#Interlocking arms of steel

[addicted2coke-theothercoke]

When the music is so good I forget I'm supposed to be putting it on my mp3 player, not just listening too it

Edit:

It happened again right away, but if I put snippets of lyrics in the tags for every song I'll have a million tags lol

Edit two: FORGET THAT, MY FAVORITE SONG IS ON NOW, INTO THE TAGS!

[pucksandpower]

Lullaby

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: in which Max is the only lullaby you’ll ever need

Warnings: 18+ content

You stare up at the ceiling, wide awake. The numbers on the alarm clock seem to taunt you, the minutes ticking by as you struggle in vain to fall asleep.

It’s nearly 1 am and Max still isn’t home.

With a sigh, you roll over and bury your face in his pillow, breathing in his familiar scent.

It’s not the same.

Your body craves his warmth, the protective circle of his arms. Sleep just won’t come without him here.

You’ve always been this way, for as long as you can remember. A perpetual insomniac, tossing and turning through the lonely nights.

That is, until you met Max.

The first night you spent together, you were astonished to find yourself drifting off within minutes of being wrapped in his strong embrace. It was like magic. Now, months later, the spell hasn’t broken. Max has become a necessity, not just for your heart but also for your health.

The sound of the front door opening stirs you from your restless thoughts. Muted footsteps make their way to the bedroom and you feel the mattress dip down.

“Hey,” Max whispers, his hand grazing your shoulder. “Sorry I’m so late, the meeting ran long. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting up.”

You roll over to face him, drinking in the sight of his tousled hair and tired eyes. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here.”

He offers you a soft smile, the one he saves only for these quiet intimate moments, and your heart skips. No matter how many times you see it, that smile never fails to make you melt.

“Let me just wash up and I’ll be right there, okay?” He squeezes your hand gently before disappearing into the bathroom.

You listen to the familiar sounds of him getting ready for bed, a ritual you know by heart. The splash of water, the electric hum of his toothbrush, the soft thud of his clothes hitting the hamper.

When he emerges in just his boxers, you lift up the covers in silent invitation. He slides in behind you and tucks your body against his chest, legs tangled together.

You fit so perfectly, two puzzle pieces made for each other.

His arms wrap around you like bands of steel and you feel yourself begin to relax into him. Here, cradled against him with your legs interlocked, is the only place you’ve ever found true peace.

Max brushes his lips over your hair. “Did you miss me?” He murmurs.

You smile into the darkness. “You know I did.”

“I missed you too, schatje.” His voice is husky with fatigue. “I’m exhausted but I had to get back to take care of my girl.”

You snuggle deeper into his embrace. “My hero.”

He chuckles, low and warm like honey flowing over you.

You talk softly as you both unwind from the day, voices hushed in the intimacy of the night. He tells you about the team debrief that ran late and you fill him in on the book you started today, trading thoughts and details as the fuzziness of sleep starts to seep into the she of your consciousness.

Eventually conversation tapers off, words replaced by contented silence. Max’s breathing deepens and you know he’s nearing slumber. But your mind still buzzes, body fighting against its own weariness.

You shift restlessly and Max instantly tightens his hold. “Shh I’ve got you,” he soothes. “Just try to relax.”

One large hand begins massaging gentle circles on your back and you focus on its hypnotic motion, on the sensation of his calloused fingers tracing delicate shapes.

He starts humming softly, a nameless tune that fills you with wistful melancholy. You’ve never asked where he learned it. It belongs to these fragile midnight moments, when he coaxes you to stillness with his voice and touch.

Between the comfort of his embrace and the lullaby reverberations rumbling through his chest, you finally feel sleep approaching. Your thoughts drift away until only the present remains — Max surrounding you, his warmth, his scent, the combined rhythm of your heartbeats.

Just as your heavy eyelids begin to close, Max shifts suddenly and cages you beneath him. You gasp as he presses urgent kisses under your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin.

“Max!” You squirm half-heartedly. “I was almost asleep.”

“Not quite yet, schatje. We’re not done.” His voice is gravelly with arousal that makes your belly swoop. “I need you.”

He kisses you deeply until you’re clinging to him, nails digging into the flexing muscles of his back. This man unravels you with barely a touch, your body open and pliant to him like a flower turns to the sun.

When he enters you it feels like coming home. You let out a shaky exhale, overwhelmed by the perfection of his body joining yours. This connection, this wholeness, is all you’ve ever wanted.

Max sets a slow, deep rhythm. His eyes blaze into you, grey flickering with lust and love and possession. “You’re mine,” he rasps, thrusting harder. “This is right where you belong. Under me, surrounding me, taking all of me.”

“Yes, yes I’m yours,” you gasp. The slide and drag of your bodies is maddening, tension coiling at the base of your spine.

Max grips your thigh, hooking it over his hip to drive himself deeper. “No one else gets to have you like this. You only come apart for me. I’m the only one who gets to feel you shatter.”

You cry out as he hits that perfect spot inside, stars bursting behind your eyelids. “Max, please …”

He crushes you closer, thin control fraying. “Please what? Tell me. I’ll give you anything you need.”

A particularly deep thrust wrings a wanton moan from you. You’re so close now, balanced on a knife’s edge of bliss. “Just you,” you manage to say. “I just need you.”

Max smiles, satisfied. “That’s my girl.” Then his lips slant over yours, swallowing your sobs of pleasure as his hips piston faster. The tension crests, higher and higher, until finally it breaks and you’re swept away on waves of dizzying ecstasy.

Max tenses and follows you over with a rough groan, your name a prayer on his lips. He collapses heavily against you, breath coming in harsh pants.

For long moments you just cling together, fingerprints bruising, heartbeats thundering through one another.

Eventually Max stirs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. But he doesn’t separate your bodies. He knows you’ll rest easier staying connected, so he simply shifts just enough to take some of his weight off you.

You let out a small sigh of contentment, his warmth seeping into every inch of you like a blanket. Utterly spent and sated, you quickly begin drifting off. But before sleep claims you, Max’s quiet voice cuts through the haze.

“I’ll always come back to you. Every night, just like this. You’re my home.”

His words wrap around your heart, a vow and a lullaby in one. You manage to murmur a quiet “love you” before finally succumbing to sleep, safe in the harbor of his arms.

[hamilton-here]

Hi!

Maybe something based on this pic?

Thank you!

𝒲𝑒𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒬𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉

Authors Note: Hey, lovely! So I was literally planning to write something like this when I stumbled across that Insta story - I swear, I almost fainted seeing it! Lots of love xx

Summary: In the hush of an early morning workout, Lewis Hamilton moves through the rhythm of training with his partner quietly watching with their charged glances and playful teasing giving way to a moment of intimacy that says everything fame never could.

Warnings: mature themes, explicit imagery, swearing

Taglist: @nebulastarr @hannibeeblog

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The soft whir of the ceiling fan cut through the heavy summer air, lazy blades spinning overhead like they had all the time in the world.

Morning sunlight streamed through the long glass windows, softening the edges of the iron and steel inside the gym with its golden glow.

Inside, the space smelled like effort. Like rubber flooring and cold metal, sweat and familiarity.

It was early - too early, but Lewis had always been a morning person. You, not so much. But there was something sacred about these stolen moments before the rest of the world woke up and today was one of them.

You leaned against the gym wall, the cool surface grounding your overheated skin. A half drunk bottle of water hung loosely in your hand, condensation dripping down your fingers. Lingering sweat and something sweeter clung to the air - Lewis’s cologne, maybe, though it was faint and mostly overpowered by the salt of exertion.

And then there was him.

Lewis.

Lewis was in the centre of it all, his back turned to you, head dipped slightly as he adjusted the cable machine. He was shirtless, of course. He always was when he trained at home.

The dark blue cap on his head was tugged down low, hiding most of his expression, but not the thin sheen of sweat trailing along the curve of his temple. The brim of his cap cast a shadow across his brow, but it did nothing to hide the power in his posture or the way he moved.

You leaned against the wall just behind the free weights, cold water bottle in hand, condensation sliding lazily over your fingers. You weren’t training. Not today. Today, you were just watching him and he knew it. Oh, he definitely knew.

The plates clinked against the stack as Lewis pulled the handles down, muscles bunching and shifting under his skin. His tattoos rippled slightly with the movement, intricate inkwork laid over pure function. His form was clinical, perfect, the kind of strength honed through years of fine tuned repetition. But his breathing that was human. That was real.

You dragged your eyes up slowly, from the dip of his waist where his shorts clung to him, lightweight, damp with sweat in all the places your fingers itched to trace - all the way to the square set of his shoulders. His legs, equally carved and confident, flexed with each shift of weight. His calves strained, feet planted firm on the mat.

Your throat felt dry, and it had nothing to do with the summer heat.

He wasn’t just working out. He was performing. And the worst part? He knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Timer?” His voice broke the silence, low and gravelly with effort, but still playful.

You blinked and looked at your phone, cheeks warming. “Thirty seconds left.”

“Mm,” he grunted in acknowledgment, letting the cable handles drop with a satisfying metallic clatter. He rolled his shoulders, slow and deliberate, arms stretching out to their full length before bending again behind his neck. His body crackled with quiet power, veins raised slightly under his skin, chest rising and falling with measured breaths.

The silence returned, thick but not uncomfortable. You liked this quiet. The kind that existed only in private, sacred spaces. The kind that was never lonely.

You tilted your head as he moved, watching him stretch both arms up, hands interlocking behind his neck. The motion pulled his torso taut, skin gleaming under the early sun.

You could make out the thin streams of sweat as they trailed from his hairline, sliding over the curves of his chest and catching in the dip between his abs.

Every part of him looked like it had been made for motion. For speed. And yet here he was, slow and deliberate, grounded.

“Time.” You spoke up.

You reached for the extra bottle on the bench beside you. “Water?” You asked, voice slightly hoarse.

Just that one motion, one look and something inside you caught fire.

His eyes found yours under the brim of his cap and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The kind of smile he gave when he was teasing, but also when he saw something he liked. His gaze dropped briefly to the bottle in your hand, then lifted again.

“Only if you feed it to me,” he teased, his voice a little breathless as he stepped closer.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips curved despite yourself. “You’re insufferable.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head but held the bottle out anyway.

He didn’t reply, just walked toward you, slow and loose like his muscles weren’t still burning from the last set.

He stopped just in front of you, standing tall, a soft gleam of sweat dusting his collarbones. Up close, the heat from his body was palpable. You could see the tiny droplets clinging to the edge of his jaw, his shoulders, his chest each one a tempting invitation.

He bent slightly, lips brushing the rim as he drank, his eyes never leaving yours. The room suddenly felt a few degrees hotter.

God help you.

You lifted the bottle higher without a word, pressing the top to his mouth. He dipped his head and drank, eyes never leaving yours. The bottle tipped, water spilling a little down the side of his mouth, trailing to his neck. You followed it with your eyes as he swallowed slowly.

“Messy,” you murmured.

He pulled back with a soft sigh, licking a stray drop from the corner of his mouth. “Thanks, baby,” he murmured. “Keeping me alive.”

You smirked. “You mean hydrated.”

“Same thing, innit?” he said with a shrug, flashing you a grin that made your stomach flip.

That was Lewis - equal parts cheek and charm, able to disarm you with a single look or sentence. Beneath all the gold, the trophies, the headlines, was a man who cared deeply. About his people. About his passions. About you.

Sometimes, it overwhelmed you.

You looked away, grounding yourself again in the cool wall behind you. Your pulse was still unreasonably fast.

Your face warmed, but you didn’t back down. “Finish your set, show off.”

He chuckled, backing away with a wink. “Yes, coach.”

You leaned back again, watching as he adjusted the plates on the barbell now. He was switching to deadlifts trap bar. His favorite. You knew the rhythm of his workouts by now. First cables, then compound. A little cardio. Core. He liked structure, repetition, sweat. He liked pushing himself.

“Last set,” you reminded him, raising a brow. “Then you’re mine for the rest of the morning.”

That got a slow, teasing grin out of him. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

You matched his smile. “Both.”

Lewis let out a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled from his chest. And you liked watching him unravel slowly.

He stepped inside the hex bar, feet shoulder width apart and rolled his shoulders again. Then he bent, gripped the handles and pulled.

The movement was clean. Explosive. Controlled.

One rep. Two. You counted silently, watching the way the bar lifted from the floor, the strain in his thighs, the way his jaw tightened. Sweat dripped from his temple now, landing on the mat below him with quiet splashes.

By the sixth rep, he was grunting softly, breath hissing out between clenched teeth. You could see the effort in the tremble of his arms, the flex in his forearms, the tightening of his back. His entire body was a map of tension and release, a study in motion.

When he dropped the bar with a thud, the room seemed to vibrate slightly with the force of it.

You’d been dating for a while now. Quietly. Carefully. Out of the spotlight, because fame was a fire that consumed everything in its path if you weren’t careful. You'd learned quickly how to love each other behind closed doors. Late nights. Early mornings. Whispered jokes across the pillow. Silence that felt safe instead of awkward.

Sometimes, you still woke up wondering if it was all real.

But then there’d be moments like this mundane, intimate, private and it would hit you like a wave - yes, it was real. So real it scared you.

Lewis let out a final, satisfied grunt as he dropped the weight handles. They clattered against the machine like punctuation.

He stepped back, breath heavy, skin glistening and beads of sweat trailing down his neck and chest like tiny pieces of proof. You watched one drop follow the edge of his pec, slip down the line of his torso and disappear beneath the elastic of his shorts.

You could have followed it with your mouth.

And God, did you want to.

Without saying a word, Lewis stepped over the trap bar and dropped to the mat in front of you. His knees hit the floor with a quiet thump and he leaned back on his heels, head tilted slightly to the side as he studied you. His breathing slowed as he wiped his forearm across his brow.

You held out the towel this time. He took it, wiped his face, then neck, then the underside of his arms. His movements were slow, languid now. The tension had shifted no longer between his muscles, but in the air.

“Done?”

“For now,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “What about you?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “I didn’t know I was part of the workout.”

“Oh, you are. Always.” His voice dropped, teasing, dark. “Might not be lifting weights, but you’ve got me sweating.”

You rolled your eyes and tossed the towel at him, hitting him square in the chest.

“Ridiculous.”

He laughed, tugging the towel off and tossing it aside again. “I’m serious. You’ve been staring since my second set. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

You bit your bottom lip and gave him a look. “Can you blame me?”

That pulled something different from him, a pause. Not hurt. Not ego. Something deeper. The soft falter of a smile turning thoughtful. His gaze lingered on your face a beat longer than before, eyes unreadable and gentle all at once.

“Come here,” he said quietly.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

Your knees met the mat with a soft thud, sliding into place in front of him. The air shifted. The distance between you was gone and yet somehow it still felt like you were falling toward each other.

His hands rose slowly like he was afraid you’d disappear and cradled your face. His touch was warm, fingertips rough from hours of work, of racing, of living too hard and too fast. And yet, with you, he was always gentle. Always careful.

“You know,” he murmured, voice softer now, “I could spend every morning like this. Just you, me, the sound of weights clinking, and you looking at me like you want to climb me like a tree.”

You flushed and laughed, unable to help it. “That obvious?”

He smiled, eyes twinkling. “Only to me. And I like it.”

You didn’t answer at first. Didn’t have to. Instead, you reached up, dragging your hands over his arms - damp and slick and solid then over his shoulders, until they settled at the base of his neck.

“You’re not wrong,” you murmured.

He kissed you.

Slow at first, the kind of kiss that hummed in your bones. His lips were warm, salty, moving with gentle precision. His grip tightened slightly on your waist, guiding you closer until there was no space left between you. His chest was hot against yours, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat thrumming through both your bodies.

You sighed into his mouth, hands slipping to his back, feeling every contour, every inch of earned strength. You loved how he felt grounded and real and impossibly present. Nothing else mattered when he touched you like this.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath fanning across your lips.

“You smell like a gym,” you whispered against his mouth.

He grinned against your lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I didn’t say I minded.”

And you didn’t.

He kissed you again, deeper this time. Not rushed. Not frantic. Just certain and full of the kind of quiet that only comes with knowing someone inside and out. His other hand moved to the back of your neck, fingers weaving into your hair, pulling you closer like he couldn’t quite get enough.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, his forehead rested against yours, eyes still closed.

“I don’t get many mornings like this,” he murmured. “Normal ones. Where I don’t have to be Lewis Hamilton. I can just be yours.”

The words slipped between you like prayer.

You swallowed hard, blinking past the burn in your eyes. You reached up, thumb brushing a bead of sweat from his temple.

“You’re always mine,” you said softly.

He opened his eyes, and that smile soft, unguarded, real spread across his face like dawn.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the races. Not the cameras. Not the expectations that always hovered at the edge of your lives. Just this. Just him. Just you.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Lewis stayed close. His forehead still rested against yours and for a long moment, the world was quiet.

Outside the gym, the morning had shifted. The light was higher now, turning warmer, honeyed. The shadows on the mat lengthened and softened, casting the two of you in a golden sort of hush. The kind of light that felt like a secret, or maybe a promise.

He kissed your forehead, then the tip of your nose, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. Then he pulled back slightly, eyes roving over your face like he was memorising it.

“Hungry?” he asked, voice rough with post workout gravel, but still laced with fondness.

You nodded. “Starving.”

He grinned. “Pancakes?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in a diet? Are you offering or trying to bribe me into staying longer?”

“Why can’t it be all of them at once minus the diet? I’m off duty for today.”

He stood with a stretch, muscles flexing beneath his skin as he reached for the ceiling, the movement exposing a narrow trail of sweat down his torso. Then he extended a hand to you.

You took it, letting him haul you up easily. His palm was hot against yours, his grip firm but gentle. Your body molded instinctively toward his when you stood, your front brushing against his sweat slicked chest. He didn’t step back.

You didn’t want him to.

Instead, his other arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer. “Five minutes,” he said, mouth brushing your temple. “Then I’ll cook.”

You smiled, arms slipping around his back. “You say that like I’m going to argue.”

“You always argue.”

“I like to keep you on your toes.”

He chuckled against your skin and pressed another kiss to your hair before finally releasing you. As he grabbed a fresh towel and slung it over his shoulder, you turned to grab your water bottle and followed him out of the gym, the glass doors whispering closed behind you.

The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. Lewis moved around the space with an easy rhythm, shirtless still, but now wearing a clean pair of black joggers slung low on his hips. He hummed softly as he flipped pancakes in the pan, the faint sound of a jazz playlist drifting in from the Bluetooth speaker on the counter.

You sat on one of the stools at the island, your legs tucked beneath you, watching him with sleepy contentment.

Lewis glanced over his shoulder and caught you staring again.

“Keep looking at me like that and I’ll burn the pancakes.”

You grinned. “You’re not even using a timer.”

He wiggled the spatula at you. “I’m a professional. At both racing and pancake flipping.”

“And modest, too.”

“Very.”

You both laughed. He plated the stack with a flourish and added fresh berries, then slid a plate toward you before sitting down beside you with his own. For a few minutes, the only sounds were forks scraping against ceramic and the low, steady hum of music.

It was domestic. Quiet. Sweet.

So much of your life together wasn’t like this. It was airports and hotels. Tight schedules. Media obligations. Whispers in elevators. Bodyguards outside of restaurants. But this sitting in the kitchen with him in the morning light, sticky with sweat and still glowing from the high of a workout felt like the part of your life you’d want to last forever.

You reached across the counter and stole a raspberry from his plate.

He didn’t protest. Just watched you chew with an amused twist to his mouth.

“Thought you were full,” he said.

“Pancake stomach is different.”

“Ah. Of course.”

You set your fork down and leaned your elbow on the counter, studying him. “When’s your next flight?”

He paused, chewing thoughtfully. “Tomorrow night. Late.”

Your heart sank a little, but you nodded.

He noticed. Of course he did. Lewis always noticed everything.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on his knuckles. “Just for a few days Italy’s next. You would love it. The villa has that ridiculous bath you are obsessed with.”

You hesitated.

“You wouldn’t have to be anywhere. Just be with me.”

That was the thing about Lewis. He made you feel like you were the calm in the storm. The one place where his feet could land without slipping.

And God, you wanted to say yes. You always did. But reality had a way of creeping in. Your job. Your own responsibilities. The need to hold onto some part of your life that wasn’t defined by someone else’s orbit even if that someone was your favorite person in the world.

“I’ll think about it,” you said honestly.

Lewis reached across the counter and laced his fingers through yours. His thumb rubbed soft circles on the back of your hand.

“That’s all I ask.”

The rest of the morning slipped past lazily. You both showered, though not without teasing. Lewis was in and out in record time, towel slung low on his hips, humming under his breath while he brushed his teeth. You lingered in the bathroom after him, letting the hot water wash away the sweat and tension, but not the softness.

When you emerged, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies, he was stretched out on the couch in the living room, flipping through something on his iPad. The sunlight dappled his skin in golden stripes through the slats of the blinds.

You curled up beside him without a word. He didn’t hesitate and just lifted his arm pulling you close, letting you fit yourself against his side like a puzzle piece. His skin was warm. His breathing slow.

“This,” he said after a while, voice quiet, “is my favorite part of the day.”

You turned your head, resting your chin on his chest so you could see him. “The post pancake nap?”

He gave you a look. “No. You.”

Your smile faded into something softer. You reached up and traced your fingers along his jaw, over the edge of his cheekbone, down to the curve of his mouth.

“I love you, Lewis.”

It came out without fanfare. No buildup. Just the truth, slipping into the open like it belonged there.

His eyes didn’t waver. “I love you too.”

You pressed your mouth to his in a kiss that wasn’t heated or hurried, but tender and full of quiet reverence. When you pulled away, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and whispered, “I know I can’t give you normal. But I’ll always give you real.”

And he had.

Even when the world demanded he be something else, Lewis had always been real with you.

Honest. Present. Yours.

The day stretched out ahead of you like a warm, open hand. There would be things to do. Calls to make. Maybe even packing. But for now, there was only this.

His arm around your waist.

Your head on his chest.

And a slow, steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.

[v6quewrlds]

Need more of Wifey calling Joe a good boy 😌

author's note⠀⁎⠀feral!joey inspired by this concept.

read more⠀⁎⠀joe burrow masterlist / series masterlist.

Primary colored magnets sealed to the stainless steel fridge were accompanied with the subtle gleam of golden stickers placed in an assortment of orientations on the laminated schedule. Delanie's scribbled suns and Caleb's lopsided stick figures brought a smile to her lips, despite the exhaustion that threatened to pull her features into a tired yawn. With the kids now picked up by their parents, she surveyed the kitchen, a silent sigh of relief escaping her as the chaos of the weekend retreated with their giggles.

"Thank you for the help, babe," she breathed out, turning to Joe. His tall frame was slightly hunched over, placing dishes into the dishwasher. "I could tell they had a blast."

Joe looked up, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It wasn't so bad," he said, wiping his hands on a towel. "They're structured. Your sister did good with the schedule. I might steal that idea."

She laughed, crossing the kitchen to join him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his broad back. "Steal it for yourself?" she questioned, her hands sneaking underneath the fabric of his plain white tee to feel his skin under her palms. He flinched from the cold touch, but his body quickly warmed against hers. "Or are you planning to fill our weekends with chores and TV bribery?"

Joe muttered, "Cold ass hands," under his breath, reaching to interlock his fingers with hers, bringing them closer to his warmth. "Just for the future. Might come in handy one day," he hummed before turning to face her, his eyes fully taking her in for the first time that day. "I wouldn't mind implementing the gold stars now, though," he added, a bright smile playing across his face as his eyes flicked to the stickers on the fridge.

"Oh, you liked the gold stars?" Their hands remained intertwined as she stepped closer. "Maybe we should start a rewards system of our own."

Joe's eyes lit up, the playful interest in them unmistakable. "I'm listening."

The sticker page lay just behind Joe's head. She reached over to pluck a shiny gold star from it. "You were so good this weekend. Such a good boy," she delicately placed the star on his cheek, smoothing it over with her thumb. His eyes grew wide, a blush creeping up his neck as she leaned in to give him a soft kiss over the glittery token. "The best boy." She added lightly, almost flippantly.

He stood frozen for a moment, swallowing thickly as he felt heat spread from his cheeks to the rest of his body. She began to turn to leave the kitchen, her mind having already shifted to the next task, but Joe had other ideas.

His grip on her hand tightened, gently yanking her back toward him. He reached to shift her hair out of the way, his breath warm against her neck as he placed a soft kiss just behind her ear. "Do I get anything for being so good this weekend?" His voice was low, a hint of a growl in his tone as he moved to pin her against the counter.

She gasped lightly, her front pressed against the cool surface of the counter as Joe's body enveloped hers from behind. She felt the unmistakable pressure of his growing arousal against her lower back, and she couldn't help but let a smug smile play on her lips.

"Well," she began, her voice teasing as she squirmed slightly in his embrace. "I guess we could discuss it."

"Discuss it?" he questioned. His hands slid from their place on the counter to pull her hips back against his. "I think we're past discussion, don't you?"

"Really wouldn't be fair, would it? All the blood in your brain is already moving elsewhere." She quipped. She felt the counter's edge press into her as Joe's hands squeezed her hips, his breath hot on her neck. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter for purchase as she leaned back into him, her body responding to his touch despite her playful protest.

"I've been on my best behavior," he murmured, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "I've earned it."

His lips found her neck again, lightly sucking and nibbling, making her skin dance with goosebumps. She could feel his need growing against her. A soft sigh escaped her once his hands made their way up to her tits, cupping them through her shirt.

She arched into his touch, her body responding instinctively. "A gold star got you this hard?" she breathed out shakily, lifting her arms as he pulled her shirt over her head. "What would a whole sticker chart do to you?"

Joe's laugh was muffled against her skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh of her shoulder as he whispered, "I'd be putty in your hands, baby." His hands skimmed her torso, tracing the outline of her lace bra before unhooking it with a simple flick of his fingers. "That's not difficult for you to do. Everything you do makes me hard. Love everything you do."

"Romantic," she laughed, her breath hitching as his hands found her bare skin.

[loveriotss]

hey hi hello! This is my first time requesting something so I hope I did this right lol

I really like your writing and was wondering if you could write a one short for Bakugo cuddling with his s/o more over time but every time they hug for longer and at the very end the reader just fully relaxes for the first time, like all physical and mental stress just vanished from them and they look content?

MELTING INTO YOU ⸻ katsuki bakugo

SYNOPSIS — hugs from your pro hero boyfriend are like a drug . INCLUDES — gn! reader, one - shot, fluff, pro hero au WORD COUNT — 600+

main masterlist — mha masterlist ༊*·˚

𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 — awkward, hesitant and a little too tense. 

the first time he hugged you, it felt more like a pat - down. his arms felt tight and unsure around you as if he didn’t know how to properly hold someone. his chest was stiff against your face with his chin jutted over your head. it seemed more like he was a human shield than a boyfriend trying to give you a hug. you didn’t mind, at least he was trying, and it was the thought and effort that counted. it didn’t last long, just long enough for katsuki to mentally let you know that this gesture was a hug.

the second time, he seemed to experiment. he wrapped his arms firmly around your shoulders, even giving you a little pat on the back before hesitantly rubbing his palm on your back, settling on a uniform speed to go up and down. instead of resting his chin on your head, he pressed his nose against your hair, taking a deep breath, memorizing the scent of your shampoo. this hug lasted longer. you too were trying to figure out how to piece your body together with his, like solving a puzzle. your arms wrapped around his body, interlocking your fingers as you took in the scent of his neck.

then came the gradual and slow shifts. his steel like grip loosening as if he was finally convinced that you would not run away from his embrace. you’d begun to slowly stop overthinking about where your head and hands should be. your body started molding into his, not just leaning but leaning in. now he would hold you without needing or making up a reason. after patrol, after a tough day, after a happy moment and sometimes.. just because. 

tonight, it was late. you hadn’t had a particularly bad day but it wasn’t too great either. just like how your weeks have been lately at work. you weren’t drowning in your work but more as if you’re drifting on the surface, moments away from sinking deep under it all.

you and katsuki sat quietly on the couch, the lights dim and the main source of light being the tv. your body seemed to be shifting towards him on your own, as if there were magnets in your bodies that desperately needed to connect. katsuki didn’t utter a word, he just uncrossed his arms and opened them up like a warm invitation, which you gladly accepted. 

and this time, it was different.

you fell onto his body, not caring how your body lay as he did all the work. wrapping his arms around you like a blanket, a grounding and safe blanket that you’d hide under after bad times. he let one hand trails down until it reached your lower back, drawing lazy shapes and patterns.

his embrace felt so comfy, his rhythmic heartbeat serving as a soothing lullaby to your ears as you shut your eyes.

and suddenly —

your body releases. not just the muscles, but everything. the tension you’ve carried for months. the gnawing little voices that never shut up. the armor you forget you’re always wearing.

all gone and drowning into nothingness.

you exhale a breath that you’d been holding for way too long, leaning in closer to his body, as if you wanted to melt into him. a quiet sound, almost a sigh, leaves your lips. it felt like it embodied all the thoughts that you wanted to say but had bottled up.

katsuki didn’t move, shifting his attention from the mundane movie to you. 

he felt the change in your body, the change in your breathing and how peaceful you looked resting on his chest. he buried his nose in your hair and muttered in a low voice:

“about time you let yourself breathe.”

NOTE — ty for the compliment nonnie love you, this was such a cute request sighhhh i miss my man yall .

©loveriotss — all rights reserved to me. don’t try to copy/steal my work. do not use any of my ideas/translate my work without my permission.

[hotyanderedaddies]

Spending the Night with Your Yandere Vampire Boyfriend

[Yandere! Vampire x Human! GN Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

You've been with your new boyfriend for a few weeks by now, and things were developing really quickly. Much faster than any of your previous relationships.

Your new boyfriend, whom you playfully call Daddy, recently revealed to you that he's a vampire which was a total shock to you.

Well, maybe you should've caught on when he'd only come around at night when the sun was down, you never saw him eat any food, he seemed to avoid garlic at all costs, and he was super pale... and he had vampire fangs.

A total surprise.

Either way, you weren't too scared when Daddy revealed his "secret" to you.

Daddy is perfect boyfriend, honestly.

Daddy knows all of your likes and dislikes, and even loves all of your hobbies. The two of you share the same interests in books, movies, video games-- everything!

And you better since he spent such a long time following you around, studying your every move. Watching. Waiting.

Daddy is a pure gentleman, always treating you with the upmost respect. He virtually worships the ground you walk on, treating you like you're his precious treasure.

Because you are his. All his. And only his.

Daddy really seemed to walk straight out of a daydream, rescuing you from such a dreary life of working retail and attending boring college classes. He really helped to lift you up, especially after so many of your personal relationships seemed to have tapered off once you'd started college.

He only got rid of those who would try to take you away from him. Honest. He did it all for your relationship.

So when the two of you were on one of your dates at Daddy's house, he suggested that you stay the night (well, the morning). He had some sleep aid that he could give you to help you fall asleep during the day; although, dating a vampire was kind of throwing your sleep schedule out of whack.

At first, you were a little nervous since the two of you hadn't done anything past making out, but with one look at the eager face Daddy had, you melted.

"Sure, Daddy," you smiled.

Daddy's smile stretched out his handsome face, and his vampire fangs even poked out.

He grabbed you by the hand, his cool fingers interlocking with yours, as he led you up the stairs to the bedroom. You've never been up to his bedroom since the two of you almost never made it past the couch, so you were a little excited--

The bedroom door swung open and in the middle of the room was the "bed".

"A c-coffin?" you stuttered, your stomach falling to the floor.

"Of course, Darling," Daddy chuckled, dragging you closer to the coffin. "I'm a vampire after all. What did you think I slept in?"

"A bed...?"

"But then how would I keep the sunlight off me?"

...oh.

The coffin seemed to be standard-sized (you've been to one or two funerals, so they weren't completely unfamiliar to you), and it was lined with a clean, white satin that looked incredibly soft to the touch.

But it was a coffin!

And your frantic human brain couldn't help but associate it with death! Hell no, you weren't getting in that thing!

"Um, Daddy?" you mumbled, uncertainty drenching your small voice. "M-maybe we could rush to my apartment to use my bed and I'll put up some curtains?"

Daddy's smile disappeared, quickly being replaced with a deep frown. He narrowed his red eyes in your direction, tightening the grip he had on your hand.

"We won't make it before the sun rises," he growled, his voice deep and curt. "Now, get in our coffin."

When you hesitated, Daddy lost his patience, wrapping both of his steel arms around you. The vampire was much stronger than you are, so he had absolutely no problem forcing you into the tight confines of the small coffin.

Daddy crawled inside right after you, grabbing the lid and slamming it down with a bang. An audible click sounded out, and you were trapped in the dark coffin.

You couldn't see a thing thanks to how dark it was.

The coffin was so compact that you could feel multiple sides-- the back pressed against you and was rather soft, but you could also feel the one of the sides and the top touching you. It was enclosed all around you, trapping you, leaving almost no room for you to even move or wiggle around.

You could barely move.

You could barely breathe.

But there was a cold, hard feature inside the coffin with you, and it snaked both of its large arms around you and roughly yanked you into it.

Daddy buried his nose in your air and moaned loudly as he inhaled your scent.

"Calm down, Darling," he cooed. "Daddy's here. Daddy's got you."

Your heart raced in your chest and you felt dizzy from your panicked hyperventilating.

"It's okay, my sweet darling," Daddy continued to whisper into your ear, keeping you trapped against him. "I know it's a bit of an adjustment, but it'll be worth it, I promise."

He pressed his cool lips against your forehead.

You tried to squirm away, but he was tight against your front and the side of the coffin was tight against your back.

There was no room to move away.

At all.

You're trapped.

"Get some sleep, Darling," Daddy yawned. "I love you."

[sleep-i-ness]

Too Little, Too Late (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Synopsis: Covering for Daphne proves to be the final straw in your friendship with Draco Malfoy

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST

You ducked under the boughs of the tree, chest heaving, eyes wide as you spotted them. “He’s coming. Daphne, he’s coming.”

They leapt apart, Daphne cupping Neville’s cheek reassuringly. She stepped back to your side, and you could faintly hear shouts in the distance. If any of the Slytherins were ever to find them together, Neville would be hexed within an inch of his life for sullying a Pureblood witch and Daphne, well, Daphne would be ripped to shreds by her family for not abiding by the expectations for a well-brought-up witch. She should be going for someone like Draco, not Neville, but… the heart wants what the heart wants. You knew a thing or two about that.

“Okay, you two need to split apart; we’ll just have to pretend that it’s Neville and I having some sort of sordid affair by the Lake, okay?”

Neville flushed, eyes darting towards his girlfriend. “Is this-?”

“This is the best option, okay? I’ve thought it through; no one’s going to question why I’m ‘dirtying’,” you made air quotes with your fingers, “myself with a Gryffindor. I don’t have the same family expectations to uphold.”

You glanced at your best friend, who was breathing shakily, face drawn. “Daphne, pull yourself together. You need to look shocked, not like you’re about to be given the Dementor’s Kiss.”

Loud footsteps clattered down the steps to the edge of the bank and you looked up, squeezing tightly onto Daphne’s hand. Reaching out, your fingers brushed Neville’s hand and ignored his flinch. As long as he didn’t say anything, you could make Draco believe this. As you felt Daphne being pulled away from you, you slipped your hand into Neville’s, interlocking your fingers so as to stop his jolt.

“What the hell is going on here?”

You spun around, making eye contact. Draco Lucius Malfoy. Not the head of the Malfoy family, but the unofficial leader of the Slytherin House. Daphne peered out from behind him, giving you a subtle thumbs up.

“Y/N?” Draco murmured, before his eyes hardened, cold and icy as he glared at you. “Are you with Longbottom? That snivelly little Gryffindor?”

You and your brother had grown up as pretty much part of the Pureblood circles, and so clearly Draco expected you to conform to the traditional Pureblood behaviour. Not that you weren’t doing so, but he could sod off with his expectations.

You tried to smile at him, lips twisting into more of a grimace. God, that man’s cheekbones could cut steel. Even when angry, he was incredibly attractive. You had tried to hide these thoughts from Daphne when you’d first developed your crush on him several years ago, but she could read you like a book and had confronted you only days after your realisation.

You gave Draco a scornful look. “What’s it to you?”

Draco stuttered, faltering at the sight of your harsh glare. He ended up with, “you should know better than that.”

And you just rolled your eyes, knowing that was more than enough to set him off.

“Common Room. Now.”

You just raised your eyebrows. “Watch your tone, Malfoy.”

He scowled. Draco knew better than to ask why Daphne was with you, where one of you was found, the other was never far behind. “Come. We need to talk.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay here with Neville and finish up what you rudely interrupted.”

It was only when your name rumbled out of his chest that you decided you weren’t going to argue any longer and dropped Neville’s hand in a flash. You skidded over to him, linking arms with Daphne who gave you an apologetic look. You just shrugged. It wasn’t her fault that Draco was an absolute bellend who had decided that this year you were his favourite punching bag. In the metaphorical sense, that is. He knew better than to even point his wand at you.

It took maybe a generous ten metres, at the point that Draco had decided you were out of Neville’s earshot, before he spun round with a murderous look on his face. “What the hell was that?”

You met his eyes, hating that the dark rage pulsing in them did nothing more than set off a swarm of Pixies in your stomach. And okay, maybe intimidated you a little, but in a hot way. And that was the problem; you should not be finding this so hot right now. Especially with the way his jaw ticked.

“My life, my business.” You stuck your nose in the air and dragged Daphne on, past him. She looked like she’d rather face a Blast-Ended Skrewt than be stuck between the two of you arguing.

It wasn’t an uncommon sight anymore. Daphne seemed to like the idea of you and Draco being the power couple of Hogwarts and had been trying to convince you that he had a soft spot for you. You wished. He’d first seen you as that snotty little girl with pigtails who’d follow him and your brother around and gone where the days where he saw you as an annoying little sister. If that. Now you were just an insolent cockroach under his foot that needed to be stomped upon.

“If you’re going to be dragging your name through the dirt, leave Daphne out of it. You’re ruining her reputation just by interacting with her,” he called after you and you didn’t deign to respond, merely just picking up the pace to get as far away from him as possible before you collapsed from either exhaustion or into tears. You hadn’t decided yet. But you were so tired of this dynamic between you and Draco.

You soon reached the Slytherin Common Room, and you peeled off towards your dorm. Luckily, the boys’ dorms were on the opposite side, so you could hope to avoid Draco for the next… well, however long it took to for him to calm down. You’d use Daphne as a feeler to judge when it was next safe for you to emerge.

“Thanks for coming back with me,” you murmured to Daphne, releasing your clutch on her arm once you reached the safety of your doorway.

Daphne’s jaw dropped. “Uh, no, you are not just shutting me out like that. As if I’d leave you alone after that hell of an afternoon.”

You sighed, opening the door for her, and glancing down the hallway to the Common Room. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, but it certainly wasn’t the sight of Draco staring after you, pink splotches on his cheeks and a foreign flash of emotion in his eyes. And then it was gone, and he sneered.

You raised a hand in response, acknowledging him but not deigning to stoop to his level, and then stepped into your dorm, where you could finally drop the stupid façade. Daphne was by your side in an instant as you sagged, using your hold on the door handle to keep yourself up right.

“I am so sorry, Y/N,” she murmured, ushering you to sit down on your bed, before plonking herself next to you and wrapping her arms around your shoulders. You sighed, leaning into her. It wasn’t her fault and there was no part of you that blamed her, although it would be far easier to than have to come to terms with the fact that Draco Malfoy was just an arse. An arse with a really nice arse. You snorted to yourself.

“It’s not your fault he’s such a prick. I don’t even know what I’ve done this year to set him off,” you moaned, falling against your bedpost with a thump. “It’s not like he’s even my friend at this point.”

Daphne just stared at you, face sagging as her eyebrows drew together gently. “You can’t discard four years of friendship just because Draco’s been in a mood this term.”

“Like he has?” You wrinkled your nose. And then slapped your knees. “Right, enough moping.”

You yanked out the bottle of Firewhisky from under your bed; it had been part of your brother’s stash that he had never intended for you to find or sneak to school. But for moments like this, it was exactly what you needed. Time to drown your despairs.

“To men who appreciate us!”

You clinked glasses, knocking back the whisky with little more than a grimace.

A few rounds later and the two of you were on the carpet in your dorm, looking up at the starry ceiling. You hadn’t even needed to kick out Millie, no doubt she was curled up in her boyfriend’s arms.

“I love him, Y/N. I really do.” As usual, Daphne’s mind had drifted off to Neville and you smiled. They were so sweet together, even if no one else would agree with you.

“I know you do. And he definitely loves you as well.” You were certain on that fact. You’d seen the way he looked at her, even when she wasn’t looking at him, and it made your heart ache for a love like that. Scratch that, it made your heart ache for Draco to look at you that way; not just any man would do.

“And I’ll get Draco to pull his shit together. I swear, the only reason he reacts this much is because he’s mad about you,” she slurred as she gestured wildly.

You laughed. “I appreciate the sentiment, but he won’t. He doesn’t love me.”

You received no response and, when you glance over, Daphne had fallen asleep. She looked so carefree in moments like these, brow smoothed out and features relaxed into a pleasant smile. When she was asleep, she didn’t need to worry about dating someone in secret or the expectations placed on her for being a Pureblood.

Bang. Your musings were interrupted by a loud knock, and you jolted upright, head spinning. Daphne didn’t even stir. Hoping it was just another student stumbling down the corridor, you let the dizzy spell pass as the knocking failed to cease.

Feeling your way past your bed and to the door, you lit your wand with a murmured Lumos. “Who is it?”

If it wasn’t anyone other than Pansy, Tracey or Millie, you were going to hex them. Well, mainly if it was Crabbe or Goyle, no doubt sent out to torment you. Not that you thought that you were still lingering on Draco’s mind, but you also wouldn’t put it past him to send his minions to do the dirty work of pressuring you about your “relationship” with Neville.

“It’s me.”

You sighed at the familiar voice, slipping out the door to talk to him. You were only in your nightwear, but no one would be out to see you at this time of night.

“What the hell do you want, Blaise? Do you know what time it is?”

“You alright?”

You nodded, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

“No, nothing, just Draco came back in a bit of a tantrum, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess who had gotten him so riled up.” Blaise’s mouth tilted up at the end of his sentence and you wondered why you couldn’t find someone like him attractive. Someone kind, objectively hot and a good friend. Not some prickly blonde twat with anger management problems

You snorted. “You know Malfoy. Likes to get himself wound up by whatever I do.”

“And so, the name Neville means nothing to you?”

You blinked at him. And then remembered that you were probably meant to look a little more ashamed than you did and fixed your eyes firmly on the ground.

“Yeah, nice try,” Blaise snorted. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to get myself involved in the situation. I fear both you and Draco equally, but please, for my sake, sort things out with Draco. I really can’t be bothered to hear another rant about you, as much as I love you dearly.”

You shrugged. “Not my problem that he’s so fixated on me.”

“Yes, but it’s also not mine,” Blaise whined, bottom lip jutting out, and you stifled a sudden snort. So much for all the airs he’d been putting on this year now that he was a ‘proper adult’. He was still a petulant child at heart.

And then you sighed. “I’ll… think about it.”

“Thank you,” Blaise pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “Sleep well, hope you don’t wake up with a horrid hangover.”

You blew a kiss in response and shut the door in his face. By the time you’d gotten back to your bed, Daphne was still snoring away peacefully but had somehow managed to spreadeagle across the entire mattress. You sighed, unable to muster the energy to care enough to move her and decided to just sleep on her bed.

:.

Breakfast the next morning was a frosty affair; you could swear that the room had dropped ten degrees as soon as Draco had entered and set his eyes on you. He’d just sneered, luckily, but had dropped into a seat only two down from where you were sat, Pansy and Daphne acting as barrier. Which sucked, because it meant that you’d inevitably all end up in conversation and then you’d have to deal with him making snide comments all meal.

Was it too much to ask for just a nice, relaxed breakfast, where you could actually enjoy spending time with your friends?

“Would you mind passing me the jam, Daphne?” You smiled at her as she nodded, eyes darting towards Draco and back to you, a tinge of worry in her gaze. You just rolled your eyes in response. He could grow up.

“Looking forward to Potions today?” Blaise slid into the seat opposite you, and you snorted.

“Only if you promise to not fuck up our potion this time.”

“I’ll have you know that you’re very lucky to have me as your partner,” Blaise purred, leaning forward, lips tilting up into a smirk. His hand reached out to stroke your arm, and out of the corner of your eye, Draco’s hand clenched so tightly around his spoon that it turned white.

You just raised an eyebrow, patting his hand. “Trying to hit on me isn’t going to make me forget that you stirred our potion clockwise last time.”

He shrugged. “We didn’t lose any House Points.”

“Yes, because Slughorn loves you. Not that I know why.”

Blaise pouted. You gave him your most unimpressed look, grinning only when he jutted his bottom lip further out.

“Blaise, you look like a petulant child,” Pansy snorted, rolling her eyes when he just gave her the middle finger in response, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Blaise,” you sighed.

“Yes?” He perked up, lips twitching into a smug smile.

“Stop staring at me.”

He frowned, grumbling as he helped himself to a serving of eggs, slopping them onto his plate with enough force to send them skidding into Theo’s lap. Theo stared at his lap in abject horror, taking a second before turning to Blaise, jaw tensed.

“What the fuck, mate.”

You and Daphne dissolved into giggles at the furious glower on Theo’s face and Blaise’s answering squeak. Theo shot the pair of you a look, which did nothing other than make you laugh harder, clutching onto each other to keep yourselves upright.

“Scourgify,” Draco drawled, waving his wand with a lazy flourish before raising an eyebrow and sneering at you and Daphne. You waited until he’d looked away to roll your eyes, not really wanting to cause a scene in the Great Hall. Only Blaise caught your expression, sudden laugh bubbling out of him. Theo turned back to him, lips twitching downwards again.

“Something funny?”

“No, no, sorry about your gown, Theo,” Blaise blinked, eyes darting between you and Theo. “Just… well it’s her fault.”

He pointed to you, and you clasped a hand to your chest, widening your eyes. “Little old me? Whatever have I done?”

“Oh, cut it out,” Blaise huffed a laugh. “This fake innocent act isn’t fooling anyone.”

A mutter from Draco caught your attention and you whirled around, eyes suddenly blazing. “Care to repeat that, Malfoy?”

“Ooh, last name, someone’s in trouble.” Blaise sang, and you gave him a withering look before returning your attention to Draco.

“Well, I was just saying,” he hesitated ever so slightly, something in his eyes faltering slightly, before his sneer settled back onto his face, “that you really can’t even attempt to call yourself innocent when you’ve been sullying yourself with Gryffindor scum like that Longbottom. Who should I expect to find you with next? Weasley? Potter?”

His nose wrinkled and you just laughed, a cold, harsh sound. “I fail to see how my romantic life is any of your business.”

“It is when you’re singlehandedly destroying the reputation of our House.”

You raised an eyebrow, lips pursing. “Now, I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Besides, despite what you think, I am not just some common whore.”

“It certainly didn’t seem like that yesterday.”

You scoffed. “What? When you caught me and Neville holding hands? Merlin, what a scandal.”

Draco simply scowled, eyes casting a disparaging onceover accompanied with a wrinkle of his nose, and so you turned away. He wasn’t worth your breath.

You caught a flash in Blaise’s eyes as he watched Draco, something akin to worry, but you brushed it off. It wasn’t your problem. Draco had made the gap between you abundantly clear. You had tried, right at the beginning of the year, when you’d naively assumed that the cold shoulder was Draco having a strop rather than deciding to cut you off out of nowhere. You still weren’t quite sure what you had done, but you had a funny feeling it had something to do with the whispered conversations your parents had been having over summer. Something to “grown-up” for your ears, but you’d read the paper; you knew You-Know-Who was back and that your parents, as untraditional as they were, fell within certain circles. They’d stayed out of one war, and you could only hope that they managed to do the same this time around.

Draco stirred his tea with a mutinous expression, the muscle in his sharp jaw pulsing slightly and you allowed your eyes to rove over his features whilst he was distracted. You didn’t know how you hadn’t seen it before, but he looked off. Sallow skin, dark bags under his eyes, and even his expression seemed half-hearted.

He glanced up, making direct eye contact with you, and you froze, waiting for a sneer, a derisive comment, an eye roll. But he gave you nothing, just looked back down at his tea, and so you looked away. It wasn’t any of your business, whatever was bothering him.

-

The usual chatter in the Hall died instantly as you stirred your tea, deeply focused on avoiding clinking your teaspoon against the rim. You hadn’t spoken to Malfoy in weeks, determined to diffuse some of the tension in the air by ignoring him steadfastly. It took you a second to notice the unusual hush. And so, you looked up, eyes falling on Katie Bell, that Gryffindor who’d gotten herself cursed. The story had spread round the school like wildfire, as rumours tended to do – you’d learnt that the hard way in fourth year, following a rather disastrous argument after Yule Ball… But that was a matter of the past.

Potter immediately jumped up to accost Bell and you frowned. Poor girl couldn’t catch a break. You couldn’t decide what was worse, Potter or a curse. Especially with that particular brand of Gryffindor determination in his eyes. Despite the still lingering silence in the Hall, you couldn’t make out a word of what they were saying, and you wrinkled your nose.

Katie’s eyes shifted over to your table, face paling and a shudder wracking her body. Your eyes narrowed, head turning to follow her gaze, mirroring Potter. And your eyes caught on Malfoy, his chest heaving. And then he pushed out of his seat without a word, eyes cast down, avoiding any of Pansy’s attempts to stop his flight.

You picked up your tea and attempted to take a sip. But your stomach rolled, and you sighed, before getting up and trailing after him. Merlin, you felt like a lovesick puppy. As much as he’d made it clear you weren’t friends; five years weren’t quite so easily thrown away.

You skidded to a halt in front of the second-floor girls’ bathroom, catching the door before it slammed shut and slipping through the gap. Allowing yourself a moment to breathe before easing yourself fully inside.

Draco’s hands were splayed against the sink, shoulders hunched as he shook silently. You crept forward, not wanting to startle him, not knowing how to announce your presence. And then his head jolted upwards. Burning grey eyes met yours in the mirror and you froze.

“What the hell do you want?” He snarled, venom laced into every word, and you flinched unwillingly.

Somehow you found the strength within you to respond. “I came to check on you.”

“Check on me?” He scoffed, turning round so that his red-rimmed eyes met yours properly. He stalked forward until he was so close you could see every fleck in his irises and feel his breath against your skin. “Why would I want you to check on me? You’re nothing but a pathetic blood-traitor. You don’t even belong in Slytherin. You’re like some mangy stray that’s wandered in, begging for scraps.”

You laughed bitterly. “I’m not going to argue with you. I wanted to offer you comfort.”

He sneered, his expression twisting into something almost feral. “Comfort?” He spat the word as if it were poison. “You think I need comfort from you? Don’t flatter yourself. You can’t even manage a proper spell without fumbling through it like a Mudblood trying to hold a wand for the first time.”

Draco leaned in even closer, eyes narrowing as he snareld. “Let me make this very clear: your sympathy, your comfort, your pathetic little gestures—I don’t want them. You’re barely worth my time as it is, and your attempts to play the hero are as laughable as they are nauseating. Why don’t you go find someone else to ‘save’ with that deluded martyr complex of yours? You’re nothing but a leech, clinging to the coattails of people who actually matter, hoping to be noticed.”

A smirk twisted the corners of his lips as he took in your silence, eyes glinting with sadistic satisfaction. “Or is this just your way of pretending you’re useful, more than just some slut in a skimpy skirt? Please. If you disappeared tomorrow, the only difference would be that the rest of us could finally breathe without your sickening desperation polluting the air. Even as a failure, you’re not half as interesting as you think you are.”

You shook your head, blinking to keep back the traitorous tears. “I’ll leave you in peace then.”

And darted out the door, not allowing him the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

The dark hallway blurred as you darted away from the door, no destination in mind, just moving. Paintings swam in and out of focus as you tried to breathe, forcing your legs to keep on going even whilst you squeezed your eyes shut, so very aware of the water building up behind the floodgates. You would not cry over him, not in public at the very least. He was nothing but a nasty, horrid teenage boy, who’d used every insecurity he’d known about you to cut you to the quick.

You slowed down, taking deep breaths as your hurt morphed into something more akin to anger, a flash of heat shooting through your chest. What an absolute tosser. You hmphed, lifting your nose into the air and rolling your shoulders back before you continued to stride down the corridor. That was it. You were done with Draco Malfoy and his disgusting behaviour.

And then you crashed straight into someone.

You took in the person before you, eyes widening. Potter didn’t even stop, shouting a quick apology before storming on down the corridor.

Shit.

You picked up your pace again, anger wiped clean as you desperately tried to think of where a teacher could be. You needed someone, anyone, because in the state Malfoy was in, you wouldn’t put it past him to kill Potter.

You might not like either of them, but that didn’t mean you wanted to see anyone dead. Or have that on your conscience.

“Professor,” you cried out, breaking out into a run as you saw Snape’s billowing cloak turn round a corner.

You skidded to a halt, narrowly avoiding bumping into him, and looked up at him as he sneered. “Yes, Miss Y/L/N?”

“You need to come quick; it’s Potter and Malfoy.”

Snape sighed, scowl deepening. “Lead the way.”

You scurried ahead, already fearing the worst, already picturing Potter’s body on the floor. You didn’t like him, but that didn’t mean you wished him dead. He was insufferable, filled with some inane sense of righteousness. And Malfoy had made no secret of his hatred for him.

The door to the girls’ bathroom loomed in the distance and you quickened your footsteps, glancing behind to check that Snape was still following. He gave you a nod before you pushed open the door to the bathroom and gasped.

Red.

All you could see was red, swirling on the floor, seeping through the cracks in the grout, spilling out of… of Draco.

You held back the urge to retch. Snape pushed past you, breaking your eye contact, and knelt down besides Malfoy’s still body. Was he dead?

You couldn’t stay here.

-

The heel of Draco’s shoes clicked against the flagstone, footsteps echoing through the quiet corridors of the dungeons. Even the slightest movement sent a dull throb through his chest where Potter’s curse had torn him apart, ripped him to shreds and left him bleeding on the bathroom floor. He’d given up at that point, wondering what would happen to his family now he’d failed. Just like his father.

And then Professor Snape had come in and she had trailed behind him, eyes wide before darting away like the sight of him bleeding out on the bathroom floor was nothing more than an everyday occurrence.

She hadn’t even come to the Hospital Wing.

He had lain there for days. And in those days, she hadn't visited him once. No letters, nothing left for him at his bedside like in second year, nothing from Blaise or Pansy about her worrying herself sick. Just silence. After all she’d done to force herself into his life, chasing him down in the hallways, pushing for answers, always in sight.

The familiar blank expanse of stone came into sight and Draco paused, leaning against the cool wall, fingers flexing around nothing but air. She was probably in there, chatting and laughing with Blaise or Daphne as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t witness him nearly dying on the bathroom floor.

He huffed, fist clenching. And then sighed, murmuring softly to the wall, before rolling his shoulders back and raking a hand through his hair.

The door slid open with a low rumble, the passageway alight with the warm amber glow of the fire and the low hum of conversation. Draco took his time descending down the stairs, forcing away the urge to wince, aware of the eyes on him. All eyes but… He immediately sought her out and there she was, leaning against the far wall, talking quietly to Theo. She didn’t even look up.

His stomach twisted.

Draco clenched his jaw, turning his head away and heading over to where his friends were lounging on the sofas by the fire. Blaise lifted his head, a smirk playing at his lips that did nothing to hide the worry in his dark eyes. “Back already, Malfoy? Didn’t think they’d let you out so soon.”

Draco forced a laugh. “Couldn’t stand another minute of Pomfrey’s hovering.”

Pansy laughed like he’d said something momentously witty, and he fought the urge to sneer, instead slipping into an empty armchair and propping his feet up on the table. His eyes flickered involuntarily to her again, not that he was sure why when she still hadn’t even acknowledged his presence, laughing at something Theo said. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her laugh properly at something he’d said.

Blaise was still talking, but Draco’s mind had already checked out of the conversation. His gaze kept drifting across the common room, despite his determination to keep his eyes focused on the fire. She was still with Theo, and now she was smiling, a soft, genuine curve of her lips that sent an uncomfortable jolt through his chest.

The fire crackled beside him, warmth filling the icy common room, but he barely felt it. Barely felt anything at all. It was unreasonable, really, how he kept searching for some sign that she’d noticed his presence. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted?

But now, with her decidedly ignoring him, the silence from the place she used to hold was deafening. It gnawed at him, a splinter lodged beneath his skin.

“Oi, Malfoy,” Blaise said, nudging him with the tip of his boot. “You’re zoning out. You sure Pomfrey didn’t knock you around a bit before letting you loose?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Draco muttered, tearing his eyes away from her and forcing a smirk to his lips. “Just wondering if I missed anything interesting while I was gone. Or was it just business as usual? Pansy prattling on about the latest Witch Weekly, and Theo trying to flirt with anyone who breathes?”

“Oi, I don’t flirt,” Theo shot back, but there was a teasing grin in his eyes. “I simply… converse charmingly.”

This time, the laugh that bubbled up from her was louder, her head tilting back just slightly, and Draco’s jaw clenched so tightly he thought his teeth might crack. He tried to drown out the sound by focusing on Blaise, who was already launching into some story about the latest idiocy Crabbe and Goyle had gotten up to, but the words blurred together into meaningless noise.

It was infuriating. She was right there, close enough to touch if he simply got up and crossed the room, but she might as well have been miles away. Was she purposefully keeping her back to him? How childish.

But she’d always come back. Always forgiven everything.

Without thinking, he pushed himself up from the chair, ignoring Blaise’s raised eyebrow and Pansy’s questioning look. “I’m getting something from my dorm,” he muttered, not waiting for a response before turning on his heel and stalking towards the corridor that led to the boys' quarters.

The moment he was out of sight, he slumped against the cold stone wall, head tilted back as he stared into nothing. His hands trembled slightly, fingers twitching with the urge to slam them into the wall, to release the seething frustration boiling under his skin. But all he could do was clench them into fists at his sides, heartbeat pounding in his ears.

What was he expecting?

Taking a steadying breath, Draco rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shove down the swell of emotions that threatened to choke him. He needed to get a grip. Malfoys didn’t wallow; it was beneath them to even deign to interact with those who didn’t strive for their companionship.

He pushed himself off the wall with a bitter shake of his head. If she wanted to pretend he didn’t exist, he could do the same.

-

Draco was slouched in an armchair by the dying fire, swirling the last remnants of firewhisky in his glass. The amber liquid glimmered faintly in the firelight as he brought it to his lips, relishing the burn that chased away the chill creeping through his bones. He hadn’t meant to linger here, but the solitude had been a welcome relief from the ever-watchful eyes of his housemates, who couldn’t stop asking if he was truly alright.

The sound of the common room door creaking open made him tense. He stayed perfectly still, hoping whoever it was would leave him alone. Footsteps padded softly across the stone floor. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was; he recognized that light tread anywhere. And when he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure moving across the room, her silhouette lit by the dim glow, his heart gave an involuntary jolt.

She didn’t see him at first, her focus entirely on the tables along the far wall. She was searching for something, her movements hurried and distracted. Her hair was tied back messily, a few loose strands falling into her face, and she wore a tired, almost haunted look that only deepened the lines under her eyes.

Draco stayed silent, watching her through hooded eyes. He could see the way her shoulders tensed when she realized they were alone. It was almost pathetic how she tried to act like she hadn’t noticed him, pretending to be engrossed in the titles lining the bookshelf.

Draco’s grip tightened on his glass. He should just let her be.

The silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable, until Draco’s patience snapped. “Looking for something?” he drawled, his voice cutting through the quiet like a knife.

She froze, her fingers tightening on the strap of her bag. “I didn’t realize you were here,” she said, her voice measured, careful. She didn’t look at him as she moved to retrieve her forgotten book from a nearby table.

“Right. You’ve been so good at ignoring me, I almost forgot you existed,” Draco sneered, his words sharper than he intended.

Her eyes finally met his, dark and guarded. “What do you want, Draco?” She sounded exhausted, tired of the fight before it had even begun. Before he’d even got a real reaction out of her.

“Why did you stop?” His voice came out quieter, almost strangled, as he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. “You were everywhere. Incessant, following me around-” He stopped, the words tangling in his throat.

Her jaw clenched, eyes darkening. And he drank it all in, something leaping in his throat at the sight. “You pushed me away, you shut me out every single time I tried to help. What was I supposed to do, keep throwing myself at a brick wall?”

Draco’s hand clenched around the glass, knuckles turning white. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“No, you didn’t,” she shot back, before her voice faded off, gaze drifting away from him. “But you didn’t have to treat me like I was worthless for offering it.”

He didn’t know what to say, oddly mesmerised by the shimmering in her eyes, the telltale sign of traitorous tears ready to fall. He had seen her cry before, many a time, over bad grades, over a fight with Pansy, but never because of him.

A muscle twitched in his jaw, but he kept his expression impassive. “I didn’t ask for your pity.”

“Pity?” she repeated, her voice still quiet, barely reaching his ears even in the dead stillness of the common room. She shook her head slowly, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. “You really think that’s what it was?”

He turned away. “What else could it have been? You’ve made it clear I’m nothing more than a waste of time to you.”

For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire. Her gaze softened, but only slightly. “You were never a waste of time,” she said, her voice softer now, but still edged with steel. “But I won’t keep throwing myself at someone who’s determined to push everyone away.”

Draco’s fingers clenched into fists at his sides, but he stayed silent, staring into the fire. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, couldn’t stand the way her eyes seemed to strip him bare, exposing all the things he’d tried so hard to hide.

She sighed, a sound that was more resigned than angry. “Maybe you don’t know what you want, Draco,” she said, her voice a low murmur. “But I do. I can’t... I won’t keep trying to save you when you’re so determined to drown.”

She turned on her heel, her footsteps soft against the stone floor. As she reached the door, Draco finally spoke, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. “Y/N.”

She paused, her hand on the doorknob, but didn’t turn around. “Goodnight, Draco,” she said, her tone distant, polite. And then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.

Draco stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where she had been. The fire crackled weakly behind him, the embers slowly dying out, and the silence that filled the room was heavier than ever.

For a moment, he considered going after her. But instead, he turned back to the fire, letting the flickering glow cast shadows over his face.

[eddiazx]

fright night - eddie diaz x reader

You’re not afraid of horror movies.

You’re a firefighter for god’s sake. You see different horrors every single shift.

So you’re not afraid of fictional universes and CGI ghosts and jump scares.

Except you might be, just a little.

Chim decided a good use of your Friday night before Halloween would be to watch some of the classics, since Buck and Maddie barely watched them when they were growing up. So naturally, the invite was extended to the rest of the 118.

So here you were, sitting in the dark between two of your best friends. You’re wedged in between Eddie and Hen on one of Chim and Maddie's couches, and even though the movie hadn't even started yet, you were already on edge. The only things calming you down was the smell of Eddie’s cologne and the warm press of his leg against yours. Eddie’s left arm was resting on the back of the couch behind you, and you know that if you tilted your head back, you would be able to rest your head on it and press a kiss to his exposed forearm.

But that would be extremely weird, because you’re just friends, and friends don’t do things like that.

“Boo.” Your inner thoughts are interrupted by a whisper in your ear, that comes in the form of Buck crouching behind the couch.

Startled, you yelp and jump onto the closest surface you can find away from the noise, which happens to be… Eddie’s lap.

Buck and Hen start cackling at your reaction while you send them glares and threaten to wash their uniforms with itching powder. You slowly return to your original seat, and turn to Eddie to apologize.

“Don’t worry about it.” Eddie replies, with a pained smile.

You’re about to question if you hurt him, when Eddie gets up hastily and mumbles something about checking to see if the patio doors are locked.

Which is weird, because Chim and Maddie don’t have a patio.

You figure you’d give him some space, but when Eddie still hadn’t returned in 5 minutes (not that you're counting or anything), you set out to look for him.

You find him in the kitchen, sitting at the dining table, his eyes closed. He looks like he’s trying to calm down, taking big, deep breaths.

Okay, now you’re even more concerned.

“Eddie? Are you okay?” You question, crouching into a squatting position next to his chair, looking up at him.

Eddie opens one singular eye, looks down at you, and groans.

“God… look at you. You drive me crazy.”

You blink back at him, entirely bewildered. “What? Why? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is I am in love with my best friend and I’m hard as steel because she was in my lap and squirming and now she’s staring up at me and all I can think about is dragging her into a bedroom and getting her on her knees for an entirely different reason and-“

Eddie’s tirade is interrupted with the press of your lips on his.

“I’m in love with you too, you dork. Now can you come back? I need someone to hold onto during this movie. And maybe after that, we can do all of those things.”

The biggest smile spreads across Eddie's face at your admission, and he nods enthusiastically before standing up. You return to the living room with your hand in his, fingers interlocked, and pretend to ignore Chim and Buck each handing Hen twenty dollar bills.

[just-aake]

Boundless Devotion - Part I

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: MedievalAU. Natasha is the eldest princess of the Romanov Kingdom. As the time of her coronation approaches, she is suddenly forced to make a decision – either find herself a partner or her parents will choose one for her.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Warnings: slight angst

Words: 1991

In the training yard of the castle, the sound of clashing steel fills the air as the Captain of the Royal Guard, Steve Rogers, faces off against the eldest princess and heir to the Romanov kingdom, Princess Natasha. 

The sun shines on the area as the two circle each other, carefully watching the other’s movement.

Surrounding them, some of the castle’s staff and the other knights pause in their activities to watch the match with anticipation. 

The captain lunges forward first, his polished sword gleaming in the sunlight. With a swift flourish, he aims a diagonal strike at her midsection.

In response, Natasha sidesteps the attack gracefully, her own blade moving smoothly to parry his sword.

The crowd watches with rapt attention as Steve continues to press forward with additional powerful swings, but the princess evades every strike, stepping as if she were dancing.

On a particularly powerful thrust, Natasha ducks under his attack, extending her arm to him. Then with a twist of her wrist, she expertly hooks her blade around his sword’s hilt and applies pressure. Using his momentum against him, she jerks the sword out of his grasp, sending it spinning through the air. 

The blade lands with a clatter several feet away.

Then in a swift and uninterrupted motion, she hooks her leg around the back of his knee, sweeping it out from under him. 

Her sword points at the captain’s chest in victory, ending the battle, as cheers and applause erupt around them.

With a quick twirl, Natasha holds her sword behind her before extending her hand to the captain. Steve gives her a grateful smile and takes her hand as she pulls him to his feet. 

He dusts himself off before giving her an exasperated look.

“Did you really need to show me up in front of my knights?”

Natasha gives him a smirk, replying.

“Well, I have to keep you humble.” 

Captain Steve Rogers was the one who trained her and her younger sister, Yelena, ever since they were little. Years later, they have both mastered their sword and martial arts skills, becoming one of the best in the kingdom.

Glancing around, Steve gives a stern look to the surrounding knights who rush to resume their training. When he turns back to Natasha, he nods in the distance.

“Looks like you have some guests, your Highness.”

Natasha brushes her hair out of her face, turning to look at the directed area.

At the edge of the training yard, she finds you standing alongside another noble, Lady Kate Bishop. 

Kate waves excitedly at her in greeting, and the golden retriever next to her also jumps in place, matching his owner’s energy.

Visits to the castle from the two of you were not surprising. With both of your noble families having prominent positions in the kingdom, it was natural that the four of you, including Yelena, would end up forming close bonds, having known each other since you were children.

Kate is Yelena’s closest friend while you are hers.

Well, you two used to be close.

However, ever since the incident last year on the night of her birthday, you’ve kept your distance from her, only seeing or talking to her when necessary. 

Even now, Natasha can see that the only thing holding you in place is Kate’s interlocked arm in yours.

Your body is turned towards the castle, and your eyes are looking everywhere else but her.

Natasha sheaths her sword at her side and walks over to the two of you. She is knocked back slightly when the golden retriever leaps at her in greeting, his tail wagging enthusiastically.

Natasha chuckles and pets his head, “Well, hello to you too, Lucky.”

Kate’s excited energy follows, moving closer, which in turn pulls you forward also. 

“That was amazing! You have to teach me that move!”

Natasha releases the dog with a final scratch before letting him return to his owner’s side. 

“I’m sure Yelena can show it to you the next time you two practice,” she tells her.

Kate nods to herself, reminding herself to ask the younger princess about it later.

Natasha turns to you, giving you a hopeful smile.

“How have you been, Y/n?”

You give her a slight bow in acknowledgment, your eyes still averted from hers.

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking, princess.”

Natasha's smile drops slightly at your neutral response. 

So far, her interactions with you have been like this, formal and distant, unlike the usual banter and casual teasing that typically characterizes your friendship.

Before she can ask anything further, Natasha notices a slight movement in your arm as you discreetly tug Kate, trying to get her attention. 

Kate turns to look at you in question and sees your pointed stare as you tilt your head subtly towards the castle.

Her mouth opens in realization, and she turns to Natasha apologetically.

“Oh, that’s right! I’m sorry, Natasha, but we have to get going. Y/n has a meeting with the queen.”

You are practically dragging her away as she finishes talking, offering Natasha a tight smile and a small farewell bow.

Natasha’s shoulders slump in despair as she watches you rush away.

It was disheartening to see her closest friend become almost like a stranger, but she can only blame that incident which caused this rift between the two of you. 

Sighing sadly, she pulls out her sword again and heads back toward the center of the area to resume her training.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha is practically sprinting to the dining hall with how fast she is walking through the hallways.

Guards and maids dodge out of her path as she rushes by, already understanding the need to hurry, judging by the time. 

As she approaches the entrance of the dining room, the guards open the doors for her to enter. Stepping into the room, she is immediately greeted by the queen’s reprimanding voice.

“You’re late, Natasha.”

Her mother, Queen Melina, sits at the head of the table while her father, King Alexei, occupies the opposite side. Yelena is positioned on the table's side facing her, subtly shaking her head in warning as her eyes gesture meaningfully toward their mother.

Natasha thinks back to how she spent the remainder of the day after her encounter with you, destroying the training dummies around the training yard in frustration.

By the time she realized how long she’d been training, the sun had already set. 

Deciding there was no point in making up an excuse, she settled with the truth.

“I lost track of the time,” she replies.

In response, Queen Melina nods at the chair closest to her, indicating for her to have a seat. 

When Natasha sits down, a member of the kitchen staff places a plate of dinner in front of her before stepping away.

In an attempt to break the tension, King Alexei claps his hands together and exclaims joyfully.

“Great, the family’s all here! Let’s eat!”

The members of the royal family start eating their meals, except for Queen Melina, who instead turns her attention to Natasha.

“I heard that you were at the courtyard today, training with the royal guards.”

“I was,” Natasha responds casually.

“What about your studies?”

“I already finished them all.”

“If you had told me earlier, I could have given you the next part of your lessons,” Melina admonishes before continuing her lecture. “You are about to be crowned soon as the next ruler of the kingdom. There’s always more that you can learn.”

A small snicker from Yelena catches Melina’s attention, causing her to direct her lecturing tone to the younger princess.

“And you should not laugh at your sister. At least she finished her studies. I heard that you didn't even show up for your lessons. Where exactly were you all day?”

Yelena shrugs nonchalantly before looking down next to her chair at the Akita dog eating from her bowl.

“Fanny wanted to go out for a run, so we spent the day out in the fields.”

At the sound of her name, the dog looks up attentively.

In response, Yelena gives her a gentle scratch on the head, before turning the dog's face toward her mother.

“You can’t say no to this face,” Yelena coos. 

Melina gives the two of them a deadpan look before shifting her gaze forward to her husband.

Alexei chokes on his food in slight panic when he realizes her attention has now turned to him.

“Our daughters have inherited your adventurous spirit,” Melina remarks accusingly.

“That’s my girls!” Alexei exclaims proudly before he catches the sharp glare from Melina. “I-I mean, girls, your studies and lessons come first. You know how important they are to your mother.”

Melina sighs defeatedly, shaking her head at his poor attempt at scolding. She returns her attention back to her eldest daughter.

“I have scheduled several meetings for you this week, Natasha. They’re with the daughters from some of the noble houses, so be sure not to miss any.”

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, Natasha brings her cup up for a drink as she asks for more information.

“What are the meetings for?”

“To find you a partner, of course.”

Natasha spits out her drink in surprise, coughing as she reaches for a napkin.

“Mind your manners, Natasha,” Melina chastises.

Ignoring her mother's reprimand, Natasha exclaims in outrage.

“Why am I looking for a partner?!” 

Unfazed by her tone, Melina answers her question with a serious expression, “Taking on the responsibilities of the kingdom is a lot for one person. You should have someone at your side.” 

Natasha makes a sound of disagreement and gestures at her in accusation.

“A couple of months ago, you told me that I was fully prepared to take over the throne,” she reminds her mother. “You’ve never mentioned that I needed to have someone back then!” 

“Well, that was before I realized that you have obviously made no attempt at looking for a potential partner. So I took the liberty to invite these lovely candidates to help you get started, and you will meet with them.”

Natasha huffs and crosses her arms, shaking her head in disbelief.

Seeing her reluctance, Melina continues, declaring, “If you cannot find someone by the time of your coronation, your father and I will choose one for you.” 

Natasha’s eyes widen, and her mouth hangs open in shock at her words.

This was not fair.

Throughout her life, her parents have never shown interest in her romantic relationships before. Suddenly, they decide that she is not capable of taking over the kingdom unless she has someone by her side. 

As Natasha tries to come up with a way so that she can get herself out of this situation, an idea comes to her mind.

“What if I’m already in a relationship with someone?” Natasha asks.

Three sets of eyes stare at her with varying looks of disbelief on their faces.

Yelena speaks up first, giving her a skeptical look.

“Nat, you’re popular throughout the kingdom, but the truth is, you spend more time with your sword than you do holding a lady's hand.”

Natasha subtly kicks her sister under the table in response to her comment, causing her to curse in pain. 

“Watch your language, Yelena,” Melina reprimands her before resting her clasped hands on the table and focusing on Natasha. “But she’s not wrong. I have not seen you romantically close with anyone,” she points out accusingly.

Without hesitation, Natasha smoothly lies, “We’ve been meeting in secret.”

Melina examines her critically, and she matches her mother's intense stare.

When Natasha’s gaze doesn’t waver, Melina relaxes her posture and relents. 

“Alright then, if you could tell me who you are in a relationship with, I will cancel all of the meetings.” 

The name rolls off naturally on her tongue before Natasha can even stop herself.

“Lady Y/n Dreykov. I’m in a relationship with Y/n.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Series Masterlist : Boundless Devotion

[gamblersdoll]

Hakari making you sit in his lap? Perhaps while he’s in the monitor room making sure his Fight Club is going well

teasing, suggestive, basically most fluff

he kissed your collarbone, hands on your ass as he watched the monitor. things were going well, money flowing in and he didnt even have to be there.

“how long we have to watch, papa?” you whine, swinging your legs as you turned your head to look at him. “been an hour.”

“just a few minutes, babydoll. know that i got to watch things.” he chuckled, squeezing at your ass. “why, you got a craving?” he asks, a wiggle of his eyebrows.

you roll your eyes and laugh, softly hitting his arm. “ugh, no! i just wan’a spend time with you.”

“oh baby.” he coos, bring your head close to kiss your plump lips. “ill be done soon. anything you wants to do?” he asks, hands coming to your hips. “we can do anything that the babydoll wants.”

you smile, excitement pulsing through your veins. you excitedly bounce, “even go to target really quick?!”

he hisses, steeling your hips as he bites the corner of his lip. “mhm, cant be bouncin’ like that baby. goin’ to get me bricked.” he chuckles, leaning over you so you were almost on the ground.

“kari you gon make me fall!” you say rushed , wrapping your own arms around his neck.

“you ain’t gon fall, i got you.” he says, kissing your neck , cheek, nose, and forehead. “i love you, babydoll.”

“i love you!” you chuckle, interlocking pinkies.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Pino kisses headcanons...

~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~

~ Kisses are a foreign concept to Pino. Despite his fascination with your lips whenever you talk or when you pout, he doesn't quite know where to place these feelings. These urges flicker warmly within his chest as his eyes wander to your lips, you'll never quite notice because his gaze will flicker back to your eyes quickly before you catch on. (Or so he thinks)

~ He probably sees something akin to an illustration in a book, or a chapter describing a kiss and he's suddenly just 'oh'.

~ The thought of placing his lips against your own, rather than against your hand like usual has him a little flustered, yet yearning.

~ Your first one happens when he joins you at the grand piano. You're sitting there solemnly, and admittedly a little bored. Playing with the piano keys as Pino seats himself beside you on the seat, and he's greeted by your welcoming smile.

You'll lean your head against his shoulder as his hands join besides yours on the keys, the cold steel fingers of his legion arm brushing against your pinkie finger and it makes you smile warmly and snuggle further into his side. Pino's expression softens, his head tilting a little to look at you.

Just softly talking and pondering, lost in the moment, before looking up and  met with pino's face very close to yours. With your head rested on his shoulder, all you can do is fall silent and gaze into his eyes, admiring how doe and blue they are.

His fingers gently edge across your chin, wandering very slowly up your lips where he thumbs at the corner of your lips. Your heart is thundering inside your chest and your limbs feel like jelly, and pino's gaze watches carefully and inquisitively upon your expression. Your faces are so close and he's cupping your face now, and his eyes have this look as if he's saying 'is this alright?'

"What are you doing?" You ask, voice small and barely above a whisper. Pino's expression is unreadable, but the way his gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips, and how he tilts his head down till his forehead presses to yours- and suddenly you've forgotten to breathe. Your cheek is hot against his palm, he can feel the heat press against him.

~ The kiss would be so so soft and light, like his lips would just ever so lightly brush against yours and his eyes would flutter closed and lean in closer after bated breath. With his legion hand cradling your cheek, the chill of it seeping into your hot skin and his lips brushing against yours, the whole experience would be so dizzying but sweet. He's so Incredibly careful with you, his actions a little unsure but eager, and he pulls away a little just in case you wanted it to stop. Imagine his surprise when you purposely lean into him again and interlock your lips, his fingertips grazing your cheekbone and your own hands resting on his shoulders.

Resting your foreheads together afterwards and pino just smooths his hand down your hair in soft repetitive motions, his eyes a little dazed and twinkly.

Now that he knows what a kiss feels like, he's addicted to them. It made him feel alive... you make him feel alive.

Just before he parts the hotel to go on a mission in Krat? He's cradling your cheek to peck a soft kiss to your lips, it lingering a little longer just in case he never gets to see you again. He is a strong, and very capable, but he does this so much as a precaution.

The moment is shared between the two of you- his nose brushing against your cheek, not quite ready to let go quite yet. Your breath is warm against his face, and he yearns to confide in it just a little more before he has to part with you.

He also does it as a nighttime routine. Once you're comfortable in bed and he can join you, he'll give you a few soft pecks before cuddling Into you below the warm blankets. (With his longer hair it drapes over your cheeks and nose a little as he hovers above you, and it always tickles )

Morning kisses are an absolute for him as well. The moment your eyes flutter open, he's happy. The hours you sleep are hours of him deprived of your voice and smile and laugh, so he'll settle with your calm expressions and heartbeat, but he likes you awake consideribly more. He'll gaze at you as you card your fingers through his hair, still half asleep, before pressing a few welcoming kisses to your face, and eagerly lean into your lips when you laugh and kiss him back. He is just so sweet :( <3

[starlightsearches]

hello star!

I was just checking back in on things and I saw you were doing summer blurbs, so I wanted to pop in super quickly and request a little something if that's okay! 💕

of course you know I'd love some hux marriage au goodness, maybe for "kisses under the starlight," or if you're feeling more in a headcanon mood, perhaps some "domestic life with them" headcanons??

but of course no pressure at all! these are only if you want to and have the time/inspo/energy! ☺️

(also I want you to know that I'm absolutely planning on catching up on the stuff I missed, but I just happened to check in today and see that you were taking prompts through this Friday, so I wanted to send something in before then! I'll be gone next week but I'm planning to try to be more active on here when I come back from vacation, so I want to catch up on things then! I know the reblog/comment rate on here can be abysmal, so I just didn't want you to think that I was coming in to request something without interacting with your wonderful writing! 💕 I'm trying to get back into things, I'm just very slow 😅)

but regardless of whether or not you want to take these requests, I hope you have an absolutely fantastic summer!! ☺️💕

Hi Charlotte!! So glad to hear from you :0) And please don't stress about commenting on/reblogging any of my stuff! All of this is just for fun and I don't want you to feel obligated. I'm happy to chat with you whenever you have the time and the energy 💖 I hope you have the best time on your vacation!!

14. kissing under the stars from the kiss details list

☀️⛱️ summer blurbs 🍉👙

Warm lights blink in and out along the path, far from edges of the pool, but the water's surface is still and black, reflecting the night sky above, filled with millions of stars—the entire galaxy laid out like a map before Armitage. You're floating in the center of that mirrored universe, beckoning him toward you.

There's nothing else, he's certain, that could convince him to be here, almost-naked—besides the standard-issue undershorts he wears beneath his uniform—pale and shivering in the distant moonlight.

Thousands of thoughts flicker through his mind—thoughts of meetings and negotiations. He hopes Mitaka won't come looking for him out here, wanting to debrief the day's events, preparing for more of the same tomorrow. Diplomacy is the least of his concerns in this moment.

Hux feels the toll of the weight on his shoulders—both figurative and literal. Growing up on cruisers had done a number on his body, before his father ever laid a hand on him. Planet-side gravity pulls at Armitage in all the worst ways.

You sense his hesitation, parting through the water with one smooth stroke, skin shining with droplets of steam.

"It will feel good," you tell him, reaching a hand out, fingertips just brushing against his own," I promise."

Armitage believes you. He steels himself, watches the pinpricks of light ripple as he takes his first step into the water. It's warmer than he expected, slipping around his ankles. His hand slides more firmly into your grasp, but you don't pull, waiting for him to take the next step, and the next, until he sinks down into the water to his waist, then chest, and the two of you are on equal footing.

The relief is almost immediate. A shudder travels through his body as the tension ebbs from his sore muscles, giving into the weightlessness the water provides. Steam floats along the black surface, heavy with the scent of flowers, and earth.

"Better?" you ask, but with the way your lips part in a smile, Armitage is certain you already know the answer.

He responds by pulling you closer, his hands circling your waist. You return the gesture, albeit in a way that brings an unmistakable heat to his cheeks. He feels your thighs hug tight on either side of his hips, your ankles interlocking against his lower back.

Your arms mirror the movement, both hands resting behind his neck, and Armitage can feel you everywhere, unable to tell where the water begins and your bodies end.

"I'm glad you're here."

He stutters the words out, in some ways still fighting against the pull of your intimacy, of his vulnerability to all the ways you could hurt him without even trying.

The pain Armitage is always waiting for never comes. Instead, he feels the gentle weight of your head nestling in the space between his collar and jaw.

"I'm glad I'm here, too," you breathe the words against his neck, "happier than I ever could have imagined."

Armitage knows you aren’t talking about the pool, or the diplomatic mission, or even the planet.

And so he can't really help himself when he takes his jaw in one of his hands and kisses you, deep and earnest, surrounded on all sides by a massive blanket of stars.

[iamthebastard2017]

The radio Call

The ER radio crackled to life " Inbound, 65 year old female, full arrest, unknown down time" The ER staff became a sense of organized chaos, quickly donning their gowns and gloves, while making ready the resuscitation suite.

In the ambulance the EMTs and fire personnel were administering CPR, cardiac drugs, and life sustaining oxygen hru the Ambu bag. Deep concise compressions one after the other in the center of her chest. All the while they kept an eye on the EKG hoping for a sign of life. Her nude petite frame Shook under the deep thrust in the center of her breast. Still asystole rolled across the screen.

Her husband had arrived home after her, hearing the shower running he made his way up the stairs. Rounding the corner at the top he was Met with the sight of his wife lying naked on the bathroom floor. Her lips were blueish purple, and her eyes open wide showing her pupils fully dilated, her skin was a pale Ashen gray. He quickly felt for a pulse a he dialed 911, but there was nothing, no pulse no breathing. He quickly rolled her flat and gave to breaths, watching as her chest and ample mature breast rose and fell. He quickly repositioned himself straddling her at the waist, interlocking his hands he started compressions, as he thrust his body weight down between her breast he could hear the cartilage an ribs popping, gradually becoming less and less. He continued CPR until the EMTs arrived, the bathroom was to cramped for adequate life saving measures to take place. He watched as they grabbed both arms and her legs carried her limp lifeless body to the more open hallway. Her body folded easily an her head hung limply to the side. Back on the floor EMT 1 began compressions once more as EMT 2 attached the monitor electrodes and wires.

Holding CPR they viewed the monitor she was in ine vfib, pulling the defibrillator from its case they set the joules, covered the steel plates with conducting gel and placed them on her chest. CLEAR, the shock jolted her body which shuddered as the electricity shot across her heart. Immediately she fell into full arrest.

Now as they drove to the hospital there had been no change for 10 minutes, constantly under CPR. Her eyes still wide and dilated, stared blankly back at EMT 1 as he squeezed the Ambu bag. Her body jolted and shuddered under the relentless deep compressions.

After 15 minutes they arrived, the doors of the ambulance were thrown open and the gurney slid out. Donnthe hallway they rushed to the resuscitation suite, all the while EMT 2 gave one handed compressions, her stomach distended as her breast bone caved in on her still lifeless heart. Once in the suite they lifted her limp body on the resuscitation bed, which had a built-in pad which arched her back allowing easier airway management. Immediately a trauma nurse began compressions again as others flooded her veins with medication. They injected bicarb in large doses to create higher volumes within her circulatory system. 10 minutes after arrival she moved from asystole to vfib, the paddles were readied and charged. Placing one above her right breast and the other on her left side just below her breast, the attending doctor pushed into her pale skin and released the joules across the heart.

A thud was heard as the paddles discharged, the muscles in her torso tightened as her arms drew in and upward towards her chest, then fell limp to the side of the resuscitation bed. As cpr resumed her arms slowly swayed back and forth in rhythm of the compressions. With each Thrust downward her breast rolled inward to the caving chest as her stomach distended outward. Her whole body shook and shuddered under the relentless effort of the staff.

Again they opted to shock her quivering heart,

[catiecat1320]

New fic! For one of @pretzlforpresident's AUs :D

Synopsis: Sonic discovers something disturbing about Metal

Read Below🔽

When Tails alerted him of a new Eggman base, Sonic accepted the offer with glee, figuring it’d be like every other time. He’d go in, kick some butt, trash the place, and claim another win. Easy!

But of course, things had to get more complicated than they should be. And not the good, exciting complicated this time.

Oh, no.

The base itself had been exactly as always. A different layout, maybe, as if that’d throw him off. Fresh materials signaled that it was newly constructed, not a single scratch on pristine walls. He changed that pretty quick.

Badniks, booby traps, the usual. He tore through all of them, reinforced steel giving in to his spin dash with satisfying crunches that left him grinning. You’d think that Eggman would learn something from losing this many times, but apparently not. 

Blowing a raspberry at the nearest security camera before taking it out of commission, something bright red caught his eye. A gaudy “Do Not Enter” sign handily showing him the entrance to the control center. Heh, this was too easy.

It wasn’t until he blew a hole in it, the poor badnik that he kicked through tumbling across the room, that his world came crashing down.

“Metal!” Sonic exclaimed at the sight of his robotic copy, a bit too much cheer in his voice. “I didn’t expect you to be here! Should make things… more…”

He didn’t usually pay attention to screens. Info grabbing wasn’t his job, nor was it a goal today. But this took up the entire wall, the glow backlighting his enemy standing before it, no visible reaction to his dramatic entrance. 

It was hard to ignore the file, labeled clearly with PROJECT: METAL SONIC.

It was even harder to ignore the profile of a young hedgehog, her bright smile hauntingly familiar.

“...Tania?”

No more than a whisper, but Metal turns around. 

As much as Sonic would like to say that something magical happened right then, the only thing remotely close was the chaos energy that blazed in the robot’s core booster as they lunged, ferocity rivaling that of Shadow on a bad day. If he’d ducked a millisecond later, Sonic was sure his head would be rolling on the floor.

Inertia carried Metal through the ragged hole in the wall, giving the hero a brief reprieve to prepare himself before the badnik came at him full force, claws extended like knives.

“Wait, wait!” Sonic caught the charge with both hands, his fingers interlocking with Metal’s. His arms would be thanking him for that later, he winced, gritting his teeth to the jolt of pain as he pushed back. At least he didn’t dislocate one.

He opened his mouth to say something, not that he knew what to say. Cold, sharp steel punctured the backs of his hands as Metal tightened their grip, the heat flaring from their booster causing beads of sweat to dot Sonic’s face. 

They showed no sign of stopping. If anything, they increased power, brute force easing the deadlock in their favor. If those digital red eyes could show any emotion at all, Sonic was sure it’d be pure hate. 

None of the little sister he’d been looking for.

Forced back, the smooth floor offered no purchase to his skidding shoes. As he hit the adjacent wall, the Metal’s sheer force allowed him to get up horizontally and propel himself forward using his legs, twisting their positions to hopefully gain an upper hand. 

Sonic didn’t predict the way Metal grabbed his wrists, using what was supposed to help the former to their own advantage. The big screen flickered as they flung the surprised hedgehog into it, an ugly crack splattering where he landed quills first.

“Met—gUH!” he wheezed, cut off as said robot grabbed him by the neck, what air was left in him forced out in a strangled squeak. “Mmph—! L-listen…” Sonic tried, attempting in vain to pry Metal’s hands off him and they squeezed, an uncomfortable amount of pressure crushing his trachea and decorating his vision with spots of color. “...please!”

“METAL SONIC! WHAT IS THIS?!” a voice that was undeniably Eggman’s echoed from somewhere in the building. “I TOLD YOU TO PROTECT THE BASE! WHAT WERE YOU DOING?!”

Metal, of course, having no voice box, couldn’t respond. But it served as enough of a distraction for them to loosen their hold, giving Sonic just what he needed to wrench himself out of their grasp, a swift kick to the booster sending them flying into the opposite wall.

Oxygen rushing to his brain brought both relief and nausea as the hedgehog crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath. Eggman was back, and clearly unhappy. He was out of time. 

Sonic shakily stood up, throwing a glance back as red eyes pierced him from across the room. Metal’s file was still open, a large crack in the glass cutting right through the face of Tania. 

It seemed… creepily symbolic. He felt something lodge in his throat, although that might be because Metal had a death grip on it five seconds ago. There was no time to dwell on it. He committed that marred image to memory as he smashed through the control panel, an error message flashing on the screen for a split second before it went dark. 

A louder “METAL?” told of Eggman’s approach as the badnik turned toward the sound before looking back, energy flickering in their core as they prepared for another attack. But their opponent was already gone, a fading blue trail the only sign that he was ever there.

Sonic popped out a vent and crawled onto the grass with a stuttered sigh, the sky a welcome sight. As much as he liked to mess with Eggman… not today.

“Tania,” he whispers, no one but the wind to hear him. The clouds above him seemed to morph into her face the longer he looked.

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

[petterwass]

The four-armed Executioner from Usuzumi no Hate is really such a stupidly cool design.

Obviously having four arms, a heavy shield in two of them and double-wielding swords is already awesome. And then you add three vertically stacked eyes and the fact that it is fast enough to deflect bullets with the swords?

Can cut through steel beams AND the shield has a mouth that eats energy beams?

Which it can then absorb, interlocking its two swords to form a impromptu railgun?

Sayo's gun is also very neat. Its a gun, its a directed energy weapon, its a energy blade! Is there anything it can't do?

Anyway, awesomely cool monster design.

[cantwritethetword]

(2024) TickleTober Day 4: Wicked - Softie

Fic Descript - Bruce and Diana claim Clark doesn't have a wicked bone in his body, so he proves them otherwise

~A/N  - this was one of those fics that I wasn't 100% sure where to take it, so I kinda pulled this concept out of my ass lmao. Hope it's alright ^^

EDIT: ACTUALLY I LIED I MANAGED TO LINK IT TO A CONCEPT I'VE HAD FOR A WHILE I THINK IT'S OK NOW

Once again, short fic for today :)

EDIT: dsfjhakjslfh that was a lie this is just over 1k

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @fullsongphilosopher

Masterpost Link 

TickleTober Masterpost

"For the Man of Steel, you really are such a softie." Bruce hummed, leaning against Clark's left shoulder and closing his eyes. Diana let out a soft chuckle from Clark's other side in agreement.

Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman had just finished a ridiculously busy day - filled with PR conferences, charity work, various patrols, and a few mild interventions on the city streets - so the trio were grateful to finally get a chance to relax together.

"What do you mean softie?" Clark raised an eyebrow. "I'm not soft."

Diana responded before Bruce had the chance to argue. "Not soft, but you're definitely the nicest of us all."

"Too nice." Bruce added with a grin, beginning to feel the irresistible temptation of annoying Clark.

Doing his best not to disturb the comfortable positions of his partners, Clark sat further upright (as if his body position would strengthen his argument). "I can be mean!"

That earnt a proper laugh from Diana. "Please, you don't have a wicked bone in your body."

There was a pause as a smirk settled on Clark's face. "Oh is that right?"

Diana was switched on enough to sense the change in Clark's tone, and tried to swiftly push herself off her human headrest, but Clark was too quick. He grabbed around her waist and tugged her underneath him, before pulling the slightly-sleepy Bruce next to her.

"Huh-?" Bruce yelped as Clark say across both his and Diana's hips.

"I know how I can prove how wicked I can really be." Clark smirked, before clawing into the ribs of the two superheroes under him.

Diana gasped, clenching her mouth shut so Clark wouldn't get the satisfaction of cracking her that easily. Both of her hands worked to pry Clark's five fingers from her side - a task that would normally be easy, but with tickling near enough halved her strength - before concentrating on defending her sensitive spots from the attack.

She had managed to interlock the fingers of one hand with Clark's, while the other gripped his wrist to push him away. While his hand didn't move much, her defense gave her enough respite to remember she had a fellow ally lying next to her.

"Bruce!" She grunted, unable to look anywhere but Clark's threatening fingers. "I've got his hand! Just grab the other!"

But, before she had even finished her sentence, she suddenly registered the bubbly laughter that had filled the room for who knows how long. And, in a moment of poor decision making, she let her eyes and her attention turn to Bruce.

The poor hero was curled up facing away from Diana, giggling his little heart out. There was barely space in his breath for him to beg Clark to let him go (and to be completely honest, based on the genuine joy in his laughter, Diana wasn't sure he even wanted to try).

Before she had the chance to roll her eyes at his uselessness, Clark escaped her (now weakened) grip and latched his thumb into her hip bone behind him.

Diana let out a shriek, her arms switching between trying to grab Clark's hand again and thumping into his upper abdomen.

"BRUHUHUCE!" She spluttered between bouts of laughter. "DO SOHOMETHING!"

"He is doing something." Clark beamed. "He's experiencing how wicked I can be."

Bruce could only cackle in response as Clark managed to worm his fingers into the man's armpit.

"And laughing..." Clark nodded seriously. "That's important too."

"YOHOU'RE UHUSELESS!" Diana elbowed the Batman, letting herself laugh a little more to make sure Bruce knew she was mostly joking.

Clark chuckled. "And...? what am I?"

Diana slapped his leg. "A JEHEHERK!"

She couldn't quite tell, but it sounded like Bruce laughed a little extra at that comment.

"Ow." Clark pouted. "That wasn't quite the response I was looking for..."

Leaving them no time for a witty retort or more helpless laughter (from Diana or Bruce respectively), Clark amped the intensity. Opting to vibrate his claw-shaped hands at an inhuman speed against Diana's stomach and Bruce's exposed back (as the poor guy had been locked in a fetal position since they started).

Bruce screeched, his back arched as far as humanly possible from the offending fingers.

"FIHIHINE YOHOU'RE EHEVIL!" Diana squealed, and at the same time a stream of incoherent begging and pleading burst from Bruce's mouth.

He tried to twist back towards his companions, hands reaching behind himself to try and grab the claw that was driving him insane.

"Mmm..." Clark pondered, still effortlessly destroying the two supers. "Not quite the wording I used."

"WIHIHICKEHED! YOUOHOU'RE WIHICKED JUST LET ME GOHOHO!" She pleaded through cackles as her hands weakly shoved at Clark's.

Bruce had returned to his original position, this time clinging onto Clark's leg as if it were his own sanity.

"Told you." Clark grinned, easily releasing Diana while keeping Bruce underneath him.

Wonder Woman took her moment to sprawl out on the floor and suck in as much oxygen as possible. Her cheeks were still frosted with a rosy glow, aching from the last few minutes of laughter.

Somehow amongst the chaos, Bruce realised Diana was free. As Clark took a little pity on the guy and swapped spots again to target his neck, Bruce took his chance.

"Diahana hehelp mehe!" Bruce gasped between squeaks and high-pitched giggles.

She scoffed playfully. "You never helped me!"

Bruce squealed as Clark went for his ears momentarily. "I cohohouldn't!"

"You could have tried..." She fake-sighed, gazing into the distance. "Besides, you know what you have to do to make him stop, seems to me you don't want him to."

The laughter-induced blush on Bruce's face took on a more pinkish tone of embarrassment, made even worse by Clark leaning down and rubbing his stubble against Bruce's neck.

"Oh, are we having too much fun?" Clark growled right into Bruce's ear, knowing the low vibrations tickled the billionaire more than he'd ever care to admit.

"Clahark plehehease!" Bruce whined, scrunching his head against Superman's. "Just lehet me go!"

"I guess there's no other option at this point, if you're going to refuse that strongly..." Clark sighed, leaning back upright and letting his hands rest on his knees.

Bruce gave him a puzzled look. Did Clark seriously just give in?

The pleading wasn't meant to work that quickly... Bruce thought to himself, too tired to catch the disappointment that was washing over his face.

Clark's tickle attacks never stop that easily...

How was he meant to know it would this time?

"Diana?" Clark grinned, gesturing to Bruce (and snapping the man out of his thoughts). "Care to help me out?"