#they just like the look and feel of wearing heels

[mattybsgroupie]

fitting | chris sturniolo

— CONTENTS: handjob (m receiving); mommy kink; milf!reader; virgin!chris; sub!chris

— NOTES: hi my loves! sorry i’ve been a little m.i.a, some stuff happening at home and not really in my best mood BUT i’m here! you give me strenght to keep going and doing what i love. did you guys miss him as much as i did :( chris my beloved!!! inspired by this blurb, thought i’d show how shy chris was before their first time! — btw this fic is part of the milf!au but you can it on its own! — not proofread, i apologize for any mistakes. enjoy ♡

walking around the mall after a busy morning at work, you spotted a familiar figure across the alley. it was quite impossible not to recognize chris — his long hair falling over his big eyes, wearing his shabby jeans and his old converse as he typed frantically on his phone, oblivious to his surroundings.

you approached him slowly, standing in front of chris and expecting that he’d notice you soon. when he raised his head, a smile spread from ear to ear, his blue orbs sparkling. it had been over two weeks since you last saw each other due to stacy staying at her father's place, therefore, chris had no excuses to visit you.

“chris? what are you doing here?” you asked in your usual sweet tone. he scratched the back of his head, as if he was a bit embarrassed about the situation he found himself in. “huh... actually, i was supposed to meet stacy” chris admitted, tucking his cell phone back into his pocket and standing up beside you.

“but she won’t make it” he said. a puzzled frown appeared on your face. it’s true that you couldn’t always keep track of your daughter’s schedule when she wasn't at home, but she wasn’t the type to miss dates or hangouts. 

“cheer practice” he explained. you nodded, realizing that the game season was about to start. it felt so wonderful to see chris again. “well, would you like a ride home? i just have to look for something real quick and then i’m all done”

“sure, c-can i keep you company?” he asked, eager for a positive answer. “absolutely, sweetheart”

you led the way to the store you were going to visit. a lingerie shop. chris gulped when he saw the bright sign, the pink lights contrasting with the black interior and then sighed. he knew you missed him just as much.

“that’s not fair, mama” he mumbled after a while. chris had been following you like a puppy, interlocking his index with two of your fingers, as if he could lose his way at any second. 

“making me so needy” he complained again. you stopped by a red, lace lingerie set and happily brought it to your chest, turning to chris. “what do you think of this one, chris? pretty, right?”

“mhm— really pretty” chris shook his head as he sunk his teeth on his bottom lip. he looked away from you and the way the bra rested perfectly against your chest. “what’s up, baby? are you having a little trouble down there?”

“mama… don’t do this to me” chris whispered. his hands started to get sweaty and he could feel the blood rushing to his cock. he was about to get hard in public just because he thought of you in lingerie, which was ridiculous, since he had seem you naked previosusly.

“i’m not doing anything, sweetie. i’m shopping and you’re keeping me company, isn’t that right? is it my fault that you can’t hold yourself back and got all worked up just because i got some lingerie?” your warm tone sent a shiver down his spine, his chest immediatly inflating with air. “‘m s-sorry i just keep thinking… of you wearing it” chris tried to explain himself as you chuckled, enjoying his embarassement.

“yeah? you wanna see me wearing a nice set for you? which one do you like better?” you asked, handing him three pairs of bras and panties in different colors.

“the red one” chris spoke, still not daring to look at you in the ways. you walked in slow, seductive steps towards him, the sound of your heels taking over the empty store.

“c’mere,  i’ll try it on for you” you continued, undoing the first button of your silk shirt. chris got a peek of your bra, it was the leopard print that drove him insane and made him kiss you for the first time, months ago. “but first we gotta fix this, hm?” you cooed, placing your palm against his boner and applying some pressure to it.

once again, you led the way towards the fitting rooms. chris followed you obediently, holding a bunch of hangers. you gaze scanned the store and with a naughty grin, you opened one of the curtains and quickly went inside, pulling chris by his wrist.

he didn’t even had time to hang your underwear. you pushed him against the mirror, smashing your lips together in a desperate, hungry kiss. a loud groan left his throat as you moved to his neck, gently sucking on his skin. “mommy i missed you so much” chris rolled his eyes, his hands going to your hair.

“i missed you too, my good little boy” you whispered, palming his cock over his jeans. chris squirmed against you, a moan slipping from his lips. you opened a satisfied smile as you pulled away, sitting on the stool next to the mirror.

chris whined in protest, already missing how you hand and your lips felt on him. “got all hard for mama? you poor little thing” he pouted, nodding “c’mon, touch yourself for me” you instructed him.

his eyes widened in surprise — you had never asked him that. he didn’t know how to do jerk himself properly. chris was a virgin and the first time he was actually able to reach an orgasm was with your help. how was he supposed to do it on his own, and in public?

“mhm, unless you wanna go out with that pathetic boner” you teased, crossing your legs. the red heel started to slip from your foot as you finished unbuttoning your shirt, fully displaying your bra. chris whined again, silently pleading.

“mama… i n-need your help” chris spoke under his breath. “can’t cum without you”

“you’ll have to learn how to take care of yourself, chris” you said, pulling chris by his belt. you helped him to undress, freeing his shaft, almost slapping against his own tummy. you wrapped your knuckles around his length, stroking it in slow motions. “do you expect mama to be there every time you get hard? what are you gonna do when i’m not around, hm?”

“nhng— can’t— can’t be without mama” chris whimpered, more to himself than to you. he twitched inside your fist, placing both hands on the mirror to hold his weight, knowing his knees would ultimately give up.

you moved your thumb to his tip, pre-cum leaking from his slit as you circled it. his hips bucked forward as he leaned his head down, trying to hold himself. chris didn’t want to cum too soon, it was humiliating. he wanted to last long for you, he wanted to get used to the feeling your fingers around him, to the sound of your voice whispering praises and calling him a good boy, but no matter how hard chris tried, he pathetically failed.

“cum! mama, cum!” chris whimpered. you tightened your grip around his cock, pumping it faster. “please!”

“cum for me baby” you allowed him. you knew chris would need a long time to get used to your touch. in fact, it was adorable that he couldn’t even last five minutes.

chris threw his head back, moaning as he came on your hand, thick spurt messing your fingers and his jacket. you didn’t move your hand, continuing to gently stroke his wet, sticky cock.

that’s until your phone rang. you reached for your bag, quickly picking it up and seeing the name on the screen. “i think stacy is back home” you told chris, whose dick immediately became soft at the mention of your daughter’s name. “would you like to join us for dinner?”

— TAGLIST ♡⊹𑄽୧ @thepubeburgler @submattenthusiast @pearlzier @mattsfavbitchhh @bugeyedgrl @sturncakez @riowritesitall @mattsturnswife @sturnsmia @sturnthepot @mattscoquette @conspiracy-ash @ilovemattsturn @lizzymacdonald06 @blahbel668 @fratbrochrisgf @sturnobsessedwh0re @cayleeuhithinknott @sturniolo04 @1c3b4th @mattsfavbigtitties @bellassturniolo @sturnsxplr-25 @ivammbb @shadowthesim @slutformatthewsturniolo @stefansring @teeheeomg @dystfopia @riasturns @faiyaz555 @sturnslutz @cvnntagious @alesturniolos @emely9274

chris masterlist | milf au masterlist

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Steve Harrington x Reader • mention of alcohol, semi-public sex, Steve’s horny & unhinged (same, honestly) oral (f receiving) unprotected sex, cum play, squirting, vaginal fingering

Steve hates attending dinner parties, and you hate hosting them. But with the first anniversary of your marriage approaching, your friends insisted there should be some kind of a celebration. Since the event was celebrating something as personal as your marriage, you chose to host the event at your home. Steve’s friends and yours are currently gathered in the dining room. The house is spotless; the food has been catered and tastes delicious. Your guests are chatting and getting along just fine, making easy conversation between themselves. Everything would be going great, if your husband wasn’t in such an…amorous mood. Because it’s becoming increasingly difficult to focus on the conversation around you while Steve’s fingers are moving between your legs under the table…

You smile politely, trying to keep it together for your guests. Steve has a complete poker face, taking generous sips of wine and cracking jokes with his buddies like nothing’s happening. Above the table, everything looks innocent; but with your laps hidden beneath it, your husband has free rein to work you into a mess in front of everyone.

You could end his teasing if you wanted to. A little swat of Steve’s hand and a stern ‘look,’ would be enough to make him cease his torment. But you don’t want him to stop. He’s rubbing your clit through your panties, your pussy swollen and aching under Steve’s touch. It started with him playfully stroking your knee, his hand gradually traveling up your skirt and between your thighs. Now, Steve’s got you so worked up that your clit is pulsing against his fingertips.

He’s able to hold his composure just fine until he makes one mistake that breaks him. As his fingers slip inside the crotch of your panties and Steve feels just how fucking soaked you are, he loses his focus completely. The words he’s saying die on his tongue mid-sentence, all the blood rushing from his head to his cock. You smile a little to yourself, happy to see that the playing field has been evened a bit. King Steve isn’t quite the master of self control he seems to think he is. You notice the muscles in his jaw tense in an effort to complete his train of thought, when you know all he can think about is how wet you are for him. As Steve presses his fingers lower, you intentionally adjust yourself in your seat to invite his fingers just inside you. Steve’s whole body jerks as his fingertips are now poised at your entrance; a little pressure is all it would take for him to be inside you now. You’re so fucking wet, he could easily wear you on his fingers right there at the table if he wanted to.

But he doesn’t. He clears his throat, composing himself, removing his hand from between your legs and subtly adjusting himself under the table. You watch him take another sip from his glass and reach for a napkin, pretending to need it. Steve’s fingers are glistening with your arousal; you watch as he subtly brings them to his nose, patting the napkin to his lips, his eyes fluttering when he catches your scent. Despite his best efforts, Steve is now struggling to hold a conversation with your guests, let alone make himself a charming host. You take pity on him, knowing how uncomfortable his cock must be straining against his pants, how badly you both need to relieve yourselves. “Steve?” you say at his ear, and he immediately responds with a breathy “yeah?”

“Can you help me finish up desert?” you ask. Steve nods readily, pushing his chair back and discarding the napkin onto his mostly-emptied plate. He turns away from the table as he leaves his chair, concealing his obvious erection. Steve excuses himself and follows you like a puppy to the kitchen, right on your heels. He reaches for your waist as you round the corner into the kitchen. You swat his hand away with a giggle, which doesn’t dissuade Steve, who reaches for your ass instead. You’ve led him through the kitchen and down the hall, lingering with him in your bedroom doorway. You peek past Steve’s shoulder toward the dining room, listening to your guests talking. Steve guides one hand along your arm, his other gently kneading your ass. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you whisper through a grin. Steve draws back his hand and gives your ass a hard spank! , the cracking sound so loud that he briefly looks behind him to make sure no one heard. As the conversation in the dining room continues uninterrupted, Steve turns his face back to yours, all humor removed from his expression. With a dark, lustful tone, he quietly orders you: “Inside. On the bed. Now.”

You let yourself land back on the bed as Steve closes the door behind you both, locking it. He climbs on top of you, his thighs framing yours. You reach for his belt and so does he, your fingers fumbling together. His breath and yours are uneven, impatient. You tug down Steve’s zipper and with a groan of relief, his hand closes around his stiff cock, pumping up and down his shaft as his other hand snakes up your skirt. He grips the waistband of your panties and yanks them down, the elastic tearing in protest. “Shit,” Steve curses. “Sorry.” You shush him with a kiss, gripping his shoulders and pulling him in close. His hands grope down your body to your hips, spreading them wider. Steve trails kisses down your stomach, pushing up the bottom of your dress around your waist. You let your head rest back on the pillow as Steve nestles his face between your thighs. He doesn’t give you a chance to prepare, delving the tip of his tongue immediately inside you.

Your body jerks in response, a gasp shuddering up from your chest. You clench the shoulders of his dress shirt, bunching the fabric in your fists. Steve nuzzles his nose against your clit, his tongue lapping between your walls. The sound of your wetness is audible as Steve’s tongue works your juices in and out of your cunt, his chin dripping with you. He’s kneeling beside the bed, pumping his cock in his fist while he eats you. Your eyes are on the ceiling, your mind in a blissful haze as Steve takes what he needs from you. The first flutters of orgasm begin tickling deep in your belly, ushered in by the steady lap of Steve’s tongue pulsing inside you.

He knows you��re close, knows every bit of your body and its signals, almost better than you know yourself. Steve adds a finger inside you as well, reaching the parts of you his tongue couldn’t. Pleasure seizes you, your back arching involuntarily, heels kicking into the bed as you thrash. Steve releases his cock and clamps his arm over your waist, holding you in place as you come. He moans into your pussy, words your mind can’t understand but your body knows instinctively, his breath spraying your wetness on your thighs as he pants between them. Steve rises to his feet, his hand returning to his cock. You reach for him, but he breathlessly tells you “no, no baby, stay there, just like that.” Steve’s forehead is damp with sweat, his nose and chin slathered in you. He moves his free hand between your legs, using his fingertips to spread your labia, his eyes honing in on your slick, puckering hole like a predator eyeing its prey.

With a low groan, Steve empties his release onto you, spattering your cunt in his cum. He keeps your lips spread, watching his seed land on and just inside your cunt. Steve uses his fingers to slather his cum all over you, slipping two fingers inside you easily. He climbs back over you, wrapping his arm around your neck, pulling your body into his in an intimate embrace. Steve fucks his cum deep inside you with his fingers, an audible sloshing sound coaxing up from between your legs. You choke out a cry of relief as a second climax consumes you, your cunt fluttering and squeezing around Steve’s fingers. He buries his face between your legs again, lapping up your orgasm. You rut yourself against the bridge of Steve’s nose, smearing his face again with your cum, like a dog marking what belongs to it. He rests awhile between your legs, his cheek relaxed against your warm, sticky thigh.

The pair of you almost fall asleep like this, with your arms splayed out above you and Steve’s head resting between your legs. Just before dozing off, you remember that friends are still hanging out in your dining room. You pat Steve’s shoulder and point past him to the door. “People,” you remind him, sliding off the bed. Steve doesn’t seem to be in the hurry that you are as he watches you adjust your dress and smooth your hair in the mirror. You catch him watching you with a satisfied grin on his lips, and turn to face him. “What?” you ask, matching his smile.

Steve leaves the bed and approaches you at the mirror, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He nestles his chin in the crook of your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there. “I was just thinking,” he replies, his breath warming your skin. “That girl in the mirror-” Steve points his index finger at your reflection. “-That girl, right there…” He purses his lips against your neck again, once, twice, three times. “…That’s my dream girl right there,” Steve murmurs softly. “Her husband’s the luckiest guy in the whole damn world…”

@hippiegoth97 @octobertales @buckysgrace @loserboysandlithium @professionalpromqueen @southerngothicchic @stuffedwithsteve @thecreelhouse @heartbreak-sandwich @whenisthefall @probablyin-bed

[aesthetically-dying101]

Trainwreck

A/N: *sighs* can you guys guess who i wrote for? yes its nanami

warnings: innapropriate workplace behavior (this is all so unrealistic pls), thats mostly it, maybe a bit OOC? idk obsessive behavior, lowkey creepy

Nanami Kento prides himself on being a man of structure. He clocks in at 8:00 AM sharp, organizes his desk with ruthless efficiency, and approaches every task with a quiet, burning determination. But recently—recently, you’ve ruined him.

Completely, utterly ruined him.

You’re not even his boss. No, you’re her secretary. Just the secretary, really.

A pleasant smile in the hallway, the click of heels passing by his office door. You’re always polite, professional. Efficient. And yet, you’ve utterly dismantled every ounce of his composure.

He notices everything about you.

He notices too much.

The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're focused, the faint scent of your perfume (something floral but not cloying, clean and perfect). The way you laugh softly with the receptionist when you think no one is listening.

God, you never wear a wedding band.

He’s looked.

He’s ashamed of how often he’s looked.

He hates himself for it—hates the way his chest tightens when he hears your voice. Hates the way his thoughts stray in the quiet moments of the day, imagining what it would be like if you looked at him the way he looks at you.

But you barely notice him.

At least, that���s what he tells himself. Why would you? He’s just another cog in the machine, another suit with no significance beyond his output.

Nanami lets out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s supposed to be working, but instead, he’s replaying that moment from earlier today: the way you’d popped into the breakroom, looking fresh and radiant in that blouse that he’s now convinced was designed to torment him.

“Oh, hi, Nanami,” you’d said, smiling at him as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. It had been such a simple, innocent thing. And yet, his brain had short-circuited.

“Morning,” he’d managed, stiff and awkward, and he’s sure you noticed. God, why did his voice sound so clipped?

“You doing okay? You looked a little stressed in the meeting earlier.”

And that had really done it. Your concern—casual, effortless—had hit him like a freight train. He could barely stammer out a reply before you were gone, leaving him standing there, coffee untouched, his heart doing somersaults in his chest.

He wants to believe he’s subtle about it, but he knows better. He’s not subtle. Not when he hangs back in the breakroom just to hear you chatting with someone, filing away every detail like the pathetic little moth he is, hopelessly drawn to your flame.

“Yeah, no, I’m just focusing on work right now,” you’d said once, when someone asked if you had any plans for the weekend. No mention of a boyfriend. No hint of anyone waiting for you at home.

It shouldn’t matter, and yet it feels like the cruelest kind of hope, igniting in his chest despite himself.

Nanami leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He’s disgusting. Obsessed. You’re probably not even aware of his existence beyond the bare minimum. Why would you be? You’re smart, funny, stunning—and he’s just him. Dull. Predictable. The kind of guy women settle for when they’re tired of the fireworks.

But oh, if you ever gave him the chance. If you so much as glanced in his direction with anything resembling interest, he’d fall to his knees. Worship you. Do anything to make you happy.

It’s humiliating. The longing, the yearning, the ache.

And yet he can’t stop.

His thoughts spiral as the hours drag on, oscillating between bitterness and hope. He tells himself to stop—orders himself to focus—but his mind keeps circling back to you.

Always you.

The end of the day finally comes, and as he’s gathering his things, he hears the soft sound of your voice drifting from the hallway.

“Night, Nanami!”

You wave as you pass, the gesture casual but bright enough to light up the entire goddamn floor.

“Goodnight,” he replies, quieter than he means to. His hand tightens on his briefcase.

You disappear around the corner, and Nanami stays frozen for a moment, staring at the space where you’d been.

*-*

It’s Christmas in the office.

The annual “holiday celebration,” a thinly veiled excuse for everyone to slack off in the name of festivity. Nanami hates it—or at least he wants to hate it. Forced camaraderie, cheap decorations, music that grates on his nerves. It’s the kind of chaos he typically avoids.

But then you walk in, and every ounce of self-discipline he’s built over the years shatters into irreparable pieces.

The pencil skirt.

The goddamn Christmas-colored pencil skirt. It’s shorter than usual, clinging to your hips in a way that feels engineered to destroy him. The matching blouse, festive but just tight enough to drive him completely fucking insane.

It’s not fair.

You’re smiling as you step into the breakroom, chatting with a coworker, utterly oblivious to the wreckage you’re leaving in your wake.

Nanami’s pulse spikes. His gaze darts away, but the image of you is already seared into his brain, lingering like a bad habit.

He adjusts his tie, swallowing hard. Don’t be a creep. Don’t be a fucking creep. But then his eyes flick back, just for a second, and—oh no. Oh no, no, no.

His pants feel too tight.

He grits his teeth, clenching his jaw as he fumbles with a stack of papers on his desk. His hands tremble slightly. He’s mortified, but there’s no stopping it. Not when his traitorous brain is already spinning, conjuring images he really shouldn’t be entertaining in the middle of the office.

Images of you. That skirt riding up higher, your thighs bare beneath his hands. The sound of your laughter softening into breathless gasps. The way your lips would feel against his skin—

Nanami bolts.

He mutters something vague about needing a minute to no one in particular and beelines for the bathroom. The fluorescent lights are harsh as he leans against the sink, gripping the porcelain edge like it’s the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hisses to his reflection. His tie feels like a noose around his neck.

He splashes cold water on his face, but it doesn’t help. Not when every time he blinks, he sees you. The soft curve of your waist, the way your hair catches the light.

Pathetic. He’s fucking pathetic. You’re just trying to celebrate the holidays like everyone else, and here he is, locked in the bathroom, wrestling with his own shameless thoughts.

The worst part—the absolute worst part—is that it’s not just the dirty shit. Oh, no. His brain is crueler than that.

He imagines quiet mornings with you. You in his kitchen, wearing one of his shirts, smiling at him over a mug of coffee. Your hand brushing his as you pass him a plate, the warmth of your touch lingering long after.

It’s insidious. It’s relentless. It’s everything he doesn’t deserve, and yet he wants it so badly he feels like he might choke on it.

Nanami drags a hand down his face, letting out a groan that echoes in the empty bathroom.

She doesn’t even notice you, idiot.

He stays there longer than he should, collecting himself—or trying to. Eventually, he straightens his tie, squares his shoulders, and forces himself to return to his desk.

But when he passes by the breakroom again, you’re laughing, radiant, and he knows this torture is far from over.

*-*

Nanami doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.

Really, he doesn’t.

But it’s impossible not to overhear you when you’re in the breakroom, talking to someone about the bouquet on the receptionist’s desk.

“Oh, these are lovely,” you say, your voice light and cheerful. “But if I had to pick, I’ve always been more into bold flowers. Red dahlias, spider lilies, roses—things like that. Dark, dramatic colors. They’re so beautiful.”

Nanami freezes in the hallway, a stack of files in his hands. His heart does this stupid little stutter, the same one it always does when he hears your voice. But now it’s worse because his mind is spinning with the image of you holding a bouquet like the one you’ve just described.

Red dahlias, spider lilies. The thought of you cradling those flowers, smiling at them, smiling because of him—he has to physically shake his head to clear it.

He’s pathetic.

He knows he’s pathetic. He clenches the files tighter, willing himself to keep walking, but the image won’t leave him.

Over the next few days, he thinks about it more than he wants to admit. He imagines walking into a flower shop, carefully selecting each bloom, making sure they’re perfect. He imagines handing the bouquet to you, watching your face light up—

And then he imagines the aftermath. You smiling politely, awkwardly thanking him, wondering why the hell one of your coworkers is giving you flowers.

No.

He can’t do it. It’s wildly inappropriate. He’s already teetering on the edge of unprofessionalism just by thinking about you like this.

But then, one quiet afternoon in the office, he hears you mention your birthday in passing.

“Oh, it’s in a month or so,” you say, laughing softly. “I don’t usually do much for it, though. Just a quiet day, you know?”

Nanami marks the date down the second he gets back to his desk. He feels like a creep for it, but the thought of letting the day pass without acknowledgment feels unbearable.

He’s spent weeks overthinking this, debating whether or not he should go through with it. But as he stands outside the florist that morning, the door handle cold in his hand, he decides he can’t let it go.

He picks each flower carefully: crimson dahlias with velvety petals, a few spider lilies that curl dramatically, and deep red roses. It’s a small bouquet—not too extravagant, just enough to feel thoughtful.

By the time he gets to the office, his palms are clammy, and he feels like he might actually pass out.

He doesn’t give it to you right away. He waits until the middle of the day, when the office is quieter and most people are out at lunch. He finds you at your desk, bent over some papers, your hair falling slightly into your face.

“Excuse me,” he says, his voice more formal than he intended.

You look up, blinking in surprise, and when your eyes land on the bouquet in his hands, they widen slightly.

“I, uh—” He clears his throat, trying not to fumble. “I overheard that it was your birthday today. Happy birthday.”

You take the bouquet slowly, your expression shifting from surprise to something softer—something warmer.

“Oh my gosh, Nanami, these are gorgeous,” you say, holding the flowers close to your chest. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s nothing,” he replies quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide how much they’re trembling. “Just… thought you’d like them.”

“I love them.” Your smile is radiant, and for the first time, he feels like he might actually be able to breathe again.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice sincere.

He nods, forcing himself to meet your gaze for just a moment.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, before quickly retreating to the safety of his desk.

But that's what happens in his mind, in his fantasy... in reality, he simply left those at your desk while you were in a meeting, though he did hear you gasp when you saw them.

As he sits at his desk, his heart pounding, he allows himself a small, private smile. For once, his yearning doesn’t feel quite so pathetic.

*-*

Nanami doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. Again. But it’s impossible not to hear you when your voice floats down the hallway like that, soft and full of joy.

The bouquet sits proudly on your desk, vibrant reds catching the fluorescent light, and you’re standing nearby, talking to another employee.

“I still can’t believe it,” you’re saying, your tone carrying this sweet mix of wonder and delight. “No one’s ever done something like this for me before. It’s just… so thoughtful, you know?”

Nanami, passing by with his usual quiet efficiency, freezes mid-step. His breath hitches in his throat.

“I mean, look at them,” you continue, gesturing to the flowers. “They’re perfect. Whoever picked these out really put a lot of thought into it.” You laugh softly, a sound that makes his chest ache. “I’m not even sure how they knew these are my favorites.”

He stands there, rooted to the spot, his pulse roaring in his ears.

She’s talking about me. She’s talking about me.

He feels ridiculous for the way his stomach twists, for the heat creeping up his neck. A grown man shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t feel this weak, over a few kind words. But goddammit, he can’t help it.

The idea that you’re gushing about something he did, that he made you happy, even for a moment—it’s enough to undo him completely.

“Whoever it was,” you add, your voice softening, “it’s just… it really made my day. Probably my whole week, honestly.”

Nanami swallows hard, clutching his briefcase like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His emotions are a mess—a chaotic tangle of pride, relief, and something deeper, something that makes his throat feel tight.

He knows he should walk away. He shouldn’t linger here, shouldn’t keep listening like some lovesick fool. But he’s stuck, trapped by the sound of your voice and the warmth in your words.

When he finally moves, it’s with a heaviness in his chest that he can’t quite define. He makes his way back to his desk, sitting down and staring blankly at his computer screen.

*-*

Weeks bleed together in the monotony of office life, except for the moments where Nanami lets himself carve out little spaces of joy—tiny gestures that go unnoticed by most but feel monumental to him.

It starts with a single chocolate, placed carefully on the corner of your desk one morning before you arrive. Just a small thing, barely bigger than his thumb, wrapped in shiny foil. He doesn’t linger to see your reaction. He couldn’t stomach it, not when he knows he’d fold in on himself if you so much as tilted your head in confusion.

But the next day, you’re chatting with the receptionist, that same soft laugh spilling from your lips.

“It’s so weird,” you’re saying, holding the empty wrapper in your fingers. “I found this little chocolate on my desk yesterday. I don’t know who left it, but it was sweet. Made my morning, honestly.”

Nanami ducks his head, pretending to be engrossed in the stack of reports he’s holding, but inside, he’s practically vibrating. She noticed. She noticed.

He tells himself to stop, to leave it there, but he doesn’t. He can’t. The yearning is too big, too loud, and it demands an outlet, however small.

After a grueling conference one afternoon, he slips a bottle of chilled water onto your desk when you step away. Nothing extravagant—just a quiet act of care. You’re gone for no more than a minute, but when you return, you blink down at the bottle, tilting your head in that way he finds unfairly adorable.

“Huh,” you murmur, glancing around. “Did someone leave this?”

You shrug, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip, and Nanami has to fight the urge to look away too quickly, lest anyone catch the faint pink blooming across his cheeks.

It’s pathetic.

The way he lives for these small moments, like a man stranded in a desert, savoring droplets of water. Every tiny gesture, every unnoticed offering, feels like a prayer he’s too afraid to voice aloud.

He notices everything about you. How you seem to perk up on Friday afternoons, your shoulders relaxing as you chat about weekend plans. How you wrinkle your nose just slightly when you’re concentrating. How you hum under your breath when you think no one’s listening—a soft, tuneless sound that drives him to distraction.

He doesn’t need grand gestures. He doesn’t want them. He just wants to make your days a little brighter, even if you never know it’s him.

And god, does he yearn.

He daydreams when he shouldn’t, his thoughts slipping away from spreadsheets and into fantasies that make his chest ache. He imagines brushing your hair back from your face, the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He imagines quiet evenings, your laughter filling the silence of his apartment. He imagines the weight of your head on his shoulder as you drift off to sleep.

And sometimes—sometimes, when he’s alone, when the ache feels unbearable—he lets himself imagine things he shouldn’t. Things that make his heart race and his breath catch and leave him staring at his own reflection in shame after.

But he never acts on it. Never says a word. Instead, he keeps leaving his little tokens: a coffee cup placed carefully on your desk when he overhears you complain about a late night, a pack of your favorite pens after you mention running out.

You smile every time, and though you never suspect him, that’s enough. It has to be enough.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

*-*

You’re not an idiot.

No, you may be a little dense sometimes, but you’re not stupid. Someone has been leaving you small, thoughtful little gifts over the past few weeks.

And you have absolutely no idea who it is.

It started innocently enough—chocolate on your desk one morning. You didn’t think much of it at first, but then it kept happening. A bottle of water after a long conference, a cup of coffee after a particularly brutal meeting. At first, you thought maybe it was just a mistake, someone leaving things around and not realizing it was yours. But no, they were always right where you’d find them. Right when you needed them.

It’s sweet. Really sweet. But it's also starting to annoy the ever-living shit out of you because, for the life of you, you can’t figure out who’s doing it.

You’ve spent the past few days trying to narrow it down, your brain doing mental gymnastics over every damn interaction you’ve had at work. And frankly? You’re getting tired of it.

“Alright, let’s break this shit down,” you mutter to yourself as you sip your second cup of coffee of the day, pretending to focus on an email.

Option one: Your boss.

Ha. Right. She’s too busy scheduling her hair appointments to think about leaving chocolates on anyone’s desk. Plus, she’s got the whole “I don’t care if you live or die” attitude, so yeah, not her.

Option two: Kevin from accounting.

Kevin’s an idiot. A well-meaning idiot, but still. He’s the type to forget the coffee in the breakroom and then call it “the best thing ever” for two hours, as though anyone cares about his “discovery.” You’re not buying that.

Option three: That one guy from marketing, Tom.

You nearly burst into laughter just thinking about it. Tom’s an over-caffeinated golden retriever in a human’s body. He’s the type of guy who thinks sending a “Hey, just wanted to check in!” email twice a day is “checking in” on people. He probably couldn’t even remember to get a chocolate from a store, let alone leave it at your desk.

Option four: Nanami.

You pause mid-sip, blinking rapidly. Nanami? The quiet guy from finance? The one who barely says more than a handful of words in a meeting?

Now that’s an intriguing thought. He’s always… there. Always around, like a quiet shadow, observing. Sure, he’s not exactly filling the room with energy, but there’s something there, right? Something beneath that perfectly structured exterior.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. No way. That’s ridiculous.

But then you think about it. Nanami’s the type of guy who doesn’t get distracted by office chaos. He’s methodical. Focused. The guy who lives on routine. He’d be the one to sneakily notice when someone’s overworked and needs a small pick-me-up. He’s just... quiet about it.

But then again, who leaves water bottles, chocolates, and coffee? It’s not like he’s ever said anything about it. Not a single “hey, I thought you might like this,” or anything remotely close to an acknowledgment. Hell, he doesn’t even smile much.

God, he’s so damn mysterious it makes your head spin.

You glance over at his desk. There he is—quiet, as usual. Focused, pretending the world isn’t falling apart around him.

It could be him.

But no. You shake your head, dismissing the thought immediately. He’s not the type. Right?

It’s just… weird. And you’re not even sure why it feels so weird. Maybe it’s just the fact that you’ve got a secret admirer at work, which is fucking hilarious because it sounds like something out of a shitty rom-com you wouldn’t even watch if someone paid you.

"God, I’m going insane," you mutter under your breath, checking your watch. "Seriously. Who the hell is doing this?"

*-*

It took weeks.

Weeks of small gestures.

You’ve figured it out.

It took some careful observation, a bit of deduction, and honestly, a lot of staring at Nanami when he wasn’t looking. But there’s no doubt in your mind now. The quiet, stoic, almost painfully composed man from finance—the one who always has his tie perfectly in place and whose voice could melt butter—he’s your secret admirer.

And oh, it’s delicious.

At first, you weren’t sure. Nanami wasn’t exactly the type to scream “hopeless romantic” or even “mildly interested.” But the more you watched him, the more obvious it became. The way his eyes linger on you just a second too long, the way he tenses when you get too close, the way he seems to disappear right after you find something thoughtful left at your desk.

You caught him once, hovering near the break room as you raved to a coworker about the flowers. He didn’t say a word, but the way he froze mid-step, his jaw tightening ever so slightly? Yeah. That was all the confirmation you needed.

And honestly? You’re thrilled.

Nanami’s hot. Not just conventionally attractive, but smart-hot, the kind of guy who could ruin you with a PowerPoint presentation and a sharp comment about fiscal responsibility. He’s also maddeningly composed, which makes you want to poke at him, see what’s underneath that calm, collected exterior.

So, naturally, you decide to fuck with him.

Just a little.

You can feel the tension building in the air as you move through your day, the little comments, the subtle glances. Nanami’s still trying to play it cool, but it’s clear. He’s a mess. You can see it in the way his eyes dart away when they linger on you a second too long. You can hear it in his voice when he answers you—a little too stiff, a little too forced.

So, you decide to push him.

You start small. Little things. Nothing too obvious, just a few well-placed gestures to see how far you can take him before he finally snaps.

You walk past his desk, and you’re definitely not trying to make sure your skirt hugs your hips just right. You bend over just so to grab a file from your bag, letting him get a full, uninterrupted view of your cleavage.

You’re certain he’s trying not to look—hell, you can practically feel him forcing his eyes up to the ceiling, but you know. You know he’s been watching.

When you straighten up, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s gripping his pen like it’s a lifeline, his knuckles pale, and his jaw is tight. You smirk, leaning in just a little closer.

“Need something, Nanami?” you ask, the words dripping with an edge of playful mischief.

He swallows, clearly doing everything in his power to maintain his usual stoic expression. “No,” he replies, too quickly, voice clipped. “I’m fine.”

You laugh lightly, keeping the tension alive as you pull away. You can practically feel the heat radiating off him. Oh, this is too good.

You don’t stop there, though. No, you want to see how much he can handle.

The next day, you make sure to wear a skirt that’s just a little tighter, just a little shorter than usual. The fabric clings to you in all the right ways, and when you walk past Nanami’s desk, you make sure to let your hip brush against the edge of his desk, just lightly enough to catch his attention.

As you bend down to grab a report from the printer, you give him the tiniest, most casual look over your shoulder. You’re sure you catch the way his eyes flicker down to your legs before he quickly looks away. Gotcha.

You straighten up, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you walk back past him, barely stopping yourself from humming in satisfaction when you feel his gaze linger on the curve of your back.

It’s all too easy.

And now? Now it’s time to turn it up a notch.

You’ve been toying with him for days now, watching as he stiffens every time you get a little too close, testing how much he can take before his composure cracks. You see the way his breath catches when you “accidentally” brush your arm against his as you pass by. He doesn’t say a word, but you know. You can see it in the way his eyes flash with something darker, something needy, before he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

You know what you’re doing to him.

And you’re fucking loving it.

*-*

For two weeks, you’ve been shamelessly pushing Nanami to his limits.

You flirt, you linger, you brush your hand against his arm just a little too long, your skirts are shorter, tighter—designed to test the boundaries of his sanity.

And he notices.

Oh, he notices.

But what you don’t see is what’s going on beneath that perfectly calm, stoic exterior.

Because Nanami is losing his fucking mind.

Every look, every casual touch, every time you lean just a little too close—it’s like pouring gasoline on the fire inside him. He’s never been this affected by anyone, and now it feels like he’s constantly teetering on the edge of a cliff.

He tries—he really does—to keep his composure. He’s a professional, damn it. A man of control and discipline. But you? You’re unraveling him piece by piece.

*-*

She knows. Oh, God, she fucking knows. Why is she looking at me like that? Is she doing this on purpose? She’s doing this on purpose. That skirt—did it get shorter? That’s not appropriate for the office, right? Should I say something? No. No, shut up, you idiot. Just focus on your work. She’s walking toward you. Act normal. Act—

“Hey, Nanami, could you help me with something?” you ask, your voice sweet, with just the faintest hint of teasing.

His throat goes dry. He looks up, forcing his expression to remain neutral, professional. “Of course. What do you need?”

You lean closer, your hand brushing his shoulder as you point to your tablet. “I can’t figure out this formula. Can you show me?”

He doesn’t miss the way your perfume lingers in the air, soft and floral, and it’s driving him mad.

“Sure,” he says, his voice even, betraying nothing of the way his heart is hammering in his chest.

But inside? He’s screaming.

*-*

This is a problem. She’s doing it on purpose. She has to be. That look she gave me this morning? That wasn’t casual. No, that was calculated. She’s testing me, trying to see how far I’ll go. Does she know how much I—

He can’t even finish the thought. Because the truth is, his daydreams are becoming increasingly inappropriate, increasingly desperate.

He imagines you sitting on his lap in his office chair, your arms draped around his neck as you laugh at something he said. He imagines kissing you—soft at first, then deeper, more passionate, until he’s completely lost in you. He imagines everything he wants to do to you, and it’s enough to make him clench his fists under his desk, trying to hold himself together.

*-*

One afternoon, you’re standing next to his desk, going on about some report, and he can’t take it anymore. You’re wearing a dress that hugs you in all the right places, and the way you’re looking at him, with that mischievous little glint in your eye—it’s too much.

“Enough,” he says, his voice low, controlled.

You blink, taken aback. “What?”

He stands, towering over you, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on yours. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” you ask, feigning innocence, though the slight curve of your lips betrays you.

“This,” he says, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “The teasing. The looks. The... whatever this is. If you’re trying to drive me insane, congratulations. You’ve succeeded.”

You grin, your eyes sparkling. “Oh? And what are you going to do about it?”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, then takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m going to ask you on a date.”

Your grin widens, and you cross your arms, leaning in just slightly. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, his confidence unwavering now. “Saturday. Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, and he feels his chest tighten all over again.

“Okay, Nanami. You’ve got yourself a date.”

*-*

The date is perfect.

Nanami shows up at your door precisely at seven, looking sharp in a navy suit and holding a small bouquet of red dahlias—your favorite. Dinner is a mix of light conversation and laughter, the two of you falling into an easy rhythm that feels like you’ve known each other forever.

When he walks you back to your apartment, the air between you is warm, charged with something unspoken.

“Want to come up?” you ask, your voice soft, your eyes searching his.

He hesitates for half a second before nodding. “Yes.”

*-*

Your apartment is cozy, filled with little touches that are unmistakably you. Nanami takes it all in—your bookshelves, your mismatched throw pillows, the faint scent of vanilla in the air.

But then you’re there, standing close to him, your eyes meeting his, and everything else fades away.

The first kiss is tentative, a soft meeting of lips that quickly deepens as he pulls you closer, his hands resting on your waist. You sigh against him, your fingers threading through his hair, and he groans softly, losing himself in the warmth of you.

“Nanami,” you murmur, pulling back just enough to catch your breath.

“I hate you,” he says, his voice low, a teasing smile playing at his lips.

You laugh, your forehead resting against his. “Do you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to your lips. “I hate the way you consume my thoughts. I hate the way you make me feel so... so...”

“Alive?” you offer, grinning.

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the moment.

Before things can go further, your cat jumps onto the couch, meowing loudly, and you both break apart, laughing.

“Excuse me,” Nanami says, his voice soft but firm as he picks up the cat and carries it to another room. “We need privacy.”

When he returns, you’re still laughing, but he silences you with another kiss, his hands cradling your face.

Between kisses, he whispers things that make your heart ache in the best way.

“You drive me crazy... but I don’t want it to stop. You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

By the time the night ends, you’re both a mess of tangled limbs and whispered confessions, and for the first time in weeks, Nanami feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

A/N: sorryyy, this might be ooc for him? im unsure...

Masterlist.

:)

[ragingbookdragon]

Just A Hunk, A Hunk, A Burnin' Love

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I gotta fucking watch TGM again. Enjoy

**********************************************************************

She inhaled and exhaled deeply before she grabbed the door handle to the Hard Deck and took a step inside. A few patrons stepped out of the way as she walked towards the bar, red-bottomed heels clicking with every step.

The silky black dress swayed as she reached the bar and she leaned over, whispering harshly, “Penny!”

The older woman looked up from the beer she’d been pouring, eyes widening as she took in the young airwoman dressed up like she was going out for a night on Broadway. “Angel, look at you,” she smiled. “I guess there is a princess beneath all that grease.”

She felt her cheeks warm as she asked, “Is everyone here?”

“At the pool table,” Penny said and handed her a shot glass full of amber liquid. “Need some courage?”

“Penny…you know what liquor does to me,” she mumbled, but took the shot anyway.

The older woman leaned on the bar and grinned at her. “Which one of your boys are you trying to wrangle tonight?”

She tilted her head and looked over Penny’s shoulder, catching sight of a particularly arrogant pilot rounding the pool table. “Well, it’s, y’know…”

Penny tossed a glance over and smiled. “Ah, Seresin.” She hummed knowingly. “Man like that will break your heart, honey. Be careful.”

“Yes ma’am,” she nodded softly and rounded the bar, coming to stand behind Rooster.

She wrapped her arm around his waist and smiled. “Hi, Bradley,” she greeted, and the man looked over, confusion turning to pleasantry as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her.

“Hey, Angel,” he smiled, then took note of her outfit, and whistled. “Well, well, look at you.”

Her cheeks heated up again and she looked down. “Stop…”

“You look absolutely beautiful.”

“Bradley…” she whined. “Quit.”

He smiled and squeezed her shoulder again. “Just calling it like it is, sweetness.”

She rolled her eyes at his playfulness when Jake rounded on her side and stood before her, leaning back against the pool table; she felt a giddiness in her chest as she met his gaze.

“Hi, Jake,” she said softly, with a bashful smile.

“So, the grease monkey actually knows how to dress like a lady. Who woulda thought,” he smirked, and she felt her giddiness dip as a new fluster arose in her chest, and she unconsciously tugged at the skirt of her black dress. “Hard to believe you have a pretty face underneath all that oil.”

She pursed her lips, feeling like she’d been slapped in the face; even Rooster scowled at him.

“Hangman,” he griped. “You wanna try not being a dick for once?”

“Just calling it like I see it, Rooster,” he retorted, echoing the pilot’s former words; his gaze dropped to the peep-toe heels she was wearing. “Are those painted toenails? Wow, a lady beneath indeed.”

Shifting on her feet, she cleared her throat. “I heard about the mission you guys are on. Congratulations on being chosen,” she smiled. “You guys are definitely the best.”

Jake snorted. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you go to Top Gun, sweetheart. Not that you would know,” he added under his breath, and she tried to hide her upset at it; Jake looked at her. “So, what’s the deal with the glam? Trying to find your mark?”

Before she could even open her mouth, Rooster stepped up to him, a dark glare in his eyes. “What’s your fucking problem tonight?” he spat. “Why are you riding her so hard?”

Jake didn’t even seem fazed at him. “Look at her, Rooster, she’s obviously here to find a pilot.” his gaze drifted back to her, and he gestured to his mouth. “Little heavy on the lipstick there by the way, sweetheart.”

Rooster’s gaze hardened. “You just get off on being a dick, don’t you, Hangman?”

“What can I say?” he grinned. “It’s in my blood.”

She suddenly felt like the biggest fool and lightly touched Rooster’s arm. “Bradley, I’m going to go to the bar,” she whispered and turned, trying to keep her shoulders set as she walked off.

Rooster opened his mouth to stop her, but he sighed and turned back to Jake, scowling at him. “Seriously?”

“What?” Jake snapped. “I’m not a fucking idiot. You really think I don’t know who she dressed up for?”

“Could’ve been nicer about letting her down instead of ripping her fucking head off,” he retorted.

“Never said I was nice, Rooster.”

“No shit.”

Jake crossed arms over his chest. “It’s so cute how you protect her. Best friends and all that.” He smirked. “Something tells me you have some hidden desires about getting in our mechanic’s panties.”

Rooster’s scowl darkened. “You’re a piece of shit, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Few times, yeah,” he answered smugly.

Rooster waved him off as he followed her to the bar and sat down on the stool next to her.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She sipped the Mai Tai Penny set in front of her. “Mhm, I’m fine.”

“Hangman’s a dick. Don’t let him get to you,” he muttered. “You’re too good for him anyway.”

“I just wanted him to look at me the way he looks at all the other girls,” she said lowly. “I’m so fucking pitiful. God, he’s right…I’m pathetic.”

Rooster practically growled at that. “No, you’re not,” he snapped. “You’re crazy smart. Gorgeous. Funny. Everything a man wants in a woman.” He glared at her. “Sure, we’re top dog pilots, but we wouldn’t be anywhere without you. I’ve never seen anyone take apart an F-18 for fun, put it back together again, and have it run better than it did before, but by God, you do it every damn day.” He thrust a finger into her chest. “Don’t you dare let him make you think you’re just some dumb wrench jockey.”

She couldn’t stop the smile that came across her face at his words and she looked at him. “Thank you, Bradley.”

He nodded resolutely and stood up, taking her hand. “C’mon.”

Letting him pull her up, she asked, “What are we doing?”

Rooster led her to the jukebox and nodded at it. “Pick a song. I say we dance.”

Her smile grew wider as she excitedly scanned the songs before pushing a button and Elvis Presley’s “Burning Love” echoed through the bar.

Rooster grinned and pulled her to the dance floor, shimmying back and forth with his arms around her waist.

He twirled her around, singing, “Lord almighty! I feel my temperature rising! Higher and higher! It’s burning through to my soul!”

Laughter escaped her as they danced, and cheers erupted around them as other couples gathered around them and danced together.

Rooster and she grabbed hands and shimmied back and forth, wide smiles on their faces as they sang to each other, “I’m just a hunk, a hunk, a burnin’ love! I’m just a hunk, a hunk, burnin’ love!”

As the song came to an end everyone began cheering and clapping and she hugged Rooster tightly, resting her chin on his shoulder as she murmured, “Thank you, Bradley.”

He smiled softly, squeezing her tight. “Anytime, Angel,” he said. “Might not be a pilot but you’ll always be my wing woman.”

Pulling back, she replied, “I should probably get back to base.”

“Want me to walk you out?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“Nah, you go on back.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek before she waved at Penny and walked off towards the exit.

The night air was cool as she exited and as she took a step down, she heard, “Have fun?”

Her shoulders tensed, and she looked over her shoulder, seeing Jake leaning against the outside wall.

“I did,” she answered resolutely, then added, “Didn’t find a mark though, so, maybe next time.”

Jake snorted and stood up, walking over. “Funny little thing, aren’t you?”

“When I want to be,” she said and turned, walking towards her car.

He followed.

“You know, I’ll take you out if you want.”

She stopped and turned back towards him. “Uh huh. And what’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Jake said.

“Bullshit.”

“Ooo, feisty too.” He waggled his brows. “I like feisty.”

She scowled at him. “Why the hell would I go out with you when you literally insulted me ten minutes ago?”

“Why don’t we just let bygones be bygones?” he offered.

“How ‘bout no?” she retorted and crossed her arms over her chest, and suddenly remembering Rooster’s words, she said, “And just for the record, your ass wouldn’t be up in the air in a jet if it wasn’t for men and women like me who fixed your shit.”

Jake grinned at her. “C’mon, mechanics are a dime a dozen.”

“Mechanics are. Good ones, like me, are not.” She thrust a finger in his chest. “And I may not be a Top Gun pilot but I’m a damn good AM and fuck you for insulting my abilities. I got where I was by working my ass off and I’m fucking proud of it too. Unlike you who rode on the coattails of your family.”

His gaze darkened and he snapped back, “I didn’t ride anything to get where I was. My family name has nothing to do with my position.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she hissed. “World War pilot family? Please.”

Jake glared at her. “Watch it.”

“Or what?” she dared, and he got nose to nose with her.

“Or I’ll prove how I got where I was,” he warned.

They glared one another down and then she dared, “Pick me up on Friday at the gate. Seven o’clock.”

“Fine,” he shot back. “But you better not be in your stupid coveralls. Maybe try dressing elegantly.”

“Only if you wear your dress blues.”

“What, do you want me to take you to the Ritz?” he snapped.

She scowled. “Can you even afford the Ritz?”

“I can,” he growled.

“Prove it.”

“I will.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!” She turned on her heel and started stomping to her car when he called out, “And that dress makes you look like a hooker!”

“A hooker you can’t afford!” she retorted and flipped him off as she got in her car and drove off.

Jake glared at her taillights before he huffed a laugh and turned back to go inside the bar.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x stripper fem!reader

Mini-series summary: When Tangerine opened an underground strip-club to cover for his murder-for-hire business operation, he wasn't expecting to become so easily distracted by one girl in particular.

Chapter summary: Accidentally walking into something you shouldn't have causes you to learn about Tangerine's real business, effectively creating a rift between you and him (4.8k) + epilogue (1.6k)

Warnings: blood, violence, slut shaming, murder, drugs, alcohol, guns, illusions to sexual assault and mentions of death but nothing happens, still a happy ending!

credit : @little-miss-dilf-lover 🤍🤍 thank you endlessly!

BAD FOR BUSINESS MASTERLIST

You're sitting on Tangerine's desk during your break. He's working on his laptop, listening to you blabber with intention, only half focused on his work. Instead, his focus is drawn to the way you cross your legs, the baby-blue babydoll dress you're wearing tonight hugs your curves and that bow in your hair is making him lose focus. 

You've barely touched your yogurt and Tangerine flips a page, interrupting you: "You should eat, love." He reminds you and you nod, taking another spoonful. 

"And then Nicola told him to fuck off," you continue, through your mouthful, "which was hilarious. You should have seen his face! Scummy bastard! Annette and I were laughing so hard," you laugh at your own story. Tangerine seems a little less amused. 

"Is Nicola okay? Customers should not be making comments like that."

You smile a little, placing your yogurt on his desk and leaning closer to him. One of your heels rests on his chair now, your hand playing with his hair. "She's fine, babe, you know we can take care of ourselves."

Tangerine looks up now, his gaze stern. "Yeah, I know," he says and then sighs, "I just worry."

"I know," you laugh and kiss his cheek. You sit up and jab your spoon into your yogurt again. "Honestly, I don't even know why you do this job. You hate anything to do with this business."

Tangerine is quiet. He turns to his laptop again, your words sinking in. If only you knew, he thinks.

"I don't hate you," he says softly, almost embarrassed. He feels shitty. He wishes he could tell you the truth about what this is, and he wishes he could officially ask you to be his girl. He wishes for a lot of things he can't fulfill. 

Not now. 

You smile, opening your mouth to say something else, when the door suddenly swings open. Startled, you stand up and adjust your little dress, suddenly self-conscious at being caught in your boss's office during your break. No one usually comes in, especially unannounced. 

Tangerine stands as well, discreetly putting himself in front of you as a tall, lanky man dressed in a grey suit walks in. His hair is jet black and he has rectangular glasses perched on his nose that hide a dark pair of eyes. He looks a little older than Tangerine, maybe mid-thirties, and he pauses when he sees you. 

"Fucking our employees now, Tangerine," the man smirks. You recognize him as the other boss. He's barely around anymore, but you remember meeting him on your first week.

Unlike Tangerine, this man has always make your stomach feel queasy. 

You tense a little and grab your yogurt from the desk you now realize Tangerine most likely shares with this man. Tangerine looks even tenser than you are and he turns to you, sending you a look that you read as "Go. Please." 

You nod, quickly walking to the door and down the stairs. Tangerine relaxes a little once you're out the door but he continues to glare at Leo.

"No one is fucking anyone," he says as calmly as he can. 

"In that suit, I'm not surprised you can't get a girl like her," Leo whistles, dropping his briefcase as he hangs his coat. "Which one was that already? Candy? Diamond? She's smoking hot."

Tangerine holds his tongue. He doesn't want Leo to know of his feelings for you so he just corrects him. "Angel. You should really know our employees' stage names by now."

Leo rolls his eyes as he walks over, picking up a folder. "They're strippers. Who cares?" He reads over the documents and then looks up at Tangerine. "Thanks for taking over when I was away, mate, why don't you go take a break, hm?"

Tangerine's jaw clenches. He hates how Leo thinks he can boss him around when he's always the one doing the work. He hesitates for a moment. Usually, he isn't afraid to call Leo out on his bullshit but he has more important things to worry about than his ego. He wants to check on you. 

He didn't even get to kiss you goodbye. 

"Oi, T," Leo calls just as Tangerine walks out the door. Tangerine groans and peeks his head back into the room, an annoyed look on his face. "Meeting tonight, remember?" Leo's words ring in Tangerine's ears and his expression falters for a moment. 

He'd completely forgotten. 

"Ya, I remember," he says roughly, his voice strained as he ignores the impending doom he feels in his stomach as he turns to rush down the stairs to find you.

* * * 

You slip on your mary-janes, grab your woolen coat, and hurry out the door. It's late and you're the last girl here. You've been having this awful habit of daydreaming lately, your stomach filled with butterflies as you remember Tangerine's lips on yours, his hands caressing your skin. You shake the thoughts, turning to lock the backroom with the spare keys you have. 

You hum, thinking back to the words Tangerine had whispered in your ear when he'd found you after you'd hurried from his office. You make me happy. You feel your cheeks warm as you remember the quick kiss he'd given you in the dark corner near the bathroom and how stupid it is that he manages to make that sketchy corner into something so romantic. 

You'd usually leave from the backdoor, but tonight you decide to walk through the lounge in case Tangerine hasn't gone home yet. Sometimes, he waits for you without even needing to be asked. However, this time, the lounge is empty.

You look up, seeing that the blinds to Tangerine's office are shut but that the light is on. You can see faint movement behind the blinds and the movements pique your interest. 

Is Tangerine working late?

It hadn't even crossed your mind to remember Leo's arrival just a few hours earlier. 

You walk up the stairs, holding your bag over your shoulder. You can hear hushed voices; multiple male voices you don't recognize and your stomach flips with nerves. You know you should turn around, you really should, but you don't.

You're too curious. 

The office door isn't fully closed and without thinking, you gently push on it with your open palm, freezing when you peer inside. There are four men in the room; all of them are large and scary with various guns displayed on their bodies. They're laughing obnoxiously, discussing something about a latest kill.

You bite the inside of your cheek, scanning the room as you listen in. You see Tangerine and Leo in the center, leaning over the desk as they look at what appears to be plans of some sort. More guns lay on the desk and the entire room smells like smaok and drugs. 

"40 million quid for three men dead, easy," one man laughs, flicking his cigar into the ashtray. 

Leo chuckles, clapping Tangerine on the back. "What do you say, mate? Sounds like a good one, hm?"

Tangerine nods, still looking over the plan, his eyebrows pinched. "I suppose three kills is simple."

You're frozen in shock. Kills? 40 million? Your mind can't seem to wrap your head around what's happening. You look at Tangerine and for the first time in weeks, you don't recognize the man you're looking at. You back up, holding your breath. 

You need to get out of here. 

"Bloody hell, who do we have here?" A man's hoarse voice echoes around the room and suddenly, his hand is wrapping around your arm and dragging you inside.

Your bag falls to the ground. You let out a gasp, squirming in the man's grip but he holds you still. He's much taller than you and much stronger. He smells like alcohol and you can see the gun on his hip and you hold your breath in fear. 

The men whistle at your entrance, laughing amongst themselves. The only man who isn't finding this amusing is Tangerine; he's tense, his dark blue eyes locked with yours as he wears an expression you can't read, but his chest is rising and falling rapidly. 

"Oh, look who it is, it's Angel again," Leo barks a cruel laugh, sauntering around the desk as he approaches you slowly. His hand raises and he caresses your cheek with his knuckles. You wince, pulling away from his touch as if he's burning you and Leo pouts, faking pity. 

"This one of yer strippers?" a man asks. He's much older than the others, his hair whitening, and he's grinning at you like one of your customers would. 

Leo nods, wrapping his hand in your hair to keep you from squirming again. "Yup," he pops the "p" and grins, "Isn't she just a prize? Tangerine sure knows how to pick 'em."

Tears brim in your eyes at the implication. What had he told them? You look at him, watching him just stand there. He hasn't moved or said a word.

You're shaking now, terrified at being trapped in this situation. You aren't usually helpless but they're outnumbering you, and they have guns. 

Leo pulls on your hair a little, making you gasp in pain again. The other man wraps his arm around your waist, grinning. 

"You shouldn't have wandered in here, little mouse," Leo whispers. He smiles when he sees the tears on your cheeks. "Because you know what this means, hm? Can't have you scurrying off and snitching on us—"

Your eyes widen and you squirm harder. "No-no-no please, I won't tell anyone! Please. Tangerine!" You sob, angling yourself towards Tangerine as you try and yank yourself out of the man's grip.

The other men look towards him. "Ya close with the stripper?" One snarls, his smirk evident.

Leo keeps his hand in your hair, pulling on it to shut you up. You muffle your sobbing in fear of angering them anymore. Tangerine doesn't speak, his gaze intense, and the men take that as a no. Leo turns to you again and laughs. "Such a shame. She's so pretty. She must bring us a lot of money."

"Can I have a turn with her before we kill her?" The man holding your waist asks, earning some raucous laughter and agreement from the others and you feel defeated. You keep looking at Tangerine, pleading with your eyes as you cry softly.

Leo untangles his hand from your hair and nods. "Sure, have your fun, boys. I don't fuck used goods," he laughs cruelly and embarrassment washes over you. "Now, where were we?" He looks at the plans again, clearly disinterested in what's happening to you.

The man holding you slides his hand up your stomach but before he can touch you more intimately, Tangerine's voice interrupts; "No," he says plainly. You sniff, struggling weakly now as it hurts to move in the men's arms. You watch him take his gun and slide it into the waistband of his trousers behind him. Leo looks up, confused. 

"My turn," Tangerine says, walking over and snapping his fingers. The men release you, making it clear Tangerine has authority. Your stomach sinks. Why hadn't he helped you then? You glance between him and Leo, not completelyunderstanding the dynamic, but as soon as you're not being held, you make a run for it. 

You don't get very far because Tangerine grabs you and holds you close to him. You cry, hitting him as you scream and thrash against his body.

"Let me go! Please! Please!" Your head is spinning and everything begins to hurt. You can smell his cologne, a smell that was so familiar and reassuring now feels tainted and wrong. When he wraps his hand around your mouth, you gasp for air and dig your nails into his wrist, drawing blood. He hisses in pain but only tightens his hold on you. 

"Shut up," he growls in your ear. You can hear his heart thumping in his chest and you begin to calm down so that you can breathe properly. 

The other men watch in amusement. "Feisty little mouse," one exclaims. They all laugh.

"I'll take care of her," Tangerine says hoarsely, breathing heavily, still holding you so you don't move and the more he speaks, the harder you want to cry, "This little slut has been teasing me for weeks. She owes me," he pauses, and his voice is a little shaky, "and then I'll get rid of her."

The other men seem disappointed but Leo smirks, "No funny business, hm?"

Tangerine nods, his voice steady. "No. I'll be back in an hour." 

The men all laugh and whistle and Tangerine presses his lips to your ear. "Don't scream when I move my hand, okay? Please." He whispers the last part for only you to hear and your chest tightens. Your vision is blurred with tears but when he removes his hand, you find yourself obeying him.

Some desperate part of is still hoping he'll save you. 

He's rough as he yanks you with him down the stairs. Dread fills you and you start crying again, trying desperately to run in the opposite direction. Tangerine doesn't reprimand you for the noise as he pulls out outside and into a small alley near the bulging, the door slamming shut behind you. You're not screaming anymore, only crying. 

"Please don't hurt me," you sob, trembling as he pushes you against the brick wall. "Please," you plead with him. Tangerine doesn't answer but his gaze is dark. He reaches behind him and grabs his gun, unlocking it. You break down in tears, your hands shaking.

You squeeze your eyes shut, expecting him to press the barrel to your head, but instead, you feel his familiar warmth as he rests both hands against the wall near your head, and his forehead hovers over yours as he inhales shakily. You hiccup, still very obviously terrified. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his hands curling into fists on the wall. "I'm so sorry." 

You choke on a sob.

Tangerine pulls away, his hand hovering over your cheek as if he wants to wipe your tears away but instead, he drops it to his side and looks into your eyes. "Run. Go home," he pauses and you can see that his own eyes look glossy with tears. "Don't come back. Please. Stay away. I'm so fuckin' sorry, angel," he says.

Your voice is caught in your throat.

"I love you," he continues and you just stare at him. You're unable to move. You don't know how to process any of this information. 

Tangerine panics and slams his hand on the wall. "Go! Now!" he screams and you gasp, tears falling down your cheeks as you push past him and run down the dark street, not even knowing where you're running to and you don't look back. You feel queasy and you can't wrap your head around what just happened as the scene replays in your head. 

Isn't she just a prize? Tangerine sure knows how to pick 'em.

I don't fuck used goods.

Don't come back. Please. Stay away. I'm so fuckin' sorry, angel.

I love you.

Back in the alley, Tangerine punches into the brick wall with a quiet shout. 

* * *

Tangerine slams the door to his apartment, cursing loudly as he throws off his blazer. His eyes are bloodshot and he sniffles, sinking into his favorite armchair and holding his head in his hands. Tangerine doesn't cry. He hasn't cried in years, but for the first time, he can't help himself. 

"What happened?" Lemon yawns, clearly having been woken up by the door slamming. When he sees the state his brother is in he pauses, his expression twisting. He stands in front of the armchair, unsure how to deal with this. 

"T," he begins. 

"She walked in on us," Tangerine states, his voice trembling. He fists his hair in his hands, clearly frustrated. "Y/n. She heard everything and they– they– scared 'er. They hurt 'er and I- just stood there and did absolutely fuckin' nothing!" 

Lemon is quiet as Tangerine stands and begins to pace the living room. He doesn't know how to help. "Tangerine," he tries again, walking closer, "It's okay. You couldn't have done anything– not with Leo and the others in the room—she'll understand—"

"Understand?" Tangerine spits, his anger only directed at himself, "She can't come back to work, because of this. I had to make the think I- I- killed her. God, Lemon, I can never see her again. I ruined everything. But, I couldn't hurt her. I could never hurt her. I- she– she might call the cops on us—"

Lemon grips his nape, holding him still. "Y/n wouldn't tell anyone." 

Tangerine stares into his brother's eyes. "She would have every right to, Lemon. And that's not the point, I— They– fuck–"

He breaks down, remembering your scared expression and how he had done nothing, and leans his head on Lemon's shoulder. "I ruined the only good fuckin' thing I had going for me. I really fucked up."

Lemon just holds him, not sure what to do or say to make this better. 

* * *

You've been spending the last four days in bed, crying your heart out. You've shut your phone off. You've been ignoring all the worried texts and calls from your friends, missing all your uni classes and of course, missing your job. 

Don't come back.

Tangerine's words ring in your ears and you press a pillow against them, curling up in a ball. You've been feeling sick since the encounter, remembering the men and their words and the implications of their words. The way they looked, the way they talked, how they tried to touch you.

Tangerine was a criminal, they'd been preparing a kill. He kills people. You can't seem to wrap your head around it. Sure, he was always a little cold and he seemed extra gentle with you as if he was making up for something, but you would have never imagined this. 

You sob harder into your pillow, your heart breaking. 

A few hours later, you're in your kitchen when you hear the knock on your door and you pause. Your heart leaps. You're in an old, paint-stained shirt, and some worn-out sleep shorts. You hear the knock again and pause again. This time, you hurry across the floorboards and peek through the peephole. Your breath hitches in your throat and you frown. 

You unlock the old latch from your old apartment door and open it. "Hello?"

Lemon tilts his head, catching your eye, "Hey," he says sheepishly, holding up a box that you assume contains a pastry. "Can I come in?"

You hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Lemon wasn't in the room that night. He might not be involved. You know that's probably bullshit but curiosity gets the better of you again.

Plus, he has food and you're starving.

You open the door and let him in, holding out your hand for the pastry. Lemon smiles and hands it to you. He motions to the dining room and you nod. He follows you and you grab a fork silently, sitting down at your small table and opening the box.

You read the label; it's from your favorite bakery. The one you'd taken Tangerine to one weekend, on one of the outings you'd never outwardly said was a date. Inside is a chocolate croissant, your favorite, and your stomach twists. 

You look up at Lemon who sat down in the chair opposite yours and he sends you a small smile. "He sent you, didn't he?"

Lemon nods. "He didn't think you'd want to see him."

You fiddle nervously with the box. "I don't want to see him," you say, your voice shaking a little. 

Lemon nods again, clicking his tongue and looking down. "Listen, I know you're scared but my brother isn't a bad guy. He isn't. And he cares for you. A lot." 

Tangerine's three-word confession rings in your ears and you can't deny the truth in Lemon's words. Still, you don't succumb that easily as your eyebrows crinkle. 

"If he cares for me, as you say, he would have spoken up for me in that room."

Lemon sighs, "It isn't that simple. Tangerine and Leo–they have a complicated history and it would have been even more dangerous to speak out in a room full of—"

"Criminals," you finish for him, nodding. You close the pastry box, staring at Lemon with a hard expression. "You weren't there, Lemon. You can't understand how scary it was to be surrounded by a bunch of dangerous men, realizing you can't even trust the one man you thought you could."

Lemon listens, his gaze stuck on yours.

"Frankly, I don't think even think he meant it when he told me he loves me—"

Lemon's face twists and he shakes his head, clearly confused. "He told you he loves you?"

You pause, fiddling with the box again. "Yeah he did but—"

"No—no, my– my brother, he doesn't just say that to anyone. He doesn't say it if he doesn't mean it," Lemon says and you become quiet, hearing the solemn and serious tone in his voice, "And I know he fucked up, but now i really fuckin' think you should hear him out. He's outside, by his car. You should talk to him. And if you never want to see either of us again after, I promise we'll leave you alone. I promise, Y/n." 

You ponder his words, looking up at him. Some part of you wants to ignore the knowledge that Tangerine is downstairs, waiting for you. You want to push him away, tell Lemon to fuck off and to never think about them again, but that's impossible. 

I love you.

Tangerine's words are engraved in your memory. You can still feel his lips on your skin, the way he touches you with care, the way he looks at you like you're the only thing that matters. Your heart warms, just remembering how sweet he was.

And then you remember his hand covering your mouth, his harsh words, and your stomach drops.

You take a breath, grounding yourself. You don't know what to do, but some twisted fucked up part of you knows that if you don't go down and at least talk to him, you'll regret it forever. 

"Okay," you say seriously and stand, walking into the living room and grabbing a hoodie. "One chance," you add, grabbing your keys. You lock your door behind you and then walk down the stairs behind Lemon.

Once the outside air hits your skin, you pause. Tangerine is standing by the car, just like Lemon said, and when he hears the door open he turns expectantly. 

"What did she—" his voice falters when he sees you behind his brother. "Oh."

You're silent as you keep a distance from him. Lemon senses the tension and clears his throat. He excuses himself and turns to take a walk. Tangerine watches him leave, half hoping he'd stay. He turns to you again and shame contorts his expression. He walks forward only to have you back up against the building. 

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Tangerine whispers, his voice quivering. 

You glare at him, tightening your arms around you. The noise of the city fades into the background as you process his words. You shake your head, your voice is strained and you hope he can't tell you might burst into tears at any moment. 

"How can I believe you? You lied." 

Tangerine shakes his head. "I never lied to you."

"Well, you kept something from me! Something big!" you argue, your sadness turning into anger and when he walks forward again, you meet him and stab your hand in his chest, "Don't pretend you didn't have any opportunities to tell me! And don't pretend you didn't think I would have liked to know this is who my boyfriend really is!" 

Tangerine blinks, his tongue skimming over his lips at the word boyfriend.  

You stutter, "Potential boyfriend. Someone I was seeing—"

"I know," he interrupts you, running a hand in his hair. "I know I should have told you. I should have warned you before I started to become involved with you, okay? But can you blame me?"

"Well no," you interrupt and roll your eyes, "if I was a killer I wouldn't want anyone to know—"

Tangerine shakes his head, his gaze hard. "Y/n. It was never about me. I couldn't care less what happened to me. I mean, sure, it would hav' sucked and it will if you do tell anyone, but I truly don't care what happens to me—" his voice sounds stern again and your eyes are locked on his as you listen.

He walks closer and this time, you don't move. "I only cared for you. I care for you. I stayed awake at night dreading the very scenario that fuckin' happened. Imagining you looking at me the way you are now; with fear. Imagining worse— and it tore me up, darlin'." 

You soak in his words, swallowing a lump in your throat. "Then why didn't you stop them? Why pretend to want to hurt me if you love me so much—" The word love falls from your lips and Tangerine's expression visibly tenses. Still, he tries to explain. 

"Love, I had no choice," he says softly, "I was frozen in shock and I couldn't go against everyone in that room. You don't realize how worse that would have made the situation. I'm sorry. I wish I could have done more."

You shake your head, your voice low because of the morning crowd in the street, and add, "No. You had a choice. You always have a choice. You chose to just stand there and then pretend to want to hurt me? Do you realize how fucked up that is?"

Tangerine's jaw tenses and he holds out his hand as if he wants to caress your cheek but he pauses, frowning. He drops his arm.

"You're right. I did make a choice," he admits after a moment, reflecting on your words, "and I did what I thought was my best option in the worst possible situation. I'm really sorry I wasn't what you needed at that moment, and darlin', if I could go back, I'd do anything to prevent you from walking into that room—anything to keep you safe—but I was trying to protect you, even if you can't see it—"

He pauses and you glance at his lips, your gaze flickering to his eyes once more. "And you don't have to forgive me. You can even keep being angry with me. I can live with anger, but I'm here because I don't want there to be a single part of you that thinks I didn't care for you. That I don't care for you, because I do. I just- I want you to know how much I care. How I would never hurt you like they wanted to. Never. I- I adore you, everything about you; how you drive me absolutely mad when you're away and how you involuntarily draw me in with your laughter whenever you're around—

And I'm a smitten fool to think I ever deserved you," Tangerine continues and his voice becomes softer, "I just, please know that my feelings for you are very real. Please know that hurting you like this was the last thing I ever wanted and it will haunt me forever because I love you. I love you so damn much it hurts." 

There is that word again and you pause, heart beating as you listen to him. You find yourself leaning into him and you can clearly see tears in his eyes, threatening to spill at every word. They mirror your own and yet you can't find the words to answer him. 

At least not until he sighs and turns to leave, and your chest tightens;

"No wait," you gasp instinctively, grabbing his wrist so he turns around. When he does, you wrap your arms around his neck, practically throwing yourself into his arms.  

Tangerine's arms tighten across your middle, burying his face in your shoulder as he lets out a shaky breath. "Angel," he whispers as you tighten your hold on him too. 

"I don't forgive you, not completely, not yet," you admit breathlessly, but hold onto him anyways. "But you promise you love me?" You ask in his ear, sounding insecure. "You promise you'll keep me safe? Promise it. Please."

"I fuckin' promise," he says instantly with no hesitation, as he strokes a hand down your hair to soothe you. "I love you. I promise I mean this."

You nod, taking a moment to pause and inhale his cologne. Your mind fills with words from his apology, words that don't feel like empty promises, and instead of the memories from that night, all you feel is safe again.

You pull away and look at him seriously. "And no more pretending you don't want me to be yours, okay? No holding back this time, not now that I know—"

Tangerine nods, his warm hand cupping your cheek, "No more pretending. You're mine. My girl. If you'd still like to be? If you'll have me?" 

You crack a small smile, nodding, "I would like that," you say wearily, still holding back those three little words.

Tangerine understands and doesn't press you. His heart beams, threatening to leap at you as if offering himself. He drops his arms, tightens his hands on your hips, he pulls you in and he presses his lips to yours.

It's delicate and loving and he's taking his time, savoring you. You relax in his arms, cupping his cheek. You can't help but smile against his lips, which causes the same smile from Tangerine and you laugh as he rests his forehead on yours.

"I love you," he whispers again and deep down, you know he truly means it.

FIN ♡

Epilogue - 6 months later

It took a while for your relationship with Tangerine to return to normal. In fact, it took a while for anything to feel normal again. You'd lost your job, having to lay low for three months or so because Tangerine needed Leo to keep thinking you were dead. But he had promised it was going to be easy and over with. He was the one who had records—your real name—Leo didn't, he never did. Tangerine promised there was no way that bastard could reach you. That he wouldn't let him. 

"He's not very bright," Lemon had promised you, not hiding his disdain for the man. 

And you chose to believe them.

It had taken a few months to fully digest Tangerine's career. He's tried to explain the best he could that it wasn't fun for him. That is was his work and he was good at his job. He was good at taking down bastards who deserved it, for one reason or another.

"Think of it like a more illegal version of your future job—executing bastards who deserve it," Tangerine had said nonchalantly.

"A fucked up illegal version," you retorted, sending him a dirty look and Tangerine shrugs, holding your hand and squeezing.

It definitely took a while but eventually, you came to terms with his profession.

Because you'd lost your income, Tangerine had also promised to take care of you until you finished your studies. You ended up staying with him and Lemon after the first two months, and luckily the commute to the university from his apartment was far less distance than from yours.

And anyways, living with Lemon and Tangerine was proving more entertaining than you'd expected.  

"Who hid my toothbrush?!" Lemon grumbles one evening, storming into the kitchen where Tangerine is making his famous pasta sauce. You're reading him your essay and pause, looking up from your laptop. 

"You need it now? We haven't had dinner," you say, glancing at Tangerine with a small smirk as he cuts up some tomatoes. 

Tangerine just rolls his eyes, ignoring his brother as he focuses on not chopping up his fingers. "No one hid your toothbrush, Lemon. We're fuckin' adults, not children," he says and glances at you, reaching over and tapping his finger on the counter near your laptop, "Wanna continue, my love? I'm really liking this one."

You laugh, looking at him with a cheeky grin. "Yeah, I bet you do, babe. It's on organized crime," you turn to look at Lemon, who seems a little less distressed over his toothbrush and now more invested in the conversation as he leans on the counter.

You turn back to Tangerine as he pours the tomatoes into a pan. "Y'know, if I end up working as a lawyer and you got caught for being some criminal mastermind, I could prosecute you."

Lemon barks a laugh, "Oi, don't jinx him!" 

You frown, shaking your head. "I'm not! I'm just saying!"

Tangerine comes up and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Or you could represent me. Y'know, be my lawyer," he says and winks.

"How romantic," Lemon teases and walks over to read your essay over your shoulder. "This shit seems complicated as fuck."

"It is," you say and chew on your pencil as you read the notes you have next to your laptop.

"My smart girl," Tangerine hums, stirring the sauce now as he wipes his hand on his apron. Lemon smirks at him and walks behind him, ruffling his hair a little just to tease him for being such a softie for you. Tangerine pushes him off. 

You're lost in thought, re-reading your essay in your head as the brothers argue playfully in the background. 

Later that night, you're brushing your hair in the mirror while Tangerine trims his mustache. You're unusually quiet and he knows instantly that something is up. Still, he doesn't mention it until the lights are off and you're snuggled against his chest, his arm under your head as he plays with his hair and listens to the ceiling fan.  

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours, love?"

You hum, circling hearts on his chest as you snuggle against him. You hold your tongue until he taps your head, prompting you to answer him. "It's nothing," you whisper. 

"Try me," Tangerine says into the darkness, his voice soft. 

"I was joking back then but—what if it happens? What if one day, I have to represent you," you say after a moment of silence, your voice strained. "Or I have to actually prosecute you—"

Tangerine chuckles slowly, still stroking your hair. "I doubt you'll have to do any of those things, darlin', considering we're together—isn't that against your rules?"

You pause, holding him closer. "I mean yes and no but—" you pause, "what if, y-you don't come home because something went wrong or—you actually end up in prison," your voice fades and you go quiet again and Tangerine understands what this is about. He's never actually stopped to think about how you worry for him. How it must weigh on you, learning what you do, and to know all the things that could happen to him. 

"Hey," he says and sits up to turn on the bedside lamp. He pulls you up with him and turns to look at you. "Sweetheart, nothing is gonna happen to me. I'm careful, ya know that." He strokes your cheek, wiping under your worried eyes as he taps your nose. "You have nothing to worry about."

You look at him, still worried. "But, how can you be so sure?"

Tangerine smiles and nuzzles his nose against yours, kissing your lips sweetly. As much as he doesn't want you to worry about him like this, it's kind of endearing. He pulls away and pulls on your bottom lip, smiling. "Because there is nothing in this world that could keep me away from you. I won't let it happen."

His words warm your chest and you smile, leaning into his touch as you kiss him. His hands cup your face as you climb onto his lap, straddling his hips. Your hands find his hair as you kiss him, tasting him as if you're starved of him.

"Promise?"

Tangerine nods between kisses. "I promise, angel." 

You continue to kiss him, occasionally rocking your hips into his as he groans softly into your lips. It's sensual and soft and you're both exhausted. Tangerine runs his hands up your back, holding you. "I love you," he says, sucking love bites onto your neck. 

You hum and say, "I love you," back as you kiss him again and dip down to give him your own set of marks. He groans, happiness filling him as he reaches back for the lamp and manages to turn it off again, plunging you both in darkness again. 

"Mine," he whispers against your hair and you nod. 

"Yours."

* ~ *

my dear reader, this was such a fun mini-series and i am incredibly proud of the writing in this. i really hope you enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it and sharing it with you all! xo

[cum-a-calla]

erm… predatory/prey play with roman in the workplace……

everyone is gone, like the building is CLOSED closed. he tries to corner his assistant (because duh) and be like hey… what if you let me fuck you? and she just slips her heels off and just. books it.

it’s all in good fun, until it’s not. hopefully no one sees the security footage of him dragging her back into his office by her ankles.

and then he [redacted] her [redacted] until they [redacted]. goodbye 2024.

“I’m bored.”

“Try… I don’t know. Doing some of the paperwork we have to get through. We only have to be here until everything is looked over, signed, filed…” You sigh a long, frustrated sigh, leaning on the desk with your head in your hands. “Roman. You have to throw me a fuckin’ bone, here.” The hour runs so late that everyone else is gone on this floor, only the two of you left. You’re not tired, necessarily, just so utterly over all this paperwork.

Roman smirks at his place behind his desk, flicking his gaze to you from his computer screen. He lifts an eyebrow. “I could throw you a bone.”

A glare has him giggling to himself, that infuriatingly high little inward laugh he does when he’s feeling smug, or clever. It’s actually kind of attractive in an odd way… but so many things about Roman are. It pisses you off. He shouldn’t be allowed to be so smarmy and careless and just… look like that all the time. Roman’s eyes are on yours again and it becomes humiliatingly clear that you’ve just been staring at him, tracing the planes and lines of his handsome features. He turns a little, giving you his full attention now. Tracing his fingertip along some of the papers on his desk. Knowing you’ll watch.

“Oh… are you thinkin’ about it?” Roman licks the edge of his teeth, grinning. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you. I mean… nobody’s here, right?”

“Fuck off,” you say softly. A flush rises up your throat and you roll your eyes, ripping another sheet off the top of the stack to parse through it. “You wish.”

“No… no, I think you wish. I do.” Roman rises up from his chair and you’re forced to look up at him, hands freezing as you move to sign a report. “I think you give me those fuck-me eyes all the time. As if I don’t notice. Oh - don’t make that face. I notice, sweetheart. I know when I’m stuck inside somebody’s mind… stuck tight.”

You feel a strange sort of… something. Something that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, just the way Roman’s standing up right now. Looming over his desk. Moving to walk around the edge. Out of pure instinct, you stand as well, palms on the surface as you rise up. Roman’s eyes are glittering, pupils wide and only getting wider.

“Roman…-”

“We should,” he says. “Fuck, I mean. You should let me bend you over this desk. Or… I mean, you could get down on your knees. I could get down on mine, whatever - equal opportunity fucking, right? I’m told I give some serious lip.”

He advances slowly, smoothly, like an animal as you edge toward the door. He’s smiling, but it’s not actually a smile at all. A wolf licking its chops. Your pulse quickens, a surge of adrenaline making your fingers tremble a little. Roman refuses to back down, his voice drawing lower, quieter, trying to hypnotize you like a cat with his words.

“Bad move, sweetheart. I can run. Probably had no idea, but all I did in fucking military school was get screamed at and run. I will catch you.”

Your breath catches in your throat and it’s then that the slice of fear starts mingling with something else, stomach doing flips. A spreading warmth seems to fill the basin of your hips, all that smoldering heat matching the fever-spots of flush in your cheeks. You slip off your heels, grateful for the carpeting - wearing thin tights might not fare so well on a hard, slippery floor while being chased. And that’s what this is, isn’t it? He’s going to chase you. A tiny shiver zips up your spine.

“I’m gunna give you a head start, just to level the -”

Before he can finish, you’re taking off. His laughter trails behind you, and after turning a corner in the endless rows of cubicles, you drop to your hands and knees and crawl, moving another couple rows over like that, holding your breath. There’s a manic thrill bouncing around inside your body, making you shake as you scuttle underneath a desk, both hands pressed over your own mouth. Somewhere nearby, there are soft, light scuffing sounds as he walks. Barely there, hard to discern. If he’s taken his shoes off, you’re fucked.

After a few agonizing minutes of trying to figure out his location by sound, he walks by. The sight of his legs walking away from you almost makes you gasp - almost. God, you can feel your pulse behind your fucking eyeballs. You inch forward little by little on your hands and knees on the carpet. Roman’s still slowly walking the other way. You rise up to a stand for only a fleeting moment before you stumble over your own goddamn feet, making a little sound as you land roughly on your hands and knees again. There’s a moment frozen in time in which you turn your head sharply to face Roman, and he looks behind his shoulder and sees you. There’s a flash of surprise on his face before he’s smirking, turning fully around, and you only make it a couple of steps before his fingers are digging into the collar of your shirt, yanking you back so that you fall down again, this time on your ass.

Limbs are pinwheeling for purchase - you twist in his grasp and he’s on top of you, laughing, practically panting with excitement. In a moment of blind panic, you slap him in the face and he reels a little. In that moment you scramble up and start running again, and he’s on your fucking heels. His laughter titters just behind you and it makes you giggle in return, giddy with the chase, with the weird combination of fear and arousal and anxiety making you throb. You throb everywhere - your pulse finds a loud, pounding home in the tip of your nose, your chest… your cunt.

Wheeling around a corner too fast, you trip again. Roman’s absolutely beside himself, laughing at you as he leans down and grabs your ankles.

“Hey, you really gave it your all,” he commends, voice dripping with derision. He flashes you a grin, all teeth as he starts dragging you backwards. You try to kick and wiggle, but Roman’s stronger than he looks - he has you in a solid grip, clucking his tongue at you. “No, none of that - you had your chances. I win, and I’m going to cum in your little cunt about it. Okay? That was the deal.”

Your skirt rides up and so does your blouse, everything coming untucked and rucking up. The carpet burns as he drags you across it, and you hiss as you squirm to escape it. Roman watches with a hint of amusement, uninterested in your struggle or your discomfort. He drags you all the way across the floor back to his office, and when you try to clutch at the door frame, Roman is swift to toss your legs to the side and take a step closer to kick it away. He finishes hauling you fully into the office and shuts the door, turning to you with his eyes all hooded and dark, cheeks red with excitement. The both of you tremble, the both of you utterly consumed by a manic sort of adrenaline high.

“Well, it’s not being bent over a desk, but - but I kinda like this better. More intimate, yeah? I get to watch you cum all over my cock. Lucky me - and lucky you,” he purrs, pushing your thighs open. When you lift yourself up on your elbows, he yanks your arms down by the wrists. “Dont. Give it up, honey - the struggle is really nice, don’t get me wrong. Cuuute, just fuckin’ cute as shit. But I’m getting impatient.”

He releases you to reach between your thighs, where he pulls at the fabric of your tights with both hands and rips them open down the center.

“Gotta invest in something that doesn’t get sold from a fuckin’ Walmart, babydoll. That was so easy it was barely fun.”

“Fuck you,” you mumble.

“Oh, you will.” Roman takes a moment to pull your underwear to the side. He runs his fingers along your slit, tracing the edges and folds of your pussy as he spreads it open, looking at it, barely teasing your clit. “You know how wet you are? Dripping. How fucking sad is that? Are you - oh, am I pissing you off? Making you all upset? You look like you wanna hit me. You wanna hit me again?”

You glare at him, opening your lips to say something about it when he laughs, shoving his fingers inside of you without warning, curling them, pumping them with a precision that has your glare dissolving. Moans take away all the words you had. Roman looks positively triumphant - he fucks them a little harder, a little faster, relishing the way you make those stupid, breathy sounds, the look on your face indistinguishable from pain. It excites him to think of that, too - hurting you a little.

“God, if you’re this fuckin’ whiny for my fingers, you’re really gunna love what comes next,” he murmurs.

Then you do slap him - but it can barely be called a slap at all. The impulse comes, you run with it in the heat of the moment, and a second too late you pull the slap a little and it barely registers. He blinks a little in surprise, fingers paused in their rhythm. He fucks them into you even harder as his eyes bore into yours, that delicate, angry vein showing on his forehead. His free hands rests on your inner thigh, gripping the flesh there. Keeping you spread.

“Not great,” he deadpans. “Try it again. This time, do it like you give a fuck about doing something right for once.”

You can do that. You can do that very well, and the crack of your open palm against the same cheek stings your hand. The flush to his face is immediate, and his eyes look black as he yanks his fingers out of your body again and he slaps you back with the same hand. He smiles as he watches you wipe your own cum off your cheek, tears welling up in your lashes. He tilts his head and pouts a little, undoing his slacks and pushing them down his hips. His cock bounces free, and the sight of it catches you completely off guard. It’s not that you’d ever had an expectation, or a particularly specific thought as to his size, but he is surprisingly thick. Long. His smooth, rippled cockflesh laced with veins. He grins, stroking it once or twice, and fuck, it looks gorgeous in his fingers like that as he teases himself.

“Yeah, I mean… at least I didn’t slap you with this, right? You wouldn’t even be conscious for what I’m about to do to you. But, you know… maybe another time.”

“Roman, seriously - you’re gunna have to… you know, take it - take it easy, okay?”

Roman’s eyes get absolutely dreamy, shining in the dimmed light and hooded by his lovely, low eyelids, wet lips parted as he crawls up over you. He leans in and lowers down until he can brush his lips just barely against yours, more a tease than anything else. He tilts his head and licks a wet stripe from the edge of your jaw up to your cheekbone, planting a wet, sloppy kiss there.

“Don’t you worry about that.” He reaches between your bodies and runs the fat, leaking head of his cock along your slit, slowly, up and down, back again. Every couple passes, he pushes the tip deliciously against your hole, rocking there but only barely. There’s a crease between his focused brows when he lifts to watch your expression, moving to keep your gaze even when you get embarrassed. “Look at you, all fuckin’ wriggly and full of shame. You getting desperate, sweetheart? Yeah? Wanna ask me for it?”

“Roman…”

“Mhmm?” Roman nuzzles playfully into your neck and nips at your throat, once, twice, a third time - this time hard enough to make you whine in that adorable way, your hips twitching. He chooses this moment to work more of himself in - only maybe an inch, just a little further, where he rocks infuriatingly slow again as he sucks a deep, dark bruise into your skin. He can’t wait to see what you do with that tomorrow - how you’re going to cover it up. But he’ll know. He’ll know it’s there. “Hey - go ahead. Ask for what you want.”

“Can you.. uh,” you mumble, nerves crashing under the sheer overload of sensation, of throbbing need. God, the entire fucking thing - the fear, the chase, the force, Roman being an insatiable goddamn beast hellbent on destroying you; it’s enough to melt your brain. But if finding a few more words is all that stands between you and the rest, then… “Can you please give me… more?”

“More of my cock?” Roman starts edging more of himself inside, a smooth, slow rolling of his hips, undulating. Each little thrust brings him closer to home, and you’re gasping. He fastens his lips to a new spot on your neck, at the juncture of your shoulder. “Just trying to take it easy, right? Be patient - you’ll get it all, honey.”

Finally, he’s worked himself balls-deep. He rolls so softly, so very tenderly against your cervix, the tip of his thick cock kissing against it over and over in a maddeningly erotic tease. Is it still a tease if there’s no room left to fuck into? He pushes your thighs open and lifts himself up a little, looking down at you. His cheeks are as flushed as yours. You’ve never noticed just how many freckles he has over his cheeks and nose, how they dot him delicately like a surreal expanse of dark stars in a pink sky.

“Touch yourself. Make yourself cum, just like this.”

Zero hesitation - you push your hand down between your thighs, between your bodies, and expertly circle your clit with your fingers. The natural clench against the stretch of him feels otherworldly. The bright, electric sensation of stimulation on the soft cusp of your cervix adds an entirely new layer to it; it’s sharp, but pleasantly so. You sneak a peek between your bodies at the way he rolls his hips, down to where he only slightly moves in and out of you. He keeps you impossibly full. You let your head fall back down and catch his smug lips, the way he licks them.

“Fuck… I’m close,” you whine.

“I know… I know.” God, he almost sounds kind. If you weren’t looking directly at him, you’d believe it. “Do it for me. You’re this tight already… I wanna know what it feels like to have your perfect little pussy milk me dry. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to empty my fucking balls into you, you know that?”

“Oh - fucking…- shit-” Your entire body seems to seize up, and all that molten, coiled tension melts in a series of devastating waves, pulsating, rushing from behind your eyes all the way down to your toes as he continues to rock into you like that through the crash of your orgasm. His breathing gets erratic and he’s leaning down to lick at your throat. After you move your hand to cling to him, he starts to really fuck into you, rearing back just to slam his cock back inside. Suddenly you’re skating on the shockwave of a brand new explosion of pleasure as he sees fit to set a punishing new pace. The curve of his cock finally tends to all those barely-touched nerves in his full, brutal strokes, balls audibly slapping against your body.

“Yeah - keep fucking cumming. It’s okay, I know - it’s a lot to take. You’re doing so good - look at you. Like you were made to take my cock, huh, baby? I’m gunna fill you up, okay? You ready?” His voice is drawn high, soothing, making your head spin as you try to fit the tone of his voice with the sly, mean smirk on his lips. He reaches a hand up and presses his fingers against your lips, sliding two of them over your tongue. “Good girl - good fucking girl.”

The feeling of your lips and tongue on his fingers, the sounds you make, the way you keep clenching around him - it’s the perfect storm. His hips falter at the same time his moans do, and his cock is pulsing inside of you. He pushes deep, fingers matching as they wander toward the back of your throat until you whine, gagging, grabbing at his wrist to stop him. Your teeth scrape his knuckles and he shudders as he moans, rutting his hips in time with each thick spurt of his cum. There’s a wonderful sort of haze where both of your bodies are coming down, muscles relaxing. The beginning of the afterglow. Roman removes his fingers as his body stills, dick softening inside of you. He sticks those fingers into his own mouth without even thinking about it, tasting you, your saliva. Finally he separates from your body and pats the inside of your thigh, giving it a strangely affectionate squeeze. It feels more intimate than everything else you’ve done, in some weird way: the way he didn’t look at you when sucking your saliva off his fingers, the tenderness of the squeeze. Those things go quietly inside of you, somewhere else to peruse later. Things Roman wouldn’t really want you to have; accidental gifts.

“That was…” you trail off, exhaling hard to convey your feelings. You laugh a little bit, a bit of tension releasing as you do. “Jesus Christ.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do all that… you can just call me Roman Roy,” he cracks, smiling wryly. He sighs and pulls himself together, running a hand through his mussed hair before it falls right back into his eyes. “I know, I know. Big ol’ fuckin’ hog, devilishly handsome, and hilarious? I’m the entire goddamn package.”

“Don’t forget filthy rich.”

Roman shakes his head and bows slightly to you, hand outstretched as if giving you the floor. “And filthy rich. If I could just fuck and marry myself, I would. Now, uh… is your back okay? Got a little… scraped up, yeah? You need some, like, Neosporin or some shit?”

“Yeah, in fact - could you also bring me some Mickey Mouse bandaids, maybe a lollipop? Some stickers? I’m fine, Roman… thanks, though.”

“Show you a fuckin’ lollipop,” Roman mutters, running his hands over his face. He snaps his fingers, fidgety, gesturing toward the door. “Come on, let’s get the fuck outta here. Fuck the papers. I’ll make somebody else finish it tomorrow. I don’t care. Romey tired.”

Roman places a chaste hand at the base of your spine, guiding you through the doors to end the evening. There’s a comfortable silence as you separate, Roman heading for his car while you go off to your own apartment in the opposite direction. Closer to arriving home, your phone dings. Roman’s name shows up and you ignore the tiny wisp of a thrill in your gut at seeing his name there inside your phone, not having reached out first.

Overtime required tomorrow. My shopper will have new tights for you - you’re welcome. Make it worth it. -R

[bruhnze]

Pink Skies - Lucy x Ona

Summary: Nostalgic Luna fic! A slow morning when Lucy Bronze and Ona Battle still both played for Barça. Written cus i miss that era. (Or: Lucy being head over heels in love with her girlfriend.)

Warnings: fluff / smut-ish (suggestive) so MDNI

Wc: 3340

proofread by @pinkygirl28

Wow, Lucy thought, how is she so beautiful?

The sun was already shining through the shutters, filling the room with a soft glow. They were lying in bed in her apartment in Barcelona, but honestly, it felt more like their apartment now.

Ona was here more often than not. Their dogs, Narla and Coco, were sleeping peacefully in the living room. Coco even had his own little bed here.

Details like that made Lucy happy. They were all small ways in which their lives became more and more intertwined

Ona was still fast asleep beside her. It had been a late night after the game. Today they had a free morning before recovery at the club in the afternoon.

She looked over at the alarm clock, there were still a couple hours until it would go off.

Lucy turned to lie on her side, her head propped up on her hand. Ona was facing her, also on her side, her features highlighted pink by the sunlight that peeked through the shutters.

Lucy adored her, loved her. Ona was simply the most beautiful person on the planet, but she loved her besides that too, her kindness, her humor, or her cleverness, she just had everything.

Even now, lying there with dry lips, her hair in a messy bun.. or more like an artistic interpretation of one, and wearing a faded shirt that had seen better days but she refused to throw away because she loved it too much, Ona looked like a dream.

Lucy couldn't understand how she had gotten this lucky, how this was her life now.

Her gaze roamed over Ona’s peaceful face before lingering on her skin, which looked impossibly soft and so kissable.

Her heart swelled as a wave of affection washed over her. She wanted to kiss Ona, to hold her, to somehow convey the overwhelming love that was brimming inside her.

Leaning in, Lucy hovered closer until Ona’s soft breath tickled her face.

She couldn’t resist anymore. She pressed the gentlest kiss to Ona’s cheek, her lips barely grazing her skin.

Ona stirred, letting out a soft groan as she rolled onto her stomach, her face half-buried in her pillow.

Lucy bit her lip, smiling to herself but trying to keep silent.  

With Ona’s face no longer turned toward her, her gaze drifted to the back of Ona’s neck, where a few baby hairs had curled against her skin.

Gently, Lucy reached out, running her fingers lightly down Ona’s spine.

When Ona didn’t stir again, she leaned in and placed a series of soft, featherlight kisses on her neck.

“Luce…” Ona mumbled, her voice rough and muffled by the pillow.

Lucy nestled her face into Ona’s neck, letting her body rest halfway on top of the smaller girl.

She smoothed her hand over the soft skin of Ona’s upper arm and whispered, “Sorry for waking you.”

She’d been awake for a while, first scrolling on her phone, then watching Ona sleep.

Normally, she would’ve gotten out of bed by now, but today she couldn’t bring herself to leave. She wanted to feel her girlfriend close, to soak in this quiet intimacy. Her love for Ona was so intense, so overwhelming, that it almost scared her.

No—it did scare her sometimes.

“How late is it?” Ona murmured, her voice low and sleepy.

Lucy pressed another kiss to Ona’s neck. “Almost eight, baby.”

“Madre mía,” Ona groaned, her words muffled as she buried her face further into the pillow. “Thought we said we’d set the alarm for ten?”

Lucy smiled, nuzzling her face further against Ona’s neck. “We did,” she admitted, placing a soft kiss there. “I know.”

Ona groaned again, her tone somewhere between annoyance and affection. “I’m still tired.”

“Sorry,” Lucy whispered, punctuating the word with a few more kisses against Ona’s skin.

“don’t want sex right now,” Ona mumbled.

Lucy chuckled softly. “That’s not why I woke you up.”

“Then why did you?” Ona sighed, trying to shift but finding herself pinned under Lucy’s weight.

Lucy eased off slightly, giving her some room to move. She smiled as Ona turned towards her. Her face was still sleepy, one eye still closed while the other was half-open.

Leaning in, Lucy began peppering Ona’s face with soft kisses. Ona grumbled softly in protest but didn’t push her away.

“What?” Ona asked, her voice a sleepy mumble.

“I just love you so much,” Lucy whispered. “I’m sorry for waking you. It was an accident.”

“If you love me, let me sleep,” Ona groaned.

“Can I have a kiss first?”

Ona sighed, but leaned in anyway. "Sólo uno," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Lucy nodded eagerly, her eyes fluttering shut as she closed the gap between them. Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss, that sent a wave of warmth through Lucy’s chest.

As they pulled apart, she gazed at Ona, her heart racing. I want to give her everything she could ever want, Lucy thought, her eyes soft with adoration.

“Hey,” Lucy began softly, “what’s your favorite breakfast? Like if we go out?”

Ona groaned again, curling back up as if to hide from Lucy’s sudden burst of energy. “Luce…”

“That bakery where Coco peed on the door?” Lucy pressed, tucking a strand of hair behind Ona’s ear.

Ona hummed against the pillow. “Chocolate croissant.”

“Coffee from the apple tart place?”

“Sí,” Ona murmured. “The best coffee.”

“Or a matcha?” Lucy asked, as Ona sometimes joined her in that order.

“Café con leche,” Ona whispered sleepily.

“Or juice from that place Salma showed you?” Lucy pressed, determined to piece together the perfect breakfast plan.

“Luce, I’m sleeping,” Ona groaned tiredly.

“The purple one or the green juice? Or the orange one… you got that once, too.”

“No. Coffee’s better,” Ona mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

“But if you were-” Lucy started.

“-blueberries,” Ona interrupted, her tone bordering on exasperation. “Please, I want to sleep.”

Lucy chuckled softly. “Okay, you know what? I’ll walk the dogs and let you sleep a bit longer. After that, we can go out for breakfast before heading to the club.” She pressed one last kiss to Ona’s temple before slipping out of bed.

Ona didn’t even respond, she was already back asleep.

..

As Lucy stepped outside with the dogs, she paused, taking in the breathtaking sky. A perfect gradient of pinks and oranges painted the horizon, and she couldn’t resist stopping to snap a picture. The world just felt so much brighter when you were in love, or maybe it was just the beauty of this morning. She sent the picture to her mom with a ‘Good morning’ and then followed it up with a ‘Love you, miss you.’ smiling to herself as she sent it. Life was beautiful.

Lucy’s plan was to surprise Ona with breakfast at home, instead of heading out to one of their usual spots, she decided to walk by all their favorite places and pick up everything Ona liked most.

A chocolate croissant for Ona, a regular one for herself from the little bakery.

From the most recent place they'd visited together, the one Ona had taken her to a couple of days after she’d gone with her friends, she grabbed a blue juice for Ona and a green one for herself. She liked the blue one too but chose the green one just in case Ona wanted to switch.

Lastly, she passed the coffee shop, where she ordered a matcha for herself and a coffee for Ona. The barista greeted her and the dogs with a smile, and they chatted for a moment before Lucy took the to-go cups in a carton holder and made her way back home.

She was grateful that Narla and Coco weren’t leash pullers, because she had her hands full of stuff.

Opening the door was a bit of a struggle, but she managed, and as expected, the house was still quiet. She kicked off her shoes and hung her jacket on the hook.

First, she filled Narla and Coco’s bowls with kibble, then made her way to their bedroom with the breakfast.

She stood there for a moment, watching Ona, who was lying on her side of the bed. Ona had always said she loved that Lucy’s spot was warm and smelled like her. 

Lucy gently placed the breakfast on the bedside table beside Ona and quickly peeled off her jeans before climbing back into bed.

She snuggled close, feeling the warmth of Ona’s body.

As soon as Ona stirred and shifted to face her, Lucy smiled.

"Where were you?" Ona murmured, still half-asleep.

"Walked the dogs?" Lucy chuckled softly. "I told you."

"Did you?" Ona groaned, rubbing her eyes. "I don’t remember."

Lucy couldn’t help but laugh. "Did you get a little more sleep, at least?" she asked, brushing a strand of hair from Ona’s face, smiling as the strand of hair fell back infront of her face again.

"Yes," Ona yawned, her eyes still heavy with sleep. "Was the walk nice?"

Lucy smiled warmly, cupping Ona’s cheek with one hand. "Yes, it was," she replied. "The sky was pretty… I made a picture, do you want to see?"

‘’Mhm,’’

Lucy opened her phone gallery, scrolling to the picture she had taken earlier, and held it out to Ona. "Look," she said softly, her voice warm with excitement.

Ona rubbed her eyes, sitting up slightly against the headboard, her hair falling messily around her face as she blinked at the screen. "Mmm very pretty," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. "you should send it to your mom."

"Ah I did," Lucy laughed, settling herself beside Ona. "did I tell you she loves pictures of the sky?" she asked with a laugh.

Ona nodded smiling, leaning into Lucy’s shoulder as she handed the phone back. "Mhm, you said," she whispered. "It’s a nice picture, I bet she’ll love it."

‘’Mhm,’’ Lucy agreed.

Lucy turned her head to press a kiss to Ona’s temple, her lips lingering for a moment. "Well," she said, her tone turning playful as she pulled back slightly, "you don’t remember, apparently, but we said we’d get breakfast when you were awake."

Ona frowned in mock confusion, tilting her head as she studied Lucy’s face. "Did we?"

Lucy laughed softly, brushing the strand of hair out of Ona’s face again. "Yeah, but I actually wanted to surprise you instead."

"Surprise me?" Ona’s voice held a hint of curiosity now, her sleepiness beginning to fade.

Lucy nodded, her smile widening. "Yep," she said as she swung her leg off the bed and reached over to grab the paper bag she had set down earlier. She placed it on the bed between them.

"First," Lucy said, opening the bag, and showing Ona, "a chocolate croissant from that bakery you love. The one where Coco peed on the door." She grinned as she handed it to Ona.

"Stop calling it that.’’ Ona rolled her eyes but smiled, her cheeks dimpling as she took the smaller paper bag containing her croissant. ‘’Coco just wanted to claim his spot, he knows what good places are.’’

Lucy laughed, then pulled out another bag. "And a croissant for me."

Ona smiled, as Lucy reached for the next item besides her.

"Next," Lucy announced, holding up two plastic cups, "a blue juice for you, and a green juice for me. Or the other way around if you rather have this one."

Ona’s eyes sparkled as she set her croissant down to take the juice, immediately taking the straw out of its wrapper and putting in. "Mmm, you’re the best," she said before taking a sip. ‘’I was craving this one, the blueberries.’’

Lucy’s grin grew as she held up the last two items. "And finally, coffee for you, and matcha for me. From the one café where the woman is who loves Narla and Coco.. she gave me an apple tart again." She handed Ona the coffee.

Ona took the cup and set it on her, well Lucy’s, bedside table. "I love this suprise," she said happily, ‘’I cant believe you went to three places for this.’’

Lucy shrugged, though her cheeks turned slightly pink. "Just wanted to make you happy."

Ona leaned over, pressing a kiss to Lucy’s cheek. "You do," she said simply.

Lucy chuckled.

After they’d drank half of their juices Ona took the croissant out of its bag. ‘’Ohh its still warm,’’ she gushed. ‘’Oof we really shouldn’t be eating this in bed, we’re going to have crumbs.’’

Lucy nodded, ‘’mhm, but I think the bed was due for a change anyways.’’

Ona hummed agreeingly, hovering over the bag with the croissant as she leaned in to take a bite.

Lucy smiled as she looked at Ona taking a bite of her croissant.

Ona moaned, closing her eyes as she chewed. "Mmm, esto es mejor que el sexo."

Lucy chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Oof, I’d hope I’m better than a pastry."

Ona looked up, confused. "Huh?"

"Better than sex," Lucy laughed. "You just said, ‘Mmm, this is better than sex.’"

Ona rolled her eyes and let herself fall back onto the bed, laughing. "It’s just a saying."

"I know," Lucy teased, smiling. "I was kidding."

"Mhm," Ona said, taking another bite. Then, with a cheeky grin, she added, "But no, it’s not better than that… Some sí. With you, no."

Lucy grimaced, half-joking, half-genuinely uneasy at the mention of Ona’s past experiences.

Ona noticed, laughed, and set her food aside. She leaned in, covering the top half of Lucy’s face with her hand, before kissing her. "We make good sex," Ona said in her heavily accented English, pulling back with a satisfied smile.

Lucy didn’t want to correct her, but Ona had asked her to tell her if she was saying things wrong. So Lucy tried to gently correct her, "Have." She pressed another kiss to Ona’s lips. "It’s ‘have sex,’ not ‘make sex.’"

"¿Qué?" Ona tilted her head.

"It’s ‘have,’ not ‘make,’" Lucy explained, her tone playful. "You said you wanted me to help improve your English, remember?"

"ghave? No," Ona shook her head stubbornly. "Make."

"It’s definitely ‘have,’ trust me," Lucy insisted, her grin growing.

Ona looked skeptical until, after a moment, realization hit. "Ohhh, no, no, I know, I know!"

Lucy chuckled, waiting for her to explain.

"Ugh, I can’t remember... Wait," Ona said, snapping her fingers. "Make… it’s in that one song!"

Lucy looked even more confused. "What song?"

Ona hummed for a moment, searching her memory before softly singing, "‘You’re the one that I desire... ahh!’" She laughed triumphantly. "I know! ‘When we wake up, and then we make love.’"

‘’Ahh,’’ Lucy chuckled, ‘’well yes, make love or have sex.’’

"ohh," Ona nodded, a twinkle in her eye. "you were right too, it’s ghave sex.. I thought about the other."

Lucy had never known she had a thing for accents.. she thought she didn’t, but surely it wasn’t normal to get this amount of butterflies from someone talking.

Lucy couldn’t hide her grin. There was something about Ona talking, the way her words rolled imperfectly but perfectly into place. It made her heart flutter.

"It’s both different things, though" Ona said quietly, her cheeks pink, pulling Lucy from her thoughts.

Lucy looked at the cute blush that appeared on Ona’s cheeks, ‘’what do you mean?’’ she asked, even though she could guess what Ona meant.

Ona let her head fall against Lucy’s shoulder. "You know what I mean... they both mean a little bit different things."

‘’Mhm,’’ Lucy chuckled, ‘’I know that, but what does it mean for you?’’

"For me?" Ona tilted her head, her brows furrowing.

"Yeah," Lucy said, curious, ‘’what do the two things mean for you?’’

Ona narrowed her eyes at Lucy suspiciously, ‘’you are testing me? or you are curious?’’

Lucy shook her head, ‘’curious, ofcourse babe, I told you, I think your English is good, I’d never make fun of you."

Ona tilted her head and squinted at her.

"Okay, okay," Lucy admitted, holding her hands up, ‘’sometimes I maybe repeat what u say, but that’s only because I find it adorable.’’

"You tease me," Ona pouted.

"I don’t, babe," Lucy said, shaking her head and pulling Ona onto her lap. "Your English is better than my Spanish. I’d be a hypocrite."

"I lived in England for three years," Ona countered, playing with Lucy’s hair, ‘’this is only your second year here.’’

‘’Hmm maybe,’’ Lucy smiled, her hands resting on Ona’s hips, ‘’but can you answer my question now,’’ she pouted, ‘’I’m curious what it means for you.’’

Ona shook her head with a small smile, leaning over to grab her juice from the nightstand.

Lucy looked at her, puzzled. "What, are you shy?"

Ona nodded, sipping her juice and keeping eye contact, her cheeks flushing even more.

"Why?"

Ona thought for a moment before answering softly. "Because only now I know the difference."

"What?" Lucy frowned.

‘’I used to think they were just meaning the same thing, like.. uh… synonyms.. but you made me realize what they sing about in songs..’’ Ona bit her lip, trying to explain. ‘’we,’’ she blushed furiously, as her voice trailed off, ‘’we.. I guess we make love.. most of the times at least.’’

Lucy smiled as it started to make sense.

"It’s not only… lust?" Ona tried to find the words. "Es más que… desire. Not solo del orgasm."

‘’I understand what you mean,’’ Lucy smiled, her hands moving to Ona’s thighs, ‘’its about the connection.. hmm I don’t know if its an actual thing but I would call it - emotional intimacy?’’  

Ona nodded, ‘’sí.’’ She set her juice back on the nightstand.

‘’And do you like that?’’ Lucy chuckled.

Ona giggled, hiding her face in the crook of Lucy’s neck. Ona’s muffled voice came from where her face was hidden. "You already know I do, so why do you ask?"

Lucy smirked, kissing the side of her head. "Because I want to hear you say it."

Ona pulled back slightly, a playful smirk on her lips. "I love it.

A wicked grin pulled at the corners of Lucy’s mouth.

‘’Don’t let it go to your head." Ona said, rolling her eyes with a laugh.

Lucy grinned. "Too late."

Ona shook her head, but she couldn’t stop smiling. Truthfully, cocky Lucy was one of her favorite things.

‘’No but seriously,’’ Lucy said, looking at Ona genuinely, ‘’I feel that too, you brought it to words really well actually.’’

Ona smiled at the compliment, ‘’yeah?’’

Lucy nodded earnestly, ‘’mhm.’’

Ona reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the ink on Lucy’s wrist. The gentle motion sent a tingle through Lucy’s skin, and her breath hitched when Ona’s thumb lingered over the curve of the design. “I love you,” Ona murmured, her voice soft as if she were sharing a secret.

Lucy smiled, her heart swelling. “I love you too.”

Ona smiled, leaning in and brushing her lips against Lucy’s in a kiss so soft it felt like a whisper.

Lucy’s hand instinctively cupped Ona’s cheek, keeping her close.

When she pulled back, Ona’s gaze lingered, “this would be a moment like that.”

“Like what?” Lucy asked breathlessly, her voice catching as Ona’s lips ghosted over her own again, teasing and tantalizing.

‘’That we would make love,’’ Ona said, keeping eye contact.

Lucy’s heart hammered in her chest, a shiver trailing down her spine. This girl was going to be the death of her someday, and honestly, she wouldn’t want it any other way.

"Are you going to keep talking about it," Lucy began, her voice just a little breathless, "or are you going to show me?"

The words sounded bolder in her head, but as they left her lips, they carried a nervous tremor that made Ona smile knowingly.

Ona might be shy sometimes, but in moments like this, she knew she had Lucy wrapped around her finger - and she enjoyed every second of it.

...

[the song that Ona quoted was 'Best part' - H.E.R. ]

the song below is the title

[impala-dreamer]

The Devil On Stage

A Short Story

~Lonely during his solo panel, Jensen calls Y/N out to join him on stage. Having nothing much to say, she lets her mind wander a little too far while watching him regaled the audience with stories from the old days on set.~

Jensen Ackles x Fem!Reader

1,432 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Oral. A little Dom!Jensen. Lovely. Just lovely... | Originally published to Patreon December 2022

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

The devil was on stage, sitting just a few feet away.

God, he looked delicious. Truly better than any man had the right to, especially clad in double denim. Y/N narrowed her eyes on him, her mouth watering as he gestured to the audience, animatedly recalling some stunt he’d pulled on set.

The crowd ate it up and he looked back at Y/N over his shoulder, giving her a wink.

She had no clue what he was saying, no idea what the question had been. There was only one thing on her mind, only one thing she could focus on.

Jensen.

Jensen, Jensen, Jensen… The devil in her mind, the monster in her sheets, the rocket between her thighs.

A flood of warmth washed down her body and Y/N shut her legs, squeezing them together tightly. She bit her lip as Jensen laughed, his voice booming through the speakers and her head.

“That’s a great question,” he said, licking his lips slowly and turning to look at Y/N. He smiled, all perfect teeth beneath a clipped, sexy beard. “You wanna take this one?”

She startled, nearly dropping the microphone in her hand. “Uh…” Sitting up quickly, she struggled to remember the question, but nothing was coming to her. She laughed lightly and shrugged. “Nah, you’re better at this than I am. Go on.”

He grinned at the crowd. “She’s right. I am.”

Y/N rolled her eyes in mock annoyance and the audience laughed.

Jensen turned away and all Y/N could see was his plump little ass, stretching the denim tight. She had warned him not to wear those jeans, nearly pulling him back into bed that morning as he got dressed.

He never listened to her.

And now she was in trouble.

The crowd clapped at some answer Jensen had given and he spun on his heel, turning towards the next fan in line.

“How are ya? What’s your name? What do you want from me?”

Y/N laughed. “How do you know she’s not here for me?” she asked, perking up so the world couldn’t see just how lost in lust she truly was.

Jensen shook his head and puffed out his chest. The thin black tee struggled beneath his jacket and her eyes shot right to his pert nipples, standing up and begging to be licked.

“No way,” he countered, nodding at the fan. “She’s all mine.”

The young woman nearly fainted and Y/N hid her face in her hands, pretending to be embarrassed for everyone in the room.

“Come on now… I’m waiting.”

Jensen cocked a brow and a hush fell over the crowd as many an erotically minded fan began tweeting the dominant exposition.

Y/N was right there with them, melting into herself as arousal spread. She felt her pulse quicken, her nipples harden. Her clit throbbed as Jensen cleared his throat and it took everything inside of her not to moan right there on stage.

Absently, she rubbed the microphone, her thumb and index finger circled tight around the black plastic.

Jensen leaned in, listening with a stern expression as the flustered fan asked her question.

Y/N heard none of it, staring at the thick rope of muscle on the side of his freckled throat and remembering what it felt like to feel his heartbeat throb against her lips. She shivered and bit down hard on her bottom lip, hopelessly distracted.

“Interesting…” Jensen straightened up and ran a hand through his hair, thinking up a safe answer. “Well…”

Y/N could feel the wetness pooling in her panties and she locked her knees together, sure that everyone could see the dampness seeping through her jeans.

Green eyes flickered over her face and plump lips lifted in a half grin.

He was the devil.

He knew exactly what was on her mind.

The lights warmed her cheeks but Jensen was warming everything else. With his eyes slyly on her, he fisted the hem of his tee and lifted it high, flashing his stomach to a needy world and a desperate Y/N. It was a tiny bit of skin, just a quick flap of dark fabric against smooth, creamy skin, but it was the last straw.

The microphone fell from her hand with a deafening thud.

Mindlessly aroused, Y/N slid off of her stool and moved towards him. Like a zombie, she dropped to her knees at his feet and looked up with wide, hazy eyes.

Stunned, Jensen’s jaw dropped an inch and his brow lifted again as he tugged his bottom lip between his teeth.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, cheeks reddening as her hands lifted to frame his hips.

“I think you know,” she answered softly, running her fingers along the edge of his jeans, caressing the soft patch of skin.

His breath quickened and she could see the outline of his cock as it lengthened in his shorts. She smirked and chewed her lip, moving her fingers down to the buckle of his belt.

With a gasp, he grabbed her wrists. His eyes flickered from hers to the crowd, unsure of what to do.

“We… Y/N… what the hell?”

She chanced a peek at the audience and then shrugged. Not a soul was moving, every fan shocked into silence and staring.

Y/N licked her lips slowly and tugged leather from metal. “Just relax,” she whispered.

His grip loosened. “But…”

The zipper fell slowly, the cool metal tight between her fingers. Y/N held his gaze, teasing with her ruby painted lips and pink tongue. “Let them watch…”

She tugged the denim from his hips, shoved his shorts down to his knees, and kissed her way up his inner thigh. Jensen hissed as her lips grazed the tip of his cock and the audience buzzed in a low voice, stunned.

Y/N dug her nails into his thighs and used her tongue to massage his cock, humming as it grew against her mouth. The taste of him drove her insane and she wiggled on her knees, stuck her ass out, moaned desperate and loud.

Jensen dropped his microphone and the thud echoed through the sound system. Y/N couldn’t hear a thing but his groans, her mind too clouded with lust and purpose.

“Fuck, baby…” He rocked against her face, nudging his cock against her lips. “Please…”

She obliged, fitting the soft circle of her mouth around him and sucking him deep inside. He stumbled on his feet, unsteady as he hit the back of her throat.

“Jesus!”

His hand found the back of her head and he pushed down, forcing her to take him deeper. Drool spilled from the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin and onto the stage floor.

Giving in, Jensen thrust his hips, fucking her face with abandon. She swallowed what she could, caressed his shaft with her tongue, dug her fingers into his skin. Her eyes rolled back, lids fluttering as he used her mouth like a fuck toy. His thick fingers tugged through her hair, moving her, sliding her back and forth over himself. He moaned loudly, his edging growl filling the auditorium.

“This what you wanted?” Jensen grunted. “Wanted me to use you while everyone watched?”

Y/N whimpered in reply as tears sprang to her pretty eyes.

Camera flashes lit her face and Jensen stared down at her, locking his gaze into hers.

“That’s it,” he sneered, “let me see it in your eyes…”

She struggled to keep her eyes wide even as her vision blurred with tears.

“Good girl.”

He exhaled heavily and quickened his pace. His upper lip twitched with effort and his shoulders curled inwards.

The rumble of the crowd grew louder as he pulled his cock from her mouth and wrapped his fist around it, jerking quickly.

“Open up.”

He grit his command and Y/N’s jaw dropped. Her tongue fell out and she tipped her head back, waiting for her reward.

Jensen growled deeply as he came, spurting his seed onto her tongue and across her flushed cheeks. He sprayed her face and she trembled with happiness, her cunt pulsing and dripping.

The fans erupted into thunderous applause and Y/N startled, gasping as the daydream faded away. She shook herself and shifted on her chair, still seated and clean.

Jensen waved a hand in front of her face, looking quite concerned. “You OK over there?”

Y/N swallowed hard and nodded. Her voice was high and tight with lust when she answered.

“Yeah… just a little… distracted…”

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[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

New perfume? -Tom Riddle x Reader-oneshot

-summary; Tom’s girl wears perfume everyday, scents Tom enjoys enough to usually enjoy burying his face in her neck every night to calm down. Today somethings different, her perfume is…dear merlin Tom cant hold himself back.

Warning; smut fic, oral sex(Fem receiving), unprotected PinV sex(wrap it before you tap it!), obsessive feral Tom, Amortentia use(not on purpose.) sliiightly pathetic Tom, slightly sub! Tom.

=

Tom had a sensitive nose, which helped a lot in potions class and got him many Outstandings from Slughorn over the ears. This sensitive nose meant his girlfriend (y/n) had to be careful with what perfumes she got, she herself had a sensitive nose so she never got anything intense, her favorite being a vanilla honey-based scent, it was comforting yet light, blending in with the scent of her shampoo and bodywash that Tom enjoyed.

His favorite thing to do at the end of a long patrol was to pull her into his lap in front of the common room fire and inhale her gentle scent, enjoying the sweet soft smell of honey and vanilla, never too strong, never too faint-just right.

Just like her.

Currently, Tom hadn’t seen his girl all day, they’d been busy with classes which were all separate considering their different career paths, (y/n) planning on being a healer and Tom not having any particular thing set(as far as anyone was aware other than his knights), so he hadn’t seen her since breakfast-and breakfast was when Tom usually kept his head low, trying to cover up the barrage of smells with a cup of sugar and milk heavy coffee.

So, until right now-as he passed by (y/n) for a split moment as they both went to their next class, he hadn’t gotten a whiff of her usual perfume that made him feel at ease.

Because this time-her perfume assaulted his senses, not to make him scrunch his nose and tell her to take a shower or something-but instead he stumbled, heat zipping down his spine as her scent overwhelmed him so suddenly.

Vanilla and honey, caramel and roses, and a heady mix of his cologne and her usual perfume. He twisted on his heel, going right after her-his friend called after him-they had to get to class but for once, Tom really didn’t give a shit.

He caught up to his girl and grabbed her arm, she squeaked and looked up at him-her perfume invading his senses, and he swore he felt light on his feet-and pants too tight. “I need to talk to you.” Tom said, demanding, not asking.

“Shit you scared me Tom-“ (y/n) breathed out, stumbling after him as he dragged her down the hall, out of the crowd of students and into an unused room that hadn’t been used since their first year.

(y/n) gasped as she was shoved against the door, shivering as Tom’s face pressed into her neck, hands tight against her sides. “You changed your perfume.” Tom nearly growled into her neck, teeth grazing her throat and she groaned, her head tipping back against the wall.

“What-no I d-didn’t?” (y/n) said, she hadn’t, she put on the usual vanilla honey perfume she put on every day? Tom groaned, inhaling her scent-he felt feral, like a male dog smelling a bitch in heat.

“You did.” He insisted, licking his bottom lip-he felt drunk, or like someone had slipped an aphrodisiac into his system somehow.

“I didn’t-I used the same perfume I use every day.” (y/n), pulling out the perfume bottle from her bag to show it to him. He recognized the bottle, he’d helped her pick it out a few months back. He grabbed it, pulling off the cap and inhaling from the sprayer. It smelled like she did-intense and overwhelming, heat zinging down his spine again.

Beneath it all, he recognized it, Amortentia. “Someone spiked your perfume with Amortentia.” He muttered, his eyes half-lidded as he capped the bottle and put it in his pocket, grabbing (y/n)’s wrist as she tried to take it back.

“Who in the heck would do that?” (y/n) asked, her brow furrowed, gasping as Tom’s hips bucked against her and backed her against the wall, his lips on her neck, licking a wide stripe up to her jaw. “Tom!”

“You smell so fucking good, I can’t help myself,” Tom groaned, feeling completely out of control for the first time in his life, he’d felt this way before, always with (y/n), but never this intense. “Fuck-(y/n).” he groaned again, hands going down her sides and up her skirt, pulling at her tights.

“Tom-we have class,” (y/n) protested weakly, her cheeks flushing as he continued to tug at her tights. He nipped at her earlobe, making her shudder as his tongue traced the shell of her ear.

“Fuck class.” He groaned, a sentence never heard from him before and (y/n) swallowed, biting her inner lip as she looked at him, his face was flushed, pupils almost overtaking his whole eye. Whoever had tampered with her perfume had made it like a Tom magnet, making him crazy for her.

She didn’t get to see him like this often, and he seemed sound of mind otherwise.

They only had one more class today, and it probably already started.

Fuck it.

She turned her head, pressing her lips against his hard, teeth clashing as hands yanked at clothes and Tom’s tie was pulled off-his eyes snapping open as he felt his tie get yanked around his wrists and pulled behind his back, (y/n) tying it and yanking it tight.

“Fuck. (y/n).” Tom groaned, his brows pinched as he pulled at the binding, panting as (y/n) smirked to herself. “Where’d you learn this?”

“From you.” (y/n) said, taking her wand from her bag and locking the door before dropping it back in her bag and throwing her bag to the floor, yanking Tom’s vest and shirt up, unbuckling his belt.

Tom groaned, his forehead pressed against the top of her head as he leaned over her, panting heavily as her fingers brushed against his skin, trailing the patch of hair that disappeared into his boxers. “(y/n).” he snapped, cheeks flushed with impatience and desire, huffing as he felt her hands on his shoulders and he was forced to his knees.

He looked up at her, his eyes fluttering as he smelled her intensely now, closer to her pretty cunt that he loved so much. “(y/n).” he groaned again, mouth watering as she pushed down her tights and underwear, fingers curling into his hair to bring him between her thighs, face disappearing under her skirt.

She smelled so fucking good; he felt drunk just off her scent. His mouth opened as she pushed him against her cunt and he began to lick and suck at her ravenously, like a man starved-her moans and sighs music to his ears as his hips bucked in response.

He’d never felt so starved for this, so-needy-for this. He’d never let her tie his wrists up or force him to his knees-but her damn perfume, whatever tampered with it, was making him weak for her, pussy drunk as he licked into her cunt, swallowing down her sweet taste.

His nose brushed against her clit and (y/n) jolted, forcing his face closer and he groaned, moving his face up to suck her clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive thing, fists clenching and unclenching behind his back.

“You’re gonna kill me you she-devil.” Tom groaned as he pulled back for breath, brows pinched as he licked his lips-sweet with the taste of her. (y/n) laughed gently, nails scratching his scalp that sent shivers down his spine.

“What’ta way to go huh?” (y/n) teased, her eyes fluttering as he licked a wide stripe up her cunt from her hole to her clit, sucking on her clit-grazing his teeth on it to make her jump.

“Best way to go.” He murmured-his eyes closing as he took her cunt into his mouth again, licking and sucking like he couldn’t get enough. This was the way to die, between her thighs and tasting her, and nothing else.

(y/n) moaned, mouth opened as she listened to the obscene noise of his tongue and mouth against her, the smooth texture of his tongue making her go mad. “Tom-Tom,” she moaned out, feeling him smirk against her and she hooked a leg over his shoulder, bringing him even closer somehow. “oooh fuck-Tom.”

She yanked at his hair and he let out a long guttural moan, sending shivers up her spine as it made everything vibrate and she moaned with him, yanking his hair again as he ate her out like it was the last thing he’d do. “Oh fuck-oh shit-oh shit oh shiiit.” (y/n) groaned, her body arching forward, that peaking feeling in her cunt growing stronger, tightening in her gut.

“Shit shit shit-I’m gonna-Tom fuck!” (y/n) moaned, grinding her hips to push against his face, her hands in his hair to pull him against her and he went slack jawed, letting her use his tongue to finish on as the rest of him went tight, his eyes fluttering as he felt her cum on his face.

She kept him against her as she rode out her high, moaning softly as her hips bucked against him, pulling his head away as he kept licking at her clit-sending her into overdrive. Her mouth dropped open slightly, looking at him; his face was flushed, lips open and slick with her cum, tongue slightly out and hair a mess-her fingers still tangled.

“you look good on your knees,” she muttered and Tom swallowed, panting hard, twisting his hips to try and relieve tension.

“(y/n),” he said, voice raspy and almost needy, his eyes locked onto her cunt still, watching it drip with arousal. She let out a soft sigh and slid down on the wall in front of him, pushing him back-his thighs burning as she pushed him to lay on his back with his legs and arms beneath him. He said her name again, groaning as she shoved his shirt up, putting the hem into his mouth.

“Bite.” She commanded softly and he took it between his teeth, already breathing hard as she undid his trousers and pushed them down with his boxers, his eyes fluttering as her hand wrapped around his aching cock, her other hand brushing against his pubes and then going up his chest to his throat, pushing lightly.

“Be good.” She said and Tom groaned, his back arching as she swung her leg over him and sank his cock into her, (y/n) moaning as she felt him fill her up perfectly. She began to rock back and forth as Tom writhed his head around, her hand still on his throat-shirt still in his mouth as she began to ride him-her ass snapping down on his thighs as he writhed and bucked against her.

(y/n) rocked her hips, bouncing lightly every once in a while to make him groan, drool soaking his shirt as he thrust up against her, skin against skin and the heady smell of sex filling their senses as she pressed against his throat a bit more, leaning down to press soft kisses on his brow and cheeks.

He strained against his tie, wanting to touch her but also not wanting to go against her-that damned perfume had ruined him, made him weak to her whims. He groaned out her name, muffled by the shirt in his mouth as his face flushed hotter, his hips snapping faster as he felt his orgasm approach, his cock deep in her tight wet warmth.

He opened his eyes to look at her-a near begging look in his eyes, pleasure from her cunt and her hand on his throat nearly overwhelming him. “Cum for me,” (y/n) moaned, clenching around him and his eyes rolled back, body stilling as his hips snapped once, twice, and then stopped, (y/n) groaning as she felt him twitch inside her, cumming.

She released his throat, tugging the shirt from his mouth and Tom took greedy gasps of breath, his eyes unfocused as he let his head turn to the side, his cheek against the cold stone. (y/n) got off him, his cock slipping out of her and she shivered, helping him sit up and rubbing his legs as he felt pins and needles from below the knee.

“I should thank whoever tampered with my perfume,” (y/n) teased as she untied his wrists and grabbed her wand from her bag, cleaning them both up and retying his tie.

“I’ll find the bastard and buy them a butterbeer.” Tom muttered and (y/n) grinned, happy to know he hadn’t minded her being in control for once. He kissed her cheek and got up on wobbly legs, pulling her up by the hand. “Once.” Tom said sternly, looking down at her with his flushed face and messy hair, his eyes still distant.

(y/n) grinned. “Sure.”

It was not the last time.

-end-

[crossfandomskylines]

In the Space Between: Chapter 22

OTHER CHAPTERS:

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5

Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I Chapter 9 I Chapter 10

Chapter 11 I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15

Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19 I Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Pairing: Glen Powell x OC

Summary: Gabby prepares for her first public date with Glen, nerves swirling as she finalizes her look and contemplates the potential fallout of their evening together. When Glen arrives, full of quiet admiration, he reassures her with a tender kiss, easing her anxieties. The chapter shifts to their intimate dinner at an upscale restaurant, where they share heartfelt conversation and laughter, diving deeper into their connection. Amid the flicker of candlelight and the hum of the world around them, Gabby finds herself feeling more seen and cherished than she ever has, beginning to truly embrace the idea of being with Glen, despite the uncertainties that come with being in the public eye.

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: As always please let me know what you think with Hearts, Comments, and Reblogs. I love seeing your thoughts on this story as it progresses!

Gabby stood in front of her bathroom mirror, the faint hum of the overhead light filling the quiet space as she curled the last section of her hair. Soft waves cascaded down her back, and she twisted a strand thoughtfully, pinning it in place to create a half-up, half-down style. It was simple but elegant, just enough to make her feel like she belonged in the dress Glen had insisted she wear tonight.

The memory of his words made her pause for a moment, her lips curving into a small smile. Me. Wear it for me. There was something about the way he’d said it—so certain, so sincere—that left her stomach fluttering. She took a breath, shaking off the nerves threatening to creep in, and turned her attention to her makeup.

The strokes of her brush were careful and deliberate as she swept warm tones across her eyelids, blending until they looked soft and natural. A flick of eyeliner followed, steady despite the slight tremble of her hand. Her cheeks flushed as she added a hint of color, but the glow wasn’t just from the makeup. She had to admit—even if only to herself—she was excited.

When the finishing touch, a swipe of lipstick, was in place, Gabby stepped back from the mirror and reached for the dress hanging behind her. The fabric felt luxurious beneath her fingers as she unzipped it and stepped into the gown. 

She pulled the dress on and her hands smoothed over the deep burgundy fabric that clung to her curves like liquid silk. The dress seemed to shimmer under the light of her vanity. It featured a low neckline that dipped into a soft, ruched bodice, accentuating her figure in all the right places. The thin spaghetti straps crisscrossed delicately over her shoulders, leaving her back entirely bare by the design.

She turned slightly, her eyes catching the fabric and looking at it as it fell from her hips, pooling elegantly at her feet.

Gabby bit her lip as she adjusted the dress, pulling it just a little higher at the bodice. She gave herself a once-over, tilting her head and watching the way the gown hugged her body in the mirror.

She barely recognized the reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back was poised, confident, and—dare she think it—beautiful. 

For a brief moment, doubt threatened to creep in. She wondered if it was too much–too bold, too revealing. But she reminded herself of Glen’s smile when he’d seen the dress earlier. He thinks I look good in this, she thought, turning slightly to take in the way the gown moved with her.

The sound of the doorbell pulled her from her thoughts. 

Gabby’s stomach fluttered as she made her way to the front door. The soft click of her heels against the floor seemed louder than usual in the quiet of her apartment, and she had to remind herself to breathe. It wasn’t her first time seeing Glen, not even close, but somehow tonight felt different. The idea of stepping out together in public, of being seen, was both thrilling and terrifying.

She paused in front of the door, her hand resting on the handle as she took a steadying breath. It’s just Glen, she told herself. This is nothing.

With that thought, she turned the handle and pulled the door open.

There he was.

Standing in the hallway, Glen looked like he’d stepped straight out of a magazine. His black suit was perfectly tailored, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering down to a sharp, clean line. The crisp white shirt beneath it contrasted perfectly, the open collar giving him an effortlessly stylish edge. His hair was neatly styled, and that familiar, confident smile tugged at the corners of his lips—until his eyes met hers.

The smile faltered, his lips parting slightly as his gaze swept over her. Gabby felt the heat rise to her cheeks under his scrutiny, her hands instinctively smoothing the sides of her dress as she shifted on her feet. His silence stretched for a moment too long, and the fluttering in her stomach turned into full-blown nerves.

“Is it too much?” she blurted out, her voice wavering. “I mean, I—”

“Wow,” Glen interrupted softly, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place.

Her cheeks burned even hotter as she managed a nervous smile. “Is that a good wow?” she asked, her tone light but uncertain.

Glen’s lips curved into a slow, genuine smile, his eyes locking with hers. “It’s the best kind of wow,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You look... stunning, Gabby.”

Her breath hitched at his words, and she couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension in her shoulders easing. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, her fingers brushing over the fabric of her dress again.

Before she could say more, Glen stepped closer, his hand gently reaching for hers. The warmth of his palm wrapped around hers as his other hand found her waist, drawing her toward him. Gabby barely had time to process the movement before his lips pressed softly against hers, the kiss tender and unhurried.

Her free hand instinctively rested against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the crisp fabric of his suit. For a moment, the world outside her apartment faded away, leaving only the two of them in the quiet hallway.

When Glen pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re beautiful, Gabby. Absolutely beautiful.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, and she felt her cheeks warm again. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she managed, a teasing smile breaking through her nervousness.

Glen chuckled, his fingers brushing lightly against hers before he stepped back just enough to meet her gaze. “Ready to go?” he asked, his tone soft but laced with excitement.

Gabby hesitated for only a second before slipping her hand into his, the warmth of his touch grounding her. “Ready,” she said, and for the first time all evening, she believed it.

As they walked toward Glen’s car, Gabby couldn’t help but feel like she was stepping into a dream. And judging by the way Glen kept stealing glances at her, she wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

Glen stepped ahead of her as they approached the sleek black car, opening the passenger door and holding it wide. Gabby glanced at him, her heart fluttering at the small but thoughtful gesture. He reached out his hand to help her in, and she took it without hesitation, his grip warm and steady.

“You really do look amazing tonight,” Glen said softly as she slid into the seat, his voice still carrying that hint of awe.

Gabby glanced up at him, her smile small but genuine. “Thank you.”

The car purred to life, and Glen turned onto the road, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence. Gabby smoothed her dress over her lap, sneaking a glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

“You’re quiet,” she said gently, breaking the silence.

Glen glanced at her, his lips curving into a small smile. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

He hesitated, his hand tightening briefly on the steering wheel. “About how lucky I am.”

The words caught her off guard, and she turned to face him more fully. “Lucky?”

His eyes flicked toward her before returning to the road. “To have you here with me. To be the one taking you out tonight.” His voice softened. “I know this probably isn’t easy for you…going out and having a lot of attention on you. I want you to know how much it means to me.”

Gabby felt a lump rise in her throat at his sincerity. She turned her gaze back to the window, letting his words settle over her. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to do this. I do,” she said after a moment. “It’s just… I don’t know. It feels different, I guess. Bigger.”

Glen nodded, as if he understood perfectly. “It is bigger,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it has to be scary. If you want to change plans, just say the word. We can go back to your place or mine. This night is about you.”

His words were grounding, and Gabby found herself relaxing in her seat. “Thanks, Glen,” she said quietly.

“Always,” he replied, his voice steady.

They drove in a comfortable silence for a while, the city lights beginning to glitter as they neared downtown. Gabby leaned her head slightly against the window, her nerves replaced by a quiet anticipation. Glen’s presence had a way of calming her, of making her feel like everything was going to be okay.

As the car turned onto a quieter street lined with trees and twinkling lights, Glen finally spoke again. “We’re almost there.”

Gabby sat up straighter, smoothing her dress once more as she glanced out the window. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, taking in the charming row of buildings ahead.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Glen said without missing a beat.

Gabby felt her cheeks heat, and she gave him a shy smile. “You’re going to try to spoil me tonight, aren’t you,” she teased lightly.

Glen glanced at her with a playful smirk. “That’s the plan.”

Glen pulled up in front of the restaurant, the warm glow of its windows spilling onto the sidewalk. The street was quieter than most of downtown, but it still carried the hum of life—cars passing, footsteps echoing, distant laughter. Gabby’s heart picked up speed as he parked the car and stepped out.

Through the tinted window, she watched as Glen walked around the car, his confident stride drawing her eyes. Just as he reached her side, another man—dressed in dark pants and a black polo shirt—opened her door. Gabby blinked, momentarily startled, but before she could think much about it, Glen’s familiar hand appeared, extended toward her.

She took it, her palm fitting perfectly against his, and allowed him to help her out of the car. Her heels clicked softly against the pavement as she stood, and she adjusted the skirt of her dress. Glen didn’t let go. Instead, he shifted his hold, intertwining their fingers effortlessly.

Gabby’s eyes swept the area, taking in the subtle movement of a few men lingering nearby. She glanced up at Glen, her grip on his hand tightening slightly. 

“Glen…” she murmured, her voice low.

He leaned in, his lips near her ear, his voice soft and reassuring. “They’re with me. Security. Just to make sure you’re safe.”

Gabby’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though her heart still raced. She nodded, trusting his words, and let him guide her forward.

There was a crowd, though small, already gathering near the restaurant’s entrance. It didn’t surprise her. This was a busy part of Los Angeles with a lot of shops and restaurants that celebrities frequented. The crowd was a mix of curious fans holding their phones up and a couple of paparazzi with cameras poised had her instinctively lowering her gaze. She kept her head down, focusing on the sound of Glen’s calm voice.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered as they crossed the sidewalk. “Just a few more steps.”

Gabby felt the warmth of his hand in hers, the steady strength of his presence keeping her grounded. The flashing of a camera caught her attention for a brief second, and she bit her lip, willing herself to stay calm.

Glen squeezed her hand gently. “Almost there,” he said again, his voice soothing, like an anchor pulling her back to him.

Before she knew it, they were stepping through the doors of the restaurant, the noise and chaos of the street fading behind them. The dim lighting and quiet elegance of the space enveloped them like a warm embrace. Gabby let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and Glen’s thumb brushed reassuringly over the back of her hand.

“You okay?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.

She nodded, managing a small smile. “I think so.”

Glen gave her hand one last squeeze before releasing it, his arm moving to rest lightly on the small of her back. 

“Good,” he said, his voice low but filled with warmth.

The host greeted them with a polished smile, his posture perfectly poised. “Good evening, Mr. Powell. Miss,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “Your table is ready.”

Glen nodded in acknowledgment, his hand remaining on the small of Gabby’s back as the host led them through the softly lit restaurant. The space exuded quiet elegance, with dark wood accents, warm lighting, and just enough murmured conversation to feel intimate but not invasive.

Gabby’s heels clicked lightly against the hardwood floors as they followed the host, her nerves still settling after the brief encounter outside. She glanced around, taking in the luxurious atmosphere, but her attention snapped back as they passed through a discreet doorway into a smaller, private dining room.

Her breath caught. The room was stunning in its simplicity. A single table sat in the middle, draped with an ivory linen cloth. Soft candlelight flickered, casting a golden glow over the crystal glasses and polished silverware. It felt intimate, like the world had melted away, leaving only the two of them.

“This way,” the host said, gesturing toward the table.

Glen stepped forward, pulling Gabby’s chair out for her without hesitation. “After you,” he said softly, his voice low and warm.

Gabby eased herself into the chair, smoothing her dress as she sat. As soon as she was settled, Glen stepped behind her, gently pushing the chair in until she was perfectly positioned at the table. The gesture was simple but thoughtful, and it made her heart flutter.

“Thank you,” she said softly, glancing up at him.

As Glen settled into the chair across from her, Gabby found herself studying him. The suit, the confidence in his posture, the way his eyes seemed to take her in as if she were the only thing that mattered in the room—it was overwhelming in the best way.

“This is…” Gabby began, her voice faltering as she tried to find the right words as she looks around the room.

Glen’s smile deepened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. “Perfect?” he offered, teasing lightly.

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “A lot,” she admitted. “In a good way, though.”

He tilted his head, his gaze softening. “I wanted tonight to be special. For you,” he said simply.

Gabby glanced down at the leather-bound menu in front of her, her fingers tracing the embossed gold lettering as she opened it. Her eyes scanned the neatly printed options, her stomach growling slightly at the descriptions of seared scallops, herb-crusted lamb, and lobster risotto. Everything sounded amazing, but as her gaze drifted to the prices listed beside each dish, her stomach tightened in a different way.

She bit her lip, flicking her eyes up to see Glen, who was casually perusing the menu, his posture relaxed. She quickly dropped her gaze back to her own menu, trying to focus. Maybe she could get an appetizer as an entrée. Something smaller and less expensive. After all, she wasn’t that hungry—she could make it work.

Her mind began running numbers, trying to figure out how she’d adjust her weekly budget to accommodate this meal. She could skip her morning coffee runs before class and just make it at home. She could maybe even bring lunch to campus with her instead of grabbing something from the café.

But before she could spiral further, Glen’s voice cut through her thoughts, calm and direct. “Gabby,” he said, looking up at her with an amused smile.

She blinked, startled. “Yeah?”

His smile softened as he leaned slightly closer. “Stop overthinking and order whatever you want.”

“I’m not—” she began, but the way his brow lifted slightly told her he wasn’t buying it.

“Gabby,” he said again, his tone more tender this time. “This is my treat, okay? Get whatever you’d like.”

She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. She felt her cheeks heat, embarrassed that he could read her so easily. “I just don’t want to—”

“To what?” Glen interrupted gently, his hazel eyes locking with hers. “Let me do something nice for you? Because that’s all this is, Gabby. Something nice. For you. So please, order what you want. No guilt. Deal?”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, she just nodded, her heart warming at how sincere he sounded.

“Good,” he said with a grin, his confidence radiating. He looked back down at his menu and added casually, “The filet mignon here is incredible, by the way. So is the salmon if you’re in the mood for seafood.”

“You’ve been here before?” she asked, her curiosity piqued as she relaxed a little.

Glen shrugged, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “A few times. Mostly for work meetings.”

Gabby raised a brow, her confusion evident. “Work? What kind of work meetings happen here?”

He chuckled softly, setting his menu down. “Discussions about projects. Reviewing scripts. Talking about  roles. That kind of thing.”

Gabby leaned back in her chair, processing his words. Every now and then, moments like this would catch her off guard—reminders of the Hollywood side of Glen that didn’t quite fit with the down-to-earth guy she spent her nights in with, eating takeout and watching Netflix.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” Glen asked, his voice quieter now.

Gabby hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. “I just forget sometimes. That you’re this big actor. That part of you feels so far removed from the you I know.”

His expression softened, and he reached across the table to take her hand in his. “It’s all me, Gabby. But the part you know? That’s the side I care about most.”

Her cheeks flushed again, and she squeezed his hand. 

“Now,” Glen said, his smile returning as he leaned back, “what sounds good? Because I’m definitely getting the filet.”

As the waiter returned to take their orders, Gabby decided to follow Glen's suggestion and ordered the salmon with a side of roasted vegetables. Glen, true to his word, went with the filet mignon, adding a side of garlic mashed potatoes and asparagus. Once the waiter collected the menus and left, Gabby felt the weight of Glen’s gaze on her.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft and laced with concern.

Gabby nodded, taking a sip of water to steady herself. “Yeah, I am. This is just... different.”

“Different good?” Glen pressed, tilting his head slightly, his hazel eyes studying her carefully.

She smiled shyly. “Yeah, different good. It’s just been a while since I’ve done something like this. You know, dressed up, gone to a nice restaurant. It feels… special.”

“That’s because you are,” Glen replied easily, his tone so genuine that it made her heart skip a beat.

Gabby looked down at the table, feeling her cheeks warm for what felt like the hundredth time that night. “You’re really good at this, you know,” she teased, glancing up at him through her lashes.

“At what?”

“At saying things that make me blush,” she admitted with a small laugh.

Glen leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “I just tell the truth,” he said simply, his gaze unwavering.

Gabby didn’t know how to respond to that, so she just smiled and reached for her water again.

As they waited for their food, their conversation shifted to lighter topics. Glen told her a funny story about a co-star who had accidentally spilled coffee on a director during a table read in this very restaurant. 

Their laughter came easily, the earlier tension and nerves melting away. Gabby found herself relaxing more with each passing minute, her worries about the public nature of the date fading into the background.

When their meals arrived, Gabby’s plate was beautifully arranged, the salmon perfectly seared and the vegetables vibrant and fragrant. Glen’s filet looked just as impressive, and he wasted no time cutting into it.

“Good?” Gabby asked as he took his first bite.

“Perfect,” Glen said, his expression one of pure satisfaction. “What about yours?”

Gabby took a small bite of her salmon, her eyes widening as the flavors hit her tongue. “Oh wow,” she murmured, nodding. “This is amazing.”

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes before Glen spoke again. “So, tell me something,” he said, setting his fork down and leaning back slightly.

“Okay,” Gabby said cautiously, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “What do you want to know?”

“What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do but never had the chance to?” he asked, his tone curious.

Gabby thought for a moment, chewing her bottom lip. “Hmm… I’ve always wanted to go to Italy,” she admitted. “You know, see Rome, Florence, Venice. Eat my weight in pasta and gelato.”

Glen smiled. “Italy, huh? That’s a good one. Why haven’t you gone yet?”

Gabby shrugged. “Life, I guess. Work, bills, responsibilities. It’s just never felt like the right time.”

“What if we made it the right time?” Glen suggested, his voice casual but his expression serious.

Gabby blinked, her fork hovering over her plate. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if we planned a trip? Just you and me. No work, no distractions. We could go sometime,” he said, his eyes lighting up at the idea.

Gabby’s heart raced at the thought. “Glen, that’s… that’s huge. I don’t even know if I could-”

“Then let’s figure it out,” he said with a shrug, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “I want to do this with you, Gabby. I want to experience things like that with you.”

Her breath caught at his words, and she felt a lump form in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to say something so... big, so meaningful.

“Let’s think about it,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Glen set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “Okay if you had to pick something smaller, something not as big, what would it be?”

Gabby tilted her head, considering his question. “Hmm. I’ve always wanted to go to Napa Valley,” she admitted. “You know, wine country. Touring vineyards, doing tastings, that sort of thing. It’s been on my list for a while.”

Glen’s face lit up. “Napa. I like that. Why don’t we make it happen?”

Gabby blinked at him, her fork pausing midair. “What do you mean, make it happen?”

“I mean, let’s plan a trip. We could go soon. Like, really soon. Maybe next month when I’m done filming and before I go to London?” He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Glen, you can’t just... take me to Napa.”

“Why not?” he countered, his tone playful but sincere.

“Because people don’t just go to Napa on a whim,” Gabby said, giving him an incredulous look.

“Sure, they do,” Glen replied with a smirk. “Seriously, Gabby. If you want to go, let’s do it. We’ll make it a weekend trip. Fly out Friday, come back Sunday. Easy.”

Gabby leaned back in her chair, staring at him. “You have too much money and way too much time on your hands,” she teased, trying to deflect how overwhelmed she felt by his casual offer.

“I’d argue I don’t have enough time on my hands.” Glen chuckled, leaning forward slightly. “But it’s not about that. I just want to make you happy.”

Her breath hitched at the sincerity in his voice, and she found herself momentarily speechless. There was no smirk now, no playful banter. Just Glen, looking at her like she was the most important thing in the world.

“Glen…” she started, unsure of how to respond.

He reached across the table, his hand covering hers. “I mean it, Gabby. If it’s something you want, I’ll do everything I can to make it happen. Whether it’s Napa next month or Italy next summer—or both—I want to experience those things with you.”

She swallowed hard, her heart swelling at his words. “Okay,” she said softly, her voice barely audible.

“Okay?” he repeated, his lips curving into a slow, satisfied smile.

Gabby nodded, finally letting herself relax. “Okay. Let’s start with Napa. But you have to promise me one thing.”

“Name it,” he said, his tone serious.

“No over-the-top, extravagant plans,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “I’m not flying on a private jet or staying in a ten-bedroom mansion.”

Glen chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I can agree to no mansions.”

“Good,” Gabby said, crossing her arms, feeling like she’d won. “And no private jets?”

“Only as a last resort. Promise. But,” Glen added with a smirk, “how do you feel about light aircraft?”

Her brow furrowed, suspicious of his tone. “What does that even mean?”

“Small planes,” he explained casually. “You know, two- to four-seaters. Not as fancy as a jet, but they get the job done.”

Gabby groaned, covering her face with her hands. “That might actually be worse, Glen. Aren’t those the planes that are always on the news for emergency landings?”

He laughed, clearly amused by her reaction. “Not always. Besides, it’s safer than you think. Especially if the pilot knows what they’re doing.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “And I’m supposed to trust some random pilot to get us there?”

“Well,” Glen said, his smirk growing, “if it makes you feel better, I’m not random.”

Gabby froze, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to process what he’d just said. “Wait. What? You’re a… pilot?”

“Yup,” he said, leaning forward slightly, clearly enjoying her disbelief. “I got my license a few years ago. It’s kind of a hobby. So technically, I can fly you anywhere you want.”

Her jaw dropped. “You mean to tell me that not only do you act, but you also fly planes in your free time?”

“Pretty much,” Glen said with a shrug, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Gabby groaned again, shaking her head. “This is worse. Now I have to worry about you flying planes too!”

“I’m an excellent pilot,” he assured her, his tone teasing. “I haven’t crashed yet.”

“Yet?” she repeated, glaring at him.

He laughed, reaching for her hand across the table. “Relax, Gabby. I promise, you’re in good hands. But we can stick to commercial flights for Napa, if it makes you feel better.”

“It does,” she said firmly, though a small smile tugged at her lips.

“Fair enough,” Glen said with a grin. “But one day, I’m going to take you up there. You’ll see—it’s actually pretty incredible.”

“We’ll see,” Gabby said, shaking her head, though she couldn’t help but feel a little impressed by him.

The waiter arrived to clear their plates, and as Glen reached for the bill, Gabby leaned back in her chair, feeling both exasperated and strangely charmed. Glen always found a way to surprise her, and she had a feeling that was something she’d never grow tired of.

The waiter returned with the check, setting it down with a polite smile. Glen slid it closer without hesitation, pulling a pen from his jacket pocket. Gabby watched as he signed the receipt, his movements smooth and confident.

Once he was done, Glen stood and turned toward her, extending his hand. “Ready?”

Gabby smiled and placed her hand in his. “Always,” she said softly as she rose from her seat.

The moment she stood, Glen’s other arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer to him. His warmth enveloped her, and before she could say anything, he tilted his head down and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips.

When he pulled back, his hazel eyes locked onto hers, a soft smile curving his lips. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

Gabby let out a small laugh, her cheeks heating as she looked away. “You’ve already said that tonight.”

Glen chuckled and leaned in again, brushing another kiss to her lips, this one softer but just as meaningful. “And I’m going to keep saying it until you believe it,” he whispered against her mouth.

Her heart fluttered at his words, and she couldn’t stop the smile that broke across her face. “You’re impossible,” she said, shaking her head slightly, though the affection in her voice betrayed her.

“Impossible in all the best ways,” Glen teased, his smirk widening. He slid his arm more securely around her, guiding her toward the exit of the private dining room.

Glen’s hand slid from Gabby’s waist as they exited the private dining room, but it found hers almost immediately. His grip was warm and steady, a silent reassurance as he led her through the restaurant. Gabby followed close behind, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

As they neared the exit, the hum of voices from outside grew louder, and Gabby noticed Glen’s security team already in position. Beyond them, a small crowd had formed—fans, curious onlookers, and a few photographers with cameras poised.

Glen glanced back at her, his expression softening. He let go of her hand, his touch shifting to her back as they approached the door. The cooler evening air seeped in through the edges of the entryway, and Gabby instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, shivering slightly.

Without missing a beat, Glen shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. The warmth of the fabric and the faint scent of his cologne instantly comforted her.

Gabby looked up at him, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you,” she murmured softly.

Glen gave her a small smile and leaned closer, his voice low and intimate. “I’m right here,” he whispered.

One of the security guards opened the door, and the cool air rushed in fully. Gabby took a deep breath, steeling herself as Glen’s arm returned to her waist. Together, they stepped outside.

The flash of cameras was almost immediate, and voices from the crowd rose in excitement. “Glen! Over here!” someone called out, while others greeted him warmly.

Glen offered a few polite hellos and friendly smiles, his practiced ease making it clear this wasn’t his first time seeing fans or paparazzi on the street. Yet, even as he navigated the crowd, his attention kept drifting back to Gabby. He glanced down at her every few moments, his expression protective, ensuring she was okay.

Gabby stayed close to him, her hands clutching the edges of his jacket as if it were a shield. The noise and attention were overwhelming, but Glen’s presence anchored her.

As they made their way to the car, Glen’s security team created a clear path. He moved smoothly through the crowd, his grip on Gabby firm but gentle, leading her with confidence. When they finally reached the car, Glen opened the door himself, helping her inside with a steady hand.

Once she was settled, he leaned down briefly, his voice soft. “You did great,” he said, his gaze warm and reassuring.

Gabby managed a small smile, her nerves easing slightly. Glen closed the door and moved around to the driver’s side, sliding in beside her. For the first time since stepping into the crowd, she let out a quiet breath, grateful to have him by her side.

As Glen eased the car away from the restaurant, the city lights reflecting off the windshield, he glanced over at Gabby, who was still wrapped in his jacket. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the fabric as she stared out at the passing streets.

“So,” Glen started, his voice warm and teasing, “what do you want to do next?”

Gabby turned her head, raising an eyebrow. “What do you have planned?”

He smirked, his eyes flicking back to the road. “Well, I was thinking I could take you home… if that’s what you wanted.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “And if it’s not?”

His smirk softened, and he glanced at the dashboard clock. “Then… I’ve got about four hours left in California before I have to leave.”

Gabby blinked, sitting up straighter. “You’re leaving tonight?” she asked, her voice laced with surprise. “I thought you had one more night?”

Glen’s face fell, the lightness in his expression replaced by a deep sigh. His hands tightened briefly on the steering wheel before relaxing. 

“I did,” he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “But they moved up the call time for tomorrow, so I have to head out tonight to make it to set.”

Gabby nodded slowly, processing his words. She understood—this was Glen’s life, his career. But she couldn’t help the pang of disappointment that settled in her chest. She’d been silently hoping to fall asleep in his arms, to have just one more night with him before the distance inevitably returned.

“I’m sorry,” Glen said after a moment, his voice softer. He glanced over at her, the guilt evident in his eyes. “I wanted tonight to be special for you. I wanted us to have more time.”

She gave him a small smile, her fingers still playing with the edge of his jacket. “It’s okay,” she said, even though her heart ached a little. “I get it. This is your job.”

He exhaled, his gaze flicking back to the road. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he murmured. Then, after a pause, he asked hesitantly, “Do you want to come over? For the last few hours we have?”

Gabby looked at him, the corners of her lips tugging upward. “Yeah,” she said softly, her smile growing.

Relief washed over Glen’s face, and he reached over, his hand finding her knee. His touch was warm, grounding. “Okay,” he said, giving her knee a light squeeze. “Let’s make the most of it.”

Gabby placed her hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze in return. As Glen steered the car toward his place, she felt a bittersweet warmth settle in her chest. Their time was fleeting, but she knew she’d cherish every second of it.

[420days]

CHAPTER 2

excuse any errors or mistakes

tags: @bebesobrielo @trentybenty @amandairene88 @kiki1704 @paigereeder @uceyliyahh @skyesthebomb @cyberdejos2 @chloeijuana @tian-monique

"What about this?" Simone asked Bianca as she pulled the dress out of her suitcase "I feel like this is an appropriate outfit for the interview.

Simone had landed in Tampa the night before and was currently in her hotel room trying to find something to wear to the venue where the meet and greet would take place.

"I like that. It's cute, you're not doing too much, and you still look good. Maybe you can find a boo out there too," Bianca raised her eyebrows at her.

"Girl ! I'm not here for none of that. I'm honestly more excited to see all the little kids with there merch and stuff.”

"Mmmh, I forgot you love the kids." Bianca nodded her head into the phone. "They’re gonna be so happy to see y’all.”

When they got off the phone, Simone began doing her hair, parting it down the middle and hotcombing the top so it was flat. She swooped her baby hairs and perfected her makeup.

After getting dressed, Simone arrived at the Stadium around nine-thirty, earlier than necessary but just how she liked it. She appreciated having time to settle in, get familiar with her surroundings, and find something to eat.

She instantly noticed how packed it was, with volunteers running around setting things up. Unsure of what to do or who to help, she spotted a woman walking past with a badge around her neck. The woman was dressed in a black pantsuit, matching heels, and her hair slicked into a low bun.

"Um, excuse me," Simone said, stopping her.

"Yes?" The woman gave Simone a blank look.

"I was invited here for an interview. I don't really know who I'm supposed to talk to or what I'm supposed to do."

Sighing, the woman took the clipboard from under her arm and looked up. "What's your name?"

"Simone." She slightly rolled her eyes at the woman who seemed to be uninterested.

"Oh yes! I can see your name right here on the list. Come over here so I can get you settled in." The woman waived Simone over to the backstage area.

The woman clipped a microphone pack to the back of her shirt and led her to the dressing room that was set up for her and Roman. There was all kinds of snack and drinks set up on the table so she helped herself to the fruit along with a bottle of water. As she was snacking there was a knock at the door. It was the same woman from earlier with Roman not too far behind her.

“It will probably we another 30 minutes until they’re ready for you guys but I’ll come check on you guys in a few.” She told them.

“Hey.” Simone smiled when he walked into the room.

“Hey Simone, how are you?” He spoke to her.

“Well and yourself?”

“Ah, I can’t complain. Have you been here long?” He kept the conversation going.

"Not really, I just got here and I had to walk around for a little bit to find somone that works here. They didn’t give any instructions on what to do when we got here.”

“That’s the same thing that happend to me. I was looking for you when I came in.” He told her as he sat down in the seat next to her.

“They need to give the champs better treatment.” She pursed her lips causing him to let out a laugh.

-

“She was definitely flirting with you.”

“You think so?” Roman raised an eyebrow as he opened the car door for Simone to climb inside. He hosnlty wants laying the woman any attention and thought she was unprofessional.

“Yes! She wasn’t even asking me any questions for real but that’s fine. I get it.” She held her hands up defensively.

“Oh, you get it?” He chuckled as he ran his hand over his beard and got comfortable in his seat.

“I mean yeah I’m not gonna sit here and lie like you’re not attractive but she should’ve been doing her job.” Simone giggled before pulling her hair over her shoulder.

“You’ve been blunt your whole life?” He asked her after a moment of silence passed between them. Roman knew he had to break the ice with Simone if he wanted to get to know her.

“I wouldn’t say blunt but definitely outspoken. I feel like people make normal things awkward for no reason. I’m not going to lie about someone being fine, respectfully of course. Not to be disrespectful towards your wife or anything.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m divorced.” He spoke.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Simone spoke not knowing if it was a sensitive topic for him. She went through a breakup herself last year so she knew it could be touchy.

“Don’t be, it’s all good. Are you seeing anyone?” He asked catching her off guard but she felt like she had to quickly clear it up.

“Nope. ” She shook her head and looked down at her freshly manicured nails.

“I’d love you take you out sometime and get to know you more if you’re up for it. I know we’re busy and everything.” He motioned towards their belts. “But I could make time.”

“That would be nice. I’d definitely be down for that. Would you want to take my number?” Simone smiled at him, slightly surprised that he was interested in him.

“Most definitely.” He nodded his head and took his phone out the pants pocket of his dress pants and handed it to her.

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving Part 9

Rating: SFW

Warnings: ANGST

Summary: You have a date! Not with Ghost 💀

Notes: If you feel this is out of character for you personally, valid, I just like making Ghost suffer 😌

Word count: 1,513

ao3 link

You were going on a date!

It had been some time since you’d been on one, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the man who you refused to name even in your own head. You weren’t doing this out of any petty desire to prove you were desirable; no, this was personal growth! This random man from Tinder could be your future husband, after all!

Well, that was taking it a bit too far, but at the very least, he might knock some of the spiderwebs off your headboard.

Your day had been spent preparing for your date, starting with an hour-long bath in which you shaved everything from your eyebrows down, leaving your skin smooth, polished, and buttery soft. You didn’t want to think about the cost of all the moisturiser you’d used, only how nice you smelled, as though you’d been dipped into a vat of cocoa butter. Then, it was onto makeup. Thankfully, today had been a good skin day for you, so you kept it simple, a fuckton of mascara to make your eyelashes really pop, and then another half hour tweezing your eyebrows into a perfect shape. You dithered over colours, settling with a warm lip tint, which you dabbed on your cheekbones. Already, you felt that this man would not be worth all this effort, but you did enjoy the process of making yourself look absolutely breathtaking. The outfit was the last piece of the puzzle and the hardest part. How could you find clothes that said, ‘I’m down to shag, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to put any effort in’. Jeans? Mm, no, too hard to take off while looking sexy. Little dress? Eh, too cold. Midi skirt it was. Warm and practical, and easy to hike up. Plus, it had pockets! What wasn’t to love! You paired it with a nice pair of dark heels and an off-the-shoulder top. You faffed with your hair, trying to figure out if you wanted it up or down, before just sticking a little bow clip in it and calling it a day.

Naturally, now that you were preened to perfection, Soap decided it was the best time to try and rub spiky white hairs all over your outfit, as though his essence was what was missing from the ensemble. He’d been happily snoozing the entire time you were getting ready, seemingly knowing when the exact wrong time was to start trying to fuss you. You simply did your best to pet him at arms reach, then distracted him with treats while you sat on the sofa to kill time, having gotten ready far too early for your date.

You were busy trying to figure out how you were supposed to eat crisps without ruining the outfit when you heard a knock at the door. Strange, you were meeting your date at the bar. If he’d somehow found your address online, he was getting deep heat spray to the eyes. You tucked the little canister into your skirt pocket as you went to the door, peering through the peephole.

Shit.

Why did you suddenly feel awkward about going out on a date? You had nothing to be ashamed about; you were a free agent; you could go on a thousand dates if you liked. Still, you felt uneasy opening the door to him. The chain remained off as you opened the door, your arm wrapped around your waist for comfort.

“Ghost.”

For once, he wasn’t wearing the mask. He still had the ‘definitely a civilian’ clothes on, blue jeans and a black waterproof, and even the way he stood was unquestioningly military, his arms behind his back, but without the mask, he was a little more human. And gorgeous, but you didn’t want to think about that.

“You off out somewhere?”

“Yeah, actually. Got a date.”

You watched his expression carefully, a twinge of guilt in your stomach. It wasn’t like you were anything more than friends. Weird, fucked up friends where one of them broke into the other’s house and left cats. His face didn’t change. Still perfectly neutral, his eyes dead and cold, just like you remembered them. He shifted from his stiff position, bringing forth the bouquet he’d apparently been concealing behind his back.

You’d been given a lot of bouquets over the years, some from dates, some from thankful cat parents, a lot from your girls, but this was new. Usually, a man would give you basic red roses or whatever strange mix Lidl had on sale at the doors, but these weren’t cheap supermarket flowers. They were a beautiful mix of purple tulips, some so dark they looked almost black, some soft lavender, without a single limp petal or dangling leaf. A dark purple ribbon was wrapped around their stems, holding them tightly together. Fuck. He’d really gone all out.

“Wanted to give you summat as a thank you.”

“Ghost, these.. they’re really nice. You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

You took them from him, gently inhaling their scent. Christ, did tulips smell good. Did you even own a nice vase to put them in? You’d stashed all your glass ornaments in cupboards, out of Soap’s reach. Soap. Would he know not to eat tulips? They were, after all, exceptionally poisonous to cats. And Soap was a bit of an idiot. You’d just have to keep them up on the shelf in your bedroom with the rest of your treasured possessions. Not that this was a treasured possession. You just didn’t want Soap to get sick.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

There was a moment of silence, things left unsaid, but you couldn’t exactly say what was on your mind. He’d already rejected you once before, and you weren’t made of steel. Still, you felt bad.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t-“

“Why would you be sorry? They’re just flowers. Don’t read so much into it.”

Well, that put an end to any guilt on your end.

“Right. Well, thanks for the flowers, Simon.”

He gave you a brisk nod, then turned on his heel and left without another word.

If the man had planned on putting your head in a spin before your date, he’d done a marvellous job. The flowers seemed to stare down at you mockingly from their position on the shelf high above your headboard, watching you spray perfume on yourself, decorating yourself for another man. You scowled at them as though you could singe their petals; they could watch you fuck another man for all you cared; as Ghost had said, they were just flowers. They meant nothing. Nothing that had a place of importance in your room. Ugh.

They stuck with you throughout your date. The man you met at the bar wasn’t unattractive, tall, handsome, dark-haired, and his conversation was pleasant enough, but you just couldn’t feel a spark. Was that a good thing? The sparks you felt with Ghost felt more like a taser; they’d left you fearful and uneasy, but my God, those sparks were strong. Perhaps it was better that you didn’t feel that way about your date. After all, people weren’t supposed to break into your house and then make snarky comments about your home security, nor were they supposed to reject you and then make teasing comments about how you wanted them, or give you flowers and then tell you they meant nothing. This date could have been good for you, a nice, normal man, a picket fence, 2.4 children, weekend walks in the Peak District and holidays in Benidorm.

You went home alone.

You didn’t need a date. You didn’t need a Ghost. What you did need was a therapist.

Unfortunately for you, they were expensive if you went private, and if you didn’t, you’d be stuck on a waiting list for months. Besides, you didn’t really want to confess to a therapist, ‘so I have a stalker, but we’re actually friends, so please don’t report him to the police!’. As if. You could therapise yourself. You knew what you needed to do. You needed to do what most other people in this situation would do: you needed to block his number, change your locks, and forget about him.

You stared at his number in your phone. Ghost. Stupid name. If you blocked him, he’d know he’d gotten to you. Or would he assume you’d moved on? It irritated you that he took up so much room in your thoughts. It would have served him right if you threw those flowers away. You considered it, taking them down off the shelf and holding them in your hand, imagining how it would feel to burn them, trample them underfoot, or beat him to death with them. Nope. Prick or not, the flowers were too beautiful to get rid of, and it wasn’t their fault that the person gifting them was a cunt. Back on the shelf they went.

You’d keep them just because they were beautiful, and they would wilt with your emotions for him, and then you could throw everything away.

[red-phantom-0]

New Beginings

-> Arlecchino (genshin) inspired reader ( reader is also addressed as arlecchino) aka ur basically arlecchino in this imagine

-> Jason todd wakes up in a forest , abandoned and confused as he comes to terms with his painful resurrection until he's adopted by someone named 'father' . All goes well until his adopted family finds him and wants him back.

Platonic relationship!!

Jason’s POV

Blood . Blood and the smell of burnt flesh sticks to me like a plague , it follows me like a predator and tightens its sharp fangs around me . I feel utterly hopeless and I wander around aimlessly. Trees as tall as the sky surround me and the only living creature here is myself and death himself . Twigs and leaves stick to my bare feet as I trudge through the greenage . I roamed for god’s know how long but my swollen feet carried me to a lake. I collapse onto the ground and hover above the water - and that's it

That's when I saw him. Dead green eyes stare right back at me , his skin is pale like the dead and his hair - his bloody hair had a mocking white tuff at the front . He - no I scream , filled with pain , anger , confusion , frustration . That is not me - he is not me . My once boyish innocence was robbed and replaced with more manlier features , chubby cheeks replaced for high cheekbones that could surely put any male model to shame but he looks so dead .

His eyes and his complexion are that of the dead maybe because he was supposed to be . In his screaming agony he slammed his hands into the water resulting in him recoiling , the excruciating pain practically ate him alive . He looks down at his hands and he almost vomits . His palms were covered in a deep purplish bruise that practically stung . He lets out another scream mixed with a cry , why - why must it be him ? What did he ever do to deserve such a cruel faith , a faith meant for those condemned to hell ? Maybe this is hell - his own personal living hell . He cries into the grass like a pathetic child as he recalls the distant yet agonizing memory of a bomb ticking and the overwhelming feeling of fire consuming him .

So why - when he was finally put out of his misery did nature drag him back from the depths of the abyssal darkness into this hell . He was just angry - at himself , at the world and at batman. Why must only he suffer ?

He continues crying until he hears a twig snap . Like a wounded animal , he immediately seized his movement and began looking around frantically . The air around him grew cold and quiet . His frantic eyes scanned everywhere until it landed on the figure in the distance . He watches as she approaches him with deliberate steps . He could feel his own anxiousness bubble up within him but still - he gets up , relentless in backing down now . He stalks her , shooting her a glare yet she gives away nothing wearing a blank face.

She stops at an arm length poised. Her white hair dances in the blowing wind yet her eyes - piercing black eyes with a haunting red ‘x’ for an iris - a promise of a terrifying demise . Silence envelopes them both as they observe one another . “ You’re hurt, “ she says with a deadpan tone . Anger consumes him , she is just like him - just like bloody Bruce Wayne , his so-called father , cold and unmoving as if they were above everyone else.

He snarls and lunges at her but she swiftly kicks him in his chest , her sharp heel digging into the sensitive flesh of his back. “ Let go of me you bloody wrench” he curses as he squirms - he couldn’t give up not yet , not ever - he refused to give in. “ Stand down child you are hurt “ she says and to push her point further she presses her heel further into his back. He lets out a cry but manages to grab ahold of her leg and throw her into a nearby tree.

She manages to balance herself by using her heels to ground herself . Jason , seeing this, starts running in her opposite direction . He weaves in and out of the prickling branches - not minding the way they claw into his back and face leaving behind raw marks . He huffs as he jumps over a fallen log but is cut off guard when he hears footsteps behind him . He risks a peak and no doubt - she is following after him .

He huffs - frustrated , tired and frankly done with this ordeal but he continues to dart in and out between the trees . Jason makes a move to dart behind another tree when she leaps in front of him - absolutely startling him to death . He attempts to turn around but she delivers a swift kick to his head and suddenly , he feels himself go under.

Arlecchino's POV

She watches Jason’s crumbled form laid out on the red velvet cushions of the car through the rear mirror . She has no shadow of a doubt that the young boy is a mess but that doesn’t deter the parental instinct of protecting him . This wasn’t her first time meeting a child in such a roughed up state - her orphanage is filled with them but she has never ever heard a child scream in such agony . Before all of this - she was simply driving back home - her children eagerly awaiting her return to start dinner but something in her gut told her to pull aside and investigate . It was highly irrational and utterly dangerous but she was glad she did it because when she stared at the sweet boy laying in her backseat - she knew that she had to take care of him.

It wasn’t too long after Arlecchino arrived at the house of hearth - a mansion carefully tucked away into a tall mountain , vines practically climbed on the limestone walls of the castle-like mansion and its black gates while the black roof wore crow trimmings . Arlecchino carefully manoeuvres her car around the fountain , parking the car in front of a sea of cobblestone steps . She steps out , carefully fixing her coat as a crow flew down and landed on her shoulder .

“ Inform the children that we have a new guest” she says calmly . The crow nods at her before flying off . Moments pass before Arlecchino opens the back door and carefully picks Jason up bridal style . She leaned his head into the crook of her neck and began ascending the stairs . Despite the dreary , abandoned look the House of Hearth adorned outside - the inside was filled with laughter and warmth.

As soon as she stepped into the threshold , she can hear plates and chairs being rummaged around and the sound of children laughing and talking . She ascends another flight of stairs before stopping in front of a door . She lets out a gentle hum and the door is opened by another crow , wordlessly , she enters the room and lays Jason onto the bed . The crow perches on the bed post as it eyes her tucking a blanket over him .

“ Watch over him and summon a healer to treat his wounds ….. When he wakes up please alert me immediately “ she orders . The crow croons as it watches her leave .

Jason’s POV

He grumbles as he sinks further into the warm , soft feeling under him - he feels ease for some reason and then that's when the memories of last night jolts him awake . He sits up - still groggy from sleep as he examines his area . He determines he’s in a bedroom as he observes the dark green wallpaper that covers his room , an antique wooden desk and chair is tucked away in a corner and a matching antique wardrobe and vanity sit opposite the room . The room had wide , white windows that were framed by golden curtains - this was definitely something from those dark academia books he used to read in his youth and he hates to admit it but it's all nice .

Jason examines himself - his arms and torso were wrapped in bandages and he was only dressed in grey sweats . So this wasn’t some sick concoction of his mind - all of yesterday did happen. Jason felt lost - he felt so unsure of what to make of the situation anymore , of his feelings anymore - he’s now stuck in a body that doesn’t even feel like his - nothing doesn’t feel like his anymore - he feels like a puppet just being stringed on by his cruel master .

His inner turmoil is suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door . Jason holds his breath for a moment as the door opens and the same person from last night walks in - Jason observes her , she’s dressed down in a black work shirt and black slacks but her white hair cascades down her face and he finally realizes that she has streaks of black and red peaking through , her hands were black as if they were stained with ink but something tells him it’s more to it , he observes that she wears minimal jewelry and makeup not like she needed any - the woman before him looked ethereal .

“ Good Morning “ she greets him as she sits at the edge of his bed . Jason straightens but makes no move to attack her “ My name is Arlecchino or The Knave but the children of the Hearth call me Father “ She introduced herself . Jason nods , he’s heard of the Hearth , an orphanage for children determined to have no hope or home . “ Jason Todd but I …..used to be Robin “ he trails off . Arlecchino nods . “ I figured you were a vigilante with those reflexes last night “ she says. Jason just nods .

Silence envelopes them. “ Look if you’re going to pawn me off to Batman -” but she cuts him off , “ I’m not pawning you off anywhere Jason , if you choose to stay here or go back to him that’s fine with me , all I ask is that you recover “ Arlecchino says with finality. Jason stills - he feels everything crumble around him - she’s supposed to be fighting no ? supposed to already be gutting him open and delivering him to batman or holding him hostage or hell experimenting on him . Arlecchino stares at him . “ If you are wondering why you’re not in a body bag or what not - that's because mother is no longer in charge of the hearth anymore , although I am not better person but I would not harm a child - albeit enemy or not “ Arlecchino says as she plays around with the singular ring on her hand.

Jason gives her a perplex look , he remembers back in his old Robin days - Arlecchino’s name was #4 on Gothams most wanted - her gruesome murders kept the media buzzing all month around especially when she was allegedly suspected of killing a wealthy pharmaceutical president . He eyed her wearily - she could kill him , he could run away - run away where ? Bruce thinks he’s dead - he was dead - now he's alive and suddenly all he feels is anger.

“ Jason “ Arlecchino calls out as she senses his unease . Jason glares at her . “ What do you want from me - you people resurrect me to do what threatens Batman ? He wouldn’t bloody buy into it because he is a monster that leaves children to die “ he spits out in distaste . Arlecchino looks at him . “ I didn’t resurrect you Jason , I don’t know who or why they resurrected you but I found you and I intend to take care of you until you can take care of yourself .” Arlecchino says firmly .

Jason stares at her . Moments of silence passed between them until he finally asked , “ Why ? Why care so much ?” .

“ Because that's what a good father does , he cares, “ Arlecchino explains . Those words hung heavy in the air . “ Breakfast would be served to you , you are free to explore though it is advised you rest , if you do need me ask one of the crows and I shall come to you “ Arlecchino says before walking out and closing the door to his room softly.

True to her word - food did arrive to him , by a crow , the little guy squeaked before he curled up next to Jason while he ate - he would admit it’s very Harry Potter and it shouldn’t be making him happy . Jason reminisces over Dick , Bruce and Alfred - does his family miss him ? Do they look for him ? Think about him anymore ? All questions but no answers . He munches on his sandwich as he also ponders on the earlier conservations . Does she care about him ? Why should she when he’s a nobody ?

Jason gives up but decides to take a walk . He opens the door and is greeted by a hallway , decorated in an off -white wallpaper and covered in vintage paintings . He carefully walks into the hallway , observing through the same white , wide windows that showcase the delicate greenery outside . The crow eagerly follows him , landing on his shoulder and affectionately rubs against his cheek.

Jason wandered off a bit but ultimately sat on a windowsill and admired the outside for a while - he was just contempt with being alone . He didn't know how long he’d been but the crow began to squawk at him and flew down an opposite hall . Jason follows after the crow down the hall and is introduced to a dining room . A large chandelier hung above them , the room had large open windows that let in light , there were rows and rows of tables filled with kids ranging from all ages eating lunch .

Jason awkwardly walks in . People stopped eating to wave at him or even smile , some even greeted him with a ‘ good afternoon ‘ . Jason approaches a table at the front of the room and there , Arlecchino sits at the head table enjoying a sandwich while being surrounded by a bunch of crows . , his own crow landed next to her and squawked . Arlecchino looks up from the crow , to him and beacons him over . “ Jason, come eat with me “ she invites him . Jason walked over to her and sat in the seat directly next to hers . A plate of pasta appeared before him and Arlecchino beaconed him to eat. Jason eyes it but eats it anyways and god did it taste good .

Arlecchino allows a little smile to show on her face before she resumes to her own meal . “ Jason , this is my son Lyney , Lyney this is Jason our esteemed guest “ Arlecchino introduces Jason to the boy opposite him . He flashes Jason a toothy smile and throws him a card of red 8 hearts . “ Welcome Jason it’s an honour to have you here “ Lyney says animatedly. Jason smiled and nodded . “ Likewise “ he responded.

“ So Jason, what are your plans after recovery ?” Lyney inquires . Jason stills and glances at Arlecchino’s way . “ I plan to stay here …. If that's okay with you “ he asks . Arlecchino raised her brow . “ Jason I already told you that you’re welcome to stay as long as you want “ she says with a matter of fact tone . Jason nods , “ I don’t want to be a burden to any of you “ he explains . “ You aren’t and will never be a burden to any of us “ Arlecchino says with certainty . For the first time in a long time - Jason smiles .

5 months later

Arlecchino POV

It has been five months since Jason has come into our lives , it's been a change - a good change for all of this , I watch from my office window and Jason and Lyney play football in the garden with the other boys of the orphanage - safe to say Jason has adapted to us . He’s still closed off , still a bit awkward but nevertheless doing much better than when he came here . Since the five months per his request , I’ve been looking into his resurrection and so far nothing but dead ends , I’ve heard nothing from his father - or should I say batman ? I’m not entirely sure but last week Jason approached me in my personal office and told me about his family’s vigilante life in detail .

At first I thought he was kidding about the robin thing but it turns out that batman has a habit of having multiple robins and he was one of them . I recall him crying after it thinking I’d kick him out of the hearth - being a criminal and all and the fear of him betraying me but I reassured him that I didn’t care about his parentage or his past , that I only cared about the present.

We made some progress on our relationship and he has taken to calling me ‘ dad ‘ which made me happy . I sipped on my tea as I observed the boys until a crow landed next to me . “ Mr.Wayne in front “ It croaked . I spared it a glance as worry course through me , “ Summon for Jason and order the children to their rooms , all crows on guard “ I ordered .

This leads to now - the Hearth was empty save for Jason and myself in my work office . “ Dad - I don’t know what to do, “ Jason confessed as he paced up and down . I observed him . The moment he came in my office and I overlaid the message my son has been a wreck and it breaks my heart . “ Jason , no matter what I won’t let you get in harm's way “ I reassured him . Jason looks at me for a moment before he nods . “ Okay Dad - I’ll face him". He says before sitting next to me . I nod and gesture to a nearby crow to allow Bruce Wayne in.

Jason’s POV

I watched nervously as Dad ordered the crow to let Bruce in . I was shaking , nervousness and anger course through me at the same time , for once my life has been going well since my resurrection and now - now he wants me ? Now he cares about me ? I observed Dad’s face and I could tell she’s worried and I hate worrying about her because she’s always working so hard and she's always making sure all of us are well loved and cared for . I side hugged her as I eyed the door .

“ Dad, I love you “ I confess. I could feel her freeze under my hold and then I began to feel scared because what if she doesn't want me -

“ I love you too son “ she answered back and squeezed me and I smiled at the mention of ‘son’.

The door opens and lord and behold - in walks Bruce Wayne and two other young boys. Bruce looks at me in shock and worry before he looks at Dad and gives him a nasty glare and I swear it takes everything in me to not punch him. “ Welcome , Mr.Wayne to the House of Hearth , I am The Knave, how can I help you ?” Dad says in a deadpan tone . Bruce is still glaring at her but takes a seat in the chair in front of her huge mahogany desk . The younger of the two boys looks around with a snare while the other just stares ahead in boredom.

“ Let’s get to the chase shall we Knave ? You have my son and I want him back “ Bruce states matter of factly. I growl in anger - Now I'm his son ? I release my hands from hugging dad , ready to punch him but dad places her hand on my shoulder . “ Mr.Wayne , while I do agree that he is your legal son , I found him abandoned and lost in a forest and likewise as a parent myself I took him in “ Father said in a deadpan tone . “ According to the house’s clinic reports Mr.Wayne , Jason Todd was found with third degree burn mark on his palms , a concussion and a fractured rib and severely underfed “ father continues . Bruce shoots her a glare . “ Given your track record Knave , I won’t put it past you for inflicting those onto my son “ Bruce says with a glare . I seethe in my seat . “ You bastard, how dare you accuse my father of abusing me -” I shouted angrily .

The younger of the two boys growled at me , “ Are you stupid ? You are being held hostage by a wanted criminal and you want us to believe she wouldn’t hurt you ?” he questioned . His father gave him a look but made no move to correct him. Dad rubs my back and I look at her - scared because I feel like I’m being taken away from her - from my own family and I begin to feel like the same hopeless broken little boy she found in that forest. I want to beg her - beg her to just take all of us away to a far away land where we can all be happy and together but I know it’s not gonna happen - Bruce will not let it happen.

“ Putting aside our opinions , It is purely up to Jason on what he wants and wishes “ Dad says with finality. Bruce pursues his lips at that . “ I want to stay here with you Dad “ I say as I hug her . She hugs me back and runs her hand through my hair - attempting to soothe me . “ My son has made his decision; you may now leave “ Dad says . Bruce angrily slammed his hands on the table . “ Stop manipulating my son you - wench “ he curses out he says angrily . I let go from hugging dad and immediately slap Bruce , “ Don’t you ever fucking cuss my dad you piece of shit “ I say angrily . Bruce looks at me - really looks at me and I can see the anger brewing inside , threatening to spill over . “ Jason, if you don’t come home I won’t hesitate to lock her in Arkam’s Asylum. “ he threatens . The other two boys next to him nod in agreement - and finally I realized their plan - we were outnumbered and I won’t let Dad go there of all places - I need her , we all need her here . I sigh and look at Dad . “ Son don’t do this I don’t care what happens to me but I can get you and the other’s somewhere safe -” Dad starts but I cut her off , “ No dad - I can’t bear to know you get arrested and tortured in there because of me “ I say , somber . Dad shakes her head , “ It’s my job to keep you safe Jason -” she starts but I just embrace her for the last time - my mind already made up , “ Da I love you , goodbye “ I say as tears run down my face . Dad embraces me back “ I love you too and I will see you soon son “ she says softly , her voice laced in vulnerability . Before I knew it - I was ripped out of her arms and was being dragged down the halls by Bruce .

Dad chased after me but the younger boy threw a smoke bomb at her and then we vanished.

[eggcompany]

Older Viktor x Younger Jayce AU (continued from ask)

Viktor's a well known professor. He graded harsh, he gave long speeches with no slides or notes, and he expected nothing but the best from his students. He wanted commitment in full from students, and he gave it back just the same. He allowed tests to be taken early, things to be turned in late, he gave people leeway when circumstances called for it.

Jayce is a TA, he's working towards his doctorate in mechanical engineering. Everyone loves him. He's tall, strong, handsome, often worked out outside, strutting around in tiny tanktops and tight short shorts. And he was kind, offering a helping hand to anyone who needed it, making little things in the school forge to help make the campus better.

When Jayce met Prof. Viktor he was head over heels. The professor had been talk to some students in the cafe, chatting animatedly about stem cell research that could one day save thousands, including himself. Jayce hung on every word, paying attention, watching the older man speak with such passion. It was so hot.

Jayce started hanging around his office, chatting with him, acting like it was an accident. He learned that Viktor liked hot cocoa and black tea, he liked punk and emo music, he kept a space heater tucked under his desk because he often got cold, he liked nice outfits and being clean. Jayce memorized everything he could.

Then he started to ease his way into the professors life. Bringing him a hot drink, sprinting across campus so the tea stays hot. He sat with Viktor when he graded papers, just sharing a space with him.

Then one night, it was late, so late, and Viktor was in pain and Jayce was exhausted from working for hours in the forge that morning trying to perfect his latest model. Jayce didn't know what he was doing when he ended up standing behind Viktor's plush office chair, looking at his long hair, loose and flowing around his shoulders. And then Viktor was saying something and Jayce couldn't tear his eyes away from his pale lips.

Then he was leaning down and pressing their lips together. Jayce yanked himself back when a cold, nimble hand cupped his cheek. The frigidness spark realization in him, what he was doing.

"I'm sor-" Jayce started but Viktor was standing up, getting his cane under him. He moved towards the door as he spoke.

"Walk me home, Jayce."

Next thing Jayce knew he was nude in the professors house, not in a sexy way either. He was helping the older man into the bathtub, following him into the hot water. He didn't know... he didn't know something could feel so intimate without being sex. Then he was being ushered into a enormous soft bed, wearing just his boxers from the day, thankfully having changed the after showering after the forge. He fell asleep within minutes, the slender professor wrapping around his back, making him a little spoon.

Soon enough Jayce was having sex with the professor. Sweet pet names flowing from his mouth as Jayce bent over his desk, knelt at his feet. 'Oh puppy how obedient' 'Lovely, you cum so fast when you're excited.' 'Pet, why don't you just sit there and look pretty, hm?'

Jayce liked it. Liked being Professor Viktor's pet. His puppy. He liked pressing his slacks and making sure his hair was perfect and his glasses were clean and his shoes shined before kneeling there in the professor's office. He liked knowing Viktor was looking at him. He liked going home to his big penthouse apartment and being shoved around while Viktor took charge.

He loved not being Jayce Talis, Handsome and Strong, Bachelor. He loved being Viktor's puppy, nothing more.

[impossible-rat-babies]

eyrie in heels is like. they look nice bud but you’re pushing 6 foot when you wear them

[arsenicflame]

steddyhands modern au inspired by this post:

(1828 words, themes of kink but nothing explicit, established blackhands & gentlebeard-centric. Happy Pride!)

Stede picks up leatherworking in the wake of his divorce. He's not exactly sure how it ended up being such an important hobby for him, only that he had always admired the intricate designs on his horse's best bridles, and with little else to do with his time, he decides to give it a go.

It's rocky going at first, but he's having fun working with his hands for the first time in his life, and there's a sense of satisfaction in seeing the design come to life as he works. With practice, his skills improve, and he learns how to make things that are truly one of a kind.

He starts off posting his pieces online, as a way to reach fellow enthusiasts, but quickly finds himself with a rather large audience. Stede’s style is unique, and, after many requests from his followers, Lucius encourages him to make some more basic pieces he can sell. It's not about making money for Stede, but another way to meet new people who share his interests- as Lucius keeps telling him, it's sad that his personal assistant is the main person he talks to these days. 

So Stede sets out on a new adventure, and has quite the time designing a new range of patterns for the market. He makes purses, belts, bracelets, and, most importantly, dog collars- all still with his unique designs embossed into them, of course. He rents a booth at his towns monthly craft fair, and very quickly finds himself with a new group of friends in the other regulars- Pete, his usual neighbour, who sells an array of wooden figures he carves, Roach, who runs a stand for his bakery, and Frenchie, who isn't actually a stallholder, but is almost always busking near his friend Wee John’s stand of knitted goods, bringing life to the market even in the pouring rain. There's also Buttons, another regular at the market. Nobody is exactly sure what he does there- he doesn't sell things, or seem to buy anything either, but rain or shine, he's there with the birds.

Stede’s been doing this a few months by the time June rolls around. As he's setting up his stand, he notices that the area is much busier than it’d normally be at this time of morning. Lucius, who got roped into helping run Stede’s stall somewhere down the line (despite his protests that this is not what personal assistant means… But hey, he got a boyfriend out of it, at least), reminds him that there's the parade today, too- not realising that Stede had no clue there was a parade today, and especially not that it was pride. Stede immediately jumps to fretting about the amount of stock he’s brought, and Lucius takes the cue to escape, saying he’ll go and grab them coffee (but really, he's off to flirt with Pete)

Lucius is still missing when Ed stumbles across the little leather stall. Stede’s just ran back to his car to fetch his last boxes of inventory, and by the time he returns, Ed’s already begun to narrow down his choices. Stede greets him, starting to tell him that they're not actually open yet, but before he gets more than a couple of words out, Ed’s exclaiming “You're a Kiwi!!!”

The two of them smile at the shared recognition, and Stede says he’ll make an exception, just for Ed, and asks him what exactly he was interested in. Ed tells him that he's looking for a collar “for his boy”, and points out the particular design he was looking at. It happens to be one of Stede’s favourites from this latest run of work, a fact he mentions to Ed. It leads them into a discussion about Stede’s craft, and Ed’s Izzy, and then everything in between. Ed’s listening intently to the things Stede’s telling him, completely drawn in by the process, and by Stede himself. He watches as Stede stamps Izzy's name into the collar, and Stede even lets him have a go at one of the stamps. 

Lucius reappears sometime in the middle of this- only to immediately retreat again, seeing Stede engrossed with Ed. He sets up camp at Pete's booth opposite, watching this man flirt intensely with his boss- and Stede flirt back just as hard. Does Stede even realise he’s doing it? Lucius had known Stede was gay since before Stede even admitted it to himself, but this is on a whole other level.

The pair stand there so long that Izzy comes to look for Ed- the two of them are manning a float on the parade with their crew, and it's past time for them to get geared up. He's already worked up, frustrated to have been left to set up everything alone, when Ed had just gone to see if he could get them both coffee. So maybe he's a bit of a prick, approaching with a brash “where the fuck have you been, Edward”, to which Stede brings the same energy, giving a bitchy “Ed! Do you know this guy?” Izzy tenses, ready to snap, but then Ed cuts in, excitedly telling Stede that this is “his Izzy!” Which confuses the hell out of Stede. 

Forgetting his earlier attitude, he asks Ed if he “really named his dog after his friend”, only to be met with confusion right back from Ed at where the hell Stede got the idea he had a dog from. Stede gestures at the bag with the collar in it, to which Ed has to tell him, “oh, no, that's for him.” Ed tells Stede that they're here to run a float for their local leather society, and while Stede is certainly shocked by what Ed’s saying, he's not finding himself… uninterested. It's simply that he’s never even considered any of this before, especially not that people would use the things that he made for this, but Ed sounds so enthusiastic about it all. He tells him about how his friends would love to see Stede’s work, about how classic leather gear is always so fucking boring- but not Stede’s stuff, no, Stede’s stuff is “fresh” and “fascinating” and unlike anything Ed’s ever seen before. 

Ed's enthusiasm is incredibly infectious, so when he invites Stede to come back to see their float, he readily agrees. It’s a concept Izzy’s less than enthusiastic about. He doesn’t really want to bring this man who’s dressed like he just walked out of a HOA board meeting to their kinky little corner of the world, but he is having a lot of fun watching Stede squirm, so decides not to raise a protest. He does demand he gets his long-overdue coffee first, though (Stede pays for it- as “compensation for him distracting Ed from his job”, he says, not giving Izzy a second to process before he's tapping his card)

By the time they return to the float, Fang, Ivan & Jim are waiting for them, all already geared up. Stede is stunned silent at the sight for about 5 seconds, before he starts actually looking at the quality of Jim’s harness, and proceeds to go off about the poor quality of the craftsmanship, about how the hardware is tacky and completely the wrong choice with this leather, how his “ten year old daughter could do a better job!!!” 

There's complete silence from the group, until Izzy, of all people, bursts into laughter at Stede’s audacity (and, the fact he was staring at Jim's tits completely unabashedly, like he hadn't even noticed them in the first place). Izzy's laughter sets Ed off as he tells the group about Stede’s misunderstanding- “you didn't say he was a person!” “I mean, he's my dog”- and soon everyone's having a friendly giggle at Stede’s mistake.

It's somewhere in the middle of the retelling that Ed remembers that this whole thing happened because he was buying Izzy a gift. After a moments fumbling, he presents Izzy with the collar-  It's a rich, deep black, embossed with a rolling pattern that resembles waves. It’s made from a firm enough leather to take the tooling, and to remind Izzy that he’s owned while he’s wearing it, yet still soft enough for long term comfort. Izzy's eyes immediately lock on to it, an unreadable expression coming over his face, and Ed turns it; first so he can really see the design and Izzy’s name embossed into it, and then so he can see the small “Ed ♥” on the inside of the collar, right over his swallow tattoo. 

“I did the heart,” Ed says to him softly, intended only for Izzy’s ears. Izzy's eyes flick up to Ed’s, and he raises his chin to give Ed the room to put it on. Ed buckles the collar around his neck almost reverently, a test of the tightness turning into a caress of Izzy's neck. It's a perfect fit.

It's as though something comes over Izzy; so twitchy and abrasive earlier, now silent, staring at Ed with a look akin to worship in his eyes. He obediently tilts his head for a kiss as Ed's fingers move to his chin- It's a sight to behold, and one that has Stede intrigued. He wants to know more about this lifestyle, and these men in particular. He wants to be the one to put that expression on Izzy's face.

The moment breaks as Ed and Izzy pull apart, and Ed calls for the crew to finish the last bits of set up. Izzy shakes himself a little before running off to bark orders again, but even still, there remains a softness to him that wasn't there before. 

Ed turns back to Stede with an apologetic smile, already obvious that he has to get going. Before he can speak, however, Stede jumps in -“My business numbers on the card in the box… I'll be around all day”- Ed’s smile turns more genuine at that, promising to stop by if he gets a moment, and that he’ll send his friend's Stede’s way- “if he wants that kind of business.” Stede says that he does, actually- that he's seen a whole new world already today, and, while he was a little taken aback at first, he can feel the passion Ed and his friends have for this life. If there's one thing that's ever mattered to Stede, it's other people's enthusiasm. Maybe he doesn't completely understand yet, but he would like to try.

One year later, Stede’s back at the market on pride weekend again, far better stocked for the crowds this time around. Lucius is finally free to spend the day flirting with Fang & Pete to his heart's content, now that Stede’s roped his own boyfriends into helping him run the stall- and into modelling the merchandise. Ed loves that part, while Izzy needs a lot more convincing, but the puppy eyes Stede & Ed weaponise against him make a very good argument.