#devil in plain sight

[ninjasylveon]

Have some blorbo art to break up the artfight posts! Did a short ref sheet for Glory and the disguise she'll be using for the next town we'll be going to, where she will pretending to be an elf bodyguard by the name of Rose! Because of that, Glory took A LOT of inspiration from cool, tough, adventures and people she knows such as having a similar belt clasp, cape, and earing as Hope, boots similar to Optimal, and having her cool magic goggles on her forehead similar to Draper :3c

[awesomecooperlove]

SATANISM, HUMAN TRAFFICKING AND MUCH MORE

🕳️🕳️🕳️

[arttrampbelle]

Shang tsung doesn't need to be a "good guy" to be sympathetic or do nice or "good" deeds.

Y'all should understand that not everyone needs to be a hero to be redeemed.

That's some bullshit propaganda that y'all tend to fall for.

It's like that feeling of "if you pray to jesus,all you're sins in OUR eyes will be forgiven" type indoctrinated shit. Like no shade thrown,even as someone who is spiritual myself. I find people thinking that a villain in a story should become a hero in order to be redeemed,kinda suspicious.

Shang tsung,to me,has ALWAYS BEEN NUANCED. And already had benevolent qualities and traits. Y'all just only see one damn part of it because the writers suck at showing them properly.

Not to mention if a character isn't obnoxiously nice or mean,y'all don't pay attention to them.

It's like most of mk fans I've noticed,at least as of late. Feels like I'm talking to 3yr olds in media literacy.

So no. Shang tsung needs to be a NEUTRAL CHARACTER. not good,not evil,just self serving and even quite helpful as a tournament master as he is supposed to fucking be.

He is supposed to be that "keep your friends close,keep you enemies closer" type. He is the "the enemy of my enemies are my friends" type. He's scary intelligent,cunning,a master martial artist,a brilliant alchemist,and one badass mofo you do not wanna cross.

But most of all,he is courteous,a gracious host on his island,and his punishments are as great as his rewards. He does keep his end of the bargain,but he also gets compensation.

If anything you need to worry about earthrealms warriors more than him. Half of them now(due to piss poor writing) are hiding behind heroic deeds and false statements of peace yet they have unclean hands too.

With Shang tsung you know what you are dealing with,it's on the table. If you cant read the obvious,you are indeed a foolish one.

No matter what iteration of shang tsung you have. One thing is clear,made clear,and that is when you deal with him. You deal with the devil so to speak.

So if you're not smart nor prepared. That's on your ass honey. Not his. Do not blame him for your stupidity.

But if you know how to play the game,play chess with the serpent. And know these archetypes. Then you may have a better shot. But that's all on you.

Either way,in your favor or not. Do not blame him for telling you exactly what is needed to be said,not what you wanna hear. Honeyed words or not,there's always a sliver of truth and bitter pill of truth in his words. And he's good at making either people hate his guts or bow and worship him.

THAT IS WHY HE'S DANGEROUS. not because of magic,or experiments and other trival bullshit.

Nah.

It's because shang tsung is good at talking. Good at trades and making you believe whatever is what he wants you to see.

Even if it may go against him. He wants you to fuck up,get angry at him,attack,be unbalanced,so he can fuck your shit right up!

Holy shit this mans whole ass moveset is zoning and keeping you in a certain place in the stage even!

It's part of his whole damb character.

I could go on and on. But do not blame to serpent for telling you information for questions you ask him. You're the one who chose to bite his apple of enlightenment and knowledge so to speak.

Which is why the gods,titans,etc want these kombatants,warriors to be stupid. So they are easy to control,to get what they want.

Like it's glaringly obvious that mortal kombats story has these type of tropes and symbolism in it. But people are too blind,for various reasons. To see it.

I could get deep. It's a videogame,i know. It is what it is.

But the more i look at mk12/mk1 shang tsung. The more i feel its a missed opportunity to showcase these themes better for him.

Like holy shit dude. Shang tsung pointing out the hypocrisy of the gods. And whispers in our earthrealm warriors ears. And maybe convincing a few to join his side. Or even better. Our heroes,kung lao and mortal raiden to question liu kang and not blindly follow like fucking idiots. Sure just trust this dude right? Bruh.

Shang tsung is the only one with a brain once again. And i hate them making everyone else so stupid to make him seem better in the shithole plot of theirs. If you can call it a plot.

It burns me,that it's a waste of potential.

But i digress.

Anyways. Shang tsung,way more than an evil conjurer of tricks my dudes. Waaaaaay fucking more.

[askafton85]

You smell horrible, please take some deodorant!

I… hello? Who are you. You don’t know how I smell.

and for you’re information, I smell like roses.

[elysian-fawn]

not shifting related in the slightest & SLIGHT CSM SPOILERS FOR PART 2 buuuuut ,,

csm 198 . . . fujimoto you actual fucking goat ૮꒰ྀི ́ඉ .̫ ඉ ꒱ྀིა literally have never ever ever seen one ( 1 ) person even post a crack theory in the almost three years of fami's existence in pt2 ugggghhhgghghghg i love you chainsaw man

currently on phase three of the cycle ,,,, literally abt to reread pt2 with this newfound knowledge like UGGHHHHHH MY GOAT ISN'T WASHED I KNEWWW MY FAITH WAS PUT IN GOOD HANDS .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·.

[bywons]

DIE FOR YOU 𖥔 psh

𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐕𝐈， 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇

❪ 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐄 ❫ ｡ 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗋𝖽!𝗉𝗌𝗁 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 1340────── fluff 𝗋𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 ✿‎ kissing 贅沢 𖥔

RB & FDBKS ◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ FOR KISSES

“who is it?” sunghoon shouts again, only to be met with silence.

the bell rings for the fourth time this day, leaving sunghoon confused in his kitchen, with a cold black coffee in his hand.

sunghoon doesn’t have much visitors, not anymore when he decided to leave the job, wash his hands from this overlooked burden on his shoulders. and yet he would catch specks of blood on him, not completely gone, still howling at him to come back.

he places the chipped black mug down on the counter, its cold contents sloshing dully against porcelain. the caffeine never worked anymore—not since the last assignment. not since the last bullet, the last betrayal.

the bell rings again, pulling a curse out of sunghoon under his breath.

“seriously?” he sighs to himself, thinking that it’s probably those naughty kids around the block, ding dong ditching random people, and so he just returns to his worn down couch and plops down on it.

ring. a fifth time.

“oh my god,” sunghoon gets up from the couch with a irritated frown, rushing towards the door, although he is used to open it for ghosts.

sunghoon yanks the door open with the kind of irritated force that suggests he’s ready to yell at a neighborhood kid—

but the words die in his throat.

his breath catches mid-exhale.

time halts.

because there you are.

soaked from head to toe in a thin, once-luxurious silk gown now clinging to your trembling frame. mascara smudged like bruises under your eyes. your hair—a carefully constructed crown of wedding curls—ruined by the rain and wind, clinging to your cheeks, your temples. a cut on your heel where you must’ve ran barefoot.

you’re breathing like you just outran the devil.

and maybe you did.

his breath leaves him like a punch to the chest.

“…you,” he breathes, as if your name has been locked behind his teeth for too long.

you look up at him with red-rimmed eyes, chest rising and falling erratically. “i didn’t know where else to go,” you whisper. “i didn’t want to go anywhere else.”

sunghoon doesn’t move. his fingers tighten around the doorframe, knuckles white, disbelief flickering through his features. you watch his throat bob as he swallows, gaze dragging across your ruined wedding gown, the slight bruise on your ankle, the cut near your heel.

“you look…” he pauses, voice uneven. “you look like you ran through hell.”

“i did,” you rasp, stepping forward, voice trembling. “right after i said no.”

his breath stutters.

you shift. “i ran away, hoon. from him. from all of it.”

“i thought you chose him,” he says, and the words cut through the quiet like a blade. “i thought you wanted that life.”

you shake your head. “i thought i did too. until i found out what he really was. a trafficker. a liar. everything you tried to protect me from.” a beat. “you were right.”

sunghoon exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair as if to ground himself. “you came back.”

“i never stopped thinking about you,” you whisper. “you think i forgot? the nights we spent hiding in plain sight, you holding your breath so no one would see us touching fingers under the table? i loved you, sunghoon.”

his name from your lips again—it’s a wound reopening. and you see it in the way his lips part, eyes shining with disbelief.

and so he drowns in it as well, all these nights of silent prayers to anybody in this universe listening to him, to bring you back to him, so he could hold you and kiss you again— it’s a miracle he really manifested.

“i thought you didn’t want me anymore,” you add, your voice cracking. “i thought you left for good.”

“i left so you’d be safe,” he growls, stepping forward. “you were never supposed to come back to this world.”

“well, I did,” you reply, lip quivering, eyes locked onto his. “and i’m not safe. not without you.”

and in that moment, something shifts.

he doesn’t speak.

he doesn’t warn you.

he just closes the door behind you with a soft click, and then he’s in front of you—warm and solid, eyes burning like storm-lit skies.

his hand cups your jaw, thumb swiping at the wet streak down your cheek, and when you lean into it, something inside him snaps.

“i shouldn’t do this,” he whispers.

the kiss he gives you is nothing like the last one you remember.

this one is wild. possessive. grieving.

you gasp against his lips, arms winding around his neck instinctively. he groans low in his throat as your bodies collide, heat blooming where the rain had only moments ago touched your skin. his other hand slides down your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left—until every regret, every unspoken word, melts into this collision of lips, teeth, and breathless longing.

the kiss is everything left unsaid. a thousand what-ifs poured into one breathless exchange.

he tastes like coffee and anger and regret. you taste like rain and ruin and hope.

when he pulls away, barely, your foreheads press together, breaths mingling between you.

“tell me this is real,” he murmurs between kisses, foreheads pressed together. “tell me i’m not dreaming again.”

“you’re not,” you whisper, kissing him again, slower this time, savoring the moment. “but we don’t have time. he’ll come looking. i need you to run with me, sunghoon.”

he stares at you.

and for a second, you see the soldier again. the protector. the man who once vowed to guard your life with his own.

“alright,” he says finally, voice rough. “pack light. i still know a place they can’t find us.”

you nod, tears of relief springing to your lashes.

he looks at you then—so full of emotion, like he’s memorizing every inch of your face. And you swear you see it again:

that same look he gave you the night before he vanished from your life.

the look of someone who wanted to stay, but loved you too much to do so.

now he’s choosing you.

he presses one last kiss to your cheekbone, slower, softer—then disappears into the back room with quick, silent steps. you stand in the doorway, dress clinging to your damp skin, breath catching in your chest as you watch the man you once lost move like muscle memory, like instinct never truly left him.

you press a hand to your lips, swollen and tingling from his.

and then— a sound.

low. distant. tires on gravel.

your heart stutters.

you turn your head just as beams of light—white, clinical, searching—slice through the trees beyond the window.

your breath stops.

a car. maybe more.

the rain has softened now, just enough for the faint growl of an engine to bleed into the silence like a warning note dragged across a string.

you don’t need to see it fully to understand.

they found you.

sunghoon returns, almost on cue, a black duffel slung over one shoulder and a gun in his hand—sleek, matte, quiet.

you flinch at the sight of it. it’s the final line he’s now willing to cross. again.

his jaw is tight, his eyes sharper than you remember. focused. lethal.

he doesn’t speak as he peers through the edge of the curtain. doesn’t blink as he steps silently to check the back exit, his every movement fluid, trained, automatic.

your chest tightens with every beat.

the cabin is small. the kind that creaks in places, holds secrets in floorboards, memories in walls. but now, under the low hum of approaching danger—it feels like a glass box.

trapped. exposed.

“i should’ve never dragged you into this,” you whisper, barely audible. but he hears.

he stops, turns toward you.

and the look in his eyes—god, it’s not regret. it’s conviction.

like he’s never been more certain of anything.

he strides to you in three swift steps and presses the gun gently into your trembling hands.

“stay behind me,” he says, quiet but firm. “no matter what happens.”

스루 ܃ don’t ask, i had this bodyguard hoon idea for quite a while now. couldn’t sleep so well last night, so i thought of writing a short drabble out of the idea TT if it does well, maybe i will release a full oneshot or a series on this ! hope you enjoy this 💌

© bywons, 2025 div ctto —taglist open ! nets. @/k-labels @kflixnet @k-films

[lay-z]

sugar plum promises | 2

SYNOPSIS: SIMON RILEY, WHO DISCOVERS (AND ACCEPTS) THAT HE HAS A RAGING MOMMY KINK, MUCH THANKS TO YOU.

PAIRING: SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY x CURVY!FEM!READER

WARNINGS/INFO: 18+ | Mommy kink; VIRGIN!SIMON; some physical descriptions of Reader; smut; dom/sub dynamics; cussing; strangers to lovers

➥ BASED ON THIS BLURB × | [ SPP MASTERLIST ]

Simon feels like he’s going to piss himself.

He has been standing in front of his bathroom mirror, eyeing his rugged appearance with great annoyance for the past twenty-five minutes, taking in the sight of his damp and obviously outgrown undercut, the loose and messy dark blonde strands atop the crown of his head, along with his stubbled, scarred chin—and he wonders why the bloody hell he’s even bothering so much.

Taking a deep, shaky breath while his tawny eyes flicker over his reflection once more, he runs a hand through his hair and gives up, reaching for his skull balaclava. Then, Simon looks down at himself once more, checking the dark jeans and grey T-shirt he’s randomly plucked from his meagre wardrobe for any stains, and it’s then he decides that if you didn’t mind chatting him up in cargos and combat boots earlier, you won’t mind this plain arse outfit, either.

It’s 6:46 PM. You texted him dinner will be ready at seven.

He’s nervous, though he really shouldn’t be. It’s something he hasn’t experienced since—he can’t really remember. Since getting his Jump Wings at 19, maybe.

His mind is all over the place, and he can’t quite explain this feeling of excitement and anxiety bubbling in his stomach like toxic waste. His muscles are tight, his fingers fidgeting more than usual without his trademark gloves on.

“Get your damn self together,” he mutters, running a hand over his clothed face. He locks his front door behind himself and tucks his keys into his pocket securely. “She’s just a woman, not the bloody devil incarnate.” Though perhaps you are a siren, at the very least.

He can’t believe he’s actually doing this—first, texting your number and now, walking over to your place, though only after checking and scoping out the address you’d given him on Google maps. Just to be sure.

It’s not too far from his own apartment complex, which explains why you ended up bumping into him at the supermarket that he frequents when he must.

Eventually, Simon finds himself standing in front of a small, but neat town house; his sharp eyes staring owlishly from behind his balaclava as he observes the illuminated windows. He’s been standing in the shadows across your street for a good ten minutes, but so far, he hasn’t quite gathered the courage to just bloody walk over there and knock on your door.

Finally, he decides that he’s being a complete tosser by standing here and letting his thoughts get ahead of himself, and he finally pushes off the brick wall with one last drag of his cigarette before he flicks the bud onto the pavement as he crosses the street to your front door.

It’s 7:18 PM when he gives the door two solid knocks, heart thudding against his ribcage.

The dull sound of keys unlocking the door can be heard on the other side before warm light floods from your hallway onto the porch as the solid oakwood door opens like the gates to Valhalla, granting him view of yourself—cosy yet elegant, wearing a plain beige apron with colorful wildflowers stitched onto the fabric and a genuine smile plastered on your pretty face.

The sight alone is enough to cause his breath to catch in his dry throat as he finds himself face-to-face with you again, and a wave of adrenaline rushes through his veins, mixed with a sharp jolt of arousal at the sight of you in that cinched apron and bare feet, rocking a snug pair of light grey sweatpants and a Henley shirt with its sleeves rolled up.

He hates to admit to himself that he is swooning already. Even casual like this, you look every bit a goddess to him since he first laid eyes on you at the supermarket, like every bloody wet dream he’s ever had since his youth and everything he’s ever secretly yearned for.

Simon clears his throat, hoping like hell you didn’t notice how his pupils have dilated when your gaze first locked with his or how his hands are balled into tight fists at his sides like he’s ready to stand at attention.

“Evenin’,” he finally grunts, his gaze flickering over the hallway inside your house before slowly returning to your face, trying to decipher your reaction to him.

He can feel his fingers shaking as he shoves his hands into his pockets, a feeble attempt to remain cool and collected on the outside while he’s falling apart on the inside—suddenly self-conscious and all too desperate to not mess this up.

“Good evening, love.” Your honeyed greeting rolls off your tongue like velvet, and you’re grinning as if you’re well aware of your damn effect on him.

Leaning against the door frame, you give him an easy once-over, deciding that albeit being late, he did clean up nicely.

“Why are you still hiding, handsome?” you ask bluntly, arching one eyebrow and cocking your hip out while making a loose gesture at the balaclava covering his face. “Been wondering why you’re wearing it, actually.”

The fact that you’re calling him handsome so casually makes his knees weak, the balaclava suddenly too hot, too tight, and too itchy on his face as his cheeks start to burn.

He’s been called many things in his life: Tough, scary, deadly, stoic—handsome, though, is a bloody first, and Simon swallows audibly, his gaze locked onto your beautiful face.

For a second, he’s tempted to just rip his trusted mask off, but he hesitates. Revealing himself to you, after only having known you for barely a day, feels like a violation in its own way.

“To hide my face,” he answers eventually, mentally smacking himself. It usually sounds less cringy whenever he’d given this exact answer in the past. “Uh, personal reasons. Work.” He clears his throat, shifting on his feet. Bloody fucking hell.

“You’re... ah–” he begins, trying to find the goddamn words in this thick mess of a brain, “not weirded out?” A slight furrow forms between your eyebrows at his question, and he quickly adds: “by it. The mask, I mean.” He points at his covered face, feeling like an utter numpty.

However, if nothing else, your expression shows curiosity and open acceptance, rather than the aversion or immediate discomfort he always experiences, and when you simply give him a slight shake of your head, he exhales a slow breath of relief.

“Should I be weirded out?” You blink up at him with bright doe-eyes, fluttering your lashes at him and Simon feels his cock twitch in his pants.

He can’t help the huff of a laugh escaping him, his wide shoulders slumping a bit as he shakes his head in defeat. Of course, you’re not weirded out. That was clear the moment you’d decided to acknowledge him today. Nothing seems to keep you from being so brutally straight forward. It’s both as admirable as it is unnerving to him.

“Most people are,” he admits, shifting on his feet as his blood begins pooling dangerously low. “Been told I look like I’m plannin’ a bloody robbery most days.” He tries with the barest hint of a joke, and he nearly winces as soon as the words leave his daft mouth.

Your eyes twinkle with mirth and glee as you regard him. All awkward and obviously out of his depth, yet brave enough to battle his deep-rooted distrust by picking up his phone to text you and then showing up on your doorstep tonight.

Already so obedient, this one.

A sugary smile tugs on your lips. “Well, if you do end up robbing me, it’s been my own fault,” you quip dryly, straightening up to invite him inside. “Why don’t you come inside–” You pause, gazing up at him expectantly.

Your playfulness nearly manages to distract him from the fact that you want his name.

His heart flutters in his chest like a bird ready to take flight, beating way too quick, too hard, and Simon feels like a complete tosser once more for not giving you his name sooner. You’re just being nice to him, he tries to remind himself. This is your bloody nature, nothing more.

“Simon,” he tells you after a moment of hesitance, his voice barely above a low rumble. “My name’s Simon.” He takes a heavy step over the threshold into your hallway, glancing briefly over his shoulder. “You’re not afraid, then? Invitin’ a bloody stranger like me into yer house?”

Closing the front door behind him, you purposely leave it unlocked despite your habit to lock it immediately, sensing that you’re the one with the upper hand here—and the responsibility to make him feel comfortable, at ease. It’s an exhilarating feeling.

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Simon?” You’re chuckling as you squeeze past him to take front; leading him towards the kitchen like an unleashed dog while your hand is already itching to put a proper collar on him.

“Adventure?” Simon repeats, dark eyes fixed on the curves of your back and hips as you walk while he follows you like he’s under some sort of odd spell.

He’s hyper aware of every sense, every little detail while he follows you through your home, your safe space, and Simon is so damn tense, he fears he might pull a muscle with how hard he’s clenching; a part of his mind that he cannot ever shut off going into battle mode the moment he steps into the entry hall, mapping out everything in his brain—from the locks on the front door to the size and structure of your hallway and possible escape routes.

“I do have sense of adventure,” his gruff voice rumbles, slightly muffled by his mask. “Just a healthy amount of caution to go with tha’... unlike you.” He quips dryly—and regrets it immediately.

His gaze briefly flickers over the walls, taking in the few pieces of art and the neat interior, personal bits and bobs, and family portraits. Everything in this house screams cozy and proper, and it’s a crass contrast to his own sparse flat.

“Right,” you giggle, amused by his attitude. “Well, Simon, I do hope you’re hungry and not a picky eater.”

As you approach the oven, you peek inside at the rosemary chicken and veggies that have been roasting for a good hour while the pots with mashed potatoes and gravy are kept warm on the stove.

“I figured you don’t want anything fancy, so I didn’t set the dining table in the living room. We’re going to eat here at the kitchen table.” And while your voice is saccharine as you speak to him, your tone doesn’t leave any room for objection.

Glancing over your shoulder, you can’t help but smile when you spot him standing in the open kitchen entrance; too wide and tall for your narrow hallways and low ceilings. “Would you like a beer?”

Experiencing this kind of domesticity almost knocks the air out of his lungs in a strangely pleasant way, causing him to clench his teeth for a fraction of a second to suppress the shiver running down his spine from the sudden rush of excitement. This whole thing is so oddly normal, he barely knows how to handle it.

Simon slowly walks closer to your kitchen table; his gaze focused on the food you’ve cooked as his eyes darken. The fact that you’ve gone through all this trouble to prepare a proper homemade meal for him, leaves him reeling.

“Aye, beer’d be nice. Thanks.”

You can hear the scraping of a chair over the kitchen tiles as you grab a cold beer bottle from the fridge, and when you turn around again, Simon has seated himself at the head of the table as if he already belongs there naturally. Your heart flutters at the sight, but you manage to suppress the Cheshire cat grin tugging at your lips.

“Hope you like pale ale,” you remark as you pop the lid of the bottle before placing it on a coaster in front of him, and when you brush your hand over his broad shoulder, you can feel his muscles flex under your featherlight touch. “There you go. Cheers.”

And Simon’s brain short-circuits for a moment as soon as you touch him. The heat of your soft fingers burning through the fabric of his shirt and straight into his skin, causing a violent shudder to rake through him and his heart to jolt in unison with his cock like he’s been hit with the barest wave of your power.

“Tch... Thanks.” He lets out a soft huff, trying and failing to play it off, pretending that he didn’t want to lean into your touch, didn’t want to bare his neck and show you just how starved he is for physical touch—the touch you’re willing to give a wretched man like him so easily, seemingly without thinking twice.

He can still feel the phantom touch long after you’ve moved past him to retrieve your own drink, a glass of red wine, before fetching two dinner plates from a cabinet.

Simon is staring after you, unmoving, his hands gripping the edge of the kitchen table like a bench vise, when you put on some oven mitts like a good little housewife to retrieve the chicken and veggies as if nothing happened, like you didn’t just awaken something inside him that he believed cold and dead.

Simon is still too dumbfounded to fully grasp the situation, watching as you move around in your kitchen like a dancer. He feels like an intruder, an outsider on this domestic scene, and it feels so unfamiliar and yet so bloody right, his head is spinning.

His gaze drifts over to the food, mouthwatering and stomach rumbling, and when you place a loaded plate in front of him with a little ‘voilà’, all he can do is stare at it—at you—as if you’ve just handed him the bloody Holy Grail.

“Christ,” he manages to utter; his throat dry as a desert. All he wants, all he should need to do right now, is to dig into this delicious meal, but he can’t help himself as he stares at your face and those ample tits filling out your shirt istead.

Meanwhile, you’re very much aware of the effect your brief touch has had on him, and you’re secretly relishing in the way his mass flexed under your fingertips, all power and brawn; how his pale lashes flutter almost coyly whenever you catch his gaze, his eyes deep like molten honey.

Simon is a man right up your alley—a mean-looking, snarling beast who’s most likely never experienced a gentle touch, a sweet praise, or a full undisturbed night of sleep in his life since weaning from his mother’s breast.

You can’t wait to unravel him, to peel away those gnarly layers he’s obviously built around himself after dealing with decades of hardships, to make him submit and melt in your embrace as you fulfill all the sugary promises you'll be cooing into his ear soon.

The look in his eyes, as he stares down at the meal you’re setting in front of him, is worth quite literally gold, and you can’t help but let your gaze linger on his face with a satisfied hum when he finally yet tentatively pushes his mask up over his nose to take a drink from his beer. He looks half a second away from drooling, and you lick your own lips like a wolf licks its chaps as you watch how his pale throat bobs with each gulp.

“Tuck in, love, before it gets cold,” you chirp as you take off the apron to drape it over the back of your own chair before you take a seat across from him.

Your words make him finally snap to attention, forcing himself to look away from you and down at the steaming food on his plate, and Simon swallows thickly, throat clicking with restraint.

“Thank you.” He mutters, lifting the fork while a lump of something he can’t quite identify gets stuck in his throat.

After dinner and a pleasantly trivial chat, Simon is in heaven, sat back in his chair like a smug, spoiled tomcat, his chest slightly inflated with content and his eyes half-lidded in an absolute state of bliss and nirvana. Everything feels soft and warm in this moment—his belly now full enough to stretch out the fabric of his shirt around his gut.

It almost leaves him feeling full on sentimental.

His gaze is glued to you, following your every little move; every lick of your fork, every subtle shift in your eyes as you catch his stare.

He’s already on his third beer, feeling the slightest buzz rushing through his system.

“You’re good, big guy? Need anything else?” you ask with a soft chuckle, observing the man who looks about ready to fall asleep as you start clearing the table.

“Yeah, ‘m good,” he promises, a hint of a lazy drawl in his gruff voice. It just sounds right, like his accent bubbles up to the surface now that he starts feeling relaxed around you. And while he’s sits there, at your kitchen table, he watches that lovely sway of your hips as you flit about your kitchen—clearing the table and loading up the dishwasher with practiced ease, humming a gentle tune to yourself.

Simon can’t hide the slight smirk pulling on his lips as he keeps his mask rucked up, his gaze drifting over your ass, taking in every curve of your body. He feels strangely content and at ease in your presence—unabashedly feeding right from your hand both literally and metaphorically.

“Well, actually,” he begins almost playfully, licking his chapped lips, “whot’s for dessert?”

It’s supposed to be a joke, you’ve already done way too much for him as it, but judging by your reaction, you don’t take it a such—which makes his stomach drop so hard, he’s about ready to vomit from the sudden rush of anxiety.

Your eyebrows raise at his response as you shut the loaded dishwasher, and you glance at him over your shoulder, trying to get a read on him, which proofs difficult. The nonchalance and dryness of his tone don’t quite match the mischievous glimmer in his eyes, even through the shadow of his mask, so you decide to take a gamble.

Chuckling as you turn to face him fully, you lean against the counter, your hip jutting out in a confident stance. “Depends. What do you fancy?” You tilt your head to the side as you regard him with a sly smile, counting off while tapping your manicured index finger against your chin:

“Let’s see. I got ice cream, chocolate, some leftover apple pie, and… me.”

Simon is lost in a daze of sensations now, his usual conscience and alertness vanished while his body has taken over. He’s somehow ended up on your couch, that was a quick and fuzzy mental note he’s made some unknown time ago—your body now perched on his strong thighs, fully in charge and in control of him after unzipping his jeans and pulling his cock out with implicitness, as if it belongs to you.

“M-mmphh–“ He groans again, fingers digging into the material of your couch cushions to try and anchor himself to reality, his eyes unfocused behind the balaclava that just barely covers the bottom half of his face.

His shirt is rolled up to his collarbones, his bulky torso exposed to your eager eyes with no way to hide anymore—not when his flushed prick is currently twitching in your grasp as you pump his thick length leisurely with both hands, squeezing his ruddy tip while your thumb swipes over his weeping slit with each stroke, using his watery precum as lube.

“You have such a pretty cock, Simon,” you coo, nosing along his exposed, stubbly jawline, lips brushing over pale skin. “Did anyone ever tell you that... sweet boy?”

“Fuuuuck,” he whines all gravelly, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment and mental overload while his head tips back against the headrest, baring his throat to you fully. His eyes are rolling up into his skull while his broad chest rises and falls with every ragged breath, and you can practically watch his thick veins pulsate in his neck and arms.

Simon can’t take it. None of it. He’s bitten off much more than he can chew this time and now he’s struggling to deal with the consequences. It’s dangerous—you’re fucking dangerous, the way you have him wrapped around your pinky, handling him like a rescue worker would a fighting dog.

“N-No,” he stutters his admission, and he’s not sure how much longer he can resist your touch. “No one did. Ever.”

“Tsk.” You click your tongue in disdain, though your frown melts away as soon as you pull back to look at him—only to see how wrecked he already is. “Can’t have that, love. You do have a pretty cock... and a nice pair of balls, too.” And you pick up your pace some, stroking his shaft firmer and faster while the slick, obscene sounds cut through the silence of your house.

He groans low in his throat, his cock throbs in your hands and your eyes crinkle as you watch him blush a deeper shade of pink under your praise, unable to meet your eyes at this point. “Are you going cum for me already, hm?” you purr, eyes glinting with mischief and glee.

You bite your bottom lip as your own heart flutters with excitement. “Gonna cum for mommy?”

Simon’s eyes fly open at your words, head snapping forward while his heavily dilated pupils fixate on your own glossy gaze as he exhales a shuddering breath, his mouth going dry, toes curling inside his boots, his vision blurring at the edges as if you’ve just reset his whole being to factory settings. He’s a goner.

“M-Mommy,” he whines, and it feels so bloody good to say it, to be able to let his guard down wholly. “Fuck, ‘m gonna–“

“Gonna what?” you prompt, a wicked smile tilting your lips despite the rush of affection stirring in your chest. Simon’s reactions are so delectably unfiltered, raw, and sweet, it makes you want to give him the entire world. “Gonna make a mess all mommy’s fingers like a good boy?”

Simon lets out a choked moan, hips jerking almost involuntarily into your hand. He’s lost all coherent thought, his face flushed behind the balaclava, and he might as well let you do whatever the hell you please with him.

As if his skull has been cracked open like a quail egg, all his dark thoughts have seeped out of his brain for once, allowing him to finally indulge in something so divine.

“Feels good, mommy,” he slurs, barely recognizing his own voice anymore. His hand reaches out, pawing at your plump hips like a drowning man, fingers digging into your flesh like he’s scared you’re going to vanish into thin air if he lets go of you a smidge. “Feels so fuckin’ good.”

You hum in delight, smiling so wide your cheeks start twitching as you watch this tank of a man crumble under a few saccharine words and a pair of soft hands on his neglected cock.

“Come on now, love. Show me exactly how good you can be for me.”

The need to watch and make him come undone under your touch, to feel his balls tighten and his shaft throb in your grasp as he erupts with his orgasm, is more intense and urgent than it ever has been before.

Meanwhile, Simon is teetering on the edge of sanity or his climax, he can’t tell anymore. His entire body is taut like a bowstring, his tawny eyes now glassy with arousal, unseeing, unthinking, merely focused on your weight on his lap, your thick thighs bracketing his and your supple hands on his cock, and then you tell him—be a good boy—and something snaps inside his brain.

Simon’s breath stutters in his chest, and he goes rigid like a steel rod, unable to do anything but obey. “M’comin’,” he whimpers a warning, his voice thick and guttural. There’s a note of despair in there, too, like he’s begging for permission, and his muscular thighs tremble so hard underneath you, it feels like he’s playing Bumpety Bump Rider with you.

You lean in, trapping his cock between your bodies as you stroke his prick faster, crooning into his ear: “Let go for me, sweet boy.”

And it’s all Simon needs.

His balls draw up against his crotch, his mouth opens with a sharp gasp, and he makes a sound. Something primal, guttural, a raw and feral noise that comes from deep down his chest, somewhere he didn’t even know was still alive because he can’t remember the last time he made that kind of sound, if ever.

You’re holding the strings, and he’s your bloody puppet. “Come for me, love,” you command again, so soft and sugary, it leaves his clenched teeth aching.

Those words are like a trigger, and a long, guttural moan rips from his chest as his body convulses; thighs straining, muscles flexing, back arching off the backrest while his last braincell makes him hold onto your hips to keep you from dropping off his lap.

He’s coming and suddenly, every other time he’s touched himself before you appeared in his life, seems like time wasted completely. Nothing could have come close to what you’re doing to him, and Simon fears, nothing will, ever again.

His orgasm is explosive and messy, and he feels like he’s shaking apart at the seams; his vision whitens and his eyes roll back as he spills over your fingers and knuckles, rope after rope of his sticky cum coating his buff chest and clenching stomach like a dam that has been broken.

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Look’it this!” Your delighted voice is the only thing keeping him from fainting on the spot. “That’s a good, good boy.” You’ve taken him to oblivion and back, given him his first hand job in his miserable life, all while you’re so blissfully unaware of it.

Your words and praises—so goddamn soft and sweet—are the only thing keeping him grounded while his brain turns to mush, his breathing turning ragged like a wounded animal on its last breaths. His eyes flutter close behind the balaclava, utterly speechless, as he lets himself drown in your presence, your warmth, your kindness.

He is yours. Every single rotten inch of him.

And he’s never belonged to anyone like this before.

[ihrtpaige]

MINISKIRT. paige bueckers x reader

contains. smut, semi public sex, kinda porn without plot

notes. not proofread, short and kinda bad but it's something for the girls something for the summertime we don't care about the streams, named after miniskirt by aoa

words. 1.33k

two hours.

that’s how long paige has been slumped against the cushion in this fitting room while you try on clothes. the two of you are visiting new york for the week, and she’d taken you to fifth avenue for a little shopping spree, giving you free reign over her credit card. whatever you want, baby, she’d grinned as she handed you her platinum amex. you’re super into fashion and posting your outfits on social media, and nothing makes her happier than seeing you enjoy yourself. she just didn’t think it would take forever.

in retrospect, she should’ve known by the way your eyes lit up when the two of you strolled into this store, after browsing at chanel and zara— like a kid entering a toys–r–us for the first time. dragging you out of here is going to be like pulling teeth.

she’s hungry and bored and she wants to go to the lego store, but every time you swear there’s just one more thing you need to try on, you return with a whole handful of new things, not even looking the slightest bit apologetic.

speaking of the devil.

there you are, arms overflowing again, looking thrilled and not even a little bit sorry as you meet her eyes.

“babe, isn’t this so cute?” you ask, holding up a white blouse. it’s quite plain, but it’d look good on you, especially with your styling expertise.

“it’s aight,” she says, truthfully. “it’d look if you were wearing it.”

“i could totally style it with these trousers and those heels from chanel…” you start your babbling as you approach the rack full of clothes that you’re for sure buying, holding the blouse to the pants you’re talking about and visualizing them as an outfit.

you go on like that, doing your thing, while paige just goes back to boredly staring at her phone, one arm stretched over the back of the cushion and manspreading leisurely. she wonders if this place will let her doordash some wingstop…

every so often, the same female employee comes in to snoop around, taking the garments you for sure aren’t purchasing for re–shop. she laughs when she comes around for a third time and asks if you’re all set, and you and paige answer at the same time: a delighted no from you while paige groans hers.

another forty–five minutes pass. when paige looks up again, it’s to gauge whether or not you finally seem ready to go.

instead, she catches a glimpse of you in this tiny, tiny black dress. it’s strapless, sculpted high along the bust with a sharp, curved neckline that dips into a strange but aesthetically pleasing cut–out, like something out of an art exhibit. the fabric clings to you like it was poured on, molding to every line of your body before stopping dangerously high on your thighs. paige’s mouth goes a little dry. suddenly, she’s not so bored anymore.

“damn,” she comments, sitting upright. your gaze meets hers through the mirror as you pose, and you grin.

“you like?” you ask, turning to face her and pose again. “it’s ysl. i was thinking i could wear it to the nike dinner party thing.”

paige stands, sauntering over toward you. her hands find their designated place on your waist, sliding down to your hips as she admires the dress up close. “there’s no way you’re wearing this around anyone else.” she murmurs, leaning in close.

the words cause heat to stir low in your gut, and you lean back into her touch. “but paige,” you whine, though you’re pleased with the sight of her pressed up behind you in the mirror, her hands on your hips complimenting the dress better than any piece of jewelry ever could. “it’d be so good.”

she doesn’t answer, head dipping down between your shoulder as her lips press to your neck, one of her hands moving up your thigh. “paige,” you gasp as the hand slips between your legs, disappearing into the dress.

“look so good, baby,” paige says into your neck, the pads of her fingers dragging along your panties. she feels the way your body jolts as they graze over your clit through the fabric, whimpering, and hums contently when they find the patch of warm wetness already leaking through. she presses against it, teasing your entrance, and your thighs attempt clamp around her wrist. “fuck.” she whispers.

“someone could walk in,” you protest weakly, core throbbing, thinking back to the employee. it hasn’t been long since she last checked in, but still.

paige is aware. she just can’t bring herself to care— not when you look like this, and you’re hers to take.

“thought you wanted people to see you, though?” paige asks, lifting her head from your neck and looking at you through the mirror, eyes piercingly blue. “thinking you’re gonna wear this shit to a dinner…”

“not like that— oh,” you cut yourself off with a moan as one of paige’s fingers works it’s way past the barrier of your painties and into you. your knees go weak, and paige’s free hand immediately comes to hold you up by your waist before you fall forward. she pushes up against you so that your front is pressed to the mirror, hands bracing themselves on the glass, before she starts thrusting, eye–wateringly slow.

“nah, exactly like that,” she corrects you, working in a second finger. “shit. so fuckin’ tight.” she groans, feeling you clench around her digits, insides warm and slick.

“f–fuck,” you gasp, back arching, pushing back and forcing her fingers impossibly deeper. you moan lewdly at the feeling, letting your head loll back onto paige’s shoulder, chasing it.

“you want ‘em to hear you, too, slut?” paige chides, and you bite down on your lip, attempting to contain your sounds.

she adjusts, flexing her arm so that she can fuck you how you really need it, increasing her speed while also pressing the heel of her palm to your achey, still–clothed clit. the pressure is just what you need, unable to hold back your moans any longer. you keen out her name.

paige tuts, sliding the hand she’s not using to fuck you up over your throat, pushing her fingers into your mouth, effectively shutting you up. it forces you to look forward into the foggy mirror at yourself, sucking on your girlfriend’s fingers, dress bunched at your hips with her hand between your legs, the still–attached tag jerking with the force of of your movements.

“tonight, when we get back the hotel,” paige breathes. the muscles in her arm are straining and her fingers beginning to cramp. still, she doesn’t let up. “i’mma fuck you so hard with my cock, you can be as loud as you want. that what you want?”

you mean to say yes, but it sounds more like mmmgh with paige’s fingers in your mouth. it doesn’t matter, because paige understands you loud and clear, knows exactly what you’re thinking, can tell that you’re close by the way your pussy clenches around her, thighs quiver, moans almost too loud to muffle.

you cum right then, hard, cunt pulsing around paige’s fingers. it gets all over her hands, your panties, the dress.

she removes her hand from your mouth and gives you time to recover, catch your breath, before easing her fingers out of your pussy. brings them to her mouth, sucks them clean.

it takes a good minute for the haze to subside, and when it does you’re immediately grossed out by the wet feeling between your thighs. then, you’re hit with a realization that has you turning to paige with a smug grin.

“you have to buy it now,” you say, voice hoarse. “i’m wearing it to the dinner.”

“that’s fine,” paige shrugs, though there’s that unmistakeable mischievous glint in her eyes. “as long as you wear it like that.”

[gothamite-rambler]

Duke Thomas meeting Ra's Al Ghul for the first time.

Duke: SATAN!

Ra's: What? Ow!

Duke tossed a small rock at Ra's alarming the villainous man. Jason covered his mouth chuckling. Damian turned the other way so his grandfather didn't see him laughing as well.

Duke: Damian, Jason, get behind me!

Duke clasped his fingers together in the shape of a cross.

Duke: Stand back, Satan, prince of darkness!

Ra's: I'm not Satan, and I'm certainly not a mere prince!

Duke: The devil is a master of disguise, taking on many forms. Evil walks among us, hiding in plain sight.

Ra's: Okay, that’s just hurtful.

Duke kicked Ra's in the shin, causing the man to grunt in pain and crumple to the ground.

Duke: Uh huh, that’s what the magic goop does to you when you keep swimming in it! And that’s for Jason, jerk.

Ra's (weakly): Oh, for what? Teaching him how to be an actual protector of Gotham?

Duke: Of course you’d defend it! Look, if you come near me or my little brother again, I’m going to spritz you with my holy water. I've been wanting to do that for a while. Let's go, guys.

Duke stepped over the fallen man, with Jason and Damian following closely behind. Jason struggled to stifle his laughter.

Damian (turning to his grandfather): Sorry, Grandpa, but you had it coming.

Ra's (standing up): This is rare for me, pride in someone else. Sadly, it's being suffocated by my rage at being kicked in the shin!

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

Duke: Stay away from him! Don’t come near us, Prince of Darkness. Damian doesn’t want you near him.

Duke sprayed Ra's Al Ghul with a spray bottle filled with water. Ra's wasn’t hurt by the water, but found it irritating to be sprayed in the face like a disobedient cat.

Ra's (eye twitching): I’m not a cat, and he’s my grandson! Damian, get—Stop spraying me!

Duke (continuing to spray): Unfortunately, you’re related, but he doesn’t want you near him if you can’t keep your promise about no ninjas.

Duke lowered the spray bottle as Ra's took a step back.

Damian (keeping a safe distance): Thanks, Duke. He wants me to enter some weird tournament, and I’m really not in the right headspace to almost die.

Duke: No problem. How did you handle beelzebub as a little kid?

Damian (shrugging): He’s not completely evil; sometimes he’d give me hard candies for winning fights.

Duke nodded, quickly spraying Ra's again when the man made a move toward him.

Duke: Back up, dude! I ain't playing. I have powers, I can vanish in this lair of yours and then beat you up!

Ra's (squinting his eyes enraged): I don’t care about you.

Ra's stormed off, grumbling under his breath. Damian picked up the spray bottle, confused.

Duke: It's just regular water, but I pretend it’s holy water.

Damian (impressed): You know, you haven't quite reached our level of strangeness, but I admire how odd you can be.

Duke (chuckling with a smile): I appreciate that, bro.

[navybrat817]

All Dressed Up

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky visits a gallery to support his best friend and unexpectedly meets the girl of his dreams.

Word Count: Over 2.3k

Warnings: First meeting, mild dirty thoughts, instacrush, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Okay, lovelies. A new AU. I'm sorry. @targaryenvampireslayer @tavners @starlightcrystalline @whisperlullaby @sgt-seabass @vesearlee , I feel like you all either heard me screech, encouraged, or helped me, and I appreciate you. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo and divider by the incredible @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t dress up for most people since it wasn’t his style. He would do so for any of his brothers though, especially Steve. His best friend since childhood, and his club’s president, he always had a love and talent for drawing and painting. And after working his ass off on his exhibit it would’ve been a crime for the vice president not to show up.

Steve promised if there was ever a day when Bucky’s writing became published he’d be by his side to celebrate too. As much as they liked to give each other shit sometimes about art and how they created it, the support was there through and through. The only catch for tonight was that he had to dress nicely to get into the gallery. So, instead of the usual leather jacket or vest he wore and jeans, he went with a plain black suit and white button up shirt.

He refused to wear a tie since it wasn’t a wedding. He had to draw a line somewhere. No one paid him any mind though as they walked around the gallery, and he was more than fine with that. This wasn’t his night.

“You should be proud, punk,” Bucky said, looking over the art lining the large wall, each piece crafted with care.

“I am proud, jerk,” Steve smiled. He hadn’t worn a tie either, and it made Bucky feel a little better. “And you know you don’t have to stay the whole time.”

Bucky knew that. He also knew members and prospects would be trickling in and out throughout the evening. “Not needed at the bar tonight, so I can stay as long as I want. But I might cut out early since I see your face enough between that and the club.”

Steve chuckled. “Still haven’t sold the place, huh?”

The brunette sighed. It wasn’t the first time Steve asked if he was going to sell the bar to focus more on writing. “Where the hell would you all hang out if I sold the place?” He liked the bar. It wasn’t just a great hangout for the club, but for his other regulars, too.

“There are other bars,” Steve teased. He said that, but he loved the bar, too. “You know I just want you to-”

“Follow my compass. I know. You’ve said that so many…” He stopped talking when he saw an unexpected angel walk into the room.

Well, angel was the word that came to mind since you were wearing a white dress and the light over your head illuminated you like a halo. But as his eyes swept over you, he wondered if there was a bit of a devil in you. He wouldn’t mind bringing that side out of you if you gave him the chance.

And here he used to think love at first sight was bullshit.

“Hey. Do you know her?” Bucky subtly nodded in your direction as you spoke to another woman, jealousy flaring up for a second at the thought of his best friend knowing you and not telling him. And if you knew Steve, that was that before things even started. While the blonde didn’t have much game growing up, he came into his own after his growth spurt, and everyone adored or wanted him.

Steve shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said, making Bucky’s shoulders slump in relief before his friend scrutinized him. “Jesus, are you eye fucking her? You are, aren’t you?”

Bucky wasn’t the least bit ashamed. “And I’ll keep doing it ‘til she looks at me,” he replied, wishing you’d at least spare him a glance and get a look at him in his nice suit. Maybe you weren’t into guys with tattoos and piercings, but he was certain he could change your mind if that was the case.

“How long has it been since you’ve been on a date?” Steve asked. “Just introduce yourself like a gentleman and see where that goes.”

“A couple of months? Something like that.” Tearing his gaze away to glance at his inked hands, he chuckled. “You think I’m a gentleman?”

He could be dangerous and downright dirty when the occasion called for it, but just because he rode a motorcycle and covered himself in tattoos and piercings didn’t mean he treated others poorly. He was raised better than that. Even with his ex-girlfriends, things never ended because he didn’t treat them well. They just weren’t the one.

“We both know you are. Sometimes,” Steve answered, smirking as a beat passed. “And she’s looking your way.”

Bucky’s head snapped up to find you looking right at him with a curious stare. You had the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. Which was nothing compared to your smile. It was like watching the sun slowly rise to meet the day.

Fuck, he was being sappy. You ruined him with a single stare, and he wanted to ruin you in return. Make it so you wouldn’t want another man.

You whispered something to the woman beside you before she nudged you forward and he realized Steve pushed him to move, too. It only took three more steps before he was right in front of you, the gentle smell of your sweet perfume filling his nostrils. Need slammed into his body as you smiled again, and he actually felt the blue of his eyes shrink as his pupils widened.

If Steve thought he was eye fucking you before…

“Hey,” he said, his voice raspier than usual.

“Hi,” you said. It was a voice he could listen to for hours and he wondered what it would sound like when you said his name.

“I’m Bucky.” He took a smaller step closer, trying his damnedest to block out any other man around him so you’d keep those pretty eyes on him.

You introduced yourself, too, and it was a name he would never forget. “I like your tattoos,” you added almost shyly. Almost.

If he had his way, you’d see the rest of them soon enough. “Thanks,” he smiled, holding one hand up to show you. “Dressed like this, I bet you think I’m part of the mob.” After getting dressed and adding the gold jewelry, even he thought for a split second he looked like a mobster.

“Are you or is that information I can’t be privy to?” you asked, making him chuckle. You didn’t skip a beat, and he liked that.

“Not part of the mob, but I am part of a motorcycle club,” he replied. He wore his patch with pride and that didn’t seem to scare you, which was good. “I also own a bar.” He didn’t know why added that part. You didn’t ask and he didn’t want to brag, but there he was.

“So, you ride a motorcycle, and you own a bar?” You glanced back at your friend to ask her, “Do you mind if I…”

“I’m good. You two talk,” your friend smiled, giving Bucky an encouraging wink. He looked back to find that Steve walked away, too.

You smiled as you faced Bucky again. “Well, I’m happy to hear more about either of those things if you have time.”

“Yeah.” A lopsided smile appeared before he could stop it. “I got time,” he said. All the time in the world.

Over the next hour, the two of you stayed close together and talked in between looking at Steve’s pieces. He told you he was there to support Steve and talked a little bit more about the bar he owned. A hole in the wall kind of place he fixed up. While he wasn’t a big drinker, he loved making them for his regulars, and his profession allowed him to get away with all the tattoos.

“I’ll have to stop by sometime,” you smiled before it faltered. “If that’s okay.”

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but his heart raced, and he wanted to see you smile again. “I’ll hold you to that,” he teased. “What about you? What do you do for work?”

You told him that you were a blood bank nurse and still fairly new to the area. While you didn’t have too many friends nearby, you liked your neighborhood and the one friend you had made invited you to the gallery since she was an art enthusiast. You also let it slip that you were single upon your move here, which he was happy to hear since he was, too, but he didn’t miss the note of sadness in your voice.

He could help fix it if you were lonely.

“I’m not seeing anyone either,” he stated.

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You don’t have an old lady?” His eyes went right to your lip when he bit it. “That is the correct term of endearment, right?”

“That’s right,” he said, his eyes soft. “Both of those things are right.”

You bit your lip again and he wasn’t sure if you were purposely trying to entice him, but now he wanted to bite your lip. “So, do you do anything for fun outside of riding and work?”

He almost groaned when you said “riding” and he had to shake his head to keep his mind from drifting. He couldn’t think of you being on his bike with your arms wrapped tight around him or you riding him or anything like that. “Well…”

He explained that he wrote a bit in his spare time outside of work and the club. It was a hobby mostly, but it would be a dream come true to get his work out there one day. If not, that was okay, too, because he had a decent life and didn’t need much. His bike, his brothers.

But to have an old lady…

“Maybe I could read…” you frowned when you saw the time. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was. I should get going,” you said, disappointment filling both of you.

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck. The two of you were having a nice talk, and he hadn’t had a chance to ask about your hobbies yet. “It’s still kinda early. Do you really have to go?” he asked, realizing just how desperate he sounded. God, if the prospects could hear him right now… He just didn’t want the night to end.

“Yeah, I do. I’m actually working a blood drive tomorrow and could use the rest,” you said, smiling sadly. He felt like an ass for asking you to stay when you had work to do. “I don’t know if you’ve heard anything about it, but you’re welcome to stop by if you want to donate. I always have this fear that people won’t show, which I realize sounds ridiculous.”

Bucky mentally kicked his ass for not knowing about a local blood drive. He was usually more on top of those sorts of things. “Where’s it at?” You gave the location and time, which was all he needed. “I’ll be there,” he promised.

And every single club member would be there, too, if they knew what was good for them.

“Really?” you smiled, your hand bumping his when you turned to face him. “You’ll go?”

He let his fingers brush yours and he smiled to himself when he felt the light shiver. “Of course, doll.”

“Doll?” you giggled. He hoped he didn’t offend you. “I hope you show,” you added in a small voice, your gaze focused on the ground.

Frowning a bit, he wondered if you didn’t believe him. Did someone let you down before? “If I say I’ll be there…” He lifted your chin, so you’d look into his eyes. He needed you to see the truth in them. “I’ll be there.”

You exhaled, staring deeply into his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you whispered.

He grudgingly released you, knowing he had to. Besides, if he kept touching you, there was a good chance he’d pin you against the wall and show you what a work of art you were. “Good night,” he whispered, watching you go back to your friend. She linked her arm with yours as you glanced back, keeping your eyes on Bucky until you were out of sight.

He exhaled, mentally kicking his ass again. Why the fuck didn’t he ask for your number? You two hit it off, and you wanted to see him at least in some capacity beyond the blood drive, right?

Steve made a beeline for him as he stayed rooted to the spot. “It looks like you two hit it off. You know you didn’t even say hi to Chris or Sam or-”

“We’re going to a blood drive tomorrow,” he cut in. He hoped people would show, but he gave you his word he’d be there, and the club was all about giving back to the community.

The blonde’s eyebrows pinched. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Blood drive. Tomorrow. Everyone,” he said, giving his friend a hard stare. “You’re the president. Make it happen.”

“You’re the vice president, which means you supervise plans for club events or gatherings. That includes last minute things,” he pointed out, his eyebrows shooting up as Bucky got his phone out and typed quickly. “You’re serious about this?”

“Is it too much to say, ‘You better fucking be there or you’ll pay for it later’?”

The blonde grinned. A shit-eating, knowing grin, and he wanted to smack him. “This is all for her, isn’t it?”

Bucky sighed. He hadn't expected to meet someone so perfect tonight. “She’s a nurse and I wanna help. Besides, it’s good for the community and you’re all about that shit.” And he had to make a better impression after not asking for your number. “Will you at least promise you’ll be there?”

“To watch my whipped best friend fawn over a pretty nurse? Hell yeah.”

“Beautiful,” he corrected him. “She’s beautiful.”

And while Bucky would fawn over you tomorrow, he also hoped he’d get your number.

So, what do we think so far? Part of this writing style was slightly different for me, but I like how it turned out! I still need to give this reader a nickname and the AU a name, but this is a start. I can't wait for the whole club to show up at the blood drive. I also have something silly and cute planned for these two. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[wendichester]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ pretty eyes,

summary. dean loves to talk a big game, but he also gets flustered.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 397.

Dean leans back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he nurses his beer. "You see that waitress? Betcha ten bucks she wrote her number on the receipt," he says, his green eyes gleaming with playful arrogance.

You roll your eyes, barely looking up from the book you’re pretending to read. "Dean, not every woman on Earth wants you, you know."

He scoffs, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Sweetheart, that’s just plain wrong. I mean, have you seen me? Who could resist this?"

You glance at him now, giving him a once-over with an unimpressed expression. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe someone with decent taste?"

Dean laughs, shaking his head. "You wound me, truly." He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table as he grins at you. "Come on, admit it. You’ve checked me out a couple of times. Think I'm the handsomest devil you've ever laid eyes on,"

"Checked you out?" you echo with a scoff, feigning disbelief. "Don’t flatter yourself, Winchester."

His grin widens, confidence radiating off him in waves. "You can’t help it, sweetheart. These looks are—"

"Dean," you interrupt, your voice so steady and sincere that it cuts through his cocky spiel like a blade. His smile falters as you lean forward slightly. He's certain he's about to get an earful. "You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen."

The silence that follows is deafening. Dean blinks at you, completely thrown off balance. "What?" he manages, his voice quieter, unsure.

You smile, leaning back again like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "You heard me."

Dean clears his throat, suddenly fidgeting in his seat. He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze darting anywhere but at you. "You—uh—you can’t just… say stuff like that," he mumbles, his cheeks flushing a faint pink.

"Why not?" you ask, your grin spreading as you savour the rare sight of Dean Winchester completely off his game. "It’s true."

"Yeah, well…" He glances at you briefly, then quickly looks away, his lips twitching into a sheepish smile. "Maybe warn a guy next time."

"Where’s the fun in that?" you tease, your voice light.

Dean huffs a laugh, finally meeting your gaze again. There’s a softness in his eyes now, the cocky façade slipping just enough for you to glimpse something real. "You’re somethin’ else, you know that?"

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11

[pierregazly]

but mama, i love him ꨄ oscar piastri smau

oscar piastri x leclerc!reader

the one where oscar's girlfriend has been soft launching their relationship for ages. and he's okay with it, especially if it means he can keep hiding in plain sight from her three overprotective brothers.

ynleclerc

tagged charles_leclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, oscarpiastri, and others

ynleclerc omg omg omg... charles leclerc signed my hat? should i add it to the shrine? give them something to sacrifice?

view all comments

username any non-f1 fan would automatically assume ynleclerc is a crazy fan page for charles

username or a charles leclerc hate page... all she does it make fun of her brothers here

username she's offering her signed hat for the tifosi to sacrifice for a CL16 win??? that seems like pure love all around

arthur_leclerc i also signed your hat?

ynleclerc i also do not care? will a hat signed by you get me millions if i sell it for sacrificial purposes?

charles_leclerc what's next? my personal belongings?

ynleclerc is that an offer? if so, oui. i will take what i think will make me the most money next time i'm there, merci <3

scuderiaferrari if it gets us a 1-2 finish, sacrifice everything ynleclerc... please 🙏

username being a Ferrari fan is so satisfying when you remember ynleclerc is an automatic inclusion in everything and anything charles does

username the things i would do to have her as a McLaren fan... she's too beautiful for Ferrari 😭

oscarpiastri a piastri hat will get you good money in straya btw

username oscar??

oscarpiastri

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, mclaren, and others

oscarpiastri 'stop hitting me with the ball on purpose you jerk' was said more times than it should've been, by someone who really just sucks at tennis. had an awesome week back home, time to get back to it 💪

view all comments

logansargeant no wonder you're so worried about getting run over

username the coordinating outfits?? i'm gonna scream, who is she!!!

username what does logan know, tell us your secrets girl logansargeant

username oscar is gonna soft launch this relationship until the end of time. show us her face, you coward!!

ynleclerc did you pay her for all the bruises that tennis ball left?? poor girl

oscarpiastri it's not my fault she's a terrible tennis player, we all know i've offered to pay for a trainer

landonorris so this is why you couldn't come to bali with me 🤨

username lando really said i'm the third wheel??

username to be fair i'd probably pick oscar's girlfriend over lando for a week away too

username girly you don't even know who she is!!! she could be the devil

username i wanna be included in oscar's post week home photo dump :(

ynleclerc has posted a story

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, pascale.leclerc.355, and others

replies

oscarpiastri you can call me pookie whenever you want if you're gonna post things like this

ynleclerc i'd call you pookie with or without your permission, mon amour

charles_leclerc who is this

charles_leclerc why won't you tell us who you're dating

charles_leclerc we won't hurt him

charles_leclerc answer my texts

ynleclerc

liked by oscarpiastri, pascale.leclerc.355, arthur_leclerc, and others

ynleclerc get you a man who can do both, luckiest woman in the world whenever you're around. mon amour 🤍

view all comments

username people involved in formula 1 and their obsession with soft launching everything NEEDS to be studied

username at least she posts her boyfriend and he isn't just a small figure in the background of every post (charles this is a direct hate comment)

arthur_leclerc this would have been very lovely if it weren't for the last photo

liked by charles_leclerc and lorenzotl

ynleclerc suppose it's a good thing you could easily ignore it. cheers :)

pascale.leclerc.355 trés belle, ma fille 💗

charles_leclerc maman?

username could you IMAGINE if ynleclerc told pascale but obviously hasn't told her brothers? i can FEEL the outrage

username starting to think this may be a driver, ynleclerc is at every race weekend and ALWAYS makes a post with her mystery man at some point during the week after...

username okay ms sleuth (i think it's lando)

username i'm like 65% sure it's oscar, and 35% positive it's someone that looks a lot like oscar

ynleclerc

tagged oscarpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, landonorris, and others

ynleclerc someone exposed us on twitter, so i had to expose us on instagram 😮‍💨

comments on this post have been limited

oscarpiastri love you <3

oscarpiastri i will love you even when a ferrari has run me over, of course.

arthur_leclerc is this your way of telling me i was right, without texting me back?

charles_leclerc this must be a joke, non?

pascale.leclerc.355 so very excited to finally be able to invite the both of you for dinner. trés belle 🤍

charles_leclerc maman, you knew?

ynleclerc oscar and i will see you for sunday dinner, maman! <3

tresbelleleclercspam

liked by logansargeant, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, and others

ynleclerc live feed of oscar running away from charles in the paddock when he said he 'just wanted to talk, mate'

view all comments

charles_leclerc i truly just wanted to talk about the race

charles_leclerc i did not have a speech planned, non

arthur_leclerc i did have a speech planned

lorenzotl i just wanted to welcome him to the family, as a good big brother should

oscarpiastri my apple watch warned me of an overactive heart rate 5 times today. why did you do this to me. why couldn't you have three sisters???

ynleclerc so very sorry, in our next life i'll try to make sure you only have to worry about sisters and not three overprotective brothers

oscarpiastri as long as i get to spend every lifetime with you <3

i actually got a request for something like this ages ago, and finally got around to finishing it. i so hope you all loved it as much as i loved writing it. thank you for all the support!!

i'm not currently taking requests, but if anyone has lil suggestions or prompts please feel free to send them.

[lieslostinsilence]

Who Seduced Who?

Author's note: Been in a Mingi phase for a while now. "Oh, honey, I ain't your savior" pushed me over. So I wrote this while in a fever dream. I do welcome feedback or any thoughts! Enjoy~ Bye-um~ Description: He came to the mortal realm in search of something to ruin—something pure, untouched, worth corrupting. And then he saw her. A smile too soft. Eyes too knowing. A laugh that didn’t belong in this world. She was supposed to be prey. But the deeper he goes, the more he wonders—who’s really in control? And when she calls him Daddy, something ancient inside him breaks.. Warnings: Smut (18+), supernatural themes, demon!Mingi, devil’s daughter!reader, explicit oral (f. receiving), blowjob (m. receiving), deepthroating, rough sex, riding, choking, dom/sub power play, subby Mingi moments, magic during sex, overstimulation, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it up in real life!), glowing body imagery, corruption kink, filthy talk, sinful metaphors, rooftop sex, soul-shattering orgasms, unholy tension Inspo Song: You know it, I know it, All of Atiny knows it... In Your Fantasy by Ateez Masterlist for my page: Lies Lost In Silence

The first time Mingi saw her, she was laughing.

A laugh that didn’t belong in the greyness of Earth. It was light, almost divine—except there was something... off. Too smooth. Too perfect. Like silk wrapped around a blade.

He’d wandered the human realm with centuries of disinterest. They sinned, yes. They lied, yes. But none of it thrilled him anymore. He’d seen worse. Caused worse. Hellfire had long stopped satisfying him.

But her?

She was different.

Wearing innocence like a gown, she fed birds at the park. She handed change to the homeless. Offered strangers a smile that felt like a blessing. It made his fangs itch.

He wanted to ruin her.

No—he needed to ruin her.

Mingi had never been the type to skulk in shadows. He walked the world boldly. A sculpture of temptation, carved by sin. Tall, poised, eyes like melted obsidian. Sharp. Dangerous. Simmering with heat.

He didn’t hide. He hunted in plain sight.

And her?

He made damn sure she saw him.

Every morning—outside her apartment. Holding elevator doors. Helping the elderly cross the street. Offering her an umbrella. A polite compliment on her perfume.

A gentleman.

A smile too soft. Fingertips that lingered. A gaze that burned.

She always looked away first. But only just. And he liked that.

Each time they crossed paths, he wondered: was he chasing her—or was she pulling him in?

Still, he played. Because she made him feel something. Because her laugh reminded him of sunrises over ruin. Because he wanted her undone beneath him, moaning his name like a prayer she shouldn’t even know.

That was all. Just a fantasy.

Until it wasn’t.

The night he followed her to the rooftop, he didn’t creep.

He announced himself.

Boots on concrete. The slam of the door. A challenge, not a warning.

She stood barefoot in the moonlight—surrounded by roses blooming straight from cracked concrete.

Impossible.

Even he couldn’t command the Earth like that.

She didn’t turn—but her lips curled.

“You’ve been watching me,” she said, voice laced with amusement.

“Not watching,” he replied smoothly. “Observing.”

“You’ve been following me.”

“I prefer haunting.”

Then she turned.

And fuck, she was devastating.

Her hazel eyes caught the moonlight—and changed. Gold bled into brown. Crimson rings kissed her irises. Magic rippled beneath her skin like heat under silk.

“I was wondering when you’d stop pretending,” she said.

He smirked. “The human act? I wanted to play a little longer.”

“Why?”

“You seemed… worth corrupting.”

“And you thought I was some poor mortal girl waiting to be tainted?”

“Aren’t you?”

Her laugh was sin itself. “Oh, Mingi… you’re not the first demon to try. You just might be the last.”

He stiffened. “What are you?”

She stepped in—close enough that her breath brushed his jaw.

“I’m the daughter of the Devil himself,” she whispered. “Sin in the flesh. And Daddy would be so mad if he knew I was going to call you Daddy instead.”

That was it.

He snapped.

Their mouths collided—teeth, tongue, gasps. Her fingers tore at his shirt, his hands slid under her dress. Their bodies tangled like they’d waited lifetimes to devour each other.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak.

She licked her lips. “Then prove it.”

But she dropped to her knees first.

Right there. Right then.

The devil’s daughter—glowing faintly gold—kneeling before him, her hand wrapping around his thick cock like it was hers to command.

Still hard. Still twitching. Already soaked with her slick.

Her breath hit the head of his cock and he nearly groaned.

“You curse so sweet when you’re desperate,” she teased, tongue flicking out.

And then she licked. Slow. Long. A deliberate drag from base to tip.

He hissed.

“I don’t think Daddy would be happy hearing you take his name in vain…”

Then she sank down.

Warm. Wet. Perfect.

Her mouth took him inch by inch, tongue swirling as she bobbed slowly, watching him unravel with every movement.

He let out a strangled sound, his hands finding her hair.

She sucked him like worship. Like punishment. Her cheeks hollowed. Her hand stroked what her lips didn’t reach. Saliva dripped down her chin, pooling at the base of his cock.

Every flick of her tongue, every glide of her throat, dragged filthy sounds from his lips.

“Fucking hell, you—fuck—”

She moaned around him—on purpose—just to feel the way he twitched inside her.

He bucked forward once. She let him. Took him deeper. Let the head press against the back of her throat. Gagged slightly.

Then pulled off with a pop, her lips wet and swollen.

“No,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

He laid her on the rooftop ledge like a starving man before a feast.

Her legs spread for him without hesitation. Her cunt glistened in the moonlight—still wet, still flushed, still soaked with need.

“Touch me,” she gasped.

Mingi knelt. “Daddy hasn’t even started yet.”

He kissed her thighs first. Slow. Wet. Tongue teasing her skin as his hands slid up, thumbs pressing into the softness of her hips.

He licked her slowly—tongue flattening, teasing, flicking her clit with maddening precision.

She arched off the stone, moaning as he devoured her like it was the only way to survive.

“F-fuck, Mingi—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

Not until she got too close.

Then he stopped. Pulled back. Blew on her soaked heat. Watched her tremble.

“Beg for it.”

“Why beg,” she panted, “for what already belongs to me?”

“Oh sweetheart…” Two fingers slid into her soaked pussy. Curled. Pressed just right.

“Right now, you belong to me.”

Her orgasm hit like lightning.

She shattered—moaning loud, thighs clamping around his head, cunt pulsing around his fingers. Gold sparked across her skin. Roses bloomed around the ledge. The rooftop practically trembled with her release.

He licked her clean. “Blessing wrapped in blasphemy,” he muttered.

She grabbed his collar, panting.

“And you taste like danger,” she whispered. “Which is exactly my type.”

He didn’t wait.

Bent her over the ledge, gripped her hips, and thrust into her with the force of a curse.

She moaned—raw and wrecked.

He pounded into her—deep, brutal, hungry. His cock stretching her open with every stroke. His hand tangled in her hair. Her palms flat against stone.

“You ready for Daddy to make you forget your own name?”

“Remind me…” she gasped, trembling under him, “who seduced who again?”

He groaned and slammed deeper.

The rooftop echoed with the sound of skin on skin.

Her second orgasm tore through her—louder, messier, legs shaking as he fucked her through it.

But then she flipped the script.

When his back hit the rooftop floor, she straddled him—glowing like a goddess, soaked and wild-eyed.

She sank down onto his cock slowly, inch by inch.

His jaw clenched.

“So tight—fuck—”

Her magic crackled as she moved. Each bounce left sparks in the air. Each roll of her hips forced a moan from his throat.

“You like being underneath me?” she whispered.

He could barely nod.

Her palm wrapped around his throat—and he moaned.

Her hips snapped faster. Her cunt squeezed tighter. Magic danced down her arms, sparking where their skin met.

“You’re going to come like a good demon, aren’t you?”

“F-fuck—please—”

She clenched.

He broke.

Came deep inside her, cock twitching, body trembling as he spilled everything into her heat.

But she didn’t stop.

She rode him through it—watching him fall apart, licking his moans from the air.

And when she finally stilled, still filled with him, still dripping—

She leaned in, breath warm against his ear.

“You know what the best part is?”

He blinked up at her, dazed, broken.

Her lips brushed his.

“I’m not done with you.”

[laceyhearts]

✶ LOCK SCREENS ; NICO HISCHIER !

➪ summary: y/n and nico haven't seen each other since they broke up, but when her boss basically shoves new jersey devils tickets in her face, she finds herself back in the hallways of prudential, like she hadn't left

➪ pairing: nico hischier x fem!reader

➪ warnings: guess what... not proofread!!! (i wonder how many ways i can say that)

➪ word count: 2.4k

➪ emma's notes: this took me way too long to edit but here it is :)

© laceyhearts ; do not copy, repost, translate, or put my work through ai generators. do not copy or remake my themes, graphics, or layouts.

It had been four months since she set foot in The Rock, or as she now called it, the Prudential Center. The Rock hit too close to her, Nico’s name echoing in her mind every time she thought about it. 

The plain red shirt she wore felt unfamiliar, unused to the lack of the Devils logo staring at her and the letters and numbers on the back. But it was better than wearing a name that was no longer associated with her; she had no right to wear it.

She expected being surrounded by 16,000 other people would be unnatural to her, leave an uneasy feeling in her stomach, but it didn’t. It felt comfortable, like time hadn’t passed, like she was falling back into an old familiar rhythm of going to games and cheering. But it was weird to think that this was no longer part of her everyday life, even if it had been 124 days since she’d last been to a game.

She wished she were sitting further away from where the 20 men in red jerseys were, away from where she could be discovered by any of them who knew her face, instead of directly behind them, but her boss had bought these tickets and had forced her and her coworker to attend. It wasn’t his fault; he didn’t know that her nights used to be filled with talks of hockey games, of what she had done that day, of something she saw scrolling through Instagram, didn’t know that the captain of his favorite team had an arm wrapped around her waist a few hours before she left for work. 

She would’ve been there with him, but when an emergency meeting was called at one of their other locations across the country, Lucy had been subjected to going with him, which, in all honesty, she supposed was better to be seen with her instead of another man even if they didn’t know Nico was the first thing she thought about when she woke up and the last thing she thought of before she fell asleep. 

Lucy arrived a few minutes after y/n did, taking her seat next to her and saying her greetings as they fell into conversation even as the arena quieted for player introductions. Y/n let her eyes wander from each player standing by the bench before landing on Nico’s. She could feel her heart stutter for a brief moment, nerves fluttering in her stomach as she took in his features like the very first time she met him.

Her eyes darted away when she saw his head turn in the slightest bit toward her, sucking in a breath as she stared at the flag, letting the words to the Banner fill her ears. If he had seen her, she didn’t know; she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know anyway.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It wasn’t until the second intermission that the two girls were noticed. They had just gotten back from the bathroom, sitting down as the players came out onto the ice. The two guys who had been sitting in front of them had left too, their seats still vacant when they arrived, leaving them in direct line of sight of everyone on the ice. 

The movement caught Dawson’s eye first, his gaze narrowing as if he was trying to figure out where he had seen her before, and once he did, it widened in recognition. He didn’t know if he should’ve said something or not, but he must’ve been staring at the same spot for too long because he was nudged, “Hey.”

He looked over,  letting out a breath of release as he saw Jack, “What?”

“You good? You’ve been staring at the same- Oh.”

“Yeah…”

Y/n looked up from her phone, locking eyes with Dawson and then Jack, taking a deep breath before nodding in acknowledgement. It was brief, barely there, but they noticed it, and didn't make a move to look away before they saw Nico skating up beside them, grabbing a water bottle.

“What are you two looking at?”

“Nothing!”

Their captain raised an eyebrow before turning to see where their gaze was, immediately stiffening as he saw her. She didn’t move, not until Lucy’s elbow made contact with her side, “You know him or something?”

“Know who?” Her eyes met Nico’s for the first time in 16 weeks.

They both felt emotions rush to them: frustration, sadness, disappointment, surprise. And if she hadn’t been shaken out of her slight trance by Lucy, she would’ve missed the words Nico mouthed at her. She wasn’t sure if she should agree to it, to meet him in hallways that used to feel like theirs. But one more look at his pleading eyes had her caving, letting out a small smile as she nodded.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

Y/n made quick work of abandoning Lucy once the game ended, saying her friend had texted her and wanted to meet up after the game. Her coworker left with a suspicious look but ultimately shrugged it off and waved goodbye, leaving the girl to walk around the arena alone.

The workers greeted her with smiles, recognizing her like she hadn’t disappeared. She was grateful for it; she would’ve thought her reappearance raised questions, but they were just as nice as she remembered. 

She picked at the skin around her nails relentlessly as she waited for Nico, a habit she had long before she met Nico, but one Nico had grown accustomed to and would solve by letting her draw shapes on his arms. Players passed by in pairs or groups, some stragglers who were alone, but they all said a quiet hello or gave her a wave, to which she would answer with the same fake smile she wore nowadays.

She was deep in thought when he came to a few feet shy of her, easily recognizing his shoes once they came into view. She peered up at him hesitantly, her head raising in the slightest.  

“C’mon.” 

She followed him without a second thought, the urge to reach out and grab his hand stronger than anything. They stopped down one of the hallways no one used, a spot where no one would think to look, and where no one could overhear them. 

“I’m happy you’re here.” He let her lean her back against the wall as he stood in front of her, arms crossed.

She nodded, “Was supposed to come with Ravi, but he got called into a meeting.”

It was his turn to nod, trying to get her to look at him but not daring to reach out and do it himself. The silence between them was loud, neither of them quite knowing what to say. There was so much to say, so much they wanted to say, but none of them could come up with the correct words or at least ones that formed a coherent enough sentence.

Nico caught a glance at her face, the first time he had really seen it in months. He frowned when he noticed how tired she was, the dark circles underneath her eyes, and her skin slightly paler than it usually was. He reached out and rubbed a thumb over her cheek and watched as she shied away from his touch. His frown grew deeper. “You haven’t been sleeping, have you?”

She looked up at him and, too afraid to lie to him, she nodded. He sighed and crossed his arms once more. “So I’m assuming you’ve been working through the night?”

“Yeah,” Y/n mumbled softly, embarrassed by her confession. She hated it when Nico did this; it always made her feel bad. But then he would always wrap her in his arms, tell her he loved her, and that they would get through it together. She longed for that feeling, the confirmation that he still loved her, but she knew she would never get it. 

He looked down at his feet. “How many times have I told you to start taking care of yourself?”

“Too many to count.”

“And yet you still don’t listen, schatzi.”

The name broke her, and finally her eyes met his before scanning his face, seeing the small, playful grin he had on his lips. She smiled too, his too contagious not to, “I’ve never been the best listener, have I?”

He let out a low chuckle, stepping closer to her to place a hand on her hip. She didn’t shy away this time, welcoming the familiar warmth of his touch. He looked at what she was wearing, the red plain T-shirt and the black jacket she wore, saddened him, “Why didn’t you wear one of the team shirts?”

“They all had your name on it.” Her voice was quiet as she remembered all the times she wore those clothes. The clothes that labeled her as Nico’s girl, the clothes that she couldn’t get rid of, even if it would save her life.

Nico winced but nodded. He hadn’t thought about it, but now that he did, she was right. He had always gotten her Devils merch, ones with his name on it. And the ones that didn’t, they were from him anyway. But even though she wasn’t wearing the Devils logo, he still couldn’t help the smile on his face, “I missed having you at games.”

“I missed coming to them.” Her smile was watery, but it was a smile that Nico loved anyway, “I’ve missed that smile so much.” Her cheeks flushed red as he continued to talk, “I missed the nights I got to come home to you.”

“Nico…”

“I know. I’m sorry.” The two stood in silence, Nico moving closer and closer every few seconds, his hand still placed on her hip. 

“I never changed my lock screen,” she admitted softly, looking down as he stood a mere few inches from her, their feet close to touching.

He raised his head to look at her, a small smile forming. “You didn’t?”

She shook her head, pulling out her phone to show him. When the screen lit up, Nico couldn’t help his smile from widening, shifting the slightest bit towards her. She bit her lip before speaking again, “It hurt too much.It was the night after I surprised you at your game. We hadn’t seen each other in a few months and-” 

She paused, taking a deep breath, “I remembered you saying a few nights prior that you couldn’t play the same anymore. That you just felt off.”

He mirrored her breath, the night rushing back to him. She was right, he hadn’t been playing the same way, he could barely even touch the puck. He called her and everything seemed to be at ease. And then two days later, she was standing in front of him with his jersey on and her bright smile that she always had.

“We went home that night and-”

“We baked cookies.” He finished, smiling at her, “The lemon ones.”

“We were so happy that night.” Her voice started to waver as a new wave of emotions surfaced, “You had the biggest smile on your face, and I-”

That was all it took for her to break, and Nico immediately pulled her closer, using one hand to rub small circles with his thumb on her lower back, the other keeping her head against his chest. A few minutes passed, her sobs turning into soft sniffles that eventually turned into silence. She pulled away and looked up at him, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her jacket. And as much as she didn’t want to know, she had to, “Did you ever change yours?”

He blinked, slightly cut off by the question. He pulled out his phone to show her his lock screen. It was a picture of him, Jack, Dawson, and Luke on the ice together, but he couldn’t exactly remember when it had been from. He saw the look on her face and immediately frowned, looking back at his phone. He cursed when he saw it, “No, n,o no, I’m sorry. I usually change it when I know I’m going to be around cameras.”

His fingers made quick work of changing it back to his normal lock screen and showed it to her. It was a picture they took during the offseason before they broke up. Nico had invited her to Switzerland with him. They had taken off, walking on a little path she found, and Nico had stopped because he complained too much about his legs hurting. 

She had placed her phone up to look at her hair, making sure it didn’t look frizzy when Nico pulled her into his arms, causing her to hit the button that let the time countdown. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her impossibly close to him. Her knee bent slightly, and his left hand came to a rest on the back of her thigh. She looked down at him, giggling at his hand placement, and he just smiled up at her, content as he could ever be. 

“I love that picture.” Nico said softly, “I loved that day, that trip. I loved- I love you.”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“I love you, y/n. I never stopped, and I don’t think I ever will. And I know that sounds cheesy and cliche, but I can’t help it, schatzi. We didn’t break up because we didn’t love each other; we broke up because of our schedules. I didn’t stop loving you then or in November or in December, or ever.”

Her eyes watered as she looked at him, “I love you, too.”

He ran a hand through her hair, coming to a rest on the side of her neck, “I promise you that if we do this again, I will put everything aside for you. If there is even a moment that I can be at your work to bring you lunch or breakfast, I’ll be there. If you’re still at the office when I’m done with a game or practice, I’ll come pick you up. I will never leave you alone, schatzi.”

“If?”

He paused before nodding, “Yeah, if. If you want to, if you would have me again, I would be more than grateful, y/n.”

She closed her eyes, leaning closer to rest her forehead on his, “Promise that we’ll make this work?”

“I promise with everything I have.”

A few seconds of silence passed, and then she opened her eyes, “Okay.”

Nico kissed her harshly, pushing her up against the wall, his free hand resting above her. He pulled away and looked down at her shirt, hooking the fabric with two of his fingers, “And when you come to the game tomorrow, you better be wearing my jersey.”

NH13 MASTERLIST ; NHL MASTERLIST ; OTHER MASTERLISTS

JOIN THE TAGLIST ; MY NAVIGATION

[absoluteminimum]

Prowl has a myriad of covert agents. Unlike in Jazz's arm of Operations, few recognize which mecha actually work for Prowl.

There's a beastformer, though. A turbofox who sometimes appears and hovers in Prowl's shadow. Rarely at base, but he is not an uncommon sight when Prowl goes on field excursions. A recon scout, most assume. A little devil on his shoulder, some joke.

No one makes the connection between the turbofox, whom Prowl sometimes calls Minimus, and the Autobot listed in the records merely as Ambus, who does not have an identification image available– nor do they connect this with the variety of plain, nameless mecha who go in and out of Prowl's office.

No one realizes that when the turbofox leaps onto Prowl's shoulder and murmurs in his audial, interrupting an interrogation, he is not trying to goad Prowl into executing the prisoner.

Quite the opposite.

[lady-ashfade]

Cantober: can you do Yandere class 1a doing a trick-or-treat contest!

🍬 Candy Competition 🍬

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Yan!Class 1A x Gn!Reader

Fall Tober Day 2

WARNINGS: Yandere, Light-Hearted, Reader being tugged around, short but cute, rushed ending.

GENRA: Imagine/HC’s

WORDS: 1.5k

A/N: where have I been? That’s interesting- I had surprising surgery and it took all my motivation away, so I have been recovering from that….Yayyy

All weeks lead to this moment. All that time you spent putting on makeup in your mirror, saving to buy that costume, and time it spent to get it right- all came down to this moment.

“Has everyone brought a coat?” Iida shouts above your wailing classmates as they all express their excitement. It was a really nice sight to see everyone so happy and not at each other’s throats. The girls complementing one other on their costumes, taking pictures and hyping up the other. While the boys did the same, it was different. Like, some of them had fake weapons and decided to have a soft fight.

Izuku was dressed as…Of course it’s allmight but one of his old suits. He was explaining the lore to todoroki who stood there with a calm expression in a vampire outfit. It was plain, you knew he just walked into a store and then threw on whatever was in the packet. But, he looked lovely nonetheless.

“Love your costume,” a voice popped up from behind you, following with a pair of hands tugging on your outfit. Turning around you see a floating costume — Hagakure was speaking. You smile and slight shuffling away, hoping to not draw attention to leaning away from the touch.

“Thanks! It cost a lot but it was worth it!!” You shout and show it off with your hands as you giggle happily.

It took a minute to realize what she had on before your mouth started to squeak with excitement, “You’re costume is so perfect, it makes it more scary.” if she wasn’t invisible she would have turn a different shade by now. She was going as Raven from teen titans, it was cool to see it just floating and no one behind the hood.

“I also think you look wonderful” a shy but perky voice chirps. You look to the side and see koda with a shy look on his face, red tented cheeks and a avoided gaze. He was dressed up in a white lab coat, well more of a doctors coat plus all the equipment.

You giggled and reach for the bird on his shoulder who graciously allows you to pet its head, “Dr. Dolittle? A little on the nose,” as the bird pushes its head back into your hand while koda freaks out a bit, but you are quick to dismiss his embarrassment.

“Not a bad thing tho! I honestly like your costume, plus you have so many animals— it’s easily my favorite.”

Suddenly everyone went quiet, all eyes turned to you and you awkwardly shuffled. Tension filled the air and you dropped your hand from the bird who whined at the loss. “What? Why are you all staring at me?” It didn’t take but a few seconds before everyone crowned around you, pushing poor koda away before showing off their amazing costumes.

“What about me? You said you loved my costume,” Mina pouts her lips as she plays with her skirt. You quickly tried to comfort her, “So you think I look cute? Awe baby!!” She went to kiss you before Kaminari got in her place in front of you. 

“I’m a handsome devil!! Flynn Rider, from your fav Disney movie,” a week before this he begged you to be Rapunzel and even though you declined he still kept the costume. He heard you say flynn was hot, so obviously you think he’s hot now. “Don’t fight it, or the smolder.” And he pulls out the exact face flynn does in the movie….How long did he practice that?

“You helped me make the costume,” Shouji lift up his shoulders and moves is arms- he was Doc Ock. And you did help him when he asked, honestly you picked it out for him. Once you suggested it and he planned on doing what you wanted.

“I believe I get a chance to speak,” Todoroki raises his hand amongst the crowd before people talk over him.

They are all shouting now, each one of them getting pushed, many hands tried to grab you, and yet when they tried to kiss you or flirt it went over your head because something else was happening.

“Everyone stop yelling!” A loud and annoyed voice echoes over everyone, making the whole class stop and straighten up. You sigh in relief, thanking your teacher in your mind for saving you. “Everyone pay attention, you have two hours to complete this area. Who ever gets the most candy wins.”

As usual, The Dekusquad pair up, along with the Dakusquad and the more chill ones group together. “What do we win?” Denki asks while everyone nods.

“Two tickets to see F/B.” Mic pops out of nowhere and announces the prize. You let out a streak of excitement and everyone turns.

“I’m winning this thing!” your obsessed classmate glare at each other, there was only one way to get this right- is to make sure you win! Or, win themselves and take you — either way they wanna play tug of war for your attention.

Everyone including you lined up at the gates and you noticed a timer above the arch. It looks real, you think as you stare at the fake town in front of you. It was to dangerous to have the whole school in the city when you guys seem to have targets on your back, so they built a whole small city inside the USJ!! You heard that some parents are here, actors and even pro!heros who have the time to spare.

As the clock counted down in the tenths you started to fiddle, same as your classmates while getting impatient. “Good luck everyone! Sorry if I happened to get competitive.” you shout just before the time loudly goes off.

You expected to get trampled over so you started to run but the area around you changed.

You were in the middle of the street!! Fake houses to your every turn, Halloween decorations in the small yards. “What hero can transport?” it was a question that you shake off before heading to the house on your left.

Somewhere in the distance your classmates cause hell to find you, and get as much candy as they can to win.

“Two lollipops? What are you, cheap?” Katsuki yells at the old lady who opened the door, his friends awkwardly shuffling in the back. Kirishima tugged him by the back collar away from the lady and back to the path.

“Can’t yell at people man! What would y/n say? So unmanly.” kats just huffs at his best friend and pulls away from his grip. All things considered they have been doing well, their bags are getting full and heavy.

“Look who I found?” A feminine voice speaks out, making the boys turn back around. They see you tripping over your shoes as Mina gives you a little nudge closer.

“Mina,” you whine, “I love hanging out but I have to win! This is F/S we are talking about here, I would sell my soul to get tickets.” You try to stray away from them but they block you.

“We can woke together! It’s no different then going alone.” Denki was at your side and placed his arm around you, getting himself shocked at the touch of you.

“We have so much candy, wouldn’t you like to join in? We have more then you!” Sero tries to manipulate you into staying.

So you sigh and let them take you to the other houses, and soon enough your bag is full but you try and push the candy down to make more room.

“I can’t believe you guys,” you smile, “If I win, I am for sure taking one of you!!”

Green Flash.

The place you were standing in is now empty and no sign of you, a gust of wind shakes their clothes and hair. There was only one person who could have made that struck of green energy…

“Deku!” Katsuki shouts but he wasn’t heard by the corporate.

The Dekusquad had taken you and had no plan of letting you go, they only have ten minutes left to make sure you, or themselves won. And they would be damned if they let anyone else win.

“Come on darling,” a hand stroked your cheek and made your eyes open. You saw shoto looking at you, while izuku held you in his arms. “Can’t win if you have your eyes closed.”

“Yeah!” Shoto was pushed aside by a overly excited Ochako. “We wanted to help you win, we already have three full bags.” Iida, Shoto, and Froppy held up the full bags and your eyes go wide.

“Izuku, you can put me down now.” he was quickly to apologize and let you down, turning bright red and looked shameful.

“Next time warn me,” you get a feel for standing again as iida helps you stand straight without getting dizzy.

Over all you had a amazing time with your friends even if they weren’t easy to handle. And when you walked back into the gates, there was a chance of winning. Thought you didn’t win first place, the dekusquad did and promised you the tickets…

“What, which one of us gets to go…”