#the sheer MAGNETISM between them

[potato-on-your-head]

listen Emma Swan is morosexual and exclusively attracted to men who are cringefail in one way or another, the most functional person she sort-of dated was probably Graham and even then their first makeout happened after she'd spent the whole day with him while he was having a nervous breakdown. her other flames include a pretend furniture salesman who fake pined after her until she noticed him, a 200-year-old twentysomething conman who taught her how to commit felonies at age 18, and a pirate who flipped from Kitten Thinks Of Nothing But Murder All Day to puppy-eyed pining for one (1) Emma Swan in the course of like a week. she was a goner the moment Killian Jones sauntered onto the scene. she's kicked his ass. she's seen others kick his ass. she watched him get hit by a fucking car. he said the dumbest flirty shit to her until she mashed her face into his from the sheer sexual tension.

it was always just a contest between which brand of moron she was going to pick in the end. she chose to be ride or die for Hot Eyeliner Pirate and we love her for it

you know who else in funny? Neal. I cannot get over how much of a loser he is. And the fact that he thought he ever stood a chance when it came between him and Hook??? Guy Liner McPuppy Eyes? Emma walks into his his line of sight and his world is instantly rocked. Killian Jones would NEVER get engaged to a random woman on the street because he was too scared to face Emma. Also Neal has zero drip. Man is wearing a dirty t-shirt and sweatpants 100% of the time. Hook is in dashing black pirate attire. He’s got a detachable hook for a hand and has alluded to having ~other~ attachments for it as well. Baelfire calls his dad “papa” despite being a grown man. “When I win your heart, Emma, and I will win it. It will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.” Neal baby i’m so sorry but you could nevvvverrrrrrr

[enviedear]

stay, little valentine, stay ｡𖦹° jason todd

🎧ྀི your roommate makes the fateful mistake of passing you, his roommate, off as his girlfriend to his boundary ignorant family. now the both of you are tasked with maintaining a faux romance for the entirety of a dinner at wayne manor—simple enough, right?

wc 4.2k | roommate!jason, lowercase intended, fem!reader, brief mention of booze, cursing, mutual pining, two idiots fake dating…truly what more can i say (a lot, so). please, enjoy my 'funny little valentines' day special ᯓᡣ𐭩

“there’s not enough room in the freezer for the ice trays. either move your booze or enjoy an ice free apartment,” your voice is tinged with annoyance as you stare down your long-term roommate.

he’s laid back on the shared couch, right cushion side, staring back at you with a impish grin on his face, “or, you could finally throw out that cake you bought for your ‘promotion’ party. since, the fuckin’ promotion never happened and it takes up half of my freezer.”

“our freezer.” you add. “and fuck you, i could still get that promotion any day now. i can always unfreeze it—good as new.”

jason seems to be beginning to tune you out as your eyes drift to a new letter on the fridge, stuck on with an ‘i hate gotham’ magnet. the print is fancy, cursive, bold black ink—YOU’RE INVITED—it reads.

“what are we invited to?” you ask, ice tray debacle not at all at the forefront of your mind now. not when you can tell your roommate’s got an invite from his estranged past guardian, none other than bruce wayne.

he hums a reply at first, still zeroed in to the rerun of some prison show. when he finally picks up on your question he sours, visibly, “some idiotic anniversary dinner for dick and kori. we’re not going, you weren’t even invited.”

you pout, “i want to go! why can’t we go?”

jason’s got a stern look on his face now, and you’ve always found it so unnerving how quickly he musters it up—usually so relaxed in your shared domain.

“we’re not going because i told a lie, and if we show up…everyone will know.” he groans, “just drop it, i need a little more time to ride this out.”

suddenly more intrigued, you prance over to him on the couch, flopping down beside him, “a lie?”

“don’t. just drop it.” he huffs at the obvious annoyance on your face, “it’s just stupid.”

“c’mon, we know all of each others ‘stupid’ shit. what was the lie, todd?” you’re being genuine, riddling your appeasement with a sweetly sardonic tone.

finally, after a good minute of staring at a very completive jason, he cracks, “i might have alluded to being in a relationship with you.”

your smile cracks before he even finishes his admission, oscillating between confusion and sheer giddiness—trying to halt the part of your brain that wants to imagine a life where a relationship isn’t such a laughable idea.

you curl your lips to stifle your last giggles before looking back up at him, “why?”

jason shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the question. his eyes dart away from yours, finding sudden interest in the television screen, "bruce kept...asking about my life here. if i was settling in, if i was happy." he runs a hand through his dark hair, "and then, all the others got involved, asking to set me up with people. i needed them to stop asking. and you-" he pauses, scratching the back of his neck, "you were the most believable option.”

you stare at him, unblinking, trying to process his words. "most believable option…” you repeat slowly, testing how the phrase feels on your tongue. a warmth spreads across your chest-whether from flattery or something else entirely, you're not quite sure. "so, what? think i can’t pretend to be your girlfriend for a dinner?" the idea sends an unwelcome flutter through your chest. you curse yourself.

jason's expression shifts, a mix of surprise and something else you can't quite read. "you'd do that?" he asks, his voice carrying an unusual note of vulnerability.

"of course," you reply, trying to keep your tone light and casual. "what are roommates for? plus, free fancy dinner at wayne manor? count me in." you're aiming for nonchalance, but your heart is racing at the prospect.

jason's jaw clenches, a tell-tale sign of him thinking too hard, "it's not that simple. they'll know it's fake. bruce especially—dick and tim too—they’re too observant for their own good.”

"oh please," you wave off his concern, settling deeper into the couch cushions, "we've lived together for what, two years now? we already act like an old married couple anyway. i know your coffee order, you know my work schedule. we share groceries, we fight about ice trays—“ you gesture broadly to the kitchen, "it's practically method acting at this point."

he looks at you then, really looks at you, with an expression you can't quite read. "you'd really do that? pretend to be with me in front of my entire family?"

"of course i would," you say softly, nudging his shoulder with yours. "what are friends for if not to fake date each other to avoid awkward family dinners?" you try to keep your tone light, ignoring the way your stomach flips when he smiles at you that rare, genuine smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"fine." he finally concedes, shrugging his shoulders, "but we need to get our story straight. no holes, no gaps—i figured we'd keep it close to the truth. roommates who gradually realized there was something more." he pauses, then adds, "the best lies are built on truth or some shit, right?”

you nod, and start crafting the imagined romance with jason. over the next hour, you both piece together your relationship timeline—how you first bonded over late night takeout after his patrols, the way you'd patch him up after particularly rough nights, and how somewhere between shared grocery runs and movie marathons, faux you fell for him. or him for you—the both of you can't agree on that just yet.

you try not to focus on how easy it is to imagine, how some of these made-up memories feel more like documentation rather than fabrication.

"okay, and when did we actually get together?" you ask, pulling your knees up to your chest, trying to ignore how invested you're becoming in this alternate reality.

"three months ago." jason answers quickly, too quickly, like he's already thought about this. "after that night I came home really beaten up, remember? you were so pissed at me for being reckless."

you remember that night vividly—how he ever thinks you could forget, you’re unsure.

him stumbling through the window at three in the morning, blood seeping through his stupid jacket. how your hands shook as you stitched him up, how quiet he was, how close his blanched face was to yours. you’d attributed the racing of your heart to fear, but now…not so much.

"yeah," you say softly. "that works."

the rest of the week flies by in a blur of preparation and anxiety, until suddenly it's the night of the dinner, and you're standing in front of your mirror, wondering if you've made a terrible mistake.

you're wearing a deep red-toned dress that hits just above your knee—something you'd bought on a whim (a fifty percent off sale) months ago and never found the right occasion for. jason had given it an approving nod when you'd shown him, which somehow makes you feel more nervous than reassured as you stare yourself down.

"ready?" jason's voice comes from behind you, and you turn to find him adjusting his tie in the hallway mirror. he looks…different. good different. the suit fits him perfectly, and you wonder briefly if alfred had something to do with that. the older man has a penchant for doting over your overgrown battling ram of a roommate.

"as i'll ever be." you manage, trying to keep your voice steady. "but, um, how convincing do you think we need to be?"

jason's eyes meet yours in the mirror, "enough to fool the world's greatest detective," he sighs, "and his army of protégés." he turns to face you properly, and something in his expression softens, but he looks away too quickly for you to discern, "you look really pretty."

"thanks." you mumble, fiddling with your clutch. "so do you. very…boyfriend."

he laughs, but it sounds slightly strained. "that's the idea, isn't it?" he offers his arm to you, "shall we?"

the drive to wayne manor is muted. jason's knuckles are white on the shifter, and you find yourself reaching over to place your hand over his without thinking. he startles slightly, but he doesn't pull away—even keeps contact as he switches gears.

"hey." you start softly, "we've got this. we know each other better than anyone, we live together. besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

jason sighs, his hand tightening slightly under yours. "you clearly don’t know how bruce and tim get at these things. anniversary or not, they'll smell blood in the water if we slip up."

"relax," you assure him, glancing out at the looming trees lining the driveway. "i doubt they’ll care about your relationship timeline when they’re busy fawning over how happy dick and kori are."

jason shoots you a look that clearly says 'don't tempt fate', but his grip on the wheel loosens slightly. "just…follow my lead. and if it gets too weird, we can always fake a medical emergency."

"that...is always an option." you grin, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips when he smiles back.

the manor looms up ahead, and as jason pulls up to the gate, you feel his hand squeeze yours briefly, almost indecipherable.

"last chance to back out." he murmurs.

you intertwine your fingers with his, ignoring the voice in your head that whispers how right it feels. "not a chance, todd. you're stuck with me."

the gates open, and as you drive up the winding driveway, you're unable to shake the feeling that you're about to cross a line you can't come back from. but with jason's hand so warm and relaxed in yours, you're not sure you want to.

jason parks the car in front of the house at the partition, "in case we need a quick exit." he shrugs.

"i think you're too worried, jason. i doubt they'll even question it. you said they wanted you dating anyway, i bet they'll just be happy." your voice is quiet, hand hovering in front of the doorbell.

he sighs, "you don't know these people, they question everything."

before you can reply or try to alleviate his doubts, the double doors fly open. you grab jason's hand in your own and pull him closer, just as alfred sets eyes on the pair of you.

alfred's eyes visibly brighten at the sight of both of you, his normally reserved expression softening into something fonder, "master jason," he greets, a ghost of a smile on his lips, "and miss, how lovely for you to be joining tonight. everyone is very excited to meet you, i fear my few stories were not enough to quell them."

you smile, a real genuine one too, "it's nice to see you again alfred! i hope we're not too late—jason decided to change his tie last minute."

alfred hums and beckons you both inside, "fashionable tardiness, miss. i assure you."

jason, hand now sweaty in yours, chuckles, "he's being nice since you're with me. he's usually irate by my lateness."

you shoot jason a pointed look as alfred continues. "master richard and miss kori have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. their anniversary dinner is a rare occasion they’ve pulled out all the stops for, you see."

jason grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, overachievers.

the sound of multiple voices echos through from a room, and you feel jason's grip tighten slightly. you've heard stories about his family for years now—mostly complaints, occasionally fond remembrances, and everything in between during late night conversations over takeout.

"master bruce insisted on formal dining tonight." alfred mentions, though his tone suggests mild disapproval. you've learned over your visits that alfred much prefers when the family dines in the kitchen.

jason scoffs quietly, "because god forbid we eat somewhere comfortable." you squeeze his hand again, a silent reminder of your emergency exit strategy. two years of living together has given you an extensive library of non-verbal communications.

the dining room, when you enter, is exactly as alfred has described it countless times—grandiose in a way that speaks to old money and older traditions. the table stretches long and elegant, set with what you recognize as the ‘good china’ alfred often mentions.

your muscles tense slightly as you finally notice all of the eyes on you—staring and studying—you have to think before you step.

bruce wayne rises first, and despite all of jason's stories, despite seeing him on tv and in newspapers, you're struck by his presence. "jason." he greets, then turns his attention to you. "we've all heard quite a bit about you from alfred, though significantly less from my son."

you feel jason's posture stiffen, but you're prepared for this. "oh, you know how jason is with sharing things." you say easily, the words flowing naturally after years of defending his privacy to nosy neighbors and concerned coworkers. "though, alfred's probably told you all my embarrassing stories by now."

dick grayson—exactly as handsome as the magazines suggest—breaks into a wide grin. "actually, alfred's been surprisingly tight lipped. just kept saying we should ask jason ourselves." his eyes sparkle with mischief. "which, of course, got us nowhere."

"some things don't need to be broadcast to the whole family." jason grumbles, but his thumb is mindlessly drawing small circles on your hand, a gesture you've learned means he's more comfortable than he's letting on. 

"oh, but this is so wonderful!" a melodic, cheerful voice chimes in, and you glance up to see koriand’r—kori to most—seated beside dick, her vibrant curly red hair catching the light as she smiles radiantly. "you must forgive us for prying, but jason does not often share such…delightful surprises."

"by 'us,' she means her." dick cuts in with a smirk, earning a playful nudge from kori.

"yes, and what of it?" she replies lightly, turning her attention fully to you. "you see, jason is like a tamaranian grisnek—so fierce and protective on the outside, but underneath, he is all kindness and loyalty. how could we not be curious about the person who has captured his heart?"

"great. glad we're all analyzing my personal life at the dinner table." jason mutters, though his hand stays on yours, his grip steady.

"do not be fooled," kori says in a whisper that is anything but subtle, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "jason pretends to be irritated, but inside, i know he is glowing with happiness."

your lips twitch into a smile despite yourself, and jason sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging with mock defeat. "i think i'm gonna need another drink."

kori leans back, laughing softly, the sound warm and lilting, as she looks between you and jason once more. "you are lovely." she adds sincerely, her tone softening. "and jason could not have chosen better."

tim drake, who you've only seen in passing when he's stopped by your apartment to drop off miscellaneous ‘private’ documents, raises an eyebrow. "yes, it's all very sweet." he hums it almost, tone carefully neutral but eyes sharp, studying you.

"sweet indeed." you agree, letting some of your genuine fondness for jason color your voice. it's not hard to fake being in love with someone when you've spent two years memorizing their coffee order, patching up their wounds, and falling asleep on their shoulder during movie marathons. the hard part, you're starting to realize, might be pretending it's all pretend.

bruce barely looks up from his plate as he speaks again, cutting through your blissful thoughts of jason, “a shame i wasn’t aware you two were involved.”

jason tenses beside you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “yeah, well. guess you don’t know everything, old man.”

bruce sets his fork down with deliberate slowness. his gaze flicks between the two of you, assessing, “i never said i did.” his voice is even, unreadable. “but you don’t bring people around often. that’s worth noting.”

jason scoffs, like he couldn’t care less, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, unease, probably both.

jason’s hand finds yours under the table. it’s definitely not a calculated move, not a necessary nor obvious display for the act you’re putting on. it’s just—there. warm and solid, his fingers curling around yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you don’t let go.

dinner progresses with a strange mix of tension and ease. You find yourself falling into natural conversation with dick about your work, while jason maintains a careful distance from bruce's attempts at engagement. still, his hand hasn't left yours, and you're starting to wonder if he's forgotten it's all for show.

"so—how did you two finally get together?" dick asks, leaning forward with genuine interest.

you exchange a quick glance with jason, settling into the story you've rehearsed. "it wasn't really some big dramatic moment," you say, the lie feeling uncomfortably close to the truth. "we just...realized we work."

jason picks up the thread smoothly, his thumb still tracing patterns on your hand. "she was patching me up after a rough night, mad at me for being so bruised," he says, and you can hear the genuine emotion in his voice. "and i just...i dont know—knew, i guess."

tim's watching you both with analytical eyes, and you wonder if he can see through the charade. "that tracks." he says finally. "you two have always been...close."

"speaking of close," dick interjects with a grin, "i think it's hilarious jason used to insist you were 'just roommates', and yet never went on any of the dates i set him up on. i should have known, really." there's a pout on his face, humourous.

you laugh, perhaps a bit too nervously, "well, we were. for a while." the irony of the statement isn't lost on you. you can see jason watching you from your peripheral, face stoic—but his eyes are soft. the way they watch over you, simply affectionate.

bruce, who's been quietly observing, finally speaks. "i'm glad jason has someone looking out for him," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes your heart ache. "he's always been...independent."

jason's grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "yeah, well, some things change." he mutters, but there's less bite in his words than usual.

the conversation shifts to safer topics—work, current events, alfred's latest culinary experiments. you find yourself relaxing despite the pretense, falling into familiar patterns of banter with jason, finishing his sentences, and sharing knowing looks.

it's during dessert that damian, who's been suspiciously quiet, finally speaks up. "you're good for him," he declares with all the authority of a youngest sibling. "he's less annoying when you're around."

jason chokes on his tiramisu, and you pat his back automatically, the gesture so natural you don't even think about it. "thanks, damian!" you say, fighting back a smile. "i think."

as the evening winds down and dinner ends, you find yourself in the manor's vast library, having wandered away from the group for a moment of quiet. besides, you feel somewhat redundant against their coded phrases and stories. jason finds you, as he always does.

"hey." he speaks softly, coming to stand beside you. "you doing okay?"

you turn to face him, suddenly very aware of how close he is. "yeah, i'm good. your family's...intense, but nice. just like you said."

he laughs quietly, but there's something different in his eyes. "you're amazing, you know that? playing along with all this. you didn't have to."

"i wanted to." you admit, and it feels dangerous how true those words are. "besides, what are fake girlfriends for?"

jason's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read, and for a moment, you think he might say something more. but then dick's voice calls from somewhere far off in the house and the moment gaps.

"we should head back." jason says, but he doesn't move. "before they send a search party."

you nod, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing. "yeah, we should."

but neither of you moves, caught in this strange liminal space where pretend and reality blur, and you're no longer sure which is which. even less sure if you hunger for dreams or waking existence—which is which? for a split second, you want to reach out. you desperately want to feel him—to possibly transfer the devotion you’re still too afraid to admit you harbor.

jason’s breath is staggered, coming out forced and shallow. his eyes, darker in the dim light, are flitting between you and the door—until he focuses in on you, fully. you’re too confused as to why he’s getting closer to you to react accordingly when his lips brush yours.

your first instinct is to furrow your brows, still confused. then, you kiss back. hungrily. confusion still fogs your mind, but nowhere near the way jason does. his lips are chapped, plump, and still tasting faintly of expensive dark liquor. his body cages you close him, hands respectfully at your shoulders. of course the only thing you can recognize is jason.

you err on the side respectfulness—opting to tug him closer by the tie. there’s a flash of the memory of him putting it on, and you can’t fight a small smirk from slipping onto your lips. jason must notice, because he finally breaks away to peer down at you.

“what?” he whispers, panting and staring down at your lips.

“what do you mean, what? we kissed.” you still feel giddy from his kiss, but reality begins to settle into you like a winter chill.

jason watches you closely, his expression a mix of smugness and unease, “hmmm—playing it dangerous.” he finally murmurs, shaking his head.

you arch a brow, feigning derision. “you say that to all the girls, todd?”

he exhales a laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he huffs. “that grand number of...you.”

before you can say anything, footsteps echo just outside the library's door. jason instinctively steps back, widening the space between you just as dick pokes his head in. “there you two are! we were about to send out a search party.”

you smile, pushing down the lingering tension. “sorry. just taking a little tour.”

dick’s gaze flickers between you and jason, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “right. well, come on. we're playing charades—and bruce is actually smiling. you don’t want to miss that.”

jason groans, but he follows you and dick back back toward the others. his hand brushes against yours in the hallway, and for a second, you think he’s going to take it again. but he doesn’t. 

charades is winding down by the time you return, alfred putting away various dry erase boards and markers with the kind of efficiency only a butler can possesses.

kori beams when she sees you, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “lovebrids! you have returned!" she gestures to herself and grayson, "thank you for coming—we would like to extend our support to your relationship.”

jason lets out a little breath, like he wasn’t expecting that—like he isn’t sure what to do with the sincerity. “thanks, kori.”

bruce, too, seems slightly less intimidating now. “thank you for coming—you’re welcome here anytime, both of you.” he tells you, and it sounds like a rare offering.

something about it all settles in your chest, warm and unexpected. you’ve spent so much time being jason’s person in private—patching him up, watching his back, making sure he gets home in one piece—that it’s almost startling to have it acknowledged in front of everyone else.

goodnights and goodbyes come soon after, and tim catches jason by the elbow before the pair of you can walk out the door, pulling him aside for a hushed conversation. you linger near the doorway, talking with kori and dick, but you can’t help the way your attention keeps flickering back to jason.

when he finally returns to your side, his expression is unreadable. “ready to go?”

you nod, murmuring your goodbyes as you both step back into the night air. jason doesn’t say anything as he leads you back to the car, but his hands flex at his sides.

the drive back is quieter than before, the easy banter from earlier replaced with something heavier, something neither of you seems willing to touch just yet. jason’s grip is tight on the wheel, his jaw set, eyes fixed on the road.

it isn’t until you’re pulling into the familiar streets near your apartment that he finally speaks. “they bought it.”

you huff a quiet laugh. “yeah? i told you so.”

jason’s eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second before he exhales. “thank you, seriously. you were great.”

you glance at him, something warm curling in your chest. “we just make a good team.”

something glints in his expression, something hesitant, something aching. “yeah,” he agrees, voice quieter. “we do.”

the silence stretches between you as he parks the car. you unbuckle your seatbelt, but neither of you make a move to get out. stuck stagnant.

“so, this is was fake...” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

jason’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, knuckles red. “yeah.”

you should leave it at that. you should forget the kiss. you should revert back to just his roommate. you should laugh it off, make some joke about how convincing you both were—but you don't—instead you say, “does it still feel fake to you? us...tonight?”

jason’s breath catches. for a long moment, he doesn’t answer. you almost let doubt seep in.

then, he turns, his eyes dark and searching. “god, no.”

your heart stutters in your chest, and you swallow hard, pulse roaring in your ears. “good. me neither.”

for a second, he just looks at you, like he’s waiting for you to take it back, to laugh it off. but you don’t, you won't. and when he leans in—slow, hesitant, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away—you don’t.

you decide to meet him halfway, instead.

writer’s note .☘︎ ݁˖ all of my thanks to the helpful, @sunnie-angel for being my beta reader for this fic! thank you again for your services—and your sweet comments on this little story, very very happy to have a moot like you !!!

🖇️ masterlist | askbox | recent works

[misswynters]

𝐗𝐎𝐗𝐎

jinx x fem!bombshell!reader

synopsis: You are a model for (victorias secret equivalent but in arcane universe) and jinx becomes infatuated with you. Known for you bombshell persona and explosive personality, you are the most well known model in all of piltover and zaun. Possibility even watching noxus and the other regions.

warnings: 18+, smut, kissing, smut, wlw , the use of a toy, jinx calls you sugar,

a/n: my first jinx fic <3, also on ao3 (not yet, under doorkiluv)

note | pls give me feedback (and don't only just like but also reblog and comment) this was supposed to be short but it went overboard

𓏲 ˖. ♡ 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐱 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 for Piltover. Too clean, too polished, too boring. The people were all fake smiles and ridiculous hats, and she preferred the chaos of Zaun to its glittering streets. That all changed the day she first saw you. She’d been in Piltover on a whim, loitering in the shadows as she planned her next prank. Explosives in a fancy clock tower, maybe? She hadn’t decided yet. But her chaotic thoughts screeched to a halt when she looked up at the enormous neon screen in Piltover Square and saw your beautiful face.

You were walking down the runway in a show so glamorous it put Piltover’s polished spires to shame. Wrapped in a shimmering, barely-there gown that hugged your curves, you strode with an air of absolute confidence. Your bombshell persona was magnetic, your hips swaying to the rhythm of the music as the crowd erupted into applause. You gave the camera a cheeky wink and blew a kiss, and Jinx’s brain short-circuited.

“Holy… Who the hell is that?” she muttered, her wide eyes glued to the screen.

A vendor passing by glanced at her. “That’s her. You don’t know? The biggest model in all of Piltover and Zaun. Hell, even Noxus and Ionia are crazy about her.”

Jinx didn’t respond, too transfixed by the image of you flashing across the screen. You were a living firework, a walking explosion of charisma, beauty, and sheer presence. Your bold, flirty persona was a match for her own chaos, and it wasn’t just your looks that had her hooked—it was the energy you carried, the way you owned every moment. From that point on, Jinx was utterly captivated.

Back in her lair, your face became a constant presence. Jinx scavenged every poster, magazine, and billboard she could find that featured you. Her walls were covered in them, glossy images of you smirking, posing, and looking like you owned the world. She couldn’t get enough of you, and it drove her mad in the best way possible.

“Look at her,” she’d whisper to herself, lying on her bed and staring at a magazine cover where you lounged in a shimmering gold corset. “She’s a walking explosion.”

Whenever one of your commercials aired on Piltover’s big screens, Jinx made a point to watch. She’d perch on the rooftops, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as you spoke directly to the camera, your voice sultry and teasing. Sometimes, she’d mimic your lines, laughing to herself at how ridiculous she sounded compared to you.

The first time Jinx saw you in person, she nearly short-circuited. You were in Zaun, of all places, stepping out of a sleek transport at one of the fancier underground clubs. It was rare for someone like you to venture into the depths, but you carried yourself with the same confidence that lit up your photoshoots. Heads turned as you walked through the crowd, a knowing smirk on your lips as if you knew exactly the effect you had on everyone around you. Jinx’s pulse quickened. This was her chance.

She darted through the crowd, weaving between gawking onlookers until she was standing at the bar beside you. Up close, you were even more stunning, your beauty almost overwhelming.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you in a dump like this,” Jinx drawled, leaning casually against the counter. Her nerves were on fire, but she masked it with her usual cocky grin.

You turned to her, one perfectly arched brow raising as you took her in. Your gaze lingered on her bright blue hair and manic energy, and a small, amused smile played on your lips.

“Maybe I like a little chaos,” you replied, your voice smooth as silk. “And you certainly look like the chaotic type.”

Jinx grinned wider, her confidence surging. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m not just chaos—I’m a full-blown explosion.”

The two of you spent the night trading flirty remarks and playful banter, the tension between you crackling like a lit fuse. Jinx couldn’t believe her luck. You weren’t just a pretty face. But you had a fiery, explosive personality to match. You were bold, unapologetic, and just as dangerous as you were beautiful. At one point, she leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear as she murmured, “So… what’s it like knowing the whole damn world’s obsessed with you?”

You laughed, the sound low and sultry. “I don’t mind the attention,” you said, turning your head so your lips were almost touching hers. “But right now, I’m more interested in you.” Jinx’s heart nearly stopped.

Back at her lair, were things escalated rather quickly. Jinx couldn’t keep her hands off you, tracing every curve and line of your body like she was memorizing you. Her fingers lingered on your hips, her lips trailing heated kisses along your neck as she whispered breathless praises. “You’re even better than the posters,” she murmured, her voice filled with wonder. “Didn’t think that was possible.”

You teased her with your signature confidence, your voice dripping with flirtation as you pulled her closer. “So you’ve been staring at my posters, huh? What did you think about me?”

Jinx blushed, but she didn’t back down. Instead, she grinned wickedly, her fingers tightening on your waist. “Thought about all the things I’d do if I ever got you alone,” she said, her tone low and rough. “And now, I’m not holding back.”

The tension was electric, charged with the crackling hum of her inventions and the intensity of her gaze on you. She had been teasing you mercilessly all evening, brushing her hands against your skin, dropping flirty remarks that sent heat pooling low in your belly. You could feel the mischief radiating off her as she twirled one of her newest creations in her hand. It was a bright, colorful pleasure device she'd been gushing about for days. Jinx loved experimenting, and tonight, you were her favorite subject.

She grinned at you, her sharp, mischievous grin that made your heart race every time. "Alright, Sugar," she purred, tossing the toy between her hands like it was some casual gadget and not something designed to make you lose your mind. "You trust me, don't ya?"

You raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain your usual flirty composure. "You mean to tell me that thing isn't gonna explode?"

Jinx cackled, tossing her head back. "Not this time, babe! Well, probably not. But hey, if it does, at least we'll go out with a bang!" She winked, and despite your hesitation, you couldn't help but nervously laugh. "You're impossible," you murmured letting her guide you to the mattress piled high with pillows and blankets.

"And you're irresistible," she shot back, pressing you down onto the bed with a surprising gentleness for someone so wild. Her hands were steady as they traced over your skin, her fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear. "Let me take care of you, Sugar," she whispered, her voice dripping with sweetness and heat. "Promise I'll make it fun."

The first sensation was the gentle hum of the device she'd created, a soft vibration against your folds that made you arch into her touch. It was colorful and whimsical, much like Jinx herself, with blinking lights and playful patterns painted across its surface. Despite its toy-like appearance, the way it worked against your body was anything but innocent.

Her free hand skimmed over your inner thigh, her touch featherlight and maddeningly slow. The wetness pooling between your legs became impossible to ignore, and Jinx took full advantage, sliding the toy up until it pressed directly against your bundle of nerves. A slick, wet sound began filled the room, the vibrations amplifying the noise as your arousal spread. Jinx froze for a moment before bursting into a fit of laughter. "Oh, look at you," Jinx teased, her eyes bright as she watched your reaction.

"Didn't take much, huh? Bet I could've just touched you, and you'd be melting for me." You tried to retort, but the words caught in your throat as she pressed the device lower, her mischievous grin widening as your body jerked in response.

"Aw, Sugar, don't hold back," she crooned, tilting her head to the side as if studying you. "I like hearin' you. Makes it more fun for me."

Your head fell back, a moan slipping past your lips as she adjusted the settings, the vibrations intensifying. She laughed softly, her free hand stroking your thigh as if to ground you. You buried your face in your hands, mortified but too overwhelmed by the pleasure to stop her. The toy’s vibrations grew stronger, and the obscene wet noises only intensified as she moved it against you, her laughter turning into a low, appreciative hum. “Damn, you sound so good,” she murmured, her tone dipping into something more serious. “Bet I could make you scream just with this.”

Your hips bucked against the toy, your slick arousal coating it and making the sounds louder and wetter with each movement. The lewd squelching only seemed to spur Jinx on, her grin growing wider as she adjusted the settings, sending sharper bursts of pleasure through your body. “Listen to that, Sugar,” she teased, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re a fuckin’ symphony for me. All wet and messy, just how I like it.”

The embarrassment of her words was quickly drowned out by the mounting pleasure, your moans growing louder as the toy worked you closer to the edge. Jinx’s free hand slipped beneath your thigh, lifting your leg to spread you open further.

“Look at you,” she said, her eyes dark with hunger as she watched the toy glisten with your slick. “So damn pretty like this. Could stare at you all day."

Her words made your cheeks flush, though you couldn't focus on embarrassment for long. Every nerve in your body was alight, the sensation of her toy paired with her teasing kisses and caresses driving you to the edge. And then she pulled it away, grinning wickedly at your gasp of frustration. "Not yet, Sugar," she said, clicking her tongue. "I'm not done playin' with you."

She shifted her attention, leaning down to press her lips against your neck. Her kisses were hot and open-mouthed, her teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. You felt her grin against your throat when you whimpered, your hands clutching the sheets beneath you. Her lips found your collarbone, her teeth sinking into the delicate skin to leave another mark.

"Gotta leave my mark," she murmured between kisses, sucking a particularly dark bruise just below your jaw. "Let everyone know you’re mine. My perfect, messy little bombshell.” Her words sent a shiver down your spine, but you hesitated, your modeling career flashing through your mind. "Jinx, I..."

She pulled back, her wide, manic eyes locking with yours. "Aw, don't worry about all that fancy-shmancy stuff," she said, her voice teasing but with an edge of sincerity. "Bet they'll just airbrush it or whatever. C'mon, Sugar, lemme have my fun."

Your protests melted away as she kissed you again, this time harder, deeper, her hands pinning your wrists above your head. The way she looked at you, like you were the most precious thing she'd ever seen, made your resolve crumble. "Fine," you murmured, breathless. "Do your worst."

Her grin was feral. "Oh, babe, you asked for it." Jinx worked her way across your body, leaving a trail of marks in her wake on your neck, your collarbone, and the valley between of your chest. Each one was a testament to her possessiveness, her need to claim you in a way that went beyond words. "You're gonna look so pretty tomorrow," she murmured, her hands and lips everywhere at once. "Walkin' around all marked up, like a damn work of art."

You couldn't even bring yourself to care about the consequences anymore. Her touch was overwhelming, every kiss and bite sending jolts of pleasure through you. She alternated between using her toy and her hands, keeping you teetering on the edge but never quite letting you fall. "Beg for it," she whispered, her voice dark and playful as she hovered above you. "C'mon, Sugar, lemme hear it. Tell me how bad you want me to finish you off."

Your pride wavered, but the need coursing through you won out. "Please, Jinx," you gasped, your voice shaking. "I need you. Please."

She chuckled, clearly satisfied with your quick surrender. "That's more like it," she said, finally pressing the toy back against you. The sensation was overwhelming, and this time, she didn't stop, driving you higher and higher until you finally shattered, a cry escaping your lips as you came undone beneath her. Jinx didn't stop right away, drawing out your pleasure until you were trembling, your body spent and your mind hazy.

When she finally set the toy aside, she crawled up beside you, pulling you into her arms with surprising gentleness. "See?" she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Told ya it'd be fun."

You tilted your head up to meet her gaze, a small smile playing on your lips despite your exhaustion. "Guess I'm stuck with you then," you teased, your flirty nature peeking through even now.

Jinx grinned, her signature chaos in her expression, but there was something softer there, something that tugged at your heart. "Damn right you are. You're mine, babe. Every last gorgeous inch of you." Her fingers danced across your body, tracing the bruises she'd left, her eyes filled with pride as she admired her handiwork. You shivered under her touch, the sensitivity from her earlier teasing still lingering.

"Look at this," she mused, her tone somewhere between awe and glee. "You're a freakin' masterpiece, Sugar. Better than any of those shiny posters they plaster all over Piltover and Zaun."

You couldn't help but laugh softly, the sound weak but genuine. "You think so?"

"I know so," she said firmly, leaning down to nuzzle her face into your neck. "They see the bombshell, the glitz, and the glam, but I get this. I get the real you, all wrecked and perfect just for me." Her words sent warmth spreading through your chest, the vulnerability beneath her usual bravado making your heart ache. You reached up to cup her face, your thumb brushing against her cheek. "You're too good to me, you know that?"

Jinx snorted, pulling back just enough to smirk at you. "Too good? Babe, I'm a menace. But I guess l've got a soft spot for you."

"Lucky me," you teased, letting your fingers trail down to the nape of her neck. She leaned into your touch, her grin softening into something sweeter. "Damn right. You're the luckiest gal in all of Piltover, Zaun, maybe even Noxus." Her playful boasting earned another laugh from you, and she kissed you again, slower this time, her earlier fire giving way to something gentler. The kiss lingered, her lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your chest tighten.

When she finally pulled away, she flopped down beside you, pulling you into her arms as if she couldn't bear to let you go. You rested your head on her chest, listening to the steady thrum of her heartbeat as your body relaxed into hers.

"Y'know," Jinx murmured, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back, "I used to look at those big, fancy posters of you and think, ‘She's way too good for someone like me!"

You tilted your head up to look at her, surprised by her confession. "Jinx..."

"But then I thought," she continued, her voice growing steadier, "what's life without a little chaos, right? And lucky for me, you're just as explosive as I am." Her words brought a smile to your lips, and you reached up to brush a strand of blue hair from her face. "Guess we make a pretty good match then, huh?"

She grinned, her manic energy shining through even in this quiet moment. "The best, Sugar." As the adrenaline from earlier began to fade, you let yourself sink into the warmth of her embrace, her steady presence grounding you. Despite the chaos that always seemed to follow Jinx, moments like this reminded you why you'd fallen for her in the first place.

banner: @anitalenia

taglist: @blazemaster4014 @st6rship @axoluxy @1nakitofan @redskye11 @cxcilla @evneedshozierrn @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @raspberry-lava @alduinworldeater11 @m00nd0v3 @idk2anym @emmy21842 @ladey @keysmashsstuff @blkmystery

[patchwork-crow-writes]

The Roaring Knight encounter at the end of Chapter 3 is a masterclass at showing you that the REAL protagonist of Deltarune isn't Kris - it's Susie.

This doesn't really make much sense at first glance - you can't even really FIGHT the thing on equal footing without the Shadow Mantle, and to even get that Kris has to go through a harrowing gauntlet and fight a whole OTHER secret boss that doesn't even use the battle mechanics we've grown accustomed to. Kris Suffers to get that item, the one thing that can let them stand up to the Knight's merciless assaults. Hell, the game won't even let you retry if you lose until you have the Mantle in your possession. You would therefore assume that the Mantle belongs to Kris, and that they are the ones who should wear it.

And yet. Even when you don't have this item, who stands up to defy it? Susie. Who stops it from doing... whatever it was trying to do to Toriel, TWICE? Susie. And who gives chase across the boundary between light and dark, across the entirety of hometown, to stop it from abducting Undyne? Why, it's Susie. Her actions are those of a hero standing up to a terrible villain of unknowable power, and she does it without a shred of hesitation, even faced with the very real prospect of being killed.

And if that were it, it'd be kind of boring. But that's not it at all, because the reinforcement of this idea continues into the fight itself. Because if you can keep Susie alive for five turns, she starts monologuing against the boss, telling it how much it sucks and that she'll always have her friends behind her.

The Knight is presented to us as unknowable, invincible, unstoppable. Regular attacks bounce off of its absurdly high HP, it cannot be Checked like a normal enemy, attempts to reason with it fall on deaf ears. And yet, what's the one spell that can meaningfully hurt the Knight, to the point of temporarily disrupting its form? Susie's Rude Buster.

And then, when you throw yourself at the Knight again and again, trying to figure out its weakness, trying to outlast its brutal onslaught, it hits you - the Shadow Mantle does NOTHING for Kris in this fight, but it does EVERYTHING for Susie. Susie's the one doing all the damage. Susie's high HP perfectly compliments the shadow mantle's protection against the Knight's more absurd attacks. Ralsei has no way to meaningfully contribute to the fight at all, and while Kris can use Hold Breath to give the SOUL a boost, their utility begins and ends there. The most that either of them can really do is to act as TP and healing bots for Susie, and to equip weak armours that have beneficial effects, such as the TwinRibbon, Silver Watch, Blue Ribbon, TensionBow and Lodestone - the effects of these items persist regardless of whether the character wearing them is DOWNed or not, and, you guessed it, are equipped not to help them survive, but to allow them to support Susie even when incapacitated.

Then you start seeing it in other areas. Who is it that facilitates change in the other characters - Ralsei, Noelle, Berdly? Susie does, each and every time. She effortlessly upends their own myopic views of the world, defying them to change and be better, without even really realising that's what she's doing - is it any wonder that EVERYONE in the main cast seems to have a thing for her? She's magnetic in the way that heroes are, not despite her brashness and short temper but BECAUSE of them - because she cuts so effortlessly through the FICTIONS that other characters cling to, the stories they tell themselves about who they are, what they can do, and how they ought to be. Susie shatters those preconceptions and offers an alternative - live how you want to live, make the choices that you want to make, and let no-one else ever tell you who you are.

Susie is the hero of Deltarune, and the Roaring Knight's fight encapsulates why perfectly, without ever once drawing attention to the fact. It's sheer genius on Toby's part and I salute the skill with which it conveys those ideas in such an organic way.

[angrythingstarlight]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DJt1UWoxhCl/?igsh=M3drNndlcTdsYXQy

This is such a Bucky and sweet Bee thing 😂🥹🥰 like did you ghostwrite or manifest this reel 😅

Bucky and our sweet Bee have been co-conspirators since she was born.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee

CW: Fluff

WC: 1k

A/N: Part of the Bumblebee series.

You have to keep a constant eye on these two because the second you’re not paying attention, they’re up to something. Running off to some store or looking up how much a baby highland cow costs. And how to sneak said baby highland cow into the house.

Last week, you overhead them plotting ways to get you on the jet so they could spring an impromptu vacation to the Maldives on you. Bucky tossed out the idea of simply tossing you over his shoulder and taking you on the jet. Bee approved. And what Bee wants, Bee gets. Or so Bucky told you as he carried you to the plane.

The next night all of you were at a new restaurant, you wait until the orders placed and the drinks on their way to go the restroom. You leave Bee digging through your purse for her stash of crayons while Bucky places a few cloth napkins in front of her.

You're gone for less than five minutes. Just five.

You come back to an empty table and a wide eyed, slightly nervous waiter telling you that your husband and child will be back soon.

Bucky has Bee answer the phone when you call. The conversation is all too familiar. They’ve done this before.

He listens in, ignoring the salespeople rushing around him trying to locate the exact pieces he custom ordered before the jet landed.

“Hi, mommy. I can’t tells you. It’s our secrets. Okays. Yeah. My favorites too. Okays, I tells you a wittle bit. We gonna gets you—waits. Hi Papa. Okays. Mommy, we—we gonna sees you laters. Bye. Loves you.”

She hangs up, leaving you chuckling into your glass of wine.

In all fairness, Bucky doesn’t make you wait too long. The appetizers arrive just as your mobster strolls back in, everyone watching him make his back to the table.

You can’t blame them for staring. There’s something about him that’s magnetic, drawing attention effortlessly. Maybe it’s because he looks so damn good in his dark grey suit, tattoos peeking past his sleeves, and that signature smirk on his bearded face. Could be the way he’s attentively doting on the little girl in his arms that has every woman in this place swooning. Bee is adorable in her fluffy white and pink striped dress, her head tilted back as she talks, a small white bag with a black logo in her hand.

Bee stops mid-sentence when she sees you, a smile brightens her face. “Hi Mommy.”

“Hey sweet Bee.”

Bucky leans down, setting her on the chair next to you, leaning over to sweep his lips across yours. “Hi Malyshka,” he murmurs with a teasing grin.

“James.” Your eyes roll, but he can read you better than his favorite book, he knows you’re happy to see him and that you’re curious about what they did. He gives you another kiss before he takes his seat. His blue eyes flicker between you and Bee. She’s squeezing the bag between her hands, brimming with excitement, he gives her a brief nod.

Bee empties the bag on the table, two small velvet boxes tumble out, one knocks against your plate with a faint clink. “Oops. I gots it,” she says, picking them up and holding them in front of your face. Little fingers wrapped around cobalt blue cloud your vision. “Prise!”

Leaning back, you take one and pop it open. Your heart melts. Just gone in a puddle of sheer happiness. In your periphery, you see Bucky, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, a pleased grin breaking through.

You want to appear unfazed, tease him a bit, tell him he can’t keep doing this. Can’t keep spoiling you like this.

But you can’t. The words won’t form.

Not when you’re gazing down at a pretty bumblebee locket, your baby’s initials etched into the hand-carved wings. Bee snaps open the other box, revealing a heart-shaped locket, lined with gorgeous pink diamonds.

“Its for us Mommy,” she says, switching the boxes and opening her locket. You gently trace a finger over the photos of you and Bucky. These are from New Year’s, you let Bee use your camera to take pictures of the city before the countdown. It wasn’t until later that you found the ones she took of you two. “You loves it?”

“I do.” Tears prick at your eyes as whatever is left of your melting heart warms your chest.

Bucky’s smirk fades into something softer, sincere. His hand brushes down your arm and he rests his chin on your shoulder. “Look at yours Malyshka,” he asks, voice deep and thoughtful.

The locket opens with a soft snick. You recognize the photos. You have them on your desk. Baby Bee and her toothless grin, the one you could never get enough of. Bucky, the night he proposed, looking up at you, the passionate emotions captured in his eyes always make your breath hitch.

“Its perfect,” you breathe out.

“Always is,” Bucky responds, his gaze drifting across your face. He can’t imagine anything more perfect than you. And little Bee.

“Thank you. This is amazing.”

Bee wiggles in her chair, legs swinging. “You welcomes.”

Bucky says nothing, happy to let his baby take all the credit. He places the locket around your neck and does the same for Bee. Topped off with a kiss on the lips for you, one on the forehead for her.

Dinner goes by too fast. Cherished memories you’re going to store away, right next to all the other incredible moments in your life. You take it all in. The delicious food is made even better by the bite or two stolen from each other’s plates. Excellent wine. Bee’s apple juice. Your hand in Bucky’s. His arm around your shoulders. The sounds of the band unnoticed over shared laughter and Bee’s wildly imaginative stories about Mr. Tato and Elmo.

And the heart-shaped locket warming against your skin as the sun sets.

Life is good.

You’ll never be able to stop these from conspiring against you, but you’re about to one-up them. Give them something that can’t be bought in stores.

[idkyetxoxo]

Cregan Stark - Everyday

Summary - Cregan Stark is the embodiment of power and untamed beauty, a man who commands attention. His wife finds herself utterly consumed by his presence, unable to resist the magnetic pull of her fierce husband. In his arms, restraint is not an option—only surrender.

Pairing - Cregan Stark x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!!)

Word count - 2781

Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Anytime I'm alone, I can't help thinking about you. All I want, all I need, honestly, it's just me and you.

My husband is nothing short of a force of nature—a man who commands attention with every step he takes. 

I count myself among the fortunate few, graced by a marriage that most maidens can only dream of. 

The stars had aligned for me, for I had found my match in a man of extraordinary strength and heart.

Cregan Stark—he was no mere man. He was a vision of raw power and untamed beauty. 

His presence alone could steal the breath from your lungs. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark eyes that seemed to hold the weight of the world, he was everything I had ever desired and more. 

A fierce warrior, a devoted lord, and a husband who made my heart race with a single glance.

One morning, as I strolled lazily through the snow-dusted courtyard of Winterfell, I was interrupted by a sight that made my pulse quicken. 

There, in the far corner of the yard, was my husband—shirtless, a rarity in this bitter cold. 

I stopped dead in my tracks, mesmerized. His muscular frame glistened with beads of sweat, his movements powerful and controlled as he chopped wood with effortless precision.

I watched, captivated, my heart thudding in my chest. The sight of him, so commanding and yet so intimate in his labour, was nothing short of intoxicating. 

The snowflakes that fell around us seemed to pause, the whole world holding its breath as I admired the magnificent man before me.

Unable to tear my eyes away, I took a step forward, crossing my arms over my chest as I bit my lip, trying to reign in the desire that surged within me. 

"Dear husband?" I called, my voice barely above a whisper, a playful edge to it.

He paused mid-swing, his piercing gaze locking onto mine. A slow, confident smile spread across his face, the kind of smile that could melt stone. 

His broad chest expanded as he took a breath, his muscles flexing as he leaned casually on the massive axe he held, as if the task at hand were no challenge at all.

"Yes, my love?" he asked, his voice rich with warmth, the corners of his mouth still tugging upward.

I couldn't hide the way my eyes wandered, tracing the outline of his chest, the faint glisten of sweat on his skin, the strength in his arms that could easily break wood—or any obstacle that came between him and those he loved. 

"Why have you taken up such a task yourself?" I asked though I knew full well the answer was likely less about necessity and more about the sheer force of his will.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with one hand, still holding the axe in the other, and shrugged nonchalantly. 

"A mere distraction, my sweet," he replied with a gleam in his eye, effortlessly splitting a log in half, the wood yielding to his strength as if it were nothing more than kindling.

"A distraction?" I teased, unable to suppress the playful glint in my eyes. "Or an opportunity to look so... ravishing?" The words slipped from my lips before I could stop them, and I felt the heat of my own words burn in my cheeks.

His brows arched in that way of his, the one that told me he was intrigued—and perhaps a little pleased with my flattery. 

He tilted his head slightly, studying me with that same intensity that made me feel like the only woman in the world.

"Ah, you flatter me, my love," he said, his smile deepening as he set the axe down, clearly aware of the effect he had on me. 

And I, utterly lost in him, couldn't help but relish the feeling of being so completely captivated by the man I had married.

The evening had descended upon Winterfell, cloaking the castle in a deep, silvery night. A chill had taken hold of the air, but inside the great hall, the fire burned bright and warm. 

The room had been filled with lords and advisors, their voices heavy with matters of war and strategy. 

Yet, amid the debates and discussions, there was only one man who commanded the room without ever raising his voice: Cregan Stark.

My husband stood at the head of the table, the very embodiment of authority and strength. His posture was straight, his presence magnetic. 

Every lord, every noble in that room, hung on his every word. Cregan's dark eyes flickered with a sharpness that cut through the noise, and when he spoke, his voice was like the rumble of thunder—low, powerful, and impossible to ignore. 

He was the Lord of Winterfell, and every inch of him bore the weight of that title with ease. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in his command. His power was undeniable.

I watched him from the far side of the room, mesmerized by how effortlessly he dominated the space, how easily he commanded respect. His every movement was deliberate, his every glance a reminder of the fire and resolve that burned within him. 

His presence radiated strength, and in that moment, I was overwhelmed by the sheer force of his masculinity. He was magnificent, fierce, ravishing, and yet entirely at ease with himself.

When the last of the lords had filed out of the room, their steps echoing off the stone walls, I found myself unable to tear my eyes away from him. 

He stood still at the head of the table, his broad shoulders squared, his posture as proud and powerful as a wolf in the wild. 

The way he stood, so effortlessly commanding and unyielding, made my heart race.

As the heavy wooden doors creaked closed behind the last of the lords, I knew it was my moment. I crossed the room quickly, my footsteps light, almost hurried, as if I couldn't wait another moment. 

Reaching the door, I locked it with a soft click, my pulse quickening as I turned to face him.

Cregan was already looking at me, his brow slightly furrowed in a question. He hadn't moved from his spot, his gaze steady, but there was a flicker of curiosity in those dark eyes. 

His expression was unreadable as if he were waiting for me to make the next move.

I stood there for a heartbeat, the air between us thick with unspoken words. I could feel the heat of the fire on my back, but all I could see was him—my fierce, beautiful husband. 

He was still dressed in his dark furs, the black of his cloak flowing over his broad shoulders, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breath. 

He was the very image of strength, of power, and of a man who had conquered not just lands, but hearts—mine included.

I swallowed my voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the room. "Cregan..." His name fell from my lips like a prayer, as if it held all the reverence and awe I felt for him.

His lips curled into that familiar, knowing smile—the smile that told me he knew exactly what I was thinking. The smile that made my heart skip a beat.

"You seem... eager, my love," he remarked, his deep voice low and almost teasing.

I couldn't help but laugh softly, but it was a sound filled with longing, a sound that came from somewhere deep within. I took a step toward him, my eyes never leaving his. 

"How could I not be?" I replied, my voice thick with desire, my chest tightening with the magnetic pull he always had over me. 

"After watching you command a room full of lords, so fierce and so...ravishing." I paused, the words tasting sweet on my tongue, and then added, "You are something else entirely, Cregan Stark."

He chuckled a low sound that reverberated through me, making my knees feel weak. His gaze softened just a fraction, though the power he exuded never wavered. 

"Is that so?" he asked, taking a slow step toward me, the power of his presence like a wave crashing over me.

My breath hitched in my chest as I felt the distance between us close. I could see the glint of amusement in his eyes, but there was something more—a deep, smouldering heat that burned just beneath the surface. 

He was just as affected by this moment as I was, even if he tried to hide it.

By the time he reached me, my knees felt like they might give way, and still, he hadn't touched me. I ached for it, for him.

I reached out, my fingers brushing the furs of his cloak, feeling the strength of him beneath my touch. 

"You've made me lose all sense of restraint," I whispered, my voice barely audible, yet laden with yearning. I took another step toward him, and now there was no space left between us. 

And then, there was no distance left—my body was pressed up against his, my skin alight with the feel of him. 

His heat seared through the layers between us, and I wanted to strip them all away, feel the raw intensity of him against me, inside me.

Cregan's eyes darkened, and for a moment, I could see the battle in him—between the man of duty and the man who was all mine. 

But before I could speak, before I could beg for more, he moved, his hand gently cupping my face as he leaned down, brushing his lips against mine. 

The kiss was slow, deliberate, and impossibly deep. It spoke of everything we'd kept buried, of the wild, untamed hunger that had been simmering between us all along.

In that moment, I knew. There was no resisting him. Not now, not ever. 

This man—this fierce, ravishing, untamable force of nature—had consumed me. He had captured my heart, my body, and my soul. 

And I would let him take it all.

"I need you," I murmured against his lips, already tearing away the layers of fabric between us, my hands shaking with the desperation that had been building all day. "I need you so bad."

His voice was a dark rasp when he finally responded, the words sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine. "Well, my sweet, I'm in no position to deny you."

In one swift motion, he lifted me effortlessly, his strength making my breath catch in my throat. 

He laid me across the dark wood of the table behind us, his eyes locked onto mine, filled with a possessiveness that made my pulse race. "Not now. Not ever."

"Good," I gasped, my chest rising and falling with every breath as he began to kiss his way down my body, his mouth leaving fire in its wake.

My hands roamed over his torso, seeking the hard, aching length of him. When I found it, I stroked him slowly, the sensation sending a soft moan from his lips that echoed in my very soul.

"Please," I whimpered, my voice trembling with need, my eyes never leaving his as I begged for more.

He nodded, his breath shallow, his expression a mixture of control and the primal need that mirrored my own. 

He positioned himself at my entrance, and the moment he entered me, I felt it—a flood of satisfaction, of relief, of pure, unadulterated pleasure that washed through every fibre of my being.

The rhythm he set was savage, the power of his thrusts unrelenting. Each movement was a slow burn of bliss, a relentless pleasure that stole my breath, that made me ache for more. 

The way he filled me, the way he moved in and out of me with such force, was nothing short of divine.

Loud moans tumbled from my lips as his hips slammed against mine, filling me completely before pulling out entirely, only to do it all over again. 

Each thrust, each pulse, was pure ecstasy. I felt as though I was floating, lost in the waves of sensation, consumed by him.

Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes, the pleasure so intense it threatened to overtake me. He saw them, his gaze softening just for a moment before he spoke, his voice low, rough with need.

"Am I hurting you, or can you take it like that, love?" His words were like fire, fanning the flames that already raged inside me.

I nodded quickly, unable to trust my voice, unable to do anything but surrender.

"Please," I finally managed, the word barely a whisper as I clung to him. "Don't stop."

And he didn't.

The world around me seemed to fade away as he continued to move inside me, each stroke sending shocks of pleasure through my entire body until everything blurred into one overwhelming, scorching sensation. 

My legs trembled beneath me, unable to keep steady, and I gripped the edge of the table for support, but there was no escape from him, from the power he wielded over me.

He was unrelenting, his thrusts precise, building me higher and higher, teasing me with the promise of something even more. 

Each time he withdrew, I felt a pang of longing, a desperate need to feel him deep inside me again, to be filled, consumed. But then he would return to me, faster, harder, taking me to places I didn't even know existed. 

My body was on fire, wracked with pleasure, each motion of his hips drawing me closer to the edge.

"Don't hold back, love," he whispered, his voice dark with desire, pulling me closer, his hand sliding between us to trace delicate circles over my swollen, aching clit. 

The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through me, and I couldn't hold back the desperate moan that escaped my lips.

"Please, please..." I whimpered, my mind lost in the haze of sensation, my body trembling violently.

"Let go, my sweet," he growled, his own breath ragged as he felt the change in me, as I began to unravel under his touch. "I've got you."

And then, just as I thought I might shatter into a million pieces, he pushed me over the edge. A wave of pure, unadulterated bliss crashed through me, my back arching violently as the pleasure consumed every inch of me. 

My body trembled uncontrollably, my legs spasming, my entire being lit up in a way I had never known.

I couldn't stop the cries that spilt from my lips as the climax ripped through me, leaving me breathless, every muscle in my body twitching as the world spun around me. 

His name fell from my mouth in a breathless whisper, my body shaking beneath his touch, consumed by a heat that left me utterly undone.

He didn't stop, didn't give me a moment to recover before he was right there with me again, pushing me further, making me feel things I could hardly comprehend. 

I was dizzy, disoriented, and yet he made me crave more, made me beg for everything he had to give.

When I finally came down from the dizzying high, my body still trembling, I felt like I couldn't stand. 

My legs were weak, shaking beneath me, and I knew there was no way I could move without him. His arms wrapped around me, lifting me gently, as if I were something fragile, something precious, and it only made me feel even more vulnerable, more exposed, more entirely his.

He held me as though I were the only thing that mattered, his touch softening, but the heat in his gaze never wavered. 

I was overwhelmed by the intensity of what had just happened, and in that moment, I was completely, utterly grateful. 

Grateful that someone like him—someone so beautifully, exquisitely perfect—was mine.

I leaned against him, unable to steady myself, my heart still racing. He kissed my forehead tenderly, his lips warm against my skin. 

"You are incredible," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "So beautiful."

I looked up at him, my chest full of wonder, and I felt a soft smile tug at my lips. I couldn't even find the words to express how I felt—how overwhelmingly, impossibly thankful I was for this. 

For him. That he, the man who had taken me to the heights of pleasure, who had made me feel more alive than I ever had before, was here with me.

"You're everything," I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of everything I couldn't say. 

And in that moment, I knew I would give him every part of me—my heart, my body, my soul—because he had already taken me beyond anything I could ever have dreamed of. 

And he wasn't stopping. Neither was I.

He giving me that good shit that make me not quit, that good shit. Oh, he give it to me, everyday, everyday, everyday.

A/n - This is lowkey feral but like the song—the concept—it's too perfect...the minute the idea formed in my head I basc dropped EVERYTHING to write this so yw xx

Cregan tag list - @veesuguru

[soul-controller]

My ideal body would be bigger, stronger and more mature. You know, the perfect things a daddy has.

The food court was abuzz with life, as families chatted over greasy trays of fast food and teenagers laughed too loudly in between loudly filming content for their social media. Meanwhile, you’re sitting alone at one of the tables – absentmindedly picking through a tray of half-eaten fries as your mind wanders and gaze drifts across the crowd. 

And then, you see him.

He stands in line at one of the busy vendors, a mountain of a man with a body thick with muscle, broad shoulders and biceps on full display due to his revealing tank top. His stubbled jaw is strong, giving him a rugged, mature look despite the hair not having a single hint of grey. Immediately, you could feel how his presence instantly commanded attention.

You swallow hard, your thoughts betraying you before you can reel them in. God, I wish I looked like that. If you had his confidence, his build, his effortless magnetism…dating would be a cakewalk compared to how it was now. No more awkward conversations, no more feeling invisible. Men would want you the way you want. You couldn’t imagine how many guys would easily fall under a man like that’s spell and submit to anything he desired…

The thought barely finishes before something strange happens.

The man suddenly stopped as he went up to give his order to the cashier. Mid-step, mid-action, as if a switch inside him was suddenly flipped. His head tilted slightly, like he’d heard something no one else could. Then, without warning, he turns. His dark eyes lock onto yours with a weight that leaves you trembling.

Your pulse stutters.

You look away, heat creeping up your neck. Shit, did he catch me staring? You brace for some kind of reaction – a glare, a sneer, maybe even some choice words about keeping your eyes off other men. But none of that happens.

Instead, he moves. He heads out of the line, walking through the crowded tables in the center of the food court… heading straight for you.

Your heart pounds harder with every step he takes. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t glance around, doesn’t slow. In seconds, he’s there, standing before you, so close that you can smell the faint spice of his cologne.

He stands there for a moment, as if waiting for you to make the first move. You don’t know what else to do besides stand up and offer up your table as a peace offering of some kind.

But just as you get up on your feet and prepare to speak, his large mitt of a hand suddenly reaches out for you. Instantly, you cower and prepare for some sort of aggression from the man. To your shock though, you feel his hand reach around the back of your skull, with his fingers threading through your messy light brown hair. 

Before you can react, before you can even think, he pulls you in. His lips crash against yours, warm and demanding, stealing the breath straight from your lungs.

The world around you blurs. There’s only the heat of his body, the pressure of his mouth, and the sheer intensity of the kiss on your mind. It’s possessive and sensual, almost as if he’s wanted this just as much as you have.

His kiss deepens, growing hungrier, more forceful. His lips move against yours with raw intensity, his stubble scratching at your skin as he tilts his head, taking you even deeper into it. You barely have time to breathe, barely have the space to think of anything but the feeling of him and his dominance.

Still unsure if you should touch himself yourself, your fingers curl into a fist as his grip around your head grows firmer. His stubble scrapes along your cheeks and upper lip, a sharp friction that burns in the best way. You chalk it up to the roughness of his face, a delicious sort of rug burn that only makes you more aware of him. But you don’t notice how the irritation doesn’t fade. How a faint, trimmed stubble of your own begins to emerge in response, spreading across your jawline as if mirroring his.

Then his teeth catch your bottom lip. 

Caught off-guard, you initially expect just a sharp nip from the man. As such, your body shivers as this action is then followed by a firm tug.

Pleasure twists through you, edged with just a hint of pain, but you don’t pull away. You lean in, chasing the heat of his mouth, even as he repeats the action several times across both lips. The area tingles beneath his touch, a light sting settling in followed by a strange sort of numbness. As you focus on the pleasurable yet shocking nature of what you’re experiencing, you don’t realize how your body continues to change. Your lips swell, with each kiss and bite reshaping them into something fuller, plumper, and certainly more kissable.

His fingers rake wildly through your hair, gripping and tugging as if he can’t get enough of you. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, your scalp prickling as the strands darken, deepening in color until they’re as jet black as the faint stubble shadowing your jaw.

Then his hands begin to roam.

Large, rough palms press against your arms, gliding down over your biceps. His touch is firm and greedy, as if your body was unclaimed land he wanted to claim for him and himself only. While he does this, the softness in your arms melts away, leaving behind lean defined muscle in his wake. The shift spreads through your chest, tightening and sculpting the area by replacing any hint of flab with toned strength.

He moves lower, hands gripping against your sides as his body leaned forward to press into your waist and hips. A strange weightlessness washes over you, your body subtly adjusting to its new weaker yet toned form. You don’t notice at first though, too lost in the way his mouth and tongue keeps invading yours. But when he suddenly leans down to reach you, angling his body in a way he hadn’t needed to before, something feels…different.

Somehow, you’re shorter now.

Not by much, but enough that the shift was noticeable – if you weren’t so intoxicated by the sight and affection of him.

Then he pulls back, just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are dark, smoldering, filled with something unreadable yet immensely magnetic. Your heart pounds against your ribs as your breath remains unsteady. It felt weird to think about, but you couldn’t help but feel as though your entire body was thrumming with some sort of strange, electric energy.

His fingers trail along your jaw, tilting your chin up ever so slightly. His voice, deep and commanding, sends a shiver through your newly sculpted frame.

“Come with me.”

There’s no hesitation. No second thought.

Your body moves before your mind catches up, heart hammering, antsy and eager to do as he says.

You don’t think. You just follow.

Your legs move on instinct as the bulky man pulls you away from the food court. The world blurs around you – the people, voices, and mundane background of the mall all fading into irrelevance. There’s only him. The warmth of his touch as his thick fingers curl around your own. The quiet confidence in his stride as he pulls you through the corridor toward the men’s restroom and cuts off the father and son who were on the verge of entering the area first.

The moment you step inside, the door slams shut behind you – with him using your body to block anyone else from coming in. 

A rush of air leaves your lungs as your back meets the hard surface. His hands press firmly against the door on either side of you, caging you in. His eyes burn into yours, dark and intense, filled with something raw and undeniable.

“You didn’t think I’d catch you staring, huh?” he murmurs, voice rich and deep. A smirk tugs at the edge of his lips. “Luckily for you, you’re just what Daddy needs right now.”

The words send a shiver through you. A mix of anticipation and something else – pure elation. You’d never thought your days of people-watching and fantasizing would lead to something like this happening. It felt like something straight out of some sort of fanfic or movie!

You barely have time to explore those thoughts though as then, with a low grunt, his strong hands grab the collar of your shirt. You barely have time to react before the fabric gives way with a sharp, tearing sound. Your gasp turns into a startled moan as the cool air of the restroom washes over your pale exposed skin.

“Damn…” He exhales, raking his gaze over you, eyes drinking in every inch. “You’re so fucking hot. And so small. So weak… especially next to me.”

Something stirs in your gut at his words. Although this entire experience was hot as hell to you, there was a flutter of uncertainty.

In hopes of finding answers, you glance down at yourself.

The sight that greets you is…wrong.

Decent pecs. Toned abs. Not bulky, but clearly maintained. It doesn’t make sense. For a second, your mind struggles, an echo of something distant telling you this isn’t how you should look. But then, you decide to consult with your memories for answers. To your relief, you find several familiar ones.

Of course, you look like this. You go to the gym a few times a week, don’t you? Just enough to stay toned, to keep yourself fit, but never to bulk up too much. You loved nothing more than being a twunk – it was exactly what your favorite type of gay men, daddies, were looking for.

As a result, that unease you felt instantly fades, replaced by something closer to relief. Everything makes sense, there’s nothing strange going on at all.

Then his hands are on you again.

Thick fingers trail down your sides, gripping your waist before sliding lower. He grabs a handful of your ass, massaging, kneading, and then squeezing hard.

A sharp gasp leaves you. The pressure is intense, but so is the feeling. A strange sensation, like something swelling beneath his touch. As you awkwardly shift your legs as you feel your shorts growing tighter, your back is slowly being pushed away from the door as your ass fills out. With each second that this hot daddy enjoys playing with your ass, it continues to inflate into a perfect, perky shape. When you went to the gym, this was where the priority of your time was devoted – on developing the perfect ass that could satisfy any man with just how bouncy yet firm it was. You could recall countless encounters with men in the sauna – where they gleefully smacked your ass and grew mesmerized by the way the flesh rippled before sliding their cock in to fill you up with that potent dad nut.

Yet while you took a moment to embrace the changes occurring to you, the other man’s influence didn’t stop there.

Heat pulses through your groin, as your rock-hard, larger than average dick strained against its increasingly tighter confines. To your relief, one of the other man’s hands soon began to investigate the area, struggling for a moment before finally slipping his fingers down beneath the waistband of your shorts. 

An airy moan escaped your plump lips as the pain of your shorts stretching was traded out with relief from the man’s fingers touching the head of your manhood. As you tilted your head back and groaned in pleasure, you found that the man’s touch was making you all forget about the discomfort. Beneath the surface of the shorts though, the pressure was easing not from the man’s touch but from the way your bulge was shrinking and compacting yet remaining rock hard. In an instant, the man’s touch had converted your surprisingly girthly 7” cock to a measly pencil-thin 3.5” nub. To your euphoric mind though, the shift felt completely natural. After all, you were notoriously known as one of the biggest bottoms in the entire state. What good was a fat cock for when you wanted nothing more than to be on the receiving end?

As your body was reaching new levels of pleasure, your legs found themselves tingling and growing incredibly weak. With this strange weightlessness overtaking them, you relied on the other man to keep you upright as he pushed his body closer to you so your legs could grow leaner and provide a steady base to handle such a fat ass. Once again, another burst of shrinking occurred as your legs shortened and caused your stature to shrink down to an adorable 5”6”. By now, the change was undeniable. Besides your face, you were an entirely new person.

Your breath stutters, head swimming. You feel off, but at the same time whole. Like you’re falling into the right shape, the right body and life.

Then his lips graze your ear.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, voice thick with hunger. “The love of my life. I’ve never enjoyed topping anyone as much as I do you.”

A shiver races down your spine, but not from fear. From something deeper. Something familiar.

Then, your body found itself shivering out of control as the man’s gruff voice began speaking Spanish.

You don’t know the words. Or at least—you shouldn’t. You never took Spanish in school and you’ve never experienced the culture besides the occasional song recommendation on Spotify. Yet, the more he speaks, the more you understand.

You pieced together him discussing how unreal this all feels. How he couldn’t believe this was happening. How you’re not resisting at all. And then, softer, more reverent—

“How can you be so perfect? So beautiful? Just like a dream come to life…”

The fully comprehended words sink into you. Into your skin, your bones.

Instantly, a warmth spreads over your body – a golden hue that works with haste in deepening your complexion. You turned to face away from the man for a moment, finding yourself catching a hint of your reflection in the bathroom mirror. You moaned as you found your skin growing darker and richer. 

As your daddy, your partner for the past five years, hoisted up your arms and pinned them against his with his immense strength, you looked down and witnessed how your body hair thickened slightly while darkening to match your jet-black hair. Another rippling effect soon coursed through your body – causing any body hair along your chest, back, and legs to fade away until you were left completely smooth besides your armpits and crotch.

With one final glance, you looked into the mirror – gasping as you found that the face in the mirror had also slightly changed since the last time you saw yourself. Your nose had widened a bit and grown more prominent on your face, while your eyebrows grown thicker yet well-maintained and groomed. Your eye shape had altered a little, but the most noticeable change in that area was how your hazel eyes had darkened to an alluring dark brown.

Without a doubt, the new visage that you saw was one that was undeniably Latino. Although one last vestige of your old self suddenly spoke up in hopes of not wanting to completely lose yourself, it didn’t take much completely for you to give in. Everything that had happened to you, it just felt… right. 

The last pieces of your past self slip away, forgotten beneath the weight of the new body and life.

As you looked towards your man, your thoughts grew cluttered as you lusted for the feeling of his cock in your ass once more. Although your history and memories still felt a bit cloudy, there was luckily one thing you knew for sure at this moment. You belonged to him.

Ever since you met him at your gym one day and eagerly worshipped his ripe pits after a particularly grueling workout, you became his favorite amongst the large slew of boys across the country he had previously accumulated. There was no one else who was better for him than you, almost as if you were personally created just for him… just Daddy’s perfect boytoy to flaunt on his OnlyFans and showcase just how much of a dominant alpha he could be. 

On some nights, you’d have strange dreams where you imagined yourself with the roles reversed where you were the dominant aggressive type. But as soon as you’d wake up and see your hunky daddy loudly snoring next to you, you knew that was just a strange fantasy. 

You wouldn’t want it any other way...

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[starynightskyyy]

Warnings: smut, cnc, choking, mentions of pregnancy, daddy kinks, really intense smut. The first few parts were inspired by a post from @toweranne

Summary: After you tease your mate Jacob for the fifth time by coming to his house in short shorts, he finally snaps.

The air was thick with motor oil, pine, and that unmistakable scent that was just Jacob—earthy, warm, intoxicating. You sat perched on his beat-up workbench, legs swinging, the hem of your shorts riding up just a little higher each time he glanced your way. He was leaning under the hood of his rebuilt Rabbit, shirtless, his bronze skin glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights. Muscles flexed with every twist of his wrench, sweat trailing down the line of his spine as he worked. Jacob emerges from under the hood, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. His eyes immediately find you, a wolfish grin spreading across his face

"Hey, beautiful, you just gonna sit there and watch me work all day?" He stalks towards you, radiating heat and raw magnetism.

“I thought you liked me watching,” you teased. Jacob stepped closer, every movement smooth and predatory, like a wolf circling prey — except you weren’t scared. You were aching. “I do,” he said, voice lower now. “I like it a lot.” His hands found your thighs, large and hot against your skin as he stepped between your legs. The energy shifted — electric, magnetic. You felt it hum through you, pooling in your stomach. “You always wear the little shorts when you come here."

His hands slide higher, fingers digging into your flesh possessively. The rag falls forgotten to the ground as he presses closer, caging you against the workbench

"Mmm, testing my control again?" He leans in, breath hot against your neck. "Those shorts are gonna be the death of me, you know that? Are they for me?” He teased, referencing the shorts. “Maybe,” you breathed, trying not to squirm under his touch. “And if it is?”

Jacob growls low in his throat, his hips pinning you firmly against the bench. The hard outline of his arousal presses against you, making him groan softly

"You want me that bad, baby? Been thinking about getting my hands on you all day…" He trails wet kisses along your jaw.

“I’ve been trying to be good,” he growled, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck. “Trying to take my time. But you make it so hard, baby.” Your hands travelled up his back, nails lightly scraping his shoulder blades. “Maybe I don’t want you to be good.” Jacob froze for half a second. Then — gone. The leash snapped. He crashed his lips into yours, hot and hungry, devouring your breath like he couldn’t get enough.

His hands are everywhere now, frantic and desperate as he claims your mouth. The scent of your arousal is driving him wild, making his head spin with desire "Fuck being good..." He tears at your shorts, literally ripping them in his haste. "You're mine to ruin right now," you groaned. "Fuck, ruin me. That's what I come here every day hoping for,"

Jacob's eyes flash gold with primal need, his wolf nature taking over completely. He grabs your thighs and lifts you up, slamming you down on the hood of his car

"You want it rough?" He yanks down his jeans, freeing his throbbing cock. "Hold on tight, princess." Your eyes widen at the sheer size of his cock. He was huge. How that was going to fit, you had no idea.

Jacob notices your expression and smirks, stroking himself slowly while watching your reaction

"That scared look on your face just makes me want to destroy you more… Don't worry, I'll make it fit." He positions himself at your entrance. You spread your legs wide, your sopping cunt exposed for him to see.

With a possessive snarl, he thrusts into you in one powerful movement, stretching you to your limit

"Fucking perfect…" He holds you down, not letting you adjust as he starts pounding into you. "So tight for me, baby…" Your eyes widened, and you shrieked in pleasure as he filled you up in one thrust. Your walls tried to adjust, but he was railing you before you could get the chance. It felt amazing.

His pace becomes brutal, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the garage

"Taking my cock so well…" He grabs your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you lightheaded. "Such a good girl for daddy…" You whimpered at his lewd words and how well he was pounding you. Your hands gripped his forearms, nails sinking into the bronze skin, leaving crescent marks.

Jacob leans forward, his massive frame covering you completely. The metal hood beneath you is scorching hot from his body heat

"You're gonna cum on my cock right here, on my car. Show daddy how much you love it." He angles his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you. You screamed. You could swear his tip was in your womb from how deep he was in you.

Jacob growls with approval, fucking you through your screams. He lifts your legs higher, folding you in half and pressing your knees to your chest

"I can feel you clenching… You want me to fill you up with my pups? Make you all swollen with my babies?" You tried to speak, but all that came out were moans and incoherent babbles, so you just nodded instead.

He slams his hips harder, pistoning in and out at an animalistic pace, his knot starting to swell. His wolf features starting to emerge more noticeably, fangs sharpening and claws digging into your flesh

"Gonna breed you right here… mark you as mine forever…" His voice becomes guttural, driven by pure animalistic instinct. You gripped his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself. You were so close, the knot in your stomach tightening like a coil, ready to explode.

Jacob's knot fully forms, locking him inside you as he roars out your name. His release hits him hard, pumping you full of his hot, thick cum, mixing with your own juices

"Cum for me… Now!" He bites down on your shoulder, hard enough to make a deep claiming mark, his wolf bite. The bite pushed you over the edge. Your head fell back and you screamed, cumming hard. white liquid oozed from both your bodies down the shiny hood of his car.

Jacob laps at the blood from his bite, holding you close as he pours his seed into you, filling you to the brim. His chest heaves with exhaustion, but satisfaction shines in his eyes as he sees the mark on your shoulder.

"That's my girl… Mine forever." He strokes your hair tenderly, still buried deep inside you, his knot keeping you both connected. You panted, biting your lip. "Fuck, Jake. That was so good."

He chuckles, pulling you up to sit on him. The movement causes his cock to shift, making you gasp again

"Better than usual, huh? Guess you really did want to be ruined today. I should make you come to the garage more often…" He kisses your temple. You smirked. "I'm not opposed to that. Not at all," you said between pants before collapsing forward into his arms.

Jacob returns the kiss passionately, his knot finally starting to deflate, but not pulling out just yet. He breaks away to pepper your face with gentle kisses

"Love you so much, baby girl… I can feel you milking me for more. Such a needy little mate." He looks down at your stomach. "I wonder how many pups I've put in you."

[velarisdusk]

I Slept with Someone in Wings of Illyria

A Bat Boys Band AU

word count: 1.5k author's note: i have not been able to stop thinking about bass player az, nor have i been able to shut up about it (exhibits A, B, and C found here lol). i am so taken with bass player azriel that this was originally gonna be a one time thing to get the mf thoughts out of my head, but i may make this a collection of drabbles/one-shots/whatever the fuck. enjoy ! <3 ✦ . AU Masterlist . ✦ ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The room is sweltering, the kind of heat that clings to your skin and wraps around your throat. Bodies pressed together, arms raised, the crowd surges with the beat, their cheers deafening as the final notes of the song fade out. 

Cassian tosses his drumsticks in the air, catching them with a grin as he leans back, his chest heaving from the sheer energy of his playing. His skin glistens under the stage lights, sweat dripping down the sharp cut of his jaw to his bare chest. Rhysand steps forward, guitar slung low on his hips, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, the movement so casual it borders on taunting. 

The three of them are magnetic—untouchable—but your eyes are glued to Azriel. 

The bass still hangs low across his hips, his dark shirt clinging to his chest and arms, every inch of him shining with effort and heat. His hair sticks to his forehead in damp strands, but he doesn’t seem to care. There’s a faint curve to his lips as he looks out at the crowd, their screams refusing to die down even as Rhys steps up to the mic.  It’s Wings of Illyria’s last song of the night, and the air is thick with anticipation.

“Alright, alright,” Rhys says, his voice rich and smooth, but it barely registers over the roar of the audience. He glances back at Az and Cass, shaking his head with a laugh, and you catch the way they all exchange a look—silent, knowing.

Cass twirls a drumstick between his fingers, grinning wide. Rhys throws a wink at the crowd, and Azriel… Azriel holds up a hand, palm out, a subtle watch this gesture that has your stomach flipping. 

And then he steps forward.

The moment his fingers graze the mic stand, the noise dips. He leans in, his lips brushing the mic, and inhales sharply. The sound carries through the speakers, intimate, like he’s right there beside you. The crowd freezes, the energy shifting into something electric, breathless. And then, he chuckles.

It’s low, almost a growl, and it sends a shiver down your spine. For a moment, the room is still. And then, chaos. The screams erupt again, louder than before, like every single person in the crowd had been seized by something primal and uncontrollable.

Azriel laughs, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Rhys and Cass. They’re laughing too, Cassian smacking a hand against his drums while Rhys shakes his head, mouthing something you can’t make out. 

But then Az turns back to the mic. 

Your heart stops as he adjusts it slightly, his hand steady, his expression calm but sharp, focused. The moment stretches, and you swear he looks right at you before his lips part, and his voice spills into the venue. 

It’s not Rhys’s voice this time, not the smooth, cocky tone that usually owns the opening of this song. No—this is something darker, rougher, saturated with a raw kind of emotion that makes your knees go weak. You know this part by heart—hell, you’ve screamed it in your car more times than you can count—but hearing Azriel sing it? It’s like hearing it for the first time. 

He owns it, every word dripping with purpose, with heat. His voice snakes through the room, curling around you, pulling you under. The crowd is a blur, the sound of their cheers distant compared to the way your pulse pounds in your ears. 

And Azriel knows it. He’s fully in control, commanding every single person in the room with nothing but his voice and the intensity in his eyes. When he glances over at Rhys and Cass again, they’re grinning like they know exactly what he’s doing—and exactly what it’s doing to everyone in the room. 

You’re breathless by the time he finishes the verse, and when he pulls back from the mic with that faint, wicked smirk, the crowd surges again, screaming louder than ever. 

You scream too, the sound ripping out of you without restraint, caught up in the heat and the pounding bass still thrumming through the room. But then Azriel’s gaze sweeps across the crowd, scanning the sea of faces, and it lands on you. 

Your breath catches. 

It’s brief, a flicker of his hazel eyes locking onto yours, but it’s enough. Enough to leave you wondering if he’s seen you before—if he’s noticed you at every show you’ve managed to get into, always in your usual spot near the edge of the stage, close enough to feel the pulse of the speakers in your chest. 

And then he turns back to the mic, and your chest tightens all over again. 

It’s the way Azriel shifts his stance—shoulders squared, leaning slightly into the mic as his fingers curl around the neck of his bass—that holds you captive. His voice joins Rhys’s in the next verse, a low harmony that wraps around the melody like smoke, rich and addictive. 

When the lyrics take a turn—something dark and suggestive, dripping with innuendo—you swear he looks at you again. His lips curl just so around the words, and the way his hand moves on the fretboard has your pulse racing. 

It’s stupid, you tell yourself. Ridiculous, really, to think that someone like him would single you out of a crowd like this. But as the song builds to its peak, the heat of his gaze feels too intentional to ignore. And then they hit the chorus, when Azriel takes over the melody for one shining moment, he sings a line that makes your cheeks burn, makes your hands curl into fists at your sides. It’s not subtle. It’s meant to be filthy, meant to tease and taunt, and he sings it like it’s directed straight at you. 

The crowd loses it. You barely hear the screams over the pounding of your heart.

He’s still looking at you when the song ends, sweat dripping from his temple as he lets the bass hang low against his hips, his breathing heavy. Cassian slams his drumsticks against the snare one last time, punctuating the end of the set, while Rhysand tosses his guitar pick into the crowd with a lazy smirk. 

Azriel doesn’t move for a moment. He stays there, on the edge of the stage, as if waiting for something. 

And then he winks. 

It’s quick—blink-and-you’ll-miss-it—but you see it. You feel it. 

Your knees go weak, your grip tightening on the barricade to keep yourself steady. By the time you process what just happened, he’s already turning away, laughing at something Cassian said as they disappear backstage. 

The crowd surges again, desperate for an encore, but all you can hear is the pounding of your pulse. 

Your knees are still trembling as the crowd surges around you, voices raised in chants for an encore. You try to breathe, to ground yourself, but the memory of Azriel’s smirk and the weight of his gaze keeps playing on a loop in your mind. 

And then, just as the noise reaches a fever pitch, you see him again. 

Azriel lingers near the side of the stage, his bass slung over his shoulder now, his hand reaching out to clasp the shoulder of a man in a black security shirt. You watch, heart pounding, as they exchange a few quick words, the guard leaning closer to hear him over the din. 

It’s casual—normal, probably—but then Azriel points.

Directly at you. 

You freeze. Your pulse spikes. There’s no way, you think. No way this is happening. 

But it is. His arm extends toward the crowd, his finger cutting through the haze of heat and lights to land right where you’re standing, gripping the barricade for dear life. The security guard nods, glancing in your direction as Azriel leans closer, lips moving again. 

He says two words, slow enough for you to catch even at this distance.

“Blue top.”

Your breath hitches, your gaze darting down to the shirt you’re wearing. Blue. Not just blue—bright blue, standing out against the darker tones of the crowd like a beacon. 

You look back up, your heart slamming in your chest as Azriel straightens, throwing one last glance your way before disappearing offstage. 

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen, every nerve in your body buzzing. Did that really just happen? Your mind races, replaying the movement of his hand, the way his lips had formed those words. Blue top. 

Your gaze darts around, scanning the crowd. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you’re losing your mind because surely he didn’t mean you. But your stomach flips again as you realize—no one else around you is wearing blue. Not a single person. 

It was you. 

Your fingers tighten on the barricade. He had pointed at you. You’re sure of it. And then you see him. 

The security guard is cutting through the clusters of venue workers. Your breath catches when his eyes land on you, sharp and direct. He doesn’t say a word, just jerks his chin toward the end of the barricade, a silent instruction. 

[heesimp]

omg YES PLS WRITE SOMETHING LIKE THAT IDC HOW IMMORAL IT SOUNDS ILL EAT IT UP

don’t cheat obviously. but send me fictitious cheating scenarios 😋 the dirtier, nastier and more taboo, the better.

warnings: infidelity, creampie.

-

“You’re crazy.”

“Crazy for you, yeah.”

Sunghoon’s mouth attaches to your nipple and doesn’t stop his dick from pushing in and out of your wet, swollen pussy. His hair is a mess the more you rake your fingers through his strands to keep his head level with your breasts for him to suck on. The soft purple love bites around your nipples decorate your skin like artwork.

“What’s crazy is leaving your girlfriend alone just because I said I was horny.”

“You requested a second hotel key and gave it to me for a reason.” He pushes his cock until it’s buried so deep inside of your cunt and catches your body when you arch up into his, moving his face between your tits until they bounce against his face. “I know you want this just as much as I do.”

The blanket that attempted to conceal your dirty affair in has long since fallen off of Sunghoon’s back. With your legs spread impossibly wide and pussy wet and presented in front of him, it was hard to keep him from fucking into you as if his dick was a magnet being pulled into your body.

“I’ll never stop fucking your pussy,” Sunghoon promises when he puts your body down on the bed and resumes his deep, slow thrusts. “Doesn’t matter if my girlfriend’s around or not. You call me when you need to be fucked and I’ll do it for you.”

“You make me so wet.” Your desperate confession makes Sunghoon’s balls clench and he nips at your skin when he pulls one leg against his body to caress.

Your friends are all in their respective hotel rooms none the wiser, although neither of you really care if they found out. They all like you better than his girlfriend on the sheer principle that you’re their friend and she’s never made more than a single attempt to befriend them either. But even so, it’s not like Sunghoon would ever stop pining after you, girlfriend be damned. Even if that relationship was expected of him, and even if he had feelings for her for a brief period of time, none of that will ever compare to how he feels when he’s with you.

Sunghoon’s perfectly chiseled body stands in all of his glory when he picks up his body from yours. The sweat coating his skin makes him look like a Greek God and your pussy clenches around him, causing Sunghoon to look down at where the two of you connect. He flicks your clit with his thumb and you moan straight into the air as your body arches.

“Yeahhhh. What a good fucking pussy. So tight and perfect. It’s my favorite.”

Sunghoon bucks his hips faster and rubs your sensitive nub harshly. It makes you cum immediately. “Fuck me, Hoonie! Fuck me, fuck me!”

The bed squeaks loudly beneath the two of you as his hips jolt the springs below and the sound of the wooden headboard banging the walls feels like something straight out of a porn scene. Sunghoon imagines what might happen if his girlfriend were to walk in on him fucking you with such passion and determination to make you cum as many times as you possibly can, and the thought of her standing in the doorway as he pounds into your tight hole brings him closer to the edge.

“I’d make her watch,” he says as he breaks the silence. He keeps his vigorous pace. “I’d fuck your pussy full of my cum but all she’d do is watch me do it.”

“Yes, fuck!”

“Shit—here it comes.”

Sunghoon pulls himself out until only his tip remains and watches the way his dick pulses as his cum exits his body, pumping you with everything he has to offer. It seeps from around him the more he releases and he can’t help but admire the beautiful mess the two of you have created between your bodies.

He pulls out when he’s finished, squeezing the last few droplets right over your creamy folds before letting his balls rest against them. They’re so warm and smooth on top of your clit and the way he continues to jerk his cock despite finishing makes them bounce deliciously against your pussy.

[r-memberme]

thief | k.m

⎯⎯“You live in my veins,” he murmurs, one hand ghosting down to where she’s already soaked. “Every time I walk into a room you’ve touched, I feel it. Every time I breathe in, I wonder if it’s your scent, or just the memory of it.”

warnings: smut, 18+, he is a pantie sniffer, he is a freak

The door shuts softly behind her—just a whisper of sound—and Klaus is left alone in the hush of her room. The air still holds her warmth, that elusive scent that clings to her clothes, her sheets, the skin of his own hands. He swears he can feel her presence in the dust motes floating in the sunlight.

He doesn’t mean to linger. Not truly. Not like this.

But there’s something magnetic about the chaos she leaves behind—shoes kicked off under the edge of the bed, a sweater slung across the chair, the delicate lace of her panties folded over the corner of a drawer she forgot to close.

A breath catches in his throat.

They’re pale, soft, touched by lavender detergent and something unmistakably her. Still warm, maybe. Still clinging to the ghost of her.

He steps closer.

Fingers hover, hesitating. Not because of shame—he has none. Not with her. But because the moment feels too fragile. Too precious. As if the wrong movement might shatter it.

He picks them up, reverently. Like relics.

The lace is nearly sheer between his fingers, featherlight, and he brings them to his face without thinking—only instinct, only hunger, only the kind of madness that comes with obsession too long denied.

He inhales.

God.

The growl that rumbles from his chest is low, nearly inaudible, but raw with need. A sound not meant for any ears but hers.

The scent of her drives straight through him, devastating and familiar. He sways slightly where he stands, eyes fluttering closed, breath catching on the back of a groan. His grip tightens. He presses the fabric closer, nuzzling it against his mouth, then lower, burying his face in it like a sinner at the altar.

He’s not proud. He doesn’t need to be.

She’s in everything now. In his mouth, in his lungs, in his bloodstream. Every soft breath of her through the cotton and lace sinks deeper into his bones.

His free hand falls to the waistband of his trousers.

Fingers slip beneath the fabric. A sharp hiss escapes through his teeth.

He strokes himself slow, lazy, lost in the sensation, the scent, the image of her wearing them—legs bare, smile sleepy, body warm from sleep. Or better—panting, flushed, straddling him, nails in his chest and whispering his name in that hushed, ruined voice she only ever uses when she's close.

His rhythm stutters.

He chokes her name into the fabric and grips tighter.

And he doesn’t hear the door creak open behind him.

༊*·˚

The hallway is quiet. Too quiet.

She pushes the door open with a soft creak, stepping back into her room with the intent of grabbing her forgotten phone or maybe that book she meant to take with her. But the sight that greets her stills her completely, freezing her mid-step.

Klaus.

Back turned to her. Shoulders tense, hips shifting with a slow, unmistakable rhythm. His head bowed. One hand buried between the folds of her panties and his face—God, his face—pressed against the lace like it’s something holy.

And his other hand…

She blinks.

Oh.

There’s a slow rush of blood to her cheeks. To her neck. Between her thighs. A quick pulse of heat that steals the air from her lungs before she can decide whether this is appalling or fascinating.

She should say something. She should stop this.

But she doesn’t.

Not yet.

She lingers in the doorway, heartbeat thudding in her ears, breath caught in her chest, watching him come apart on the scent of her. It’s so unlike him—so utterly him—this raw, indulgent need made reverent. Like even in his filthiest moment, he worships.

It’s only when his name leaves her mouth, dry and laced with something dangerous, that he startles.

“Klaus…” she murmurs, voice slicing through the stillness. “What exactly are you doing with those?”

He jerks like she’s slapped him—shoulders tightening, hand withdrawing, mouth parting around a curse that never makes it out.

For a beat, he says nothing. Just stands there, caught. Disheveled. Undone in a way she’s never seen.

“I—I didn’t hear you come in,” he mutters, dropping the panties like they’ve burned him, though the damage is already done. His cheeks are flushed, lips damp, hair slightly mussed from where his hand had been threading through it just moments ago.

He tries to school himself. Straightens. Clears his throat.

But his eyes won’t meet hers.

And that’s how she knows she’s won.

“Oh,” she says, drawing out the word like honey, stepping into the room with deliberate slowness. “So the mighty Klaus Mikaelson can be flustered. Interesting.”

He growls low in his throat, but there’s no venom in it. Just frustration. With himself. With her. With the impossible, damning ache still straining against the front of his pants.

“You weren’t meant to see that,” he grits out, voice raw.

“And yet I did,” she hums, arms crossing lazily over her chest, like she isn’t the least bit bothered. Like she isn’t completely, deliciously aware of how much power she holds in this moment.

She tilts her head. Smiles slow.

“Didn’t peg you for the type to get caught.”

“I’m not,” he snaps, then curses again—quieter this time. He runs a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged thing. “Bloody hell…”

She laughs then, soft and dangerous, and steps into his space. Close enough to see the shame and heat battling in his eyes. Close enough to smell herself still clinging to the air between them.

“Next time,” she whispers, fingers brushing over his chest, “just ask for a pair. I might let you watch me take them off.”

He chokes on air. Physically chokes.

༊*·˚

He doesn’t remember pulling her down onto the bed, only the sound she made when he flipped her onto her back—a sound that burned through his spine like gunpowder meeting flame.

And now he’s above her. On his knees, breathing hard, staring down like she’s something divine and terrifying.

His shirt is gone. Hers too. The discarded panties lie somewhere on the floor, forgotten, but Klaus still smells her everywhere—still feels the ghost of her soaked into the fabric, into his bloodstream.

“You don’t understand,” he says again, voice rasped and low, reverent as a prayer and raw as a wound. “You think this is just about lust.”

She tries to speak, but he cuts her off with his mouth on her ribs, dragging open-mouthed kisses up her torso, his hands cradling her hips like she might vanish if he isn’t careful.

“It isn’t,” he breathes against the swell of her breast. “It’s madness.”

His tongue flicks against her nipple, and she gasps, hips rising into him—but he doesn’t give her what she wants. Not yet. He drags it out, tracing slow circles with his tongue, fingers spreading her thighs apart until she’s trembling beneath him.

“You live in my veins,” he murmurs, one hand ghosting down to where she’s already soaked. “Every time I walk into a room you’ve touched, I feel it. Every time I breathe in, I wonder if it’s your scent, or just the memory of it.”

She moans when he dips down and licks her—one slow, luxurious stripe that makes her back arch off the sheets. He doesn’t stop. Not even close.

Klaus latches on like a starving man. Obsessive. Desperate. He devours her with tongue and lips and fingers, like he can’t bear the space between them. She tries to pull him up, tries to beg for more, but he won’t be rushed. Not yet.

“This is mine,” he growls, voice muffled against her. “Every inch of you—mine.”

She falls apart on his mouth once, then again when he adds his fingers—curling inside, working her open, wringing moans from her like sacred music.

When he finally pulls away, his mouth and chin are slick with her, and his eyes are blown wide and wild.

“You still think I was ashamed?” he asks, reaching for her, lining himself up.

She shakes her head, breathless. “No. Not anymore.”

“Good.”

He thrusts into her in one long, aching slide. Her mouth drops open but no sound comes out—only a gasp, and then his name, over and over again like a litany.

“Klaus—Klaus—”

He buries his face in her neck, her shoulder, her hair. Anything that smells like her. He ruts into her with slow, deliberate strokes, hips rolling, her legs wrapped tight around his waist. One hand pins her wrists above her head, the other never stops touching her, worshiping her skin, her hips, the curve of her waist, like he has to memorize her with every pass.

She’s everywhere. All at once.

And he is ruined by her.

When she comes again, clenching around him, he follows, mouth open in a soundless groan, her name broken and reverent on his tongue.

They don’t separate. Can’t.

Because Klaus doesn’t stop needing.

He stays buried inside her, forehead against hers, panting, murmuring things only she hears. Obsessions. Promises. Prayers.

༊*·˚

The room is silent but for their breathing—shaky, uneven, and shared like it's all they have left to give one another. Klaus hasn't moved. He’s still inside her, buried to the hilt, arms wrapped tight around her body like if he lets go, she’ll slip out of existence.

She shifts beneath him, gently, and he groans like it's pain and pleasure in one breath.

“I can’t…” he murmurs, voice hoarse, lips grazing her cheek, “I can’t pull away from you. Not yet.”

She doesn’t ask him to. Instead, she runs her fingers through his curls, the same ones she’d pulled hours—minutes?—ago. He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed like a beast sedated by affection.

“You really meant it,” she says softly. “About the scent. The… wanting.”

Klaus lifts his head. His eyes, still dark and glassy, find hers. “I crave you,” he says. Not lustfully now, not wickedly—but honestly. It’s a confession more than anything else. “In ways that make me feel like I’ve been cursed.”

She laughs softly, breath hitching. “Is that what I am to you? A curse?”

“No.” He shakes his head, kissing her temple. “A need. A fire. A sickness. A religion.”

His thumb brushes her lower lip, still swollen from his kisses. “It doesn’t go away when you leave a room. It doesn’t fade when I try to sleep. You’ve… invaded everything.”

She blinks up at him, and something in her chest flutters dangerously.

“I’m not ashamed of what you saw,” Klaus adds, quieter. “Only that I couldn’t help myself. But I would do it again. I will.”

Her brows lift, teasing. “You planning on stealing more underwear?”

His mouth twitches at the corner—just the ghost of a smirk. “I don’t need to steal what you’d give me freely.”

She leans up and kisses him, slow and indulgent, and the silence that follows is warm this time. Filled with the soft shift of limbs, the slide of skin on skin as they curl into one another. He kisses her shoulder. Her neck. Her collarbone. Not to seduce—but to worship. To remember.

His voice hums low near her ear. “You smell like home. You taste like sin.”

And her fingers, still tangled in his hair, give a gentle tug.

“Then stay, sinner.”

And he does.

everybody say thank you anon!!! 🤍

[orellazalonia]

Heart First, Sanity Later

Summary: You, a dangerously chaotic genius with the common sense of a soggy spoon, somehow captures the heart of Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant emotional whiplash, raccoon-related injuries, and deeply cursed inventions, Bucky finds himself falling hard… somewhere between a Capri Sun intervention robot and a vent-related rescue. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: This was based on this post I came across from @ghouljams earlier. Please let me know if you want me to remove any of the information you listed here.

Word Count: 3.4k+

A/N: I had a blast writing this and I am begging on my hands and knees that other people like this as well so I can write more of unhinged reader. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Sequel | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

Bucky didn’t mean to get attached. In fact, he very specifically meant not to get attached to you.

You, with your wide smile and increasingly concerning decision-making skills. You, who walked into a briefing ten minutes late with a Slurpee, claimed you got “time-displaced,” and then flawlessly identified the year, model, and VIN of a car from a blurry photo Tony handed out. “That’s a 1972 Chevelle SS,” You’d said casually. “But the rims are from a later model. 1976, I think.”

He stared at you. Everyone did.

You slurped. “What?”

Later, Bucky watched you put your phone in the fridge, forget about it, then ask him if he’d “seen a text from 7-Eleven recently.” You didn’t even seem high. That was the worst part. You just… existed like that. All the time.

A living contradiction. A walking cosmic joke. The human version of a browser with 72 tabs open, one playing music, none labeled, and all of them about wildly different topics ranging from “theoretical wormhole stability” to “can ducks feel shame.”

And the worst part? You were insanely good at your job.

When it came to the field, you moved like you’d choreographed every punch in advance. Like your brain hit a switch and rerouted all the loose marbles into sheer precision.

But outside of that? Absolute chaos.

One time you asked if the word “colonel” was a typo because you’d only ever read it.

"Why is it spelled like 'colon-el'?” You’d asked Bucky, eating popcorn with a throwing knife for apparently no reason. “Like. You’re telling me we all just agreed to ignore the 'L'?”

He blinked slowly. “Yes.”

“Sounds fake but okay.”

He wanted to strangle you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to wrap you in a blanket and take you to a doctor because no one should eat four bananas and not know why their stomach hurts. (“I thought they were like… nature’s snack bars!” You’d wailed from the floor. “Why does nature lie?”)

Still, there was something undeniably magnetic about you. Something that made Bucky keep finding excuses to be around you. Something that made him bite back a smile when you declared, with utter confidence, that “Citizen Kane” was a man’s full name and you “felt bad for him growing up with that.”

Sam had to leave the room. Steve looked like he aged five years. Bucky? He just leaned back in his chair and muttered, “You’re so lucky you’re pretty.”

You beamed. “I know, right?”

And that was just the beginning.

-

Bucky knew it the moment you turned to him in the middle of a high-stakes infiltration and whispered:

“Hey. Do you think raccoons ever get embarrassed?”

He froze mid-step, crouched beside you behind a cluster of storage crates, both of you watching a Hydra compound patrol pace along the wall ahead. Guns primed. Comms live. Two minutes to breach.

You blinked at him, eyes wide and totally serious about the question in the entirely inappropriate setting.

“What?” He hissed.

You frowned thoughtfully, like he was the weird one. “They have those little hands, right? Like… what if one drops its snack in front of another raccoon. Is that, like, raccoon shame? Do they feel judged?”

Bucky stared. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. It had been a long week after all.

Then you added, “Anyway, two guards approaching. They’ll pass each other in about four seconds. I can take the left. You want the one with the scar?”

You didn’t even wait for an answer. Your body vanished into the shadows, clean and calculated. Three seconds later, both guards were unconscious and being gently rolled into the bushes like unwanted pizza boxes.

Bucky just stood there, breathing. You terrified him but not in the way enemies did. No, that would be too simple. Because he could fight Hydra, take a bullet, disarm a bomb, but you?

You were something else. A walking contradiction.

You once tripped over your own shoelaces while explaining quantum theory, then beat four highly trained operatives unconscious with a clipboard. You called a Glock a “grippy lil’ pew stick” but recited the Geneva Convention word-for-word because you “liked bedtime reading.”

And tonight was no different.

By the time the mission was done, the intel recovered, and the building cleared, Bucky was sore, bruised, and fully convinced that he was doomed. Because somewhere between the absurd commentary, the flawless fighting, and the way you wiped blood from your brow and grinned at him like you weren’t covered in chaos, he felt it.

That thing. The awful, nauseating, heart-clutching feeling.

Affection.

It hit him in the middle of your post-mission debrief, which mostly consisted of you sitting on the quinjet floor, drinking chocolate milk out of a thermos and recounting the entire op like it was a cute story you were telling children.

“And then I was like, Bam! right to the neck, and he just went down like a sack of sad potatoes. Did you see that? You saw that, right, Buck? I did the thing with the kick!”

He didn’t answer. He was looking at you like you’d grown a second head or like how you were the only thing stuck in his head these days. God, you were awful.

You had blood on your elbow and half your gear undone. You were sprawled out on the floor like a sleep-deprived gremlin, and when you looked up at him and smiled, like he was the only person in the world who mattered… He was done. Gone.

“You okay there, Grumpypants?” You asked.

“I think I might hate you,” He muttered, sitting down beside you.

You grinned, bumping his shoulder with yours. “That’s fair. I’m an acquired taste. Like oysters. Or war crimes.”

He barked a laugh before he could stop it. You looked so proud.

“I’m serious,” He said, sobering. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day. You don’t take anything seriously.”

You just stared at him for a moment, and then, quietly, you said, “I take you seriously.”

The jet went quiet.

And Bucky sat very, very still because somehow, that hit harder than any mission ever had.

You weren’t just funny. Or weird. Or brilliant in a way that made his head hurt.

You were kind. Kind in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Like you saw through the Winter Soldier and the scowl and the kill count, and you still chose to sit beside him, sipping chocolate milk and talking about raccoon shame.

And Bucky Barnes, world-weary assassin, trauma-laden super-soldier, turned to you and realized:

He was fucked.

In love with a person who once confidently said “quinoa” was pronounced “kin-oh-ah” and didn’t believe him when he corrected you.

You looked up from your thermos. “You’re doing the staring thing again. Am I bleeding from the ear?”

“No,” Bucky said, voice low. “You’re just…”

“Sexy?” You offered helpfully.

“…Terrifying.”

You winked. “Same difference.”

And Bucky Barnes, against all logic, reason, and survival instinct, knew he was already in too deep.

-

The next mission had gone off without a hitch… at least, for everyone except Bucky.

A few cuts here, a couple of bruises there, but nothing too serious. At least, that’s what he told himself as he sat on the edge of the quinjet, feeling the burn in his shoulder from a bullet graze. But the moment you walked into the medbay with a roll of bandages in your hand, it was like everything inside him twisted in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Okay, Bucky. Time to let the master do her magic,” You said, flashing that grin of yours, the one that always made his heart do weird, involuntary things.

Bucky blinked, trying to shake the disoriented feeling. “You’re the one who got shot today. Why am I the one getting patched up?”

“Because I’m immortal,” You said matter-of-factly. “Also, I’m not bleeding anywhere you can see, so that’s a bonus.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’re immortal?”

You sat down beside him, rolling your sleeves up. “No, but I like to pretend I am. You know, like a cooler superhero.”

He winced slightly as you poked at his side. “That’s what I’m dealing with, huh?”

“You love it,” You teased, squeezing out some antiseptic onto a cotton pad.

“You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out of a plane for this,” Bucky muttered, though he couldn’t stop the faint grin from tugging at his lips.

“Not gonna lie, I’d be mad if you did,” You admitted, gently dabbing at his side. “Also, I’d haunt you. I know how to haunt people. I’ve read a lot of books about ghosts.”

He chuckled, despite himself. “Of course you have.”

“Oh, absolutely. I even have a theory about why the Titanic sank, and it’s completely different from the official one. But I’m telling you right now, it’s not what they say.”

Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrow raised. “This I gotta hear.”

You leaned closer, lowering your voice dramatically as if revealing state secrets. “Okay, so. It wasn’t an iceberg that caused the sinking. It was actually the government trying to erase all evidence of the giant squid they were experimenting on, and they blamed it on the iceberg to cover up the real cause.”

Bucky blinked, unsure whether you were serious or not. “Wait, what?” He asked slowly.

You looked at him deadpan. “You didn’t hear the rumors? They found footage, you know. The squid was huge. It even had tentacles.”

He stared at you, speechless.

"Anyway," You continued, as if you hadn’t just suggested the world’s greatest conspiracy, "What we do know is that my bandage technique is flawless. See this?" You lifted a corner of the bandage to show him a perfect wrap around his side.

Bucky blinked. "Did you just distract me with a giant squid theory while you patched me up?"

“Absolutely.” You beamed at him. “Works every time. Just don’t tell anyone you’re in love with me because I’m not responsible for any heart attacks.”

Bucky froze, his heartbeat suddenly in his throat.

You were still so nonchalant. Still so you, so damn confident and so sure of yourself. It took everything in him not to lean in and kiss you right there.

But then, you looked up at him, and for the briefest moment, that smile of yours softened. “You’re good, Bucky,” You said quietly. “You’ve been through more shit than any of us. But you’re still here. That’s something, you know?”

His chest tightened.

“And you know what?” You continued, your voice so much softer now, like a quiet reassurance. “You don’t have to be a soldier all the time. Sometimes, you can just be Bucky.”

He swallowed, looking at you. “And what about you?”

“Oh, me? I’m a mess,” You shrugged, finally looking away, as if it was no big deal. “I’m just here to make the chaos look cute.”

Your eyes flicked back to him, that familiar teasing glint in them. “That’s my secret. You like it.”

Bucky chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wanted to say something, wanted to admit something. That little voice in his head kept screaming at him to just say it already, but he was scared. He was scared of how deep you had burrowed under his skin, of how easy it was to forget everything else when you were around.

Instead, he just leaned forward and cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “You’re… something else, you know that?”

You blinked at him in surprise, your lips parted, as if trying to process the sudden shift in the air. For a moment, there was a palpable tension between the two of you, like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to do something.

But then, in your usual way, you broke it, shrugging with a grin. “I know. You’re welcome.”

Bucky’s heart did a weird flip, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to truly relax, just a little. He didn’t want to admit it. Not yet. Not even to himself.

But as you leaned in to finish wrapping his side, your hand brushing his skin lightly, he knew he was already in way too deep.

-

The next incident started with a toaster. Not even a cool toaster. Just a boring, silver Stark-issued kitchen appliance that you were suspiciously proud of. You’d taken it apart and rebuilt it but “better.” No one asked you to. No one gave you permission. You just did it.

“Now it sings the SpongeBob theme when your toast is done,” You explained, beaming as you held up a slice of whole wheat like it was a golden ticket.

Bucky stared at you. “You tampered with government property.”

“Enhanced.” You corrected. “And before you ask, no, I will not apologize. This is the future.”

Then it sang. “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” BWEEEEEP - Toast done.

Bucky looked like he was praying for divine intervention. “You’re gonna get us all court-martialed over this.”

Two hours later, you were banned from the kitchen, which didn’t stop you from relocating to the common area with your newest project: building what you claimed was a “mousetrap but for anxiety.”

It was made of pipe cleaners, glow sticks, and what might’ve been a dismantled Roomba.

“I call her Deborah,” You said, gently stroking it. “She senses emotional instability and gives you a juice box.”

As if on cue, it whirred over to Bucky, bumped into his leg, and slowly offered him a Capri Sun.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m not drinking that.”

“Then she thinks you’re too far gone. She’s very wise.”

Steve walked in, surveyed the scene, and simply turned around without speaking. He didn’t even ask anymore.

Later that night, Bucky caught you in the hallway attempting to climb into the ceiling with a flashlight between your teeth and a jar of pickles under your arm.

“Do I want to know?” He asked, exhausted.

You paused halfway into a vent, dropping the flashlight briefly. “Depends. Do you believe in ceiling gremlins?”

“No.”

“Then I’m doing taxes.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Please. I’m begging you. Come down.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then slowly slid back out like a raccoon emerging from a trash can. “Okay. But only because you asked nicely and not because I got stuck.”

You had absolutely gotten stuck. And the worst part? He was smitten.

Every time you did something completely absurd, which was always, he found himself watching you a little too long, smiling a little too much, wondering what the hell you were going to do next and why it made his chest ache in a weirdly pleasant way.

Even now, covered in ceiling dust and holding a pickle jar, you looked up at him with that infuriatingly endearing grin.

“You’re in love with me,” You stated confidently.

Bucky blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You popped a pickle in your mouth. “You’ve got that look. Like a grumpy cat who accidentally cuddled someone and doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I do not look like-“

“It's okay. You don’t have to say it.” You patted his chest affectionately. “Your body language screams ‘emotionally unavailable man finds chaotic cryptid and feels things.’”

“I am not emotionally unavailable.”

“You have a go bag, Bucky.”

“…That’s standard protocol.”

“Your toothbrush is still in the packaging.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. You’d won. Again.

“You’re gonna kiss me one day,” You said as you walked past him, pickle jar under one arm, flashlight in your other hand. “And when you do, I’m gonna be so smug you’ll try to throw yourself off the building.”

Bucky stood there in the hall, alone, heart doing its dumb little thudding thing. He hated you. He adored you. And he was never getting that toothbrush insult out of his head.

-

When the big moment happened, It wasn’t a big mission. It wasn’t even a real mission. It was just supposed to be recon.

And yet somehow, you were sitting on the floor of a dusty, abandoned warehouse with a concussion, holding a broken walkie-talkie like it personally betrayed you.

“Okay, but in my defense,” You slurred slightly, “I didn’t know the raccoon had a knife.”

Bucky stared at you, expression unreadable, as blood dripped slowly from your temple.

“You ran into an unmarked building alone, set off three alarms, fell through a skylight, and got jumped by wildlife.”

You held up a finger. “Armed wildlife.”

He ran a hand down his face.

“I swear to God, you are one poorly timed pun away from getting locked in a broom closet until the end of time.”

You blinked up at him. “Kinky.”

He turned away so fast you could almost hear his brain blue-screen. “Jesus Christ.”

But when he looked back at you: your lip bloodied, eyes dazed, hair full of insulation from where you’d crashed through the ceiling like a chaotic Christmas angel, something in his chest snapped.

You were always like this. Impossible. Endearing. Brilliant in the most horrifying ways. A human Wikipedia article with a death wish and a spark in your eyes that made him forget, just for a second, that the world was awful.

And that spark was flickering. Just a little. And he hated it.

“You can’t keep doing this,” He began, voice tight. “You can’t keep treating your life like it’s expendable.”

You blinked slowly. “That sounds fake. I’m clearly immortal.”

“I’m serious.” He crouched in front of you, fists clenched. “You run into every situation like you’re bulletproof, and you’re not. One day, I’m not gonna be there to drag your dumbass out of a flaming building or disarm a guy who has a bazooka made of forks or- or whatever the hell today was!”

“It was a raccoon with a grudge.”

“That’s not a thing!”

You stared at him in silence for a beat, then said, very softly, “You’re worried about me.”

He froze.

“I’m always worried about you,” He said, almost too quiet to hear. “You think I wake up every day wondering what country I’ll have to fly to because you thought jumping off a roof would ‘probably be fine’ if you landed in a bush?!”

You tilted your head. “It was a very fluffy bush.”

”I love you, you absolute menace!”

Silence. You blinked. Then he blinked. Somewhere in the warehouse, a raccoon chittered menacingly.

“…You love me?” You echoed, like he’d just said he wanted to marry a zucchini.

Bucky looked like he might actually combust. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Say it like what?”

“Like I love you. Which I do. But I was gonna do it after, like… dinner. Or when you weren’t bleeding.”

“Is this why you made me tea every time I electrocuted myself?”

“Yes!”

“And why you punched that guy who called me a liability?”

“Also yes!”

“And why you didn’t kill me when I installed motion sensors in the hallway and forgot to tell anyone?”

“I almost killed you.”

You were quiet for a long moment. Then: “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded, still loopy but smiling now. “Okay. I love you too.”

He stared. “You do?”

“Yeah. I mean, why else would I let you eat the last cookie that one time? Or give Deborah full permission to follow you around and scan your emotional damage like a clingy Roomba?”

He laughed, just once, short and stunned.

You leaned forward and poked his chest with one finger. “Also, I have a very deep fondness for emotionally repressed war criminals. It’s kind of my thing.”

Bucky groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet. You’re in love with me.”

“I’m regretting it deeply.”

“No you’re not.” You smiled that crooked, chaotic smile that had ruined his life in the best way.

And despite everything, the dust, the blood, the deeply traumatized raccoon now watching you both from the shadows, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was gentle. Just for a second. As if to say, Yes. You’re chaos incarnate. But you’re mine.

When he pulled back, it was silent for a moment. Both of you looking in each other’s eyes before you whispered, “Did you just kiss me in front of a knife raccoon?”

Bucky exhaled slowly, already regretting all his life choices. “God help me. I did.”

[paarksunghoon]

hyung line requestttttt

Getting high with Sunghoon but he has an oral fixation — 🦔

u get me.

***

“Open up.”

Sunghoon’s deep, raw voice pulls you out of your thoughts. Your body feels heavy as you sit on the couch, almost as if you were a magnet drawn to a surface. He’s holding a joint between his fingers as you turn your head to look at him and his eyes focus on your mouth. You do as he says.

The joint between your lips feels natural. He lights the end until smoke is visible and watches the way you inhale while keeping eye contact. When your lungs breathe in the euphoric property, you avert your head to look at the ceiling and blow the smoke away from him.

“You get hotter every time.” That makes you laugh.

“Are you turned on watching me smoke, baby?”

Sunghoon nods and takes a small drag for himself and puts his palm on your thigh. “Makes me wanna fuck you.”

“O-Oh yeah?” The smoothness of his hand slides up and down slowly like he’s trying to hold himself back. His fingertips toy with the hem of his shirt on your chest and dips his fingers until they’ve disappeared just a little.

Sunghoon didn’t get high much before meeting you. It was more of a casual thing, maybe once in a blue moon if someone else offered and if he felt good enough to do it. There was partial curiosity in marijuana but Sunghoon panicked at the thought of trying it by himself.

Meeting you happened by chance at a party two months ago. It was mildly chilly as winter turned into spring when he stood next to you in Heeseung’s basement, leaning his back against a wall with your mixed friend groups standing in a circle.

Something about your quick whips tugged at his heartstrings. He laughed at your jokes and didn’t mind it when your shoulder bumped against his when you talked. It almost felt intimate in that way. You were two strangers who met each other an hour prior and there he was, looking at your lips every chance he got.

Sunghoon doesn’t quite know how he did it, but he managed to score your number by the end of the night. You called him cute and made his ears flush. When he confided in you about wanting to get high but being afraid to do so, you told Sunghoon to be with people who make him feel safe.

He grew infatuated with you and the way you encouraged him to be more outspoken if he wanted something. You were so cool in a way he wish he was but he chalks it up to the confidence you’ve built for yourself. So carefree and lighthearted, you took life’s challenges with stride and refused to let yourself get knocked down. It was inspiring to see you be unapologetic about yourself. There wasn’t anyone in the world who could push you down because you wouldn’t let them.

Two weeks into knowing you, the two of you hooked up for the first time in the backseat of his car after a night of banter and sexual tension. He pulled over the side of the road in the dead of night and beckoned you to the backseat. Too horny to think, he gave you one chance to pass on him before pulling his dick out of his pants.

There was little foreplay because of the angle and the sheer urgency since you were in public. But that wasn’t a problem because you became extreme aroused when Sunghoon started to manhandle you with the kind of confidence he’d never shown you before. He pulled your panties off of your body and spread your legs with his strength and watched you ooze out your arousal and pushed his dry tip against you.

He let it glide up and down with rushed hips until he was dipping the tip inside. He felt so good even with just this taste. Sunghoon moans and felt your pussy clench around him when he pulled out to put a condom on. He fucked you so hard the car shook with vigor until the two of you lay together well spent, and you had wondered how you could get him to be so forward with you again.

That moment began your friends-with-benefits arrangement with him. Somehow, as he got closer to you, Sunghoon felt enough with you to get truly high for the first time.

It was cute, the way he coughed the first time smoking a joint. You kissed his cheek and told him to take a small breath and hold it in longer than he thinks he needed to. He followed your instructions and you praised him for being so good at listening.

The two of you don’t go anywhere farther than grinding when you’re both inebriated. The thrill of it all is euphoric to Sunghoon no matter if it seems unconventional. You’ve talked about it—having sex while high is on a bucket list for the two of you—and agreed that if it felt right, why not try it?

So now you sit facing Sunghoon as you watch him expertly inhale a puff of smoke and push his lips against yours. It travels into your mouth and the proximity of his lips makes you shudder. Sunghoon keeps his hand on you and pries your legs open slowly.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers as he pecks your mouth. His plump lips feel like pillows. Sunghoon drags his fingers across the hem of your panties, tracing the fabric before sliding his fingers up and down your slit. “God, you’re so wet, too.”

His soft touch tingles in a way that travels to your toes. Sunghoon comes closer to lick your neck before pressing small kisses over it. The sensation is astounding. Every nerve in your body is alert and you’ve never felt more aroused in your entire life.

“I’m so lucky to get to fuck you,” he says against your neck. “I’ve never had anyone better.”

And, well, that’s true. You knew he had a girlfriend before you but when you both started to open up about sexual history and preferences, you learned that Sunghoon’s ex girlfriend didn’t quite meet him halfway.

His confession makes you clench but your words get stuck in your throat with his sudden confession. It turns you on more than you’d like to admit. Sunghoon pulls your panties off completely and kneels on the floor until his face hovers over you.

“Can I?”

Within a fraction of a second of you nodding, Sunghoon’s sticking his tongue out and licking a fat stripe up your core. It’s astonishing the way he maintains being anywhere between dominant and desperate when he’s high. It’s like his brain can’t choose how he wants to act and so his desires come out without abandon. His typically hesitant self is replaced by someone who isn’t afraid to show you how badly he wants you.

Sunghoon lets his spit drip down his tongue until your pussy’s wet enough to glisten. He licks it all up and pushes his tongue harder against you until he feels your toes pressing against his back as you arch yourself into his mouth.

You can tell he’s into it when he allows you to suffocate him. Sunghoon doesn’t resist much when your legs close around his head. In fact, you think he might enjoy being restricted like this because his tongue pushes into you like he’s trying to memorize what you feel like against his wet muscle. In and out does he move his mouth and every pass makes your legs feel like they’re about to fall apart.

He moans into you when he feels your fingers carding through his hair and tugging on the strands whenever he pushes his tongue into you harder. Sunghoon doesnt care that his mouth and chin have become sopping wet with your arousal and his spit. He welcomes the mess, even.

Sunghoon pulls his head back just a little to see the way you look down at him. The eye contact makes you clench and he chuckles straight into your pussy, which makes your toes curl and back arch even higher from the couch beneath you.

He looks like a sex god at this angle and you’re sure some divine power from above must’ve loved you enough to give you someone as handsome and as caring as Sunghoon. His hands are so gentle on your thighs, caressing your soft skin while his tongue licks your slit like you’re his favorite treat he’s trying to savor.

Sunghoon always brings you across the finish line and it’s something you appreciate about him. He moves his tongue with precision, even if patterns he draws feel random at best. In the time he’s gotten to know you intimately, you’ve been wondering if he’s learning about your body every time he sees you naked.

He coaxes you into an orgasm when you push your hands into his. Sunghoon immediately clasps his fingers in yours and eases the pressure on your core once your release hits his tongue. He laps it up like he hasn’t had a sip of water in days and cleans you up to the best of his ability. Sunghoon’s tongue feels so soft and gentle as you come down from your orgasm but the high from the marijuana is still a lingering presence, aiding in your euphoric come down.

The two of you look at each other like you know there’s an unspoken presence between the two of you. For now, Sunghoon smiles at you in the way he does when he’s trying to figure out a way to tell you he likes you without directly saying it.

You silence him with a kiss and hope he knows you like him too.

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[princessjojo-x]

8th House Mars Synastry

💝 the connection triggers an urgent & primal drive within mars to unveil & conquer house immediately. they become almost supercharged around house, as if they’re pressing bare skin to a live wire, with electrified adrenaline shooting through their body. they have a scorpion-like fixation on house & express random bursts of needing house. they’re consumed by intense infatuation & magnetic attraction, compelled by a desperate urge to capture houses interest, often resorting to impulsive gestures to earn attention - grand surprises, extravagant gifts, dramatic actions, etc. this instant & consuming attraction causes mars to relentlessly pursue house. they push boundaries & rush intimacy without considering consequences. it’s like they’re racing against time, terrified the opportunity will slip away. this sense of urgency pushes mars past their own comfort zones, making them noticeably more assertive & aggressive, even if they’re usually passive & feminine in other rxships. consequently, the connection may be difficult to end bc mars remains persistent in continuing contact.

💝 the weight of mars’ gaze is too much to handle yet impossible to resist. house feels special & chosen in a way they’re never experienced before. they’re both flattered & mesmerised by mars’ raw desire. but mars’ boldness can make house feel scared & hesitant too, leaving house torn between attraction & caution.

💝 there’s confusion & curiosity to why the connection feels inevitable. partners are drawn together for reasons beyond logic or explanation, as if their meeting was preordained by a force greater than themselves. this causes partners to surrender to the connection, even when it defies reason or practicality. the rxship becomes exhausting & turbulent, yet partners refuse to fully cut ties. this aspect generates an undeniable charge & immediate chemistry between partners. this magnetic pull causes them to operate on primal instinct, lacking awareness of basic emotions in the process. theres a strong need for physical closeness, whether it’s gentle touching or outright fighting. their focus on each other is tunnel visioned, even when they’re in a group setting. outsiders are bound to notice their intense chemistry, but the sheer depth will always only exists between the two.

💝 partners can be stimulated or triggered just from hearing & saying each other’s names. their names become charged & symbolic bc there tied to emotional highs & lows.

💝 partners have sex like the world is going to end, possibly in forbidden places or secret spots. sexual intimacy (if ever allowed) becomes a form of escapism bc it feels like a drug. uncomfortable tension builds to unbearable heights & sexual contact is the only way to release it. sex provides a temporary relief, which feels like a fleeting high. but pent up feelings keep rebuilding so sex becomes an addictive cycle.

💝 unspoken wounds & buried traumas are unconsciously reopened during deep conversations & emotional flair ups. sexual intimacy becomes a tool to heal or hurt each other, with encounter carrying the power to either mend or break them further.

💝 they may have heavy & negative feelings for one another, despite being intrigued & excited for each other - one day they’re inseparable, the next day they’re avoidant. quiet resentment builds for reasons neither wants to admit. partners torment each other, but neither take the bait. they don’t want to risk disrupting the fragile bond they’ve developed.

💝 whether this rxship ends beautifully or tragically, it leaves a permanent mark on their psyches. it may feel like a death-&-rebirth cycle that transforms their lives in ways they never anticipated.

have you experienced this aspect? how did it play out for you?

[wingedhallows]

— CHIVALRY ISN'T DEAD —

CHAPTER TWO — ₊˚⊹♡ PAIRING ; 5.1k words vi!basketball jockey x reader!ballerina — ₊˚⊹♡ SYNOPSIS : There was something there—something unspoken, something undeniable. But in one careless moment, it all fell apart. Words were said, pride got in the way, and now she’s left with nothing but regret. She wants to fix it. She has to. Now, Vi is determined to fix what she broke. She’ll do anything—everything—to prove she didn’t mean it. But pride is a stubborn thing, and second chances don’t come easy. Can she turn the tide before it’s too late? Or has she already lost what she never had the courage to claim?

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— ₊˚⊹♡ TAG, YOU'RE IT

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You curse whoever designed this damn university—the placement of the gym, the sheer distance between it and the dorms, the fact that you’re always the one sprinting across campus like your life depends on it. Your lungs burn, your knees scream in protest, but you push forward, feet pounding against the pavement.

By the time you finally reach the gym, you feel like you’ve aged a decade. Your teammates are already there, and judging by their unimpressed expressions, your absence did not go unnoticed.

“Second time this month,” Laurel, the team leader, mutters, arms crossed as she eyes you with thinly veiled irritation. You brace yourself on your knees, struggling to catch your breath—why the hell is it so hard to breathe?

“Sorry,” you wheeze, barely managing the words. “My alarm didn’t ring.”

A half-truth. More like you’d hit snooze three times and convinced yourself five more minutes wouldn’t hurt. Laurel just rolls her eyes, unimpressed, and shoves open the gym doors. You already know this means extra drills, probably an endless cycle of Arabesques until your legs give out.

But the moment you step inside, your irritation shifts into confusion.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against polished floors, the rhythmic thud of a bouncing ball, the distinct scent of sweat and sports tape—it doesn’t belong to your team.

Your brows furrow. Isn’t this our time slot?

“What the hell?” Laurel huffs, her voice sharp with frustration. She crosses her arms, clearly seething at the sight in front of her.

But you barely register her anger. Because your eyes have already landed on her.

Violet.

She’s mid-stride, clad in her jersey—sleeves ripped off, exposing glimpses of inked skin. Her hair is damp, strands sticking to her forehead, and her face is flushed from exertion. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on her arms, catching the light just enough to make you want to look again.

Your stomach does something strange, something you really don’t want to acknowledge.

Good lord, have mercy.

For a second, just a second, you forget why you’re even here.

The spell shatters the moment Laurel steps forward, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

“It’s our time to practice.”

Her words echo across the gym, sharp and commanding, drawing the attention of the basketball team. A few of them falter mid-drill, their gazes flicking toward your group. Then, as if on cue, all eyes shift to their captain. Abby.

“Is it?” Abby steps forward, her face flushed from exertion, that same infuriatingly smug grin tugging at her lips. She crosses her arms, eyeing Laurel up and down with deliberate slowness, clearly enjoying the way it makes her bristle.

Why does she always have to be such an ass?

“You know I reserved the gym last week,” Laurel bites out, her jaw tight with irritation. “This time slot’s ours.”

But the tension between them barely registers, fading into the background as your gaze drifts—drawn like a magnet—back to her.

She’s standing now, elbow propped casually on Ellie’s shoulder, her posture all lazy confidence. That stupid, lopsided grin is still on her face, the one that looks effortlessly cool, the one that makes your stomach flip against your will.

And Vi?

Vi is struggling.

She swallows hard as her eyes trace over you, heart hammering against her ribs. Jesus fucking Christ.

The leotard, the delicate cardigan slipping off one shoulder, the sheer tights clinging to your legs—it’s almost criminal. Should carry a goddamn warning.

A slow warmth unfurls in her chest, a pull so strong it knocks the breath right out of her.

Vi had spent the entire weekend replaying that stupid party in her head, kicking herself for her own recklessness. She had told herself over and over that she needed to fix things, to apologize. But standing here now, watching the way the gym lights catch in your hair, the way you seem completely unaware of the effect you have on her—

God. What a fucking fool she had been.

She needs to make this right.

She has to.

You step forward—force yourself to tear your gaze away from Vi, to shake off the way she’s looking at you like she’s trying to memorize every inch of you. Instead, you focus on Abby. You know her well enough to know she’ll cave with the right approach.

“Oh, come on, Abbs.” Your voice is gentle, coaxing. You give her a small nudge, tilting your head ever so slightly. “We reserved the gym. Give us an hour, and then it’s all yours for the rest of the day.”

Abby narrows her eyes at you, lips pressing into a firm line like she’s considering being difficult for the hell of it. But it doesn’t last—she exhales, shoulders dropping in defeat. Of course, she can’t say no to her favorite ballerina.

“Fine, fine,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes in faux annoyance before nudging you back. Then, with a lazy wave of her hand, she turns to her team, signaling for them to clear off and rest while your group takes over.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Laurel watching the exchange, brows subtly raised. She looks like she wants to ask about your friendship with Abby but ultimately decides against it, choosing instead to focus on ushering the ballet team forward. No time to waste.

Meanwhile, Vi follows Ellie toward the stands, grabbing her water bottle without much thought. Or at least, she tries to.

The moment her fingers curl around the bottle, her gaze flickers back to you—and suddenly, everything else fades into background noise.

You’ve shrugged off your cardigan now, leaving your arms and shoulders bare. The soft glow of the gym lights catches on your skin, accentuating the subtle shift of your muscles as you stretch. Every movement is fluid, hypnotic—each slow bend and reach designed for flexibility, but to Vi, it’s something else entirely.

Something devastating.

Her throat runs dry as her eyes trace the delicate lines of your body, the way your tights hug your legs, the way your leotard dips at the small of your back. There’s something impossibly graceful about you, something that makes her stomach clench, her pulse stutter.

Vi is so utterly, ridiculously screwed.

Ellie has to say her name once. Twice. Three times before she even registers the sound.

By the fourth, she blinks, snapping her gaze away like she hasn’t just been caught blatantly staring.

Mighty—this is going to be torture.

By the time practice is over, Vi is convinced her heart might just give out.

How do you move like that?

Her empty water bottle sits crushed between her fingers, long forgotten after she drained it dry the second she saw you leap—some kind of jump-spin-twirl move that she’s sure has a real name, but hell if she knows it. All she knows is that it did something to her, something she’s trying very hard to pretend isn’t utterly wrecking her.

Ellie is still beside her, talking her ear off about some girl she met at the party last week, but Vi barely registers a word. Her attention is locked onto you, on the way you laugh at something Abby says, on the way your hand brushes her arm so effortlessly, so familiar. Vi swallows hard.

Then she hears it.

Abby, ever the fearless one, casually asks you if you want to see a movie with some friends.

Vi’s stomach drops.

This is it. Her chance. The opening she’s been waiting for.

She watches you agree without hesitation, watches you lean in and hug Abby before walking off with your team. You disappear through the gym doors, leaving behind only the ghost of your smile in her mind, and Vi can’t—won’t—let that be the last of it.

She moves before she thinks, practically launching to her feet the second Abby’s within reach.

“Let me join,” she blurts out.

Abby stops mid-step, turning to look at her, brow arched in amusement. Vi realizes her mistake instantly—too desperate. She clears her throat, trying (and failing) to backtrack. “I mean… I’d like to see the movie too.”

Abby’s grin stretches wider, the kind that makes Vi want to disappear into the floor.

“An eavesdropper and a terrible liar,” she muses, head tilting just enough to make Vi squirm. “Seems the pretty birdie did catch your attention, huh?”

Vi’s gut reaction is to deny it, to scoff and play it cool. That’s the routine. That’s what she does. But this time… this time, she lets out a slow breath, her shoulders drooping slightly.

She already fucked up once. She refuses to do it again.

“Fine. Yes.” The words are quiet, but firm.

For the first time, Abby looks… almost surprised. Vi doesn’t just admit to liking people. Not like this. Not anyone.

Not until you.

“You’re serious?” Abby asks, her teasing edge softening just a fraction.

Vi clenches her jaw, trying to ignore the creeping heat licking up her spine, the familiar burn of humiliation threatening to settle in her chest. But she’s already exposed now—might as well see it through.

All she can do is nod.

Abby studies her for a second, then exhales through her nose, expression shifting into something almost unreadable. “Then why the hell did you say you weren’t?”

Vi lets out another sigh, quieter this time. The truth tastes bitter in her mouth.

“’Cause I’m a damn idiot.”

Abby snorts, shaking her head. “That you are.” But there’s no bite to it, no mockery—just a simple statement of fact.

“We’re meeting around nine,” she says as she steps past Vi, barely missing the way her head snaps up at the confirmation.

Then, just as she’s about to leave, she pauses. “Don’t fuck it up again, will you?”

And with that, she’s gone, leaving Vi standing alone by the stands, heart pounding, palms clammy, stomach twisting in a mix of nerves and determination.

She won’t fuck it up.

She can’t.

She’s going to show you—prove to you—that she didn’t mean it. That she wants you.

And this time, she’s not going to let herself get in the way

By the time you pull up to the cinema, the sky is inked in deep blue, the street lights humming with soft yellow light. The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of popcorn and city life. You’re almost impressed Margot managed to get here without crashing—her driving skills are as reckless as ever.

“I heard Ellie’s gonna be there,” Flint drawls, a smirk playing on his lips.

Margot stills for half a second, fingers tight around the keys before yanking them out of the ignition. "Oh, shut up," she huffs, but you don’t miss the way her ears turn just a shade pinker.

Flint only grins wider. "And Vi’s coming too." His gaze flicks to you with knowing amusement before he shoves the car door open, leaving you in the backseat with a sudden, inexplicable heat blooming in your chest.

Vi’s going to be here? Damn it, Abby.

You curse yourself for how traitorous your heart is—pounding, thrumming against your ribs as if it’s trying to give you away. It’s stupid. She doesn’t even like you like that. Right?

You step out of the car, the rush of cold air wrapping around you, making you shiver. The effort you put into drying your hair suddenly feels useless, strands already catching in the breeze. Margot loops her arm through yours like she always does, a warm, grounding presence, and together you follow Flint toward the cinema’s neon glow.

The group is already there, clustered near the entrance. Abby and Ellie are bickering, cigarettes lazily hanging from their lips. Ekko leans against a pillar, chatting with a blue-haired girl who—wait—looks almost exactly like Vi. And then there’s Vi herself.

She’s standing just a little apart, currently fending off the blue-haired girl—her sister, probably—who’s clambering over her like some determined gremlin, reaching for her cigarette. Vi’s scowl is deep, but it does little to hide the easy familiarity of their play-fighting.

“Back off, you menace,” she mutters, voice edged with irritation.

And then, as if sensing something, she glances up—right at you.

Her breath catches.

God.

She knew you were coming, but somehow, seeing you now—soft curls catching the light, makeup done just right, outfit that might as well have been designed to ruin her—it’s too much. She swallows hard, dragging her eyes away before they betray her completely.

You, on the other hand, find yourself equally doomed. The way she stands there—hands wrapped in bandages (does she box?), cigarette hanging effortlessly from her lips, dressed a little neater than usual yet still so effortlessly cool—it’s unfair. Completely unfair.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

Her jaw clenches.

And in the span of a single glance, something unspoken crackles between you. Neither of you dare say it aloud. But it lingers, heavy in the cold night air.

“There you guys are,” Ellie calls out, her voice warm and teasing as she flicks her cigarette to the pavement. She moves past Abby with effortless ease, her arms already open as she pulls Margot into a hug—too familiar, too lingering. Yeah, those two definitely have something going on.

Abby claps a hand on your shoulder, flashing a knowing grin before turning to greet Flint with an easy handshake and a firm tap to the back. You try to focus on the casual exchange, on the comforting familiarity of it all, but the second your gaze shifts, your stomach twists.

Vi.

She’s standing just a few feet away, and for a moment, it’s as if the entire world slows. But then it hits you—memories slamming into your chest like a punch you weren’t prepared for. Her rejection. The sting of it is still fresh, still lingering in the corners of your heart. Your chest tightens, and before you can dwell on it, you force yourself to move on, masking the flicker of pain with a smile that barely reaches your eyes.

You turn to Ekko instead, pulling him into a familiar hug. Safe. Easy. No hidden wounds there. But then—

“You must be Y/N!”

A bright, enthusiastic voice breaks through your thoughts, and you turn just in time to see Vi’s sister beaming at you, her eyes alight with mischief. You reach for a handshake, but she’s faster, throwing her arms around you before you can even react.

“Name’s Powder,” she says, pulling back with an easy grin.

You blink, your brain scrambling for a response, but all that comes out is a small, awkward, “Nice to meet you.”

Damn it. That sounded way too timid.

Vi watches the interaction with sharp, unreadable eyes, her cigarette forgotten between her fingers. Her fingers tighten around it, but she doesn’t take another drag. Powder likes you. That’s… new. Her sister has never taken to the girls Vi was interested in.

Wait.

Her interest in you isn’t something she wants to acknowledge, but it’s there, simmering beneath the surface, undeniable. And now, seeing you like this—so effortlessly charming, even in your nervousness—sets something uneasy in her chest.

“This one’s my dumb older sister,” Powder teases, jerking her thumb toward Vi.

Your eyes flicker toward her, and as soon as they meet, it’s over.

Vi’s breath catches. Damn it.

You’re looking at her with those eyes again, the same ones that made her stomach flip the first time she saw you, the same ones that made her regret every stupidly chosen word when she turned you down. But it’s worse now. Because there’s something new in your stare, something hesitant, wounded—but still longing.

Is it heaven reflected in her eyes, or is she just trying to kill you?

Vi clenches her jaw, nudging Powder roughly in the side with a scowl, desperate to deflect the sudden wave of vulnerability creeping up her spine.

“Shut up,” she mutters, crushing her cigarette underfoot.

And then—because she can’t help herself—she glances back at you.

You’re still staring.

And god, it’s killing her.

Before the silence can stretch too long, Abby strides ahead, effortlessly ushering the group inside the cinema. The neon lights overhead cast a warm glow against the pavement, reflecting in the glass doors as they swing open. You follow after Margot, who is fully immersed in what can only be described as blatant flirting with Ellie—her voice softer, her laughter just a little too easy.

But your attention isn’t on them. Because Vi is walking beside you.

And for the life of you, you can’t figure out why.

She could be walking with Powder, or Ekko, or literally anyone else—someone she actually likes. But instead, she keeps her pace with you, her presence a steady heat at your side.

You try not to overthink it. Try not to let it mean anything.

Ahead, Abby reaches the counter and pulls out her wallet, paying for everyone without hesitation. She’ll make it back in drinks in the future —her usual method of collecting debts. The transaction is brief, a simple exchange of cash, but to Vi, it feels like a goddamn eternity.

Because she’s still standing next to you.

Because her heart is thudding a little too fast.

Because if she doesn’t say something now, she might just explode.

She risks a glance at you, drinking in the soft slope of your profile, the way the overhead lights highlight the curve of your cheek. Her hands tighten into fists at her sides, her nerves a tangled mess of contradictions. She’s never been like this before. Never second-guessed herself, never lost her confidence.

She needs to make progress tonight. She needs to stop being such a fucking coward.

The words are out before she can stop them.

“How was your day?”

It’s abrupt, awkward even, and your head snaps toward her so fast that she barely has time to prepare herself for the full intensity of your gaze. 

Has she been this close to you the whole time?

For a moment, you just look at her, like you’re trying to piece together an answer that doesn’t feel completely inadequate.

“Um… quite alright,” you murmur, and Vi swears under her breath.

This wasn’t how she wanted this to go. Not at all.

She’s a charmer. She knows how to talk to girls, how to flirt, how to carry a conversation with an easy, devil-may-care attitude. But with you? It’s like all of that skill, all of that finesse, just crumbles into dust.

She nods stiffly, rocking on the soles of her feet. Real smooth, Vi.

Where the hell did all her confidence go?

And then you look at her again—really look at her—and suddenly, she remembers.

Oh. That’s why.

Because you’re breathtaking.

Because every time she meets your eyes, her throat goes dry, her heart stumbles over itself, and she forgets how to breathe.

Because no matter how hard she tries to push it down, the truth still lingers, burning at the edges of her resolve.

She likes you.

A lot.

“You want butter or caramel?”

Flint’s voice pulls you back to reality, yanking you out of the trance you didn’t even realize you’d fallen into. You blink, swallowing down the warmth creeping up your neck as you turn to him.

“What?”

Flint chuckles, eyes flicking between you and Vi with a knowing smirk. He sees it—of course, he does. The way your eyes linger just a second too long, the way Vi watches you like she’s scared to look away. It’s painfully obvious.

“Popcorn, idiot.” He nudges you toward the counter, shaking his head like he can’t believe he has to spell it out for you.

You stumble forward slightly, still flustered, and that’s when you notice—Vi is right there with you. Keeping pace, her presence solid and warm at your side. She could be anywhere else, walking with someone else, but she isn’t. She’s here. With you.

Her lip is caught between her teeth, and you wonder if she even realizes she’s doing it. There’s something hesitant in her posture, like she’s fighting an invisible war with herself.

Popcorn. You should answer. Say something. But before you can—

“What do you want?”

Vi beats you to it, stepping forward as she pulls out her wallet. Her voice is casual, but there’s something beneath it—something careful, something almost hopeful.

Your breath catches.

That’s it. Buy the girl you’re hopelessly smitten with some popcorn. That’ll fix everything, smooth, Vi - she berates herself inside.

All you manage is a quiet, slightly stunned, “Butter, actually.”

Vi nods. “Butter it is.”

And for a split second, she looks relieved, like she’s patting herself on the back for getting through that interaction without completely embarrassing herself. Like this tiny moment—this insignificant act of buying you popcorn—means something to her.

It does, doesn’t it?

Flint has already moved on, his voice carrying over from where he’s playfully arguing with Abby. Maybe it’s intentional, maybe he’s giving you two space, or maybe he just doesn’t want to stand too close to whatever mess of feelings is unfolding between you and Vi.

You should be grateful for the distraction, but you’re not. Because Vi is still beside you, ordering your popcorn and—wait. Did she just add two drinks?

Like it’s second nature, like it’s always been like this.

You watch her, something tightening in your chest.

The way she leans on the counter, her confidence returning in the way she flashes the cashier an easy smile. The way her voice dips, smooth and effortless, like she’s found her footing again.

God. She’s attractive.

And that’s the worst part, isn’t it? That even after everything—even after she turned you down—your heart still betrays you. Still trips over itself whenever she’s close.

And right now, she’s so, so close.

Vi steps back from the counter, the warm scent of buttered popcorn clinging to the air between you. The bucket is balanced effortlessly in one hand, the two drinks cradled in the other—like she’s done this a thousand times before.

Like this is just something she does for you.

You follow her, your throat suddenly dry, your mind spiraling in circles you can’t quite escape.

Why did she buy you popcorn?

If she didn’t like you—if she meant what she said back then—why do this? Why stand beside you, walk in step with you, make your heart stutter with every stolen glance?

Is she playing with you?

You swallow hard, head swimming with questions, none of which have easy answers. You don’t know what this is supposed to mean—if it’s just Vi being Vi, or if there’s something more lurking beneath the surface.

But the worst part?

You want there to be something more. And that’s dangerous.

“I’ll sit in the middle!” Powder declares, stomping past Flint with a triumphant grin, dragging Ekko along with her. You bite back a laugh, watching as Flint blinks after her, utterly bewildered.

Beside you, Vi exhales a soft huff of amusement, the corners of her lips curling into the barest smile. It’s fleeting, but you catch it, and for a split second, the world stills.

She’s even more beautiful when she smiles. God.

Vi catches your gaze, and something shifts. There’s a tenderness in your eyes—soft, unguarded, just for her. It knocks the breath from her lungs.

She swallows, clearing her throat as if that might steady the sudden pounding of her heart. It doesn’t. She’s already lost to you, completely and utterly gone.

With a quiet exhale, she forces herself to follow the others, but the warmth of your glance lingers, burning at the edges of her thoughts.

Inside the dim glow of the cinema, you catch the way Vi maneuvers past Ellie and Margot, making a deliberate beeline for the empty seat beside you. Your breath hitches. Why? Why would she choose to sit next to you?

Your pulse quickens as you steal a glance at her, but the rush of excitement is fleeting. It’s smothered almost instantly by the cold, lingering memory of her rejection just days ago. The ache of it settles deep, dull but persistent.

Vi drops into the seat beside you with an ease that feels almost practiced, and before you can even process it, she’s handing you the bucket of popcorn— The one she had offered to buy so charmingly. 

Your fingers brush as you take it from her, and she tenses for just a second, the warmth of your touch setting off a riot in her chest. She tries to ignore the fluttering sensation, the way her skin hums where it met yours—but it’s impossible. The feeling is too sharp, too consuming.

“Thanks,” you murmur, stuffing a few kernels into your mouth in a weak attempt to ground yourself.

The movie begins, casting flickering shadows across Vi’s face, but your focus is elsewhere. Your eyes drift down, catching the way her arm rests on the armrest between you—palm up, fingers just slightly curled, almost as if she’s waiting.

Waiting for your hand to slip into hers.

Your head spins, tangled in the weight of confusion, of longing. The pull toward her is undeniable, intoxicating, and yet—doubt lingers, threading through your chest like a vice.

Does she want you close, or is this just another moment that will slip through your fingers?

After the movie—and what felt like an eternity of Abby and Flint’s relentless chatter—you find yourself outside the theater once again. The night air is crisp, biting at your skin, and the sky stretches dark and endless above you. Abby’s already fishing for a cigarette like her life depends on it, muttering something about needing it badly.

Beside you, Vi stands in silence, a cigarette perched between her fingers, its ember glowing faintly in the cold. Margot, on the other hand, is still shamelessly flirting with Ellie, her laughter spilling into the quiet street.

Vi grips her cigarette like it’s an anchor, the last thing keeping her from completely losing her composure. You’re too close—too close—and her thoughts are unraveling, tangled in the weight of wanting you. She racks her brain, searching for a way to move forward, to say something that won’t end in disaster.

Well, she bought you popcorn—that’s a win in her book. She also stumbled through possibly the most awkward conversation of her life with you, which… might be a loss. But at least it was something.

Her heart pounds, fingers tightening around the cigarette as she blurts out, without thinking—

“Let me take you home.”

The words hit the air, unfiltered, unplanned, way too loud. And worse—in front of everyone. Heat surges up her neck, settling in her cheeks as the weight of the moment crashes down on her. Your head snaps toward her, eyes wide, and for a second, she swears the world stops spinning.

“What?” The question tumbles from your lips, confused, hesitant. You came here with Margot and Flint—why would Vi be the one to take you home?

The thought lingers between you, curling in the cold air like the smoke from her cigarette. And then, something shifts. A possibility, fragile but undeniable, takes root in your chest. Maybe—just maybe—she doesn’t actually not like you.

Vi’s mouth opens, then shuts. Then opens again. Great. Real smooth.

She scrambles for something—anything—to save face. “It’s on the way.”

Her voice comes out quieter than before, and she immediately wants to punch herself in the face. That was a blatant lie, and she knows it. You know it. Everyone knows it. The basketball dorms are in the complete opposite direction.

You tilt your head slightly, lips parting like you’re about to question it—like you don’t quite buy her excuse. But before you can say anything, Flint jumps in, mercifully cutting off whatever awkward attempt at an explanation Vi might’ve tried to offer.

“That would be great,” he says easily. “I don’t think Margot’s in any condition to drive anyway.”

Your gaze follows his, landing on Margot, who is very much occupied. Ellie traces slow, lazy fingers up and down her arm, a smug little grin playing on her lips.

Vi watches as your expression shifts, your brows pulling together slightly. She knows exactly what you’re thinking.

Fuck Margot.

Fuck Flint.

And honestly? Same.

That’s how you end up here—sitting in the passenger seat of Vi’s sleek black BMW. The interior is just as you’d expect: clean, but lived-in. Black leather seats, a faint scent of her cologne hanging in the air, a couple of cigarettes in the ashtray, long since burned out.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Vi starts the car, gripping the wheel a little too tightly, like she has to physically remind herself to drive like a normal person, to not scare you off. Her nerves are wound tight, but she forces herself to keep it together.

Then, in a small, uncertain gesture, she cranks up the heat. She has no idea if you’re cold. No clue if you even need it. But it’s something—it’s a move, at least. Something to fill the silence, to make this feel less suffocating.

“You didn’t have to…” You hesitate, voice soft. “…drive me home, you know.”

Vi grips the wheel tighter. Her knuckles flex, then relax.

“I wanted to.”

Her words are steady, sure. No hesitation this time. And god, if your voice is like balsam for her soul, then looking at you is an entirely different kind of torture.

You turn toward her, your gaze drifting over her frame—and immediately, you regret it.

Because Vi in the driver’s seat, relaxed yet effortlessly in control, is a sight that does unspeakable things to you.

One hand resting lazily on the wheel, the other gripping the gear shift with casual ease. Her legs spread just enough to make your thoughts stumble into dangerous territory. The soft glow of passing streetlights cutting shadows along the sharp lines of her jaw, her lips slightly parted in quiet concentration.

Your stomach twists. Your head spins.

And worst of all—Vi notices.

She catches your lingering stare, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, you swear you see something shift in her expression. Her grip on the wheel tightens, her jaw ticks, and there—right there—is the tiniest flicker of a smirk before she looks back at the road.

A slow, molten heat spreads through her chest, pooling low in her stomach.

For the first time tonight, she feels like she might actually be winning. Like maybe—just maybe—she’s finally making progress.

And when Vi sets her mind to something, she damn well sees it through.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ TAGLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚

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[kanekisfavoritegf]

PERFECT LOVER: The Life of Nanami Kento the 35 Year Old Virgin

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: Kento Nanami, a 35-year-old introvert with a tendency to avoid social interactions, has made a conscious decision to steer clear of romantic entanglements. However, everything changes when he meets a new colleague at his birthday party, (Satoru's Idea). From the moment they meet, he is mesmerized, finding himself increasingly unable to resist her magnetic presence. Like taking a bite of forbidden fruit, he becomes ensnared by the allure, delving into a realm of infatuation and finding himself unable to break free. As he delves deeper into this newfound connection, Nanami begins to realize that he craves more than just a fleeting experience and yearns for more than just a fleeting taste of what she embodies.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 1.6K

CHAPTER TWO:

You two were a tangle of tipsy limbs, moving constantly. At some point in the night, you had found yourself on top of him, skin to skin, with no barrier between the two of you; Kento felt like he was drowning in you. It was a push-and-pull movement. A dance of some sort, with you straddling him, helping him guide his dick into your dripping cunt, that squeezed in anticipation for him.

Nanami knew he wouldn’t last long, but as he sunk into you, the idea of even holding in the waves of pleasure that drowned him was impossible. 

He came hard and loud; fat globs of his semen shot into you and seeped out with the continued slamming of his hips. Kento didn’t even get a chance to moan your name before he was cumming again. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” He gasped, eyes rolled to the back, and his head dug deep into your neck, licking a strip of sweat that coated your skin. His hands squeezed at your plush flesh so hard you knew you would feel the linger of his pints on you days from now. Kento didn’t even need to ask before you were giving him more and more and m–

Waking up to damp pants is something that Kento hadn’t done in years, and it was just as mortifying today as it was when he was fourteen. His fists still clung to the pillows near him, and his thighs were sore from chafing. The man could only assume the worst, which was that he humped his sheets like a depraved whore, to a wet dream about a woman he knew nothing about.

How perfect.

Kento got to his feet, ignoring the sticky feeling of his orgasm, clinging to his pajama pants to his dick, which was still undeniably challenging. The man moved to pull off his sheets and threw them in a basket to deal with later.

Nanami had placed you in his spare room with some old clothes and a toothbrush, hoping you would be sober enough to change yourself; he left you there with a simple goodnight, not turning back to see if you had closed the door on him or waiting for the sound of the door's lock clicking. 

Kento stripped and went to the bathroom, not daring to leave his room. He wouldn’t dare face you right now, not with a boner and a very obvious cum stain painting his pants. But it wasn’t just his appearance that kept him away from you; it was the sheer fact that you, for some reason, occupied his dreams and made him ruin his bed sheets. 

How could he even try to look you in the eye after that? Nanami’s idea was to wait you out, hoping you would leave in an embarrassed rush out his door with nothing but a note, email, or nothing at all, just the soft scent of your skin lingering in his room.  And even though a small part of him hoped you had stayed, a tiny part of him chose to squash that feeling down to the deepest depths of his soul, where memories of believing in Santa and monsters under the bed went—a place where the hopes of romance went to die a long time ago.

Cold showers should work. Nanami has never had to take one, but he knows they should. It isn’t, though, and in fact, all it was doing was increasing Kento’s chances of coming down with something. Moving the shower controls to the hot side, Kento decided to take things into his own hands. If a cold shower wasn’t going to get rid of his pulsating problem, he would just have to get rid of it himself.

As his hand moved to tug at his cock, images of you and only you seemed to fill his mind. Kento, of course, had masturbated before; the act was nothing new to him. But pleasuring himself was more of a distraction or stress relief. A brief act to clear his mind or pass the time. It was rarely ever a thing of lust. So as he let his eyes roll back and his mouth part open, almost letting out a loud moan, he didn't try to stop himself from picturing you before him, perfectly naked and prettily sitting on your knees as you went to pleasure him.

Kento could almost feel the heat of your skin coming off of you, hear the sounds of your gags as he pushed himself deeper into your throat. Each groan that left him was because of you, your voice, your body, and that stupid birthday cake. He tried his best to keep his moans in; he did, but as he came, the whisper of your name left him, following closely behind a long, drawn-out moan. 

Kento felt faint, and tired all over again.

“Christ,” he whispered, letting the hot shower water wash over him. It felt as though he was losing his mind. How you had this much power over him, he didn’t know, but if this were going to be a recurring thing, he would need to find a new way to get rid of his not-so-little problem if he would have to see you almost every day at work.

***

Fortunately, when he stepped out of his room, gray sweats and white shirt on, you were nowhere to be seen. The door was still shut, so he couldn’t tell if you were there, but he would not check. Kento made his way to the kitchen and began making breakfast. 

Once done, he went to the spare room; each step felt like walking through cement. “What would he even say to you?” He thought as he now stood at the door, the only barrier between the two of you if you were even in there. But it swung open before he could figure out how to talk to you or even knock on the door. And there you stood, tired and hungry. Nanami’s figure loomed over yours as you rubbed your eyes of any remaining sleep.

Kento Nanami never imagined that the first time a woman would be in his apartment wearing his clothes would be with a coworker he barely knew. But here you were, wearing one of his old university tees and gym shorts and looking devastatingly beautiful in Kento’s eyes.

“Mr. Nanami?” You blinked at him.

“Miss, Y/N, you are awake,” Kento said, hands full of water, painkillers, and breakfast. “This is for you.” He raised his hands slightly to emphasize the toast and eggs. But before you could take the tray and embarrassingly turn away back into the spare room, he walked to the kitchen, tilting his head and telling you to follow him. 

And as he set everything down on his table and pulled out a chair for you at the head of the table, you couldn’t help but stare at him. It wasn’t the tiredness that made you want to inspect every muscle that seemed to cling to his white tee, which was a size too small, in your opinion. And you couldn’t blame the staring on being drunk, either. It was all you, all you and your sex-depraved mind that seemed to make your eyes rake him, once or twice or maybe even thrice, as he got you situated at his dining table.

“I didn’t know if you were still here, but I made breakfast just in case,” Kento said, sitting beside you with his plate of food, keeping his eyes away from your face with every word spoken. 

“Thank you.” You responded quietly, shuffling your way to the food and medicine, and passed the man you had only known for fifteen hours.

“Kento, with a hint of concern in his voice, offered, ‘If it isn’t to your tastes, I don’t mind whipping up something new or even dashing downstairs. A grocery store is right beneath us, catering to all building tenants.’ His gaze, for the first time since you dozed off on the train, met your face.

“No! No. It is fine. Perfect, actually.” 

Even without conversation, the silence between you and your companion was far from awkward. It felt quite natural to exist in this small, quiet bubble that the two of you currently occupied. It was as though the simple act of waking up and eating breakfast was something you had done a thousand times before and would do a million times again. 

“You can use my bathroom to wash up,” Kento said as he collected your plates, 

“Oh, don’t worry about me; I just got a taxi. I will wash up when I get home.”

“Oh.” A slight frown painted his face before his expression turned neutral and distant. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to hold you up here on such a beautiful Saturday morning.”

“Thank you. Truly, Mr. Nanami.” You smiled slightly as you retreated to your room to pick up your clothes. “

“I only did what any person should have.”

“Just because they should doesn’t mean they would have. So thank you again.” 

As you stood at his apartment door, you rose on your tiptoes and kissed him, a quick peck on the outskirts of his lips. One that expressed gratitude for his unwavering kindness, and quelled the growing desire that had been stirring within you, urging you to just kiss him already. It wasn’t a passionate, clothes-on-the-floor kind of kiss, or one where your tongues collided. Yet, it conveyed exactly what you needed it to.

“Thank you, I hope we can do this again,” whatever this was.

But for Kento, this kiss burned into his skin like hot iron on leather. The invisible marking of you had been placed on him, and now Kento Nanami was sure that he would never be able to get rid of it.

But you were gone before he could hold you in his arms and ask you to do it again and again and a thousand more times after that.

Preview...

“You make it seem like I am some kind of succubus.”

“You might as well be Y/N.”

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CHAPTER THREE UPLOADED