#bastard duet

[eclipsedcrystalstar]

Does the tumblr side of the Epic fandom know the wholesome Antonious cover based on a snippet of a future song because I can’t get it out of my head

[seaofserene]

this song is still the cryptids song ever.

[demonic0angel]

Music meister is in Gotham and forcing everyone into a musical. Jason can’t stop singing about Jazz in front of his family, similar to summer nights in Grease.

(I must be an open book to y'all or something, bc Grease is one of the first musicals I ever loved 😭)

Jason's cheeks were red as he sang, "Summer loving had me a blast."

He then heard the sweet song nearby and it alarmed him even more as that meant that the subject of his singing was close. "Summer loving happened so fast!"

His family stared at him with wide eyes and both Dick and Tim were leering at him, even as they also struggled in trying to break past the musical hypnosis they were under.

"I met a girl crazy for me!"

"Met a boy cute as can be!" Fuck! His face was entirely red now and he had never been so thankful that he had a helmet on.

"Summer days drifting away! To-ah! Oh, the summer nights...!"

"Well-a, well-a, well-a, huh! Tell me more, tell me more! Did you get very far?" His family sang, and Dick nudged him at the end, an actual sense of amusement in his eyes even as he was controlled.

Jason sent him a venomous glare, as he was still dancing and singing.

In the distance, he could hear, "Tell me more, tell me more! Like does he have a car?"

They started a bridge, snapping their fingers and walking in a direction in practiced unison. "Uh huh! Doo doo! Uh huh! Doo doo!"

Jason continued, "She swam by me, she got a cramp!"

They never even went swimming?! If he was correct in his hypothesis, then the woman who was singing as his other half was one that he had met in a bookstore, where they had only shared a coffee before departing.

Jason wanted desperately to snap out of the hypnosis, but even Batman was weirdly enjoying himself right now, since everyone was dancing and unable to commit crimes while they were distracted.

The bastard was probably formulating a plan while enjoying Jason's humiliation!

In the distance, the sweet voice continued, "He ran by me, got my suit damp!"

"I saved her life, she nearly drowned!" He sang.

"He showed off, splashing around!" She responded.

"Summer sun, something's begun... But ah! Oh, the summer nights!"

"Well-a, well-a, well-a, huh!"

The other half of the duet in the distance started singing this time and Jason would've tripped over himself if he hadn't been controlled through the powers of dancing. "Tell me more, tell me more! Was it love at first sight?"

Now even Steph and Damian were smirking at him

"Tell me more, tell me more! Did she put a fight?" Tim was the one leaned close now, grinning widely.

Jason grit his teeth and even as he was singing, he swore to himself that after he killed that miserable, meddling Musical Meister, he'd kill his own family next!

... maybe after he found the other half of his duet again.

[nonexistence1199]

Bungou Stray Dogs headcanons!

Author's note: Late christmas gift for y'all;) My apology for making you wait, my family visited me last night sooooo... yeah, that's it...

Hope you enjoy!

Characters: Dazai, Fyodor, Chuuya, Ranpo, Poe

Dazai Osamu

The most chaotic (also the sweetest) holiday you've ever get, that's for sure

This bastard will make you join the ADA's Christmas party, but if you're not comfortable, then he'll just sneak out with you to go to whatever place you want

Confessing his feelings under the christmas tree, awwww <3

Have a feeling that he won't invite anyone to commit double suicide with him in this day

"Better not let God get angry with me. It would be a shame if He didn't let me die later just because of some bad Christmas prank, don't you agree Belladonna?"

Cuddles cuddles cuddles🥰

Go annoy Chuuya in front of you

"You see? He'll need to improve his height and his awful taste in fashion if he wants to go on a date with someone as gorgeous as yo-"

"SHUT UP MACKEREL!!"

You would likely receive something like a hand-written poem along with a little gift depends on your hobbies

"Ermmmm..... I-I hope you like it, Belladonna.."

"Mhm, of course, love"

Chill guy on the outside, fluster as hell on the inside

He'll stick around you until the next morning (obviously, because he's Dazai)

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Okay so let's pretend that he had a lover....

Go to church with your hand in his

Rarely show his emotions, but who cares?

The type of person to internally scream when he caught a glimpse of your smile

"God she's such a fragile little thing... makes me want to keep her innocence all to myself"

Prays to God that you'll stay with him whatever it takes

Listening to Tchaikovsky at home (I love Tchaikovky's music sm😇)

He'll make sure to kick Nikolai out of his way, just to have more private time with you

You guys would play a duet with each other, in the candle-lit living room (in case you know how to play piano or whatever instruments that get along with cello)

Easily figure out what you like and gifted it to you (he's too smart to miss out your sparkling eyes when you see something you love lol)

Maybe he'll even skip work to spend time with you

"Is it okay, Fedya...?"

"Don't worry, мой дорогой. There is no harm in getting off from work for a while to give you the attention you deserves, don't you think?"

Nakahara Chuuya

Top quality five-star restaurant, not too crowded but not too secluded

Your role in this expensive date? Point out whatever you want, and you'll have it in a second.

Bonus point if his darling is also alcoholic (But he won't let you drink too much. He wouldn't want you damaging your own health, afterall)

"Your total payment was 12,365.04000 yen, sir."

"What? That's not enough. Anything else you wanna buy, darling?"

Hold the door open for you, carry all your shopping bags, wrapping his arm around your waist and held you close because he's such a gentleman oh my god🤭🤭

Turn his cautious mode on when he see a certain bandaged brunette

"Stay away from me and my precious darling, or else I'll explode your damn apartment"

Kick Dazai's ass if he dares to approach you

"Are you fine, darling? Did he do anything to you? Tell me, and I'll kill him right away-"

"No, don't worry Chuu, he didn't do anything"

For a quick sum up: A fancy date with Mr. Fancy hat

Edgar Allan Poe

Travelling in his special novel for Christmas? He would have prepared it for a long time now. Afterall, he's literally simping his lover

Celebrate Christmas in his home, cuddles and he'll whisper all the lovely words in your ear

"I love you, love"

"Aww, me too"

"Will you stay with me? For the rest of my life?"

"I will"

Nothing is better than his flustered face after hearing your response<33

I have a feeling that he would give you some kind of handmade gifts (of course, he made it himself)

He would prefer staying at home with you, but if you want, he'd gladly take you to the place to want to go

Dancing in the living room

Super clingy guy who would cling to you (may even get jelous when Karl stays in your lap for too long...)

Edogawa Ranpo

Prepare to see your wallet getting lighter and lighter in Christmas day...

Drag you to his favorite candy shop (don't worry, you may get bankrupt the next day)

"Only one more candy bag, pretty pleaseeeeeeeee?"

"Pfft, no"

Eating snacks while while watching some movies with you

Childlike behaviors

He would even share his snacks with you... suprise😉?

Shamelessly cling onto you and would whine like a child if you leave him for a second

"Am I your human pillow or what?"

"Yes you are, dummy"

Line dividers by @cafekitsune

[gingerteafairy]

𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙚

Tate's nirvana obsession led to a not-so -innocent band practice.

tags n warnings: tate landgon x reader, crack!fic, f!reader, mdni, smut, pwp, piv. word count: 592

The house was unusually quiet for a Saturday —except for you and Tate, hooking up like rabbits on his dark green duvet. Tate’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the cold iron bar of the bed headboard, his palms slick with sweat, holding your legs by his blushed shoulders. Who knew how long the two of you had been fucking—time seemed to dissolve into the rhythm of his hips.

Tate wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. “Hey,” he panted, mid-thrust, “you know Nirvana, right?”

Your cheeks flushed and your hair sticking to your face in every direction, squinted at him. “Uh… yeah? Smells Like Teen Spirit? Oh right there, baby.” You failed a bit on your voice, reaching that sweet sensation.

Tate rolled his eyes, steadying you with one hand. “No, hmmm... it’s more than that. It’s like… it’s a vibe.” He cleared his throat and began singing, albeit off-key:

“Come as you are, as you were...”

You burst into laughter between your wimpey moans. “Oh my god, Tate! You sound--hmmm, like a dying cat!”

“Rude,” he shot back, though his crooked grin betrayed how pleased he was that you were laughing. “Let’s hear you do better.”

“Okay, okay,” you said, trying to catch your breath. You scratched his back and sang—or rather, squeaked:

“Come as you aaaaaaarghhh! FUCK, TATE”

Tate doubled his thrust to intentionally make you fail, which sent a humongous laugh in his lungs. He rocked his hips deep with a muffled “fuck”. “That was so bad, sugar. Worse than me.”

You were laughing so hard you had to cover your mouth, your legs giving out to tremble. “It’s your fault! You distracted me with your cock, you bastard! You, ugh, looked like a drowning crow.”

“‘m a drowning crow,” Tate deadpanned, his head lying flat on your chest, nipping your skin. “You should sing backup for me. You’re a natural. Sing f’me, honey.”

“As I waaant you to beee,” you sang with the least amount of breath you had, before cupping his face in your hands in a sloppy kiss.

Tate groaned, grinning. “As a friend, as annn old memoryyy”

“Still so fucking bad.” You shot and grabbed his hand, pushing him away. “Up, wanna ride you.”

The two of you stumbled out of the mattress, limbs jelly-like, and made your way to sit on his lap to wrap his swollen cock from your juices inside your cunt again.

Tate holds your ass as you insert his cock slowly in your abused pussy, looking dramatically bored. “C’mon, hurry. Let me cum, hm?”

“Only if you keep singing,” you sigh, plopping down, moaning with his full length reaching your cervix. “It's awkwardly sexy.”

Tate smirked and started again: "Take your time, hurry up...”

You joined in this time, your voices merging into a chaotic duet. You wobbled on his lap, your attempts to sing turning into uncontrollable giggles and moans, driving into a perfect climax together a few seconds later.

“You’re so bad at this!” Tate gasped, wiping his face on his comforter, before taking it to cover both of you.

“You’re worse!” you retorted, laughing so hard you nearly tipped over.

You sang and laughed until the sun started dipping lower in the sky, your voices hoarse and your clothes damp with sweat and cum. As you walked home, you glanced at Tate and grinned. “Best band practice ever.”

Tate nudged you playfully. “You’re the worst lead singer I’ve ever heard.”

“And you’re the worst Nirvana impersonator alive,” you shot back, sticking out your tongue. "Bye, Kurt."

[ltadoriyuujl]

blood on your jeans, blisters on our feet, a huge grin full of teeth

☆ twin holes in your body lead to twin holes in his neck and a tender moment in an unconventional location (AKA: trust hunters to fuck up a perfectly good moonlight date)

☆ werewolf!bakugou katsuki x vampire!reader, 2.6k words

☆ established relationship, hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, gn!reader, a touch of religious imagery, they don't fuck but they get very close

☆ a/n: my contribution for katsuki's birthday that i totally got done on time. happy birthday to my favorite guy. crossposted on ao3

Each step felt like a struggle between his momentum and the mud, but his urgency won out every time. The ground was eager to soak up the first rain it had seen in weeks, making the earth beneath his feet warm and wet.

Meanwhile, you were indistinguishable from an ice sculpture in his arms.

You'd been cold to the touch for as long as he'd known you. A natural side effect of being a born member of the living dead. But this was different, more dire. Your skin was sallow at the best of times but you were growing waxier by the second, and the hands he knew could crush boulders without much effort grasped weakly at his shirt. The hem of his shirt and most of his pants were dark and stained, not from the rain or the muck, but from the precious little lifeblood you had to spare, the viscous liquid dribbling out of the two neat holes blown clear through your midsection.

He couldn't hear or smell the hunter anymore, though whether that was because he had genuinely lost them or simply due to the fact that his heart was thundering in his ears and his nose was full of you, he couldn't tell. It wasn't like it mattered either way. If the bastard caught up to him, you'd both be dead. If he didn't get you somewhere safe and put some blood back in your system soon, you'd tap out on him, and that was somehow the worse option.

You coughed, the sound rattling out of you, and it made the knots in his stomach tighten. The bleeding had slowed considerably from when you'd been shot, but it wasn't enough. Your supernatural healing factor could only work with what you had, and you weren't nearly old or strong enough to heal up point-blank shots from enchanted weapons on your own. He'd be damned if you died on him, because of him.

"Katsuki," you mumbled, the word quiet and half-garbled. He grunted in acknowledgment but didn't break his stride, eyes peeled for anything even remotely resembling a shelter. Then, like a beacon of divine providence, Katsuki spotted a spire jutting out in the distance. He immediately switched course, headed in that direction. A spire meant a house or a church, or at the very least something with half a goddamn roof.

"Katsuki," you tried again, voice firmer this time, "you should leave me. 'S not safe out here, go home."

You felt his growl in your bones before you heard it, the rough sound setting an ancient set of instincts on edge. "You've had a lot of stupid ideas," you could hear the snarl in his voice, "but that has to be your dumbest one yet. I'll chalk it up to delirium."

You opened your mouth to argue, but you couldn't choke any more words past the dryness in your throat. Pain and hunger danced an awful duet inside you, and it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. The only part of your brain not submerged in the fog of negative sensation was screaming at you to stop wasting energy, so you grit your teeth and closed your eyes, focusing instead on the frantic thrumming of Katsuki’s heart under your cheek.

The trees thinned and Katsuki could clearly discern the building as an old church. The walls and doors were so faded it was impossible to tell what the original colors could have been, even with his enhanced sight. But all the walls seemed intact and the roof had no glaring holes, so he couldn't give less of a shit about whether or not it was pretty.

He tore through the attached graveyard with little concern for the slumber of the dead, only determined to ensure you didn't join their ranks. Using a single broad shoulder as a battering ram, he burst through the door, barely managing to keep you both from crashing to the floor in his haste.

He kept his senses peeled for any hidden surprises and stumbled towards the pews closest to the door before dropping to his knees between them, trusting the ancient wood to keep the two of you hidden and cradling your body so you weren't jarred by the impact. For the first time since you'd gone down, Katsuki allowed himself to properly look at your face, and the sight that greeted him turned his stomach. It wasn't like you'd ever been the picture of health or vitality, but the blood loss had turned you into a wax figure of yourself, a cheap, fake imitation. It was wrong, deeply wrong, and for a terrifying moment, Katsuki thought this would be the last version of you he ever saw.

It hardly took a thought to extend the nails on his hands into claws, the neckline of his shirt shredding like paper under the wicked points. With as much care as his trembling hands could muster, he made a shallow cut in the skin of his neck and raised your head to it, grateful for the way your body twitched at the smell of blood.

Your eyes fluttered open, and then fixed themselves on the droplets rolling down onto his shoulder and collarbone. On instinct your fangs lengthened, and it took every last ounce of your dwindling self-restraint to stop yourself from lunging forward.

"'Suki," your voice was more rasp than anything, vocal cords parched and tongue heavy as lead. Still, even on death's doorstep you had stubbornness in spades. "I can't- I can't make it good. It'll hurt. I don't know if I'll be able to stop."

Katsuki snarled and forced your head closer, placing your lips directly against the wound. "I don't give a shit. Drink."

The command reverberated through you and your body reacted before your mind could, unhinging your jaw fully and driving fangs into flesh. Your teeth tore through skin and muscle, and the blood that flowed into your mouth was sweeter than any wine, purer than any spring water.

You weren't kidding. It hurt like a bitch. You were too weak and frenzied to employ the weird vampire magic that made being fed on feel like a body high. Every one of Katsuki's instincts was urging him to pry you off, to get away, but he dug his claws into the cracked wooden floor and endured.

Just as his vision began to blur at the edges, you ripped your mouth from his neck, throwing yourself backwards to put some distance between the two of you. Katsuki watched in morbid fascination and mounting relief as layers of fat, muscle and skin knit themselves together over the gunshot wounds until the only indication you'd been hurt at all was the holes in your top. He could feel the gashes on his neck mending as well, sped up by the combination of vampire magic and his own healing abilities. His eyes flicked up to meet your wild ones and for a moment, you just stared at each other, chests heaving and the air thick with the scent of blood.

The wave of relief abated, taking his adrenaline with it. He all but deflated, scrubbing his still-clawed hand over his face as the gauntlet of emotions he'd been suppressing, the terror, anger and despair, all came crashing down on him at once.

For all the years spent nipping at each other's heels and trading eye rolls and increasingly creative middle fingers from different sides of a grand hall, you had never seriously put your hands on him until tonight. The glade in the middle of the forest between vampire territory and wolf country had been your go-to spot since you both were children. The area was synonymous with safety in Katsuki's mind, considering only the most suicidal hunters would even risk venturing so deep in search of targets. He'd been at ease, distracted, and you'd sensed the threat before he could. The force with which you shoved him out of the way was enough to send him tumbling head over ass halfway across the clearing. After a few moments of belligerent cursing and spitting grass out of his mouth, his bearings returned in time to see you go down, the smoking barrel of a gun glinting in the moonlight from the treeline.

What happened immediately after was fuzzy at best, distorted by shock and fear. He might've howled, let out a sound deep and full of rage, or he might have simply bolted over and scooped you up before making a break for it.

"That was a stupid ass thing to do." His accusation echoed through the church, and you winced as though the reflected words physically struck you.

"You're one to talk. Letting a dying vampire feed on you was way more dangerous than my stunt." Using the back of your hand, you attempted to wipe some half-dried blood off your cheek but only really succeeded in smudging it. "Hunters must have deep pockets these days if they can afford to have expendable bullets made of blessed silver-"

"Don't joke about this! You could've-"

"Better me than you." You weren't yelling, but your voice drowned out his regardless. The glint in your eyes was steely, your lips set in a firm line. "You just proved it. Two direct shots of holy silver and all I needed was a drink. If they had hit you-" your voice wavered, and your fangs dug into your bottom lip as you tried to regain your composure. "You would've died of blood loss and silver poisoning and even ripping every hunter in the world apart limb from limb wouldn't bring you back. I wouldn't have been fast enough to get you back to your home in time for them to help you, so I did the next best thing."

You shuffled forwards, eating up the floor space between you and him until your knees were almost touching. Tentatively, you reached a hand out to cup his cheek, a soft smile gracing your lips when he didn't recoil. "You're not as invincible as you think you are, Katsuki." Your voice had lost its previous hardness, the edges of it blunted into something far more tender. "I don't want to face a world where you don't exist. Not yet, at least."

Only a few weak moonbeams managed to filter through the grimy window behind you, but they were enough to drape you in a halo of soft silver light. The whirlpool of conflicting emotions churning in Katsuki's stomach quieted as he took you in. Your wild hair and bloodstained mouth did nothing to distract him from the color and fullness returning to your face, the blood—his blood—coursing through your veins and warming you from the inside out.

You were the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

He caved to his urges at last, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to him. His embrace was ironclad, like if he squeezed hard enough you would sink into his chest and let him carry you in the safety of his ribcage forever, right next to his beating heart. Your surprised gasp melted into a soft laugh but you held him back just as tight, as though you'd slip away to somewhere he couldn't reach you if you let go.

After a few more minutes of holding you, Katsuki's hind brain was sufficiently disappointed with the fact that you weren't going to crawl under his skin and stay there. He pulled away slightly, just enough to study your face up close, and you tried your best not to squirm under his heated gaze.

"What?" you teased, "Do I have something on my face?"

"Can I kiss you?" His voice was steady, but the pleading undertone was impossible to miss. One of your hands made its way to his hair, toying with the soft strands while you pretended to think.

"I have blood all over my mouth."

Katsuki scoffed. "Yeah, my blood. I don't give a shit."

Your nose scrunched in distaste but you couldn't keep the laugh out of your voice. "You're gross."

"Look, are you gonna let me kiss you or-"

Your lips pressed softly to his, stealing the rest of his sentence away. It wasn't your first kiss together, or even your 50th, but kissing Katsuki was a novel experience no matter how many times you did it. He was so…alive, real and firm and full of a warmth you couldn't mimic even with a hundred liters of blood. The hand not in his hair came up to cup his jaw, his pulse thundering under your pinky finger. A groan rumbled out of his chest and into yours, large hands finding your hips to pull you impossibly closer. His tongue slipped past your parted lips and prodded at your fangs, wrenching a full body shudder from you. You could've spent eternity there, mouth molded against his and greedily basking in the heat of his body. His thumbs hooked themselves under the waistband of your pants and your stolen blood rushed south so fast you almost gasped. Only decades of honing your self-control granted you the presence of mind and sheer willpower it took to break the kiss and tilt your head away from him.

"Katsuki." You were shooting for playful but only managed to land on strained and slightly nervous. "I'm not fucking you in an abandoned church." You refused to look directly at him, knowing from experience that his flushed cheeks and blown pupils would shatter your already tenuous grasp on your resolve.

His chest heaved against yours, his breath grazed your neck, and his damned thumbs were still grazing your hipbones. "Why?" The slight rasp in his voice was deadly. "Too cliché?"

"Oh absolutely. Can you imagine? 'Two creatures of the night, locked in passionate embrace in a former house of God's light.' The universe might smite us for the audacity alone." Easier to joke and deflect than admit you were so drunk on him that if you let him lay you down you might eat him whole.

Thankfully, Katsuki seemed to recognize your turmoil and finally moved his hands, bringing them down to rest on your thighs (which, admittedly, wasn't much of an improvement, but at least he wasn't touching bare skin any longer). "I should get you home," he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. "Sun's gonna start coming up in about an hour and half." You had no idea if that was true considering your phone was long gone and you'd never gotten into the habit of wearing a watch, but Katsuki had a freaky sense for when dawn was approaching so you'd learned to trust his judgment on that front.

Still, neither of you moved, content to soak in the other's presence just a little longer. You ghosted your fingers over the spot where your bite mark had been, the smooth skin betraying nothing about what had transpired not even thirty minutes prior. A squeeze to your leg drew your gaze from his neck to the vermilion eyes you adored so much.

"I'll find them." At your quizzical eyebrow, Katsuki huffed and continued. "Bastard that shot you. I'll find them, even if it takes the rest of my damn life."

You hummed and tilted your head to press your smiling lips to his cheek. "You're so hot when you plan brutal revenge."

"I thought you said you weren't tryin' to fuck me here?"

"Are those 'fuck me' words?"

"Half the shit you say is."

You snort. "You really are a dog," you reply, and you hope he knows you mean it with all the affection of a thousand lifetimes.

[excalibur-gone-missing]

Paring: jeonghan x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, 70's au, little to no angst

warnings: none, maybe a few swear words here and there

summary: Jeonghan might be a cocky bastard but when it comes to you he will turn the world upside down, or so he claims.

words: 2k

a/n: I request each and every one of you to comment on this fic don't be a silent reader it helps me as an author to understand my readers and i would love to communicate with all of you. Constructive criticism is always welcomed by me so do talk about this fic or send me an ask.

a/n 2: i heard a podcast and it made me want to write this fic because the love story of the two hosts was sooo damn cutee.

You knew Jeonghan from when you were literally a kid.

His father had moved to your city after a presentation from little Jeonghan on how to make a pocketknife using ice cream sticks that he learnt from his local friends, his mother mortified that her little sweet child would grow up to become a goon forced his father to change cities to go as far away from the place they physically could.

It was during his fathers pursuit for a stable Korean community in Canada’s ever-growing cities did he come across the name of your grandfather’s in the phonebook that sounded very much similar to his. Your grandfather being the trusting and kind man he was invited his father for a dinner in his house the following day and this event kickstarted a relationship between the two families wherein, his father bought a house six minutes away from yours in the small part of your city inhabited by mostly Asians.

You both had met when he was seven and you were only three, he still remembers babysitting you when you were in middle school as your parents trusted no one more than him. So, when he broke the beautiful glass table in your living room, he had skillfully blamed you resulting in a three-hour long lecture from your parents about taking care of ones possessions.

You hated Jeonghan then, you really did, so you refused to talk to him for the next almost five years.

Until you both found yourselves in a duet dance opposite to each other because it was the neighborhood talent show and it was mandatory for the kids to participate. Typical Asian parents.

To no ones surprise your dance number got a tad bit too much hype from the watchers and it kickstarted another full year of you both not talking to each other at all because of the teasing glances and suggestive remarks from adults and children alike.

The time you both talked to each other again was when it was you senior year prom at high school and your father being the overprotective man he was, did not allow you to go because according to him ‘prom is how American kids end up getting pregnant.’

He was wrong of course; kids get pregnant due to having sex but you being the soft-spoken kid you were did not have the gal to inform him that. You would rather spend the night being sad and watching Simpsons and crying about how unfair it is for your parents to not let you go and experience the night considered to rank number one in peak American high school experience.

This was the first time you saw Jeonghan as your lord and savior, which you obviously will never tell him because it will do nothing but fuel his over-the-top ego. But that day he had stepped in and talked to you father.

“It’s an experience and everyone should be able to experience it, I think you are wrong sir to take away this from your daughter,” he had oh so righteously said.

“Son, I would let her only if you take her, as I don’t trust anyone but you with my daughter.”

“So, I shall then.”

Now did this conversation shock you? Yes, it did especially your father’s response to Jeonghan, but you were not going to stir up any feminist conversation with your father right now, not when you just got the pass to go to prom.

That night was something you barely remember; it has been twenty years since then and you barely care about the overly hyped kids and the future alcoholics that you encountered that night. Now that you are wise and older, you understand your parents concern. Suzy from you class had become a mother at the prime age of eighteen, nine months later. You are thankful that your father made the wise choice for you that day.

That night from what you remember was just plain boring, you had come back at 11 to a quite house, had talked to the boy for the entirety of the night, watched the sunrise with him and at the end had hugged him thanking him for taking you to prom.

After that incident, you both had again gone onto your own ways and had not talked to each other for another year till the next family function, where you both were the only kids of the same age present as all your other friends were out of the country for college.

That weekend had sparked a friendship between you both, as you always stuck to each other’s side seeking comfort from one another as talking to anyone else somehow always circled back to your marriage and their extreme concern for your depleting eggs.

The friendship you both wove lasted a long while, throughout your college. Till one day you come back from a trip to Daegu, and he was there standing at the airport ready to rush you away from your family to the nearest Starbucks because he had some news for you.

Once in the café he informed you that he had landed the job he had been trying for right after finishing college. You were elated for him, so happy that you almost forgot to tell him about the potential marriage partner your parents had whipped up during your two-week-long stay there.

Jeonghan being the man he was asked you up front to marry him, confessing his hidden feeling for you and how the weight of them might have just decreased his height. Dramatic bitch.

You being brough back to reality told him no and stated the reason to be man you could have potentially married. He obviously told you to say no to this unknown ‘son of a bitch’ and accept his proposal.

So being the bigger person, because Jeonghan obviously refused to, you reminded him that you had never dated anyone let alone him and you will not marry a man you have not dated.

This conversation then ignited your relationship the first step of which was turning down the said ‘son of a bitch’ while telling your father you wanted to focus on your career more, which you really did. Fast forward six months and while keeping up the long-distance relation with frequent phone calls late at night because your parents might pick up the landline and eavesdrop if its during the day, while at the same time trying to search for a job near Boston went on.

On one late Sunday afternoon as you were sitting on the kitchen island sipping on coffee you got an email from on of the companies, you had given an interview to, informing you had gotten an onsite job that would require you to move to Cambridge, and you were over the moon.

So, the preparations began for your send off and again Jeonghan stepped in like the messiah he is. He is absolutely not one, you refuse to accept. The man went ahead and told your conservative father he will give up his life to take care of you, till this date you claim it will be the opposite if a situation like that befalls you both. After packing your bags, you were on your merry way to live with the man.

It took you both some time to adjust to the new settings he would be over at your place during the weekends and sometimes you would be at his. This continued for another year or so before one night as you both were laying on the bed together when Jeonghan suddenly piped up.

“I think you should see other people.”

Not understanding what he meant you turned towards the guy and asked, “what do you mean?”

“I know we will end up marrying each other, so I want you to experience dating other men too, so you don’t get to ever claim I was the only guy in your life,” he explained to you.

You had yet to get a taste of exactly how much of a cocky motherfucker you are dating, said innocently.

“But Jeonghan you are the only guy I ever dated.”

That was the end of that conversation that night before you both went to sleep, but his urging never stopped. It went on for a few days till one day your exhausted and a tad bit insecure self, lashed out at him claiming he wanted to cheat on you, and he wanted a break. So, you gave one to him.

That entire year you had a flower bouquet delivered early morning to your house with an apology letter, although the apologies lasted only for a month before you forgave the terrified man, who apologized profusely after you accepted to talk to him. Even though you did feel a bit bad after seeing him, the guy looked like he was living during the great depression.

After that all was smooth sailing and he never ever tried to upset you at all, but his playful nature persisted anyways, not like you minded that.

Five years later during your sister’s wedding in Singapore was when his proposal was finally accepted. You had just arrived at the airport and yet again the man had swooped in and taken you away from your family under the guise of some kind of sound check that was needed to be done in the wedding venue.

Your clueless self agreed to go with him and without a second thought he took you to the cables to take you to an island that was nowhere close to the wedding venue. As you were getting increasingly confused, you kept asking him where exactly you both were going. He kept deflecting the topic, so you ultimately gave up and, as another family came up on the cable car, you started talking about your flight that you took with your family. The poor man did not hear one word, he was sweating bullocks and was essentially confused why another family was in the cable car that he had fully booked for you both.

As the family got down at the end, he stopped you from doing so too claiming it is not the stop, even though it was the last one. It was then the nervous wreck of a man got down on one knee in front of asking for your hand in marriage once again, and you being so in love with him accepted to spend the rest of your life with the man.

The rest of it was history, you both had to tell your parents none of whom were shocked at all, rather relieved that you both had at last agreed to get married and be together forever.

Now ten years later and with your two children, you are perfectly content with your life. Waking up with Jeonghan beside you everyday sounds like a dream and you are happy it came true for you.

As you tossed around the bed you saw Jeonghan eyeing you in his half-awake state.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“Us,” you answer snuggling closer to him.

“What about us, huh?”

“The way you forced me to date some other guy because you wanted me to have more experience in dating,” you laughed at the memory.

“Don’t tell me about that it still haunts me till this day” he retorts with a shudder.

“Why did you do it anyways?” you ask.

“I knew I was going to marry you so I wanted you to have some more experience with dating others so whenever you have an argument I could say ‘hey remember that looser you dated!’”, he answers with laugh.

With a laugh you slapped his shoulder exclaiming, “I sometimes forget how cocky you can get!”

"How else do you think I got the permission to propose you in someone else's marriage!" he states sassily.

With that Jeonghan snuggles closer to you some more, its Sundays anyways the kids are with their grandparents and you both have all the time in the world to just bask in each other’s presence and not do anything at all.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello, lovely mods! I'm looking for any fics where one (or both) of the husbands loses a bet/wager and shenanigans ensue, crack/humor encouraged. Something like Barking up the Wrong Tree (https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617872), I suppose :) Thanks for all your hard work <3

Hi! Here are some fics featuring bets and wagers...

Five's the Charm by EA_Lakambini (T)

Aziraphale and Crowley challenge each other to not perform more than five miracles in a day. (They’re both also competitive, and may or may not be above sabotage.)

The Wager by Caedmon (E)

“You were right, you were right, I was wrong and you were right… now come and get it.” Aziraphale and Crowley have made a bet about the outcome of their scheme to get Nina and Maggie together. They disagree about who won.

Death’s Duet by IneffableDoll (T)

Aziraphale has been happily haunting a little English cottage for centuries. When an unruly ghost named Crowley barges in one night and refuses to leave, Aziraphale cannot abide by the intrusion, so the two place a bet to see who can make the human child Warlock believe in ghosts first. If Crowley loses, he must leave Aziraphale to Rest In Peace. They stumble along the way, and banter and flirt and be silly a lot, but eventually, Aziraphale and Crowley come to love each other, as they seem wont to do in any AU.

Deal with a Devil by OldBeginningNewEnding (M)

A little wager in which Crowley and Aziraphale see who can resist the other longest. “What kind of prize do you have in mind?” “Anything you’d like, angel,” Crowley sang. “Well, anything I’d like, I should say.” “Well, there’s this absolutely lovely ensemble that I thought would look rather fetching on you —” “Is it bloody tartan—” “Tartan’s stylish!” "Fine, but when I win—” And suddenly, he was there before Aziraphale, crowding him against a sturdy bookcase, the air between their mouths barely enough for the soft gasp that left his angel’s lips. “When I win,” he murmured, “I want that delicious arse of yours marked with my sigil.”

And the Winner is…. by clubs14 (T)

Crowley is more then happy to move ahead and enjoy the art and wine of Florence. Now if only he could make the arrangement a more permanent thing. Perhaps a bet on who the best artist is will help incentivize the angel.

Fancy Patter on the Telephone by HotCrossPigeon (G)

A series of telephone conversations between Aziraphale and Crowley during the Lockdown. They get steadily more desperate and ridiculous as the weeks go on. Featuring a moping demon, a teasing angel, a pub quiz, an explosion, extraordinary amounts of alcohol, a bubble bath, awkward flirting, several love confessions... and an ill-conceived bet on who can last the longest without seeing the other. What could possibly go wrong?

And because I know if I don't mentioned it everyone in the notes will...

One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan (E)

"All right, I know I'm going to regret asking this," Aziraphale says. "What exactly does this wager entail?" Crowley grins like the cat that not only got the cream but has absconded with the entire cow. He grabs the bottle and swigs straight from it despite Aziraphale's tut of disapproval.  "The pot goes to whichever demon can get an angel into bed by the end of the evening."  AKA The Fic That Tumblr Made Me Write. Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it.

Plus the one you mentioned...

Barking Up the Wrong Tree by inflappible (G)

Crowley loses a bet with Adam and gets turned into a dachshund for a week as punishment. Aziraphale has to deal with the consequences.

- Mod D

[yrluvjane]

Black Velvet

Rockstar!Remus Lupin x Rockstar!Reader

Summary: After your drunken dance with Remus Lupin at the club goes viral, the rivalry between your band and The Marauders takes a sharp turn—straight into chaos, tabloid scandals, and a tension between you and Remus that’s definitely not just hatred anymore.

Part 3 to Sound & Vision, Highway to Rivalry

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, rivals to ???, Remus being a smug bastard, media frenzy, unresolved sexual tension, ANGST with a side of fluff.

The text burned in your pocket all the way back to your dressing room, the words searing themselves into your skin like a brand.

"It's the one where you're in my lap."

You should have been furious. Should have blocked his number the second Marlene had given it to him. Should have sent Dorcus to sabotage his precious guitar collection or Mary to leak his embarrassing childhood photos to the press.

Instead, you found yourself staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror, your fingers absently tracing the shell of your ear where his lips had brushed not once, but twice now. The memory of his breath—warm and tinged with whiskey—sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.

Damn him.

Damn him and his stupid smirks and his stupid hands and his stupid—

Your phone buzzed again.

You nearly knocked over a bottle of expensive toner in your haste to grab it, heart hammering against your ribs like it had forgotten it wasn’t supposed to care about his texts.

Remus: Forgot to mention. The duet involves a key change. And a dip.

You choked on air.

You: I will set your precious leather jacket on fire.

Remus: Promises, promises.

Remus: Though if you wanted me out of my clothes, love, you could’ve just asked.

The screen blurred as you stared at it, torn between the overwhelming urge to throw your phone out the nearest window and the even more overwhelming urge to answer him. To keep this ridiculous, infuriating back-and-forth going because—

Because despite everything, despite years of rivalry and public sniping and genuine dislike (or so you’d told yourself), there was no denying the thrill that shot through you every time his name popped up on your screen.

You were saved from spiraling further by a sharp knock at the door.

"Come in," you called, hastily locking your phone and shoving it under a makeup wipe.

Marlene slipped inside, her expression far too knowing for your liking. "So," she drawled, hopping onto the counter beside you, "when’s the wedding?"

You threw a sponge at her head.

She caught it effortlessly, grinning. "Oh, don’t give me that look. The sexual tension between you two could power London for a year."

"There is no—" You cut yourself off, groaning as she raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "It’s just banter. It doesn’t mean anything."

"Mmhmm." Marlene plucked your phone from its hiding place, ignoring your indignant squawk. "And I suppose this is just banter too?"

She waved the screen in your face, illuminating your last text exchange with Remus.

You: If you even THINK about dipping me, I’ll break your nose.

Remus: You’d have to get close enough to reach my face first.

Remus: Looking forward to it.

You snatched the phone back, your cheeks burning. "It’s nothing."

Marlene’s grin turned wicked. "That’s the problem, isn’t it?"

Before you could retaliate, the door burst open again, revealing Dorcus with a stack of contracts in hand and a dangerous glint in her eye.

"Pack your bags," she announced. "We’re going to the Grammys."

Your stomach dropped. "What?"

Dorcus dropped the papers onto your lap with a flourish. "You and Lupin. Live duet. Courtesy of your manager and overwhelming public demand."

The words blurred before your eyes.

No.

No, no, no—

Your phone buzzed once more.

Remus: Told you you’d be in my lap by Christmas.

You buried your face in your hands.

Damn him.

Damn him straight to hell.

The recording studio was too quiet when you arrived—just the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint scent of burnt coffee lingering in the air. You'd come a full thirty minutes early on purpose, needing time to steel yourself before facing him. The empty parking spot beside yours had given you a fleeting moment of relief—until you pushed through the heavy soundproof door and found Remus Lupin already there, sprawled across the lounge couch like he owned the place.

Of course he was early.

Of course he looked like that—hair slightly messy like he'd run his hands through it one too many times, sleeves of his dark henley rolled up to reveal those infuriatingly elegant forearms, dotted with faded ink. Lyrics, chords, snippets of poetry you'd never admit you'd memorized from old interviews. A half-empty cup of tea balanced precariously on his knee as he scribbled something in a worn leather notebook.

"Late," he said without looking up.

You dropped your bag onto the nearest chair with a loud thud. "I'm twenty minutes early."

"Exactly." His lips quirked—that stupid, smug, unfairly attractive smirk. "I expected you thirty minutes ago. Knew you'd overcompensate."

The sheer arrogance of it made your fingers twitch. "Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?"

"Not when it makes you blush like that."

You turned sharply toward the coffee machine just to hide the traitorous heat creeping up your neck. The ancient machine gurgled ominously, as if sensing your distress.

Behind you, Remus' chair creaked as he stood. You could feel him approaching—the way the air shifted, the quiet scuff of his boots against the concrete floor. Then his hand was brushing yours as he reached past you for a fresh mug.

"Let me," he murmured, voice low and unfairly smooth.

"I can make my own damn coffee."

"Obviously." He nudged you aside gently, his shoulder pressing against yours for just a second too long. "But this way you can glare at me while I do it instead of while we're working. Efficiency, love."

You watched, arms crossed, as he measured out the grounds with absurd precision. Three scoops. A dash of cinnamon. Just the way you liked it.

"How did you—"

"Mary." He handed you the mug, his fingers lingering against yours deliberately. "Cost me two front row tickets to her next show."

You took a sip to hide your expression. Perfect. Of course it was perfect. "Bribery. How on-brand."

Remus leaned back against the counter, studying you over the rim of his own mug. "You're nervous."

"I'm annoyed."

"Same thing, with you." He set his cup down, the ceramic clinking softly against the granite. "We don't have to do this if—"

"Just play the fucking song, Lupin."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "There she is."

The first run-through was a disaster.

Your voice cracked on the high note. He came in too early on the bridge. The harmony you'd practiced separately clashed horribly when sung together.

"Christ." Remus raked a hand through his hair, sending the already messy strands into further disarray. "We sound like two cats in a blender."

You kicked his shin under the table. "Your tempo was off."

"My tempo was fine. You rushed the chorus."

"I did not—"

The sound engineer poked his head in, looking equal parts amused and pained. "You two realize this is being recorded, right?"

Silence.

Remus exhaled sharply through his nose. "Take five?"

You nodded, stomping outside for air. The late afternoon sun glared down at you, as if judging your life choices. You'd barely taken three deep breaths when the door creaked open behind you.

"Here." Remus thrust a water bottle into your hands. "Before you combust."

You took it grudgingly. "We're terrible together."

"Bullshit." He leaned against the brick wall beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. "We're electric and you know it."

The quiet conviction in his voice startled you. You risked a glance sideways. Sunlight caught the gold flecks in his eyes, the faint stubble along his jaw. He looked... tired. Not the performative exhaustion he played up for interviews, but genuinely worn thin.

"You're not sleeping," you observed.

His eyebrow arched. "Concern? From you?"

"Shut up." You knocked your knee against his. "Big night?"

"Something like that." He hesitated, then— "I wrote this for you. The song."

The admission hung between you, fragile as the unspoken truce you'd somehow stumbled into.

You stared at him. "What?"

"Two years ago." His thumb traced the rim of his water bottle absently. "After that festival in Barcelona. You wore that red dress and sang 'Black Velvet' like you were born to ruin me."

Your breath caught. You remembered that night.

"Why didn't you—"

"Because you'd have set it on fire." He met your gaze squarely, his expression unreadable. "Still might."

The honesty was too much. You deflected. "It's a terrible song."

"Liar."

"It's derivative."

"Now you're just being mean."

You bit your lip to hide the traitorous smile threatening to break free. "...The bridge is okay."

Remus grinned, slow and devastating. "High praise."

"Don't let it go to your head." You pushed off the wall. "We've got a Grammy performance to not embarrass ourselves at."

He caught your wrist as you turned, his grip firm but gentle. "Y/N."

The way he said your name—like it meant something, like you meant something—

"One more thing." His grip loosened, fingers sliding down to intertwine with yours. "About that dip..."

You groaned. "Remus—"

"I'm thinking at the key change—"

"I will end you."

His laughter followed you inside, warm and bright, and for the first time all day, the music didn't feel like a battle.

Text from Remus (1:23 AM): Just listened to our rehearsal recording again. There’s this moment in the second verse where your voice cracks—not the bad kind. The kind that happens when you’re holding back too much. Why do you do that?

You stared at your phone screen, the glow painting your hotel room walls blue. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

You (1:27 AM): Why are you listening to rehearsal tapes at 1 AM?

Remus (1:28 AM): Avoiding sleep. Answer the question.

You (1:30 AM): Old habit. My first vocal coach said vulnerability was weakness in performers.

Remus (1:31 AM): Your first vocal coach was an idiot. That crack? That’s the best part. It’s the moment the song becomes real.

You pressed your phone to your chest, suddenly too warm.

Day 3 of Rehearsals

The recording booth was claustrophobically small. Remus crowded behind you, one hand braced against the glass as he listened to your playback, his chest barely brushing your back.

"You’re still holding back," he murmured, his breath stirring your hair.

You stiffened. "I’m hitting every note perfectly."

"That’s the problem." He reached past you to restart the track, his fingers lingering on the console. "Stop performing. Just feel it."

The next take, you closed your eyes—and let the ache in your chest bleed into the mic.

When you opened them, Remus was staring at you like he’d never seen you before.

Text from Remus (2:47 AM): Found the notebook where I first wrote our song. Page is wrinkled where I spilled coffee. Smudged ink from rewriting the bridge twelve times. Funny how some things stay with you.

You (2:52 AM): Why’d you really choose this song for us?

Remus (2:55 AM): Because it’s about two people who can’t admit what they want. Because I knew you’d fight me on every word. Because I wanted to hear you sing something honest for once.

You (2:57 AM): You’re an asshole.

Remus (2:58 AM): You’re still texting me.

Day 5 of Rehearsals

"You’re avoiding the harmony," Remus said, pinning you with a look as you packed up your sheet music.

You zipped your bag too forcefully. "I’m singing my part."

"The harmony, Y/N. Where our voices blend. You keep shifting away from it like it’ll burn you." He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Afraid of getting too close?"

Your laugh was brittle. "This from the man who told Rolling Stone I had the musical depth of a kazoo?"

"I was twenty-two and pissed you’d stolen my opening act slot." His fingers brushed your wrist. "People change."

The contact sparked up your arm. You didn’t pull away.

Text from Remus (3:14 AM): Tell me something real.

You (3:20 AM): I used to practice your songs in my dorm room freshman year. Thought if I could play them perfectly, I’d understand how you think.

Remus (3:21 AM): Did it work?

You (3:25 AM): No. You’re still incomprehensible.

Remus (3:26 AM): Try harder.

Day 7 of Rehearsals

The argument started over chord progressions.

"You’re overcomplicating it," you snapped, slamming your palm against the piano.

Remus leaned into your space, his eyes dark. "And you’re playing it safe."

"Safe wins Grammys."

"Safe is boring." He caught your hand, pressing it flat against the keys in a discordant crash. "You used to take risks. What happened?"

Your breath came too fast. "I grew up."

His thumb traced your knuckles. "Liar."

The door banged open.

"Christ, finally," Sirius announced, tossing a bag of takeout onto the couch. "Three years of sexual tension and this is how you—"

Remus threw a drumstick at his head.

Text from Remus (12:02 AM - Grammy Eve): Can’t decide if I want to win tomorrow.

You (12:05 AM): You’ve wanted a Grammy since you were 19.

Remus (12:06 AM): If we win, we’ll have to do this again next year. If we lose, you’ll never sing with me again. Torture either way.

You (12:10 AM): You’re an idiot. We’re doing an encore regardless.

Remus (12:11 AM): Promise?

You stared at the word until your screen dimmed.

[bettelaboure]

⊹Grow Up⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

⊹Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x The Reader

⊹Warnings: contains emotionally intense scenes, toxic relationship dynamics, verbal hostility, and themes of betrayal and emotional abandonment

⊹Summary: a fierce trainee, Y/N, at YG Entertainment navigates cutthroat ambition, slow-burn tension, and a volatile romance with Seung-hyun, discovering both passion and heartbreak in Seoul’s spotlight

⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹

You always knew Seoul would change you. What you didn’t expect was how—not through fame or adoration, but through pain, sweat, and a rivalry so sharp it could cut through your dreams.

You were barely 20 when you signed the contract with YG Entertainment. A trainee. Another hopeful chasing the impossible. But you worked harder than most. When others collapsed, you stayed behind, repeating routines until your muscles screamed. It wasn’t about being the best. It was about survival.

That’s how you first met BigBang.

Your recording sessions often overlapped. Ji-yong, ever the perfectionist, stayed late—writing, tweaking, layering vocals. He’d pass you in the hallway, nodding, sometimes stopping to ask what you were working on.

"You dance like someone trying to outrun something," he said once, watching you through the glass of the practice room.

You looked up, sweat glistening down your spine. "Maybe I am."

He smiled. "Then keep running. You're catching up."

You became friends slowly. Late-night ramen after practice. Notes scribbled on napkins. He'd lend you headphones to preview his tracks. You trusted him. In this ruthless world of competition and perfection, Ji-yong was a sliver of warmth.

But where Ji-yong offered sanctuary, Seung-hyun gave you hell.

He was cruel in ways only brilliant people can be. Cold critiques layered in sarcasm, timed so perfectly they echoed through your head long after practice ended. "You call that a spin? My grandma turns faster on her recliner," he'd sneer, arms folded across his chest as he leaned in the doorway, pretending to be uninterested.

Once, during a group choreography run, he deliberately altered his timing by a fraction of a beat. It threw you off just enough to earn a glare from the dance instructor. Afterward, he whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Some people just can’t keep up with professional tempo. Maybe you should try Zumba instead."

Another time, you were assigned a duet in a showcase piece. He showed up late to rehearsals, made minimal effort, and when you finally snapped, shouting, "Do you even care about this?", he looked you dead in the eyes and said, "Not really. But I care that you’ll fail if I don’t."

He pushed your buttons with clinical precision. Switched your marked water bottle with one filled with vinegar once—an immature prank, but one that left you gagging in front of half the studio. When you caught him laughing in the mirror's reflection, your hands balled into fists.

"Grow up," you hissed.

He only smirked. "Maybe you should learn to take a joke. Or are you too tightly wound from all that 'running'?"

Yet no matter how angry he made you, no matter how sharp his barbs, there was something behind his eyes in those moments—something unreadable. Like he was testing you. Waiting to see if you’d shatter or survive.

You hated him. And worse—you noticed him. The way his eyes tracked you across the room. The smirk he wore like armor. He made you feel combustible, volatile.

Once, after a particularly brutal rehearsal, you stormed out, tears streaking down your cheeks. Ji-yong found you by the stairwell.

"He’s just... Seung-hyun," he said softly. "It’s how he connects. Broken people throw punches instead of reaching out."

"He’s not broken. He’s just a bastard."

Ji-yong didn’t argue. Just handed you his water bottle and sat beside you until your breathing calmed.

Time blurred. You got better. Stronger. Bolder.

And Seung-hyun? He noticed.

One night, your choreography coach called out sick, leaving you alone in the studio. You stayed anyway, rehearsing the same sequence on loop. You didn’t hear him come in.

"Your left foot’s still slow."

You groaned. "Seriously? I thought I had one evening without your commentary."

He walked to the speaker and replayed the track. "Do it again. This time, don’t think. Just feel."

You hesitated, but danced. This time, smoother. More instinctive.

When the music faded, he was watching you with something like respect. Or hunger.

"Not bad," he said. "For someone who used to dance like a scarecrow."

You threw your towel at him. He dodged, laughing. A real laugh. You’d never heard it before.

The shift was subtle at first—a brush of fingers during formation, a stare that lingered a few seconds too long, arguments that cut a little deeper than necessary. But then it became undeniable.

One afternoon during vocal training, he barged in unannounced, claiming he needed to check a demo. He stayed at the back of the room, arms crossed, eyes locked on you. You faltered on a high note, nerves getting the better of you under his intense gaze.

After the session, he said loud enough for the vocal coach to hear, "Maybe some people shouldn’t multitask. Dancing and singing at the same time’s clearly too much."

You shoved past him, humiliated, cheeks burning.

Then came the time you were finally assigned your first dance solo. It was supposed to be your moment. You worked tirelessly, until the routine was muscle memory. On showcase day, Seung-hyun somehow got himself inserted into the stage blocking last minute. During your set, he hovered too close, throwing off your spacing. The choreographer scolded you afterward.

Backstage, you rounded on him. "Why do you keep doing this? Why can’t you just leave me alone?"

He looked at you, jaw tight. "Maybe I like watching you stumble. Makes you more human."

You blinked. "You mean weaker."

He shrugged. "Same thing."

Later that night, you kicked a water bottle across the practice room, crying from exhaustion and anger. Ji-yong found you there, crouched beside the mirror.

You told him, voice shaking, "I think I hate him less than I used to."

Ji-yong looked at you, eyes unreadable. "Just be careful. Seung-hyun doesn’t let people close unless he’s ready to burn them."

You laughed bitterly, wiping your face with your sleeve. "Maybe I’m fireproof."

But even as you said it, your chest ached like something inside had already begun to melt.

The night it happened, the studio lights flickered overhead like stars about to die. Rain tapped against the windows, gentle at first, then harder—an urgent rhythm that echoed the tension between you. You’d both stayed late, pretending it was for work, but the truth hung heavy in the air like smoke.

You were adjusting the EQ levels on a demo when his hand brushed yours over the same control panel. You looked up. He didn’t move.

His face was close, closer than it had ever been without sarcasm or mockery between you. He was breathing harder than usual, lips parted like he wanted to say something and couldn’t.

His voice was gravel-soft. "Tell me to stop."

But you didn’t. Couldn’t.

The moment snapped. His mouth crashed into yours. The kiss was desperate—wild, unpracticed, tasting of frustration and every word you'd swallowed over months of tension. His hands gripped your waist as if anchoring you to the earth, and he lifted you onto the console like it was inevitable, like this had always been coming.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and for a moment, all the hatred, the jabs, the chaos—it all burned away under the fever of your touch. The rain outside became thunder. The room was heat and breath and teeth.

When he finally pulled back, his pupils were blown wide, his lips bruised. He looked furious.

"You ruin everything," he whispered, like an accusation.

You exhaled, chest heaving. "You started it."

He stared at you—then kissed you again. Slower this time. Deeper. Like he knew he shouldn’t, but couldn’t stop.

It didn’t last.

Rumors started. Whispers in the practice rooms. Sideways glances from other trainees. Whispered bets on how long it would last. Someone saw you sneaking out of a studio with your hoodie up. Another swore they heard your name from Seung-hyun’s lips during soundcheck. It was no longer a secret—it was spectacle.

You missed practices—once for an ankle strain, but the truth was deeper: you couldn’t bear seeing him with that cold expression again, like you were a stranger who’d embarrassed him.

He grew distant like winter settling into spring—slow, bitter, and impossible to stop. Conversations ended abruptly when others walked in. In formations, his touch that once lingered became clinical. Ji-yong watched it unfold, torn between loyalty and silence.

But it wasn’t just the coldness—it was the confusion. The stolen moments you still shared.

A week before it ended, you stayed late again, choreographing something for the trainees’ showcase. He showed up with a coffee and didn’t say a word, just sat on the floor, watching. When you stopped to catch your breath, he walked over and pulled you into him—kissing you like he couldn’t breathe without it.

It was gentler than the first time. His mouth moved with reverence. He whispered against your lips, “I keep saying I’ll stop.”

“Then stop,” you murmured, but kissed him harder.

Your back hit the mirror. His hands moved beneath your sweatshirt, up your spine, careful, tracing you like he was memorizing a map he’d soon forget. It felt like a goodbye, even then. A sweet, aching one.

And then came the break.

One night, after a long rehearsal, you found yourself alone in the hallway, stretching out your aching legs. Seung-hyun appeared, stepping out of the shadows like he’d been waiting.

His jaw was tight, like he’d been holding something in for too long. "I can't do this," he said, voice low. "Not with cameras. Not with contracts."

You stood slowly, muscles trembling, but not from fatigue. “You held me like I mattered. Like I was something real.”

He looked away. “You are. That’s the problem.”

“So what was I? A distraction? A way to blow off steam between takes?”

He didn’t answer. His silence was a knife.

“Say it,” you pressed, stepping closer. “Tell me it meant nothing. Say I was just a mistake.”

He clenched his fists but said nothing. His eyes glistened, but he blinked the truth away.

“Coward,” you whispered, and the word echoed off the hallway tiles.

Something split inside you—not a clean break, but a messy tear, like fabric ripping at the seams. You wanted to scream, to hit him, to kiss him one last time. But you didn’t. You walked.

You didn’t run. You didn’t cry. Not until you reached the end of the corridor, where no one could see your reflection shaking in the glass. Where the echoes of everything unspoken folded into the silence he left behind.

Years passed.

You debuted. A smaller company. Modest fame. Enough to live, to create. But not enough to forget.

In quiet moments—late-night bus rides home, under neon lights reflected in puddles—you caught yourself searching for his shadow. His name became a wound you pressed on, just to feel.

You danced differently now. More restrained. Less reckless. Not because you feared falling—but because you had fallen once, and the memory of impact never left.

You dated others. Nice men. Safe men. But none who looked at you like they wanted to tear down your armor just to hold the person underneath.

One night, at an awards afterparty, you saw him again.

He was older. The lines near his eyes deeper. His mouth tighter, as though he’d bitten back a thousand things he’d wanted to say over the years.

"You look good," he said, nursing a drink.

"I am good."

He nodded. Looked away, then back again, eyes holding yours like they used to in that mirrored practice room.

"I was scared," he admitted finally. "Of you. Of me with you. It felt like if I let it happen, everything else would unravel."

You touched his hand. Just once. His skin was still warm. Still familiar.

"So was I," you said. "But it unraveled anyway."

He didn’t argue. Just offered a broken smile.

"You deserved more than I could give."

You stepped back. Smoothed your coat. "I gave what I had. That was enough for me."

And then you left.

Not with anger.

But with peace. And the ache that peace sometimes carries.

Seoul did change you.

It shaped your fire. Sharpened your spine. Gave you stage lights and sleepless nights.

But you just didn’t expect it to leave a scar shaped like him—one you no longer tried to heal, but carried like a tattoo under your skin. Permanent. Faded. But always there.

Taglist: @petersasteria @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

[quintessenceofdust88]

Bucktommy + 46

👀👀👀👀

ohhhh anonnn, thank you for this ask, this was so much fun! 👀 I hope you enjoy this one! I swear I didn't mean to make it NSFW (just slightly! it's not explicit smut or anything, I regret to say D:) at first, but the boys took it away from me and they're horny bastards, so I'm adding a cut:

[it has a smutty sequel now!!!]

Buck enjoys coming to karaoke trivia night with Tommy. There's something special in seeing his boyfriend so comfortable in his own element, answering questions about movies (he knows every Oscar winner since 1929 and it's hot) and belting out 80s pop hymns that Buck barely know through cultural osmosis.

There's one thing he doesn't like about it: Nick.

Nick being a member of Tommy's trivia team, he's the brother of one of the other guys. Nick is new, he just moved back from Australia and has been to two trivia nights already. And Nick loves 80s songs, and movies, and craft beer, and apparently he has to let Tommy know all of that.

Buck isn't that good with movie references, but he knows Dirty Dancing because he watched it with Tommy just last week. And yeah, this duet is not gonna happen.

('Yes, I do love everything that comes from the 80s. Say, how old are you again, Tommy?')

"So, Tommy", Buck overhears Nick saying in that insufferable fake accent when he's coming back with beers for him and Tommy. "How about we sing a duet next? Maybe that song from Dirty Dancing?'

"Actually, I've already booked us for a duet, babe. We're singing 'The Boy is Mine'. I hope you know that one, Nick" Buck says, putting the beers down and glaring daggers at Nick, then turning to Tommy. " Now come here, I missed you"

He doesn't wait for Tommy's answer; he pulls him close by the collar of his shirt and glues his lips to Tommy's with enough fierceness to bruise. Tommy groans against his lips, but if he had any intention to protest, it quickly melts down, and he wraps his arms around Buck's waist, kissing him back just as enthusiastically.

When they finally break apart, both gasping, Tommy's lips red and swollen, he's staring at Buck with his mouth agape and flushed cheeks and... Buck smirks as he looks down at Tommy's crotch; bad day to wear light pants, apparently.

"Yeah, we're not singing any duets" Tommy declares, voice weak and high-pitched. "We're going home. Right now"

"Oh, I'm sure Nick will be more than glad to transmit our goodbyes, won't you, Nick?" Buck says smugly, taking Tommy's hand in his and practically dragging him towards the bar exit under Nick's indignant stare.

"Fuck, Evan" Tommy says breathlessly as the cold air hits them when they get outside. "You are so hot when you get all possessive, but that was entirely unnecessary. You know I'm not even remotely interested in him, right?"

"Oh, I know" Buck purrs, pressing Tommy against the wall of the bar, pinning his arms above his head and kissing him again, making sure to bite his lip before letting go. "I just love the opportunity of reminding you of who you belong to"

Tommy's breath hitches, his lip bulging where Buck bit him, and he lets out a moan, squirming against Buck's strong hold.

"I... I think I need a stronger reminder" He says, and Buck chuckles, pressing a kiss against his earlobe.

"I'll remind you alright, Tommy" He promises. And by God, does Buck intend to fulfill that promise.

--

(Would anyone be interested in a continuation bc I *think* possessive!Buck might be enough to unblock the smutty writer in me, so let me know, ok?)

Send me a ship and a number and I'll write you a kiss!

[drama-glob]

SPOILERS FOR "MASTERMIND" BELOW:

OMG!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE ALL THAT JUST HAPPENED!!! We knew we were getting the courtroom case and that I.M.P. was in trouble, but I still laughed at them destroying all the evidence of their operation. XD XD XD When I.M.P. was on trial, the grimoire was the obvious issue to cover, but the level of devious conspiring going on from Andrealphus was a whole other level! >:( I mean, trying to pin the hit on Stolas on Blitz just for good measure to tie up loose ends and ensure Blitz didn't get off?! Oh I'm with Vassago on being all kinds of pissed at Andrealphus's actions! >:(

Also, yay to Vassago! ^_^ He has shown to be a good boy so far and I love him just not having it with Andrealphus and contesting an actual fair trial. Him loving that Stolas was going to sing his explanation was adorable too. ^_^ <3<3<3

It was so great getting to see all the Deadly Sins in one place (besides Lucifer) and see the designs for Leviathan and Belphagor! It was cool that Leviathan was confirmed to be two-headed demon and I love Belphagor's design. ^_^ Satan was definitely an intimidating dragon-biker type and I'm glad he has that Yogirt guy to help him stay calm. ;) He definitely is not one who values mercy though and since he seems to be the one running things since Lucifer is MIA from these proceedings, he like so many other royals we've seen puts less value on all other demons. >:( It also was so great to see Bee and Ozzie again and I adore them being besties to knock Mammon down a beg! ;) I also just knew that Ozzie and Bee would be the ones to know that Blitz wasn't a cruel, heartless bastard and want to actually hear his side of the case. ^_^<3<3<3

My heart just broke though when Blitz did what I (and so many of us) knew he'd do and sacrificed himself for the sake of saving his team! ;_; ;_; ;_; I'm just glad that Stolas managed to catch the end of the trial or else, well... O_O

Stolas may have been a touch of his goofy self with the song, but the animation and the fact that we got another duet with Blitz and Stolas both admitting they loved each other?! ^_^ I was thrilled at the song and that they both were doing what they could to save the other, even if they still need to have a real, full-on talk. <3<3<3 Blitz screaming for Stolas was devastating and once again a testament to Brandon's vocal talents. ;_; ;_; ;_; I'm so glad that Millie, Moxxie and Loona were there for Blitz afterward and that Loona even called him dad again. ;_; <3 The only upside of Satan's value of Hell's hierarchy though is that he didn't kill Stolas where he would have Blitz, but it's still terrible to see Stolas stripped of his power and above all, not getting to see Octavia it seems and her being left in the hands of Stella and Andrealphus. O_O ;_; ;_; ;_;

Having Blitz be there for Stolas, taking care of him and taking him into his home was another thing so many of us predicted, and while it's sad how much Stolas loss, knowing that he'll still have Blitz and vice versa warmed my heart. Hopefully Stolas's time with Blitz will help him better understand Blitz's struggles and give him that support system for when he gets too into his head and needs someone to help him. At least it looks like I.M.P. can still be in business though thanks to Blitz having the Asmodean crystal, although who knows if they'll still be faced with additional scrutiny later due to the DHORK situation, but that's for another day. Now we just have "Sinsmas" left for the season, which seems like it'll have Stolas trying to get his daughter back, managing his punishment and dealing with Stella and Andrealphus. I can't wait to see what happens since we know Blitz will do what he can to help! ^_^<3<3<3

[dicentsalve]

I'm interested in what dynamics you see Sorbet and Gelato having. The crumbs you've given us about their relationship and history have made me interested in your interpretation of them. They are ( mostly ) a blank slate everyone can have fun with, after all! :)

HEEEERE WE GO

Thanks for the question, bb!

To be fair We know a tiny bit of information about them, we can also take their reckless act as a starting point and the reactions of the rest of the team to their disappearance

Overall, I feel like they're a bit of a separated from the other members So to speak, on their own, since their motivation, their way of thinking, seemed to not fit in with the reasons for the other participants joining the team of killers and their interactions with each other.

Yes, they communicated, yes, they probably had close relationships with, for example, Formaggio, but still there was a certain barrier between them all.

I also like to think that Illuso was unable to fit into their social circle, and as a result became offended and began to tease them constantly. (But in a way that they couldn't hear, because I think he was still afraid of them, because they would definitely teach him a lesson)

We also know that these two are moral monsters, which also leads us to believe that they have no ethical or moral principles. Even Risotto demonstrated a reluctance to kill an innocent person, which ultimately destroyed him, one might say. Sorbet and Gelato, I think, would kill an innocent person without further ado and without thinking twice if he got in their way, no matter who was in front of them.

Gelato, as I also mentioned, was in prison for mass murder, as a result of which he was sent to the church for correction, where two bloodthirsty, callous to the point of pity and principles souls intertwined and created an even more terrible duet.

But from that moment on, Gelato's ability to kill no longer extends to everyone in a row, but is directed in the right, specific direction.

They also, in my eyes, are the kind of guys who can freely shoot each other in the knees or stab each other with a knife and then start kissing.

I also think they spend a lot of time on missions, especially if it's a contract and not just a trip out to just sit around with corpses, relax and talk.

While others are concerned with the desire not to die in poverty from hunger and cold, to receive a well-deserved status, for Sorbet and Gelato there seems to be only a desire to feel adrenaline, blood on their hands, to be above others.

Regarding the stands that I gave them, the situation is the same:

● The Informers. (Sorbet)

Based on the fact that Sorbet is a greedy bastard for money (and so much so that his absence at the division of money led to suspicions of something amiss), there is a stand capable of finding any, even the most secret piece of information in one form or another.

The bottom line: Sorbet not only get information for the team, but also did a little more for his own benefit

The image of a dragonfly was chosen for a reason In nature, they are not only capable of reaching speeds of up to 60 km/h, but are also capable of hovering in the air in one place Therefore, this gives the stand not only enormous speed, but also the ability to pay sufficient attention to the necessary search aspects

● Disturbed. (Gelato)

Gelato is quite careless about his job, considering the fact that yet another meeting skipping didn't particularly impress or surprise Risotto, who, in turn, is extremely serious about their business, which only means that Gelato's behavior is presumably manifested in everything and probably not fixable

That is, for me he does it not so much for the money, because the Squadra received so-so, but rather for the soul and fun

Accordingly, his stand is aimed at survival in battle, to avoid any, even theoretical threats and mindlessly seek adventures on the ass (unless it's Secco)

[paranormaltheatrekid]

Use this as an excuse to dump a bunch of Hatchetfield headcanons, go wild.

Wow ok here we go:

-Ted Spankoffski is a pineapple pizza enjoyer.

-While we’re on the topic of Ted, Tinky definitely keeps clumps of his hair in a bag somewhere.

-Like Richie, Steph used to have dyed hair at some point.

-Becky Barnes is very much an animal person. She definitely got multiple pets once Stanley was gone.

-I didn’t create this headcanon, but I just adore it: Duke named his cat after Miss Holloway.

-Paul likes ice Carmel frappes. He just orders black coffee because it’s easy for Emma.

-Alice Woodward listens to Chappell Roan religiously.

-Webby’s favorite brother was Wiggly. They used to be really close.

-Miss Holloway definitely had the gift even before she made the deal. She saw Webby and stuff.

-Ruth is a Hamilton fanatic.

-Despite the fact that he didn’t make it, Pokey loves the phantom of the opera. He tries to make Paul be Cristine. He hates it, obviously.

-Xander Lee is John’s husband.

-Max and Stephanie were childhood friends.

-Lex and Ethan are bi4bi

-The nerds cosplay together. Ted takes them to conventions and teases them about it, but he secretly loves going.

-Miss Holloway runs karaoke nights at the diner. Her and Duke do duets together.

-Richie’s favorite food is the Miku ramen.

-Hannah Foster likes the Percy Jackson books.

-Also, Hannah didn’t speak until she was like 10 or 11.

-Charles Coven had involvement with Peip. He knew John and Wilbur.

-Nibbly is either the best cook ever or burns everything he touches. No in between.

-Shelia Young and Linda Monroe are both heavy red wine drinkers. Also, Shelia knows the Murrays through the church so she definitely knows Linda.

-I’m not really sure about this one, but I think it would be cool if Miss Holloway was related to the Waylon family.

-Max is secretly a musical theatre enjoyer.

-Kyle isn’t in the best of you scene because Grace killed him before Jason.

-Grace learned how to bury bodies from watching the Jerries. Or perhaps she learned from her mother.

-Benji, the kid who was said to have been able to talk to dogs in yellow jacket, was Scrags from the solve it squad.

-Blinky is an avid smut reader.

-Hannah made Ethan a bracelet. It’s his prized possession.

-Grace used to have a crush on Alice.

-Wilbur Cross has green eyes, like bright green. Idk that he doesn’t. I think he should.

-Charlotte makes her own sweaters. She gave the CCRP gang ones for their birthdays. Bill and Melissa love theirs. Paul hates his. Ted pretends to dislike his, but he’s glad that she made him one.

-Melissa and Woman are gay and in love.

-The reason that Webby taught Hannah how to play the ukulele was because her brother Pokey taught her how to play instruments.

-Linda’s mom was definitely a honey queen.

-Pete is really interested in space. I think it suits him, but also know he can be the space bastard to Ted’s time bastard.

-Forever and Always!Paulkins adopt a dog and multiple kids.

-Nibbly’s human forms are inspired by past honey queens.

-Zoey and Zach used to be very close as kids.

-Steph is very good at makeup. She practices her skills on Pete.

-Some movies Miss Holloway likes are labyrinth and the princess bride. She will not watch a movie made past the 90s. Brenda calls her old.

-Paul doesn’t hate Moana. He is the only one who knows all the lyrics.

[ruins-and-rewritez]

Once again thinking about a Six of Crows musical featuring delightful hits such as:

Overture (Instrumental)

Ketterdam [Capitol of Capital] (Ensemble)

The Bastard of the Barrel (Kaz's song)

Stars and Saints (Inej's song)

Trigger Finger (Jesper's song)

Son of the Council (Wylan's song)

Welcome to Hellgate (Matthias's song)

To Hold a Heart [To End a Life] (Nina's song)

Two Step Plan (The Crows)

Tainted (Kanej Duet)

The Ice Court [Infiltration Destination] (The Crows)

Up the Incinerator (Ensemble)

Dance of the Dignitaries (Ensemble)

Two Pair (Wesper)

Hands of Flame (Ensemble)

Waters of Djel (The Crows)

Escape [We Have a Tank] (The Crows)

Jurda Parem (Ensemble)

Stay Afloat (Helnik Duet)

Bastard's Lament [To Lose a Spider] (Ensemble)

No Mourners, No Funerals (Ensemble)

Exit the Crows (Instrumental)

Now if only I knew how to compose music...

[calmcoldevening]

Also don't know if you write one shots but if you do you won't mind writing one of what I ask? (Passive Charles lee ray x Active Male reader)

Charles Lee Ray x male!reader

Tags: smut, bottom!Charles, top!reader

Tw: nsfw

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You slowly enter the trashed apartment, the glass crunches pleasantly under the soles of your shoes. The goal was not long in coming. There he was, bent over a recent victim in a futile attempt to create a beautiful doll out of this bloody mess, which now didn't even look like a human being. Someone was very angry.

"Well, well... Who is this? The old good Y/N? Have you really decided to honor us with your divine presence?"

Venomous sarcasm escapes from the tip of his nimble tongue. Pain. Jealousy.

You slowly approach and grab a handful of dark, unruly hair, tilting his head back. His lips part, and a small gasp of surprise escapes from his chest. His devilish eyes look up at you, his eyebrows rise in mock question, and his lips part teasingly.

"Just like that? Neither 'hello' nor 'how are you'?"

His lips curled into a satisfied grin, like a predator after a successful hunt. That's right, because he was the main character in every one of your games. Right?

"I hope you brought something interesting? Or at least a bottle of wine..?"

"Give up this circus, Charles. You know why I'm here," you replied coldly, tightening your grip on his hair. Lee Ray hissed softly, squeezing his eyes shut.

"If I had known, it wouldn't have been so interesting, would it?"

"I had to get the cops off your trail. Again. Why the hell are you working so dirty?"

He's grinning. Exactly. That's exactly what he always wants. He likes to play dirty. He likes to get on your nerves. Painfully slow, dirty, so perverted, but beautiful.

"Did they really turn off your phone, that now a bunch of cops is your only way to contact me? Or have you forgotten how to think with your head huh?"

He chuckles at your sarcastic remark, his hand grabs your wrist on his hair, slowly moving up and leaving a bloody trail on your skin.

"Maybe so. Have you ever been against it?"

"Fuckin' bastard..."

You were always the head of this weird plot, saving his fucking ass, calculating the moves. He acted in a hurry, on the first emotion. But now it was he who was slowly but surely walking on the thin ice of your restraint, testing the ground.

And a click.

You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you and covering his lips with yours. Feelings explode in you like bright fireworks, the feeling of his rough lips with fucking cherry balm, the taste of tobacco from his recent cigarette and something metallic. Blood. A lot of blood. He makes a contented sound, biting through your lower lip with his fang. Your blood mixes with the victim's blood on his tongue in a strange copper duet that makes your stomach churn.

There is no place for tenderness here. Only hunger and the struggle for dominance.

Your hand digs deeper into his unruly hair and you pull him away from you. He's breathing heavily, looking up at you from under half-lowered dark eyelashes. Tacit permission. Trust. Your lips slide over his neck, leaving sloppy kisses, feeling the taste of his skin and that damn cologne that completely blew your head off.

With your free hand, you pull off his tie, throwing it on the floor somewhere in a large pool of blood. His throat is twitching with impatience.

Charles grabs your hand and leads you out of the room. Obviously, this imp knew what to expect. He got ready, found a bedroom in the victim's house. The fucking bastard. He walks over to the bed, sits on the edge, defiantly spreading his legs unnaturally wider than he usually does, and leans back. The face is flushed, lips are swollen and stained in some places with your blood, the hair is disheveled. That's how you would capture this moment on camera. But another time.

He casually looks you up and down, lingering on your chest and trousers, and returns his gaze to your face, smiling slyly.

"C'mon. What are you waiting for? Or was someone afraid of a drop of blood and changed his mind?"

Impatient. After so many women, you were his first man. The man he allowed himself to be bottom wirhy. And damn it, no other pretty boy could evoke such feelings in him, no matter how many brothels or clubs he visited. So he was looking forward to your meetings with the same impatience as you. Waited. I was getting ready. Even now, you've noticed it: a clean suit, careless, but freshly styled hair. He prepared carefully, except for the blood that you both liked to add to your hot games. But not now. Now you just wanted him. Just like he did to you.

You walked over to the bed and put your knee between his spread thighs.

"Will you please me today?"

He frowned.

"You know I don't do that."

"Of course. For now."

He ignores your words and carefully but quickly unbuttons his shirt, putting it on the edge of the bed. Obviously, he still needed it whole, how sweet. He's always so neat and intelligent. Cute girls just stick to him. And yet now he's not with them, but in front of you, all pliant and sweet. It's ironic.

You quickly sort out your clothes and lay him on the bed, grabbing his lips in another sloppy kiss. Your cheek rubs against his light stubble. His tongue slides over your lips, and his eyes close. He's like a fucking vampire, wanting to devour every part of you, every touch, all flesh and blood.

Touch after touch, and he's already lying under you, pliantly moving his hips following your fingers. You can see in his eyes how embarrassed he is by his actions, but how damn much he likes it. How he likes you. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and his eyes roll back beautifully as he bites the inside of his cheek. His adam's apple is twitching, and his fingers are clutching the sheets. You move deliberately slowly, absorbing every second of this beautiful picture. The brain melts pleasantly, you hardly breathe, afraid to miss any quiet sound that he may make. Charles is holding back, you can see it by the ragged gasps coming out of his parted lips.

It's damn hot in the room, and the reddish-bard sunset light is filtering into the bedroom from behind the closed curtains. But the windows are closed, you can't hear anything. Just you and him. Your Charles.

You replace your fingers with your cock, and finally a ragged moan escapes from his lips. Loud, awkward, but damn cute, like a naughty kitten. Charles, always so collected and serious, looked like mess in your hands. His hips were trembling with tension, and he was trying to move away and snuggle closer to you with jerky movements. You knew how much he disliked that pose. He didn't like that you could see his red face full of embarrassment and unspoken passion. But now you were in power, so you were gripping his hips tightly.

You gave him a tentative push, and he whined hollowly. You snuggled closer to his chest, burying your nose in the man's unruly hair, which smelled of tobacco and mint shampoo. His breathing became even more rapid, and his hands rested on your shoulders, digging their nails into your skin painfully in an attempt to ground themselves. His short moans reverberated in your ears like the most beautiful music, and the feeling of tightness finished you off, throwing your body into a pleasant warm bliss.

A push. One more.

When you hit his prostate, he made a particularly loud noise and bit your shoulder, leaving a trail of sharp teeth on your sweaty skin. You swore under your breath, but you didn't say anything to him, too caught up in the moment. The dull pain contrasted pleasantly with the searing warmth of his body. You've been to this place over and over and over again, enjoying its magical sounds. Who would have thought that the mysterious maniac who kept almost the whole city at bay was capable of such a thing.

You give him a few more hard thrusts before he comes, turning your chest white. He mumbles something unintelligibly against your neck, squeezing your shoulders. You finish after him, clinging to him for a couple more minutes.

Sex with you always leaves behind pleasant memories in his memory. Lover of the Year — that's how he wrote down your phone number. Not a name, not a nickname. A simple phrase that he associated with you.

"If you continue smiling like that, I'll stab you," Charles muttered through clenched teeth, puffing on his cigarette. He could literally feel you burning a hole in him with that satisfied smile. The grin on your face got even wider. Your grin got even wider.