you can choose not to answer.”

“What?” Harry practically yells, and nearly slides off the edge of his seat, making everyone laugh. “So I could have been using that all this time?”

“It’s an American thing, mate,” Bethany clarifies, trying to stifle her laughter.

“But Ewan’s doing it!” Harry protests. 

“I’m in LA so…” Ewan shrugs nonchalantly, a smug grin spreading across his face. 

“Ewan has a point,” you chime in, coming to his aid – and yours. “Just let the guy plead the fifth.”

Phia then points to you, mischief in her eyes. “Alright, babe, your turn. No pleading the fifth. You’re not in LA.”

“What?” you freeze. In your efforts not to get Ewan to answer, you forgot you had to avoid the same problem. Ewan just stares at your flustered image on the screen, mouth parted in disbelief. You think for a moment, then blurt out, “But I… also plead the fifth!”

“You’re not in the US!” Tom declares. “Nope, not gonna happen.”

“Come on,” you retort, scrambling for an excuse. “I could be in the US right now, how do you know?”

“Love,” Matt smirks, “I just saw you yesterday.”

“No, you didn’t,” you say immediately. “That was my twin sister.”

“Then she’s every bit as gorgeous as you are,” Matt quips, relishing the moment.

“Alright, you two,” Phia says, feeling the need to intervene for Ewan’s sake. “Okay, babe, no more dodging. You have to follow the rules.”

“I… I… oh for fuck’s sake,” you sigh in defeat. “Yes.”

The group erupts into drunken cheers, the noise practically deafening through Ewan’s speakers. He watches you laugh, clearly embarrassed, but enjoying the chaos.

Then, just as the cheers start to die down, Ewan raises his glass with a smug grin. “You know what? I changed my mind. I’ll answer too. Yes.”

The group explodes again –  Fabien banging on his desk, Tom howling with laughter, and Liv nearly spilling her wine in delight. Meanwhile, Ewan’s eyes remain locked on yours, the tension between you undeniable.

Fabien, already catching on, cheers loudly. “Yes, mate!”

You cover your face with both hands, utterly speechless. “Oh my god,” you exclaim, trying to process the turn of events.

“Oh,” Emma starts, then repeats with more gusto, “OH! So you two…”

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @onlyrealjoy @hotdismylife @thepurplecrown @just-fics-station @clarkysblog @urmomsgirlfriend1 @misfitbimbosblog (continued in comments ... )

Some notes in the margins...

A little something mainly for the Ewan girlies... 😉

Oh, and Liv hinted at a past bonus chapter if you can catch it ~

Anyhow - this was fun! At least Ewan seemed to think to so at the end there. 🥃🍷🥂

[ikinremu]

I don’t know if your still doing story rqs or not but I would love a possessive!tommy shelby x innocent!reader.

idea: thomas saw a guy flirting with reader but was to innocent to know it, or notice it—reader does know about sex and other shit, just didn’t really understand it.

Hi anon! Tysm for requesting, hope you enjoy! Also, just to let everyone know that if you have requested, I will be working on it I’m just working through a lot of requests atm so bear with me!! <3

My Property

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

! Smut Warning !

Tags: Innocence, Virgin!reader, Fingering, Unprotected sex, P in V, Multiple orgasms, Praise, Possessive/jealousy, Praise, Cream Pie

"What can I getcha, miss?" Came the low, hoarse voice of the bartender, burnt cigarette faltering in his mouth.

"An Old Fashioned, please." You smiled politely, shuffling a little atop the rickety old stood, resting your hands upon the bar's scuffed surface.

The man returned the smile, accompanied by a nod of understanding. His gaze seemed to linger on your face for a moment, fingers swiping the cigarette from between his lips. His eyes never once faltered from your own as his mouth puffed out a cloud of foggy smoke, and he stubbed it out on a nearby ashtray accordingly.

"Rough day?" He inquired, the broad span of his back facing you as he reached over the bar's vast array of contents, seizing whichever components he needed.

"Not particularly, no." You smiled.

"Just figured somethin' had to bring a beautiful woman like you 'ere." He spun to face you once more, laying all intent to the way he studied your expression. He leant forward quite the distance, pouring out your requested drink, gaze never leaving yours.

His words caught you rather off guard, making you stumble over your own slightly, "Oh- um, just fancied a drink, I suppose."

At that, he slid the glass into your open hands, "Here you are."

"Thank you." You gave a honey-like smile, raising the glass to your lips.

As you did so, the man turned once more, slotting the previously retrieved bottles back into their correct places. Glass clinked together, and one particularly large bottle slipped from the shelf, just barely saved from smashing by his splayed hands.

He let out an exhale of relief as he seized the bottle, assuring it remained firmly in place this time.

"That's not like me." He chuckled to himself, pivoting back round in your direction, "I'm usually good with my hands."

He followed the sentence with an obnoxiously bold wink, which you unknowingly ignored, allowing it to fly right by.

There was a moment of drawn out silence as you nodded politely in response, "Well I'd hope so in a job like this."

His brows creased ever so slightly, and he cleared his throat once more.

"Guess I must've been.. distracted." He accentuated the very last word, wetting his lips. You felt his eyes roam over your entirety, lingering over your chest specifically.

With a small nod, you indulged in another sip from your drink, brows furrowed slightly. You could feel his gaze trained upon your mouth as your lips met the top of the glass.

It only then became apparent that you ought to return to your table - you'd become entirely too caught up with polite conversation.

"I best get back." You smiled, hand cupping your beverage as you shuffled atop your barstool. 

His disappointment was blatant, "Leavin' so soon?"

Your gaze spun back to the table you'd been at until only recently. John and Arthur were cackling about God knows what, and Tommy sat beside, smirking, although it appeared he was a little more focused on yourself than the accompaniment of his chortling brothers.

"Ah, I see." He observed, voice a low rumble as your swivelled back toward him, "They seem like they're coping." He chuckled, "Maybe I can convince you to ditch them for the night, hm?"

"No need for that." Tommy's voice cut through like a blade from behind you, making you jump out of your skin for a brief moment. He stepped close beside you, the scrutiny of his stare channelled upon nothing but the bartender.

An obvious, frustrated exhale escaped the man, "I think the lady can make up her own mind, don't you?"

From the very corner of your eye, you observed the tight tick of his jaw.

"Listen, darlin, if you want a good time you know where to find me."  He bargained on.

Irritation painted Tommy's face - although you couldn't quite resolve the puzzle as to why he was so agitated by the man offering you company; he seemed nice enough.

He was practically glaring at the bartender by now, his eyes struggling to leave as he nodded in the loose direction away from the counter, signalling the pair of you should make your way back.

As you hopped off the rickety, wooden stool, your eyes travelled back and forth between the two men, "Uh, thank you for the company." You offered a sweet - more so polite - smile, followed shortly by yourself and Tommy heading back.

"I think we should leave." He spoke, monotone as ever, "Arthur and John will be fine."

It was as though he knew you'd ask of them.

It wasn't particularly late, however you didn't fancy bargaining and in all honesty, you had no problem with leaving early.

Tommy's hand planted suddenly upon the small of your back, guiding the pair of you to exit out into the cool evening air.

A chill whisked over your face as you walked, "I don't understand why you're so upset."

"I'm not upset." He exhaled as the both of you ambled into the familiar, locked door of the betting office.

"Well, judging by the way you're jamming that poor key into the lock, I'd say otherwise." You mumbled, stood uncomfortably beside him, watching as he forced the key over until the lock finally clicked, turning it and shoving the door open, "You looked like you wanted to throttle that bartender."

He let out a scoff,  raising a brow a little as he turned to face you specifically, shutting the door the very moment you strode inside.

"I thought he seemed nice.." You uttered, accompanied by a genuine sense of confusion, "Friendly."

Tommy's eyes flickered across your face, from feature to feature; practically drinking you in, "You weren't gonna entertain the bastard, were you?"

You simply furrowed a brow, "What do you mean?"

He wet his lips, another blatant sigh escaping him, "Clearly thinks he was in with a chance, I don't want you doin' something you'll come to regret, eh?"

Somehow, his words were rather sudden to your ears, and it was a secret to no one that you were confused.

"He was gonna use you to get off, we both know you deserve more than that, don't you?" He leaned in a little as the words floated from his lips, the heat of his breath caressing your skin.

Your breath caught in your throat, hitching at the utter proximity of it all, and his hand found your waist suddenly. You were stunned, losing a single, soft gasp upon the feeling of the possessive squeeze he offered.

"Tell me you want this." His mouth mumbled, a mere inch from your ear.

An ambush of butterflies fluttered through your stomach, and you just couldn't deny his words, "..I want this."

"That's right, my fuckin' girl." Tommy grumbled, snaking a callous hand beneath your skirt, sliding slowly up your thigh, "Mine to touch, eh?"

A shiver coursed down your spine; intoxicated by the way he looked at you with such possession. Greedily, his fingers splayed over your thigh, inching nearer and nearer to the place you were most sensitive.

Your teeth sunk into the pillow of your bottom lip as one single, gentle finger brushed over your silken underwear.

"Acting so innocent, but you're fucking soaked." Tommy chuckled, beginning to trace subtle circles around your clit through the material, "Needy, eh?"

The way his fingers moved felt unbelievable, like nothing you'd ever experienced before. It was entirely new, and you didn't want it to end.

As though reacting to the unfamiliar sensations, your back hollowed an arch from the door, drenched cunt pressing against the motions of his hand, drawing a chuckle from his lips.

"Feels good, hm?" He taunted, lips curving into a prideful smirk as his digits crept beneath your underwear, hooking the silk hand and tugging it aside quickly.

A loud, breathy sound left your mouth as his fingertips came in contact with your bare, sensitive pussy.

"You want more, love?" He raised a brow, aware and deliberate of the question he knew the answer to, the strain of his own arousal increasing as he watched the way your face twisted in pleasure.

You nodded, "Mhm."

Tommy trailed his touch down your soaked cunt, pulling yet another gasp from your lips as he slipped one finger between your folds. You cursed under your breath, unable to resist as he slid a single, skilful finger inside you.

He watched your eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed and pouring heavy breaths. Your cunt twitched around him as he so slowly slipped another finger beside the first.

"That's it, fucking feel it, eh?" He whispered, voice low and raspy.

Easing in, Tommy began to move his grouped digits inside you, reaching a spot so sensitive it was made simply impossible to restrain your whine.

"Oh fuck.."

"Look at that sweet little cunt squeezing my fingers.." He breathed, "Mine."

Your arousal further soaked his hand as his fingers thrust at a tortuous pace, finally beginning to quicken, gaze focused solely on yours; the way in which you reacted.

The warm, though rough, pad of his thumb pressed itself to the swell of your clit, toying with the pressure as his digits moved faster, curling and pumping in and out in a way that had your chest heaving.

"Please.." You murmured. You weren't at all accustomed to this new feeling, rather like a knot building in your stomach.

"I know, love," Tommy encouraged, "You like the way my fingers fuck that tight little cunt, hm?" He smiled, only further fuelled by the sight of you losing composure at his touch, "Come for me."

His words snapped the tightly-wound knot in your stomach, and a wave of intense pleasure stormed  your entirety - no trace of mercy.

Tommy's hand didn't halt, maintaining his pace as you came undone, guiding you through the release.

Your thighs trembled desperately around him, the feeling dying down, an air of euphoria about you.

Slipping his fingers from the heat of your pussy, he pressed his forehead against your own, eyes flickering and locking onto yours. Finally, his mouth connected with yours, lips soft and warm - enticing your body to the feel of his as he deepened the kiss. His hands gripped at your waist, stumbling back without shattering the embrace, the pair of you shuffling into the centre of the betting office.

The kiss grew hungrier by the second, his tongue gliding between your lips, he assisted you in perching atop his - usefully - wellkept desk. His hand snaked a path between your weakened thighs, parting them.

As you moved your mouth desperately against his, you felt the movements of his dark, certainly costly trousers being unclasped, followed immediately by the sound of fabric crumpling. He tore back from the kiss, breathing ever so heavily as he wrapped his fist tightly around his cock, throbbing against his palm.

"Going to let me ruin that sweet fucking cunt, aren't you?" He grumbled, to which you gave a delicate nod.  "Ready?"

The subject of your gaze switched, roaming downward to the sight. Tommy's large, veiny hand grasping his erection. To say you couldn't quite process it would be a vast understatement.

"Yes." You nodded, fingertips digging firmly into the desk as he stood before you. He lined up the thick, pulsing head of his cock with your sopping entrance, one hand planted loosely to the small of your back.

With a low, hoarse sounding groan, he slid inside the warmth of your cunt. At a volume you hadn't yet reached, you gasped, adjusting to the feel of him inside you, a sharp moan rolling off your tongue.

"Fucking hell," He exhaled, "You feel incredible."

His cock twitched within you, your hands instinctively flying to the broad of his back for support. Tommy pulled his hips back, then forward, thrusting so very slowly into you as floods of soft whimpers fled your throat.

"You're mine, eh?" He groaned, controlling his hips at a divine pace, "And I take care of what belongs to me."

Clutching helplessly onto his waist-coat clad shoulders, your breaths grew shallower and far more frantic as he picked up the pace. The desk wavered beneath your bodies, suffering from the impact of the pair of you working with one and other.

"My property." He whispered, bare hips bucking hungrily against yours, as though a craving overcame him. "No one touches my property."

A shiver shot down your spine, pussy squeezing greedily at his length, his cock reaching perfectly deep.

"Fuck.." You practically heaved out, unable to prevent your whimpers as his tip struck repeatedly against your g-spot.

"That's it." Tommy praised, bright eyes rolling back for the span of one brief moment as he slammed his hips against yours, "You take my cock so well.."

Your cunt soaked his cock further as it stroked back and forth at a fulfilling pace, room swarmed with the sound of skin colliding and frantic breathing.

The thick, pulsing head of his cock struck repeatedly against your g-spot as his pace fell sloppier, clearly losing composure as you squeezed him.

"Fuck.." He grumbled, "So good."

Fingertips digging into his lower back, you felt Tommy tremor beneath your touch, his hips bucking with far less control. Once more, his fingers crept toward the heat of your pussy, pressing the perfect level of pressure to your clit.

A newly familiar sensation began to build in your stomach, bringing your teeth to bite down on your lower lip; overwhelmed by the combined feelings of Tommy’s thrusts working with his fingers to bring you closer to a second release.

“Shit,” He groaned, “Gonna fill up that sweet fuckin’ cunt, hm?”

“So good.. Please..” You practically babbled out, mouth falling open with a breathy moan.

Abruptly, the very same tidal wave of pleasure washed over your body, although far more intense this time. Your soaked, overstimulated cunt twitched around his deep, pulsing cock.

“That’s it.” He encouraged, jolting his hips at a divine pace as he fucked you through the release, feeling your nails push down against his waist-coat.

Eyelids fluttering over his eyes, Tommy slipped a raspy, broken groan. A spurt of warmth filled you suddenly, pooling within your drenched pussy as he breathed heavily. The pair of you struggled to catch your breath.

He stroked one warm, callous palm over your cheek ever so softly, though contrasted with possession, “Mine to ruin, eh?”

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! As I said, I’m working through a lot of requests so thank you for your patience if you’ve sent one in <3

[gay-dorito-dust]

My mind is racing right now. I’m just imagining targ!reader who is Rhaenyra’s heir and maybe she’s a realms delight (very politically savvy maybe idk) like her mother was and everyone is trying so hard to get her attention but all she wants is Benjicot and he thinks that he doesn’t have a chance so he doesn’t even entertain the thought of it.

Am I Going Crazy?

No you’re not going crazy anon, I totally understand. I’m just shooting at the hip with with one, so it’s gonna be short and something

The moment you were born the realm fell in love with you just as your family did the second you opened your gorgeous eyes and smiled.

The realms delight was a title once given to your mother when she was younger, was a title now being passed down to you. Everyone from greater house, small houses and even the obscure ones wanted to witness you every smile and every laugh however they could, whether it be on your name day, tourneys or otherwise they all clambered to be in your presence.

‘You had the entire realm at your feet, you could convince the dumb cunt lords and their sons into stupidly plunging into depths of death, should you feel like it.’ is what Daemon says often as to remind you just how much of a hold you held over everyone whereas in a way that your mother didn’t. Or at least not anymore.

You lived relativity with more freedom and leniency then most of similar status, which may have less to you being the core envy for some, but in exchange you were taught by Daemon a plethora of things when came to playing your hand in this game of politics and power. He taught you how to wield a sword and how to keep your opponent guessing your next move, so much so that when training with the likes of Jace, Luke or either Baela and Rhaena you were always ten steps ahead.

Much like your mother, you were granted the privilege to seek out whom ever caught your eye when you were of an eligible age for marriage, so when the news that you offering up your hand in marriage the realm was quick to gather their finest men to speak upon why it is that you should choose them over the others. However none of them were to your taste as some were far too young and could barely pick up a sword, far too old and fat from gorging themselves on wine and food, or just didn’t give a good enough reason for you to marry them other then that they could satisfy you; A line that had them shoved out the door as quickly as they came as you tried to swallow down the bile that rose in your throat.

The Riverlands were beautiful but the reason you came to the Riverlands was for one man and one man only, The new lord of house Blackwood, Benjicot Blackwood. So when you didn’t see the stormy eyed man with the dark hair at the hall you couldn’t help but be a little upset, and so had no choice but to internalise the reasons why and forced yourself to listen to the rest of the men in attendance with a forced look of interest, repressing that restless feeling within your chest to go out and search for him yourself on dragon back if you must.

Soon enough you’ve decided to give yourself a break from it all and wander out to explore of the Riverlands, which was where your marriage tour was currently stationed at, and coming to adore all that you could see in their bright and vibrant colours in comparison to back home. There were Fields that stretched on for miles on end onto the horizon with grass a plenty to feed the cattle, small patches of trees where the birds sung and rested their aching wings and fed on the berries they produce.

Meanwhile with Benjicot he didn’t feel as though he had anything to give to you, the heir and delight of the realm. He was a Lord but there were men of far greater houses then his who could provide you more than he could, and in Benji’s mind he shouldn’t even bother to tempt the idea of you choosing him, not when he knew it was a fight he’ll never win from the beginning. So he didn’t and that hurt him far more then he thought as the idea of not trying, or bothering to try at all would become a regret he would be burdened with carrying for the rest of his life; left alone to ponder in his old age as to what could’ve been had he actually tried.

Oscar and Kermit had tried to convince him into doing something about it but even they couldn’t get his stubborn ass to move an inch, and now both Tully boys could only stand and watch as their friend take his frustrations out on a straw training dummy.

‘This is sad.’ Oscar said as Kermit made a noise of agreement.

‘Very sad.’ Kermit replied as Benjicot moved his attention to another dummy after violently disembowelling the previous training dummy as the straw insides spilled out. ‘He’s probably still wishing that Aeron Bracken was that dummy.’ Kermit then adds as he looks over at his brother, who was doing the exact same.

‘I mean the little twat deserved that pummelling earlier for even thinking he had a chance and now he can’t go because his injuries were too severe.’ Oscar snorted in disbelief before adding on, ‘his uncle knew that if he had let Aeron go in his current state, house Bracken would’ve become a laughing stock of the realm.’

Kermit gave a slight chuckle before looking back at Benjicot and his smile fell from his face. ‘He really likes her…’ he trails off as Oscar’s face now becomes crestfallen and sighs. ‘He does and it easts him up inside that even if he did bother to go, he’d just get rejected regardless.’ Kermit was about to add onto that, when something catches his eye, he spotted a figure emerging from the trees and his eyes widened up seeing it was you and proceeded to smack Oscar in the arm repeatedly.

‘Ow, ow, quit hitting me!’ Oscar said and as he went to hit his brother in the arm as retaliation, his eyes too went wide upon seeing you walking towards them casually.

‘It’s the princess!’ Kermit hissed.

‘Of course it’s the princess dipshit, I’ve got eyes that still see!’ Oscar hissed back.

‘Well obviously he doesn’t!’ Kermit barked as he pointed towards Benjicot, not realising that he just pointed you to the person you’ve been wanting to see most. Meanwhile the lord of house Blackwood was all the more obviously to everything happen, being stuck inside his own head and all, that he didn’t see Kermit and Oscar’s frantic looks over at him as he continued to destroy the third training dummy today nor does he know that you were behind him until you spoke up.

‘What did the training dummies do to deserve such anger?’

Benjicot froze up immediately as he looked out of his eyes at Kermit and Oscar, who were just as frozen to the scene before them as him, as he then took a deep breath and looked over to see that his mind hadn’t been playing him a fool and that you -the realms delight and heir to the iron throne- were actually here in the flesh but why?

You couldn’t help but smile at his shocked expression and tense body language, Benjicot was far more handsome up close than you remembered, all the while still being a shy and awkward but honourable nobleman. ‘Are you alright lord Blackwood? You’re looking a little flustered there.’ You said as you gestured to his cheeks which were burning bright red.

‘Princess, shouldn’t you be on your marriage tour?’ Benjicot asked and already he wanted the ground to swallow him for how stupid he sounded.

‘I am but I’ve decided to put it on hold as to stretch my legs.’ You told him and could see his shoulders deflated a little, ‘besides the person I wished to see most hadn’t shown up, and so I thought that since I am in the Riverlands I shall go seek him out myself instead, drag him back to Raventree hall if I must.’ You then added with a smile as Benjicot’s breath hitched in his throat.

‘And if I may ask princess, but who are you looking for?’ He asks as casually as he could but felt a little under pressure from the looks Oscar and Kermit were giving him as they silently routed for him from a few paces away, his heart elevating even quicker when you took a step towards him.

‘You of course.’ You told him straightforwardly. ‘You were the one person I was hoping to see today.’

‘Why?’ Benji found himself asking without second thought on how it came across. ‘Why me, I have nothing to offer you princess, wouldn’t it be better to have a suitor from a greater house to strengthen your own?’ He didn’t want to believe this was real but also he did want to believe that you had sought him out on your own accord. However this felt too good to be reality, it had to be a dream Benjicot was sure of it, for where else would it be plausible for the person you’ve been yearning after to activity search for him during your marriage tour of all things? It wasn’t something that was even remotely grounded in reality but instead a tale found straight out of an old book.

‘Does it matter as to why I sought you out other then the fact that I’d much rather take you a kind, honourable and honest man, as my husband over some fat cunt of a man?’ You replied as you reached for his hands, desperate to have him trust your words as truth while feeling every one of his calluses press into your hands perfectly, as though the gods made them to hold yours specifically. ‘Does it matter that all I wish to marry out of love and not duty as is expected of me? I am free to marry whoever I wish and I wish for you.’ You add, moving your head so that you could still be in Benjicot’s line of sight when he ducks his head to his chest, seeing you smile so sweetly at him and making his heart leap up into his throat.

‘Tis I where your heart lies princess?’ Benjicot asked softly, not trusting to raise his voice more than a whisper, waiting to wake up from this seamlessly perfect dream. Your smile grew bigger as you pressed your forehead against his own to look him deeper into his stormy eyes that bore an expression of vulnerability and uncertainty. ‘Along with my soul and my mind for countless day, yes, you are where my heart lies Benjicot Blackwood.’ You reassured him, watching the internal conflict within him war against one another for a while before there was nothing but a sweet gleam in his eye.

‘You are where my heart lies too princess,’ Benjicot confessed, pressing his head further against yours with a smile, ‘I’d be more than honoured to be yours.’

You were absolutely glowing upon hearing this as you laughed with pure joy and happiness. your search was over, you had found the one you wanted even though you had to find him first, but that didn’t matter as later that day your marriage tour came to an end as your hand happily secured by one Benjicot Blackwood.

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

Don’t know if you take writing prompts so if you don’t feel free to ignore this I have an idea for a dcxdp crossover ghost hunger au ( but only if you want otherwise it’s just Danny being able to eat anything and everything literally )ghost prince Danny au Redeemed Vlad au Vlad x Maddie x jack 

 Halfas were mistaken for a lot of things in mythology and being very rare they were often considered the “special ones” of whatever species they were mistaken for and the last halfa before Vlad was the one that inspired the novel of Dracula Yes there are vampires, but the one from the story of Dracula was not a vampire

Anyway, Danny trying to hide from the GIW decides to lean in on the mistaken identity, and what better city to do that in then Gotham, the one rumored to have monsters already patrolling its streets anyway Danny, gets mistaken for a vampire and Danny decides to roll with it setting up shop in an abandoned cathedral while trying to get the undead of Gotham back into the zone ( Grundy, the talons, Jason, and possibly a few others)

And Vlad occasionally has him going to galas for business (and practice for when Danny is the ghost king ) and of course, Danny continues the vampire act there too tone down, but still enough to give off an otherworldly vibe

I love this idea! I think I've only ever seen one other story about fake vampire Danny.

I'm not really able to write an actual story with world building or anything nice like that (trust me I've tried not pretty🫠😆), my stuff is usually just gibberish that I clean up a bit before posting, so I'm really sorry if you wanted an actual mini story.

~

But I'll try to do a little prompt!

~

Tell Me What I Am

There had been some odd rumors going around Gotham.

Those who were more sensitive said that the dead becoming aware, most didn't pay much truth to all that was being said.

Still everyone was more alert feeling like the entirety of Gotham was in the presence of something Other.

~

Jason didn't enjoy going to the galas when he was young and now as the recent 'No Longer Dead Wayne Child" he was forced to go once again.

He looked around trying to avoid all the rich snobs that were trying to push their daughters practically into his arms

He snorted at his thoughts, "Very much not my type."

Distracted he bumped into someone and oh-speaking of his type.

~

Danny didn't mean to bump into someone especially the guest of honor of the gala but it had been a while since he was able to properly eat something that actual filled him up and not just distracted his mind a bit before it came back,

So forgive him for being distracted and-

oh

oh?

Oh!

"You smell divine" he mumbled in between his suddenly overly sharp teeth

"..Wha-Thanks I guess?"

Danny's foggy mind suddenly snapped back into sharp focus once he felt Vlad call for him.

He quickly fled from the man

' Shit I almost bit him what the hell! '

~

Jason thought back to the night of the gala

"Hey B, do the Masters seem...odd to you?"

Bruce glance up from his work

"Did something happen?"

He thought about the sharp fangs suddenly in the young man's mouth alongside his comment feeling almost like prey under his intense gaze that pinned him in place with the sheer hunger and want in them.

How the older man pulled him away but not before Jason saw his eyes flash red for barely a second.

"....Maybe."

~

Just an Idea

Hope this was to your taste Anon!

[rosemaze-reveries]

I would like to ask for a idv male hunters(of your choosing) reacting to a female reader where she suddenly goes "omg your tits are bigger than mine.."

maybe it was their first meeting, maybe she was bored when she got chaired, whatever the case I just thought it'd be funny.

SJKASKJA thank you for the laugh, i opened this ask like WHAT!!!! but i will indulge u anon... <3

⚠️ suggestive content (strip tease, clothed fondling & flirty banter).

⚠️ reader uses she/her.

🐦‍⬛📸🦎⚡🌪️🦌

🐦‍⬛ Nightmare doesn't immediately respond. He sends a sideways glance to you, who's bound and bored at a slow-ticking rocket chair. "I guess you'd be hard-pressed to find any bigger than those. Must be nice to brag about," you rattle on. If you're trying to seduce your way to freedom, you're failing miserably. Nightmare stalks over to your chair, his broad chest casting a shadow over you.

"Would you have that same attitude once you've been smothered beneath them? Keep mouthing off, and I might just test it."

...What? Was that supposed to be a threat? Anyway, it didn't achieve the desired effect. You blink up at him, not totally opposed to the idea.

📸 Joseph's gaze flicks to your chest. He blinks away a milisecond later, but not quickly enough to escape your notice. A cheeky grin appears on your face as if to say made you look. "I disagree," he tuts. "Remind me, which one of us is so inept with her brassieres that she needs me to unclasp them for her every night, and – despite loathing them so – dutifully puts them on again the next day, as if her poor, aching back demands it of her?" Knowing you can't say anything, he sends back a winning smile of his own.

🦎 Luchino readily cocks his attention to you. "Oh? Like what you see?" You just never noticed how visibly his chest protrudes, especially from a side view. But your comment attracts him closer to your chair, and he decides to give you a little show. Slowly, too slowly, he slips off his jacket, letting it crumple to the floor.

"Oh," escapes your lips once you realize what's going on. Next goes the first button of his shirt.

⚡ Alva sets down his pen when you drag your nails down his chest. What began as an innocuous shoulder massage quickly turned into marveling at the broadness of his pecs. He's sure you meant well, but that comment draws a sharp sigh out of him. "I'm glad to know I'm entertaining you..." he murmurs. That snaps you back to reality: you wanted to be serving him today. You kiss his shoulder blade as an apology, kneading his tense muscles until he lets out another hitched breath.

🌪️ Ithaqua takes your comment as an invitation to reach forward, cupping an icy hand over one of your breasts. It happens so fast you can barely register it. Then he decides: "They're not too bad." He has never been one for delicacy, but that was so blunt it startles you into a fit of giggles. Sometimes you forget he's inexperienced with this sort of thing.

🦌 Bane looks down at the pout you're sending him. This is the first time he's let you hug him, and you're just realizing how much you have to strain your neck to avoid being suffocated by his chest. "A bigger body just means a stronger shield. Nothing more to it than that," he says dryly. You roll your eyes. He's always so hardheaded.

"You're more like a pillow to me," you try. "I wish I had some of these."

He still doesn't give you the reaction you're fishing for. He silently clutches your waist and tips back onto his bed, so that you're properly laying on top of him -- like a pillow.

[luveline]

would you ever be willing to write the day spencer and stripper!reader met in the grocery store? i’ve always loved the concept when you’ve referenced it in the story, i would love to read it👀 you’re absolutely incredible and i can never say anything not anon to you because my blog is flooding you with notes constantly and i’m embarrassed😅

thank you for your request ❤️ fem!reader, 1.5k

cw for domestic violence and workplace abuse

There's this weird organic grocery store by Spencer's place that's far too expensive, but it's a ten minute walk, so that's where he goes. (Weird in separation to organic.) 

He needs a lot of groceries now he's home for the week. Bread, vegetables, rice, flour if he wants to try and make pancakes, which he does. He also needs a new pen to write a letter for his mom, but Leaven is slightly too small for a stationery section. 

He doesn't know what he'll say to her in this one. Maybe that the cases he's going on are easy, or that he's been reading about crows. She's not feeling well lately. It might help her to know he's doing gentle things, even if it isn't true. 

No, he thinks. Can't lie to her. He never lies to his mom. 

Eggs. Sugar. Coffee grounds. He fills his cart. It'll be a lot to carry on the way home, but better to do it in one go. He likes keeping busy but he's a human being, too, and he's looking forward to spending at least sixteen hours in bed after dinner tonight. 

You look tired, too. 

Your back is turned, but Spencer knows it's you. You must live close by, he's been seeing you duck in and out for months. Usually with a loaf of bread or a single box of painkillers tucked in your pocket. You don't steal, he'd be able to tell, and he wouldn't say anything if you did, anyways. All he knows about you is that you have a nice smile when you have the energy, and your voice is like silk. Purposeful or by nature, he's yet to guess. 

You're standing by the end of the aisle near the checkouts with a basket hanging from your fingers. All you're buying today is a box of pancake mix and a bag of peas. 

Weird, he thinks with a smile. Spencer likes weird stuff. It's quirky. 

You turn to see which checkout is empty and Spencer's smile abruptly drops. 

You have a bruise across half of your face. It isn't strictly fresh —he can see the split skin on your cheek starting to close in on itself, and your purpled eye is open (though barely). You're frowning. Spencer knows how bad it hurts to get hurt like that. For a split second he can't believe someone could do that to another person, and then he remembers the hundreds of women he's had the privilege to meet at their most vulnerable, who trusted him, and he thinks maybe he's capable of helping another one. 

“Hey,” he says. 

You meet his eyes with a funny smile. “Hey. Sorry, am I in the way?” you ask, your voice stretched, thin but not weak. 

“No, you're not, it's… I see you here all the time.” 

You hold your breath. When you talk, it rushes out. “So?” you ask wearily.

“Are you okay?” 

Your funny smile fades as Spencer's had. He supposes that's the talent of cruelty. Even when it's over, it's not truly over. Your bruise still hurts, and Spencer still needs to know you'll be okay when you go home tonight. 

“I see you all the time too. We've… we've actually spoken before, haven't we?” you ask after a moment. 

“Yeah, about spirometry. I was out of breath running and–” It doesn't matter. You asked him if he was okay, and he explained that he was, just that his lungs don't hold much air on account of his own laziness, and it doesn't matter. “Are you? Alright? It's a bad bruise.” 

“It's getting better.” 

It might be, but there's something so raw about seeing you standing there in your sweatpants too big for you and a hoodie with a hole in it, purple and yellow contusion across your eyes and nose like the clumsy stroke of a paintbrush. Spencer will admit to feeling sorry for you.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks, knowing this isn't the right place. “There's the cafe at the front? Let me pay for my stuff and–” 

“I'm really okay–” 

“You had a cast on your wrist two weeks ago and now you're here with a limp and a really bad bruise,” he says softly, imploringly, “I just wanna talk to you about it. You don't have to say yes, I'm not trying to be weird, but I–” 

You cut off his mile a minute speech with a small smile. “Okay. I'm not, you know, doing anything anyways. It'll be nice to sit down.” 

Spencer knows it's dumb, but he wants to show he has good intentions. He takes your basket out of your hands and nods toward the cafe past the checkouts. “I'll come and meet you.” 

“You don't have to,” you say, gesturing at the basket. 

“The damage is done, right? This place is ridiculous.” He doesn't like the way you're holding your hip. It makes him feel sick, even though there's no proof one way or another to say you've been hurt beyond your bruising.

He pays for his things and yours and meets you at the cafe. He's half expecting you to have bolted, but you sit at a table near the entrance, completely still. 

Spencer puts his two bags under the table and offers you your pancake mix and peas in their own bag. 

“Thanks.” 

“Yeah, no problem.” 

“It was my boss.” You look at your fingers, spreading them slowly over the table top. “I’m a dancer. Sorry. I know you’re going to ask.” 

“And he hit you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Spencer knows the number for every women’s shelter in every state, but he doubts it would matter to you. He can tell already that you’d say no. He can tell you’re scared, even if you don’t realise it yourself. “Is it getting worse?”

You can’t offer him anything else. He understands how that feels. There have been moments where he desperately wanted to tell someone, anyone, what was going on in his life, but he always holds his secrets like a perpetual ache in his throat. It’s like he can’t tell someone, even if they ask. 

Sometimes he just wishes they’d ask twice. 

“You can tell me. It won’t sound stupid,” he promises. He’s in some odd place between Agent Reid and young, terrified Spencer, determined to help you, but not sure how. “It’s getting worse, right?” 

“Yeah,” you say, the weight of tears on your tongue. 

“You’re a dancer. Is he just a boss– Does he… abuse you financially?” 

You laugh wetly. “He’s not my pimp.” 

He can feel his face heating up.’“No, but do you get paid on time? Everything you earn?” 

You shake your head. “No, I don’t get paid on time. He takes a percentage, and somehow there’s always another percentage, and then discipline. And now…” 

“Now he’s hitting you.” Very badly. 

“I’m not stupid.” 

Spencer frowns gently, talks softly, “I didn’t mean to imply that you were.” 

“No, I know, but I need you to know I’m not stupid. When we talked before, you– you’re so smart, I bet you know so many smart people.” 

He’s not sure where you’re going with this. Perhaps you don’t want to talk about being hurt anymore. It must be a kind of torture to be hurting and know that that hurting will come again. There isn’t an end in sight for you, just right now. 

“Can I buy you something to eat?” 

“I have money,” you say, taking your small purse from your pocket. There are a few notes wedged inside. 

“You can’t take painkillers on an empty stomach, and you should take painkillers again soon. You had some before you came, and they’re wearing off.” He meets your confused frown with a frown of his own. “Your hands are twitching like you want to move away from yourself.” 

“You’re very perceptive,” you say in that smooth murmur. Power clawed back, he thinks. You’re protecting one of the things you can control about how you’re seen when everything else is far from it. 

“I’m a profiler. Do you,” —he tries not to sound hoity toity— “know what that is?” 

“No.” 

“I’m an FBI agent.” You’re laughing as he takes out his badge. He joins you. “I know it sounds like I’m making it up.” Spencer offers you his identification passport slowly, so you know he isn’t wielding it around to be an asshole. “I’m in the behavioural analysis unit. We analyse the way people act. That’s why I know you’re in pain.” 

You take his badge, looking between his photo and his real face with a growing smile. “If you need all that to know I’m in pain, you’re not as smart as you think,” you tease, gesturing to the mottled skin of your bruise sweetly. 

Spencer buys you both cold sandwiches from the front of the shop and a drink to wash down your aspirin. It’s awkward, he guesses, but he’s used to that by now, and under it he can feel your palpable relief. You trust him to not hurt you, if nothing else, and he can work with that. 

[sports-on-sundays]

countertop make out sesh with marc guiu and someone walks in?🤭

stupid with love / Marc Guiu

Summary: Marc x girlfriend!reader - Sometimes there's a consequence to getting too carried away...

Warnings: well I'm just going to say it may get a little heated, I don't write scenes like this *often* so I hope it's good but we'll see

Requested: Yes.

Author's Note: 🤭 Thank you anon for the request! Sorry if it's not up to your expectation, because I don't write things like this often, but regardless, I hope you enjoy!

"There you are."

You look up from your phone and meet the brown eyes of Marc Guiu, who is standing in the doorway.

He continues into the kitchen, walking closer, "I've been looking for you. Why're you in here? Everyone else is in the living room..."

"I know," you shrug. "It's just... I don't know. It got a little loud."

Marc invited some of his friends, including a lot of the Barcelona guys, to his house for a little hang out. Of course, that also included you, being his girlfriend and all. But that's just it. The only people who know that you're dating are you and him.

And when you haven't seen each other in a while because you're both busy with your work and vacations and obligations, it gets tough to have him right in front of you, but be unable to shower him with love.

"Is everything okay?" he questions, leaning against the counter next to you.

You shrug a bit. "I don't know. I guess. It's just hard, you know... I've missed you, and I have to, you know, pretend to just be your friend, in front of all the guys. I haven't seen you in too long... And it's hard to fake it."

Suddenly, he takes a step so that he's standing in front of you, facing you, instead of next to you. Immediately, with the swift motion, his hands meet your waist, gently, and he says softer, "No, no. I understand. Completely."

And you catch the glint in his eye. "Hey, hey..." you murmur. "Calm down. Maybe we should just..."

"Just what?" he questions, clearly fighting a cheeky smirk. "I've missed you too... you know..." he murmurs, leaning closer. "And I'm sure no one will come into the kitchen... They're all too distracted to even notice we're gone..."

Your eyes search his as you feel your face heating up. "What are you planning on doing, Marc?" you ask softly, not meaning it as an invite, but more just a questioning.

But he takes it as an invite.

Your boyfriend slowly leans in, and gently tucks your hair behind your ear, before his hand returns to your waist. You feel his hot breath tickle your ear as he whispers, "Don't worry... Just enough to show you how much I've missed you..."

"Marc..." you murmur back, "you know this is stupid..."

He chuckles a little, hums, and responds, "Then maybe I'm stupid..." With his hands, he pushes your lower back into the counter, before gently lifting you and slipping you onto the counter, so that your faces are level, since he's taller than you.

And then his smooth, pink lips kiss you right below your ear lobe, and continue with a trail of kisses all down your jawline. You feel yourself heating up as his hands gently glide along your waist.

He leans away a bit, staring at you in your eyes, and you inhale as he leans back in again, and his lips meet yours. He starts kissing you gently, with soft touches of his lips against yours, causing butterflies to fly up in your stomach. But he slowly leans in more, tilting his head, pushing his mouth more into yours in a passionate kiss, telling you how much he's missed you through it. Your heart pounds in your chest as his hands gently slip under your shirt, and grip the bare skin on your waist slightly tighter. You gently allow your lips to slightly part, inviting his tongue to slip inside. His breath is quickened, and you can feel the warmth coming from his body as he presses his strong chest more into you.

Your hands travel to his lower back, and you pull him more into you, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt between your fingers. When Marc finally pulls away, breathing heavier, you warn smoothly, staring into his half-lidded eyes, "Nobody better find us..."

"Stop worrying..." he whispers back, leaning in closer once again. "Give yourself to me. It'll be okay... Just let me have you."

You exhale shakily but nod as your heart rate quickens and his lips meet yours once again, knowing you've reached the point of no return, and there's no going back now. You feel his hands slowly moving higher under your shirt, and a shiver of excitement fills your body as you let yourself melt into him, and you intensely return the emotions in his heated kisses. All the worries flow out of you as trust replaces them, not even caring anymore as the electricity of pleasure fills your body. He then gently nibbles your lip, which gets a shaky gasp out of you, and you clutch his back tighter as he delicately begins to purr about how beautiful you are. How lucky he is have you. And how he can't keep his hands off of you.

The movement of his body over yours makes you feel weak, and you're glad you're sitting on the counter, rather than leaning against it.

"Oh, just shut up..." you say with a soft giggle, your stomach tightening at the subtle, hungry look in his eyes, "and keep kissing me."

He lets out a quiet grunt before responding, "I've missed you so much, love..."

Your breath catches in your throat as his hands trace your torso softly, and he kisses your neck, giving it a gentle nibble. You let out another breathy gasp as your body quivers and he returns to your lips for more fervent kisses. His hands continue to travel further up, softly, and you feel a rush of desire and anticipation run through your whole body at how close to your chest his hands are getting, like he's teasing you.

He pushes in closer with another very soft grunt. Nothing and no one else exists right now other than you and Marc, and the feelings of connection, the shock of electricity, between the two of you.

So that's why it happens to fast and confusing when a voice in the outside world screams, "Ah- whoa! What the actual hell?!" and Marc tears himself away from you.

Your eyes shoot open, and you lean back on your hands on the counter, panting.

And your whole body freezes when your brain catches up, and there is Lamine Yamal, standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

Oh God. It just had to be the sixteen-year-old?!

He looks utterly shocked, and it's Marc who is the first one to act. He suddenly says, "Hey, you better not tell anyone what you just saw!"

"Uh..." is all the boy manages.

"No one. Got it?" Marc asks, his hand still lingering on your thigh, as if he doesn't even realize it.

"I'm, uh... traumatized," comments Lamine, slowly taking a step back.

"Traumatized?" you retort. "Give me a break! And you said you're such a romantic! Why are you even in here, anyway?" You're still hot, and feeling extremely embarrassed and somewhat indignant.

Despite it all, you kind of like Marc's hand gently remaining on you.

"I was just coming in for some snacks!"

You groan, "Marc, he's going to tell everybody!"

"You better not, you-"

"I won't!" Lamine squeals, taking another step back. You would laugh, if what happened hadn't just happened.

"Yeah, right," Marc snorts ruefully.

Lamine hesitates in the awkwardness of the situation, before saying, "I mean... so, you guys are dating, then?"

"If we are, it doesn't concern you, because nobody needs to know if we are or not," Marc claims, finally taking his hand away from you to cross his arms across his chest.

"So you are..." he says, a mischievous look on his face.

"You're sixteen!" you snap in disapproval. "Go and play with your toy trucks, for God's sake!"

"You're, only, like, three years older than me!" Lamine fires back, clearly kind of shaken by seeing his teammate with his hands under a girl's shirt, about to do-

Well, you know exactly what he was about to do, and you were looking forward to it, before Lamine had to walk in on you and ruin it.

"Well, you're the two that decided it was a smart idea to do this when you know-" Lamine starts up again, but is interrupted by Marc retorting, "You stop it. Now go back to the guys, and we'll be in there in a minute!"

"Oh, you want me to leave so you can make out more?" taunts the basically twelve-year-old.

This causes you to go even redder as Marc snaps, "No, actually!"

"Well, I'm going to have to go tell the boys about this, now... Too big not to..." He turns on his heel and leaves the kitchen playfully, but Marc calls, taking off after him, "You better not, you little idiot!"

You sit, left alone on the kitchen counter with your thoughts. You run a hand over your face, and despite it all, a soft, disbelieving smile appears on your face, as you know Marc would do anything, even wrestle his own teammate, to protect you, your reputation, and your relationship.

And you know Marc will be getting a scolding later, too, for this.