#no matter how much i practice i can never seem to feel naturally expressive with it

[entitled-fangirl]

A brilliant melody.

Cregan Stark x quiet!reader

Summary: Cregan marries a woman who never speaks. When she finally does, he feels his heart melt three times over.

Warnings: SMUT (p in v), talk of abuse, tears

A/n: I've been wanting some kind of cool transitions for my writing. Like instead of the "...", some people have really cool art there. Does anyone know how to do that? I hope that makes sense 😬

Masterlist

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She was quiet. 

Being surrounded by the loud men of the north made her a quiet girl.

Cregan wasn't sure what to do with her. 

…

"You're a meek thing, aren't you?" Cregan asked as the two walked the courtyard of Winterfell.

In one day, they'd be wed. Bonded for life.

She only nodded.

She only ever really nodded or shook her head. 

He hummed as they continued walking. 

Her father had told Cregan of this days before, as if it was a defect that could put a halt to their betrothal plans. Cregan made sure to assure her father that it was not.

After all, she could speak. She just chose not to.

"Winterfell is beautiful in the winter," he began to ramble. "When the snow falls, it covers all of this in its brilliant white. Do you enjoy the snow?"

She considered his question and gave a small nod.

He grinned, "That's my northern girl. Luckily, Winterfell is warm." He noticed the light shiver in her frame. "Perhaps we should go back indoors. Don't want my future bride to freeze before I can place my house cloak upon her shoulders?"

…

True to his word, Cregan managed to place his cloak over her shoulders the very next day. It was a wondrous ceremony filled with many from across the North. 

Everyone gawked at the beauty of the new Lady of Winterfell.

But when one-by-one they moved to speak to her, Cregan was quick to deny them.

The two enjoyed the feast after. Seated at a high table, Cregan often leaned over to whisper things to her.

"You look radiant. Like the sun itself."

"I do believe the other lords may be envious that I have captured the most gorgeous woman of Westeros."

"I do wish you'd eat more. You've hardly touched the plate."

It was a strange sight, seeing such a burly brute of a man whisper sweetly to his wife.

"Is something bothering you?"

She shook her head.

Cregan sighed. "I've only known you for a few days, but I do believe I recognize the shaking of one's hands to associate with nerves."

It was true. Her hands shook violently.

"Is it the bedding ceremony?"

She shrugged.

His brows raised and he leaned closer, "You can be honest with me. I… I want you to be honest with me."

The woman looked down at her hands in thought. Finally, she looked back up at him and nodded.

"Aye. I see." Cregan leaned away and rested his elbows on the table, his head in his hands as he rubbed at his forehead. "Then I'll call it off."

He didn't miss the way her brows pulled together.

"The ceremony, lovely. I'll call it off." 

…

Not long after, Cregan stood and held his hand out to her. "May I dance with you, dear wife?"

She grabbed his hand with enthusiasm. It seemed she didn't need words, for expressions were enough.

He smiled at her as he lead her to the dance floor. 

Cregan was a lousy dancer. Being a northern lord meant there were many more important matters than learning how to properly dance. So, it was put aside. 

He knew the steps in truth, and he could lead just fine, his steps were just too harsh, his movements too calculated. 

It was just not how he expressed himself.

She, though, was marvelous.

It was as if each step was not one of a practiced art. It was as if it was how she naturally moved. 

Cregan was in so much awe that he nearly forgot to continue the lead. 

She didn't need words to express herself. Her movements were enough.

He felt as if he was finally seeing her. 

And she was beautiful.

The song ended, to Cregan's surprise as he snapped from his thoughts, and the guests clapped for their Lord and Lady of Winterfell.

…

Honoring his word, Cregan forbade the ceremony. No other living creature would be a witness to their consummation but the two of them.

After laying her upon the rich furs upon their bed, he was careful to properly prepare her to take him. 

Now, he forced himself to do so slowly, his hips slowly pushed to meet hers as he entered her.

She hissed lightly at the pain, and he swore he heard a small noise come from her throat instinctually.

He began to wonder what her voice sounded like.

Once seated in her fully, he paused to give her a moment to breathe. Her breath was quickened and her hands gripped his biceps as she tried to regain herself.

Cregan placed a light kiss to her lips, basking in the newness of her lips against his, as well as the eagerness she gave back as they did so.

Her hands slid up to cup his cheeks, suddenly gaining confidence.

"Have you adjusted, pretty girl?"

He shifted his hips, not thinking much as he waited for her response.

The sweetest breathy moan left her lips.

Cregan's eyes widened, and he had to stop himself from letting his lust take over then and there.

He tucked his face into her neck, laying heavy kisses along the way. "Easy now. Just tap me to stop."

And with that, he began to move his hips.

Not much came from her lips. She was used to not using her voice, that it almost seemed as if it was more work to use it then stay silent. It was hard for Cregan to tell her feelings, so he often had to tilt his head back up to gauge her reaction by her expressions alone.

He didn't realize how much he spoke in general until he was around her. How someone could happily be so silent, he wasn't sure.

But if the scratching against his back was any measure, he'd say he was pleasing her well.

"You're taking me so pretty."

She practically preened at his praise, her breath catching or escaping each time.

At one point, he pressed his hips firmly to hers, reaching deeper than he had before.

His face found its way to her neck again, her hands pulling at his hair.

But he paused, catching his breath and trying to instill a reaction from her.

Her hands recaptured his hair and pulled again. When he still didn't move, she tried to shift her hips to gain more friction. He was enjoying every second, despite the mere torture it was to not chase his own high.

He pressed a sloppy kiss to her neck, "Patience."

Her motions should have been enough of a reaction for him, but he wanted more. He'd do anything to hear her voice more. 

One of his hands moved down to her clit, pressing his thumb down and circling the bundle of nerves. 

A small whine came from her throat.

He felt warmth spread across his body, "Needy, aren't you?"

Her hand made a last-ditch effort to pull at his hair. He could hear her barely contained breath in his ear and a small voice.

"…Cregan… please…"

Cregan almost finished then.

Her voice was so soft. So sweet. Hoarse from its lack of use and so breathy. 

It was beautiful.

But guilt overshadowed all of that. He shouldn't have pushed her to the point of speaking. 

His hand trailed up her body to the bed, preparing himself again. "I won't deny you any longer. I'll give you what you want, sweet girl."

…

She began to speak to him after that. 

The times were few and far between, but nonetheless, he never took a single word for granted. 

Because she only spoke to him. 

 She never spoke her mind in full, so Cregan took it upon himself to do it for her. 

In meetings, she'd pull at his sleeve, prompting him to instinctually bend his head down towards her to properly hear her soft voice amongst the others. That was how she contributed to meetings: to tell her thoughts to the only one there she trusted. Over time, the men in the meetings caught on, and would pause to hear what the Lady had to say. It was a game of telephone, barely hearing a peep from the woman as she spoke to Cregan, and he voiced it aloud in his own manner. 

When they walked through the busy streets of the city, he kept his hand wrapped around hers, promising to give his attention to her when she squeezed it tightly.

Outside of their chambers, their form of communication was touch, often tapping one another gently. 

Inside, however, soft exchanges were common. She would only speak calculated thoughts, not one to ramble, but she would talk of her day, her newest book, or questions of things she always wondered about the man. 

In turn, he'd respond in the same manner, quieting himself naturally to match her tone as the two gazed into the flames of the fire that warmed the room.

"I wish you'd dance more."

Her head snapped up to him with furrowed brows.

"You're a beautiful dancer. I only wish I could see it more." He leaned against the back of the sofa. "Who taught you?"

"My mother," she spoke softly. "She was wonderful."

He smiled when he noticed the reminiscent look in her eyes at the thought of her mother. He pushed a strand of her hair from her face. "Tell me about her."

She leaned into his touch. "Father mocked me when I wouldn't speak. Said it was shameful. But mother always told me that feelings are expressed by actions rather than words."

"How so?" He absentmindedly asked.

"Men often say that they love their wives, but their actions are rather the opposite."

He hummed as he considered it. "Have I ever made you feel that way?"

"No."

It was the quickest response he'd heard from her. It only fueled his need to know as much as he could. To know her fully.

"Have you always been so quiet?"

As if a switch had been flipped, everything about her quieted.

Her breathing. Her voice. Her expressions. Her thoughts.

Silent. 

Whatever had happened had to have been traumatic to instill such a reaction from her.

"Forgive me. That was too forward, even for me to ask-"

"-I don't wish to talk about it today."

He felt relieved that his question hadn't dissolved her trust in him completely. 

"Well," he pulled her to him. "When you are ready to speak, I shall listen."

…

The next day, Cregan meticulously planned. And his efforts had paid off. 

She walked into the meeting room at the same time she did every week, to see it lacking its usual members. 

The table was pushed off to the side, and Cregan stood in its place as he donned a bright smile at the sight of her. 

Against the back wall, a few musicians stood with their instruments. 

Confusion spread through her and a wave of anxiety as well, prompting her to only stare at him blankly.

He was quick to correct it, stepping forward towards her. "I've excused the council today. I… I wanted to see you dance again."

Once her mind warmed up to the idea, a bright smile came across her face, accepting the hand that he extended to her. 

"I must admit, my love," Cregan said as he stepped in time with the music. "I am not a gentle man. But I am trying. For you."

She nodded, not daring to speak her overwhelming thoughts at the moment. 

…

After, they sat at the large dining table, the emptiness of it mattering not to the two lovers who sat together at one end.

"My uncle," she stated, breaking the silence.

His head tilted up to meet her gaze, "Hmm?"

Her cheeks turned a slight pink, "You asked how I became so quiet." 

Recognition flowed over his face, "Ah. Yes, I did." He sipped his wine and leaned towards her. "Your uncle, then?"

She nodded. 

"He was unkind to you?"

She picked at the skin of her fingers, seemingly reliving the moments in her mind. 

A battle within herself.

He put a hand on her thigh, "I will not force you to tell me things you do not wish to."

"I do," she insisted. "But I know not how to."

"Begin to speak, and I shall piece it all together."

She took a deep breath. "My uncle hit me when I spoke out of turn. At first, at least. Then… it was whenever I spoke at all."

He felt ice go down his veins and a feeling like a rock going down his throat. 

But being such a skittish thing, he knew not to react too harshly.

"When I told my father, he…" her eyes became glassy. "He said he was right for it. That… that a girl was made to only… shut her mouth and open her legs."

He couldn't keep it in anymore. "And you believed them?"

"When I spoke to you for the first time, I feared you'd be the same."

"I bask in the sound of your voice, my girl. I hope that you see that."

A warm tear ran down her cheek as she looked up at him.

"Oh, sweet woman," he cooed as he cupped her cheek. "Do not cry over false words."

When more tears began to fall, he quickly pushed her chair out from the table and pulled her into his lap.

She tucked her face into his neck, melting against him as if she wished to disappear. 

He held her close, not caring when his tunic became damp. When he did speak, it was soft and assuring whispers.

Once she caught her breath, she pulled away from him. "Forgive me."

"I don't believe I will."

Her eyes widened, and he realized his mistake in word choice. 

"Sweet girl, you've nothing to apologize for. That's all I meant."

She relaxed at that. She reached up and wiped her cheeks with a sniffle. "Actions have always spoke more than words."

He reached up and brushed a stray tear from her cheek. "Have they?" He asked softly.

She felt a smile come to her lips at his touch. "You are different. You could speak or act, and still, I'd only hear a brilliant melody to which I can always trust."

He never felt such love radiate as it did then.

.......................................

Taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia

[yesimwriting]

something about bestfriend!felix who's so used to the world bending over backwards to please him that he seems entirely separated from the concept of boundaries.

it's one of the few things about him that remains unspoken because it reminds those in his social circle that no matter how much influence or money they might have, someone has more. and that someone is felix catton.

he's never weird about it, there's just this rule that everyone learns to pick up on and never mention. if felix wants to go out for the night or do anything socially with someone, it's customary for that person to cancel any other plans.

it might be more of an issue if felix's proximity didn't feel like sunbathing on an early summer day, but it does. so he's used to not having to work to get someone where he wants them.

until you.

despite your friendship still being relatively new, the two of you have bonded enough for you to accept his presence instantly.

felix didn't call before coming over. you answered the door after two knocks, grinning as soon as you saw him standing there. you didn't even think to ask about the lack of notice, you just invited him in and made some comment about how you were just studying.

he told you he didn't mind if you wanted to keep studying, that he brought over his own textbooks just in case. even though you were set up at your desk, you moved your supplies over to your bed so that you could sit with him.

it started off as separated as the two of you ever are, just your bent knee pressing gently into his lower thigh. your shared restraint dissolved quickly.

you're practically laying down, back partially supported by a wall and two pillows, felix's head resting on your stomach as you comb your fingers through his hair. he's holding up a textbook for you with one arm, fingertips absentmindedly brushing against your bare leg.

he breaks the silence with a sigh. when you don't respond, he turns his head and presses his lips against your thigh. your nails freeze against his scalp. "felix."

"lovie," he replies, tone as scandalized as yours. you sigh, and he can practically feel your eye roll.

felix grins, turning his head look up at you. he knows he should be good about this, about you, but he's not accustomed to practicing this kind of restraint. he's preoccupied with terribly soft thoughts of closer when he blurts out the question, "come out with me tonight?"

it's only a question by technicality, his eyes bright as if you've already agreed.

you press your lips together, and the hesitance in the look jabs at him. he brushes his knuckles against the side of your leg like that might tip the decision. "i have an econ test on monday."

the excuse deflates him. it's only friday, and even if it wasn't, you don't need to worry about your grades. there's a naturalness to your schooling, you grasp everything almost immediately. any personal selfishness aside, you don't need a weekend of studying. it's objective fact.

you're still watching him, expression unsure. "y'know too much studying's bad for you." your lips part, but before you can say anything, felix is shutting the book he'd been holding up for you.

he extends his arm, his palm covering the upper half of your face with the palm of his hand. you laugh out his name. "what? your eyes need the rest." you shift, still giggling as you halfheartedly try to push him off. "you'll get a headache."

your fingers wrap around his wrist. "you're my headache."

he lets out a mock gasp before pulling away entirely. felix doesn't miss your slight pout as he sits up. "actually?"

you're chasing after him, sitting up and attempting to grab his arm. felix lets you. "no." you squeeze his arm to you. "i meant it in a you're my best friend way."

"that so?" you nod innocently, all wide eyes as if to say see? i have no intentions of being anything other than a perfect angel.

felix pretends to contemplate forgiveness, then, with no warning lays down. you're not given a chance to deliberate what that means before he's tugging on your arm. he mumbles a brief, explanatory, "c'mere," as he pulls you into his chest.

you listen, moving to rest your chin against the side of his chest. your arm's across him. felix's shirt has ridden up right where your fingertips naturally rest. the bare contact makes goosebumps break out across your arms.

"go out with me tonight," he tries, voice soft. you have to drop your gaze to keep from immediately melting and agreeing to whatever he wants. "c'mon, think it's good for you to take a break every now and then."

you lift your head up just enough to glare at him. felix shifts his leg, pressing it against yours. you push back gently, just enough to reciprocate the gesture. "so you're saying i'm a friendless loser that only ever goes out when you make me?"

"i'm saying," he extends the syllables to buy himself some time to think, "i have to go, and i won't have any fun without you."

you find it hard to imagine that felix catton ever has to do anything he doesn't want to. you're also confident in his ability to find fun at a party. "you have farleigh, and oliver, and annabel--you'll be fine without me."

his hand is on your back, fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric of your t-shirt. "i don't want anyone else." the soft whine in his tone paired with his slight pout makes him seem smaller, like a little kid that just needs to be wrapped up. "i want you."

"you have me."

felix frowns, "doesn't feel like it."

you're losing. "do you really want me to go that badly?"

he smiles, feeling the crack in your resolve. "we'll just go for a little. have a drink or two, then y'can sleepover if you want." you do like sleeping over in felix's dorm. "and then tomorrow we can do whatever you want--study, watch a movie, dinner."

a sleepover and a saturday. this no longer feels like a loss. you smile, "deal."

felix's available hand finds your hip. "that's my girl."

the comment makes your face feel warm, you drop your head to rest on his stomach to hide any potential signs of being flustered. he'd tease you to no end about it. "i should get up, start getting ready."

he runs his hand down your back, "it's not until later." he moves his hand back up slowly. his thumb starts traces circles against your shoulder. "we've got time."

----

omg bestfriend!felix blurbs are everything to me,, if you have any thoughts about bestfriend-verse pls lmk,,

also?? might have to write a full fic for bestfriend-verse

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey

[o-sachi]

You're Just My Type pt. 1 ₊⊹ Blue Lock Chars.

ଳ What kind of person is the blue lock boys' ideal girl in terms of looks and personality?

ଳ characters; michael kaiser, sae itoshi, isagi yoichi, rin itoshi, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, nagi seishirou, reo mikage, kunigami rensuke, alexis ness

ଳ requested by; @itenesycc

[🐟]: I tried to include as many as possible. Hopefully this fulfills your request! I might make a part two with everyone else I missed.

‎

ᯓ Michael Kaiser - the domestic & doting type

Kaiser turns into the biggest baby around his s/o. How could he not? She spoils him rotten after all. And she hardly minds because she knows that he's just seeking out the care and affection he missed out in his childhood. In a way, he's healing his inner child. Don't get me wrong; he's not using her as some sort of replacement for a parent figure. But he's trying to feel what it's like to be truly loved.

He absolutely loves it when she cooks for him. His heart throbs like crazy whenever their s/o shows even the slightest bit of concern for him. And don't even get him started about the way she would take care of him before and after his practice. At the end of the day, he makes sure to reciprocate her efforts in his own little ways. Suddenly, he's the kindest, most gentle, and most loving man on Earth. And whenever his salary comes in, she's sure to be at a fancy restaurant that night and receiving the queen treatment she deserves.

I have a feeling that he's into nice looking hair. It doesn't matter if it's long or short as long as it's healthy and has volume to it. He's probably into dyed hair as well. He also finds that beautiful hair pairs up well with a pretty set of eyes. The more expressive they are, the better.

ᯓ Sae Itoshi - the shy & soft-spoken type

Sae might seem like a big b*tch to everyone else, but he's surprisingly nice to women (as long as they're not a crazy fanatic). Well... "nice" is a bold term, so let's just say he's aloof. He's not harsh towards them, but he's not going to smile at them either. But! Deep down he has a soft spot for the cute and shy kind of girl. He just can't find it in him to be cold to that kind of person; It almost feels wrong.

But, yes, he'll never admit that in a million years. However, the changeup is noticeable. It's subtle, but you can tell through how his voice softens ever so slightly when talking to his s/o. She might be cursing herself for failing to maintain eye contact with him or tripping over her sentences. But Sae finds all of this quite endearing. And trust me when I say that he becomes the biggest menace around her—making her flustered at every opportunity he comes across. He can't get enough of it.

In terms of looks, he likes it when a girl has soft features with short hair that frames her rounded face. Her plump cheeks make it more enjoyable for him to poke whenever he teases her. It's also canon that he's into ass... so, yeah. He says it's all about the shape and less about the size.

ᯓ Isagi Yoichi - the funny & carefree type

Isagi had the luxury of growing up in a healthy environment, so I think it's only natural for him to gravitate towards someone the same. If she has a great sense of humor with a relaxed demeanor, then he's pretty much sold. Frankly, he doesn't need anything more. Isagi finds beauty in simplicity. His s/o is someone akin to a hidden gem. She isn't flashy by any means, but she's incredibly sweet so she stands out that way.

He wonders why no one has gone after her before. But, oh well, more of her for him! She never fails to make him laugh even if the jokes are corny. They're the type of couple everyone's annoyed at because they're too sweet and now they feel jealous. Oh, but Isagi fell even harder once she witnessed his different side while playing football. He fully expected her to be repulsed, but she was amused. Apparently it was cool to see him so pumped up like that.

He's not that particular when it comes to looks. As long as she has a gentle expression and she takes care of herself, he'll be happy. When it comes to clothes... well, he has no clue about that so even a simple style impresses him. He's really a low maintenance guy and we love him for that. Canonically into thighs, so he doesn't care if it's plump or muscular—he's content as long as he can squeeze 'em.

ᯓ Rin Itoshi - the perfectionist & intelligent type

When you think of the title "Ice Queen"—whatever comes to mind, that's exactly his type. In other words, I have a STRONG feeling that Rin is essentially going for the female version of himself. He doesn't give a shit if she's worse than him. In fact, that makes it better in his opinion. Someone's gotta put him in place, right? He'll happily let her do that as long as he deems her on par with him. And I don't mean that she has to be a football freak; she just needs to be more or less well-rounded.

Apart from his standards being sky high, he just wants to make sure that his girl is better than his brother's girl. Toxic, I know. But what were you expecting? Regardless, he'll always make sure to let her know that she's the best in his eyes. Totally out of character, but he'll be praising her like crazy if he's truly in love with her. I can definitely see an enemies-to-lovers story happening to this guy.

He's probably into the clean girl aesthetic. He finds the look elegant and sleek. It makes her look like she has her shit together and he digs that. Perhaps he prefers dark medium length hair—so, brown and black hues.

ᯓ Bachira Meguru - the calm & laid-back type

When I say calm and laid-back, I don't necessarily mean someone who's the polar opposite of him. She's still going to be as hyper and energetic as him... just a bit more lowkey. Like if they were to go on an amusement park date and ride a rollercoaster—he'd be screaming his lungs out while she'd enjoy the ride quietly with a big smile plastered on her face. She'd gladly let him drag her to whatever crazy scheme he has planned. Spontaneous, but blends into the background kind of thing.

In a way, she's also responsible for mellowing him a little bit. Even though she's fully supportive of his antics, he'll unconsciously calm down at times to match her energy. He especially loves her because she accepts all of the overwhelming affection that he has to offer. Hugs that squeeze the air out of you? Sure, she'll take it. Kisses peppered relentlessly over her face? Great! Just another day for her.

I have this teensy feeling that Bachira might be into ponytails or pigtails. He thinks it makes any girl look cute regardless of the length of her hair. When it comes to height, he's the dude that does not care if she's taller than him. To be fair, he's pretty damn tall, so that should say something about him. Similar to Isagi, he cares more about personality.

ᯓ Chigiri Hyoma - the sassy & independent type

I'll just say it... but Chigiri likes his girls a bit b*tchy. Not rude, not mean—but just the right amount of sass. She's not a bitch. She's THE bitch. You get me? He just loves how witty and snarky she can be. It makes the relationship more fun knowing that she can keep up with the banter without taking any offense. They definitely have an inside joke—something something about who has better hair...

She thinks she's his biggest supporter, but it's actually the other way around. The way this man will support his girl is like no other. He can't help it when he's dating a girlboss. Chigiri admires that she's headstrong and knows what she wants. Like ask her where she wants to eat and she'll give you a place... and an order.

Long pretty hair. No ifs, no buts. He wants someone that can rival his hair routine. Chigiri would even be the one to tie a pretty pink ribbon in her locks. I see him digging the whole clean girl aesthetic as well. He's into the preppy style—old money or academia fits best.

ᯓ Nagi Seishirou - the patient & reliable type

I'll be real and say that Nagi probably wasn't the best person to be in a relationship with in the early stages. Of course, he needs some time to get used to having a whole other person constantly be around his space, requiring his attention. It's going to be a difficult ordeal, so it's totally valid to get exhausted. But once he realizes how patient and understanding she is, he'll try harder for her.

One day he'll just wake up on a random morning missing her warmth, then his mind will wander to what his life would be like without her. He'd be terrified to the point that he'll do a full 360 and become the most doting he's ever been. Well, he'll nowhere be near overbearing, but he'll at least show that he cares.

He prefers it when she has short hair or if she has longer hair—she would normally have it in an updo. He says long hair makes it itchy when he nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck when cuddling. And speaking of cuddling, Nagi would love it if she was built for warm cuddling. He falls asleep in seconds like a Minecraft character.

ᯓ Reo Mikage - the down-to-earth & responsible type

One of Reo's biggest considerations when it comes to finding love is his partner's perception of money. He's insanely rich, so it's understandable that he wants to find someone who isn't going to date him solely for his bank. He's going to be wary of everyone at first, but he'll fold once he finds someone who's genuinely practical and down-to-earth. Reo will be smitten knowing that she's staying with him because of... him.

With that being said, she needs to be responsible as well. I mean, responsible in the sense that she has her life together. She works hard towards her dreams which matches his goal-oriented persona. If she's financially responsible then, even better. Make those budget spreadsheets in front of him and he'll be impressed. In the end, he spoils her anyway.

Reo's probably into the unique kind of look. She dyed her hair a fun color and wears bold fashion pieces. Minimalist tattoos and piercings are her thing. He'll definitely take pictures of her and post her on his social media—practically bragging about her. He may or may not have paid for most of her tats and piercings because he thinks they're hot.

ᯓ Kunigami Rensuke - the tough & street smart type

Kunigami is a strong-willed person before and after the wildcard. So, of course, he'd be drawn to someone of the same air. His ideal girl is someone who can handle herself in tough situations—someone with a gritty, no-nonsense attitude and a street-smart edge. She knows how to navigate the challenges of life with a cool head and a confident stride. In other words, she can fight her own battles, but appreciates that Kunigami would always be there by her side regardless.

He's attracted to her because she isn't afraid to speak up for herself or for whatever she stands for, even if it means challenging him. They both believe that actions speak louder than words and they constantly express that belief towards each other in their relationship. Together, they're the power couple that everyone aspires to be.

In terms of appearance, he's not too fussy about it. He's more attracted to the fact that she's confident in her body. But he would definitely bark for her if she was a muscle mommy. Her fashion sense is practical yet stylish, reflecting her no-fuss attitude. Kunigami loves that she can effortlessly switch between tough and tender, and he's always in awe of her versatility.

ᯓ Alexis Ness - the creative & clingy type

Ness is into the artsy girls. Doesn't really matter if it's drawing, painting, theater, or writing—as long as she possesses the creative spirit. He believes that the creation of art is magical in and of itself. It's not supernatural by any means, but the fact that she can create something with her own hands that no one else can exactly replicate baffles him. He's the biggest fan of her works—that's for sure. It's practically praise galore when he's around.

He feels the most loved when his girl expresses the desire to be around him whenever she can. Quality time and physical affection are his non-negotiables in a relationship. And unlike most people, he'd find her clinginess endearing rather than annoying. He's going to be so generous with his affection—she better be prepared to take in ALL of it.

He's also very much into girls with tattoos. The regular black ink ones are nice, but the colorful tats are amazing. Bonus points if the tattoo has sentimental value to her. I think he's also similar to Bachira in that he doesn't mind if she's taller than him. She wants to wear heels on date night? By all means, go ahead. He'll compliment her anyway.

ε( ε ˙³˙)ɜ ｡° ⚬ ｡ likes and reblogs are appreciated

pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

[tomriddleslove]

can I please please please request a reverse grumpy x sunshine with theo 😭🙏🏼 i have a horrible cold rn and im pretty sure im getting a fever too and im so so close to my periods and im in some very desperate need for something nice 😭 it's totally fine if you can't or if you're busy, no pressure!

p.s. im in love with your writing! (if it wasn't obvious before)

Show a little loving.

✩ Theodore Nott x F!Reader

The one where a smitten Theodore Nott is willing to do anything and everything to see that smile of yours. It’s only a matter of time before he has to let you know - and the school mandated trip might make that a lot earlier.

A/N: This was so disgustingly cute i actually almost threw up but ig its necessary after 61 letters LOL (also @stardustsymphony ur actually amazing i hope you like it)

songs: Lovers - anna of the north

Theodore Nott had a habit of being too cheerful for his own good, especially in the mornings. You couldn’t figure out how he managed to wake up so early and still be this bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

It was unnatural.

You leaned against the Slytherin common room wall, waiting for your first class of the day, arms crossed and expression set in your usual neutral state. Your friends called it a "resting bitch face," though you insisted it was just your natural look.

Either way, no one seemed brave enough to bother you this early - except for Theo, of course.

"[name]!" His voice rang out from the entrance, and you groaned internally before turning your head to see him practically bouncing down the stairs, his dark hair flopping slightly as he moved.

“Too early for that much enthusiasm, Theo,” you muttered, but you didn’t stop the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. He always had that effect on you, no matter how much you tried to resist it.

Theodore didn’t seem fazed. He gave you a wide grin as he plopped down next to you on the stone bench. “It’s never too early! Have you seen outside? It’s perfect weather - I thought we could grab breakfast and maybe sit by the lake before class.”

“Not sure if I’m awake enough for all that,” you grumbled, pulling your cloak tighter around yourself. The dungeons were always too cold in the mornings. “But breakfast doesn’t sound too bad.”

“See? You’re already coming around,” he teased, his voice laced with amusement.

It was a running joke between the two of you. Theo was always the optimist, the 'sunshine' that (much to your dismay) seemed hellbent on making you smile. He was one of your closest friends, so you let him get away with it, though you wouldn’t admit how much you enjoyed his company - or how much his smile did things to your heart you didn’t entirely understand yet.

He nudged your arm gently. “I even asked Mattheo to save you a croissant for breakfast. No need to thank me, though I’ll accept compliments.”

You rolled your eyes but followed him out of the common room, the two of you falling into step as you walked through the corridors. It was easy, the way you fit together. Where you were quiet, he filled the silence with his never-ending commentary on whatever came to mind-whether it was about the latest Quidditch scores or some random thing he noticed about the castle.

Today, it was the latter.

“Have you ever noticed how that one portrait near the Great Hall looks like it’s giving people side-eye? I feel rather judged every time I walk by.” he rambled, feigning hurt as he places a hand on his chest.

You snorted, unable to help the laugh that bubbled up. “No, but now I’m definitely going to look for it.”

“See? I’m expanding your horizons,” he said with a satisfied grin.

You shot him a sideways glance. “Yeah, yeah. Keep talking and you’ll lose your seat.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges in that way that always made your stomach flip. “You’d miss me if I wasn’t there.”

You didn’t respond right away, but he wasn’t wrong.

You didn’t know how to describe the way your friendship with Theo felt like it was standing on the edge of something bigger, something neither of you had quite dared to name.

And maybe you weren’t ready for it just yet. But when he sat down beside you, close enough that your knees brushed under the table, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too.

Theodore hummed contentedly as he reached for the little pot of sugar, dumping three heaped teaspoons into his coffee like it was perfectly normal behaviour. The steam rose lazily from the cup, and he stirred it absentmindedly, flashing you that familiar, easy-going smile.

“Have you packed for the astronomy trip tomorrow?” he asked casually, as though he hadn’t just committed a serious coffee crime right in front of you. “Apparently Tromsø is absolutely piss cold at this time of year. Draco was telling me.”

“I’ll help you pack later. Just so you don’t forget something important. Like, I don’t know, an extra jumper for me.”

You shot him a glare. “Sure, Theodore. I’ll just pack your entire wardrobe while I’m at it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of asking,” he replied, grinning again. “Just the scarf, though. You know, my lucky one.”

You snorted. “That hideous green one? Absolutely not.”

“Blasphemy,” he said dramatically, clutching his chest. “You wound me, [name].”

“Good,” You deadpan, turning to look at him.

You raised an eyebrow, eyeing him with something between disbelief and amusement. “God, Theodore-” you chided, pointing at his cup with disgust, “is that not just sugar with a side of coffee?”

"Well someone needs to make up for the clear joy discrepancy in this friendship." He defended, taking a long sip as if to punctuate his point.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smirk creeping onto your face. “Right, because your never-ending cheerfulness is the only thing keeping us all from a dark, miserable existence.”

“Exactly!” he declared, entirely too pleased with himself. “I’m performing a public service, really. One smile at a time.”

There was something ridiculously charming about how he just… didn’t care. Theodore was all lightness and laughter, one could argue too much so for a Slytherin.

“I wouldn’t need to drink quite so much sugar if you’d stop glaring at me like I’ve just murdered a puppy.” he teased, bumping your knee lightly under the table. “Honestly, one of these days I’m going to get you to smile before 10 a.m. Just you wait.”

You scoffed, but the warmth in his tone made it impossible to stay annoyed. “You’d have better luck with a Patronus charm.”

"There's a reason why I'm top of the DADA class" Theodore shot back with a cocky grin.

Despite yourself, you felt the corners of your mouth twitching upward, and before you could stop it, a smile crept across your face. Quickly, you took a sip of your coffee to cover it up, but Theodore noticed.

If you saw the way he looked at you, you'd know he was in love then and there. The way he almost melted into your expression, eyebrows almost furrowing as he looks over at you. Just as he opened his mouth, ready to say something - something he wasn’t even sure he was ready to admit to himself- Pansy’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Well, if it isn’t day and night sitting over here,” she chimed, plopping down next to you with a knowing smirk.

“Merlin’s sake, Theo. You’re going to give yourself diabetes.” Pansy’s voice broke through, dry and unimpressed as ever.

“I reckon the sugar’s the only thing keeping him tolerable,” Mattheo said, slouching into his chair and eyeing Theodore’s cup with disdain. “Otherwise, we'd have to listen to him drone on about defensive spells without end.”

You snorted into your coffee before you could help it, the sound surprising you. You couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up, covering your mouth as you shoot Mattheo a glare that was only half-serious. It was loud - unfiltered and genuine, and when you glanced up, you found Theodore staring at you with that easy smile, his eyes warm and a little too soft. Even with Mattheo’s jab at his expense, Theodore couldn’t bring himself to be mad, not when the sound of your laughter was still ringing in his ears.

“Right, like I’d ever come to you for life advice, Mattheo,” Theodore muttered, finally tearing his gaze away from you, though his grin lingered.

Mattheo shrugged lazily. “Probably shouldn't. I’m a terrible influence."

You let the three of them fall into conversation as you zone out, sipping on your coffee. Their chatter faded into the background as your mind wandered, focusing instead on the upcoming trip. The Astronomy class’s trip to Tromsø was all anyone could talk about lately.

And as the pessimist you were, all you could focus on was how damn cold it was going to be.

--

You were right.

It was cold - too damn cold.

As soon as the group stepped off the train in Tromsø, the icy wind cut through your layers like they were made of parchment. You pulled your scarf tighter around your neck, teeth chattering despite the heavy coat you wore.

"Bloody hell," you muttered under your breath, glancing around at your classmates as they all shivered in the bitter chill. "Why did I think this was a good idea?"

"Because it’s Norway, and we’re going to see the Northern Lights," Pansy answered with a 'that's so obvious' tone, bundling herself up in a fur-lined coat that looked like it cost more than your entire wardrobe.

You shot her a look. “I don’t care if we’re going to see dragons dancing in the sky. It’s fucking freezing.”

Pansy only rolled her eyes, linking arms with Lorenzo as they trudged ahead through the snow-covered streets. The rest of your group followed suit- Draco, Mattheo, Blaise, and, of course, Theodore- who was surprisingly unfazed by the weather, despite the hideous green scarf he insisted on wearing.

By the time you arrived at the lodge where you were all staying, your fingers were numb and your patience thin. The lodge was quaint, wooden, and cosily tucked away at the edge of the forest, the surrounding snow-capped trees giving it a 'hallmark christmas' charm.

You all shuffled into the common room, where the housekeeper with a rather large bushy moustache greeted you with thick blankets and far too much enthusiasm for someone who lived in such a cold climate. Everyone split off to their rooms, getting settled before heading out for the evening’s stargazing expedition - one you had organised amongst yourselves. You were sharing a room with Pansy, while Theodore was bunking with Blaise.

Once you'd unpacked, you met the group downstairs again. The fire crackled in the hearth as the others talked about what to do before heading out for the night.

Theodore appeared by your side, leaning casually against the arm of the sofa you were sitting on. "So," he started, that familiar grin tugging at his lips, "what do you want to do?"

You frowned at him in confusion. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because I want to do whatever you want to do," he replied simply, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. "I don't care. I'll just go along with whatever everyone else is doing."

But Theodore wasn’t having it. "You always say that. C’mon, humor me."

Before you could argue, Mattheo walked past and clapped Theodore on the shoulder. "Come on, Nott, stop making her overthink. Let’s go grab some snacks and freeze our asses off while we wait for the lights," he said, and with that, the group started bundling up again, ready to head out into the freezing night.

--

The sky above was almost too perfect - as though it had been plucked straight from a postcard. It almost compensated for the bone numbing chill, the sight of string-light lit stalls far too pretty to make you feel grumpy.

For a while, though.

You trudged along beside Theodore, bundled in so many layers that it felt like your entire body had been wrapped in blankets. The long puffer jacket you wore reached nearly to your knees, and your scarf-wrapped around your neck at least three times-barely left room for your face to peek through. You couldn't help but grumble to yourself, tugging at the edge of your gloves to make sure no skin was exposed to the biting cold.

Theodore, of course, noticed immediately.

"Merlin's beard, you're waddling," he teased. "If you added another layer, you might not be able to walk at all."

You shot him a glare from under your knitted hat. "I'd rather waddle than freeze to death."

He chuckled, eyes flicking over your bundled-up form with an almost too-pleased look on his face. "I don’t know, it’s kind of cute. You look like a disgruntled penguin."

You snorted, half-annoyed, half-amused. "Glad you're entertained."

"Come on," he coaxed, nudging your arm lightly, "I bet under all those layers, you're secretly enjoying this. You’re just too stubborn to admit it."

"Enjoying this?" you asked incredulously, gesturing to the freezing air and the snow-covered ground beneath your feet. "I’m wearing half my wardrobe just to avoid becoming an icicle."

Theodore shrugged, his easy grin never faltering. "Still cute, though."

"You're insufferable, Nott," you muttered, scowling as you slap his arm.

He grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself for pulling that almost-smile out of you.

"Oi! We're gonna go see if we can get some hot chocolate and blankets before we set up for the evening, You guys just guard our spot before someone else grabs it." Blaise yells from a short distance, and Theodore nods as you groan. You wanted to be in the cosy warm lodge - not out here on an isolated ledge in the middle of god-knows where whist your friend traipse around the quaint markets.

You look up, momentarily stunned as the half sarcastic curses that were about to escape your mouth dry out on your tongue. Ripples of greens and blue entwine, seamlessly dancing through the dark that otherwise shrouded the night-sky. It wasn't magic, only charged particles from the sun colliding with gases in Earth's atmosphere, causing them to emit light in vibrant colors, typically seen near the polar regions (courtesy of muggle book you had read on the journey here) but it was nonetheless enchanting.

Surprisingly, your voice broke the silence. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Theodore nodded, eyes fixed on you. “Yeah… it really is.”

There was a brief silence, and when you glanced over, you found Theodore watching you instead of the sky, his expression soft.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, still smiling. “Nothing. Just trying to figure out how to make you smile.”

You huffed, turning your gaze back to the sky. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because I like seeing it,” he said simply, his voice so sincere it made your stomach flip.

You didn’t respond, the weight of his words lingering in the cold air between you. After a moment, he sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “I’ll have to try harder, then.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though your tone was more fond than irritated now.

He chuckled, his laugh low and warm. “And you’re stubborn.”

You turned to chastise him, ready with another quip, but the words faltered when you looked up at him. The moonlight caught his features- soft shadows dancing across his sharp jawline, his eyes gleaming with that look that you had seen far too often these past few weeks. His scarf, that hideous green thing, was crooked as always, the ends flapping slightly in the breeze.

Your hands moved instinctively, reaching up to fix it. "This scarf..." you started, your voice trailing off as you focused on straightening it.

Theodore’s gaze never faltered as he watched you, his eyes tracing every detail of your face as if committing it to memory. "You know, I’m not sure if you actually hate the scarf or if it’s just an excuse to keep touching me."

You scowled, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed you. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you mumbled, but even you could hear the wavering in your voice.

His smile widened, but he didn’t say anything more, just stood there.

Before you knew what you were doing, you tugged him closer by the scarf, pulling him toward you. "This hideous scarf of yours," you muttered under your breath, using it as a flimsy excuse to hide the fact that you were really just closing the gap between you.

Theodore’s eyes flickered down to your lips, his breath fogging in the cold air between you. And then, without another word, you closed the distance.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like both of you were testing the waters. But the second his lips moved against yours, something inside you shifted. It was slow, unhurried, his hands gently cradling your face as if he had all the time in the world. The cold air disappeared entirely, replaced by the warmth of his touch, his closeness, and the feeling of him - consuming you.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, Theodore’s eyes were still on you, that stupid smile of his making your knees weak.

"You didn’t even fix the scarf," he whispered, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes, still trying to catch your breath, but you couldn’t fight the grin that broke through. "Shut up."

But Theodore only laughed, leaning in again to steal another kiss.

Your gloved hands came up, fisting the thick wool of his jacket as you-

“Finally!” Pansy’s dry tone rang out, followed by the sound of scattered applause.

You and Theodore broke apart, startled, only to find the rest of your group approaching, grinning like idiots.

“What the-?” you began, but Blaise interrupted, holding up a handful of galleons.

“We made a bet on how long it’d take for you two to finally snog," he said with a grin, pocketing the winnings. "I was getting worried."

Your face burned, and your grumpy demeanor returned in full force as you glared at them all. "I hate every single one of you."

But before you could storm off, Theodore just chuckled, pulling you into his side with a warmth that made it hard to stay annoyed. "Don’t worry," he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, "they’re just jealous."

Grumbling under your breath, you leaned into him as the group settled down.

Perhaps it wasn't all too bad.

[inkpot909]

Falling for an Oblivious Reader Headcanons

↳ Characters included are Johnny Joestar and Gyro Zeppeli. Gender neutral Reader with they/them pronouns.

A/n: Exploring these guys’ inability to spit it the hell out was extremely fun. What a couple of disaster men.

Warning(s): None.

Johnny Joestar

At first, he’ll wonder if he’s just out of practice.

Johnny’s never been interested in someone so oblivious they miss every little hint or flirtatious remark he throws their way. Having been a famous jockey, people used to flock to him; he hardly needed to even try.

But by the time of the Steel Ball Run, he hasn’t been with anyone romantically in a good while. He could count how many years since, but he would rather not keep track.

And you’re not exactly making things easy for him.

Going about your day looking the way you do… and then having the audacity to not pick up a single signal from him (Or anyone else for that matter). Honestly, it should be illegal.

Johnny’s natural instinct, unfortunately, is to immediately assume he’s not what’s clicking. Lord, am I… not being obvious enough? he often wonders.

It’d be one thing if you wanted to outright reject him; he can handle rejection (No, really, he can). It’s just the way the horse gallops sometimes.

But you don’t even seem to notice at all and that’s what’s so frustrating to him.

Just thinking of it can make annoyance fester inside his mind. Gyro throws him a knowing look whenever it’s visibly getting to him; to you it just seems like his mood spikes at random.

His annoyance isn’t directed at you, of course, but at himself (As much as he outwardly blames you, it’s really just a front).

Has he really lost his ‘skills?’ Did the passing years make him completely forget how to flirt with someone? Gyro seems really keen on telling him that’s the case.

And Johnny is nothing if not contrarian to everything Gyro says.

The guy is bending over backwards, doing anything he can do to try to impress you. All while Gryo is not-so-subtly ragging on him over it in the background.

“Quit it! For the love of God-“

“Awe, c’mon Johnny, it’s not like they’re noticing anyways!”

Johnny hates how right Gyro can be.

He’s metaphorically tripping over himself left and right, feeling like he’s at the same level of a clueless middle schooler desperately trying to seem ‘cool’ in front of a crush. Gyro’s damn near crying of laughter at his struggle to make you get it…

But all you do is just stand to the side. Smiling kindly, and blinking without an ounce of procession of his actual intent behind your pretty eyes.

Agony… Johnny Joestar is in pure agony… you’re lucky he finds you cute.

You’re so frustratingly oblivious he can’t even tell if you might like him back, and at this point he’s honestly just trying to get a read on your feelings before he spells it out for you bluntly.

Such an approach is needed with you, apparently.

It’s around this time too that he realizes… Holy shit, they’re really just that oblivious.

Someone else approached you at a bar during one of your numerous stops during the race. Both Johnny and Gyro knew exactly what they were getting at the moment they walked over, a sly smile presented on their face.

All while you sipped from your drink, your expression and tone of voice so casual one might assume your simply discussing the weather.

Johnny isn’t ashamed to admit he felt a sense of pride as the person ultimately walked off, giving up.

Luckily for you, Johnny is not.

You’ve stolen his heart so completely without even trying… he can admit to himself it’s a beautiful thing- if he detaches himself from his own frustration.

He’s going to keep trying to get you notice; try to get a read on however you feel about him. Even if it takes him the entire Steel Ball Run to do so!

And, yes, it does take that long.

Gyro Zeppeli

So what, you didn’t notice the first time he winked at you? It was real sunny out that day- the light probably shined in your eye and made you miss it.

Whatever, if his first flirtation or two ultimately fell on deaf ears. Statistically speaking, not every line is going to land the way he wants.

Who cares if his apparent interest in you is obvious to literally every one other than you? It’s your loss, to be honest.

Not that he really cares.

And you know what? He doesn’t care so much he’ll snap at Johnny for bringing it up. He’s not bothered by it… so why does the guy feel the need to mention his failed attempts at showing interest? Really, it’s just a little annoying the jockey thinks it matters to him at all.

… it should go without saying that he does not handle the frustration well at all in the beginning.

He won’t necessarily blame himself.

He is aware of his own ability to flirt, and his past has granted him a sense of confidence in it. Gyro’s certainly the forward type, and knows that.

Yet, everything he says or does seems to go right over your pretty head. It’s a not a notion meant to flatter you either- one he keeps to himself with pouted lips and arms crossed.

It’s a rather childish anger directed towards you, but it doesn’t last too long.

Eventually, he also comes to the (Begrudging) conclusion that he really cannot blame you. Gyro realizes this around the same time he figures his liking of you goes far deeper than a casual fling.

And if anything, he’s going to start directing his frustration towards the people in your past.

Clearly, no one’s really hit on you before… or worse, something happened to you that made you think no one ever would- so thick-headed in that belief that you don’t even perceive it.

It’s in Gyro’s nature to let his mind ponder the ‘why’ behind your obliviousness- especially when he thought he was being so obvious about it.

Either possibility makes him want to find whoever contributed to your inability to pick up a signal, grab them by the shoulders, and shake them violently.

But with time, he’s going to find it endearing (Not that he’s ever admit it out loud).

Look at you… riding your prized horse as if you’re not the most beautiful person in the Steel Ball Run. And the smirk doesn’t at all falter even when the three of you stop at a dingy town for the night.

“I’ve had three strangers walk up to me since we entered the saloon… the people in this town are so friendly!”

“Y/n, dear, they’re all trying to hit on you.”

“What? No way! They just wanted to talk about the race over a drink or two. One of them said they had gin from France up in his hotel room. Can you believe that? Sounds delicious, right?”

“… good lord, Y/n.”

It’d be funnier if he wasn’t another trying and failing to flirt his way into making you open your damn eyes.

At some point, Gyro just has to spit it out.

It comes during the climax of one of the race’s many stopping points. It’d been looming over his mind for weeks, and if someone were to ask him (Okay, if Johnny asks him) he would bitterly grumble that it’s been affecting his scores.

His logic behind doing this at specifically that point in time… flawless.

How are you going to blissfully remain in the dark if he’s shouting his confession at you from the finish line in front of a large group of confused onlookers?

They just wanted to see the race… not one of the top contestants with a heavy Italian accent declaring his love for you while damn-near standing on top of his horse.

[alittlebitofsainz]

me (and you) and my guitar

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: just a little drabble; you’re shy about playing guitar around other people, but charles desperately wants to hear your hidden talent

masterlist

“I didn’t know that you play the guitar?”

your cheeks immediately flushed red, instinctively trying to hide the instrument behind your back, a task you didn’t really achieve considering the instrument in question was a guitar roughly half your height. you glanced away, not meeting charles’ eyes, feeling his curious gaze flitting between you and the fret of your guitar peeking out from behind your back.

“I don’t. well, not really.” came your reply, words bordered by a nervous chuckle. charles was unconvinced, raising an eyebrow, but your response was only half untrue. you didn’t play guitar, as far as most of the world was concerned; you didn’t play in front of other people, preferring to keep your favourite hobby to yourself. this was the first time someone had stumbled across you, hiding in a corner of the ferrari motorhome, trying to while away the minutes that were threatening to turn into an hour. the rain wasn’t letting up, and the race didn’t look like it would resume any time soon. charles didn’t seem to think so either, judging by the way his fireproofs were hanging round his hips, and by the way he was hanging around the back of the garage instead of discussing data with his engineers. there’s only so much you can talk about, he once told you when you’d asked him about it.

“you won’t keep playing?” he asked, the wounded expression on his face worming its way into your heart, even if you knew it was mostly playful, “not even for me?”

you couldn’t help but laugh at his fake pout, bottom lip sticking out and eyebrows curving upwards to give you those puppy dog eyes that he knew you couldn’t say no to. or, rather, he hoped you wouldn’t say no to. you had a tendency to be stubborn from time to time. and this? this was one of those times.

“sorry, charles.” you shook your head, even as he blinked imploringly at you. but his expression changed after a moment, an expression that always worried you. charles leclerc was coming up with a plan.

“if I play first for you, will you play for me after?”

it was tempting, you had to admit. there was a time, a few months ago now, that charles had been obsessed with learning guitar, could barely be pictured without one attached to his back. you’d always known he’d been musical, something you’d bonded over. but then he’d picked piano back up, and guitar seemed to have fallen by the wayside. charles had that personality where he liked to be good at things. so you’d dropped it, never asked him about it, despite your curiosity. so this offer? and combined with the pleading look in his eyes? well, how could you refuse?

his face lit up when you agreed, reaching for the guitar with an outstretched hand. he sat beside you, shoulder to shoulder, weighing up the instrument in his hands, fingers finding their way over the fret. okay, so the chord changes were a little clumsy, his fingers, clearly made for piano, fumbling a little over the barred notes. but there was an undeniable musicality to it, an underlying reminder that charles had a good ear and pure rhythm, no matter what he turned his hand to. you rewarded his piece with a quiet round of applause and a broad, genuine smile.

“you ought to practice more!” your tone was enthusiastic, but charles tilted his head with a confused expression, clearly expecting something a little more… complimentary. you quickly backtracked, shaking your head,

“no, I mean-“ you stumbled a little, becoming tongue tied in your attempt to reassure him you meant it positively, “I mean you’re a natural, charles, really. if you really worked at it, you could be incredible; as good as you are at piano.”

his expression changed, understanding, and he flashed you a rueful smile.

“if only I had the time.” he replied softly, his words carrying a hint of wistfulness. you hummed in reply, a soft sign escaping you.

“yeah, fair enough.” you agreed quietly.

but charles wasn’t going to forget your end of the bargain in a hurry.

“a deal’s a deal. your turn.” he handed the guitar over to your reluctant hands, an expectant grin spreading across his face. it was rare you saw him get this excited over anything that wasn’t a podium finish or a puppy; it almost felt like an honour.

“okay, fine.” you replied in a way that let him know that you really didn’t want to do this.

he sat there, enraptured, eyes alternating between following the way your fingers danced across the strings and being glued to your face, your expression concentrated yet relaxed at the same time. when you finally finished, he sat there for a moment, quiet, as if processing the last couple of minutes. you rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, shifting the guitar off your lap and propping it up beside you.

“thank you.”

“yeah, like I said, I’m really not that good, and- wait, what did you say?”

you paused as his words overlapped yours, both speaking at the same time.

“I said thank you.” he repeated, quieter this time, as if almost embarrassed by the words. “I mean, for letting me listen to you play. you’re really good.”

you opened your mouth to disagree, but charles cut you off with a shake of his head.

“and don’t say you’re not.” he told you with a warning glance. you chuckled; he knew you too well. he paused for a moment, his gaze wandering across the garage to focus on the rain still falling on the tarmac outside. he had that look on his face again. his thinking look.

“could you teach me?”

he said suddenly, and not for the first time today, you had to ask him to repeat himself so you could make sure you’d heard him right.

“I mean, I don’t have time for formal lessons or anything like that, but moments like these…” he turned to face you, gesturing vaguely around the garage, “the little moments in between races. sometimes… well, let’s say it would be nice to think about something other than driving for just a few minutes.”

when he put it like that, how could you say no?

“I’m not exactly a qualified teacher.” you tried to protest, but it was a losing battle.

“you seem good enough to me.” came his reply, as if he’d lined it up, already anticipating your argument. “I don’t need to have a perfect technique. I just want to be able to play every now and again. like you.”

you ducked your head to try and hide the blush creeping up into your cheeks, feigning the need to tune a string on your guitar. the rain was starting to ease outside: the race would begin soon.

“okay. you’ve got a deal.”

[yanderes-galore]

Homelander vs Black Noir from The Boys rivalry-romantic concept??

Oof... Iirc, doesn't Black Noir get bodied in the show? He lost this rivalry before things even started :( Sorry if it's short because of that.

Yandere! Homelander vs Black Noir

Pairing: Romantic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Violence, Blood, Controlling behavior, Murder, Breaking and entering, Gore, Forced relationship(s).

This rivalry is so unfair no matter what way you look at it.

It doesn't even matter who gets obsessed first.

If you're looking at Black Noir from the show and animated series, there's no chance.

The comics? Sure, but even then that's just Homelander vs Homelander.

I only write the show version, so it's a rivalry that isn't even in the slightest.

If Black Noir had a chance, it would be because Homelander let him.

Both of them are scary on their own.

However, Homelander is definitely your biggest issue.

Yes, Black Noir is a lethal and silent assassin who can hide and stalk in the shadows.

But then there's Homelander... Do I need to elaborate?

Imagine if you work at Vought for one reason or another, only to have two strong Supes fixated on you.

The two are their own form of evil, honestly.

Black Noir is quiet, never typically talking and only communicating through writing.

He's known to kill as the enforcer of Vought, the scary thing about him is how little is known about him.

Homelander? Well, everyone knows him.

He's practically the poster child of Vought.

He's the strongest one of The Seven and even his superiors can't do much about it.

He's killed probably even more than Black Noir, and gets away with it.

Homelander gets what he wants, end of story.

So, a rivalry would be so one-sided with Black Noir.

Sure, Homelander respects Black Noir.

But this wouldn't even be a rivalry to Homelander.

It would be an annoyance.

The outcome will be the same no matter who you're close to first.

Maybe you're often an assistant for Homelander who oversees what he does.

That way Homelander is close to you to the point of obsession, always wanting you by his side and never letting you leave.

He's overly affectionate, even during meetings.

You can't even have meetings of your own without Homelander stalking you through walls.

Sometimes you just know he is, meaning you have to be careful with what you say.

Black Noir being the second to obsess is difficult, as Homelander will know everything.

Nothing gets past that man.

Black Noir's obsession starts lowkey, he just seems to watch you and often expresses curiosity.

Black Noir would often come and find you, "speaking" with you through notes.

You often answer and talk to him, although you'd be nervous due to Homelander being so close.

Even you know Homelander is letting Black Noir be around you.

If Black Noir knows, he doesn't seem to care, still craving your attention.

Even if Homelander was the second yandere, things pretty much don't change.

Homelander is going to have to be your priority due to his need for attention.

If he feels Black Noir is too close to you, there will definitely be issues.

Which could supposedly be used to your advantage if Black Noir becomes a problem...

But Homelander is the worst one there anyways.

Black Noir enjoys your company, but has to be careful.

While he typically interacts through notes and maybe some physical touch...

Homelander will be able to see all of it.

The worst part?

Homelander gets jealous easily.

Homelander may even warn you to not get too close to Black Noir.

He brings it up in an eerily cheery tone... Yet you can hear the subtle threat.

Naturally, you may end up trying to avoid Black Noir.

Yet he always finds you, oddly attentive and ready to see you.

You, quite frankly, never feel safe.

There's always a pair of eyes on you, you always have to try and deal with the aftermath of someone being murdered.

You aren't sure how to stop any of it.

I can see Black Noir giving you things such as plush toys or writing you notes...

Only for Homelander to get rid of them so he can have your attention back on him.

Homelander wants you to coddle him, while Black Noir wants to coddle you.

Your job is miserable.

Black Noir is definitely the tamest to be around for you.

He just watches you and listens to you speak, occasionally reaching out to touch your face or hold you closer.

You thought that dealing with the two could all be dealt with just at work.

Nope! They also know where you live!

Homelander is expected, that man will follow you anywhere.

Him showing up at your house is scary, yet not entirely unexpected.

Homelander often let himself into your home, expecting attention.

Making you forced to get it.

Black Noir would find out where you lived by looking through databases or simply following you home.

He's scarier as he can slip into your home without a sound, then just show up from the shadows while you're relaxing.

Homelander too busy to visit?

Well now there's Black Noir.

What makes him scarier is just his outfit and silence.

Homelander always just seems to announce himself.

You often have to work with the rest of Vought to clean up and cover up murders these two do.

It's hard for you to deal with at times as you feel so guilty... sometimes wondering if one death or another is due to you.

Them stalking and being suffocating around you is expected.

They're always too touchy and you never have any personal space.

But, just saying, the moment they start fighting?

Homelander's winning that, unfortunately

I love Black Noir, but he's so out of his league in this.

If Homelander ever got tired of Black Noir stealing you from him?

Gone.

You'd end up coming to your job, only to see Homelander covered in blood.

Oh... the gore....

Homelander probably would have killed Black Noir for both knowing about Soldier Boy and trying to be close to you.

There's no alternative option, really.

You walk in and you'll see guts on the floor, Noir's not breathing, and blood is pooling on the floor.

Homelander is in tears, but you're unsure why.

When the Supe turns to look at you, you can see the amount of blood on his suit.

You freeze, Homelander staring at you with what looks to be... sorrow? Relief?

Even now you can't read him.

Homelander would brush off what you just saw, escorting you out of the room and to his own room.

He doesn't bring it up besides telling you it was necessary.

Other than that, Homelander's obsession doesn't change.

Now you're left to pick up the pieces after the death of another Seven...

All while Homelander grins, knowing he's won... Now no one else will take you from him unless they also wish to be red paste.

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - IX

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics gif from pinterest, wick art from pinterest, prtty sure its AI, OPs unknown lemme kno

9. and be saved

You are left starstruck and gaping, slack-jawed and weak-kneed, when Constantine finally pulls back from the absolute claiming of your mouth, his dark gaze boring into you like he either wants to fuck you, or strangle you. 

Maybe both, considering. 

“After all this, that’s what you think?” he snarls. 

A low growl reminds you both of the danger not far enough away. “And why wouldn’t she, after the way you’ve treated her, you stupid boy?” snarls Wick, his accent thickening in his anger. “Stop touching her.”

You jab a finger in the dhampir’s direction, putting yourself between them again. “This doesn’t mean you own me, buster, don’t get comfortable.” 

The dhampir grumbles deep in his chest at this, glaring blue daggers at Constantine, but he stops his stalking advance. He seems to have enough self-control to weigh the consequences of breaking his promise not to hurt the man you obviously care about (for whatever reason he cannot understand), over the rewards of the deal you made. If he is patient, he will get what he wants. That should concern you, but at the moment you have one thing on your mind. You dare to turn back to your first beau, far from happy. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you snap. 

“I told you that I like you!” 

“Are we in third grade?”

“It sure fucking feels like it!” he snarls, then starts coughing uncontrollably; horrible, racking hacks that convulse his whole body. 

You see the flash of blood on his sleeve. He is literally coughing up his lungs, and your heart breaks all over again. You try to help brace him, and he tries to hold you away. Finally fed up with his nonsense, you use your superior strength to best him, supporting him while trying to send energy to him through the bond to soothe him. 

Naturally, you find that goddammed brick wall erected between you again. You are so frustrated this time that you pound a metaphysical fist against it. At last it gives, and you push all that wonderful strength you went out in the first place to collect down the line to John. Life, for lack of a better word, and he closes his eyes as it washes through him, leaning on you heavily. 

It almost feels too good, and his relief naturally mixes with his native suspicion. He realizes he doesn’t actually remember what it feels like, to experience even the vaguest semblance of true health.   

“Shit,” he rasps, leaning against you, his face buried in your hair. 

You know they say that still waters run deep, but you still don’t understand the point of him hiding from you. Maybe there is no good reason, and maybe you’ll never truly understand. Even with your arms full of Constantine, you remain painfully aware of the lurking dhampir watching you, too close for comfort. 

What have you done?

When you draw back to look at John, the only word you can think to describe his expression is agony. In turn, you somehow feel relieved and wretched and angry, all at once. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whisper desperately. “Why couldn't you just tell me?”

“I did,” he answers, and maybe he thinks that's true, but he'd practically spoken in code and it's not your fault that you didn't understand. 

You should just tell him your side too, you reason. You've wasted so much time, and he's dying, and did you really hold back just because you were afraid he would laugh at you? You open your mouth, intending to get it out no matter what the cost, when Wick interrupts coldly, “This is very touching. But I didn’t come here to watch you two canoodle.” 

“I don’t give a fu—” 

You cut Constantine off before he can enrage the dhampir again. “He came here to help us,” you insist. “Come upstairs.”

“This asshole only knows how to help himself,” grouses the man in your arms, and you know he is glaring at Wick over your head. “I don’t trust him.” 

“Fine. Come talk to the vampire he brought us, then we can kick him out.” 

Wick snorts at that. “He can try.”

“You promised me,” you dare to remind the vampire hunter, even if there is a quaver in your voice. 

“As you promised me,” Wick counters right back, offering a mocking little bow with his hand over his heart and a heat in his eyes that involuntarily curls your toes.

Dear God. What have you gotten yourself into?

Constatine’s grip on your hip tightens to the point of bruising, had you still been human. You can hear him grinding his teeth, and you have to stop yourself from laughing or crying with exasperation. This man. Maybe you do have a screw loose. You should kick him in the balls for the way he’d treated you, but all you really want to do is wrap him up in your arms, and cloister yourselves away from the world for a very long time. 

Unfortunately, time is not something you have right now.

♰♰♰

Does the Geneva Convention apply to vampires? 

You're sure what Wick did to the vamp he’d captured is at least immoral, if not downright illegal. And yet, you know this sycophant of don Juan’s was no innocent. You find it hard to feel sorry for him.

It doesn’t take much persuasion to get the injured vamp to spill the beans. He’s already scared shitless of Wick, and adding Constantine only makes him talk faster in hope of some mercy. You doubt he’s going to get it, or maybe but only in the form of a quick death. 

He tells you all that don Juan has had a bone to pick with the High Table for years. Squabbles over power, jurisdiction, and of course, money, resenting the steep tithe he’s had to pay as a matter of course. He formulated a plan to overthrow them, by somehow involving the Son of Satan to wipe the slate clean with a new reign of Hell on Earth. With the exception, of course, that Juan continues to rule in L.A.

Constantine keeps shaking his head in disbelief, now seated at the head of the kitchen table. Wick has taken the seat at the opposite end, and you lean with your arms crossed against the sink, lowkey ready to intervene if they go after each other again. Maybe you’re not the brightest crayon in the box, but you sense the peace between them is tenuous at best no matter what Wick promised you.  

“It’s like going after a roach problem in your house with a nuclear bomb,” gripes Constantine. “What the fuck is he thinking?”

Wick shrugs. “I will kill him. You kill the demons. Problem solved.”

Constantine snorts at that. “Yeah. Easy peasy.”

“Is it not?”

“It never is with these assholes. When I deport them they return to their realm, but they don’t die. They could just keep trying, unless we really figure out what they're up to.”

“How do we do that?”

John lights a cigarette, ignoring you as you glare at him, the big idiot. He blows a cloud of smoke into the air, staring at the cracked plaster of the ceiling like it holds the answer key. 

“I gotta use the chair.”

“At Midnite’s?” 

You have no idea what John’s talking about, but Wick seems to. 

“Yeah.” 

“Can you use it to find where Juan’s hiding? He’s gone to ground like the rat he is. It would save me time.” 

“Maybe. It’s…unpredictable.” 

“I might be able to find him,” you admit reluctantly, staring down at your bare feet. 

Both pairs of dark eyes turn towards you. “How?” they echo each other, almost eerily similar in that moment. 

“The last time you fed me…” you say to John, your cheeks warming with the memory. “Afterwards, I kind of…surfed around the city, while you slept. In my head, I mean. But not…” 

Wick is impressed by this, an eyebrow lifting, the corner of his mouth pulling slightly. John, however, gives you a hard look. “You just…went frolicking around on the astral plane, huh? Do you know how dangerous that can be?”

You laugh, for once more amused than miffed by John’s irritation with you. It helps, that now you’re starting to suspect it comes from a place of caring, rather than contempt. Not that you can tell through the bond now. He’s re-built his walls between you, twice as high and twice as thick as they were before. You know he has more experience with this psychic stuff than you do, but it seems unfair. 

“Well, I did it, and I found Juan. He felt it too. He hit me with something. It woke you up.”

“Yeah. I remember that.” 

You shrug. “I could probably do it again.”

John ashes his cigarette with a flick into an overflowing dish, staring at the reflection in the green glass. “It took a little more than blood to invoke power like that.” Your ears feel like they’re on fire, and how ridiculous is it, that even undead you still can blush?

You dare to meet his eyes, and find a matching warmth therein. It’s his only tell.

“I can give you blood, malyshka,” offers Wick, breaking the heavy silence in the kitchen. “And whatever else you need.” You hate it, that just the thought makes a spear of warmth shoot straight to your loins. 

Constantine narrows his eyes at the vampire hunter, pointing with the smoldering cigarette. “You can keep your cursed blood to yourself, dhampir.”    

“I am not cursed.” 

“No, but you’re a helluva traitor.” 

“Pot, kettle, wizard boy. You think you’re the only one with a bone to pick with God?” 

“Yeah, but you don’t see me skipping off to work for the other side because of it.” 

“The other side,” Wick scoffs. “Two sides, same coin, Constantine.” 

John snorts in answer. “Not exactly.” 

“Oh? Was it not God who gave you this gift you resent so? Was it not God’s priests who fed my pregnant mother to a hungry vampire to create me, God’s weapon against the darkness? My poor mother died in agony after my birth. The priests called her suffering God’s will. That’s what they said when my Yelena and my little Irinushka died too. I finally told them all to go to Hell.”

“So now you get your revenge on God by working for the Underworld?”

“I was made to kill vampires. So it is what I do.” 

Constantine barks with bitter laughter. “This is what you’re getting with this guy, y/n. He doesn't kill vampires to help people. He does it to scare the other vamps into line, so they don’t defy the High Table, and so the most powerful among them can go on exploiting human kind with ease. Trafficking, drugs, you name it, they’ve got their dirty fingers in it. When you said you would rob a drug cartel? He’s the one they would send after you for it.” 

It’s not like you thought Wick was a good man, but for some reason hearing all this hurts your heart. Shocked, you turn to Wick. “Is this true?” you ask hushedly. 

He actually looks regretful, not meeting your eyes. “Yes.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “I made a bargain, a long time ago. It is the only thing that matters to me now. I must honor it.”

You’re not sure why hearing all this has made you feel sick. You don’t really get stomach upset anymore, but you do not feel well. 

“Milaya…” says Wick pleadingly, willing you to look at him. 

But you just shake your head, staring at the floor. Maybe deep down, there was a part of you that thought maybe, maybe, you wouldn’t have to be so completely alone as the long years went by. But now you know this was a very stupid thought indeed. 

“Ask me,” prompts Wick quietly. “Ask me what the bargain was for.” 

“She doesn’t care,” says Constantine, at the same time you ask: 

“What was it for?” 

Ignoring John, his dark eyes bore into you. “I made a deal with a powerful witch of the High Table, that I would serve until the day I found my Yelena again. I was told that if I waited long enough, someday she would be reborn to me.”

You don’t know why you feel dizzy in that moment, like the floor of the whole world has dropped out from under you. You close your eyes against it, screwing them shut tight as your fingers–claws–dig into the countertop behind you. 

This man has done terrible things–for centuries, it sounds like. But he did them for love. Does that excuse them? No. Does it soften you to him? You hate to admit it, but the truth is…a little. 

You entertain the possibility for a second–you only allow yourself a second–that maybe you are this woman the dhampir thinks you are. A reincarnated soul, searching for her long lost mate, like in the deliciously trashy romances you love to read. Shouldn’t you have some sort of past life memories or dreams? Isn’t that how it always goes in the stories?

You think about how you’ve always felt adrift in this life. Not really interested or committed to anything. How it’s all always seemed kind of silly to you, meaningless even, and the only thing you’ve ever been certain was truly important, was to be kind to others. It’s ironic, maybe, that only after becoming a vampire that you truly gained a sense of purpose in your life, helping those who couldn’t help themselves, and removing evil doers from the population at large. 

You think about how you came to L.A. You practically moved here on a whim, because you were tired and off a bad breakup and you wanted to go somewhere exciting and new. Did fate guide that choice you made for yourself? Was it the unconscious searching for your soul’s true mate? 

If that’s true, then why didn’t you go to New York instead? 

You think about the day you moved into your apartment. Wrestling with your numerous boxes of stuff. Not much, really. Just what you fit into your compact hatchback car, which has since died an inglorious death on the 405. Some jerk had bumped into you on the stairs, nearly making you drop your heavy load of books, only to belatedly steady the box before it spilled, and maybe as an afterthought, you. You remember how you’d looked up, up, up because Jesus he was tall, to find the man now pulling on the addictive smoke that will prove to be his doom. He’d looked down at you with bemused annoyance in those lovely dark eyes. Told you to “Watch it,” and went on his way down the stairs, two at a time on those long legs, clearly in a hurry. 

Rushing off to save the world, or a little precious part of it, you know now. 

You remember how you’d felt like you’d been hit with a frying pan, the first time you saw him. How your heart had seemed to stop then start again, racing doubletime.  

If this was a movie, John Constantine would be your soulmate, the man you were meant to find, the one who fate seemed to be driving you towards. Because since the first time you set eyes on him, you haven’t been able to look away. And if this was a movie…it would be a tragedy, because the man you love is dying, and there is no magic that can truly save him, only delay the inevitable. 

You look between the two men seated at either head of the table. Both formidable, in their own ways, they could have been mistaken for brothers in their appearances. You wish you could deny that you felt a certain something for Wick too. It would be much simpler that way. You don’t really like the idea that things are preordained. You want to believe that you have the power to make choices about life, be they good or bad. But there is something in this dilapidated kitchen, the warm night air whispering through the broken windows, that feels unmistakably like fate. 

“I hope you find her someday,” you tell the dhampir, and you mean it, holding your hands wide in a gesture of peace. “But I don’t really think that I’m the answer you’re looking for.” 

The too-long sleeve of your shirt–John’s shirt–flops as you gesture, and you roll up the sleeve again, feeling more than a little ridiculous despite the looks both men have been paying you. As you crease the fabric up your forearm Wick zeroes in on something peeking out of your sleeve. 

“What is that?” he demands, with way more force than the situation demands. 

You look at him quizzically. “A tattoo?” 

“Let me see.” 

Constantine frowns as he watches this exchange. You feel a little uneasy too, as you pull back the sleeve to reveal the black and white flowers emblazoned on your underarm. “It’s just…something I thought was pretty on the flash wall, when I turned 18.” It had called to you, for whatever reason, on that rebellious expedition with a friend who had also just crossed the threshold into adulthood. Luckily, you still liked it. Lord knows dumber late night decisions had been made in that tattoo parlor in your little town. 

Wick, however, sits back in the chair, laughing to himself like you have told him an inside joke. “Margaritka. What do you call this flower in English?”

“Daisies?” 

Then you remember what he’d said, about the little white flower his late wife had loved to pick near their cabin. 

Oh fuck.

[dhampling]

the kitchen two 18+, 2.7k

nobody pining over the potwasher with the pretty face and snide tongue, and it feels like such a damn shame.

-

this started as a joke and now you're touching astarion up out back of a pizza express/olive garden/insert generic chain restaurant you both work at.

part one here.

cw: fem!reader x astarion, 18+, astarion is a potwasher, sex, reader smokes, astarion vapes, fingering, frottage, workplace copulation, not beta read, porn without plot pretty much, oh no, not gn reader as tags initially stated because im awful and copy pasted them over

FATTEST THANK YOU TO @bhaalism AND @lipstickghoulie for DEALING WITH ME as always <3

-

“You need to get laid.”

You take the vape from a waiting hand and hold it in your teeth. Feel the ridges where his own have left small indents in the plastic and nestle yours in the shiny crooks. 

“Hm?” 

“You. You’re practically drooling.” He blinks slowly as you look up to the clouds.

“I’m afraid my harem of devastatingly beautiful lovers are all indisposed. On the yacht, obviously.” You pull a face, huffing a long inhale and releasing the smoke in soft stutters. He snorts. 

“Ah. That’s why you reek of hormones, then?”

You smile.

“Probably. New schedule has done little for any conquests, I’ll be honest.”

Astarion takes a moment as you pass him back his vape, flipping it absentmindedly between deft fingers and scrunching his face.

“Unfortunate.”

You playfully slap his arm and he recoils in a brief snarling laughter, ending on some churlish half-smile as he leans back on the wall.

Those fingers. Slender, pale; always moving to some comment or chore with a slight flourish. You note how surprisingly unblemished they seem for his line of work, and the fact you’ve never seen him with hand balm. Even in the low light spilled scarce from the doorway they have a certain sparkle to them. Poise. 

He knows you’re looking, and you’re a little surprised it seems to matter. Coy as he inhales something deep. 

Obviously, it’s a possibility. It happens.

The nature of your work leads to frequent hookups amongst you, as it always has - some incestuous tangle of ex-lovers and yearning hopefuls all weaving the same sticky tables and navigating the age-old sore break-room banter when it inevitably cools between the sheets. Word travels fast, and not one of your workmates has escaped the hated minimum-wage service tradition of copulating with your colleagues in some drunken fumble after a particularly awful shift - but him, though. You can’t say that you’ve put out feelers per se, but his name has never been mentioned - either positively or negatively - on the grapevine, not that you can recall. Nobody pining over the potwasher with the pretty face and snide tongue, and it feels like such a damn shame.

In all fairness, he doesn’t lend himself to open fawning. He doesn’t mingle like the rest do. Never attends the seasonal socials thrown by upper management nor stays after hours drinking with the rest of the kitchen, as if he’d opted out of the greasy workplace ham-slamming ecosystem entirely. 

Above it all. Godlike. You can’t have that. 

You could invite him in, you think, as his head tilts ever-so-slightly toward you in the cool smoke. His nails tap mindless against gaudy green plastic and you picture little but those now-familiar obscene vignettes of him, those very same fingers taking the warm fat of your flesh by the fistful, bending you - pliable in the desperate chase of wanton heat - over the stainless steel of the chef’s station, with a forceful hand to the waist; smushing your face sideways on the counter as he humps you to visceral burning delight over and over, the relentless piston of hungry hips as he pounds into your drooling hole, and;- 

“At least they have each other, I suppose. Aboard that gorgeous yacht.”

Your eyes meet his, a mutual hum. Silence as the rain smatters on gravel.

It’d be easy. Sidle past him through the walk-in door left slightly ajar - vaping, of course; why else would the pot washer be in the cooler? - and feel the looming hope of flesh so close. A crooked smile in silent greeting. Take your time in bending for the lemons, apron ties bowed over your rear as some awful present. He’d never slap your ass so crudely. The lingering want for a tap of flesh, for him to feel the soft jiggle of solid fat on a quick palm; never to move to touch you until you’d made your intentions abundantly clear.

Your intentions.

You could accidentally back up against him whilst still bent and oh-so lost in search for whatever perfect fucking lemon takes this long to find, ass smacking onto his crotch, mouth shaped as an ‘o’ where sudden realisation takes hold, through layers of standard-issue service garb - a barely-there cant of your hips at the surprise friction of his cock. 

He’s been watching. Ogling. Angling himself toward you, as if having pictured how best to bury himself inside you should the opportunity arise. 

Would he grab you by the hips? Take rough handfuls of heated skin and flesh, pull you in to rub over his growing erection with an obscene snarl and heavy lids in a sharp frenzy? Snaking a deft hand down the front of your apron and under the waistband of your trousers, unhurried but firm; searching for the evidence he can practically smell; proof that you’ve been melting, the pool of slick in your panties growing gummy between stolen moments of fantasization on the floor and the molten rumble of low-laughter as he bends you over the mesh shelving, his lower abdomen being thoroughly stickied with a liberal helping of your arousal.

“What are you doing tonight?”

You turn to him with a nonchalant smile and he groans, upper lip curling toward his nose.

“I’ll be here. Same as you, I presume?”

“Not for too much longer, though - how about after?”

Astarion runs a hand through his hair coolly, vape returning to his pocket as he stands off the wall. 

“Not there yet. Who knows?”

The slight of a fox-wink as he twirls back through the door, jacket flaring out behind him before disappearing into the back-of-house once more.

-

Time passes as if stuck stiff under a violent gutter-sun.

The softest visions of him lit by the dented metal of the big old dishwasher, shifting to adjust himself under linens; and after much thought you decide he’d be so very pretty, touching himself something mad. Even more so than usual. Leaky and hot and gasping in mindless carnality under the blacklight of the back bathroom with penis in hand, wincing at the fevered paw moving dumb to offer any relief in his plight. A delicious sigh whilst rolling the hot skin back, bit-by-bit from the tip, working the gathering glisten ever-so-softly over his aching slit in delicate strokes. 

A stolen glance through the service window, through the bumbling hordes in their whites; a shock of silver hair, short sleeves cuffed, brows furrowed as he scrubs at some porcelain bowl with a strange blase determination. 

It’s effortless. He’s not posing, wholly unaware that you’re watching. Scalding from the heat lamps as your fingertips press into the ledge, waiting for plates for one of your tables and teetering back and forth into the gap. He picks another bowl from the crate with a practised hand, tossing it gently into the other and dunking it in the water with finesse. Scrubs. Holds the curving gloss to the light for a moment and narrows his eyes before repeating the process, then loading it onto the dishwasher crate. 

Mindless. 

God. All mindless. You could offer to help him after a busy evening, perhaps; take charge of the pre-wash as he loads the machine, well oiled in your steps as they grow ever closer to one another - surprisingly so, with your lack of practice. Let the hose spray free down your front in a fumble with the pressure lever on the side, and the moment of shock as you gasp; the warm water turning ice cool on your chest, no disguising the quick pebbling of your nipples underneath your sodden underclothes. 

Maybe it’s panic that compels him to dab at your chest with a dry towel as opposed to throwing it to you in a tight-scrunched ball and continuing to load the washer - but maybe it isn’t. 

Maybe it’s something else altogether. Those red eyes darken to a plush carnal smoulder and he tilts his head, begging you to close the gap, to give him permission; to stretch a palm just a little further over to the swell of your breast and cup the soft, heavy flesh through the thin layer of wet cloth.

He’s right, of course. Desperately so.

You do need to get laid.

-

Black sky overhead, speckled with pinpoint stars and laced with the twinge of cold that makes your nose feel funny - and you suspect he’s one of the last to leave this evening, so you wait a minute or two for management to finish their final walkthrough.

He appears with a flourish. Your lean-back on the wall remains as composed as it can as he barrels through the doors, bag high on his shoulder; and begins to fish in his back pocket for his vape.

“Astarion!”

He spins and meets your gaze with a fantastic grin, incisors sharp as his vape meets his lips. You can do this. A quick fuck. Everyone here does it, christ. 

“Yes, love?”

“Have you got a minute?”

“For you? Always.”

Purring. He’s purring.

You wave management farewell as they lock the doors - a small smile, yet you can’t let him slide from you. You can’t let the moment falter. The wet patch in your pants becomes horrifically apparent as you shift from side to side in the cool air, and you surmise that this needs resolving before your humility suppresses the want to have him between your legs - so you extend a hand. You reach for the vape between his lips and you bring it to your own, ever so slowly; holding it between your teeth in a coy stand-off.

“Bold.”

“I’m feeling bold.”

“Oh?”

“Walk with me.”

He offers you an arm in an exuberant display of mock-chivalry, bowing almost; and you take it to pull him closer to your side. 

“You’re in a good mood.” You muse, steering him down the dark alley and toward the main street whilst he sighs a laugh.

“I presume you’re about to buy me a drink, which is always most welcome.”

“I’ve never bought you a drink?”

“The pleasure is more in the receiving of the drink, not whoever’s buying it.’

He turns to look at you while you walk, tugging you closer. 

‘Unless you’d like me to find pleasure in you, my generous benefactor?’

You stop in your tracks, and he grins in place.

‘Because that’s what this is about; isn’t it, little lamb?’

Time stops, signalled by the slow stutter of your heart as his voice drops silken, taking both of your wrists in hand.

‘I can practically smell it, you know.”

“What makes you so sure?”

He pulls a face. Looks at you softly.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Sorry.”

“I won’t pretend it’s not been on my mind, though.”

“Hm?”

Astarion sidles closer, toes touching; breath cool on your cheeks. Mint. 

“Burying myself inside you. All kinds of-’

His hands gesture lightly around his head, controlled as they close in on your face.

‘Wicked images. The things we could do.”

Your eyes flutter closed as he cups your face, lips grazing the edge of his palm.

“I watch you too, you know - oh, it makes me hard just thinking about it. Humping the sink counter like some wanton… bitch;- whenever can I get a moment, just to get some friction, clothes ruined time and time again over obscene visions of myself buried deep inside-’

Takes your chin between pointer finger and thumb.

‘Your. Desperate. Cunt.’

He breathes a giggle.

‘Just as I assume yours are now, hm? Ruined? Oh, the sheer debauchery.”

Tuts. The breeze fades and he comes impossibly closer, hands ghosting the broad of your shoulders then cutting across to the dip of your waist and you inhale and that smell of him. The scent of by-your-side and beleaguered evenings, laced with something heady. Salt. You whimper when you eke the words out.

“You smell so good.” Practically whining, metaphorical drool linking the two of you as if invisible string. A deep beat of laughter.

“Sweet one. So do you.”

His nose buried in your hair, fingers grasping at the warmth of your hips through layers of sweaty workwear. Your core blazes white hot, legs failing you - he’s here. He wants you. God, you’d never thought it’d feel this good, even in your wildest fantasies; and yet you’re standing out in the bitter cold locked tight in by his hands and it exceeds every conceivable outcome for this conversation, ever, despite his cock not yet prodding you once. 

He takes the vape from where your fingers hang frozen and puts it into his pocket, guiding your fingers to the front of his trousers in your obscured embrace and pressing your palm to the front.

Hard. He’s ridiculously hard. Warm and pulsing with strong hips writhing as your hand gives him something to push against. 

“Fuck.”

“Nicely, now.”

His hand moves under your coat and to the front of your own trousers as you feel him through his, scrunching your fingers around his length; whilst he slides deft under the fixings just as you’d imagined he would. Ice to a fire. Moves quickly in the search for your slick like a moth mindless toward a flame, when he finds your slit and takes a single finger to press between your folds. 

“Ah. There she is.’

Your breath catches on his words,  

‘My darling girl, you’re soaking. How long have you been like this?”

“Just today, or on the whole? I can’t remember a time where I’ve not wanted you, not since that first day outside.”

He groans quietly, eyes rolling back into his skull as he coaxes more of your spill forth onto the flat of his palm with a skilled finger toying at the hood of your clit. It feels incredible. Like a warm bath or fresh pizza times a thousand. 

“Did you like the idea of my spit in your mouth, love? Forgetting your smokes on purpose, buying me treats just so you could share? So you could… take me, in your mouth, and wallow in having me there in secret? Bad girl.” A sordid whisper. Heady. Love. Bad girl. You’re struggling for air, newly weakened flesh bowled completely over by his brutal advances, and it’s heaven. You could die here in this alley and you’d be wholly satisfied with life knowing he touched you. He was hard for you, his cock desperately seeking solace in the warmth of your core, to christen your cunt with lashings of himself inside you. Yours. You. 

You thought your resolve was stronger than this. That you could match him in whatever game he potentially wanted to play and do it with flair - but as he stands in front of you, hand crudely down your trousers round the back of your shared workplace; you have no desire to play coy any longer. He’s giving himself to you. 

“Kiss me?”

And he does. A heady drawl as his lips stoop to meet yours, a string of yes-yes-yeses whispered flush into your open mouth as he moves with you, fingering with reverent strokes whilst your hand fiddles hungrily with his underclothes and he laughs with a satisfied ease as if a Roman Emperor, hosting a banquet on the eve of some grand resounding victory. 

Right here, by the bins under the watchful eyes of the CCTV cameras dotted along the brick - it doesn’t work. It can’t happen here. Your brain fizzes all shades of yellow and orange as you take his arm, breaking the open-mouthed kiss with urgency and tugging his head down until his ear hangs dazed a hair’s breadth from your lips. 

“Yours or mine?”

“Where’s closer?”

Gravel. Cheeks flushed, hands frisking your waistband once more as you swat him off.

“Yours, probably.”

“You checked the staff files, didn’t you? Naughty thing.”

You huff into a slight hunchback, bemused by his deduction.

“Maybe. Are you mad about it?”

Your hand grabs at his cock through his trousers once more and offers a hard squeeze, a stuttered moan from his mouth.

“Meh. So long as you make it up to me, yes?”

He pauses to press a chaste kiss to your mouth as you both rebutton and fumbles to take your hand in his. 

“God. Yes. I promise.”

“Come along then, temptress. Mine -’

Another to the back of your hand, soft and deep.

‘- it is.”

-

[otakusheep15]

Flufftober Day 22 - Cooking

Content includes: Sebek x reader, implied mutual pining, Lilia being a menace, reader knows how to cook, Sebek not understanding how to flirt

“As loath as I am to admit it, I am appreciative of your help, human.”

You smile, feeling just a bit proud at the fact that Sebek gave you an actual compliment, no matter how backhanded it may have been. It is a deserved compliment, seeing as how you’re basically saving his life.

Earlier today, you received a surprisingly frantic text from Sebek practically begging you to come to Daisomnia. When you arrived, most of the students were cowering in fear, obviously avoiding the kitchen. You knew immediately what was going on.

Somehow, you managed to talk Lilia away from the kitchen, offering to cook for the dorm instead. He took some convincing, but he agreed after you promised to make whatever he requested.

That’s how you ended up here, making dinner for a dorm that isn’t yours. Sebek had decided to join you to ensure you “didn’t mess up the kitchen”, but you both knew he just really wanted to spend time with you.

As was requested of Lilia, you’re making tomato soup. It was the compromise you agreed upon, and most of the dorm seemed happy with that choice. To make it a little more substantial, you also decided to make grilled cheese sandwiches.

Since Sebek decided to be in here with you, you figured you might as well put him to work.

“Hmph! You’re lucky I owe you, human! Otherwise, I would never even humor the thought of helping you!”

Despite his words, he’s already tying an apron around his waist and gathering the ingredients for you. He knows his way around this kitchen better than you would, and you’re grateful for the help.

You begin dicing up tomatoes, wanting them to be small enough to fit into the blender. Sebek, meanwhile, has begun grating the cheese you intend to use for the sandwiches.

This is the quietest Sebek has ever been, but it’s certainly not bad. He’s obviously concentrating, and it’s adorable to watch him work so hard on something so simple.

Together, the two of you work, moving around each other as you work on your assigned tasks. Not much is spoken, other than the occasional remark from Sebek about how he’s only doing this because he doesn’t want to owe you later. You smile and laugh it off each time, knowing it’s just his strange way of expressing affection.

Soon enough, dinner is finished, and Sebek helps you serve it to the rest of the dorm. Naturally, you’re invited to stay and eat as well, as it would be rude to expect you to leave after making everyone else food.

Of course, you sit next to Sebek, and you thank him for all of the help, offering him a smile as you begin eating.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a light blush coat his cheeks as he turns away from you.

“No need to thank me, human. I was simply returning a prior favor.”

The food is amazing, and the students around the table compliment your work. You make sure to shout out Sebek each time, reminding everyone that he did just as much as you. You can tell it embarrasses him, but it’s cute when he gets like this.

When everyone is finished eating, you and Sebek are excused from cleaning duty since you both worked so hard on cooking. You decide to head back to your own dorm, and Sebek walks you to the portal out of Diasomnia.

“It was… decent… working with you today. Maybe we could… do this again sometime.”

He’s bright red in the face, and he makes a point of not looking directly at you. You respond in kind, taking his hand and gently squeezing it as you agree.

As you turn to leave, you see the tiniest hint of a smile on his face, and you’re sure you sport a matching one the whole way back to your dorm.

[lilylovestowrite]

May I request Dan Heng taking care of drunk reader?

HE'S NOT MUCH OF A DRINKER, BUT HE'S A DREAM GIRL ୨♡୧

PAIRING ୨♡୧ Dan Heng x GN! Reader

WARNINGS ୨♡୧ None

SYNOPSIS ୨♡୧ Dan Heng picks you up from the bar, and it seems like you’re completely hammered.

WORD COUNT ୨♡୧ 1.4K 

A/N ୨♡୧ Thank you so much for submitting the very first ask! I won’t lie, I got a bit carried away so it’s a bit longer than most drabbles. I love my silly little dragon man.

Divider by @/cafekitsune

A sigh echoes across the halls of the Astral Express. The stars gleam and the sky is streaked with hues of purple and the serene teal of Dan Heng’s eyes, currently focused on the door to the little bar in the Astral Express. He opens the doors, and the grandiose chandelier above his head nearly blinds him. But what nearly takes his breath away is you, slumped on the onyx marble island with a cocktail in hand. No matter how often he enters a room and lays eyes on you, each and every time, his brain and eyes race to compute your beauty. However, even as your partner, the dark haired man  keeps his affections closer to his chest. 

“Dan Heng, what are you doing here?” You slur, eyes squinting at the silhouette approaching you. You can tell it’s him, because the aroma of autumn petrichor and old books almost overpowers the stench of alcohol. “Were you reading?”

“I’m here because March texted me to pick you up,” he smiles softly and nods in the pink haired girl’s direction, “let’s go to my room, angel.” To this nickname, you swoon, and March giggles softly, slinging a drunk Trailblazer over her shoulder and taking them to their room. 

“Night, Dan Heng!” She chimes, eyes alight with amusement. Even in your state, barely able to walk, you know that this whole set up was most likely by her design. You can’t fault her for it though - March, ever the romantic, is the very reason you and Dan Heng are together now. 

“Night, March.” He replies back, and he turns all of his attention towards your slumped figure. “Now, what to do with you.” His mutters are soft, and even in private, there is a rather comforting strain of sterness in his tone. “I’m going to help you up, can you walk?” 

“Mm, no.” You reply, and find his perplexed expression absolutely adorable. His nose scrunches up and you can practically see the cogs running in his head, trying to devise a plan to get you to his room. You decide to be gracious and give him the solution: “Carry me?” 

“Carry you?” Dan Heng asks, surprise leaking into his voice. He then falters and coughs behind his palm in an attempt to regain his composure, “Carry you. I can do that. Come on.” He gently pries your hands off the cocktail glass and lifts you up in a bridal carry. His footsteps echo in the halls, the starlight illuminating his soft expression. 

“I’m sorry I interrupted your reading time,” you whisper, suddenly self-conscious that you’ve made your boyfriend take the brunt of your own actions, “I didn’t think the cocktails were so strong.”

“It happens, don’t worry.” He replies, “I wasn’t reading anything interesting anyway. Just boring things about the stars.” And you think you’re about to enter his room, the faint glow of his night lamp leaking through the doorway, but he makes a turn and heads towards the observatory.. 

“Are we sleeping somewhere else?” You ask, shifting slightly. You trust that Dan Heng won’t drop you, even if you thrash around like a worm. 

“The observatory has a nicer bathroom nearby in case you feel nauseous. And besides…” He hesitates, dark lashes fanning over the teal irises that stare down on you. “...I’ve wanted to sleep under the stars with you for a while now. What do you think?” 

You pause, both flustered, taken aback, and enraptured by him. It seems that no matter what he does, or what he asks for, you can never say no to him. Nor do you want to. The urge to spoil him, to see that serene little smile on his face when he lets his guard down, is your ultimate goal. So naturally, your response is: “Sure, let’s do that.” 

Dan Heng is rather good at keeping a poker face, but around you, (either because he has no use for his reservations or because you have gotten so good at reading him), not one emotion goes unnoticed. So even if he looks away, you notice in the reflection of the windows sealing off the extra rooms, that a light pink hue kisses his cheeks, accompanied by a toothy, boyish grin. 

He gently opens the door to the conservatory with his hip, setting you down in a chair and cracking open a bottle of water. “Here, drink this. I’m just gonna open up the sofa bed.” And as he does so, you take a look around the remarkable room. Made of glass, you can see the stars as the express glides across the cosmos. The interior is rather simple: a  minifridge in the corner, accompanied by a few house plants; a black chaise lounge that you currently occupy, and a black sofa bed that Dan Heng places pillows on. The entire view is celestial, picturesque, but the most breathtaking view is your lover. Even in simple clothing, the black turtleneck he wears, paired with his white pants, he always looks as if he has stepped out of an ink wash painting. Untouchable, yet so gorgeous. 

And, all yours. 

It seems that you are too drunk to conceal your adoration, because Dan Heng comes towards you, crossing his arms. “What are you looking at?” He asks, both teasingly and with slight seriousness. The cadence of his voice, normally monotonous, rises and falls as his eyes scan your expression. 

“You!” You giggle, unashamedly. Dan Heng blushes softly, realising that his plan has backfired. Instead, he guides you to the bed, a hand hovering above your waist. 

“You really have no shame, do you?” 

“Especially not when I’m drunk!” You babble, letting him prop the pillows up so you aren’t fully laying down. You make yourself at home, shimmying into the covers next to him. 

“I can see that, dear.” He replies.

Dear?

 You jerk your head towards him with such speed, you nearly go green. 

“Wh-what?” He asks, blinking at you. 

“You never call me pet names.” You blurt out, “It just caught me off guard.” Dan Heng has never been one for sappy affections, especially because he can’t take your reactions. He tells you it’s because your name is the most beautiful thing to call you by, and it’s true, but if he catches you with that lovesick stare, he isn’t sure his heart can handle it. 

“Well, you’re so far gone, I don’t think you’ll remember this  anyway.” He replies cooly, but his ears are completely red. “Do you want something to eat?” 

“Don’t change the subject! Call me that again!” You plead, pouting and dramatically draping yourself over his lap. “C’mon please?” 

“N-no, I think pet names are more effective in moderation.” Dan Heng replies, but the heat consumes his face so much, he pushes his dark hair out of his face and fans himself slightly. 

“Aww, bummer.” You lay back, and he locks his fingers with yours, using your intertwined hand to reach up to the sky, in all its astral grace and heavenly beauty. He guides your clasped hand to a planet above:

“That’s Venus, look!” His voice, now slightly sleepy, rumbles a few octaves deeper, and the calming vibrations cause waves of sleep to wash over you. “And over there, that pink planet? That’s actually a moon for another planet. Miranda.” 

“Really?” You look towards him, and his face glows with childish wonder. His guard is completely lowered around you. It’s not that he becomes more like a kid around you, but he feels comfortable being vulnerable and letting his excitement show. You watch him with the same wonder he gazes at the stars with, but your eyes struggle to stay open. 

“Mhmm! I think there’s going to be a meteor shower tonight. Do you want to watch it together?” He asks, a tiny smile spreads onto his face, but when he turns around, his expression softens even more. “You look tired, get some sleep, my love.” 

“Okay but…” You mumble, pulling the floral duvet up to your chin, “...Wake me up when it begins.” 

You don’t hear his reply as you  finally let your fatigue catch up with you, slumber slowly letting you drown, but just as you fully surrender, you feel a pair of lips brush against your forehead.

[catscidr]

hi helloooo hope ure doing great !! could i pls req childe who constantly flirts with a shy reader who gets super duper flustered by it ???? childe + opposites attract + mutual pining lives rent free in my head >3>

ur in luck bc i AM indeed doing great!! mostly bc i wrote this. like oh GOD i love him he's so boyfriend agshnfga writing this made me giggle and kick my legs. was actually tweaking. im so weak for him sometimes DAMMIT ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: fluff, modern/college au, idiot in love x idiot in love, crack if you squint? childe and reader r just silly. only slightly proofread because i was too excited (sue me) includes: fem!reader, childe wc: 1k

It’s not like you didn’t want to be here, stuck between two very rowdy students cheering for their friends, because you were in the bleachers for the same reason anyways; to cheer on your own friend! But you’d prefer doing it without the constant shouts coming from the other students. 

Previously, Tartaglia had insisted (read: begged) that you come watch his soccer matches, even if some were just for practice. I play better when I know you’re in the stands, he said earlier before he left you to your own thoughts, walking away to change into his uniform. It had been maybe half an hour since then and yet you couldn’t shake the conversation from your head, not when he kept meeting your gaze from the soccer field, flashing you a bright smile as he ran for the ball.

Your relationship with the redhead was a confusing one. As one of the popular students, Tartaglia naturally always had his own group of (equally popular) friends around him but, recently, he’s been hanging out with you more often. Saying something along the lines of him needing to take after you to mellow out his loud personality in comparison to your introverted one. You’d argue that it wasn’t necessary, that his energy was one of the things that drew you to him ; and as much as he likes to come up with excuses to hang out with you without you bolting in the opposite direction, you know you’ll always fall for his boyish charm, no matter how shitty his excuse is. 

The sudden sound of shouts pulls you from your thoughts, a surprised yelp leaving your lips. Focusing your attention back on the field you watch as your friend gets engulfed by a group hug, the team cheering loudly- seems like in your daydream he managed to score a goal. The two guys next to you were standing up, cheering for them enthusiastically. 

Overwhelmed by the sheer energy radiating from them, you focus your attention back on Tartaglia. He meets your eyes, his smile widening even further if it were possible, and waves at you energetically. You wave back sheepishly, cheeks flushed. 

✧✧✧ 

“I told you I play better when you’re watching!” Tartaglia says with a teasing grin, lightly pushing your shoulder. You make a noise of surprise, covering it up with a cough as you raise your fist up to your mouth to hide your bashful expression. Whether he noticed the way you stiffened at his touch or not, he does a good job not showing it. “Did a whole hat trick thanks to you. Well, the soccer equivalent of it at least...” he continues sheepishly, mindlessly fiddling with the strap of his bag slung over his shoulder. 

“How does that even work, anyways? Usually, people feel more pressure when there’s a crowd watching them...” you argue quietly, matching his long strides as you walked together along campus to go back to the gym changing rooms. Most people that came to watch the match had already left, however you and Tartaglia had been stuck behind due to him getting stopped by friends and acquaintances. Which worked in your favor since you disliked dealing with large crowds. 

“Eh, I don’t care about other people. All I care about is having your pretty eyes on me,” he says with a wink. 

Your legs stop abruptly, a flush decorating your cheeks, gaze never leaving the floor as you try to get your heart to calm down. How can he say something like that so casually? Is he messing with you because he has ulterior motives or is he- 

“Heyheyhey, you doing alright over there? I didn’t break you, did I?” You hear Tartaglia calling your name, waving his hand in front of your face with a lighthearted chuckle. Pulling yourself out of your frozen state, you look up at the playful expression your friend wore, cheeks puffing out as you find yourself lacking a comeback. He notices your sullen frown and places a hand on your head, ruffling your hair playfully. 

“Oh come on, don’t sulk now!” the redhead whines, “that was tame. You and I both know I’m capable of saying much worse than that,” he declares confidently, deep blue eyes looking down at you with a playful grin. A grin that seemed to never leave his face, much to your displeasure- how were you supposed to pull yourself together when he looked like the human incarnation of the sun? 

“Don’t,” you mumble quietly, picking up the pace with your head hanging low, physically unable to face him anymore. Sure, you didn’t have the biggest group of friends and went out less than most people, but you were convinced he was shamelessly flirting with you. Why else would he be so close to you, relentlessly teasing you like this? Oh god, what if he’s like this with everyone? Maybe this is how he jokes around with his friends... Wait, speaking of Tartaglia, where did he- 

You bump into a hard surface. Opening your eyes, you’re met with a damp soccer tee, glistening muscles and freckled skin. Tilting your head up slowly, you’re met with your crush-friend-classmate-guy looking at you with raised brows and quirked up lips. He places one hand on his hip, observing your beet red face with glee. 

“I didn’t even do anything this time, princess. Everything okay?” the redhead asks with an airy chuckle. Oh god, you thought. Wish I walked into a wall instead. 

“Y-Yeah. Uh huh. Everything’s just peachy,” you respond with a thumbs up, the corners of your lips curling up into what you thought was a reassuring smile but seemed more like a nervous grimace to the soccer player. He didn’t buy your excuse. Instead of leaving it as it is, Tartaglia brings a hand up to his chin and looks up, dramatically faking a thought process. 

“Hmm... I wonder what you could have been so distracted by? Was it my arms? My charms? Or was it-” 

“Your body odor. You reek of sweat, go shower,” you squeak out, face burning as you scurry away from the source of your (delicious) torment, your heart running a marathon beneath your ribcage all the while Tartaglia laughs loudly in the hallway, speedwalking to catch up to you.

[deviouz]

. . . mean!ascended astarion headcanons !!

Something about Astarion’s ascension had changed him, mind, body, and soul. His very chemistry had been altered, everything that had made him him, was rewritten. He had always said that it was for the best, that he was better in every way imaginable after gaining such heightened powers, but that day was troubling for you. Astarion, your Astarion, had died. Nothing perturbed him more than seeing that far off, longing expression etched into your features whenever you thought he wasn’t looking. Gods know he’ll make you regret it later.

“And just what was going on in that pretty little head of yours earlier, my sweet consort? You couldn’t possibly have been thinking about him, could you? No, that simply won’t do. Perhaps all could be forgiven if you get down to your knees and grovel before me. I’m feeling rather nice today, as it is, so beg and I might be tempted to show you a sliver of mercy.”

Astarion is no stranger to any kind of public displays, but he seems to be much keener on doing so in front of his inferiors. To look upon a crowd of people who are no doubt petrified of their ascended vampire lord alone is invigorating, but to be able to do so with you mindlessly rutting away on his thigh makes him feel much more powerful. To have the savior of Baldur’s Gate rendered down to a pleasure-driven pet, and all his for taking, is just one of the many ways he rules with an iron fist. He’ll have one hand on your hip, guiding you along the fine fabric of his pants, and the other propping his head up as he looks amongst the crowd with a smirk. It was completely and utterly humiliating the first few times he had called for your presence and demanded you to undress completely in front of so many people, but he had long since bullied those thoughts out of your head.

“Yes, that’s it. Come on, darling, you can moan louder than that. I would certainly know. Let them see how well I treat the savior of Baldur’s Gate.”

Your lover could be cruel at times, but nothing ever felt crueler than when he would relentlessly pound into your aching heat with such fervor you were sure you’d be unable to walk come the early hours of the morning. He simply adored pinning your hands above your head, his hips rutting in such a way that it made your eyes roll back and clamp shut. The pleasure was almost always too much yet never enough. It didn’t matter how prettily you begged for astarion, for your lord. He was cruel in these moments. With a grip to your jaw, he’d squeeze your cheeks together and demand you to gaze into his crimson eyes. Astarion relished in witnessing the glassy fog that overtook your irises each and every time you came around his cock, body perfectly bowed and cries loud enough to reverberate in the room, perhaps the entire castle. He was the only one ever capable enough to draw such intense pleasure from your body. He’d kill anyone who ever even thought of you in such a way.

“Ah, ah, ah. look at me, won’t you? Let me see lust-laden those eyes when I grant you such ecstasy. Such a good girl, aren’t you?”

Oh, how Astarion loved to hear those pathetic little pleas and blubbering begs escape past kiss-swollen lips. Your teary eyes read nothing but desperation, and that much was evident by the way your hips twitched and gyrated each time his touch would disappear. Of course, you had Astarion practically wrapped around your finger. All it took was a few slow, desperate blinks and a couple of soft pleas to have your way, but that was long before he had ascended. Now, Astarion would have you beg, long and loud, until your voice went hoarse and lungs felt as if they were going to give out. He would do this all the while smiling so sweetly down at you, a type of sickly sweet that made goosebumps dot across your skin and all the hairs on your body stand up.

“Come on, darling, don’t be so coy. This coquettish nature is long since necessary. Let me hear those pretty pleas and I will grant you such immense pleasure.”

Astarion’s ascension had brought something new from the depths of what was left of his depraved soul. He relished in your tears. The sheer vulnerability carved into such perfect, delicate features, and all by his doing? Oh, he simply adored it. Nothing is sweeter than seeing you write and sob in his arms, teetering on the edge of your umpteenth orgasm of the night, yet he wasn’t even halfway done with you. You’re a shuddering, sweating, and sobbing mess of numb limbs and can’t help but spew out a cacophony of desperate begs for his relent, but it is never really that easy. Not with Astarion, anyhow. On the other hand, he could be just as equally cruel and spend the entire day bringing you to the blissful edge of what was sure to be a mind-shattering orgasm, over and over and over again, just to practically laugh in your face and deny it. You can pout and grovel all you’d like, but your pleasure is his and his alone. Astarion is the only one who gets to decide when and where you are allowed the pleasure, and sometimes displeasure, of an orgasm, and it’s something he instills in your mind every now and again.

“Really now, pet, did you really think that I was finished with you? Oh, you poor thing — you are quite mistaken. The night has only just begun, after all, and I haven’t had my fill yet, so you will sit there, nice and pretty, and take what I give you with every ounce of gratitude that delectable body of yours can muster.”

[prettyboykatsuki]

warms-ups | osamu + nsfw + cream

✬ wc ; 1.5k | ✬ tags ; afab + fem!reader, mentions of creampies, kitchen sex / after hours, alchohol, childhood friends to lovers, 18+

✬ a/n ; i SWEAR i did not rig this one at all😭

There's something about Osamu Miya that sends your spine tingling.

A divine kind of irony, because upon meeting them - you always preferred his brother. Atsumu is approachable to you, always has been. Poorly dyed blonde hair, with big round eyes and a signature pout that you've hardly seen him without. Atsumu is expressive and extroverted - at times deeply stupid in a way that's incredibly endearing.

You've known the Miya twins since you were snot-nosed brats though (long before the poor box dye), and it was easier for you to be alone with Atsumu. Atsumu took up so much space in a room that you never have to worry about fitting yourself in. He fills every place with his presence in a way that lets you hide behind him. Atsumu is like the sun.

And in contrast, Osamu is a lot like the moon. It took you a little longer to understand him, especially when you were young. They were twins but Osamu felt mature in comparison. Embodied a story of level, steadiness that left you unsettled.

(You learn later that this is a deceitful interpretation. Both of the Miya twins are petty and ridiculous - it's just that Osamu schemes it and Atsumu wears it on his sleeve)

Osamu has been a mystery to you since you can remember. He was never expressive enough for you to figure it out well, your exchanges being brief and stilted. It got less awkward gradually, a sense of acceptance settling in as you entered your teen years.

There's something valuable about being alone with someone, in complete comfortable silence. At 15, Osamu Miya felt a lot like an old couch. A place to come back to, with achey feet. A place you'd fall asleep, with your jeans still on and your head somewhere else.

You were there for their many milestones. When they got into Inarizaki, when they played all their games. You were there for their metaphorical break-up as they got to adulthood and you all parted ways to your different paths in life.

You still saw the Miya twins on a semi-frequent basis. You and Osamu were the first people Atsumu always called. Always in group messages and calls. When you finally graduated college, you landed a job close to the very Onigiri Miya opened.

It was probably about then. It wasn't like you hadn't always known about how good looking the Miya twins were. Your friends used to practically beg you to set them up and you don't blame them. But Atsumu always felt like a little brother to you and...

Osamu felt...not like that. But it wasn't like you could process that information at any point. Swept up in life, in teenage insecurity (because damnit, Osamu was always ridiculously good looking too) and in the general awkwardness of crushing on someone you've known since diapers - you tried to ignore it.

You thought those butterflies would die if you suffocated them, so you buried your nose in the books. Grew from a girl into a woman, into a fully bloomed person all in a few years. None of it mattered, because spending time with Osamu always seems to make you feel 15 again.

You don't quite know when it happened. One day of deciding to do your work in a booth at Onigiri Miya turned into many, and it seems like you and Osamu see each other a lot lately.

Osamu Miya is a lot bigger than his brother, you learn quickly. Atsumu is lean from his setting, muscular in a lithe way. Natural agility all befitting of his slippery character.

Osamu, too, has grown in a way befitting of his personality. Osamu got bigger. Started hitting the weights enough that he's muscular, soft and sturdy, the kind you can only see when he flexes. They're both still tall, but Osamu... is big.

Osamu is also, very handsome. Aware of it too, because he usually uses it to reel in customers. His face is different to you. Osamu looks less like a boy you grew up and more like a man you'd squeeze your legs together thinking about.

But even now, you don't understand what thoughts Osamu has about you.

You thought you were imagining it. The intensity of his gaze when he peeked at you from the counter. The subtle touches and plates of food you didn't pay for. Maybe he felt like he should take care of on old friend. Maybe the low way he whispered in your ear telling you "take care on yerr way home," were just your imagination playing tricks.

You only learn it late, taste-testing recipes in the back of his kitchen that it was all very intentional. It's your fault for forget Osamu is the kind of person to scheme.

A little sake in your system has you stumbling over your words. In the midst of your bumbling - all it takes is one, "I've always liked you" to entangle yourself with Osamu Miya.

A little kissing, a little touching - the way he coaxes you is so much like him. Subtle but overwhelming, a full moon in a deep sky.

In the back of Onigiri Miya, Osamu has your panties around your ankle. The warmth of alcohol is bubbling in your chest and embarrassment is rushing through every vein in your body - you want to shy away from him.

Of course, Osamu won't let you. You've got your arms around his shoulder, thick neck against your forearms. Your legs are up in the air, and your back is so hot against the cool metal. All you can feel his him in the air around you. He smells like a man who works, sweat and skin and salt.

You can feel the euphoria in your body to the point it's gut-wrenching, an overwhelming sensation like you're anxious. It's hard to describe. Tacky from sweat, you feel your fingers tremble as you move your hands to squeeze his shoulder.

Osamu puts his hand over it, squeezes it, kisses your wrists with all the affection of over two decades of desire. You feel it all over your body, delirium setting in. You want him so much you don't know what do. You whine, open your mouth to say his name.

Osamu shushes you. His cock is hard, thick and so heavy. He's got hair that tickles your legs. You can feel the tip press into your clit like he's kissing it, pushing against the soft folds of your pussy makes you shiver. Arousal drips out of you, a fruit squeezed in big hands that pick them. You want to cry.

"Samu," You mumble, your lips sheen and your heart in your belly "Osamu, please,"

"Look at you," He says, sounding just as bad as you "Wantin' it so bad. Never seen ya like this,"

You've never been like this. You don't get it yourself. Why you're head feels so blank. Your jaw feels heavy like you can't close it. Inside it's all empty and you want to be so full of him, surrounded by him.

"I don't know," You hiccup, holding him so tight. You want to sob "I really want you. Wan' you to want me too,"

Osamu laughs. God, it sounds good. Deep and throaty.

"I do. Ya know I do, don't ya? Our whole lives. My whole life."

"Osamu," You repeat. He laughs a little, maybe like he's amused. It feels so merciful when kisses you. The feeling of your bare chest against his makes you feel euphoric, skin practically begging for his attention.

"That's right, 's me" He says, trailing his lips down your neck "I'm already here,"

He doesn't ask you for anymore, so it feels like he's reading your mind. His fingers grip your hips as he eases his cock inside of you. Inch, by agonizing inch - you can feel it. The rubbing of such sensitive skin. You gasp and tighten your legs, crossing your feet at the ankle. You hold his back and feel your eyes roll over into your head. Pleasure pulls you apart.

"Oh, oh fuck," You feel your nails dig into his skin, Osamu hisses "Y-yeah, yeah, like that."

You don't know where you start and Osamu stops. It's all the same, one mess of limbs and one train of thought where your feelings swallow you up. Your heartbeat beats against your ribs and you feel like you can't handle. Osamu eases into you slow, his cock makes you so full. You can't take in enough air for how much it pushes out, walls taking shape of him naturally.

"So damn good," He says with all the force in the world. You think Osamu means it when he says you wants you "Shit."

"Please fuck me."

"Till ya can't take it, yeah? Promise, promise I will."

"Want you to cum in me," You admit, shame disappearing as the seconds pass. As Osamus cock fucks you open enough to confess about it "Over 'n over,"

"Want me to cream in you so bad? Yerr so dirty, where'd you go 'n learn that from huh?" He taunts, but it's not mean. You whimper as you roll your hips, your clit throbbing's with need.

"Please, pretty please?"

"Anything for you," He says, and you feel your insides tremble with need - even buried to the tilt. He pulls out in one swift motion, pushing back in with the same force as before. You cry out his name and your body loses it's strength "Take it f'r me, okay?"

[003soy]

Kat’s Character Overanalysis of Murasaki

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️

The content below may exhibit multiple instances of confirmation bias due to over a year of brain rotting.

Do not proceed if you dislike excessive analysis of characters that only appear in official tweets and random merchandise.

I treat this guy like an oc so don’t be mean to me ok 💔 just my headcanons and personal observations!!!

Viewer discretion is advised…

Ok so I'm going to start with the basic stuff (i.e. inkipedia)

From 2015-2018(?) Murasaki was the drummer for the band Squid Squad. He was the youngest member of the group.

While this excerpt from Inkipedia may seem small, there are a lot of traits described here that can be further analyzed (if you have nothing better to do)

The Squid Research Lab describes him as rough around the edges.

The term "rough around the edges" is used to describe something that has small imperfections, but is generally good. When describing a person it can mean someone who is unsophisticated or impolite. In this instance, "rough around the edges" could be describing Murasaki's drumming skills as he's said to have potential, but he also needs some practice.

this characterization was probably made to resemble his appearance as well! (sea urchins don't have very smooth edges...)

2. Murasaki is referred to as a wild child.

A "wild child" is usually someone (likely a young person) who is headstrong, rebellious, and/or uncontrollable. To me, this info matches nicely with the impolite interpretation of the phrase "rough around the edges."

3. From here, it sort of goes on about his playing which I sort of addressed in the first point. Basically, he has a natural gift in drumming because he has a good sense of rhythm, and despite lacking in technique, he always tries his best.

4. He is prone to crying

The Squid Research Lab states that he could be caught crying during a drum solo which goes to show how much effort he puts into his playing :). I feel like this part tends to override his other traits in fan stuff (if he gets included at all). I personally view this as a subversive aspect of his personality. Normally he has an abrasive personality because of the rebelliousness and lack of manners, but he is also a sentimental person and his emotions are expressed through tears even if he isn’t sad (samee). Think of how urchins have a spiky hard external shell that hides soft uni inside of it ok...

5. Energetic

I know the energy think is probably referring to his playing style, but I picture him to be a fidgety person who doesn't like to stand still. I guess it matches with the wild child thing.

6. He's the youngest

Expains the previous behavior. rude + rebellious + more talent than practice. teenager.

Moving onto other sources! Bye Inkipedia...

Here is the original japanese text of the Squid Research Lab info on twitter. Yes, I know google translate isn't that accurate, but I think it's interesting and deepl says something similar as well.

7. Ignoring the strange grammar, Murasaki is additionally described as mischievous (やんちゃ?). Definition: playful in a naughty or teasing way or troublesome/irritating.

I guess this was translated into the wild child in the english version because I'm assuming the term in japanese refers to more childish behavior. I think the word mischievous is easier to understand though since I've never heard the term wild child before. Anyway, he's silly.

8. I sort of glossed over this in the english version but apparently he can take the lead when it matters most. In english, the phrasing kinda made this confusing. I thought they were just saying words lol. Anyway, this ties in with him trying his best while in the band + being compassionate/sentimental.

topic-adjacent kinda. I've seen people interpret this in a sort of sad way, but I interpret this as him being mischievous! I think he's walking towards them to scare them. The little star next to his head reminds me of the animal crossing mischief emote.

another bonus thing because it shows that hes silly. a silly goose. I think he likes to doodle.

God I haven't even gotten to the splatune articles yet...

yeah this kinda repeats what I already said but here it says his playing fits well with Ichiya. I think that both of them are kinda similar. Both are sort of lacking in technique but make up for it in other areas. Both have ADHD (lying). To me, Murasaki is if an asshole turned out to be kind, and Ichiya is if a kind person turned out to be an asshole. #crazy

Splatune 1! No more numbered list I forgot what number I was on :)

Cool and edgy urchin

I have no idea what that means. Ok.

Cool means cool.

I don’t know if they mean edgy in the internet way because ???... Anyway, edgy can mean: 1. tense, nervous, or irritable, 2. trend setting, daring, or provocative. I think the word choice was for the sake of an urchin pun.

I think they meant to convey the second definition by saying hes cool and unconventional (I don't think it makes sense to say someone is cool and nervous in the same sentence). Kind of matches with being rough around the edges. I like to apply the first definition sometimes though. I like to stress him out.

he boldly pushes up to the front like a blaster

information about his drum playing is information about his personality! this relates to his previously described energetic playing. I like how this sort of frames him as unusual compared to other drummers. It shows how his playing style relates to his character... energetic, headstrong, he can lead the way if necessary. all things previously stated.

mean to him :(

I think this is trying to say how the others keep him around even though he doesn't match the theme. They keep him around because he looks cool? (this information is probably useless because machine translator. grain of salt)

very brief splatune 3 cameo

can drink in bars now? (old...)

likes to talk in circles (old...)

looks depressed now. aware of the horrors... evil leg bouncer...

thats it for official stuff i think. I like to add on bonus traits to him during the front roe era, but yeag ✌️

[danses-with-dogmeat]

J is for -- John Hancock

Well, here's a classic for y'all. I know Hancock is always in these things, but really, if he didn't deserve it, he wouldn't be here. He's a charismatic ghoul, what can I say? I fell for him the same as so many others probably including you 👀 So I'd be lying if I said I wasn't happy he's here 😊

But no matter how you feel about the esteemed mayor of Goodneighbor, I hope you all like this one! 😁

And here is the 2k event masterlist, for your browsing pleasure!

--

Pair: John Hancock x M!Sole

Dialogue: “What are we doing?”

Word: Joining.

Rating: NSFW

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 1.4k

“Jesus, Hancock…” Sole breathed into him, feeling like a boy just turned 18.

The way they were fumbling over each other in the VIP room of the Third Rail, like horndog teenagers under the bleachers at a football game, it had his blood pumping and his heart fluttering just the same way.

“Fuck, keep sayin’ my name, Sunshine…” The ghoul growled, in that smokey, gruff voice that had chills shooting up Sole's spine. 

“Yes, John. I will, just, ah—” Sole gasped at the way John’s teeth scraped over the side of his throat, the sting of pain only adding to the bubbling pleasure coming from deep within his gut. Every muscle in his body tensed at the feel of Hancock rubbing up against him, those wiry hands grasping at his tight-as-sin (as Hancock put it) vault suit like the fabric was his last tether to reality. 

Hell, after all they done tonight? Maybe it was.

Hancock was no stranger to chems, to say the absolute least, but all the substances the pair had abused together tonight were of a more… liquid nature. Whitchapel Charlie had cut them off a while ago, as if that would stop the Mayor of Good–times from drinking his fill of sickly sweet cocktails. 

“Just don’t stop…” Sole finally managed the words just before his lips became occupied with something a bit more physical. 

John’s lips were as addictive as the chems that so often passed between them. The subtle roughness of them, the flavor, sweet and smokey, the way they moved so skillfully, like an artist's paint brush over the blank canvas that Sole felt like in comparison. 

“Kiddin’ me?” Hancock said between kisses, “Never dream of it, baby. Been thinkin’ of this too damn long. Been needing it.” 

The sound of his zipper being pulled down registered before the feeling of his chest becoming exposed to the stagnant bar air, but Sole hardly missed a beat as he helped the ghoul shove the vault suit from his shoulders and pull his arms free from the sleeves. 

Hancock’s midnight eyes flashed to the new territory Sole’s actions exposed, 'conquer' written plain and fierce in his expression as his lips dove to smother his partner’s chest with wet, open-mouthed kisses. 

Sole could only groan.

Only groan, and use his free hands to begin the process of undressing his partner in return. Hastily, he moved to undo the buttons of Hancock’s shirt, grateful that the ghoul’s iconic hat and coat were already removed in the warm fervor prior to this. 

Almost on instinct, it seemed, Hancock pulled away briefly to tug the shirt from his torso, and deftly returned his attentions to Sole’s chest, stilling the ex-vault-dweller where he sat with the way his lips moved over him. 

He was like an animal, his hands caressing every inch of the firmness of Sole’s chest, smoothing down to his abdomen while his lips followed soon after, leaving a trail of love bites and hickeys all the way to his hip bones, where the suit had caught and refused to lower without Sole rising to aid the fabric downward. 

The ghoul didn’t even need to say it, not with words, anyway. His eyes practically shouted the question from their dark depths. 

‘May I?’

“Please, John…” Sole pleaded, and though his eyes likely said just as much, he figured voicing his desperation for the ghoul couldn’t hurt his case. 

Hancock quirked a brow. 

‘Please, what?’ the expression asked cheekily. 

“Please, just… touch me, put your mouth on me more, just… fuck me, John.” Sole could feel himself warming at the crude request, and in such a public place too… Even the thought of it made his ears burn, his stomach flip. 

Despite the nerves though, and despite that giddy, thrilling feeling rising in his chest, he could feel his body’s enthusiasm for the idea growing ever harder in the tightness of his briefs. 

Apparently it affected Hancock just as much, if the groan he released was anything to go by. 

“Baby, you’ll be screamin’ my name so loud, they’ll hear you clear across to Diamond City.” He promised with a growl. 

Sole felt his cock awaken fully at that, giving an excited jerk. 

The alcohol had given him the bravery to finally make his move with Hancock physically, but now, his mind couldn’t be more clear. 

Sole wanted him.

Carnally.

“Those squares won’t know what hit ‘em, when they hear you…” Hancock’s voice trailed off. His hands stilled on Sole’s hips, and he found himself bucking forward desperately into the ghoul’s touch, begging for more. 

“When, when I… Shit.” 

Sole’s eyes cracked open in time to see the way Hancock shook his head, the way his brows creased above his downcast eyes, lost in thought. 

“E-everything okay?” 

“Nah…” Hancock whispered, “Nah, it’s, fuck… Sunshine, what are we doing? What am I doing?” 

Hancock sat back on his heels in between Sole’s spread knees, his hands sliding down from his partner’s hips to the tops of his thighs. 

“W-what do you mean?” Sole sat up as he asked him. 

“Just… I been waiting ages to be with you like this. Been pining an’ shit, really falling for you, ya know?” 

Sole could only blink, his eyes wide as drink coasters. 

“Now to just… Jump into it, an’ after we been drinking an’ all. Jus’ doesn’t seem right to me, Sunshine. You mean more to me than that.” 

“I… I do?” Sole’s mind began to sober up quickly at the sound of those words, that pleasant buzz replaced with wonder and… anxiety? 

Anxiety that he doesn’t really mean this, and this is just the drink talking, or anxiety that he does and I’ve wasted so much damn time?

He hoped it was the latter. He’d feel like a fool, but at least it’d mean another fool was in love with him. A fool he was in love with in return… 

And isn't that the best kind?

Dammit, still not sober enough to think in proper sentences, or logical thoughts. 

“You ain’t been payin’ much attention, have ya Sunshine?” Hancock smiled genuinely, pulling Sole from his foggy head and back to this thrilling reality. It was a dangerous thing, too… as John looked awfully kissable just now. 

But Sole had to fight that urge. Just for this moment, at least.

“Guess I was too busy thinking that I was being too obvious…” 

Sole’s words were met with a quirked brow from their companion. He took that as a cue to continue on. 

“When I didn’t know how you felt, before now, I mean, I… I didn’t think I had much of a chance with you, honestly.” 

“Not a chance?” Hancock scoffed, “Sole, you’re… I mean, you’re like a prince charming, you know? You’re two good deeds shy of perfect. You got the face of one of those moving picture stars on the old posters, and you think you ain’t gotta chance with this ugly mug? You crazy?” 

“Ugly mug?” Sole’s head shook in disbelief, “You’ve gotta be the one who’s kidding. I could hardly breathe the first time I saw you.” 

“That’s cuz I stabbed the guy you were chattin' with.” 

“No.” Sole refused to budge on this, despite the humorous quip, “Look, Hancock-- John, you mean more than anything to me. No one’s ever made me feel like this, made a fool of me the way you have from the start, if... what you say about your feelings for me are true.” 

“It’s all true, Sunshine.” He whispered in that rough voice of his, and Sole felt goosebumps prickle up the still-bare skin of his torso. “I’m in deep, and this? What we were doin’ just now? Most thrilling moment of my fucking life, but… maybe we oughtta do this right, you know?” 

“Oh, c’mon, Mr. Mayor.” Sole leaned forward, till his nose brushed over the hollow space where John’s used to be. “What do we know about what’s right?” 

Hancock couldn’t resist his companion’s proximity, as he leaned forward to capture his grinning lips in a sweet kiss. 

Sole could tell he was still holding himself back, but even so, Hancock's kiss stole his breath away like the first time he laid eyes on him.

“Now, me?” The ghoul rasped as he pulled away, leaving Sole to lean forward, hungry for more. “I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout what all’s right and proper. But you, baby, you do.”

The ghoul scooted forward at that, his hands sliding dangerously up Sole’s thighs to grasp at the ruffled fabric of his vault suit. 

“So… Why don’t you tell me what you think's right about all this, and we’ll just go from there?”