#the most vile flirting

[foldingfittedsheets]

My beloved wife just found a poll with a “Chanukah button” option and looked at me with a sweet innocent smile and said, “That’s what you’ll be playing with tomorrow.”

“What?” I asked in confusion.

“My Chanukah button!”

They then looked down and refused to acknowledge my outraged face.

[illovehaileesteinfeld]

caitvi frat party double team

cw: dom!caitlyn, G!P CAITLYN, switch!vi, top!cait, (r!receiving like everything) pussy eating, penetration (with caits dick), fingering v!receving, no use of y/n, established caitvi relationship, one night stand, porn with a little plot, vi touching herself <3 , frat party sex, r! has silly commentary, not proofred so tell me if this is ass.

reqs are open!!

~

you stood at the keg, cursing under your breath when the machine turned out empty. the friends you had come with had disappeared within approximately 17 seconds of walking in the doors, leaving you alone and quickly losing your social battery.

turning to search the room for something else to drink, you raised an eyebrow at a blue haired girl trailing her eyes over your figure, lingering maybe a bit too long on your tits, but hey, who's complaining?

she took a few steps forward, meeting you at the next best source of alcohol, something far too similar to fireball. you reached a hand out to pour a cup of whatever it was, stopped by the cold fingertips of the girl.

"you don't want to drink that, its vile" she whispered, breath sending shivers down your throat as she was far closer than expected. there was a small hint of humor in her accented voice, sharp blue eyes piercing yours.

"oh.. alright. any suggestions then?" you muttered, head tilted slightly. she grinned softly, shaking her head.

"me and my girlfriend have vodka upstairs, if thats to your interest?" she said, voice a low hum.

well, if the promise of privacy with a girl that was most definitely flirting in some fucked lesbian way, decent liquor, and hopefully another gorgeous girl to look at wasn't enough? this had to be a wet dream waiting to happen.

that was all the convincing it took, finding yourself standing a bit too awkwardly, looking through the door the blue haired girl - who had introduced herself as Caitlyn - opened in front of you.

"mm, Vi, pour her a drink" Caitlyn said, eyes flashing to the incredibly hot reddish-pink haired girl across the room. god fucking dammit why are they both so fuckable?

you sat nervously on the edge of the bed in the room, unsure if it was radioactive or not, but assuming since the room was.. relatively clean, it wouldn't be too bad to lay half an asscheek on.

Vi stood, handing you a plastic cup with straight fucking vodka poured in it - who even does that? in zaun of all places?

well, that certainly never stopped anyone in the past. you quickly downed the cup, setting it down with a quiet gag as it burned the back of your throat. mm, if that didn't turn heads? don't ask which ones, Caitlyn might be covering her cock now, but it certainly wont last long.

Vi's powdery-blue eyes were on you in an instant, biting at her lips.

"hm, Cait, i see what you meant.. she is adorable" the redhead murmured, glancing up at her girlfriend who was most definitely giving bedroom eyes, fuck, if the night went anything like you wanted it too..

"is this just.. couple activities?" you asked, insanely awkward and what else would you say with two girls staring you down, one of them noticeably nudging her crotch while the other took a few steps closer like a fuckin' rabid animal.

"oh, most definitely." Vi tutted, standing only a foot or so away now. You only really got a closer look at her then, her button up only half done and wrinkled. "don't suppose you'd like to entertain us for the night.?"

"please."

Caitlyn snickered across the room, standing aswell as she watched Vi perch on your thigh, baby blue eyes heavy lidded as if she was waiting for more than just fucking grinding on you.

It seemed to happen all at once, though truthfully it was just alcohol from earlier in the night, to be laid back on the bed; a needy masc whimpering as she grinded your thigh, and an incredibly composed and rock hard woman unbuckling her jeans.

"we'll stop when you say the word; you okay with..?" the british girl asked, nudging down to her boxers. god, the neediest whimper left your lips, nodding quickly. Caitlyn simply smirked, taking her jeans off and palming her dick.

Vi somehow took that as a symbol to move, breathing heavily as her hand reached down under her basketball shorts, a soft moan escaping her lips when she started touching herself.

Caitlyn gently pushed the waist of your bottoms down, rubbing her cold thumb over the surface of your skin as she looked over how fucking soaked you were. it was humiliating, somehow in a sexy god-fuck-me-please type of way, but still sexy.

pushing her own jeans down, Caitlyn kissed your clit gently, moving back up and tracing her tongue over your neck. she aligned her cock with your entrance, breath hitched as she eased her way in.

only once her cock was halfway plunged did you get reminded of the redhead beside you, soft moans leaving her lips as she watched Caitlyn fuck into you.

"fuck-" you gasped, Caitlyn bottoming out. your head fell back, eyes shut. this bed could not have been sanitary if this woman was ruining you so quickly, but that most definitely didn't matter anymore.

only half paying attention to anything around you, you noticed Caitlyns hand reaching up Vi's shorts, god this woman could multitask. Vi's whimpers grew louder, the sound making you impossibly more horny as Caitlyns hips thrust.

a blur of gasps and whimpers filled the room, everyone inside of it filled with pleasure. you were sure Cait got distracted, her face falling into your neck and her thrusts getting so hard your legs felt like jelly.

saying you were tight was an understatement. you babbled out whimpers and moans, only realized Caitlyn had focused on you because her girl had already finished, soaking wet and salty fingers being pressed to your lips.

that only made it worse (better, truthfully), the intrusion fucking delightful. Vi's fingers, pushed past your lips, and you couldn't help but squirm at the taste - god, you would do anything for more.

Caitlyn could see you getting disoriented, biting down on your neck and emitting a loud moan from your lips. her tip pushed against your cervix, so deliciously painful, and you were just about done for.

"jus' like that-" Caitlyn muttered, her pretty voice broken as you realized just how tight you were. she came first, fucking filling you with cum but not finishing until you were done for yourself. your back arched up, eyes shutting tighter as a gasp of a moan fell from your lips.

Vi whimpered at the sound, her lips finding your neck as she sucked slightly, busying herself as all she wanted was to lick up everything from you and her girlfriend.

Caitlyn pulled out after a moment, gesturing her girl to go at it. Vi was an incredibly messy eater, nose nudging your clit in the most incredible way, her lips parted as her tongue pushed into you, making you fucking soak into her mouth.

she was working you up impossibly quick, swallowing the mixture of yours and Caitlyns cum, devouring you whole. it was perfect, your walls tightening around the warmth of the girls tongue. she whimpered against you, the vibration sending a louder moan from your lips.

Caitlyn pushed her girlfriend head further, stroking her cock as she watched you fall apart again from Vi's tongue. you panted, finishing in what was probably a record, Vi swallowing it all like a greedy little shit.

well, if that wasn't the night you imagined. Caitlyn was sure to clean both of her girls up, smirking gently as your legs shook.

__

written for the lovely @wsgbailey !!

taglist <3 : @scott1shabbyand3rson @s1n1st3r54

@aanvime @skibidivi

side note, this is inspired by another fic. it is not copied nor meant to be an impersonation. please do not repost my work <33

link:

[evnseokz]

most to least with enha hyung line: dirty talk from flirting to foreplay to making their partner cum (and even while their cumming!) thoughts? who do u think would do it often and best?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

jay ~ praise & extended foreplay

jay is such a sweetheart in bed, making sure you’re always comfortable, and feeling good. he puts your pleasure above his own (as any man should). “doing so well, pretty,” or “good girl,” are phrases he probably uses often, he def treats you like a pillow princess, not allowing you to do any of the work. he just wants you to feel good. when it comes to foreplay i can imagine jay taking his time with you, making sure you’re properly prepped before going any further.

heeseung ~ dirty talk/praise, required foreplay

heeseung is def a dirty talker, he loves the way you respond to his voice. “fuck, you’re soaking wet for me baby,” as he eases his thick cock inside your tight pussy, you struggling to take all of it. “good girl, take it all” as he pushes the rest of himself into you. some nights his mouth is more filthy than others. foreplay for heeseung is a requirement as he suffers from big dick syndrome, but he only does the minimal amount needed to get you prepped, as he’s eager to be inside you.

jake ~ heavy flirter, minimal foreplay

its no secret that jake is a huge sweet talker, so i can imagine he’d be the same in bed. definitely making flirty comments while his cock is shoved deep inside you. “you look so pretty right now,” he’d say as he watched you unravel on his cock. he’d smirk to himself, cockiness oozing out of him. jake is the type to want to skip foreplay cause he craves to be inside you, but he also doesn���t want to hurt you so he uses his fingers briefly to prep you beforehand.

sunghoon ~ dirty talk, little to no foreplay

sunghoon def has a dirty mouth, vile even. his usual sweet demeanor absolutely shifts in the bedroom, he becomes rough and dominant. “did i say you could stop?” he’d spew at you, your legs tired from fucking yourself on his cock. “give me your mouth,” he’d bark, shoving his thumb onto your tongue and applying pressure. he’s the type to literally just plunge into you with barely any warning, foreplay completely out the window. this doesn’t mean he doesn’t make sure you’re comfortable, he’s always checking your body language and expression for signs of discomfort.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

{a.n} thank you so much for the request!! i kinda focused on foreplay and bedroom language for this, i hope that’s okay!! hopefully i understood your request properly, and i hope you enjoy <3

.

..

…

[muletia]

Thinking about Rachet on Synth-En and how openly off the wall insane he'd be about you.

Rather or not this is a timeline where he knows Optimus has eyes for you, I imagine Rachet keeps his more troubling cravings on the down-low. Which all goes out the window as soon as he gets the unstable substance in his system.

You WILL know how attractive he finds you (i can see him practically cat-calling you like a fratboy), and he WILL start fights to both impress you and get the others to leave you alone. He acts like a buck in that way, incredibly eager to butt heads with everyone especially when you're around to see.

For his own sake he better hope you were already publicly together at that point, cause after it wears off there's only so much he can hand wave as being the Synth-En's fault.

Obsessed!synth-en!Ratchet goes so hard, but enduring more than five minutes with him is practically impossible. Not to mention how unbearable, clingy, and horny he becomes when you're alone with him. Every dirty, hidden secret he’s been keeping, every ugly and impure need he has for you, all come spilling out. No filter, and zero intention of hiding them.

Imagine hearing, "How’s it hummin’?" every single time you walk past him (as he leans against a wall with his arms crossed, giving you the most bedroom optics you’ve ever seen from him).

The drawn-out whistles every time you have to bend down for something, or worse, just stretch casually.

Or him throwing the most diabolical, unexpected, and vile line you've ever heard in your life, like: "Hey, sugar tits," and doing it in front of all the bots because synth-en!Ratchet has no concept of shame or subtlety.

And those constant fights, damn You can’t even talk to Optimus about the weather without Ratchet butting in, convinced Optimus is trying to flirt with you. The same goes for everyone else. Bulkhead interacts with you? Ratchet is ready to rip his spark out of his chest. Bumblebee glances your way? Ratchet's already calling him out for a one-on-one in the middle of the base, and you better be there to witness him kicking the young scout’s aft. And yes, after his victory, he’ll demand a reward. And don’t make him laugh with some meek, innocent kiss on the cheek... bro is after that humanussy.

I also think synth-en!Ratchet would have absolutely no problem with PDA and becomes much more impulsive with touch. If he suddenly decides he wants to kiss you, you’re about to have the sloppiest make-out session in history. If he concludes that you’re not giving him enough attention (you just looked somewhere else for like one second) he will immediately scoop you and sit you on his shoulder so you don't have a choice but to interact with him.

You can’t even find a quiet corner to rest, because Ratchet will definitely find you. Anywhere. Don’t even think you can hide from him (a.k.a. function for a moment without being scooped up without warning). He has to be with you 24/7.

Which is why he becomes unbelievably problematic once you leave the base. Just mentioning that you have to go home makes him go feral. The entire team will have to pin him down just to open a ground bridge to your home, though Ratchet will still find a way to slip out. Before you’ve had a moment to relax, you’ll be calling Optimus, because there’s a very sus ambulance parked outside your house. And then that same ambulance will snatch the phone from your hand before you can make the call because Ratchet is feeling romantical...

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | you’re almost a victim… (part 2)

♡ fandoms; House of Wax, Scream (kinda), Hannibal/Silence of the Lambs, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Bo Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Hannibal Lecter

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; mentions of violence and cannibalism, kidnapping, stalking, suggestive content

♡ notes; I’m kinda surprised this prompt won out for a part 2 but very happy lol, I had some fun ideas.

the whole gang is not here, just some kinda kinky guys again- I feel like this doesn’t work super well for every single slasher? only some of them are psychopaths AND perverts

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Bo Sinclair

> bo was having a rough day

> your friends had been putting up one hell of a fight, killing the first four was a huge pain in ass

> so by the time there’s only two of you left, he hasn’t even gotten a proper look at you

> it’s not until you come back to the gas station, wide eyed and begging for help that he finally notices you

> god you’re cute- you can be last

> he drops the nice guy act and gets you to the chair- rough as always and threatening you the whole way

> but then he notices it’s all a lot easier than usual today

> he glances up and can’t help but grin

> your cheeks are bright red and your chest heaving- you like being restrained

> “i’ll be good- promise—“ you mumble before he can be a smart ass

> he gags you anyways, but he praises you as you open your mouth for him to stuff the rag it in

> he can hear you whimper as he does and he’s just itching to leave so he can come back

> he leans over, one hand planted between your legs to steady himself

> he can hear your breathing catch as he simply kisses your forehead, snickering as he leaves

> you were really something

> a pretty, obedient little something that would last way longer than a day if you kept it up

Danny Johnson

> he’s worried you saw the flash of his camera through your window that morning

> he’s normally so careful, he can’t believe he slipped up like that- honestly he’s surprised you didn’t call the cops

> you must have been too groggy, or maybe it wasn’t as dark as he thought it was at the time. maybe you noticed but didn’t put two and two together

> he needs to kill you soon anyways. he’s been watching for a while, and he’s wasting time

> he settles back into his usual spot where he can see perfectly into your bedroom

> he sees you frown just a tad as you pick up the phone call from an “unknown number” - but you still pick up

> “Hi there, doll .”

> he’s called you more than once, this “ghost voice” that’s been terrorizing you- and god is it a nice voice

> a nice voice that says vile things. some of them just violent, some…well some things you like too much

> you can see you make an expression he doesn’t expect. you bite your lip, cheeks pink

> he’s seen that look before…not for Ghostface, of course, but for Danny

> you were easy enough to befriend, and it just gave him more opportunities to keep tabs on you

> like most people he charms, you clearly have a crush on him, and that little lip bite is about the same face you make when he flirts

> maybe he’s just seeing things

> you couldn’t be that perfect.if you were he would have to keep you around

> he continues on and on, observing you carefully

> and you just keep getting more and more flustered, even when he’s threatening to choke you stupid

> “you know you’re so cute when you blush like that,”

> what you say next comes just about as close to scaring him as you can get

> “Thank you, Danny.”

Hannibal Lecter

> you weren’t quite as close to victimhood as one might assume

> but he was a fast killer once he had a mark set- you had to impress him more than a bit to be considered and then ruled out

> you start as his patient

> you’re a meek thing, easy to read and fragile

> you’re practically asking to become an entree

> if you taste as good as you look, you’d be his best dish yet

> it’s not hard to get you alone outside of an appointment

> you’re delighted when he invites you to a dinner party- you’ve heard great things about his little get togethers

> and he even lets you help him get ready, setting the tables

> the conversation become macabre as you discuss some recent murders that police suspected were committed by a cannibal

> that he committed for the sake of the dinner party, naturally

> he corners you before you can realize it - he likes playing cat and mouse

> you giggle nervously and look up at him

> he’s got a hand on the wall above you, and he notices your eyes linger on his toned forearms

> many patients and victims have crushes on him, it’s not surprising or a deterrent

> though it surprised him the gristly conversation wasn’t bothering you

> “yknow, it must be nice to know you’re safe from that serial killer in the neighborhood. If he is a cannibal, he’s most likely to chose someone more sedentary.”

> you leave him there, as if you hadn’t said something so delightfully offputting to find a vase for the table

> maybe he could do some further studying….

[persicipen-archive]

𑑛 “WORK DISTRACTIONS” ﾉ DR. RATIO. HONKAI STAR RAIL

gn reader ﾉ words 1.3k ᯽ a lazy day at home with veritas. very suggestive touches and flirting, but nothing explicit. established relationship. teasing, bantering, and playful dialogue. dr. ratio isn’t really mean in this one hehe :3 ᯽ SUGGESTIVE CONTENT ᯽

Dr. Ratio is deft with his hands, that much is certain. You saw him once navigating three touchscreens at the same time without a single error in the calculations. An invisible link (his nerves, obviously, as he would correct you) trained to follow his orders with unusual accuracy between his eyes flickering like molten gold and nimble nails tapping the acrylic glass.

That, and a maddeningly calm, emotionless face that held its breath along with yours until the screen flashed a message of success.

Now, the situation was not much different until a while ago, with you two sitting by his desk, this time with only one device on top of it.

With the dissipating memory, you wonder if you could be so lucky to be in his hands instead of the frames of his glasses, preferably unclothed. It’s not that you’re a vile creature that cannot live without being touched constantly, no. But with Veritas around, even the slightest possibility of making an excuse for that just gets you in the mood all too quickly.

Alas, he’s far too rational to do something like this in the middle of reading the new project, of course — you learnt this a long time ago when you confessed to him and he denied your affections for the sake of his work and your emotional health, that’s what he called it.

Oh, how wrong you two were back then, because now it feels like he wants to use all of your time together on teasing you to death.

Exactly. And this is what he’s doing now. Illogical.

“Busy?”

“As you can see.”

The text slowly scrolling through the screen is just a pretense; in reality, he’s merely reading it because he has nothing better to do while his other hand is moving nonstop on the top of your thigh. You’re leaning onto his arm, looking at the words passing by as if they could possibly give you an idea of what exactly this project is about. They’re all complicated, with no simple definition to assist you, and not even slightly related to your field of expertise.

It takes some time for you to decide what’s the best way to react.

“Hmm… Right, I see.” You wish you didn’t say anything at all, as your voice quivers, just like your muscles after the sudden vibration of his voice.

He’s quiet again, looking away from the monitor, but you don’t follow, keeping your eyes glued to the document.

Barely noticeable, the movement of his hand becomes firmer, but just as steady, and his fingers keep going up, inching closer to your crotch. You wouldn’t even dare to squirm, yet his touch merely passes by until it reaches the waistband of your pants; they’re loose, a part of your pyjama, which you didn’t feel like changing on a day at home.

Once more, the dexterous, veiny hand retreats and leaves the spot that wants it most alone, instead placing itself onto your knee and pulling it towards his own. This time, you bite your lip and grasp the fabric of your clothes, resisting the urge to close your legs.

“Is something troubling you?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, taking his eyes off the screen just for a second to give you a gesture of recognition before returning to the text.

“Weren’t you the one saying that such questions should not be asked? Not when you already know the answer.” You mumble as you nuzzle into his shoulder, unknowingly responding to the inviting warmth of his body. He’s soft; not as much as you, but even so, it feels nice to know he’s relaxed.

His face changes very little as he frowns and lets out a huff of air. “True.”

It’s either this, or the fact that you can feel yourself getting aroused and impatient, that makes you bold enough to add another comment.

“You seem rather interested in my answer anyway, yes?” You hook your knee against his leg, almost moving it to touch him in return, but change your mind at the last moment. He’s still leaning against the back of his chair, barely shifting at all. “Could it be that you’re ignoring your own principles? Just for fun?”

Now, that sure is a silly question, and both of you know it. But then again, if there’s something Veritas hates, it’s giving in before he proves having a higher ground in a discussion.

His voice remains composed when he starts talking, but the sudden pang of being grabbed by the inner thigh gets you distracted enough to miss his words. You shake your head slightly to concentrate on the tone, slightly deeper than usual.

“It was hard not to notice you were getting bored and restive. You’re trembling.”

“But your hand—”

“You got too carried away and assumed I would give you more, didn’t you?”

“This is hardly the case!” You clench your fist, seeing him smirk ever so slightly. “You do know that, if I really wanted to, I could’ve already undressed you by now, and you wouldn’t have any complaints about it.”

“Not until I finished reading the project.”

“Liar. You were teasing me…” You cross your arms.

“You’re too easy to provoke, but yes, that is correct.” His hand leaves your thigh as he changes the angle of his arm to make it as a headrest behind your nape, at last shifting towards you instead of pretending that the device on the desk is far more interesting than your face.

At first, he doesn’t say anything, but soon after, he takes one of your hands, gently tracing the shape of your palm and fingers with his thumb. You hold your breath again, feeling almost grateful that he stopped his initial activity, because his current focus feels even more intimate, even if not nearly as seductive.

With your cheek pressed to his arm, you almost regret sitting on the other chair and not across his lap; the little distance enough to remind you that you cannot hug him properly.

“Not so focused on your project anymore, aren’t you? You aren’t even looking at the screen.”

“If not for your incessant pleas for attention, I wouldn’t have to take a break.”

“I thought you’re good with multitasking. Perhaps you have become rusty…” You hum back in a teasing tone.

He pauses for a moment, twitching slightly. “Do you really think so? What were you saying a moment ago about undressing me? And how is that grand mission going? Any progress on your side?”

“Oh, so you’re impatient, are you not?” You giggle. “I am not the one who took the first step, mind you.”

“Perhaps.” He takes a deep breath, letting go of your hand as he slowly leans closer. “What do you think, should we test how many of your clothes I can take off with one hand before you get so needy that you start begging me to stop playing?”

“We both know I don’t beg.”

He blinks at you, and this time, there’s an obvious smirk on his lips. “Not yet.”

The promise of what is to come makes your cheeks burn and heart skip a beat. However, instead of feeling too excited, you get flustered and irritated at the same time, too turned on by him to keep it together.

Obviously, this is just a mere tease, a few precise words to make you roll your eyes in annoyance (ignoring the butterflies fluttering in your stomach). It is not his usual manner of speech, but — which you have to admit in defeat — you’re truly one to give in to himself all too easily, even if your mind already wanders elsewhere.

With your faces nearly touching, iridescent shimmers from the window dancing somewhere in between, you two seem too preoccupied to notice the monitor entering a sleep mode. The screen goes dark.

[raythekiller]

could you plz do the creeps realizing they like someone & what they do abt their feelings?? thank you sm !

🗒 ❛ Realizing They're In Love ༉‧₊˚✧

Featuring: Jeff The Killer, Ben Drowned, Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Laughing Jack, Masky, Hoodie

#Notes: warning for some light angst in some parts (mainly EJ and LJ)

pronouns used:

˗ˏˋ back to navigation ´ˎ˗

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Jeff The Killer

He absolutely hates the way you make him feel and will be extra mean to you because of it. He doesn't even realize what the feelings are at first, he just knows they make him feel vulnerable and weak and he despises that and, by correlation, despises you as well. Once he does realize it though (after a good, good while) he'll still be mean, but more in a teasing sort of way. You can probably tell he has something for you because of how possessive he gets, always wanting your attention to be towards him and getting jealous every time you spend time with other people. He'll just keep behaving that way and getting increasingly upset that you won't notice his "obvious" flirting.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ben Drowned

Now this guy is the most shameless simp to have ever simped on the face of the Earth. That being said, he's not used to actually having feelings for someone - normally it only goes as far as physical attraction. So while he is normally decent at flirting (again, if you like cringe pickup lines at all), it all goes down the drain as soon as he realized he's actually, genuinely down bad. Suddenly he's stuttering, unable to get sentences out right, and finds his mind going blank whenever you're around, just fidgeting with his fingers nervously instead of trying to make a move. It's cute if you're into shy guys.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ticci Toby

Another one who's a little bit oblivious to his own feelings for a long, long time. All he knows is that you remind him of simpler times, times where things were better, so he wants to be around you as often as he possibly can. You'll be sitting side by side and he'll see your hand resting by your body and the thought of grabbing it crossed his mind, his heart immediately started beating faster to the point he had to excuse himself. That's when he knew. Though he is quite shy by nature, he'll try his best to be a little bolder in his own way, complimenting you more and being a little more physical. One of the only guys who isn't afraid to confess first, though his is a little bit more in the heat of the moment than a well planned out romantic confession.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Eyeless Jack

Now with him, things are a little more complicated. He has what I like to call "villain complex", where he truly and genuinely believes himself to be an awful, disgusting and vile person. Hell, not even a person - a demon. He lacks any kind of good opinion about himself, so when he realizes (quite fast, at that) that he has feelings for you? He feels offended on your behalf. To have a monster, an abomination like him be in love with you, something so good and pure in his eyes, is like the ultimate offense to him. So, he won't act on his feelings. Honestly, he'll even hope that you manage to get with someone else so he can know you're genuinely, truly happy and move on. It's very plausible you two won't ever end up together. Unless you decide to take matters into your own hands, that is.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Laughing Jack

Jack is a little bit of a wild card. He naturally has a flirty personality, so you won't know that he's serious unless he decides to tell you, which he probably won't for a good long while yet. That's because, unless he tells you about it, he doesn't actually have anything to lose. His main fear is that you'll be disgusted by those feelings he has, disgusted by him, and decide to leave him just like everyone else did. It's not even rejection that he's so afraid of, it's abandonment. So, while he has one of the easiest times accepting his feelings, he'll be one of the worst when it comes to acting on them.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Masky

Pretty similar to Jeff, but also complete opposites in some ways. While he is extra mean to you because you make him feel vulnerable, it's also because he's hyper aware of what he's feeling towards you. He's a grown man, he knows attraction when he feels it, sexual or romantic, but that doesn't make him hate it any less. Unlike Jeff who's an asshole as a way of flirting, Tim is an asshole to get you to hate him. If you just despise him, his feelings should technically go away as well, so that's what he's aiming at. He already has enough problems in his life, a "silly little crush" (as he calls it) isn't another one that he needs or wants to deal with. Again, if you want things to go further, you'll have to take matters into your own hands.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Hoodie

Smooth ass motherfucker. Like Masky, knows what the feelings are right away, but has no fear in acting on them. And he's super fucking good at it. He sees love as one of the many pleasures of life, something meant to be enjoyed, so he's not going to shy away from it. He'll shower you in every love language known to man, this guy absolutely knows what he's doing. He's not even insecure that you might reject him, he knows he's a catch and you know what? He's not wrong. So it won't take him long at all to confess in the most chill but romantic way possible, like it's not even a big deal (which, to him, really isn't).

[themareverine]

Bond Girl, part 1 | patch!Logan x fem!reader | themareverine + bpmiranda

synopsis: the first adjective that leapt to mind the second she’d seen such a thing—obscene. like bait from the possession of man everyone here knew to more vile than any beautiful thing could be. because, if Logan is anything, it’s beautiful. and his taste in jewelry? immaculate.

warnings: patch!Logan, flirting, suggestive themes, part 1 of a co-written little thing with @bpmiranda (surprise!), casino atmosphere, booze, gambling, language, nameless!fem!reader but mentions of curls and blue eyes, ⚠︎.

a/n: save me, Patch!Logan, save me! I can't get away from this idea and my absolutely insatiable lust for this man, ROFL. this idea hit me the other day and after conversing with @bpmiranda, I knew we had to write this. big thanks for her for 1) being phenomenal, 2) listening to my ramblings, 3) jumping on my Patch train, and 4) deciding to collab! ahhhh! my part is done, but hers is coming and will, most likely, be NSFW and probably SO FAR AND AWAY BETTER. and yes i got carried away with context what else is new ROFL get on our taglists for updates!

➜ bpmiranda’s part 2 ⋆｡˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✧.*

She isn’t usually one to go for something so—obscene. 

Not that the idea of fine jewelry, really, should be considered obscene. It’s honestly an insult, something so beautiful tethered to a negative connotation. It was the farthest thing from obscene. Just simply the first adjective that leapt to mind the second she’d seen it, dangling elegantly like bait from the possession of man everyone in here  knew to be more vile than any beautiful thing could be. 

Because, if Logan is anything, it’s beautiful—and his taste in accessories? Immaculate. 

“It’s too expensive,” the absolute glint that passed through his eyes sparkled almost as clearly as the stone, catching light like starlight coupled, somehow, with sun, “you really shouldn’t have, Logan.” Cool against the flaming embarrassed scarlet chasing up her neck, he was deliberately slow. Rough hands skipping along her décolletage sent shivers down the length of her spine, numb beneath the wolfish gaze staring back at her in the mirror. Fingers reaching to brush along the face of the stone, it felt heavy. 

“I didn’t,” he sounded so pleased with him, chuckling in that low way that sent her brain pulsing, “poor bastard’s wife is probably pissed, huh?” His hands are more caring than she ever thought possible, clasping the necklace into place. Watching her swallow her own breath, her eyes only skip up to his when his hands find the back of her chair, leaning forward to brush his mouth along the shell of her ear. 

“Can’t imagine it lookin’ as good on anyone else as it does you, sugar.” 

At least two carats, it’s basically a small nucleus of sunlight, sparkling against her pale décolletage, its radiance only challenged by the offset of what she can only assume is a platinum bezel. Gently rubbing the stone between her fingers, she releases a slow breath that shakes more than she would’ve liked, but comes from her core. His hand brushing along the strap of an equally breathtaking gown only exaggerates her inability to breathe evenly, and she swears to God the color racing up her neck deepens. 

“You won this?” turning in her seat, she gently pushes him back with a hand to his chest. “In cards? You always play for cash,” without flinching, she probes for an answer—Logan never bets collateral. He always plays for money, or, on occasion, information. It was how she’d come to know Patch—the man of Madripoor. In all her months of watching him play, she’d only ever seen him accept collateral one other time, and she protected the Van Cleef bracelet on her arm nearly with her life. “It has to be worth a small fortune,” quietly she turned back to the mirror, slightly entranced by its brilliance.

He chuckled, “Not small enough,” his finger brushes a tendril of curl hanging from the simple pins at the base of her neck, “Wasn’t thinkin’ about how much it cost, sweetheart. Too busy imaginin’ you wearin’ it to bed,” His hands skim down the neckline of the dress, an elegant yellow satin slip cut dangerously up the thigh, thin and leaving mostly nothing to imagination, “but I guess this’ll do for now, hm?” 

Willpower of the gods had somehow propelled her out the chair, hand in his as he’d tugged her against his chest. Arms fortressing around her softness, holding her closer than sin. She finds herself lost under the heavy of his gaze, even as her fingers trail up the sleeves of his suit jacket. Crisp as snow, it cuts him perfectly, as if designed for him and him alone. He’s warm, chasing away the slightly chill that pebbles the skin of her arms, the A/C of the hotel suite more tangible than ever. 

“For now,” she’d echoed with a small smile, amusement passing through her tone. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll ask you about that active imagination of yours later.” Hand finding his cheek, she guided him into a slow, unhurried kiss. “You feel lucky tonight, Lo?” Words murmuring against his lips, his head angled to deepen the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers.

His chuckle was light, entertained as his fingers traced along the straps at the back of her dress, “Ain’t about feelin’ lucky, sugar,” tipping her chin up, he smiled at her darkly. “But if it makes you feel better, you bet.” 

Absolutely obscene. 

He’s still as perfect now as he had been hours before, draping a once-in-a-lifetime diamond around her neck, sitting in the low haze hovering in a smothering, thin veil about their casino’s air. Their casino—the gambling house they’d called home for the entirety of her sojournings at his side. Walls and floors that knew their secrets, hallways that saw parts of them no human, probably, ever would. 

Madripoor was beautiful, a stunning land with its own cultures rich with wonder and charms untouchable to nearly sunlight—it was not a difficult place to land, to count off the fingers of time. Especially for a man burying secrets in shallow graves of earth and unknowns. Abundant with vibrant color, pulsing atmosphere and the adrenaline of living, its wellspring of anonymity was wanting, attractive in a way any other nowheresville wasn’t. Logan had established himself as a man of countenance in these streets, specifically this house—a man of power, strength. Gall, courage. Unkillable, untouchable, wholly wondrous. 

Countenance. His reputation preceded him—whether as a badge of honor, a curse of death, or a last-nail coffin truly, honestly, depended on whom one would ask. Bodies jumped under tables beneath the steel of his gaze, the earth opened up to consume lesser beings. Flurry of opinion wasn’t uncommon, if you asked around the shadows and dripping neon of the city— bodies in this quarter of the city produced a cocktail of options for poison. Akin to asking which band champions in NOLA at the height of Mardis Gra, the hair of the dog hours—good thoughts weren’t anorexic around here, weren’t starving for air to give them life.  

All had an opinion. Scant few actually held water. 

Madripoor trembled with the respect wise men hold for phantom’s when he strode into a room. People knew, just from him cutting the doorway of the casino floor, that “Patch” was not an easy dance. Garnered a respect she’d never seen so freely offered to anyone else, dignitaries were not so often well noticed. Logan half expected the room to whip around to eyeball him he was so aware of his own presence, but not in the way one would think—not in the sense of ego or pedestal, high-horses. Never.

“Same feelin’ you get shiverin’ down your back when you think you're bein’ watched, sugar—just the way it goes when guys like me make an entrance.” 

Logan rarely made an entrance—Patch, even less so. Exits were more his thing, honestly. 

But far and away, Madripoor had signed and delivered its standing opinion on the man with an patch, the man from the north—the man nobody could touch, whose face shadows didn’t find. For four decades he’s been frequentlying this place, blowing in and out like the steam over bayous and still water, never aging a day. Always stalking, always collected. In blood it screamed, up and down the streets, this province’s opinion—You bet on Patch, and you have your man.  

And tonight is no different. While Logan may not be an easy man to dissect with discernments, he is an easy bet. Easier, yet, to watch. Even at the bar, across the floor—where light is golden and soft, the air is thick with smoke. Music that has been hastened for generations spins through the air like dreams, summoning atmosphere and charm into the room like a sweeping arch of divinity.

It had become some kind of twisted religion, almost worship. Watching him rake fools over hot coals at this same casino table, when starlight strikes and the sun drips from the sky like slow poison. It’s like a killing hour, almost—the scent of blood and money hang in the air like calling cards, tantalizing sirens. It is the same dance, similar songs each night they grace this room—Logan seats himself at the card table. He orders whiskey, a cosmopolitan for her. Lights a cigar, asks the floor manager for a tab. Taps the corner of his mouth with a thick finger for her kiss, kisses her harder than she would expect from him—takes cash he slips into the neckline of her dress, “You keep here, darlin’, and also like always, he’ll take her chin between calloused fingertips, “gotta keep my lucky little thing closeby—’ma jealous fuck, sugar. Don’t go runnin’ off.”  And the answer is always the same—

“Where else would I be?” 

Certainly nowhere else could hook, line, sink her soul like that little quicksilver of a smile he throws at her—the way his gaze rakes over her frame, dissecting every bend and curve like a creature worth studying. Like he hasn’t known every part of her, explored each plane and territory of her skin, her soul. Logan has known her up until the half of her soul, possesses parts of her she’ll never return to—he takes more than money, on nights when he looks at her like this. More than information or courage or a man’s dignity—he takes her. Everything she possesses, balances it between his fingers, bleeding and raw, like it is a plaything and circus.

And really, she thinks, there could be no better thing under the sun.  

 At some point in all of this, she’d wondered, early on, if it would be like this, always. Running with him. Stalking lines, scouting out survival and nexts—spidering in gigs only to feast on the blood of the innocent unsuspecting. Vampires of opportunity, of fortune. She’d learned in short shit that, while the game is always the same, the wonder was in the stakes—it’s never about the game. 

Balance of power is always found in what one is willing to lose in the chance to gain.

“Something new, mi encanto?” 

Her chair sings a little as she adjusts to swivel back around to the bar, smile soft as she considers the surprise glass of something slipping her direction across an elegant, seen-everything bar. Warm eyes consider her, Dominic’s expression soft and entertained as he stereotypically slaps his rag over his shoulder, driving home a subliminal point. 

Canting her head softly to the side, she dips her finger into the crystalline booze, allowing it to gently float around the cool zing of alcohol and promise of a buzz that will warm her spine. Her finger gently traces the rim of the fine glassware, gaze tracking to the clock above the bar. It’s been two hours—two hours parked at the bar in a dress the color of sunlight, watching. Drawing the attention of every dick and eye this place produces. A pretty sentinel over the reputation and suppositions of a man rumored more to be a god than mortal, she’s little more than a trophy in this room—Logan’s trophy. Patch’s pretty little thing. 

Hardly more than eye candy, little less than pornographic imagery—she’d quelled a few looks of new faces unaccustomed to the goings-on of this house, of its finer workings. Didn’t take much more than a sharp lift of her leg over the other, a nod of her chin towards the table—rare cases demanded she actually leave her perch at the bar and make an effort to fill in the program gaps. Coming up along his chair, lingering touches on his chest and shoulder—the occasional slow, sloppy kiss between hands of poker, blackjack. Little else drove the point home so deeply, coffins and nails.

 She’d only ever been broached by the brave who had never returned—most were warned. If not by circumstance, then by Magnolia y Pecado staff—she was off the table. A no-go. Off limits. Hands off, don’t touch the pretty thing who parts her legs for the man everyone in Madripoor knows as Patch. If they only knew of him what she does, they’d think so differently. 

‘All bets off when you’re mine, sugar.”

“Gracias, Dominic.” 

She doesn’t ask what it is, Dominic understands her taste. Quite the working relationship they’d developed over the months of her making this bar her second home. Always thrilled to see her but rarely surprised, Dominic worked twelve hour days. Five daughters, his adorable, busy-bee and as-sweet-as-honey wife expecting a hopeful son—the only friends she had in the city. Inés was responsible for half of her wardrobe decisions, much of her makeup. Often her rambunctious gaggle of ribbons-and-curls girls ran about this casino during business hours, passing time in the pool, in the gardens.

 Glass chilled between her fingers, she takes a light sip of the cocktail, brow lifting as the tropical kick spins around her tongue in a lovely zing that makes her smile. Lifting it, she takes a bolder sip, “That’s brilliant, Dominic,” her smile grows, and she wrinkles her nose, “what is it?” 

He chuckled, “Jungle bird,” beginning to vigorously rub at a stain in the grains of the wood, “clarificada—clear. Mi amor’s only drink,” winking at her, his smile is bright but quickly fades as his eye moves over her shoulder, tracking movement. 

All too suddenly, Dominic’s spine towers tall. Heart skipping for only a second, his movements become cut, slow. When he nods across the floor, chin lifting as his hands begin flying beneath the bar—effortlessly, she knows he prepares the familiar short glass. A distraction, certainly, but calculated.  She’d never understand his practiced anticipation of needs, but forever appreciate them, “Problema, mi Cariño,” his eyes cut over to her sharply, long pouring a multiple-seconds finger of Redbreast, “looks as if there’s trouble, Miss Patch.”

Miss Patch. Common amongst the staff, it carried a responsibility she wrestled with more than she’d be willing to admit—belonging to someone was a place she’d never imagined for herself, much less Logan, but the irony isn’t lost on her, either. Everything she’d never thought for herself, everything she’d ever fantasized in high fantasy and dreams—all one ball of wax, a bed of roses. 

Name not lost, her stomach flares with a pinprick of alarm, heat spreading through her blood despite the pebbles of chill racing across her skin. Glancing over her shoulder, she tucks her chin. Tracking, eyes skirting the game currently underway at the long, gorgeous felt table. Remnant’s of Dominic’s Jungle Bird sings on her tongue, punching low in her stomach a sort of sweet that almost stings, watching Logan at the head of the table begin slipping out of his expensive suit jacket. 

The slightest glance over his shoulder is all the greenlight she needs, dark hair glinting almost sapphire under the right lights, the trembling wire of tension in the air. Nearly misses his hand at the side of the chair, fingers snapping for her to come hither. 

Taking the Redbreast between her fingers, her own drink in hand, her little sigh is amused. Follows a light chuckle, there’s a breathlessness she can’t quite put a finger on. The idea of being summoned isn’t all that distasteful—it’s wicked, what it does to the depths of her womb. 

“And there’s my cue.” The smile she cuts to Dominic is wry, words dismissive, almost airy—something is off at the table. She can see it in the shifting eyes of the men across the felt, the way Logan rolls a shoulder. 

Steely tension snaps at the air like a rabid wolf, hungry and slavering as it devours any sense of control she feels, usually, with the man she knows as Wolverine so near to heart. Usually he keeps a good handle on things—and he maybe does, maybe this is deliberate. But the precipice feels shaky, being on the outside looking in— like balancing on a livewire above swirling oceans. 

Slipping from her stool, her hand smooths over the satin of the gown, bending slightly to straighten material teasing the floor around her feet in a tastefully cocktail,  elegant train. Foot over foot she minds the height of her heels, floorspace between the bar and table vanishing beneath her approach. 

Another small drink, eyes drifting over the table—her nail gently ting, ting, tings against his glass between loose fingers. Meeting the gaze of men whose attention lifts to her arriving at Logan’s side is easy, all she has to do is offer a teasing, flirtatious upturn of his lips. Of doe-eyed light and oh, hi. Easily she offers the cool Redbreast, gently nudging it against the back of his hand as her hip comes to rest against his chair—Logan’s attention doesn’t cut from the study of his cards, brow lifted, easily. 

Unmoving, chuckling across the table lifts her gaze over the rim of her glass as she teases her drink for a second time. “My my, Patch, my friend — pretty little thing you’ve got there, at your beck and call,” she sums him up quickly, falling back in his chair. Shifting his hips forward, like he’s got a twitch in his dick at the sight of her dipping backline, “You are one surprising sonuvabitch, I’ll give you that.” Wolf whistle off his words accompany the  shake of his head, eyes lingering over the curve of her hip longer than necessary. “Pretty things here, in Madripoor—where can I find one’a you, honey?” 

“Didn’t think there were any more like me,” she counters with a little giggle, winking at him. Her hand comes to rest on Logan’s shoulder, tracing the hard line of muscle beneath his milkwhite shirt. Teases along until her hand gently curves along his chest, between the unfastened buttons, “Thought I was limited edition.” Dropping low, her lipstick catches the bristle of Logan’s beard in a slow, heavy kiss to his jawline, sharp eyes holding the man fully entranced with her show across the felt of the table, “Gotta pay to play, huh, baby?”

 Bodies around the table shift uncomfortably, the man to Logan’s left practically on the verge of either an aneurysm or cardiac arrest, either is possible considering the size of his beer gut and the unhealthy sweat soaking into the band of his Stetson hat—Texas, mogul. Married, probably. Or at least feeling a level of guilt. The man to their right, complete in a look that’s so Miami it hurts—designer white pants, loafers. What appears to be a silk shirt tucked in, unbuttoned, in a flamingo pink that’s so ambitious it makes her smile. She couldn’t even determine his eye color, his eyes were still welded on the swell of her ass. 

They’re so easy, men. One look at a pretty thing, a little batting of the eyes — they were so painfully predictable, Logan had been right. He’d taught her everything about this game, this back-and-forth. How to make them drool, how to make them ache, to worship at her feet. The perfect equalizer, the best distraction—give them what they don’t know they want, “And all their walls come crumblin’ down, honey—that’s what you do.” If he weren’t a better man—if Logan weren’t hers, he’d be eating out her palm just as much as any of them. 

But she belonged to him, a tight leash she shortened seemingly by night. 

“All depends on the game,” he bites at his lower lip, “what’s my grand prize, mi amor?”  He butchers Spanish almost as badly as he butchers atmospheres, and it would make her chuckle, the way he masks his obvious desire behind a hand rubbing around his mouth. Instead it just makes her roll her eyes, tease her nails along Logan’s chest hair carefully beneath his shirt. Heat pummels off of him like a locomotive, even with his jacket shedded. “You like to play games, do ya, sweet thing?” 

Logan’s gaze snaps up from his cards, viciously. Beastially. 

“Easy, bub. Ain’t nice to fuck with another man’s property.”  

It rumbles low, wolfishly in his chest. Sharp chill launches down her spine like a needle, injecting poisons into her veins that begin to melt her self control. Logan rarely ever labeled her so basely in front of other men—it was not his routine. He had, in other times, when context demanded he whip out his dick for measure— she didn’t have details. Admittedly she’d been too distracted with Dominic and drink tasting throughout the night to pay attention to this game, to know if Logan had anything working over this gig. All she knew was from what little pillow talk he’d offered this morning, after burying his cock nearly to her ribs and rearranging her abdominal cavity.

Information. Information, baby—it’s all about connections. And oh—that’s right. It tracks around her brain in a sharp, white-hot loop. Information, Logan wants information. 

 A patch may well cover most of the animation of his eyes, but it is evident, the darkness—leers like a predator, hunting. Watching. The corner of his mouth ticks up, muscle in his jaw pulling as he eases back into his chair, loosens a shoulder. Logan may as well scent this man’s blood and call it a day, she thinks, but instead his quicksilver smile grows as the man puts down his cards in front of him, resting elbows on the table. 

“Ease up there, ace,” his hands open in a slow arc of easy, I’m-just-playing settle-down, “Only teasin’.” His accent is remarkably unbalanced, a little of something she doesn’t know, more of a part of the world she’d never heard. Logan takes his drink from her hand, tosses it back sharply, and the glass finds the table with a harder-than-necessary crack, “You payin’ to see my cards or what, old man?” 

“Keep your dick on, would ya?” Logan grabs her hand from between the buttons of his shirt, prompts her forward with a sharp tug, Jungle Bird in her hand upset like a child’s bathwater. And before she can think, Logan’s big hand grabs her chin tightly between thick fingers, “Kiss for luck, sugar?” His breath hot with whiskey sends her reeling, heat between her legs an inferno only ever matched at Vesuvius. 

God he was hot when he was pissed off and all possessive. 

A little nod of her head ticks up the corner of his mouth, his eye tracking down to the perfect curve of her mouth highlighted by lipstick the color of blood in her veins. A growling chuckle from the base of his ribs has him kissing her, deep and hard, tongue skipping along her bottom lip—in heartbeats he manages to make her breathless, every fiber burning as she shares his taste, allows him to rip a hungry little moan that knifes her right in the gut. 

“Tastes good,” he murmurs against her lips, “you’re doin’ so good.” 

Unsure whether to thank or bite him, she manages a small smile against his mouth while her hand skips low, to the low heat  between his legs. Nursing a semi nobody would ever suspect from otherworldly levels of cool-as-a-cucumber, her nails gently bite into the meat of his thigh. For a second his hiss skips her pulse, suddenly  at a loss against his mouth. 

Collecting quickly, “Trust me, baby,” and she adds the bite she knows he loves to her touch, “I know.” 

If anyone heard his barely-there, punched out groan, hell would sooner freeze. Satisfied with himself, he breaks first, giving her cheeks a rough squeeze before lightly shoving her away. A little proud, mostly for show. He’s mean in the best way possible, in the way she’s come to lust for. Treating her like a brat, worshipping the ground beneath her feet—it’s a delicate tango they do on the blades of alias and fun, of future and fortune. She’d come to crave it, a high she’d never escape. Laces adrenaline through her like a freight train, feels safe and dangerous all in one big ball of inexplicable, never-want-to-leave way. 

Swiping at the lipstick a kiss on his cheek has left behind, she throws an easy glance across the table to the three men who stare, nearly agog, at her. “Best of luck, gentlemen,” bending to kiss Logan’s cheek with a mock sugar sweetness almost too saccharine to be true, she tosses back the rest of her Jungle Bird.

“May the odds be never in your favor.” 

@sidkneeeee

@thevoicefromanotherworld

@misscrissfemmefatale

@eternallyfrustratedwriter

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@laaadygisbooornex3

@itsafullmoon

@kmc1989

@bpmiranda

[doromoni]

So Unaware | CL16

Ships : Charles Leclerc x F1 Academy Driver! Reader

Genre : Fluff

A/N : this is inspired by my own experience with a block mate from Uni. It was an entire situation, I can’t even comprehend so be distraught with me :))

Summary : When Charles mistakes Y/N’s enthusiasm and friendliness for flirting.

Masterlist

The F1 grid was having media day with the F1 Academy teams to show a united front or something like that. You weren’t so sure, you didn’t fully listen to the PR people’s instructions.

You were mindlessly walking around the ransacked snack bar looking for anything to munch on when suddenly a packet of gummies was in front of you and to your shock, it was Charles Leclerc himself who offered.

A wide smile presented itself on your lips as you thanked him for the snack. And being the nice person that Charles was he started small talk with you — the conversation found its way towards the passion you both shared it was your love for cold dairy treats! Ice cream.

Without noticing, you both got deep into talking — not minding other people present or the event happening around you. You were so deeply interested in Charles’ stories on his failed attempts to create the formula for Lec and Charles reciprocated the interest in your story of almost getting carbon dioxide poisoning as you overdosed on Dry Ice when trying to make Ice cream from home. You didn’t realize that people were noticing your interaction with the Ferrari Driver, with most of them thinking that there was indeed chemistry between the 2 drivers. People were starting to think that you had a thing for Charles.

“Ok, so what is the weirdest flavor you’ve thought for Lec” You eagerly asked the gorgeous red-clad driver in front of you who was leaning on the barriers.

“So much! But the weirdest has got to be the tomato with caviar. It was so repulsive you couldn’t imagine.” Charles's face scrunched up as he remembered the vile thing making you laugh at his theatrics.

“Well that sounds interesting, I mean caviar is salty so they balance each other out?” You muttered reluctantly

“Oh come on Y/N, don’t be nice on my behalf. It was disgusting. If you were only there to taste it” Charles said as he shook his head in amusement

“Is that an invitation, Mr. Leclerc? Count me as your beta tester then!“ You joked at the older driver.

“Oh I’m not sure, how can I be sure that you’re as good of an ice cream taster as you say you are Y/N” Charles joked back with a smile and you couldn’t help but notice the deep set of dimples on the man. How can a person be so attractive you couldn’t explain?

“How dare you question my professionalism, Mr. Ferrari driver! Well, I have a favorite Ice cream parlor near the hotel that I always go to when we drive in this country. Their Salted Vanilla and Balsamic with Strawberry is to die for! You need to try it” You exclaimed as you remembered the dainty mom-and-pop ice cream shop that held your heart — the Donofrios, was the breath of fresh air when you were having a hard time with insecurities and doubts about your career. Ever since then, it has become a tradition to visit them after every race here.

“Well ok Professional L/N. You need to take me there then” Charles replied cheekily at you.

“It would be my pleasure to share a treasure with a fellow enthusiast. How about after the race? Mr. Donofrio, he’s the owner and your fan, he would love to meet you” You giddily replied.

“Definitely! Give me your number so we can stay in touch” Charles gestures his phone towards you to put your number in his contacts.

“Oh yes of course! I swear, Charles you would love it there. Mrs. Donofrio even makes their waffle cones!” You answered excitedly as you gave Charles his phone back.

“After the race the “ Charles was cut off as you both heard someone calling his name. Looking at the direction of the voice, it turned out to be his manager.

“I need to handle something real quick, I’ll be back, ouias?” Charles says briefly squeezing your forearms and then proceeding to go to his manager. You nodded your head and sent him away with a smile and a wave.

“Did you just flirt with Charles Leclerc?” Emily, your teammate from Prema had suddenly sprung on you as she pulled you into the corner the minute Charles stepped away from your conversation.

“No? What do you mean?” You were confused at your teammate who was close to hyperventilating from excitement.

“I mean you talked with THE Charles Leclerc for a solid 30 minutes. You and him were smiling from ear to ear! Babe don’t get me started with the sparkle in your eyes” Emily said as she took hold of your shoulders and shook you till you started to feel dizzy

“Em, Stop! I’m getting dizzy. And what are you even talking about? We were just talking about racing, ice cream and some gossip in the paddock— that was it!” You exclaimed as you removed yourself from the clutches of your friend.

“Y/N, Babe. People don’t touch that much when talking about racing and ice cream” Em said a devious smile on her face as her eyebrows went up and down.

Horror suddenly fell on your face at the realization. You have the tendency to be touchy when you are over enthusiastic and excited about things — and Charles Leclerc was at the receiving end.

Based on your expression, Em then realized what had happened and started laughing hysterically.

“Y/N! I can’t believe you did it again! DUDE you’re so unaware, I love it! “ Emily was doubling over laughing at you and your overly friendly tendencies.

“EM! Not funny! Do you think Charles misunderstood? Do you think that he thinks that I was hitting on him? OH NO! Do you think that I was some creepy obsessed fan or something” You blurted out words at the speed of light. At your panic, Emily had laughed even harder.

You didn’t know what to think or do — when you felt a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look at the person.

Your eyes widened at the sight of Charles.

“Is she ok?” He asked referring to Emily still laughing with tears staining her cheeks.

“Uh… yes. I think. Yeah, she’s ok. Emily is ok” You replied forcing a smile, which you swore looked awkward. An elbowed Emily to stop laughing.

“So, uhm… can I have your teammate for a while, Emily?” Charles asked the girl who was trying her best to stop laughing. Emily only nodded as an indication of agreement, given that talking wasn’t an option at the moment.

To your surprise, Charles took hold of your hand — pulling you back to somewhere quiet.

“So, Y/N. Where did our conversation stop?” The Ferrari Driver asked with a smile.

“I wasn’t trying to flirt with you!” You suddenly blurted out, catching the Monegasque off guard.

“I’m sorry. What?” Charles asked a tad confused.

“I have this tendency to be over-excited and sometimes I get touchy… I just didn’t want to weird you out or think I was creepy and stepping out of line” You explained now getting nervous.

Charles looked at you for a solid 5 seconds then he started out laughing. He then suddenly held your hand again, now looking straight into your eyes.

“You weren’t flirting with me?” He asked.

“No…” you said quietly.

“Do you find me attractive?” Charles’ question catches you completely off guard. Rendering you speechless.

“Well do you, Cheri?” The Ferrari Driver asked once more, to which you only nodded sheepishly

“Great! Because I was flirting with you and I look forward to our ice cream date”

[moronkombat]

asking for a friend, can i get hcs for Bi-han, Kuai Liang, Kung Lao, Liu Kang, Kenshi, and Raiden with an s/o with big boobs? im a simp for all these men..i mean what??

Just the very sight of you is enough to have Bi-Han collar feeling far too tight around him. His eyes watch the dips and curves of your body and his mouth is watering

In public, he remains restrained in a physical sense. But his eyes? Those eyes hunt you like a tiger that stalks it prey, waiting for that perfect moment to pounce and consume

When in private, he wants your clothes off quickly. He's pulling, he's tearing just to see more and more of you. Those hips should not be concealed. Those pillowy breasts must be held in hands most calloused

During sex his lips always find your chest. If he goes unchecked, there he will remain for hours, suckling and licking. He can't get enough of your breasts, often finding himself rather lost within them

Someone help this man. He is sweating under his collar, practically burning up when you walk by. It's perverted, it's wretched how his eyes follow the swing of your hips. Yet, he won't look away

Try as he might to avert his gaze, there is just something about your hips that make his mind spiral. He thinks thoughts most vile and the blush on his face so evident.

When he has you alone, he is worshipping your body. Warm hands will run up your thighs before hands sink into fleshy hips. He cannot get enough of you

Prefers when you ride him so he can see your breasts move and feel your hips come colliding down on him. No thick walls in the world can conceal the moans you bring from him

Now Kung Lao likes to talk big game act cocky but the sight of rounded hips and shapely thighs? His mouth is suddenly dry and his jaw is slack

Definitely tries to flirt with you often but gets distracted by what he's seeing and ends up turning rosy pink. So much for his expert flirting skills

You bring him the closest to heaven when you ride him. His hand covers his eyes, the mere sight of you undressed and exposed overwhelming him

He's panting, cursing, telling you how beautiful you are and how good you feel wrapped around his cock right now. Kung Lao wants to keep you there forever but he is provided no such paradise as pleasure overtakes him

Even a god is subject to temptations and Liu Kang's temptation is you. Your curves live in his mind. The swell of your chest. They are all consuming

Glowing eyes scan you up and down and Liu Kang thinks for a moment much longer than he will admit what it would be like to bury his head between your thighs

When the two of you are alone, he does not need to wonder that anymore. That is the first place he drawn to and there he will remain

He cannot help but thrive when your thighs press against him. The God of Fire would moan low and wanting. He never wants to leave your shapely thighs

While sight may not be his strongest sense, he still can feel you under his palms. Honestly, Kenshi prefers it that way.

Sento can provide him help to receive your imagine which Kenshi does well to remember. Though he seems to prefer tracing you likeness with you

When in bed, he wants to feel absolutely all of you and so he does. For hours he will comb your body with fingers over each and every one of your curves

Loves to take you from behind so he feel you ass clap against his hips. Kenshi is practically drunk off how your skin ripples with each thrust

Raiden is flustered, overly so. Those hips, your breasts...would his hand even be able to encompass them. He isn't sure but his thoughts are daring him to find out

Tries not to look at your chest but they are practically staring at him. Raiden will hold eye contact with you but ever so slowly his eyes drift to your cleavage and suddenly his throat is tight

In the privacy of the bedroom, his hands are trembling, shaking when he gets to touch you for the first time. Raiden is overwhelmed with your curves and he is not sure where he should touch first

Don't worry though, he'll find his rhythm and once he does, there is no part of you left untouched. It's going to be quite the long excursion for the two of you

Havik loves your curves. He sees them as more flesh to carve and paint with crimson

He does not hide his attraction to your hips and breasts. Havik will happily grope onto you, whispering in your ear just how much he wants you

And Havik will take you hard and unforgiving. Teeth bite into your rounded flesh again and again, covering them in bruising bite marks

You end up painted and well carved and Havik is sated but for how much longer? Well your curves are ever tempting

Really enjoys your curves probably more than he should but who is going to stop him? Definitely not you

Takes great pride in seeing you. He proclaims to everyone how curvy and attractive you are and how you are his partner and no one else's

Loves when you ride him. It is the the best way to see all your curves and features in action. One hand is on a hip while another gropes and plays with your breast

Smirks the whole time, vocalizing just how attractive you look and all the atrocities he will commit to your body and so he does but you don't complain

You are simply enchanting to Rain. He wishes to worship your gloriously curved body in ways that are pure sin

Can't help but stare at you when you walk by nor can he avert his gaze when speaking to you. He wants you and he will not hide that

Spends much time glorifying your body when he has you alone. You are his goddess and he is the ever devoted apostle

Loves to grip onto your rear while he lays himself into you. He wants to feel your flesh mold and move under his fingers

[bbydoll18xx]

I Try to Refrain (But You’re Stuck in my Brain)

You have a dream about Paige, and it leads to some shocking revelations.

Paige Bueckers x Reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.2k

Themes: loneliness, reader realizes she's in love with her best friend, paige is a flirt (what's new?)

A/N: hi guys. sorry it's been a hot min. This election has made me miserable and my grandpa just died today so I wrote this to distract myself lol. I wanted to write something that wasn't fluff before coming out with a new part to I've Got a Wand and a Rabbit, so hopefully this will suffice. Please don't let this flop

Also Is There Somewhere is one of most favorite songs of all time you all should check it out if you've never heard it !!

Please enjoy:)

~

There was simply no denying that being a college student was pretty fucking exhausting. Between your on-campus casual job, the extensive list of assignments you had racked up, and the overwhelming need to still have a social life, the circles under your eyes had become much more pronounced in the last few weeks. 

You needed your beauty sleep, or else you’d be well on your way to looking like Shrek by the end of the semester. And because you had been on the hunt to end your single streak, looking like Shrek would be the worst thing to happen. 

You giggle to yourself, the sleep deprivation clearly making you delirious. Checking your watch, you see that you had in fact been up for a whopping 28 hours. It was time for a seriously good nap. You throw your backpack onto the floor of your bedroom, tugging your sweatshirt off of you and flopping down onto your bed. The plushness engulfs you in warmth and comfort, lulling you into a deep, calming sleep, that you so desperately needed.

Or so you thought.

~

You wake up panting. The air around you is suffocatingly hot, and you can feel the sheets twisted uncomfortably around your legs, trapping you in the warmth. Your heart is pounding against your chest, and you slide your hand across your sternum in a futile effort to soothe yourself. 

The dream was quickly fading, and you squeeze your eyes in deep concentration, desperate to hold on to the remnants of it before they fled from your racing thoughts. 

It was hazy. But the pounding of your chest and the fluttering that accompanied made you feel like you were missing a key detail. It was right on the tip of your tongue, inching further and further away the more you search for the answers. 

You were in bed with another person. They were warm, and their laugh was enough to make you want to get down on one knee right then and there. You were cuddled up with them, the feeling of peace washing over you.

It has been a long time since you felt peace, and as you search for more clues to unearth your future love of your life, the wistfulness settles deep inside you. It mocks you, whispering into your ear that you’d never feel so lucky to be at peace with someone. 

The last of the dream fades, and you groan, throwing your arm over your face and vowing to prove your meanest, most vile inner voices wrong. 

Because, goddamn it, you did deserve to be loved. And maybe, just maybe, it would happen for you. 

~

You go to bed that night with a fierce determination to coax your brain into revealing more, and as you settle into bed, you pop two benadryl tablets. 

‘This’ll give me some good dreams,’ you think slyly, before shutting your eyes and waiting for the next clue, sleep quickly overcoming your thoughts.

You sleep soundly, waking the next morning with a crick in your neck and long, blonde hair on your brain. 

“Holy fuck,” you whisper, your dream still playing again in your muddled brain. “It’s a girl," you say incredulously.

"Or maybe an Australian surfer dude," you say sarcastically out loud to yourself.

"God, I'm losing it," you mumble, rubbing a hand over your sleepy eyes.

Her face was blank, deluding you of figuring out who it really was, but the familiar, tinkling laughter was playing on a loop. It was making you crazy. 

Your thoughts drift back to being tangled up with lean limbs, the soft hair flowing over slim, strong shoulders and down the girl’s bare back. You recall how you had traced a line down the line of her spine, goosebumps erupting in the wake of your touch. 

She was strong and delicate, a dichotomy of perfection that had your thighs clenching in want and your heart clenching in need.

You sigh. It felt almost real, and now it was being ripped from you every time you woke up. It felt unnecessarily cruel, and tears prick your eyes as reality sets in. You were escaping to a fantasy world in your dreams to avoid the crushing forlornness that was settling deep into your bones. 

Loneliness was certainly the muse, it seemed. 

~

You meet up with your friends later that night, searching for a distraction from the blonde hair that was currently haunting every waking moment. As you cross campus to head to Aubrey’s apartment, you scold yourself as each blonde who passes you makes you glance hopefully in their direction. 

There had to be something to jog your memory, unclouding the face you wanted nothing more to recognize. But each face elicited a disappointed pang in your stomach that spread an uncomfortable coldness through the rest of your body. 

You shake your head as you approach Aubrey’s door, trying to rid yourself of the disheartened aura you were currently giving off. 

You and Aubrey had become friends two years ago, and by extension, the rest of her team and her girlfriend had accepted you with open arms. You were looking forward to Caroline and Azzi’s wisdom and kind smiles. And KK and Ice’s laughter would certainly be a great distraction. 

Your mind gently drifts towards Paige before the door swings open with a large bang, and a loud, joyous cry erupts from the group of girls in the apartment. 

You wave at them, cheeks turning pink from the attention. You scan the room, letting your brain secretly look for Paige, just to check to see if it would trigger the flashes of your dream. 

You move towards the kitchen, joining into a heated discussion KK and Jana were having about Legos, eyes still darting around curiously.

“I’m obviously the best and fastest builder,” KK boasts, sticking her tongue out childishly at her teammate, and you giggle, taking a sip of your drink as Jana voraciously defends herself and her Lego-building abilities.

It was almost subconscious. You step back, as if you were being pulled against your will, and you hit a wall of warmth and muscle. Your heart lurches as your mind registers what was happening. 

“Damn, ma. I gotchu, don’t worry,” Paige mumbles in your ear, chuckling as you turn into a bumbling mess in her firm grasp. 

“Oh, god. I’m sorry, P,” you whisper, not trusting your full voice. You steady yourself, proud that you at least did not spill your drink. 

Her hand slides down your side to rest heavily on your waist, and her touch ignites a fire in your belly. Your breath hitches as you look up at her. Her hair is down for once, flowing across her shoulders, and your head spins as she laughs again. 

You knew that laugh.

“Never gonna complain about having to rescue a pretty girl,” she flirts, and you turn your head, not wanting her to see the way her words sent your face up in a blaze of heat. The realization hits you like a crashing wave.

Your dream was about Paige fucking Bueckers.

Your friend, Paige Bueckers. 

You were so goddamn fucked.

Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. 

~

What'd we think?? Please let me know. I might do another part if you guys are up for it.

Thanks so much for reading. I'm hoping I will be writing more frequently from now on

xoxo katy

Taglist:

@fullladypanda-blog, @omg-imtumbling, @tenaciousglitternerd, @oldcrdigan, @paigebuxkets, @the-other-half, @patscorner, @sophswbb, @dietcokesmom, @tndaqlifwy, @ch12334, @double22, @inthedeathofherreptuation, @authentic-girl03, @blueredg52 , @kmoneymartini , @mrsarnold, @ittiwdwysylm @sillylittlefakeacc

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[bardic-inspo]

Dhampir Dreams

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Tav (Generic/Unnamed)

Part 1 of 2

Rating: Explicit (Smut)

Key Tags: breeding kink, pregnancy kink, body worship, light dom/sub, light bondage, light praise kink, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it dacryphilia, cunnilingus, PIV, Astarion’s past trauma, smut with so many feelings but nearly no plot, character introspection

Summary:

Tav saw beauty in Astarion he couldn’t have seen himself, even if he had a reflection to gawk at. She made love with a man who never thought he could have anything near it. Made all his red dreams come true, and then said: go on, make new ones, in whatever color you like. Astarion never thought about being a father. Not before her. Or: an angsty-turned-horny character study about the pale elf and his thoughts on creating new (un)life.

A/N: This is my first stab at writing a more generic Tav. Tav in this piece is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns. Most other identifying features are left out.

Click here to read on AO3 instead

Astarion’s never thought much about making another vampire.

In the rare moments the notion occurred to him, he shoved it to the far back shelf of his mind so as not to waste himself on an exercise in futility. What did it matter, after all, while Cazador still lorded over him?

More than anything, Astarion yearned to see Cazador’s blood spill. In his mind’s eye, he’d watch it pool across the floor, not unlike the way he'd seen so much clothing puddled at so many heels. The lake he’d make of his master would be wide enough to swallow the garments of all who’d stripped bare before Astarion. Every sweat-soaked night he found himself bound to another moldering mattress beneath someone else’s weight, rocking through the motions that left his stomach sour, he’d fill his mind with such sweet dreams as Cazador’s death.

Whether Cazador would allow Astarion to drink his blood before being relieved of it varied with the fantasy. The dream changed as often as the hands on Astarion’s hips. It mattered little to him whether Cazador’s end came with true vampirism or not. As long as he ended. 

As long as the vile river of shit that comprised Astarion’s life ended, one way or another. For better. Or for good.

Of course, he flirted with the fantasy of his own spawn, sent out like skittering spiders to dispense his will. Foul little monsters they would be. Fine tools to have in his arsenal; Astarion would only want such wretches of his own the way one might want a hammer to pound a nail. And what he wanted didn’t hold any weight while bound in Cazador’s chains.

So the idea recoiled into the dusty recesses of his mind, collecting cobwebs kitty-corner to such out of reach trophies as freedom from his servitude to Cazador and the sun itself. Both still gleamed, despite the tarnish of time and hope rusted over. Despite Astarion’s prayers, no heroes came to save him. No gods or slayers or saviors spared him from his servitude. 

Until the illithids did.

Despite everything -- the centuries of torment, the hollow where his heart should be, its silence in his ribcage, the scars on his back, the thousands of other lashes that Cazador let fade from his porcelain skin -- Astarion did the one thing Cazador could never.

He stood in the sun. And on the sands of that same beach, another miracle washed ashore. A contradiction. His counterweight to everything else he’d ever known.

Tav.

Astarion’s hands roam the supple shape of her nestled against his bare chest. Her breath crests and falls soft and rhythmic, like the gentle slap of waves against the cliffs where they first found each other. His darling is always so serene in her sleep. Astarion dips his head down, nosing her splayed hair on the pillow, drinking in the lovely scent of lavender that always lingers with his lover.

Often, he wakes before her, as he does now in the dim blue light of dusk. Not yet dark enough for him to step outside, but for the moment, there’s nowhere in the world he’d rather be. Not even in the raw, rippling light of day.

The smell of her has his eyelids heavy again, the steady patter of her heartbeat hypnotic in his head. His hands curve over the flare of her hips before slipping beneath the hem of her tunic. He stifles the satisfied hum that bubbles in the back of his throat as his palm smooths down the lithe stretch of her stomach. He resettles with his nose in the crook of her neck, eyelashes grazing the twin puncture scars that mark her as his.

He’d thought, once, that he’d ascend and have her at his side for an eternity. He was scared. Frantic. Grasping. He thought he had to grasp at something, fashion some sort of tether, to have her. Thought he had to have power, and enough of it, to keep her. Now he holds her every morning in the bed they share, until day becomes night again. It’s as effortless as blinking.

Now, the thought of turning Tav into a vampire turns his stomach.

His lips brush, tender, to the flutter of her pulse in her neck. He loves those marks he gave her. He loves the way her fingertips tap against them when she’s lost in thought. He loves the way she arches into his arms as he feeds, the way her body gives and gives to him alone. That sleepy, slap-happy smile she has when he’s lapped his last for the evening. The way her eyes roll back, and she gasps, breathless, as he kisses a trail from her neck to a nipple and sucks fervently.

He loves that he’s marked her, but that it didn’t change her. He can still curl into the heat of her skin at night. Still watch her preen in a mirror. Still stare at those gorgeous eyes and know the shade of them is hers. Her cheeks still turn the shade of sunrise when he leans in with a lustful whisper, or grazes her waist with a feather-light touch.

Absently, his fingers follow the path of an old scar on her stomach. At its end, he finds the start of softness. Astarion loves that, too. She didn’t used to be soft there, when they were just surviving. They’re not just surviving anymore.

Perhaps he’s changed her after all. It’s not so scary anymore to admit she’s turned him, too. Not to the light, or anything so nauseatingly righteous. But rather, so Astarion could see himself in it. Even if his days of standing in the sun are done.

I’ll be your mirror, she vowed, what feels like another lifetime ago. She smiled in that fond way of hers that, at the time, hurt to look at too long. He scoffed at her poetic ruminations on his hair curling near his ears. The creases when he laughs. 

Tav saw beauty in him he couldn’t have seen himself, even if he had a reflection to gawk at. She made love with a man who never thought he could have anything near it. Made all his red dreams come true, and then said: go on, make new ones, in whatever color you like.

Astarion never thought about being a father. Not before her.

He’s thought of Tav as a mother before. It flitted through his mind when Astarion watched her ease Arabella’s pounding heart with the gentleness of her own. That feeling lingered when Yenna joined their camp, and Astarion caught Tav teaching her cards. Combing the snarls from the girl’s hair. Coaching her in the basics of swordplay.

She’d be a wonderful mother. Astarion has no doubts in that regard. And he, well…

He doesn’t have an example to look back on, or one to look up to. But he has his compass. Tav’s heart beats, sure and steady, in his ear. That sound’s guided him through so much else. How could he lose his way for long, if there were two pitter-patters to listen to? 

His palm paints cool over that blooming softness in her stomach. An ache burns in his own. The sort of hunger her blood won’t sate. Would she taste even sweeter, he wonders, with her body rounded and swollen? 

Of course she would. So hard to improve something so perfect already. But she’d be radiant, if she were ripe with their child.

And after, when their babe is born, and her body is new all over again, he'd love every line, every fold, every mark that came from their coupling. He’d worship every part of her that was remade by the two of them to make the three of them. Marvel at the way the same body that first truly fed him would feed their child, too. 

He’d help her find her way back to pleasure in her own way, in her own time. Just as she did for him. His Tav gives, and gives, and he’d give her anything, everything, for the rest of his days, if a wretch like him would be so stupidly blessed to be the father of her child.

Astarion pulls a breath between his teeth, his nose flooding with her floral scent again. That would change, too. She’d carry new notes in her sweat, in her slick, in her blood, while carrying their babe. Astarion wants to taste them all, to learn what songs she can sing while he does.

Instinctually, he presses to the plump of her ass to soothe the building stiffness in his cock. He plants a muted hum in the fabric of the pillow. His groin throbs to the thump-thump of his compass, beating oblivious beneath her ribs.

He pictures pouring into her, night after night, his spend spilling in little translucent rivers down her slicked thighs, overflowing from her cunt. Too much for her to hold in, but she’d take him as long as it takes until life sparks inside of her. Tav’s determined in all her undertakings. Resilient. 

And in his dreams, she’s pliant. Pleading. 

“Star, please.”

She’s trembling in that slinky, translucent nightgown she wears to bed sometimes. The one that hardly hides her skin, but cloaks it in a delectable, silvery sheen. He likes it too much to ruin it. Or at least, he has every other night. 

Oh, he’d like to ruin it, now.

Tav’s pupils are blown black with want. Sweat shimmers on her skin, spurring his tongue to swipe his own lips. Her shoulder peeks bare from her nightgown, and Astarion can see her pebbled nipples, dark beneath the sheer silk that separates them. Hardened with hardly a touch. A feeling he’s intimately familiar with. His cock twitches as he strokes the back of his hand over the soft swell of her breast. 

“Aren’t you sore, sweet thing?” He tries for tender, but it comes out coarse. Rough like the way he wants to grip her hips.

“So be gentle,” she says with a sultry smile, lips peeled apart and glistening just enough that Astarion can’t peel his eyes away. “I know you’ll take good care of me.”

Astarion slinks forward, crowding her against the edge of the bed. Careful, like cradling glass, his palm reaches out to cup the side of her cheek. She sighs into the touch, the curve of her smile reaching the heel of his hand.

“Always,” he says reverently, before his voice sinks to a growl. “You’re always so, so eager…for me.”

Her lashes flutter low over hungry eyes. All it takes is one little wordless bob of her head for Astarion’s own hunger to have the best of him. With a lazy roll of his wrists, he shoves her back with kind but firm force. The mattress bends with her impact, her breathless laughter nearly lost beneath the whine of the wooden frame. Astarion crawls after her, hands fisting in her nightgown, and pulling her free of it.

And then, she’s bare beneath him. Writhing from his tongue and teeth. Gasping out the best words he’s ever heard. Astarion downs them like a man starved, kissing her with the kind of fervor he thought reserved for bloodlust. But her lips, the promises they pour, are sustenance all on their own.

“I’m yours,” she whispers, “all yours. Always. All of me.”

Astarion can’t stifle the whine that drags from some hollow in his chest he never knew about before.

The bed creaks as he hitches one of Tav’s limber legs up over his shoulder and nips a path of sharp kisses from her ankle to the crux of her thigh. He pauses, sweeping a feverish gaze over the spread of her: legs parted in his grip, that perfect slit, already wet with want, the rest of her sprawled naked across the bed, at his mercy, at his desire, at her own. 

He leans down, tongue dipping leisurely through her cunt. Always, she swore. So there’s no hurry in how he takes apart the woman he loves so dearly, in one of her favorite ways to be unmade. No matter how many times she claws the sheets and hisses, “Please, Star. F-fuck, I need you inside of me.”

It turns something in the depths of him to hear his own name said as a prayer. It makes him want with a force and harshness stronger than any thirst he’s felt for blood. He wants to turn her. Change her. Forever, for good. For the life they could make from their bodies, bound as close as souls could be. He wants to see her swell with the love they make, with all the love he’ll leave inside her.

She’s so close, her legs quaking violently when her hand tangles his hair and yanks his head upright. She’s beautiful, flushed ruby red, taking her air in shallow doses. Her eyes burn with equal measures adoration and reproach.

Astarion smirks, unrepentant, lips smeared with devotion. “My love, any work of art takes time. And that’s what we’re making, you know. When others look upon our progeny, they will weep in the sight of such beauty.”

“If all it takes is time, dearest,” she says, with a smile just as filthy, “then I don’t want to waste one second of it lying here empty.”

“Mmm,” Astarion sighs, nosing down against her throbbing clit, eyes flashing back to hers as he dares another lick. Her fist tightens in his hair. Astarion only chuckles. 

“You’re right, of course,” he croons. “That won’t do, at all. I do recall promising to-- how did you put it the other night? ‘Fuck you full and senseless’? I’m more partial to what you begged me for a tenday ago, when I had you face-down and waiting for me as soon as the sun was set. Remind me again, my love, what you said when you weren't gasping my name?"

Astarion presses the tip of his tongue to her clit again and tastes her rapid, ravenous pulse in the heat of it. Tav’s hips jerk in response, but he holds her fast.

“I-I said I want-- that I want--”

“You want me to ‘breed you like a damn animal’," he finishes for her. "Oh, don’t be shy now, my sweet. We’re far past that. And we want the same things, after all. But," he sighs, letting his lips drag through her flushed folds, "I've another promise to keep, first.”

Astarion flicks his wrist, muttering magic beneath his breath. Tav’s sharp little yelp of surprise shoots heat straight to his groin. His cock throbs as she settles again, arms bound above her head by his mage hand, tits bouncing from the slightest struggle against her restraints. She smirks up at him, eyes aflame with fresh desire. Escape is the farthest thing from what she wants.

“You lie back now, dear,” Astarion drawls. “You’ll take me soon enough. You’ll be so good for me, like you always are, and take everything I give you. And I’ll take very, very good care of the woman I intend to make a mother.”

Astarion watches her keenly, tracing his forefinger down through her slick. He unfurls it, circling her cunt daintily, and watching her writhe for even the faintest promise of friction. He’s not sure if it’s his mercy or his selfishness that readily discards the thought of keeping her here, just like this, for the rest of the day. She’s mesmerizing, with the way her back arches from the blankets, and how her body strains towards any touch he’ll spare her. 

All mine, he thinks, with a smile that makes him feel weightless. He grounds his hardened cock against the edge of the bed, groaning. All yours, darling. Just for you.

Pride rumbles low in his chest as he sets his mouth back to work again and knows she can’t cover her own. There’s no muffling his name pouring from her lips. No hiding how she cries for him. Her whole body winds taut, shuddering with every stroke of his tongue. 

Finally, finally, he lets his finger slip inside her. Astarion sighs into a satisfied purr, letting the tremble of it soak into her sex. Her cunt’s a vice around his knuckle. Every pump of his finger feeds the building burn inside him, fanning the ache to be sheathed in that tightness. He only aches more, feeling her squeeze around his finger, and knowing she longs for him just the same.

He slips in a second finger to join the first, feeling her spread and then clench anew. Astarion ruts aimlessly into the mattress, in time with the thrust of his wrist. The head of his cock weeps anticipation with the rogue tear trailing down the side of her cheek. It’s only pleasure that makes her cry.

There’s only love in her heavy-lidded gaze as she pants, “Please.”

Mercy, then, Astarion resolves. For both of them.

Her thighs quiver against his ears like leaves in a breeze. Astarion swirls his tongue against the bud of her clit and sucks tightly. Tav stiffens abruptly. His arms hook firm around her legs as a shattered sound breaks from her throat,and a hard tremor courses through her hips. 

He holds her through it, pinning her to the bed until just the faintest brush of his lips has her shuddering. The start of her plaintive whimper has him easing back. A murmured word sets her wrists free of her restraints. Her heart still hammers, sumptuous, in his head, as he peppers her legs in kisses soft as velvet.

“Beautiful,” he whispers with each one, slinking up her body while she comes back down. “So, so beautiful.”

He thinks of new life, as his knee bends between her thighs and drags her open all over again. He thinks of the graveyard, where he had her freely beneath the stars, in the dirt where he woke centuries ago. He thinks he’d be happy to die again, this way, as he slides forward and buries himself inside her waiting heat.

Astarion grates out a long, low moan as he basks in the wrap of her arms and her cunt. Dimly, he feels her fingertips threading gently through his curls. He thinks of sunlight on his skin again as he sinks in fully, bracing his arms on either side of her head, letting his forehead tilt against hers. He can feel her pulse thrumming through her body, through his cock, through his fogged-over thoughts. His hips roll to the sound, as if it beckoned him to motion. Tav’s head drops back into the pillows. She lets out a long, contented hum, while her body rocks in time with his.

“Is this what you needed, darling?” He huffs a laugh, catching her lips in chaste kiss. It’s enough for her to taste her own sweetness. And one squeeze from her cunt is enough to cut his breath away all over again. 

“I think you needed me, too,” she purrs.

“Y-yes,” he stammers through bared teeth, his throat tied taut as she wrings him for all he’s worth. “Yes.”

She knows exactly what he needs, what he yearns for. He needs her, needs this, needs to see his seed seeping from her fucked-out hole, pink and puffy and leaking. He’ll know the rest of it was spent so deep inside her, her fertile womb is flooded. That’s his, too, with the rest of her. 

Hips high for me, beautiful, he’ll say, when his last thrust is done. And he’ll hold her legs up against his shoulders, kiss her heels, and slip the pillow beneath her pelvis. Just to be sure it takes. 

It’ll be another couple months before they’ll start to see the fruit of their efforts. Until Tav starts to bloom with it. And then, he’ll be hard pressed not to have his hands on her every hour. Cupping the fresh heft of her breasts as they grow with the passing days, heavy from him, for the babe growing in her belly. He’ll soothe her weepy eyes and tits alike, with a skilled tongue and sweet whisper. Rub her shoulders to ease the new weight her bones carry. Draw his nose down her neck and smell not just her, but himself, and the consequences of what they did, right here in this bed.

Feel her change beneath his hands and feel so fucking proud to be the reason.

Pleasure winds, binding, around his cock, and he feels that hunger snap its jaws around him all over again. His hips snap with it, jerking frantically. I need you, all of you, he thinks, and if he weren’t already fucking her, he’d be on his knees, begging for all he’s worth. Her cunt quivers, and he’s lost to the grip of her. Astarion shoves his own knuckles in his mouth to stifle a strangled cry. 

“Star?”

Astarion rips awake in a sweat. He sees familiar wooden beams above his head, above his bed. Sunlight streaks the floorboards, leaking from behind the curtains. Turning his cheek, he finds his lover peering at him from over her shoulder, concern wrinkling her face. Tav still lays on her side, and Astarion still presses against her back. But his hand clamps tight to her thigh, bare where he hiked up her tunic. And his cock twitches fitfully against her ass, unspent and painfully hard. 

Just a dream, then. For now, at least. 

He lets out a long, weary sigh, slumping back into the sheets. Tav tilts her head, the worry in her gaze gradually dissolving into a mischievous gleam.

“I thought you might--” she starts, snickering, “but you were having sweet dreams, weren’t you?”

“The best I’ve ever had,” Astarion mutters mournfully as he buries his face in his pillow. “You were there, of course.” 

Astarion rarely sleeps anymore. It’s not normal, not natural for an elf. But it was a trick he taught to dodge Cazador’s torment at least for a few hours a day. Reverie used to mean putting the horrors on repeat. He’d slowly eased from the habit, now that he has new memories worth seeing a second, third, or hundredth time. 

Still, occasionally, he drifts to sleep without meaning to. Sometimes, he wanders off into novel nightmares. Or, if he’s lucky, he dreams of making love to his wife and making her pregnant. Of making their own little dhampir.

His hips shift, and he hisses. Pre-cum seeps from the head of his cock, slickening the shaft. It’s not enough. Not after such a succulent fantasy. But one touch from his darling might have him sated, if not entirely satisfied. Pleasure stabs, sharp, through his groin as she shifts and brushes him with her motion. He grimaces. 

Just one touch alone could do it.

“I’m here now,” she smirks, twisting to face him. Her hand slips down between them. Mercy, he thinks, as her fingers wrap his length. He thrusts into her palm with a pleading whimper. “Tell me all about these dreams of yours.”

A/N: If you're yelling "Let him breed!!" at the screen just know I'm right there with you holding a megaphone about it 💜

If there's interest (from others & myself) perhaps there might be a part two where Tav takes matters into her own hands. Makes him say exactly what he wants, if he wants to have it so bad 👀

EDIT: This is now officially a part one of two 😉

If you'd like me to add you to a tag list for future one-shots, or all of my future BG3 fic (including multi-chapters), leave me a comment and let me know which you'd like!

& HUGE thank you to some lovely Discord and Tumblr friends/moots who cheered me on as I worked on this one! 💜

Tag List: @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

[tndrsurrndr]

Two-bit definitely flirts with the whole gang as a joke (minus Pony probs Darry might kill him) and I think Dallas would get the absolute worst of it. Like they’re all talking and suddenly Two-bit just says the most out of pocket, vile thing ever and looks at Dallas with a stupid grin and Dallas literally has no idea how to respond to something like that because it’s so obscene.

[mastermindmiko]

Finally

Pairing: Sirius Black + Reader

Summary: Sirius reunites with his girlfriend after many years in Azkaban

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: None, I believe, but lmk

Hey! If you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist

The ministry’s guards have been following me around for the last two days. They follow me to work and back to my home. There is a guard positioned in front of my office that stays there, surveilling anyone going in or out. I’m sure they’d have one at my home, if I didn’t so clearly state my distaste for the idea, going on a small rant about my rights. 

I wish I could’ve said that I was unexpecting of be pulled out of my work in the middle of the day. Three days after the papers printed out the news, and I had caught a glimpse of his adult face for the first time in years. Despite the disheveled hair and maddening stare with the manic scream, it was still him. 

The interrogation room is exactly like I thought it would be. Remus had described it in his letters, he was his friend after all, it made sense to interrogate him as well. There’s only a few people present in the room, most of them being guards and secret keepers. The veritaserum is present in a small vile, on an even smaller table. I sit down in front of it and take a small sip. 

The auror raises an eye at me, I gulp down the whole potion. I can already feel the effects start to take place, it’s getting more difficult to hold my tongue. The auror grabs a piece of paper from the secret keeper next to them and the reporter holds more tightly to her pen. 

“Please state your name.” 

The first questions are standard procedure, making sure that the veritaserum is in full effect. It’s basic questions: my name, my age, my occupation. The Auror clears his throat and I straighten my back ready for the actual questions. His voice bellows as he speaks, “Have you had any contact with Sirius Black?” 

“No, I have not.” I reply, and as much as it pains me to say it, it’s the truth. The Auror’s eyes narrow at me suspiciously. I can hear the quill scratching at the parchment paper, my answer recorded. He asks, “Have you been in contact with anyone who has been in contact with Sirius Black?” 

“No, I have not.” I repeat, and feel the boredom steep into my skin, not just annoyance that was already present. I had wished that he had contacted me, but surely, he was waiting for the trials to be over, he wouldn’t want to get caught. 

“Do you know anyone who Sirius Black might try to contact?” 

“Do you have any ideas as to where he might hide?”

“Are there any people who might’ve aided him in his escape?” 

“Have you aided him in his escape?” 

The questions go on and on, and I watch the arrows of the clock tick and tick till an hour of my day is gone. The Auror is on his last paper with the last necessary questions. He asks, “And finally, what was your relationship with Sirius Black?” 

“I was his girlfriend.” 

***

“I’m not sure I like this.”

“No, don’t worry, you’ll love this surprise.” Remus teases, hinting at something I don't understand. I had received a letter from Remus, entailing anything except for the fact that the order is coming back together. For the second time, to fight off Voldemort. Harry needed more people around him that believed him more than anything.

I open my eyes and my breath hitches when I see him. He looks older from what I remember and much more sane than the pictures that the daily profit prints.I can imagine that if I’d ask him, he’d just smirk and flirt. He’d say that thoughts of me held him over. He’s got his hair slicked back and his beard trimmed. The dirt that would’ve covered his skin from the confinement in Azkaban, nowhere to be seen. He wanted to make a good impression, and that was too bad. 

“Actually, I’m sure that you’ve loved this surprise for a while now.” He says He walks me towards an unknown room in Grimmauld Place 12. The new location for the order is odd, and quite awfully random. I wasn’t sure how Dumbledore agreed, it seemed such an obvious place to hold a resistance against Voldemeort, but maybe that was the brilliance of it.

Remus was being awfully ominous, he’s been hinting about this surprise for a bit, and now that he’s finally leading me towards it, I feel anxious. I clutch my bag tightly in my hand and try not to look like I want to open my eyes so badly, aching to not try to take a subtle peek through my fingers that covered my eyes.

Remus shuts the door behind us and positions me.  He lets go of my shoulders, and shouts, “Surprise!” 

The feelings of relief from seeing him, all gone out the window as my fist clenches in anger and my blood boils. Why had he not spoken to me? Been out of Azkaban for two years, and not a single word. How dare he rob me of this relief?  Everyday coming home from work to eagerly check my letters and find none with his name. Looking deeply into the fire escape, hoping to see a familiar face, but don’t.

I rush over to him and start slamming his shoulders and chest with my bag. I shout, “You’ve been out of Azkaban for two bloody years and you haven't come to find me till now, you idiot!” 

“Ow,ow,ow! Darling, please stop.” He says, moving away from my bag and my fists, but I take a step towards him. I feel my eyes water at the nickname and how much I’d missed his voice. He holds my wrists and pulls them down, taking the bag from my hands and flinging it to the ground. 

I look at him again, and there he is. The boy I fell in love with,now a man, but with the same mischievous glimmer in his eyes. He smiles when he notices that my defenses have been let down, and my eyes softened. He always knew me too well. I feel my eyes burn and I press my lips together, urging the tears to stay back.

“I’ll give you guys some space.” Remus whispers before leaving the room. Sirius shoots him a smile and then turns back to me when the door closes. He looks skinnier, being on the run tends to do that. His cheeks are more hollowed out, but definitely filled out more since his initial escape. I wonder if he knows that I look at his pictures everyday. Sirius whispers, “How is it that you’re still getting more and more beautiful?” 

“How is it that you didn’t come find me? Or contact me at all? Harry’s been talking to you, he’s told me about the letters, and apparently you’ve been talking to Remus too.” I ask, avoiding his expert technique in changing the subject. He lets go of my wrist and I feel my fingers twitch, aching to get a hold of him again. He sighs, and says, “I was in Azkaban for twelve years.” 

“So?” 

“So…you could’ve moved on, and I-” He admits, pausing to let out a shaky breath. Fourteen years didn’t change the man that I knew. The mannerisms are the same, the same nervous shifting and awkward, but devastating smile. He continues, “I wasn’t ready to see that. Don’t think I am now, but it seems like it’s been long enough.” 

“It’s been too long.” I say, and take a final step towards him. I gulp and reach out to take his hand. I feel the softness of his finger tips, sliding my hand over his, feeling the lines of his palm and his callouses. It’s all the same and I can't without the sigh that breaks out from my chest. The first proper touch from the love of my life. He grips my hand the same way he always did, lock and key. I pull him tightly against me, hug him. For years, this is all I’ve wanted, and now it’s here.

“Have you?” Sirius asks, and I pull away, frowning and confused. I ask, “Have I what?” 

“Moved on?” Sirius asks, tentatively, part of him not wanting to know, instead wanting to live in an ignorant bliss. To me, it’s a stupid question. I smile, “No, how could I move on when you’ve taken my heart eighteen years ago, and so selfishly haven’t given it back to me?” 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get around to giving it back.” He grins so widely I think his face might break. He leans down and captures my lips in a heated kiss that’s filled with so much emotion, the emotions that neither of us could’ve expressed for a long time. 

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed! I have a feeling that I've been writing too much Sirius Black, though I'm not complaining

I feel a few tears finally escape my eyes, I can’t believe that he’s actually here, in front of me, kissing me after all this time. He wipes them away with his thumbs and cradles my face with his hands. For the first time in twelve years, though maybe without friends and heart bruised and more broken than before, I don’t feel alone. 

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A mark and a promise

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 8

Prompt: Gift

Rated: T

Tags: Fantasy AU; Fae!Eddie; Knight!Steve; Eddie Munson whump; Flirting; Sexual tension; Just a bit of mindfuckery

“Boy. Pretty boy. C’mere.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and makes a show of turning the other way. This has been going on for the better part of the night and it's getting annoying. For a few, blissful moments, silence settles over the great hall, the only sound the crackle of the torches. 

“For all that you couldn’t take your eyes off me earlier, you sure like to play coy now, sweet thing. All I ask is some company, is that-” 

Steve whirls. 

“Alright, enough,” he snaps, stomping towards the small cage. “I am a knight. My father is lord of this castle. I'm not a boy, and I'm most certainly not your sweet thing.” 

The boy in the cage regards him through dark lashes. “But you do not deny that you're pretty? Interesting.” 

Steve sputters. Despite the icy winds howling through the castle, his face feels hot all of a sudden. 

“Shut up,” he snaps. “I know what you're trying to do. You fae are all the same, clouding our minds with your sweet talk and magic. Father warned me you'd do this, I won't-” 

“Yes, yes, he's a formidable man, your father,” says the boy. He attempts to sit up straight, but stops with a wince. The cage is small, and the heavy manacles on his wrists hinder the movement. Iron, Steve knows. The only thing that will keep the fae’s magic in check. Some say its touch burns like fire for them. “What does he intend to do with me, can you at least tell me that?” 

Steve huffs. As if his father would let him in on his plans. “No idea. Send you to the royal court, probably. Gift you to the king.” 

The fae boy ducks his head to let his dark hair obscur his face. “So that more humans can gawk at me while I slowly waste away in this iron coffin? Lovely.” 

Steve doesn’t quite know what to reply, so they lapse into silence. It isn't exactly fair, he guesses. Sure, their races have been enemies for generations, but this boy doesn't look like a high fae lord or warlock. He's rather … scraggly, in fact. A thin, pale figure, dressed in a nondescript gray, pointed ears poking out from tangled hair. The only noteworthy thing about him are his eyes. Deep and dark like a winter night. The reflections of the torchlight gleam in them like stars. 

Steve thinks of how small and forlorn he looked earlier, when the hall was teeming with his father's knights. The real ones, those he takes out on his forays - not the useless son he tasks with guarding a lone prisoner in a cold and empty hall. How the fae boy sat there, head bowed and shoulders hunched, while they all taunted and laughed at him. The ground of the cage is still covered in puddles of stale beer from where they emptied their goblets over his head.

“You could always just let me go.” 

Steve flinches back to the present to find that he has grit his teeth and curled his hands into fists. The boy's eyes are still trained on him. He scoffs. 

“Nice try. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. You think he gave me the keys?” 

Those unsettling eyes follow his gaze to the padlock on the cage. The boy's lips curl into a smile. When he speaks again, something about his voice is different. Steve can't exactly pinpoint what it is - just knows that it feels like it's seeping into his very bones. Heady, warm and tingly like the first hit of spiced wine on a frosty day. 

“Oh, but you do. You know what it feels like, after all. Being the target of their jokes. Being sneered at and looked down upon, treated like a vile and dirty thing. Like you're not worthy of sharing this world with them when it should be yours by right. You've been putting up with their vanity and their cruelty for so long, and you're dying to pay them back. To put them in their place and show them you won't be treated like-” 

“I said shut up!” 

The dagger is in his hand before Steve knows it, but instead of the boy's throat, it lodges itself in the padlock. Steve watches how it falls open, and the boy's smile goes large. 

“Very good,” he coos, lifting his shackled hands. “Now free me of these.” 

Steve is crawling inside the cage and prying at the manacles before he even thinks to disobey. 

“I'm not doing this because you told me to,” he lies. “It’s only because-” 

He never gets to finish the sentence. 

The shackles fall open, and a wave of sheer, unbridled power sweeps over him, ripping the breath right off his lips. Steve recoils, scrambling backwards out of the cage. 

The man who follows after him is so beautiful Steve is overcome by the irrational thought that he must shield his eyes or go blind, but he can't move. 

“You've made me a great gift, pretty child,” the man smiles. His long, dark curls fall around them as he bends down to cup Steve's face in soft, cold hands. His robes billow like liquid midnight, dark and black. “I'll make you one in return.” 

If his voice felt like spiced wine in his veins, his kiss is like sweet mead weighing down his limbs. Steve is powerless to resist. 

“My mark,” the man says, pecking his lips once more before pulling away. “And my promise. You've spared my life, and I shall spare yours when we meet again. Until then, I bid you farewell, my little lordling.” 

An icy gale sweeps through the hall, making the torches flicker, then die. The hall plunges into darkness.

When Steve’s eyes adjust to it, he's alone in front of the empty cage. His lips still burn with the memory of the man's kiss.

Part 2

More holiday drabbles

[paigestrap]

paige gf headcannons, some 18+:

- calls u her good luck charm, doesn’t miss a shot when youre watching she’s too proud

- thanks u every time u watch her play as if that’s not your job as her gf. she’s so so grateful it means the world to her every single time

- looks for u in the crowd whenever she’s able. especially when she scores like she’s looking for your nod of approval

- extremely touchy, especially when she’s had something to drink u literally need to pry her hands off of u at the bar bc she’s ready to go at it right there

- loves to whisper the most vile shit in your ear about what she wants to do to u at the most inappropriate times. it’s actually a problem she will get u so worked up in public and then leave u high and dry but it’s soooo hot

- talks u through it i can’t emphasize this enough she’s incredibly talkative when she tops sometimes u literally have to tell her to shut up

- but when she bottoms it’s the complete opposite. so needy and can’t seem to get a word out in awe of u

- she is such a giver in bed, has literally made you come five times in one night before because she’s so obsessed with how u look and feel when u orgasm

- she likes to go down on u but will always stop right before u come so she can be next to u and whisper in ur ear the entire time

- calls u her sweet girl and knows the effect it has on u and uses it to her advantage

- as active as she is, her favorite thing to do with u is stay in all day in bed. nothing makes her happier than having u all to herself for an entire day

- big fan of cheeky banter, will flirt by making fun of u for literally anything but it’s all in good fun and u know it

- gets super embarrassed when her teammates tease her about u. like one time she left an embarrassing amount of hickeys on your neck and got called vampire paige for the entire week

- she’s obsessed with u and everything u do. texts u constantly and wants to know how you’re doing. also made u share her location with u for “safety reasons”, but u know she just wants to know what you’re doing and where u are at all times

- possessive, wants u all to herself if anyone tries to flirt with u when she’s around she will literally make out with u and grab ur ass right in front of them