#ring jacket appreciation society

[wrestlingarsenal]

[the-kr8tor]

hey i was wondering if you could write a fic about the reader teaching Hobie how to roller skate?? It’s so oddly specific but i can imagine him just struggling with it and it’s funny to me. Plus my dream date is to teach someone how to roller skate 😭. Thank you so much. Also please remember to take breaks and rest. I lysm and appreciate all the effort you put into ever story ❤️

What a cute prompt! Thank you for requesting!! And I will!! You're too sweet ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.2 k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for a mention of Hobie being tall and brief mention of clothes), cw food mention, set in Hobie's 70s dimension, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Being a part of the spider society has numerous Perks— Free therapy if you're willing to wait months for a single appointment. The cafeteria providing three meals a day to starving spider people from all walks of life, (and dimensions) not to mention the unmatched camaraderie with your fellow spiders. That alone makes all the jet lag from traveling through dozens of multiverses, and all the aches and pains that comes with being bitten by a radioactive spider. But, there is one thing that trumps all of those perks, and that's hopping to your partner's dimension for a not-so-quick date at the roller rink.

Hobie didn't take much convincing, especially after showing him your timeline appropriate outfit to him. His dimension is practically stuck in the 70s, filled with groovy psychedelic colours from the top to bottom. And of course there's the leather jackets that you've grown accustomed to just by being with Hobie. Hell, you especially love those leather pieces like the one you're wearing now. You went all out with your outfit, researching the trends back then with a splash of punk looks that had Hobie almost melting the second you stepped out of the portal. You fit in, to say the least. But after all the research and countless hours in the library just scouring for history books and life in the 70s, they don't compare actually being there and seeing it with your own eyes.

A glorious disco ball hangs in the ceiling, twinkling lights dancing around the funky, swirly and fluffy walls of the roller rink. Everywhere you look there's a burst of colours, and there's no lack of laughter ringing above iconic disco music you've heard before.

Smiling, you sit on a bench, eyes turned upwards at the sparkling lights twirling around the whole place. Hobie kneels before you, insisting to tie your rollerblades for you, citing that if it's not done well you could fall over and smash your face on the polished granite. You of course don't refuse, loving how much he dotes on you when there's no mission to rush to or a certain Spiderman breathing down his neck.

Patting your foot, Hobie calls your name above the blaring music. “How's the weather up there, lovie?”

You tilt your head, chin tucked on your clavicle, admiring how handsome he looks under disco lights with his piercings and eyes shining. “How long have you been waiting to say that to someone, huh, tall guy?”

He takes your unlaced rollerblade, pushing it in your socked foot and then propping it up on his knee. He's smiling all through it, happy to indulge you even for a quick moment without anyone to kick or web up. “Believe it or not, I've said it a few times.”

You fake a gasp, and he chuckles at your antics while he ties a ribbon. “Someone is taller than you?! I thought that was impossible!”

“You're impossible.” Hobie's hand remains on your ankle, hand rising up to cup your knee, thumb drawing circles around your tights. Leaning up, he holds your hip with his free hand, pushing you down gently to meet him halfway; which you gladly let him guide you.

Beaming, you peck his nose and the space between his brows. Earning a soft chuckle from him. “Says the one kneeling before me.”

“Which makes my comment correct.” He follows suit, kissing where your Cupid's bow lies before standing up shakily on his rollerblades. (That he hides with his nonchalance.) “C’mon, let's get this over with before I change my mind.”

Taking his helping hand, you pull yourself up, effortlessly standing on the wheels. “It's not too bad, I promise. Even little kids get it right after a few tries.”

He raises a pierced brow. “Those little kids aren't as tall as me and don't have a reputation to keep.”

You poke his side, “I've seen you backflip off of Rhino's head. Roller skates are nothing compared to that. Besides, no one you know is here to see you fall flat on your ass.”

“You won't film it like last time we went ice skatin’?” He can't help but ogle you under the light and amidst the bright colours.

Leading him towards the rink, you hold his hand, slowly inching your way inside. “I promise I won't take videos this time.” He huffs in reply as you guide him to the shiny floors. “It was for personal use anyway.” You mumble to yourself.

Hobie immediately holds onto the railings next to him the second his feet leaves the carpeted floors and onto granite. His knees are bent and shaking while he tries to keep his balance on the wheels. “Love, why'd you let go?!”

Giggling, you reach for him with open arms, rolling towards him. “I didn't! You did!”

Panic spreads through him unlike all the times he has fought countless villains as his rollerblades smack loudly on the floors as his feet skidaddles in place, struggling to even stand up. After reaching for you, your six foot three baby holds onto you like a life raft. Long arms grasping with none of the cool nonchalance he usually exhibits.

“Do you want me to get a training cart for you—?”

“No, I've got this.” Hobie straightens up, hand holding on to your jean pocket as if he wasn't whining a few seconds ago.

“Oh okay—”

“Don't let me go this time.”

“I won't, Hobs. Maybe try moving your legs?” Smiling, you roll around the rink as he uses you as his personal guide while he barely moves his stiff legs.

His eyes roam around the rink where people of all ages whizz past him without a care. He looks over to you with a new found determination. If those children who are barely five years old can skate like they own the place, he too can do it. “What do I do now?”

You don't laugh or giggle at him, instead, you help and support him throughout the lesson like you promised him when you suggested the date. Hobie picked up on the skill real quick, quicker than he did for ice skating. Maybe the music helped him, or maybe he really wanted to impress you this time instead of the ‘baby deer learning how to walk’ he exhibited earlier.

After a while he's already skating around you. A bit wobbly but his form makes up for it. Hobie thanks his spider senses and balance for not stumbling and crashing into another person.

You're all tired out after the exercise. Head placed on his shoulder, arms looped around his middle as he's the one guiding you this time while you two skate mindlessly on the shiny floors as the skating rink dies down for the night. He blows air in your ear, waking you up.

“Thank you.” Hobie affectionately pecks your brow, you hum in content. “You've got some patience in you, love.”

“Nope, you're just a fast learner. And you're welcome, thank you for indulging me.”

“You chose well.” His eyes smile, hand splayed over the small of your back. “Next time it's my turn to pick the place.”

“What do you have in mind?” Tilting away, your hand snakes up from his back to his nape, kneading softly.

“It's a secret, innit. For now,” he skids to a stop, hand still holding on to you. “you need to see some food that your dimension hasn't seen in decades.”

Your eyes widens, gasping. “So much food that shouldn't be in jell-o.” You're already unlacing your rollerblades.

[the-greatest-magic-of-all]

The Queen of Lies & Mirrors

Finally! I have a gift for you, @dullgecko, but it ended up being rather long to put in an ask. So here it is! Another prequel to Oh, Brave and Loyal Knight featuring everyone's favourite romance partner! Here's part one below.

Fabian doesn’t even know how the topic of relationships had come up.

Smooth jazz drifted from the Bastion City penthouse as the warm lights that poured from it contrasted against the cool tones of the last day of December. Snow lazily fell from the dark, cloudy sky, and frost swirled and curled along the edges of the penthouse’s windows and balcony railings.

Past the frosted windows, the Mayor’s New Year’s Eve party was in full swing. Black, silver, and gold balloons were strung up in every corner—a perfect match for the penthouse’s sleek onyx floors and stark white Romanesque walls and ceilings. Every so often, the clacks and clicks of billiard balls hitting each other and falling into pockets would ring out over the soft chatting. Soon followed either a chorus of cheers or groans. There was hardly a hand that didn’t have a flute of champagne in it. And even then, a server with a tray full of fancy shot glasses was making their rounds.

Fabian was no exception; dressed in a burgundy Fantasy Armani suit, he idly sipped the bubbly pale golden liquid as he leaned against a fireplace beside his Detective. Riz, dressed in one of his nicer hand-me-down suits, sat perched on the fireplace’s marble mantle as they idly chatted with the Mayor’s daughter, Wendi, while keeping an eye on Mayor Eldermore herself.

Thanks to his ability to blend in with the upper echelons of society, the National Adventurer’s Guild had assigned him a quest to discreetly protect the Mayor from unknown forces that wanted to kill her. And since he hardly went on any adventures without him nowadays, Fabian had asked Riz to join him to follow any clues the forces menacing Eldermore might leave behind. Obviously, cutting him in on the job’s payout as per usual.

As it was rounding the final minutes of 1979 and the duo’s conversation with Wendi was reaching its natural conclusion, she took a moment to stare into her champagne glass before Fabian watched her muster up the courage for something.

The young Tiefling woman chuckled lightly as she looked back up at them (but mostly Riz), the jewelry dangling from her lilac horns clinking as she did. “I really do appreciate you guys protecting my mom,” She said, tucking a lock of dark, blue-black hair behind her ear before she leaned against the mantle to gaze fully at Riz. “I know that you work for NAG, Mr. Seacaster, so I don’t have to guess about how to contact you if I need your help. But I was wondering if I could get your number, Detective, just in case.”

Oh. Oh no.

Fabian put his glass to his lips but didn’t take a sip as his eyes darted over to Riz. How was he going to let their client’s daughter down gently? A tricky situation if you asked him. Not everyone takes being rejected all that well. The last thing they needed was a complaint about their night’s conduct or supposed lack thereof.

“Of course!” Riz said with such a big smile that it almost caught Fabian off guard. Before he could even question it further, Riz dug through his jacket pockets and pulled out one of the handmade business cards Fabian had done for him. Presenting it betwixt his two fingers for Wendi to take. “Here’s my card! Be warned, I usually only take mysteries and other private investigator stuff, though.”

Okay, so perhaps his Detective was smoother than Fabian originally thought.

“Right,” Wendi said, her voice struggling to stay infused with confidence as she plucked the card from his claws. Turning it over once and then back again, she gently bit her lip as Fabian watched her weigh her options. Take the kind rejection or bet that Riz was a little dense regarding matters of the heart. She nodded slightly as she looked back up at Riz with raised, well-kept brows and hopeful eyes. “I was thinking more like we could go get drinks sometime.”

Fabian, who’d liked to think that he’d gotten quite well versed in reading Riz Gukgak over the almost year he’d known him, could tell how deeply uneasy he was at the moment. The rigidness of his smile and posture increased tenfold, his pupils went razor-thin, and his tail had been dead weight for the last minute or so.

Alright, alright! Fabian could do the anti-wingman thing he’d done back in the Goblin Court when courtesans kept showing up at Riz’s door. Clearing his throat to get Wendi’s attention, he began with a tight smile, “Miss Eldermore, I’m afraid he’s—”

“Taken,” Riz had chimed in, interrupting Fabian with a more relaxed, apologetic smile. And in that moment, a wave of something washed over him, but he was too distracted to parse what it was because—What? Fabian and Wendi both furrowed their brows at Riz at the same time. However, she also made a point to send a questioning look at Fabian. To which Riz chuckled and waved her off, “Not by Fabian. He’s my best friend. I, uh, actually already have a partner.”

Huh, okay… That was certainly one way to get out of a flirtatious proposition.

Only…

Riz was lying, right?

He couldn’t be telling the truth.

Surely, he would’ve told Fabian that he’d met someone. That what he’d told him back in that bed chamber in Hornhallow—about not understanding the urge or want of a relationship—was now outdated. That he’d somehow, in the past six months, found some special fucking person that made him think otherwise. No, no, no, this must be just a really good lie. So good that it made Fabian’s heart hurt to hear it. It had to be.

While Fabian had a mini mental breakdown, across from him, Wendi frowned. Her arrow-tipped tail swished back and forth aggressively as she stood straight up, crossing her arms as she said, “Your best friend looks a bit surprised at that.”

“I suppose it’s been a while since we last caught up,” Riz winced. Patting Fabian on the shoulder with that same apologetic smile. Fabian had to stop himself from flinching away from it, not that Riz seemed to notice. His hand lingered on Fabian’s shoulder—the contact burning Fabian alive—as he looked back at Wendi. “While I can’t believe I hadn’t mentioned, uhm, Baron to you, Fabes, I prefer to keep my personal life private.”

Private personal life? What in the world—

Wendi let out a hum of understanding. “I get that,” She said, nodding as her demeanour shifted and softened away from flirtatious back to friendliness. Because, apparently, she was believing this shit. “Is there a reason why Baron’s not with you tonight? Don’t you wanna ring in the New Year with a kiss? Supposed to be good luck.”

“I wish,” Riz said with a chuckle—Was it real? Was it fake?—before he sighed and looked up at Fabian again. His hand still on Fabian’s shoulder. He looked up at him with a fond yet rueful smile as he went on, “Baron wasn’t the happiest when I told them, but Fabian invited me, and I’m not quite sure how to say no to him yet.”

“Ooh, Baron’s got a jealous streak?” Wendi asked, her eyes alight with an obvious love for drama.

Riz grinned, “Mile wide.”

“Woof, you better watch out, Mr. Seacaster,” Wendi said with a laugh, shaking her head as she took a sip of her drink.

“I can handle myself just fine, I assure you,” Fabian grumbled as he went to take another sip of his champagne as well. Only to find that it had long been empty. Perfect. He needed a good reason to get away from his conversation. “In fact, I’m going to handle myself over to the bar and get another drink. I’ll be back.”

Fabian didn’t wait to hear whether or not Riz had a problem with being left alone with Wendi. Instead, he focused on making his way over to the penthouse’s pop-up bar as quickly as possible. Fabian’s mind raced as he weaved through the crowd of partygoers. Trying to make sense of the things he’d just heard.

Like, who the fuck was this Baron person who had apparently captured Riz’s heart? Why were they so special? What did they have that Fabian didn’t in Riz’s eyes? And what was ‘Not sure how to say no to him?’ supposed to mean? Riz said no to him all the time!

Right?

Well, he certainly wasn’t the one to tell him to fuck off when Fabian subtly leaned in, intending to kiss him after their Seawatch Kraken Priest quest last month. No, he did it through his magic, creating a wall of magic that abjured him against the likes of Fabian. Probably because Baron was the jealous type and Riz, clever as a whip, had mentioned that Fabian had an obvious crush on him… and Riz didn’t know how to say no to him.

Fuck…

When he finally arrived at the bar, Fabian slumped against the temporary bartop, suddenly feeling like he couldn’t hold his own weight up anymore. He exchanged his empty glass for a full one and downed it before he gestured for another. The bartender grunted and said he’d get right on it but made no move to do so. Great, now, in his time of need, he was being cut off by a responsible barkeep. Today really wasn’t his day.

Head in his hands, as Fabian tried desperately not to cry while on a job, a silky, posh voice beside him asked, “Oof, what are you trying to forget?”

“Nothing important,” Fabian immediately replied, his words somewhat muffled by his hands. “Just junk I thought I threw out.” Peeking out between his fingers, his breath caught in his throat as he laid eyes on the person beside him. Long, glossy, blonde hair fell around the bare shoulders of a fair-skinned Elven woman with a cunning, classical face and keen, blue eyes. All wrapped in a chic, golden silk gown that hugged every one of her curves. Wow. Fabian quickly stood up a little straighter as he held out a hand to her and said, “Fabian Seacaster.”

“Aelwen Abernant,” She smirked, a devilish thing, as she shook his hand.

That last name sounded familiar… Maybe his mother mentioned it once or twice. Abernant… Abernant… Oh, that’s right! Still lightly holding onto her hand, Fabian asked, “Your father’s the Elven Diplomat, isn’t he?”

“And I believe yours was a pirate? Married a Lomenelda, yes?” Aelwen shot back, raising a questioning brow at him.

Fabian shrugged with a smirk of his own, “Guilty as charged.”

Making an intrigued hum, Aelwen looked Fabian up and down. Sizing him up. The weight of her discerning eyes made him want to squirm, but that would surely make him look bad. So, he did his best and squashed down every emotion he’d felt in the past half an hour except the ones of attraction and confidence. Hoping desperately that someone tonight would choose him.

He’d have to thank his lucky star for finally shining down on him as Aelwen ultimately nodded, leaned in, and whispered in his ear. “Well, son of a pirate, how about a little Dragon Spice to help with whatever… junk you’re trying to get rid of?”

“I’m not sure…” Fabian said, a flash of a grimace on his face. Dragon Spice was no joke, and he was on a job…

Aelwen scoffed, pushing one of his stray dreads behind his ear before she took his shoulder in hand. Giving it a shake, she said, “It’s New Year’s Eve. Have a little fun before the new decade is upon us! Who knows what the eighties will have in store for us.” She let her hand run down the length of his arm until she wrapped her hand around his and began to pull on it. “Here, follow me.”

With almost no resistance, Aelwen pulled Fabian back through the penthouse until she brought him to a secluded balcony overlooking a snow-covered city street. The chill in the air perked him right up as he watched Aelwen dig around her tiny handbag until she produced a vial of bright red powder.

In a series of swift and decisive moves, Aelwen cleared off the railing of snow, poured out and shaped a line of Dragon Spice before she pulled out a tiny paper straw to snort it with. “What do you say, Mr. Seacaster?” She asked as she held the straw out for him to take.

…Well, he was already here, wasn’t he?

“If you insist,” Fabian sighed as he plucked the straw from her well-manicured fingers. Twirling it in his fingers, he settled himself in front of the railing. Eyeing the thin line of red for a moment before attempting to snort it.

One, two, sniff!

Instantly, a tingly surge of euphoria sprang up in his head and quickly spread out to his every limb. All of the tension in his body left him in a blink. As did the aching in his heart because how could anything be bad when he felt this good? Even as he cringed at the pain in his nose and coughed and spluttered as the Dragon Spice made its way to his lungs. He still felt so fucking good! Umberlee below, he hadn’t done Dragon Spice, let alone any of the harder drugs Spyre had to offer in months. Why did he ever stop?

A tiny voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he’d felt too bad about doing it after Riz had gotten high out of his mind that one time on Leviathan. His crash after the high hadn’t been pretty. So, Fabian had naturally gravitated away from drugs after that, especially since he’d been spending most of his time with Riz anyway. Well, not all of his time. Obviously, there was enough time for Riz to find and fall for fucking Baron—

Thankfully, before he could sink back into a funk, Aelwen erupted in laughter. Her fervent giggles rang out into the cold night. “Holy shit, have you snorted literally anything ever?” She asked, slinging an arm around his shoulders as she took the straw from his hand for herself.

“Yes! Just haven’t in a while,” Fabian said, indignant while his cheeks were on fire. He stumbled out of Aelwen’s way as she went to set up a line for herself. Hoping that he didn’t just blow his chances with her as he discreetly dabbed at his tingly nose. Watching Aelwen keenly as she did her line expertly and without any coughing, cringing, or a runny nose. He giggled as he scrunched up his (semi-runny) nose at her, “Show off.”

Aelwen gasped, clutching her (actual) pearls, her eyes practically gleaming now. “Oh, I’m the show-off? Mr. Five Hundred Gold Piece Armani Suit with a Sabre at His Hip!” She quipped with an unrestrained smile on her plush lips. Letting out a laugh, she hauled herself up onto the railing. Kicking her feet, she flipped her hair as she asked with a bit of acid on her tongue, “Who are you trying to impress?”

Inside, he could hear the beginnings of the countdown, but he was far more interested in what was in front of him.

10!

9!

8!

“Can’t a man look good for himself?” Fabian shot back, sauntering up to Aelwen and placing his hands on her waist. You know, just in case she slipped and fell off. For the same reason, he held her a little tighter as he settled in between her legs. Leaning in close, he said, “Or any potential gorgeous women he may meet at a bar and subsequently do drugs with.”

7!

6!

5!

“How utterly specific.” Aelwen scoffed, even as she draped her arms around his broad shoulders. Her gaze flicking between his eye and his lips as she pressed closer and closer and—

4!

3!

2!

“Fabian?”

Happy New Year!

Fabian flinched away from Aelwen at the sound of Riz’s voice. Shit! Whipping his head around, he found Riz standing in the balcony doorway. Narrowed eyes as he took in the sight of him and Aelwen wrapped up in each other. Sighing heavily, Fabian called back to him, “Yes, Riz?”

“What in the Nine Hells do you think you’re doing?” Riz asked, throwing his arms up in the air and shaking his head.

Aelwen grimaced, her lip curling as she waved a hand to put a little more space between her and Fabian. “Oh, I don’t get in the middle of couples—”

“No! He’s my… friend. Just a second,” Fabian quickly said, holding up a finger before disentangling himself from Aelwen. Turning on his heel, he faced Riz with an impatient smile, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper. “Is something wrong with Eldermore?”

Riz scowled up at him, though he kept his voice as just as low as he spoke through his very sharp teeth. “Not yet, but we’re on a job right now, regardless! You can’t just sneak off t-to make out with some random woman.”

Like you sneaking off to partner up with some random fucker. Named Baron, of all things! What kind of name was Baron anyway?!

Rolling his eyes, Fabian snippily said, “Okay, fine. I’m coming,” before he turned back around to Aelwen. Wincing as he saw her hop off the railing and dust herself off. “Apologies, but my friend needs me.”

“Don’t worry,” Aelwen said, hardly sounding bothered at all. For a moment, Fabian thought he’d blown a chance with her, thanks to Riz’s interruption. But, perhaps because his luck was turning around, Aelwen pulled a slip of paper out of her handbag and teleported it into his breast pocket with a flick of her hand. With a sultry smirk, as she passed by him on her way off of the balcony, Aelwen whispered, “Keep that safe for me, Mr. Seacaster.” And with that, she sauntered back into the party. Not even looking back, she waved and called back. “Happy New Year, you two!”

[marleyelona]

Mending the Rift

REQUESTED BY: @samcrosfaith

TO MAKE A REQUEST CLICK THIS LINK

Synopsis

HAPPY x OC had a fight and he wants to make up for it by surprising her with a little camping trip to the outskirts of Charming, which is something they love to do.

BEFORE CONTINUING, PLEASE READ: I've never written for Happy before, and I don't really know his character all that well, so if I wrote him completely wrong, I am so sorry.

TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ : Smut will appear at the end of this chapter.

MENDING THE RIFT | (meet the oc)

EVELYN "EVE" BLACKWOOD

(KRYSTEN RITTER)

THE QUIRKY GOTH

Age: 27

Appearance:

Eve has long, jet-black hair, often styled in loose waves or in a messy bun, which often displays dyed streaks in vibrant colours like purple or blue.

Eve has dark brown, almost black eyes that carry a hint of mystery and depth within them. Often accentuated with heavy eyeliner and dark eyeshadow that goes well with her smooth porcelain-like complexion.

Eve is slim and petite, standing at 5'4". She has a few tattoos, including a prominent one of a raven on her left forearm and a crescent moon behind her right ear.

Eve is often described as the quirky goth from many of her friends. Her style could be described as gothic with a modern twist. She frequently wears black lace dresses, leather jackets, band t-shirts, ripped jeans, and combat boots. Her accessories usually include silver jewellery with occult symbols, chokers, and various rings.

Personality:

Eve has a unique and unconventional sense of humour, often finding amusement in dark or offbeat topics. She’s known for her witty and sometimes sarcastic remarks.

Eve is also highly intelligent, which comes from her love for reading and learning. She enjoys delving into the occult, mythology, and gothic literature.

Eve describes herself as a artist at heart. She enjoys painting, drawing, and crafting. Her creativity also extends to her fashion sense and the way she decorates her living spaces.

Despite her tough exterior, Eve is deeply caring and empathetic, always there to offer a listening ear to her friends and family. She is also fiercely loyal to the ones she loves.

Eve is strong-willed and independent. She values her independence and isn’t afraid to stand up for herself and others. She has a rebellious streak and dislikes being told what to do.

Backstory:

Eve grew up in a small town, feeling like an outsider due to her unconventional interests and style. She often found solace in books and art, developing a love for gothic culture and the occult.

She has a complicated relationship with her family, who never quite understood her. Despite this, she maintains a distant but respectful connection with them.

Eve works as a tattoo artist, a job that allows her to express her creativity and connect with like-minded individuals. She also sells her artwork online and at local fairs.

Relationship with Happy Lowman:

Eve met Happy at a local bar not long after he patched over to SAMCRO. Their initial connection was sparked by a mutual appreciation for dark humour and a shared sense of alienation from mainstream society. They have now been together for three years.

Their relationship is passionate and intense, marked by strong emotions and occasional conflicts. Despite their age difference, they share a deep bond and understanding. Happy’s rough exterior and Eve’s quirky personality complement each other in unexpected ways.

But like most couples, they occasionally clash due to their strong personalities and different coping mechanisms. However, they always find a way to reconcile, often through heartfelt gestures.

MENDING THE RIFT

THE EARLY MORNING SUN FILTERED THROUGH THE THIN CURTAINS OF THE SMALL BEDROOM, casting a warm, golden hue on the rumpled sheets where Eve lay alone. She was curled up under the covers, her raven-black hair splayed across the pillow, eyes red-rimmed and puffy from a sleepless night. The argument with Happy had been fierce, their words sharp and cutting, leaving emotional wounds.

Eve paced back and forth, her combat boots thudding against the wooden floor. Happy stood by the kitchen counter, his arms crossed, his face an impassive mask that displayed the storm brewing inside him.

"You can't just shut me out every time things get tough, Happy," Eve said, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt. "I know the club is important, but I'm here too. I deserve to know what's going on."

Happy's jaw tightened, "It's not your business, Eve. Club matters stay within the club. You know that."

"Don't give me that crap!" she snapped, stopping in her tracks to glare at him. "I'm not asking for details. I'm asking for you to talk to me. To let me in. You can't keep treating me like some outsider."

"I do it to protect you," Happy replied, his voice low and measured. "You don't understand the shit we deal with. It's better if you don't know."

Eve threw up her hands in frustration, "That's the problem, Hap!" You think you can protect me by keeping me in the dark, but all it does is push me away. I love you, and I want to be there for you, but I can't if you keep shutting me out."

Happy’s eyes flashed with anger, "You think it's easy for me?! To balance everything?! I’ve got enough on my plate without worrying about you getting caught up in it."

"So, what am I then?" Eve challenged, stepping closer. "Just another thing on your plate? Something to be managed?!"

"No, that’s not what I meant," Happy said, his voice rising. "But this life…it's dangerous, baby. And I won’t risk you getting hurt because of it."

"I'm already in it, Happy!" she shouted, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. "You brought me into your world, and now you want to lock me out? That's not how this works."

The room fell silent, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall. Happy took a deep breath, trying to rein in his temper, "I never wanted to hurt you, Eve. But sometimes, it's better if you don't know everything. For your own safety."

Eve shook her head, wiping away the single tear that fell, "You don't get it, do you? I don't need you to protect me from everything. I need you to trust me. To let me be a part of your life, all of it, not just the parts you think are safe."

Happy looked at her, the realisation of her words sinking in. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find the right words. Instead, he turned away, his fists clenching at his sides, "I'm going out," he said finally, his voice cold and distant. "I need some air."

Eve watched him go, the door slamming behind him with a finality that made her heart ache. She sank onto the couch, burying her face in her hands, feeling the weight of their unresolved issues pressing down on her.

Eve stretched, reaching out instinctively, only to find the space beside her cold and empty. A pang of worry mixed with residual anger from the night before settled in her chest.

Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and glanced around the room, their fight replaying on repeat in her mind, leaving her feeling both frustrated and guilty. She slipped out of bed, the cool floorboards chilling her bare feet as she made her way to the living room.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, leading her to the kitchen. There, she found Happy, his back to her, his movements slow as he made himself a cup of coffee. The sight of the couch with its rumpled sheets and pillows tugged at her heart.

"You didn't come to bed last night," she said softly.

Happy turned, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, "I didn't think I was welcome," he replied, his tone flat but laced with regret.

Eve crossed her arms over her chest, a mix of anger and sorrow in her expression, "I don't care how mad I am at you," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I still rather have you next to me than tossing and turning on that thing," she said, pointing to the couch, and Happy's gaze followed, lingering on the makeshift bed he had used.

"I'm sorry for what I said last night," he said, his voice sincere and raw. "I didn't mean it. I was just...frustrated, and I took it out on you. That's wasn't fair."

Eve sighed, her shoulders relaxing a bit as she took a step closer, her eyes softening, "I know this life isn't easy, Happy. But we need to find a way to communicate better. I can't keep feeling like I'm on the outside looking in."

Happy nodded, setting his coffee cup down and taking a deep breath, "You're right. And I want to make it up to you. I know we haven't had much time for us lately, and I want to change that."

Eve shot him a tight-lipped smile, almost like she didn't believe the words coming out of his mouth, "So you keep saying. But everything still stays the same," she said sadly, a raw vulnerability in her voice.

Happy sighed, a sad smile crossing his lips as he notcied the unshed tears welling in his old lady's eyes as her gaze found the kitchen counter, "Go get dressed. We're going out," he declared.

Eve frowned slightly, "Hap, I don't really feel like going out right now."

Happy sighed, stepping closer and taking her hands in his, "Please, baby. I promise you're gonna like it. Just let me make it up to you."

She studied his face, seeing the sincerity and hope in his eyes. With a soft sigh, she nodded, "Okay."

The slightest smile tugged at the corners of Happy's lips as Eve left the room, "Bring a change of clothes!" he called after her.

Eve paused at the bottom of the stairs, turning to look at him with a raised eyebrow, "Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

Happy's smile widened into a playful grin, "That would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?"

Eve groaned in annoyance, making Happy chuckle. As she made her way upstairs to get ready, the tension of the previous night began to fade away, replaced by a sense of anticipation and excitement.

As Eve got dressed, her curiosity mingled with excitement. Whatever Happy had planned, she knew it came from a genuine place of wanting to make things right. She quickly packed a small bag with a change of clothes, wondering what kind of adventure awaited them.

Downstairs, Happy finished his coffee, his mind already on the road ahead. He wanted to show Eve that he was serious about making amends, about finding their way back to each other. And he hoped that this surprise trip would be the first step in mending the rift between them.

☆ 《 》 ¤

The drive out of Charming was quiet but not uncomfortable. The tension from the night before seemed to melt away with each mile they put between them and the town. Happy kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Eve’s knee, a silent gesture of reassurance. Eve looked out the window, the familiar landscape bringing back a flood of memories from their early days together.

It wasn’t long before they reached the outskirts of Charming, where the dense forest stretched out like an emerald sea. Happy turned onto a dirt road, the tires crunching over gravel as they made their way deeper into the woods. The trees grew taller and closer together, creating a canopy that filtered the sunlight into soft, dappled patches.

“Remember this place?” Happy asked, glancing over at Eve with a small smile.

Eve nodded, her eyes lighting up, “Of course I do. We used to come here all the time.”

Happy pulled the truck to a stop in a small clearing, cutting the engine and stepping out. He moved to the back of the truck, unloading the camping gear while Eve stretched her legs and took in the surroundings. The air was crisp and fresh, carrying the earthy scent of pine and damp soil.

“This spot looks exactly the same,” Eve remarked, a nostalgic smile on her lips. “I can’t believe it’s been so long since we last came here.”

Happy set up the tent with practiced ease, his movements efficient and precise, “Yeah, too long,” he agreed. “I figured it was about time we changed that.”

Eve helped unpack the rest of their gear, setting up a small camping stove and laying out their sleeping bags inside the tent. The familiarity of the routine brought a sense of comfort, the act of working together rekindling the connection they had always shared.

Happy spread out a blanket and pulled out a small cooler, "I thought we could have a picnic," he said, a bit shyly. "I got your favorite - PB&J and those weird vegan chips you like."

Eve laughed, a sound that warmed Happy's heart, "You really do know me," she teased, sitting down on the blanket and patting the spot next to her.

They ate in comfortable silence, the peaceful surroundings helping to heal the emotional wounds from the night prior. After they finished, Eve leaned back on her elbows, gazing up at the sky, "I missed this," she said softly. "Being out here with you."

"Me too," Happy agreed, lying down beside her. He reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. "I'm sorry I messed things up, babe. I just...I get scared sometimes. Of losing you."

"You won't lose me," she replied, squeezing his hand. "We just need to talk more. Like really talk."

Happy nodded understandingly, "I promise I'll try," he said. "I'll do better, baby."

They laid there for a while, listening to the sounds of the nature that surrounded them, feeling every bit of tension melt away, and eventually, Eve rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand, "So, what now? Any more surprises?"

Happy grinned, reaching into the cooler again, "Actually, yeah. I brought marshmallows for a campfire. Thought we could make some s'mores tonight."

Eve's eyes lit up, "You remembered!" she exclaimed. "I love s'mores."

"I know," Happy said, his grin widening. "And I love you."

Eve leaned over and kissed him, a sweet, lingering kiss that promised better days ahead, "I love you too, Hap. Forever more."

They spent the rest of the day reminiscing, sharing stories and laughter as the stars began to twinkle above them. The connection they had forged in the beginning, built on shared experiences and deep understanding, felt stronger than ever.

As their makeshift fire died down, casting long shadows through the forest, the energy between them shifted. Happy’s gaze lingered on Eve, his eyes darkening with desire. Eve felt a familiar heat rising within her, her breath quickening.

Without a word, Happy moved closer, his hand cupping Eve’s cheek as he leaned in to kiss her. The kiss was slow and tender at first, but quickly deepened as their need for each other took over. Eve cupped the sides of Happy's neck, pulling him closer as the world around them faded away.

Happy’s hands roamed over her body, pulling her into his lap as their kisses grew more urgent. Eve could feel his heart pounding against his chest, mirroring Eve's racing pulse. Eve moaned softly as his lips trailed down her neck, sending shivers of pleasure through her.

“Eve,” Happy murmured against her skin, his voice rough with desire. “I need you.”

“Then take what's yours,” Eve whispered, her own need evident in her voice.

With a growl, Happy stood, lifting her effortlessly with her legs wrapped around his waist, and her arms secured around his neck, Eve wasted no time capturing his lips with her own, the kiss was far from gentle as their tongues danced together in a fiery tango. Happy's hands slowly moved down her hips, before finding her ass and giving her cheeks a hard slap, which echoed through the trees, causing a squeal to leave his girlfriend's lips as his strong hands squeezed her ass-cheeks so tightly, she knew she now had big red hand prints on her butt.

Carrying her into the tent, their lips never parted, he laid her down on the sleeping bag, his body pressing against hers as he deepened the kiss. Eve’s hands roamed over his back, a hiss leaving his lips as her nails dug into his skin. Eve could feel the tension in his muscles as he struggled to control his predatory instincts.

Clothes were discarded in a flurry of movement, their skin finally meeting in a heated embrace. Happy’s touch was both gentle and demanding, his fingers tracing every curve and contour of her body as if trying to memorise her.

His lips then moved down her face and neck as he reached her chest, he started to squeeze her breast in his hands. With practiced ease, he unclipped her bra and tossed it over his shoulder.

Breathless moans escaped the raven-haired girl's lips as she felt her nipples harden when Happy's lips easily wrapped themselves around them. Eve could feel her panties dampen, her skin flushed as he started to flick them with his tongue, making her squeeze her legs together, her head snapping back in pure pleasure.

A animal like growl escaped the back of Happy's throat as his lips moved down her body, finding her pelvis, and immediately grabbing hold of Eve's black lace panties and pulling them off, catching her attention. She assisted by lifting up her bum so he could easily remove them. The soft material sliding down her legs sent pleasure tingles down her spine.

Happy stood up, removing his boxer briefs and kicking them aside, Eve wasted no time cupping his neck and pulling him on top of her, their lips colliding once more.

Eve moaned at the feeling of Happy's hard boner poking her very sensitive area. Her moans got louder and more frequent when his lips were once again travelling down her petite frame.

"Spread your legs," he ordered, his voice demanding and husk. "I want to see that pretty pussy."

Eve didn't agrue and immediately followed her boyfriend's demand.

Happy lay himself down on his stomach, his face positioned between his girl's outstretched legs, gripping her thighs tightly as he pulled her closer.

A gasped escaped Eve's lips as Happy's tongue slid inside of her very juicy pussy. A raspy hum of delight left his lips as he ate her out, his tongue flicking her clit, causing her breathing to pick up, her moans catching in her throat as she tugged at her own hair, her toes curling at the feeling of pleasurable shivers running up her spine. 

Eve whined when Happy pulled back, a cheeky smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, "Happy, please, don't stop," she pouted like a five year old who was told she couldn't have ice cream for dinner.

Happy tilted his head to the side, seemingly amused as he watched her squeeze her legs together, thrusting her hips slightly, desperate to feel any kind of friction.

"You better fuck me right now, Hap, or I'll take care of myself," she said, trying to sound demanding, but it only came out as a desperate whine.

"Go on then," he said, unaffected, motioning for her to do so. "I'd bet you'd love it. Get off on me watching you pleasure yourself, you dirty girl," he said as his eyes and tone darkened with lust.

"You want to see your dirty girl touch herself? Hmm...?" she whispered seductively as she started to gently caress her thighs.

Happy watched her closely, his smirk widening, but as her fingers moved closer to her folds, Happy lunged forward with a growl, pinning her wrist above her head, eliciting a cheeky giggle from the girl.

"What's wrong?" She tilted her head to the side, feigning confusion.

"That's my job," he hissed in her face.

"Ooh..." she said, a lustful glint in her eyes as she bit into he lower lip. "Then take care of me, baby. The way only you know how."

That same growl left his lips as Happy placed himself on top of the love of his life, kissing her lips with a hungry desire as he positioned himself at her folds.

Eve’s breath hitched as he entered her, his body moving in a rhythm that spoke of years of experience. Eve's legs then wrapped around his waist, moving her hips along with his with uncontrollable passion.

They made love with animal like intensity, each touch and kiss fuelled by pure hunger and need.

Eve gasped as Happy's hand wrapped around her neck, before he captured her lips in a wet and agressive kiss, his teeth piercing into her bottom lip, drawing a small amount of blood as he pulled back, "I want to hear you, baby. Come on, I want to hear you scream," he grunted as his thrust got harder. "Say my name! I want everyone to know who's fucking your tight pussy."

Eve's breathing picked up as her loud moans echoed through the trees, "Fuck, Happy! Harder!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.

This boosted Happy's ego as he quickened his pace, "You look so beautiful under me, taking my cock like the good little slut you are. What are you, baby?"

A whimpering moan slipped from Eve's lips as her head continuously whipped from side to side as she tugged at her own hair, feeling Happy hit her g-spot hard, over and over again, "I'm your good little slut," she croaked as Happy's grip on her neck tightened.

"That's right," he seethed, his hand moving to grip her face as he pulled her into a hungry kiss, making sure to stick his tongue down her throat, not bothering to ask for permisson. He could taste the linger flavour of Eve's metalic blood on his tongue, which only fuelled his desire more. "You're all mine," he murmured on her lips, a sinister smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "This pussy belongs to me. You understand me?"

Eve lifted her head, cupping her man's face with both hands, "I'm all yours," she whispered, before placing a lingering kiss on his lips.

"I want you to come with me, okay?" he breathed out, his chest starting to heave as he rested his forehead on hers.

All Eve could manage was a nod as she felt herself clench even tighter around him. Reaching down, she started to rub her clit to help herself reach her release that much quicker.

"That's right, baby," he whispered, his rhythm was smooth but affective. "Touch yourself. Get yourself nice and wet for my cock." A grunt left Happy's lips as he felt her pussy clench around him even more. "So fucking tight," he said, unable to help the moan that slipped from his lips. "I'm close, baby, so fucking close."

Eve moaned sweetly, biting her bottom lip, "Me too."

"Yeah?" Happy grunted, his pace firecely quickening.

"Ah-ah," Eve nodded, unable to form words as her whole body heated up. "F-Fuck, H-Hap!" she screamed, feeling her release approaching.

"You ready?" Happy asked, knowing his was not far off.

"Please, baby," she whimpered as she tried desperately to hold it.

"Let it go, baby," and as soon as those words left Happy's lips, they both reached their peak, leaving them breathless but satisfied. "Fuck, you are such a good girl," he breathed out, keeping himself pressed inside her, feeling his load leaking out of her, before bringing her in for one last kiss, and dropping down beside her.

And as they lay entwined in the sleeping bag, their bodies still humming with the afterglow of their lovemaking. Happy pulled Eve close, his lips pressing against her forehead in a tender kiss, before he simply looked into her eyes, caressing her cheek ever so softly, “Marry me?” he whispered, his voice filled with so much love and affection for this woman beside him.

A/N: @samcrosfaith I thoroughly enjoyed writing Eve, so if you want me to write more one shots with her and Happy, or even another pairing, let me know. But I do hope you enjoyed this, and I hope I did Happy and your OC justice.

[2000sangel]

hi! saw your match ups were open and wanted to send a request if that's ok! im a woman and my pronouns are he/him. i don't have a gender preference or a type. i'd like romantic if that's alright. as far as aesthetic goes, i'm not really sure what to call it. i work as a receptionist so i'm generally just always dressed smart. i'm not really one for dresses, trousers and shirts are my go to. i wear a lot of jewellery though, at least one ring and one bracelet on each hand. i always wear glasses bc i cannot see at all and i've got long reddish hair. as for personality im quite a quiet person. i always help people where i can. i've got a dry sense of humour and have a tendency towards cynicism but at least i'm fun with it. i'm a very organised person. confrontation is not my strong point. i'm not afraid to stand up for myself and others, i've done it before but i will shake the entire time and i wish that was an exaggeration. i know its bad but i love a good gossip, its fun. i've got a few hobbies and interests, i love reading, mainly crime fiction. that ties into my other interest of true crime, i actually have 2 degrees in forensic psychology. i'm a very music oriented person. not only do i listen to it a lot, but i also play piano and sing. i engage in a lot of genres but i've been balls deep in an inescapable musical theatre phase for about a decade. i used to be in a society for it, definitely better at singing and dancing than acting, and i also did a lot of backstage stuff. i was even stage manager in one production (never again). my job and my degrees required me to be quite tech savvy in the sense thay i needed to know how to use a couple data handling softwares which i somehow managed. things i like - books, animals, sunny weather, warm white lights. things i dislike - people that don't have manners, loud overlapping noises, being rained on, insects. i don't have any characters that are a hard no. i hope i've done everything alright, you're such a talented writer and thank you :)

Hello! Yes, you’ve done everything perfectly and provided me a lot of information which I appreciate ;3 also, thank you for calling me a talented writer, I appreciate it a lot :((

Now, prepare to be sssurprised, as I match you with...

Sir Pentious!

Yes, him! Allow me to explain: you said you’re a cynic, a person distrustful of human sincerity. Sir Pentious is the exact demon who would prove you that some people, in this case him, are sincere. He’s a genuine individual, somewhat ingenuous if you will, who likes the simplest of things such as drinking good tea and having friends.  

Described as a wussy fighter by Vivziepop herself, he really needs somebody who will stand up for him and you seem to be the right person for this job, as you’re not afraid of doing so. He actually quite admires your courage, as even he can notice that you’re nervous when you stand up for other people, and yet he wonders how you manage to do it either way. He thanks you profusely each time this happens, and promises to look out for you in return.

Your job and degrees requiring you to be a quite tech savvy person makes me think that you’d somehow end up getting asked for help in some of his inventions; he trusts that you’re somewhat of a quick learner and smart, plus he simply loves to include you in his hobbies just as you include him in yours (more on this later!), so having you around him and the Egg Boiz is quite the pleasure every time.

Despite being a little silly, Pentious can very well be a gentleman, too. You dislike people with no manners? He’s more than willing to hiss at them if you ever come across any. You hate loud noises? He’ll make sure to invent something, anything that could help you with that. Don’t like being rained on? He will remove his jacket to hold it over your head if he has to. And rest assured he will remind Niffty about the gross bugs circulating in the Hotel if she doesn’t clean well enough.

Sir Pentious is not the most courageous demon around, we’re all aware of this. But! For you he will make an exception, and watch all those true crime videos and read the crime fiction you seem to be so passionate about. After all, you join him in his hobbies, so him participating in your is the least he can do. He’s also not afraid of gory situations themselves, so that’s something. He unexpectedly finds himself enjoying the time spent with you, especially reading, and he definitely interrupts you at least once each time to prepare a cup of tea for both him and you, if you enjoy it.

I can also see him being mesmerized by your skills each time you sing or play piano, and he would definitely try to learn how to sing/play along! He comes up with all these silly little tunes, it’s quite endearing on your side actually, and he surely wants to hear the most modern music you can play for him.

Pentious doesn’t really care what his lover is wearing at all, he will compliment you no matter if you’re dressed classy, cute, edgy or if you’re just getting ready to go to work. To him, you’re the most gorgeous person around, and while he’d be a little more on the shy side at first with compliments, he’d definitely go all out once you’ve been in a relationship for a while. He quite enjoys your liking for jewellery, and will remind you how pretty it looks on you whenever you’re putting it on.

 All in all, I feel like you two would be the cutest representation of ‘opposites attract’!

[chiefhalliday]

"Your style is admirable," Rowan admitted. "But following you in the trend of wearing pasta jewellery is something you couldn't even pay me to do. I don't fancy standing up at a press conference with a ziti necklace. Leave the trailblazing to the kids.."

Whilst he wouldn't even think once, let alone twice, about wearing the same clothes as Avi did, Rowan liked that his friend was able to be comfortable and confident in what he was dressed in. At their age, the majority of society believed that older men should just stick to clothes as aged as they were: dull and boring shirts, jumpers, tailored trousers, fleeces, and loafers; but Avi broke the rules and proved society wrong, especially wearing something like a leather jacket and silver rings on most of his fingers. Rowan remembered wearing a leather jacket in his early forties and never touching one since.

Rowan himself, though lived up to the old man stereotype; he was most comfortable in a shirt and jumper and occasionally wore flannel. It was a habit of thirty years and he wasn't about to break it now. Besides he spent his waking hours worrying about the citizens of New York City and its tourists; he didn't have time to worry about what clothes matched with what. A suit and tie was just fine for Rowan.

He was also a stickler for having pristine clothes, which was something his father had drilled into him from a very young age and was something he continued to practice after decades of wearing his own uniform, so even a small gesture a gesture as Avi reaching to fix his collar was appreciated and his friend knew that.

"Thank you," Rowan said. "I'll stick to this old mundane shirt. Everything else is too gaudy for me... Speaking of, my sister bought me a jumper for my birthday and she seemed so pleased with, but... I can't bring myself to wear it. Maybe you could have it and repurpose it or let the kids make something with it. I'd hate to just throw it away."

"Maybe they'd make an exception for me, doll."

A wink, and a lean into an elbow. In reality, no, they absolutely wouldn't. Aviel doesn't make art - he talks about it. Excavates it. Or, used to. Now the kind of art he sees is a bit more... rudimentary. Abstract. He likes to call it deconstructed - though others might call it "construction paper and popsicle sticks".

His friend, his neighbor - always slipping into work mode. With the finesse of someone experienced in such things, Avi slides right back.

"You know me and fashion, after all." Somewhat busy in the pattern department, especially as he's crossed into taking care of 5 and 6 year olds. But he somehow makes it work. "Everyone? I don't see you in pasta jewelry. Fettuccine earrings. Ziti necklace. Should I bring you some next time the class is feeling adventurous?"

He reaches out with ringed fingers and fixes Rowan's collar for him sweetly. "Maybe a bit too gaudy for you, Ro."

[legit9thlunaticwarrior]

it was just a cool idea i had when i heard this song (this is the formerly titles 'perfect illusion' series. nothing else has changed)

|remember to leave feedback and i love all you heathens|

‘The Very First Night: Part I' Angelo Parker (Jeff) x fem!reader

^whatever they had abruptly ended, but was it really over?^

- Wheeler Yuta (James) - jericho being an ass - possible second part?

3rd Person POV

The current Ring of Honor Pure and World Champions stood in the ring across from three members of the Jericho Appreciation Society, with the rest of each faction at their respective ringside. Chris, Daniel, and Anna vs Claudio, James, and their mystery partner; who would become the first woman in the Blackpool Combat Club.

"Alright, enough with the waiting. Where's your girl? Ruby Soho perhaps? Maybe little Skye Bl-" There were many names thrown around on social media for who it was, but no one saw it coming when they heard her voice 'For it is just an Illusion' and the unmistakable beat of Lady Gaga's song. Justin Roberts got his cue "And their tag team partner, she is the Ring of Honor Women's World Champion; Y/R/N" She officially became a face as she walked down the ramp to the ring. A pop like no other. Clad in red, black, and white gear, with her unzipped BCC jacket, 'Illusion' printed on the back courtesy of Claudio. James held the middle rope down for her as she joined them in the ring and snatched the mic from Chris. The cheering quieted a bit, "Well I guess, now you see me."

Jon and Bryan took the trio's jackets and the match started. Jeff hadn't moved since her music started. 'Fuck.' he thought. It had been almost a year since they saw each other. Y/N and him had a little friends with benefits situation. What ended it was that he didn't return the feelings she had admitted on an unsober night. Or so she thought he didn't. He missed the pillowtalk, waking up tangled together, the pictures of her in his shirt that she would send; he missed it all.

Y/N had Anna worn down and in her sight for her finisher; the Hypnosis pumpkick. Right when Anna got to her feet, she was back down with the kick and down for the count. "Here are your winners the Blackpool Combat Club." Y/N turned her head to start to mock her foes, only to meet the eyes of her former fling. James had gotten her attention again when he handed her her title back. It did feel nice to be on the good side of wrestling again as she heard cheers when the 'Y/R/N' is All Elite' graphic went up.

The five of them had gone back to their locker room after the match. "How do you feel Y/N?" Bryan asked her. "Feels good to torture you again after all these years." The two of them had been like siblings as they always ended up in the same company at some point. They kept with the catch up and shop-talk until there was a knock at the door. James got the door and immediately had his guard up, "What the hell are you doing here?" 'I was right.' She thought as she looked to Jeff at the door. "I just want to talk to Y/N. I'm not here to fight." "Like we trust you, or any of your buddies." Y/N got up and nudged James out of the way, "It's fine guys. I'll be back in a bit." She zipped her team jacket halfway and followed Jeff down the hall.

They had found themselves in a hall with crates and trunks for equipment. They sat on the trunks until the silence broke "How does it feel to be 'forged in combat'?" he asked only to try to break the ice. "You got a lot of nerve coming to the lions' den like that. They really hate you guys." He knew it was stupid but he needed to talk to her. "Why, after all this time, do you now want to talk to me?" "Y/N, I know I hurt you. I thought you were going to wake up that morning and when I asked you about what you said, you were going to deny it. So, I left; save us both the embarrassment." She scoffed, "Jeff, I told you I was in love with you. We would go out and I would hope someone would assume we were a couple. There were nights when you walked me home and I would tear up because I knew that once you left, I would be reminded that it wasn't real. Yeah the sex was nice, but I wanted you. I wanted everything with you; but it was clear you didn't." When he sat there with his head hung and no reaction, she got up. "I see things clearly haven't changed, Jeffrey." The moment his full name left her lips with that tone, he knew he fucked up even more. He grabbed her wrist gently but enough to keep her from leaving him any more.

She looked up at him and he could see the hurt he had caused in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I really am. You didn't deserve that and I'm an asshole for doing it. Tell me; do you remember the time we went to the amusement park? The ferris wheel? Right when we started moving, I figured out you didn't like heights. We got to the top and you clung to me for dear life. You tried to pass it off as you were 'just cold' but it was the middle of June. That was the moment I fell in love with you, Y/N." Somewhere in his confession, his hands had come up to her cheeks. "Despite you being scared, you still looked perfect. I never wanted to leave. I know it will take a long time for you to forgive me, if you even give me the chance to make it up to you, but I promise you I will make it up to you." She knew she couldn't let him back in that easy, but the sincerity in those big brown eyes melted her. She pulled him down to her height by his suspenders and kissed him in what felt like forever. He moved her arms to go around his neck as he picked her up and sat her back on one of the trunks. They had pulled away from eachother and she couldn't help the bubbly feeling forming in her tummy again. Smiling, "Guess those stupid suspenders are good for something." "Oh, come on. You can deal with the suspenders if I have to deal with this." He was referring to her jacket as his hands dipped inside of it to rest them on her hips, feeling that she's still in her ring gear.

The two of them had finally parted and went back to their groups.

"What did he want with you?" Claudio asked as she walked through the door. "It doesn't matter." "Then why is your lipstick smudged?" Jon interrogated. Shit.

"Where the hell have you been?! You just left us after that match!" Chris scolded Jeff. "Wait, hang on" Anna stepped in and examined Jeff's face, "Is that lipstick?" Shit.

~~~~~~~

lovely taglist babes (comment to be added) @josiewrites @slut4kennyomega @wwenhlimagines @plentyoffandoms @auburnwrites @im-just-a-mississippi-girl

[sukirichi]

personal disaster

Toji took the personal invitation to be your personal disaster.

REQUEST. toxic toji + enemies to greater enemies + toji railing reader in front of someone they’re seeing because he doesn’t want to see you happy but he doesn’t want to “keep” you either

PAIRINGS. toxic toji x reader x mafia! leader noritoshi kamo (he’s just witnessing the fun, dw)

CONTENT/WARNINGS: rough sex, slight bloodplay, violence, toxic toji, toxic and abusive relationships, choking, begging kink (you’ll be surprised in what way), degradation, mass murder, mentions of blood, cuckolding, overstimulation, reader is kind of crazy, hate fucking, neck slicing, IT’S DARK okay? unedited too, sorry for typos and grammatical errors 

WC: 3.5k+

masterlist !

Your arm looped with your fiancé’s, his possessive arm wrapped around your waist. He glared at everyone who stared at you with a lust filled gaze, his cold eyes alone enough to send his people staring at the ground with a tug of their jackets to hide their erection. You almost felt bad for them, knowing that they always saw how your pussy took Noritoshi’s cock so well, but that was it.

They could only see but never had a taste of the specimen you were because you were the mafia leader’s fiancé, soon to be the Queen of his empire while you sat pretty next to him, getting richer and richer with each passing second before you fulfilled your duty and birthed him an heir.

Noritoshi wasn’t in a rush, though. He was a man of sensual pleasure, wanting to take his time with you and getting to know you, and take his time he did.

There was not a day that he didn’t have you moaning under his silk sheets, wrists already chafed from the handcuffs he insisted on using you, simply because he was a man who liked to exert dominance and craved being in power. You never denied him – how could you when all you had to do was spread your legs and you got that coin?

You were beyond a slut for him, however, and this much was clear when Noritoshi announced that you were his and his only.

When even that didn’t deter the curious hands of his people from pumping their cocks at the thought of you, Noritoshi have had enough. He roughly slammed his lips to yours before he melted at the sweetness of your lips, soon turning gentle before he slipped a ring inside your finger to make it official.

Noritoshi, dramatic as ever, wanted everyone to know about this engagement as loudly as he could without opening his mouth.

Your fiancé had a flare for the theatrics, which was why he didn’t blink an eye as he got you an expensive designer dress, hand-stitched, and flaunting you around – flaunting his soon to be wife hanging off of his arm proudly.

He guided you into his limousine until you reached a night sky nightclub that was notorious for its luxury. Not even the richest people belonging in the top tier of society could afford a single ticket, much less a private room. Noritoshi made the right choice by walking with you down the hallways, the walls transitioning from a glossy black to a velvet tint, leading into one of the VIP rooms that was already surrounded by his guards.

The whole way there, Noritoshi didn’t loosen his grip on you, making sure his hand was cupping your ass to flash your ring and his.

Several envious gazes and curious ones later, followed by hushed whispers before the pair of you disappeared behind the double doors, Noritoshi loosened up in his seat, satisfied that he’d marked his territory successfully.

Noritoshi uncapped a bottle of fine whiskey served by a shivering waiter, while you sat next to him, legs crossed enough that the poor blushing waiter flushed at the sight of your bare cunt.

You checked your nails, smirking at the velvet black acrylics Noritoshi was generous enough to let you borrow his black card for. The dress you wore was infinitely superb too, the bust firm enough to push your breasts high enough that the outline of your cleavage was just a step away from exposing your nipples – a tease, as always – just as how Noritoshi wanted.

He was like that; always dangling the treasure right in front of people’s mouths as they salivated in hunger, then bringing it back to his grasp just before they took a bite.

How Noritoshi, you thought.

Out of nowhere, muffled gunshots could be heard from the outside, your eyes cat-like as they glared at the door, waiting for people to burst through. Not a second later, one of your guards rudely invited himself in, pushing the curtain that hid a secret exit as he started babbling nonsense about a madman or something.

“What’s wrong?” Noritoshi asked calmly over his glass, swirling the glass with a satisfying clink. “What’s all the commotion about?”

“Sir, you need to leave! There’s an assassin here and he’s easily taking our men down!”

“Assassin?” he scoffed with a pinch of his brow. “What do you mean assassin? This is a private nightclub – isn’t our security tough?”

“Yes, sir, but he’s easily overpowering us—”

“This assassin you speak of,” you stopped inspecting your nails, placing them over your knee instead. A smirk painted your bold red lips when the guard’s eyes trailed downwards to your shaven cunt, his Adam’s apple bobbing at the sight before he turned away, stiffening harder once he met Noritoshi’s glare. “Is he tall, dark, has a scar running down in his lip and has a crazy look in his eye?”

“Y-yes, that’s exactly him.”

“Do you know who he is, darling?”

You scrunched your noise, uncrossing your legs out of poor mercy to this man. He looked like he’d faint soon – seriously, didn’t Noritoshi have enough sluts for his men to fuck? “An old friend of mine, although I could hardly call him that when he took everything from me,” eyes darkening at the memory of him, you pushed yourself off the velvet cushions of the couch, swiping at the gun strapped to your thigh. “You should leave, Toshi. I’ll handle him.”

“You’ll handle him? It’s unsafe – we need to leave—”

Sigh, he always worried too much over you. It was so easy for him to forget you lived an equally dark life prior meeting him, so you pressed your lips against his, making sure to mark the edges red to remind him he had nothing to worry about. As always, it shut Noritoshi up, his hands coming up to caress at your ass.  

“He won’t hurt me,” you assured, palms laid flat on his chest. “Now go.”

Noritoshi wasn’t given a chance when you nodded at his guard, who got the message and dragged his boss away rather harshly behind the curtain. Smirking, you made your way outside, adrenaline rushing through your veins and heat seeping into your core. This night just got a lot more interesting.

Your fun was spoiled, however, when you were met with blood stained walls and limbs torn everywhere. A sneer made its way to your face, not because you were disgusted by the sight, but because he was still as boring and upfront as ever.

He never let you had your fun.

“Toji,” you greeted the tall man sitting on top of the pile of bodies, brows raised because it’s been a long time and he still hadn’t changed. He still wore the exact same fitted black shirt that looked like it would rip into pieces at each of his movements, which to your surprise, never did. “Still as messy as ever, huh?” you clicked your tongue, bunching your dress up with your fists as you stepped over the bodies, making sure not to slip from the sea of blood. “Jeez. You’re not even the least bit concerned about the cleaners.”

“Sweetheart,” he crooned, mirroring your smug expression as he jumped down his throne of corpses, roughly tilting your chin up so you could look him in the eye.

Even with high heels, Toji effortlessly towered over you, reminding you again and again of the strength difference. Though you held your ground pretty well, and he knew this too, otherwise he wouldn’t have struggled so much in his mercenary work the moment you came.

“It’s so nice to see you again – or is that what you wanted me to say?” Your lips stretched for a sinister laugh, Toji beating you to it when his strong hands came to wrap around your neck, slamming you on the wall hard enough he blurred in your vision for a moment. You kept chuckling through the lack of air, tongue darting out to lick the blood of his knuckles. Toji growled, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you’ve done to me, bitch. You ruined my pretty face with those nails of yours.”

“Can’t blame a woman, Toji, you weren’t letting me cum.”

“To be fair, you were leaving me after you killed all my clients when I kindly asked you to keep your hands to yourself,” Toji sneered, head darting down to rip the diamond necklace Noritoshi got you onto the ground. You whined upon seeing the crystals scatter onto the floor, millions worth now dipped in blood. What a fucking shame. “But you’ve always been a naughty little minx, aren’t you? You just can’t keep your hands off of beautiful men.”

“Trust me, Toji, what’s inside their pockets are a lot prettier than faces,” you giggled as your hand came up to trace the scar on his lips, eyes narrowed into appreciative slits. “Nothing would ever be prettier than this.”

“Is it still a face you want to sit on?”

“Fuck, yes,” you admitted, pushing yourself off the wall to wrap your legs around him.

The momentum took Toji by surprise, forgetting that you were just as strong as him as he staggered two steps backwards. His grip tightened on your hip to steady you both, the sharp blade of his weapon poking against your thigh threateningly.

It didn’t bother you, and you only nuzzled your nose against his almost affectionately, staring him in the eyes as you mumbled, “I fucking missed you.”

“Then why did you leave?” he grunted while grinding you down on his cock, hissing for a split second when your killer heels dug into his lower back. He could feel blood leaking from how the shoe pierced him, but he made no move to push you away, enticing you to kiss the corners of his lips to worship his scar. He was so beautiful, sinfully gorgeous that you always lost your mind around him.

He was your end, your ruin, your destruction – and you left in a poor attempt to keep your heart safe.

“How long has it been since I had my hands on you, huh, pretty thing? Six months, maybe more? Time gets so blurry when I’m not buried in your tight cunt,” Toji buried his nose in the crook of your neck, using the blade of his sword to tear your dress open, leaving your lower half revealed to him.

“Oh, you asshole, that was expensive!”

“Don’t give a fuck, baby,” he rolled his eyes, and of course he didn’t. Toji wasn’t any better than you; both your minds were always clouded and hazy with sex. “You smell different. Got another man?”

“Hmm, and he’s much better than you are,” Your words ticked Toji off, knowing full well he always hated it whenever you poked at his ego. Toji was a man of many things, and every time you implied that he wasn’t something, you could expect that he would fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to feel your legs for days. Now that was exactly what you wanted, so you kept going, your nails travelling under his shirt to leave more scratches at his already ruined back – all thanks to you. “He’s rich, classy, handsome, praises me instead of calls me a little slut—”

“Aren’t you?”

“I am,” you agreed shamelessly with a sultry laugh, looking back at him with a devious glint in your eye. “But I like being worshipped every now and then.”

“Haven’t I done that enough? You talk as if I never made you feel good.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, nothing can still compare to your cock, Toji,” Your other hand shoved itself down his pants to feel him, soft pants leaving those pretty mouth of yours when felt his cock bare, the tip already wet with pre-cum.

Of fucking course Toji executed his missions on commando mode – he couldn’t be bothered to keep his fat cock imprisoned.

“But he’s richer. And he’s willing to marry me, breed me until I’m swollen with his children and pamper me afterwards. He’s willing to make me his.”

“You fucking slut,” Toji shoved his tongue inside your mouth, the moans spilling from your lips to his only encouraging him to align his huge length onto your already dripping cunt – always so wet and ready to be filled by him – before he slammed you all the way down. The sudden stretch had you biting on his tongue to muffle your moan, Toji’s hands bruising as he cupped your ass. Toji clenched his jaw upon feeling your walls embrace him warmly, his breaths ragged and faint.

It made your chest swell with pride at the thought that only you could make the infamous Fushiguro Toji this disarranged.

“What is it with you sticking to alpha males all the fucking time?”

“A princess wants her throne beside a handsome prince, Toji. Just because your family didn’t like you, doesn’t mean mine did too. I grew up being told fairy tales while you ran rampant in the streets,” you bit back, the sinister laugh painting the blood red walls dark because you knew Toji better than anyone, and one of the things that always set him off like a bomb was the mention of his abusive family.

You couldn’t wait to see how he would ruin you, and you moaned loudly when Toji grabbed your jaw until your cheeks were squished, the cold of his blade held against your throat sending a shiver down your spine.

“Are you the slightest bit aware of how much I want to kill you right now? Slice your lovely neck and fuck you while you suffocate in your own blood?” You gasped as you felt warm liquid slowly bleed out from the slightest cut, your blood sliding down your chest and under the leftover materials of your dress. Toji used his bare hands to rip the dress apart, your tits bouncing the moment they were freed from its confines.

The guttural groan that echoed from his throat was pure animalistic, similar to the carnal thrusts of his dick that pummelled into you. He pushed you flat on your back until your skin pricked with the shards of glass on the bar countertops, the pain only adding to your pleasure.

Toji kept you locked underneath his arm, his hands choking the air out of you while you clenched around him repeatedly, your walls sucking him in tight enough that Toji lost rhythm in his thrusts. “Only you would like that, Toji,” you choked out in a broken gasp, the man above you growling when you picked up a broken wine glass to push his hands off of you.

Blood coated both your bodies as Toji drove his dick deeper, hitting all the spots that only he could ever reach.

“I’m a man of rare taste.”

“So fucking rare,” you teased. Toji’s middle finger and thumb met once they wrapped around your neck, pulling you off the table to bounce you on his cock, using only his masculine virility and raw strength to fuck you good.

The sudden change of position had the tip of his cock pressing into your most sensitive spots, Toji’s angry grunts sinful yet so erotic as your bumpy walls kissed the veins of his cock.

Toji suddenly wrapped an arm under your breasts, flipping you over until you were met by the sight of Noritoshi standing still outside his VIP room, his gun aimed at the both of you. “Uh-uh – I wouldn’t do that if I were you, pretty boy,” he warned, his words taking a huge hit on Noritoshi when his arm wavered. “One cut is all I need and your lovely fiancé’s body would be swimming in her own blood. Now, you wouldn’t want to waste such a beauty, right?”

“Y/N!” he suddenly dropped his gun, hands raised in surrender beside his head. If Toji wasn’t driving his dick like a fucking animal, you would’ve broken Noritoshi’s nose, ashamed that he surrendered so easily. Noritoshi’s dark eyes turned to Toji’s, heat seeping off of him in waves. “I will never forgive you for what you’re doing!”

“Wasn’t asking for forgiveness, shorty,” Toji pressed, using two fingers to split your lips open, giving Noritoshi the show of his life as Toji’s fat cock stretched you open completely, your puffy lips wrapped around his swollen length.

You knew you looked so dirty right now, skin covered in blood, wearing nothing but your black heels that accentuated your legs while Toji split your body in half.

A strangled moan was pulled from you when Toji hitched one of your legs, his arm hooked behind your knee, completely exposing yourself to Noritoshi. Even though you couldn’t see yourself, the squelching of your pussy taking in Toji’s cream filled dick was so pornographic you couldn’t help the heightening of your arousal, breasts bouncing as Toji kept up his relentless pounding.

“Come on, sweetheart, let him see how much I’m stretching you out. Watch as she loses herself around my fact cock like the fucking whore she is,” Toji laughed, silencing your incoherent fucked out mumbled by shoving a thumb through your lips, smearing your lipstick to the side as if you weren’t a mess already.  “Oh, look at his face. You don’t mean to tell me he doesn’t know how filthy you are, huh, sweetheart?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“What the fuck did you say to me?” Toji slapped your ass, your walls clenching around him on instinct. Noritoshi’s eyes widened when you only moaned in response, the blissful smile on his ace rendering him silent. “Not so threatening now, huh, Kamo?” Toji leered, snickering at the apparent tent growing in your fiance’s pants.

It was absolutely sickening that he got off at the sight of his pretty little fiancé be used by some other man, but Toji respected all kinks, even if he didn’t have much respect for Noritoshi to begin with.

“Come on, sweetheart. Scream for me. Say my fucking name like you always used to. Let’s show this pretty boy here how awful you are before he regrets being with you,” Toji snapped his hips harder into you, causing you to see stars that mixed with the sight of Noritoshi falling onto his knees, your name a plead for his lips.

Toji’s cock only twitched at the sight of seeing someone so helpless, to see the infamous powerful Kamo leader beg for Toji to save you and let you go.

He always knew he had a begging kink, but he didn’t think it would come in this form.

“T-Toshi—” you moaned out, eyes snapped shut. You couldn’t think anymore, the only sounds filling your ears were Noritoshi’s cries and Toji’s ragged pants in your ear, his hand pressing down on the apparent bulge of your lower stomach every time he bottomed out.

“I said, say my fucking name.”

“Toji, Toji, fuck!” you leaned backwards and placed your head on his shoulder while he grabbed your hair to kiss you, that familiar heat beginning to form in your core. Unable to help it, your moans fell left and right, loud enough that it drowned out Noritoshi’s pleads. Toji laughed at both of you – called you the dumbest lovers alive – so he kissed you, more tongue and teeth than lips, his thrusts sloppy and desperate. “Oh, oh fuck, yes, yes, right there, oh!”

“You can never fuck her like I do. You can never make her feel good like I do. See how she’s moaning so pretty for me? You can never have her.”

“You’re so fucking unfair,” you cried out, hands tugging at his hair. Toji never let up for even a moment as his thrusts slowed; the new pace he set slow yet deep. Toji pulled out his cock slowly to make you feel him inch by inch, your walls licking at his cock vein by vein until only the tip was left inside, before thrusting full into you in one swift movement of his hips. “You can’t just break up with me and – fuck – tell me I can’t be with others.”

“I own you, sweetheart – I’m your personal disaster,” Toji taunted, large hands groping at your breast when your eyes snapped open, his last final thrusts turning your pussy to mush.

You came around him, hard and overwhelmingly so. Your hands wrapped around his bicep to steady your shaking legs, his name spoken like a prayer with malicious tone as if to curse him. Toji pushed you off his cock until you fell on the floor, his rough hands grabbing at your jaw again to face him, thick spurts of his cum painting your face.

Taking them all in like a good girl, Toji swiped his length over the slope of your nose and pushed the still hard cock through your lips. His hands gripped your head tight as he fucked into your mouth, nothing but anger shown through that scarred face while your jaw fell slack and sore.

“And I’ll break you over and over again until you’re reminded that you’re mine.”

[studiojeon]

bitterness in goodbye | jjk

this is part of my troubled outsiders series. sadly, you can't read this as a stand alone (meaning: feel free to check the previous parts ♡)

| summary | - You can’t help but feel a little sad when Jungkook doesn’t refrain from cuddling your arm after pleading to forgive him. You wish you could cuddle him instead, that he would lay his head on your chest as you play with his soft hair, but you recognize there are some things you just can’t have.

warnings: none (?) i mean chaeryeong insults jungkook which is an atrocity in itself but-

contents: we diving into the angst my friends. jungkook is an innocent, kind hearted soul, i promise. oc's got the feels (out oct. 1) for jk. idol!jungkook × student!reader.

author's note: I EDITTED THIS FROM MY PHONE DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW FUCKING ANNOYING THAT IS? also, thank u for the amount of support i've been receiving lately, i appreciate everyone lots. feel free to ask away or suggest anything btw, i would love to write for any prompts you guys come up with. 💞💗💖💘💓💕

words: 1.57k

playlist: honey by halsey

Four weeks later, the receptionist of your apartment complex hands you over a cardboard box with the hoodie Jungkook and you had talked about that day on the Han River. Jungkook kept pestering you to please please please send him your address for confidential purposes, which you knew had to do with his determination to literally provide anything that catches your eye right away. You assumed it was a sensitive topic for the boy whether people had purposefully taken advantage of his money before, so you didn’t dare to say anything when the man asked you for your size literally two hours after he dropped you off, scared to either reject his solidare intentions or piss him off for bringing unwanted memories back. In  your defense, your personality type keeps oscillating between INFP and INFJ so it’s only natural that you take extra care to make sure those around you have as much peace of mind as possible in your presence. 

As pretty and comfortable the piece of soft clothing is, an important factor is missing, something that you can’t recreate buying two of the same size and color, and that is Jungkook's escence and how good it looks on him in comparison to anyone else in the world. Meaning, you didn’t like it as much as you thought initially would. And it absolutely did not have to do with the fact that your short stature made you look like a toddler who stole their dad’s jacket.

Still, in order to show Jungkook how much you appreciate his gift, you bring it to work the next day, and the rest of the days after that, with the excuse that with winter rolling around you needed something to keep you warm in the office. Jungkook doesn’t miss the opportunity to confirm your assumptions regarding your appearance whenever he barges into your office randomly throughout the week, arguing that ”you look so adorable” and doesn’t stop for two weeks more, until he gets used to seeing you wearing something you shared with him. Which doesn’t help ease your growing romantic feelings for him whatsoever.

Because yeah, you liked Jeon Jungkook, just like every human being with eyes and sexual desires, except, you didn’t just like him in a superficial way, and that’s where the problem with him resides. Though you are sure everyone has fallen in love with the endearing boy at some point - especially the excluded and invalidated women of society - you can’t help but place some blame on you for allowing yourself to be swooned so goddamn easily. Your mom had said to you at some point to be wary of the way some men would talk to you when you grew up, their intention usually being getting inside your pants, which has happened to you more times than you'd like to admit. And with the argument that she knew you better than anyone, she claimed you would comply right the second someone talked sweet to you; you despised the fact that was the case with Jungkook (and Jungkook only), although he had never shown any sexual innuendos. What your feelings could do to your relationship with Jungkook and your rather chill lifestyle scared you to death, shiver me timbers and all that shit, having romantic feelings for someone else is embarrassing, especially when your chance with them has been scratched out the second you laid eyes on them.

Jungkook sits on your couch, legs spread on your thighs as you two pretend to watch some series on netflix. “I don’t buy for a second the act you’re putting on right now.” he speaks randomly after staring at your deep-in-thought state for a few minutes and laughs when you snap at him for not letting you overthink in peace. “What’s going on?”

Truth is, you don’t fucking know. A few hours before he arrived at your place (you had to pick him up at the dorm and sneak the both of you through the subterranean parking lot, because god forbid someone saw Jungkook arriving at some chick’s dorm on a saturday afternoon) you swore you would be able to conceal whatever emotional turmoil you had going inside of you without compromising your regular behaviour around the man, but when push comes to shove, it’s impossible to keep yourself from wondering how far you could go before that special someone found out what was going on inside of your head.

Jungkook’s phone rings in his pocket with some annoying tone he had downloaded illegally from youtube the same day the company had handed over the device as a gift for him (you still were a little bitter over how they neglected the rest of the staff but you also knew it was kind of impossible for the human kind to just gift a-thousand-dollar-phones to almost five hundred people out of solidarity). “Hyung?” he picks up, still wary of your unusual behaviour, concerned eyes looking at you. “No, uh- i’m with Yugyeom right now.” and your heart shatters into a million pieces.

You have been suspecting for a while that Jungkook is being hesitant to introduce you to his social circle. Although, you’ve tried your best not to take it personal, it is getting harder to resist the urge to ask him what the fuck is up with that. The fact that Jungkook had to lie about the person he was hanging out with broke your ego; he could’ve just said he was with a friend, right? You suddenly feel like you’re fifteen again, when the guy you liked would love you in the dark but pretend he didn’t know you in the light. 

Holding your tears back, you gently push him off and make your way towards the bathroom in the most nonchalant way you could. This is your fault for falling for the nice popular guy in the first place, you remind the reflection staring back at you. Still, as bad as it hurt, there was no way you were going to cry over a stupid boy, let alone when he was literally sat on the next room. He can go fuck himself if he thinks he can just toss this behind as if nothing ever happened.

You text Chaeryeong instead.

“chaery bom bom: i swear to god i gonna throw hands the next time i see the bitch.

chaery bom bom: like who the hell does he think he is? fucking squidward looking asshole.

chaery bom bom: he ain’t even that cute bub, you’ll get over him. i know jinyoung wouldn’t treat you like this”

You sigh. Chaeryeong has been enamored with the idea of you and his former company colleague from GOT7 since the day she met the guy (which was somewhere around ten years ago), and although he was all that, you didn’t like his quiet and cold aura, it intimidated the fuck out of you (Jungkook was the entire opposite of that).

You spray on some perfume just to have an excuse as to why you randomly ran to the bathroom when Jungkook’s inquiring eyes stare as you sit back on the couch, which is exactly what he does. “You done with your call?” you ask, bitter.

Jungkook frowns, a bit taken aback by the sudden question but still unaware of the way his words had made you feel, not even sensing the hostile change in your mood. “Yes, it was one of our managers. He was wondering if I could come back to reshoot some...-thing.”

Okay, now you kind of understand as to why he lied in the first place and to say you feel guilty is an understatement. “I supposed he backed down once you mentioned you were hanging out with Yugyeom.” playfulness makes its appearance on your tone and Jungkook rolls his eyes at you, tongue poking on the inside of his slightly red cheeks.

“Sorry for that” he moves closer and cuddles your arm, like a sad guilty puppy. “It’s just- I don’t want them asking questions''.

You understand. He is a very reserved and private person after all. It took you a bit to crack him open yourself. Plus, you kind of share that trait with him, you’d hate it too if people were constantly on your nerves for the people you decide to hang out with. 

And that’s all it takes to forgive him. Not very cash money of you.

“You better not pull that shit again, though” you shift in his hold and he looks up at you. One look into your eyes and he knows what you mean. “I’ll kick you out.”

After nodding, Jungkook resumes his concentration on the series you picked out for him. Due to your short attention span, you are very picky about what you invest your time in, especifically with audiovisual pieces of media, so Jungkook trusts you whenever you recommend something on very rare occasions. As a matter of fact, Jungkook was busy attacking your kitchen counters for snacks (which you didn’t have) when you mentioned Money Heist. “Munch on some grapes instead” you suggested to soothe his disappointment.

You can’t help but feel a little sad when Jungkook doesn’t refrain from cuddling your arm after pleading to forgive him. You wish you could cuddle him instead, that he would lay his head on your chest as you play with his soft hair, but you recognize there are some things you just can’t have.

[no-mercy-bby]

Angel of Music: The Muse

Summary: Phantom!Austin is monologue-inggg~

Over 700 words

[Mentions of withdrawal, throwing up, sexual desires?? GN!reader :] Also I doubt withdrawal from the pills is even possible, but just go with me here-

🖤"Part 1" -> Angel of Music🖤

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

   There was The Muse—yes—his favorite place to perform with Belle and socialize. There was also the muse that the little black magic pills acted as such; giving a fountain of inspiration for a relatively small price. But, there was also the muse of you.

   Too beautiful, caring, and innocent for your own good.

   It was now the cusp of winter into spring; the changing weeks if you will. Essentially, he was trying to sober himself up to rejoin the rest of society outside of P-town, and simply resist the urge to chomp down on some low life; as the withdrawal naturally worked itself out through his body. Keyword here being "trying".

   In addition, Austin was trying to shake off all the urges before you came over for your singing lesson.

   Austin didn't want to only be half aware of you, but he wanted to fully appreciate your angelic self. And despite the heated tension from the last lesson, nothing else had transpired between you two since then. Austin couldn't help but feel a little nervous. His anxiety only increased with the withdrawal. He certainly didn't want to taint you in anyway—okay well maybe he did—but only when Austin knew for sure you were ready. Despite your hesitation, he was nearly completely sure that you liked him. 

   Austin knew you liked him in black, hell—he even liked himself in black. So Austin dressed with what he knew. A black suit jacket, which he left unbuttoned, because your eyes lingered on his chest. And Austin would be a liar if he said he didn't enjoy your attention on his body. Sometimes he just wanted to sweep you off your feet, and kiss you breathless just to see your flustered state. Nonetheless, Austin paired the black suit jacket with dark grey checkered slacks.

   Dammit, why was his stomach starting to ache? 

   It wasn't until you came over and found him sitting on the floor of his bathroom by the toilet that Austin realized he had even thrown up. 

   Your attention, however, was all over him. You pushed off his suit coat, while your eyes briefly darted to his chest, and made him want to preen despite the fact he felt sweaty all over. 

   Austin quite literally felt like he was dying, but you, you were the angel sent here to save him. The thought made him smile.

      Austin had never thought much about wedding vows until now really, as you looked after him during the change from winter to spring. In sickness and in health. Having someone see you at your most vulnerable, and stay. To look after you, and to truly care for your well-being. Austin probably enjoyed this all a little too much.

   He didn't know how you realized, but the vein within your left arm that connected your ring finger to your heart had become one of his favorite treats. Especially on the hazy days full of sweating out the black pill's effects. A drop of your sweet, sweet blood was enough to tie him over. And to make him beg for more.

   Although, Austin especially loved the hazy days where the effects were barely there, but you were ever present by his side.

   "Mmm," Austin hums deep in his chest, his fingertips lazily caressing the inside of your arm where the sleeve of your sweater had ridden up. "Your skin is so soft."

   Your laughter in response is simply the most wonderful music to his ears. As you start to move and pull away from him, Austin weakly tugs your arm back to rest around his shoulders and leans his head back against yours.

   "Uh-uh, don't go, we haven't even finished the movie." Austin now murmurs, and tries to refocus all his attention to the tv across the room instead of the fact that you two were snuggled up against each other in his bed.

   "Then actually pay attention to the movie, Sommers." You retort back, and despite what you had just said; Austin's fingers tangle with yours, resting your now entwined fingers over his heart. Your sarcasm had surprised him at first, but he very soon came to enjoy your witty remarks.

   Austin liked this. You cuddled up against his side. Your head leaning against his, as your arm was wrapped around his shoulders. It felt warm, cozy, and homely in general. Very domestic of him, he knows. Yet, as they say, all good things must come to an end.

   But this winter Austin wasn't going back to compose his new Tony worthy song; he was going back for his muse.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I'm on my period and I'm dying so please just take this

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Secrets Chapter 7

‘No, thanks.’ Without waiting for his reply, you crossed the road and began to walk away fast with Mattie wobbling along beside you. Outside working hours you used the van to get around, but when the shop was open it was needed to deliver orders.

You had only gone twenty yards before a car pulled up beside you and the driver’s door opened. Then a tall man in a business suit climbed out. ‘Going home?’ Alex prompted. Get in. I’ll drop you off.’

‘Thank you, Alex, but I’m so close it’s easier just to walk,’ you declared cheerfully, though all your thoughts were miles away, on Steve, he wanted a divorce.

Had he already met someone else? Some high-society woman from an affluent background, much more suitable than you had been? You wondered how many other women he had been with since you had left and it made a tiny tremor of distressing emotional ache spread through your tender heart. You didn’t want Steve back, no, you definitely didn’t, but you also didn’t want any other woman to have him either. Where he was concerned, you were greedy. But it would be foolish to imagine that he might have been celibate since your departure, his brimming libido required constant indulgence…or at least it did until he saw you with enlarged breasts and thickening waistline and it had become embarrassingly, cruelly obvious that he did not find his pregnant wife’s body. So how could you possibly care what he had done and with whom since then?

What you didn't realize was that it has started drizzling. Alex yanked open the passenger door of his car.

‘Get in,’ he urged.

‘You’re both getting soaked.’

You scooped up your son and climbed in. Alex pulled in just ahead of the sleek BMW that was already waiting outside your home. He let out a low whistle of appreciation as he studied the lavish model.

‘Whose car is this?’ Alex prompted.

‘An old friend of mine,’ you replied as you stepped out of his car. ‘Thanks.’

As you attempted to turn away Alex walked around the car to rest a staying hand on your arm. Dinner with me tonight,’ he urged, his brown hopeful eyes pinned to your face.

‘No strings attached, just a couple of friends getting a meal together.’ Suddenly aware of his closeness, you stepped back from him, already aware that you were just few feet away from Steve and you were well aware that he was listening to the exchange.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ you replied gracelessly.

I’ll keep on asking,’ Alex warned you. You almost winced at that redundant guarantee, as you had already known that Alex, local pub owner, and a recently thirty-year-old divorced man, was a relentless guy that didn't take a hint that a woman wasn’t interested. Since the day you had gone out with Maria for some girl time to his pub, he has asked you out at least a dozen times.

Aware of the ice-cold scrutiny of Steve, you hastily slot the key into the lock on the front door.

‘Why didn’t you just tell him that you were married?’ Steve asked. ‘He knows that. Everybody knows that’ you returned irritably, making a point of flexing the finger that bore your wedding ring as you pushed open the door.

‘But he also knows that I’m separated from my husband.’ You added. ‘Our separation was never official,’ Steve countered, crowding you with his presence in the tiny hall before he moved on into the small living room.

‘But I am surprised that you’re still wearing the ring.’ you shrugged your shoulders and made no reply as you unbuttoned Mattie’s jacket and hung it up beside your sweatshirt.

‘Apple Juice.’ Mattie asked as he tugged at your sleeve.

‘Try again kiddo' you said.

‘Peese,’ Mattie said meekly.

‘Do you want coffee?’ you asked Steve grudgingly. He had taken up a stance by the window and his height and wide shoulders were blocking the day light.

‘Yes,’ Steve confirmed.

‘Peese,’ Mattie told him helpfully.

‘Say peese.’

‘Please,’ Steve pronounced stubbornly and barely glancing at the attentive toddler.

Once again you were taken aback by that noticeable lack of interest in your child. You expected Steve to be stunned by Mattie’s existence and, at the very least, be interested.

‘Don't you have any questions you want to ask me about him?’ you enquired, your attention resting pointedly on Mattie’s curly head as he crouched down to take his beloved trucks out of the box to play with.

Mattie liked things organized and tidy, everything in its place. You had an unexpected disturbing recollection of Steve’s immaculately neat office desk at the mansion and wondered if there were other similarities that you simply refused to see.

‘When I will engage a lawyer to represent my interests, they can ask the questions,’ Steve responded very drily.

‘So, you’re already convinced he’s not yours,’ you breathed in a very quiet tone, your lips sealing in contempt.

[10millionyearsdungeon]

Praesidium

A/N: Back to our regularly scheduled bullshit...We went into this with zero plan, zero ambition, and came out the other end with something resembling a drabble featuring Hitoshi Shinsou as a hot-shit, Kennedy-esque politician trying to escape from the “family business.” I’d like to thank @dymphnasprose​ for the inspiration, the banner, and for putting up with my crazed plot bunny hunting sessions in her DMs. Proudly part of The Smut Pile Mafia Collab-- huge thanks to @pleasantanathema​ and @present-mel​ for organizing it and keeping us degenerates on time for once. You’re the real heroes.

TW: Wax play, orgasm denial, tobacco use, death threats, graphic violence

=====================================================

You were always used to protection. Your family's name and wealth brought its own Kevlar shield; whether it was the broad shouldered bodyguards flanking you and your entourage during every frivolous shopping excursion or impromptu escape to one of the many vacation homes that dotted the globe, or the mere mention of your father and the weight of his near omnipresence in the highest echelons of high society, protection was almost always guaranteed. You could hear it in the hushed voices of the real estate giants and their trophy wives when you made your grand entrance to every socialite gathering. 

"There she is, Yanai's precious pearl…" 

Dripping in envy and awe, it was no surprise to you when you caught his eye. Heir and only daughter of the wealthiest family in the country, you knew your worth among the elite and so did he. You only knew of Shinsou Hitoshi by virtue of his reputation as a newcomer to the world of national-level politics, but his charm and charisma were undersold by every inch devoted to him in the papers. By all accounts, he left you dazzled by his lazy, almost sleepy smile and the low rumble of his succinct one-liners. 

He played the part of the laid-back Playboy to the hilt, and by the night of your first fundraiser gala Shinsou had you practically eating from the palm of his hand like a hungry stray. By your second date, you could practically taste the Harry Winston hiding in his Tom Ford smoking jacket by the time dessert arrived. Back then you never questioned how he managed to afford the heirloom, four carat diamond he slid onto your finger, nor did it occur to you how he managed to slither his way into the House of Councilors. Blinded by the magnetic sway he held over you and your well-paid collection of sycophants, the how and why seemed largely irrelevant so long as he kept you on his arm. In your waking moments, you could almost catch pieces of a broken conversation from your insomniac lover. 

"Find someone else...I'm done being your enforcer. I have an image to maintain now…"

Many a night he'd stumble in reeking of sweat and sulfur, dark liquor still burning on his lips when he pressed a kiss to your warm cheek as you slept in your shared bed. Morning invariably gave way to bruised knuckles and heavy dark circles as Shinsou hid his fading scars under his slate gray Armani suit. Prior to your wedding night, you thought you caught the rip of his silk and gravel voice grunting from a crooked alley. Following those familiar thunderclap grunts was the crunch of something hard and then a pulpy squilch that made your stomach twist in on itself. The begging that followed was unintelligible from your way to the nightclub, but his voice, your Shinsou's voice snarling a loaded promise of breathing tubes and chronic pain if the offending party didn't pay their due stayed with you until your bodyguard ushered you into the safety of your car. 

"Daddy, I can't do this," you cried. Your father dabbed at your eyes and shook his head at your tantrum. He wouldn't be so blasé about the arrangement or your uproar if he was the one who heard your groom's fist shattering bones just the night before. A vision in white brocade, the four carats on your left hand felt like ten tons weighing you down the aisle as your father all but dragged you to meet your husband at the end. As the crowd rose to receive your grand entrance, you couldn't help but stifle a quiet sob at the sight of Shinsou's surrogate fathers standing in the front pew. Yamada couldn't contain his excitement for his boy, but Aizawa glared on coldly when you met his gaze. Your father kissed your cheek and gave your hands a squeeze before abandoning you before your audience. Shinsou held out his hand, and you choked back another hiccuping sob-- how could you hold those hands the same way when they were capable of such senseless violence? Knuckles cracked and discolored with aging bruises, he groped for your hands and pulled you the extra two steps onto the altar, flashing you that same lackadaisical grin. It was a blur, a bad dream you couldn't wake from. Beyond the sporadic flashbulbs blinking in the crowd, you couldn't pull away from him. 

"I do…" Your voice didn't sound like your own, even as you felt it leave your throat. Shinsou pulled closer and rasped against your lips. 

"This is only the beginning, kitten." 

Kitten...

You couldn't deny how his pet name made you shiver. The single word held a scintillating promise of the night to come, yet all you could focus on were those hands and the crunch of anonymous bones under his blows. Would he ever turn those hands on you? As he gently slid his platinum wedding band over your ring finger, the mate to the ostentatious engagement ring occupying the spot, you melted under the tenderness of his touch. Your Hitoshi couldn't be capable of such violence. Your Hitoshi was a man of change, of reform who wanted to help bring his countrymen into a golden age. Your fingers numbly slid your ring onto your husband's hand and with the action sealed your own fate. The world swam out of view when he overtook you with a blistering kiss, hungry and needy against your lips. He didn't taste like smoke and scotch this time, a flavor you had grown to appreciate the longer you entangled yourself with him. He lingered for what felt like an eternity, the roar of applause and shared joy for the union a soundtrack erasing any fears you might have had prior. 

Your bridesmaids swooned over the intensity of Shinsou’s gaze throughout your opulent reception-- your father sparing no expense when giving away his precious pearl. Shinsou’s family kept to themselves mostly, with Aizawa only stepping from their shadowy corner to address your father over travel arrangements. Hitoshi’s eyes narrowed and that same cocksure grin blossomed over his features as you inched closer, hip pulled closer by that massive hand. “Hey,” you breathed with a soft smile. He returned it in kind and squeezed your hip through the eggshell Vera Wang gown and leaned in to whisper in your ear. Hair slicked back, all that tickled you was the heat from his breath as it fanned against your skin. “I can’t wait to get you out of that, kitten. Gorgeous as you are with it on, the thought of you in nothing but your jewelry has my mouth practically watering.” Predatory gaze amplified by that sex and gravel voice had you melting. He took you by the hand and bade you follow him across the floor of the resort ballroom. Cautiously, you glanced around the room, anxious that someone from the party would notice your sudden escape. Before you had a chance to object, Hitoshi held a finger to his lips and pulled you through the crowd and out of the room. “You really think I can wait any longer when you’re looking like that?” The wait staff cast cursory glances at you and your husband as he continued to guide you away from the noise and bodies keeping him from tearing your gown off and claiming you. “Hitoshi…” you whimpered, pinned with your back to the door of your honeymoon suite. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder and nearly purred at the gasp that left your lips. Fumbling for the key, Shinsou held you from falling into the open door and nudged you over the threshold with an eagerness you couldn’t place. Words were swallowed by hungry mouths and replaced with an exchange of passion tempered only by the quiet frustration of fingering over buttons and parting fabric to unwrap the prize of feeling your skin under his fingertips. Once released from your prison of beaded white silk and delicate lace, Hitoshi pulled away, raking his ultraviolet eyes over your nearly bare frame to further appreciate his prize. 

“Just when I thought you couldn’t be any more perfect.” Instead of shying away from his words, you moved with a certainty that was far from your own. Automatically reaching for his tie, you pulled him down to resume your heated devouring, earning a chuckle and a light spank on your lace-covered cheek in reply. “Impatient, kitten?”

Your fingers worked the buttons of his shirt nimbly, practically digging your nails into his chest just to feel him hiss into your mouth. Tongues waged a war to stalemate status as your husband gave your buttocks a squeeze before hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his hips. Your sex practically drooled against his toned abs through your useless lace panties. The trail of your gyrating on the ridges of washboard muscle pulled wanton moans from your kiss-bruised lips.

“Feels like you are. Drenched for me already. Who knew my heiress was such a needy slut.” You whined under the degradation he heaped on you as he placed you on the pillow-top bed and guided your hands above your head. Shinsou pulled his tie over his head and wrapped it lovingly around your wrists, brushing his lips and teeth along the gently blushing skin along your blue-blood veins as he finished securing you to the headboard. He moved slowly, teasing every inch of exposed skin with languid grace. A panther in human skin, Shinsou sunk his teeth and sucked purple bruises along your ribs and thighs, parting your squirming legs casually. You felt the weight of his wedding band on your inner thigh and wriggled away from the cold of it. Hitoshi tsked from below, grin tugging on his lips as he pulled your panties down with his teeth. Tenderly, he rubbed a sole finger along your drenched folds. You bucked into the sensation and writhed for more, only to have your husband pull away and drag the slick-stained digit along his tongue. 

“Looks like I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, kitten.” He blew on your clit, earning a choked moan. “You’re on my time now.” He withdrew, leaving you to whine for him to return, only to be answered by the closing of the bathroom door. You stared at the gold leaf ceiling, seconds dragging on like hours until he finally returned holding a candle, lit cigarette caught between his teeth. Hitoshi took a drag and guarded the flame from his dark red candle as he took a seat beside your whimpering form. He set the candle on the headboard and gently held your face in his hand, blowing smoke into your mouth. The intimate gesture, sharing the air in his lungs made you swoon. Distracted, you barely registered him removing your bra or how he grazed your pert nipples with scarred thumbs. You opened and melted into his attention, desperate for more. You caught his gaze, eyes glazed over with unadulterated adoration, and let out a strangled wail when the first drops of scarlet wax dripped over your shivering breasts. 

The shock of sudden warmth encasing your tender flesh in candy apple red kept you reeling into the next pour. Your Hitoshi leered above you, rapt in your reactions as he brought his free hand to rest on your bare mons. His long fingers grazing along your sopping clit and the continued dripping of hot wax on your skin had you writhing in place. His dark, rumbling chuckle made your blood sizzle under your skin as he admired his work. 

"I think she likes it," he purred, now moving with intent. Arching into the duvet, you pouted sweetly at your husband, legs gently rubbing together as if it would further entice him to continue. "Who knew my kitten was such a kinky slut?" 

"'Toshi, touch me more!" 

His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline, and he pulled his hand away from your glistening sex. Frustrated whimpers echoing through the suite, you were cut short by another trail of red wax burning down to your navel. He took another slow drag from his slow-dying cigarette and smirked. If it weren't for his hardening cock poking your hip through his tuxedo pants you would have never known how hopelessly he needed every moan and whine he pulled from your tight body. Past games, he would have blinded you, muffled his voice behind black silk and noise cancelling headphones, but tonight was different. 

"Know your place, kitten. You're in no position to make demands."

You bit your lip and stifled another whine as the wax cooled in the mold of your belly button. Shinsou kept the candle hovering just over your bound body, constantly watching you with the same, slow-simmering lust burning in his deep violet eyes. He stopped short over your dripping pussy and licked the nicotine from his lips. You could see the plan unfold in his head before he had a chance to put it in action. Anticipation had every hair tingling as you waited for his next move. Before he could act, there was a stern rap at the door. With all the petulance and frustration of a child forced to share his favorite toy, Shinsou rose from the bed and trudged to the door. 

"Little busy in here."

"Business waits for no one." The intruder's voice was black ice on a fall morning, cold and sharp as Hitoshi shrank back from the door. His shoulders tensed as he scratched the back of his neck, an anxious tic he couldn't shake from childhood. "You can play with your toy when we're done."

"I told you I've gone straight. No more back alley deals, no more blood on my hands. I'm done."

Your blood ran cold and it crept into your belly to make a new home gnawing through the viscera. Unable to make out much more than the broad back of your husband at the door, you strained to listen to the conversation before the cocking of a gun took your breath away. 

"You're done when I say you're done. Never forget who bought you those votes, how you skated into your parliament chair, high councilor." The voice's tone was harsh, mockingly so with an edge of condescension that earned a defeated growl from your Shinsou. The owner of the voice stepped closer, peering over your husband's shoulder with a frigid smirk that nearly made your heart stop. Aizawa raked his dark, abyssal eyes over your exposed body, resting hungrily on your sex drooling into the plum duvet, and turned back to his surrogate son. "Be a shame if something happened to her. All those billions siphoned away…" From your spot on the bed you could feel the noose tightening around both your necks the longer Boss Aizawa spoke. 

"...all to attend a funeral as the dutiful, lovesick widower with his wife's blood on his hands." 

"Enough! That's enough...you win."

Shinsou buttoned his shirt quickly and cast a longing glance over his shoulder at your quiet sobbing. He never wanted you to know the underworld he clawed out of to finally live in the light. It wasn't enough to want change and leave the bloody past where it belonged. Some ghosts had a way of coming back to their old haunts. Tuxedo jacket slung over his shoulder, Shinsou slicked his hair back and turned his back on you, leaving you bound to the headboard with wax, his own Jackson Pollock masterpiece drying on your skin. You could feel your heart breaking with the gentle closing of the door, and the barely audible, "I'm sorry," whispered ruefully by your retreating husband. Protection was something you used to take for granted, but as you found that night and many after, it was something few in your precarious position could do without. 

[keouil]

how you forget to be human

“so is she like,” scott hesitates. “cap’s first lady or something?” rated t. 2k+. steve/nat. also on ao3 / twitter / cc

Scott hasn’t been with the team for a long time, but he thinks he at least has enough working knowledge of how everyone operates.

The Winter Soldier—Bucky to Steve,  James to anyone who dared—quite frankly still scares the living shit out of him, and that’s Magneto on a good day. It didn’t take much to deduce he seemed wholly uncomfortable in his own skin, his jaw coiled perpetually tight and the rigid set of his shoulders always in alert. It was uneasy just being around him, his discomfort bleeding over others and charging the air around his space with its own brand of disquieting; but always, without fail, Steve cushioned whatever apprehension anyone aimed toward his bestfriend.

Most of it came from Sam, and almost always in good nature as if to ease the brainwashed supersoldier into some semblance of normality; and Scott would fear for Sam’s life every time he opened his mouth, were it not for the also very obvious fact the Falcon held his own and didn’t appreciate handouts and the three of them seemed to be getting along uniquely (if not a little oddly) well enough.

The witch was a small problem, however. Simply for the fact she was a witch and Scott is wary because history taught him they burned all of them down in Salem. 

He sees her wiggling those voodoo fingers around sometimes, almost unconsciously, and feels the hairs on his arms rise with every flick of her wrist. The energy around her isn’t suffocating the same way Bucky’s is. It was more a subtle nervous tingling; like she herself was afraid of the gravity of her own powers she had yet to have complete reigns on. Scott is oddly humbled by the fact and even empathises with her a little.

Steve keeps an eye on her and doesn’t bother hiding it, but it’s the archer who gets past her when it really counts. Clint Barton, who, surprisingly is the one he’s on the most similar wavelength with out of all of them: family man and all.

Clint Barton whose also friends with Natasha Romanoff.

.

.

.

Hawkeye who has simultaneously the most complex and impossibly simple relationship with Black Widow.

“I swear to god if you ring me up next time you’re out of goddamn Fruit Loops,” Natasha warns, digging through one of the five grocery bags on the kitchen island. She fishes for a few more seconds, before popping a colourful cartoon box out from under the bag and tossing it to Barton. “I’m bringing you in for real.”

Clint scoffs, placing the carton on the top shelf. “How many times have I heard that before?”

“Apparently not enough,” Natasha glares at him from her peripheral, scooping out Nutella and a pack of store-bought pryanik to lay on the table. Russian biscuits. For Wanda. “If I’m still stopping by an abandoned boarding house in the slums of Siberia every other week. Y’all grown men can’t do grocery shopping by yourselves?”

Scott blinks from his spot by one of the stools. 

Of all the things he expected to wake up to in hiding from 117 countries from possible charges of aiding and abetting a war criminal, Black Widow casually arranging and organising their weekly rationale was nowhere near the top of the list. She did this all the while supposedly fighting for the other team.

This one needs no introduction.

Scott knows who Black Widow is. Scott knows Captain America, after all. 

You don’t grow up in the land of the free without knowing his legacy even in minute passing. The man has been plastered on nearly every surface of the continent since the dawn of America. Scott has seen the news footages, read the official accounts, willingly devoured every single documentary or biopic helmed in honour of their nation’s greatest hero: he knows, down to the bone, the star-spangled man with a plan. 

A forgotten and revered and rebirthed war hero. 

How he came to know of her, however, is an entirely different story: because come the news footages, zoom in close enough you’ll see the infamous shield covering a much smaller and daintier figure; go over the accounts with a fine-toothed comb, they speak of a levelled dynamic between a commanding officer and a shadow leader; and, lest history not forget, the documentaries: Peggy, because behind every great man is a woman, Natasha.

“Now why would we do that if we got you?” Sam. He comes up from behind the hallway to playfully grin at Natasha before enveloping her in a small hug. She returns it easily.

Scott braces himself for what’s to come, because they came in a pair, and so: “Nat,” Steven Grant Rogers, in the flesh himself, pokes his head in not a moment later with a barely indisputable frown on his face. “You came here again?”

Natasha clicks her tongue at him. “Someone had to make sure you boys were fed.”

“That’s not— We can—” Steve stutters as he strides in, and Scott has to very carefully school his features into nonchalance because Captain America does not stammer. He sighs deeply before settling next to her, nudging her with his hip. “Tony atleast know you're here?”

Natasha gives him a pointed look. “Who do you think paid for all this?”

.

.

.

Scott watches their silhouettes grow smaller and smaller by the distance.

Even from afar, he can make out Steve’s absolute hulk of a frame: back impossibly straight in a way that bespoke authenticity, years of rigid military training drilled into his bones; only he seemed to mellow, somehow and very slightly, the fine lines of his shoulders angled in the direction of her voice. And Natasha: brave and lithe, nearly a head shorter and so much more smaller, facing forward in full confidence and a leisurely stride in her steps.

Siberia has a biting night air that seeps deep into the bone. But it’s also comforting somehow; all of them knowing, in one way or another, what it was like to be iced out from society. 

They were all huddled by the makeshift campfire Barton fashioned out of some wooden logs and a matchstick. Sam, in charge of roasting marshmallows, was gently coaxing Bucky into eating one and promising him it’s not poisoned. Wanda was handing out steaming cups of hot chocolate brewed from the pack Natasha brought in a few hours ago, a staple in her weekly grocery runs because apparently the kid witch liked sweets. 

Scott gingerly takes a sip from his mug, some of the warmth seeping into liquid courage he was building up for weeks now. He takes a deep breath before plunging himself into the waves.

“I can’t be the only one worried that the enemy has infiltrated our territory, right?”

To their credit, neither of them kill him on sight. 

Wanda pauses in levitating one of the wooden logs above the hearth, a single bark of kindling hovering uncertainly over the air. Bucky has an unreadable expression on his face when he regards him. A look passes between Sam and Clint, betraying nothing of their inner thoughts at his outburst.

The fire is nice and toasty, but the air is stifling now and Scott has never felt more the outsider than at that very moment.

Until Sam breaks into a hearty laugh. “Widow?” he shakes his head amusedly. “No, man, Steve and Nat are tight. They’re past stuff like that.”

Scott furrows his eyebrows in concern. “But isn’t she—”

“On Tony’s side?” Clint quips, poking at one of the planks. Wanda finally drops the floating bark, and Scott doesn’t miss the flash of something in her eyes when she glances at him from the other side of the fire. He thinks he saw a spark of red for a second. “Sure, I guess. Technically she’s Team Iron Man or whatever that means. But Natasha is also fiercely loyal, especially when it comes to Steve.”

“What does that  mean?” Scott asks in genuine confusion.

Sam opens his mouth to elaborate, words already forming on his mouth; before he seems to come to a belated realisation, blinks, and manages a nonchalant shrug. "Damn if I know,” he admits, turning over a puffy mallow and watching the crackles of fire burn its edges. “But she’s good for him. That’s all I care about.”

“And he’s good for her,” Clint returns easily, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. “Maybe sometimes it’s just that easy.”

They hear the crunching of footsteps on snow creeping up behind them, and Scott takes this as his cue to stash the conversation for another time. 

He watches them stroll in together carefully.

Steve holds the gate open for her and places a small hand on her back as they advance in the small patch of woods by the backyard. Natasha settles next to Wanda, hands going up and down her arms to warm the younger girl despite being the one having only just gone out for a walk in the middle of Russian winter: because, and at this Scott is now confident, the jacket resting on her shoulders three times her size was keeping her warm enough.

.

.

.

The quinjet doesn’t start up right away.

Scott is slowly panicking, because the realisation that he was truly out of his depth at fighting in the next greatest civil war of the century notches above his pay grade only viscerally begins to take hold. 

He has a family back home, pets to feed, a little life saving every now and then; but never this colossal of a scale, never with the stakes stacked up so high against them, that it really could only ever be toppled down by the likes of fucking Iron Man and Captain America.

But Steve is still confident.

It’s so bloody obvious he was always going to keep at it, gunned down the concrete walls of the airport and clawed his way out of it brick by brick if need be. He was really and truly the good man underneath it all, and at the back of his mind, Scott still finds himself awed at the fact.

But he doesn’t know how on  earth  the man came out of that airport not visibly rattled, not at all unlike how Scott was currently feeling; and, as he processes the rest of their wayward expressions, he knew he wasn’t alone in thinking so.

“Cap,” Sam wheezes by the floor, fighting to labor his breathing with a hand clutched on his dislocated shoulder. “I still got the jeep parked outside. It’s not too late. We can hike the rest of the way.”

“No,” Steve replies, an edge of conviction in his voice. There is not a single tremor in his stubborn hands gripping the wheel. “That’s gonna hold us back days. We just need to be up in the air for now. We need—”

“A woman to come to your rescue again?”

This time, it’s Scott who sighs in deep relief at her voice. This time, Scott doesn’t fight the churn in his stomach at the prospect of having someone who nearly nicked him lifeless not even hours ago this close a range with them again. This time, she is not Black Widow, but simply Natasha Romanoff; Steve Rogers’ friend.

This time, Scott thinks, he will let them be easy just like that.

There was no more a sign of tremble in his voice or hands the entire battle, but at the lilt of her voice, he just crumbles. 

“Nat,” Steve breathes out when he turns to her, hands fisting at his sides in an attempt to regain control. Just like that, he unravels; so easily and without preamble in the face of her steeled strength. “I can’t get it to turn on— And I— We have to get Bucky—”

“Work through it, Steve,” she cooes in probably the most placating voice he’s heard of her, but she doesn’t move to touch him when she comes close. Her hands are going a mile a minute over the control panel, pushing buttons and lifting levers. Steve is hovering by her side like it's the only thing holding him together. “You know how to fly this thing, right?”

Steve is visibly taken aback and angles his body to face her. “You’re not coming with us?”

The question hangs in the air.

It charges the silence around them and quells any of their growing uncertainty, because, clear as it was of Steve’s well-founded and undeniable leadership skills: they also knew, intimately, she anchored him through it all.

Sam was putting pressure around Bucky’s human arm as he looked back and forth at them tensely. He could feel Wanda hitch her breath behind him.

Natasha’s fingers keep flying away at the keyboard, until they feel the telling signs of an engine rumbling underneath and the overhead lights spurting back to light. The whole jet roars to life in the next second, heating fans whizzing and technical sounds beeping. She shifts some gears around and locks in a destination with the GPS navigation.

When she turns to look at Steve, it is then Scott forces himself to pry his eyes away and not bear witness to this part of his already over documented life. In that single moment of uncertainty, the what does that mean is meant like this: an intimate baring of a soul, heart, trust: in a way no words could ever begin describing or should even attempt to put to paper. 

It is friendship at the most intimate level, it is soulmates on the most soul-crushing departure, and it is the everything else that comes after.

“Not this time, Rogers,” he hears her say, and Scott doesn’t have to imagine the slight fracturing of his iron-clad footing in the world swaying ever so slightly, when he replies with: “Then I guess I’ll see you around, Romanoff.” .

.

.

“So is she like,” Scott hesitates. “Cap’s first lady or something?”

They’re some seventy feet off the air above the Pacific Ocean, the moisture from the ocean drifting up to the open barracks and making the air glisten around them. Bucky is fast asleep somewhere down the lower levels with Wanda keeping watch over him, upon the fervent insistence of Steve arguing he needed rest. It came as no surprise that he also self-assigned himself the first watch of the night. 

Sam is sharpening his knives, the grating sound of sandpaper slicing over iron piercing through the silent hum and drum of the night. 

“Please,” he scoffs, looking over at him. “If anything, Steve is her first lady.”

[eveningoftheempires]

ROs' fashion senses? And what is the fashion like in the world in general?

Oh anon, you have absolutely HIT the mark with this question. I am a giant fashion nerd and fashion of EotE is something I’ve been working on for SO long, thanks for letting me ramble about it!!

So, I’m gonna preface this post with a little general description of the fashion in the world of Uria. A lot of parts of EotE are inspired by the 19th century, which may seem vague, as that is whole 100 years, but hey - it is fantasy, so I am mostly borrowing elements of the real world here and there while leaving out others. Therefore the fashion itself is rooted in the different styles of 19th century, with a heavier focus on the first part of 1800s. I’ve incorporated elements of fashions from all around of our world, because... it would be just weird to focus exclusively on western world’s aestheticism for a whole fantasy universe, especially as big as this one lol. Besides for historical inspirations, I do like to imagine fashion of Uria with a bit of a modern high couture vibe - think Valentino, Guo Pei, Christian Dior, Elie Saab, Zuhair Murad...

So yeah, that is a bit what the general inspirations behind the fashion of EotE are like! Of course not everyone is out there walking in outfits straight out of fashion plates; lower classes tend to wear more toned-down, practical garments, without as much flair. Styles vary from region to region as well. I may one day write a post elaborating more on that, but then this post would be enormously long nvjkfdnvkjnfdknk

So, with this out of the way, let us get into ROs fashion senses!

Laurent: Without a doubt they are the one most up to with different fashion trends, and the one who is in a position to actually dress stylishly. However, their clothing choices are not the most fabulous. They value high quality materials and fashionable silhouettes, but tend to pick out simpler garments, without as many fancy accessories as other nobles prefer. (They do have a weak spot for fancy shoes, though. Buy them nice shoes and you will own their heart.) They are mosty seen wearing deep, toned colours, like bottle green, navy blue or grape purple, with elements such as silk shirts, fitting embroidered vests, straight simple trousers or skirts, and ankle-height shoes on small heels.

Seraphim: Even though personally they do not hold much interest in fashion, given their job as the Royal Spymaster they have to blend in with the crowds. Therefore, their outfits really range depending on what circumstances they are working with at the moment. So basically, you may see them in any and all kinds of garments. They DO however, more often than not, wear different capes (most with weapons, poisons or documents hidden in small pockets inside) and tend to lean more towards practicality over aesthetics. Therefore, you won’t see them in any delicate, flowy fabrics, moreso something sturdy and, preferably, easily washed. Blood on clothes makes people talk too much.

Vael: Oh, Vael’s fashion sense is personally my favourite. Imagine a gay pirate. That’s it, that’s their vibe <3 A lot of open button-downs, high waisted leather pants along with many leather belts, tight-length boots, huge amount of jewelry and piercings, colorful scarfs worn both on the neck and as a hair adornment... There is a lot going on in their outfits for sure! They may not exactly be considered “fashionable” or “proper” by good society, but Vael could not care less about how people perceive them, honestly - they know what they want to look like and, in my humble opinion, they look flawless in their own right.

Min: Their fashion choices are certainly... something. Min doesn’t have much resources to dress according to newest trends given their social standing, but boy, do they leave an impression with their looks wherever they go! They always choose very colorful, bright garments, often contrasting with each other. A range array of patterns and textures can be noticed in their clothes as well. They enjoy mixing and matching items that shouldn’t go well with each other, but... somehow they make it work?

Noor: Although they do not get many occassions to dress up (they can be mostly seen in armor), they do have a deep running love for finery and like to keep up with the trends as much as possible. Their best friend is a talented craftsman, and whenever Noor buys a new garment, they run straight to him to alter it for their tastes and to make it more fashionable. Even their everyday outfits meant for adventuring do have a bit of a flair to them - some handsewn ornaments on the sleeves and collar of their jacket, some frills here and there, perhaps an embroidery of tiny jewels on boots... They strongly enjoy these small details, even if they are the only ones aware of them.

Orion: They have a particular color palette when it comes to all their outfits: particularily white, black and shades of grey. It is only partially a personal preference; it mostly stems from their days in the Ienowan Assassin’s Guild, which uses these specific hues as a way for the members to recognise each other. Other than that, they appreciate straight, precise cuts and simple shapes in their outfits, as well as soft and flexible materials. Orion does have a bit of a liking towards jewelry, although they keep these ornaments simple as well - nothing beyond iron rings or chained necklaces.

Again, thank you so much for the question, and sorry if I went a bit overboard with it! <3

[brown-little-robin]

🌸✨ and of course, 🦨

Ah, Robin, thank you for the ask! :D

🌸 — What do you wear to feel Fancy™?

Goblin fashion! Well-loved zip-up jackets. New brown LEATHER jacket. Ring-on-a-chain necklace. LAYERS. Lots of shades of green and brown. And my pride and joy, some wrist warmers made of the cuffs of some old pants that I'm repurposing.

✨ — What’s something you love to ramble about to people?

The narrative parallels between Edward Scissorhands and A Werewolf Boy (Korean movie) and The Iron Giant and How To Train Your Dragon. Tales of people/creatures who are different and who enter society and are met with shock and weird fascination and only a single person initially understands that they're actually gentle and innocent, not monstrous (as they appear). The "monster" usually ends up leaving society because they're unwelcome, but with an emotional tie to that one friend they made (usually a child). ghhhh. it hits me in the gut.

Similarly, any kind of misunderstood fantasy creature (I will defend them!!!) and androids (Lieutenant Commander Data my beloved) and of course clones ;)

🦨 — Tell me about a collection of yours (physical or digital)!

I wrote this question with you in mind and then found myself unprepared to answer it! Here are some things I have collections of, although I don't usually go out and buy things for the collections:

Ceramic creatures (I make tiny ceramic animals & can't give them away fast enough)

Rocks. Pebbles. Acorns. Sticks. Pinecones. Dry leaves. Just various woodland treasures I've picked up various places.

Semi-precious stones, like geodes and agate and labradorite but mostly tiger's-eye stones specifically. Sooooo beautiful. Have you seen them??? Everyone should see one in person someday because they're so gorgeous and can only be truly appreciated in person. When you turn a tiger's-eye the golden parts of it... ripple and shimmer and shine. It's so magical.

Stuffed animals

Teas

and finally

Fox-themed things! I have always loved and identified with foxes and my friends give me fox stuff. I have a fox mug and a fox notebook and a fox hand puppet and a fox drawing by my dad and a fox embroidery thingy by my step-grandmother and it makes me feel so Seen every time people find fox things for me.

[bubblyani]

Distraction

(Patrick Bateman x Reader)

A Patrick Bateman One Shot

Fandom: American Psycho (film) 2000

Rating: Mature (cuz it’s Bale’s Bateman duh!)

Requested by: @tealaquinn thank you for the naughty suggestion. Our conversations helped a lot.

Author’s Note: I couldn’t help but make the simple premise of a sexy distraction into a fully fledged one shot. Writing something for him had been a challenging dream. Don’t know how accurate it could be to the Bateman y’all imagine but a fangirl can dream, right?? I regret nothing. Enjoy!

Hushed whispers followed you, capturing your attention the moment you stepped into the Office Building. And you simply were to blame.

The manner that your high heels clicked on the marble floors certainly announced your entrance.The manner your long, shiny tresses swished from side to side made several heads turn with fascination, while the way your hips swayed in the tight pencil skirt brought on unwanted stiffness in the pants of some Wall Street yuppies.

“Whoa…Who’s that?” “Don’t you know? That’s Y/N Y/L/N” “Nope, doesn’t ring any bells” “She’s Bateman’s girlfriend” “What? You kidding me? That’s her? She’s a fox. Why the hell would she go out with a Loser like Bateman?”

The hushed voices suddenly disappeared the moment you stopped in your tracks, turning to glare at them.You glared at them as if it had the power to slice their throats. Indulging in that power, you settled their nerves with a smile. A smile that truthfully was emptier than a hollow shell.

Resuming your walk, you could not help but be troubled by what they had said for it was nonsensical to the fullest. Any word or phrase that had the tiniest inclination of an insult towards your man was intolerable. They made your toes curl and palms tighten. For he was no loser. You knew that for certain. He was a man, he was your man. And you always made sure he felt so.

As you reached closer to your destination, a woman with sandy blond hair quickly rose up from her seat with enthusiasm. It was his secretary.

“Good Morning Jean” you smiled, as you finally stood in front of her desk. “Good Morning, Y/N…” Jean replied, “You look beautiful today” she said genuinely. To which you chuckled shyly. “Thank you darling, and you never fail to look sophisticated” Your hand rested on the doorknob. Turning it slowly , you heard his voice boom in his office. Possibly on a phone conversation. Patrick Bateman’s authoritative voice never failed to have an impact on you. Mostly excitement or arousal. It made you fill with pride. The pride you have belonging to someone wonderful.

“I don’t give a damn about your excuses! I just need that fixed-” He was cut off the moment you entered the room.

“Reginald, I’m gonna have to call you back” Patrick said, his eyes remaining glued to as he hung up.

Eyes exchanged greetings during the few seconds of silence. You smiled softly, to which he smiled in return. A small smile that fully assured he was pleased to see you.

“You didn’t have to do that” You began, motioning to the phone. Scoffing, Patrick put his legs up, crossing them over the table comfortably. “Please” he said, “...it was nothing important anyways” He added casually. Taking a few steps towards the table, your eyes spotted the walkman and his pair of headsets.

“What were you listening to?” “Katrina and the Waves” “Nice” You smiled, nodding.

He responded with another smile. Unlike the others, the smile was never forceful with you. It was genuine. The sheer reaction you would involuntarily display when someone else appreciates your taste in music.

“So…” he began, “What Brings you to Pierce & Pierce?” He asked, whilst you peeped through the blinds, “to spy on someone?” “No...By the way is Paul Allen still around?” You asked so casually, his smile  suddenly disappeared. “Yes” His disgruntled tone was evident. But to his surprise you turned to him with a scowl.

“Eh! What a shame” You added unimpressed. Chuckling, he was relieved. It was unfathomable how easily he could do it now.

“Anyways...” you began, “I was in the neighborhood so I was wondering if you wanna grab lunch with me…” with a hopeful expression, you walked  back to him with your hands tied behind your back. Sitting back in his regular position, Patrick looked over at his schedule.

“Sorry…I have a lunch meeting with Bryce and the others” Patrick answered coolly, still looking at it. “Oh…Okay…” crossing your arms, you looked down shyly. Except you suddenly felt his gaze on you once again, staring at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“What?” You asked, making him raise his index finger up.

“You’ve...buttoned it up wrong” He said, pointing at your jacket.

“What?”

His uncomfortable expression made you look down and gasp.

“Oh! Sorry….” You chuckled uncontrollably, “I can be such a klutz sometimes”

Patrick’s eyebrows did not relax ,for he did not believe it.You were never a klutz. It did not make sense. But the moment you finally undid your jacket, his tense eyebrows were suddenly raised with surprise.

Instead of a cotton or silk shirt, you only wore a bustier, an exquisite lace kind that complimented your figure and your complexion, simply doing wonders revealing your full, generous cleavage. Hunching forward to grab the end buttons, the cleavage involuntarily managed to pop up a bit more.

“Always do it from the bottom, right??” Joking innocently, you buttoned the up jacket, still in the midst of his attentive gaze.

“There…” You said, as the final button held the jacket together, “...all perfect! thanks to you” with a smile.

Patrick said nothing, but merely nodded in acknowledgement as he stared at you thoughtfully. His hand formed in to a fist. He seemed frustrated.

“Patrick you okay?”

“Hmm?” Woken from his thoughts, he appeared confused, “Yeah…Fine...” he muttered, with a tight lipped smile. Liar. “Right…Anyways I’m be going home then. I’ll see you...when I see you” You said, opening the door halfway, only to face him once more, “Have m fun at lunch” Winking, you made your exit. “Bye Jean!” “Bye Y/N!”

Excitement evident in her footsteps, Jean entered the office, beaming.

“I’m sorry to be so forward Patrick but...Y/N is just incredible” she said, her eyes shining. It was no surprise. You were always so nice to Jean.

“Yes she is…” Patrick said, still lost in his thoughts.   “Jean…” “Yes Patrick?” She asked as he finally looked up at her. “Clear my schedule for the entire day” 

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

The possibility of someone such as yourself crossing paths with someone like Patrick Bateman was quite unlikely. But by the stroke of fate, it did. And the American Gardens Building was to blame.

According that he had heard on the grapevine, he had a new neighbor who had recently moved in. And it was not until one fine evening that the both of you were finally aware of each other’s existence. Returning from a night out with the guys, Patrick was just about to enter his apartment when a stranger suddenly passed him by. A stranger he simply could not take his eyes off of. Suffice to say that stranger was you.

You remembered his first ever stare so clearly. It was as you were being drenched in honey. Sticky and noticeable. You remembered how he smiled and the way he greeted you. How you greeted him back in kind, and simply went in to your apartment. Short but impressionable. It was only when you both finally got together, Patrick admitted how he masturbated that night thinking about you. Though you felt corny to the bone, you mutually agreed.

A date was an eventuality. Your mysterious aura drove him crazy enough, he finally asked you out for a drink. Curiosity was killing him. He tried to figure you out. What desire of his were you able to satisfy? What kind of girl were you going to be? But, nothing triggered him for the night passed in a flash with the two of you making merry conversation, hitting off so well. The fact you were actually unbelievably keen on him, took him by surprise. In a society where people barely noticed nor acknowledged, you managed to impress him by noticing almost everything, and knew when to keep your mouth shut. For the only times you opened it, It was to do and say the right things.

Intriguing you were in his eyes. Beautiful, with a great personality which seemed unfathomable. You were not his usual type, and you were no bimbo. You were simply ,different. Regardless of mutual or non mutual interests, the genuine interest you showed was equal. And with every dinner or drinks date, it was hard for Patrick Bateman to resist how much of actual fun he was having. Was he dreaming? None of this seemed truly possible. And quite frankly, it made him highly suspicious.

He tried testing your limits. And with one attempt he gave up fast.

It was a quiet afternoon one weekend, when you stopped by on a surprise visit to his apartment. Dressed in merely his underwear and a t-shirt, all white, he invited you in with a reluctant attitude. The sounds of the television filled the entire apartment. And it was not regular television.

“Oh! Is that porn?” You asked, as soon as you realized the erotic nature of the video being played. “Yes” Patrick answered. He did not flinch, as he watched you with focus. He watched you so closely as if you were his little science experiment. What were you going to say? How will you react?

Contrary to his expectation, you did not bat an eye. Instead, your eyes just lingered there. You stood there watching it. It was only you who knew how aroused you were getting by the sight of the erotic act that took place. The sight of the gracious naked woman on her knees, willingly savoring, tasting her lover while she went down on him. And how his hand held on to her hair tightly.

“Would you like some-” You effortlessly cut off Patrick’s formality with a kiss that contained intense pressure. You kissed him with heat, with a need, finishing it by playfully biting his lower lip. Catching her eyes in his, he sensed the soul inside you was not the same as he had seen in others. Something primal lingered in you.

“What are you thinking?” He asked.

“Well…I was thinking…” you purred, “…that we can do that better” you added, pointing at the tv without even looking at it. And it came as a surprise to Patrick when your other hand had sneakily rested on his lower abdomen, feeling the softness of his cotton white t-shirt. Lust took over, and his eyes showed off its glint. When he instantly took your hand to feel his clothed erection, you gasped with satisfaction.

The both of you ended up making a sex tape that evening, which seemed more colorful than any porno he had ever watched.

When the recorder stopped recording, when he was laying in bed beside you, Patrick could not help but marvel at your tolerance towards his sexual needs. Not only tolerant, but extremely supportive. He felt warm, he felt an unfamiliarity. And it made him hungry with greed. A greed for you, a need for you. Which was certainly rare.

That was when he knew, you only satisfied one desire and one only. His desire for genuine companionship.

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

(Present)

Having lived in New York long enough, you were absolutely aware when you were being stalked. This time however, you were not alarmed, nor threatened. On the contrary, excitement bubbled within. Though you pretended to not even notice, you knew who it was. And he was to blame.

You were impressed. A few blocks was understandable. But an entire taxi ride? That was commitment for stalking. There you were, on your way back to the American Gardens Building. And you were aware of his presence a few feet away.

As you pressed the button for the elevator, you waited. You sensed him stand behind you a few feet away. The excitement increased by tenfolds.

Ding! The elevator announced its arrival with the doors opening. And you just could not resist.

“You coming, Patrick?”

You inquired coolly, whilst entering the elevator. And as you have guessed, rudely pushing away other residents with gusto, your stalker Patrick Bateman joined you inside soon after. Slamming the close button, tension grew between the two of you as the doors closed. And when finally closed, he grasped the opportunity to ambush you with a hungry kiss.

He was never the biggest fan of kisses before he met you. Sex? Yes. But kisses? Not really. But feeling the enthusiasm and heat you brought in as your contribution, he was compelled to do the same. He was addicted more than simply interested. With another Ding! The elevator finally reached your floor, witnessing the frantic lovers stumble out, lips still glued to one another. Patrick’s place was closer, thus it was already decided. The

mere few seconds his lips left yours to open the door was a punishment itself, but rectified soon after. Pulling you in, he slammed you against the closed door, only to kiss you once again. His lips were simply the definition of starved when he tasted yours, making it quite difficult for you to push his overcoat off his broad shoulders. But he proved to excel in multitasking, opening up your own jacket so fast, all of the buttons just popped out. And once again, your lace bustier revealed itself, heaving alongside your chest. “You’re such a fuckin’ tease!” Patrick breathed against your lips, “Right there in my office...Wearing this!” He added, peeling your jacket off. With a knowing smile, you chuckled.

“Ha! And here I was wondering how long it would take for you to finally give in…mmm-”

How could you really finish when he shut you up with more kisses, which was more than you could ask for.Whatever clothing obstacle that came in the way, you made sure to get rid yourself of them. His own Pin stripped Armani jacket for example. Tossing them at all directions, you were honestly quite surprised he did not pay attention. Being the meticulous man he normally was.

You attempted to walk, grabbing him by his pants during. Pressing himself against your back, his pants were quite noticeable.

“Where do you think you’re going, hmmm?” Patrick asked you, through gritted teeth as his lips grazed over your ear.

“To bed, silly! ” you replied playfully. “Good girl…” His growl, it made your inner walls quiver with impatience. You felt his hand firmly stroke your buttocks, unzipping the pencil skirt only to let it fall off you. Reaching the bed, he watched you spin around and greedily begin to undo his pants with an excited look. That excitement, that greed was akin to a child ending up at a candy store.

You were impatient, you couldn’t stress this enough. Once his pants were loose, you managed to pull out his shirt ready to undo. The sight of his sculpted abs and his tanned skin made your mouth water. Imagining him naked in his glory was a blessing you could never forget. All this, you did under his wild gaze. Pressing his forehead against yours, he groaned.

“You like this, don’t you?” There he was, teasing you once again in the most seductive of voices. Feeling the curves of your buttocks, he sneakily managed to pull down your panties.

“You bet I do, daddy” You purred, looking up at him before accepting his kisses. Open mouth, generous with tongue, you just wanted to melt in his arms. He learnt well. Biting your lower lip playfully, he pushed you to his neatly arranged bed. Giggles left your lips when he joined in. Dressed in only your lace bustier, lace panties bunched around your knees, with stockings and garters to match, you were definitely in your element for the moment. Whilst he had his hair disheveled, shirt half opened, and tie loosened along with his pants. You had Patrick Bateman right where you wanted him.

“What about your lunch plans?” “Not important” You smiled mischievously when he climbed on top on you, “You didn’t have to do that!” “Please” he said, spreading your legs open to get in between you, “It was nothing important anyways“.

Your eyes widened the moment you felt him enter you without a single warning. Happened so fast, which made it so thrilling and arousing.

His speed was evident this time, each of his thrusts translated his frustrations to your tease this morning. And you heard them speak out loud. How fucking dare you? Who gave you the fucking right? Stroking your thighs, he felt the softness of your stockings. He moved, savoring the sight of you writhe and moan with liberation.

Cupping his face, your fingers grazed around his jawline. You knew how privileged you were to touch him this way. The way your arms were placed over your body pushed your cleavage up higher, it teased Patrick even more. He announced his frustration with a harder thrusts. When that didn’t seem sufficient, you watched him pull down one of the straps of your bustier. It came down so fast you were worried of possible tearing. The beckoning was successful when he poured sloppy kisses over your curvaceous breast that popped out. Each kiss lit small fires over your skin, even more so when he trapped the erect nipple between his mouth, suckling it hard until you swore it turned blue. Your vocal responses merely were limited to sounds, for you did not have the capacity to even think as you were occupied being pleasured. Expressing his own satisfaction, he kissed, he sucked, he even left a hickey right below the curve of your breast, one that could make quite a statement. All the while he kept moving inside you. Your moans were gracious, loud and authentic. And hearing him moan in return was a gift in itself. You could reach your peak by just listening to him.

Immersed in deep pleasure, Patrick pulled your hair back, leaving kisses over your protruding neck, as his speed increased leading to him finally meeting his climax with  your own. Both sounds merged together, suddenly grew quiet in unison. Like a giant wave finally crashing into the beach in slow motion. Raising his head, he looked at you.

“The next time you do that, I swear I will fuck you senseless...right in my office” he said, panting. You chuckled. “My!” You said, gleefully, “now that’s something to look forward to” Inciting laughter from him. When the laughter died, you rubbed your nose against his affectionately.

“Good…” you continued, “…then you will have something Paul Allen and Bryce will be jealous about” you teased.

“Oh...I already have…” Patrick said , “I have You”

Warmth came over you. The way he said it, sheer pride was oozing. Pride that was enriched with the fact there was a deeper understanding between you and him. An understanding that could even lead to many, many great things.

A gasp exited you when you felt him sneakily insert one of his fingers inside you, making you moan. And just like that, you were aroused once more. And he was to blame.

“I’m never letting you go, Patrick Bateman” you breathed, pulling him by the tie to kiss him, moaning further into his lips as his fingers began to work on you.

While those fingers moved, he took the pleasure in watching you. But this time, when his eyes caught yours, his heart clenched.

For the first time ever, he was afraid.

Afraid to realize how dangerous you actually were. So much so that you seem to be fully responsible for the surprising changes he had been going through.

A distraction from his every life. A type of distraction he did not want to let go.

A vital one.

——————————————————

@erika92pu​ @christianbalefanatic​

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